#you cannot look me in the eyes and tell me

[bi-writes]

how would arguments go between simon and MOB? i imagine he would never dare raise his voice at her.

simon does not argue with his wife. if you are in danger or something is wrong, i could see him using a little bit of his lieutenant's voice just to get you to listen to him. to "get behind me" or "i'll take care of this, you go." otherwise, there's no resistance. none at all.

"you know, simon, i..." you stop at the door, swallowing. you rub a hand over your forehead, shaking your head. "i...i-i really don't want to go."

he shuffles in his boots, staring at you carefully. you're all dressed up; you've got a new dress on (that he bought you, eagerly), and you've done your makeup. you clutch your purse with clammy hands, and he narrows his eyes when he sees the tremble in your bottom lip. he clears his throat, taking his jacket off. he removes his boots quietly, scratching the back of his neck as he comes close to you to take your bag and hang it up by the door again.

"okay," simon murmurs. "then we won't go."

he doesn't tell you about the cancellation fee.

"'ello?"

"simon!"

he startles awake this time, holding the phone closer to his ear. the sheer anxiety in your voice cuts his gut sharp.

"wot? wot is it? wot happened?"

"i--i totally...i screwed up, simon--oh, god, i'm so sorry--"

"oi!" simon says firmly. "wot happened?"

"i...i'm at the shop, someone was going to back into me, so i swerved, and--"

"fuck," simon breathes. "are ya olright?"

"the car, it's--"

"not wot i asked," simon interrupts you. "are ya hurt?"

"w-what? i..." you sniffle. "no. i'm okay. just a little sore, i guess..."

simon lets out a deep breath, shaking his head.

"i'm coming," simon says lowly. "you stay there, baby. don't move."

"but, simon, the walk is--"

"i'll see ya in twenty."

"oh, no, no, no, no!" you gasp. the orange tabby's head perks up at the sound of your voice at the door. she's got one of simon's masks in her mouth, and even from this distance and without the lights turned on, you can tell the fabric is shredded to bits. it's all over the floor, scattered across the couch, flecks of lint in her fur.

"oh, god, how could you?!" you panic a little. she must have gotten into some kind of drawer or basket or the laundry, because as you start towards her, she darts away, leading you across the house where you can see shreds of more masks and simon's socks strewn about the house. "oh, no!"

the front door closes heavy. when you come into the living room, simon is there, dropping his gear onto the floor. he looks tired--his shoulders sag, and you can see his eyes half-lidded and barely opening.

"simon, i'm...i'm s-sorry, she--"

you're holding his tattered clothes, but before you can say anything more, he grabs you by the shoulders and hugs you so tight. you nearly lose your breath from how he crushes you to his chest, and you let out a quiet whimper when his knees buckle and he falls to the floor with you, cradling your head to his chest and kissing your forehead through the mask over and over.

you're here. you're real. you're alive.

you drop the shredded fabric and hug him back, closing your eyes as you breathe him in. he tips your head back finally, ripping his mask off and kissing you hard.

he doesn't care when he sees the orange cat take a bite of his thrown mask and run away with it.

he can buy a million masks. but his girls--he pulls back from your kiss to stare down at you, intense. he hasn't slept in days, and he hasn't had a decent meal in weeks, camping on different rooftops just to track a shipment, and when that bullet whizzed past his head, all he could think about was you. the cat-bitten plants. the warm food. the cherry dress. some things cannot be replaced.

some brides cannot be ordered again. they don't make them like you.

you are one of a kind.

[barcaatthemoon]

the high life || barcelona x teen!reader ||

You get caught after accidentally eating an edible at a party.

"Where is (Y/n)?" Vicky was losing her mind. The only way that Aleia had agreed to let either of you go to this party was if you watched out for each other, and Vicky had lost you nearly an hour ago. One moment the two of you were dancing, and the next, Vicky turned to see you had vanished. That wasn't like you, so Vicky was really starting to freak out the longer that you were gone. "(Y/n)!"

"Vicky, hi." It was obvious that something was very wrong with you. Vicky supported you as she led you outside and away from all the commotion of the house party. Someone would be by any moment now to pick the two of you up, and Vicky hoped that it was someone cool. Vicky didn't know what you could have taken or been given, but it was obvious that you were on something.

"Oh god, I am so dead," Vicky groaned.

"No you're not, we're so alive Vicky. We're alive, and it's beautiful!" you shouted. Vicky facepalmed, wondering if this was how Alexia felt constantly babysitting the younger girls. You were a couple of months younger than Vicky, but a whole year behind her in school. Still, the two of you were close, often being referred to as the "terror twins" of the team.

"We are both so cooked. Hey, (Y/n), I need you to do me a favor and calm down, please. Someone is coming to pick us up, and you don't want to get in trouble, do you?" Vicky asked you. You still seemed to be off in your own little world until you saw Frido's car pull up. Vicky supposed that she could work with Frido, it was better than Alexia. Anybody was better than Alexia with the state you were in, or at least that was what Vicky originally thought.

"Fridolina, oh my god, you're so pretty. I hope that I get a girlfriend as pretty as you one day," you said as you threw yourself into her passenger seat. Vicky sat silently in the backseat, hopeful that Frido wouldn't question her. "If I was older, do you think I could be your girlfriend?"

"(Y/n), shut up!" Vicky hissed from the backseat. You turned to glare at her, very unhappy with how shitty of a wingwoman she was being for you. "Please take us home now."

"Is there anything that you two want to tell me?" Frido asked as she glanced between you and Vicky. Vicky shrunk back shamefully, unsure of how to explain that you had disappeared during the party and Vicky had only just found you in your current state. "Did either of you eat or drink something you weren't supposed to? Perhaps smoked something, even?"

"I'd never smoke, it's bad for you. I just had one of the little snacks they had set out. I'm not a professional, but that was one shitty baker. Those cookies tasted like dirt," you rambled. Frido's eyes widened as she looked solely at Vicky. "Oh, wait, I saved you one. You were dancing for a long time, but then I came back to the dance floor and you were gone. Here you go."

"Nope, I'll take that," Frido said as she snatched the cookie from your hands. You frowned and pouted at the Swede, who seemed unphased. Vicky knew then and there that the two of you were not going back to Vicky's for a sleepover. Vicky was dropped off at her house, but you went home with Frido, who made Vicky promise to come into practice early tomorrow for a meeting.

…

"No, surely you cannot be talking about my Chiqui," Mapi scoffed as Frido filled her and Ingrid in on the situation. You were still fast asleep in Frido's bed. It had been a hassle to say the least to get you to sleep last night. Vicky hadn't taken anything, so after a phone call with Alexia, the other girl had been let off the hook for the time being. You, on the other hand, were practically dead to the world still. "Jesus Christ."

"Mapi, what are you doing?" Ingrid asked as her girlfriend stormed towards Frido's bedroom. Just as Mapi began to make her way down the hallway, you walked out of Frido's bedroom. You looked absolutely miserable, experiencing your very hangover of any type. Your head was pounding, your body felt exhausted, and your mouth had never been so dry before.

"Where do you think you're going you little junkie?" Mapi asked as you just pushed past her. You continued to ignore her as you poured yourself a glass of water and walked into the living room. You sat down on the couch and tried to curl into yourself, but Mapi was relentless with you. "I tell your Mami that I'll look after you, and this is what you do? Just you wait until Alexia gets over here, you are in so much trouble! I cannot believe you would do such a thing. I mean, you are supposed to be representing your town. What kind of example are you set-,"

"Enough, shut up!" you shouted. It was immediately obvious that was absolutely the wrong thing to do. Mapi's fists balled up as she just stormed out of Frido's apartment. Ingrid looked torn between chasing after Mapi and giving her space. Frido looked at you with a disappointed look, one that made your chest hurt just as badly as Mapi's words had.

"She was just upset because she cares about you," Ingrid said coldly. You quickly looked between the both of them before you got up and tried to run off. You made it all the way to the parking lot before you saw Mapi and Alexia talking to each other. You tried to turn around, but Ingrid was right behind you. There was nowhere for you to go, so you just gave up and sat down on the sidewalk.

"Ah, there she is! I bet you thought that you could make a quick break, didn't you?" Immediately, Mapi was in on you again. This time, you weren't left to be yelled at and berated. Much to your surprise, Alexia was the one who stepped in to stop things.

"Hey, calm down. Go with Ingrid, and let me talk to her. She's not going to say anything with you going at her like that," Alexia reasoned. Mapi huffed and puffed, but went to Ingrid anyway. "I hear you had a very adventurous night."

"It was an accident. How could I have known what was in those cookies?" you asked. Alexia sighed as she looked down at you. For the first time in a while, you looked just like you had at your first practice with the senior team. You had done a lot of growing up, but Alexia was reminded how young you really were. You were young, but didn't have the chance to be a normal teenager and make mistakes like everyone else.

"Like you said, it was an accident. You're smart, and you know what's at stake here, so this isn't something you would do on purpose in season. Maria cares about you, and she's scared of what could happen if the club decides to drug test you. You'll be looking at a suspension at best, but you know that already."

"Yeah, I do," you confirmed. Alexia sighed as she glanced at the lobby where Ingrid and Mapi seemed to be fighting. "I can just go back home, I guess. I've caused enough problems already. I don't deserve to be here."

"Yes, you do. You've worked hard, even more than any of us really know. So, when the time comes, you'll take your punishment and work on resecuring your spot. There will be apologies and lots of hard conversations, but none of us want to see you go, not even Maria," Alexia reassured you.

…

"Why don't you go over there and talk to her?" Ingrid asked. Mapi had been watching you for weeks. Your suspension and probationary period were over, and you had yet to even attempt to speak with Mapi yet. It had been radio silence between the two of you since that day at Frido's apartment. Ingrid was tired of it, especially since she could see how badly it was hurting both of you.

"Because she doesn't want anything to do with me anymore. I yelled at her, made her feel like nothing. I've never apologized," Mapi said. She felt an almost overwhelming amount of shame every single time that she looked at you. It felt impossible to go over and talk to you. "She won't even look at me. I lost my Chiqui."

"Don't tell me that you're afraid of a 17 year old girl," Ingrid laughed. Mapi sputtered and stammered, but made no attempt to argue with Ingrid. She was afraid of you, afraid that you wouldn't accept any apologies that she could muster up. Mapi had been so mean to you that morning, and she would have kept going if you hadn't stopped her. She didn't even mean any of it, she was just scared and angry.

"She is almost 18 now," Mapi grumbled. Ingrid rolled her eyes and whistled to get your attention. There weren't that many people in the gym left now, just the three of you.

"Chiqui, Maria wants to talk to you," Ingrid said. She walked over to the door and blocked it, meaning neither of you could leave until you talked to each other.

"I am sorry for yelling at you. I don't think you're a disappointment to your home or your Mami," Mapi started. She seemed a bit lost, like she was completely out of her depth. "You made a mistake and that's okay. I've made mistakes, and I should have shown you the same kindness that I had been shown. One day, you might be in my position, and trust me, it's easier to forgive than hold a grudge."

"I'm sorry that I yelled at you," you apologized. Mapi didn't even wait for you to finish before she was rushing over to hug you. You let her pick you up off the ground, even if she was hugging a little too tight. "Put me down now, please."

"Bagheera misses you, so you need to come back with us immediately," Mapi said. You knew that it wasn't just Bagheera who missed you, especially since Ingrid had been bringing you over secretly while Mapi worked on her little passion projects and hobbies. Bagheera had been seeing you at least once a month, but Mapi hadn't really spoken to you in almost three monhs, and it had been driving her crazy.

"I'll have to ask Alexia," you told her. Mapi brushed it off, already having been told by Alexia to fix things with you countless times. The team didn't feel right without Mapi's influence on you.

[strcwbrryklss]

୨୧﹕ photoshoot .ᐟ oneshot

pairing ; nicholas chavez x fem!reader contains ; yearning , tension , professional environment a/n ; new white boy of the month! summary ; as a professional photographer, y/n deals with beautiful people all the time, models of all statuses and charm. however, photographing nicholas chavez was not as easy when you can get lost in his eyes.

HAVE YOU EVER looked into someone’s eyes and known what they were thinking? even at the slightest glance? well, y/n could tell as soon as nicholas chavez looked into her lens, the way his gaze softened, or his pupils dilating slightly as he looked her way. it was nothing like she’d seen before. yeah, there were models in the past that had tried to subtly show off in front of her, flexing their muscles and giving the camera a sort of ‘look of lust’ — which was always extremely obvious, anyways. but nick, well, he seemed in awe.

although he was the one all ‘prettied up’, laid on a bed in front of her, shirt unbuttoned, nicholas was the one admiring her. there was something he found so beautiful about her concentration for her passion: when her eyebrows furrow as she looks through the lens, or even when she praises — not only him, but herself — as they get a good shot.

well, he may think she’s concentrating. in reality, y/n is getting increasingly annoyed at her wandering mind. with every look at the camera, or when their gaze meets for a split second, it almost feels as though she’s melting. his dark brown eyes were like a universe in itself, it was easy to get lost in them, especially when he is looking at her so desperately. it seems as if he is almost yearning for her — ‘wow’ she thought ‘he must be a good actor’.

along with that look, the position nick is in does not help. he sits on the edge of the bed, manspread whilst he leans back on his elbows. although he looks so desperate, his body language gives him some sort of dominance, unintentionally giving y/n butterflies.

“you’re very beautiful” nicholas says unexpectedly, catching y/n off guard, but not in a way that would creep her out, it seemed genuine.

she lets out a slight giggle before responding, “thank you” she says, continuing to take pictures.

she got closer, in need of some close up shots, too, and nicholas cooperated. however, forgetting to look at the camera, he starts to examine her face, “no, really. you should be the one in front of the camera” he laughs.

“you’re kidding” she rolls her eyes playfully as she smiles at him.

nick smiles back before nodding towards her camera, “come on”

“absolutely not” she laughs, backing away with her camera, “i cannot trust you with this”

“come onnn” he repeats, dragging out the last word, playfully pleading.

the two look at each other for a few seconds. he gives her a knowing look before putting his hand out, waiting for her to give him the camera. y/n thinks for a bit before rolling her eyes once more and handing him the camera and sitting down on the bed, “this is so unprofessional”

“shh” he responds jokingly, “i’m in charge now”

y/n laughs before sitting herself down onto the bed, “tell me what to do then, photographer”

“first of all, jacket off” nicholas points, “second of all, pose how you want”

“yes, sir” she responds sarcastically, taking off her jacket and throwing it behind him, revealing the white sundress she has been wearing underneath. unsure of what pose to do, y/n kept sitting on the edge of the bed, legs crossed as she leaned back on her arms.

nick began taking photos in a very playful matter, screaming “yes!”, “wow!” enthusiastically with each shot. y/n laughs, causing him to take a few serious shots whilst she’s in the moment. nicholas stops for a second, looking through the photos he just took, with a look of awe on his face and a slight smile, before looking up at her once again.

he then sits down next to her, showing her one of the photos: she’s grinning from ear to ear, eyes shut as sun-rays from the windows hit the sheets behind her, “see, beautiful” he says.

y/n smiles before looking into his eyes once more, realising that they look even better this close, and slowly, without even realising, they close the gap between one another with a soft kiss.

[ktownshizzle]

Wild & Free | Part 2 of 2

Pairing: Min Yoongi x female reader

Summary: Everybody says they want to marry Min Yoongi. But what if he only wants to say 'yes' to you.

Alternatively: While on the last leg of their PTD tour, Yoongi discovers there was such a thing as drive-thru weddings in Las Vegas - spontaneous, wild, exciting - something his pretty little brain can't seem to process having lived the last decade of his life planned to perfection by his management team, which includes you. When he goes down a rabbit hole of Youtube videos about The Little White Wedding Chapel (Omo! Michael Jordan got married there!), he starts getting all sorts of ideas - all of it starring him and you.

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Smut, Childhood friends to lovers, Idol!au, Coworkers to lovers (reader is a HYBE employee)

Warnings: Please read part 1 for this to make sense. We start with oral (f. receiving) bec this is Yoongi, sex of course (v. cute and loving, unprotected- u wrap it up tho), self-indulgent shit if ima be honest, more cursing lol, reader is a yapper, couple of idiots but not for long, spit kink, reader is an aspiring brat, overuse of the term ‘baby’, tiny Beauty and the Beast reference if you catch it (tell me if you do!), possible inaccuracies about Las Vegas (read full statement fr part 1)

Word Count: 11k (approx. 45 mins to read)

Posting date: September 27, 2024

Dividers: @/saradika-graphics

Part One | Part Two | Masterlist

“Mm, there,” you mewl mindlessly, tugging his copper hair when his tongue hits. the. spot. “Shit, that’s IT.”

How you went from almost throwing him out of your room to him throwing you on the bed is a blur at this point. The moment your lips touched it was like he took over all your faculties. Brain emptied, pussy surrendered in less than a minute. 

The way you are stripped of every inch of your clothing and he still has everything on gives you some false sense of power. But you know he is the one in-charge and dear God you are willing to submit.

Yoongi groans after a particularly harsh pull, and you realize belatedly how his scalp must be burning.

“Sorry,” you release his poor strands, but a quick hand grips your wrist.

 “I don’t give a fuck–,” he says sternly, intense eyes looking up at you for a millisecond before diving back in like a man who has not had a proper meal in a year.

As if you’re not sufficiently down bad for him, you discover his dominating side and you are now an absolute wreck.

Eyes squeezed shut, your hands move to grip the sheets to tether you into this world as his hot tongue licks against your folds before swirling on the nub that has your soul ascending to another plane. Pinpricks of pleasure shoot from your core towards the tips of your limbs, every fiber of your being burning, coming alive.

But, he suddenly stops, and you can’t help the tiny whimper that immediately spills from your lips, panicked eyes going down to where he was.

His lips curl into a devilish smirk, before he pushes two fingers inside your entrance and the most obscene moan escapes your throat. Embarrassed, you pull your lips inward to muffle any sound you're bound to make.

He extracts his fingers from your hole and you are horrified at how empty you suddenly feel. 

Shit, he looks mad. Were you too loud?

His smeared hand appears by the side of your face, pressing down the mattress to support his weight. The chains on his neck that hovers over your flushed face renders you speechless. You may have seen this in your mind’s eye, but it cannot compare to the real thing.

You see the thin sheen of sweat on his forehead as he lifts a brow and speaks in a voice too calm for a threat, “If you want to cum on my tongue, you better let me hear you.”

“Okay,” you breathe out quickly, desperate, needy.

Looking pleased, he slinks back down, licking the valley of your breasts, kissing your knee, the inner part of your thigh, towards your mound.

He gingerly spreads your folds, purses his lips, then spits—”fuck!”—before slurping the juices from your cunt, creating a lewd melody with your helpless moans.

His lithe fingers start to move in and out of your slick walls in a steady rhythm that has your body tensing up like you’ve never had a proper orgasm.

A warm hand glides up your stomach towards the flesh of your breast, massaging it softly. His calloused thumb swipes over your nipple once, twice, thrice in a dizzying dance before twisting it, synching each roll with a lap of his tongue on your clit.

Goddamn, how did he get so good with that–wait you don’t want to know. You focus on his ministrations, his every move creating tidal waves of pleasure. His tongue moving in figure eights. Two fingers, curling slightly as it slides in and out. Your nipples, pinched and rolled expertly. Sanity, ebbing slowly away…

“Don’t stop,” you beg pathetically. “Shit, Yoongi, please…”

The devil laughs against your pussy, puffs of breath touching your wetness. For a second you thought he might edge you and you are so not a fan of that. But as always, Yoongi knows you, flaws and all. Patience was not your strong suit. And he is never cruel and 

“Fuck—I’m gonna cum.”

“Give it to me.”

He keeps playing your body like a guitar, strings plucked and pulled taut, rapidly, repeatedly, coaxing out a melody from you that can rival any track he has ever laid down in Genius Lab. 

“Oh… oh… Yoongi… Yoon-“

Body vibrating, hips bucking to meet his every hard thrust, you chant his name over and over in broken cries as white hot pleasure finally crashes through you, leaving you shattered in its wake.

Damn. What was that?

Easily the best orgasm you’ve had in a while and you were about to tell him exactly that. But he emerges from the depths of your core like a fuckin’ devil with the biggest shit-eating grin as he wipes his glistening chin with the back of his hand, and you think—nope, he doesn’t need a big head.

If it were any other man you might not have grasped the pillow above your head to hit him square in the face.

“Don’t look so smug,” you chide, but he just laughs. That adorable shoulders-bobbing soundless chuckle he does.

He lays beside you on the bed, hands behind his head, a cheeky grin plastered across his face as he licks his lips contentedly.

If you only knew the relief that is flooding his own senses at that moment. If you only knew that he took it personally, you chose that younger, more muscly dude to take home for the night. What, like he can’t get you there? Fuck that. He felt so vindicated.

Wordlessly, he guides you towards his body, draping the sheets over your bottom halves. You nestle your cheek against his chest, head tilted up slightly to admire the silver on his neck.

You can almost see the Yoongi you know coming back and decide you wanna bring him down a peg. Just for shits.

“So that’s what that tongue technology does, huh?“ you tease. “Took me to Hong Kong like you—”

“Aishhh! Hajimaaaa!” Your cheeks are suddenly smushed and he smothers your lips with tiny pecks, visibly flustered by his lyrics being repeated to him. It escalates into a flurry of lazy tickles and giggles until it naturally dissolves into lazy cuddles and watery smiles.

You feared this would be awkward, but it actually feels so… natural.  Even as you both settle in your own sides, letting thoughts consume you after such a huge leap in your friendship, a comfortable silence takes over that you think he might even be asleep. 

But then you feel his soft, slightly clammy hand squeezing your arm, pulling you back into the moment. “You good?” He asks, and you know there are layers to his question that you have yet to unravel. That it’s not just about how you are feeling physically, but everything: the shift in your relationship, this open door to some place new.

“Never better,” you say for now, pushing your body up slightly, so you can kiss his neck, dropping your voice to what you hope is a seductive purr. “I was thinking… Maybe I can return the favor?”

His eyes widen a fraction, but he shakes his head. “S’ cool, I want this to be about you.”

“So corny,” you deflate, moving to rest your head on your own pillow in protest.

“For real. I wanted to make you feel good. Least I can do for ruining your night.”

“But you didn’t--”

Your protest trails off as he lowers his head to kiss you again. Unable to help yourself, you lick against his mouth, your taste on his tongue still palpable, and the coals in your core start to ignite anew.

“Is this how you’ll get me to shut up from now on?” you mumble against his soft lips, swinging your legs over his hip.

“I think it’s working.”

“Sure is.”

“We don’t have to rush,” he reminds you after a beat, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear, not quite meeting your eyes. Because what you didn’t know was what a liar he was. If you had any idea about all the unhinged thoughts brewing in his brain, like how perfect you would look with your mascara smeared and his cock pulsing inside your mouth, or like how he would love to take you to that wedding chapel and marry the shit outta you right now. Literal bonkers.

“But I want to,” you whine pathetically, wandering hands sliding down to the waistband of his boxers. “I want to taste your...”

Your phone rings from a distance, but you see Sejin’s face lighting up the screen.

“Dick.”

“That’s your boss.”

“And that’s what he is right now. It’s almost 3 a.m.”

You begrudgingly walk towards the desk where your phone was, rubbing your arms from the chill of the AC. 

You pick up one of your stray sweaters draped over a chair, slipping it on before you swipe to answer the call. “Sejin-ssi?”

Maybe it was late, or maybe your brain dumbed down significantly after that amazing release, but Sejin’s litany was dragging on and you just hope you pick up the key stuff. “director called… need to reshoot early tomorrow… emailed you the details… Yoongi told you what happened right? … make sure he gets the message?”

“Okay.”

“Thanks.”

You check Sejin’s email and texts and give Yoongi the rundown (basically he only has three hours to sleep before the early call time at the same penthouse suite), plugging your phone back in the charger afterwards. You stop by the bath and tug a fresh pair of panties on before returning to the bedroom.

His eyes are like little crescents as you pad over, very sleepy, very cutesy, before it zeroes in on the letters on your jumper. FG, it reads.

“Thief,” he says, pulling you back into bed, letting your head rest atop his arm to make you his little spoon–or so you thought, before he places your head in a mock headlock. “How many of my shirts have you stolen, huh?”

“This year, or?”

He lets go of his grip on your head, squeezing your waist playfully and you giggle.

“I was looking forward to staying here with you,” he mumbles, burying his face against your hair.

“Something about one of the cameras being kicked by somebody and files got corrupted. Know anything about it?”

“Hmm.” 

And you suddenly remember the commotion between him and Jin yesterday while Jake was inviting you to go out. Strangely, it’s starting to make sense, but there was something more important to be addressed.

“Yoongi,” you call over your shoulder, and he doesn’t reply so you try to peel his arm from you only to be met by a groan. “We owe Jake an apology. You know that wasn’t cool, right?”

“I know,” he croaks, letting out a deep sigh. “I’ll talk to him, I promise.”

“Thank you, baby,” you mutter sleepily, the yawn leaving your mouth halting mid-way as you clock yourself for the term of endearment that just casually slipped out. Yoongi hums in approval, snuggling even closer, and you decide you might just keep it.

Your first sort-of morning after, you didn’t think you’d wake up alone, but Yoongi had to leave due to the early call time. It was hazy how he left hours ago, but you can recall a peck gingerly placed on your forehead before he extracted the arm that was resting across your stomach and took all the warmth you needed with him. You can vaguely recall his gravelly tone as he places the duvet over your body, none of his words registering in your half-awake state.

You move through your morning on autopilot, going through the motions without much thought. But when you spot Yoongi’s jacket draped over the couch, your mind starts to drift. The details of last night come flooding back—every touch, every word—and before you know it, you’re smiling to yourself as you grab your bag from the same spot. 

But then, like clockwork, anxiety creeps in, that old familiar weight settling in your chest. Your steps falter, and as you head for the door, all you can think is: Fuck. What if everything he said, everything he did, was just in the heat of the moment? What if it didn’t mean a damn thing?

The thought tightens around you, and the idea of facing that reality feels like too much to bear. You need to know that you’re on the same page. Stat.

The moment you enter the set, it seems that fate has sent you a sign on what needed to be dealt with first.

You watch as Jake sets up his camera equipment, adjusting lenses and fiddling with the lights. Tapping his shoulder, you clear your throat and offer a shy smile.

“Hi,” he says simply, zipping up one of the camera bags before turning his full attention to you.

“I’m sorry for what happened,” you say, your voice earnest.

His shoulders lift tentatively. “It’s not ideal. But I get it. Jimin told me.” 

You raise an eyebrow, a bit taken aback. “Jimin?”

“Yeah,” Jake says, gripping one of the tripods. “He was outside when Yoongi threw me out.”

Oh. Why was he even there? You sigh, adjusting the bag on your shoulder, the mysteries of the situation still weighing on you. “Honestly, I didn’t know he was gonna do that. Things are a bit complicated I guess.”

Jake chuckles, shaking his head as he finishes with the equipment. “Funny, that’s what he said when he apologized earlier.”

“Ah. Glad he talked to you,” you respond, feeling a little relieved that Yoongi did what he promised.

Jake looks at you, his eyes twinkling with a mix of curiosity and sincerity. “Noona, can I tell you what I told him, too?”

You nod, curious. “Okay?”

Jake leans against the equipment cart, his tone light but direct. “Just uncomplicate it.”

He gives you a cheeky grin, adding, “Now this I didn’t tell him, because I like my job and like living. But if it doesn’t work out with him, maybe I could get a chance to take you out on a date for real?”

Your mouth parts disbelievingly and he winks before wheeling the cart away, shaking his head in amusement. 

Face still warm from Jake’s shameless flirt, you see Yoongi’s bright orange hair before you even see the rest of him and this sobers you right up. Across the room, he was chatting with Namjoon about something seemingly important. The medium gray suit he was wearing is really doing things to you that you cannot explain. He looks like a proper groom, the fuck?! You look away before anybody sees you drooling over your… best friend? boyfriend? one night stand? Ugh! Future husband? Shit?!

Thankfully, one of the senior PAs proffers an iced coffee to you before your brain overheats.

“Yoongi-ssi says to give this to you,” he says curtly and walks away.

The drink was cold, but the warmth across your cheeks was still tangible as you take your first sip. Your eyes drift back to Yoongi and find his gaze on you so you mouth a thanks, lifting the cup as if to toast him. He simply nods.

The wingman of the year suddenly appears by your side. “Y’all good now?”

“I don't know what you mean, Chim Chim.” You slurp from your drink loudly for show.

Jimin sighs, “He’s not telling me anything.”

“Then I'm not either.”

His nose flares. “Nah. Fuck both of you. Truly. After all I–”

Sejin hollers your name, and you flash Jimin a quick peace sign, cutting him off mid-sentence. He’s left behind, pouting like a baby as you walk away with a grin.

After an hour or so, the shoot almost wraps up. Feeling peckish, you are surmising the food in the mini catering setup in the other room, when you sense someone behind you. Strangely enough, you know who it is just by the way he was dragging his shoes and the timbre of his inhale.

“You smell nice,” Yoongi says in a casual drawl, looking over your shoulder to check the food out.

The tiny hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Maybe you did sneak in an extra spray of perfume before leaving the hotel and made sure to hit the pulse points, because, you know, pheromones and attraction and all that…

Before your mind goes off the deep end, you default to defense mode. “You better not be saying that to everyone… kinda creepy.”

Completely disregarding your attempt to downplay the compliment, he replies, “Hmm. Didn't peg you as the jealous type.”

You pout, trying to look offended but failing miserably.

Shifting gears, he asks, “You busy today?” and places the tiny blue macaron on your plate that you were about to reach for, before pushing a peach one inside his mouth.

“I’ve the rest of the day, but you have to go to Anderson Paak’s house.”

“You’re not coming?” he asks mid-chew, the sweet treat pushed aside creating a dent on the inside of his cheek.

“His team requests for the meeting to be ‘intimate and organic,’ their words not mine, so it's just your interpreter, and your bodyguard.”

“But you’re my…” The beginning of his complaint halts. Cat got his tongue. 

He blinks. You blink. It’s just ridiculous at this point, the emotional constipation. He could have easily just said manager, because really that’s what you are for all professional intents and purposes. But you both know you are also at the precipice of something new, teetering on the edge of becoming real. Neither of you has said it yet. Not out loud, anyway.

“We really need to talk.” You decide.

“Tonight,” he agrees with a tight-lipped smile.

“Like really talk.”

“Kay.” he brushes powdered sugar off his hands and onto his slacks. “I’ll be in your room by 8.”

“Please don't try to bust the door down this time, Gaston. Just use the doorbell.”

He crinkles his nose at you and with a small huff he goes back to set, a satisfied grin on your face and hope blooming in your chest that everything will be fine. 

***

At 10 past 8 in the evening, you finally hear the doorbell. You drag your hotel slippers-clad feet to the door, stopping by the mirror briefly to check your appearance before pulling the door knob. You were just wearing a shirt and tiny sleep shorts, but you did add a flavored balm to your lips in case.

“Hiiii babyyyy,” Voice slurred, Yoongi’s squinty face comes into view, and your eyes bug out as you find Bangtan’s interpreter Nicole and bodyguard Sunjae holding him up by the elbows.

Reeking of alcohol and maybe a hint of something even more suspicious, he stumbles into your room, kicking off his dunks which lands with a dull thud somewhere you can’t see.

“Explain, please?” you eye his bodyguard who scratches the back of his neck, before he sheepishly recounts how Anderson Paak was all about the vibes…

The fuck?!

Before you can ask more questions, “C’mere baby, I missed youuuu…” Yoongi croons from the couch.

Maybe it was too late, but still, you hold your hands in front of you in an attempt to deny whatever impression they now have of your relationship, “Guys, it’s really not what it looks like, okay?”

“It’s fine,” Nicole assures you awkwardly, holding two thumbs up. “He talked a lot about you in the car, you know? Like a lot. I’m… We’re happy for you guys.” The bodyguard also nods. “And we won’t tell the company.”

Flabbergasted, the sharpest intake of air pierces your lungs. What do they know? And do they know more than you at this point? You just hate Min Yoongi sometimes.

“Alright, I guess I’ll take it from here. Thank you, both,” you say with a tense smile and click the door shut, pressing your forehead on the door before facing the drunkie in your living room who was attempting to turn on the TV with the remote control of the AC.

Great.

This is a version of Yoongi you don’t get to see that frequently. He was ditzy-drunk, a needy, chatty, loopy Yoongi that is actually quite endearing if you remove the fact that he will be hungry in an hour or so (pizza with pickles, usually; sometimes some kind of noodles) and the night typically ends with a good ol’ barf. You’ve dealt with ditzy-drunk Yoongi before and the best solution you’ve found is to just ride the wave.

Slouched on the couch with his legs spread, Yoongi has a lazy but naughty smile on his face as you approach. You wanna be mad so bad, but fuck, he actually looks kinda cute right now.

He tilts his head to the side, jutting his lips out, “Are you mad?”

“No…” you sigh, flopping down next to him.

“Then sit here.” He taps his lap.

“I’m fine here.”

“This is better, I promise. It’s ergonomic.” He presents his lap as a chair with a flourish. You swear, this guy and his weird vocabulary of equally useful and useless knowledge.

You move to settle your body on his thighs, swinging your legs over to straddle him. His mouth stretches into a big grin, satisfied to have your weight on him.

“Why are you so tense?” he places his hands on your shoulders, massaging downward to your elbows. 

“We were supposed to talk, but now you’re so out of it,” you sigh.

“I have very high alcohol tolerance, excuse you!”

“Yes, but you’re drunk af right now!”

“False. I’m not at all drunk at all.”

“Wow. So believable,” you deadpan.

“Yah! Why don’t you believe me? Why does no one ever believe me?”

Even ARMY knows he word-vomits when he lies. And when he’s drunk. Deadly combo.

“Ok, prove it. You want to talk, right? So talk.”

He blinks owlishly at you, as you challenge him with your raised brows.

“Thinking is soooo hard,” he complains, before he perks up with an idea. “Ah! Ask me questions and I will answer them.” 

A rare opportunity to let Yoongi yap voluntarily. Cool, you’ll take it.

“How many drinks did you have?”

“Yes,” he nods confidently. 

You massage your temples with your fingers and sigh. This was going to be a long night.

You end up asking the most random things and Yoongi gives either the most unhinged or deeply unsatisfying responses. At some point during the night, some instant ramen was had (thanks to Jungkook who dropped off some from his stash), after which, Yoongi, as expected, ended up doubled over on the toilet. 

As you watched him heave the contents of his stomach, the rancid smell making your own tummy turn, the one thing that you thought was what a mess he was, but you want him to be yours. Your messy, loopy, ditzy, drunkie, Yoongi. Yours.

Eyes pitiful, mouth upturned, with orange locks grouped in sweat, poor Yoongi grasps the seat of the toilet, asking, “Can I borrow a shirt?”

You push the hair away from his forehead, nodding, “Of course, baby.” 

After a shower, he emerges from the bathroom with your (his) white tshirt, remnants of ditzy-drunk Yoongi long gone, and in comes the version you love, barefaced and beautiful. 

What a masterpiece, Min Yoongi is, and you wonder how it is that some higher being crafted someone with such a delicate face with a mind so captivating and a heart so wonderful. And you haven’t even seen his cock at this point. What if that is a beaut, too?

He walks towards you, head flicked to one side as he rubs a towel on his damp hair.

“Mint, Yoongi? Might settle your tummy,” you gesture to the cup of tea on the coffee table.

“Angel.” He says, padding over to the console with the towel draped on his neck. A slurp and a satisfied mmm later, he settles beside you.

“Are we still playing the game?” You ask.

A pause, but his response surprises you, “I guess we are.” 

And so you decide to ask something you’ve been curious about since he got there. Because as much fun as you had conversing with him on petty shit, you are really desperate to know how to move forward with him. 

“What did you tell Nicole and Sunjae about me?” you hug your pajama-covered knees.

He lets out a faint chuckle, gaze fixed firmly on the floor as if it holds all the answers. “You should have asked this earlier.”

“I’m asking now,” you face him slightly, trying to read his expression.

By the looks of it, it’s not like he doesn’t know or forgot. The pressure was internal. The hesitation was borne out of years of evading uncomfortable unknowns, which served him well, until it didn’t. You can almost hear the gears turning in his head, thoughts being organized, distilled, rationalized. That’s just how Yoongi is.

And because where he is avoidant, you were non-confrontational. So you open your mouth, about to offer him an out. Maybe you didn’t have to talk about it today? Maybe you should just put a pin on it and maybe talk about it when you’re both ready–like after another decade? Cool cool…

But this time, he shifts. His palm rests face up on his knee, an invitation for you to hold. You place your hand in his, feeling the warmth radiating through his skin, grounding you both.

The television is still on, bathing his features in blue light as you observe him. He picks up the remote and shuts the screen off, the sudden silence working to thicken the tension in the air.

You’re so nervous for some reason that you can feel your palms sweating against his. You already kissed. He already told you he was yours. You just need to sign the dotted line. Sober.

“I told them,” he begins, his voice low and steady, eyes fixed straight ahead on the blank TV. “That you’re everything to me. You’re my best friend. You’re my dream.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, the words reverberating through you like a symphony.

“I think we both know this isn’t just…like we’re not just…you know.” His hand tightens around yours as he bites his lip, struggling to find the right words. “It hasn’t been just friendship for a long time. At least for me.”

“There’s this song I wrote… umm, I was gonna play it for you in the studio when we got home. Fuck it’s so cringe now that I think about it. But, yeah, that was the plan.” He laughs softly, and you can’t help but laugh along, the sound of your shared amusement creating a bridge between you.

Your name falls from his lips, so you glance up and find his warm eyes connecting with yours.

“I love you,” he rasps, voice sincere and raw. “I’ve loved you for so long. Can’t even recall a time that I didn’t.”

Before your mind can catch up with your heart, you crash your lips on his unceremoniously and desperately. You’re back on his lap, hands resting against his chest, feeling the steady, reassuring beat of his heart beneath your fingertips. You kiss him fiercely, pouring all your unspoken feelings into the action. His hand moves into your hair, gently pulling you closer, deepening the kiss.

While your first kiss was passionate, it was laced with so many residual emotions that built up over the course of last night. Frustration, anger, hunger quickly took over both of you the moment your lips finally met, quickly escalating into, well, the best oral of your life, apparently. So no regrets there.

But this kiss—this one—was it. The kind you'd remember fondly when you’re old and gray of what it feels like to be really kissed. Enlightening, like finding the final piece of a puzzle you’d been working on since your youth. Filled with all the love and years of words left unsaid, like a pin code, a password, a key, that only he knew how to unlock.

As you pull away, breathless but content, you look into his eyes and respond clearly, simply, “I love you too, Yoongi.”

And in that moment, as your eyes meet like you were the only two remaining in the world, everything feels right.

“But I can’t believe you let your bodyguard hear that confession first.” 

“Aish!”

“I thought it would at least be Jimin.”

“Fuck that. Don’t even talk about another man right now.”

Suddenly that tone is back and your body starts to tense in response. He grips your hips and pulls you against him so you can properly feel the ridge of his cock right against your clothed folds. Yep, that’s a semi.

“You better be nice to me,” his hands move to squeeze your ass expertly, encouraging you to roll forward. Who are you to decline? Not when the pressure from his bulge is caressing your center in the best possible way.

Your body threatens to give in, but the brat in you is still in fighting form, “Or else what?”

“I think you know how nice I can be,” he husks, moving to place teasing kisses on your neck, sucking on the skin to leave a mark. God, that feels good.

“I uh m-might need help remembering.”

He smiles against your neck, his breathy voice tickling you a bit, “You got amnesia, baby?”

You nod meekly, hands roaming towards the back of his neck.

“You better remember my name when I fuck you,” he licks the shell of your ear and you gasp, a gush of liquid soaking your panties.

“Take this off,” he commands, hungry eyes dipping down to your chest.

“So demanding,” you risk the cheeky remark and as expected, you get his unimpressed look. Ok, ok. You’ll be good now.

You lift your shirt by the hem and before you can even pull it over your head, his big, warm hands seize your breasts as they bounce free.

“Fuuuck, baby, I love these. I love these a lot.” He shakes his head in disbelief, bringing your tits together, enjoying how soft they felt in his grasp.

Preening at his dazed reaction, you arch your body forward, placing your chest directly in his sightline. “They’re yours, baby.”

“Uh huh,” he grunts, licking his bottom lip before moving towards one of your nipples. Your eyes threaten to close as the warmth of his mouth envelopes your nub. But you want this moment forever ingrained in your mind–with the way he is mouthing your tits, murmuring his dirty thoughts, lips pushing and teeth pulling. He moves to your other breast, giving it the same treatment, while a hand takes the one his mouth just left, flicking the swollen tip with his index finger to send more jolts of pleasure through you.

“How did you get so good at that?” you mumble, unable to keep your eyes open anymore, your fingers getting lost in his hair.

“How did these get so juicy,” he growls against your spit-covered tit and you feel his teeth clamping down hard.

You moan loudly as arousal pools at your core. “Fuck we should have done this sooner.” 

With a small chuckle, he taps your thigh once, and says, “Meet me in the bedroom,” and you are immediately on your feet, leaving him rummaging through his bag for what you assume is a condom. The triumphant “ha!” you hear confirms it.

Okay, so what do you do now? You start with removing your little shorts and chucking it somewhere on the side, leaving you with your basic as hell black cotton panties, but it’s as good as it gets right now. How do you make this sexy, like do you lie down on your tummy, giving him a great view of your cleavage, or stay sat pushing your boobs together like an anime girl. Why you’re acting brand new is beyond you, but your–

“What are you doing?”

You halt your movements, ending up in an awkward mermaid pose that you don’t even know if it looks good. “Umm…” 

Cute, you think you hear him say, before he lifts his shirt up and off his body and you get a view of the smooth, pale planes of his torso and his dusty nipples that have your mouth watering. Your eyes continue to drink his unintentional strip tease, watching hungrily as he removes his boxers to let his cock spring free.

“Fuck…” Unfair. Just unfair how gorgeous he is.

By the looks of it, he knows what you want, feline eyes taunting you as he pokes the inside of his cheek before grasping the base of his cock, tugging at it once. “You know what to do, or uh–do I have to shove it in?”

Quickly, you drop to your knees, feeling a little bit of rug burn that you might whine about later, and you slide your hands up towards the back of his inner thigh to anchor yourself.

You were never into power dynamics and all that with your past lovers, but there was something about Yoongi in the bedroom that made you want to be a bratty sub. Something told you that he would enjoy taming you, too.

“If you knew what to do, you would actually shove it in,” you say with misplaced cockiness, not knowing you were going to regret it in about five seconds.

He shakes his head with a disbelieving grin as if to say you’re going to be in big trouble. You gulp as his long fingers grasp the length of your jaw to squeeze your cheeks, forcing your lips to form an O-shape. “Open up.”

You do as he says and as expected, he does shove it in. 

He groans as his cock hits the back of your throat. You sputter a bit and you hate how it makes you look like an amateur, but the truth is, you’ve never really taken anyone of his size. 

With him still in your mouth, his thumb caresses the side of your cheek, concerned that he might have hurt you, “You okay, baby?”

You nod even as tears threaten to spill from your eyes, not wanting to disappoint him. With a softened expression, he lets his cock fall away from your mouth, but you immediately catch it in your hand with renewed vigor. You pump him for a few strokes before plugging the tip with your mouth as your hand continues the motions.

He hisses loudly as you lick the pre-cum that has pooled in his slit, his salty taste and heady scent invading your senses, springing you to do more. Cheeks hollowed you move to take all of him in your mouth, coating the smooth ridges with your saliva, before his head hits your throat. You’re ready this time, moaning as you keep his entire cock lodged inside.

“Shit,” he exhales breathlessly, a hand combing through his hair as he tips his head back.

Taking it as a good sign, you glide in and out faster, pressing your tongue against a thick vein that runs along the underside of his dick. Your hands move upwards towards the meat of his ass and you squeeze and push him further into you, eliciting a low groan from him.

He clumps a fistful of your hair into a haphazard ponytail as he rocks forward, gauging your reaction as he starts with some experimental shoves. You look up at him, nodding, a silent surrender. The corners of his lips lifts up in a snarl as you place both hands behind your back, relinquishing all control to him.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he grunts as his hips buck into your mouth. Eyes watering, mascara streaks your cheeks as he continues his assault. You keep your head clear, breathing through your nose, wanting, no, needing to make this good for him.

You’re pulled from your thoughts when he lightly tugs your hair, and groans, “Shit, baby— baby, stop.”

He releases your hair and uses his index finger to tip your chin up so he can assess you. Your brows are furrowed, unsure why he stopped.

Slightly out of breath and sporting a lopsided grin, he calls you, “my perfect girl” and your worries subside as he explains, “I had to stop ‘cause it was getting too good. Don’t wanna cum yet.”

You’ve obviously found Yoongi attractive, but he deadass is his hottest right now, dazed and disheveled from being pleasured by you. 

He grips his cock and begins to trace your swollen lips with it to smear his slick all over you like a gloss. “So gorgeous…”

You preen at his praise, sticking your tongue out so he can play with your mouth more. He slaps his cock against your tongue a few times, your saliva dribbling down your chin. You taste minute drops of his cum as he works the tip of his dick against your wet muscle in tiny circles.

Your jaw hurts like hell, your face is a mess, but he is looking at you like you are heaven-sent, as if you were carved out by the gods and bestowed to him as a present. With this realization, your heart squeezes with emotions you can’t place. All you know is that you’re willing to do anything and everything for him, his happiness, your own.

You are truly fuckin’ whipped.

“Up baby, let me take care of you,” he scoops you by the elbow, guiding you to the bed. You crawl atop the mattress, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, and yelp when you feel a playful little slap against your butt.

“Can’t help it,” Yoongi says, moving on top of you, floppy bangs covering his teasing eyes.

He uses the pad of his thumb to rub off some of the mascara from under your eyes, then moves some of your hair away from your face. The softness in his gaze fills you with wonder, and for a few charged moments you both just look at each other, before you break the silence with a tender confession.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” you tell him as he strokes your cheek.

He smiles. Nods and says, “Me too,” then he kisses you, softly, with gentle caresses of his tongue against the seam of your lips. “You have no idea how long I’ve imagined you like this.”

“Hope it didn’t disappoint.”

“Nah you’re more than perfect.”

Eyes round, lips pouty, warmth blooms across your cheeks at his praise, unable to say a word. You? Perfect? 

“Stop being so damn cute when I’m supposed to be fucking you.” He pecks your nose, then down to your lips where he lingers. You push your tongue against his mouth and he is ready to suck on it softly, swallowing your moans. His kisses start getting rougher and faster, as your fingernails lightly claw his smooth back. He’s got you whimpering when he pulls your plush bottom lip with his teeth and releases it with a dull pop.

His breath fans your cheeks as he moves to pepper kisses along your jaw, towards the sensitive spot behind your ear and down your neck. All the while his hands are traveling all over your skin, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

As you continue to explore each other's mouths, you're starting to become too aware that your pussy is leaking, feeling abandoned, aching for friction. You could do it, dip your hands under the waistband of your panties and take the edge off a bit, but where’s the fun in that?

“Touch me, please Yoongi,” you ask breathlessly. 

“I am.” he licks a tender spot on your neck that makes you gasp, while his hand gently caresses the base of your throat, squeezing it experimentally. Another gasp escapes you.

“Lower, please…” 

“Where?” he asks playfully. “Here?” He tweaks a nipple and you whine. “Or here?” He lets his fingers move to the mound of your pussy before he hooks your panty to the side and slides his fingers to your leaking entrance.

You wail as the touch you have been craving for finally comes. Yoongi looks ever so pleased with your reaction, biting his lip as his fingers work your clit in slow circles underneath the soaked cotton.

Insane. You’re starting to be driven insane just by the feel of his veiny fingers gathering your arousal and coating your nub with every slow stroke.

Mouth, you desperately need his mouth. You cup the side of his face to pull him towards you and your mouths move languidly, matching the pace of his fingers.

“Wanna be inside you,” he murmurs against your lips.

“Yeah?”

“Uh huh. But I need you to cum first, can you do that for me?”

“Okay, I’m close.” 

His index and middle finger picks up its pace stroking against the sides of your clit. The pressure in your body builds, and you can no longer control the way your body jerks at the mounting bliss.

“Let it happen,” he licks your bottom lip. “Cum.”

And finally your body succumbs, thighs clenching hard as you coat his fingers with the outpouring of your pleasure. 

Pulling his fingers from your pussy, he makes a show of licking your creamy cum from his fingers and you almost go cross-eyed with how feral the act is making you.

“Gimme a sec,” he drops a kiss on your forehead before moving to roll away from your body, and you assume he was about to get the condom. 

An urge comes to mind and you are powerless to stop your mouth from blurting it out.

“You don’t have to,” you tell him shyly, sitting up while he pulls the packet from his discarded shorts. “I’m on the pill, and am clean.” And you know he is, too, because you regularly monitor his wellness checks. 

Yoongi stands by the foot of the bed, mouth parting and closing wordlessly like a fish as he tries to decipher your words.

And you know you needn’t say this, but it’s out before you think better of it, “it’s been umm years since my last.”

Yoongi closes his eyes for a few seconds as if weighing his options. “You sure?”

“I want to feel you.” Fingers closing in on his dick, you pump his length, bringing it back to life. “All of you.”

“Fuck,” he groans, nodding. “You drive a hard bargain.”

“How do you want me?”

“Just lay down, I need to see your face when I fuck you.”

You do as he says and your back hits the plush duvet. He pulls your panties down your legs, throwing it on the floor carelessly. He crawls on top of your naked body and you hook your legs around his waist. Your heart pounds in anticipation.

“I’m gonna warn you, I might not last,” he aligns himself by your entrance, and finally sinks his cock inside your swollen pussy. You groan in unison as he bottoms out with ease, lost in the euphoria of each other's bodies.

For a moment, he stays lodged in you just like that, girth nestled against your folds, while your body adjusts to the welcome intrusion. The feeling consumes you whole–warm, wet, wonderful. You take deep, controlled breaths as you fight the urge to rut against him, but your inner walls can’t help but clench.

“Fuck, you feel so good, but I really need to move.”

“Promise we can cockwarm next time?”

“Uh huh.” and with that he starts to thrust into you in short, stuttered strokes, making you gasp for air.

“Fuuuckin hell you’re so tight,” he grunts, chasing the high of his release as dirty words continue to spill from his mouth.

You push your boobs together, his eyes magnetized by the action and watches as you pinch both nipples, making you moan. 

“Yoongi…” you say his name wantonly, drunk in your desire for him. “Just use me, baby.”

Growling, he guides your leg above his shoulder for a better angle, and his pace increases tenfold. The sound of skin slapping on skin fills the room, mixed with helpless whines and grunts.

The familiar coil tightens in your belly.

“Touch yourself,” he insists and your hand slides down to where your bodies meet. Your clit is swollen, sticky as you rub it in circular motions timing it with his thrusts. “Are you close?”

“Mmh…” you nod. “So close…”

“Me too,” he pushes inside you rapidly, deeply, like he wants you to feel him for days. His thrusts are getting erratic, and you can see that he is incredibly close with the way his brows are pinched.

Electricity crackles between you, an invisible force leaping from your body to his, building with every shared thrust. His grip on your thighs are firm, and your nails are sure to leave indents on his shoulder. Everywhere your bodies meet, a spark ignites—a surge of energy that only grows stronger.

“I’m cumming,” he warns and it’s a miracle you’re able to respond with “I’m there…” as each movement sends another jolt, until the air itself hums with the raw, electric charge of your passion and you both cum at the same time.

You feel radiant and you swear you’ve never felt more alive.

Meanwhile, Yoongi looks absolutely destroyed as he sets your leg down, and you love it. Impenetrable, aloof, Min Yoongi brought to his demise by your pussy of all things.

He buries his face on the crook of your neck, his breaths tickling your skin. Slowly he eases out of you, and you hiss as you feel his sticky cum seep from your entrance.

“I thought I couldn’t be more in love with you, but shit I was wrong,” he mumbles, face still nestled by the top of your shoulder.

You don’t know what to say. So you keep it simple. “I love you, too, baby.”

After a whirlwind of a night, you and Yoongi quietly begin to clean up. You cuddle for a stretch of time, showering each other with the sweetest words. He hands you a bottle of water from the side table with a small smile, and for a while, you both just soak in the calm.

He finishes washing up first and heads back to the bed, scrolling aimlessly on his phone. Meanwhile, you're still in the ensuite, brushing your teeth, catching a glimpse of him as you finish up. The whole moment feels easy, like the perfect end to a long night.

“We can go out tomorrow if you’re down,” he says, as you spit the mouthwash on the sink.  “I’ll take care of everything.”

“Aww. Our first date, huh?”

“We’ve been in plenty. You just didn’t know.”

Really?

You peek your head from the doorway of the bath, “ Yeah, but this will be my first as your girlfriend.”

That got him cheesing, nose wrinkling to hide a shy smile that was so unlike the beast that he was just a few minutes ago.

“What’s taking you so long? I already miss you,” he says pointedly, and you bound back to bed like his little pup and into his awaiting arms.

“I can get used to this,” he says against your forehead, pressing his lips to it.

“I still want to hear the song, by the way,” you mumble, referring to the supposed track that he was going to use to confess. “What is it called?”

“That That.”

“Shut the fuck up,” you slap his chest as he chuckles to himself. Not the crack song with Psy. You roll your eyes, ‘cause he thinks he is so funny, but he just cages you in tighter.

“No title yet, but you get to listen to it when we go home.”

“Mmkay.”

The next morning, you’re back from the breakfast buffet, where you sufficiently replaced all the calories you burned last night, and decide to chill in your room. Meanwhile, Yoongi makes some arrangements for your date.

Lounging on the couch, you are scrolling through IG, when a video call from your mom pops up. You quickly swipe to answer, smiling as her face appears on the screen.

“Hey, dumpling! How’s work?” she greets you with your childhood moniker, grinning like she always does when she sees you.

“Busy, but good,” you reply, while propping your phone against the lamp on the side table. “You know, the usual chaos. We’ll be home in a few days…”

“That’s good.” Then, without missing a beat, she narrows her eyes a little, leaning in toward the camera as if that’s going to make her point clearer. “So… did you use one of your dating apps while you’re there? Are you seeing anyone yet?”

She’s been asking you this for months, though always with that loving impatience that makes it hard to get annoyed. 

Thankfully, today is the day that you have a different answer. “Actually… yeah. I have a boyfriend,” you admit, cheeks heating up.

Your mom’s face lights up immediately, her teasing forgotten. “Omo! Finally! That’s wonderful news. I was starting to think I’d have to phone Min Yang-hee and arrange…”

And of course, Min Yang-hee’s very own son, completely oblivious to the call, walks into view. And of course, he’s shirtless. Because why wouldn’t he be showing off those sweet little nips right now? And of course he is wearing low-hanging gray sweatpants. Because why wouldn’t his dickprint taunt you at the most inconvenient time?

“Baby, can I borrow your—” his voice cuts off as he realizes what’s happening. He freezes mid-step, eyes flicking between you and the phone.

“Yoongi-yah?!” your mom exclaims, her eyes practically sparkling.

Yoongi blinks, then awkwardly grins, as he grabs a throw pillow from the couch to shield his chest. “Oh… good morning, eomonim. Didn’t know you were, uh, here.”

Your mom’s grin turns downright mischievous. “Well, well, well. Look who finally makes a move! I was telling dumpling that I was about to call your…”

”Eomma!” You bury your face in your hands, feeling your cheeks burn with the insinuation of an arranged marriage.

“What?” she says, all fake innocence. “I’m just saying. Took you long enough, Yoongi. You’ve been trailing after her since you two were kids.”

Yoongi scratches the back of his neck, clearly embarrassed, but laughing along. “Eomonim, good things take time, right?”

“Oh, I’m sure. And look at you—future grandkids are gonna have such a handsome father.”

No, your own mother did not just check your boyfriend out. “Eomma, stop…”

“But don't think I haven't been keeping up with the news. Young man, you seem to have been getting wedding proposals left and right, you better not break my dumpling’s heart.”

“Please eomma.” You say even though you were getting a little teary-eyed from her being over protective of you.

“She’s the only woman I've been interested in, eomonim. As you said, since we were kids.”

“That’s what I like to hear. Quick, let’s add your eomma here! Such good news needs to be shared.”

Yoongi, now a deep shade of pink, chuckles nervously. 

“Maybe later. We have a schedule to go to…” you interject.

“Is that what you kids call having se—“

“Love you, eomma!” You eye her pointedly, sufficiently mortified by the whole conversation.

Still grinning, your mom waves you off. “Love you, too, dumpling.”

Yoongi ended up renting a convertible and driving you all over town.

For lunch, you visit a charming café in the Arts District. The place is known for its artisan sandwiches and freshly pressed juices. You share a sandwich, a soup, and a salad, enjoying each other’s company and a few laughs over a meal that’s as delightful as it is delicious. 

Then you move to a coffee shop you had wanted to try and it turned out to be a gem. The café was warm, cozy, with the faint hum of chatter and the clink of mugs surrounding you both. You sat across from him, your hands intertwined on the table, his thumb mindlessly stroking the back of your hand as you talked. The conversation was light, random, teasing—the kind of banter that always made you feel like the two of you were in your own little world.

“So, if you could magically transport us anywhere right now, where would we go? And don’t say ‘bed’—I swear you can’t always be sleeping.”

“Can I say bed, but not ‘cause I want to sleep?” He smirks, leaning back in his chair, still holding your hand, his middle finger rubbing your knuckles teasingly.

You scold him, “You’re so shameless!” and try to pull your hand away but he keeps his grip tight. He takes a few moments to think about his response.

“Maybe somewhere snowing like Sapporo. It’s going to be too cold for you to keep checking your phone every five minutes when we’re out.”

You look up from your phone screen guiltily, abandoning the email notification that flashed. “I have to ’cause I work for your famous ass,” you huff. 

“About that…” Yoongi starts, and you know he meant your resignation.

You sigh, realizing you haven’t really discussed this with him. “Sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“Baby,” he leans forward, eyes kind. “You don’t have to apologize, okay? You have your reasons and I respect it. I’ll always support you.”

“I think this would be good for me, you know? Try something new.” You add, “There’s this corner spot close to my flat that I’ve been looking to lease.”

“For your cafe?” his face lights up, remembering your dream from way back.

“For my cafe,” you nod, heart expanding with the excitement you see in his eyes.

“Do it.” he says. “And if you need a handsome barista to help out once in a while you know I live just two streets down.”

You laugh, shaking your head, enjoying how easily he can make you smile.

“But I can’t afford you.”

“I’ll take payments in kisses and blo–”

“Min Yoongi!”

“I’m just playing, baby.”

His hand is still on yours, his fingers tracing gentle circles along your knuckles. It was so natural, so comfortable, that you barely notice when his touch becomes a little more deliberate, more precise.

It is not until you prepare to leave that you notice something different. You stand, bag tucked on the crook of your arm, and as you reach for your jacket, you see it—a tiny paper ring, made from a straw wrapper, folded with care and snug around your finger. 

Suddenly, butterflies swarm in your stomach.

You look at him, eyebrows raised, holding up your hand as if it were evidence in a crime scene. “Yoongi?” you ask with a playful smile.

He blinks, trying to look innocent. “What? Wasn’t me.”

“Uh-huh,” you step closer, your eyes narrowing. “So, it just magically appeared on my finger?”

He shrugs, leaning casually against the back of his chair. “Must’ve been the wind. Or, you know, maybe it’s a sign. The universe is telling you something.”

You can’t help but laugh, feeling your cheeks warm as you play along. “And what exactly is the universe trying to tell me?”

He gave you that signature smirk of his, the one that always made your (and the entire ARMY’s) heart skip a beat. “That you’ve been claimed. Obviously.”

You roll your eyes, but can’t stop smiling. “Ah, really? Claimed by some mysterious paper-ring-tying ghost?”

He shrugs again, standing up and taking your hand as you both walk toward the door. “Who knows? But if I were you, I’d hold on to that. Could be worth something one day.”

You glanced down at your finger again, your chest warm with affection. “Yeah,” you agree softly, squeezing his hand. “I think I will.”

You continue your date along the backstreets of the Strip, away from the towering hotels and flashy fountains. As you stroll in silence, enjoying the sights, your fingers mindlessly play with the little ring on your finger, and his voice echoes in your head: “You’ve been claimed.”

And suddenly, you realize it’s true. You’ve claimed each other long before today’s paper ring and long before last night’s confession.

Every day since you’ve become close friends, you’ve claimed each other in the most ordinary ways. With every mundane moment and seemingly random act of kindness, you’ve expressed your love without needing grand declarations.

He knows exactly how you like your coffee and the perfect time to bring it to you. He carries your bag even when you insist you can manage on your own and even with his own busted shoulder. He always saves a seat for you—of course, right next to him. You have a suitcase here and a closet full of his shirts back home. He wears your black hair tie on his wrist and has a whole drawer full of them at his place. You know his five shades of drunk, and you know just the right kind of tea to cure his hangover.

He has truly been yours, and you, his. You both have just been too oblivious to see it. As the realization hits you like a freight train, your gaze lands on a sign that inspires you to show him just how committed you are. Sure, it’s bold and completely out of character for you, but you don’t want to think it through. It’s stupid. But who cares? You’re in love.

 “You wanna get matching tattoos?”

Yoongi’s POV

Min Yoongi likes being in Las Vegas. And maybe this is why. 

This is where he finally gets lucky. And not in the crass sort of way.

Here, he has felt a surge of courage he’s never had before, pushing him to act on feelings he’s kept hidden for way too long. And while confessing to you still felt like a gamble, he was more ready and willing to roll the dice and see where it lands. 

People say what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. But for Min Yoongi, this time is different. He’s determined to make it last—just like the identical lotus tattoo that now sits on his wrist and on yours. It isn’t just a reminder of this wild adventure; it symbolizes the beginning of something real and lasting between you two.

After getting inked, he decides to drive away from the city, heading towards a scenic cliffside spot he found on Google that morning. He thought it would be the perfect place to unwind and catch the sunset, while enjoying the spam musubi and Slurpees you got from the gas station nearby. Truth be told, he thought maybe he could sneak in a makeout session with you, too, something he knew couples would sometimes do in places like this. (At least that’s what he’s seen in American movies!) Being an idol often kept him from enjoying “normal” things, and since he couldn’t exactly do this with you near the Han without the fear of being on Dispatch that same night, he figured it would be a fun escape to pretend he was just an ordinary guy taking his girl out on a date in this foreign city.

He sits on the hood of the convertible, the metropolis stretching out below, a sea of lights slowly flickering on as the sun dips toward the horizon. You’re nestled against him, your head resting on his chest, his arm draped comfortably over your shoulders. 

Your phone is connected to the car speakers and it’s currently playing a ballad. He hears you hum softly but his mind drifts elsewhere, somewhere between the quiet beauty of the moment and the thoughts that have been building for weeks—maybe even longer.

It started with that whole Yoongi Marry Me thing. Who knew that cheeky little “bring the documents” quip he said in one live will set off a whole ass thing with ARMY. Or with the whole kpop industry, modesty aside.

Almost everyday the phrase is repeated to him, especially by the members (fuckin Taehyung!). Fans have been showing up to concerts in veils. Chats are filled to the brim with that proposal whenever any of the members goes live. Even when he is not there.

It’s all been fun and games until you. Until you said it. And you had to keep saying it, then suddenly it didn’t feel like a joke anymore. He started thinking he wouldn’t mind it. Like at all.

You’ve planted a seed in his brain that just kept blooming and blooming. Seeing all the wedding chapels in Las Vegas only served as potent fertilizer. And now the concept has fully blossomed in his heart and taken root in his mind.

He feels the warmth of you leaning into him, your breathing soft and steady, your humming so sweet, and everything about this moment feels… right. More right than any plan he’s ever made, more perfect than anything he could have mapped out for himself. It hits him then, with a kind of clarity that almost startles him.

He’s done with waiting. Done with the endless planning, the careful timelines, the stream of approvals needed for every thing he wanted to do. This, right here, is his everything. And for the first time, the idea of doing something spontaneous doesn’t terrify him. It excites him. A whole life with you excites him.

And fuck, if it’s good enough for Michael Jordan…

He glances at you, the way your eyes reflect the soft, fading light, and something roars in his chest—an overwhelming certainty that he can’t hold back anymore. He isn’t one for grand, impulsive gestures, but this doesn’t feel impulsive at all. It feels inevitable.

“What if we just… did it?” he asks, tone light, but heavy with intention.

You tilt your head, looking up at him with that curious smile he loves. “Did what?”

His fingers tighten ever so slightly on your shoulder as he turns to face you fully, feeling a rush of nervous excitement. “Got married. Right now. No more waiting, no more planning.”

He sees the surprise flash in your eyes, the slight parting of your lips as you process what he’s just said. He waits, letting the words sink in, watching as the curiosity in your eyes slowly fades into something else.

“You’re not joking?” you whisper, your voice tinged with disbelief.

He shakes his head, the last of the setting sun casting a golden glow over the both of you. "No. I’ve… we have planned everything in my life, but this... with you, I don’t want to plan anymore. Because what good are plans if you’re not gonna be in them, with me.”

He continues, voice more certain, committed. “I wanna do it. Now. Tonight. Let’s drive to the chapel, and if you’re ready... Let's get married.”

He watches your reaction closely, his heart pounding, but not out of fear. He’s not afraid anymore. He no longer needs to hide behind liquid courage to give you little hints of what he has been feeling deep inside. He knows what he wants—what has been right in front of him this whole time. And then, just to lighten the weight of the moment, he smiles, a small chuckle escaping him.

“Besides, I’m pretty sure we’ve got your eomma’s blessing already. She’d probably drive us there herself if she knew what I was thinking.”

You laugh, that soft sound that always makes his chest tighten in adoration. The way you smile at him now—there’s no hesitation in it, only the same certainty that he feels. The city lights flicker to life behind you, but all he can see is you and your bright, sparkly eyes. And how he wishes that you would grant him the eternity of looking into them.

“Let’s do it,” you nod at him, your voice steady and sure. “Right now.”

His heart soars. He bites his lip, squeezing your shoulder, and with one last glance at the fading sun, he slides off the hood of the car, offering you his hand.

As you hop down, he drops to one knee. Taking your hand, fingers delicately closing in on the paper ring that he placed on your finger earlier in the day.

“Y/n, marry me?”

“You sure you don't want me saying ‘Yoongi, marry me‘ instead. Has a better ring to it…”

“Hajimaaa! Why you gotta ruin the moment?!”

“Sorry, ok ok, do it again.” You try to placate him with a quick press of your lips to his forehead.

He shakes his head at you. Eyes narrowed, but fond. Fond in the way your eyes sparkle with glee, even as you bite your bottom lip. Fond in the way you look at him like he hung the moon and the stars in the sky and you know what, he would hang the entire galaxy for you if you asked him to.

So, no more waiting. No more planning.

He finally asks: “Baby, will you marry me?”

And you finally answer: “Yes!”

Epilogue

Jimin‘s POV

Why is Tinder so, so dry? Jimin curses and contemplates tossing his phone in the trash.

But then his phone pings and when he looks at the notification, he sees that he is added in a Kakao group chat. 

Okay. He checks the members curiously. It’s with you and Yoongi hyung.

What are you fuckers up to this time?

Tbh, he was still kinda annoyed that neither of you had told him anything after what went down at the club. He literally babysat your dejected boytoy and had to crisis PR the shit out of the situation because Yoongi had to get slightly alpha.

And seriously, how can you even stay mum to him of all people. He has listened to your every woe and whine for months about how Yoongi can’t even see you as more than a friend. Newsflash, he is obsessed with you! He has witnessed Yoongi’s pining for years and talked to him countless times to confess. ‘Cause, newsflash: you’re obsessed with him, too! 

Did his attempts at playing matchmaker work? Who knows? But damn did he try. Playing cupid for the two most emotionally constipated people he knows hasn’t been easy. So after everything he has done in the background for you two idiots, how dare you keep him in the da–

His thoughts are interrupted by three pings as three messages come in rapid succession.

First, a location pin:

📍The Little White Wedding Chapel, 1301 S Las Vegas Blvd, Las Vegas, NV

Then, a text from Yoongi that made him smile so wide.

Yoongi: Get your ass here right now we need a witness.

And lastly, yours that made his grin even wider.

You: Yoongi’s marrying me!!!

-THE END-

A/N: Thank you so, so much you beautiful human for reading this story. I am forever grateful that you decided to explore this silly little world with me.

I would love to hear from you! Please leave a comment or consider reblogging if you liked it. Til next!

[yuwuta]

MORE KNIGHT YUTA PLEASE I BEG OF YOU!!

yes ofc. he’s obedient, but still sly...... to me, knight yuuta will do as you say, but he will also act before you speak if he thinks that’s what’s right to protect you...... it’s like..... he thinks he’s the only person who can protect you, and you’re the only person who can protect him from himself........ anyway, enjoy this teehee cw mentions of murder (what else is new)

Yuuta sighs when he sees your silhouette in the moonlight, peering over the grand balcony. The heavy fabric of your dress resists rustles in the shallow winds of the evening; it tells Yuuta that you have not gone to bed, that he did not wake you, that you waited for him, that you anticipated him. 

From his position below, standing center in the courtyard, you appear something like a goddess, but he knows better than to compare to something so fickle. Gods are fable and you are truth, you are real. 

“Princess, you should be asleep. Might I help you to bed?” Yuuta offers, voice loud enough for you hear him one story higher, but quiet enough not to rouse the other knights on watch for the night. 

Yuuta watches intently as you shake you head, trails the smooth movement of your fingers grazing across the stone ribboning of the railing. You stop at the center, resting your clothed forearms against cold stone, wrists and hands hanging over the edge, and the lightest hum escaping from your lips, “If I were to fall, would you catch me, Yuuta?” 

Yuuta nods, without hesitation, “Yes, princess.” 

His eyes remained glued to you, carefully tracking your movements as you slowly sway to your left, delicate footsteps carrying you to the top of the stairway. Yuuta’s body turns with yours, standing at the base of the stairs, awaiting your arrival. 

Your careful to lift up the skirt of your dress with one hand, press your palm to the railing for support with the other, tilt your head down enough so that Yuuta can see your face in the moonlight, “And if I were to ask you to escort me to the kitchen, would you?” 

One, two, three steps, and you pause. Yuuta answers, “Yes, princess.” 

A hum, another step, then three, then four, then another question, “And if I said I craved fresh berries, and asked you to gather and wash and prepare them for me, would you?” 

“Yes, princess.” 

You continue at a slow pace, three steps, another question, three more, and Yuuta answers; always yes, always willing. You stop, three steps before the end of the stairs, and yet it only makes you a head taller than your knight. You drop your dress, take the smallest step forward, but not down, before you pose your next question. 

“And if I asked you to return to your quarters and not kill Lord Hajime tonight, would you?” 

This time, Yuuta cannot meet your eyes, head turning down, gaze set on the cold floor of the courtyard.

“Would you not do what is asked of you, Yuuta?”

He hears your voice first, then feels the warm touch of your fingers when you reach out to comb through his hair. Your fingernails scratch against his scalp, tugging with gentle vigor until you’ve forced his head up, until you’ve forced his gaze; and then, slowly, you bring your other hand to join its companion, and you have him between the palm of your hands. You always do. 

He holds his tongue, still; he wouldn’t dare say no to you, even if he thinks it. 

“Or do you only do as you please?” you tilt his head between your hands, “You would lie to me, wouldn’t you? You’ve done it before.” 

“Only for your protection,” Yuuta says, pleading, “I promise.” 

You hum, warm fingers brushing against his cold skin in the night. You look daunting, beautiful. 

“I might not be as conniving as my guards, nor as divisive as my cabinet, but I am still the princess, and you still serve me,” your words are calm, steady, eerie; Yuuta shudders into your touch when you trail you left hand down, pointer finger tracing along the frame of his face before hooking under his chin, forcing further accession between you and him, “Do you no longer wish to please me, Yuuta?” 

Yuuta sighs, raising his hand to wrap around your wrist, the cold metal of his armor whistling with his movement. With worried words and weary expression he asks: “Would Lord Hajime please you, princess?” 

He watches as your face falls, eyes sad and lips solemn, moving your hands down his face to swipe your thumbs against his temples. Yuuta lets go of your wrist, but he remains pliant in your hold, obedient under your touch, grateful when you shake your head.  

“Then why can’t I kill him?” Yuuta questions, earnest and upset. 

“Oh, Yuuta,” you muse, brushing away a fallen eyelash before bringing his head to your chest and cradling it between soft palms and soft cloth, “My Yuuta,” your words are spoken against the top of his head and the warmth radiates down the rest of his body.

“Lord Hajime will be dealt with accordingly. This is not how I wish to resolve things,” you assure him; Yuuta doesn’t like your solution, but you are his princess, so he will listen, he will stand and be warm against you, “And you are obvious. Another murder would only raise suspicion.” 

“They do not know it was me.” 

You chuckle, only lightly, and Yuuta can feel it against your chest, “But now I know.” 

Yuuta looks up, chin resting against your chest, his hands reaching up, resting greedily against your waist. Your palms find purchase against his cheeks again, and his eyes flutter closed for a moment, sinking into his dream. 

Slowly, he opens his eyes, blinks up at you. “I will accept whatever punishment you see fit.” 

This time, you tilt your head, allowing the moonlight to strike his face. Yuuta glows in anticipation, awaits your word. A moment, and then a hum. 

“I’m sure you will,” you tell him, before removing your hands from his face. Yuuta whimpers, pout growing deeper when you turn around in his hold, your back to him as you begin to ascend the stairs. 

Again, he waits, hands falling to your side as he eyes your silhouette. He counts ten steps before you turn your head over your shoulder, “Come. That’s an order.” 

Yuuta dips his head down, clasps his hand behind his back before he begins to follow you up the stairs, “Yes, of course, princess.” 

[lidiasloca]

what do you think about reader and nyx being bffs and her having a huge crush on azriel , like nyx and reader have been friends for almost 50 years and she still remembers the first time she saw him. At was first it was a silly girl crush but it developed to her having a fat ass crush on him fr and nyx knows this and teases her relentless, azriel overhears this and confronts her. Fluff or smut pls i cannot handle angst🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️

a crush on azriel

azriel x reader

fluff

a/n: request fics!

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄☆

“Do you know who’s coming?” Nyx asks you, and by the way he is smirking, you sure as hell know who is coming.

You try to play it cool, though. “I have no idea.”

But he’s not fooled. He’s known you for years. And he’s known about the crush you have on Azriel. “Oh. You don’t?”

Your eyes narrow into slits, watching him as you pray he will finally let go. But of course he won’t. “Cut the game, Nyx.”

He chuckles at your flustered face. “I swear, I didn’t know he was coming,” he explains, finally more serious. “You know I would have warned you.”

“Would you?” you ask, instantly regretting the anger your tone had taken. It’s not Nyx’s fault you cannot stomach being in the presence of your crush. It was simply your fault.

“Hey,” he says lovingly, taking your hand. “We don’t have to go to the party if you feel uncomfortable.”

“I don’t feel uncomfortable. I’m fine.”

“Liar,” he smiles.

You finally let go, letting a little smile bloom on your lips, relaxing your tense body. This was really becoming a problem — you couldn’t let the thought of Azriel alter you so much. “Shut up.”

“Well well, Ms. Head Over Heels for the Shadowsinger finally smiles,” Nyx mocks, and you seize the opportunity to elbow him playfully in the ribs. “Hey! No violence.”

“Then no teasing,” you remark with a steady voice.

“I’m my father’s son, darling. You ask me for the moon.” You have to laugh at that.

“You are stupid — that’s what you are.”

A grin spreads across his mischievous face. “I might be stupid. But do you know what else I am?”

“What?” you ask, following whatever stupid game he’s playing.

“Azriel’s nephew — sort of. Meaning, your only real chance to approach him.” His smirk is something close to evil. You are planning to elbow him again when someone rather quiet walks in.

“Did you say something? I heard my name.”

Azriel. Right in front of you. In the same room.

You look over to Nyx, but he is just as surprised. And Azriel just stands there awkwardly, waiting for a reply that never comes.

“Well,” he coughs. “The party is ready. If you don’t need anything,” he says as he turns to leave.

But your so-called friend has unfortunately recovered his chatty abilities. “Wait, Az. I have to get changed, and well, Y/N doesn’t know the place very well. Do you think you can accompany her to the living room?”

No way.

Please say no. Or yes. No, no — please say no. Just say yes, please. Say no.

“Of course.” Azriel turns to you with a friendly smile. “Y/N,” he tells you, as if asking you to follow him.

You spare Nyx a quick glance, asking, pleading, threatening him. He gives you an encouraging nod, and your legs finally start moving toward the spymaster. One step after another, trying not to trip.

“Have fun!” you hear Nyx call from his room. “And good luck!” You watch Azriel’s brows rise in confusion.

Little does he know. Tonight, you truly need luck.

-Characters by Sarah J Maas

a/n: i loved this request sm, anon. i will for sure write a part two for it. thanku for reading, have a good day :))

[romanteacism]

Knight Aemond x Princess Reader Love

Synopsis: Emotions run high after you and your knight were attacked, and though it was the most unfortunate of events, you would have to thank it for all that would transpire after. Warnings: None (yet), Aemond and Princess Secret Relationship, Fluff, Mentions of Violence PREVIOUS PART A/N: I have decided and we shall all expect the addition of canon characters in the next coming chapters!

“I— I saw them on their way to the hill, her seated on a white stallion and her knight holding the reigns. She was wearing a… a pink dress, and there were flowers and ribbons in her hair, and she even bid me ‘good morrow,’ but that was all, I swear! I never told anyone that I saw the princess by the grove; please, you must believe me!” The prince looked upon the woodcutter, who was one of the last persons who had seen his sister and her knight. You and Ser Aemond had left early in the morning two days before for you wanted to have a picnic on the hill, they granted you permission, thinking the two of you would return by midday, but two days had passed, and naught a word nor sign appeared to tell them the whereabouts of the princess and Ser Aemond. 

The prince gritted his jaw and nodded, the testament of the woodcutter believable. He turned to his father, who was growing impatient and was consumed by his nerves. They had no idea what had happened to you. They had sent out search parties since the afternoon you had left, but none still had seen you. “Next!” A voice announced as another witness stepped towards the throne where your father sat and your brother stood next to. “Your Highness, your Majesty; I—I have not seen the princess, but I have found this,” The prince paled as the man raised the eye patch of your knight. “I have seen the princess’ sworn protector a couple of times in the city, and I believe it to be his— his initials are carved on the leather.” A squire brought the found eye patch to the king, and they witnessed the ‘A.T.’ engraved on the strap, signifying that it was truly your knight’s.

The prince gave a hesitant nod for the next witness to come and hoped it would give them the answers they were desperate for. However, it was just the same information given— you were seen near the grove with your knight. “This cannot be. Double—no, triple the search parties, and extend their territory. I want my daughter found!” The king almost yelled as he was with his son and the council in the privacy of his study. “Of course, my king,” A council member bowed and hurriedly left the council room to do the king’s order, and in exchange for him came a knight. 

“My king, the princess, and Ser Aemond had been spotted by the gate,” He said, almost out of breath. The prince immediately stood and went to the window and witnessed that it was truly you. The prince ran out of the room to meet his sister, pushing away all the members of the court who had flocked as they were worried out of their minds about the disappearance of their princess. The prince felt further dread pool in his stomach as he saw the state you two were in. Your dress was torn, your hair disheveled, and a speck of dried blood by your temple; the cloak of your knight draped over your shoulders to keep a part of your torn dress concealed. Ser Aemond, on the other hand, had dried blood trickling from his thigh and arm, pieces of his cloak to bandage his wounds— and what was most shocking was the lack of his constant eye cover which revealed more of his scar and a gemstone in his eye-socket. The prince looked away, fearing he would offend your knight if he continued to stare. 

“Oh gods, sister…” The prince’s voice was barely above a whisper as he could not believe the state you were in. “He needs a maester— Ser Aemond needs a Maester,” You fretted as your brother enveloped you in a hug, though you found comfort, you could not be calm as your knight still held his injuries. “I’m fine, princess,” Aemond interjected, more concerned about your well-being than his, but you parted from your brother and shook your head furiously. “His wounds, it might grow infected— a maester, please!” You pleaded, and before anyone could do your plea, your father came and immediately took you in your arms, your mother following behind him. “Oh my darling, you’re alive— you’re safe,” Your father finally breathed out a breath of relief, but you quickly parted from his arms as you turned to a squire and urged him to fetch a maester. 

“Why are you hurt? Where’s your injury?” The king began to fret once more, but you shook your head, unable to answer him until a maester came for Ser Aemond. “Princess, truly, I am fine,” Aemond said quietly, fearing your anxiousness would catch the attention of the court who still circled around you. He feared your understanding would be found out by the way you fretted over him. “Bu—“ You were cut off as your brother spoke, “Here’s the maester now— sister, come, we must get you inside, Ser Aemond will be fine,” Your brother said and gently pulled you to guide you inside. You gave one last look towards your knight, his eye imploring you that he would be fine before you reluctantly followed your family inside the castle. 

After the events of the two days were cleansed from your skin, you sat in the sitting room of your chambers with the whole of your family before you. All of them were cautious as to how to question you on what had happened, so all of you sat in silence. You stared at the fire, your mind still consumed by Aemond, fearing that his injuries would grow worse after days of being unable to treat them properly, but the faint yet distinct sound of his armor from the other side of the door made you quickly look up. “Is that Ser Aemond?” Your brother questioned as he noticed your attention was turned to the door. You did not know, so your brother went to confirm, and indeed, it was your knight standing by his post bathed, with clean bandages, and wearing his eye patch. You followed your brother and grew confused as your knight was in his post, your eyes silently imploring him that he must rest, but your father called upon both of you. 

You went back to your seat, and your knight stood behind it, stance straight and ready to answer any query. “What has happened?” Your father asked the simple question. “We were attacked.” You answered, surprising the king because he aimed the question at your knight. “We were ambushed on our way back to the castle. They placed a felled tree upon our path as a distraction— it was too heavy and wide to be moved or be lept by the horse, and in consequence, we had to take the road less traveled.” Aemond explained, and you rested your back on the cushion of your chair to see your knight better from your peripheral vision. “They… had shot arrows at the princess’s horse, making her fall, and before I could make my way to her, three men attacked me while the other two took hold of the princess…” Aemond paused as he felt the familiar dread he felt as he heard your desperate cries as two men took hold of your frame. 

“And then?” Your brother dared ask. “When I had killed the three, I found them in a distance. They tied the princess upon a tree and…” He trailed, having difficulty to utter the words before your kin. “And?!” Your father roared, his mind imagining the worst in the few seconds of Ser Aemond’s pause. The knight straightened his stance, his eye growing darker. “And they had torn her dress and attempted to sully her— but before they could lay another finger on the princess, I had cut their hands and taken their lives.” He said coldly, finding an odd sense of calm as he recalled their lifeless bodies falling upon the dirt ground, the fitting retribution for what they dared to do to you. The king let out an exasperated sigh, his hand running along his face as he felt rage consume him with just a retelling of what had happened. “Did they suffer?” The king gritted, surprising you and your brother with his question. “The three had rather swift deaths…. But I had made certain that the two would endure each minute of their death.” Aemond answered, the king giving a satisfied nod.

 You traced the embroidery of your dress as you glanced towards your knight. Aemond glanced towards your fingers, your nervous habit of tracing the delicate stitching of your gowns. He was itching to have somewhat a hold of you for fear you were still traumatized at the scenes you had witnessed. He remembered your scream; it still echoed in his mind, as well as the horror on your face as you begged him not to kill another bandit, but how could he not? When all of them threatened your life, and all had the goal to harm you and take you from them— from him? 

“Well, Ser Aemond, you have proven to us once again how well you take your duty— thank you. We… we are not certain what will befall our daughter if it was not you who was with her,” The king commended, and Aemond nodded. You sat still for a moment, waiting for your family to leave, for you wanted a moment alone with your knight, and when they did, you immediately went to Ser Aemond’s side, dissolving the damned gap that had to return each moment any other presence accompanied you two. 

“You must rest,” you said, inspecting the bandages of his wounds. “I am fine; you must not worry so much,” Aemond said softly, his heart warming at how concerned you were of him. “No, you are just saying that! Please, you must rest, at least for a few days— let your wounds settle,” You murmured, gently caressing his arm. “And leave you in the protection of another? No. Princess.” Aemond said, no longer trusting another to watch over you now that he had come to the full realization that there are more dangers that may come to you than he had previously thought. Aemond sighed and cupped your fretting face with his calloused, stained hands, but you found no care, you only leaned closer to his touch. “Thank you.” He whispered, confusing you. 

“Why are you thanking me? You are the one who saved my life; I should be thanking you,” You murmured, placing your hand atop his. Aemond smiled and shook his head. “Yes, but you are the one who nursed me back to health— the one who cleaned and bandaged my wounds; if you were not there, I might have bled to death.” Aemond smiled even though the subject was grim. You, however, frowned greatly, “Do not say such a thing,” You said, not even able to grasp the idea of such a proposition. Aemond smiled wider as he attested to how much you truly cared about him. He placed a kiss on your forehead and let his arms wrap around your frame. “I don’t think anyone has cared for me as much as you do,” Aemond murmured, confessing the truth. You felt a twinge in your heart as he said such a thing. How can someone not care for him when it came so easily for you? You sighed and only held him tighter as you had no words of reply. 

“I still think you need to rest,” you say after an intimate moment of silence, making Aemond laugh. “Stop fretting, I am fine.” He insisted as he tried to wipe away the furrow between your brows with his thumb, just as how you had done for him before. “Very well— but swear to me if you feel any discomfort, you will tell me, yes?” Aemond sighed and nodded as he knew that was the only way to calm your fretting self. “Promise?” You asked, not completely believing him as he does have a tendency to keep what he feels inside. Aemond did not answer but instead kissed your lips as he always believed that actions do speak louder than words. You sighed, finally feeling some relief after the few days that had passed. You felt more secure and safe now that it was just you and Aemond in the privacy of your chambers, and you could only hope and pray that it would always be like this. 

Days passed, and the whole of the kingdom had been privy to the fact of how you were ambushed and how your knight bravely and gallantly protected you from the five ambushers— proclaiming him as a hero for he was the reason why their beloved princess was saved from further harm. Aemond did not like the attention; he had noticed whispers regarding him were quick to grow, and usually, the eyes of the court were most pointed at you, but now it was as well directed on him; he did not like that. You, however, appreciated how the kingdom was starting to take notice of your knight’s effort and how much he had taken his duty incredibly.

“Stop scowling, you’re scaring them.” You say quietly as you walk through the gardens with Aemond and your two cats trailing behind you two, the passersby taking a double look at your heroic knight. “Good.” He answered, glancing behind to see the commotion your two cats were creating as they practically fought each other. “Sapphira, do not bite your brother,” Aemond then scolded, making you bite your lip as you wanted to laugh because you had never heard him refer to or speak to your cats, but it would seem his frustrations with the attention of the kingdom upon him was affecting his usual behavior. “They mean well, Aemond— they see you as a hero; nothing to be upset about,” You say quietly, but he only shakes his head. “I am no hero. I was simply doing my duty.” You sighed at his stubbornness. “Duty or not, if it were not you who was by my side, we would not know what would befall me— and for that, you are a hero.” Aemond restrained himself from answering as his frustrations were getting the better of him.

“Well, I hope your mood will improve, the Knights’ ball is fast approaching— you are aware that you have to be part of the reception, yes? You’ll have to be presented before the kingdom to receive the Medal of Valor.” You informed, and that only severed the frown on Aemond’s face. “Do not remind me,” he drawled, as he took the bouquet of flowers in your hands as it was getting quite hefty. “That reminds me, have you heard from your family? Are they to come so we can prepare their rooms,” You say, and Aemond stilled, as he had not sent out a letter to his family informing them that he was to receive a medal and that they were invited to the banquet but he had told you he had. 

You turned to your knight, but he was silent and was avoiding your gaze. “You did not send the invitation, didn’t you?” You sighed, in a way already expecting this. “No matter, I shall send the letter myself,” You say, making your way back to your chambers to draft a letter for Aemond’s family. “Princess, I— please, I—“ You shook your head. He followed you to your desk beside himself, not knowing how to hinder you. “I do not understand you— other knights have waited a lifetime to be presented with such recognition, yet you hold it with such animosity,” You were starting to grow frustrated with Aemond’s attitude, a deep furrow in your brows as you drafted an invitation to House Targaryen. 

Aemond sighed and crutched down to the side of your chair so you would meet him at eye level, his hand gently resting on your arm that furiously scribbled the words. “I am honored that you shall bestow upon me such recognition, but I do not think it is needed. I was doing my job— I was only fulfilling my oath to protect you,” Aemond said softly, his voice immediately making you forget your frustrations upon his actions. “I do not need all this pageantry and frills— I am not after recognition… I only wish for you to be safe.” You sighed and cupped his cheek as he said such words, not thinking you could fall for him further, but apparently, there were still uncharted dimensions where your affections for Aemond could still reach. 

You captured his lips in a quick kiss. “I know you do not like attention, but I’m afraid it is custom— you have naught a choice,” You say delicately, biting on your inner cheeks as a slight pout appeared on Aemond’s thin lips as he thought he had convinced you to hinder all these frills. “I’m beyond all of this, my love. I cannot make them cease with their curious gazes and wants to celebrate you,” You laughed as you found the small pout in his lips amusing. Aemond, however, froze as he realized the endearment you called him. “My love…?” He questioned with uncertainty if he had heard you correctly. 

Your eyes widened as you realized that the words had slipped your lips— instead of brushing it off and making some excuse, you breathed in a deep breath and smiled, taking another risk. “I… I love you,” you confessed, hoping your emotions would not be too much for him and scare him off. 

Aemond was rendered in shock. You love him—him! He was speechless, something that he had never experienced, but he realized he best get used to it because you often managed to dismantle and stun him. 

You sat in quiet fear as Aemond made no reaction, horror starting to settle in you as his silence was making you believe he felt no strong emotions towards you. That you perhaps said the words too quickly, or worse, he saw you as a passing fancy when you yourself believed him to be the one. You began to trace the embroidery of your dress again, removing your gaze from his lilac eye. Your hands were clammy, and you were starting to regret your confession as it would seem you would be scorned. But Aemond took hold of your cheek and guided your face to look upon his. “I—It’s fine if you do not feel the same,” You lied, trying to save face, hoping no more wounds be afflicted to your pride. 

Aemond shook his head, realizing he had taken too long to reply, and doubts quickly festered inside you. “You… love… me?” He said slowly, trying to confirm what he had heard because he doubted it might be a cruel joke. You licked your lips as your hands fisted the fabric of your gown. “I do.” You repeated. “But I am not forcing you to feel the same way— I understand if you don—“ Aemond kissed your lips shut, not wanting you to utter such words. 

“You love me,” He repeated again, voice holding thrill and disbelief. “You, love me.” He said for the third time, and you could not help but be amused. “Yes. I love you.” You repeated, letting go of the potential wound that would be inflicted on your pride if he did not feel the same. But as you stared into his eye, the amazed look on his face, you could not believe that you had let yourself doubt him— though no words were said, you had your answer. He loved you. And his actions were proof enough. 

[juletheghoul]

corrupted

a/n: I asked for requests and y'all came THROUGH. Freaks - all of you!! (same) hope you enjoy this fucking ovulation-fueled fever dream lmao. @quicax3 - I am dedicating everything I post today to you- Happy birthday! 🩷hope ya'll enjoy (not even a little beta'd or proofread lol all mistakes are mine)

Warnings; 18+ no minors, vague but big-legal age gap, piv sex, dirty talk, hand stuff, rough / marathon sex, homeboy paints the boobies- Marcus gets dosed with something and is * d e s p e r a t e *(a little graphic / I guess this could be hurt / comfort?), master / slave dynamic (power imbalance) he’s still pretty possessive, Marcus calls reader Girl, reader calls Marcus Dominus - let me know if I missed any! 🩷

Pairing: Marcus Acaciusx F!Reader

word count: 2.6k (😅)

reblogs are appreciated

Masterlist series masterlist

You frowned to see her darkening his doorstep once more from your place just inside the giant doorway. 

“Announce my arrival to Marcus if you would, I have brought him a gift.” She smiles her prettiest smile at you, moving to walk past you but you hold fast, blocking her path. 

“Apologies my lady, the Dominus is absent. I do not know when he will return and I am not to allow visitors in his absence.” Part of you felt a twinge of guilt at the way her face fell, but the memory of her proposal, and her apparent attempts to change his mind twisted something in your gut. She clutched at the wine bottle in her hands, cradling it as her eyes scanned what she could see of the house behind you. 

“Do you know when he left.” She frowns, eyes focusing on you once more. 

“He has been gone since first light, and as I said before, I am unsure of when he will return. He did not say when he left.” You were telling her mostly the truth, he had left early in the day, but you knew he’d be back before nightfall. He’d told you.

“I could just wait, I doubt he’ll mind–” She flashed her winning smile, thinking it would work on you as it had worked on everyone throughout her years but she had no notion of your ire for her.

“Apologies my lady, I cannot permit you inside, it will be my head.” It would never come to that, you knew it but he would not be pleased. 

“Oh come now.” She huffed just outside the door, crossing her arms and for a moment you saw a spoiled child on the verge of a tantrum. One of his guards heard the commotion and came over to assist. 

“Apologies my lady, but you will have to return another time, when the Dominus is here to greet you.” He was large, and her demeanor changed instantly. 

“I have brought him a gift, he will be happy to see me I swear it–” She held the bottle out to the guard and he took it, looking over what seemed to be a dark red wine.

“I will make sure Dominus receives your gift.” He closed the door in her face despite the widening of her eyes at having been left outside, giftless, and unwelcome. She knocked again, but the guard only put the bottle in your hands, and sent you off with a nod. You went about your business and left him to it. 

Your Dominus was true to his word. The sun had just kissed the horizon when he walked through the door. His brow was furrowed in frustration and you rushed to greet him, hoping his business hadn’t gone awry. His eyes found yours and they softened, but only a touch. 

“Shall I prepare your meal Dominus? Or would you care to rest first?” You followed as he made his way towards his study, his stride quick enough to make you hurry after him. 

“I’ll take my meal in my study, fetch me clean water and linens to cleanse before I eat–and the red wine if you would.” He sat at his desk, putting down scrolls he’d brought with him. His talk of wine reminded you of his visitor.

“Oh–I just recalled. You had a visitor while you were away today, Dominus.” You brought the empty basin from the corner and set it up at the little table beside his desk for the water you’d have to fetch. His eyes shot up, his attention solely focused on you. “I obeyed your commands, no one came in–it was Lavinia.” 

His eyebrow raised, and a small, half-smile formed on his lips. The scrolls sat on the desk, forgotten as he leaned back a little in his chair, amused now at the way your chin jut out in uncharacteristic defiance. 

“Was it now? And just what did Lavinia want?” He narrowed his eyes, his smile widened a fraction. 

“I think I can divine what she wanted.” You mumble the words under your breath, picking at your nails and he clears his throat, a gentle warning. “Apologies Dominus, I said, I think I can divine what she wanted. I do not think she took your refusal with good grace. She brought you a gift, in hopes to sway you if I had to hazard a guess.”

“Well, seems she would like me to reconsider.” He crossed his arms, watching your face and it’s hard to keep it free of emotion. “Bring me her gift, I would like to see it.” He gestured to the door with a playful smile and although your belly twisted at the thought of her working her charms on him from afar, you knew in your heart of hearts he simply liked to frustrate you.

The temptation to smash the bottle into pieces was almost too big to ignore. The thought of him being displeased however kept your grip on it tight, kept you obedient as you did everything he’d asked of you. With his hands cleansed, with his food served, you put the bottle onto his desk. 

“So this is what she offers.” He took the bottle in his hand, turning it over with more interest than you would have liked. He opened it, and put it under his nose. You watched him, fighting tooth and nail to keep your expression neutral. He only smiled the harder, reveling in your poorly disguised discomfort. 

“It smells like good wine, but fortified with something.” He poured some into a goblet, swirling it with growing interest. 

“Shall I leave you to enjoy your meal, Dominus?” You kept your head held high, reminding yourself that he had refused her after all, and a cup of wine wasn’t going to change anything. 

“No. I would have you here.” He smiled, bringing the cup to his mouth and draining it in a few gulps. 

It was almost instant, the change in him. 

“Dominus?” You approached him, heart sinking at the way his eyes momentarily lost focus, at the way his face went slack, all of him utterly empty for a moment. A wild fear gripped your heart, surely she wouldn’t poison him? “Dominus? Dominus!” You almost scream, pushing between him and the desk to pull his face up. 

“Hmmm?” For a moment he couldn’t focus, and it looked as though he might faint into a feverish sleep but then his eyes found yours and he smiled, truly smiled. 

“Dominus—“ he moved cat-quick, pulling you into his embrace roughly. 

“Gods above, why do you smell so good?” He pressed his nose to your chest, pulling in greedy sniffs of you while his hands slipped under your tunic. 

“Dominus, are you well? What is happening?” You tried to get him to look at you, but his eyes were focused on his hands, on pulling at the seams of your tunic. You can’t help but let out a little scream when he rips it open. 

“I am going to die if you don’t sit on my cock this instant, Girl, I need it, I need to feel you, I need to take you—fill you with my seed.” He moans out the words, more desperate than you’ve ever seen him and for a moment you give in, his face tilted up to beckon your mouth to his.

There is a strange taste in his mouth, something honeyed and full of an almost seductive smoke. 

You pull away despite his iron grip on your waist.

“Dominus, Dominus wait—” You try to look into his eyes again but it’s like he’s not there. Something in you awakens, and you do something you’ve never even considered, you do something that could cost you your life. You strike him clean across the face. 

The crack of it is loud enough, and hard enough to stop him cold. 

“Dominus—I beg your forgiveness but I need you to listen to my words—I think Lavinia has slipped you some sort of love potion, some magic to seduce you—“ your hands shake as you speak to him, praying to all the Gods that you aren’t punished for trying to help him. 

“Girl…” he speaks slowly, his face splotchy and red and an ache builds in your throat, fear threatening you with tears. “Girl, I think you may be right.” He trembles slightly, his skin warm where you still touch him. You can see the effort on his face to keep himself under control, to keep his wits about him as the potion works through his body.

He stands, swaying slightly and takes the bottle to the door while you watch, clutching at your ripped tunic. He hands it to one of his guards and instructs him to dispose of it, to not let anyone have any of it because it is corrupted.

“Shall I get you something else?”

“I need your body, Girl.” He holds onto the wall for a moment to steady himself, his eyes cast downwards. “I need to bury myself inside you, I am sick with it, I feel as though if I don’t I will surely die.” His eyes are red when they find yours and there is a fire there you have only ever seen after a battle. 

“If you do not desire this, then leave and lock yourself in your chambers. I will make do with my fist.” He takes a steadying breath, waiting with an almost divine patience despite his state.

The anger you feel for Lavinia knows no bounds, that she would resort to something like this to force him to give her his body makes your blood boil. The way in which he devours you however, that makes your cunt clench and drip for him.

“I am yours, Dominus.” You let the tunic fall and beckon to him with open arms. You see his prowess in the moment it takes him to cross the room and all but dig his fingers into you. His mouth is insistent, his hands are rough at your waist and on your breasts, his passion is hard as steel at your hip where it digs into your skin, all of his sharp desire, his sharp edges scraping at your softness with an inhuman strength. 

“I am in pain Girl, every fucking inch of me aches—“ his words are a painful moan as he all but tears at his layers. You help as best you can and once he is bare you gasp. His cock is so red, his balls look so swollen, you think he really might burst if he does not find his release. 

There is no time for gentle touch. 

You turn and bend over his desk uncaring of his papers falling to the floor and present your backside to him. It’s with trembling hands that he slots his cock at your entrance. He enters you with one brutal shove of his hips and moans like you’ve never heard him moan before. Despite your own arousal, you wince.

“Forgive me Girl, I cannot be gentle-“ He does not ease you into it, it is a rough pushing and pulling of himself into your sex and he is too thick, too deep, you feel him in your lungs, in your throat. 

“I do not wish to hurt you, but you feel so fucking good, so tight, so wet I cannot stop myself.” His words help, his true nature helps. You focus on the feel of him, on the reassuring grip of his big hands on your hips, on the noises he makes as his groin hits the plump of your ass with every sharp thrust.

Your cunt leaks around him, coating him, raising the volume on the sounds of your coupling and before long he’s pulled you up, his chin resting over your shoulder while one hand holds onto your breast tight enough to almost hurt. 

“Here it comes—“ he barely gives a warning before he groans long and loud, filling your poor little cunt with his gift. He presses his forehead to the back of your neck, taking greedy pulls of air into his lungs while he keeps himself buried deep. 

You catch your breath for a moment before he pulls out and turns you to face him. His eyes are shut tight, and then he looks down. His cock has not softened, it looks just as angry, just as hard as it did before, his balls still heavy and full of seed. 

“I fear I may be like this for a while, the pain returns even as I stand here.” 

You sit him in his chair and climb onto him, sheathing him inside you once more but this time, with his mess and your arousal easing his passage, and you setting the pace things are better. 

“I will take care of you Dominus, let me take the pain away.” You wrap your arms around him and slip your tongue into his mouth with a deep kiss, relishing the noise he feeds directly into your lungs. His arms are a cage around your ribs, tight enough to make you fight for every breath but it matters not. He feels so good like this, so deep and with every roll of your hips his noises become more frantic, more imploring.

He comes again almost without warning as you keep your rhythm, wincing when he tightens his grip a little more but still, he does not soften. 

He lets out a whine, a pathetic, gorgeous thing when you keep rolling your hips, clenching around him in search of your own climax.

“Please Girl, please please, I beg of you, milk my cock, I need to spill inside you again, over and over, please—“ his voice is not his own, it’s some needy, powerless creature under your spell and you want nothing more than to oblige him. You speed up despite the sweat shining on your shin, despite the ache in your body and again he spills, crying out like a teenage boy touching a woman for the first time.

“Again Dominus?” You’re tired, but it feels so good, and the desperate, slack jawed expression makes you ache for your own climax.

“Yes Girl, Gods yes- again—“ he helps you move, your sweat slicked flesh spilling between his fingers, his lap is a mess of his own seed and your arousal, you cannot stop now. He takes your nipple into his mouth just as his thumb slips into the mess between your thighs and swirls it around your clit. 

Your own climax hits you like a slap across the face- all at once making you seize and he comes again at the feel of it, both of you suspended in exquisite agony.

You are truly sore now, every muscle aches, everything burns. 

“Dominus- I don’t think my body can handle more.” You brush back his hair, placing a small kiss where you slapped him.

“It is a little better now, come to my bed with me.”

Hours pass, and he still stands at attention but he relieves himself with his fist as you lay on his bed. He begs for your hand, and you oblige him. He begs to look at your cunt, and you show him, he begs to let him paint your breasts in his seed, and you position yourself for him, until he finally softens and rests.

You cleanse him, and yourself, and fall into his arms, asleep before you’re fully settled. 

He does not leave his chambers the next day, and orders you to take a full day of rest yourself. While grateful to sleep and give your tired body time to recover, part of you fears he might not want to see you, but then one of the older women brings a feast to your chambers at his instruction, good wine and more food than you could eat in a whole day and you know you are forgiven. 

You smile around your bites of food, content with your thoughts of what he might do in retaliation. 

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[choerrypuffs]

red velvet hearts.

pairing: bad boy!donghyuck x baker!reader

genre: fluff, slight angst

word count: 7.7k

synopsis: you patch up a boy with a bloody nose and bruised knuckles, only to find out that he has quite the sweet tooth.

author’s note: why do i keep injuring hyuck in all my fics lmao??? anyways i tried to write his character a bit differently than i usually do to challenge myself so please let me know how you guys like it! also remember, ladies: this is fiction. you cannot fix him <3

warning(s): brief description of injuries, mentions of violence, maximum amounts of cringe and melodrama

playlist: all my ghosts by lizzy mcalpine ― heart eyes by coin ― close to you by gracie abrams ― sidelines by phoebe bridgers ― the alchemy by taylor swift

RECIPE 1. TIRAMISU

“This is not what I meant when I said you need your back blown out.” 

“Not funny. I almost died,” you grumble as you wrap the back brace around your torso. You hate the immediate relief you feel from the support it provides, no longer able to tell yourself that it’s really not as bad as it seems―which only makes you angrier. 

“Throwing your back out while lifting a giant bag of flour and nearly getting crushed to death by said flour is genuinely the funniest fucking thing I’ve ever heard,” Yeri, your best friend (derogatory), snorts as she shakes her head. “I wish you had cameras in the storage room because I want to see that shit so bad.”

“Thank you for the brace. You can get the hell out now.” You roll your eyes. 

“So, what are you going to do now? Aren’t you swamped with orders?” Yeri asks, ignoring you completely. 

You have no clue what you’re going to do now. It isn’t just orders you have to worry about fulfilling; it’s also the freshly baked pastries that you have to sell every morning. After a year of blood, sweat, and tears, the bakery that you built from the ground up is finally starting to gain some stable business. So, of course, you chose now of all times to try to lift a bag of flour over your shoulder like you were Dwayne The Rock Johnson. 

“I think I’ll have to hire some temporary help,” you answer begrudgingly. 

“You could sound less like someone is holding you at gunpoint,” Yeri snorts, “Come on. It had to happen sooner or later anyway.” 

“I was handling things just fine on my own.”

“Were you, though?” Yeri raises an eyebrow, gesturing to your current state. 

You fear you walked right into that one. “Shut up and help me make some posters.” 

The two of you eventually manage to whip up some haphazard “Help Wanted” posters, the letters written in glitter pen and Yeri’s clumsy bubble text. You tried your best to fill in the empty gaps on the construction paper by placing Pompompurin stickers that you normally give to customers’ kids all over it. The posters look like a nine-year-old girl’s school project gone wrong, but you hope it’s charming enough to catch some attention. 

By the time you and Yeri finish hanging up all the posters, the sun is already starting to set, and all you want to do is go home and put a heating pad on your back. After saying bye to Yeri, you start making your way back to the bakery to lock up. Once you arrive, you notice a figure dressed in black slumped over in front of the door. You can see their shoulders rise up and down as they take in labored breaths, leaning against the glass door for support. 

Every rational fiber in your being screams at you to not approach the stranger alone, but it’s not like you can just leave this person at the front of your place of business. Cautiously taking a step forward, you squat down to eye level with the stranger, wincing slightly from back pain. Through the sweaty and matted mess of his brown fringe, you can see that the stranger is a young man around your age. However, his face is absolutely battered: bloody (and almost certainly broken) nose, split lip, black eye swollen shut, and a jagged cut on his cheek. If he notices your presence, he doesn’t show it, keeping his head hung down.

Gingerly placing a hand on his arm, you give him a small shake. “Excuse me? Are you okay? Do you need me to call an ambulance?” 

His brows furrow, and he opens an eye (the only one he’s probably able to open) with a wince before lifting a finger and putting it against his lips. You notice that his knuckles are completely scraped raw. 

“Not so loud. I’m okay,” he answers. 

“You don’t look―” 

As if on cue, his stomach rumbles with a guttural growl that slowly drawls into a sputtering gurgle before dying out all together―leaving a long silence to hang between the two of you.

After another beat, he gives you a sheepish smile. “You got anything to eat?” 

You stare at him for a moment; his face is flushed, pink all the way down to his neck. 

And like a stupid horror movie character who opens the door to a room that clearly screams danger, you nod. 

.

.

.

Fortunately, he―Donghyuck, as he introduced himself―ends up not being a crazy ax murderer. 

Unfortunately, you find yourself awkwardly sitting in your closed bakery with a virtual stranger, fiddling with a first aid kit while watching him absolutely devour a piece of leftover tiramisu that you had in your fridge. If the situation wasn’t so insane, you might actually think it was pretty funny. For someone who looks the way he does, this current picture of Donghyuck absolutely doesn’t suit him―bruised chipmunk cheeks stuffed with ladyfingers and cocoa powder stuck on his split lip. 

When he’s finished, Donghyuck looks over at you with a mesmerized expression on his face, as if you just fed him ambrosia. There’s a softness to his face that you didn’t think could exist underneath all that grime and dried blood. 

“That was…delicious,” he breathes. 

“Thanks,” you snort, pushing a glass of water towards him. Unsurprisingly, he chugs it in the blink of an eye. “I still think you should get those injuries checked out, though.” 

“Nah, I’ll rub a little spit in them and it’ll be fine,” he shrugs. 

“Don’t be gross,” you sigh, scooting your chair closer to him as you set the first aid kit on the table. “Now, come here.” 

Donghyuck reluctantly dips his head, and you carefully cup his jaw for support, disinfecting and applying ointment on the cuts and scrapes on his face. You also clean up the dried blood near his nostrils and on his bottom lip, and he doesn’t flinch even when you accidentally brush tender areas like his broken nose or the gash on his mouth. Instead, he stays perfectly still, leaned back in the chair with his forearms resting on his thighs and fingers nonchalantly laced together. 

He keeps his gaze trained on something past your shoulder, and you also try your best to focus, but it’s hard to keep yourself from staring―especially when his demeanor has changed so much. He’s so calm and quiet in such a cold, ruthless manner, as if he’s physically steeling himself from pain―like he’s done this a million times before. Occasionally, you feel his eyes swipe across your face when he thinks you’re not paying attention, and it occurs to you how close the two of you are. Suddenly, you’re acutely aware of the heat of his skin against your palm and fingertips, and you rip your hand away from his jaw. 

Clearing your throat, you move onto his hands, dabbing his raw knuckles with a cotton ball soaked in alcohol before placing large band-aids on them. Despite your best efforts, it’s hard not to notice how slim his long fingers are or how surprisingly clean his nail beds are for someone who’s covered in blood. You keep your head completely bent, fighting the urge of looking up and possibly meeting his eyes. 

“There, all done,” you announce a little too loudly. 

“Thank you,” he says softly, “for the cake and for this. For helping me.” 

“Don’t worry about it. I didn’t do much,” you blurt, still avoiding eye contact as you clean up the table. However, you notice in your peripheral that his gaze follows your movements, almost hesitantly, before he asks: 

“So, you’re hiring?” 

You click the first-aid kit shut, blinking a few times before turning back to him. He looks at you with a raised eyebrow, waiting for an answer.

“I―yeah. How did you know that?” you ask, puzzled by such a random question. 

Donghyuck points at a poster that you didn’t even know you left here, sitting on the table right behind you. You realize that he was probably looking at it while you were patching him up. 

“That poster that says ‘help wanted.’ With the Pompompurin stickers. I’m actually in between jobs right now, so if you would have me―”

“You know Pompompurin?” you interrupt him. It’s not that important and should not stand out to you as much as it does. Yet, you can’t help but grin at the fact that someone like him knows about a tubby Golden Retriever character with a name that sounds like a mashup of the English language’s most adorable onomatopeias. 

Donghyuck trails off, stiffening as if you just found out his deepest, darkest secret. He opens his mouth slightly, trying to speak but unable to formulate a response―an excuse, rather. Instead, he just lets out an airy cough, putting a hand over his mouth and turning away from you in an attempt to obscure his face. Despite his best efforts, he can’t hide his glowing red ears and the way his earlier coldness melts away.

“I―yeah,” he responds, words slightly muffled by his hand. 

You struggle to maintain your composure as you gnaw on your bottom lip to keep from laughing. Fighting a smile in your voice, you finally say: 

“The pay won’t be that much, but you’ll get a bunch of free desserts at the end of the day. Are you okay with that?” 

It takes him a moment to process that you’re offering him the job, and you watch his eyes light up and a warm smile overtake his face. There’s still a light shade of pink dusting his cheeks, clashing with the purple bruising and swelling of his injuries. 

“I’d love nothing more.”

Suddenly, it occurs to you that Donghyuck somewhat reminds you of a tiramisu. 

He may look a bit rugged and grimey, bitter like coffee, but in actuality, underneath it all, he’s soft and fluffy (but not too sweet) like a mascarpone filling. 

RECIPE 2. BLUEBERRY PIE

“Are you out of your mind?”

You cringe away from your phone, hurriedly turning the volume down. “Damn, you don’t have to scream like that.” 

“You should be the one screaming,” Yeri hollers. “I better not come over one day and find your body stuffed in the freezer or something.”

“I thought you wanted me to hire someone!” 

“Not some random dude off the side of the street who was covered in injuries and doesn’t even have any baking experience,” Yeri hisses. 

“I don’t need him to bake. I just have him working the front counter and doing all the heavy lifting when I get my ingredient shipments,” you protest. “Did you think I would really just hand over all my orders to some random dude and go party it up in Cancún or something?” 

Yeri is silent for several seconds before asking, “He’s hot, isn’t he?”

“What?”

“So you did know what I meant when I said you needed your back blown out.” You can hear the smugness in her voice. 

“Yeri,” you say tiredly, “please be serious.”

“I am serious. You’re the one being unserious,” she retorts. “Yesterday, you acted like you would rather sacrifice your firstborn child before hiring a part-timer, and now look at you. Dickmatized.” 

“Okay, I’m hanging up now.”

“So, when do I get to meet him―”

You quickly hit the button to end the call and shove your phone into your pocket, letting out an exasperated sigh. You definitely won’t be hearing the end of that for a while. Your face feels warm for some reason, and you decide that you need a coffee break. After you finish making it, you pour yourself and Donghyuck a cup. 

You peek your head out from the curtain that separates the kitchen and the front counter to see if Donghyuck is busy. He’s politely chatting with an elderly woman, and your eyes nearly pop out of your head when he takes out the entire tray of egg tarts in the glass display and wraps it up for her. The woman happily hands him a wad of bills and waves him goodbye. After putting the cash in the register, Donghyuck turns around and catches you in the middle of gawking. 

“Oh, Y/N. I was actually just about to head back there. We’re out of egg tarts for the display,” he says nonchalantly. 

“Uh, yeah, I can see that,” you whisper loudly, “Was that Mrs. Kim? Why the hell did she order a dozen egg tarts? That woman can barely finish a single cookie.” 

Donghyuck blinks, clearly confused, whispering back, “She asked for my recommendation, so I said egg tarts since no one had bought any yet, and she said she would take all of them.” 

You pause, things finally clicking. Grinning knowingly, you say, “You know, having you work the front is doing wonders for sales.” 

“I don’t understand.” He furrows his brows. 

You laugh, handing him his cup of coffee. “I’m talking about your face card, Donghyuck. You’re too handsome, so you’re flustering the customers.” 

“Are we not whispering anymore?” he asks awkwardly. “Besides, that’s not true. Look at the state of my face right now.” 

His injuries have faded significantly, but the bruising and cuts are still there. You want to tell him that superficial wounds can’t mask the warmth in his caramel-brown eyes, the fullness of his cheeks and the sharp jawline, and the air of mystery that enshrouds him and draws people in. 

But you don’t. 

“Well, for someone who’s only been working here for two weeks, you’re doing superb. Injuries or not.” 

And it’s true. You’ve always preferred to work alone because you’re the only one who understands how you want things done. You naturally assumed it would be a hassle and a waste of time to try to explain to someone else when you could just do it yourself, but Donghyuck never seems to need an explanation. In fact, he knows before even you. 

He gets to the bakery three hours before you, cleans and preps all the equipment you need for the day, unloads the ingredient shipments, and is already manning the front counter by the time you arrive like it was no big deal at all. He also seems to have a sixth sense of knowing when you’re about to do something you shouldn’t be, even though you downplayed your back injury. He’s somehow always there―moving all the stuff you keep on the top shelf to somewhere within your reach even though you insisted that the rickety wooden step stool you use is perfectly safe, cleaning up a glass beaker that you accidentally shattered, taking out the trash during his breaks, checking in on you when you skip lunch. He even turned down his first paycheck, saying it’s repayment for patching him up and feeding him. 

Donghyuck is so perfect that sometimes you wonder if you’re being set up, like maybe he’s secretly embezzling money from the cash register―which would be a more viable theory if he didn’t drive an Audi to work everyday. 

“Thanks for the compliment. And the coffee,” Donghyuck says, snapping you out of your thoughts. He gingerly takes a sip and makes a strangled noise, a mixture being choking and retching, before slapping a hand over his mouth. 

“Are you okay? Was it too hot?” you ask worriedly. 

“No, it’s just…really bitter,” he mumbles, words muffled in his hand. 

“Oh,” you blink, “Sorry. I drink black coffee, so I forgot to ask if you wanted creamer and sugar. Come on, there’s some in the back.” 

The two of you head to the kitchen, and you watch him dump an exorbitant amount of creamer and sugar in his coffee, the dark roast swirling into something more akin to milk tea.

“You know, there might be some chocolate milk in the fridge if you’d rather that,” you tease. 

His head shoots up, those doe eyes lighting up. “Really?” 

“No,” you trail off awkwardly, “Sorry, I'm just messing with you.” 

It’s a bit adorable that you can visibly see him being disappointed in there not being chocolate milk before growing embarrassed, looking down at his cup. He turns away from you, but you can see the flush on the back of his neck. 

“You really have a sweet tooth, huh?” you laugh. 

“Pretty lame, right?” 

“Why would that be lame? You’re talking to someone who owns a bakery, in case you forgot.” 

Donghyuck smiles at you, and it’s sugary sweet like buttercream frosting. He looks at you like you just said the most wonderful thing in the world; in fact, he always makes you feel like that, no matter what you say or do. “I guess you’re right.” 

“What’s your favorite dessert?” you blurt, needing a distraction urgently. 

He pauses briefly. “I don’t think I have one.”

That actually surprises you. “You don’t? Even though you love sweets so much?” 

He laughs, the sound harsh and rough, and it almost makes you flinch. “I’ve never really had an opportunity to have many until now.” 

There’s clearly weight behind his words, but you know you’re not in a position to ask any further. A selfish part of you wants to be important enough to him that you are in a position to know more, but you’re all too aware about him very purposefully keeping you at arm’s length. 

“Well, you have plenty of time to find out,” you quickly continue, pretending not to notice. “Actually, I’m going to a blueberry farm tomorrow because I’m thinking about adding blueberry pie to the menu. When I get back, I’ll bake one for you, and you can be the first to taste test it!” 

“You’re going by yourself?” Donghyuck raises an eyebrow. 

“Of course. Who else would I go with?” 

“Me. I’ll go with you,” he replies immediately. 

“But it’s, like, a forty-five-minute bus ride to the farm. Plus, coming with me to get ingredients isn’t part of your job description anyway,” you explain. 

“I can’t come with you on my own free time?” he asks, tilting his head. “Besides, I’m worried about you overexerting yourself with that back injury. A bumpy bus ride definitely isn’t going to help, so I’ll drive us there.” 

“You’re going to drive that fancy ass car to a farm? You do realize it’s going to be dirt roads, right?” You cross your arms. 

“I think I’ll live. Besides, what makes you think this is the only fancy ass car I own?” He gives you an amused smile. 

“You’re joking, right?” You stare at him. 

He hesitates for a moment. “Yes.” 

“That doesn’t sound―”

“What time are we leaving tomorrow morning?” 

“...Seven.”

.

.

.

Unsurprisingly, Donghyuck picks you up right on time, not a minute too early or late. As the universe would have it, it rained the night prior―meaning all the dirt roads are now rivers of mud. You wince every time you heard a splat of mud hit Donghyuck’s pristine white car, but he seems to pay no mind to it. The two of you arrive at the farm within twenty minutes (he found a shortcut), and because you came so early, you get the entire farm to yourselves. The staff arms both of you with a large wicker basket each before setting you loose onto the massive property. 

“Okay, make sure to pick the fat ones. The small ones are super tart, so avoid those,” you instruct Donghyuck. “We’re going to fill these baskets to the brim and get our money’s worth.” 

“You got it, Captain.” He salutes. 

You give him a determined nod and a thumbs up before turning to your respective side and beginning to pick the blueberries. The two of you work without much fanfare or conversation, and it’s a silence that lingers between you comfortably. It reassures you to hear the sound of the bushes rustling from Donghyuck working; his companionship alone relaxes you. 

Eventually, when the sun starts peeking through and the weather grows warmer, both of you decide to take a break. You find a spot in the shade before sitting down, pulling out snacks and bottles of water from a backpack Donghyuck brought along. 

“I have a surprise for you,” you tell him, trying to hide a smile. “Close your eyes.” 

He eyes you suspiciously but does so anyway. You fish out a handful of unripe blueberries wrapped in a handkerchief from your pocket and feed some to him. His reaction is nearly instant the moment he starts chewing them; you watch as his face puckers up from how sour they are and his entire body shrivels into itself, a shudder running through him. He’s polite enough to not spit them out, but you’re not polite enough to resist pointing and laughing at him. Throwing your head back, you laugh so hard that your stomach starts to hurt. 

“Oh my God, your face!” 

“Ugh,” Donghyuck groans, taking a big gulp of his water. “I should’ve known you had sinister intentions from the start.” 

“I didn’t think you’d react like that,” you finally manage to say after catching your breath. “You really can’t handle anything except for sweet stuff.” 

“Are you having fun bullying me?” He rolls his eyes. 

“So much fun,” you say in a sing-song voice. 

Donghyuck tries to continue feigning annoyance, but he can’t help the low chuckle that rumbles in his chest. His eyes always soften when he looks at you, and his gaze is intimate like a lover’s―gentle, tender, unwavering, and vulnerable. But his warmth is always fleeting, and he only allows you glimpses of it through the unmoving walls that he’s erected around himself. 

You wish he wouldn’t indulge you so, terrified you’ll try to cross the line he’s drawn between the two of you. 

“What are you thinking about?” Donghyuck asks, trying to read your expression

“About the delicious pie I’m about to make when we get back,” you smile. 

“I see,” he responds, though it’s clear he isn’t convinced. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“You better be. This is how I’m paying you back for driving me here,” you nod. 

“Instead of that, pay me back by telling me what your favorite dessert is,” he suddenly says. “I do still want the pie, though.” 

“That was random,” you snort. “Why do you want to know my favorite dessert?”

“Because you asked me, but you never told me yours.” 

You suppose he has a point, but you find it ironic that he wants to know more about you when he refuses to offer you even a modicum of information about himself. Despite this, you tell him anyway because you are obviously the fool here. 

“If you must know, it’s red velvet cake,” you sigh. 

“Why?” 

You don’t answer at first, carefully thinking about if you’re ready to be vulnerable in front of him―still a virtual stranger. A virtual stranger who loves sweets. A virtual stranger who is a bit of a messy eater. A virtual stranger who knows Pompompurin. A virtual stranger who worries about you even when he’s not on the clock. A virtual stranger who gently tells you to be careful whenever you try to do something dangerous, whispering, “I’ll do it instead.” A virtual stranger who allows his luxury car to be caked in mud for you. 

“Because it’s the dessert that made me realize I want to do this for the rest of my life,” you finally say. “I baked it for my mom’s birthday, and I think I ended up being more excited than her.” 

Donghyuck stays quiet, gauging your reaction. 

“I was in college, studying to be a doctor like everyone else in my family. So, like a dumb young person who thought that dreams were more important than money, I dropped out of college and went to culinary school. My parents told me I was ruining mine and their lives, disowned me, yada-yada―a bunch of depressing stuff, you know. Eventually, I graduated, took out a huge loan, and opened up my own bakery. Worked a bunch of part-time jobs until my business could stand on its own. Now here I am. Still in debt, though,” you laugh awkwardly. “But I’m not doing too shabby. I was able to hire you, so at least I have a little cash to spare.” 

He still doesn’t say anything, so you find yourself starting to ramble. You’re really not sure what possessed you to trauma dump on him like that. 

“You know, a lot of people talk shit about red velvet cake because they say the only thing that makes it special is the red food coloring,” you hurriedly explain, “but that’s not true. The cream cheese frosting is super important too. Also, I always say love is the most important ingredient of all. As a baker, you’re kind of bearing your heart to the customer, and isn’t it kind of cute that red velvet cake is red like a heart? Okay, please say something now or else I think I’m going to projectile vomit.” 

Donghyuck reaches over and brushes a sweaty lock of hair out of your face. His fingers brush over your temple, which makes you sharply suck in a breath. You almost lean into his touch, but you catch yourself. His hand slightly lingers on the side of your neck, like he wants to bring your face closer, but he eventually pulls away. 

He searches your face, and you’re not sure what he’s looking for―if anything. Rather, perhaps he’s not searching. Perhaps he’s committing your features to his memory, as if the way you look right now is something he wants to remember forever. 

“You’ve worked hard, Y/N,” he says softly, voice slightly hoarse. “This is long overdue, but congratulations. You achieved your dream, and don’t let anyone ever discount that. Not even yourself.” 

You wonder how long you’ve waited to hear that. You’re not even sure you knew you needed to hear that. But when Donghyuck says it, it hits you just how long and hard you’ve worked all on your own without a single break. Throughout the years, you’ve really only ever heard, “I’m sorry that happened.” When was the last time someone congratulated you? When was the last time you congratulated yourself? 

You surge forward, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and burying your face in his shoulder. Donghyuck cradles you against him, one hand wound tightly around your waist while the other is tangled in your hair. You can feel his chest rise up and down as he holds you. He smells like lavender soap and a bit earthy from being outside, and the warmth of his skin against your cheek makes you want to close your eyes and fall asleep in his arms. 

“Thank you,” you whisper. 

“No, thank you,” he murmurs into your hair. 

You’re not sure why he’s thanking you instead, but what you are sure of is that you’re crossing the line, taking a step towards him and wondering if he’ll meet you halfway. 

.

.

.

“Tada!” you announce cheerfully, setting down the freshly baked blueberry pie onto the table. 

Donghyuck claps excitedly. “Holy shit, it looks amazing.” 

“I’m still trying to figure out the right portions for the filling, so let me know if you think there’s too much or little,” you tell him as you hand him a slice. 

Without even answering you, he stabs his fork into the pie and almost eats the entire slice in one bite, seemingly unbothered by the steam still rising from it. 

“Be careful. You’re going to burn your tastebuds off. I’m not letting you eat it for shits and giggles, you know. This is for research purposes.” You cross your arms. 

“It’s perfect, Y/N. I’m serious,” Donghyuck says after swallowing. “The filling isn’t too sweet, and the crust is airy and light.” 

“Well, alright, Gordon Ramsay. I think we’re going to be adding a new menu item then,” you smile. “Think you can get Mrs. Kim to buy a dozen of these?”

“I don’t think she’ll need much convincing with how good these taste.” 

“You’re so easy,” you tease. “All I need to do is feed you. Anyways, I’m going to clean up here, but you should head home. It’s getting late, and you wake up way earlier than me.” 

“I’ll help,” he insists. 

“Go,” you order, pointing at the door. “I can handle it.” 

He looks conflicted but eventually relents when you threaten to physically kick him out. Before he leaves, he turns back to you and says, “Thank you, Y/N.”

“Why do you keep thanking me?” you laugh. 

“It’s been a long time since I’ve had this.”

“What? A blueberry pie?”

Donghyuck pauses, a slight wonder in his expression, as if he’s realizing his answer for the first time as well.

“Peace.” 

And you think maybe this is a step forward for him too. 

RECIPE 3. CREAM PUFF

It’s quite surreal how easily and naturally you and Donghyuck fall into a routine together. Somehow, in the blink of an eye, two weeks becomes two months. You’ve learned the little things about him, like how he always swipes some icing before you can fill up the piping bag or that he’s not a coffee drinker at all (more of a hot cocoa person) or that he purses his lips when a dessert he’s testing tastes off (no matter how hard he tries to hide it) or that he involuntarily sticks his arm out in front of you when he wants to stop you from doing something you shouldn’t. 

You also notice that he sometimes comes into work with injuries. They’re not nearly as bad as the first time you met him, but it’s hard to ignore a bruised cheek or bloodied knuckles. He always has a reason for them, whether it’s tripping down the stairs or accidentally falling down and scraping his hands on the concrete. You can tell by the way he laughs it off that he doesn’t plan on telling you the truth, so you laugh with him. The two of you, having taken only a step towards one another, find yourselves completely immobile now. 

He always does this: envelops you like a cloud but disappears the moment you reach out for him. 

You’re honestly not sure why he’s still here. Your injury has long healed, and he clearly doesn’t need the abysmal pay you’re giving him. He feels like he’ll slip away at any moment, fleeting like a warm spring breeze, and you suppose time flies by when you know it’s limited. Despite knowing that, you can’t help but desperately want him to stay. 

“I think it’s cute how hard he’s working,” Yeri randomly says one day as she eyes Donghyuck prepare orders in the front. He’s in the middle of a lunchtime rush, so he doesn’t even notice the two of you watching him like weirdos.

“Well, that’s what I’m paying him to do,” you reply, rolling his eyes. 

“Oh, I think the money is the least of his worries here,” she hums, taking a sip of her coffee. 

She has a point, but you’re pretty sure she’s implying something else as well. Just as you go to ask her what exactly she means, you hear a loud clatter. Flinching, you turn your attention back to Donghyuck and realize that he’s dropped a tray on the floor. However, the tray is the last thing on your mind when you see the expression on his face. It’s a mixture of horror, anger, and almost sadness―like he’s finally come face-to-face with whatever he’s been running from. It makes your blood run cold. 

Donghyuck is looking at a boy around his age; the boy has dark hair, a mole under his eye, and a grim expression. More importantly, he’s covered in injuries too. 

“Who is that?” Yeri whispers. “Why does Donghyuck look like he’s seen a ghost?” 

Maybe because he has, you want to tell her. 

Donghyuck grabs the boy's arm, squeezing so tightly that his knuckles turn white, and mumbles something to him. When he turns around and meets your eyes, he looks pained and fearful as if you witnessed something you shouldn’t have.

“Is it okay if I take my break early today?” he asks calmly, though the tremor in his voice gives him away. 

You nod hesitantly, unable to force yourself to speak. You watch him as he drags the boy out; when he passes you, you can tell how tightly his body is wound right now. His jaw is clenched, a muscle spasming as he tries to control himself, and every step he takes seems labored. He’s running on pure adrenaline right now, like he’s physically steeling himself. 

However, you don’t think he’s ever appeared so incredibly alone before. As you watch his back disappear further and further from your view, you’re unsure if he’ll ever return, and you never imagined how terrifying that would be. 

.

.

.

The cream puffs aren’t rising.

You’re crouched in front of the oven, watching the dough remain flat and lifeless. You should’ve known better than to attempt to make cream puffs on such a shitty day, especially when pastries like these are so sensitive to the environment and atmosphere. Even though you know you should probably just scrap them and try again, you wait for just a little longer, hoping that maybe if you wish hard enough that they’ll magically start to rise. 

But then again you suppose that no matter how hard you try, no matter how careful you are, no matter how perfect the batter is, no matter how much time you spend time piping them, no matter how much you want them to rise, they won’t. 

You decide that Donghyuck isn’t like a tiramisu at all; he’s sensitive and delicate and elusive and frustrating like a cream puff. 

“Y/N, they’re burning.” 

Losing your balance and nearly falling over, you gasp loudly. You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t even hear Donghyuck walk into the kitchen, nor did you smell the undeniable scent of something being burnt to a crisp. 

“Oh, fu―!” you curse, hurriedly opening the oven and casually suffocating both you and Donghyuck with a hot plume of air. Sputtering, you look around and grab a random rag from the sink before reaching for the cream puffs. 

“Wait, stop!” Donghyuck stops you with an outstretched arm, his hand pressed to your side. “Let me do it.” 

He gently takes the rag from your hand and removes the tray of charred cream puffs from the oven, dumping them into the trash before putting the tray in the sink and running some water on it―just how you like it. 

Letting out a relieved sigh, he turns back to you and asks, “Are you okay? It’s not like you to make a mistake like that. You didn’t get burned anywhere, did you?” 

When you don’t answer immediately, Donghyuck rushes forward and grabs your hands, carefully examining your fingers and arms. “Wait, are you hurt? Where? Tell me where you got burned. We have to cool it down with some lukewarm water. And don’t just say you’re fine. Burns are not a joke, Y/N―why are you looking at me like that?” 

His hands are calloused and rough, and you can still see scabs from where he tore his knuckles, yet he touches you like you’re the delicate one. He’s covered in fresh and old wounds, yet he looks so panicked at the thought of you having a scratch. 

“Shut up,” you whisper furiously, ripping your hands away from him. “From now on, don’t ask me another question. It’s my turn to ask you questions.” 

He blinks, a bit stunned by your reaction, but it’s clear he knows what you’re about to say. He goes to reach for you again but decides against it. “Okay.” 

“Who was that guy?” you demand. “Why are you always covered in injuries? Why did you lie to me? Who are you?” 

“He’s an old friend,” Donghyuck starts quietly. 

“Do you treat all your friends like that?” 

“When I don’t want to see them.” 

You wait for him to continue.

“Before I met you, he and I and a few of our other friends worked…odd jobs for cash,” he explains, and he looks like he’s choking on every word. “The jobs usually entailed us hurting people and also getting hurt. I did a lot of shit I wasn’t proud of. At the time, I didn’t really care. It was just nice to feel something, whether it was the adrenaline rush from doing the punching or the pain from being punched. I got a bunch of money, bought a bunch of expensive stuff, but none of it mattered. Eventually, I just felt nothing again. I didn’t even have the energy to loathe myself anymore. So, I took one last job, got the shit kicked out of me, and then I left. That’s when you found me―”

He inhales, and his eyes flicker towards you. He gazes at you so longingly, as if you were impossibly out of his reach, that you can’t help but involuntarily take a step towards him. 

But he steps back. 

“I thought that working here would make me feel like a human being again, but I didn’t realize how much I would―” He pauses again. “I thought working here would be a nice reset for me, but I naively thought that I could completely leave my past behind. My friends eventually found me, and I guess I care about those reckless assholes more than I thought because they managed to convince me to take on a few more jobs with them. That’s why I’ve been coming to work with injuries. But I’m done. I cut them off for good when they walked into this bakery. I don’t want…I don’t want our past to tarnish this place. I want to keep this place a beautiful, warm, and pure safe haven that you worked so hard for it to be. That’s why I lied to you, Y/N. I’m a coward to the bone, and I was envious of you. I was ashamed to admit it to you. You, who had the courage to chase after your dream. You, who had the kindness to help a good-for-nothing asshole like me. I only want you to have happy memories from now on, and I am not one of them.” 

“Are you going to leave?” you ask softly. 

“I probably should,” he answers shakily. 

“What’s stopping you?” 

“Just…one reason.” 

“When you say it like that, it makes it sound like the reason is me.” 

Donghyuck laughs bitterly, and his eyes drag across your face like every movement hurts him.

“You know it’s you. It’s always been you.” 

When you reach for his hand, he turns away like just the warmth from your body heat burns him. So instead, you take a step back. 

“I won’t ask you to stay, Donghyuck, I won’t chase you. I’m going to wait right here, and it’s up to you if you're going to meet me halfway.” 

RECIPE 4. RED VELVET CAKE

When your alarm clock goes off the next morning, you seriously consider just not showing up to work. It’s not like you can be fired for being a no-show when you’re your own boss, after all. 

And it’s not like you have any employees who will be expecting you. 

You’ll just apologize to Mrs. Kim and your other regulars later. You’re allowed to have a day where you just rot in bed and feel sorry for yourself. 

However, no matter how much you tell yourself that, you find yourself crawling out of bed and getting ready anyway. You can’t seem to brutally crush that small glimmer of hope that Donghyuck might still be there, no matter how hard you try. When you see yourself in the mirror, you recoil in horror. Your eyes are almost swollen shut from the amount of crying you did last night, and your face is sallow and lifeless. 

So much for putting on a brave face, you think wryly to yourself. You tried so hard to look tough, when in reality, you bawled your eyes out and even considered praying to God for Donghyuck to stay. It’s a humiliating and humbling reality check. 

“Stand up right now,” you sharply tell yourself in the mirror. “He’s just some guy. Get it together.” 

You do your best to clean up your appearance and make the trek over to the bakery. It takes another internal pep talk before you can make your way to the door. After you finally walk up, you see that the lights inside are off. Your stomach sinks, and your eyes start to burn. Even though you’re holding the handle, you can’t bring yourself to open the door. It’s an outcome that you expected, yet you wonder why it hurts so badly. 

“You liar,” you mumble to yourself, “You said you only wanted me to have happy memories.” 

Once you make your way inside, you numbly head towards the kitchen, trying to remember what exactly you have to do today. Oh right, now that he’s not here, you also have to make sure all the ingredients are prepped first. 

When you walk into the kitchen, you do a double-take. 

The whole place looks like it’s been completely ransacked: used pans and utensils piled up in the sink, two opened boxes of cake mix, containers of ingredients without lids on on the tables, random lumps of flour and egg shells strewn about― 

And right in front of the oven is Donghyuck, flour in his hair and frosting on his nose. He’s holding a cake stand with…you think it’s supposed to be a cake on it? The shape is mangled and haphazardly cut, but it has echoes of a heart. The frosting is a hot mess, as if a bird with diarrhea shat all over the cake. The batter is clearly underbaked and makes the cake look gooey in a bad way. 

“Um, I promise I’ll clean all of this up in a second, but I wanted to surprise you,” Donghyuck starts awkwardly. “It’s not perfect, but I tried making a red velvet cake for you.” 

You stare at him, still not sure how to react. 

“You once said that baking is like bearing your heart to the customer and that love is the most important ingredient of all,” he laughs softly to himself. “I think love is the only ingredient I managed to get right, but I’m bearing my heart to you now, Y/N. I’m sorry I hid everything and lied to you, but I’m in love with you. Hopelessly so. All my life, I’ve chased a feeling, not knowing what it was. But now I do. I don’t think I knew how to feel until I met you. I never once thought I would ever have a purpose in my life, but you make me want to be a normal, proper member of society. Your dream is my dream. I want to wake up at 5AM and sell egg tarts with you for the rest of my life, if you’ll have me.” 

Donghyuck sets the cake down on a table in front of you, and you notice that his fingers are dyed red from the food coloring. It almost reminds you of when you first met him, except his injuries have been replaced with red food coloring, flour, and cream cheese frosting. 

“This cake is terrible,” you smile, “how did you butcher it that badly when you used cake mix?” 

You watch him blush all the way down to his neck, as he sheepishly looks away. “Don’t make fun of me. I really tried my best. I stayed up watching tutorials―” 

Leaning across the table, you cup his face with both hands and kiss him, brushing your thumbs across his cheekbones. He tastes like frosting, hot cocoa, and your prayers being answered. The way he kisses you back is bruising, dizzying and knocking any coherent thought out of your head, his hands finding your hips and anchoring you to him. He kisses you like you’re the sweetest and most wonderful thing he’s ever tasted.

When you finally pull away, it takes you a moment to regain feeling in your legs. Donghyuck presses his forehead against yours, lips brushing against yours once again as the two of you try to catch your breath. 

“I think I’m going to have to fire you, though,” you whisper. “You know, with me being your boss and all. The power dynamic is too weird.” 

He hums, pausing for thought. “Then how about I become your business partner?” 

“What?”

Donghyuck reaches into his pocket and fishes out his wallet, pulling out a shiny and fancy-looking credit card. He hands it to you without much fanfare. 

“I have a lot of money, you know. So I’m going to invest in your business. Use it as you’d like,” he casually announces.

You stare at him, your jaw hanging wide open. He never tried to hide from you that he was rich, but he never told you that he was rich rich. 

“Well, damn! Why didn’t you show me this earlier? I would have forgiven you a lot sooner,” you tease, slapping him on the arm. “Are you sure you want to give this to me? I’m quite the gold-digger, you know.”

“When I told you to use it as you’d like, I meant me as well,” Donghyuck replies, shrugging.

“You’re insane.” You hope he can’t tell how much your face is burning up. 

“I guess I am,” he laughs, and you don’t think he’s ever looked so free. You want to tell him that you hope he only has happy memories from now on too. You want to tell him that you’ll rewrite all of his scars with sugary and fluffy desserts so that they won’t ever hurt again. 

And for the first time in your life, you feel it too.

Peace. 

EXTRA

“So, have you figured out what your favorite dessert is?” 

Donghyuck stirs slightly, groaning, as he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you closer. He slips his hand under your shirt (well, technically it’s his shirt) and rests it on your bare hip bone. 

“Why aren’t you asleep?” 

“Because I’m curious.” 

“If I answer, will you let me rest?”

“Depends on how good your answer is.” 

“Blueberry pie. That’s my answer.” 

You smile against the crook of his neck. 

“Why?” 

“Because it’s the dessert that made me realize I want to do this for the rest of my life.” 

[firewasabeast]

The Things I Cannot Change

I made this post a couple days ago then had to write a fic about it. Enjoy! Read below or on ao3.

“Wait a minute, you're datin' Kinard?” Gerrard asked mid-swing. He had taken Buck out to Topgolf as a thank you for saving his life. Although, Buck still wasn't sure that was actually his intention at the time.

“Yes, Sir,” Buck replied, steeling himself for whatever was going to come out of the man's mouth next.

“He got a sister or something?”

“No, Sir.”

“Didn't think so.” Gerrard planted his feet and swung, unsatisfied by where the ball landed. “So you're a... one of those?”

“Bisexual, yes.”

He rocked back on his heels. “Oh, you swing both ways? Interesting, interesting. You didn't hear about all that back in my day, Buckley. The world has definitely changed.”

“We've always existed,” Buck replied, a part of him wondering why he didn't shove Gerrard to the ground just a little bit harder.

They each took another turn before Gerrard spoke again. “Kinard,” he said, contemplatively. “Gotta say, don't see you two matching.”

Buck closed his eyes, inhaling deeply before turning to Gerrard. “Why's that?”

“Don't get me wrong, Buck, he was a great firefighter when he worked under me. Dotted his I's, crossed his T's. But he wasn't always that way. There's a lot about him...” He shook his head. “Hm. What am I saying, I'm sure you know everything about him anyway, right?”

“Y- yeah,” Buck replied. He knew Gerrard's mind games. Knew better than to fall for it. At least, that's what he kept telling himself.

He walked over to his golf carrier, straightening the firefighter club cover.

“That Operation Thunderbolt was something else, wasn't it?” Gerrard asked.

It took everything in Buck's power to not start asking questions. “Mhm.”

“Mistakes like that can't happen in the firefighting world. Told Kinard as much when he started. Damn, he was a mess back then.” Gerrard let out a laugh. “I whipped him into shape real good. Made him who he is.”

“Mm, yeah. I- I'm sure.”

“That Thunderbolt though,” Gerrard sucked in a breath. “Not good, Buckley. Not good.”

*****

“I think Gerrard is still playing mind games with me,” Buck said to Eddie as he plopped down on the couch. It was a rare shift they had without Gerrard, meaning they could actually sit down and relax.

“Of course he is,” Eddie replied, not bothering to look up from the magazine he was reading. “He took you golfing, Buck. And to lunch, twice.”

“Yeah, but it's more than that now. He, uh, he found out I'm dating Tommy.”

Eddie peered over his magazine at that, eying Buck closely. “He found out? How'd that happen?”

“I... kinda told him.”

“And you think that was a wise decision?”

Buck sat up straighter. “It was the only decision, Eddie. He asked if I was seeing anyone. I- I wasn't gonna lie and say no, or- or make it seem like I was seeing a woman just to make him-”

Eddie raised a hand to stop him. “Buck, not judging. Just asking.”

“Right, well,” he settled into the couch again, clearing his throat. “He knows now.”

“And?”

“And he said he didn't see us matching.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Big surprise there. You can't let him bother you, Buck. Gotta let that stuff roll right off ya.”

“Yeah, I- I did. But, he just... Do you think I know everything about Tommy?”

“I don't know,” Eddie answered, confused. “I'm not a fly on your wall, Buck, I don't know what you two talk about.”

“But, generally speaking, do you think I know him? Because, he knows all my stuff. Like, Daniel, and my parents, and the way I acted when I was younger to get attention. He knows all the different versions of Buck, ya know? And I just, I don't know if I know all his versions.”

“I don't think you ever really stop getting to know someone, Buck. You might think he knows all about you, but I'm sure you surprise him every day.”

Buck sighed. “I'm talking the big stuff, Eddie, not whether or not I enjoy whipped cream being licked off me-”

“Okay, no.”

“Eddie.”

Eddie huffed out a laugh. “I don't know what you want from me, Man. What are you trying to get at?”

“Gerrard mentioned something to me about Tommy that I've never heard of, and I have no idea if he's is lying or not.”

“If it's about Tommy, I'd say he's probably making something out to be worse than it is. Gerrard doesn't seem to fond of the guy.”

Buck nodded. “Yeah. No, no, yeah, I- I agree.”

“So, all good now?”

“Mhm. Yeah, all good. It was stupid anyway.” He grabbed a book from the coffee table, flipping to a random page. “Something about Tommy's time in the army. Operation Thunderbolt,” he shrugged. “I'm sure it's nothing.”

He wasn't sure what made him look up. He hadn't expected Eddie to respond anyway. But when he did glance over at him, he saw Eddie with his eyes practically frozen as he stared at a spot on the wall. Buck knew that look.

Avoidance.

“Eddie?”

Buck's voice seemed to break him out of his trance. He returned to his magazine, eyebrows furrowed. He clearly wasn't reading the article in front of him.

“Eddie?” Buck repeated, louder this time. “Do... Do you know something?”

There were a few more seconds of silence, Eddie's lips pursed as he tried to think of what to say. “I... Buck, it's not really my place.”

Now Buck was worried. “So it's true? There was an Operation Thunderbolt?”

“Buck, I'm not gonna do this,” Eddie said as he stood. He dropped his magazine down on the coffee table and went to walk away. “You need to leave it alone.”

Buck followed him. “Hey, I was your friend first,” he said. And yeah, maybe that was childish, but he couldn't find it in him to care.

Eddie swirled around, nearly knocking into Buck. “That's not fair, and it's not gonna work. If it's gonna bother you so much, talk to Tommy yourself. But I'm warning you, you need to leave it alone.”

When Eddie walked away, Buck didn't follow.

He trusted Eddie. Knew there had to be a good reason he wouldn't get into it.

He'd do what Eddie said.

He'd let it go.

He would.

He would really try to let it go.

*****

He couldn't let it go.

He headed to Tommy's place after work. Tommy had been promising to make his infamous chicken pot pie, the one everyone at the 217 was obsessed with, and tonight was the night.

The food was in the oven, and they were on the couch. Some show was playing on the TV, but it was mainly on for background noise while they made out.

It was kind of a tradition of theirs. Kiss while dinner cooked and then pick up where they left off after they were done eating.

But this time was different, because the words Operation Thunderbolt kept flashing through Buck's mind. Gerrard's voice telling Buck he was sure they knew everything about each other. Eddie's face when he brought up the operation. How closed off he became, how he avoided Buck for the rest of the day.

“Okay,” Tommy said, pulling away. “What's wrong?”

Buck tried to look dumbfounded. “What do you mean?”

“I did that thing with my tongue that always makes you jump in my lap and you didn't even react. What's wrong?”

Buck shook his head, straightening out his shirt. “N- Nothing. I just... I think I'm tired from work is all.”

Tommy tilted his head. “Evan.”

“It's nothing, really. Let's just,” Buck tugged at Tommy's shirt, trying to bring him in for another kiss, “let's keep going. I'll react this time.”

As Buck attempted to pull Tommy closer, Tommy leaned his head back and wrapped his hands around Buck's wrists, stopping him. “Evan, come on. Be honest with me.”

And those were quite possibly the worst set of words Tommy could have chosen, because it took Buck from worried to angry in under a second.

“Honest?” He practically jerked his hands away from Tommy. “You want me to be honest with you?”

“It is the best policy.”

Buck scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Of course you'd think this is a joke.”

“Evan, I'm not really sure what this is at all. I'd love it if you could fill me in though.”

“It's... It's,” Buck stood, hands on his hips, “It's a lot of things, Tommy.”

“Starting with...?”

“I went golfing with Gerrard a couple days ago.”

Tommy nodded. “I remember. You didn't talk much about it though. Did something happen?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it did.”

“Okay. What was it?”

“Doesn't matter,” Buck replied, beginning to pace back and forth. Just a few steps in one direction before turning back around.

“Obviously it does.”

“Eddie told me to let it go.”

“That doesn't seem to be happening. Come on, Evan.” Tommy stood, grasping onto Buck's arm to stop his pacing. “I'm serious. Talk to me.”

Buck stared him down. Looked deep into his eyes like he was trying to get direct access to his soul.

“Operation Thunderbolt.”

He'd never seen two words cause such an instant and dramatic shift in a person before. All the color drained from Tommy's face. His expression fell to nothing, mouth slightly open in shock. He looked like he was about to vomit, or pass out one.

A part of Buck wished he would have left it alone. Never let the words leave his mouth and dropped it like Eddie said.

The other part of Buck was still angry, and wanted to keep pushing his buttons. Wanted to find out why Eddie got to know parts of Tommy that Buck didn't get to know.

Tommy took a couple steps back, until his shins hit the couch and he could sit down again.

“E- Evan, I-”

“You know, I'm not even pissed that I don't know what the hell those words even mean. I'm pissed because I'm apparently the only one who doesn't know.”

Tommy's hands clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palms. He stared straight ahead, unable to even look in Buck's direction. “I really... I can't talk about this right now, Evan.”

“You mean you can't talk about it with me. Apparently you can yack it up with Gerrard and Eddie.”

Tommy unclenched his fists, resting them over his bouncing knees. “Gerrard knows about that because it's why I was discharged from the army. It was on my record and he talked to me about it when I first started at the 118.”

Buck crossed his arms over his chest. “And Eddie?”

The question came out accusatory. He hated that Eddie knew a part of Tommy that he didn't.

“Eddie was in the army.” Tommy finally managed to look up at Buck. His eyes were red-rimmed, filled with an emotion Buck had never seen from the man before. “He understands it.”

“And I don't?”

“No,” Tommy replied honestly. “No, you don't, Evan. And I'm really glad you don't.”

“I've told you everything about me, Tommy! All the bad stuff, all the embarrassing stuff! I thought you'd done the same, but apparently I'm the only one really in this relationship.”

Tommy's eyes darkened. He stood back up, chest heaving. “Do not try and compare stealing fire engines for sex to what I did.”

“I don't even know what you did, Tommy!” Buck exclaimed, throwing his arms up in frustration. “Did you fly to the wrong place? Disobey orders? Get a slap on the wrist from a commanding officer? Someone find out you were-”

“I killed an entire family!” Tommy yelled, causing Buck to jump back ever so slightly. He'd never heard Tommy raise his voice before.

“Wh- What?”

“Thunderbolt was a codename for an operation in Iraq. We were supposed to take out a terrorist cell,” Tommy explained, speaking quickly. “Target was confirmed so I fired. Not even a second later I hear abort, abort, abort in my headset, but it was already too late. Intel was bad, I ended up directing a missile to an innocent family. Grandparents, parents, aunts, uncles, and ten kids. I killed an entire bloodline, Evan.”

“T- Tommy-”

“They're just heat signatures on a monitor, Kinard, nothing more. That's what my commanding officer told me. But I couldn't let it go. I couldn't eat, I couldn't sleep, I was a mess. They gave me an honorable discharge and a damn medal for killing those people.”

“I didn't-”

“Sometimes I think about it too much,” Tommy continued, ignoring Buck's interruptions. “One day Eddie was coming over for Muay Thai and I could barely get myself up off the couch. He knew something was wrong and we started talking. I don't have many friends, Evan, and Eddie is the first I've had that was in the army. It's easy to talk to him about this stuff because I don't feel like I have to explain myself over and over again or worry that he's going to think I'm a monster.”

“I don't think you're a monster.” Buck's voice was small. He felt like he was two feet tall.

“I can tell when a person looks at me differently, Evan. Saw it the second I told you.”

“Yeah, because I was surprised! It's a lot to throw on a person!”

“I didn't want to throw it on you! I was gonna tell you eventually, but I didn't feel ready yet. Didn't know how to explain it to you.” Tommy stood, his nervous energy taking over. He walked past Buck and headed for the door. “I can't do this right now. I need to go.”

“This is your house, Tommy. I'll go.”

“No, I need to get out.” He grabbed his coat and his keys. “Can you turn off the oven for me, please?”

“Tommy, come on, please don't leave mad. I'm sorry, okay?”

Tommy paused, the door half open. “Not mad, Evan. You definitely don't need to apologize to me. I just... I can't. You have a key. Lock up when you leave.”

*****

Buck gave Tommy twenty-four hours before sending a text.

Can I come over to talk please?

He waited thirty minutes before trying again.

Tommy, I don't think you're a monster, and I'd like to apologize to you in person. I know I threw that on you and I shouldn't have.

Still nothing.

So, he tried calling. It rang seven times before it went to voicemail.

“Tommy, I just wanna talk. I- I know I probably deserve the silent treatment but... I just wanna talk. Call me back, please.”

Buck was not known for his patience. It took everything within him to not get in his car and drive to Tommy's place right then and there.

But he didn't want to smother Tommy, at least not more than he already had. He waited an hour, then started getting ready for bed. He had to be at work early tomorrow, and if Tommy wasn't ready to talk yet, he'd respect that.

It was the least he could do.

When he woke up for work the next day and had no missed messages or calls from Tommy, he worried.

He had half expected to hear something from him during the night.

When he got to work, he made a beeline for Eddie, who was putting some things into his locker.

“Eddie, have you heard from Tommy in the past couple days?”

“Good morning to you too, Buck. My time off was great, thanks for asking.”

“Come on, I'm serious. Have you heard from him?”

Eddie closed his locker door and turned to Buck. “I thought you were spending your time off with him?”

“We had a... a thing.”

“A thing?”

“A fight,” Buck clarified. “Sort of. A fight-ish.”

“A... A fight-ish? Would this fight-ish have to do with Gerrard and a certain military operation?”

Buck shrugged. “Maybe. Possibly you too.”

“Me?!” Eddie exclaimed. “Why me?”

“Listen, I got a little angry over the fact you seem to know Tommy better than I do and I may have expressed as much, okay? And yes, I mentioned the operation, and kind of forced him into explaining, which may have sent him spiraling. He said he wasn't mad, but he has a way of saying that instead of letting me apologize for things and now he won't answer me and I'm afraid he's actually mad or-”

“Breathe,” Eddie interrupted, patting Buck on the shoulder. “I haven't heard from him. Honestly, though, if he told you about Thunderbolt, he's probably not doing great right now.”

Buck flopped down onto one of the benches, his legs stretching out in front of him. “I really screwed up, Eddie.”

“I'm the king of screw ups, Man,” Eddie replied, sitting beside him. “You haven't done anything that can't be fixed. For what it's worth, he was always planning on telling you. It's just a tough one for him to talk about without spiraling.”

Buck glared over at him. “You're really not helping.”

“You've got a twelve today too, right?”

Buck nodded.

“I'll text him, see if he answers. You head over after work. It'll work out. Don't worry.”

*****

Worry was all Buck did the entire day. Especially after Eddie sent his third text and got no response. Even he thought it was strange, which made Buck worry even more.

He couldn't get to Tommy's fast enough after his shift. He hurried over, not hesitating to use his key to get inside.

“Tommy?” he called out apprehensively. “Are you here?”

He knew Tommy had to be there. His car was in the driveway and he always left his door unlocked when he went for a run, much to Buck's dismay.

He headed for the living room first, then the kitchen.

“Tommy?” he called again before heading to the bedroom.

No lights were on in the house, and the sun had nearly set, making it difficult to see. When he pushed open the cracked bedroom door, he could barely see the outline of Tommy lying in bed, covers pulled up to his neck. His blackout curtains were drawn, making the room nearly pitch black.

Buck entered the room cautiously. “Tommy, y- you awake?”

“Mmm,” he grunted. “Yeah.”

“I've been worried,” he said, toeing off his shoes before crawling onto the bed. “I tried calling and texting. Eddie did too.”

“Haven't been by my phone,” Tommy mumbled into his pillow.

Buck settled into his usual side of the bed, keeping some space between them. “Is this... Is this about our fight? I really am sorry for pushing you, Tommy.”

“Not mad,” he replied, managing to roll over and curl into Buck's side. “Told you I wasn't mad yesterday.”

“It... It's been two days, Babe.”

He rested a hand over Buck's stomach, gripping the material of his shirt. “Oh. Really?”

“Yeah.” Buck wrapped an arm around Tommy's back, letting his nails scratch up and down his spine. “I- Tommy, what's going on?”

“Tired.” He nestled his head further into Buck's waist. “Brain was thinking too much.”

“Oh.” Buck didn't know what to say. Didn't know the right words to make him feel better. He'd never seen Tommy like this before. It made him feel overwhelmed, and sad, and a little bit terrified. “You wanna talk about it?”

Tommy gripped even tighter. He was silent for a moment, breathing against Buck's body before he spoke quietly. “I killed people, Evan.”

God, Buck wanted to cry. “I- I know.”

“A whole family. Kids. I did that.”

“You didn't know, Tommy. It's not your fault.”

“That doesn't matter to them. They don't get to have a life because of me.”

Buck wanted to hold onto Tommy tighter, pull him all the way into his arms and hold him until the pain would go away.

But Tommy withdrew before Buck could even get his other arm around him. He turned back onto his other side, pulling the covers up until just his eyes and nose stuck out from under them. “I'm just tired, Hon. I'll be okay.”

*****

The next thing Tommy knew, he was being shook awake. The room was still dark, and he was pretty sure not much time had passed. “What? What time's it?”

“A little after eight,” Buck whispered, giving his shoulder another shake. ��Get up, please.”

Tommy sighed. “Why? M'tired.”

“Because you have company.”

“I do?” he asked, eyebrows furrowed. “Can you tell them to leave, Evan?”

“No. Get up.”

Tommy groaned, but forced himself to get out of bed. He took the hand Buck had held out for him, and let himself be led to the living room.

“Hey,” Eddie said from his spot on the couch. “You look like crap.”

“Eddie?” Tommy glanced back and forth between him and Buck. “What are you doing here?”

“Your boyfriend here called me and said you could use a friend.”

Buck gave Tommy's hand a squeeze to get his attention. “You're right,” he said. “I don't know the right thing to do or say to make you feel better. But I think he can.”

“Evan, I-”

Buck brought a hand to Tommy's face, brushing a thumb over his cheek. He leaned in and gave him a peck on the lips. “I love you, Tommy, okay? All of you.”

“I don't know what to say, Evan.”

“Say pizza's on the way,” Eddie interrupted. “I'm starving.”

Buck laughed, rolling his eyes as he turned back to Eddie. “Pizza is on the way. I'm gonna head out to the gym for a couple hours.”

He went to let go of Tommy's hand, but Tommy pulled him back in for a hug. “Come back after?” he asked, his mouth brushing against Buck's ear.

Buck nodded. “Of course.”

“Okay.” Tommy pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, Evan. I love you.”

Buck smiled, giving Tommy's hand a final squeeze before letting go. “See you two later. Save me a piece of pizza.”

“We'll see!” Eddie yelled out as Buck headed out the front door. He nodded at Tommy, who was still standing in the middle of the living room. “So, you ready to talk?”

Tommy only briefly hesitated before he walked over and sat on the opposite end of the couch, curling his knees up to his chest. “Yeah. Yeah, let's talk.”

[lowkeyren]

—where hope begins with you!

in which : dan heng was never one to look forward to things. that is, until you entered his life and taught him how to hope once more.

pairing : dan heng x gn!reader

wc 1.3k, so much fluff it's sickening, bro is not nonchalant™, you killed his tough guy personality here, art by @/SP0I0ppp on x. reblogs n comments r much appreciated!!! 

Dan Heng had never been one to anticipate things. Life had taught him not to —his past was filled with moments where people came and went, and life had a way of reminding him how fleeting those things could be. Though it wasn’t that he didn’t care about the future, it was just simpler to deal with what was in front of him. 

So, he stopped expecting. Learning to take each day as it came, to live by the moment, anchored only by the need to keep moving forward, away from his past. 

That was, until you came along.

The steady hum of the train is a sound familiar to Dan Heng, but lately, his mind has been occupied with thoughts that even the constant, low thrum cannot easily calm.

It’s strange how easily you came into his life, like a gentle breeze slipping through the cracks of a fortress. Even with his walls firmly in place, you never pushed his boundaries; instead, you moved around them with a gentle finesse that made him feel surprisingly at ease.

Your influence was undeniable, it awakened a sense of curiosity within him, a yearning to experience the world in ways he had long forgotten. And before he knew it, he found himself looking forward to things he never thought he would.

He looks forward to the way you say his name.

“Dan Heng—” It’s a soft murmur that rolls off your tongue like honey, lingering in the air and wrapping around him in a warm embrace. 

“Dan Heng?” It’s the look in your eyes when those syllables escape your lips, a spark that sets his heart racing in a way he can’t ignore. The slight tilt of your head makes you look impossibly tender, paired with your soft gaze —it only peels away his defenses without you ever trying.

“Dan Heng!” It’s that sound, that singular way you say his name, that fills the quiet corners of his heart he didn’t even know were waiting for you.  “Hello…?” He blinks, eyes darting back to you as you wave your hands in front of his face.

He coughs awkwardly into his fist, a feeble attempt to mask his embarrassment as he becomes acutely aware of how lost in thought he had been. A slight flush creeps onto his cheeks —oh god, he had been staring at you… without even realising it.

“Ahem, sorry about that,” he stammers, rubbing the back of his neck as he avoids your gaze. “I got a bit... distracted.” His heart races as he glances back at you, “What were you saying?”

You chuckle softly at his flustered reaction. “I was just wondering if you’d like to join me for lunch,” you say, your eyes sparkling with amusement. “I thought we could finally check out that new place March has been raving about.”

“Of course.” His reply comes out too quickly, a rush of eagerness that catches even him off guard. “Great!” your excitement evident as corners of your mouth lift into a grin,  “I can’t wait, Dan Heng! Let’s go t—”

Oh… if only you knew; there’s a part of him that comes alive every time he hears his name on your lips.

He looks forward to the quiet moments you share in his room.

You sit across from Dan Heng, leaning against the bookshelf, with the gentle glow of the overhead lights casting soft shadows across your face. He’s attuned to every subtle change in your expression, every little crease of your brow when the narrative of the book in your hands takes an unexpected turn.

(Your expression is telling a story he’s far more interested in.)

Neither of you speaks; content to simply bask in the comfort of each other's presence.The air is tranquil, punctuated only by the soft rustle of pages turning and the occasional sigh of contemplation. 

There's an undeniable intimacy in the shared silence, where nothing needs to be said for everything to be understood. Dan Heng also thinks you’re quite… mesmerising in moments like these. Perhaps there's something about the way your eyes skim the page, the way you bite your lip in anticipation, the way you turn to him with a gentle smile—

Ah… he’s staring again, and this time you’ve caught him in the act.

You catch his gaze and raise an eyebrow; your playful smirk deepens, a silent challenge lingering in the air as you maintain eye contact —and the corners of his mouth twitch as if he’s holding back a smile too.

The book resting in your lap is momentarily forgotten, the words on the page fading into oblivion. His eyes linger on you, studying every nuance of your expression, every flicker of light that dances in your gaze.

Even in silence, you manage to hold his attention effortlessly, drawing him in like a moth to a flame. 

And for now, that’s enough to fill the space with something profoundly meaningful.

He looks forward to the tomorrows you share.

“I had fun today, thank you, Dan Heng.” 

“Me too,” he stumbles out. A slight pause follows before his gaze shifts to avoid yours. “I mean, I had fun too.”

For a brief moment, he wonders if you can hear how fast his heart is beating, how it stumbles, quickens —each beat louder than the last. The pulse of it seems to echo in the space between you, an unspoken language you’ve become quite fluent in.

Just then, you lean forward slightly, placing your elbow on the table as you rest your chin on your hand. “You know,” you say, your tone laced with a teasing lilt, “If you keep getting all flustered like this, I might just think you’re really into me.”

His breath catches in his throat, and his cheeks flare with a heat that rivals the sun.

Your laughter dances in the air, and it sends a jolt of exhilaration through him. “Relax! I’m just ki—” 

“No.”

His pulse quickens, and he can’t help but fidget in his seat. “You’re right. I’m into you.” His chest tightens as your eyes meet; for once, you’re the one blushing, a rosy hue creeping up your cheeks as surprise flickers across your face. 

You blink, momentarily taken aback. “You… mean that?”

He swallows hard, “I do, I really like you, [name].”

You’re barely trying to contain the smile spreading across your lips. “I’m glad you said it,” you continue, your voice softening. “Because I really like you too, Dan Heng.”

His heart soars, and a breath he didn’t realise he was holding escapes his lips in a rush. “How can I not when you’re so cute?” You reach out to pinch his cheeks, and surprisingly, he lets you have your way. 

“I’m not cute,” he mumbles, but his voice lacks conviction, and the way you’re looking at him makes it impossible to stay composed.

You chuckle softly, as you let go of his face. “Anyway, it’s getting late,” you continue, glancing at the clock nearby. “Let’s talk more about this tomorrow?”

“Yeah, sounds good.”

He tells himself he's looking forward to tomorrow, but maybe, it's really just the promise in your words he's waiting for.

“See you tomorrow, then!” You call out as you make your way to the door. He watches you leave, the gentle sound of your footsteps echoing softly before fading into the distance. Once the door clicks shut behind you, Dan Heng glances at the clock again, counting the minutes until he can see you once more.

With a soft sigh, he leans back in his chair, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “See you tomorrow,” he whispers to the empty room.

And for the first time in ages, he allows himself to hope again.

chronic yapper disease

MASTERLIST.

[sokuroo]

𓆩♡𓆪 kuroo tetsurou x gender-neutral!reader — domestic fluff, established relationship!au; 0.59k.

[lover.] it’s with a sheepish smile and a hand tucked inside his pocket that kuroo tetsurou places the ring on the counter.

it’s a thin band of pale rose-gold. mock ivy, cut painfully carefully, curls around the frame—a startling likeness to the branch of ivy that creeps up the walls of his childhood home, out in the garden. the vines come to rest around a bright diamond. he had got it made three months ago, back when the idea of settling in and living life with you forever became more of a concrete structure and not a mere wooden foundation. 

it’s a beautiful ring—and that’s why kuroo can’t fault the jeweller for looking at him like he’s probably insane. 

“sir?” the store owner asks as placidly as possible. “may i know the reason for returning the ring?”

“it’s still within the warranty period, right?” kuroo shifts from one foot to the other, still sporting that same sheepish smile. 

“yes, yes, of course, but—” there’s a twitch to the jeweller’s eye that wasn’t there before— “was the ring not… satisfactory enough? did you face any problems? was it not cut to the correct size?”

“oh. um. no—not that i can tell,” he says mildly. “the ring’s pretty much perfect.”

he lifts his head up when he hears the sound of laughter ringing outside the glass windows of the jeweller’s shop. it’s a familiar tone, but if kuroo could hear it over and over again on loop, he would. what a sap, you’d say if he told you, and then you’d pull him down for a kiss, laughing against his lips. the thought makes him smile.

“—issues with the warranty. sir?” 

kuroo looks back at the owner, sheepish smile replaced by a more fond one. “sorry, i zoned out. could you please repeat what you said?”

“i was asking about keeping the ring for future purposes. it would cause no issues with the warranty.”

he tilts his head. “i’m sorry? what do you mean by future purposes?”

“did your partner not agree to marry you? isn’t that why you’re returning the ring, sir?” 

a flush creeps up kuroo’s neck. oh. so that’s what it must have looked like. he must appear like a heartbroken lover, if the pitying glance thrown towards him is any indication. the thought makes him chuckle.

sensing his lack of tact, the jeweller quickly backtracks. “ah… i’m sorry. that was rude of me. i just meant—”

“please, don’t worry about it,” kuroo waves him off. “i guess it does look like i’ve been rejected, huh?”

he drums his fingers on the countertop before leaning closer, giving the owner an impish wink. 

“wanna know the secret?” he whispers, and then pulls his free hand from his pocket. a silver band glints on his third finger, sitting snugly just above his knuckle. 

kuroo gestures to you from inside the shop. the jeweller follows his gaze. though your laugh cannot be heard through the transparent walls, the joy is clear on your face. you tip your head back ever-so slightly, nodding your head at what the local neighbourhood auntie says—she often sends over side dishes she’s prepared, and won’t take no for an answer; your fridge is always stocked thanks to her. you turn your head just then, and meet kuroo’s eyes—and if possible, your eyes light up just that little bit more, your smile widens by that tiny fraction, your posture straightens up by that small amount.

kuroo grins at you. he looks back at the jeweller. 

“the secret is,” he says, “someone proposed to me before i could.”

[novaursa]

req for an aegon ii x reader who has a similar role of margaery tyrell? (love-bombing him so they can be betrothed and stuff)

she very easily manipulates aegon and basically uses his mommy issues to get whtv she wants (obviously bothers alicent to no end).

Web of Gold

Requests are closed!

- Summary: Alicent could only watch as you played with her son like a lioness does with her food.

- Paring: lannister!reader/Aegon II Targaryen

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

It’s a beautiful morning, yet the tension between you and Alicent Hightower crackles like a summer storm. You can feel her eyes boring into you from across the room, but you’ve become quite accustomed to her watchful glares. If anything, you thrive on them.

You smile sweetly, dipping your head toward Aegon as he lounges on the Iron Throne, looking far more relaxed than any king should. He’s watching you with that same eager gleam in his eyes, waiting for whatever praise you’ll offer him next. It’s become a game for you at this point—how much can you say before he completely melts? And it’s easier than it should be.

"My king," you say softly, stepping closer, your golden Lannister curls bouncing as you move. "You look especially regal today. Like Aegon the Conqueror himself reborn. Do you know what I see when I look at you?"

Aegon straightens slightly, his eyes widening with interest. "What?" His tone is eager, as though whatever you say might be the single most important revelation of his life.

"I see a man destined for greatness. Aegon, you are so strong, so powerful, and—" you let your voice drop into a breathy whisper, "so very wise." You emphasize each word, drawing out your compliments in a way that sends a flush of pride creeping up his neck.

Aegon shifts in his seat, looking thoroughly pleased with himself. "Do you really think so, Y/N?" he asks, his voice almost boyish, seeking that reassurance from you.

"Of course I do, darling. And I would never lie to you." You reach out, letting your fingers brush against his hand in a gentle, lingering touch, just enough to make his breath hitch. "Unlike others who may have their own agendas…" You throw a quick glance toward where Alicent stands, her expression tight, lips pressed thin. The corner of your mouth twitches into a hidden smirk.

Aegon doesn’t notice. He’s too busy basking in the attention you're lavishing on him. "Mother just worries," he mumbles, though even he seems half-hearted about it.

"Worries?" You tilt your head, feigning innocence. "I think she underestimates you, my love. You’ve already proven yourself to be a far better ruler than anyone could have imagined. I can’t imagine why she continues to hover over you like you’re still a boy."

You know exactly why. Alicent cannot stand the idea of you influencing her son. It grates on her to see Aegon so smitten, so easily swayed by your honeyed words. But that’s precisely what you’re counting on.

Aegon chuckles, clearly amused. "She just doesn’t understand, does she?"

"She doesn’t," you agree, leaning in closer so your voice is only for him. "But I do." You place your hand on his chest, right over his heart. "I see you for the man you are, Aegon. A man who doesn’t need his mother whispering in his ear, telling him what to do. You’re king now. You should be able to make your own decisions. Isn’t that what you want?"

Aegon’s eyes flicker with something—desire, admiration, a need for validation. "Yes," he says, his voice firm, though you know it’s more out of wanting to please you than actual conviction. "That is what I want."

You smile, letting your fingers trail lightly down his chest before stepping back, your eyes sparkling with the satisfaction of a job well done. "Then take what’s yours, my king. Trust yourself. Trust me." You cast another glance toward Alicent, who looks like she’s about to bite through her tongue.

She’s always there, lurking like a shadow, trying to pull Aegon back into her grasp. But he slips through her fingers every time you’re around. Alicent has power, but you? You have Aegon. And he doesn’t even realize it.

You turn to face the queen mother, giving her a radiant smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. "Your Grace, you must be so proud of Aegon," you say, your voice saccharine sweet, as though you’re not fully aware of the tension between you. "He’s grown into such a strong man under your care."

Alicent stiffens, her lips twitching in a forced smile. "He has always been capable," she says, her tone clipped. "Though I think he still benefits from wise counsel."

You tilt your head, pretending to consider her words, though you already know exactly how to respond. "Of course," you agree, "but I think he’s ready to make his own choices now. Don’t you?" You let the question hang in the air, a gentle reminder that Aegon is your king now, not hers.

Alicent opens her mouth to reply, but Aegon cuts in before she can get a word out. "Mother, Y/N’s right. I don’t need to be told what to do all the time." He laughs, clearly proud of himself for standing up to her, oblivious to the fact that he’s only echoing your words.

You beam at him, eyes sparkling. "Exactly, my love. You are your own man. And no one, not even your mother, can take that from you."

Alicent’s gaze narrows, and for a moment, you think she might say something sharp, but she bites her tongue. You know it’s eating her alive inside, watching Aegon slip further under your influence, but she can’t do anything about it. Not without making herself look overbearing in front of her son.

"Come, Aegon," you say lightly, turning back to him. "Let’s take a walk in the gardens. You could use some fresh air after sitting on that throne for so long."

Aegon rises eagerly, flashing you that boyish grin that only makes him seem more malleable. "Yes, let’s."

As you link your arm through his and lead him out of the hall, you don’t bother to look back at Alicent. You can already feel the weight of her stare burning into your back. You have Aegon wrapped around your finger, and she knows it.

But as long as you continue to feed his need for affection, for someone to praise him and treat him like the king he so desperately wants to believe he is, he will never stray far from your side. And Alicent can do nothing but watch.

[sturnioz]

hello can you tell me anything about shy!matt

☆ the most popular and well-known one, he cannot hold eye contact with you when you're going down on him, when hes going down on you or when you're having sex — he wants to, but he will cum too quick or become a mess.

☆ gets flustered and shy over the smallest of things — lingering touches ? his worst enemy. you're touching him to get his attention or just with pure innocent intent, he's getting hard immediately.

☆ he's so respectful !!!! you know that tiktok trend where couples would post videos of them asking their partner to leave the room so the other can get changed ? yeah, matts leaving the room without asking questions. straight up gone before you can even finish the asking.

☆ gives compliments all the time even if he's quiet with them — bought something new ? it looks so good. did something new with your hair or make up ? it looks so pretty.

☆ despite being known as shy!matt, he can be protective — you're out in a public setting with a lot of people ? he's keeping you behind him with his hand gripping yours tight. he has his arm around your waist or your shoulders keeping you close so he doesn't lose you in crowds even if it worries him too. you keep each other safe and grounded.

[destinyisastar]

Lost in your Love pt 4

Read Part: 1 2 3

Summary: After the day's events Alastor decides to go visit his beloved friend to see if she has any answers.

Vox x Reader, (Alastor x Reader)

◈◆◈◆◈◆◈◆◈ ◈◆◈◆◈◆◈◆◈

Alastor runs his hands over the panel, fiddling with the switches, his head pulsing. He needs time to think, needs his questions answered. Anyone will do! Of all the thoughts to pass through his mind an idea is finally presented in his head.

Rosie!

Why hadn’t he thought of that before?!

With smile on his face Alastor makes his way to the wonderful cannibal town.

The emporium is full as always, the line is out the door, children sinners press their faces on the windows drooling, the women gossip while eating pinky fingers, men are chatting about nothing too interesting.

There among the crowd of people hovering over her was the delightful Rosie.

Alastor made his presence known by letting out a few static sounds.

Roise perks up her head, “Alastor? Oh, Alastor is that you?! My, my where have you been?!” Rosie stands up from her seat making her way over to him, arms ready to hug him. “Have you been eating?! You’re looking more flimsy than usual dear!” she giggles.

“I’m doing just fine my friend! I’ve just been busy with a new project!”

“Why that’s good to hear! Come sit, sit I’m sure you have much to discuss!” She brings him over to a table.

“I’m afraid I won’t be able to stay to long, I just have some questions, and I was wondering if you may be able to answer them.”

“I’ll doing anything I can my friend!” She sits in her chair, sipping her teacup.

Alastor takes a breath while he sits down, “Have you heard from my wife lately?”

Rosie spits out her tea, she begins to cough rapidly, punching her chest, “I’m sorry, but what do you mean your wife?”

“Yes, my wife, Y/n, have you spoken to her?”

“Wife? Y/n?” Rosie looks confused.

“Rosie, please do not play any games with me, I’ve brought Y/n to your emporium many times, you two always swapped books.”

“I know a Y/n, but that Y/n isn’t your wife, why I believe I would be the first to know if you had a wife!”

“Then who’s the Y/n you know?”

“Vox’s wife of course!”

Everything is still.

Still and silent.

Rosie is still talking, but Alastor hears nothing. His hands begin to claw the table. His eyes begin to turn into dials.

“Alastor?”

Vox.

Y/n.

Y/n is Vox’s wife.

Vox is Y/n’s husband.

“Alastor!!”

Alastor jolts up, “I’m sorry my dear, I’m just a bit surprised, that Y/n is married to vox...” He grits his teeth.

“Of course they’re married! They were married in life, might as well be married in hell! Oh, and they’re so cute together, you can definitely tell that Vox loves her.”

He feels like his teeth are about to break with how much he’s smiling.

Married in life?

Alastor and Y/n WERE married in life. Not Vox and Y/n.

“My dear Rosie, Y/n simply cannot be his wife… you know most of all that she is my wife.”

Rosie tilts her head, “No, she couldn’t be your wife, I would remember an such an important detail! Alastor... did you have a bit of crush on Y/n? Its understandable but you can’t go after a married woman! That wouldn’t be very gentlemanly!”

Alastor runs a hand through his hair, slightly pulling it.

He knew that Vox had feelings for his wife, he just never thought he’d have the guts to take her from him.

But that doesn’t explain why Roise doesn’t remember Y/n being his wife.

“Thank you for answering my questions my dear! Unfortunately, I must be going now!”

“Oh, Alastor I’m sorry if that wasn’t what you wanted to hear! I’m sure you’ll find someone someday!” She yells out to him as Alastor leaves the emporium.

Just what in the hell is going on?

◈◆◈◆◈◆◈◆◈ ◈◆◈◆◈◆◈◆◈

In your bed you lay awake thinking of the day’s events. The Radio Demon held your hand so gently. Why? Why would the demon look at you with such care? He must be scheming. Your eyes grow tired, and you feel yourself being pulled into a dream.

 A sweet tune of jazz is playing as you dance with your husband, your eyes are shut placing your head on his chest. He’s swaying you slowly as the tune comes to an end.

“I love you dearest.”

You raise your head to meet his gaze.

“I love you too Alastor.”

You immediately awaken.  You sit up in your bed, you raise your hand to your face, breathing heavily, feeling sweaty.

Alastor.

Why were you thinking of Alastor so lovingly? He’s not your husband.

You place your hand to the other side of the bed to find Vox still sleeping. You reach your hand closer to his screen, gently caressing his face. This man….is your husband.

Yes… that’s right.

Vox is your husband.

That Radio Demon must have put those ideas into your head. Holding you so lovingly, tenderly. It was just a dream… did you want to have those feelings for him? No, of course not. You loved your husband.

But the dream…. it felt so right.

◈◆◈◆◈◆◈◆◈ ◈◆◈◆◈◆◈◆◈

destinyisastar 2024

Hi everyone!! Uni has been kicking my butt but I'm getting through it, (I just procrastinate a lot, I'm working on it) Also some exciting news Alastor's pilot VA is coming to my local convention, and I might meet him!

Stay tuned for part 5!

wordcount: 855

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[kimberbohwrites]

Can I request a drabble where Rolan overheard that gn Tav genuinely thought Rolan still hates them but just learnt to tolerate them? When in reality, he's been in denial about his crush on them for the longest time but accepted it recently 🤣

First of all— I am sorry that this took so long for me to get to. I rarely find time for asks and it took me awhile to get to this one— some of these I just needed more practice for tbh. I am striving to be better, however I am incredibly busy at work so I cannot promise you I always will be. Instead I promise you that I will always try to make your ask worth the wait.

Words Yet Unsaid

Rolan x Reader, SFW, only lightly edited

Word Count: 1214

Tags: Misunderstandings, fluff, and love confessions

Rolan sits down in front of you with a huff. There is a flush about his face that is so… him. The color on his cheeks paints a starker backdrop for the freckles that dot his face. Despite your so-called nerves of steel you cannot help but quickly glance away from the sight as your heart began to race in your chest.

The silence stretches and you look back across to find him nervously studying the wood grain of the table between you.

Sensing your gaze, he straightens up and clears his throat. He smoothes the simple but well-made dark blue tunic he’d worn with the tight leather breeches you could not help but notice as he’d joined you.

The color he’d chosen suited him well. Distracting you almost as much as the way his bottom and thighs had looked, no longer hidden behind the wizard robes. This was the first time you had ever seen him in at the tavern in casual clothes — sharp as these were.

The Elfsong Tavern was usually a good place to identify oneself as a great and powerful archwizard. But instead, he’d chosen to dress up and blend in with you. But why?

You tried not to let the racing of your heart, and the flush of your cheeks hide you from the cold truth that Rolan had never liked you. You were certain that this meeting he had arranged through Lia, was some sort of attempt at arbitration of your longstanding feud for the sake of his siblings.

Truth be told you had never wanted to fight with Rolan. It just happened every time you two had interacted since the very first time you’d crossed paths in the Druid’s Grove. That ire had only grown through the experiences that followed in the Shadow Cursed Lands and even when you’d slain his corrupt master and ended his apprenticeship abruptly.

So much pressure had instantly been thrust upon him, becoming master of the tower and archwizard of Baldur’s Gate so suddenly. Of course he’d be frustrated further by you.

Despite your best attempts to avoid him, your friendship with his siblings had caused you to repeatedly cross paths. It had been months now since the restoration of the city was considered complete, after you had ended the crisis. You’d attempted to returned to a normal life.

It was simple and gratifying, but something was missing.

“Thank you for joining me here this evening, you look lovely”

His tone cut through your thoughts; it sounded warm but a quick glance to his face revealed that warmth didn’t reach past his words. He looked… uncomfortable. Like your presence somehow pained him.

Tears sting in your eyes as you clear your throat and quickly stand.

“This was a bad idea.”

He opens his mouth, and his hand moves across the table like he’s reaching for you. Before he can form a word you continue.

“I’m sorry for wasting your time, I can tell this isn’t something you want to be doing”

You turn quickly to leave before he can say anything and before the tears you feel welling up are too much to hide. Your stride is quick and sure across the familiar boards of the tavern and out on to the streets that raised you.

The cool night air of the city was an immediate balm for the panic that had caused you to flee the tavern. All you needed to do was avoid Rolan for the rest of your life now, great.

You groan as you continued down the dark and empty streets. All of this weighs heavy on you but it becomes unbearable when the low roofs of the houses and shops fall away. As the street spills out into the open area which reveals Sorceress Sundries and the large structure which you knew was the point of travel for Ramazith Tower — the massive and beautiful wizard tower Rolan now called home.

It is as if the weight of the massive structure itself is on you now and you are stopped in your tracks. It’s then you hear your name called and the sound of someone running after you in the dark.

“Tav, wait! Please!”

You turn quickly to see Rolan sprint after you, still somehow looking perfect in his nice clothes despite the struggle of catching up to you. You glower momentarily at the thought that he will apparently always be gorgeous. Typical.

He catches up to you, huffing and puffing as his tail lashes out to steady him while he catches his breath.

“Why would you run after me?” You say with a whisper and you take a step closer to him, unsure if you’re needed to render aid for the struggling man.

“I… I’m sorry… I don’t hate… you… Tav….” He puffs out the words as he catches his breath.

Your blood runs cold at the words. It’s like you can feel the night breeze itself move through you.

“Rolan…”

You don’t know how to continue, and it gives him the opportunity to catch his breath and explain himself further.

“I’m sorry I shouldn’t have tried something so public to talk, Lia warned me, she didn’t say you’d run but…”

He sensed he was rambling and shook his head as if to clear it and start over. Your breath caught when his jaw tensed, the perfect bone structure always so eye catching, so hard to resist.

“I needed to tell you Tav, I don’t hate you. I… I overhead you talking to Cal and Lia about why you keep your distance when they invite you for dinner. I.. I should have apologized better — after all we had gone through—“

“We should have found time to talk…” You add

He takes a step closer to you, as if drawn to you and this time you don’t run.

“Why… Why would you run after me Rolan?” You ask

“Tav…”

“Why do you even care now?”

You can’t help it. The tears that had threatened you earlier, now spill down your cheeks as you pepper Rolan with questions.

He closes the distance to you quickly, his hands on your cheeks. You barely register the softness of the pads of his thumbs as they brush the tears away from your cheeks before you are swept away by the feeling of his lips, crashing into yours.

Your breath catches in your throat. You can’t help but moan into the kiss as his body presses firmly to yours.

He breaks the kiss and presses his forehead to yours and you feel his tail coil around your thigh. Keeping you flush with him as he speaks.

“Because, Tav… I love you. I think I have always…” He gasped as if the realization fully dawned on him as he spoke, “I think I have always loved you.”

You kiss him now, no words on your tongue could be sweeter than to feel his lips against yours once more.

There would be time for words but for right now you wanted to keep kissing the wizard and so you do.

Under the open skies and the stars that shine each night over the city of Baldur’s Gate, wrapped in the strong arms of the man you loved, you kissed him with all the passion of the words in your heart yet unsaid.