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subcultureblues · 2 days ago

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Don’t You Want Me (Baby?) Pt 1

Steve and Eddie have been hooking up and are about as bad at keeping a secret as they are dealing with their feelings. (Dustin POV)

———

“For the record, I still think this is dumb.” Lucas said over the wind.

“Yeah, well, you’re dumb.” Mike said, sharp witted as always.

“Got you there.” Will grinned, sidling up beside him on his bike. Mike shot him a look, vaguely betrayed. Will shrugged innocently and kept peddling.

“Alright, alright, let the court record reflect you’re both morons.” Dustin sighed, peddling between the bickerer’s bikes and cutting ahead.

All four boys skirted to a stop outside the trailer park. Dustin wiped at his forehead under his cap, the humidity creeping back up on them as soon as the air stopped it’s rushing by.

“Dude, if Eddie wasn’t picking up the phone, well, there’s probably a reason for that.” Lucas said, in that tone of his. The demeaning one.

Dustin just shook his head. Name one good reason to ignore your party? One good reason. Dustin certainly couldn’t!

He started walking his bike up through the dusty lot, leaving the rest with little choice but to march ever onward.

“Maybe he’s still sleeping.” Will said, lingering a bit behind the pack.

“At 1 in the afternoon?” Lucas rolled his eyes.

“What? He does, like,” Mike’s voice dropped to a paranoid whisper. “weed, right? Jonathan’s always sleeping in?” Mike looked behind them at Will, who shrugged.

“Eddie,” Dustin said his name rather uncharitably but he’s at his limit here, really, he is “has been dodgy weeks now. Doesn’t answer the phone, he’s never free on the weekend, never hangs out after Hellfire anymore - I’m telling you guys, somethings up.”

“Or maybe - he’s finally graduated after the third try and he’s tired of hanging around high schoolers all the time.” Lucas rolled his eyes.

Dustin shook his head at Lucas, because that can’t be it. Eddie loves them. Well, he loves Dustin and likes the rest of Hellfire’s fresh meat well enough. They bonded, alright? - after everything they went through in the Upside Down. Hell, they’re practically brothers. And it’s not just Dustin who thinks that, Eddie had said it first. Well, he called him ‘the little brother I never wanted’ but had said so sarcastically. Obviously, he’d meant the opposite.

Hard to feel wanted right now though, considering as of circa maybe a month ago, Eddie’s been MIA. He still shows up to Hellfire, obviously. But that was about it.

After stopping the clock on the apocalypse and banding together to clear Eddie’s good name, it kind of become a thing - Eddie taking them out to get slushies after a game. Calling up Eddie to tell him, not ask, but tell him they were all going to the arcade. He’d even gone to Eddie’s trailer a few times so he could help Dustin homebrew his subclass!

Steve had started tagging along too, usually. Him and Eddie even getting started to get less awkward around each other after a while. Not best friends or anything, Not like Dustin was hoping. But friendly. It had been totally awesome! And totally annoying that he had mysteriously gone to ground.

It’s possible Dustin’s being, well he doesn’t want to say needy...

It’s just, Steve started picking up extra shifts at work and spending a whole lot of time with Robin. Not that Dustin didn’t support their relationship. Steve’s been single so long, it hadn’t started verging on pathetic exactly, but it was a near thing.

It’s just hard for a guy not to feel neglected.

The four boys had almost reached the trailer when they heard it. At first Dustin dismissed it, surely the trailer next doors’ doing. But no, that music definitely coming from Eddie’s.

That in and of itself, wouldn’t be unusual. Eddie is likely the loudest human being on the planet. No, the weird part is it’s not thrashy, garbage can lid, Eddie-music but goddamn…

“Is that - “ Mike said, trailing off from sheer befuddlement.

“Culture Club.” Lucas could barely hide the cackle in his voice.

“What in the -“ Dustin muttered, throwing his bike in the grass and wandering up to the door like it was a gate to another dimension. For all he knows, it might just be.

“Eddie?” He knocked on the door. Nothing. He tried again. Obviously, someone’s home.

Dustin’s only met the man briefly but he didn’t take Munson Sr for being the bubblegum pop type.

Besides, Mr. Munson certainly wouldn’t be playing anything this loud unless those late nights at the plant had him going deaf. Dustin peeked through the window into the living room. More nothing.

“Oh man.” Lucas shoved him to press his face against the glass too. There was a slow smile creeping across his face, like he was suddenly overjoyed they had come to the trailer park after all. Lucas wasn’t gonna let their DM live this one down, not any time soon. “I thought he was supposed to be cool.”

“He is cool.” Mike said.

Dustin just sighed, threw his hands up, and started rounding the corner of the RV. Eddie’s van was here, ergo Eddie. Dustin was sure he’d be lurking around here somewhere. The rest of the boys followed, their previous hesitation now nowhere to be seen.

“Come on.” He gestured towards the window. They all leaned in and Dustin was already furiously rapping on the window. “Ed - “

Dustin’s eyes went wide. And maybe his face a bit pink.

Eddie was here alright.

He was laying in bed. Very much not alone. There were two of them, lying in bed together. They were under the covers but Eddie was sprawled out on top of someone, a thick curtain of hair hanging over both faces. Clearly, ew, kissing, based on, and Dustin might be scarred for life here, a hand gripping Eddie’s hair at the base of his neck.

As for the tunes, the obvious culprit was in the corner of the room. Eddie’s little cassette stereo.

“Eddie?” Dustin blanched before he could stop himself. And it was of course, in that exact moment Culture Club decided to betray them and the tape cut out.

Will went to shush him, grabbing his shoulder to drag him away but oh no, Eddie definitely heard something. The guy squawked and jolted up in bed, swooping the covers up to hide them both in their immodesty. Eddie’s eyes peaked over his elbow like a vampire leering over his cloak. He gaped at the window, clearly rather horrified.

The boys all threw themselves out of the frame, Dustin pressing up against the back of the trailer.

“What the fuck - “ he heard Eddie say. “What the fuck.” He sounded almost angry but closer to panicked. There was a vague whispering match, but whispering was never really Eddie’s strong suit, so they heard him just fine.

“Relax.” Eddie said, though he did not himself sound relaxed. “No, it’s fine. We’re cool. You need to - I need you cool right now.”

They heard something like a grown man crashing off the bed and gracelessly hit the floor.

“I know, I know, I know. I know! Christ, I’m sorry, ok? I didn’t - I’ll deal with it. Just - “

The boys were already turning tail and scurrying back to their bikes. Gone entirely red in the face.

“I told you this was a bad idea.” Mike said, the hypocrite bastard.

“No you did not!” Dustin huffed.

The front door swung open with a bang and Eddie came spilling out towards them as he, oh gross, scrambled to get into his jeans. He was still shirtless and sweaty, hair fluffed up like an angry cat. Looking rather frantic.

“It’s not what it looks like!” He actually looked properly pissed, hands shaking with it as he did up his fly.

“We didn’t see anything.” Lucas put his hands up, but the guilty way he refused to meet Eddie’s eyes kind of gave up the game.

“Nothing!” Will squeaked, beet red and squeezing his eyes closed tight. Just in case they hadn’t made themselves look incriminating enough.

“God, of all the shit fucking timing -“ Eddie’s fist clenched up in front of him and he let out a frustrated noise, eyes darting around the trailer park. “Look I can explain. If you just, ergh, give me a minute to think of something.”

“No need! We didn’t see anything, promise.” Mike assured him again, his voice nearly steady. Good for him.

“Right so. I guess, did I mention I’ve take up recently taken up semi pro Grecian wrestling - “

“Do you have a girlfriend?” Dustin couldn’t help interrupting him. Lucas smacked him. He gave Lucas a face, which was returned, so Dustin did it again even harder. But fuck Lucas cause it may have been the right thing to say. Eddie stopped fluttering, looked right at him. Squinted, scanning his face.

“You know you can just tell us. If you did. You could have just told us in the first place.” Dustin didn’t get why Eddie wouldn’t. Did Eddie think this kind of thing was too ‘grown up’ for them. They were high school freshman for Christ sake! The only one of their little crew who didn’t have a girlfriend was Will. And I guess Steve.

Allegedly.

Of course, Dustin didn’t believe that for a second.

“I - what?” Eddie perked up.

“If you had a girlfriend. Do you? Is that - “

Eddie huffed out a hysterical laugh. It was weird. But then, Eddie wasn’t exactly the poster child for Normal. Dustin crossed his arms.

“Sure. Yeah.” He took a big breath as he looked behind him back into the trailer. “I have a... my girlfriend.”

“Sorry. For coming over.” Will said, timid like a mouse.

“It was Dustin’s idea.” He took Mike for many things but never a rat. Dustin sputtered indignantly, throwing up his hands.

“And we didn’t even see anything, really! So if you’re worried about your girlfriend’s modesty, like - we didn’t see anything, we swear! Right guys?.” Lucas insisted. Mike and Will bobbleheaded in agreement.

“What the hell are you squirts doing here, anyways?” Eddie said, scrubbing roughly at his forehead.

“I needed to get my binder.” Dustin said flatly. And maybe to remind Eddie that hey, he’s still here too. Like, right here.

“Your fucking - “ Eddie said in disbelief, and then he laughed. “Your binder.”

“You weren’t answering the phone.”

“Yeah well I was busy.” Eddie said, eyes wide and awfully antagonistic.

“Busy getting busy.”

Eddie turned his wild eyes on Lucas

“Thin ice, Sinclair. Thin fucking ice.”

That just made him chuckle again. At least he half tried to hide it behind his hand. But Lucas always was the least cowed by Eddie.

“Is this why you haven’t been hanging around anymore, like all month.”

“Jesus. Henderson, I’m sorry, ok? Hard as it is to believe, I do have a fucking life outside the game.” Yeah, Dustin thought, it was pretty hard to believe. “Look, just give me a second.”

“I’ll be quick - “ Dustin made a move to come inside.

“No.” Eddie firmly hip checked him out of the way.

Eddie slipped back into the trailer. Through the open door Dustin could just barely make out the words.

“False alarm. No - actually. I’m being serious. They think - “

They think what? Think they have a right to be here at Eddie’s trailer. Taking up space in Eddie’s life. Well they do. The party almost died saving the world side by side with Eddie, they had more right to be here than that - Dustin just grumbled. He wouldn’t call her a harlot. But only because Susie’s voice was already in the back of his head, admonishing the thought.

Eddie came back and pushed the binder hard into Dustin’s chest. He was stumbled back a step. “Now scram.” He said, not leaving room for Dustin to get a word in edgewise.

“Look, I’m sorry I haven’t been around but I… See you at Hellfire, ok?” Eddie slammed the door in their faces.

“How great could this even chick be?” Dustin frowned. Great enough to edge the party out of Eddie’s life it seems like.

The other boys just shrugged. They all picked up their bikes.

“I mean, why can’t he just like, bring her along when we hang out or something.”

“I told you, maybe he just wants to hang out with someone his own age for once.” Lucas said.

Maybe Eddie’s too cool to bring his new girlfriend around his dorky freshmen friends. Is he embarrassed to introduce them to her or something.

“Come on.” Will said. “We should get back to Mike’s.”

“Yeah. Yeah whatever.” Dustin said.

———

“So our parents said me and Mike and Lucas could go to the arcade for an hour before it gets dark.” Dustin said to Eddie as they walked through the empty school hallway after Hellfire.

“No can do, compadre. Fight the good fight against those Space Invaders in my steed, yeah?” Eddie grinned down at him over the few boxes of mini in his hands.

Dustin huffed.

“What? Too busy hanging out with your girlfriend? Dustin said petulantly. “Just bring her along if your - “

The three most senior PC’s in Hellfire skid to a stop in front of them. Dustin and Eddie nearly walked straight into the wall of them. It was almost comical the way all their heads swiveled around to oogle at him. Jeff only just managed to choke back a chortle.

Dustin was honestly offended on Eddie’s behalf. Sure, dude was a drug dealing, super duper senior nerd/freak/metalhead combo who had been semi-recently accused of ritualistic dismemberment - but certainly someone was into that.

“My -? Oh yeah my, my - that.” Eddie winced, avoiding many, many eyes.

“Oh, and you have a girlfriend now do you?” Gareth huffed a laugh, in clear disbelief. Eddie glared daggers at him.

Dustin really didn’t see why it was that hard to believe. Eddie was like, really cool. It was an indisputable fact. If all of them could see it, why couldn’t some weird, off the wall alt girl see it too.

“I don’t want to hear a fucking word from you. Any one of you.” Pointing rapidly at all three of them, like he was warding off the words waiting right at the tip of their tongues.

“So who’s the lucky lady, Munson?” Jared said, like he had ‘held action, Vicious Mockery’ and simply couldn’t help himself. He was fighting a positively delighted smile. Eddie flushed.

“The DM giveth and the DM taketh away, and you would be very wise to remember that, Ser Elias.” Eddie said loudly, still jabbing his finger about like it made him more authoritative.

“Sorry man, just joking around.” Jeff grinned good naturedly.

“Yeah, I mean, good for you dude.” Gareth said, with a genuine smile. He tapped Eddie on the chest who childishly batted Gareth’s hand away.

“No, don’t do that. I - seriously guys, we’re not - it’s not like that. I’m not ‘dating’ anyone.” Eddie deflated, looking uncomfortable. The unflappable Eddie, looking all too flappable after all. He tucked a piece of hair behind his ear and huffed. “Just someone I’ve been screwing around with alright.”

Eddie walked past them. Dustin almost felt bad for bringing it up. Almost.

He turned to Gareth.

“So you guys don’t have any idea who it is?”

The guys looked around at each other, all of them shrugging.

“Who knows.” Jared shrugged again, this one still no more helpful than the last.

“Unless,” Gareth straight up giggles, “it’s that suburban mom Eddie’s been swooning over since sophomore year.”

“Yeah right.” Jared chuckled, shoving Gareth forward. They all continued walking.

“That… doesn’t seem like his type.” Dustin said, suddenly confused and perturbed and feeling like he doesn’t know Eddie Munson at all.

“You’d be surprised.” Jared grinned and clapped a hand on his shoulder.

They exited the school just in time to see Steve getting out of the car. Usually after Hellfire he didn’t bother. He just wanted to get the kids rounded up and out of the parking lot as quickly as he could ever really manage. Not today though. Eddie walked to Steve’s Beemer, parked in the stall next to his van.

“Munson.” He said with a small smile. He grabbed one of a few boxes of minis out of Eddie’s arms.

“Uh, Harrington.” Eddie gave a hesitant smile, before bowing his head with predictable theatrically.

“Hi, Steve.” Dustin said from behind. Steve gave him a fond nod before looking back up to the DM.

“So, uh, how was the session?” He said kind of awkwardly.

“Bordering on child abuse.” Eddie beamed.

“I got knocked out, twice.” Lucas windged, holding up two fingers.

“Whatever keeps you humble.” Steve shrugged. He turned back to Eddie. “So. Uh. Any plans for this weekend?”

Eddie blinked, then he raised his eyebrows with a haughty grin. “Dunno, had a few things in mind.” He shrugged.

“Cool. That’s cool. I did too. But uh, then my parents came home from their trip early.” Steve scratched the back of his neck. “So, you know, guess there go my plans for the weekend.”

“Huh.” Eddie frowned. “Bummer.”

“Shotgun!” Dustin decided, throwing open the passenger side door.

Mike, Lucas, and Will who also couldn’t care less about their inane small talk, were already piling into Steve’s car. Steve was lingering though, helping Eddie load his stuff into the van. Dustin’s glad they’re making an effort to be friendly acquaintances, especially since he’s pretty sure it’s mostly for his own sake. But come on, it was like, 3 small boxes. They had space invasions to thwart.

And of course, Lucas was still bitching at Dustin about his failure to come through with a healing spell.

“I’m a bard, what did you want me to do?” Dustin rolled his eyes.

“You have healing word!” Lucas said, to which Dustin roll his eyes. Again.

“Which does like, 2D-nothing!” He looked out the window, wishing Steve would hurry the hell up already. Him and Eddie were still talking? What the hell did those two even have to talk about? Eddie was giving Steve an optimistic grin, but Steve was just shaking his head.

“Cute wounds than!” Lucas groused.

“Well, then you should have thought about that before you went down thirty-five feet away.”

“You could have dashed.” Lucas crossed his arms.

“Ugh. That would have defeated the whole - ugh!” Dustin rolled the window down impatiently. “Steve is it cool if I eat in your car?“ Dustin hollered. He wasn’t actually gonna, he just knew how to get the man’s attention.

“Absolutely not! You know the rules.”

“Don’t worry, it’s just a granola bar! Nature Valley.” Dustin shouted back.

“Don’t even think about it Henderson!” Steve said, already rounding the car. Eddie laughed brightly.

“Harrington?” He said.

“I - Yeah. Fine. Fine, alright.” Steve said to which Eddie smiled triumphantly. That better mean they were done with their little pow-wow.

Eddie climbed into his own vehicle. Steve opened the Beemer’s drivers side door but he didn’t get in yet. Instead he stood there running his hand through his hair muttering something to himself.

“See ya, nerds!” Eddie called out, lowering his own window. There was a chorus of goodbyes from the Beemer. “And Harrington -“ He started the van and a blast of guitar poured out. He smiled that Eddie smile. “You worry too much.” He said. And then he swept out of the parking lot with the sound of his obnoxious music on the wind.

“Yeah. Sure.” Steve said sarcastically. He got behind the wheel, Dustin’s threat of snacking seemingly forgotten.

“What was that about?”

Steve just waved him off and started the car.

Dustin eyed Steve skeptically. So what, were Steve and Eddie like, actually friends now or something?

Maybe he knows.

After a few minutes, Dustin finally broke and asked.

“Soooo, do you know who Eddie’s been seeing?”

“What?” Steve says, nearly swerving over the line.

“Jesus!” Lucas swore from the back.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Steve chuckled awkwardly, eyes now, thankfully, firmly fixed on the road.

“Of course he’s not gonna tell Steve.” Mike grumbled.

Dustin stroked an imaginary beard. The fog of mystery only grew thicker and thicker.

“His secret girlfriend.” Mike said, like a little know it all.

Steve just huffed a, sure.

“I bet she’s like, some badass metal chick.” Mike said reverently, looking out the window. “She probably has like face piercings and crazy dyed hair. Or like a shaved head or something cool like that.”

Dustin sighed. She probably was badass. Way cooler than they were. Way too cool to bring around the dork squad.

“Does that sound like anyone you’ve seen around here?” Lucas said skeptically.

“Yeah, I dunno. Gareth said he was into like… suburban moms.” Dustin grimaced.

“Excuse me?” Steve sputtered.

Will made a disgusted noise.

“I know.” Dustin shivered.

“Better watch out for your mom then.” Lucas snickered. Dustin shot him a dirty look.

“Yeah, no way.” Mike shook his head. “He had to be messing with you or something. Eddie probably has like, groupies and stuff.”

“Please. That man has no game.” Lucas said. Steve snorted but played it off like a cough.

“That man runs the game.” Dustin said defensively.

“You know that’s not what that means.” Lucas said.

“The real question is, how long has this little dalliance been going on for?” Dustin pondered.

“Hey, you nosey little twerps. I really don’t think this is like, any of your business.”

“At least a few weeks right?” Lucas spoke up.

“And how do you know that?” Mike said.

“Cause that’s how long it’s been that Eddie’s been using the phrase ‘busy’ to get out of stuff. I mean he’s a jobless, drug peddling hobo, I don’t think I’ve seen Eddie be busy like, ever.” Lucas said, scratching his chin. “Until a few weeks ago that is.”

Dustin grinned widely. “It’s elementary, my dear Watson.”

“It’s invasive is what it is.” Steve grumbled. “Also, he’s not a hobo. He has a house.”

“Well, I guess, technically it’s a trailer.” Will said, rather pedantically.

“Well, it’s got four walls. And he lives inside them. Ergo…”

“He’s also been a lot nicer.” Will said thoughtfully.

“Huh?” Dustin and Steve said, and looked at him in unison.

“The last couple weeks, don’t you think?” Will said, smiling faintly. “He’s been nicer than usual. Or happier. I guess.”

“I guess.” Dustin said.

“You think?” Steve said.

“Okay,” Dustin should have a houndstooth cap and a pipe. “We have our timeline. Now, we need to root out suspects.”

“Alright, this, whatever this is, stops here. You nosey little twerps need to mind your own business.”

“But - “

“I don’t want to hear it. No buts.”

And that was the end of that. For now at least.

Tag List : @reading-archieves @homoerotictangerine @bingbongsupremacy @aroseandherthorns @wheneverfeasible @travelingtwentysomething @ineffable-monster-romancer @laughingphantoms @gregre369

(Stayed tuned for emotional immaturity! Reply to be added to the tag list!)

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #Steve Harrington #Eddie Munson #Stranger Things #Dustin Henderson

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emmaelt · 21 hours ago

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Something I’ve been thinking about a lot - I think inspired by a random instagram post I saw - is that humans are very cute.

We yawn, we get fluffy hair from our pillows and marks on our face from sleeping, we cuddle. All of these things remind me of my dog, Brie. She has a favourite toy, a small banana, and as soon as she wakes up she will search for it and bring it to me as if to say 'mum, look at my banana! Isn't it great?'. Whenever I send a friend a meme, I think 'oh my god I'm Brie and her banana' - wanting to share a joyful thing with my human. It's like penguins, pebbling. Humans are fucking adorable.

I’m starting to feel this way also about neurodivergent humans, neurodivergent behaviours. I don’t mean to be infantilising to anyone, that is definitely not the intention here… but it’s more of an appreciation of some of my own behaviours that I used to dislike that I now see, with perspective and context etc, are actually really adorable and endearing in others.

The above post is a wonderful example of this. We're not focussing entirely, and misspell something in such a comical manner that we have to share it with our humans, and suddenly realise it's been hours since we were able to do any productive work of any kind.

Seeing these things in others, I have a better appreciation for myself. On the whole, that is what diagnosis has given me. I understand my whole self more fully now.

It’s so nice to be able to let go of hating some parts of myself. I’m really proud of that.

also, a tag for this says:

like i always say: adderall turns on the roomba but doesn’t stop it from getting stuck under the couch.

and I've never related to anything more

i love adhd. i have a lot to do at work today. i take my meds. i open the word document. i immediately misspell “benzodiazepines.” i go on tumblr to post “benzodiazepenis….” for the mutualés. and then it’s 45 minutes later and ive caught up on tumblr and checked the weather and read a fic and texted an ex and ordered new pens and looked up a recipe for chicken pot pie and posted about adhd and done zero work.

#audhd #actually autistic #adhd #neurodivergent

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dollgxtz · 3 days ago

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His Watchful Eye Pt.12

Word Count: 18.5k

Tags: yandere!sylus, sylus x fem!reader, possession, forced pregnancy, unwanted pregnancy, tw if u have tokophobia, some smut, masturbation, mentions of breeding, breeding kink, pregnancy kink, pet names like kitten, sweetie, honey, xavier appears

Taglist: @ngh-ch-choso-ahhhh, @eliasxchocolate, @nozomiaj, @xmiisuki, @sylus-kitten, @its-regretti , @m0onlustre , @ve1vet-cake, @letgobro, @starkeysslvt, @yarafic, @prince-nikko, @leiaglmela @connorsui, @iluvmewwwww75, @biggest-geo-oogami-enjoyer, @mysssticc, @babygirl-panda19, @someone-somewheres-stuff, @zaynesjasmine1, @honnylemontea, @altariasu, @the-slytherin-poet, @sorryimakira, @pearlymel, @emidpsandia , @angel-jupiter, @hwangintakswifey, @webmvie, @housesortinghat, @fading-twinkle, @shoruio, @gojos1ut, @solomonlover, @cheesenjam, @elegantnightblaze, @mavphorias, @babylavendersblog, @burntoutfrogacademic, @sinstae, @certainduckanchor, @ladyackermanisdead, @sh4nn, @milkandstarlight, @lilyadora, @depressedwhore, @nyumin, @kiwookse, @anisha24-blog1, @weepingluminarytale, @xxhayashixx, @hesperisms, @adraxsteia

AN: This is on A03! Good news guys!! Next chapter you guys get to find out the gender of the baby!! EEE even I'm excited and I'm the one whose writing it LOL. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter even if it is a tad bit sad. As always, tysm for your comments, asks, likes, and reblogs. I try and answer as many as I can! I get so happy when I see a new one. Never in a million years did I think so many people would love my writing to this degree! Mwah <3

As he got back up, Sylus’s lips brushed against yours in a way that felt surprisingly gentle, almost reverent, as though he were savoring every second. But slowly, his kiss grew deeper, his lips pressing into yours with a hunger that caught you off guard. His hand cupped the side of your face, his fingers tracing the edge of your jaw as he whispered between each kiss, his voice filled with admiration. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his hand gliding from your cheek to your shoulder. "So pretty with my baby growing in you, you're doing so good for me..."

Read Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5 Pt.6 Pt.7 Pt.8 Pt.9 Pt.10 Pt.11

Sitting in the library, you flipped through the pages of a book with little interest, the bland diagrams of bird anatomy staring back at you. The book wasn't exactly captivating, but it beat staring at the wall, lost in thought. Beside you, Mephisto shifted restlessly on the armchair, feathers catching the dim light.

"Coo..." he murmured, his beady red eyes fixated on the page showing the dissection of a crow.

You chuckled softly, reaching out to pet his cold, metallic head. "Don’t worry, you’re safe. No one’s dissecting you," you assured him, laughing as he flapped his wings in what seemed to be robotic indignation. "Well…I guess you could be taken apart. Screws and metal are a bit easier to put back together than bones and sinew."

"Caw! Caw!" Mephisto protested, his wings clanking softly as they folded back to his sides. His chirps and clatters were almost comforting—a small, dependable presence in this world where your reality was controlled by someone else.

"I was kidding," you said, still laughing. "I doubt Sylus would take you apart…unless you needed repairs, of course." The name slipped out without thinking, and as it echoed in the quiet of the library, the memories hit you again. Sylus. A flash of his hand, the belt, the hot sting against your skin, the way he’d pressed you over his knee, his voice commanding you to count each one.

You grimaced, looking away from Mephisto’s gaze. That night had left marks deeper than the ones that had lingered on your skin. Afterward, he'd taken you back to bed, surprisingly gentle, almost reverent as he rubbed the soreness from your body. He’d whispered reassurances, tender words meant to soothe you, but in that moment, they had felt like salt on an open wound. You’d tried to forget, tried to dismiss it, but the ache of humiliation hadn’t faded. Instead, it had curdled into something else entirely: anger.

It wasn't a searing, uncontrollable rage, but a quiet, simmering fury that gnawed at you, coiled in your chest like a snake ready to strike. Yet, you held it in, biting your tongue, masking your resentment beneath a shield of silence. After that night, you'd slipped back into a quiet demeanor, speaking only when necessary, keeping your distance even though every step you took was still watched.

But you weren’t just simmering in silence. You were observing, studying. Because in the past few days, you’d noticed something—a small, almost imperceptible change in Sylus. Guilt. He’d been eyeing you with a tension that hadn’t been there before, a discomfort that prickled through his otherwise calm demeanor. He seemed unsettled by your silence, watching you from across the room as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

A faint smirk played at the corner of your lips as you remembered his hesitations, his barely concealed awkwardness. So he did feel guilt, didn’t he? Maybe he regretted it. Or maybe he was simply rattled by the fact that he couldn’t read you as easily now. Either way, you liked it. Liked the way he squirmed, the way he seemed to second-guess himself around you. In some twisted sense, it felt like a tiny shift in power, a thread you could pull in this tangled web he’d woven around you.

He had tried to punish you into submission, to make you feel weak, dependent. But here he was, trying to overcompensate with tender touches, soft gestures, careful words. It was almost…pathetic. And despite the bitterness that lingered, a part of you found satisfaction in watching him struggle to understand you, to keep you close while sensing that you were slipping further away.

As you sat there, flipping absentmindedly through the book, the quiet satisfaction of Sylus’s earlier disappointment still lingered in your mind. He’d been hovering around you constantly these last few days, like a shadow, reminding you of his love in every way he could. It was almost ridiculous.

He’d even asked if he could help brush your hair earlier that day, his voice soft, almost pleading. The memory of his face when you’d declined—when you’d turned back on him, shutting him out completely—filled you with a strange sense of victory. That small flash of disappointment in his eyes had been the sweetest thing you’d seen in days.

You smirked to yourself, turning another page, pretending to absorb the information, though the words meant little. It was just a diversion, something to focus on other than the reality you were stuck in. But just as you were settling into that small, rare bubble of contentment, a sharp ache twisted in your belly, breaking through your thoughts.

You winced, letting the book fall closed as your hand instinctively went to your stomach. The nausea had mostly faded over the past few days, but it left this lingering, annoying ache that wouldn’t quite let you forget the changes happening inside you. Occasionally it would rise back up, making you feel ill again.

Your body was shifting in subtle ways—your breasts felt heavier, more sensitive, and a dull tenderness lingered in your abdomen like a constant reminder. You knew it was early, far too early for anything major, but it was impossible to ignore.

Your thoughts were disrupted by the soft creak of the library door opening, and immediately, your body tensed, that momentary peace slipping away. Sylus stepped in, his presence filling the quiet room as he walked toward you, carrying a tray. You eyed him warily, your senses heightened, your guard instinctively rising as he approached. He placed the tray gently on the table in front of you, the delicate clinking of porcelain breaking the silence.

“It’s a new blend of tea,” he said, gesturing to the steaming cup. “Should help with the nausea. And I brought some cheese crackers—thought they might settle your stomach a bit.”

You glanced at the tea, the steam rising with a faint herbal scent that was slightly different from the others he’d tried. Another attempt at catering to your needs, trying to make you more comfortable, to win you over with small gestures. It irritated you, the way he kept trying, as if he could somehow ease you into this life with little acts of kindness.

Something inside you snapped, and before you could stop yourself, the words tumbled out with a sharp edge.

“The others didn’t work, so I don’t know why you’re even bothering anymore.”

Sylus’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening as he absorbed the sting of your words. For a brief moment, you saw the flicker of something—uncertainty, maybe a hint of hurt—as if he hadn’t expected you to respond so coldly. But then he sighed, letting out a slow breath, and a small, soft smile formed on his lips, his gaze settling back on you with that unyielding patience that had become all too familiar.

“I had this custom blended,” he replied, his voice calm, almost gentle. “If it doesn’t work, I’ll keep trying. I want you to be comfortable, sweetie.”

The way he said it, the soft undertone of care, twisted something uncomfortable in your chest. His eyes held that sad, pained look you’d seen lately, the one that almost made you feel…guilty. You hated that feeling, hated the way it gnawed at you, pulling at your resolve to remain distant, to shut him out completely. He looked so earnest, so willing to do whatever it took to make things easier for you, and for a split second, you questioned if you were being too harsh. Maybe…maybe you were being unfair.

But no. You quickly shoved that thought away. He was the one who had put you in this position, the one who had made it so you couldn’t leave, couldn’t live your own life. He deserved every bit of bitterness you threw his way. Still, the guilt lingered, a small, unwelcome presence in the back of your mind, and you had to fight to keep it from softening your expression.

“Fine,” you muttered, not meeting his gaze, focusing on the steam rising from the tea. “Thank you.” The words felt forced, hollow, but you forced yourself to say them, if only to keep up the fragile peace.

He studied you for a moment longer, as if weighing something unsaid, and then nodded, stepping back slightly to give you space. The sadness was still there in his eyes, that soft, wounded look that made your stomach twist, but he didn’t press any further. Instead, he simply watched you, a quiet patience in his gaze, as if waiting for something.

You took a hesitant sip of the tea, letting the warmth settle in your throat, trying to ignore the complicated mess of emotions churning inside you.

Sylus stood there, watching you, his gaze as unyielding as always, yet softer somehow, as though he were observing something precious and fragile. It unnerved you, the way he seemed to look straight through your façade, sensing the cracks in your resistance even if you tried to hide them. It felt like a silent challenge, one you were determined not to lose.

He shifted slightly, his presence filling the quiet room, making the air feel heavier. You kept your gaze fixed on the tea, willing yourself not to acknowledge him, not to give him the satisfaction of seeing the effect his nearness had on you. Yet, the guilt gnawed at you, undermining your resolve. Were you being too harsh? He had even gone as far as custom blending tea for you to feel better. He was a kidnapper...yes. But you could definitely be in worse hands right now.

Your fingers tightened around the cup as you tried to push those thoughts aside. You had a role to play, and you couldn’t let his gestures break through the wall you’d painstakingly built. But the effort was exhausting, the line between the real and the forced blurring in ways you hadn’t anticipated. A flash of that painful memory of the punishment surfaced, and you felt a surge of resentment flare up, fueling your determination to keep him at arm’s length.

The silence thickened between you, heavy and uncomfortable, as Sylus lingered in the room, his gaze unwavering. It was clear he was weighing his words, searching for something to break the tension. Finally, he spoke, his tone careful, almost regretful.

“I know it’s hard to understand, but I had to do what I did,” he said, his voice almost too even, as if he were convincing himself just as much as he was trying to convince you. You swallowed your frustration, choosing not to respond with the words that were boiling inside you. Instead, you offered a simple, lifeless, “Okay.” Your voice was so low, it was barely above a whisper, but it was enough to convey your disappointment.

You reached for another book, hoping to immerse yourself in its pages, if only to create some distance between you and him. But Sylus wasn’t ready to let go just yet.

He took a step closer, lowering himself to his knees in front of the armchair you were sitting in. He rested his hand on your knee, stroking it gently with his thumb in a slow, rhythmic motion, as if the act alone could soothe away the resentment you felt. You didn’t meet his eyes, focusing instead on the edge of the book cover, willing yourself not to let his touch affect you. But his fingers were tender, tracing small circles, almost too soft to ignore, and you could feel his gaze boring into you.

“Look at me, please,” he murmured, his hand moving to gently cup your chin. His fingers were firm, insistent, as he guided your face toward his. Your eyes met, and you felt a flush creep over your cheeks despite your best efforts to stay composed. The intensity in his gaze was overwhelming, the raw emotion there almost tangible. It was as if he genuinely believed that he could erase your anger with nothing more than words and a pleading look.

“I know you’re upset,” he began, his voice softer now, coaxing. “I do. But please…don’t force my hand like that again.”

The calmness in his words, the way he spoke as though the blame was somehow on you for “forcing” him, stoked a flicker of anger deep within. But instead of snapping back, you kept your expression neutral, letting the frustration settle into a sad, disappointed mask. You let out a shaky sigh, channeling your hurt, and then you forced a tremble into your voice, perfecting the mask.

“Whatever,” you murmured, your voice breaking just a little as you mustered the saddest expression you could. “Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy hurting me.”

The words hung in the air, cutting through his rationalizations, leaving him momentarily speechless. You saw a flicker of something—guilt, maybe, or shame—cross his face, and you knew you had struck a nerve. You took that opportunity to let your eyes glisten, to let your breath hitch as though you were struggling to hold back tears.

Yes. Play the part.

And then, with a soft, broken voice, you whispered, “You shouldn’t even be hitting me...what kind of man hits his pregnant fiancée?”

The question lingered, pressing into him with a weight that seemed to ripple through his composure. His face contorted briefly, his eyes reflecting a mixture of guilt and sadness that he couldn’t mask. He opened his mouth, as if to explain himself, but closed it again, clearly shaken by the accusation, by the reminder of your condition. His thumb traced your cheek gently, his touch almost desperate to communicate something he couldn’t find words for.

You had to fight the urge to smile, to laugh in his face. This was all too easy. The leader of Onychinus was on his knees in front of you, looking like he was about to cry himself.

“Sweetie…I’m—” he faltered, the words catching in his throat as he searched for the right thing to say, for something that could undo the hurt he’d caused. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. He brushed a tear from your cheek with his thumb, his expression softening, the guilt in his eyes unmistakable now.

“What can I do to make this right?” he asked, his voice laced with a pleading sincerity, as though he believed he could truly make up for the pain he’d inflicted. “Just tell me. I want to make it up to you. Anything.”

You forced a tremulous breath, allowing the tears to flow freely, each one feeding into his remorse. Inside, a small satisfaction bloomed, knowing you had managed to twist the moment, to pull him into your web of hurt and guilt. And though you knew this game was a dangerous one, you couldn’t deny the satisfaction it brought—the power it gave you, even if only for a fleeting moment.

Anything...what a lie. He wouldn't grant you freedom no matter how many tears you shed.

You say nothing for a moment, letting the silence stretch out between you, the hint of vulnerability in your expression carefully calculated. “There…there are two things you could do to make it up to me,” you say softly, glancing up at him. His gaze remains fixed on you, searching, waiting, and you can tell he’s hoping you won't ask for freedom again.

“The first is simple,” you continue. “You already know what I used for my skincare routine before all this, don’t you?” You try to keep your voice calm, steady. “I don’t think it’s unreasonable to ask for a few familiar things to feel like myself. It might even help me stay calm…for the baby’s sake.” You know your words will resonate with him, his protectiveness piqued by anything that touches on your well-being, especially now that you’re carrying his child.

He nods, a slight, almost relieved smile forming. You suspect he’s ready to agree—skincare seems harmless enough, and it lets him be the provider he so desperately wants to be.

“And…there’s one other thing.” Your voice softens, and you avert your gaze, letting a hint of hesitation show. “It’s about my friend, Tara.” You pause, allowing him to see the faint trace of sadness in your eyes. “She’s probably worried sick, not knowing where I am or if I’m okay. You know I wouldn’t ask to contact…anyone else. But Tara—she’s like a sister to me. She deserves a little peace of mind.”

Sylus’s expression darkens just slightly, his eyes narrowing. But you press on, seizing the opportunity to paint this as a small, reasonable request. “One text. Just one, letting her know I’m safe,” you say softly, giving him your most genuine, pleading look. “I won’t say anything about…where I am. It’ll only be enough to put her mind at ease. That’s all.”

He studies you for a moment, his expression unreadable. You can feel the tension between the lines of his face, the conflict—his instinct to protect and control clashing with the guilt and love he professes for you. You know the second request is a risk, but you hope the weight of your sincerity, your quiet, calculated sadness, might tip the scales in your favor.

“Please, Sylus,” you add, your voice barely above a whisper, your fingers brushing over his hand in a gentle, almost hesitant touch. “I…I just need this small bit of reassurance. It’s for me as much as it is for her.” You offer him a faint smile, one you hope conveys your gratitude before he’s even answered.

Sylus's chuckle, low and indulgent, makes your stomach churn. The nonchalance in his eyes as he agrees to retrieve your skincare products—the smallest concession—only serves to remind you of the careful control he wields over your life now.

"The skincare can be arranged," he says with a faint smile. "I do know precisely what you used.” His gaze flickers over you, and the possessiveness in his eyes is unmistakable. “I'll get it to you by tomorrow afternoon,” he adds smoothly. "Although, I expected you to ask for something much more expensive, kitten."

His words slice through the room, making you feel small, confined. Every hint of freedom feels more and more like an illusion—fragile, granted at his whim. He’s measuring your autonomy out in teaspoons, and it’s infuriating. You don’t even trust yourself to reply, opting instead for a nod, masking the fire burning beneath your skin.

Then Sylus leans closer, his presence unnervingly steady. "As for the message," he says, a note of warning hidden under the softness, "I’ll be the one to send it. We can’t risk any misunderstandings. So, what exactly would you like it to say?"

The way he speaks, with such casual control, prickles your nerves. You resist the urge to pull away, but inside, your mind races. Could you hide something in the message to Tara? A word or phrase that might signal her to read between the lines, something only she would catch? But the calculating look in Sylus’s eyes warns you against it; he’d dissect every word, weigh every syllable. He’d see it for what it was.

No, it’s too risky. You’re left with the crushing reality of speaking plainly, voicing words that hold no hidden message, no veiled meaning. You push down the urge to cry as you choose the only thing that’s true. “Just say, ‘I love you, and I hope to see you again someday. Be safe.’”

Sylus studies you, his gaze lingering in a way that feels almost searching, and it makes your skin prickle. He’s watching you as if he can read every corner of your mind, and you feel exposed under that gaze, as though every guarded thought you’ve carefully hidden from him is laid bare.

Finally, he nods, his lips curling slightly, though there’s a hint of something unfamiliar in his expression. Regret? Sympathy? Whatever it is, it softens his features, giving him an uncharacteristic look of understanding. "Consider it done," he says quietly, his voice gentler than before. The sudden kindness feels like a trap, and you force yourself not to flinch. You need his cooperation, not his pity.

Your mind fixates on those words you gave him for Tara. They were true but so deeply lacking—lacking the message you really wanted to send, the cry for help, the reassurance that you hadn’t forgotten her, that you hadn’t stopped fighting. If you closed your eyes, you could picture her, the bright laugh, the fierce loyalty that once made you feel like you could conquer anything. Now, she has no idea you’re here. No idea you’re alive, or that your feelings are anything but willing compliance with this nightmare.

Sylus’s eyes remain on you, watching with an intensity that makes your skin crawl. He must know the weight of that message, the way you lingered on the words, and yet he says nothing more. His expression shifts back into that small smile, one that’s equally disconcerting in its familiarity.

"You’ve made your requests, sweetie. And I always keep my promises."

You nod, carefully curving your lips into a soft, appreciative smile, one you hope is convincing enough. You’ve come to understand how much he wants this—forgiveness, approval, a glimmer of genuine affection from you, even if it's earned through carefully controlled gestures and scripted apologies.

You decide to play into it, leaning in slightly, letting your fingers reach out to brush his shoulder. His gaze sharpens, and you don’t miss the faint flicker of surprise in his eyes. "I really appreciate it, Sylus," you say, keeping your voice gentle, measured. "I appreciate your apology, and…I'm sorry, too. For…you know."

The words leave a bitter taste on your tongue, but you watch him as you say them, feeling the satisfaction of seeing him visibly relax under your touch. He’s buying it. You let your fingers rest on his shoulder a moment longer, steady and light, feeling the warmth of his skin even through his shirt, and you can tell he’s holding onto this moment, savoring it like he’s finally achieved something.

Sylus’s hand comes up, covering yours where it rests on his shoulder, his touch firm yet careful, as if he’s afraid you’ll pull away. There’s a softness in his gaze that he’s allowing you to see, something vulnerable, almost human, and it stirs a flicker of unease in you. He looks down at you with a warmth that, for anyone else, might’ve felt comforting. But here, in this twisted captivity, it only unsettles you further.

“I’m glad,” he says softly, his voice low, steady, layered with something like relief. "You have no idea how much that means, honey."

You nod, adding just a touch of warmth to your smile, though your mind races, pushing down every impulse to recoil. This is a game, and you are still in control, holding the pieces that he doesn’t realize you’re wielding. For every moment he thinks you’re softened, for every moment he believes in your forgiveness, you gain a small advantage—a little more leverage, a little more understanding of what he needs to hear. It’s your best tool, and it will be your best weapon.

“I really do appreciate it,” you repeat, your tone gentle but with just the faintest hint of reluctance, a subtle suggestion that, while you’re willing to forgive, it’s not that easy. And, as you expect, he nods, his grip on your hand tightening as if he can feel the tentative trust in your words.

“I promise," he murmurs, his gaze never leaving yours. “And I’m going to prove to you that things can be different. I won’t let you down.”

You simply nod again, suppressing the triumph blooming inside you as he leans down to capture your lips with his own, keeping your expression soft, sincere. He’s slipping right into your hand. And as much as he might think he’s gaining ground, the truth is clear: the longer he craves your forgiveness, the more power you hold over him.

The next few days slipped by with a tentative quietness, a calm that felt almost unnatural given everything that had come before. Sylus, perhaps out of some desire to prove his newfound leniency, had been giving you more freedom around the house. He hadn’t loosened his control entirely—Mephisto, continued to tail you wherever you went, always watching with that artificial gleam in his eye—but you felt a hint of ease in this small expansion of your world.

Sylus would come and go for his business ventures but would always be back before you went to bed. Luke or Kieran would come shackle you before you laid down. You had gotten used to the sound of Sylus coming home late, and therefore wouldn't jump when he entered the room anymore.

For the most part, you spent your days drifting through different rooms, occasionally finding a moment of peace by the pool. Sitting on its edge, you let your feet dangle in the cool water, relishing the gentle lapping at your toes. The water was refreshing, a reminder of the world outside these walls, yet every time you looked across the shimmering surface, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being in a gilded cage. The pool, the luxurious house, even Mephisto—they were beautiful distractions, seemingly crafted just so you’d feel a little more at ease.

One morning, as you sat by the pool, lost in thought, you felt the earth tilt under you. You’d leaned forward too far, distracted, and in a heartbeat, you teetered toward the water, hands flailing instinctively. But before you could feel the shock of cold water on your skin, strong arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you back from the edge.

“Careful there,” Sylus murmured, his voice close to your ear, almost too close. His grip was firm, secure, and for a brief moment, you found yourself enveloped in his warmth, feeling the steady rhythm of his breath. His touch, though stabilizing, sent a chill up your spine—a reminder of his constant presence. The effect of his nearness was disorienting, an odd blend of repulsion and reluctant comfort.

You steadied yourself, offering a polite, if somewhat forced, smile. “Thanks,” you muttered, pulling back just slightly to regain a sense of distance.

He held your gaze a moment longer, his red eyes lingering on you before he finally released his hold, still keeping close. “You’re welcome,” he said, the ghost of a smile dancing at the corners of his mouth. “Be a little more aware, honey. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you…or the little one,” he added, resting a hand briefly on your shoulder, as if to underscore the sentiment.

A shiver ran down your spine at the mention of the baby, and you gave a quick nod, hoping he wouldn’t notice your discomfort.

Later that day, after you’d drifted from room to room, you found yourself drawn to the back of the property where the horse track lay. Sylus stayed close, of course, ever watchful, and despite the open space, you were aware of the subtle tension in his stance. Even with this seemingly mundane activity, you felt the weight of his concern, his subtle but constant reminder of the boundaries you couldn’t cross. Still, being around the horses provided a certain comfort. You took solace in their calm, the way they seemed indifferent to the trappings of wealth and control, caring only for the simple pleasures of grazing or being gently stroked along their necks.

Occasionally, the small colony of stray cats that Sylus fed would wander by, brushing up against your legs as if sensing you needed the comfort. You couldn’t help but smile at their easy affection, nuzzling each one and reveling in the softness of their fur. Often, you’d find yourself sitting among them, surrounded by their quiet purrs, letting their gentle presence lull you into moments of peace. Some afternoons, you even dared to nap, letting the steady rise and fall of their breaths ground you as they curled up beside you.

One day, as you reached out to pet one of the cats, something caught your eye—a small, wriggling bundle in the mouth of the one-eyed cat you’d grown fond of. It was a kitten, tiny and helpless, being carefully brought over and placed at your feet. Your heart leaped with joy, your earlier wariness momentarily forgotten.

“Sylus…I think she had a baby!” you exclaimed, unable to contain the excitement that bubbled up within you.

Sylus moved closer, his gaze softening as he took in the sight of the little creature squirming at your feet. He crouched down, reaching out a finger to gently stroke the kitten, his usually hardened features softened by an unexpected fondness.

“Honestly, I thought she was just putting on a few pounds,” he chuckled, his tone light, affectionate. He then looked up at you, his eyes holding a warmth that was both foreign and oddly comforting.

“Y’know, we’ll have our own little kitten eventually,” he murmured, glancing toward your stomach with an almost reverent look.

The comment brought you crashing back to reality, your thoughts swirling with the complexity of emotions his words had stirred up. While a part of you wanted to bask in the innocence of the moment, another part—the part that knew what was truly happening—resisted. The casual way he mentioned the life growing inside you, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, left you feeling both vulnerable and trapped.

Forcing a smile, you managed to nod, hoping the mask you wore was convincing. “Yeah…I guess we will,” you replied softly, willing yourself to stay composed.

He reached out, as if to touch your belly, but his hand hovered just inches away before he drew it back, his eyes lingering on you with a quiet intensity that left your heart pounding.

The subtle tension pulled you under like a rising tide, your thoughts swirling in relief as Sylus’s hand withdrew before it could actually reach you. You felt a blend of anticipation and unease, tangled together and bubbling just beneath the surface. It was unmistakable, this tension that had grown between you—something unspoken but palpable, simmering in each shared glance and lingering moment.

The idea of sex with him was out of the question, a boundary you were clear on. Yet, weeks spent in close quarters had made his small gestures impossible to overlook: the way his gaze lingered a second too long, his hand brushed yours just a bit too tenderly, his voice softened at the edges when he spoke to you. Each moment of near contact, every stolen look, hinted at a desire to have you that he seemed barely able to keep in check.

You tried to pretend it didn’t matter, to ignore what was slowly becoming an invisible tether. But with each passing day, that denial grew harder to maintain, becoming an itch you couldn’t quite soothe, a discomfort that gnawed at you. You needed to dispel the strange energy in the room, to shift away before he could notice the flicker of discomfort creeping onto your face.

Clearing your throat, you latched onto the first topic you could think of, hoping to ground the moment in something neutral. “You know,” you began casually, gesturing toward the kittens sprawled nearby, “you might want to think about getting them fixed. Before long, you’ll be overrun.” You forced a laugh, trying to punctuate your words with a lightness that might draw the attention away from anything unspoken lingering between you.

Sylus’s lips curved into a small smile, his eyes holding a hint of amusement as he glanced at the cluster of tabbies lounging without a care in the world. He looked at you knowingly, almost as if he could sense the undercurrent in your attempt to deflect.

“I’m already on it,” he replied, nodding toward the lounging felines. “Those over there have already been fixed,” he said with a soft chuckle. “But don’t let them fool you—catching them is no easy task. Cats…they’re smarter than people give them credit for.”

You studied his face as he spoke, noticing how, in that moment, he seemed to let down some unseen guard. The lines of tension softened in his expression, and for a fleeting second, he was just a man preoccupied with the everyday quirks of stray cats and unexpected litters. It still struck you as ironic that while he allowed these cats the freedom to roam, choosing to come and go as they pleased, you were bound, kept within limits he had drawn for you.

You offered a smile, hiding the deeper thoughts swirling behind it, and nodded with feigned interest. “I can imagine. They don’t look like the type to enjoy being scooped up.”

He laughed again, the sound soft and warm, and his eyes flickered from the cats back to you. His gaze held a gentleness you weren’t accustomed to, the previous intensity mellowing into something almost… affectionate. For a moment, the energy between you softened, and you felt the tension ease, just a little.

Still, even as you tried to sink into the calm, the awareness of his control pressed back in. While these cats moved freely, you remained tethered, your own freedom confined to the borders he had drawn.

The irony stung. Here you were, expected to play the part, to act as though these were the quiet comforts of home when, in truth, you were as far from freedom as you could possibly be.

He watched you, his gaze unwavering, and when you looked up, you caught that same intense look in his eyes—the one that seemed to see straight through you. The moment stretched, a silent exchange that felt both intimate and suffocating, until finally, he spoke, his voice low and steady.

“You know, I can’t help but imagine you like this,” he said, his tone softer. “With the baby. I can’t wait to see you holding them for the first time.”

The words sent a shock through you. He’d said things like this before, of course, always circling back to the future he envisioned, to his idea of a life together. But this time, his words felt heavier, as though he was trying to pull you into his world with just his voice.

You go quiet, letting the weight of his words linger in the space between you, the silence feeling heavy, almost suffocating. But you catch yourself quickly, swallowing down the discomfort and giving him the smile he wants to see—small, perhaps a touch hesitant, but accepting. It’s a practiced look, one that says you’re trying to come to terms with the future he envisions, the family he’s insistent on building. Sylus’s gaze softens as he watches you, a flicker of satisfaction passing over his face, as if he’s found what he’s been searching for in your expression.

Then, with a surprising gentleness, he reaches up and ruffles your hair, his hand lingering in your hair longer than expected. The casual touch catches you off guard, stirring a mix of emotions you quickly push down. He’s clearly pleased, his fingers curling ever so slightly as if savoring the moment. It’s both unnerving and strangely comforting—he seems almost normal, like a man simply doting on someone he loves. But before you can react, the sharp buzz of his phone shatters the illusion.

Sylus glances at the screen, his entire demeanor shifting as he lifts it to his ear, his voice cool and businesslike. “Mhm. Understood. Rest up,” he says briskly, then lowers the phone, his eyes flicking back to you with a sigh.

“Looks like the chef called in sick,” he says, his serious expression melting into a wry grin. “Seems we’re on our own for dinner tonight, kitten.”

You arch an eyebrow, folding your arms as you try to stifle a laugh as you follow him from the back and into the kitchen. Its nothing short of your expectations. Luxurious, large and stocked with every appliance one could think of using when making meals.

Glossy white marble countertops, streaked with subtle veins of gray, stretch across expansive islands and counters, catching the light from oversized pendant lamps hanging from above. Each light fixture is a custom piece, gleaming softly like jewelry against the sleek cabinetry.

Cabinets, painted a deep, sophisticated charcoal, line the walls from floor to ceiling, their polished brass handles catching glints of light. A double-door refrigerator with a matte stainless-steel finish stands beside a wine cooler and a large, commercial-grade range with six burners and a griddle. Above the range, an ornate, custom range hood extends up to the ceiling, adorned with decorative trim that gives it the look of an art installation.

In the center, a large marble island offers a second sink and ample prep space, surrounded by plush, high-backed bar stools upholstered in soft, gray velvet. The island’s edges are illuminated by under-cabinet lighting, creating a warm glow that makes the polished marble shine even more.

A walk-in pantry with frosted glass doors is tucked away near the far side, while a small but luxurious coffee bar complete with an espresso machine and built-in grinder shine on its surface.

You'd never seen a kitchen as luxurious as this and you're almost at a loss for words.

“Oh, so does that mean you’ll be cooking?” you tease, pretending to eye him with skepticism.

He raises an eyebrow in response, clearly entertained by your challenge. “Don’t look so doubtful. I’m more than capable of whipping up a meal.” His smirk broadens, a glint of mischief in his gaze.

You can’t help but play along, an idea forming in the back of your mind. “Well, I suppose we’ll see. Do we have ingredients for chicken soup?” you ask, a hint of curiosity in your voice.

“Chicken soup?” he repeats, looking amused. “So simple. Are you having cravings already?” He chuckles softly, as if the thought brings him a kind of joy, and for a moment, the tension between you both seems to ease.

You roll your eyes, but there’s a flicker of unexpected warmth in your chest, despite yourself. “It’s not that,” you say, forcing a light tone. “It’s just…my mom used to make it for me whenever I was sick. You know, one of those little comforts from home.”

Sylus makes a sound of acknowledgment, clearly pleased, and moves to the fridge, pulling out ingredients with a kind of confidence that surprises you. He sets a small pile of vegetables, herbs, and chicken on the counter, glancing over his shoulder with a playful challenge.

He nods thoughtfully, studying you with an intensity that makes you look away, feeling oddly vulnerable. “I think we have everything,” he says finally, going back over to the fridge and pulling out a few large containers of chicken broth, setting them on the counter with practiced care.

As he starts prepping, a thought crosses your mind. You know he craves this—normalcy, a sense of domesticity with you—and an idea takes hold. “Do you need help?” you ask, your voice soft, as though you’re hesitant, like this is something you’re warming up to. You can almost feel the excitement radiating off him as he glances up, his gaze softening further. He hands you a cutting board and some carrots, guiding you with a gentle but steady hand.

“Of course,” he says warmly. “I’d like that”, his voice genuine, as if this simple act of cooking together is all he’s been waiting for.

You focus on slicing the carrots, keeping your expression neutral, hiding the mix of emotions stirring within you. There’s a strange satisfaction in this, playing along with his fantasy, leaning into the role he so desperately wants you to fill. It’s a small game of control, one that lets you feel as if you’re guiding his emotions, that you have the upper hand in some way.

As you work side by side, you notice the quietness that falls between you both. He’s absorbed in his task, his movements focused and practiced. It’s strange, seeing him in this light, like a regular person preparing dinner. You catch him glancing at you now and then, a softness in his gaze, as if this scene holds something precious for him.

You feel a strange mix of relief and trepidation as you move beside him, trying to focus on the simple, rhythmic actions of chopping vegetables, feeling his presence close but silent, as if he, too, is trying to take in this unexpected moment. You settle into the process, carefully slicing carrots as you think back to the countless times you’ve made this soup before, that comforting aroma filling the kitchen, the memory of your mother’s gentle hands guiding yours through the motions.

But just as you fall into the rhythm, a sharp sting jerks you out of your thoughts. You glance down, seeing the thin line of red blossoming on your finger where the knife slipped.

“Ah,” you hiss quietly, pulling your hand back instinctively.

The sound catches Sylus’s attention immediately, and he’s springing to action in an instant, his fingers wrapping around your wrist before you can react. His grip is firm, almost protective, as he pulls your hand closer, inspecting the small wound. “Let me see,” he murmurs, his voice low, and there’s an edge of concern in his tone that makes your heart skip.

“It’s nothing, really,” you say quickly, trying to brush it off, but he doesn’t release his hold. He keeps his gaze fixed on the cut, his jaw tight. Then, to your surprise, he lifts your hand, his eyes flicking up to meet yours before he leans forward, bringing your bloodied finger to his mouth.

Your breath catches, and a sharp heat floods through you as his lips press around the tip of your finger, the warmth of his mouth searing against your skin. The sensation is foreign, overwhelming—something that tugs at a deep, visceral part of you that you didn’t know was there. His tongue brushes over the cut, gentle but deliberate, sending a shiver up your spine as he holds your gaze, his eyes dark and focused.

You can feel your pulse racing, your face growing warm, and your thoughts scatter, leaving you with only the sensation of his mouth on your skin, his hand steady around yours. “W-What are you…” you manage, but your voice comes out barely a whisper.

He pulls back, his expression a mix of smug amusement and something unreadable. “Relax,” he says softly, as if sensing your reaction. “Just making sure it’s clean. Can’t have you getting an infection.”

You’re left momentarily speechless, caught between anger and something dangerously close to longing. You pull your hand back, clutching it to your chest as if to protect yourself from the lingering warmth of his touch. It’s just a shallow cut, you remind yourself, trying to ground yourself in the present, to shake off the spell he cast with that simple, unsettlingly intimate act.

But he’s still watching you, a small smirk playing on his lips as he reaches for a first aid kit from a nearby drawer. “You’re cute when you’re flustered,” he teases, and though his words are light, there’s a glint of satisfaction in his gaze, as if he’s pleased with himself for getting under your skin.

You feel a surge of irritation, mixed with something you can’t quite identify, as you sit down on a stool, your face still warm. “Just…just don’t do that again,” you mutter, unable to meet his eyes as you try to regain your composure. You can feel his eyes on you, his gaze heavy, almost probing, but you refuse to look up, focusing on the sting of the bandage he wraps around your finger instead.

“All right, kitten,” he says quietly, his voice softer now, and you can sense a hint of genuine concern beneath his teasing tone. He finishes wrapping the bandage, his fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary before he pulls back, giving you space.

The room feels strangely charged, each movement laden with a tension that wasn’t there before. You glance down at your bandaged finger, the pulse of heat still lingering, and as you return to your place beside him, you find it harder than ever to pretend that his presence doesn’t affect you.

Focusing back on the vegetables, the silence stretches between you and Sylus once more, thick with the lingering tension from his unexpected tenderness over your cut. You reach for the celery, forcing yourself to focus, to forget the strange heat that his touch left on your skin. Sylus picks up a wooden spoon, stirring the pot of simmering broth in measured, careful movements. The kitchen fills with the warm aroma of vegetables and chicken stock, a comforting scent that feels like a foreign softness in the middle of everything.

You turn to chop more carrots, sneaking glances at him out of the corner of your eye. Sylus works with a quiet focus, his hands moving deftly as he adds in herbs—thyme, rosemary, a bay leaf—all carefully chosen to infuse the soup with warmth and flavor. You’re mildly impressed, watching him as he handles the ingredients with ease, as if cooking a simple chicken soup were second nature to him.

“So, what next?” you ask, trying to keep your voice light, as though you hadn’t just felt your heart racing minutes ago.

“Let’s get the chicken in,” he replies, his voice smooth as he gestures to the bowl of shredded chicken. “Then, we’ll let everything simmer together. Low and slow—no shortcuts.”

You pick up a spoon, gently stirring in the chicken, careful to incorporate it with the vegetables and broth. You watch the pieces swirl in the liquid, the broth turning a deeper golden as it absorbs the flavor. The quiet of the moment lets you drift, lulled by the comforting warmth rising from the stove.

“Keep stirring,” he murmurs beside you, his voice low, yet calm. His hand rests lightly on your shoulder, steadying you as you stand beside him, and his presence radiates a calmness that feels almost strange. The heat of the kitchen, the weight of his hand, it all leaves you feeling slightly off-balance.

As you continue to stir, you can’t help but let out a small sigh, the scent of the soup bringing memories flooding back—nights when your mom would make soup, humming softly to herself as she worked, the warmth filling the kitchen as you watched her move around. You close your eyes briefly, trying to savor the familiarity of it, the sense of home it brings, even if just for a moment.

You miss her. Before everything happened all those years ago.

When you open your eyes, Sylus is looking at you, his expression softened. “Thinking about something?” he asks, his voice gentle, almost curious.

You nod, hesitating. “Just…a memory,” you say softly, not wanting to share too much, but feeling a strange pull to let him see this small piece of you. What would explaining do anyway? Knowing him he probably knew all about your family.

“Of course,” he says, his tone understanding, and his hand falls away from your shoulder. “Let’s finish this up, then. You’ll get to taste it soon.”

He leans over, reaching for a sprig of parsley, and his shoulder brushes against yours. The touch sends a spark through you, one you try to ignore as he drops the herb into the soup. You watch the parsley swirl, each piece turning a vibrant green against the rich broth, and Sylus gives the pot one last, slow stir.

After a few more minutes of simmering, he dips a spoon into the soup, tasting it thoughtfully, his brow furrowed in concentration. He tilts his head, considering the flavor, before nodding in approval.

“Try it,” he says, offering you the spoon. His eyes are intent on you, watching for your reaction, as if he’s waiting to see if this small gesture will please you.

You take the spoon, tasting the soup. The broth is rich and comforting, each flavor melding together in a way that surprises you. The herbs, the chicken, the vegetables—they all work together to create something warm, soothing. You feel a rush of unexpected gratitude, a softness you hadn’t prepared for.

Not quite like your moms, but overwhelmingly delicious.

“It’s…good,” you say, unable to hide the small, genuine smile that crosses your face.

Sylus smiles back, his expression softening as he watches you. “I’m glad you like it,” he says quietly, his voice laced with an almost tender pride. For a moment, everything feels surreal, as if this is all part of a different reality—one where you aren’t trapped, one where this is just a simple, shared meal between two people finding comfort in each other’s company.

“Let’s serve it,” he says finally, breaking the silence. He ladles the soup into bowls, each one filled to the brim with steaming broth, the colors vibrant and inviting.

You carry your bowl to the living room table, settling down beside him on the couch. For the first time in a while, you feel a genuine sense of warmth as you both start to eat, the flavors filling the silence between you in a way that words can’t. It’s strange, this fleeting moment of peace, of almost normalcy. You savor it, even as you remind yourself not to get too comfortable.

You take another slow bite of the soup, savoring the comforting warmth and letting it settle over you. It’s surprisingly good, and for a moment, you’re tempted to get lost in the simple pleasure of a warm meal. You glance over at Sylus, who’s watching you with a soft expression, looking far more at ease than he usually does. There’s a gentleness in his gaze, an almost tender quality that contrasts sharply with the hardened exterior you’ve grown used to at times.

Taking the opportunity to lighten the mood further, you decide to test the waters. “So,” you say, a teasing note in your voice, “am I going to be cooking dinner every night with a baby on my hip? Is that what you’re planning?”

Sylus’s eyes twinkle with amusement as he sets his bowl down and leans back slightly, looking at you with genuine warmth. He chuckles, clearly entertained by the thought. “No, kitten,” he murmurs, shaking his head as if the very idea is absurd. "Not even close.”

A little surprised, you raise an eyebrow. “Wait, really?”

“Why would I ever want you to take on any of that?” he says with a soft laugh, his expression affectionate as he looks at you. “Why should you waste your energy cooking and cleaning, especially with everything else going on? We have people here to help with those things.”

You blink, a bit taken aback by his answer. He says it with such sincerity, as if the notion of you doing any kind of work around the house is ridiculous. It’s almost hard to believe, this view he seems to have of you—not just as someone to take care of, but as someone he wants to shield from any kind of hardship or responsibility. He’s looking at you with something deeper than affection. It's almost as if he’s envisioning a life where your only focus is happiness and peace.

“So…” you say, letting the thought linger, “if I’m not cooking or cleaning, what exactly am I supposed to do?”

He leans forward, his eyes never leaving yours, and brushes a strand of hair back behind your ear, his hand lingering a moment longer than necessary. “I just want you to be happy. Be the mother to our child, be here with me,” he says softly, his voice thick with warmth. “And everything else? Let me worry about that. All I need is for you to never leave and stay with me. You’ve already given me so much.”

There’s a sincerity in his words that catches you off guard, a rawness in the way he looks at you that goes beyond mere attraction. You’d half expected him to laugh off your question, but his answer is so direct, so heartfelt, that it leaves you momentarily speechless. You can feel the weight of his gaze, the quiet reverence in his eyes, as if he’s seeing every part of you and cherishing it.

"So have your baby and...be happy?"

He nods, picking up the glass of wine he's been sipping on to accompany his dinner. "And be as cute as you already are. So far, you're doing a flawless job, honey".

You manage a soft smile, trying to mask the complexity of emotions swirling inside you. His words are both reassuring and overwhelming in their intensity, a reminder of how deeply he’s bound you into this vision of a life together. There’s relief in knowing that he doesn’t see you as just a homemaker but rather as someone he truly values. And yet, that value comes with expectations, responsibilities that feel no less heavy despite the tender way he presents them.

“Wow,” you murmur, keeping your voice light to mask the turmoil within. “Sounds like a dream job.”

Sylus smiles at you, a look of profound satisfaction in his eyes as he reaches over, lightly squeezing your hand. “It’s not a job, sweetheart. It’s a life, a future. One we’re building together.” He gives your hand a gentle squeeze, and for a moment, you feel the full weight of his sincerity, a devotion that’s almost overwhelming.

The warmth of his hand, the steadiness of his gaze—it’s as if he’s pouring every bit of his affection into this moment, giving you a glimpse of the life he’s crafted in his mind. You glance down, your fingers tightening around the spoon as you take another sip of soup, using it as a shield to give yourself a moment to breathe, to process everything he’s just said. You know you’re still treading a thin line, but in this moment, you can almost believe that you’re safe, that he won’t ask for more than you can give.

For now, you’ll let him hold onto this vision, this gentle world he’s trying to build around you, while you keep the part of yourself that’s planning for a different future carefully tucked away.

You glance over at Sylus’s glass, the amber liquid catching the light in a way that makes it look particularly inviting. The warmth of the room, the gentle clinking of cutlery, and the surprisingly cozy vibe of the evening—it all feels surreal. Before you know it, the words slip out, half-joking but with a tinge of genuine longing.

“That wine…I bet that would taste amazing right about now,” you murmur, giving him a sly look. You know he’d never let you drink while you’re pregnant, but there’s a boldness bubbling up inside you, a playfulness that feels oddly freeing. You figure you might as well test the waters while you’re both in a relaxed mood.

Sylus pauses, the glass halfway to his lips, and raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. A chuckle escapes him, low and warm, and he shakes his head. “Nice try, sweetie,” he says, his tone filled with affection. “But you know better than that.”

You sigh dramatically, leaning back in your seat with a mock pout. “Can’t blame a girl for trying.”

His laughter deepens, a rich, genuine sound that resonates through the room. He takes another sip, savoring it slowly, almost as if to tease you with it. “Tell you what,” he says, setting the glass down with a quiet clink, his eyes meeting yours. “Once the little one arrives, I’ll have a whole case of the finest wine waiting for you. Consider it a gift for giving me my first child. Something truly extravagant.”

You can’t help but let a small smile tug at your lips. “You mean it?” There’s a flicker of surprise in your voice, mixed with a touch of excitement at the thought of a small indulgence waiting for you on the other side of this. Not that it would matter. You didn't plan to wait around long enough for this gift.

“Absolutely,” he says, his expression softening. “Only the best for you.”

The way he says it makes you feel as though he’s not just talking about the wine, and for a moment, the intensity in his gaze is enough to make you forget where you are, who he is, and why you’re here. It’s both comforting and unsettling, this unexpected tenderness.

You look away, letting your fingers toy idly with your spoon. “I look forward to it then,” you reply softly, the weight of his words lingering in the space between you.

The warmth of the room and the low hum of the TV slowly lulled you into a comfortable haze, the day’s events blending into the soft murmur of the late-night talk show on the screen. Before you realized it, your eyelids grew heavy, and the world around you blurred and faded into sleep.

When you stir awake, it’s just for a moment—a brief awareness of being lifted, cradled against Sylus’s chest. His arms are steady as he carries you, his steps measured and gentle, as if he doesn’t want to disturb the peace you’ve drifted into. You’re too tired to care, and the gesture isn’t exactly new, so you let your head rest against him, slipping back into that comfortable in-between state of semi-consciousness.

As he reaches the room and places you on the bed, you feel the familiar cool metal of the shackle as he carefully clasps it around your ankle. There’s a strange mix of acceptance and resignation that settles over you; it’s routine by now, and you’ve learned that resistance will get you nowhere. You don’t stir, barely opening your eyes as you feel the slight weight and coldness against your skin.

Sylus’s hand lingers just a moment longer than it should, his fingers brushing your ankle lightly as if apologizing without words. Then he straightens, watching you as though ensuring you’re comfortable, or perhaps just reluctant to leave. The silence stretches for a beat before he adjusts the blanket over you, tucking it in gently.

Drifting back to sleep, you feel the faintest, fleeting touch of his hand on your hair, his voice a low, barely audible murmur. “Goodnight, sweetie.” And then he’s gone, leaving you in the silence, shackled and resting, your heart and mind caught in that strange place between comfort and captivity.

A chill snakes up your spine, a subtle pull dragging you from sleep’s warm grasp. Something’s wrong. You stir, confused, only half-awake when a voice—a low, familiar, male voice cuts through the haze.

“Hey…it’s kinda cold. Could you let go of the blanket a little?”

Sylus? No...not Sylus.

The familiarity of it pulls you fully awake, and you snap your eyes open, blinking at the darkness. But then, as your vision sharpens, you see him. Reese. He’s lying beside you, facing you on the bed, his face turned just enough for you to catch the black, oozing gunshot wound in his head, gaping open and slick with blood. A trickle of it slides down his cheek, soaking the sheets under him, dark and thick.

Your body freezes, a scream clawing at your throat, but no sound comes out. Your breath is trapped, the air around you thick and cold, chilling you from the inside out. How is this possible? He’s dead—he’s dead, but here he is, lying next to you, close enough to reach out and touch.

“What’s with the face?” His voice is casual, irritated. “Didn’t you hear me? It’s cold.”

You shake your head weakly, trying to focus, to convince yourself this isn’t real. But his face—the wound, the blood—is horribly vivid, every detail clear. You close your eyes, muttering to yourself, “Y-you’re not real…you’re not real…” as if repeating it will somehow pull you out of this nightmare.

Reese laughs, a low, mocking sound that makes your blood run colder. “Not real?” His tone is twisted, bitter. “First, you can’t take responsibility for your actions, and now I’m just…what? A figment of your imagination?”

You can barely hold his gaze, the look in his eyes dark and hollow, yet piercing, accusatory. You’re rooted to the bed, every muscle locked, your body paralyzed as his words sink in, hitting deeper than you’d like to admit. You want to move, to pull away, but you’re pinned, helpless under the weight of his presence.

“Do I matter so little to you?” he asks, voice rising in anger, his tone laced with a venom that sends a new wave of terror coursing through you. He leans closer, blood oozing from his wound, seeping down to your skin. Warm, sticky drops spatter across your cheek, and you can feel them trailing down, clinging to your skin like a brand.

“Tell me,” he demands, his voice filled with rage. “Did I deserve that end? Was I so bad?”

You try to shake your head, to deny it, but the words stick in your throat, the fear, the shock smothering you. All you manage is a strangled gasp, your eyes wide and desperate as he stares you down, inching closer, his face twisted with fury, with a pain that cuts straight through you.

“I wasn’t a bad guy,” he whispers, his tone shifting, softer, but somehow worse—a wounded, broken sound that cuts deeper than the anger. “I just had…problems. But now...I'm dead. And its all your fault.”

The blood continues to flow, more of it now, as if the wound has deepened, spilling down his face, soaking into the sheets, covering the bed, drenching everything. You can feel it spreading, thick and suffocating, seeping into your skin, binding you in place. It’s pulling you down, drowning you in the darkness, and all you can do is lie there, trapped, helpless, as Reese’s voice echoes around you.

You want to scream, to claw your way out, to breathe—but there’s only the blood, the suffocating weight, the feeling of it pulling you deeper, filling your lungs. You’re sinking, slipping into darkness, your vision blurring as his words fade, replaced by silence.

You jolt awake, eyes flying open, heart racing as you lie there, paralyzed in the dark. The weight of the nightmare still clings to you, thick and suffocating, every inch of your skin damp with sweat. Reese’s voice, his blood-smeared face, feels too close, too real. You squeeze your eyes shut, willing the image to fade, to dissolve back into the shadows where it belongs. Just a dream, you remind yourself, swallowing hard. It was just a dream.

Beside you, Sylus stirs. He must have fallen asleep only recently; he’s been on edge these past days, slipping into quick naps whenever he can. His arm rests lightly over you, and you feel it tighten as you shift slightly, trying to push away the fear that lingers like a shadow.

“You’re a little damp,” his voice murmurs softly, his hand moving to your shoulder, steadying you. His eyes open, just a glimmer in the darkness, and they narrow slightly as he takes in your expression, the remnants of fear etched into your features. “Too hot?” he asks, his voice low and concerned.

You barely manage a nod, still shaken. His eyes soften, and his thumb begins tracing slow, soothing circles on your shoulder. His presence, the gentle rhythm of his touch, begins to pull you back from the brink of the nightmare, grounding you.

“Bad dream again?” he whispers, a touch of worry slipping through.

You swallow, nodding as your voice comes out in a whisper, raw and unsteady. “It’s…I’m okay. Just…him again.”

For a moment, the words hang heavy between you. You hadn’t planned on confiding in him, on letting him see even a fraction of the fear that holds you captive. But in the quiet of the dark room, he’s the only thing grounding you, his hand still resting gently on your shoulder, his gaze steady.

Sylus doesn’t push you, doesn’t press for details. Instead, he offers a quiet reassurance, his voice almost a murmur. “You’re safe,” he says, the words warm and soothing. “Whatever you’re seeing… it’s in the past. I won't let that happen to you again.”

You feel the weight of his words settle over you, anchoring you as the last shreds of the nightmare begin to slip away. You don’t pull away, instead letting his calm presence ease the terror that had gripped you moments before. His hand stays on your shoulder, offering a comfort you hadn’t expected but don’t reject, not now.

Breathing slowly, you finally let your body relax, the familiar fear fading.

Sylus’s voice was gentle, almost coaxing, as he reminded you, “You know you can always talk to me if you need to. I’m here.” His eyes held that soft patience, as if he were waiting for you to finally accept his care. But he didn’t push further. You simply nodded, giving a small, hollow smile. “I think I’ll take a shower,” you murmured, avoiding his gaze.

He nodded, pulling back, watching you slip toward the bathroom as the chain around your ankle rattled softly against the floor. The instant you disappear into the bathroom, you exhaled, bracing yourself against the sink for a moment as the weight of everything washed over you. Stripping off your clothes, you stepped into the shower, letting the water wash over you as though it could erase the turmoil inside.

The warmth of the spray brought you a brief sense of calm, a moment of escape as you let the tension in your muscles release. You closed your eyes, letting the water course down your skin, trying to shake off the remnants of the nightmare and the reality you were stuck in. It was easy, at least for a few minutes, to let your mind drift, to imagine yourself somewhere else entirely.

As you dried off, wrapping yourself in a towel, a sharp, unexpected pain twisted low in your abdomen. You clutched your stomach, wincing as the ache pulsed for a moment before ebbing away. When you looked up, your reflection in the tall mirror across the room caught your eye. There, your gaze drifted to something you’d been avoiding for weeks—a slight but undeniable curve, a small but visible bump.

Your heart skipped a beat, panic clawing at you. No, no… this isn’t happening. You weren't showing yesterday...no way you grew overnight? Right?

Turning to the side, you ran your hand over the curve, hoping it would somehow disappear, that maybe this was some strange trick of the light, an illusion cast by the shadows in the dim bathroom. But it was real—solid and unyielding under your touch, a soft, foreign shape that hadn’t been there before. The life growing inside you, forced upon you in this gilded cage. There was no more pretending, no more denial. The truth stared back at you, a relentless reminder of everything you’d tried to escape.

Your mind raced, spiraling with thoughts, each one sharper than the last. What am I going to do? The question echoed in your mind, louder and louder. How could you bring a child into this world, trapped here, bound to a man who held you against your will? How could you even begin to reconcile the love that was expected of you with the resentment boiling beneath the surface?

And yet…

Somewhere, buried beneath the panic, there was a flicker of something else. A faint, fleeting thought that this was your child—a part of you, something innocent and pure, untainted by the cruelty of its father. But that thought vanished just as quickly as it had appeared, smothered by the reality of your situation.

No. Its a monster put here by a monster. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Suddenly, Sylus’s voice broke through the haze, calling to you from beyond the bathroom opening. You stiffened, panic flooding your veins anew. He can’t see this. Not yet.

A wave of panic surged, and you scrambled to snatch your shirt from the counter, clutching it desperately against your chest as his figure appeared, and he stepped inside. His gaze fell on you, his brow furrowing slightly with concern as he took you in, standing there, exposed, your knuckles tight against the shirt you were pressing tightly against yourself.

He took a step forward, concern etched in his face. “Did something happen? Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m fine—please, Sylus, just…leave,” you replied, willing your voice to stay steady, hoping he would listen.

But his gaze softened as he searched your face, clearly noticing the quickening in your breath, the apprehension in your eyes. Without a word, he reached for the shirt you held, and despite your best efforts, his grip was gentle but unyielding as he eased it from your hands.

"I've already seen you naked sweetie, many times. You don't need to be shy".

You felt frozen, helpless to stop him as he lifted the shirt away, exposing the small curve that had been hidden beneath.

Sylus’s breath seemed to catch, his eyes widening in awe as he took in the sight of your small but undeniable bump. For a moment, he was silent, his gaze tracing the curve of your stomach with a mixture of astonishment and tenderness. Then, as if unable to contain himself, a radiant smile broke across his face, one of unrestrained joy, his eyes brightening in a way you’d never seen before.

“This…this is what you were hiding?” His voice was a soft, reverent whisper, and he knelt down, his hand reaching out to gently, reverently, rest on the slight swell. He looked up at you, eyes shining with an emotion so raw, so overwhelming, it left you speechless.

“Sweetie…you’re beautiful,” he murmured, his fingers lightly brushing against your skin, tracing the gentle curve as though it were the most precious thing he’d ever seen.

Before you could pull away, he leaned forward, his lips pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your stomach. His breath was warm against your skin, and the intimacy of the moment struck you to your core. Your heart pounded in your chest, revulsion and disbelief twisting in your stomach as he closed his eyes, his touch so tender it was almost unbearable.

Sylus’s gaze flickered up to meet yours, filled with love, wonder, and a kind of vulnerability you hadn’t expected. For a moment, he seemed lost in the moment, lost in the reality that the life he’d longed for was now beginning to take shape. He brushed a gentle hand over your bump, his fingers tracing a slow, reverent path.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his hand gliding from your cheek to your shoulder. "So pretty with my baby growing in you, you're doing so good for me..."

His words fell like honey, each phrase laced with something warm and heavy. The praise mixed with the gentle intensity of his gaze, and for a moment, you felt a strange, almost dizzying sensation, as if his tenderness was pulling you into a world where you could forget the truth—just for a second.

But the kiss was no longer soft. He leaned in, pressing you against the wall, his hands slipping down to your waist, holding you close. There was a tension between you, a heat radiating from his touch as he let his lips trail from your mouth to your jaw, each kiss leaving a lingering warmth on your skin. He was so close, his hand pressing gently but possessively against the small of your back, his closeness overwhelming. You could feel his breath against your neck, the rapid beating of his heart as he leaned closer still.

He pressed up further against you, and you could feel the hardening of his cock as his hands continued roaming your naked body. Panic surged within you, the walls closing in as you felt him drawing you deeper into his embrace. You weren’t ready. Not for this. The kisses, the closeness, the feeling of his hands anchoring you to him—it was all too much.

You took a shaky breath, willing your voice to remain steady. “Sylus… please,” you whispered, your hand pressing against his chest, urging a little distance. “I’m sorry…I’m just…I’m not ready.”

For a split second, the air stilled. You didn’t dare look up, bracing yourself, fearing a flash of anger or the sting of his disapproval. But slowly, his hands softened their grip, loosening from your waist. You could feel him shift, the intensity of his touch retreating as he pulled back slightly. Hesitantly, you looked up, expecting frustration or perhaps that coldness you’d seen before.

Instead, his gaze met yours, warm and filled with a softness that was entirely unexpected. He swallowed, his thumb gently stroking your cheek as he took a steadying breath, as if calming himself. “I understand,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, but the warmth in it resonated deeply, cutting through the tension. “This is a lot for you to take in. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overwhelm you.”

You blinked, your heart racing as his words settled over you. He wasn’t angry. There was no frustration in his expression—only a look of genuine concern and, to your astonishment, regret. He wasn't going to force you like he had before. He had let you go.

“Thank you,” you managed, the words quiet, almost lost in the air between you. For a moment, you struggled to process what had just happened. Sylus, who had always taken so much from you without question, had actually listened. He’d stopped. You’d steeled yourself for resistance, for anger, for some form of reminder of his control over you. Yet here he was, stepping back, respecting your boundaries with a tenderness that left you momentarily speechless.

As you looked at him, you felt an odd mix of emotions. Relief washed over you, but something else lingered too—something more unsettling, a tiny flicker of doubt that questioned everything. It was the way he looked at you, as if there were truly nothing he wouldn’t do for you, even if it meant pulling himself back.

Sylus’s gaze softened as he took a step back, releasing you from his embrace but keeping his hand on your shoulder for just a moment longer. His thumb brushed gently over your collarbone, lingering, as if reluctant to let go completely.

“Do you want any help getting dressed?” he asked, his tone tender, almost coaxing. His eyes held a gentleness you were still getting used to, as though he was allowing himself to be vulnerable for once, hoping you’d let him in, even if just for a moment longer.

You shook your head quickly, a polite smile crossing your face. “No, it’s okay. I can manage.” Your voice came out steadier than you felt, and you could see the hint of disappointment that flickered in his gaze before he quickly masked it with a soft smile of his own.

You wondered why he craved so much for you to depend on him for every little thing. You couldn't understand.

“All right,” he murmured, leaning down to place a gentle kiss on your cheek, his lips lingering just a fraction longer than necessary. “I’ll be in my office if you need anything.”

With a graceful, deliberate movement, he knelt and reached for the chain at your ankle. Its weight shifted as he seemed to inspect it. You couldn’t help but notice the rust forming on its edges, the faint orange stain a quiet reminder of each time it had endured the showers with you, silently marking the limits of your freedom. He noticed it too, pausing for a second as he looked at the worn chain.

“Hmm,” he murmured, running his thumb along the rusted edge with a look of quiet contemplation. For a moment, you thought he might undo it, but instead, he straightened up, the faintest frown creasing his brow.

He looked back at you, his expression softening again. “I’ll see you in a bit,” he said, his voice a gentle promise.

As he turned and left, you found yourself exhaling a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. The weight of his presence lifted, leaving you alone with the faint memory of his touch still lingering on your skin.

The room seemed to expand in his absence, and you allowed yourself a moment to collect your thoughts. The sight of the rusted chain resting limply at your foot reminded you that, despite his tenderness, despite these fleeting glimpses of something softer, you were still his captive. Yet a strange sense of relief washed over you. Today, he’d listened. Today, he’d let you keep that sliver of control. And for now, you’d hold on to that.

As you stood there, something inside you unraveled, a delicate thread finally snapping under the weight of it all. The reflection in the mirror blurred, and you didn’t even notice the tears until you felt the warmth trailing down your cheeks. They fell silently, each one a reminder of the future that was no longer an abstract concept. A mother...you were going to be a mom. This was real.

The thought settled in your chest, heavy and suffocating. You tried to steady your breathing, doing small calculations in your head, desperately seeking some reassurance. By now, you must be past twelve weeks, right? Past that critical point where things were supposed to feel safer, more certain. But the slight swell of your belly seemed too prominent, too soon, and the thought gnawed at you. Would this baby be huge? Were you somehow different? You didn’t know, and the not-knowing scared you.

With each breath, reality closed in, no longer letting you keep it at a comfortable distance. There would be no waking up from this, no shaking it off like a bad dream. This was happening, and the tiny life growing inside you was proof of that. You closed your eyes, pressing a hand to your stomach, the warmth of your palm grounding you, if only for a moment.

In his office, Sylus leaned back in his chair, the faintest hint of a smile playing at his lips. The image of you lingered in his mind, your face still etched with surprise and maybe even a glimmer of acceptance. He’d seen it when you touched your belly, the soft, instinctual motion you likely didn’t even realize you’d made.

It struck him how profoundly this all had changed, not only for you but for himself. For the longest time, he’d moved through life with an efficient, calculated purpose, relationships and alliances mere tools in the larger picture. But with you, he found himself moving beyond that cold, strategic calculation. His gaze softened just remembering the way you’d looked at him, hesitant yet trying to keep up a facade, an echo of something fragile and new.

The hum of his phone jolted him from his thoughts, a message notification flashing across the screen. It was from Dr. Merrill, a routine check-in that he’d been insisting upon ever since he’d learned about your protocore syndrome. Sylus’s gaze darkened slightly as he thought back to his conversation with the doctor. There were, of course, risks. But he’d come this far—he would ensure both you and the child would be fine.

In the next coming weeks, you would both find out the gender. And he couldn't be more excited. He hadn't given the gender a whole lot of thought, as having either a son or a daughter would be fine. As long as they were healthy. He wondered if you were hoping for a specific gender? He would have to ask later once you were feeling more comfortable.

He quickly messaged the doctor back, instructing him to be prepared for another home visit in the coming weeks, as you were beginning to show.

Setting the phone aside, he let out a long breath, allowing himself to sink deeper into his thoughts. The joy he’d felt when he first saw the hint of your growing belly was overwhelming, almost surreal. It was rare, feeling anything so strong. He’d been raised to value control and precision, but with you, things were different. For once, he felt like he had a purpose beyond the plans and schemes that had once driven him.

You were wary, he knew. Never mind the fact that you were still pretending to cater to him and accept your situation. He had to admit, you were keeping this up far better than he expected. Even going as far to fake a few tears to get things out of him. How silly of you. You didn't need to cry to get him to buy you things. He was more than willing. He hoped overtime you would come to actually learn this and fall into your role by his side. But he didn’t expect this to be easy, he would be patient, careful not to push you too far. Especially after his hasty decision to punish you the way he did.

As he leaned back in his chair, Sylus’s gaze drifted out the window. His mind wandered to the future he saw unfolding: you, content by his side, his child safe and thriving, the three of you a family in every sense.

Sylus’s thoughts drifted, lingering on the changes he’d already started to notice in your body, subtle yet unmistakable. Your nipples had gotten slightly darker than their usual color. The gentle swell of your belly was the most obvious sign, but there were others—small, delicate shifts that only someone as attuned to you as he was could see. He thought of the way your figure had softened, the fullness in your curves that hadn’t been there before. He'd felt it during the past few weeks, during moments when he'd held you close, his hand resting against your back or your waist, anchoring you to him.

There was a warmth that spread through him as he thought about it, a kind of reverence for the life growing within you. He’d noticed your breasts, too—firmer, slightly fuller, and he couldn’t help but be fascinated by the changes, drawn to them in a way he hadn’t anticipated. The way your body was adapting, preparing, made him feel a quiet awe. It wasn’t just attraction; it was admiration, a deep appreciation for the transformation he was witnessing. He hadn’t said anything, of course—he knew you were still adjusting, still wary of him, and any comment on your body would likely only push you further away.

But he noticed. Every time he held you, every time you crossed his path, he felt a heightened awareness, his gaze inevitably drawn to the small signs of change. He’d often catch himself before you noticed, careful to keep his admiration hidden.

But the feelings for your growing body also went a little...past just admiration. He felt an ache in his groin as he kept thinking about your newly grown belly, and how much bigger you would have to get if you were going to carry a baby. He shifted, the tightness in his pants feeling a little more uncomfortable than usual.

He let out a sigh, looking down in annoyance at the hardness in his pants. This wasn't the first time he had gotten riled up at the thought of you, but he was usually pretty good at ignoring it until the ache went away. After seeing your belly preparing itself however, that wasn't going to go away anytime soon.

So he lifts his hips up to pull down his pants and boxers. His erection sprang free, curving upwards towards his navel. The thick shaft was flushed a deep, angry red, the bulbous head throbbing and already dripping with clear beads of precum. Veins pulsed along the length, testament to his rampant arousal.

Sylus shuddered, wrapping his calloused hand around his throbbing cock and squeezing firmly. A guttural groan escaped his lips at the pleasurable pressure, his hips rocking upwards involuntarily. He stroked himself slowly at first, savoring the feeling of slick skin gliding over rigid flesh. But as his lust grew, so did the urgency of his movements.

He certainly wasn't a short man. He had expected that any child of his, especially a boy, wouldn't be small either. How large would you get? Would you need help turning or getting up?

It excited him more than he wanted to admit.

His breathing grew ragged, harsh pants filling the room as he pumped his fist faster and harder over his weeping cock. Lewd squelching noises joined the symphony of grunts and groans as his precum smeared along his throbbing length, easing the way for his increasingly vigorous stroking.

Fuck...you were gonna look so cute fully swollen with his baby. Especially squirming underneath him, breathless, wet and begging for his touch. Swollen, heavy breasts prepping for milk. He read somewhere that pregnant women tended to get higher libidos somewhere in the middle of the second trimester.

He hoped to god that that was true for you.

Sylus felt the telltale tingle building at the base of his spine. His impending climax rushing towards him at breakneck speed, sinful images of you arching into his touch as he fucked you into the mattress, pregnant belly and breasts swaying with each thrust filled his head. He leaned down into the dresser of his desk, grabbing a spare handkerchief and positioning under the head of his cock.

The best part of all of this, was when your pregnancy would inevitably come to an end. When your body healed and you were at your most fertile, he could do it all over again. He could impregnate you as many times as he wanted and have a huge, happy family. Money was never going to be an issue, and as long as you were fertile, he could give you babies.

Over and over and over.

With a strangled groan, he exploded, thick ropes of pearly cum erupting from the tip of his jerking cock and into the handkerchief. He stroked himself through it, wringing every last drop from his spasming member until he collapsed backwards into his chair, chest heaving and cock still twitching.

He stared down at the cum now soaked into the handkerchief and tossed it into the trashcan beneath his desk. It was a shame such a heartful load wasn't leaking out of you right now. Weeks of buildup wasted.

Oh well. Plenty of time for that later.

As Xavier drifted in and out of consciousness, his mind clung to fragmented images, blurred scenes of his anger and desperation manifesting in the same looping dream. He saw Sylus, beaten and bloodied, collapsing in defeat. And then there was you, reaching out for him, your face soft, relieved. He’d pull you into his arms, his heart racing with the promise of safety. The scene was a balm, the only comfort in his haze of pain and meds. But when he blinked awake, reality crashed down with the sterile scent of the hospital, the sting of every broken bone, and the pulsing ache in his leg, arm and ribs.

The nurse gently shook his shoulder, calling his name, breaking through the thick fog. He stirred, his eyes heavy, everything feeling sluggish under the weight of painkillers. "How are you feeling, Xavier? One being the best, and ten being the worst." she asked, her voice steady and professional. He blinked, focusing on her as she held up her chart, waiting. He grunted a "five," the number slipping from his mouth like a reflex, more out of exhaustion than precision. She noted it, a brief look of sympathy crossing her face.

“I’ll be back soon to draw your blood and change your catheter,” she said, her tone compassionate but detached. He nodded weakly, feeling the stiffness in his neck as he tried to turn slightly.

The tray of food was right there—a bland meal of mashed potatoes, corn, peas, and water—but the sight was grounding. He took a deep breath and struggled, lifting his good arm with a heavy tremor as he reached for the spoon, his movements slow, clumsy. Just lifting the spoon to his mouth was a feat in itself, each bite reminding him of his limitations, the constant reminder of Sylus’s brutality.

He remembered so little of the past weeks—disjointed pieces that barely made sense. The memory of voices, some unfamiliar, and the persistent drone of machines had woven into his dreams, always melting back into the same loop: Sylus defeated, his blood pooling around him, and you, safe in his arms, looking at him like he was all you had left. He couldn’t shake it, didn’t want to, and yet each time he awoke, he was thrown back into the raw reality of his broken body, the helplessness of it twisting his stomach with fury.

The nurse stepped out, leaving him to the quiet of the room. As he chewed, he fought to keep his thoughts coherent, to string together the fragments of memory and rage that flickered in his mind. There was only one certainty left in him, one relentless drive pushing through the fog: he would find a way to make that dream real, no matter the pain or time it took. And next time, Sylus wouldn’t be the one left standing.

Xavier's gaze drifted to the small TV on the wall, where a tv show flickered in soft colors. The volume was low, barely above a murmur, but it filled the silence of the hospital room with a familiar rhythm. He hadn’t bothered to change the channel since he’d been here, his limited mobility making even that a chore. Besides, it was easier to let the shows cycle through on their own, each one a hazy backdrop of strangers’ voices, laughter, and applause.

Tonight, it was a trivia show. The host’s voice was calm and steady, calling out questions and waiting as contestants hesitated, stumbling through answers. The distant hum of excitement and applause from the contestants was oddly comforting. It wasn’t that he cared who won or lost, but the soft chatter, the flow of random facts and questions, was enough to draw his mind away from the pain, the memories, and the endless hours of confinement.

He let his eyes close briefly, the steady drone of voices pulling him into a light doze. It was almost hypnotic, a lull that softened the ache in his ribs and the rawness of his anger, dulling everything until all he could focus on was the pleasant monotony of questions and answers. The show was mundane, predictable, a relief from the nightmares that chased him when he let his guard down.

Xavier's mind had been relentlessly circling back to you. He could still picture you, asleep on Sylus’s couch, a ghostly image lingering in his thoughts. You looked...well, worse than when he last saw you, thinner, but relatively unharmed. It was a small comfort, yet it didn’t ease the dark, gnawing worry he felt. And then, there was Sylus’s claim—that you were pregnant.

The words echoed endlessly in his mind, stirring a sharp discomfort that clenched in his chest every time he recalled them. It didn’t seem possible. You didn’t look pregnant, not visibly, and he forced himself to cling to the hope that it was some twisted ruse. A manipulation. One more way for Sylus to get in his head, and damn it if he wasn’t succeeding.

Dr. Merrill had only made matters worse. Every time he entered the room to visit, his demeanor was professional, but his eyes held that wary, knowing look that Xavier hated. It was a reminder, a silent reinforcement of Sylus’s control, and even if they’d silently agreed to play along with the “robbery” cover story, it felt like another punch to Xavier’s pride. “I got careless. A random attack…left my guard down,” he had told Captain Jenna and the other members from UNICORN who had visited.

They’d been speechless, disbelief written across their faces. The top hunter of the organization, decimated by some “robber”? He had done his best to sell it, saying he’d been caught off guard after some drinks, uncharacteristically sloppy. But he knew Captain Jenna didn’t quite believe him. She’d given him a long, searching look, but she hadn’t pressed further. For now, the lie held.

His thoughts were interrupted by the nurse’s return, moving with the practiced efficiency of someone who had done this a thousand times. She went through her routine—checking vitals, prepping for the blood draw, making small adjustments to his catheter. As she tended to him, his phone buzzed on the table. He looked at her, nodding, and she held it to his ear as usual.

“Hello?” he said, feeling the dull ache in his bones as he braced for more bad news.

The voice on the other end was familiar—his property manager. The words spilled from the receiver, the matter-of-fact tone cutting through him. “Xavier, I understand your situation, but I can’t keep the apartment on hold indefinitely without payment. I’m sorry, but I’ll need to start clearing it out this week to prepare it for the next tenant. I’m not sure why you insisted on paying for two apartments, but this arrangement…it has to end soon.”

His heart dropped, a sinking weight that left him momentarily speechless. He’d known this was coming, had felt it looming, but hearing it now, in such stark terms, twisted the knife. That apartment—your apartment—was the only piece of you he’d managed to preserve. Without it…he could lose the last thread of connection.

Clearing his throat, he forced his voice to steady. “I can give you the remainder of what I have,” he said, desperation lacing each word. “I… I can’t work right now, but I’ll take out a loan if I have to. Please, just give me a little more time. A few more weeks.”

There was silence on the other end, the brief pause stretching out painfully. Finally, the manager spoke, her tone softer but unyielding. “I’m sorry. I’ll see what I can do, but I can’t make any promises.”

"If you must clean it out, please leave her clothes, documents, pictures, and stuffed animals in boxes outside my place. I'll take them and have someone move them inside. Everything else can go."

"Understood. Rest well."

The line went dead, and the nurse set his phone back down. She continued her work in silence, but he could feel her occasional glances, her unspoken sympathy. He clenched his hand into a fist, the pain in his fingers barely registering beneath the fresh ache in his chest. The nurse left and it was just him again.

Xavier felt the tears pressing behind his eyes, but nothing came. He was spent, emptied out, unable to cry anymore. He’d cried himself raw over you, over everything he’d lost, and now, it was as if his emotions had burned themselves out. Still, a deep ache remained, gnawing at him with every breath.

Captain Jenna’s generous “bonuses” were the only thing keeping him afloat financially, covering the bulk of his rent, but it wasn’t enough to support two places. And since you were no longer classified as an active hunter, he’d found himself struggling to convince her to subsidize your rent as well. His attempts to hold onto your apartment, your last space, were slipping through his fingers like sand.

He let out a weary sigh, his hand resting heavily on the now-empty dinner tray. Just as he was about to settle back into the silence, a commotion stirred in the hall.

“Ma’am, visiting hours are over…hey!” a nurse’s voice protested, strained with urgency. There was a scuffle, the sound of hurried footsteps, and Xavier strained to lift his head. Moments later, a familiar face bounced into his room, brown hair and eyes bright with energy.

“Tara?” he muttered, bewildered.

“It’ll only be a minute! Hold on!” she called over her shoulder, flashing a mischievous grin at the nurse. She turned back to him, face beaming as she moved a chair to his bedside. Her excitement was palpable, filling the air around her, and Xavier blinked up at her, caught off guard by her vibrant energy.

“How are you doing?” she asked, her voice warm, but her eyes scanned his bandages, his cast, and the pallor in his face.

He gave a small, tired smile. “I could be better,” he admitted.

She nodded, her eyes sympathetic but still sparkling with something he couldn’t quite place. There was a giddiness about her, an intense excitement that he couldn't place. He squinted, confused. “Why are you so excited?” he asked, voice tinged with curiosity.

A giggle bubbled up from Tara, and she pulled her phone out, brandishing it in front of him. “Because,” she began, nearly bursting, “I heard from her! Can you believe it? She’s alive and thinking about me!” Tara’s eyes danced with joy as she held her phone up, revealing a familiar name at the top of a recent text thread. “Look! Look what she sent me!”

Xavier’s gaze fell on the screen, and his chest tightened. There, clear as day, was a message from you. The message read simply but warmly, wishing Tara well and saying you hoped to see her again someday. His stomach clenched, a thousand thoughts racing through his mind. This had to be Sylus’s doing. He could practically see the smug expression Sylus would have, reveling in the illusion he was spinning.

But he couldn’t say that to Tara.

His face remained carefully neutral, struggling to maintain a calm facade. “I’m happy she messaged,” he said, voice steady but weighed down with emotion. “Relieved…she’s alive and well.”

Images of you asleep on Sylus’s couch flickered through his mind, the faint rise and fall of your chest, your figure strained and thinner than he had remembered you. He knew better than to hope, but seeing the message struck something deep within him. He looked up at Tara, forcing himself to smile through the turmoil swirling in his mind.

“Seriously, I’m glad you got to hear from her,” he added softly, hoping his voice wouldn’t betray the dread he felt.

"Me too! I told her you were hospitalized, hoping maybe it would make her wanna come visit but she hasn't responded sadly".

The door swung open, and the nurse entered, her expression stern, disapproval clear in her eyes. “Ma’am, if you can’t respect the rules, you’ll be barred from visiting,” she said, her voice sharp and unwavering. Tara let out an exaggerated sigh, rolling her eyes as she rose from the chair beside his bed, brushing her hands over her clothes in mild annoyance.

“Fine, fine,” she muttered, flashing Xavier a look that seemed both apologetic and a bit frustrated. “Sorry our visit was so short. This was the only time I could get away today,” she added, softening as she looked at him. “I’ll try come back in a few days. Get some rest in the meantime, Xavier!”

He managed a small nod, a wave of sudden exhaustion pulling him under as Tara shot him a last bright smile before the nurse gently ushered her toward the door. With one last glance over her shoulder, she was gone, the sound of her cheerful goodbye lingering in the room.

The quiet returned, thick and heavy, and Xavier sighed, pressing his back into the hospital bed. His hand trembled as he reached for the plastic cup of water by his bedside. Lifting it with his good hand, he took a shaky sip, the coolness offering some brief relief against the dryness in his throat.

His mind replayed the visit over and over, the brief flash of Tara’s happiness, the message from you on her phone. How easy it had been for Sylus to manipulate your voice, to craft a message just believable enough to soothe the people who missed you. It felt almost mocking. As he placed the cup back down, his fingers slipped, and he caught it with a quiet curse, the weariness in his bones starting to settle deep.

The aching in his chest wasn’t just physical; the uncertainty gnawed at him, hollow and relentless. He lay back, eyes drifting shut, waiting for the pull of sleep to offer him some escape from the steady, simmering dread that had taken up permanent residence inside him.

Xavier wasn't sure how much time passed since then. Days. Weeks. None of it mattered anymore. Dr. Grey entered Xavier's room, clipboard in hand, his expression measured as he checked over Xavier’s latest chart. Standing beside the bed, he offered a polite nod, glancing at Xavier’s array of casts and bandages before beginning his assessment.

“Well, we’re seeing some positive signs of healing. Your bones are knitting well, though given the extent of your injuries, I expect that you’ll be able to start a semi-recovery phase in about four months,” he explained, adjusting his glasses and skimming through the notes. “But as you might guess, physical therapy will likely add at least another two months. And you’ll need to be diligent with it to avoid setbacks.”

Xavier’s face fell as he processed the news. He groaned, his frustration palpable. Six months. Half a year. It was an eternity, too long when he could barely keep himself from going stir-crazy in the bed after just a few weeks. He muttered a quiet, “Thanks,” his hand clenching around the bed rail as he fought the urge to sink back into the haze of exhaustion and disappointment that had plagued him since his injury.

He closed his eyes for what felt like the fiftieth time that day, hoping to drift away, if only for a few moments. But to his surprise, he felt Dr. Grey hesitate. The doctor wasn’t moving to leave; instead, there was a brief pause, then the scrape of a chair being pulled closer to his bed. Xavier’s eyes opened slightly, watching as Dr. Grey leaned in, his face shifting into an expression that hinted at something more than the usual professionalism.

Dr. Grey’s voice dropped to a lower, confidential tone. “Between you and me, Xavier…my team and I have been working on something… experimental,” he began, his gaze intense, as though gauging Xavier’s reaction. “Now, I know what you might be thinking—sounds shady, right? But hear me out. This could be revolutionary for medicine.”

Xavier’s brow furrowed, his wariness growing as he took in the doctor’s words. “Experimental?” he echoed, his voice rough with both curiosity and skepticism.

Dr. Grey nodded. “If this works the way we believe it could…you’ll be back on your feet far sooner than six months,” he explained, the gleam of ambition unmistakable in his eyes. “We’re talking no physical therapy. We’d skip right to complete bone regeneration and muscle repair, advanced healing far beyond the standard protocols.”

For a moment, Xavier was speechless, his thoughts racing. A quicker recovery would change everything—restore his autonomy, get him back to his work. It would mean less time relying on people like doctors and nurses, less time spent waiting for the smallest signs of progress.

And more importantly, get him back on his feet and to you.

He took a deep breath, his skepticism wavering slightly in the face of this new possibility.

“But…” Xavier said slowly, eyeing Dr. Grey carefully, “experimental could mean anything. Risks. Side effects.” He usually wasn’t one to jump into things blindly, not without knowing what he’d be up against.

Dr. Grey’s face grew serious, his tone steady and measured. “Yes, there’s risk. No treatment is without it, especially in uncharted territory like this. But the preliminary results we’re seeing are promising. If it works, you’ll be out of here much faster than anyone thought possible.”

Xavier mulled over the offer, the potential benefits battling against the whispers of doubt in his mind. The six-month stretch ahead of him felt like a prison sentence he couldn’t stomach, a length of time he couldn’t afford to lose. But the thought of unknown side effects nagged at him, adding a darker edge to the choice in front of him.

He glanced up at Dr. Grey, weighing the options carefully.

Xavier stared, a mix of disbelief and wary curiosity flickering across his face. “So…sooner than six months? With my injuries?” he murmured, the doubt sharp in his voice. He tightened his grip on the edge of the bed, gritting his teeth as he tried to wrap his head around what the doctor was saying. “It sounds…impossible.”

Dr. Grey offered a small, encouraging nod, his eyes lighting up as he rubbed his hands together, warming to the topic. “Look, Xavier,” he began, his voice laced with enthusiasm tempered by professionalism, “even if the recovery time doesn’t end up as drastically reduced as we hope, I can guarantee one thing: you’ll come out of this much stronger. Think of it this way—typically, after severe breaks like yours, even with the best therapy, the bones don’t ever quite return to their original strength. They’re vulnerable, fragile, prone to aches and limitations. But this…” he paused, as if savoring the impact of his words, “this could give you bones that are as strong—no, stronger—than they ever were. It’s essentially as if you’d been given brand new bones.”

Xavier felt his breath hitch. “Brand new bones?” The concept was almost beyond belief, a prospect that seemed too good to be true. It was like a second chance, a way to return not just to his old self, but maybe even better. And yet, his skepticism remained. “But…why me?” he asked, narrowing his gaze. “I mean, this can’t be something you offer everyone who comes in here.”

Dr. Grey nodded slowly, weighing his answer before he replied. “True, not everyone is a candidate. But in your case, your natural strength as an Evolver and your resilience make you uniquely suited to withstand the process. Evolvers have a different kind of stamina, a level of resilience the average person just doesn’t have. We believe this factor alone could make you less prone to some of the riskier side effects we might expect in others. Your body is already conditioned to endure more than most.”

Xavier took this in, a strange flicker of hope stirring in him, tangled with wariness. His eyes drifted down to the cast on his broken leg, envisioning what “brand new bones” might mean in terms of mobility, agility, strength.

Xavier narrowed his eyes at Dr. Grey, the skepticism carving deeper lines into his face. “And the catch?” His voice held a hardened edge, matching the unyielding look he gave the doctor. This all felt too good to be true. In his line of work, anything that sounded miraculous usually had a dark side. He’d likely end up a glorified guinea pig for some experimental nightmare and be worse off than he started.

But…there wasn’t a line he wouldn’t cross for you, no risk too great. If the price was turning into some kind of super mutant or even losing parts of himself in ways he could hardly imagine, so be it. If it brought him closer to rescuing you, it was worth it.

Dr. Grey shifted, hesitating for a fraction of a second before continuing. “There is one primary side effect,” he admitted, his tone carefully measured. “We’ve observed a tendency for this treatment to…impact fertility. Both men and women, in preliminary trials, show significant drops in sperm and egg counts. In some cases, the subjects have lost reproductive abilities entirely.” He sighed, rubbing his temple. “It’s not something we’re proud of, but it’s been difficult to address so far. If that’s a potential deal-breaker…”

Xavier shut his eyes, the doctor’s words settling heavily in his mind. The idea of a life where having a family with you might be impossible sent a sharp, painful pang through his chest. He had imagined that life with you—seeing you safe, starting anew, building something together that could finally erase the pain and chaos. To lose the chance of creating that future would be…devastating.

But then his thoughts spun back to you, imagining the worst of what you might be facing at that very moment, and his resolve hardened. No matter how much it tore him up, he knew his choice. You were the reason he had to see this through, the reason he’d go to the end of any dark path if it meant even a chance of finding you.

Opening his eyes, he looked back at Dr. Grey, voice steadier than he felt. “What do I need to do?”

Dr. Grey pulled his chair closer, glancing around the empty room before leaning in with an almost conspiratorial air. “The process is unconventional,” he began, keeping his voice low. “What we’re proposing is an IV-based therapy infused with liquid stem cells—stem cells that are mutated, cultivated from a unique gene therapy we’re developing. You’d be receiving not just healing cells, but cells that could actively ‘re-code’ the bone and tissue growth at an accelerated rate.”

Xavier stared at him, skepticism flaring. “You’re saying this will just… rebuild everything that’s broken?”

“Not just rebuild,” Dr. Grey clarified, “but create brand-new, fortified structures. The treatment relies on highly controlled pluripotent stem cells—cells that can turn into any type of tissue your body needs to repair, replacing damaged bone and muscle. We’ve also engineered them with peptides to enhance integration, minimizing scar tissue and allowing for what could be an almost full recovery.” Dr. Grey’s voice took on an eager edge, as though the science itself thrilled him.

Xavier considered the implications, a wariness settling over him. “Why keep it quiet? If this is so revolutionary, why not use it openly?”

Dr. Grey’s face hardened slightly, and he shook his head. “This therapy hasn’t been through traditional approval channels yet. Too many hurdles and red tape. If word got out, the scrutiny could shut down the whole program before we’ve even seen the full potential. That’s why I’m asking you to keep this between us.” He glanced briefly at the closed door before looking back at Xavier, his eyes intent. “If anyone on the staff asks, tell them I’m trialing an enhanced recovery solution. They don’t need to know what’s in the IV.”

Xavier processed this, a wave of doubt mingling with a grim determination. Risk or not, this treatment might be his best shot at getting back on his feet in time to make a difference. Still, the potential for irreversible effects, the secrecy, and the implications hung over him like a dark cloud.

“When do we start?” Xavier finally said, his tone a mixture of resignation and resolve.

Dr. Grey nodded, a spark of approval in his eyes. “We’ll begin tomorrow morning. It’ll be administered daily through a controlled IV drip. You’ll likely feel strange—minor aches, even slight chills as the cells begin to integrate. But over time, you should notice the pain lessening, your bones strengthening faster than normal.”

He looked Xavier in the eye. “And remember, if anyone asks, you’re on an advanced, routine recovery regimen. Let’s not invite extra questions.”

Xavier nodded and the two shook hands. And with that, Dr. Grey checked Xavier's vitals before heading for the door.

As Dr. Grey exited, Xavier stared at the door, a blend of unease and determination churning within him.

For hours, Xavier lay still, staring up at the sterile ceiling tiles. The hum of machinery in the background droned on, an endless rhythm that allowed his mind to wander deeper into his thoughts. Was he about to make a colossal mistake? Was he really willing to let Dr. Grey treat him with an experimental concoction, to let his body become a petri dish for untested science? A gnawing feeling of unease grew in his gut, twisting alongside the lingering ache of his injuries. The thought circled back like a vulture, forcing him to question if this was desperation leading him down a dangerous path.

But then his thoughts drifted back to you—your face, the way you looked when he last saw you, thinner, sleeping in Sylus's house as if you belonged there. Anger churned, and it transformed his doubt into something sharper. He couldn’t let Sylus keep you trapped. The longer he lay here, the stronger Sylus’s grip over you became. If this treatment could bring him back stronger, faster, ready to take on any danger…it would be worth it.

He could feel his heartbeat thudding, the blood rushing with a renewed purpose. He pictured himself fully healed, the ache and limitations of his injuries gone. Imagined the possibility of facing Sylus not just as a recovering man but as someone better, someone who could outmatch and overpower him.

A sense of determination crystallized. He could become more than Sylus’s equal. His lips tightened, resolve hardening like steel in his gut. His vision sharpened with new clarity, his dreams of seeing Sylus bloodied and broken gaining new weight, becoming less fantasy and more like a promise to himself.

And if Dr. Grey’s treatment delivered, those dreams might just become reality.

#umi writes ♡︎#love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #sylus x reader #love and deepspace smut #sylus #lads #sylus x reader smut #lnds #l&ds #lads smut #love and deep space x reader #xavier x reader #l&ds xavier #xavier lads #lads xavier #xavier love and deepspace

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florencebirdsong · 3 days ago

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Wolf Hunt

Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary: Rio needs to get out some of those animal instincts

Tags: primal play, biting, Rio has fangs and claws you’re welcome, strap on (r receiving), predator/play, wolf Rio, prey reader,

Authors Note: I definitely didn’t make Rio a wolf because Death is a wolf in puss and boots. It was absolutely not a deciding factor. Ahem. Anyway, short and not so sweet

masterlist | ao3

You feel her before you see her. Her heady presence fills the small clearing and you eagerly look into the dark. The fire has ruined your ability to see far but the sound of shifting dirt points to where she’ll pop up. You resist the urge to get up when you can make out her silhouette. Being too eager means you’re more likely to get stuck away from the warmth of the fire.

You tilt your head curiously as she stops outside of the firelight. Her hood isn’t up and the flickering fire light shows that it’s not her skull face. She smiles and you smile back. It takes you a moment to notice the shine of her teeth. Of the fangs poking past her lips.

You freeze. Her smile widens. Your eyes drop to her hands which are now tipped in claws. You bolt like a rabbit. Her deep laugh echoes behind you.

Branches claw at you and roots try to trip your feet as you run. You can’t tell how close she is and you don’t risk looking back. A wolf howling behind you turns your racing heart into a gallop. You take a wild turn and then another. There’s a river that, if you can get across it, you might be able to use to lose her.

You try and zigzag your way towards it. Unpredictable moves giving you an edge in your race against Death. But they’re also a risk.

Another sharp pivot puts your foot into a tiny shrub. You crash to the ground but use your momentum to roll and shove yourself up again. The precious seconds cost you. Huffing growls fill the air behind you and you try to force down the panic. She’s gaining with every step. Your shoulder catches the trunk of a tree and you stumble. She’s so close you swear you can feel her breath. You prepare yourself to hit the ground. The shock is always what does you in. It comes a second later.

She tackles you but you’re quick enough to wriggle out of her grip before she can cage you in. You think you’re free until her claws wrap around your ankle and you slam into the ground. Her hands are quick to find your legs and hold them down.

You try to kick her off of you but it’s too late. She kneels where her hands were. She slams your shoulders onto the ground. Her claws dig into your skin. Trying to shove her off is useless so you go for her elbows. They don’t bend. She growls and moves one hand to push your head back, baring your neck to her. Your hands move to her shoulders to get some leverage as you try and buck her off. Then you try to unbalance her by shoving her chin up. She growls and bites your fingers. You yelp and pull back instinctively. She huffs a laugh. You bare your teeth at her but stop when she does it back. Her fangs are so much sharper than yours.

You grip her wrist to try and free your head but she pushes until you feel a strain and you have to stop. Your hands hover, unsure what to do next as her eyes run over your captured form. You decide fuck it and jab at her throat. She chokes at the feeling but Death doesn’t need to breathe. Your hands are forced down beside your head and she growls in your face.

You growl back, but it turns into a whimper when she sinks her sharp fangs into your throat. You don’t attempt to push her off, knowing ripping her teeth out of you will only hurt worse. Your body goes limp. She growls in satisfaction.

Her hips grind against you and you whimper. She’s got her teeth into you. There’s no escape now.

She ruts against you and the sharp ache in your neck makes it take too long for you to notice the hard thing hiding in her pants.

She finally releases your throat and you whimper at the fresh sting. She tries to pull your pants down and growls in frustration, ripping them open with her claws instead. You flinch but they don’t snag you. She lines up her strap and fills you with one thrust before her hand returns to your wrist. You hadn’t even thought to move it. There’s no thoughts now.

Rio doesn’t give you time to adjust or work you up. She ruts into you like the animal she is. Grunting and growling as you whimper and mewl below her. Her nose in your neck constantly nudging the wound on your neck, her hot breath doing nothing to soothe it.

You sloppily meet her thrusts as the stretch turns from painful to delicious, breathing heavy as pleasure floods through you. She bottoms out every time, skin slapping yours as she chases her own high.

She grunts and bites you again, right above the first mark. A sign she’s close to coming. You whine and struggle against her hold. You aren’t close enough yet. Her jaw clenches tighter, her nails dig into your skin and her thrusts turn punishing. One hand leaves your wrist and finds your clit, pinching harshly. A high-pitched sound leaves your throat and you arch into her, sharp pleasure crashing into you. Her hips do that stuttering thing that shows she’s coming and you fall over the edge together. She’s no nicer, taking what she wants, but you’re too full to care.

She stills, still inside of you, before laying down on top of you and nuzzling your neck. The movements zing along the lingering pleasure.

Panting, you lay there as the waves ebb out of you. Rio nuzzles and licks over her new marks, knowing it takes you longer than her to come down. You whimper when she hits a particularly tender spot. You can feel her purr.

Her tongue pokes and prods until you’re limp under her. Satisfaction rolls off of her in waves. You won’t be about to run again and she’s marked you for all to see. You’re hers until the next hunt, when she’ll need to prove her claim all over again.

#birdsong writes #rio vidal #rio vidal x reader #rio vidal x you #rio vidal x y/n #rio x reader #rio x you #rio x y/n #agatha all along #marvel #x reader #x female reader #smut #rio vidal fanfiction #rio fanfic #rio fanfiction #rio vidal fanfic

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thewritingrowlet · 3 days ago

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The Office Romance pt. 2, ft. tripleS Seoyeon

tags: creampie, anal, blowjob, food play, rough, daddy kink

length: almost 10k

author's note: I remember you guys liked the first Seoyeon anal fic, so here's another one—enjoy!

“Ngh, ngh—oh, fuck!”

Only these sounds escape Seoyeon’s lips as she tries to cope with your cock that’s invading her ass. You’re no better, though; despite being able to speak coherently, the words that come out of your lips are dirty to say the least.

“Oh, fuck, how are you always so tight, baby? You’re so fucking amazing.”

Seoyeon lifts her face off the pillow momentarily. “P-please cum; I-I can’t take much of this anymore,” she begs. It was her idea to do anal this midnight—after your previous load went into her pussy—and you’re simply playing along, but now that she’s visibly uncomfortable, you don’t feel like continuing.

You slowly pull your cock out of her rear and flip her onto her back. “Oh, I’m so sorry, baby,” you wipe some tears off her plump cheeks. “It was so painful, wasn’t it?” Seoyeon nods. “I-I thought I would’ve been able to handle it, but apparently not.” You pull her into an embrace after lying down next to her. “I’m very happy that you’re putting my pleasure as one of your top priorities, but at the same time, I wish you wouldn’t force yourself like this next time.” Seoyeon pecks you on the lips. “It’s because you matter the most to me, oppa.” “I know, baby, and you matter the most to me,” you say, “but let’s not do it like this again.”

The two of you didn’t shower after the first sex session a few hours ago, and you think that now is a good time for it. “Let’s get some shower, baby, and then we can get some proper rest.” “I’ll need your help for that, oppa.” You take your turn to peck her on the lips. “Gladly, baby.”

“Hi! Hello!” Dayeon, who happens to be at the lobby, greets you and Seoyeon. She isn’t in the best mood today—you have a few clues as to why—so you’re reluctant to greet Dayeon back with the same energy, because the last thing you want is for Seoyeon to think that you’re too excited to see Dayeon. Seoyeon, however, suddenly picks up her steps, thus leaving you and Dayeon behind.

“Oh.” Dayeon’s smile disappears as she watches her leave. “Is she okay?” You tell her that Seoyeon didn’t have much sleep last night, hence the crankiness, and apologize on her behalf. “I guess I’m not coming to your place tomorrow, then.” You shake your head. “I mean, the idea wasn’t even mine.”

After parting ways with Dayeon, you rush towards the elevator to chase your girlfriend. “There you are.” You approach the grumpy beauty who’s sitting at her desk. “Are you okay, baby? Can I help with anything?” Seoyeon starts crying, taking you by surprise. “I-I’m so tired, oppa, a-and here you are, flirting with another girl.” You want to hug her and assure her that you weren’t even close to flirting with Dayeon, but there’s a CCTV in this area. “Follow me, please,” you tilt your head towards the door to your office, and thankfully, Seoyeon does follow you.

After closing the door behind her, you pull her into a tight hug. “Baby, I wasn’t flirting with her; I was just saying hi because she said hi first.” “I know,” Seoyeon sighs, “I’m sorry, oppa; I don’t know why I’m so sensitive today.” You gently run a hand on the back of her head. “You’re just drained, baby—maybe we shouldn’t push too much to have sex from now on.” Your girlfriend presses her face on your chest. “I just wanted to please you, oppa,” she reasons. “I know, baby, and I thank you for that, but if having sex denies you some much-needed rest, then what’s the point?” Seoyeon pulls away from the hug, wiping her eyes as she does. “I’m going to cry until my eyes are dry if we keep hugging—I’ll start working now.” Before you let her go, you come in for a quick kiss. “I love you, baby.” “I love you too, oppa.”

You go to sit at your desk and see that your computer is already on, and there’s a note stuck on the bezel of your monitor that says, “lunch w/ me @ Tonkatsu Theater.” “Oh, you want to get lunch with me, baby? That’s very cute.”

You arrive at Tonkatsu Theater with Seoyeon at around 1 p.m. “Oh, it’s not that packed,” you comment. “Wouldn’t matter if it did; I’ve booked a table for us.” “You have? When?” “This morning, on our way to the office.”

“A reservation for Yoon Seoyeon, please,” Seoyeon says to one of the staffs, who then asks the two of you to follow him towards the reserved private dining area. “Two tonkatsu, one onion rings, one iced tea with no sugar, and one orange juice, please.” Look, she even orders for you. You wait until the staff leaves before reaching for her hands. “This should’ve been my job, but thank you, baby.” A smile gradually forms on her face, a perfect fit for the rest of her gorgeous features. “Of course, oppa,” she replies, her cheeks pink. “You’re paying for the food, though.” You let out a chuckle that’s louder than intended. “Of course, baby.”

The food arrives at your table not long after you’re seated, which is great; you skipped breakfast this morning because you were running late, so you’re starving right now. Seoyeon slams her hands on the table, a fork in one hand and a knife in the other. “Doesn’t this look amazing?" You nod enthusiastically. “It sure does,” you pick up your utensils, “shall we?”

Seoyeon sinks in her seat after the first bite. “Oh, my—oh my God,” she speaks despite the full mouth, “one bite is all it takes to fall in love.” You see an opportunity to make a joke. “The same way it took you one kiss to fall in love with me?” Seoyeon covers her mouth as she tries her hardest to not laugh and spit everywhere. When the amusement dies down, she kicks you under the table. “Oh my God, stoooop—just eat, oppa, why are you teasing me?” You pinch her round cheeks lightly. “Oh, please, don’t tell me you weren’t amused.”

You summon Dayeon to your office with around an hour left in the workday to talk about some debut-related stuff with her and Seoyeon.

“Hi, hi,” Dayeon enters your office with a smile, and you replicate that smile for her. “So, what’s so important?” “I’ll get straight to the point,” you say, “I’m thinking about debuting all seven of them.” She looks at you with this neutral face that you’re not sure what the meaning is. “Is that so?” You nod. “I’m curious about what you think since you’ve spent some time getting familiar with them.” Dayeon sighs. “Soobin-ie needs some more training.” “I mean, we still have time until January at most,” you reason. “Okay,” she says, “then in that case, I want to be more hands-on with Soobin-ie—don’t worry, I’ll make sure I don’t offend the instructors.“ “Yeah, go ahead,” you show her the green light.

“Is that it, or?” You shake your head. “One more thing, actually,” you change the subject, “you were an idol at some point in your life; how was mental health support when you were active?” You can see joy gradually disappearing from her features. “It didn’t exist,” she sighs, “I had to rely on the older members for that, and it goes without saying that they had their own things to worry about.”

You grab some origami papers of different colors that you’ve cut into credit card-sized rectangles. “Seoyeon-ie suggested that we give out these cards to the girls, and whenever they want to talk, they can just show me or anyone at the company one of these things.” “What are the different colors for?” “I know that green is for when they want to talk about work stuff, but I don’t know about red and orange yet.” Dayeon looks at Seoyeon momentarily before turning her focus back to you. “Orange should be for when they want to talk to a psychologist or the sort, and red is for girls’ stuff.” You ask her to elaborate, so she does. “I don’t know, I was thinking that maybe Seoyeon-ie could be their older sister at work, but I think she already has so much in her hands.”

You ask Seoyeon what she thinks about Dayeon’s idea. “I mean, if you can take off some work load off me, then I’ll gladly take on a closer role with the girls,” Seoyeon says. You rub your chin as you think about it; the things you usually assign to Seoyeon are those that you really need help with, so it’s not like you’re slacking off and delegating things to others just because you can, but at the same time, if she can become that person the girls can rely on, it’d be so helpful for them. “We’ll think about it, okay?”

You’re promptly reminded that debuting all seven trainees would mean that you’ll need to find a new living space to properly accommodate them, which you don’t have references for just yet—three of the seven trainees live with their parents, so at the moment, you only need to house the remaining four.

“Dayeon-ah, find some apartments that can fit seven of them comfortably, please?” “Yeah, sure,” she says, “anything else?” “No, that’s it.” Dayeon nods and writes down her new assignment on her phone. “I’ll get to it; give me a day or two,” she says. “Alright, you may go, then.”

You expect her to just turn around and walk out, but no, she bends over your desk and gives you a peck on the lips. “Uhh,” you’re getting nervous, “thanks, I guess?” “Don’t be mad, Seoyeon-ah,” she says, “see you two around!”

You’re still silent even after Dayeon has left your office. You’re snapped out of your trance when you hear a chuckle from Seoyeon. “What are you so stunned for, oppa—you’ve never gotten a kiss from a girl before?” “I didn’t expect her to be so brazen considering that you’re here.” Your girlfriend places her palms on your cheeks. “Something tells me that I don’t have to worry about her,” she says, rubbing your cheeks softly as she does, “I know who I am in your eyes.” “I love you,” you say, earning a cute smile from Seoyeon. “I love you too, oppa.”

You keep an eye on her as she walks away from your desk and out of your office. This morning, she cried because she thought that you were flirting with Dayeon (even though it was a simple, friendly greeting), and about a workday later, Seoyeon said with confidence that she knew her worth in your eyes.

You shake your head to clear your mind. The workday is done and it’s time to go home with Seoyeon.

At least that was the plan, because when you leave your office, you see Jihyun sitting on the other side of Seoyeon’s desk, seemingly sad about something.

“Are you okay, Miss Seo?” Jihyun bites her lip nervously before answering you. “Erm, i-it’s about Sunbin-ie,” she says vaguely. “What about her?” “S-she sprained her ankle just now, a-and I thought I should tell you and Miss Yoon.” You sigh and rub your forehead at the same time. What’s with Sunbin and hurting her legs, man—first it was her calf, and now it’s her ankle. “Where is she now, Jihyun-ah?” “S-still in the practice room, sir, i-if you’d follow me.”

As you and Seoyeon are following Jihyun to the practice room, you nudge her. “Try holding her hand, babe,” you whisper. Seoyeon does as you ask and takes Jihyun’s hand in hers, and Jihyun is visibly surprised. “You’re alright, Jihyun-ah,” she says, “from now on, I’ll be your older sister that you can rely on." Jihyun isn’t quite sure of what to make of the words, but based on her nods, you guess that she likes the idea.

“Girls, the bosses are here,” Jihyun announces your and Seoyeon’s presence as the three of you enter the practice room. You see the girls standing around a seated person who you assume is Sunbin, circling her and thus blocking your view. One of them suddenly turns around, and— “Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you,” Sunwoo starts singing the song while clapping her hands to the rhythm, followed by the other trainees, and you promptly look at your watch: it is the 6th of November, which is your birthday—if it wasn’t for these girls, you wouldn’t have remembered.

It is when the girls peel away from the circle that you see the white birthday cake (that has some text written in red-colored buttercream on it) in Sunbin’s hands. “Oh my God,” you palm your forehead, “so this was a ploy?” Seoyeon wraps an arm around yours and drags you closer to the cake. “Happy birthday, boss!” You’re highly amused by the surprise. “Thank you, everyone,” you say.

You and Seoyeon sit on the floor with the girls, the cake sitting in the middle like a bonfire. “He doesn’t celebrate his birthday, guys,” Seoyeon says, “it’s only my birthday he celebrates.” Soobin asks why, so you simply say that your family doesn’t really celebrate anyone’s birthday regularly. “Wait,” Soobin says, “did you say he only celebrates your birthday, Miss Yoon?” Seoyeon’s cheeks turn bright red. “Y-yes,” she says, covering her cheeks with her palms, “h-he’s my boyfriend, if you didn’t know already.” Based on the girls’ expressions, you guess that they didn’t know about it.

It is time to address something important: how did they know that it’s your birthday? “Well, I asked Miss Kim—Kim Dayeon, that is,” Sihyeon says, “and now we know everyone’s birthdays.” You shake your head. “So let me ask again, Sunbin-ie didn’t hurt her ankles?” Everyone bursts out laughing. “No, no, no—we just had Jihyun-ie act stressed and sad so that she could get your attention. “Well, dang,” you say, “maybe we should consider giving Jihyun-ie some acting lessons.”

Sunbin pulls out a plastic knife from her back pocket and cuts the cake into 8 parts. “You and Miss Yoon should share, boss,” Sunbin says. Daeun passes a slice over to you along with a spoon. “Choo, choo, baby.” You guide a spoonful of cake towards Seoyeon’s mouth, and with red cheeks, she takes it in her mouth. “Oooooh,” the trainees collectively react, as if sharing the same brain cells. Seoyeon shakes her head as she chews her mouthful. “Alright, alright,” you try saving your girlfriend from further embarrassment, “let’s eat, girls!”

It doesn’t take long for people to finish their slices—Hyeonju even finishes hers in 3 mouthfuls. “Miss Park and Miss Jeon, get some water for us, please.” Soobin and Sunbin do as you ask and grab some bottles of water. “Alright, so,” you start a new topic, “I think this is a good opportunity to talk.” The trainees look at you both in confusion and nervousness. “Oh, don’t worry; it’s nothing to be concerned about—if anything, I think you should be excited about this.”

You briefly explain to the trainees how you’re planning to implement a system where each of them can request an audience with anyone in the company for anything they want to address, from work-related things to personal ones. “A part of the plan is to have Miss Yoon over here to take on a role as your, erm, older sister, I guess.” The seven trainees look at you and Seoyeon in silence, probably processing what this could mean for them. “Look,” you pile on, “I want to provide clear communication channels between us because each of you matters a lot for us.” “And how do you plan on doing that, sir?” “I have some cards of different colors upstairs, and the idea is that different colors represent different purposes; show it to anyone and they’ll take care of you accordingly, from the trainers to the psychiatrist.”

“I like that,” Sunwoo is the first to break the silence, “I think I like that idea, boss.” A smile appears on your face, pushing tenseness away in the process. “Thank you, Miss Jung—anyone else?” Sihyeon asks if seeing the psychiatrist would require them to pay. “No, the company will pay for it, because we’ll be hiring professionals for this.” “Wait, hold on,” Sunwoo speaks again, “please promise us that this system is long-term.” You nod. “As long as me and Miss Yoon are here, it won’t go away.”

“Guys,” Seoyeon takes the baton from you, “please let us know what you think.” Park Soobin, who happens to sit right next to her, hugs her from the side. “Unnie,” she says softly, “I love you, my unnie.” Seoyeon replicates the gesture, beaming as she does. “I love you too, Soobin-ah; talk to me often, ‘kay? I promise I’ll make time for you.”

You step away from the circle to give space, and the girls immediately hug Seoyeon from all directions as a group. You find yourself beaming and your heart is full of warmth because of the sight in front of you. “I’m glad everyone is on board with the idea.” “Can we call you oppa, then?” Jihyun’s question makes you laugh. “I mean, if you’re comfortable with it, then sure.”

The trainees take their previous sitting positions in the circle, thus allowing you to rejoin. “Oh, I just remembered,” you say, “we’re also planning on giving you guys some vacation, since your instructors are going to take some PTO next week.” Some cheer while some others don’t really show excitement. You ask those who aren’t as ecstatic if they’re okay, and they say different reasons as to why they’re not excited: Daeun doesn’t feel like seeing her parents (she doesn’t have the best relationship with them), Hyeonju wants to see her parents but doesn’t have money for transport (that can be fixed easily), and finally, Soobin says she wants to practice more.

“Work will always be there, Soobin-ah,” you say, “don’t you want to take a breather for a moment?” Soobin’s teary gaze strays away from yours. “I think I’m still lacking, sir, and since only 5 of us will debut, I-I need to pick it up.” You notice that Seoyeon is deeply looking at you, and you wonder if this is a good opportunity to reveal the plan of debuting all of them.

A part of you wants to provide comfort for Soobin, but at the same time, it’s too risky to open the card now. “Alright, okay,” you say, “Miss Kim said earlier that she wanted to be more hands-on with your training, so I’m going to entrust you to her.” “Y-yes, sir; I-I will work hard.”

The general mood is declining, and it makes you think that it’s time to wrap it up. “Alright, let’s go home, everyone.” Before leaving with you, Seoyeon makes the time to hug each trainee, offering comfort and kindness to them. “We will see you soon—good evening, everyone.”

As soon as you get in the car with Seoyeon, she confronts you. “Why didn’t you say that all of them will debut?” “I wanted to, but I felt like it was too risky.” She clicks her tongue in disappointment. “They needed comfort, oppa, but you failed to provide them with it—this is their future more than it is ours.” You sigh. “I’m sorry,” you say, “should we tell them now, then?” “No, it’d be embarrassing to go back in there, but you need to tell them soon.”

“I’m going to shower first; feel free to do whatever.” Seoyeon beelines towards the bathroom without bothering to shed some clothes off first. “Sure, baby.”

You take a seat on the edge of the bed, feeling very uneasy about the attitude that your girlfriend is showing you. At the same time, however, this wouldn’t have happened had you told the trainees that all of them will debut in January. “It’s fine—this is fine,” you say to yourself, “Soobin-ie still needs to practice more anyway.”

While you wait for Seoyeon to finish showering, you get rid of your work clothes in favor of some more comfortable T-shirt and shorts. “Oppa!” You faintly hear her calling to you from the bathroom. “One second!” You jog a little towards her and see that the bathroom door is slightly open. “Yes, baby?” “Can you grab me some pajamas?” “Sure.”

After grabbing a set of pink pajamas from the wardrobe, you make your way back to the bathroom. “Baby, I’m putting it on the mat, okay?” You see the door swinging open, revealing your drenched, naked girlfriend. “Come here,” she says. Your eyes run up and down her body as you think about the situation—oh, wait, she just shaved. “Erm, sure.”

You stay silent as Seoyeon undresses you, cooperating here and there where you see fit. “Oppa,” she snatches your attention, “listen to me, please.” Your gaze moves to meet hers. “First of all, happy birthday,” she begins, “I didn’t forget it, just so we’re clear, but I didn’t have time to get you a present, so I’m sorry.” You shake your head. “Having you by my side is far better than any present.” Seoyeon looks away momentarily to hide her red cheeks.

“Anyway,” she clears her throat before continuing, “I want to apologize, oppa; I, erm, wasn’t so kind with you this past hour.” You shake your head again. “I understand where you were coming from—actually, I was about to ask you if I should come to their practice tomorrow and announce the plan.” “We can if you want to,” she says, and you simply nod in response.

“Hey, so, erm” you change the subject, “why am I here?” Seoyeon chuckles. “Well, I wanted to suck you—y’know, to celebrate your birthday and all that.” Your lips are shut, but your cock does the talking, getting hard at the prospect of getting a blowjob. “Take a seat somewhere, oppa.” You look for spots in the bathroom and decide that you’ll take the toilet. “I’m ready when you are, baby.”

The way Seoyeon’s hips sway as she’s making her way towards you combined with the sight of her shaved crotch makes you drool. The sight is replaced when she kneels between your legs, her eyes locked on your erect shaft. “Happy birthday, oppa.” “Thank you, love,” you place a hand on the side of her face, “thank you for being here.” Seoyeon, not in the correct position to peck you on the lips, gives you a peck on the tip of your cock.

You gasp when the first few centimeters of your cock enters her mouth. Seoyeon wastes little time and immediately begins bobbing her head along your shaft. “Oh my God, baby,” you say breathily, “you’re always so damn good at this.” Enthused by your praise, Seoyeon plants her hands on your thighs so that she can be stable while sucking your cock fast and deep. Her wet hair sticks on different parts of her face, and you take it as your job to tidy it up as much as you can.

“Oh, God, I won’t last if you do it like that,” you comment when you feel her tongue running on the underside of your shaft. Your cock leaves her lips with a pop. “No, no, no, you can only bust here,” she points at her crotch, “I didn’t shave just for you to cum in my mouth.” You wipe some drool off the edges of your lips. “Okay,” you say, “are we doing it here, then?” Seoyeon looks around the bathroom. “Yeah, let’s do it here; it’s easier for us to clean up after.” “I’m ready when you are, baby.”

You expect Seoyeon to impale herself on your cock, but she doesn’t—she just stands in front of you with her hands on your shoulders. “Are you okay, baby?” She sighs. “I, erm, don’t feel the usual emotions.” You show her a gentle smile. “Is that so, my love?” The endearment makes her blush a little. “If you keep calling me that, though...”

You lift your butt off the toilet, thus towering over her like you usually do. “Love, listen, please,” you rub her cheek gently, “I love you so, so, so much, and I’m thankful for you.” Seoyeon’s big eyes are locked on yours, and her lips are shut tight, waiting for you to pile on. “That said, my love, I apologize for all my shortcomings; I promise I will work on becoming the best person you want to spend your life with.”

“You know I hate empty promises, right, oppa?” You nod. “I do, and I hate them as much as you do, love.” “So, how are you going to show your commitment to fulfill that promise, oppa?” Her question stumps you; how are you going to show your commitment is indeed a very good and valid question. “I-I don’t know.” This cluelessness makes you want to cry—you really want to give her a good answer, but no matter how hard you’re cranking the gears in your head, you just can’t come up with one. “I-I’m sorry, I-I don’t know what to say.”

Seoyeon takes her turn to rub your cheek with her gentle hand. “You don’t have to answer with your words, oppa—actions speak louder anyway.” The embarrassment in your head leads to you dropping your chin, but Seoyeon lifts it up again, thus making you look at her again. “Hey, now,” her voice is very soft, “get yourself together, oppa; I still love you, y’know.” You take a deep breath. “Sorry, love—you brought me here to have sex, and what you’re getting is a mess.” “Let me fix that mess, oppa.”

Seoyeon gets on her tippy toes and places her lips on yours, and with every second passing, you can feel that things are getting clearer for you to see; Seoyeon is here to stay and watch you grow as a man in this relationship with her unwavering patience and warm love. “I love you, oppa,” her soft voice warms your heart, “and trust me when I say that it’s not an empty sentence.” You smile. “I love you more, love—I haven’t the slightest of doubt in my head about us.” Seoyeon smiles sweetly. “I think we’re ready to have sex now.” “We are,” you agree with her, “but I don’t want to do it here.”

You step away from your girlfriend to grab a towel and use it to wipe water off her body. “Sex in the bathroom doesn’t feel appropriate for us right now, don’t you think?” Seoyeon hums in agreement. Once she’s dry enough to not wet the bed, you lift her by her thighs and carry her to the bedroom, exchanging pecks on the way there.

“I take it we’ll be doing vanilla?” “I mean, we have some chocolate in the fridge if you want to spice it up.” Seoyeon laughs. “No, no, no—we didn’t build up all those emotions just to be, uh, naughty.” You take a seat on the edge of the bed with her still on your lap. “Maybe next time, then?” She sticks her tongue out slightly, seemingly full of ideas for “next time.” “We can go crazy next time, oppa, but let’s worry about that next time.”

You fall backwards onto the bed, thus making Seoyeon take the top position. “Oh, I get to be on top?” You chuckle. “As if you’ve never been on top before.” You gasp when you feel her grabbing your cock and stroking it. “You know I like being on the bottom more, but I don’t mind riding this big dick of yours every now and then.”

You’re about to say something but got cut off when Seoyeon lets you in her tight and wet pussy. “Oh, yes, daddy,” she lets out a long moan at the first contact. “Vanilla, baby, remember?” She laughs a little. “Ah, of course—sorry, force of habit.”

She lies on your body, putting those soft tits of hers right on your chest. “Will you marry me one day, baby?” She gives you a peck on the lips. “I will marry you in this life, the next, and the one after.” “You think we’ll meet again in the next life?” She gives you another peck. “We belong to each other, oppa, and we’ll always find our way back, no matter the distance.”

You think that you’ve had enough conversation, so you push yourself upwards into her warm pussy to signal that you’re ready (if not eager) to begin, thus earning a soft moan from her. “You’re perfect for me, oppa, and I’m perfect for you—that Kim Dayeon girl can’t compete with me.” You pinch her cheek lightly. “Let’s not mention another name when we’re in bed like this, baby.” “S-sure.”

You let out a big exhale when Seoyeon does a full up-and-down move along your cock, and you feel like you’re on cloud nine. “Y-you’re doing that thing again, oppa,” she quips, “y-your eyes are rolling to the back of your head.” You let your eyelids close as they wish. “You’re amazing, that’s why.” You get a peck on the cheek from her. “I’m only like this for you, oppa; you make me want to give you the best all the time.” You don’t know how she’s able to speak these many words with your cock lodged deep in her pussy. “Uh-huh.”

Seoyeon wraps her arms tightly around your nape and begins moving her hips along your cock, moaning so damn freely as she does. “Oh, God, if only I could say how much I love you, oppa.” You shake your head. “Actions speak louder, remember?” “Y-yes, I remember, b-but still.”

You collect yourself and lift your body off the bed, and Seoyeon, as if able to read your mind, kisses you without being asked to. “I love you, baby—I love you so much, and I’ll make you mine forever one day.” “Let’s not worry about the future right now, oppa,” her whispered words hit you hard, “let’s think about the here and now.” You chuckle a little. “Sure, baby.”

You move closer towards the center of the bed and take the top position this time. “I want to mark you, baby.” Seoyeon tilts her head to expose your target. “Have at it, oppa.” Your lips promptly latch on the side of her neck, and once she starts moaning because of it, you start moving your hips back and forth to maximize stimulation. “Oh, yes, that’s it, oppa,” she expresses her approval of your actions, “keep going just like that, oppa.”

This relaxed pace works well for you; you don’t have to worry about busting early because of her tight grip and instead are able to really enjoy the sensations. That said, Seoyeon, as per usual, likely needs something more—

“Oppa, I-I’m getting close.”

Well, isn’t that great to hear; you were just about to ask her if she wanted something more to send her across the finish line, but she just announces that she’s about to cross that line.

“We’ll cum together, baby, ‘kay?” Seoyeon nods in response as her eyes are shut tight, unlike her lips where moans are escaping from, and the sight makes you smile. “You’re such a sweet girl, aren’t you, baby?” “A s-sweet girl like me d-deserves a good guy.” You give her some fleeting kisses. “Am I not a good guy, baby?” Her lips form a small but precious smile. “Y-you’re the best, oppa.”

Your heart starts racing as orgasm makes its way closer to you. “B-baby,” your voice is heavy and breathy, “I-I’m about to—” “Yes, yes, give it all to me, oppa.” You tighten the embrace and pick up the pace of your hips a bit, chasing your orgasm with utmost eagerness. “Yes, just like that, oppa—oh, fuck, yes.” Seoyeon’s approval serves as fuel for your nearly exhausted body to keep pushing during this final short stretch.

With a deep grunt, you release a big, warm load into your girlfriend, thus earning a long moan from her. “I—oh, God,” you’re breathless, “I-I love you so much, baby.” Seoyeon’s body begins to tremble in your arms, a sign that confirms your success at the task. “H-hold me! Hold me, oppa!” You make sure your arms stay strong to hold her close, fighting off as much of the exhaustion as you can. “You’re fine, baby; I’m here for you—I’m always here for you, baby.”

It is only when Seoyeon calms down that you let go of the hug and move to lie next to her. “G-get me a pill, oppa.” You gather your strength and roll over to reach the bedside table to get the pill. You hand it over to your girlfriend along with a bottle that’s barely a quarter full. “O-one day, we won’t bother with this thing,” she says, “I-I swear to God, I’ll give you a child, oppa.” You pet her head softly. “One day, sweetie, okay?”

You and Seoyeon arrive at your company’s building in a fine and chill Saturday morning.

The two of you head straight to the practice room where you assume the trainees are, and true enough, everyone but Jihyun is present. “Where is Jihyun-ie?” “She went out to run earlier, but she should be here soon.” It’s an odd time to start getting nervous, and you try your hardest to shake it off. “Yeah, okay,” you take a seat on a nearby chair, “we’ll wait for her a bit.”

The 19-year-old trio of Hyeonju, Daeun, and Soobin are lying on the floor, train hugging from one end to the other. “Yah, Shin Daeun, stop moving, will you?” “Then hug me more tightly, dummy.” Hyeonju and Daeun have been close since middle school, which explains their best friend-like dynamics. “I don’t know how Jinhwan-ie can cuddle you through the night.”

Daeun glances at you nervously. “D-don’t say that out loud, Hyeonju-yah—the boss is right there.” You don’t recall including a “no dating” term in anyone’s contract. “Dating is completely fine, girls,” you interject. Daeun reaches behind and slaps Hyeonju on the thigh. “I hate you sometimes, Kim Hyeonju.”

Jihyun enters the room after a short while, panting heavily as she does. “Ah, hi,” she waves at you and Seoyeon, “good morning.” “Good morning to you too, sweetie,” Seoyeon replies, “how far did you run?” Jihyun looks at her smartwatch. “Uh, about 3 kilometers.” “Pace?” “Just around 7 minutes per kilometer.” Seoyeon claps her hands in praise. “Great job, Jihyun-ah.” “I would love to hug you, unnie, but I’m so sweaty.” Seoyeon takes off her cardigan and moves to hug Jihyun. “It’s fine, Jihyun-ah.” “You’re the best, unnie.”

“Alright, now that everyone is here,” you stand up from your chair, “I would like to announce some things, so gather around, please.” The trainees take their spots near you, and you feel as if you were a kindergarten teacher right now. “Let’s start with the big one,” you take a deep breath first, “all seven of you are debuting.” Your announcement is met with confused blinks. “Can someone say something, please?” “All of us are debuting, oppa?” Sunbin finally breaks the silence, and you nod in response, letting out a deep exhale in the process. “You heard me right.”

The trainees look at each other, seemingly excited at the prospect of debuting together. Jihyun suddenly stands up in front of the crowd. “That means no one is getting dropped, right?” She looks at you momentarily and looks at her fellow trainees. “C’mon, girls,” she tries firing up her colleagues, “the boss just confirmed that all of us are debuting, so let’s give this our all—we don’t want to disappoint oppa and unnie, do we?”

Sihyeon gets on her feet and walks towards you. “Oppa,” she says softly, “you’re not riling us up for nothing, are you?” You shake your head adamantly to show seriousness. “What would I gain from lying to you, Sihyeon-ah?” You’re taken aback when she suddenly hugs you. “I-I will work hard, oppa—you won’t regret this, I swear!” You pet her back gently. “I know, Miss Kang,” you say, “give this last part of training period your all, okay, and I promise we’ll do our part in return.”

Sihyeon lets go of the hug and changes her target to Seoyeon and in her arms Sihyeon’s wall crumbles, showing everyone present the vulnerability of her gentle heart. “I won’t let you down, unnie—I swear on everything I won’t let you down.” Seoyeon closes her eyes as she tries her hardest to stay solid for Sihyeon. “I know, I know,” she pets her back gently the same way you did, “and I’m certain you will make it to the big stage.”

You fish out a small handkerchief from your back pocket and hand it to Seoyeon, who then uses it to wipe Sihyeon’s tears. “Hey, hey, listen to me,” Seoyeon says, “we’ll be with you every step of the way, Sihyeon-ah, and whenever you’re worried about something, remember that you’re never alone.” Unable to answer, the crying girl resorts to nodding, and Seoyeon gives her one last pet on the back before letting go.

“Girls,” Seoyeon takes command despite her glassy eyes, “we believe in you, the same way you believed in us when we first took you in as trainees, so please, let’s work hard together and make this dream come true—am I understood?” “Yes, unnie!”

It is when you and Seoyeon reach the privacy of your office that she starts breaking down, no longer able to keep herself together. “I love them, oppa,” she begins, “I-I love them like an older sister.” You pull her into a hug and place a hand on the back of her head. “I know, sweetie, and I’m so glad that they have someone like you by their side.” Her wails become louder as her hands hang on to your hoodie tightly to keep you as close as possible. “I-I want a raise, oppa.” You burst out laughing. “Of course, sweetie; I’ll give you a raise soon, okay?”

You stay with Seoyeon until her benevolent heart calms down and her beautiful eyes stop letting out tears. “You’re such a kind person, aren’t you, love?” She lets out a whimper into your chest. “People love you for your kindness, love—you know that, right?” “Yes,” her voice is muffled by your body. You peck her on the top of her head once. “I will never let you go, love; my world would lose its light if you were to leave me.” “I-I won’t—" A sniffle interrupts her. “I won’t leave you forever, oppa.”

You walk backwards and drag her along towards your seat. “Let’s have a seat for a moment, ‘kay?” Your girlfriend nods into your chest, still not willing to look at you in the eyes. “You’re safe here, love; you’re safe with me.”

Seoyeon suddenly lifts her chin and meets your gaze with eyes that are red from the wave of tears. “I love you, oppa.” “Oh, baby,” you chuckle a little, “I love you so, so, so much, too.” “How much?” “I know you don’t like it when I say that I’d die for you, so instead, I’ll say that I love you so much that I want to be healthy all the time so that I can always be with you.” She beams in satisfaction. “Great answer, oppa.”

The bell to your office rings, and you expect Seoyeon to jump off your lap, but no, she still stays seated on you. “You can answer it, oppa.”

You press a button on your desk to unlock the door, and it swings open soon after, thus revealing Dayeon who is dressed in a dance practice attire. “Oh, am I interrupting?” You shake your head. “Can I help you?” “The girls told me about your plan to debut all of them.” “Are you here to share your opinion, then?” “Yes, kind of,” she says, “I think it was wise to tell them now; I can feel the hopefulness in the air.” “My sweet Seoyeon-ie here deserves the credit; it was her idea to announce the plan to the trainees.” Dayeon nods before closing the door and disappearing behind it.

“Oppa,” Seoyeon taps your nape to get your attention, “can we go home now? Let’s leave the trainees with Dayeon-ie.” “Don’t you want to get breakfast before we head home?” She nods against your left cheek. “I want some bubble waffles, oppa.”

While you wait for the bubble waffles to be made, Seoyeon is at the nearby convenience store to get some stuff.

“Would you like to add anything to the other waffle?” “Can I have some peanut butter on the side, please?” The staff nods and fills two small cups with peanut butter, as you’ve requested.

As timing would have it, Seoyeon is walking out of the convenience store right as you’re making your way towards it. “Bag secured, baby,” you show her the plastic bag, “we can go home now.” “Of course you got peanut butter,” she comments. “You know me.”

Seoyeon wraps an arm around yours as the two of you walk towards your car. “Do you want to eat in the car, or?” “No, let’s eat at home.”

You sit on the sofa with Seoyeon as soon as you enter your apartment. “Here’s yours, baby,” you hand over the cookie-and-cream waffle. “Oppa, don’t eat all your peanut butter; I want some too later.” You guess that she wants to balance the sweetness of her waffle with some peanut butter, so you make sure you don’t use all of it for yourself.

Your girlfriend only eats about half of her waffle before putting it down on the table. “Bedroom,” she says suddenly, “right meow.” “O…kay?” She urges you to go first and says that she’ll join you after drinking some water. “I’ll be waiting for you, baby.”

You promptly begin scratching your head as soon as you climb onto the bed, confused as to why Seoyeon suddenly wants to go the bedroom so early in the day. “She probably wants to cuddle,” you guess.

“Oh, hi, mister,” she walks into the bedroom with urgency, “you know what I want, don’t you?” “Erm, cuddle?” “Cuddle, he says—God, he’s so clueless sometimes,” she thinks, finding your cluelessness both funny and (mildly) annoying. “Yeah, I do want a cuddle.”

You lie flat in the center of the bed and spread your limbs apart, inviting Seoyeon to take her rightful spot, and once she lies on top of your body, you use your limbs to secure her in place. “Like this, my love?” She wiggles a bit to get you to loosen up a little. “It’s perfect now.”

“Hey, so, uh, why are we here?” Seoyeon grunts. “What, you don’t like cuddling anymore?” “C’mon, baby; I didn’t say that, did I? I’m just curious, y’know.” You’re confused when she begins grinding her crotch against yours. “It was supposed to be a segue to sex, but now that you’re asking, we might as well start now.” “Baby, it’s not even 10 yet.” Seoyeon breaks free from your limbs and moves to sit on your stomach. “Surely you’re not denying me sexual pleasures, are you?” You sigh deeply. “No, I’m not; I would never.”

Seoyeon rewards your correct answer with a steamy kiss that helps you get hard. Unfortunately, though, it’s getting a bit painful since these boxers and joggers aren’t the stretchiest. “Babe,” you call to her, “take off my pants, please.” “Of course, daddy.”

She grabs the waistband of your joggers and hooks her fingers to the inside so that she can pull down your boxers at the same time. “My, my, you’re excited to see me, aren’t you?” You nod as she begins stroking your cock. “You know I’m always excited for you.”

To your absolute surprise, Seoyeon pulls out the cup of peanut butter from her shorts pocket. “Remember this, daddy?” You keep your eyes on her as she coats the tip of your cock with peanut butter and spreads it along your length. “Look at this, daddy,” she keeps stroking your shaft to make sure it’s evenly coated, “this is going to taste so good.”

You let out a big exhale when Seoyeon takes your peanut butter-coated cock in her mouth, and she exclaims at the taste. You jolt a little when you feel her tongue running wild on the underside of your cock. “Oh, God, I won’t last if you do it like that, baby.”

After a few minutes of bobbing her head on your cock, Seoyeon taps your thigh to get your attention. “Wook aw we,” she mumbles. Once you look at her, she starts going down on your cock even further until its entirety disappears in her mouth. “Oh, you’re fucking crazy,” you’re breathless at this point, “fuck, your throat is going to get stretched, baby.”

Seoyeon comes up air after having had her airway blocked by your cock. “That was so good, daddy; the peanut butter added some extra flavors.” You nod weakly. “I-I’m glad, baby.” She climbs onto the bed and lies down next to you. “Your turn, daddy,” she pulls out another cup of peanut butter—the one that you ate out of less than an hour ago—and places it on your chest. “Gladly.”

With half a cup of peanut butter in hand, you pull Seoyeon by her legs towards you until her legs hang past the edge of the bed. “You know where this is going, don’t you?” Seoyeon nods. “Tell me, then, baby.” “Y-you will smear peanut butter over my pink pussy and eat me out until I squirt all over your face.” She rarely talks about herself in such a manner, and hearing it arouses you even more. “That’s correct, baby.”

You get on your knees, and Seoyeon’s shiny pussy is right in front of your eyes. She jolts when you place a finger on her nub. “Aww, sensitive much?” She nods. “P-please, daddy, make me feel good.”

You use your index and middle fingers to pick up some peanut butter and spread it crassly on Seoyeon’s pussy, and she keeps moaning as you do it. “Oh, this is going to taste so good,” you use her line against her. “D-don’t say it like—oh, God, daddy.” Seoyeon immediately clamps your head with her thick thighs, and you swear that they cancel noises better than any fancy Sony headphones in your collection.

You continue administering stimulation on her pussy, earning endless sensual moans from your girlfriend, and at this moment, you’re glad your parents have inherited their love for peanut butter onto you. “D-daddy,” her voice is barely heard, “d-daddy, I’m about to cum.”

You pick up the intensity of the cunnilingus as you’re highly enthused to make her finish; your tongue runs all over her pussy while occasionally sucking and nibbling her nub. Seoyeon places a hand on the back of your head while using the other hand to play with her plump tits for extra stimulation.

You’re surprised when Seoyeon’s juice suddenly hits you in the face, but you manage to open your mouth just in time to catch some of them. Unable to speak, you tap her thigh to get her attention. “W-what?” You swallow her juice that’s pooled in your mouth in one go, and Seoyeon lets out a chuckle. “You’re insane, daddy.”

You use some wet wipes to clean yourself and your girlfriend. “T-thank you, daddy.” You peck her on the forehead. “No, baby, thank you—I hope this is enough for now, though.” She nods. “It should be.”

Seoyeon climbs onto your body when you lie on the bed. “D-daddy,” she moves on to a different subject, “do you—erm, do you like my body?” You’re both startled and confused. “What is that question, babe?” “I mean, I-I’m not as fit as Dayeon-ie—I think her tits are also bigger than mine.” Your jaw drops due to the absurdity. “When have I compared you to her, hm?” “J-just answer the question, daddy.”

You take a deep breath as you formulate an answer for your girlfriend. “First of all, I love your physique because you’re thick on the right spots. Number two, you’re very tight, both the front and the back.” “Really?” You scoff. “Do you not remember how I busted early when we first did anal?” Seoyeon giggles. “That virgin ass was too much for your mighty cock, wasn’t it, daddy?” “Oh, for sure.”

Based on her smile, you estimate that she’s satisfied with your answer. “Baby, look,” you say, “you know I’m not a fan of talking about a girl’s body like that, but I hope you understand what I was trying to say.” She nods. “I-I just needed some boost to my confidence, daddy, and you delivered just that.” You give her a peck on the lips. “I’m glad I could help.”

Seoyeon straightens her posture. “Can I have this, daddy?” She asks as she starts stroking your cock again. “Are you desperate for it?” “Oh, c’mon, you know I can’t have enough of you, and I know you can’t have enough of me.” You chuckle. “That’s one way to put it.”

Your girlfriend lifts her butt of your lap and— “Oh, fuck, you’re in my ass, daddy.” “Yeah?” You can only say one word as you fight her constraining asshole. “You’re so big in my ass, daddy—fuck, you’re stretching me like crazy.” You reach around to spank her. “Ride my cock, baby.” “Y-yes, sir.”

Seoyeon plants her hands on your chest and begins moving up and down at a relaxed pace on your cock, savoring the sensation of getting stretched that is almost too much for her. “N-no one can do it like I can, right, daddy?” You’re about to open your mouth when she piles on another question. “No one can take you in the ass as well as I can, right, daddy?” “Yes, and yes,” you say, “no one can do it like you can, and no one else deserves me like you do.”

Seoyeon rewards your correct answers (again) by picking up the pace of her bounces, and you can’t help but let go of the controls of the session. “Just like that, baby—exactly like that,” you make sure the praises are flowing without hindrance. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” curses are flowing out of Seoyeon’s lips without hindrance—quite the contrast with you, but it’s no secret that opposites attract like crazy.

“D-daddy,” she’s showing signs of exhaustion, “t-take over, please—take over and fuck me like you always do.” You pull her into an embrace and roll over so that you’re on top. “Are you going to tap out like last time?” “Hold me down and force me to take it, daddy—I’m your slut.” That’s quite the nasty term, but at this moment, it only adds to your arousal. Your giggle sounds like a movie villain’s. “Alright, bet.”

You hold her legs and fold them over her body. “You’re going to take it like a good slut, aren’t you?” Seoyeon nods. “F-fuck—OH, FUCK ME, DADDY!” The bedroom is getting filled with screams and moans from your girlfriend and heavy grunts from you as you pound her ass without mercy.

Seoyeon’s eyes start rolling backwards as time goes, completely in submission to your cock. A particular thrust messes up your hair, thus disrupting your vision of your girlfriend. You stop momentarily to tidy up, and while you’re at it, you take a moment to check up on her. “You okay, baby?” She nods weakly. “M-my ass is going to be so sore,” she says weakly.

With your hair tidied up, you start moving again at a pace that’s similar prior to the pause. “Ngh, ngh, ngh.” Only these sounds come out of Seoyeon’s mouth as you fuck her ass restlessly to chase an orgasm. In her head, she’s praying that it’s good enough for you, considering that she can’t help but be passive in this position. “Daddy is using me,” these words keep going around in her head endlessly, but she must admit, anal sex offers much more sensation; the pain, the tightness, and the stretch are different than vaginal sex.

With a grunt, you lodge your cock as deep as you can into her ass and blow a massive load right into her. “B-baby,” you’re breathless again, “I love you so, so, so much.” “Have mercy,” she weakly replies. When you retreat from her ass, it leaks out some excess cum onto the bed, but that’s fine, you can just swap the sheets. “Are you okay, baby—are you hurt?” Seoyeon shakes her head. “I-I need some water, though.”

You’re sitting at the desk in your bedroom while Seoyeon (who is still naked) is lying in bed and is on her phone, scrolling through social media.

“Babe,” you call to her, “Jihyun-ie is video-calling me.” “Why?” “I don’t know,” you’re as clueless as she is. Seoyeon sits on your lap and tilts the webcam upwards so that it doesn’t pick up her nude form. “Accept it, oppa; I want to hear what she has to say.”

“Oh my God, you’re both here!” You see that it’s actually Hyeonju and Sunwoo, the latter holding a guitar. “Oh, you two are really dating, huh?” You chuckle. “What would I gain from lying to you, Miss Kim?”

“Wait, Seoyeon-unnie,” Sunwoo says, “you’re not naked, are you—I can see your bare shoulder, you know.” Seoyeon looks away momentarily before winking at Sunwoo, and she’s met with exclaims of disbelief from the two girls. “I really shouldn’t have asked that, huh?” “No, but it’s okay; me and oppa are consenting adults.”

“So, to what do we owe this call, girls?” Hyeonju fights the heat in her cheeks and says that her and Sunwoo would like to give you a present in the form of some song covers. “We practiced this afternoon, oppa,” she adds. You look at Seoyeon through the screen and see that she’s excited to hear them sing. “Sounds great—we’re ready when you are.”

Sunwoo starts playing the guitar to signal to Hyeonju that she’s ready, and Hyeonju starts bopping her head as she gets ready to sing. “Feel free to sing along, boss,” she says right before it’s time to sing.

私は私貴方は貴方と (I am only me, you are only you)

昨夜言ってたそんな気もするわ (I said that last night and still feel the same way)

グレイのジャケットに (You in your gray jacket)

見覚えがあるコーヒーのしみ (With that familiar coffee stain)

相変らずなのね (Just as you always are)

ショーウィンドウに二人映れば (Our reflection in the display window)

You know this song so well; at some point in your university life, you and your friends were obsessed with this song and listened to it so frequently, but Seoyeon doesn’t know what song this is. “I’ll tell you more about it later,” you whisper to her as you get ready to sing along.

Stay with me~

真夜中のドアをたたき (Knocking on Midnight’s door)

帰らないでと泣いた (Begging you to not go home)

あの季節が今目の前 (That season when I cried right in front of your eyes)

Stay with me~

口ぐせを言いながら (Saying our favorite words)

二人の瞬間を抱いて (Holding on to our little moment)

まだ忘れず大事にしていた (I’ll never forget it as long as I live)

You clap your hands loudly in praise and awe when Hyeonju stops singing. “Oh my God, Kim Hyeonju,” you say, your tone high in excitement, “you absolutely killed that cover—goodness me!” “You know that song, boss?” You roll your eyes playfully. “That should be my question—how do you know that song that’s older than your parents, hm?” Hyeonju laughs. “I stumbled upon it when I was scrolling the internet,” she gives a very typical today’s kid’s answer. “I was obsessed with that song when I was in university, you know.”

Seoyeon taps your forearm. “What song was that, oppa?” “Girls, your Seoyeon-unnie doesn’t know what song it was,” you tease her, “the song is called Mayonaka no Door, sweetie, sung by the legendary Miki Matsubara and was released in 1979.” Her jaw drops. “Oh my God, that’s a long time ago.” You nod. “That’s why I wondered how Hyeonju and Sunwoo knew about this song.”

Hyeonju asks for your attention, citing that she and Sunwoo are ready to present the second song cover for you and Seoyeon. “Ah, I know this one,” Seoyeon comments when Sunwoo starts playing her guitar.

네가 날 싫어해하는 걸 알아 (I know that you hate me)

나는 서운해 (I’m sad)

그런 날 왜 너는 못 이해해 (Why can’t you understand me?)

You don’t understand, 난 너를 좋아한다고 (You don’t understand, I like you)

You have a big grin on your face, expecting Sunwoo and Hyeonju to share the lines like the original artists, and true enough, they are.

내가 뭘 잘못했는데 (What did I do wrong?)

내게 왜 그러는데 (Why are you doing this to me)

그럴수록 난 되게 섭섭해 (The more you do that, the sadder I get) Oh I’m so sad

그러니까 슬슬 (So let me slowly) come into your

마음 ,중요한 건 마음 (Heart, the important thing is the heart)

결코 네 얼굴만 보고 좋아하는 거 — 아니 아니야 (I’m not liking you just for your face—no, no)

날 미워하는 너의 날이 선 말투까지도 (Even your sharp words that hate on me)

사랑하게 된 거 이게 내 맘이야 (I came to love them, this is my heart)

Just like before, you clap your hands loudly in praise. “Great job, girls,” you add, “wow, you’re great at this.” “We told you we wouldn’t let you down, didn’t we, boss?” You can hear the pride in Sunwoo’s voice. “Oh, that you did, Sunwoo-yah, and trust me when I say that I’m anything but disappointed right now.”

You’re interrupted when Seoyeon suddenly kisses you in front of the girls, and you can hear their loud, surprised exclaim through the video call—this is the first time she has committed a public display of affection with you. “Oh my God, you two are so in love,” Sunwoo comments. “You have no idea,” Seoyeon says after breaking the kiss, “oppa is such an amazing boyfriend for me.” “Promise us you’ll invite us to your wedding, unnie,” Sunwoo adds, thus making Seoyeon laugh. She leans closer towards the camera, presumably to whisper something into the microphone. “Hey, uh, don’t tell anyone yet, but the wedding is closer than you think.” You’re met with another loud scream from the other side of the screen.

You tap her back to get her attention. “You think so, baby?” You speak quietly so that the microphone doesn’t pick up your voice. “Oh, I know so,” she says, “I’m going to make you mine, oppa.” Another grin decorates your face.

“And you’re going to be mine forever, baby girl.”

#girl group smut #kpop smut #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #male reader #male reader smut #smut #triples smut

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dragon-queen21 · 3 days ago

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See I have found some of my favorite fics by not always going towards the ones with the most kudos or hits. Don’t get me wrong I do filter like that as well, but you miss put on some gems if you don’t just put in a couple tags and start scrolling from the very beginning

Romanticizing reading fanfiction with 100 hits. Romanticizing commenting on fics from seven years ago. Romanticizing giving kudos to a fic with three hits. Romanticizing reblogging someone’s fanfiction post from two years ago, giving them the first note on that post. Romanticizing saying in the comments “I hope there’s a chapter two, this was so good!” On a fic posted in 2013

#mayliz rambles

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wandasdollie · 2 days ago

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꒰ 𑄽୧ ꒱ 𓈒 ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀bisou, bisou! ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀𝜗𝜚 ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀18+! men and minors dni.

. ̣̣̣︶ ྀ pairing ˚ ۪ ݁ balletinstructor!wanda x ballerina!reader

꒰ tags ꒱ 𓈒 mommy!wanda , taboo - ish relationship , smut , fingering , r!receiving , wanda speaking french! ( lapine is bunny, and poupée is doll~!! )

ꔫ ࣪ ˖ a / n ⑅♡ ྀ˖ this is my first time writing for wanda , i do hope you enjoy!! based on my previous post!! i... have not proofread this... i am very sorry if it is a mess!! ໒ ྀི>֯ . <ྀི֯ ̥ ︣ა

⁺ ⑅ ꫂ ၴႅၴ tag list ֯݁ต @emiliaisdead ( pls comment if you'd like to be added~! )

“Bonne après-midi, ma lapine!”

You lift your nose from its position at your knee, lifting up and toward the position of the honey-coated voice. It comes as no surprise to you that your instructor stands at the door, her hair in a loose bun at the nape of her neck, her outfit consisting of several layers that she’s sure to ditch over the next few hours. She looks impossibly cozy, and though her nose is pink and her hair is a bit frizzy from a hat that she’s recently shed, she is the essence of winter comfort. She is shivering, as are you. You can think of nothing more than sitting in front of a fire with her, under a blanket with warm tea and cookies, spending your time only focused on your shared nearness. This time of year always floods your mind with these images, it can’t be helped. Alas, you stand in a room with only a few small space heaters to create warmth for your poor, frozen joints.

“Hello!” You smile in return. Ms. Maximoff has a penchant towards speaking in French in your presence, as if it is her little secret, one that she will never let you in on. You haven’t learned yet what her little teasing nicknames mean, but you have the context clues to know when she’s greeting you, which is just enough. You don’t really want to know what she’s calling you, it only adds to the tension of your already over-amorous relationship.

You have had an entirely debilitating crush on this woman for far too long, and it is not as though she is necessarily helping you shake it. She is incredibly affectionate towards you, and while it may seem to others in the room that you are nothing more than her favorite student— which you certainly are— Ms. Maximoff harbors those very same feelings for you. She just does not show it as easily as you do. Where you become a blushing, babbling mess, she is stoic, firm, though sometimes she cannot help the dimpled smile when she watches you dance. She has forced her own resolve around you so much that it is starting to crumble, her urges towards you harder to contain. She cannot conceal adoring looks nor wandering hands much longer.

You slide into your next stretch, attempting a split, which you aren’t nearly warm enough for, and the exasperated sigh that leaves your lips turns a frown on Wanda’s gentle features. You’re not sure how she could have possibly heard it, but she definitely has, and makes her way to stand beside you, pulling gloves off of perfectly manicured hands.

“What’s wrong, poupée?” She speaks softly as she kneels to your side, a gentle hand caressing your thigh. She chews on her lower lip, and you each feel the ripple of nerves shoot through the tense muscle when she places her hand there. There’s simply no helping the buzz of butterflies in your tummy when you look up to meet her gaze in the mirror, the way she so intently watches you, how her thumb caresses you even though you’re wearing awfully thick sweatpants.

“I’m too cold,” you whine, voice a bit pathetic as you flop onto the floor, body naturally magnetized towards your instructor, subconsciously seeking her body’s warmth, her touch. You lower your gaze from the mirror and turn to face Wanda now, looking up to her as if by some magic she could instantly warm you, begging without words for her to wrap her arms around you and hold you close. You want nothing more than to slip your fingers under her large sweater and warm your freezing fingers, and that is just the same thing that Wanda seeks now. But she is in the position of a professional, of a teacher, that she must keep her head about her. That’s what she’s always had to remind herself, since the very first day you enrolled in her course.

Needless to say, she’s found this very difficult.

Most difficult, that is, when you look up to her, eyes wide and pleading, fingers playing anxiously with the cotton of your own sweatshirt, legs spread so that Wanda sits perfectly between them. She juts out her lower lip a little, looking to you with the pity that you so deserve, and raises her own hand so that she may press the palm against your cheek. You lean into the touch so desperately, not minding that it is likely messing up your makeup— the makeup you always spend at least an hour perfecting before class, all so that she might compliment you like she is so apt to doing.

And it’s that very complimenting that Wanda is so desperate to do now, but she just must force herself not to. She will only look you over, soak in the image of the girl that so clearly longs to be loved, but will not allow herself anymore.

“Let me help,” she hums, voice impossibly smooth, dropped an octave from when she had first greeted you. Her thumb lightly washes over your skin before her hand drops, leaving a warm imprint on otherwise freezing flesh. Wanda backs up a little so that you may spread your legs even wider, a strained hundred-and-eighty-degree angle, though you press your palms into the floor, hovering a little as to ease some of the pain in your hips.

Wanda sidles herself behind you, enjoys all too much the way you chew on your lip, the way the veins in your neck ripple from the physical exertion. She won’t admit it to herself, but as much as she loves to see the smile on your bunny-pink lips, she adores to see you in the least bit of pain. A twinge sadistic, yes, but it’s a natural instinct that cannot be ignored. It is because she so yearns to be the one to ease your pain. She does not ever want to hurt you, will never hurt you, only wants to be the one to kiss you back to health when you’re sick, to put ice on swollen ankles.

She can’t help the craving hands that find themselves to your hips, their pressure firm, fingers threatening below the waistband of your sweatpants. You shiver when they do just that, finding their way onto the lowest part of your hip where your leotard meets tights, pressing you downwards ever so gently until you hit the floor. The stretch is entirely painful, though it’s a pain that’s all too close to being pleasurable. The extension of your muscles, paired with Wanda’s soothing touch, and her hot breath at the back of your neck, is all creating a swimming warmth within you far better than any heater could. The warmth has certainly concentrated right where your instructor’s hands lie now, the very inside of your thighs, the place that should hurt the absolute most, but with Wanda’s hands subtly massaging there, there isn’t a lot of pain at all.

“Good girl,” Wanda hums softly, releasing your thighs, sliding her hands up your side until they land against your back, lightly tracing the brocade velvet lacing of your backless leotard. She smiles to herself, counting the few freckles of your skin, knowing they won’t be gaining any new friends in the next cold months. “So pretty…” She whispers to herself, sure you can’t hear her for the way you count quietly to yourself. She adores it, the way your lips track numbers all throughout class, a very random quirk that you’ve never been aware of, yet it is one of Wanda’s favorite things about you.

You finally quit, swinging your legs forward, nearly falling back into Wanda in the process. In fact, your lack of balance has prompted her hand back to your hip, holding you firmly as you sit up, posture never faltering for the good ballerina that you are. Just as you are about to turn to thank Ms. Maximoff, whose leg has outstretched to mirror your own, to elongate your touch as much as she can, you hear a few chattering voices come down the hall. Wanda sighs softly, always a little too angry when other students dare interrupt your more intimate moments, but stands anyway. This is not before she gives your hip a small squeeze, and when she stands, she gently leaves her hand on top of your hair, gazes at you through the mirror. She could easily stare at you like this for the rest of time, and you her, but you both must move on, must find places at the barre, must move on with your lives. When the few students finally make their way into the classroom, Wanda winks at you before abandoning you in the middle of the floor, leaving so that she can fix her hair and check over her notes for today’s class.

The class is similar to every other that you’ve ever had, though not at all tedious. You do your warm-up as usual, practice for an upcoming recital, try some new things that Wanda has planned. She, as usual, uses you as an example, the teacher’s good little pet who always knows just what she’s talking about, can always maneuver through a combination with ease with only verbal instructions. You constantly worry this will make your fellow peers dislike you, but it is not their approval which you seek. And the way that Wanda always smiles and claps her hands when you’ve finished is more than enough. You have become a girl only living for Ms. Maximoff’s praise, always seeking it, always doing all you can to get it.

Today, you stand at the very far end of the barre, your back to wall instead of any other students, and Wanda certainly takes advantage of this. She lingers near you for far too long, gently pinching the flesh at your hip to make you giggle far too loudly, taking your sweatpants from you when you grow too warm, whispering dirty little phrases to you which make you blush deeper than a tomato. At least, you think they’re dirty. She speaks French, so you’re not entirely sure what it is she teases you with, but of course you blush and hide your face anyway. And, while they are often quite naughty, Wanda often finds herself whispering utter nonsense, be it a lyric to a song stuck in her head or the name of a French pastry she’s craving, just to see the way your knees lose balance. She has never once in her life been a tease, but for some reason, she just cannot help it. She loves to watch you squirm.

The class is over far too quickly for your liking. It always is. Though you spend nearly half of your week’s hours in this studio with Ms. Maximoff, it never ever feels like enough time. You always return home to an empty apartment, prepare yourself a meal that you’re sure Wanda would prepare far better, and do nothing but sulk until you can return to her side. You pull on your sweatpants and thickest wool socks, intentionally taking a very long time so that the other students will leave you and Wanda alone, so that you may have even a minute longer to spend together, to talk about whatever it is she wants to talk about.

“Is that all you have to wear?” Calls that sweet voice, head tilting to the side, sheer worry present on her features. “No wonder you’ve been so cold! You poor thing…” Wanda comes to your side, eyebrows knitted as she tugs lightly on your sweatshirt, looking around the floor, but no winter coat to be seen.

“Oh, I’ll be alright… The bus ride home is short!” You smile sweetly, eyes scrunching a little to convey how happy you are that she’s worrying over you. She evidently cares so much for you, and the fact that she does makes your heart swell oh so much. It’s not often that someone looks after your needs, until Wanda began doing all of the worrying for you.

Wanda is clearly displeased, her hands drifting from only grabbing the fabric of your sweatshirt to holding the body that it conceals, squeezing gently at your hips as she is so regularly prone to. She adores the way you feel in her grasp, so malleable yet firm with muscle, her own little doll. That is, after all, what she so frequently calls you without your knowing.

“This won’t do…” She mumbles softly to herself, shaking her head a little, her discomfort over your own cold growing so great that she cannot focus. She does, eventually, shake it, once you’ve ensued her several times that you have a pair of gloves in your bag that you fully intend on wearing.

“I worry for you, my darling.” Wanda sighs gently, lifting one hand to push a hair out of your face that’s finally fallen from sweat penetrating hair gel. Her hand lingers for perhaps too long, the pads of her fingers stuck to your skin as though by glue. It could be minutes, hours, that you stand like this, the only sound a clock ticking in the distance, the entire building emptied for the evening. Though your mind is empty, barely able to focus, eyes only barely glancing at Wanda’s so perfectly sculpted features with all the amorousness in the world, she is busy considering. She is thinking of all the ways that doing what it is she wants to do will hurt you, will get you both in trouble, will ruin what is already such a wonderful thing you share.

Eventually, her heart wins the battle, and she gently tugs against your cheek, reaching so that your lips connect. Though the heaters in the room have turned off, she is so impossibly warm. Her lips, the matte pink becoming messy from the fervor of her kisses, are hot against your own, which have already begun their winter chapping, but Wanda does not notice. Even if she did, she would not care. She kisses you with so much passion you would believe it has been building up for years.

You lift your hands as well, and they settle on her hips, tugging gently at her leggings, which are so tight and accentuate her curves so well that you find yourself at her for far too long. Her body is such a source of distraction for you, that you often seem spaced-out in the middle of class when, in reality, you are simply entranced by the subtle swing of your instructor’s hips as she walks. You grip her waist now, though your fingers have grown cold again so much so that they barely find the grasp that they so desperately want. You have spent far too long wanting this very touch, wanting to feel the weight of Wanda’s chest against you so desperately, the warmth of her tongue forcing apart your lips. You have spent so long wanting this, that its final arrival has overwhelmed you all too much.

Wanda pushes you backwards until your back hits the wall, a bit uncomfortable for the way that the barre forces a curve in your spine, but Wanda’s hands coax you into comfort. Her hands stray beneath your sweater, looking for any flesh beneath the skin-tight leotard and tights that you wear, incredibly frustrated at the lack of touch. She wants nothing more than to strip you of your clothes, to replace them with her hands, but is not quite sure that you are entirely alone, so instead snakes her hand under material the best she can, kneading the flesh that she is able to, pressing her warmth there.

You are practically helpless under her dominating hold, her weight over you, combined with her desperate kisses, nearly suffocating, but you do not mind one bit. You are hers to grope as she pleases, high from her vanilla perfume, your own hands seeking her own skin beneath her layers of athletic clothing.

You whine gently when she pulls her mouth from your own, her lips shining from your lip gloss, though you cannot admire them for long before she attaches them to your neck, gently licking you there while your head throws back, gently hits the wall beside you. Wanda has positioned herself so that her hips align perfectly with yours, though she stands between your legs, one of which has lifted to wrap around her, pulling her ever closer. Your hips have begun to buck as if on instinct, which only makes Wanda laugh softly, has her hands grabbing at you, assisting in your desperate rocking for pleasure.

“Does that feel good, princess?” She whispers roughly against your ear, though her voice still carries her signature sweetness, only a bit lower, darker.

You nod quickly, words not forming in your throat, hands flying up to tangle in her hair, and though you’re barely thinking clearly, you force the hair tie out, allow her strawberry curls to fall over her shoulders, so that you may cling onto her hair. Wanda adores the small whimpers that fly from you, but she forces her hand up to cover your mouth, to muffle your perverted little moans that echo in the room.

“The door is still open, lapine,” she whispers again, her breath bated and shallow. “Don’t want anyone to catch us.” Wanda lifts her head, looks into your eyes until you nod your understanding, and she drops her hand. “Good girl.”

When her hand drops from your mouth, it drops back to the waistband of your sweatpants, which she slides beneath, finds the spot in your panties that has grown so wet that it has soaked through your leotard. This makes her grin against the skin of your collarbone which she has begun attacking with her kisses, her teeth grazing against what is sure to become a dark bruise come morning. She presses gently against your clothed cunt, fingers slipping beneath the leotard yet still barriered by tights and panties. She is angered by this, yes, but the way you begin to moan from even her smallest presses to your clit makes Wanda dizzy from need. After a moment of finicking she is able to rip a small hole in your tights, the material so thin that it does not take much effort. She makes a mental note to buy you another pair.

Wanda finally pushes away your underwear, once again smiling into your skin when she finds that it is so very lacy, not at all what she would expect for a two-hour long ballet class. She does not know that she is the very reason you’ve chosen this pair, that for some sick reason you always dress from head to toe the way you’d want her to see you, including underwear and lacy bra, no matter how unlikely it is for her to see it.

The feeling of your warmth elicits such a deep moan from Wanda that it forces one of your own, which you end abruptly for the way that your breath hitches when she slides one finger inside of you. She whispers something once again, again speaking in the language that makes your knees incredibly weak, but that does not matter for the way that Wanda holds you so tight. Her finger pumps into you so gently, as though you are made of porcelain and might break if she does any more. And though her kisses are so fervent and her grip on you is so strong, she holds you delicately, like you are just a sweet little thing for her to take care of, not only the subject of her lust.

“Can you take another?” She muses, voice salaciously kind, so protective and dominating as she presses a few gentle kisses to your jawline. You can only nod in answer to her question, your hands falling once again to grab at her ass, to pull your bodies closer both by your hand and the leg that has hooked around her waist.

Wanda does as she’s promised, though her pace is still slow, still coaxing the small, high-pitched moans from your lips as she desires. Your muscles are incredibly tense, and though you’ve spent the past hours warming and moving them, you feel so shell-shocked with pleasure that your body is hardly able to move, other than the instinctual rocking of your hips.

“Look in the mirror, princess.” Wanda whispers into your own lips before placing a kiss to them. “I want you to see how good Mommy is making you feel.”

The nickname that she’s claimed for herself has sent another shock of pleasure through you, the butterflies in your stomach only heightening in their flapping. You flutter your eyes open as instructed, always the most obedient for Ms. Maximoff, and though your eyes are blurry, you find yourselves in the mirror.

The image, Wanda enveloping you, her focus so intense on fucking you, her hair messy down her back, the sleeve of her sweater all bunched up around her elbow, makes you tense up. You’ve never felt anything quite like it, and as Wanda’s thumb gently caresses your clit, you feel all of your muscles tense, your squeezing of her ass sure to leave some sort of bruise of its own. Wanda gently kisses you a few more times, her lips grown swollen from the dedication of her kisses. Her fingers continue to glide into you, as she allows you to ride her until your body grows overtired from it and falls limp against the wall.

“Good girl,” Wanda repeats, pressing a wet kiss to your cheek before she backs up only a little, looks over you, sees how flushed your skin has become, how heavy your eyelids are. She adores the little mess of a girl she’s made of you, and as she removes her hand from your pants, licks it clean, she cannot help but feel proud of herself.

By the time you open your eyes, Wanda has returned to her typical worrying self, though she looks so impossibly relaxed. Her skin is pink from your shared warmth, her lipstick so very messy, it makes you giggle a little.

“Please, let me drive you home?” She practically begs, but you take no convincing. You assess your appearance for only a moment before racing to her side, looping your arm around hers and grabbing your bag. You shyly press a kiss to her cheek as you step out into the winter, the air bitingly cold, yet you don’t feel it, for your entire body is still radiating from Wanda’s heat.

#🍼 ݁˖ 𐙚 my fics! 𓂃 ࣪ ◌#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #mommy!wanda #marvel fanfiction #wanda maximoff fanfic #wlw nsft #smut fanfic

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mermaidgirl30 · 3 days ago

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✨Saving What Was Lost Part 3: You Trust Me?✨

Pre-Outbreak! Joel Miller x fem! reader

Series Masterlist

A/N: I’m so excited to bring you the next chapter! This has been one of my favorite series to write, and I have so much more in store for these two! Joel is so so soft for reader 🥹 Happy reading! I love nothing more than to read your comments on what you thought, so please consider leaving me comments and reblogs 💕

Chapter Summary: You’ve got so many reasons not to trust another man again in your life, but Joel seems to give you ten for why you should trust him. One of them being calming a panic attack in the middle of a parking lot.

Rating: Explicit 18+ only MDNI

Word Count: 9.7k

Chapter Tags: Mentions of being trafficked, flashbacks of being abused, angst, soft and protective Joel, PTSD, no use y/n, age gap (reader is late 20’s, Joel is late 40’s), pre-outbreak au, mentions of an acoustic guitar, panic attacks at the store

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

The long days seem to dwindle by with your heart still lodged deep in your throat. It doesn’t seem to matter that the calming rain patters on your foggy window, doesn’t matter that fall used to be your favorite season. You feel hollow, torn apart piece by piece with every second that brushes past your icy skin.

You feel broken. You are broken. And you’re not sure anything will ever fix that.

Every day you find something new that’s too hard to manage to get your body to do. Brushing your teeth, getting yourself dressed, making yourself eat when all you can stomach is the empty feeling inside you. You’re just so tired of fighting, so very exhausted of trying to just get by. But your body screams at you to fight.

Fight for yourself. Win. Get out of bed, eat, make an effort to survive. So, you do. You try because that’s all you hear ringing in the back of your mind. You have to keep going. Don’t let Angela or any of the ones that dragged you down keep you from thriving.

Live.

Today is like all the other days you fight to not let your depression win. Except today marks two weeks that you’ve been here. Two weeks that you’ve survived. And as much as you feel like giving up every second of every day, you always seem to find one tiny reason to get out of bed. Joel seems to be that reason.

Joel… and his warm cups of coffee. The kind that he douses in creamer and sugar and caramel just for you. Because that’s how you like it. And it never fails. Every single morning your cup is there just waiting for you, including Joel’s warm smile and soft brown eyes…

That’s your reason for getting out of bed. Joel.

You discovered that Joel reported you as found to the police department a few days ago. You should feel relieved that he did that, but it didn’t matter. There was no one looking for you, so it didn’t make a damn bit of a difference. No one was coming to get you… Nobody even tried reaching out which makes you feel that much worse.

You battle with yourself, wrestling your way to slide on a pair of black leggings, along with a long cashmere sweater that falls clear down your thighs. You fight to comb the knots from your hair, clenching your teeth with every painful drag of the brush.

Fight. Win. Don’t let them control you.

Flexing your trembling hands, you squeeze a generous amount of spearmint toothpaste onto your purple toothbrush and jam it into your mouth, scraping it back and forth until you don’t taste the bitter aftertaste of almost two years in captivity.

Your fingers tremble beneath you with every slide of the toothbrush, every clinking noise against your teeth making you gag at the memories of you being left alone with disgusting men in a tiny bathroom against your will. It’s too much, this is too much. So you rinse your mouth and scamper out of the bathroom, closing the door until you can’t feel the goosebumps rising on your skin anymore.

You’re safe. They’re not here. You’re free. But you don’t feel free because those painful memories are alive in your mind, painting vivid pictures that make you instantly want to vomit and recoil into bed. But you don’t let the monsters take you back down into the darkness. You flee to sunlight and hope. You make your way to something that makes you feel lighter, where you can breathe easier, to something that gives you hope.

And that something is Joel.

You smell the fresh coffee brew in the air, inhaling the rich scent as if you can already taste it. When you turn the corner you see Joel’s broad back to you, busy with the coffee machine and the daily newspaper, his large hand brushing past the blur of small-print words.

Instead of stopping to say good morning to him, you decide to venture down the hall. You haven’t been brave enough to really take in the house and explore, but now? Maybe you could try.

The sunlight shines through the open glass windows, making the photographs and hanging art glitter like specks of gold surrounding the black frames. Your eyes skim the family photographs, taking in Joel’s big smile in each of them. One is of him and Tommy, arms clasped around each other’s backs with a little girl standing in front of them, who you suppose is Sarah. Her dark curls spiral to her shoulders while she wraps an arm around her dad.

They look so happy, like a normal family who has never been broken. You wish yours looked like that. But again, it never was. You were always surrounded by screaming parents, right on the brink of a divorce while you’d stay tucked in your room with your hands covering your ears, praying for the noise to just stop.

But it stopped alright. It stopped the moment they crashed their car on top of a mountain and left you to fend for yourself at your uncle’s house. An uncle that never loved you. An uncle that abandoned Washington the moment you moved out at just eighteen-years-old. And then he did too…

You keep moving, holding your composure and tears in. Even though you feel like collapsing right in this spot, right under Joel’s family picture. A family that was still together to this day while yours was nonexistent.

You wish you still had a family, but you never really did in the first place. Did you? No. Mom was always too busy with looking perfect, constantly obsessing with lessening her wrinkles and getting plastic surgery. And dad? Well, he was always too busy working at the law firm and hooking up with his assistant behind mom’s back. You were always left to fend for yourself, so now isn’t any different than it’s ever been.

You’re alone. You’ve always been alone, always just survived. Ever since you were little, that’s all you’ve known — how to be independent and just make it. So what’s different now? Now you just have to swim through the trauma and hope you don’t drown in the process. Because this right now is too much to handle, even for you.

It’s too fucking much.

Choking down the held back tears, you make your way down the long hallway, your body moving on autopilot just to escape the visions that blur into muted noise. The pristine white walls clash against the polished floors, painting you a picture of hope. Something you’ve never really had before.

Keep fighting. Live. Make a change. Break the cycle.

Holding on to new hope, you keep going until you turn the corner and find a large, open room that makes you audibly gasp. All memories of broken families and internal fears are suddenly forgotten, pushed aside to take in this glorious sight.

Holy shit.

Towering mahogany bookshelves sit stacked against the white walls, the cascading windows letting in enough sunlight to reflect off the broken-in spines of each book. Two plush ivory oversized chairs sit in the corner of the room, one opposite the other. An electric fireplace sits idle against one of the bookshelves, draped in vines from the tropical plant that splays atop the bookshelf nearest the fireplace.

This room is… magical. Exactly what you needed. An escape from reality. An escape from your mind.

You trace lines against the smooth covers of the various books, feeling the cracked spines and intricate cursive letters on some of the older books. There’s genres of everything you could ever imagine. Starting from ancient history and going all the way to popular fictional books that you’d see on New York’s best seller’s lists. This room has everything.

You could get lost in here.

Forgetting where you are, your hand snaps back when you hear a deep chuckle behind you. “Thought I heard you come down this mornin’. See you found one of my favorite rooms.”

When you turn around, you see him smiling over at you, the glow of the sun making his brown eyes sparkle an almond brown honey color. If you’re being honest with yourself, it makes you feel a little lighter because his eyes are so warm.

He’s warm.

“These are all yours?” you ask with a gasp as your finger continues to trail against the golden spine of an old history book.

“All mine. Well, a lot of ‘em I got for Sarah. You see, she’s a bit of a bookworm, and she might’ve got me into the classics. So, now I’m jus’ as bad as her,” he laughs as he leans against the bright wall, his smile light and easy like the relaxed state he’s in now.

“This place, it’s incredible,” you breathe out, continuing to skim over the spotless shelves, your fingertips clashing with leather and the feel of worn pages. It smells like freedom and escape, someplace where you could stay buried for days.

He runs his fingers through his slicked back curls, bicep flexing against his dark blue flannel, an easy smile hanging on his lips. This might be the most relaxed you’ve seen him since you came here. He looks almost… happy the way he’s looking at you all light and carefree, like he’s enjoying the view. Like he’s happy that you’ve found something else you lost.

“You like it?” he asks, his eyes caramel pools that you could almost sink into.

“I love it,” you reply enthusiastically, your voice almost unrecognizable.

A warm smile spreads on his mouth, making his brown eyes sparkle that much more in the dewy sunlight. “Then it’s yours, sweetheart. Borrow anything you want, read what you want.”

“Really?” you ask with a raised brow, sliding a book back into its place on the second shelf.

“Really,” he nods with a smile.

“Joel, thank you. This is… this is perfect.”

“Jus’ glad I found someone I can share my books with again.”

You stay just like that for the next minute — Joel on the other end of the room, looking back at you with the warmest smile you’ve ever seen. It makes your heart flutter, makes you want to smile back, but you just give him a tight-lipped smile and look back at the cream rug covering the floor, suddenly too shaky to say anything else.

Your eyes snap to something hidden in the corner of the room, a ray of sunlight hitting at just the right angle to make out something you missed entirely when you walked in. You guess you were too enamored by the books to notice the acoustic guitar sitting neatly on a stand right by the sheer curtain hanging over the window.

“Is this yours?” you ask, pointing to the acoustic guitar.

“Oh. Yeah, s’mine.” His eyes fall to the dark wood, the body glossy and sleek as it shines against the draped curtain. A splash of sunlight makes it shimmer for just a moment, until rain clouds cover the sun and cast the guitar back in shadows.

“You play guitar?” you question curiously as he takes a long, slow stride across the room.

“I used to. A long time ago.”

You watch him make his way over to the guitar. It’s like he’s tiptoeing across glass, careful in his steps to not trip and cut his tanned skin up. That’s how it seems when he hesitantly reaches out to glide his fingertips down the tight strings, skimming his thumb meticulously against the smooth surface of the polished neck as if he’s memorizing every single particle of the instrument. Like he’s reliving something he keeps hidden away from the rest of the world to see.

He’s quiet as he analyzes the guitar, almost like he’s reliving memories that only he can see. Were they good or bad ones? Judging by his wary stance and slow movements, you wonder if maybe they’re fragile memories.

“Used to?” you ask quietly, careful not to disturb whatever storm’s blowing through his mind.

“‘S’right. Haven’t played in quite some time,” he answers defeatedly as his thumb tracks along the outline of a carved moth. He lingers there for a moment, pinching his eyebrows together as if he’s trying to fight off whatever images are haunting his mind.

He looks… sad. Looks as if that guitar holds years of painful memories.

“Why’d you stop?” you push, afraid you’ve just struck a nerve by the way his back muscles tense and his jaw clenches up.

His hand wraps around the neck of the guitar, veins bulging in his neck as his eyes grow a shade darker. In the flit of sunshine that creeps through the window, you see a glimmer that looks a lot like a held back tear in the center of his right eye. That in itself sends a shot of pain through your chest.

He clears his throat and takes a step back, just enough to where he can only graze the edge of the guitar. His dark brown eyes are in a faraway place when he replies hesitantly. “It jus’—it… I guess it’s got a few memories attached to it that makes it hard to play now.”

When he drops his hand to his side and looks up at you, you see a man who’s hurting deep inside. You can see it in his weathered stare, in the dark circles beneath his sad brown eyes, in the way his bottom lip twitches each time his gaze falls on that acoustic guitar.

There’s something he lost, too. You just don’t know what.

Before the room gets too stifling and stuffy, he shakes off his frown and nods toward the hallway. “C’mon, I’ve got your coffee waitin’ on the counter for you. Don’t want it to get cold now.”

“Yeah, I’ll be right there.”

He gives you a tight-lipped smile and exits the room, leaving you all alone once again. You find yourself looking back at the guitar, your eyes feeling heavy as you stare at the little moth ingrained into the smooth wood. There’s just something about it that makes your stomach drop.

This guitar was special to him, maybe it still is. You just wonder what can make a big, strong man like him crumble. You don’t want to see him turn to dust like you; you’ve got enough pain for the both of you. He doesn’t deserve pain. He’s too… good. And while he doesn’t technically wear his heart on his sleeve, you can see he keeps the pain hidden behind a mask.

Maybe one day he’ll show you his scars, too.

When you make your way back to the kitchen, your warm cup of coffee is sitting right there on the quartz island, the steam billowing out as if he just poured it. As you slip into your chair, you notice his shoulders are more relaxed and the weathered stare he had back in that room is nearly gone. Whether he put on a mask or tucked his feelings deep inside his pockets to where you can’t see, you still notice the dark lines that edge beneath his brown eyes.

Something hurt him, and it still haunts him to this day.

Slowly taking a sip of the sugary drink, your eyes snap up to him when you hear the deep timbre of his voice. “Used up the rest of the caramel this mornin’.”

You swallow the coffee down your throat and shift forward on the barstool. “Already?”

He chuckles and nods his head your way. “Apparently someone who’s got a sweet tooth used it all. Can’t imagine who that was.” He winks at you, and you can feel the bright blush stain your cheeks the wider his smile gets.

Clearing your throat, you push a lock of hair behind your ear and try to stop the red tint from spreading any further. “Looks like you found the culprit.”

“Looks like it,” he smiles, his lips tugging at his tanned skin, making a deep dimple press into the middle of his cheek. You can’t help yourself, so you give him a shy smile back in return. It seems to make his brown eyes sparkle that much brighter as he stares at you.

You take a few more sips of the caramel drink, enjoying every single drop like it’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted. Joel sets down his glass cup and bites his bottom lip, chewing nervously as he glances over at you. “I need to go pick up some things at the grocery store today. Shouldn’t take long at all, but I was wonderin’ if you wanted to come along with me?”

You choke on a sip of coffee and struggle to find your words. You haven’t been out in the real world in a very long time. You don’t even know how to even interact, nonetheless see strangers passing by you.

Tapping your nails nervously against the glass cup, you fight to get the words out. “Oh. You… want me to go to the store with you?”

“Only if you want. Figured you’d wanna pick some things out.”

“Umm. Okay. Sure. I can go with you,” you breathe out nervously, pushing all your fears down as you swallow back the answer you really wanted to say.

“Alright. Well, how’s ‘bout you finish up breakfast, and we can go after you get ready?” His thumb brushes over the curve of his coffee cup, and your eyes track his movements as he slowly brings the edge to his lips.

And then you’re swallowing back fears again and dropping your eyes to the floor, awaiting the panic that’ll surely flood your system when you get to the store.

You can do this. Fight the fear.

Biting the bullet, you look up and give him a slight nod. “Okay, after breakfast.”

Joel grins and turns back to the refrigerator, away from your now wide eyes. You’re suddenly regretting your choice, but you have to go through with it. You have to be brave. For yourself.

You can do this.

Light rain patters on the passenger window, sending water droplets splashing along the side mirror. It’s only sprinkling, but the thunder in the near distance makes it seem like it might pour down at any second.

The engine hums as the wheels roll on the pavement, green trees blurring as Joel drives along the long, straight road. An old country song seeps through the speakers as Joel’s thumb taps along to the catchy tune. It’s oddly peaceful, driving with him in his truck. It almost makes you forget the nerves crawling up your spine.

“Does it always rain this much in Texas? I thought it was supposed to be like a desert here,” you ask, your eyes tracking the sea of trees outside your window.

“Usually is. Hell, we’re usually in a drought. But for some reason, we’ve been gettin’ a record amount this year. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen,” he says as he continues driving through the mist.

“That’s strange.” You trace the condensation on the window and draw little lines, hoping you’ll forget you’re about to go out in public.

“You must’ve brought some rain from Washington.” He smiles over at you and continues tapping his thumb along to the rhythm of the upbeat song.

“Guess I did,” you laugh under your breath as you finish off your window art of a blooming flower.

The music goes silent as Joel turns down the radio with the pad of his index finger. When you turn to look at him with questions in your eyes, he clears his throat and looks warily over at you. “Do you… do you miss it?”

“Miss what?” you whisper, letting your fingers pull against the edge of your warm sweater.

“Washington,” he responds back, eyes flicking between you and the road ahead.

You take a moment to envision the forest green trees, the frigid air by the edge of the sea, the cliffsides you used to hang over to stare into the deep blue ocean. And that’s when you feel a sharp pain jab inside your chest. “Sometimes… I miss the waterfalls, the salty breeze of the ocean, the beautiful nature. I’ve never seen a state as gorgeous as Washington. And how green it is? Yeah, I guess I do miss it…”

The front of the truck grows quiet as Joel takes in your answer. His palm rakes against his dark beard slowly, brushing across his mouth like he’s thinking really hard about your answer. And just when you think he’ll drop the conversation, he says something that leaves you speechless.

“I’ll take you back.”

Your eyes blow wide as you repeat the sentence in your head. I’ll take you back. Why would he do that…

“What?” you ask, jaw dropped like you just got slapped in the face.

He gives you a small smile and looks over at you with the softest brown eyes you’ve ever seen. “When you’re ready, that is. And only if you want to go back. I could help you get your feet back on the ground, find you a nice place where you’ll be comfortable. If that’s what you want.”

You stare at him dumbstruck, your words lodged deep in your throat with every second that ticks by. He’ll take you back. But why would he do that for you? Why would he do what no one else would? Why does he care what happens to you…

“Joel, that’s—that’s too much. I can’t ask you to do that,” you protest, shaking your head like what he just said is impossible.

He shakes his head, making a sandy lock of hair fall against the side of his forehead. “It’s not too much, and I’d do it in a heartbeat. S’no trouble,” he says adamantly, like he won’t hear anything else about it. It’s settled for him.

“Thank you…” you whisper out, your voice barely audible above the hum of the engine.

He arches an eyebrow and looks over at you, tugging his lips into an easy smile. “Ya know, gonna have to get you your own car, too.”

“Joel,” you warn through clenched teeth. He is not getting you a car. Absolutely no way.

“What?” he shrugs. “You can’t get around without a car.”

You shake your head unbelievably and open your mouth wide. “I can’t pay for a car.”

“‘M not askin’ you to. I’ve got money.”

And again, you can’t believe how insistent and easy-going he’s taking this. “Joel. I can’t ask you for a car. Absolutely not. And besides, I’m not ready to drive yet.”

He flashes you a smile and gives you a nod of encouragement. “S’alright, sweetheart. You’ll get there in time. And when you do, you’ll have a car.”

You lick your bottom lip, frustrated slightly that he’s being so kind to you. No one has ever been this nice in your entire life. Not even your parents… Why is he treating you like you’re important? You’ve never been important. So why does he act like you’re the only thing that currently matters?

“There’s no stopping you, is there?” you give up, your back flush to the warm seat as you stare into deep brown eyes that belong to the kindest man you’ve ever met.

He thinks you’re important.

“Not a chance,” he chuckles, his airy laugh floating through the cabin of the truck, striking another nerve in your heart.

He’s so kind, more than that. He genuinely wants you to thrive, to live. That takes a little weight off your heavy chest.

It’s quiet for a moment, only the light wind and patter of raindrops taking up the space. But then he shifts uncomfortably and flicks his wandering eyes back over at you. There’s a deep crease between his thick eyebrows, and that look has you back on the edge of your seat. “Can I ask you somethin’?” he asks delicately.

You swallow back nerves and nod your head in response. “Umm, okay. Sure.”

“What, umm. What happened to your parents, if you don’t mind me askin’?”

The question makes you tilt a little off your axis, throws you off just enough to where your right hand is discreetly clenched so tight around the side of the seat that you swear it turns pale white. You weren’t prepared for that question. You’re never prepared. But, you might as well just spill it. What else do you have to lose?

“They—they died when I was fifteen… Crashed their car on the side of a mountain, and they ended up rolling off the edge. On the very same day they were driving to get a divorce…”

His eyes blow wide for a second and in the next he’s dragging a heavy hand over his mouth. “Oh, sweetheart. ‘M so sorry. That’s… traumatic.”

You can’t help but to puff out a pathetic laugh from that. Your life has been nothing but traumatic; you just learn to live through it.

You silently nod and continue on. “After I found out, the judge decided I’d go live with my uncle. An uncle who barely talked to me. He didn’t even want me there, but I had no other options. So, I left as soon as I turned eighteen and moved into a dorm when I went to college.”

“Is he still…”

“He moved out of Washington as soon as I left. Last I heard, he died from a heart attack. So I’ve just kinda been on my own since I was eighteen. But really, I’ve been alone for much longer than that.”

The inside of the truck goes completely silent, except the quiet hum of the purring engine. You don’t exactly like talking about your family drama and your awful past, but it’s easier when you already feel dead inside. Maybe if you talk enough Joel will decide to drop you off on the side of the street and leave you with a good luck wave.

He wouldn’t do that, though. That’s just your unhinged mind spiraling like your entire life is.

“That’s… fuck. No one should ever be put through that. What you did, what you had to do. M’so sorry.”

You shrug it off and act like you’re just fine, but really you just don’t want to cry. You don’t want to show him how weak and pathetic you truly are. You used to be stronger than this…

Holding in a sob, you play it off like it’s nothing. “It’s alright. I mean, I’ve been through a lot worse since then. I guess I’m good at being alone…”

It gets quiet again, only light breathing and shifting uncomfortably in your seat, trying to hide the pain that’s serenading through your body. Joel’s eyes keep flicking over to you, a pained expression masking his tanned face. He’s clenching his jaw, running his fingers through his dark locks, fisting the steering wheel until his knuckles are white.

His head turns to you when he’s stopped at a red light, and his eyes turn a lighter honey color, and those soft eyes nearly shatter you in your seat. “You don’t have to be. Alone. You don’t have to be alone anymore...”

You swallow back the tears building in your eyes while your mouth drops open in awe. Before you even get the chance to say anything, he’s stepping on the gas and looking back into the fog of the rainy day.

You don’t have to be alone anymore.

The rest of the ride is silent as you contemplate his words and their meaning. You don’t have to be alone. He means you don’t have to be alone because he’s here now. He won’t let you be alone. Joel is the one person who isn't giving up on you.

He’s so patient, so generous, so good. He’s too good for you but here he is, wading through the rough waters to make sure your head’s above the waves. He won’t let you drown. Not today, maybe not ever…

After a few more minutes, the truck is abruptly stopping, and Joel is cutting the engine. Your head lurches up, and you stare vacantly at the semi-busy parking lot.

The parking lot…

It looks just like the one you got taken from… Rows of parked cars sit along the damp cement, empty carts are scattered ahead in the little blue cart holder, people rush to and from the store back to their cars. And then you see a man exit his white Sedan with a black baseball cap backwards on his head. The sight has you flinching, your nails digging into the leather of the seat when he turns his head and looks directly at you. It’s only for a second, but you feel those black pits searing into your skull just like that day they took you…

“Well, here we are. A little more crowded than I thought it’d be for a Wednesday afternoon. We can jus’—.”Joel’s hand clasps the side of the driver’s door as he steps out, looking back at you with worried brown eyes. “Hey, you okay?”

It’s like your voice is lurched deep in your throat as water consumes your entire vocal cords. You can’t swallow, can’t speak, can barely even blink as you watch the shady man cross the road, taking one look back at you until he disappears behind the clear sliding doors of the store. And it still feels like he’s watching you, planning his next move to where he can get you alone.

You remember that day all over again, just like it was yesterday. And now, all you can think of to do is panic.

“N… no. I—.” You can’t even finish your sentence, only able to throw your seatbelt off and claw at the door handle, feeling like you’re suffocating on thick air that nearly strangles you to death.

You need to flee, run until your lungs collapse, but you have nowhere to go.

Tears well in your eyes as you fight to push out the images of the day you were taken, but they only push back harder, igniting your memories into fresh ones. You’re hyperventilating, holding your chest so tightly that you feel your heart skyrocket as you shake in your seat while your feet are planted on the wet cement of the parking lot.

Joel hurries around the side of the truck and throws your door open, trying his best to calm you down. “Hey, hey. It’s alright, sweetheart. You’re alright. Breathe for me.”

“Joel… I…”

“Breathe,” he coaxes in a soothing bravado voice. He kneels down in front of you to where he’s looking right up at you, and he’s got those soft brown eyes — the ones that always seem to calm you down. And when you have enough courage to lift your eyes, there they are. Warm, brown, soft, soothing. He’s soothing.

“That’s it. Take a nice deep breath for me. Jus’ like that. Attagirl,” he praises, keeping his honey-colored eyes right on you.

“I—I was…” you start but like always, you can’t finish.

You’re pathetic.

“S’alright, sweetheart. M’right here. Jus’ breathe for me. And when you’re ready, tell me what’s wrong.” His hand brushes past your feet, close enough to touch your exposed ankle, but he never does. Because he knows better. He knows it’ll just set off a string of catastrophic events that’ll only lead you into a deeper black hole than you already are.

But yet, you can’t help but want it. Because you feel how warm he is. Just like that night he carried you to the bathroom. You remember how warm and comforting you felt with your face nuzzled in the crook of his neck, remember his woodsy cologne drowning out your fight or flight panic, remember how gentle he was with you…

You slowly lift your eyes up and push away the screaming voices in your mind. They seem to come to a jarring halt when you meet those soft brown eyes and a face you swear has an angelic glow about it. His fingers flex against the floorboard, just enough to where you can feel the warmth from his tanned skin, and just that motion causes your heart to still for just a beat.

Warm. He’s so warm.

After a few more seconds of steady breaths and his heavy gaze honing in on you, you get enough courage to shakily let your words out. “I was—I was taken in a parking lot just like this. In the middle of the day. And I—I guess I wasn’t quite ready to see another one.”

He falls silent, and his face drops like he’s just seen a ghost. His eyes glaze over as a heavy hand rakes down his clipped beard, slowly dragging it over his lips as he takes in your words. “Oh. Christ, m’so sorry. I didn’t know. I didn’t even think ‘bout that before I brought you here. Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

Shaking your head back and forth, you swallow and grimace. “It’s not your fault. I didn’t tell you. I didn’t—I didn’t think I’d freak out. But then the memories hit me and I—I… it’s my fault. It’s all my—.”

He leans into the side of the truck, careful not to touch you, but still close enough to where you can almost taste his woodsy breath. “Shh. Don’t for a second think of apologizin’, sweetheart. None of this is your fault. Not one fuckin’ bit of it.”

He looks at you so intensely, so cautiously that you can clearly see the amber flecks that swirl under the cloudy skies, his jaw flexing back and forth as he searches for more to say, but he doesn’t have to say anything. You feel what he’s feeling. Regret, rage, sorrow. He wishes it never happened to you.

You take a shaky breath and glance up behind him, right as an older couple with two kids clinging to their arms passes peacefully by. A car door slams shut across the way, and it makes you jump in place, remembering that very moment you were corralled into a black van as the door slammed shut behind you, warning you that you were trapped.

As you cringe in your seat and feel your knuckles go white, you whisper, “I’m scared, Joel. I can’t—I can’t...”

“Hey. Can you look up at me?” he asks gently, slightly brushing the pad of his thumb against the side of your shoe. When you look up with watery eyes, he gives you an encouraging nod. “There ya go.”

Your body is trembling with every swift movement and every screeching halt of tires in the parking lot. You start to drift back into a panic, but Joel sees right through you and pulls you right back out with his chocolate brown eyes.

“Keep your eyes on me. Right on me. That’s it. Such a brave girl,” he coos; his voice sounding like a melodic tune that vanishes all your dark thoughts from wrapping their tangled vines completely around your stirred mind.

As you continue to stare at those beautiful caramel eyes, you get lost in the sound of his Southern drawl. “I want you to focus on one thing. It can be anything. A scent, a color, whatever brings you comfort. And I want you to focus on that one thing until your mind starts to quiet down.”

You look around the truck, searching the fresh leather, letting your eyes wander to a nearby green tree, focusing on some drifting stormy clouds that cover the sun. But none of that makes you feel good or even remotely calm, so you let your eyes wander to the rugged, Southern gentleman who’s kneeling right in front of you, begging with those soft brown eyes for you to get even just a semblance of a second of peace.

Warm. He’s so warm.

You get lost in his cinnamon, woodsy scent, fade into his coffee-colored eyes and feel like you’re crashing right into him. You can’t seem to stop staring, almost like you’re under a lovesick spell, but really it’s just your body telling you he is what brings you comfort. Joel Miller, the man who saved you from your impending doom.

So, that’s what you focus on. Him and his warm brown eyes.

“Okay,” you finally whisper out, never dropping your eyes from his.

He looks at you a second and tilts his head, making sure he heard you right. “You got it?”

“Mhm,” you hum back.

A faint smile appears on his mouth and then his hand is skimming the brim of the floor, close enough for you to feel the electricity from his touch zapping your leggings. But still, he doesn’t dare touch you. He’d never do it without your permission. You know this now.

“Now, close your eyes and picture that one thing that’s gonna drown out everything else,” he says through the light rain pattering on the tips of his broad shoulders, right onto his soft blue flannel.

“Joel…” you reply back leery.

“You trust me?” he asks with knit together eyebrows.

You chew your bottom lip for a second before you answer, throwing the question back and forth between your brain. “I—yes.”

He gives you a smile and nods. “Close ‘em for me then. Jus’ for a second.” You do exactly as he says.

When your eyes are fully shut, his Southern drawl floats through your ears. “Focus on my voice, sweetheart. Focus on how still it is; make your heart that same rhythm. Slow it down, jus’ like my words.”

You focus on every breath he breathes, every sound of the shift of his shoulders, every whisk of the wind sweeping through his tousled curls. For this moment, every single other restless sound outside the truck is silent. For the first time, all you hear is him.

You center your mind on him and him alone. And when that whiff of cedar trees and mahogany swirl all around you, you relax and breathe him in like he’s the last thing you’ll ever smell.

“Now, open your eyes,” he says after you lose track of time.

You slowly lift your eyelids and look out beneath your lashes as those bright brown eyes send you into a cloud of serenity. And in that moment, you really do feel like you’re home.

“There ya go, nice and slow. Feel that? Things are a bit quieter now,” he says gently, giving you a soft smile that makes you choke back tears.

Nodding, you reply, “Yeah, it actually is quieter.”

It’s quiet for a beat as you sit there, your palms on your thighs, fingers digging into your leggings, but his presence right in front of you is oddly calming. Just like taking a deep breath of Washington air in the mountains. You swear you almost smell those pine trees like you’re there, but it’s Joel you smell.

“You feel a little better?” he asks, scratching his fingers down his greying scruff, brown eyes flicking up at you like you’re the most important thing in the room.

“Yes,” you nod, still trying to wrap your mind around how quickly Joel was able to calm you down.

“See? Knew you could do it.” His smile tugs at the corners of his lips, and it makes you give him a shy smile in return.

When’s the last time someone was able to get you to smile? You can’t even remember.

“I did it because you helped me,” you confirm, wanting to make sure he knows he was the reason you had the courage to break through your panic attack.

“That’s right, sweetheart. I helped you, but you were the one that broke the panic attack. You’re so very brave, and I hope you know that.”

You’re so brave. He called you brave.

The way he’s looking at you makes your heart skip a beat. All soft and gentle and warm. You’ve never been around a man like Joel. Never once knew how good a man could be. But Joel, he’s like an angel sent from Heaven’s gates just for you. Or so it seems.

You swore to never trust a man again, but you can trust him.

“Now, you think you can make it in the store?” He tilts his head in the direction of the sliding doors, just as a young couple walks in with an empty grocery basket.

Gulping some courage down, you nod. “I—I think so.”

“Attagirl. Now, c’mon.” He holds the door open for you and calls your name softly, giving you that jolt you need to exit the truck. “It’s alright. Nobody’s gonna hurt ya. Not while I’m here.”

“You promise?” you ask when your feet hit the concrete, your voice shaky like you don’t quite believe him, but you do.

“Promise,” he nods, his crow’s feet pulling at the corners of his bright eyes. It’s enough to get your legs moving.

“Okay,” you whisper.

You follow closely on his heels, your fingertips grazing the bottom of his flannel, close enough to grab on if you need to. Your heart is galloping a thousand miles an hour with every step you take, but his woodsy scent is just enough to quiet down the yelling in your head.

When you get to the edge of the sliding doors, you freeze when they open to a busy grocery store. The loud noises of rustling bags and screeching wheels of carts is enough to make you want to run the opposite way.

Joel must sense your worry because he brushes his arm next to yours and looks down at you with knitted eyebrows. “S’alright. I’m gonna be right by your side every step of the way. You can do this.”

You can do this.

Looking up into his syrupy brown eyes gives you that little bit of strength to get you moving again. And when he grabs a shopping cart and beckons you to follow him, you do.

“Thanks for believing in me, Joel,” you say graciously.

“Always.”

You keep right by his side, the fluorescent lights feeling like spotlights shining down on you. It’s like every single person shifts their eyes toward you, faces distorted and smiling like they’re laughing at your fear. The music that filters out of the speakers makes your ears ring. Children run rampant around a restless mother, a tall man with a backwards baseball cap reaches across a barrel full of pineapples, and it’s as if he’s reaching for your wrist.

Without thinking, you grab on to the end of Joel’s flannel and tug it toward you, digging your fingers into the soft cotton as if it’s a safety blanket. The smell of fresh firewood and green grass envelops your senses and for the moment, everything becomes a little more still.

“You keep tuggin’ on my flannel and you’re gonna pull it right off,” Joel chuckles, giving you a small smile as he looks back at you.

“Oh, sorry,” you apologize, dropping your fingers as if you just upset him.

“Don’t gotta apologize. You jus’ hang on if that’s what you need right now.”

You slowly reach back up and flex your fingers around the blue material, peeking up hesitantly beneath your lashes.

“Your flannel, it smells like the forest. Reminds me of the mountains in Washington. It umm… it calms me down.”

“Well then, it’s yours, sweetheart.” Those pools of honey liquid melt you on the spot; his warm smile takes the edge of fear off your chest for just that moment. And when that whiff of autumn from his white t-shirt floats through the air, it’s like he saved you all over again.

He drops his hands from the shopping cart and starts unbuttoning his flannel, carefully shrugging it off his broad shoulders as you stare blankly up at him. And then, he’s holding out the faded blue material to you.

“No, I can’t. I’m fine. I—.” You take a step back and press a palm his way.

“Here, put it on,” he insists, stretching his arm until you have no option but to take it.

“Are you sure?” you squeak out, unsure of yourself.

“Mhm. Want you to feel safe. And if this makes you feel a little calmer, want you to wear it.”

Hesitating, you carefully pluck it from his reach and end up sliding your hand against the back of his, feeling a tingle of a spark from his worn, calloused skin.

“Thanks, Joel,” you whisper above the monotone music playing over the store speakers.

“Anytime, sweetheart. Anytime.” He nods his head toward the produce section and smiles. “C’mon.”

You stay right beside him, almost flush to his hip with every wavering stride you take, but Joel doesn’t seem to mind. No, he just keeps his brown eyes flickering over to you every minute that ticks by, encouraging you with that kind smile of his, telling you with the curve of his lips that you’re doing so well. You can almost hear that Southern drawl sliding off his tongue.

I’m so proud of you, sweetheart. Doin’ so good. Look at you, bein’ the bravest girl I know.

Even though he’s not verbally saying those things at this second, you can tell he’s thinking it with the way his doe eyes soften every time they look your way. You can tell by how warm and kind his essence is, how his smile seems to send a flicker of sunshine your way even behind a thick wall of grey clouds.

He’s just… safe. You feel so safe around him, and that’s something you’ve never felt in your entire life. You’ve never been safe. But with him, you just might be.

The clicking of heels and the stare of curious eyes makes you physically cringe and tense your shoulders, thinking one of them will snatch you away yet again. You keep your mind busy by counting the threads of Joel’s blue flannel, training your eyes on his slicked back tan curls, meticulously staring at every single strand that’s wrapped in a silver glow. It seems to help, gives the impression that maybe you can do this. And you are.

At times when he strays too far, you reach for him unintentionally. It’s like your hand is magnetized to the feel of his cotton shirt, your fingers curling into the thick material. And again, he doesn’t seem to mind, only smiles and goes on with gathering groceries.

He doesn’t forget the caramel, doesn’t forget to grab a few bottles of vanilla creamer and extra sugar. In fact, those were the things he went for first.

He doesn’t forget things. Doesn’t forget what you wanted. And that in itself proves something. What, you’re not sure. But it proves he cares, that you do know.

You follow him to the produce section and watch him shift his focus on picking the best meat, promising to get the best steak for dinner. You haven’t had steak in years, and you don’t doubt for one second that Joel can cook a mean one.

Averting your eyes from his pensive stare and flexed jaw, your gaze wanders over to the cereal aisle, and you suddenly have the biggest craving for a box of Cocoa Pebbles.

Saliva gathers in your mouth as you think of how sugary and good and delightful a mouthful of chocolatey goodness would taste right now. Without thinking, you pull on the end of his shirt, stretching the material mindlessly as your brain transfixes on the mountain of sugar just a few feet away. It’d be so easy to go grab a box, but your feet won’t move, your words won’t form because you’re terrified to be alone for even a second in a grocery store of all places.

With one more slight tug on the edge of his t-shirt, he turns with a soft expression and questions, “What is it, sweetheart?” No anger or hint of annoyance in his Southern drawl, just pure warmth.

Your voice stays silent, your immense stare fixed on that aisle of sugar and thousands of calories you’d happily inhale. You’re sure your frail body would thank you, even if it was just junk. Joel’s eyes trace over yours, following to where yours end, and then a small chuckle leaves his lips. “You wanna go grab some?”

“Yeah.”

“Go on then. Why don’t you go pick some out?” He nods to the empty aisle, encouraging you on. But you stand there like your feet are cemented to the shiny floor, and you have no intention of moving.

Fear pulses through your blood, and anxiety is trickling down your spine. Joel takes a step forward and drawls in a low but soothing voice, “S’okay. I’ll be right here watchin’. You can do it, sweetheart.”

You look up and see warm pools of honey staring down at you and a smile that makes your knees feel weak. He’s so fucking soft with you.

Nodding, you take a step forward and then another, dragging your feet toward the aisle of boxes of sugary goodness. The further you get away from him, the more anxious you get.

What if someone takes you, gets too close to your liking, grabs your arm and drags you away? Looking back toward Joel, he gives you a small nod, telling you it’s okay. You’re okay.

Turning back to your task at hand, you start scanning the shelves, your appetite suddenly stimulated as you scavenge for what you’re looking for. Saliva is coating the back of your tongue, your stomach rumbling. There’s too many choices, too many kinds you want.

When you finally spot a box of Cocoa Pebbles, you see two more kinds you want. Lucky Charms and Cinnamon Toast Crunch sit right next to each other, calling your name for you to take them. Gritting your teeth together, you make a choice. You want all three, so you dip into your impulses and grab them all up. Hopefully Joel doesn’t mind.

A middle-aged man passes you in the row, and your muscles tighten around you, making you squish the boxes together in your arms. You focus on deep breaths, telling yourself he’s not going to hurt you. Not every man is out to get you, but it certainly feels like that now. Maybe one day you’ll be able to break the cycle of thinking that.

Quickly passing the stranger, you prance up to Joel, all three cereal boxes shoved together in your arms, just like you’re a kid in a candy store. You hear him chuckling before you lift your eyes up to him, and then he lets out a belly-aching laugh.

“Look at you with three boxes. You really do have a sweet tooth, don’t ya?”

You feel your cheeks grow warm as you set the boxes down in the cart. Nervous laughter filters out of your mouth. “I couldn’t quite decide what I wanted. I can put some back if…”

“No. I’m jus’ teasin’, sweetheart. You get as many kinds as you want. Ain’t got a limit with me.” His wide grin and crow’s feet makes a small smile tug at the corner of your lips.

“Thanks,” you say shyly. “I guess it’s been a while since I’ve had any cereal, or really any kind of sugar. So, this is different. I’m not used to any of this.”

Understanding hits his brown eyes and his jaw clenches as something tosses through his mind. “Well, we’re jus’ gonna have to change that, ain’t we?”

Pursing your lips, you nod. “Call me a work in progress.”

He gives you a soft smile and wraps a large hand around the cart. “You’re doin’ jus’ fine, sweetheart. Makin’ plenty of progress jus’ by steppin’ foot in this store today. Proud of you.”

He’s proud of you.

“I wouldn’t have even made it into the store if it wasn’t for you…”

He takes a long look at you and just stands there for a few seconds, searching for the right words to say. “It was all you, sweetheart. You jus’ needed a little push in the right direction and someone to be there for you.”

“Thank you for being there when I needed someone, Joel…” you whisper, your eyes a little misty with emotions running rampant through your body.

It looks like he wants to reach out, but he just grips the handle of the shopping cart tighter and tips his head. “‘Course, sweetheart. Whenever you need me.”

Whenever you need me. The words get stuck on repeat in your brain as you follow him through the rest of the grocery store. You think you’d follow him anywhere.

When you’re all checked out and the bagged groceries are sitting inside the cart, you realize Joel’s flannel is still wrapped around you. You don’t want to take it off necessarily. It smells like him, and it’s so warm and cozy and basically drenched in forest air. But, it’s not yours. You slowly start to shed the warm layer, but he stops you before you can get it past your elbows.

“Keep it, sweetheart.” He presses a palm out, pausing you in your tracks.

“Don’t you want it back?” you ask with knitted brows.

“Nah, you go ahead and keep it,” he answers. Before you can walk out the door, he turns and smiles warmly at you. “Besides, it looks better on you.” And then he continues on, like he didn’t just give you a compliment.

It looks better on you.

You hug the blue flannel back against your body, breathing in the very essence of him that seems to calm every single nerve in your body.

He gave you his flannel.

Once the groceries are all packed away in the back of the truck and both you and Joel are buckled up, he turns to you before driving out of the parking lot. “So, you wanna go get ice cream?”

“Ice cream?”

“Mhm. Ice cream,” he confirms.

“Whatever for?” you giggle.

“Don’t you like ice cream?” he inquires, flicking his brown eyes over your way.

“Well, yes. But…”

“I think brave girls deserve ice cream. Don’t you?”

You study him, looking for any sign of lies in the crow’s feet that pull tightly around the edges of his chocolate brown eyes, but you find none. He isn’t messing with you or your mind; he’s being completely sincere when he uses the word brave. “You think I’m a brave girl?”

“The bravest.” He smiles, his eyes twinkling like golden orbs under the grey skies, and it just confirms how warm he is.

You gawk at him, your lips parting as you just stare and stare at him. He thinks you’re brave, and he wants to take you for ice cream? Who even is this man?

“What?” He catches you staring and probably wonders why you’re just marveling over him. He must not realize you’re completely mesmerized by every single thing he does.

No one’s ever treated you so human. Like you’re important and matter. Joel sees you. He really sees you. Your layers and all. Just like transparent glass.

“You just surprise me, that's all,” you answer hesitantly, eyes still focused on his tanned skin and wrinkles that line like maps across his face. Something you could trace easily. “You’re not exactly what I expected, I guess.”

“And what’d you expect?” He quirks an eyebrow up as the engine hums under your seat, his eyes making their way back to your face.

“I don’t know. I guess I didn’t think you’d be so… kind.”

He curls his lips into a sideways smile while he taps his thumb against the leather steering wheel, eyes still focused directly on you. “I try my best, sweetheart.”

“You don’t even have to. You just are. Just like that first night I saw you sitting there across the room. Your eyes seemed so… kind.”

Everything seems to quiet down for a moment, only the sound of your heart, the slow motion of the tires hitting the wet pavement, the thick tension coursing through the air, and Joel’s clear brown eyes that are smothering your insides. They speak louder than tidal waves, those deep brown irises. And right now, they’re making your heart clench in your chest.

He clears his throat and then the tension dissipates. “So, how ‘bout that ice cream?” He wraps his large palm around the steering wheel and smiles over, making you mirror one right back to him.

“I’d love some ice cream.”

“Attagirl. Let’s go get you sugared up, then.” As he pulls out of the shopping center and drives down the smooth road, you giggle silently and watch the trickles of raindrops drip down the side of the passenger window.

“Have you ever tried espresso ice cream?” you ask, shifting your weight so you can see the question roll over his brown eyes.

“As a matter of fact, I haven’t.”

“I think you’d like it,” you chirp.

He turns his head and looks at you, pulling his lips into a smirk. “Reckon I would. That what you recommend?”

“Mhm,” you hum. “Since you like coffee so much, might be your new favorite flavor.”

He huffs out a laugh. “Well, looks like that’s what I’m gonna have to get. Let’s see what other recommendations you have for me.”

As you lean against the window, you place the back of your hand over your mouth to cover the blush that's building in your cheeks. Who knew this is where you’d be in the middle of Wednesday afternoon this time of year? In a truck, wearing Joel’s flannel, getting ice cream, being free of your captors… And all you can smell is the fresh woodsy scent of him surrounding you.

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#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller the last of us #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller angst #healing fic

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heechwe · 15 hours ago

Text

lost in wonderland | 𝐩𝐬𝐡

୨୧ pairing: park sunghoon x fem!reader ୨୧ word count: 12k ୨୧ genre: smut, semi-angst, fluff ୨୧ tags: mentions of drug use, fake dating au, rockstar!sunghoon, popstar!reader, enemies to lovers au, jerk to down bad sunghoon, pet names (baby, doll, love, etc.), dirty talk, nipple play, oral (f receiving), belly bulging, spanking, unprotected sex, creampie ୨୧ synopsis: Park Sunghoon, one half of popular rock band Into Eden, is on thin ice with his management and the general public. What does his manager Jay decide to do? Set him up with the leader of rising pop girl group PrismHeart. And while it starts as two stubborn people living in a lie, growing feelings cannot hold anything but the truth. ➸ This one's dedicated to my lovely betas: Ley @pars-ley), Ally @lovetaroandtaemin, Kiki @wonwovy, & Lola @monamipencil)! I'm so grateful to y’all and the love you’ve given this story; I hope everyone else loves it too 🤍 Also the ending song and inspiration for the title is from Boys Like Girls's song "Lost in Wonderland"!

“PARK SUNGHOON: ANOTHER HEARTBREAK UNDER HIS BELT?”

“IS HEESEUNG TIRED OF HIS BANDMATE’S GAMES? IS ‘INTO EDEN’ IN TROUBLE OF DISBANDING?”

“DID SUNGHOON RUIN ANOTHER GIRL GROUP, AND HIS EX’S CAR?”

Sunghoon laughs at the headlines plastered across his manager’s desk. The gossip rags are the only vibrant thing in the office, the monochrome black and white color scheme creating a strict atmosphere that suffocates the rock star to no end. Who knew such bullshit could provide such humor?

The sound dies on Sunghoon’s tongue when he sees Jay’s displeasure pervade the older man’s entire face. His arms are crossed, and Sunghoon can see the veins in Jay’s neck tighten.

“You think this is funny?” Jay asks, his voice even-keeled, but his body language anything but.

“No, Mr. Park.”

“Hoon.” Jay says his talent’s name with admonishment. He sits back down in his chair across from Sunghoon, the large desk separating them. “You know I hate when you call me that.”

“What should I call you, Mr. Park? Bro? Dude? J-Man?”

Jay can’t help the chuckle on his lips, but he shuts it down to go back to the discussion at hand. “Simply put, the label’s pissed. All that we should see two months before your tour is good press, not this shit. And you know Yeji is going to do more than just comment in a couple of tabloids.”

Sunghoon rolls his eyes. “She has nothing to say, besides the fact that it ended mutually.”

“You call making out with Lia ‘ending mutually’?”

Sunghoon raises his hands in defense, a smirk on his lips. “Don’t know what you were told, but that happened after we broke up.”

“Okay, that’s it.” Jay takes the multitude of tabloids and throws them in the trash next to his desk. “The label is going to chop my balls off if I don’t fix the problems you created.”

Sunghoon, in his mind, isn’t a problem child, per se. He simply pales in comparison to his golden boy best friend and musical partner, Lee Heeseung. It isn’t his fault that Heeseung is squeaky clean. The only crazy thing the guy has ever done was dye his hair red for their recent cover shoot.

Sure, Heeseung has been committed to one person for years, long before the two men ever became a name in the public eye. The guy never partakes in recreational activities, choosing to spend his free time with his girlfriend or in video game chat rooms rather than in nightclubs like his counterpart. And he’s always been a media darling, giving signed photos to fans and providing the paparazzi with his undivided attention without complaint.

Sunghoon likes to live without restrictions or red tape. If he has to be judged for that, constantly not measuring up to the pedestal his best friend lives on, so be it.

“It’s time for Plan B,” Jay says, breaking Sunghoon from his thoughts.

After Sunghoon’s brows furrow in confusion, Jay turns on the TV stationed behind his desk. The news video on display shows the members of PrismHeart, the label’s rising girl group, attending the AMAs with bright smiles and matching sparkly ensembles.

“This is Plan B?” Sunghoon asks, releasing a breathless laugh.

“No.” Jay points to you in the center of the LED screen. Your hair billows in the wind as your face shines with the same quality of the cameras capturing your essence on the red carpet.

Sunghoon is taken aback by you without hearing you speak a single word, and he suspects something devious brewing behind his manager’s eyes when he says, “She is.”

The nightclub is packed with D-list celebrities and upcoming starlets, ready to post to their respective social media accounts. With the right touch, the news will work its way to the trending page without fail.

Thankfully, Jay, Sunghoon’s manager, knows how to set the scene for a piece of tabloid fodder. It’s part of his job to make sure that, for better or worse, Sunghoon gets his time in the spotlight.

As for you, all you’re expected to do is mingle with your new “boyfriend,” look pretty in your little black dress, and set the trap.

You asked your own manager, Momo, if you could bring one of the girls along to break the ice and make the “meet cute” look more believable, and both she and Jay agreed.

So here you are, sitting across from Yujin with a strawberry martini in one hand and your cellphone in the other, waiting for the signal.

“He is pretty cute. You can’t deny that.” Yujin scrolls through Sunghoon’s Instagram feed, multiple gym pics and rehearsal photos lining the grid of his main profile.

When Momo produced Jay’s offer to her, she marketed it to you as the perfect way for PrismHeart to skyrocket from simmering stardom into true mega-fame. All it took was a handful of white lies and scheduled meetups. No harm, no foul, right?

Like a devoted group leader, hands in your lap and a demure smile on your face, you said yes. You would do anything for your team and the girls who were your second family at this point. Not disclosing the truth was an easy thing to do, and nobody’s feelings would be sacrificed in the process.

It would also be a welcome distraction from the destruction of your last relationship. The back and forth with Jake proved to be too much on both your work and personal lives, 7 months of happiness leading to a slow and bitter end.

Maybe a cute boy with no attachments and some light flirting could be a nice way to bounce back into the game. Then, when a real relationship would be possible for you again, you’d be ready.

You nod and take another sip of your drink, the alcohol leaving a burning aftertaste in your throat. “He is,” you agree. “He’s terrible at time management, though, clearly.”

Yujin rolls her eyes and continues scrolling. “Take off your micromanaging hat tonight, babe. Have fun. Kiss your new fake beau.”

“Say it louder,” you chide, lips on the rim of your glass again. The drink was taking the edge off of your nerves, but you still couldn’t shake the desire to make sure things went perfectly.

For both work and personal reasons, you need this to go off without a hitch.

A second later, your phone buzzes on the top of the bar. Sunghoon’s face lights up your screen, along with his message.

[Received at 10:46 PM]: Walking in with Jungwon. U?

You internally roll your eyes at the cryptic text. Jake was so good at making his messages personable, and although you could put a dagger in him for breaking your heart, the least you can do is recognize that was one of his better qualities.

You just hope Sunghoon is better in person than he is on the page. Or phone, so to speak.

[Sent at 10:48]: By the bar with Yujin.

Sunghoon saunters through the club’s double doors, the notorious half of Into Eden smiling ear to ear with his friend Jungwon in tow. Your ex Jake and Jungwon hung in similar circles due to their statuses as popular actors, but Jungwon was always nice when you ran into him.

He greets you with a smile but stops short when he sees your best friend, his cheeks turning a red hue. “Sorry, you’re just even more beautiful in person.”

As Yujin stutters over her next words, sharing a similar blush with the man in front of her, Sunghoon saunters over to your side and grins. As you look closer at him, you can discern the pink around his irises and the flimsy edges of his smile.

He’s high. So much rides on his cooperation on this plan and he’s fucking high?

“Park Sunghoon, pleased to meet you.” He gives your hand a sloppy kiss when your fingers link together in a handshake, and you retract immediately. Sunghoon pays no mind to your distaste, immediately ordering a beer and downing it the second it slides across the bar.

“Do you think you should be mixing alcohol with…whatever’s in your system?”

“Nothing I can’t handle.” Sunghoon winks at you and scoots closer on his barstool to you, tracing the skin of your thighs with his eyes. “I think this is the part where we dance?”

You scoff and down what’s left of your martini. You flag the bartender down for another, incredulous but trying to mask your anger with another drink. “Maybe we should get to know each other first?”

“What’s there to know? Jay gave me all the cliffnotes this morning. And we can just learn as we go, you know?”

A part of you wants to run into this without a roadmap, but it’s not in your nature. And it would be a lot easier to let yourself relax if you knew you were walking into this plan with a person as serious as you are about it.

But no, you get a stoned rockstar as your new “boyfriend” instead.

The bartender hands you your second martini, and you hop off the barstool with it in your hand. You take a light sip before you motion to the dance floor. “Let’s go.”

You have a tight grasp on the stem of your glass as Sunghoon takes your free hand to walk towards the dance floor. You notice Yujin and Jungwon dancing in a far corner together, the two of them hitting it off incredibly well.

Your hips sway to the song, your body trying to follow the music that’s thumping loudly through the speakers. It’s a remix you don’t recognize, but you enjoy it nonetheless. You smile as the pulse of the song thrums through your veins, your nerves at their lowest since arriving at the club.

What you don’t expect is for Sunghoon’s hands to settle on your hips, pulling you closer to fall into rhythm together. He moves well considering his prowess lies in rock rather than pop.

“You’re a pretty good dancer for a bassist,” you tease.

“I have a lot of talents,” he remarks back, the club lights gleaming across his face in purple and pink strobes.

He looks better in person than in all the interviews and tabloids you read prior to meeting him tonight. In your efforts to gain intel for the meetup, you couldn’t deny how well he cleaned up, even when he acted poorly.

The slosh of your drink makes you stop dancing for a second, and you laugh. “Probably shouldn’t have brought this on the–”

Sunghoon captures your lips in a searing kiss. The taste of ale lingers on your tongue the longer both of your mouths are linked. He is a good kisser, no doubt, but where does he get off assuming you wanted him to? All you had to show for tonight so far was some small conversation. Is that his typical green light to dive straight into making out?

You immediately push him off, the contents of your martini glass spilling on him in the process. “What the hell?” Sunghoon asks, touching his jacket and feeling the leather soaked in sugary liquor.

You’re stunned at how brash yet nonchalant he is about what he just did, caring more for his clothes than your personal space that he just invaded.

“You’re such a bastard,” you whisper loud enough for only Sunghoon to hear, his eyes immediately widening at your words. You walk away from him stunned and drop the glass on the counter where you were initially sitting. Not wanting to take Yujin away from her success of a night, you run outside to a handful of cameras flashing and your failure coating your skin.

Late into the next morning, you sip a hefty cup of tea for breakfast as you scroll through your latest mentions. The socials are blowing up from your recent outing with Yujin, Jungwon, and Sunghoon. You half expected to wake up to the ending of your career, but to your relief, the event was nothing short of a success.

Despite your embarrassment on the drive home and sadness before bed last night, your followers and many of Into Eden’s fans seem to have taken the bait. Some took shots of you exiting the nightclub, Sunghoon following shortly behind with a smile on his face. They also edited short clips of the two of you on the dance floor. Incredibly, none of them caught your mishap with your martini on video.

Better yet, they found the prospect of you and Sunghoon not just exciting but fitting somehow.

@edenenthusiast: hope she can whip him back into shape, miss the old hoon.

@sunghoonsluv71: sad he’s off the market but they’re actually cute together???

@prismshearts_09: she looks so happy!! suck it @jaeyun_sim.

In the next second, your phone blows up from a mention on Sunghoon’s most recent story. Your handle is hidden in a far corner of the black screen but the words plastered across the screen say everything they need to.

“Love at first spill? 🍸😏”

All of your band members and Momo light up your group chat with their excitement. In the chaos of the chat, you thumb-up a text from Yujin about Jungwon giving her his number.

Then, a single text pops up from Sunghoon that makes your glee transform into anxiety.

[Received at 11:52 AM]: Lunch on me? :/

You feel a part of your chest flutter. There’s a hope that maybe in the light of day you’ll get a chance to see the real Sunghoon. No drugs, no cameras, no need to impress. Maybe if he’s away from the attention, he’ll realize you deserve an apology for his actions.

[Sent at 11:56 AM]: Lunch and dinner or get lost.

You see the quick succession of bubbles following your text, his response hot on the heels of your last message that he reacts to with a laughing emoji.

[Received at 11:58] I think I can handle that.

You sit across from Sunghoon on the balcony of his apartment, two BLTs cooked to perfection on the patio table in front of you. He kept to his word, laying a spread of food out for you in exchange for your time.

You quirk an eyebrow. “Did you make these yourself?” You ask.

Sunghoon shakes his head, bashful. “Jay helped me. Not only is he a great manager, but he’s actually an amazing cook.”

You nod and smile, grabbing a bite as Sunghoon’s blush and your quiet chewing fills the silence.

“I wanted to say that yesterday got out of hand, and I shouldn’t have gotten wasted before meeting you. It was unprofessional, and I apologize.”

You tap your fingers on the wicker table, your gut warning you to be cautious. “Did Jay tell you to say that?”

Sunghoon stutters on whatever words he planned to say next and quickly runs a hand through his hair. “I mean it, what difference does it make? I really am sorry, okay?”

You roll your eyes. “So you’re apologizing using someone else’s script? That’s supposed to make me believe you?”

Sunghoon scoffs and presses his palms to the table. “You’re fucking impossible, you know that?”

“I’m impossible because you got loaded and decided to stick your tongue down my throat? Oh, and I bet the next words out of your mouth were going to be how stubborn I am because I expected you to actually want to make up for how shit you acted last night.”

“Wow. Are you just mad because you didn’t expect to like me kissing you that much?” Sunghoon says his question with a pestering but sultry tone, the words completely rhetorical.

You huff and make your exit from the table. “Fuck this, I should never have come.”

Before you can walk away from the balcony, Sunghoon takes your wrist in his hand. His eyes express his frustration, his mouth in a grim line. “Don't leave, please. Can we just pretend that the last twelve hours never happened? Start from scratch. We both know we need each other here.”

You take a deep breath and cross your arms, walking back to your side of the table with a stone expression. “I think it’s a good idea to create some rules for…this arrangement.”

Sunghoon stares you down, still irritated but agreeable. “I’m all ears.”

“First and foremost,” you start, “whenever we’re scheduled to meet, no drugs. Do it in your spare time.”

Sunghoon nods. “That’s fair.”

“Second, no PDA unless there’s people around that need to notice it. And we have to agree on it before either one of us initiates anything.”

“What,” Sunghoon laughs, “like a secret bat signal?”

“Sure Batman,” you jest. Does he have to joke every time he decides to speak? Against your better judgment, a small piece of you finds it endearing.

He ponders the thought and then taps two fingers to the side of his neck. “How’s that?”

“Fine,” you agree. “Do you have any other rules you think we should add?”

The word “we” slips so easily from your tongue. In spite of the way he stirs up every ounce of frustration inside of you, already you see him on the same team as you. That has to be a good sign.

He rubs his index finger and thumb under his chin, half teasing but half reflecting on what he could add.

“Only one more thing,” Sunghoon says. “When we don’t have plans to spend time together, what we do in our private time is our business.”

You raise your hands. “Not a problem for me.”

Sunghoon reaches his hand across the table. “Deal?”

What the outcome of your arrangement will be besides the expected results remains up in the air. Whether it will reap what you want is really anyone’s guess. But if it means you do your duties as a good bandmate, you will take whatever comes at you.

You grasp his fingers in yours, shaking them gingerly. “Deal.”

Into Eden’s most popular song “Salvation” plays on the stereo speakers in the photography studio of Vogue magazine’s headquarters. The two men on set act incredibly comfortable, Heeseung’s arm wrapped around Sunghoon’s shoulder. The older musician’s red hair is stark against the chosen clothing for the shoot, but he makes it work.

He always does, Sunghoon thinks with a repressed sigh. His hair is slicked back in contrast to Heeseung’s messy mop of wind-blown tresses, creating the contrast between the two that highlights the shoot’s concept. TWO SOULS COLLIDE: THE LEADING MUSICIANS OF NEW AGE ROCK.

Sunghoon stays still for the next shot of him and Heeseung, but he can’t help himself from following you with his eyes when you enter the studio with a bag of breakfast treats and a to-go tray of coffees.

He did not expect to see you show up to his photoshoot, and Jay didn’t give him any warning for the event on his schedule being one you would share space with. He’s not against it though. In the sea of gray suits and media lackeys, you’re a breath of fresh air. You have already taken his attention away from the mundane nature of the task he’s assigned to complete today.

He can’t deny that Jay’s plan has already made shifts to his image in the public eye. It’s only been a week of public paparazzi candids and social media mentions shared between his and your accounts, and fans are eating it up.

And, though he might never say it out loud, something about your presence levels him in a way Jay’s and Heeseung’s doesn’t. He quantifies it to you also understanding the pressures of the music industry, the feeling of someone outside of his circle who can relate to him foreign but welcome. Your relationship may be manufactured, but he has to look at the positives it’s already created in his life.

Jay runs over to you with a bright smile. “You’re an angel, thank you.”

You grin and take a breakfast sandwich from the bag to give to Sunghoon’s manager. “Least I could do for a member of my boyfriend’s camp.”

Jay winks over the rim of his coffee cup and goes back to the photographer’s side, overseeing the shots with a bit of sausage sticking out of his mouth.

You give Sunghoon a slight wave and stay a few steps away from the large lights capturing the shadows and highlights on the men’s faces.

You haven’t met Heeseung up to this point, so interacting with Sunghoon’s bandmate will add a new dimension to your “relationship.”

In contrast with Sunghoon, Heeseung exudes seriousness in every movement. You’re unsure if it’s because of his maturity or dedication to everything he does, similar to yourself, but it shows in the way the men stand next to each other. Where Sunghoon is fluid like water, transforming into whatever he needs to be, Heeseung is stoic and certain of himself, solid like a stone.

You wonder how such different people managed to be friends and bandmates. Then again, you’re in a group with four other girls, and your personalities are anything but similar.

“Alright, I think it’s time for individual shots. Mr. Park, we’ll do yours first!”

Heeseung runs to his chair in front of the vanity. It’s set up in a corner of the room for retouching his and Sunghoon’s hair and makeup. He beckons you over with a polite smile, and you oblige the silent request.

“Sorry I haven’t been able to greet you since you came in. You know how it is,” Heeseung’s lips turn up at the corners as his makeup artist dabs at his forehead with a clean powder puff. “I’m Lee Heeseung.”

You respond with your name and shake his hand, your nerves spiking. You expected Heeseung to be both attractive and polite, but it’s another level in person compared to his media appearances.

“Have you always been interested in music?” You ask.

Heeseung nods, still smiling. “Since I was old enough to hold a guitar. Both of us, actually. I don’t know if Hoon told you, but he was the one that started the band.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. “No, he didn’t say anything at all. He doesn’t really talk about his work. Neither of us do.”

Heeseung laughs. “Yeah. He’s a closed book a lot of the time. But he’s got a great soul, he just doesn’t let a lot of people see it.”

You look down at your shoes, smiling. “I’d offer you a bagel, but I think the team would kill me if I let you mess up your makeup.”

Heeseung releases another chuckle. “Save it for Hoon, then. Make it a little lunch date.” When the photographer’s assistant calls for Heeseung, he winks at you and leaps off of the chair.

Sunghoon finds you in the next second, smiling warmly before taking the bag of food from your hands. “Please tell me there's an everything bagel in here.”

You nod. “With extra cream cheese.”

He beckons you to the free armchairs on the opposite side of the makeshift vanities. You sit down across from him and find your croissant in the bag, ready to eat it whole at this point.

“You could’ve eaten before I finished. You didn’t have to wait for me.”

You shrug and bite into your food. “Force of habit. I always make sure the girls eat before I do.”

He nods and takes a chunk out of his own bagel. “Like a good leader. I knew Jay liked you for a reason.”

You scoff, practically choking on the egg and cheese in the croissant. “Says the guy who started this whole thing. You didn’t tell me you were the one who made Into Eden.”

Sunghoon shrugs, his mood shifting. “It never came up. Besides, Heeseung took the proverbial role of leader a long time ago, anyway.”

You shake your head, picking at your food. “I bet everyone would give you more of a lead if you proved you could handle the responsibility.”

Sunghoon is taken aback, there’s no doubt about that. When has he not been serious and responsible about his commitment to the band, save for the past year?

Sure, he hasn’t made great decisions recently, especially with his new…habit, simply put. But he’s never stopped caring, no matter how the tabloids turned on him or Heeseung overshadowed him when he began to fall short.

Maybe he needs to put some good will back in, even if he feels justified for being jaded at this point in his career.

Wanting to turn the tide of the conversation, Sunghoon spots a random guitar in the studio and grabs it eagerly. He sits back down with a newfound interest, plucking the strings to ensure it’s in tune.

You laugh and stuff the crumb-filled wrapper in the bag. “Avoiding the subject, I see.”

“Hey,” Sunghoon defends himself. “When I see a guitar, it’s only natural to play it.” He strums a few chords, satisfied. “Have any requests?”

You lift your shoulders, intrigued.

Sunghoon begins playing the opening strings of Oasis’s “Champagne Supernova.” It’s a bittersweet song, one with a beautiful instrumental but somber lyrics. Seems fitting for the man playing it somehow.

He begins to sing the first lines, the fried timbre of his vocals lulling you into a state of relaxation. By the introduction of the first chorus, you’re singing along with him, matching his tone with your saccharine harmonies.

It makes the crowd around you pause to look on for a moment, mesmerized at two stars seeming to shine at the same second. They must resign it to fate, two talents coming together in music and love, unaware of the reality of your situation.

Or maybe, they see the shades of something blossoming that you and Sunghoon have yet to recognize yourselves.

You flip through the newest issue of Vogue, excited to read Sunghoon’s part of the interview. It takes a handful of turns before you make it to the spread, the interview intertwined with shots of Heeseung and Sunghoon clad in V-necks and leather jeans. Their outfits coincide with the grunge aesthetic. You flip through the discussion about their newest album, “Under the Sun,” until one specific segment catches your eye.

VOGUE: So, it’s safe to assume this new album is about dedication, or the commitment, to one’s desires. It shows in your new single off this album, “All For You,” as you said Heeseung, but how do you feel about it Sunghoon?

PSH: I agree with Hee a hundred percent. Sometimes you don’t realize how devoted you are to something or someone until you’re caught in the middle of it. And sometimes that can be beautiful and intoxicating, a reason to go on that keeps you alive in so many ways.

VOGUE: I sense something or someone on your mind besides the album.

PSH: You could say that.

You left hours before the boys began their interview. It could’ve been a million things on his mind when the writer made note of his reaction, but you know the online forums and fandoms must be exploding over the snippet.

“Whatcha reading?” Ningning asks. She walks into your kitchen, looking for a cup to fill with ice water. She may live a few apartments down, but she never fails to use her status as the youngest to barge in whenever she wants.

You show her the front cover when she turns her head back in your direction. “His new article just came out.”

“Any mentions of his new love affair?” She wiggles her eyebrows and you threaten to throw the magazine at her head.

“Drop it already, Ning! It’s not real anyway.”

“Come on. The guy is cute, you’re cute, have some fun with it!”

“I would if he didn’t have so many walls up.”

“Like you don’t?” Ningning tests the waters, the air suddenly thick with tension. “You’re always so serious. You know we love you, but you never let yourself loosen up.”

You sigh and drop the magazine on the counter. “There’s a lot of responsibilities on the line. I can’t just shuck them whenever I want.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to worry every second about them, or about us. Let go sometimes, babe.”

Before you can respond, your doorbell rings. You’re both surprised, not expecting anyone to show up today, but you answer the door anyway.

Sunghoon stands before the threshold with a bag of takeout and a shy smile. His eyes are not bloodshot, his outfit looks purposefully put together, and his posture tells you he’s on a mission. “Figured since you brought food last time, I oughta return the favor.”

Ningning saunters up behind you with a smirk, arms still crossed. “Speak of the devil.”

“Easy, that’s not me,” he jokes. “Probably more of an associate.”

Ningning laughs and takes the cue to exit the apartment. “Have fun, you two, but not too much fun!”

You press your hand to the back of your neck, the heat on your cheeks rising at an alarming rate. “Didn’t know we were supposed to meet today.”

“We weren’t,” he admits.

A corner of your mouth quirks up. “I thought whatever we did in our private time was our business. You’re using the space in your schedule to hang out with me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Sunghoon bops you on the nose with his index finger and drops the bag of takeout on the counter. “I didn’t know what you’d like so I got a little bit of everything. Wontons, crab rangoons, egg rolls…I guess I kinda went overboard, didn’t I?”

You shake your head, the other part of your mouth turning up until your face cracks into a full-blown smile. The uncertainty on his face, the wind-swept hairdo covering a part of his eyes, the rapid motions of his hands taking the containers of food out of the bag.

In any other circumstance, you would consider this an awkward but real first date. And because your heart is not functioning in tandem with your head, you feel the flutters in your stomach all the same. “I’ll eat whatever you brought.”

The sun sets into the clouds surrounding the apartment complexes near yours, the high-rise bathed in orange and yellow hues from the day coming to a close. Your stomach is still overwhelmingly full from the food Sunghoon brought over, but you’re in a comfortable space as you both sit on your couch together watching another episode of New Girl.

“Can I ask you something?”

Sunghoon turns to you, his smile not meeting his eyes. “‘S a free country. But I get to ask you one also. Quid pro quo and all that.”

You ponder how to word your next sentence, not wanting to cross an unspoken boundary. “Why did you start using drugs?”

He sighs, rubbing the palms of his hands on his jeans. “Honestly, I didn’t know the reason until I stopped taking them a few weeks ago…when we started this thing. It helped to take the edge off of things, off of me always worrying about how I was measuring up to Hee. And then they just helped with everything else, until they didn’t.”

Your heart aches at his answer, the explanation one you did not expect to be so in-depth. Like most starlets and singers at your age, it just seemed to be around and available to take whenever you wanted. Not that you or any of the girls in PrismHeart partook, but it was still there.

You didn’t realize that his proclivity started from a place of genuine need for something else. Anything else, if it meant he could escape.

“My turn,” Sunghoon says, turning his full attention to you on the couch. “Why do you never let yourself relax?”

His question and Ningning’s words haunt the deep recesses of your brain in an instant, the unspoken fears inside of you coming to a head as you try to create an answer. “Being able to sing professionally has been something I’ve wanted for as long as I can remember. I guess somewhere deep inside I’m worried if I don’t take it seriously, I’ll lose it forever.”

Sunghoon ruminates on your answer before he traces the outline of your hand with his fingers, the touch setting off sparks on your skin. “We’re more alike than I thought.”

You laugh and throw the pillow under your back at him. “What? It’s not like I’m a robot or something.”

He chuckles and stands up from the couch. “Okay, well, either way, we need to liven the mood again.” Sunghoon scrolls through a playlist on his phone and finds a song that immediately makes his face lighten up. “Perfect.”

He connects his phone to your Bluetooth speakers, the guitar riff of The Darkness’s “I Believe In A Thing Called Love” cutting through the silence from moments before.

“What the hell-“

“Stop thinking for five minutes and dance with me or so help me God.” His eyebrows quirk up in an unspoken challenge, and before you can stop yourself and use your logical brain to think first and then decide, you’re up off of your feet with your best cockney accent to match the lead singer’s tone.

You may be off key and breathless, and Sunghoon may look ridiculous as he riffs on an air-guitar, but it’s the first night in years where you’ve truly felt free. No obligations or restrictions are there to stop you from doing what you please.

That night when you go to sleep, you save the ridiculous song to your Apple Music account and think about Sunghoon’s smile before shutting your eyes.

The flash of cameras is nothing new, especially on a red carpet. What adds a unique dynamic to the situation is Sunghoon standing by. He watches you pose for the cameras, the press doting over you for a shot of your outfit and presence at Into Eden’s album launch party.

His eyes on you burn brighter than the lights strung across the space. You blush to yourself and keep smiling for the multitudes of paparazzi. The next minute, Sunghoon puts a hand on the small of your back gently to lead you in the direction of the club a dozen feet or so away.

“Sunghoon, one picture! Just one!”

You turn your eyes to him and press two fingers to your neck, feigning it off as nervousness in front of the public. Sunghoon smirks and pulls you into his chest, letting the vultures beg for more as he holds you close.

He puts a hand up to say goodbye and walks away with you, palms intertwined. Even as you enter the club, seeing Heeseung and his girlfriend Ryujin waiting for you both, Sunghoon doesn’t let go.

“Do you want a drink?” Sunghoon asks, his thumb rubbing the back of your hand.

“No thank you.”

“Who are you and what have you done to Sunghoon?” Ryujin asks, mystified at his newfound etiquette.

“He’s still around, Ryu. Just trying to be on his best behavior for once.” Sunghoon ruffles her hair before walking away to greet Jay at the bar riddled with executives.

She huffs and fixes the flyaways Sunghoon caused, but smiles at you when she’s done. “Whatever you’re doing to him, keep it up. I haven’t seen him this way in forever.”

Clearly Ryujin’s not aware of the circumstances of yours and Sunghoon’s relationship, but something has changed in him both in and out of the public eye. Many posts and headlines showcased your numerous outings and discreet meetups in the weeks you’ve spent together. However, there were more moments shared between you that the public had no insight on.

Nights in the recording studio, rehearsals for PrismHeart that turned into goofing off between the both of you, and rides on his motorcycle that almost made your head spin.

It’s hard to tell now where the truth stops and the lies begin, and vice versa. How can you tell yourself the smiles that he gives you aren’t genuine? How do you respond to Ryujin without feeling like your answers are coming from the depths of your heart?

“Babe, there’s that director! Let’s go say hi!” Ryujin runs over to the eponymous man with her hand tightly wrapped around Heeseung’s. He smiles apologetically before being stolen away.

You wait for Sunghoon to come back, but not before you witness Yujin and Jungwon linked arm in arm, followed by the last two people you expected to show up tonight.

Jake’s hair is newly dyed, the ash blond of his hair striking under the lights of the club. He doesn’t notice you, only shakes hands with Jungwon and continues on his path to the bar. His date and Sunghoon’s ex Yeji has her body wrapped tightly around his, even as they walk through the crowds of people.

It’s been months since you last saw him, and in spite of your desire to stay and show your pride for Sunghoon and his newest album, you want nothing more than to run out of the club and never come back. Your heartbeat quickens, the thumps of it rattling your chest with no guarantees it’ll calm down.

Like a magnet, Sunghoon is by your side immediately and looking into your eyes with concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Jake’s here. Yeji’s with him.”

Sunghoon scans the crowd and lands on the two at the bar. Jake catches the younger man’s eyes and lifts his drink in congratulations, a smug smirk on his face.

Before he can walk over to the idiot’s spot, you hold onto his arm tightly to stop him. “He’s not worth it, Hoon. Trust me.”

Sunghoon knew enough of your history with the C-list actor from your own admissions and your friend’s anecdotes to want to kick the guy’s teeth in. Jake didn’t just make it harder for you to make your relationship a priority in your life, but he made every issue between the two of you your fault somehow.

And as far as Sunghoon could tell, no-one could be more devoted to the things that mattered to them than you.

“Why the fuck would he show up here?” Sunghoon asks nobody in particular, still fuming at the man’s audacity and his effect on your wellbeing. “The least I can do is show him the door.”

“No, please.” You grip onto the lapels of Sunghoon’s suit jacket, emphasizing your need to have him close. If he leaves you, you might fall apart. “Dance with me?”

Sunghoon’s anger transforms, lightly scoffing at your request with a soft smile to follow. “I don’t think this song is good to dance to, love.”

The term of endearment makes your knees weak, the word on his lips making your fingers tremble against the fabric of his jacket. Yes, the remix of one of Into Eden’s new songs “No Doubt” is more suited for a mosh pit than a couple wanting to dance, but you don’t care. “Dance with me anyway.”

You lead him to the center of the club. Both your worlds look on as you hold him close and try to match the rhythm of the remix. It’s a pointless endeavor, the beat changing right when you think you’ve mastered it. Your attempts to follow make Sunghoon smile. “If it helps, I’m not a big fan of this version of the song. Glad it’s just a B side track.”

You roll your eyes and grin. You rest your head on his chest, deciding to sway softly instead of thinking about the music pumping or the strangers’ passing glances.

“I think we’re breaking rule number two, love,” Sunghoon whispers into the crown of your head.

You move to stare up at him, running two fingers to the side of his neck exposed over the collar of his shirt. “I don’t mind if you don’t.”

In the haze of blinding lights and blank faces, Sunghoon’s is the only one that matters as he bends down and presses your lips to his.

In contrast to the first kiss you ever shared, this one is not entwined with alcohol or unwelcome shock. It’s ingrained with weeks worth of tension and words that you could not read before, the lines between your agreement now crystal clear.

You gladly accept his mouth on yours, your body on fire when his tongue touches the roof of your mouth. His hands slip down to the curve of your hips, squeezing the skin through the confines of your clothes.

The sounds of shuttering cameras and surprised voices intercut with the music are of no priority to you. All that matters is that this kiss never ends. That the feelings you’ve been harboring never have to be concealed again.

Sunghoon walks into Jay’s office with a heavy heart, unsure how to present the situation he will unfold to his manager. He’s been ducking your calls and texts, unsure how to go about his next moves before discussing his predicament with the person he trusts the most in this world, save for Heeseung.

“I could kiss you!” Jay says when he sees Sunghoon walk in, pointing at him with pure glee.

“Please don’t,” Sunghoon responds.

“Streams of ‘All for You’ hit an all-time peak last night, the projected numbers are predicting this record to be your best selling one since the first album, and you’re a golden boy in the press again!” Relief washes over Jay’s face, the success of his plan evident in the easy posture of his body. “Not gonna say I’m a god, but I'm definitely a genius.”

Sunghoon claps his hands together, giving his manager the praise he deserves. “That’s great, Jay. Really.”

“You should be happy, man! We’re on the straight and narrow again. Now I just have to come up with some sweet and easy way to end the whole thing and we’re good to go.”

Sunghoon wants to interject, but Jay continues on with his thoughts, letting them run free out loud. “It should be pretty easy. Just gotta find another event to have you guys attend and then we’ll pull the plug—“

“Jay, I can’t.” Sunghoon blurts out the three words that have been on his mind since he walked into the label’s building. His heart rests in his throat as he holds nothing back. “I like her. Really.”

Jay stops walking around the room and stuffs his hands in his pockets. He blows the hair in front of his face, puzzled. “Well, that’s a pickle.”

“I didn’t mean for it to go this far,” Sunghoon admits, because it’s the truth. He never intended on actually finding you endearing, funny, attractive, all the positive adjectives he can come up with in his mind. “And then the album party happened…and I just can’t.”

Jay sits down at his desk, his face becoming a mask of professionalism. “You know that’s not possible, Sunghoon. I mean, think about it. She has her band, you have yours. It would be a disaster trying to keep it up. The only reason Hee and Ryu are still together is because she isn’t involved in any of this shit.”

Sunghoon shakes his head, vaguely listening to his manager’s words but not giving them weight. “You don’t know her like I do.”

Jay shrugs. “You may be right. But you could barely handle a relationship, real or fake, when this started. Do you think a real one is manageable right now?”

Sunghoon leans back into the armchair, some of his manager’s words hitting too close to home to deny. Would he truly be able to keep a true relationship with you alive when he was always under public pressure and eventual scrutiny?

Sunghoon walks out of the office with more questions than answers, more unsure than he was before.

You sit in your bed, undecided on whether you should try to text Sunghoon again or not. The downpour outside reminds you of the onslaught of emotions pooling in your gut, a mixture of hurt and anxiety weighing heavy on your heart.

He kisses you because you both wanted him to and then he decides to leave you without a single word for days? What kind of sense does that make?

Yujin and Ningning want to cut his heart out with a rusty knife, but you assure them you’re as confused as he probably is, unsure where to go from this point forward.

If only he could give you some signal he’s still alive, you would feel more at ease.

A knock at your door makes you run to answer it, expecting Ningning to show up with Sour Patch Kids and the newest film on your To Be Watched list. “Ning, you better have ‘Bend It Like Beckham’ in your hand or you’re not coming in!”

You open the door to Sunghoon soaked through from the rain. “Sorry I came empty handed.” Sunghoon trails his eyes down your body, smirking at the Hello Kitty pattern of your cotton shirt and shorts. “Nice outfit.”

You shake your head, incredulous that he’s at your door without any word to warn you. “What are you doing here?”

“I had to see you,” he says honestly. He walks through the door and makes you back into the hallway wall. His wet body traps you against him and the walkway. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”

You give him a lopsided grin. “You have a funny way of showing it.”

He chuckles, swiping his wet hair off his face. “I know, I’m an idiot.”

“And a jerk.”

“And a jerk,” he parrots, eyes full of sincerity. “But I want to be better for you. I want to be worthy of being yours.”

The confession makes your body buckle. The breath that was still in your lungs escapes in one gust from your lips. How can he think he isn’t worth it after all the vulnerability he’s shown you? “You already are, Hoon.”

He places his hands on either side of your face tenderly, his mouth inching closer. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

You mirror his expression, covering his hands with your own. “I might have been told that once or twice.”

His lips collide with yours, the action soft but the emotions charged behind the kiss heavy. Where that kiss in the nightclub was chaste compared to this one, you can only imagine how the rest of the night will play out.

Sunghoon discards his jacket onto the floor, your hands automatically sliding across his damp shoulder blades. Your touch makes him shudder, a moan escaping his throat. “You’re so warm.”

You smirk. “My bed’s warmer.”

The tangle of clothes and tongues leads to your position in his lap on your bed, the comforter discarded somewhere in the rush to get him to sit down and hold you closer.

Your body writhes against his, his pants the only thing left that he’s wearing. He holds you tighter against him, groaning against your lips. “Fuck, are you trying to get me to come already?”

You blush and kiss his neck. “Wasn’t my intention, but I don’t mind.”

Sunghoon chuckles. He flips you onto your back on the mattress, taking your bra off to reveal your breasts. Your nipples perk up once the air hits your skin, and Sunghoon can’t fight the groan that escapes his lips. “You’re fucking beautiful. I could stare at your tits all day.”

Most compliments make you feel like the person giving them is obligated to, not because it’s true. But when you hear such explicit thoughts leave Sunghoon’s mouth, you believe every word he says.

He covers your body with his own, taking one nipple into his mouth as he kneads the neglected breast with one hand. Expertly, he uses his other hand to slide into your underwear, finding your clit in record time.

He swirls his index and middle finger around the bud, using your essence that has already pooled in your panties as lubricant.

You mewl, grasping Sunghoon’s hair in your fingers for purchase on something, anything. “Fuck, that feels good.”

Sunghoon releases your nipple with a pop, his mouth trailing up the valley of your breasts to stop at your lips. “I’m not done yet, darling.”

Suddenly, he has both hands pulling your underwear down your legs, leaving the fabric dangling on the curve of your ankle. He wastes no time settling his face at the apex of your thighs.

He kisses your clit, making your body buck into his face at the quick act. By the time his tongue is inside of you, prodding deliciously at your walls, you’re practically at the brink of an orgasm.

“You like that?” Sunghoon asks, his voice wicked against your pussy, the vibrations of his mouth reverberating against your skin. “Like how I stretch you open, love?”

You nod vigorously. “Yes, Hoon, you know I do.”

He licks a long stripe up your center, from your perineum to the hood of your clit. “I have to be inside you right now, darling. But I promise, I’ll make you come on my tongue later.”

You clench down on nothing, eager to have his body conjoined with yours. He takes his jeans and boxers off in one motion, his cock long and thick. You want nothing more than to take him in your mouth, feel the taste of him on your lips, but you’re too excited for what’s to come when you look in his devilish eyes.

He settles on top of you once again, certain he’s prepped you enough for him to enter you. He looks into your eyes for confirmation, and you kiss his lips to emphasize your eagerness.

He slips inside without issue, his girth stretching you more than his tongue did. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, a curse flying from your mouth when he fills you completely.

“That’s it, baby,” he says, his voice anchored to the skin of your neck. He can practically see the outline of himself on your lower belly protruding through the skin. “Feel all of me.”

His hips push himself in and out of you, his tempo slow and torturous. The rational part of you thinks he’s only doing this for your comfort, but you know him better than most deductions of logic.

Sunghoon knows you want him to go faster from the feeling of your nails digging into his back and your moans in the shell of his ear. But because he loves to tease, he’ll drag this out for as long as he can.

Until he hears you beg for more, that is. And you don’t mind groveling for what you want.

“Hoonie,” you plead, trying hard to meet his hips with your own for more force. “Please fuck me harder.”

Sunghoon kisses your forehead before saying, “Flip over for me, love. All fours.”

You do as he commands. Once you’re in an acceptable position, he slams himself inside of you.

The tempo barely compares to the previous one, giving you no time to do anything but relish in the pistoning of his hips as they make contact with yours. He smacks your ass for good measure, a moan escaping from your lips as he rubs the reddening skin.

“You wanted this,” He reminds you, smacking your other cheek harder as he drills himself in and out of you without any sense of stopping. “Wanted me to ruin you like a good little doll.”

“Yes, yes, please don’t stop,” you beg, stuffing your face into your pillow.

“None of that, my love.” He takes your hair into a makeshift ponytail to raise your head from the bed. “Want everyone to hear how good you feel, how well you’re being fucked. And I want them to know how beautiful you sound when you come.”

You’re limp by the time your orgasm rushes through you, your body wrecked to no end as you’re bathed in ecstasy.

“Holy shit,” you mewl, still feeling the aftershocks.

Sunghoon continues on with his relentless attention, his speed not letting up. He moves you against him and vice versa as he pleases, seeing the white coating of your essence on his cock as it disappears inside of you.

“Fuck, baby, where do you want me to come?” He asks, unsure how much longer he can hold it in.

“Inside of me, please.”

Don’t have to tell him twice.

A groan rips from Sunghoon’s throat as he releases inside of you, knowing his entire load is painting you white. If only he could see it, see how much of him is a part of you now.

He runs his hands up and down your body when you both come down from your highs. He kisses the reddened skin of your backside as he drags a washcloth between your legs, making sure not to overstimulate you in the process of cleaning you up.

You stare at each other, both in lingering rapture as well as disbelief. He hums a song into your ear as your eyelids flutter closed, the gravel in his voice the perfect lullaby.

You wake up the next morning to Sunghoon playing the chorus of “Wonderland,” PrismHeart’s first hit on the Top 100. You grin to yourself, holding the comforter close to your chest. “Trying to record that music video was such a pain.”

Sunghoon turns and smiles at your awoken form, putting the guitar against your side table. He takes you into his arms, kissing the top of your forehead. “How so?”

“They wanted us to do this themed shoot. White rabbits, decks of cards, me dressed as Alice. But every time the director tried filming the segment where we all went down the rabbit hole, it just kept going wrong.” You laugh and run your fingers across Sunghoon’s chest.

He chuckles and kisses your shoulder. “They didn’t think to try a different concept out?”

You shook your head. “We all agreed on it. Besides, the story is actually one of the inspirations for the songs. I read a lot of Lewis Carroll growing up, but I always loved ‘Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland’ the most.”

Sunghoon runs his lips across your neck, his hand tracing circles into your waist. “A beautiful girl lost in her fantasies. Sounds nice,” he whispers, his breath creating delicious waves of heat across your skin.

It still doesn’t feel real, having him so close and naked against you in your bed. It could be a dream, one action of your subconscious playing on your deepest desires. And if that were true, you wish you would never come out of it, too happy for words to express.

When Sunghoon slips under the covers and between your legs once again, you wonder if the faraway place that held your dreams could hold a space for Sunghoon too.

It only takes one weekend for your happiness to come crashing down. Whatever you and Sunghoon were building is destroyed, all in the span of seventy-two hours.

Sunghoon is helping you cook a plethora of pancakes when your front door opens in a slam. Yujin and Jungwon bust through with worried expressions.

“You guys haven’t seen it, have you?” Yujin asks, frown lines etched on the sides of her mouth. She hands you her phone, and you and Sunghoon look over the article headline on the screen.

“‘INTO EDEN’ & ‘HEARTPRISM’ CAUGHT IN DATING SCHEME? IS IT REAL OR JUST FOR SHOW? EXCLUSIVE INSIDER TELLS ALL!”

Sunghoon pulls out his phone to call Jay, stalking into your bedroom. The conversation immediately bursts into a screaming match, the sounds of Sunghoon’s anger apparent.

“I swear to God, Jay, if you don’t find out whoever leaked this shit, I’m gonna have your head on a plate right next to theirs.”

Yujin and Jungwon grow quiet. With the news shared, your friend hugs you and walks out the door with Jungwon in tow.

Sunghoon throws his phone onto your bed and walks back over to you, clearly worn out from the information he told Jay and the facts that were given to him by his manager.

You give him a close-lipped smile and envelop him into a hug. Sunghoon strokes your hair as you promise him, “It can be fixed, Hoon, and it will.”

A few days and one interview later prove that in spite of your hopes, not all things are fixable.

Jay sets up a quick interview with Buzzfeed under the guise of discussing the new album. Everyone knows the sole reason for its existence is to quell the rumors of your false romance. It started that way, yes, but that doesn’t mean you or Sunghoon have to divulge that information to the public.

Heeseung and Sunghoon discuss the inspiration for their songs and the creative process behind the album. And when the questions come up regarding the rumors, Sunghoon plays them off with a smile.

“I’m not desperate enough to need to fake a relationship with anyone! How stupid would I have to be to do that?”

The interviewer quirks an eyebrow. “Are you saying your girlfriend was desperate to date you?”

“All I’m saying is that she pursued me that night in the club, and I was more than happy to see where it would go. And as they say, the rest is history.”

Heeseung looks at Sunghoon with wild eyes, his face practically screaming: That’s the best answer you could come up with?

When Sunghoon comes to your door that night to explain himself and how his words got twisted after the fact, you open the door only to throw the jacket he left in your apartment in his face.

“Desperate,” you seethe. “That’s the word you thought best described me, huh? So I guess I’m also stupid enough to want to date you, too?”

“No, I didn’t say that! I didn’t say any of those things!”

“So the interviewer was lying? Just another person or thing out to get you, right Sunghoon? When will you take responsibility for once and own up to the shit you said about us, about me?”

The girls huddle behind you as the tears stream down your face. “Just leave me alone, Sunghoon. Get away from me, use this as the out you wanted since day one.”

You slam the door in his face, not bothering to address the fist that slams into your door or Sunghoon’s pleas for the two of you to work this out.

His heart shatters from the force of his mess, a mess that not another soul can be blamed for but him.

Weeks roll by into painful silence, not a single exchange shared. You blocked him on all social media in hopes to avoid taglines of your name in relation to Sunghoon, but it’s of no use. The time comes where the girls have to keep your phone away in hopes you’ll stop searching online for comments related to the Buzzfeed article. “Babe, it’s not gonna do you any good,” Yujin sighs, powering off the device.

You nod, resigning yourself to the fact that whatever relationship you had is over, and there was no way to prevent it. You could not control or change Sunghoon anymore than he could change himself, and unfortunately, he was still in the process of doing so and shattered your heart in the quest to be a better man.

Sunghoon, on the other hand, tries everything to repair what he’s destroyed. He pleads with Jay to make contact through Momo, but his hands are tied. “She doesn’t want to talk to you, man. If I keep pestering Momo she’s going to have my ass, and not in a fun way. I’m sorry.”

The first few weeks of the tour comes and goes in a haze, Into Eden beginning their string of tour dates up and down the eastern coast of America. The only time Sunghoon is coherent enough to remember anything is in the mornings before he falls into another night of misery. He doesn’t go back to his usual routine of drugs and booze, keeping his promise religiously. Instead, he goes on in a blur, playing his instrument and performing his parts of the songs without a hitch.

He may not be happy, but at least he’s doing something he‘s always been meant to do.

One afternoon of rehearsals, Sunghoon decides to use his break time on the roof to his advantage. The sounds of the city, its car horns and speeding pedestrians, keep him sane for once in a long time.

Of course, Heeseung has to ruin the solitude with his presence. “Sunwoo said I’d find you up here.”

“Sunwoo needs to learn to shut his mouth and focus on sound mixing,” Sunghoon grumbles, strumming the electric guitar in his lap and avoiding Heeseung’s gaze.

Heeseung sighs and sits next to his best friend. Both of their legs dangle over the edge of the building as they take in the bird’s eye view of New York City. “If you want to fix things, you just have to tell her how you feel.”

“Thanks, Yoda. Where would I be without you?”

Heeseung laughs at the young man’s ridiculous attitude, Sunghoon’s stubbornness unbroken since they became friends. “Just because you may not like my advice doesn’t mean I won’t give it to you.”

“What nuggets of wisdom could Mr. Perfect give me that I haven’t heard a thousand times over?”

“Is that what you think of me?” Heeseung runs a hand over his face, mystified at Sunghoon’s words. “I don’t know where or when you got this notion in your head that my life is perfect, but it’s complete bullshit.”

“Look at you and look at me, Hee. Everyone has said it for years. How much more talented you are, how much better you handle the spotlight compared to me, the list goes on and on.”

Heeseung closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Ryujin and I almost broke up last year.”

Sunghoon looks at his best friend, stunned. “Fuck, really?”

His best friend nods. “The last album’s release…I was never home. Ryujin kept getting on my case about us not spending time together, and we took a break for a few weeks. Once I realized how dumb it was for us to be fighting in the first place, things went back to normal. Well, normal and one relationship counselor later.” Heeseung sighs. “Jay kept it quiet from everyone, including you.”

“You could’ve told me,” Sunghoon says, guilty he had no clue.

“I know. But everyone has their secrets, just like you.” Heeseung emits another breath from the depths of his lungs. “I’m glad you know now, though.”

Sunghoon nods. The reality of what he’s done, coupled with the fact he’s spent so long misunderstanding one of the only people to love him so earnestly, hits him hard. Against his will, a few tears escape his eyes. “I really fucked up, Hee.”

Heeseung takes Sunghoon by the shoulder and makes Sunghoon look him in the eyes. “Then fix it. And let me help you.”

Sunghoon smiles, his first real smile in weeks. “How?”

Heeseung smirks. “I may not be as good at making plans as Jay, but I have a few ideas.”

The arena is alive with the sounds of the audience chanting and the instrumental intro to “All for You” exploding from the main stage and stadium speakers. Sunghoon tries to brush off his sudden nerves, the gravity of what he’s about to do shaking him to the core. It could go terribly wrong or do nothing to fix his problems, but he has to try, right?

Heeseung puts his hand on Sunghoon’s back, his bandmate providing the reassurance and stable ground he needs. “You got this, Hoon.”

The two men step on stage, the crowd screaming an octave higher when they take their instruments off their stands. Sunghoon raises a hand, motioning for the band to go quiet and the audience to silence their cheers.

“As you know, a few months ago I met a person that really matters to me. I want her and all of you to know that she still does. And if she’s listening somewhere tonight, she should know that this is for her.”

Sunghoon begins playing the first chords of the song he’s written, nobody but Heeseung and the band aware of this change in the setlist. “This isn’t off of our new album, but I hope you all like it. It’s called ‘Lost in Wonderland.’”

Sunghoon begins the song on his guitar, Heeseung following behind him with backing vocals and a bass. The audience sways to the song, enraptured by the lyrics and melodies of the two musicians. Sunghoon pours his heart into the chorus, hoping by some luck that you’ll be able to hear this if nothing else.

“Maybe I’ll see you in Brooklyn, maybe I’ll see you in France. As long as the waves keep on rolling in. Things don’t always go the way they’re planned.

“Maybe I’ll see you in Jersey, maybe next year in Japan. Sometimes it’s so hard to find a friend, you’re the only one that just might understand.

“Lost in wonderland…”

By the time the final chorus rings out, the notes of Sunghoon’s guitar flying through the air gracefully, Sunghoon feels a million times lighter. All he can hope for now is that his plea will reach you amidst the sea of screaming fans.

Sunghoon runs off the stage as soon as the band finishes playing their last song, unable to hold his composure any longer. What stops him short from running to the green room is your face riddled with tears.

Sunghoon is unsure what to do next. Hold you in his arms and not let go, the last time he saw you being too long for him to accept as reality? Or confess what he said on stage was only a fragment of what he holds in his heart?

You beat him to the punch, your words coming out practically on top of each other. “Momo booked me a red eye to get here in time. She said Heeseung told her something had happened to you before the concert and—“

“I love you,” Sunghoon interrupts, the three words and eight letters no longer able to be kept inside of him.

You smile, eyes puffy but shining. Before you can ask him if what he just said is true, he repeats it until the words go stale, but they don’t. “I love you,” he says, “and I’m so sorry I made you think I didn’t.”

He runs to you immediately and kisses you with all the energy he has left in his body. The feeling of your mouth on his and your hands gripping tight onto his shirt fixes the part of him that broke the second you told him to get lost.

He knows he’ll never let you go again, never take you for granted for another second, and always remind you how much of you is home to him now.

When you part, you ask him, “Did you really write that song for me?”

Sunghoon smirks. “Every single line.”

You nod, running your thumb across his chin. “I love you, too.”

The resounding sound of the bustling audience leaving the venue and the crew packing up fills the background as you kiss Sunghoon again, making up for the time you lost, and preparing for all the times to come.

1 YEAR LATER

PrismHeart’s new album cover is plastered across the press wall. The red carpet is dyed neon pink to accentuate the colors of the title, “Love Language.” It’s a fitting name for the project in your opinion, many of the songs directly inspired by your personal life.

Yujin fusses with Jungwon’s suit once they’re away from the press wall, their matching ensembles making you smile. They’ve been together for as long as you and Sunghoon have at this point. Sharing your songs and thoughts for the newest record has been easy thanks to a fellow member being stupidly in love like you.

Sunghoon steps onto the carpet for his round of paparazzi photos. His suit and jewelry are completely black except for the shirt he picked out that coordinates with your dress. It may be too pink for his taste, but he’d do anything to make you happy, and he knows how to stay on theme for a special occasion.

You add on a few brownie points in your mind for how incredible he looks, the suit emphasizing the contours of his body that you know too well by now.

When Sunghoon’s done with his pap walk, he has to hold himself back from running to you and kissing you hard on the mouth. His composure hangs by a thread through seeing the top of your chest accentuated by the sweetheart neckline of your bubblegum pink dress.

He holds you close and kisses you on the cheek, a halfway point between what he should do and what he wants to do to you, the audience around them be damned.

The audience in question goes crazy when his lips linger on your cheek, the candid shot perfect for the slew of tabloids that will come out tomorrow.

“You look fucking incredible, just so you know,” Sunghoon whispers in your ear.

You smack him on the chest softly, beaming. “Language, Hoon!”

“Hey, forgive me. Words of affirmation and all, y’know. My love language.” He winks, and you chuckle into his chest.

“You and your dad jokes. You’re lucky I love you.”

“I am,” he confesses, taking a free lock of hair between his fingers. “Very lucky.”

Before you can tell him you feel the same, you hear the sound of your name on an interviewer’s lips. You walk hand in hand with Sunghoon to greet her before she begins her parade of commentary, both of you all smiles as you discuss your latest single.

The show must go on, the multitude of cameras and questions second nature by now. But with Sunghoon’s hand in yours and your heart completely his, you know that none of the fame will compare to the happiness that his love has brought to your life.

@yvnempire @sjylouvre @mini-mews @jayparked @heesuncore @yoursjaeyun @sungbeams @jenoslutie @loserlvrss @pars-ley @lovetaroandtaemin @wonwovy @monamipencil

𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 ౨ৎ˚₊

@kvanity-main @sweetvenomnet @onedoornet @sayxonet @violetanet @svthub @whipped-kpop-creators

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eu-nicola · 2 days ago

Text

worse than silence

summary: Rafe and you maintain a secret relationship, but one day JJ discovers the truth and things get complicated

warnings: angst maybe

word counter: 3537

author's note: english is not my first language

tag: @tracymbcm

It was on nights like these that everything seemed easier and at the same time unbearably difficult. You were sitting on a cliff, hugging your legs as you looked out at the horizon. You had arrived early, as always. Rafe had told you he would come, but you knew that lately his promises were as fragile as glass.

The sound of staggering footsteps behind you brought you out of your thoughts. You turned your head and there he was, with his shirt wrinkled, his eyes sunken and an air of exhaustion that broke your soul.

“You arrived,” you said softly, although the lump in your throat threatened to betray you.

Rafe dropped down next to you, not looking at you. He ran his hands through his hair and exhaled loudly. He smelled of alcohol, of a lost night, of smoke and chaos. Your heart contracted. You had lost count of how many times you had witnessed that version of him: broken, self-destructive, and yet still trying to maintain an emotional distance that hurt you more than any words.

“I don’t know why you keep doing this,” he murmured at last, his voice cracking. “You shouldn’t be here.”

You stared at him intently, searching his eyes for something, anything to tell you there was still hope. But all you found was a haunting emptiness.

“I’m here because I love you, Rafe. Because I can’t watch you destroy yourself like this.”

He laughed bitterly, but the laughter faded quickly, leaving him only the weight of guilt.

“You don’t know what you’re saying. I don’t want to drag you down with me.”

“I don’t care, Rafe. I want to help you, but you have to let me in. You have to stop pushing me away.”

For a moment, his eyes seemed to soften. But like a blink, the hardness returned.

“You don’t understand, you’ll never understand. This… this isn’t fixed with love or pretty words. It’s bigger than that, bigger than us.”

You felt torn apart. He wanted you to leave him, but every fiber of your being refused. He wanted to protect you, but he didn’t realize that the distance hurt more than any hell he could drag you into.

The silence stretched on until he stood up abruptly, his hands shaking.

“This is a mistake,” he muttered, almost to himself, as he began to walk away.

“Is that all?” you yelled at him, standing up with your heart racing. “Are you going to keep running away? From me? From yourself?”

Rafe stopped, but didn’t turn around. He just shook his head before disappearing into the darkness. The cold of the night embraced you as tears fell freely down your face.

The next day, the tension in the air was palpable. JJ was in a bad mood, as he usually was lately. You had tried to avoid him since you got home that morning, but you knew you couldn't hide forever.

You were in the kitchen when you heard him walk in, slamming his backpack down on the table with force.

“Where were you last night?” he asked immediately, not even bothering to soften his tone.

“None of your business, JJ,” you replied, trying to remain calm as you washed the dishes. But you knew your brother wasn’t one to let things go.

“Oh no? Because I happened to see something very interesting last night,” he said, moving dangerously closer. “I saw you with him.”

The plate you were holding nearly dropped. You froze, unable to come up with an answer.

“How long? How long have you been seeing that piece of trash?” he snapped, his voice filled with disbelief and fury.

“JJ, it’s not what you think…” you tried to explain, but he cut you off immediately.

“It’s not what I think?!” he yelled, slamming the table. “Rafe Cameron.” How could you? After everything he’s done to us, after everything he’s done to this family!

“It’s not that simple!” you shouted back, feeling rage mix with despair. “You don’t understand what he’s going through. I… I love him, JJ.”

That confession seemed to hit him harder than anything else. He stood still, as if the words had paralyzed him.

“You love him?” you whispered, incredulous. “Do you really think someone like him can change? That he won’t break you like he’s done to everyone else?”

“He’s trying…” but your voice cracked. Not even you were sure of that at the moment.

JJ shook his head, his eyes filled with disappointment.

“I thought we could trust each other. But this… this is a betrayal. I can’t believe you lied to me all this time.”

You felt like the ground beneath your feet had fallen apart. You wanted to reach out to him, to explain, to beg him to understand. But JJ took a step back, his gaze colder than ever.

“I hope it’s worth it,” he said before walking out of the house, leaving you alone in devastating silence.

Guilt and anguish clung to you like an unbearable weight. For the first time, you wondered if you could really go through with all of this. Rafe was falling apart, and now, you were losing your brother, too.

The next few days were a silent hell. You tried to talk to JJ more times than you could count, but every time you reached out, he ignored you completely. It was like you had ceased to exist for him. The first time you tried to stop him, you were faced with a wall of ice.

“JJ, please, just listen to me,” you said, blocking his way at the door.

He didn’t even look at you. With a sharp movement, he pushed you aside and walked out without saying a word. That gesture, cold and distant, hurt more than you had imagined.

And it wasn’t just JJ. The worst came when the rest of the group found out.

One afternoon, you were at the beach bar where everyone used to meet. You had arrived hoping that, at least there, you could find a way to repair what had been broken. However, when you entered, you felt the air become heavy. Kiara, Pope, and John B were sitting around a table, talking in low voices. Upon seeing you, the conversations immediately ceased, and their gazes were fixed on you with a mixture of disbelief and disappointment.

“Really?” Kiara was the first to speak, her tone full of reproach. “Rafe? How could you?”

You felt trapped, like you were being judged with no chance to defend yourself.

“Kie, you don’t understand…” you tried to explain, but Pope interrupted you.

“What’s there to understand?” he said bitterly. “That guy has done everything to ruin us. He’s beaten us, tried to bring us down more times than I can count. And you…? Are you with him?”

John B didn’t say anything at first, but the tension in his jaw was evident. Finally, he spoke, his voice calmer but no less laden with disappointment.

“We knew you were hiding something. But this…” he shook his head. “I never thought you’d betray us like this.”

The word “betrayal” hit like a punch. You felt tears forming in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall in front of them.

“It’s not what they think,” you said, even though you knew your words rang hollow. “Rafe… he’s not perfect, I know.” But he’s going through something, and I… I just want to help him.

Kiara laughed humorlessly, crossing her arms.

“Help him? Do you really think you can save someone like him? Rafe doesn’t need your help. What he needs is to stop butting into our lives.”

“This is between Rafe and me,” you replied, trying to remain calm. “It has nothing to do with you.”

“Nothing to do with us?” Pope raised his voice, clearly frustrated. “It has everything to do with us. He’s hurt us time and time again, and you… you chose to be on his side.”

The silence that followed was overwhelming. You felt like everything you’d built with them was crumbling at that moment. You tried to look at JJ, searching for a trace of understanding, but he was standing in the corner, arms crossed and staring at the floor, not even deigning to look at you.

“JJ…” you said softly, almost pleading.

But he turned and walked out of the place without saying a word. It was like every step he took took a piece of your heart with him.

That night, the loneliness was unbearable. You locked yourself in your room, feeling small, broken. Guilt and anguish consumed you, and the silence grew heavier with each passing minute. You had lost your brother, your friends. And even though you loved Rafe, you couldn’t ignore that being with him was costing you everything.

Hours later, you received a text. It was from Rafe.

“I’m sorry. I know this is my fault.”

You stared at the text for several minutes, not knowing what to answer. Was it his fault? Or was it yours for letting yourself get dragged here? You had no answers, only a void that seemed to grow with each second.

Finally, you turned off your phone and sank into bed. The tears you had held back all day began to fall silently. You didn't know how much more you could take.

Your friends had been your refuge, your family, but now, with them away, you felt like a foreigner in your own world. Every time you locked eyes with JJ or the others, you felt the weight of their judgment. You tried to ignore it, to focus on the only thing that kept you afloat: Rafe. However, even he seemed more distant, as if the current of his own demons was dragging him further away from you.

It had been days since you last saw him, and desperation was beginning to settle in your chest. Finally, when you couldn't take it anymore, you made the decision to look for him at his house. You knew it was a risk, that if they saw you there it would only make things worse with your friends, but you didn't care. You needed to see him. You needed to know that you weren't completely alone.

When you arrived, the Cameron mansion was completely silent. You knocked loudly on the door, hoping someone would answer, but there was no answer. So, you made your way to the side of the house, where you knew you could climb up to his window. It was something you had done before, on those nights where the world seemed to belong only to the two of you.

You peeked over the edge and saw him. Rafe was sitting on the floor of his room, his back against the bed, a half-empty bottle in one hand and his gaze lost on the wall. His messy hair fell over his forehead, and his expression was that of someone who had been fighting his own thoughts and losing the battle.

“Rafe…” you whispered, stepping in carefully.

He looked up slowly, his eyes red and filled with a pain you recognized all too well. For a moment, he seemed relieved to see you, but that glint quickly faded.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice hoarse and heavy with exhaustion.

“I couldn’t be alone,” you admitted, moving closer to him. You sat down next to him, trying to ignore the smell of alcohol and the feeling that something was falling apart between you.

Rafe let out a bitter laugh.

“Alone? I thought I was the reason you were left without anyone.”

His words were a dart straight to your heart, but you didn’t back down.

“I don’t care. I don’t care if I’m alone as long as I have you.”

He shook his head, as if he couldn’t understand what you were saying.

“You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t want this, want me. I’m a mess. I’m screwed. Don’t you see that?”

“I see it, Rafe. But I also know that you can get out of this. You don’t have to do it alone.”

“What if I don’t want to get out?” His voice cracked, his eyes searching yours desperately. “What if this is the only thing I know how to do?”

Your heart broke a little more.

“Then I’ll stay with you until you want me. But don’t push me away, please.”

Rafe let his head fall back against the bed, squeezing his eyes shut. For a moment, silence was the only thing between you, but then he spoke, his voice barely a whisper.

“Sometimes I think it would be better if I let myself sink completely. If I just… disappeared.”

The rawness of his words took your breath away. You gripped his hand tightly, forcing him to look at you.

“Don’t say that. You can’t say that.”

“Why not?” he replied, his eyes filling with tears. “Look what I’m doing to you. You’re losing everything because of me.”

You shook your head, clinging to him as if by doing so you could keep him from falling apart completely.

“Rafe, I chose this. I chose you. I know it’s hard, but you have to believe me when I say that I don’t care what anyone else thinks. All I want is for us to be together.”

“And that’s the problem,” he whispered, looking away. “Being with me is only going to destroy you.”

You tried to respond, but he let go of your hand and staggered to his feet. He walked over to the window, looking outside as if searching for a way out that didn’t exist.

“Maybe it’s best that this ends here,” he finally said, his voice laced with heartbreaking sadness.

You stood up quickly, your chest tight with fear.

“What? You mean…?”

Rafe turned to you, his eyes filled with pain.

“I can’t keep doing this. I love you, but I can’t drag you down with me anymore.”

“Rafe, no…” your voice cracked as you moved closer to him, your hands shaking. “You can’t do this. You can’t push me away.”

He closed his eyes, fighting the emotions that consumed him.

“I’m doing this because I love you,” he finally said, and those words were like a dagger.

Tears began to fall freely down your face. You tried to cling to him once more, but this time, Rafe backed away.

“Please go away,” he whispered, not looking at you.

The weight of his words fell on you like a stone. You couldn't believe what was happening, you didn't want to accept it. But the determination in his voice left you with no options.

Heartbroken, you took a step back. Every fiber of your being wanted to stay, to fight, but you knew he was in too dark a place for you to reach him at that moment.

Finally, you turned and walked out the same window you had entered through, feeling like you were leaving a part of yourself behind. When you hit the ground, a cold breeze greeted you, as if the world knew you had lost something irreplaceable.

As you walked back home, the pain and despair fully set in. You had lost so much, and now, even Rafe seemed out of your reach.

The days that followed were an endless emptiness. Loneliness was a weight you felt even in the air, in every corner of the house, in every silence that stretched like a lingering shadow. You woke up every morning with a knot in your chest, the kind of weight that reminded you, even before you opened your eyes, that you were alone.

Your brother, he made no effort to hide his contempt. Every time you crossed paths with him, his cold gaze was a reminder that, to him, you had betrayed everything that it meant to be family. You tried several times to get closer, to talk to him, but your attempts always met with a wall of silence or curt responses.

“JJ, please, we can’t go on like this,” you begged one night, finding him in the kitchen as he poured a glass of water.

He didn’t even deign to look at you.

“I have nothing to say to you.”

“Nothing? After all?” Your voice trembled, the weight of his indifference tearing at you.

Finally, JJ turned to you, his gaze filled with a mix of anger and pain.

“After all, you chose Rafe. That says it all.”

The glass in his hand shook slightly before he set it down on the counter with a thud. He walked away without waiting for an answer, leaving you alone in the darkness.

Your friends were no more understanding, either. Every time you saw them around the island, their gazes avoided yours, as if you were someone they no longer recognized. You had lost their trust, and it seemed like there was no way to get it back.

You tried to approach Kiara one afternoon. She was on the beach with John B and Pope, laughing at something one of them had said. Seeing you, the smiles faded, and the atmosphere instantly tensed.

“Kie, can we talk?” you asked cautiously, keeping your distance.

She crossed her arms and looked at you coldly.

“I have nothing to say to you.”

“Please, just a minute…”

Kiara sighed, her expression hardening.

“For what? For you to tell me that all of this is worth it because you “love Rafe”? I don’t want to hear it.”

“It’s not like that…” you tried to explain, but she cut you off.

“Yes, it is. You chose him, knowing everything he’s done to us. How do you expect us to trust you after that?”

The words hit hard, and although you wanted to defend yourself, you knew it was pointless. You had let them down, and there was no apology that could fix it at that moment.

You turned and walked away, feeling the tears burn in your eyes as their voices faded behind you. Every step you took through the sand seemed to sink you deeper into a pit of despair.

Rafe didn't make things any easier either. Even though you knew he loved you, his actions didn't match his feelings. After that night at his house, he had been the one who started to put more distance between you. His messages became scarce, and the times you did manage to see him, he seemed like a man torn between his desire to have you close and his conviction that it was better for you to walk away.

One afternoon, you found him on the beach, sitting alone on a rock, staring at the horizon. You slowly approached, afraid he would reject you again. Sensing your presence, Rafe turned his head. For a moment, his eyes softened at the sight of you, but he soon hardened his expression again.

“I told you that you shouldn’t be here,” he said quietly, though there was no real conviction in his words.

You sat down beside him without asking permission, your heart pounding.

“I can’t keep ignoring you, Rafe. I can’t keep pretending that I don’t care about you.”

He sighed, running a hand through his messy hair.

“It’s not fair to you. All of this… it’s not what you deserve.”

“Let me decide that,” you replied firmly, trying to meet his gaze. “I don’t want to be without you, even if it means carrying all of this weight.”

Rafe finally looked at you, and in his eyes you saw a sea of emotions: love, guilt, and a desperation that mirrored your own.

“I’m ruining you,” he whispered, as if he was finally admitting his worst fear.

You shook your head, your shaking hands searching for him.

“No, Rafe. It ruins me more to be without you.”

He closed his eyes, fighting back tears. For a moment, it looked like he was going to give in, that he was going to let you stay. But then, in a broken voice, he murmured,

“I can’t do this to you.”

He abruptly stood up and began to walk away, leaving you alone once again. You stood there, watching his figure disappear into the distance, the sound of the sea mixing with the sobs you could no longer hold back.

The nights grew longer, and the pain became a constant. You lay awake for hours, wondering if things could have been different, if there was any way to get your brother, your friends, and Rafe back. But every time you closed your eyes, the only answer you found was the weight of loneliness that continued to grow inside you.

#fanfic #oneshot #imagine #x reader #rafe imagine #rafe fanfiction #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe obx #rafe x you #rafe outer banks #jj maybank x sister!reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe cameron x pogue!reader #obx x reader

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fairy-writes · 1 day ago

Note

Hi!! I saw that you write for Arcane and had a really cute idea for Vander. I don’t really see a lot of fics where you get to see Vander’s reactions to the reader either playing with the kids or comforting them, so I thought a fic centered around that might be cute? (I think also having a bit of slow burn would be sweet, like both Vander and the reader like each other but don’t do anything about it until getting a little push from the kids because they ship).

ONE LITTLE PUSH

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Fandom(s): Arcane: League of Legends

Pairing(s): Vander x Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Genre(s)/Tag(s): Gender Neutral!Reader, Bit of a Slowburn, Fluff, Getting Together, Reader is Smaller than Vander (but who isn’t?), Sibling Bickering

Notes: VANDER MY FAVORITE

(No, but seriously, contrary to popular belief, he’s my 1st favorite over Viktor)

JUST IN TIME (kind of) FOR SEASON TWO, LETS GOOOOO

__________________________________________________________________________

Vander wasn’t quite sure why you stuck around for so long.

In fact, he wasn’t sure why you stuck around in the first place.

But… As Vander watches you with the kids. His kids. He begins to understand why.

You were kind, unyieldingly so. Even as Mylo grew to start picking on Powder, even as they fought, you were kind and patient and offered them the unending gentle love they all so craved.

The love he couldn’t afford to give them because who could be gentle in the Undercity? Especially in the depths of the Lanes?

You could.

Vander was in the middle of pouring a drink when Powder tumbled into The Last Drop. She was covered in bruises and dust from something. Or someone. She barely met his gaze as she clambered to her feet and all but sprinted into the back where they all slept. Vander looked through the multitude of customers and spotted you.

You had obviously seen Powder go bolting, worry twisting your face as you glanced toward the bar and met his stare. You arched an eyebrow, and he shrugged. You rolled your eyes and sighed before smiling in jest and getting up from where you had been tinkering with the jukebox.

Vander finally manages to get away from his chatty clients and makes his way back into the back room nearly fifteen minutes later.

Only to pause by the door.

“—ylo hates me! He does, I swear!” Powder cries, and you hush her gently, dabbing what looks to be some of the antiseptic you have lying around on her cuts and bruises. Disinfectant was hard to come by, especially in the Lanes, but you were seemingly magic in the sense that you always knew who to talk to to get some. It seems you had worked your magic yet again.

“Did Mylo say that he hates you?” You ask gently, whispering a quiet “sorry” under your breath as she flinched with the sting of the antiseptic.

Powder pauses, thinking what had to be her earlier conversation over,

“Well… No…” She mumbles, and you hum,

“Can I give you my honest opinion?” You ask, and she stills, looking up at you with wide eyes before nodding.

“Aren’t you always honest with us?” She asks. You chuckle at that.

“I suppose I am. But I don’t think Mylo hates you. Does he find you a bit annoying? Maybe. But every big brother thinks that about their younger siblings. I know mine did.” You say, and Powder mulls your words over and over and over in her mind.

She always did overthink things.

“I didn't know you had a big brother.” She says eventually, and you let out a loud laugh at that.

“You are a silly girl for focusing on that. But yes, I came from a big family. And guess what? I was the baby of the family. Just. Like. You.” You say, emphasizing your words with a pinch to her side. Powder squeals with laughter and wriggles away to escape your dastardly tickling.

Vander hangs his head with a huff and a smile before turning to head back to the bar counter. He can hear your conversation continue as Powder escapes your grasp.

“Now, where did you get all these bruises from?”

“Um… Vi taught me parkour from Topside down…”

“Powder! You’re like seven!”

“Seven and a half! And she said I was ready!”

Ever since you began to stick around, you had become something of a parent figure to the four little children Vander had come into care for.

To Vi and Powder especially.

So when Mylo burst into The Last Drop with the words of a fistfight on his tongue, you were the first one out the door.

Vander was close behind.

Mylo led you and Vander deep into the Undercity. In fact, it was so far into the Undercity that Vander was worried they were getting into some dark territory.

Like… Really dark territory.

But soon enough, the sounds of a fight were heard, and soon after, you were deep in the throng of a multi-person fistfight. Everyone paused for a second when they saw you and then stopped altogether when they spotted Vander not far behind.

You began to pull people off and shoved them out of the way. You did this again and again, ducking under a few stray punches until you managed to unearth Vi.

She wasn’t looking too hot.

Her face was bruised and swollen, and the fifteen-year-old spat out a wad of blood as she bared her bloody teeth and prepared to fight again.

At least until she saw you.

It was as if the tension had been released from her shoulders.

She all but slumped into your grasp, and you stumbled back a step with the sudden weight. Vander yanked the last person away from you both and scooped up his adoptive daughter. She leaned her head into the crook of his neck and was obviously fighting back tears.

Mylo was hunched over, hands on his knees, and wheezed from all the sprinting.

“Vi? Violet, can you hear me?” You said as soon as you all returned to The Last Drop, and Vander set her down on the couch. Powder and Claggor had been found a block away, fighting off more thugs from whoever sent them after the literal children.

He would've pummeled them to a pulp if Vander hadn’t hung up his gauntlets years before.

Vi’s head lolled from side to side, and you shone a pocket flashlight into her eyes, watching as her pupils dilated and contracted. You were experienced at this, taking care of people, even more so than he thought.

Were you a doctor deep in your past?

As Vander thought about it, he realized he didn’t know practically anything about you. Your past, your likes, dislikes, he knew you were good with machines and medicine and that you came from a big family. But that was it.

And that hurt his heart.

You ended up ushering everyone out of the room while you worked on caring for Vi. Vander closed the bar early and was in the middle of putting chairs on tables when you emerged. Powder, Mylo, and Claggor dropped what they were doing. They scampered to your side, a chorus of “How’s Vi?” erupting from the kids. You offered them a tired smile and patted their heads.

“She’ll be okay. She’s resting right now. You can go in and see her if you’re quiet.”

And then it was the two of you.

Vander set the final chair on top of the table and meandered his way over where you were sitting at the bar, head in your hands.

You looked tired.

“Is she really okay?” He asked, and you grunted, rubbing at your temples.

“She has a broken nose, fractured left arm, some bruised ribs, and a concussion. Which, all things considered, she’s very lucky. It could’ve been a lot worse.” You say, and he sighs,

“Did she say why she got into the fight?” He replied, and you shrug,

“She was protecting Powder. Then, more people started showing up until it was an all-out brawl. That’s when we stepped in.” You say, and his shoulders sag.

Vi was going to be okay.

“I don’t think I’ve ever said it. But thank you. For everything you’ve done. Taking care of them and all that.” He says, and you just hum.

“You guys gave me a home after everything. I’m just repaying my debt. Well… that and I love those kids.” You say, and he arches an eyebrow,

“After everything?” He inquires, and you glance up sharply as if not realizing what you had said.

Eventually, your gaze casts downward, and you run a hand over your head and through your hair.

“I was a doctor in Piltover before the rebellion. I was caught trying to help the Undercity before they were officially citizens and cast out.” You say, and his arched eyebrow raises even higher.

“A doctor? Were you any good?” You bark out a dry laugh at that,

“One of the best!” Your voice cracks as you speak, and he feels his heart splinter into pieces.

Vander should’ve known that Claggor and Mylo were up to something when they came in with sneaky grins on their faces.

The Last Drop was all but desolate. It was the wee hours of the morning before the people of the Undercity awoke to begin their day. But the door was unlocked, and the kids were allowed to run in and out as they pleased.

Which they had been doing a lot in the last hour or so.

“Vander!” Mylor clamored for his adopted father’s attention, waving an excited hand as he scampered up to the counter. Claggor hung behind, ever the stoic young man. But there was mischief in their eyes and curling the corners of their mouths.

Vander slung the rag he used to wipe the counters down over his shoulder and leaned on the bar counter.

“What did you do now?” He teased, and Mylo all but squawked.

“When have I ever done anything?!” Vander just stared,

“Do you really want me to answer that?” He asked, and Claggor snickered at Mylo’s deflated expression. Mylo quickly spun on a heel and jabbed a finger at his adopted brother,

“Not a word outta you, Claggor!” He snapped before spinning back as something dawned on him.

“You gotta come with us!” He demanded, and Vander glanced between the two of them.

“Why?” He asked, and Mylo let out an exaggerated groan.

“No questions! Just come on!” He grabbed Vander’s hand and tried tugging him around the counter and toward the front door.

Vander relented, locking the door behind him as he followed the two boys.

Only to realize very quickly what was actually going on.

His first tip-off was hearing Powder and Vi’s voices, yours mixed in as you asked where you were going, why they were taking you, and what they were doing.

Vi answered no questions. Powder just chirped excitedly. “You’ll see! You’ll see!”

The six of you met in the middle of the street, Powder dragging you by your hand as you followed behind patiently. You glanced up from listening to Powder, and your gazes met. Vander felt his heart skip a beat as he took in your appearance. There wasn’t anything particularly new, but you looked like you had cleaned up some. Your hair was pinned neatly back, and your clothes looked ironed.

You looked… Really nice.

“Vander? What’s going on?” You asked, and Vi nudged you with her good arm. Her fractured left one was still healing carefully under your care.

“We’re setting you two up.” She teased, and you stared dumbly.

“Setting us up how?” You asked, and now it was Powder’s turn to blurt out an answer,

“On a date!”

Before the two of you could react, all four kids all but disappeared around the corner in a cloud of dust. Leaving you facing Vander and utterly alone.

It was safe to say he was panicking just a little bit.

“Vander? Do you have any idea what they meant?” You asked gently, and he scrubbed a hand down his face.

“My guess is they want us to go on a date.” He said, fully prepared to hear rejection. Because who would want to go on a date with him? A middle-aged man with a stained past. His lungs twisted as he heard you take a step closer.

A smaller hand slipped into his, and he looked down from where he had been staring at Topside.

Your eyes were lit up, not with disgust at the proposition he was proposing.

But they were filled with hope for the future this relationship would bring.

#vander x reader #vander x you #arcane x reader #arcane x you #arcane x y/n #arcane league of legends #arcane: league of legends #arcane vander x reader #fairy writes

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onlyjjong · 3 days ago

Text

엔하이픈 --- EMAILS I NEVER MEANT TO SEND (PART 2)

　　 박성훈　 x　 fem!reader　x 　심재윤 　　┊　　a very late and long birthday gift for jennifer!! :> 　　┊　　 wc 5.8k

GENERE　┊ 　!oneshot, !nonidol , !fluff , !hints of angst , !high school, !childhood best friends to lovers , !best friend's brother , !love triangle , !hockey player sunghoon , !basketball player jake , !academic weapon reader

DISCLAIMER 　┊ 　depictions may be inaccurate , contains swear words, y/n is lee heeseung's sister , sunghoon calls y/n 'princess' , y/n calls jake 'jaeyun' , doesn't really contain jake and sunghoon playing their sports , y/n prefers strawberries over mangoes , mentions of ocs and random characters here and there.

⟡ 📩 𑁋 TAGGING : @a-dream-bookmark , @/k-labels , @k-nets , @k-films

“Y/N, YOU OKAY?” HEESEUNG ASKS, MAKING YOU LOOK UP FROM YOUR HALF-EATEN BOWL OF A CONCOCTION OF RICE, SOUP, KIMCHI, BEAN SPROUTS AND SEAWEED. He sips on his tea, eyes trained sharply on you.

“Yeah, I am,” you reply, feeling a little guilty. You weren’t entirely lying, but it’d be such a fabrication if you told yourself you weren’t feeling down at all. “Why?”

“Did you sleep late? Or did you get dumped?”

“Oppa!” you exclaim, “when did I ever get a boyfriend?”

“Oh yeah, I forgot that you’re always sticking around with Sunghoon. People think you’re his girlfriend, so no one’s asking you out,” Heeseung snorts.

Your eyes slightly widen. “Wait—people actually think like that?”

“Yeah, of course,” Heeseung replies, rolling his eyes. He swallows his bite before continuing, “everyone thinks you’re Sunghoon’s, you know?”

“People think so?”

“Girl, the two of you act like a literal couple. You hold hands, kiss cheeks and call each other nicknames like it’s nothing. I mean, those who know you guys are friends know that it’s platonic, but–”

“Then, why isn’t he doing anything about it?” you snap, crossing your arms. Your sudden outburst shocks everyone in the room—even Heeseung stops eating.

“Y/N-ie, you alright, sweetie?” your mom asks from the kitchen.

“I’ll be fine,” you reply. “Hee oppa’s bothering me!”

“What are you saying, idiot?” Heeseung hisses. “I’m not bothering you, just tell me whatever is bugging you!”

“I’m upset,” you declare truthfully. “I want to go to hoco with Sunghoon. But he’s not asking me or anything,” you whine, dragging out each word in a dramatically exaggerated manner.

Heeseung snorts, “if you want to go with him, just tell him? It’s not that hard.”

“It is hard! Oppa, imagine telling your childhood best friend: ‘oh, I like you. Can we go to homecoming together?’. That kind of thing completely ruins a friendship! Imagine if he doesn’t like you back? How would you feel?”

Heeseung leans back into his seat, smirking smugly. “I don’t have any girl best friends, so I wouldn’t know.”

“YAH!” you yell, smacking your brother’s head with your spoon. He laughs, clutching his stomach as you sit back down, pouting. “I’m upset and all you’re doing is laugh at my face.”

“Hey, I’m just joking around,” Heeseung reassured, “I get how you feel—even though I kinda don’t.”

Your brother laughs as you huff.

“I think you should go and confront him about it,” Heeseung suggests, going back to devouring his breakfast. “I’m honestly surprised you told me that so straightforwardly, but I guess that’s the result of me sacrificing my ego to get close to you when we were kids.”

You kick his leg under the table, annoyed by the way he’s laughing as you do so. “Shut up. Don’t make me regret having you as my brother.”

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“SEE YOU AFTER SCHOOL, Y/N-IE,” HEESEUNG SAYS AS YOU EXIT THE CAR. He waves to you before driving off. You then make your way towards the entrance gate, only to be greeted by an obviously excited and jumpy Danielle.

“Y/N!” Danielle waves, all smiles. “Come on!”

You jog up to her, who’s standing at your school gate. “Hi. What’s up?”

“Nothing,” she replies, but you know her a little too well to accept that as an answer.

“Oh, you think I’m stupid, don’t you?” you elbow her, “you’re a bit too smiley at quarter past seven. Something’s definitely up.”

Danielle giggles, “I’m sorry, I forgot you’ve been my friend since middle school. Now I kind of resent myself for picking Decelis Academy as my study abroad option in 8th grade.”

You hit her shoulder, laughing in synchronisation. “Anyway, Dani, tell me what’s going on. Is Heeseung coming to pick you up after school today or what?”

“Nah, I am,” Jake’s voice coming from your left startles you, making you lose your balance. Yet, Jake is quick to grab your arm, stabilising you.

You turn towards the source of the voice, expecting him to be standing at a reasonable distance beside you. But, oh boy, the goosebumps you get from seeing his face merely inches away from yours…

“Oh?”

Jake smiles. “I’m sorry for startling you,” he says, letting go of your arm gently. “What were we talking about again?”

“Yah, Jaeyun,” Danielle interrupts, smacking her twin brother’s head. “Don’t go around and scare people by whispering right in their ear. It’s creepy, you know?”

Jake laughs sheepishly. “Yeah, yeah. I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“Anyway, you’re picking Dani up today? What does that mean?” you ask. “Don’t you guys, like, cycle home everyday? Together?”

“Yeah, we do,” Danielle replies, “but today he’s bringing me and you dress-shopping.”

“Me?” you gasp.

“Yep,” Jake nods. “I-I mean, I suggested it to her. You know, since… um, my sister’s going to hoco with your brother, a-and she wants to go dress-shopping… I thought it’d be fitting to bring you too.”

“You can help me pick,” Danielle adds, smiling.

“Sure,” you agree after some thought. After all, going shopping with Danielle is something you enjoy doing, and there’s nothing wrong with her twin brother accompanying the two of you.

Except… that the said twin brother is most likely, according to the current situation, your hoco date.

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WALKING OUT OF THE CHEMISTRY LAB, YOU DRAG YOUR FEET TOWARDS THE CAFETERIA. There have been several periods and classes with Sunghoon, yet there hadn’t been any indication that he’d be asking you to go to homecoming with him.

“So,” Danielle begins, as soon as you set down your tray. She waits for you to sit down before uttering, “are you going to homecoming?”

“I think so,” you say, shrugging. “I mean, I thought about it, and it’s my senior year. I should go to homecoming.”

Naeun and Danielle shriek happily.

“Oh my God! My wish came true!” Danielle clasped her hands together.

“We can finally take a trio polaroid together. Complete. As one,” Naeun says.

“Gosh, stop over–”

“What wish?” you get interrupted, once again, by the one and only: Park Sunghoon. He nods to acknowledge Danielle and Naeun in front of you, before sitting down next to you.

“Nothing,” you immediately reply. You shift awkwardly in your seat, uncomfortable by the way your cheeks are warming up.

How on earth did you actually survive being Sunghoon’s best friend for more than 10 years whilst having a crush on him?

Maybe having a crush on him for 5 years has taught you the skill of burying your feelings whenever he was around.

“I’ve known you for 13 years,” Sunghoon says. His left cheek bulges as he chews on his mouthful of cold noodles. “And if I learned a thing or two, it is to never trust you when you say ‘nothing’.”

“Exactly!” Naeun exclaims. “Sunghoon, you tell her to stop using the same excuse every time, it’s so obvious when she’s lying.”

“Oh, shut up, Nae.”

Sunghoon rips open the package of his chocolate bar and breaks it in half. “Here,” he places it on your tray. “You like cookies and cream.”

You bit your lip in hopes to suppress a smile. “Thanks,” you say coolly, taking a bite out of it.

“Anyway,” Naeun grins, a glint of mischief in her eyes. You glare at her, already dreading what’s to come. “Got anyone to go to homecoming with, Park Sunghoon?”

Sunghoon leans back in his chair, stealing a glance at you. “No. I don’t want to go.”

You almost spit out the contents of your mouth at his blunt statement. “What? Why?”

Sunghoon shrugs. “I’ve got no one to go with?”

“Well, you can go with me if you want to,” you murmur, afraid to raise your voice.

“What?” Sunghoon tilts his head, eyes staring into yours. “What’d you say?”

“Nothing!” you quickly say, crossing your arms in front of your chest. “I-I’m going though.”

It’s now Sunghoon’s turn to be confused. “Huh? I thought you weren’t going.”

“Yeah! I-I wasn’t going to… but Jaeyun asked me… to go with him,” you utter each word with complete caution, eyes going back and forth between Danielle and Sunghoon. “And I’m… going with him.”

Danielle gasps, and at the same time, you couldn’t shrug off the pang in your heart when you witness Sunghoon’s expression morph into something you’ve quite never seen on him before.

Was it jealousy?

“Double date!” Danielle gushes, her eyes crinkling with laughter. “God, I’m so happy! I can finally go to homecoming with my best friend!”

“...have you told him?” Sunghoon asks, somehow struggling to force the words out of his mouth.

“Who?” you reply.

“Jake.”

You purse your lips, then shake your head. “Nope. I’ll tell him after school, though.”

Sunghoon nods, his gaze lingering on you a moment longer than it usually does. Then, he turns to his lunch and finishes it in silence, ignoring the conversation buzzing around him.

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“LET’S GO?” JAKE TAPS YOUR SHOULDER, SMILING WIDELY AS ALWAYS. You sometimes question in your head, does he ever get tired of smiling?

“Mhm, okay!” you reply, quickly packing up your bag. “Wait for me at Danielle’s class.”

“Alright. I’ll see you there.” Jake nods, and struts out, which leaves you and Sunghoon together.

“Where are you going?” Sunghoon asks, his tone careful and slow. He looks at you, and there’s something in his gaze that you can’t pinpoint.

You swing your bag over your shoulder. “I’m… going dress-shopping.”

“With Jake?” he asks.

You nod slowly.

“Y-yeah. And Danielle.”

“Have you told him you’re going to hoco with him?”

You sigh. “No, I haven’t. I’m a bit embarrassed to… tell him.”

Silence floods the two of you. Though, this time, the silence was overwhelmingly uncomfortable. There was some kind of tension that hung between you and Sunghoon, and you know precisely what caused it.

“Hmm,” is all you get from your best friend after a few moments of awkwardness, that involves you standing straight near your desk, unable to move as you await his response.

“Do you like him?” Sunghoon asks, standing up from his chair. His height towers above you, and you gulp in nervousness.

“No?” you say, “I don’t. No, I-I do, but I like him as a friend.”

“Like how you like me?”

Your eyes widen as if a nuclear bomb was dropped in front of your face.

“L-like?”

Sunghoon chuckles, ruffling your hair. “I’m joking, Rainbow Dash.”

Memories flood your vision upon hearing the childhood nickname; vivid like it happened yesterday.

You clearly remember your six-year-old self, sitting on the floor of your house’s play area with a seven-year-old Sunghoon. The two of you had a whole world made out of toys set up—Sunghoon built several buildings and skyscrapers using wooden blocks he brought from his place, along with a few Hot Wheels and action figures; while you had a whole army of My Little Pony figurines out, along with a full-fledged set up of a tea house. You remember roleplaying with Sunghoon, giggling and fighting with each other’s creative imaginations.

“You? As Rainbow Dash?” Sunghoon grimaced, laughing loudly. “You’re too girly, Y/N.”

“No I’m not!” you yelled. “I’m as fast and cool as Rainbow Dash!”

“Fast? You never win against me in any races. You’re more like Fluttershy to me,” Sunghoon declared, a proud smirk displayed across his face. “Softie.”

“No I’m not!” you insisted on a small panicky tone.

And the two of you fought, for the next 30 minutes, on whether you suited Rainbow Dash or not.

“Gosh,” you whisper shakily, “I haven’t heard that nickname in a while.”

Sunghoon smiles—and it’s as if, in this entire universe, it’s only you and him. It’s an unexplainable feeling; one could probably try and portray it as if time had stopped, and everything else around you froze—and he’s the only one for you.

“Hmm? I thought I’d call you Rainbow Dash instead of Fluttershy,” he jokes, “since, you know, you like Rainbow Dash more than Fluttershy.”

“Hey!” you exclaim, “it’s been so long! Don’t remind me of that!”

Sunghoon lets out a train of laughter—and it rushes through you like a refreshing breeze, reminding you of your never ending feelings for him, and how his laughter is one of the things you’d never get tired of hearing.

“Come on then,” he urges you to walk out of the class. “We have a dress to find.”

You follow his lead, your brows knitting with each other. “Huh?”

Sunghoon looks back at you for a second, smiling while he’s at it.

“I’m coming with you to buy your hoco dress. I mean, I’m sure your mother wouldn’t get mad at you if you’re going out with me,” he says, as your legs freeze, unable to move. You’re dazed at Sunghoon’s presence. Everytime he smiles at you, you’re smitten—and it’s as if your body is in love too—it freezes, always.

“I’ll pick your dress for you if you don’t come! I’ll pick the most horrible one!” Sunghoon yells playfully from the corridor, causing you to jolt awake from your trance. “And I’ll tell Mrs. Lee, you’re going out without asking her first!”

“YAH!” you scream, swiftly dodging tables and running out of the classroom to catch up with Sunghoon. “Wait for me, Park Sunghoon!”

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“HERE,” JAKE HANDS YOU A CUP OF MANGO YAKULT BOBA, ACCOMPANIED WITH A SMILE THAT YOU WISH YOU DIDN’T NOTICE WAS A LITTLE BITTER. It must’ve been because Sunghoon’s here, standing beside you, you recall Danielle whispering to you a while ago.

“What?” you ask him.

“Take it,” he insists. “It’s on me, so don’t worry.”

You nod thankfully before poking the straw into the cover of the drink to take a sip. Though, before your lips could even touch the tip of the straw, Sunghoon gets himself a big sip of your drink. Bewildered and stunned, all you could do is watch and let your lips form a twitchy smile as Sunghoon perks up from an angle slightly lower than your eye level.

You gulp, suddenly nervous at the close proximity.

“This is good stuff,” he says with a grin.

Your eyes shift quickly between Jake, who’s standing right in front of you, shock painted all over his facial expressions; and Sunghoon, who’s standing to your right, grinning like he’s just scored the winning goal for the inter school hockey competition.

“Hoon!” you smack his arm, “this is my drink—you didn’t even ask!”

Sunghoon keeps his grin on. “I mean, you wouldn’t even finish it,” he shrugs. “Plus, you prefer strawberry flavoured things over mango, right?”

You watch with guilt as Jake’s facial expressions morph into a shameful expression. He lets out an “oh”, and he looks away.

“It’s okay, Jaeyun,” you say, offering him a smile, which makes him rebuild eye contact. “It’s not that I don’t like mango. I do! Just that I prefer strawberries.”

Jake nods attentively. “Ah, okay.”

“Okay, guys! Enough of this awkwardness,” Danielle says out loud, looping her arm with yours. “We’ve only got a few hours to shop for Y/N and I’s dresses, so get your asses up and moving, boys.”

The four of you then walk through the mall, window shopping to find your dresses. Danielle, of course, is the most excited. She practically drags you and Jake around, Sunghoon tagging along.

You naturally enjoy the experience of shopping with your girlfriend. It’s certainly a refresher—sipping on your boba drink as you browse through a wide selection of eye-catching clothing. Though, every time you look to steal a glance at Sunghoon, there’s this off-putting feeling that you can’t quite name—and the reason as to why is evident, displayed right in front of your eyes.

Every time you make eye contact with Sunghoon, you notice a challenging aura blazing through. It’s as if he’s purposely making it hard for Jake; as if to dare him to prove that he’ll be a good date to you.

Honestly, you think to yourself, it’s just one night. It’s not like I’m dating Jake for real.

And you wonder too, why Sunghoon is making such a big deal out of it.

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“HEESEUNG’S GOING TO BAWL HIS EYES OUT WHEN HE SEES YOU IN THIS DRESS,” YOU SAY WITH A SPARKLE OF MELODRAMA. Jake chuckles, while Sunghoon simply nods.

You marvel at how beautiful Danielle is—her beauty is enhanced with the purple dress she’s wearing. It’s exactly her vibe—a lilac baby doll dress with ruffles and puffed sleeves—soft and dainty.

“Buy this one,” Jake says.

“Okay!” Danielle happily nods. “What about you, Y/N?”

You’ve tried on several types of dresses in many different colours—jade, champagne red, and light pink. Though, none of them thoroughly suited your taste.

“Jaeyun,” you say, causing the boy to perk up and look at you with slightly widened eyes—not expecting his name to be called. “What do you think?”

“M-me?”

You smile and nod, ignoring Sunghoon’s piercing gaze. “Yeah, you.”

“I-I mean, I don’t know,” Jake stammers, “why are you buying a dress though? I thought you weren’t going to hoco.”

“Well…”

“You stupid idiot, she’s going with you!” you hear Danielle shout from inside the changing room.

You don’t know why, but some feelings of delight wash through you as you watch Jake’s lips form a wide smile. He laughs, awkward and strained at first, but gradually, he gets up and pulls you into a hug.

“Thank you,” he murmurs breathlessly into your shoulder as you pat his back. “Thank you, Y/N.”

Jake pulls away from the hug, and for the first time, you see tears form at the edges of the basketball prodigy.

And, for the first time too, you see Sunghoon looking away from you.

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“DANI!” YOU WHISPER-YELL, TRYING TO KEEP YOUR VOICE DOWN AS MUCH AS POSSIBLE. You and Danielle are in the changing room, the latter helping you to put on dresses. Out of all the dresses you tried—the light blue ball gown dress, the lavender mini dress with bow details, and many other bodycon and babydoll dresses—none caught your eye.

Except for one.

A simple midnight blue babydoll dress, adorned with pearl details and thin straps; one that Sunghoon picked out. At first, you weren’t sure if it’d suit you, but after trying it on, you were baffled by how you look. The dress fits you perfectly, highlighting exactly where it needs to be.

“Are you sure this is okay?” you ask, pulling your hair out of your dress.

Danielle nods, an adoring look on her face. “Girl, everyone will be smitten.”

Of course, you didn’t believe her at first—but the look on Sunghoon and Jake’s faces made you second guess yourself.

Sunghoon’s eyes stop blinking, and his lips part slightly. Something feels stuck in his throat, and everything dawns on him.

You look absolutely magical.

He can’t pull his eyes away, no matter how hard he tries. You are his best friend, the person he feels most comfortable with. And now, it hits him like a truck.

You’re breathtaking.

To his left, Jake is completely blown away by your beauty. The edges of his mouth twitch, indecisive as to whether he should smile or not. His pupils widen as he takes in the view of you, realising that you really are more prettier than he thought you were.

“So,” you finally say, pretending to not notice the two guys’ gazes on you. You smile at Jake, not forgetting to spare Sunghoon a glance. “How’s this?”

“I-I mean,” Jake says, smiling, “it’s perfect.”

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To: [email protected] From: sincerely/[email protected]

Dear Sunghoon,

Thank you for picking out the dress for me. I think I like it a lot. Obviously because it’s not what you picked out but anyway! I’m nervous. Not because I like Jaeyun or anything. It’s just the general homecoming thing. You know, the surroundings and the partying… I hope I can handle it.

I’ve got nothing against Jaeyun, but I do still wish you’re my date instead.

Why didn’t you ask me to be your homecoming date, Hoon? Did you know how desperately I have been waiting? Did you know how guilty I felt to be brushing off Jaeyun every single time he asked me to go to hoco with him?

Look at me now. I’m his date for Friday.

Hoon, I wish I had the courage to tell you. I wish I was brave enough to tell you that I like you, and that I don’t care if it ruins our lifelong friendship. I wish I was fearless enough to ask you to homecoming.

I wish I was better. I don’t know if I’m good enough for you, but if you ever need a girlfriend, or a wife one day… I’m here. Always.

Sent 23:00 PM, 4th September.

To: [email protected] From: sincerely/[email protected]

Sunghoon,

It’s homecoming.

Jaeyun’s going to come and pick me up soon—in like half an hour. I got the girls over, to help with makeup and all. I feel gorgeous, Hoon, but I wonder if you think so too.

I wish the person who’d come and pick me up to go to homecoming today was you. I really want to see you in a suit—oh God, I know just how good you’ll look.

Honestly, even in a hoodie and sweatpants, you look stunning.

Sent 17:35 PM, 6th September.

“Y/N! Sweetie, Jake’s here!” you hear your mom call from downstairs.

“Coming!” you shout back, shoving a lipgloss and a pack of tissues into your purse before rushing downstairs.

His eyes sparkle as they gaze on you, and he looks as if he’s never seen someone as beautiful as you. He stands respectfully by the stairway, giving you a polite smile.

“Hi,” you greet Jake, leaning into his side hug. Jake is smartly fitted into a neat suit with tie, and a corsage is tucked perfectly into the pocket of his chest. He hands you a matching one.

“Do… you want to wear this?”

You make eye contact with Heeseung, who’s standing by the door with Danielle. He nods, and you turn to Jake. “Sure.”

He fastens the corsage around your wrist, his touch gentle and careful. “Is it okay? If i-it’s too tight or anything,” Jake says, “tell me.”

You pat his shoulder. “It’s fine, I’m good. Thank you, Jaeyun.”

Heeseung drives all of you to the conference hall of Decelis Academy, where the homecoming will be held. Upon arrival, Jake opens the door of the car and helps you out.

Feeling slightly overwhelmed hearing the faint music coming from inside the hall, you turn to Jake. “So,” you say, slowing down your walking pace. “What do we usually do at hoco?”

“Hmm, there’s a concert by our school band—you know Jay? He used to be in Heeseung’s grade, he was the lead guitarist,” Jake explains. “His girlfriend, Han Jihyeon, is still the main singer. They’re sickeningly cute, in my opinion.”

You chuckle and nod along, recalling several moments where you’ve seen the couple interact with each other before.

“There’s also plenty of games,” continues Jake. The two of you walk together into the hall, and as you reach the door, he opens it for you. “Oh, and you don’t have to dance if you don’t want to, you know.”

You nod, bracing yourself for a chaotic night.

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AFTER TAKING PICTURES WITH JAKE, DANIELLE, NAEUN, AND HEESEUNG, YOU FIND YOURSELF RETREATING TO THE REFRESHMENTS SECTION OF THE CONFERENCE HALL. Jake left to play games and dance with his friends, as well as reconnect with his old buddies who have graduated. At first, he felt guilty to leave you alone, but you insisted he go enjoy himself so much that he gave in.

You bring out your phone and adjust your hair, which your mom had put in a half updo adorned with a sparkly white ribbon. Your makeup tonight is bedazzling too, and you admit, for once, it made you feel more beautiful than ever before. Kudos to Danielle for being your makeup artist.

“Y/N!” you hear Jake call for you. You look towards his direction, seeing him quickly approaching you.

“Yeah?” you answer, fidgeting with the empty plastic cup in your hand.

“Do you want to come and play some games?” he asks. “I mean, i-if you want to.”

“Honestly, I don’t really want to,” you reply, “but since we’re already here, why not?”

You watch as Jake’s uptight and polite expression transforms into a bright smile. “Okay!” he beams, grabbing your arm. “Let’s go!”

You don’t know if it’s Jake’s luminous grin or if it’s the games that are fun, but you enjoyed almost every minute of the games you played. You found yourself laughing amongst Jake and his friends, and found them to actually be decently nice. You too found yourself sharing many greasy yet fulfilling snacks with Jake, bonding over random things such as physics, iconic movies and so on.

When the time to go home comes around, Jake escorts you to Heeseung’s car and waits until your brother comes.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, “I had a really good time tonight.”

You give Jake a smile. “Of course!” you pat his shoulder. “I also enjoyed tonight a lot, surprisingly. Thanks for asking me out.”

Jake laughs shyly, the corner of his eyes crinkling along. He rubs the back of his neck. “Y-yeah! You’re welcome… and you know, I think we should hang out sometime?”

“With Dani?” you inquire on instinct—immediately regretting it after, realising the true meaning behind his words.

“Um–” Jake lets out an awkward chuckle. “Sure, alright.”

The breeze blows, and you realise that you’re wearing something so revealing on an autumn night. You push your hair out of your face and rub your bare shoulders with your hands, in an attempt to warm yourself up. “It’s really cold tonight,” you laugh.

“Oh, yeah,” Jake agrees, swiftly removing his suit jacket and placing it on your shoulder. He stands right in front of you—and you notice, then, how tall he is—and adjusts the placement of his jacket on you. “Is it better now?”

The scent of honey, cinnamon, and freshly baked apple pies mixed with a faint touch of expensive cologne attacks your senses. You pull Jake’s suit jacket closer to your body, attempting to combat the cold winds. “Yep! Thank you so much, Jaeyun.”

“Jake!” you hear Heeseung call from a distance, interrupting something Jake was about to say. Your brother—accompanied by Danielle—quickly approaches the two of you, giving Jake a brief handshake. “Thanks for waiting with Y/N.”

Jake places a hand on his chest before nodding slightly. “Of course. The pleasure’s all mine.”

“Thanks for coming to homecoming with my twin brother, Y/N-ie,” Danielle says, giving you a hug. “We finally get to take pictures together. I’ll send them all to you, okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” you nod, mirroring Danielle’s smile. “I’ll see you later, Dani.”

“See you!” she exclaims before linking arms with Jake. “Come on, my feet hurt from all the dancing.”

Jake rolls his eyes. “Who told you to wear heels?”

Danielle simply gave her twin brother an annoyed look. “Shut up. Beauty is pain.”

“Anyway, we have to go now,” Heeseung recalls.

“Mom will kill me if I don’t get you home before midnight,” he continues, nudging you with his elbow. He opens the car door, signalling for you to get in. “Come on.”

“Bye, Jaeyun, Dani!” you say as you get into the car.

Jake sends you a soft smile along with a nod. “Goodbye, Y/N.”

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“WHAT THE HELL,” YOU BREATHE SHAKILY. You’re now at home, in your room—barely finished with your nighttime after-shower routine when you hear knocks on your window.

Quickly wiping your hair dry with a towel, you rush to your window, the damp towel still in hand. You push the curtains open, only to be greeted with a vision of Sunghoon, leaning against the glass with a grin on his face. Your eyes widen with shock.

“Park Sunghoon!” you exclaim hushedly, immediately opening the window to let him in.

“Thanks,” he grumbles, effortlessly climbing into your room. He lands with a soft thud, and he stands patiently, waiting for you to close the window.

“God, you gave me a heart attack,” you say. “What are you doing here? It’s cold outside, you know? How did you even manage to climb up here?”

“Eat,” he replies, instead of answering your questions. Sunghoon then hands you a plastic bag filled with goodies—and you perfectly know what’s inside.

“What’s this?” you ask nevertheless, grabbing the plastic bag.

Before you could even open the plastic bag, Sunghoon excellently answers, “Pocari Sweat, cream cheese with salmon kimbap and ice cream.”

A wide grin immediately emerges on your face, much to Sunghoon’s satisfaction. “Oh my god!” you exclaim, sitting down on the heated floor. “I’ve been craving this.”

“You always do,” Sunghoon chimes, sitting down across you, leaning against the wall. Unnoticed by you, Sunghoon stays silent as he watches you eat heartily; your facial features highlighted by the warm light of your bedside table.

Something caresses his heart. Some kind of feeling… It makes him feel full and content.

“Switch on the lights, I swear to God,” Sunghoon sighs.

“No,” you shake your head, cheeks filled with kimbap. “My parents are going to think I’m still awake. Plus, this kind of ambiance makes me sleepy.”

“And?” Sunghoon raises a brow, amused. “Do you want to eat while sleeping?”

“No!” you insist, swallowing a big bite of kimbap. “I want to make myself sleepy so that I can sleep as early as possible.”

Sunghoon snorts. “It’s 12 o’clock, Y/N. What kind of ‘early’ are you talking about?”

He laughs cheerfully—still keeping a low volume—as he dodges a pillow from you.

“I mean,” you defend yourself, mouth still full of food. “At least it’s earlier than 5 o’clock.”

Sunghoon rolls his eyes, laughter still lingering around him. “Whatever you say, princess.”

Princess.

A nickname that rolls off Sunghoon’s tongue so easily. It’s an old habit—stemming from an incident that happened when the two of you were kids; where Sunghoon had deliberately called you ‘princess’ just to annoy you, knowing that you wanted to be a dragon warrior when you grew up, not a princess.

Though, the same nickname used by Sunghoon for years to no end still gives you plenty of butterflies and heart-fluttering moments. By logic, you should’ve gotten used to it by now, considering the absurd amount of times he called you by that.

The two of you sit facing each other, faces lit by the dim light of your mushroom shaped lamp. The both of you sit in pure silence, the sounds of breathing and occasional satisfactory moaning coming from you due to the food filling the atmosphere.

Sunghoon looks at you attentively—the way you melt into every bite of food that you enjoy; the way that you sit cross-legged in front of him, vulnerable and authentic. It’s just you and him—the pure and bare you; your face naked with no makeup on, your shoulder-length hair let loose, the bangs framing your face perfectly as it should.

“Goodness, I’m so tired,” you groan, laying down on the floor with an almost finished ice cream in your hand.

Sunghoon scoffs, adjusting his lean against the wall. “You’re going to choke on that ice cream.”

You throw him a glare. “Shut up.”

“So, Y/N,” Sunghoon says after a moment of unbroken eye contact, caused by him intently watching you try to eat ice cream while laying down. “How was it?”

You immediately sit down. “Hoco?”

Sunghoon nods. “Yeah. Was it fun, with Jake?”

“It was okay. I unexpectedly enjoyed it more than I wanted to,” you reply, finishing your ice cream. “I do think I prefer night-ins to binge watch dramas or movies—like To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before, or Emily In Paris—don’t you think?”

Sunghoon smiles briefly. He nods, “movies are more of your thing, I think.”

“Anyway, I’m glad I went,” you continue, “I’m in my senior year—we’re in our senior year, and we won’t get to experience something like this anymore.”

Sunghoon sighs as he shrugs. “Homecoming’s not my thing. I thought… I thought it wasn’t yours either.”

You look at him, staring at his features a minute longer. “I-I mean, it still isn’t. I just went because Danielle and Naeun insisted I go.”

“And because Jake did too?”

“Oh, um,” you stammer, “not really. I-I mean, I’ve been shrugging him off for a while now. I even rejected him for prom last year, remember?”

You swear you saw Sunghoon smirk for a split second. He runs a hand through his hair. “I’m surprised someone even asked you out.”

“Why?” you roll your eyes. “You think I’m not pretty enough?”

“You are.”

“What–”

“You’re too pretty, people are afraid to ask you out.”

Silence.

You stare at Sunghoon, your childhood best friend, with widened eyes. He looks back at you, firmly connecting the eye contact with some kind of determination and genuineness you’ve never quite seen before.

It took a while for you to finally form a response.

“Oh. Um..”

Sunghoon stands up. “Well, then, sleep well. I have to go now.”

“S-so soon?” you blurt out, flabbergasted.

Sunghoon smiles softly. “I have practice tomorrow. Come watch.”

“Of course, I always do,” you nod eagerly. You didn’t know when it all started, but for as long as you remember, Sunghoon and you had always been each other’s biggest supporters. You never really missed any of his hockey matches and most of his practices; and he never truly missed any of your music recitals too.

Your cheeks blush at the thought, and all you could do is gawk at Sunghoon as he ruffles your hair.

“See you later, princess,” he says, pushing your window open. “Sweet dreams.”

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To: [email protected] From: sincerely/[email protected]

Hoon!

I’m so excited! A four-day school trip is really what I needed—just spending time with friends with no worry of anything at all… it must be fun. I hope it’s going to be just like how it is in the dramas; where all we do is play games, maybe sort out treasure hunts and eat delicious food all day. I heard the fee’s going to be quite a lot, so I really do hope the activities are worth attending for.

Also, I think I need to restock on sunscreen and some other stuff. I want to ask Heeseung to take me to Olive Young, but if I’m not mistaken he has a resume to work on and my mom’s not letting him go out until he gets that done.

So…

Okay, I’ll just text you if you want to go. Hope you do, and hope you won’t think it’s weird or anything!

Sent 11:09 AM, 8th September.

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quarterlifekitty · 1 day ago

Note

I mean this in the most polite, respectful, do only as you wish under zero pressure, way - I am FERAL for dog Johnny and am drooling and begging for more pretty please and thank you ignore my hybrid kink standing in the corner it’s fine we’re fine…unless you don’t want to :)

Uuuuuuuhhhhhhuuu let me start by saying I owe my dog soap illness to such pillars of the community as @boolger and @frogchiro so never forget that they walked so I could crawl around leaving a snail trail with my pussy.

cw: hybrid stuff

Dunno about you but I know my brain chemistry was permanently altered by lady and the tramp when I was a child. I never stood a chance.

So imagine Stray!Soap and Lady!Reader. He sees you every so often. On walks, laying your head in your owner’s lap as he reads the paper on the porch, scratching your ear, playing in the yard with your other owner as she tends to the garden.

Soap sniffs around in your yard at night, just the lightest traces of your scent drive him a little crazy. He decides to wait around— see if he can meet the little house-princess when she comes out in the mornings.

You have no idea what to make of him. He thinks it’s cute how your ears perk as you inspect him. No collar. Not like you— with your shiny little heart-shaped tag. You’re a little wary, but you figure there’s no harm in him being in the neighborhood.

And you know how it is with Soap. You give an inch, he’ll take a mile.

So he’ll wait right by the door near every damned morning. Just to say hello to the little lady. Smitten as can be.

Heehee and what if you had neighbors, also. Bloodhound!Price. Russian terrier! Or Newfoundland!Nikolai who’ve watched you become a young lady, and warn you to watch out for young dogs like Soap. Always a mess of trouble… you should be with someone who knows enough to look after you. Someone older, maybe. Not some young tramp looking to knot any pretty thing he can sink his teeth into…

#writing #cod fanfic #john soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #hybrid au #hybrids #ladyandthetramp!au #john price #cod nikolai

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cecilthecowardly · 3 days ago

Text

i hope it’s okay to reblog these tags and i don’t mean it maliciously! i fully agree — as teenagers and even younger ages in comparison to adults you might see around, there’s so many limitations socially and even legally. your 20s and 30s are FAR from “older” in the traditional sense and even your 40s to me aren’t necessarily old. i mostly meant this as older in comparison to the typical demographics associated with being non/alterhuman. especially people outside of our community associate us with the idea of a naive 15-year-old or otherwise a teenager, almost the same way people assume the same of queer people (but that’s not a completely sound comparison for other reasons). they see us as phases that any “normal adult” would outgrow, and that’s an argument just like with many queer people stems from this notion of conformity and a hesitance to accept things beyond the age where it’s expected you’ll experiment — but only for a bit, obviously, only as a phase.

that’s why i love seeing therians and alterhumans and plain nonhumans in their 20s, 30s, and beyond make their presence known. 15 year olds grow up, after all, and it’s this sense of non conformity and refusal to hide who you are that makes me so happy. we’ve always existed and we always will, no matter how old our bodies grow. and i love that so much

i love you older alterhumans i love you therians in college i love you nonhumans in careers i love every single speciesqueer or otherwise nonhuman individual who breaks the stereotype of our identities being just a phase

#cecil's chatter

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farieofshampoo · 20 hours ago

Text

neighbor across the hall (part 1) 18+

summary: newly divorced, you move into an apartment complex, living alone for the first time in years. while you're still adapting and making friends you find that the single father and his daughter across the hall find you very fascinating. word count: 6.8k pairing: modern!Logan Howlett x fem!reader tags: modern au, smut if you squint really hard, rough Logan, dad Logan, boxer Logan, neighbors to lovers, Logan is a softie, !mdni!

“I know Mom-“

You sang, your feet leading you up the creaky staircase to your third floor apartment. You were fiddling with your purse, trying to find your keys as the phone was tucked into your shoulder and pressed against your ear. Your mom’s muffled voice rang again, more upset than before.

“I told you I don’t want you to be by yourself. What about your friend, uh what was her name… Margie?”

You sighed, still digging through the messy purse.

“Darcy, her name was Darcy, Mom.”

“Well why don’t you two become roommates? She was a sweet girl-“

You paused trying to find the missing keys when you reached your apartment door.

“She’s living with her girlfriend… Besides, I'll be fine. I need to be on my own for a while. This neighborhood isn’t too bad, a few drug dealers here and there.”

Your mom gasped lightly and you could almost see her hitting your shoulder through the phone. She said your name loudly, almost in a warning to not joke about that.

You giggled lightly, letting out a quick “Aha!” when your fingers found the keys.

“Kidding. Ok, well I gotta let you go Mom. I have to do dishes, clean, y’know what single people do.”

“Ok sweetie, just be safe.”

“I always am.”

You both said your goodbyes before you hung up the phone and opened the door of your freshly furnished apartment. You entered and it was still slightly messy from unpacking and it had the smell of old mildewy carpet. You set your phone and keys on the counter, sighing as you glanced around the small apartment. The room was quiet and still, and the only thing that you could hear was the feet pounding in the room above you and the honking of cars outside your open window.

The rest of your day was boring to say the least. You cooked yourself dinner, a frozen pizza and a glass of red wine. You then proceed to waltz around your living room, with said glass of wine in hand, trying to decide what to unpack first with your eyes flying to a box of old wedding gifts labeled “Shit asshole didn't want!”. You thought about it then and there that maybe you should've thrown away the ‘shit’ from your cheating ex-husband but you couldn't. You paused, the sound of bass rumbling through the walls, vibrating your kitchen. You stopped in your kitchen, pressing your ear against the wall. The melody of some old rock song you didn't know flowing through your walls. And then it stopped.

You walked towards your door, hearing the yelling of an old lady who lived a few doors down. You had briefly met earlier that week, her name slipping from your mind. You opened your door to find your neighbor next to you and the older woman arguing. You leaned against the doorframe, the wine glass was still in your hand, and you swirled it before taking another sip as you watched the conversation play out.

“-turn the music down!”

“It wasn't even loud, Sheryl, it was like…quiet.” Sheryl. That was her name. A name to suit a cranky old lady that was for sure. You couldn't see the neighbor, due to a head of gray curly hair blocking your sight.

“Quiet?!”

“For me, yes.”

“Just turn it down before I tell the landlord, again.”

“No wait- ok fine i'll turn it down.” They both said something, but it was too quiet and they were too far away for you to hear. And then the old lady turned around her eyes meeting yours before she scolded you, and walked down the stairs. The elevator was broken, and had been for a few months from what your landlord told you. You were glad you didn’t live on the fifth floor. You watched her until she was gone and met the eyes of your neighbor. She was wearing a large baggy t-shirt with the band Metallica plastered over it and her hair was black and short, ears length. She was wearing plaid pajama pants and bunny slippers, which made you slightly surprised.

“Just to let you know, it doesn't bother me.” You said as she stared at you, her eyes squinting at you.

“Noted.” She said before she turned around, about to shut the door but you were fast and you stopped her door with your hand, and she gazed at you through a small gap.

“What are you doing?”

“Introducing myself.” You said, and you gave her your name. She stared at you, and you waited for her to introduce herself too but she just stood there staring at you for a few seconds. But, then she looked down at the glass of wine in your hand and opened the door a little wider.

“I’m Lee.” She introduced, sticking her hand out to you. You shook it lightly, and she was about to close the door again when you spoke up.

“Uh, I live next door. Three-sixteen”

“I know.” She said before she slammed the door in your face and you were stuck staring at the numbers 314 before music blared again, slightly quieter than before but still loud. You turned around sighing, walking back to your door but stopped when you saw a girl, no older than twelve, sitting at the stairs staring at you. You smiled at her and waved, but she didn't even budge. She made no move to wave back or even manage a smile.

She just stared at you, eyes not moving. It was slightly intimidating. She kept staring at you until you made it back to your door, and entered your apartment. You blew air out of your mouth, and stared at the boxes again, your hands on your hips as you set the empty glass of win in the sink. They were haunting you waiting to be put away. And that's what you ended up doing for the rest of the night and only one box sat, untouched by you.

The next morning you planned to go job-hunting. You had tried every place in the area hiring for servers, but none seemed the least bit interested in actually hiring people. Before your divorce, you had planned on becoming a professional ballet dancer, and you were quite good, amazing even, but your ex-husband had demanded you do something to at least make a little more money. And you did. You quit going to dance school to become a full-time bartender at some lousy bar. You always thought your ex-husband was jealous of you, and now you truly believed he had crushed your dreams because he was envious of your talent. The last place on your list was a bar a block from your apartment complex, walking distance. It was small, but loud as you entered the bar.

You sat down at the bar, all the way at the end, waiting for someone to speak to you, but a few minutes went by before you heard yelling from the kitchen.

“Fine! I don’t give a fuck, fire me! Good luck finding someone to get you money!” A girl, with curly black hair and gold hoops on her ears, exited the kitchen as a chubby bald man trailed behind her. Both of them looked heated, in some kind of argument and you sat up, listening.

“Maria, you can't solicit guests here, that's prostitution!” He yelled, his hands flying in the air.

“Why do you care?”

“Because you're my niece and I really don't want your mother-”

“Ok well I quit!” The man put his fingers to his forehead, and they both started yelling in a foreign language you couldn’t understand before Maria stormed out of the bar with a scream, the door slamming behind her. The man, possibly the owner, looked around the bar before his eyes landed on you. You looked away quickly, to hide yourself but he started to approach you.

“Hi, uh sorry about that,” He cleared his throat. “Can I get you anything?” He asked and you looked at him before replying.

“Are you hiring?”

“As of three seconds ago, yes.”

“Need a new server?”

Within three minutes of speaking with the owner, whose name you learned was Pascal, he had hired you on the spot and asked you to come in the next Friday, prepared for training. You assured him you had loads of experience and didn't need to train but he insisted. He told you the bar was always slow, mostly consisting of older men and told you to be ready for anything these men tried. After training that Friday, you got home late that night, around twelve in the morning, exhausted. You entered your apartment, showering and changing into shorts and a tank top (It was summer-time and the AC didn't work on your floor).

As you got into bed, ready to fall asleep for the night, a loud guitar bass sounded through your apartment. You groaned, grabbing a pillow and shoving it to your face and you could still hear the music coming from your neighbor. After about ten minutes of this, you sat up walking to your door to speak to your neighbor and their music. It usually didn't bother you but tonight you were not in the mood to not get sleep over AC/DC. You knocked on Lee’s door not once but five times, the final time banging both of your fists loudly against the door before the music stopped and Lee opened the door, a guitar pick in her mouth.

“What?” She questioned, as if she were clueless.

“Please turn it down, I really need some sleep.”

“No can do, I have a showcase tomorrow.”

“Just turn it down, my room is right next door.” Lee nodded before she slammed the door in your face, the music blaring again seeming more loud than before. You groaned loudly, kicking her door annoyingly with your foot.

“If you ask her to turn it down, she just makes it louder.” You turned to find a man you hadn't met before, keys in his hand as he was watching you, a smug look on his face. As if this was amusing to him. He was wearing jeans and boots, and a large jacket, as if it wasn't eighty degrees outside. He had brown hair, and gray hairs were poking through. He looked permanently angry, the lines across his face showing that. He was across the hall from you, the only thing separating you were the stairs. You crossed your arms over your chest, scoffing.

“You can't hear it from my apartment.” He said, and you stood up straighter, your hands dropping at your side, his invitation surprising you. Was he actually inviting you into his apartment? You laughed, slightly offended.

“If you think-” He turned his back to you, opening the door with his keys before he slammed the door shut, the sound echoing down the hallway. You stood there in disbelief before you entered your apartment, the sound of guitars and drums the only thing you heard for the next two hours.

“Darcy, you have to visit me. This place is wack, there's an annoying emo girl next to me, some old lady downstairs that's always complaining about something, this Firestarter lookalike and some creepy guy across the hall.” You complained on the phone the next night, talking to your best friend, Darcy. You met Darcy at college, she was a music major and actually graduated pursuing her dreams of becoming an Opera singer. She was fantastic and you always loved watching her.

“Sounds fun. All of our neighbors are old couples.” You groaned, plopping down on your couch.

“I wish.”

“How are you holding up? And don't lie to me.” You glanced at the untouched box of things from your ex-husband.

“I'm fine, really.” She said your name over the phone, almost like a warning. “I'm fine!” You said, laying down on the couch.

“Ok well it’s only been a couple months. How’s your new job going?”

“It’s good. Enough to keep me going for now, my boss is…weird but not creepy. The place is-” You stopped talking when a knock sounded throughout your apartment coming from your door.

“Hey, I'll talk to you later Darcy.” You got up from the couch, hanging up the phone. You opened your door to find no one there except the mysterious girl on the staircase. You exited your apartment, closing the door and you leaned against it. You two stared at each other for a while before you spoke up.

“Do you like staring at strangers?” She didn't move but continued to stare at you. For the past week she had been always sitting at the staircase when you left or entered staring at you.

“Ok, which apartment do you live in-?” The door across the hall opened, and the man from the night before exited. He got caught off guard seeing you and looked a little surprised. He ignored you, and walked towards the staircase picking up the girl's hand and dragging her towards Lee’s apartment. He banged on the door, and a few seconds later a very upbeat Lee opened the door.

“Oh, Wolvy, got a hot date tonight?” Lee’s eyebrows went up, wiggling suggestively.

“Just watch her please.” He said gruffly, before pushing her lightly towards Lee. Lee sighed, turning back to look into her apartment and turning back to an annoyed ‘Wolvy’. He rolled his eyes, muttering to Lee about not calling him ‘Wolvy’. He turned around to leave and as he was going down the stairs his eyes met yours and then he was gone.

Before they both entered Lee’s apartment, the girl pulled Lee’s ear towards her mouth, whispering something in her ear. Lee burst out laughing before telling her a straightforward ‘No. Absolutely not.’. The girl just stared at her before Lee sighed, turning towards you.

“She wants to know-“ The girl growled, glaring at Lee. “I want to know if you’d like to join us for the evening.” You blinked, smiling.

“Of course, I would be delighted. You know-“ Lee shushed you.

“Just come on.”

Lee's apartment was exactly how you imagine it would be. Multiple posters of rock bands you didn’t know were decorated across every wall. There were multiple guitars and a set of drums in the corner of her living room. Her apartment was a mess but it seemed to suit her anxious state as she’d frantically ran around trying to clean up old Chinese takeout sitting on the counter and clean laundry on her couch.

“Just uh- sit on the floor.” Lee said as she ran to her room quickly. You and the little girl sat far away from each other, as you waited for Lee to come back. You looked at her, awkwardly smiling. She just stared at you, no emotions.

“So uh- how’s school?”

“She’s homeschooled!” Lee yelled from where she was and you clicked your tongue feeling embarrassed.

“How’s um homeschool?” She just kept staring, before she began to open her mouth to speak. Then Lee bounded into the room loudly, cutting her off.

“Ok what should my Halloween costume be, kid?” She was holding up two costumes, shaking them in front of the kid’s face.

“It’s August?” You questioned, and the girl smiled before she pointed at the one with Jean shorts and a black tank top.

“Exactly what I was thinking!” She yelled before running off to her room again. “Oh and her name is Laura!” She yelled from her room again and you nodded.

“Well, hello Laura.” You said before you told her your name, introducing yourself.

“Hi.” She said quietly, almost shyly. Lee then ran into the room again.

“Did she just talk to you?” She said, smiling at you. “That’s awesome! Logan is going to be psyched when he hears-“

Logan.

“Logan?”

“Her legal guardian. Y'know the big gruff dude that’s all ‘I’m big and angry because I’m lonely’” She said the last part in a deep voice and you laughed nodding your head.

“If he has Laura, why is he lonely?” You asked, but you knew what she meant.

“In all the years I’ve been here he’s never once brought a girl home. Ever. And I mean never.”

“Where does he go then?”

“To box.”

“Box?” Lee nodded, sitting on the ground next to Laura.

“He used to be this really big professional boxer. The Wolverine,” That tracked. “He got hurt real bad and just never went back. He’s just recently been training again. I guess that’s his release besides sex. Because the guy never gets puss-” She said before she laughed again and you looked at Laura embarrassed.

“Don’t worry she’s heard me say way worse things. Right, kid?” She said, ruffing her hair with her knuckles. Laura groaned, pushing her hand away.

“I’m not a kid.” She grumbled, glaring at Lee.

The rest of the night consisted of Lee and Laura arguing occasionally. Lee would make fun of Laura and then Laura would return that with a glare. You sat quietly in the corner, laughing at them. At the end of the night, the doorbell rang at around midnight and Laura and Lee were fast asleep while you were wide awake watching some cartoons with them.

You stood walking to the door, and opened it to find Logan looking less angry than before. He looked surprised to see you at the door, he must have been expecting Lee. He just stared at you, not saying a word, and you cleared your throat standing with the door open. You pointed your thumb at them.

“They’re sleeping.” You said before stepping outside, closing the door quietly. “Here for Laura?” You asked leaning against the door with your back. He stared at you for a second before he shook his head, like he was in a trance.

“Um, yeah.” He said, tucking his hands in his coat pockets. It wasn’t even cold outside. Yet he still wore that damn jacket. You stuck your hand out, telling him your name and his eyes widened before he reluctantly cupped your hand. His hands were large and rough, and they were bruised with red and purple slightly bleeding. You stopped shaking his hand, to grip it and bring it to your eyes.

“What happened to your hand?” He pulled his hand away fast, hiding it in his coat again. He got flustered, shaking his head.

“Work.” He replied shortly, and you hummed, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Laura’s a great kid.” You said, motioning with your head inside the apartment to where Laura was fast asleep. He nodded, trying to hide a smile.

“Yeah. I know.”

“I can wake her if you want-“

“No, no she needs the sleep. I’ll just grab her.” You led Logan inside, and he carried Laura bridal style until you guys were outside Lee’s apartment again.

“I can open your door if you want.” You said, smiling invitingly at him. He stood there for a second before he nodded telling you that his keys were in his coat pocket. You moved closer to him, grabbing his keys, close enough to smell him. He smelled like leather and cedar wood, and you fought the urge to get closer. His head was turned the other way, away from you and you took the keys from his pocket following him to his apartment. You opened his door before letting Logan enter first, to go lay Laura down.

You stood outside for a moment, looking at the dark apartment through the open door, before you muttered fuck it walking inside. You set the keys on the kitchen counter, observing the layout. There were no lights on, and it was extremely cold. There wasn’t any decor from what you could see through the darkness, on furniture and utensils. It was also very clean, the opposite of Lee’s apartment. It looked like Logan didn’t have much to clean. Logan’s boots sounded and he found you standing at the kitchen counter, a shocked look on his face.

“Oh uh- sorry I just-“ You started to say, before Logan stopped you putting his hands up.

“No, it’s alright.” It was silent for a few seconds before Logan moved to turn the light on in the kitchen. It looks like you were taking up his offer after all.

“You can uh sit down if you want.” He pointed towards his brown leather couch in the center of the apartment and you closed his apartment door, before sitting down with a loud plop. He slowly sat down next to you, on the opposite end of the couch. It was awkwardly quiet again before you spoke.

“Is she your daughter?” You asked, turning your body towards him. He was silent for a moment and you were scared that you overstepped.

“No.” Was all he said and it was quiet once again. You nodded, getting that it was a sensitive topic.

“If you’re wondering, Laura asked me to come with them, for some reason.” You said, laughing quietly.

“Yeah, I noticed she’s been stalking you.” He said, turning to look at you for the first time. He looked away from you quickly, shaking his head.

“I’m sorry about what I said to you. The first night I met you- that was-“ You furrowed your eyebrows shaking your head.

“No, it didn’t bother me. I’m here now anyway.” You awkwardly laughed not realizing the meaning behind your words. Fuck. That’s not what you meant to say. You got slightly embarrassed, your cheeks feeling hot. He just kind of stared at you, swallowing roughly.

“It’s late um-“ You stood and he stood with you.

“Yeah.”

“Good night,” You paused to look at him. “Logan.”

The next morning was even more awkward. You left your apartment, to run to errands to find Logan leaving his apartment at the exact same time. You both stared at each other, before you said a quiet hello before trodding down the stairs.

The next two months consisted of both of you bumping into each other, awkwardly saying hello, before trying to avoid each other. It was kind of hard, you both arrived and left at the same time. You had day shifts and he always seemed to be leaving when you would arrive.

You were currently in Lee’s apartment, and she was eating a bowl of cheese puffs with chopsticks. You were sitting on her couch, chowing down on potato chips, watching her skeptically.

“And tell me why you’re eating with chopsticks?”

“My grandmother gave these to me!”

“And you’re using them for… Cheetos?”

“Yes.” She replied, before stuffing another cheese puff into her mouth.

“So what are you wearing to my Halloween party?” Lee asked, wiggling her eyebrows. You fought the urge to laugh at her, watching her mouth slowly become covered in orange dust.

“I’m not going.” You said, hugging your knees to your chest and setting the bag of chips down. Lee looked at you with a mouth open full of Cheetos.

“What?!” She yelled at you, throwing the chopsticks on the table near the couch.

“I don’t know. I’m not a partier-“

“There isn’t going to be that many people. Just like my band, the people in this complex, others-“

“That sounds like a lot. Besides, I haven't gone out since the divorce.”

“Exactly. That gives you all the reasons to go.” She was right of course. You hadn’t dressed up in months. You hadn’t felt confident since your ex-husband gave you those papers to file for a divorce. You groaned, flopping your belly on the couch.

“Fine. I’ll go. But, I’m not saying for long.” You said and her smile soon fell.

“Sure…what if I told you I could convince Logan to come?” She said, a mischievous look in her eyes.

“What about him?” You were acting like you didn’t know what she was talking about. You had been avoiding Logan for about two months after your awkward encounter. You told Lee about it and she told you he was always giving you ‘fuck me’ eyes. You laughed it off, but you kind of hoped he was.

“If I tell him you’re going he’ll definitely go.” You shook your head.

“I doubt it. He’s very…introverted and quiet.” You noticed how much he liked to be by himself. You wondered if it was by choice or not. He did have Laura, and that might’ve been all he needed.

“He’s lonely. A lonely old man who needs a release.” She said, sighing and sitting next to you again. Whenever she got excited about something she opted to stand when talking to you.

“So, you know my sister right? Complete opposite of me?” Lee had told you about her twin sister, Kim, and how she was a fashion designer. “Well, I sort of kind of told her to make you a costume.”

“A costume? I’m not twelve.” You said, slightly grumbling.

“But, that’s the fun!”

“Well, what costume is it?” Lee looked like she was holding her breath before she told you.

“A sexy devil.”

“Lee…”

“Come on! It'll be fun! I’m going to be Marilyn Manson-”

“Marilyn Manson? Really?”

“I already told Kim you'd wear it.”

“Lee!” You pushed her lightly, and she laughed as she fell on the couch.

The next thing you knew, it was the night of Lee’s infamous Halloween party. You were uncomfortably adjusting the latex suit Lee had given you. You had no idea just how slutty this costume was. It was incredibly tight in all the right places and was low-cut leaving no one any room for imagination. You accompanied it with black heels and two red devil horns on your head. God, what were you thinking?

Lee gasped, a loud squeal leaving her lips as she opened the door to find you standing there, playing with the top part of your outfit. She was wearing white face paint and black eyeliner to look like Marilyn Manson but she ended up looking like a Kiss member with her layered straight black hair and alternative outfit.

“Is this too much?” You asked, still adjusting. Lee pulled your hands away, her jaw at the floor.

“Damn mama! I see you! It's Halloween! Nothing is too much.” She said, pulling you into the apartment that was blasting music already. There were a few people present, not many faces you recognized except some people from downstairs. Lee quickly pulled you into the kitchen, and handed you a red solo cup with some sort of neon green liquid. You both leaned against the counter-top.

“Okay, so I did some convincing and I’m most certain Logan will be here tonight. Probably to steal a beer and leave but, that's better than nothing. Mrs. Baker downstairs is taking the kid trick-or-treating.” You still didn't understand why Lee always told you about Logan’s whereabouts. It’s not like you cared. You somewhat cared. You always found yourself looking back at his apartment every time you left or entered your own apartment. He was only across the hall. One door away. You nodded, trying to seem nonchalant about it, as you took a sip out of the drink in your hand and quickly started to cough.

“What the fuck is in here?” You asked, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

“Tequila, tequila and more tequila. And a drop of green food coloring.” You laughed lightly, before setting the cup back on the counter.

“Yeah, I'll pass.”

Soon enough, the apartment was filled with about 30 or so people. Not a lot, but there were a ton of people in Lee’s small apartment. You had been sitting on her couch for the past hour watching people come and go. You were bored out of your mind. You didn't know anybody besides Lee, and she was busy mingling with her guests. You stood up from the couch, about to leave for the door, when a certain neighbor entered the party.

Logan didn’t see you at first as he scanned the partygoers. He kept his head low as he entered, probably not wanting to draw any attention to himself. You watched as he made a bee-line for the kitchen and you followed him into the empty room. You found him tucked below the fridge as you entered, probably looking for a beer. You spoke up as he was moving things around, still searching.

“The beer’s in the cooler over there.” He jumped up, hitting his head on the top of the fridge as he turned around to find you standing there. He said nothing as he stared at you, his eyes moving up and down your figure in that costume. He swallowed loudly, before he looked around to find the cooler, pulling a beer can out of it and cracking it open. He took a long sip, his eyes falling upon you again. You were still standing there staring at him. He wasn't wearing a jacket but a regular t-shirt and you realized this was the first time you had ever seen his arms. And you couldn't stop staring at them as he took swigs from his can of beer.

You quickly decided to distract yourself by grabbing a red solo cup and filling it with whatever god awful concoction Lee had made. You took a sip before you moved to stand on the same side as Logan, hopping on top of the counter to sit. It was quiet again between the two of you, even though Logan had not spoken a word yet, and the only sound was the drowned out music in the background. You both were fairly close to each other, about as thigh’s width apart. He was leaning his back against the counter while you were sitting upon it. You turned towards him, hiding your smile below your cup as you took a sip.

“So, what's your costume?” You asked, as he stiffened slightly, taking another long sip from his beer before slamming it on the counter and grabbing another one from the cooler.

“The Wolverine.” He said, cracking open the can and you swore you saw him smirk a bit before taking a sip. You snorted, taking a gulp from your own drink.

“Can you guess what I am?” You asked, tilting your head to the side, gesturing with your hands at your costume. His head turned to look at you, scanning your frame and the way it sat atop the counter.

“Yourself?” He asked, turning his head away from you and hiding his smile beneath his beer can. His hands were gripping the beer can and you couldn't help but stare at them. They were large and thick, almost encompassing the can whole beneath his grip. You shook the thoughts away.

“Funny!” You said, narrowing your eyes. You both sat in comfortable silence, sipping on your drinks when you turned to him again, your body facing his. “What made you come?” You asked innocently. He took another long gulp from his beer before answering.

“Lee begged me to come. I wasn’t going to take the kid out trick-or-treating just because well… I just never have. Mrs…” He paused as if to remember her name.

“Baker?”

“Yeah her… she asked to take her this year because her grandchildren weren’t coming.” He took another sip from his beer before setting it on the counter.

“What made you come?” He asked, turning his head to look at you.

“Lee insisted.” You said, laughing as Logan shook his head. Just then, as if you summoned her, Lee barged into the kitchen, laughing as she did. You and Logan both jumped, turning to look at her quickly. She stopped laughing as soon as she saw you both.

“I knew it!” She screamed, running back out into the party. You furrowed your eyebrows, turning back to Logan to see him grabbing a third beer from the cooler. You downed the last bit of your drink, before hopping off the counter and Logan looked up at you, his eyebrows raised.

“I’ll uh- see you around?” You said, leaning against the counter.

“You leavin’?” He asked, setting the unopened can of beer on the counter, his hand next to it as he leaned. You didn’t realize how close he was until you could feel his breath on your neck. He was staring at the uncovered spot on your neck, as he spoke to you.

“Yeah- I have work tomorrow and-“

“So?” Why was he so adamant? You tilted your head, smirking at him.

“Do you want me to stay?” Say it. You wanted him to say it so bad. You wanted him to tell you to stay, to go back to his apartment. But he didn’t. He just shook his head, moving away from you and a frown made its way on your face. You sighed, slightly annoyed.

“Tell Laura happy Halloween.” You said, crossing your arms over your chest and leaving the kitchen, leaving Logan alone with his beer. You didn’t even look at him before you left. Why was he always making insinuations but never acting on them?

The next few weeks you had been ignoring him whenever he looked to you across the hallway. He looked hurt, but you didn’t care. You were so annoyed. But you didn’t know why.

Your boss had recently put you behind the bar, assigning you to later shifts. And one particular night, the neighbor across the hall was now at a stool in front of you. You were pouring a bourbon for a regular across the bar, you looked up for a second meeting the eyes of Logan who was watching you intensely. Your mouth fell open and you jumped slightly not expecting to see him at all.

“I didn’t know you worked here.” That was a complete lie. Logan had actually known for weeks that you worked here. You ignored him, walking across the bar to hand your customer their drink. You hastily returned to Logan, a beer in your hand. You set it in front of him and his eyebrows went up, taking the bottle into his hands. He was about to say something else when another customer to your left rang out.

“Hey, sweetheart! Another one?” The man jiggled his empty beer bottle in the air and your face visibly dropped, your shoulders stiffening. Logan noticed, perking up to look at the man across the bar. You clenched your jaw, forcing a sweet polite smile on your face as you turned to the drunken man.

“Sure thing.” You muttered, keeping your voice steady but Logan’s gaze lingered on you as you moved around to grab another beer. Logan took a long swig from his drink, before setting it on the counter still staring at the oblivious man across the bar. When you gave the man his beer, he winked at you making your skin crawl. Logan’s hand tightened around the empty beer bottle when you turned around oblivious to the man very obviously staring at your ass.

“What the fuck you looking at pal?” The man snarled at Logan and Logan growled deeply.

“Mind your business, bub.” He said grimly, and the man at the bar stood abruptly. Logan was staring straight on at the man his hand clenched tightly around the neck of the bottle until-

Crack!

The bottle split open, falling into Logan’s palm and onto the counter of the bar. Glass was all over his hands and he was slightly bleeding. Your mouth fell open, and you rushed to grab a rag from underneath the bar. You appeared back in front of Logan as he looked up at you. You sighed loudly, grabbing his hand and wrapping the white cloth around his wounds.

“What the fuck?” You muttered quietly, still holding his hand. He didn’t shy away from you or move away. He just swallowed harshly as you held his bleeding palm. “How did you do that?” You let go of his hand sighing, and walking around the bar to meet Logan. You turned to face the kitchen as you stood next to Logan.

“I’m taking my break now!” You shouted, cupping your hands over your mouth and grabbing Logan by the hand out the back door towards an alleyway. Logan didn’t even have time to react before you were harshly pulling him by his uninjured hand towards the back door. You exited the door slamming it shut before shoving Logan down on a crate.

“What the fuck, Logan?” Logan was confused why you were upset, and you anxiously paced in front of him digging your fingers through your hair.

“You’re mad at me?”

“Yes! Why the fuck are you here?” Logan didn’t have an answer. He didn’t know why he was there. He was there for a drink, that was it. At least that’s what he told himself. He found out weeks ago where you worked. He hadn’t worked up the courage to see you. Until now.

“I…” You scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping you.

“See you never seem to have an answer do you?”

“An answer for what exactly?”

You stopped pacing, narrowing your eyes at him. The tension was thick, thicker than the cold November breeze that rang through the tight alleyway. You tried to keep your emotions in check. You tried so hard. But you couldn’t. It was hard when you were so angry. So mad. And for what? Because Logan had been avoiding you? Because you did the same? Truly what were you mad about? A second later your voice betrayed you, as if it had a mind of its own.

“Do you not get it?”

Logan froze. Logan looked down at his hands, softly raising the hand that you had put a rag on, blood softly soaking through. The hand you had touched so delicately. So softly that he wanted you to touch it again. Touch him again.

“Why did you get so angry back there?”

Logan looked up at you, flexing his hands into a tight fist, his biceps pulsing through his flannel.

“I don’t like seeing women getting disrespected-“

“No, Logan. What really made you angry?”

Logan’s eyebrows furrowed as you kneeled, getting on his level in front of him as he sat on the crate. You set your hands in your lap, peering up at him questionably. Awaiting an answer. A part of you knew exactly why he was so angry. You just wanted him to say it out loud. You needed him to say it out loud.

“I was…” He stopped talking as you tilted your head, shaking it tightly, disapproving of his trailed off sentence. You rose, now sitting up on your knees gazing at Logan. You moved closer to him, now right in front of his face.

“What made you so mad? Was it that another man wanted to touch me? Look at my ass? Another man wanted me? Is that it, Logan?” You purred, and Logan growled at the thought. It made him furious. You smiled, clicking your tongue. “I see…”

“No man should be touching you…”

“But…?” You trailed off, waiting for him to finish. You moved closer to his face, your breath panning over his cheek and Logan shuddered the closer you moved towards him. Logan didn’t know why he wanted to be closer to you. To feel you. You were so close. So close that he could feel your steady breathing, he could feel the heat as it radiated from your body, he could smell the perfume you wore every single day. The perfume that had haunted him for months. The perfume he chased in the halls, waiting to smell it. He wanted to smell that smell forever. He swallowed roughly, inching towards you.

“But…”

The back door slammed open, and your boss appeared calling your name.

“Your break’s over! Stop fucking the drunk-“ You stood quickly, awkwardly standing next to Logan who looked slightly embarrassed as he looked the opposite way from your boss.

“He cut his hand. I was just-“

“I don’t give a fuck. Come do your job.” Your boss slammed the door shut, and you sighed walking towards it. You started to open it, but paused to look back at Logan. You gave him a small smile, which he didn’t return.

“I’ll see you.” And you pulled the door shut behind you, entering the bar as Logan sat on that crate only thinking of his neighbor across the hall.

a/n: lmk if you guys enjoyed this and if i should write more (possibly smut). itll be a two parter, maybe three im not too sure! i love hearing feedback so please let me know! :) i love the soft side of logan and especially showing that soft side of him because of laura.

cross-posted on ao3:

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