#thank you so much for your patience on this!!!

[pennyellee]

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢 - 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐁

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐀𝐆𝐍𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐅𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐈 | 𝐉𝐉𝐊 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐁 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐔 title: champagne confetti - side B (part 2 of champagne confetti) pairings: heartthrob!jk, yandere!jk x fashion employee f!reader genre: dark romance, smut, porn with plot, 90s word count: 18,4K beta read by @chaoticpuff17

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Prompt 1:“you give me brand new emotion, you got me drinking that potion” Prompt 2:  The lines did blur, in his mind for sure. Will you be tamed or will your passion for fashion falter for greater good - a life without Jeon Jungkook. When everything you’ve worked for hangs in the balance, his twisted love comes as both a gift and a curse.

summary: You, a determined fashion designer, find yourself entangled in a collaboration with the irresistibly charming and egotistic heartthrob, Jeon Jungkook. Will this partnership remain strictly professional, or will he make the lines blur?

warnings: minors dni 18+ | physical violence, hint of incapable police department, jk is the boy saviour here and everybody bends backwards for his famous ass, dubious consent, possessive/obsessive behavior, emotional manipulation, references to medication that affects mental and physical responses as "drugs" or "pills" or "medication", power imbalance, themes of isolation and confinement, gaslighting, mentions of mafia and criminal underworld, forced intimacy, oral sex (m!receiving), numbness, reader's difficulties getting wet, use of lube, fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, riding/cow girl, orgasm difficulties, creampie, and so on (if i'll forgot smth, im so soorrryy!)

disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain strong language, explicit content, obsessive behaviour, alcohol drinking, abuse of medicine, illegal activities, oppressiveness, which we do not condone.

previously: 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢 next:

author's note: happy new year to all of you! so, where to start right? this was a long ass ride, mainly because i was fighting with myself to not burn out on this fic coz i loved it so much, and i still love it, but i won't lie that i got lil overwhelmed with how much love this fic received and how much pressure i had to suppress to not decide to just not finish part two. I am so so so grateful for each and one of you! ♥ and thank you for your patience too. Life's not easy, please understand that, i always try my best. Thank you all.

On a different note, part two a.k.a side B content is most likely something you might or might not expect to happen. And while I understand that many of you might not like where the narrative is headed, I humbly ask you to express your opinions in a nice and respectful way. If you wish to treat champagne confetti as a one-shot, I suggest you to not read part two, naturally.

1996 If they asked you how you managed to slip away when he had you in his grasp, ready to pull you back upstairs, you wouldn’t know the answer. That night became blurrier each day. All you remember is the rush of adrenaline as you pushed through the crowd, your heart racing with each step that took you further away from him.

If they asked how you ended up in the New York City police department, drenched in a flimsy pyjamas with an empty black file you once thought was your portfolio, shivering from the cold and sheer panic coursing through your veins, you wouldn’t know the answer.

If they asked how Jeon Jungkook picked you up not even thirty minutes later, knowing exactly which department you were at before you even managed to get your bearings and speak of what had happened to you, you wouldn’t know.

Apparently, you head-butted Jeon Jungkook. Well, that would explain why you were arrested and why he picked you up, ensuring the officers wouldn’t press charges against you.

Why didn’t you say anything to the officers, you may ask. Unless you did.

"You’re arresting me for what?! SELF-DEFENSE, MOTHERFUCKER, KIDNA—"

"Baby, that’s enough already. I’m so sorry, officer. I threw her birth control away by accident—"

That’s what he told them. You got into a fight over birth control, ran away in the heat of the moment, and accidentally head-butted him. You could still see the dried blood under his nose. His whole story felt like one truth mixed with lies, but you may not remember much. You certainly didn’t head-butt him by accident. You would never miss such a exquisite chance, god forbid.

"Are you seriously going to believe that sh—"

"Sir, she’s clearly having an episode. I’m so sorry about this," Jungkook’s voice dripped with concern as he addressed the officers, his hand running through his hair in apparent distress.

"Listen, you little—" your words were cut off by one of the officers raising his hand.

"Ma’am, please calm down. Mr. Jeon here is a respected man. These accusations you’re making are very serious."

"But he’s lying! He’s manipulating everything!—" your voice cracked with desperation.

"She’s been under a lot of stress lately," Jungkook interjected smoothly, fixing his gray zip-up hoodie, all dry unlike your clothing. "The fashion industry can be brutal. I’ve been trying to help her cope."

The officers exchanged knowing looks, their expressions softening as they regarded Jungkook with sympathy. One of them nodded understandingly, "We see these situations more often than you’d think, sir."

"I can take care of her from here," Jungkook assured them, his voice honey-sweet but his eyes cold as steel. "She just needs rest and her medication."

You watched in horror as the officers began nodding, your truth dissolving in the face of his perfectly crafted lies. The world seemed to tilt on its axis as you realized no one was going to believe you over him. He made you look like a psycho.

So, if they asked how in God’s name you ended up being led back to the glass cage you vacated only a few hours ago, with memories flashing before your eyes like a broken film reel, you wouldn’t know. Because that shit is straight-up unbelievable.

Each moment felt disjointed and surreal, a series of fragmented thoughts punctuated by Jungkook’s voice, smooth and calming yet laced with menace.

As he guided you back through the sleek hallways of the penthouse, the familiar opulence felt suffocating. The delicate decor, once a sign of luxury, now seemed to mock you. Jungkook’s hand rested on your lower back, a possessive gesture that sent chills down your spine.

"I hate you," you whispered, the words slipping out before you could rein them in.

Jungkook paused, the hand on your lower back tightening just enough to make you flinch. His gaze locked onto yours, those dark eyes flickering with something you couldn’t quite decipher—was it anger, or something more akin to hurt? The sharp intake of breath that followed felt like a crack in his carefully crafted facade, and for a fleeting moment, the man behind the mask was revealed.

"No, you don’t. You don’t know what you feel," he replied, his voice low and steady, like the calm before a storm. The tightening grip on your back felt almost protective, but the intensity of his gaze was unnerving.

"I know enough. I know you’re trying to control every aspect of my life. You can’t keep me locked away forever."

"Locked away?" he echoed, the corner of his mouth twitching in a sardonic smile. "Is that how you see this? This is a sanctuary, a place where you’re safe. I’ve given you everything, Y/N."

"Everything?" you scoffed, your voice trembling with disbelief and rage. "You’ve taken everything from me, and now you added my dignity to the collection." The words hung heavy in the air between you, and for a moment, you caught a glimpse of something dangerous flickering in his eyes. 

"Well fucking done, Jeon–"

"Well fucking done, YOU!" He interrupted with his voice laced with anger. 

"How do you imagine me trusting you after the stunt you just pulled?!" He turned to face you abruptly, screaming those words into your face. 

"You are one to talk, Jeon! That baby room upstairs speaks volumes, you fucker!" Jungkook’s face turned pale, his eyes widening with genuine surprise.

"You went into the baby room?" His voice was a mix of shock and something else you couldn’t quite place—fear, perhaps?

"You hid the portfolio there, of course, I did."

"That room was supposed to be a surprise," he growled, stepping closer until you could feel his breath on your face.

"You had to ruin it."

"Surprise?" you shot back, your voice rising. "You can’t force a future on me that I don’t want, you moron!"

His hand shot out, gripping your arm tightly. "You think you have a choice in this?" he hissed. "You think you can just walk away and pretend none of this ever happened?"

"I know I can," you said, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and defiance. "And I will. You don’t own me."

Jungkook’s grip tightened, his face inches from yours. "You’re mine, Y/N. You always have been. And you always will be.”

"You’re insane," you whispered, tears stinging your eyes. You saw the change in color in his eyes when you said those words. With a burst of adrenaline, you yanked your arm from Jungkook’s grip and bolted up the stairs, his furious shouts echoing behind you. Your feet barely touched the steps as you flew toward the recording room, heart pounding with fear. Bursting into the room, you slammed the door behind you, your eyes locking onto the recording booth.

Jungkook stormed in moments later, his face contorted with rage. "I’m gonna fucking teach you a lesson, you ungrateful brat!" he bellowed, his eyes scanning the room for any sign of you.

You held perfectly still, watching as he moved closer to the recording booth. Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat echoing like a drum in your ears. He hesitated for a moment, his gaze flickering around the room, before stepping into the booth.

As soon as he was inside, you sprang into action. You dashed towards the door, slamming it shut and locking it with trembling hands. Jungkook’s eyes widened in shock as he realized what had happened, and he lunged towards the door just as you secured the lock.

"What the fuck, Y/N!" he roared, pounding on the glass. "Let me out!"

Ignoring his furious shouts, you grabbed a nearby chair and wedged it under the doorknob, barricading the door. You took a step back, breathing hard, and met his furious gaze through the glass.

"This ends now."

You ran through the penthouse, desperate to escape before Jungkook could free himself.

As you reached the front door and yanked it open, you collided with a solid figure, stumbling back. You looked up to see a man with dark hair and intense eyes, his expression a mix of surprise and concern.

"Who the hell are you?" you snapped, your voice trembling with fear and adrenaline.

"Min Yoongi," he replied, his tone calm yet probing. "I’m a doctor. Jungkook called me—"

Panic surged through you, but you forced yourself to stay composed. "We don’t need a doctor. Jungkook is sleeping anyway," you lied, trying to keep your voice steady.

"He must have forgotten he even called you—"

Yoongi’s eyes narrowed as he took in your disheveled state, your pajamas still not dry, and the raw fear in your eyes.

"You look terrified," he said, his tone gentle but firm. "Are you sure everything’s alright?”

Your chest tightened, a wave of panic rising. You needed to get rid of him—fast.

"Really, Yoongi-doctor-whatever, it’s fine. I just need some rest—" You cut yourself off, realizing you were only digging yourself into a deeper hole. Yoongi looked unconvinced, his gaze piercing as he studied you.

Before you could finish, a loud crash echoed from upstairs, followed by the unmistakable sound of something heavy hitting the floor. Your heart skipped a beat, and your mind raced, knowing Jungkook must have escaped the recording booth.

Yoongi’s eyes flickered towards the noise, his expression darkening with suspicion. "What was that?" he asked, his voice laced with concern and suspicion. Your mind raced, trying to think of an excuse, but you knew it was futile.

"It’s nothing," you insisted, forcing a smile. "Probably just some stuff falling ov—" that’s when an even louder crash sound echoed. Yes. He is totally out of there. You couldn’t hold back anymore. 

"Fuck!" you muttered under your breath, closing your eyes as you listened to Jungkook’s heavy footsteps. You could sense the rage in every thud. The tension between you thickened, your body shaking as his furious footsteps grew closer from upstairs. You could hear him bellowing for you, rattling the doors in his rage. The time to make a run for it was slipping away.

"I need to get out of here. Please, you have to help me," you pleaded, turning to Yoongi.

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he looked at you—his gaze unreadable, as if he was weighing something in his mind. After a beat, he spoke again, his voice clipped and cold.

"Don’t be like the others, Y/N."

You froze at his words, your blood running cold. "The others?" you whispered, barely able to comprehend what he was implying.

Yoongi didn’t elaborate, but the weight of his gaze told you everything you needed to know. The look in his eyes wasn’t one of compassion—it was something darker, more knowing.

Yoongi’s gaze was locked on you, but you couldn’t afford to stop, couldn’t afford to hesitate—not when Jungkook’s rage was closing in on you, his every step a reminder of how little time you had left. Without warning, you darted toward him, trying to push past him. Yoongi moved in response, stepping into your path, his cold gaze never leaving yours.

"You're not leaving," he repeated, his voice quieter now, but no less firm. His presence was like a wall, blocking every path of escape. You didn’t stop. You tried to shoulder past him, using every ounce of strength and fear-fueled desperation to break free, but his arm shot out, grabbing your wrist with an iron grip.

"Let go of me!" you hissed, thrashing in his hold.

Yoongi’s expression remained impassive, but you could see the subtle shift in his stance as he tightened his grip. He wasn’t letting go, not without a fight. You yanked your free hand back, driving it forward with all the force you could muster, slamming it into Yoongi’s chest.

"He said you’re a good girl, but all I see is a brat who needs to be tamed," he warned, his voice steady but sharp. You fought him again, but the door seemed impossibly far, and Jungkook was just moments away.

In that moment, all you could do was scream.

You slowly woke up, the soft hum of voices drifting into your awareness before the world around you even began to make sense. At first, there was nothing more than a distant buzz, the kind that lingers when you’re still trapped between sleep and reality. But as the fog in your mind began to lift, the sound of two familiar voices cut through the haze—Jungkook’s, low and impatient, and Yoongi’s, calm and cold.

You blinked slowly, your eyelids heavy as if you’d been drugged, though you couldn’t be sure. You tried to sit up, but your body felt sluggish, unwilling to obey. Everything seemed wrong. The weight on your chest. The thickness in your head.

"She’s still out of it?" Jungkook’s voice, sharp and worried, came from somewhere nearby.

You tried to focus, but the disorientation kept you from piecing together the words. Still, you could feel the presence of both men—close, but not yet in your line of sight.

"She's sleeping," Yoongi’s voice was colder than you remembered, a warning in its tone. You instinctively tried to move, but your limbs refused to cooperate. Panic threatened to claw its way to the surface, but you pushed it down, trying to stay composed. You couldn’t be weak. Not now.

"She’s stubborn," Jungkook murmured, frustration evident in his voice. "You know she’ll never accept it. If I show her the truth, she’ll run again."

Yoongi’s laughter was light, but there was no warmth in it. "You sound like Namjoon."

"How is Peaches?"

There was a pause, thick with unspoken tension, before Yoongi continued, his words measured but still carrying an undercurrent of something darker.

"Her recovery... is progressing very well. She’s strong. Stronger than we probably thought."

"That’s good to hear."

"You can mend the wounds, but the mind... that’s another matter. She won't be the same." You flinched at his words. What happened to the woman they are talking about?

"But that essentially works in Namjoon’s favor."

Jungkook’s voice grew quiet at Yoongi’s words, the weight of the implication settling between them like a heavy shroud.

"How so?" His tone held a mixture of confusion and curiosity, but there was an underlying edge, as if he didn’t fully trust where this conversation was heading.

"Namjoon... He’s always been good at seeing people as they are. He doesn’t need to force things. He knows how to manipulate the mind. To make someone want to comply."

Jungkook remained silent for a long moment. His breath was audible, shallow and strained, and you could almost feel his inner conflict.

"Well, I should stop by for a crash course ’cause apparently I cannot move this one," Jungkook huffed, frustrated. Yoongi’s laughter again, light but tinged with something darker this time.

"You need to claim her, make it official. Show the world that she’s yours." Your pulse quickened, and your mind started to get dizzy again.

"She’s already in your head. You think it’s the running that’s hurting you? No, Jungkook. It’s the fact that she’s living in your thoughts, in your every decision. You’ll bend over backward for her, but she’ll never respect you for it. She needs to see you take control. Then she’ll respect you. Then she’ll stay."

"How am I supposed to make her mine when she keeps running? My original plan is fucked; she saw the baby room, hyung."

"You’re overthinking it, Jungkook. She’s already seen it, so what? It’s not a crime to want a child, for fuck’s sake."

"She saw the future I was building for us, and she’s already rejecting it."

Yoongi let out a slow, calculated breath, his voice steady as he responded. "She’s rejecting it because you haven’t made her understand it yet. She doesn’t know what’s good for her. You’ve given her too many choices, Jungkook. You’ve let her think she has the power to decide. And look where that’s gotten you. She’s running, isn’t she?"

There was a pause. You could almost hear Jungkook’s thoughts racing as the truth of Yoongi’s words sunk in.

"You’ve got to take control of the situation, Jungkook. Make her see that there’s no running, no escaping, that there’s no reason to!--" he raised his voice an octave higher before he hushed it again when Jungkook motioned urgently to prevent from waking you up.

"Make her see that you’re the one who decides her future now. You’ve made all this for her—don’t let it slip away just because she’s scared."

"I don’t want her to be scared… I want her to want me." The weight of their expectations, of what Jungkook was being urged to do, twisted in your chest like a growing storm.

"Well, if this won’t work, we can think of something more—"

"Permanent."

The idea hit you like a punch to the gut. The thought of being pushed into a corner, with no choice but to accept the suffocating control, twisted your insides. This wasn’t love. This wasn’t a partnership. This was manipulation. But they didn’t care. They never did.

As you lay there, helpless and broken, the seeds of doubt and fear began to take root in your mind. Would you ever be able to escape? It was too much to listen to, and you don’t remember at what point in their conversation you fell back asleep.

"Sedate her, if you have to," Yoongi continued, his tone smooth but dangerous. "Keep her compliant. Keep her obedient. She can’t fight you if she doesn’t have the strength to."

"Once she’s fed up with all the side effects, she’ll do anything to stop it—"

"If she’s weakened, if she’s broken down enough, she’ll have no choice but to comply."

"What if she’s pregnant, hyung?" he asked, hope and worry evident in his tone. Yoongi rolled his eyes and sighed out of frustration.

"You boys should realize that pregnancy does not have to happen after you stick it in once, for fuck’s sake."

You woke up to the sound of running water, the steady rhythm of droplets hitting tile. Your head still felt thick, the remnants of whatever drugs they’d given you making it hard to fully shake off the fog. As you struggled to sit up, the door to the bathroom opened, and a cloud of steam billowed out. Jungkook emerged, a towel wrapped around his waist, his hair damp and tousled from the shower.

Your eyes instinctively scanned his body, taking in the intricate tattoos that decorated his arm. Each one seemed to tell a story, a piece of the puzzle that was Jeon Jungkook. He caught your gaze and threw a smirk your way as he began to dry his hair with another towel.

"You cooled down a little?" he asked, his tone light but with an underlying tension.

You swallowed hard, your mouth dry. "What did you give me?" you managed to croak out.

"Just something to help you rest," he replied, stepping closer to the bed. "You were exhausted, and I needed you to stay put."

"Stay put?" you repeated, trying to muster some anger, but the drugs still held you in their grip. "You drugged me, Jungkook."

"To protect you," he said, his voice firm. "And to protect us. This running has to stop, love. There is no getting away and that’s final."

You tried to sit up straighter, but your body refused to cooperate. "How is this supposed to work between us?" you asked, fighting to keep your voice steady. "You can’t just keep me here like this."

Jungkook sighed, running a hand through his damp hair. "I know it’s not ideal, but I want to make this work. You just need to trust me."

"Trust you?" you scoffed, though it lacked the bite you intended.

"Yes, love, trust me." He moved closer, his presence overwhelming as he sat on the edge of the bed. You wanted to speak up, but he was faster.

"You are confused—"

"Confused?" you interrupted, your voice a weak protest. "I know exactly what’s going on."

"You think you do," he countered softly, "but you don’t see the full picture. You don’t see how much I care about you, how much I’m willing to sacrifice to keep you safe."

"Safe?" you echoed, feeling a mix of frustration and helplessness.

"Yes, and before you think of snooping around the penthouse again, your portfolio is already in the hands of someone who can give you a very high-profile job." You stared at him, processing his words through the haze. 

"I kept my promise," his eyes bore into yours, filled with an intensity that made it hard to breathe. It was never here, and the file you thought your portfolio was in, was just scribbles of something incoherent. You made a mistake. You should have given up the portfolio and just built your career from the ground up again. Or you should have never met Jeon Jungkook. Never given him the chance to fall in love with you, lure you in, and lastly fuck you good. Way too good.

"At what cost, Jungkook? My independence?"

His expression softened slightly, though his resolve remained.

"You need to stop fighting me. You need to see that this is for the best—"

He climbed onto the bed, his towel barely clinging to his hips as he moved closer to you. His presence was overwhelming, and you couldn’t help but feel a mix of fear and reluctant fascination. He leaned over you, his lips brushing against your ear.

"I want you to succeed," he whispered. "But you need to stop running for that to happen and let me take care of you."

Before you could respond, he captured your lips in a soft, lingering kiss. It was a stark contrast to the confusion and fear swirling inside you, and for a moment, you found yourself melting into it.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours. With that, he settled beside you, keeping you close and, as if it were a peace offering, he said:

"Friends is on the telly. Wanna watch?"

You stood under the shower, the warm water cascading over your body, trying to wash away the heaviness that clung to your every move. Despite the soothing temperature, you couldn't shake the lethargy that had settled deep in your bones. The antidepressants Jungkook insisted you take were doing their job, keeping you subdued, but they also left you feeling like a shell of yourself. You did not want to scream or argue. You had no strength to fight him; all you felt was a twisted, strange calmness. 

The door was unlocked as there was nothing to lock them with, and he even insisted that wherever you are in the penthouse, the door will never be shut fully or you’ll lose the privilege to be alone even for a second. It was the aftermath of your little stunt in which you locked him in his recording booth and the state Jungkook left it in was not pleasant for the eye.

As you stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around yourself, you caught a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror. The person staring back at you seemed distant, a shadow of who you used to be. You had lost some weight, something Jungkook had noticed too, as his cooking became very carb- and protein-oriented.

In the kitchen, the smell of cooking filled the air. Jungkook was at the stove, focused on preparing breakfast while the stereo was on in the living room just like every morning. This time, he put the whole SWV album on repeat. You mentioned you liked girl groups. So now he plays girl groups in the mornings. The sight of him in his domestic element would have been comforting if not for the circumstances. Body covered by a large black shirt, his tattooed arm moved with precision, flipping whatever was on the pan and stirring a pot of something that smelled sweet.

"Morning," you said softly, your voice still raspy from sleep.

He turned, a smile spreading across his face. "Good morning, love. Did you sleep well?"

You nodded, though sleep had been fitful at best. "Yeah, better. Thanks."

In normal circumstances, you could imagine yourself sassing some nasty remark his way, but somehow that is not what your brain thinks of anymore.

"Good," he replied, his eyes flicking over you with an unreadable expression. "Breakfast will be ready soon. Take a seat, baby."

You moved to the table, your legs still unsteady. The medication made it hard to feel grounded, and you grasped the back of a chair to steady yourself. As you sat down, a memory flashed through your mind, a moment that made your stomach churn.

It had been a week ago, or maybe more. Time blurred under the constant influence of the drugs. You had missed a dose, intentionally, hoping for a moment of clarity. But Jungkook had noticed the difference in your demeanor almost immediately.

"Take it," he had ordered, his voice devoid of its usual warmth.

You had refused, shaking your head, trying to stand your ground. But the look in his eyes had shifted from concern to something darker, more desperate.

Before you could react, he had grabbed you, forcing you down onto the bed. The pills were shoved into your mouth, and he held your nose, forcing you to swallow. Tears had streamed down your face, the bitter taste lingering long after the pills had gone down.

"Don’t make me do this again," he had whispered, his voice breaking with frustration. "Just take them Y/N."

Since then, you had complied, taking the pills under his watchful eye, the memory of that night a constant reminder of what defiance would bring.

Jungkook set a plate of pancakes in front of you, breaking your reverie. "Eat up," he said, his tone softer now. "You’ve lost some weight."

You picked up a fork, your hand trembling slightly. As you took a bite, he sat across from you, watching you closely. The silence between you was heavy, filled with unspoken words and lingering tension. This is so fucking awkward.

"I, um…" you began, hesitating. "I need something."

"What is it?" he asked, his gaze never leaving your face.

"I need some Tampax."

Jungkook's expression hardened at your request, his jaw tightening. The silence stretched uncomfortably as he processed your words. "Tampax," he repeated, his voice flat.

You nodded, feeling the weight of his gaze on you. "Yes. I..I got my period."

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his damp hair.

"I thought you to be pregnant," he muttered, more to himself than to you. His frustration was palpable, the air thick with it.

"I'm sorry," you said automatically, though the apology felt hollow. What were you even apologizing for? For your body doing what it was supposed to do? For disappointing him? Why would you say that? Something flickered in his eyes when you said that, though.

"Can I go with you?" you asked carefully.

Jungkook's eyes shifted, darkening as he processed your question. His jaw tightened, and for a moment, the air seemed to thicken with tension. He remained silent, staring at you as if weighing something in his mind. You haven’t been out in what seems like a month. You wouldn’t know; he took out every single thing that indicated time or date, just as he made all the doors lack the keys so you wouldn’t ever lock him or yourself somewhere. But you have been behaving, and looking at Manhattan through the thick glass windows was just not enough anymore. He did not even let you step on the balcony.

"Where?" he asked, his voice low and guarded.

You flinched, the words slipping out before you could stop them. "To the store. To get the...tampons."

"I can take care of it—"

"Kookie, please."

The softness in your voice seemed to catch him off guard. His expression faltered for a moment, a brief flicker of uncertainty flashing in his eyes before he composed himself. Jungkook's hand gripped the back of the chair as if fighting the urge to reach for you, to demand that you stay where you were.

"Please," you repeated, your voice barely a whisper now, trying to steady the trembling in your chest. "I just want to... feel normal, just for a moment. Please, Kookie."

His gaze shifted from you to the window, the silence between you thick and heavy, suffocating. The idea of letting you go outside, even though he would be right there, scared him, and it was evident in how reluctant he was whilst granting you this plea.

"I promise I’ll behave—" you added quickly, your voice barely audible as you tried to make him see that this wasn't about defiance, but about a small piece of normalcy that you so desperately needed.

Jungkook stood frozen for a moment, the weight of your words hanging in the air like a fragile thread, ready to snap. He looked at you, eyes dark with something close to frustration, but there was a vulnerability too. You could see it in the tightness of his jaw, in the way his hands twitched, as though he was battling with himself.

Finally, he let out a slow breath, exhaling through his nose like a release of tension. "Fine," he muttered, the word falling between you like a reluctant concession.

"But you won’t get out of my sight." Jungkook continued, his voice hardening, as if the promise of letting you go outside came with an unspoken condition he couldn’t shake off.

You nodded, accepting his terms without argument. You didn’t have the strength to fight him on this, nor did you have the energy to explain that you weren’t asking for much.

A simple errand, just a quick trip.

"Let’s go, then," he said, his voice gruff.

You stood up, feeling the weakness in your legs from the antidepressants. They made you compliant, dulled your senses. Jungkook’s arm slid around your waist, his grip firm and possessive. You didn’t have the strength to resist.

Dressing was always a slow process for you, but this time for a different reason. While before you did not know what to choose to wear, now you just didn’t feel like dressing up. You chose simple clothes, if that word was ever even in your vocabulary – it is now. But when you looked upon your grey Max Mara coat with fur on the hem of its sleeves, you could not keep trying to hold on to some semblance of normalcy. You longed to be you again.

Jungkook’s eyes never left you. Not when you pulled on the last piece of clothing, not when you sat down to zip up your boots, and not when he put a warm scarf around your neck to keep you from the cold of December.

The car ride to the store was silent except for the radio that proudly played Christmas classics. You had to chuckle a little when you heard his voice playing from the radio of his reimagination of Oh Holy Night. It’s the time of the year, and you did not even realize how agonizingly slow time was in that penthouse. You stared out the window at the bustling streets of Manhattan, the snow-covered pavements, people all around. It was overwhelming, the normalcy of it all.

You walked into D'Agostino, and his hand never left yours while the other was pushing the trolley through the aisles. You looked at him, the sweater complimenting his build, his big brown coat on top of that.

You moved through the aisles, adding items to the cart under his watchful eye.

When you reached the health aisle, his grip tightened. You glanced up to see him slipping a box of pregnancy tests into the cart. Your heart sank, but you said nothing. That was what he was waiting for – to give him a reason to punish you in whatever way he pleased. But you wouldn’t give him that. Nonetheless, the implication was clear, and sooner or later you would have to fight him on that.

"Just in case," he mumbled.

As you turned the corner, you nearly collided with a couple that looked oddly familiar. They didn’t look normal, not in the way people usually did. There was something off about them, something familiar in a way that made your chest tighten. But you couldn’t put your finger on it.

"Jungkookie! Didn’t expect to see you here," the man said, his tone casual but with an underlying edge. His eyes lit up when he saw Jungkook, and it wasn’t hard to sense that they were far more than just friends. The man wore similar attire to Jungkook but in darker colors, his whole aura projecting wealth and power. She, on the other hand, was adorned in a striking red coat, her pregnant belly barely concealed beneath it. The red was too bright, too vivid, and you couldn’t ignore how much attention they drew, even in a crowd.

"Just running some errands. You know how it is." Jungkook’s voice and smile were thin, like something else was at play beneath his words. You could feel the tension in his body as he shifted slightly to face them. Was he scared of you misbehaving? Or acting up? Just what was going on in his head right now?

"Y/N, this is Jung Hoseok and his wife." There was a brief pause, his words heavy with something unspoken. Jung fucking Hoseok. You knew that name, knew the stories. The man was a businessman of the highest order, owning the distilleries producing the finest whiskey and brandy carrying the Jung’s and Kim’s name. He had nothing and everything at once with that fucking mullet. 

"Hoseok, Princess - this is Y/N."

Hoseok raised an eyebrow, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than comfortable. His smile was smooth, disarming, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He was a predator in the shape of a man.

"Nice to meet you, welcome to the family," he said smoothly, his tone warm, but his eyes glinted with something that made you feel as if he was evaluating you like a piece of merchandise. It was a greeting, but it didn’t feel like one. There was no warmth in it, no welcome. Not yet. 

It was ownership, as if he was claiming you as kin before you even had a chance to understand what was happening. You could barely move, trapped in his gaze, in the suffocating air thick with tension. And then there was the mention of "family."

Family?

Your mind scrambled to understand the connection. What the hell did Hoseok have to do with Jungkook? Was this some business partner? Some associate? And then you remembered the stories—Jung Hoseok, the name whispered in the same breath as the Jung family distilleries, their illegal dealings. Alcohol, drugs, money, power... and whatever the hell was happening behind the scenes that you didn’t even begin to comprehend.

Jungkook’s hand clenched around yours, his body rigid as if daring you to question his actions. But you already knew—there was no room for questions here. No room for defiance. No room for anything other than what he allowed.

You felt a shiver race up your spine as Mrs. Jung—Princess—smiled sadly, her eyes flicking between you and Jungkook. She tilted her head, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to close in. Her eyes held something unsettling—empathy, maybe, but also something darker. She wasn’t looking at you with pity; it felt more like an understanding of the kind of life you were being thrust into. A life you couldn’t escape from, no matter how hard you tried.

Her smile deepened, but the sadness never left her eyes.

"I hope you’re adjusting well," she said softly, her voice carrying an air of familiarity, but it was cold beneath the sweetness. "It’s a big change, isn’t it?"

Her words were innocent on the surface, but you knew better. They were a reminder of the power dynamic at play here, a subtle reaffirmation of your place in their world. You were still the outsider, and no matter how hard you tried to convince yourself otherwise, you were still under their watch, under their control. No freedom would ever be guaranteed.

Jungkook’s hand tightened around yours, the possessive pressure grounding you back in the moment. His gaze flicked from Mrs. Jung to Hoseok and then to you, an unreadable look passing across his face. He was silent for a moment, but the tension between the four of you was palpable, almost suffocating.

"Do you think you’ll make it to the Christmas gathering, Kook?" Hoseok asked, his voice smooth, his eyes glinting between you and him. As if he were asking whether you are ready to be part of the family.

His eyes darted to you, as if measuring whether or not you would speak, or even if you would understand what was actually happening.

"I’m not sure, Hyung," Jungkook finally answered, his voice colder than it had been moments ago. His grip on your hand remained firm, a silent warning that nothing about this encounter was casual, nor were any of you truly free.

"We’ll see."

Hoseok chuckled softly, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. He leaned back slightly, crossing his arms as if the conversation were some kind of game to him—one where he already knew the outcome. The tension was suffocating. Every word, every gesture was an unspoken measure of who had the power and who had none.

"Well," Hoseok continued, "I’m sure we’ll all be expecting you there. It’s a family affair, after all. Wouldn’t want anyone to feel... excluded." He gave a small nod, and the implication wasn’t lost on you.

"Peaches wanted to talk to you for some time, Kook."

He visibly stiffened, his body language shifting into something more guarded. His fingers tightened around yours, the possessive grip now tinged with something darker, like a warning, a reminder of who he was and who you weren’t.

The mention of Peaches—and her connection to whatever the hell was going on—left you unsettled. Another piece of the puzzle that you didn’t understand, but felt creeping closer with every passing moment.

"Yeah, I know," was all Jungkook said. His tone brooked no argument. Who is she? What was her connection to Jungkook, and why did his entire demeanor shift the moment her name was mentioned?

Hoseok, watching the two of you closely, seemed to relish the silence that followed. He leaned in just slightly, eyes flicking between you and Jungkook, measuring something unseen. Just what is he trying to achieve?

His eyes never left Jungkook, but his words were directed at both of you. "She’s been wanting to have a chat for a while. About everything."

"Don’t worry about it, we’ll talk soon, Hyung," Jungkook finally muttered, his gaze turning toward you, softening for just a moment.

But the unease in his voice didn’t fool you. The more he avoided talking about Peaches, the more you knew there was something lurking beneath the surface. Something he was hiding. Something you weren’t meant to see. And it only made you feel more trapped.

Jungkook’s grip on your hand tightened so much that you winced, but you dared not say anything. His eyes flicked from Hoseok to Mrs. Jung, his expression unreadable. There was something cold in his gaze now, something sharp, but it was directed outward—at them.

The tension between them was palpable, an unspoken war fought with words, smiles, and a look that only people like them would understand. And then, just as quickly, the moment passed.

"Well, we won’t keep you," Hoseok said, his gaze lingering on you just a moment longer. His smile never faltered, but the weight of it made you feel small, insignificant.

"It was nice finally meeting you, Y/N."

Her name resonated in your head for a while before you gathered the courage to actually ask. There must be a reason why not one but two people had already talked to Jungkook about this Peaches. Who in the world names their child Peaches? Anyway, the way his demeanor shifted at the mention of her name left you with more questions than answers. You did not know why. This should not bother you at all.

Despite Jungkook’s attempts to reassure you that nothing was going to change, the nagging feeling of being kept in the dark gnawed at you. You had become part of his world, yet there were so many aspects of it that remained a mystery. Who exactly is Jeon Jungkook if not a popular heartthrob of this generation?

One evening, as you sat in the penthouse, the silence was interrupted by the soft strains of a piano melody drifting through the space. Jungkook was at the grand piano, his fingers gliding over the keys with a grace that belied the tension that seemed to have settled over him. You watched him for a moment, the music a temporary balm to the unease that had been building between you.

Taking a deep breath, you decided it was time to address the elephant in the room. "Jungkook," you called softly, walking over to where he sat. He looked up, his expression guarded but not unkind. You did not really express any affections towards him as of late. And apparently, he was giving you space to come to him yourself. How generous after what he has done to keep you here.

"Yeah, baby?"

You took a seat beside him on the piano bench, your fingers lightly brushing the keys. You sighed loudly because you couldn't believe you were actually going to ask him that.

"Who is Peaches?" you asked, your voice trembling slightly. More from embarrassment than fear of his reaction. Jungkook’s expression shifted, a playful glint appearing in his eyes.

"Hm, someone sounds jealous?" he asked, his tone light and teasing. Obviously, that was the first thing he was going to ask.

You flushed, feeling your cheeks heat up at his question. "No, I’m not jealous," you retorted quickly, but the slight tremor in your voice betrayed you. Were you not?

Jungkook’s grin widened, and he leaned closer, his face just inches from yours. "Oh, really?" he murmured, his voice low and mischievous.

"Because it sounds like you might be a little bit jealous." You turned your head away, trying to hide the embarrassment creeping up your neck, interplaying with frustration that was very much successfully toned down by the number of pills you’d taken this morning.

"I could not give a flying fuck, Jungkook, I’m just curious."

"A flying fuck, huh?" he repeated, his tone laced with amusement. Jungkook chuckled, the sound low and rich, his breath warm against your cheek.

He reached out and gently turned your face back to him, his fingers light on your chin.

"Peaches is Kim Namjoon’s fiancée," his tone softening but the amusement still present in his eyes. You could feel the tension in his fingers as he held your chin, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. And you could also not miss how the little ball of nerves you had in your chest suddenly evaporated. 

You blinked, trying to process the information. "Namjoon’s fiancée?" you echoed, your voice barely above a whisper. You knew Namjoon as the man next to Jungkook in the majority of the photographs he had hanging up, and you recall him talking about this Namjoon even before you got yourself into this situation. Jungkook looked up to Namjoon. The name carried weight, and you could see why Jungkook might be protective over such a significant part of his and his family’s life.

"I saved her life."

His words hung in the air, adding another layer to the mystery surrounding Jungkook and the world he was a part of.

"You saved her life?" you repeated, your voice softening. The weight of his words began to sink in, and you could see the depth of his connection to this woman named Peaches.

Jungkook nodded, his fingers still gently holding your chin. "Yeah, I did," he said quietly.

"H…how?" He seemed to be weighing his words carefully, the playful glint in his eyes dimming slightly. It was obvious. He wouldn’t tell you.

"I’m not sure you’re ready to know all of it at once," he said gently, his thumb brushing your skin. "But what you need to understand is that everything I’ve done, everything I’m doing, is for the good of the family."

"Are you like…Hoseok?" you asked, your voice wavering just slightly as you tried to make sense of everything. Jungkook leaned back slightly, his eyes narrowing as he processed your question. He tilted his head, almost as if he were weighing your words. His fingers, which had been so tender on your chin, slowly slipped away, leaving a cool emptiness behind.

"Depends on who you think Hoseok is?" he replied, his voice light, but there was an underlying edge to it—a hint of something he wasn’t quite ready to share. You frowned, not fully understanding.

"Everybody knows who he is, Gguk." Jungkook’s lips curled into a small, amused smile at your bluntness. The nickname "Gguk" rolled off your tongue like it had been there all along, and for a brief moment, his usual playful demeanor flickered back, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. His gaze softened just a little, but the weight of the conversation hung heavy between you.

"He’s mafio—"

"Yeah, I know what everyone thinks.." Jungkook’s lips quirked into that familiar smile, but this time it was tinged with something a little darker.

"You think Hoseok’s just some dangerous guy who gets his hands dirty, but it’s more than that. It’s about belonging."

"It’s not all suits and guns and power plays. There’s a whole other side to it—" he continued. You tilted your head, not sure if you were entirely following what he was saying.

"Jungkook, I thought you were a goddamn heart-crushing pop-star." He laughed.

"I’ve been everything the world thinks I am, but that’s not all."

"But… you’re not like Hoseok, though, right?" you asked, needing reassurance that he wasn’t too far gone. Jungkook’s gaze softened as he looked at you, his fingers now tracing small patterns on the back of your hand.

"No, I’m just a heart-crushing popstar," he said finally, his voice amused.

"I am still very much part of the family though,—"

"You’re part of it now too. Whether you like it or not. And I’ll protect you. I’ll make sure you’re safe."

The sincerity in his voice made your heart ache. You wanted to believe him. You needed to believe him. But the weight of the world he was offering you was far heavier than you had imagined.

"That’s how we roll." 

His fingers continued their slow, deliberate tracing on your hand, a reminder that he had all the control here. You pulled your hand away from his, shaking your head, your chest tightening as you tried to keep your emotions in check. He looked confused for a moment and undoubtedly started to question whether you’d taken your medication or found a way to sneak past his watchful eye.

"You’ll understand why eventually," he murmured, his voice low and sure, as if he were speaking a truth you weren’t yet ready to hear.

And then, before you could say another word, his lips were on yours again—slow, but with a possessiveness that sent a shiver through you. It was suffocating in its intensity, and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away, trapped in the haze of his touch, the drug in your system, the desperate need to find some kind of relief. To feel something else rather than the empty numbness of your brain.

The medication, the constant monitoring, the suffocating feeling of being trapped in your own mind—it all faded into the background as Jungkook's kiss deepened, his tongue tracing the outline of your lips, sending sparks of sensation through your numbness. You felt yourself getting lost in the intensity of the moment, your hands rising to grasp his shoulders, pulling him closer as if trying to anchor yourself to something, anything, that felt real.

The possessiveness in his kiss was almost palpable, a reminder that he was in control, and yet, you couldn't bring yourself to care, too caught up in the desperation to feel something, anything, that wasn't the dull, hollow ache of your own emptiness.

Your thighs spread wide as you settled onto his lap, the hardness of his erection pressing against your core, sending a jolt of electricity through your body. 

You did not stay in this state of mind for too long though.

"I don’t want this Jungkook."

Jungkook's kiss paused for a fraction of a second, the softness in his movements turning sharper, as if the words you spoke were a challenge, one he wasn’t ready to hear. His breath was heavy, his chest rising and falling with the rapid rhythm of his pulse. He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze dark and intense, like he was searching for something—an answer, an explanation, perhaps even your submission.

"You don’t want this?" His voice was calm, but there was an underlying sharpness to it, a hint of disbelief. His thumb brushed lightly across your bottom lip, his touch almost possessive, as if claiming that too.

"I…I don’t know." The confusion in your words only seemed to fuel something inside him—a deepening desire, a need to pull you even closer, to make you feel as though you were already lost to him.

His hands roamed, shifting to your back, pulling you against him with a force that made your heart race, your breath hitch. He was strong, too strong, and as much as you wanted to push him away, your body—distant, clouded by the drugs, the numbness—reacted to him, betraying the words that your mind screamed.

"You can fight this all you want," he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear, sending a shudder through your body. "But you know you're mine, Y/N. I’m not letting you go. Not now, not ever."

You tried to focus on your words, the ones that should matter. "I don’t want this, Jungkook," you repeated, your voice weak, and yet, something in your chest tightened. The longing for freedom, for a way out, collided with the dull pull of your body’s response to him. It felt as though you were suffocating between two opposing forces—one part of you screaming to break free, the other part craving the warmth he was offering, even if it was twisted.

"Hey, look at me, baby," Jungkook’s gaze softened, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. The heat in them was still there, darker, more intense, as he tilted your chin up to meet his gaze.

The drugs were fogging your mind, the reality of what was happening slipping away like sand through your fingers. You felt his hands tighten around your waist, pulling you even closer, the pressure building between you both, and yet, a small voice in the back of your mind screamed no. It screamed that this wasn’t right, that you were more than this moment, but the drugs and his kiss drowned it out, and all you could do was let yourself be consumed by him.

"This is happening. This is us." His voice was firm, steady, and with each word, the finality of his claim echoed between you both.

You wanted to push him away. You wanted to tell him to stop, to make him understand how wrong this was, but your body betrayed you, too caught in the haze of his touch, his kiss, the overwhelming pull of his presence. You closed your eyes, trying to block out the sensations, trying to escape into the numbness that you had once sought.

But Jungkook wouldn’t let you. His fingers slid to your jaw, guiding your face back to his as his lips found yours once more. This kiss was different—it was hungry, possessive, the kind that felt like a demand rather than a plea. You could feel him pressing against you, his desire unmistakable in the hardness of his body, and it was suffocating, consuming you in ways you didn’t know you could be consumed.

He pulled away just enough to look into your eyes, his chest still rising and falling beneath yours. "You don’t want this now, but you will," he said softly, his voice full of certainty. "You’ll see. You’ll understand at the end,—I’ll make you understand."

The intensity of his gaze held you captive, the world outside this moment blurring into insignificance.

"Jungkook…" you whispered, your voice trembling. The fear, the confusion, the longing—they all mingled into a desperate plea for something you couldn’t quite name.

His eyes softened, but the possessiveness never left. "You’re mine," he repeated, his voice a low, soothing murmur. "I’ll protect you. I’ll keep you safe. But you have to trust me, Y/N–"

 "You have to let me in."

You looked down at your mug, swirling the mulled wine as you gathered your thoughts. "I... I think I’m ready to go back to work," you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

The change in Jungkook’s demeanor was immediate. The warmth in his eyes flickered out, replaced by something harder, colder. He set his mug down on the counter with a soft clink, his posture stiffening.

"What makes you think that?" he asked, his tone deceptively calm, but you could hear the edge beneath it. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze.

"I’ve been good, haven’t I?"

Jungkook’s eyes narrowed slightly as he studied you, the tension between you palpable. He took a step closer, his presence imposing. "You have," he admitted, his voice low and measured. "But that doesn’t mean you’re ready to go back out there."

You felt a pang of frustration, but you tried to keep your voice steady. "I need to feel normal again, Jungkook. I need to get out of here, to do something meaningful."

His jaw tightened, and he reached out, gently but firmly taking the mug from your hands and setting it aside. His fingers lingered on your wrist for a moment, his touch both comforting and possessive. "This is meaningful," he said, his voice softening just a fraction as he looked into your eyes. "Us, here, together. This is your life now, Y/N."

"But..but you promised." Jungkook's expression flickered, a brief moment of conflict passing through his eyes before his gaze hardened again. He took a deep breath, his grip on your wrist tightening slightly as he processed your words.

"I promised to keep you safe," he said, his voice firm but with an undercurrent of something you couldn’t quite identify—fear, perhaps, or desperation. "And letting you go back to work... it's not safe for you now, Y/N."

You pulled your wrist free, taking a step back to create some distance. "I can’t stay cooped up in here forever, Jungkook," you said, your voice trembling but determined. "I need to feel like myself again. I need to be around people, to do something other than just exist in this penthouse."

He took a step closer, his hands reaching out to cup your face, his touch gentle but his eyes intense. "You are my life now," he said softly, his voice breaking slightly. "And I can’t lose you. Not to anything or anyone." You closed your eyes, leaning into his touch despite the turmoil inside you. Jungkook’s thumb brushed over your cheek, his touch sending shivers down your spine.

"Freedom comes with risks, Y/N," he murmured, his voice filled with a mix of love and possessiveness. "And I’m not sure I can handle those risks."

"I promise I am not plotting, Gguk—" you began, but Jungkook’s eyes narrowed, his grip on your face tightening ever so slightly.

"Are you not?" he cut in, his voice low and dangerous. The hint of desperation from before was now replaced with a cold, steely resolve.

"Just give me a chance to prove—" His eyes bore into yours, searching for any sign of deceit.

"I don’t know if I can trust that, Y/N," he murmured, his voice filled with an unsettling mix of love and possessiveness. He was silent for a long moment, his jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck tight with tension. Finally, he let out a slow breath, his grip on your face softening.

"We have the family dinner coming up. It’s important, and everyone will be there. If you can behave, show that you can handle yourself around my family, then maybe... just maybe, we can talk about you going back to work."

The implication of his words settled over you like a weight. This wasn’t just about proving yourself to him; it was about proving yourself to his entire family. The thought was daunting, but you knew this might be your only chance. To get away from his grasp.

"I’ll do my best," you said, your voice trembling with a mix of determination and anxiety. "I promise."

A small, almost tender smile tugged at the corners of Jungkook’s lips. "Good," he said softly.

You swallowed hard, the pressure of the upcoming dinner weighing heavily on you. "Who will be there?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jungkook’s eyes flickered with something unreadable. "Everyone," he said simply. "My parents, all of my Hyungs... among whom someone can offer you a position if you make a good impression."

This was your chance, and you had to take it.

"I’ll be on my best behaviour," you promised, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside you.

You stood there in Jungkook’s arms, the Christmas lights twinkling softly around you, you resolved to do whatever it took to reclaim a part of your life.

"Now, show me how good you can warm my cock this Christmas."

His murmured words were low and commanding. You swallowed hard, your mind racing as you tried to process what he was asking of you. This wasn’t the first time he implied that he wanted you to drop down there. He was obsessed with your body and how obedient it became when you had the right amount of pills and alcohol in your system. You both could deal with detox once you realized that there was no different route in your life but him. That was his plan all along.

You could smell the mulled wine on his breath, and it only added to the sense of unease growing inside you. He reached out a hand and gently stroked your cheek, his touch sending a wave of revulsion through your body.

As the flames danced in the fireplace, casting a warm glow over the room, Jungkook's eyes locked onto yours, his gaze burning with a fierce intensity. He reached out and gently stroked your hair, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. Without a word, he guided you to your knees, his eyes never leaving yours. Quick flashbacks ran through your mind from the last time he did that. Normally, fear would take you down or push you to protest. Not anymore. He made you his doll. At least partially.

As his hands closed around yours, he gently guided them to his sweatpants, his eyes locked onto yours with a spark of excitement. You felt a rush of anticipation as your hands made contact with the soft fabric, and Jungkook's eyes seemed to gleam with a knowing light.

He urged your hands to explore, to delve beneath the waistband and discover the secrets that lay hidden beneath. Your fingers trembled slightly as you complied, slipping beneath the fabric to find the warm, smooth skin. Jungkook's eyes fluttered closed, and a low, husky moan escaped his lips as your hands made contact with his flesh. His hips seemed to arch into your touch.

Your fingers wrapped around him, feeling the warmth and the hardness.

Jungkook's eyes snapped open, and he gazed at you with a fierce intensity, his pupils dilated with desire. "Yes," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of his own ragged breathing. "Like that. Just like that."

You could imagine that this was your high school boyfriend. You for sure loved him back then. Because now you have to suck and fuck that man like you mean it if you want out.

Your lips made contact with the warm, smooth skin of his cock, and Jungkook's eyes fluttered closed, a low, husky moan escaping his lips. You began to suck, your mouth wrapping around him like a warm, wet glove. Jungkook slightly moved his hips against you, inviting you to take more, to suck him deeper.

You felt his hands tangling in your hair, holding you in place as you worked to please him. The sound of his breathing, the feel of his heat, and the taste of his skin is nothing new for you anymore, and you desperately wish you never got the taste of him.

Jungkook's moans grew louder, and his hips began to move, thrusting gently into your mouth. You felt him growing closer and closer to the edge, and you knew that you were driving him wild. Your mouth moved up and down, sucking and licking, as Jungkook's cock grew harder and thicker. You felt his precum dripping onto your tongue, and you knew that he was close to coming.

Jungkook's hands tightened in your hair, holding you in place as he began to thrust faster, his hips moving in a rapid, piston-like motion. You felt his cock hitting the back of your throat. His body tensed when he pulled your wet mouth from his cock just in time, his cock still throbbing with desire. His chest heaved with exertion, his breathing ragged as he gazed at you with a hungry look in his eyes.

Without a word, Jungkook reached out and grabbed your wrist, pulling you to your feet. He spun you around, pressing your back against the wall next to the Christmas tree as he loomed over you.

You felt his hot breath on your skin, his lips inches from yours as he whispered, "I'm not done with you yet." His hands roamed over your body, stripping away your clothes with a fierce urgency.

Jungkook's eyes devoured you, his gaze lingering on every curve and contour of your body. You felt his hot breath on your skin, his lips inches from yours, as he whispered, "Mhm, I’m gonna fuck you so hard and nice—" his hands continued to strip away your clothes, leaving you naked and exposed before him.

Jungkook's hands grasped your hips, lifting you up as he slammed you against the wall. But instead of thrusting into you, he paused, his eyes locked on yours as he whispered,

 "I want to savor you, to taste every inch of your skin."

Jungkook's lips crashed down on yours, his tongue invading your mouth as he kissed you with a fierce, possessive passion. You felt yourself getting lost in the sensation, your body responding to his touch as he deepened the kiss, his tongue exploring every corner of your mouth.

As he kissed you, Jungkook's hands began to roam over your body, touching, caressing, and claiming you as his own. His fingers trailed down your neck, over your shoulders, and down to your breasts, where he cupped them in his hands, his thumbs tracing circles around your nipples.

His lips left yours, and he trailed kisses down your neck, over your shoulders, and down to your breasts, where he sucked your nipples into his mouth, his tongue swirling around them in a sensual dance. His fingers continued tracing down your stomach, over your hips, and down to your thighs, where he parted them with his hands, his fingers brushing against your entrance, spreading your lips wide and finding very little of wetness.

His brows furrowed in concern, and he lifted his head from your breasts, his eyes locking onto yours with a questioning gaze.

For a moment, he simply looked at you, his chest heaving with exertion, his lips still wet from kissing your breasts. Then, his face softened, and he whispered, "Do you want me to stop?" His voice was low and husky, but laced with a hint of uncertainty.

Was he testing you?

The Christmas tree lights twinkled in the background, casting a warm glow over the scene. The soft hum of the lights and the quiet beat of Jungkook's chest rising and falling with each breath were the only sounds in the room.

What are you going to do now?

It was not uncommon for someone on such medication as yours to have trouble with dampness down there. Even when the excitement might be there, waterfalls weren’t.

"It's just the medication…" Jungkook's expression turned serious, and he kissed your forehead tenderly.

"I know, baby," he said softly. "We'll go slow. We don't have to rush anything."

He shifted slightly, adjusting his position so that he could hold you more comfortably. As Jungkook held you, his hands moved slowly, caressing your back and sides with a gentle touch. How? Why? Where is the Jungkook who forced you down on your knees and fucked your throat until you cried?

The contrast between the Jungkook who was now so gentle and the one who had been so forceful left you bewildered. His tenderness felt alien, almost as if he were a different person. You couldn't help but wonder if this was just another side of his complex personality, a side he was showing now to keep you close, to make you feel safe.

"Why are you being so gentle with me?" you whispered, unable to keep the question to yourself any longer.

Jungkook paused, his eyes searching yours. "Because I love you," he said simply, as if that explained everything. "I want you to feel safe with me, Y/N. I want you to trust me."

You felt a lump form in your throat, the words catching you off guard. Trust. It was such a fragile thing, something that had been shattered and mended too many times. Could you really trust him? This could simply be another foul play.

Jungkook's gaze softened, and he cupped your face in his hands. "I know I've been rough with you, baby. I know I've scared you. But I need you to understand that everything I do, I do because I can't bear the thought of losing you. You're my everything, Y/N."

"I need to feel like I can breathe." You whispered, bare and vulnerable.

"I can give you that," he said, his voice steady. "But you have to promise me something."

"What is it?" you asked, your heart pounding.

"Promise me that you won’t leave me, baby," he said, his grip on your face tightening slightly.

"I won’t," you replied, your voice trembling at the thought. But your answer was rather enigmatic, and his brain opted to process it the way he wanted and not the way you meant it. You won’t. You won’t promise that.

Slowly, his grip on your face relaxed, and he let out a breath he seemed to have been holding. "Good," he murmured, pressing his forehead against yours. "Because I can’t live without you."

He kissed you softly, his lips lingering on yours, and you responded as best you could, trying to convey the mix of emotions swirling inside you. It was almost disorienting, this gentleness from a man who had shown you such brutality.

"I want you," he whispered, his voice low and husky. "I want to be inside you, to feel you wrapped around me." He paused, his gaze never leaving yours. "But I don't want to hurt you. I want to make it good for you."

"Just like the last time." He smirked, recalling all your dirty juice on his body and bed once you came undone the first time he claimed you as his.

He took a step back, his eyes still locked on yours, and nodded to himself. "I'll be right back," he said, turning and walking away.

You watched him go, wondering what he was doing. But then you heard him rummaging through a drawer, and you realized what he was looking for. He returned with a small bottle of lube, his eyes never leaving yours.

"I want to make sure you're ready for me," he said, his voice low and gentle. "I want to make sure you can take my big cock into your tiny hole." He moaned at the thought of being inside you again.

"I can’t hold back, baby. I'm going to fuck you good until you can’t walk."

He poured some lube onto his fingers, his eyes never leaving yours as he climbed on top of you. You felt him touch you, his fingers slipping between your lower lips, spreading them with his two fingers apart and caressing each side, making you breathe loudly. You gasped, feeling a spark of pleasure ignite within you, just a little. He knew exactly how to touch you, how to coax your body into a state of complete surrender.

The warmth of his hands seeped into your skin, spreading a comforting heat that eased the tension from your muscles. Every stroke, every caress, was a reminder of his dominance, yet also of his desire to please you.

His fingers moved with a rhythm, slow and deliberate, exploring every inch of your sensitive flesh. He started with light, teasing touches, barely grazing your skin, before gradually increasing the pressure. You felt a fluttering sensation in your lower abdomen, a mix of anticipation and need. Your breath hitched, and you let out a soft moan, encouraging him to continue.

You were feeling something after such a long time of numbness. He made you forget about how sore your muscles were every morning, how tired you woke up even though you slept for more than eight hours, and how you emptied your stomach now and then because the drugs made you nauseous.

He whispered soothing words, his voice a low murmur that vibrated against your skin. "That's it, baby," he said, his breath warm against your ear. "Just relax. Let me take care of you."

His fingers moved with an intimate knowledge of your body, finding all the right spots inside you to make you gasp and writhe beneath him. He took his time, not rushing, making sure you were fully prepared, fully aware of every sensation.

His lips hovered over yours, eyes locked onto yours. Slowly, his lips descended, brushing against yours in a gentle, teasing caress.

"You are such a good girl for me." His fingers continued to move, stroking and teasing, building the tension inside you. You felt his hands moving, positioning you the way he wanted when an idea struck your brain. This is it. He will think that you’re finally falling in line, that you are content living by his side, and eventually showing him some love he is forcing from you. You decided to use this moment to your advantage, to make him believe you were giving in, that you were starting to accept your place by his side.

You clung to him, as if seeking more of his touch, more of his warmth.

"Jungkook," you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of genuine arousal and calculated submission.

"I wanna ride you."

His eyes widened slightly, a flicker of surprise quickly replaced by a dark, eager gleam. You would pay to see that micro-mimic again. He smiled, a slow, predatory smile that made your heart race.

"Oh, do you now, baby?" he murmured, his voice low and filled with anticipation.

You nodded, maintaining eye contact, letting him see the sincerity in your gaze.

"Yes, please."

Without another word, Jungkook shifted, guiding you to straddle his lap. His hands moved to your hips, his grip firm but not painful, holding you steady as you settled yourself over him. The feel of his erection pressing against you sent a shiver of anticipation through your body.

"Take your time," he said softly, his eyes never leaving yours. "I want to feel every inch of you."

You bit your lip, lowering yourself slowly, savoring the feeling of him filling you. He let out a low groan, his fingers tightening on your hips as you took him in, inch by inch. The connection between you felt almost electric, every nerve ending alive with sensation.

Once you were fully seated, you paused, giving yourself a moment to adjust. He felt even bigger now that your arousal was half artificial. Jungkook's eyes were dark with desire, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps.

"Good girl," he whispered, his voice thick with arousal. "You feel so good."

You began to move, rolling your hips in slow, deliberate circles. Jungkook's hands roamed your body, caressing your back, your breasts, your thighs, as if he couldn't get enough of touching you.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, his voice a husky whisper. "So fucking perfect."

You leaned forward, capturing his lips in a heated kiss. His lips were soft yet demanding, moving against yours with a fervor that matched the rhythm of your hips. You could taste the lingering sweetness of mulled wine on his tongue as it slipped into your mouth, exploring and claiming.

As you bounced on him, your movements became more urgent, driven by the growing need that coursed through your veins. You were getting riled up. You knew you wouldn't cum. At least not like before.

You broke the kiss, gasping for air, your forehead resting against his. "Jungkook," you moaned, your voice trembling with need. "I need you."

Jungkook's hands moved to your hips, guiding you, urging you to move faster, harder. The friction between you was exquisite, each movement sending waves of pleasure through your body. His kisses grew more desperate, more demanding.

"I'm right here, baby," he groaned, his hands tightening on your hips, his own need evident in the way his body moved against yours. "You're doing so well. Keep going."

You closed your eyes, losing yourself in the rhythm, the sensation of his body against yours. The room was filled with the sound of your heavy breathing, the soft hum of the Christmas lights, and the quiet creak of the couch under you.

You glanced down where your pussy swallowed his cock, noticing the bulge in your belly growing each time you slumped down on his cock.

"Cum for me, baby," Jungkook whispered, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down your spine. "I want to feel you."

You shook your head slightly, the frustration and the numbness from the medication making it difficult to reach the peak you both desired. "I... I can't," you gasped, feeling the tears of frustration prickling at the corners of your eyes.

"Yeah, you do, baby. I know you can." Jungkook's voice was firm but encouraging, his hands guiding your hips as he increased the intensity of his movements.

He shifted slightly, angling his hips to hit that perfect spot inside you with each thrust. His thumb found your clit, rubbing gentle but insistent circles that sent jolts of pleasure through your body. The combination of his relentless thrusts and the skilled motion of his thumb began to break through the fog of numbness.

"Just focus on me," he murmured, his voice low and soothing. "Feel every touch, every movement. You're so close, baby. I can feel it."

You let out a soft whimper, your body responding despite the numbness. The tension inside you began to build again, each touch, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through you. Jungkook's presence, his voice, his touch, all combined to draw you closer to the edge.

"Come on, baby," he urged, his voice thick with arousal. "You're so beautiful like this, so perfect. Let go for me. I know you can."

You closed your eyes, focusing on the sensations, on the heat of his body against yours, the rhythm of his movements. The frustration began to ebb away, replaced by a growing need, a desire to reach that peak, to give him what he wanted.

"That's it," Jungkook whispered, his voice a mix of encouragement and command.

You could feel the tension coiling inside you, tighter and tighter, until it was almost unbearable. But the finish line not close at all. You could feel the pleasure building, but it was like reaching for something just out of your grasp.

You clung to him, your nails digging into his shoulders, your breaths coming in short, desperate gasps. A little drop of sweat rolling down your forehead. You knew you had to come somehow or this wouldn't stop. He wouldn't let you go, he would know if you faked it right away.

You forced yourself to concentrate on his touch, on the rhythm of his movements, on the sound of his voice. You felt the tension coiling tighter inside you, every nerve ending tingling with anticipation. Jungkook's relentless pace, the way he filled you so completely, the firm circles his thumb traced over your sensitive spot.

"Jungkook," you gasped, your voice trembling with need and desperation. He leaned in to take one of your nipples into his mouth, his thumb moving faster against your clit, his thrusts deep and steady. You bit your lip, trying to channel all your focus into the sensations he was creating.

With a final, desperate cry, you felt the coil inside you snap. Your body convulsed around him, your muscles clenching and releasing in a rhythm that matched the pounding of your heart. Jungkook held you through it, his movements never faltering as he guided you through your release.

The aftershocks of your orgasm slowly receded; after all, it felt like you only edged hard instead of cumming but that was good enough for you to moan his name and shake for him to be sated.

You collapsed against him, your body spent, your mind hazy. Jungkook followed you over the edge, his own release shuddering through him as he buried himself deep inside you. He held you close, his breath warm against your neck, his heart beating in time with yours.

"You did so well," he murmured, his voice filled with pride and affection. "So perfect for me."

For now, that was enough.

Enough for him to give him hope that you are his and he is yours.

The church bells rang out a somber melody as you and Jungkook stepped inside the grand cathedral. The last time you were here was when you told your parents you didn't get accepted to MIT for neuroscience as they wanted. Instead, you had announced your desire to pursue a career in the fashion industry. You still remembered their horrified faces.

Jungkook’s grip on your hand was firm but gentle as he guided you to a seat near the front. Garlands of evergreen and red ribbons decorated the aisles, reflecting the deep religious commitment of Jungkook’s family. Yours believed in science, and if you went to church, it was only for the image it gave your parents. But Jungkook insisted that you, as in you and him, cannot skip the service. It’s a no-no in the family. 

Seeing Jungkook in something so not hipster or at least, fuck boy like, made you re-think just how much he had grown as a person without you ever noticing. The crisp white shirt tucked neatly into his tailored black slacks, a perfect striped suit jacket on top, tie underneath, all Bloomingdale, you took a mental note. The hint of cologne that wafted every time he moved made him look almost unrecognizable compared to the tattooed, oversized-hoodie-wearing Jungkook you first met and it made you wonder when did you start seeing him as a helpless heartthrob. Gone was the boy and instead there was this stand-up guy holding your hand.

You settled into the wooden pew once the priest began the service with a deep, resonant voice. You tried to focus on the words, on the serenity of the moment, but your mind kept drifting to the upcoming dinner. This had to be the performance of your lifetime. But you have to try to endure words that have no meaning to you or your soul while you wait for the innocent naivety of distant future’s mothers and fathers, lawyers and doctors, or good people and vigilantes, in the form of a child choir, to start singing. 

You spotted Hoseok and what looked like Kim Namjoon with, you assumed, Peaches, nearing your seats. Jungkook's grip tightened slightly, a silent signal that he was aware of their approach. He was scared you’d run away, that you’d ruin everything. He was right to be scared. To ruin their family Christmas might be on your Grinch wishlist, but you would be the most obedient woman on the planet if you had to. Because that meant, you had a chance of getting out of that ugly block of a tall building more than once a month when you begged for it. How you’d get rid of your "boyfriend," that was a story for another day.

While the service continued, you felt a hand slip into yours, warm and reassuring. You looked up to see Peaches smiling gently at you, her curly blonde hair framing her full face, and her eyes filled with quiet strength. She was wearing Versaci’s black slit medallion dress that you thought there is no way to get after the 94’ movie showgirls. But she has them, and a what seemed to be a very nice fur coat draped over her shoulders. 

She was quite the beauty, and your brain immediately imagined her on a runway. Although she was rather petite next to a man like Kim Namjoon. She squeezed your hand lightly, a silent gesture of support. It was comforting, and for a moment, you felt a small spark of hope.

"Hi," she said quietly, and at that moment, you couldn’t hate her like you hated the rest of them.

"Hi," you whispered back, offering a small, tentative smile. Her presence was unexpectedly soothing, a reminder that there might be allies or at least people who sympathized. But mere sympathy wouldn’t help you get out of this arrangement.

Jungkook noticed the exchange, his eyes softening slightly, though his grip on your hand remained firm. He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. "You’re doing great," he murmured, his voice low and encouraging. "Just a little longer."

Hymns filled the air, and the congregation joined in with reverence. You tried to let the music and the surroundings wash over you, to find some peace in the chaos of your mind. Peaches’ hand in yours was a constant source of comfort, a silent promise that you weren’t completely alone in this.

The service drew to a close. The priest offered a final blessing, and the congregation began to disperse. Jungkook helped you to your feet, his hand never leaving yours.

"Good to see you both," Hoseok greeted, his smile genuine but his eyes sharp. "Are you ready for the dinner tonight?"

Jungkook nodded, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. "Yeah, we’ll be there. But we’re stopping by my parents’ house first."

Namjoon glanced at Peaches, whose movements showed pain once she stood up. Nonetheless, she gave you a reassuring smile.

"We’ll see you there," he said, his voice calm and composed.

As you walked out of the cathedral, Peaches leaned in and whispered, "Don’t let them get into your head."

Her words resonated with you as you made your way to the car. Jungkook’s parents' house was your next destination, and you knew you had to maintain your composure. This was your chance to prove yourself and eventually free yourself.

Jungkook’s family home was grand and imposing, decorated lavishly for the holiday season.

You took a deep breath as you stepped out of the car, Jungkook by your side. He gave your hand a reassuring squeeze before leading you to the front door.

The door swung open before you could even knock, revealing Jungkook’s mother, her face lighting up with excitement. She was a petite woman with a warm smile, but her eyes were sharp and assessing.

"Jungkook, darling!" she exclaimed, pulling him into a tight hug before turning her attention to you. "And this must be Y/N!"

She reached out and took your hands in hers, her grip surprisingly strong. "It’s so lovely to finally meet you," she said, her eyes flicking down to your fingers for a good moment before she realized that what she was looking for was not there. Her smile faltered slightly but she recovered rather quickly when she saw your confused mimics.

You forced a smile, feeling a bit overwhelmed by her forwardness. "It’s nice to meet you too, Mrs. Jeon."

"Aish, that’s how the staff calls me," she said with a light chuckle, waving her hand dismissively. "You call me eomma, honey."

Before you could respond, her gaze had already shifted, and she was inspecting you more closely, her hands suddenly on your shoulders, then your arms, and finally your stomach.

"You will be so pretty with a—" she began, her tone filled with genuine admiration, but her hands still firmly on your midsection.

"Eomma!" Jungkook interrupted abruptly, his voice firmer than usual. He gently but decisively moved her hands away from you. "Ya, is that a sponge cake I’m smelling?"

Mrs. Jeon blinked, momentarily thrown off, before breaking into a warm smile. "Oh, yes! I made your favorite, Ggukie-ah!" she said, her enthusiasm shifting to the mention of the cake.

The dining room was filled with people, all of whom seemed to know each other well. You felt like an outsider, but you kept a polite smile on your face, determined to make a good impression. This house, or rather mansion, was overwhelming. Tall ceilings and crystal chandeliers loomed overhead, and the mansion was beautifully decorated, with twinkling lights and elegant ornaments adorning every corner. A massive Christmas tree stood in the center of the hall you passed on your way, its branches heavy with decorations and presents piled high underneath. It seems that the Jungs or maybe this whole family is rather obsessed just as much with crystal as it is with kidnapping women.

Jungkook introduced you to everyone you didn’t know, his grip on your hand never faltering. As you sat down at the long, elegant table, you noticed a blonde man watching you from across the room. His name was Park Jimin, and you knew exactly who he was.

A goddamn chairman of Dior looking at you and your little black dress Jungkook insisted you will wear. It was a gift, from whom he did not say. And your heart could not reject such a fine piece. 1947 Christian Dior, a classic embodiment of the fifties shape. You loved them, and your selfishness could not choose to not wear them. Jungkook was not bluffing when he said someone who could give you the job would be here after all.

The shocked look Jungkook noticed on your face when he introduced you to Jimin was much more evident than you intended it to be. He gave you a reassuring nod, and you took a deep breath, ready to face whatever came next.

"So, Y/N, how did you and Jungkook meet?" Hoseok’s voice raised above the murmur of conversation once the tightest circle settled around the table. Among what they refer to them as the elders. Parents, and other relatives. The previous generation you may call them, and judging by the greyness of some of their hair, even the one before. Jungkook did lend you to them to answer some, rather, traditional remarks that you tried not to let rot in your brain.

Oh dear, what a beauty you are, surely your children will be as beautiful. You look like a perfect match. You have such a kind face, dear. I'm sure you'll make a wonderful wife and mother.

Among which is the how you and Jungkook met.

This question was no different in the message it was sending.

His question was casual, but you sensed the curiosity behind it. His wife was sitting next to him and on the other side, none other than Namjoon and Peaches, followed by Seokjin, Yoongi, Taehyung, and Jimin. It looked almost biblical, this kind of hierarchy.

You smiled, trying to appear as natural as possible. You know he knew, every single person in this room knew that he knew but he asked anyway. His wife nudged him gently to stop prying, but he did not pay her more mind than putting his palm on her swollen belly.

"We met through work on Klein’s campaign," you began, your voice steady despite the pressure. They were waiting for you to slip up so they could eat you alive like hungry wolves.

Peaches smiled warmly, her hand resting on Namjoon's. You arched your brows at her demeanor as you could not quite place the state of her mind when it comes to, you know, all this.

Jungkook squeezed your hand gently, his eyes filled with pride.

"Ah, the Klein campaign," Seokjin said, his tone light but his eyes sharp. "That was quite a project, wasn't it? Jungkook mentioned how pivotal your role was."

Kim Seokjin is a lawyer. And a goddamn good one. The man would get you out of the death penalty and that’s maybe why Hoseok is keeping him close. At least, that’s what you heard. Each and one of them is somehow valuable to the infrastructure you don’t have the right to glimpse into, just yet. But how Jungkook falls into this scheme remains unknown.

You nodded, maintaining your composure. Breathing in and trying to ignore what his words were suggesting.

"Yes, it was a significant project. We both put a lot of effort into it."

"Effort, indeed," Yoongi chimed in, his voice low and smooth. You could not overlook the undertone. Jungkook narrowed his eyes at his oldest Hyungs, not quite understanding what they were trying to do. And here you thought he asked them to test you. You felt your cheeks heat up, the scrutiny intensifying.

Hoseok's wife, sensing the tension, tried to steer the conversation into something more—

"I loved the collection. Gguk is one hot motherfucker, cannot lie with that one."

You would not know how to call this kind of linguistic expression but, it seems, it worked.

Laughter erupted around the table, the tension easing slightly. Jungkook blushed at her comment, scratching the back of his head.

"Thanks, noona," he mumbled, clearly embarrassed but also grateful for the lighter mood.

Namjoon, ever the diplomat, leaned forward with a curious expression. "Y/N, what was the most challenging part of the Klein campaign for you?"

And now this started to seem like an interview. But for what? The job you were hunting for let's see if you can handle this family interview. You are trying to convince yourself that someone like Kim Namjoon cannot be this incredibly dull because he’s only testing how you’re going to behave. How do you know your way with words as this family needs to keep appearances.

You heard bits and pieces that you are now able to connect, at least a little. Jungkook was not in your imaginary map of this empire that people talk about in hushed voices. You were never that interested; you just wanted to keep doing what you love and have a roof over your head. Now you gotta do a lot more than just mind your business if you wanna stay in the line of your work.

Why?

Because you bloody want to.

You bloody want to reach the toppiest top of tops in the fashion industry as a designer. Even after all of this. You still want that; otherwise, you’d perish already. This dream of yours proved to be a conflict of interest not only in your head but also in this family.

To be or not to be, that is the question.

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of all eyes on you.

"Jeon Jungkook."

You said that with a somewhat strange lightness in your voice. Jungkook choked a little on his wine and Taehyung, who sat opposite him, gave him an exclusive view of his mischief grin, his tongue darting out to touch his upper teeth.

Another set of laughter erupted around the table. Jungkook, still recovering from his mini-choking incident, chuckled and squeezed your hand. And it was in that moment, amidst the laughter and warmth of this, let’s say, unconventional family, that you felt a sense of belonging you had never experienced before. Growing up, warmth and familial affection were foreign concepts, mere figments of your imagination. But here, with Jungkook and his family, you were starting to understand what it meant to be part of something bigger, something warm and real, and you certainly didn’t know how to feel.

People call them greedy but they prefer ambitious. Ambition, after all, is what drives us forward. Isn’t it? They weren't just a family; they were a well-oiled machine, each cog turning in perfect synchrony. Each person at the table had a role to play, a purpose that intertwined with the others.

The room seemed to close in as you sank deeper into your thoughts. The warm glow of the chandelier overhead, the laughter that felt like a distant hum in your ears, the rich aroma of food in the air—it all became background noise and your head was reeling with questions you wanted answers to.

What is it that changed within you?

The evening wore on, and it seemed Jungkook was more than pleased with you today, judging by how extremely happy he looked talking to his Hyungs. But your attention was on one person only now.

Jimin approached you during a lull in the conversation. "Can we talk for a moment?" he asked quietly. You turned your face back to Jungkook. You knew better, so you opted to ask for permission to be excused for a moment. You met Jungkook’s eyes, his expression softening slightly as he saw the silent request in yours. His gaze lingered for a moment before he gave a subtle nod, a gentle smile tugging at the corner of his lips, as if assuring you it was okay.

You stood up, excusing yourself politely to the group, and followed Jimin, your heart picking up its pace with every step. The air between you felt charged, as if there were unspoken words waiting to be voiced.

Once you were out of earshot from the others, Jimin led you to a quieter corner of the house, the low hum of the gathering fading into the background. His eyes met yours, and you could sense a mix of nervousness and something deeper behind them.

"I see you’ve received my gift." You glance down at the dress, fingers brushing the soft fabric.

"Thank you, Jungkook have to insist I wear them–" A small smile tugs at his lips, but there’s a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. The held a quiet intensity, his usual playful demeanor replaced with something far more serious. The atmosphere around you seemed to change as he spoke, his words carrying weight.

"It’s good you’re focused on Jungkook—" his hands were paying attention to the crystal glasses he was pouring Kim’s brandy into.

"Well, it’s not like I had a choice." You stumbled awkwardly. You cannot mess this up, Y/N. You just can’t. You kept repeating to yourself that you had to, or otherwise, you’d do something Jungkook would not fancy at all.

Jimin didn’t seem to notice your discomfort as he handed you a glass of brandy, his gaze still fixed on the amber liquid swirling in his glass. "You’ve always got a choice in this family," he said, his voice low, almost too calm for the conversation you were having.

"It’s up to you if you choose wrong or right."

The words hung in the air, sharp and heavy, as Jimin’s gaze finally met yours. You took a slow breath, trying to steady the racing thoughts inside your mind. The glass of brandy in your hand suddenly felt like a weight you weren’t prepared to carry.

"What do you mean?" the words slipped from your mouth before you could stop them.

"Jungkook might not be in the center of all this—" he gestured to the lavish room you were in. This was a private office, and from what you gathered with your wandering eyes, it was Hoseok’s office.

"But he is still part of the family just like I am—" His posture relaxed, but his eyes betrayed an undercurrent of something deeper. You listened to him, gulping every word he said. "Just like you ought to be."

"He’s not just the charming guy you think he is. He’s tied to a world you don’t understand yet, and it’s not a world you can just walk away from if things go south."

For a moment, you couldn’t find your voice.

"Why are you telling me this now?" He took a long sip of his brandy, his gaze flicking briefly to the door before locking onto yours again.

"Because I need you to understand you are going nowhere if I offer you the position." The air between you thickened, and your pulse quickened as Jimin’s words sank in. You opened your mouth to respond, but your voice faltered. Jimin let out a soft sigh, the corner of his mouth curling up slightly as he leaned in, his voice lowering, now more direct.

"I need you to know that this is a goddamn privilege—" But the look in his eyes told you it wasn’t that simple.

"Women in this family do not work, they don’t have to." His voice was low and measured, but there was no mistaking the command behind his words. You slightly flinched at such an old stereotypical remark but remained silent. You can’t slip away.

The room felt smaller suddenly, the space between you shrinking with each word he spoke. You tried to steady yourself, to push past the shock and confusion that was flooding your mind, but it was difficult. And suddenly, you did not know whether you actually wanted this.

"Gguk seems to think that this will bring you two closer." His tone shifted ever so slightly, a faint edge of something you couldn’t quite name creeping into it. He wasn’t just making an observation, he was planting a seed, subtly drawing attention to something you hadn’t yet fully realized.

"So pardon me for ensuring that it fucking will."

You stood there, the glass of brandy suddenly feeling like it might slip from your hand, the weight of his words crashing over you. He leaned back slightly, his posture shifting to one that seemed more confident, more relaxed—like he was watching a show unfold and you were its central character.

"Hoseok was not pleased altogether, let me tell you that—" The silence that followed was deafening. Your mind raced, trying to process everything that had been said. Where is this leading to?

"—but if this helps you to know your place here, so be it."

"Jungkook’s not immune to the politics of this family. And neither are you," Jimin continued, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took another sip of brandy.

"So what is it you want from me?" Your voice came out stronger than you expected, but your heart was still pounding. You needed to know what he was after, what his angle was in all of this.

Jimin’s smile deepened, his eyes glinting with something unreadable.

"There you go." He mused, laughing softly.

"You can have it all,—" he said, his voice soft but cutting.

"—only if you’re willing to make the right choice."

As the evening drew to a close, you found yourself standing by the Christmas tree with Jungkook. Back at the penthouse, the lights twinkled softly, casting a warm glow over the room. He looked down at you, his eyes filled with a mix of possessiveness and affection.

"You did well tonight," he murmured, his hand gently cupping your face. "I’m very proud of you."

You smiled up at him, feeling a strange mix of emotions. He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, lingering kiss. Jungkook's fingers trailed down your cheek, pulling you closer.

"Let’s get ready for bed, or Santa won’t come and eat his cookies–" he said, his voice husky with emotion.

You smiled a little at his goofiness and nodded. He took your hand, leading you to the bedroom. The room was dimly lit, the moonlight casting silvery shadows on the floor. You could hear the distant hum of the city below. Not even on Christmas can the never-ending busyness of Manhattan be stopped.

Jungkook started undressing, his movements slow and deliberate. He pulled his shirt over his head, revealing the chiseled muscles of his chest and the tattoos that adorned his skin. You couldn’t help but admire the way the light played over his body, highlighting every contour and shadow.

As he turned to head to the bathroom, you slipped into the walk-in closet, needing a moment alone. The closet was a treasure trove of designer clothes, including your own designs for Klein. The scent of expensive fabrics and faint traces of perfume filled the air.

You closed the door behind you and leaned against it, the weight of the evening pressing down on you. Your heart raced, and your breaths came in shallow gasps. Panic gripped you, the pressure of the family’s scrutiny and the reality of your relationship with Jungkook closing in. So how are you going to stop them from getting into your head if they already planted the seeds?

You sank to the floor, surrounded by the clothes that represented your dreams and ambitions. The panic intensified, and tears welled up in your eyes. You closed them tightly, trying to calm yourself. 

Breathe, Y/N. Just breathe.

You focused on your breathing, counting each inhale and exhale, trying to ground yourself. Slowly, the panic began to subside, replaced by a sense of resolve. You couldn’t afford to fall apart. Not now.

"Baby, you coming?"

Jungkook's voice filtered through the closed door, warm and concerned.

He had stood by you. The whole evening. The whole time, actually. The memory of his touch, his kiss, his… love.

You wiped your eyes quickly, taking another deep breath before standing up. The panic had subsided, leaving you with a fragile sense of calm.

You took a moment to compose yourself, looking around at the clothes that symbolized both your dreams and the immense pressure you felt. You reminded yourself why you were here, why you endured the scrutiny and the stress: because you had a vision, a goal to reach the pinnacle of the fashion industry. And now, Jungkook was a part of that journey, whether you had planned it or not.

"I want my life back," you whispered, the words barely escaping your lips.

Opening the closet door, you stepped back into the dimly lit bedroom. Jungkook was waiting by the bathroom door, his concern evident in the way he studied your face. His shirtless form was suddenly a comforting sight, his presence grounding you in the reality that he was here, supporting you.

"Everything okay?" he asked softly, closing the distance between you with a few strides.

"Yeah," you replied, forcing a smile. "Just a bit overwhelmed."

Jungkook nodded, accepting your answer but not entirely convinced. His bare skin glowed, every muscle defined and accentuated by the dim light, an embodiment of raw beauty.

"Want to wash it away?"

He took your hand, leading you into the bathroom. The steam from the shower had filled the room, creating a warm, misty atmosphere that was both soothing and intimate.

You undressed slowly, Jungkook’s eyes never leaving you. The way he looked at you, with a mix of desire and affection, made your heart race for an entirely different reason. You stepped into the shower together, the hot water cascading over your bodies, washing away the remnants of the evening’s tension.

Jungkook pulled you close, his hands gliding over your wet skin. You rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. The sensation of his strong arms around you, his body solid and warm, was a comfort you hadn’t realized you needed.

"You were amazing tonight," he murmured against your hair, his lips brushing your forehead. "I know it wasn’t easy, and I want you to know that I’m gonna keep my promise."

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him, your eyes searching his for any sign of doubt. But as you looked deeper, something shifted. The lenses through which you saw Jeon Jungkook began to tint with a soft, rosy hue. His face, so familiar yet infinitely captivating, seemed to glow with a newfound warmth. The world around you faded, and in that moment, the colors of your life transformed, blending into shades of pink and gold, painting a picture of something…something you never quite felt yet.

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the sound of the water. "It means so much to me, Jungkook."

He smiled, a small, reassuring smile that made your heart flutter.

"I love you, baby."

The hot water cascaded over you both, creating a steamy haze that made everything feel surreal. Jungkook’s hands moved gently, tenderly, as if he was afraid you might break. You felt safe, cherished, and for a moment, all your fears and doubts melted away.

You did not flinch anymore when he ran his slender fingers over your perky nipples, not when his other hand slipped down the small of your back to grip your naked ass cheek. Instead, you leaned into his touch and asked yourself the same question you did hours ago.

What is it that changed within you?

The first light of Christmas Day filtered through the heavy drapes of the penthouse, casting a soft glow over the room. The world outside was quiet, blanketed in a gentle layer of snow that muffled the usual city sounds. You woke up to the warmth of Jungkook's arms wrapped around you, his breath steady and calm against your neck.

Jungkook stirred beside you, his eyes fluttering open. He smiled softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "Merry Christmas," he whispered, his voice husky from sleep.

"Merry Christmas," you replied, your voice still groggy. The scent of pine from the Christmas tree in the living room mingled with the aroma of coffee brewing in the kitchen. It felt like a picture-perfect morning, almost too serene for the turmoil that often lingered beneath the surface of your life with Jungkook.

He got up and wrapped himself in a robe before heading to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. You took a moment to collect yourself, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep and the ever-present tension. As you joined him in the kitchen, you noticed the table set beautifully, with a spread of breakfast items that looked straight out of a holiday magazine. There was bits of this and that on the tray and after a long time, you had an appetite to eat it all. 

"Are we feeding an army or just trying to impress a really hungry ghost of Christmas past, Ebenezer?" you asked, raising an eyebrow at the lavish display.

Jungkook chuckled, a light-hearted sound that momentarily eased your nerves. "I thought we could indulge a little. It’s Christmas, after all."

You nodded, taking a seat at the table. The food was delicious, and the effort Jungkook had put into making this morning special was evident. For a moment, you allowed yourself to enjoy it, to pretend that everything was normal.

After breakfast, Jungkook led you to the living room where the Christmas tree stood, twinkling with lights and adorned with ornaments.

"Jungkook—" you began when you noticed the little beautifully wrapped box being tucked in the branches of the tree.

"I know, I know you said no gifts, but this is something for the both of us." His voice was gentle, almost pleading.

You sighed, but nodded, stepping closer to the tree. Jungkook reached for the box, carefully removing it from the branches. He turned to you, his eyes filled with an intensity that made your heart pound.

He handed you the box, his fingers brushing against yours. "Open it, baby," he urged softly.

Part of you wanted to freeze the moment, not because you wanted to remember this part of your life, but because you wished to not know what was coming your way. You had to decide now, and the tingly feeling inside of you, remembering Jimin’s words from last night, had never been clearer.

You can have it all, only if you’re willing to make the right choice.

Your hands trembled slightly as you unwrapped the box, revealing a small velvet case. You glanced up at Jungkook, your heart racing, but he simply nodded, encouraging you to continue.

You didn’t need to say it out loud for everyone to know what was inside. Yet, it still took your breath away. Not that you expected any less from Jeon Jungkook.

The ring commanded attention, with its centerpiece—a large, marquise-cut diamond. Set in a band of lustrous yellow gold, the setting featured intricate, filigree-style detailing that adorned each side of the diamond, evoking the elegance of a bygone era. Delicate, smaller accent diamonds were carefully embedded within the gold framework, amplifying the ring's dazzle and enhancing its vintage charm.

Your breath caught in your throat as you looked up from the ring at Jungkook, who had dropped to one knee before you.

"Will you marry me?"

.

.

.

I N T E R L O G U E

Yoongi leaned against the wall, his brow furrowed in thought. "You know, Jungkook, the mind is a fragile thing—"

"We've seen how the actual medication isn't helping her as much as we'd hoped. It's making her numb, Hyung. She's still spiraling. We need to try something different, something that might break through her—"

Yoongi crossed his arms, contemplating Jungkook's words. "And you think this is the way? To trick her into thinking she's taking the medication?"

"Sometimes," Jungkook replied softly, "a little deception can lead to the truth."

The end of part two - side B

©pennyellee. please do not repost

tag list: @pamzn - @jaedayy (was unable to tag) - @mylyus-blog (was unable to tag) - @vanillacupcakefrosting - @jjeonjjk7 - @darkuni63 - @jeonaraathedreamer - @urlovelily - @kissyfacekoo - @looneybleus - @btspurplesky - @seokseokjinkim - @doulcha - @sexytholland - @minyngrl-blog - @mizuumii (was unable to tag) @ali99eel - @loomipee @jkslvsnella - @tearykth - @iveivory - @lachimolalajeon - @mother2monsters - @junecat18 - @mayvalentine33 - @ttanniett - @elle0604 - @mageprincess7 - @laylasbunbunny - @ashthetic7 - @00frenchfries00 - @weareatthebadlands (was unable to tag) - @annafarrr -

Don't be a silent reader, let's be friends chummers! Only love please! ♥

see ya soon, love, p.

[areislol]

hsr!men with a reader who 'stresses' them out to see if they actually like reader that much or not >< HSUDHNS like testing them! kind of. during a post-confession stage where they both kind of know but haven't put any labels on it yet........

AHCK IM SORRY IF THIS IS ODDLY SPECIFIC LOL

pairings. jing yuan, dan heng, blade, welt, sampo, gepard, luocha, caelus, dr ratio, aventurine, boothill, gallagher, moze, jiaoqiu, sunday x gn! reader

warnings. just fluff

a/n. i love this idea sm omg!! this is so cute and adorable, thank you so much for popping in!

wc. 10.6k

synopsis. testing the hsr men to see if they really like you or not...

recommend listening to: blue - yung kai

caelus

✧ caelus is feeling a mix of patience and confusion. mostly confusion.

✧ you’d stress them out by acting overly distant or cryptic with your words. of course, this would be a bit too mean but.... you needed to know whether or not he truly liked you or not!!!

✧  now caelus always has this quiet confidence about him, a grounded presence that somehow keeps you both intrigued and comforted. you’ve been walking the line between friendship and something more for weeks now—soft smiles, lingering touches, and late-night conversations that stretch into the early morning. but neither of you has made the leap to define it, and the uncertainty starts to gnaw at you.

✧ so, you decide to test him. not out of malice, but out of curiosity—does he care as much as you think he does? or are you misreading everything?

✧ it starts small. you "accidentally" forget your jacket during a particularly chilly day on the xianzhou luofu. "it's fine," you say, feigning nonchalance as you rub your arms. "i’ll survive."

✧ caelus, who notices everything, doesn’t hesitate. without a word, he shrugs off his coat and drapes it over your shoulders. it’s warm and smells faintly like him—clean and earthy.

✧ "you’ll catch a cold," he says simply, his expression unreadable. but the way his fingers linger at your shoulder for a moment longer than necessary sends a shiver down your spine.

✧ okay, you think. that’s a point for him.

✧ but you don’t stop there. later, as the two of you work together to sort some scattered archives, you sigh dramatically. "i’m so bad at this," you say, even though you’ve already figured out the system. "caelus, can you help me? i think i’m doing it all wrong."

✧ he glances at you, eyebrows raised slightly. he knows you’re capable—you’ve proven it plenty of times.

✧ "really?" he asks, his tone soft but teasing. "you seem like you’ve got it handled."

✧ but he still moves to your side, explaining the process again with patience and care. you can’t help but notice how close he stands, the way his arm brushes against yours.

✧ another point, you mentally tally, biting back a smile.

✧ the final "test" happens that evening. the two of you are sitting on a bench overlooking the bustling streets below. you lean your head back, sighing loudly.

✧ "caelus," you start, your tone heavy with faux melancholy, "do you ever think... maybe we’re wasting our time? like, maybe this—whatever this is—isn’t worth it?"

✧ his head snaps toward you so fast you almost laugh. his usual calm demeanor falters for a moment, and there’s a flicker of something raw in his amber eyes.

✧ "what are you trying to say?" he asks, his voice lower than usual.

✧ suddenly, the air feels heavier. you weren’t expecting such a serious reaction, and it makes your chest tighten.

✧ "i mean..." you hesitate, suddenly feeling a little guilty for pushing him. "i don’t know. it just feels like maybe we’re stuck in this limbo, you know?"

✧ he stares at you for a moment, his gaze searching. then, he exhales softly, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "if you think this isn’t worth it," he says, his voice steady but quiet, "then tell me. but don’t assume i feel the same."

✧ your heart stutters at his words.

✧ "you don’t?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. he turns to look at you again, his expression soft but serious.

✧ "no," he says firmly. "you mean a lot to me. more than you realize. i’m just... waiting for you to figure out how much you mean to me too."

✧ and just like that, the test is over. you realize you didn’t need to test him at all—he’s always been steady, always been sure. it was you who needed the reassurance, and he gave it to you without hesitation.

✧ as the silence stretches between you, you feel the weight of his coat still draped over your shoulders. you finally let yourself smile, leaning closer to him.

✧ "okay," you murmur. "i get it now."

✧ he doesn’t say anything, but the small, satisfied smile that tugs at his lips says enough.

gepard

✧ poor gepard takes your “test” far too seriously.

✧ (his face falls immediately, and he starts overthinking everything he’s ever done. he’d even try to change his habits, stumbling through awkward attempts to “loosen up.” “i—i can be fun! watch this!” (proceeds to try something clumsy.))

✧ testing gepard’s feelings feels almost unfair. he’s so earnest, so genuine, that you almost feel bad for trying to push his limits. but a little part of you—it’s that gnawing insecurity, that need for reassurance—wants to see how much he’s willing to handle for you.

✧ it starts during a routine patrol around belobog. you walk beside him, pretending to be engrossed in your surroundings, but you’re really watching him out of the corner of your eye. his posture is as perfect as always, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, eyes scanning for any sign of trouble.

✧ "gepard," you say suddenly, interrupting the calm. he turns to you immediately, his expression softening. "yes?"

✧ you fake a dramatic sigh. "do you ever think you work too hard? like... maybe you’re so busy being a model captain that you don’t have time for other things?"

✧ his brows furrow slightly, clearly not expecting this question. "what do you mean?"

✧ "i mean, what if someone in your life needed more of your attention? would you even notice?"

✧ he stops walking, turning to face you fully. there’s a flash of concern in his blue eyes, and you almost feel guilty for how well this is working.

✧ "if someone needed me," he says, his voice steady but laced with worry, "i’d do everything in my power to be there for them. are you... trying to tell me something?"

✧ you wave your hand dismissively, laughing lightly. "oh, no, just a hypothetical. don’t worry about it." he doesn’t look convinced, but he nods and resumes walking, though you notice he stays closer to your side after that.

✧ later, you decide to push a little harder. when the two of you are back at the overworld base, you feign exhaustion, slumping dramatically onto a nearby bench.

✧ "i’m so tired," you complain, rubbing your temples. "today was so stressful. i don’t think i can even move."

✧ before you can say anything else, gepard is already at your side. he crouches slightly, his hands hovering awkwardly as if he’s not sure whether he should offer to help you up or just sit beside you.

✧ "you should have said something earlier," he says, his voice full of concern. "if you’re overworked, you need to take a break. here, let me—"

✧ you cut him off with a teasing smile. "what are you going to do, carry me around belobog like some kind of knight in shining armor?" he freezes for a moment, his cheeks flushing pink. "i mean... if you needed me to, i would."

✧ you weren’t expecting such a sincere answer, and it throws you off balance. your heart flutters, but you’re determined to keep the act going.

✧ "you’re too sweet, gepard," you say with a grin. "but don’t worry, i’m fine. just testing you a little." his blush deepens, and he shifts nervously. "testing me?"

✧ "yeah," you admit, leaning back against the bench. "just wanted to see how far you’d go for me."

✧ he frowns, clearly conflicted. "you don’t need to test me," he says quietly. "if something’s bothering you, you can just tell me. i’d rather you be honest than try to figure things out on your own."

✧ his words hit you harder than you expected, and you suddenly feel a little guilty.

✧ "you’re right," you mumble, looking down at your hands. "sorry, i didn’t mean to make you worry."

✧ he sighs softly, then sits beside you, his shoulder brushing yours. "it’s okay," he says after a moment. "i just... care about you. a lot. and i want you to know that you never have to doubt it."

✧ you glance at him, his expression as open and honest as ever, and your heart aches in the best way.

✧ "thanks, gepard," you say softly.

✧ he smiles, and it’s so warm and genuine that you know you didn’t need to test him in the first place. he’s always been exactly who he says he is—steadfast, caring, and utterly devoted.

✧ “please, don’t do that again. my heart can’t take it. but... i do care about you more than anything.”

dr. ratio

✧ dr. ratio sees through your “stress test” almost immediately, being as perceptive as he is.

✧ testing dr. ratio feels like trying to rattle an unshakable pillar—he’s sharp, meticulous, and composed to the point where you’re almost certain he’ll see through you immediately. but your curiosity gets the better of you. you want to see if the normally calm and collected doctor could ever crack, even slightly, under your antics.

✧ you decide to start small, choosing to "stress" him out during one of his intense research sessions.

✧ "dr. ratio," you call out from across the lab, your tone light and teasing.

✧ he doesn’t look up from his holopad. "yes?"

✧ "can you explain this to me again? i swear i just don’t get it."

✧ you hold up a tablet displaying a simple analysis you’re perfectly capable of interpreting. it’s the third time you’ve asked him about something today, and you’re sure he’s starting to notice.

✧ he sighs, finally lifting his gaze to meet yours. "are you sure you’re not just overthinking it?"

✧ "maybe," you say, shrugging. "or maybe you’re just bad at explaining things."

✧ that earns you a sharp look, and for a split second, you think you’ve actually pushed too far. but then his lips twitch, a flicker of amusement breaking through his usual stoicism.

✧ "bad at explaining things?" he repeats, setting his holopad down. "are you testing my patience, or are you testing my intelligence?"

✧ "both," you reply with a cheeky grin. he chuckles softly, shaking his head. "if you wanted my attention, you could’ve just asked."

✧ despite his calm exterior, you notice the subtle way he shifts closer to you, his focus entirely on you now. you can’t help but feel a small thrill of triumph, though you know you’re playing with fire.

✧ later, you decide to up the stakes. while he’s meticulously organizing data, you lean against the desk, deliberately placing your hand over one of his charts.

✧ "do you ever think about taking a break?" you ask, tilting your head at him. "you work so much, it’s like you’re married to your lab."

✧ he arches an eyebrow, his gaze flicking to your hand covering his work. "and if i am? does that bother you?"

✧ "a little," you admit, your tone teasing. "what if you end up ignoring more important things?"

✧ he leans back in his chair, crossing his arms as he studies you. "and what would those ‘important things’ be?"

✧ his voice is calm, but there’s a glint in his eyes that makes you feel like you’ve walked right into his trap. "me, obviously," you say, trying to maintain your confidence.

✧ he hums thoughtfully, as if considering your words. then, without warning, he reaches out and gently flicks your forehead.

✧ "you’re not very subtle," he says, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

✧ "ouch," you say, rubbing your forehead with a pout. "was that necessary?"

✧ "completely," he replies smoothly. "if you’re going to test me, at least make it challenging."

✧ his words leave you flustered, and you quickly retreat from his desk, muttering something about needing fresh air. but later, when he finds you in the lounge, he sets a cup of tea in front of you without a word.

✧ "what’s this for?" you ask, looking up at him.

✧ "you seemed tense earlier," he says simply. "and since you’re so concerned about me ignoring important things, I thought I’d remind you that you’re one of them."

✧ your heart skips a beat at his casual declaration, and for once, you’re at a loss for words. he smirks at your reaction, clearly pleased with himself, before walking away, leaving you to process his unexpected yet reassuring gesture.

✧ turns out, dr. ratio isn’t so easy to test—but he makes it clear that he’s always paying attention.

✧ however, he sits you down for a serious talk afterward. “you don’t need to test me. i like you—that much should be obvious by now.”

aventurine

✧ aventurine takes your antics in stride but is clearly not one to tolerate nonsense for long.

✧ but in all seriousness it feels like you're trying to move a mountain. his steadfastness and confidence make it seem impossible to throw him off balance, but you’re determined to see how deep his patience and affection run. you tell yourself it’s just curiosity, but deep down, you crave the reassurance that this larger-than-life man truly feels the same way you do.

✧ it begins subtly, during one of his routine mineral inspections. he’s meticulously cataloging a haul of rare crystals when you decide to “help.”

✧ “aventurine, what’s this one called?” you ask, holding up a dazzling gem you already know the name of.

✧ he barely glances up, his deep voice calm and measured. “that’s a starshard geode. its structure is—”

✧ “wait, wait,” you interrupt, turning it over in your hands. “are you sure? it kinda looks like... a moonstone?”

✧ his head finally lifts, and he looks at you with a mixture of amusement and mild disbelief. “a moonstone? not even close. are you trying to challenge my expertise?”

✧ “maybe,” you tease, placing the gem back in the wrong compartment.

✧ he sighs, but there’s no frustration in his expression, only a patient shake of his head as he moves the gem back to its proper place. “you’re impossible,” he mutters, though there’s a small smile tugging at his lips.

✧ later, you decide to turn up the heat. as he’s polishing a massive chunk of raw celestium, you sit nearby, swinging your legs off the edge of the table.

✧ “aventurine,” you say sweetly.

✧ “mm?” he responds without looking up.

✧ “do you ever get tired of being around me?”

✧ that gets his attention. he pauses mid-polish, his golden eyes narrowing slightly as he turns to face you fully. “what kind of question is that?”

✧ you shrug, feigning nonchalance. “i mean, i can be annoying sometimes. don’t you ever just... wish for some peace and quiet?”

✧ he sets the celestium down with deliberate care and crosses his arms, his imposing figure suddenly feeling even larger.

✧ “you’re trying to get a reaction out of me,” he says plainly, his voice as steady as the ground beneath your feet.

✧ “what? me? no way,” you reply, trying to sound innocent.

✧ he steps closer, leaning down so his face is level with yours. his expression is serious, but there’s a flicker of amusement in his gaze.

✧ “if i wanted peace and quiet, i wouldn’t be here,” he says firmly. “do you really think i’d waste my time with someone i don’t care about?”

✧ his straightforwardness leaves you momentarily stunned, and he chuckles softly at your silence. “you don’t need to test me, you know,” he adds, his tone softening. “if you have doubts, just ask. i don’t like games, but i’ll always give you the truth.”

✧ you feel a pang of guilt for pushing him, but his reassurance warms your heart. “sorry,” you mumble, looking down. “i just wanted to be sure...”

✧ he reaches out, gently lifting your chin so you’re forced to meet his gaze.

✧ “then let me make it clear,” he says, his golden eyes unwavering. “you matter to me. and that’s not going to change, no matter how many gems you mislabel.”

✧ you laugh softly, the tension melting away as his words sink in. it was clear that his affection for you is as solid and enduring as the earth itself.

boothill

✧ boothill is rough around the edges but has a soft spot for you, so your little test catches him off guard.

✧ boothill's unmovable, stone-faced, and never shows signs of cracking, no matter what you throw his way. but that’s exactly why you’re so curious. you’ve seen his stoic side, his professionalism, and his dedication, but does that mean there’s any space for you in that heart of his? you decide to try and test the waters.

✧ it begins in a quiet moment, after a long mission. you’re both back at the base, sitting side by side on a bench. boothill is cleaning his weapon, his focus so intense that it feels like nothing in the world could distract him. you watch him for a moment, then decide to start.

✧ “boothill,” you call out softly.

✧ he doesn’t look up, but you see his fingers pause for a fraction of a second before he resumes cleaning his weapon.

✧ “yeah?”

✧ “do you ever wonder if you’re too... distant? i mean, you’re always so focused, so serious. don’t you ever need to relax a bit?”

✧ he glances at you now, his piercing gaze meeting yours for just a second. but he doesn’t answer right away, instead just continuing with his task.

✧ “relaxing isn’t exactly something i prioritize,” he replies with his usual calm. “there’s work to be done.”

✧ you scoff lightly, pushing your luck a little. “work, work, work. what about you, huh? when’s it your turn to... i don’t know, enjoy life? have some fun?”

✧ he looks at you then, and there’s something almost unreadable in his expression. his eyes soften just a fraction, and he lets out a small sigh.

✧ “if you think i don’t enjoy life, you’re wrong,” he says, voice low but surprisingly tender. “i just don’t need distractions.”

✧ you press a little more, feeling a mischievous spark inside you. “so, you’re saying you don’t need me to distract you?”

✧ boothill stops what he’s doing for a moment, and this time, he stares at you, really staring. for a split second, you think you’ve gone too far. but then he leans back, folding his arms across his chest, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

✧ “testing me, huh?” he says, his voice laced with dry amusement. “you’re a little more persistent than i expected.”

✧ you shrug nonchalantly, hoping your nonchalance hides the fact that your heart is pounding. “i just want to know if you care, boothill. i mean, you’re so... detached sometimes. how do i know it’s not all just professional to you?”

✧ his gaze softens, and for a brief moment, there’s a vulnerability in his eyes that catches you off guard. then, without warning, he reaches out and gently grabs your hand, pulling it into his lap.

✧ “care?” he murmurs, his thumb stroking the back of your hand in slow, deliberate movements. “i care more than you know.”

✧ your breath catches in your throat, and you feel the weight of his words settle over you like a blanket. the walls he’s built around himself are still there, but now, you realize that inside, there’s room for you.

✧ “you don’t need to test me for that,” he adds, his voice low and reassuring. “just... don’t expect me to show it the same way as everyone else.”

✧ you can feel the sincerity in his touch, in his gaze, and something inside you finally clicks. boothill’s love is subtle, understated, and a little rough around the edges, but it’s real.

✧ “i get it,” you whisper, squeezing his hand gently. “sorry for making you doubt me.”

✧ he chuckles quietly, a rare sound that makes your heart flutter. “you’re relentless. but that’s why i like you.”

✧ and there it is—he may not always wear his heart on his sleeve, but boothill’s love for you is unwavering, and that’s something you can rely on, even if it’s not always obvious.

gallagher

✧ gallagher is as easygoing as they come, but even he has limits.

✧ it starts innocently enough—just a playful attempt to poke at his carefully maintained composure. he’s in the middle of preparing a meal, the scent of fresh herbs and sizzling meat filling the air as he moves about the kitchen with his usual precision. you, however, are seated at the table, tapping your fingers lightly against the wood, watching him with a raised eyebrow.

✧ “gallagher,” you start, your voice casual but laced with curiosity.

✧ “hm?” he replies, glancing at you briefly before returning to his task.

✧ “how do you always manage to keep your cool? i mean, don’t you ever get tired of being so... well, perfect?”

✧ he doesn’t look up this time, but there’s a subtle shift in the air, like he’s sensing you’re trying to test him. his movements are smooth and measured, and he doesn’t skip a beat as he finishes plating the food.

✧ “there’s no point in losing composure over things that don’t matter,” he says matter-of-factly, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. “chaos doesn’t make for a good meal.”

✧ you bite your lip, leaning back in your chair. “so, you’re saying everything has to be ‘in its place’ with you? even with people?”

✧ his hands freeze for just a moment, and you catch a flicker of something in his expression—maybe amusement, maybe something else. but it’s gone as quickly as it came. he finishes plating the meal with a soft sigh, setting the plate in front of you.

✧ “i’m not a machine, if that’s what you’re implying,” he says, finally meeting your gaze. “i’m not perfect. i just prefer things to be organized—helps with focus.”

✧ you raise an eyebrow, pushing a bit more. “oh? and does that mean you like it when people don’t mess with your focus? or is that just a ‘you’ thing?”

✧ gallagher pauses, studying you carefully. for a moment, the air is thick with tension, but then he smirks slightly, a glimmer of teasing in his eyes.

✧ “messing with my focus?” he repeats, his voice playful now. “is that what you’re doing? because, if i’m being honest, it’s working. you’ve got my attention now.”

✧ you blink, taken aback by his response. you expected him to brush it off, but instead, he steps closer, his presence a little more imposing now.

✧ “you know,” he continues, his tone lower, “you’re not as subtle as you think you are. but i’ll give you points for persistence.”

✧ you try to recover, but there’s something about the way he looks at you that leaves you speechless for a moment.

✧ “persistence?” you murmur, a little breathless.

✧ he nods, his smile softening just enough to show you that it’s genuine. “you’ve got a lot of questions, but i don’t need to play games with you. if you want answers, just ask. you don’t have to test me to find out if i’m interested.”

✧ his words hit you harder than you expected, and you realize that gallagher isn’t someone to hide his feelings. it’s not that he’s cold—he’s just direct. he’ll never say it in the way you might expect, but his actions speak louder than anything else.

✧ “i guess i’m just used to waiting for things to fall into place,” you admit, trying to play it cool.

✧ he leans in slightly, the faintest hint of humor in his eyes. “you don’t have to wait with me. i’m already here.”

✧ his tone is simple, but it carries a weight of meaning that makes your heart skip a beat. gallagher doesn’t do drama, but when he gives you his attention, it’s clear that he’s all in, no matter how much he might downplay it.

moze

✧ moze is a man of few words, and your antics genuinely confuse him. 😰😰

✧  he's calm, composed, and always so serious, which makes you determined to break through that cold, unreadable exterior. you’ve decided to test his limits, just to see if you can get a real reaction out of him.

✧ it starts on a typical day after a mission. you’re sitting across from him in the common room, watching as he pores over some data logs. your usual routine involves making things just a little more interesting for him, because let’s face it—moze needs to lighten up.

✧ “moze,” you say, a grin tugging at your lips.

✧ he doesn’t look up, but you can see the slight twitch of his eyebrow. “what is it?”

✧ you make a show of examining the ceiling, tapping your chin dramatically. “have you ever wondered if the world is actually upside down? like, maybe gravity's all wrong, and we’re just... stuck to the floor by pure luck?”

✧ moze pauses for a split second, probably wondering how you can turn a perfectly normal moment into this. then, without missing a beat, he glances at you, deadpan.

✧ “if the world was upside down, i assume you'd be the one stuck on the ceiling by pure luck,” he says flatly, already returning to his work.

✧ you burst into laughter, but moze doesn’t even flinch, just continues typing, his expression still as composed as ever. he’s like a stone statue, and it’s honestly a little impressive.

✧ “okay, okay,” you say, wiping a tear from your eye. “let’s try something different.” you lean forward, eyes sparkling with mischief. “do you ever get bored? you know, just sitting there all serious, pretending like you’re too busy to talk?”

✧ this time, he doesn’t even look up from his work. “bored? No. Are you trying to see how far you can push me before i snap?”

✧ you nod, trying not to smile too widely. “yep! How’s it going so far?”

✧ moze lets out a soft sigh, clearly unamused but still managing to hold his ground. “i’m doing great. You, on the other hand... are a handful.”

✧ “a handful? me?” you gasp dramatically, clutching your chest. “I’m hurt, moze. I’m just trying to keep things interesting around here!”

✧ his lips twitch ever so slightly, but it’s almost imperceptible. “you’re making it interesting... in the same way that throwing a tantrum in a library is interesting.”

✧ you tilt your head, pretending to consider this for a moment. “so, you’re saying you don’t like chaos?”

✧ “i like order,” he says, never looking away from the screen. “but if you’re asking if you can test my patience, then yes, you’re doing a very good job of that.”

✧ you giggle, thoroughly entertained by the way he’s handling you. "oh, come on, just admit it. you love the chaos! You secretly think it's hilarious when I mess with you."

✧ moze looks up at you for the first time in a while, his expression still all business but with the tiniest glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “if by hilarious, you mean mildly irritating, then yes.”

✧ “mildly?!” you gasp in faux offense. “I’m doing my best here, moze! how could you rate my efforts so low?”

✧ he leans back slightly in his chair, finally breaking his stoic routine. “honestly, i’m impressed you’re still going. most people would’ve given up by now.”

✧ “well, i'm not ‘most people,’ am I?” you reply with a cheeky smile.

✧ he smirks ever so slightly, though it’s mostly to himself. “no. clearly.”

✧ you can’t help but giggle, because while moze definitely isn’t as easily rattled as others, it’s clear he’s starting to find the humor in your antics.

✧ “admit it, moze,” you tease. “i’m the most fun you’ve had all week.”

✧ he raises an eyebrow, finally closing the data pad and turning his full attention to you. “if by ‘fun’ you mean ‘annoying distraction,’ then yes.”

✧ you stick your tongue out at him playfully. “you love me, admit it.”

✧ moze chuckles dryly, though it’s far from his usual serious tone. “you’re impossible. But for some reason, i don’t mind.”

✧ “there it is!” you exclaim, pointing dramatically. “the confession! finally!”

✧ he sighs, but there’s a hint of fondness in his eyes now. “don’t push your luck. i’m still not letting you off the hook for the chaos you’ve caused.”

✧ you grin, leaning back in your seat, satisfied. “you can’t get rid of me that easily, moze. get used to it.”

✧ “i’m already used to it,” he mutters under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head.

jiaoqiu

✧ jiaoqiu is calm and composed, but your “test” slowly chips away at his patience.

✧ his idea of "testing" his patience feels almost like trying to mess with a finely tuned recipe—you know that if you push too far, something could spoil, but you can't resist seeing how he’ll react. the thing about jiaoqiu is that he’s blind, but that doesn’t stop him from being as sharp as a knife when it comes to his senses. especially when it comes to cooking—his true passion.

✧ you’ve noticed something about him, though. the more you “stress” him, the more attentive he gets, in his own way. it’s kind of like the game’s in his favor, and you’re slowly realizing he might be playing right along with you.

✧ one evening, you’re hanging out in the kitchen with jiaoqiu, and you’ve already decided to take your "testing" to the next level. as he prepares some of his signature dishes—no surprise, they're the most complex meals imaginable, even though he can't see a thing—you're doing your best to throw him off.

✧ “jiaoqiu, are you sure you don’t want me to help with that? it looks... dangerous,” you tease, noticing the steam rising from the pot in front of him.

✧ “dangerous?” he repeats, clearly amused but not thrown off. he moves deftly around the kitchen, the sound of his chopping board in the background. “my dear, cooking isn’t dangerous unless you’re trying to make something impossible.”

✧ you laugh softly, leaning against the counter. “so, you’re saying if I started pulling the wrong spices out, you wouldn’t even notice?”

✧ he pauses, then lets out a small chuckle of his own. “i might not see it, but i can certainly smell it. and don’t think i don’t know when you’re reaching for something you shouldn’t be.”

✧ you feign shock, dramatically holding your hands up as if caught in the act. “i would never! i have complete respect for your culinary expertise!”

✧ jiaoqiu hums, as if pondering your words, but then he continues his cooking with that quiet confidence he always carries. “you’d be more convincing if you didn’t have that mischievous glint in your eye.”

✧ your grin widens. it’s clear he’s onto you now, but you still try to push. “well, how would you know? You can't see, after all.”

✧ “true,” he replies calmly, “but i know the sounds of the kitchen well enough. if you were to drop something, or mess with the ingredients... i’d hear it. the rhythm of it all gives me a good idea of what’s happening.”

✧ you blink, stunned. you had been testing him, but jiaoqiu seems to always be one step ahead. how does he know? how can he be so confident?

✧ “and,” he adds, his voice still soft but with a hint of playfulness, “i know you, [your name].”

✧ you laugh, finally admitting defeat. “okay, okay! you got me. but seriously, how do you do it? how do you know where everything is?”

✧ he pauses his cooking and turns toward you, his voice warm yet full of humor. “let’s say i’ve had a lot of practice. and when you love something as much as i love cooking, you learn to rely on all your senses, not just sight. even when you can’t see, your other senses fill in the gaps.”

✧ you watch him work for a moment, and despite his lack of eyesight, he’s a master in the kitchen. it’s clear that his expertise comes from much more than just the act of cooking; it’s a connection to the ingredients, the textures, the sounds of each step.

✧ “okay, but what if i really messed something up? what if i did something totally wrong, just to mess with you?”

✧ he raises an eyebrow—something that’s only visible through his voice, but you get the feeling he’s smirking. “well, if you did that, i’d probably just end up fixing it before you even noticed. and then i’d make you do the dishes.”

✧ you groan, defeated but also thoroughly entertained. “you’re way too good at this.”

✧ “you’re the one testing me, not the other way around,” jiaoqiu reminds you, returning his focus to his cooking. but this time, you can hear the faint warmth in his tone, a reassurance that’s just for you. “but don’t worry, i’m not going to let you ruin dinner. even if you try to be a little mischievous.”

✧ there’s something comforting in the way he handles it all—the teasing, the games you play, even the mess-ups you deliberately throw his way. he may not be able to see you, but you know he can feel your presence, your energy, and you can’t help but feel safe in it. despite his teasing, despite the quiet confidence, jiaoqiu has a way of making everything feel just... right.

✧ “next time,” you say, grinning, “i’m going to really throw you off.”

✧ jiaoqiu just laughs softly, shaking his head as he finishes up his dish. “i’ll be waiting, [your name]. i’ll be waiting.”

✧  “but uh, next time, just ask me. there’s no need for this kind of... drama.”

sunday

✧ sunday is all sunshine and joy, but even he can get flustered when you start testing him.

✧ sunday is a halovian, with those distinct small fluffy wings nestled around his neck—adorably soft and always twitching with his every mood. you’ve learned that while he might seem all chill and sunny on the surface, he’s got his own quirks, and if you push him far enough, he’s more likely to play along than snap at you.

✧ one day, you’re lounging in the living area, and sunday’s sitting across from you, lazily flipping through a book. you can’t resist; it’s time for some mischief.

✧ “hey, sunday,” you call, trying to hide your grin.

✧ “yeah?” he replies, looking off guard. "have you ever been nervous before? like, nervous nervous?"

✧ “nervous? me? c’mon, i’m practically impossible to ruffle.” he gives you a lighthearted shrug, but you can see the playful challenge in his eyes. he’s used to keeping things breezy, but you’ve caught his attention now.

✧ you press on, deciding to have a little more fun with this. “oh really? well, let’s see... I’ve got a whole list of ways I could mess with you.”

✧ sunday doesn’t seem fazed at first, but you notice the way his fluffy wings twitch a little more with each word you say. it’s like a radar for his mood—you know he’s still calm, but there’s something in the way his feathers ruffle when he’s listening to you.

✧ “well, you’ll have to be a lot sneakier than that if you want to get under my skin,” he says, flashing you that signature grin of his, but now you can see a little spark of competitiveness in his eyes.

✧ you, of course, aren’t backing down. “let’s see if i can. hey, sunday, do you ever get tired of being all... perfect?” you ask, making air quotes around "perfect" with your hands.

✧ sunday’s wings flutter again, and this time, you catch the faintest shift in his posture. “perfect?” he asks, trying to play it off, but there’s a subtle twitch in the fluff near his neck. “you’re really gonna call me perfect? what’s wrong with that?”

✧ oh, he’s biting now. perfect. you lean in, voice teasing. “well, it just seems a little... too easy, don’t you think? i mean, you’re always so relaxed, always in control. how do you even do it?”

✧ you can see sunday’s lips twitch in amusement, and his wings give an exaggerated little flutter, like they’re bristling. he’s definitely aware now, but the best part is how he's trying to play it cool, still acting like he’s the one in control.

✧ “you really think i’ve got it all under control, huh?” he responds, a bit of a challenge creeping into his tone. “well, i guess i am pretty awesome. i mean, who could resist all this charm?” he gestures to himself dramatically, his wings fluffing out like he’s proud of the effect they have.

✧ you laugh, but don’t let up. “oh, i’m sure the charm works, but... do you ever get tired of being this smooth?” you tease, pretending to think it over. “i mean, surely you get a little flustered once in a while, right? just a little bit?”

✧ that’s when you see it—a small, barely perceptible shift. sunday’s wings twitch against his neck, brushing lightly as he tries to keep his expression neutral, but you catch it. there’s a softening in his demeanor, a slight heat creeping into his tone.

✧ “huh. so now i’m too smooth?” he teases, but it’s a little less confident now. “maybe you’re just getting good at finding my weak spots.”

✧ you smile, leaning back triumphantly. “maybe. or maybe you’re just too easy to read, sunday.”

✧ he narrows his eyes playfully, but you catch the small, almost imperceptible shift in his posture as his wings flutter just a little more. it's like they’re signaling his internal shift—he’s starting to realize you’re not just playing around.

✧ “okay, okay,” sunday says with a dramatic sigh, his wings now fully unfurled behind him like a soft, fluffy halo. he rubs the back of his neck and gives you a teasing look. “you wanna stress me out, huh? well, guess i’ll have to turn the tables a little.”

✧ with that, sunday leans closer, grinning mischievously. his wings brush against his neck again, this time on purpose, causing a soft, tickling sensation that makes you jump a little.

✧ “how’s this?” he asks, and now, you realize—he’s playing his own game. “i think we’re gonna see how you handle me.”

✧ sunday’s easygoing nature mixed with his unexpected turn in this little game makes it all the more fun. as he continues to toy with you, you can’t help but laugh at how well he’s handled your antics.

✧ “alright, alright,” you admit, finally letting the game end, “you win. i’ll stop testing your patience... for now.”

✧ his wings flutter triumphantly behind him as he gives you a mock salute, his grin still wide and playful. “you’re welcome to try again any time, [name]. but you should know—I don’t get flustered that easily. unless...” he pauses, giving you a teasing look, “...you do something even crazier next time.”

✧ you can’t help but smile back. sunday’s laid-back nature might be hard to crack, but it’s clear—he does enjoy the game, and in the end, he’s always up for a little bit of fun at your expense.

jing yuan

✧ jing yuan usually keeps his composure, but when you start “testing” his patience, he begins to crack ever so slightly.

✧ jing yuan is the epitome of calm, controlled elegance. he carries himself like a well-balanced scale, measured in his actions and words, always composed, always unfazed. but when you start testing him that balance teeters, just a little, though he’s careful to maintain his outward serenity.

✧ you know he's a man of patience, but every person has their breaking point—and you're curious to see how far you can push his.

✧ it all starts innocently enough, a bit of teasing and mild mischief on your part. you might "accidentally" misplace his paperwork, or maybe ask him endless trivial questions when you know he’s buried in his work. you’re not being cruel, of course—just playful, testing the waters to see if he’ll falter.

✧ he humors you at first, a chuckle escaping his lips when you ask something particularly silly. “what is it, my dear?” he asks, a gentle smile tugging at his lips, his golden eyes never leaving his work. “another question for me?”

✧ but as the questions come one after another, you start to notice a shift. his pen slows, and for a moment, his fingers still. he leans back in his chair, gaze lifting to meet yours.

“you’re playing a dangerous game, my dear,” he says, his voice low, but laced with amusement. “are you testing me to see if i’ll lose interest? because i can assure you, i won’t.”

✧ there’s a sharpness to his tone now, the calm facade slipping just slightly. it's subtle, but you catch it—a flicker of something deeper behind his eyes. his gaze darkens with an unreadable emotion, and for the first time, you wonder if you've pushed him too far.

✧ but you’re not one to back down easily, so you keep going, shifting the game into a new gear. you become a little more persistent, trying to get under his skin without being too obvious. you ask more ridiculous questions, throw in more distractions, all in the name of seeing how he reacts. surely, a man like jing yuan, so steady and composed, would get annoyed eventually, right?

✧ you watch him for a long moment, his gaze steady and unwavering. His fingers tap lightly on the edge of the desk, his lips curling into a knowing smile.

✧ "is that what you're after?" he asks, his voice softer, but with a certain challenge in it. "you wish to see how far i'll bend? to see if i can be swayed by such... antics?"

✧ your breath catches in your throat, and you wonder if you’ve finally crossed the line. but instead of growing irritated, jing yuan does something entirely unexpected. he sets his pen down with a deliberate motion and stands up, walking around to your side of the desk. his presence looms over you in the most comforting, yet commanding way.

✧ before you can even react, he reaches for your hand, his touch warm and steady. “i can’t help but wonder…” he begins, his voice dipping into something more intimate, more affectionate than you were prepared for. “did you think you could test me without consequences?”

✧ you blink up at him, the playful tension suddenly replaced by a sense of vulnerability. there’s something in his eyes now, a deep knowing.

✧ without waiting for an answer, he leans down, his lips brushing lightly against your ear. “you’re not the only one who can play games, [name],” he murmurs, his warm breath sending a shiver down your spine.

✧ you’re thrown off balance. the tables have turned, and now it’s you who’s feeling slightly flustered. where you were once testing him, now he’s testing you. he’s suddenly more attentive, more affectionate, drawing you in with every word, every touch.

✧ he chuckles softly when he sees your reaction, his golden eyes glinting with amusement. “you didn’t think i’d let you have all the fun, did you?” he teases. “i must admit, i’m rather enjoying this.”

✧ you open your mouth to respond, but all you manage is a soft laugh, caught between trying to keep your composure and wanting to give in to the sudden wave of warmth he’s throwing your way.

✧ “alright, jing yuan,” you say, trying to maintain your cool, but failing miserably. “i’ll admit defeat... for now.”

✧ his smile widens, a gentle but confident grin. “defeat? no, my dear. this isn’t about defeat. this is about knowing where we stand. and now that i’ve shown you, i expect no more games.”

✧ his words hang in the air like a promise, and you realize he’s not just testing you—he’s reassuring you, in his own way. with him, you never had to worry about being lost in his affection, because it’s clear: he’s always there, steady as ever.

✧ and just like that, the game you started has ended—only now, it’s more than you ever expected.

dan heng

✧ dan heng is the embodiment of calm and collected. his reserved nature and stoic expression almost never crack, even under the most trying of circumstances. it takes a lot to throw him off balance, which is why you’ve made it your mission to see if you can break that calm demeanor of his—just a little.

✧ at first, you start small. maybe you ask him to help you with something you’re perfectly capable of doing yourself, like reaching for a book you’re clearly just a bit too lazy to grab. you catch him off guard, but as expected, he’s kind enough to help without comment.

✧ “thank you, dan heng,” you say with an exaggerated sigh of relief.

✧ he gives you a short, quiet nod, his expression unchanged. “it’s no trouble,” he mutters, though there’s a faint suspicion in his voice.

✧ you smile innocently, but it’s not lost on you how quickly he’s growing aware of your game. so, you keep at it, asking for more and more “help” with things you’re fully capable of doing on your own. every time he obliges, you see his eyes narrow ever so slightly, and you can almost feel the gears turning in his head as he processes what's going on.

✧ “dan heng,” you ask one day, leaning into the playful tension between you two, “could you pass me the salt?” the shaker’s right in front of you, of course.

✧ there’s a long pause. his gaze flicks over to the salt shaker, then back to you, his brow furrowing just the tiniest bit. “you’re not really that helpless, are you?” he asks, his voice quiet but sharp.

✧ you feign surprise. “i’m not? you sure?”

✧ he doesn’t respond right away, his fingers tapping lightly on the surface of the table. you can practically see the wheels turning behind his eyes.

✧ “i know you’re not,” he says finally, voice even but tinged with a little irritation now. “so, what are you trying to prove?”

✧ you chuckle softly, realizing you’ve definitely gotten under his skin now. but it’s more out of curiosity than malice—you want to see how far you can go before he snaps, how long he’ll let you test him before he turns the tables.

✧ “oh, nothing,” you say innocently. “just wanted to see if you’d do it without asking questions.”

✧ dan heng’s eyes narrow, and for the first time in this little game, he seems to truly study you, as if trying to gauge your intentions.

✧ “you’re not as subtle as you think,” he finally says, his tone firm but not unkind. “you’re trying to get a reaction out of me, aren’t you?”

✧ you grin, leaning back with a satisfied look. “maybe... what’s the harm?”

✧ dan heng stands up from his seat, a deep sigh escaping his lips as he slowly gathers his things. you know you’ve pushed him a little, but you’re unsure if he’s genuinely upset or just playing along.

✧ “fine,” he mutters. “you want a reaction? here it is.”

✧ you blink as he steps closer, his usual reserved demeanor slipping as he looks down at you with a slight, almost imperceptible frown. “if i didn’t care about you, i wouldn’t even be here, helping you with these ridiculous requests. so, stop trying to push my patience.”

✧ you freeze for a moment, surprised at how direct and blunt he’s being. there’s no anger in his words—just a quiet frustration, the kind that comes from realizing how much you’ve been testing him.

✧ he lets out a short laugh, shaking his head as if he can’t quite believe what he’s dealing with. “honestly, i’m not sure if you’re trying to get me to lose my patience or just see how far you can push me.”

✧ you smile sheepishly, knowing you’ve been a little relentless with your “tests.” “i guess a bit of both,” you admit, but there’s a softness in your voice now. “i just wanted to see if you’d care enough to call me out on it.”

✧ dan heng sighs deeply, but now there’s a warmth to his expression that wasn’t there before. he steps closer and places a hand gently on your shoulder, the touch more tender than you expected. “i care enough to call you out, even if it means putting up with your nonsense.”

✧ it’s quiet for a moment, but you can feel the sincerity in his words. you’ve definitely ruffled his calm, but in a way that shows just how much he’s paying attention, how much he truly cares for you.

✧ you laugh lightly, not expecting him to be so honest about it, but secretly glad to know you’ve gotten through to him. “i’ll try not to test you so much, okay?”

✧ dan heng shakes his head, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “i’ll believe it when i see it.”

welt yang

✧ welt, being the mature and experienced gentleman he is, notices your little “test” immediately.

✧ the man is used to dealing with delicate matters, whether in his long history of research, his time as a historian, or the countless responsibilities that come with leading in times of crisis. so, when you start testing his patience, you know it’s going to take a lot more than a small inconvenience to shake him. that being said, you enjoy challenging him, just a little, to see how far you can push him.

✧ you start off small, of course. asking him the most trivial questions when he’s in the middle of reading one of his ancient books. “hey, welt,” you say sweetly, “do you think this book is boring?” the book’s not even in your hands, and he knows that you’re probably more interested in him than in the actual content of the text.

✧ at first, he doesn’t mind. he chuckles softly and lowers the book, humoring you with a small smile. “if i’m being honest, i would say it depends on your taste in reading. but you do know i can’t really afford distractions right now, right?”

✧ you smile, but this isn’t nearly enough to throw him off. you push again, dropping little hints like the fact that he’s been at his desk for hours on end and could probably use a break. you make a comment about how he’s always so serious, so focused, and maybe you should help him lighten up.

✧ “you know,” you tease, “you work too hard. you should take a break. come on, just for a minute?”

✧ welt sets the book down and looks at you, raising an eyebrow. “i’m not sure if i would call it ‘work’ if i’m doing something i enjoy, but i do appreciate the concern. perhaps you have something else in mind to keep me occupied?”

✧ his tone is light, playful even, but there’s something in his eyes that suggests he’s well aware of your intentions. he’s not the type to get easily upset, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t picked up on your little game.

✧ “you really know how to throw me off track, don’t you?” he says with a smile, clearly amused by your antics. “is this your way of seeing how far i’ll go before i lose my cool?”

✧ you grin, not backing down. “maybe. you seem so calm all the time. i wanted to know if i could make you flinch, just a little.”

✧ welt lets out a soft laugh, leaning back in his chair. “you’re testing me now, aren’t you? i suppose i should’ve expected as much from you.”

✧ you notice his hands move to the side of his glasses, adjusting them ever so slightly, and that’s when you realize: he’s fully aware of what’s going on.

✧ “you know, it’s cute that you think i’m impervious to distractions,” he continues, clearly enjoying your playful attempts. “but perhaps you underestimate how well i’ve learned to focus in the midst of chaos.”

✧ you can’t help but laugh at that, realizing that no matter how hard you try, you’re not going to make him flinch. he’s too smooth, too used to handling these kinds of things.

✧ “maybe i should stop testing you,” you say, a bit sheepishly. “you’re just too good at staying calm.”

✧ welt smiles knowingly. “i’ve had plenty of practice, but if you really want to test me further, i’m sure there are other ways to do so.” he leans forward, raising an eyebrow, his voice turning just a bit teasing. “but i’m not so easily caught off guard, dear. if you want to see me lose my composure, you’ll have to be a little more creative.”

✧ you blink in surprise at how easily he flipped the situation on its head, and then it dawns on you: you’ve just been outplayed.

✧ he notices the realization in your expression and gives you an amused glance. “now, if you’re really interested, i can give you some advice on how to keep your distractions less obvious in the future. but don’t expect me to fall for it again so easily.”

✧ you can’t help but laugh. “alright, alright, you win this round.”

✧ welt chuckles softly, picking up his book again. “it’s not about winning or losing, but about knowing how to handle what comes your way. and if you ever need a distraction, you know where to find me.”

✧ “but do you know, if you want reassurance, you only need to ask. i don’t play games when it comes to my feelings for you.” my man does NOT play when it comes to you!! 🙅‍♀️ 🙅‍♀️

blade

✧ he is stoic, so basically this feels like poking a sleeping tiger. you’d try to stress him out by being overly affectionate in public or daringly teasing him in front of the stellaron hunters.

✧ blade is a man of few words, and even fewer smiles. so when you start poking at him, trying to get a rise out of him, you know you’re walking a fine line. but that’s exactly what you want, isn’t it? to see just how much you can push before he cracks.

✧ it starts with small, playful jabs. teasing him about his stoic nature, of course. you know he’s not the type to express himself easily, but that doesn’t stop you from trying to bring out something more from him.

✧ “blade, do you ever smile? i think i’d faint if i saw it.”

✧ you say it with a mischievous grin, watching for any sign of a reaction. his first response is the usual – a glare that could melt steel. but there’s something else in his eyes, a flicker of something that tells you he’s holding back a smirk. deep down, you know he secretly enjoys your antics.

✧ “you’re really trying to get me to laugh, aren’t you?” he says, his voice low and steady, though it has a hint of something playful beneath it.

✧ you push further, though, not willing to let up so easily. “come on, blade. you can’t possibly be that serious all the time. it’s like you’re stuck in permanent brooding mode.”

✧ and that’s when the situation takes a turn. before you can even process it, he grabs your wrist with surprising speed, pulling you close, his voice dropping even lower, sending a shiver down your spine.

✧ “you think i’d waste my time with someone i didn’t care about? don’t test me.”

✧ his words come with an intensity that you didn’t expect, his presence so overpowering that it almost takes the air out of your lungs. you blink, momentarily taken aback, but you don’t back down. the playful teasing lingers in the air, even though you can tell that you’ve crossed the line.

✧ but blade, in his own way, seems to realize that. after a moment, he releases his grip on your wrist, letting out a quiet sigh. the edge of his tone softens, just slightly.

✧ “you’re important to me,” he mutters, his voice low but genuine. “stop doubting that.”

✧ there’s no grand declaration, no flowery words. just the blunt honesty of a man who’s difficult to read, yet in his own way, he’s showing you something far deeper than what words could ever convey.

✧ you watch him for a moment, realizing that, despite all his coldness, there’s a warmth buried deep beneath the surface – one that he’s not so quick to reveal, but it’s there, unmistakable in its own quiet way.

✧ “i guess i’ll just have to take your word for it, huh?” you say with a smirk, trying to lighten the mood once more.

✧ blade doesn’t respond with a smile, but the slightest hint of amusement flickers in his eyes. and maybe, just maybe, that’s his version of a win.

sampo koski

✧ sampo loves games, so he immediately plays along with your little “test.”

✧ sampo has always been the life of the party, the one with a smile on his face and a witty comeback ready for anything. so when you start throwing him off with your uncharacteristic seriousness, it’s like throwing a wrench in his well-oiled machine of flirtations.

✧ you don’t laugh at his jokes, you don’t play along with his flirtations, and you certainly don’t give him the usual banter he’s used to. instead, you respond with an almost eerie level of calm.

✧ “oh? no witty comeback today? you’re scaring me, sweetheart,” he teases, leaning back, watching you with an exaggerated frown as though he’s genuinely concerned. you can see the twinkle in his eyes, but he’s trying to hold it together.

✧ at first, you don’t budge. you just stare at him, deadpan, giving nothing away.

✧ he blinks a few times, clearly thrown off. then, he lets out a dramatic sigh. “oh no, what’s happening? is this… a breakup? did i mess up somehow? what did i do wrong? i can change! i swear, i’ll stop with the flirtations—i’ll even stop trying to steal your snacks!" he says, eyes widening as though he's on the verge of a crisis.

✧ the way he overacts is so ridiculous that it’s hard to keep a straight face. but you’re committed, your expression still unreadable as you let him stew in the nonsense he’s coming up with.

✧ when you finally can’t hold it in anymore and let out a soft laugh, his entire demeanor shifts. in an instant, his playful grin is back, and he pulls you into a sudden hug.

✧ “sweetheart, if i didn’t like you, i wouldn’t stick around this long. but nice try!” he says between chuckles, his voice playful and warm.

✧ you can’t help but smile at his antics. he may act like he’s been genuinely stressed out, but deep down, you know he’s been enjoying every minute of your teasing.

✧ he pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes sparkling mischievously. “you really had me going there for a second. but hey, now i know you care enough to test me. i’ll take it as a compliment.”

✧ you shake your head, still amused by his dramatic performance. “don’t ever change, sampo.”

✧ he winks at you, his usual grin returning in full force. “don’t worry, sweetheart, i’m never going to change… unless it’s to make you laugh more.”

luocha

✧ luocha is patient and gentle, but even he has his limits. you’d try to test him by asking endless hypothetical questions about relationships or intentionally making vague statements about your feelings.

✧ when you start throwing questions his way, testing his patience with doubts about his feelings, you know he’ll handle it with the same serenity he always exudes. but the longer it goes on, the more you start to wonder if you’re pushing him too far.

✧ “what if someone better came along?” you ask casually, watching his expression for a hint of reaction. it’s a harmless question in your mind, but you can tell he takes it seriously.

✧ he pauses, his hand resting gently on his chin, thinking it through before answering with his usual calmness. “if someone better came along, then you’d deserve to find happiness with them, just as I would wish for your happiness no matter the circumstances.”

✧ his response isn’t what you expected. it’s thoughtful, selfless, and it makes you question your own intentions. but you can’t help yourself – you press on, seeking reassurance in the form of his steady words.

✧ “but what if you don’t feel the same as you did before? what if you find someone who catches your eye more than me?”

✧ luocha’s gaze softens as he listens to your words. there’s no anger in his eyes, no irritation. only concern, as if he’s trying to understand why you would even think such a thing. his voice remains calm, but now there’s a slight edge to it, as if the question weighs on him more than you realize.

✧ “are you trying to test me?” he asks, tilting his head slightly, his brow furrowing just enough to show he’s genuinely curious. “i hope you know i mean every word i’ve said to you. my feelings are not something i take lightly.”

✧ you’re taken aback, your mind racing as you realize just how much this is affecting him. you weren’t trying to hurt him; you just wanted to see if he truly cared. but now, the weight of your questions hangs heavy in the air.

✧ seeing the uncertainty in your eyes, he lets out a small, almost imperceptible sigh. he reaches out, taking your hand in his, offering you a reassuring smile that radiates warmth.

✧ “there’s no need for doubt,” he says softly, his voice gentle yet firm. “my feelings for you are genuine, and they won’t change based on fleeting insecurities. you are the only one i see, the only one i care for.”

✧ his words carry a weight that resonates deep within you, his sincerity undeniable. you feel a warmth spread through your chest, a sense of relief washing over you.

✧ “i’m sorry,” you say, a little embarrassed by how far you’ve pushed him. “i didn’t mean to make you doubt how much i care.”

✧ luocha chuckles softly, his thumb brushing gently over the back of your hand. “it’s alright,” he says, his voice filled with understanding. “i know you’re just seeking reassurance. but i hope this is enough to put your mind at ease.”

✧ you nod, grateful for his patience and the depth of his affection. his unwavering calmness and the way he handles your doubts only make you feel even more certain that, with him, you never need to worry about someone else coming along.

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[lowkeycasanova]

but she told me i can nail her sh*t

zoro x afab!reader

warning: smut

He licked his lips, panting and letting his head fall back. Eyes fluttering and jaw tight as you bounced your ass on him, his cock rock-hard inside of you.

"Damn" you heard his whisper. As you continued to ride him, he let out a grunt from deep within his throat. You smiled, as you loved when he was even the slightest bit vocal, giving you reassurance and confidence.

His large hands found their way to your thighs, then hips, then slightly cupped your ass, around your back, and up your waist and ribcage. Zoro was obsessed with how your body felt and wanted to explore...caress every inch.

For a while, he complied, letting you do all the work at your own pace. The tension in his muscles betrayed him from how much he wanted to move. And maybe it was the way you tugged his hair or the deliberate roll of your hips against his, but his patience snapped. With a low growl, his hands gripped your waist firmly. Before you could react, he shifted beneath you, lifting you up and bending his knees so that he could buck his hips properly.

You gasped, your body tense for a moment as you were surprised with the sudden change.

"My turn." he said, his voice low and rough with a smirk tugging at his lips. There was a fire in his gaze and you felt something pulsate between your thighs. Your control had been thrilling but now it was time for him to take over.

He begins to fuck you. Hard. His momentum starting of fast and then stabilizing. The sound of skin slapping and your little yelps was almost enough to get him off right then and there. Your breast bounce in his face like they're begging for attention. After a few moments, he sets you back down so you two can gain control of your breathing. You let out a small laugh through your thin breaths, fluttering around him, and just as it begins to even out, his hips are bucking you upwards again. His stamina is something to be reckoned with.

His hands move all the way up to your jaw this time, cupping your cheeks as he rails you. It feels so good. He feels so good but you're like putty in his hands. Your hips seemed to have locked up due to the pressure so you can't do anything but take it.

His hips jerk into you over and over and with every pump, you hiccup a half moan. Your hands move to hold his wrists as his hands still cup your face. He feels a flash of arousal knowing that you're just barely hanging on for the ride.

He's looking at you just before he comes, your jaw clenched but muttering a 'please' and 'zoro' here and there.

He's panting hard and drops his head back as he releases. It feels like euphoria. His heart beat hammers until it begins to slow. There's a ruggedness in your eyes and hair that makes him proud. Your thighs are too weak to even dismount from him. His hands go from your cheeks to your arms as he leans forward to kiss you.

****

Sanji’s voice broke through the quiet air on the deck. Zoro peeked through his eyes. His arms were crossed behind his head and his back against the mast as he watched Sanji approach you with a tray in hand, holding drinks. His grin stretched from ear to ear, and his eyes sparkled as he basked in your presence.

The exchange played out like a scene Zoro had seen many times before. Even after handing you the drink, Sanji lingered. All that flair. Such a try hard and you don’t even give him a second glance. Not that you were unkind- far from it. You always smiled, said thank you. It was always genuine.

Zoro didn’t hear all of what was said but he did catch the romantic undertone in the way Sanji said “I hope it pleases you” when referring to the beverage. Zoro tried to stifle a laugh but was unsuccessful as your eyes darted to him from behind Sanji. A faint twitch of amusement in your expression even when he tried to play it off.

Zoro was always giving Sanji a number.

“Number seven.”

“Fourth placer.”

Provoking the blonde cook filled him with subtle yet undeniable satisfaction. And last night, among the many shared nights, further convinced him that there, in fact, was a hierarchy between the two men.

If Sanji had even the slightest idea of what was going on between you and Zoro, he’d have an outburst, quite literally bursting into flames, and throwing some indignant response in Zoro’s direction.

You reminded Zoro of where he stood. It didn’t matter what Sanji did. You already made your choice.

[wtfaniii]

Hi! I bring you this final part! Thank you for your support, readings and love.🤎

N/A: I have pending orders and I hope to complete them as soon as possible. I will upload one of them this afternoon. Thanks for your support!!

PAPARAZZI

Hwang In-ho x reader

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3

Summary: A private detective that Gi-hun had hired to investigate those games he participated in three years ago, is taken against her will without knowing that a certain man with power and money knew absolutely every detail about her.

Warning: Blood, violence, kidnapping and some romance, I was listening to Lady Gaga's Bad Romance while writing this, sorry not sorry

Note: This would be the last part, if were to resume it I would do so when the third season comes out, thank you for your love!

The plan to escape through the ventilation ducts would be carried out that night, after playing the third game.

"Players, the third game is about to begin, everyone is asked to wake up and prepare" the female robotic voice spoke from the speaker.

The girl smiled as she saw that the piece of metal had in his hands had finally taken the shape that would be quite useful to her.

—I did it... —Her murmur with a radiant smile.

—¿You did what? —001 asked, approaching her with curiosity, as if he hadn't heard anything of the conversation she had with 388 during the night.

—The key to get out of here —She said proudly, showing off the piece of metal.

In-ho put on a confused expression, but deep down he was more than fascinated and intrigued, as well as anxious for night to come and for her to execute the "escape."

—Trust me, we will get out of here.

He gave her a silent smile.

As they left the room to be taken to the next game, In-ho stayed behind to talk to one of the guards with the triangle symbol. —455 will try to escape tonight through the ventilation ducts, keep an eye on her and make sure she doesn't, then she'll be taken out of the game, ¿understood?

—Yes sir —replied, giving a brief reference, then he left to catch up with the group.

The next game would be called "mingle" and it was for groups.

The game consisted of grouping up every time the robotic voice said the number of players that had to get together and take one of the small rooms that were scattered around the place, the platform would spin before this so you are probably a little dizzy.

—If the number is more than six, we'll take the other players —Gi-hun said.

—¿What if the number is less than six? —Dae-ho asked with some uncertainty.

—We're split up, but we mustn't lose our patience— Young-il said seriously. —You two try not to get away from us —added looking at Jun-hee and the girl, who both nodded.

When the platform began to spin and the children's song started to play, the tension in the atmosphere was present, once again the girl was afraid of dying so inevitably her hands trembled, In-ho noticed this and without thinking much he took one of her hands with his.

—Trust me, we'll get out of here —He repeated the same words she had told him, making her smile.

The first stop was ten, that was easy, they met up with another group of four with players 120, 007, 149 and 097

The second was four, In-ho never let go of the girl's hand. —You four go, we two will look for others —He stated confidently.

She felt pretty safe with him so she didn't refuse, once again it was easy to find another partner and get to a room on time.

The third was three participants per room, once again it was simple, the girl was Gi-hun and Young-il but when they were dividing she was knocked down by another player.

In-ho opened his eyes searching for her in the crowd as Gi-hun called out to her but seeing that the timer was about to end they had no choice but to run and carry player 149 who was standing alone in the middle of all the chaos.

Meanwhile, the girl was stunned, looking for someone to go with to save her life when suddenly someone arrived and practically pulled her by the arm with brute force straight into a room. When the timer came to an end, she saw both players.

—Thank you very much.

Player 333 nodded, taking deep breaths.

She would remember him number, he had practically saved her life and she would make sure to do the same once she managed to get out of there for help.

Coming out of the cubicles, the first thing In-ho did was look for her with his eyes and when he saw her coming towards them, a sigh of relief left his lips, a reaction he never thought would have in a long time.

It felt strange to feel the anguish of another person's life again, especially that of a girl he knew as well as the back of his hand but hadn't spent enough time with, it was as if she had gotten into his head and heart without him realizing it.

When least expected it, he was already hugging her.

—Sorry for letting go of your hand.

—I'm fine... —The girl sighed, gladly receiving the gesture —He saved me —She added turning to see 333 who was a short distance away, watching them in silence.

He didn't care who had done it, he was just grateful that she was still there, although his triangle team had orders not to kill her, it was impossible to deny the immense concern he felt.

Finally, teams of two had to be formed, the participants fought to survive and this time, In-ho made sure not to lose the girl at his side.

In-ho grabbed a man who was about to enter the empty cubicle and pushed him back, allowing her to pass through, but she froze when she saw another player there.

—Get out —Young-il demanded firmly, staring at the man.

But seeing that the player refused, he rushed towards him, the girl stayed at the door preventing anyone else from entering.

When the timer was coming to an end, the only sound of a 'crack' reached the young woman's ears, she turned around in fear, but when she saw Young-il alive sighed and dropped to the ground tiredly.

She didn't judge him, her knew that humans naturally attacked when felt in danger.

[...]

The third vote had concluded, the circles and crosses had been tied so the elections would be repeated the following day.

But she couldn't bear another day, these games changed people, she saw it in Young-il and her didn't want someone good to get his hands dirty like that again.

Or at least that was the image she had of the man.

She couldn't stop watching him intently as chatted with Gi-hun, he was a gentleman, kind and sociable man but seeing him in that cubicle killing a man by breaking his neck in one move to save them both made her heart beat like never before.

She was fascinated by riddles and had a hunch that this man was one that needed to be solved. She didn't know, but her intuition told that Young-il was a poker face.

But for now, her needed to execute his plan.

She got up from where was and walked to the bathroom, there were only a couple of hours left until nightfall and she didn't want to walk around that island in the dark.

—Oh no, she's going to do it —Dae-ho muttered nervously as he watched her walk away.

—¿What is she going to do? —Gi-hun asked.

—Will try to escape and go for help.

The group looked at her with concern as she entered the bathroom and the two guards continued to guard the entrance.

She walked over to the toilet, pulled down the lid and stood on it to reach where the vent was, using the deformed piece of metal to remove the screws.

A proud smile formed on her lips as she was able to remove the lid and push herself up with his feet to begin climbing through the duct. ¿Could this be a dream? Judging by the fresh air she perceived in his nose these ducts would lead her to an exit to the outside.

But before she could declare victory and move forward faster, she felt two hands grab her by the ankles and pull back, back to his nightmare.

—¡No! ¡Please no! —She screamed, digging her nails into the metal of the duct as if that would stop, but she only managed to hurt own fingers a little.

When the guard with the triangle mask had her in hin arms and held tightly, she hit him in the stomach with his elbow to free herself.

She ran to the bathroom door to get out of there but as soon as touched the handle she was shot in the leg causing to fall and scream in pain.

Her scream mixed with the gunshot caught the attention of the players outside, it caught In-ho's attention, they weren't supposed to shoot her.

Meanwhile inside the bathroom she was bleeding and crying in pain and fear, she believed that this was end but another guard entered the bathroom and stuck a needle in her neck forcing her to fall into the subconscious.

"Player 455, eliminated" said the robotic voice over the speaker, leaving her fellow players bewildered and sad.

Gi-hun stood up and walked towards the guard guarding the bathroom and shouted angrily, followed by In-ho.

—¿What did you do to her? She wasn't playing! ¡You killed her!

The triangle raised his gun and pointed it at him to get to back off.

—She tried to escape and that will not be tolerated.

—¡That's not fair! You're only eliminated if you lose one of these games —Young-il yelled at them, putting on a little drama show just enough for the guards to get him out of there too so could see the girl.

When the doors opened and more guards entered carrying a black box with a huge pink bow through the door In-ho paled, he had given a specific order, it was just to take her out of the games, not kill her.

—¡You killed her! —he shouted at them this time a little more excitedly as watched the triangles take the girl out of the bathroom and place her in the box to later close it —¡These weren't the rules! ¡I demand to see your leader!

The guard nodded and asked him to follow him, once out of sight of the other players In-ho glared at his worker waiting for an explanation.

—She's alive, just sedated, we thought this was the best way to get her out without raising suspicion.

The feeling he had a few moments ago was like torture but also a small flash in his dark heart, after so long he had not felt such a whirlwind of emotions since his wife.

[...]

In him golden room, in the middle of the bed, the girl rested, with a bandage on her leg and wearing more comfortable clothes, a white blouse and grey pants.

The front man walked through the door and sighed at the sight of her there, leaving the gun he had used against the guard who dared to shoot her disobeying his orders on the table by the entrance and walking cautiously towards her.

He knew was breaking the rules by taking her out of there but he couldn't let her die, she had made him feel so many things again in such a short time that it was terrifying to a certain extent.

With his hand he moved a couple of strands of hair away from her face.

The girl gently opened her eyes and seeing a masked stranger near her, she tensed up because was still a little dazed to react otherwise.

—Calm down —he said under the mask with the voice modifier —I won't hurt you, we already fixed your wound and you'll be fully conscious in a few hours.

—You... you are... the front man... —She said trying to clear her mind and focus his vision.

—¿How much do you know about me? —He asked curiously, sitting on the edge of the bed without stopping to observe her under the mask.

—I know as much about you as you know about me... —She smiled at him with a hint of arrogance —You sent your employees to follow me for a while... They're not as stealthy as you thought.

He smiled under the mask, he knew for sure that she was intelligent, she was extremely afraid of death but had strategies and a brain to know when being stalked.

—¿Do you want to take off your mask?... I want to know if right about something.

—¿About what?

—You’re Young-il —that took him by surprise —¿Or should I say In-ho? You’re a man of many riddles.

He took off the mask, not just physically, he was also going to let her enter his soul.

—¿Since when did you find out?

—Oh not as quickly as I would have liked, I figured it out now that you sat up in bed.

From him posture, carefree and passive, and the way he stroked her hair, she deduced that he was someone who had already had contact with her.

Moreover, she had read a long history about the front man, the man in front of her was more than just that, more than just a cold-blooded assassin and leader who controlled these games, he was now showing his more "Young-il" side.

—¿Like Sherlock Holmes? —In-ho asked, half amused and half curious.

—That's my job... —She sighed tiredly, closing her eyes again.

They both knew they had many things to talk about and clarify but now was not the time, she longed for some peace and rest and he had to return to the games or he would raise suspicions.

They had a pending conversation but first, In-ho had to put an end to all this and put everything back in its respective place, after all, the girl was no longer in the crossfire, with her safely in him room, it was time to act.

N/A: This is the last part! Maybe I'll pick it up again when the third season comes out, I wanted to do something like Joe and Love only without the killer and crazy stuff.

Tag List:

@carrotjuicepdf @sxmmerchxldblog @syraxnyra @deathsmellzz @starkeyszn @deftonianfr @djloveyou3000 @lowkeyhottho @shadow-tumbler

[7ndipity]

Their Love Languages

Ot7 x Reader

Summary: What the members main love languages are(both giving and receiving)

Warning: none, I think

A/N: First off, I'm so sorry for not posting much the past few weeks, I'm really hoping to get back to posting regularly again, but thank you all for your patience and understanding. A big thanks to @universal-travel-er for requesting this, I hope you like it!

Masterlist

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Jin: Giving: I think it’s a mix of Gifts and Quality Time. He seems to take a lot of delight in giving the members gifts, however odd some of them might seem(gold toilet brush lol). He also understands the importance of being with the people that matter most, so he definitely makes spending time together top priority(He literally planned a entire event at Lotte world so he could hang out with Army for the day)

Receiving: Quality Time and Words of Affirmation. He’s an introvert at his core, but spending time with the select people that he feels most comfortable with means the world to him. Even if you’re doing separate things, just being able to spend time existing in each other's proximity makes him happy. Also, I just feel like his constant plays for complements(I look handsome, right?” “Whaa! Have you ever seen someone play this well?!”) aren’t entirely for the joke. He really does crave them, they give him an instant boost of confidence like nothing else

Yoongi: Giving, there’s no question that his main love language is Acts of Service, we’ve seen it from him making food/snacks for his members, checking in on trainees, even just playing along with little requests from fans during livestreams. It warms his heart like nothing else to be of service to those around him. I also think he’s really big on words of affirmation. He’s always praising others in his soft, gentle way.

Receiving: I think it’s the same two, plus Quality Time. He appreciates acknowledgement of his efforts and someone who’ll look out for him as much as he does for them. He also values his free time greatly, and so someone making a conscious effort to dedicate time for him means a lot to him. Similar to Jin, you don’t even have to necessarily be doing the same thing, so long as you’re together(all those fics about hanging in his studio are onto something, tho I think he avoids working when he’s with his S/o)

Hobi: Giving: Gifts! He loves treating his members and loved ones to little surprises, whether that's with a simple coffee/dinner or some super elaborate gift(like when he made Jimin a physical copy of his song ‘Promise’ with a proper album booklet and everything). It makes him so happy to be able to provide for his loved one in some way, and he really loves finding special, unique things to show that he cares.

Receiving: He seems to really glow from Words of Affirmation, he loves having his efforts acknowledged and receiving praise. Acts of Service also seems to be a big one for him, The way he gets soo excited whenever one of the members comes by during a mv shoot or helps him with something(Jimin killing the bug for him during In The Soop lol), it makes him so happy to know that people actually want to help him too, not just the other way around.

Joon: He’s mentioned before that one of his love languages is Words of affirmation, both giving and receiving. He really values verbal expressions of affection and encouragement, and so he tries to give that back to those around him. Another big one for him as well is Quality Time. He’s very much an extrovert and knows the importance of spending time around those that you love, so he definitely makes an effort to be there for them as much as possible.

Receiving: Same as above. Having someone to just sit and talk with him about whatever soothes his heart like nothing else. It doesn’t matter if it’s a super deep topic or not(though knowing him, it’ll inevitably turn philosophical lol), just having someone spend time with him means the world to him. And that goes hand in hand with Words of Affirmation. As I said before, he really values verbal connection and encouragement, so genuine compliments or words of positivity makes his heart so happy

Jimin: For Giving, it’s definitely Acts of Service and Words of Affirmation. He’s very much a care-er, everyone who spends more than two minutes with him talks about how helpful and generous he is. He’s always making sure those around him are taken care of and encouraged in whatever it is they’re doing, or giving comfort if he sees someone struggling. Even in the military, other soldiers have shared how he treats them to food or gives up his phone time for them. He just wants to make sure everyone’s looked after and taken care of.

Receiving: Words of Affirmation and Physical Touch. We’ve all seen how physically affectionate he is with the members and his friends, he takes an immense amount of joy and comfort in physical contact, even if it's just a simple touch on his hand or shoulder. He also absolutely lights up whenever he receives praise, and really cherishes every piece of encouragement that he receives.

Taehyung: Giving: Words of Affirmation, He thrives on praise, and he also gives the same out to those around him happily. He’s always giving words of encouragement to the people around him. I’m reminded of him cheering on the crew in the middle of a sandstorm during the Yet To Come video shoot, and when a fan mentioned how she was joining the military because she wanted to help her family, and he told her that she was already helpful and valuable just by existing. He loves to lift up and encourage those around him through his words

Receiving: It should come as a shock to no one that his main languages are Words of Affirmation and Physical Touch. Look at the way that boy’s face lights up when someone compliments and try to argue with me. He absolutely thrives on praise. He’s talked about how he would work extra hard on choreo because he wanted praise from Hobi. He is also one of the biggest cuddle bugs I’ve ever seen, he’s always seeking out hugs and physical contact from the members or his friends, and this would only become more intense with his S/o.

Jungkook: Giving: Quality Time and Words of Affirmation. He seems to really put high priority on spending time with his loved ones as a way of making them feel seen and appreciated(yes, I’m still crying over his surprise weverse live, don’t touch me😭). He’s also always more than ready to give out compliments and words of encouragement to anyone around him, especially if he notices someone having a tough time.

Receiving: Quality Time, Words of Affirmation, and Physical Touch. Tbh I could’ve put all five languages for Kookie, he thrives on all forms of love and affection. The members have mentioned how easily sad he gets if he’s not included in things, he’s at his happiest when he’s with his people. He tends to be rather hard on himself, so he really relies on and takes a lot of comfort from praise and words of encouragement. He’s also mentioned how he really craves Physical Touch as a way to feel connected to his loved ones.

Taglist: @sopebubbles-replies @btsw1fe @this-must-be-my-tardis @whitefoxgirl @bethanysnow @coffeedepressionsoup @feminympho @classicalelephant @dfqcsqueen @mother2monsters @comingupwithacoolnameishard @bo0ghol @seleneacyoflove @k4ngelz @universal-travel-er

[aventurineswife]

Omg so I have been SCOURING the entire internet for a fic where Aventurine and reader are dancing together (with Aven leading the dance) at a fancy event (a bit like black swan and acheron in the one animated short) and I have not found a single one 😔 It’s just been on my mind so much recently and I’d love to see it written out. Bonus points if he’s wearing the suit from the Final Victor light cone.

You’re an amazing writer and patience breeds success so please take your time and make sure to stay hydrated!

A Dance With The Devil

Summary: At an opulent event, the air is thick with intrigue, and the spotlight falls on you and Aventurine. As the music begins, he takes the lead in an intimate dance, his presence overwhelming yet captivating. The atmosphere is charged with unspoken tension as you’re drawn into his world of elegance, calculated moves, and dangerous charm. In a moment of sensual elegance, your every move is mirrored by him, and the dance becomes a game of its own—a game that may leave you questioning who is really in control.

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Sensual Dance, Romance, Ship Tease, Power Dynamics, Slow Burn.

Warnings: Sensual themes, Flirtation, Light teasing, Possible manipulation hints.

A/N: 🧍‍♀️I'm not good at describing dances and uh outfits most of the time but I tried my best describing the Final Victor outfit even tho I can't tell the colours properly 💀 also thank you for your kind words, I hope you enjoy this!! 🤧💖🫶

The grand hall was alive with the murmur of conversations and the clinking of glasses, yet all eyes seemed to be drawn to the centerpiece of the evening: a lavish ballroom where the finest of the elite gathered in their best attire. The chandeliers above flickered with an ethereal glow, casting soft shadows over the polished floor. The air was thick with the scent of perfume and expensive cologne, and the atmosphere teemed with an unspoken tension—one that was both thrilling and dangerous.

Aventurine stood in the corner, his presence enough to command attention. His attire tonight was nothing short of breathtaking—his teal-colored dress shirt was immaculate, paired with a diagonal striped black-and-white/gray tie that accented the sharp lines of his suit jacket. Gold accents glittered in the dim light, tracing the edges of his jacket’s lapels and outlining intricate patterns that added an air of regality. Black gloves graced his hands, and his eyes—those unwavering eyes—roamed the room, scanning, assessing, always playing the game.

But it was you he saw.

You, standing by the edge of the crowd, nervously adjusting your attire. There was a certain pull to you, something that made his smile curve slightly—dangerously so—as he pushed himself off the wall and moved towards you, his footsteps steady and purposeful.

"May I have this dance?" he asked, his voice smooth, almost a whisper, but commanding nonetheless.

You looked at him, surprised, then caught the glint of amusement dancing in his eyes. A gamble—he always liked to push boundaries. The gentle touch of his fingers against your arm as he guided you to the floor was enough to send a shiver down your spine.

He led you to the center, the spotlight now on both of you. His movements were effortless, calculated—he knew the steps without having to think about them. His hand was warm, encircling your waist with a precision that spoke of experience, while his other hand gently grasped your own, guiding it to his shoulder.

Aventurine’s eyes locked onto yours, his lips curving in a slight smile. "You seem out of place here," he mused, his voice a velvet thread in the tense silence of the room. "This world of pretense, it’s not for everyone."

You hesitated, but his steady presence made you feel as though the weight of the world was momentarily lifted. "And what makes you so certain I don’t belong?"

"Because you’re not playing the game." He swirled you gracefully, his fingers brushing against the curve of your back. You followed his lead effortlessly, your steps in sync, though his hold on you was firm—intentional. Every move, every subtle adjustment he made in his grip, seemed deliberate. He wasn’t just leading the dance; he was guiding you through a maze of temptation.

The rhythm of the music was slow, sensual, every beat punctuated by the close proximity between you. His body was a constant presence, so near yet never too forward, his touch light but possessive. His chest brushed against yours as you turned, the heat from his body seeping into yours.

"You play by a different set of rules," Aventurine said softly, his lips mere inches from your ear. His breath was warm, teasing the sensitive skin there. His voice was low, almost inaudible over the music, but it sent a thrill down your spine.

Your gaze flickered to his hand at your waist, feeling the steady pressure of his touch, his thumb moving in soft circles over the fabric of your attire. His gloved hand, resting on your back, slid up, almost imperceptibly, as if claiming you. It wasn’t the kind of dance you expected, nor the kind of connection you’d imagined. There was an unspoken invitation in his movements, a pull that was irresistible, yet layered with danger.

You found yourself pressed closer to him as the dance continued, his body a constant heat against yours. The rhythm quickened, and so did the tension. His movements became even more intimate, calculated with a precision that left no room for escape. Your heart raced—part fear, part exhilaration—as his hand slid down to the small of your back, his fingers just grazing the edge of your spine.

Aventurine’s smirk widened, as if he knew exactly what effect he was having on you. His eyes never left your face. "You feel it too, don’t you? The game." He pulled you in closer, so close you could feel the steady beat of his heart against your own.

In that moment, everything was suspended. The world faded away, leaving only the two of you—entangled in a dance that was both a test and a temptation. Every step, every shift, was a challenge, a calculated move in a game you didn’t fully understand, but one you were now unwilling to escape.

"You could walk away," he murmured, his breath warm against your lips, "but where’s the fun in that?"

The music reached its crescendo, and for a brief moment, you were lost in the dance, caught in his orbit. The thrill of the gamble was intoxicating, and as you danced with Aventurine, you realized that you were no longer just a player in his game—you were part of it.

And neither of you were willing to lose.

[snoopychris]

dilf!chris is struggling and needs younger!readers help

chris sighed as his four year old rejected his food again. he felt like he had made every possible meal by now. eggs, pancakes, waffles, he even went out of his way to call his mom for a french toast recipe. “owen, buddy. hey i need you to eat.” he frowns, ruffling the kids hair. “i’ve made you everything by now! i can’t make you much more… we don’t have much more. i’m gonna be eatin all this food for multiple meals.” he whispers. he knew that owen didn’t understand much, but he still tried. owen huffed and crossed his arms, shaking his head.

“cocoa puffs!” he whines, pouting his big brown eyes at his father. owen, otherwise a spitting image of chris, had his mothers eyes. it was the only feature he seemed to have of hers. chris sighs again as he nods in defeat, grabbing the cereal box from the top of the fridge. he serves a small portion in an equally small bowl for the boy, but groans when he’s opens the fridge and discovers he’s out of milk. that damn french toast. he glances outside to determine if it was worth going out with a toddler. when he sees the snow falling, he decides against it.

“sorry bud. guess you’ll have to eat it dry.” he mumbles, giving the boy an apologetic kiss on the head. owen frowns at the sight, pushing the cereal away too. chris’ frown grows and if anyone were to see the two boys pouting at that moment they’d know they were related. “owen.” he speaks sternly, his patience suddenly flying out the window into the storm. owen’s little lip trembles at his dad’s tone. chris never yells. he’s never mean. he swore to be everything his dad wasn’t. tears form in the poor boys eyes. he’s about to break down. chris tries his best to prevent the situation by pulling him into his arms, rubbing the back of his head. “hey… it’s okay. we’ll go buy some milk later and you can have that for lunch yeah?” he mumbles, running fingers through the boys hair. when owen begins to reply, he’s cut off by a knock on their door.

owen hops off his chair and begins running towards the door, his little feet going slower than he hopes. “mommy! daddy mommy’s here!” he yells. chris only frowns cause he knows that no, owen’s mom definitely isn’t there. as much as he wishes that she was on the other side, he knew that there was no way. he catches up to the boy and moves him aside gently.

“no bud it’s not mommy. move over so i can open the door yeah?” chris whispers, slowly opening the door. he’s shocked when you’re on the other side, a big tupperwear in your hands. “hey, kid. what are you doin here? it’s storming out there, don’t tell me you came all the way over here to return an old container of mine? unless you’re just using it as an excuse for something else which… just isn’t the best time right now.” he asks, moving aside to let you in. you shake your head as you walk in, pushing your hood off your head.

“no i um… actually made like… way too much chicken noodle soup last night. my dad told me to bring some over.” you smile, placing it on the table. you kneel down to be eye level with owen, noticing his messy hair. “y’just wake up or something? why’s that hair a mess?” you joke, glancing up towards chris. you smile at him, his hair messy just like his toddlers. owen giggles at your words, tumbling towards the container on the counter.

“daddy, soup?” he whispers, batting his eyes at his father. chris chuckles and nods, taking the container to the kitchen and serving the young boy some. a genuine smile runs across chris’ face when owen begins happily eating, enjoying every bite. chris sends you a look. you can’t tell what it’s for at first, but you understand when chris speaks.

“thank you… he hasn’t wanted to eat anything yet.” he whispers, looking over all the other food on his kitchen counter. “you hungry?” his smile grows when you nod and begin to dig into some of the food sitting out.

dividers by @issysh3ll !!

a/n: dilf!chris i adore you

taglist(reply or message to be added!): @ifwdominicfike @frankoceanfanpage @mattssslutbby @sophand4n4 @matthewsturnsgf @izzylovesmatt @m11rx @chris-hallelujah @sturniolotoast @mattsbrat @wastelandzella @le4hsblog @mattsd0llfac3 @st7rnioioss @isabellewhatt @sturnslutz @chrisscoraline @forgottxen @blahbel668 @ivyyyyyysposts @h0e4fictionalme-n @riasturns @sofieeeeex @littlebookworm803 @allylovescody @ribread03 @mattg1rl @cheesecakedolll @chrislova @ikyoudreamofme @ayesha-eroticaa @ivysturnss @slutformatt17

[pomefioredove]

May I have a sugar cookie, #14, with sprinkles and marshmallows? Thank you (^×^)

read an actual book today so I feel less constipated with my writing. thank you everyone for patience!!

order #14, sugar with sprinkles and marshmallows

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ it's my honor

tropes: roommate AU, hurt/comfort characters: silver additional info: romantic or platonic, gender neutral reader, reader is yuu

Perhaps it was pity, perhaps it was kindness.

You can never be too sure at Night Raven College. But after months of living and studying and working here, you've taught yourself not to question good things.

It's January, and it's cold.

The warning of a blizzard is tacked to your door after there's already snow up to your knees, late in usual Crowley fashion.

When Lilia offers you a room in Diasomnia for the week, you say yes.

You had just thought he meant a room in Diasomnia. As in, your own.

Not Silver's.

"Are you comfortable?" he asks, for the thousandth time.

Despite his demeanor, calm and quiet as ever, you can sense the restless anxiety in his room tonight.

He's been like this since you and Grim were left at his door.

There's no doubt in your mind that Lilia hadn't asked nor warned him of the coming visitors. "I'm alright,"

"Not too cold?" he crosses his arms, and looks rather uncomfortable. It makes your stomach twist with guilt.

"No, it's fine. Thank you for having us,"

Grim is already snoring at the end of the bed, somehow hogging all of the blankets, despite his small size.

Silver sits beside him, stiff and awkward and uncomfortable.

"Not hungry?" he asks. Is he trying to get rid of you? Already?

"No, um... the feast that Malleus and Lilia put on was... plenty. Too much, even," you smile and sit, too.

There's something, almost like a smile, that plays on Silver's lips, but then his arms are tight across his chest and his expression has gone calm again.

"I'm pleased. We're all... very glad to have you,"

You snort at that, and, again, his calm, stoic expression ripples like the waters of a pond.

"Did I say something humorous?"

"Oh, uh... no, sorry. I just... um... you don't seem super excited to have me here," you smile awkwardly. "Which is fine! I guess I should've expected... Lilia didn't tell either of us, huh?"

Silver doesn't respond. You were hoping to see that faint smile again, or at least hear that hum of agreement from his lips, but there's nothing.

You look at him again, and he avoids your eyes.

"...It was I who sent for you,"

Your heart sinks. Oh... Oh?

"Oh,"

There's a quiver in his voice that he fails to drown. "H-have I been burdening you?"

"No!" you exclaim, quite loudly and abruptly (perhaps you've spent too much time with Sebek?) and Silver's eyes go wide.

"I-I thought I was burdening you..."

He stares, taken aback by your volume and then your words, and then there's that smile, again.

"Burdening me..." he repeats, as if you had said something terribly silly.

"You could never do such a thing. It was I who suggested you stay in Diasomnia, after all. I-I apologize for making you feel unwelcome. My... chivalry can come off as coldness sometimes."

You take a breath to calm yourself, and then you smile, too. Silver's eyes soften at the sight.

"Ah... I see," you mutter. "Thank you, then."

Even his smile softens. He tugs a blanket away from Grim and delicately wraps it around your shoulders, shielding you from the cold.

"It's my honor."

[ofbatsandballads]

Hi Rae. Who gave you permission to snap my heart in two at midnight? No, really, this has me going insane so have my ranting under the cut:

He's not normal. Not someone you should be happy to see. […] But you are– everytime he drags his weary body to your window– you're happy. You smile, welcome him inside like he has a place there.

The way I’m already screaming “because he does have a place there!” before we’ve even hit the end. Something about Jason not being able to accept love not because other people are liars or insincere but because he can’t comprehend why anyone would love him is so heartbreakingly in character.

It's not like he can offer the same back or return the favors you so freely give. He wants to– at least he thinks he does– he just gets stuck when it comes to what to do with you.

Reciprocity—tit for tat, an eye for an eye—being so ingrained in his perception of the world and of himself that he can’t realize he doesn’t have to return the favor, that he can just accept the kindness for what it is, makes me want to cry. Thanks.

shocked to stillness each time your hands don't bring a wave of hurt to his skin.

Stray dog coded Jason who doesn’t know what to do when touch doesn’t hurt is so dear to me. I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again: your characterization of him is golden.

He adores you. He won't admit it to anyone, not even to himself most of the time. But he does.

Jason who loves so deeply, so completely that it could destroy him. Jason who has spent both of his lives just trying to stay above water, running from anything that could harm him. Jason who was killed because he loved so fiercely. Just…him finding himself loving someone that much again and sort of bluescreening on what that means for him.

There is no happy ending when all he can offer is fleeting comforts and one word answers. He doesn't deserve your patience, your endless willingness to understand and wait for him to figure himself out.

The absolute overpowering emotion of needing to drill it into his head with love and kindness and care that there is a happy ending with all of that actually. And that he does deserve good things and patience and love. I just know loving him would be so frustrating sometimes but that each time it would just make you want to stick around more.

If he knew how, he'd ask if you were really okay with who he is, what he does, how he acts. Your eagerness to make him feel like he does fit into any place in your life makes him wonder if it's all just a mask. If you're just waiting for him to be at his worst to reveal that it's all a lie– that he's truly and devastatingly unwanted.

So this whole paragraph took me out but that last line destroyed me. The phrase “truly and devastatingly unwanted” is going to live rent free in my head for a while now.

it's just that the store was out and he was bleeding too heavily through his suit to stop at anywhere else.

I recently read a piece of Jason meta that said that he would accept any and all harm or mistreatment just to get the companionship and love he craves and this really speaks to that because why are you picking up ice cream when you’re bleeding out??? Oh, it’s because he thinks he’s unworthy of basic human decency if he has nothing to offer.

You're just too good. Everything Jason isn't. He feels like he's dragging you down with him when you offer to keep emergency weapons for him hidden in your apartment. He's definitely staining everything you are with his greedy hands when you start keeping extra first aid kits in your closet.

Clawing at the walls while screaming “they do it because they love you!!!” I love reading this from the perspective of his partner because it’s just sitting here listening to the internal monologue of man that is confidently incorrect. Your description of him being an unreliable narrator is spot on.

And when you clean out a drawer in your dresser for him to keep clothes in, when you stock your cupboards with all his preferred foods, fill your shelves with his favorite books, and play the songs he loves to hum along to, he selfishly lets himself believe you might want this forever too. You do.

One of my favorite things about how you write Jason is that he always, without fail, breaks at the end just a little bit. The sustained love and care and kindness always manages to get the tiniest foothold in his soul, like a flower growing through a crack in concrete. Even when he thinks he’s being selfish or delusional or blindly hopeful. It’s so true to what loving someone like him would be like—slow and gradual and hard fought, but resolute and unflinching.

So yeah, in short I love this with my entire being and I will be sending you the bill for my therapy (please never stop writing).

If He Could

Jason is an unreliable narrator ~1k words

Jason's no good for you. He's too brash, too rough, too easily pulled away to defend the streets of Gotham. He's a liability in your life, a dark stain in the otherwise perfect fabric of your reality. He's all the worst of shadowed alleys and tortured corners of decaying apartments.

He's quick to pull a weapon, even quicker to throw a punch. He doesn't quite remember how to make his smile look natural, how to stand without his shoulders tense and ready to dodge whatever comes his way. He's not normal. Not someone you should be happy to see.

But you are– everytime he drags his weary body to your window– you're happy. You smile, welcome him inside like he has a place there.

And he doesn't know what to do with it. Doesn't know how he should react to your bright eyes and soft touches and fond words. It's not like he can offer the same back or return the favors you so freely give. He wants to– at least he thinks he does– he just gets stuck when it comes to what to do with you.

He knows he shouldn't tense up at your reassuring pats to his arms– but he freezes, shocked to stillness each time your hands don't bring a wave of hurt to his skin. He knows he shouldn't be so quiet when you ramble about your day, but he can't find the words to describe just how much he does care about every mundane fact you share with him.

And oh, does he care. Too much even. Cares in a way that scares him off the grid for days at a time, only to sheepishly find his way back to your fire escape with a tub of melting ice cream or cooling coffee and a half-baked excuse on his tongue.

He adores you. He won't admit it to anyone, not even to himself most of the time. But he does. It's you who he wants to come back to when his feet ache and his eyes strain to make out words and figures. It's you who makes him feel not so heavy when the sun starts to rise over the tired, crumbling buildings he knows better than his own skin.

He has a portion of his heart and mind set aside just for you. But Jason can't tell you that. The more he relents to you (because he can never say no when you ask), the more he threatens to ruin you. He's a slow rot, a plague that sets into the very marrow of your bones.

But you don't see it. He doesn't want you to, but you should. You should understand that by carving out a place for him besides you, you are going to destroy yourself from the inside out.

There is no happy ending when all he can offer is fleeting comforts and one word answers. He doesn't deserve your patience, your endless willingness to understand and wait for him to figure himself out.

It's not fair to you– to either of you. But he always ends up back in your living room, always ends up with his hands curling into fists as you graciously take whatever food or trinket he's brought to try and win your continued affections.

He secretly believes he must be the most selfish person in the world when he leans into your warm hugs, when he passes out on your couch after your semi-regular movie nights. (He tries not to linger on what it means when he sleeps better on your old, worn furniture than his own bed)

It's cruel of him to lead you on like this. It's cruel of him to set himself up for heartbreak. You'll learn that he's not worth your time soon enough. But, for now, he can't help but bask in the way you offer to stitch the tears in his clothes, the way you so excitedly ask him to try every new recipe you've made.

If he knew how, he'd ask if you were really okay with who he is, what he does, how he acts. Your eagerness to make him feel like he does fit into any place in your life makes him wonder if it's all just a mask. If you're just waiting for him to be at his worst to reveal that it's all a lie– that he's truly and devastatingly unwanted.

Those words still haven't come from either of your lips– don't come– even when he messes up and brings you the wrong flavor of ice cream. (It's not that he forget what you liked– it's just that the store was out and he was bleeding too heavily through his suit to stop at anywhere else)

The words don't even come when he doesn't tell you why he disappeared for over a month this time. (Someone got too close to his identity– to you. He had to track down everyone involved before he could even think of resting or seeing you again)

Jason wants to have the right words, wants to do the right thing, and make you laugh and watch your eyes light up because of something he did. He wants to hug you back in a way that makes you feel safe and needed and wanted above all else. He wants to. He just doesn't deserve to give you that, even if he knew how to do it.

You're just too good. Everything Jason isn't. He feels like he's dragging you down with him when you offer to keep emergency weapons for him hidden in your apartment. He's definitely staining everything you are with his greedy hands when you start keeping extra first aid kits in your closet.

But for the life of him, he can't stop. Can't stop his familiar trek to your windowsill. Can't stop craving the hugs you offer, the conversations you share.

He wants this forever. He wants to keep this– you– whatever this is, in between his fingers and never let go. (He could if you'd just let him) You would.

And when you clean out a drawer in your dresser for him to keep clothes in, when you stock your cupboards with all his preferred foods, fill your shelves with his favorite books, and play the songs he loves to hum along to, he selfishly lets himself believe you might want this forever too. You do.

[yassbishimvintage]

Studio

Warnings: None. But a lot of fluffy fluff.

A/N: This will be my first series. I got a little carried away.

Word Count: 11.7k

Song Inspo: Studio ~ Schoolboy Q

Banner by: @cafekitsune

It was a warm day. Amari’s favorite client was back again. When he comes in he wraps her in a strong, warm hug.

“Thank you for squeezing me in, Mari,” Brendan says with a soft smile, settling into the chair in front of her. The small salon space feels more like a sanctuary than a workplace—intimate and warm, much like the woman standing behind him.

Amari rolls her eyes playfully, running her hands through his curls to assess the texture. “You say that like I don’t always make time for you,” she teases, her voice light but carrying an undertone that only he can pick up on.

Brendan leans back slightly, tilting his head just enough to catch her eyes in the mirror. “That’s 'cause you spoil me. Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Amari chuckles, shaking her head as she grabs her spray bottle, misting his hair lightly. The cool water trickles down his scalp, and Brendan closes his eyes, letting himself relax under her touch.

“You’d survive,” she says, her tone softening. “You’d just look a mess while doing it.”

Her hands move deftly, sectioning off his hair and working with precision. Brendan sits quietly for a moment, his usual quips and charm giving way to the comfort of the moment. There’s something about sitting between her legs, the quiet intimacy of the space, that makes him feel more at ease than he has in weeks.

“You good?” she asks, noticing his uncharacteristic silence.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, opening his eyes to look at her reflection. “Just…this. It’s nice. Feels like home, you know?”

Amari pauses for a beat, her hands resting lightly on his shoulders. She’s used to Brendan’s smooth-talking, the way he can charm his way through almost anything, but moments like this—when he’s just Brendan, not Mid-Sized Sedan—catch her off guard.

“Well, you know where to find me,” she says softly, her fingers returning to his hair. “Just don’t let that head of yours get too big. Fame or no fame, you’re still just Brendan to me.”

He grins at that, his dimples deepening as he tilts his head back to look up at her. “And you’re still the only one who can handle me, Mari.”

She shakes her head, fighting back a smile as she continues her work. For all his smooth words and playful antics, there’s a sincerity in his tone that she can’t ignore. And though she’d never say it out loud, moments like these—just the two of them, quiet and close—feel like home to her, too.

Brendan tilts his head back, looking up at Amari with a soft, almost boyish smile. His eyes catch hers in the mirror for a moment before shifting up to meet her gaze directly. “What?” he asks with a playful smirk, his voice low and teasing.

Amari pauses, her hands stilling in his hair as she tries to suppress a grin. “Nothing,” she says, but her voice gives her away. There’s a warmth in her tone, a quiet fondness she’s stopped trying to hide around him.

“Don’t ‘nothing’ me,” he says, his smirk growing wider. “You’re lookin’ at me like you got something to say.”

She shakes her head, letting out a quiet laugh. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, his eyes still locked on hers. “But you like me anyway.”

Amari huffs, pretending to roll her eyes, but the way she leans closer gives her away. The tension in the air shifts, subtle but undeniable, as Brendan's smile softens. He doesn’t move, doesn’t say another word, just watches her with a quiet patience that feels more intimate than anything he’s said so far.

And then, before she can second-guess herself, Amari leans down and presses her lips to his.

It’s not planned or calculated—just a gentle, impulsive kiss, the kind born out of familiarity and unspoken connection. Brendan responds immediately, his hand instinctively reaching up to rest lightly on her leg, grounding himself in the moment.

When she finally pulls back, her cheeks are flushed, and there’s a spark of nervousness in her eyes. “I—”

But Brendan doesn’t let her finish. “You know,” he interrupts with a grin, “if I knew sittin’ in this chair would get me kissed, I would’ve booked a weekly appointment.”

Amari laughs, swatting his shoulder lightly, her embarrassment fading as quickly as it came. “You’re such a fool,” she mutters, but her smile doesn’t falter.

“Maybe,” he says, his voice quieter now, his hand still resting on her leg. “But you’re the only one I’m a fool for.”

She looks at him, her heart skipping a beat at the sincerity in his tone, and for a moment, the world outside the small salon fades away. It’s just them—Brendan and Amari, the way it’s always been, but with a little more honesty between them now.

Amari smirks, her fingers combing through Brendan’s curls as she preps his next section of hair. “Since you don’t pay me the traditional way anyway,” she quips, her tone playful but edged with a teasing accusation.

Brendan raises an eyebrow, his grin spreading wide. “Oh, so that’s how you’re feelin’ today, huh?”

She shrugs, her smile unbothered. “Just sayin’. Bartering services isn’t exactly standard salon practice.”

He chuckles, leaning back a little to look up at her. “First of all, my presence alone is priceless,” he teases, his dimples on full display. “But if you’re open to negotiations…”

Amari tilts her head, feigning curiosity. “And what exactly do you have in mind?”

Without missing a beat, Brendan grins mischievously. “I think sex is a great payment,” he says, his voice smooth, as if it’s the most logical suggestion in the world.

Amari freezes for a second, her lips parting in mock shock before she bursts into laughter. “Boy, you are too much,” she says, swatting his shoulder with the back of her hand.

“I’m serious,” he says, though his grin makes it clear he’s loving the reaction he’s getting out of her. “Think about it—completely mutual exchange of services. Everybody wins.”

Amari leans closer, narrowing her eyes at him. “Oh, is that how you see it? So me busting my ass to make sure you’re camera-ready equals…” She trails off, giving him a pointed look.

Brendan doesn’t miss a beat. “Equals me bustin’ something else for you,” he says with a wink, leaning back in the chair like he just delivered the punchline of the century.

Amari stares at him for a moment, her mouth twitching as she fights to keep a straight face. “You are so stupid,” she says, finally breaking into laughter, the sound filling the small salon.

Brendan joins her, his laugh low and genuine. “You walked into that one, Mari,” he says, his voice softening as he watches her, the playful banter giving way to something warmer.

Amari shakes her head, still smiling as she resumes working on his hair. “You better be glad I like you,” she mutters.

“Oh, I know you do,” Brendan replies, his voice quieter now. “And just so you know...the offer stands.”

Amari doesn’t respond immediately, but the sly grin tugging at her lips says everything she doesn’t. Whatever this is between them—playful, complicated, and completely unconventional—it’s theirs.

“B,” Amari says firmly, her hands pausing in his hair as she looks down at him, her expression soft but serious. “We talked about this…”

Brendan’s grin falters just a bit, though the teasing spark in his eyes remains. “Yeah, yeah, I know,” he says, leaning back against the chair with a dramatic sigh. “No mixing business with pleasure, right?”

She arches an eyebrow, her hands resuming their work, gently detangling his curls. “Exactly. And what you’re suggesting? That’s a straight-up recipe for disaster.”

He tilts his head slightly, watching her in the mirror. “But what if it wasn’t?”

Amari lets out a small laugh, shaking her head. “What does that even mean?”

Brendan shrugs, his tone casual but his gaze more serious now. “Just sayin’, Mari. You and me? We already get each other. Maybe it wouldn’t be a disaster. Maybe it’d be...something else.”

She exhales deeply, her fingers still moving but slower now. “B,” she starts, her voice softer this time. “You know I care about you. And yeah, we have fun, but crossing that line? It’s not as simple as you make it sound.”

He nods, his expression thoughtful. “I get it. I do,” he says, his voice quieter. “But I also know what this feels like. And it’s not just fun, Mari. At least not for me.”

Amari’s hands stop completely, and she meets his eyes in the mirror. For a moment, the air between them shifts, the usual lightness replaced by something heavier, more vulnerable.

“Brendan…” she starts, but he cuts her off, turning in the chair slightly to face her directly.

“I’m not tryna push you into anything,” he says, his tone earnest. “I just...I don’t want you to think this is a joke to me. You’re more than that, Mari.”

Her heart skips a beat at the sincerity in his voice, but she forces herself to keep her composure. “I know that,” she says softly. “And that’s exactly why we have to be careful.”

Brendan studies her for a moment, then nods, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Alright. I hear you.”

Amari breathes a quiet sigh of relief, her hands moving back to his hair. “Good,” she says, her tone lightening as she tries to steer the conversation back to safer ground. “Now let me finish before you start talking crazy again.”

Brendan chuckles, leaning back in the chair. “No promises,” he says, but there’s a warmth in his voice that tells her he means what he said.

For now, the line between them remains intact, but the unspoken understanding lingers in the space between her hands and his hair—fragile but undeniable.

As Amari finishes the last section of Brendan’s hair, she steps back and gives his curls a quick fluff, admiring her work. “There,” she says with a satisfied smile. “You’re all set. Looking camera-ready as always.”

Brendan spins slightly in the chair, glancing at himself in the mirror. “You’re a magician, Mari,” he says, grinning as he runs a hand through his hair. “How do you always make me look this good?”

“Natural talent,” she replies, smirking as she starts cleaning up her tools. “Plus, it’s not like I’m working with bad material.”

He leans back in the chair, watching her with a lazy smile. “You know what would make this even better?”

Amari doesn’t look up, but the amused quirk of her brow gives her away. “What’s that, B?”

“Dinner,” he says casually, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “You, me, some good food…my treat this time. Let me say thanks properly.”

Amari pauses, glancing at him over her shoulder. “Dinner, huh?” she asks, her tone teasing. “And here I thought I’d already been paid in charm and bad jokes.”

Brendan chuckles, standing up and brushing off his jeans. “Consider it a bonus,” he says, his grin widening. “Besides, I’m starving, and you’ve been working all day. You deserve a break.”

Amari crosses her arms, giving him a skeptical look. “This isn’t one of your smooth attempts to turn dinner into something else, is it?”

He holds up his hands in mock innocence. “Scout’s honor. Just dinner. Unless…” He smirks, and she throws a towel at him, laughing.

“Alright, alright,” she says, shaking her head. “You win. But if this turns into you trying to pitch another ‘payment plan,’ I’m walking out.”

“Deal,” Brendan says, grabbing his jacket. “Now come on, Mari. Let’s go. I know a spot that’ll change your life.”

She rolls her eyes but grabs her bag, letting him lead the way. Despite her teasing, there’s a small smile on her lips she can’t quite hide. With Brendan, nothing’s ever simple, but somehow, it’s always worth it.

Brendan leads Amari down a quiet street, the glow of neon signs lighting their way. He’s relaxed, his hands stuffed casually into his jacket pockets, while Amari walks beside him, the crisp evening air brushing against her skin.

“I know you’re used to all that fancy restaurant stuff,” Brendan says, glancing over at her with a grin. “But trust me, this place? It’s unbeatable.”

She raises an eyebrow, a hint of skepticism in her smile. “You mean to tell me the guy who just finished a collab with one of the biggest designers prefers a hole-in-the-wall spot?”

“Absolutely,” he replies without hesitation. “You can’t trust a place that spends more time on the presentation than the food. Here? It’s all about the flavor, Mari.”

They stop in front of a small, unassuming building with a flickering sign that reads Mama Dee’s Kitchen. The windows are fogged up, and the smell of spices wafts out as someone opens the door.

Amari hesitates, looking at the worn exterior. “This is it?”

Brendan nods, his grin widening. “This is it. Best food in the city. You’ll see.”

Inside, the place is cozy and packed, with mismatched chairs and tables crammed together. The walls are covered in photos of customers, scribbled notes of thanks, and old newspaper clippings. A jukebox in the corner plays a soulful tune, adding to the warm, lived-in vibe.

As they sit down, a woman with a big smile and even bigger energy walks over, throwing a towel over her shoulder. “Well, if it isn’t Brendan,” she says, hands on her hips. “Thought you were too big-time to visit us little folks anymore.”

Brendan laughs, standing up to give her a quick hug. “Mama Dee, you know I could never forget about you. Got someone special I wanted to bring by.”

Amari blushes slightly as Mama Dee looks her over, her sharp eyes twinkling with curiosity. “Well, aren’t you a pretty thing,” she says, smiling warmly. “You keep him in line, alright? He needs it.”

“I’ll do my best,” Amari replies, smiling back as Brendan chuckles.

After taking their orders—Brendan insisting Amari tries the jerk chicken and mac and cheese—the two settle in. He leans back in his chair, watching her as she takes in the bustling atmosphere.

“So?” he asks, his voice soft but curious. “What do you think?”

Amari looks around, a small, genuine smile spreading across her lips. “I think it’s perfect,” she admits. “Way better than some pretentious rooftop spot.”

“Told you,” Brendan says, his grin triumphant.

When the food arrives, Amari is blown away. The flavors are rich and comforting, the kind of meal that feels like a hug. Brendan watches her reaction, satisfaction written all over his face.

“You weren’t kidding,” she says between bites, her tone amazed. “This might be the best food I’ve ever had.”

“I know my stuff,” he replies, winking. “Stick with me, Mari. I’ll take care of you.”

As the night goes on, the conversation flows easily, the lines between friendship and something more blurring even further. By the time they leave, Amari is convinced—this hole-in-the-wall is Brendan’s favorite for more than just the food. It’s a reflection of who he really is: unpretentious, full of heart, and unexpectedly soulful.

As they step out of Mama Dee’s Kitchen into the crisp night air, Amari hugs her jacket closer around herself. Brendan walks beside her, his hands tucked into his pockets, a satisfied smile lingering on his face from the meal.

She glances over at him, her brow furrowed slightly. “You’re about to go back to the studio tonight, aren’t you?” she asks, her tone half curious, half resigned.

Brendan chuckles, the sound low and warm. “What makes you say that?”

Amari rolls her eyes playfully. “Because I know you. You’ll eat a meal like that, and instead of relaxing, you’ll get all inspired and head straight back to work.”

He grins, shaking his head. “You act like that’s a bad thing.”

“It’s not,” she admits, slowing her pace slightly. “But do you ever just…stop? Take a night for yourself? For someone else?”

Brendan looks over at her, his expression softening. “I do,” he says after a moment. “You’re looking at it.”

Amari blinks, caught off guard. “What?”

“This,” he says, gesturing between them. “Dinner with you, taking a break to spend time with someone I actually like? That’s me stopping, Mari. That’s me taking a night.”

Her cheeks warm, and she looks away to hide the small smile tugging at her lips. “You’re such a smooth talker,” she mutters, though her tone lacks any real bite.

“It’s not talk,” Brendan says, his voice quieter now. “I mean it. But yeah, I’ll probably head back to the studio after I drop you off. There’s this hook I’ve been trying to perfect, and it’s driving me crazy.”

Amari sighs, shaking her head. “Of course you will. You’re impossible, B.”

He chuckles again, nudging her shoulder lightly. “And you wouldn’t have me any other way.”

She doesn’t respond immediately, instead focusing on the sound of their footsteps against the pavement. But as they reach her car, she turns to him, her expression softer.

“Just promise me you’ll get some sleep eventually, okay?” she says.

Brendan smirks, leaning casually against her car. “Only if you promise to keep being my favorite hairstylist-slash-dinner date.”

Amari laughs, shaking her head as she unlocks her door. “Deal.”

As she gets in, Brendan leans down, resting his arms on the window frame. “Thanks for coming out with me tonight, Mari,” he says, his voice sincere.

“Thanks for the food,” she replies, smiling. “And for the company.”

He taps the roof of her car lightly as he straightens up. “Anytime.”

As she drives off, Brendan watches her taillights disappear down the street before turning in the opposite direction. The studio’s calling, but for the first time in a long while, it doesn’t feel like the only place he wants to be.

-

Later that night, Amari is sprawled on her couch, wrapped in a soft throw blanket. The dim glow of her apartment’s ambient lighting casts a cozy hue over the room. She’s already undressed and in her favorite oversized t-shirt, a playlist of Brendan’s songs playing softly in the background.

As his smooth verses fill the space, she absentmindedly sips on a glass of wine, letting herself unwind after a long day. Her head bobs slightly to the beat, a small smile tugging at her lips as she listens to his voice.

Then, a soft knock breaks through the music. She freezes for a moment, her brows furrowing. It’s late—too late for unannounced visitors.

Setting her glass down, she stands and pads toward the door, her bare feet silent against the hardwood. “Who is it?” she calls out cautiously, leaning closer but not opening it just yet.

“It’s me,” comes Brendan’s familiar voice, muffled but unmistakable.

Amari sighs, her lips twitching into a reluctant smile as she unlocks the door. When she opens it, Brendan stands on the other side, hands in his pockets and an apologetic look on his face. He’s dressed in the same outfit from dinner, though his jacket is slung over one shoulder now, his curls slightly disheveled.

“B,” she says, crossing her arms and leaning against the doorframe. “What are you doing here? I thought you were heading to the studio.”

“I was,” he says, his tone low. “But I couldn’t focus. Kept thinking about you.”

Her heart skips a beat, but she quickly masks it with a raised brow. “Oh, really? And what exactly were you thinking?”

“That you’re probably here, cozy, listening to my music,” he says with a sly grin. “And I thought, ‘Why not give her the live version?’”

Amari rolls her eyes, but she can’t help the laugh that escapes her. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” he admits, stepping closer, his expression softening. “But I mean it. I just...wanted to see you again.”

She lets out a slow breath, her guard dropping slightly as she steps back to let him in. “You’re lucky I’m in a good mood,” she teases, closing the door behind him.

Brendan surveys her apartment, the sound of his song still playing in the background. His smile widens when he hears it. “I knew it,” he says, turning to her. “You’ve got good taste, Mari.”

She shakes her head, walking past him to grab her glass of wine. “You’re impossible,” she says, though there’s no real heat in her words. “You want a drink?”

“Nah,” he says, his gaze following her. “I’m good. I didn’t come here to drink.”

His tone is softer now, and when she turns to look at him, his expression is unreadable but intense. He takes a step closer, closing the distance between them.

“B…” she starts, but the way he’s looking at her makes her words falter.

“Tell me to leave, Mari,” he says quietly, his voice steady but his eyes searching hers. “If you want me to, I’ll go. No questions, no hard feelings.”

She stares at him for a moment, her heartbeat loud in her ears. Finally, she exhales, setting her glass down on the counter.

“You’re already here,” she says softly. “Might as well stay.”

His lips curve into a slow smile, and he steps even closer, his hand brushing against hers. For now, the world outside fades away, leaving just the two of them in the quiet warmth of her apartment, his voice still crooning softly from the speakers.

Brendan walks over to her couch, sinking into it with a contented sigh. “This is nice,” he says, looking around her apartment. “Cozy, just like you.”

Amari, still standing by the counter, suddenly becomes acutely aware of what she’s wearing—or rather, what she isn’t wearing. Brendan’s eyes are on her, warm and curious, but not overtly prying. Still, the thought that her oversized t-shirt is the only thing between her and complete exposure makes her pulse quicken.

“I, uh... I’ll be right back,” she mutters, turning quickly toward her bedroom.

Brendan watches her retreat, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement. “Take your time,” he calls after her, leaning back against the couch cushions.

Amari practically dives into her dresser, pulling out a pair of shorts. She quickly slips them on, glancing at herself in the mirror. “Get it together, Mari,” she mutters to her reflection, her cheeks flushed.

When she comes back out, Brendan has made himself at home. One arm is draped over the back of the couch, and he’s scrolling through her playlist on the speakers. He glances up when he hears her footsteps, his gaze flicking down briefly before meeting her eyes.

“Feel better now?” he teases, a knowing smirk on his face.

She narrows her eyes at him but can’t help the smile tugging at her lips. “Don’t start, B,” she warns, sitting down at the other end of the couch.

“I’m just saying,” he replies, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I didn’t mind the outfit, but if this makes you more comfortable…”

“Shut up,” she says, laughing despite herself.

They sit in companionable silence for a moment, the soft hum of music filling the space. Brendan glances over at her, his expression thoughtful.

“Thanks for letting me crash,” he says, his tone quieter now. “I know it’s late.”

Amari shrugs, leaning back into the couch. “It’s fine. You’re not exactly a stranger.”

“No,” he agrees, his eyes lingering on her for a moment. “I’m not.”

There’s something in his gaze that makes her stomach flip, but she brushes it off, reaching for her wine glass. “So, what was on your mind at the studio?” she asks, changing the subject.

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Honestly? You,” he says simply.

Amari blinks, caught off guard. “Me?”

“Yeah,” he says, looking up at her. “Can’t focus when I know you’re here, all cozy, listening to my stuff. It’s distracting.”

She scoffs, though her cheeks warm. “You’ve got a whole career to worry about, B. Don’t let me get in the way of that.”

He leans back again, his smile softening. “You’re not in the way, Mari. If anything, you’re the reason I keep going back.”

Her breath catches for a moment, but she quickly hides it behind her glass, taking a sip. Brendan just watches her, his eyes filled with something she’s not quite ready to name.

“I… uh…” Amari stammers, her usual confidence faltering under Brendan’s steady gaze. She sets her wine glass down on the table, her hands suddenly fidgeting with the edge of her shirt.

Brendan’s lips twitch into a small smile, but he doesn’t press her. Instead, he leans back into the couch, draping one arm over the backrest and letting his other hand rest on his thigh. “Didn’t mean to make you nervous,” he says softly, his tone teasing but gentle.

“I’m not nervous,” she says quickly, though the slight crack in her voice betrays her.

“Right,” he replies, his smile widening. “Because you’re always this jumpy, huh?”

She glares at him, but there’s no real heat behind it. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“And yet, here I am,” he says, gesturing around her apartment. “Somehow still your favorite headache.”

Amari huffs a laugh, shaking her head. “You give yourself way too much credit, B.”

“Maybe,” he says, his voice dropping slightly as his eyes lock onto hers. “But I think I’m right about this one.”

The air between them shifts, the playful banter giving way to something heavier, something unspoken. Amari feels her pulse quicken, her chest tightening as she searches for something—anything—to say.

“B,” she starts, her voice quieter now, “I don’t know what you’re doing, but…”

“I’m just being honest,” he cuts in, his tone serious. “You said not to let you get in the way, but you don’t get it, Mari. You’re not in the way—you’re the reason I’m still in it.”

Her breath catches, and she looks away, her hands twisting in her lap. “That’s… a lot,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I know,” he says, leaning forward slightly. “But it’s the truth. And I’m not gonna pretend it’s not.”

For a moment, neither of them speaks. The only sound is the soft hum of music in the background, one of Brendan’s slower tracks setting the mood without either of them realizing it.

Amari finally looks back at him, her eyes searching his face. “Why now?” she asks, her voice tinged with vulnerability.

“Because I’m tired of pretending like I don’t feel this way every time I’m around you,” he says simply. “And if I’m being real, I think you feel it too.”

She exhales slowly, her walls cracking just enough for him to see the conflict in her eyes. “You’re not making this easy,” she murmurs.

“I’m not trying to,” he says, his gaze unwavering. “I’m just asking you to let me in.”

Amari swallows hard, the weight of his words settling over her. She doesn’t know what to say—doesn’t know if she even needs to say anything. Brendan waits, patient and steady, giving her the space to decide.

Amari takes a deep breath, her heart racing as she looks down at him, his gaze intense yet calm, waiting for her. Something shifts in her, something undeniable, and without fully thinking, she slowly stands up. Her legs move deliberately as she straddles Brendan, her knees pressing against the couch on either side of him.

Brendan’s breath hitches at the change in position, his hands resting on her hips, his thumbs brushing the fabric of her shorts as he looks up at her, eyes dark with unspoken understanding.

“You sure about this?” he asks, his voice low and rough.

Amari meets his gaze, her own breathing shaky but steady. “I don’t know,” she admits, her voice a whisper, “but I want to find out.”

He exhales slowly, his hands sliding around her waist to hold her steady, pulling her closer. “I’m not going anywhere,” he says, the sincerity in his voice making her pulse quicken.

For a moment, they simply stay there, inches apart, the air between them thick with anticipation. Amari can feel the weight of her own hesitation, but it’s overshadowed by the pull of his presence. She lets herself fall into it, the world outside their small bubble fading as she leans down toward him.

Their lips meet in a soft, slow kiss, and the tension between them finally snaps. It’s a kiss full of unspoken words and raw connection, as if they’ve both been waiting for this moment, even if they didn’t realize it.

As the kiss deepens, Amari moves her hands to the back of his neck, threading her fingers through his hair. She can feel the warmth of his body beneath her, the steady rhythm of his breath matching hers.

Brendan responds in kind, his hands roaming slowly over her back, tracing her skin, savoring the feel of her against him. He pulls her closer, and she can feel the heat between them grow.

But even as the moment unfolds, Amari remains uncertain, the questions still swirling in her mind. She pulls back slightly, her chest heaving as she looks down at him.

“B, I…” She doesn’t know what to say.

Brendan’s hand gently cups her cheek, his thumb brushing over her skin with an almost reverent touch. “Mari,” he says softly, his voice steady, “you don’t have to say anything.”

And for a moment, the world seems to hold its breath. The silence between them isn’t awkward—it’s filled with understanding, trust, and something more. She doesn’t need to have all the answers right now. They’re here, in this moment, together. And that’s enough.

Brendan’s fingers trace the edge of Amari’s shirt, his touch light and tentative at first, as though giving her the chance to pull away if she wants. But Amari doesn’t move. Instead, she watches him, the anticipation making her pulse quicken. She feels the brush of his fingers against her skin, soft but deliberate, as he slowly tugs at the hem of her shirt, lifting it just enough to reveal the smoothness of her stomach.

Amari bites her lip, her chest rising and falling with each breath, her body betraying the calm she’s trying to maintain. The weight of his touch, the heat from his hands, makes her heart race, and she can’t help but shiver under his gaze.

“Are you sure about this?” he murmurs again, his voice hushed, just above a whisper, his eyes locking onto hers as his fingers linger at the fabric.

She meets his gaze, her hands resting on his shoulders for support, and there’s a softness in her eyes, something she hasn’t allowed herself to show in a while. “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t,” she says, her voice steady despite the butterflies stirring in her stomach.

Brendan gives a small, approving smile, his thumb brushing along the hem of her shirt once more, but this time with more intent. “Then let’s make sure we take our time,” he says softly, his fingers sliding underneath the fabric, gently lifting it as though giving her the chance to stop him.

Amari’s breath catches as his hand slides beneath her shirt, his warm palm against her skin, sending a ripple of heat through her. She doesn’t pull away. Instead, she leans down slightly, pressing her lips to his in a quiet, reassuring kiss, before drawing back to meet his eyes once more.

“Take your time, B,” she says quietly, her voice low and steady, matching the unspoken promise between them.

Once her shirt was discarded his eyes grew wide at the bareness of her.

Brendan’s breath catches in his throat when Amari’s shirt finally slips away, revealing the smoothness of her skin. His eyes widen, a mix of awe and admiration flickering across his features as he takes in the sight of her. There’s a brief moment of silence between them, filled only by the sound of their steady breaths.

Amari can feel the heat of his gaze on her, but instead of feeling exposed, she feels empowered, confident in a way she hasn’t in a while. She allows herself to meet his eyes, her chest rising and falling slowly as she watches his reaction. The intensity in his gaze is palpable, and for a moment, she allows herself to savor it.

“Damn, Mari,” he says, his voice rougher now, his hands hovering just above her skin as if unsure of how to proceed. He swallows hard, clearly trying to regain his composure. “You’re... stunning.”

Amari smiles softly, her heart fluttering at his words, but there’s also a part of her that knows this moment is more than just about physical attraction. It’s about trust. And she feels it, deep in her bones.

“Don’t just look,” she teases, her voice playful despite the vulnerability she feels. “Touch.”

At her urging, Brendan’s hands finally move, slow and careful, as he places one hand on her lower back and the other on her waist, his touch tentative but firm, as though seeking permission with each movement. She shivers at his warmth, her skin coming alive under his fingertips.

He leans in, his lips finding her shoulder, planting a soft kiss there, before trailing kisses along the curve of her neck. “You make it so damn hard to think,” he murmurs against her skin, his voice filled with the same unspoken longing.

Amari’s hands slide up to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart, and she lets herself sink into the moment, into the heat between them. The world outside her apartment feels like it’s fading away, leaving just the two of them, caught in a silent dance of desire and connection.

Brendan’s lips brush over the sensitive spot on Amari’s neck, and she can’t help the soft gasp that escapes her lips. Her body tenses at the sensation, a shiver running down her spine as her pulse quickens. “Fuck…” she breathes out, her voice a mix of surprise and pleasure.

He smiles against her skin, feeling the subtle tremor of her body under his touch. His hands move, pulling her closer as his lips continue to worship her neck, trailing kisses and light bites, pushing her closer to the edge of the moment.

Amari’s head tilts back instinctively, giving him more access, and she feels herself melting into the sensation, unable to hold back any longer. Her fingers thread into his hair, tugging him slightly as she whispers his name.

“B…” The word comes out almost like a plea, a quiet invitation for more.

Brendan’s breath hitches as he feels her grip on him tighten. He pauses for a second, looking up at her, his face inches from hers, the heat between them undeniable. “You good?” he asks, his voice low, but full of concern, needing her to be comfortable.

Her breath comes in short gasps, but her eyes never leave his, a look of quiet intensity in them. “Yeah,” she breathes, voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions. “Just… don’t stop.”

He doesn’t need any more encouragement. With a quiet chuckle, he leans in again, his hands moving to her hips as he pulls her closer, guiding her to where they both know the moment will lead.

Amari pulls back slightly, her breath shallow as she meets Brendan's eyes. Her heart races, but it’s not from the desire anymore. The weight of their earlier conversation in the shop—about boundaries, about where they stand—starts to flood her thoughts. She can feel the uncertainty creeping in, clouding the intensity of the moment.

“B…” she says again, this time her voice soft but firm, a quiet hesitation in her tone.

Brendan freezes, sensing the shift in her energy. His hand lingers on her waist, his gaze searching hers for understanding. He can feel the tension in the air, the way her body language has changed, and he immediately pulls back slightly, giving her the space she needs.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice gentle, no longer carrying the earlier playfulness. Instead, it’s full of care and concern, knowing something has shifted for her.

Amari runs a hand through her hair, her mind racing. She tries to focus, to make sense of the confusion swirling inside her. “We talked about this before, you know? What this is, or isn’t…” She trails off, unsure of how to voice everything she’s feeling.

Brendan nods slowly, his eyes softening with understanding. “Yeah, I remember. I’m not trying to push you, Mari,” he says, his tone steady and reassuring. “I get it. You’ve got your own thing going on, and I don’t want to mess that up.”

She sighs, her shoulders dropping as she meets his gaze. “It’s not that… It’s just… I need to be sure. Sure about where we stand, what this is. I don’t want us getting tangled up in something neither of us really wants.”

Brendan reaches for her hand, his touch light but grounding. “I’m not here to confuse you or make things harder, Mari. If we need to slow down or take a step back, I’m all in. I just…” His voice falters for a moment, but he recovers, his sincerity clear. “I care about you. More than I let on sometimes. And I don’t want to mess that up.”

Her chest tightens at his words, the vulnerability in his voice tugging at something deep inside her. She looks at him for a long moment, taking in his earnestness. For the first time tonight, she feels like they’re both on the same page, even if they’re not entirely sure where that page leads.

“I care about you too,” she says quietly, her voice steady. “But I need to know this is more than just… than just what we’ve been doing, you know?”

Brendan nods, his thumb gently brushing her hand. “I get it. No rush. We take this however it needs to go.”

Amari exhales a shaky breath, relief washing over her. She smiles softly, grateful for his patience, for not pushing her further than she’s ready to go. They’re still in this, whatever "this" might be, but it’s okay. They’ll figure it out together.

Amari stands up and quickly grabs her shirt, trying to cover herself as she slips it back on, but her mind is still spinning from the tension that’s just simmered beneath the surface. As she pulls the fabric over her head, she mutters under her breath, “Shit! Now I’m turned on.”

Brendan watches her, his lips curving into a grin as he sees the conflicted look on her face. He leans back on the couch, his eyes never leaving her, a mix of amusement and desire in his gaze. “I don’t think that’s a bad thing,” he teases, his voice smooth and playful.

Amari looks at him, an eyebrow arched in mock disbelief. “You’re not helping,” she says, but there’s a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. She’s still caught between wanting to hold back and the undeniable pull of their chemistry.

“Maybe I’m not supposed to,” he responds, his tone low, as his gaze slowly slides over her. “But hey, I’m happy to be the one to turn you on.”

Amari lets out a soft laugh, the tension easing a little, though she can still feel the heat building between them. “You know what? Maybe I should go.” Her words are half-serious, though she’s not sure whether she wants to leave or not. The mixed signals are throwing her off.

Brendan chuckles, the playfulness in his eyes not fading. “You can try to leave, but you’re not fooling anyone.” His voice drops to a lower pitch, more teasing. “You’re still here for a reason.”

She shakes her head, her smile widening as she walks over to him, knowing full well that she’s not going anywhere. “You’re unbelievable,” she mutters, before sitting back down next to him.

His grin deepens. “And yet, you can’t get enough.”

Amari sighs, but there’s a hint of amusement in her voice as she turns her head to face him. “You’ve got a way of making things complicated, don’t you?”

“Maybe. But I think you like it,” he says, his voice steady, eyes holding a glimmer of something deeper, something real. “We don’t have to rush, Mari. But I’m not going anywhere, either.”

Her eyes meet his, a quiet understanding passing between them. There’s no rush, no pressure. For now, they just exist in the moment, whatever it may turn into.

Brendan stands up, his movements slow, as though not wanting to leave just yet. He looks down at Amari, a soft smile playing at the corner of his lips. "Till next time," he says, his voice low but filled with warmth.

Before she can say anything, he leans down and presses a gentle kiss to her forehead, his lips lingering there for a second longer than expected, as if the touch itself carries a promise—one that both of them are trying to make sense of.

Amari feels the tenderness of his kiss, and despite the earlier tension, she’s filled with a sense of calm. Her heart flutters for a moment, the intimacy of the gesture striking her in a way that she didn't anticipate. It’s not just a kiss; it’s a quiet assurance.

“Take care, B,” she says softly, standing up to see him to the door.

He gives her one last smile, nodding as he reaches for the doorknob. “You too, Mari. I’ll be in touch.”

With a final glance, Brendan steps out, leaving Amari standing in the doorway, a quiet sense of longing in her chest. But this time, it’s different. She’s not sure what comes next, but for the first time in a while, she feels like it might be okay to just let it unfold.

A few days later, after finishing a shoot, Brendan finds himself thinking about Amari more than he expected. He’s been caught up in work, but now that the shoot is over and the adrenaline has faded, he can’t shake the feeling that he wants to see her again. There’s something about the way they connect, the way things are between them, that keeps drawing him in.

He sends her a text: "Hey, you busy? Want to come by the penthouse tonight?"

Amari, who’s winding down from her own day, reads the message with a soft smile. She had been wondering when he would reach out again. Their last encounter had been full of mixed emotions, but she’s curious about where things could go from here.

She types back, "Yeah, I can swing by. What’s the occasion?"

Brendan’s reply is almost immediate: "No occasion. Just wanted to see you."

Her heart flutters at the simplicity of his words. She feels a rush of warmth, and despite all the complexities between them, there’s something comforting about his honesty.

“Alright, I’ll be there soon,” she types before putting her phone down. She takes a moment to freshen up, changing into something casual yet comfortable, and makes her way to his penthouse.

When she arrives, the city lights shine in the distance, casting a soft glow through the massive windows of Brendan’s high-rise. The door opens before she can even knock, and there he is, standing with a relaxed smile on his face.

"Hey," he says, stepping aside to let her in. "I’m glad you came."

She smiles back, a little more at ease this time. "You didn’t give me much of a choice," she teases, stepping inside.

He chuckles and closes the door behind her, then leads her to the living room, where the atmosphere is cozy, dimly lit by soft lighting and a few candles scattered around. It’s clear he’s made an effort to set the mood, though it’s not overly romantic—more laid-back and inviting.

“I just finished the shoot, so I’m kinda wiped,” Brendan admits, running a hand through his hair. “But I wanted to hang out for a bit. You cool with that?”

Amari nods, taking a seat on the couch. “Yeah, I’m good with that. You’re always on the go. It’s nice to see you actually relax for once.”

Brendan grins, sitting beside her. "That’s the goal," he says, kicking off his shoes and stretching out his legs. "I’m just trying to enjoy the little things."

As they sit together, the conversation flows easily, a mix of lighthearted teasing and deeper, more genuine moments. There’s no rush, no pressure, just the two of them sharing space and time together, enjoying each other’s company.

Brendan sits back on the couch, stretching out with ease, his shirt discarded after the shoot. His tattoos, scattered across his arms and chest, tell a story of their own, each one a piece of his past, his experiences. The ink blends seamlessly with his muscular build, broad shoulders and strong arms, giving him a presence that Amari can’t help but notice.

As he leans back, his posture relaxed but confident, Amari catches herself admiring him. The tattoos, the strength in his frame, the way his body seems effortless in its masculinity—it all pulls her in. She can’t help but smile to herself, feeling a familiar heat rise inside her, a quiet turn-on that she tries to push aside, but it’s there, undeniable.

“You good?” Brendan asks, noticing the smile on her lips. His voice has a teasing undertone now, aware of the effect he’s having on her but not letting on that he’s noticed.

Amari clears her throat, trying to stay composed, but there’s something about the combination of his casual ease and his striking physique that has her feeling a bit breathless. “Yeah, just… admiring your work,” she says with a playful grin, motioning to his tattoos.

Brendan chuckles, glancing down at his arms, then back to her with a raised eyebrow. “You like them?”

“I like them,” she confirms with a soft smile, her gaze lingering on his arms for a moment longer than necessary. "A lot."

He shifts, leaning in slightly, the muscles in his chest tightening as he crosses his arms over his torso, his gaze never leaving hers. "Well, if you're into that kind of thing, maybe you should get a closer look," he teases, his tone low, just enough to make her heart race again.

Amari feels a sudden wave of boldness sweep over her, but she plays it cool, her lips curling into a teasing smile. "Maybe later," she says, leaning back into the couch, though she can’t quite hide the subtle glimmer in her eyes.

Brendan watches her, the playful energy between them intensifying. "You sure? I promise, there's more where that came from."

Her smile widens, and she leans toward him slightly. “We’ll see about that.”

The tension between them simmers, the easy banter turning into something more, something deeper, but still lighthearted. They’re both aware of the pull they have on each other, but for now,they remain in the moment, no rush, no pressure. Just two people enjoying each other’s presence.

Brendan grabs the remote and casually flips on the TV, the soft glow of the screen illuminating the room. He shifts slightly on the couch, getting comfortable, and without saying much, Amari naturally leans into him, her head resting against his chest as she snuggles close. The warmth of his skin and the steady rhythm of his breathing make her feel at ease, the tension of the evening melting away.

She can feel the strong, steady beat of his heart beneath her, and it brings a sense of calm she didn’t expect. His arm instinctively wraps around her, pulling her a little closer as they both sink into the quiet of the room. There’s no need for words right now; the comfort of each other’s presence speaks volumes.

Amari shifts slightly, finding a better position against him, and with a small sigh of contentment, she lets the world outside fall away. The show on the TV fades into the background as she focuses on the warmth between them.

“Comfy?” Brendan asks, his voice low, the familiar teasing undertone replaced by something a little softer, a little more sincere.

“Yeah,” Amari murmurs, her voice soft as she looks up at him. "I think I could get used to this."

He smiles, his thumb gently rubbing small circles on her arm. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

The moment feels easy and unhurried, like it could stretch on indefinitely. The connection between them is quiet but undeniably strong, and as the TV plays on in the background, they both find themselves content in the simple closeness they share.

Brendan’s voice is gentle as he asks, his fingers still tracing small circles on her arm. "Tell me about your day?"

Amari leans into him a little more, letting herself relax further into his warmth. She takes a slow breath, her thoughts drifting back to the events of her day. It wasn’t anything extraordinary, but in the quiet of the moment, it feels nice to share it with him.

“Nothing too exciting,” she starts, her voice soft and comfortable. “Had a few clients come in, just the usual. Spent some time brainstorming new styles for a shoot next week. You know, just the usual hustle.”

She looks up at him, finding his gaze steady on her, his interest genuine. "And you? How was the shoot?"

Brendan smiles, his eyes lighting up slightly as he recalls the day’s events. "It went well. Long day, but it always feels good when you’re able to finish strong, you know? The crew was solid, and the photographer had some really great ideas. But honestly, I think the best part was coming home."

He tilts his head, his expression softening. “Coming home to this.”

Amari feels a warmth spread through her at his words, and a small smile tugs at her lips. “I’m glad you’re here, too,” she says quietly, her voice full of sincerity.

Brendan chuckles lightly, the mood lightening once again. "I could tell. You’ve got that smile that says you were thinking about me." His teasing tone is back, but there’s no mistaking the affection in his voice.

Amari rolls her eyes but can’t suppress the smile that grows wider. "You’re full of yourself, you know that?"

But even as she says it, she finds herself more comfortable in his presence, the day’s stress already forgotten in the easy, shared space between them. She settles deeper into him, feeling a sense of peace that she hasn’t realized she was craving.

The conversation flows between them easily, with small moments of laughter, teasing, and more serious talk about life, work, and everything in between. And as the evening continues, Amari finds herself grateful for these simple, quiet moments—the kind that remind her that, sometimes, it’s the little things that matter most.

“B….you know we’re not together right.” She says. Brendan pauses for a moment, his hand still resting on her arm as he looks down at her. Her words hang in the air between them, and the playful lightness of the moment shifts into something more serious.

“I know,” he says quietly, his voice soft but steady. His gaze meets hers, and there's a depth in his eyes that wasn’t there before. "I know we’re not together, Amari. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy this… whatever this is."

Amari takes in a slow breath, the weight of the conversation settling in her chest. She hadn’t meant to bring it up like this, but the clarity of her thoughts is something she needs to express. She shifts slightly, pulling back a bit so she can look at him properly.

“I don’t want to make things messy, B,” she says, her voice steady but carrying the vulnerability that she’s been holding onto. “I care about you, but we’ve got our own lives and things to figure out. I don’t want us to get lost in something that isn’t going anywhere.”

Brendan doesn’t look offended or distant. Instead, he listens, nodding slowly, as if he’s been expecting this conversation to come at some point. He’s quiet for a long moment before he responds, his words measured but honest.

"I get it, Mari," he says, his voice low. "I respect that. I never want to make things complicated or push you into something you don’t want. I guess I just… like spending time with you." He chuckles softly, the tension easing in his own way. "I guess I was hoping it could be more, but I’m not trying to rush anything."

Amari’s heart feels a little lighter hearing that. His honesty and understanding calm some of the nerves she didn’t realize she had. She appreciates that he’s not trying to force anything or make her feel guilty for speaking her mind.

“I appreciate that, B,” she says, her eyes softening. “And I do enjoy our time together. I just don’t want us to end up in a situation where one of us gets hurt because we were too caught up in something we didn’t really want.”

Brendan nods again, this time with a more serious look in his eyes. "Yeah, I hear you. We’re on the same page."

There’s a quiet moment between them, the air a little less heavy, but still full of unspoken understanding. Amari leans back into him, but this time, it’s a bit different—more grounded, more aware of where they both stand.

“I’m glad we talked about it,” she murmurs, her voice quieter now. “It feels good to clear the air.”

“Me too,” Brendan replies softly, his arm wrapping around her again, but with a new sense of ease and respect. "And whatever this is, I’m good with it."

Amari inhales deeply, her thoughts momentarily drifting from the serious conversation to the undeniable presence of Brendan beside her. His shirtless frame, the tattoos inked across his chest and arms, the warmth radiating from his skin, all of it pulls her in once more. There’s a magnetic force in the way he sits—relaxed, confident, yet somehow still so approachable.

Her gaze lingers a moment longer, drawn to the way his muscles move beneath his skin, the subtle strength he exudes even in stillness. The connection between them shifts again, this time with an undeniable tension that neither of them can deny.

Brendan notices her change in posture, the slight shift in her body, and he watches her carefully, sensing the change in the atmosphere. A playful glint enters his eyes, but this time, it’s tempered by something deeper, something more introspective. He knows what she’s feeling, and he feels it too, but there’s a new understanding in the way he waits for her to decide how she wants to navigate it.

“Amari…” he says her name softly, almost as if testing the waters, his voice steady yet laced with curiosity. "You sure about this? About us?"

His question is gentle, but the underlying tension in his words makes it clear that he’s not pushing, just making sure they’re still on the same page despite the pull between them. He’s giving her the space to either step back or lean in, respecting whatever choice she makes.

Amari swallows, her heart racing a little faster, and her eyes flick up to meet his. The words she’s been holding back seem to fall away as the warmth between them intensifies, her restraint dissolving with every beat of her heart. It’s as if everything they’ve said, every conversation they’ve had, no longer matters in this moment. What’s left is simply the undeniable chemistry, the raw connection that’s always been there beneath the surface.

Without saying a word, she leans forward, her lips meeting his in a slow, deliberate kiss. It’s a kiss that says everything, that answers his question without a need for more words. She’s not backing away, not this time. And when she pulls back, her eyes are filled with a new, unspoken understanding.

“Yeah,” she says quietly, her voice full of desire, no longer guarded. “I’m sure.”

Brendan moves with a sense of purpose, his hands gently but firmly pulling Amari onto his lap. The movement is natural, like they’ve both been waiting for this, and as she settles against him, her body aligns with his effortlessly. She can feel the heat of his skin beneath her, the tension between them palpable.

For a moment, they both remain still, taking in the closeness. The feel of her body pressed against his, the rhythm of their breaths syncing, it all heightens the quiet intimacy of the moment. Amari’s heart beats faster, her pulse quickening as she realizes just how much she wants to be here, in this space, with him.

Brendan’s hands rest on her hips, fingers lightly tracing the curve of her waist as he looks up at her with a mixture of desire and tenderness. There’s a quiet intensity in his eyes now, something deeper than just attraction—it’s the recognition of a connection that neither of them can ignore.

He leans in closer, his lips brushing against her neck as he whispers, "Are you sure about this, Mari?" His voice is low, husky, filled with both curiosity and something more.

Amari meets his gaze, her eyes filled with a fire that matches his. She doesn’t need to say anything this time. The way she presses herself closer to him, the way her hands find the back of his neck, pulling him into a kiss, speaks louder than words ever could.

The kiss deepens as they both surrender to the moment, letting the world outside fall away. There’s no more hesitation, no more second-guessing. Just the feeling of their bodies moving together, a perfect harmony of desire and connection.

The morning light filters through the blinds, casting a soft glow across the room. Amari stirs awake, the warmth of the bed wrapping around her like a comforting cocoon. She glances over at Brendan's side of the bed, empty, before hearing the sound of running water from the bathroom. A few moments later, the door opens, and Brendan emerges, brushing his teeth casually, his expression relaxed.

Amari takes in the sight of him—shirtless, his tattoos on full display, his hair still damp from the shower. There’s a peacefulness in the way he moves, and for a second, she allows herself to simply enjoy the moment, watching him with a quiet smile.

He notices her gaze and raises an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He spits into the sink, wiping his mouth before turning to her. “Morning,” he says, his voice still husky from sleep.

“Morning,” she replies, her voice soft, though there's a certain warmth in her tone. She shifts slightly in the bed, pulling the shirt she borrowed tighter around her, suddenly feeling more self-conscious than she did the night before.

Brendan steps toward the bed, leaning down to place a soft kiss on her forehead. “How’d you sleep?” he asks, the casual affection in his voice making her heart flutter.

“Better than I expected,” she responds, her smile growing a little. "You?"

“Same,” he says, sitting down on the edge of the bed, looking at her with a mix of contentment and curiosity. “How’s everything feeling? No regrets?”

Amari chuckles softly, shaking her head. "No regrets," she says, meeting his eyes with a sense of clarity. "It’s just... I wasn’t really expecting to wake up here, but I’m not upset about it."

Brendan’s eyes soften, and he reaches over to gently tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I’m glad you’re not," he says quietly, his voice serious but not overbearing. "We’re good, right?"

She nods, her gaze steady on him. “Yeah. We’re good.”

A comfortable silence falls between them, and for a moment, it feels like the world outside the room doesn’t matter. It’s just the two of them, sharing this quiet moment, free of the complexities that often come with situations like this. Amari feels a sense of peace, but also a flicker of curiosity about what comes next.

“So,” she says after a beat, her smile playful as she glances up at him. “What now?”

Brendan grins, brushing his hand through his damp hair. “How about breakfast?” he suggests, standing up from the bed. “I think you deserve something other than my bed to wake up to.”

Amari chuckles, feeling the ease between them. “Sounds good to me.”

“Did we have sex last night?” She asks. He smirks. “No. But we did make out.” He says.

Brendan’s smirk widens slightly as he sits back on the edge of the bed, eyeing Amari with a playful glint in his eyes. He leans back, crossing his arms over his chest, looking both relaxed and teasing. “No, we didn’t,” he replies with a teasing tone, “but we definitely made out.”

Amari raises an eyebrow, a mixture of amusement and curiosity crossing her face. She tries to remember the details of the night before, but the haze of sleep and the overwhelming intimacy of it all makes it hard to pinpoint.

“Honestly?” she asks, sounding slightly surprised but not disappointed. “I don’t even remember how we ended up here. I guess we really just... kept things low-key, huh?”

Brendan chuckles, shifting his position to face her more directly. “I think we both just enjoyed being around each other last night,” he says thoughtfully, “and decided not to rush anything. And honestly, it was nice not to have to jump into anything.”

Amari laughs lightly, finally feeling a sense of ease. “Well, I’m glad that we weren’t in some weird, blurry ‘morning after’ situation, then,” she says with a smirk, clearly relieved.

“No weirdness,” Brendan assures her with a wink, leaning forward a little. “Just us, being real and honest.”

There’s a moment of understanding between them, a quiet acknowledgment that whatever their dynamic is, it’s not something either of them needs to rush into or label immediately. It’s comfortable, and there’s no pressure to make it anything more than it is right now.

“Alright,” Amari says, finally sitting up and stretching. “So, no wild stories to tell about last night, huh?”

“Not unless you count making out like teenagers,” he says, grinning. “But if you’re asking for wild... that’s definitely a ‘maybe’ for later.”

Amari laughs, the tension easing further between them. “Good to know. So, breakfast?”

“Definitely,” Brendan says with a smile, extending a hand to help her up. “Let’s see if I can cook something edible, or if we’re stuck ordering takeout.”

“But first.” He says as he kisses her again. Amari smiles, her eyes meeting his with a mix of amusement and something deeper, more drawn to the unspoken connection they’re sharing. She doesn’t say anything at first, letting the moment unfold naturally. Then, without hesitation, Brendan leans in and presses his lips to hers again—a soft kiss at first, slow and deliberate.

The kiss deepens as the world outside seems to fade away, and all that matters is the two of them in this quiet, intimate space. It's a reminder that, even without words, they’re both fully present with each other in this moment. The gentle pressure of his lips on hers stirs something inside her, a warmth that radiates from her chest.

She pulls back after a few moments, a faint blush coloring her cheeks as she looks at him, her breath slightly heavier. "You’re really trying to distract me from breakfast, aren’t you?"

Brendan chuckles, brushing a strand of hair out of her face, his touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary. “Maybe,” he admits, his voice playful. “But I just couldn’t help myself.”

Amari shakes her head, though the smile on her lips betrays the playful banter between them. “Alright, alright,” she says, finally standing up and stretching once more. “Breakfast it is. But next time, I’m calling the shots on distractions.”

Brendan laughs, following her with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I’ll hold you to that,” he says, walking toward the kitchen. The moment of tenderness has passed, but there’s an ease and a comfort in the space between them now—no expectations, just a shared understanding of the time they’ve spent together.

Later that day she is waiting for another appointment when Brendan comes in. 

Amari sits in the waiting area, flipping through a magazine, trying to pass the time before her next appointment. She’s only half-focused on the pages, her thoughts drifting back to the morning and the quiet moments she shared with Brendan. Her mind replays the kiss they’d shared before breakfast, and she can’t help but smile to herself. It was an easy, comfortable morning, but now, she’s not sure where things are going.

As she looks up, the door to the office opens, and in walks none other than Brendan. He’s dressed casually, a black hoodie over a t-shirt, his usual cool demeanor intact. When he spots her, a smile spreads across his face, and he heads toward her, clearly recognizing the surprise in her expression.

"Didn’t expect to see you here again so soon," Amari says, her voice a mix of amusement and mild surprise.

Brendan grins, leaning against the doorway. “Well, you know I can’t stay away for too long,” he teases. “Besides, I had a bit of time, so I thought I’d drop by. You look like you're waiting for something important."

She chuckles lightly, a hint of playfulness in her eyes. "I’m just killing time. Got another appointment. Nothing too exciting."

“Good thing I showed up then,” he says, stepping into the room. "I’m much more exciting than whatever you’ve got going on."

Amari raises an eyebrow but doesn’t argue. "I’d say you’re right. But I’m trying to keep things professional here."

Brendan smirks, clearly unfazed by her comment. “You’re always so serious. I think you just like to keep me on my toes."

"Maybe," she replies, leaning back in her chair. "But you know how it is. Can't make things too easy for you."

He moves closer, standing just a little too close for comfort. "Easy?" he repeats, his voice dropping a bit lower. "I’m not sure you’ve ever made anything easy for me, Mari."

Amari feels a spark of tension between them, but she tries to keep her composure. "I never said I would."

Brendan chuckles, clearly enjoying the playful back and forth. “Well, you’ve definitely got me hooked," he says with a wink, before taking a seat beside her.

For a moment, they sit in comfortable silence, the space between them charged with unspoken understanding. Amari wonders if this is where their dynamic is headed—casual but undeniably intense. Before she can fully process her thoughts, the receptionist calls her name, and she stands up, ready to head into her appointment.

“Guess that’s me,” she says, glancing over her shoulder at him. “Don’t go getting any ideas while I’m gone.”

Brendan laughs softly. “No promises. Catch you later, Mari.”

As she walks away, Amari can’t shake the feeling that things between them are only just beginning to get more complicated.

Amari pauses in the doorway, her hand on the handle when Brendan’s voice catches her attention. She turns to see him holding a small, elegantly wrapped box. He doesn’t say much, just a small smile on his face, as if he’s done something simple yet significant.

“Here,” he says, his voice casual, but there’s a certain sincerity behind his eyes.

She walks back towards him, a little confused but intrigued, and accepts the box. “What’s this?” she asks, her fingers brushing against the smooth surface of the gift.

“Open it,” Brendan replies, his gaze flicking toward the door as if he’s already halfway out.

Amari carefully unwraps the box, her curiosity piqued. Inside, she finds a key—sleek and polished, with the Mercedes logo shining in the light. Her heart skips a beat. She looks up at Brendan, speechless for a moment, before her gaze shifts outside the window. Her breath catches when she sees the G-Wagon parked outside, its dark, luxurious exterior gleaming in the sunlight.

“No... you didn’t,” she breathes, looking back at him in disbelief.

Brendan’s smirk widens as he leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. “I did,” he says simply, his voice steady but with an underlying playfulness. “It’s yours, if you want it.”

Amari stands frozen for a moment, processing what he’s said. She walks over to the window, eyes still locked on the impressive G-Wagon. She can hardly believe it—he had to have put a lot of thought into this, a gesture that felt like more than just a gift. The weight of the gesture doesn’t escape her.

Turning back to him, her voice soft, she finally says, “Why?”

Brendan shrugs, his eyes softening a bit as he watches her. “Just thought you deserved it,” he says with a casual shrug. “It’s been a crazy few weeks. Consider it... a little thank you.”

“But—” she begins, unsure of how to respond. “This is... way more than I was expecting. You sure about this?”

Brendan steps closer to her, his expression now serious, the playful edge gone from his voice. “I’m sure. You’re not someone who just gets by on anything. You deserve something nice. And I don’t do things halfway, Mari.”

Amari’s heart races, a mix of gratitude and confusion swirling within her. She looks back at the key in her hand, the weight of it finally settling. “This is a big deal, B,” she says, her voice small but steady. “I’m not sure I know how to accept something like this.”

Brendan reaches out, gently taking her hand with the key in it. “It’s not about the car, Mari. It’s about showing you that I’m serious about being here. I want you to know I’ve got your back.”

She meets his eyes, searching for any sign of a hidden agenda, but all she sees is sincerity.

"Well..." she says after a beat, her voice still thick with emotions she hadn’t quite expected to feel. "I guess I’ll take it... but I’m not forgetting this."

Brendan smiles, the tension between them easing. "I wouldn’t want you to."

With a final look at the G-Wagon, Amari nods slowly. "Thank you, B," she says softly. "This... means more than you probably know."

Without another word, Brendan slips out the door, leaving her standing there, the weight of the key in her hand symbolizing not just the car, but the unspoken complexity of their connection.

Tags 🏷️

@nahimjustfeelingit-writes @avoidthings @nayesworld @haechvn @writingsbytee @grlsbstshot @ovohanna24 @skvrpion @megamindsecretlair @notpradagurl7 @kimuzostar @kenshisluvrgirl @planetblaque @pocketsizedpanther @bimbosnbutterflies2026 @chewingmy3xtragum @easybrezzy @blowmymbackout

[wandering-pirate]

When the moon fades, the stars guide

Part 1

Part two of "How does a moon lose its shine?"

Summary: When the chaos went down, what led up to it? And what will happen next in the dark, metal casements of the Tulpar?

Pairing: Father figure! Swansea x reader

a/n: ask and you shall receive~ thanks for y'all's patience!!

Trigger warning: Depictions of sexual abuse and violence. There are no explicit scenes of the rape itself but the trauma and experience of y/n is very much described. Please take care of yourselves while reading <3<3

Day of Departure

The Tulpar’s engines hummed steadily, a sound you came to think of as the freighter’s heartbeat. Three years on this ship, and it started to feel like a second skin at this point. But still, every haul gives you that faint, familiar buzz of excitement, like the thrill of stepping into something bigger than yourself. Responsibility.

You leaned against the inventory console, triple-checking your clipboard. Rows of numbers and codes blurred together, but the satisfaction of seeing everything in order made the strain worth it.

"So, you’re the famous Y/N," a voice chirped behind you.

You turned to find Daisuke, the new mechanic intern that Curly told the crew about. He looked barely out of his teens, his uniform covered with a bright yellow hawaian-patterned shirt that he somehow managed to smuggle and had a grin a little too wide. Newbie's buzz, you thought.

"And you’re the new grease monkey," you teased, extending a hand.

"Mechanic-in-training," he corrected, shaking your hand with exaggerated seriousness. "Big difference."

Swansea scoffed from the other side of the utility room, tinkering away with a coolant valve. "Big talk for a kid who just learned what a carburetor is."

"I thought it was a coffee maker for cars," Daisuke mumbled to you, pouting.

Biting back a laugh, you shot Swansea a grin that practically dared him to roll his eyes. He didn’t disappoint.

Jimmy entered the room, clipboard in hand. His presence had always been grounding, his confidence infectious. He nodded at you as he passed. "Inventory’s in good hands, as usual."

"As if you’d trust anyone else," you replied, your tone light but your chest warming at the compliment. He smirked, tapping the clipboard.

The ship’s intercom crackled to life. "Alright, folks," Curly’s voice boomed. "Buckle up, we're launching at five."

Your hand froze on the console. No matter how many times you’d done this, the Tulpar's jump during the launch always lit something in you. The co-pilot once commented how you're like a puppy with a treat dangling in front of you.

As a kid, you’d been obsessed with the idea of outer space. Not in a “memorizing star charts” kind of way, but in a way where you just admired them every night that you gazed at the night sky.

Whenever you see pictures of galaxies, stars, or any heavenly body, it was like looking at something familiar, something that made sense to you. The outer space wasn’t just an escape; it was home.

Anya appeared at your side, her medical bag slung over one shoulder. She flashed a small smile, a hint of amusement in her eyes. "Let me guess," she said, her voice relaxed. "Gonna watch the Earth fade away again, huh?"

"Every. Damn. Time." You nudged her playfully, earning a laugh.

"Swansea's really rubbing on you with those words."

When the Tulpar lurched, you gripped the edge of the console, your gaze already flicking toward the viewport. For a moment, the universe stretched out in every direction, infinite and vast. You couldn’t help the grin on your face.

Out here, it all felt right. The stars, the ship, the crew… they all came together in a way that felt as natural as breathing. For now, at least, you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

One Month After the Crash

When you thought things were about to get better the night you broke down, helpless, at the lounge... you were desperately wrong. Somehow, the man who betrayed you, the monster you treated as a friend, a mentor—hell, even family—claimed Curly's title and is set loose.

And now? You were cowering at the corner of the utility room, covering your ears as the voices outside grew louder with every passing minute. Funny how one voice made you gag and the other made you feel secure.

“Come on, Swansea. I told you, I’m not gonna hurt Y/N, alrig—”

“If you’ve got a death wish,” Swansea’s voice, low and bristling, cut through the tension. “Keep yappin’.”

It had been a month. A month of watching your back. A month of slipping between rooms, dodging Jimmy’s shadow, a sick game you were forced to play with him. But it was also a month of being under the mechanic’s wing, always having him or Daisuke by your side when checking inventories, because almost facing your deaths just days ago wasn’t enough reason to stop your job. Or being in the locked medbay with Anya when both your guards were busy.

“Look, I just wanna make things right,” Jimmy said, his tone too smooth, too practiced. “Curly’s out of commission, and now, as captain, it’s my job to take responsibility for what I’ve done.”

For a second, your stomach twisted at the pause. Would Swansea actually believe him? Could he? You strained to hear the older man’s reply, then there it was.

It started weak, the soft wheezing sounds went through the metal wall. It grew louder, rougher, until it was a full-blown, bitter laugh that rattled the air. Guilt filled your chest—why would you even ever doubt him after all he's done?

"What a fuckin' joke. Know what? If yer that desperate to play captain, wanna tell me how the ol' Tulpar really crashed?"

Silence. Not even a breath from Jimmy. Then, heavy, angry stomps faded down the hall.

For a solid ten minutes, you stayed frozen, your pulse loud in your ears. The air in the utility room felt thick, clinging to your skin. Then the door hissed open.

“That roach’s got some nerve,” Swansea muttered, stepping inside. His face was carved with exhaustion, but his sharp eyes softened when he met yours. He offered a tired smile, and you returned it, grateful.

"You shouldn’t be out here," Swansea grumbled, his eyes scanning the corridor as he steered you back toward the medbay.

"I’m fine." You tried evading him, but given his bouncer-like body, he placed a hand on your shoulder.

"Sure, and I’m the swan princess from that pink doll kid's show."

The Tulpar floated through infinite space, a shell of its former self. It wasn’t one of those massive freighters like the newer ones Pony Express had, but a running old freighter is infinitely better than a broken old freighter. Supplies were low, tensions were high, and the Tulpar's once-familiar corridors felt more like a prison than home.

When the asteroid hit, or so Jimmy claimed, Curly had supposedly saved everyone by making a split-second turn to minimize the impact. It was a story that gave the crew a shred of hope, something to hold on to.

But cracks already started to form in Jimmy’s tale. The damage didn’t match the trajectory of any known asteroid paths. The ship’s logs were corrupted, erasing any evidence of what really happened.

It wasn't farfetched to believe that Jimmy didn't stay put at his quarters when the crash happened.

Swansea has his suspicions. So did you. But neither of you said it out loud. The truth was a dangerous thing aboard the Tulpar now, fragile and very explosive, just waiting for the right moment to destroy whatever was left.

"Kid," Swansea’s voice broke through your thoughts. You hummed, "Don’t go doin’ that thing where you stare off into space like a lost puppy."

You managed a weak smile. "Can’t help it. Space is kinda my thing."

He snorted, but his eye-roll was absent. He didn’t let you go until he was sure you were back in the medbay, under Anya’s watchful eye and the door's lock.

2 Months before the Crash

Jimmy’s compliments had always felt harmless. You were used to his jokes, his easy smiles, and the way he called you "kid". It was comforting, in a way - until recently.

"Nice shirt," he said one day, leaning casually against the inventory shelves as you logged spare parts into the system.

You glanced down at your standard-issue disgustingly yellow t-shirt, streaked with dust and grease from helping Swansea earlier. "Uh, thanks? Didn’t know grease-stained chic was trending."

He laughed, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "You pull it off, though."

You gave him a half-smile, feeling like the co-pilot has something more to say than he's letting on. His tone felt... heavier. You chalked it up to overthinking and turned back to your work. Jimmy was your friend, someone you’d always trusted.

But somehow, the comments became more frequent, more pointed. A hand on your shoulder lingered too long. Always looking at you when he laughs.

The next time it happened, you were helping the mechanic in the engine room. You crouched next to him, handing over tools as he muttered under his breath about "cheap replacement parts." The rhythmic clank of the wrench echoed in the space while Daisuke watched because the last time he helped replace something, he had to receive 3 stitches from Anya.

"Careful not to scratch the paint off," you teased, smirking.

Swansea snorted, rolling his eyes. "Look who's talkin', Ms. 'I-can-make-any room-look-like-a-fukin' junkyard' with all the shit you leave laying around."

"Ha! Boss' got you there Y/N!" You poked your tongue out at the intern.

Swansea gave you a sideways glance, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You wanna talk about paint? Maybe start by remembering where you put all yer inventory sheets before I have to staple ‘em to yer forehead."

You laughed, wiping your hands on your coveralls, when Jimmy walked in. His gaze lingered too long as he leaned against the doorway.

"Got the inventory finished?" he asked, his voice casual.

"Mostly," you said. "Swansea needed a hand, so I figured I’d multitask."

Jimmy’s eyes narrowed briefly, just a flicker of something you couldn’t quite place. His smile returned, too quick to feel natural. "You’re a real team player, kid."

Swansea grunted in agreement, not looking up. "She’s handy, I’ll give her that. Saved me a headache with these damn filters."

"Hey! I'm here, to--"

"Tell me what happened to yer forehead with just a screwdriver, boy." That seemed to silence Daisuke up.

Jimmy’s jaw tightened, his hand gripping the edge of the doorframe, though he quickly masked it with a chuckle. "Better not let her show you up, old man."

"Not a chance," Swansea shot back, oblivious to the tension.

But you felt it. The way Jimmy’s smile didn’t match his eyes, the way his presence filled the room like static. Something about it was off. You wanted to brush it aside, but the feeling lingered.

Later, in the lounge, Curly tossed you a cup of coffee. "Heard you’ve been pulling double duty with the inventory and the utility. You gunning for my job or what?"

You smirked, shaking your head. "Dream bigger, Curly. I’m aiming for Swansea’s."

Curly laughed, but his attention shifted behind you for a moment. You glanced over your shoulder to see Jimmy standing in the doorway again, watching. His posture was casual, but his knuckles were white where he gripped the edge of the counter.

When you turned back, Curly raised an eyebrow. "Jimmy’s been hovering a lot lately. You notice that?"

You shrugged, trying to sound casual. "He’s probably just bored."

But deep down, you weren’t so sure. You sipped your coffee, forcing a laugh. "One more compliment from him? I’m charging him rent."

Curly chuckled, but his smile faded slightly as he glanced at Jimmy again. "You should tell him that. See what he says."

You smiled weakly, staring into your coffee as the unease settled in your chest.

One Month Before the Crash

Jimmy’s words echoed in your ears, wrapping around your thoughts like a noose.

"I don’t want to hurt you," he said, his voice trembling, his breath uneven. "But I can’t stop thinking about you."

You remembered the way his hands shook, how his eyes flitted between you and the walls, never meeting yours. He looked like he wanted to convince himself as much as you. But it wasn’t the shaking or his words that lingered in your mind, it was the suffocating fear, the way the air in the room thickened, pressing down on your chest until you couldn’t breathe.

You fought back, kicked, punched, scratched, used everything in your disposal, but it wasn't enough.

In that moment, the world felt unrecognizable. The Jimmy you looked up to, trusted, and even laughed with, was gone. Or maybe he had never been real.

And you felt something within you... break.

You didn’t cry. Not then. The betrayal was too sharp, cutting through your chest like shards of glass. You couldn’t feel anything but the raw, jagged edges of shock and pain. It was never-ending, it was unforgiving.

Later, when it was over and the room was silent again, you sat on the floor, knees pulled to your chest, staring at the dull metal wall. The memories replayed in your head, over and over, a loop you couldn’t escape.

"Why didn’t I stop him?"

"Why didn’t I fight harder?"

"Why didn’t I say something?"

The questions bit you, each one sinking its sharp fangs deeper into your guilt, into your body, mind, and soul.

Jimmy’s voice broke through the haze of your thoughts. You remembered how he sat across from you, his voice low and soft, as though he were the one wounded.

"I didn’t mean for it to go like this," he’d said, his tone almost pleading. "You don’t have to hate me, you know? I care about you. I just… I just couldn’t hold it in anymore."

Each word sent a fresh wave of nausea rolling through you. The confusion was unbearable. Was he sorry? Or was this another lie? Another betrayal? It didn’t matter. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him or yourself anymore.

And from that night on, everything you loved about your life on the ship, the crew, the stars outside your window, even your own reflection, felt like it died.

You went through the days like a ghost. Your laughter was gone, replaced by silence. Meals went untouched. The inventory, your pride and responsibility, piled up unchecked.

The crew noticed. How Swansea’s gruff teasing didn’t make you laugh anymore. How Daisuke’s bad jokes only entered your ear and exited the other. And every time Jimmy walked into the room, your body froze, your skin crawling as though his gaze alone could trap you again.

Anya, however, never pried. She saw through the silence, the robotic movements, the emptiness in your eyes.

One evening, she's nursing you. You sat on the cot, staring at the floor, your hands limp in your lap. You passed out from hunger earlier and Dasiuke had to carry you to the medbay, sweating and frantically assuring himself more than anyone through panicked mumbles.

She approached quietly, a tray of tea and biscuits in hand. "Y/N," she said softly, placing the tray beside you.

You didn’t respond.

Anya pulled up a chair and sat down across from you, her gaze steady. "You have to eat."

"I’m not hungry," you murmured, your voice flat.

She didn’t push. Instead, she reached out, her hand resting gently on your arm. Her warmth cut through the cold numbness you’d wrapped yourself in.

"You know, it’s okay to feel like this," she said quietly. Her tone wasn’t pitying, just kind. "But you don’t have to do it alone."

You didn’t react. You couldn’t. Her words were like waves breaking against a stone, unable to reach its core.

Anya stayed with you anyway. She talked softly, about nothing in particular, old stories, small jokes, telling you how Daisuke stole Swansea's snacks and having to say I'm sorry for a hundred times as punishment. She didn’t expect you to respond. She was simply there, filling the silence with her presence.

Even when you retreated deeper into yourself, Anya never gave up. She left food by your workstation, tidied your quarters when you weren’t looking, and covered for you when Curly asked too many questions.

One night, as Anya walked you back to your quarters, she stopped just outside your door. Her voice, usually gentle, held a weight you hadn’t heard before.

"Y/N," she began carefully, "I’ve been where you are."

Your steps faltered. The numbness you carried didn’t lift, but her words sent a faint ripple through the sea of numbess. You kept your gaze fixed on the floor, your hand tightening on the doorknob.

"I know what Jimmy did to you," she continued softly.

The air in the hallway felt suddenly heavy. Anya hesitated, then added, "It happened to me too. Weeks ago."

The words were like a thunderclap in your mind, sharp and deafening. You turned to her, your eyes wide with disbelief.

"You knew?" Your voice was barely above a whisper, raw and cracking. Anya went through the same thing yet here she is, stronger than you, caring for you. Your stomach churned in guilt. "You—why didn’t you tell anyone? Tell me?"

Anya’s expression didn’t falter, but her shoulders tensed as though she’d been bracing for this. "I told Curly," she admitted, her voice quiet but steady. "But… nothing changed."

Nothing changed.

The words hit like a sledgehammer, shattering the fragile threads of hope you’d been clinging to. Your chest tightened as anger and despair fought for control.

"You told him," you whispered, the words trembling with a pain that reached far deeper than you’d let anyone see.

Anya didn’t look away. She didn’t try to explain or justify it. "I thought it would help," she said, her tone even. "I thought it would stop."

A bitter laugh escaped your lips, sharp and hollow. "And now it’s my turn, right? Cap kept quiet and hoped it wouldn’t happen again?"

"Y/N--"

"Now what, Anya?" You snapped, your voice rising despite the lump in your throat. "What was the point of telling him if it didn’t change anything? He was supposed to be the captain, he was supposed to protect his crew. And no it didn’t stop tha--"

Your words broke off as your breath hitched. The weight of it all, Jimmy’s betrayal, Curly’s silence, Anya’s quiet endurance, crashed down on you like a tidal wave.

Anya reached out, her hand brushing against your arm, but you pulled away.

"I can’t—" you choked out, shaking your head as tears blurred your vision. "Sorry Anya, can I be alone for a moment? Please, don't look for me."

The hallway felt too small, the air too thick. You stumbled back, your legs moving on instinct as you fled toward the lounge, where the empty silence swallowed you whole.

This was where it all unravelled like a predator ripping meats of its prey piece by agonizing piece.

The knife in your trembling hand, the memories replaying in your mind, the feeling of the world collapsing around you, all of it led back to this moment. To the truth you could no longer ignore.

The one person you thought could protect you knows - and he did nothing.

Two Months After the Crash

The cargo bay was dimly lit, the faint hum of the ship's remaining systems filling the silence.

Jimmy had been relentless over the past week, pestering Swansea to let him talk to you about the cargo. Why? Well unlike any other facilities of the freighter that's unlocked by codes visible through the Captain's flashlight, the cargo bay can only be unlocked by a code held by two crewmembers - the captain and inventory officer. Obviously, with Curly laying helpless in the medbay, Jimmy only had one person left to disturb. And the man grabbed the opportunity to talk to you again.

Exhausted, that’s what you were. Tired of Jimmy's persistence, of how he kept shifting from casual then cutting sharper the next. And all these bugging went straight to Swansea. As much as you didn’t want to give the bastard the satisfaction, you knew there was no way around it - you gave in, but not for Jimmy. You did it for the mechanic.

“Are you sure about this?” Swansea asked earlier, his voice low but heavy. The lines on his face deepened as he watched you wrestle with the decision.

You nodded, though your stomach twisted at the thought. “Jimmy’s not going to stop bugging you about it, and you’ve got enough on your plate. I’ll deal with him.”

The mechanic grumbled something under his breath, shaking his head. “I don’t like it. You shouldn’t have to deal with him at all.”

“I know,” you’d said softly. “But he’s not going to stop. And… I’ll have you and Daisuke with me. It’ll be fine.”

Swansea did not looked convinced, but he eventually relented, only after you promised he could stay nearby, just in case.

Now, standing in front of the cargo bay's doors with Jimmy pacing in front of you, you were keenly aware of Swansea’s presence by the door. A silent guard, his watchful eyes never leaving the co-pilot. Daisuke was at your side, arms crossed and radiating quiet protectiveness, like a little brother who didn’t care how big a fight he might have to pick if it meant keeping you safe.

Jimmy, oblivious or indifferent to the tension, took a step forward, his movements quick but not careless. “Y/N, I know you’ve been keeping tabs on the cargo. But it’s been two months. We need to know what’s in there. It could help us—”

“It won’t,” you interrupted, your voice steady but firm. “I’ve told you before, Jimmy. It’s nothing important. We'll just waste our time."

Jimmy’s jaw tightened. “Leave that up to me to decide whether what's in there is important or not."

Swansea cursed under his breath and your lips pressed in a thin line, but the man's gaze didn’t waver.

Daisuke took a step forward. “She’s not wrong. Y/N wouldn’t hide anything if it could help. She knows what she’s doing, Jimmy.”

Jimmy scoffed. “I’m just saying—if there’s even a chance, we should check. We’re running out of options here.”

You sighed, rubbing a hand over your face. “Fine,” you said, exasperated. “You want to see it so badly? Go ahead. Open it. But when you'll find out I’m right, I don’t want to hear another word about it.”

Daisuke frowned but didn’t say anything, glancing at you like he wanted to intervene but knew better than to push. Instead, he stepped closer to your side, his quiet presence grounding you.

Jimmy’s shoulders relaxed slightly, as though he’d won some kind of victory. “Thanks, the code?” he muttered, moving toward the cargo bay doors. Swansea was already there, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed, his sharp gaze locked on Jimmy.

“She said yes,” Jimmy said defensively as he approached, but Swansea didn’t move.

“She shouldn’t have to,” Swansea muttered under his breath, stepping aside only when you gave him a small nod.

"4517" The pad beeped with each number you tell him. The entrance hissed open, like a dragon waking up from its deep slumber.

The cargo bay was dim, the rows of hundreds of boxes towered over all of you. You followed Jimmy inside, Daisuke sticking close to you while Swansea lingered by the door.

The co-pilot walked straight to the nearest box, his movements quick and eager. “Let’s see what’s so ‘unimportant,’” he muttered.

As the box was pried open, the sharp, clinical smell hit instantly.

Mouthwash.

Jimmy froze, staring down at the neatly packed bottles as if they might suddenly transform into something else. Daisuke peered over his shoulder, his eyebrows raising. “Huh. Well, that’s… useful,” he said.

Jimmy’s face burned as he looked back at you. “This is it? You’re telling me this is all we’ve been hauling?”

“I told you. Nothing important. But you couldn’t take my word for it, could you? You know what's funny, Jimmy?" You balled your hands on your sides, "I should be the one not trusting you, after what you've done."

Jimmy stood there, eyes narrowing and jaw clenched. For a moment, it looked like he was gearing up to argue. But it was all so painfully obvious, the desperation in his stance. He wanted to paint himself as the victim, again, to make excuses, again, as if he wasn’t already a pathetic excuse for a man.

You glanced at the box, the sight of the neatly labeled bottles almost comical in its absurdity, mocking the co-pilot. Then your eyes landed at him, his confidence snapping under the weight of his proud insistence.

“Satisfied now?” Your voice was barely above a whisper, but it cut through the tension like a knife. Without waiting for an answer, you turned your back. “This is your answer, Jimmy...”

For the first time since the crash, you felt something crack open inside you, not fear, not guilt, but anger. Controlled, righteous anger.

"We don’t survive by hunches or waiting for some fucking miracle," you spat. "We survive because people are actually out here making sure the Tulpar doesn’t fall apart."

Your eyes met Swansea's, then to the ground.

"Everyone pitches in, does what needs to be done, no matter how much of a death trap the job is. But if you’re too busy playing pretend captain while the rest of us are holding it all together, maybe it’s better that you step back and let the people who actually know how to keep this mess running do their thing."

You didn't wait for a response, not even tried to gauge his emotion. You left the cargo bay, going into the only place that gave you comfort, utility room.

Swansea appeared in the doorway. Before he could speak, before you could even gather your thoughts, you found yourself moving toward him. The words caught in your throat, but your legs carried you anyway, and in one swift motion, you collided with him in a tight hug. The kind you hadn’t realized you needed until the warmth of his body pressed against you.

“Thanks for everything," You paused, and before you could stop it, the words slipped out. "...dad."

For a moment, everything went still. The hum of the damaged Tulpar only filling the air, and for one fleeting second, you feared you said too much. That you crossed a line, said something you didn’t have the right to say.

But then, without a word, his arms wrapped around you, solid and sure, holding you like he was never going to let go. The tension in your chest slowly released and a stray tear rolled down your cheek.

“Always, kid.” His voice was low, thick with meaning, and at that moment, it held everything you needed to hear.

[miasmat]

I had the opportunity to paint this adorable couple for @dontbegreedy <333 I am so proud of this piece (first time ever painting armour lets goooo!) and am super happy with how it turned out :D Thank you so, so much for commissioning me and once again thank you for your patience (ㅅ´ ˘ `) <3

[faebled-stories]

Please Read

Hi lovelies,

I hope you’re all doing well! I wanted to give you a quick little update. So, here’s the tea: I had this whole holiday series planned, I was so excited about it—and I was aiming to release a couple of fics at the start of January.

BUT... this girlie got a little too wild during New Year’s celebrations, and, well... let’s just say I learned the hard way. I ended up spraining my wrist, hitting my head and smashing my phone after falling while (very) drunk…😅 So now, I’m still stuck recovering. (What a great way the start the year huh?)

I’m genuinely so bummed about this because I was really looking forward to bringing these fics to life for you. I had so much fun planning them out. Right now, I’m low-key beating myself up about the delay—it’s frustrating not being able to follow through on something I was so excited to share with you all. 😔

But here’s where you come in: once I’ve recovered, would you still like me to release these fics? Or do you think it’s better to stick a pin in the holiday concepts and move on to new ideas? I value your feedback and want to create content you’ll enjoy, so let me know what you think!

Thank you much for your patience and understanding. You’re honestly the best, and I can’t wait to get back to writing for you all soon!

Sending all my love, Fae 💖

[carmenifold]

help two disabled trans women eat and pay rent! (again...!)

hey it's your favorite local broke girl again!! happy new year, and here's to another year of begging on the internet so you don't starve!!! (just kidding i am so fucking tired and i want that to stop! lol) in all seriousness i don't know how we would've made it through the past two years without your help. it's... very difficult to figure out how to move on when people you thought you could trust in a very vulnerable period of your life just kinda.. put the person you love most in mortal danger and ruin your life. we survived but...

fuck it this isnt a journal post sorry. probably the lack of meds making me just say shit. anyway i have what is hopefully (send me luck please) a really good shot at getting an actual job soon and then i could hopefully just!! stop doing this!! and get back to doing art and the things i love and working through my heaping commission backlog (ty so much for your patience im so sorry)

but for now, we still have zero income. please, i know i've asked every month for the past year and then some, but this is the only way we can keep what little hold we have on things for now. if you can, please consider donating to help us make rent (around $600) and get groceries. if you can't, please consider spreading this post anyway. that's the thing that gets us help.

PP / VM / CA

i feel like i ran out of ways to thank everyone who's helped out so far, but i'll just say it again because i still feel so so lucky and grateful to have support through this mess: Thank you. <3

[dreamersworldduh]

Hi! Do you have the requests open? If so I would like to ask maybe something about tim drake x male reader. Nothing very special, maybe the reader is a Kryptonian and also has a "hate/rivalry" relationship with him, That once the reader is seriously injured by kryptonite and Tim worries and takes care of him day and night while the reader recovers. I don't know, I think it would be interesting to see that, besides you write amazingly and it would be even cooler, there could even be a mini-series lol. Well I hope you manage to do it, if not, Well, I'll understand it anyway, I hope to continue reading your stories soon (I love Damian's story) 🥰🥰🥰

THORN IN HIS SIDE

• TIM DRAKE x MALE!READER

SUMMARY — Tim Drake, the focused leader of the Teen Titans, managed the unique strengths and challenges of his team. Each member, like Cassie, Raven, Starfire, and Beast Boy, contributed in their own way. Tim thrived on structure, carefully crafting strategies while keeping the team in line. However, one member, you, constantly tested his patience and disrupted his plans. Unlike Tim, you relied on instinct and preferred spontaneous actions. Though you weren't incapable, your unpredictable methods frustrated him. Your confidence and charisma rallied the team, making Tim feel as if he was competing for their loyalty. Despite his annoyance, Tim recognized your invaluable contributions, often leading to fresh ideas and inspiring others. In his heart, he was grateful for your influence on the Titans.

WARNING! FLUFF! Violence.

WORDS! 6.3k

AUTHOR'S NOTE! Thank you for your request and your support! Much love 🫶🏽 I hope you enjoy 😉✨

Y/N, a Kryptonian sharing the same alien heritage as Superman, never imagined the life he now lived. Rescued as a child from Krypton's destruction, his abilities rivaled the immense power of the Man of Steel, yet they remained raw and untamed. For years, he worked as Superman's protégé, absorbing the lessons of heroism under the unwavering gaze of Earth's greatest champion. While Y/N admired his mentor, he constantly battled with the daunting weight of expectation, struggling to carve out his own identity in the shadow of a living legend.

Amid this journey, Y/N's journey caught the eye of Wonder Girl, a rising star in the superhero world and a key figure in the Teen Titans. She saw something unique in him—a mix of vulnerability and raw strength that reminded her of what it meant to be young, powerful, and searching for purpose. To her, Y/N wasn't just another Kryptonian powerhouse; he was someone with untapped potential and a soul yearning for connection. Wonder Girl believed Y/N could bring something extraordinary to the Titans, a team that embodied the perfect balance between family and fighting force.

One day, Wonder Girl approached Y/N with an invitation that would change the trajectory of his life. She spoke with conviction about the Titans—how they weren't just a team but a close-knit family that thrived on mutual support and understanding. She described the camaraderie, the thrill of standing shoulder-to-shoulder with peers who understood the burden of extraordinary abilities, and the chance for Y/N to grow beyond the long shadow of Superman. Though hesitant at first, Y/N was intrigued. After much thought, he accepted the offer, yearning for a fresh start and the opportunity to prove himself.

Joining the Titans felt like stepping into a new world. The team welcomed him warmly, their diverse personalities forming a vibrant and chaotic tapestry of young heroism. Beast Boy wasted no time cracking jokes to break the ice, while Starfire's infectious enthusiasm made Y/N feel immediately at home. Even Raven, with her enigmatic demeanor, offered a quiet nod of approval. Missions with the team were exhilarating, pushing Y/N to adapt quickly as he realized just how much his Kryptonian powers could contribute. Yet, not everything was seamless, especially when he met the Titans' leader, Tim Drake.

Tim, the third Robin and a tactical genius, was the polar opposite of Y/N. Where Y/N relied on instinct and raw power, Tim was meticulous, deliberate, and calculated. From the moment they met, their personalities clashed like oil and water. Strategy meetings became arenas for subtle confrontations; Y/N often suggested daring, high-risk plans fueled by his confidence in his abilities, while Tim meticulously picked apart every flaw in his proposals. Tim's cold, analytical tone grated on Y/N's nerves, and Y/N's impulsive nature frustrated Tim to no end.

Their friction extended to the battlefield. Y/N's instinct to leap headfirst into danger often disrupted Tim's carefully laid plans. While his intentions were always noble—saving teammates, defusing threats before they escalated—Tim saw his actions as reckless, a disregard for the chain of command. Meanwhile, Y/N bristled at what he perceived as Tim's unwillingness to trust his instincts or acknowledge his contributions. The tension simmered, turning every mission into a secondary battleground between them.

For the rest of the team, the dynamic was impossible to ignore. Beast Boy jokingly referred to them as "frenemies," though the underlying tension was no laughing matter. Starfire tried to mediate with her boundless optimism, while Raven remained characteristically silent, though her raised brow often betrayed her amusement at their constant bickering. Despite the volatility, neither Y/N nor Tim could deny the other's strengths. Y/N couldn't help but respect Tim's brilliance, even if he found his rigid demeanor insufferable. Likewise, Tim begrudgingly acknowledged—if only to himself—that Y/N's raw power and instincts had saved the team more times than he cared to admit.

Their relationship became a powder keg of competition and unspoken respect. Y/N pushed Tim to loosen his grip on control, while Tim forced Y/N to think before acting. Each encounter between them was a battle of wills, with the team holding their breath to see whether the two would eventually find common ground—or explode into an all-out clash. One thing was certain: their rivalry, however tense, was driving them both to new heights. Whether it would ultimately end in mutual respect or irrevocable division was a question only time would answer.

Tim leaned against the counter in the Titans Tower common area, a steaming cup of coffee in hand, his sharp gaze fixed on the scene outside. The sprawling lawn just beyond the glass windows was alive with activity, the sounds of laughter and playful banter filtering faintly through the thick panes. Y/N was at the center of it, locked in an impromptu game of tag with Superboy and Beast Boy. The grin on his face was wide and unapologetically mischievous as he blurred across the lawn with Kryptonian speed, effortlessly dodging Beast Boy, who had taken on the sleek, feathered form of a falcon.

Hovering nearby, Superboy—arms crossed and a smirk tugging at his lips—watched the spectacle with amusement. "Really, Y/N? That's the best you've got? You call that fast?" Conner teased, his tone full of mock arrogance.

Y/N laughed, his voice bright and unrestrained. "Faster than you, Conner. Want me to prove it?" He suddenly shot upward, hovering in the air just long enough to taunt his feathered pursuer. "Come on, bird-boy, step it up!"

Beast Boy swooped low in an attempt to tag Y/N, only for the Kryptonian to spin out of his reach at the last moment, landing gracefully on the grass below. The crunch of his boots barely registered before he was off again, the game picking up in intensity.

Inside, Tim's jaw tightened as he watched the carefree display. He brought his coffee mug to his lips, taking a deliberate sip as his eyes narrowed. To Tim, this wasn't just harmless fun; it was yet another example of Y/N's irresponsibility, his refusal to take anything seriously. The longer Tim watched, the more his irritation simmered until it became impossible to ignore. He turned away abruptly, setting his mug down on the counter with a little too much force.

Cassie Sandsmark, lounging lazily on the nearby couch with her legs draped over one armrest and her phone in hand, caught the telltale signs of Tim's brewing frustration. She didn't even bother looking up as she spoke. "Okay, Tim. Just say it. You're dying to rant."

Tim shot her a look before pacing a few steps across the room, his agitation evident. "You want to know what drives me crazy, Cassie? That." He jabbed a finger toward the window, where Y/N had just tackled Conner, both of them laughing as they rolled onto the grass.

Cassie arched an eyebrow, finally setting her phone down as her curiosity got the better of her. "What, exactly, is 'that'? Two Kryptonians having fun? Beast Boy living his best animal life? Or the fact that you can't relate to any of it?"

"It's not about the goofing off," Tim snapped, though the sharpness in his voice betrayed him. "It's about Y/N. He's impossible, Cassie. Ever since he joined this team, he's been nothing but a headache. He doesn't follow orders. He doesn't respect plans. He just... does whatever he wants! Like the rest of us are just here to clean up after him."

Cassie leaned forward, her interest piqued. "Come on, Tim. Y/N's not that bad. He's just... spirited. Like you were when you started. And—"

"Don't compare him to me," Tim interrupted, his voice tight with irritation. "When I started, I knew how to follow orders. I wasn't out there flying around, heat vision blazing, acting like I could solve everything on my own."

Cassie tilted her head, a smirk tugging at her lips. "No, Tim, you were just dressing up in green tights and trying to keep up with Batman. Totally different."

Tim ignored the jab, continuing his tirade as he gestured toward the window. "Look at Conner. He's Kryptonian too. But do you see him acting like that? No. Conner listens. He works with the team. He doesn't treat this like it's some kind of playground."

Cassie let out a short laugh as she stood, stretching her arms above her head. "Tim, Conner used to wear leather jackets and call himself Superman 2.0. And you think Y/N's cocky?"

Tim rolled his eyes but pressed on, undeterred. "At least Conner's grown up. He's reliable. Y/N? He's all ego. He thinks just because he's Kryptonian, he doesn't have to follow the rules."

Cassie crossed her arms and stepped closer, her tone growing serious. "Or maybe you just don't like him because he's not you, Tim. Y/N challenges you. And let's be honest—you don't like being challenged."

Tim opened his mouth to argue but faltered, his expression darkening as he turned his gaze back to the window. Outside, Y/N had picked up Beast Boy—now in the form of a small, squirming cat—and was holding him aloft while laughing. Conner stood nearby, shaking his head in mock disapproval but clearly enjoying himself.

"I don't know, Cassie," Tim admitted finally, his voice quieter. "He's just... exhausting. A pain."

Cassie's expression softened, and she reached out to clap him on the shoulder. "He's your pain, Tim. And whether you like it or not, he's part of this team now. You'll figure it out. You always do."

With that, she turned and left, leaving Tim alone with his thoughts. His eyes lingered on the scene outside, a mix of frustration and reluctant curiosity swirling in his mind. For all of Y/N's recklessness, there was something about him that Tim couldn't quite dismiss. Whether it was admiration or simply annoyance, Tim wasn't sure. But one thing was certain—this wasn't the last time Y/N would challenge everything Tim thought he knew about leadership.

The Teen Titans gathered in the dimly lit briefing room, the usual buzz of camaraderie replaced by a suffocating tension. Conner had been missing for three days after not returning from a mission. His disappearance felt like a gaping hole in the team's core, but for Tim, it was personal. Conner wasn't just a teammate—he was his best friend, his brother. The loss was a wound, raw and urgent, that spurred Tim into overdrive. He had spent every waking moment combing through leads, piecing together fragments of evidence. Now, he stood before the team, every detail meticulously prepared, determined not to fail.

The holographic display of a sprawling research facility flickered to life above the central console, casting a blue glow over the somber faces of the Titans. Seated around the table, Wonder Girl, Starfire, Beast Boy, Raven, and Y/N studied the image. Each wore expressions of determination laced with unease. Even Starfire's usual warmth seemed dimmed under the weight of the situation.

Tim stood at the head of the table, his posture rigid and his voice steady as he began. "This is where they're holding Conner. A black-site research facility just outside Metropolis. No name, no public record, but the tech they're using? It's advanced. Advanced enough to take down a Kryptonian." His jaw tightened. "We don't have time to figure out who's backing them or why. The only thing that matters is getting Conner back—alive."

He tapped a control panel, and the hologram zoomed in on the facility's layout, revealing a labyrinth of corridors, fortified walls, and clusters of patrol patterns. "I've analyzed their defenses. Armed guards, surveillance drones, motion detectors. They've planned for intrusions, which means they'll be ready for us. But they've also made mistakes." He pointed to a section of the hologram. "These are their weak points. Here's the plan."

The room grew quieter as Tim's voice took on its characteristic precision. "Cassie, Starfire, Beast Boy—you'll approach from the north. Cause a distraction. Loud and chaotic. Make them think it's a full assault." Cassie nodded firmly, her fingers gripping the hilt of her lasso. Starfire's green eyes glimmered with a determined light, and Beast Boy gave a quick thumbs-up, his usual humor replaced by grim resolve.

Tim continued. "Meanwhile, Raven, Y/N, and I will infiltrate from the south wing." He gestured to a series of ventilation shafts and maintenance access points. "This area is less guarded, but not by much. Once inside, we'll head straight for the central lab. That's where they're likely keeping Conner. We regroup there, neutralize any threats, and get him out. Quick, clean, no unnecessary risks."

The team nodded along, their trust in Tim's leadership evident. All except Y/N, who leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, his brow furrowed. His instincts, honed by his Kryptonian heritage and countless battles, often clashed with Tim's rigid, calculated strategies. Now was no different. He stared at the hologram, skepticism etched across his face.

Tim noticed and locked eyes with him, his tone sharpening. "And Y/N," he said, his voice cutting through the room, "I need you to follow the plan. Exactly as I've laid it out."

Y/N raised an eyebrow, leaning forward. "You don't trust me? Is that it?"

Tim didn't waver, his gaze steady and unyielding. "I trust you to do your job, but your impulses are a liability. This mission isn't about showing off or proving anything. It's about Conner's life. If you deviate, if you act on instinct instead of sticking to the plan, you could put him—and all of us—in danger. Do you understand?"

The room fell silent, the tension between the two palpable. Raven glanced between them, her expression unreadable but her fingers twitching faintly, as if bracing for an argument. Cassie shifted in her seat but said nothing, her eyes fixed on Y/N. Even Beast Boy, usually quick with a quip, seemed to hold his breath.

Y/N's jaw tightened, his pride clearly bruised, but after a long pause, he gave a curt nod. "Fine. I'll follow the plan."

Tim didn't blink, didn't soften. He simply nodded back, turning his attention to the rest of the team. "Good. Then suit up. We leave in an hour."

As the Titans rose from their seats and filed out, Y/N lingered for a moment, his eyes still locked on the hologram of the facility. For all his bravado, a flicker of doubt crossed his face. Not about his abilities—he knew what he could do—but about whether following Tim's plan would be enough to save Conner.

Tim watched him from the corner of his eye but didn't say anything. He turned back to the display, his mind already running through every contingency, every possible failure point. Conner's life depended on this plan. On them. And Tim Drake wasn't about to let anything, or anyone, derail it.

The mission unfolded under the shroud of a moonless night, the Titans moving with practiced precision through the shadows. The air buzzed with tension, every member hyper-focused on their role. At the north entrance, Cassie, Starfire, and Beast Boy launched their diversion with dazzling chaos.

Starfire's energy blasts streaked through the dark like falling stars, each impact erupting in a burst of fiery brilliance that sent guards scrambling. Cassie wielded her golden lasso with an elegance that belied its devastating power, the crackling energy binding and electrocuting adversaries in one swift motion. Meanwhile, Beast Boy transformed into a hulking rhino, his massive form barreling through barricades and scattering enemies like toy soldiers. The cacophony of explosions, shouts, and roaring beasts filled the air, drawing the facility's defenders like moths to a flame.

Miles away, on the south wing, Tim Drake led Y/N and Raven with the precision of a seasoned tactician. Every step was calculated, every movement coordinated. They slipped past surveillance cameras and roving patrols, their presence a ghostly whisper in the heavily guarded corridors. Raven's dark portals shimmered with an otherworldly energy, allowing them to bypass locked doors and heavily reinforced checkpoints. Tim's grappling hook hissed as he secured it to overhead beams, pulling himself up with ease before disabling security systems with a flick of his wrist-mounted device.

Y/N followed close behind, his Kryptonian strength restrained but ready to explode into action at a moment's notice. His senses were on edge, his heightened hearing catching every echo, every distant thrum of machinery. He hated the slow, deliberate pace—every instinct screamed at him to act, to smash through the walls and find Conner. But Tim's voice echoed in his mind: Conner's life is on the line. Recklessness could cost him everything.

Tim paused at a junction, holding up a hand to stop the group. He crouched low, his eyes fixed on the glowing map projected from his wrist-mounted device. "We're close," he whispered. "The central lab is just up ahead. Stay quiet."

Raven nodded, her dark eyes scanning the corridor ahead. Y/N clenched his fists, his impatience mounting. He focused on his breathing, forcing himself to fall in line despite the growing urge to break away.

As they crept forward, a faint sound reached Y/N's ears. He froze mid-step, his head tilting slightly as his enhanced hearing kicked into overdrive. It was a voice—low, muffled, but unmistakable. His heart skipped a beat. He strained to hear more, the sound growing clearer with each passing second. It was Conner. He was sure of it.

Y/N's eyes widened, and he turned sharply toward Tim. "Tim," he whispered, his voice taut with urgency. "I hear him. Conner's down that way." He pointed toward a dimly lit side corridor branching off from their path.

Tim's head snapped toward the corridor, his jaw tightening. "We don't know that for sure," he replied, his tone low but firm. "It could be a trap."

"It's not a trap," Y/N shot back, his voice rising slightly. "I know his voice. It's him."

Tim's expression hardened. "And if it's a recording? A lure? We stick to the plan. The central lab is the target. That's where he's most likely being held."

Y/N's frustration flared, his fists clenching at his sides. "I'm not leaving him behind!" he hissed, his Kryptonian instincts screaming to take action.

"Y/N, stand down," Tim ordered, his voice sharp as steel. "That's an order. We can't afford to—"

But before Tim could finish, Y/N shot down the side corridor in a blur, his Kryptonian speed making it impossible for either Tim or Raven to stop him.

"Y/N!" Tim growled through clenched teeth, activating his comm unit. "Get back here! That's an order!" His voice crackled through the comms, but there was no response.

Raven turned her gaze to Tim, her expression unreadable but her tone calm. "Do we follow?"

Tim exhaled sharply, a storm of anger and worry flashing across his face. "No," he said after a moment, his voice tight. "We stick to the plan. If he's right, we'll find Conner. If he's wrong..." He trailed off, his mind already racing through contingencies.

Raven hesitated but nodded, her dark energy swirling faintly around her hands. "Then let's move. The longer we wait, the worse this gets."

Tim glanced down the now-empty corridor where Y/N had disappeared, his jaw tight with frustration. You better be right, Y/N, he thought grimly. With a sharp motion, he gestured for Raven to follow, leading the way toward the central lab.

Y/N followed the faint sound of Conner's voice through a maze of dimly lit corridors, his heart pounding with urgency. Each muffled syllable drew him closer until he arrived at a heavily secured steel door. Without hesitation, he planted his hands on the edges and pushed. The reinforced metal groaned in protest before screeching open under his Kryptonian strength, shards of broken locks clattering to the floor.

The room beyond was dimly lit, bathed in the eerie glow of fluorescent lights reflecting off sleek, metallic surfaces. At the center of the room lay Conner, strapped to a cold, sterile medical table surrounded by intricate machinery humming ominously. Energy bands glowing with a sickly green light pinned his arms and legs in place, the faint pulsation of their glow sapping him of strength.

Y/N's stomach twisted at the sight of his friend. Conner's usually vibrant complexion was ashen, his chest rising and falling weakly. For a moment, all Y/N felt was raw, unfiltered anger—a burning need to tear apart everything and everyone responsible.

"Conner!" he called, stepping further into the room.

The moment his boots hit the floor, his senses prickled. A chill crawled up his spine as an all-too-familiar voice echoed from the shadows.

"Well, well," the voice drawled, smooth and venomous. "If it isn't Superman's understudy."

Y/N's head snapped toward the corner of the room, and Lex Luthor emerged from the shadows, his sharp suit immaculate and his calculating smirk razor-sharp. In his hand, a small shard of Kryptonite glowed menacingly, its green hue casting ghostly shadows across his face.

"Did you really think you could storm in here unchallenged?" Lex said, his tone dripping with mockery. "You Kryptonians are so predictable. Always so... impulsive."

Y/N gritted his teeth, his fists clenching so tightly that his knuckles turned white. The nausea from the Kryptonite's presence gnawed at his insides, but he forced himself to stay focused. His eyes flicked between Conner's prone form and Lex, weighing his options.

"Let him go," Y/N growled, his voice low and dangerous.

Lex's smirk deepened. "Oh, I don't think so. Conner here is... special. A masterpiece, really. A perfect blend of Kryptonian and human DNA. And you? You're just another reckless child playing dress-up."

Y/N didn't wait for Lex to finish. He surged forward, pushing through the Kryptonite's weakening effects as his singular focus honed in on Conner. Reaching the table, he grabbed the glowing restraints and ripped them apart with a burst of raw strength. Sparks flew, and the machinery around him sparked and whined in protest.

"Y/N..." Conner mumbled weakly, his eyelids fluttering open. His voice was hoarse, barely audible. "You shouldn't... be here."

"Save it," Y/N said, gently helping him off the table. "We're getting out of here."

But before they could move, a sharp click echoed through the room. Y/N turned just in time to see Lex pull out a sleek pistol, its barrel glowing faintly green. His eyes widened in realization, but the Kryptonite in his system dulled his reflexes.

Lex fired. The Kryptonite bullet struck Y/N in the side, the pain exploding through his body like liquid fire. He staggered, his knees hitting the floor as a strangled cry escaped his lips. His vision blurred, and every breath felt like shards of glass slicing through his lungs.

"Foolish," Lex sneered, stepping closer, his weapon trained on Y/N's chest. "You Kryptonians are all the same—fragile in the face of real power. And you've made this far too easy."

Y/N fought to stay upright, clutching his side as blood seeped through his fingers. The room spun, but his focus remained on Conner, who was still too weak to fight.

Lex smirked, raising the gun. "Goodbye, boy."

Before he could pull the trigger, a golden blast of energy tore through the air, knocking the weapon from Lex's hand. He stumbled back in shock as the Titans burst into the room.

Starfire's glowing fists lit up the space like twin suns as she launched another energy blast, forcing Lex to retreat further. "Step away from them!" she commanded, her voice ringing with authority.

Wonder Girl charged in next, her lasso of lightning crackling with raw power. "You're done, Luthor!" she shouted, her eyes blazing with determination.

Behind them, Raven's dark magic filled the room, swirling around Y/N and Conner like a protective cocoon. Shadows danced across the walls as she focused her energy on shielding them from further harm.

Lex scowled, his perfect composure cracking. He glanced between the advancing Titans and the exit, weighing his options. "This isn't over," he hissed, retreating toward a hidden door at the far end of the room. With the press of a button on his wrist, a metallic door slid open, and he disappeared into the shadows.

"Coward," Cassie muttered, already turning her attention to Y/N.

The room fell silent except for the hum of dying machinery and Y/N's labored breaths. Tim was the first to reach him, dropping to his knees beside his teammate. Blood pooled around Y/N's side, the Kryptonite bullet still embedded in his flesh. His skin was pale, and his breathing shallow.

"Y/N," Tim said urgently, his voice steadier than the panic in his eyes. "Stay with me. We'll get you out of here."

"I'm fine," Y/N muttered weakly, though the strain in his voice betrayed him. "Get Conner out first."

"Stop talking," Tim snapped, his tone sharper than he intended. He pulled a small medkit from his utility belt, his hands moving with practiced precision. "You're not fine. That bullet is still in you."

Raven knelt beside him, her hands glowing with dark energy. "I can slow the effects," she said calmly, though her expression was tense. "But we need to get him back to the Tower. Fast."

Conner, still leaning heavily on Cassie for support, looked at Y/N with a mix of guilt and gratitude. "Y/N... I'm sorry. I never should've—"

"Don't," Y/N interrupted, forcing a faint smile despite the pain. "You'd do the same for me, Kon."

Tim's jaw tightened as he helped lift Y/N to his feet, his earlier frustration giving way to something softer. "We'll talk about your reckless decisions later," he muttered, his voice quieter now. "Right now, let's get you out of here."

With the team covering their retreat, the Titans made their way out of the facility, battered but victorious. Y/N, barely conscious, leaned on Tim as they moved. For all the annoyance and tension between them, Tim couldn't shake the thought that losing Y/N wasn't an option he was willing to consider. Not now. Not ever.

Tim stood just outside the medbay of Titans Tower, his shoulders stiff and his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his utility belt. He leaned against the wall, his eyes locked on the scene inside. Y/N lay unconscious on the operating table, his normally vibrant complexion pale and lifeless. The faint hum of machinery filled the air, the glow of Kryptonite-removal equipment casting an unsettling green light over the room. Cyborg was hunched over Y/N, his mechanical fingers moving with the kind of precision only he could manage, carefully extracting every trace of the deadly Kryptonite bullet from the Kryptonian's body.

Tim's jaw tightened as he watched, his mind a storm of emotions he couldn't control. Worry. Frustration. Guilt. He was used to pressure, to life-or-death situations, but this felt different. Y/N wasn't just another teammate—he was family. And now, all Tim could do was stand there, helpless, as Cyborg worked to save him.

The sound of footsteps behind him pulled Tim from his spiraling thoughts. He turned to see Conner Kent approaching, still visibly drained from his own ordeal. The usually confident Superboy leaned against the doorway for support, his face etched with guilt and worry.

"How's he doing?" Conner asked, his voice quiet but heavy.

Tim exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. "Cyborg's got the bullet out, but the Kryptonite poisoned his system. It's going to take time for his body to recover. He's stable... for now." Though Tim's tone was measured, there was no mistaking the tightness in his voice.

Conner's gaze shifted to Y/N, lying motionless on the table. His fists clenched at his sides. "He saved me," he said after a moment, his voice thick with guilt. "If he hadn't come after me... if he hadn't—"

"He shouldn't have had to," Tim interrupted, sharper than he intended. Conner flinched at the words, but Tim didn't stop. "None of this should've happened."

Tim sighed, leaning back against the wall as his anger ebbed, replaced by exhaustion. He crossed his arms, staring down at the floor. "I told him to stick to the plan," he muttered, his voice quieter now. "I begged him to stick to the plan. But no—Y/N being Y/N, he had to go charging in like a hero."

Conner straightened slightly, his guilt replaced by a flicker of defiance. "He is a hero, Tim. He saved me."

Tim looked up, his eyes narrowing. "And he almost got himself killed doing it. Do you even realize how reckless that was? He ran off without backup, straight into a trap set by Lex Luthor! He got lucky this time, Conner. But what about next time? What happens if he doesn't make it out?"

Conner's jaw tightened, his voice low but firm. "You think I wanted him to get hurt for me? I didn't. But he did what he had to do. Just like you would've."

Tim opened his mouth to argue but stopped himself, the words catching in his throat. He stared at Conner, frustration and understanding warring in his expression. Finally, he leaned back against the wall, running a hand over his face.

"He drives me crazy," Tim admitted, his voice softer now. "He's reckless. Impulsive. Half the time it feels like he's actively trying to make me lose my mind. But he's also... brave. He cares about this team, about the people he's fighting for, more than anything else. And yeah, he saved your life tonight. I respect him for that."

Conner's expression softened, and for a moment, the two of them stood in silence, their gazes drawn to Y/N. The rhythmic beeping of the monitors filled the quiet, a small reassurance that their friend was still fighting.

Finally, Cyborg stepped out of the medbay, pulling off his surgical gloves. He looked exhausted but satisfied as he addressed them. "He's gonna be okay," Cyborg said, his voice steady. "I got all the Kryptonite out, and his system's stabilizing. He's not out of the woods yet, but with rest and some time, he'll make a full recovery."

Tim exhaled sharply, relief flooding through him. "Thanks, Vic," he said quietly, his voice carrying more emotion than he intended.

Cyborg nodded, offering them a reassuring smile before heading down the hall. Conner leaned heavily against the doorframe, his shoulders sagging with relief. Tim, meanwhile, stayed rooted in place, his eyes never leaving Y/N.

"You should tell him that," Conner said suddenly, breaking the silence.

Tim glanced at him, frowning. "Tell him what?"

Conner smirked faintly. "All that stuff about respecting him. You know, before you start chewing him out for breaking the plan again."

Tim rolled his eyes, though a small, reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I'll think about it."

They stood there for a moment longer, watching as Y/N's chest rose and fell with steady breaths. The tension that had gripped the Tower for hours was finally beginning to ease, replaced by the quiet strength of their bond. For all their arguments, all the mistakes and risks, they were a team. And in that moment, Tim knew one thing for certain: he'd fight just as hard for Y/N as Y/N had for Conner.

They would get through this. Together.

The past few days had blurred into a haze of recovery for Y/N. After surviving the mission, the Kryptonite wound, and the chaos of Lex Luthor's escape, he was confined to the medbay at Titans Tower. His Kryptonian physiology had worked overtime to heal him, but the lingering effects of Kryptonite poisoning slowed his usual rapid recovery. Every movement sent a dull ache radiating from his side, and exhaustion hung over him like a heavy cloud. He hated feeling vulnerable, trapped in bed while the team moved forward without him.

What Y/N hadn't expected, though, was Tim's constant presence.

Tim wasn't known for his warmth. He was the strategist, the tactician—the one who held the team together with sharp focus and relentless discipline. But since Y/N had stabilized, Tim had been a near-constant fixture in the medbay. Y/N would drift in and out of restless sleep, only to find Tim sitting nearby, flipping through mission reports or scrolling through data on his tablet. At first, Y/N thought it was a coincidence, but by the third day, it was clear: Tim wasn't just checking in; he was hovering.

The morning light filtered dimly through the reinforced windows as Y/N stirred awake, groggy but alert. The soft whoosh of the medbay door opening caught his attention, and he turned his head to see Tim walking in, balancing a tray in one hand and a folder in the other.

"Is that...?" Y/N rasped, his voice hoarse from disuse.

"Chicken noodle soup," Tim replied without missing a beat. He set the tray on the bedside table with a practiced ease, as if he'd done this a hundred times before. "Figured you'd be tired of Raven's herbal remedies by now."

Y/N blinked, caught off guard by the gesture. A faint smirk tugged at his lips as he propped himself up on his elbows, wincing slightly at the motion. "Didn't peg you for the soup-delivery type, Drake."

Tim raised an eyebrow, pulling up a chair and sitting down. "I didn't make it. I'm not a miracle worker," he said, his tone dry. "Picked it up from that diner downtown. Best chicken noodle soup in the city."

Y/N chuckled softly, though the movement made his side throb. "Wow. I didn't know you had a nurturing side. What's next? Tucking me in?"

Tim rolled his eyes but didn't respond to the jab. Instead, he unfolded a napkin and placed it neatly next to the bowl, his movements precise and deliberate. "Eat," he instructed, gesturing toward the tray. "You need to keep your strength up."

Y/N raised an eyebrow, more curious than amused now. "Okay, seriously, what's going on with you? You've been checking on me like clockwork. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate it, but... it's a little out of character."

Tim hesitated for a moment, his usual composed demeanor faltering just enough for Y/N to notice. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as he met Y/N's gaze. "You almost died," he said bluntly. His voice was even, but the weight behind his words was unmistakable. "And before you give me the 'Kryptonians bounce back' speech, don't. Kryptonite changes everything. We didn't know if you were going to make it, and I—" He stopped himself, glancing away briefly before continuing. "I don't want to go through that again."

Y/N's smirk faded, replaced by a look of quiet surprise. He wasn't used to seeing Tim like this—unguarded. Vulnerable. "Tim, I'm fine," he said, though the words came out softer than he intended. "You don't have to—"

"I'm going to, whether you like it or not," Tim interrupted, his voice firm. "You're not fine yet. And until you are, I'm going to make sure you have what you need. Even if that means... soup."

Y/N studied him for a long moment, the teasing gone from his expression. There was something unspoken in Tim's words, a guilt he hadn't voiced. "You're blaming yourself," Y/N said quietly.

Tim's jaw tightened, and he looked away, staring at the wall as if it held the answers he couldn't give. "If I'd handled the mission better—if I'd planned for Luthor, accounted for the Kryptonite—none of this would've happened."

"That's not on you," Y/N said, his voice firm despite the ache in his side. "I made the choice to go after Conner. Nothing you could've done would've stopped me."

Tim shook his head, frustration flashing across his face. "You shouldn't have had to make that choice. It's my job to keep this team safe, to make sure everyone gets out in one piece. And you—"

"I'm still here," Y/N interrupted, his tone steady. "You did your job, Tim. You got us out. You saved me."

Tim sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly as the tension eased. "Doesn't mean I'm not going to make sure you're okay now."

Y/N let out a soft laugh, the sound carrying more warmth than amusement. "You're stubborn, you know that?"

Tim smirked faintly, leaning back in his chair. "Takes one to know one."

The room fell into a comfortable silence. Y/N finally picked up the spoon and took a tentative sip of the soup. It was warm and surprisingly good, a welcome change from the bland nutrient packs he'd been stuck with. He glanced at Tim out of the corner of his eye, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips.

"You know," Y/N said, his tone light but teasing, "if you keep this up, I might start thinking you actually like me."

Tim scoffed, his smirk widening slightly. "Don't push your luck."

For the rest of the afternoon, Tim stayed by Y/N's side, quietly flipping through mission reports while Y/N finished his soup. It wasn't a grand gesture, and Tim would never make a big deal out of it. But to Y/N, it meant more than words could say. For all of Tim's stoic exterior, his actions spoke volumes. And in that moment, Y/N realized something he hadn't before: Tim Drake cared. In his own stubborn, meticulous way, he cared. And that made all the difference.

[marsmaximoff]

❤️‍🩹; healing caresses ᜊ

content warning: gn!reader (married). comfort, fluff. his illness and cheating are mentioned.

word count: 349 ^^

author's note: the emperors' hype is dying, you say? not on my blog. this will ALWAYS be a caracalla fan account, and im gonna post more about him, i promise. i just got distracted with season two of squid game which i'm also gonna post more about (it'll be about the pink guards hehe). anyways, i think no one is gonna read this but i hope im wrong SJKSJSK. ps: english is not my mother language, im sorry for the mistakes. enjoyyy <3

divider by @saradika-graphics !!

his fluffy and slightly messy ginger locks act like the softest of silks around my fingers. the soothing gesture slowly bringing him back, melting away the agitation. all showing on the loosening of his shoulder muscles, his now even breathing, and the way he leans into my touch, seeking that unwavering love i so unconditionally provide.

“what…did i say this time?” he asks the question slowly, with caution, almost absentmindedly. i don’t know what makes me feel worse: the fact he doesn’t remember or the way he wants to. “do not worry about it.” my hand does not cease its movement. “i…i wish to know.” he shifts, pressing his head on my lap more onto my stomach, as if bracing himself. i have never enjoyed these conversations, loathing how much self-deprecation they bring. if he’s lucky enough to forget, why would i plague his mind again?

“you questioned spoke about my loyalty, my fealty”, as usual, “stated i would fancy the idea of leaving you, which i will never”, i assure him firmly. fortunately, his words don’t pierce my heart anymore. i do not let them, for it is not my husband who utters them. “they shall not get to your head, i… i did not…” i know how difficult such words are for him, acknowledging the illness that slowly rots all he has ever been.

“love, don’t concern yourself. i feel all right, what matters to me is that you do. i am already aware that you do not mean any of it.” some masters warned me i would tire of so much consolation, but it comes easy when the love is pure, i believe. “thank you, my love. i assume it is not effortless”, he continues with a sigh, “but you must know how highly i value your company and patience. it warms me”, his embrace tightens around me, as if reinforcing the genuine confession. “that will on no occasion change, you have me forever”, i say with a loving smile before pressing a soft kiss to his head. boyish giggles surround us, delightedly squeezing our hearts.