#You know - the rational anger response

[completeoveranalysis]

[6]

Is… Is that allowed?

Can he just do that?

Sakura: :O

Not!Sakura: :O

Syaoran: :O

Lava Lamp Guy: :O

Me: :O

Where is Shocked Kid this would be his moment to shine. 

But yeah it looks like Bedraggled Evil Wolverine still has the power to just instantly No any attacks that Fai and Kurogane throw at him. 

Which is terribly inconvenient and kind of annoying but we’ll see what happens next.

OH I LOVE THIS. Fai and Kurogane just completely wrecked but still getting up to fight some more. They’re openly bleeding from who knows how many wounds but they are FURIOUS and they won’t let this happen. 

I also really like how Fai is perched on one of the broken shards of reality that's floating around? I just think it’s neat!

Meanwhile the Sakuras and Syaorans watch on in horror from within the Jam Jar - which, is also really funny to me. I didn’t think they’d be able to see out of the Jam Jar - I thought it was its own separate mini-dimension or something. But no, they’re in there! They’re tiny but they’re watching! 

[witchslove]

Reader and Wanda being fuck buddies for months, but have a rule where they don't kiss or cuddle in order to make sure they don't catch feelings. Spoiler alert, they do. After one encounter where one of them gets jealous. They started having sex that begins with them being feral and eventually rolls into love making where they confess their feelings for one another. Followed by a long overdue cuddle session.

I love this idea, I love the “strictly friends with benefits” to catching feelings pipeline, definitely one of my fave tropes.

You and Wanda are regularly sleeping together, but that’s all it is. The two of you agreed on three rules before you started - no kissing, no cuddling, and no catching feelings for each other.

It isn’t until Vision openly flirts with Wanda in front of you that you realize you’ve already broken the most important rule. For a while now, you’ve been pushing down your feelings for the brunette, telling yourself that the sex is just really good and it’s nothing more than that.

Ever since the feelings started, you’ve been able to convince yourself that you don’t actually need anything more than what the arrangement provides. You’ve done your best to ignore the urge to kiss her when you’re deep inside of her, and the desire to hold her after you’ve made her cum.

You haven’t broken any rules.

Until now.

When you overheard Vision telling Wanda she’s beautiful and offering to help her cook, you can’t help but feel jealous. When he stands beside her in the kitchen, reaching his arm around her to grab something, his fingers brushing against hers in the process, you know you can’t ignore your feelings any longer.

You scold yourself for wanting to be in his place, for wanting the one person in the world you can’t have. As much as you wish you could continue denying your feelings, as much as you wish you could ignore the burning in your heart, you can’t.

The jealousy wins over any rational thought in your mind, and when you see Wanda making her way back to her room alone, you corner her.

“What was that about?” You ask, getting straight to the point.

“What was what-” Wanda begins to ask, before you interrupt her.

“You and Vision seem close,” you say sharply, your voice laced with jealousy that you hope she doesn’t pick up on, but you’re also too far gone to care.

“So?” She replies nonchalantly, raising an eyebrow at you as she reaches the door to her room. Her apathetic response only fuels the fire within you and she notices the hardened expression on your face, the anger behind your dilated pupils. The desire in your eyes whenever you look at her, the same desire she sees now, never fails to get her worked up, but she pushes that aside to remind you of the rules.

“Vision and I are just friends, not that it matters though. It’s not like you and I are together, remember?” She says harshly, crossing her arms.

“I remember,” you respond, clenching your jaw. “It’s just sex, right?”

While she usually takes on a more dominant role when she’s with you, Wanda can’t help but feel intimidated under your intense gaze as she nods in response.

“So let me fuck you then,” you say decidedly, your eyes still locked on hers.

Wanda’s slightly taken aback; she’s never seen you be so assertive with her, but she can’t deny that it turns her on. Without another word, she opens the door to her room and pulls you in with her, immediately letting you to pin her against it once you’re inside.

You don’t waste any time, hastily removing her shirt and bra before taking one of her nipples into your mouth. Wanda moans softly at the contact, her hands finding the back of your head to guide your movements.

You lick and suck at the hardened bud as your other hand comes up to palm at her neglected breast, working her up expertly the way only you can.

When Wanda bucks her hips in search of friction, you pick her up and carry her to the bed, laying her down against the sheets you’ve become so familiar with and crawling on top of her. You look down at her for a moment, soaking in the sight of her beneath you, panting with arousal. She looks so beautiful laid out for you, lips parted and green eyes practically begging you to fuck her.

Before you can get lost in your feelings, your hands find their way under her skirt, fingertips grazing the front of her panties. You smirk when you can feel how soaked she is through the fabric, knowing only you can make her this wet.

For a second, the thought of Vision being the cause of her arousal flashes through your mind and reignites your jealousy.

You quickly shake the thought from your mind and yank her panties down her legs, pulling at the fabric almost desperately. You bring a hand up to cup her dripping pussy, this time with no barriers between you.

She moans when you slide two fingers inside of her, her walls clenching around your digits as you start fucking them into her. Your pace isn't soft or slow, you're far too desperate to see her cum for you, to claim her in the only way you can.

“Fuck, so good,” Wanda moans, her head thrown back against the pillow as you watch, getting off on the sight of her in the throes of pleasure. You curl your fingers and she whimpers, growing wetter under your touch. Your thumb finds its way to her clit, rubbing the swollen bud and making her arch her back with a groan.

"I'm close," Wanda says breathily in between moans, her hips meeting your thrusts almost as desperately as your fingers move inside of her.

"You wanna cum for me?" You ask, already knowing the answer.

"Yes, please," Wanda begs, her nails digging into your back as she nears her peak.

"Say you're mine," you demand without thinking straight, your eyes locked on her face, anticipating her reaction to your words. "Say you're mine and you can cum."

"Fuck," Wanda gasps, her pussy tightening around your fingers. You smirk at how her body responded to your request. "I'm yours," she breathes out, her arms wrapped around you pulling you in closer. "I'm yours, please."

"Cum for me." With that, the tight coil within Wanda snaps and she bucks her hips up sharply, a guttural moan leaving her lips as she falls apart for you. Her eyebrows are furrowed, her mouth hung open in pleasure as heavenly sounds escape her, and you can feel her walls spasming around you as she rides out her intense orgasm.

Seeing Wanda cum is one of your favorite things in the world, the way she looks when she gets off, the sounds she makes as pleasure racks her body, the way she practically rides your fingers even from underneath you. You briefly think that you could never tire of making this woman fall apart for you, that you could do it for the rest of your life and never want to miss a second of it.

In that moment, you can't help yourself. You lean down to capture her lips with your own, kissing her as she moans into your mouth. What really surprises you is how she kisses you back, her lips moving against yours tenderly, making your head spin.

Kissing Wanda is everything you imagined and more. It feels so right, you almost forget how wrong it is. The rules of your arrangement are the last thing on your mind as she hums into your mouth, bringing a hand up to cup your cheek as she kisses you. You pull away first, not wanting to take more than she's willing to give, despite feeling like you already have.

When she finally comes down from reaching her peak, she opens her eyes, looking up at you with darkened eyes and a lazy smirk on her face. It turns you on even more, the smugness in her expression, and you feel yourself blushing, fighting the urge to look away.

"That was something," she says teasingly and you groan, feeling slightly ashamed at how caught up in the moment you were.

"Don't flatter yourself," you mumble, trying to save face.

As if she can sense your embarrassment, Wanda gives you an out. "You just wanted to feel like you were in control, huh?" She coos, fake pouting as she brushes a strand of hair out of your face. "How cute."

You want nothing more than to shut her up with your lips on hers again, but you hold back, not wanting to break the rules beyond what's already been done.

You pin her wrists above her head in an attempt to regain some kind of control over the situation. There's a flash of something in Wanda's eyes, something unreadable, and before you can determine what it is, she's flipping you over onto your back.

"Uh uh. You've had your fun, it's my turn," she says, straddling your waist, and you can't help but look her over when she's giving you such a delicious view of her naked body in your lap. "You want to be good for me, baby?"

You nod, feeling almost pathetic at how easy it is for her to take back control over you. She moves up your body so her pussy is inches from your face. "Then open your mouth detka," she orders, so close you can smell her arousal, and it drives you crazy. "Make me feel good with that pretty mouth of yours."

You don't need to be told twice, pulling her hips down to meet your mouth, licking a stripe up her pussy before latching onto her clit. You eat her out like a woman starved and you don't stop until she's cum so many times she can't take any more.

When she collapses beside you in the bed, she falls into your hold and you wrap your arm around her without a second thought, keeping her close as she catches her breath. She's too tired to tell you to move away, to leave her room like you usually do when you're done fucking her silly.

You're both aware that you're breaking another rule, but it feels so good, so comforting and warm, that neither of you can find it in you to care. Within minutes, Wanda falls asleep in your arms, and you cherish the feeling of her pressed up against you so intimately, knowing that you may never get this opportunity again.

The next morning, you wake up first, making sure to leave before she stirs and finds you still in her bed. You pull the blankets over her sleeping form, taking a moment to admire her before you reluctantly exit the room.

The sex changes after that; you start staying over more, holding her close after fucking her for hours, kissing her lips to muffle her moans and shut her up when she's teasing you with her smart mouth. You're always gone before she wakes up, scared of how she might act once her high has worn off, worried that once the moment is over, she'll tell you to leave or somehow make you feel bad about breaking the rules.

But she never does bring up the rules, nor does she ever stop you from breaking them. If anything, she kisses you back just as passionately each time and presses her body back against you in the bed as if she's trying to get impossibly closer to you. She tells you she's yours when she's about to cum and she smiles when you whisper "that's right, you're mine" into her hair as you bring her pleasure.

Vision continues to flirt with Wanda and your jealousy doesn't waiver. It isn't until he asks her out on a date that you finally confess your feelings for the brunette, telling her everything you've been holding inside for so long.

You find out from Steve that Vision asked Wanda out and your heart sinks, all you can think is that you hope she said no. You get up from the couch without another word, making your way to Wanda's room, emotions high and clouding any judgment.

You knock on the door and when she opens it, you don't give her any time to greet you first. "Don't go on that date," you blurt out, looking her in the eyes as you speak.

"What are you-" she starts, but you cut her off.

"I heard about Vision. He asked you out right?"

"Yeah, but-"

"Don't go out with him," you interrupt again, searching her face for any indication that she might've said yes to the date.

"Why not?" She asks, but something tells you she already knows the reason.

"Because I..." you trail off, working up the courage to tell her the truth. "Because it's me you should be going out with instead, not him," you say quietly, as if you're ashamed of the words coming out of your mouth, as if you feel bad for feeling the way you do for the woman in front of you.

When she doesn't respond, you elaborate. "I like you Wanda, and I'm sorry for breaking the most important rule but it's not like we haven't broken all the others already. I can't help how I feel about you, but if I'm not reading things wrong, I think you like me too," you rush out, holding your breath as you wait for her to say something back.

A soft smile graces her features. "You're not reading things wrong," she says simply, and that's all you need.

You smile before breaking the distance between you, your lips meeting hers in a passionate embrace, pouring all of your feelings into the kiss. You manage to close the door behind you without separating from her and pin her against it, swallowing the whimper she lets out at the feeling of being pushed back against the hard surface.

That night, you don't fuck her.

When you carry her to the bed, you touch her intimately, you bring her pleasure, you make her come undone for you, but it isn’t just sex anymore. You make love to her, no longer hiding your feelings, no longer wondering if she feels the same way.

And the next morning, when you wake up in Wanda’s bed with her curled up against you, you don’t leave.

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Autumn (Cregan Stark x Reader)

Summary: As a Princess, you aren’t used to rejection. But Cregan, your husband, has vowed to only ever love one woman, and it isn't you. Right?

Warnings: Unreliable narrator!!!! Mature language. Descriptions of grief.

A/N: I was not expecting the response my silly little idea has gotten. I am very thankful for all of you who decide to read it, and would love to hear what you think of this chapter. Series masterlist here.

YOU CRUMPLE THE letter in your fist, hearing the parchment wrinkle with a satisfying sound. Then, you throw it into the flames, watching as the fire grows slightly bigger, and the ball uncurls, alight for a second, before it is fully consumed.

It doesn’t soothe you as you thought it would. The odious parchment offering you an honor guard from your future husband might be gone, but you still have to journey North before a moon since Luke’s funeral has passed.

At the thought of your brother, a sharp, stabbing pain, manifests in your chest. You choke down a sob. You had not realized you had started to measure time like this. Before and After Luke’s death, as people did with Before and After the Conquest.

Your grief only serves to fuel your rage, though. How could he? How could he demand you be wed when you were still in mourning? When you were still thinking of your sweet brother, not of keeps, and lords, and men?

“You dare!” You screech, barging inside Jacaerys’ rooms. Whatever he is doing, hunched over his desk, is interrupted. “You cannot do this to me! Mother will not allow it.”

Jace sets down his quill. He turns to look at you, his expression calm. You would think him indifferent, were it not for the fact that there is the slightest furrow of his brows.

“We need men.” He states, simply, and when you are about to interrupt him to say there are many more in the realm, he keeps speaking. “We need his men. The North is the largest kingdom, you know this as well as I. And when a Stark calls the banners, they are the only ones who respond in full.”

Your hands ball into fists. You hate that he is acting so composed, so rational. After Luke died, you felt like a chained dragon, roaring your grief and wishing to be freed to set ablaze those that had wronged you. Once, you had been as gracious as him and mother, composed even in the height of emotion. But grief has made you into live lighting, ready to strike at the slightest provocation.

Your emotions are out of control. You know this. You get angered at the barest hint of an insult, you cry as easily as a newborn babe. Knowing it doesn’t stop you from lashing out, though. It only makes you regret it later.

“Our mother promised I was to have my pick of suitors, not that I would be sold like a cow!” You point an accusing finger to his chest. Jace sighs and gets up, surrounding the desk.

“I understand you are upset.” He tries offering you a hug, but you jerk away. His face hardens slightly. “But this is war.”

As if you do not know. As if you haven’t lost a sibling, too. Your face crumbles, and Jace calls your name, but hearing his voice, how similar Luke and him sound, only makes you cry harder.

“Hey, hey, it’s not so bad.” He hugs you, pressing your face against his doublet. The material is soft against your skin, and you feel tempted to let go of your rage against him and sink into his arms. Jace is barely a man, too, just as you are barely a woman. He is doing as best as he can, spread too thin by the weight of responsibility that comes with being heir. “Cregan is a good man. I got to know him during the time…”

Yes, he was doing as best as he could. But it hadn’t been his own hand that he had bartered away, had it? The insidious voice in your head asks. It isn’t him who is making a sacrifice. And such a hollow one. He claims to need men, but he won’t be getting even the full northern army.

“You sold me for a few Greybeards! Not even a proper army! Good Gods, you are a fool.” You cry out.

“Lord Stark assures me…” Jace starts, with the tone of someone who has already had this same argument. Were you thinking clearly, you would pause and realize why. Instead...

“He has put a wife in the grave already.” It is the only thing you know about him. Not much is whispered about Cregan Stark, at least, nothing concerning. You would remember it. The only thing that you know, though, is that he is a Stark and his wife is dead.

“You make it sound as if he killed her himself with his bare hands.” Jace scoffs. “I assure you, he dearly loved Arra Norrey and would have never harmed her. You know the dangers of childbirth. Perhaps even better than I.”

Perfect. He hadn’t killed the damn woman, he was just still in love with her. By the Seven, Jace was a fool. You hated being second in anything. Here, at home, you were already second to Jace, and you resented it. Being a twin meant having to share everything, including the love of those around you.

When you married, you had hoped to be the only woman in your husband’s life, not to be compared to a ghost. You had seen exactly how that went. King Viserys had never forgotten his first wife, calling for her years after her death, even as Alicent was the one to nurse him during his illness.

“He is still a widower.” You repeat, stubbornly.

Jace pinches the bride of his nose, before letting out a deep exhale. His next words are spoken extremely slowly, as if talking to a child. It makes you bristle.

“You said you were afraid of childbirth, and he already has an heir. There is no better solution.”

It would be thoughtful, were it not for the fact that:

“His first wife died in childbirth!”

As Jace prepares a scathing comeback, face scrunched up in mirrored displeasure to your own, the voice of your mother startles you both.

“What is going on here?” She asks, mouth pursed in an expression identical to Jace. The Queen looks as regal as ever, and it only serves to make you feel a tad embarrassed. With wild hair and eyes, face flushed from rage, you are sure that next to her, you must look like a wilding. “Why can the whole castle hear your quarrel?”

“It’s his fault.” You accuse, pointing at Jace.

“My fault?!” He says, placing his hands on his hips. “Apologies, I think they didn’t hear your screeching about Lord Stark in Driftmark!”

“So you informed her?” Your mother asks, calmly. Too calmly for someone who has just found out. Had it been her plan all along?

“Did you knew all along?” You whisper.

Rhaenyra turns to look at you. As always, your mother has a smile ready for you, but as of late, they are laced with sadness. This one is no exception.

“I did. I think it is for the best. You will be safer next to Cregan Stark, in Winterfell, than you could ever be here.”

You examine her expression. Her eyes are swollen and red rimmed, grief clouding her regal face. There is a certain determination in her features, a calm acceptance in her eyes, that tells you that her mind is already made.

Her face is not one of a distraught mother who will soon give her daughter away. You know her too well to mistake it for that.

“You hoped for this.” You keep your voice dangerously low, your anger threatening to bubble up in your throat. “You did because I have no dragon. I bet you are scheming to send Rhaena away too!”

Your mother doesn’t answer.

Her silence is damming. You turn to look at Jace, disbelieving. Of course the two of them had been scheming behind your back. Your brother had always been the closest one to your mother.

“And neither of you could tell me to my face?” You ask, letting out a hysterical laugh. “I had to find out from a letter from fucking Cregan Stark. I am not leaving. You cannot make me. ”

Suddenly, your mother grabs you by the shoulders. Her face is frightening, like an avenging goddess of Old Valyria. Her lips are curled back, teeth bared, and her eyes are as wild as yours.

“Listen to me!” She says, shaking you hard. Tears begin to fall from her eyes, but she doesn’t seem to register them. “Listen to me! Luke is dead. He is dead, and you will obey me because I cannot bear to lose any more of my children. You are going North. Your Queen commands it.”

She turns on her heel and leaves, leaving you standing on still shaking legs.

CREGAN HAD BEEN lingering near the entrance of Winterfell ever since his men had spotted the Queen’s banner on the horizon. Back then, they had expected the party to arrive in half a day. He didn’t care if he appeared too eager, his usual stoicism was failing him in the face of his nerves.

The first time Cregan had married, he had known the bride for a long time. Arra had been his childhood companion, and they had spent many moons together, playing Come-into-my-castle and Bears-and-maids. Cregan had unfortunately been the maid many more times than he preferred.

He had not feared marriage then. Spending forever chained to another person wouldn’t be so bad if that person was Arra.

Now, he did. Cregan had been content on his own, and had no desire to remarry. Even if he had, a southron princess wouldn’t have been his first choice. Though Prince Jacaerys had been honorable and dutiful, he was still naive. They were nearly of an age, but when Cregan had stood next to him, he had felt as old as his Greybeards.

A naive little princess would never survive in the North. His lords would eat her alive. The Lady of Winterfell couldn’t be some frail little thing, she had to be strong. Strong enough to hold Winterfell in his absence if needed, were the threat from beyond the Wall come to pass.

Arra had been the only woman he had thought of marrying because she had been the only woman he had thought fit to the task. She had been of the North, as he was, and it had helped him envision a future together where they ruled over the very same land that had birthed both of them.

It was only adequate that the Lady of Winterfell was a woman of the North. Southron Princesses, especially those who had been groomed to marry inside the family, could be of little help running a keep. If he had to remarry and choose a southron, Cregan would have preferred a stronger one.

Yet if wishes were dragons, beggars would soar through the skies. Prince Jacaerys had seemed a bit insulted at his offer of Greybeards, but with winter coming, it was all Cregan could spare. He was no stranger to political games, though, and knew he had to smooth down the feathers his offer had ruffled.

Hence, the offer. To receive the toothless dragon in his home and keep it safe. A favor, from an older brother to another. The Gods knew if Sara was near war at all, Cregan would do everything in his power to send her somewhere safe. He would be forever indebted to the man who aided him to do so.

And Prince Jacaerys, showing himself to be the dutiful prince and brother he was, had understood the offer for what it was. A true alliance. A Pact of Ice and Fire, to bound their bloodlines and keep the beloved, but defenseless sister safe.

It had impressed Cregan. Jacaerys was a serious man, no matter his dubious parentage. He could picture himself following him. After all, his Targaryen blood and character were the important part. That was what made him a worthy King.

Without a dragon of your own, your journey had been perilous. He knew you had ridden without banners until you had safely arrived into northern territory, a feat that had taken you a whole moon. Cregan had offered to have his men meet you halfway, but his letter doing so had gone unanswered. It had only prompted new anxieties for him.

What if he failed to fulfill his promise because you were abducted or harmed in the journey? What if the people riding with Black banners weren’t truly your honor guard, but an ambush prepared by the enemy?

Cregan doubted he would be at ease until he saw you emerge out of your wheelhouse, whole and unscathed. Hence, his waiting by the door. He would not be nervous a moment longer than he needed to.

The first thing Cregan saw was that your honor guard was smaller than he expected. He had known you would travel with a sparse escort, as to not attract undue attention. It was a miracle you had made it here with only ten guards, though. The wheelhouse and the men carried so many packages that Cregan would have known you were a Princess even without expecting you. Anyone would have known.

In contrast, the woman who stepped out of the wheelhouse wasn’t miraculous nor was she what Cregan envisioned when thinking of a Princess.

You were… Pitiful. Cregan understood now why Prince Jacaerys was so desperate to protect you. You wouldn’t survive a winter in the North, hells, it looked like a strong breeze would blow you away.

Your hair and eyes were as dark as the ones of your brother. You wore a pretty wool dress, in mourning black. The lacings on the back were done too tightly, a lot of the ribbon hanging limply, and the dress was loose around your chest and hips. It was clear you had recently lost weight, probably during the journey because the gown hadn’t been altered to fit you.

There were dark circles under your eyes, which were also red rimmed. Your skin was pale, your dark hair braided back in a severe style. Grief didn’t suit you. You looked small and sad, despite having a pleasing figure.

It didn’t help that the dress you had chosen was one far too thin for a sensible northern woman to wear. The day wasn’t even that cold, but you were already shivering. It was barely snowing, for the Gods’s sake!

Cregan approached you and gave you a bow.

“Princess.” He extended his arm to you. You took it, shivering. “I trust your journey was pleasant?”

“Pleasant enough.” At least your voice isn’t frail. The last thing Cregan needed was a soft-spoken southron lady. You even manage to smile at him, which makes you look considerably more attractive.

Cregan would admit one thing, and one thing only: Queen Rhaenyra made pretty children. Both you and Jacaerys had sinful mouths and bewitching dark eyes, though he found yours far more pleasing.

“I am sorry for your loss.” He says, as he escorts you inside Winterfell. Your trembling intensifies, instead of subsiding in the warmth of his hall. You say nothing.

When he risks a glance at your face, your eyes are suspiciously wet. You avoid meeting his eyes, even as he offers you the customary salt and bread.

“I remember when Arra got here.” Cregan offers, awkwardly. He isn’t quite sure of what to say to a grieving Princess, so he decides to share something about himself in hopes that you will open up too. He desperately needs to change the subject. Or to start a subject. He is not picky, anything that keeps you from crying will do. “She brought less of a procession than you did. And less luggage.”

“She was quite closer to home than I.” You reply, and your tone has regained strength. You no longer shake, body stiffer. Cregan decides to take it as a good sign. You are clearly struggling to get a hold of yourself, which is why you turn so tense, so he decides to keep speaking to give you some more time.

“She was. By far a more practical woman.” He smiles at you, teasingly. “But if the fuss makes you happy…”

You laugh. When he gets to know you better, Cregan will realize that your laughter wasn’t genuine.

He will also realize this had been the moment your heart iced over.

YOU PAGE THROUGH your book, in silence. Winterfell doesn’t have court musicians, and for that, you are thankful. Silence has always been your preferred companion right before bed. That, and a good book.

Your obsession with Valyrian history and traditions had been carefully nurtured by your stepfather, Daemon. Neither your mother nor siblings had much interest in your shared heritage, beyond the ability it gave them to ride dragons.

While Baela and Rhaena spoke fluid High Valyrian, the same could not be said for your brothers. As the only girl in the household, your lessons had been spent with the former and not the latter, forcing you to improve. Once you did, you had found reading the tales of old was a pleasant pastime.

You enjoyed laying in bed and imagining all the stories about magic, dragons, and empresses. When you had turned four and ten, Daemon had gifted you your very own book with Valyrian tales, a beautifully bound and illustrated edition that had followed you in your journey North.

“For you to read to your future children.” He had said, back then. You had barely flowered, so you had laughed. “I mean it, Princess. Out of my three girls, you are the only one I envision doing so.”

The day he had acknowledged you as one of his daughters, even if you didn’t share blood, was the happiest nameday you had had. He was right, too. As much as you loved the twins, you couldn’t picture them being motherly. Baela would have to have a son, to inherit after Jace, but you believed that it would be him who took charge of the more fatherly duties while she dedicated herself to statecraft. Rhaena, instead, had a thirst for adventure, to travel and know the world. Her ambition wasn’t conducive to motherhood either.

You, instead, had always dreamed of marrying a man who loved you and starting a family of your own. You envisioned yourself as the lady of a great keep, where you would rule fairly, and raise your children without wet nurses.

Those dreams had already been shattered. The man you had married didn’t love you. He had only done so to secure an alliance. And the man already had a child of his own, an heir. There was no need for you to be a mother anymore.

You turned another page of your book, watching the beautiful illustrations. You had dreamed of reading this to a little girl who looked like you, or perhaps a boy that would have looked like the man of your dreams. They would have learned High Valyrian, and spoke it as beautifully as your mother and stepfather did.

It would not come to pass. Not any longer.

A soft knock on your door makes you set down your book, closing it with great care. Then, you get up and put on your robe over your sleeping shift.

“You may enter.”

Your husband steps in, dressed for bed already. He is a handsome man, you think, biting your lower lip. Tall, dark and handsome, Cregan is the sort of man your childhood self would have pictured marrying.

He could have been the perfect man to fall in love with, were it not for the fact that he would never love you back. He already loved someone else, someone who you could never aspire to match. His first wife, Lady Arra.

As Alicent had learned, it was impossible to overshadow a ghost. Dead as she was, she could never make mistakes. He would forget all her imperfections.

She gave him a child, she was the wife he chose. The one he married for love, not duty. A practical, northern woman his bannermen had surely liked far more as a match to him than a soft southron princess who didn’t even have a dragon.

“I was wondering if you would welcome my company tonight, Princess.” Your husband says, voice emotionless. He is only here because of duty, it seems. “We could share the bed.”

“You said we could wait to consummate our union.” You keep your voice firm. It is not a task you anticipate eagerly, but you are not afraid of it either. You had seen enough of your mother and Daemon to know bedding someone can be pleasing. It is only the awkwardness of doing so with a stranger that puts you off.

“I was not referring to that.” Your husband says, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. “The nights are cold in Winterfell. Is it wrong for a man to seek closeness to his wife?”

You frown. His behavior is most puzzling. He intends to share your bed… To sleep? Your mother shared her bed with Daemon, but she also bedded him. It makes no sense to you that he wants to sleep next to you without touching you. Most marriages don’t do that. Much less if they are political matches.

“It is not a sin. But why would you..?” You question, but your Lord Husband is getting up already, huffing. He seems angered that you are unable to understand his message, whatever it might be. He storms off, leaving you confused over his behaviour.

That night, Cregan dreams of running. Of having a snout covered in blood, of jumping into the river, trying to trap a seahorse.

He never manages to. Wolves aren’t meant to hunt seahorses.

[teliphone]

Mark of Possession

Summary: You and Shauna Shipman broke up. You try your best to move on, but she confuses you. She easily upsets you, yet something about her draws you to her. A cycle that makes you frustrated. 

Warning(s): Smut, Fingering, Thigh Humping, Overstimulation, Marking, Jealousy, Spitting, Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.1k

-

The strange meat stew in front of you looks interesting. You lift the wooden utensil and watch the liquid run down and drip back into the bowl. All of this was an act to avoid glancing at Shuana Shipman. She sits next to Melissa, silently eating. Melissa tries to start chatting with her, but she gives her short responses. Melissa senses the lack of attention and wraps her arms around Shauna’s shoulders, pulling her close. Shauna widens her eyes a little, but she allows it just for the chance that this would drive you crazy. You shift against your seat uncomfortably. Frustration secretly creeps up. You refuse to let jealousy sink into your skin. 

Shauna and you broke up several weeks ago due to a fight. Ever since then, Shauna has been obnoxious about her new “relationship.”

You poke the two large pieces of meat in the bowl. Two? Everyone is rationed one piece of meat. You nervously gulp, knowing that it could only be Shipman who snuck you extra food. You slowly gaze up and make eye contact with her. Her lips curve into a small smirk. Feeling extreme pride that you acknowledged her. You give her a blank stare, not expressing gratitude or annoyance. She stares back with her blown-out brown orbs. Butterflies in her stomach from how much attention you’re finally giving her.

You break eye contact first. Your fingers wrap around the bowl and lift it to your lips. You scarf down a meal. Partly because you’re hungry but also because you want to get away from Shauna’s addictive atmosphere. Some of the broth slides down your chin. You plop the bowl back down on the table, then wipe your lips with the back of your hands. Not sparing her a second glance, you get up from the table and leave without a word. Shauna watches you walk away. Her eyes were glued to your figure. Suddenly Melissa asks her a question, breaking her concentration. 

-

Melissa walks out of Shauna’s hut, and you immediately roll your eyes. You ignore her and continue cleaning the water buckets. She smiles brightly as she heads over to you. A mischievous plan in her head. You glance up and start to regret that decision. There on Melissa’s neck is a red hickey. You already knew Shauna was a biter… but to someone else? You start to imagine her rough hands roaming around Melissa’s body. Did she moan and pant into her ears? You clench your jaw tightly and scrub the buckets more aggressively. 

“Fucking Shauna,”  you cuss in your head. Melissa rests her arms on top of the table. She shyly runs her fingers against the wood.

“Good morning,” She chirps. You bite your tongue. That act would have been sweet for anyone else, but her. 

“Morning,” You fake a smile back. You immediately look back at the bucket, hoping that’s a sign for her to leave. She doesn’t. 

“So I know that you and Shauna had a rough breakup up-” You look up with a slight glare. She crosses her hands and smiles. 

“I was wondering if it’s okay if she and I can get in a relationship. I feel things between us are getting serious,” She blushes while lifting her hands to touch her hickey. You feel anger burn throughout your body. The nerve this girl had is unbelievable. 

“Sure,” You smile while tilting your head. Melissa widens her eyes, her mouth a little open. 

“...Seriously?” 

“Yeah. We broke up a while ago. She doesn’t belong to me anymore. I don’t care,” You simply explain. The bucket hits the table with a loud bang, making her flinch. You wipe your wet hands against the towel and mindlessly toss it on the table. You give her another fake smile before turning around to walk away. You hear leaves crunching from behind. Melissa catches up with you and tugs your wrist. 

“You sure?” She drags on. You shut your eyes and suck in a deep breath. When your eyes open, you catch a glimpse of her smirking. Oh. She’s trying to get you jealous. You glance down at her hand still on your wrist. It clicks in her head to let go. 

“Of course I am sure,” You repeat. Melissa pauses for a moment. Unsure of what else she could add to the fuel. 

“-Shauna is really good with her hands,” She rambles. You almost feel disappointed that this is the person you’re going against. It’s almost embarrassing. Is that all she got? You take a step closer to her, staring deep into her eyes. She takes a small step backward as she clenches her fist. Her wide eyes blink nervously. You bring your hands up to touch her neck, rubbing your thumb against the red mark. You feel a sense of obsessiveness. You could imagine Shauna's tongue brushing against this spot. Melissa’s cheeks turn red as she lets you slowly dig your thumb into the bruise. She hisses in pain. 

From the corner of your eye, Shauna steps out of her hut. She pauses at the sight of you with Melissa. She stands still, just watching. Her face scrunches in discomfort. You give her a smirk before leaning towards Melissa’s ear. You feel Melissa tense under your presence. 

“Does she moan my name?” You taunt. Melissa clenches her jaw and pushes you away from her. The force causes you to stumble onto the ground. The fallen tree branches scratch and dig into your palm. You hiss in pain and quickly bring your hands up to your chest. Melissa huffs and puffs in anger. Her chest and hands were visibly shaking. The girls around you rush to your side. 

Including Shauna. 

Her shoulder bumps into Melissa as she runs over to you. She kneels to your level. Her calloused fingers gently wrap around your hand. She brings it to her face to inspect the injury. There are a few red scratches on your palm. Her eyebrows furrow in anger. Before she could say anything, you jerked your hands away in frustration. She widens her eyes at your coldness. 

“I’m fine. Check on your girlfriend,” You mumble as you attempt to stand up. You wobble a little. The impact from the ground was a bit rough. Shauna ignores your statement and supports you by wrapping her arms around your waist. Your heart skips a beat at her closeness. You glare at her soft brown eyes and gently try to shove her away. 

“Let me help you,” She says. Her voice is stern, laced with dominance. You hesitate for a moment. Unsure if you should listen to her. You have some self respect, but fuck do you also miss her. 

Denying your pride, you wrap your arms around her shoulders. She assists you to your hut. Her hands never leave your waist. As you walk past the girls, a few of them look at each other with a “I told you so” expression. 

“Her hand is injured, not her legs,” One of them snickers. She giggles until she is met with Melissa’s glare. 

-

You sit on a tree log while Shauna kneels before you. She gently uses a wet cloth against your palm. She deeply focuses, not realizing you’ve been staring at her. There are dark circles under her eyes. She also seems to have lost weight since the last time you truly looked at her. 

Your eyes slowly move up. Her brown hair is a little messy. Without much thinking, you lift your other hand. Your fingers softly drag against her curls. She pauses and tilts her head up. She makes eye contact with you and you feel your heart racing again. You two stare at each other in silence. Her eyes soften and dilate. 

You brush her hair behind her ears before dropping your hand back on your thighs. She lets out a shaky breath as if she were stopping herself from something. She blinks and jerks her head to the side as she remembers what she was here for. She grabs a Band-Aid and places it on top of your cuts. She drags her fingers along the band-aid, making it stick to your skin. 

“Thank you,” You whisper. She lets out a soft hum and gets up from the ground. She pats her pants to get rid of the dirt and leaves. You watch her stand awkwardly in your hut. She’s been here many times before, but this time it is different. She gives you one more look before beginning her leave. 

“Wait,” You call out. She immediately stops and turns around. You wet your lips nervously, staring at the ground. You curl your fist, feeling the band-aid rubbing underneath. You were going to ask if she really was in a relationship with Melissa. But the words couldn’t come out. Maybe you were afraid to hear the truth. 

“Never mind,” You falter. She frowns, wishing you would continue. She looks at your face, scrunching in uncertainty. Dilemma. She decides to break the silence. 

“…I miss you,” She confesses. You jerk your head up. Your eyes start to water a little. You’re truly frustrated. Thoughts in your head swung like a seesaw. 

Her decisions within the team upset you. She makes you angry to the point of disgust. Yet, you still feel a deep desire for her. The love and sweetness only for you make you greedy. Your heart skips a beat when she is rude. Her anger turns you on. You couldn’t really explain it and it drives you crazy. 

She impatiently clenches her jaw at your silence. You furrow your eyebrows. 

“Liar,” You dryly chuckle. She tilts her head in confusion. 

“You moved on so quickly to another girl, I could hardly assume you thought about me,” You explain. She runs her fingers through her hair in frustration. She’s almost speechless, but of course, she has a lot to say. 

“Melissa… she was just someone I could use-” 

“That’s disgusting,” You snap. She starts chuckling, a deep raspy sound coming from her throat. Her teeth become visible, making you nervously gulp. 

“Is it still disgusting if I think about you when I touch her?” She continues. Your brain stops working and you feel your cheeks turn red. You avert your face to the ground so she doesn’t see. 

Truly, you didn’t know Shauna refused to touch Melissa’s core just so Melissa’s moans wouldn’t ruin her fantasy. Shauna would close her eyes and get off thinking it was you. She admits she is sick and twisted for this. But she won’t tell you in hopes your imagination makes you more jealous.

“Tell me. Do I make you angry?”  She asks slowly. Your mind starts imagining Shauna thrusting her fingers into Melissa while she licks and bites her shoulders. Your mouth starts to become bitter. You remember the roughness that Shuana likes to do. Did she use it on Melissa? Shauna sees the pure jealousy in your eyes. Her lips curl into a cocky smirk. 

“Fuck you,” You spit. She shakes her head in disagreement while making her way to you. She places her thumb into her mouth and licks it. Once she is in front of you, she wraps her fingers under your jaw, forcing you to lock your eyes with her. She soaks in the sight of you. So angry and bratty, it turns her on. Her body towers over you in authority. Smiling like a freak. She brings her wet thumb towards your lips and rubs it. 

“Suck,” She dares. You refuse to open your mouth, glaring deep into her eyes. She chuckles darkly as she clenches her jaw. She places the tip of her thumb between your lips. Her eyes flicker up to your eyes with a mischievous smile.

"I said suck," She blankly states before shoving her thumb into your mouth. You let out a slight gag sound as she pushes her thumb deeper. All of your ego and pride vanish. Your eyes begin to water as you slowly relax your jaw. She roughly pressed her thumb against your tongue, making you taste her saliva. Your cheeks slightly hollow as you suck her. She pulls her thumb out and rubs your cheeks softly as a reward.

“Stick out your tongue,” She smiles. You obey like a servant. Stretching your tongue outwards. She tilts her head down, her hair falling past her shoulders. She spits a clear trail down onto your tongue. It feels wet and warm. You press your thighs together as your cheeks turn red. She taps your jaw, signaling you to close your mouth and swallow. 

“Look at you…still my pretty slut,” She insults. She starts lowering her hand down to your neck. She gently squeezes as she leans in, glaring deep into your eyes. Her eyes slowly lower to your lips, then back up. Your breathing becomes shaky. 

Your eyes flutter shut as you feel Shauna’s plump lips press against yours. You try your best to match up with her needy ones. Her hand moves to the back of your hip, pulling you to stand up. Your lower body rubs against hers. Her teeth bite into your bottom lip, causing you to whine. Her wet tongue slides against the painful throb. You pull away to catch your breath before closing the gap again, moaning in between each kiss. 

You wrap your arms around her shoulder, pulling her body closer. You miss this. You miss her. Her needy hands run underneath your shirt to grope your chest. You sigh in pleasure when her thumb starts rubbing against your nipple. You unconsciously thrust your core into her. Pleasure builds up in your lower stomach, and you need her to help you. 

“Please, Shauna,” You moan into her mouth. You take her other hand and start shoving it past your waistline and panties. You thrust your core against her still fingers. She smiles against the kiss and slowly pulls away. You try to chase after her lips, but she shoves you onto the ground. You grunt, but the pain quickly vanishes when she starts unbuttoning your pants. She doesn’t wait to pull your pants down as she forcefully shoves her hand in. 

Her fingers slowly rub against your core. You shut your eyes and curse. Her middle finger grinds against your clit at a quick and aggressive pace. Your hips buckle and twitch. Her fingers continue for a while, never slowing down. She leans her face down to your neck and begins biting. Her teeth pinch your skin, causing you to cry out. You grip onto her shoulders. She then replaces her bites with her warm, wet tongue, rubbing it against the bite. 

You feel the tip of her two fingers along your hole. Without warning, she pushes her long fingers deep into you. You gasp at the sudden feeling of being full. 

“Did you miss this?” She whispers as she pulls her fingers out just to slam them back in. Your stomach clenches as she repeats the action. Your eyes water, and your mouth stays open. Your lips release loud moans. She pants against your shoulders. She misses the feeling of your wet, warm core wrapping around her fingers. The sound of your moans sounds way better than how she fantasized it. Just when you’re reaching your high, she jerks her fingers away. Your core pulses around nothing. It feels a little painful. 

“Take off your pants,” She orders. You quickly slide your pants off while she does the same. You toss your pants to the side and spread your legs for her. Your pussy is wet and glistening. She spreads her legs and slides her core against your thighs. You bite your lips when you realize her wetness coating your skin. She returns her wet hands on top of your core. She thrusts her fingers into you again. This time it was harsher and faster. 

“S-slow down,” You beg. The wet noises coming from her thrusting become embarrassingly loud. Of course, she doesn’t listen to you. She continues abusing her fingers against your gummy walls. 

Her hips start to move messily on your thighs. Her moans are loud and drunk. She peers down at you with her heavy-lidded eyes. 

“Fuck… you feel so good,” She hisses, buckling her hips. Your thighs start to shake, and she knows it’s because you’re about to come. She uses her free hand to tug and grip your hair. You cry in pain. 

“Don’t you fucking dare come before me,” She threatens. You quickly nod your head. You try to focus on her pleasure. You note how she is messier, louder, and quicker than before. Her thrusting hands start to lose tempo as she gets closer to her high. You bring your hands over to her hips. Your fingers dig into the squishy flesh, guiding her to slide. She tilts her head back and moans your name. After a few more, her body jerks and she comes. Her wetness run downs your thighs. Your core clenches around her forgotten fingers. The movement of her chest moving up and down begins to slow. She finally comes back to her senses and smiles. You’re still under her, begging to come.

“Please move,” You beg. She leans forward, resting her hand on the side of your body. Her other hand starts moving again. She watches your face closely. Examining how you would try to bite your lips to silence your moans. You would fail to do so and loud cries would escape your mouth. You feel your tears rolling down your face at how brutal her thrusts are. You wrap your arms around her shoulder, pulling her closer. 

She could feel your high coming fast. She pushes her fingers deep into your walls and you gasp. You come onto her fingers, moaning into her ears. Your silky juices run down her knuckles. She chuckles and doesn’t stop moving to let you ride out your high. As if she were still drunk, she didn't stop moving her hands, making you cry from overstimulation. You beg her to stop. She listens after thrusting a few more times til you are visibly about to pass out. 

She pulls her wet fingers out of your used-up hole and brings them to your lips. 

“Clean up your mess,” She blushes. You weakly clench onto her wrist, bringing her fingers into your mouth. Her two fingers slide against your tongue. You lick and suck her clean. She kisses your sweaty forehead before getting up. She grabs her pants and rustles in her pockets. She pulls out a knife and kneels back between your legs. You watch her with tired eyes as she digs the tip into your inner thigh. You hiss and prop your body up with your elbow to get a better view.

“You sick fuck,” You softly chuckle. She carves an S onto your skin. Your blood starts to bubble against the cut. She leans down and flattens her tongue to lick your blood. She looks back at you with a bright smile. You softly run your hands along her cheeks causing her to lean into the touch.

[trulyumai]

belittling the reign

synopsis: the people began to doubt Geta, and in return, so did members of the senate. The emperor began to act wildly, his temper just a reach away. It all came crashing down when a man of the senate brought the empress up and how she would fall with the emperor.

pairing: Emperor geta / empress! reader

Warnings: Violence, anger, choking, death. Protectiveness/Possessive.

The room was dim, save for the flicker of torchlight dancing across the stone walls. Geta sat at the long table, his goblet half-full, eyes fixed on the dull gleam of his dagger. He had been deep in thought, tired from the endless political maneuvering of the Senate, when the sound of approaching footsteps interrupted his silence.

The door creaked open, and a figure entered—Marcus, a senator known for his sharp tongue and sharper ambitions. Geta didn’t look up as the man approached, choosing instead to swirl the dark wine in his cup.

“Geta,” Marcus began, his voice oozing with false politeness. “I trust you’re well this evening.”

Geta grunted in response, not bothering to hide his disdain. He knew this man all too well—his visits were never without some form of scheming. Marcus circled the room slowly, his fingers tracing the edge of the table as he moved closer.

“You know, it’s funny,” Marcus continued, his tone casual, though laced with something more sinister. “There’s been a lot of talk in the streets lately. The citizens are starting to wonder how much longer Rome will have to bear the burden of a violent ruler.” The man let out a chuckle, it reverberated through the room and Geta swore his fingers shook with an emitting anger.

The emperor’s eyes flicked upward for the first time, meeting Marcus’s gaze with a steely intensity. The senator smiled, a smirk dancing on his lips as he leaned against the table, arms crossed.

“They say,” Marcus went on, “that there will soon be a new emperor. A man who leads not with blood, but with wisdom. One who doesn’t lose himself to rage every time a senator dares to speak out. The people... they’re excited, Geta. They’re waiting for the day Rome is free of your wrath… Maybe Caracalla would be a better fit?”

Geta’s grip tightened on the goblet, the muscles in his arm tensing as he fought to contain his growing anger. “You tread on dangerous ground, Marcus,” he warned, his voice low and cold.

Breath in. Breath out. Remember your wife, the sweet laugh, those little dimples that littered your face when he told a good story.

But Marcus was undeterred. He leaned in closer, his breath hot and smug as he whispered, “Perhaps you’re the one who should be careful. People don’t fear you anymore, Geta. They’re waiting for your death. And when it comes, oh how they’ll cheer. Finally, a ruler worthy of the Empire will take your place.”

A dark laugh escaped Marcus’s lips, but it was quickly cut off by Geta’s sudden movement. In a flash, the emperor had risen from his seat, standing tall over the senator. Marcus stiffened, but continued, confidence seemed to block the mans rational fears. “What will your pretty little wife do when you’re gone, I wonder? Maybe she’ll find solace in someone with real power.”

That was the last mistake.

Geta’s fury ignited like a wildfire, burning through every shred of control he had left. Before Marcus could react, Geta’s hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around the man’s throat. The senator’s eyes widened in shock as he gasped for breath, his hands clawing uselessly at Geta’s iron grip.

“You dare threaten my wife?” Geta growled, his voice trembling with rage. His face was twisted in a snarl, the veins in his neck bulging as he squeezed tighter. “You think you can speak to me of death? Speak to me of weakness?” He spat the words with venom, his grip tightening as Marcus’s face turned pale, then purple.

The senator’s eyes bulged, and his mouth opened and closed in silent pleas for mercy, but Geta’s rage was far beyond words now. He lifted Marcus off the ground, the senator’s feet dangling as he struggled weakly. The torchlight flickered, casting eerie shadows on the walls as Geta’s expression darkened with each passing second.

“You thought you could replace me? With my own brother?!” Geta whispered, leaning in close to the dying man’s ear. “There will be no one else, dear Marcus.  I am Rome, hm? I. Am. Rome.”

Marcus’s body jerked one last time, and then he went still. Geta held him there for a moment longer, the senator’s lifeless eyes staring into nothingness, before finally letting the body fall to the ground with a heavy thud.

The room was silent, save for the sound of Geta’s ragged breathing. He stood over Marcus’s corpse, his chest rising and falling with the aftershocks of his rage. Slowly, he lowered his hand, twisting and turning the jeweled rings around his fingers while wiping the sweat from his brow. His gaze dropped to the dead man at his feet, his heart still pounding in his chest, though calmer now.

A twisted calm, one born of violence.

“Threatening my liege. My Wife,” Geta muttered to himself, stepping over Marcus’s body as he made his way toward the door. “They will all burn before I leave the throne.”

-

The hallways were dimly lit, the flickering flames of the torches casting long, distorted shadows along the stone walls. Geta’s breathing was still ragged, his pulse pounding in his ears as he moved through the empty corridors. His hands, still tingling with the memory of squeezing the life out of Marcus, twitched at his sides. Sweat clung to his brow, slicking his skin and making his tunic stick to his chest.

He could feel the weight of what he had done. The senator’s limp body, the satisfaction that had come when his struggles ceased. It was a different kind of battle—one where no soldier could see him, and no one could speak of it.

Yet, the thrill of victory felt different this time. It wasn’t the fight he was used to. He wasn’t on the battlefield, brandishing his sword, earning the respect of his men. This victory had been personal, quiet... but more satisfying than he could have imagined. Marcus had been wrong—there would be no new ruler. Not while Geta breathed.

He thought of the senators who whispered behind closed doors, plotting to strip him of his power. He thought of the citizens who questioned his rule, who had dared to entertain the idea of another emperor, a more peaceful one. And now he thought of those who might still move against him. They had made one fatal error—they underestimated his resolve, his willingness to do whatever was necessary to protect what was his. He had been lenient for too long.

His footsteps echoed in the silence as he neared the door to his chambers. The weight of his actions, the violence he was still capable of, burned beneath his skin, but as he pushed open the heavy wooden door, the tension seemed to soften.

There, lying in the massive bed, was his wife—your form draped in blankets, the soft rise and fall of your chest showing the example of a  peaceful slumber. You were so..  completely unaware of what he had just done, unaware of the thoughts that now consumed him.

Geta stood in the doorway for a moment, simply watching. His wife had been the one constant in his life, the anchor to his rage. You had calmed him when no one else could. 

His breath still came in short bursts, his chest tight with the remnants of his fury. Slowly, he approached the bed, his legs heavy beneath him as if the weight of the world had finally caught up with him. He collapsed beside you, the bed creaking under his weight. He was slick with sweat, the heat of the earlier confrontation still radiating from his body. He exhaled deeply, his muscles sagging as he sunk into the mattress.

His wife stirred slightly, your hand brushing against his arm as she mumbled something incoherent in sleep. Your touch was soft, gentle—so unlike the violence that had consumed him only moments before. For a moment, Geta considered waking you, telling just what had transpired, but no. You didn’t need to know about the bloodshed, the threat to their life. You didn’t need to carry the burden of his thoughts.

But in the stillness of the night, with his wife sleeping so peacefully beside him, his mind churned with plans. He would not be overthrown. He would not be replaced by anyone who dared to dream of ruling Rome in his stead. Geta would seek out the usurpers, one by one. He would find every senator, every noble, every conspirator who dared question his rule, and he would deal with them the same way he dealt with Marcus. There would be no mercy.

His wife shifted again, pressing closer to him, your hand now resting on his chest, and for a brief moment, the thoughts of violence faded. He closed his eyes, savoring the feel of her warmth, the way your perfect body curved against his.

But even as his breath steadied and exhaustion began to pull him into sleep, one thought remained clear in his mind: no one would threaten his reign. No one would ever threaten you again.

And when the time came to deal with the rest of them, Geta knew, deep down, he would not hesitate. Rome was his. And he would destroy anyone who thought otherwise.

[agreeewrites]

safe with me | R.G.

feat. Rick Grimes x sunshine!reader cw: MDNI 18+, established relationship, mentions of traumatic incident with family annihilation & suicide (you are responsible for the content you consume), mentions of child death, hurt/comfort masterlist

“Carol!” Rick called, jogging across the lawn to catch her after the town meeting. The sun blazed down, ruthless and disorienting after hours of being indoors. “How'd it go?” He asked, referring to the run she led this morning.

They both knew he was asking how it went for you specifically.

Rick didn't care about much else besides you and his kids these days. Alexandria ran just fine without him worrying himself sick; you’d shown him that.

Carol grimaced. “She hasn't come to find you?”

Rick's jaw clenched, his heart beating a bit faster. “Would I be askin’ if she did?”

“She, ah—she’s fine,” Carol clarified, sensing his mounting alarm. “But there was a—an incident.”

“What kind of incident?” He growled.

“We were clearing a property, and she went into the house first—”

His anger flared. “Why would you let her—”

“Because everyone matters, Rick,” she snapped. “I can't treat her special because she's yours.”

He grit his teeth. He knew Carol already paid you extra mind, so there was no sense arguing it.

“She volunteered anyhow, so I sent her. There were no Biters, but…” Carol took a shaking breath. “She found the family in the dining room, parents and two little boys. Practically nothin’ left of the bodies, half-eaten dinners in front of ‘em, rotten through. Mom’s brains all over the wall—”

“Alright, alright,” Rick cut her off, scrubbing a hand over his face. Fucking brutal. Rick had seen plenty gruesome scenes like it, but you—somehow you'd held onto your heart through the end of the world.

“I don't think she took it well, didn't speak the rest of the run. Passed her ration off to Rosita. Had that stare, y’know?”

Rick nodded. Had that stare himself on countless occasions. “She went home?”

“Far as I know,” Carol affirmed. Rick went to head that way when Carol grabbed his shoulder, stopping him. “Don't push her, she'll talk when she's ready.”

“I know, I know," he assuaged. “I’ll go easy.”

Carol nodded and released him, and he started down the road, breaking into a jog when he was sure no one was looking.

When he reached your shared house, sun-bleached siding and half-roasted grass, he slipped through the front door, finding Carl reading by the lone fan in the living room. The house was eerily quiet, save the cordant hum of the whirling blades, it's cedar bones heavy on its foundation.

“Hey,” Rick hissed, getting Carl's attention. “How is she?”

Carl shrugged. “Makin’ lunch. Not singing’ like usual,” was all the boy offered before turning back to his comic.

“Alright, take your sister and go on to Michonne's for a bit,” he said, leaving no room for argument in his tone.

Carl huffed his displeasure, but did as he was told, trudging upstairs to fetch Judith while Rick moved towards the kitchen. He waited to hear the scampering of Judith's footsteps and the click of the door shutting behind them before pushing through the small door into the kitchen.

You were staring down at the blue flames of the gas stove, an open can of soup in your hand. Completely frozen, besides your yellow sundress fluttering around your bare legs.

Normally, the sound of Rick's boots up the steps was enough to have you bounding out the front door and throwing yourself into his arms, even if he'd only been to the neighbors and back. And you always sang while you cooked, some scratched-to-shit record backing you up.

His heart cracked.

“Hey, darlin’,” he murmured, careful not to startle you.

You blinked, bleary eyes focusing on the can of soup, then flicking back up to the empty pot. Trying to connect the dots of what you'd been doing. “I'm making lunch,” you said, barely above a whisper, and he wasn't sure if you were talking to him or yourself.

“I see, can I help you?” He asked, moving a little further into the room. Turning down the knob on the stove to reduce the lapis flame.

You shook yourself, straightening with a too-wide smile. “I've got it!” You chirped, pouring the can into the pot. It spat and sputtered, entirely too hot. Rick snatched it off the burner, putting his body between you and the wrathful soup so you didn't get burned. “Shit! Let me get some towels.” You hurried away, frenetic energy wafting from you, spooked like a hare.

He knew that with one wrong move, it could tip into full-blown panic. “Honey, easy,” he soothed, catching you by the arms when your turned back towards him. “No harm, no foul.” He gently took the stack of towels from you, six for a few splatters of broth, and set them in the counter.

“I need to—” Your eyes were glazing again, hazy as the memory creeped back in.

“Don't worry about lunch, darlin’. I sent ‘em off to Michonne's for a little while.” He took your arms again, rubbing up and down your biceps to try and keep you with him.

“Oh,” you mumbled, glassy eyes drifting just past him at the wallpaper. “Why?” Your eyes refocused on him, brow furrowing slightly.

He leaned down to kiss the wrinkle away. “Too nice a’day for kids to stay inside. And thought you and I could spend some time together.”

“Oh,” you repeated. You fell quiet for a moment, and he could practically see the gears turning in your head, like you were trying to dredge something up you'd forgotten.

He waited patiently, sliding his hands down to hold yours.

“How was the meeting?” You finally asked, though your voice retained that same listless quality.

“Went fine. Same shit, different folks,” he said, shifting both your hands to his right one so he could bring the left up to cradle your face. “How was your day?”

“Fine.” You leaned into his palm, a rough, calloused thing against your supple skin, and your lashes lowered a bit, fluttery like moth wings. Something warm unfurled in his chest.

“C’mon, let me fix you somethin’ to eat,” he said, kissing your forehead again to hide the frown pulling at his mouth. He guided you back over to the stove, patting on the counter beside it. Your favorite spot whenever he got a wild hair to cook.

You hopped up, obedient little thing, and smoothed your skirt, crossing your dangling ankles.

He felt your eyes following him while he put on one of your favorite albums and resumed lunch preparations. He tried to keep his movements slow, fluid, easily trackable in your addled mind. After a few minutes though, you drifted off again, staring at a cracked tile on the floor.

Once the soup was simmering, he stepped towards you, moving to stand between your knees. “Pretty girl,” he hummed, tilting your chin up to look at him. “Why don't you tell me what's goin' on?”

You shook your head, tugging your chin from his fingers and turning your head away from him.

He leaned forward, brushing his lips along your hairline, balmy and salt-tinged from the heat. “You know I'll never let anythin’ happen to you,” he murmured. “Nothin’ out there can hurt you, or them, here.” He smoothed his hands over your ribs, the swell of your hips. “Not while I'm around.”

Tears welled in your eyes. That's a start, he thought. Out here, that numbness will eat you alive. Feeling is the only way to keep going.

“I’d rather die than let anything happen to them,” you whispered.

“I know, baby. I know.” He pulled you in for a proper hug, your face buried into the meat of his shoulder. “You take such good care of us, and I'm so grateful,” he said into your hair, kissing your crown. “You're a dream come true, darlin’.”

You cracked, a whimper eeking through your teeth, then another, until you were sobbing into his chest, fingers digging into the cotton of his shirt.

He sighed in relief, petting your hair while you purged the pent up emotions. “That's a good girl, there ya’ go. Let it all go,” he encouraged, your tears seeping through his shirt and cooling his sun-warmed skin. “You're alright now, I've gotcha.”

“She poisoned them,” you sobbed, thumping his chest with your fist. Barely hard enough for him to register. “She must have been so desperate—”

“This world makes people do monstrous things,” he said, flattening your fist out against his chest, willing his heart to beat slow and steady under your palm. “We can't try to understand it.”

“Do you think they knew?” You looked up at him, lashes dark and spiked with tears, eyes almost feverishly bright. Pleading.

He shook his head, wiping away your tears with his thumbs, deeply sorry that he couldn't give you the answers you needed. “We can't know, darlin’. I’m sorry.”

“We should have buried them,” you whispered, looking towards the window. “It wasn't right, leaving them like that.”

Rick never loved you more than he did in that moment, his heart leaping up his throat, choking him with affection. “I'll take care of it, baby. Don't you worry.” He couldn't resist pressing a kiss to your temple, your forehead, your nose, adoring you so much it ached.

“You will?” You turned back to him, fingers tightening on his shirt.

“Daryl and I will go as soon as I know you're alright,” he promised.

“But—”

“No buts.” He placed a thumb over your lips, quieting your protest. Another sign that you were feeling a little more like your usual, stubborn self. “Now, think you can eat a little f’me?”

You eyed the soup warily as he clicked off the eye and fetched a spoon, returning quickly back between your legs.

He dipped the spoon into the broth, lifting a small amount to your lips. “Just a few bites?”

You folded your lips together and shook your head.

“Baby,” he sighed. “You need to eat somethin’. I won't go until you do.”

But instead of indignation flashing in your eyes, he saw a prickle of fear as you stared at the spoon. Guilt curdled in his gut.

“Here.” He put the spoon in his mouth, eating the bite instead, then scooped a second bite, offering it to you again. “We'll eat it together.”

You didn't look convinced, but you parted your lips anyways, and he fed you a small sip.

“Good girl,” he said, taking the rest of the bite himself. “You trust me, don't you? Would I ever give you something that was going to hurt you? Hurt Carl or Judith?”

“No,” you mumbled, accepting a second, larger bite. “You wouldn't.”

“I'll share every bite with you if that's what you need, whatever I gotta do to make you feel safe,” he promised.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, resting your forehead against his. He set the spoon down to hold your waist again, tugging you to the edge of the counter to feel your body press fully against his, his arms braced across you back.

“Promise me that if I ever start to lose it, if I ever pose a danger to those kids—” your voice splintered, brittle with emotion. “That you'll do whatever you need to keep them safe.”

He couldn't even think about it, the fleeting idea enough to make his chest constrict painfully, his stomach roil. “I'll do what I need to do to keep all three of you safe,” he promised instead.

“Deal,” you sighed, lifting your head to meet his eyes.

He shifted that final inch forward, catching your lips in a tender, top-lip kiss. You softened, nails raking through the hair at the nape of his neck as he drew you closer, languishing in the honeyed taste of you. Finally relaxing now that he was sure you'd be alright.

After a moment, you broke the kiss to breathe, your nose congested from crying. He grazed his thumb over your bitten lip, smiling softly at your slightly dazed expression.

“You're safe with me, darlin’,” he assured. “Always.”

© agreeeeeeeeeee 2025. do not copy, translate or claim my writing as your own.

[leeeedith]

SEVENTEEN reaction to a heated argument with their S/O

S.Coups 🍒

As a leader, Seungcheol tries to stay calm at first, but when emotions run high, his voice gets deeper, and his words become sharper. He hates fighting with you, so if things get too heated, he'll run a hand through his hair and take a deepp breath. "I need a minute," he'd say, stepping away to cool off before coming back to talk things through.

Jeonghan 😇

Jeonghan is calculating, even in anger. His words are quiet but cut deep, hitting where he know it'll sting. "You think you're the only one who's hurt?" he'd say, eyes narrowing. He's the type to leave the room mid-argument, needing space to cool down before coming back with a softer tone, apologizing in his own quiet way.

Joshua 🐰

Shua rarely raises his voice, but when he does, it feels heavy. He tries to stay rational, but if he feels misunderstood, his patiente slips. "Can you just listen to me for once?" he'd say, his usual gentle tone replaced with frustation. He'd be the first to apologize afterward, quietly pulling you into a hig and whispering, "I'm sorry. I hate fighting with you."

Jun 🐱

Jun get quiet. The more heated the argument gets, the more he shuts down. He crosses his arms, avoiding eye contact, and responds with short, slipped answers. "Okay. Whatever." It's his defense mechanism, but after a while, he'd approach you softly. "I don't like fighting. Let's talk properly."

Hoshi 🐯

Hoshi is emotional and expressive—his voice would rise quickly, and his words would spill out faster than he can control. "Why are you making everything so difficult?!" he might shout in the heat of the moment, only to immediately regret it. After cooling off, he'd feel incredibly guilty, approaching you with teary eyes and a quiet, "I didn't mean that... I'm sorry."

Wonwoo 🦊

Wonwoo turns cold and distant. He won't raise his voice, but his tone gets sharper with every word. "Maybe we should stop talking if we're just going to hurt each other." He hates confrontation, so he'd prefer to walk away, needing time alone before quietly apologizing later, his voice soft. "I don't want to fight anymore."

Woozi 🍚

Woozi gets defensive fast. His frustration would bubble over quickly, and he'd snap, "Why do you always assume you're right?" He hates feeling misunderstood, so he tends to push people away when wmotions run high. He'd need time alone to reflect before coming back, his voice soft and apologetic. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that... Can we talk properly this time?"

DK 🍕

Dokyeom hates confrontation, but when emotions boil over, his voice cracks with hurt. "Do you even care how I feel?" His eyes would get watery, and he'd probably retreat into himself, needing space to process. Afterward, he'd be quick to apologize, holding your hands tightly. He'b be quick to apologize once he cooled off, his heart aching at the thought of upsetting you.

Mingyu 🐶

Mingyu gets overwhelmed. He raises his voice out of frustration, running his hands through his hair and pacing. "I'm trying my best, okay?!" he'd shout before immediately regretting it. After the argument, he'd feel incredibly guilty, sitting next to you silently beofre whispering, "I'm sorry.. I never meant to hurt you."

The8 🐸

Minghao stays composed, but his words become sharp and precise. "If you don't trust me, what's the point of this?" His cold tone is his way of protecting himself. He values respect and understanding, so when tose feel threatened, he withdraws. He needs time to cool down until he'd quietly approach you, tone softly. "I shouldn't have said that. Let's talk."

Seungkwan 🍊

Seungkwan's emotions are all over his face. His voice would rise as his frustation spilled over, and he's not afraid to say what's on his mind. "Why do you always make me the bad guy?!" He'd probably cry after things settled down, apologizing through sniffles.

Vernon 🐢

Vernon avoids confrontation, so in a heated argument, he'd get quiet and detached, his responses short and distant. "Whatever. Believe what you want," he'd say, trying to shut the conversation down. He avoids eye contact and tries to leave the situation. It takes him a while to open back up. Eventually, he'd mumble. "I didn't mean to shut you out... Can we talk?"

Dino 🦖

Chan tries to stay calm but struggles with feeling misunderstood. His voice would rise, and his frustation would show in his body language—pacing, running his hands through his hair. "Why don't you ever take me seriously?!" he'd yell. After some space, he'd return, voice soft. "I'm sorry. I just... want us to understand each other."

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Any advice for figuring out how to work on writing characters arguing?

I’m just curious and also I mistakenly derailed part of my writing over struggling to write a scene of characters starting an argument that was meant to escalate.

Writing Notes: Arguments

Arguing is full of tension.

Even benign conversations between friends so often belies subtextual personal agendas that are antagonistic or covertly full of anger or upset.

Honesty itself sometimes is the product of extreme tension and upset.

One’s resistance to telling the truth to another or admitting to oneself a truth can be excruciatingly tense and stressful, even between lovers.

SIDESTEPPING

You instantly create conflict in dialogue when you avoid “on the nose” responses.

On the nose means a direct response, sometimes even echoing the previous line.

You can avoid direct response:

With a statement that is unrelated to the prompting dialogue

By answering a question with a question

With a line of dialogue that is going to need some explanation

Also consider using silence:

“Are you ready to go, dear?” Bob asked. Sylvia said nothing.

Or use an action response:

“Are you ready to go, dear?” Bob asked. Sylvia picked up the mirror.

OPPOSING AGENDAS

Always know what each character wants in a given scene.

If a character in a scene is just taking up space, give him an agenda or get him out of there. Or cut the scene entirely.

Scenes require conflict or tension, even if it’s subtle.

Before you write the scene, note what each character wants.

Then spend a few moments playing with those motivations.

List 3 other possible motives for each of the characters, then mix and match to decide which ones will make for the best conflict.

It is also important to create tension among allies.

One of the danger points in fiction is when two friends, or people who are at least on the same side, have a talk about what’s going on. The trouble is there might not be any trouble between them. So much of the dialogue becomes a friendly chat.

This will violate Alfred Hitchcock’s axiom (Hitchcock once said that a good story is “life, with the dull parts taken out.”).

The fastest way to handle it is to make sure there is tension manifested from the start.

Create tension in at least one of the characters, preferably the viewpoint character.

Example: When you have Allison meeting Melissa, her college friend, for coffee, don’t have them sit down and start talking as if nothing’s wrong in the world. Put the trouble of the story into Allison’s mind and nervous system and make it an impediment to her conversation with Melissa. In Melissa, place something that might be in opposition to Allison’s needs. Allison needs to ask Melissa’s advice about a crumbling marriage. Maybe Melissa is full of news about her sister’s impending wedding to a wonderful man and gushes about the prospects.

Spend some time brainstorming about the ways two friends or allies can be at odds. Then weave those things into the dialogue.

DIALOGUE AS WEAPON

Look for places where you can use dialogue as a weapon, a means for your characters to charge ahead in order to get what they want.

Keep in mind that dialogue is action.

It’s a physical act used by characters to help them get what they want. If they don’t want anything in a scene, they shouldn’t be there.

Note that not all weapons are explosive. They can be small and sharp, too.

PARENT-ADULT-CHILD

A great tool for creating instant conflict in dialogue is the Parent-Adult-Child model, popularized in the book Games People Play by Eric Berne (1964). This school of psychology is called Transactional Analysis.

The theory holds that we tend to occupy roles in life and relationships.

The 3 primary roles are Parent, Adult, and Child (PAC):

The Parent - the seat of authority, the one who can “lay down the law.” S/he has the raw strength, from position or otherwise, to rule and then enforce his/her rulings.

The Adult - the objective one, the one who sees things rationally and is therefore the best one to analyze a situation. “Let’s be adult about this,” one might say in the midst of an argument.

The Child - not rational, and not with any real power. So what does s/he do? Reacts emotionally. Throws tantrums to try to get his/her way. Even an adult can do this. We’ve all seen clandestine videos that prove this point.

So it is a helpful thing to consider what role each character is assuming in a scene.

How do they see themselves? What is their actual role? (It may indeed be different than what they perceive it to be.)

Most important, how will they act in order to accomplish their goal in the scene?

Answering these questions can give you a way to shape your dialogue so there is constant tension and conflict throughout.

Also consider that the characters might change their roles (try something new) in order to get their way. Thus, this is a never-ending source of conflict possibilities and only takes a few moments to set up.

TIP ON DIALOGUE

Look at all of your dialogue exchanges, especially ones that run for a page or more.

Analyze what roles the characters think they’re inhabiting.

Rework the dialogue by getting each character to be more assertive in their claimed role. (Also note that a character can change roles as a matter of strategy. For example, if the Parent isn’t working, a character might switch to pouting like a Child in order to get his way.)

Sources: 1 2 ⚜ More: Writing Notes & References

Hope this helps with your writing!

[mariasont]

Talking to a Brick Wall - A.H

a/n: rip erin strauss you would've hated this fic

masterlist

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!reader

summary: in which you overhear your boyfriend aaron's phone call

warnings: hurt/comfort, angst, miscommunication, self-doubt, happy ending but also a terrible ending bc i SUCK at endings xoxo

wc: 2.3k

You had called out your boyfriend's name multiple times as you wandered into his house. He had asked you a while ago if you wanted to come over for a movie night tonight and hell would have to freeze over before you ever declined that offer. However, upon arrival, you were greeted by silence; no response to the doorbell, his phone, or your voice. Thankfully, the key he'd given you last year jingled in your pocket as you let yourself in.

You had a pretty strong suspicion he'd be in his office--after all, this was Aaron Hotchner, a man who definitely did not believe in leaving work at the office. 

And sure enough, his voice filtered through the slightly ajar door, the rich hue of his mahogany desk framing the gap. You were about to move towards the living room, assuming he was on a work call of some sorts, but his words stopped you dead in your tracks. 

"It's just... sometimes I feel like I'm speaking, but the understanding isn't there. You know what I mean? It's like the concepts just float in one ear and out the other."

You caught your bottom lip between your teeth, brows drawn together, as your hand found the wall, leaning towards the door. He couldn't have been talking about you, right?

"I try to share details, to get her involved, but it's met with this vacant nod. As if the depth of it all just doesn't register."

Oh. Her. You tried to fan away the wetness that threatened to fall down your cheeks, each rapid motion a desperate attempt to convince yourself you were imagining things. 

"And I'm patient, I really am. But when you're met with that blank look, it's... disheartening. You start to wonder if it's worth explaining at all. It's like talking to a wall."

Okay, that stung. It was like an immediate punch to the gut, your heart seeming to drop into the pit of your stomach. Your shoulders slumped slightly as you tried to rationalize his words, but nothing was really making sense right now.

The internal battle was a cruel one: stay and endure the sharp sting of his words or leave and miss more of what he had to say. The latter won, pulling you away from the door. 

You knew you were never going to be the smartest person in the room, and in the past, it was a source of deep-seated insecurity, always a silent specter in the corners of your mind. But then you met Aaron. And he made everything just better. His own intelligence and impressive job never became a yardstick for your worth; he ensured you knew you were more than enough, just as you were.

He had always been the voice reminding you that you were smart in your own right, telling you that your worth transcended any numerical measure of intelligence like a stupid IQ score. But now you were questioning everything. 

Anger seemed like the appropriate response, right? But it was hard to be when his words carried a weight of truth to them. 

You did have a hard time keeping up when he talked about the complexities of his cases, sometimes feeling like an outsider looking in. But, even if you didn't understand, his passion for what he did was infectious, and you hung on to every word when he explained all the ways his smart brain was able to deduce things about people. 

Still, a part of you imagined it was hard for him, that it probably got old fast when you weren't able to hold an intelligent conversation. 

Your knuckles were white against the steering wheel, and it somehow took you only ten minutes to get home when it should've taken you twenty.

It was only when you had taken a shower, put on your favorite pair of pink sweats, brought out some Ben and Jerry's, and turned on Legally Blonde, did you check your phone.

Hi honey. What time are you coming over?

You tried to ignore the sensation of an invisible band drawing tighter across your chest. 

so sorry, not feeling good. rain check? xoxo

You hated lying to him. Hated lying in general, save for the occasional white lie to protect someone's feelings. The fact that you weren't lying to his face was a small mercy, because obviously he'd be able to see right through you.

Do you want me to come there? I can bring food.

You wanted to be with him, you really did, you had been counting down the days to this movie night all week. But the thought of sitting beside him, wanting to ask about his day, about his work, now seemed like an intrusion. Knowing that your well-intentioned questions might be a chore for him or a source of frustration. The realization pressed down on you, a heavy weight that threatened to snuff your light.

no that's okie! thank you though <3 i don't want to get you sick!

Your phone was ringing, his name lighting up the screen for a FaceTime call, it felt like a betrayal of your own making. It was a skill you had recently taught him (which took forever), and of course now he was using it. Your finger jabbed at the red button, your cheeks turning the same color. 

i look & sound disgustinggg rn

I know for a fact that's incorrect. You have a magical talent of looking incredible no matter what.

I want to see your pretty face.

you can be so flattering when u want to mister!

im going to take some medicine & then ill call u l8, k?

Hmm, okay.

love u! xoxo

I love you too, pretty girl.

You hated this. Your eyes were puffy, swollen and wet as you discarded the phone onto the nightstand. He deserved someone who wasn't so pathetic. 

You wallowed in self-pity all night, and then all day, and then all week. You went through the motions--getting up, going to work, and then making up some lame excuse when Aaron asked to see you. Name it, and you had probably said it. In reality, you had been holed up in your room, trading glossy magazine pages for confusing behavioral books.

The subject matter was as dull as dishwater, making paint-watching seem thrilling. But you were committed to bringing some depth to your next conversation with him.

Today's excuse had been some half-truths about being buried in work--which in hindsight seemed comical, given you worked at a bakery and there wasn't much that could take up your time outside of contract hours.

You were splayed across the couch in an upside-down sprawl as you attempted to focus on the scholarly gibberish that filled the pages. 'Homology,' 'dichotomy,' and 'typology' melded into a migraine-inducing blur, tempting you to slam the book shut. You were fighting every urge to throw it out the window and paint your nails with that new glittery polish you've been dying to try.

At the insistent knock, you clapped the book shut (thank god) and stood, brows knitting, as you navigated to the door with a soft scuffle of slippers on polished wood. 

Flinging it open, you halted, breath caught. "Aaron? Oh, hi, what are you doing here?"

The words sprang forth before you could catch them, your hands scrambling up to smooth the evidence of your couch-induced disarray. 

He fixes you a pointed stare as he steps into your apartment, invitation be damned you guess. "I find myself repeating this, yet it seems necessary--peephole first, then the door, sweetheart."

You clamp your teeth onto your lip with such force, you're convinced you've tasted blood. "Oh, right, sorry... I should've remembered."

A flicker of foolishness and a heavy dose of self-consciousness threaten to surface. However, you quickly subdue them, tucking them away as you wrapped your arms around your body, offering him a small smile. Despite everything, your heart leaps at the sight of him. You missed him.

His face softens, his touch soft as he tilts your chin upward. "Look at me. It's fine. I just want to make sure my best girl is safe, that's all."

The temptation to simply crumble there and then, to forget everything and cocoon yourself in his arms, was overwhelming. 

You leaned into his hand without thinking, which now claimed the entire area of your cheek. He was always so warm. 

You watch as Aaron glances around the room, no doubt noting the absence of work-related clutter. "Still working?"

"Oh, I was, I told my boss I'd help with inventory reports." That part wasn't totally a lie, but it still made your conscience squirm with guilt.

"Do you want help?"

The proposal touches a raw nerve, sparking a defensive reflex. Did he think you were incapable?

 "Thanks, but I'm actually all done with them," you lie, your a smile a little too rigid as you head into the living room.

You're keenly aware of his approaching footsteps as you hastily stash that stupid book under a magazine, silently praying he didn't notice. You settle onto the couch, and he joins you, casually drawing your legs over his lap as you recline against the cushions.

"How was your day?"

You wince internally at the automatic question. 

"Not too bad," He replies with an easy shrug, his fingers sneaking under your sweats at the ankles, tracing lazy circles on your calves. "We wrapped up some paperwork, had a couple of briefings, and oh, we were introduced to our new consultant today. She specializes in crypto linguistics--really fascinating stuff."

Your eyes flutter briefly, a constriction forming in your throat, a twist in your gut. The mere mention of the consultant being a she amplifies your feelings of insufficiency. It leaves you wondering, why would Aaron ever be interested in someone like you?

"Crypto linguistics?" you repeat, trying to sound curious rather than lost. 

He leans in closer to you. "It's a specialized area of linguistics focused on decoding encrypted languages."

You offer a nod, managing a convincing "Yeah, of course," even as your eyes unwittingly drift away from his unwavering stare, betraying a hint of your confusion.

Aaron's hand cradles your head, his fingers sifting through your hair. "Hey," he murmurs, drawing your attention back, "what's going on in that pretty head of yours?"

Your chin touches your chest as you mumble, barely audible, "hardly anything."

Aaron's expression turns to a frown, his broad hands guiding your ass and thighs as he positions you atop his lap, face-to-face, leaving you exposed with no place to hide. Your name escapes him with a sigh. "I don't believe that for a second."

You match his frown with your own pout, nestling your face into his neck, concealing the rosy hue that has claimed your cheeks. "Just a rough week is all."

"Is that so?" His voice was a gentle murmur, his hands soothingly moving in gentle sweeps across your back as you breathed out unsteadily. "Funny, that's been my week too. My gorgeous girlfriend seems to have been avoiding me all week."

"Have not," you mumble, your breath warm against his skin, fingers weaving through the hair at the nape of his neck.

He hummed. "Why don't you tell me what's wrong."

"It's silly."

He guided your face back to his, eyes searching yours. "Listen to me. No, it's not. I don't like when you try to diminish your feelings. Talk to me, honey."

That was your tipping point. A wobble in your lip betrays the onset of tears as your voice breaks.

"I just--I know I'm not as smart as the people you work with or even your past girlfriends. I know I don't get things right away especially when you talk about work, and I see how everyone else is so quick, and I'm here, always a few steps behind. I know that it must be frustrating for you, and I'm scared that one day, you'll get tired of explaining, and your patience will run out, and well, you'll see... you'll see that--"

"Baby, whoa, slow down," Aaron urges, his palms tenderly framing your face, a frown plastered over his face. Your heart hammers against your chest, its rapid beats almost audible, as if it might jump from your body. "Take a deep breath, okay? Can you do that for me?"

You draw in a breath.

His thumb delicately erases the tears that have made their way down your cheek.

"When there is something about my work you don't understand, I will gladly go over it as many times as you need. I don't expect you to know everything about that stuff, why would you? That's not why I'm with you. I'm with you because of your incredibly kind heart and the way you see the best in people. I love you because you are you. What is making you think this way, honey? It's breaking my heart."

"I overheard you Aaron," you said, "saying that sometimes it feels like you're talking to a wall when you talk to me."

"What?" he questioned, but his confusion was quickly morphed into concern. "Oh, sweetheart, no. I was talking about Strauss and her lack of understanding of our fieldwork."

"Oh."

"I would never speak about you like that, you know that, right? And if, in some alternate universe, I did, you need to break up with me, or better yet, set me straight." His hands stayed firmly on your face. "You should never tolerate that from me or anyone else, understood?"

You bit down on your lip, hands resting on his shoulders as you nodded. "Yes, sir."

He leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, sending fireworks to every inch of you as he mumbled against your mouth, "that's my girl."

taglist: @hotchhner

[jaal-ama-daravv]

dissecting the emmrich lich romance argument scene (all routes)

dissecting the graveyard scene dissecting the alternate romance path dissecting the emmrich romance scene (lich) emmrich x rook cinematic (lich) emmrich x rook cinematic (mortal)

Dissection - Mortal Emmrich Argument Scene Version

Emmrich Romance - Argument Scene (Lich Path)

i love and hate this scene so let's get into it -

keep in mind that even though emmrich is now a lich, his fear of death is still very much alive. emmrich immediately expresses his feelings to rook stating that he hopes that they can stay back abit in the battle. for fear that they will be hurt, or killed.

the second 'No' escapes Rook's lips, Emmrich bows his head with sadness. He wishes that she would heed his words because he is afraid to lose her.

Rook's response infers that she is offended by the request to have her 'stay back aways' during the battle, keeping in mind that this battle is rook's and she has been fighting it this whole time. yet, rook still shows that she cares for emmrich, by asking what brought this on.

emmrich states that he can see the life course through us, but is aware that he will lose us to time. in this one sentence emmrich is telling us that he is afraid of rook dying, he is deathly afraid to lose rook, and thats not even overselling it. Emmrich is afraid he will miss Rook forever and will never get over it.

which quite frankly, he wouldn't.

Divergence - Option 1

Rook responds with 'Oh, Emmrich' - Rook is calm and considerate in this response, knowing his fears are real to him.

even as I am (a lich) the mind (rationality) is a victim of the heart (love for rook, fear of them dying). even as emmrich is a lich, his fear of death is rampart, now mostly transferred to rook. emmrich is calm when spaeaking, but fear can be heard in his voice.

im no fan of this line, but it's what im working with so - it feels, double barrelled. on one hand telling emmrich he is not great at keeping stuff in because he is emotional and has panic attacks, and in the same sentence telling the big softy to not mourn the love of his life forever.

this line is delivered with some condescension, and honestly, valid, as the previous line feels on par with Divergence Path 2, invalidating emmrichs fears/feeling for rook. in saying that, emmrich is trying to plead with rook to be careful.

valid all around - rook wake up and smell that the man loves you immensely please

he can, and will be, because he is in love with you

facts - once again, hello darkness my old friend, its fear of death calling

ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch

Divergence - Option 2

You ever been mid panic attack and someone cracks a joke? that is exactly emmrichs response and mindset going forward. now watch the anxiety and panic escalate

rook once again, missing the beat, emmrich escalates by reiterating that he is afraid to mourn rook forever. his voice is shaking. this man is breaking his own heart by imaging the death of his beloved. reiterating my point in earlier posts that emmrich, whilst experiencing relationships and love before, hasnt experienced rook and the connection they share. im reiterating my soulmate trope here - and as we continue

i cant defend rook on this point anymore, 3 strikes ur out

defeat slicks off of emmrichs voice as he speaks this line, inferring 'does rook not love me?' 'does she not feel this'

bottom line is rook is in love with emmrich, just as much as he is with her. rook is however pre-occupied with survivng and getting through the battle, whereas emmrich in this moment in knuckled down in black and white thinking - which has been unfortunately backed up by rooks lil jokes. his anger is valid, just as -

Rooks concern with no realsing that Emmrich is having a menty b, is also valid.

both have their defensives up now. rook for upsetting emmrich, and initially being upset at the notion of 'stay back aways in battle' and emmrich for being scared out of his skull that rook will not exist anymore and he has to spend enternity mourning her, also feeling rejected.

Divergence - Option 3

oh jesus -

on god im trying to be non-biased for this but cmon. the man has a gutteral fear of death, he became a lich he was so scared, you were there rook.

valid king

possible, but rook, sweetie, you're being invalidating.

I was gonna make a comment but then -

insert office stare meme

so here - emmrich is clearly tired of trying to explain himself to rook, and rook backfires with just wanting emmrich to be happy, and calling him an idiot. imo, this route is a straight up argument, whilst both path 1 and 2 have some depth to it. I believe it was done this was because when you choose the mortal path for emmrich, it focuses around supporting emmrich to be happy 'in the now', whereas in the lich path, there is no now for emmrich, it is forever, it will always be forever. I believe this path is to show the frustration between rook and emmrich, one being mortal and immortal, whereas the other two paths have a focus of acceptance. whilst not there yet, its apparent.

All routes lead to -

rook has now said something to akin of a personal insult to emmrich, which then leads rook to 'snapping out of it' as their face changes to disbelief 'oh my did I just say that' aka regret, with Emmrich bowing his head and saying "Rook, I..." in response. Rook states that they should pack as they have to leave soon.

if biowares goal was to have me fear for mine and emmrichs life in the upcoming mission, they succeeded.

All routes leave emmrich feeling scared and confused as he looks to the gorund, holding his hands together -

and rook mumbling under their breath, with confusing and 'ugh, i just wanna shake him and kiss him energy' - rook recognises that emmrich is afraid, and their faults in the conversation.

all in all, this is a touch scene, because it is evident how scared they both are and just want the other to survive so they can be safely back home together. the lich version is more centered around death and mourning as they have alreayd broached the l word, where in the mortal version, you can essentially call emmrich a coward. a very heart breaking scene, which adds numerous layers of depth to emmrich and rook as characters who have flaws but are still loved.

imo, i stand tall that emmrich and rook are in love with eachother and it becomes more evident in the next scene. they have this soulmate type of love, the kind where you would hang off the side of a cliff, hanging on by the strength of your index finger if it meant you could save them. the type of love where one look speaks a thousand words. the type of love that a lich lord would go rogue trying to bring their dead love back.

to add on to the soulmate lover trope this snippet from the Flame Eternal short story feat. Emmrich & Johanna where they are burying a deceased lover with another.

"Johanna snorted. “All that fury, ending in another grave.” “Oh, I don’t know.” Emmrich ran a hand along the coffin’s snowy marble. “It would be rather fine to possess such an enduring affection. Besides, you did see this through.”

Emmrich YEARNS for love. YEARNS. He has yearned for the type of love him and Rook have for over 20 years, at least. THE MAN IS RUNNING HIS FINGER ALONG A COFFIN AND ROMANTICING IT. Romanticising possibly, loving someone so much that he is buried with them (quote flashback to Hezenkoss in the final boss battle of "Ill make sure to bury you and your new lover together", now has more depth) or loving someone so much that love would be eternal together, that type of love where you want to be buried together. for over 20 years he has yearned for this love, and he has found it in the middle of the end of the world. please note that emmrich has a fear of abandonement as well like, huge. oh and add in the comment made by Harding in game about Rook and Emmrich moving too fast, please there is only one trope that goes from 0-100 real fucking fast.

Sending thanks to @galedekarios for sharing a conversation between Davrin and Emmrich, here. This post adds a tremendous amount of depth to this argument conversation. I 100% AGREE with Gale's depiction of 'Emmrich not being equipped for lichdom' because it makes sense. If you think back to the lichdom decision scene and dissection, we mentioned how Emmrich had everything he needs to do lichdom. No?? Clearly not. look at what we have just dissected. Then further on the man is practically on his knees begging rook to be careful, telling them that he will find them in another world. In the event of Rooks death, Emmrich would go rogue. He would lose it. Yes, he is a kind and gentle soul, but he has that fire in him. A protective, and obsessive power that he would do anything to bring back his love.

Additionally, Emmrich grew up poor. This would impact his view on society and love. But more impactfully, it would impact his view on himself. His self-worth. Emmrich likely thinks he doesnt deserve this type of love. Hence the attempt to push Rook away and act over-suave at times.

considering dragon age veilguard is centered around the theme of regret, it is no suprise that saying things you regret have showed up in this game, particularly before the eve of battle and impending doom.

ill have the romance scene dissection soon for you hungry necromancer lovers - ill likely do the mortal versions as well

[ilianasbruce]

“In the heat of the night.”

word count: 5,626

summary: some wild idea of your Bruce for the night ♡

warnings: full +18 content with a plot. minors do not interact, please

notes: hi, hi!!! ♡ may i present you this wild piece?? there are no limitations for young, husband Bruce and here we go again!! ♡ this can be a sequel to my this piece, but it still can be a standalone, too, i guess. happy reading, my loves!! thank you so much for your support!! kiss, kiss!!! ♡ ♡ ♡

Iceberg Lounge.

A place that you wouldn't cross alone nor did you ever want to be there for hours. According to the things you’ve heard, it was usually filled with Gotham’s double-sided face. Sometimes the higher ranks were wandering around with their glamorous suit and ties, sometimes it was a random thug in the name of working for the Penguin. Either way, it was still for the highest. The same word that involved both you and your husband.

It was not your idea to come here, on a Friday night in scorching July with your beloved Bruce — it was his idea since the beginning. He decided it was good to renew your appreances since the last three weeks, the opera house night. It was a good cover for Batman’s investigation on Oswald Cobblepot, in other representations he was referred to as the ‘Penguin’. There were some vulgar burglaries from Gotham’s highest and illegal trafficking on the Gotham port, and Bruce was cynical about the arrows leading to this peculiar man. Thus, Bruce was rigid about his date night with you and now you were here, your dazzling eyes wandering through the ‘icy’ interior as you strode to your reserved table with Bruce’s arm around your waist.

“What? Are you still angry with me?”

His lips brushed your ear. “You know, I can eat your anger out if you can be a good girl for me tonight.” he continued as he kissed the sweet spot below your ear. God, it drove you mad how he was sometimes nonchalant about his words.

You slightly pushed him with your hand on his chest, earning a stupid grin on his handsome face. He had no shame about the people of Gotham seeing how he was smitten with you, how he liked to show off his obsession, such as casually kissing your bare shoulders or neck as soon as he had a chance. You were still irritated with him since the last few days after his ‘friend’ incident — fucking you with great pleasure for his jealousy and you being confused about his non-existent explanation of the situation and the next morning nuzzling you like a puppy. As if he weren't the one who was responsible for the love bites with stains on your chest and shoulders for the next few days, and as if he weren't the one who was responsible for the soreness between your thighs.

It had been a few days since you’d been giving him a cold shoulder, refusing to interact with him out of necessity. And he was aware of that — aware of your rejecting his morning kisses or your nightly staying-ups for him through the night. He knew his fault with you, but he was slightly busy with Penguin rather than engaging with you. When he told you that you two are going for a date night, Alfred and you gave him cynical glances. It was too easy, wasn't it? But he also added that he needed to ‘look through’ Oswald Cobblepot, and the real picture was revealed.

“Oh, Sir, I thought you finally had a rational thought.”

Alfred was aware of the silent tension between you and Bruce, mainly your irritation, and he was on your side most of the time. And whatever was bothering you, was bothering him, too. Since he had seen Bruce’s devotion to you — Bruce’s eagerness in wedlock with you — and he was happy finally in his life after the darkness of years. But he was also aware of the two young lovers’ struggles during their early marriage years. He was afraid as a father to Bruce and you, that some trivial miscommunication or anything would happen and Bruce would lose his North Star, you, forevermore. It was well known how Bruce couldn't handle his beloved parents’ death, and it was a strangling thought for Alfred that something like that could happen again to Bruce, just him to be goner until the end line.

Bruce was angry and fueled, but he was also arrogant in his vision. Alfred could handle his son, but could you handle him even though he was the love of your life? Your dearest, young and confident Bruce? Alfred was scared, he had no chance at that time of tragedy, he had no power to halt the nightmare but he did have the capability now. And he was no fool for letting the similar darkness cover his son’s life again.

However, Bruce’s intention was really to take you out on a date with his detective vision. He loved you so much, and he was trying to fix his wrongdoing with this rational thought. He couldn't bear to see your lovely eyes avoiding him or your endless love halting to flourish for him.

You, at first, did not want to go out with him, truthfully. You just said ‘I am tired’ that day, well in fact, you were just making a chocolate cake with Alfred from his generational, Pennyworth recipes. It hurt Bruce to see your unwillingness; after seeing your lowered gaze from him to the chocolates in your hand. But he ushered you with his generous bouquets of your favorite flowers after a few hours, leaving you stunned.

“Oh, I think he is very serious about his offer, Madam.”

So, here you were, walking right next to him in your lovely silhouette as you two were accompanied to your table.

“Mr. Wayne and Mrs. Wayne, what a pleasure to see you.”

You and Bruce halted by the voice, turned to see no one but the one and only Oswald Cobblepot himself. Neither Bruce or you had the opportunity to speak to him before, nor Mr. Cobblepot. As he saw both of you, he took the chance to introduce himself to the Son of Gotham and his wife.

Oswald Cobblepot was a peculiar man. He was feared but also respected in Gotham, came from the real Gotham families like Bruce. He was a nobleman outside but inside? Your Bruce was thinking about him lately in his cave.

Mr. Cobblepot gave a courteous bow for both of you, and then asked for your hand. You let him politely and the next, your hand was brushed by his lips.

“We can say the same, Mr. Cobblepot. Thank you for your invitation.”

You withdrew your hand and felt Bruce’s hand giving a soft squeeze on your hip. “My wife was enthusiastic about a refreshment from the heat of Gotham. I thought one of your freezing nights could be a great gift for her.”

You smiled politely when Mr. Cobblepot’s gaze found yours behind his monocle. He gave you a satisfied smile, his eyes crinkling cheerfully. “We are delighted to hear about Mrs. Wayne’s preferences. I assure you that she will have a wonderful night here. I specifically gave the orders for your table, Mr. Wayne.”

He gestured with his hand for you to continue, “Please, do proceed and enjoy the night. I wish it would be marvelous for you.”

In the next few minutes, you were sitting opposite each other, your eyes looking down at the scene of the Lounge. It was crowded, filled with the specials of Gotham and a few notorious ones. Your eyes wandered through the people and the scenery of “icy” walls, the stage where there was a preparation for the singer of the night, and the ceiling from what you could see the gleaming night lights of Gotham and the slightly visible stars in the sky.

“Do you like it?”

Your attention was interrupted by Bruce as he took your hand into his and kissed your knuckles. He brushed his lips on your soft skin lovingly as his keen, bedroom eyes under his thick eyebrows looked at you. He kept his lips on your skin, expecting an answer from you. He knew how to get under your skin, bending your attention to him with his calm gaze.

“I didn’t know I was the one who was enthusiastic about a ‘frosty’ night out?”

You still pursued your stubbornness about your cold shoulder. He sighed and kept your hand in his on the table. “You were searching for every cold corner in the Manor.”

“How — Were you following me?”

You were, frankly, looking for it during the afternoon naps. Wayne Manor was spectacular to you in every sense and you loved to spend your favorite time in every corner of it. But when Gotham was burning, you chose to look for a comfortable corner in your home. And to your wonder, Bruce, as he was supposed to be either in the cave or in his fourteen hours of sleep after his patrols, was obviously aware of your little research. He gave you an unimpressed gaze, his thumb caressing your rings.

“God forbid if I look for you in our house.”

You did not answer his sarcasm, tearing your stare from him to the singer whose voice was now filling the chilly air of the Lounge. Bruce followed your eyes after a few seconds of looking at your features, thinking about how he could win you over.

Twenty minutes later, your drinks were served and you were sipping your mimosa, since you refused to drink alcohol as your husband, eyes on the band. Bruce, slightly opposite of you, swirling his wine spritzer as his eyes were locked on Mr. Cobblepot who was wandering with his ‘suit and tie’ right hand, seemingly discussing something. His blue eyes didn't leave any momentum of ‘Penguin’, watching him until he disappeared from his sharp eyes. It was a great opportunity to use his time, since you were also giving him no attention.

He placed the glass on the table and took your hand for a kiss. “I need to use the bathroom, my love. Will you be alright if I’m gone for a few minutes?”

Your fluttering gaze found his; you knew what he was referring to. You just nodded your head with a small ‘yes’. He gave you a small smile and squeezed your hand. Then, he left your table.

His ‘few minutes’ stretched out for a long, heavy time. You did not realize at first, but no lie, as much as you were irritated by him, even for a mere time — you were still in love with him heavily. Your lovely eyes wandered through the people, the poker tables, or the bar under your gaze. There was no sign of him. You waited for a few more minutes before you left the table.

You walked through the dim corridor of tables, filled with the notorious people of Gotham and the outsiders, drinking your vision with their eyes. You tried to keep your gaze on the way ahead since you did not want to engage with anyone. There were familiar faces at the tables, smiling and nodding at you as you repeated with the same ladylike effort.

Where was your husband? As you descended the stairs, you were thoughtfully blending through the crowd, thinking about where to look for him. You knew he could take care of himself, but hell, where was he? Every kind of high people of Gotham were there, and your lovely but uneasy eyes were looking for your husband. They indeed were the vultures, looking at the little bird of love with a great appetite.

“Would a pretty girl like you want a drink?”

Your eyes found the young bartender as you bypassed the bar. You shook your head with a small, uncomfortable smile as you dived through the crowd towards the washrooms — or you hoped. You did find the washrooms. But also a few, suited men looking for.. something? They passed over you in skepticism, as if trying to find someone that they were now hastily speaking to each other about. You were suspicious of something, turned to go way back to your table but you were interrupted there.

“Mrs. Wayne, are you lost?”

You turned and found Mr. Cobblepot who was staring at you with curiosity blended with irritation. He looked more terrifying when he was in that state.

“I,” you started as he approached you with his cane in his languid movements due to his physique. “I was-”

“There you are, baby. Want me to take you to the dance floor?”

Bruce’s sudden appearance from behind shook you and Mr. Cobblepot. His arm snaked your waist, pulling you slightly to himself as you turned your face to the side to meet his gaze. He looked so effortless, giving you one of his favorite smiles you adored, as your eyes gazed up at him speechless.

“I,” you murmured barely with your lovely eyes locked in his blue eyes, “Yes, please.”. Mr. Cobblepot was looking at you two in confusion but he did not bother to intercede since he was looking for the snitch who was eavesdropping.

“Mr. Cobblepot, you have a good place here. It is quite thrilling for us.”

“Glad to hear that, Mr. Wayne. Pardon me.”

With that, he left you two alone. You thought you were supposed to go to the dance floor but in the blink of an eye, Bruce guided you to the ladies’ restroom. He made sure that there was no one inside before pulling you in and locking the door after you.

“Where were you?” you asked him quietly before he pressed you to the door. He kissed your lips for a peck, murmuring the words on them.

“Me?”

“Yes.” you breathed out when his cold palms found your skin under your satin, thigh-length dress. He pecked your lips again with “Why? Did you miss me?”.

“They,” he pressed another kiss on your lips, “were looking for you?”. You let him kiss you as much as he wanted since he was only thinking about it as you realized. He slowly had his lips on you, sweetly taking every second. After a few seconds of his pleasure, you softly pushed him for both air and an answer.

“Were they looking for you?” you murmured to his lips as he gave you a disturbed gaze in the eyes. “Were they?” he muttered, eluding your inquiries before kissing you again. This time, he was a bit rougher with you. You let a softest moan to his mouth as his hand went higher than before.

You did not want him to have his way with you smoothly as always. You were supposed to be giving him a silent treatment; you were trying but it was challenging when he was orbiting around you like this. You did not let him touch you since that night, always slept away from him on the bed. But he was almost daring you in this situation. When he broke the kiss for a breath for you two, you whispered to him as he had pressed his forehead to yours.

��Bruce,” you breathed out, “Someone’s gonna come on us.”

“Don’t worry,” he muttered to your lips, ready for another kiss. “I’ll make no one will.”

Your attempts were futile. He kissed you as he longed for, over and over again with soft bites of your bottom lip. He let his tongue devour you, letting you melt in his mouth while his fingers fiddled with the waistband of your liliac, lacy panties under your dress.

His lips, after leaving you breathless, found your jaw, then your neck. He kissed every inch of your soft skin, breathing in your floral scent. Your fingers went to his shoulders, holding onto him. When he bit your neck, you hissed his name since it’d leave a stain without any concealing and that was the last thing you wanted this night. He just kissed the same spot and licked your skin next.

You were flushed, breathing in the mild air of the washroom, as he kissed your bare shoulders after pulling the straps off them. You thought he’d just fuck you for one round, then you’d leave this madness but no. A thought was spiraling in Bruce’s head for quite time during the day, to go on his knees for you.

He bit your throat and pulled back to take off his jacket. He just threw it on the countertop before coming back to your lips. He kissed you more before going down on his knees, looking up at you from his thick lashes. You were watching him with a warm face, uneasy about the spot you two were in. You just shook your head as a ‘no’, but that made him smile at your loveliness. His calloused hands gently went under your dress again as if he did not want to scare you off.

“Come on, baby, just let me take a bite of my dessert, yeah?” he muttered with a merry glint in his blue eyes, making you already wet from how he looked. God, he was almost unreal — his slicked back, dark hair was now slightly messy from whatever he did before you and his blue eyes were hazy with longing as he looked at you. You felt his fingers go upwards, just through the waistband of your flower-detailed underwear. He elatedly caressed his thumb on the elaborated material, just getting slightly hard in his pants. You were torn between his plea and the possible scandal but he deftly started to pull down your delicate piece.

“B-Bruce, we’ll-”

“Shh, baby, we won’t.” he muttered as he kissed your thigh, peeking up at you from the hem of your dress. “I’ll make sure we won’t.”

Your drip-covered panties slipped through your thighs and were freed from your legs next, finding a way into his pocket. He just put his hands back on your hot skin, under the dress of yours. He pressed kisses to your soft skin, just mumbling as his lips brushed it.

“Don’t you trust me, darling?” he urged you with his sweet tongue. “Me, baby? Your husband?”

His lascivious eyes found yours as he inclined his head slightly. “You know, I’d do anything for you.”

It was impossible to stay mad at him like this. When he was just on his knees to worship you. Your blurry mind was fighting for a notion to get him on his feet to leave here but your heart… It was just beating for him no matter what and he must’ve been aware of his spell on you. His precious girl, how could he not?

As he saw your torn expression on your lovely face, all blushed just for him, he quietly did what he wanted to do. He started to press kisses on your thighs as one of his hands went under your thigh to place your leg on his shoulder to dive into you. You softly gasped at his action and he successfully got you in the position he wanted. You felt his mouth closer to where you were wet.

“Just.. j-just once, baby.” you muttered to the air as your eyes were on him as he fisted your dress for not creating any distraction. “Mhm,” he hummed through your skin as you heard it barely. “Just once.”

Bruce did not waste any time as he reached his destination. He, at first, opened your legs with the help of your knee on his shoulder, then gave you small licks between your folds. You let out a breath, pressing your head against the wooden door behind you. He licked your wetness with a muffled groan and then slightly sucked the tender flesh with his mouth.

He spread you more by your thigh, diving his tongue more inside of your cunt which made you let out a breathy moan, and held your thigh in a grip that prevent you from losing balance. He started with his slow flickers of his tongue, tasting your hot juices in his mouth for good extended minutes. He prolonged his strokes, just filling you with his tongue. He then started to eat you out thrilled, thriving for every second of it. Your eyes were fluttering due to his mouth, and your hands were looking for anything to grip onto. Bruce roamed his tongue between your folds, up and down, some moments sucking them. You hid your mouth with the back of your hand to prevent your soft moans from reaching any possible person on the other side of the door.

The sweat started to form down your spine, as well as on Bruce’s temple as he was feasting on you between your thighs. You couldn't dare to run your ring-covered fingers through his hair to mess it up, yet it was already messy from his nuzzling there. For good minutes of eating you out in a languid way, he pulled your thigh to press your pussy more to his mouth, his slightly crooked nose stuffed in your wetness. He was licking, biting and sucking your soft flesh and fluids with his hungry appetite, making you dribble on his tongue lusciously. You were singing for him softly to the back of your hand.

Bruce gave your first orgasm with his tongue, just his finger on your clit to stimulate you, but his lips that you loved so much to kiss and sweet tongue were buried in your cunt.

You saw the stars, brighter than tonight's. You just remember the feeling so achingly at the moment. It was so thrilling, sending a jolt to your body. Thankfully, your husband was there to hold you because you were a mess from the pressure of his grip and the lazy strokes of his tongue. When you were breathing heavily with half-lidded eyes, looking down at him as he cleared every amount of your euphoric juices between your folds, you thought it was over. But in the next few minutes of Bruce’s good appetite, he wiped his thumb to clear your sweetness on his chin with his eyes on you. The vision of him was almost enough for you to be wet again, but your mind was blurry. Blurry that you couldn't realize his next motives.

Bruce pressed a few needy kisses on your lips, letting you taste your sweet flavor on his tongue, pulling you into his arms. Your arms found his shoulders for a balance but you realized he led you to one of the private stalls along with his discarded jacket. He just pushed you there before he entered and locked it after him. Your mind was too dizzy with him that you did not even realize him unlocking the main door of the restroom. So, it was open to anybody now.

Bruce tossed out his jacket in the corner before kissing you in the dense stall. He just handily altered your positions where he had you on his lap on the seat. He compelled you to straddle him as he kissed you, his hands under your dress on the bare skin.

“Be my good girl, yeah?” he murmured to your lips. “Let me see you ride.”

You were at the moment too messed up. Fucking in the some washroom stall was the last thing you thought he preferred to do. And you knew it was an effort to make him let go of the idea. You were just staring into his eyes with your pretty ones with uncertainty. He knew your inexperience in risky situations, for easing you, he was giving you his bedroom eyes that you couldn’t resist.

“Wasn’t it just… for once?” you murmured to him. He sighed against your lips, pulling you more to him where his lips brushed yours as he answered you. “I won’t leave this fucking room until we fuck.”

You were already flushed and his direct words were much for you, specifically with the fixed look in his eyes. He saw your quietness, so he leaned and kissed you softly. He knew you were scared of some ‘miscalculation’ but he knew better. He promised you about that, didn’t he?

You just let him kiss you, be intoxicated with you as he took his time. His thumb was caressing your bare skin, remembering the softness of it. He let you whimper into his mouth as he pushed his tongue in. You just loved him more when he was kissing so in love, gently coaxing you into him, softening you in his tongue as he liked. When you were breathless, you two broke the kiss, you drunk on him. You pressed your forehead against his with closed eyes, just to feel his proximity for extended moments. But he had other plans.

You felt him fiddling with his belt, the clicking sounds of it in your ears. You opened your eyes to look and found him with creased brows as he struggled to free himself. You sighed and gave in to his dangerous idea, your fingers working on the belt. It took your thirty-nine seconds to free his cock from his trousers, already hard in your warm palm.

He just breathed out a ‘Fuck,’ under his breath when you slowly rubbed the tip with your thumb. He let his head press back to the wall behind him with closed eyes as you grazed your finger on it. He slightly pulled you from your thighs to usher you to take him but you knew better. You just quietly played with his tip.

“Baby,” he muttered with a need in his tone. “Please.” he just simply continued his plea. One thing about him always surprised you that he wasn't playing any games with his requests or his pleas. If he needed you so fucking bad, he’d tell you straightforwardly. And he’d not try to dominate you into his plea. He’d be just good for you to take him however you liked. He was just yours.

“Will you do that for me, pretty girl?” he came back to your lips for a soft kiss. “Yeah?” he guided you with his lips.

“Yeah.” you whispered after one kiss. “Hm?” one kiss more, “That’s my girl.”

You two kissed until he helped you to be in a position to take him. You felt his tip between your folds, at your entrance. You softly moaned into his lips when he entered you. A few seconds of taking him fully gave you a familiar feeling you knew very well. You closed your eyes, letting your head fall on his shoulder as you exhaled quietly, his thickness filling you overly. He fixed the angles of his hips to be buried in you as much as he could, your pussy lovingly wrapping around him. He kissed your cheek before murmuring to your skin.

“Are you alright, baby?”

You hummed before finding his eyes. He gave you just a sweet smile of his and pecked your lips. As you started to move your hips, it was a bit of a struggle for you to find the pace. You started slowly, fully taking him, in and out, with your soft moans. He was just bare with nothing but his length inside of you pussy. It was so perfect, so right as you moved on his cock. He was quietly tensing his jaw for not to make any sound other than his occasional groans.

His hands were on your hips and thighs, holding you from falling as you rode him how you yearned for. You just started at a slow but steady pace, but he encouraged you to be faster with his blue eyes under his creased brows from the pleasure he was having as much as you were. Your scorching pussy had been squeezing him too flawlessly from thrusts, luring him for more of you. You tried to take him as much as you could with you needy state, moving your hips to hit your sweet spots.

Your breathing started to speed up from the movements of your hips before the main door of the washroom opened and a few girls came inside. You were too stunned, halting your hips immediately. But Bruce, God, he was just surprised for a few seconds before he turned back to his high feelings of your pussy clenching his cock without any mind. In fact, he was only surprised that it took so long for someone to use the restroom.

The girls were loud and ecstatic in their own world, not presuming what was happening behind one of the locked stall doors. Your mind was dizzy and alert at the same time but your Bruce knew how to handle you. He just started to press softest kisses on your throat and neck silently as he could (he was very sure that the girls wouldn't even notice your hushed actions, but he knew you were like a deer in the headlights. His lovely doe.), then soft whispers to your ear.

“I got you, baby.” he murmured barely as he skillfully inclined you to lift your hips. Your panicked eyes locked in his but he was effortless — like how he knew how to twist it to his will. That arrogant husband of yours. He, a few times, made you continue to ride him which resulted in your strained moans against his neck. The girls were speaking about a theme passionately to notice your sweetest, softened sounds.

The whole six minutes passed as one of the most dreadful moments in your life. You just prayed they’d leave and no one would enter until you two were finished. Bruce guided you unhurriedly in those minutes, nestling to your skin with his kisses, making you wrap your arms around his neck as he helped you to move your hips. He was pampered in his seat, his thumb brushing on the soft skin of your hip as he was sucking and biting throat, — blooming the faded spots again — while you were holding him dearly. And when the girls left and you were now alone in the restroom again, you caught his eyes. You were speechless but he pecked your lips and muttered, “I told you to trust me.”

You just sighed at his neck in disappointment and he only smiled at himself. He kissed your hair as you hid your face, murmuring a ‘please’ for you interrupted moment. You breathed out in peace, the quiet relief in your heart that you were actually out of sights. It took you a few moments but he got you just as needy as before with his words and kisses in the following minutes, to tutor you to ride him just like earlier.

“There you go, baby, just — fuck — just like that.”

You pressed your forehead against his as you moved your hips with a sheen on your temple as his. He was just burning just as you, in his white, tailor-made unbuttoned shirt in the heat, holding you skillfully as you were fucking him. A whole extended period of thrusting on his cock got you to the finish line. Your soft moans and mewls were filling the dense air between as your cunt was utterly tightening with his thickness over and over again. And when you felt the familiar pressure in your stomach, you just called his name into his ear.

He could feel how your pussy was clenching him, giving him his elated seconds. “Fuck, are you close?” he asked you as he pressed kisses on your neck. “Hm?”

“Uh-huh..”

You felt his fingertips on your clit, pressuring the exact spot got you breathless. “B-Baby..,” you breathed out to his neck. He knew the tone of your voice and the desperation of the moment and did what he usually does. It felt amazing, so dazzling when the euphoria blinded you. You just remember the tight clasp of yours around his neck and the deep inhale of air. The next thing you reminisce about was that you were in his arms, nuzzling into his neck with soft exhales.

You never fully remembered how he came but he did after you with the squeezing of your cunt as you came and your sweet calling out of his name. He came inside of you, his thick seed filling you and now, messy between your thighs. You two were breathless, pressed up against each other in silence.

You felt his fingers tangled in your hair later. He was serenely and contently running his calloused fingers through it. You felt his fingers then pushing your locks on your face, on your blushed cheeks before his hand found your face to angle you to him.

When your eyes met, you two smiled at each other. He softly traced your bottom lip, his blue eyes fixed on that. He then gently grabbed your chin between his fingers to pull you in for a kiss. You shared a few more kisses happily, appreciating them one by one.

“You are a mess.” you whispered as your eyes were lovingly carving his features into your mind. “Am I?” he muttered as his eyes slightly crinkled.

God, you loved him so much.

His hair was messy, his pale cheeks were tinted in the fluorescent light as yours and his stupid smile detailed on his mouth. He brushed your cheek with his thumb, pulling you in for the last kiss.

“We should better be gone, baby.” he muttered to your lips. You just hummed, sluggish in your reply. He just smiled at your mood and pressed a kiss on your temple. “We can cuddle in bed, come on. Unless you want to spend some time in here.”

You let him help you with taking himself out of you and pulling you up on your feet. You two were genuinely a mess, in any sense. It took you twenty minutes to be in ‘decent’ condition, after the refreshment of water and some kisses. Bruce had covered his jacket around you, for your disheveled dress and the love marks on your neck.

“Ready?” he murmured to your temple after a kiss as his arm circled you. You just nodded, thinking about how the hell you will leave before someone notices you two leave the restroom in that state. But as your Bruce said, he’d handle it.

thank you so much for reading!!! ♡

[dodgeballstuckonthegymceiling]

Instead of carrying out Poppy's plans, if Reader stood up to the prototype alone and died with the prototype to save Doey and the other dolls of safe haven, what would be Doey, Poppy, and Kissy's reaction?

Reader firmly promised to leave the factory with the prototype before stepping forward, but the promise was ultimately broken.

If you feel bad about this, you can ignore it completely.

I would never ignore a chance to write something angsty!

If you like my work, please consider commissioning me or leaving a tip on Ko-fi (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

Player who died with the prototype

Doey

★You lied to him. He trusted you, trusted that you could save them all from the Prototype. That you and all his friends could be free. But after everything you've been through, you finally ran out of luck. The player left and didn't come back.

★ Holding one of the Player’s belongings they left behind. A scarf, glove or earring. Something insignificant then but precious now. He has an internal argument about what happened to you. "Why did they lie? Why did they leave? I could’ve stopped them. We should’ve stopped them."

★ He remembers their smile, their determination to help, the way they trusted him to keep everyone safe. And how, in the end, he couldn’t save them. They promised. They promised they’d come back. But they didn’t.

★ Doey clings to your promise, even though he knows it is broken. They will all leave the factory someday, but you won't be there to see it. Now that the Prototype is gone, they're free. He just wishes you could've been free with him.

Poppy

★ Poppys first reaction is anger. She’s furious that the Player didn’t listen to her, that they chose to go alone despite her having a plan. "You should have followed my plan. Why didn’t you listen?!" She mutters to herself as she paces around the Safe Haven.

★ Even though she is angry at you, she can't deny the sense of relief that floods her porcelain body. The Prototype, her biggest threat, is gone. Though that relief quickly feels like a knife twisting in her chest. Because it came at the cost of your life.

★ As time moves on, she tries to rationalize what happened. “They knew what they were doing.” Poppy thinks. “The Prototype was too dangerous to let live, it had to end like this.” But even then, a small voice in the back of her head tells her otherwise.

Kissy

★ At first, she's numb. Standing still and not knowing how to feel. The reality of it doesn’t sink in until much later, when she’s back in Safe Haven with the others. Surrounded by toys alive because of the Player’s decision. It hits her all at once.

★ She breaks down away from the others, in a quiet corner of the Safe Haven. Back against a wall as she covers her eyes with a hand and begins to cry. Sobs barely audible but still loud enough to gain the attention of poppy. Who comforts kissy to the best of her ability.

★ Though she knows it was the Player’s choice, she can't help but feel responsible. Replaying the moments leading up to the players decision in her head. Wondering if she could have done anything to stop you. Every time, she reaches the same conclusion, she couldn't.

[slayfics]

Katsuki picks you up after a fight with your boyfriend.

700 words

The hum of the engine filled the silent car, the sound of the road was like an angry beast under the tiers.

“I don’t need any more negative energy you know,” you stated to Katsuki.

His knuckles were white from death gripping the steering wheel. He knew you were going through a lot, but that did little to put out the overwhelming rage inside him.

Katsuki sucked in air through his teeth. “It’s taking everything in me not to blow that fucker up. You understand that right?”

“I know, that’s why I didn’t want to call you. But I didn’t know what else to do. My phone was going to die, and you were the closest one around,” you explained.

You had called Katsuki early in the morning, after a heated fight with your now ex-boyfriend. Too many drinks led you both into an argument that you couldn’t even remember. Your only memory was waking up in an empty hotel room with no way to get home. Phone on its last legs, with no charger in sight being that your boyfriend had packed it before he left.

“What the hell you two even fight about?!” Katsuki asked, pinching the bridge of his nose before running his hand down his face.

“I told you I don’t remember,” you answered.

“How fucking much did you drink?!” he questioned, his anger filling the aura of the car.

“Too much,” you responded honestly.

“So, you’re telling me you were black-out drunk when that fucker left you alone?!” He barked.

“I was in a hotel room not on the street,” you tried to rationalize.

“I DON’T GIVE A DAMN! HE DIDN’T TAKE CARE OF YOU!” Katsuki yelled.

“I’m the one that drank that much, I’m responsible for my alcohol consumption. And I’m not a child that needs to be taken care of. Besides, I’m sure I said some nasty things to him while I was drunk.” You spoke.

Katsuki scoffed; it took every ounce of self-control to keep himself contained. “So?! You said some mean words to him? Boo-fucking-hoo. Is he such a pussy that he can’t take a few words?! I don’t give a fuck how mad you made him. HE. LEFT. YOU.”

“You’re being unreasonable. This is why he never liked you,” you stated matter-of-factly.

“Oh, he’s going to like me even fucking less the next time he sees me,” Katsuki spat with an almost sinister chuckle.

“Kats stop.” You pleaded.

“No! You stop defending him! This isn’t fucking ok! And I’ll fucking kill you if you forgive him and take him back! You understand that right?! YOU called me! YOU got me involved. So now this is how things are going to go. You’re going to get your shit, then you’re gonna get your ass back in this car, and you’re never going to see him again,” he concluded.

“What?! No take me home! I don’t want to see him yet!” You argued.

“Fuck no. If I do that, he’ll give you some sob story when you two are alone and you’ll take his sorry ass back. You’re ending this NOW.” Katsuki said authoritatively.

“It’s going to make more problems if you show up dropping me off!” You exclaimed.

“Good. Let that asshole see that when he leaves you alone other men are willing to step up. It’s his funeral if he’s got something to say to me,” Katsuki spoke, words laced with venom.

You breathed in trying to find words to break through to Katsuki, when you noticed your ex’s place coming into view. “Wait, I didn’t tell you where he lived. How did you know where to go?!” You questioned.

“Oh, don’t give me that shit. I’m a top pro hero, of course, I watch out for the people I give a crap about. You told me enough shitty stuff about him already… I knew it was only a matter of time before I got a call to come to rescue you,” Katsuki explained pulling up into the driveway. “Now go get your shit. You have 10 minutes before I come blasting in to check if you’re ok.”

“Wow. My hero,” you said sarcastically rolling your eyes before getting out of the car and slamming the door behind you.

“Always,” he smirked.

sinners: @queenpiranhadon @unofficialsapphire @maddietries @fiannee @i-heart-carlisle @derangedmango @matchat3a @bakugouswaif @reneinii @peachsukii @pastelbakugou @abadbitchblogs @b134ch-m4h-ey3z @pinkpurpledreams @that-one-fangirl69 @dreamcastgirl99 @jays-adventure3 @bythevay

[astraldelights]

Brat! 🪖

Synopsis: You start acting like a brat and Ben knows exactly how to put you into your place.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Word count: 2.1k

Content warnings: SMUT (18+), P in V, Spanking, Brat Taming, Unprotected Sex ( Ben doesn't believe in condoms), Glasses get thrown onto the ground :(, Soldier Boy being an ass.

-

“Hey sweetheart.”He exhaled after taking a drag of his lucky joint. The smell of weed was strong in the air, his legs spread wide clearly wanting to let you know how big it was. You rolled your eyes in response and tried to ignore his irritating presence. 

The only reason you had stayed back was because Butcher stuck you on babysitting duty. In his own words, “ Love, you would get squished like a bug if you went with us.” 

Even after insisting on tagging along on their field mission, you were met with a hard no. You didn't disagree completely but just wanted to avoid dealing with Soldier Boy’s outdated notion about women and politics. 

You had been with Butcher and his gang for a few months. You mostly helped out with research and handling retrieval of sensitive digital information from certain companies. Working behind the scenes meant that you were not physically built for any of the missions which usually involved combat. MM and Frenchie had been kind enough to train you in the basics of self defence and hand to hand combat. Teaching you how to use a handgun as well, in case shit got real, and with Butcher’s baggage it always did.

“Hey princess, you know playing hard to get only makes me want you more.” He said with a deep grin on his face. It was clear his high could get to him, considering the copious amount of weed he had already smoked through. You didn't mind the weed, but the only thing that ruined your high was him sitting beside you. Opening your laptop, you started to try and do your own work.

While you didn’t like Soldier Boy, you couldn't deny that he was very attractive. His dick-swinging, cocky attitude had to come from somewhere. He knew he was hot and you hated it. The first time you met him you had to act like you weren't completely ogling him through the body cams Butcher and crew had on them after breaking into the Russian lab. He was shown in all his glory, with his beard grown and body still in perfect shape. Before you could continue watching, the cameras seemed to go off after he let out that nuclear blast from his chest. Being around him was an internal battle everyday, trying to not look him directly in the face to avoid having to confront your confusing feelings towards him. 

But even that wasn’t enough.

While you were a bit of a homebody and preferred to wear comfortable clothes, you did like to dress up once in a while. And when Soldier Boy saw you in a mini-skirt for the first time, his perverted comments started. “Woah where have you been hiding?” “Is that what women are wearing nowadays? You look like a hooker. Not that I’m complaining” 

The rational part of you hated being objectified under his gaze, and the other part rubbed your thighs together every time he said something with his deep baritone voice. Everytime he spoke, its deepness sent a shiver down your spine. 

Your current predicament, however, did not allow you to avoid his presence. With every other room having horrible connection, that only left the room that Soldier Boy currently occupied. 

“You know, you would look way prettier if you got rid of those glasses.” Your eyebrow twitched in anger. “I actually need these glasses. Not everyone got a dose of compound V to allow them perfect vision for the rest of their lives” You tried turning away from him, only having limited space as his manspreading took up half the tiny couch you were situated on. “Also could you PLEASE close your legs? I’m sure you don't need that much space for what's in between your legs.” You huffed out, clearly frustrated with his macho manspread he had used to take up space on the couch.

“How about you stop acting like a fucking brat.” He grumbled. Ben was sick and tired of your attitude. Your lingering stares on his face followed by quick turns away. Always coming out in shabby outfits after giving him a taste of what you looked like underneath all that fabric. You were a tease, and he was at his limit. Using his strength he manhandled you right over his thigh, computer thrown onto the ground.

“What are you-” Smack!

Ben’s hand landed straight onto your behind, leaving a stinging sensation. “If you want to act like a brat, I’m going to treat you like one. If I have to smack some manners into you I will.”

You squirm on his lap but can’t seem to get out of his supe-enhanced strength as he holds you down with one palm on your back. Smack! Another hit lands

“Stay fucking still. I want to hear you count each time I hit this pretty little ass. If I can’t hear you we start from 0, got it?” You nodded, with tears already threatening to spill from the previous two hits. 

As his hand repeatedly came down onto your tender behind, you managed to whimper out each count until you reached the number 10. Tears streaming down your face, your glasses knocked off from the force of his hits. You looked up to Ben as his hand wiped away the tears. The hand which was holding you down for punishment, now tenderly cradling your cheek.

“Now ain’t that a beautiful sight, you gonna be good for me now?” You nodded, eager to please him or save yourself from further punishment. You weren’t sure. His hands moved to slip down your shorts, cradling your ass in his palm. You felt him rub his hand against your ass, feeling you through your soaked panties.

“You actually got wet from this? You kinky slut.” He grinned at the effect he had on you. Ben knew he turned you on no matter how much you acted like you hated him. Lifting you again he set you to straddle his thigh. You stay still waiting for his next instruction, not wanting to anger him with your insubordination. 

“See! I was right you look way fucking better without those glasses, and much hotter when your looking at me with those fuck-me eyes.” Ben was brimming with confidence and pride, disciplining you seemed to stroke his ego in a special way. Using his hands, he guided your hips to start grinding on his thigh. The friction between his thigh and your panties rubbing against your clit was heaven. The more you rubbed the closer you got. Hiding your face in his shoulders while gripping his chest tightly, he knew you were getting close. Ben started to bounce his thigh and wrangled you out of hiding in his neck.

“No hiding, I want to see your face when I make you cum.” As the grinding continued, you couldn’t hold back the whimpers which were heavenly to Ben’s ears. After so long he finally got to hear your voice in a pleasant way instead of bitching at him to clean up the common space. God he loved putting you into your place, which as you would find out is beneath him while he fucks the brains out of you.

Reaching your climax, you felt your cum leak onto Ben’s thigh. Breathing unsteady, you tried to catch yourself from falling but Ben already had that covered. He laid you down onto the couch, slipping off your panties in the process while he undressed as well. Taking off his shirt, you saw all the natural muscle his body had retained even after all those years of experimentation. Skin still perfect and body perfectly ripped. Exactly how it looked on the cameras. Even better up close. As his shorts came down, you saw the size of the monster he kept in his pants. There was a good reason why women kept ‘falling’ straight into his bed, and you just saw it. 

Your legs hooked around his hips, his tip touching your entrance as he slowly slid into you. The way he filled you up made your legs tighten around him and your toes curl. 

“Oh my- nghh” You heard his chuckle reverberate through both of your bodies. 

“I just put it in and you're already cockdrunk. What a Grade-A slut.” You didn't argue back, you were too busy trying to get used to the size of his dick splitting you apart from within.  Placing your arms onto his back, you slowly tried to roll your hips against him. Desperate for some friction that he wasn't giving you.

“Tsk tsk tsk, I'm not giving you anything until I hear you beg for it” He chided your weak attempt to fuck yourself on him. 

“Soldier Boy, can you please just move?” You whined. He gave you a slow roll but stopped again.

“Call me Ben, and I want to hear you beg properly.” Ben growled, he felt you clenched on his dick in response to his commands. While you would never admit it willingly, you loved letting him boss you around and this was no exception.

“Ben can you please fuck me hard now- eep!” As soon as you completed your sentence he started thrusting in and out, unable to hold himself back any longer. Drawing himself back out, he sank back in slowly before resuming his movements, coaxing the most erotic sounds out of your mouth.

“F-fuck your tight. We gotta work on breaking in your pussy properly.” You whimpered. This was already too much for you, unsure of how much more you could hold on. He continued punishing your hole with his cock, watching it go in and out covered in both of your fluids. 

Your moans filled up the room, unable to hide any of your sounds as you were too focused on the man currently on top of you. All your little sounds and moans were heavenly to Ben's ears.

“That's it baby, just let me fuck all your thoughts out.” His balls smacked against your ass while you let him fuck you stupid, a little drop of drool escaping your open mouth. Holding your jaw tight, he kept it open as he spit straight into your mouth. You waited as he watched you hold his spit obediently.

“Good girl. Swallow.” You closed your mouth and swallowed it down as he instructed. Ben nodded as a sign of his approval as he moved his hand down to your throat, applying steady pressure and restricting your airflow. 

Your breaths got shorter as he continued to choke you. You feel the pleasure that has been building up as you start to reach its peak. You weren't sure if it was the lack of air or just the feeling of his hand around your throat, but at that point you didn't care. Locking your legs together behind him, you pushed him in deeper as you squirted onto his dick. Your cum, now all over his dick and his abs. 

Feeling you clench intensely around his dick, Ben's thrusts seemed to stutter a bit but continued its relentless abuse. His tip continually bullying your cervix, Ben was sure you weren't going to be walking tomorrow. 

“Did you just squirt on me? Fuck that was hot, I'm making sure you do that again”  You whined in response, shaking your head. You were already overstimulated from cumming twice and were sure you weren't able to give him anymore.

“You're so fucking cute. But nobody says no to me.” He moved his hand down to your clit. Rubbing it while his dick abused your cunt, hitting all the right spots inside of you. It was too much, you were too sensitive and couldn't hold yourself from cumming a third time. Your intense orgasm seemed to pull Ben over there edge as well, causing him to release deep inside you. 

“I can't hold it back anymore so fucking take it.” He grunted, painting your walls white with his cum while continuing to fucking it into you. Eventually he began to slow down and slowly pulled himself out.

Ben watched as your hold winked at him after he pulled out, leaking his cum that he shot into you. Swiping up his cum from your thighs, he pushed it back into your hole with two fingers, making sure it didn't escape. You whimpered at the feeling but was too weak to fight it. 

As he sat back up, he started smoking the joint he previously abandoned. You felt your body being shifted up and onto his lap. You curled up against him and buried your head into his neck, too exhausted and seeked his touch after such an intense session. 

“Next time keep the glasses on. I want to see it covered in my cum.”

-

A/N: He's kinda mean in this one but he's soldier boy so....

Masterlist

[ikeukiss]

CHEMTRAILS | 전원우

⟢ PAIRING: jeon wonwoo x fem!reader ⟢ WORD COUNT: 11K ⟢ GENRE: angst, smut, sprinkles of fluff ⟢ TAGS: heavy themes of grief/death including a mentioned drunk driving incident (do not tread lightly if these topics are difficult for you to read), minor character death (including a child, but it is all offscreen), coworkers au, pet names (baby, doll, etc), light breast play, fingering, protected sex. ⟢ SYNOPSIS: Wonwoo is the last person you expect to find at a grief support group, but he may just be the peace that you need to weather all of your storms. LINK TO FIC PLAYLIST -ˋˏ✄┈┈ AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is an incredibly personal story for me, as I have suffered parental loss and it is one of the hardest things I've gone through, but in a way, writing it out has helped heal a small part of me, so I am happy to share this with you all. Bless to my friends beta-ing this for me—Allie (@lovetaroandtaemin), Raven (@shadowkoo), Lily (@prkhaven), Sulkie (@innocygnet), and Tiya (@gyubakeries), and everyone else who read snippets of this before it became what it is now. The fic's title inspo is from a song by Lizzy Mcalpine!

GRIEF DOESN’T END, BUT IT CHANGES SHAPE OVER TIME.

The white text over the image of a pastel sunrise initially made you gag when you stepped into the room, the church’s banner haphazardly put up to prepare for today’s session. Now, it’s all your brain can focus on as the surrounding attendees share their stories. The initial greetings stopped thirty minutes ago, with many at the waterworks now to your secondhand chagrin. Others nod and provide supportive commentary, but you don’t have it in you, silence the only usable response. A few people you recognize from the first few weeks surround you; others are brand new, red-faced as they meander through the reasons for their attendance. 

The four walls reek of silent regret and raw sadness, the sniffles and coughs of those trying to hide their pain sticking to the air like heat on a summer day. You’d prefer it to be a hotter season, if only to focus on something else but the ridiculous text looming over you. But the winter chill that accompanies the gloomy atmosphere is another unpleasant reminder of the dangers of wishful thinking.

You could say all the stories and puffy expressions don’t hit a nerve somewhere deep inside of you, but then you’d be a liar. As you’ve learned in the past year, though, you’re getting very good at hiding and denying.

 It’s been forty-five minutes of passive listening on your end, but your attention remains on the chalky slopes of text against the yellow sun disappearing into the mountain formation.

“It’s been six months, and I still don’t know what to do. When I think I’ve gotten over one stage, I’m reminded of something that sets me back.” One attendee you’ve known from the start, Suzy, continues on while staring into the coffee cup in her hands. She’s typically meek in tone, solemn while her hands stay in her thick coat as she recalls the details of her twin sister’s battle with leukemia. But today, there’s a new aura about her, something clipped and biting that is unique to see in this place.

Maybe she’s on the stage of anger this week.

“You know I’ve said healing isn’t linear, Suzy,” Seungcheol, the director of the group, says in a supportive tone.

“I get that, but can I get a break from feeling more than one stage at once? For the love of God.” She blanches immediately and mutters out an apology, making you chuckle to yourself.

You used to think that the phenomenon was a myth, a way for people to rationalize their pain by separating all of it into clear, definable chunks. While you’re now well acquainted with each piece of grief, they all remain a mystery in your eyes. You’re unsure who to ask for the right answers, and you’re not opening your mouth now to humor the group with questions.

The plan has always been the same: attend each session like you’re supposed to, get your slip signed off, and go home. That was the routine for the past two weeks, nothing more to add or subtract. When people addressed you, you weren't unfriendly, but you didn't offer any information. These things considered, you’re adamant about keeping with tradition for the remaining six meetings, including this one.

Yet, the second the door of the church opens, and you see Jeon Wonwoo enter, you know it’ll be impossible to continue staying under the radar.

Wonwoo apologizes profusely as Seungcheol pulls up a chair for the newcomer. Wonwoo’s wearing a scarf that covers a substantial amount of his face, but you’d recognize his wire-frame glasses and that black mop of hair anywhere. He may barely be an acquaintance, but he’s not terrible to look at. “My car was giving me trouble this morning, so—”

“No problem, man,” Seungcheol cuts him off. “Nobody’s late here. You’re always arriving somewhere at the moment you’re meant to, I always say.”

You roll your eyes and tuck your arms tighter into your chest. The older guy always has a plethora of slogans for personal growth up his sleeve. You reckon he probably made the fucking sign with the awful font and stereotypically hopeful photography? It’s anyone’s guess, but you have a good one.

Some hair falls into your face just as Wonwoo sits across from you in the large circle. You think that just might save you from being seen, but recognition crosses his face out of the corner of your eye, and you curse under your breath, knowing you’re fucked.

Jeon Wonwoo, from the legal team at the publishing house you both work for, sees you, the quiet girl from the marketing department. He must have some idea why, given his department’s close relationship with your higher-ups, and that makes your intestines twist in a way akin to food poisoning. You think it may be the perfect time for the world to split open under your feet and take you away, but that’s only a dreamer’s level of luck.

“So, Wonwoo, you’re a newcomer, as we can see. What brings you to the group?”

Wonwoo stutters on an explanation, his cheeks turning a shade of pink. “I think the lady before me was in the middle of her story, but maybe I can share after.”

Seungcheol winks in acknowledgement and goes back to Suzy, continuing where they left off in their discussion. “So, for the stages…”

You feel the heat of Wonwoo’s gaze from across the circle. He’s probably trying to decipher just exactly what led you to this place. Not the church, per se, but the situation at hand. Tired of the burn of his irises on you, you turn your stare on him. His eyes look small under the guise of his glasses, but they enlarge considerably when you make it known you’ve caught him ogling. With your mouth in a thin line but your eyebrows quirked up, you send him a silent dare to continue staring. To your pleasure, he pales and turns away, looking in the same direction as everyone else as Suzy continues on with her rant.

Any secondhand inkling you had to share with the group before the end of the program dies with the turn of Wonwoo’s head, and you prefer it that way. His presence gives you an excuse to not break from routine. Not like you were going to, anyway.

“He was there?” Wooyoung ruffles his hair in secondhand embarrassment, the sound of his nervous expel of breath drowned out by the music in the bar. The local hotspot was a mere five blocks away from your work, and it rarely became overcrowded before you guys had the chance to leave, so coming around now and then with your best friend was still doable, even under your circumstances. It was hard to say no to Wooyoung when he gave you such toothy grins and pleading words. “You barely come out anymore, at least try to spend some time with me for a bit? It’ll be good for you.”

He had to be the only person left you could stomach being around, and the last man on the planet who could handle your latest less than sunny disposition.

Wooyoung immediately goes back to making his shot for the solid blue ball close to the top left-hand pocket when you shoot him a glare that even he can’t joke himself out of. “You think he’ll say anything?” he asks as he moves his pool stick back and forth, testing the waters of the angle he’s chosen to hit the cue ball from.

“I hope not.” You groan and knock your head against your pool stick. Replaying yesterday afternoon in your head, you barely could get through the workday filled with pitch proposals and strategy meetings. You couldn’t help but wonder if Wonwoo was lurking around every corner of the building, waiting to discuss how he saw you and tease you for something not meant for teasing. He didn’t seem like the type to do so, but you expect less and less from the male population with every passing day. “He probably already knows about what happened anyway.”

Wooyoung hits the ball, but it veers a little too far for the shot to be completed. He swears, an audible “fuck me” rolling off of his tongue. You make haste going for the striped orange ball, and with no seconds to spare, you hit it into the center right cup. You land another two before your best friend has a chance again, but it doesn't matter. All that’s left for you to shoot in is the eight ball.

“One day I’ll manage to get close to beating you.”

“The night’s still young,” you respond before chugging down what’s left of your bottle of soju. The alcohol goes down your throat smoothly, but it doesn’t soothe the itch that still sits under your skin. With another few drinks, and you teetering on the line between buzzing and full-blown drunk, you think you’ll be able to forget the feeling exists.

That sting only intensifies when you see a handful of guys from the legal team walk in, Vernon and Jihoon trailing behind Wonwoo’s towering form. Their presence causes you to miss the eight ball entirely, the cue ball slowly rolling towards a pocket until it falls in.

“Goddamnit, man,” you curse. You reach for your drink, but you curse again when the empty bottle touches your lips.

Before Wooyoung can ask, he turns his head to see the men going up to the bartender and gnaws at his lip. “Maybe they won’t notice us?”

“That’s as likely as you getting a girlfriend,” you tease. You pull a couple of dollar bills out of your pocket and set your pool stick down when you see the men edging away from the bar-top. It may be a risk when they’re still so close by, but your dry mouth tells you to take the chance. “I’m gonna get us another round.”

You place your hands firmly on the shining wood of the bar, the gloss of it contrasting with the rough calluses and paper cuts across your hands. A few fingers beckon the bartender over with a new set of soju bottles. The green glass that holds the liquid refracts against the overhead lights. It’s so bright, you don’t notice the figure whose shadow mars their outlines.

“Didn’t think you were the drinking type,” Wonwoo finally pipes up. Where his voice yesterday was quick and bashful, and his typical tone at work is clinical to the letter, the cadence of it now is warm, like a smooth pool of honey.

His arm brushes yours as he places a few bucks of his own on the bar for the bartender to take. The contact raises gooseflesh across the space where his skin met yours for the briefest of moments. It sends a new itch up your spine, one that’s barely familiar and on the cusp of foreign. You lie to yourself with careful precision, swearing in hushed tones inside your brain that it doesn’t ignite a long, burnt-out flame somewhere inside of you, and you almost believe it.

Almost.

“I also didn’t used to go to work-mandated support groups, but here we are.” You aim your bottle in his direction with the slightest of tips, a sarcastic salute that doesn’t make your secret any easier to address out loud. You sip gingerly, the pull of your lips from the bottle long and slow, but the alcohol holds no solution for your bitter tongue or sick stomach.

You know this, and you drink anyway. It’s better than the alternative.

Wonwoo’s the one who takes the bottle from your mouth. A few dribbles of soju trickle down your chin, but before you can snatch it back, he says, “I’m not going to say anything, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I wasn’t worried to begin with.”

He nods with a close-lipped smirk, in no way believing your glib. The bartender brings three gin and tonics for Wonwoo’s troupe, and you can’t hold back the giggle that erupts from deep in your throat. “Typical.”

“What? G and Ts are too good for you, miss marketing expert?” Vernon and Jihoon call their coworker with a loud shout of his name when they see their drinks are ready, but Wonwoo throws them an expression that shuts the younger men up.

“Who said I was an expert? That’s Soobin’s role, anyway.” You tut your head in a random direction. You have nothing to prove to Wonwoo, but you take pride in your job being higher than one of meager content creation. He chuckles, and the sound tickles your ears in a way you push down. “I’m a trend analyst.”

“Oh, really? Is that why you don’t speak during the meetings? You’ve already predicted that sharing is a waste of time?”

You sober immediately at his questions. You grip the neck of the soju bottle tighter as you try composing an answer, anger prickling the base of your neck. What can you say that gives nothing away and keeps with the pre-set banter, all while you remain even-keeled? You land on, “It’s not like that,” and make your move to walk away, bored with the conversation now.

Wooyoung looks over at you like you’re crazy, and you know the thoughts immediately swirling in your best friend’s head. You haven’t flirted with a man in probably half a decade, at least, but if the nerd isn’t getting any, the very least you could do is entertain some sort of romantic attention for the two of you.

Wonwoo grabs your arm softly, his fingers setting the same fire the contact from before did, but it holds an entirely new scope and set of stakes. “Humor me. What’s it like, then?” His voice is featherlight, gentle in its prodding. He holds no judgement, his earlier words only teasing but clearly striking a nerve in you he’s trying to amend with his new tone.

You avoid his gaze, finally landing back on the pool table where Wooyoung awaits. The kernel of an idea pops up alongside your smile. “Play me for it.”

“What?” Wonwoo chuckles, perplexed. You point towards the table with your index finger, and Wooyoung immediately turns his head, attempting to hide his spying to no avail.

“You win, I’ll tell you why I’m in that group.” Your smirk grows, the cheshire cat smile that now adorns your face growing with every word. “I win, you tell me what you were doing there yesterday in the first place.”

You put a hand between your incredibly close bodies, a fact you did not realize until you offered some ante for Wonwoo to chew on, and he takes the bait like you expected him to. “Deal.”

He shakes your hand firmly. It’s another set of touches that warms you to the bone in a way liquor never has before. You shuck that information to the side as you walk to the pool table with Wonwoo hot on your heels. He stops to deliver the drinks to his awaiting team, but he makes it to you with a few quick strides.

“Want me to break, or do you need to prove you can play first?” you ask with the same tantalizing smile you wagered him with.

He takes a hefty sip of his tonic and licks his bottom lip to catch the alcohol that threatens to spill over. “By all means.”

If only he knew how stupid it was to let the lady go first this time.

Wonwoo stares down into the pocket the eight-ball just flew into. While he’s mystified how you managed to just destroy his record and prove him wrong in a matter of ten minutes and three plays, you smirk openly. It always used to bug ex-boyfriends and situationships when you were better at a more masculine task or hobby than they were, but you always flicked their comments back with a middle finger and a nonplussed demeanor. It’s a delightful change of pace for someone as attractive and confident as Wonwoo to be mystified by your capabilities, even at the expense of his pride.

“She beats me all the time, man. Don’t sweat it.” Wooyoung tries to walk up and rustle your newly defeated opponent on the shoulder. He thinks better of it when Wonwoo gives him the same glare you threw at the younger guy a short time ago.

Your best friend offers to grab you another drink as you laugh, but you shake your head. “Gotta head home. Carat can’t feed herself.”

Wonwoo gives you a quizzical expression as Wooyoung leaves, and you respond with, “My fish. Very adamant about her feeding schedule.”

He flashes a high-wattage grin, and the feelings he’s stirred in you tonight try to scratch their way back to the surface, but you repress them once again. It means nothing, anyway. You won’t act on it, and the guy is probably ready to hightail it back to his friends by now.

He offers to walk you out, and all your preconceived notions upend themselves into the air. Wooyoung pulls you by the shoulder when you say goodbye and whispers, “If you miss out on that guy now, you’re even more ridiculous than I thought. And I’ve seen you suck your thumb while you sleep, remember that.”

When you make it to the driver’s side door, you remember it’s time to collect your payment. Now or never. “So, gonna tell me why you were in the group yesterday? Or will you chicken out with the best two out of three rounds?”

“Easy, I’ll tell you,” he says, concealing a grin until his next words come out. “But, it’ll be during dinner tomorrow night. My place?”

You gulp down heavy air, again recognizing the clear proximity of your chest to his. You can see the slow rise and fall of his upper body, his heart steady but clearly put on edge. He’s patient but barely, waiting for you to either accept the invitation or decline with bated breath.

“Why?”

You don’t mean for the word to come out the way it does, one-fourth hopeful and the remaining three-fourths speculative. It’s not like you’re unappealing under normal circumstances, but the girl who would’ve jumped at the opportunity for a date with a cute guy is not who’s standing in front of Wonwoo right now. You want to be her, trade your place for hers to make the smile on his face brighten, but you’re unsure how to get her back, and if there’s any point.

“Because I owe you, don’t I?” You shrug your arms, not saying no but not giving him confirmation either. “And you’re not the type to not collect when you’re owed something.”

“What makes you think that?” Some of your fire returns as you cross your arms, body posture exemplifying your intrigue.

“Because you wouldn’t have bet against me knowing you’d win if you were.”

There’s no witty remark or sarcastic comeback that comes to mind. He so easily saw through you, it scares you into saying yes right there. But, even while ruminating for a moment, you search for reasons to deny him of your company, and you find none. If tonight wasn’t so bad, what’s one more without expectations?

“Sure,” you finally say, and he gives you the grin you were looking for that could go toe to toe with any city streetlight. That mesmerizing, gum-revealing grin that makes a part of your knees weak.

You knew he was nice to look at from faraway in the secrecy of your cubicle, but it’s at a new level now, one that’s unquellable.

On the drive home, as you replay his smile in your mind’s eye, you know without a doubt that the buzz in your veins isn’t just because of the soju still lingering in your bloodstream.

It’s not, under any circumstances, a date. 

You parrot the words as you move around your bedroom, the clock on your dresser practically screaming at you to leave while the day is young. Work ended an hour ago, and you’re still stumbling on what to do about your attire.

No way is this a date. I’ve been on them before, I know it when I see it.

The recesses of your mind try to commit every sentence to memory as you put on lipstick, curl your hair, and throw an old dress under a denim jacket. It’s habitual to look nice for a new person, you remind yourself. It’s not like Wonwoo won’t welcome you into his home if you’re wearing a greasy t-shirt and pair of sweatpants, but you digress. You’re simply collecting on your payment, and if he takes it any other way, that’s his problem to deal with.

The ride to his apartment is tense, to say the least. A million thoughts run through your head while you grip the steering wheel tight during every turn and stop through the city to his downtown complex. You try to make light of the building that greets you, thinking about how much legal counsel must make to afford such swanky living spaces, but it doesn’t help. Your hands tremble, no matter how forcefully you clench your fists to stop the shaking.

He’s Wonwoo, a guy who has an interest in seeing you outside of a professional setting, and you’re you, half emotionally composed on your very best day as of late. You have some basis for being nervous, no matter what one would call the meeting arranged between you two today.

He called it dinner, so you’ll start there.

Greeting you at your door in a black V-neck and gray jeans, he looks too clean for someone who must’ve been lounging around before you arrived. “You look nice. Got a hot date or something?” He bites his lip in satisfaction when you huff out a breath of air, blowing off his harmless dig.

“I’m here for the information I won last night. And the plate of food you promised me.”

He beckons you inside with a smile and an arm pointed inside, and you walk through the threshold with all the knots in your stomach, reminding you of their presence with every step.

Wonwoo’s living space appears to be stereotypical for a guy in his mid-twenties. The apartment’s all dark wood and grey wallpaper, from his industrial bar table to the kitchen marble, but he’s made it his in his own way. Some action figures line a bookshelf near the kitchen, and a guitar sits on its stand in the corner of the entertainment center dominating the living room. But you glean little pieces of information about him from the tchotchkes that surround you. The black cat plushie that sits on the sofa, the NASA magazines he must have a subscription for, and the sounds of jazz playing low on the TV all indicate the quiet eccentricities of his personality.

He’s a secretively unique guy on the page and in person, and you admire it. Some part of it scares you, how easily you’ve grown accustomed to him in a few short meetings, but that’s not anything to mull over right now.

“I was just fixing the pasta when you showed up. You can sit anywhere.” He moves his head in either direction of the couch or the table, but you saunter over to his side instead.

The aroma of the tomato wafts across your nose, the sauce definitely homemade rather than store-bought. You peer over into the pot, the margarita-covered penne mixed in with vegetables and meat. “Who knew you could cook?”

Wonwoo chuckles, hearty and deep, as he stirs the food in the pot. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me yet.”

Yet. He says the word with such relaxation, like it’s inevitable you will discover more information about him. Like he’s certain you’re not going anywhere. It has to be a delusion of the future filling him with such confidence, without a doubt.

Shortly after that, the table’s decorated with towering plates of pasta and a lit candle at the center. The mixed scents of vanilla, jasmine, and tomato sauce blend harmoniously somehow.

You share small talk about Wonwoo’s cooking skills and your pool abilities over dinner, bantering throughout with the dry humor you delivered yesterday. Wonwoo takes it all with a smirk, volleying it back at you with charm that makes you forget your dinner exists altogether. You don’t eat all the food on your plate, but you’ve never been more full.

Both of you migrate to the couch with your glasses of wine, leaving the plates on the wood’s high-top and getting comfortably lost in more conversation. Suddenly, you remember exactly why you’re there, and you turn the tides of the conversation to address the purpose of your attendance. “So, the support group.”

Wonwoo laughs into his glass, shaking his head in a gesture that tells you he was just waiting for the inevitable. “What do you wanna know?”

“Why were you there?”

Wonwoo’s smile turns small, still bright but a tad dimmer, and a stone sinks down deep into your stomach. “It was my mother’s birthday that day. She died three years ago in April, but her birthday is always the hardest day for me to get through.”

“It was a sudden sickness, one that we didn’t expect her to get.” He runs his thumb along the ring of his drink, his finger leaving an opaque smudge. He looks back up eventually, the ghost of his small smile haunting his features. “I’m just grateful I had the time with her that I did before it was too late, you know?”

Wonwoo’s words reroute all the knots from your core to your throat, making you unable to speak. You click your own nails against your drink in a pattern, counting the beats in sequence to avoid the tears welling in your eye ducts. One, two, three, four taps. 

Four becomes five until Wonwoo brushes a hand along your knee. “Are you alright? I know that was heavy, but a winner deserves her prize, right?”

You appreciate Wonwoo trying to lighten the mood that you’ve darkened with your silence. The slam of the bottom of your wine glass startles Wonwoo a smidge, and while you didn’t mean to scare him, you know you need to leave before you fall apart.

“This was fun, Won, but I-I have to go.” A tear falls from your face as you speak, another escaping before you can make the waterworks disappear. Wonwoo holds your arm the same way he did a day ago when you were so close to leaving before. This time is different, though.

Wonwoo’s worry for you and whatever’s haunting you replaces his previous somberness. You recognize the contortion of his face like the back of your hand. You’ve seen it in family members and their condolences. The friends you kept and even the ones you lost from being distant. Even coworkers you never spoke to and random strangers who could recognize the shadows of loss.

It disgusts you, and you can’t bear to see it from Wonwoo of all people. You attempt to yank your arm away like your life depends on it, but he doesn’t let you slip away so easily. “Will you talk to me, please?” he asks. “You don’t have to hold back whatever you want to say.”

“I’m not, not at all. And it’s presumptuous of you to assume I am.” You shake your head, voice sputtering on some kind of laugh. “You don’t know me.”

“I think I do.” Again, the space between you and him is virtually nonexistent. Your hearts match in rhythm, despite your sadness and apprehension. The unspoken strings between you snap one by one with every movement of his hand, slowly reaching higher until his hand cups your face. His thumb runs over your jaw bone.

You don’t know whether to pull him closer or run now that’s holding you with a looser grip, and the thought is as sobering as his mouth a breath from yours.

“I have to go.” You clutch his wrist with your hand, but you make no move to turn and walk away. You leave indents in his skin from your nails gripping him, but he doesn’t break his hold either.

Then, in a broken trance, he lets you go and steps back, swallowing hard. “I’ll see you at work, then?”

You nod. “Thank you for dinner.”

“Anytime, really.”

You think about the importance of words, what they carry and how deeply they can mean when a person you care about says them. “Yet” and “anytime” have never been of significant value to you before, passing vocabulary that’s left little for your heart to grasp onto. But he says it without facades, each vowel and consonant holding the undercurrents of his desires. You feel your knees buckle a touch as you ponder it on your way out of his apartment and to your car. Your thoughts dwell on what that kiss would’ve felt like, and the panic that follows when you realize how badly you wanted it.

A week flies by, and then two more, until you realize you’re always passing Wonwoo’s cubicle with a cup of coffee, or he’s pestering you with a sticky note or two regarding legal jargon you’ll never read up on.

Neither of you mention what almost occurred in his living room so long ago, but it feels like only a second between that moment and the present when he’s inhabiting your space at work or blowing up your phone.

You don’t know why he started calling and texting right around the time you were prepared to shut your eyes for sleep, but it was a comfort you didn’t mind cherishing before dreamland took you under its wing. His explanations of corporate law terminology to the plotlines of One Piece became your lullabies.

A regular person can’t cement themselves in your life overnight, but Wonwoo is anything but regular.

As you’re filling out your timesheet for the week, your thoughts circle back to Wonwoo as you notice him in the conference room with the rest of the legal team. Vernon talks animatedly with his hands as Minghao and Jun type down notes. It’s a riveting silent film, but the only actor you’re interested in is pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose incrementally, and it makes you melt in your chair.

You have emails to type, spreadsheets to complete, and here you are acting like a high schooler with an unrequited crush.

Pulled sharply from your daze, Wooyoung bats you on the shoulder with his clipboard. San from HR laughs at your best friend’s assault on you, your acquaintance’s chest rippling as you rub your shoulder and give Wooyoung your signature glare. “What the fuck?”

“You should focus on the November report instead of ogling your new piece of man candy.”

"I don't know what you're talking about," you reply, calm and collected, even though someone has now turned the judgement on you for your prying eyes. Wooyoung had his own priorities as a market strategist; he had no business judging you for taking time off of business tasks to ogle.

You return to your initial view of the conference room, watching the gentleman in the confines of the glass office.

You don’t expect Wonwoo to be staring right at you when you turn your attention back to their meeting. Wooyoung and San talk amongst themselves about your comical behavior in the third person, but you don’t mind them and their idiocy. You’re too focused on the man who’s a dozen feet away.

Wonwoo practically gives you the same glare you delivered to him in the support group the first time he was there, but his eyes are all humor and no bite. He holds his binder up a smidge, signaling somehow for you to look down at the one propped against your laptop. You find a blue sticky note sitting on the front of it, and you know Wonwoo must’ve stuck it there when you went to the bathroom a half hour ago.

7 PM showing of Spider-Man Saturday. You in? X

It’s a measly set of perpendicular lines in Wonwoo’s handwriting, nothing extravagant on the sticky note itself. How can the letter and his proposition turn your heart into mush so easily? And why does it make you immediately nod in Wonwoo’s direction?

What was he doing to you?

You’ve watched the 2003 film many times in your life—you could recite the lines by heart, truth be told—yet seeing Toby McGuire swinging around in a latex suit still brings childlike wonder out in you. You smile into your handful of popcorn at the scene before you, the kicks and punches between Spiderman and the Green Goblin in the middle of Manhattan amplified by the theater’s sound system.

You dressed up a bit more this time for the outing with Wonwoo, despite your self-insistence on keeping it casual. Nothing had happened between you up to this point, only the opportunity for a kiss that never came. Who was to say anything romantic would happen now in the darkness of a theater?

The movie cuts to Spiderman swinging Mary Jane to a hotel high-rise away from the chaos of Times Square, and Wonwoo picks that moment to take the hand not holding more popcorn into his own.

It’s a funny feeling, the moment before something unexpected happens. It’s like your body bristles to a point of high alert before you’re struck with the reality something is occurring, for better or worse. He rubs the back of your hand in slow, delicate circles, and it feels like the start of something good while every cell inside of you screams to run.

The flutter inside of your stomach at his touch dies when you give into the spiraling thoughts, a cruel voice reminding you the butterflies won’t last. It carries the face of a person you’d rather forget. A smile that haunts every hour of your existence, and eyes you wish you could look into one more time outside of your nightmares.

You tug your hand free and speed out of the theater, not bothering to look behind you to see if Wonwoo is following you. You know he is, his calls of your name muffled amid the horrendous laughter ringing in your ears. When you’ve stopped running, you realize it’s raining all around you outside. The alleyway behind the theater only provides so much cover, but Wonwoo doesn’t care. All he wants to do is hold you as you’re hyperventilating, so he does.

“Hey, hey, hey. What happened?”

You hiccup, unsure how to go about saying the words when a phantom hangs over your shoulder and whispers words you have no willpower to fight. What makes him any different from everyone else? Nothing, and you know it.

“I’m right here,” he swears like it’s true, and you see red.

“Until you get sick of it, right?” You can’t look him in the eye as you say it, but it doesn’t make it feel less true expressing it out loud. “This isn’t gonna change. You’ll always wonder what’s wrong. I’ll never give you a valid excuse because I barely fucking know myself and shut you out. You’ll get bored really quick, Wonwoo, so what’s the point?”

“What are you talking about?” His mouth hangs at you accusatory questions, and it only makes you laugh harder. 

It’s easy to pretend your tears are only rainwater splashing down your face.

“There’s no point chasing after me anymore. I’m not worth the hassle, and it’s too much baggage for you to unpack, so don’t waste any more of your time.” You move his hands from your face with weak fingers and watch his arms fall limply at his sides as you turn to head towards the sidewalk and back to your car.

Wonwoo’s laugh is so bitter, you can taste it on your tongue. “You may think that what you’re going through is something nobody can understand, but a part of you knows you’re being ridiculous right now.”

You shake your head and continue down your path, barking back at him with a “Go fuck yourself.”

“You’re not the first person to lose someone, and you won’t be the last!” You stop walking down the alleyway, and you hear the sharp intake of breath on Wonwoo’s lips. He takes another second and set of steps to get closer to you before saying, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

You turn sharply, hair whipping across the open air. “You wanna know why I’m in the group, Won?” Your question drips with rhetoric like venom, sarcasm bordering on fury. “Because I got tired of all the noise of everything after…after—Chaewon just wouldn’t leave me the fuck alone about work and what was going on with me. And everyone at that point kept poking with their pity until the shit I said and did that day happened.” You flail your arms at your sides, the rain soaking through your sleeves. 

It was unprofessional, a huge moral deficit, as your boss put it. Especially when all Chaewon asked for was a valid reason for an extension on your trend report. “No coworker, especially not a subordinate, should treat another coworker that way. Your personal matters should not impede on your ability to be a team player.”

Your boss used every administrative play in the book while looking over the materials you ruined for the newest magazine issue, and that was before you screamed in your department head’s face. You didn’t mean to hurt Chaewon the way you did, but admittedly, it felt good to do it.

It was nice to let a part of you run free, even if it was a vulgar and unapologetic piece. But if you had known it would cost you every ounce of your pride and some semblance of your privacy, you would’ve thought twice. 

Your entire body is drenched by the time you finish your tirade, as is Wonwoo’s. “So yeah, that’s why they put me in that pity party of a support group. Because God forbid I snapped one fucking time for a valid fucking reason.”

“They just wanted you to get some help. Everyone needs that sometimes,” Wonwoo murmurs. He tries to step closer, each movement apprehensive, like he’s cornering a rabid cat into a carrier.

His movements make you feel like one, a wounded animal in need of immediate attention without regard for its unwillingness to accept it. It turns your eyesight red, and you think you may just be feral at this point. “I don’t need anyone’s help, Wonwoo! Not that group, not Seungcheol, not the damn lackeys in that fucking office, and especially not—”

Wonwoo gives up the pretenses and yanks you into his arms. He plants a hand across your hair and squeezes you in his hold, still tender despite the vice grip he has you in. The tightness of his hug shakes something loose in you, and you barely recognize you’re crying until Wonwoo cradles you closer and shushes you, even as the rain beats down on you both. “I’m here,” he promises.

“I don’t need to be saved, Wonwoo,” you say through fractured, sob-laced hiccups. Your eyes look past his brown ones, into the depths of his soul as you ask—plead even—“I just want to make the pain stop.”

“Let me help,” Wonwoo offers, rubbing the apples of your cheeks with his thumbs. It may be the most ridiculous, careless thing you can do at the moment, but when the urge to kiss him comes, you don’t stop it.

Call it an emotional break or a sudden rush of your suppressed desire shining through, but the second you press your lips to his in that brick alleyway, you don’t regret it. He tastes like salvation, of unbreakable promises. It could either heal or ruin you, but you don’t mind if it’s a little of both.

The raindrops cling to your clothes like a second skin, latching onto every curve. It’s easy to shed with the help of Wonwoo’s hands. By the time you’re an inch away from the doorframe of his bedroom, he’s wearing his briefs, and you’re left in your underwear. His warmth wraps around every part of your body like a campfire, stoking all the cold out of you and bathing you in the heat he provides. The thunder roars on, and lightning splashes the sky in white streaks, but the only light that sustains you is him.

“Is this okay?” He mumbles as he grazes the underside of your bralette. The material is so drenched that he can see the peaks of your nipples through it, but he’s trying to keep his composure and go at a speed you’re comfortable with.

You don’t hesitate, not wanting the moment to be dampened by your worst thoughts. They’re at bay now, and you want to use that time for what it’s worth. “More than okay.” You unclasp your bralette from your back, letting the wet garment plop to the floor. “Touch me, please.”

His index finger drags so slowly across your nipple, the ripple of electricity that tickles your skin follows the same tempo. While you’re willing to go fast, Wonwoo cherishes you with reverence. Even as he takes your nipple between his lips, moving his fingers down your stomach and into your underwear, he remains patient. “So wet,” he groans against your skin when he guides his fingers along your slick folds. It’s like he’s discovering a precious treasure before him, twirling your wet curls in his hair with his free hand as he runs the pads of his opposite fingers through slick heaven.

You tremble in his hands, all the nerves in your body a hot, frenzied mess in his hold. He thumbs your clit in slow circles, making it hard to stand any longer in the in-between space of his living room and bedroom. “Woo, I want more.”

He takes his fingers from your center and lifts you into his arms. Your legs wrap around him instinctively, and he chuckles into your throat. “Needy little thing, aren’t you?”

You giggle before he reattaches his lips to yours. His kisses taste like rainwater and second chances, physical proof that not everything has to be lost. He never lets you go or takes his mouth away on the slow trek to his bed.

Wonwoo sets you down gently, his eyes giving away all of his vulnerability. “You’re beautiful, you know that right?” You blush, wrapping an arm around your face, but he pulls it away and kisses each finger on your hand. “Every inch of you.”

The words go unsaid, but the bite of his lip and dark hood of his eyes tell you his desire goes beyond lust. I want to explore you forever.

Even the parts of you that you’ve deemed too dark, too painful, too unworthy of anyone’s entry. His expression tells you he may just take the risk and split you open fully to see what’s inside. With his eyes peering deeply into your soul, you think all he sees is hope. Like your heart holds the sun that peers out after the worst downpour in the world.

He rolls his briefs down his hips until his length springs free, knocking into the lower segment of his abdomen from how hard he is. “And you called me beautiful,” you say, breathless. Wonwoo’s cock drips pre-cum at the swollen tip, and you have no qualms sitting up and reaching out to encase him in your palm, running his essence across his skin.

He tips his head back and his mouth goes slack, a curse leaving his tongue. “You may kill me.”

You smile and run your lips along his neck, dragging your canines along the skin of his jugular. “If I do, I promise it wasn’t my intention.”

Before he can get too lost in the pleasure of your fingers wrapped around him, he traps your body between his own and the sheets below you. He doesn’t stop kissing you once he finds your lips again, even as he stumbles finding a condom in his bedside drawer and rolls the latex onto himself.

You don’t need to prepare for the eventual drag of his cock between your walls, already dripping from his previous touches, but he envelops you completely when he fills you to the hilt. He fits so snug inside of you; you think he could sit there forever and never leave. “You’re so tight, holy shit,” Wonwoo moans as he begins moving his hips.

You release a garbled moan, the sound practically swallowed by his tongue in your mouth. He takes and teases, but he always gives it back, rolling his lower half into you with a deliberate pace that helps you inch closer to a release. It paints the back of your eyelids in slow strokes. The act of getting there is as beautiful as the release itself when it’s with someone like Wonwoo giving you such perfect bouts of pleasure.

This feeling, like Wonwoo, is addictive and addicting in the same instance. You think you could get used to this, and it’s not just the lust having its way with your mind. Having all of him like this, his days and nights, rain or shine, may just be possible with the way he pours his devotion into your body. You just have to give him the opportunity.

He kisses you with the strength of a thousand stars exploding at once, and that’s the moment you fall apart underneath him. You let yourself bask in the feeling of your orgasm. You clutch onto his shoulders tightly as your walls spasm around him, sucking him in for every drop of pleasure he has to give.

He spills into the condom soon after, his hips stuttering and his kisses stilling as he feels his body succumb to the same pleasure you felt a few moments ago. The look on his face is pure bliss, the laugh on his lips the softest sound to accompany the pitter patters of rain on the window.

He throws the latex away before nestling back into the bedsheets with you. His arms wrap around you like vines as you rest your head on his chest. It's a comfortable silence between you, no words needing to be said to express your feelings for him.

I know you could love me forever if I give you the chance to.

You feel his response in the slow fall of his heart rate and the small snores he emits in the crown of your hair. The softness of his being is all you need to fall asleep too, and you think it may just be worth it to let him in.

The moment you wake, you feel a wave of nausea creep through you. The thoughts that erupted in that rainy alleyway a handful of hours ago come back with a vengeance. They clutch your throat with a begrudging hand until water streams from your eyes, hitting Wonwoo’s pillows like bullets. You try to subdue the sobs that rack your body, terrified of waking the man sleeping next to you, but it proves to be a fruitless fear. He sleeps like a stone through it all, immovable and solid.

With weak limbs and a fuzzy mind, you unbind yourself from Wonwoo’s hold and collect your things when you get out of the bed. Every piece of your heart breaks, the glued pieces of porcelain cracking once again into a heap on the floor as you walk away and out of his apartment.

It could only last for so long, that peace he provided, and you feel foolish for thinking a few hours of pleasure could change the new reality you’ve come to grips with long ago.

What the fuck did I do? I shouldn’t have gone out with him again. I’m so stupid.

Driving home in the rain, you try to turn on the radio to something that will be loud enough to drown out the spiraling thoughts and the sounds of your sobs reverberating through your tiny car’s interior. With a cruel twist of luck, Billy Joel’s “Everybody Has A Dream,” blares through the speakers. The piano chords and Joel’s whistles are ones you could recognize anywhere, and it stops your brain from falling further down the hole you’re accustomed to.

It’s his song, the song you have barely gotten through a note of without bawling.

You stop your car in the center of the road, despite the light being green in front of you. Cars screech behind you and blare their horns, some even roll down their window in the soaked night to curse at you, but you don’t care. The entire world could burn down, and all you would hear is the keys of the piano signaling your send-off.

The rivers on your cheeks become floods, all-encompassing and combating the leftover parts of the storm raging on outside of your vehicle. It makes the veins in your head pulse like a bass drum, but there’s nothing else to do, even if the song’s faded out by now. The DJ’s voice fills the space, but you can barely hear him.

You hate your father; the realization strikes you like a penknife to the heart as you press your forehead into the steering wheel, knocking your knuckles into its center until your own horn screams back at you. You hate him for leaving you alone to pick up the shards he created by going away too soon, sooner than you were prepared for. How could he part from you with such a gaping hole left in your chest and no roadmap for how to fix it? Was it even possible to mend such a wound when its shape was present everywhere you looked?

You continue to sob, no grounding techniques or motivational words coming to mind as your heart restarts just to bleed out all over again. 

Some time after the funeral, a doctor told you grief often changes the chemistry of a person’s brain. It undergoes neuroplastic changes and leads to alterations in emotional regulation and cognition. It made sense, given the way you exploded on Chaewon two months ago in front of everyone in the office. And all of that, the choice to either take a mandatory leave or seek counseling, led to that ridiculous fucking support group. And all the moments you shared with Wonwoo since then.

Guilt bubbles up behind your anger until it overtakes it, the way you’ve been acting almost shameful. You don’t regret him, but you regret this tugging you’ve done with his emotions alongside your own. But what other options have you had at your disposal? You’ve been stumbling around in the dark for so long, the light is not something someone easily accustoms themselves to again.

And Wonwoo is a person who exudes a radiance unlike anyone else you’ve ever met. You can’t believe there’s a chance he can truly seep into the darkness you live with now and soak it up for you. Not without him taking on some of it himself. 

You decide when the tears come at a slower pace that you won’t let him; he’s worth more than that. And it might break what’s left of the fraction of hope you held onto when you met him, but you’re grateful he gave you something at the very least. It’s better than nothing.

“I still think about what it would be like to kill him, even if I know it wouldn’t solve anything.” Hongjoong grumbles, twiddling his pack of nicotine gum between his fingers. “In my dreams, I do. I do it before he has the chance to make it past my driveway. Before I forgot to watch her playing.” Hongjoong breaks into a fit of angry sobs, and it tugs at your heartstrings bitterly.

The police and cops ruled the death of Hongjoong’s five-year-old daughter vehicular manslaughter. The guy who committed the crime had been remorseful and received less time because of his allocution. According to Hongjoong, he forgave the stranger a long time ago, but you don’t think anyone blames him for the anger and resentment that still lingers.

“Do you think your wife or other children gain anything by continuing to harbor this anger?” Seungcheol asks with no judgement, just objective curiosity.

It strikes a nerve in you, so deep it pulls a response out of your lips before you can stop it. “That’s a fucked up question to ask.”

Suzy gasps, hiding the sound behind her coffee cup. Hongjoong looks surprised himself, but Seungcheol is pleased to hear your voice. He’s only ever tried to make small talk with you while he’s filled out your slips after every session, but you’ve never given him any room to work with. Until now. “Why do you say that?”

“Because…” you ponder the answer, the coherent reasoning jumbled amongst your impulsive thoughts. “It’s a bit unfair. Sure, maybe he’s not the same husband and father he used to be, but what does anyone expect? His oldest kid dies, and he’s supposed to shelve that for the sake of others?”

“Nobody’s asking that of him,” Seungcheol responds. “I asked if it serves anyone for him to hold onto negative emotions.”

“Whether it does or doesn’t, big fucking whoop. Grief doesn’t serve anyone with anything purposeful. It’s all bullshit pain we’re supposed to make better somehow in just the right amount of time or else. Otherwise, everyone has to tread around it like it’s a disease. It’s exhausting.”

You barely registered Wonwoo’s presence in the room, but his messy mop of waves concealed in a beanie adds a second layer of pain to your words. You’ve evaded his texts and calls for the past two days. Avoiding work yesterday didn’t help the way you thought it did, Wooyoung texting you profusely with secondhand messages you didn't want to be reminded of.

It was better this way. You repeated the words to yourself like a mantra when the first batch of Wonwoo’s messages appeared on your lock screen. But seeing him now, you know it was a lie.

Heartbreak, like grief, lacks a purpose beyond the demand to be felt.

Wonwoo clears his throat. He tries to pose the question to the entire group, but he stares so deeply into your eyes when he says it, everyone knows it’s only for your ears to cling to. “Have you ever considered that the reason you think it serves no purpose is because you don’t let anyone in to help you make sense of it?”

Your bottom lip quivers despite your urge to compress your feelings, the anger that was simmering in your stomach now at a rolling boil. You kick the chair from under your legs as you leave the circle, cursing the entire time. You hear Seungcheol request a ten-minute recess for the session, and you know without a doubt the walking slogan is following you.

You keep your focus on the brick wall of the bakery that shares a back alley with the church when Seungcheol finally makes it outside. “Don’t say—”

“I’m just out for a smoke. Was needing a break anyway.” Seungcheol flicks his lighter to life and has a cigarette between his lips in the next second. A huge plume of smoke leaves his lips, and the acrid smell of smoke hits your nose, but you don’t turn from it. He reaches into his pack and hands you one once he lights it.

You chuckle sadly as you weigh the cigarette between your fingers. “How did you know I used to smoke?”

“You suck in a breath when you get angry, and your hands shake like you’re going through withdrawal. That used to happen to me when I tried quitting the first time.”

You nod. “I haven’t really done it in a while. Haven’t had the energy to go buy anything besides frozen meals and water.”

The silence between you both is deafening. Seungcheol doesn’t pry, although that’s his very job, to help you face your emotions head-on, and you don’t elaborate on your points from earlier in the group session.

“My wife died five years ago,” he finally says. He flicks the cigarette at his feet, digging the ashes into the surrounding dirt with his foot. “Was a drunk driver on the way home coming back from a restaurant. I was driving.”

You try to respond, but no words come. The lining of your throat kills them all before they can leave you, like butterfly wings that never unfurl. He goes on amidst your silence. “It took a long time to realize it wasn’t my fault, just terrible timing.”

You turn to look at him, but he keeps his attention on the shops and sidewalks surrounding the church, cold air leaving his mouth in grey clouds. “I’m sorry,” you say, the two words with no serrated edges this time, the anger from your voice gone.

“‘S nothing for you to apologize for. You didn’t know, and I don’t talk about it all that much.” He gives you a knowing stare with the shrug of his shoulders, no bitterness in his expression as he explains without words that you’re more alike than you would’ve known. You can’t imagine the guy having a bitter bone in his body, even if he has reason to. “But that’s why I started this. Going on about it may not help all the time, but I can let some of it go when I know I’m not alone, even if that feeling only lasts for a minute.”

“Are you saying that I have to explain why I’m like this with everyone to feel better? That’s your nugget of wisdom?”

Seungcheol's eyes turn solemn, disappointed but not surprised at your rhetorical questions. “What I’m saying is that pain isn’t avoidable. You know that better than anyone by now. And locking yourself away clearly isn’t working.”

You fight back the tears passing through your eyelashes and puff again. “I don’t need your backdoor psychology, Choi. Even if you and everyone in that group has more than some idea of what I’m going through, it’s not the same.”

Seungcheol chuckles without humor as he hands you another cigarette, his fingertips lingering over your palm in a familial way. His touch is warm despite the winter weather, the contact a salve over the cracks that have formed in the past few days, and it makes you feel worse somehow. “Whether you push people away or not, your capacity to hurt isn’t going anywhere. Wasting time you’ll never get back by being alone does nobody any good, especially yourself.”

“I don’t do anything for anyone like this,” you respond, words breaking. Your hands shake as you take two more drags, smoke filling your lungs as the shadows continue looming. “I can’t give any parts of me when I don’t know what’s left to give at this point.”

“Speaking from my experiences with you—which I know are limited—I’d say you’re not giving yourself enough credit.” Seungcheol plucks the cigarette from your hands once you make it to the end. “And I bet your little friend would say the same thing, if not more.”

Like the call of a siren song, Wonwoo comes through the back door of the church, a bit embarrassed to intrude, but relieved to find you before you left. It’s all over the sudden sag of his chest and the downturn of his eyes.

Seungcheol smirks to himself while he puts his pack back in his coat pocket. “Speaking of the devil, I’ll leave you to it.” He pats Wonwoo on the shoulder as he makes it to the door of the church. The closing of the back door punctuates the silence between you.

“Are you finally gonna talk to me?” Wonwoo asks, his voice teetering on desperation and indignation. He doesn’t want to be angry, you can tell, but it all comes out in the crinkle of his eyes and the line of his lips.

You don’t blame him, either. You’re the one who left him as soon as you woke up, no verbal or written explanation left behind to keep him from assuming the worst. “What do you expect me to say, Won? I don’t—”

“Don’t say you don’t know what I want from you. I’ve been clear about that since the first day we saw each other in this fucking church.” You’re taken back by him cursing, the act one you’ve not seen from him often, but he keeps going. “I want to help you. Whether that’s as your friend or something more, I can accept that. But what I can’t accept is you keeping up this act you’ve been putting on.”

“It’s not an act,” you say defensively. “It’s too hard to let anyone in. It may be hard for you to accept, but that’s the truth.”

“You need better practice at lying, sweetheart.” When your face crumbles with defeated confusion, Wonwoo goes on. “If it was so hard, you wouldn’t still have Wooyoung in your life. You wouldn’t have kicked my ass at pool, and you definitely would’ve done a better job at avoiding me. You may not want to admit it now, but you’re using your grief as an excuse to run away from feeling anything else.”

“You don’t know me,” you say, the words an echo that reaches through time with an entirely different meaning.

“I think I do.” His chest is barely an inch from yours, and before you know it, your lips join in a bruising kiss. It’s desperation from the days you spent without each other, almost stitching the time between that night you were in his bed and now together like a crochet tapestry. It’s yearning to be better than how you’ve been, to do better for the man who wants to teach you how to find happiness again.

Most importantly, it’s hope, unadulterated and unembroidered with the promises of what would’ve been. It’s only now, and that’s enough. It would always end this way, you think. Wonwoo holds you so close he may squeeze you into his coat to keep you from running away. A muddled cry escapes you before your lips connect again, your tears wetting the space between your mouths.

When you part, you think you may never let him go again, and this is the penance you’ll pay for the rest of your life for thinking you could ever handle being without him. “Where do we go from here?” you ask with glassy eyes, finding a glimmer of peace in the way Wonwoo holds you close to him with all the gentleness and love in the world.

“We heal.”

ONE MONTH LATER

None of the group members believe it when you offer to go first during the second to last session. You had half a mind to not to, promising Wonwoo you would share on the final meeting day so you wouldn’t have to suffer through another gathering with everyone knowing your story. Wonwoo only held you closer, stilling your trembling body with kisses to the crown of your head and his reassuring words whispered into your hair. “You’re stronger than anyone in that room, and it’s time you prove it.” You love him for that, among the plethora of a million other things, but that’s another conversation for another time and for only the two of you to share.

Suzy, Hongjoong, and the rest of the group follow you with understanding eyes, a response you used to dread. But now, you accept it just to get by. Seungcheol stares with immeasurable pride behind his eyes as you clear your throat.

“My dad passed away a year ago now,” you start, hands shaking but firm against the plastic coffee cup. “It was sudden, so sudden when the call came I didn’t believe it. I called the cop that told me about the accident a liar, like it couldn’t be true. It couldn’t happen to me, and not to him. Not yet, anyway.”

“You always think that you have more time to spend with someone, to tell them all the things you didn’t have the courage to say to them when they were still around. And that’s how I felt about him and our relationship, like I’d have a lot more moments to fix what I needed to for the two of us, and for myself. Maybe I never would’ve been ready, anyway, but—I couldn’t accept that all those chances, all those opportunities, were gone when he was, too. Most of the time, I still don’t. It doesn’t feel real, like it’s this thick fog I’m under that’ll eventually clear.

“And that’s why I’m here with you guys. And maybe talking about it now can help me to get through it the right way.”

You don’t look up from the floor as you continue, but Wonwoo’s hand on your thigh and Seungcheol’s leading questions ground you through it all. The tears flow, and the words leave your lips with all of their broken seams. Each thread of your heart unwinds, the experience equal parts freeing and devastating in the release.

Whoever the creator of the slogan from that third week of the support group is—Seungcheol, a random stranger, or a prophetic person who knows all too well the tragedy of grief itself—you’re growing to believe time can bend every sad emotion into something manageable, especially grief. And yes, you have yet to see what your own grief ultimately turns into, but you know you’ll take comfort in the fact you won’t be alone when that day comes.

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𝐍𝐄𝐓𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐒 ── .✦ @kstrucknet @k-films @kvanity-main @lapydiaries @moadiarynet @pirateeznet @/sweetvenomnet @onedoornet @deoboyznet @violetanet @whipped-kpop-creators

𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑫 𝑴𝒀 𝑶𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑹 𝑾𝑶𝑹𝑲𝑺 𝒐𝒓 𝑱𝑶𝑰𝑵 𝑴𝒀 𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻𝑺 © 𝖠𝗅𝗅 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝗒 𝖧𝖤𝖤𝖢𝖧𝖶𝖤; 𝖣𝗈 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗋𝗂𝖻𝗎𝗍𝖾 𝗈𝗋 𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗅 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍.

[hyunebunx]

maybe it's not our fault - chapter 04

── synopsis: after a nasty breakup that’s left you completely shattered, you’re set on giving up on love forever. That is until, in a surprising turn of events, your respective best friends start dating and one of their main goals is to restore the peace in your broken relationship. Will their plan succeed? Will they manage to play cupid and get you and your high school sweetheart back together, or will it all backfire and result in the end of their own love story?

There is only one way to find out. If only your beloved’s heart wasn’t already broken beyond repair…

╰─▸ ❝ pairing: hyunjin x fem!reader

╰─▸ ❝ content: exes to lovers, angst, mutual pining, fluff, suggestive themes, drama and heartbreak, jock!hyunjin who is captain of the uni's football team + dance major!hyunjin, college au, lack of communication.

╰─▸ ❝ word count: 8,5k

a/n: soo this took me forever but i hope there's still people that will enjoy this!! <3 this chapter picks up right where the previous one left off.

“For someone who claimed to want to talk, you’re not saying a whole lot.”

In the dim parking lot light, Hyunjin stares down at you with curiosity, arms crossed over his broad chest like a shield. You’re a few feet away from the car, and not as close as before, but somehow, you finally notice all of these fine details about him. There’s a faint bruise above his eye, the culprit, his silver eyebrow piercing shining with pride when the light hits it just right. His roots are growing in, pitch black and healthy, fighting against the bleach with all of their might. Muscle tape soothes the back of his neck, obscured by the long hair that serves as a curtain between him and the nosy world. The people who were just as nosy as you were currently being.

Shifting your weight from one foot to the other, you hug yourself to keep warm before opening your mouth, eyes downcast. “Are you alright?”

Surprise flashes across his features, and you catch it just in time because the moment you raise your gaze, it’s gone.

“Look at me as you’re thinking of your next answer.”

He doesn’t, not even bothering to pretend he acknowledged what you just said.

“I’m fine.” Hyunjin sighs, letting his head fall back briefly like he needed to pull himself together to have this conversation. “As a matter of fact, I’m great! Never felt better!”

You can tell he’s lying from a mile away. Because while his words say one thing, his body language and everything else about him tell a different story. He doesn’t rest all his weight on both feet, crossing them at the ankles for better balance. If standing hurt this much, you couldn’t begin to imagine how executing one of his difficult choreographies would feel.

“I was worried about you.” You allow yourself to be vulnerable, to tell him everything you’ve rehearsed thousands of times while imagining this encounter. It’s hard because there are so many words and feelings currently fighting for dominance in your head, all longing for a chance to speak to him. Because every fiber of your being was aware of one thing – you might never get this opportunity again.

In response to your inner turmoil, Hyunjin scoffs and chuckles softly, like finding any humor in the matter takes a lot of effort. “Don’t make me laugh.”

Your eyes widen, puzzled.

“If you truly cared, you would have done more than send a flimsy ‘get well soon’ card.”

“I didn’t know!” You’re quick to defend yourself, panic and anger mingling as fear creeps in, terrified that his opinion of you might’ve changed quite drastically. “I had no idea you got injured until a few weeks ago! They all kept it from me, so don’t blame me for whatever shit Chris has been doing behind my back. I had no say in it.”

Hyunjin’s lips part but no words come out, stunning him into silence for the time being.

“I somehow find that hard to believe.” He eventually shakes his head, dismissing any rational thought that might’ve tried to help him make sense of your explanation. Instead of listening to his mind, Hyunjin chooses to listen to his wounded heart, which brings forth all of the anger and bitterness he’s been bottling up for months.

“Are you fucking serious?” But you do the same, your heart responding in kind as you step closer, all up in his face. “Why are you being like this?”

“Like what?” Hyunjin snaps, just as aggravated, dropping his arms and finally opening himself up to you. “What the fuck am I doing wrong now, Y/n?” He huffs, almost like a bomb ready to explode any second. His anger has only ever gotten the best of him one time in the past, clouding his judgment and ending your relationship on the spot.

Were you about to witness it take control of him again, before losing your own cool?

“Mean.” You throw your arms up, frustrated and on the verge of tears. “You’re being mean when all I did was express my concerns for you!”

In the quiet parking lot, your argument is loud enough for all of your neighbors to hear, including Seohyun and Felix, who were left all alone in Hyunjin’s car. Under normal circumstances, the thought alone would have you curl into yourself in shame, but right now, you couldn’t care less. Even if this conversation was quickly turning into something neither of you would be able to come back from, just like all of your fights in the past.

“Well, apparently it’s in my nature so I can’t fucking help it, remember?!” He bites back, unwilling to pay any close attention to the mess you were slowly but surely morphing into right before his eyes.

Oh, how you wish you didn’t, the accusation rushing into you at a speed that knocks the air out of your lungs harshly. Mean, selfish, and inconsiderate. They were all words you spoke with your own mouth a few months ago, during one of your unplanned, weekly argument sessions. Words meant to hurt him just as much as his distance and dismissal were hurting you, to cut deep and make him bleed.

You were now regretting them more than anything, wishing you could turn back time and smack the both of you over the head so you could stop fighting and realize how much the other cared. How much you cared about him and your relationship because you were unsure as to when Hyunjin stopped caring about you.

Flinching, you look away and step back, putting some much-needed distance between you.

“I’m sorry.” You manage to say, your anger subsiding.

Years ago, before Hyunjin began changing into this person you didn’t know, he was always the first one to apologize after a fight, not caring who was technically at fault. He had no issues stepping over his ego and rushing to you, wishing to make things right as soon as possible, resembling a kicked puppy who’ll follow his owner to the ends of the earth no matter how many times he got left behind, abandoned.

And you always forgave him. Hopefully, he’ll find it in his heart to do the same now.

Hyunjin just shrugs and looks away, but you catch a glimpse of unshed tears in his beautiful eyes that used to sparkle so brightly, putting all of your favorite constellations to shame.

With a tentative step in his direction, you add, the sound of your heart shattering making it hard for your thoughts to make themselves heard. “Had I known about what happened, I would have dropped everything to come and see you.” Then, your voice drops as you shallow, struggling to continue staring at him. “You know this.”

Hyunjin responds a little too quickly, shaking his head. “I don’t know anything.”

Your head falls, his unwillingness to meet you halfway hitting harder than before. It seemed that no matter what you chose to say, he’d vehemently deny it until the end, not finding it in himself to believe a word. His solitary quest of erasing you and all of your love filled memories was keeping him on the right path, immune to all of your heartbreak and despair.

“If that’s all.” He clears his throat, forcing himself to look in your direction as he trails off and stops messing with the ring on his index finger. A new one that replaced the simple, black ring you got him a few years ago, that was part of a couple set which matched with your white one. The ring you threw in your jewelry box, trying to hide from view, unable to look at for more than a few seconds at a time without tears welling up in your eyes.

Rings you both never took off, now abandoned in a dark corner of your rooms – out of sight and out of mind. They were a pair, only making sense together. Just like you and him have for years.

Does Hyunjin still have it? Does it haunt his dreams, jolting him awake once he realizes he hasn’t seen it in a while?

Or has he thrown it in the trash along with your relationship?

They weren’t particularly expensive, but you liked to believe their value came from what they represented. A token of love, priceless and so different from the other models who didn’t get to enjoy adorning Hyunjin’s slender finger.

“Good talk.”

You snap out of it the moment his back comes into view, and suddenly, you’re panicking like never before. The air doesn’t seem to reach your lungs anymore, yet your heart speeds up, the sight of him walking away, as painful as she remembered.

“Wait, Hyunjin!” You plead before your brain can process it, hurrying after him and reaching for his hand, trying to pull him back. To prevent him from disappearing again, like a fleeting memory you couldn’t hold on to as you wake up from a deep slumber.

But you’re not fast enough, your fingers only managing to brush against his and not grasp them entirely, falling short. This marks the second time he slips through your fingers, the second time you fail at keeping him in your life.

However, before you can drown in self-pity, Hyunjin startles you by turning around on his own accord, eyes wide.

“You’re freezing.” It’s not a question but a statement, one he confirms once he properly grasps your hand and approaches hurriedly. Without wasting a second, Hyunjin removes his red cardigan and drapes it over your shoulders, making quick work of the buttons to get you warm as soon as possible.

You’re so taken aback that you don’t register what’s happening until he’s at eye level, arms on full display as he’s left only in a black band t-shirt.

“I’m fine.” You try to wiggle your trapped arms, protesting. “Hyunjin, seriously! Take it back!”

But he doesn’t listen, as expected. “You shouldn’t have given your jacket away when it’s this cold out.”

“You’re one to talk?”

“I’ll be fine.” He dismisses your worries just as he reaches the last button of his fluffy cardigan. “You, on the other hand, get sick easily.”

When he pulls away, you see him cast an inspecting look over your form just as your arms slip into the baggy sleeves, nodding in satisfaction. “There, all better now.”

Your response comes as a whisper, a pathetic attempt at regaining your balance after the sudden turn this conversation has taken. “Is it really?”

The last thing you expected was for him to show you any type of compassion or be concerned after spending all of this time acting like you didn’t exist in his world, a big shadow that didn’t frighten him anymore, one he could walk past without any issues.

But the implication of your silly question isn’t lost on either of you, and as he looks away, preparing to flee again, your hands boldly latch themselves into his t-shirt to pull him back, almost closing the never-ending distance between your two bodies. “Please, don’t go.”

Hyunjin frowns, visible pain contorting his beautiful features in the most heartbreaking way that almost has you regretting your words. He’s speechless in front of the phrase he’s been wanting to hear roll down your tongue for so long, needing to see he means as much to you as you mean to him.

Or meant.

“Please stop shutting me out.” By this point, you’re begging, desperate to be seen and heard by the person who once was your entire world. “Let me be there for you again, your shoulder to cry on. You don’t have to bear all of this pain alone, Hyun.”

He inhales sharply, looking away like your words sting, touch the deepest part of his core that nobody in existence has ever managed to reach.

Now, in the dim parking lot light, you’re able to see all of him, the way his resolve breaks in the form of clear tears that rush to his eyes but don’t dare fall, held hostage behind the wall he’s built between him and the entire world.

“I don’t know how to.” His response is quiet, soft like the brush of a feather against your cheek, sign he’s barely willing to admit this weakness to himself.

You shake your head, unwilling to accept his reasoning. “Yes, you do. I know how much you hate when people worry about you but – “

“Then stop.” His interruption is harsh, almost as harsh as the storm currently taking place behind his lifeless eyes. “Stop worrying and leave me alone. It’s for the best.”

“How can you even think that?” Your hands drop down to find his own, hesitant in reaching out to hold them and settling for the way they briefly brush against each other, hoping some of your newfound warmth could soothe him.

“Because it’s true. I can’t seem to be able to do anything right, so it’s only fitting I stop trying.”

Hyunjin has always had such a positive outlook on life and everything around him, truly believing that as long as you didn’t give up, as long as you were a good person, good things will inevitably find you. Such words coming out of his mouth were made to sound like a foreign language he’s recently learned in your absence.

“Hyun…” Your hands flex, itching to share some of the comfort you were able to provide.

Eventually, his shoulders slump forward, eyes fluttering shut as he tries to steady his breathing, so dejected it almost brings you to tears. “I’m tired, Y/n.”

“So, so tired of everything and everyone wanting something from me. My time, my attention, my love, and energy. I don’t have anything else to give. I’m not capable of giving anymore.”

Even if they’re not meant to be one, considering his current state, his words do feel like a jab at your last conversation, the tantrum you threw that inevitably led to the end of your relationship. You’ve always wanted too much, expected everything. More of his time, attention, and a gram of the love he was busily pouring into other things and people who weren’t you.

But could you really be blamed? After spending all of these years as his top priority, his favorite person nobody could compare to, wasn’t it only natural to panic once his focus shifted to something else?

A relationship can only develop if both parties are equally involved, blooming and growing with the help of their love and affection for one another. But towards the end, you are the only one constantly giving your all and making sacrifices in a desperate attempt to breathe life back into your dying and withering relationship. You are stuck watching the love pour out from a hole you can’t find.

So, in this situation, who should be the one expressing how tired they were? How depleted they’ve felt for months on end, barely holding on to the lifeline their friends have kindly thrown out into the sea to keep them afloat?

“Then rest and reevaluate your priorities.” You mumble, actively feeling the way your heart is desperately trying to stitch itself back together. “You can’t be doing everything at once, Hyunjin.”

“I have been resting.” Hyunjin straightens, shoving one of his hands in the pocket of his baggy pants.

“Your body, sure.” You search for his gaze as your hand bravely embarks on a new journey, its destination unknown. “But what about your mind?” It settles over his chest, happy to feel him relax at the gentle touch. “What about your heart?” You point, poking his chest repeatedly right over the part of him you used to love with every fiber of your being.

It comes as a surprise when Hyunjin responds in kind, gently enveloping your hand in his to stop you. “I’m fine.” What causes your heart to stop beating momentarily is that he doesn’t let go.

You sigh, already exasperated at his excessive use of this infuriating phrase. “You’ve always been such a bad liar.”

Then, the unexpected happens. Hyunjin laughs, eyes crinkling at the corners most endearingly. You used to kiss those faint wrinkles, dotting them just like you would on him, adoring the proof of his happiness.

“You’re the only one who can tell because you know me too well. I don’t have such problems with other people.”

“And isn’t that sad?” You enquire, shifting in his hold to intertwine your fingers. “To be surrounded by people who don’t know you? The real you?”

His smile vanishes and you almost wish to take it all back, remain silent just so he could be happy for longer. Just so he could smile and pretend you weren’t a lost cause, a story with a hopeless future that will always end tragically.

“It’s depressing.” He admits easily, almost like he’s been waiting for someone to finally see through him and call his bluff. A tortured artist, Hyunjin has always had a flair for the dramatic.

Silence settles between you, making itself comfortable as you pull your hand back and begin unbuttoning the red cardigan, which still has that specific, new clothing smell mixed with his usual cologne.

Hyunjin doesn’t protest as you take it off to drape over his shoulders, sharing your warmth like you’ve done countless times before, eyes watching you like a hawk. Soft but oh so attentive, studying your every micro-expression like he’d do with the models in one of his painting classes, not missing a breath.

“I have so much to say.” A bittersweet laugh escapes you, causing some of the tears you’ve managed to keep at bay for so long to escape and roll down your cheeks freely. You could spend your whole night here, in this parking lot with him, just talking until the sun rose and you’d be forced to part to start a new day. One that didn’t involve the other anymore. “So many questions. So many stories I’ve saved up, kept to myself because I know you’re the only one who could ever understand.”

Regret cripples his beautiful features as he makes to reach out, to touch and wipe your tears, as expressive as you’ve grown to love him. Unfortunately, he doesn’t have the strength to do so, arms falling to his side pathetically.

You shallow back your tears, wiping your eyes a little too harshly. “But right now, as I’m looking at you, all I want to say is please, take care of yourself.”

“Take your time to dwell on everything until you realize this is not you. This, the version of you that’s currently in front of me, isn’t the Hyunjin everyone has come to love.”

With a deep breath, one that barely fills your lungs with air, your gazes lock for the last time.

“You’re not this cold, unapproachable person that shuts all of his loved ones out. You’re not an island meant to exist by yourself. Remember that.”

Hyunjin stares at you and the way your mouth moves, speechless, unsure how to respond or react to the kindness you are currently showing him. It’s like he couldn’t, unable to speak no matter how hard he tried, the lump in his throat preventing any of his true feelings from escaping.

He couldn’t comprehend why you were still being so nice to him, so loving and compassionate when he’d been anything but that since you met up tonight.

“I – don’t…know what to say.” He manages to let out, voice shaky and on the verge of breaking.

A tiny smile creeps onto your features, bittersweet among the tears that have dried on your cheeks. “That’s alright. Thank you for listening to me; that’s all I needed.”

That’s when you step back towards your apartment building, increasing the distance so you’ll finally be able to breathe. You’re still staring at each other, frozen on the spot, afraid that if you glance away even for a second, the other will disappear.

“Can you please go and wake Seohyun?”

Hyunjin doesn’t respond right away, eyes locked into yours as his lips part in search of the proper words that would finally put an end to your misery. Words that would help you go back to the way things were before, to a happier time in your life where his love had you up on cloud nine, feeling invincible in front of everything that life threw your way.

He looks almost pitiful, unable to grasp the hand you’ve given him, the olive branch that would close the distance between you, help him traverse oceans, and get home safe and sound.

So, he does the only thing he can. Hyunjin nods and grants your wish, swiftly turning on his heel to walk away, towards your two sleeping friends. As you watch him, you feel multiple pieces of your heart detaching to run after him, a painful sensation, similar to the hurt you’d feel while peeling a band-aid off a fresh wound.

When Seohyun steps out, stretching her arms above her head, still wearing your jacket, Felix follows. They exchange a few words before Hyunjin departs, rounding the car to get to his seat, closing himself off from the world.

And then, they hug and you can’t help but stare at the scene with an unusual amount of interest. They look great together, like Barbie and Ken, made especially for one another, never meant to be separated.

Seohyun is beaming as she skips towards you, and so is Felix as he waves goodbye from his place by the car, sharing a happiness you haven’t felt in a long time. He doesn’t join Hyunjin until he sees your best friend pulling you into a brief embrace, giddy like it’s the first time you crossed paths tonight.

The car then drives off and that’s when your tears return in full force, cascading down your cheeks in a sight that alarms Seohyun who gasps and checks your body for any potential injuries you might have acquired in the past 20 minutes you’ve spent apart.

“Babe? What’s wrong?” Her hold on your shoulders tightens, worry written all over her pretty face as she searches for your wandering gaze. “Did something happen?”

You shake your head, but you’re not as convincing as you hoped since the tears don’t stop. “I just want to go home.”

Seohyun links your arms and begins dragging you forward, away from the parking lot and the conversation that has shattered your heart once again.

The next morning, you finally text Changbin back.

A few days later, Friday finds you on your way to class when an urgent phone call has you make a detour to one of your favorite places, to your relief. Anything to skip another never ending lecture you didn’t know how to get out of without Chris or Jisung’s help, who were both too busy with their careers to assist at the moment.

Furry Friends Rescue looked just about the same, standing proudly with all the Halloween decorations you’ve put up ahead of the anticipated holiday. Mrs. Jeon has still not made her return, so you were helping out more than usual – not that you minded anyway. Right now, it was one of those instances, having to hurry over to cover for the guy who was supposed to open the shelter but got caught up with a presentation he forgot all about. In consequence, the shelter was still closed at 11 am which meant the animals still hadn’t had their breakfast.

Dealing with hungry little furballs all by yourself wasn’t how you expected your Friday to go, but you can manage. After all, being alone had become like second nature these days.

That’s why you weren’t expecting to bump into him again.

“Y/n!” Jaemin exclaims as you approach, already halfway through the door. You hurry over, nudging him inside and quickly closing the door before one of the wandering animals can escape.

“I thought I was the only one here…” He mumbles, not meeting your eyes.

You nod, not oblivious to the way things seem to have changed between you since that last game. “I didn’t know Siwoo called you as well.” You exhale, suddenly out of breath. “Well, since you’re here and seem to have everything under control I’ll go – “

“I’m sorry, Y/n.”

You whip around to face him a little too quickly, surprised at his sudden apology. Jaemin stands tall, not wavering even as Snowflake, the shelter’s star, struts over and begins rubbing her little face against his legs in a loving greeting, the type you never had the pleasure of getting.

Seems like the elephant in the room was too grand for poor Jaemin to ignore any further, feeling genuine remorse about the way your relationship soured.

Still, you play dumb. “Sorry? For what?”

“For keeping it from you.” You know exactly what he’s alluding to. “I’m not the captain and I’ll never be. I’m just filling in until he recovers and gets back.” Somehow, saying Hyunjin’s name seems to be as difficult for him as it is for you. Or maybe it’s avoided out of consideration for you.

“Jaemin – “

“Let me finish.” He takes a step closer, bleached hair pushed out of his face. “I never meant to be the captain. That was never my intention. But what was I supposed to do? The coach was desperate and I felt too bad to turn him down in time of need.”

Jaemin is tall, but now, as he bares his soul to you, a person he met a mere month ago, he looks comically tiny. His vulnerability makes him feel small.

“I thought I did the right thing but now almost every guy on the team seems to hate me.” The breath he lets out shakes him to his core, and you can finally take a peek at the exhaustion that’s been hiding underneath that bright smile. You couldn’t even begin to imagine how it felt to lead a team of people who disliked you, how all of their feet would feel while trampling all over your heart, treating you like the biggest cartoon villain in history.

And now, your initial assessment of him felt a little too cruel. Jaemin didn’t replace Hyunjin willingly and certainly did not mean to erase him from the team, as you and the other players were quick to think.

He was just trying to help. You didn’t know him for long, but his helpful nature has been obvious from day one, enough to get Mrs. Jeon to trust him to take your place. Why did you allow your emotions to treat him so harshly?

Before you can process it, your hand lands on his arm. “They don’t hate you.”

His gaze flies to the casual touch, your attempt at comfort appreciated. “Sure.” Jaemin snorts. “Choi tried to fight me.”

You remember the conversation you witnessed at the game, the stupid plan Yeonjun and Daehyun bonded over. Nothing like an ambush to bring peace between two pigheaded men.

You attempt to suppress a smile, clearing your throat at a memory that steps forward. “Yeonjun has also tried to fight Hyunjin in the past. Daehyun is still trying.”

“Really?”

You nod. “Oh, yeah. Yeonjun thought Hyunjin was too stuck-up and they butted heads all the time. It took a while for them to see eye to eye and even more to become the friends they are today.”

Jaemin’s eyes widen in surprise. “Stuck up? The captain?”

A laugh bubbles out of you, amused at the admiration hidden behind said eyes. “Hyunjin has always been a team player, but being a leader is different. He thought everyone should follow his lead without complaint, not bothering to consult with the others as long as they won the game.”

“That – “ He trails off, wanting to make sure you’re not messing with him. “Doesn’t sound like him at all.”

Despite yourself, you grin. “Well, he’s had three years to get to this point. Do you think he’d still be captain if he continued without changing?”

He’s silent, taking it all in. Jaemin hasn’t been part of the team for long but it seems like the thought of his teammates growing and evolving has never crossed his mind. He just assumed they were all perfect from the beginning. Everyone but him.

“And Daehyun is just stupid, plain and simple.” You add.

Jaemin bursts out laughing, some of the tension leaving his battered shoulders. “I can only agree.”

“So don’t worry about them. Men in sports are strange creatures anyway; you’ll never be able to make all of them happy.”

You take his silent contemplating as an opportunity to crouch down to Snowflake’s level and scratch under her chin, cooing at her beautiful white fur as she begins purring in appreciation.

“What about you?” He suddenly asks, joining you on the floor. “Can I make you happy?”

Your heart thumps loudly, almost knocking the breath out of your lungs at his bold question, heat rushing to your face. “W-What do you mean?”

Jaemin runs a hand through his hair, revealing his helix piercing and the red that’s staining the top of his ears. He’s embarrassed, and you can’t help the terror that’s quickly creeping into your heart at the fact that the prospect of a confession is no longer as terrifying as before.

Looking up at you from beneath long lashes, he flushes. “Are we still friends?”

And then, it just stops. You pause, wondering if you heard him right. He’s staring at you so pleadingly, so close to you and your barricaded heart. Taking pity on him is the only right answer, especially after he just poured his heart out just for your sake. Just to make sure your opinion of him hasn’t changed, that you don’t hate him like his teammates do.

Judging by the look on his face, it’s obvious he couldn’t handle that reality. Not after becoming public enemy number one.

With a smile, you reach and poke his forehead, chasing his worries away. “What do you think, dummy? Of course we are.”

Relief floods his features, eyes sparkling with unshed tears he obviously doesn’t want you to notice, swinging backwards with a sigh as Snowflake suddenly jumps into his lap. You laugh, amused by his antics, and he soon joins, just a little strained.

“Thank fuck.” He exhales, sitting up. “Work would have been awkward otherwise.”

You snort, pushing his shoulder before standing up. “Bold of you to assume Mrs. Jeon would let you keep coming back after upsetting me.”

A cocky smirk finds its way on pink lips as he leans back onto his forearms. “You seem to forget Mrs. Jeon has left me in charge until she returns.” Snowflake meows and he reaches to pet her. “You would have been the one let go.”

You frown down at him and he finally laughs, throwing his head back in pure delight.

Just as you move past him to the backroom in search of the food for the hungry furballs, he calls out. “We should hang out sometimes! Outside of work.”

“After you threatened to fire me?” You shout back, busy grabbing one of the big bags of nutritious, top-quality food Mrs. Jeon loved to splurge on. “Not a chance!”

“Come on, I was joking!” But he’s still laughing, no sign of wanting to give a helping hand.

You don’t respond.

“Y/n?”

“I changed my mind. I don’t want to be friends anymore.”

As expected, your statement is only met with another round of laughter you can’t help but reciprocate.

The following week, you begin meeting with Changbin quite frequently, full of inspiration and ready to do your part of the project. Working with him is even better than expected, all smiles, laughter, and good banter that only aids you both in your creative endeavors.

You now realize your apprehensions were all for nothing, your similar creative visions making this whole process a pleasant experience you wouldn’t have otherwise enjoyed were it not for Mr. Kim and his absurd demands.

You were a creature of habit, too placid in your comfort zone, only ever working with Chris and Jisung when the time called for it. One thing that art in itself isn’t. You’ve been told countless times that to become a true artist, one who’ll truly touch people’s hearts, you need to step out of your bubble and spread your wings. But you were never willing to. You still aren’t, not fully anyway. But working with Changbin makes the whole ordeal seem less scary, not as intimidating or frustrating as you thought it’d be.

Today, as you step into the familiar studio, Changbin is joined by Chris and Jisung who are caught up in a heated debate of sorts.

“Hi?”

All three heads swing around to face you, too in synch for your liking, and the conversation fizzles out. Almost like they didn’t want you to hear whatever they were discussing.

“Sup!” Changbin is the first one to greet you, standing up to offer a comforting side hug. “These two will, unfortunately, be joining us today. I hope that’s okay.”

“Unfortunately?” Chris scoffs, kicking Bin’s chair.

“We are her best friends! Us! Not you!” Jisung adds, crossing his arms from his place on the couch.

Changbin rolls his eyes as you hide a giggle behind your hand, walking back to his seat to roll his chair next to Chan’s, bumping into him as some sort of silent warning.

“What are you guys up to?” You ask after greeting your two pouty best friends, giving them the proper hugs needed to stop their sulking. When you finally sit on the couch, Jisung makes himself comfortable with his head in your lap, lounging about like he owns the place.

“You know.” Changbin nods towards their open laptops. “Work.”

Jisung’s only response is a groan, rolling around to bury his head in your fluffy sweater, not wanting to be part of this conversation. Instinctively, your hand finds his soft locks and begins combing through them.

You haven’t seen these two in a while, work keeping them even busier than usual. It’s been lonely, especially since Seohyun has started spending most of her free time with Felix of all people. Seems like their relationship was getting too serious, too fast and you didn’t know how to feel about it.

Felix was a great guy, one of the nicest people you’ve had the pleasure of meeting. But your best friend was known for jumping into things, head first, without much thought. Did he really like her as much as she thought? Did she actually have feelings for him beyond the initial infatuation?

But you couldn’t interfere. After all, you weren’t able to keep your own relationship afloat, so who were you to doubt theirs?

You just hoped Seohyun was being careful. As much as you liked to think you knew Felix, he’s spent the last few years in a different environment, away from his friends and everything he was accustomed to. The probability of him being a completely different person despite appearances was never zero.

“I’m guessing that means your projects are done?” You probe, untangling Jisung’s hair.

Chris shakes his head, brown curls flying everywhere. “We haven’t even started yet.”

“That’s because his partner is an ex situationship. He’s running away.” Jisung chimes in, voice muffled by the material of your clothing.

Chris gasps a little too loudly, face flushing in embarrassment as Changbin cackles at his misery, having the time of his life. You can tell by the look in his eyes that he wants to deny it, even argue with Jisung, but the truth prevents him from doing so.

Tugging on his hair, you then look down at the man in your lap. “And what’s your excuse?”

Jisung groans, university assignments being the bane of his existence. “You know me! I don’t feel any pressure to do anything until the very last day!”

Oh, yeah. Very on brand for the king of procrastination.

“I told you we’re way ahead of everyone else.” Changbin suddenly says, puffing up his chest, pride written all over his features.

Chris turns towards you, surprised. “You’re writing again?”

When you nod, he breaks out into the brightest smile, one that could put the sun to shame, and your heart grows at the pride you feel radiating off of him. He and Changbin both seem to be happier than you at the fact that you finally found your voice again.

“Not only is she writing again, she finished a whole song all by herself yesterday!” With the way he’s boasting, you’d think Changbin is talking about one of his achievements. You were so grateful for him and the way he’s been supporting you, holding your hand through this difficult journey made easier by his kind words, how he didn’t rush or berate you for feeling stuck.

“What?” Jisung sits up, staring between you and his friend. “And you didn’t play it for us?”

Changbin shakes his head. “No can do. It’s Y/n’s song, only she can decide when to play it for others.”

“Yet you heard it.” Chris pouts, joining Jisung as you try to muffle your giggles at their antics.

“I produced it!”

“I could have produced it as well!”

Chris clears his throat, grabbing both of their attention. “I’ve known her for longer.”

“That has nothing to do with this!” They almost yell in unison, and you finally lose it, falling backwards on the couch as laughter overwhelms you.

The loud chatter continues and your happiness reaches new highs, the three of them never fail to lift your spirits. They’ve always managed to make you feel included, no matter how many people were asking for their attention at a time, never turning their backs on you in favor of impressing potential contacts who could help further their careers.

Hanging out with the three of them felt like old times when your big friend group would get together and party until the sun came up. When you’d go on trips and have the time of your life, along with your beloved and these people who loved you unconditionally.

You missed it, but above it all, you felt guilty, not managing to shake off this irritating voice that loved to whisper nonsense in your ear. About how you’re not enough, how it’s all your fault they all fell apart, divided because of the tragic ending that has cursed your love story.

It might as well have been all of your fault. You just hoped, deep down, that Chris would be able to find it in himself to forgive you because you could never forgive yourself.

Time flies as you’re having fun, projects, work, and university all forgotten in favor of catching up and discussing everything that comes to mind, comfortable among friends to give free rein to your deepest thoughts. Changbin talks about this new girl he’s seeing, how the thrill of a new relationship keeps him awake at night. He’s always been a hopeless romantic. Chris opens up about that ex situationship of his, how running away from that responsibility has been keeping his steps up.

Jisung is about to open up about Yoona until the distinct beeping of a code being pushed in reaches your ears and the door swings open, startling the four of you as the conversation comes to an abrupt stop.

Because in steps none other than Minho, closely followed by Seungmin.

“Oh?” Minho blinks, pointily ignoring your presence. “Are we interrupting tea time, princesses?”

Changbin laughs, but the sound isn’t genuine, a little awkward as Jisung rolls his eyes so far back you’re sure he greeted his brain. Chris tries his best to smile and be welcoming, but you can see right through him. Something, or maybe someone, is clearly bothering him.

“Can’t you knock?” Jisung is just as blunt, not bothering to greet either of them.

Minho’s eyebrows hike up. “Why would I? I have the code for a reason, unlike someone in here.”

You don’t know if he’s talking about you or Jisung, who got this benefit removed a few months ago when he brought over a random groupie, too impatient to make it back to the apartment.

Either way, he’s still annoyed, puffing and blowing hair out of his face while fishing out his phone to put an end to this conversation.

“Sorry, we didn’t mean to interrupt.” Seungmin’s honeyed voice calms the spirits as he steps forward. “I had no idea you were having a meeting.”

“They’re clearly not.” With that said, Minho’s eyes finally met yours, narrowed in that usual glare he seemed to save for the people he truly disliked. Like you.

It sends a shiver down your spine, the unpleasant kind, whole body tenses up under his scrutinizing gaze. You’ve always found Minho’s eyes beautiful and that unfortunately hasn’t changed even as his opinion of you did.

Jisung and Minho used to be like two peas in a pod, inseparable, sharing a bond that would often leave others green with envy. You’d sometimes get into playful arguments with Minho, demanding he return your best friend at once, before you were both pulled into a hug by said best friend, forced to make up by his bright laughter.

Now, they couldn’t stand one another.

“Why are you guys here? Did something happen at home?” Changbin finally breaks the awkward silence, standing up to properly greet his two friends.

Minho shakes his head, while Seungmin adds. “No. Just wanted to talk to you about the festival.”

“Festival?” The question escapes without your consent, and the attention is back on you.

Seungmin looks confused. “You haven’t told her?” This question is pointed toward your best friend who only shakes his head sheepishly.

“It slipped my mind.”

Jisung looks exasperated, just barely holding himself back from leaving the room as your eyes dart between them, full of questions.

“Well, that’s fine.” His face comes into view, reserved smile on full display as he addresses you. Seungmin has always been more introverted than the others. “The film festival is taking place next week. Our university has managed to bring in some seasoned film critics to judge this year’s submissions, which also includes one of my short movies.”

Then, with utmost gentleness, like you were an easily frightened child, his hand lands on your shoulder. “I hope you can make it.”

Seungmin…was inviting you?

The film festival was a yearly event, one of the biggest ones at your university, close behind the dance competition and the beloved football season. Jisung loves movies, so you were always in attendance, surrounded by your friend group and their entertaining banter that made the night even more special.

But after your falling out, you didn’t expect anyone to want you there.

“Changbin?” Minho’s sharp voice cuts through, and Seugmin straightens. “A word?”

Changbin follows them outside after Seugmin bids everyone goodbye with another soft smile, and the door clicks shut behind them, leaving the three of you alone.

Jisung is grumbling under his breath, finally able to relax while Chris turns towards you, with one of his famous smiles, eyes sparkling for some unknown reason. He’s taken off his beanie, rolled up his sleeves, tattoos on full display – he means business.

“Isn’t this great?” He hums, taking hold of your hands. His are cold. “It’s been a while since we’ve all done something together. I bet Seohyun will be thrilled.”

“As if she actually cares.” Jisung mumbles, draping himself over the couch to get to the mini fridge in the corner.

Chris ignores him, his hold on you tightening. “What do you think, sweetheart? Feel like watching some up and coming masterpieces with me?”

You see the longing in his eyes, the wish for things to go back to normal – for you to regain your spark. He misses them, the friends you used to spend all of your time with, and your heart drops. It’s all your fault. If it weren’t for you and your emotional outburst, things would have still been fine.

You and Hyunjin would still be together, Chris would still have his friends, and Jisung wouldn’t act like they never existed. Everyone wouldn’t be so divided.

Why did you have to ruin everything?

“Chris, I…don’t think it’s a good idea.” His face falls, so you quickly add. “I don’t want to ruin it for everyone.”

The perplexity on his face makes you feel even worse. “What? What are you even talking about? Seungmin invited you himself.”

You shake your head. “Just because I happened to be here, and I asked about it. I’m sure I put him in an awkward position where he felt like he had to.”

“Nonsense!” He denies your ridiculous claims in a heartbeat.

“Chris, no offense, but I’d rather spend my night with people that like me and enjoy my company.”

“We can have our own movie night, bug.” Jisung chides, big hands landing on your shoulders from behind. “Horror, of course.”

Chris completely brushes off Jisung’s comment, still committed to convincing you. “He wouldn’t have invited you if he didn’t like you, Y/n. Wake up.”

“No, you need to wake up!” Jisung snaps before you can say anything, eyes two sharp slits ready to come for his throat. You fall back against his chest, pulled by his strong arms, almost like he was trying to protect you from the intensity of his next words. “You’ve been going on and on about this for days, insisting we all act like nothing happened just so we can fulfill your absurd fantasy! Let it go.”

Chris’s eyes narrow. “You’re one to talk? Seugmin tried to do a nice thing and you, along with Minho, ruined it for everyone!”

Now you were lost. What were they talking about?

“Why the fuck do you care more about Seugmin than about your best friend and the way that group has been treating her?”

The silence that follows is deafening, more damaging than any booming sound, both for your ears and your fragile heart. You’re speechless, eyes glued to the floor, unable to look at Chris and see the hurt flash across his face – hurt you’ve caused. Jisung was just trying to defend you but he could have been nicer; you should have said something else before things escalated to this level.

“Are you fucking serious?” Is all Chris manages to murmur after pushing past his disbelief, staring you both down with an intensity that could break even the most resilient person. However, Jisung isn’t as easily spooked, meeting his gaze head-on, always the most stubborn one in the room.

“I have been nothing but supportive. Been your shoulder to lean on, cry and breakdown on whenever you needed. I kept watch over you for months, every day without fail, just to make sure you weren’t drowning in self-pity.”

That was true. You were quite pathetic after things ended between you and Hyunjin, like a house without land or a boat without water, just floating aimlessly. Chris rushed over the moment you called, to be your rock and bring you back to the surface, not leaving even as your crying never subsided. He was the first one to know, the first one you confided in, the one whose shirt you soaked with your tears.

For the first two months spent in Australia, when it was only you, him, and his family, he never let you out of sight. Chris took you everywhere with him, trying to rope you into new activities, hobbies you might enjoy that could bring your smile back even for the briefest moment needed for his batteries to recharge.

You couldn’t have regained that sense of normality without him by your side, holding your hand every step of the way.

“I tried to open your eyes and make you see that nobody hates you. They don’t blame you for what happened because frankly, it doesn’t concern any of them!” He runs a hand through unruly curls, visibly distressed.

“The person Minho hates is me, not you! Do you know why? Because he’s convinced I picked you over Hyunjin, which I fucking did.” Your breath hitches in your throat, and that’s when you feel Jisung freeze behind you, most of the fight leaving his body.

You had no idea Minho resented him for that. Chris became a villain in someone’s story because of you. Chris, sunshine embodied, the guy who wouldn’t hurt a fly.

“And the worst part of it all is that I can’t condone him. I would have hated myself too.”

You have a hunch he already does. Chris has always had the habit of blaming himself for everything going wrong in his life, sometimes for things that were obviously out of his control.

Then he turns to address Jisung. “And you dare say I don’t care about Y/n.”

Jisung looks away, biting the side of his cheek, most likely ashamed of his previous outburst.

“You’re so far up your ass that you can’t even see your friends miss you and are trying to make amends.”

At that, Jisung scoffs, most likely not believing his words entirely. Chris’s eyes narrow.

“Playing mediator was never my fucking job yet I still did it because I care about you two and your happiness. I put it above mine and everything else that matters to me!”

“Nobody asked you to do that.” The man behind you mumbles, still bitter.

“Jisung!” You turn around to get a hold of his ear, which makes him complain loudly, pulling until he swats your hand away and you almost get into an argument of your own.

Yet, Chris isn’t impressed, not in the slightest. Your attention is captured by the loud sound of his chair rolling back, and as he stands up, the door opens, and Changbin returns, alone.

He freezes on the spot, the tension preventing him from advancing as he stares between the three of you with the biggest question mark above his head. Your best friend pays him no mind and instead addresses you one last time, eyes devoid of their usual spark.

“I’m done. Just do whatever you want, I don’t care anymore.”

With those simple words, Chris turns his back to you and walks out, not even bothering to close the door behind him or spare you another glance. Changbin looks torn between following him or staying put to hear the whole story, but eventually, he bolts after your friend, not caring about what either you or Jisung have to say.

All alone, you stare at each other, guilt eating at you from the inside. The gravity of the situation hits you both at the same time, like a punch to the face neither saw coming.

What have you done?

“Bug – “

You shake your head, putting a hand up to stop him from saying anything else.

Chris was the last person you wanted to hurt in this lifetime.

How could you have been so stupid?

How could you have ruined another one of your relationships?