#you can crack the world open and have it be yours for the taking

[wendichester]

⭒˚.⋆ sacrifice,

summary. you make a deal to save dean's life but he's not having it

pairing. dean winchester x reader ; angsty

wordcount. 558

The second Dean walks into the room, you know you’re screwed.

His eyes are wild, shoulders tight with rage, jaw clenched so hard you’re surprised his teeth don’t crack. He storms toward you, fists balled at his sides, and for a second, you think he might actually punch the wall.

“What the hell did you do?” His voice is raw, shaking.

You swallow hard, but there’s no point in pretending. He knows. He must’ve found out. Maybe from Sam, maybe from the demon itself—doesn’t matter. The secret’s out.

“I did what I had to,” you say, keeping your voice steady even as your heart hammers in your chest.

Dean laughs, but there’s no humor in it. Just something broken, something desperate. “What you had to?” he echoes, stepping closer, eyes burning into you. “You made a deal for me.”

You cross your arms, trying to keep your ground. “You were dying, Dean. There was no other way.”

“There’s always another way!” His voice rises, shaking the walls of the motel room. His breathing is heavy, uneven. “Damn it, you think I’d let you sacrifice yourself for me? Not a chance, sweetheart.”

“Like you haven’t done the same?” you snap, voice sharp. “How many times have you thrown yourself in the line of fire for me? How many times have you died for Sam? For everyone? But the second I try to save you, suddenly it’s a problem?”

Dean’s nostrils flare. “That’s different.”

“How?”

“Because I can’t—” His voice breaks, and he stops, squeezing his eyes shut like he can force the emotion out of his body. His hands are trembling. When he opens his eyes again, they’re glassy, rimmed red with something too painful to name. “Because I can’t lose you,” he says, voice quieter now, rough and raw and full of a kind of desperation that shatters you.

Your chest tightens, the weight of it all pressing down on you.

“You weren’t supposed to find out,” you whisper.

Dean exhales sharply, shaking his head. “Jesus, you really thought I wouldn’t? You think I wouldn’t tear apart the whole goddamn world trying to figure out why you were acting off?” He runs a hand down his face, and when he looks at you again, he’s a mess of anger and devastation. “How long do you have?”

You hesitate, and that alone is enough of an answer.

“Goddammit,” he chokes, turning away from you like he can’t bear to look. He presses his hands to his knees, breathing heavy.

“I didn’t do this for you to waste time feeling guilty,” you say, stepping closer, placing a hand on his arm. “I did this because I love you. Because you deserve to live.”

Dean turns back to you, and before you can say another word, his hands are on your face, cupping your cheeks like you might disappear if he lets go. His forehead presses against yours, and his breath is shaky, uneven.

“I’m getting you out of this,” he swears, voice trembling with determination. “I don’t care what it takes. I don’t care if I have to burn Hell to the ground. You’re not going to die for me.”

Tears sting your eyes, but you don’t fight him.

Because if there’s one thing you know about Dean Winchester—it’s that when he makes a promise, he damn well keeps it.

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[prisjean]

₊˚ˑ༄ؘ HELD CLOSE caleb x reader

synopsis: after finding out your ex cheated on you, an angry caleb comes and saves the day, and then comforts you hehe ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

tw: MDNI +18, p in v, no condom (pls use protection), cumming inside, caleb gets NEEDY (or i try to make him seem that way lolz), he says pipsqueak in the middle of it (only once), dry humping, slight biting, and long plot (i try to make it worth it PLS)

authors note: literally i had to take a break writing, esp during the dry humping scene cause HOOOO lorddd this makes me want caleb more than ever. thank you @tbaluver for helping me write this & happy reading everyone!! ᡣ𐭩

your phone buzzed in your trembling hands, and when you saw caleb’s name flash across the screen, your heart clenched. you wiped your tear-streaked face quickly, taking a deep breath before answering the video call.

“hey pipsqueak.” his voice was warm, familiar but his sharp eyes immediately narrowed. “what’s wrong?”

you forced a smile, shaking your head. “nothing, i’m fine.”

caleb tilted his head, his expression softening but showing a bit of his possessiveness. “oh no no no, don’t lie to me. i can see it all over your face.” his voice was firm but gentle, a thread of concern weaving through it.

your resolve cracked, and a fresh wave of tears welled in your eyes. “he cheated on me, caleb,” you whispered, voice breaking. “i feel so...so stupid.”

his jaw clenched, and his nostrils flared. the muscles in his neck tensed, his grip on the phone tightening. "who?"

you hesitated, but when you said your ex’s name, caleb’s eyes darkened. “...i’m on my way back to linkon,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“caleb, you don’t have to-”

“don’t.” his voice cut through your protest. “i'm almost there, just stay put.”

you knew better than to argue when he got like this, so you nodded, biting your lip as he gave you one last lingering look before ending the call.

it wasn’t long before a knock sounded at your door. when you opened it, caleb stood there, his casual clothing slightly disheveled, his knuckles bruised and raw.

your eyes widened. “caleb…”. you grabbed onto to his hands.

he shrugged, gazing down at you before. “had to teach that asshole a lesson.” wanting him to calm down, you led him to the couch.

your heart ached, but you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. you looked at him before speaking, “but you.. you didn’t have to.”

he reached out, wiping away the stray tear lingering on your cheek. “yeah.. i did.” his voice softened. “no one gets to mess with you and get away with it.”

you sighed, leaning into his touch. but your chest felt tight, you didn’t know why, but somehow, you found yourself sitting on his lap, his hands found your waist, his touch gentle but firm, grounding you in the moment. “what am i gonna do without you?” you chuckled softly.

caleb smirked, caressing your cheek. “lucky for you, you’ll never have to find out.”

caleb’s eyes softened as his hand rested on your cheek, but even as his gaze held yours, there was a storm behind his violet eyes, something darker. his lips parted like he was about to say something, but he didn’t. the silence between you two was becoming unbearable.

then his hand gripped your face, pulling you closer, his lips crashing against yours with a fierce, desperate energy that sent you spiraling. it wasn’t gentle but of a hungry, needy, force that demanded attention. as his kiss deepened, you could feel the tension running through him and slowly through you, neither of you fully able to control the emotions swirling inside.

as the kiss deepened, the world around you disappeared but only the feel of caleb’s lips, his warmth, his touch. his hands were everywhere, your waist, your back, pulling you closer, as if he couldn’t get close enough. the two of you were practically moaning in each others mouths, every second felt like it wasn’t enough. the heat between you both was unbearable, and with each kiss, each caress, it felt like everything that had been unspoken was finally free.

but then, you couldn’t take it anymore. you pulled away, your chest heaving with the intensity of the kiss with your heart racing like it might explode. you stared at caleb, trying to catch your breath, feeling his body still pressed against yours, the distance between you barely existent. you didn’t want to stop, didn’t want to face the reality of pulling back, but your feelings were conflicted.

you bit your lip, your gaze flicking to the side as you gasped for air. “caleb, i can’t... this is too much, i—”

before you could finish, caleb’s hands grab onto yours, he presses his forehead onto your knuckles before looking right back up into your eyes. his eyes were dark, full of raw need, and his jaw clenched tightly. “no. don’t you dare do that.”

his voice was rough. “you can’t pull away from me now. not when i’ve been wanting this for so long.” the words came out like a confession, as though the weight of everything he’d been holding back had finally come crashing to the surface. his gaze softened, but the longing was undeniable. “i’ve been waiting for this, waiting for you...”

“please,” he whispered, his voice thick with desire, almost like a prayer. “don’t push me away when i finally have you here. don’t make me wait any longer.”

you didn’t know what to say. his words wrapped around you like a chain, pulling you back toward him. no man could ever long for you the way the man in front of you did. your pulse raced and before you can even mutter a reply, caleb closed the distance, capturing your lips again in a kiss that felt like a promise.

his hands roamed again, desperate to keep you close, to feel you against him, like he needed to anchor himself to something real. the way he kissed ignited a fire in you. it couldn't be helped when you started rolling your hips forward just to gain a little bit more of him. you started to feel him harden against you, making the friction unbearable to keep your moans intact. you could tell he was enjoying you by the way his hands clutched desperately on your back, with nails digging in as he pulls you even closer. his kisses grew more frantic, little whines and gasps escaping him between each one. he would so often lift his hips eagerly to meet with every roll you had to offer him, bitten off whines leave his lips as you continue to grind your clothes cunt onto his clothed cunt.

caleb's breath hitched as your lips suddenly trailed along his neck. his hands tangled in your hair, holding you close as you nipped and sucked at his sensitive skin. a low groan rumbled in his chest, vibrating against your lips.

"god, i've dreamed of this," he murmured, voice husky with desire. his hips bucked up against yours, seeking more friction. "dreamed of you, like this, for so long." he continued. 

caleb's voice grew increasingly desperate, his words punctuated by ragged breaths. "please," he begged, his fingers digging into your hips. "i need you. i need all of you." his eyes were wild, pupils blown wide with lust and longing. "touch me, taste me, anything” he kisses your knuckles. “just don't stop."

"i've waited so long," he whimpered, burying his face in your neck. his lips brushed your ear as he whispered, "make me yours. please, i'm begging you."

caleb's usual composure had crumbled completely, leaving him trembling and needy beneath you. his hands roamed your body restlessly, as if he couldn't decide where to touch first. "can i..we.." he murmurs, gesturing towards your skirt.

you nod, you can feel your cheeks heat up. your tone softens, "caleb, i have always been yours as you have been mine." you give him a smile. with trembling hands, he fumbles with his belt buckle. he finally managed to undo his pants, freeing his erection. the tip was already gleaming with pre-cum. with one swift motion, he lifted up your skirt and pulled your panties to the side, not wanting to waste a single second now. he softly guided you, leaving your soaked pussy to run through his tip. you start to slide down on him, taking him inch by inch. you both cried out at the sudden, intense sensation. caleb's head fell back, his mouth open in a silent moan as he savored the feeling of finally being inside you.

"p-pipsqueak.." his raspy voice fills the air as you began to ride him, letting his cock explore you as he whines with every hip roll.

"don't.. don't stop" he whimpers, his cheeks slightly flushes. you were moving at a slow, sensual rhythm that had him gasping for breaths. his hands continue to roam your body as you continued.

"use me however you want.." he whispers, his hands cup your clothed breasts. "don't stop using me till you're.. satisfied ngh.." he places his hands back on your hips, helping you bounce on him.

"caleb.. you feel so..so good.." you moaned in reply. your rolls had him hit your sweet spot and now you were almost at your high. your sounds seemed to ignite something primal in caleb. his grip on your hips tightened as he began to thrust up into you with renewed vigor. the room filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin, punctuated by your shared moans and gasps.

"and you.. ngh.. are so perfect," caleb groaned, his voice strained with pleasure. "so tight,.. so wet for me." he leaned forward, capturing your neck in his mouth, gently biting bite. the sensation sent shocks of pleasure through your body, making you clench around him.

you tangled your fingers in his hair, tugging gently as you rode him harder. "caleb, i'm.. so close," you panted, feeling the tension building in you.

his eyes locked onto yours, cheeks still flushed. "that's it.. princess.. please..please come for me... huu.. please let me feel you.."

his words, combined with the exquisite friction of his cock inside you, pushed you over the edge. you cried out, your body shakes as you rode your high on him.

"you're stunning.." caleb says adoringly as he watched you crumpled on him. "ngh.. im going to cum.. let me cum," you loved this new side of him. "cum inside me.." with a final, powerful thrust, he buried himself deep within you, his cock pulsing as he came. it sent you over the edge as you felt his seed warming inside you. both of your breathing were in synced, breathless as time seemed to go normal again. the air between you was thick with warmth, your bodies still tangled together, caleb didn't want to pull himself out of you yet. he wanted to cherish this moment. caleb’s hands, once gripping you with desperation, had softened, his fingers now tracing slow patterns along your back.

you let out a shaky exhale, pressing your forehead against his, your fingers still curled into the fabric of his shirt like you weren’t ready to let go. caleb’s hands slid up to cup your face, his thumbs brushing gently over your cheekbones.

“you okay?” his voice was lower now, softer, laced with something tender. he searched your face, his gaze lingering, waiting for any sign of hesitation.

you chuckled, nodding as you leaned into his touch. “i should be asking you that,” you whispered, teasingly. “that was a different caleb i saw back there.”

caleb chuckled under his breath, a small, breathy sound that sent warmth curling in your chest. “yeah,” he echoed, a hint of something affectionate in his tone. his fingers tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering, like he wasn’t ready to stop touching you yet. "but, it couldn't be helped.. when i'm with you." he continues.

caleb shifted, adjusting so you were nestled against his chest, his arms wrapping around you with a quiet protectiveness. his heartbeat was steady beneath your ear, a rhythm that soothed you.

you sighed, melting into him as his warmth surrounded you, his steady heartbeat lulling you into a sense of calm. his fingers trailed absentmindedly along your back, tracing slow, soothing patterns, as if he needed to reassure himself that you were still here, still in his arms.

“you make me crazy, you know that?” caleb murmured after a moment, his lips brushing against the top of your head. his voice was softer now. “i don’t think i’ve ever wanted something this much.”

your fingers tightened slightly around his shirt, and you tilted your head up to meet his gaze. caleb’s eyes softened, and without thinking, he leaned down, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your forehead. it wasn’t desperate or rushed like before, just warm, grounding, like he was trying to memorize every second of this moment.

“are you tired?” he asked, smirking a little. his fingers now tracing idle circles against your arm.

you hummed in response, your eyelids growing heavier. “a little.”

knowing you didn't run away from his confession, he pulled himself out of you and adjusted yours and his clothing as if nothing happened. he shifted slightly, just enough to lean you against him, making sure you were comfortable. “i’ve got you,” he murmured, his voice quiet, protective. “just rest, okay? i’ll be right here.”

you smiled against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, feeling the way his arms held you like he never wanted to let go. you had totally forgotten about your ex. the world didn't even matter to you at all, not right now, not when you had this.

and as sleep pulled you under, you heard caleb murmur one last thing against your hair, barely heard but filled with devotion.

“i'll always be by your side.”

[wooataes]

Real Eyes, Fake Lies (Part 11)

Pairing: soulmate!Lee Jihoon x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: Hanahaki!AU, angst, all hurt no comfort, swearing, tears, the usual 🙂‍↕️

Summary: What do you do when you find out the one person that was created by the universe to be yours doesn’t want you back?

A/N: It has been WAY too long since I've updated this story and I apologise for that 🙂‍↕️ I finally feel like I've gotten my life back on track to finally be able to post a long awaited update!! Thank you to everyone who still reads and enjoys my fics, it means a lot ! 🥹 - Tae 💜🌸✨

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“Do you know what’s wrong with him?”

“His girlfriend left him, genius. What do you think is wrong with him?”

Jihoon rolls his eyes. His housemates have as much subtlety as an earthquake. Their naturally loud voices seep through the closed door of his bedroom as he stares at his ceiling, a sigh leaving his lungs in the darkness as the outside voices drone on.

“Hyung,” Mingyu sighs. “It’s been over a week now… Should we call someone?”

“Who would we call?” Junhui retorts. “His soulmate? Because up until last week, I thought his soulmate was Ji-ah.”

The mention of her name creates another pit in Jihoon’s stomach. He hates it. He wishes he could just get over the stupid emotions that run through his veins at the mere thought of his not-soulmate, now also not-girlfriend.

“His parents are hours away and he has no siblings that we can contact.” Junhui continues, frustration laced in his voice. “I don’t know who we could call.”

“Doesn’t hyung have a cousin who-”

“I can hear everything you guys are saying. You know that, right?” 

Jihoon’s hard voice carries through the door, his housemates falling silent on the other end.

“Jihoon-ah.” A deep voice mutters, causing him to tense up. He knows that Wonwoo knows how to get through to him. “Can we talk?”

After a long pause, Jihoon’s bedroom door slightly creaks open. “Wonwoo, I told you yesterday,” he stares at the ground, refusing to make eye contact with the older man. “I am fine-”

“You are not, Jihoon-ah. And we both know it.” 

“How do you know?” He snips.

“You haven’t left your bedroom since Ji-ah left you last week.” Jihoon sucks his teeth at her name.

“I never left my bedroom before she left me.” He hisses back.

“Yes, you did.” Wonwoo retorts back. 

“When? To go on dates with her?” he barks. “To take her out? To go visit her family? Well, guess what? She is gone, Wonwoo, so I have a whole lot more free time and I choose to spend that time at home.” his voice cracks slightly, bottom lip shaking as he moves to close the door once more, his frown deepening as Mingyu grabs a hold of the door before it closes.

“Hyung, we’re sorry.” Mingyu’s voice is softer now as he looks at him with sad eyes. “We’re so fucking sorry that you’re going through this but we are here for you and want to be there for you.”

“I don’t need-”

“Please don’t push us away.” Wonwoo frowns, his hand resting over Jihoons. “Jihoon-ah…”

Jihoon shakes his head quietly, a small hiccup leaving his lips. “Wonwoo, I promise, I’m fine.” He gently lets his hand fall from Wonwoo’s as he moves to shut the door to his bedroom once more, wiping the stray tears that threaten to spill from his eyes.

“I truly don’t know what to do, guys.” Jihoon winces at the defeated tone of his older housemate’s voice as he climbs back into the comfort of his bed once more, hoping to forget about the world around him for a little bit longer.

Jihoon heaves a loud sigh as he steps into his first Film Studies class in nearly two weeks, slumping down in his chair, rubbing at his temples slightly as Professor Park begins his usual droning on. He really should be listening to the lecture at hand, but he can’t bring himself to. Not when he can feel the eyes of multiple people in the class lingering on him. He’s sure that word has gotten around now about his very public dumping and the fact that Ji-ah was obviously never his soulmate. He hates that he can feel the sympathy radiating off of his peers, and even off of you, his real soulmate, sitting directly beside him with your stupid perfect hair and stupidly neat notes that you wordlessly offered him to help catch him up on the classes he missed. He accepts them graciously, spending most of the lesson copying your notes into his notebook.

“Professor,” a deep voice from the back of the room calls out near the end of the lesson, drawing Jihoon from his thoughts. 

“Yes, Jaebeom?” 

Your soulmate glances at you at the sight of your body tensing up at the mention of the newcomer’s name. He tilts his head slightly as he feels nerves begin to bubble in the pit of his stomach from you, causing him to raise a brow. You take a slow breath before scribbling idly on your page again, indifference on your face, but Jihoon knows it’s a front. 

Why are you so tense?

“About the extension on our group project?” Jaebeom’s voice lulls out in a drawl, a clear cockiness hidden in his tone. 

“Ah yes,” Professor Park hums, nodding his head. “I know some of you have gone ahead and already submitted your essays and presentations to me, and I’m thankful for you guys for getting these to me on time and even earlier. For the remainder of you all who have yet to submit your projects, I’ve extended the deadline by two weeks, due to an unavoidable event I must attend.”

Jihoon hears his classmate’s sighs of relief, and in turn, he breathes out as well. He knew he had neglected his end of his project with you for the last week, and he feels grateful that he can make up for it.

“I do hope the rest of you,” Professor Park sends a look to the back of the room, “get this done in due time. Class dismissed.”

Jihoon wordlessly offers your notebook back to you, a frown forming on his face when he sees you duck your head, letting your hair fall over your face. He glances to see a taller man wearing low jeans and a beat up baseball cap on his head march- no, strut down the stairs to reach the door, sauntering out with what Jihoon can only describe as a sleazy grin on his face. Once he steps out of the room, you immediately collect your things, bow your head to Jihoon with a little smile, and jump up to leave the classroom.

“Professor,” your soulmate approaches the teacher. “I appreciate you extending the deadline-”

“Oh, Jihoon-ssi!” Professor Park smiled. “Are you feeling better? Miss Choi told me that you were unwell when she submitted your project to me last week.”

“Oh.. Yeah, I’m feeling alri- Wait. Submitted?” Jihoon blinked.

“Yes,” he smiled. “Both of your arguments had wonderful points to pit against each other. Well done! I will be posting your grades in a few weeks!”

You finished off the project for him? Why are you so… nice?

“Uh… Thank you, Professor.” Jihoon bows his head in thanks before slowly stepping out of the classroom, starting to walk in the direction of home, the sound of thunder rumbling in the distance.

Jihoon takes a deep sigh as he finds himself sitting down at the park bench that is so familiar to him now, letting the raindrops land on his clothes and face as he tilts his head back.

“Jihoon-ssi?” your voice is quiet over the sound of the loud rain, but Jihoon could hear you. He always does. He blinks as he feels the heavy raindrops that land on his hoodie abruptly stop, looking up to see a pastel umbrella being held over his now drenched body. “What are you doing out here?”

Jihoon shrugs quietly for a moment. “I… don’t know.” He glances down at the wet sleeves of his hoodie. “Just.. Thinking.”

“Well, I think you should think away from a torrential downpour next time,” you quip with a little smile, hoping the joke makes him crack a smile.

“Nah,” he hums. “It’s comforting, the rain..” 

“Comforting?” You echo, tilting your head innocently as he hums a confirmation.

“Mm. Rain doesn’t have colour.” He glances at you for a moment, slightly amused by the cluelessness on your face as you just blink at him. “Ah, it’s silly, really,” he continues. “The sky doesn’t have colour when it rains, it reminds me of what the world looked like before everything changed. Everything is so different now.”

“You’re right.” You agree quietly. “Everything is different.”

“Thank you,” Jihoon mumbles after a brief silence. “For helping finish off the project while I was… y’know.”

“Oh, that?” You shrug. “That was nothing. You had all the arguments, I just articulated them for you. Figured that you already had enough on your plate so I thought you wouldn’t mind if I submitted a little early to get it out of the way for the both of us.”

“How do you do it?”

“Huh? Do what?”

“... Live.” Jihoon’s voice is barely above a whisper as you settle down on the park bench beside Jihoon, still holding the umbrella over his head. “How do you just live life so damn happily while you feel like absolute shit all the time? And don’t deny that you don’t, I have felt every single emotion you have felt for weeks now.”

You pause for a moment, looking up at the sky before humming. “I suppose I just got used to it.” You shrug. “It kind of just became like a background noise for me. It’s just always there.” 

“Even when the pain is doubled now? Because of me?”

You shrug once more. “It’s not something I haven’t dealt with before. I can feel the pain for both of us, Jihoon-ssi. It’s okay.” You give him a little smile. “I have had a lot more practice at loss than you have.”

Jihoon feels the irritation bubbling up inside him slowly.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

You blink in confusion as you glance at him. “Huh?”

“I have experienced loss too, you know.”

“I know that, I just-”

“I am more than capable of feeling these emotions too.” He frowns.

“I know,” you emphasize, “I just wanted you to know you don’t have to face them on your own.”

Jihoon scoffs quietly. Who does she think she is, giving him advice on how to deal with his emotions? “I know that too. You don’t need to point out the obvious, Choi.”

“Do you know that?” You retort, raising an eyebrow. “Because from what Mingyu told me, you’ve barely left your room until this week.”

“Ugh,” Jihoon groans, leaning his head back. “Am I not allowed to have time to myself?”

“Of course you are,” you sigh. “But you’re also-”

“You know, you should think about facing your emotions on your own instead of relying on everyone else around you.” Jihoon hisses at you with a glare as you freeze with wide eyes. 

“H-huh?” He can feel your doubt seeping into his veins.

“Your brother, his soulmate, Soonyoung, Seokmin,” he rambles. “They’re always at your beck and call when they could be living their own lives with each other and not have to worry about you every five fucking minutes like you’re their child.”

“I…” You balk, Jihoon wincing at the feeling of your stomach twisting inside him. But he doesn't care, he wants you to hurt as much as he does. It’s your fault he doesn’t have Ji-ah anymore, afterall.

“Just go away!” He barks. “When will you realize that your help isn’t needed?! You’re not needed! I lost the one girl I truly fucking loved because of YOU! Why would I want you around?! Leave me alone already!”

After a long silence, Jihoon finally turns his head to look at you, staring at him for what seems like hours with the same look that you had on the day you brushed hands for the first time. That isn’t what frightens your soulmate, though. What frightens him is the fact that he can’t feel anything inside him anymore, besides his own pain.

“... sorry, I’ll leave you alone.” You mumble robotically, delicately placing the umbrella beside him before rising and walking through the heavy rain in the direction of your house, letting the rain run down your clothes.

“Fuck.” Jihoon sighs heavily and buries his face into his hands, squeezing his eyes shut as he hears your footsteps move further and further away.

He needs to apologize. He knows he does. He knows he said those words out of anger and hurt, and he knows you definitely didn’t deserve it. 

But why can’t he find it in himself to go to you and do it? You’re literally two tables away from him right now.

Jihoon, he scolds himself, it’s been days. You need to man up and tell her you’re sorry. 

Could he be worrying a little now because since he confronted you, he has felt no emotions whatsoever from you? Has he finally lost the tether from you?

“Hello you!!” A loud, cheery voice snaps him into reality. He blinks as he stares at his cup of ramen in his hand, fidgeting on the hard steel of the cafeteria chair underneath him, trying to figure out where the loud voice had come from.

Seungkwan makes his way over to where you’re sitting, draping himself over your back. Before he can ask how you are, you jolt up quickly, scooting away from him like you’ve been burned.

“Hey.” You give him a little smile, pressing yourself up against the wall. “Where’s Hansol? You should be with Hansol.”

Seungkwan’s face contorts slightly as he sticks his lips out in almost a pout. “He had to run to make his next class… Bug, what’s wrong-”

“I actually have to run too, Kwan.” You stammer out quickly, grabbing your backpack and stepping out from behind the table. “Talk later?”

“But, you haven’t even touched your lunch…” his voice fades out as he watches you rush quickly out of the cafeteria, surprise etched on his face.

Jihoon watches on, just as surprised as Seungkwan as he reaches the table with him, Soonyoung and Seokmin.

“Okay, what the hell was that? What happened to Bug?” Seungkwan immediately questions Soonyoung, who upon further inspection, looks just as out of it as you are.

“We don’t know,” Seokmin speaks for his soulmate. “Every time she’s at home, she stays locked up in her room and only leaves to cook dinner for us and clean up. She didn’t even come down for movie night the other night.”

Your soulmate’s eyes widened slightly as Soonyoung took a deep breath. “Something has happened and she won’t tell us what. She doesn’t even speak when she’s at home anymore.”

“We’ve tried to talk to her, get her to come out of her room, do anything, but she doesn’t budge. I’m getting worried.” Seokmin bites his lip.

“I don’t know what the hell has happened to our Bug. She is literally just doing fucking chores and whenver one of us tries to hang out..” your best friend rubs at his temples. “She keeps insisting we hang out with our soulmates. With each other. I don’t know why the fuck that doesn’t mean she can’t hang out with us too.”

Jihoon feels sick as your housemate’s words sink in to him.

When will you realize your help isn’t needed? You’re not needed!

Fuck.

“Jesus Christ, Jihoon-ah.” Wonwoo breathes out when Jihoon finally steps through the door. “You were supposed to be back four hours ago. What the hell were you- Jihoon-ah?” 

His eyes widened at the sight of his housemate stepping under the lights of the hallway, lip trembling and hair sticking in six different directions. Jihoon truly didn’t mean to take so long making it home. He supposes he lost track of time wandering campus with his racing mind.

He knew his words had gotten to you. At the moment it felt good, for you to feel the pain he did. But now? Seeing his friends, your family agonizing over how detached you are? 

What has he done?

“Jihoon…” Junhui looks on worriedly, reaching forward to slip the backpack off his housemate’s shoulders.

“I… I knew what I was getting into when I chose to date her, Wonwoo.” His voice quivers as he stares at the ground. “I knew that she already had a soulmate, but… I-I didn’t think…” 

“Of course you didn’t.” Wonwoo agrees.

“She told me that he had moved countries years ago… There was no chance he’d come back…” a small tear slides down his cheek as his housemate hums in acknowledgement. “And when I… when I found my soulmate and I-” Jihoon chokes back a sob. “And I rejected them to keep a hold of Ji-ah…” His soft cries echo into the quiet hallway. “I… I felt their heart break inside of me, I’ve felt their pain for weeks a-and now I feel their pain on top of my own and… fuck, I broke her, man.”

“Oh, Jihoon…” Junhui sighs sympathetically as Wonwoo pulls Jihoon towards him, bringing his head into his shoulder as his arms wrap around his back in a warm embrace. 

Jihoon pauses for a moment. He blinks once, twice, and a third time before he lets out a soft sob, his hands gripping onto Wonwoo’s shoulders desperately as he buries his face into the soft fabric of his shirt.

“Hyung,” he chokes out. “I r-really fucked up.”

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[beomiracles]

𝓚𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝓞𝐅 𝓓𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇

𝓓𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝓔𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐘 ⸝⸝ “Can you grant me one more wish?” You don’t expect him to oblige, you don’t expect anything at all, in fact you would have been content with even a small twitch of his brow. But the man doesn’t say anything, instead he merely watches you, an almost expectant look striking his features.  You inhale, holding that last dying breath for a second before letting go. “Can you… Can you kiss me?”

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ wc, 3k ་༘࿐

𝓹airings reaper/entity!taehyun x gn!reader (written with fem in mind) 𝔀arnings angst, major character death, lots of crying, kissing.

#serene adds ✎.. HAPPY TAEHYUN DAY !! except this is not a happy fic because I seem to struggle with anything positive.. anyhow :3

“Please help me.” 

Silence. Nothing but an eerie stillness of silence followed your pleading words. You want to scoff, your eyes twitching as they fight to remain closed. There was no way this was actually going to work. You had been a fool to even consider the idea, much more actually try it. But in spite of your foolishness you were also utterly desperate. 

Just as you were about to give up, to slump back against the hard floor boards and accept defeat; just then, there was a shift in the air. A cold, ghost-like exhale. It hits your face hard, like that of a slap. Your brows furrow, your still shut eyes scrunching together. A shiver runs down your spine, and you do not dare move. — He had come. He’d heard your call and he���d actually answered. You could hardly believe it. 

The creak of a floorboard makes your eyes jerk open, your head snapping in its direction. From the salt spread in a messy circle, to the lit candle in the center, your gaze travels along the open book, over to the far corner of your room. — There, in the shadows, submerged in darkness but still definitely there. 

You swallow, the gulp echoing through the desolate air. “Please…” Your voice is hoarse, on the verge of cracking as you shift on the floor, your body twisting as you turn his way. Once again, your hands rub together as you beg him. — “Help me…” 

He takes a step forward, revealing his tall frame as it emerges from the shadows. God, he was beautiful. So it was true then. All of it had been true. — His face, sickeningly pale yet so alive, ethereal almost. His eyes are dark, shimmering with something you couldn’t quite place, something out of this world. The brows on his forehead twist, if only for a moment. 

Dressed in all black, a long cloak draped over his body as it sways by his feet. He looms over you, his presence demanding and stoic. You do not dare get up from your position on the floor, even as your knees burn and ache for relief. You would be sure to stay put. 

It seems as though he expects you to speak, his expression unreadable as he remains quiet. With a deep inhale you gather courage. “It’s…It’s my mother, she..” Your voice trembles, on the verge of tears you shake your head, blinking the pain away. “She is very ill — I can’t… Please, I need more time with her.” 

At first he doesn't say anything as he merely watches you with the same brooding expression. Your face falls, worry consuming you as you fear that he might disappear once more. He was your last chance, your last sliver of hope. — “Please, I’ll do anything!” Your hands reach for the cloak he wore, fingers curling around the fabric as you cling to him. 

A low, breathy sound, almost a laughter, is pulled from his chest. You freeze when his warm hand places on the back of your head, his touch firm but not forceful. “Time”, he drawls, and he sounds as though he hadn’t spoken in years, yet you find yourself entranced by the mere word. 

“Time can never be brought back. You cannot ask such a thing of the universe.” 

His words make your eyes widen tenfold. What was that supposed to mean, would he not grant you your wish? Would he refuse you, would he leave again, leave you with nothing but the despair of the day to come, and the agony of those that were. 

“Please! You have to help me, I already told you I’m willing to do whatever it takes!” Tears were streaming freely down your face now, ugly sobs rolling off your tongue, meddling with your speech. — He’s silent, quietly observing your weeping form from above. His hand leaves the back of your head, the almost soothing touch gone with it. 

He hums, a low and still sound. “You cannot harvest time for yourself. But you can give.” 

His words make your eyes light up, and you crane your neck in order to peer toward him. “Yes! Please yes, I’ll do it.” You were beyond hesitation now, far too desperate to even think about the consequences of your own actions. To give, that’s what you wanted. You wanted to give your mother time, time to spend with you, to do what she loved. That was what’s important, right? 

The man nods, and you find yourself immediately missing the warmth he provided when he takes a step back. “Very well. You shall have time.” As the words leave his lips an icy feeling shot through your chest, it makes you fall forward, barely catching yourself on two hands as you pant. 

It did not hurt, but it was cold, so very cold. 

And just like that, he was gone again, leaving you alone in your dark house, with nothing but a ring of salt, a candle and a book to show. 

But after that things changed. Your mother, once bedridden and ill, was now up and about. It was a miracle, that’s what everyone had said. The way she tended to her garden, made home cooked meals and even picked up crocheting again. — But most importantly, she smiled more. There was a different light to her face, a different joy to her laugh and a whole other woman within her body. 

Doctors said she wouldn’t make it another three months. But those months turned into a year, and then another one, and another one. Five years pass within the blink of an eye. Just as quickly as they had begun they had ended again. You would like to think that those were the best years of your life, you had everything you could have ever wished for right by your side. 

So why was it that you felt so cold? No matter how many hot showers you took, how many hours you spent under the sun or how long you wrapped yourself in your mother’s warm embrace you couldn’t seem to shake the icy feeling looming over you. — It has been that way since… You shudder at the thought of him, of his sickeningly beautiful face. You try to ignore it, you try to shake the uncanny feeling that something is wrong, very wrong. 

The dread that fills you, the sense of impending doom. Everyday you worry for your mother’s health, for her life, in spite of the way she radiated. You feared that it would all one day diminish into nothing. That just as quickly as it had come, it would be gone again. And as your worries grew larger, the cold seemed to strike harsher. 

Ice had frozen your chest by this point. It made no room for love in your now lonesome heart. You could not enjoy your time with your mother, for you feared that your own was running out. 

It was then, on the day that would mark the sixth year, that he returned. And just like he had back then, did he emerge from the shadows. 

The night was warm, but you could not feel it, for you had not felt warmth in a very long time. With trembling hands you tug at the blanket, wrapping yourself up in it as you try to create some sense of comfort. You would delude yourself into thinking that everything was fine, you would try to ignore the pestering cold. But it never seemed to quite work. 

And there it is, that subtle creak of a floorboard, ripping through the still air. You don’t have to sit up, nor do you have to turn your head to know who has come. His presence is just as demanding as it had been all those years ago. Back then, when you hadn’t understood the full extent of his words, their true meaning. 

“You cannot harvest time for yourself. But you can give.” 

And you had. You had given your mother time, you had shared whatever you had left for yourself, in turn trading places with her. Realization struck as his beautiful face came into view once more. He had not changed, for he was timeless, he seemed to be the only thing unreachable by the ever ticking clock that decides your fate. 

He takes a step forward, then another one and another one. Soon he stops by the edge of your bed, dark eyes peering down at your shivering form. — You swallow, “I don’t want to die.” It was the truth, you did not fear death, but you did fear the end of your existence. Your throat feels thick, tears building in your eyes as you shake your head. Perhaps you thought that begging him once more would prove successful. 

But he only hums, a soft almost melancholy sound. It makes your chest churn, the ice around you feels heavy. You could not die, not right now and not like this. How would your mother suffice without you by her side? She would be heartbroken. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. It wasn’t right… 

“Please I can’t-” He interrupts you by raising a pale hand, and you immediately fall silent. His face, once unreadable and stoic, now looks solemn. His gaze roams your trembling figure, the tips of his fingers brushing along your cold arm. 

“Can’t you see?” He says, his hand traveling to your chest, his palm flat against your heart. “You are already dead.” 

The words hit you like that of a wave crashing against shore. Dead? No. You weren’t dead, you were… You were… 

Your eyes drop to your hands, grey and lifeless as they clutch the blanket tightly. The biting cold made the tips of your fingers an almost pale blue hue. Suddenly it all made sense. Your vision blurs as you bring your hands to your face, studying them closer. The cold, it wouldn’t leave because it was all there was. Your lifeless self, a shell of who you were, walking amongst the living, an imposter. 

Your heart was not frozen, it was unbeating. Dead. You were dead. You had been since that night, all those years ago. With a shaky exhale you glance up to meet his dark unyielding gaze. It was impossible to read his expression. — “Why?” You croak, the question barely making it past your choked up throat. “Why now?” 

Why had he waited, why had he let you roam this earth for so long. — The man doesn’t answer, instead he extends his hand for you to take. You regard his pale and long fingers, waiting for you to lace yours within his. It was an invitation, one that would carry you to a world outside this one. You wouldn’t even get to say goodbye. 

“I can’t…” The whisper slips past your lips without second thought, the realization weighing heavy on your shoulders. You shake your head, the first droplet of tears rolling down your cold cheek. 

His eyes narrow, brows pulling together on his perfect face. “Your time is up.” It’s all he says, his voice suddenly sounding monotone yet commanding. You continue to shake your head, scooting away from him as your back hits the headboard, the blanket sliding off your body. “No.” 

“Y-You tricked…” You hiccup, feeling the sudden onslaught of tears throughout your entire body. “You never told me I would… That I…” — The man doesn’t say anything, his hand has dropped back to rest by his side, and for a moment you think he might turn back around to leave. But he doesn’t. 

“You willingly gave her your time.” He states as a matter-of-factly, his features remaining stoic as he regards your sobbing frame. You knew that he was right, that you had willingly brought this fate upon yourself, as naive and unknowing as you may have been. This was all your doing. And though you had gotten another couple of years with your mother, you could not bear the thought of parting from her again. 

The cold was worse now, worse than it had ever been before. It consumed you wholeheartedly. Even if he was to let you continue on like this, what life would you get? You were dead already. There was nothing left for you. Nothing but the inevitable grief you were to bring forth on your mother. 

With trembling hands you wipe your tear stained face. Your breath is jagged, like a broken record, playing the same part on repeat over and over. Through bleary eyes, you manage to find him in the darkness. The pale moonlight casts his face in an eerie glow, one that made him appear ethereal. It was then and there you realized that your time was indeed running out. This would be your last conscious moment. 

“Please..” Your voice is low, nothing but a mere whisper. Yet it garners his attention as his dark eyes flicker over to yours. “Can you grant me one more wish?” You don’t expect him to oblige, you don’t expect anything at all, in fact you would have been content with even a small twitch of his brow. But the man doesn’t say anything, instead he merely watches you, an almost expectant look striking his features. 

You inhale, holding that last dying breath for a second before letting go. “Can you… Can you kiss me?” Your words hang in the still air, flashing before your eyes in menacing quality. You had not thought the request through, not once. All you knew was that you wanted to feel something, anything, one last time. 

His expression remains unmoving, he looked almost statue-like as he stood by the edge of your bed. — Your hands had returned to the blanket, now by your knees, and your fingers twist uncomfortably in the fabric. The silence is so loud it rings in your ears, causing an almost screeching noise. 

But then, without as much as a word, he takes a step forward. The mattress dips under the weight of him as one of his knees sink into the soft cushion. His spotless face, now mere inches from yours make your eyes widen in surprise. — He doesn’t say anything, nor does he hesitate when he presses his lips against yours. 

He’s warm. 

For six years, two thousand one hundred and ninety days, you had been cold, terribly so. Nothing could bring you comfort, nothing could make the icy feeling go away. Nothing but him. The small touch of his skin against yours set your body aflame, and for the first time in so long, you felt alive again, even if only for a moment. 

His lips are unmoving against your own, warm and soft. You don’t dare open your eyes, instead you remain equally still, almost frozen in place. And when five seconds have passed you think he might pull away, demanding you come with him to wherever awaited, but he doesn’t. 

You kiss him, you kiss him in the way you would those you longed for, those you lusted after. But not those you loved, for you don’t think you had ever loved anyone like that. Without stopping to think, your cold hand reaches for his face, trembling as your palm comes to rest against his cheek. 

You want to hold on forever, never letting this moment go. He must feel your nails digging into his shoulder now, your hand on his face pulling him closer. But even then, he remains unfazed. For a second you think he might actually kiss you back, that he might reciprocate that feeling of life that you so longed for. He doesn’t. 

He pulls back only when your tongue swipes across his bottom lip, a guarded expression on his otherwise melancholy face. His cheeks are flushed and there’s a soft redness to his warm skin, one that you were certain hadn’t been there before. Though his soft breaths are hardly matching your near panting ones. 

Your hand falls from his face and you swallow. “I don’t want to die.” It didn’t matter if you were already dead, that was not the same as what you were about to face. An end to your time on earth, a cease in your existence. You want to think about your mother, you want to remember her face even in death, and you want to hear her voice even as the ground swallows you whole. 

But you can’t look away from him, from his beautiful and nearly expressionless face. You had never imagined the face of death to be beautiful, for it had always been described as a painful and sorrowful experience. It is permanent, with no way to ever go back. 

Tears spill down your wet cheeks, an ugly sob ripping from your thick throat. Your body trembles, but not from the cold. — “I’m scared…” The admission is a mere breath, one so silent only he could hear. 

He shakes his head, the movement slow and soft. “Don’t be.” Is all he says, and for some reason you find solace in his words. 

Then he presses his lips against yours, briefly startling you as your eyes widen. That same feeling of warmth embraces you once again, and you feel the ice around you slowly melting. He kisses you just like you had him a mere moment ago. Except his kiss holds love. A love that felt almost sacred, like you were undeserving of it. 

Your body feels numb, and you could feel yourself becoming almost drowsy. It doesn’t hurt, none of it does. In fact you can barely feel anything but his lips on yours. 

Death wasn’t painful, nor was it agonizing. It was beautiful. The man before you was the epitome of it, and you did not fear him. You did not fear what would come after, and you did not fear that nothing would come at all. 

Your soul died that night, but it died warm.

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[dulcescorderitas]

Hi, I've been addicted to reading your Supernatural writings! Until Season 4 I was always a Sam girl but reading your content, and experiencing Dean in later seasons has been something else for sure. I had a dream with him after reading the "sex in the impala" fic!

Could I request a Dean x reader, where they are between hunts/on the road the boys and reader make a pitstop at a bar in a small town? Reader and Dean have had several "almost" moments but Dean has been too stubborn to admit anything, and reader is waiting on him to make the move. At this bar a man approaches reader and Dean gets hot under the collar about it when he realises the guy is interested in her. I haven't read anything of Dean being protective but I think we all know he would be!

Thank you 💜

dulce’s notes: thank you so much! i’m so happy you like my writing, and i hope this gave you all the protective dean goodness you were craving! let me know if you want more <3

it starts with the hum of the impala's engine, smooth and familiar, rolling over cracked asphalt under a sky painted with the last smudges of daylight. sam’s in the passenger seat, half-asleep against the window, and you’re in the back, watching the world slip by in the reflection of dean’s rearview mirror. he catches your gaze, holds it for a second too long, then looks away, shifting gears like the sudden tension between you is something he can outrun.

the town is a nothing kind of place, just a few gas stations, a diner, and a bar with a neon sign that flickers like it's got one foot in the grave. you’re barely out of the car before dean’s already making a beeline for the bar, shoulders tense, jaw working like there’s something under his skin.

there have been moments. too many, really. times when he looked at you like he wanted to carve his name into your skin with his teeth, times when his hands lingered too long on your waist after patching you up, his fingers pressing into your flesh like he was memorizing the shape of you. there was that night in a motel, after a hunt went sideways, where he’d almost kissed you—where his breath was warm against your lips, his eyes dark and wild, but then he pulled away like the world was ending and he couldn’t afford another casualty.

so now, you wait. wait for him to get his head out of his ass, wait for him to stop acting like wanting you is a goddamn death sentence.

inside, the bar is dim, smelling of spilled whiskey and bad decisions. a jukebox in the corner is spitting out an old zeppelin song, and dean, true to form, is already leaning against the counter, ordering a round. you slide onto the stool next to him, close enough that your thigh brushes against his, and he tenses for half a second before relaxing into it like it doesn’t mean anything.

it means everything.

sam, being sam, disappears into a booth with a book and a beer, leaving the two of you at the bar. you take a sip of your drink, feel the warmth of it slide down your throat, but before you can even settle into the moment, you feel someone approaching.

he’s tall, broad-shouldered, with the kind of smile that’s meant to be charming. “haven’t seen you around here before,” he says, his voice thick with the drawl of someone who’s spent his life in places like this. his eyes skim over you, appreciative, lingering in a way that makes your skin itch—not because he’s looking, but because you can feel dean beside you, his body going stiff, his grip on his glass tightening just a little too much.

“just passing through,” you say, noncommittal, but the guy isn’t deterred. he leans in, all easy confidence, and dean shifts beside you, exhaling slow through his nose like he’s trying real hard not to say something he’ll regret.

“can i buy you a drink?” the guy asks, and you don’t even have time to open your mouth before dean does it for you.

“she’s good,” he says, voice flat, edged with something sharp. possessive.

the guy blinks, looks between the two of you, like he’s just now noticing the way dean’s sitting so close, the way his arm has draped itself over the back of your chair, fingers just barely brushing against your shoulder.

“didn’t realize you two were—”

“we’re not,” you interrupt, and dean’s head snaps toward you so fast you can feel the heat of his glare. you don’t look at him. you keep your gaze on the man in front of you, a slow smile tugging at your lips as you take another sip of your drink. “but he sure as hell acts like we are.”

dean scoffs, mutters something under his breath that sounds a lot like ‘damn right i do,’ but the guy gets the message. he raises his hands in surrender, offers you a wink and a “maybe next time,” before disappearing back into the crowd.

the silence between you and dean is thick enough to choke on. he doesn’t move his arm from the back of your chair, doesn’t lean away, doesn’t give you any space at all. instead, he turns to face you fully, eyes burning into you like he’s trying to set you on fire.

“you got somethin’ to say?” he asks, low, dangerous.

you tilt your head, considering. then, “do you?”

tension snaps like a live wire. his jaw clenches, his fingers flex against his glass, and then suddenly he’s up, grabbing your wrist, pulling you off your stool and toward the back of the bar where it’s dark and quiet, where the air smells like aged wood and cigarette smoke.

he backs you up against the wall, hands braced on either side of your head, caging you in. his breath is warm, whiskey-scented, and his eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen them.

“you like pushin’ me, don’t you?”

you smile, slow and sharp. “someone’s gotta do it.”

dean exhales, tilts his head down, his nose brushing against yours, and for a second—for a single, breathtaking second—you think he’s finally gonna do it, finally gonna close the distance and give in to the thing that’s been simmering between you for months.

but he doesn’t.

instead, he presses his forehead against yours, breathes you in, then pulls back, his hands dropping away like he’s just barely won a fight with himself.

“finish your drink,” he mutters, voice rough. “we’re leavin’ soon.”

he walks away before you can say anything, before you can call him a coward, before you can grab him by the collar and kiss him stupid like you’ve wanted to for so damn long.

you press your back against the wall, exhale slow, and try to steady the wild rhythm of your heart.

one day, you think. one day, he’s gonna break.

and when he does—you’ll be waiting.

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[soluversworld]

MISTER x SHOUJO - Subaru Oogami x G.N Reader part 2!

The kid at the back is a 18+ visual novel Minors don’t interact!

Words: 16000

Genre: G.N Reader (Fluff, Angst!)

Summary: You and Geo navigate an unconventional relationship built on misunderstanding, tension, and unexpected moments of connection. After a lie spirals out of control, rumors spread that Geo is your boyfriend, much to the confusion of everyone around you—including Geo himself. Despite his cold and hostile demeanor, Geo reluctantly agrees to play along, but only for his own peace and solitude.

Geo’s sharp, broody personality often leaves you feeling uncertain and overwhelmed. He doesn’t hesitate to criticize you, flick your forehead when you talk back, or scold you for minor mistakes. Yet, he also protects you, whether from prying classmates or persistent admirers, and even takes your hand to make a show of your “relationship” when his friends are watching.

( Reader is a g.n!)-

Trigger Warning: This content contains themes of

Tension-filled dynamics with elements of power imbalance and verbal hostility’s

Rumors and social pressures leading to feelings of alienation and discomfort.

Physical gestures of dominance (e.g., flicking foreheads, pinching).

Underlying themes of unresolved trauma and complex family dynamics

Solivan Brugmanisa

Violence, Blood

EXTRA: He’s a character from a game named The kid at the back!! Note, Been reading a lot of Shoujo mangas why not! Make Geo and reader in such a simple plot!

The rain came down in heavy sheets, drumming against the pavement, soaking into the cracks of the worn-out sidewalk. You hadn't brought an umbrella.

Brittney and Jess stood beside you under the overhang of the school building, the cold air thick with the scent of damp earth and wet asphalt. Jess was already dialing her dad, her fingers moving with practiced ease across her phone screen.

“He’ll be here soon,” she said, glancing at you with an expression that was both neutral and expectant.

“You don’t have to—” You started, but Brittney cut you off.

“Don’t even think about saying you’re fine.” Her voice was firm, but there was warmth beneath it. “We’re friends, right? Friends take care of each other.”

Friends.

The word sank into your chest like an unfamiliar weight. It was kind. Too kind. You didn’t deserve it. Not when you were tangled up in a mess of lies and half-truths with Geo, not when—

A sharp snap broke through your thoughts. The unmistakable sound of an umbrella opening.

The three of you turned at the same time.

Geo stood there, holding a sleek black umbrella, his aquamarine eyes sharp and unreadable. His presence alone was enough to draw attention—even in the dim light of the rainy evening, he looked like something out of a different world, the mist curling around his tall frame like he belonged in it.

“Jess. Brittney.” His voice was flat, but there was an edge to it. “You two can go. I’ll take them home.”

Silence.

Jess blinked. Brittney’s eyebrows shot up.

You? With Geo?

No further explanation. No room for argument. He simply stood there, umbrella in hand, waiting.

Deryl appeared out of nowhere, slinging an arm around Geo’s shoulders with a grin that could only mean trouble. “Well, well, well,” he drawled. “Did the cold-blooded prince of archery just volunteer to be someone’s escort? What’s next? Holding hands?”

Geo’s eyes snapped toward him, sharp as a blade. He didn’t say a word—he didn’t have to. The death glare alone was enough to make Deryl lift his hands in surrender, still smirking but taking a step back. “Okay, okay, damn. Didn’t know you were that serious.”

You swallowed, shifting uncomfortably.

Jess and Brittney exchanged glances, their previous teasing momentarily forgotten.

“It’s fine,” you said quietly, forcing a small smile. “Really. Thank you for offering, but I can—”

Geo’s stare darkened.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Brittney sighed, rolling her eyes, and grabbed Jess’s arm. “Let’s just go. If we argue, we’ll be standing here all night, and my hair doesn’t do well in humidity.”

Jess hesitated but eventually nodded. “Text me when you get home,” she murmured before following Brittney toward the parking lot, disappearing into the storm.

Now it was just you and Geo.

The moment stretched.

You hesitated before stepping forward, murmuring an apology to Jess and Brittney as you walked toward him. He didn’t react, just turned and started walking, his long strides forcing you to match his pace.

The umbrella was big enough to shield you both, but just barely. You were close—too close. The sound of raindrops pattering against the fabric above you was deafening in the silence.

People stared. Whispered.

You caught snippets.

“Isn’t that Geo?”

“They’re actually walking together?”

“Did that student change him?”

You swallowed hard, your grip tightening around the strap of your bag. The rumors were getting worse.

Geo, as expected, said nothing. His face was unreadable, but there was a tension in his shoulders, a quiet sort of irritation that made the air feel heavier.

You walked in silence, the only sounds between you being the soft tap, tap, tap of your footsteps on the wet pavement. The whole time, he held the umbrella steadily, keeping you covered without so much as a glance in your direction.

You hated this silence. It felt suffocating.

After a few blocks, you finally gathered the courage to speak. “…You really didn’t have to.”

Geo didn’t respond immediately. His grip on the umbrella tightened slightly. “You would’ve walked in the rain.”

You blinked. “So?”

He exhaled sharply, his breath visible in the cold air. “That’s stupid.”

Your lips parted, but you had no immediate reply to that.

You studied his face—the way his jaw tensed slightly, the furrow of his brows. He looked calm on the surface, but there was something deeper beneath it, something restrained.

You glanced at his hands. His fingers, long and calloused from years of archery, curled tightly around the umbrella’s handle.

“…You don’t like this, do you?” You murmured, half to yourself.

Geo’s eyes flickered toward you for a fraction of a second before he looked away. “What do you think?”

You sighed. “That’s a no.”

Another silence.

More whispers from passing students.

You couldn’t help but ask, “Why do you care what happens to me?”

Geo stopped walking.

The sudden pause made you nearly bump into him. Your breath hitched as he turned slightly, his sharp aquamarine eyes locking onto yours.

It was brief. Just a second.

Then he looked away again, continuing forward as if nothing had happened.

“Because,” he finally muttered, voice lower than before, “you’re part of this mess now.”

That was it. No further explanation.

The rain poured relentlessly, drenching the pavement in shimmering puddles. Under the shared umbrella, you could hear the hushed murmurs of onlookers, their whispers weaving into the storm.

You turned to Geo with exaggerated enthusiasm, a sudden, wicked idea sparking in your mind.

“Oh, darling~” you cooed, dramatically pressing a hand to your chest. “Aren’t we just the happiest couple? Walking home together in the rain, side by side, sharing such an intimate moment?”

Geo twitched. His eye twitched. His soul twitched.

“Shut up,” he deadpanned.

You ignored him, pressing on with a theatrical flourish. “Oh, how romantic this is! Just the two of us, against the cruel, stormy world! I swear this must be fate, my dear—”

Geo clicked his tongue, adjusting his grip on the umbrella with thinly veiled irritation. “Hold this properly,” he muttered, shifting it slightly in your direction. “You’re making me get wet.”

You flinched.

For a brief moment, you nearly dropped the act—his words striking something deeply embarrassing within you. He wasn’t even trying to be suggestive, but your brain immediately short-circuited.

Geo noticed. His scowl deepened.

“Not like that, you idiot.”

You cleared your throat, snapping back to reality. “R-Right.”

With an awkward shuffle, you tried to hold the umbrella better, but it was already a lost cause. The angle was off, and soon, Geo was frowning harder, clearly feeling the cold drizzle creeping onto his shoulder.

Then, with a sharp, irritated sigh, he did something unexpected.

Geo stopped walking, opened his bag, and pulled out—

Another umbrella.

Another. Umbrella.

You stared.

He had two this whole time?!

Geo flicked the new one open with a practiced motion, took a single step away from you, and then—without a glance back—simply walked off, his own umbrella shielding him completely while you were left standing there, blinking in betrayal.

“H-Hey!” You called after him, gripping the one he shoved into your hands. “Wait a damn second!”

“Go home,” Geo said flatly, not slowing down.

You hurried after him, huffing. “Why do you get to walk off with your own umbrella while I have to stand here looking—”

“I don’t want to be seen with freaks like you near my place,” he cut in, voice as cold as the rain itself. “I don’t care what happens to you. Just go.”

The words stung more than they should have.

You clenched the handle of the umbrella, watching as he continued forward, his figure growing smaller under the storm.

But then you saw it.

A sleek, black car parked at the curb. A driver waiting outside, umbrella in hand. And standing near it, glaring daggers at the poor man, was Geo.

“I told you I don’t need a driver,” he snapped, his voice barely audible over the rain.

The bodyguard—because of course he had a bodyguard—merely sighed and gestured toward the car. “Apologies, sir. Please get inside.”

Geo gritted his teeth, but eventually, with one last frustrated glance around, he yanked the car door open and disappeared inside.

You stood there, watching as the vehicle pulled away, headlights flickering in the downpour.

You had forgotten.

Geo wasn’t just the broody, moody, overachieving archer. He was rich—filthy rich.

You glanced at the umbrella in your hands, feeling the weight of it, the quiet gift he hadn’t even acknowledged.

Then, with a sigh, you turned in the opposite direction, heading home.

The rhythmic pattering of rain followed you all the way home, but it didn’t wash away the strange, twisting feeling in your chest.

Geo’s words still echoed in your head.

"I don’t want to be seen with freaks like you near my place."

You scoffed, gripping the umbrella tighter as you trudged forward. Whatever. It wasn’t like you wanted to be seen with him either.

And yet…

A part of you lingered on the way he silently handed you the umbrella. On the way he had simply waited for you earlier, without a word, standing under the rain. On the way he—

“Nope. No. Absolutely not.” You shook your head violently, trying to knock the thoughts out of your brain. This was getting out of hand.

You couldn’t keep doing this. This whole fake relationship thing. The stares. The whispers. The emotional whiplash from Geo being a cold, scowling menace one second and then silently protecting you the next.

It was exhausting.

So, you needed a solution.

And then, like a divine revelation, it hit you.

True love.

Yes. That was the answer.

All you had to do was fall in love with someone real. Someone who actually wanted to be with you. Someone who wasn’t a broody, emotionally constipated archery prodigy with a superiority complex.

If you found an actual person to like—no, to love—then this whole stupid, fake romance thing with Geo wouldn’t matter anymore.

You wouldn't have to keep up the act.

Wouldn’t have to deal with his flicks to your forehead.

Wouldn’t have to endure his sharp glares or his occasional, frustrating moments of protectiveness that made your heart almost falter.

No. None of that.

You just had to fall in love.

Easy, right?

…Right?

You stepped into your house, closing the umbrella, and let out a long, tired sigh.

Yeah. This would totally work.

It had to.

The Next Day: The Hunt for "True Love" (And Your Sanity)

You had a plan. A perfect, foolproof, completely rational plan.

Step one: Find someone attractive. Step two: Fall in love. Step three: Free yourself from this insufferable fake relationship with Geo.

Simple. Logical. Efficient.

So, with determination (and a slight, gnawing desperation), you set off to class, ready to find your one true love. Or at least someone who didn’t make you want to bash your head against a wall.

Candidate #1: The Handsome Senior

He was tall. He was charming. He had the kind of presence that made people turn their heads when he walked by. You heard he was a part of the student council. Mature, responsible, and respected. Perfect boyfriend material.

So, you casually walked by him, attempting your best "mysterious yet approachable" look.

And then you heard him speak.

"Oh, sorry, I can't hang out today. I have to alphabetize my sock collection."

…Excuse me?

You stopped dead in your tracks. Did you mishear that? Did he just say… socks?

You glanced at his friend, who just nodded understandingly. "Right, right. Color-coded or just standard alphabetizing?"

"Both. It’s a double system. Gotta keep things organized."

Yeah. No. Absolutely not. You weren’t about to date someone who spent their free time alphabetizing their wardrobe.

You shuffled away before he noticed your stare.

Candidate #2: The Sweet, Soft-Spoken Classmate

She was kind. She had a soothing voice, like a character straight out of a slice-of-life anime. She was the kind of person who would probably knit scarves for stray kittens in her free time.

You sat next to her in class, thinking, Yes. This is the kind of warmth I need in my life.

Then she sneezed.

And it was the single most ungodly, horrific, window-shattering sound you had ever heard in your life.

The entire classroom fell into stunned silence. A few students subtly checked their ears for damage. One guy in the back whispered, "I saw my life flash before my eyes."

Meanwhile, she just sniffled sweetly and continued taking notes.

You decided this was a battle your eardrums weren’t willing to fight.

Candidate #3: The Gym Guy

Alright. Time for something different. Maybe a more physical type. Someone with a strong presence, confidence, charisma.

So, you went to the campus gym, looking for potential.

And oh, you found potential.

A muscular, determined-looking guy was lifting weights in the corner, the epitome of strength and discipline. He had an intense look in his eyes, like he was training for a heroic final battle.

You watched for a second, debating if you should strike up a conversation.

Then he looked at himself in the mirror and whispered, "You are a majestic beast. The gods themselves weep at your strength."

Okay. Time to leave.

Candidate #4: The Bad Boy Wannabe

Alright. You’d tried polite. You’d tried cute. You’d tried athletic. Maybe a little danger was the way to go.

So, you found someone who fit the bill.

Leather jacket. Piercings. Probably smelled like cigarette smoke and rebellion. He leaned against a vending machine like he was posing for a magazine shoot.

You steeled yourself and walked past him, making sure to glance his way.

He smirked. "Hey, babe. What’s your name?"

Okay. Good start. Flirty. Confident. Classic bad-boy energy.

Then he winked. With both eyes.

BOTH. EYES.

Like a weirdly slow, uncomfortable double blink.

Your soul left your body.

You walked away without a word.

Candidate #5: Literally Anyone Else at This Point

You were getting desperate. Someone. Anyone. Please.

You tried chatting with the friendly barista at the café. But he wouldn’t stop talking about his pet lizard and how they were "spiritually connected in a past life."

You tried making conversation with a fellow bookworm at the library. But she responded with "The only true love I need is between the pages of a good novel."

You even considered the quiet nerdy kid in the corner, but then you saw him aggressively arguing about the exact power levels of anime characters in an online forum.

It was hopeless.

No one felt right. No one fit.

And as much as you tried to ignore it, there was a nagging voice in the back of your mind telling you why.

Because every time you tried to picture yourself with someone else…

Every time you imagined soft, romantic moments with someone new…

Your mind kept wandering back to Geo.

To the way he held the umbrella over you without a word. To the way his fingers had curled around yours in the cafeteria. To the way he scolded you, flicked your forehead, glared at you like an angry cat—yet still, somehow, always ended up looking out for you.

You shook your head violently. No. Absolutely not.

Geo was cold. Geo was distant. Geo didn’t want to be seen with you.

This was fake.

So why…?

The moment you stepped out of class, you knew something was wrong.

The hallway was too quiet.

Like the unsettling calm before a horror movie jumpscare.

And then—

"THERE THEY ARE!"

You barely had time to blink before you were surrounded. A group of girls, all dressed in varying shades of Geo’s fanclub aesthetic—dark colors, sharp eyeliner, and expressions that screamed unhinged devotion—stood before you like a council of judges prepared to deliver a death sentence.

"Come with us," one of them said. It wasn’t a request.

You weren’t dumb. Running would just make it worse. So, with a heavy sigh, you let yourself be dragged—literally dragged—to the school playground.

A trial was about to begin.

Geo’s Divine Court

They stood in a circle, blocking any possible exit.

"HOW COULD YOU?!" one girl shrieked.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN?" you shot back, already exhausted.

"You don’t deserve him!" another spat. "Geo—**OUR GEO—**is a divine being! He is to be worshipped from afar! Not… touched!"

Someone gasped at the mere idea of physical contact.

You rubbed your temples. "You guys are insane."

"WHAT DID YOU SAY?!"

You groaned. "Look. If you all love him so much, why don’t you just confess?"

Gasps. Literal gasps.

One girl looked horrified. Another clutched her chest like she was about to faint.

"Confess?!" one finally shrieked. "That’s—that’s sacrilegious!"

"You don’t just confess to Geo!" another shouted. "You admire him from afar!"

"You appreciate his existence!"

"You burn incense in his honor!"

…What?

"Hold on, hold on," you cut in. "Let me get this straight. You’re all obsessed with him, but none of you want to actually date him?"

"Of course not!"

"He is too pure for a mere mortal like us!"

"He is an untouchable deity!"

You stared at them. Then muttered under your breath, "People are so dumb."

Unfortunately, they heard you.

"WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?!"

You flinched. Great. Time to dig your grave deeper.

"I mean…" You cleared your throat. "It’s just… kind of stupid? You guys are acting like he’s some kind of god, when in reality, he’s just a guy. A really rude guy, but still a guy."

Silence.

Tension filled the air. They were ready to kill you.

You swallowed nervously. "Look, I don’t know what to tell you. I confessed. He accepted. It’s not my fault you guys are too scared to try."

"WHAT?!"

"Oh my god." You let out a nervous laugh, waving them off. "It’s literally only a rule for cowards who won’t confess. I confessed. He said yes. You guys are just annoying, ahahaha—"

The world froze.

You realized what you just said.

Oh no.

Their eyes burned into you, the sheer rage radiating from them enough to make you question every decision you had ever made.

And then—

"YOU WHAT?!?!"

Meanwhile, Elsewhere…

Geo sneezed.

Deryl, standing next to him, snickered. "Someone must be talking about you~"

Geo scowled. He had a bad feeling about this.

Just when you thought you were about to be devoured by a mob of rabid fangirls, a voice cut through the chaos.

"Oi."

The air shifted.

The girls turned, faces paling instantly.

A guy stood behind them—tall, broad-shouldered, and unmistakably a delinquent. His uniform was messily worn, his red hair a wild contrast to the dark scowl he wore.

"You lot done acting like clowns?" he said, his voice slow and unimpressed.

Silence.

Then—

Without another word, the fangirls scattered like roaches.

You blinked. Huh. That was easy.

The guy sighed, looking down at you. "You okay?"

You realized you were still sitting on the ground, dirt on your sleeves and a sore feeling in your wrist from where one of them had grabbed you.

"...Yeah."

He held out a hand. "C'mon."

Hesitantly, you took it.

Warm. His grip was strong, but gentle.

"Let’s get you patched up," he said, leading you toward the infirmary.

An Unexpected Invitation

The antiseptic stung as the guy carefully dabbed a cotton swab against a small scrape on your arm.

"You sure you’re Geo’s lover?" he asked casually.

You tensed. "...Yeah?"

For a split second, his lips curled into a smirk—sharp, knowing. But then, just as quickly, it was replaced with a kind smile.

"That so?" He leaned back. "Well, you must be pretty special then."

You laughed awkwardly. "Not really."

"You are if you got him to say yes."

You shrugged, trying to change the subject. "Anyway… thanks for helping me out."

He waved it off. "Nah, don’t worry about it. People like them are just annoying." He paused, then suddenly asked, "Hey, you busy Sunday?"

You blinked. "Uh… no?"

"Cool." His smile was too sweet. "Let’s hang out then."

What.

Your brain short-circuited.

A GUY JUST ASKED YOU OUT?!

This was NEW TERRITORY. Geo never asked you out—he just dragged you places without warning. But this guy? He was polite. He asked. He even looked kind while doing it!

"O-Okay!" you said before your nerves could catch up to you.

He grinned. "Then let’s exchange numbers."

Your heart was racing.

After swapping contacts, you smiled at your phone like an idiot. He was so nice.

This was great! Maybe this was exactly what you needed!

A nice, normal, sweet guy who didn’t flick your forehead or act like you were a burden—

The infirmary door slammed open.

Possessiveness in Motion

Geo stood there, face unreadable, gaze immediately locking onto you.

"...Come."

You blinked. "What?"

Geo didn’t repeat himself. He didn’t look at the red-haired guy. Just at you.

"...Right now?"

His eyes darkened. "Come."

The air grew thick. The red-haired guy tilted his head, amusement flickering in his gaze as he observed the tension.

But Geo didn’t acknowledge him. He was focused on you—and not in a way that made you feel safe.

You hesitated, glancing at the guy beside you. He gave you a gentle look, as if silently asking if you were okay.

Geo finally turned his head.

The temperature in the room dropped.

It wasn’t a glare—it was worse. It was indifference mixed with a warning.

Like Geo was looking at a bug he didn’t want to waste his time on.

The red-haired guy just grinned.

"Heh."

Geo ignored him, turning back to you, waiting.

You sighed. "...Sorry," you muttered to the guy before standing up.

He just leaned back in his chair, watching as you left with Geo.

And the moment the door shut behind you—

A chuckle.

Low, quiet, but unmistakably mirthful.

"Heh… heheheh…"

His smile stretched into something darker.

"Geo, Geo… you’re gonna be just as heartbroken as me."

You were just about to step out of the infirmary when Geo appeared again, his presence like a storm cloud, sudden and looming.

"Give me your phone." His voice was colder than the air in the room.

You froze, blinking at him. "What?"

He didn’t answer, just held his hand out, waiting for you to comply. You hesitated. This was getting out of hand. Why was he suddenly acting like this? But you had no choice but to hand him your phone. What else could you do? His grip on your arm was firm, his gaze unyielding.

He swiped through your phone without so much as a glance at you. The silence between you two was thick, heavy with confusion and something else—something that felt like a storm gathering in the distance.

Then, without any explanation, he went to your contact list and found the number for the red-haired guy. You stared, bewildered, as he deleted it with a few swift movements.

"Geo! Why—"

You started, your voice shaking with a mix of disbelief and frustration. "Why did you do that? He was nice to me! He helped me when those girls were... were attacking me. He was—"

"I know what he was," Geo interrupted sharply, his voice cutting through the air like ice. "He was just some guy who thought he could flirt with you and make me look like a fool."

You blinked. "He wasn’t like that at all!"

Geo was glaring at you now, and for a moment, it almost felt like he was staring straight into your soul. His eyes were cold, calculating, full of contempt and something else—something that looked like... disappointment.

"Why?" You repeated, more quietly this time. "Why would you delete his number? He was a good person. He treated me like I was... like I was someone worth—"

Geo suddenly grabbed your phone and shoved it into your hand. "Don’t talk to me about being worth something." His voice was low, strained, as if he was holding back something much darker. "You don’t get it, do you?"

You stared at him, mouth agape. "What don’t I get, Geo?"

"Everything," he spat. "Everything you're doing is fake." His words stung, harsh and unforgiving. "You think I’m doing this because I want to see you all cozy with some random guy who probably doesn’t care about you? I’m doing this because you’re too damn naïve."

Your heart pounded in your chest. "I’m naïve?!" You felt your anger rise, your voice trembling but growing stronger. "You’re the one deleting my number like some kind of jealous psycho. How is that any better, huh?"

Geo looked at you, his eyes darkening even more. "It’s not about being jealous," he snapped. "It’s about you getting caught up in some stupid fantasy, thinking everything is some damn fairytale. There’s no ‘true love,’ no ‘perfect guy.’ There’s just people, and they’ll all use you if you let them."

You were shaking now, feeling like the world was spinning around you. His words cut deep, but something about the way he said it—something about the way he looked at you, like he was speaking from experience, made you want to scream at him.

"I don’t need you to protect me, Geo." The words slipped out before you could stop them. "You’re not helping me, you’re just trying to control me. You act like you care, but all you do is push me away every time I try to understand you. Maybe you don’t even know what the hell you want!"

Geo didn’t say anything for a long moment. He just stood there, glaring at you, as if weighing your words. Then, finally, he spoke. "You’re an idiot." His voice was thick with disgust. "You think everything’s so easy, don’t you? That all this... this fake dating thing, it’s all some stupid game to you." He paused, his voice growing quieter, as if he was trying to swallow something heavy. "I’m trying to help you, but you’re too damn stubborn to see it."

You were speechless, all of a sudden feeling like the world around you was collapsing. "Help me?" You repeated, your voice trembling, not entirely sure if you were angry or hurt. "Help me by making me feel like I’m worthless? Like nothing matters except your control over me? You don’t care about me, Geo. You just want to make sure I don’t make my own choices."

Geo’s expression faltered for the briefest second, his eyes narrowing. "I’m not some hero, okay? I never wanted to be."

But you couldn’t stand it anymore. "Then stop acting like you are!" you snapped. "Stop trying to make decisions for me!"

Geo stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. His eyes softened, just for a moment, but the coldness quickly returned. "You’re too much of a damn mess to know what’s good for you." He was speaking quietly now, as though talking to himself more than to you. "You don’t even know how dangerous it is to get attached to people like that guy. He’s not real, just like this whole stupid thing between us. Fake. All of it."

You felt your heart sink. You had always known Geo was messed up, but hearing him say those words… it made everything feel like it was breaking apart.

You stepped back, your voice barely above a whisper. "You know what? You’re right." You shook your head, holding back the tears that threatened to fall.- "Yes! But it's not fake like us!"

Geo didn’t respond. He didn’t have to. He just turned and walked away, his back to you, leaving you with your tangled thoughts and a broken heart.

It was Sunday, and the sun was beginning to dip low, casting a warm golden glow over everything. The red-haired guy, whose name you now knew was Kai, had taken you out to a café and even showed you a few places in town you'd never seen before. For the first time in a long time, you were enjoying yourself, feeling something you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel in a while: happiness.

He was so kind, so different from Geo, in all the right ways. There was no bitterness or possessiveness in his eyes, no constant tension in his voice. He smiled easily, laughed easily, and you found yourself relaxing in his company, like you could just be... you. No pretenses, no drama. It felt... normal.

As the evening progressed, Kai had taken you to a small bar where the two of you shared a drink, talking about everything and nothing. You felt at ease with him, so different from the constant pressure you felt when Geo was around. It was refreshing. When you reached for your wallet to pay for your drink, Kai stopped you with a soft laugh.

"Don't worry about it," he said, waving his hand dismissively. "It's on me."

You froze for a moment, feeling your face warm up. "Oh, no, I can pay. I don’t mind." You weren’t used to anyone paying for you, especially someone who wasn’t your family. But Kai just shook his head and smiled.

"It’s fine. I insisted."

You smiled back, a little embarrassed, but also grateful. There was something so nice about this moment, so normal.

But then, as you were both walking out, Kai hesitated, his expression shifting slightly. You noticed it, the way his shoulders stiffened, and the way his smile faltered. It was subtle, but it was there. He glanced at you before letting out a small sigh.

"Sorry, I should’ve thought this through," he said, his voice softer now. "I... I forgot that you have a boyfriend. I shouldn't have taken you out like this."

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. "Boyfriend?" you repeated, confused. You tried to push the tightness in your chest down, but it was hard to ignore. "I... I don't have a boyfriend."

Kai looked taken aback by your response, his eyebrows furrowing slightly as he studied your face. "But... you’ve been acting like it. With Geo, right?"

"Geo and I are... fake dating," you muttered, the truth finally spilling out. "It’s not real, not the way you think. It’s all just... to get through some things." You paused, unsure of how to explain. "I’m single, Kai. I’m... not with anyone."

You could see his expression soften, and for a moment, you thought he might have been relieved. His eyes met yours, and there was a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Oh," he said, his voice quieter now, almost thoughtful. "I... I didn’t realize. I’m sorry for assuming."

But then, as if something inside him snapped, that smile faded. His gaze hardened, and his next words came out a little too quickly, too harshly.

"You know," he started, a bitter edge to his voice, "I wasted my entire day today, trying to show you a good time." You blinked, confused by the sudden shift in his demeanor. "I really thought you were different. But maybe I was wrong."

"What... what do you mean?" you asked, your heart suddenly racing in your chest. Something about the way he said it didn’t sit right with you.

Kai looked at you, his expression now full of disdain. "I was just trying to show you something real. Show you someone who cares, someone who doesn’t treat you like shit... unlike that guy you’ve been pretending to date. Geo, right?" His words were sharp, cutting deep. "I thought maybe you could see me as someone better. But clearly, I was just wasting my time."

Your stomach dropped, and you felt yourself shrink under the weight of his words. "Kai... What are you talking about?"

He looked away, his jaw tight as he exhaled deeply, clearly frustrated. "Geo stole my girlfriend," he spat, his voice full of venom. "She was perfect, you know? Smart, funny, beautiful. She was mine, and I loved her. But one day, she looked at Geo, and—poof—just like that, she was gone. Gone because she realized Geo was the real beauty. The one everyone falls for. And you know what? She still likes him, even though he rejected her. He doesn't even care."

Your heart twisted in your chest as you listened to Kai’s words, but the way he was speaking... it was like there was a darker undertone to all of this. You felt the pieces start to click together, but you didn’t want to believe it.

"I just wanted to show that asshole how it feels," Kai continued, his voice shaking with emotion. "I wanted to take his lover away from him. To make him feel what I felt when she left me. You’re just a pawn in this stupid game, you know? Just like she was a pawn for Geo." His words were like knives, stabbing deep into your heart. "I used you. I took you out, made you feel special, just to show Geo that you could be mine, too. But I guess you’re just as much of a fool as I was, huh?"

You felt your chest tighten, your breath shallow. The realization hit you like a brick wall—he had been using you all along. Kai wasn’t interested in you for who you were. He didn’t care about your feelings, your happiness, none of it. You were just a tool for him to take revenge on Geo, to make him feel like he had won.

All of a sudden, you felt like you couldn’t breathe. The room seemed to close in around you, the weight of everything sinking in. You felt stupid, broken, like a fool who had fallen for it all. Everything had been a lie, a setup, from the very beginning.

"I—" you tried to speak, but the words were stuck in your throat. How could you have been so blind?

Kai smirked, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Tell a guy the truth before you waste his money and time. Don’t make the same mistake I did, sweetheart."

Kai’s laughter echoed in the quiet air, his voice sharp and mocking. The sound cut through you like a knife, every word he spat at you stinging worse than the last.

"You really are that stupid, huh?" he sneered, his eyes flashing with cruel satisfaction. "You were so desperate for love that you fell for my little act. How pathetic. I gave you a little taste, and you bought into it like a fool."

You could feel the weight of his words pressing down on you, each one making you feel smaller and more worthless. He looked at you with such disdain, as if you were the joke in a game he had already won. You swallowed hard, trying to hold back the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm you, but it was impossible. His words, his laughter... they were too much.

Tears began to sting at the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Not here, not now. But it was too late. They slipped down your cheeks anyway, and you couldn’t stop them. It was a mixture of hurt, betrayal, and anger. You had trusted him, believed him when he was kind. But it had all been a lie. All of it.

Suddenly, a loud cough broke through the air, and you looked up to find a familiar figure standing near you. It was Geo, sitting down beside you with that cold, almost indifferent look on his face. The way he looked at Kai—like he was nothing more than a pest—was enough to make Kai pause and turn around.

Kai’s face twisted in anger as he stood up. "This is none of your business, Geo!" he snapped. "She was my girlfriend. You stole her from me!"

Geo glanced at Kai with complete disgust, his lip curling in a barely concealed sneer. "Stole her?" Geo repeated, his voice dripping with scorn. "I didn’t steal anything, idiot. She came to me. She fell for me on her own. I didn’t even know you existed, much less care about your relationship with her. So, quit whining like a child."

Kai’s mouth hung open for a moment, stunned by the audacity of Geo’s words. But his face twisted back into anger as he opened his mouth to retort. But before he could say another word, Geo turned his back to him and reached out to take your hand, pulling you closer.

"We’re leaving," Geo said, his voice low and commanding.

You felt like you were in a haze. The words still stung, and the tears were threatening to come again, but Geo’s touch grounded you. It felt... different, somehow, but in a way that was more real than anything you had felt all day. He didn’t say much, but there was a strange comfort in the way his hand wrapped around yours.

But as Geo led you away, something made you stop in your tracks. Your voice came out shaky, barely above a whisper, as you turned to look at Kai one last time.

"Was all of the kind things you said a lie?" you asked, the words slipping out before you could stop them. The vulnerability in your voice was clear, and you didn’t care anymore. You just needed to know.

Kai’s response was just as cruel as the rest of his behavior. He threw his head back and laughed again, louder this time.

"Of course, it was a lie," he said, his tone dripping with venom. "You’re nothing more than a cheap little toy to play with. You fell so hard for me, but you’re just another person I used to get my revenge. I told you, you’re not worth it." His eyes glinted with malicious pleasure. "No thank you. You’re just desperate. And that’s your problem."

Your chest tightened painfully at his words, the tears that you had been fighting for so long finally breaking free. They ran down your cheeks, but you didn’t care anymore. They were just tears, a small release from everything that had been building up inside. You stared at the ground, unable to look at him any longer.

Geo’s expression softened just slightly as he turned to look at you. He didn’t say anything at first, just watched you for a moment, taking in the sight of you so broken. His usual coldness seemed to slip away, but only for a moment, replaced by something almost... caring. But that didn’t last long.

Geo’s hand tightened around yours, and without warning, he turned back to face Kai, who was still standing there, laughing. His laughter died in an instant as Geo's gaze locked on him, dark and unwavering.

"Shut the hell up," Geo growled, his voice so low and dangerous that it made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Kai opened his mouth to protest, but before he could say anything, Geo’s fist shot out and connected with his jaw with a sickening thud.

The force of the punch sent Kai stumbling back, and he fell to the ground, dazed and disoriented. You stood there, wide-eyed, as Geo glared down at him, his anger radiating off of him in waves.

"Stay the hell away from them," Geo spat, his voice deadly calm. "Next time, I won’t just punch you. I’ll shoot you with an arrow. Got it?" He gave one last, cold look to Kai, who was slowly getting to his feet, still looking dazed but clearly scared.

Kai didn’t even try to fight back. His face was twisted in a mixture of pain and fear, but before he could say anything more, he turned and ran, disappearing into the distance.

Geo stood there, breathing heavily, watching Kai go. After a moment, he turned back to you, his expression unreadable. You felt his gaze on you.

Wiping at your eyes, but your heart still felt heavy. The truth was, you didn’t know if you were okay yet. But Geo had done something for you today—something you never expected. He had protected you in a way no one else had.

Geo didn’t say anything else, just reached out and pulled you toward him, his hand still holding yours.

Geo walked ahead, his pace unhurried, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the quiet street. You followed beside him, your mind buzzing with questions and confusion. It was almost like you were lost in a fog, unable to piece together everything that had just happened.

You glanced over at him, trying to catch a glimpse of the thoughts swirling behind his stoic expression. "Did you know about Kai from the start?" you asked quietly, breaking the silence.

He didn't look at you right away, but when he did, his eyes were sharp, almost cold. "Yeah. Guys like him? They're players," he muttered, voice devoid of any real emotion. "Don't involve me in nonsense like that."

You swallowed hard, biting your lip. The truth was, you didn’t understand any of it. You’d been caught up in a whirlwind of feelings, unsure of who to trust, unsure of what was real. But you couldn’t help but ask, "But even after you knew… you still came. Why?"

Geo's eyes narrowed, his lips pressing into a thin line. He seemed to consider the question for a moment, but when he spoke, his words came out with a biting edge. "Because you’re delusional," he said bluntly. "That thing you left behind? That wasn’t love. It was a delusion." He shook his head, his gaze turning distant. "This kind of love? There’s no need to feel bad about it."

You blinked at him, not fully processing his words. Geo, with his usual coldness, was telling you that your feelings were nothing but an illusion. You didn’t even know how to respond. You wanted to argue, to tell him that he was wrong, but you felt small in that moment...

He was trying to comfort you..

But then, something inside you shifted.

You stopped walking, your heart suddenly light, the fog in your mind clearing for a brief moment. You felt an almost giddy sensation in your chest—like a spark of realization had ignited within you. Your lips parted in surprise as you quietly whispered to yourself, "Maybe… maybe I did fall."

The truth hit you like a wave. It wasn’t the first time you’d felt something for someone, but this was different. It was him. It had always been him, hadn’t it? Even with all the confusion, all the masks, you had fallen for Geo.

The moment felt so surreal, and yet, as you stood there, still processing it, your heart beat faster.

Geo had stopped walking, but he didn’t turn around. You wanted to say something, wanted to explain it all, but the words felt stuck in your throat. So instead, you simply whispered, “Thank you.” It was quiet, barely audible, but the sincerity was there, carried through the weight of your realization.

Geo paused, his body stiffening for a moment. For a second, you thought he hadn’t heard you. But then, without turning his head, he spoke again.

"Don’t thank me," he said, his voice softer, but still laced with the same coldness. "I didn’t do anything for you."

But his voice betrayed something. It wasn’t just indifference—it was more complicated than that. It was like he was struggling to reconcile something inside himself, some part of him that didn’t want to care but maybe, just maybe, did.

You took a hesitant step toward him, wanting to explain, wanting him to understand. But before you could open your mouth, Geo did something that made your heart skip a beat.

He stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes snapping upward as though he remembered something—or someone—else.

His whole posture shifted. His jaw tightened, and his eyes took on a strange, unreadable expression.

It was like something from the past had resurfaced in his mind, something he didn’t want to confront. The brief flicker of vulnerability that you had seen earlier was gone, replaced by the mask of indifference you had become so accustomed to.

But you couldn’t help but feel the change in the air, like there was more to this than either of you had realized. His silence hung there between you, and even though you didn’t fully understand it, you felt like you were on the edge of something that neither of you was ready for.

Geo finally turned his head to look at you, his expression guarded, but his eyes betraying a storm of thoughts just beneath the surface.

"Don’t follow me," he said, his tone harsh again, as if he was trying to shut down whatever feelings might be lingering.

You opened your mouth to protest, to tell him you didn’t understand him, to try to explain everything you felt. But the words caught in your throat, because you realized something else.

He was running from something.

Geo, who had been so certain, so detached, was now holding something back. You didn’t know if it was something personal, something from his past, but you could feel it.

"Geo?" you whispered, but he didn’t answer. He just kept walking, further and further away.

SOME CHILDHOOD MEMORY

.."You built the snow people well!"

"It's supposed to be me and y/n!"

"Hah! Oh! Mister """"" is calling!" The two boys ran suddenly, the dark haired boy looked at the snow people. His Y/n, was destroyed.

"Young Master, I went to call your friend. Apparently, They left."

"......"

"........They promised.."

"............Why?!"

[inkformyblood]

many different ways (SVSSS)

before, after Pre-Relationship, Sickfic. Shen Yuan x Shen Jiu. Canon Divergence - SJ was placed as SY's reflection when he transmigrated.

The door shuts firmly behind Mu Qingfang, the world once again narrowed to four walls and gentle darkness. Shen Yuan remains where he had insisted on staying, half-draped over the edge of the bed, an outer robe loosely thrown over his shoulders and the sheets pooled around his waist. 

He coughs once, twice, his shoulders shuddering as he braces himself against the onslaught, aching ribs screaming, and tips his gaze upwards to the mirror. He’s heard the rumours thrown about because of his choice to move it closer, his recent habit of studying the nearest polished surface, the whispers of vanity and the louder cackles of debauchery, but he ignores them as best he can and his students take care of the rest.

Shen Qingqiu glares back at him, his green eyes acidic, burning through Shen Yuan’s skull. To one side, the System box flickers, the edges fragmenting into bleeding pixels before it stabilises into the current active quest.

‘Bless you, bless me, bless us. 

Get better soon!

Reward: 5 B-Points.’

Minimal risk, minimal reward, and an answer to the age old question of what it would look like if a computer picked up an actual virus. 

Shen Yuan picks at the edge of the sheet, drawing it further over his thighs as he folds his feet beneath the fall of it. The day is promising to be mild, the sun burning through the low lying cloud cover of morning, and it didn’t matter because Shen Yuan is not leaving this bed. One of the windows is cracked, a thin breeze winding across the floor and disturbing the latent scent of sickness and self-pity. 

“Just a cold,” Shen Yuan rasps, scuffing the heel of his palm against his cheek, shoving his hair back from his face. His fingers catch on a tangle, a spike of dull pain shooting over his skull, and he just tugs his fingers free rather than try and extract himself. “A Without-A-Cure flare-up into a cold.”

Shen Qingqiu leans forwards, one hand extended to brace himself against the side of the mirror. He looks as exhausted as Shen Yuan feels, every moment of interrupted sleep staining beneath his eyes, his mouth drawn into a snarl that feels like it had been sewn into place. His other hand knots at the hollow of his throat, drawing the robes closed. His voice is a scratch, run ragged and bleeding already. “You should have let him die. Why did you save the brat?”

“He’s important. They all are, your students.”

Shen Qingqiu moves closer, his gaze burning, anger running so close to embers that it can only glow and spit. “And who are you to make that judgement, demon? You who stole my body and trapped this master like this.”

Shen Yuan tips his face upwards with a groan, layering his hands over his eyes. “I didn’t choose this, I’m just trying to survive. Saving Binghe—“

Shen Qingqiu snarls, near animalistic, and Shen Yuan flinches, jerking back to face the other man and  answering him with a scowl of his own as he continues, “Saving Binghe, I panicked. This humble student begs for his master’s forgiveness.”

“You have killed me,” Shen Qingqiu says. 

Looking closer, there isn’t just anger splashed across Shen Qingqiu’s features. It is the easiest to spot, thin face bruised with patches of mottled red high on his cheeks, across the bridge of his nose, his teeth bared in a fatalistic grin, but beneath it, his eyes are wide, his pupils shrunken to a frantic pinpoint of fear. It’s the same way an animal caught in a trap is driven to chew off its own leg, and Shen Yuan wants to soften the damage he’s done, something in his chest twisting and tearing open.

“Please, this student knows he made a grievous error, but this isn’t fatal. We won’t die like this.”

If Shen Yuan succeeds, they won’t die like he knows they will either. 

Shen Qingqiu’s voice flattens, barely louder than an exhalation in the void between them. “Maybe it would be better if we did.”

Shen Yuan rises from the bed, kicking his feet free of the blankets tangled around his limbs. His head spins, a distant ringing in his ears as he walks, stumbles towards the mirror to kneel in front of it. His movement isn’t graceful, his limbs are leaden, his breath a rough wheeze against his ribs, and he leans forwards, pressing his forehead against the cool surface of the mirror. 

“I’m sorry, I beg your forgiveness.” His words fog the surface of the mirror, concealing Shen Qinqiu’s answering expression behind it. “I’m sorry.”

“Xiao-Jiu?“ Careful footsteps as Yue Qingyuan makes his way into the room, skirting the delicate edge of the boundary Shen Qingqiu had drawn countless times. ”Oh!”

Shen Qingqiu snaps, his voice muffled and thick. “Don’t— don’t call this master that.”

Shen Yuan echoes him, softer. He’s so tired. He just needs to rest for a moment, then he’ll be okay. Just a moment. Just a—

[gayspacepiratesss]

TL; DR: Saving Minrathous allows Neve to hope.

(Saving Treviso allows Lucanis to forgive, but that's another story for another day.)

***

Every companion in DATV hits a character crux during the game, but Neve's and Lucanis's characters -- being linked to the cities they love -- are especially interesting to me.

In particular I think Neve's character is a brilliant navigation of the issues the devs faced in representing the Tevinter Imperium. In previous games, Tevinter is an ancient shadow empire of blood mages and oligarchy; if Ferelden is roughly medieval Britain and Orlais is roughly medieval France, Tevinter is the remnants of the ancient Roman empire, with a hefty number of Nero-like rulers (sadistic, debauched, unchecked) still in residence.

So: how do you make that a place the player can root for? You write the story of the resistance. The anti-slavery Shadow Dragons make sense as Rook's allies, and their work is important. But Neve is how DATV tells the story of Tevinter's losers: the vast majority of regular people, who aren't mages or oligarchs or magisters, but still have to get by in this violent, corrupt place.

Neve has been manipulated and disappointed by institutions her whole life (like, let's be real, most poc and women and lqgbtq+ folks irl). She has enough privilege to protect herself: she's a mage born in a world that prizes magic. But she's not rich, and she's too fiercely ethical to take the shortcuts that would allow her to accumulate power. If you travel with her long enough, she'll tell you about the relatives who were only kind to her because they wanted to use her status as mage, and the uncle who was different. When she's in Lucanis's family home in Antiva, he complains about decorating, and she tells him her entire Minrathous apartment could fit in one room. Her clothes are well-tailored because she knows that looking good is a kind of power, but she'll explain to Bellara that it's not because she actually HAS rich patrons; she just dresses to look as if she might. She knows how to use the theater of wealth, but at the end of the day she's firmly working class, surviving off street food and bad coffee above a second-rate bookshop.

Neve loves Dock Town, sees how badly Tevinter's institutions have failed her community, and is deeply, fiercely protective of the weak and the vulnerable. If you drop a coin in a beggar's plate, she'll drop one too, and ask if they have shelter for the night. Hal insists he owes her free fish, but notice: every time, she says "Sure, next time, Hal," and pays him anyway. She knows he can't afford to give away business, but she'll never embarrass him by pointing this out. This is the same instinct that makes her so sweet to Bellara back at the Lighthouse: her elvhen fangirl is an open book, completely emotionally vulnerable, and Neve is immediately ready to look after her.

(It's also the instinct, I think that keeps her from confronting Rook about [redacted for spoilers] -- how terrifying would it be to fall for someone with that much of a blind spot?? But she's not going to kick Rook while they're down, and she can't help being drawn to them. Like, her fear is justified. It's not a great start to a relationship.)

But Neve is also a realist: she knows she CAN'T protect everyone, no matter how hard she fights. Over and over she's seen bad actors like Aelia slip through the cracks, and good guys like Brom (who ... maybe she had a thing for? some of her notes, idk) get killed trying to make it right. So when Rook meets Neve, this is the open question for her: CAN you make the world a better place? Can you illuminate the dark corners, and lift up the downtrodden, without compromising your own values? Or is it always already a hopeless proposition?

If Rook saves Treviso, and lets Minrathous burn, that's Neve's last straw. She stops looking. There's no way to be better than the Archon or the magisters, and so she'll join the Red Threads to beat them at their own game. Unlike Lucanis, she's still romanceable in this state, because ultimately she's still fighting for the things she loves; she just doesn't really believe in the future anymore. There's a pretty sad version of Neve's story in here, especially if you choose her to dismantle the wards in endgame. It's possible for her to lose everything she ever believed in. I've seen a lot of angry people complaining on the internet that her line at the end of her last companion quest -- "This is MY city now" -- is aggressive and cliché, but these people seem mainly to have saved Treviso and to not understand, as a result, how Neve's character is limited by the circumstances they've engineered. The complaint that her voice acting is hard, guarded, or flat is missing the point: her PERSONALITY is hard, guarded, and flat unless and until you help her believe that gentleness can be rewarded.

If you SAVE Minrathous, I think, Neve's character can have the most beautiful arc -- and her romance makes the most sense here, because as she begins to hope that her efforts in Dock Town might actually make a difference, she also begins to let her guard down. Both these things scare her shitless. Being visible (letting the citizens of Dock Town SEE her fight for them, letting Rook show her some risks are worth taking) is really scary. But if you save Minrathous, Neve begins to hope that there's a future for the soft, sweet, and vulnerable creatures of the world -- and that includes herself.

When her voice starts to crack in the later romance scenes, when her brow crinkles with anxiety and her eyes go wide and soft -- that's the reward for saving Minrathous. That's Neve Gallus with a future.

[v33n4-c4rn1s]

"Do I look like her?"

Remy Lebeau x fem!reader

A/N: Here's my first little one shot for the after party of our main event! you don't have to read/attend the main event but if you'd like to.. Here's your invitation to "May the cards be in our favour." Thank you for all the support on the main series! Here's a well deserved Angst/comfort tiny tale <3

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Things played out well for you.

Of course it did.

Sure, you lost everything..But you healed. You accepted a new life. Hell, you even got the guy.

So why is it so..numbing?

Why do you feel like you're walking on thin glass, prepared to shatter under the weight of your heavy heart, when you wake up next to him? He’s not a bad guy. Remy Lebeau is anything but bad.

He’s gentle. Despite your past, your fears, he’s never once doubted you..so why are you doubting him? He knows what it’s like to lose someone. He lost you. Well, a version of you. 

That’s what has your mind all twisted.

Her.

Well, you.

It was haunting, knowing that there once was a you that he loved so much. You wonder if maybe..just maybe. If she was still alive, would you stand in the same place? Would you wake up next to him? Would you share breakfast together? Take care of the cats? 

The worst thing was, you didn’t know.

She meant so much to him.

Could you even compare to her? 

- - - - - - -

You stand in the kitchen, the cats demand their breakfast. They circle you like you’re prey. Tiny predators pawing at your legs. They’re cute..demanding? But cute. Lucifer, the ginger cat, drags his claws down the food cabinet. You give him a look, something along the lines of, “seriously?” and in response..he does it again. Slower. He’s such a little shit. He really lives up to the name. Oliver, the grey cat, circles you. He nuzzles up to your legs. He's trying to use his affection to coax you into opening that damn cabinet. Finally, Figaro, the white cat, simply just sits there. Purring. He’s using his cute little face to try and win you over.

“Boys..five minutes, literally..just five.”

The door of the bedroom creaks open and there he is. Remy, He got out of the shower earlier, he’s dry and dressed now. Apart from his hair, which you can tell is a little damp still.

His scarlet gaze finds yours and he gives you a grin before turning his attention the his cats, who stare up at him expectantly.

“Boys..what’re you crowdin’ your momma for, aye? Where’s dem manners? You aint supposed to crowd a lady.”

He scolds them so gently, it's actually kinda funny. The best part? They listen.

Oh.

I should probably give context to your current situation.

After the near end of the universe, the destruction of your world and the pain and weight of it all..Wade wilson begged the TVA to let you stay right here. They obliged due to your..heroic acts and now you live across from Wade and Logan, who also agreed to stay. Wade retrieved Remy (and Laura) from the void, blah blah blah..you kissed, he moved in, you’re together and now you own three cats.

All caught up? Good.

Remy heads over to the cabinet, pulling out the cat food tin. The cats crowd him instead. A chorus of pleased meows follow him as he dishes up the food. Normally, you’d find a strange sense of joy watching him tend to his cats but today..you had this nagging feeling. It tugged at your heart, sending dull throbs of longing into your soul.

You were snapped from your trance by familiar hands placing themselves on your waist. The Cajun male presses a lingering kiss to your forehead. It tingles. You knew he was being sincere yet it all felt so..hollow.

“You've been frownin’ since ya got outta bed, chère. C’mon, Tell Gambit what’s got you all tied?..”

You meet his gaze. You always do. He finds your eyes all the time and the weight of his sentence. The affection, the care that’s laced into his words..

It cracks the wall you tried to build, the bricks crumble and you stand there..

Vulnerable.

Before you know it, tears begin to well up and it takes Remy no longer than a second to scoop you up. His strong arms encase your frame so gently, his hand runs up and down your back.

“Ma belle..what’s goin’ on? What’s all dem tears for, huh?”

He coo’s so sweetly, leading you to the couch. He takes a seat, pulling you into his lap so you straddle him. One hand lays on your thigh, his skilled fingers tracing soft circles against the skin whereas his other hand works on wiping your tears and pushing the hair out of your face. He runs a hand over your hair before cupping your cheek. All his movements are with practised ease. He knows your body like he knows his cards.

He deserves an explanation. 

He’s been nothing but a picture perfect boyfriend and you’ve been cold to him. You have no idea how he put up with it.

You gather yourself, alongside your thoughts, and you allow some much needed air into your lungs, soothing your nerves.

“It’s– it’s ridiculous really– I think..I'm jealous? Envious? I don’t know but– it's her! Me! Whoever it is! You..you loved her so much! How..how can i even come close to what she had– who she was to you–”

He was confused for a moment before it clicked. You felt..less inferior to his past version of yourself. He felt sick. A rush of nausea overwhelmed him. He never meant for this to happen. Not like this.

He watched the tears slowly slide down your cheeks, his thumb stilled. For a second, you thought he might shove you off his lap, maybe even leave out the door but instead his palms rushed forward to cradle your face. 

“Oh..chère..mon amour–”

He brings you closer, taking your hand and placing it over his heart so you could feel the steady thump.

“She..she was a piece of me– a piece of my past but oh..chère..”

You could hear it in his voice, he’s getting choked up.

“She ain’t you..and you ain’t her. Even Gambit knows dat. Ya got de same face but not de same heart. Not de same soul..”

He brings his hands down to find yours. His own eyes betray him, they grow watery as he presses kiss after kiss to your knuckles.

“Gambit don’t want you feelin’ like a replacement cuz you ain’t. You’re his future. Dat’s what you are. Ain’t no second choice.”

He presses his forehead to your knuckles, it’s like he’s silently begging for forgiveness. He inhales with a shudder.

You can’t find that feeling anymore. The feeling of nagging, the pain, the anxiety.

It’s all gone. Thanks to him.

Now it’s your turn, you tilt his head up with shaky hands and bring him towards you. His nose gently bumps against yours. He holds your wrists like he’s scared that if he lets go..you’ll vanish.

He knows what’s coming yet his heart still flutters when you press your lips to his. It’s slow at first but then a string of desperation ties itself into the mix. His usual skilled hands scramble to grasp your hips while you tangle your fingers in his hair. It’s soft, still a tiny bit damp from his shower but it’s soft. He pulls back only to kiss your cheek, then your jaw, then your neck. He continues to travel till he reaches your collarbone. The whole way down he praises you, he worships you like you're an angel on earth..and to be honest? When you hold him like this he thinks you just might as well be.

He finally pulls away, taking in your flushed cheeks and the dots of red that linger on your skin from his heavy kisses. He gives you a grin. You get to see his jagged canine peek out from his lips. He doesn’t need to say anything because you already know.

He doesn't need to say anything. 

But he does.

“I love you..Gambit loves you so much..”

The cats all clamber onto the couch, trying to figure out what all the commotion is for. 

You return his words, watching him reach down to scratch lucifer behind the ear.

“I love you too..”

It’s four words that bring a man, and his cats, so much joy.

Perhaps you didn’t have the greatest start but that doesn’t mean you’ll be stuck in the unknown for good. Not when he’s here.

- - - - - - -

When you get into bed that night, your heart feels full. You crawl into waiting arms. Large hands run up and down your back. You can hear the soft purrs of your beloved felines and that's how you know things are going to be fine. 

Remy presses a kiss to your forehead, humming softly as he checks on you, watching you fight the well deserved sleep that creeps over you.

He chuckles softly, his chest rumbles at his laughter and it pulls a sleepy smile onto your lips. With a final kiss against your hair, you hear him.

“You got me, forever..and dere ain’t nothin’ you can do about it..”

He’s teasing. You know he is because why would you wanna do anything about it? He’s perfect.

And he’s yours.

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Taglist:

@techs-stitches

@kaidan-z

@tetra-stark

@aisling1985

@trinswhimsys

[haruriin]

VALENTINE EVE'S NIGHTMARE ♡ * ˖ ࣪ — CH. O1

★ synopsis: every teenage girl has her own struggles, so naturally, you found a way to escape yours! though you never thought you would bump into a pretty boy who had the same habit as you...oh, he's actually in the same school as you? and you two share the same taste in movies too...? wow, lucky you!

*✧·˚ cw. rin itoshi x f!reader, this is a smau & written fic! reader has family issues, so does rin, reader is 16, reader is a smoker, this is angst for like 2 chapters the rest is pure crack/fluff trust, language.

after making sure you're carrying your headphones, keys, and —just in case— some spare coins inside your jacket pocket, you finally zip it up and carefully exit your room, opting to carry the few cat food cans that had been hiding under your bed in your hands, since carrying a bag for such a short trip would be a hassle anyways.

except the soft music blaring through your headphones and into your ears, the streets are mostly quiet except for the occasional sound of a car driving through the road every now and then. your neighborhood is relatively safe, so you haven't ever really worried much about going out alone, still, you make sure to be as close as possible to your home (even if being away is what you want the most) whenever you do.

when you get to the small park right next to the convenience store, there you see him, in all of his glory: mr. chonkers rolling around on his back without a care in the world. truly, you started sneaking out of your house late at night just to be able to breathe when your house got way too suffocating to do so, meeting the calico cat was pure coincidence, but he gave you an excuse to not make the people around you worry about your escapades, and honestly, you loved the (massive) little ball of fur, it kept you company when your mom wasn't there when you needed her, and when all your brother seemed to feel toward you was indifference.

"i could hear the mighty rumbles of your stomach from miles away" you kneel down in front of the cat, opening the cans of food and gently petting his fur while he gobbles them down.

you are lost in your thoughts, hugging your knees absentmindedly and resting your head against them when the soft breeze of the spring night envelops you, feeling at ease until you realize someone's very tall unmoving shadow looming over you...

"oh!" you gasp bringing your hand to your chest, your heart is beating faster than it ever has, thinking you were about to get robbed or something similar (at least you won't let anything bad happen to mr. chonkers!) and when you turn around, your heart beats twice as fast for an entirely different reason

there, what you think must be the most beautiful man you've ever seen, is standing with his hands inside the pockets of his hoodie, intently looking at...mr chonkers? as if you weren't even there.

"hm, that's why he was getting so fat huh" the stranger mutters under his breath while you try to pull yourself out of the trance that his beautifully long lashes have you in.

"um...is mr. chonkers yours?"

"mr. what..?" he seems to finally acknowledge your presence, turning to look at you with one eyebrow raised and a puzzled look on his face, you suddenly feel extremely self-conscious under his scrutinizing gaze...and you just embarrassed yourself too! truly, you didn't think the cat would have an owner, so you just went ahead and named him mr. chonk-

"it's not mine." the boy's voice brings you out of your mental rant "i just feed him sometimes."

oh...that certainly explains why mr. chonkers is so...chunky.

you stare at your feet for a bit, thinking about what your next move should be, you've been coming here almost every night ever since you moved here but it's your first time seeing this guy, maybe he's new here? shouldn't you ask for his number or something? you really should...he's so pretty too! okay, you definitely can do this!

"hey, since you've been feeding mr. chonkers too, we could take turns, can you give me your-" you stopped when you finally turned around to look at him, only to find that he wasn't there anymore! curse you, he probably just left thinking you were weird as hell while you were mentally preparing to ask for his number...

sigh. you kneel down again "you could've at least let me know you had someone else feeding you too, y'know?"

"meow?" you giggle when the cat starts rolling around happily in front of you, and you bend down some more to sratch on his tummy and chin before standing up and making your way back home.

you light up a cigarette and bring it to your lips while walking back to the house, deciding to take the longer way so you could take in the scenery while listening to your music.

even though your mind was flooded with images of the pretty stranger and the way you embarrassed yourself in front of him, so you couldn't really focus on anything else...

⟡ * ˖ ࣪ m.list ⟡ *˖ ࣪ profiles ⟡ * ˖ ࣪ taglist: @x3nafix @taefanclub @lukapurin @vertejay (ask 2 be added!)

a/n: finally got the courage to start posting fics again LMAO im so excited ab this one...hopefully i can post ch. 2 tomorrow🤞🏻

© haruriin 2025.

[rllyobsessedgirlie]

Tw: mentions of blood and wounds

Touya’s been gone all day fighting with the LOV; you know he’ll be home late, so you ordered take-out and decided to watch your favourite show.

2 hours into your marathon, you hear him walk into the apartment, kick off his boots, and go straight to the bathroom. Anxiety fills your stomach as you approach the bathroom; you hear him press his body against the door so you can’t get in.

“Hi Touya, How was your day?” You try to rid your voice of concern.

“It was fine,” he responds roughly. You know exactly why he’s avoiding you.

“Can you unlock the door so I can help you?”

You’re ready for his usual protesting, but instead he cracks the door open with no objection, “Promise not to freak out.”

The smell of smoke and burn fills your nostrils. You peek into the bathroom; blood droplets and bandage rolls litter the counter. “I promise.” You take a deep breath before entering in an attempt to calm your nerves and prepare yourself to treat his new injuries.

A few of Touya’s staples on his upper chest and cheek have come undone, blood seeping through and dripping down his body. He’s visibly in pain, and you can assume this was the only reason he didn’t put up a fight this time. You wince at the sight of him. You turn away to get a bucket of warm water, soap, and cloths, hoping he didn’t see your pained facial expression.

“The doctor can only see me tomorrow,” he whispers, breaking the heavy silence.

You grab the warm cloth and dab it over the open wounds gently. Touya grimaces in discomfort, but you continue to apply pressure to reduce the bleeding. You can feel his gaze as he watches you treat his wounds, but you can’t meet his eyes. Seeing him beaten up, burned, and in pain so often has taken a toll on you, and he knows it. He kisses the top of your head while you’re applying ointment to his chest like he always does. You assume this is his way of thanking you. Your eyes are stinging from holding back tears.

“Are you mad at me?” Touya murmured. He almost sounded like a child waiting to be reprimanded. The lump in your throat is too hard to swallow. You finish patching up his chest and now have no choice but to look at his face to add a bandage to his cheek. The moment your eyes meet his, the tears you held for so long trickle down your cheeks.

“I’m sorry… Please say something Y/N,” he pleads. Somehow, you finish applying the bandage through blurry vision.

“There, I’m done.” You dump the bucket into the sink. Touya grabs at your waist and pulls you into his lap before you can run out. You instantly soften under his touch; you can no longer deny him. He wraps his arms around you and places his head on your shoulder.

“I’m sorry, I promise I’ll try to use my quirk less. Please don’t cry for me.” As if he hasn’t told you this a thousand times before.

Between sniffles and hiccups, you manage a reply, “I can’t forgive you. This is killing me.”

Touya listens to what you have to say; he continues to hold you and wipes the tears from your cheeks with his rough fingers.

“Can’t you do something else for the League? Be an errand boy or something.” That was the only thing you could think of in a moment of desperation.

That brings a smirk to Touya’s lips, but he winces in pain from the wound you just cleaned.

“Don’t make me smile or laugh; you just put my cheek back together.” He can’t avoid his dark sense of humour even in a time like this.

“Let’s get you to bed; we can talk about this more tomorrow on our way to the doctor’s.” He cradles you like a baby and brings you to your bedroom. That heavy silence returns as you get into bed with him. You may be in his arms all night, but you feel farther away from him than ever. You can't help but think about your boyfriend’s physical and mental health deteriorating before your eyes, and all you can do is patch it up temporarily.

* I love some angst… SUE ME!

* i love him with all my heart, he deserves the world

[eddieswritinghell]

Price x Reader: Paperwork

You help out Price with paperwork.

Cracking the door open revealed Price hunched over his desk and flipping through a set of papers. A few more similar stacks were sprawled across the surface of his desk. His gaze turns upward when you shut the door behind you, your arms holding two trays of food from the mess.

“You’ve been at that for hours now. Take a break?” You use your foot to toe out the chair across from Price’s desk. With a bit of a struggle, you can precariously place the trays of food in free spaces without them laying on top of any of the papers or other odds and ends littering the desktop.

“Afraid I can’t. I should’ve done this much sooner but I gave this paperwork off to a newer captain and they went and messed it up. Everything is wrong and out of order and it came back to me for me to fix it. I should’ve done it myself to begin with.” The man grumbles under his breath and continues flipping through a stack of papers, briefly making a note or scribbling something out with the pen tightly held.

“The whole point of transferring the paperwork is so you have less on your plate to work with. Why aren’t they fixing their mistakes?”

“Because the lucky bastard went on a month's leave for his wedding right after submitting this garbage. It ended up defaulting back to me.”

“What's it about?” You pull one of the trays of food into you lap and nudge the other close to Price's side of the desk.

“A lot of things, really.” He taps his pen against a Sheet if paper. “This one here is something involving that incident that happened down at the range where the fool dropped a tub of ammo casings and caused another idiot to step on to send him flying. Soap got a laugh out of that one, poor recruit ended up with a broken arm and a lifetime's worth of embarrassment. Heard from Gaz they're calling him Roly-Poly now.”

You snicker and grab a sheet of paper off of one of the stacks and look over it. Seemed to be about stock refills, it was simple enough. Grabbing a pen out of a mug labeled ‘World's Best Peepaw’ you began to make notes and sign off on things.

“What are you doing?”

“What's it look like? I'm helping.” You wave the paper at him and go back to working through the list of items and stopping periodically to take a bite of the dry steak that was served to the masses. “Also eat your food. It may be shitty but it'll be more shitty when it's cold.”

“I have to sign those, you know.” He picks up a fork and knife to cut off a piece of the meat and places it into his mouth.

“Your signature is painfully easy to forge. Let me handle this stack and you handle your more official ones. No one will have to know and you'll get it finished much faster this way and actually get out of his office and go to bed at a reasonable hour like the grandfather you are.” You wave the pen at him. “So eat your food and get cracking.”

“Fine, fine. If anything is even remotely off and it comes back at me again, I'm blaming you.”

“Fine by me. I just want you to relax more than you do. You deserve it.”

“Ill take your word for that, love.”

As always, requests are open!

[girl-lostconnection]

Acceleration AU (part 4) 7.1k

Warnings: smut, insecurities, unhealthy attachment, Johnny is middle child and hates it, possessive behavior, Ghoap x fem!plus size!Reader, Simon is a loser😔, mentions of religious elements (prayer beads) as allegory, suggestive themes, abandonment issues

Soap isn’t sure about anything. Soap looks at you and feels a surge of protectiveness, your tears cracking open the soft tender part of him.

The protector. At his core Johnny is a protector, and you look like you could use one. He knows you are capable of doing it all yourself, God, he can see the way you actually snarl at Simon when he tries to make decisions for you.

But he can’t help but move a little closer to you, passing you a pillow for your lower back while you drink your tea. It earns him a small smile and an additional biscuit on his plate.

(He will come off his leave few pounds heavier thanks to your efforts, but God, it’s not fair how delicious everything is)

For some reason you keep feeding him like your life depends on it, sneaking him crackers and nuts and sandwiches.

Passing him juicy cuts of steak Simon fries for dinner. Making him tea and sharing your cookies. Cutting fruit and peeling oranges and tangerines.

Soap feels like you would hand feed him like he’s a sparrow if you could. If he’d let you.

Caring for him comes to you so naturally like you don’t even have to think about it. And watching you notice Simon’s mood swings and the fact that you pinned comfort foods list for his lieutenant on the fridge…it speaks volumes.

Soap isn’t sure what’s going on and what it means but Simon seems incredibly pleased, and you seem to act like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

So, he just…accepts it? He likes to eat and things you pass him are always delicious so there are no actual grounds for complaining.

You aren’t pushy like Simon is with his advances, you don’t hover, you don’t stare him down. Where Simon is a mountain, an enormous heavy presence and heavy hands and heavy eyes — you are the wall.

You are the cover and safety and absolutely unyielding nature. You are wide shoulders and warm fingers passing him food. You feel like shelter.

Still, he can’t help but sneak glances at you and Simon, trying to gauge how you two even happened. How does it work?

Why did you two stuck together for so long?

Two stones won’t make a paper and while he thought that he and L.T. balance each other out, he didn’t know about you in the past. And now when he does the dynamic leaves him puzzled.

It’s entirely new side to Ghost. A side he never knew before, a side no one but you see, probably.

But you mention running low on groceries and Simon gets up without a second word, getting dressed.

Soap isn’t sure he’s morally ready to stay with you in an empty apartment while he wears your…boyfriend’s? partner’s? just yours? Simon’s sweater.

So, he gets up as well and then you hum to yourself and also get up, quickly drafting up a list in your phone’s notes app, murmuring to yourself what you need to get and occasionally asking Simon (who’s already one leg out the door) if he knows whether or not you have flour.

Simon huffs, getting his boots off and pads back to pantry to check before reporting that no, no flour.

Finally, after two more walks to the pantry (you seem to enjoy making Simon walk back and forth simply because why not and Soap hides his grin behind a cup) and uncomfortably warm fifteen minutes in a puff jacket (that’s what he gets for getting ready too quick) you all are dressed and ready to go.

The afternoon is cold but crisp, not a cloud in the sky, sun shining brightly enough for you to pull out sunglasses and push them on Simon’s nose.

Simon presses a short kiss to the crown of your head and extends palm to Soap, making a flexing gesture with his fingers.

Johnny feels something inside of him warm up when he takes Ghost’s hand and gets pulled up close, grinning when sunglasses almost slide off Simon’s crocked nose.

It’s good. He feels like a boyfriend. Like Simon’s boyfriend.

Where he stands with you, he’s not sure yet, because as much as primal part of him surges up to protect you from slick mud and Simon’s glares and stranger almost checking you off the sidewalk into oncoming traffic, he doesn’t know how you feel about him.

Why bother imagining something that may not even come to life? Powering through obstacles is purely Simon’s virtue, Johnny is more used to rebuilding things. To squeezing through the cracks and making his home in people’s heads before they catch the wind of it.

But you prance forward, click your tongue in annoyance when Simon pulls you back. There is a silent moment where you two just stare at each other and Johnny swears he can see the conversation happening.

He’s just not a part of it.

Johnny has never seen before the way you and Simon operate outside of your home bubble and now, he thinks he gets it a little.

There is this years-old familiarity with which you cover Simon’s side in the crowded mall, pressing him to the opposite side of people walking by you — minimizing amount of accidental physical contact with strangers for him.

And Simon lets you do this without as much as a sound, free palm under your puff jacket, on the small of your back as you lead the way.

It’s as if you know Simon like you know the back of your own hand, perfectly attuned to the level of his comfort, hypervigilant as soon as you step outside.

It’s the same deal inside of the supermarket when Simon tugs your puff jacket off, draping it over the crook of his elbow and pushes the trolley forward, following you as you go.

It’s a routine that you two have, it’s a habit born of years and years of knowing and learning each other’s clicks and hurts and little sore spots.

To the point when now Simon just hums and puts headphones on you when there are screaming kids in the store, and you haul in the shopping cart twice the amount of his favorite snacks.

You two just click and go, moving as a well-oiled machine, the intimate understanding of a perfectly combined puzzle — polished to perfect silence and flickering back and forth glances.

Soap feels the way his right shoulder nervously twitches and speeds up, so he doesn’t get left behind. There is a cool spiky ache in his chest at the comfortable silence you two share.

He’d honestly prefer to chat up one of you, but you are already wearing headphones, engrossed in shopping and Simon looks like he’s perfectly content with staying silent.

You two share a routine and Soap doesn’t know how to slot himself into it.

He doesn’t know if he should.

(How do you know when you are in? How do you know that you can make yourself at home? How do you know you are wanted there? How?)

Johnny waits for a sign.

Trying to see whether he needs to pack up his bag or stay by the door.

He doesn’t wait to see if he’s invited in the bed, he doesn’t wait to see whether or not Simon would change his mind, he doesn’t wait to see if you would kick him out like a stray dog.

A mutt that wandered a little close to the warmth of the hearth and wasn’t immediately shooed away.

Now lying under the table, nervous to breathe too often, nervous to ask for things, nervous to lick petting hands.

But Johnny is not a mutt. He doesn’t want to be one.

Johnny is smarter than empty despair, Johnny is stronger than taking it lying down, Johnny is too stubborn to give up easily.

So, he chats Simon up, so he makes his way into Simon’s arms and Simon’s bed and Simon’s life.

And he meets you.

You watch him — wary and tense, eyes growing heavy when he tries to push through you, when he tries to sneak under your table and wait you out.

It doesn’t happen.

John is annoyed that it doesn’t.

Part of him relieved at that. He tries not to think about that part.

Johnny is from a big family with brothers and sisters, born somewhere in between.

Born and forgotten — mom’s kiss on the cheek and sibling’s shove coming a little too late to go unnoticed. Just a moment later than for everyone else, like they have to make a conscious effort to remember that he is there too.

Just one of the children. Just one of the brothers.

Nothing special really.

He fucking hates it.

He doesn’t want to be one of someone’s, he doesn’t want to be blank face in the crowd, he doesn’t want to be second fiddle and second choice and second best.

Johnny wants to be the first. Johnny wants to be the best.

Johnny wants to be wanted.

He’s just not sure yet how to get himself in your hands. If you even want him, if you even would take him as he is or would he need to adapt to you. Would he need to create a separate Johnny specifically for you?

So, he can stay with Simon and you. So, he doesn’t get tossed out as soon as you are done with him staining your pretty hardwood floors and laying in your bed and fucking with your Simon.

Johnny hates that in his head he can’t name Simon his. Johnny hates that he doesn’t even share Simon with you — you already have him. You had him way before Soap.

And you won’t need to do anything to keep him. Simon is not leaving. Simon isn’t going anywhere from you. Simon is not leaving you behind.

Johnny doesn’t know whether or not he will get left behind. Johnny wants to find out.

He murmurs “give it to me, lass” getting your bags of groceries and watches you wrestle the door. Plastic of bags cuts in his palms, and he thinks they bought entirely too much, because do they really eat all of that?

But then he takes another look at Simon, picking coins off the floor and sighs. Yeah, probably they do. He didn’t think how much three grown people eat. Or two grown people and a bottomless pit of a man.

Simon huffs out air and rolls his shoulders when everything spills out of your bloody pockets.

It’s nothing special really, just that you fumble with your keys and send flying spare change and keychain and old museum ticket and some scraps of paper all over the floor.

Simon crouches with a grunt to pick them all up because Johnny is holding the bags in both hands, pressing one more to the wall with his hip and you are trying to unlock the door (God, he will change the fucking locks as soon as he can. That’s ridiculous, thing jams since you moved into the flat and it’s been years).

So, it’s nothing out of ordinary when you finally wrestle the doors open and shake off your coat, cupping your palms in a boat so he can place everything he picked up in your hands.

It’s not unusual, honestly, it happens a little too often to his liking, but it is what it is and then his eyes catch on a receipt stained with liquor.

A receipt with a phone number and cheeky “gonna wait for your call, doll!” in the corner written in the most shit cursive he has ever seen.

Which bloke with a handwriting like that tried to hit on you? A bloody chicken?

But you just hum, throwing everything back in your pockets, not paying much attention to his inner turmoil.

Though when your eyes catch on the corner of receipt, you pull it back out, inspect the cheerful note and hum again in a way that Simon isn’t sure he likes.

Because you don’t crumble the piece of paper and don’t throw it away — you put it back in the pocket of your coat.

You help Johnny with bags, giving him a chance to shake off his own winter jacket.

There is a dark hot coil of anxiety in Simon’s gut when he stares down your puff jacket, fingers itching to get the bloody receipt and throw it away while you are not looking.

It’s childish and he has no right to do that, but the urge is so strong he actually tries to come up with an excuse in case you catch him.

Soap’s voice is the only thing that snaps him out of it, forcing to start undressing, heavy boots thumping down as he gets them off. He’s a little lightheaded with razor-sharp panic and clouding agitation, tension pain in his neck spiking up again.

Will you call the number? Will you go out with the bloke again? Did you like him? Would you date him?

The timing really couldn’t be worse for this kind of thing. Not when he finally realized what he wants and how he wants it.

Not when he got you and Johnny in one place, not when he already admitted to Johnny that he wants you both.

And while he understands that he mostly dug his own grave on his own, Simon also strongly dislikes the idea of you with someone else.

It’s selfish and he has no right to your time and personal space. He has no legitimate grounds to even be jealous.

But he is.

Drives him fucking mad it does.

Simon watches you pour Johnny some tea, Soap’s eyes warm and thoughtful on you.

Like he is not sure he gets you. Like he doesn’t know where to put himself.

And maybe it should soothe him, but he can’t not think about the number that’s still lying in your coat. The number you didn’t get rid of.

There’s heavy dangerous kind of rage beneath Simon’s skull — pulsating and filling his head with migraine intensity, pushing on his eyeballs harder and harder. Until something breaks.

Until he can���t hold it in anymore.

But Simon could’ve gotten Olympic gold in bottling up his feelings if it ever became a sport. He’d be undisputed world champion with how naturally it comes to him.

Would be great if he also could bottle thoughts in his stupid fucking head so he can think clearly, so it doesn’t make him fidgety and snappy, so he doesn’t hole up in the bathroom for forty minutes just standing under the water.

He gets out only when Soap gets in, fingers massaging his nape, fingers rubbing his shoulders and pressing him in cool tiles. Somehow Johnny knows exactly how to pull the plug and drain him.

Somehow Johnny is always there, making it better, biting into Simon’s arm to force him out of delirium.

Johnny’s palms slide down Simon’s waist, forcing him to brace his forearms on the shower wall, forcing his back to arch.

There’s a familiar tap on his thigh, command to open up because frankly the floors are slick and there’s a huge fucking chance for Simon to fall and break his skull open if Johnny plays rough and kicks his legs open.

But Soap presses himself from behind, teeth scraping against Simon’s shoulder blades, fingers sliding down until there is this familiar pressure on Simon’s hole. The one that leaves him empty headed and greedy, the one that makes his legs slide open and his jaw go slack because bloody hell, Johnny and his long fucking fingers.

(Sometimes he thinks that he and bombs are the only things that get Soap’s fingers with his full concentration in addition. Simon often feels like Soap does work him like a tricky bomb)

Johnny and his attention to smallest detail because he knows exactly what he’s doing when he presses Simon into the wall and fucks him stupid.

Coaxes out moans and greedy greedy creature sitting in Simon’s chest, aching for more, always begging for scraps off the table, still not used to sit like a person and ask like a person.

Johnny cracks him open and bleeds him out just to kiss it better afterwards. Johnny is there, pressing his whole body into Simon, holding him together.

Just holding him.

The water in the shower is cold by the time they get out and Simon is blissfully empty headed and relaxed, shifting his weight from one leg to another when he feels familiar pull inside.

Probably should have stretched better but bathroom is cramped, and he needed to get out of his head then and there.

Johnny watches him before swiping his thumb at the corner of Simon’s mouth and popping it in his mouth, blue of his eyes so scalding Simon’s throat bobs.

Soap wipes off the drool and silently promises to make him go slack jawed again later. When he gets his hands on the lube that got left in bedroom.

Simon pads back into the kitchen and you silently place a mug with his tea made exactly the way he likes it, and Johnny plops himself down, leaning in close and snuggling.

All sated aching and pleased rumbles.

Simon isn’t sure how he’s supposed to feel after everything, but he feels warm. His body melting into Soap’s, his eyes melting into yours when you swat away a tiny eyelash from his cheek and hold it up so he can make a wish before you throw the thing away.

How did you even notice it there? He has blond eyelashes; the tiny hair would be practically invisible on his skin.

Simon doesn’t ask, staying content with the knowledge that you just did. Like always.

You and Johnny both — keeping him together, noticing smallest thing, making him sane and full.

Making him Simon again and not just Ghost.

Simon watches you standing over the pot with water for future pasta you three are apparently having for dinner. Means he’s in charge of cooking meat a little later than. Okay, that he can do.

But for now, he doesn’t get up anywhere. Doesn’t really want to.

Kitchen is quiet, warm with more than just condensation from cooking, soft from more than just small light of your lamp.

Simon likes evening like this one, when it all slows down and feels home. Like a proper life. And a proper family for him.

The two of you is frankly all he needs. All he wants. He knows that it may be incredibly greedy of him, but he’s been more than humble in anything other than you and Johnny. He’s been content with scraps and leftovers for a long time.

Is it really selfish if he wants to have it all for once?

Maybe it is.

Simon watches you salt water, sleeves of his sweater pulled up to your elbows, your shoulders spread and relaxed as you hum something under your breath. It’s a pleasure to watch you like that. Calm and relaxed in the safety of your home, in the warmth of your kitchen.

Johnny leans on his shoulder yawning and Simon wraps an arm around him, letting him lean in, letting him nap as they sit there.

Feels good. Feels exactly the way he wanted it to.

Better than he imagined.

Simon rubs circles on the back of Johnny’s shoulder, skin under his fingers is warm and soft, littered with smallest freckles he has ever seen. Like his boy was just dusted with cinnamon at birth.

Prettiest fucking thing.

Simon looks back at you coincidentally in the same moment you look at him and you smile silently, mouthing “you okay?” just so he can nod, feeling his chest slowly melt.

Yeah, he’s okay. He’s more than okay. He’s perfect.

Simon smiles as you quietly pour the pasta in the boiling pot, doing your best not to disturb half napping Johnny. You may not be in love with his boy (yet), but he’s rubbing off on you.

You already care after all.

Simon’s eyes slide to your neck again and something in him clenches, scrubbing from inside out with annoyance. Demanding out.

He can’t help but think back to the phone number in the corner of receipt and the way you came back home — neck blooming with hickeys, some bloke’s cologne clinging to your hair.

It disappeared after prolonged cuddling session, of course. He took care of that.

And when the evening of that day came — you were warm, sleepy and smelling like you again. Soft skin and laundry detergent with the hint of something uniquely yours.

The soft scent he could usually feel only by nuzzling into your neck or when he managed to dip his nose in your cleavage.

Same soft scent he could feel on the tip of his tongue, when he’d leave kisses on your cheeks and jaw, soaking you with his affection.

The thing is, he could take care of scent.

But could he take care of some bloke that took interest in you?

Soft, gorgeous, warm you. His moon in the sky, his home, his family. His lovely bird.

Simon doesn’t know how to just tell you what he wants. It’s not conventional and he already fucked in a bit and then some.

But if he was at some point to inevitably lash out when his desperate childish “don’t leave me, not you, don’t leave me, i don’t want to do this without you” pours out into something thick enough to choke the words out of him and possessive enough to try and keep you back…he’d better have some really good reason.

Because if he was to ask of your attention, your time, your effort, you — both for him and Johnny — it wouldn’t be fair if he wasn’t honest about his reasons.

You are grown people. He’s a grown man for god’s sake; he should be able to hold a proper conversation with you about something this big.

Simon knows you hate change and don’t like surprises and have hard time adjusting to changes in routines and patterns.

Honestly, so does he.

That’s one of the perks of being in military — you get the same fucking routine over and over again, you have a clear set of rules and even clearer one of instructions.

(If drill sergeant tells you to sweep the sunlight out of the garage, you sweep the sunlight out of the garage)

But it’s not military this time. It’s home.

And home has always been a safe harbor.

Place for both of you — space designed with your specific quirks and preferences in mind.

Big bed with orthopedic mattress for Simon to help his back aches and sleep apnea, bought bloody thing off the first cheque he got. You bought proper pillows and weighted blankets (filled with glass balls or something, he wonders where you even found it. Probably costed a fortune).

Good ACs both in living room and bedroom for you, which costed a bloody rack at the time, but it’s been more than worth it. Keeps you nice and cool in summer (God knows you can’t sleep if you are sweaty and if you aren’t sleeping — neither does Simon).

There is his favorite beaten up armchair you saw on Facebook Marketplace and somehow hauled back to the apartment. There is your couch with dozens of blankets and pillows, thing that’s sinfully comfortable but a tad short for someone of his size. Though many things are.

There is Simon’s butcher knives in the kitchen and your neat rows of spices. Your herbal tea and his straight black Earl Gray.

Simon’s right side of the bed and yours’s left one.

For so long this home was only for the two of you — the only constant in your lives, the place of comfort and security.

He still remembers how he had to change locks on windows and screw in additional bolt lock for you to the front door. Can’t have any accidents happen while he’s away on deployments and not here.

Simon knows that asking you to even consider making space for an entirely new person is a lot.

Almost too much.

So, a proper conversation about the matter is the least he can do to smoothen over possible transition.

He needs to do this.

Because as much as he loves you, he doesn’t love Soap any less. He can’t ask of Johnny to just wait, standing in the doorway with his bags still packed and ready if he’d need to leave at moment’s notice.

He can’t leave Johnny hanging in the air.

It’s not fair to Soap.

So, after dinner when Johnny is already halfway napping Simon wraps him in a blanket and tucks him comfortably on the couch. Lights on the Christmas tree are still twinkling, there is unfinished plates with pasta on the coffee table and some movie you and Simon watches a million times is playing.

It’s soft and quiet, it’s warm and peaceful.

Simon pads back to the kitchen, nudging your hip with his so he can wash dishes instead. It’s only fair — you cooked, he’s gonna clean.

You hum, moving aside and picking up towel in area to dry off things he passes to you after thorough wash. God knows both of you can’t stand dishes being wet and cold.

“Something on your mind”, you muse quietly and Simon glances at you, moving his lower jaw until there is click before he actually nods.

“Yeah. Think we can have a proper conversation?”, the words feel like he has to physically drag them out of himself, fingers twitching again because there is sharp ping of anxiety in his head, and he hates that he can’t just bottle up some of his thoughts.

You hum, eyes sliding up to him. There is something in your face that makes him pause turning off the water, heart thumping in his chest.

He needs to sit down and preferably right now. This is fucking scary, why is that so fucking scary.

Simon doesn’t know how to properly say everything in a way that would be coherent and make perfect fucking sense to you.

God knows out the two of you, he’s the one who’s worse with words.

A small stubbornly childish part of him still really wants you to read his bloody thoughts so he can be off the hook. But the same part sometimes makes him eat ice cream in the middle of the night and then sugar doesn’t let him sleep so evidently, that’s not the wisest his part.

There’s thumping anxiety behind his thorax, phantom vibrations sending nervous twitch to his fingers, his eyes landing on the useless awkward stump of his absent finger.

Had to re-learn how to fucking shoot after Roba’s torture and even then, he managed to crawl back to you. Legally dead and everything, he came back, and you didn’t ask any questions. You just accepted him — a finger less and a whole lotta scars more.

You deserve to have a proper conversation about his behaviour and about Johnny’s presence. You deserve so much, and Simon is here fighting himself to choke out something. Fuck, anything at all.

But there’s knot in his throat and lead weights in his belly and it should be funny that he’s that scared.

Only he doesn’t feel like laughing at all.

“Do you want me to move out?”, your question snaps him out of panic induced stupor and every thought train in him stops with screeching of pulled stop lever.

“What?”, his voice croaks with broken shards, thumping in his chest just getting louder and louder, his eyes flicking to you like you might disappear if he lets you out of his sight. “Luv, no, I— wha’— sweet’eart, no.”, there is an edge to his voice.

An edge that scrapes the inside of his gut, carving your initials in tender bleeding flesh. So, he gets to keep something. So, he lives with a reminder of you.

“Why—”, he licks his lips, feeling every crack and that’s the wrong time but maybe he should have used the chapstick you gave him and maybe he should have talked with you before and maybe he should have done more. “Do you want to move out?”, the question tastes like bile in his mouth and God, he hates the way even the thought of you leaving makes him blind with panic.

Because no. Nononono, you— he doesn’t want you to leave, please, don’t leave, please, don’t.

“Thought that’s what you wanted to talk about. So…you know, Johnny can move in”, you explain with tone so casual he’d snap if he didn’t know better.

If he didn’t know you.

There’s tension coiling in your shoulders, that pulls occasional shrug-like motion out of you — half-discreet attempt to loosen some of the muscle pain by rolling your shoulders.

You don’t look at him, staring down in the sink at the remaining cup like you can obliterate it with the power of your mind and honestly, Simon wouldn’t be too surprised if the bloody thing fell apart.

He for ones certainly feels like falling apart.

“I don’t want you to move out.”, Simon’s hand wraps around you, pulling you away from the sink. “I want you to never move out”, he mumbles in your hair, breathing in the smell of your shampoo and it’s so lame of him and he hates the numb-headed state he gets in as soon as he starts panicking.

Maybe he should actually try therapy like you’ve been offering. Or at least start taking medication? He’ll think about it later.

“Luv”, there’s a soft press and a tickling exhale to the back of your head and Simon is very close to wrapping himself around you like a weighted blanket and just pin you to the floor. Which would be a lame fucking decision but thankfully, you aren’t leaving yet. So, he can do that. He has to do that. “Luv, I want you to stay. You and Johnny both. I want you two to stay with me”

Simon breathes it out, wrestling every word out of himself and it feels like bloody confession he saw in movies and with his palms on the soft roll of your tummy he feels impossibly close to the divine, knuckles gently rubbing idle patterns on you.

Why would he need any prayer beads when he lives with a bloody saint, flesh so soft under his fingers he wants to press his face into it and never come up for air.

“I don’t think John would appreciate your friend forever third-wheeling you two”, there’s a small vulnerable crack in your voice and Simon can’t help but dip his fingers in it, opening you up.

Cracking open your ribs and scooping up your heart.

More and more and more and more.

So he can finally see what you are feeling, so he knows he isn’t the only one scared/

So he knows you want him. Them.

“Luv, I don’t want to be friends anymore”, Simon exhales and his lips are trailing down the nape of your neck, drinking in the rapid beat of your heart and soft scent of your skin, his body pressed flush to your back. “Not just friends”

“What do you want then?”, hitch in your voice makes his blood flow south, raw feral need bubbling in him, nose rubbing at the hickeys someone else left on you.

Thick and dark hunger of his threatens to spill over and cling to your skin. Never to be washed away. Never wiped out. Never-never-never.

You can always be his, he’ll take care of everything, he’ll take care of you, of Johnny, of home. He’ll be so good, you won’t need for anything, you just gotta stay.

“Want you. Want Johnny. Want us three together.”, the quiet exhale sends a shiver through you and Simon drinks in it, lightheaded and slightly mad with need, pressing a kiss to the soft place between your neck and shoulder.

“What does Soap think about that?”, you try to deflect, slide into different railroad, branch conversation away from his obvious need to hear your answer.

“What do you think of that?”, Simon huffs out, teeth nipping your soft skin, stubble scratching you. Bastard knows exactly what he’s doing.

Simon smiles in your neck, his open-mouthed kiss hot and sinfully wet, his embrace tightening around you.

You are warmth and safety. You are home.

You are moon in his sky — he’d be blind without you, he’d be lost without you, he wouldn’t be Simon without you.

“I asked first.”, you dig your heels in and smack his palm away from sliding under the hem of his your sweater, effectively stopping Simon from getting handfuls of you to squeeze.

This man is not going to drop a bomb on you and then go to use your tummy as anti-stress toy.

It annoys you even more because he’s not even trying to look guilty, his smile so wide you can feel it with every inch of your skin he’s pressing his big head to.

“I told him that.”, Simon finally admits, nuzzling himself in your neck. “You are mine. And he’s mine. It’s not gonna change.”

Simon pauses for a moment before huffing out air in your neck, palms finally getting a hold of your love handles.

“I can hear you rolling your eyes, sweet’eart. I’s not very nice”

“You are not very nice, Simon. You can’t just drop something like that on a person. It requires proper conversation. A mutual discussion of everyone’s borders and comfort levels”, you hiss trying to wiggle yourself other way in his hands so you can face him.

Simon eases his hold on you so you can reprimand him properly, but he doesn’t let you out of his hands completely.

“I’m trying to have one”, which is honest to god’s truth, because he knows he’s not good at that and he knows you are right, fuck, you are right more often than not.

The sigh that he gets in response is so heavy he almost feels bashful. Almost.

“We can have one. All three of us in the morning”, he offers, and he can practically hear the sound of gears in your head turning faster. Planning and outlining everything, already building a system in case of bad ending or good ending or no ending at all.

“Okay.”, you finally nod, your fingers hooking under his chin to tilt his head so he’s looking you in the eye. “Tomorrow in the morning, yes?”

Simon nods, leaning into your touch, eyes half-lidded and entirely too soft for someone who doesn’t have a definitive answer.

But he knows you.

And if it’s worth anything is that he hasn’t heard “no” or “fuck off, Simon”. So things are going much better than expected in all honesty.

There’s warmth in his chest as he cuddles sleepy Soap back to the land of awake, fingers rubbing the nape of Johnny’s neck, pulling him out of the slumber.

It’s slow and soft and for a few long blissful moments Soap is warm and heavy, honey is coating his limbs and eyelids. He is safe and he is home, Simon’s side pressing into his, your quiet voice asking if he’d like a cup of tea.

And then, like a bucket of ice-cold water is “We will need to talk”, sending his heart in a rapid beat, his eyes flying open.

“Talk?”, he sounds hoarse even to himself and you just hum, collected as always, eyes calm when they settle on him.

“About the three of us”, you explain, and he swallows, eyes watching you.

Is that the time for him to pack bags? Is that the time you realised that you don’t want a stray in your bed and a strange man in your home?

Johnny wraps his fingers around your wrist, not even realising until he’s face to face to you, your eyes watching him expectantly.

“What’s wrong?”, there is a gentle care in your face he didn’t expect to see, there is lack of fight in you he didn’t expect to encounter.

Because in his first day here you looked at him like he was a mutt your partner dragged from a cold street and told you that it’s staying.

In his first day here, you hissed and bristled and snapped at him, your silence weighted, your eyes heavy.

Soap knows all too well that nothing comes to the likes of his without a fair price. Soap knows better than to hope without fighting his way up and proving himself over and over and over.

He’s not going to be pitied. He’s not going to be a charity you do for the sake of Simon’s happiness; he doesn’t want it to be like that.

Johnny is anything if not persistent. Johnny refuses to go out without a fight, without trying to wiggle his way in, without clawing at everything he wants.

If he won’t get place for himself, at least he will his mark.

As a reminder that he was here. As a reminder that he was almost loved.

Johnny nuzzles in your palms, eyes a little mad and a little gone, hollowed out pit in his belly, hunger in his chest that he cannot sate, need that you know all too well.

A hysterical chant in his head.

Love me-love me-love me-love me.

Don’t leave me, don’t forget me. Notice me.

Johnny shudders when you hug him, when your hand reaches out for him even if you don’t need him. Just because you want to.

Just because you want him.

Johnny presses his body into you, whines when Simon presses his own from behind, his mind blanking out at the feel of being surrounded by you two.

It’s warm, plush of your tits cushioning on his chest, bulk of Simon’s body pressing him into you tighter.

More. He wants more. He needs more.

Johnny spreads his legs open and hides his face in your shoulder.

Johnny hiccups when Simon’s fingers rub his prostate, torturously slowly stretch him open, kisses littering his back, sharp overbite of Simon’s jaws sinking in the fat of Soap’s ass.

Leaving mark, staking claim, showing love.

Johnny whines when you pepper kisses all over his face, fingers going through his sweat-wet hair, pushing it off his face, you lips the sweetest fucking thing. He never wants to go without your kisses ever again.

He is sloppy and wet, saliva dripping down your chins, his stubble scratching your soft face and oh, he’s sorry, bonnie, he’s sorry-he’s sorry-he’s sorry.

Johnny doesn’t realise he’s crying until you wipe his tears off, until Simon doesn’t wrap his hand around his waist tightly, pulling him in, the delicious stretch of thick cock spreading Soap open.

Fucking hell.

Johnny whimpers something incoherent, Scottish Gaelic mixing up with English, eyes glazed over and desperate, hands gripping you and legs spreading for Simon.

Anything. He’ll do anything.

Just don’t leave him behind.

“Love me-love me-love me-love me”, chants in his head, dances on his tongue, tears out of his throat when he sinks into your welcoming heat. Drunk on pleasure and dazed with need.

He wants it all. He wants you both.

Forever and always. Until death do you part.

Until you no longer want him

You make the prettiest fucking sounds when he bites your neck, canines sinking in soft skin, his cock so deep inside of you it should be impossible, but he pushes himself into you — dives in and gulps as much water as he can so he stays at the bottom of you.

So he can stay as a small coin in your fountain, a memento you’d never forget, a man you might never love but who’d never would be another face in the crowd for you.

He will always be someone.

Simon presses himself hard to Soap’s back, rumbles out “kiss ‘er more” and Johnny obliges because if this is his last night he’s going out with fireworks and your taste on his tongue and Simon’s bites all over his body.

And the imprint of your combined hands on him — gripping and tugging and holding and squeezing.

It’s so much and so overwhelmingly perfect he doesn’t know how he’s still lucid, pleasure dripping down-down-down, his spine melting, his mouth hungry wet thing full of teeth and promises to be the best.

To be everything. Anything. Whatever you need. Whatever you want.

Your lips find his and Simon bites down on his shoulder, fucking into him with the slow force of a heavy hammer coming down on anvil with all its weight.

You squeeze around him, inner walls of your cunt wet silken heaven that drives Johnny mad, that makes Johnny blabber filthy things, voice cracking with something wet and gurgly and he's kissing you again.

You won't forget him. He won't let you. He won't let Simon.

Pleasure coils in him until there's nowhere else to go, until he's overflowing and pathetic - face buried in your neck and god, Simon was right, you do smell divine - back arched so hard he feels like his spine will fucking crack but he wants more. He wants everything.

Until he's sick from how full he is. Until he can't take it.

Pleasure drips down-down-down and he never wants this moment to end, he never wants to come back to what was before and how fucking ironic it is that orgasm snaps him out of it?

He's coming and coming and coming, his body honeyed and heavy, his head empty and he's wet like a fucking dog - sweat and drool and saliva and combined fluids drying up on the insides of his thighs.

Soap blinks himself back to reality, but he can't move - he doesn't want to really. His face is nuzzled in your tits, your fingers combing through his wet hair as Simon wipes you both out.

The towel is warm and a little scratchy, cleaning you up, taking care of a mess Johnny is right now.

It's good. It's soft.

It almost feels like he belongs here. Like he deserves it. Like he isn't a stray accidentally let in and who purposefully overstayed his welcome.

But you are soft, and Simon is warm, and Johnny is sandwiched between the two of you in the best way possible.

He makes sure to remember every little thing about this moment. After all it may be the first one and very much the last one.

So, if things go south tomorrow - he was here. He felt good. He felt wanted.

For one beautiful hot night he belonged.

That's what matters, isn't it?

Taglist: @thestoriesiread @skeletonsucker @sirbonesly @blackhawkfanatic @rpgsandstuff @danielle143 @parasite--girl @un-aesthetic @vmaxis @kittygonap @love-kha1 @hidden-reblogs @sgt-barnesveins

[koshercosplay]

the world is YOUR oyster. not mine, a kosher-keeping jew.

the world can, however, be my giraffe, which is infinitely funnier.

[embv]

my body doesn’t Hate me, per se. It just Loves being an annoying little shit

[are-we-really-doing-this]

Yeah sex is cool, but what about that moment when the store you’re at has the 24oz Monsters in the cooler already.