#the angst and miscommunication was there

[ed3mm]

Y'all ever read a fic where it's hurt/comfort and the author is really good at writing angst, but not comfort, because this just happened to me. Pretty sure the last few chapters were supposed to be the comfort but it just made me more upset

[cno-inbminor]

zayne x non-mc!fem reader -- married, but you worry it's only because mc (emcee) had left and was never sure on when she'd return. six years later, emcee moves back to linkon, and you feel your worst nightmares start to fester. self-indulgent angst (tw: miscommunication) wc: 3.2k

In a fantasy-like dreamscape, with petals painted in hues of ivory and rouge, you amble down the concrete trail that loops around the park.

You ignore the feeling of being out of place – after all, you’re still in your work blouse, skirt, and heels that are very impractical for a long walk. But in your numbing haze and cloudy mind, you’re welcome to any ache and sore that could keep you grounded to this forsaken planet. The music from your earbuds rings with melancholic songs from some movie soundtrack, though coincidental and fitting for the situation at hand. Eyes glassed over, steps slow and laborious, and shoulders slumped, you walk defeated.

A gust of wind releases the petals from their branches and blooms, a flurry scattering into the open air before flitting, twisting, turning, and gradually falling to the ground beneath your feet. They make you remember a happier time, one that seems to be a waste after all these years. When you look towards the sky, you recall a similar view when you were snug in a wedding dress while making your way down an aisle, your lips curved in a smile as onlookers threw white rose petals into the air. But when you tilt your head down to look in front of you, there is no man in a tailored, pressed suit waiting for you.

He settled by marrying you, a faint whisper reminds you in the back of your mind. You did this to yourself.

Perhaps you did.

There was always the chance that she would come back – you had always dreaded the day, but Zayne was adamant that there was nothing to worry about. He had moved on, and he loved you. There was nothing you needed to fix about yourself, he insisted. He loved you for who you were, and you were grateful – grateful that he still thought of you late at night when stuck in emergency surgeries, that he would buy you pastries anytime he visited the bakery, that he would welcome you into his office during lunch breaks when you had time to step away from your desk.

You were happy to be on his arm at awards and annual galas. You would bask in the moments when you would come out in a new dress and he wouldn’t be able to take his eyes off you. “You look beautiful,” he would say with reverence and adoration, and it was those moments that led you astray from your worries and insecurities. He chose you, and you could tell he didn’t regret choosing you.

That didn’t change until after a few months she returned.

The reason she had been gone for so long was because she had been transferred indefinitely to a remote city that had a massive shortage of Hunters and way too many Wanderers to deal with. From the get go, she had been advised to officially move out of her apartment and was even given a stipend to help with relocation costs. It was for a good cause, and she had always wanted to travel and see the world. Zayne, in all his infinite charity and kindness, made sure to discuss every detail possible with her new physician that would be looking after her and her heart condition. He even went as far as having her sign a release of information to him specifically so that he could access her records remotely.

You understood. Really, you did. She had even made it out to the wedding and stayed afterward to help with cleanup efforts.

But after her return, the more you fell asleep in and woke up to an empty bed, the less sleep you were getting.

How do I bring this up without sounding like a clingy partner? You had wracked your brain for weeks. Zayne was stressed enough as it was, and you really didn’t want to add to it. You had vowed to be the solid ground beneath his feet – to support and keep him stabilized – and not the storm that could topple him over.

But it was so hard.

Fewer texts, fewer check-in’s, fewer notes left behind reminding you of the little things. Fewer reminders that he was ever a tenant in this house – much less, your husband.

Zayne ran on a routine and schedule, but so much spontaneity happens in his daily life that he probably wouldn’t mind a surprise visit for lunch from you. You had picked up his favorite lunch set from the cafe down the street, as well as one for you, and walked towards the hospital. Familiar nurses and doctors greeted you as you did them, quick hello’s and slight nods of the heads. Yvonne recognized you without missing a beat and flashed you a small, but tired smile.

“Long day already?” you softly asked when you stopped at her station.

“Unfortunately, but nothing uncommon,” she joked before taking a look at the brown paper bag in your hand. “Good timing actually, he’s in his office and is free for the next 30 minutes. Dr. Grayson is in there, but it shouldn’t be a big deal.”

“Thank you,” you said in a grateful tone and smiled before rounding the corner to your husband’s office.

You slowed and softened your steps to minimize the noise from your heels, wanting to maintain the element of surprise. From down the hall, you could see that his door was cracked open just the slightest, both his and Dr. Grayson’s voices muffled but much clearer once you were in front of it. Just as you were about to push it open, you heard her name and froze.

“--she comes by a lot.”

You heard Zayne reply, “It’s been good catching up with her and being able to check on her condition. Her doctor from her time away should’ve done a better job, but at least nothing major happened.”

“I haven’t seen your wife in a while. More often than not, I’d see her here on your lunch breaks, but it feels like forever.”

Keyboard clicks fill the brief silence. “She’s been busy.”

Have you now?

“You know,” Dr. Grayson starts before pausing. “Wasn’t Emcee your first love or something like that?”

The keyboard clicks stop. “Why do you ask?”

You could hear the shrug in Dr. Grayson’s voice. “I just wonder if anything has changed now that she’s back permanently.”

“...I don’t follow.”

“Do you think anything would’ve happened between you and her had she stayed six years ago?”

A beat passes. Two. Four.

“Perhaps, but there’s no point in dwelling on the what-if’s.”

Your heart sank.

In the very next second, the panic began to course through you, your heartbeat dangerously high. You had a moment of clarity – a miracle, honestly – to step out of your heels and let them hang from your fingers as you walked back to where Yvonne was at a brisk pace. Hospital floor, dust, and infections be damned. Otherwise, the clacking of your heels would’ve alerted them, and that was the last thing you needed. All you thought of in that moment was the need to get out, away from this hospital, away from your husband.

Yvonne had no time to question your sudden return – she hadn’t expected to see you again for at least another 30 minutes – before you set the bag in front of you.

“They seem to be having a really important conversation,” you started, clenching your fists to stop the tremble in your body and trying to maintain a calm voice. “C-can I just leave this here for you to give to him later?”

“Yes, of course,” Yvonne said, picking the bag up to put behind her. Her tone was agreeable, but you could practically feel her confusion between the syllables. “But are you sure you don’t want to wait? Dr. Grayson should be out in a few minutes, if that’s the case.”

“Oh, uhh, I actually just got a text from my boss,” you lied and held up your phone, though it was still a dark screen. “He needs a document at the last minute, so I have to head back anyways. Thank you though!”

With a quick wave goodbye, you left Yvonne no chance to respond and disappeared towards the elevator. Every second that passed was too long, and you almost tripped while trying to slip your heels back on. Your steps were shaky, your frame shuttering with each step, and you couldn’t help but feel embarrassed. You should be stronger than this. You should be strong enough to hold yourself together and make it home before you absolutely break and burst at the seams.

Your hands wrung together as the elevator descended towards the ground floor at a snail’s pace. Luckily you were the only one in the compartment, so as soon as the doors had opened, you bolted out of there like someone was chasing you. And in a way, something was chasing you – one of your worst nightmares: the realization that Zayne felt he had no choice but to settle for you.

You crossed the lobby as fast as you could, blinders on and narrowed to nothing but the main doors. They couldn’t slide open fast enough for you, but it granted you a second to call your boss.

“Yes, (Y/N)?”

“I know this is really sudden, and you know I never do this, but I really, really need to take the afternoon off,” you begged, words rolling off your tongue a mile a minute.

“Is everything okay?”

“Not really,” you said with all the bluntness in the universe before you could say anything better. “But it’ll be fine, I’ll be back tomorrow morning.”

“Very well. Call me if you need help with anything.”

“Thank you so much. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow. Have a good night.”

“See you tomorrow, and you, too.”

Your thumb jabbed the ‘end call’ button as you stared at the street. Where should you go? What should you do? Do you go home?

And that’s how you ended up here, at the park, the skin on the back of your heels chafed horribly, and your brain at a complete loss of what to do now. You haven’t even cried yet because you were still in a state of shock, disassociation.

Aimless, unaware, and lost, you continue your endless journey and are unable to find it in yourself to even sit on one of the many park benches stationed around the path. Because if you sat, you would cry. And if you cry, you would think. And if you think, you would spiral. You would spiral down the black hole of questioning every single thing Zayne has ever done with you, if Zayne ever truly loved you.

Something in the universe says you’re not ready for that yet.

Your phone vibrates from your purse. You take it out with limp hands, slowly and unsure in every way possible, your heart pounding against your chest, as you read the notification on your lock screen.

Husband 💙:

Thank you for lunch. I’m sorry we couldn’t eat together.

Your feet scream in agony as you increase your pace in the direction of the main road. They were probably bleeding at this point, but that was an issue for another time. You flag down a taxi as soon as one appears, and you ask the driver to take you to that 24 hour bookstore-slash-library with the comfy chairs and a cafe attached to it. After all, if you couldn’t stand to be in this world, at least you could escape to another for a little bit of time.

Husband 💙:

Yvonne said you had some type of work emergency. Is everything okay?

-

Several hours passed, in which you were able to acquire a couple of bandaids and alcohol wiping pads, nibble on a biscotti, and dive into a book that you had been putting off for months. Unwillingly, you hear your phone vibrate in your purse. Based on the pattern alone, you know it’s Zayne calling. During your years of dating, you had assigned custom vibrations and ringtones for him and him only. That way, no matter what, you would know it was him calling without having to look at the screen. If this were a normal situation and a normal day, you would’ve picked up without missing a beat. Unfortunately, today has been anything but normal.

You press one of the volume buttons to stop it from vibrating, though his contact information is still splashed across the screen. Your infinite wisdom advises you to let the call run, make him think that you were simply too busy to pick up. Again, an ultra rare occurrence, but not impossible. Your phone screen switches back to your lock screen with a notification of a missed call, and you watch it with wary eyes to see if there would be any follow-up.

There is one in the form of a text.

Bzz-bzz. Make that two.

Husband 💙:

I called to see if you wanted to have dinner together. But as soon as it went to voicemail, we had an emergency surgery come up.

Are you evil to think that the universe has kindly granted you more time to not talk to your husband? It would be appalling to be thankful that someone was hurt enough to warrant an emergency surgery that required your husband’s skills, therefore buying you more time to get your shit together. Diabolical and heartless, someone would probably describe you.

Husband 💙:

Won’t be home til late. Don’t wait up.

But you could only be in a blouse and skirt for so long, and as much as you want to spend the night here, it’s time for you to go home.

At 11PM, there is still no other text or call from Zayne. The house is empty and quiet, much to your relief. His shoes are nowhere to be seen on the shoe rack, so you must be safe. You should have enough time to change, brush your teeth, go to bed, and either actually fall asleep or pretend to be asleep when he eventually makes it home. His messages have been left unread, his call not returned. Once you’re ready for bed and tucked under the covers, the exhaustion of everything pulls you into a deep sleep in record time.

-

You’re practically dead to the world when Zayne comes home, slinking in like a thief in the night. He knows you’re usually asleep at this time, and he doesn’t want to wake you. Perhaps it’s his imagination, but in the few minutes that he can see you, you seem more tired, more haggard. It seems like you’ve lost a little weight, too, but he just doesn’t have the time to ask more about it. All the things that were changing seemed like it’d be best to have a sitdown conversation on a day off, but he’s been so bogged down by work and the return of Emcee that a day off seemed impossible.

As he slips his shoes off, he glances at your heels positioned astray from the shoe rack. The work emergency must have been bad for you to leave them that way. It takes nothing to bring them together and put them away himself, but then his eyes catch onto something that makes him freeze.

Why in the world is there that much blood on the back of your heels?

Were you hurt?

What happened that made you walk around so much to the point that you would let yourself bleed without any attempt to cover them up, or at least put a bandaid over them?

Why would you neglect yourself like that?

Had you already been bleeding when you dropped off his lunch? And if you had, why hadn’t anyone noticed, much less done anything about it?

The bedroom door creaks the slightest bit when he pushes it open, the force behind his fingertips so soft, so afraid to wake you. His eyes cannot help but travel to the foot of the bed where one of your feet sticks out. A small sense of relief fills his chest when he spots the bandaid stuck to the back of your left heel. The closer he gets to you, the more he sees that the bandaid wasn’t applied carefully enough based on the gap between the cotton pad and your wound. Gently, he lifts the blanket up to get a look at your other foot. A matching bandaid is present on your right heel. But at second glance, any relief he had felt disappears into thin air.

He sees the faint indentations of where the leather of your high heels had dug into your skin, a subtle arch decorating the space at the base of your toes. The beginnings of blisters have formed on the side of a few of them as well. It’s no secret to anyone how worn out they seem, that they’ve seen a harder day than usual today. He doesn’t know the cause, and he doesn’t understand why you didn’t even tell him. Zayne fishes his phone out of his pocket and stares at the empty lock screen, showing that you had never responded to his earlier messages. That, in and of itself, was already highly unusual.

He shifts the blanket back over your feet, making sure to cover them both before retreating into their bathroom. Brushing his teeth, rinsing his hair under the sink faucet, and washing his face all feel so mechanical as his mind refuses to turn off, the growing worry spreading like spilled cabernet on a white tablecloth. As he slides into bed, he suddenly feels like a stranger in his own home – like he’s not supposed to be here, to consider this bed as his safe space.

He’ll ask you in the morning, Zayne decides as he falls into a fitful sleep. No surgeries had been scheduled for the morning, which meant he could finally wake up with you for the first time in months. You two would get ready together – you’d tie his tie, he’d help dry the ends of your wet hair fresh out of the shower, you’d pack his lunch, he’d make sure that you leave with a fresh coffee in hand – a routine he has learned to love. The thought of that helps him settle into the sheets, and they feel soft and familiar again. Yes, everything would be fine.

But Zayyne gets a call an hour before your alarm goes off, and is, once again, robbed of one of his most cherished routines. He can’t help but look at your heels again as he slips into his dress shoes. They must be a sign of something to come, something that he may need to be afraid of. He’s not ready for what that may be, but inside, he knows that there’s a countdown.

Zayne doesn’t want to think about the stakes, or the fact that his first prediction – fresh horror and torture – is you leaving him. He cannot let it happen.

[callmeizukunotdeku]

one of my favorite brands of Jason and Tim angst is when Jason realizes that Bruce had been treating Tim like his replacement, not as Robin, but as Jason

Robin's a mantel, a mask that gets passed down from one brother to the next

Jason is a person. full stop.

just,,, something about making Jason's thinking shift from "Bruce replaced me by getting another son" to "Bruce found a kid that looks like me and he acts like the kid is me"

and Jason trying to bring this up with Tim, who knows better and expects worse just replying "at least, now that you're back, he's stopped calling me by your name"

and Jason is like "no, no, you should be asking so much more from him; this is Batman for god's sake"

"yeah" Tim agrees "I asked him to keep me around even though he doesn't need me any more. he seemed to be fine with the idea"

"need you? tim that's a fully grown adult he doesn't need you to do anything for him"

and Tim just gives him a you haven't seen the half of it look and Jason remembers that technically he's right

tim didn't need to do anything, he needed to be someone. and now that Jason is back, he doesn't need to be anyone anymore

but how much of himself did he lose trying to become someone else?

[crackers4jenn]

2025 hot destiel take: I've always believed that Castiel saying "the one thing I want, it's something I know I can't have" isn't some bleak "because Dean doesn't wanna dick Cas down" admission, it's "because, by confessing, the empty will take Cas, there's literally nothing for him to 'have' afterwards." His punishment isn't unrequited love, it's unfinished love. This is why happiness isn't in the having, it's in just saying it. Because it's all he gets. Cas doesn't get sucked into the empty thinking Dean could never love him back, he goes peacefully knowing that he does - that it doesn't matter that they don't get to experience the other side of the confession because confessing was fulfilling enough :')

[sweetcalebb]

Bad Fight

⋆˙⟡ you and caleb have a fight after he decides to put some stranger in his place, stripping you of your autonomy. again

cw: angst

a/n: this is for my avoidant girlies 🫶🏻

──★ ˙

The tension was suffocating. Tonight was supposed to be a fun and relaxing—a rare break from both of your jobs. But Caleb had ended up telling some guy off for looking at you and ruining the whole night.

God.

What right did he have to just.. do that?

You sounded like an asshole, but Caleb was always hovering, always trying to play the knight in shining armor. But you weren't the little girl that needed saving anymore and he didn't seem to get that.

Now, you were silently walking up to his apartment a few steps behind him, your chest tight and your cheeks burning from frustration.

When he let you in, you didn't even thank him. Just walked past. And it killed him. He sighed, running a tired had through his hair before shutting the door and following after you.

"Hey, are you seriously still upset?"

Heat shot up your spine. It was that 'seriously' he threw in there that really made the churn in your stomach worse. He said it like he couldn't believe you were mad at him, like what he did was so noble.

But you pressed your lips into a hard line, refusing to answer.

"Okay. So that's a yes."

Still nothing.

Wordlessly, you shrugged off your coat, then draped it over his couch. You knew you were being a bit childish. The cold shoulder? Yeah. That was never the way to go, but you didn't trust your voice right now.

Caleb let out another sigh, taking a few steps forward. "I'm sorry I screwed up our evening," he breathed out, hand twitching at his side like he wanted to touch you. "But I'm not sorry I told that weirdo to back off."

You paused, desperately trying to swallow back the thousands of angry words trying to spill out.

Stop it.

For a moment, it was silent. Just you trying to hold it together, and Caleb, standing there, waiting for you say something. To snap at him, yell at him, anything.

But you never did.

"Can you at least..." He trailed off, unsure of what to say. "Can you at least look at me? Or say something?"

You licked your lips, the words just on the tip of your tongue.

Reel it in.

He means well.

Slowly, you turned around. You stared at him for a second, thinking of your words carefully before finally opening your mouth.

"I.. I know you mean well, but what you did back there—it didn't feel good. It felt.." you paused, afraid of what this might cause, "humiliating."

A flicker of hurt passed through Caleb's eyes.

Humiliated?

The word rang in his ears, made his jaw clench and his brows pinch together. He humiliated you? Him caring humiliated you?

He couldn't help the small scoff that slipped past his lips. It wasn't mocking. Wasn't angry. Just disbelieving. "So me caring about you was embarrassing?" The hurt crept in unbidden and he hated it, but he couldn't stop it.

"Did you even see the way he was looking at you?" he asked, voice edging on something rougher.

You sighed. "Caleb—"

"He was being disrespectful," he continued. "Basically undressing you with his eyes."

Your breath quickened, your stomach burning with frustration. "And I could've handled it myself."

"How?"

For a second, you hesitated. How would you have handled it? Would you really have said anything? Sure, you could say you would've, but if Caleb hadn't stepped in back there, would you have? Really?

"I would've said something," you responded, the words weak, even to your own ears. And Caleb caught it. The waver in your voice? He didn't miss that—the sound that told him you weren't sure, but still answering just for the sake of argument.

"Right."

Heat rushed through your veins at that single-word. Right. Right, as if it was impossible for you to defend yourself.

"This is the problem," you spat, instantly regretting the bitterness that laced your words, but committing to it anyway.

"What is?"

"This!" you said, exasperated, hands making some incomprehensible gesture between him and yourself. "You don't even let me try to protect myself."

The words felt like a punch to the gut. This? As in him? Something hot and ugly was crawling up his throat. He should've stopped it. In any other circumstance—where he hadn't seen some stranger ogle you like you were some piece of meat—maybe he could've been calmer.

But he had watched some guy ogle you, and now he was the one in the wrong for standing up for you?

"You think I like always being the one to step in?"

Caleb should've shut his mouth right then and there, but the words were already out. He couldn't stop now.

"You think it feels good to always be on edge," he continued, voice rougher than he intended, "wondering if I’m crossing a line or just doing what you won’t?"

The last had more bite than the rest and your breath instantly caught in your throat.

Then, in a fresh wave, it all came back, frustration washing over you.

"You're not listening!" you seethed. "It doesn't matter what I can and can't do! I'm not asking you to play hero!"

Your voice shook with the weight of your emotions. "You choose that on your own, and I keep asking you not to!"

Caleb huffed, shaking his head as he took a small step back. "Okay, so next time I should just watch?"

Your throat closed up, angry tears welling in your eyes.

Not now.

Please not now.

"No, that's not what I'm—" You paused, trying to swallow back the tears threatening to spill down your cheeks.

You hated this.

You hated crying out of frustration.

"That's not what I'm saying," you finished, your voice losing the bitter edge it had just seconds ago.

Caleb let out a soft exhale. He caught the slight shake in your voice, the way you'd silently pulled back.

Fuck.

He was being an asshole.

Caleb softened, but for a while, neither of you said anything. You wouldn't even look at him, and that alone was devastating. Caleb hated that he'd done this, that he'd let himself get carried away, trying to prove he was justified rather than listen to you.

His voice came out quieter when he spoke again. "What do I do? I mean, I can't—I can't just watch people do shit to you. But I also can't defend you." He let the words settle before continuing, "So what do I do?"

You ran a shaky hand down your face. "Forget it. Just—" You shook your head, turning on your heel and rushing toward the guest-room, the one that was reserved just for you.

Panic flared in Caleb's chest. "Pips—"

But you were already gone, slamming the door behind you.

Caleb stood in the doorway, his heart pounding in his ears. The apartment was suddenly quiet. Empty.

You always slept in his room when you were over. Even after fights. Even when things got messy.

So he waited up in bed for you.

10 minutes had gone by, and nothing.

15 minutes. Still nothing.

Then 30. And it was becoming painfully clear you weren't coming to bed with him tonight.

He knew he should give you space, so he tried to sleep, but he kept replaying your fight, kept replaying the way the angry set of your brow softened the moment he'd gone too far.

Then he thought about the tears in your eyes—

God, the tears.

He was horrible.

Caleb couldn't stand this. With a heavy breath, he reached toward his nightstand and grabbed his phone, thumbs moving shakily across the keyboard.

Caleb: i messed up.

Caleb: i didn't hear you.

Caleb: i'm sorry.

Caleb: can i still kiss you goodnight?

Meanwhile, you were in bed, cheeks puffy and eyes rimmed red, staring at his texts. You wanted to say yes. Wanted him to come in through the door and fix everything with a little kiss and a few sweet words.

But the fight kept replaying in your head. The bitterness, the almost mocking lilt he couldn't quite hide.

It hurt.

Too much to just let him in again.

You: not tonight.

[aventurineswife]

Angst prompt; Aventurine, Dr. Ratio n Sunday are frustrated over work, someone, etc and reader tries cheering them up but they snap and tell them they’re being annoying

This makes reader all quiet, losing their spark. So reader waddles away sadly and now they’re guilty and try to make up with cuddles, kisses, a home cooked meal or a simple I love you </3

Aching Hearts and Soft Apologies

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Sunday x Reader, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Established Relationship, Apologies, Soft Moments, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Slight Miscommunication, Reconciliation, Cuddles, Kisses, Home-Cooked Meal.

Warnings: Hurtful Words, Temporary Emotional Distress, Guilt, Insecurity, Slight Self-Doubt, Mentions of Work-Related Stress.

A/N: why does this sound like me? 💔

Aventurine had always worn stress like an accessory—casual, effortless, and hidden beneath his usual playful smirk. But tonight, as he sat hunched over his desk, fingers digging into his temples, you could see the exhaustion bleeding through the cracks.

"Hey, Churin," you chirped, placing a cup of his favorite spiced tea beside him. "Thought you could use a break. Maybe we could—"

"Not now," he interrupted, voice clipped. His eyes flickered toward you, then back to his paperwork.

You hesitated, trying again, your hands gently squeezing his shoulders. "Come on, you know stress wrinkles aren’t a good look on you. Let’s do something fun. Dice game? Or maybe I can tell you a joke?"

The chair scraped against the floor as Aventurine abruptly stood, his hands slamming the table. "For the love of the cosmos, [Name], just stop. You're being annoying."

The words struck deeper than any calculated gamble he had ever played. You felt your heart drop, your usual spark dimming.

"Oh... okay." Your voice was small. "Sorry for bothering you."

You turned and left, a pit forming in your stomach as you shuffled away.

Aventurine stared after you, the weight of his words settling in like a losing bet. Guilt clawed at him. He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair.

Minutes later, you felt a familiar presence behind you. Aventurine knelt beside the couch where you curled up, his arms slowly circling your waist.

"Alright, alright. I was a total bastard back there," he murmured against your shoulder. "I didn't mean it. You're not annoying. You’re... the only person who actually makes this ridiculous game worth playing."

You didn’t respond immediately, but when his arms tightened around you, pressing a gentle kiss to the nape of your neck, your resolve wavered.

"Come back with me? I’ll even let you win at dice." He grinned, tilting your chin up. "...Not really, but I'll make you dinner to make up for it."

His eyes searched yours, genuine regret shining through. With a small sigh, you relented, leaning into his embrace.

"Fine. But you're cooking and doing the dishes."

Aventurine chuckled, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Deal."

Ratio was uncharacteristically silent as he stood by his desk, books and papers strewn about in a disorganized mess. You knew better than to interrupt him when he was deep in thought, but the tension in his shoulders, the tight clench of his jaw—it wasn’t just work that had him like this.

"Hey," you said softly, placing a hand on his arm. "You’ve been at this for hours. Maybe a break would help?"

He exhaled sharply, shrugging your touch away. "Not now, [Name]."

You frowned, undeterred. "At least eat something? I made your favorite—"

"Enough," he snapped, turning to face you, eyes sharp and cold. "Why must you persist in interrupting me? You’re being insufferable."

Your breath hitched. The warmth in your chest was replaced by something cold, something heavy.

"Oh... I see." You took a small step back, voice barely above a whisper. "Sorry for... being insufferable."

You turned on your heel and left, too embarrassed to face him any longer.

The room was quiet—too quiet. Ratio sighed, running a hand over his face. He had dealt with frustrating people before, dismissed countless distractions. But this? This wasn’t just anyone.

You were gone, and with you, the light that usually softened his world.

Not long after, you heard soft footsteps behind you. A pair of arms wrapped around your waist, Ratio’s forehead resting against your shoulder.

"I was out of line." His voice was lower now, calmer. "I didn't mean that. My frustration... it was never meant for you."

You swallowed, still hurt, but his warmth was grounding.

"You called me insufferable."

His hold tightened, a rare vulnerability in his touch. "I was wrong. You’re the one person who brings me clarity when everything else feels like noise. I don’t deserve you, but... please don’t pull away."

You sighed, placing a hand over his. "Make it up to me."

Ratio smirked against your skin. "How about dinner? Cooked by yours truly."

You blinked. "You can cook?"

"I will cook. No guarantees on the quality, but it's the thought that counts, isn’t it?"

You let out a small laugh, finally turning to face him. "Fine. But if you burn anything, I’m taking over."

"Fair trade."

Sunday had always been composed, a man of measured words and quiet wisdom. But tonight, as he sat on the edge of his bed, wings trembling ever so slightly, you knew something was off.

"Sunday?" you called gently. "You’ve been silent all evening. Do you want to talk?"

He barely looked up. "No."

You bit your lip. "Maybe some music? Or I can bring you some tea? I just want to help."

His jaw tightened. "[Name]. Stop."

You flinched. "I—"

"You're being too much. I need silence right now."

The words hit like a cold wind, hollowing out your chest. You nodded quickly, swallowing past the lump in your throat.

"Okay. Got it."

You left, shutting the door softly behind you.

The silence he had wished for stretched unbearably. And yet, rather than relief, all he felt was a suffocating emptiness.

Minutes passed before he found you curled up in the corner of the couch, hugging a pillow to your chest. Guilt weighed heavy on his shoulders as he approached, his wings drooping slightly.

"I was unkind," he murmured, kneeling beside you. "You didn’t deserve that."

You stayed quiet, but your fingers curled slightly into the fabric of your pillow.

Sunday hesitated before slowly, carefully wrapping his arms around you, creating a cocoon of warmth.

"Your presence is a gift, not a burden," he whispered. "Please don’t let my own frustrations make you doubt that."

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you just let yourself be held. Then, you sighed, leaning into his embrace.

"You could’ve just said you needed space."

"I know." He pressed a kiss to your hair. "I will do better."

"Promise?"

Sunday smiled, cupping your cheek. "On my name. And to prove it... I'll make you breakfast in the morning."

Your eyes softened. "You really think food fixes everything?"

"No. But maybe love does."

[guilty-ff]

𝐒𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐆𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐊𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐌𝐞

After walking out mid-argument, Dante ends up with Enzo, bad advice, and demon-grade alcohol. The goal? Forget everything. But what good is drinking your feelings away when your body won't even let the alcohol stick?

Pairing: Dante x Fem!Reader

Genre: Oneshot, romance, hurt comfort, mild Angst, Fluff!

Warnings: language, Emotional miscommunication, Mild alcohol use, Mentions of past trauma/abandonment issues

Authors comment: This idea hit me while rewatching the 2007 anime. Dante was drinking and I thought, if he can even get drunk with his regeneration?? Wouldn’t it be fun (and a kinda tragic) seeing Dante all frustrated, trying to get wasted but his demon healing just won’t let him?

It didn't start with a fight.

It started with quiet tension. A half-answer here. A missed call there. The kind of things that build in the background, until one day, something stupid stirring up the tension.

Tonight, it was the dishes.

Not the end of the world, right? Not even a big deal. Just a small, silent irritation. The sink was full. Again. You'd come home late to that same damn pile, untouched, like a monument of Dante's laziness.

"Seriously?" you asked, not even raising your voice at first. "You said you'd clean the kitchen."

Dante, lounging on the couch with his boots up and one arm slung behind his head, barely turned his head. "I will."

"When?"

He yawned. "Eventually."

You stood in the doorway to the kitchen, fists clenched at your sides. "You live here too."

"Yeah," he said, stretching, "and I kill demons for a living. One of us is clearly more exhausted."

That did it.

"Oh, you're exhausted? Try coming home after twelve hours of dealing with people who actually communicate, only to realize I'm dating a guy who thinks emotional labor is a side quest."

He sat up a little at that. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you don't show up, Dante. Not for the little stuff. Not when it matters."

He stood now, slowly, arms crossed, like you'd just challenged him to a duel instead of a conversation. "I'm here, aren't I?"

"Physically? Sure. Emotionally? No. I have to dig to get anything out of you. You dodge every serious talk with a joke. You ghost me for hours after missions. You don't answer texts. You act like I should be grateful you're even around."

He narrowed his eyes, jaw tightening. "You think I don't care?"

"I think you're scared to."

Silence.

For a second, the world shrank. There was no sound, only tension in the air. His mouth opened. Then closed.

You took a breath. "You treat this like it's temporary. Like you're just waiting for me to leave. You act like I'm disposable, like everyone else who's hurt you. That's not love, that's defense"

His voice was too quiet when it came. "Everyone leaves."

"And that gives you permission to push me away first?" you snapped. "To be cold and dismissive and act like you don't need anyone?"

His eyes flashed. "I never said I didn't need you."

"Then act like it, Dante!"

He flinched. Not visibly. Not in a way most people would notice. But you knew him. You saw it, in the small drop of his shoulders, in the tight line of his mouth.

He looked at you like you'd touched a bruise he didn't know was still sore.

Then, without a word, he turned and grabbed his coat.

“Don’t,” you said quickly, your anger slipping away. “Don’t walk away. Not again.”

But he was already at the door, and then gone.

He didn’t take his phone, didn’t say a word, didn’t shout, just the soft click of the door as it closed behind him.

And then, silence.

You paced the apartment, every minute ticking louder than the last. You called once. Twice. Ten times. Nothing.

And when he finally walked back through the door two hours later?

He was dragging a crate of alcohol like it was his soul in a box.

Earlier...

Dante sat in Enzo's crusty kitchen, arms crossed, sulking like a kid who'd lost his lunch money.

"I dunno, man," he muttered. "She said I treat her like she's disposable."

Enzo was already halfway through a beer and nodding slowly. "Well, do ya?"

Dante squinted. "No."

"Then it's simple: she's wrong."

"She's not wrong," Dante admitted.

"Oh."

There was a pause.

"Okay," Enzo tried again, rubbing his stubbled chin. "Maybe she's just being... emotional. Women, y'know. Feelings and all."

Dante stared blankly. "You've been divorced three times."

"Exactly. I know things."

Dante dragged a hand down his face. "I shut down. That's the problem. I don't know how to talk about any of it: The nightmares, the constant fear that everything's gonna go to hell again, so I don't."

Enzo blinked.

"Jesus Christ."

Dante laughed bitterly. "I never learned how to let people stay. Mother died. Vergil left. Everyone I ever cared about either died or disappeared. She gets close and it's like... my brain starts screaming. Like she'll vanish if I breathe wrong."

"Alright, alright," Enzo said, waving his beer. "Enough of that. You're spiralin'. That's girl therapy talk."

"It's called trauma, Enzo."

"Whatever. You don't need therapy. You need alcohol."

Dante looked up slowly. "What?"

"Alcohol! Fixes everything. You drink, you talk, or maybe you don't, and then she feels bad for you and bam, makeup sex."

"That's... not how people work."

"Worked for my second wife. For a week."

"You're an emotional hypocrite," Dante muttered.

“Exactly. Look,” Enzo said, searching through his stash like it was some kind of treasure chest. “I’ve got the good stuff. Demon-proof, Hellfire brand. This stuff would probably knock Cerberus out cold.”

Dante barely registered the words. His mind kept going back to the mission, the one he screwed up. He took down Cerberus, got paid, and then… nothing. No text, no call, no follow-up. He promised he wouldn’t do this again, but here he was, pulling the same bullshit.

Enzo, oblivious to the storm rising in Dante’s head, kept on his monologue. “You know what’s crazy? You take down Cerberus like it’s a walk in the park, get a fat paycheck, and still can’t pick up the damn phone? What happened, Dante? You don’t even have the decency to say ‘Hey, I didn’t die fighting a three-headed mutt. I’m fine.’” Enzo scoffed.

Dante’s frustration bubbled over. “I—”

“I know, I know,” Enzo interrupted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “It’s tough, man. That damn Cerberus battle really took it out of you. Big, bad demon, yada yada… but here’s the thing, you still can’t handle texting her? You get all emotional, come back looking like a damn mess, and then ghost her? That’s cold, bro.”

Dante felt a knot tighten in his chest. He wasn’t just mad at Enzo for talking about it like it was some kind of joke. He was mad at himself. He promised his lover, he really did, but once again, he failed. He couldn’t get out of his own way.

Enzo kept going, still not realizing how much he was digging in deeper. “Look, you’re so good at demon slaying, but when it comes to basic human interaction? You’re trash. And I don’t even mean like ‘rookie-level’ trash, I mean pro-level trash. You can take down an ancient demon, but you can’t pick up the phone? Dude, even I managed not to screw things up like this in my old relationships, and I’m a disaster. Like, seriously, I’m the disaster.”

Dante slammed his head against the counter. The guilt was suffocating.

Enzo, not noticing a thing, just kept yapping. “It’s not that hard. You show up at her place, look tragic, say nothing, drink dramatically. That’s the secret. Women love that tortured crap. Hell, I love it, and I’ve been through some shit.” He smirked, clearly thinking he was dropping wisdom. “Why do you think I’m always pulling in these tragic, mysterious vibes? I sell it, man. If I can do it, you can do it.”

Dante groaned, rubbing his face. “This is not helping. That sounds manipulative."”

Enzo didn’t even notice. “You’re telling me it’s manipulative? No, no, no. It’s drama. It’s called drama, son. We’re in the business of devil hunting and trauma bonding. You think any of the girls I’ve been with cared about me picking up the phone? Nah. It’s all about the act.”

Dante looked at the Hellfire bottle in Enzo’s hand, then back at Enzo’s grinning face, and sighed heavily. “I can’t get drunk anymore.”

Enzo raised an eyebrow, completely unfazed by Dante’s crisis. “Not with that attitude."

Dante raised a brow.

"Look," Enzo said, now dragging a wooden crate out like it was treasure. "You show up at her place, looking tragic, say nothing, drink dramatically."

Dante looked at the crate, then at Enzo, then sighed like the broken man he was.

"You're a disaster."

"And you're takin' the box as the next paycheck, so shut up."

Back in the apartment, Dante wordlessly slammed the box on the counter and uncorked a bottle like it owed him money.

You stood at the edge of the living room, arms crossed, watching this demon-slaying idiot fumble with the strongest liquor in the realm.

"Are you... drinking?"

He didn't look up. "Enzo said it would help."

"Oh no."

You stepped closer. "Dante. Tell me you didn't just trauma-dump on Enzo."

He swallowed a third of the bottle and winced. "Kinda."

"You told the greasiest man alive that you're emotionally shut down?"

"Yep."

"And he said drink through it?"

Dante slammed the bottle down. "He said it would either make me cry or pass out. So far it's just making me thirsty."

You deadpan blinked. "You're half-demon. Your liver literally regenerates."

"I KNOW."

You sat down at the table, chin in your hand. "You thought you could drink away emotional repression?"

He gestured at the second bottle like a broken man. "This one has a skull on it. Maybe it'll work."

"You're pathetic."

"I'm trying," he muttered.

"By what? Hiding from the consequences of emotional negligence?"

"I don't know how to do this," he said, shoulders slumped. "I know how to kill and destroy things. But I don't know how to stay."

Silence. Just the ticking clock. His hand tightened on the glass.

"I figured... maybe if I just felt something strong enough, I could finally say it."

You blinked at him.

"...So your genius plan was to outdrink your own trauma?"

He shrugged one shoulder. "It made sense at the time."

"You're a disaster," you said flatly, but your voice cracked at the edges, not from anger now, but from relief.

He finally looked at you, eyes tired, haunted, and young in a way that made your chest hurt.

"I didn't mean to scare you," he said, quieter. "I wasn't trying to disappear, I just... I don't know how to do this. When you got mad, it felt like- like it was already over. So I figured if I could just feel something... anything loud enough, maybe the words would follow."

You stared at him, then exhaled a breath you didn't realize you'd been holding.

"That's the dumbest emotional strategy I've ever heard."

He opened his mouth to argue, but you cut him off by stepping in and kissing him. Fast, warm, and full of everything you were still too exhausted to say.

He froze, then breathed out through his nose, leaning into it like something in him had just... let go.

When you pulled back, you raised an eyebrow.

"You still owe me a full conversation, idiot."

He gave a half-smile. "Can I be drunk for it?"

"You are very sober."

"Unfortunately."

He gave the ghost of a grin.

"Honestly? When you started yelling, I flashed back to the one time my old man raised his voice at me."

You narrowed your eyes. "Sparda yelled at you?"

"Once. Real quiet. Real disappointed. Genuinely horrifying." He held up a finger. "But you? You're way scarier. Banshee-level scary."

You tried not to smile. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"Wasn't meant to be," he muttered.

"Also," you added, grabbing the bottle and inspecting the label, "this says 'Do Not Consume If Mortal.'"

He groaned. "Enzo's gonna kill me."

"No," you said, placing the bottle on the counter. "I'm gonna kill the both of you."

Later, as he lay half-curled on the couch, shirt half-off, a bottle abandoned at his side, he mumbled just loud enough to betray himself:

"Damn it... Enzo's advice almost worked. Makeup sex counts for emotional healing, right?"

You, brushing your teeth in the next room, spit into the sink and yelled,

"You really are allergic to accountability."

Next morning:

It took exactly one full day before you marched Dante back into Enzo's trashfire excuse for an office.

You didn't knock.

The door flew open hard enough to rattle the coat rack and knock over a stack of demon-hunting magazines from 1998.

Enzo, chewing a meatball like it was his final meal, froze with sauce halfway to his chin.

"Well, well, if it ain't my two favorite lovebirds-"

"You gave him poison in a bottle!" you snapped.

"Technically it's concentrated hellbrew-"

"HE TRIED TO DRINK THROUGH HIS FEELINGS."

Enzo raised his hands in mock innocence. "Whoa, whoa. I didn't tell him to turn into a drunk cowboy in your kitchen. I offered an alternative path to emotional growth. Through liquor."

Dante stood awkwardly behind you, very much regretting his life.

"You," you pointed, turning to him. "You listened to him."

"In my defense," Dante muttered, "he said it was demon-proof and emotionally numbing. I panicked."

You folded your arms. "So your brain went: 'Hmm. I have unresolved abandonment issues... Better drown them in demonic Everclear and hope for the best.'"

He gave a sheepish shrug.

"And it almost worked," he added.

You slapped his arm. "It didn't."

"Okay, but technically we-"

"It didn't."

Enzo was now watching with the same face he made when demon entrails exploded in his car: morbid curiosity and suppressed laughter.

"Look, sweetheart," Enzo said, "not everyone's good at feelings. The kid's got a sword twice his body weight and the emotional range of a wet sponge."

"Hey-!" Dante frowned. "I tried to talk about my issues."

"You tried to mainline whiskey and stare into a mirror."

"Same thing!"

You glared at both of them. "You're not off the hook either," you snapped at Enzo. "He doesn't need alcohol, he needs a therapist."

Enzo scoffed. "I've been a therapist for years."

"You once told Dante to 'punch grief in the face.'"

"And he did! It was very liberating."

You sighed, hard enough to summon storms.

Dante reached up behind his head and mumbled, "Okay, okay. Maybe I'm bad at this."

"No," you said. "You're terrible at this."

"...But I still wanna try."

Your anger melted just a little.

He stepped closer, rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't know how to fix everything in here," he said, tapping his chest. "But I don't wanna lose you just because I never learned how to talk."

You held his gaze.

"You're lucky you're hot," you muttered.

He smirked. "Jackpot."

You groaned.

Enzo stood up, wiping his hands on a suspiciously oil-stained towel. "Alright, lovebirds. Get outta my office before you start trauma-bonding on my furniture."

Dante turned to leave, and Enzo pulled him aside at the last second.

"Hey," Enzo whispered, voice oddly serious. "Next time she yells, listen. And don't try to drown it out. You'll screw it up worse."

Dante nodded.

"Also..." Enzo handed him a sealed bottle with a wink. "Save this one for after you make up. You'll thank me."

You grabbed it and dropped it in the nearest trash bin.

"No, he won't."

As the bottle clattered into the trash, Dante groaned into his hands.

“She’s gonna kill me."

[infintiandbeyond]

A Rivalry for the Ages

Gojo x Teacher!Reader

Word: 6.3k

An angsty enemies to friends to lover trop with classic miscommunication and a happy ending :) Happy Reading.

------------------------------------

The first time you began to see Gojo Satoru as a rival more than an enemy was after a devastating defeat. 

Your journey to becoming a teacher at Kyoto Prefectural Jujutsu High School had been an arduous one, marked by determination and resilience. Raised in a family renowned for their jujutsu techniques, you had always felt the weight of expectations upon your shoulders. From an early age, you exhibited a natural talent for jujutsu sorcery, but it was your unyielding spirit and relentless training that truly set you apart. 

After graduating from the distinguished Jujutsu High School in Tokyo, where you often found yourself competing with the prodigious Gojo Satoru, you decided to hone your skills further by undertaking missions across various regions. Your proficiency and unwavering dedication did not go unnoticed, earning you a reputation as a formidable jujutsu sorcerer. When the opportunity arose to join Kyoto Prefectural Jujutsu High School as a teacher, you seized it with both hands, eager to impart your knowledge and inspire the next generation of sorcerers. 

You knew the best way to prove yourself would be at the Sister School Goodwill Event. The months leading up to the event were filled with rigorous training sessions and tireless preparation. Your commitment to prove yourself and elevate your students' potential was unwavering. You emphasized discipline, creativity, and perseverance, pushing them to their limits while fostering a sense of camaraderie and mutual respect. 

As the event approached, excitement and anxiety intermingled. Memories of your own school days at Tokyo Jujutsu High and your rivalry with Gojo Satoru resurfaced, fueling your resolve. You frequently recalled the times you had come close to beating him, only to fall short. But now, as a teacher, your goals were different. It was not about personal glory—it was about guiding your students to victory and displaying the strength of Kyoto Prefectural Jujutsu High School. 

The atmosphere at the event was electrifying. The friendly yet fierce competition between the schools was palpable, and you could not help but feel a mix of pride and nervous anticipation. You had faith in your students but knew the challenges ahead were formidable. 

The air was charged with tension as the Sister School Goodwill Event commenced. As the newly appointed teacher at Kyoto Prefectural Jujutsu High School, you stood confidently, bragging about your students’ accomplishments, hoping fervently that they would surpass the Tokyo school. You had always been in the shadow of Gojo Satoru's laurels during your youth, never catching his notice. Yet, during this event, you were going to make him see you. Make him acknowledge your power and skill. 

The Sister School Goodwill Event was a grand affair, attracting spectators from all corners of the jujutsu world. Held over several days, the event featured a series of competitions designed to test the skills, strategy, and teamwork of students from both schools. 

The first day kicked off with the individual battles, where students displayed their unique techniques and prowess in one-on-one duels. As you watched from the sidelines, your anxious heart swelled with pride. Your students fought valiantly, each clash echoing with the sounds of their determination and the roars of the crowd. The intensity of the matches was beyond anything you had anticipated, and it was clear that the Tokyo students were equally prepared. 

Following the individual battles were the team events, which emphasized coordination and collective strength. The relay race through the treacherous forest terrain was particularly exhilarating, as students navigated obstacles, traps, and even summoned curses. Your students had trained tirelessly for this, and their performance was nothing short of spectacular. They moved with precision and trust in one another, highlighting the unity and discipline you had instilled in them. 

The final day of the event featured the highly anticipated baseball game, a tradition that brought a light-hearted yet fiercely competitive spirit to the proceedings. The rules were simple yet demanding, requiring not just athletic ability but also quick thinking and clever use of jujutsu techniques. The sense of camaraderie and mutual respect among the students was palpable, even as they faced off against formidable opponents. 

Throughout the event, you found yourself crossing paths with Gojo Satoru more often than you would like. His presence was as commanding as ever, and his teasing remarks kept you on your toes. Despite the underlying tension and rivalry, there was an unspoken acknowledgment of each other's skills and dedication to your respective schools. 

Each day brought its own challenges and triumphs, and by the time the baseball game arrived, the atmosphere was electric with anticipation. The stands were filled with cheering students, faculty, and alumni, all eager to see who would emerge victorious. You could feel the weight of your students' expectations and hopes, and you silently vowed to guide them to their best performance yet. 

Despite your efforts, however, the disappointment was palpable after the baseball game ended in a loss for your school. "Better luck next time," Gojo teased, a smug grin on his face as he stared down at you. It was hard making direct eye contact when your view was interrupted by such dark shades.  

You turned your head, hiding the sting of defeat, and replied with a slight smirk, "Don't get too comfortable, Gojo. We'll come back stronger." 

He chuckled, using a finger to tilt his shades down a few inches, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Is that a challenge? I look forward to it. Just don't let your students slack off." 

Rolling your eyes, you retorted, "I don't need you to tell me how to train my students. Besides, they’re already motivated enough to beat you." 

His grin widened. "I like your spirit. We should have a little wager on the next event. What do you say?" 

Raising an eyebrow, you tilted your head thoughtfully. "What's the wager?" 

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a teasing whisper. "If your students win, I'll treat you to dinner at the best restaurant in Tokyo. If mine win, you must join me for a training session. Best date you will ever have, guaranteed. Deal?" 

You extended your hand with a confident smile. "Deal. You better prepare to lose, Gojo." 

He shook your hand, his touch lingering just a moment longer than necessary. "We'll see about that." 

As you walked away, you could not help but feel a flutter of excitement. The thought of a rivalry with Gojo was exhilarating, pushing you to greater heights. 

The second time you saw Gojo Satoru as a rival, you did not think you’d ever hear the end of it. 

The next few months flew by, filled with intense training sessions and the anticipation of the upcoming the next Sister school event. The thought of Gojo’s shocked face at the victory your students fueled you to try even harder than before, you knew you would win, there was no other way. 

The day of the Goodwill Event arrived with a burst of energy and anticipation. The arena buzzed with excitement as students from different schools mingled and prepared for the competitions. You could see the dedication etched on your students' faces, a mirror of your own resolve to secure victory. 

Despite their best efforts and intense training, the competition proved to be tougher than expected. Gojo's students demonstrated exceptional skills, pushing your team to their limits. The final match came down to a nail-biting finish, with Gojo’s team narrowly clinching the win. 

The disappointment was palpable as you gathered your students afterwards. They looked exhausted and disheartened, the weight of defeat hanging heavily in the air. You took a deep breath, addressing them with a warm yet firm tone. "You all fought valiantly. Remember, this loss is not a measure of your worth or abilities. It is a steppingstone to becoming even stronger. We'll analyze what went wrong, learn from it, and come back with even greater determination." 

As you spoke, you noticed Gojo approaching with a smug but good-natured grin. “Tough break,” he said, his tone surprisingly gentle. “But your students showed great promise. I can see why you’re so proud of them.” 

“You’re not getting rid of us that easily, Gojo,” you replied, the competitive fire still burning in your eyes. “We’ll be back, and next time, we’re taking that trophy.” 

He chuckled, a spark of admiration in his gaze. “I look forward to it. Until then, don’t forget our wager. A deal’s a deal.” 

With a nod, you turned back to your students, who were beginning to show signs of renewed hope. Together, you walked away from the arena, already planning the next phase of your training. The loss had only strengthened your resolve, and you knew that the next time you faced Gojo, it would be under different circumstances. 

As you and your students walked away from the arena, a memory from not too long ago surfaced, a stark reminder of Gojo's effortless brilliance. 

It was a particularly grim day when a powerful curse had surfaced in the heart of the city, causing panic and wrecking havoc. Determined to prove your worth, you had rushed to the scene, ready to confront the malevolent spirit. 

The sky had darkened with ominous clouds as you faced the curse, its dark aura pulsing with a menacing energy. You had fought with all your might, each attack a testament to your skill, but the curse was relentless, absorbing your efforts with an almost mocking ease. Just when it seemed like you might be overwhelmed, a familiar, nonchalant voice broke through the tension. 

"Need a hand?" Gojo's unmistakable silhouette appeared amidst the chaos, his demeanor as casual as if he were strolling through a park. Without waiting for a response, he raised a hand, and with a single, precise gesture, the curse was obliterated in an explosion of light and energy. 

You had stood there, panting, and exhausted, watching incredulously as Gojo walked over, his signature smile firmly in place. "You did well," he had said, his tone genuinely appreciative, "but sometimes, it's okay to ask for help." 

That moment had left an indelible mark on you, a potent mix of frustration and awe. It was not just his overwhelming power that struck you, but his ability to make the impossible look so effortless. It was shortly after this encounter that your phone rang, breaking the introspective silence. 

"Hello?" you answered, still catching your breath from the recent ordeal. 

"It's Masamichi Yaga," the gruff voice on the other end of the line stated. "We need your help at the Tokyo school. There's a shortage of teachers, and your experience would be invaluable." 

You hesitated, glancing at your students, who were now chatting animatedly about their plans for improvement. "I appreciate the offer, but I have my own responsibilities here." 

"I understand," Yaga replied, "but think of the impact you could have on a larger scale. These are trying times, and your skills as a mentor are greatly needed." 

The weight of his words hung in the air. You knew it was not just a call for help; it was an acknowledgment of your abilities and the importance of your role in shaping the next generation of sorcerers. After a moment's contemplation, you agreed. 

"I'll be there as soon as I can," you said, determination settling in your voice. 

Yaga's relieved sigh was almost palpable. "Thank you. Your presence will make a significant difference." 

As you ended the call, you felt a renewed sense of purpose. The challenges ahead were daunting, but this was an opportunity to grow, to push your limits, and to stand shoulder to shoulder with the likes of Gojo.  

The third time you saw Gojo as a rival, was when he tried his best to become your friend. 

When you arrived at the Tokyo school, Gojo was the first to greet you, his usual nonchalant demeanor firmly in place. "So, you're here now," he remarked casually, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Don't think you can just waltz in and take over." 

You rolled your eyes, a smirk playing at your lips. "As if I'd want to," you retorted, though you could not deny the flutter of nerves his presence always seemed to induce. 

"Good to see you haven't lost your edge," Gojo said, his tone light but sincere. "We've got a lot of work ahead of us." 

"Tell me something I don't know," you replied, feeling a mix of excitement and apprehension at the thought of working alongside him. 

Gojo chuckled, his smile widening. "Don't worry, I'll try not to overshadow you too much." 

"Just try to keep up," you shot back, a playful challenge in your voice. 

Despite your cool facade, you could not deny the flutter of nerves his presence always seemed to induce. Gojo, ever the enigma, watched you closely. You did not flatter him as others did; instead, you spoke your mind, often challenging his views, earning his respect, and growing admiration. 

The next day, you found yourself standing in the training yard, surrounded by the energetic presence of his students. Each one of them brought their unique skills and personalities to the session, creating a dynamic and challenging environment. 

"Alright, everyone," you began, addressing the eager faces before you. "Today's focus is on teamwork and strategy. Let's see how you handle different scenarios together." 

The students nodded, their determination evident. You divided them into pairs, matching their strengths and weaknesses to foster growth and cooperation. As the training commenced, you could not help but be impressed by their dedication and progress. Yuuji's raw strength and agility, Megumi's tactical prowess, Nobara's fierce determination, Yuta's versatile combat skills, Maki's unwavering discipline, Toge's precise command of cursed speech, and Panda's adaptability all contributed to a formidable team. 

Throughout the session, you provided guidance and feedback, pushing them to refine their techniques and think on their feet. The atmosphere was electric, filled with the sounds of exertion and the clash of weapons. Despite their individual talents, it was their ability to work together that truly shone through. 

Unbeknownst to you, Gojo had been observing from the sidelines, his keen eyes taking in every detail. As the session progressed, a smile played at the corners of his lips. He was genuinely impressed by how well you managed the training, bringing out the best in each student while fostering a sense of camaraderie.  

As Gojo observed from the sidelines, he found his gaze frequently drifting towards you. Each precise instruction you gave, every moment of encouragement you offered, and the fierce commitment in your eyes as you guided the students captivated him. He could feel his heart quickening, thumping louder with every passing second. The admiration he felt was no longer about your skills or dedication; it was something deeper, more personal. He was falling for you, and it terrified him. You had been on his mind, constantly, ever since that Sister Event two years ago. Before that, it took all he could to not embarrass himself in front of you during your years in school together. He had missed you greatly and seeing you now, looking even better than you had before, made those feelings grow ten times as much. The fear of overwhelming you or coming off too strong gnawed at him, making him hesitant to even breach the subject. Yet, he could not deny the growing affection, a tender sensation that made him wish for more moments like these, where he could witness your brilliance up close. He wanted to be near you, to understand you, but the fear of ruining what fragile bond you had kept him rooted in place, torn between his feelings and his restraint. 

When the session finally drew to a close, you gathered the students around for a debrief. "Excellent work, everyone," you praised, your voice filled with pride. "You've shown remarkable progress and teamwork today. Keep pushing yourselves and supporting each other. That's how we'll grow stronger together." 

The students beamed, their spirits lifted by your words of encouragement. As they dispersed, you felt a presence beside you. Turning, you saw Gojo, his expression one of genuine admiration. 

"You handled that brilliantly," he remarked, his tone sincere. "They're lucky to have you." 

A warm flush of gratitude spread through you at his praise. "Thank you, Gojo," you replied, meeting his gaze. "It means a lot coming from you." 

He chuckled, a playful glint in his eyes. "Don't let it go to your head.” 

Over the next few months, the students continued to train diligently under your guidance. Each session brought new challenges and opportunities for growth, as they honed their skills and deepened their bonds with one another. You introduced a variety of scenarios, pushing them to think creatively and work as a cohesive unit. The progress was evident; their techniques became more refined, their strategies more sophisticated, and their teamwork more seamless. 

You and Gojo often collaborated on training exercises, blending your unique approaches to create a comprehensive and dynamic curriculum. The students thrived in this environment, their confidence soaring with each passing week. Your partnership with Gojo grew stronger as well, fueled by mutual respect and a shared commitment to the students' success. Despite the occasional teasing and playful banter, a genuine camaraderie developed between you two, marked by trust and admiration. 

Through it all, Gojo's feelings for you only intensified. He found himself attracted to your passion, your dedication, and the way you effortlessly inspired those around you. The students, observant as ever, noticed the subtle shifts in his demeanor. Gojo found himself increasingly drawn to your strength and independence. It was refreshing to meet someone who did not bend over backward to seek his approval. You reminded him of why he loved being a teacher; to see raw, unfiltered talent and passion. You, on the other hand, began to see beyond Gojo's arrogance. You noticed the subtle signs of exhaustion, the heavy burden of expectations he carried, and the loneliness that lurked behind his ever-present smile. 

The students soon noticed Gojo's interest and began scheming ways to bring the two of you together. Their mischief was both endearing and exasperating, nudging you towards an unexpected friendship with Gojo. 

Megumi and Nobara collaborated to put something in motion. Their first plan involved organizing a picnic, hoping that the relaxed atmosphere would spark a deeper connection. 

"This will be perfect! They will have no choice but to talk and bond," Megumi suggested. However, an unexpected downpour forced everyone to take shelter, and the moment was lost amidst the scramble to stay dry. 

"Well, that didn't work," Nobara sighed. “We might need a little more help.” 

The next afternoon, after an intense training session, the students gathered in a quiet corner of the campus, whispering conspiratorially. Megumi explained the situation to Yuuji.  

"We need a new plan," Megumi said, his brow furrowed in thought. "Something that will really make them see their feelings for each other." 

"How about a romantic dinner?" Yuuji suggested, her eyes gleaming with excitement. "We could set it up in the training room with candles and flowers!" 

Nobara shook her head, a skeptical look on her face. "We tried that already, remember? They got called away on a mission." 

"True," Yuuji conceded. "But what if we try something more subtle this time?" 

"Like what?" Megumi asked, intrigued. 

"Maybe we can create a situation where they have to rely on each other," Yuuji proposed. "Something that will make them realize how much they mean to each other." 

Nobara nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! Like a team-building exercise, but more intense. What if we pretend one of us is in danger, and only they can save us?" 

"It's risky," Megumi cautioned, "but it might just work." 

"Or we can spread a rumor," Yuuji added, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "People will start talking, and maybe they'll feel pressured to address it." 

"That's actually not a bad idea," Megumi admitted. "They might be forced to confront their feelings if everyone else is talking about it." 

"Alright, so we have two plans," Nobara summed up. "We either create a situation where they have to depend on each other, or we spread a rumor and see what happens." 

"Let's try both," Yuuji said confidently. "We can't afford to fail this time." 

With determined nods, the students dispersed, each one silently vowing to bring their teachers together no matter what it took 

Undeterred, they next arranged for a surprise team-building exercise, partnering you and Gojo for all the activities. 

"Ready to lose?" Gojo teased as you both prepared for the first challenge. Instead of fostering romance, the competitive spirit between you two only seemed to amplify, leading to playful arguments and a lot of laughter, but no confessions of love. 

"You call that a throw?" you challenged, smirking at him. 

Still determined, they resorted to spreading rumors, hoping that the gossip would force either you or Gojo to address the situation directly. 

"Did you hear? Apparently, Gojo-sensei and our instructor are an item," one student whispered. 

"Really? They do spend a lot of time together," another replied. 

This too failed, as both of you brushed off the whispers, focusing instead on your duties and responsibilities. 

"Just ignore them," you said, rolling your eyes. 

"Yeah, they're just being kids," Gojo agreed, smiling reassuringly. 

Despite their best efforts, none of the students' plans seemed to work. Yet, through these orchestrated scenarios, you and Gojo spent more time together, slowly but surely building a bond that neither of you could deny. It was clear that while the students' plans had not succeeded in the way they intended, they had inadvertently brought you closer together in a way that was genuine and unforced. 

One particular evening, after a long day of training, you found yourself in the school's courtyard, practicing alone. Gojo approached quietly, watching you with a mixture of admiration and curiosity. 

"You're pushing yourself too hard," he said, breaking the silence. "You need to rest." You turned to face him, sweat glistening on your brow.  

"I don't need your advice," you replied stubbornly.  

Gojo chuckled, "Stubborn as always, I see. Just don't wear yourself out." 

You paused, considering his words and the familiar warmth in his eyes. It struck you then - Gojo was not trying to belittle you or undermine your efforts. He was looking out for you, caring in the only way he knew how. 

Gradually, the pieces fell into place. All those times he seemed to effortlessly excel, while you struggled to catch up, were not meant to overshadow you, but to push you to greater heights. His provocations were not to demean but to challenge, to see you become the best version of yourself. 

As you gazed at him, the realization enveloped you like a soothing balm. "Thank you," you murmured, the words laden with newfound understanding. Gojo's eyes softened, a rare vulnerability flickering across his face. 

"Anytime," he replied, his voice gentle. In that moment, the barriers between you began to crumble, leaving behind a bond forged in respect and mutual admiration. 

The fourth time you saw Satoru as a rival was when you both fought to be the better friend, and in a twisted turn of events, it was him. 

The higher-ups eventually assigned both of you to a perilous Special Grade Mission. "Stay close," Gojo instructed, a rare seriousness in his tone. As you approached the dilapidated entrance of the abandoned hospital, an eerie silence enveloped the surroundings. The air was thick with malevolent energy, and the shadows seemed to twist and flicker with a life of their own. 

Suddenly, the curse emerged, a monstrous entity with grotesque limbs and a gaping maw, its eyes burning with hatred. The battle commenced with a flurry of motion. Gojo, with his unparalleled speed and precision, launched a barrage of powerful strikes, his Limitless technique creating an impenetrable barrier between you and the curse. His movements were a blur, each attack calculated to weaken the entity. 

Despite Gojo's efforts, the curse's resilience was formidable. It retaliated with ferocity, its claws slashing through the air, aiming for any vulnerable spot. You fought valiantly by Gojo's side, your attacks synchronizing with his, but the curse's strength was overwhelming. A particularly savage blow sent you crashing into a crumbling wall, pain searing through your body. 

"Stay down!" Gojo shouted, his voice edged with panic as he intensified his assault on the curse. Ignoring the pain, you pushed yourself back into the fray. 

The curse, sensing an opportunity, launched its most devastating attack. A wave of dark energy surged towards you, and before you could react, it struck with brutal force. Agony exploded in your chest as you collapsed, blood pooling around you. Gojo's eyes widened in horror, and with a roar of fury, he unleashed his full power, obliterating the curse in a blinding flash of energy. 

Rushing to your side, Gojo's hands trembled as he assessed your injuries. "Hang on," he muttered, his voice breaking. He scooped you up with a gentleness that contrasted the urgency of the situation. Every second counted as he sped towards Shoko Ieiri, his breath ragged with fear and panic. 

Bursting into the infirmary, Gojo shouted, "Shoko, help!" The healer immediately sprang into action, her expression grave as she began to work on your wounds. Gojo stayed at your side, his eyes never leaving your face, silently willing you to survive. 

Days turned into weeks as you lay recuperating, your body slowly mending from the life-threatening injuries. Emotions you had long buried began to surface. The countless nights spent envying Gojo's effortless brilliance, the sting of being overlooked, all seemed distant memories compared to the genuine concern and tenderness he now showed you. His presence was a comforting balm, and you found yourself looking forward to his visits, your heart softening with each passing day. 

Emotions you had long buried began to surface. The countless nights spent envying Gojo's effortless brilliance, the sting of being overlooked, all seemed distant memories compared to the genuine concern and tenderness he now showed you. His presence was a comforting balm, and you found yourself looking forward to his visits, your heart softening with each passing day. 

The fifth time you saw Satoru as a rival, you weren’t sure if he was fighting for the same thing. 

While you were recovering, many of the students visited you, bringing warmth and cheer to your otherwise quiet days. Among your frequent visitors were Nanami Kento and Geto Suguru. The three of you quickly became close friends, spending time together and sharing stories, laughter, and a renewed sense of camaraderie. Of all your new friendships, your bond with Nanami grew the deepest. His steady presence and thoughtful conversations were a comfort, and you often found yourselves lost in discussions long after the others had left. 

"You know," Nanami said one evening, "it's refreshing to have these conversations. It reminds me of why I enjoy teaching." 

You smiled, "I feel the same way. It's good to have friends who understand." 

However, it did not take long for Gojo to notice your growing closeness with Nanami. A flicker of jealousy began to smolder within him, and he found himself bristling at the sight of you two together 

Nanami and Geto, perceptive as they were, soon picked up on Gojo's increasing discomfort. With a shared understanding and a touch of mischievousness, they devised a plan to push Gojo into confessing his true feelings before it was too late. 

One afternoon, while you were sitting in the courtyard enjoying a quiet moment, Nanami approached with a mischievous glint in his eye. "Hold still," he said, leaning in closer, "I think there's something on your cheek." Before you could react, he gently brushed his thumb across your skin, his touch lingering just long enough to catch Gojo's attention from across the yard. 

Gojo's eyebrows shot up, and a storm of emotions flashed across his face. Without another word, he spun on his heel and headed straight for Geto. "Did you see that?" he fumed. "Nanami was practically caressing their face!" 

Geto stifled a laugh, understanding the ploy immediately. "You know, Gojo, you could always make your feelings clear instead of sulking and glaring like a jealous teenager." 

Gojo’s frustration boiled over. "I can't just—how do I even start?" 

"Simple," Geto smirked. "You tell them how you feel." 

With those words echoing in his mind, Gojo's resolve hardened. He could not stand the thought of losing you to someone else, even if it were Nanami. Driven by a newfound urgency, he found himself running to your apartment in the middle of the night, his breath ragged as he knocked on your door. 

When you opened it, surprise evident in your eyes, Gojo was suddenly nervous and not sure how to confess anymore. His usual confidence wavered as he stuttered, "I... I was wondering if... maybe you'd like to go out with me sometime?" 

Confused by his sudden hesitation and disoriented by being awakened at such an odd hour, you thought back to the bet he had mentioned at the Goodwill Event. "Is this about the bet?" you asked, your voice cautious. 

Gojo blinked, momentarily thrown off. "Y-yes, the bet," he quickly agreed, hoping to salvage the moment. 

You nodded reluctantly, "Alright, we can go out... for the bet." 

Relief and disappointment mixed in Gojo's eyes, but he resolved to use this opportunity to get closer to you. 

“I won’t disappoint.” Gojo aimed to cover those vulnerable feelings with a suave smirk and a wink. You stared straight into the cerulean blue eyes that had been haunting your every waking moment.  

“I’m sure you won’t. Goodnight, Satoru.” You smiled quickly and closed the door. 

As you both went your separate ways, while elated at the familiarity that you now shared, Gojo could not help but feel a pang of regret. He wanted to be honest and tell you about his true feelings, but fear of rejection held him back. His mind raced, wondering if you would ever truly understand the depth of his affection. 

You, on the other hand, felt a mixture of confusion and curiosity. You had always felt a special bond with Gojo, but the idea that he might have deeper feelings for you was something you had not fully considered. The thought of it made your heart flutter, yet the mention of the bet left you uncertain about his intentions. 

The weight of unspoken words hung heavily on both of your minds, a tangible presence that neither of you could ignore. In that moment, everything felt both exhilarating and terrifying, as if the future of your relationship hinged on the next steps you would take. 

Gojo's determination began to solidify, and he knew that he could not let this opportunity slip away. He would find a way to tell you how he truly felt, no matter how daunting the task seemed. 

The next evening, Gojo planned a wonderful date, making every effort to impress to make it memorable. He took you to a picturesque rooftop restaurant with a stunning view of the city skyline. The soft glow of candlelight and the gentle strumming of a live guitarist set the perfect romantic atmosphere. 

Throughout the evening, the conversation flowed effortlessly. You shared stories, laughed at his playful jokes, and listened as he spoke passionately about his work and his dreams. The connection between you grew stronger with every passing moment. 

After dinner, Gojo surprised you with a walk along the riverbank, where the moonlight danced on the water's surface. He held your hand, and you felt a warmth and comfort you had not experienced before. As you paused to take in the serene beauty of the night, you both turned to face each other, the air thick with unspoken emotions. 

"Tonight has been incredible," you said softly, breaking the comfortable silence. "I never knew you could be so romantic, Gojo." 

He chuckled, a hint of nervousness in his voice. "There's a lot you don't know about me, but I want to change that. I want us to know everything about each other." 

Gojo's eyes locked onto yours, and he slowly leaned in, his intentions clear. Your heart raced, and just as your lips were about to touch, a sudden noise startled you both, causing you to pull away. The moment passed, leaving you both with a mixture of anticipation and longing. 

"Maybe next time," he murmured, his voice laced with hope. 

Your heart sank as you were reminded of the real reason behind the date. It was all for a bet made at the goodwill event, a calculated move to win a challenge. The wonderful evening, the laughter, the almost-kiss—it was all tainted by this revelation. You could not help but feel foolish for allowing yourself to be swept away by the moment. 

The next day, during practice with the students, you could not shake the memory of the almost-kiss. You found yourself very noticeably avoiding Gojo, unsure of how to process your feelings and the unresolved tension between you. You focused intently on the lesson, doing your best to maintain a professional demeanor, but Gojo's presence was impossible to ignore. 

"What's going on? You've been avoiding me all day," Gojo said, his eyes searching yours for answers. 

You took a deep breath, your emotions a whirlwind of confusion and hurt. "You really don't get it, do you?" you replied, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and sadness. "It was all just a game to you. The date, the romantic gestures—all of it was because of a bet." 

Gojo's expression shifted from confusion to realization, his eyes widening slightly. "Wait, it wasn't just a game to me. I—" 

But you could not bear to hear any more. "Save it, Gojo. I don't want to hear your excuses," you interrupted, turning away from him. The bitterness and resentment began to creep back into your heart, and you resolved to keep your distance, avoiding him as much as possible. 

The days that followed were filled with strained interactions and a palpable tension. You focused on your duties, doing everything in your power to maintain a professional demeanor. But behind the mask, your heart ached with the sting of betrayal and the loss of what could have been. 

The first time Gojo Satoru saw you...he knew he would never let you go. 

A week later, as you were strolling along campus, Yaga called you into his office. He offered you a permanent position as a teacher, praising your dedication and skill. The offer was tempting, but your mind was made up. 

"Thank you, Yaga," you said, attempting to keep your voice steady. "But I think it's best for me to return to Kyoto. I need some time away from everything here." 

Yaga's brows furrowed in concern, but he nodded in understanding. "If that's what you feel is best, then I won't stand in your way. Just know that you'll always have a place here." 

As you walked back to your room to pack, you could not help but feel a sense of finality. You were ready to leave, to put the tumultuous emotions behind you. But unbeknownst to you, Gojo also happened to be nearby, as he was the one to encourage Yaga to keep you on, just as he had not too long ago convinced him to hire you in the first place. He had inadvertently overheard your conversation with Yaga. His heart sank, the weight of your departure hitting him like a tidal wave. 

Distraught, Gojo wandered aimlessly through the hallways until he ran into Nanami and Geto. They instantly noticed his somber expression. 

"Why the long face, Gojo?" Nanami asked, raising an eyebrow. 

Gojo let out a heavy sigh. "They're leaving. I overheard them talking to Yaga. They're going back to Kyoto." 

Geto exchanged a look with Nanami before shaking his head. "You're really going to let them walk away just like that? Come on, man, stop pouting and go get them back." 

Nanami nodded in agreement. "If they mean that much to you, then you need to fight for it. Don't let a misunderstanding ruin everything." 

Gojo's eyes lit up with a renewed determination. He knew they were right. This was his chance to make things right, to prove that his feelings were genuine. He could not be a coward anymore. Without another word, he turned on his heel and sprinted down the halls, his mind racing with thoughts of how he could convince you to stay. 

As you were nearly finished packing, you heard hurried footsteps approaching. You turned to see Gojo standing at your doorway, breathless and with a look of desperation in his eyes. 

"Please, just listen to me," he begged, stepping into the room. "I can't let you leave without telling you how I truly feel." 

You stood silent, heart pounding, as Gojo took a deep breath and continued. "I've never felt this way about anyone before. Your presence, your strength, everything about you has changed me in ways I cannot even begin to explain. I know I've made mistakes, but I'm asking you to give me one real chance. Give us a real chance" 

His voice wavered, but his resolve was clear. "Stay. Stay and let me prove to you that I'm worth it, that we can be something extraordinary together." 

Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked at him, torn between the life you had planned and the undeniable sincerity in his words. This was a decisive moment, one that could alter the course of both your lives forever. And you were ready to take that leap if it meant he kept looking at you like that. 

“Yeah, let’s do it.” 

[estrellami-1]

March Mating Madness

Day 10: Rejection Sickness

Maybe (I’m Yours)

Ao3 Link

“It’s as unambiguous a sign of true love as these cynical eyes have ever seen!” Eddie exclaims, and something in Steve flinches hard at that, enough he nearly stumbles. Plays it off as a tree root, or the bites, or anything except what it was, and he’s not entirely sure why it hit him the way it did.

Except maybe he does know.

Maybe he can’t think about the way Eddie had leaned in, murmured big boy to him, eyes glinting.

Maybe he can’t think about the way Eddie had given him his vest, and Steve’s omega is shouting courting gift even though he knows it’s not, it can’t be.

Maybe he can’t think about the way Eddie anticipated his movement, handed him a flashlight, negating the echo of Dustin’s voice, do you have to be told everything?

Maybe. Maybe it’s all of that, maybe it’s none of it.

Maybe it’s the way they defeat Vecna, almost too late. Max has a broken leg but the doctors swear she’ll walk again. Almost too late in the way he runs, slides like it’s home fucking base, fucking up his side even more but that doesn’t matter, can’t matter when his pup is screaming, crying, his name then the Alpha’s name, begging Steve to save him.

Almost too late in the way he strips Robin’s jacket, the remainder of Eddie’s shirt, staunching the flow and making sure he doesn’t have to mentally sing fucking Stayin’ Alive type of almost.

But it’s almost, not is, so Eddie makes it to the hospital, unconscious but alive, and Steve all but collapses as soon as he’s out of his arms, as soon as he doesn’t have to hold it together anymore.

The room goes echoey, too-bright-too-dark, and he wakes up in a hospital bed.

Blood loss, the doctor said, and shock. Miracle he didn’t go septic, apparently, and yeah, Steve can see that, the Upside Down isn’t the most sterile place, but what about Eddie-

And, huh. There’s that flinch again. Smaller, almost expected, but not what should be happening, he thinks, and then he thinks coincidence. He probably breathed wrong, aggravated the bites. Maybe moved, or tensed, in a way that physically hurt.

Maybe it’s nothing.

And he thinks that maybe that’s right, because it doesn’t happen again for a while.

Eddie heals, and they go back to almost how they were except that was trauma, plain and simple, and they’re all changed from that, they’re all some type of bonded from that, even if it’s from fangs that aren’t Alphan or omegan, that are distinctly different in nature. It’s a bond, of sorts, so Steve sees Eddie more than he ever had before, and… he likes it.

Eddie’s lame, okay, he’s a nerd, but so are Steve’s other friends and at least he’s closer to Steve’s age, isn’t fucking fourteen, pre-presentation. So Steve likes him, likes hanging out with him, has fun.

He just… has less fun when they’re all in a big group. Especially when Nancy and Eddie are both there. Because Nancy and Jon are still dancing around each other, she doesn’t have eyes for Steve anymore, if she ever did, and Eddie nudges Steve her direction like it even fucking matters, and-

There’s that flinch again.

He feels strangely emotional about it, like he’s going to snap at Eddie, like he’s simultaneously too hot and too cold. He must be coming down with something, he thinks, and makes his excuse, and goes home, collapses into bed, barely toes his shoes off.

He falls asleep quick, but doesn’t stay asleep for long; he’s up in the next hour, shivering and disoriented, body aching in a way that it hasn’t since sixth grade when he was sent home with a fever, diagnosed with the flu by the school nurse.

He calls Family Video, forgets it’s Robin who’s working. “Robbie,” he mutters, because of course his head is pounding too. “Can you- uh. I need off the schedule for… two days? Three?”

“Sure,” she says, light scratching coming through letting Steve know that she’s writing it down. “You feeling okay?”

He hums. “Think… think I have th’flu?”

She pauses. “In May?”

“Mhm.”

“I mean, I don’t think anyone has the flu right now… and you only hang out with, like, three people anyways, and none of us have the flu, so… are you sure?”

He sighs. “I’m freezing,” he tells her. “I’m achy, I have a headache, what else could it be?”

“No, I guess you’re right, just…” she sighs. “No, never mind, it’s fine, you’re off the schedule for the next week, get some rest, I’ll be by tonight with some soup, okay? Just get some rest.”

“M’kay,” he breathes. “Thanks, Robbie.”

“Take care of yourself, Dingus. I’ll see you tonight.” Then, all in a rush, “shit gotta customer gotta go!” And hangs up.

He blinks, hangs up, burrows under his covers, and goes back to sleep.

He wakes later to someone gently shaking his shoulder. “‘Lpha?” He asks into the pillow, before squinting open his eyes and seeing Robin. “Robbie,” he croaks. “Why… why’re you-”

“Hey, Steve,” she whispers, carding a hand through his hair. He whines, ducks his head into her hand. She obliges, scratches a little with her nails. “Said I’d come check on you, remember? I brought soup.”

Just the mention of food has his stomach turning traitorously, and he makes a face, burrowing back into the covers.

She sighs, but thankfully keeps scratching his head. “I know you don’t feel well, Steve, but you should really eat something. It could help you feel better.”

He moves his face out of the blanket to stare at her. “Food is from hell,” he informs her.

It startles a snort out of her. “Well damn, Steve, guess I’ll put it in the fridge then. Promise me you’ll eat something soon?”

He makes another face. “Think I’ll throw up if I eat.”

“Maybe after you sleep more, then.” She moves her hand to his forehead, brows creasing in worry. “You feel really warm, Steve-o. Got a thermometer anywhere?”

He blinks at her for a few seconds. “Under the sink.” She nods and pulls away. He whines, loud, desperate, scared. “Don’t go!”

She immediately moves closer, puts her hand on his cheek. “I’m just going to get the thermometer.”

He shakes his head, sniffles, moves a molasses-slow hand to grab her wrist. His grip is weak, but the message is clear. “Don’ wanna be alone.”

She worries her lip. Glances around the room, comes to a decision, nods. Stands to slip her shoes off, then looks him in the eye. “Steve. Do I have your permission to enter your nest?”

He nods, so she does, sitting against the headboard and pulling him closer, tugging and rearranging until his face is pressed up against her hip, and his arm is over her legs. She drops a hand back in his hair. “Go to sleep,” she tells him. “I’m gonna call my mom, okay? Tell her I’m staying the night.”

He hums in agreement, snuggles in. Catches some of the words, hears rejection sickness, vaguely thinks she’s talking about someone else. He just has the flu.

He falls back asleep, feeling a little better now that Robin’s here with him.

He wakes up later, aching and shivering, more nauseous than before. Whines to himself before he opens his eyes, startles when his pillow moves. Right, he thinks, Robin’s staying the night, and he probably just woke her up. Great going.

“Steve,” Robin whispers. “Are you awake?”

He mumbles something nonsensical, tugs her a little closer, though he feels so weak the tug doesn’t do anything.

“Steve,” she whispers again. “You should take some medicine. And eat something.”

He nearly cries at the thought of food, vehemently shaking his head into her hip.

She sighs. “I know you’re not feeling well, but you need to eat. You might be nauseous because you’re hungry. Try something? Please? Just a small bowl of soup.”

He sighs, but releases her. “Small bowl,” he says, voice rough.

“The smallest,” she agrees, and slips out of bed.

Like before, he immediately whines when Robin moves away. She stops, shrugs out of her flannel, and drops it in front of him. “I’ll be back in a minute,” she promises him.

He nods into her flannel, shutting his eyes before he can watch her walk away. Even still, the flannel cools quickly, and the room cools quickly, and soon he’s shivering worse than before. He whines, coughs, and whines again, subconsciously calling for an Alpha who’s not coming.

Robin comes back a minute later, carrying soup, water, and some pills. If Steve were feeling any better, he’d wonder how she carried all of that without dropping any of it, but as it is he just blinks tiredly up at her, trying for a smile when she sends one his way.

He tries to sit up, but collapses back onto his side with a whimper. “It’s okay,” Robin murmurs. “I’ve gotcha.” She’s so gentle it brings tears to his eyes, and he sniffles as she helps him sit up. “Oh, you don’t need to do that,” she tells him when she notices the tears. “Mostly ‘cause if you cry, then I’m gonna cry, and then where will we be?” She grins at him, and he sniffles again, trying his best not to cry.

He manages a few bites of soup, then sips the water and takes the pills she’d gotten him. When she offers the soup again, he shakes his head and turns away.

She sighs, puts the soup on the nightstand, and pulls him in, this time laying down so he can nuzzle directly into her scent gland. “Steve,” she starts, then changes course. “Omega. Who rejected you?”

“He didn’t,” Steve mutters. “‘M being stupid.” He frowns up at her. “‘M sick?”

“‘Fraid so, babe. Who’s the he in question here?”

Steve shakes his head, burrows back into her neck. “Don’ wanna talk ‘bout it.”

“Want to or not, we need to,” she tells him, then sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “It’s Eddie, isn’t it?”

Just his name has Steve whining. “Don’t call,” he begs her.

She sighs. “I won’t yet,” she promises. “But if you feel the same tomorrow, or if you feel worse tomorrow, I’m going to. Anyone can see how he looks at you.”

“He tried to get me back with Nancy.”

“He stuck his foot in his mouth, big time, but that doesn’t change how he looks at you, dingus.”

“How?”

Another sigh. She cards her hand through his hair again, scratches at the nape of his neck with her nails. “Like he’s halfway in love with you and only just met you.”

“Really?”

“Really,” she promises, pulling him a little closer. “Now get some rest. Something tells me we’re gonna call him tomorrow regardless of how you’re feeling.”

It turns out to be a moot point. As much as Robin telling Steve may have helped, it still wasn’t Eddie himself saying it, and Steve wakes up feeling worse. He bolts to the bathroom the second Robin brings eggs up. He trips over his blanket, trips over the threshold, and stumbles down in front of the toilet. It’s blind luck that the lid is lifted and he doesn’t spew all over the closed lid, leaving more to clean up.

As it is, Robin hurries to bring the eggs back downstairs, then runs back up to help Steve back to bed. Once in bed, he’s moaning, clutching his stomach, in so much pain he shouldn’t be in. He’s still so cold and achy too, can barely open his eyes.

It’s no wonder, he vaguely thinks, some people are hospitalized because of rejection sickness.

He can hear Robin talking, but can’t process any of the words; can’t take the energy to figure out words that aren’t even directed at him. He blearily figures out she’s on the phone. Part of him hopes she’s calling the hospital.

Another, bigger part of him hopes she’s calling Eddie.

A small part of him doesn’t want to see the person who inadvertently caused this much pain in his body.

It was Eddie, though, and a few short minutes later he’s running up the stairs, two at a time. Robin meets him at the door to Steve’s room, probably threatening him, maybe explaining a little, definitely panicking some. Steve wants to apologize for making her worry, but considering he can barely lift his head, he thinks he gets a free pass.

Soon enough Robin moves aside, and Eddie takes two quick steps to the side of Steve’s bed, kneeling at the side of it. “Hey, Stevie. I’m so sorry I put you through this, but I want to make it right. Do I have your permission to enter your nest?”

Steve blinks bleary eyes open. He can’t focus on Eddie, but he knows it’s him; recognizes his voice and strong pine scent. His eyes flutter shut as he takes a deep breath. “‘Dee,” he mutters, twitching a hand out towards him. “C’m’in.”

Eddie clambers in, slots himself right next to Steve, pulls him closer to scent directly from his gland. Gets to work scenting Steve too, doing his best to pump out safety and love, and it feels so good, such a relief after the pain, that Steve begins to cry.

Eddie’s movements stutter to a stop. “Stevie? What’s wrong?”

Steve sniffles, pushes his face into Eddie’s neck. “You didn’t want me,” he murmurs. “Pushed me towards Nancy.”

“I was an idiot,” Eddie tells him. “And it’s probably not the last time I’m gonna be an idiot. I have the tendency to lose my head around ex-jock pretty boys with fantastic hair.”

“You think I’m pretty?”

“The prettiest,” Eddie swears. “You kiddin’ me? C’mon, you know it, you just want me to say it, don’t you?”

Secure in Eddie’s arms, Steve giggles, then finally, truly relaxes for the first time in the past two days. “Thank you for coming.”

“It shouldn’t have come down to this,” Eddie tells him. “My fault for not making sure you know exactly how desirable you are.” He runs his hand down Steve’s spine. “Can I court you?”

Steve’s breath catches in his throat. He pulls back to look at Eddie, eyes shining. “You really want to?”

Eddie runs a hand over his hair, slides it forward to cup his cheek. “More than anything,” he whispers. “I just… I never thought you’d want me.”

Steve leans into his touch. “How could I not?” He asks. “You’re fun, and funny, and energetic, and so good with the pups, and…” he takes a deep breath. “You’re the prettiest Alpha I’ve ever seen.”

Eddie instantly blushes. “I am?”

Steve nods. “I noticed you my first day of freshman year,” he admits. “I was just too nervous to talk to you.”

Eddie chuckles. “What a pair we make, huh?” He pulls Steve closer, presses a soft kiss to his forehead, and guides him to lay back down. “Rest for now,” he murmurs, “you still look tired. We can talk when you wake up.”

“You won’t leave?”

“Never again,” Eddie swears, and Steve believes him.

[gdinthehouseee]

Misread: CHOI SEUNG-HYUN x READER

summary: you and your boyfriend, seung-hyun, argue right before he leaves for a world tour. after radio silence, you come across photos of him with a woman you've never seen before.

word count: 7296

tags: angst to fluff; miscommunication, passive-aggression, social media, established relationship

ao3 link

The argument had started over something stupid—so stupid that now, standing in the middle of your apartment with the silence stretching painfully between you, you could barely even remember how it began. Maybe it was about how distracted he had been lately, glued to his phone answering messages from managers, producers, and stylists instead of being present with you. Or maybe it was about the way he brushed off your concerns when you asked if he’d even have time to call while on tour. It wasn’t like you didn’t understand—this was his job, his dream, and you’d always supported him. But tonight, when you had finally asked, “Do you even want to talk to me while you’re gone?” and Seung-hyun had sighed, rubbing his temples like the conversation itself exhausted him, something inside you snapped.

You weren’t asking for much. Just reassurance. Just something to hold onto while he was halfway across the world. But instead of giving you that, he got defensive. Said you were overthinking, that of course he’d call if he could, “Why do you always do this before I leave?” and suddenly, the conversation spiraled into something bigger, something neither of you knew how to pull back from.

Now, after all the sharp words and tense silences, you were standing there with your arms crossed over your chest, watching him adjust the strap of his duffel bag, looking every bit like he couldn’t wait to be anywhere but here.

Seung-hyun stood near the doorway, his duffel bag slung over his shoulder, ready to leave for the airport. His usually soft eyes were distant, guarded, his jaw clenched tight like he was forcing himself to stay calm.

“I don’t want to leave like this,” he muttered, voice lower than usual.

“Then don’t,” you shot back, arms crossed over your chest. It wasn’t fair. You knew he had to go—knew he had a world tour ahead of him, knew fans were waiting in cities across the globe. But the idea of him walking out the door like this, leaving the fight unresolved, made your stomach twist painfully.

He let out a slow exhale, pinching the bridge of his nose before meeting your gaze. “I don’t have a choice.”

You hated that answer. Hated how it reminded you that no matter how much you wanted him to stay, his career always came first. You weren’t unreasonable—you never had been. You knew how much this tour meant to him, but in this moment, the resentment gnawed at you.

“Right. You never do,” you mumbled, looking away.

That seemed to strike a nerve. His expression shifted, frustration flashing across his face. “That’s not fair,” he said, shaking his head.

Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe none of this was fair. But the hurt sitting heavy in your mind made it impossible to think clearly. The silence between you stretched unbearably long.

He ran a hand through his hair, glancing at the time on his phone. He hesitated for a second—like he wanted to say something else—but then just sighed, adjusting the strap of his bag over his shoulder. “I’ll call you,” he said, voice quieter now, less sharp.

You didn’t answer.

And then he was gone. The door clicked shut behind him, the sound sharp in the quiet apartment, final in a way that made your stomach sink. You didn’t move, didn’t breathe for a second, as if waiting—hoping—that he might turn back, hesitate, say something. Literally anything. But the seconds stretched on, and the only thing you heard was the distant hum of a car pulling away. The fight still lingered in the air, thick and suffocating, but now there was nothing left to say. Just the fading warmth of where he had been standing, the emptiness he left behind, and the sharp sting in your chest as the reality of it all settled deep into your bones.

Seung-hyun exhaled slowly, pressing his head against the cool window as the van pulled away from your apartment. The city lights blurred past him, but all he could see was the look on your face before he walked out the door—hurt, frustrated, unwilling to meet his eyes. The image sat heavy in his chest, making it hard to breathe, but he clenched his jaw and forced himself to look straight ahead. The other guys were talking around him, but their voices barely registered to him, until—

“Everything good?” Youngbae’s voice cut through the haze, quieter than the rest, meant only for him.

Seung-hyun almost said yes. Almost shrugged it off, pretended like he wasn’t sitting here replaying every second of that fight, every sharp word he shouldn’t have said. But instead, he just let out a slow sigh, tilting his head back against the seat.

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

Ji-yong glanced at him from across the van, raising an eyebrow. “You two fought again?”

Seung-hyun didn’t answer, but the silence was enough.

Daesung let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. “Hyung, you always do this before we leave.”

Seung-hyun’s brows furrowed at that. “Do what?”

“Push her away,” Youngbae said simply. “Like if you fight before you go, maybe missing her won’t hurt as much.”

Seung-hyun’s chest tightened. Deep down, he knew they were right. Even when he opened his mouth, ready to argue, the words never came. 

Similarly, the phone call never came either. You had stayed up all night waiting—hoping—your phone would light up with the familiar contact: a heart next to his name and a cute candid photo you had taken of him, revenge for all the seemingly unflattering ones he had already snapped of you. Thinking the air might have cleared a little, hoping you would go back to the usual “I miss you” and “I’m counting down the days until you get back,” but there was nothing. Silence. Deafening radio silence. 

Hours turned into days. Or, has it been a week already?

Too long has passed since you had heard from your boyfriend. Desperately, you tried to not let it affect you, doing everything you possibly could to distract you. Your best friend wanted you to come over? You were already ringing her doorbell. Your mother was calling you? Accepted the call within the first ring. You had already lost count of how many times you’ve cleaned your apartment, drowning in the smell of air freshener. 

At first, you made excuses for him. He was busy. The time zones were a mess. Rehearsals, soundchecks, meet-and-greets, performances—his schedule was packed, and you didn’t want to be the needy partner blowing up his phone. But as the days passed with radio silence, it got harder to ignore the sick feeling twisting in your stomach.

You told yourself not to spiral. You told yourself not to check social media. But late at night, when sleep wouldn’t come and the ache in your chest felt unbearable, you gave in. You opened Instagram, not even searching for his name—just scrolling mindlessly, hoping for a distraction.

Instead, you found her. She wasn’t someone you recognized. A model, maybe? An influencer? The name in her handle didn’t ring any bells, but her latest post made your stomach drop. It was a series of pictures. The first one was innocent enough—a shot of her at the latest concert stop, front row, flashing a peace sign with the stage glowing behind her. The next was a blurry clip of the crowd chanting for the group.

And then the last one. It was a backstage photo. Of him.

Seung-hyun stood beside her, still in his stage outfit, hair slightly damp from the performance. He wasn’t looking at the camera, caught mid-laugh, and she was leaning in close—too close. Close enough that she could whisper something in his ear. Close enough that the moment felt private in a way that made your stomach twist. Beneath the photo was the caption that made your blood run cold:

"New future husband hard launch?😉😂 #luckygirl"

Your heart stopped. Your fingers trembled as you scrolled to the comments, your vision blurring as you read through them.

"Omg HAHAHA wait are you guys a thing???""Future husband??? 👀👀 spill the tea, bestie!""Lowkey jealous but you’d be such a hot couple."“Isn’t he dating someone else?”

You stared at the screen, your breath coming in uneven, shallow gasps. Your mind scrambled for explanations—Maybe she was just joking. Maybe it was a stupid, meaningless caption. Maybe this was all in your head. Surely, right? But the sick feeling in your stomach told you otherwise.

He hadn’t called. Hadn’t texted. Hadn’t reached out to you at all. And now, this was how you were seeing him? Through someone else’s camera lens, with some random woman calling him her man while the world laughed along? You had spent days missing him. Worrying about him. Hoping that the silence between you would break. And now, you weren’t sure if you even wanted to hear from him at all.

You weren’t going to cry over him.

Not when the world thought he was out there, living his best life. Not when he hadn’t even bothered to check in with you. Not when some woman was calling him her husband while you sat alone, feeling like a fool for waiting on a call that never came. Fine. If he wasn’t going to acknowledge you, you weren’t going to sit around and sulk. You were going to remind him exactly what he was missing.

You stood in front of the mirror, angling your phone just right. The dress you had on was perfect—smooth, effortless, the kind that made people do a double take. Hair tousled just enough to look artfully undone, lips glossed and parted as if the picture had been taken in the middle of some glamorous, stolen moment. Not too obvious. Not too desperate. Just enough to make hearts race.

And then, the final touch—the caption. Something light, something teasing.

"Since everyone’s playing pretend, let’s all pretend I’m the main event tonight. 😉✨"

You hit post. Your notifications exploded almost instantly.

"EXCUSE ME???" "This is a personal attack." "Who do I need to fight?" "Oh, she’s in her villain era."

Good.

You smirked, tossing your phone aside. It wasn’t about revenge. Not really. You just wanted to feel wanted. To feel like someone out there was paying attention to you—since clearly, the one person who was supposed to care hadn’t even spared you a second of his time.

And then—your phone buzzed. You snatched it up so fast your hand nearly cramped. A notification. Your heart pounded. Was it him? Did he finally get the hint? Your stomach dropped.

“Choi Seung-hyun liked your post.”

Seung-hyun leaned back against the couch, stretching his legs out as he absentmindedly scrolled through his phone. The post-show adrenaline was finally wearing off, leaving behind that familiar mix of exhaustion and restlessness. The other guys were scattered around their hotel suite—Youngbae flipping through TV channels, Ji-yong lazily sipping on a drink, Daesung scrolling on his own phone.

Then he saw it. Your photo. His brows lifted slightly as he clicked on it.

Damn.

You looked… really good. The kind of good that made his chest tighten just a little. The dress, the way your hair framed your face, the effortless confidence in your pose. His thumb hovered for half a second before he double-tapped. Like.

A small smirk tugged at his lips. You always looked good, but this? This was something else. He should probably text you—say something, tell you how stunning you looked. In fact, he was about to, but then he saw the caption. His head tilted slightly. Huh. That was… dramatic. But you always had a way with words, right? Maybe you were just playing around, soaking up some attention like you did once in a while. Nothing wrong with that.

"Well, that’s not good," Youngbae muttered from across the room.

Seung-hyun glanced up. "Huh?"

Youngbae was now leaning over, looking at his screen. "That post. From your girl."

Seung-hyun frowned, locking his phone. "What about it?"

Ji-yong, who had been half-dozing in an armchair, cracked one eye open. "She posted something?"

Youngbae sighed and rubbed his temple. "It’s not the post, it’s the context." He turned back to Seung-hyun. "You haven’t talked to her, have you?"

"I mean… not directly. But I liked the post."

Ji-yong let out an audible scoff. "And you think that counts?"

Seung-hyun gave him a look. "Acknowledging it is something."

Daesung, who had been silent up until now, finally spoke up, shaking his head. "Hyung, no offense, but that’s kind of dumb."

Seung-hyun scowled. "What?"

"You two had a fight the night before we left," Youngbae reminded him. "A big one. And instead of calling or texting, you just disappear for days and then ‘like’ her thirst trap?"

“Thirst trap?"

Ji-yong snorted. "That dress? The pose? That’s a ‘look at me, I’m hot and unbothered’ post if I’ve ever seen one. And that caption? She’s pissed."

Seung-hyun looked back at his phone, suddenly rereading the words with fresh eyes. Something heavy settled in his stomach. Fuck.

"Okay, maybe she’s mad," he admitted. "But if she wanted to talk, she could’ve just messaged me too."

Youngbae gave him the most unimpressed look imaginable. "Are you actually serious right now?"

Daesung sighed and slowly dragged his hand down his face. “Surely, she’s trying to get you to message first, no?”

Ji-yong, looking far too amused, muttered under his breath, "This is painful to watch."

Seung-hyun exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. He hadn’t meant to ignore you. Things had just… gotten busy. And yeah, maybe he had avoided reaching out because he didn’t know how to break the silence without making things worse. But now? Now, it was definitely worse.

Ji-yong had been lazily scrolling through his phone when something caught his eye. A headline that made him do a double take.

"BIGBANG’s T.O.P Spotted Getting Cozy with Mystery Woman—Is Love in the Air?"

His brows furrowed as he clicked on it. A series of pictures loaded, and his stomach dropped. Seung-hyun. With a woman. Ji-yong skimmed through the article, already feeling the headache coming on. The worst part wasn’t even the photos—it was the caption the woman had posted herself:

Oh.

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. This was bad. Really bad.

Before he even thought about messaging and checking in on you, he instinctively checked your social media. And there it was. A brand-new post, just minutes ago. It wasn’t a selfie, it wasn’t even your face. A picture of your back to the camera, holding a glass of wine, very clearly not at home. The lighting was dim, warm, intimate. A restaurant? A spa? Somewhere expensive.

"Since everyone else is out exploring, maybe I should start too."

Ji-yong let out a low whistle. Yikes. But the real kicker? The comments.

He tapped on them, and his eyes immediately widened.

"I volunteer to be your tour guide. 👀🔥""Where are we traveling to, queen? Because I’ll book the flight RIGHT now.""Oh, she’s in her ‘mysterious and untouchable’ era, and I love it.""Damn, are we single now? 👀 Asking for myself.""Tell me why I’m staring at this like it’s a work of art. 😩😍"

"Ohhh, hyung," Daesung muttered, peeking over Ji-yong’s shoulder. "This is bad."

Youngbae snorted. "Check the likes."

Ji-yong scrolled up. Thousands. Blowing up in real time. And right there at the top? Seung-hyun. His very oblivious ass liked the photo.

"Bro." Ji-yong turned to look at him, absolutely baffled. "Have you got a death wish?"

"Huh?" Seung-hyun frowned, looking up from his phone.

"Did you even see what she just posted?" Ji-yong turned the screen toward him.

Seung-hyun’s brows pulled together as he took Ji-yong’s phone. For a moment, he just stared at the image, blinking like it hadn’t fully registered. Then he scrolled down. His grip on the phone tightened. Youngbae and Daesung peeked over his shoulder, reading along as the thirst comments kept rolling in.

"I’d like to explore with you. 😉" "Damn, whoever took this photo is one lucky person." "I’m free next weekend if you need a travel buddy. 😍" "Bet she’s sipping that wine while someone else is pouring it. 👀🔥"

Daesung winced. "This is kinda painful to watch."

Seung-hyun’s jaw clenched. His fingers gripped the phone a little too tightly, and Ji-yong could practically see the jealousy creeping into his expression.

"Who the hell are these people?" Seung-hyun muttered, scrolling through the comments with a frown.

"Her followers," Ji-yong said, raising an eyebrow. "Her very thirsty followers."

Seung-hyun’s eyes darkened slightly. "This guy just called her a work of art," he muttered, scowling. "And this one is talking about pouring her wine—what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Ji-yong snorted. "Probably exactly what you think it means."

Seung-hyun glared at the screen like he was ready to fight someone.

"You’re mad?" Youngbae asked, amused. "You’re mad because other people are commenting on her post?"

Seung-hyun didn’t answer. But the muscle in his jaw twitched.

Ji-yong shook his head. "You’re an idiot."

Daesung sighed. "You should probably call her. Now."

Your phone buzzed against the polished kitchen counter, rattling next to the half-empty bottle of wine. You glanced down, expecting another notification—maybe a message from your friend group.

But it wasn’t them. It was Seung-hyun. Your stomach twisted. For days, there had been nothing. No texts. No calls. Just silence stretching between you like a chasm, widening with every passing second. You had told yourself you wouldn’t wait anymore. That you wouldn’t let him make you feel like this. And yet, your fingers hovered over the screen, hesitating.

Your best friend glanced over from the fridge, took one look at your expression, and quirked a brow. “That him?”

You didn’t answer.

The phone kept ringing. Once. Twice. Three times. Then, before the call could go to voicemail, you picked up.

At first, neither of you spoke. All you could hear on his end was faint background noise—the low murmur of voices, the hum of a car engine. He was probably still on the road, still miles and miles away. And yet, at this moment, it felt like he was standing right in front of you.

"You’re alive," you finally said, voice clipped.

He let out a slow breath. “I’m alive.”

"You wouldn’t think so, though," you muttered. "Since you’ve been acting like I don’t exist."

He was quiet for a second. Then, softer, "I know."

You let out a hollow laugh. "That’s it? You know? You disappear for days, and all you have to say is ‘I know’?"

“I messed up.”

Your chest tightened. You wanted to stay mad. You really, really did. But the exhaustion was catching up to you—the late nights staring at your phone, the ache in your chest that wouldn’t go away, the pit in your stomach when you saw those photos.

"Yeah," you said, voice quieter now. "You did."

Another beat of silence. Then—

"I saw your post," he murmured.

Your lips curled slightly, though there was no humor in it. "Oh? Liked what you saw?"

He exhaled sharply. "You know that’s not what I meant."

"Do I?"

"Where are you?"

You frowned. "What does it matter?"

"Because," his voice was tense now, "I need to know if I just made things worse."

You swallowed. "I’m at my best friend’s."

A pause. "Good," he said, relief lacing his voice. "I was worried you—" He stopped himself.

"Worried I what?" you pushed.

"Worried you were with someone else," he admitted.

You blinked. "Are you serious?"

"I know I don’t have the right to ask," he said quickly, "but I just—I saw your caption, I saw the comments, and I—I just..." He trailed off.

"You’re jealous?"

"I’m going crazy," he admitted, voice rough. "I’ve been trying to give you space, but then I saw those pictures going around, and I just—I didn’t want to make things worse."

Your throat tightened. "So instead, you disappeared?" you whispered.

"...Yeah."

You shook your head, tears suddenly pricking at your eyes. "You don’t get it, Seung-hyun. I needed you. I needed to hear from you, to know where we stood, and you just—just left me hanging."

"I didn’t know what to say," he murmured. "I was scared I’d lose you."

"You almost did," you said honestly.

The line went silent for a long moment. Then, voice hoarse, he asked, "Did you believe it?"

Your brows furrowed. "Believe what?"

"The rumors," he clarified. "That I was with her."

You swallowed hard, looking down. "...I didn’t want to. But what else was I supposed to think?"

Seung-hyun let out a slow breath. "She’s just one of the backup dancers. She was joking in the caption—I should have told her to take it down. I should have—God, I should have called you immediately. I wasn’t thinking."

You closed your eyes, exhaling shakily.

"Baby," his voice softened. "You have to know... there’s no one else. There’s only you. It’s always been you."

Your breath hitched.

A tear slipped down your cheek, but you quickly wiped it away. "Then why didn’t you just tell me that?"

"Because I was an idiot. Because I didn’t want to fight with you over the phone. Because I thought if I just... waited, it would all blow over."

"It didn’t," you murmured.

"I know," he said. "And I hate myself for it."

You pressed your fingers against your temples, trying to get rid of the headache forming.

"I miss you," he whispered.

Your eyes burned. "You don’t get to say that."

"But it’s true," he said, voice thick. "I miss you. I miss us. And I don’t want to go another day without fixing this."

"Then fix it. Because I don’t know how much longer I can do this."

"I will," he promised. "I’ll do whatever it takes."

"I’m tired, Seung-hyun."

"I know," he murmured. "Let me make it right. Please."

Your best friend, who had been quietly listening from the other side of the counter, finally spoke up. "He’s groveling. I’d milk this for at least another two weeks."

You let out a wet laugh, shaking your head. Seung-hyun, hearing the sound, let out a soft breath. "You laughed."

"Shut up," you murmured, sniffling.

He chuckled, but then, voice gentle, he said, "We’ll figure this out, okay?"

"...Okay."

"Can I call you tomorrow?"

You hesitated. But then, quietly, "Yeah."

"Good," he murmured. "Get some sleep, baby."

As soon as the call ended, you let out a slow, unsteady breath, the weight of everything settling over you. The emotions still swirled—anger, relief, exhaustion—all tangled together in a way that left your chest feeling tight. It wasn’t fixed, not completely, but the worst of the storm had passed.

Your best friend’s voice was soft when they spoke. “You should get some rest.”

You nodded, but even as you stood to make your way to the guest room, your mind wouldn’t quiet.

The past few days had been a mess of contradictions. You had been furious at him, but you had missed him. You had convinced yourself you wouldn’t care if he reached out, but the silence had still hurt. And tonight—after days of aching uncertainty—you finally had his voice in your ear again. The tension in his tone, the hesitation in his words… He had felt it too. That realization should have made you feel better, but instead, it just left you more exhausted.

You slipped under the covers, staring up at the ceiling. You wanted to believe things were okay now, that one conversation was enough to undo everything. But deep down, you knew it wasn’t that simple. There were still things unsaid, wounds that weren’t fully healed. And yet, for the first time in days, the heaviness in your chest didn’t feel unbearable. Maybe it wasn’t all better yet. But at least you weren’t alone in the uncertainty anymore.

Seung-hyun stared at his phone long after the call had ended, his grip tightening around the device as if holding onto it would somehow bring you closer.  He had been an idiot. He knew that now. Letting the fight spiral out of control before leaving, staying silent when he should have called, being so oblivious that it took his bandmates to point out what was really going on—it was all one big, frustrating mess, and he had let it happen.

And then there were the pictures. Seung-hyun exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face as he leaned back against the hotel couch. He hadn’t even thought twice about them at the time, hadn’t realized what they must have looked like to you. That woman—someone he had only exchanged a handful of words with—had joked about him being her husband online, and suddenly the internet had exploded with speculation. His stomach twisted at the thought of you seeing that, scrolling through your phone and being blindsided by those pictures after days of radio silence. You had already been hurting. Already doubting him. And then he had handed you another reason to pull away.

A part of him had thought you’d lash out at him directly—call, text, anything—but you hadn’t. Instead, you had turned away from him completely, disappearing into your own world, posting pictures that felt like a quiet rebellion against the way he had made you feel. And the comments… He hadn’t even meant to look at them, but once he had, the simmering jealousy had been impossible to ignore.

He scrubbed a hand over his face and let out a slow breath, trying to push down the frustration rising in his chest. He was the one who had messed up. He didn’t get to be angry.

The sound of a door opening pulled him from his thoughts, and a moment later, Ji-yong appeared in the doorway, his sharp eyes immediately locking onto him. "You look like shit."

Seung-hyun huffed out a humorless laugh, tilting his head back against the couch. "Thanks."

Ji-yong walked further into the room, crossing his arms as he studied him. "Did you call her?"

"Yeah."

"And?"

Seung-hyun let out a long sigh, staring at the ceiling. "I don’t know, man. It helped, I guess. We talked. It wasn’t like before, but… it was something."

Ji-yong nodded slowly, but his expression didn’t soften. "You need to fix this."

"I know."

"No, I mean really fix it," Ji-yong pressed, his voice lower now, more serious. "You left things bad, disappeared on her for days, and then let the whole world think you’re running around with someone else. That’s a lot of shit to throw at someone, Seung-hyun. And you know her—she’s trying to act like it doesn’t bother her, but it does."

Seung-hyun clenched his jaw, his grip tightening around his phone again. He did know. That was what made it so much worse.

Ji-yong sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You’re lucky they even picked up the phone."

"I know," Seung-hyun muttered. He hated being reminded of it, but Ji-yong wasn’t wrong.

Silence settled between them, thick and heavy. Outside, the city lights flickered through the sheer hotel curtains, casting faint patterns across the floor. It felt distant, meaningless compared to the weight in his chest. After a moment, Ji-yong sat down in the chair across from him, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "So… what are you gonna do?"

Seung-hyun stared at the floor, his mind already racing through possibilities. Words weren’t enough—not this time. He needed to do something. Something that would prove to you that you were the only thing that mattered to him.

He exhaled, determination settling in his bones. "Tomorrow, I’m making this right."

The soft morning light seeped through your curtains, painting golden streaks across your bed. You shifted under the covers, stretching your limbs before blindly reaching for your phone on the nightstand. The past few days have left you feeling drained—mentally, emotionally, and physically.

With a deep sigh, you unlocked your phone, expecting the usual string of notifications. Instead, one message sat at the top of your screen.

“No more distance. I need to see you. Please come to me.”

You blinked, still groggy, but before you could even process the weight of his words, another notification popped up.

Flight confirmation - Your itinerary is ready

Your heart skipped. Clicking on it, you scanned the details—a first-class ticket, departing in the afternoon.

He had booked everything.

Your fingers tightened around your phone as emotions swirled inside you—anger, relief, disbelief, but most of all, longing. For days, you had been drowning in silence, missing him while convincing yourself that maybe he wasn’t missing you as much in return. But this? This was something different.

You could almost hear his voice in that short message. No teasing, no playfulness. Just quiet, raw honesty. He needed you. Swallowing hard, you hesitated before typing.

“You really did this?”

Three dots appeared almost instantly. "Of course. Just say yes, aein. Please."

Aein. The pet name he hadn’t called you since before the fight. The walls you had built around your heart cracked, just a little.

You stared at the ticket details again, your thumb hovering over the screen. The past few days had been a blur of overthinking and assumptions, of hurt and longing. But now, he was reaching out, breaking the silence, proving that he wasn’t willing to let things stay broken.

And neither were you.

The flight felt longer than it actually was. No matter how comfortable the first-class seat was, your nerves wouldn’t let you relax. You had spent the entire time staring out the window, replaying the last few days in your head, wondering what would happen the moment you saw him again. Would he apologize first? Would you? Would you even be able to speak at all?

Your fingers curled tightly around the strap of your bag as you stepped through the arrival gate. You expected to go straight to the hotel or venue where the group was staying. The moment you stepped past baggage claim, a suited man holding a discreet sign with your name approached you.

"Miss, please follow me."

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard. You had assumed there would be a driver waiting, but this felt more formal, more arranged. Nodding, you let him lead you through the airport, weaving through crowds effortlessly until you reached a private exit. The chilly air hit you as soon as the doors slid open, and waiting at the curb was a sleek black car, its tinted windows shielding whoever was inside.

Your pulse quickened.

The security guard opened the back door, stepping aside as he gestured for you to get in. You hesitated for only a second before slipping inside, the warmth of the car wrapping around you instantly.

And there he was.

Seung-hyun sat in the back, one arm resting lazily against the door, the other curled into a fist against his mouth as if deep in thought. The dim lighting inside cast soft shadows across his face, but his eyes—sharp and unreadable—locked onto yours the moment you settled into the seat beside him.

The door shut, sealing you both inside.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The tension from days of silence and misunderstanding settled heavily between you, thick enough to suffocate. Then, without a word, he reached out. His fingers found yours, hesitant at first, before gripping tightly—like he was afraid you’d pull away. You didn’t. Instead, you let out a slow, shaky breath, your body finally relaxing for the first time in days.

"I didn’t want to wait another second to see you," he murmured, voice low, rough with something unspoken. "Are we okay?"

Your throat tightened. He looked exhausted. He looked like he had been carrying the same weight you had, like the past few days had worn him down just as much.

You turned your hand over in his grip, intertwining your fingers with his.

"We will be," you whispered back.

The car pulled away from the curb, but neither of you let go. The ride is quiet at first. Not awkward, not tense—just… quiet. The kind of silence that feels heavy, filled with too many unspoken words, too many days of missed conversations. You don’t look at him at first, your fingers fidgeting in your lap as the city lights blur past the tinted windows. But you feel his gaze, feel the way he keeps sneaking glances at you, like he’s trying to make sure you’re really there.

After a few minutes, Seung-hyun finally breaks the silence. His voice is soft, careful. "You look tired."

You let out a breathy laugh. "Well, I did just take an international flight."

He hums, nodding slowly. Another beat of silence passes before he finally reaches out, hesitating for just a second before gently taking your hand in his. His grip is warm, a little tentative, but firm enough that it sends a small rush of comfort through you.

“You didn’t have to come,” he murmurs, running his thumb over your knuckles. “But I’m glad you did.”

You don’t say anything, just squeeze his hand back. It’s the first step toward fixing things. And then, because he can’t help himself, his lips twitch with the beginning of a smirk. "So… that post."

You blink, pulling your hand away slightly, but he doesn’t let you go. "What about it?" you ask, even though you already know exactly what he’s referring to.

“You had a whole army in your comments,” he muses, tilting his head. “Should I be worried?”

You roll your eyes, turning your face toward the window to hide the way your lips curve up just a little. "Why? You didn’t seem worried when you liked it."

His smirk falters just slightly, like he wasn’t expecting you to throw that back at him. But then he chuckles under his breath, leaning in just a bit closer. "Maybe I just wanted to see if you'd notice."

You do turn to face him then, arching a brow. "You’re unbelievable."

He grins, and for the first time in days, it feels like things between you aren’t so fragile anymore.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, giving your fingers another squeeze. “But you still came all this way to see me.”

And when he looks at you like that—like you’re the only thing in the world that matters—you can’t really argue.

The car slows as it approaches the hotel, and Seung-hyun finally drops his teasing, his voice turning quiet again. "We’ll talk properly when we get upstairs, okay?"

You nod, and this time, when he reaches for your hand, you don’t pull away.

The elevator ride up to his hotel suite is quiet again, but this time, it’s different. The weight between you isn’t as heavy—it’s softer, filled with something that feels more like anticipation than tension. Seung-hyun never lets go of your hand, his grip firm but gentle as he leads you through the hotel, past security, past curious glances.

When the door to his suite clicks shut behind you, he doesn’t speak right away. He just stands there, exhaling slowly, his shoulders rising and falling like the weight of the past few days is finally catching up to him. He turns to you, and for the first time in days, you get a full look at him. He looks exhausted. Not just physically, but something deeper than that. There’s a heaviness in his eyes, like he hasn’t been sleeping much.

"I’m sorry." His voice is hoarse, like he’s been holding it in too long.

You swallow hard, arms crossing over your chest—not out of defiance, but to keep yourself from reaching for him too soon. "For what?"

His brows furrow slightly, and he exhales again, shaking his head. "For all of it." His voice wavers just slightly. "For leaving when we were still fighting. For shutting down instead of talking to you. For letting you think, even for a second, that you weren’t the most important thing to me."

Your breath catches. The words hit deep, settling in places you didn’t realize were still aching.

"Then why didn’t you call?" Your voice is quiet now, softer than you intended. "Why did I have to find out about you from an article?"

Seung-hyun lets out a slow, unsteady breath, raking a hand through his hair. He looks away for a moment, like he’s gathering his thoughts, and when he looks back, his eyes are glassy.

"Because I ruin things."

The words come out so raw, so unfiltered, that it knocks the air from your lungs.

"Seung-hyun—"

"No, just—just let me say this." He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and when he speaks again, his voice cracks. "I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to be good at this. Every time something goes wrong, I just... shut down. Because if I say the wrong thing, if I handle it the wrong way, then maybe—" He hesitates, inhaling sharply. "Maybe you’ll realize I’m not worth all this trouble."

Your chest tightens.

"That’s not—"

"It is." He lets out a bitter laugh, looking away again. His hands clench at his sides before he forces himself to meet your gaze. "I’ve spent years being careful. Being the one who stays a little distant, a little detached, because that’s safer. But then you came along, and suddenly I didn’t want to be distant anymore." His voice drops lower, like he’s admitting a secret. "And that terrifies me."

His words break something open inside of you.

You step forward before he can pull away, reaching for his face, your fingers brushing against his jaw. His breath stutters as you touch him, like he wasn’t expecting it.

"You’re not going to lose me," you whisper. "I need you to believe that."

His eyes close for a moment, his jaw tightening beneath your touch. When he opens them again, there’s something vulnerable there, something unguarded.

"I missed you," he says, voice barely above a whisper. His hands lift, hesitating for just a second before settling on your waist, pulling you in. "I missed you so much, and I hated myself for making you feel like I didn’t."

Your heart clenches.

"Then don’t do it again," you murmur.

He exhales shakily, pressing his forehead to yours. "I won’t. I swear."

A beat of silence passes before he chokes out a soft, unsteady laugh. "God, I hate fighting with you."

You let out a watery laugh, sniffling as you press a hand against his chest. "Then stop picking fights with me."

His lips twitch, but then his expression turns serious again. "I mean it. I don’t want to push you away again. I don’t know how to be perfect, but I—" He inhales deeply. "I just want to be enough for you."

"You are."

His arms tighten around you, like he’s trying to memorize the feeling of you being this close again. And when he finally, finally kisses you, it’s not desperate or rushed. It’s slow, filled with all the words he hasn’t said, all the emotions he’s been holding back. His lips linger against yours, warm and desperate, like he’s trying to pour every unspoken word into the kiss. His hands cradle your face, thumbs brushing your cheekbones, and you sink into him, fingers curling into the front of his shirt to pull him even closer.

You barely notice the sound of a door opening. “Well, damn. Guess we don’t have to ask if they made up.”

You jolt, tearing yourself away from Seung-hyun with wide eyes. He groans, his forehead dropping against your shoulder as he exhales sharply. “Of course.”

Ji-yong stands in the doorway, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at his lips. Youngbae is right beside him, trying (and failing) to suppress a knowing grin. Daesung just looks amused.

“You guys do realize there are other rooms for that, right?” Ji-yong teases, stepping inside like he owns the place.

Seung-hyun sighs dramatically, straightening up but keeping an arm around you. “Do you ever knock?”

“Do you ever not make a scene?” Ji-yong fires back, plopping down onto the couch like this is the most entertaining thing he’s seen all week. “We come looking for you, and this is what we walk into? Could’ve at least warned us.”

Daesung hums thoughtfully. “At least they weren’t on the table.”

Youngbae snorts, while you gasp. “Excuse me?!”

Seung-hyun groans again, rubbing his temples. “Can you all just leave?”

“Oh, absolutely not.” Ji-yong grins. “This is way too fun.”

Your face burns as you try to shove your embarrassment away. “Well, if you must know, we were just—”

“Sucking each other’s faces off?”

“—Having a conversation.” You glare at Ji-yong, who just smirks wider.

“Right. A very intense conversation, huh?” Youngbae adds, wiggling his eyebrows.

You groan, burying your face in Seung-hyun’s shoulder as he sighs, rubbing slow circles on your back. “They’re insufferable,” he mutters, though there’s no real bite behind it.

Daesung grins. “But really, we were just coming to tell you rehearsal’s starting soon.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Try not to get too distracted.”

The three of them grin, sharing knowing looks. And with that, they finally leave, their laughter trailing behind them. Seung-hyun sighs as the door finally swings shut, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.”

You can’t help but laugh, still leaning into his chest. “They really have no shame.”

“None at all.” He huffs, rubbing soothing circles on your back. “But at least they’re gone now.”

You tilt your head up to look at him, smiling softly. “You sure you don’t need to go after them?”

He hums in thought, then tightens his hold on you. “Mm… No. They can wait a little longer.”

You giggle as he leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead. His lips linger there, warm and gentle, before he moves to your cheek, then the tip of your nose.

“Seung-hyun,” you whisper, your smile growing as he pulls back just enough to meet your eyes.

“What?” He feigns innocence, though the small smirk tugging at his lips gives him away. “I didn’t get to properly say goodbye before we were rudely interrupted.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “That was barely a goodbye kiss.”

His smirk deepens. “You want a real one, then?”

Before you can answer, he leans in, brushing his lips against yours in a slow, sweet kiss—nothing desperate, nothing rushed, just soft affection wrapped in warmth. His hand cups your cheek, thumb stroking lightly as if he wants to memorize the feeling of you under his touch.

When he finally pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours with a content sigh. “I really missed you.”

Your heart swells, and you slide your arms around his neck, fingers threading into his hair. “I missed you too.”

He closes his eyes, just holding you for a moment, his grip firm like he never wants to let go.

A sharp knock on the door ruins the peaceful moment.

“Hyung, if you don’t come out now, I swear we’ll start rehearsal without you!” Ji-yong’s voice calls through the door, followed by muffled laughter from the others.

Seung-hyun groans. “I hate them.”

You giggle, pressing one last kiss to his jaw before nudging him toward the door. “Go. Before they really do leave you behind.”

He sighs dramatically but finally steps back. “Fine. But I’m coming straight back to you after.”

“I’ll be here.”

taglist: @thanosscrossmain @maskedcrawford @mirahyun @riddlerloveb0t @onyxmango @sherrayyyyy @seunghyunwifey @mattsturniolosbabymama @redhoodedtoad @petersasteria

[cno-inbminor]

praestigia

NOTE: this is the completed version of the fic, including part 1. some minor edits have been made to part 1, but that's about it. once again, thanks sylus for being my first lads fic! as always, much love to spence for bullying me into finishing this

plot: formally speaking, sylus is a...sponsor. more colloquially, he's your sugar daddy -- and you're starting to wonder if he might actually want more. (wc: ~13.1k)

cw: this is all AU and does not include, like, any game lore (aside from that it's happening in linkon city). afab!reader, also a phd student, toxic behavior [miscommunication], explicit smut [dom/sub dynamics, slight bondage, underwear as a gag, size kink if you squint, fingering, some degradation, possessiveness, squirting, overstimulation, some choking, no protection aside from implied birth control], angst, some fluff, open ending. mdni!

[ao3]

-

The skyline of Linkon City never fails to captivate you, blinking lights of tall, corporate buildings, the specks of light dotted across the sky, the blur of beams weaving through the roads – no matter which angle you look at it from, the view will inevitably take reign over your focus. So much so, that you do not notice the imposing figure approaching you from behind. He can only draw your attention by placing both hands on your shoulders, jumping slightly as you blink and remember where you are. A wave of flashbacks crashes through your mind as you are gently turned towards him, your back facing the window now.

“Perhaps I should find it somewhat offensive that the view never fails to take your attention away,” Sylus remarks, his tone unmasked in his teasing and playfulness. His scarlet eyes peer past your shoulder to see if there was anything interesting or out of the ordinary. “Do I need to start booking rooms without windows?”

“Don’t be silly,” you gently admonish, moving past him to grab a drink of water. His eyes burn the skin on your back, though you are familiar with this gaze. “Thank you for letting me rest here.”

“Do you really think that after all this time, I would leave you to pay for a hotel room yourself? Or to find your own transportation home?”

“It’d be understandable. I can see where you would be coming from if you made those requests.”

“I must say, I am a little wounded, kitten,” he drawls in mock pain. Instead of waiting for you to return and remain close to him, he situates himself on the bed first and leaves ample room for you to lay next to him.

The gesture invokes warmth, exudes comfort, and stands familiar as you climb onto the mattress with ease and memory. Sylus stretches out his arm next to you, and his pose quietly begs for you to cuddle into him.

And so you do. Sylus’s stature and frame, of course, never fails to envelop you during these moments of tranquility. Your chest pressed against his side, a leg crossed over his, your nails drawing patterns over his bathrobe and exposed abdomen – security, strength, and affection, once again, never fails to help you relax.

Because this is what happens after every gala, every fundraiser, every grand opening, every social event that you accompany Sylus to. This routine of being in hotel rooms so high above ground with breathtaking views, burrowing into him, oftentimes burying himself inside you, and separating the next morning with an implicit understanding of exactly where you stand, is what you two had agreed upon all those months ago. And in return, your financial stress disappears into thin air, leaving you to study and engage in hobbies without such a heavy burden on your shoulders.

Despite his constant reassurances that he can clean up whatever mess you may end up making, they do not negate just how tiring and draining these events end up being. Constantly putting on airs, overexposing your practiced smiles, making sure that there is not a single hair out of place, switching to what you like to call “fancy people table etiquette” – Sylus sponsored and, in a way, hired you to be as close to perfect as possible, and so, you must do as such to uphold your end of this business relation. Tonight has been a little more taxing than usual, as somewhere along the way, he felt the need to buy you anything that captured your attention for more than a few seconds. He would bid a ridiculous price that would dissuade any other potential customers, their expressions of defeat when they pass by causing him to secretly gloat that everyone has learned at least one thing about him: he will get what he wants.

You had caught onto this shenanigan after the third item, and you made sure to school your gaze away from the auctioned items. But because he always seems to know what plays in your mind, he complains, “You never let or ask me to buy you things anymore.”

Your eyes had closed shut during your time of reflecting on tonight’s events, and they continue to remain as such. “I have very little closet space. At this point, I think I’ve probably swapped out 90% of my wardrobe because of you. People are starting to get suspicious.”

“Then why not move out and find a bigger apartment? You know I can afford it.”

“Sylus–”

“I know, I know,” he interrupts. If he were anyone else, you would have scowled at him. “It would be too far from campus, become inconvenient, and you feel it is too much to ask for.”

As the conversation suggests, this is not the first time Sylus has brought up this proposition. What remains unsaid is how you would be closer to his residence if you were to move to one of the many apartments he had in mind, all of which would reduce your commute to his place down to walking a block or two; not a twenty-minute drive.

“Just say the word, and it will be done,” Sylus murmurs into your hair. When he realizes he has received no response, your soft snoring greets him before he can inquire any further. With a heavy sigh, he reaches out and switches the nightstand light off, leaving the darkness to swallow you both. His eyes fall shut in tired ease, but his grip around your shoulders remains firm.

-

It comes to no one’s surprise that you feel less than well-rested when your alarm starts blaring at 5:45AM. You had an early class today, so you had to give yourself ample time to make it home, change, wipe away any lingering smudges of last night’s makeup, and try to appear as…casual as possible. Not wanting to wake him up so much that he cannot fall back asleep, you reach out for your phone and click one of the volume buttons, rendering it silent. Sometime in the night, your position had changed to Sylus spooning you. His limb slung over your waist is heavy, making it all that more difficult to leave – not just physically, but mentally as well.

Like ripping a bandaid off, you have every intention to quickly remove yourself from his embrace. But Sylus, being the infuriatingly light sleeper that he is, immediately tightens his hold around you as soon as you attempt your escape.

“Sylus, I need to go,” you whisper.

He presses you impossibly closer to him. “I will drive you to your apartment. Sleep.”

“No, I’m taking the subway.”

“Why take the subway when you have me?”

“If anyone needs rest, it’s you,” you say pointedly, because it’s true. Being the CEO of a business that may or may not be totally legal (you never ask because honestly, the less you know, the better) is not exactly a 9AM-5PM job. There have been more times than you can count when he would be pounding into you and forced to take a phone call. Granted, that doesn’t stop him from grinding into you and grinning devilishly when you bury your face into the nearest pillow to muffle your moans and whines.

“Speak for yourself,” he grumbles into your hair. “You haven’t gotten more than six hours of sleep every night for the last week.”

“And how exactly do you know this?” As soon as you ask, you already know the answer.

The app for– “Your smartwatch.”

“One of these days, I will disconnect my account from that app.”

“I would like to see you try.”

And you will. Just, when you’re not trapped in his arms.

“I’m still taking the subway,” you backtrack, though your voice is quieter than before. A tiny sense of relief fills you when his embrace loosens, and you can finally crawl out of bed. It’s harder than it seems to squash the distressed voice in your head complaining about how easy it was for him to let you go. As you pick up all your clothes and make your way towards the bathroom, you notice his phone sitting innocently by the room’s coffee machine. After looking over your shoulder, you swipe it off the counter and bring it with you.

Guessing his passcode is harder than you thought – the man has an ego the size of the entire universe, so you figure it would be something personal: his inaugural date as CEO, his birth year, his birthday, or others. On your last, desperate attempt, you type in four digits and find yourself absolutely floored at the view of his, now, unlocked phone.

Your birthday.

There is no time to dwell on the implications of it all, and you chalk it up to the fact that no one really knows you outside of being his typical date or escort. Therefore, the passcode would be that much harder to guess than the route that you had originally gone for. Yes, that’s all it was: an extra layer of security.

Sylus’s phone is surprisingly unorganized, random apps thrown into folders that they do not belong in, leaving you to search for the fitness app that your watch is not only connected to on your own phone, but somehow also on his. You press the buttons necessary to delete your watch data from his end. When you are ready to close the app, you cannot help but notice the preview of his messages app and the texts within. Your thumb swipes away the fitness app and shakily taps the messages window that stares hauntingly at you. It had been left open on a conversation with another woman, if you had to guess based on the name sitting at the top.

My parents are getting antsy, and so is your grandfather.

That is none of my concern.

Unfortunately, it is. They’re not exactly happy about the woman you keep bringing as a partner.

Our arranged marriage is not a publicly known detail.

And I’d like to keep it that way. But Sylus…

What?

We can’t delay this much longer. You’re running out of time.

The exchange tells you enough, just enough for you to realize the situation you find yourself in. You suddenly recall an incident in the beginning of this relationship with Sylus when he described this arrangement, him as your sugar daddy, as a means to an end, preferably the end of something that he clearly did not want out of desire for his own freedom. There was not enough detail for you to give it much thought after that night of discussion and negotiation, but now, it all makes sense.

Your thumb takes it back to his home screen and presses the lock button. In a haze, you get ready and dressed before exiting the bathroom, completely unaware if you even have your clothes on right or your hair somewhat kempt. As quietly as possible, you place his phone back where you had found it. Though common practice at this point, it now feels far too intimate to plant a featherlight kiss on his cheek. It causes him to stir, but you’re halfway out the door before he can fully register your departure.

Whoever passes by, whatever zooms past, however something tries to gain your attention, you have no recognition of your surroundings. A thick layer of tension settles itself into your brain, allowing you to think of nothing but the fact that this entire time, Sylus has been in an arranged marriage that you, apparently, were supposed to be instrumental in destroying. To find yourself back in your apartment maybe forty minutes later is a miracle in and of itself. You return to the plane of reality when you open your closet doors to toss your dirty clothes into the hamper and are greeted by the many items bought with his money.

Contrary to popular belief, jealousy does not make itself known in your system. You’re not exuding shades of green or red like an angry Christmas tree. If anything, you come to a quiet acceptance that this…partnership with Sylus will come to an end, and soon. It would do no good for him to keep seeing or supporting you while formally married, which means you have to get your life in order. Sylus has given you more than enough money to put you through your last two years of your postgraduate career and maybe a year into your postdoc, but you should still remain frugal. If you’re lucky enough, the money you earn during postdoc would be enough to live relatively comfortably on.

Alone. Without him.

It’s fine, you think to yourself as you turn on the shower. It’s totally and completely fine.

-

A couple hours later in class, your phone vibrates with a message that reads, “You actually managed to disconnect your watch from my phone.”

The slight smirk tugging at your lips is inevitable as you type out a response: You told me to try, so I did.

“I will be changing my passcode.”

If you want. There’s nothing else on there that I need to delete, right?

“Oh sweetie, wouldn’t you like to know?”

The subtle, possessive curl of his message coils around you tenderly, making you temporarily forget that you are in class and should be exhibiting a poker face. But you still shift in your seat, a warm pool of heat forming in your core as you imagine his expression and his voice reading the message out loud. Forever a tease and a flirt, Sylus knows exactly what he is doing by sending you that message.

Your best revenge in the moment is to leave him on read, on the edge of his metaphorical seat. It takes too much effort to bring your conscience back to your current lecture and actually take some notes. Your phone buzzes once, but you ignore it – and in hindsight, you’re glad you did. Sylus, in all his infinite wisdom and glory, took it upon himself to send you a picture of himself after a shower – the skin of his chest glistening under the fluorescent lights, grey towel hung low on his waist and barely holding on, veins on his arms frustratingly visible because he knows what they do to you, his biceps flexed just enough that you want to take a bite at them. The fucker full well knew you were in class and, you know, in relatively close proximity to other people who would have, no doubt, gotten an eyeful.

As you walk towards the subway station to go back to your apartment, head down and focused on typing out a message, a giddy smile can’t help but break out across your face. Your thumbs tap, “Should you really be sending photos like this to someone who, in the public’s eye, is just a friendly escort?”

After not even thirty seconds, your phone buzzes, the notification of his call sliding in from the top of your screen. You almost roll your eyes as you bring the device to your ear. “You have five minutes before I lose signal underground,” you warn, your tone still playful nevertheless.

“‘A friendly escort’, you say? I suppose that’s what the young ones are calling intimacy these days.”

“You knew I was in class. And stop it, I know you have some stupid smug look on your face right now,” you chastise.

“You know me so well.”

“Actually, speaking of,” you say as your eyes flit down to your watch. “Aren’t you supposed to be in a meeting right now?”

“I stepped out.”

Your heart and feet skip a beat, almost causing you to fall flat on your face and absolutely eat shit in the middle of the sidewalk. It’s hard not to let your mind race at all the implications, that this tirelessly busy man decided in a heartbeat that he would step out with a desire to call you over something so minor; to do no more than simply tease you. In the grand scheme of his life, you have very little significance – your temporary companionship where you may see him four or five times a month, sometimes with weeks in between and other times mere days. Text messages were never a guaranteed daily activity, though as of recent, he has been texting you more often. But amidst his employees, his connections, his partnerships, his family, you’re just…you.

You didn’t realize you had been stunned into silence long enough for him to ask, “Are you still there?”

“I am, sorry,” you apologize, scrambling to think of an excuse. “Uhh, an email came in and I was reading it. Didn’t hear you.”

“I’ll get you some wireless earbuds.”

“Please don’t.” Your rejection is immediate, firm. The lack of room left for argument stands apparent. “That’s not necessary.”

“And what’s stopping me from just ordering you a pair regardless?”

“Me.”

Sylus responds with a contemplative pause, which is...unusual. He has always been so quick to reply with wit and banter, but there is a chance that maybe something distracted him, like what you had said as a poor attempt at a viable excuse.

“I suppose the kitten is starting to make use of her claws now.” His voice rings softer, quieter, almost as if disheartened by his own statement. “First you disconnect your watch, and now you won’t even let me buy you earbuds.”

“I just don’t want you to buy anything that’s not necessary. Covering my tuition and all the dresses is one thing, but wireless earbuds, I can do without. My wired ones work just fine.”

Your eyes catch the sign for the stairs leading down to the subway up ahead. “I’m about to go under and lose signal. Was there anything else?”

“Come over tonight.”

Your mouth works faster than your brain. “I can’t,” you lie, a pang of guilt creeping into your heart. “There’s a study group tonight for an exam.” Not a lie. “Besides, we just saw each other yesterday.”

“Has that ever stopped us before?”

“W-well, no,” you splutter because it’s true. There have been a handful of times when you spent two, sometimes three consecutive nights in the past – but things were more hot-and-heavy then, a time when you couldn’t get enough of him and vice versa. “I’m just saying.”

“Then come after the study group.”

“It’s gonna run pretty late because we have an exam in a few days.” Again, not a lie. “Who knows if the subways would still be running by then?”

“I’ll pick you up.”

“But you might be asleep.”

“Highly unlikely, little one.”

Quickly looking around you, you quietly hiss, “Sylus, you should be asleep by the time the subways stop running. Why would you still be up at 2AM?”

“In case I have to refresh your memory, you do remember that I am the CEO of one of the largest tech companies in Linkon, right? The work never ends.”

“You need time for sleep, you know, like everyone else??”

“I’m not like everyone else.”

Your eyes close in frustration as you groan. Your feet have reached the top of the stairs, and you couldn’t have asked for more perfect timing. “Okay, I’m at the station so I’m gonna hang up. I’ll come over another time, alright? Talk to you later.”

“Sweetie–”

Moving forward to race down the stairs and smashing the hang up button is your way of desperately trying to not lose resolve. Any longer, you would have given in and rolled yourself straight back to square one with nothing but dread. You have never been more relieved to see the little “No Signal” sitting in the top left corner while you swipe through a gate and manage to get down another flight of stairs without tripping over your feet.

Wired earbuds in, hands stuffed into the pocket of your hoodie, letting the wind tunnel threaten you to topple over, you do everything in your ability to not think about him – to not think about the messages that may flood your phone once you get signal, to not think about the pushback you may receive because Sylus is someone who figures out to, somehow, always get his way, and to not think about the weight of his earlier words: “I stepped out.” You pretend that you know nothing about this arranged marriage, the curiosity having caused your thumbs to twitch in anticipation at maybe looking up who this woman is. You ignore the now glaringly close deadline that will terminate your relationship with Sylus forever, and most of all, you ignore any semblance of pain that knowledge makes you feel.

Cup half-empty, spoons tossed the window, the subway window across from you is greeted with a blank stare. In a rare moment of mindfulness (or is it dissociation?), you think of nothing until you find yourself standing by the foot of your bed and ready to face plant into the middle of the duvet. With your last shred of working consciousness, you set an alarm for thirty minutes before the start of the study group and promptly fall asleep.

-

As you predicted, the study group runs late into the night. Despite the several digressions into conversations that were very much not academics-related, all of you feel relatively good about the subject matter for the exam on Friday. Everyone comes to a unanimous decision to reconvene in a couple of days. Given that it was Monday, one more study session Wednesday and some independent review Thursday night would be beneficial.

For your own sanity, you had left your phone, stashed in the recesses of your backpack, tossed into the corner of the study room, on do-not-disturb for the entirety of the night. You had it programmed to still chime and alert you if family contacted you, mainly because it doesn’t happen often, and if it does, that means something big happened. The device remained silent for the whole time, and part of you wants to avoid confronting what your notification screen might look like. But before you can muster up the courage to do so, one of your friends speaks up.

“Hey, you took the subway here, right? I can drive you home,” Jiho, a doctoral student in the same year as you but doing research under a different professor, offers. A part of you is beyond relieved at the perfect example of an excuse to not check your phone because it would be so incredibly rude (not really) in a social context.

“You wouldn’t mind? If you have somewhere to be, I can just walk.”

Jiho rolls his eyes in a playful manner. “Come on, before I change my mind.”

He drops you off in front of your apartment complex about ten minutes later, and he shoos away your offer to buy him coffee as a token of gratitude. You wave goodbye as his car pulls out of a guest parking spot, and only then do you notice the conspicuously sleek, grey sports car sitting a few meters away. Your heart pounds, and your palms begin to sweat as you get closer and closer to your unit, afraid of who you might find once you get inside. You spot the fluorescent glow from underneath peering out from underneath your door, and it takes everything in you to not drop your keys as you unlock the deadbolt.

“So the kitten has finally decided to come home.”

“How–”

Sylus, looking severely out of place in your humble abode, sets down the stack of papers in his hand on your coffee table. With his other hand, he points to the fixture on your wall by the door where your keys typically hang. His own set now occupies one of the hooks, and you spot the spare key you had given him a few months ago. To your knowledge, he has never used it before, and you can count the number of times he has stepped into this apartment on one hand.

You quietly shut the door behind you, locking both deadbolts in place before setting your backpack down. “It’s so late,” and even you wince at the shakiness in your voice. “You should be asleep. At home.”

“Perhaps I would be if someone had just checked their phone once in the last fifteen hours.”

Well, you don’t have much of an excuse for that.

Sylus sits on one end of your couch in loungewear, though somehow, he still makes it seem like he’s in something formal enough for business casual. You cautiously sit on the other end away from him.

“I passed out as soon as I got home, and then I was running late for the study group, so I just left my phone on do-not-disturb.”

His silence speaks volumes.

“I didn’t mean to worry you.”

But maybe you did.

Maybe, subconsciously, you did. Maybe you wanted to test the limits of his affection. Maybe you wanted to see just how far he would go to make sure you were okay.

Maybe you simply wanted to get a taste of when you least expect radio silence, an appetizer for how things may turn out when Sylus calls for the end of your arrangement.

“Look at me.”

Tension weighs you down as you slowly turn your body towards him, but you avoid his gaze and aim to study the logo on his shirt instead.

“Sweetie, look at me.”

The command snaps you into compliance, his tone firm and undeniable. You expect to see anger, frustration, disappointment. After all, it would make sense, for there is a set of expectations and rules put into place to ensure trust between both parties. Transactional, contractual, institutional obligations and conditions set by both the company matchmaker and individuals are put in place to conveniently manifest and quickly disintegrate these business relations, to avoid messes.

But you realize all too quickly that the mess will be inevitable, in your case, because instead of tinges of red fury in his eyes, you find concern, worry, and confusion. Dread sinks into your stomach like an anchor in the middle of the ocean, dropping further and further into the dark unknown.

“You’re hiding something from me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you immediately counter. Good job, you just made it more obvious.

Sylus pins you down with a look that means nothing other than “you know better”, and your heart threatens to burst from your chest out of sheer anxiety.

“Since you refuse to tell me otherwise, tell me how you got home,” he says, and though he may seem cool and nonchalant in the way he rests an arm against the back of the couch, you can see the irritation pulsing through the veins on his forearms.

“A friend from the study group drove me home.”

“And you were simply too busy to look at your phone during the drive?”

“I had to give him directions.”

Sylus cocks an eyebrow at the mention of this friend’s gender. “Him?”

“Jiho, sweet guy. Does research with another professor.”

“I suppose I have him to thank for bringing you home safely. Regardless, you should have called me to pick you up.”

You have one last card to play. “That’s not in the contract.”

His eyes harden and narrow the slightest bit, the curve of his jaw growing tense in building irritation. “How so?”

“There’s a line somewhere in there about making sure I would not contact you for personal favors that are outside the scope of our,” you hesitate to find the right words, “relationship.”  You can’t remember the last time your palms sweat so much.

“I offered.”

“And I am not obligated to take the offer. While kind, I did not see the need to bother you.”

“I clearly remember stating that it wouldn’t be an issue, especially considering I asked you to stay with me for the night.”

“But I told you I couldn’t,” you retort.

“Couldn’t or wouldn’t?”

The bitter note in his voice on his last word matches his steely gaze that is undoubtedly determined to pick you apart, to peel off each layer of whatever walls you may have put up. He’s not ignorant or oblivious by any means – something is going on, and you’re not telling him. You answer him with deafening silence, blaming your late-night fatigue for it.

Responding directly to his question would only make this worse, as you cannot see yourself getting out of the ensuing conversation unscathed and alive. Instead, the couch dips as you cross the distance between you two, hesitantly straddling his hips in case he doesn’t want you to. But he allows your move, his hands almost instinctively resting on your thighs as you settle yourself into his hold. His skin feels glassy smooth beneath your fingers as you caress his cheek, studying every detail of his face and avoiding his eyes.

Perhaps there is a part of you that is trying to commit the minutiae to memory in preparation for the days when you will no longer see him so intimately. You should have never let yourself get so attached, no matter how much tenderness and adoration Sylus has been lavishing you with. The realization hits you in a bittersweet manner, and the featherlight kiss you place on his lips only makes it hurt more.

Yet you move past the pain to accept the fall, the descent into oblivion as you feel Sylus respond to your kiss, deepening and increasing in fervor. The heat in your core is more than just lust as it sinks deeper and deeper into you, a testament to the depth of your affections. Somehow, his touch as his hands roam your figure burns hotter. It almost makes you want to shy away from his grasp, but part of you welcomes the trails of fire as your punishment for deceiving him.

You gasp out his name as his lips leave your neck scorching, each nip of his teeth and lave of his tongue adding to the haze slowly overtaking your rationale. But beneath the man’s ardor, you manage to recognize his irritation and annoyance – the way his fingers grip your waist, his nails digging into your back – about how this whole night has progressed.

Apologize, his eyes seem to scream. Seek forgiveness as I seek vengeance, his hands draw on your skin.

Beg for me.

“You test my patience in a way that others have never done before,” he says in a dangerous tone as you gasp at the chords of delicious pain running down your back.

“I’m– ah – sorry,” you gasp as his arousal grinds purposefully against yours.

The answering swat against your ass stings, and you attempt to ignore the rush of slick dampening your panties even further –  a reaction that Sylus does not fail to miss. Instinct calls and beckons when your eyes slip shut the moment a hand rakes up to get a firm grip of your hair, pulled towards him so he can kiss you fervently again.

So lost in a hazy reverie, you barely register when he lifts you by your thighs and makes his way to your bedroom. Or at least, you think he’s going there, given that he’s only been in your bedroom once before. But Sylus makes strides with the confidence of someone who has visited here countless times, and the aura he exudes both thrills and frightens you.

In mere seconds, he strips you down and regards you with an appreciative gaze. The glint and apparent desire in his eyes never fails to flatter you – to be wanted is addicting, especially when wanted by a man as powerful as Sylus. You should be alarmed by how natural it feels to be in this current state of undress and debauchery.

“Open your mouth,” he commands, and you obey without a second thought. “Good girl.

“As much as I cannot bother to care about disturbing your neighbors, I know you do,” he concedes, but not without balling up your panties and stuffing them past your parted lips. “All of this could have been avoided if you had just let me pick you up.”

The argumentative whine that slips off your tongue is resolutely muffled, serving no purpose except to further Sylus’s sadism. His approving smirk immediately quells your anger, and you can only watch with half-lidded eyes as he removes his clothes at a painstakingly slow place. Normally, you are the one to grant him a show at his command, but tonight, you deserved a taste of your own medicine. Your wrists become bound by his belt as he finds his second home between your legs. Tears prick the corners of your eyes when he purposefully lets his shaft drop on your clit.

“Always so wet and ready for me, kitten,” he praises, his tone low, teasing, but appreciative.

His smirk widens as he moves to hold his cock and tap it menacingly against the puffy bundle of nerves, taking in each twitch of your body, each dampened mewl, each falling tear. With each tap, the string of slick between your cunt and his length becomes more and more prominent, spreading across his skin. “Tell me, sweetie, who this belongs to,” Sylus compels with a drawl, jutting his chin towards your carnal source of torture before meeting your eyes. He knows very well that the word you're trying to say is “you”, but he takes great pleasure in knowing that there is no way the sounds will come through the soaked cotton in your mouth. “Hmm? What was that?” The frustration of not being able to clearly convey the right answers only adds to your arousal, turning the heat in your core into molten lava. At his clarifying question, you, undoubtedly, feel a pool of precum drip from your pussy, and when you see his eyes flit down to his cock in hand, you know he's fully aware of it too. They hone in on how easily the tip slips into your beckoning entrance, attempting to entice and draw him in for both your pleasures.

You keen as Sylus slides two fingers into your entrance without warning – they’re a far cry from his cock, but thick and long in their own desirable way. The tips of his fingers easily find the spot that makes you squirm, moan, mewl, and you’d have to be blind to miss the wicked expression splitting across his face. Despite the teasing attitude from earlier, he wastes no time trying to bring you to your peak. Your muffled cries only spur him on, even more so when he’s able to fit a third finger inside you. “Maybe I should let your neighbors hear us. I imagine it would get the message across that you’re not exactly…available.”

Embarrassing, what you would give in this very moment to be nothing more than his. Your hips follow the drag of his fingers, unwilling to let yourself feel anything less than filled. But before he lets you come, he stops.

Why?

“Greedy little thing.” His tone is mocking, yet highly amused, as he removes his fingers – and as much as he would like to play with you to his heart’s content, to break you down and tear you apart, his veins thrum with impatience and apprehension. Sylus seeks to punish you in a different, more overwhelming fashion, that would require you to beg him to stop rather than to start. It takes everything in him to not force you down his entire length. Instead, he devises to lull you into a false sense of security with the way that he takes his time sliding into you, no matter how much your pretty cunt desperately tries to suck him in. Sylus is sure you would be able to see the restraint painted across his face if you didn’t have your head thrown back and back arched from being stretched open. The sight of your bare stomach and chest makes it all the much harder to reign in his desires.

“Fuck,” he hisses. His cock continues to bully its way through your pussy, slowly and languidly, until it’s fully trapped inside you. When your thighs meet his v-line and your clit brushes against his skin, you whine and buck against him for desperately needed friction. But Sylus quickly traps you and pins you down from your thighs, restricting your movements with a devilish grin. “You never answered my question,” he reminds you, a clear taunt. In the blink of an eye, he leans back to land a firm yet stinging slap on your puffy clit and revels in your muffled cry. “Who does this belong to?”

Your dry sobs only intensify as you fight to respond with a clear answer, but it’s impossible. The way you grind your hips against him, seeking any sensation that could help quench this insatiable thirst in your core, should say enough. Sure, you could simply point at him, even with your wrists tied together, but you’ve been with him long enough to know that he wants the words of possession to roll off your tongue at times like these. And if you tried taking the cloth from your mouth…needless to say, you would be lucky to survive the night.

He chuckles when he feels the walls of your pussy tighten around his cock, a different tone that deviates from the vicious shake of your head to signal that despite your complaints, you would much rather be gagged like this. “Cum for me,” Sylus demands in a low voice. “Cum for me, cum from me just being inside you, and I will give you what you’ve been begging for this whole time.

“Even better yet, make a mess.”

The coil in your core tightens more and more and more until it suddenly snaps, your body trembling with the force of your orgasm and your throat hoarse from your silenced screams. “Good girl,” he praises when he pulls out, hungry eyes roaming every inch of you, as he rapidly swipes his fingers against your clit and relishes in his ability to make you squirt, fluids flying and landing messily in the near vicinity. You don’t know how long it takes for you to get over the high, oversensitivity from his fingers as they continue to stimulate you. Barely coming down from your climax, Sylus stuffs three fingers inside you and continues to fuck you, purposefully and forcefully rocking against your g-spot.

“Please,” you beg and cry as you twitch and flinch, trying to remove yourself from the source of this unbearable amount of pleasure. But your articulation is, once again, victim to your cotton gag, leaving you to audibly dry sob and squeal in overstimulation. The satisfaction on your sponsor’s complexion should sound the alarms in your brain, but it only thrills you to pieces as clarity fades more and more from your conscience.

In a haze, you manage to pull your belt-bound wrists forward from above your head and tap his shoulder three times. Only then does he stop in his tracks, carefully removing his fingers from your core. Sylus exhibits the same attention when he holds your chin with one hand and takes the soaked cotton of your panties out of your mouth. Before you can even take two breaths, greedily gasping for air, Sylus kisses you softly, slowly. Unable to do much with your head still in a fog, you reciprocate as much as you can – to silently thank him for his punishment, as well as his mercy. He pulls back, cueing you to open your eyes and take him in, just as he assesses you in his own way. His eyes search and roam your face and figure before meeting your gaze once more.

How endearing, you believe they seem to say. He cocks an eyebrow, his way of asking are you okay? You take a few deep breaths before nodding. But before you can try and decipher more of what he may be feeling through his eyes, he bends forward, breathing into your ear, “On your stomach.”

Large, strong hands manhandle you until your head is almost buried into the sheets, hiding your disheveled state, your hands grasping at the expensive linen, and his weight planted firmly on top of you. A pillow is stuffed beneath your abdomen before he spreads your ass, eager to study the ruin he has caused on your poor, little pussy. Sylus readjusts himself so that his dick nestles comfortably between your ass cheeks. Even in your daze, the heat of his arousal almost seems to burn your flesh, and you desperately wish it was inside you. 

A self-proclaimed mind reader, Sylus drives you to the edge, groaning quietly when your cunt attempts to lure him in when he coquettes you with the tip. Every slide, every push, every instance of friction makes you fall deeper into this pool of anguish and lechery. Before you even realize it, visceral pleas for him to fuck you are spilling from your tongue, very much so to his delight. “I know you can beg better than that,” he taunts. “And to think I had trained you so well.” His voice reeks in mock despair and disappointment.

Though you know he’s not completely serious, his words are enough to send your sin-addled brain into a state of panic – so panicked and shaken to the point that you don't even register the next words falling off your tongue. Something about the practiced but genuine phrases of separation, wanting to be used, wanting to be ruined – were you pressing back into him, hoping, praying that you could draw him into you?

In response, you soak in the hisses of expletives in your ear, the comforting, mind-numbing sensation of being filled again, and the weight of his frame atop yours. He holds himself up on his elbows, and each thrust threatens to split you in two. “Mine,” his voice slips through your conscience, hanging onto the way the sound drags out, “are you not?”

Always, you nearly answer on primal instinct when he buries himself as deep as he can inside you, his cock almost feeling like it’s in the back of your throat. The inexplicable amount of pleasure stops you from giving him what he wants, which pushes him to press himself even harder against you. “I’m beginning to lose my patience, kitten,” Sylus warns, as if he’s not the very reason for your delayed responses. His fingers sneak underneath you to grab you around the neck, forcing your head up. Your pants are greedy, desperately seeking air as his hand tightens just a bit more, the haziness in your mind thickening.

“Yours,” you gasp. “Always,” slips off your tongue before you can stop yourself.

The silence that hangs still is enough to make you question whether or not you fucked this whole thing up. Dread begins to drip into your system as his grip around your neck loosens, even more so when his hand slips away entirely and he begins sliding out of you. “Wa–”

In the blink of an eye, his hand pushes your head back into the sheets, his fingers curling around your strands at the scalp. Sylus’s cock fucks you into the mattress, his pace almost frantic, yet punishing. The realization that you’re going to be incredibly sore in the morning is an accepted assumption at this point, leaving you with little warning of your release approaching the precipice. Silenced cries, Sylus fervidly ensuring that your pussy is forever molded to the shape of his length, your sanity slipping – his impassioned murmurs of how tight you are, how easily he can pound you into oblivion, how your pussy makes it so easy for him to sink into the very depths of your core – all drive you to your peak. His last sign that you’re going to come is the dissipation of your whimpers.

Sylus wraps his hand around your neck once more, turning it so that he can capture your lips in a bruising kiss. He swallows your screams as you topple over the edge, your climax so intense that your whole body trembles for what feels like eternity in his hold. Your pussy compels him to remain buried deep inside you, and he’s more than happy to comply. But it doesn’t stop him from grinding against you, driving you into overstimulation.

“So good,” he groans against your lips in between kisses. “So fucking good, taking my cock so well, I’m gonna–”

“Y-your cum, please,” you urge. “Please give me your cum!” Your voice dissolves into sobs.

“Fuck!” Sylus spits out. The hand that was on your neck now covers your mouth as he spills inside you with a deep moan, his teeth buried into your shoulder to muffle his own voice. You relish in the sharp pain, as if he’s trying to engrave his mark into your skin, and can’t help but keen as his cum fills you up. Each pulse and twitch of his cock sends a shiver down your spine and almost tempts you into begging for more.

Catching his breath, he refuses to leave your warmth. His tongue softly licks the area where his teeth had embedded themselves into your shoulder, and follows them with reverent kisses. You remain quiet, only letting your breath hitch when Sylus slips out of you. He gently presses your back into a deeper arch so that you can present yourself to him, and he watches with apparent satisfaction as his cum leaks from your pussy. A hand on your ass, his thumb reaches over for your entrance to push and give him a better view of his undeniable claim on you.

As infuriating as he can be, you observe with bleary eyes as he leaves to grab a damp towel from your bathroom before returning and carefully wiping his cum away. After doing so, he tosses it to the floor and picks you up bridal-style, carrying you the short distance to your bathroom. He starts the shower and hums some nonsensical tune with a faint voice as you wait for the water to warm up. When he deems it hot enough, Sylus offers you a hand and helps you into the shower. Compared to his apartment, your shower stall is barely enough to fit the both of you. But he makes it work, taking the utmost care in cleaning you up, his touch so cautious yet heavy with care.

You barely remember making it out of the shower, much less when he dries you off and brings you to bed. There’s a faint memory of his warmth wrapping around your frame when you awaken later that morning, a delicious ache stretched through your muscles. Yet the side where he laid is cold.

It, along with the unread text from your bank notifying you of a, no doubt, sizeable deposit, is to be expected, you remind yourself. The sticky note by your phone that reads, “Early meeting, sweetie. -S” is the only truly physical (and unexpected) sign that he had been here in the first place. He never owes you an explanation, and you never expect to get one.

Just another day, another transaction.

-

Friday rolls around, and when the sun has set beneath the horizon, you find yourself perched in Sylus’s home on the kitchen island, a speckless slab of black quartz that you just know you’re leaving fingerprints on, as he throws together a salad. Something is in the air fryer, and he has a bottle of sparkling cider waiting to be opened. Sylus had stopped you with a look of “don’t you dare” when you tried helping out with something – anything – so the only thing you could do was sit and try to look pretty.

“Pick a salad dressing,” he commands when you grow silent. You eye the three jars that have been placed in front of you.

“I’m fine with any of them.”

“Not an answer.”

“I’m serious though!”

“Pick one.”

You groan as you look at the jars and point at the middle one. “Happy now?” you ask passive aggressively, sending him an exasperated glare.

Sylus, swift and silent, swoops in and steals a kiss from an unexpected you. Saying nothing, he pours some out into the salad bowl and mixes it all together with adept flicks of his wrist – no utensils needed. With a pair of tongs, he drops some greens onto your plate before taking the rest and tending to whatever is cooking in the oven.

It’s not the first time you’ve been here, and it’s not the first time he’s cooked for you. But it is the first time since accepting that you may feel something more than obligation and friendly affection for this man. This whole experience feels wildly domestic, as if you belonged…here.

On this counter.

Accepting impromptu kisses.

Waiting on food cooked by him.

Knowing you’re staying over for the night.

As if you were meant to be a part of his life.

The thought terrifies you, without a doubt, but you like it. Settling down with Sylus, forever attached at his hip at events, is a dangerous fantasy.

Lost in your thoughts, the what if?s, the possibilities, your daydream breaks when he pulls the curtain closed in front of the balcony door, completely blocking a wonderful (and surely, very expensive) view of Linkon. It takes you a few seconds to realize that you had been looking past the windowpane when frolicking around in your imagination, and you’re reminded of the night before you disconnected your smart watch from his phone. “Sorry, did you say something?”

“Penny for your thoughts?”

You feel the heat rushing into your cheeks, knowing they would be warm to the touch. Turning away from the now-concealed nighttime skyline, you direct your attention to the fridge meters away from you. “Just thinking about my test.”

“It’s too late now, if you realize you got something wrong. We’re here to celebrate it being over.”

“I know.” You sigh. “Thank you for doing this, by the way. I was getting a little tired of eating out.”

“I was as well. Too many business lunches and dinners the last couple of weeks.”

“How did those go?” you ask just to keep the conversation going.

“They went fine,” Sylus says without any further detail. “Come, let’s eat.” Before you can come down from the counter yourself, he already has an arm wound around your waist and is semi-carrying you to the dinner table. The distance between the table and the kitchen was maybe fifteen steps at best, closer to seven given Sylus’s long strides. It would’ve been a short walk regardless, and you’re flustered with the unexpected royal treatment.

Unceremoniously (but still carefully), he sits you down into a chair and pushes it in before going to his seat. Sylus places himself next to you at this round, mahogany table that seems a little too big for a man who lives alone. Largely used for serving several different dishes, it just looks a little out of place compared to the rest of his penthouse, all sleek and sharp. But you’ve learned to stop questioning things you’re curious about when it comes to his personal life, because clearly, he’s not very open to sharing those details.

Dinner isn’t anything special, as Sylus lets you prattle on about your research and other office gossip. He never divulges any of the gossip in his own workplace, but you understand it’s for confidentiality reasons. And he may just not care that much. At this point, Sylus knows a little too much about you while you know very little about him outside of his preferences and inclinations for food, media, and general daily habits.

Understanding the reality of that stun locks you for a few seconds – the duality of the word intimacy, the realization that you don’t even know Sylus’s favorite color. You could guess, sure, but you don’t definitively know. Why is it that you know the exact amount of shaved truffle on his pasta at that fancy restaurant by the river, but not his birthday? How do you explain your ability to pick up on details of his facial expressions at events and banquets, therefore knowing when to intervene so he can get a break from these people, but not the makeup of his family?

“You’ve been staring off into space quite a bit lately,” Sylus muses, ripping you away from the beginnings of your mental breakdown.

“Sorry, I just thought of something about my exam again.”

“What a terrible host I’ve been then, to allow your mind to wander so often. How can I keep your focus on me?”

You hum, looking around his apartment and then at the table. “Let me wash the dishes.”

“I own a dishwasher for a reason.”

“Please? It’s the least I could do since you made dinner – which was wonderful, by the way. You ever consider becoming a chef?” you ask with a slight chuckle, taking the opportunity to grab his dishware and utensils and carry them to the sink. Stainless steel shines brightly at you, whether from a recent deep clean or lack of usage, as you start to run the tap for warm water.

Large, familiar hands find their home on your waist, the heat burning through your sweater. They pull you against his frame, and you allow yourself to lean back a little bit as you start scrubbing the porcelain. Arms wind around your middle and hold you tight, his senses becoming muddled as he loses himself in your scent and touch. He gently paints the column of your neck with soft, faint kisses – so soft that if you hadn’t been so tuned into him, you would’ve missed them.

“You’re taking too long,” Sylus murmurs against your skin.

“What, never had to wait a tiny bit for a treat you want?” you tease, and chuckle when his teeth bite into your shoulder.

“Brat.”

“I’m almost done, I promise.” 

It’s so hard to not like–

Your brain freezes – but somehow still commands you to scrub the plate in your hand. Moving on pure muscle memory now, you have maybe five seconds to figure out your own thought process.

This is a contract, you remind yourself. This is a mutual relationship to satisfy both parties’ needs without getting personal feelings involved. Sylus made that very clear in the beginning. But the less logical part of your conscience creeps in like a phantom on your shoulder. So how does that explain Sylus’s actions recently? How does that explain this very moment of what would appear to anyone as a sweet, pure, domestic interaction?

He’s just comfortable, you rationalize.

Why does he insist on you staying the night?

Because that’s what this contract entails.

Why does he keep asking you to move closer?

It’d be more of a problem if he was asking me to move in with him.

Would it be though?

Of course??

You sure about that?

This is NOT the time for--!

A small pinch on your waist brings you back to reality, your synapses firing on overdrive to try to get you back to a functional level. You cannot hold back your “ow!”, which seems to be just enough of a reaction to satisfy this man.

“What was that for?!”

“Something is clearly on your mind,” he says in a low tone, the tone that indicates he’s starting to become agitated.

“No there’s not,” you retort and fail to hide the sheepishness in your own voice.

“You’re doing a terrible job at convincing me to accept that. What are you not telling me?”

“It’s–,” you pause, scrambling for words. “--trivial, at best.”

Sylus’s arm extends in front of you to forcibly remove the plate from one hand and the sponge from the other. You relent to reduce the risk of breaking anything, but somehow, it’s still not enough. He grabs a tea towel hanging on the oven door behind him, spins you around so that your back is now digging into the edge of the sink, and proceeds to furiously dry your hands. You can’t help but wince when he tries to rub off some dried soap residue, but there is no time to dwell on it.

Not when Sylus slings the towel on to his shoulder and bends at the waist to meet your eyes. Not when he cages you between his arms as his hands bear his weight on either side of you. Not when he pins you with an expectant glare, demanding your full honesty.

“It’s really nothing.” Your tone is firmer now, but he doesn’t fall for it.

“Is it something personal?”

“...yes.”

“Does it have anything to do with your family?”

“No.”

“Is it something that I’m able to fix?

Technically, yes. But you’re not stupid.

“No.” Your voice softens, lowering to a murmur at best.

“Tsk,” Sylus clicks his tongue. “Why do I find that hard to believe?”

“Because you have a large enough influence to make you think that you can fix anything you want.”

“Precisely,” he responds pointedly and, perhaps, a little too proudly. “So tell me. Tell me what’s bothering you, and I’ll have it resolved within 48 hours.”

You didn’t realize that you had stopped looking him in the eye. And when you do, your breath hitches. So determined, so resolute.

And yet, so heartbreaking.

You can’t help but let your fingers ghost over his cheek, tracing the edge of his jawline. He stands firm even when you step forward and press a light kiss against his cheek. As if on instinct, he turns and immediately parts his lips to slide against yours, but you pull back before he has the chance to deepen it, and with it, your affection.

“You have enough to worry about as it is,” you murmur. “I’m fine, really.”

Sylus’s eyes turn disapproving, doubtful. But he knows when to back off when needed.

“Don’t forget that I can help you, should you need it,” he gently reminds you. “Do you understand?”

“I do, don’t worry.”

He sighs. “Very well then. Now come, we’re here to celebrate the end of your exam, after all.”

You take his outstretched hand, but you fail to leave behind your troubled heart.

-

Two nights later, at four in the morning, you stare blankly at your phone screen.

[Are you sure you want to request to terminate this contract?]

The only contact you've had with Sylus the last two days is sporadic texts about little things, like how your day was going or if you'd heard about the results of your exam yet. You do your best in suppressing the quiet loneliness that pushes your heart to your throat and a dagger into your stomach, the undeniable sensation of realizing that you miss Sylus.

Missing him as if he were your actual partner and not just one for show with dollar signs behind the scenes.

Worrying enough to wonder if he's getting enough sleep and eating enough food outside of whatever work dinners or lunches he may be obligated to attend. Just yesterday, you had ordered delivery to his office with your own money, and he had texted you a simple Thank you, little one. To which you responded with a casual, You're welcome 👍.

Smooth.

You're not sure how long your eyes linger over the [Yes] button, the midnight minutes blinking by as you contemplate your next move. Is this the right call? Should you wait until Sylus comes around and tells you on his own about the arranged marriage? Should you just wait until he makes the request instead?

No. You want a clean break. You want to call this off on your terms, essentially saving yourself from the path of destruction that you would undoubtedly set off on. One tap and a press of the lock button immediately after, you burrow yourself into your blankets and will yourself to sleep.

With light sleep at best, you watch with bleary eyes as the sun begins to rise, casting your room into a hue of its golden hour, signifying contentment and new beginnings. But it only elicits dread as you wait for the inevitable end.

-

The shriek of your phone rips you from your mindless daydreaming, and you know who it is before you can even get a good look at the screen.

“Hel–”

“What is the meaning of this?” His voice rings dark, irate, with what you think is the slightest hint of panic laced beneath each syllable.

“Sylus,” you start, but he interrupts you again.

“If I did something to upset you, then you need to let me know. Otherwise, I am at a complete loss for your sudden request to terminate our agreement.”

“You did nothing wrong.” Your attempt to subdue his worries may be futile, but you at least have to try.

“And I’m sure you can see why I don’t believe you for even a second.”

“I mean it though,” you refute. “Look, I’ll explain more when we meet with the company rep.”

“My patience is running thin. Tell me now.”

“Please, please just wait until we meet this evening,” you beseech, on the brink of breaking down while walking back to your apartment from class.

“It was simply a mistake, right?”

“Sylus, please–”

“Fine. Don’t be late.” The beep that follows indicates he has hung up on you. You suppose you got what you wanted, but it feels a hundred times worse.

There will never be enough time in the world for you to be prepared for this moment, standing in the ascending elevator of a discrete yet well-kept high-rise building while clutching a manilla envelope in your hand. The last time you were here was to outline the conditions of the situation with a representative there to help mitigate and ensure that both parties would be satisfied. You suppose they’ll be doing the same thing today, except it would be to ensure a clean split.

As the secretary walks you to the designated conference room, your legs tremble, even more so when she casually adds that Sylus was already here, waiting. She stops and knocks on the door in front of her, announcing your arrival. A sound of approval from inside cues her to open the door and let you in, and you nervously step inside after thanking her. Not that you didn’t believe her earlier, but actually seeing Sylus in the flesh somehow adds to the gravity of the situation.

“We have both parties here now, so let us begin,” the representative says after greeting you with a handshake. Calling out your name and gesturing to you, he states,” You are the one that called to terminate this contractual agreement, is that correct?”

“Yes,” you confirm in a shaky voice and clear your throat. A copy of the contract sits in front of you, and you keep your eyes trained on the letters that are starting to blur and swirl together. If it means that you don’t have to look at Sylus, you’ll take it.

“Is the reason for the termination due to any violations of the terms and conditions set at the initial meeting?”

“No.”

Despite keeping your head down, you see and hear Sylus shift in his chair. A sudden chill wraps around you, and you slightly shiver.

“Mr. Qin, to your knowledge, did she violate any part of the contract?”

“No.”

“Now let us discuss financial compensation.” Looking towards you again, he asks, “Have you been financially compensated for your services?”

“More than adequately.”

“Per the contract, are there any services you have not been paid for?”

You shake your head. “Sylus does not owe me anything.”

“Then as per company policy, once one party calls for the termination of the contract, the request must be honored to protect the safety of both parties. Any services that were not compensated for would have to be done here in this meeting, but that is not a concern in this case. Please give me a few minutes to draw up the agreement to terminate so that you both can sign it.” The representative gets up and leaves the conference room.

Sylus steals the opportunity to ask the one question that has been on repeat in his mind since he received the notification.

“Why?”

You like to think you’ve gotten to know Sylus relatively well over the last year. Given your lack of explanation over the phone earlier, you know your words alone would never be enough to placate him. With shaky hands, you retrieve the envelope from your lap and slide it across the table, even daring to finally look up at him now. His crimson eyes nearly break you, but you’re grasping onto every last straw to keep yourself sane.

Inside the envelope contained a couple of pictures found online of Sylus’s arranged fiancée, as well as several news articles discussing how her company may be heading towards a merger, but it was unclear on exactly when it would happen and who it would be with. It hadn’t taken long for you to realize that you’ve seen her several times in passing at various events and fundraisers, and that she and the man sitting across you seemed to avoid each other in public as inconspicuously as possible. You warily watch as he pulls the contents out and freezes, his gaze snapping back to you.

“How did you…?” he inquires.

“It doesn’t matter how I found out,” you respond softly before switching to a more matter-of-fact tone. “We knew this would come to an end at some point. Considering your arrangement isn’t known to the public yet, it was fine to be seen with me. But when this news breaks out, and if you’re still associated with me, it wouldn’t look good for either of you. You don’t need the reputation as a two-timing womanizer, and she doesn’t need to be publicly perceived as some poor woman who couldn’t keep a hold on you, therefore undermining her achievements.”

“You should have talked to me before going straight to nullifying our contract,” he fires back.

“That would’ve made it harder.”

Sylus leans back in his seat, now regarding you with piqued curiosity. “Made what harder?”

“Maybe that’s not the right expression.” Your palms are starting to get sweaty again, even as they curl and clench tighter than ever, your fingers digging into your palms. There's nothing you can do that would eradicate the shakiness in your voice. “I just meant that talking before now would've made everything complicated.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Oh? Do elaborate.”

 “Well, I thought,” you stammer. “I mean– it’s just talking would’ve, would’ve– let some—” You pause again, desperately trying to find the right words. “Would’ve let some things be said that would’ve, you know, been better to be left unsaid. About us. Between us. Does that make sense?” Your hands have been drawing inane shapes in the air as if they would help aid in Sylus’s (and your) understanding.

“Better unsaid by you or me?”

After a few seconds, you answer hesitantly, “Both, maybe?”

For the first time in months, there are no emotions in his eyes. You have always been able to pick out at least something he may be feeling – affection, frustration, fatigue, lust – but to be on the receiving end of his blank stare like it’s the first day all over again, is unnerving. Agonizing, too.

When he finally opens his mouth, his tone dripping with disdain and mockery, he derides, “Who knew the little kitten thought so highly of herself?”

His words immediately trigger an alarming amount of shame and embarrassment. Have you been reading too much into his actions? Was it all in your head? Did it all occur out of some desperation for something genuine from him?

Oh God.

It’s at this moment that the representative comes back with the papers in hand, and part of you is ready to believe that there may actually be a higher power in the universe. “Thank you for your patience. Once you both have signed the termination agreement, I will make copies for both of you.” He seems completely unaware of the tension that has solidified between you and the CEO, even as you take the pen from the representative with a slight tremor. You quickly scan over the contents because you’re having an increasingly difficult time finding the brain cells to scrutinize each sentence and sign on the indicated lines. After you all but shove the papers across the table, you push your seat back and grab your purse.

“Oh, miss,” he starts, but you interrupt him.

“You can just email me a copy of these. Excuse me, I have something urgent to get to.”

He stares at you for a few seconds before giving a corporate smile. “Of course. Thank you for coming in. Have a good rest of your night.”

“Thank you. You as well.” Your platitude is rushed, almost harsh sounding. You mentally note that you need to send a card that is both a thank-you and an apology for scurrying off like this when you were the one to initiate it.

The walls feel like they’re closing in on your brain and consciousness, so much so that you suddenly find yourself out in the lobby of the building with no recollection of how you even got down here. A gust of fresh air hits you as you step out the doors, and it’s a little easier to breathe now. But it doesn’t mean that your chest isn’t ready to burst, your ribcage threatening to tear open and leave you passed out on the street. It doesn’t mean that Sylus’s words don’t hurt you any less, and the pain of your own embarrassment only compounds on them.

The uncharacteristic chill on this summer night scrapes against your cheeks and ears. You finally will yourself to walk towards the nearest subway station, all the while blinking back tears that just won’t stop coming. Never mind the other pedestrians who may catch a glimpse of you wiping away any physical manifestation of your grief, the other subway riders who may observe you desperately hiding in a corner of the carriage, or even the other residents in your apartment building who watch you furiously tapping your phone while passing by.

With nothing to stop you, not even your own will, you let the tears flow, streaming down the sides of your face and into your pillow as you trace the ridges of your wall, your phone lying innocently a few inches away. Despite deleting his phone number and officially disconnecting on the website, you can’t bring yourself to discard his message thread. There were too many memories, too many reminders of what you once had and will probably never have again.

Your pillow becomes damp with tears of confusion, shame, and regret. How could you be so stupid,so caught up in your own delusions that Sylus Qin, tech mogul and CEO, one of the most secretive and sought-out individuals of the current decade, with connections you couldn’t even dare to dream of, somehow held a shred of genuine affection for you? How could you have thought that his demands to see you night after night were anything more than just wanting some type of company, the kind that does what he says and strokes his ego? How could you have convinced yourself that you were actually special to him?

How could you have put yourself at so much emotional risk for something that was nothing but transactional to begin with? 

The next morning, with one look at your morose expression and the puffiness of your eyes, the other people in your cohort know better than to ask if you’re okay. During the lecture, Jiho silently hands you a piece of gum, a tiny, reoccurring gesture of camaraderie throughout these years of graduate school, as an attempt at providing some type of normalcy. Your movements are sluggish and lethargic as you fold the strip into your mouth, but it’s the first time in the last 18 hours that you feel like things might…just be okay.

-

Two days later, an email comes from the company telling you it is policy to change your phone number, and they will financially compensate for the cost of a new SIM card since it is an inconvenience to you. Hours later, you find yourself in front of a cellphone technician who is setting up the new SIM card. As they type in a few things on their computer, they hand you a pin to help eject your current one. You’re not looking forward to the hassle of telling everyone that your number has changed and fixing it in everything you have that involves your number, but even you understand that this is the first step to a fresh start. Sylus is probably going through the same process, if he already hasn’t gotten it done.

And as your phone sets everything up with the new number, you stare at your closet, now stuffed to the brim with dresses and skirts that you may never wear again. Nothing you do from now on would ever require such formalities. The knowledge of it stings to some degree when you find a large, empty bin that was used when you had moved in. Without ceremony, you begin the mindless task of removing said clothing items from their hangers and folding them into the container. You don’t want to cry. You don’t expect to cry. But the steady streaks of tears dripping down your face is enough to show how much you grew to cherish your time with Sylus.

Time that you will never be able to return to.

[fin]

.

.

.

.

“How did she know?”

“Sylus, what are you–”

“She knew,” Sylus cuts her off. “How could she have known without you tipping her off?”

“Think about this logically. I want this arrangement gone as much as you do, so why would I tell her? She’s your key to dissolving all this.”

“She was more than that.”  

“Was?”

“Shit,” Sylus curses, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“...she left you?”

“No,” he retorts. “Not willingly.” At least, that’s what he wants to believe. “But I’m not discussing this with you.”

“And I don’t really care to know the details. So…what are we going to do?”

Sylus’s hand tightens around his newly acquired phone as he stands and gazes out the window at the city skyline from his bedroom. He might be starting to understand why you seemed so entranced by the view.

“We’ll figure something out.”

“I really hope so, Sylus.”

-

-

“Hey boss, we’re here for the daily debrief,” Luke and Kieran announce as they slip into his office and all but collapse into the chairs in front of his desk.

“I’m listening,” Sylus says, keeping his eyes trained on his monitor.

“It was the usual. She woke up, skipped breakfast, went to class, stayed in the small office for her professor’s grad students for like, five hours. Uh, what else?”

“Bought a snack from that place in the library that sells coffee and shit,” the other twin adds. “Then she–”

“What snack did she buy?”

“Just some chips, from what we saw.” The twins look at each other and give a slight shrug.

“Did she eat lunch?” Sylus’s tone suggests that he could care less, despite having posed the question.

“She ate something while in the office, but it didn’t look like anything substantial. Oh, but she had a sandwich for dinner. She watched some TV – one of her comfort shows again – and scrolled on her phone while in bed. Did we miss anything?”

“I think that about covers it.”

Luke and Kieran sit in silence, waiting for Sylus’s dismissal. Said man continues to type away on his keyboard.

“Hey boss,” Kieran starts and immediately earns a “shut the fuck up” look from Luke. “We’ve been doing this for a year.”

“Which is fine,” Luke adds right after.  “We’re not complaining.”

“Right, we’re not complaining. But uhh,” Kieran continues. “How long do you expect for this to go on for?”

“As long as it needs to. You’re dismissed.”

Not long after the twins disappear from his view, he runs a hand through his silvery locks, frustration and tension evident in his strained tendons and veins. Sylus locks his computer and grabs the coat off his chair before sauntering down to his car many, many floors below where the parking garage is. But instead of walking towards his sports car, the one that had sat in a visitor spot of your apartment parking lot all those months ago, he makes his way to an unsuspecting black sedan, its brand common and inconspicuous. Without any need for a GPS, Sylus pulls out and drives to your apartment complex.

In the darkness of twilight and beneath the shadows of beechnut trees, he leans against the steering wheel and gazes up at your window, a luminescent yellow shimmering through the curtains. They haven’t been pulled completely shut, but there is nothing to see in the light regardless. The minutes that pass do not feel like time in any way as he sits in a somewhat meditative state, and the only thing that could snap him out of it is when your bedroom lights switch dark. In reality, fifteen minutes pass before he watches your shadow, then your figure, approach the windowpane.

Sylus takes the little time he has to observe you, to see if you appear any different than yesterday. Did you have a full meal? Was your research stressful? Were you making use of the money he had paid you before everything ended? Were you getting enough rest and nutrition?

When he can no longer see you, he falls back in his seat and lets out a heavy sigh, exhaustion weighing heavily on his eyes. Sylus starts his car and throws it in reverse, and he spends his twenty-minute drive home thinking about nothing but you, his cold, empty bed, and how maybe, as much as he wants to deny it on all fronts, you two were not meant to be. Yet he holds onto hope that he can defy that fate eventually, because whether you know it or not…

You will always be his.

[wwilsonbarness]

i can't do this anymore

pairings: bucky barnes x y/n reader  

summary: You overhear Bucky’s conversation with your friends and assume the worst but you couldn’t have been more wrong. 

warnings: ANGSTTT, fluffy ending, mention of marriage, more angst “I’m sorry i can’t help it), miscommunication. 

word count: 3665

a/n: I’m in serious need of miscommunication fics (I'm a sucker for angst) so I’d be grateful for any recommendations!! Enjoy <3 

Feedback, likes and reblogs are much appreciated :) 

I do not give permission for my work to be copied, reposted or translated on any other platform.

masterlist

“Buck? Can you pass my clothes?” You had just stepped out of the shower and realised you left your clothes in your room, but Bucky didn’t answer. “Buck?” He still didn’t answer so you wrapped your towel around you and headed through to see the room empty. You begin to get dressed before you hear Sam’s voice from the living room, he wasn’t supposed to be here for another half hour. Every week Bucky and Sam took it in turns to host dinner for the three of you and Sam’s girlfriend, Olivia. This week was yours and Bucky’s turn to host and you were super excited to serve your new recipe. Hearing the voices made you even more excited, but stressed as you still had some cooking to do before they were supposed to be here. You finish getting dressed and apply a little bit of makeup as quickly as you can. These dinners weren’t formal so it didn’t take long to get ready, they were mostly just so Sam and Bucky had some comfort after their missions, especially recently with them having to deal with John Walker. You take one last look in the mirror before heading through, until you hear something that stops you in your step.

“I mean I can’t say I’m surprised.. one look at you two and it’s obvious,” Sam tried to whisper but failed. “how are you gonna do it?”  Do what? You were confused what they were talking about, part of was tempted to interrupt but your curiosity took over. 

“I don’t know.. It’s just..” Bucky was stuttering which he only did when he was nervous, this really made you worry about what they were talking about. “It’s just she’s different from other girls, you know? And I know we haven’t been together that long but I can’t do it anymore. Do what anymore? “It’s not like I don’t love what we have but I just feel like I need more” More? You couldn’t help but overthink what you were hearing. They were talking about you, you weren't enough for him. I mean sure you’d thought that about yourself so many times but hearing it from the man you truly thought was the love of your life hurt. 

“I know what it’s like when you find the one, it’s the best feeling in the world.” You couldn’t see this but Sam had kissed Olivia’s head after his words. “This is gonna be good for you man, I’m happy for you.” 

You couldn’t bring yourself to hear anymore, the tears were already fighting their way out. You quietly walk back into your bedroom and try and calm down, you just had to get through tonight, just tonight and then you and Bucky could talk. You were at your happiest with Bucky, you thought Bucky was too but.. you didn’t even want to finish that thought. Bucky’s happiness was the most important thing to you, and if that meant he wasn’t with you anymore you would have to find a way to get through that. No matter how hard it would be for you, you just wanted him to be happy.

You took a few minutes to compose yourself,  your eyes were red and a little puffy but not enough for anyone to notice. You hoped anyway. This time when you left your bedroom you made sure to close the door loud enough so they could hear you coming and hopefully change the subject. 

“Hey guys, you’re early.” you said as you walked in, Sam and Olivia both stood up to give you a hug as you came in. 

“Yeah sorry we were just a couple blocks over and it didn’t make sense going all the way back home just to come out again,” Sam replied with a smile. “Buck said it was okay.” 

“Of course it is, you guys are always welcome, you know that!” You were surprisingly good at keeping how you really felt hidden, but with your words you couldn’t help but think you would lose Sam and Olivia as friends when Bucky ended things between you, they were technically Bucky’s friends first but you’d grown to see them as practically family as your relationship grew. You tried to push that thought away, you just had to get through tonight you kept repeating to yourself in your head. 

“You okay doll?” Bucky asks as he wraps his arms around you. You plaster on a smile hoping he wouldn’t sense anything being wrong. 

“Course! Just need to check on the food.” Normally Bucky’s touch helped you in situations like this but with what you heard his touch was only making you feel worse. You manage to untangle yourself from his arms and head to the kitchen. You notice that the ingredients and glasses were still laying out for the drinks you’d planned to make. “Do you guys want any drinks?” 

“Yes please!” Sam and Bucky replied at the same time. 

“I’ll help you.” you heard Olivia say through the wall. It only takes a couple seconds before she’s standing next to you in the kitchen. You and Olivia were like best friends, and she’s the reason you and Bucky were together. You had worked together for a few years, you drifted a little when she left that job but it only took one reunion dinner to get your friendship back to normal. That was 2 years ago, and from that night on she had insisted on setting up you and Bucky. It took a while for the meeting to actually happen but once it did you knew he was the one for you. Was. Not anymore. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Olivia asks quietly, she was aware of Bucky’s super soldier hearing and wanted to talk to you alone. 

You nodded and forced another smile. “Just a busy week, my boss is still being a dick.” 

“Ugh, you deserve so much better than having to work for that guy. He’s a creep.” She said at a normal volume now. “You should send Bucky after him, make him know he can’t treat you like that just cause he’s the boss.” She brings her hands up to put air quotes around ‘boss’, as he’s only technically the boss for the month while your real boss was on vacation. 

“I’ll manage.” You tried to play it off, you wouldn’t have Bucky there to help you soon, and you needed to stand up for yourself. 

“You know he would do anything for you.” 

“You think?” 

“Yep. I mean have you seen the way he looks at you?” 

“Hmm.” you mumbled. “Here,” You pass her two glasses with drinks in it. “take these and I’ll bring the other two once i’ve checked the food.” 

“Okay,” She starts to walk about but turns at the last minute, “It smells good by the way, I can’t wait.” 

“Thanks” you laughed as she walked away. She could tell there was something different with you tonight but she couldn’t figure out what was wrong, it felt like it was more than just your boss being a dick. 

You tried to take as long as you could checking the food without it being too long that someone would notice. After just under 10 minutes you walk through. “Dinner should only be a little longer.” You pass a glass to Bucky and keep one for yourself, normally you’d sit close to Bucky but tonight you kept your distance, opting for the armchair in the corner. Bucky thought this was weird but he kept it to himself. 

“So, what did I miss?” You hoped they would somehow be able to explain away what you heard but your hope didn’t last long as they started to talk about Sam’s plans to get a lizard. 

“Sam, we’re not getting a lizard,” Olivia replied, “if you insist on getting a pet why can’t it be a normal one like a cat or a dog.” This only reminded you of the plans you and Bucky made to adopt a cat, this was torture. Everything was reminding you of what you were about to lose. 

“I’ll look after it babe, you won’t even have to touch it.” Sam tried pleading. 

“And when you’re away on missions?” Olivia argued back playfully. 

“Okay, you got me.” You laughed a little at Sam releasing this was one battle he was going to lose. “What about you guys? You still planning on getting a cat?” 

Bucky looked at you as Sam asked the question, how were you supposed to answer this when you didn’t even know the answer anymore, luckily Bucky notices the panic on your face and jumps in to answer.” 

“Yeah man, we just have to find the time to get to the shelter.” 

“See,” He turns his head to his left, staring at his girl, “Y/n let’s Bucky get the pet he wants.” He was only teasing, he knew logically he couldn’t get a lizard but it was fun to pretend. 

“Lizards and cats are not the same thing.” 

“Y/n/n help me out here please” Sam pleads to you. 

“Sorry Sam, I’m on Olivia's side here.” You reply whilst laughing. 

“Traitor” he mumbles under his breath making everyone laugh. Bucky noticed it wasn’t your real laugh but he wasn’t sure why. Normally you loved bantering back and forth with them. 

You kept on chatting for 20 minutes before the oven timer went off, just in time as Bucky was about to tell an embarrassing story about you.

“Ah! Saved by the bell” you joked. 

“Don’t think I won’t forget to tell it after dinner!” Bucky shouts through, and you can’t help but laugh before thinking about it deeper. Was that one of the things he couldn’t do anymore, was he really embarrassed by you? 

You tried so hard to push those thoughts away and focus on getting through the dinner, you started plating up the food you were so excited about only an hour before. But you got lost in your thoughts again and picked up the hot tray with your bare hand, burning yourself in the process. “Shit.” The tray fell to the floor, luckily you had already plated everything and you were just moving it to the sink. Bucky rushes through and sees the tray on the ground and you gripping your hand towards your chest. 

“What happened?” He comes towards you but you walk back away from him. “What’s wrong?” You could see the worry in his eyes but all you could think about was his words earlier. I can't do it anymore. 

“I’m fine, Bucky.” You didn’t mean to but you snapped back at him. 

“You’re not fine.” he moves closer and tries to reach for your hand but you pull it closer to you, he notices and steps back. “Y/n?” You don’t say anything. “Look please just run your hand under some cold water at least, please?” 

“Can you just take the food through, I’ll be there in a minute.” You tried to hide the shakiness in your voice but he could hear it. This brought him back to the start of your relationship, you both struggled to open up to each other but he thought you had both gotten better at it, which is why he was extra worried.

He nodded, you hated yourself for being the reason he was sad, he didn’t deserve that. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay doll, just know I’m here for you okay?” You nodded but kept your gaze to the floor. He first grabs the tray with his left hand and puts it in the sink then picks up the plates and brings them through, having to make two trips. He doesn’t want to leave you but he wants to give you the space you asked for. You run your hand under the cold tap for a couple of minutes before drying it off and making your way to the table. 

“You okay y/n?” Sam asks as you sit down next to Bucky, there were only 4 seats at the table so sitting next to him was your only option. Bucky turns to you, concern filling his eyes, he sends a smile your way and you try to send one back. He went to put his hand on your thigh but you see him stop himself and bring it back to his leg. 

“Yeah, all good, just burnt my finger on a tray. How’s the food?” 

“It’s amazing as always.” Olivia answers.

 “Thanks again for having us over.” Sam adds

“It’s a new recipe, and no need to thank me. You know you are both welcome here anytime.” You reply, happy that they like it. 

“Tastes great Doll.” Bucky’s voice was quiet, almost like he was scared to speak, he had a slight smile growing as you turned to him. 

“Thank you Bucky.” 

The rest of the night went just like that, the four of you spoke about planning a trip to New Orleans, you felt yourself get excited about it but then grounded yourself, reminding yourself that it probably wouldn’t go ahead. Well, it maybe would, you just wouldn’t be there. Sam and Olivia stayed for a couple more hours, they couldn’t stay as late as usual as Olivia had picked up an early shift at work the next day. When they left you saw Sam and Bucky whisper something to each other, but you were too far to hear anything. 

Now you and Bucky were alone, it had just been the two of you for 10 minutes and none of you had broken the silence until now. 

“Y/n?” Bucky asks quietly, testing the atmosphere. You took the shakiness in his voice as a sign he was angry, when it was really because he was worried about you. You don’t say anything but bring your head up so you could see him. “Can we talk?” Oh god. This was it. He was gonna do it right now. You weren’t ready, you never would be but you couldn’t do this right now. 

“Bucky, I’m really tired, could we talk in the morning?” You were desperately hoping he would say yes. 

“Yeah..” He stands up and walks towards the bathroom, stopping slightly at you but speeds up again after a moment. “I’m gonna quickly shower then I’ll come to bed.” 

“Okay.” Almost a whisper but he heard it. 

You go through to your room and get changed, ignoring the mess in the kitchen. That was something you’d worry about tomorrow. You crawled into bed, facing the wall and tried to force the sleep to take over. It doesn’t take long for Bucky to come in next to you, you feel him hesitate but he wraps his arms around you and brings his mouth around to kiss your forehead. “I love you.” 

You hoped he’d think you were sleeping, and not know you were pretending. You tried to find comfort in his touch but it only reminded you that this time tomorrow you probably wouldn’t have him wrapped around you. You could feel your eyes growing wetter as you thought about this but you forced yourself to stop before it turned into a full meltdown. That would for sure wake Bucky up. So you sat there in silence, sometimes you could hear a quiet mechanical murmur from Bucky’s arm, and sometimes the one big deep breath he takes every few minutes. By the time morning comes you only got about an hour of sleep, you were exhausted and anxious for what was going to happen today. 

“Doll?” he pauses for a minute waiting for an answer, “Are you up?” 

“Yeah, I'm up.” You don’t turn around to face him like you normally would, you keep your eyes on the wall. 

“I was thinking we could go to your favourite cafe today? The one with the-” You interrupt him and turn around to face him, sitting cross legged. 

“It’s okay Bucky.” He’s confused about what you mean so he stays quiet hoping you'll continue which you do. “I heard you talking with Sam and Olivia..” Bucky’s eyes nearly pop out of his head. 

“You heard us?” Shit. He wanted it to be a surprise. 

“I did. So can you just do it now? Get it over and done with, so we can both move on.”

“What? You want me to do it right now?” 

“Yes. Please, just do it.” You knew you were coming across harsh but you needed this torture to end. 

“Erm. Okay..”  He stood up out of bed and walked over to his dresser, and started to dig through one of his drawers. “This isn’t really how I pictured doing this and I thought you’d be more excited but..” Excited? Why would you be excited over losing him? Once he finds what he was looking for he walks back over and brings himself down to his knees beside the bed. 

“Bucky what-” 

“My turn to talk doll..” What the hell was happening. “Y/n, you have been the best thing in my life since the very first day I met you. It might sound cliche but you’re the missing piece I always thought I’d never find. I know this might seem fast but..” He pulls a small box from behind his back. Oh my god. He was proposing. What. You wanted to stop him but the words wouldn’t come out, it was like your mouth was glued shut. “.. I don’t think I could ever feel happier than I do right now with you but It would mean the absolute world to me if you-” 

“Wait!! Stop!” Bucky’s smile dropped. He’d been scared to ask you but he didnt think rejection was actually a possibility. 

“What?” You stood up and started pacing back and forth, panic setting in. 

“Oh my god Bucky. Stand up!” He stood up slowly and closed the ring box, the loud click making things even realer. “Bucky, what were you talking about with Sam and Olivia?” 

“I thought you heard me? I was telling them I wanted to propose, I want to spend the rest of my time with you. This definitely isn't how I wanted it to go. I’m sorry if I.. I thought you’d want this too.” 

“Oh my god Bucky. I am so sorry. I’m so sorry, I messed up.” You were beginning to lose control of your breathing and your eyes were starting to burn, you were still pacing back and forth. “I thought you wanted to end things, I thought you were done with us.”

“What?! Why did you think that?” He had never been so confused in his whole life. 

“You told them you wanted more, and.. that I wasn’t like other girls.. and..” The tears had escaped now and it was hard to talk properly. “and you said you couldn’t do this a-anymore.” 

“Oh baby.” Bucky walks over to you and pulls you gently to the bed, he sits next to you but keeps one of his arms wrapped around you. “I did say those things but not in the way you think. Did you listen to the rest of what we said?” You shook your head, which only made your growing headache worse. “When I said I wanted more I was talking about marrying you, in case you haven't figured that out by the -I don’t even know if i can call that a proposal- but doll, I want to marry you, I wanted to show you how much I love you and how serious I was about us.” He tries to turn himself slightly so he can see your face properly. 

“I was right when I said you aren’t like other girls, I don’t want you to be like anyone else. I want you to be you, my girl. The girl I fell in love with the first day I met you. I’ve been planning to propose for a while but I couldn’t keep it in any longer, that’s what I meant when I said I couldn’t do this anymore. I couldn’t wait any longer to ask you. I love you so much, doll.” 

Oh god. You were so embarrassed. You had gotten everything so wrong. “Bucky, I'm so sorry. I didn’t, I don’t want things to end with us. I’m so sorry.” 

“It’s okay baby, really it’s okay. I just wished you’d talked to me about it. You can come to me about anything, you know what right?” 

“I do, I promise. I just panicked. I thought I was going to lose you.” Your breathing had started to slow down and you felt like you had control over it again.

“Nope. You’re never getting rid of me. I love you too much for that,” He brought his face down to yours and brushed your noses together before wrapping his arms tightly around you. “And I missed you way too much to ever let go of you again.” 

“I love you too, Buck, so much.. but you’re squeezing me.” For the first time since you heard their conversation you had a real smile on your face and you laughed at him holding you so tight. You were happy. Bucky was happy. 

“There’s the laugh I missed so much. Oh and,” he pulled away just for a second to look into your eyes, placing each of his hands on your shoulders and with a serious voice spoke again, “don’t for one second think that’s how my real proposal will go, I’m gonna make it special, just like you deserve.” he pulls you into his arms and lays you both down.

“I can’t wait, but before you do that..”

“Mhmm?”

“Can we go to the shelter today? I think it’s about time we got that cat.”

“You have no idea how happy that makes me doll” 

Maybe it wasn’t healthy how much yours and Bucky’s happiness relied on each other but for you two it worked. Things were perfect. 

[lazy30]

Okay so I have this... This kind of messy and I'm sorry for grammar ;-;

Yes yes dream is afraid of height but he also can jump really high, yes he's afraid while doing it lmao so he prefers running and doing parkour.

Techno like reading like anything, so he read all of magic books that he can get, he can memorize all of it but sometimes he need times to cast some of magic, he need practice first but the theory is already on his head.

Dream has magic as well but kinda lazy to learn it, why he learn it when he have his best friend doing it for him? (That's gonna bite him in the ass later)

So yeah this is the info about their "human forms" may or may not add another info later, and I need to make their "beast forms" soon...

[aventurineswife]

Hello :D! Can I request how Aventurine, Sunday, and Ratio would handle accidentally taking a joke too far/saying something that hurt the reader?

A Joke Too Far

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Sunday x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Miscommunication, Emotional Hurt/Healing, Fluff and Angst, Apologies and Redemption, Vulnerable Moments.

Warnings: Emotional Hurt, Minor Self-Deprecation, Angst and Tension, Characters may exhibit self-blame, Fluff resolution (Happy Ending), Sensitive themes of guilt and emotional wounds.

The usually unflappable Aventurine had made a misstep. What had started as light teasing about your supposed inability to bluff during a game of cards had spiraled into a sharp comment about your naivety in real life. Though it had been meant as a jest, your sudden silence spoke volumes. The flicker of pain in your eyes wasn’t something Aventurine could easily brush off.

He leaned back in his chair, feigning his usual relaxed demeanor as the cards slipped through his fingers, but his mind raced. His charm and wit had saved him countless times, yet here, it felt inadequate.

Standing, he made his way to your side, dropping to a crouch so he could meet your eyes. The air of playfulness softened, replaced by genuine contrition. “Well,” he said, voice quieter than usual, “it seems even I can misread the stakes. I didn’t mean to draw blood.”

You glanced at him, unsure how to respond.

“Let me make it up to you,” he continued, his lips twitching into a softer smile. “How about I put my pride on the table? A gamble just for you—I’ll let you choose the terms.” He tilted his head, his eyes catching the light. “All you have to do is say the word, and I’ll pay my dues.”

His sincerity shone through the offer, and you couldn’t help but let the tension in your shoulders ease. Aventurine had a way of making you feel seen, even when he stumbled.

Sunday was known for his eloquence and composed nature, but even he could falter. His comment, a teasing remark about how you seemed too attached to fleeting, mundane pleasures, was meant to be harmless. Instead, it struck a nerve, and you turned away sharply.

The halo behind him dimmed slightly, as though reflecting his own self-reproach. Sunday didn’t immediately speak; he knew words hastily given were often meaningless. Instead, he stepped closer, his presence warm yet unintrusive, like sunlight filtering through clouds.

“I have erred,” he began gently, his eyes searching for yours. “I did not intend to undermine what brings you joy. If I have caused you pain, it is my failure, not yours.”

His voice, calm and steady, carried the weight of sincerity. Sunday placed a hand over his heart, bowing his head slightly—a gesture of respect, almost reverent. “Your happiness, fleeting or eternal, is yours to cherish. I would never wish to diminish it.”

You glanced at him, finding it hard to hold onto your frustration in the face of his humility. Sunday smiled softly, the light behind him glowing a little brighter. “Perhaps I could learn from you, rather than judge. Show me the beauty you see—I would be honored.”

Ratio had been in the middle of one of his characteristically blunt tirades, critiquing a decision you had made during a project. His comment—that it was “hardly a surprise given your level of experience”—was not meant to wound, but the sharp edge of his tone had cut deeper than he realized.

When he noticed your silence, the shift in your posture, he paused. It wasn’t often that Ratio miscalculated, but when he did, he took it seriously. For a moment, he considered doubling down, justifying his words with logic, but the pang of guilt in his chest stopped him.

He took a breath, stepping closer. “I was careless,” he admitted, his voice softer than usual. His eyes, so often piercing, held a rare vulnerability. “My intent was to challenge, not to insult. But it seems I failed to consider how my words might be received.”

You glanced at him, surprised by the uncharacteristic apology.

Ratio removed his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose in a rare display of frustration. “The truth is, I respect your contributions more than I expressed. I let my standards obscure my appreciation.” He hesitated, then added, “I may not always convey it well, but your perspective is valuable to me.”

His straightforward approach made it clear he wasn’t just placating you, and slowly, the sting of his words began to fade. Ratio replaced his glasses and straightened, a small but genuine smile touching his lips. “Shall we try again? Together, this time.”

[loyalguma]

part 1 here! okay. . . . so that didn’t go as planned. 

best friend!satoru doesn’t wait for your response—doesn’t even wait for you to breathe before he sends you off to an uber. 

“satoru, wait—” you call out to him, but he’s already pushing you into the taxi without another word. 

his arms are heavy as he slams the door shut, waving off the driver as the car speeds off. 

satoru will never recover. 

he runs up the stairs at lightning speed back to the floor of his apartment. immediately shutting and locking the door with a rattle to its frame, satoru sinks down to the floor and curls up in a ball. 

letting you into his life should’ve been satisfying enough. giving you a spare key to his apartment solely for the reason that you can raid his fridge at night should’ve been enough. kissing you should’ve been enough. 

satoru’s cheek presses against the cold marble flooring of the entrance hallway. what was once warm with the love he’s wanted all his life has now cooled to a dull ache. the regret of kissing you spreads throughout his chest; the only memory burning in his mind is the way your lips felt against his. slightly chapped from crying yet still softer than a blanket made of clouds from heaven. satoru ran his tongue over the cracks of your mouth, letting himself make up for the people that ran you dry.

now the only thing left is the clear image of you in his mind. however, his real vision is fogged with. . . . tears. when did he start crying? the stinging pain of hot, salty water sliding down his face continues. satoru refuses to get up and look in the mirror and wipe the impairing weakness off of his face. 

for being the “strongest”, he sure has become weak.

[jaggedamethyst]

not in that way (part four)

bucky barnes x fwb!reader

content: you seek out bucky this time...only for him to realize there's more to you than he thought.

warnings: 18+ smut minors dni, unprotected sex, a mix of soft and rough sex, degradation if you squint so insanely hard, mean bucky again, mutual pining

notes: not proofread. i usually upload and revisit later! also havent read the previous parts in a while so I might come back and change anything that doesn't necessarily fit them

ps: ty for the support as always! and im so sorry for the break. i had a bunch of work to do, but I am now free!

series master list

。·:*:·ﾟ★,。·:*:·ﾟ☆　 。·:*:·ﾟ★,。·:*:·ﾟ☆

Any building the Avengers were in was an automatic escape from reality. There were always workers, things going on, and a consistent buzzing sound that left the entire space vibrating. The hustle and bustle of being a superhero was one you weren’t fond of, but the feeling of invisibility was more than welcome. It was so much so that you’d even find yourself here when Steve wasn’t—familiarizing yourself with the ins and outs, claiming areas as your own, and finding the best quiet nooks for your alone time. You could do this at home, sure, but your place was inherently filled with a sadness you didn’t like. There was a loneliness you couldn’t escape—that there was really nobody. 

You settled for the consistent background sound and ambience of the Avengers Tower. Here, at the very least, you could escape the confines of your own mind and the debilitating existentialism. 

Your brain was admittedly split into pieces, like a diagram of each section, clear-cut with a dedicated function. When you weren’t letting yourself fall into thoughts of your being alone in this world, you saw Bucky. Often, it was just to question his actions. Other times, a dissection of why he occupied so much of your time. 

You couldn’t help but float to him now, your mind wandering to what he was doing, how he felt. The thought only burned you more, that he couldn’t care less about how you felt. That he only cared about having his way, the image he portrayed to Steve. You knew he wasn’t like that, not really. Watching movies with you, agreeing to a party…they were so unlike him, and you noticed. You hated how much of him you were aware of—of a friend that was still somehow hardly that. 

Without thinking more of it, you stood, legs taking you around the tower. You were aimless, not particularly having a course, but walking with a soft determination nonetheless. People didn’t notice you, they never did. You weren’t exactly outgoing; everything about you showed that, and people didn’t approach you unless it was mandatory. You kind of liked it, the way you could walk around here without being bothered. 

You hoped Bucky wasn’t the same. You hoped he secretly appreciated being bothered, that he wouldn’t mind you interrupting his day. You tapped on his door lightly, one you would usually ignore on purpose. 

You didn’t hear him approach the door, his steps almost always light enough not to be heard. He shocked you when he opened the door, a flat look on his face. 

“Hey.” 

“Can I come in?” 

You skipped the pleasantries, gliding past Bucky when he stepped back. You look around now, never really getting a full look of his space, but recognizing it as Bucky’s regardless. 

The tower was massive, somehow allowing each room to be its own mini-apartment. Each had their own living spaces that doubled as bedrooms, bathrooms off to the side, and plenty of space for self-expression. Despite this, there was nothing that individualized his quarters. Everything was pristine. There wasn’t a wrinkle in sight, his bed seemingly untouched, like he hadn’t even sat there. The room didn’t have a scent that stood out to you, but rather one of cleanliness. The faint smell of cleaning products lingered, not fresh, but indicative that he kept his room clean without really trying. 

“Did you need something?” Bucky interrupted your observation, speaking behind you as he stood close to the door. 

You thought about not replying the way you wanted, you really had, but it was too easy. The thought of the tables turning, that you finally would be able to comfortably express your desire to him, had your legs buckling before you even began. 

“No,” you smirked playfully, “Just you.” 

He lowered his head at that, nodding to himself in understanding. He let out a dry chuckle, one that hurt more than you expected. “Can’t right now—I’m busy.” 

“Doing what, exactly?” 

“Things.” 

Your face twisted at that, your entire body freezing in place. The distance became glaringly obvious to you now, how he hadn’t approached like he usually would. He was so confusing, a trait that normally only added to the allure. It wasn’t working for you now, though, not when you were bored and desperate and craving the attention only he could provide. 

“So when you do it—show up and just initiate-“ your hands waved frantically. You were confused, erratic, and your ability to keep calm was escaping you. “So when you do it, it’s okay?” 

He sighed at that, looking away, “I’m just busy today, that’s all.” 

Bucky could hear the unspoken phrase that lingered between you both. 

What about me? 

It was filled with much more than a question of the hypocrisy in his actions. He was glad you decided against it; he knew he would give in immediately. For both of you, it was yet another step toward an unsuspectingly high ledge. To pose such a question, to ask him anything about you, would have Bucky following after you. No matter how high the ledge, how devastating the fall, he convinced himself that he would follow you over a cliff. 

“I don’t understand you…at all.” You sighed, “How’d we even get here?” 

Bucky shook his head, “I don’t know. It’s just...” 

You watched him trail off, once again paralyzed by the tense situation. “Maybe we should stop whatever this is, for the sake of what remains of our friendship.” Bucky’s head snapped up at you, making your words falter slightly. “I just,” you looked down to the floor, “I can’t keep hurting Steve this way, hurting myself-“ 

“Am I hurting you?” 

Across the room, you saw Bucky’s body rise and fall slightly, his breath a bit uneven and faintly escaping him. He looked at you, not speaking anymore, but wanting an answer from you. He’d never hurt you intentionally. He would never willingly play with your mind in the way you were suggesting. Yet he realized he was doing just that, not only to himself by ignoring the way he craved you, but to you by making you feel crazy for acting just as he had. 

He wanted to be near you.

The pull he had toward you this time was different, a tension in his chest that told him to make this up to you. His own mind was getting in the way again, and you were a victim of him…a consistent casualty. 

He watched your face, it was still searching for an answer to his question. The truth was that it wasn’t simple. Maybe you were hurting him. Perhaps you were hurting each other.

Bucky couldn’t care anymore. 

“Come here.” 

Your eyes snapped up at the sound of Bucky’s voice, much softer than it was usually. “What?” 

He sat on the edge of his bed. “Sit with me, please?” 

You were reluctant, and it was apparent in your walk. It was hard for Bucky not to feel jittery watching you, like he had once again started something that only ended one way. 

The silence lingered between the two of you as you sat, keeping a respectable distance away from Bucky. He noticed that, but didn’t blame you. In fact, that’s exactly his worry…it's always been that. 

“No one’s gonna show up.” 

“What?” 

Bucky had spoken randomly, an admission you hadn’t expected, so quick that you didn’t even realize what he was talking about. 

“Nobody’s gonna celebrate me or what I’ve done,” he turned to look at you, “and I think I deserve that.” 

You inhaled slowly, “The party?” 

“The party.” 

Bucky could only nod, letting his eyes leave you and stare ahead. You followed his eyeline and found a blank wall in front of him. Quickly, you realized most of the walls were like this…a sort of torture to the man you knew was anything less than the basic color. 

You huffed at that, the way he thought so little of himself. Even more so at the way it physically showed in his private space. You didn’t think before a hand slid into his, thumb gliding over his skin. You hadn’t expected that, for him not to be wearing his gloves for once. It was weirdly intimate—the barrier that was usually present between you no longer there. 

“Mistakes don’t make us any less worthy of life.” 

It was abrupt, reminiscent of the gruff tone Bucky usually had. It was uncharacteristic of you. So much so that you could feel him looking at you now, concerned. 

You continued, not looking at Bucky but still grasping his hand. “Accidents,” a breath caught in your throat. “Accidents happen, yeah. But what happened to you…wasn’t you. You have to understand that.” You finally turned to him, finding his eyes already on you. “It could be so much worse.” 

A flicker in his eye let you know that he saw something there…that these weren’t just empty platitudes about how life sucks. You had personal experience. 

You avoided eye contact because of it, a sadness on your face he hated seeing. Without thinking, he let himself grasp your face and pull you toward him. Your lips collided with his before you could even conceptualize what was happening. 

Your hands went up to his wrists, finding any source of contact with him you could. The kiss was sweet, the weight of emotions becoming apparent. Bucky let himself be present with you in a way he hadn’t so far. 

You couldn’t let yourself think before starting to strip yourself of any barrier between the pair of you. He followed suit, keeping his lips on you as best he could while simultaneo usly removing his clothes. 

Eventually, he broke contact, allowing himself the sight of crawling back on his bed before he pressed you down. 

He decided against any foreplay, wanting to be with you immediately. Bucky slid into you the same as he had before, inhaling at the tightness but not letting himself be hindered by it. You loved it, and he could tell—the specific feeling of him inside you with no extra slick to ease him in. It was painful in the best way. You nodded then, a silent affirmation to him to keep going, that you could take it. He obliged without thinking, a sickeningly slow pace sliding in and out of you now. 

Your whines filled the room, an indication to Bucky that you were enjoying yourself. The sharpness was still there, though, a slight twitch in your muscles telling him so. Without thinking, he rubbed into your thighs. He attempted to quell that part of you that was slightly raw, despite your enjoyment. He was obsessed with the way you took him, how you’d simply let his name fall from your lips as he sank further and deeper. He watched you, eyes fluttering shut. 

“Am I hurting you?” 

It was different this time, Bucky’s voice dripping with the sound of that smirk he always had. The one you’d observed when he tried to seem closed off…the coy look on his face when he tried to be deceptive. 

He was hurting you, yes, but in the best way imaginable. 

The thought had you reeling, only brought back by the feeling of coldness slapping against your chin. Your eyes opened reluctantly. At first, you immediately honed in on the sight of Bucky inside you. Watching his length disappear in and out of you had your body on fire…a vision of pure bliss. But that slapping. 

Bucky’s dog tags hung around his neck, skin glistening from his work on you. He didn’t stop as he watched your face twist, still kneading into your skin as he kept fucking into you. 

You let a hand reach up, an attempt to move the chain that was bothering you. To your surprise, Bucky clasped your hand and pulled it toward his mouth. He kissed over your skin there, soft pecks lingering over your palm and wrist before intertwining his metal fingers with yours. 

“I got it,” Bucky grunted between strokes. 

With his free hand, he reached up to remove the clasp at the back of his neck. You watched him, an incredulous look on your face as he somehow kept driving into you. He let the chain fall, skillfully wrapping it around your neck below him. He adjusted it, pulling the tags down on your chest. 

He kept going, ogling the sight of you wearing his tags, even more so at the swell of your nipples. He made sure to rub them, rolling them underneath his palm in a movement that had you weakened…even more so.

“Gosh- oh-“ 

Bucky had leaned down then, embracing you in a tight hug with one arm as the other still clasped onto your hand. He kept your intertwined hands beside your head, allowing the other to roam free…and it did. You found his back now, smoothing over the warmed skin and up to his neck. 

You whispered in his ear, “Keep going…” 

He simply nodded, committed to fucking away any memory you had of his wrongdoing. He wanted that for himself, too. Bucky wanted to start anew somehow, despite it being impossible. So he settled for this, pulling in and out of you, drawing pure audible filth from your throat. 

He was quite happy with himself, smiling into your neck as he nibbled there. He made sure to keep you close…impossibly so, appreciating the feel of his tags between the two of you. He imagined the meal engraving into your skin, a mark that he’d had no right to yearn for but wanted nonetheless…for you to be his entirely. 

His voice came out shakier than he thought it would, “I’m close.” 

He felt you nod, a fervent shake against the pillows. He slipped a hand between you at that, rubbing you in a way only he could. It was quick, clearly pushing you toward the edge. 

Your body jerked against him, walls spasming as he sped up his pace. Bucky kept with his torturous hand motions, too, observing every reaction he drew from you. He couldn’t help but leave kisses over your skin as he came…anchoring himself to you. 

He loved moments like this, breaths ragged as you calmed down together. You watched as his back rose and fell, the arch of his muscles in your view. 

You let him stay there as you embraced each other, fingertips gliding over the back of his hardened hand. 

Suddenly, Bucky felt your breath press into his ear. “Even if it’s just me, you, and Steve,” you reached up to run your fingers through his hair. “Even if it’s just us…it’ll be worthwhile, I promise.” 

A slow, deep breath and a simple reply resounded from the man. 

“Okay.” 

“Okay?” 

Bucky nestled into you further, voice muffled. “Yeah…okay.”  

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