#this is not a woman who didn’t do anything and who didn’t have a voice.

[kwilquib]

Falling for You, Again.

TripleS Kim Yooyeon x Reader

Switching POV

Word Count: 14.4k+

Kim Yooyeon sat upright in the hospital bed, the sterile scent of disinfectant clinging to the air. It no longer unsettled her the way it once did. She had been here long enough to adjust—to wake up every morning knowing she had lost her memories, knowing that her only grasp on the past came from what others told her.

And what they told her was this:

She was married. She was deeply in love. And her husband, who had been abroad for work, had been devastated when he heard about the accident, even more when he couldn't return immediately. Today—the day of her discharge—she would finally go home.

Her parents had been with her since the beginning, threading her past together with their words. Their voices were steady, unwavering—as if the truth could be spoken into existence.

"You and your husband were so perfect together," her mother gushed, her voice thick with emotion. "Always looking at each other like you were the only two people in the world."

Yooyeon held onto the words, testing them, trying to find something familiar in them.

A flicker of memory surfaced. A formal dinner, the gentle clink of wine glasses, a man’s hand resting on the small of her back as they smiled for photographs. She could almost hear the laughter, but it felt distant, muted—like a scene from someone else’s life.

Her father nodded approvingly. "He's a good man. Responsible, capable. And devoted to you, as any husband should be."

Another fragment—her husband adjusting his tie in their shared bathroom mirror, his reflection catching hers. A quiet familiarity between them, practiced and smooth. She remembered feeling something then—a warmth in her chest, steady and certain.

"You don’t remember?" her mother asked hopefully.

Yooyeon hesitated. Did she? The images were there, but they felt too crisp, too clean—like a story well-told, not a memory truly lived.

"I... I think I do. Little pieces."

Her mother brightened immediately. "See? It’s coming back! I always said true love leaves its mark on the soul, even if the mind forgets."

The words settled over her like a soft weight. True love.

With each story they shared, more pieces seemed to surface. Their first dance at a business gala. Weekend brunches with friends where they finished each other’s sentences. Vacation photos where they looked blissfully happy.

Each memory felt genuine—yet the edges of them blurred, like an oil painting smudged by an impatient hand.

She wanted to believe it. She wanted to be the woman they spoke of, the one who had been so deeply in love.

But wasn’t love supposed to feel more certain than this?

The nurse entered with her discharge papers. "Mrs. Kim, you’re all set to leave. Your husband must be relieved—his wife is finally getting discharged."

His wife.

The words settled into the quiet room, lingering in the air longer than they should have.

She had heard it before—"your husband," "your loving marriage," "you were so happy together." Each time, the words had been spoken with certainty, as if they alone could fill the void in her memory.

But this felt different. Final. Binding.

Her fingers curled around the ring on her left hand. The metal was warm, familiar. She traced its shape, searching for something—anything—that felt like certainty.

She waited for the rush of emotion, the deep-seated knowing. It didn’t come.

Her mother squeezed her hand. “Your husband called while you were resting. He’ll be returning from his work trip this week.”

Yooyeon nodded, ignoring the flutter of something in her chest. Excitement? Anxiety? Or something else entirely?

As the elevator descended to the hospital lobby, her parents chatting excitedly beside her, Yooyeon let herself lean into the stories, into the warmth they promised.

If she reached for the love they spoke of, if she believed hard enough—would it become real?

Today, she was going home.

To them.

And maybe, just maybe, to the love she was supposed to remember.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You step into the familiar quiet of your home, and for a moment, it doesn’t feel real.

This place—this moment—was never supposed to happen like this.

You were supposed to come back with a clearer mind, with the weight of your feelings for Yooyeon finally worn down by distance and time. You had convinced yourself that being away, that drowning in work, was the right thing. You had nearly succeeded in quieting the ache of wanting her—of wanting something you were never meant to have.

But then the call came.

The accident. The words you never expected to hear. That she had lost her memories, that she couldn’t remember you.

And suddenly, the distance that was supposed to help you move on became unbearable.

You couldn’t leave. Couldn’t abandon your work, not when this deal had been months in the making. But you couldn’t call her either. You weren’t ready to hear her voice, to confirm with your own ears that she didn’t remember you. Instead, you asked about her indirectly—through doctors, through her parents. Keeping yourself just close enough to know she was okay, but far enough to not face the truth.

Now, you’re home. And for the first time since you left, you can’t avoid her anymore.

She’s in the living room when you step in, arranging flowers—an image so delicate, so carefully composed, that it stops you in your tracks. You never remembered her paying so much attention to things like this before.

“Welcome home,” she says, offering you a small smile. It’s polite, warm even, but there’s something unfamiliar about it. It’s measured, like she’s giving you exactly what she thinks you expect.

It throws you off.

She’s different, and yet—she’s not. She’s not an entirely new person, not a stranger. She’s still Yooyeon, but softened in ways she never was before. Less guarded, less sharp. And it terrifies you how easily she could slip into the version of her you used to dream about—the version that could have loved you back.

You clear your throat, setting down your luggage. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get back sooner.”

Her fingers still briefly over the petals. “It’s fine… they told me your trip was important.” Her voice is light, but there’s something beneath it. A hesitation. A quiet disappointment.

Then, softer, almost to herself, “We could’ve at least talked on the phone.”

Your chest tightens. You don’t know if she’s saying it because she wanted to talk to you or because she thinks it’s something she should say.

“How have you been?” you ask, even though you already know. You know what the doctors have said, what her parents have told you. But you need to hear it from her.

She launches into a recounting of her recovery—how she’s been adjusting, how her parents have practically hovered over her. But as she speaks, something feels off. Her words are careful, almost rehearsed, as if she’s reading from a script someone gave her.

And it hits you—she is following a script.

She’s trying to fit into the life everyone says she had. Trying to be the person they tell her she used to be.

The realization unsettles you.

It should be easy to draw the line. You told yourself, over and over, that this marriage had given you nothing but a lingering ache. That whatever warmth you once felt had long since dulled into something muted, tolerable. Maybe this is the clean break you need—the perfect excuse to finally move on without guilt.

But instead, all the walls you’ve built, the callousness you spent months forging, begin to crack.

You watch her—this version of Yooyeon, untouched by old wounds and past hesitations—and wonder.

Is this a curse? Or is this the only chance you’ll ever have to hold onto something that was never truly yours?

Later, over lunch, the air between you still carries an odd tension—not uncomfortable, just… unfamiliar. You catch yourself hesitating before speaking, unsure which parts of your shared past she still holds onto and which have slipped through the cracks.

"Do you remember the trip to Busan?" you ask, testing again, reaching for a thread of the past.

Yooyeon blinks, her brows knitting together. "Busan…?"

"The conference," you remind her. "Last year. You spent half the time making fun of that presenter’s slides."

She lets out a small laugh but shakes her head. "I don’t remember that at all. But it does sound like something I’d do."

There’s a beat of silence, then a quiet chuckle from both of you—awkward, but not entirely unpleasant.

"Tell me about it?" she asks, tilting her head, curiosity flickering in her eyes. "I want to know what kind of person I was."

The question throws you off guard, though you’re not sure why. Maybe it’s the vulnerability in her voice, the quiet plea to be filled in on the version of herself that she’s lost.

You hesitate, then exhale softly. "You were—" You stop, correcting yourself. "You are sharp. Witty. You never let anyone get away with nonsense."

She smiles at that, as if it reassures her. "That’s good to hear."

Bit by bit, the stiffness fades.

By evening, it’s different. The space between you, once uncertain, feels smoother, more fluid. It’s not the same as before, but in some ways, it’s easier. Lighter.

Yooyeon touches you more. Small, fleeting gestures—her fingers brushing against yours when she hands you a plate, resting a hand on your wrist when she asks a question, leaning into you slightly when you walk side by side. It’s nothing dramatic, nothing she seems to think twice about. But it’s different.

Before the accident, before the marriage, you thought of Yooyeon as a great friend—someone easy to talk to, someone who made life feel less heavy. When you agreed to the marriage, you thought maybe, just maybe, you were moving toward something more. At first, it seemed like it. The familiarity deepened, your feelings began to take shape, creeping in slowly, almost unnoticed. There were moments—glimpses of what could be—where it felt like the two of you were truly building something together.

But then, it stopped. Or maybe it just never went far enough. She was always there, yet just out of reach. She smiled at you, laughed with you, shared meals with you, but there was always a quiet hesitation in her, an invisible wall she never dared to cross. You wanted more. You wanted to pull her closer, to make her see what you were feeling, but something kept holding you back. Kept holding her back.

Your love for her didn’t fade—it grew. And the more it grew, the more it hurt.

You lived together, spent your days and nights side by side, yet the gap between you remained. A happy marriage, but never quite content. Companions, but never quite lovers.

And now? Now she’s changed. Now, that boundary is gone—not in the way you once wished it would be, but in a way that feels almost unreal. Like something delicate and fleeting, something that shouldn’t be yours to hold.

You don’t comment on it.

You tell yourself it’s just her way of adjusting, of seeking comfort in something familiar.

So you play along.

As the evening drags on, you feel her eyes on you constantly, but there’s no familiar ease to it. No comfort. It’s as if she’s studying you, trying to figure out the person she’s married to, trying to place you into this new reality where you don’t fit. You catch her refilling your water glass before you even ask, adjusting your collar just slightly, even suggesting things she thinks will please you—asking how the trip went, what you did, if you’re tired. Every move she makes feels calculated, like she’s not trying to be the woman you married, but the woman she thinks you expect her to be.

Her actions are all wrapped in politeness and care, but it feels like a performance. You’re a stranger to her now, and she’s just trying to fit the role she believes she has to play.

You can’t help but wonder, does she even know who you are anymore?

After dinner, Yooyeon sets her chopsticks down and looks at you expectantly. “Can we watch some videos?” she asks.

You blink. “Videos?”

“Our wedding, maybe? Or just… us?” She hesitates, twirling a strand of her hair between her fingers. “I want to see. I want to remember.”

You don’t answer right away. Something about the request unsettles you, but you don’t know why.

She watches you carefully, waiting. And for some reason, you find yourself nodding.

Minutes later, you’re both sitting on the couch as the TV screen flickers to life. The first video plays—a montage of your wedding day. The ceremony, the smiles, the laughter. The perfect image of a couple in love.

Yooyeon watches intently, her gaze scanning the screen like she’s trying to etch every second into her mind. “I remember this part,” she murmurs when the camera captures her slipping the ring onto your finger. “I was so nervous.”

You glance at her. “Were you?”

She nods, eyes still locked on the screen. “I kept worrying I’d drop the ring. But you… you looked so calm.” She tilts her head, studying the way you held her hand in the video. “Did you feel nervous?”

You almost laugh. “No. It was just a formality, I was rushing for the event to be over.”

The words sit between you, stark and unfiltered.

Yooyeon doesn’t flinch. Instead, she hums thoughtfully. “Still. We looked happy.”

You don’t answer.

The video shifts to another clip—your honeymoon. A trip spent half in public, playing the roles expected of you, and half in quiet companionship behind closed doors.

“You remember this?” you ask, testing her again.

She pauses. “Not all of it,” she admits. “But some parts… they feel familiar.”

She leans into your side, her body warm against yours.

You hadn’t noticed when it happened, but somehow, Yooyeon ended up nestled against you, her head resting lightly against your shoulder, your arm loosely draped around her. The closeness should feel foreign—it never used to be like this—but strangely, it isn’t.

It feels natural. Too natural.

On the screen, the version of you from the past smiles at her, something soft in his expression that even you don’t quite recognize.

Yooyeon shifts slightly in your arms, tilting her head up to look at you.

Your breath catches.

She’s close. Closer than she should be.

The glow of the screen casts soft shadows over her face, highlighting the curve of her lips, the quiet intent in her eyes. The air between you grows heavy, charged with something neither of you acknowledges.

And then she moves.

Her lips press against yours—gentle, seeking. A quiet, hesitant question in the form of a kiss.

Your body reacts before your mind does.

You’d spent months trying to forget, convincing yourself that this love was better buried.

And yet, here you were—undoing everything in a single moment.

You kiss her back.

Before your kisses could get any deeper, she breaks it off.

“I— I should probably take a shower…” her breath heavy. “Before we continue…” she muttered almost a whisper. As she runs towards your room.

The warmth of her lips still lingers on yours as Yooyeon stumbles away, her words barely registering in your mind. Your pulse is erratic, breath unsteady as she disappears into the bathroom. The sound of running water fills the space, but your thoughts are too tangled to process anything else.

You exhale sharply, running a hand through your hair. What just happened?

The weight of her kiss, the way her body fit against yours—it felt inevitable, like something long overdue.

Minutes pass, stretching endlessly until the water finally stops. The door creaks open, and for a brief moment, you catch a glimpse of her silhouette before she vanishes into your room, wrapped in nothing but a towel.

Your heart is still racing as you push yourself off the couch. The air feels thick, charged with an energy you don’t know how to name.

The shower is quick, the cold water doing little to calm the storm inside you. Even as you dry off, the memory of her touch lingers—her warmth, her scent, the way she looked at you before she kissed you.

Steeling yourself, you step into your bedroom.

And then—you freeze.

Yooyeon lies on your bed, the blanket pooling around her bare shoulders, exposing smooth skin bathed in the dim light. Her damp hair spills over the pillows, dark strands curling at the ends.

Your throat goes dry.

She watches you, her expression unreadable, lips parted slightly as if caught between hesitation and expectation.

Then it hits you.

Under that sheet, Yooyeon is completely naked.

And so are you.

The towel slips from your fingers, falling soundlessly to the floor. Her gaze follows the movement, trailing over your body before flickering away when it lands lower—shyness warring with curiosity.

You move closer, sitting at the edge of the bed. Your hand reaches out, fingers brushing against the soft fabric of the blanket. Slowly, deliberately, you peel it back, unveiling inch after inch of her bare skin.

First, her collarbones, delicate and defined.

Then her breasts, supple, rising and falling with her breath.

Your eyes trace the gentle slope of her stomach, the way it tenses slightly under your gaze.

And then, finally, the last of the blanket falls away, revealing the most intimate part of her.

You pause, drinking her in—every curve, every detail, the sheer vulnerability of this moment.

She is beautiful.

You remind yourself not to rush. To take your time.

Slowly, calmly, you lean in, capturing her lips in a kiss—soft at first, testing, savoring. Her breath hitches, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she melts into you, her hands trailing up your back, fingertips pressing lightly as if urging you closer.

The kiss deepens.

Your tongues meet, a slow, intoxicating dance. Her taste lingers on your lips, warm and sweet. You tug at her tongue, coaxing it out, teasing, savoring every second before finally breaking apart, breathless.

Both of you pant for air, foreheads pressed together, heat radiating between you. Then, you feel it—Yooyeon’s hand wrapping around your length, her touch light at first, then firmer, stroking you, making you harder than you already are.

You tense, instinctively pulling back for a second, startled by the sudden contact. Her eyes flicker with confusion, but you don’t explain. Instead, you press forward, shifting your focus.

Your lips trail down her body, kissing her skin, feeling the way she trembles beneath you. Her quiet moans spill out as you kiss along her side, then lower, past her navel.

You don’t linger. You know she’s already wet.

Positioning yourself between her legs, you part them, revealing her.

“Yooyeon… can I?” Your voice is low, thick with need.

She nods, her gaze heavy-lidded, filled with anticipation.

You lean in, your tongue sliding against her folds, tasting her, teasing her. She gasps, back arching slightly, her moans growing louder as you work her with slow, deliberate strokes. You take your time, letting each flick, each swirl of your tongue build her pleasure.

You feel her body loosening, her walls softening around your touch. Taking it as your cue, you push your tongue inside, warmth enveloping you as her arousal coats your mouth. She’s overflowing, her body giving in to pleasure.

Her legs clamp around your head, a sharp gasp escaping her lips. Fingers tangle in your hair, grasping tightly as her moans turn desperate, erratic.

You hold her thighs apart, refusing to let her escape. The way she writhes beneath you, the way her voice rises with each stroke of your tongue—it only fuels you. Her pleasure feeds your hunger.

You pick up the pace, teasing and flicking against her sensitive bud. She cries out, hands gripping the sheets, her body arching as the sensation overwhelms her.

Then, without warning, you push your tongue back inside, not giving her a moment’s reprieve. Her moans turn to breathless, broken sounds, her mind too lost in the pleasure to form words.

"Fuh…Ah—Nnn… fuah!!!"

Her body tenses, muscles locking up as the pressure builds. Her legs tremble, stretching outward, her hands pressing against your head, trying to ground herself. Her back arches high, head tilting back as the wave finally crashes over her.

And you don’t stop—drawing out every last pulse of her release, savoring the way her body trembles beneath you.

But your hunger isn't satisfied.

Even though she’s already drenched, already ready, you want more.

Moving back up, you claim her breast, taking a hardened peak into your mouth. Your tongue swirls around it, sucking, teasing, while your hands knead her softness, fingers flicking and pinching in tandem with your lips. You alternate between gentle licks and sharp bites against her sensitive tips, drawing a sharp gasp from her lips.

A loud moan escapes her, her back arching.

Your eyes flick up, catching the way her head tilts, her neck exposed—a silent invitation.

You answer it immediately, trailing kisses along her skin, feeling her pulse quicken beneath your lips. Each press of your mouth sends another shiver through her, her body reacting to every touch.

But you need more.

Your lips find hers again, and before you can even take the lead, she’s already parting her mouth, welcoming you, her tongue eagerly meeting yours.

The kiss deepens, slow and consuming, both of you losing yourselves in the heat of it.

And then—another moan escapes her, breaking the kiss.

Your tip presses against her, teasing her entrance.

You don’t stop. Instead, you return to her lips, deepening the kiss as you rub your length along her slick folds, coating yourself in her arousal.

Her moans sync with each slow, deliberate movement, her body shuddering beneath you. Her hands cradle your face, fingers gliding over your skin, smearing the mess of your mixed saliva as she pulls you in closer.

Your lips part, but your tongues remain locked in their heated dance, unwilling to separate—until she finally pushes you back, breathless.

"Dear… it’s enough… ah!" she whispers between moans.

But is it?

Doubt lingers, and instead of answering, you dip back down, capturing her breast in your mouth, sucking lightly, flicking her sensitive tips with your tongue. She gasps, arching into you, her fingers tightening against your skin.

You trail back up, capturing her lips once more, silencing any protests. She parts her mouth as if to speak, but you don’t let her—your tongue claims hers again, drawing another muffled moan from her.

Finally, she pleads, her voice trembling with need.

"Please… put it in…"

You pull back slightly, your breathing ragged.

Is it really enough?

Your eyes search hers, questioning and hesitating. You want her completely—but only when she’s truly ready.

Then another thought crosses your mind: rubber. Hastily, you reach for the drawer, but before you can, her hand intercepts yours.

“Wait…” she says softly, holding out a condom. Her eyes sparkle with a mix of impatience and assurance. You know you’re supposed to use it, yet in this heated moment, the raw intensity of your desire makes you yearn for an unfiltered connection.

Clutching the condom in your hand, you feel that inner battle between safety and passion. In one impulsive moment, you decide—raw is what you need. With deliberate urgency, you press yourself against her, entering her without delay.

“Ahnnn…” escapes her lips as she welcomes you. Every thrust is met with her rising moans—a rhythmic symphony that spurs you on.

Your hand slides up to her breast, massaging and flicking it, alternating between gentle licks and teasing bites along her sensitive nipple. The sound of her moans draws your attention to the delicate curve of her neck, where your lips trail a fiery path of kisses.

Her insides grow warmer and more intense with each movement, wrapping around you, pulling you deeper into the moment. Sensing that the intensity might soon overwhelm both of you, you briefly pull back—tearing open the condom wrapper with a mix of urgency and hesitation.

You withdraw slightly, and she moans in response. The pause makes you acutely aware of how close you both are to the edge. Desperate not to lose the rhythm, you fumble to put the condom on again.

Sensing your hurry—and perhaps sharing in your urgency—her hand reaches out, deftly fitting the condom for you. Without missing a beat, she guides your length back to her welcoming embrace. Your body re-enters her, and you murmur her name, “Yooyeon.”

“I'm about to cum,” you confess in a low, husky tone, “but… is it okay?”

She meets your gaze with a smile and a nod of encouragement, “Yes… do it whenever you like.”

Emboldened, you resume your pace, each thrust growing more rapid as your kisses overlap with her soft moans. The sight of her—flushed and panting, eyes half-closed in bliss, strands of hair clinging to her flushed skin—drives you closer to your limit. You grip her waist tightly as her arms cradle your head, locking you together in a passionate embrace.

You feel your release building rapidly. Her hips rise to meet your every thrust as she arches her back, her body moving in perfect rhythm with yours. In a final, desperate surge, your finger finds her clit, adding one last burst of stimulation to the electric mix of pleasure.

“No—… Not—There—” she gasps breathlessly as her body twists with the overwhelming sensations.

"I’m—cumming—cumming… Ah!!!" she cries, and in that climactic moment, both of you shatter under the intensity of your shared release.

Her body convulses as waves of heat and pleasure surge through her, each pulse sending shudders down her spine. The sheets beneath you seem to ripple with the force of your climax, every fiber of your being alive with raw ecstasy. You feel her muscles tighten around you, an unspoken invitation to surrender completely to the overwhelming sensation.

Exhausted yet exhilarated, you collapse beside her, your heads turning to face each other. Her expression radiates satisfaction and joy as she softly calls your name. Gently, she plants a kiss on your lips, then on your forehead, and finally on your nose—each tender gesture sealing the memory of your shared passion.

As her eyes close and she nestles into your embrace, you both drift in the afterglow—a raw, unforgettable moment of intimacy that lingers long after the night fades.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yooyeon stirred awake to the warmth of a steady heartbeat beneath her cheek, her fingers curled lightly against his bare chest. His arms were still around her, firm yet relaxed, holding her in a way that made her feel safe. Wanted. Loved.

A quiet smile ghosted her lips as she let herself sink into the moment.

Last night had been…

Her cheeks flushed at the memory—her own boldness, the way she had moved on instinct, the way his touch had set fire to every inch of her skin. She hadn’t thought too deeply about it at the time. She had simply acted on a feeling—a feeling that told her she wanted him, wanted to be close to him in the most intimate way.

And she had been right.

Being with him had felt good, natural. She felt satisfied, happy, content in a way that only reaffirmed everything she had come to believe since waking up in this life—she loved him.

She was sure of it.

The realization sent a quiet thrill through her. She had been nervous, hesitant, unsure if her memories would ever return, but last night had proven that love didn’t need memories to exist. She felt it in the way she craved his presence, in the warmth that filled her chest when he looked at her.

Yooyeon shifted slightly, pressing closer to him, breathing in the faint scent of him—clean, comforting, familiar.

But then his voice cut through the soft haze of her thoughts.

“That was… unexpected,” he murmured, his fingers absentmindedly tracing slow circles on her back.

She blinked, tilting her head up to meet his gaze. “Unexpected?”

He hesitated, just for a second. Then, with a careful smile, he said, “It’s been a while.”

A while.

The words settled in her mind, stirring something she didn’t quite understand. Of course, it had been a while—she had only woken up to this life weeks ago. But his tone, the way his hand tightened slightly around her waist, made her feel like it was more than that. Like this distance between them wasn’t just from her accident, but something older.

She wanted to ask—why had it been so long?

But the words never left her lips. It wasn’t hard to imagine why. Their relationship was complicated. She might not remember everything, but she could sense it—the hesitance in his touch, the way he always seemed to be holding back, like there was something unspoken between them.

Maybe that was just how marriage worked. Maybe love wasn’t always constant, but something that came and went.

Still, as she rested her head against his chest, the thought lingered.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

At first, it unsettles you.

The way Yooyeon moves around you so effortlessly, the way she reaches for your hand without hesitation, the way she speaks to you with such natural affection—it’s disorienting.

She doesn’t remember.

She doesn’t remember that your marriage was built on something practical, something strategic. She doesn’t remember that love was never part of the equation.

And yet, she looks at you like it is.

Like it always has been.

You catch yourself hesitating around her more often than not. There’s a strange discomfort in knowing something she doesn’t, in feeling the weight of the truth pressing against your ribs every time she smiles at you. You should tell her. You should set things straight.

But you don’t.

Instead, you find yourself falling into the rhythm of her new version of your life together.

You wake up with her in your arms, and you don’t pull away.

You sit together for breakfast, and when she instinctively places a peeled orange slice on your plate, you take it without thinking.

You come home from work to find her waiting, sometimes with dinner already prepared, other times with stories of her day, filling the house with a warmth that never quite existed before.

And slowly, day by day, you stop resisting.

You settle into married life again—but this time, without hesitation.

She reaches for you first. She falls asleep in your arms, waking up smiling at you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The distance that once defined your relationship is gone, replaced by something warm, something dangerously easy to believe in.

You let yourself fall into the illusion.

One evening, as you sit in the living room, Yooyeon is curled up beside you, flipping through an old photo album she found while reorganizing the shelves.

“Oh,” she says, her fingers tracing over a picture. “I remember this one.”

You glance over. It’s from a ski trip, a company retreat you attended together two winters ago. She had nearly sprained her wrist trying to prove she could keep up with the more experienced skiers. You had ended up guiding her down the slope, an arm around her waist, both of you laughing as she barely managed to stay upright.

“You do?” you ask, cautious.

“Sort of,” she hums. “It’s faint. More like… I remember how I felt.”

You watch her quietly. “And how did you feel?”

She turns to you with a small smile. “Happy.”

Your chest tightens.

There are other moments, too—soft, fleeting, but impossible to ignore.

Nights spent in the kitchen, cooking together, bumping into each other as you move around the stove. She steals bites of whatever you’re preparing, grinning at you when you feign irritation.

Late-night talks, lying in bed with the lights off, her voice quiet but filled with warmth as she tells you about all the things she wants to do, all the places she wants to see. And for the first time, you let yourself imagine being there with her.

She steals kisses—teasingly, playfully, like you’ve always been in love. A kiss on the cheek as she passes by, a lingering press of her lips to yours just before bed. At first, it startles you, but then you start to expect it. Crave it.

And before you realize it, you start kissing her back.

You begin to dream of a life where this isn’t just a lie.

Another time, during dinner, she asks a question you aren’t prepared for.

“What was our first date like?”

You pause, chopsticks hovering midair. “Our first date?”

She nods eagerly, resting her chin in her hand. “I was thinking about it earlier. I tried to remember, but I couldn’t, so… tell me.”

You exhale slowly, setting your chopsticks down. A smile tugs at your lips, unbidden. “You don’t remember sneaking out of that charity banquet when we were seventeen and eating instant ramen at a convenience store?”

Her eyes widen in surprise before a small, delighted laugh escapes her. “That was a date?”

“You called it one,” you say, smirking. “Said it was the best meal you ever had.”

She hums, thoughtful, before grinning. “I must’ve been charming back then.”

“You still are,” you murmur without thinking.

Her expression softens. Then she tilts her head playfully. “That’s cute, but I meant a real date. You know—one where we both knew what it was.”

You hesitate, because you know what she’s really asking.

There was never a first date in the way she’s imagining—no sweet, nervous anticipation, no deliberate choice to step into something romantic. Your relationship had always been tangled in something more complicated.

But now, as she looks at you with expectation, her fingers absentmindedly toying with the edge of her napkin, you find yourself saying—

“Then let’s have one.”

She blinks. “What?”

“A first date,” you say simply, watching her reaction. “One you can remember.”

Her face brightens, eyes gleaming with something warm, something real. “Okay,” she says, smiling. “Let’s do it.”

And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe that maybe—just maybe—this doesn’t have to be a lie.

You don’t realize when you stop overthinking things.

When she slides her hand into yours while walking through a park, you don’t flinch.

When she leans against you while watching a movie, you don’t stiffen.

When she laughs at something you say, her whole face lighting up, you don’t look away.

And one day, you catch yourself smiling at her when she isn’t looking.

The feeling that stirs inside you is unfamiliar and familiar all at once.

Because the truth is—you’ve always had feelings for her.

You just never let yourself acknowledge them before.

But now, standing in the middle of a life that feels almost real, you wonder if this is a sign.

A sign that maybe, just maybe, you can start again.

And maybe—just maybe—you don’t have to tell her the truth.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yooyeon stood in front of the mirror, carefully adjusting the delicate bracelet around her wrist. A soft hum of excitement bubbled in her chest as she checked her reflection one last time. Their first real date—the kind she had always dreamed of. She wanted today to be perfect. Not because it had to be, but because it already felt like it would be.

She had spent the past hour choosing the right outfit, something that felt effortless yet pretty, hoping he would notice. Hoping he would look at her the way she was starting to look at him.

By the time she stepped out of the bedroom, he was already waiting near the door. His gaze flickered over her, lingering just long enough for warmth to spread through her.

“You look nice,” he said simply, his voice softer than usual.

She grinned. “Only nice?”

He exhaled a small chuckle, shaking his head as if she was impossible. Then, more sincerely—“Beautiful.”

Her breath caught. She wanted to tease him, but the way he said it, like he meant it, left her speechless. Before she could find the words, he extended his hand.

A simple gesture. A quiet offering.

She took it without hesitation, her fingers slipping between his, fitting as if they belonged there. He gave her hand a small squeeze, and together, they stepped out into the world beyond their home.

The day unfolded like something out of a dream.

Their first stop was a small bakery-café, the kind nestled between old bookstores and cozy boutiques. It smelled like fresh bread and vanilla, warmth curling in the air like an embrace. Yooyeon picked a selection of pastries for them to share, carefully choosing the ones she thought he would like.

She watched with barely contained excitement as he took a bite of a strawberry tart.

“It’s good,” he admitted, chewing thoughtfully.

“Good?” She gasped, placing a dramatic hand over her chest. “This is art.”

His lips quirked into a smirk. “Alright, it’s art.”

Satisfied, she took her own bite, savoring the sweetness. The café was quiet, filled with the murmur of soft conversations and the gentle notes of a piano melody playing in the background. She found herself stealing glances at him, memorizing the rare ease in his expression, the way the afternoon sunlight kissed his skin.

For the first time in a long time, it felt like they weren’t pretending.

The movie theater was next. She had picked a lighthearted romantic comedy, wanting to keep the mood playful. He hadn’t protested, only giving her an unreadable glance when she insisted it would be fun.

It was.

She found herself laughing at the silliest scenes, and every now and then, when she peeked at him, she caught the faintest trace of amusement in his eyes. He wasn’t laughing outright, but he was watching her more than the movie, and somehow, that made her heart flutter more than anything on the screen.

At one point, when she reached for the popcorn, their hands brushed. Neither of them moved.

Slowly, he intertwined their fingers beneath the dim glow of the screen.

Her heart stuttered. She squeezed his hand lightly.

He squeezed back.

By afternoon, they had made their way to the park, where a small picnic awaited them. She had planned it in advance, packing simple homemade sandwiches and fresh fruit. The air was crisp, the sky stretching endlessly above them, and for a while, they simply enjoyed the peacefulness.

Yooyeon leaned against him, letting her head rest against his shoulder. He didn’t move away. Instead, his hand found its way into her hair, his fingers brushing through it absentmindedly.

Her heart melted.

“I think this is the first time we’ve actually done something like this,” she murmured.

“Like what?”

“Spent a whole day together… just being a normal couple.”

He was quiet for a moment. Then, in a voice so low she almost missed it—

“Yeah.”

She smiled, closing her eyes for a brief second, savoring the warmth of him. The world felt quieter like this. Like it had shrunk to just the two of them, existing in a space untouched by the past.

She wanted to stay in this moment forever.

Night had fallen by the time they reached their final stop—a quiet hill overlooking the cityscape. From afar, the lights twinkled like stars, stretching far beyond what the eye could see. The air was cool, crisp against her skin, but standing beside him, she barely noticed.

“I used to come here alone sometimes,” he admitted, his voice softer, more open. “Just to think.”

Yooyeon turned to him, searching his face. “And now?”

He looked at her then—really looked at her. As if seeing her for the first time. As if realizing something he hadn’t before.

“Now, I think I’d rather share it with you.”

Her breath hitched.

The moment stretched between them, delicate and charged.

Without thinking, she stepped closer, lifting a hand to his cheek, her thumb brushing over his skin. He didn’t pull away. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, leaning into her touch, like it was something he had been waiting for.

Her gaze flickered to his lips.

The tension thickened, the world around them fading until there was nothing left but the space between them.

She moved first, closing the distance, pressing her lips to his in a kiss so soft, so tender, it felt like a secret. He inhaled sharply against her mouth, his hands finding her waist, pulling her closer.

The kiss deepened, slow and consuming, filled with something warm and terrifyingly sweet.

When they finally pulled apart, they were both breathless. He pressed his forehead against hers, eyes closed as if grounding himself.

“Maybe we should go home,” he murmured, voice husky.

Yooyeon nodded, still dazed. “Yeah.”

He took her hand again, this time holding it a little tighter as they made their way back.

And deep down, she knew—tonight wasn’t over just yet.

The drive home is quiet, but not tense. Her fingers remain laced with yours the entire way, her grip firm—like she’s afraid you’ll disappear if she lets go. You don’t say anything about it. You just hold on.

By the time you step through the door, the house feels different. Warmer, despite the lingering shadows. It’s strange how just her presence can make it feel like home again.

Neither of you turn on the lights. There’s no need. The dim glow from the night city lights outside is enough to guide you through the familiar space. Without a word, you both make your way to the bedroom, as if some unspoken understanding pulls you forward.

And now—here you are.

Sitting side by side at the edge of the bed, your hands still loosely linked. The weight of the night settles over you, thick with all the words that haven’t been spoken yet.

You steal a glance at her, only to find her already looking at you. There’s something different in her eyes tonight—not just longing, not just resolve, but something deeper. Something that makes your breath catch.

You thought you had lost her. And maybe, in a way, you did. But now she’s here, choosing you—not because of old memories, not because of a past you held onto alone, but because of now.

And that’s when it hits you.

You had loved her before. Loved her in quiet ways, in restrained touches, in the unspoken words that always hovered on the tip of your tongue. But now—now, you’ve fallen again. Harder. Deeper.

She tilts her head slightly, waiting. For you to speak, for you to move, for you to reassure her that this isn’t a mistake.

You exhale, threading your fingers through hers, squeezing once. “Yooyeon…”

Her name feels different when you say it this time—like something new and familiar all at once.

She smiles, small but real, and she pressed her lips against you.

And just like that, you fall all over again.

She pulls away, her lips barely parting from yours as she searches your face. There’s warmth in her gaze, a quiet certainty that makes your chest tighten. Then, she smiles—soft, unwavering.

You cradle her face in your hands, and she leans into your touch, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment as if memorizing the feel of you.

You kiss her again. This time, there’s no hesitation—just slow, unhurried intimacy, deepening with every passing second.

Her hands rest lightly against your chest, fingers curling slightly against the fabric of your shirt. You can feel her heartbeat, unsteady yet eager, mirroring your own.

Your hand slides up the smooth curve of her thigh, fingers ghosting over her soft skin before slipping under the hem of her skirt. She shudders but doesn’t pull away—if anything, she presses closer, her breath coming faster, anticipation thick in the space between you.

Your lips break apart just as her gaze flickers down—drawn to the movement of your hand between her legs. She knows what’s coming. She wants it.

Without hesitation, your fingers slip beneath her panties, gliding over her soaked heat. A slow, teasing stroke along her slit makes her breath hitch, her thighs twitching in response. You find her clit, circling it with deliberate pressure, and she gasps—soft at first, then louder as your touch grows bolder.

Her head drops onto your shoulder, her body sagging into you, surrendering. You let your free hand tangle in her hair, stroking her, keeping her close as she clings to your other arm. Her grip tightens whenever you rub just right, her body reacting instinctively, desperately.

She’s soaked now, dripping, her slickness coating your fingers as you ease one inside her. She tenses, then relaxes, her walls fluttering around you as you curl your finger, testing, teasing.

“Hnnng…” A breathy moan spills from her lips, her body trembling against yours.

She leans into you, eyes wide and desperate as they lock onto yours—raw, pleading, and hungry for more. You can tell she’s craving every inch of this moment, and you’re more than ready to deliver.

“Can... can I—like, you... lie down?” she asks shyly, her voice low and breathy.

“Sure,” you reply, a mix of confusion and intrigue in your tone as you both head for the bed. Once there, she starts undressing, and you watch, not quite sure what she’s planning.

“Should I... too?” you ask with a playful smirk.

“Ye—yes,” she stammers, her voice thick with anticipation.

Before long, you’re shedding your shirt, pants, and boxers, leaving you completely bare as you wait for Yooyeon to finish. With a final, deliberate move, she slips off her soaked panties, revealing everything. Her eyes linger hungrily on your throbbing package, and after a deep, steadying breath, she crawls over and positions herself on top of you.

Meeting your gaze, she confesses, “It’s because... last time, you teased me way too much,” her cheeks flushing with both embarrassment and desire.

Before you can even reach out for a cuddle, her hand finds your cock, stroking it with a confident, teasing rhythm.

“Yooyeon...” you murmur, barely above a whisper.

Without missing a beat, she shifts so that her dripping, slick pussy meets your throbbing tip. Her natural juices make every touch wet and irresistible.

“Hnnng…” she breathes as she slowly pushes down on you, her warm, inviting opening taking you in inch by inch. Her body settles over yours, fully engulfing you as she adjusts to the sensation.

Then. Her hips start moving—first slow and deliberate, then quickening into a relentless, pulsing rhythm. The heat of her body surrounds you as she rides you hard, every thrust drawing you deeper into a night of raw, unfiltered passion.

“I can feel it twitch…” she breathes, her voice husky as she asks, “Do—does it feel good?”

“Yeah, Yooyeon… it feels amazing,” you reply, your words thick with desire.

Your lips collide, entangling in a deep, fervent kiss as your fingers cradle her cheeks. The kiss intensifies, every touch stoking the fire between you. Rising slightly, she quickens her pace—her desperation unmistakable as she chases her own pleasure.

Before long, exhaustion begins to claim her, and her movements slow; yet even as she gasps for air, her hips remain insistent, grinding slowly despite her fatigue. Sensing an unspoken urge, you murmur, “Yooyeon, there’s something I want to try,” offering an excuse in case she’s too shy to ask outright.

A quick nod is all you need. You reposition her gently to your side, guiding her so that her head rests on your arm. With her back to you, you slide into her again, savoring the fresh angle as both your rhythms realign. Her moans return, matching the new, steady pace that builds once more.

As your hands explore, hers finds yours, fingers interlocking tightly as the intensity escalates. Your other hand wanders over her breasts, teasing her hardened nipples with every deliberate stroke. “I’m—I'm close,” Yooyeon confesses, her voice trembling with anticipation.

Noticing her gaze drifting back to you, you grasp her chin and pull her into another searing kiss, your tongues dancing together. Shifting once again, you climb atop her, pressing her flat against the bed as you prepare to drive her to the edge. “I’m close too,” you murmur between kisses, the admission fusing your sensations into one.

The pace quickens; her moans grow louder, her movements erratic as both your breaths come in ragged bursts. The heat between you becomes almost unbearable, every thrust and every touch amplifying the approaching climax. “Cum with me… please,” she pleads, her voice raw with need.

In that electrifying moment, her body convulses in overwhelming pleasure. You feel your own climax surge through you as you pull away, releasing your heated burst onto her back. The space between you, though charged with the remnants of passion, holds the echo of every gasp, every moan, and every shared moment of unbridled ecstasy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lying in bed, Yooyeon feels the warmth of his arm draped over her waist, the steady rise and fall of his chest against her back. The room is dim, the only light coming from the soft glow of the city outside. She should be at peace, comforted by his presence—yet something gnaws at her, an unease she can’t quite place.

She traces slow circles on the back of his hand with her fingertips, a habit that feels instinctual, familiar, though she can’t remember why. The motion soothes her, but the ache in her chest lingers. Without thinking, she murmurs,

“You always used to hate holding hands.”

His entire body stiffens.

She feels it instantly—the tension in his muscles, the way his breath halts for a split second before resuming, just a little too controlled.

She blinks, turning to look at him. His face is carefully blank, but she knows better now. Knows enough to recognize the way his guard snaps into place.

“…Didn’t you?” she presses, searching his face for an answer.

He exhales slowly, withdrawing his hand. “I don’t remember saying that.”

But she knows he does.

Her memories aren’t whole—just flickers, shadows of something real but unreachable. Yet, in those fragments, there’s a truth she can’t ignore.

She starts noticing it more—the subtle moments when he pulls away. The slight hesitation before he responds to her touch. The darkness in his eyes when she speaks too easily of their love.

And it starts to hurt.

One night, the weight of it all crashes into her. “Why do you act like this?” she asks, voice trembling. “Like you’re afraid of me?”

His expression hardens. “I’m not.”

“You are,” she insists, stepping closer. “I see it in your eyes. Every time I talk about us, about our past, you look at me like—” Her throat tightens. “Like you’re waiting for something to fall apart.”

His jaw clenches. He looks away. “Yooyeon, drop it.”

But she can’t. She won’t.

“Why did we choose the beach?” she asks suddenly, searching his face for the truth she feels slipping through her fingers.

His arm stiffens around her shoulders. “You wanted something grand.”

No. The memory surfaces, unbidden. I wanted it small. Private. Just us.

His gaze is raw, almost pained, as if she’s a ghost he can’t touch. When she reaches for him, he hesitates—a heartbeat too long—before brushing a kiss to her temple.

Something inside her cracks.

The fear she’s been trying to suppress rises to the surface, wrapping around her throat, making it hard to breathe. She needs to hear it. Needs him to say it.

“Did you love me from the start?” she whispers in bed that night, her palm flat against his chest, feeling the erratic rhythm of his heartbeat.

He goes still. Seconds stretch into something unbearable before he answers,

“Yes.”

But it’s the wrong kind of yes—heavy with guilt, not devotion.

She sits up, the sheets pooling around her. “Then why does it feel like you’re lying to me?”

His jaw tightens. Moonlight catches the sheen of sweat at his temple.

“Yooyeon—”

“Tell me the truth.” Her voice cracks. “Please.”

He turns away, his silhouette rigid against the night. “You’re still recovering. We shouldn’t—”

“Stop treating me like I’ll break!” The words burst out sharper than she intends. When she grabs his wrist, he flinches.

He actually flinches.

Her breath catches. “You… you’re scared of me.”

“No.” But his pulse is racing beneath her fingers.

“Then why won’t you look at me?” She cups his face, forcing his gaze to meet hers. What she sees there steals the air from her lungs—anguish, regret, something deeper, darker.

His voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper.

“Because when you remember everything… you’ll wish I hadn’t.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You notice it the moment you step inside.

The air feels different—thicker, colder, heavy in a way that has nothing to do with temperature. Some of the lights are off, casting the house in an eerie dimness, as if it were holding its breath.

And Yooyeon—she isn’t there to greet you.

That alone makes you pause. Even on days when she’s distracted, even when she’s lost in thought, she always turns at the sound of the door unlocking. Always lifts her head, always meets your gaze.

But tonight, she doesn’t.

Your chest tightens. You don’t even take off your coat before stepping further inside, following the faint glow of the living room lamp.

Then you see her.

She’s sitting on the couch, unnaturally still. Her hands rest in her lap as if she’s forcing them to stay there. But it’s her eyes that give her away—locked onto something on the table, unblinking.

A single sheet of paper.

Something prickles at the back of your neck.

“…Yooyeon.”

She flinches. It’s subtle, barely noticeable, but you catch it.

Then, like a switch, she turns to you, a smile flickering onto her lips—too practiced, too forced. “You’re home.”

Your gut twists. Something is wrong.

Still, you don’t press. You nod, greeting her quietly. She nods back, but her fingers tighten against the fabric of her dress, her nervousness seeping into you.

You tell yourself to let it go. To wait. If it’s important, she’ll bring it up.

So you step away, heading toward your home office. The silence follows you.

You place your briefcase down, reaching for the drawer to put away your documents—

—and stop.

The drawer is open.

Your heart stutters.

It shouldn’t be. You always keep it locked. You always make sure.

Your breath is shallow as your eyes lower—and then you see it.

The contract.

The one detailing everything. The terms of your marriage.

The proof of how pragmatic your relationship was.

The paper that stands in direct contrast to the warmth you’ve built with her now.

Your pulse pounds.

Yooyeon.

She saw it.

You’re moving before you can think, your footsteps brisk as you retrace your steps, each second stretching unbearably long.

When you step into the living room again, she’s already looking at you.

Panic. That’s what you see first. She opens her mouth, stumbling over her words, voice thin and desperate, like she’s trying to contain a flood. “I—I found it when I was cleaning. I didn’t mean to pry, I just—”

She stops, swallowing hard. Then, softer, like she already knows she won’t like the answer:

“…What does it mean?”

Your throat tightens.

The weight of it crashes between you, an invisible force pressing against your chest, against your ribs.

She knows.

She doesn’t know.

Not completely. Not yet. But she’s one breath away from understanding.

You could lie. You could say it was nothing. That it was just an old, forgotten document. You could keep pretending.

But you don’t.

Because the truth is already here, unraveling between you.

You exhale, stepping forward, your voice quiet, steady.

“Yooyeon… there’s something I need to tell you.”

The silence is suffocating.

Yooyeon doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t have to. You see it in her eyes. The confusion, the disbelief, the quiet, desperate hope that this isn’t what she thinks it is.

You wish you could spare her. Wish you could rewind to a moment before she found that damned contract, before she looked at you with that kind of fragile, breaking expression.

But you can’t.

So you force yourself to meet her gaze, force yourself to let the truth spill before it’s too late.

“Our marriage wasn’t… real. At least, not the way you think it was.”

Her breath catches.

You don’t look away. “It was arranged. A contract. Your parents and mine, they wanted us to marry. We went along with it.”

Her lips part, but no words come out. You can see the gears turning in her head, the memories she’s tried so hard to piece together now twisting into something cruel, something she never saw coming.

She swallows. “So… so you’re saying…” Her voice shakes. “It was all fake?”

Something twists in your chest.

“No,” you say immediately. Desperately. “No, I—” You drag a hand down your face, frustration clawing at you. “It wasn’t like that. Not for me.”

She flinches.

And that’s when it happens—the moment her heart breaks.

You can see it, feel it, the way her entire body tenses like she’s trying to hold herself together, but the cracks are already there, spreading, widening.

“…Every time you told me you loved me,” she whispers, “was it just part of the act?”

“Yooyeon.” Your voice is strained, pleading. “I didn’t lie about loving you. I just never had the courage to tell you the truth.”

She stares at you.

Then she lets out a quiet, shaky laugh—one that isn’t amused at all.

She takes a step back. Then another.

Your stomach drops.

She’s leaving.

You don’t know where, don’t know if she even has anywhere to go, but she’s walking away from you.

“Yooyeon, wait—”

She shakes her head. “I need to think.” Her voice is barely above a whisper. “I just… I need to think.”

Everything in you screams to stop her. To explain, to beg, to do anything but let her go.

But you don’t.

Instead, you inhale sharply and take a step back first.

“I’ll give you space,” you say, though it nearly kills you. “But don’t leave. Please.”

She hesitates.

You reach for her hand—just barely, just enough for her to know you would still hold on if she let you.

And finally, finally, she exhales, her shoulders dropping as if she’s too exhausted to fight anymore.

“…Okay,” she whispers.

She stays.

But the distance between you has never felt wider.

You exhale, slow and measured, though everything inside you is fraying at the edges.

“I’ll stay at a hotel,” you say, voice quiet but firm. “For as long as you need.”

Yooyeon doesn’t respond right away. She’s still looking at you like she doesn’t know who you are anymore. Like she’s seeing you for the first time and hating that she ever trusted you.

It’s unbearable.

“I don’t want you to feel trapped here,” you continue, forcing the words out despite the knot in your throat. “I don’t want you to think I’m keeping you in a place built on lies.”

Her breath stutters, but she quickly masks it. She’s still trying to be strong.

You wish she wouldn’t.

You wish she’d yell at you, cry, say something that doesn’t feel like an unbearable silence stretching between you.

“Okay,” she finally whispers.

You nod, forcing yourself to move. To walk away first, even when every instinct in you screams to stay.

But before you reach the door, her voice stops you.

“How long?”

You turn, eyes meeting hers.

“How long were you going to keep this from me?” she asks, arms wrapping around herself. “If I hadn’t found out… would you have ever told me?”

The truth is cruel, but it’s the only thing she deserves now.

“…I don’t know.”

Yooyeon swallows, then looks away.

That’s when you realize—you’ve broken something that might never be fixed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yooyeon wakes up alone.

The bed feels bigger now, colder, the silence stretching around her like an unwelcome embrace. She lies there for a moment, staring at the empty space beside her, before finally sitting up.

Another day.

She moves through the house like a ghost, her footsteps quiet, her routine unchanged—yet everything feels different. The kitchen table where they used to share quiet breakfasts, the couch where he used to sit, sifting through papers while she curled up beside him. It’s all the same, and yet it isn’t.

Because he’s not here.

He never called. Never came back.

She should be relieved. This is what she wanted, wasn’t it? Space. Time.

But instead, all she feels is this aching loneliness.

Her eyes fall to the coffee table, where the contract still sits, edges curled from how often she’s touched it, read it, searched it for something—anything—that could make this hurt less.

Each word, each line, feels heavier now. A binding agreement, an arrangement born from necessity. But as the days pass, as she reads it over and over, something in her shifts.

It was never just that.

Her mind drifts back to that night—his voice, raw with emotion.

"I didn’t lie about loving you. I just never had the courage to tell you the truth."

She remembers the way he looked at her, desperate, conflicted, afraid. She hadn’t been able to see it then, too consumed by the betrayal, by the weight of everything she didn’t know. But now, with time, with distance—

Hadn’t she felt the same way?

She rests a hand over the contract, fingers trembling slightly.

Her memories come in fragments. Unclear at first, like pieces of a puzzle she can’t quite fit together. But slowly—painfully, inevitably—they start to return.

She remembers loving him. Wanting him. Long before marriage was even a question.

They had been friends first, before their parents had forced them together. But she had never felt trapped, had never resented the idea. Because she had wanted it too.

She had been happy, at first. Happy at the opportunity to be something more, to step into a future where she could love him freely.

But then—she hesitated.

Fear had crept in, silencing her before she could say the words, before she could risk what they already had. She had told herself it was better this way. Safer.

And then—

The accident.

The memories she had lost. The love she had forgotten.

Yooyeon lets out a shaky breath, pressing her palm against her forehead.

She had already fallen for him before the marriage.

And now—she's not going to lose him again.

She already lost him once to her memories. She won’t let it happen a second time.

It doesn’t matter how it all started, doesn’t matter what had happened before. She had fallen for him before. More importantly is that she fell for him again.

She loves him. Now.

And that’s enough.

Her hands tighten around the contract for a moment before she exhales, setting it aside. She grabs her coat, her keys. She needs to see him.

She needs to fix this.

Without another thought, she heads for the door, heart pounding as she makes her way to his hotel.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You weren’t expecting her.

Not tonight. Maybe not ever.

Days had passed, stretching into something unbearable, something you forced yourself to endure because it was what she needed. Space. Time. A chance to decide if she even wanted to come back.

You had told yourself you wouldn’t wait forever. That if she wanted to leave, you would let her. That you wouldn’t be selfish—not anymore.

But when the knock comes, sharp and hesitant against the hotel door, your heart betrays you.

You open it, and there she is.

Yooyeon stands in the dim hallway, arms wrapped around herself, eyes flickering with uncertainty. Her hair is slightly damp, as if she’d rushed here without thinking twice. Her lips part, as if searching for something to say—something to explain why she’s here at all.

But then she steps forward.

Her hands reach for you first, fingers curling into your shirt, and before you can ask, before you can even breathe—

She kisses you.

It’s not careful. Not hesitant. Not like before.

It’s deep, unrestrained, filled with something desperate and aching, like she’s trying to grasp something that’s always felt just out of reach.

You’re stunned. For half a second, your body locks up—because how could you have prepared for this? For her? For the way she clings to you, pressing herself close like she’s afraid to let go?

And then you give in.

Your arms wrap around her, pulling her fully into you, returning the kiss with everything you’ve held back for too long.

She came back.

She wants this.

When she finally pulls away, her forehead rests against yours, breaths mingling in the small space between you. “I don’t want to remember a love we pretended to have.” Her voice is quiet, steady despite the way her fingers tremble against your chest. “I want to love you for real.”

The words hit harder than you expect.

You swallow, pressing your lips together, hands tightening at her waist. “Are you sure?”

Her answer is immediate. “Yes.”

And that’s all you need.

You don’t know how you make it to the bed. Only that she doesn’t let go. That every step, every kiss, every touch feels like something slipping back into place—like something that had always been there, waiting to be found.

She’s warm against you, tucked under the sheets, her body curled into yours as if she belongs there.

And maybe she does.

Her head rests against your chest, fingers playing absently with the fabric of your shirt. She’s quiet, but not distant. Not like before.

You hesitate, then run a hand down her back, slow, deliberate. She shivers, but doesn’t pull away.

“I thought I lost you,” you admit, voice low in the quiet.

She shifts, tilting her head up to meet your gaze. In the dim light, her eyes are soft, filled with something painfully tender.

“I won’t leave you,” she murmurs.

You inhale sharply.

She presses her hand against your chest, right where your heartbeat pounds—steady, strong.

“Not again.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Their steps were slow, unhurried, yet every kiss, every touch, pulled them further inside, as if gravity itself was drawing them together. Yooyeon wasn’t even sure who was leading. It didn’t matter. Between soft sighs and the heat of his hands on her waist, guiding her closer, she only realized they had reached the bed when the backs of her knees met the edge.

She looked up at him, breathless, her pulse thrumming with anticipation. There was no hesitation this time, no uncertainty. Just them.

She kissed him again, rising onto her toes to meet him, her lips warm and insistent. He responded without pause, deepening the kiss, his hands steady on her waist as he pulled her closer. The sensation of him, solid and warm, sent a shiver racing down her spine.

Then, he pulled away just enough to rise above her, his gaze heavy with intent. Yooyeon’s breath caught, her skin buzzing with anticipation as his fingers found the hem of her sweater. Slowly, deliberately, he lifted it, the fabric sliding over her skin, gathering just above her chest. Cool air met the warmth of her body, sending a shiver through her as her stomach and the lace-covered swell of her breasts were revealed to him.

Her heart pounded as he leaned down, his lips tracing a slow, unhurried path along her jaw, then lower, down the delicate curve of her neck. Every press of his mouth left her skin tingling, warmth pooling deep inside her. His hands followed, tender yet assured, cupping her breasts, his thumbs brushing over the sensitive peaks. A quiet sigh escaped her, her back arching instinctively into his touch, silently urging him on.

His fingers skimmed the slope of her waist, tracing along her ribs before venturing lower. The anticipation made her breath stutter, her senses sharpening as his hand found the waistband of her jeans. She felt his fingers slip past the fabric with ease, the heat of his touch pressing against the thin lace of her panties.

A sharp breath hitched in her throat as he explored, teasing at her center with slow, deliberate strokes. The sensation was electric, sending waves of pleasure curling through her. She clung to his shoulders, her grip tightening as he pushed her further into sensation—patient, unhurried, savoring every reaction she gave him.

Beside her, his warmth enveloped her, grounding her even as his fingers continued their slow, teasing rhythm. Every movement was precise, coaxing, igniting a fire deep within her. She could feel the way her hips responded, rising instinctively to meet his touch, chasing the pleasure he so expertly drew from her.

Her breath came in quiet, uneven gasps, each one only spurring him on. His gaze flickered between her flushed face and the way her body moved under his touch, drinking in every sound, every shiver.

Then, seamlessly, their position shifted. He sat up, pulling her with him, his arms wrapping around her as he cradled her against his chest. Her head rested against the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, her breath shaky, her body trembling in his hold. Yet his hand remained between her thighs, never faltering, never rushing—just holding her there, guiding her deeper into sensation.

She clung to him, her fingers gripping his shirt as if anchoring herself against the pleasure that threatened to consume her entirely.

“Yooyeon…” He whispers her name, his voice deep and coaxing.

His free hand stroked her hair, tender and grounding—a stark contrast to the way his other hand moved with aching precision. She gasped, thighs trembling around his wrist, and he tightened his hold around her, murmuring soft reassurances against her temple.

She could feel his arousal pressing against her through his pants, heat radiating from him. Instinctively, her hand drifted down, palm grazing over the rigid outline. A quiet sigh escaped him at her touch.

“I want to make you feel good,” she whispered, her voice laced with quiet desire.

A silent agreement passed between them as he slowly withdrew his hand from between her thighs, releasing her just long enough to let them shift.

Yooyeon pulled her sweater over her head, the fabric slipping away to reveal bare skin beneath. He helped her, his fingers grazing along her arms as he eased it off. She returned the gesture, undoing the buttons of his shirt, pushing it from his shoulders, baring him to her touch.

Piece by piece, they undressed—her bra, her jeans, the soft slide of lace slipping down her legs until nothing remained between them. She moved closer, hands finding the buckle of his belt, unfastening it with deliberate care. He watched her, breath shallow, as she worked the zipper down, easing his pants over his hips and letting them pool at his feet.

Left only in his boxers, his arousal strained against the fabric, the tension between them thick with anticipation. Settling between his legs, Yooyeon reached for the waistband, fingers curling around it as she tugged it down, inch by inch. The moment the fabric gave way, his erection sprang free, no longer bound by restraint.

She glanced up at him, lips slightly parted, her breath warm against his skin. He looked down at her, eyes dark with something between restraint and longing.

“Yooyeon… you don’t have to,” he murmured, his voice low, hesitant.

She shook her head, her heart aching at how gentle he was with her. “But I want to.”

And she did. It wasn’t just about desire—it was something deeper, something that went beyond the heat simmering between them. She wanted to show him how much he meant to her, how much she trusted him, how much she loved him. Every touch he had given her had been filled with tenderness, with devotion. She wanted to give that back to him now, to see him unravel because of her.

Holding his gaze, she leaned in, letting her lips brush against him first—soft, deliberate, reverent. His breath caught. Encouraged, she let her tongue flick out, tasting him, before slowly taking him into her mouth. He twitched against her tongue, and a quiet groan slipped from his lips. The sound sent warmth curling through her, not just from arousal, but from the knowledge that she could bring him pleasure like this. That he would let her. That he wanted her to.

She moved slowly, savoring the weight of him, the heat, the way his fingers threaded through her hair—not to guide her, not to demand, but simply to touch, to hold. His restraint was palpable, and it only made her more determined to make him feel good.

Her eyes flicked up to meet his, and the sight of him nearly stole her breath. His jaw was clenched, his brows drawn together, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. But it was his eyes that struck her most—heavy-lidded, filled with something deep, something raw. It wasn’t just lust. It was trust. It was need. It was him letting her in, completely.

She took him deeper, her fingers gripping his thighs as she found a rhythm—slow, unhurried, giving him everything she had. She wanted him to feel it—to feel her. To know that this was more than just pleasure, that it was her love, her devotion, poured into every movement.

“Yooyeon…” His voice was strained, rough with need.

She stilled immediately, understanding him without question. He wasn’t asking her to stop—he just wanted something different. Something more.

He reached for her, his hands open, waiting. Without hesitation, she took them, letting him guide her up, pulling her closer.

She followed his lead, moving effortlessly into his lap, their bodies pressing together as she settled atop him. Face to face now, her knees hugged his sides, her chest brushing against his with every breath. A sharp shiver ran through her as she felt him—hot, hard, pressing against her stomach, the intimacy of their position making her pulse race.

She gazed at him, her fingers trailing over his shoulders, his neck, his jaw, memorizing every inch of him. His eyes, dark and unreadable, searched hers, and for a moment, they simply breathed together, held in the gravity of this moment.

Slowly, tenderly, she leaned in, capturing his lips in a kiss—one filled with everything she couldn’t say out loud.

But she wanted to show him. To give him everything.

Her gaze drifted downward as she reached between them, her fingers grazing along his hardness, feeling the heat of him against her palm. A quiet shiver ran through her as she caressed him, taking her time, savoring the way he responded to her touch. With careful precision, she guided him, adjusting her position, her body instinctively preparing to take him in.

And then, without hesitation, she moved.

A quiet gasp left her lips as she slowly enveloped him, her body stretching to accommodate him, every inch sending waves of sensation through her. Her arms wrapped around his neck, seeking both support and connection, her forehead resting briefly against his as she took a steadying breath.

She felt him—deep, warm, filling her completely. But more than anything, what she felt was joy. A slow, radiant smile formed on her lips as she met his gaze, her heart swelling with something beyond just pleasure.

And then, as if that smile was all the invitation he needed, he began to move.

The first thrust sent a sharp, sweet pleasure rippling through her, her breath catching before it spilled out in a quiet moan. The next had her clutching onto him, overwhelmed by the intensity of feeling. The sound of their mingled breaths, the heat between them, the way their bodies moved together—it was all-consuming.

She melted into him, lost in the rhythm, lost in him.

The intensity overwhelmed him, and he fell back, bringing her with him. A gasp left Yooyeon’s lips as she followed, her body molding against his as his thrusts remained unrelenting. His hands moved to her hips, then lower, gripping her firmly as he guided her movements, driving her deeper into pleasure.

She felt the heat, the desperation between them, the way their bodies refused to part even for a second. Every movement sent another wave of sensation crashing through her, pushing her closer to the edge.

But she wanted more than just the pleasure. She wanted him—completely.

Yooyeon cupped his face, her fingers threading into his damp hair as she looked down at him. His jaw was clenched, his brows furrowed, lost in the sheer intensity of their connection. She could see it, feel it—the tension coiling tight within him.

So she kissed him.

Soft at first, then deeper, her lips parting to welcome him, their tongues meeting in a slow, tangled dance. She poured herself into the kiss, coaxing, soothing, grounding him even as the pleasure consumed them both.

And slowly, she felt him relax beneath her, surrendering to her touch, to her.

As his pace became less erratic, she adjusted, matching his rhythm with newfound confidence. She learned his movements, feeling the way their bodies aligned, and slowly, she took control—rolling her hips in time with his, meeting each thrust with her own.

Their breaths synced, their bodies moving together in perfect harmony.

She felt it in the way he held her, in the way his hands tightened on her waist, guiding her but letting her lead. A quiet thrill coursed through her at the unspoken understanding between them, at the way he let her set the pace, trusting her, surrendering to her.

Their eyes met, locking in an intimate gaze, the world around them fading away. There were no words—there was no need for them. In that moment, everything was clear.

It was just them.

“Yooyeon… I’m close…” His voice was ragged, strained, barely holding on.

She gasped, her fingers tightening against his shoulders as pleasure coiled tighter inside her. “Me too…” she whispered, her breath hitching. Then, she met his gaze, her eyes soft, full of trust. “You can… it’s fine.”

A shudder ran through him at her words, at the quiet certainty in her voice.

And then, together, they unraveled.

His grip on her waist tightened as he thrust deep, his release spilling into her just as she came undone around him. A sharp, breathless cry escaped her lips as pleasure surged through her, overwhelming, consuming. She trembled in his arms, her body clinging to his as the waves of ecstasy pulsed through them both.

For a long moment, neither of them moved—just the sound of their breaths mingling, their bodies still entwined, the warmth of each other keeping them grounded.

Slowly, Yooyeon melted against his chest, her heart still racing, a soft, contented sigh escaping her.

They had never felt closer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You wake up before her.

The first thing you notice is the weight of her arm draped over your chest, her fingers lightly curled against your skin. The second is how deeply she sleeps—peaceful, unguarded, as if she belongs here, as if there was never a time when she didn’t.

Something tight eases in your chest.

You should move, should slip away before she stirs, but you don’t. You just lie there, watching the slow rise and fall of her breathing, the way the early morning light catches the strands of her hair.

She came back.

Not out of obligation. Not because of memories.

But because she chose you.

Your fingers brush over her knuckles, tracing the shape of her hand. She shifts at the touch, her brows scrunching slightly before her eyes flutter open.

For a second, she blinks at you, dazed with sleep. Then, she smiles—small, warm, real. "You're staring."

You huff a quiet laugh. "You're the one who came here in the middle of the night and threw yourself at me."

She flushes, burying her face into your chest. "I did not throw myself at you."

"You did." You smirk, tightening your hold around her. "Not that I’m complaining."

She groans but doesn’t pull away, only presses closer. You feel the sigh she lets out, something soft and content against your skin.

Then, quieter, almost hesitant—“What happens now?”

Your grip on her tightens slightly.

Because the truth is, you don’t know.

There is no contract binding you anymore. No pretense of a marriage built on expectations, no excuse to hide behind the illusion of what you used to be.

There is only this—the love she chose to give you.

And you—the love you’ve always had for her.

You exhale, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “We take it one day at a time.”

She tilts her head up, searching your face. You meet her gaze, your voice quieter when you add, “And this time, we don’t hide.”

Her expression softens. She lifts a hand, cupping your cheek, her thumb brushing just below your eye.

"Okay," she whispers.

And just like that, it’s decided.

This time, it’s real.

No pretending. No distance.

Just you and her.

[st4rbwrry]

𝓢𝓦𝓔𝓔𝓣𝓔𝓢𝓣 𝓣𝓗𝓘𝓝𝓖.     eren yeager.

❤︎ . . . 12k. fem!reader, set in 03’, established relationship, pregnant!reader, southern!eren, domesticity, difficult pregnancy / doubts, home birthing, marriage / vasectomy talk, mention of healthcare discrimination, lots of crying, oral ꒰ f. ꒱, gentle sex kinda, lots of kisses! + affirmations, praise, thumb in bootay, unprotected, sensitivity play, choking, lactation ‘n eren tastes it oopsie, nasty talk, creampie, pet names ꒰ sweetie, baby, mama, papa ꒱, spanking, daddy kink. minors aren't allowed! reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated. <3

꒰ 𝑚𝑜𝑐ℎ𝑎’𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒 ꒱ . . . officially obsessed w this couple so i couldn’t help myself by writing a third part teehee. happy belated valentine’s day <3 visual.

baby . . . i’m lonely. think i w’na baby. 

a conversation starter like that would only skyrocket the heart rate of any husband. eight years of marriage with just each other, and three with the addition of honeybelle, including the fifteen chickens, four piggies, and two baby goats on the farm alongside two of the cutest tawny cows you named tweedle-dee and tweedle-dum. every moment felt rewarding, so you questioned lately why you felt so . . lonely. for the longest time you didn’t quite understand what you were missing. the life you lived with eren was perfect. it was romantic, soft, relaxing. you couldn’t have asked for anything more. 

tending to the animals on a warm sunny day, you hum tunes to yourself as the goats follow and nudge at your toffee cowboy boots, giggling and picking juicy strawberries from their stems, enjoying their company. waffles, the tan goat with blotches of white rolls serenely in the grass while the other, miss daisie, who’s an all black goat with an almost heart-shaped spot on the surface of her skull, screams and sniffs at you, craving your attention. occasionally, you’ll reach down to give affection to satisfy her. 

a brown woven basket rests on the dip of your forearm, feet traveling along the iridescent field and dropping the fruit into a sea of fresh vegetables pulled off their roots from the garden, collecting just enough to make a few meals that require them. 

that day you had an interesting epiphany. the gravel in your front yard dances along the tires of a red pickup truck that pulls into your home. a sweet friend of yours named bea drops by with her three-year-old toddler, jason. the tiny human dressed in dark washed overalls with a teal shirt underneath, and boots whom she lifts up and rests on her hip before entering the home. 

“ ꒰♡꒱, darling. missed you so much. how are you?” instantly, she’s embracing you into a tight hug, pulling away to admire your looks. 

whenever she sees you, you’re radiant. cocoa skin, a shade darker than the last time she saw you, courtesy of the suns kisses. in few sections, your raven curls are wrapped in flawless fairy locs, styled half-up into an unruly bun. a silver heart locket containing your infamous black and white wedding day photo where eren dips you low in front of a willow tree around your neck, resting on the heat of your skin radiating a fragrance of vanilla bean. the minimal hairs on your body fuzzing up when the sunlight hits where you stand by the massive bay windows overlooking your landscape. 

almond irises and beautiful full lips, slightly taller than bea by a full foot. rustic boots, an ivory flowy skirt that sits well on your curvy hips and cascades down to your ankles, pairing it with a white laced top and a matching bandana atop your head. 

“i’m doing good. up to my usual pastime of holding down the fort and cooking,” you beam, scanning her from head to toe. “you look gorgeous, how are you and the family?” 

bea’s a gorgeous woman. you notice her face is a bit chubbier, adorable pointed chin, button nose, and curly auburn hair that rests on her shoulders. caramel complexion, light voice and the prettiest hazel eyes. her son is an exact replica of her, catching a glimpse of the angel she made as he giggles and plays with honeybelle, her two inch tail wagging as she chases him around the dining room. 

“jason’s doing pretty well, we’re just coming from a doctor’s appointment, actually. just found out today that he’s going deaf in his right ear,” bea builds up the courage to weakly smile, your body pausing its movement from situating dried dishes, needing to get dinner started for eren. 

“oh my goodness, i’m sorry to hear that,” frowning, you hold a hand over your heart, the sadness in your eyes unable to shield. “how are you taking that?” 

“it’s okay, i’m okay. his overall health is what matters most to me. things like this are just something you have to prepare for being a parent,” she nods, glancing at her son. “he’s still happy as ever.”

“right,” you purse your lips. “that’s good. i’m glad. he’s a sweetheart. and armin?” 

“yeah, he’s great. been working a lot more lately, for good reason. gotta cold right now so he’s been restin’.” 

“oh no, i can drop a pot of chicken soup tomorrow if you’d like? i know you’ve got that conference with the ladies at church comin’.” 

bea takes a seat at one of the wooden chairs you have placed against the kitchen island, resting her chin into her palm as she graciously pouts. “you are the sweetest, ꒰♡꒱. i see why eren’s so smitten of you.” 

warmth flows to your cheeks from the mention of him, never changing. 

“the man’s a sap,” you roll your eyes, wedding ring shining in the light as you go to retrieve ingredients from the fridge alongside a gift you had for her. 

“oh! almost forgot,” pulling out a basket, bea gasps as you place it in front of her. 

the basket contains fresh milk from the cows placed into a carafe with a swing top to secure it, decadent, fist sized blueberry muffins you baked yourself, of course, wrapped in beeswax paper decorated with butterflies and leaves. even a few red apples and oranges picked from the garden, bea’s favorites. 

“oh, honeybee, bless your soul. thank you!” 

you bow your head. “ ‘course, i told you i’d have a lil’ treat for you.” 

grabbing a few extra base ingredients; packaged seafood from the farmers market and a bottle of wine, you go to pour yourself a glass. “you w’na glass? i’m makin’ a big pot of seafood gumbo if you w’na stay and have dinner with us. eren’s been craving it.” 

“ooh, i’d love to, but armin wants us home before sundown. he gets really fussy about me taking long distance drives without him, especially with jason.” 

“awe, he’s protective. eren’s kinda the same. he has a heart attack every time i run out for something. he taught me how to drive ‘bout two months ago, but i’m still kinda rusty. got me that buggy out front.” 

“i did see it! that’s the cutest car ever. it’s about time you learnt how to get on the road.” 

you shrug. “my anxiety was kickin’ my ass for the longest. i can still be his passenger princess. he knows not to get comfortable,” you grin smugly, the two of you sharing a laugh before you reach for the second glass for bea, only to have her wave her hand to reject. 

“no wine for me, thanks. i can’t.” 

“mm? how come?” brow raising in curiosity, you push the cork back inside, resting a hand on your hip that you pop out. 

the dimple in her right cheek sinks in as she draws her lips inwardly, hands going down to her stomach, rubbing in a circle motion with bright eyes. your eyes dart from her baby bump she hid well underneath her black dress, up to her eyes again in shock. gasping, your hands go over your mouth. 

“no fuckin’ way! oh my god, another one?!” 

“another one! we’ve been waiting to tell everyone, but i’m ’bout four months out.” 

“holy shit, congratulations!” 

rushing around the counter, you give her a hug, rocking side by side. “oh wow, that’s such good news. does jason know?” 

“not yet, i’m kind of scared to tell him. although he’ll notice when i start blowing up. he likes his own company. a sibling is a big change.” 

“i can understand that, i haven’t any siblings so i adapted to that. i wouldn’t mind having a sister or somethin’.” 

“what about you?” bea suddenly questioned. 

as you begin to chop up veggies, you stare at her confused. 

“a baby. you guys been married for a long time. never thought about it?” 

that’s the question of all questions, one you’ve avoided your entire marriage. of course, it’s been discussed, the second year of your relationship actually. which is why you were strict on birth control given your equal sexual infatuation. it was too risky, so you took the safe option. for the longest time all you ever wanted was him, your home, and your animals. a baby was never in mind. you found it nauseating to think of, actually.

“it’s been talked about once or twice, but never to a point of coming to an agreement. eren’s okay with how our lives are now, and frankly, so am i. i don’t see a baby for us, or any time soon. i don’t dislike them, but i’m not so sure if i’m fit to be a mother. there’s a lot of sacrifices that come with that.” 

bea nods understandingly, deciding to chalk the conversation and talk of other things. as you stir the roux until you get a perfect chocolate color, you chat with her until the sun sets, occasionally glancing at jason who sits on the ground coloring in his book, fluffy blond hair tousled around his small face. you can’t help this odd feeling in your chest as you look at him, even when hearing bea talk about the new baby. you can’t shake that hunch that maybe, just maybe, it could be a possibility. far away from now that is. 

seeing your husband walk through the front door to greet your friend and kiss you on the cheek, attired in work clothes and watching him interact with the child with the widest smile on his face made your chest clench. tickling him after washing his hands, giving high fives and engaging in conversation with bea as he sits on the floor with him, right leg propped up while his large body leans down to color with him. 

it almost made you tear up, wondering how he’d be with your child. he’s an amazing man, and your positively sure he’d be an even better father. it was a tough decision. the good thing about eren is that he was an attentive listener, action based, willing to understand your feelings and concerns while coming to a conclusion, knowing you have such a bad habit of closing in. so it made it easier to come to him about a lot of things that weighed on you. 

sending off bea with a container of gumbo, you both say your goodnights to her, eren watching as she enters her car safely and drives away before shutting the door and pulling you in close for hugs and smooches. after having dinner, cleaning up and showering, in the plushness of your king sized bed, candles lit and law and order on play, that’s when you bring the conversation up while applying shea butter to your legs anxiously. 

easing in slowly, you decide to test the waters by saying something that, even though you were unsure of, was technically a true feeling. 

“baby . . . i’m lonely. think i w’na baby.” 

maybe you weren’t fit to be a mother. 

maybe this was punishment. that sinking fear you had for the entirety of your marriage about having children was right all along. you were scared. maybe this baby hated you, knew you weren’t the right person to bring them into this world. that’s why it’s been giving you the worst pregnancy known to man. or maybe your body just wasn’t built to carry a child. 

countless of doctors, a therapist even, and no one fixed that insecurity within the chromosomes of your brain. morning sickness should never start with ‘morning’, because it’s all day, every day damn near. you can’t indulge in your favorite foods anymore, walking is painful because your feet are blown up and you can no longer fit half of your closet. you cry almost every single day, and you feel bad because eren constantly worries about you. it’s just as upsetting for him. 

the incessant fatigue, headaches, backaches, occasional pelvic pain, heartburn, and multiple obgyn appointments of them telling you that all of your symptoms were normal, that there was nothing to worry about. neither of you were fond of the idea of taking tons of medications, and it became not only exhausting, but you felt embarrassed by how many times you had eren rushing you to your primary doctor. 

the first trimester seemed to be the most difficult period to which you experienced the most discomfort. you figured it was natural given your body has never been in this state before, it’s slowly transitioning. this wasn’t just a period with regular cramps, you were creating a child inside of you. that itself was terrifying, yet exciting. because in the end you know it’ll be worth it. to see both of your faces morphed into one angelic being crafted out of love. this was your first baby, so of course you were preparing for possible difficulty. you just didn’t think it’d be this bad. 

you’d spend days on end researching and finding other women whose experiences were the same. it eased you to some degree to discover you weren’t alone. then came the third trimester, and the horrible symptoms you faced from the start reappeared. you believe it’s because you were getting closer to birth. 

hating the way your mind conjured up the worst thoughts, you found yourself falling into depression. eren did his best to make sure you had everything you needed. taking time off from work to tend to you. he wasn’t the best in the kitchen, and sometimes you’d have to come help him, much better on the grill. even the extravagant ones he tried to surprise you with. though most of the time you could only eat half before you started to get nauseous. 

he took care of the farm, carried you up and down the stairs, stayed up half the night at times to study healthy exercises to practice together, and continued therapy with you. he made the process so much better. always kissing you, telling you how beautiful you were even if you didn’t feel it, gave you massages and ran you baths. even if all of it was sweet, you felt like a weakling. like he was your caretaker and you were an old ass lady. 

only he’d reassure you after you weep and sniffle in your hands by saying, “mama, i’m your husband. i’m deeply in love with you, ‘n will always be. the very least i can do, especially when you’re doing the hardest fuckin’ part which is carrying our child, is take care of you. so stop all that cryin’ and come cuddle.” 

times when check ups were happy days, and you could see your baby on the monitor as the nurse rubs the transducer over your overgrown belly, that vertical dark streak on the middle the cutest thing eren’s ever seen, often kissing it as he placed his ear to your belly to feel the baby kick — turned bad. the baby was healthy, that was the great thing. sitting low in your belly just ready to be out the womb. it’s when the pain pummels harsher that causes concern. 

one day they’re telling you that your fine, then the next you’re having trouble breathing, sleeping, horrible tailbone pain and even worse pelvic pain. you think the worst part of it all is seeing the repeated stress on your husbands face. the dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep, forehead creases, brittle hair, it broke your fucking heart. to see him sitting beside you as he irritably bounces his right leg while clasping his hands together and leaning forward in an almost scolding manner. listening to the nurse reexplain shit you’ve heard too many damn times. 

their methods weren’t working, and no matter how many times you expressed how you felt, it feels like it went through one ear and out the other. taking notice of it mostly when you came by yourself, and instantly you knew something was off. so you started coming with eren. you’ve lived in this town for more than eleven years, on the outskirts of georgia at that. at times you forget that not everyone’s empathetic, or open to the idea of you as a black woman. a pregnant one at that. you refused to take any more medicine. if an emergency labor needed to happen, you were willing to do whatever it takes. 

then, eren finally snaps, because he knows it’s deeper than surface level shit. 

“there have been too many occurrences where my wife has informed y’all multiple times about the pain she’s experiencing, and y’all brush it off ‘n tell her to go home, sleep it off, take this medication, rest. at this point, i’m startin’ to realize y’all aren’t listenin’ to her pain. you’re blatantly ignoring what the fuck she’s saying, and i don’t mean to get disrespectful, so excuse me for my mouth, but i’m fed the fuck up.” 

“i’m sorry, mister yeager. there’s not much else we can do but see how her body responds to —”

eren hastily stands to his feet, and your eyes bulge in slight fear, reaching to grab his bicep as he keeps his focus on the perinatologist, surprise in his eyes from eren’s defense. 

“i couldn’t give less of a shit ‘bout any of that. the only, and i mean only time y'all show her some form of care for her health is when i’m here. every time when i’m not, i’m hearing stories ‘bout how y'all sending her home tellin’ her she’s fuckin’ fine when she’s not fuckin’ fine. i have to see this shit firsthand, not you. i know exactly what the fuck this is, do not play with me.” 

what makes this out of the ordinary is that you’ve never heard eren raise his voice in your life. whenever he was upset, he usually spoke in a stern, collected manner. this made you uncomfortable, the bellow of his tone and even the shock in the nurse’s features. swallowing, you pick yourself up to outstretch your hand over your heavy belly and slowly slid off the geri, eren’s head cautiously knocking in your direction regardless of the tension in the room to help you. 

his hand goes around your waist, giving you a look to ask if you were good before you nod in response, too embarrassed to eye the nurse and apologize out of uneasiness. that would only drive eren mad, knowing he’d tell you not to apologize for shit because he didn’t deserve it. he could see it written on your face. you were too damn kind to those who weren’t worthy. 

“let’s go, baby. you are never comin’ back here. y'all better be damn lucky i ain’t suin’ y'all.” 

the day was so vague you could remember him holding your hand as you waddled to the car, rubbing your belly and staring at the back of his head in silence. knowing he needed it for a minute. he secures you in before sitting in the drivers seat and sinking back to meditate, eyes shut and chest carefully rising and falling. nibbling at your lip, you rub his arm to transfer your soothing energy. your touch makes him crack a weak smile, turning his head as he lays back to stare at your pretty face. 

eren rubs his thumb over your hand, bringing it up to kiss the back of it. “i’m sorry you had to see me raise my voice. i don’t like gettin’ outta character in front of you. you know that.”

“it wasn’t uncalled for, your emotions are valid. i appreciate you for protecting me. i think i’ve long accepted that not many people care too much about specific women’s health. it’s a sad realization, but i know i’ll be okay,” you speak softly, bringing your face closer to his to rest with him. “we’ll be okay. the baby is healthy, and pain is temporary.”

what comes next is almost scarier than this whole ordeal. eren takes a deep inhale, grabbing your face to press his forehead to yours before releasing a trembling breath, tears beginning to stream down his face as he cries. finally. locking it away to stay strong for you. the thump in your chest hurts, really fucking bad. witnessing your husband weep as he holds you, clenching his jaw, sniffling, and choking out a small cough. kissing your lips to tell you he’s okay was sentimental. he just wants the best for the both of you. the pain of a father and a husband. 

you’ve seen him cry, only one other time when his father passed away. the grief, hatred, and acceptance encased all into one as you held him in your arms by the fireplace on the living room floor, funeral clothing on you both, letting him take the time he needed. wiping his face, you kiss all over it, rubbing his broad back before giving him a warm embrace. 

“it’s g’na be okay, sweetie,” a hand smooths down the back of his head, cringing at the greasiness of his scalp. “you need a wash day.” 

both of you laugh in unison, eren sniffling and releasing a guttural ‘ugh’ as he clears himself up. “sorry, papa hasn’t been givin’ sexy, blue collar country boy lately.” 

“shush, boy,” you giggle, sitting fully into your seat. you stroke his face, staring intensely into his moss and smoky toned eyes. his lashes are long, hair disheveled into a manbun with tendrils on either side of his bushy eyebrows. the faint line of hair he has directly above his lip always an attractive feature. “you’re always sexy, daddy. even on rough days.” 

“mm, i love you, baby. so much,” eren leans in to kiss the bridge of your nose before interlocking your lips, one hand on the wheel as he arches over the center console. 

your hand crinkles his white tee, whimpering into his touch when his other hand goes to touch your lower back side, arching you into him, moving your lips with his. “eren?”

“mm,” he groans, mouth getting rougher. “miss you so fuckin’ much. you been lookin’ so good lately, mama.” 

pouting, you pull yourself away. “don’t get me riled up, mister yeager. i can’t do what i w’na do to you.” 

eren sits back, chuckling as he scratches the small stubble he has on his chin with his thumb, grinning, smile lines deep and teeth bright and perfectly aligned outside of the pointy canines he possesses. 

“you right.” 

“mhm.” 

“all shit aside, pretty. your health is my biggest fuckin’ priority. when we get home, ima order some chinese and we can look more into that midwife bea talked about. huh? that sound good?” 

“sounds perfect,” you rub at your stomach with both hands, eren placing his hand there as well as he starts up the truck. “oh, don’t forget that head gettin’ washed. grease bandit.” 

“yeah, yeah.”

after a deep, foamy scalp cleanse infused with lavender, eren sits on the fluffy rug on your bedroom floor with a baby pink spa towel wrapped around his head as he types and scrolls on his dell laptop. next to him in a butterfly position, digging into your lo-mein with wooden chopsticks inside the traditional takeout box with a red pagoda imprinted on the front. matcha green jelly eyepatches covering your dark circles, eren wearing some as well. 

you’re dressed in a black polka dot camisole with lace trimmings and matching shorts that your body eats up and shrinks. the two of you stay up until one in the morning, taking notes and searching for reliable sources. eren found out that he could get you someone called a doula, who will provide you with medical guidance and emotional support during your final stages of pregnancy. booking a few consultations for midwives as well. indefinitely, you felt very optimistic about this. you’d even find yourselves making little image boards for your baby, whom you soon discovered a beautiful surprise from. 

you received the envelope a while back, but the two of you chose to wait for the right moment considering the events happening. hand in hand at the bakery a few days later, eren requested a gender reveal cake where he drove an hour out of town back where your father resided to find the willow tree the two of you got married under. laying out a picnic blanket, there showcased the plain oval cake reading ‘it’s a . .’ with half plain for eren and half supreme pizza for you. chocolate covered strawberries to feast on after, and cranberry juice since it was the closest taste you could get to wine. 

it wasn’t a big deal to you whether it was a girl or boy, you’d love them endlessly. it would be no greater feeling than to have any baby laying in either of your arms, or the perfect beige nursery you and eren decorated together. you’ll admit you got emotional as both of you held a glass, tears running ferociously down your face, preparing to scoop either side of the cake, awaiting the reveal. 

“oh my god, oh my god. i’m scared. this is scary.” 

“eight months of pregnancy, and this what you scared ‘bout?” eren lifts a brow, your mouth curving up as you pop his shoulder. “꒰♡꒱! c’mon. i w’na see, girl.” 

“okay, okay. whew, i’m sorry. i’m ready.” 

pushing your glasses into the cake with eyes shut tight, you slowly pop open one eye to see the color, gasping and bouncing in your spot at the pink inside, weeping and wrapping your arms around eren’s neck as he rocks you side to side in happiness. 

“it’s a girl, it’s a girl!”

screeching in his face as you plop back down, you see the tinge of sadness on his face, furrowing your brows as he blinks away his tears that were coming too fast for his liking. 

“sweetie, what’s wrong?”

eren sniffles, clenching his jaw and turning his head out of view. “i’m g’na need another gun.” 

sucking your teeth, you nudge his shoulder. “oh, boy!” 

burying his face in his hand and wiping his eyes, eren chortles. “i’m serious, two precious things to protect, oh my fuckin’ days i’m g’na have a heart attack. the fear. gimme sum water.” 

“erennn, stop! asshole,” the laugh coaxes out of you, seriously watching his features as you pick at the hem of your dress. you know he’s dead serious, but you want to make sure he’s happy about it. “is a girl not what you wanted?” 

eren almost malfunctions. “are you kidding? a baby is what i want. i could give a damn ‘bout the gender. fuck, she’s g’na look just like you. the prettiest face.” 

that makes you cry again, mushing your lips with his passionately and squealing excitedly. 

after your picnic, eren took you to speak to your mother at her gravesite, awakening her tombstone by adding daises and sunflowers. you update her on the past few months, apologizing for not speaking to her for a while since you’ve been occupied, and mentioning how much you adored eren who currently spoke to his mother at her stone. it was refreshing, a mental cleanse. 

inquiring a midwife and doula was the best decision for not only your pregnancy, but your marriage. strictly requesting a top holistic woman of color for obvious reasons, their methods made you more comfortable in your body, and even anticipated to push out your little bun. the past few weeks have really been a breeze, and you felt so much healthier, and light even though little girl kicked like a motherfucker and sat low as hell. 

with each consultation, eren sat by your side to observe every interaction, coming to an agreement after two interviews. whoever you felt the safest to handle you, he was up for it. luckily for you, the doula and midwife were associated under the same company. when they arrived for the first time, rose being the doula, and valeria being the midwife, observed your home and discussed plans on pursuing a home birth. 

due to uncertain circumstances, you felt more at peace having your baby in the home where her future will begin. unmedicated and with your husband and people you trusted. they ordered an inflatable tub for you since the moment they stepped into your bathroom and saw the clawfoot tub, immediately shook their heads in disapproval. they even made you get inside to prove why it’d be bad. there wouldn’t have been enough room for you to move when you had to. 

the days were flying by, due approximately in three weeks. today was a friday, which also happened to be valentine’s day. it was warm outside, usher’s new album confessions playing soundly from your silver jensen stereo. all of the windows in the home were open, letting in the breeze as you exhale deeply. currently, you were up to another session of stretches and workouts. 

“doing good, baby girl! make sure you keep your back straight. twirl those hips for me, we gotta target that girdle pain. work that pelvic area!” 

“i’m hungryy,” you manage to weep, hands leveraging your hips as you motion your lower halve in circles atop of the baby pink birth ball. 

“it’s ’cause your husband out there havin’ a whole cookout,” rose laughs, 

“he always cooks for all the women in the neighborhood on valentine’s day,” your cheek rests on your shoulder from adornment, watching him through the window that faces the backyard where smoke fills the air along with the thick smell of barbecue. 

eren’s wearing his favorite fitted black cap with a white embroidered nba logo placed on the nape, shifted backwards on his head, chestnut hair leveled to his jaw in wavy ringlets after giving him a cut. a plain white t-shirt, and dark 501 levi jeans that fit his thighs almost snugly, still giving him enough room to appear loose. the watch you’d gotten him for your fifth anniversary on his dominant wrist as he brushed the ribs with his special sauce while his other hand, paired with a slim silver cuban link, sipped on a budweiser. 

it didn’t help that you were practically riding this ball right now while you look at him as he does nothing but grill, drink, and stare at the lake while occasionally checking on you through the window. or, perhaps, the huge belly in your way. zoning out and daydreaming the most disgusting things briefly before you knock yourself out of it, forgetting you have company. he looked irresistible. it’s been driving you off edge for a long time, forgetting the last time you’ve had sex. it had to have been about three months, take away last month when he ate you out on the recliner. 

it was so annoying how raging your hormones were ever since you got pregnant. might you add, four months after the ‘i w’na have a baby’ conversation. you were almost sure you’d have sex every time he came home from work. it wasn’t intentional, although you did hold back on your birth control, and condoms weren’t neither of your things. finding out was just a non-panicked ‘uh oh’ when you showed him the test as he sat on the toilet handling business and you brushed your teeth while staring at it the entire time. eren was ecstatic overall. 

you wanted him so bad, missed him so bad. he’s been so respectful of your healing process that it makes you hornier at the thought. also, he makes fun of you for being his ‘stalker’ as if you haven’t been married forever, constantly watching him every day. you’ll be reading a book, watching tv, or cooking something you’re craving and there he is mowing the lawn, feeding the chickens, cleaning his truck, on the grill — too many things he does turns you on naturally. 

“ ꒰♡꒱?” 

“wha—huh?” 

“up, chile. we’re g’na do these last stretches so we can have you rest for the day,” valeria chirps, gently clapping her hands together and holding out her palms to help you stand. 

“oh, okay!” 

“you alright?” rose checks in, ordering a few things you needed for the upcoming labor visit. she noticed you checked out for a while. 

clearing your throat, you nod like a bobble head, curving your lips in tight doing an awkward smile. “yeah! i just . . have an . . inappropriate question.” 

valeria stands behind you as she lowers you to sit on the yoga mat by your underarms. “i doubt it can be inappropriate. we are nurses, heard everything under the sun. okay. . . starting with happy baby!” 

groaning, you steady your breath before raising your legs, making sure they were spread far apart and lowering your knees to your side. being thirty-four weeks and thirty-six centimeters had you feeling like a whale. at least you were a cute whale. you also had an endearing fascination with your belly, often spending time with your daughter by massaging shea butter delicately over her home or having full conversations. it was your soft moments of bonding. so, she was well moisturized all the time, rarely any stretch-marks.  

you were fond of your overall growth to be honest. your appearance didn’t change much other than the obvious. your feet were a little chubbier, and your boobs only grew one bra size. skin care was a priority since you were paranoid of a bunch of insecurities, so you glowed and got hundreds of compliments. eren surely had an infatuation with you being pregnant. if the man couldn’t keep his hands off you before, it certainly became an addiction now. 

“okay, this is a bit personal. but, me and eren haven’t had sex in like three months. he’s done . . things, even helped me wax her. so i don’t think i’m insecure about how she looks per-say. i was just wondering if it’d be safe to do in the third trimester. my hormones make me feel horny, but i’m kinda scared.” 

rose and valeria manage to cackle in unison, a pout on your lips as you raise to do your deep side to side squats, valeria making sure to stay close by for balance. “seriously y’all, i w’na have sex. y’know how much okra water he’s been having me drink? she’s slippery!” 

“my god,” rose shakes her head. 

“well, the answer is yes, you can certainly have sex. it’s perfectly healthy. just remember to take it slow since you are due in three weeks. little angel could fly out any minute.” 

“fly?!” you shrieked. 

“jokesss, oh my goodness. don’t scare her, valeria. this is her first baby!” 

“sorry, sorry! sex is good! nothing bad will happen. so, have plenty of it. well, not too much though, just enough. you see where these poses got you in the first place,” valeria says, laughing as you groan knowingly. “move into the child pose and we’re all done!” 

lowering yourself down to your knees, you get into a doggy position and stretch your arms straight ahead of you, stomach hanging. “i was just thinking ‘bout how much i missed him, and we haven’t fully connected like that in a while. i hold it very spiritually in my mind. i think it will be good for both of us, especially before lil’ mamas gets here.” 

“it is valentine’s day. let’s hope he gives you a good ass time. he’s showing off right now, and he’s been staring at your ass.”

that makes you laugh hard, really hard. though instantly after, you feel a sharp pain stab at the side of your hip, wincing and hissing out loud, dropping your head and whimpering from the ache. both women rush by your side quicker than you could blink. 

“꒰♡꒱, what is it?” rose asks, crouching to be eye level. 

“it’s just that stupid random pinch i get, probably just pulled it a little,” scrunching your face up, you sit on the balls of your feet as your midwife observes. applying pressure to the spot your holding. “she’s a heavy girl.” 

“alright, honey. let’s finish for today. you’re probably overexerting yourself. i’m g’na heat up some essential oils and give you a massage before we wrap up, okay darlin’?” 

smiling graciously, you nod. “thank you both. a massage would be lovely.” 

“who’s givin’ my wife a massage?” 

suddenly, your husband walks in, holding up a tinfoil pan of ribs, chicken wings, and burgers. shirt riding up showcasing his dark happy trail, devilishly sharp v-line and the navy blue boxers tight on his skin. he’s watching you the whole time, noticing your upturned face and removing the toothpick from his molars. “mama, what’s wrong?” 

“i’m okay, sweetie. i just have some tension in my hip. she might’ve been moving as i was.” 

eren approaches you in three long strides, the carabiner with numerous keys among other trinkets hooked to his belt loop hitting against his thigh, soon crouching before you to hold out his hands he’s wiped clean. 

“c’mon, lemme help you up. you sure you good?” 

“mhm,” he’s lifting you as if you’re still the lightest thing in the world, staring at his body, sniffing his nautica cologne discreetly as he turns to look towards the other women. 

“what‘s goin’ on?” 

“i’m g’na give her a deep tissue massage before we wrap it up for the day. she’s doing good, just might’ve hurt herself while laughing and stretching.” 

“laughing ‘bout what? y’all talkin’ ‘bout me?” eren’s bushy brow arches, slanted eyes finding yours again. 

“oop,” rose purses her lips, turning her head. 

blushing from his amused tone, you answer, “just girl stuff. it made me laugh.” 

“baby, you gotta be careful.” 

“i am,” you huff irritably, rolling your eyes. he stares, your mood flipping within two seconds. 

“i think one more stretch could help before that. eren, would you mind helping her out?” rose asks. 

“sure thing,” he’s pulling you in by your waist. “doin’ the tummy lift?” 

“yes sir. just be super gentle as usual. while you hold the baby up, i’ll put some pressure on her hip.”

eren listens to their instructions, standing behind you and pressing your back to his chest. both of his calloused palms lay on either side of your tummy underneath, keeping his focus on your face to stay alert of any discomfort. he practices the breathing exercises he was taught with you, delicately lifting your stomach to give relief to your pelvis. 

“mmm,” moaning peacefully, your eyes falter shut as you rest your head back on eren’s chest. he kisses your forehead, valeria crouching underneath, sliding your periwinkle yoga pants down your waist just enough to lather and knead the oil into your flesh. 

“is that lavender?” 

“yup! lemongrass and chamomile, too.” 

“it’s soo good,” you whined, her technique making you want to drool. 

“it’ll help with the pain a lot. i’ll make sure to leave some here, eren. you can do this a few more times for her until it’s gone.” 

“anything she needs.” 

“he’s so sweet and cute, i love him,” you smile widely, reaching up to cup his jaw, eren humming and mushing his cheek to yours. 

“the sweetest,” rose agrees. “are you passing out platters to the whole neighborhood, eren?” 

“yeah, i usually give it to all the ladies who ꒰♡꒱ is close to, or buy her goodies. i’m g’na make y'all a plate to go. ꒰♡꒱ made some candied yams, and i did the potato salad.” 

“it better not be no raisins in that salad,” valeria squints her eyes playfully up at him. opening your eyes, you get what she was hinting at, trying not to burst out laughing. 

“nah,” eren chuckles, understanding as well. 

“it’s my ma’s recipe. promise, it’s real good.” 

“it is, i promise,” you vouch. 

“i trust your judgment then.”

a couple of hours had passed until the sun died down. this was your favorite time of the day to unwind. a vinyl on spin, room 112 to be exact. candles lit, the low muffle of the television streaming sex and the city, and the softness of your cloud duvet. as you sip on your cranberry juice poured into a wine glass, cheating your brain into thinking it’s red wine — you rest up against the ten’s of pillows decorated along the headboard to support you. the air conditioning kept the room icy cold like you adored, your hair was tossed up into a messy bun, and a silk pearl robe adorned your skin. 

hearing the sound of the shower stop as you write in your journal, you twinkle your toes and gaze up at the ceiling where fifty, yes fifty, heart shaped red and pink balloons floated. just this morning, eren woke you up with the prettiest surprise of breakfast in bed, a pregnant friendly mimosa, strawberries that were cut into hearts, and fluffy belgian waffles with turkey bacon. the room was filled with light, roses spread along the entire bedroom and bedding alongside a giant blooming bouquet of red roses and calla lilies. 

the strings sway around the room still from the air conditioner, smiling sweetly as you daydream of the morning, stuffing your face with the breakfast he made and watching him open the walk-in closet to show you the new vintage vanity he’d built for you. the way he showed his love for you could move mountains. 

closing your journal, you can’t help but pout as you feel yourself beginning to tear up. you couldn’t stand when all of your emotions would hit you at once. thinking of your baby, your marriage, how difficult this pregnancy started off, and even how much you wished your mother were here to witness and guide you through it all. 

“fuckin’ hell,” you set your book on the nightstand where the floral beige lamp illuminated the entire room with light. 

whimpering and wiping your face, the small sound causes your husband to whoosh his head out of the bathroom door in fear, toothpaste covering his lips as he stops brushing his teeth, towel draped around his waist and hair sleek down his structure. 

“unh uh, what’s wrong, baby?” quickly, he rinses his mouth before coming toward you, your lips curving inward as he leans over your frame with his fists on either side of you. 

all you can do is stare down at his towel lewdly showing the imprint of his dick sitting on his thigh. 

“huh? talk to me.”

“i’m okay. i’m just thinking about a lot.” 

“don’t short yourself. y’know i don’t like that shit,” his jaw clenched, waiting for a real answer.  

sighing, you sniffle and sit yourself up higher. eren reaches for your feet to rub on, smoothing his hands up and down your calves. the touch makes you swallow, trying to calm yourself down. he smelt really good, always did but he bought a new body wash that held bergamot undertones. hair appearing darker since it was still somewhat damp. arms full of veins leading to his big hands that grope you. biceps hard at touch. he watches you like a hawk, and to this day eye contact with him makes you anxious. 

“um, i just wanted to tell you that i love you. i was expressing myself in my journal about a few things i felt like i needed to say to you.”

“mhm, go on, baby.” 

splaying your hands over your belly, your face sets into happiness. “jus’ w’na say i know this hasn’t been the easiest time for either of us, and i wanted to let you know that i put your emotions on the same level as mine. seeing me like that couldn’t have been easy. it weighs heavy on me to this day. i am happy, however, that we found two special women that have made this such a beautiful ending no matter how it started.” 

“they’re amazing women, definitely. i’m immensely grateful for them. havin’ you smile again was such a blessing,” eren takes your hand to smooth his thumb over, kissing the back of it. 

of course, you’re crying again. “i want you to know that i’ve always, always cherished this baby. i hated those thoughts that doubted me becoming a mother. it haunted me on nights i couldn’t sleep. i . . i l-love our baby, eren. i swear. i love her.” 

eren’s heart clenches as you sob, sitting closer to you so he could wrap his arm under your thighs, holding your legs to his hip and leveling his face with yours while still giving you enough space. 

“hey, hey, i know that, baby. i never doubted that. you couldn’t control what was happening to you. thoughts like that are normal. this is a big step for you, this is your first baby. everything that you’ve experienced has been normal. rose and valeria even said that those doctors were fuckin’ liars and managed what they couldn’t. it’s so much better now. you’re so much better. i know you love her, and she loves you too.” 

nodding, you squeeze your eyes tight, tears pouring down your sweet face. “thank you. i love you so much. i’ve loved every moment of our marriage. i appreciate that we’ve been there for each other for a lot of shit. you make me so happy.” 

“and it will continue to be that way. i love you so fuckin’ much, ꒰♡꒱. you make me the happiest man alive. i love our daughter, i cannot wait to see her, and hold her.”

“i know right,” you giggle softly, swiping the back of your hands under your eyes. “she’s g’na be so tiny and smell like baby lotion. i’m sticking with the speculation that she has your eyes.” 

“my eyes and your precious face,” he pinches your cheek between two knuckles. “i’ll admit i am scared of being a father. not sure how i’ll be in exact, i’ll try my hardest of course. it’s when she gets older that i worry about. but, i know i’ll be a damn good one. though, only the child can judge whether or not that’s true.” 

“i think you’ll be a great father, she’ll love you. as for when she’s older, luckily we’ll have plenty of time until that begins. i just wish our mom’s could see her,” you frown, the distant pain not so distant in meaningful moments. 

eren weakly curves up his lip, the look in his eyes mimicking yours; heartbreak. “yeah, i wish they were. good thing is she’ll have her grandfather.” 

the thought of your father makes you warm, your relationship with him so much better than it was before. even eren gets along with him. 

“he’ll drive her crazy, that’s for sure.” 

“i see it now,” eren groans. 

“also,” you start, keeping his attention. “i feel like this would be a good time to talk about how i’m never doing this shit again,” the stare on your face is dead serious, scanning his features to find anything negative. “i mean fucking never.” 

eren snorts, shaking his head as he chuckles, patting your bare thigh. “baby, i knew that. i’m genuinely okay with one child.” 

“you will get a vasectomy,” you speak sternly, squinting. 

“i heard you. i’m with whatever my wife wants.” 

beaming, you let out a thankful squeak. “yup, thank you papa. you’re so understanding, and so sexyy.” 

leaning in to kiss him, you eye the way he dangerously stares at you, licking his lips after and pulling himself back to dig his fists into the bed and spread his thighs wide, knocking his head backwards and scoffing. 

“anything else you w’na talk about?” 

it dwells on you that you haven’t had that talk in a while, mentioning it earlier to chat about it and see how you felt mentally and physically. eren surveys your mind, how quiet you get as you chew at your bottom lip and study the bumpy path of his abs, thin pubic hair leading down to the towel hiding what you really wanted to talk about if being technical. 

olive irises swirling with stormy gray dilating as they scan the silky robe draped around your naked frame. because your legs are sitting halfway up, he lowers his eyes to catch your pussy playing peek-a-boo, tightening your thighs while he clenches his. 

“what you w’na do, mama. i can see it in your face,” eren rasps, just waiting for you to say it. he’s hard as fuck right now. can’t help it. 

you look radiant, skin well moisturized, lips soft and eyes low. coils of hair flowing around the structure of your face. you smell even better, in fact, he wanted to smell you right now, every where.  

lifting himself up, he scoots closer once again, your body instinctively arching into him the moment his hands glide down the top of your thighs, mingling breaths momentarily before his mouth comes to your neck which prompts your legs to spread apart. sucking on the flesh and indenting his fingers into your plush thighs. 

“eren,” whimpering, you bring your hands to hold his face, face scrunching up with pleasure as he trails his mouth on either side of your neck, leaving tender bites and heavy licks of his tongue. 

“thought you forgot how to speak?” grunting, his mouth falls down to the valley of your breasts, untying your robe and pushing it off your shoulders. 

“mm, taste me.” 

with desperation, eren runs his tongue between your breastbone, leaving kisses here and there, drawing the side of your tits into his mouth until he reaches one of your nipples. you’re laying back into the pillows, letting him slot himself in between your legs and moaning as you tug on his hair and he guzzles your nipple into his mouth. he’s delicate at first, aware of how sensitive they were to touch.

“fuuck,” eren hisses, slamming his hand on the side of your ass, feeling himself sink into the depths of his attraction for you. how much he’s been needing to fuck you. 

twirling his tongue around your areola repeatedly, he heaves over your flesh and tweaks at them with the pads of his fingers, your whines the sexiest thing he’s ever heard. eren could hear the neediness in your voice. the churn of your expressions heated yanks at his scalp making you equally grind your hips, the material of the towel drawing precum from the head. 

he’s pulling at your chest with his lips, occasionally nipping the hard buds with teeth, and it makes you blush. what comes next is unexpected. when eren unlinks his mouth, he stares down at your chest to see that you’ve lactated, feeling his face go red at the sight and his dick jump without his control. 

“ooo, shit, baby. look,” his brows connect from the arousal he feels, cupping either of your breast and pressing them together, the dribble of white pooling down to his knuckles from them both. it’s a small droplet, but it makes him wanna suck it up so bad. 

“oh my god, no!” gasping, you go to cover them in bewilderment, only to have him stop you almost aggressively. 

“don’t you fuckin’ dare,” he clenches his jaw, stopping you from the stringent tone of his voice. 

“eren.” 

“hold still, i won’t say it again.” 

soon, his thick tongue is sticking out to do exactly what he planned, to suck you up. moaning from the intense stare he gives your chest, he’s lapping it up hungrily, like he’s been craving it. did he just discover a new kink he had? for sure. and maybe you had it too because he looked so fucking good slurping you up, applying pressure with his lips to potentially draw out more he could swallow. the warm liquid pours onto his tongue little by little.  

“ugh, fuck,” eren goes to smack the side of your tit reflexively hard, grunting. 

“a-ah, baby,” the palms of your hands shove at his shoulders and he pulls away without a fight. 

“it’s sweet,” eren smirks, showing you his tongue before licking his lips and grinning at the shock on your face. “too freaky?” 

“n-no,” you bury your face into your forearm. “i’ve just . . i dunno. i’m just sensitive.” 

“they sensitive?” he taunts, moving his face to your neck again, peppering kisses and slamming his hand on your ass again. your lower body shifts, clamping your thighs together to squeeze and relieve the throbbing. 

“yes,” you respond, reaching for his towel to pull off, making a noise as you stare at his dick standing heavy and angry. needing you in the worst way. 

“show me all the places you're sensitive.”

this is a game you loved to play, the excitement brewing in your chest. 

“right here,” you motion to your hips by dancing your fingers delicately over them, eren already guessing you were going to say that. you loved having your hips kissed and licked at, it made you so wet. 

discarding his towel and your robe off the bed, eren situated himself fully on the mattress, grabbing you by your ankles to pull you down so you're on your back, making sure your head is leveraged on the pillow. his hair covers his face when he lowers himself to your aching hips you raise up with caution, trying not to smack him in the face with your stomach. eren’s mouth starts at the area under your breast, sloppily mouthing and licking until he finds his way to your twitching hips, shuddering loudly when he goes to bite there, a guttural noise emerging from his throat before he’s using the thickness of his tongue to drag at your hips and inner thighs. 

“yess, baby. ooo, keep going, please,” your mouth falls open, vision blurring and skin prickling with heat. every touch he gives you sets you ablaze, not realizing you’ve been waiting to feel this for so long. 

eren moves his mouth to the other side of your waist to repeat his actions, rushing his tongue over the mound of your pussy before he got there. the simple crusade makes you whine, bucking your hips. his fingers part your legs further apart, almost putting you back into that happy baby position you were in earlier. he takes the pads of four fingers and rubs at your clit in the slowest motions, palm on your hot mound, sinking your teeth into your lip and drenching his fingers with your slickness. 

“i can’t, i need that pussy in my mouth,” eren’s grunting, hiking himself up so he can help you sit on your knees. 

mindlessly, you let him pick you up, gawking at him as your arms clutch around his neck while he moves some pillows around to make you comfortable, literally clinging to him like a koala. 

“stretch forward.” 

blinking within a daze, he spreads you on top of the pillows, opening your knees so you’re bent over and arching yourself downwards, stretching your arms in front of yourself, belly cushioned in. 

“fuckin’ god, baby. look at you,” his throat is burning, ready to say everything under the sun about you. 

the prettiest fucking thing to ever bless his life. your skin looked incredibly smooth, ass up in the air and belly hanging low, painted toes curling anxiously from being seen. those adorable lines etched into your skin under the curve of your ass, and your pussy, bubblegum inside, labia spread open like a butterfly's wings, opening clenching for invitation. shiny with your cum begging to be slurped up. he wanted it so bad his fingers were thrumming to grab you up. 

hugging a pillow to your face, you shut your eyes nervously, swaying your ass side to side like a cat because the silence was killing you. if he looked too long he could point out an insecurity. he had to act quick. 

“put it in your mouth, eren.” 

“i fuckin’ will,” he says with certainty, stroking his hands over the globes of your ass, cuffing his thumbs under the curve of it where it sits on your thighs to spread you open a little more, shaking your flesh and watching your entrance open wider. “fuck, so damn pretty. missed her. she need me? huh?” 

when he spanks you again, you whimper feebly, grinding yourself back into his grasp. “missed you, daddy. need you.”

he’s bringing four of his fingers to rub circles on your clit again, an audible ‘shlick shlick’ noise bouncing off the walls from your drenched pussy, eren bending his head to kiss your tailbone, leading his mouth all around you once more. bright teeth resting on your flesh until his tongue and lips follow suit, guiding his face to finally drag his tongue from your clit to your puckering, forbidden star. he never misses a spot, meant it whenever he ate you out that he ate everywhere. the saliva trickling from the toughness of his tongue on your hole which glides down to your folds. 

while switching his arm to still rub at your clit, he rushes his heavy tongue along your folds, rocking his head with your ass you move in want, fisting the sheets and dropping your mouth open. “baby . . ooh, god. daddy, want your tongue in me. pleaseplease.” 

“unh huh,” he grunts against you, spanking you hard before manuvering his tongue to sink into your pussy, wriggling it to your liking and yanking you back on his face to fuck you on it. 

“ungh, y-yess. s-show me how much you love me, daddy,” you moan weakly, voice cracking the further his tongue goes. 

“mm-hmm,” with every dip of your ass he follows by stuffing his tongue into you, rubbing his hand up and back towards your stomach until you’re creaming on his hand and in his mouth. 

going to reach behind yourself, your fingers tangle into the tresses of his hair to guide properly, throwing your ass back on his face. with every thrash of the heavy anatomy, his hand is iterating harsh hits to your skin. positioning your arms in a plank position, you dip your hips while eren grips there to help you move, a few fingers sprawled over your belly. his lips enclosed on the rest of you with every passing thrust. that familiar warmth begins to swim in your lower stomach, knowing you were going to cum. too quickly. 

“noo,” you cry out, tears brimming your eyes. “cummin’ too . . fast.” 

eren pulls his face away, sloppy kissing at your inner thighs. “s’okay, baby. cum in my mouth. i’ll get you to cum again.” 

there’s frustrated tears pouring from you, sniffling and shaking your head in denial. you felt extremely vulnerable, eren immediately tending to you by massaging your lower back and hovering his body over you. “what is it?” 

“i w’na cum with you inside me, please. i just need it that way.” 

eren understood without further explanation. frankly, he never needed you to explain yourself when it came to your pleasure. expressing it was all he wanted. you craved for that moment of connection and intimacy. it was the only way you had to have it right now. you’d edge yourself if it meant you could have that. 

“anything you want, baby,” licking his lips, he wiped his mouth with his hand before spreading it over your pussy to collect your juices and covering his dick with it. “jus’ one more thing. do it for me.” 

eren could almost hear your gulp, his thumb sinking downwards into your pussy while his fingers strum your clit, eren’s face straining from the ring of cream coating his knuckle. dips it in and out a few more times before pressing the pad of it to your anus. “it’s been a min’, so breathe.” 

sloshing the head of his dick against your folds, he pushes past that tight ring with his thumb the moment you steady your breath at the same speed he sinks his dick into you. you’re pulsating on both ends, gasping and moaning from the delicious stretch. 

“s’good, sweetheart?” eren checks in, halting his movements to wait for your say-so. 

while taking a minute, releasing a shaky breath, eren raises himself behind you in a crouching position, balancing on his feet and grabbing the headboard, balls smushed to your clit like a comforting blanket. exhaling, you answer with a soft ‘uh huh, good’ to make him feel at ease. eren’s dick twitches inside of you, halfway in but allowing you to adjust.

“fuck, ꒰♡꒱, lemme stretch you open. need you t’ take it allll in, baby,” he’s persuading you through gritted teeth, eyes scrolling white, trying to control how badly he wanted to drill into your shit right now. 

“mmgh, it’s too tight,” you whimper, toes curling. 

eren scoffs amusingly. “yeah, i feel that shit. relax yourself, baby. you’re clenching up.” 

he runs by the fact that you’re probably not fully broken down, too in your head for a reason he’s unsure about. eren is careful when he takes his hand off the headboard, bringing it to take the back of your neck into his possession. he’s maintaining his balance, lowering his gorgeous face into yours that has your cheek squished into your forearm, the other digging its fingers into the pillow under your stomach. 

“don’t feel pretty or sum, baby? is that what it is? you in your head?” eren skids his pink, plush lips over yours, kneading your neck gently and interlocking your mouth with his. 

as much as you hated to admit it, he was right. you wanna hide your face, shield it from him and not have to admit that. didn���t want him to make you say it because it felt bothersome. you never had a problem with how you looked, you admired your body shape, even adored your pregnancy belly. it was hard for yourself to grasp what was wrong. it wasn’t him, it wasn’t you, then what was it? 

“need me to make you feel pretty?” eren’s jaw tightens, gently biting at your neck to get a reaction out of you, anything to keep you from thinking. 

your cunt pulsates the instant he rushes his tongue along your neck to the back of your ear, expressions easing into elation, nibbling at your lip and swirling your eyes back as he grumbles into your skin. leisurely, he pushes in and retracts back, the french kisses allowing you to relax and take all of him to the hilt. 

one of your legs vibrates from the fullness, stifling a gasp and clasping your hand around your own throat to restrict your airways, eren laying his over yours to amplify the constraint. 

“good girl, baby. good fuckin’ girl,” his voice in your ear makes you shudder, whining into his face as he angles his hips back to slip out just a bit before plunging back inside, that ring of white coating the base of his dick. “yes, take it. . ugnh.” 

eren is careful about it, grinding his hips forward to mold the shape of his dick inside of you, making you remember, the back of your thighs clapping with his incredulously. the warmth of your pussy engulfs him, eren puffing out air strenuously, sinking his thumb further into you so he could get a good hook, sprawling his finger over your backside and yanking you back on his dick while giving you steady pounds, cunt squelching over it. 

“ooh, love it. love it, love it. fuck,” the hiccups and whines are his favorite parts when you submerge into ecstasy. wailing from every thrust he gives you, eren removing his hand to set it back where it was originally on the headboard, doing his best to keep most of his weight off you. 

“what you love, baby?” eren grits, fucking you a tad bit harder so he’s nudging on that sweet spot of yours, a high pitched squeal falling from you. 

“mmgh . . a-ah,” the rupture of your tiny voice ensues, each pound harder than the last, absorbing it all. “ . . ungh, shittt.” 

“you fuckin’ hear me, ꒰♡꒱. tell me what you love.” 

the messiness of your pussy trickles down your inner thighs, coming out like water. every wet splat! resounding the area and it drives eren nuts. you’re slippery as fuck, he’s drowning in it, and he can’t help but whimper from how good you fucking feel, unable to help himself by fucking into you harder. the squeaks and gasps come out of you more, body shaking abnormally as he digs his dick into you, making you take every filthy inch. 

“daddy youuu, fuck — it’s you. i love your dick.” 

“yeahh, it loves you too, mama,” every sound that comes from him is carnal, prolonging guttural grunts and pistoning his defined pelvis against your ass that thunders back on him. 

eren goes to rest his forehead against the headboard, sliding his hands to hold either side of your belly before he begins to drill his dick harder, balls slapping at your sticky clit. lifting your head, you lay it back on his abdomen, sloping your mouth along with his as the two of you silently listen in, unable to breathe. the derisive squelch from you glazing over his dick and messing up the sheets, some of it trickling down your stomach. 

“ . . awe, shhit . . aunh, aunh! fuck yes—m’goddd, f-fuck, eren. right there, right there!”  it comes out in the whiniest pitch he’s ever heard, surpassing a few octaves, kicking your feet and scrolling your eyes back as you slap and fist at the bedding.

“uh, uh,” his noises mimic yours, smushing his nose up against the headboard creating a pot of condensation, lips grazing it as he slows his movements, too close to cumming, grinding and spanking you.  “fuuck, she’s grippin’ me so goddamn good. g’na make me tap out already.” 

a dry heave submerses, pawing at the sheets in a haze to military crawl forward and relieve yourself for a mini break. “mmm, w’na lay down. gotta breathe.” 

eren removes every part of himself from you, your cackles like a tender hug on his heart. swatting your ass again, he bends down to give the spot he hit a kiss before lying beside you, bringing your back to his chest. 

with your thighs pressed together, eren wraps his forearm behind your neck to bring your mouth to his, the other smoothing over your overgrown belly up to your breast, molding them in his palms while passionately gliding his tongue over yours in a nasty kiss. 

both of your eyes were closed, eren’s dick sitting on your back, the fixation he has with touching you only makes you absurdly wetter. 

“put it back in,” you mumble against his lips, shifting your ass back, eren’s eyes low and locked on to you as he guides his dick down to your opening and slides back in with little to no hassle. 

“i love you,” eren says softly, kissing behind your ear and on your collarbone, cupping your left tit to suck back into his mouth. 

you cry, again. it seems to be never ending the amount of emotions you felt in this moment. “i love you.” 

hooking his forearm under your neck, eren’s ample hand spreads your ass cheek apart as he thrusts harder. his grunts by your ear, even an occasional nibble, the compression of your thighs together as you arch your back all feels too good, enough to make you cum actually. in fear, you whine his name, eren trying his hardest to keep his focus, also close to his climax. 

“i feel it, ‘ren. cum with me, cum in me please. i want it so bad. i need it.” 

eren moans, whistling as he blew out air, laying you flat on your back so he could lift your left leg up to your chest, locking his forearm under the bend of it while removing the arm he had underneath your neck to hook under your belly, fingers touching the thigh he held up and beating his dick rougher into you. your head falls back, watching him as he watches you, tossing his head back and giving you all of him. 

“f-fuck, baby. cum on it right now, please. be a good girl. know you got it,” his voice is shattering, balls thwacking on your clit, the head of his dick squishing deep on that spot that makes you gush out and coat his dick in your juices from every stroke. 

“cu—mmin’, oooh, fuck yes. eren!” 

sobs break out in waves, adoring the feeling of his cum streaking your inner walls as you cum as one. it’s emotional for you, crying in his face as he kisses you and swallows all the air from you. thanking him in whispers while eren rubs all over your body, unable to break apart from you. clutching your neck and deepening the kiss, his waist jumping as he gasps and shares this moment with you. 

a week later you find yourself going into labor. 

the entire process was unhurried, and extremely beautiful. eren held you the entire time, letting you dig your fingers into his arms and connecting your forehead with his, breathing you through it as rose rubbed your back. squatting into him comfortably as the warm water your body was submerged into along with the smell of herbs sprinkled around the floor and vanilla candles alleviated you. six contractions within an hour was how it started, your water breaking the moment you went to start your morning shower and yelling eren’s name in fright, staring at the water pooling around your feet. 

he never moved so fast in his life. lifting you up and bringing you downstairs where he sat you on the couch with a towel and instructed you to breathe as he dialed the doula and midwife. they rushed here within fifteen minutes, and in that process eren blew up the birthing tub and filled it up so he could get you in as soon as possible. remembering to remind you to melt into the contractions instead of tensing since it’ll make them worse. 

you told him you wanted to give birth while listening to destiny’s child, playing it on vinyl and humming along to the music currently. cater 2 u being your mental anthem. the room is dark, only candles lighting the area. eren makes sure to talk you through it, always good for that, ironically. speaking affirmations and praising you, until finally, your precious baby girl is born. with trembles and cries, rose and valeria gasp in excitement as your baby erupted in croaks and shrill cries, tears streaming down eren’s face as they place the baby on your chest so she could instantly hear your heartbeat. 

weighing at six pounds and four ounces, she’s the perfect, tiny baby. caressing her fragile body as you weep and lay your cheek atop her head. eren’s sitting back on his feet, stun overcoming him as he sees the small human, coming to realize that the two of you could create such a magnificent thing. rose makes sure to give him some water, his eyes unable to leave the two of you. making eye contact, you gawk in astonishment, holding her  miniature wrist between two of your fingers and waving at him. 

“that’s daddy, he’s speechless right now. i promise he’s cool, and funny. you’re g’na have lots of laughs,” you speak softly, smiling wide. 

he loves you, endlessly. 

© 𝒮𝒯𝟦𝑅𝐵𝒲𝑅𝑅𝒴! all rights reserved. please do not repost, steal, or modify my work simply because it is mine. stealing isn't cute. i'll ruin your life ♡

[losernb]

Valentine's Day Surprise

Sevika’s never experienced  this before. Valentine's Day is a Piltover holiday, there’s no time for stuff like this in Zaun. She never would’ve known about it if she didn’t decide to take you and the girls out for a fun day last week.

Valentine’s Day:

“Look over there!” Jinx points, drawing Isha’s attention to the giant sign. It’s bright pink, covered in a bunch of hearts, and it reads:

Valentine’s Day Sale- All the chocolate, flowers, and plushies a girl could ever want!

Isha’s face lights up with excitement as she reads it. Candy, flowers, and a new teddy bear?! I want them! She signs eagerly towards Jinx.. 

“You gotta ask Sevika, she’s the one with the money.” Jinx says with a laugh.

Without hesitation, Isha dashes over to where you and Sevika are talking, tugging insistently at Sevika’s sleeve. Sevika looks down at her, brow raised in confusion.

“What’s wrong kid?” Sevika asks, voice hinting with confusion. Isha points to the sign, causing both you and Sevika to turn and look at it. You laugh a little, knowing why she was drawing your attention to it. 

“Looks like we know what we’re buying today.” You laugh and pick Isha up, settling her down on your hip and kissing her cheek. She giggles and throws both arms up, letting out a victorious squeal. Sevika rolls her eyes and lets out a sigh, “Alright, c’mon girls let’s go see what this is about.”

The four of you walk into the store, taking in the assortment of flowers and the piles of plushies. Isha and Jinx are mesmerized. Before you can blink, Isha wriggles out of your arms, grabbing Jinx’s hand and dragging her toward the stuffed animals.

“The hell is ‘Valentine’s Day’ anyway?” Sevika asks you, never having heard of it before. You grew up in Zaun as well so you had no clue. 

“Maybe we can go ask?” You suggest, walking up to the first worker you see. It’s an older lady who smiles when she sees the two of you. “Hello, what can I do for you lovely ladies?” She asks, smiling warmly.

“Hi, I just wanted to ask what Valentine’s Day is, I saw it on the sign outside.” You reply, offering back a small smile. 

The woman lets out a small laugh, “Oh dear, you’ve never heard of Valentine’s Day? Are you new to Piltover?”

You nod. “Yeah, actually. We don’t really have fancy holidays in Zaun—just birthdays and anniversaries, mostly.”

Sevika shifts beside you, resting a hand on your back—a habit of hers whenever she senses something’s off. You glance at her, noticing the subtle furrow in her brow.

Then, the woman’s smile fades. Her expression stiffens, her warmth turning to something colder.

“Oh,” she says, voice suddenly clipped. “Well, it’s a day to celebrate loved ones.” The words feel forced, like an afterthought. “Excuse me, I need to go.” She turns abruptly, walking away without another word.

You turn back to Sevika and understand the look now, she caught the lady’s shift in attitude before you did. You kiss her cheek, as a reminder that everything’s okay. “Cmon Sevi, lets just get our girl and go.” Sevika nods, jaw tight, but says nothing.

You make your way over to Jinx and Isha, who are still enthralled by the plushies.

“Pick out anything you like yet?” You bend down to ask Isha. She’s holding a little brown bear and Jinx is holding a bunny. This one! She signs, putting down the bear to free up her hands.

“Excuse me.”

You turn to see a small man, his posture stiff, a name tag reading Manager pinned to his vest.

“Could you please leave?” His tone is polite, but his expression is anything but.

You don’t need to ask why. The woman from earlier must’ve told him where you’re from. Zaunites aren’t banned from Piltover stores, but some people—especially in places like this—act like they should be.

You sigh, standing up and gently gathering Isha into your arms.

What’s happening? Isha signs, confusion flickering across her face.

“We gotta go, kiddo,” Jinx says with a sigh, patting her back.

Isha deflates against your shoulder, small hands gripping your jacket. Her excitement, her joy—gone in an instant.

Sevika sees it, too. The hurt in Isha’s expression. The way Jinx looks away, lips pressed into a thin line. And something inside her snaps.

She steps forward, towering over the manager. “Yeah? And what exactly is the reason we need to leave?” Her voice is steady, but there’s a sharp edge to it.

The manager swallows, visibly intimidated. “I—I just think it would be best if—”

“Best for who?” Sevika cuts him off. “We were minding our own damn business.”

His gaze flickers between her and you, then to Isha in your arms, her little brown bear still clutched to her chest. He hesitates, but the damage is done.

Sevika clicks her tongue. “Tch. C’mon, let’s go,” she mutters, turning on her heel.

Jinx nudges Isha. “Keep the bear, kid. They owe you.”

Isha nods hesitantly, tightening her hold on it as the four of you leave.

Surprise Set up:

A week had passed since that incident, and Sevika had mostly put it out of her mind, believing it to be a thing of the past. Little did she know, while she was busy in Piltover handling her Councilor duties, you and the girls had been hard at work planning a little surprise.

While you baked the cake and prepared the dinner, Jinx was in charge of the decorations and Isha sat at the table, her tongue poking out in concentration as she scribbled on a card.

“Isha! The cake is done cooling, do you wanna help me decorate it?” You called out to her.

There was no verbal response—just the rapid pat-pat-pat of Isha’s little feet racing toward the kitchen. She crashed into your legs at full speed, nearly knocking you off balance.

“Whoa—!” You let out a startled yelp, catching yourself on the counter.

“Slow down, you little tornado. Almost made me drop the cake.” She just nods in understanding before grabbing the stool, the one that was exclusively hers since she was the shortest, and drags it over. 

You leave Isha to do her own little thing, knowing it’ll be messy but heartfelt. With her focused on the cake, you wandered into the living room to check on Jinx’s progress.

Your jaw nearly dropped.

Jinx had outdone herself—balloons, streamers, and paper hearts covered the room. Candles flickered on various surfaces, their soft glow giving the space a warm, golden hue.

“You seem to really enjoy this, huh?” You nudge Jinx’s shoulder. She chuckles, admitting, “Yeah, its fun to be asked to spice up a room instead of just vandalizing it.” You grinned and pulled her into a quick hug. “It looks amazing. She’s gonna love it.”

Jinx smirked but looked away, pretending not to care too much. “Yeah, yeah, I know.”

Once everything was set, you plated dinner and let the girls eat even though Sevika wasn’t home yet. You knew better than to wait—whenever she had meetings, she always came home late.

After dinner, you put on a movie, intending to wait up for her. But before it even reached the halfway mark, the three of you had melted into a sleepy pile on the couch—tangled together in a mess of limbs, warmth, and slow breathing.

Sevika’s Arrival:

The front door creaked open softly. Sevika stepped inside, moving quietly in case you and the girls were already asleep. Sometimes, she found you curled up on the couch, waiting for her with a book in hand.

That was what she’d been hoping for.

Instead, what she saw made her stop in her tracks.

Balloons. Candles. Paper hearts covering the walls.

She blinked, wondering if exhaustion was playing tricks on her. But no—it was real.

Slowly, she walked toward the dining table. A full meal sat waiting for her, along with a very wonky-looking cake and a single handmade card.

She already knew whose handiwork the cake was.

With a quiet chuckle, she picked up the card and opened it.

Inside was a drawing—your little makeshift family. Jinx and Isha in the middle, Sevika on the left, you on the right. It was messy, colorful, imperfect, and completely perfect.

At the top, in bold, sloppy handwriting, it read:

Happy Valintinez Day!

Sevika swallowed hard, her chest tightening. Her vision blurred slightly. She hadn’t expected this. Not after the way that stupid Piltover store had turned you all away like you were less. Not after she’d spent years thinking she wasn’t someone people would celebrate, let alone love.

A quiet sniffle escaped her. She tried to muffle it, rubbing at her eyes, but the sound must have woken you.

Blinking groggily, you lifted your head from the couch, scanning the room until your eyes landed on her.

Sevika stood frozen by the table, her back to you, shoulders trembling just slightly.

You nudged the girls off you gently before getting up and walking toward her.

“Hey,” you murmured, wrapping your arms around her from behind. “What’s wrong, love? Shitty meeting again?”

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she turned around, cupped your face in her hands, and kissed you—soft, slow, and deep.

When she pulled away, her forehead rested against yours. Her voice was barely above a whisper.

“Nothing’s wrong. It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

You smiled, brushing away the stray tears that clung to her lashes. “Oh, you big softie,” you teased, tugging her toward the couch. “C’mere.”

You shifted Jinx and Isha just enough to make space, then pulled Sevika down with you. Isha stirred slightly, snuggling into Sevika’s side while Jinx grumbled in her sleep before draping an arm over both of you.

Sevika sighed, her arms instinctively wrapping around the girls, keeping them close.

“I love you guys so much,” she whispered, like it was something sacred. Something she’d never dared say before.

You pressed a kiss to her cheek before resting your head on her shoulder, eyes fluttering shut.

“We love you too,” you murmured.

Sevika glanced down at the small, sleeping faces tucked against her, at the mess of decorations still scattered around the room. Her heart was full in a way she didn’t think possible.

She pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead before letting sleep take her, safe and warm in the only place she’d ever truly belonged.

A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed this T^T. I would've posted this earlier but I had to go to work lol

HAPPY VALENTINES DAY POOKS <3

[spideyjimin]

Bloodlines entwined: VI | jjk

⤷ having a baby alone was supposed to be easy. but an accidental twist of fate pulled you into a hidden world of werewolves, and ancient bloodlines. navigating your already complicated life becomes even harder as you uncover your past; one tied to a legacy you never knew existed. and in the middle of this chaos stands jungkook, the werewolf king… and the father of your child. 

—  pairing: werewolf!jungkook x female reader 

—  genre: strangers to lovers, parents-to-be au, royalty au, werewolves au, soulmates au, angst, fluff, and smut 

— rating: 18+ 

—  words: 11,321

—  warnings: mention of morning sickness, strong language, sexual tension, teasing, a lot of making out, dry sex, implied masturbation, swearing, mention of sex, mention of abortion, mention of death, mention of murder, oc is scared, nervousness, and some crying

—  author’s note: hiii angels ✨ it feels like it’s been ages since i haven’t updated this week when it’s only been a week 😅 Things are getting hot between jungkook and oc, and you finally get to know if Felix knew about the werewolf universe or not 👀 Hope you enjoy this chapter & let me know what you think 🫶🏼

Chapter VI: like supernatural

SERIES MASTERLIST | previous | next

You study your reflection in the mirror, trying to look for a pregnancy sign. There is barely a stomach appearing which you guess is normal. The insemination only happened nine weeks ago; it might be too soon to have a bump.

However, you’ve been having terrible morning sickness. It’s honestly horrible, and thankfully, it only happens in the morning. It wouldn’t have been easy if you had to leave the classroom to throw up.  

You put on the first grey shirt you find, and a pair of jeans. Since you’re going to grab some stuff at the grocery store, you don’t feel the need to put on your best outfit for that. Something very simple is quite enough.

Before leaving the apartment, you put on your headphones with music blasting in your ears. You also grab your coat with your purse and a bag for your groceries and then leave your apartment.

As you’re walking on the streets, a woman suddenly appears in front of you, a very pretty one. She’s wearing a fancy pink dress underneath a white coat. She exudes so much confidence and power. You’re very much caught off guard, especially since she looks you up and down with disdain. Who the hell is this woman?

One thing you’re sure, she’s a werewolf. She has a strong bestial scent; one different than Jungkook, but she has it. Outside your father’s child and Mister Song, she’s the first werewolf you’ve seen. Do they all have this strong aura?

“So you’re the one carrying Jungkook’s child?” she says, her voice barely above a whisper, and you remove your headphones to hear her.

“Sorry, what did you say?” you politely say, trying to make sure you hear it right. However, she totally dismisses your question. “Who are you?” you ask with evident confusion.

She ignores you again, her eyes focused on your body. She might definitely hear your child’s heartbeat or smell their scent.

“Are you a surrogate or his new toy?”

You’re almost offended by her question, and it definitely irritates you that she doesn’t even bother to introduce herself. What kind of person is she? And who the hell does she think she is?

“I asked you a question,” your tone is firm, and her eyes finally look up at you.

A smirk appears on her face as if she’s happy you talked like that to her. “Yuna,” she holds out her hand to you. “Jungkook’s future queen.”

You tilt your head and frown before you shake her hand. Jungkook never mentioned any girlfriend, and to be honest, it hurts a bit to find this out like this. Was he cheating on her when he kissed you and gave you pleasure? 

“Nice to meet you,” you play along.

She clearly doesn’t know who you are, and if he didn’t say anything about you to her, there must be a reason. He should be the one revealing your existence to her.

“How do you know I’m carrying his child?” you ask.

Now, you’re quite curious about that.

“Let’s just say that I know,” she says.

A little smile appears on your face as she carefully chooses her words. She definitely seems to ignore what you truly are and since she can’t reveal her world to a human, she remains vague. However, you don’t want to make it look like you know about the werewolves.

“Well, if you really knew, you’d know if I’m a surrogate or his new toy,” you use her words against her. “And if you’re his future queen as you said, this is something you’d definitely know.”

She’s taken aback by your words. She seems like she wasn’t expecting you to stand up against her. She doesn’t know what to say, and you look at her, expecting her to say something.

Jungkook appears out of the blue, his body standing tall next to you. His eyes quickly roam your face and body, making sure Yuna didn’t do anything to you. A smile appears on your face when you see him. For a brief moment, you let your eyes wander on this handsome man.

As you’re starting to notice, he’s most of the time wearing a suit, today not being an exemption. It’s a completely black outfit, even the classic shirt under his jacket. He pushes his hair back, clearly trying to rearrange it, and making you understand that he came under his wolf form.

“What are you doing here, Yuna?” his tone is rigid, his jaw clenched.

“Meeting the woman carrying your child and checking up on those rumors.”

You frown, not understanding what she’s making reference to.

“Now, I’m trying to understand if she’s a surrogate or…” Jungkook doesn’t let her finish her sentence.

“She’s my girlfriend if that’s what you want to know,” his tone is as sharp as a knife.

Your face turns to Jungkook while you try to remain composed. This is incredibly surprising, especially since you haven’t put into words what is going on between you. There’s only been a few kisses and his fingers in your pants three days ago. Based on that, you wouldn’t especially call him your boyfriend.

“Oh,” she says.

It’s clear as day that she’s hurt to find out about that. You don’t know this woman, but it’s written all over her face, and you kind of feel sorry for her.

“I didn’t know that,” she continues.

“Now, please leave her alone,” he says. “Leave us alone.”

You’ve never seen Jungkook speaking like that, and it sends shivers down your spine. He’s quite harsh, and it might come from the fact that he’s a king. However, you’re also convinced that this woman did something to him. This isn’t just about him as a king; it’s also personal.

When the woman disappears, you turn fully to Jungkook. For a moment, his eyes don’t leave Yuna, making sure she doesn’t come back. Then, once she’s out of sight, his eyes finally meet yours, and they instantly soften. He gives you a little smile.

“Who’s that woman?” you finally ask.

This man’s beauty is truly breathtaking. How can someone be this good-looking? You hope that your kid will inherit his beauty.

“Yuna,” he says. “My ex.”

Well, that would explain everything, and you kind of sense that she hasn’t moved on just yet. She might definitely still love him a lot. Or maybe she might love the crown he wears.

“She presented herself as your girlfriend,” you inform him.

“I’m not even surprised,” he rolls his eyes. “She has reappeared in my life as if she’s expecting me to welcome her back with open arms.”

Does it surprise you? No, because as a king, you expect him to have many women drooling over him, and trying to get his attention. On top of that, he’s extremely handsome. His beauty is mesmerizing, and you feel lucky to have the opportunity to see him this close regularly.

“But why did you tell her I’m your girlfriend?” you curiously ask.  

For a moment, he seems to hesitate, and his eyes look behind you. You also note the way his cheeks redden, which makes him look absolutely adorable.

“That’s the only way she’ll leave you alone,” he answers, his eyes finally meeting yours again.

“I hope so,” you say. “She’s impressive,” you admit.

A smile appears on his face at your words.

“Yep,” he says. “She’s from a powerful family too so she feels like the world is at her feet.”

“I’m only meeting important people from your world,” you smile at him. “I’m starting to think that I’m privileged.”  

A chuckle leaves his lips while he shakes his head.

“Technically, you’re more important and powerful than all her family combined,” he admits.

Your eyes widen with surprise. It seems impossible that you have some kind of privilege in this werewolf world. You’re a hybrid, a forbidden being.  

“How’s that possible?” you ask. “Nobody knows about me, and I’m…” you lower your voice. “You know what.”

Jungkook nods as he understands you’re referring to your hybrid nature.

“You’re the heir’s mother,” he answers.

“Oh,” you say. “Didn’t know it was a privilege too.”

“It is,” he tells you. “Everybody deeply respects the woman carrying the heir.”

It’s good to know. However, you’re pretty much confident that the privilege will disappear the second, people will find out about who you truly are.

“If you don’t mind, I need to do some grocery shopping,” you show him your little bag. “Want to join?” you ask.

His eyes quickly look around as if he’s making sure nobody sees him here.

“Yes, I’d like that,” he answers once his eyes are on you again. “I’ve actually never done that, so it’ll be a first time for me.”

“What?” you ask with surprise. “You never did this?”

This man won’t even stop surprising you, but it sort of warms your heart that he’ll experience it for the first time with you. You feel honored to introduce him to grocery shopping. It’s nothing glamorous, but it’s still so normal for you. The two of you start walking in the store’s direction.

“As you might have seen, I’ve many people working for me and they take care of that.”

You’re still impressed by how huge his mansion is, and how many people you saw working there.  

“It makes sense, but still,” you say. “It’s something so normal to do.”

“My normal is very different than yours,” his eyes quickly glance at you.

It’s for sure very different, but you thought that was something he would have at least done once in his life.

“Speaking of different,” you begin. “How did this ex of yours find me?”

Jungkook nervously bites his lower lip, hesitating to reveal the truth.

“The baby’s scent,” he answers.

Your eyebrows furrow because you don’t really understand. The baby doesn’t really have any particular scent, and on top of that, it’s mixed with yours.

“As a king and son of a king, I have a particular scent. It’s different than any other wolf,” he explains. “So all my kids will also have a particular one. She only had to follow that scent.”

Everything seems so peculiar with Jungkook—and with you too. But it’s strange to have been brought to this world by the king himself. It could have been anyone else, but you had to end up with him.

Once inside the store, it seems like Jungkook has entered a completely new world. He looks like a five-year-old who’s discovering something new, making him look extremely cute. He helps you gather what you need and even buys some stuff for himself. He’s so proud of himself, and it leaves you wondering what other ‘normal’ things he doesn’t do.

Jungkook accompanies you to your place to ensure his ex-girlfriend isn’t waiting at your door. This thoughtful gesture fills your heart with warmth. Inside your apartment, you invite him to stay a little while and offer him something to drink and eat to thank him.

The two of you are sitting at the table with a cup of coffee and a piece of apple cake. As you look at him innocently drinking and eating, you lose yourself in your own thoughts. Even if he’s powerful in his world, he can’t protect you from your truth. He can’t protect you from the fact that you’re afraid of everything. He can’t protect you from who you are.

There is so much more to unveil about yourself, your family, and your parents, and hurt and pain might come along. On top of that, you’re a hybrid, something so deeply forbidden. You shouldn’t exist, and you’re not even sure he will be able to protect you from how the others react. Because, in all honestly, you strongly believe that nobody will accept you. Nobody will even acknowledge your child as the next ruler.

In the middle of all this chaos, there is that tiny little life growing inside you. One that units you to Jungkook, and it will be a forever bond. No matter how your relationship might evolve, there will always be this baby, and all you hope is for you to remain on good terms.  

“Yn,” his voice in your head brings you back to the real world.

“Yes,” you say out loud.

“Are you okay?” he asks with concern.

You simply nod. Even though you want to share all your concerns with him, you’ve already discussed them with him more than enough times. You don’t want to bother him anymore.

“You’re sure?” his voice still echoes in your mind.

“I am,” you answer this time through your thoughts. “Just thinking about all the recent events.”

“We can talk about it if you need to,” he gently suggests.

“It’s okay,” you answer. “I just need time to process it all.”

Honestly, it’s been too much in such a short period of time. In nine weeks, you’ve been through a lot, and you definitely need time and space to digest it all. You’d also like to take your time with everything. You’re about to become a mother, and you’d like to focus a bit more on it.

“Soo,” you then say out loud. “Do you already have any name preference for the baby?”

For a brief moment, his eyes stare into yours to make sure you’re truly okay. He’s been quite concerned about you because of all the events. He hadn’t dealt with so many things in so long.

“I haven’t really thought about it, honestly,” he admits. “Although I’ve always desired to name my kid after my father if it’s a boy.”

You quickly disappear into the living room to pick up your phone before coming back. You open the notes app to write down the ideas you might both have.

“What’s your father’s name?” you ask.

“Taemoo,” he says, and you write it down.

“Oh, it’s a pretty name,” you offer him a smile. “For a boy, I already had the name Hwan in mind,” you tell him. “And for a girl, Arya.”

You add those two names to the list. Those were the names you had already chosen for your child before Jungkook came into the picture. It should have been one of those, but now, you can’t decide alone. This baby has a father.  

“Queen Arya,” Jungkook mumbles. “Sounds definitely compelling.”

The brightest smile appears on his handsome face.

“I really like it,” he says.

“And you didn’t have any girl’s name in mind?” you ask with curiosity.

“Well, with Yuna, we had talked about it, and there’s a name that I like,” he confesses. “But I’d never given that name to our girl, I don’t want to be reminded of my ex.”

It’s logical; exes are always better left in the past even if this Yuna seems to want Jungkook back. Thankfully, you don’t have an ex doing the same.

“And Hwan,” he begins. “That’s the name of one of my nephews, and honestly, I wouldn’t want two people to have the same name in my family.”

As he mentions his nephew, you realize that you barely know anything about his family while he already knows so much about yours.

“Then, I guess we’ll erase that one from the list,” you say.

It breaks your heart as it’s a name you really love, but you’re not alone anymore. The baby’s name has to be chosen with Jungkook.

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

“Don’t worry,” you smile at him. ���We have to decide together, and if you don’t want to, then I can’t force you to agree.”

“Thanks,” he whispers.

“And how many nephews do you have?”

Jungkook proceeds to talk about his close relatives. He has currently two nieces and a nephew, but a second nephew is on the way. The four of them are the children of his only sister, Dohee. She’s three years younger than him, and he definitely seems to love her with all his heart. He has also two brothers, Hyunjin and Mingi, two little monsters based on his description. Growing up, he was jealous of them because they never had to worry about this whole becoming a king thing.

His parents’ names are Taemoo and Jisoo, the two people he loves the most. It’s clear as day that he deeply loves his family, but his father’s death broke something in him, you can see it when he mentions his father. He had so much admiration for him, and he had to navigate this king role without him. He knew it from the start, but experiencing it firsthand is completely different.

“My mom would like to meet you,” he says.

Jungkook purposely avoids mentioning the terrible conversation he had with his family. He doesn’t want to worry you about that. What matters for now is the fact that his mother wants to meet you.

“She knows about me?” you surprisingly ask.

“Of course,” he says as it was the most obvious thing. “You’re carrying my child,” he pauses for a little moment. “She also knows that you’re a hybrid.”

Oh.

It surprises you that he already mentioned that to her, and you guess she didn’t react well when he told her. At least, she already knows it, but you’re not sure this first meeting will go well. She’ll for sure have preconceptions about you. She’ll probably hate you.

“I can meet her if that’s what you want,” you tell him.

“I’d very much like that.”

“Okay then,” you smile.

Family seems important to him, and you’d meet his mother if he wants to. She’s also your child’s grandmother, and you’d like your child to have a strong bond with the people Jungkook deeply loves.

“And I also would like you to meet Felix and Lexi,” you tell him.

His phone suddenly rings, his eyes looking down at the person calling him.

“Give me 2 minutes,” he grabs his phone and goes to the living room.

Even though he moves a bit further, you still can hear the conversation. Due to your very curious nature, your ears pay attention to him.

“Hoseok,” he says. “I can’t today, I’m already busy with something.”

The person on the other side, a man, responds. “What is more important than that?”

“Listen, I can’t right now, but I’ll take care of that tomorrow,” Jungkook promises.

“Please, help us as soon as you can,” the other man adds. “We can’t handle this by ourselves anymore.”

At the man’s words, you truly realize the extent of what it means to be a king. People rely on him, people need him when things get messy and complicated. And in the middle of that, he finds the time to help you and be present for you.

“Don’t worry,” Jungkook responds. “It’ll be settled tomorrow.”  

The phone call ends, and seconds later, Jungkook comes back into the room, his presence appealing as always. Earlier, when you came back from the store, he removed his suit jacket, leaving him in just his black dress shirt. Now, with the soft lighting accentuating every line of his figure, your attention is utterly captivated.

The fabric clings to his broad shoulders and tapers down his torso, perfectly tailored to highlight the strength he carries so effortlessly. His rolled-up sleeves expose his forearms—strong, veined, and so distractingly masculine—and his tattoos. You try to focus on something else, but your eyes betray you, tracing the curve of his arms and the way his shirt stretches across his chest with every step.

As he moves toward you, the faintest smile appears on his lips, and it makes your heart race. There’s something about him, a mix of elegance and raw strength, that leaves you spellbound. He settles into the chair across from you, his movements unhurried, and leans slightly forward, his gaze meeting yours. You blink, trying to pull yourself together.

“It’s just a shirt, yn,” you scold yourself silently, but even you don’t believe that.

The heat crawling up your cheeks betrays your thoughts, and the way his presence fills the room doesn’t help. Jungkook quirks a brow, a playful glint in his eyes as if he’s caught you staring.

“Is something on your mind?” he asks, his deep voice cutting through your flustered thoughts.

You quickly look down at your lap, feeling your cheeks burn. “No... nothing,” you mumble.

For a moment, he doesn’t respond, just watches you intently, the air between you charged with something unspoken. It’s maddening how effortlessly he affects you, and yet, you can’t bring yourself to look away for long.

“Actually,” you correct your answer. “If there’s something important you need to take care of, you can go,” you tell him.

Based on the conversation he just had, he might have more important matters to deal with. You don’t want to be the reason holding him up. However, his rapid answer leaves no room for doubt.

“Nothing matters more than your safety, yn,” he admits without blinking.

“But…” you start arguing but he doesn’t let you speak.

“There’s no ‘but’, whatever I have to deal with can wait tomorrow,” his tone is very firm and takes you off guard.

Before you can respond, Jungkook leans forward slightly, his gaze locking with yours. There’s an intensity in his eyes that leaves you momentarily breathless.

“Listen to me,” he says softly but with an unmistakable seriousness in his voice. “Your safety and well-being come first, always. Whatever is waiting for me out there will still be there tomorrow. You, on the other hand…” his voice trails off, and for a moment, he seems to struggle to find the right words. He exhales deeply, his tone softening. “You’ve been through so much already. The last thing I want is for you to feel like you’re not my priority. Because you are, yn. More than anything else.”

His confession leaves you speechless. The vulnerability in his voice is unexpected, and it warms your heart. Jungkook leans back in his chair, giving you the slightest smile as if he’s trying to ease the tension he just created.

“So no more arguments, okay?” he adds, his tone lighter now. “I’m staying right here, whether you like it or not.”

“Okay,” you admit in defeat.

Nobody has ever treated you like this. Nobody has ever made you feel like you’re the most important person in the world. Yet, this man who appeared out of the blue in your life nine weeks ago has made you feel like the most precious pearl. He’s been by your side, never letting you face this chaos alone. For the first time in a long time, he’s actually the first man you’ll allow yourself to fall for.

His smile grows bigger at your answer before you move to the living room. You choose to watch Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse as you’re both fans of the Spider-Man universe. During the movie, you end up falling asleep as you’re quite exhausted from everything. Growing a human—or a werewolf—isn’t really easy. It consumes your entire energy.

“Yn,” you hear Jungkook’s voice in your dreams. “Yn,” he repeats. “It’s time to eat.”

Suddenly, you feel fingers delicately brushing against your cheeks. You shake your head, trying to push away the fingers on your face.

“Mmm,” you groan while you try to hide your face on the couch.

“Yn, you have to eat,” Jungkook talks in your mind again.

“Leave my head, Jungkook,” you mumble. “And let me sleep.”   

“If you don’t wake up now, I’ll keep talking in your head,” he threatens.

“Noo,” you groan once more and hide your ears with your hands. “Leave me.”

Jungkook chuckles as he watches you cover your ears. Doing that won’t make him go away, he’s still able to have a mind-to-mind conversation with you.

“C’mon, yn,” he says. “The dinner will get cold.”

“You cooked?” you instantly ask while opening just one eye.

“Yep,” he answers, this time the words don’t echo in your head.

“What did you do?” you now open your eyes.

“Bibimbap,” he proudly says.

“You should have started by saying that,” you sit on the couch, more hungry than ever.

Jungkook rolls his eyes in front of you with the biggest smile on his face.

“Did you just roll your eyes?” you ask with obvious surprise.

“Maybe,” he teases you.

“Mister,” you pause for a split second. “You’re extremely lucky to be the father of my child. Otherwise, I would have already kicked you in the ass for that attitude,” you tease him back.

Jungkook is trying to remain serious, but he simply can’t. So his strong arms lift you up to place you on his shoulder. Your head almost reaches his plump, squishy, and hot ass, and in your teasing attitude, you decide to smack his ass repeatedly.

“Let me go, Jungkook,” you joyfully scream.

“Didn’t know you were into asses,” he chuckles. “Lucky for you, I have the best ass in the world.”

Instantly, you stop hitting his butt cheeks, heat radiating in your cheeks. Jungkook seems to be in such a teasing mode today, and honestly, you won’t complain. You’re enjoying this very much, you don’t want this to stop.

But he puts you down a few seconds later, your bodies extremely close now, and his face barely a breath away from yours. This teasing mood shifts completely into an intense one. For a moment, your eyes devour his lips as you desire nothing more than to kiss him like you’re starving. Then, you glance up at him, his eyes locking with yours.

His huge hands brush against your arms, and the feeling is comforting. Everything about this man and his presence is comforting. Having him with you here and now feels wonderful. It’s one of the best feelings in the world.

This time around, you don’t hesitate twice and press your lips on his. At first, the kiss is soft. His lips are warm and firm against yours, and your heart feels like it might burst from your chest. You can feel his hands tighten slightly on your arms as if he’s trying to anchor himself to this moment, to you.

Then, something shifts. The kiss deepens, growing more fervent as if both of you have been holding back for far too long. His hands slide up to cradle your face, his thumbs gently brushing your cheeks as he pulls you closer, leaving no space between you.

The world around you disappears. There’s only the feeling of him, the heat of his touch, and the way his lips seem to convey everything he’s been holding back: desire, affection, and an unspoken promise of something deeper.

When the kiss finally breaks, both of you are breathless, your foreheads pressed together. You don’t open your eyes right away, savoring the moment. His hands remain on your face, his fingers gently tracing the curve of your jaw as if memorizing you.

“We should eat before it gets cold,” he whispers before pressing a peck on your lips.

You nod before sitting on a chair. A smile grows on your face as you notice the two plates carefully prepared by Jungkook. It warms your heart that he prepared dinner while you were peacefully sleeping.

“Thanks for the dinner,” you say as you start eating.

Jungkook simply offers you a smile before you both eat in silence. It seems like you’re starving because you eat so rapidly, but damn, this is so good! This man has many talents.

“Can you stay tonight?” you ask once you finish eating.

His big doe eyes move from his plate to you, he looks absolutely adorable. This vision melts your heart.

“Yes,” a sincere smile grows on his face.

 “Great,” you reply, a small smile tugging at your lips.

You stand up to gather the plates and bring them to the sink. Jungkook, ever the gentleman, stands to help you, but you wave him off.

“I’ve got it,” you tell him. “You cooked, so let me clean.”

Surprisingly, he doesn’t argue. However, you notice him keeping a watchful eye on you as you move around the kitchen. It’s a little unsettling but also comforting, knowing he’s so attentive. When you’re done, you turn to him, a mix of nervousness and determination fluttering in your chest.

“Mm, do you want to… go to the bedroom? I mean, to sleep?” you ask, your voice soft, almost shy.

Jungkook arches a brow, his lips twitching into a subtle smirk. “Are you asking me to share your bed?”

You roll your eyes, though your cheeks heat up. “Don’t make it weird, Jungkook.”

“I can sleep on the couch, yn,” he then says.

You take a step closer to him. “I just… I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

His teasing expression softens instantly, replaced by something far gentler. He closes the distance between you, his towering frame making you feel small in comparison.

“You’re never alone,” he says, his voice low and reassuring. “I’m here, I’ll literally be on the couch.”

“But if something happens, you’ll be too far,” you pout.

For a moment, he hesitates, his gaze flickering toward the hallway leading to your bedroom. You can see the internal debate playing out in his head, making your chest tighten. However, he can’t resist those pleading eyes.

“You can stay on top of the covers if that makes you feel better,” you suggest.

Jungkook takes a deep breath. “Okay,” he answers in defeat.  

“Thanks,” you press a soft kiss on his cheek, but he’s smarter than you and turns his head so your lips meet his. “Desperate for a kiss?” you then mumble.  

“Maybe,” he answers with a smirk on his face.

“All you have to do is ask,” your eyes look deep into his.

“Can I kiss you, yn?” he immediately asks, and you nod.

In no time, his lips are on yours, passionately kissing you. His lips are honestly addictive; you’d be able to kiss him nonstop, and the funny thing is that he hasn’t kissed you many times. But he kisses like a god.

“You’re happy now?” you ask when you break the kiss.

“Not really,” he teasingly says while shaking his head.

Jungkook presses a peck on your lips before pressing a thousand others more, causing you to giggle.

“Better now?” you ask once he stops.

“Mmm,” he pretends to be thinking. “No,” he shakes his head before pressing a couple of other kisses on your lips.

The man in front of you loves to hear you giggle and doesn’t want it to stop. It is his new favorite sound in the whole world. Secretly, he hopes he’ll never be deprived of it.  

Then, slowly, the kisses move to your cheeks, forehead, jaw, the corner of your lips, and finally they start to descend to your neck. You can feel his round nose pressed against your neck as his lips kiss your skin. By pure reflex, you tilt your head to give him more room, and your hands move to his hair to play with it. A very soft and barely audible moan escapes your lips. 

This jovial and playful moment has turned into a very heated one. 

“Wait,” you carefully push him with your hands on his chest.

His doe eyes look at yours with concern.

“This isn’t really the most appropriate place for this…” you whisper, the heat under your cheeks growing as his eyes are deep into yours.  

“Why so?” his right eyebrow raises up.

“I mean, we’re in the hallway,” you tell him.

His eyes look around. “But there’s nobody except us, yn.”

“I know, but…” you seem to hesitate.

Jungkook finally understands that you’re not really comfortable taking this any further in the hallway.

“Okay, let’s go to the room,” he says with a smile before gently kissing your cheek.

The man grabs your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours while guiding you to your bedroom. Once inside, he doesn’t waste a second and presses his hungry lips on yours. Slowly, he removes his fingers from your hand to remove your grey shirt. He throws it on the floor, and his eyes instantly look down at your stomach, looking for a sign of your pregnancy.

“The bump isn’t showing yet,” you say.

“Can’t wait to see it,” he mumbles, his eyes looking up at you now.

“Me too,” you admit with the brightest smile on earth.

The past few weeks have been hard and chaotic, but amidst all of that, the idea of your belly growing brings you some comfort. It will mean that your little wolfy is thriving, a reassurance that despite everything, life is forming inside you. This is what you’ve wanted since the beginning. You’ve desired to watch your body change since the second you began this journey.  

Jungkook’s warm hand comes to rest gently on your stomach, his eyes locked deep onto yours. This moment is so intimate, so profound, and the rest of the world fades away. A soft breath escapes your lips as the realization settles in: no matter what happens the tiny heartbeat beneath his touch will forever link the two of you. You are bound not only by fate but by the life you created together.

“Now lay down on your back for me,” he whispers.

You simply nod before obeying him and lying on the bed. His eyes hungrily devour you as he hovers over you, his body settling in between your legs. His lips meet yours for a tender but fervent kiss. Then, slowly, the kisses move to your cheeks, jaw, the corner of your lips, and finally, they start to descend to your neck, his cute nose pressing against your skin.

Your fingers find their way to his hair, playing with it while he gives you pleasure. Jungkook’s lips keep going down, dangerously getting closer to your cleavage. Your breath is getting heavier, your heart beating faster, and your eyes fluttering shut. As he gets closer and closer, soft moans leave your lips, indicating to him that he’s doing everything just well.  

Before he even reaches your breasts, he retreats to take a look at your pretty face. When you feel the cold air brushing against your skin, you open your eyes to watch him.

“Do we keep going?” 

“Don’t stop,” you manage to say.

A smile appears on your face. Before you can even comprehend, his hands move down to your waist, and they are pushing your pants down your legs. Once they are at your ankle, his lips hungrily kiss you. You’re definitely desperate for this man. You want more. And it seems that it’s a shared feeling.  

Your baby’s father presses his hips against yours, his growing bulge now against your wet core. That sensation alone makes you moan. Teasingly, he slowly rolls his hips against yours, but he doesn’t stop kissing you as a desperate man. You hold his black classic shirt firmly as you moan against his lips. Without any doubt, your panties are getting soaked. Jungkook is fucking you when you’re still fully clothed. 

His lips finally set free from yours so he can rest his forehead against yours. His lusty eyes stare deep into yours which causes you to moan. Your walls clench around emptiness, but you’re slowly getting desperate to feel something inside you. 

However, slowly, you realize the extent of the situation. You’re about to have sex. You close your eyes once more. His hips never stop rolling against yours, torturing you just the way you need. The grip on his shirt tightens, and moans keep falling from your mouth.

“Jungkook,” you blissfully whisper.

His eyes roam your face contorting with pleasure, a vision he never thought he needed. The man crashes his lips once more against yours; he definitely got addicted to your lips and never wants to let go of you.

“Fuck,” he whispers against your lips, his bulge growing inside his pants.

You both know that if you take this any further, there’s no way back. The second you’ll make love, it’ll seal forever your ever-growing bond. And is it what you want? Do you even feel ready? This is something you can’t quite answer yet, but it scares you. Jungkook wouldn’t simply be your baby’s father or your king—let’s be honest as a hybrid, he’s still your king. He’d become your lover.

“Jungkook,” you whisper again against his lips before you open your eyes.

“Mmm,” he says while he puts some distance between your faces to have a better look at you.

“Maybe we should think a bit better about this,” you tell him. “Aren’t we going too fast?”

Jungkook tilts his head, a slow smirk spreading across his face.

“Going too fast? Hmm…” he murmurs, his lips barely an inch from yours. “Let’s see. You’re having my baby, I’ve seen you at your worst and best, and I’ve already committed to protecting you with my life. But sure, let’s take it slow.”

The teasing spark in his eyes makes your stomach flutter, and you playfully hit his chest.

“Jungkook!”

This man is unbelievable, but he isn’t quite wrong. So much has already happened since you’ve met him, and he’s been there all along. He could have given up on you the second he found out about your true nature, but yet, it seems not to bother him at all.

Jungkook laughs before pressing a gentle kiss on your cheek.

“I’m just saying at this point, I think the universe is pushing us together,” he places a strand of hair behind your ear. “But if this is too fast for you, we can slow down.”

The man now lays down next to you, his eyes looking up at the ceiling before they look at you again.

“Thanks,” you smile at him.

“I’ll do anything for you, yn,” he smiles at you. “Would you mind showing me where the bathroom is? Something down there needs some relief.”

Your eyes look down at his crotch that definitely looks compressed in his pants. So you stand up rapidly to guide him to the bathroom. It pains you a bit for him that he didn’t get his release, but hopefully, his hands will do great work.

“Sorry about that,” you tell him once you’re in the bathroom.

“Don’t worry, yn,” he says before kissing your cheek.

You leave him alone, your cheeks burning at the mere thought of what he’s doing in the bathroom. Obviously, you desire nothing more than suck him off, but you can’t. Things are going way too fast between you, and it’s better to simply slow down for the time being.

The doorbell sounds in your apartment, pushing you out of your sleep. As far as you know, you weren’t expecting any guests today. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have asked Jungkook to sleep at your place.

You stand up, put some clothes on, and look at the man peacefully sleeping in your bed. He looks like an angel, a beautiful angel. Then, your eyes move to the clock you have in your room. It’s almost 10 am. You leave the room as fast as possible to see who the hell is disturbing your sleep.

To your surprise, it is Felix and Lexi. Your heart starts hammering like crazy in your chest as you realize they’re going to meet Jungkook. There’s no way Jungkook is leaving this apartment without meeting them, and it honestly makes you a bit nervous.

“Hi,” you say when you open the door to them.

“Hello, sweetheart,” Felix pushes you into his arms for a hug.

Felix’s arms will forever be the most comfortable place on earth. These arms have consoled you so many times, and they’ve brought peace when times were harder. You take a step back before pressing a kiss on his cheek.  

“Hello, yn,” Lexi kisses your cheek.

“What are you doing here?” you ask with obvious confusion.

You weren’t expecting them to come today. It’s a pleasant surprise, but you wish they had warned you earlier.

“We came to see how you’re doing,” Lexi answers. “And we’ve brought breakfast.”

She shakes in front of your face the little bag that carries the breakfast. They instantly notice something’s wrong, and they frown.

“Are you okay?” Lexi asks

“Yn,” you hear a voice behind you, causing you to look over your shoulder.

Suddenly, Jungkook appears, and your entire world seems to pause for a second. Your mouth parts slightly as your brain struggles to process the sight in front of you. Standing in nothing but his underwear, his messy hair falling over his forehead in the most effortlessly and attractive way. He looks like a fucking dream.

As he walks in the hallway, his hand on his hair to adjust it, you can’t help but be hypnotized by how the toned muscles on his body move. Everything from his sharp-cut abs to the powerful lines of his chest, and to his tattoos is mesmerizing. The intricate ink covering his arm only makes him look more dangerously irresistible, like some kind of dark temptation you should absolutely not be staring at this intently. Yet, you can’t help it.

A wave of heat rushes through your face, and you internally scold yourself. ‘For the love of everything, stop drooling’. Especially with Felix and Lexi standing right next to you.

You quickly tear your gaze away, but it’s already too late. Lexi is smirking and Felix seems to be absolutely astonished. Jungkook stops when he sees them with evident surprise, but instead of feeling awkward, he offers his brightest smile to the three of you.

“Hello,” he says when he stands in front of you. “My name is Jungkook,” he reaches out his hand to Felix.

You glance between the two of them, and something instantly feels off. Felix’s gaze lingers on Jungkook. There’s something in his expression, something unreadable yet undeniably curious. Your stomach tightens as you take in the way Felix studies Jungkook. Does he know him?

“Nice to meet you, Jungkook,” Felix shakes his hand. “I’m Felix, yn’s father.”

A smile grows on Jungkook’s face, and he then looks at Lexi. He reaches out his hand to her, and without any hesitation, she shakes it. The smirk on her face doesn’t fade away at all.

“And I’m Lexi, her sister.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” Jungkook smiles at them.

It is almost unreal to see the three of them together; you didn’t expect them to meet so early on. And you hadn’t in mind for them to meet a barely dressed Jungkook.

“Jungkook is the father of my child,” you inform Lexi and Felix.

Lexi looks at you with a gaze that says it all. The smirk on her face is almost annoying because you perfectly know what she’s thinking. She’s thinking that you slept with him and that he’s hot as fuck.

But then, as you look at Felix, you can see that he doesn’t seem happy to learn that Jungkook is the father. Is he aware of something about him that you don’t? Felix’s reaction is very confusing.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll get dressed,” he tells you before disappearing again.

“Dad,” you look at Felix. “Do you know him?”

You can’t go any longer without raising the question. There’s definitely something off and you need to know why. You want to know how on earth Felix knows him.

“Not him,” he answers. “But his father.”

Your eyebrows furrow, and you notice Lexi has the exact same reaction.

“How?” you ask.

Felix takes a very deep breath; you can tell that it’s a painful memory.

“It doesn’t matter now,” he simply answers. “But you can’t be with him, yn,” he warns you. “You can’t have this child with him.”

You take a step back, surprised by his words. Your eyes scan his face, trying to understand why he’s saying that. There’s something very deep. Is he aware of Jungkook’s werewolf nature?

“Dad,” Lexi says. “What are saying?”

“You heard me well,” his tone is firm, and it sends shivers down your spine. Felix has only been like that when you both were making mistakes at a younger age.

“I’m not going to abort,” you answer. “It’s out of the question, and nobody can tell me what to do. This child has been desired for a long time. Things didn’t happen the way I intended, but I’ve decided to keep the baby.”

“Yn,” he whispers.

Suddenly, Jungkook reappears all dressed. He looks majestic with his full black suit which is a contrast to how he was minutes ago.

“Mister Kang,” Jungkook looks at Felix. “I guess you knew who truly my father was. I guess you knew he was the werewolf king.”

Lexi’s eyes widen at his words, but she’s the only one reacting like that. Felix doesn’t even blink. He’s fully aware of the werewolf world. It leaves you wondering if he knew that your mother was also a werewolf.  

“Indeed,” he nods. “I’ve known very well your father, and I’m very sorry for your loss.”

This is getting weirder and weirder. How could Felix know personally Jungkook’s father and never say anything to you?

“Thanks,” Jungkook nods.

“Werewolves?” Lexi says with confusion. “And you both knew?” she’s pointing to you and Felix. “How I’m just learning this now?”

Felix looks at his daughter, his gaze softening instantly. Then, pain shows up in his eyes, and it breaks your heart.

“I wanted to protect you both from all of it,” he admits. “I needed to protect you.”

Now, you have many many questions because this is the most unexpected event of the day. Never would you have thought this man would be aware of this world, but it would maybe make some sense because he was super close to your parents. He knew it; you don’t even doubt it.

“Why?” Lexi asks.

“Maybe, I could explain while we have breakfast,” he proposes.

All of you nod and you head to the kitchen. While you prepare coffee, Felix and Lexi put all the things they bought on top of the table, and Jungkook grabs the plates.

“I’m very curious to know how he met my father,” Jungkook speaks to you through your thoughts.

“Me too,” you answer. “This is so weird.”

“My father never mentioned a human friend.”

When all is ready, you take a seat at the table. You, Lexi, and Jungkook look at Felix, waiting for him to finally explain everything.

“Well,” Felix takes a deep breath. “My wife, Olivia passed away when Lexi was only three years old. It’s been the biggest tragedy of my life, and the worst day of my life,” he begins. “One night, we decided to go on a date, just the two of us, and my parents were taking care of our daughter. It was supposed to be a great night; we had a reservation at a very fancy restaurant. But once we left the restaurant, on our way back home, Olivia was savagely attacked by what seemed like a wolf.”

You don’t really remember Olivia, you were very young when she passed away, but you’ve grown up with pictures of her everywhere at your house. She was a very pretty woman, Lexi definitely looks a lot like her.  

“Together with some other people, we tried to push away the wolf, and we succeeded. Unfortunately, he had injured her in her left thigh. There was nothing that we could do. In a matter of seconds, she bled to death. When the ambulance arrived, she was already gone.”

So Lexi’s mother was murdered by a wolf, a bit like your parents. The stories are different, but the murderer’s nature is still the same.

“At the hospital, a man, your father, came to me,” he looks at Jungkook. “He told me everything about the werewolves. It was a werewolf that killed my wife, and it was his first full moon, his first transformation. Your father offered to pay for the entirety of the funeral and to give us financial support,” he looks now at his daughter. “He’s the one that paid for your studies; he insisted on doing that. He has also protected us since then,” now he looks at you. “He has protected you too and also paid for your studies.”

So in the end, Jungkook’s father helped the Shadows to find your parents, but he also protected you afterward from this world. It seems so unrealistic, but he probably didn’t know you were a hybrid. Although you strongly doubt it.

“It was a very difficult time, but he stood by our side and helped us. I had so much respect for him, and we would meet sometimes.”

Jungkook frowns. “Did he know about yn?”

“Know what?” Felix seems confused by Jungkook’s question.

Fuck, he doesn’t know about you. Felix clearly doesn’t know you’re a hybrid and that your mother was a werewolf.

“Shit,” Jungkook whispers.

“My mom was a werewolf,” you answer.

“Oh my god,” Lexi says. “I never imagined one second Mrs. y/l/n to be a wolf.”

“So you’re one too?” he says with evident shock.

You nod, saddened that he has to learn this way that you carry werewolf blood. Things would have for sure been different if he knew. Most probably, you wouldn’t have grown up ignoring this side of you.

But one thing seems to be sure: Jungkook’s father knew about you. How could the king not ever realize that in so many years? Maybe he didn’t know, but you strongly doubt that.

“I’m not fully a werewolf,” you confess. “I’m half human.”

Jungkook then remembers a line he read in his father's journal; one that he got to read after his passing. It was comforting to read those words when the grief was too painful to deal with. The line said: ‘I broke the rules, and I’d be doomed if somebody ever found out. But how could I do otherwise? An innocent life would be taken, and I couldn’t live with myself if I’d respect the rules.’

Jungkook never understood what he meant as he was deeply convinced his father always followed and applied the rules. However, today, this sentence seems to make perfect sense. Taemoo knew about your true nature but decided to spare you. He decided to let you live, knowing the consequences. His father protected you all these years. And now, it’s his turn to protect you.

“Which makes me a forbidden species,” you add.

Now that Felix and Lexi are aware of this, it will make things easier. It’s been so so hard to hide this from them because you’ve been used to sharing everything with them. And this motherhood journey is supposed to be theirs as well, but you had to hide a big part of it because humans can’t be told about the werewolf world.

“So,” Lexi says. “You’re the king now, I guess?” she asks the father of your child and he nods. “It then makes yn’s child the heir?”

“That’s right,” Jungkook says.

Felix closes his eyes. This clearly doesn’t make him happy, and it most probably comforts the idea that you shouldn’t have this baby. His grandchild will carry the same blood as the person who killed his wife. His daughter actually carries that blood. It’s hard to accept that.

“Sorry,” he says before leaving.

A tear runs down your face, and Jungkook squeezes your hand when he notices it. This is devastating, and you can only understand your father’s reaction. In his shoes, you would feel the same.

After a couple of hours, you decide to show up at Felix’s house to have a one-to-one conversation with him. There’s a lot to discuss with him about who you and your parents are. It’s not going to be easy, but you really need to talk with him.

Once you’re inside the house, you follow the sound of his heartbeat. You easily find him in the living room watching tv with a beer in his hand. Seeing him like this, it’s as if nothing ever happened.

“Hi,” you take a seat next to him on the couch.

His face turns to look at you with a little smile appearing on his face. “Hi, sweetheart.”

Hearing the nickname warms your heart. It would have broken your heart if he had called you by your name.

“How are you feeling?” you ask with concern.

“Better,” he answers. “Sorry, I left like that.”

“It’s okay,” you offer him a smile.

Felix puts down the beer bottle on the coffee table before grabbing your hands. His eyes are filled with softness, and it’s comforting.

“Did you spend the last twenty years hiding yourself?” he questions.

You shake your head. “No, I only found this a couple of weeks after I got inseminated.”

“Great,” he answers. “I would have felt terrible if you had kept that a secret from me all these years.”

Even if it’s scary to reveal something this big to someone so dear to your heart, you’re sure that a younger version of yourself would have struggled to hide this from him. He was your anchor. Navigating this by yourself would have terrified you.

“I’m not sure I would have managed,” you admit with a smile growing on your face.

“I think so too,” he says. “And how have you been feeling?”

You proceed to explain how these past few weeks have been nothing but an emotional roller coaster. You explain how it felt to learn that your parents hid something this big from you. How you hated them for a while. How you felt after finding out why they were killed. How you felt while going through your first transformation. You tell him everything.

Felix listens to you and raises questions from time to time. It’s obvious that he’s sad your parents didn’t tell him anything. They were his best friends, and knowing that all these years they hid this broke his heart. But he also understands why they didn’t. If he hadn’t seen with his own eyes a werewolf, he would have never believed them.

“I guess now you’re dating your child’s father,” he remarks, his tone light but laced with curiosity. The memory of seeing Jungkook half-naked clearly lingers in his mind.

“No,” your cheeks are invaded by a strong heat wave. “We’re just friends. He’s been guiding me through all of this, that’s all.”   

Felix tilts his head. “Friends?” he scoffs. “You two don’t look like two friends. There’s definitely something going on between you. I can sense it.”

Your gaze drops down at your hands, suddenly finding your fingers fascinating. There’s no way you can lie to him, you perfectly know it. Felix can see right through you; he always could.

“There is something,” you hesitate before adding. “But it scares me.”

“Why sweetie?” there is obvious concern in his voice.

For a minute, you close your eyes, inhaling deeply as you try to untangle the knot of emotions in your chest. How do you even put this into words? When you finally look at him again, your voice is quieter.

“I’ve never felt like this before. Being around him is different. He makes me feel safe,” you swallow hard, barely above a whisper as you finish. “Like I can finally breathe.”

“That doesn’t sound like a bad thing, yn,” Felix watches you closely, his expression softening.

You bite your lip, your fingers fidgeting in your lap. “It’s not, but it also is.”

He raises an eyebrow, waiting for you to elaborate. You sigh, trying to find the right words.

“Everything is happening so fast. My entire world has changed overnight. And Jungkook… he’s overwhelming in ways I can’t explain,” your voice drops to a whisper. “He makes me feel safe, but at the same time, I feel like I’m losing myself to something I don’t fully understand.”

Felix tilts his head slightly, observing you as if he’s piecing together a puzzle.

“And that scares you?”

You nod, exhaling shakily.

“More than I’d like to admit. It’s like…” you try to find your words. “Being around him is both calming and chaotic. I crave his presence, but I’m also scared of what it means. If I let myself fall completely, what happens when he realizes I’m not enough? What if all of this is just a product of our circumstances? What if it’s not real?”

Felix leans forward, his eyes filled with a quiet understanding. His hand grabs yours in an attempt to reassure you.

“Yn, love isn’t something you measure with logic,” he starts saying. “It’s not a list of pros and cons, and it surely isn’t something you can control,” he squeezes your hand gently. “Whatever this is between you and Jungkook, it’s real. I saw it the second you looked at him.”

“But I don’t know if I can handle it,” your chest tightens. “I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

“Maybe that’s the beauty of it,” Felix gives you a knowing smile. “Maybe you’re not supposed to figure it all out alone. Maybe Jungkook isn’t just someone who came into your life—maybe he’s part of your journey to finding yourself.”

His words settle deep within you, stirring something you’ve tried so hard to suppress. You’ve been so focused on resisting, on fearing the unknown, that you never considered the possibility that Jungkook isn’t here to take something from you but to show you a part of yourself you never knew existed.

“I don’t know,” you shake your head.

“Don’t overthink, yn,” he gives you a little smile. “Just follow your heart.”

Maybe, just maybe, it’s time to stop fighting what you feel for Jungkook.

As you’re standing in front of the impressive gates of Jungkook’s mansion, your heart beats immensely fast. You’re about to meet his mother. A mother that apparently has expressed her desire to meet you. The mother of her grandchild—or should you say—the hybrid. It’s making you nervous because 1) she’s Jungkook’s mother, 2) she’s the queen dowager, and 3) she knows you’re a hybrid.

To your surprise, he didn’t hide from her what you truly are. You’re not sure if he should have done that, but she’s also going to be part of your family. Your baby is also forever going to link you to her. She deserves to know who you are. In the end, you believe it’s best she learns it from her son.

The gates finally open, and you drive to the mansion. Jinwoo, Jungkook’s valet is waiting for you, and as last time, he shows you where to park your car.

“Good afternoon, Miss y/l/n,” he smiles at you while opening the door.

You’re still not used to someone opening your door, but you guess you’ll have to adjust to it.

“Thanks, Jinwoo,” you offer him a bright smile. “Is Mrs. Jeon already here?”

“Yes, she is,” he nods. “She’s discussing with Mister Jeon in the living room. They are waiting for you.”

Now, your heart pounds even faster as the realization hits you: They are waiting for you. When can you die? Probably now. This is making you way too nervous, but you don’t have much of a choice. She’s the grandma of your child. The only living one. Well, that’s not totally right. Even though Felix isn’t your biological father, he’ll also be your child’s grandparent.

“Follow me,” Jinwoo informs you.

You both walk in the direction of the first floor's living room. This mansion is still extremely impressive, and you still wonder how Jungkook can live by himself here. As you get closer to the living room, his presence grows stronger. It feels like you’ll never get used to this feeling, but you like it because it’s quite reassuring.

Jinwoo stops in front of a massive door—and you do the same. The man knocks at the door and only opens it once he hears Jungkook’s approval.

“Miss y/l/n is here, Mrs. and Mr. Jeon,” he informs them.

With a beating heart and shaky legs, you step inside the surprisingly small room. Although still spacious compared to your living room, it feels almost intimate within the vastness of the mansion. The soft glow of warm lighting bathes the space, casting gentle shadows that dance along the walls.

Plush furniture is arranged thoughtfully, creating an inviting atmosphere that feels more personal than the grand halls you’ve passed through. The scent of aged wood and faint traces of something musky—perhaps cologne or the lingering essence of past visitors—lingers in the air.

It’s cozy in a way that surprises you, the kind of room that feels lived-in despite the house’s regal stature. You take a slow breath, allowing yourself to settle into the unfamiliar yet oddly comforting space. You definitely like the vibe of this room.

Jungkook and his mother are standing in the middle of the room, their eyes glued on you. The young man offers you a sincere and bright smile. His mother, on the other hand, is kind of analyzing you, but you’re not sure. She’s just looking at you with an unreadable face, the same one her son always has. Mrs. Jeon is a strikingly beautiful woman, exuding an undeniable aura of power and confidence.  

“Do I need to bow?” the words don’t leave your lips, they are only addressed to Jungkook.

“Yes,” he answers through thoughts. “She’ll appreciate it.”

Standing before her, you lower your head in a respectful bow, the weight of the moment settling heavily on your shoulders. The woman before you exudes an effortless grace. A grace only someone with high stature would carry. Dressed in an elegant yet understated outfit, everything about her radiates authority.

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Jeon,” you tell her after you bowed.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you as well, miss y/l/n,” she offers you a little smile.

Your eyes quickly look at the man standing next to her, he looks beyond hot. He’s wearing a casual outfit which you honestly prefer on him. The suits look really good on him, but baggy pants and a large shirt look way better.

“Do you want to drink or eat something?” Jungkook asks.

“I’d like a glass of water if you don’t mind,” you answer.

The werewolf king nods before heading toward the door, instructing Jinwoo to bring water and some biscuits. You swallow hard as the three of you sit down on the couch. Jungkook takes a seat next to you, offering silent reassurance with his presence, while his mother sits across from you, her posture impossibly straight, radiating authority.

The air is thick with an unnameable tension, and you can’t quite tell whether it’s just the nerves of meeting someone as powerful as Mrs. Jeon.

“How are you feeling?” she politely asks.

For a moment you hesitate, wondering if she’s asking how you feel in general or referring to the pregnancy.

“I’m feeling good,” you cautiously say, trying to keep your tone neutral. “But the morning sickness has been hitting hard.”

To your surprise, a smile grows on her face.

“I understand,” her eyes now move to her firstborn. “I still remember how hard it was when I was pregnant with Jungkook.”

Her voice is so soft, melodic even, and it’s a bit of a contrast compared to the aura she exudes. For a moment, you take a proper look at Jungkook’s mother. Her son has inherited so much from her: the deep, thoughtful doe eyes, the perfectly sculpted round nose, and even the way they hold themselves with quiet confidence. You wouldn’t say he’s a copy of his mother, but he takes a lot after her. And he certainly is as good-looking as her.

“I think up until the sixth month, I wouldn’t go a day without throwing up,” she adds with a small chuckle as if the memory is distant but still vivid.

“Oh wow,” your fingers unconsciously rest on your stomach. “I hope that in my case, it will be over by then.”

Her gaze moves down to where your fingers are resting. She’s looking at your stomach—the undeniable proof of your connection to her son. The moment is brief, but it carries weight. She’s acknowledging the child, but perhaps also the unspoken implications of what it means for her family.

“Every pregnancy is different,” she finally says.

The air slightly changes, still filled with uncertainty, but not entirely unwelcoming. Maybe she’s just as uncertain about you as you are about her, but one thing is clear for you—she’s making an effort.

“And in your case, very unpredictable,” she adds.

There’s absolutely no doubt that she’s referring to your hybrid nature. It doesn’t surprise you; you knew she’d bring that up. The other way around would have surprised you.

“I know,” you answer, your eyes looking down at your hands. “And to be honest, I just have as many questions as you do, but I want to believe that, like any other mother, I’ll find my way.”

“I’m sure you will,” she gently says. “And you’re not alone.”

Your eyes now look up at her with obvious surprise. She notices your expression, a little smile subtly appearing on her face.

“I’m sure this is not easy for you,” she begins. “Discovering being a hybrid while being pregnant must be scary. But it’s also scary for us because you’re the very first hybrid. Nobody knows how to react. I personally don’t,” she admits. “You aren’t supposed to exist, neither the life growing inside you.”

Your heart resumes to beat rapidly in your chest.

“But if you’re still here, I guess it’s because the universe protected you, and fate chose you to be the mother of my grandchild.”

Her eyes very quickly gaze at her son; it’s very subtle but you notice it. You notice something briefly appearing in her gaze. Like some sort of heavy secret between her and her son. Something that you definitely want to know now.

“Jungkook made it very clear that he’ll protect you,” she continues. “And as a member of our family now, we will protect you.”

Tears start forming in your eyes while your heart swells with an emotion you can’t quite explain. Hearing her say that you’re a part of her family is honestly something you didn’t expect to hear today. Especially from her.

“I will for sure need some time to adjust to this new reality, but Jungkook deeply cares about you. As a mother and a wife, I can only understand what he feels.”

Jungkook’s hand meets your thigh to squeeze it gently. This gesture is a very comforting and reassuring one. Instinctively, you place your hand on top of his. This doesn’t go unnoticed by the Jeon’s matriarch. To her, there’s absolutely no doubt that you’re her son’s soulmate. It’s just so obvious.

She then asks you many questions about your past, how you found out about your hybrid nature, how you’ve been dealing with the news, and how it has been for you to discover suddenly this entire werewolf universe. Even though it’s clear that she’s not entirely comfortable with you, she’s making an effort. One that you deeply appreciate.

You’ve also got to know more about her. She’s a very honorable woman, and you can only admire her for her strength. She’s been a queen and she lost her husband two years ago. The mention of her husband seems to still be painful to her, but she liked to speak about him, to remember the man he was.

Although you were extremely nervous to meet her, the mood slowly softened, and the nervousness slowly faded away. It definitely was a pleasure to meet her. To meet the grandmother of your child. To meet Jungkook’s mother. But it was beyond anything else a pleasure to see Jungkook interact with his mother.

[fidesvirtusobsession]

Echoes of a Thousand Nights

Yandere Vampire x AFAB reader

Prologue || Chapter 1 || Chapter 2

Description: For centuries, Alaric has walked the earth, bound by the cruel hand of fate. A vampire of old blood, he has seen empires fall, lovers turn to dust, and the world reshape itself around him. Yet, through the endless nights, one thing remains constant—her. The woman who haunts his past lives, slipping through his fingers with every rebirth. She never remembers, never knows who he is, yet he finds her, lifetime after lifetime, only to lose her again.Now, in the present day, her scent resurfaces in the most unlikely of places—an underground auction house where humans are sold like cattle. But Alaric will not let fate steal her away this time. This time, he will keep her.

The sleek black car moved through the city streets like a shadow, silent and unyielding. The world outside was alive with its usual sins—dimly lit alleyways where deals were made in whispers, neon lights flickering over clubs that never closed, the distant wail of sirens swallowed by the hum of the city. Yet, within the confines of the vehicle, there was only silence.

Alaric sat in the backseat, his posture relaxed but his presence anything but. The dim glow of passing streetlights cut across his sharp features, briefly illuminating the golden glint in his eyes before it was swallowed by darkness once more. Across from him, one of his most trusted servants, Elias, sat stiffly, his breath still uneven from the hurried message he had delivered.

"You’re certain?" Alaric's voice was smooth, but there was an edge to it—a warning.

Elias swallowed before nodding. "I am, my Lord. I caught her scent the moment I stepped inside. It’s faint, but unmistakable."

Alaric turned his gaze to the window, watching as the city blurred past. His fingers, long and elegant, drummed once against his knee. Her scent. A phantom sensation crawled through his chest, something raw, something restless. It had been so long.

The driver maneuvered through the streets with precision, taking them deeper into the underbelly of the city where no human dared venture willingly. The auction house was hidden beneath layers of secrecy, its existence only whispered about in dark corners.

Alaric had known about these places. He had never cared. They were beneath him—crude and barbaric, a playground for lesser creatures who had no control over their hunger. He had no interest in slaves or playthings. He had no need for them.

So why was he here now?

Because she was here.

A cruel twist of fate had led her to this place, and the thought of it—of her being displayed, sold, touched—made something dark coil in his chest. His fingers curled into a fist, nails biting into his palm.

“Do we know who’s running the auction tonight?” he asked, his voice even.

Elias nodded. “The usual filth. Vampires who don’t know their place, desperate enough to make a business of selling humans. But there are others attending. Some names even you might recognize.”

Alaric exhaled sharply, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips. “Then I suppose I’ll have to remind them who they’re dealing with.”

The car slowed as they approached a nondescript building, its exterior blending seamlessly with the rest of the city’s forgotten ruins. To a human, it was nothing but a derelict warehouse. To those who knew better, it was a market of flesh and blood.

The driver came to a stop, stepping out to open the door.

Alaric didn’t move immediately. He sat there for a second longer, staring at the building as if he could already see the ghosts waiting inside. Would she recognize him? Would she remember?

He didn’t have the luxury of doubt.

With a fluid motion, he stepped out of the car, his polished boots hitting the pavement with purpose. The night air was thick with the scent of humans—fear, sweat, desperation. But beneath it all, like a whisper meant only for him, was her.

Alaric inhaled deeply.

And then he walked inside.

The dim candle light flickered against the stone walls of his study as Alaric leaned back in his chair, fingers idly tracing the rim of his glass. The blood within it had long gone cold, untouched. His mind was elsewhere—far from the luxury of his manor, far from the present.

It had been centuries, yet he still remembered the first time he had laid eyes on her.

England, 16700s. The air was damp with the scent of earth and herbs, the sharp tang of remedies brewing in clay pots over low fires. The townspeople feared the plague, feared illness, but they feared her just as much.

The witch.

The scent of earth after rain filled the air as Alaric stepped onto the narrow, winding path leading to a small cottage on the outskirts of the village. The place was unremarkable—simple, humble, tucked against the edge of the forest where the trees whispered secrets to those willing to listen.

Yet, the aura of magic was undeniable.

He had heard rumors, spoken in hushed voices—of a woman who lived beyond the reach of the town, a healer shrouded in mystery. The villagers feared her, yet when desperation struck, they sought her out under the cover of darkness.

Alaric had heard whispers of her long before he ever sought her out. A woman who healed when others would not. A woman whose hands could coax the fever from a dying child, whose presence turned away the reaper itself. They called her many things—blessed, cursed, dangerous.

He had called her his last hope.

His footsteps were silent against the uneven path leading to her cottage, hidden deep within the woods where only the desperate dared to tread. The night was thick with mist, curling around the trees like spirits watching, waiting. And then—there she was.

The door swung open before he even touched it.

And there she stood.

Dressed in a modest, earth-stained dress, her sleeves rolled up as if she had been working mere moments ago, she looked nothing like the fearful, whispered tales. There was no hunched posture, no wary glance—only an inquisitive gaze that locked onto his.

She had been tending to a child, her hands gentle as she placed a damp cloth over his fevered forehead. Her hair fell around her face in loose waves, strands catching in the dim firelight. He had expected someone older, someone bent with the weight of unnatural knowledge. Instead, she was young. Young, but with eyes that carried centuries of wisdom, as if she had seen too much, known too much.

“You’re not from this village,” she had said, her voice calm, knowing.

Alaric had stepped forward, hesitant in a way he had not been for years. “No.”

She didn’t look at him then, only continued her work, grinding herbs with precision. “Yet you came here for something.”

He had never known how to beg. He had been a nobleman in life, a monster in death. Yet, in her presence, he had felt small.

“I need your help,” he had admitted.

Finally, she looked at him. Her gaze flickered over him—not with fear, but with understanding. As if she could see what he was.

The air in the small cottage was thick with the scent of burning herbs, damp earth, and something faintly metallic—blood. Alaric stood just inside the doorway, the low flames from the hearth casting flickering shadows across his face. He had been invited in, yet he felt like an intruder.

She had been tending to a wounded traveler when he arrived, hands steady, voice calm as she whispered reassurances to the half-conscious man. It wasn’t until she finished—until the man was resting peacefully in the corner—that she turned her full attention to him.

And oh, how it startled him.

She stepped closer, eyes bright with something that made his stomach twist. Excitement.

“You’re a vampire.” Her voice held no fear—only fascination.

Alaric stiffened. “You say that as if I am some curiosity.”

Her lips curled into a small, knowing smile. “Because you are.”

Before he could respond, she moved. Fast. Too fast.

Suddenly, she was circling him, inspecting him like a scholar studying a rare specimen.

“You’re paler than I imagined,” she murmured, her fingers hovering just shy of his forearm. He could feel the warmth radiating from her skin.

His muscles tensed. “Most vampires are.”

She hummed, completely unfazed. “And your eyes—they shift colors, don’t they? Depending on hunger.”

Alaric said nothing. He didn’t need to.

She took another step, tilting her head. “I always thought vampires had a sickly look to them, but you…” She trailed off, frowning slightly. “You don’t look like a corpse at all.”

Alaric let out a sharp exhale, his patience fraying. “Is there a point to this examination?”

"You’re the first vampire I’ve ever met," she admitted, her voice tinged with genuine curiosity. "I have so many questions.”

“And you are surprisingly comfortable in my presence,” he muttered, gazing darkly.

She shrugged. “I’ve spent my life tending to those the world fears. The sick, the dying, the cursed.” She finally stopped pacing, standing just before him, arms crossed. “You’re no different.”

Alaric’s lips parted—no different? Did she not understand what he was?

“Tell me,” she said suddenly, her voice softer now. “Is it true that your kind feel no warmth?”

He hesitated. “We do not.”

A flicker of something unreadable passed through her eyes. Then, before he could react, her hand touched his.

Alaric stiffened, every muscle in his body locking in place. Her fingers were warm—too warm.

She let out a small gasp. “You’re like stone.”

Alaric forced himself to pull away, his voice lower now. “And you are far too bold for your own good.”

She only smiled at him, as if she had won some sort of unspoken challenge.

“There is no cure for what you are,” she had whispered.

A cold truth. One he had refused to accept then.

“I don’t believe that,” he had said. “There must be something—anything.”

She sighed, wiping her hands clean. “You vampires. You fear eternity just as much as mortals fear death.”

Alaric clenched his jaw. “Wouldn’t you?”

She had met his gaze then, something unreadable in her expression. And for a brief moment, he thought he saw sadness.

“I don’t fear death,” she had said softly. “But I fear being forgotten.”

That had been the first night of many. He had returned, over and over, desperate for a cure that did not exist, and yet—he had found her. Found something he hadn’t known he was searching for.

"You have an interesting reputation," he murmured instead.

A flicker of amusement danced across her lips. "Do I? And what have they told you?"

"That you’re a witch."

She laughed. A genuine, light sound, as if the idea was amusing rather than insulting. "And do you believe them?"

Alaric studied her. Most would have shrunk under his gaze. She didn’t.

"I believe people fear what they do not understand."

The warmth of her hands as she tended to wounds, the fire in her eyes when she argued with him, the softness in her voice when she spoke to the sick. She had been kind when the world was cruel.

And then—she had been taken.

That life had been stolen from her. Burned at the stake as a witch, her screams swallowed by roaring flames. He had found the men responsible, but vengeance had never been enough.

And now—now, she is here again.

Another life. Another chance.

But at what cost?

Alaric exhaled slowly, the weight of centuries pressing down on him. He pushed himself up from his chair, shaking the blood from his fingers. There was no time to dwell.

Tonight, he would bring her back.

This time, he would not be too late.

The stench of blood was the first thing to hit him.

Thick. Metallic. Rotting.

Alaric barely concealed his disgust as he stepped inside the auction house, his expression impassive. The underground was always like this—filthy, indulgent, monstrous. He had seen it before, many times over, and yet it never failed to remind him of how low creatures of the night could sink.

The dimly lit hall was filled with murmuring voices, hushed yet buzzing with anticipation. Vampires, draped in wealth and arrogance, lounged in private booths or leaned lazily against the iron railings above, waiting for their chance to bid.

Below, the stage was slick with old stains.

Alaric’s gloved hand curled into a fist at his side. The humans on display—pale, hollow-eyed, trembling—were nothing but cattle to the beasts surrounding him. Chained. Branded. Some are barely able to stand.

Savages.

He had seen vampires reduced to little more than predators, but the reality of it still sickened him.

A human was dragged onto the stage, her muffled sobs barely carrying over the laughter in the crowd. The auctioneer grinned, dragging a hand beneath the girl’s chin, forcing her to look up.

“Fresh stock,” he purred. “Still untouched. Who’ll start the bidding?”

A ripple of excitement spread through the room.

Alaric barely heard it.

Because that’s when he smelled it.

Faint. Hidden beneath the overwhelming stench of suffering—but undeniable.

Her.

It slammed into him so suddenly his vision blurred.

The scent was the same, yet different. Time had changed her, reshaped her, but it was hers—he was sure of it.

He inhaled sharply, and the sound of the crowd dulled into a distant, meaningless hum.

She was here.

His servant, standing at his side, noticed the shift in his demeanor. “My Lord?”

Alaric didn’t answer.

His mind was already racing.

Was she hurt? Was she among them?

Or was he too late?

Alaric moved before he could think.

His stride was swift, purposeful—dangerous. The scent grew stronger with each step, guiding him through the dim corridors of the auction house like a predator honing in on its prey. But she was not prey.

She was his.

His shoulder slammed into the heavy iron door, sending it flying open with a deafening crash. The vampires inside startled, their hushed conversation cut off mid-sentence. They turned sharply, eyes glowing in the low light, irritated by the sudden intrusion.

But Alaric didn’t care.

His gaze swept the room, searching— and then he saw her.

Slumped on the cold stone floor. Shackled.

The sight burned.

She sat hunched against the wall, her wrists bound in iron, the heavy chains pooling around her like some cruel mockery of a throne. Her clothes—**thin, tattered—**did nothing to shield her from the chill that seeped from the damp walls.

And yet… her eyes were still bright.

Wide with shock, staring up at him—**him—**as if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

He exhaled slowly, forcing down the violent rage curling in his chest. He needed to get to her. Now.

A vampire stepped forward, clearly unamused. “This room is reserved—”

Alaric’s glare silenced him instantly.

Cold. Unforgiving.

The air shifted.

A slow, creeping dread slithered into the room, pressing down with the weight of something ancient, something unstoppable.

They felt it.

One took an instinctive step back. Another’s throat bobbed as he swallowed nervously.

They knew.

They were standing in the presence of something far more dangerous than they had anticipated.

Alaric took a slow, deliberate step forward, his voice deathly quiet.

“Unchain her. Now.”

Taglist: @yune1337

[sjsmith56]

Nothing More Real

Summary: AU story of an established actor, directing his first film, visiting a bookstore he wants to film in and falling for the owner. Told from her POV.

Length: 6.5 K

Characters: Bucky Barnes, OFC (unnamed and mostly undescribed)

Warnings: some slight drama over filming romantic or sexy scenes but the rest is fluff

Author notes: That recent selfie of Sebastian Stan was the inspiration except I interpreted it as him taking a picture of someone he loved. There are elements of Sebastian in this (his love of books, reference to acting in nude scenes, his open support for women) but I made him an AU version of Bucky Barnes who is successful but wanting more out of his career and his personal life. With this being Valentine’s Day I thought it was a good day to post it.

I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror, then was slightly startled by the gentle knock on the door. A polite voice on the other side asked if I was ready for my makeup. She didn’t say anything about me holding anyone up, or that she had other clients waiting on her, even though I knew I was doing exactly that. Tightening the belt of the hotel robe that I wore over the large towel wrap, I opened the door and came out to the makeup specialist, Mandy. The hair stylist, Georg, was in the adjoining room, preparing Bucky.

“Sorry, nerves,” I explained. “I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“It’s alright,” said Mandy, putting her hand on mine and squeezing it. “Bucky explained everything. All the spouses and girlfriends go through this at one time or another. You’ll be fine. If you would remove the robe to expose your shoulders and come sit in the chair we’ll get started.”

I did as she said, then sat on the tall stool, as she placed a soft hair band on my head, to keep the hair off my face while she cleansed it. She complimented my skin, raving over the skin care regimen I must follow and the beautiful colouring I had. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I still used plain old over-the-counter products that I bought at the drug store, and rarely wore makeup at all. As she worked I kind of tuned out thinking over what had led me to this very moment.

Two years ago, I was in my hometown, an adjoining suburb of a bustling city. I owned a bookstore, started up with my late husband’s life insurance payout, specializing in hard to find books, mostly those that were out of print. We had a loyal clientele that would make the short journey from the city and the surrounding areas on a regular basis to see what new offerings I had. I visited estate sales and yard sales often, looking for those treasures that some people didn’t realize they had. It helped that I had a retired bookbinder and repair specialist, my dad, at my disposal. He would lovingly restore some of the more worn first editions I found, using techniques gleaned from years of experience, teaching them to me so that I could turn the bookstore into more than just a place to buy books.

One day, a woman came in, browsing through the bookstore, looking at not just the books, but the entire space itself. When I asked if she needed help, she just smiled and gracefully declined. She did buy a book, casually asking who the owner of the shop was. Then she gave me a card that said Maria Hill, Location Scout.

“I work with a production company that is going to be filming in the area in a few months. We had a bookstore lined up for filming but they had a fire and now we need a new location. Your shop was recommended by a friend of a friend of a friend. Would you be interested?”

I didn’t know what to say. This shop was my living and from what I knew about filming on location, the production company could take weeks or even months to film scenes. That kind of interruption could be fatal to my business. She sensed my hesitation and smiled.

“We would pay you to use your place and could even use you as an extra if you want to pick up some money.”

“I don’t know.” I looked at my store. “I’m quite protective of my store and my stock. Giving up control to a film production would be difficult for me.”

She looked back at how I had things set up. “What if we replaced the books with remaindered ones for the filming, and put yours into storage?” I shook my head, still not convinced. “Why don’t I get the director to come and see you? He’s in the city with the casting director looking for local actors to fill some of the supporting roles.”

I wasn’t sure if that would alleviate my concerns but I was willing to listen to his pitch. Giving her one of my cards, I put my cell phone number on the back, then rang through her purchase, wondering if she bought it to grease the wheels. When I got home I called my dad and told him about the encounter. We talked for some time about the pros and cons of agreeing to it but I was still leaning to not doing it.

The following morning I opened up and spent a couple of hours unpacking and inspecting some boxes of books I picked up at an estate sale. Just as I finished one of them, the door opened, ringing the little bell I had on it so I would hear it if I was in back. I glanced up to say good morning to the customer, and my mouth went completely dry. The man who entered was dressed casually, and wore a ball cap to hide his hair but I recognized him right away as Bucky Barnes, an actor who had become famous working in several well received independent films. Why was he in my store? Croaking out my welcome, he smiled back at me, and stepped further inside, stopping at several shelves to look at the books, even holding on to one, then another.

Trying not to stare at him, I decided to do some dusting, bringing out the duster, dust cloth, and the tall step stool. I pulled out the top shelf of books on the one display running the duster over the shelf, then wiped the books with the dust cloth. As I got into it, finishing that column of books and starting on the next one, I totally forgot about Bucky Barnes, the customer. It wasn’t until I heard a polite cough behind me that I remembered he was there and turned. My foot slipped off the top of the stool and I fell towards him. Almost instantly, he stepped forward and expertly caught me, just like in the movies.

The first thing I noticed was that he smelled incredible. I don’t even know what the scents were as my dad wore Old Spice and my deceased husband never wore anything scented. He was also strong, much stronger than I was expecting. I’m not a waif and with the momentum I had as I fell I was sure we would both end up on the floor but he was solid and caught me easily. His beautiful blue eyes were now looking at me with concern.

“Are you alright?” The way his voice rumbled was somewhere between intoxicatingly masculine and “get in my bed” sinful. I gulped while he looked over at the stool. “You took quite a tumble there.”

“Fine,” I rasped, then cleared my throat. “I’m fine. Thank you. You can let me down now.”

Then he smiled and seeing those perfect white teeth finished me. I got all hot and flustered, totally aware that my cheeks must be flaming red as they were burning right at that moment. He lowered me so gently that I didn’t realize my feet were now on the floor.

“I’m Bucky Barnes,” he said, then gestured towards the fixtures. “My associate Maria Hill was here yesterday and thought it could work for my film and I have to agree. It’s a much nicer store than the one we were going to use. What do you say about letting me film here?”

“You’re the director that the location scout said would contact me?”

He nodded his head as I asked, then smiled again, holding up the four books he picked.

“I’d like to buy these. They’ve been on my “to read” list for a while but my book store contact could never find them.”

Now I was really hooked. Bucky Barnes, the actor, who was in the area, for pre-production on a movie he was directing, was in my store, buying books. Not only that, he had just caught me as I literally fell onto him. It must have been too much because the next thing I knew I was looking up at his worried face, while I was on the floor. My first instinct was to get up but he put a gentle hand on my shoulder, keeping me down.

“Stay there,” he commanded. “You must have had some vertigo or a low blood sugar moment. I caught you before you dropped.” That damn smile came out again. “Maybe you’re falling for me.”

I groaned at his awful joke but he didn’t take it personally. Eventually, he did let me stand, and allowed me to ring his purchase up, then he stood there, all 6 foot 2 inches and 185 pounds of movie heartthrob (I looked it up later), and asked me out to dinner the next night, to discuss using the bookstore for his movie.

“Oh, I can’t,” I said. “Thursday nights I’m open late.”

“Well, surely, one of your employees can take over,” he suggested.

I shook my head. “I’m it. This is a one person business and I do good business on Thursday nights. Tonight would be better or Friday.”

He glanced at my left hand, seeing my ring. “Won’t your husband object?”

“I’m a widow.” There was a flicker of emotion on his face but he quickly masked it.

“My condolences. Unfortunately, I have a pre-production meeting today that will last well into the late evening. I’m leaving for LA on Friday as I have filming on another movie to do so it will have to be tomorrow.”

“Busy man.”

“It’s how I make my living.” He leaned across the counter, fixing those blue eyes on me. “How do you eat meals or take a break when you’re here on your own?”

At first I was hesitant to answer. I mean, I’m a single woman talking to a strange (albeit famous) man about being here on my own. But those damn eyes were definitely a window into his soul because I saw genuine curiosity and concern in them.

“I sit in the back room with the door open so I can see the front door. It has a bell on it, to alert me to a new customer, and I put my sandwich down to come out and help them. When I have to use the facilities, I lock the door and put up a sign saying I’ll be back in 5 minutes. My customers understand and wait for me.”

“Huh, makes sense.” He frowned a little then seemed to come to a decision. “How about I bring you something to eat and hang out with you in the store? The movie is going to be set primarily in a book store and although the script has been written and I’ve had some preliminary rehearsals with the leading lady and several others, I think I could benefit from your expertise in running an independent small business on your own. I’ll pay you for your time ….” He stopped as if realizing that how he worded it could be misinterpreted and blushed. It was refreshing to see him being flustered. “I should say I will pay you for sharing your knowledge and experience as a bookseller, and give you a movie credit as a technical consultant.”

“I haven’t agreed to you using the book store, yet,” I answered, wondering if my loudly beating heart was audible to him as it was pounding in my ears.

“That’s true, but I’ll give you the credit no matter what. Please say yes.”

I remember how that word please did something to me, something I hadn’t felt for several years.

“Alright, bring sandwiches as they don’t get cold when I get busy. I’m open to just about anything but there’s a sandwich place a couple of blocks away that I always buy from, since I support local businesses. I have tea here so if you drink coffee you’ll have to bring your own. When you get here, the food stays in back.”

“6 o’clock is okay?” I nodded and he picked up his bag with the four books he bought. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He opened the door, looked up and grinned at the ringing bell, then tipped the brim of his ball cap and left. I remember thinking what an old fashioned thing that was. Men didn’t tip their hats to women anymore. It was a sign of respect, maybe even admiration. What was so special about me that a man like him could admire? It bothered me for the rest of the day until I got home and called my dad to let him know of this latest wrinkle. I tried to downplay my reactions to Bucky Barnes but my dad was always a perceptive man, even when we spoke on the phone.

“He tipped his hat to you? You don’t get that every day, do you?”

“Does it mean anything?” I asked, then waited as he took his time answering.

“Do you want it to mean anything?” I thought about it, then Dad said something that resonated with me. “It’s been four years since Dan died. He was taken far too young for both of you. I know that you’ve dated but haven’t felt any connections past a second date.”

“This isn’t a date, Dad,” I interrupted.

“I know, it’s a business meeting where he’s bringing you sandwiches, and eating them in your back room, picking your brain, then watching how you run your business. He sounds interested and invested in making you comfortable with him taking over your livelihood for the duration of filming. If he does talk money, make sure he pays you what you would expect to make in sales, plus a gratuity for the upheaval to your business.”

“You think I should do it,” I declared.

“I think you should consider it and then decide yourself. At the least, you can always say you had dinner with Bucky Barnes.”

That was Dad, pragmatic to the core. When Bucky showed up early at 5:50 he brought sandwiches from the local shop, a large coffee for himself, and earned major bonus points for bringing a slice of cake each from the bakery around the corner. I had already cleared my desk and brought plates and cutlery. After all, I was civilized. He noticed, his eyes crinkling as he smiled, showing those perfect white teeth again. As we sat and took our first bites, finishing chewing so we weren’t talking with our mouths full (see previous reference to being civilized), he looked intently at me.

“What would you like to know?”

“What’s the movie about?”

“It’s kind of my take on Notting Hill but without the paparazzi, the cheating boyfriend and the irritating roommate,” he answered. “I play an actor, in town to film a movie, and I find this little bookstore with a charming manager who I develop a crush on. On days when I’m not filming I’m at the store, enjoying the atmosphere, finding that it gives me what the movie business doesn’t, a calm place where I’m accepted at face value. We have a love affair, then the filming ends.”

“That’s it?” I asked, after sipping some tea from my insulated cup. “No happy ending?”

“Oh, there’s an ending but not even the other actors know what it is yet as I have sworn the writers to secrecy.”

I was going to respond to that but the bell rung on the door and I stepped out to find a pair of regular customers entering. Bucky watched from the doorway as I pulled out three books that had been placed on hold. They visually inspected the books then asked what the damage was. I gave them a price, which they agreed to and I rang them up, chatting as they brought out their own cloth bag to put them into. Slipping in a few bookmarks which I picked up from book trade fairs I wished them a good evening and watched them leave. Just as I got back to the room, the bell rang again and I made an apologetic face at Bucky as I tended to the next customers, chatting with them as they were regulars. More came in and although I got quite busy I noticed he was browsing the shelves, pretending to be another customer. No one seemed to notice who he was so it was a convincing improvised performance. After a steady hour or so of customers it began to taper off and I was able to slip back to have a few more bites of my sandwich.

“You weren’t kidding,” he said. “You get a lot of repeat business?”

“Yeah,” I shrugged. “That’s why I’m reluctant to close down. Many of them make the trip from the city or nearby towns. If I’m not open, I’m not sure they’ll come back.” I sipped my tea. “You could pay me well for the time I shut my store down but if I lose my base of regular customers I might not have enough business to keep it open afterwards. This is my living and I’m invested in keeping it.”

He listened carefully, then was quiet for some time while he thought before seeming to come to a decision.

“I’m sorry I didn’t realize the hit you could take if you turned the store over to us. This fire that hit the other bookstore has really forced my hand.” He rested his chin on his clenched fist. “I would build a new set but it would increase my budget. I wanted a place that looked authentic and used, you know what I mean?”

I nodded, understanding completely.

“You could always duplicate my bookstore in an existing empty retail space,” I suggested. “There are a few places here or in the city that would probably jump at the chance to have you there even on a temporary basis. You would need shelving, counters, and stock. If you built from scratch using used fixtures and buying remaindered books then it would have that funky independent bookstore look. You would also control the space, using it whenever you wanted and setting up your equipment without having to worry about upsetting the owner. At the end of filming you could sell off the inventory as official souvenirs of the movie. You know, buy a piece of cinematic history.”

I smiled hopefully at him with that rather unlikely last suggestion and he reacted with definite amusement but also with respect. Another customer came in and I left him to his thoughts and the rest of his sandwich. When I returned he had our cake slices ready to eat. He stood up, pulled my chair out for me, and waited for me to sit down until he did. Then he fixed his gaze on me.

“I think you’re right about building a purpose built set in an empty retail space. If there is any way you could work with our set designer to replicate what you have here before filming starts I would really appreciate it. She’s a local and you could arrange times that work for you. I don’t want to risk your business being permanently disturbed by our filming. The success of my little vanity project isn’t worth affecting your livelihood.”

It was a surprising admission from him, but it was made sincerely. He stayed until closing time and helped me shut the store down, waiting as I locked the doors. We lingered outside on the sidewalk, not saying much of anything but definitely feeling a pull towards each other.

“Thank you for letting me come over and observing you at work,” he said. “It was quite illuminating and I think I’ll work with the script writers to incorporate some new dialogue into the film based on what I witnessed.”

“You’re welcome,” I replied. “Thank you for dinner. The cake was a nice touch.”

That smile came out again, and I spontaneously kissed him on the cheek. We shook hands then we both kind of pulled the other in for an impulsive and more intense kiss, one that made me feel all sorts of things.

“You’re quite the woman,” he murmured, his arms feeling quite natural around me. “Can I call you sometime, just to talk?”

“Sure,” I stammered, then shrugged. “When you’re not busy with premieres and dating starlets and stuff.”

“Oh sweetheart, that’s all posing for the cameras, just part of the job. I’m much happier curled up in my favourite chair, a book in my hand, my dog asleep near me, and some nice music playing in the background. I go to the premieres and parties because I have to maintain a presence but I would much rather spend hours talking to you than being there. You’re real and I’ve had a better time with you in the last few hours than I’ve had in a long while.”

“I bet you say that to all the bookstore owners.”

With a soft smile, he shook his head, then kissed me again, leaving no doubt in my mind that there was definitely something worth exploring. After getting me safely in my car, and double checking my cell phone number he let me go and despite his words I didn’t expect to hear from him until he returned for filming. The next day a large bouquet of flowers was delivered to the store, along with the contact information for his set designer, and a cheque for my input that was more than generous. Bucky phoned that night and we talked for three hours. He phoned every night except Thursday as I was working, then he began video calling, introducing me to his dog, Tilly, a mutt who obviously adored him.

I did meet with the set designer and together we found a large empty retail space in the city, in a small strip mall that was struggling to stay afloat. Bucky gave her the okay to rent more space there to use as their production offices. Two weeks before filming started he showed up at my bookstore on a Thursday night with sandwiches, and dessert. It felt like he had always been doing it and we picked up our relationship where we left it, except this time, he followed me home in his car and stayed the night.

When filming started I saw less of him but we still talked and he made the effort to see me at least once a week. He met my father, finding common ground with him in their shared love of books. We did have a little bump in the road when I visited the set on a Sunday they were filming. It was the first time I was there and they were preparing a romantic scene between Bucky and his leading lady, Natasha Romanov, a very attractive actress. Wanda, a production assistant was waiting for me just outside the house they were using as Natasha’s place, leading me inside. The living room was set up with soft lights, candles and partially full wine glasses. Bucky and Natasha were talking with a third person, the intimacy coordinator, according to Wanda, going over the ground rules for their romantic scene. There was some joking between Bucky and Natasha then she got in position while a stand-in stood with her while the positioning was checked on a monitor by Bucky and his assistant director, Sam Wilson. Then he nodded at Sam and took his place where the stand-in had been. The clapper board, or slate, as they call it on set was brought in front of the camera to mark the beginning of the scene, then Bucky said “roll camera,” the camera operator started it, said “rolling” and Sam took a few seconds to call out “action.”

I felt weird watching my boyfriend kissing another woman in a way that was disturbingly familiar. Then the camera moved back as they moved to the couch and he laid on top of her, kissing and touching her with what seemed to be intent. When Sam called “cut,” Bucky got off of her like it was no big deal and came over to the video monitor, watching it intently, then pointing out issues in lighting or positioning. As a makeup artist touched up Natasha’s hair and makeup, they adjusted the camera angle and some lighting then they went through the scene again with the intimacy coordinator. I felt a touch on my arm and turned to see Wanda looking at me with concern.

“Do you want to wait in the other room?” she asked. “They’ll be calling lunch after they get the scene in the can.”

I nodded and she led me through an adjoining door to a den, bringing me a bottle of water, as I sat on a couch in there.

“They are just acting,” she said kindly. “It looks real but it isn’t.”

Even though she was trying to be supportive, I still felt odd about what I saw and just nodded. She left me there and I sipped the water, waiting. It was almost an hour before lunch was called, but all I could think about was that they must have gone through that scene several times. When Bucky came in, he kneeled down in front of me.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his eyes searching my face. “Wanda said you seemed upset.”

“No … yes,” I answered, struggling to keep my face neutral. “Are love scenes always like that?”

He frowned slightly. “Realistic? Yes. But it doesn’t mean there is anything between us. We’re both professionals and we separate our personal emotions from what we’re doing so that it looks like we’re into each other but we’re not. It’s all technical.”

“It looked real.”

“Hey,” he said softly, cradling my face in his hands. “This is real.”

He kissed me then, languidly caressing my tongue with his, as he gently threaded one hand into my hair while the other pulled me closer to him. When he pulled his lips away he continued holding me, rubbing my back.

“Have you ever fallen in love with an actress after doing romantic scenes?” I asked, still feeling insecure.

“When I was 18 and still a virgin,” he answered. I looked at him in disbelief. “Really. I had no romantic experience and I fell in love with my leading lady in the high school play. After our first rehearsal kiss I was sure she was the one, then when rehearsal was over, she went out to her boyfriend and gave him a kiss that must have reached to the back of his throat. It was gross.” It made me giggle, which made him smile. “I do love scenes because I’m a formally trained professional actor and it’s expected when I’m the lead in a production. I’ve done nude scenes with a man and a woman, separately, but I don’t get aroused by it because it’s really quite uncomfortable to be in front of a film crew with another naked person, pretending to be in love or lust, and having the whole scene broken down into “put your leg here, and your arm there, don’t fart, don’t burp and for God’s sake if you get a leg cramp don’t scream.”

“Okay,” I said, a little grudgingly. “I guess it’s something I have to get used to but would it be okay with you if I didn’t watch those scenes until the movie comes out?”

“Sure.” He kissed me again. “You know I love you, right?”

“What?” I gasped.

“I love you. You’re it for me.”

Before I could respond then Sam interrupted us, saying a closer look at the last scene filmed showed a shadow from the sound boom. Smiling apologetically at me, Bucky got up, then pulled me up with him to give me a hug.

“Wait for me,” he said. “We’ll talk some more.”

I stayed, found a book and read it. When they wrapped for the day, the activity level got considerably louder as people prepared to leave. I looked out into the hallway, seeing people going back and forth as some equipment was too valuable to leave in the house, even though a security guard would be on duty. Stepping into the living room, I watched as Bucky talked to Natasha, telling her she did good work that day, then hugging her. He had a quick conversation with a couple of people then saw I was there and told them he had to go.

“Ready to leave?” he asked. “Come to the trailer with me while I change then we’ll go.”

He took my hand and led me to a large trailer, like the type used in a work camp. All the actors had their own rooms with their wardrobes in it for that set. When we got inside his room, he closed and locked the door then pressed me against it, kissing me enthusiastically. When he finally had enough and allowed me to catch a breath, I looked at him.

“What’s got into you?”

“You. You’re in my head, and in my heart. I’ve wanted to say it for a while.”

“What stopped you?”

He caged me in between his hands that were placed on either side of my shoulders.

“Trying to find the right romantic moment.” He scanned my face as if he was mapping it. “I know that scene was hard for you to see but you really don’t have to feel like you don’t matter. I liked you the moment you fell off that stool into my arms and then fainted. I was impressed watching you work, handling your customers with such patience and professionalism. As we talked on the phone, then by video call, I realized that those times were the best part of my day. The film industry is all about make believe but there’s nothing more real than how you make me feel.” I smirked at his rhyme and he chuckled with me. “I adore you, and want to be where you are as much as I can.”

“How will we make that work?”

“I can move here.”

That stunned me. He was willing to move here instead of staying in Los Angeles? I could only respond with one word.

“Why?”

“Because this is your home and it’s where your business is. It’s important to you. After all this I don’t want to take you away from it.”

“But that will make you less visible and ….”

He kissed me again, softly, almost reverently. “When a guy finds the woman he wants to spend the rest of his life with, nothing is as important as her. This film, my first as a director, was important to me because I was ready for a new challenge, one that didn’t depend on me being that guy you see in the gossip rags or the entertainment programs. We can still keep a place in Los Angeles and New York for when I have to be there but I want to put down roots here, with you.”

“But would that mean you would marry me?”

“Not how I wanted to ask you but yeah. I want to marry you, have a family, bring Tilly up so she can get to know your dad, and you keep your business because it’s part of you, a part I love.” He looked hopefully at me. “Of course, it only works if you love me, too, and say yes to marrying me.”

“Yeah, I love you.” I started to cry, as he looked at me like I was something precious. “I want to marry you.”

“Guess what?” he asked, after he kissed me again, even though I was blubbering. “I just figured out the end of my movie.”

“I thought you already had an ending.” I wiped my cheeks with my hands.

“I did but after I met you I didn’t think any guy worth anything would leave someone like you behind. So, I asked the writers to come up with a happy ending and now I’ll get them to tweak it, just a little. It might be based on us, a bit. Are you okay with that?”

I nodded, as I knew that if I spoke I would start to cry again. While I sat on the couch, he wiped off his makeup with facial wipes, as he usually showered at the hotel or at my place, then changed into his regular clothes. Then he drove us in his rental car to my dad’s house, and told him I said yes, because of course he spoke to my dad first. We celebrated with steaks and beer. Six months ago, we got married in a private ceremony with his family and mine at a mountain resort. Tilly brought the rings down the aisle on a ribbon tied around her neck. Bucky had another film lined up a month later and worked on getting a distribution deal for the movie which brings us to why I was sitting on a tall stool in a hotel room getting my hair and makeup done.

It was the world premiere of Bucky’s film, Nothing More Real. Yeah, he used part of a line that he said to me for the title but I didn’t mind. As he explained to an interviewer the movie became more personal to him once he met me.

After my makeup was completed and hair styled into something other than my usual comb it out and fasten it with a barrette, a stylist brought out the three choices of evening gowns we made earlier in the day. Bucky’s stylist, Michael, had recommended her, knowing I was still dealing with the glitz and glamour of being in Los Angeles. All three dresses were casually elegant, nothing too extravagant or risqué. I chose a black off the shoulder style that I felt beautiful in. After making sure that all the seams were straight and my smoothing undergarment wasn’t bunching up anywhere, Lesley nodded her approval and helped me slip on the heels, low ones as I absolutely refused to wear the five inch ones that seemed to be the norm. She handed me my clutch then gestured to the adjoining door.

“I brought jewelry,” I said, reaching for my little case with some necklaces and earrings.

“Nope, Bucky got you something,” she answered. “Let’s go show off for him.”

I came through the adjoining door and he turned around, his face alight at the sight of me. He shook his head but it was because he couldn’t get over how I looked.

“Stay right there,” he said, reaching into his pants pocket for his cell phone. “I want a picture of how you look at this moment to send to your dad.”

Leaning against the closet door he aimed the camera at me, staring at the image for some time until he pressed the shutter button. I’ll always remember how he looked in his navy slacks and a white shirt while staring at his camera then at me. Looking beyond at Lesley he smiled and thanked her for finding the perfect dress. She just smiled and closed the door.

“Where’s your tie?” I asked, stepping closer.

“Not wearing one. Going for that casual elegant look.” Sliding his phone into his front pocket he placed his hands on my waist, gazing at me. “You look stunning and will make me look good just being beside you.”

“I bet you say that to all the bookstore owners.”

He laughed then hugged me, his mouth close enough to my ear that I could feel his breath on it.

“No, just the one I love. Now, I have something for you. Kind of a six month anniversary, world premiere gift.”

“Aw gee, and I didn’t get you anything.”

He went to the night stand beside the bed and pulled out two cases, one small square one and a longer slim one.

“Normally, the big jewellers provide pieces for the red carpet but I want the world to see that I appreciate my wife so much that I want her to have something unique with meaning to her.”

He opened the long case to show a white gold and diamond pendant shaped like a book. Explaining that it was custom made he fastened it around my neck. Then he opened the small case showcasing a pair of white gold diamond drop earrings. After I fastened them, he took another picture then received a text that our ride was waiting. Putting his jacket on he took my hand in his.

It wasn’t a long drive, but I could tell he was nervous. Although he had investors for the movie, he had put his own money into it and his reputation. For someone who wanted to transition into being a director it was a gamble. The red carpet was intimidating for me, but Bucky held my hand, and made sure that no one treated me with anything less than respect. There was one instance where I waited at the side while he was on camera with one of the entertainment programs, and was asked who inspired him. He smiled and said the usual, then he stepped away from the reporter, looking for me. When he saw me, his face broke into a soft and knowing smile.

“There, right there, is the person who inspires me the most,” he said, gesturing for me to come forward. His publicist frowned as she wanted the focus to be on him but she stepped back and let me go to him. Putting his arm around me and giving me a side hug he faced the reporter again. “This is my wife and she is the happy ending I always wanted. I cherish the day that the location scout walked into her bookstore and asked if we could film there. She said no, but I kept going back because there was something special about her, something real that I had been needing.”

It was an “aww” moment that was replayed for days. The reviews were great, calling Nothing More Real a gem of a movie, that realistically portrayed a romance between two people who needed something more in their lives. It didn’t get nominated for any major awards but it was always on a “best of” list of romance movies and gave Bucky a strong push into becoming sought as a director. It also increased my business as people came to find the bookstore behind the movie. Even though the movie was filmed in a set, built in an empty retail store in a strip mall they knew the real thing was even better. So was life and love with my movie star husband, who loved me as I was, because I was real.

One Shots Masterlist

[vixeneptune]

Are you drunk on me ?

Valentine's special 💋

The most intoxicating addictive girl ever

⚠️Powerful subliminal :

https://youtu.be/GjlFV3v2X34?si=IPsue1UoCNpuni-J

POWERFUL scripting affirmations

♱

I am pure ecstasy in human form.

When people are around me, it’s like a switch flips inside them, their thoughts blur, their hearts race, and suddenly, nothing matters except me. My presence hits them like the strongest drug they’ve ever known, taking over their mind and body in ways they’ve never felt before.

They are instantly hooked.

My energy seeps into their soul, leaving them dazed, enchanted, and craving more. I don’t just capture their attention ..I consume them. Every word I speak feels like velvet wrapping around their heart. My gaze? Paralyzing. My touch? Unforgettable. They lose themselves in me, and it feels so good they never want to find their way back.

I haunt them.

Long after I’ve left, my energy stays with them like a warm, lingering dream. They feel me everywhere.. my voice in their ears, my scent in the air, my face in their mind. Every little thing reminds them of me, and no matter how hard they try to shake it, they always come back for more. They can’t help it, I’ve already taken up permanent space in their heart.

Being with me is an experience they can never forget.

I make them feel things they didn’t even know were possible. I am their greatest high, their deepest pleasure, the sweetest obsession they will ever have. Time melts when they’re with me. All they know is that being near me feels like heaven.. so intoxicating, so addictive, they’ll do anything just to stay in my world a little longer.

I am the best they’ve ever had—and they know it.

No one else comes close. No one else even compares. I set the standard. I am the woman they will measure everyone else against for the rest of their lives. I am the craving they can never satisfy, the dream they never stop chasing. Being around me is like tasting magic—once they’ve experienced me, nothing else is enough.

I am their greatest weakness.

My power over them is undeniable. They surrender without even realizing it. I live in their mind, their heart, their soul. They feel lucky to be near me, to touch me, to even exist in my world. They’ll move mountains just to make me happy. There’s nothing they wouldn’t do for me.

And it’s all effortless.

I don’t even try. I just exist, and the world bends in my favor. I embody this power naturally. My presence is hypnotic, magnetic, and overwhelming. I am their addiction. I am the only one who can make them feel this way. They’ll never get enough, and they’ll never want to.

They always come back. They always crave me more. It’s inevitable. It’s who I am.

I am pure temptation—the sweetest sin, the most irresistible desire.

When people are around me, they melt under my spell, lost in the warmth of my presence. My energy is soft and inviting, yet dangerously addictive. I am the high they never want to come down from, a pleasure so deep and consuming it leaves them breathless.

They crave me without even understanding why.

I live in their senses, flooding their mind with thoughts of me. My scent lingers like a forbidden memory, my touch burns into their skin, and my voice wraps around them like silk. I am the sweetest distraction they’ll ever know—the one they can never shake, no matter how hard they try.

Being near me feels like pure bliss, a beautiful dream they never want to wake up from. My presence is electric, magnetic, and intoxicating. They feel alive in ways they’ve never experienced before, drawn deeper and deeper into the irresistible pull of my world.

I make them feel things they’ve never felt before.

They lose all control in my presence. Their mind spins, their body aches for more of me, and their soul is forever marked by the experience of knowing me. Every word I speak is a whisper of desire. Every glance is a promise. Every smile feels like a kiss on their heart.

I haunt them in the best way.

They replay every moment with me over and over again in their mind, craving that rush, that high that only I can give them. They dream of me, fantasize about me, and wake up wanting more. I’m the secret they can’t stop thinking about, the forbidden fruit they’ll chase forever.

I am unforgettable.

No one else can make them feel the way I do. I am the standard, the desire that outshines every other. No touch compares to mine, no experience rivals the one I give. I am the best they’ve ever had, and they’ll never get enough.

It’s effortless. I don’t even have to try. My presence alone seduces them. My love is addictive, my energy intoxicating, my vibe hypnotic. I have them completely. Mind, body, soul.. they are mine without question. They surrender willingly, aching for the pleasure only I can give.

They’ll do anything to be close to me. Anything to please me. Anything to make me smile.

I am their desire. I am their addiction. I am the dream they never want to end.

And they always come back for more. Always.

[batboysanonymous]

In the Back of My Mind

Rhysand x Reader

Summary: She was his past, and you were his present—but in the quiet moments, when his gaze lingered too long or his touch felt too careful, you couldn't shake the feeling that some ghosts never truly leave.

Based on the song: WILDFLOWER by Billie Eilish

───────────────────────────────

Things fall apart And time breaks your heart I wasn't there, but I know She was your girl You showed her the world But fell out of love and you both let go

There were nights when you could almost forget. When Rhysand’s hands mapped every inch of your skin with reverence, when his laughter echoed through the town house, dark and intoxicating, filling the space between your ribs with warmth. Nights when his love wrapped around you like the starlit sky, infinite, undeniable.

But then there were nights like this.

You weren’t sure what triggered it. Maybe it was the way he had hesitated when he mentioned Velaris earlier, his lips barely forming the name before his voice tapered off like he had suddenly lost the words. Maybe it was the way his fingers had brushed over a certain page in a book—a page you hadn’t seen, but something in his expression had shifted, just for a second.

Or maybe it was the fact that, no matter how many times he told you he loved you, a whisper of doubt always lingered in the back of your mind.

She had been here first. Feyre.

And you were the one who came after.

She was cryin’ on my shoulder All I could do was hold her Only made us closer until July Now, I know that you love me You don't need to remind me I should put it all behind me, shouldn't I?

You curled your fingers around the edge of the silk sheets, your back pressed against the headboard as Rhys sat on the other side of the bed, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. You should have left it alone. He had been nothing but patient with you, had never once made you feel like you were anything less than his equal. His mate.

But the words clawed their way out of your throat before you could stop them.

“Do you ever think about her?”

Rhys stilled. His breathing barely changed, but you felt it. The shift in his energy, the careful way he lifted his gaze to meet yours. The High Lord of the Night Court, with all his power, all his control—hesitating.

You swallowed, wishing you could take it back. But the damage was already done.

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw before answering. “Y/n—”

“Just tell me.” Your voice was quieter than you intended, but it didn’t waver. “I don’t need you to lie to me, Rhys.”

For a long moment, he didn’t speak. Then, finally, “Yes.”

The word landed like a weight in your chest.

“I see her in the back of my mind sometimes,” he admitted. “Not because I love her. Not because I wish things were different. But because…” His voice softened. “She was a part of me. For a long time.”

You nodded, lips pressed together, ignoring the way your throat burned. “I know.”

Well, good things don't last And life moves so fast I'd never ask who was better 'Cause she couldn't be More different from me Happy and free in leather

Feyre was everything you weren’t. She had been a warrior, a queen in her own right. A beacon of strength and fire. You… you weren’t sure what you were. A woman in love? A second love?

You pulled the blankets tighter around yourself. “Do you think about what it would’ve been like if things had worked out?”

Rhys turned then, fully facing you. His expression was unreadable, shadows flickering in the violet depths of his eyes. “No.”

You exhaled. “You don’t have to—”

“I don’t.” His voice was firm. “Because things didn’t work out. And they weren’t supposed to.”

You bit your lip, looking down at your hands. “But you were meant to be mates.”

His silence was deafening.

You already knew what he was thinking. The bond between mates was rare—rare and sacred. And yet, here you were, bound to him, despite the one he had once shared with Feyre.

What did that mean?

You say no one knows you so well But every time you touch me, I just wonder how she felt Valentine's Day, cryin’ in the hotel I know you didn't mean to hurt me, so I kept it to myself

The worst part wasn’t the memories he had. It was the ones you didn’t.

It was the fact that he had once known her body as well as he knew yours. That his fingers had once traced someone else’s lips, his voice had once whispered devotion to someone else in the dark. That there were moments—small, seemingly insignificant moments—where you wondered if she had ever felt the same way you did now.

You thought about the way he held you at night, the way his fingers tangled in your hair, the way he kissed you like you were the only thing tethering him to this world. Had he held her that way? Had he ever made her feel like she was his universe?

You hated yourself for wondering.

Rhys moved closer then, his palm cupping your cheek. “I know what you’re thinking.”

You forced a laugh. “Doubt it.”

“I do.” His thumb traced a slow line along your jaw. “You’re wondering if you were the second choice.”

The words sent a sharp ache through your ribs. You hadn’t meant to be so transparent.

He tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. “You weren’t.”

You swallowed. “Rhys…”

“I loved her,” he admitted, voice low. “But I love you differently. I love you more.”

You blinked up at him, your heartbeat hammering in your ears.

“Feyre and I…” He sighed. “We were never meant to last. We held onto something that had already faded, because we were too afraid to admit that we had outgrown each other.” His fingers brushed against your collarbone. “But you? You are my future. You are the one I wake up for, the one I fight for, the one I dream of.”

Tears burned at the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall.

“I need you to believe that,” he murmured, pressing his forehead against yours. “Because I do.”

And I wonder Do you see her in the back of your mind in my eyes?

You inhaled shakily, letting his warmth sink into you, letting his words settle into the cracks of your doubts.

Maybe she would always exist in the back of his mind, just as the people you had loved and lost existed in yours. Maybe there would always be echoes of the past.

But they did not define the present.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Want to join my tag list? Drop a comment or check out this link to submit a specific series you would like tagged in! (Or if you just don't want to comment, that's okay too)

[olive-treeeee]

To Make Peace - Blind Mag + Amber Sweet. Repo! the Genetic Opera.

Summary: Just before Blind Mag goes on stage for her last show, she decides to pay Amber a visit. Will the two finally be able to work out their differences?

Warnings: Daddy issues, talk of plucking eyes out, pretty graphic depictions of Amber's face falling off

Hey All! Happy *Belated* galantines day. I wanted to celebrate by giving my favourite girls some love. for context, this scene happens sort of during the events of 'at the opera tonight'.

As always, if you like what you see, I take requests!

Blind Mag had made her peace.

She looked across her dressing table, her fingers trailing over the clutter. letters she never sent, pictures of a life that wasn’t hers, piles of makeup that masked what she’d become. The room smelled of roses, perfume, and the faint metallic sting of the claws she had hidden beneath the papers. She had given her costume designer a special request: only she was to know about her plan.

She lifted her gaze to the mirror. The last time she might ever see herself. The last time she might see anything. Her breath hitched, chest rising and falling in a steady, deliberate rhythm, forcing herself to stay composed. Because this was it. This was the moment she stopped being his. No Theirs.

Her stomach twisted at the thought of Rotti’s reaction. He would not let this slide. He would not accept her defiance. No one walked away from him alive and she knew the price of freedom. It was more than just her sight at stake. She had seen what he did to those who disappointed him. Those who betrayed him.

But damn him.

Damn him for ever thinking he owned her, for making her a spectacle, for forcing her into making her a bird in a cage and calling it a stage. For every time he had smiled as he reminded her that her eyes belonged to him, that she belonged to him.

Not anymore.

She exhaled sharply, hands curling into fists. The fear clawed at her, but beneath it, something stronger burned. Hatred. Hatred for the years she had wasted, for the strings he had pulled, for the choices he had stolen. But even as the rage boiled, there was a strange stillness within her.

She had made her peace.

Let Rotti come. Let him try to take what was his.

She would not make it easy.

-

Amber had not made peace.

She wobbled down the corridor, gripping the wall for support, her heels clicking unevenly against the polished floor. The opera house was alive with movement! stagehands rushing, lights being tested, distant voices calling cues, but all of it felt like static in her ears. Her pulse pounded louder than the chatter, her breath came in short, panicked bursts.

She shoved open the door to her dressing room, slamming it shut behind her. Safe. For now. But not for long. Graverobber would be here any minute, and then- Then she could be Amber  Sweet, Amber Fucking Sweet, the woman she was supposed to be. She hated this part. The moment before stepping on stage, before the lights blinded her, Before She was swept away by her song. Her anticipation clawed at her throat, made her feel like she was drowning in a sea of judgmental stares.

Daddy’s stares were the worst.

She could still hear his voice in her head, sharp as a scalpel, slicing through her confidence. He had never outright said she was a disappointment but he didn’t have to. His eyes had always done the talking. The way they lingered on Mag, full of admiration, full of pride. And the way they skimmed over Amber like she was nothing.

Her stomach twisted. That ‘Blind Hag’ was finally doing her last show. Finally leaving, going wherever washed-up opera singers went. Maybe her father would kill her! Amber wasn’t sure, and she wasn’t sure she cared. Either way, Mag would be gone, and she would take her place.

She would finally be able to sing. She would finally be the star.

But what if they laughed at her? What if they saw through the confidence, the carefully sculpted face, the designer body? What if they saw the shaking, pathetic little girl underneath?

No. It would be fine. It had to be fine.

Soon, Graverobber would be here with the Zydrate, and then it wouldn’t matter. Then she wouldn’t feel the fear, wouldn’t feel anything at all. It wasn’t exactly healthy, but it made her who she was. It made her Amber Sweet, the woman who was supposed to be on that stage.

Then she saw it.

Amber choked back a shriek, her breath catching in her throat like barbed wire. ‘No. No, no, no. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.’

She stumbled forward, nearly tripping over her own heels as she lunged toward the vanity mirror. The harsh, unflattering bulbs cast her reflection in a sickly glow, illuminating every inch of the horror unfolding on her face.

Her fingers trembled as she touched her Forehead. The skin there was… loose. It shifted under her fingertips like wet silk, unnatural, wrong. A sticky warmth oozed from the seam along her hairline, thick and dark, sliding down the top part of her in sluggish, glistening like wet leather.

That fucking surgeon.

He had been rushing. She knew he had been rushing. He always did, always cut corners when he thought she wouldn’t notice, when he thought she was too drugged-up to care, because “She’s always too drugged up to care.” But now? Now her face: her perfect, expensive, Daddy-paid-a-fortune-for-it face, was coming apart at the seams.

Amber let out a strangled whimper as she pressed her palm flat against her forehead, trying to hold it together. But the moment she did, she felt something shift beneath her skin. A horrible, wet squelch. Then—

It slid down entirely.

She was melting.

Amber’s chest heaved in frantic, shuddering sobs as she gripped the edge of the vanity, her nails digging into the wood so hard they splintered. The scent of iron, of raw meat, of something rotting filled her nostrils. Her vision blurred, tears streaking down her face.

Amber had not made peace.

- 

A knock on the door.

Amber straightened up so fast she nearly lost her balance, Her head snapped toward the door, heart hammering in her chest.

“Who is it?” she snapped, voice sharp, strained, barely holding together.

Silence.

Her breath hitched. A second too long. A hesitation. She could almost hear her own blood dripping onto the vanity.

“It’s Mag.”

Amber’s stomach twisted.

The voice was soft, muffled through the heavy door, but there was no mistaking it. Mag. Of all people.

More silence.

Mag tried again. “Can I come in, please? I just want to talk.”

Talk? Since when did they talk?

Amber clenched her fists, her nails digging into the sticky flesh of her palms. The last time Mag had spoken to her—really spoken to her—had been years ago. No, they didn’t talk.

Mag just pitied her. Gave her hollow Care. Acted like she was something fragile, something that needed saving. She was not!

Amber swallowed the rising bile in her throat. Maybe she wanted to offer fucking necklace or something.

But she couldn’t let her see her. Not like this. Not when she looked like an over ripened fruit.

“Uh, no?” she yelled back, forcing her voice into something that sounded dismissive, casual. But there was a waver in it, an unmistakable shake. She clenched her jaw.

“Amber, please. Can we not fight today? Of all days?”

Amber closed her eyes.

Today.

Mag’s last show.

Tonight, she would be gone, one way or another. Maybe she’d leave quietly. Maybe Rotti would make her leave. But either way, this was it.

Amber sucked in a shaky breath. If anyone could understand this… Predicament, it was probably Mag.

“Hold on,” she muttered. “I’m coming.”

Her legs wobbled as she made her way to the door, blood squelching wetly between her fingers as she pressed a hand against her forehead, trying to keep the rest of it up. She hesitated for just a second before unlocking it.

The door swung open.

And there she was.

Blind Mag, in all her fucking glory, draped in black feathers, looking like some kind of gothic angel, or maybe a prize pheasant, Amber wasn’t sure.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Mag’s gaze, those eerie, engineered eyes, fell on her ruined face.

Amber barely had time to flinch before Mag’s expression cracked.

“Amber!”

Her voice was full of something that Amber wasn’t used to. Not disgust, not amusement, not smug superiority she had come to expect from the rest of her family.

Just… concern.

Amber barely had time to react before Mag was suddenly in front of her, her hands reaching, careful but firm, fingers ghosting over the gash in her forehead. She didn’t flinch at the blood, at the torn, sagging skin, at the horror show of Amber’s reflection.

“What happened?” Mag demanded, voice urgent, warm, gentle.

Amber swallowed past the lump in her throat, willing herself not to cry again. But it was too much. The humiliation, the exhaustion, the raw, festering hatred that she had carried for years, all bubbling under the surface.

“Daddy’s surgeon fucked up my face,” she choked out, voice thick. “I’m going on in less than thirty minutes, and I look like a walking horror film.”

And then…she broke.

The sobs came out in gasping, hiccuping bursts, her body shaking under the weight of it all.

She expected Mag to pull away. To leave her there, to let her collapse into the mess she had become. But instead—

“Oh, Amber.”

Mag’s voice was barely more than a whisper as she wrapped an arm around her, guiding her toward the vanity. Amber didn’t have the strength to resist.

She sank into the chair, letting Mag’s hands on her. Warm, steady, nothing like the cold precision of GeneCo’s surgeons, tilt her face toward the light.

“Nothing is as bad as you think,” Mag murmured, reaching into the folds of her feathered costume. “Here. I have a way to help.”

-

Mag reached into her pocket and pulled out a small tub of what looked like… Dermabond?

“I stole this from one of the surgeons the last time I had my teeth done,” she said casually, scooping a small dollop onto her fingertip.

Amber blinked. “You’ve had your teeth done?”

“Yes, twice.” Mag’s voice was even, as if it were nothing remarkable.

She stepped closer, placing a gentle but firm hand on Amber’s shoulder. Her touch was warm, steady, almost comforting. Carefully, she ran the adhesive down Amber’s hairline.

Amber flinched, hissing in pain.

“Sorry, sorry,” Mag murmured, her voice. “It’ll only sting for a moment.”

Amber swallowed, blinking rapidly. A question tumbled from her lips before she could stop it. “Why are you being so nice to me?” She searched Mag’s face. “I’ve been awful to you.”

Mag sighed, her expression softening. “I never wanted to take what you loved from you.” Her voice was quiet, almost distant. “It was just… complicated.”

Amber furrowed her brows. “I don’t understand.”

Mag hesitated. She considered telling Amber everything: the contract, Marni, the years of sacrifice, but what good would it do? Instead, she simply smiled, resting a hand against Amber’s cheek.

“You’re beautiful, Amber. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Not your brothers, not your father, and especially not that disgusting-smelling goth punk you spend your time with.”

Amber’s lips parted in surprise. “He doesn’t,” she said, as if trying to convince herself.

She found herself studying Mag more closely. There was no cruelty in her words, no deception, just honesty Pure Honesty. Perhaps Mag wasn’t so bad after all. Perhaps, after her final show, they could be friends. Mag could even give her singing pointers. Maybe they could sing together one day.

That would be nice.

Mag pressed a gentle hand to Amber’s forehead, inspecting her work. “There. That should hold for now.” She wagged a finger playfully. “And don’t touch your face.”

Amber lowered her gaze, something tight forming in her chest. “Thank you.”

Mag’s smile was soft, maternal. “You’re welcome.” With a fluid, graceful motion, she rose to her feet. “I’ll leave you to get ready for your big moment.”

Amber hesitated. “Wait… What were you going to say? Before you fixed my face?”

Mag looked at her for a long moment. There were so many things she could say. So many things she wanted to say.

Instead, she just smiled.

“Just… good luck out there.” Her voice was warm, tinged with something Amber couldn’t quite place. “You’re going to give them one hell of a show.”

A mischievous chuckle escaped her lips, but there was something else beneath it…something heavier. Amber didn’t notice. Not yet.

As Mag turned to leave, she felt something small and fragile wrap around her. Amber.

For a second, Mag froze. Then, slowly, she turned, enveloping the girl in a proper embrace.

Perhaps she would miss her the most 

She lingered for just a moment longer, then pulled away, offering Amber one last smile before stepping toward the door.

Amber smiled back.

And as Mag strode toward her fate, deep down she knew.

Blind Mag had made her peace.

[imaginesfordifferentfandoms]

In Another Life

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Prompt - ‘In another life, I would have really liked just doing laundry and taxes with you.’

Bucky Barnes was nothing if not a man who felt too much. He’d fight fiercely for those he loved, he’d make an idiot of himself to get the attention of the woman he loved. He let himself get knocked around if it meant he could catch a glimpse of her scowl that he’d always manage to turn into a smile.

“Seriously, Barnes?” You groan as you walk into the medical tent, seeing the familiar sight of James Barnes on one of your beds.

“It wasn’t my fault this time!” He lied, watching as you shook your head but there was a fondness to it.

Bucky could read you like his most favourite book at this point. You’d been appointed to 107th to join their medical team and it didn’t take long to capture the attention of the Sergeant. He had fallen for you in that first meeting, watching you boss around men twice the size of you, putting them into place without fear, putting him in his place when he tried to play off a pair of broken ribs as nothing.

Since then Bucky had done anything to be around you, he’d had his nose nearly broken, he’d fractured his wrist, he’d faked more stomach bugs than he could count. You didn’t buy any of them, you never did and yet you still let him take up one of the beds in the medical tent for hours on end. 

“We both know that’s bullshit.” You called him out and he didn’t even try and look guilty anymore, instead he shot you a bright grin and shrugged in a what can you do way causing you to roll your eyes though there was no heat in the gesture. “What is it this time?”

His smile widened impossibly as he lifted his shirt up, noticing the way your eyes took in the sight appreciatively before they widened at the cut across his torso, a blood soaked rag falling down as he lifted his shirt.

“You’re a real piece of work, Barnes, you know that?” You asked, starting to gather your supplies before sitting next to Bucky, the grin still firmly in place, slightly more smug now that he’d seen you take him in.

“Don’t deny it, doll, you love me patching me up.” Bucky said confidently, knowing that you could have demanded one of the other nurses deal with him if you really didn’t like him.

“There’s better ways to get my attention, no need to go get yourself all cut up on my behalf.” You told him, watching as his eyes widened slightly and a smirk pulled at his lips. “Ready?” 

“For you, doll, always.” He smirked and you groaned again causing him to laugh, though it was quickly silenced as you pushed the needle through his skin, slowly patching up the wound and letting Bucky fill the silence, fighting back a blush as he spoke.

“There’s my most favourite nurse!” Bucky called as he stumbled into the med tent, leaning heavily against another soldier, his skin pale and sweaty.

“What happened?” You ask straight away, gesturing for the soldier to put Bucky on the bed closest to you as you get to watch stripping the uniform of the man and frowning at the amount of blood pouring from two wounds on his stomach.

“He got shot, ma’am.” The soldier answered and your frown deepened, looking up at Bucky who’s eyes were half lidded but he was still grinning at you, apparently no injury was bad enough to wipe that damn grin off his face.

“‘M fine, Y/N.” He tried to assure you, seeing the frown between your eyebrows deepen and you could help but let out a soft huff of laughter, moving to get some needles, tweezers, gauze, pads and everything else you need.

“Told you there’s better ways to get my attention, didn’t mean go and get yourself shot, Buck.” You say softly, sitting next to him and cleaning the blood, checking him over and seeing both wounds were clean through, good no need to go digging for bullets.

“Shit, doll, you’re calling me by name. My dying?” He asked, slurring the words out and your heart ached at the slight tremor in his voice.

“Come on, it’s me we're talking about. You really think I'm about to let you die?” You ask him, forcing a smile onto your face and looking up at him assuringly before focusing on the worst of the two wounds.

“Better not let me die, Y/N/N, gotta take my girl out on a date.” He breathed out, looking at you so softly, groaning when you pressed down on his wound. “Fuck, doll.”

“Your girl, huh?” You shushed him softly, keeping him talking, needing him to stay alert for your own sanity more than anything.

You took a deep breath, knowing you needed to stay calm in order to make sure Bucky got through this, to make sure he didn’t lose any more blood than he had. You needed to push aside your feelings aside and focus on the patient.

Even if that patient was Bucky Barnes.

“Best girl around.” Bucky slurred out, a choked laugh escaping him and you let yourself smile. “Fixes me up all the damn time, even though she knows I’m an idiot.”

“You certainly are an idiot.” You agree easily, watching as he glares at you, a dazed smile still firmly in place. 

You had cleaned the wound well enough that the blood had stopped pouring from it and focused on patching it up, keeping Bucky talking the whole time, even as he winced and flinched, his eyes falling shut.

You were fine so long as he kept talking.

The second gunshot wound was much easier to patch up, you had it cleaned and packed quickly and once they were both dealt with you sat back heavily, looking at Bucky’s face, watching as he forced his eyes open and looked at you drained.

“All done, doll?” He asked, voice thick with tiredness and you smiled softly at him, eyes stinging slightly as you swallowed around the lump in your throat.

“All done, soldier. Get some rest.” You told him, your own voice thick with emotion and you stood up, needing a minute to yourself, eyes watering but a hand on your wrist stopped you from leaving.

“Stay, doll?” Bucky asked softly and you couldn’t bring yourself to say no, a single tear slipping down your cheek as you turned around and sat back down, Bucky forcing his heavy eyes open and frowning at you. “M’alright.”

You nodded, you knew he was, you were the one to patch him up and yet you felt like you couldn’t catch your breath now that you were done. Bucky practically lived in the med tent, you were used to him being hurt, used to fixing up his many injuries. This one was different though, this one was serious.

You’d never really had Bucky in your med bay because he needed saving. There were so many factors that could have changed the outcome, if the gunshots had caught Bucky a bit to the right it could have caused damage you couldn’t have fixed, if it had taken them any longer to get Bucky to you he could have lost too much blood. It was the first time you’d had Bucky in serious danger.

It’s not like you were stupid, you knew who he was, what his job was but when it was just the two of you it was easy to forget there was a war going on outside, easy to forget that seriousness of his job. 

“You’re alright.” You breathed out, another few tears making their way down your cheek and Bucky reached down, threading his fingers with yours and bringing them up to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the back of your hand, his eyes closed. “Sleep, Buck.”

Bucky nodded, following the command easily.

After that day you let yourself give into Bucky’s flirting, giving it back just as quickly as he gave it, realising it could all be snatched from you all too soon.

It was a few weeks later, you and Bucky had practically been inseparable. All his free time had been spent with you in the med bay and he savoured each moment he got with you, his little piece of heaven during the war.

You frowned as you walked towards the med bay, hearing one of the nurses raise her voice. It wasn’t entirely uncommon, most of the soldiers looked down at a woman doing a job, sometimes it was called for but when you stepped closer your eyes widened when you heard Bucky.

“Sergeant Barnes-” The nurse tried again but Bucky cut her off.

“No! I want Y/N.” Bucky demanded, like the med tent was the sort of place to be making demands. 

You rolled your eyes stepping into the tent, Bucky not noticing you but the nurse's face filled with relief as she saw you before glaring at Bucky.

“You know,” You say, causing Bucky’s head to snap over to you, your eyes immediately going to the trail of blood falling from his temple. “When your head’s bleeding, people usually aren’t picky about what nurse they have.”

“What can I say? I have my favourite nurse, no point ending up in this place if I don’t get to see my girl.” Bucky grinned at you and you rolled your eyes though there was a fondness you couldn’t deny and you nodded at the other nurse, taking over.

“What happened this time?” You asked, holding a damp rag against the wound.

“Cut my head jumping out of the way of a bullet.” Bucky told you and you sighed, pulling the rag away and seeing the blood had already begun to slow. “Hey, when are you finally gonna let me take you out?”

Bucky had been asking you out ever since he got shot and each time you never gave him a real answer because how could you? There was a war happening, even with his free time he couldn’t just leave to go on a date with you.

“Come find me when you’ve won the war.” You finally told him, watching a blinding grin spread across his face, eyes lighting up as he nodded.

“Doll, I’m gonna marry you once the war’s won.” He swore and the way he said it, you had no choice but to believe he would, you weren’t complaining, the rest of your life with Bucky Barnes seemed like a pretty good life.

“You promise?” You grin back at him, the man unable to help himself, pulling you closer to stand between his legs and closing the distance between you, his fingers tangling in your hair as he tilted your face up to his, his gaze intense, before his lips claimed yours in a fierce, passionate kiss full of promise of a future. You couldn’t help but gasp at the sudden intensity, your hands clutching at his shirt. The world around you faded away as you both lost yourselves in each other, the kiss leaving you both breathless.

“I promise. I’m gonna marry you when this is all over.” He promised and rested his forehead against yours. “On my life, we’re gonna spend the rest of our lives together.”

You hear the tent open and turn around from where you stood sorting through your supplies, rolling your eyes but not stopping the grin that spreads across your face.

“Here comes trouble.” You say to yourself, loud enough for Bucky to hear and he just grins back at you, sitting himself on the closest bed to you. “What is it this time then?”

“Oh nurse Y/N, you gotta help me.” Bucky groans, clutching his heart. “My heart is hurting so bad, think I’m having withdrawals from seeing my best girl, think you gotta cure for that?”

“You’re an idiot.” You laughed at him, swatting him with a rag before going back to organising your supplies, knowing the men were heading into another battle and you’d need everything ready for when they came back.

“Come on, doll.” He pouted dramatically over at you, jumping from the bed and turning you to face him. “A kiss for good luck?”

You rolled your eyes again, something you did a lot in the presence of James Barnes but couldn’t help but smile up at him. Bucky smiled down at you, his hand coming up to cup your cheek in his hand, delicately running his thumb across your cheek bone before he guided you up to him, meeting you halfway and then his lips found yours, gently at first. Slowly, he deepened the kiss, becoming more passionate as he pulled you impossibly closer, his other hand moving to the small of your back and you couldn’t help but melt into him, arms wrapping around his neck, a soft sigh escaping your lips.

“Come back to me, soldier.” You told him when the two of you finally pulled away, foreheads resting against each other.

“I got promises to keep, doll, course I’m coming back.” He said, watching as you blushed at the reminder of his promises.

Bucky stole another handful of kisses before one of the men came in, telling him he had to leave.

“See you soon, gorgeous.” He grinned, pressing one more breathtaking kiss to your lips before running out of the med tent and you sat on one of the beds, watching the spot where he had stood, smiling like a fool in love but you couldn’t deny that’s what you were.

Too much time passed, not enough information was given. You paced holes in the med tent floor, he should be back by now. Something was wrong, there were whispers but nobody would tell you anything, everything was on a need to know basis and it was driving you mad.

It had been well over a week since Bucky left and the ache in your chest grew as more and more days passed without a single word.

When the med bay tent opened your head shot round, there were dark circles under your eyes, your hair was a mess from the amount of times you’d ran your hands through it. You shook your head when you saw the commanding officer step into your tent.

“Don't.” You said firmly, eyes already filling with tears and the man frowned, a grim look on his face.

“Nurse Y/LN,” He started and you shook your head, “I regret to inform you that Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes is missing in action and after our best efforts to identify the location of him and the 107th, we believe he has died in the line of duty. I know this must be difficult news to hear, but please know that you have the full support of the military and all available resources to assist you during this difficult time." 

You felt your legs give out, hitting the floor and sobs wracked your body, the choking feeling you got seeing Bucky shot coming back in full force, head shaking as you pleaded with any god that would listen to bring him back.

The commanding officer left, leaving you a sobbing mess on the floor. 

“He promised.” You choked out to nobody. “He was meant to marry me.” 

You stayed there for a long while, crying for hours for the loss of what could have been. It would have been amazing, a lifetime with James Barnes and now, now you had to miss him for longer than you had known him.

Maybe in another life he came back to you, maybe in another life the war was won and he came back to you, swept you up in his arms and kept every promise he ever made. Maybe in another life, you had lazy mornings in bed, in another life you did the mundane stuff like taxes and laundry together.

Maybe in another life you had more time.

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[water-to-drink]

Be a Gladiolus in a Field of Belladonnas pt18

Prison Beak

(Synopsis): After being in the Fortress of Meropide for however long you’ve been in there you get fed up with everything and make a break when the opportunity presented itself

Part 1 Last Part Next Part

✧ Masterlist ✧

(Characters): Lyney, Wriothesley, & ???

(Tags/Warnings): gn!reader, foul language, reader is called a bitch, reader is attacked (typical sagau stuff), badly written fight scene, (if i missed anything lmk)

(Word Count): 2.4k

Your hand caressed the book in your other hand. You flipped the page and began reading, though you can’t understand the words it’s still fun to look at the words and try to find patterns in the sentences

You ripped a page out of the book, held it up and set it alight. Your control over pyro has gotten better over the course of god knows how long you’ve been in this room. The small flame mesmerized you, something so small could grow and eat up entire buildings and other large structures.

Besides from the books you asked for you get a lot of letters. Though you can’t read a word in them you think it’s for the best, your mental state is already shit so reading letters from people who are scared and angry at you wouldn’t be great. The letters probably saying how you’re going to face the wrath of the gods or suffer an eternity of torture

You used anemo to starve the flame of oxygen and to disperse the smell of smoke in the room

“You best be careful about your powers so the guards don’t suspect a thing.”

You turned your head to see a woman clad in red with blonde hair and pointed ears standing just by the door of your cell. She looked familiar but you can’t put your finger on it

“Wh-who are you? Are you a therapist that my doppelgänger sent so my mental state could be in tact by the time they kill me?” You chuckled out as you turned away and rest your head against the wall. “Well it’s too late for that, it’s already fucked.”

“I can assure you that I have no affiliation with them nor the fortress.” The woman said still in her spot

“Then who are you and what do you want with me?”

“I go by many names but may call me ‘A’ for now.” The mysterious woman said finally walking into your cell and standing a good distance in front of you. “You will be in good hands soon enough.”

“What are talking about-”

“Hey!” A voice boomed from out your cell, making you turn your head to see a guard walk in with a tray in his hands. “Quiet!”

You instantly turned you head toward where “A” was previously standing only to find the spot empty. In complete confusion you turned towards the guard and pointed at the spot where “A” was

“Didn’t you hear her?” You asked

“All I heard was you yapping! It’s lunch time.” The guard said as he threw your food on the floor. After a moment of silence the guard looked down at you. “What? Aren’t you going to eat up?” You looked at the guard with a scowl on your face. In response to your defiant stare he grabbed your hair and shoved your face into the tray. “You think you’re too good to be eating this like the flithy dog you are!”

After several agonizing seconds the guard released his grip on your hair and left the room. You wiped the food off your face and felt tears running down your face, you don’t know how long you can take it. The mistreatment, the abuse. The guards don’t see you as human! They don’t even give you untensils for your food, they say it’s so that you don’t use them as weapons, but you call bullshit. They expect you to eat it like a dog! They say it’s so that you don’t use them as weapons, also bullshit

“Hey!” You turn your head to see another guard in the doorway of your cell. “It’s time for you to get to work!”

That right another thing they make you do is work at these machines in exchange for food, once 3 guards brought you to the janky ass machine you began to work. You can’t complain though, it’s better than being in that suffocating cell all day. Maybe this “enrichment” is all for your imposter to kill your will on the day of your execution

Just thinking of their face, the first time they laid eyes on you they looked shocked almost scared even. The second time they had this look of wicked glee, like they were happy at what your death will bring them, you, someone who did nothing but tried to live their life and potentially try to find a way home, you who didn’t do anything wrong, who didn’t try to take their position, you who-

You were brought back to reality when you hear the machine make noises that sounded expensive and smoke started to billow out from it.

“You idiot! You broke it!” A guard yelled at you

“I’m sorry, maybe if I kick it then it’ll-” You tried to respond

“Don’t even try!” Another guard yelled out

“Don’t move, we’ll be back!” The third guard shouted as he and the two men left the area to get something, what you don’t know

Normally you would start crying but now you only feel anger and then numbness afterwards. Maybe the situations you’ve been through has seriously fucked with your head way more than you realize. Suddenly you felt something brushed up against your leg

“Meow~”

Looking down you see the most unusual looking cat. A little kitty had a star and teardrop for eyes. It nuzzled its head against your leg, temporarily comforting you and making you forget that you were in a maximum security prison. In its mouth it is holding a playing card, the cat looked like it wanted you to take. So you knelt down and took the card, it was a jack of swords

“Is this for me?” The cat nodded its head. “Do you know the meaning of this card?”

The cat looked at you blankly, or what you think is a blank stare…

Odd

You put the card in your pocket and paid it no mind

“Come here, kitty!” You said as you picked up the little feline. You pressed multiple kisses onto the cat and nuzzled up against your face.

“There you are!” Called out a young voice

You looked up and saw a blond young man wearing a top hat walking towards you

“Is this your kitty?” You asked

“Yes thank you for taking good care of him.” The young man spoke

“Oh wait, your cat had a card in it’s mouth,” You said as you took the jack of swords out of your pocket. “I think this must be yours.”

“You can keep it, you might benefit from keeping a card like that in your possession.”

“Oh okay…” You put the card back in your pocket as the young man walked off

“Anyways, have good day, your Grace.”

Okay you turned back to the machine. Wait. You turned back to where the blond boy was only to see that he was gone and in his place were 4 other prisoners walking up towards you

“This is the imposter everybody’s talking about?” One prisoner sneered

“Hey, just leave me alone…” You turned back to the machine only for you to be harshly turned back towards the prisoners and slammed against the iron wall

“You don’t get to call the shots here, bitch.” Another prisoner said

You saw the same prisoner reel his fist back in preparation to punch you in the face. You raise your arms up to block the attack but it was too late, the prisoner’s fist collided with your face

Tried of all of the abuse you have endured over god knows how long you’ve been in this hellhole, you began to fight back

You kicked your attacker in the groin and when he was on his knees you kicked him square in the jaw

Another prisoner runs up to you trying to throw a punch but you dodge it by ducking and grab onto her leg. You pulled it making her fall and hit her head against the floor

You see a third prisoner taking a part of the machine to use it as a weapon, with each swing of the makeshift weapon you dodged them with expert level of precision that someone with years of combat experience would have

Suddenly you felt something materialize in your dominant hand, without looking or asking questions you charged at the prisoner with the weapon

Readying the weapon to strike you slid down and stabbed them in the Achilles tendon. Your attacker doubled over in pain and the fourth prisoner runs up and tried to tackle you to the ground

Rolling out the way you dodge the prisoner and go back to make the finishing blow, but before you could make contact with his throat you feel two pairs of arms wrap around you

You’re pulled off and as you struggled against the guards one hits you in the face rendering you disoriented. Once you got your bearings you saw where the guards were taking you to, a dimly lit room.

You struggled even more, but it was no use you were thrown into the room and before you could run out the door was slammed in your face

The only sounds in the room were the huffs of you trying to catch your breath, you look down in your dominant hand to see a shiv made entirely out of ice

When the situation finally dawned on you you began to scream at the top of your lungs. Sparks of electro fly all around you. The electro was so intense that the lightbulb that was illuminating the room bursts making glass fall on top of you, it gave you an idea

If the lightbulb bursts when your electro went out of control when this prison must be powered by electricity or at least a good part of it and that these metal walls can contuct it, with that knowledge in mind you put both of your hands on the steel walls and put all of your concentration of pouring every ounce of your energy mainly your anger into overloading the whole prison

You concentrate and soon enough large sparks of electro fly all over the place, eventually going throw the walls and finally short circuiting the main frame

You stopped once you saw your door slowly open, without an further hesitation you run out of solitary confinement

You have no idea where you’re going to but you need to find a way out of here and fast before a guard finds you

Where in the hell are you?

It’s so dark that you can’t see anything, you ignited some pyro in the palm of your hand to get a better view

Unbeknownst to you a guard saw the little flame in your hand that just so helpfully illuminated your features

“The imposter’s escaping!”

Fuck!

In the warden’s office Wriothesley hears the alert and runs out of his office

“Go back to your cells, and I’ll be lenient on you!” Wriothesley yelled out to the prisoners who wandered out of their cells to see what was going on, but it was mainly aimed at you

His warning echoed throughout the administrative area causing you to run despite you wanting to go back to your cell. Your legs kept on like they had a mind of their own and thankfully the path that you were on started to look familiar. Just when things started to go your way several guards start running towards you, many of which had polearms

You picked up the pace, running full speed at the guards. The guards lunged at you and you slid down kicking the guards’ feet from beneath them, they fall to the ground

A guard jumps back up and slashes as you. Expertly moving your body you were able to avoid the attack. Lifting your leg up you kicked the polearm out of the guard’s hands and with the chance presented to you, you punched the guard in the face

Picking up the polearm you began defending yourself against the other guards. You never picked up a weapon and yet you fought with the vigor of someone who fought their entire life. Slowly the guards turn into faceless soldiers, their once black and grey uniforms turning into silver armor. You quickly fell into a rhythm of fighting

An icicle slices your thigh snaps you out of trance

You were kicked in the ribs, making you drop the weapon. The other guards see this chance and punch you in the face. Before they could completely surround and overwhelm you, you use some of Dvalin’s anemo to jump over the guards, and you began running towards the exit

Turning your head you saw the guards running after you with Wriothesley just behind you. You slid to a stop before creation a large wall of ice to stop the guards from coming any further. After the wall of erected you continued running

“We need a pyro vision holder!” Wriothesley yelled out

You reach the elevator and pressed the button only to realize that the power is still out. Fine you have to look for another way out, you turned your head to see a guard melting the thick ice wall. Once the hole was big enough you saw Wriothesley and the guards running through it

Shit

You began running away from the elevator but stopped when a large icicle flew just inches from your face. Looking at where the icicle flew you saw it came from Wriothesley, who was running towards you

Getting your fists ready you used cryo to protect your hands and began to exchange blows with the warden. With your bloody leg you kicked Wriothesley in the ribs. This makes the warden stumble a bit in pain, so seeing your chance you uppercut him making him fall to the ground

You look around to see a ladder to what you hoped lead to the surface. Without asking any questions you started to climb up the ladder with all the adrenaline coursing through your body. Soon enough you reached the top and began to turn the door wheel of the hatch, your movements came to a halt when you heard Wriothesley from down below

“Hey!” He yelled out as he started to climb up the ladder with the other guards in tow

You moved faster than before and opened the hatch, soon you got blinded by the sun. Jumping up onto the grass and felt the little needles on your palms, you can relish in your newfound freedom later you have to get these guards off your tail

You spotted Wriothesley about to exit so you slammed the hatch in his face and sealed it with cryo. You started to run as fast as you could and thankfully you got some distance between you and the hatch because you heard an explosion. Turning your head you saw the hatch door flying and Wriothesley running behind you

“Stop!” Wriothesley yelled at you

You picked up the pace towards the ocean but it seemed that Wriothesley was a lot faster than you anticipated. Wriothesley extended his hand to grab onto you, but you jumped into the water before he could

Taglist:

@chuuya-brainrot @creation-magician @tartarsaucechi1de @vvyeislazzy @aludicpoet @undecidingfate @annoying-mary @randomnatics @bore2808 @esthelily @yurivision @angelamelamela @chocolatekuns @mmmhyperfixation @legendaryexperthideout @lapinaenmicoche @sinsdumbdrabble @ghost-mint @rebeccawinters @imyme20 @nymphsdomain @sun7lowxr @blackcoffex @itz-luna @flowerpesky @land-of-eternity @deathcvltcivilofficial @d4y-dr3amer @yuriclouds @artwitch @mercy-not-merci @xyaxyn @starxvs @dreamoffireflies06 @desirabletravel @bidisasterforever @dxprived4-starboys @angstylittleb1tch @lhaol @sjgem @annexblogs

[wonwoosmagnetic]

No Saints Here | kmg

Pairing : bodyguard!mingyu x rich!reader

Genre : angst, romance, mystery

synopsis :

Some secrets are meant to stay buried. Some love stories were never meant to begin.

Evangeline Perez thought she buried the past along with her sister. But when whispers of the truth resurface, she finds herself tangled in a web of secrets, power, and deception—one that could cost her everything.

Mingyu is a complication she never asked for. Cold, relentless, and far too protective, he’s determined to keep her from chasing ghosts. But Eva has never been one to obey orders, and the deeper she digs, the harder it becomes to ignore the tension pulling them together.

Because some things refuse to stay in the dark.

And some hearts are doomed from the start.

CHAPTER THREE

"You’re too tense," Lia had said, her voice laced with amusement as she stirred her coffee. "You act like the world is resting on your shoulders all the time."

Mingyu exhaled sharply, leaning back in his seat. "Because it is."

Lia rolled her eyes. "Dramatic much?"

He smirked but said nothing. She always saw through him, no matter how much he tried to keep his walls up.

"You should let yourself breathe once in a while, Mingyu."

He scoffed. "Says the woman who never takes a break."

Lia hummed, tapping her fingers against her mug. "Maybe. But I have my reasons."

There was something wistful in her tone, something almost unspoken. Mingyu had wanted to ask, but he didn’t.

Instead, he just watched as she glanced out the window, her gaze distant.

"Sometimes, we don’t have all the time we think we do," she murmured, almost to herself.

He slowly opened his eyes, pushing the memory down before it could swallow him whole. It had been happening more lately—Lia slipping into his thoughts uninvited, her voice whispering between the cracks of his mind.

Mingyu let out a quiet breath, forcing his focus outward. That’s when he saw you.

Standing a few meters ahead, deep in conversation with Caro.

His stomach twisted.

The resemblance was uncanny. The same sharp gaze, the same delicate bone structure, the same damn eyes. But that’s where the similarities ended. Lia had carried a quiet sadness, the kind that settled into the corners of her smile. You, on the other hand, held yourself like you had nothing to lose. As if you were ready to fight the world before it could take anything from you.

And yet… something about you felt familiar. Not in the way you looked, but in the way you existed. Like a puzzle piece he didn’t realize he had lost.

Mingyu clenched his jaw. It was ridiculous. You weren’t her.

And yet, for reasons he couldn’t quite name, he couldn’t look away.

-------

“So, I’m meeting Elias for lunch today.” You keep your voice low, barely above a whisper. Caro groans, her face twisting in frustration. “You’re actually going through with this?” You cross your arms. “Of course, Caro. I need to know why my family is so hell-bent on keeping me away from him. Like they suddenly give a damn about me.” Your voice hardens. “I need to understand why they sent Mingyu after me like some damn attack dog—with a gun, no less.” Caro sighs, dropping onto a nearby bench, picking at her waffles. “This isn’t going to end well.” You exhale, rubbing your temples. “I know. But I don’t have a choice. I can’t just sit around and do nothing.” Caro looks at you, unimpressed. “There’s a difference between doing nothing and running straight into a burning building.” You scoff. “Then I guess I’ll find out how bad the fire really is.” She glares. “That’s not funny.”

You shrug, but the truth is, none of this feels funny. None of this feels like something you can just brush off. There’s something deeper, something no one is telling you. Caro leans forward, her voice quieter now. “And what if Elias is exactly who they say he is? What if they’re actually trying to protect you?” You pause for half a second before shaking your head. “Then they should’ve told me the truth instead of playing these games.” Caro chews on her bottom lip, staring at you for a moment. “You’re really not gonna let this go, are you?” “No.”

She exhales heavily, tossing the rest of her waffle into the container. “Alright. If you’re gonna do this, at least be smart. Meet him somewhere public, text me the location, and for the love of God, do not go anywhere alone with him.” A smirk tugs at your lips. “You sound like my babysitter.” “I sound like the only sane person in your life,” she corrects. “And what about Mingyu?” "That is one thing I need your help with." You look at her pleadingly.

Caro throws her head back with an exaggerated groan. “You have actually lost your mind.”

You clasp your hands together in a pleading gesture. “It’s just thirty minutes, Caro. You don’t even have to do much—just keep him busy.”

She levels you with an incredulous look. “Keep Mingyu busy? The same guy who stormed in like a damn action movie villain? Yeah, sure. Let me just ask him about his favorite rom-coms and hope he forgets about murder.”

You sigh. “You’re being dramatic.”

“No, you’re being reckless,” she snaps, pointing a fork at you. “You’re walking straight into a trap, and now you want me to babysit the guy who’s probably plotting ten different ways to take out Elias as we speak.”

“Caro.” You look at her, your expression softening. “I wouldn’t ask if I had another option.”

She presses her lips together, shaking her head. “I hate you.”

“I love you.” You flash her your best hopeful smile.

She exhales sharply. “You owe me so much for this.”

“I’ll buy you coffee for a week.”

“Try a month.”

You bite back a groan. “Fine. A month.”

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. "Look, I just need a distraction. Take him for coffee, pretend you have some urgent favor to ask him, I don’t know—flirt a little."

Caro chokes on absolutely nothing. "Excuse me?"

You resist a smirk. "Oh, come on, you’ve flirted with worse."

Her glare sharpens. "First of all, rude. Second of all, I would rather die than flirt with Mingyu. Third, he would see through me in ten seconds."

"Not if you’re convincing enough," you argue. "You’re a great liar when you want to be."

"Gee, thanks," she deadpans.

You huff. “I’ll figure something out.”

“You better.” She stabs her waffle with unnecessary force. “Because if this goes wrong, you know he’ll take it out on me.”

“I won’t let that happen.”

Caro lets out a dry laugh. “Right. Because you’ll be so available to save me while you’re having lunch with the guy everyone keeps warning you about.”

You wince. “Okay, fair point.”

She shakes her head, muttering under her breath. Then she looks up at you, her expression more serious. “Eva, are you sure about this? Like, really sure?”

You hesitate, just for a second. Then you nod. “I need to do this, Caro. I need answers.”

Caro exhales, rubbing her temples. “Fine. But if I die because of your dumbass plan, I’m coming back to haunt you.”

You grin. “Noted.”

---

Caro peeked into the living room and instantly regretted it.

Mingyu was standing by the window, arms crossed, exuding a level of intensity that made her insides shrivel. He looked like the main character of some noir film—brooding, mysterious, and very much not someone she should be bothering right now.

She could leave. She should leave.

Instead, she made the absolute worst decision and cleared her throat—way too loudly.

Mingyu turned, dark eyes landing on her.

Caro froze. “Uh. Hi.”

Mingyu just raised an eyebrow.

She pointed vaguely behind her. “I was just—uh—walking. Past. And then I thought, ‘Hey, why not…uh…check if the air is good in here?’”

Silence.

Eva, hidden behind the doorway, slowly dragged a hand down her face.

Mingyu just stared. “The air?”

“Y-yeah.” Caro nodded way too fast. “You know, like, sometimes different rooms have different…air qualities?”

Oh God. What was she even saying?

Mingyu blinked. “Right.”

Caro coughed and shuffled further into the room, trying to act normal but failing miserably by walking like a malfunctioning robot. “Sooo…” she dragged out, flopping onto the couch. “Do you…uh…do this often?”

Mingyu looked at her like she was an unsolvable puzzle. “Do what?”

“Lurk. Stand around. Look like you’re plotting a murder.”

Mingyu exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I’m not lurking.”

Caro squinted at him. “You totally are.”

He didn’t reply.

She tapped her fingers on her knee, forcing herself not to fidget. “Sooo, uh, what are you doing? Like, actually?”

Mingyu turned back toward the window. “Keeping an eye on things.”

“Vague.”

Silence.

You pressed both palms to your face. This was physically painful to witness.

Caro shifted in her seat. “You know, I—uh—used to think you were scary,” she blurted out.

Mingyu glanced at her. “Used to?”

Caro let out a nervous laugh. “Yeah. But now I think you’re just…uh…very…serious?”

Mingyu didn’t react.

She tugged at the hem of her hoodie. “Which is totally fine! Nothing wrong with being serious. I mean, I’m serious. Well, not that serious. But like, sometimes I can be. But not in a broody way, more in a ‘wow, she really overthinks everything’ way, which is honestly worse, because then I start spiraling and—”

Mingyu pinched the bridge of his nose. “Are you always like this?”

Caro snapped her mouth shut. “Like what?”

“This.” He gestured vaguely at her.

She blinked. “Um. Yeah. Kinda.”

Mingyu exhaled. “Great.”

You clenched your jaw. This is taking too long.

Caro, seemingly oblivious to your growing impatience, straightened. “Well, since we’re, uh, talking, I have a question.”

Mingyu gave her a look that screamed do I have a choice?

Before he could answer, Caro suddenly perked up like she just had the best idea in the world. “Wait! Actually, come with me for a second.”

Mingyu frowned. “Why?”

She waved a hand dismissively. “It’s important.”

He stared at her, unimpressed.

You could feel the plan crumbling before your eyes.

Caro pouted. “Come onnn, just humor me.”

Mingyu sighed like he was already regretting every decision that had led him to this moment. But, to your relief, he followed.

You quickly scurried ahead, heart pounding. The plan was simple: shove him into the room, lock the door, and run.

Caro, still rambling about nothing, gestured toward a door. “Yeah, yeah, just in here! Super important thing I need to show you—”

Mingyu barely had time to react before Caro practically shoved him inside and Mingyu caught her hand and she got dragged too.

You didn’t hesitate. You darted forward, slammed the door shut, and turned the lock in one swift motion.

A moment of silence.

Then—

“What the hell?” Mingyu’s voice was sharp, irritated.

You took one breath, two—then bolted down the hallway.

Caro’s voice, muffled through the door: “Uh. So. Funny story—”

 Caro.”

“—I think this might not be the room we intended—”

You slapped a hand over your mouth.

No. No way.

“Caroline,” Mingyu’s voice was deadly.

“…Yes?”

“What. Room. Is. This.”

Caro let out a nervous laugh.

“Well. So, funny thing… this is—uh—Seungcheol’s room.”

Silence.

Then Seungcheol, voice dry as hell: “You two want to tell me why I’m locked in my own room with you?”

You turned on your heel and sprinted.

-----

You tapped your fingers against the edge of your glass, eyes flicking up to watch Elias as he skimmed the menu. The restaurant was nothing special—just a quiet, unassuming café tucked between a laundromat and a bookstore, the kind of place no one would think twice about. Perfect for a conversation like this. Elias looked… normal. Too normal. Dressed in a plain black sweater, sleeves pushed up to his forearms, he almost blended in with the other customers. If you didn’t know better, you'd think he was just some regular guy meeting a friend for lunch. But you did know better.

"So," he said finally, setting the menu down. "I wasn't expecting this invitation." You forced a small smile. "Figured it was time we talked." He hummed, tilting his head slightly. "Talk about what?" You shrugged, keeping your expression neutral. "You tell me." A slow, amused smile tugged at Elias's lips as he leaned back in his chair. "You invited me, sweetheart. Shouldn't you have something to say?" You clenched your jaw at the nickname but let it slide. "Fine," you said, leaning in slightly. "Why is my family so desperate to keep me away from you?" Elias didn’t react immediately. Instead, he picked up his water, took a slow sip, and set it back down with deliberate ease. "Now that," he said, "is a very interesting question."

You arched a brow. "And?" His eyes flickered with something unreadable. "And I think you already know the answer." You exhaled sharply, fingers curling into your lap. "If I did, I wouldn’t be here." Elias studied you for a moment, then sighed, like he was deciding how much trouble this conversation was worth. "Your family," he said finally, "isn't exactly known for their honesty. So tell me, Eva—what do you think they’re hiding?" You didn’t blink. "I think it has something to do with you." Elias let out a short, quiet laugh. "Smart girl." Your stomach twisted.

"That doesn't answer my question."

He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the table. "Let me give you some advice," he said, voice softer now, almost gentle. "There are some things you're better off not knowing." You swallowed. "And there are some things I can’t afford to ignore." Elias held your gaze for a long moment, then shook his head with a small, knowing smirk. "You really are your sister’s shadow, huh?" Your breath caught for half a second before you forced herself to stay still.

Your pulse hammered in your ears, but you kept your expression steady. "How do you fucking know Lia?" Your voice came out sharper than you intended, but you didn’t care.

Elias simply smirked, like he had been waiting for you to ask. "Now, now," he drawled, tapping his fingers against the table. "That’s not a very polite way to continue a conversation."

"Cut the shit, Elias." You leaned in, your nails digging into your palm beneath the table. "You brought her up for a reason—so answer me."

Elias exhaled, tilting his head like he was considering his next move. Then, slowly, he sat back, shoulders loose, gaze amused. "Lia and I… crossed paths," he said vaguely.

Your stomach twisted. "That’s not an answer."

"It’s the only one you’re getting."

Frustration burned in your chest. He was toying with you, giving you just enough to keep you hooked but not enough to actually tell you anything. "When?"

Elias let out a quiet chuckle. "Persistent."

"Answer me."

He sighed, shaking his head as if you were some naive little thing. "Let’s just say Lia and I had some… mutual interests, once upon a time."

Your grip on your glass tightened. "You’re lying."

Elias arched a brow. "Am I?"

Yes. No. You didn’t know.

What you did know was that your sister never mentioned this man. Not once. And if Lia had been involved with someone like Elias—someone your family clearly saw as dangerous—why had she hidden it?

Unless… they weren’t hiding Elias from you.

They were hiding you from Elias.

The thought sent an uneasy shiver down your spine.

You inhaled deeply, forcing yourself to keep your cool. "Whatever game you’re playing, I’m not interested."

Elias just smiled. "Oh, but you are, sweetheart. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here."

You opened your mouth to snap back, but before you could, a shadow passed over the table as the waiter arrived with their drinks.

"Here you go," the waiter said, setting down the cups. "Anything else I can get for you?"

You shook your head. "No, we’re good. Thanks."

As the waiter walked away, Elias picked up his cup, swirling the liquid inside lazily. "I’ll give you one more piece of advice," he murmured, not looking at you. "If you keep digging, you better be prepared for what you find."

You clenched your jaw. "That almost sounds like a threat."

Elias finally met your gaze again, his smile still in place but his eyes colder now. "It’s a warning."

You exhaled slowly, fingers tightening around the napkin in your lap. You had walked into this dinner thinking you'd get answers. Instead, you were leaving with more questions.

You met Elias’s gaze head-on. “What do you know about her?”

Elias took a slow sip of his drink, watching you over the rim of his cup like he had all the time in the world. “Lia?” he mused, setting it down with a soft clink. “I know quite a bit.”

Your nails dug into your palm beneath the table. “Then start talking.”

Elias exhaled through his nose, a smirk twitching at the corner of his lips. “You remind me of her, you know. Stubborn. Reckless.” His eyes darkened slightly. “Always sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

A chill ran down your spine, but you forced yourself to remain unfazed. “Did you know her well?”

Elias tilted his head, like he was debating how much to give away. “Well enough.”

Vague. Again.

You clenched your jaw. “She never mentioned you.”

His smirk deepened. “That’s because she didn’t want you to know.”

Something sharp twisted in your chest. “Why?”

Elias leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on the table. “Because she was protecting you.”

You felt your breath hitch.

Protecting you?

“What the hell does that mean?” you asked, voice tight.

Elias just watched you, unreadable. Then, after a moment, he shook his head with a quiet chuckle. “You really don’t have a clue, do you?”

Your stomach churned. You wanted to scream at him, to demand he stop playing games and just tell you the truth.

But you couldn’t let him see how much he was getting to you.

Instead, you inhaled sharply and sat back, mirroring his earlier ease. “You like talking in circles, huh?”

Elias hummed. “I like seeing how much you already know.”

You stared at him, searching his face for anything—any crack in his smug exterior that might give you an edge. “She’s dead,” you said, voice flat. “If you know something about what happened to her, I suggest you stop being cryptic.”

Something flickered in Elias’s gaze. Just for a second. But it was enough.

You straightened. “You do know something.”

Elias’s fingers tapped lazily against the table. “I know a lot of things.”

“Did you know her before she died?”

Elias smiled, but this time, it didn’t reach his eyes. “I think you already know the answer to that.”

You pulse pounded in your ears. If he was telling the truth—if Lia had been involved with him before she died—then why had your family never mentioned it?

And more importantly…

Had they known?

You swallowed hard. “What was she protecting me from?”

Elias exhaled, shaking his head. “You really are stupid if you think I am going to tell you that easily."

Elias leaned in, his voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down her spine.

Your eyes narrowed. “What do you want?”

Elias’s smirk returned, slow and deliberate. “Ah, now we’re getting somewhere.” He leaned back in his chair, stretching out like he had all the power in the world. “It’s simple, really. You do something for me, and in return, I give you the truth you’re so desperate for.”

You didn’t trust him—not even a little—but you also knew he had you exactly where he wanted you. He had answers, and you needed them.

Still, you crossed your arms, unimpressed. “You haven’t even told me what you want.”

Elias’s fingers drummed against the table, his gaze flicking over you like he was sizing her up. “There’s something I need retrieved. Something I can’t get myself. And lucky for me, you happen to be in a… unique position to help.”

That set off every alarm in your head. “Why can’t you get it yourself?”

Elias let out a low chuckle. “Because, sweetheart, some doors don’t open for people like me.”

Your stomach tightened. You already knew this was a terrible idea, but you forced yourself to keep your expression neutral. “And what exactly am I retrieving?”

His smile was razor-sharp. “A file. Locked away in a place you have access to.”

A cold weight settled in your chest. “You’re out of your mind if you think I’m stealing from my own firm.”

Elias tilted his head. “Who said anything about stealing? Just take a little peek. Let me know what it says. That’s all.”

You wanted to walk away. Every instinct screamed at you to leave, to cut ties with whatever mess Elias was dragging you into.

But then you thought of Lia.

Of the secrets.

Of the protection you never even knew you needed.

Your pulse hammered as you met Elias’s gaze again. “And in exchange, you tell me everything about Lia?”

Elias smiled like he had already won. “Every last detail.”

You exhaled slowly. You were really going to regret this.

“Fine,” you said. “Tell me what I’m looking for.”

[faithchel]

finished hera & started lady macbeth and we have got to start blaming women for shit again for real

[rosesradio]

.

[chuluoyi]

𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐄𝐗𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄

- sylus x reader

you and your lover are hailed and feared, but who would have guessed that behind closed doors, both of you are just that — lovers?

genre/warnings: very suggestive, making out, fluff, comfort, period cramps, assassin!reader (not l&ds mc), loosely based on sylus' secret times: midnight warmth & exclusive care!

note: very self-indulgent bye pls don't look at me :') this fic is a companion to assassin!reader series (strictly (un)professional and jealousy incarnate)

“Who’s ther— lord! Missus! What happened to you!?”

On a rainy night, you staggered into the base, drenched and covered with dirt. Your steps were unsteady as you made your way through the front door, and the first person to see you, Luke, was so shocked by the sight that he rushed to your side.

“Kieran! Call Boss!” he shouted to his twin, who immediately sprinted off to find him, steadying you. “Are you injured?”

“No,” you hissed, wincing as you clutched your abdomen. “Let go, I’m fine—” But before you could finish, you missed a step and—

—fell into Luke's arms.

In that very instant, Luke genuinely feared for his life. He squeaked and stammered, incoherent sounds escaping him, because oh lord— if Boss sees me ever touching his woman—

“What are you doing?”

And there came his nightmare. Sylus’ deep voice cut through like a blade, marking the arrival of doomsday itself.

“B-Boss! It isn’t what it looks like!” Luke quivered, desperately trying to explain himself.

However, Sylus paid him no mind and exhaled sharply, immediately moving over to pull you out of Luke’s grasp. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine!” you insisted, pulling away from him while staggering. “I’m not wounded or anything. Just... I just need a bath, please.”

Sylus eyed you from top to bottom. You had just been out for a reconnaissance, and yet you looked as though you had been through a tornado and back. Disheveled, your dress was smeared with mud and dirt, and even grime clung to your hair.

“Did you fall into a sewer or something?” he questioned, and he knew he had hit a nerve when you shot him a glare.

But you spared him no answer, walking away with labored breaths and a hand pressed against your lower belly. It was clear you were in pain, and the sight tugged at him as he followed you.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his concern growing. “What hurts?”

“You don’t have to fuss over me—” your breath hitched, feeling exhausted, and ashamed all at once. “Just my period, nothing much,” you murmured in a quieter voice so the twins wouldn’t hear.

As you reached the stairs to the second floor, you felt like collapsing. Did you really have to climb these stairs, too?

As if reading your mind, Sylus let out a sigh, but you nearly squealed when he lifted you into his arms.

“You’ll get dirty!” you rebuked, even as he took large strides up the stairs. “Sylus!”

“Just hold onto me.” He shot you a pointed look. “You can’t even walk without gasping for air, and you still want to climb the stairs? You’ll end up rolling and breaking your back.”

Despite your protests, your lover immediately brought you to his bathroom and sat you down on the sink. He turned the hot water on and then faced you.

“So? What did you get yourself into?” he asked, his red eyes narrowing in dissatisfaction. “You were fine, and you didn’t face anyone.”

You pressed your eyes shut, leaning against the wall, resigned to explain. “Fell into mud. Totally idiotic, I know, but my cramps started right before, so…”

“I don’t recall you experiencing this before. What brought this on?”

You met his gaze indignantly, retorting, “Well, a certain someone banged me so hard last night, and I got my period right after.”

It was quite unexpected, but still answered his concern. So, to that, Sylus snorted and tousled your hair, a playful twinkle in his eyes. “Ah, sorry, I guess?”

You pursed your lips, aware of how unapologetic he was. He smirked and added, “Now that I’m dirty too... I suppose we’ll have to take a bath together.”

“Are you mad? Do you want to get covered in my blood?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Why not—”

“No,” you retorted firmly, clearly irked. “You take the bath after me, and that’s final.”

. . .

“Put your arm around my neck,” Sylus commanded when you both emerged from the bath and already dressed in silk bathrobes. You complied, and he swiftly lifted you into a princess carry, bringing you to the bed.

Despite yourself, your heart fluttered at his action. He set you down gently, and the moment your back met the soft surface, you relished it and let out an involuntary moan. “Ahh...”

Your voice was soft and sultry, though tinged with a hint of pain. Sylus placed his hand gently on your face. “Your cheeks are warm,” he noted. “And you still look pale.”

"Mmm," you mumbled, suddenly the total fatigue catching up to you as you leaned into his touch. Seeing you so pliant like this seemed to flip a switch inside him, and he immediately settled next to you and placed his huge hand on your lower belly, pressing down on it.

“What are you doing?” you frowned.

“I’m giving you a massage,” he replied. “Stop squirming. I’m trying to pamper you here.”

“You don’t have to…”

“My woman is in enough pain that she doesn’t talk back to me. It’s feels off.”

“...actually, you suck. You’re too rough.”

Taking your whine into account, he adjusted his touch, softening his pressure. "How is it? Better?"

You didn’t immediately reply, indulging in the warm sensation, letting out a sigh as you squeezed your eyes shut. “Mm... Yeah, it feels good now. Don’t stop…”

There was something quietly erotic about watching you, usually so defiant, surrender to his touch like this. Sylus felt a deep, protective satisfaction as he continued his gentle ministrations—

But after a while...

Before he could stop himself, he leaned in, pulling you closer as he buried his face in your shoulder, inhaling deeply, savoring the scent of the bath foam you had just shared. “Mmm…”

You were caught off-guard and shivered at his breath tickling your skin, eyes fluttering open. “Sylus…” you murmured, a mix of protest and surprise in your voice.

But he didn’t pull away, his lips lingering against your skin, his gaze fixed on your bare neck, whispering, “Just relax. I’ve got you.”

Then, when he suddenly nibbled on your neck, you jolted awake. The gentle bite on your sensitive skin sent another shiver down your spine, stirring a mix of warmth that made your pulse race.

But he didn't stop there, as Sylus trailed your neck with a series of kisses and wet sucks, his breath hot against your skin. Soon, the only sounds filling the room were his quiet sighs and the soft noises of his lips as he continued to bite and pepper kisses on your skin, over and over.

“Ngh…” Each touch left you almost breathless, and the heat between you growing with every passing moment, making your toes curl and you moan softly by his ear.

“Hold me,” he gruffly whispered, and as if bewitched, you clung to his shoulders. He let out a husky chuckle. “Not too hard, or you won't be able to sleep later.”

“And whose fault would that be?” you quipped, entangling your legs with his, savoring the warmth of his body against yours.

“I’ve spoiled you rotten, haven’t I... sweetie?” he murmured amidst kisses, his tone laced with intrigue and his burgundy eyes flashing with a glint. “Just let me have my fill for a while.”

If you had a mirror, you’d see the hickeys forming on your neck, but instead of fighting him, you pulled him closer, letting out breathy moans freely and massaging his scalp as if urging him to go further.

“Naughty vixen—you are,” Sylus rasped deliciously in your ear, thick with desire and restraint as his grip on you tightened. “Tempting me, knowing full well I can’t do anything to you…”

A low giggle slipped from your lips. “Unfortunately… I learn from the best.”

Hard to get, snarky, taunting... You were the bane of his existence, and yet Sylus wouldn't have it another way. Your defiance and teasing only deepened his affection, making every challenge you presented feel like an irresistible part of what drew him to you.

He knew when his patience was on the verge of snapping, so to end it, he sucked hard on your shoulder one last time, making sure to leave another mark there. The squelching sound reverberated through both of you, before he pulled away and planted a firm kiss on your forehead, a gesture of both dominance and fondness for you.

“Now sleep,” he grounded out. “Your body has been through enough.”

“Mngh...” you whined, curling into him in contentment, your head nestled against his toned chest where you could feel his strong, steady heartbeat. “Really unfair...”

“You're going to feel better soon...” he sighed, one hand soothing your back and the other resting on your waist. “And as soon as you do...”

A wicked grin curved his lips.

“I'll pick up where I left off.”

[artficlly]

lessons in lovemaking [one-shot]

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

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

Word Count: 8.4k

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

main masterlist

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

What the hell had Fury been thinking?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A group. Heading straight for you. Purposeful.

“Fuck.”

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

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

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

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

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

An aftershave-scented stone statue.

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

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

A sound.

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

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

Oh.

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

Barnes didn’t move.

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

Did he just—?

You both looked down at the same time.

And there it was.

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silence.

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

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

Silence.

Motherfucker.

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

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

"Make sure you're decent, Barnes—"

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

Barnes was not decent.

Not in the way you’d expected.

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

You felt your stomach drop.

Panic. Raw, unfiltered, choking panic.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Barnes, you need to breathe.”

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

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

By some miracle, Barnes listened.

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

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

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

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

His whole body tensed.

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

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

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

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

The moment your fingers touched his skin, he flinched.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Barnes’ eyes scanned over your face, searching.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then—

Barnes cleared his throat.

You turned.

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

You didn’t give him one.

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

“There,” you murmured, satisfied.

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

Barnes hadn’t moved.

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

Finally, you met his eyes in the mirror.

“Ready to go?” you asked.

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

Your eyes snapped open.

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

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

Another sound. Low, breathy, utterly wrecked.

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

Barnes.

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

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

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

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

The realisation hit like a freight train.

He was having a sex dream.

Jesus.

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

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

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

His eyes flickered downward.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The door slammed.

Then, the soft click of the lock.

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

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

Silence.

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

A pause. No response.

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

Another pause. This one stretched longer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Terrifyingly well.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A slow, twisting knot formed in your stomach.

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

You closed your eyes and inhaled deeply.

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

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

For the first time, the door cracked open.

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

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

You tilted your head, studying him.

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bucky huffed a bitter laugh, shaking his head. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing more. Nothing less.

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

Fine. Message received.

—

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

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

God, the man had a staring problem.

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

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

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

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

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

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

God, you missed Egyptian cotton.

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

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

“Nothing—” he stammered.

You arched a brow, unimpressed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Finally, he exhaled, jaw tight.

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

You tilted your head. “My offer?”

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop,” Bucky answered without hesitation.

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

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

His blue eyes flickered up to meet yours, searching. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then you kissed him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…Thank you,” he murmured at last.