#feedback: sparks and bruises

[hongjoongspoetry]

HAHAHAAHHA im so sorry!!! thank you so much for reading and as compensation for the tears, here, have a tissue 🤧 (its a bit used but-)

Sparks and Bruises | Song Mingi

🥊 Summary: In a world where everyone at the age of eighteen gets a metal meter implanted on their wrist that shows the amount of danger your soulmate is in. You and Mingi have known each other since high school, but went through a nasty fallout after his love for boxing turned into a dangerous gamble with his life as the price. Years later, you stumble over his injured form on the doorstep of your apartment building. Not having the heart to turn him away like all those years ago, you invite him inside with the intention to clean his wounds, but get a lot more than you bargained for.

🥊 Pairing(s): Underground boxer!Mingi x Real estate agent!Reader, brief Hongjoong x Seonghwa

🥊 Genres/Tropes: Soulmate AU, non-idol AU, second chance AU, fluff, exes to friends to lovers, angst (more than what I planned on)

🥊 Warnings/Tags: female reader, no use of (Y/N), reader is allergic to peanuts so go with it for the plot, brief description of bruises and cuts, explicit language, crying, kissing, car accident, pet names (love, sugar, sweets), mentioned hospital, flashbacks, not beta read

🥊 Wordcount: 12.5K

🥊 Author's Note: Click the image for a better resolution (Tumblr I hate you). I just got off work (it's like 10 pm here), so I'm super tired and can barely keep my eyes open. Anyway, this is the last instalment of the Cherry Blossom March Event and while I'm sad it's over, I'm also happy because now I can focus on finishing my other stories!! A big thank you to everyone who took the time out of their day to read, leave notes and comments on my works <3 Btw I am no real estate agent and everything you read in this fic is based on excessive research (which could very well be wrong).

This is all fiction and not meant to represent any idols involved in any way or form. This work is rated SFW, however it contains explicit scenes, not sexual content but descriptions of minor injuries as well as matures themes. Minors, please, read at your own risk and refrain from interacting or following my blog!

AO3 Masterpost Moodboard

The arrow inside the plate on your wrist, no bigger than a lighter, irregularly traveled back and forth, going from one end of the meter to the other. For some, it would be worrisome and  concerning, but for you, it was the opposite. You had yet to meet your soulmate. The person responsible for the occasional spike in your soulometer — the metal chip showing how much danger your soulmate was in. A mandatory procedure ordered by the government a couple of decades ago, probably one of the dumbest things the rulers of the world ever implemented into society.

“We have thought it over and… We’ll sign the contract!”

You were startled as the couple attending your showing returned from their not-so-private discussion on the other side of the kitchen. The faceless person you were supposedly destined to be with — as much as a machine could decide your destiny — occupied your thoughts more often than not, even while at work.

You put on your million-dollar smile and clasped your hands together. “Perfect. Shall we set a date for you to sign the papers then?”

The couple was expecting and in need of a bigger place than their flat, which could barely fit the two of them. After many buts and ifs, the newly wed pair eagerly agreed and a date was set. You didn’t usually have showings late into the night, but considering the husband worked early mornings until late evenings, and the wife wanted him to be present, you made an exception. Money was money, after all, and you were always in need of it.

Declining their offer to drive you home, you bid the happy couple goodbye and locked up after yourself. The apartment wasn’t too far from your place and you didn't think it would be necessary to order a cab for a ten minute walk despite it being quite late. The stiletto heels you decided to wear that morning made it feel like thirty instead and you quickly regretted being a cheapskate. Why did you have to make your life more insufferable than it already was? You only needed the sky to open up and let a waterfall of rain seep down on Seoul. At least you were smart enough to wear pants and a turtleneck instead of a dress or skirt. Despite it being late March where flowers decorated the bland parks and the trees grew out their long-awaited hair again, it felt like the start of winter. 

“This is what you get for listening to Iggy Azalea,” you hissed to yourself as a familiar burn spread through your pinky toes and the back of your feet.

A crazed laughter cut through the chilly air and you automatically reached for the phone in your purse. Setting the ringtone as your best friend’s giggle was a good idea when you were still in high school and just recently turned eighteen. It wasn’t as fun when you were a woman of twenty-something-something years old with an image to uphold and your face plastered on a few boards all through town with your phone number scribbled beneath in big, bold font followed by a text literally begging people to reach out. You swore to change it every time someone called, but the thought always got lost in the shuffle of your other hundred tasks waiting to be done.

You braced yourself for it to be another client calling in the dead of night, but it turned out to be one of your saved contacts. Swiping right and putting the phone up to your ear, you answered with a tired, “Hello.”

“Finally! She answers!”

“Some of us still have work, Hongjoong. Do you know how many times I had to apologize for my ringtone?”

The identical maniac laugh recorded into your phone years ago, erupted from the device and you rolled your eyes. 

“And yet you never change it. After all these years, you still have my voice as your ringtone… That’s quite romantic.”

“Watch it or I’ll have a wild Park come for my head.”

“Seonghwa would never do that.” You let the line fall silent and Hongjoong could hear your pointed look on the other side. “Okay, he probably would. Where are you anyways?! I can hear cars in the background.”

So the bass boosted headphones hadn’t ruined his hearing yet. All those times he ignored you were on purpose then. Good to know.

“I’m on my way home from work. Had a showing a few minutes ago and it went well actually.”

Another voice accompanied Hongjoong on the other line, but you couldn’t quite make out the words. 

“Seonghwa is scolding you for not calling one of us to drive you home and I have to agree with him, sprout. It’s not safe to be out this late.”

The nickname sent you down memory lane dating all the way back to middle school, when you and Hongjoong were the shortest kids in class but didn’t let that hinder you from showing off your talents and wits. Hongjoong a smart kid who excelled in everything from math to musical history while you burned everyone in debates, presentations, speeches, basically anything relate to public speaking. Hence your choice of profession.

“I know, but it really slipped my mind and it’s not even that far from my flat, I promise. Like I’m almost there, just a few more minutes. I can practically see the building lights from here.”

“Good. Stay with me on the call until you enter though. Now, let me tell you about this guy who tried to steal my laptop…”

If he could, Hongjoong would have talked for hours which was quite rare. The man was usually drained from being cooped up in his studio all day, running on zero sleep and five iced coffees. It was in fact how you became friends. 

The kid with round chipmunk cheeks and a menacing smile approached the girl sitting in the back of the class, not making a peep. Hongjoong kicked up a conversation by complimenting the pink bows in your hair — a little detail none of your other classmates had noticed, let alone found them pretty — and offering you a peanut butter cookie that you sadly had to decline because of your allergies. Instead of ending the interaction at your meek thank you, Hongjoong took it as an official proposition of becoming friends. Seven year old Hongjong refused to go back to his seat and even nearly threw a tantrum in class, leaving the homeroom teacher with no other choice than to make you seatmates. 

You and Hongjoong quickly became a duo. Wherever you went, he followed. It marked the start of a long lasting friendship you wouldn’t trade for the world. 

“...Can you imagine that?! He grabbed my stuff and proceeded to lie straight to my face!”

You hummed into the phone at his rambling. A smile graced your face as you neared your apartment building, but disappeared quickly. Hongjoong’s voice became background noise as you slowed down. A figure dressed in all black and a hood thrown over their head sat at the doorsteps. Both arms planted on their knees and head shoved into the palms of their hands. The person was on the taller side and looked quite buff beneath the baggy clothes. You didn’t recognize them as one of your neighbours, but the swooping feeling in your stomach hinted on something else. 

Not heeding Hongjoong’s previous warning of being cautious, you decided to approach the stranger. The clicking of your heels interrupted the peaceful silence of the night and the person immediately looked in your direction. Sharp and angry eyes met yours, and the furious spark swirling in them morphed into surprise. Your heart jumped in your throat as you recognized the person. Of all the people in the world, you certainly didn’t expect to find him at your doorstep.

“Hongjoong? I’ll have to call you back.”

“What? Why? What happened?”

“Nothing– Or well, something, but nothing dangerous– I’ll just call you back okay?”

“...You sure?”

“Yes, one hundred percent.”

“Okay. Talk to you later then.” 

You quickly pressed the red button and lowered your phone. The man was still staring at you, the fear that his imagination was playing a trick on him lingering. That if he looked away, you’d disappear from his line of sight.

Sweat spread along your palms and your pulse was loud in your ears as you walked up to the man.

“Mingi?” 

He scrambled up to his feet and took hold of the railing with one hand while the other pressed against his left rib and a surprised wince slipped through his lips. 

“Long time no see, huh?”

Your eyes darted all over him. Red and blue blemishes covered almost the entire surface of his face and trickles of sweat ran down the side of his face. You didn’t want to think what hid beneath his clothes. 

The last time you saw him was all the way back in high school. A scrawny boy with legs for days, but the coordination of a newborn foal and a smile that lit up your world. The man before you grew into his big features and lost the youthful look. The pointy nose and plump lips were still there, but accompanied by prominent cheekbones, a sharp jaw, a piercing gaze and a chiseled face that wasn’t the shape of a triangle. His hair, once black and short, was now a dark shade of brown and longer than ever, reaching below his nape and bangs falling over his brows. A lot in his appearance changed, but the cuts and bruises remained, pouring acid on your tongue. 

Ignoring the bitterness pooling in your stomach, you decided to keep the conversation civil. A stark contrast to how your last encounter went. 

”Are you… alright?”

“Yeah, no, I was on my way home, but just needed to sit down…”

You weren’t going to pry despite clearly seeing he was anything but alright. If he didn’t want to tell you, who were you to force him? 

Offering him a light smile, you tried keeping the tone light. “What are the odds of you sitting on my doorstep, huh?” 

“Yeah… How long has it been since…”

“Four? Five? Five years.”

Mingi whistled lowly and a silence occupied the street. Everyone decided to stay in as no cars or other people lingered around. You wouldn’t say it was uncomfortable, but it wasn’t pleasant either and you didn’t know what to do. Leaving him out in the cold wasn’t an option, but inviting him didn’t sound right either. After a long fight between your brain and heart, you decided to listen to the beating organ in your chest.

“Wanna… come up? To my apartment.”

Mingi looked up at you through his fringe and the soft roundness to his eyes teleported you back to high school. Keeping your composure, you hastily added on to the sentence.

“T-To, to clean up and maybe have something to eat?”

Had someone asked you five years ago what you’d say to Mingi if the opportunity presented itself, you surely wouldn’t have invited him to your home or offered him a free meal. The most he’d get out of you would be a one-finger salute. Fast forward one thousand eight hundred and twenty five days and Mingi was lent a helping hand instead. It was enough time for you to mature into a more rational woman who could, for better or for worse, put her feelings aside and think with her brain. 

Mirrors surrounded the entire inside of the elevator, even on the doors, and you held back from laughing at the reflection. There couldn’t have been an odder pair than you two. Mingi, dressed in all black with colorful blotches decorating his intimidating face, and you, wearing designer from head to toe. Even your bags were opposites — his a dingy gym bag that was a thread away from falling apart and yours from the recent Louis Vuitton collection. It was quite a funny look, but not a bone in your body vibrated with glee.

As the elevator doors closed and the mechanism carried you up the many flights of stairs, the reality dawned upon you. A multitude of questions you hadn’t thought of before inviting Mingi inside popped up like mosquitoes during summer nights — annoying, but unavoidable. The poor attempt of convincing yourself it was just a kind gesture, a friend helping a friend, you couldn’t shoo away the nagging fact that nothing of your and Mingi’s past was platonic. Shame and guilt curled in the pit of your stomach. Knowing your soulmate was out there somewhere, probably waiting for you, while you were cozying up to a man who wasn’t meant to be yours in the first place was sickening. 

The ding of your arrival sounded through the speakers and you quickly went first with Mingi hot on your heels. Unlocking your front door, you threw the keys in a bowl the shape of a fish — a housewarming gift from Hongjoong — and stripped your outerwear. It was first when you put your stuff aside that you realized Mingi was still standing by the door and hadn’t moved since crossing the threshold. The man was shamelessly taking in his surroundings and you wondered what he thought of your apartment. Was it to his liking? Did it suit you? Did he like it? Why did you care?

“Uhm, you can just hang your stuff here,” you gestured to the coat rack mounted to the wall, “while I get dinner ready.”

You didn’t wait around to see him subtly nod, instead you made an escape to the safety of your kitchen. It was weird having Mingi over. It was weird being civil to one another. The tension was still there since your last encounter, like static in the air that wouldn’t really go away. The soft pad of feet grew louder and you threw a look over your shoulder to see Mingi in the doorway, his bottom lip caught between his teeth and eyes darting all over the place. Aside from his appearance, it seemed that his habits hadn’t changed — good as bad — but it wasn’t your place to pry. Not anymore.

“Is it alright if I… wash up now?”

A heat crawled up your neck and attacked your cheeks. “Y–Yeah, of course!” You cleared your throat and continued, “The bathroom is on the left of the hallway and there are towels in the cupboard above the washing machine.”

Mingi nodded, but didn’t budge from his spot. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants and leaned against the doorframe to take on a relaxed posture, yet he looked anything but relaxed.

“I… I– Uhm, don’t… I kinda don’t have a spare set of clothes to change into…”

“Oh… Oh!”

“Yeah,” he inhaled sharply through his teeth, a low hiss escaping as he tried to ignore the stiff atmosphere. 

“That’s alright! I think I have something you can use. Uhm, you can start washing up while I see what I can do.”

Rummaging through your closet for your brother’s clothes to lend Mingi wasn’t something you ever imagined doing in all your years of living, but here you were. Hunched over, searching like a madwoman for an extra hoodie and some basketball shorts or a pair of sweatpants that wouldn’t be too small on the giant currently occupying your bathroom. Your brother had been in your apartment a grand total of three times and by some stroke of luck, he’d left behind clothes he thought might come in handy for his next visit. Who knew they’d be useful for more than just that? 

You didn’t find a hoodie, but you did spot a black compression shirt and a pair of matching sweatpants that would have to do. You just hoped they wouldn’t be too tight. To be on the safe side, you even snagged one of your brother’s boxers. It was one thing to share clothes and another thing to share underwear, but if you got to choose, you’d happily accept the fresh pair instead of reusing your sweaty undies. The choice was up to Mingi in the end. With the clothes neatly folded in your hands, you marched toward the bathroom and triple knocked on the door.

“Uh, I found some clothes you can use!”

The harsh drops of the shower abruptly stopped and you patiently waited for a response, but nothing came. You raised your hand, fingers balled into a fist, and as you swung it forward to knock again, the door suddenly opened. A cloud of steam escaped from the hot bathroom and Mingi’s very naked body appeared in the slight opening. His stomach was a perfect display of muscle, each of the six abs sculpted like marble. You would’ve ogled longer hadn’t the raspberry and plum colored blemishes covered a huge part of his toned skin. His hair dripped on the tiled floor and a white towel hung dangerously low on his hips. The warmth tickling your whole body evaporated into a numbing cold at the bruises. Swallowing nervously, you forced your eyes back up. 

Mingi flicked his head sideways to move the wet strands from his face and his tongue darted out to lap at his dry lips, a motion you followed attentively. The raise of his brow, a silent question urging you to speak up, had you stumbling over your words.

“S–So, I... I, uh, found something you can… change into!” 

The clothes were thrust harshly into his bare chest, and Mingi nearly dropped the towel in order to catch them. Before he could utter so much as a "thanks," you bolted back to the kitchen and whipped out leftovers from last night. Anything to keep you busy and distracted from the jaw-dropping image that refused to leave you alone. Mingi eventually joined you in the kitchen. He leaned against the counter beside the stove, where you guarded the kimchi stew from overheating, and crossed his arms over his chest. The already prominent muscles grew more defined beneath the tight fabric. It was difficult to ignore his gaze peering down at you, and you couldn’t decide if your cheeks flared from a natural bodily reaction or from the heat of the stove.

The circular table behind you was already set, with a pair of utensils and plates aligned opposite each other. You removed the pot and placed it in the center of the table, silently beckoning Mingi to take a seat. His hair was still wet, but not dripping and despite wearing clothes, you couldn’t muster up the courage to look him in the eyes. The late dinner was done in a deafening silence interrupted by the clink of utensils and lip smacking. Not able to bear the thickness in the air, you cleared your throat and asked the first thing to pop up in your mind. 

“Um… do you... want me to treat your bruises?” 

The confidence you spent years mastering and using in your daily life deflated like a dramatic balloon flying around the room until it fell limply on the floor. Mingi was mid shoving food into his mouth and froze as soon as the words reached his ears. His lips were parted enough for you to catch a glimpse of his slightly crooked front tooth and a wave of nostalgia hit you square in the nose. The man before you had changed so much, yet not at all.

Mingi took a bite of the kimchi and rice to buy himself time to think your proposal over. It wasn’t a bad shout as you did have experience treating his wounds considering you were the one tending to him back in high school. He slowly chewed and swallowed, and you were starting to regret ever opening your mouth.

“Sure,” he answered while giving his full attention to the bowl of stew before him and you  couldn’t have been more relieved. He didn’t have to see the way you bit the inside of your cheek, tightly gripped your spoon or raised your brows to your hairline.

The rest of the meal was eaten in silence and for once, you didn’t care if it wrapped around your throat and suppressed the air from entering your lungs. This was all so surreal. There wasn’t a day where you thought you’d be eating left-over kimchi stew with your ex-boyfriend and then agree to treat his wounds — the thing that drove you apart all those years ago. The universe worked in a funny way. Instead of bringing you closer to your soulmate, it led you straight to the past. 

Putting the bowls in the sink, you gestured for Mingi to return to the bathroom while you put away the dishes. It hadn’t dawned on you that by helping Mingi treat his wounds, you’d have to merge your personal bubbles into one and actually touch him, even if it was as much as a graze of your fingertips along his skin.

Rounding the corner of the hallway and stopping before the entrance to the bathroom with a medkit in your hands, you were caught off guard by the image before you. Mingi was seated on the toilet lid, hunched over with his forearms resting on his thighs. You could see the top of his head — something you rarely did back in high school — as he faced the tiled floor. A swoop in your stomach urged you to run your fingers through his strands, but the impulse was quickly shut down. You stepped into the bathroom with feigned confidence. Mingi looked up as your sock-clad feet came into view, your big toes wiggling nervously. You placed the kit on the sink and grabbed the things you needed, starting with alcohol wipes. There wasn’t much you could do about the colored bruises already turning an ugly shade of yellow and purple, but the few cuts — like the one on his bottom lip and around his eyebrows — were easier to treat.

“This may sting,” you whispered, shuffling closer to him.

Mingi parted his legs to give you better access to his face. You put a finger beneath his chin and tilted it upward before gently dabbing the wipe against his brow ridge. A hiss filled the bathroom, but you didn’t stop cleaning the wound. Despite not being in this situation since high school, when Mingi would get his ass beat in the boxing ring and show up at your door with new cuts adorning his face every other weekend, you still remembered all the steps of the treatment. They were etched into your spine and controlled your limbs without a strain.

Your lips were pressed into a thin line, your brows almost touching from how deeply furrowed they were and Mingi wanted to smooth out the skin between them, but did no such thing. Instead, he diverted his attention elsewhere and focused on your lips, which he’d argue was the worse choice of the two. Scooping a generous amount of ointment on a Q-tip, you dabbed it on the cut and finished it off with a small band-aid that smoothly blended in with his hue. You tried to put off treating his lips, but apparently even Mingi had a limit to how many punches to the face he could take, and you eventually had to bite the sour apple and just get it over with.

It had been silent since you warned him about the sting from the alcohol wipes, broken only by a few of his grunts and hisses. Yet, the silence never felt as loud as it did in that moment when you cupped his chin in your left hand and stared intently at his plump lips. A determined heat swirled in your eyes and Mingi couldn’t look away. It took everything in him not to instinctively bite down on his bottom lip or run his tongue over it.

“Relax your lips,” you said, brushing your thumb along the bottom row. 

You didn’t realize what you had done until a second later and Mingi couldn’t chuckle at your appalled expression, as he was equally frozen in place. Both of you were left wide-eyed, mouths hanging open and brains going haywire. A pleading sparkle glimmered in his dark eyes, but you refused to give in, keeping your focus on his lips — lips that were so kissable. Warmth washed over you and there was nothing you wanted more than for the ground to swallow you whole. The weight of his burning eyes was too heavy for you to bear, so you tried to redirect the attention by doing the one thing you did best — talking.

“Are you still fighting?”

It seemed to do the trick as Mingi broke out of the captivating spell. In an exhausted tone, the one you’d hear between a couple constantly bickering and reaching their end, he breathed out your name.

“I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.”

You hastily applied the ointment and retracted your hand, but Mingi was faster. He grabbed your wrist, his thumb landing on the soulometer in the quick act and an electric crackle burst where your skin connected. A beat or two passed before he decided to speak up.

“I am fighting, just not as much… I kinda feel bad for my soulmate.” The corner of his mouth pulled up in a faint smirk and a chuckle followed at his poor attempt of easing the awkward air.

Your heart dropped into your stomach and you didn’t think it was possible for it to go any further from there, but hearing the rest of his sentence proved you wrong. Before the hollow feeling could reflect on your face, you forced the corners of your lips up in a fabricated smile. An identical smile to the one caught in a multiple of billboards all over Seoul. 

“I wish mine would do the same. They always seem to find themselves in some trouble.”

A thick gulp ventured down his throat and the shaking panic in his eyes morphed into a forced calm. “I’m sure if they knew you were this worried, they’d stop running headfirst into danger.”

Five years had passed since the soulometer was injected into your wrist, enough time for your soulmate to change their ways, to stop giving their other half constant fear every night. Yet, it wasn’t the distance or the lack of knowledge about each other’s lives that weighed on your heart. The true reason lay deeper — your soulmate simply didn’t care enough to stop or perhaps they lacked the means to break free from the dangerous path they’d chosen. It was never about being physically apart, but about the emotional distance — the helplessness of knowing that, despite everything, they continued to surround themselves with danger. You didn’t have the heart to confide in Mingi about it, to express the quiet ache you carried, because saying it aloud would mean admitting that the person you loved was still caught in a cycle they couldn’t escape, or didn’t want to. 

Truthfully, Mingi was also the last person you wanted to confide in about the matter.

“I guess so.”

The brief and accidental encounter with Mingi was supposed to stay a long lost media in your brain, cluttered together with other minor memories. That was what you told yourself as Mingi left your apartment, sweaty clothes in a trash bag and belly full of warm leftovers. The version of him you remembered from all those years ago still lived on in your imagination, the bitter note of how everything ended, a constant reminder as to why the encounter should just be that — short, consistent and insignificant. As the morning sun peeked from between the high buildings and the dark sky bleed out to a baby blue hue, you’d return to your everyday life of selling apartments while the dishwasher rinsed the memory of what occurred in the space of your four walls. 

The open PDF on the computer screen illuminated your face and the bazillion numbers would’ve been overwhelming if your mind wasn’t occupied by the thoughts of a certain man with feline-shaped eyes and annoyingly juicy lips. Whatever you did — drown yourself in work, spend time with Hongjoong and Seonghwa, try out the new restaurant in town — nothing was good enough to forget Song Mingi and that night. The situation just felt so right. A domestic reality you yearned for since you graduated high school and moved into your own flat. The wish to have someone by your side, to stuff your face in greasy food, stay up late at night and watch a plethora of rom-coms while cuddled up to them, and sleep until the sun was high in the sky. Mingi re-awakened those feelings you locked away in a chamber behind your heart.

A stack of papers fell on your desk with a thud and pulled you out of your wishful thinking. Jongho, your freakishly strong colleague, plopped down on a vacant plush sofa that was mainly there for clients to use while discussing potential deals.

“You excited to get drinks after work?” He asked, tugging on his perfectly made necktie.

You massaged your forehead, completely having forgotten about the collective outing you and your co-workers had every month. “Is that today?”

“Whoa, don’t tell me you, the most unforgettable person I know, forgot about our end-of-the-month-party!? Woo is gonna have a blast when I tell him!”

Jongho didn’t question your sudden loss of memory at first. The younger agent found the situation perfect for a round of teasing or perhaps even as future blackmail material. Concern flashed in his eyes when you made no attempt to defend your honor and instead buried the rest of your face in the palms of your hands.

“Hey… is everything… alright?”

“Yeah… No? I don’t know.” 

Something was really wrong because you were never tired. In fact, Jongho had never seen you without a smile or a spring in your step. You were always collected, whether it was your clothes, hair or mood. Fire alarms went off in his head and plans be damned if he didn’t at least try to figure out what was going on. It was easier said than done, though, because he didn’t know how to approach the topic and ended up sitting there with his mouth parted like a fish out of water. The overthinking was starting to trigger a headache, so he settled on the simplest, but hopefully, most effective question he could think of.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“No.” Your reply was instantaneous. “I need to not think about it.”

A mischievous gummy smile spread across his face. “You just signed yourself up for regret, my dear friend.”

As you were about to ask to elaborate, he cupped his hands around his mouth and called out for the biggest menace in the company.

“Wooyoung-ya!”

Albeit curious, the pair didn’t try to fish out context clues or the story behind your emotional state. Wooyoung lived up to Jongho’s promise of making you regret joining them for drinks and it didn't stop there. They both continuously visited your office throughout the rest of the shift. Wooyoung would nonchalantly enter the room as if he didn’t have anything up his sleeve, step up to the window and inspect the wilted plant burning up from being in the sunlight for too long, when he was actually throwing you curious glances from the corner of his eye. Then, before quickly taking his leave, he’d subtly slide you a packet of gummies and run as if his life depended on it. One would believe you were engaging in some shady transaction that would definitely make you both lose your real estate license. 

Jongho was a different story. The youngest of the trio wasn’t good with his words, but the affection could be read through his actions. Although they were questionable. He, too, invaded your room in subtle fashion and touched everything that didn’t require human contact — your Sanrio figurines, picture frames, ornaments still up from Christmas. While it was annoying in the moment, their antics kept you from circling back to the one person who had made his grand return after five years of radio silence. Good thing you hadn’t planned on rekindling that flame ever again. But what was written in your calendar didn’t align with the universe. 

The happy hour had ended a while ago, and while Jongho and Wooyoung made sure to get you home first, your stomach rumbled the second you stepped foot into the apartment. What better meal to have in a tipsy state than some ramen? 

The trip to the corner shop was supposed to be quick and relaxing — a weak attempt to distract yourself from the headache blooming at the back of your head. Perhaps that was why you weren’t fully aware of your surroundings, stumbling into racks displaying different flavors of chips and accidentally knocking things out of place. You purposefully ignored the scorching gaze of the cashier and hastily moved to hide between the aisles. But what you didn’t expect was for another figure to round the opposite corner, causing you to bump headfirst into them. The ramen cups and energy drinks piled up in their basket tumbled to the floor, and you quickly crouched down to gather as many things as your arms would allow.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!”

The person didn’t say anything and you expected them to be very annoyed, but that wasn’t the case. The familiar face looking down at you with a tight-lipped smile caused you to freeze on the spot.

“Hey.” Mingi flared his fingers in what was supposed to resemble a wave, but it came off more awkward than intended.

A painful cramp fluttered at the back of your neck as the position wasn’t the most comfortable, your head craned uncomfortably as you looked up at him, the strain making it feel like it might snap at any moment. Yeah, the university wasn’t on your side.

“Here.” 

He knelt down to be at your level, though it would never really match, and urged you to place the belongings in the basket. It was impossible to tear your eyes from him, but Mingi didn’t notice your stare as he gathered the unscattered snacks and drinks in the carrier. Once was a coincidence, twice is a pattern, you thought and swallowed thickly.

“Alright, let’s stand up.” 

He rested his arm on his propped-up knee, while the other hand was held out for you to take. On a count of three, you both stood up simultaneously and your hand immediately returned to your side. 

“What are you doing here?”

The question came off more like an interrogation than a casual inquiry and you winced at your loose tongue. Mingi didn’t seem to care though.

“Nothing much, just wanted a late night snack.” As if you didn’t understand, he grabbed one of the ten ramen cups in his basket and gently shook it. The contents rattling together and overpowering the whirring sound of the freezers. “What about you?”

“Ah, same here…”

Mingi glanced down at your empty hands and smacked his lips together, “Cool.”

“Yeah…”

The young cashier who couldn’t be older than a high school graduate nearly suffocated from the sudden thickness in the convenience store. 

“Uhm, you gonna get anything?”

“What? Oh! Right! Let me just…” You trailed off and darted over to the refrigerators, grabbing the first thing that came into view. 

You snagged a bag of shrimp chips on your way back too. Banana milk and shrimp chips, what a combination! The reasons for your late-night adventure had started with the craving for ramen, but somewhere between the aisle mishap and the distraction of other snacks, the noodles had been completely forgotten. In the meantime, Mingi moved over to the cashier register and patiently waited for the kid to scan his items. 

You shuffled behind him and Mingi turned sideways, one of his brows cocked up. “Here, give me that.” 

Before you could protest or dodge his advances, the items in your hands were stolen from beneath your nose and placed on the counter. 

“Hey, no, I can pay for that.”

“Don’t worry.”

“Mingi–”

“I said don’t worry about it.” There was a certain finality to his tone that told you there was no point in further arguing. Mingi swiped his card as the cashier packed your things in two separate plastic bags. 

Standing outside the Seven-Eleven, you stuffed your hands into the pockets of your coat, the handles of the bag clinging to your wrist. “You didn’t have to do that. I can pay for myself.”

Mingi’s breath escaped in a cloud of vapor, lingering in the cold air before it dissolved into the sky. The corner of his mouth lifted into a one-sided grin. 

“I know.”

Never letting you pay for anything was just another addition to the long list of habits he still clung to since high school. Mingi really hadn’t changed, and you couldn’t deny the disappointment that settled in as you witnessed it.

“Good. Then I’m leaving now. Good night.” You turned on your heel and began walking in the direction of your home.

“W–Wait! Let me walk you home.”

You didn’t spare him a glance. “No need for that. This is one of the safest neighborhoods in Seoul, actually.”

Another ‘I know’ died on his lips. If anyone on this earth knew how out of danger you were, it would be Mingi.

“T–That’s good, but... it would help me sleep at night if I knew you got home safely.” 

After all this time, you still had a hard time telling him no. Sighing, you shrugged your shoulders in defeat, your resistance crumbling despite yourself. “Fine, you can walk me home.”

The walk was short, but lasted longer than ever and you were regretting your choices of not standing your ground against him. You would never admit it out loud, but his dimpled smile and two moles were your greatest weakness and there was no way you’d ever win against them. 

Mingi cleared his throat. “What have you been up to? You know, since high school.”

“Have you thought about what college to apply for?” Mingi asked and intertwined his fingers across his abdomen.

“I don’t know,” you told him truthfully. 

You lay on the grass, staring up at the night sky. The black canvas was dotted with a million, billion stars, leaving no space untouched. It had been Mingi’s idea to go stargazing, but considering neither of you had a driver’s license or the energy to trek up a mountain in the middle of the night, you figured the view wouldn’t be any different from your backyard.

He turned to you and followed the outline of your profile. God, you were beautiful. “Really? How come?”

“I don’t know. I feel like there are so many options, like how will I know what’s good for me.”

“Whatever you choose, sugar, you’ll figure it out. You always do.” Now it was your turn to face him and he flashed you a reassuring smile.“Sometimes, the best choice is the one that feels right in the moment.”

“...Being with you feels right.”

Nothing could compare to back then. Sure, you experienced fleeting moments of happiness, but they didn’t last longer than the life of a snowflake. Did Mingi ask that to see if you were still stuck in the past? If your time together was the peak of your happiness? He didn’t get to do that. To slither his way into your heart and admire everything you had been through without him by your side.

“Nothing special. I’m a real estate agent, so I’ve been busy selling houses and apartments.”

“Nothing special my ass. That’s amazing. But what is expected of the smartest girl in our high school, huh? I always knew you’d achieve great things.” 

Blood pooled beneath your cheeks, burning hotter than a fever of thirty-nine degrees, and you hated how, despite everything, he still turned you into a giddy high school girl who made eye contact with her crush. To be fair, it wasn’t too far from the truth and that was a scary realization on its own. All it took was a measly compliment and you turned to mush.

“What about you? What are you doing these days?”

A silence stretched between you far heavier than anything you had ever felt before. It was as if the question had torn through some fragile barrier, leaving him exposed. His eyes, once sharp and filled with glee, now seemed distant, as though searching for something lost. You could feel the weight of the pause, like a storm brewing in the space between you. What was he really doing these days? More importantly, what had he been doing all this time out of your reach?

“A little bit of everything. Anything I can get my hands on, really.”

“You didn’t study after high school?”

“You know school wasn’t my strongest suit. Stuffy classrooms and obnoxious teachers talking my ear off never got me anywhere, I mean, I barely passed high school. I was more comfortable with my hands in motion and figuring things out as I went. School was ever it for me. It always felt like I was waiting for something that never came.”

Mingi wasn’t wrong. Although he was a smart kid, staying awake studying until the dead of night and then working an underpaid nine-to-five job wasn’t for him. But you couldn’t shake away the bitterness of how he threw away the opportunity of a normal life with you for a bloody ring and a life of unpredictability. The punches he took in that world weren’t just physical — they hit somewhere deeper, somewhere you couldn’t reach. You had always wanted something more stable, something real to hold on to, but Mingi had chosen the chaos, the fight, over everything else. Perhaps that was why the universe decided not to tie your red string to his pinky, knowing it would hurt you more than his decision.

Coming to a stop outside your apartment, the memory of your first encounter after a few years still fresh in your mind. 

“Like boxing?”

Mingi’s eyes softened, but he didn’t speak, his mouth pressing into a thin line. The silence between you both was heavy, filled with things unsaid. It was the kind of silence that made your heart ache, knowing that there was so much left unresolved between you, yet you couldn’t find the words to fix it.

“Good night, Mingi,” you finally said, taking a shaky breath as you turned back to your door again. 

The finality in your tone hung in the air like a weight neither of you could lift. You didn’t look back as you reached for the door handle, but you knew Mingi was still there, standing in the same place, holding onto the same regrets.

Reaching your apartment, you flicked on the lights and quickly discarded your outerwear. You turned on the switches in every room and placed the bag of goods on the kitchen table. 

Disappointment fueled every movement. Grabbing a pot from the lower cupboard, you filled it with water, not caring as it splashed everywhere. When you set it down on the stove, you didn’t bother being careful, letting it thud onto the surface. You waited — oh-so-patiently — for the water to reach its boiling point and shoved a hand into the plastic bag. The expected rustling of plastic and cold drinks didn’t come. Instead, you felt the hard, smooth texture of something else. Knitting your brows together, you took hold of the square object, no bigger than a container of pudding.

In your palm was a plastic box of peeled and cut oranges.

Your head rested on your folded arms, eyes cast on the baby-blue sky taunting you from behind the windows. It was a beautiful day. What a shame you were stuck in a room with thirty other kids and no air conditioning. Your homeroom teacher was late — an uncanny occurrence, considering she always emphasized the importance of being on time and never failed to follow through. Until today.

The door to the classroom slid open with a thud, but the class had yet to quiet down, and by that single reaction, you knew it wasn’t Ms. Choi who had entered. The previously loud chatter of your friend group turned into hushed whispers and skittish snickers that reached your ears, but you didn’t bother to see what had gotten them so giggly. It was probably Jihoon, the new boy in class, who effortlessly managed to twirl every girl around his finger with just a look. He wasn’t your type — you preferred them tall, lanky, and clumsy. Jihoon was on the shorter side and had muscles that seemed unnatural for a sixteen-year-old. Plus, you weren’t into soccer boys. No, your style was more martial arts.

A hand, twice the size of yours, appeared out of nowhere and placed a clementine — your favorite fruit — on your desk, just inches from your face. Your eyes widened, staring at the bright fruit in disbelief. Groggily, you pushed away from the comfortable spot against the desk, only to quickly notice the figure looming over you.

Song Mingi.

“You skipped lunch,” he stated nonchalantly, offering an explanation for the sudden appearance of the fruit.

The muffled squeals of your friends, combined with Mingi’s unexpected act of chivalry, sent heat rushing to your cheeks, leaving you flustered and unsure of how to react. Gift-giving and small acts of service weren’t foreign between you and Mingi. He always seemed to know your cravings, bringing you peeled fruit and sugary snacks without you ever having to ask. In return, you tended to his cuts, massaged the tension from his neck and shoulders after heavy training, and always seemed to find ways to care for him without words. But that was done in private, never in public. Especially not in front of your friends who were having a field day with his new revelation.

“Ah,” Mingi breathed out, picking up the orange once more. 

Silently, he peeled off the thin skin, revealing the vibrant fruit hidden beneath. But he wasn’t done yet. With a casual movement, he stuffed the citrus-scented rind into the pocket of his school uniform before carefully removing the white pith wedged between the clementine’s segments. You didn’t like the white parts. His towering form caught the attention of the rest of the class and by now everyone intently watched the exchange. 

The clementine looked bare now. He held out the fruit again, waiting for you to extend your hand, careful not to let it touch the surface of your desk. A yellowish stain colored his nails, a discoloration that wouldn't fade with just one wash, and the acidic smell lingered, even stronger now. It was the main reason you didn’t like peeling them in the first place.

Mingi, having heard your confession a few weeks ago, made it his mission to always give you peeled oranges. It warmed your chest to know he was keeping that promise.

Apparently, the universe wasn’t satisfied with your first and second encounters because the third one happened just a little less than a week later. You were meeting up with Hongjoong and Seonghwa at a nearby cafe to catch up on the hecticness of your lives — also known as gossip about your workplaces and bonding over the latest episode of When Life Gives You Tangerines. The name of the drama threw you down a steep hill of memories, but you stood up, dusted off your knees and trekked back up. You didn’t want to associate him with the family of fruit anymore.

The clock had just passed five-thirty AM and you were supposed to be there ten minutes ago. It didn’t help that you hit every red light possible. At least the weather was nice. Not a single cloud occupied the baby-blue sky and the spring breeze scattered butterfly kisses along your body. It could’ve been worse. You thought of gloomy clouds and cold rain, and immediately shuddered. Yeah, it definitely could’ve been worse. 

The breath caught in your throat as a bus sped by, just a little over the limit. You exhaled in relief as it passed, but that relief was short-lived when you locked eyes with none other than Mingi on the other end of the sidewalk. It felt as if the universe were laughing in your face, throwing everything you didn’t want right at you. You’d take gloomy clouds and rainy weather over seeing Mingi again. The worst part was that it was a lie because even in the stormiest times, he managed to light up your surroundings, and the erratically beating heart in your chest served as your witness. 

A black hoodie swallowed his towering frame and a pair of chunky headphones covered his head. You couldn’t see him that well, but you assumed the shining reflection around his collar was from his stacked necklaces. The cuts along his face had healed nicely — in fact, they were completely gone — and you wondered if your last encounter had anything to do with it or if he had just gotten better at dodging flying fists.

You always seemed to end things on a bitter note, yet you ignored the sourness on your taste buds and raised your hand in a small wave. He returned it with a tight-lipped smile and a subtle tug of his headphones, letting them rest around his neck instead. Mingi bit down on his bottom lip, seemingly contemplating something. Coming to terms with his thoughts, he raised a finger, wordlessly telling you to wait and threw a quick glance at the red light as if it would hurry up from a single look. Although you had every right to ignore him, you just couldn’t. You had always been weak when it came to him, never really able to tell him no and it appeared some things just never changed. 

Mingi’s face lit up as the light turned to green. The man was so eager to cross the street — to get to you — that he didn’t bother checking both sides before walking out. Unlike the others, he missed the speeding vehicle zooming through multiple red lights and showing no signs of stopping. You felt it before you saw it. The spike in your left wrist, the rush of the arrow sky rocketing from zero to a hundred. Your legs moved on their own before you could form the first letter of his name. One moment you were rooted to the ground, eyes wide and mouth parted, and in the next you harshly collided with Mingi, hoping your spurt of strength was enough to knock him off balance and away from the dangerous metal chunk on wheels. 

The world didn’t stop spinning, but time slowed down as Mingi fell backward. His hand came up to cradle your head, while the other slithered around your waist. Your own arms were pressed against his chest from the push you gave him. The landing was harsh, but Mingi took most of it as his back slammed against the pavement and your face became buried in the crook of his neck and shoulder. The passersby approached you with questions of worry and concern, their faces etched with confusion and anxiety at the entire situation. Everyone was a bit shaken up at the tragedy that could’ve been. Your body refused to cooperate and the only thing you could do was tangle your fingers into the material of his hoodie, clinging to it for dear life, trying to distinguish reality from imagination. How cruel — he had just returned to your life, only to almost be taken out of it again, permanently.

“Are you okay?” he whispered, his fingers massaging your scalp as the other hand scrunched up the back of your shirt.

A stutter of words slipped out, none of which Mingi could make sense of. He sat up, trying to get a better look at you, but you refused to part from the comfort of his chest. You didn’t need to see it to know your soulometer had calmed down — you felt it in every fiber of your being. Your soulmate was safe, and you were too, now that you were in the arms of a living, breathing Mingi.

“Please, sweets, I need to know if you’re alright.”

Desperation dripped from his voice like sticky honey falling from a dipper and it struck sharply in your core, bringing you back to the present.

“Okay,” you mumbled against his clothes, just loud enough for it to reach his ears and Mingi exhaled in relief. He pressed a kiss on your hairline and your heart fluttered at the domestic gesture. 

A couple of strangers offered to call an ambulance, but Mingi waved them off, saying it wasn’t necessary and that no one was harmed — just a bit shaken up. He thanked them nonetheless and it did the trick as the crowd dissolved, the people returning to their everyday life, but with a story to slap down on the dinner table.

Mingi placed a palm beneath your left thigh as the other went around your waist to keep you sturdy as he got up from the pavement. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”

It didn’t matter how much you wanted to tell him to let you down, that you could walk on your own and didn’t need a chaperone — the words wouldn’t roll off your paralyzed tongue. Feeling the stares of strangers burn into you, you hid your face in the crook of his neck and didn’t pull away until you were safely in your apartment. The entire journey home, you tried to wrap your head around the event: the near-death experience, your body taking over while your mind went slack, the sudden spike in your soulometer. You didn’t dare think about what would’ve happened if you hadn’t reached Mingi in time — if you were just a second too late, if you hadn’t noticed the car. A shiver ran down your spine, and you pressed your lips together to distract yourself from the tears threatening to soak Mingi’s hoodie.

You needed a distraction from the what-ifs, and you needed one pronto. Trying to focus on something other than Mingi being flattened by that stupid car, you racked your brain for something, anything else, when it suddenly hit you. In all the seven years you had your soulometer, it had never even grazed, let alone pushed hard against the other end of the scale. 

Back inside your apartment, you plopped down on the sofa and dropped your head into your hands. A throbbing ache pulsed through every part of your head, and the constant buzzing of your phone wasn’t helping. You had an inkling of who it could’ve been, and as you fished it out of your bag, the hundreds of messages and missed calls from both Seonghwa and Hongjoong confirmed your suspicion. You sent them a reassuring text, apologizing for bailing on them and blaming it on your headache. Mingi was leaning against the kitchen counter, his arms crossed over his chest, and his feet crossed at the ankles. His eyes never left your hunched form. He was waiting — for a call, a sign, something that would tell him when to reach your side and offer his help.

In another life, you’d be flustered — happy, ecstatic that he was there, worried for your well-being, wanting to make you feel better. But the nagging thought of the situation — too perfect to be a coincidence — wouldn’t let you go. What were the odds of your soulmate and Mingi both being exposed to danger at the same time? How was it that Mingi’s body was void of bruises just as your soulometer stopped acting up? 

Licking your lips, you inhaled shakily and found Mingi’s gaze. The pull to be wrapped in his arms was strong, almost unbearable and you wondered if he felt it too. The need to run your fingers through his hair, to rest your forehead at the junction of his neck and shoulder while he soothingly rubbed circles in your back. The feelings were more intense than back in high school, now full of want and need that you couldn’t satisfy by being in his mere presence. However, you were willing to put it aside in exchange for your question marks to disappear and there was only one person who could give it to you.

Your voice was raspy and weak, breaking mid-sentence as the words struggled to escape. With every ounce of vulnerability, you asked him, “Are we soulmates?”

Mingi didn’t move for a moment. He looked to the side, his jaw clenching as he uncrossed his arms and gripped the edge of the counter. It was inevitable, really. The question was bound to come up sooner or later, and he wasn’t a fool. Mingi didn’t live in a bubble separate from his worries. They were woven into his everyday life, especially since you’d crossed paths again after all these years, with you at the center of them. The anxiety hovered around you like planets orbiting the sun — always there, needing you to survive, but never able to get too close. Mingi never stopped thinking about you. Since your high school graduation, he’d found himself more often than not lying awake in the dead of night, thoughts circling back to you — wondering how you were, what you were doing, if you were happy. You had to be. Mingi only ever brought you pain and hurt, something he loathed himself for. The lies and secrets were the main reason behind it all, but the icing on the cake was his devotion to boxing, which had long surpassed his love for you. At least, in your eyes, because that was what he had allowed you to see — what he wanted you to think. It would make the end of your relationship easier, giving him a lie to hold onto instead of the truth.

But Mingi was tired of lying. He didn’t plan to re-enter your life to keep the same pattern in motion. He wanted to start a-new and whether he deserved it or not was up for debate, but he was going to try. For you. For himself. For your relationship.

“Yes.”

Then it all just stopped. The beat of your heart filled the silence of the world. The flicker of emotions was instant and irregular — shifting from relief and happiness to disbelief and anger. You couldn’t form a single thought, much less say anything. What could one say in such a moment? Realising your first and only love was more than that and had slipped away. The never ending fear and regret of losing the sole good thing in your life washing out to nothing, leaving you empty. It was good and bad. A war broke out in your head, scrambling to come to an understanding, but the tear between the two sides was so grave it was starting to hurt. The relief of finding your soulmate clashed with the idea that he was right beneath your nose this entire time, purposefully avoiding you for who knows how long.

A sting burned behind your eyes followed by a heavy pressure. Your throat closed up and yet you managed to get your question out.

“How… How long have you known?”

Mingi heaved in a breath. The weight of the situation pressed harshly against his chest as he realized the bear trap he set up years ago was beneath his foot.

“A little after the start of our third year in high school… When you were rushed to the hospital.”

You remembered it like it was yesterday. Someone thought it would be a funny prank to leave an opened peanut-chocolate bar in your locker, completely disregarding the gravity of the situation. That was almost a month after his eighteenth birthday — the day his soulometer was permanently injected into his body. Out of those three years, you dated for one and a half, and the last stretch of your relationship was apparently built on secrets and lies because he knew. 

He knew and didn’t tell you.

You rose from your seat, your expression shifting from disbelief to frustration. Your brows furrowed, and your lips were pressed tightly together in fury. Mingi had never seen you so angry — not even when some older kids were making fun of Hongjoong for his height or liking boys.

“Why? Why wouldn’t you tell me about it? Mingi, we broke up and you didn’t think to tell me we were, are soulmates?!”

Your voice jumped from a whisper to full-out yelling, loud enough for your neighbors above and below to indulge in the dramatics, and Mingi flinched at the sudden rise in volume. A fire spread from his core to the rest of his body, growing hotter and more intense with each passing second. Despite how familiar the sensation was, it wasn’t his. You were angry beyond salvaging and no amount of water could douse the flames. 

Mingi’s chest tightened as the answer to your long-awaited question tumbled out of him. “Because you deserved a better soulmate!” 

Like that, a weight lifted off his shoulders. There was a very long pause where you just stared at each other, both waiting for the other to speak.

“Excuse me?” It was meek, barely above a whisper as you spoke and a sharp, breaking sound echoed in Mingi’s heart, like porcelain shattering. “You don’t get to decide that.”

Mingi hesitated, his lips parting as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the right words. You seized the opportunity to step in front of him. Unshed tears lined your waterline, one blink away from spilling over and kissing your burning cheeks. Mingi wasn’t any better. His eyes were glossed over and throat was dry. His fingers turned an alarming shade of white from gripping the counter, the veins in his hands more defined than ever.

“Why?” 

“You weren’t happy with me…” Mingi’s voice cracked, tears welling in his eyes as he struggled to continue. “W–with me boxing… and I… I wasn’t ready to give up on that. I thought you d–deserved some happiness before you realized you were stuck with me f–forever.” His words came out choked, his chest heaving as the tears finally spilled over.

The salty tears extinguished the fire that had been brewing in you. What had felt like flames of hell now shrunk to nothing more than a spark, ready to fade. You reached out, your hands trembling slightly as you cupped his face, gently wiping away the tears that had fallen.

“You thought I wouldn’t choose you? Mingi, I was never asking you to give up on what you love. I just couldn’t stand seeing you put yourself in danger, not knowing if you’d come back to me… alive.” Your heart ached as the soulometer inside you throbbed painfully, a constant reminder of how deeply connected you two were. 

Mingi had grown up in a boxing family. His father was a boxer, and his grandfathers on both sides were boxers too. It was only natural for the only child of the Song family to step into his relatives’ shoes and fall in love with the gruesome sport. However, it wasn’t the officiated matches or light sparring during training that had you worrying for Mingi. A little after Mingi turned eighteen, he realized that his talent could not only bring him medals, but money. A great sum of money, actually. 

As the fortune started to come his way, you began to notice the change in him. He wasn’t just fighting for the thrill or the legacy anymore — it had become a business. The sport he had once loved, the sport that had connected him to his family, was now something more — something dangerous, something that had started to consume him. You watched as he took on bigger opponents, harsher training regimens and increasingly dangerous matches, all in pursuit of a prize that was slowly tearing away at the person you once knew. 

You didn’t mean to put him in a tight spot, to choose between his first serious girlfriend and the illegal business that kept him independent. You also didn’t expect him to choose the latter. The decision stung more than you anticipated, the weight of it sinking in as you realized what it said about his priorities. 

You were both young and foolish back then, believing the world was beneath your feet and that one wrong decision could crumble it all. Had you known you were bonded, tied together for all eternity, you would’ve approached him differently and you certainly never would’ve let him go.

“I didn’t know about the soulmate bond. I didn’t know you knew... and you still let me walk away. You were willing to let me go without telling me the truth? How could you think I’d leave you forever, knowing we were meant to be?”

“I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry,” he said, his voice breaking. “I–I swear, I wanted to tell you. So many times. Every time I’d walk past your posters or hear about you from our mutual friends, I’d be one click away from calling you, but…”

The apology hung in the air like a weight, thick with guilt and regret. His voice trembled, each word choked back by the raw emotion clawing at him. The tears streamed down his face, unchecked. He turned his face slightly, the side of his cheek brushing against your palm, as if trying to hide from the pain, but your touch remained steady. You held him there, gently, as his sorrow poured out.

“Don’t hold back, Mingi. I’m not going anywhere, not now, not tomorrow, not ever… So please, talk to me.”

His chest hitched as he struggled to breathe, the weight of the words, the silence and the years of unsaid things crashing over him. Mingi knew he owed you this. An explanation, a reason for his sudden pull back all those years ago. He heaved in a breath and allowed the truth to spill.

“I just… I couldn’t,” he whispered. “Every time, I’d think about it and then–then I’d back out. I thought it was better this way. I thought maybe you’d be better off without knowing… that I wasn’t good enough, that I’d only mess things up. Jongho said you were ha–happy and I didn’t want to ruh–ruin that. ”

“You could never–”

“But I would!” He didn’t mean to shout, but the frustration and sadness, locked up for so long, didn’t hesitate to seize the first opening it saw. “I was still fighting… I never stopped. It only got worse after… after we broke up. The money was good, but the loneliness,” his voice wavered, “the loneliness was unbearable. The only time I ever felt anything was when I saw your face... or when I got beaten to hell.”

Your eyes darted around his face. Jumping from his eyes and lips to his nose and cheeks as if seeking a pressure point that would make all of his suffering evaporate into thin air. Mingi avoided your gaze and you massaged the apple of his cheek to catch his attention again. You never intended for the downfall of your relationship to put its claws in his back and leave a wound so grave it couldn’t heal on its own. In fact, you were so caught up in your own emotions that you didn’t think to take a moment and wonder how it would affect him. The guilt festered in your bones like a leech refusing to let go. 

“I never realized how much you were carrying… I thought I was the one who was struggling, but maybe we both were. I’m sorry, Mings.”

“No.” 

He shook his head in disagreement and your hand fell from his face. The loss of warmth was close to painful and Mingi, not wanting to be apart from you any more than necessary, grabbed your hand and guided it down to his chest, placing your palm above his beating heart — the organ that pulsed in rhythm to your own. Your fingers twitch to grab his shirt, to claw out his heart and keep it in the safety of your hands. To shield it from hurt and pain and agony. You never wanted him to feel such anguish again and you certainly didn’t want to be the reason behind it either. It tore you from within and the emotion wasn’t even yours to begin with. 

“It’s not your fault. It was never your fault.”

“Mingi–”

“Stop it. You know if I’d just listened to you, if I’d stopped getting involved in stupid shit, none of this would’ve happened. There’s no one to blame but me.” 

Tears still rolled down his cheeks and clung onto his lashes, though his eyes were sharp and firm as if daring you to challenge his words. If there was one thing you’d learned during the few years you dated Mingi, it was that once his mind was made up, nothing could change it. 

“We are both at fault, love.” 

The pinched expression on his face crumbled at the familiar call of endearment. His mouth parted slightly, and a constellation twinkled in his eyes — a sight you had missed incredibly. A twinge of hope flickered to life — hope that you could once be again, despite his careless acts of selflessness. His focus shifted between your eyes and with shaking hands he gently cradled your face, his touch not lighter than a ticklish flutter of a butterfly’s wings. Your own hands found purchase on his waist, fingers looping through the pouch of his hoodie as you instinctively leaned into the gentle pressure of his caress.

Mingi wetted his lips and brows scrunched together in a pleading demeanor. Something was plaguing his mind again and you could feel the train of thought reach out and graze your own, as if wanting you to get a glimpse. It didn’t hurt, but it wasn’t pleasant either. It felt full, crowded.

“What’s going on in that head of yours, Mings?”

“…You.” He took another breath, steadying himself, his voice barely above a whisper. “Can I… May I… I want to kiss you.”

Perhaps you should’ve said no. Perhaps you should’ve ignored him sitting on the steps of your apartment. Perhaps you shouldn’t have let him back into your life at all. But the thought of telling him no — robbing yourself of the feel of Mingi’s lips against yours — burned like hot acid in your stomach. So you did the one thing you were best at when it came to him, you gave in to your heart's desire.

“Then kiss me.”

Mingi didn’t need to hear you say it twice before he pulled your face up to his, lips smashing together as a flood of emotions erupted with the kiss — the kind of feeling only a romantic gesture like this could bring. You rose onto your toes, your hands gripping his wrists as if to anchor yourself in the moment. A low rumble vibrated from the back of his throat and you pushed harder against him. The kiss was intoxicating, yet liberating at the same time. You swiped your tongue along his bottom lip and he wasted no time parting them for you. The heat between you both deepened and each moment felt like it stretched on forever, the world around you fading into the background. His fingers grazing the side of your face, pulled you impossibly closer, as if there was no space left for anything but this shared intimacy. 

The pounding of your heart filled your ears, a frantic rhythm that matched the urgency of his touch. You were caught in the gravity of the moment, caught between the need for air and the undeniable pull to stay, to keep kissing him like nothing else mattered and nothing mattered. Just you and him. 

You felt one of his hands slither down your spine, a trail of firecrackers following the wake of his fingertips and sending shivers down your body. You couldn’t pull away — not yet. Not when everything inside you was screaming for more. Mingi pushed you closer to him, chests touching and hips meeting in a delicious press, that radiated between you both, causing every nerve in your body to hum with anticipation. 

It was the need for oxygen that eventually broke you apart before the heated situation could be taken to the bedroom, with you pushed against the soft sheets and your legs tangling together. Your chests rose and fell in synchrony, trying to steady the breath that had been stolen in the heat of the moment. A crackle of electricity snapped around the room, the atmosphere still charged with the energy of your kiss, but both of you knew you couldn’t rush past this — there was so much more to say, the fact that you were soulmates, for one. 

Mingi rested his forehead against yours, his breath was warm against your skin, quick and shallow, mirroring your own racing pulse. His eyes searched yours with a mix of intensity and vulnerability. He whispered your name, as if unsure how to bridge the distance between the desire in his chest and the emotions that were beginning to surface.

“We are soulmates,” you whispered before he could say anything else. It was more of a statement, a wake-up call for you than a fact. Your gaze dropped to the strings of his hoodie, the intensity of his stare made your knees feel weak.

Mingi didn’t reply. He rubbed gentle circles over your blouse on your lower back, a relaxing motion. You didn’t need to hear him say the two worded apology, you felt it in his soft touches.

“It was you… every time my meter went up… it was you fighting.” 

He nodded, a solemn smile gracing his swollen lips. “Yes.” 

“...But it hasn’t… gone up since–”

“Since you found me outside your apartment,” he finished for you. “I stopped shortly after that. I– uh, I realized that I wanted you. Or, well, I always knew, but that… that confirmed it. Mmm, I knew, though, that if I wanted us to be together, I’d have to change– stop! I’d have to stop doing the thing that made me lose you in the first place.”

“So… what does that mean for us?”

“It means… that if you want me to, I’ll peel your oranges for the rest of our lives.”

You wiped a stray tear from his cheek. “Even the white bits?”

The corner of his lips curled up in a grin, giving a glimpse of his crooked front teeth, and his eyes lit up like the night sky in the countryside.

“Especially the white bits.”

© HONGJOONGSPOETRY 2025. All rights reserved. Copying, editing, reposting or translating my work is not allowed.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Death Wish 14

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of crime, violence/abuse and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Bucky Barnes

Part of the mob drabbles au

Summary: you’re desperate for a way out of your life and you ask a powerful man for help (plus!reader)

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Photo Inspo

When Castro leaves, there’s no buffer left to you. As usual, you have no defense against this man. You feel Bucky watching you as you avoid him.

You take in the decor. As nice as it is, it’s just another reminder of the distance between you and this man. He has everything and you have nothing. You are entirely at his whim. 

He sighs and you sense the subtle shift behind you as he stands. You glance over your shoulder as he strips off his jacket. He stretches his neck to either side and it pops. 

“May as well get settled, doll, too late to send you off now,” he drawls. 

You face him entirely and nod. Resignation isn’t such a new feeling to you. He looks at you with a fire in his eyes. He comes forward and you plant your feet. 

“Are you excited? At all? A wedding? A wardrobe? The most powerful man in the city?” He stops before you and tilts his head. 

You stare at him and open your mouth. You should lie to him but you can’t force the words out. Despite your speechless gape, he doesn’t appear disappointed. He cups your cheek and his tongue peeks out over his lip and he considers you. 

“I respect that. You’re too honest for your own good.” His thumb brushes up to your temple. “So I’ll ask the big question, do you think... do you think I’m handsome, doll? I have been told I got nice eyes but I got a lot of people around me who will tell me whatever I wanna hear.” 

You flinch and narrow your eyes. You feel a dimple pinch. He smirks. 

“You think that’s funny,” he states. 

“I guess. You don’t need me to answer that, do you?” 

He takes a breath, “maybe not but I’d like to hear it from you.” 

You look down then flick your eyes back up, “yes, you are handsome, Mr. Barnes.” 

He snickers and brings his other hand up, cradling your head gently. “And you’re gorgeous, baby.” You scrunch your face and clucks, “don’t make that face, you know it too.” 

“Barnes--” 

“Bucky,” he insists. 

“Bucky,” you echo wistfully. 

“Hey, I know I gotta treat you right or one day you’ll find someone to take care of me--” 

You shove him, not thinking. His words lash you like a fiery whip. He takes a step back, though you know that you truly can’t impact him that much. 

“Don’t you dare—How could you say that to me?” 

His eyes drift placidly then spark as they fall on you again, “you play innocent with everyone else. It’s perfect, but not with me. I know what you’re capable of.” 

Your nose tingles, “you don’t understand--” 

“I don’t?” He arches a brow. “I don’t understand the bruises on your neck or the desperation in your voice? I didn’t deliver you exactly what you wanted on a platter?” 

“Why are you doing all this? What—do I have to get on my knees and thank you?” You step forward then stop. You sneer and drop to your knees. You clasp your hands together with a clap. “Oh, Bucky Barnes, the King, thank you for putting that gun in my hand. Thank you for taking those years of abuse and twisting them into your prize. Thank you. Is that good enough?” 

He looks down at you. His expression is clear, calm. He holds out his hands. 

“Get up,” he demands. 

“No, you want me on my knees. You want me beneath you. To know that I owe you this life.” You tug but he doesn’t let go. “I don’t want it. I never did. I just wanted... I wanted my sisters to be free.” 

He slowly bends his knees and lets you go. He comes eye level with you as you take a breath. He scoops you up in a single motion and you cry out. He hikes you up, turning you sideways in his arms. You push on his chest, your other arm stuck against him. 

“Barnes--” 

“Why don’t you just call me James then? If you’re going to act like my mother,” he growls as he marches past the sofa. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t--” 

“You meant it. Goddamn it, doll, that’s as genuine as you’ve been with me. Don’t think I’m stupid,” he takes you into the foyer and turns up the large staircase. You wriggle as panic swells in me. 

“Please, I’m... I don’t know what I’m doing. I told you--” 

You voice fizzles as he remains silent, his expression stone. You look down and shudder in his embrace. He carries you to the second floor and down a hallway. He doesn’t stop until he reaches the four-postered bed, dropping you onto the plush cushion. 

“All you need to worry about knowing how to do, is keeping me happy,” he snarls. “That’s it.” He glares at you with a fearsome leer. “I told you, all I want is you. Not your lies, not your groveling, just you.” 

You prop yourself up on your elbows, “I...” you search his face. “I don’t know how to give you that.” 

He steps closer and bends over you slowly. A hot breath plumes from his nose as he plants his hands on either side of you. You drag yourself up on the bed and he lowers himself to trap you there. He leans in until his nose touches yours. 

“You don’t gotta try so hard,” he brushes his nose on your cloyingly. “You just gotta... be...” his traces down to your cheek, nuzzling you. “Doll,” he tilts his head to nibble your lower lip. He growls and pulls on it until it slips free. 

He frames your chin as he comes down onto an elbow. He crushes his lips to yours and you hum in surprise. His tongue begs for entrance and you easily abide his plea. His hand slips down to your throat as he invades your mouth. Like everything he ever taken, he claims you with brute force. 

[callsign-fox]

Over My Head - Bob/Sentry

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/Sentry x Fem!Reader/Superhero

This could technically be a 2nd part to Hard to Measure, but can also be read by itself :)

No warnings xo

You guys have been loving all my Bob content, thank you so much for all the positive feedback!

Bob soared through the thin mountain air, cloak billowing behind him as the compound came into view below—a mess of concrete bunkers nestled between jagged peaks. The night was quiet, stars glittering overhead, but the tension humming through his body said otherwise.

According to intel, the group holed up here was trafficking magical artifacts and powered weapons. Not a great combo.

“Get in, neutralize, and try not to get hurt,” Bucky groaned in his ear.

Bob touched down near the bunker door, boots crunching on gravel. He paused, head tilting. Inside, chaos was already unfolding—yelling, crashes, and distant bursts of power.

“Uh, Buck?” he murmured. “There’s a lot of noise coming from inside there.”

There was a beat of silence.

“I see a heat signature,” Bucky said finally. “But it doesn’t exactly look…human?”

A second later, the bunker door exploded off its hinges.

Bob’s arm shot up on instinct, golden energy wrapping around the metal slab as he hurled it aside. He squinted through the haze—and his heart stuttered.

She was already here.

Y/N.

The same woman who’d knocked him flat on his ass a week ago when they’d first met. She hadn’t broken a sweat—had just winked and walked away, leaving him speechless and bruised. He hadn’t stopped thinking about her since.

Now, she was here—fire in her eyes, power humming around her like a live wire—and she was wrecking the place.

Bob dropped down behind her, just as she melted a soldier’s rifle into a puddle of goo with a lazy flick of her fingers.

“You always crash parties like this?” he called out, stepping over a groaning man.

She didn’t turn, but he noticed her heart rate spike. “Only when I don’t get an invite.”

He grinned. “You’re making quite the mess.”

She finally glanced over her shoulder, eyes catching his with a spark that made something inside him jolt. “I like things messy. More fun that way.”

“I bet you do.”

Her brows arched. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“The first time we met, you destroyed half a city block tossing me around.”

“I was proving a point.”

“Yeah,” he said, smirking. “That I had zero chance of winning.”

Before she could reply, a new group of mercenaries came charging into the room.

She didn’t miss a beat, hurling a wave of telekinetic force that knocked the front line flat. Bob launched forward beside her, slamming his fist into a soldier’s chest and sending him flying.

They moved like they’d trained together for years. Her powers twined with his, pulsing in sync, each movement fluid and sharp. She sent enemies hurtling into walls while he cleared the path with raw, burning force.

“You fight like a wrecking ball,” she called out, ducking under a punch. “No finesse. Just power and prayers.”

Bob laughed, spinning to knock a man out cold. “You fight like a pissed-off ballerina with anger issues.”

She threw him a look over her shoulder. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It wasn’t one.”

She tossed a grenade back at the sender with a casual flick—boom—and gave him a sly smile. “Are you flirting with me or insulting me?”

“What do you think?”

She smirked. “I think you are, but you’re in way over your head, big guy.”

Before he could answer, something in his gut twisted. His powers sparked as he sensed the threat behind her.

“Y/N—.”

She turned too late.

Bob lunged, grabbing her waist and yanking her into him. Her back hit his chest just as a soldier lunged out of the shadows with a knife, blade flashing. The swing missed her throat by inches as Bob raised his other hand and unleashed a burst of golden light, blasting the attacker into the wall.

The air was thick with adrenaline.

Y/N spun around in his arms and blinked up at him, breath catching. Her body was pressed against his, her hand instinctively gripping the front of his suit. His hand still rested on her waist, fingers curling just a little tighter before he forced himself to let go.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low and rough.

“I had him,” she breathed, not moving away.

“Sure you did.” His grin softened, warm and teasing. “Just figured I’d save your life for balance. You know—after you humiliated me in front of my team.”

Her hand lingered on his chest for a second longer before pulling away. “I was told I had to knock the ‘new strongest Avenger’ down a notch.”

“Careful,” he murmured, stepping closer again, “flattery might get you dinner.”

She arched a brow, lips quirking. “Did you just ask me out?”

“I most definitely did.”

Another wave of mercs appeared, and she sighed, cracking her neck with exaggerated annoyance.

“We finish this first,” she said, power radiating off her. “Then maybe you can buy me that drink—if you don’t trip over another unconscious body.”

He gave a dramatic salute. “Tactical stumble. Very advanced technique.”

They surged forward together—her a blaze of focused chaos, him a golden storm of force. When the last merc fell and the smoke cleared, the compound was silent, not quite in pieces, but pretty damn close.

Y/N stood beside him, wind tugging strands of hair from her face, eyes still glowing faintly.

Bob glanced at her, heart hammering.

“So…” he started, brushing a cut on his cheek absentmindedly, “about that drink?”

She didn’t answer at first—just walked past him slowly, fingertips trailing over his arm in a featherlight touch that made him stiffen in surprise.

Then, over her shoulder, she said with a soft, dangerous smile:

“Why don’t you just take me home, and we see what happens?”

He stared after her, completely gone.

“…I am so in over my head,” he muttered—and followed her without hesitation.

There was a sharp crackle in his earpiece, then Bucky’s voice came through, deadpan and disgusted: “I just heard every word of that, and I want to throw up.”

Bob froze mid-step. Y/N turned around with a curious smirk. “Everything okay?”

Without a word, Bob pulled the earpiece out and dropped it on the ground, then stomped on it with a satisfying crunch.

He looked up at her, grin lazy and sure. “Everything’s perfect.”

Technically Part 3 - Late Night Arrival

[hongjoongspoetry]

Thank you so much for recommending Sparks and Bruises!! 🩷

Mingi fic recs

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✴ : smut ᯓᡣ𐭩 : absolute favourites [Last updated: 22.05.2025] ⋆˙⟡ If any links don't work anymore please let me know I'll get it fixed as soon as possible ^^

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ Series ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Strangers By Nature - @seongwars | arranged marriage, enemies to lovers (ONGOING)

After a life-altering car accident, Mingi is given one final shot at redemption—reborn as a fuzzy little puppy. To earn a second chance at life, he must complete three tasks or risk being doomed to the afterlife forever.

Princess | Part 2 - @choisanboobenthusiast ✴ | sub bf!mingi (COMPLETED)

Mingi is inexperienced, you're not. He finally feels ready to take the next steps in your relationship and you find he is surprisingly more subby than you would have thought.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Cause Baby You're My Muse - @makeitmingi | idol!mingi x producer!reader (COMPLETED)

You always preferred producing underground, having an unknown face and governed by your own rules. But when you start freelancing for idol groups, you say goodbye to your lone wolf lifestyle as you learn to work with idol producers and lyricists. 

Camgirl - @yungistiny ✴ | emo stoner!mingi x camgirl!reader (ONGOING)

mingi just really needs some cash and he was told all he had to do was hold a camera. simple enough. he just didn’t anticipate the type of content he’d be helping to create

A Familiar Kind Of New - @wooyoungiewritings ✴ | nerdy!mingi x popular girl!reader (COMPLETED)

You, the most popular girl at school, and Mingi, the school’s geek and punching bag, grow a friendship at the library after school as he tutors you. You beg him to come to prom but instead, he disappears. No texts, no goodbye, nothing. But after 10 years, he suddenly appears again. The quiet, nerdy boy who used to be bullied and ignored, is now a successful, confident and heartbreakingly handsome man. As time pass, you both open up about the past and maybe you realize that maybe he was never just your tutor. Maybe he was the one that got away.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ Oneshots and drabbles ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

23:46 - @seonghwaddict (the fav emoji didnt wanna work here but this is the cutest thing EVER) | friends to lovers au, roommate!mingi

in which your best friend is a little hard to wake up.

I Want You - @k-hotchoisan ✴ | friends with benefits to exes to lovers au

The girl in front of him is stunning, but even when he’s all over her, he can’t seem to get you out of his head. So when his phone buzzes and it’s you, he finds himself standing before you with another chance he’s willing to gamble.

Sweet Juice - @hongism ✴ | strangers to lovers, magic au, witches/warlocks au

the new apothecary in your small village is harboring a dark secret, you're certain of it, if only because he bears a starkly familiar crest on his shop sign - one that denotes the presence of magic.

Lovers On The Sun - @byuntrash101 ✴ | outlaw au, friends to strangers to lovers au

you never understood why mingi chose that life. chose to be an outcast, a loveless bandit. over the years you came to terms with it. you got married, you grew. but when the outlaw finds himself gravely wounded his instincts drag him back to you. to the person he's willing to sacrifice everything for.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Pretty When You Cry - @suunani ✴ | sub bf!mingi

a completely stupid argument, and now mingi is crying for your attention.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Unveiled Temptation - @reveriebae ✴ | rockstar!mingi

You swore you’d never meet an online friend in person—until Mingi. One secret visit to his performance, one photo sent without a word, and now he’s found you. And tonight, he’s going to ruin you.

Bunny In His Bed - @reveriebae ✴ | best friends' brother au, roommate!mingi

You're the soft, innocent girl who only ever had one vanilla experience—with no idea what real filth could feel like. That is, until you end up rooming with your best friend’s older brother, Mingi. A pervert with a teasing mouth and no self-restraint when it comes to your cute sleep dresses and breathy little moans. He takes it slow, then ruins you completely—making you beg, cry, squirt, and ride him until you’re too dumb to think. But he still makes you breakfast after, calling you his princess in between filthy whispers.

Home In Your Arms - @03jyh23 | bf!mingi

the one where mingi missed you

Call A Friend - @gingersxng ✴

when you’ve tried everything to make yourself satisfied and nothing helps, the only thing left to try is to call a friend, who is more than happy to help you.

Can't Help Myself - @xomakara ✴ | brothers best friend au, roommate!mingi

Mingi comes home early from a trip to find his best friend's older sister, you, roaming the apartment in a large shirt and panties. And god, does he want you.

Wanted Dead Or Alive - @xomakara ✴ | western au, cowboy!mingi x heiress!reader

A handsome cowboy is injured while tending to a wild horse he's rescued miles from town. You're on the run, and can't afford to stop on your way to your destination – but you can't ignore the wounded man when you see him, and decide to help him despite the personal risk.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Ranching Hearts - @xomakara ✴ | modern western au, cowboy!mingi x overworked accountant!reader

You're an overworked accountant with little time for a love life. Desperate for a break, you join your girlfriends on vacation at a dude ranch. Mingi, the handsome ranch owner is instantly attracted to you and vice versa. But Mingi is about to lose the ranch and everything he's worked for. Will you extend your stay to help him out?

All in - @tenelkadjowrites ✴ | best friends to lovers au

A night of drunken debauchery with your best friend in Las Vegas leads to something you never could imagine.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 A Night To Forget - @jjbalice | bf!mingi, !description of panic attack

Mingi wakes up to a feeling he's never experienced before, and he's pretty sure he's dying.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Office Affairs - @callmeagardengnome | office!au, coworker!mingi

working for a job promotion is the smart thing to do, but working to make song mingi fall in love with you is way more fun.

But It's Better If You Do - @frenchkisstheabyss | rockstar!mingi x chubby tattoo artist!reader

Your ongoing love affair with your rocker client is all fine and dandy until you begin to catch feelings for him that send you into a spiral that isn't fine nor dandy.

Touch Up! - @intheemptymirror | idol!mingi x stylist!reader

mingi loves to push the boundaries of a proper idol-stylist work relationship. even in the work place itself.

Last Pick - @touchme-teezme ✴ | best friends to lovers?, collegeboy!mingi

you and mingi are best friends. he likes you, but you love him. one fight changes the trajectory of your friendship forever.

Imprint - @kitten4sannie ✴ | werewolf!mingi x hunter!reader

you seemingly end up biting off more than you can chew upon discovering that the beast you hunted down for dinner is not what it seems.

Sweet - @fallinforgyu ✴ | sub bf!mingi

you and mingi celebrate your anniversary and fuck for the first time <3

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Nobody New - @xlostinthedreamfics ✴ | exes to lovers au

After 2 years of living in a new city, you decide to sign up for a pottery class to step out of your comfort zone and hopefully make some friends, only to find your ex-boyfriend Mingi has signed up for the same pottery class.

Right Next Door - @kysstar | friends to lovers au, neighbor!mingi

you and mingi have been dancing around your feelings for far too long—neighbors, friends, something more. neither of you says it. but everything else does. Eventually, something has to give.

You Can Take It, Right? - @kathaelipwse | best friends to lovers au

What starts as harmless teasing turns into something far more dangerous when Mingi decides he’s done playing around. Trapped between him and the couch, you’re forced to answer the question—will you push him away or pull him closer?

Sparks And Bruises - @hongjoongspoetry | soulmates au, exes to lovers au, underground boxer!Mingi x real estate agent!Reader

In a world where everyone at the age of eighteen gets a metal meter implanted on their wrist that shows the amount of danger your soulmate is in. You and Mingi have known each other since high school, but went through a nasty fallout after his love for boxing turned into a dangerous gamble with his life as the price. Years later, you stumble over his injured form on the doorstep of your apartment building. Not having the heart to turn him away like all those years ago, you invite him inside with the intention to clean his wounds, but get a lot more than you bargained for.

By Her Side - @arilevenatz | modern royalty au, bodyguard!Mingi x princess!reader

Grease And Oil - @bvidzsoo ✴ | mechanic!mingi

Sleepy - @minkieater ✴ | boyfriend!mingi

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Did you finish all the fics? Check out the other members too! ⤵ Hongjoong | Seonghwa | Yunho | Yeosang | San | Wooyoung | Jongho

[quinzzelx]

Shadows and Starlight

Part 2

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary: It's Starfall and with Starfall come some unpleasant memories. But your excitement to finally see Azriel again wins you over. Catching up with your family, you find that the evening is approaching fast. What happens when Azriel returns and you finally see each other again?

Chapter 01 // Chapter 03

Word Count: 8.8K Well, this is a lengthy one.

Warnings: Canon typical violence, Trauma, Flashbacks of Torture, Mentions of SA, A lot of Family bonding, Angst, Teeth rotting Fluff, and Sexual content. I have not proofread this yet, since I wanted to get this up as quickly as possible. A/N: Oh my god, GUYS!!! I am overwhelmed by the positivity and love you showered the first chapter with! You have honestly no idea how happy this makes me. I'm so glad people seem to enjoy it and I truly hope that this part will do the first one justice. Feel free to comment and share your thoughts. Feedback is always appreciated! Also, come chat with me in my inbox!

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As you wake up on Starfall morning, a sense of weariness washes over you, the remnants of a night spent tossing and turning, haunted by dreams of the past and the phantom pains that still linger in your scars. Despite the soft caress of your satin nightgown against your skin, every movement sends a twinge of discomfort coursing through your body, a reminder of the battles you've fought.

Tracing your fingertips over the pale, jagged carvings that mar your stomach, you're transported back to the horrors of Amarantha's trap, the allure of her twisted game pulling you deeper into her web with each passing moment. Rhys had begged you to stay home, his instincts warning him that something wasn't right about this meeting, this gathering, but something inside you knew that you couldn't sit idly by while he faced danger alone. And so you insisted on accompanying him, despite the protests and the danger it posed to you both. There were moments of doubt, fleeting glimpses of regret that whispered in the recesses of your mind.

Especially in the darkness of those colder, harsher nights. Nights when even the simple act of opening your eyes felt like an insurmountable task, weighed down not just by the heavy iron chains that bound you to the ground, but by the imposing weight of impending death that hung heavy on your shoulders.

Turning onto your side, you wince as you feel the numerous scars on your back, traces of the lashings you sustained at Amarantha's hands. She was cruel in her efforts to use you as a tool to hurt Rhys further, inflicting pain upon pain in her relentless quest for power. But despite the physical scars that mar your skin, it's the emotional scars that run the deepest, the memories of your shared trauma with Rhys threatening to pull you back into the depths of despair.

Your wounds festered, infected by the cruel hands of Amarantha, who took perverse pleasure in keeping them open and inflicting new ones upon you, layering pain upon pain with each lash of her whip. Faebane slowed your healing, leaving you vulnerable to the biting cold that seeped into your bruised body, each breath a struggle against the suffocating grip of agony. On one such night, Amarantha's rage burned brighter than usual, her fury directed solely at you. Bound naked to her bedpost, your emaciated form contorted in unnatural ways, the strain and angle of your bindings causing one shoulder to scream in protest. She carved vile curses into the soft flesh of your stomach, taunting you with each cruel stroke of her blade.

And then Rhys entered, his horror evident in the fleeting glimpse you caught of his face before the mask of stoicism fell back into place. But his appearance ignited something within Amarantha, sparking a twisted idea that would haunt you for years to come. Forced to watch as Rhys administered the next lashes, forced to endure the searing pain as he used his Deamanti powers on you, you felt a sliver of relief amidst the agony as his apologies echoed in your mind, his powers soothing the raw edges of your suffering. He tried numbing your pain, taking away the searing heat that your wounds imposed. But Amarantha wasn't satisfied with just inflicting physical pain – she wanted to break you completely, to strip away every last shred of dignity and humanity. And so she made you watch as she rode Rhys, fucking him without hesitation, with favor, your body still bound to the bedpost, blood dripping down your exposed skin, your chest heaving with shallow breaths. She got off on it, the hot tears running down your face, leaving streaks in the dried blood on your face. Even in your state then, your eyes beheld a promise of death. But never had you felt this helpless, having to watch as Amarantha used Rhys as her personal sex-slave. Rhys was your family, your High Lord! And all you could do was watch.

It was a night of unspeakable horror, one of the darkest moments of your life. And yet, amidst the despair, there was a glimmer of hope – She was this mad because of Feyre, because she wanted to break the curse. As you lay there, on the floor of your cell, embracing the cold arms of death, Rhys hurriedly came barging in. He knelt beside you on the cold stone floor, tears streaming down his face as he cradled your head in his hands, offering what little comfort he could in the face of such unimaginable pain.

"Gods, what have I done?" Rhys whispered, his voice choked with sorrow and regret. "I'm so sorry, Y/N. I never wanted this for you. I never wanted any of this." His words were like a knife to your heart, each apology cutting deeper than the last as you struggled to cling to consciousness. "Rhys," you managed to rasp, your voice barely a whisper. "Don't blame yourself. It's not your fault." But he shook his head, his tears falling freely now as he pressed his forehead against yours. "I should have protected you. I should have never let this happen to you."

You reached up, weakly grasping his hand as you tried to offer him what little comfort you could. "It's not your fault," you repeated, your voice growing fainter with each passing moment. "I love you, Rhys. Please... don't blame yourself."

But Rhys's anguish only seemed to deepen at your words, his sobs wracking his body as he pleaded with you to hold on, to fight against the darkness that threatened to consume you both. "Please," he begged, his voice raw with emotion as he called your name. "Don't leave me. I can't bear to lose you. Please, stay with me." And as you felt the cold embrace of death drawing ever closer, you clung to his hand, drawing strength from the love and warmth that radiated from him. "I'll try," you rasped, your voice barely audible now. "I'll try, Rhys. I promise."

And with those final words, you drifted into darkness, leaving Rhys alone with his grief and his guilt, his tears mingling with yours as he prayed to the Mother for a miracle, for a chance to make things right.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, you try to calm your mind, to push aside the memories that threaten to overwhelm you. Today is supposed to be a day of celebration, a time to put aside the pain of the past and focus on the joy of the present.

As someone knocks at the bedroom door, you groan, burying your face in the pillow, exhausted and emotionally drained from the tumultuous memories that still linger in your mind. Calling out for the person to enter, you brace yourself for the intrusion, the weight of the world pressing down upon your shoulders. To your surprise, it's Rhys who enters, his presence like a balm to your weary soul. As if sensing the chaos within you, he seems equally stressed by the preparations for the day, Nyx cradled in his arms. Your eyes soften when they land on the toddler, his small wings flapping excitedly as he spots you, extending his arms out in a silent plea to be held. Rhys sits down beside you on the bed, a gentle look on his face as he takes in your tired form. Nyx immediately pounces on you, his laughter filling the room with infectious joy. Despite your exhaustion, you can't help but smile at the sight of the young boy, his innocence a welcome distraction from the weight of the world.

"Hey there, little one," you murmur, scooping Nyx into your arms and showering him with kisses. He giggles in delight, his tiny hands reaching out to touch your face with a sense of wonder. Rhys watches the exchange with a soft smile, his violet eyes filled with warmth and affection. "I thought Nyx might help cheer you up," he says gently, his voice laced with concern. "It's been a rough morning, hasn't it?" You nod, unable to find the words to express the whirlwind of emotions that have been swirling inside you since you woke up. But as you hold Nyx close, his laughter echoing in your ears, you feel a sense of peace settle over you, if only for a fleeting moment. Rhys leans closer, his hand finding yours on the bed, offering silent support. "Are you okay?" he asks softly, concern etched in his eyes.

You manage a weak smile, squeezing his hand in return. "I'm... trying to be," you admit, your voice tinged with exhaustion. "It's just... a lot, you know?" He nods understandingly, his thumb tracing comforting circles on the back of your hand. "I know," he murmurs, his gaze softening. "But we'll get through this, together. I promise." The weight of his words hangs heavy in the air, a silent reminder of the bond that binds you both, even in the darkest of times. "Thank you, Rhys," you whisper, your voice barely above a whisper. "For everything."

He smiles, a gentle expression that lights up his features. "Anytime," he says softly, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. "We're in this together, remember? No matter what."

As you settle into a more comfortable rhythm, the conversation shifts to lighter topics, a welcome distraction from the weight of the morning's emotions. "So," Rhys begins, his tone lighter now, "did you hear about Cassian's little mishap with the ladder this morning?" You raise an eyebrow, a hint of amusement dancing in your eyes. "Oh? Do tell," you urge, a small smile playing at the corners of your lips. Rhys chuckles, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Well, apparently he thought he could single-handedly take on the task of putting up the decorations," he explains, shaking his head in mock disbelief. "But Feyre and Elain had other ideas."

You laugh at the mental image of Cassian attempting to navigate a ladder while Feyre and Elain guided him from below, their laughter echoing through the halls of the House of Wind. "And then," Rhys continues, a mischievous twinkle in his eye, "just as he was reaching for the top, the ladder slipped out from under him, and down he went!" You can't help but giggle at the thought of Cassian tumbling to the ground, his pride wounded but otherwise unharmed. "Poor Cass," you tease, shaking your head in mock sympathy. "I hope he's okay." The Highlord says, his smile widening. "Oh, he's fine," he assures you. "Just a bruised ego, I think."

Before you can respond, Nyx interrupts with a babble of his own, his tiny hands reaching out to grab at Rhys's hair. You laugh, gently untangling Nyx's fingers from Rhys's locks as you listen to the toddler's excited chatter. Rhys grins, his eyes sparkling with affection as he looks down at his son. "I spoke to Azriel yesterday," he says casually, shifting the conversation back to more serious matters. "He should be back today, just in time for Starfall."

You feel a surge of anticipation at the mention of Azriel's return, your heart skipping a beat at the thought of seeing him again after his absence. "That's great news," you reply, trying to keep your voice casual despite the butterflies in your stomach. "I'm sure he'll be relieved to be home." He nods, a knowing glint in his eye. "Oh, I'm sure he will be," he says cryptically, a teasing smile playing at his lips. "After all, there are certain people who have been eagerly awaiting his return."

You roll your eyes, unable to suppress a smile at Rhys's playful teasing. "You're incorrigible," you tease, giving him a playful shove. "But I'm glad Azriel's coming back. It's not the same without him." The conversation ebbs into comfortable silence as you play with the toddler sat on your lap. When you notice Rhys’s eyes glaze over, the violet of his eyes dulling just slightly, you look at him with a cocked eyebrow. “Is our Highlord required somewhere?” You ask with a small smile on your lips. “Yes, I fear duty calls.”

As Rhys leaves with Nyx in tow, a sense of tranquility settles over you, the bustling energy of the morning quieting to a gentle hum. With a sigh of relief, you make your way to the bath, the promise of warm water and solitude beckoning to you like a beacon in the storm.

Sinking into the soothing embrace of the bath, the warmth seeping into your tired muscles and easing the knots of tension that had been building within you. With each passing moment, the cares of the world seem to slip away, replaced by a sense of peace and calm that settles deep within your soul. With each passing moment, you feel yourself growing lighter, the weight of the morning's emotions gradually fading into the background as you focus on the simple pleasure of being present in this moment. Only when the skin on your hands starts to wrinkle, do you decide to leave the comfort of your bath.

After drying off, you quickly set about getting ready for the day ahead. With practiced ease, you slip into your clothes, the fabric smooth against your skin as you dress. You run a brush through your hair, smoothing out any tangles and pulling it back into a simple yet elegant style. With one last glance in the mirror, you nod in satisfaction, a sense of determination settling over you. Today is a new day. Starfall to be exact. You would not let the past control the present.

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As you make your way downstairs, noon is just beginning to unfold, the soft light of the early sun filtering through the windows of the House of Wind. The air is filled with the gentle hum of activity as preparations for the evening's festivities are underway. You take a moment to admire the decorations that Cassian had so painstakingly put up, a fond smile playing at the corners of your lips as you remember his earlier mishap with the ladder. Despite the chaos of it all, there's a sense of excitement building in the air, a unmistakable energy that sets your heart racing with anticipation.

Making your way to where Feyre and Elain were sitting in the kitchen, you exchange greetings with them, falling into easy conversation. The smell of freshly brewed tea fills the air, and you can't help but relax as you sink into a chair at the table. "So, what's on the agenda for today?" Feyre asks, pouring a cup of tea for each of you.

Elain smiles softly, her doe-eyes lighting up with excitement. "I was thinking of spending some time in the gardens," she says. "I've been working on a few new plantings, and I'd love to show them to you." You nod eagerly, honestly intrigued by Elain's passion for gardening. "I'd love to see them," you reply, a genuine smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

Whilst you sip your tea, the conversation turns to lighter topics, and you find yourself laughing and joking with Feyre and Elain. It's moments like these that remind you of why you cherish your time with them. Suddenly, Elain's voice breaks through your thoughts, her tone soft and earnest. "I'm so glad Azriel is returning today," she says, her eyes shining with sincerity. "I've missed him." A pang of jealousy and irritation shoots through you at her words, catching you off guard. You quickly brush it off as simple irritation, unwilling to acknowledge the twinge of envy that lingers in the depths of your chest. Elain, oblivious to your internal turmoil, continues to speak, her words pulling you back into the conversation. "And I've missed you too," she adds, her voice filled with warmth and affection.

You nod, forcing a smile. "Yeah, I missed you too." But inside, you can't help but feel a twinge of envy at the thought of Elain's closeness with Azriel. Before the awkwardness can settle in, however, Elain changes the subject, her eyes lighting up with excitement as she again talks about the new plants she's planted in the gardens of the Riverhouse.

"That reminds me," you say suddenly, a spark of delight igniting within you. Your eyes sparkle as you remember the gift you brought back for Elain, reaching into your pocket and pulling out a small packet of seeds. "I found these at a market stall on the continent and thought of you. They're seeds for a flower called... um...“ you stumble over the name for a moment before recalling it. "They're seeds for a flower called Moonlight Blossoms. I thought they might be a nice addition to your garden."

Elain's eyes widen with delight as she takes the seeds from you, her expression one of pure joy. "Oh, thank you!" she exclaims, her voice filled with genuine appreciation. "I can't wait to plant these in the garden. They're going to be beautiful."

After spending a pleasant morning and noon catching up with Feyre and Elain, you accompany Elain to the garden to see her new plants. The garden is a riot of color and fragrance, and you spend a blissful hour wandering among the flowers and chatting with her about her latest botanical discoveries. As you bid Elain farewell and make your way back inside, you realize that the day has flown by in a rush of activity. You quickly run a few last-minute errands for Starfall, picking up some supplies and making sure everything is in order for the evening's festivities.

Time seems to slip through your fingers like grains of sand as you hurry through the bustling streets of Velaris, the excitement of the day building with each passing moment. Before you know it, the sun is beginning to set, casting a golden glow over the city as evening approaches.

With a sense of urgency, you hurry back to the House of Wind, eager to get ready for the evening ahead. Mor had promised to get ready together, and you don't want to keep her waiting. As you enter your room, the blond is already there, surrounded by an array of dresses and accessories strewn across the bed. She looks up as you enter, a bright smile lighting up her face.

"Hey there, gorgeous!" she greets you, her eyes twinkling with excitement. "Are you ready to get glam for Starfall?" You return her smile, feeling a rush of anticipation at the thought of the evening ahead. "Absolutely," you reply, crossing the room to join her. "I can't wait to see what you've picked out." Mor gestures to the dresses laid out on the bed. "I've narrowed it down to a few options," she says, a mischievous grin playing at her lips. "But I think I already know which one I'm going to choose." You chuckle, knowing that Mor always has a flair for dramatics when it comes to dressing up. "Well, let's see them then," you tease, eager to get started.

Together, you sift through the dresses, examining each one carefully and discussing their merits and drawbacks. There are dresses of every color and style, from sleek and elegant to bold and daring. Finally, Mor settles on a stunning gown in deep maroon red, its flowing skirts and intricate beading catching the light as she holds it up.

"This is the one," she declares, a satisfied smile gracing her features. "What do you think?" You nod in agreement, admiring the dress's beauty. "It's perfect," you reply. "You're going to look absolutely stunning." Mor beams at your praise, clearly pleased with her selection. "Thanks, love," she says, reaching out to give you a quick hug. "Now, let's get you sorted out. I have a feeling you're going to steal the show tonight."

As you slip into the dress that you had bought the day before, a soft sigh escapes your lips, the sensation of the fabric against your skin sending a shiver of delight down your spine. The deep midnight blue hue wraps around you like a lover's embrace, casting an delicate glow that seems to illuminate the room. The neckline plunges low, offering a tantalizing glimpse of your cleavage. With each movement, the dress seems to come alive. Mor's eyes widen in admiration as she takes in your appearance. "Wow," she breathes, her voice filled with genuine awe. "You look absolutely stunning."

A soft smile graces your lips as you meet her gaze "Thank you, Mor," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "I couldn't have found this without your help." She beams at your words, her pride evident in the curve of her lips. "It was my pleasure," she replies, her tone warm and sincere. "But really, the dress suits you perfectly. I almost forgot how it looked on you overnight."

Shortly after she also put on her dress, Mor expertly braids your hair, her nimble fingers weaving intricate patterns, you can't help but admire her skill. With each twist and turn, your hair transforms into a work of art, cascading down your back in elegant waves. You close your eyes, savoring the sensation of her touch, the gentle tugs and pulls lulling you into a state of relaxation. "Your hair is like silk," Mor remarks, her voice filled with admiration. "It's going to look stunning tonight." Once your hair is styled to perfection, Mor moves on to makeup, applying each layer with precision. The dark, alluring makeup enhances your features, accentuating your eyes and highlighting your cheekbones.

Whilst the blond puts the finishing touches on your makeup, you take a moment to admire your reflection. The sultry gaze staring back at you sends a thrill of excitement coursing through your veins, the promise of the evening ahead hanging in the air. "Ready to turn heads?" Mor asks, a playful smirk gracing her lips. "Absolutely," you reply, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Let's make tonight unforgettable."

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As you and Mor descend the grand staircase, the sounds of laughter and music fill the air, signaling the start of the evening's festivities. The House of Wind is alive with energy, the vibrant atmosphere drawing you in as you make your way through the bustling crowd. Mor heads straight for the wine table, her graceful movements drawing the attention of those around her. She expertly pours two glasses, handing one to you with a knowing smile. "To a night to remember," she says, raising her glass in a toast. You clink your glass against hers, a smile playing at the corners of your lips. "To a night to remember," you echo, taking a sip of the rich, velvety wine.

While mingling with the other guests, you can't help but notice the admiring glances and whispered compliments that follow you wherever you go. Cassian whistles at your appearance, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he offers a playful wink. Even Amren, usually reserved and stoic, can't help but be impressed. "Not bad, girl" she remarks in her typical deadpan tone, her lips quirking up in a rare smile. "You look good." While chatting with Cassian, his easy grin and infectious laughter filling the air, you can't help but feel at ease in his presence. He regales you with stories of past Starfall celebrations, each one more outrageous than the last, and you find yourself laughing along with him, caught up in the magic of the moment and the memories.

Amren stands beside him, her sharp gaze surveying the crowd with a mix of curiosity and amusement. She interjects with the occasional dry comment or witty observation, adding her own unique perspective to the conversation. Cassian nudges you playfully, a naughty glint in his eyes. "So, have you seen Az around yet?" he asks, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

You roll your eyes at his question, knowing full well where he's going with this. "Not yet," you reply with a smirk. "But I'm sure he'll make quite the entrance when he does," you add, your tone dripping with playful sarcasm. Cassian chuckles, his grin widening as he leans in conspiratorially. "You know, I heard he's been practicing his dramatic entrances," he whispers, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. Amren, who had been silently observing the exchange, scoffs in amusement. "Practicing? Please, Azriel was born with dramatic flair," she interjects, her voice dry as ever. You can't help but laugh at Amren's remark, nodding in agreement. "True," you concede, unable to deny the truth in her words. Cassian's grin widens, mischief dancing in his eyes as he leans in closer. "You know, Y/N, if you keep talking about Az like this, people might start to think you have a crush on him," he teases, his tone light but teasing. Mor joins in on the teasing, a playful smirk on her lips. "Oh, come on, Cass," she chimes in, "we all know Y/N's got it bad for Az. I mean, who wouldn't? He's mysterious, brooding, and let's not forget those dreamy eyes."

You roll your eyes at their teasing, but heat creeps up your neck nonetheless. "You two are insufferable," you mutter, trying to play it off coolly despite the warmth you can feel in your chest.

They share a knowing look, their grins widening. "Oh, don't be shy, Y/N," Cassian says with a wink, "we all see the way you light up whenever Az is around."

You sigh in mock exasperation, knowing there's no escaping this. "Fine, you caught me," you admit with a chuckle, "but can we please focus on something other than my nonexistent love life for once?" Mor and Cassian exchange a glance before bursting into laughter.

With an exaggerated sigh, you down the rest of your wine in one swift motion, the cool liquid soothing the annoyance bubbling within you. Setting the empty glass down, you grab another from the nearby tray, filling it to the brim with wine. Cassian and Mor exchange amused glances as they watch your reaction, but you pay them no mind, determined to drown out their taunting with copious amounts of alcohol.

As the night wears on, the rhythm of the music pulls you onto the dance floor, the enchanting melodies winding their way through the air and into your soul. Lost in the music, you move with grace and elegance, allowing the melodies to guide your every step. The lights overhead cast a warm glow on the dance floor, illuminating the faces of those around you as they sway to the music. Couples twirl and spin, lost in their own worlds of love and passion, while laughter and joy fill the air. You watch as Nesta and Cassian sweep over the dancefloor together, having the crowd watch in awe.

With each passing moment, your gaze darts from one corner of the room to the next, hoping to catch sight of him. Your heart beats faster with every shadow that moves, every figure that passes by, as you search for the one person who has occupied your thoughts all evening.

Dancing with an attractive Fae male, his presence envelops you, his hand warm against the small of your back as you sway to the soft, slow tunes. Despite your initial reluctance when he asked you to dance with him, you find yourself enjoying his company, lost in the rhythm of the music and the warmth of his gaze. His blond hair were neatly combed, his bright green eyes gentle and kind as they take in your facial features.

But as his hand begins to wander over your scarred skin, trailing dangerously close to where the fabric of your dress starts again, a shiver runs down your spine. The heat of his touch sends a jolt through you, igniting a familiar sensation. Just as you feel yourself becoming lost in the moment, a sudden shift in the air catches your attention. Without even turning around, you know he's here. As the music continues to play, you can sense him drawing closer, his presence casting a spell over you that leaves you spellbound and breathless. Just as you're about to step away, you sense a familiar presence behind you. The scent of cedar fills your senses, and you turn to find Azriel standing there, his tall frame looming over you.

Before you can even process his presence, he reaches out, gently touching your arm. "May I cut in?" he asks, his voice soft yet commanding. You meet his gaze, the intensity in his eyes sending a shiver down your spine. "Of course," you reply, unable to tear your eyes away from him. As the Fae male steps back, Azriel takes his place, his hand finding yours as he pulls you close. The music shifts to a slower, more intimate melody, and you find yourself swept up in the moment. "It's been too long," you whisper, your voice barely audible over the music. Azriel's gaze softens, his fingers tracing light patterns on your back. "I've missed you," he admits, his voice low and filled with emotion. A surge of warmth washes over you at his words, and you find yourself drawn closer to him. "I've missed you too," you confess, your heart racing in your chest. As you continue to dance, the tension between you and Azriel is palpable, crackling in the air like electricity. His hand lingers on your waist, his touch sending shivers down your spine.

"I can't believe you're finally back," he murmurs, his voice barely audible over the music. You meet his gaze, your heart pounding in your chest. "I can't believe it either," you reply, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "It feels like it's been an eternity." Azriel's eyes soften, a hint of sadness flickering in their depths. "I'm sorry I wasn't here to greet you when you returned," he says, his voice filled with regret. "I wanted to be the first one to welcome you home."

You reach up, gently touching his cheek. "It's okay," you assure him, your thumb tracing the line of his jaw. "I know you had your duties to attend to." A faint smile plays at the corners of Azriel's lips then, and he leans into your touch. How he had missed it to feel your gentle reassuring touch. "Still, I wish I could have been here for you," he murmurs, his voice deep and husky. As the song comes to an end, you stare at each other. Reluctantly, Azriel releases your hand, his touch lingering for a moment longer before he takes a step back. The music fades into the background, drowned out by the sound of your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

For a moment, the two of you simply stand there, lost in each other's gaze, the world around you fading away until there's nothing left but the space between you. Then, with a soft smile, Azriel breaks the silence. "Would you like to take a walk?" he asks, his voice gentle and inviting.

You nod, a warm feeling spreading through you at the prospect of spending more time with him. "I'd like that," you reply, returning his smile. Together, you slip away from the dance floor, the night air cool against your skin as you step out onto the balcony. The city sprawls out before you, its lights twinkling in the darkness like a sea of stars.

Feeling his gaze upon you, you can't help but shift slightly under his scrutiny, a blush creeping up your cheeks as you realize just how closely he's examining you. You bite your lip nervously, suddenly hyper-aware of every curve and contour of your body that's on display in the dress. As Azriel's eyes linger on your figure, you can't help but notice the way his gaze seems to heat up, his breath catching in his throat. A thrill shoots through you at the intensity of his stare, igniting a fire in the pit of your stomach.

For a moment, neither of you says anything, the air between you charged with unspoken desire. Then, with a slight cough to clear his throat, Azriel tears his gaze away from you, his cheeks tinged with a faint blush. "I'm sorry," he murmurs, his voice husky with emotion. "I didn't mean to stare." You shake your head, a small smile playing at the corners of your lips. "It's okay," you reply softly. "I... I don't mind."

You reach out tentatively, your hand finding his arm in a comforting gesture. "Azriel," you begin, your voice barely above a whisper, "there's something I've been wanting to tell you." He turns to face you, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. "What is it?" he asks, concern lacing his every word. You take a deep breath, summoning all your courage. “I-“  Before you can finish your sentence, the door to the balcony swings open, and Feyre steps out, her eyes widening in surprise when she sees the two of you standing there together.

"Oh, sorry," she stammers, quickly averting her gaze. "I didn't mean to interrupt." Azriel clears his throat, stepping back slightly to give Feyre some space. "It's alright," he says, his voice a little strained. "We were just... talking." she nods, though there's a knowing glint in her eyes as she looks between the two of you. "Right, well, I'll leave you two to it then," she says, retreating back inside. You and Azriel exchange a glance, a silent understanding passing between you. It seems that fate has other plans for your conversation, at least for now.

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When Azriel winnowed into Rhys's study earlier that day, he was greeted by the familiar sight of his brother sitting behind the desk, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. Rhys's gaze meets his, and Azriel's eyes widen as the scent of you fills his senses, sending a jolt of anticipation coursing through him. It wasn’t dull and faded, not like the pillows in your bedroom. No, you had to have been in this room today. Rhys raises an eyebrow at his brother’s dumbfounded face, his smirk growing more pronounced. "Took you long enough to notice," he says, amusement lacing his tone.

Azriel's lips twitch into a half-smile as he strides further into the room, his movements fluid and graceful. "I was preoccupied," he replies, his voice gruff. "But I'm here now." Rhys chuckles, leaning back in his chair. "I can see that," he says, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "So, how was your mission?" Azriel takes a moment to compose himself, his mind still reeling from the unexpected encounter with your scent. "Successful," he replies, his voice steady despite the turmoil raging within him. His resolve snapped. "But I'll fill you in on the details later. Right now, I have other matters to attend to."

Rhys arches an eyebrow, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "Of course," he says, his tone teasing. "Wouldn't want to keep her waiting, would you?" Azriel's cheeks flush slightly at his brother's teasing remark, but he maintains his composure. "No," he says, his voice tinged with determination. "I wouldn't."

As Azriel takes flight for the House of Wind, his mind races with a whirlwind of emotions. Excitement courses through his veins, an unexpected thrill at the thought of seeing you again after nine long months apart. He hadn't dared to hope that you would be back, hadn't allowed himself to entertain the possibility of your return. And yet, here you were, your presence filling him with a sense of longing he just started to realize he'd been harboring.

The memory of your scent lingers in his mind, haunting him with its intoxicating sweetness. It's a scent he knows all too well, one that has the power to drive him to madness with desire. Even now, as he flies through the night sky, he can't shake the memory of you, the way your scent wraps around him like a warm embrace. Only yesterday had he thought about that exact smell while fucking his hand wishing it was yours instead.

Cursing himself for his wayward thoughts, Azriel frowns, attempting to push aside the overwhelming tide of emotions threatening to consume him.

As Azriel lands gracefully on the balcony of the House of Wind, he braces himself  for their reunion. He had just made his way here in record time, flying like his life depended on it. His heart pounds in his chest, the anticipation of seeing you again after so long almost too much to bear. With each step he takes, his eyes scan the crowded room, searching for your familiar form amidst the mass of guests.

And then he sees you.

His breath catches in his throat as he takes you in, his brain short-circuiting at the sight of you. You’re wearing a dress, and it clings to you like a second skin, accentuating every curve and contour of your body. His gaze lingers on the scars that trail across your back, a witness to the battles you had fought and the strength you possess. But it's not just your appearance that captivates him. It's the way you move, the grace and confidence with which you carry yourself, as if you own the very air around you. And you do, completely oblivious to the hungry and captivated stares you gain, turning heads everywhere you appear. Then his attention finally shifts to the Fae dancing with you, his hand lingering dangerously close to your exposed skin, and a surge of possessiveness courses through him. You’re wearing his colors, he realizes with a jolt, a flicker of irritation igniting within him at the thought of someone else daring to touch what belongs to him. A growl rumbles in Azriel's chest, low and threatening, as the surge of jealousy within him reaches a fever pitch. He takes a step forward, hazel eyes blazing with anger, his wings flaring out instinctively behind him.

But before he can make his move, Mor appears at his side, a knowing smirk on her lips as she nudges him playfully. "Easy there, big guy," she says, her voice low and playful. "No need to start a brawl on Starfall."

Azriel grits his teeth, torn between his desire to protect what's his and the knowledge that Mor is right. He takes a deep breath, forcing himself to reign in his emotions. While Azriel briefly exchanges pleasantries with Mor, his mind is consumed by thoughts of you. He can hardly focus on their conversation, his attention drawn inexorably back to where you stand across the room. He can feel his Illyrian instincts surging to the forefront, urging him to claim what's rightfully his. Shadowy tendrils dance around him frantically, pushing, pulling, as if they too wanted him to whisk you away from the other male’s embrace.

Finally having had enough, he excuses himself from Mor's company. Azriel prowls across the room with purposeful strides. His presence alone is enough to send a ripple of unease through the crowd, his menacing aura palpable as he approaches. When he reaches your side, the Fae male dancing with you seems to shrink back in fear, intimidated by the intensity of Azriel's gaze. But Azriel pays him no mind, his attention wholly consumed by you.

His shadows whispering words of possession and desire in his ears, chanting “Beautiful, beautiful” over and over. ”Ours, ours” Azriel can hardly contain the primal urges that surge within him. All he can think about is claiming you, marking you as his own for all the world to see. And as he draws closer, the air crackling with anticipation, he knows that he won't be satisfied until you’re in his arms, where you belong. He just wants to sink his teeth into the soft flesh of your neck. Suppressing a groan, he twirls you around, his hands easily finding their way onto your hips, softly squeezing them while leading the dance.

When the song came to an end, he felt like he was stood in the summer courts afternoon sun again. He needed some fresh air, some more quietness, and he selfishly wanted to be the sole bearer of your company.

By the Cauldron, as you made your way onto the balcony, him trailing behind you a few steps, he silently swore under his breath. Suddenly he was questioning his decision to be alone with you. Again, he asked himself why. Why have the last nine months been such a torture? Why did it feel like there was no oxygen left in his lungs when you and Mor had winnowed away and departed for your mission? And only now could he breathe again, truly breathe. And with every inhale, the scent of sweet lilies and freshly fallen rain assaulted his senses, clawing into the very essence of his being.

Only as you shifted on your feet slightly did he notice that he was straight up staring at you. Shit. As a soft blush made its way onto your cheeks then, he wanted to melt. Did you like the way he looked at you? Had the past nine months felt as maddening for you as they had felt for him? Questions upon questions infiltrated his mind as you looked upon Velaris together. And when you spoke again, wanting, no, needing to tell him something, he felt his stomach drop. Had you found someone on the continent?

When Feyre interrupted you mid-sentence solely by appearing, he didn’t know if he should curse or thank her for the disturbance. But the way your brows furrowed and how the light in your eyes ebbed out a little bit, made him feel a pang in his chest.

He cleared his throat, trying to shake off the sudden tension that had settled between you. And as Feyre excused herself again, he spoke up. "What were you saying?" he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper. He needed to know, needed to hear your words, even if they shattered his heart into a million pieces. You hesitated for a moment, the words caught in your throat as you searched for an excuse, anything to deflect from the truth. "It's nothing," you replied, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach your eyes. "Just... something I've been thinking about lately. But it's not important." A lie.

He studied your expression, a flicker of disappointment crossing his features before he masked it with a small smile of his own. "Alright," he murmured, though he couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to your words than you were letting on. Turning back to Azriel, you couldn't help but notice the way the moonlight danced across his features, casting a soft glow around him that made your heart flutter again.

"You know," he began, breaking the comfortable silence between you, "I never expected to find you here tonight. It's... a pleasant surprise."

You chuckled softly, the sound carrying on the gentle breeze. "Well, it's not every day that we get to celebrate Starfall together," you replied, a hint of warmth in your voice. "I wouldn't miss it for the world." There was hidden meaning in your words that he didn’t fail to miss.

His eyes softened at your words, a silent understanding passing between you. "I'm glad you're here," he murmured, his gaze never leaving yours. "It wouldn't be the same without you."

Wearing a tender smile, Azriel reached out, his fingers lightly brushing against yours. "You look beautiful tonight," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. A soft blush crept onto your cheeks at his compliment, and you couldn't help but return his smile. "Thank you," you replied, your voice filled with sincerity. "You don't look too bad yourself."

He chuckled softly, the sound like music to your ears. "High praise coming from you," he teased, his eyes sparkling with amusement. You laughed, a light and carefree sound that echoed in the night air. "Well, I do have good taste," you quipped, nudging him playfully.

With trembling hands, you reached out to touch him, your fingers grazing lightly against his cheek as you traced the contours of his face. His eyes fluttered closed at your touch, a soft sigh escaping his lips as he leaned into your caress. Every nerve in his body seemed to come alive at your gentle caress, his senses overwhelmed by the intoxicating sensation of your touch. With a shaky breath, he opened his eyes, meeting your gaze with a depth of emotion that words could not express. In that moment, he felt as though he could drown in the ocean of your eyes.

With a tender yet sure touch, Azriel pulled you into his embrace, his arms enveloping you in a cocoon of warmth and safety. The scent of cedar and winter air surrounded you, his presence filling every corner of your senses. Azriel can't help himself, his urge to feel you pressed against him. He had missed you too much, and the way you just looked at him had him questioning why the hell he waited so long to do this. His hazel eyes glint as he lets them roam over your face, examining the gentle curve of your full lips, dipping down to follow the line of revealed skin, ending where your breasts are pressed firmly to his chest. The intensity of his stare sends shivers down your spine, your skin tingling with a delicious combination of desire and longing.

With each passing moment, the space between you seems to shrink, until there is barely a breath of air separating your bodies. You can feel the heat emanating from him, warming you from the inside out. His eyes, darkened with lust, hold you captive, their intensity rendering you speechless. You can't help but shiver under his gaze, your entire being yearning for the touch of his lips against yours.

As he leans in closer, his brows furrowed in concentration, you can't help but tremble under his touch. His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, a subconscious gesture. You feel the gentle pressure of his body against yours, his warmth seeping into your skin as he presses you back against the railing. Unable to contain the rush of emotions coursing through you, a soft whimper escapes your lips. "Azriel." His name leaves you sounding more like a soft whine than anything else. He inhales sharply, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath as he savors the way his name rolls off your tongue. "say it again." he pleads, his voice husky with longing, his grip on you tightening ever so slightly. "Azriel..." You breathe out again. A sinful moan escapes his lips at the sound of his name spoken by you, his head bowing forward as he presses his forehead against yours. Your hands claw at his chest, fisting his shirt.

“Can I kiss you?” Azriel’s voice sounds strained as he asks you. All you can manage is a whimpered “Please.” And that’s all he needs, as if your words just shattered his restraint, he surges forward, capturing your lips with his own. You melt into each other’s touch, lips slanted over another, one of Azriel’s marred hands comes up to cup one of your cheeks, tilting your head back slightly to deepen the kiss. You press into him more, gasping when you feel a muscled thigh lodged between your legs, the friction causing you to shake slightly. Azriel swipes his tongue over your bottom lip then, venturing further as you gasp, tasting you. Both of you, completely tangled into each other, breathe heavily when you part. Only then do you realize that the stars had begun their journey, thousands upon thousands of bright streaks flashing through the sky.

The sparkling light of the falling stars reflected in Azriel’s eyes, making them shine even brighter than they already were. You followed his gaze as you saw his orbs wander to look behind you. The night sky shone with glittering starlight, painting Velaris in a colorful bright hue. In complete and utter awe, you shift slightly, watching the stars make their way to whatever destination. “Breathtaking.” Azriel mumbles huskily and you can’t help but agree. When you turn to face him again, you realize that he was still looking at you. A soft blush makes its way onto your already flushed face.

Azriel was a warrior, the Night Court’s Spymaster and Shadowsinger, he had fought plenty of battles before, always coming out on top and alive. But as he stared at you then, his heart rapidly beating in his chest, he found himself on his knees for the first time, loosing his restraint, loosing his composure. Because when he looked at you then, face bathed in the soft lights of the falling stars, skin flushed and lips swollen, it snapped. And when it did, everything made sense.

His eyes were wide and filled with something you couldn’t quite place. As you feel his lips crashing against yours once more, any words you might have spoken are lost in the fervor of the moment. The intensity of the kiss leaves you breathless, your mind swirling with a heady mixture of desire and adoration.

When you finally break apart, your chests heaving with the effort of controlling your racing hearts, you find yourself lost in the depths of his wide, expressive eyes. There's something in his gaze that speaks volumes, something you can't quite put into words but can feel deep within your soul. "Your face is a work of art," you whisper, the alcohol lending a soft haze to your words. Excitement clouding your head, the compliment spills from your lips. Azriel's features, sharp and defined, seem to glow with an ethereal light in the dimness of the night. His hazel eyes, like pools of molten gold, capture your gaze, drawing you in.

"Yeah?" he hums in response, his hands finding their way to the back of your thighs, pulling you closer to him. The warmth of his touch sends a shiver down your spine, igniting a fire within you that threatens to consume every inch of your being. And when he inhales deeply, the scent of your Arousal hits him with full force and he snarls lowly. "Your legs should frame it then,"

Your breath hitches at his words, eyes widening at what he suggests. Speechless you try to regain your composure. Then, with a coy smile, you lean in closer to him, your lips brushing against his ear as you whisper, "Careful, Azriel. You're playing with fire." The teasing tone in your voice betrays the longing that simmers beneath the surface, aching to be unleashed.

As the flames of desire engulf you both, Azriel's lips part in a husky whisper, his voice dripping with primal need. "I don't mind getting burned," he murmurs, his breath hot against your neck. With a trembling hand, you reach up to cup his cheek, your touch gentle yet filled with an intensity that mirrors the blaze in his eyes. "Then let us burn together," you whisper.

In a raw display of desire, Azriel's demeanor shifts, his jaw clenched with a fierce determination as he gazes at you with narrowed eyes filled with unbridled hunger. Without a word, he lifts you effortlessly into his arms, his hands roaming possessively over your body as he pulls you close. With a soft gasp, you wrap your legs around his hips, feeling the heat of his body against yours as you press closer together. The sensation of his hands wandering to your ass, squeezing firmly, sends a shiver of anticipation coursing through you.

In the blink of an eye, Azriel winnows you away. The world blurs around you, the sensation of movement disorienting yet thrilling. Before you can fully comprehend the transition, you find yourselves standing in the intimate sanctuary of his bedroom. Around you, the air is charged with anticipation, heavy with the promise of what is to come. Azriel's gaze meets yours, smoldering with desire as he sets you down gently on the bed, his hands still lingering on your hips. And as he looks at you then, looking deep into your eyes to search for any hesitation or regret on your part, you speak.

“Claim me.” Your voice is confident and soft. “I’m yours, Mate.”

With a primal growl, Azriel's restraint shatters, consumed by the raw, unbridled desire coursing through his veins. He leans in, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss, a fierce hunger driving his movements. In that moment, there is no holding back, no inhibitions—only the primal instinct to claim you as his own.

☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆●~☆~●~☆~☆~●~☆

I Can't believe it!! What do you guys think? Let's just say Part 3 will be very steamy. I truly hope you enjoyed reading this.

Tag-list:

@impossibelle @paleidiot @tele86 @namelesssaviour @sstrohma @that-one-little-soybean @mybestfriendmademe @durgenyx @shinyghosteclipse @katherinejess

[midnightdahlias]

Sparks of the Apocalypse

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summery - you decide to go visit Bobby but are suprised by a certain stranger word count - 1.7K cws - fem!reader, pure fluff, mentions of violence (if you squint) lmk if i missed anything a/n - hope you enjoy this, sammy my beloved. I apologise for any mistakes, english isn't my first language. BUT I hope you like it either way and again any feedback is appreciated ! as are rebloggs and comments. happy reading !

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Being a hunter sucked sometimes. Scratch that, it sucked most of the time. You were always on the road, bouncing between crappy motels with peeling wallpaper and water pressure so bad you wondered why you even bothered showering. It wasn’t glamorous. But after a long day of getting tossed into walls and dodging claws or teeth, you’d sleep on the hood of your car if it came to that.

Still, there were moments. Rare ones. Like now. When you’d get a break long enough to drive to the only place that ever really felt like home. Bobby’s house.

Bobby Singer was, to put it mildly, a godsend.

Bobby had a reputation among hunters as the go-to guy. Need lore? Call Bobby. Fake supervisor for a cover story? Bobby’s your man. Need someone to vent to? Bobby would listen, grumbling all the while. Over the years, you’d grown close to him. He’d known your parents before you, and when they were busy chasing monsters, he’d looked after you. Bobby was more than just a friend, he was family. You always thought he’d have made a damn good dad. Though in many ways, he already was one.

After a particularly grueling hunt, you decided to head to Bobby’s, you needed more than a beer and a chat. Ever since the apocalypse started, it felt like every supernatural creature had lost its mind. Things were kicking into high gear, leading to longer nights and more close calls in a week than in your entire career. Oddly enough, you thrived under the pressure. Sure, the extra cuts and bruises were annoying, but it was the apocalypse, it was never going to be margaritas on a beach.

As you pulled into Bobby’s driveway, a sense of comfort and relief washed over you. The place always felt safe and welcoming, though you weren’t sure if that was because of the house itself or the man who lived there.

A black Chevrolet Impala sat parked outside, a car you didn’t recognize. Wonder who that belongs to, you thought, but you didn’t dwell on it. All you wanted was to kick your feet up and crack open a cold one.

Knocking on the door, you expected Bobby’s usual grumpy greeting, but today the door creaked open to reveal… definitely not Bobby.

Stood in the doorway was a younger man. The first thing you noticed about him was how tall he was, towering over your smaller frame. His soft hazel eyes caught your attention next, followed by his sharp but delicate features and the semi-long hair brushing just below his jaw. There was no denying it, he was handsome. For a moment, you stood frozen, your words caught in your throat. “Uh, hi. Who are you?” he asked, blinking down at you like he was just as surprised to see you as you were to see him.

You cleared your throat, trying not to stare. “Hey. Is Bobby home?” Not answering his question. ome would call it paranoia, you called it precaution but as good-looking as this stranger was, you weren’t about to share your name with someone you didn’t know.

He tilted his head, clearly debating whether or not to let you in. Before he could answer, Bobby’s familiar grumble echoed from somewhere inside.

“What’s takin’ so long? Who’s at the—oh.” Bobby wheeled into view, his grumpy expression softening when he saw you. “Well, I’ll be damned. Kid, get in here.”

You smiled, stepping inside to hug him. “Miss me?”

“Not really,” Bobby deadpanned, but you caught the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.

“I would’ve called ahead,” you said with a smirk, “but since I never do, I figured why start now?”

Bobby chuckled, shaking his head. “Smartass.’’

Behind him, the tall guy was still standing there, looking amused. And at somepoint during your greating with Bobby, a second guy had appeared. He was shorter than the other, he also had green eyes and a cocky smirk. Great, you thought. Who are these guys?

“Who’s this?” the newcomer asked.

“This,” Bobby said, gesturing to you, “is one of the best damn hunters I know. And a lot more sensible than you two idjits, I’ll tell ya that much. Sam, shut the door before we all catch pneumonia.”

Sam.

You’d heard that name tossed around a lot lately, along with his brother’s. Hunters and monsters alike seemed to have plenty to say about the Winchester brothers, especially Sam, none of it good. But standing here now, looking at Sam, he didn’t seem dangerous or evil, just tired. Hurt, even. But as your eyes caught his, there was something else there aswell, something you couldn’t quite place.

Bobby’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. “Sit down, kid. Beer’s in the fridge. You look like you’ve been through hell.”

“Feels like it, too,” you muttered, plopping down on the couch.

Over beers in Bobby’s living room, the four of you swapped stories. Dean was charismatic, cracking jokes as he recounted close calls from past hunts. Sam, though quieter, was kind and insightful. You caught yourself glancing at him more often than you intended, and each time, you found his eyes already on you.

When Bobby suggested ordering food, you volunteered to cook instead. It was rare to get the chance to make a proper meal, and you weren’t about to pass it up. Bobby’s kitchen wasn’t exactly stocked, so a quick trip to the store had been necessary, but you didn’t mind so much, you liked cooking, it gave you a sense of calm.

You were halfway through chopping vegetables when you heard a soft voice behind you.

“Need a hand?”

You turned to see Sam hovering in the doorway, hands shoved in his pockets, a small smile tugging at his lips, looking almost… shy?

“Sure,” you said, handing him a knife and some vegetables.

You worked side by side, exchanging small talk to fill the silence. Normally, you were confident around men, but something about Sam made you nervous, in a good way. A different kind of nervous than the one you’d expect to feel around someone who’d let Lucifer out of his cage. His presence was calming, his smile disarming.

When your hands brushed as he passed you the cutting board, you froze. The touch was light, fleeting, but it sent a jolt through you like static electricity. Your breath hitched as a faint blush crept over your cheeks, but you quickly turned back to the stove, hoping to shake the feeling. What the hell is wrong with me? you thought, trying to push it all down. You weren’t usually this affected by anyone, let alone someone you’d just met.

Unbeknownst to you, Sam was just as affected. Behind you, he stood just as still, his heart thudding in his chest, the ghost of a smile playing at his lips.

From the moment he opened the door, he’d felt drawn to you. The way you spoke, the warmth in your laugh—it all felt oddly familiar, like you belonged here.

In the next room, Dean leaned back in his chair, clearly enjoying the show. He nudged Bobby with a grin. Not even trying to hide his amusement.

“You seeing this?” he whispered, nodding toward the kitchen.

Bobby shot him a lookover his glass of whiskey. “They’re like a couple of deer caught in headlights,” he muttered. “Painful.”

Dean chuckled under his breath. “Think we should do something? You know, give ’em a little push?”

“Hell no,” Bobby said, shaking his head. “This is the most entertainment I’ve had in weeks.

Back in the kitchen, you worked in tense silence, trying to ignore the fact that you could feel Sam’s eyes on you. Every time you glanced up, there he was, watching you with an intensity that sent another wave of warmth crawling up your neck.

Normally, being stared at like that would’ve set you on edge, but Sam’s gaze wasn’t threatening. There was something soft about it, it was sweet, and that made it so much worse.

He cleared his throat suddenly, snapping you out of your thoughts. “Uh…anything else you need help with?”

His voice was low, gentle, and it only made your heart trip over itself again. You turned to him, forcing a casual smile despite the fluttering in your chest. “Nope, I think I’ve got it from here. Thanks, though.”

“Right. Yeah. Sure,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck.

It was such a small, awkward exchange, but it left you rattled. You found yourself hyperaware of every move he made, the way he leaned against the counter, the way his hair fell in his eyes when he glanced down.

And Sam? He wasn’t faring any better. The sound of your voice, the way your lips curved when you smiled, it was like you’d bewitched him without even trying. Though he wasn’t about to start complaining

In the next room, Bobby and Dean exchanged another knowing look.

“Think they’ll figure it out on their own?” Dean asked.

Bobby took a long sip of his drink before answering. “Doubt it. But watching ’em try sure is entertaining.”

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masterlist

[hongjoongspoetry]

Esther!? 😭🥹

I don't even know where to start or how to thank you?! Thank you so much for showing your support and love throughout the entirety of March (and also on my other content)! I'm so happy and grateful that you enjoyed the event, and I'm so happy they brought you joy 🥹🩷

Personally speaking, I looked forward to hearing your thoughts for each and every instalment as you really showed a big interest in those fics when we first announced event, and I can say, you really never failed to bring a smile to my face with your words and reactions images. I read through your reblogs with a warm heart and even now, days later, I find myself re-reading them because they truly bring me so much joy. Just the thought that someone appreciates my works that much 🩷

Again, thank you so much for reading our works, sharing your thoughts and being one of the kindest (if not the kindest) friend on this app 🩷 I truly wish you all the happiness, love and luck in the world!

✨To my dearest:

Mina @hongjoongspoetry and Ariadné @bvidzsoo Now that the Cherry Blossom March event is over (😩😭) I just wanted to say thank you for this beautiful event🌸💓 I’ve enjoyed every second of this event and reading every single one shot you two have written have honestly been the highlights of my days💕 It's very noticeable that you two have had so much fun working on this because it really shows in every piece which has been planned and written with so much creativity and passion💓 The both of you deserve all the love you've receiving and more! Just once again thank you for creating such a beautiful event and sharing your work with all of us🥺🫶🏻💓

[lelengerine]

pairing. haechan x reader

synopsis. under the light of a lamp post, maybe love isn't so lonely after all

genre. mentions of bruises, a lot of mixed signals from hyuck + comfort (it's a little messy ngl), cussing, friends to ???, no specific pronouns used, not proofread, lmk if there's anything i missed!

wc. 1.9k words

notes. hilu…! i’ve finally gained motivation again hehe so u can say i'm back somewhat :> it really does feel nice writing again TT likes and feedback are highly appreciated <3

m.list

you trudged along the dimly lit sidewalk, each step amplifying the dull ache in your heels. it had been a long night of forced smiles and polite conversation—your third blind date this month. the universe seemed to be testing your patience, and you were beginning to wonder if you had any left. the conversations felt hollow, the people you met like fleeting shadows, their words empty and their intentions hidden behind a facade of politeness. tonight's date was no different—another self-absorbed narcissist who only paused his monologue long enough to take a breath before launching into yet another tedious story about himself.

you were utterly sick and tired.

the vibrant atmosphere of bars and the energetic crowd you once thought would lift your spirits now felt suffocating, leaving you more alone and out of place than ever. it was a sharp contrast to the hope you had felt earlier in the evening, and the reality of your disappointment weighed heavily on you.

your feet throbbed, bruised from the heels you'd worn in a futile attempt to feel confident and put together. the bitter taste of the evening lingered, a reminder of yet another failed attempt to find something meaningful to cling on for a while. desperate for some relief, you stumbled toward the nearest convenience store, drawn by the promise of fluorescent lights and the comfort of solitude. the harsh glow overhead made the aisles feel cold and unwelcoming, but you ignored it, grabbing a pack of band-aids from the counter as if they could somehow patch up more than just the blisters on your feet.

as you reached for your wallet, a familiar hand appeared beside yours, placing a few cups of instant ramen down alongside your purchase. the sight of him made your heart lift, even in your weary state.

“rough night?” his voice was gentle, laced with concern as he paid for the items. you looked up, meeting haechan’s gaze, and despite everything, you felt a small spark of comfort.

“do i even need to answer that question, hyuck?” you replied with a soft, tired chuckle. you tried to keep it light, but the exhaustion was evident in your eyes, in the way your shoulders sagged under the weight of the night.

“is it a crime to ask questions of concern in this day and age?” he retorted with a smirk, though his eyes softened as he took in your worn expression.

“i’m afraid so,” you teased back, though your smile was faint.

haechan snickered quietly, taking the paper bag of paid goods from the cashier. he gestured for you to follow him outside, and you gratefully accepted, the cool night air a welcome change from the stifling atmosphere of the date you had just escaped. as you both walked to a nearby bench, you couldn’t help but notice how his presence grounded you, making you feel a little less lost.

sitting down, haechan reached into the bag and pulled out the pack of band-aids, his movements careful and deliberate. it was such a simple gesture, but it felt like a lifeline in the sea of disappointment you were drowning in.

“so, why the long face?” he asked, his tone genuinely curious as he began to unwrap one of the band-aids.

“shitty date,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. you watched as he gently lifted your foot onto his lap despite your initial reluctance. his touch was surprisingly tender, the soft glow of the nearby lamp post highlighting his features in a way that made him seem almost ethereal. somehow, the thought was enough to distract you from the sting of the evening’s failures.

haechan’s expression softened even more as he worked, his gaze focused solely on you. “i told you not to go on those anymore,” he said, a hint of reproach in his voice.

“i know,” you admitted, feeling a mix of gratitude and guilt. his touch was soothing, and with each carefully applied band-aid, the pain in your feet seemed to fade, though the ache in your heart lingered.

“there are really creepy guys out there, you know? i don’t know what i’d do if—”

“hyuck,” you interrupted, your tone more serious than before, “you’re making it sound like you’d beat them up without hesitation.”

“i would… for you,” he replied quietly before glancing up at you, his eyes reflecting a mix of affection and concern. “how are you even going to defend yourself? look at you!”

“you care too much,” you said, a hint of a smile on your lips, though your voice betrayed how much his words meant to you.

“i care the right amount,” he countered, his voice steady but filled with warmth.

“no one else would put on bandages for me aside from you,” you confessed, feeling a pang of vulnerability as you spoke. it was true—people often tiptoed around boundaries, but with him, those lines always seemed to blur in a way that allowed for solace and confusion to swirl up within you.

“then maybe everyone else should learn from me,” haechan said with a small, triumphant grin, though his eyes remained serious.

“hyuck,” you began, hesitating as you tried to gather the courage to voice the thoughts that had been gnawing at you. he let out a small hum to let you know he was listening, busying himself with peeling another band-aid out of its packaging. “please tell me if you only mean to lead me on.”

his expression shifted to one of shock and bewilderment, his hands freezing in place. “how did you even come to a conclusion like that?”

“i know you’re probably just being a good person, but… you care for me more than others do. you make me feel special, like i have a place in your heart—even if i know that isn’t truly the case and i’m only being hopeful.”

haechan’s eyes searched yours, and for a moment, the world seemed to pause. “you think that’s all this is?” he asked softly.

“then why does it feel like we’re always dancing around something?”

haechan’s gaze was steady, his hand resting gently on yours. “maybe we are. but if there’s one thing i’ve learned, it’s that love isn’t always easy or straightforward. sometimes, it’s about finding comfort in the moments when you’re together, despite the uncertainties.”

as the night deepened, the air between you both seemed to shift. the loneliness that had weighed so heavily on you earlier began to recede, replaced by a quiet connection that felt more real than any conversation you’d had in recent weeks. haechan’s presence was a comforting reminder that, amidst the loneliness and the search for something meaningful, you had found a spark of something genuine.

with a soft sigh, you leaned closer to him, finding solace in his proximity. “maybe love is lonely sometimes,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, “but tonight, i’m just glad it’s not so lonely with you here.”

“me too.”

[megalony]

Late Night Fights

This is an Eddie Diaz imagine based on a few requests I've combined together. I hope you will all like it, feedback is always lovely.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem@sj-thefanthefan@hellsdragon@im-an-adult-ish@crazylittlethingg@allauraleigh@onceuponadetectivedemigod@ceres27@avyannadawn@noonenuts@sleepylunarwolf@coverupps@justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @topguncultleader @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyjen @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream

911 Masterlist

Summary: A rough day for everyone only gets worse when Eddie comes home in bruises and an argument stresses (Y/n) and the baby out.

Enjoy.

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Tilting her head up, (Y/n) smiled gratefully when Eddie placed a cup of coffee down in front of her. She leaned to the right and let her head fall on his arm that was resting on the back of her chair and she felt him lean down to kiss the top of her hair.

"Are you actually going to eat before we leave?" He mumbled each word against the top of her head while he moved his free hand to rest on her shoulder.

Eddie was up, showered, dressed and had already had breakfast, all that was left was for (Y/n) and Chris to eat and then they would all be ready to go. But he could see (Y/n) had a full bowl of cereal in front of her that she had barely touched. Whereas Chris was munching his way through his usual rainbow hoops he had almost every day.

"M'not hungry,"

"We're not going unless you eat something," Eddie rose a brow when (Y/n) tilted her head back on his arm and glared up at him. "I'm serious. Remember last time? I'm not doing another emergency stop because you've fainted and whacked your head on the window. Eat."

He watched the way (Y/n) rolled her lips together and averted her eyes down to his chest, unable to keep the eye contact when she knew he was right.

They were going to be in the car for over an hour to get to the fayre and (Y/n) got car sick. If she ate before they left, it would at least settle her stomach and the baby and make her feel a little bit better. The last time they were taking a long car drive, (Y/n) didn't feel well enough for breakfast. One moment she had been telling Eddie she felt sick, then the next he had to brake hard when she fainted and fell against the door.

He could still hear the way (Y/n)'s head slammed into the window, he truly thought she had split her head open when her body bounced back and flailed into his arm.

Eddie wasn't having that memory repeat itself today.

"Bossy," (Y/n) spoke under her breath while a grin crept onto her lips.

When she turned her head back towards the table, her lips parted and her chest burst with adrenaline when she felt Eddie's fingers cup her chin. His thumb brushed across her jaw and his fingers pressed beneath her chin so he could tilt her head so she was looking at him as he crouched down beside her.

"What was that?" His eyebrows raised high and the way he pursed his lips showed he was trying to distort a smile.

He knew what effect he had on her when he stroked his thumb across her bottom lip and gave it a slight pinch.

"Baby. I called you baby," (Y/n) leaned forward, brushing her chin against his wrist so she could reach out and cup his face in her hands and pull him in for a searing kiss. Her fingertips tapped against his skin and left tingling sparks in her wake while she sucked his lower lip between hers, trying her best to wind him up but keep him sweet.

"Did you?" His breath fanned against her lips and (Y/n) could feel how breathless he was, panting against her, his lips so close but barely touching. "I could have sworn you called me bossy."

He leaned forward to kiss her again and moved his hand round to cup the back of her neck. Until he felt something splash against his cheek and his eyes snapped open and a gasp left his lips.

Chris giggled, shrinking down in his seat when his dad's gaze fixed on him after he flicked his spoon at them, splattering them both with droplets of milk from his cereal bowl. He could see his dad was about to stand up and come over to him either to tickle him or tease him in some way, but just as Eddie stood up, his phone started to ring in his back pocket.

"Saved by the bell," He pointed a finger menacingly at Chris and mumbled 'it's Bobby' into (Y/n)'s hair as he kissed her temple again before he wandered into the kitchen.

Propping her head up on her hand, (Y/n) looked back down at her cereal which looked as unappealing as ever. But she figured Eddie was right, she really needed to eat something and if she left the cereal much longer it would go soggy and she wouldn't touch it. She managed three mouthfuls that all felt like stones settling in the pit of her stomach before her eyes locked on Eddie when he walked back into the dining room.

He looked pale. He was swirling his phone around in circles between his fingers and his free hand was opening and closing into a fist like he was stretching out his fingers.

Something was wrong.

"Everything okay?"

He started to tap his phone against his other palm and the action made (Y/n) tense and sit up straighter in her chair. Had something happened down at the station? Was everyone alright?

"I uh… I gotta go to work."

"What?" A shiver rolled down (Y/n)'s spine and she couldn't stop herself from looking across the table at Chris.

They were supposed to be going out to the fayre today. A long drive out of town. Amusement rides. Games. Dinner. The plan wasn't going to work out very well if Eddie couldn't go with them. It was a family day, not a mother and son day which was very different and not planned out yet.

Chris didn't do well with change. Routines were everything and they made a point never to tell Chris about plans they made unless they were one hundred percent certain the plans would work out. If they told Chris they were going to the park on a certain day, that was what would happen come rain or shine, they would be at the park.

Ruined or changed plans meant the day shifted. Chris had gotten himself happy and geared up for this, if they spent the day at home he would be at a loss for what to do and it would set him right off balance.

"We're going out." Chris dropped his spoon into his half empty bowl and stared up at his dad with a crinkling nose and tightly pressed lips. It was more of a demand than a question or a statement. They were supposed to be going out. Now. What would of happened if they had already been in the car on their way to the fayre? Couldn't they just get in the car now and go?

Eddie slipped his phone back into his pocket and leaned one hand on the back of (Y/n)'s chair while the other hand ran up and down his freshly shaved jaw.

"Buddy I… I know and I'm sorry, but I'm on call this week. Hen is off sick so I have to go in and cover the shift."

He felt (Y/n)'s hand move to rub over his lower back and when she leaned her temple against his waist, he moved his hand to grip her shoulder.

The thought of being on call had slipped Eddie's mind completely. They had today planned for over a week and told Chris three days ago what the plans were. It wasn't very often that anyone on call usually had to go into shift. When someone rang in sick, they called round other workers to see if anyone wanted overtime and if they didn't, then the last resort was whoever was on call that week. Half the time Eddie got an extra fifty bucks just for being on call and he never had to go on shift.

Until today.

"No."

"Chris I don't have a choice, buddy I'm really sorry. I'll make it up to you, we can go tomorrow-"

"No!"

He didn't want to go tomorrow. He didn't want to go next week. Chris wanted to go today, like they planned, as they should do. He had barely slept last night, waiting in anticipation to get up and get ready to go out. He had been excited for the past few days waiting to go out today and now they weren't going.

And he knew (Y/n) couldn't take him on her own because she was pregnant so even if they went, they couldn't go on any of the rides together. The rides were something Chris and Eddie always did together while (Y/n) would watch and take photos for them. Chris wanted Eddie to go, he wanted a family day out with both his parents.

A jolt ran down (Y/n)'s spine and she jumped back in her chair when Chris slammed his hands down on the table. She wasn't sure whether it was intentional or not, but one of his hands hit the cereal bowl and sent it rolling into the middle of the table. The spoon flew through the air and clattered onto the floor, a sheet of milk spread across the wooden table along with multicoloured hoops that scattered all across the table and the floor.

(Y/n) tilted her head down and took a shallow breath while Eddie took a step back and shook his arms out at his sides to fling off the milk that sprayed all over his front.

"Christopher sit down please."

Using the table as leverage, (Y/n) pushed up to her feet and hovered one hand on Eddie's shoulder as she walked in front of him to try and go to Chris. She could feel Eddie's hands hovering over her waist as she reached out to take Chris's hand when he scrambled down from the table and went to run away.

"Baby please its-" As soon as (Y/n)'s hand curled around Chris's upper arm, he flung himself around at her and screamed. He slapped her hand away and dropped down to the floor on his bum, kicking his feet out at her to get her to leave him alone.

He didn't want touch. He didn't want comfort or promises or words to soothe him. He wanted to scream, hit, thrash and knock down everything in his path until the world felt like it was going in the right direction again and everything was back to how it should be. What was he supposed to do now? His day was ruined, he wasn't going out where he wanted to go and he wouldn't be with both his parents. For the rest of the day, possibly the rest of the week, all Chris was going to think about was the fact that today was ruined and he didn't get to go out.

That was going to be his focus whether he wanted it to be or not.

When his foot lashed out into her leg, (Y/n) stepped back into Eddie and leaned her hips against the table. This was going to be (Y/n)'s day in a nutshell when Eddie left for work.

She could feel Eddie's lips press to the back of her head and his hands squeezed her hips tightly so he could turn her to the side and move in front of her towards Chris. He watched for a few seconds as their son thrashed on the floor, slamming his heels into the floor and bashing his palms down until they were going to be inflamed and throbbing.

"Go to your room."

"Go away! Get off. Go away!" His face was as red as a tomato and his cheeks puffed out with each ragged, deep breath he took to try and fuel the anger burning within him. Chris could barely breathe with how badly he kept thrashing and fidgeting and a very loud scream left his lips as his glasses fell off the bridge of his nose and hung around his neck.

His hands clenched into small fists and he bashed them into Eddie's arms when Eddie leaned over him and gripped his sides beneath his armpits.

With a deep breath and a clenched jaw, Eddie hoisted Chris up to his feet and nudged him towards the corridor. He knew the rules. If he wanted to behave like this and have a meltdown then he had to go to his room. They understood he couldn't control they way he felt and the way certain changes upset him and a meltdown was Chris's way of releasing those feelings.

Mostly Chris would scream. He would scream and wave his hands or throw himself onto the floor, and then he would spend the next hour or so calming down and trying to level himself back out. But more recently his meltdowns were progressing to hitting. He would hit the walls- not punch, but slam his palm into the wall, he would sit on the floor and bash his hands down. Sometimes he would hit himself if he was very worked up.

If he had to do that, he needed to be in his room. He had toys he could throw and a bed he could toss himself onto and thrash around on because it was soft and safe so he wouldn't hurt himself.

"Go to your room." Eddie kept his tone level and his expression placid and stoic because the last thing either of them needed was to get into a screaming match.

He let go of Chris and stepped back, pointing towards the hallway until Chris screamed and turned around to leave. As he shuffled down the hall, he spread his arms out like wings and bashed his hands into the walls. Not enough to do any damage like Eddie had done in the past, but enough to make an echo vibrate in his wake.

"It's not your fault," Reaching up, (Y/n) curled her arms around Eddie's shoulders and pressed her lips against his shoulder, moulding her rounded stomach into his lower back. She could feel him shaking from the tension coursing through him and each breath he took started to run away from him.

It couldn't be helped. They should have remembered Eddie was on call this week and changed their day out to next week when there was no chance of bumps in the road happening like this.

Her lips moved from his shoulder to smother the side of his neck when he reached his hands up and gripped her wrists tightly, as if making sure she wasn't about to let go. Eddie tilted his head to the right, leaning his cheek on top of (Y/n)'s head as he stared down the corridor, shuddering when they both heard Chris's door slam closed.

"I can't leave when he's like this,"

"I'll sort him out, you go get ready for work. He'll calm down in a bit."

"It's only a twelve hour shift, I'll be back tonight."

By the time Eddie walked out the front door, (Y/n) could no longer hear Chris screaming or throwing things around his room. She decided it might be safe to go in and see if he wanted to talk yet.

"Baby, can I come in?"

(Y/n) gingerly opened the door and peeked her head round to see the damage and see where Chris was. All the soft toys were out of their box and strewn about on the bed which was a little odd. The race cars, fire trucks and harder toys were scattered across the floor, none of them looked broken but most looked like they had been in a traffic accident. Turned upside down with wheels still spinning.

And then there was Chris, curled up in the middle of his bed. Arms coiled into his chest, knees up to his stomach as he laid on his side with his back to the door. Even from the distance, (Y/n) could see his shoulders quaking and she noticed the deep breaths he was trying to take. The meltdown either wasn't quite finished or it hadn't worn off yet.

"Baby…" (Y/n) slowly slumped herself down onto the bed behind him and leaned up against the headboard. Her arm curved around the top of his head and she placed her other hand on his arm, testing the waters to see if physical touch was okay or not. "Are you okay?"

For a few seconds, Chris didn't answer or acknowledge that she was even in the room with him. But then he slowly flopped over onto his back and then he flipped again so he was laid on his other side, facing her.

He stretched an arm out and laid it across (Y/n)'s waist before he gingerly shuffled closer until he could bury his face into her chest. She didn't miss the way he huffed and shimmied against her stomach. Chris wasn't a fan of her being pregnant. He wasn't yet accustomed to the idea of having a sibling in the house or the thought of sharing his parents with someone else. And he did not like (Y/n)'s stomach changing because he couldn't hug her properly now with a six-month bump in the way.

"Dad gone?"

"Yeah, he's gone to work." (Y/n) leaned down and kissed his temple and slowly started to drag her fingers through his curls, brushing them back in a way she knew always made Chris calm down.

It felt like Chris wanted to say something more but he wasn't in the mood to talk yet. He nuzzled his face further into her shirt and wiggled around her stomach to cuddle as close as he could. (Y/n) had a knowing feeling that another meltdown was going to happen at some point during the day, Chris was going to explode again at some point.

But for now, they would stay like this until he wanted to move or fall asleep.

***

Eddie didn't bother to turn the lights on when he walked through the front door. He could walk the house blindfolded. He kicked off his shoes, feeling the soles of his feet burning from having almost no time to sit down today.

He did his best to pad across the floor as quietly as he could. It was midnight and he didn't want to disturb Chris if he was finally asleep and the last thing he wanted to do was wake (Y/n). Every muscle in Eddie's body ached as he trudged across into the kitchen and finally turned the light on, wincing at how bright it was when he had driven home on the dimly lit streets.

Reaching the kitchen side, Eddie slumped one arm down on the counter, supressing a groan as he stretched up into the top cupboard to grab the first aid box.

It was times like these when he regretted what he had done tonight.

Going to a fight after shift wasn't planned, Eddie didn't go to work with the intention of stopping off at one of the late fighting rings on the way home from work. But one of his old pals from the fights had sent him a message, like he did every few weeks when they had a big match going on.

After the horrid shift he had just been on where two people had died and the team had spent all day at a crash site, Eddie didn't want to go home feeling the way he did. It was the last thing he needed, to go home with a fire burning in his gut and pain coursing through his blood. It wouldn't be fair to his family to take that torment home with him.

That message seemed to pop up at just the right time and Eddie found himself turning off and heading straight there on his way home.

He carefully laid the aqua blue box down in front of him and clicked it open with a grimace.

Pulling back, he took a deep breath, grabbed the hem of his shirt and rolled it up. Spit foamed past his lips as he hissed and growled when he tore the shirt over his head and dropped it to the floor.

"Fuck."

He didn't realise he had been messed up this badly. At least he won the fight.

Deep red circles mixed in with pale yellow and baby pink marks were painted across the right side of Eddie's chest just beneath his armpit and the colours curved around to his abs. There was a smaller, lesser mark on the lower left part of his ribcage. A burning crimson and purple mark was swelling on his right arm right in the centre of his bicep, a foot down from his shoulder.

He had a jagged purple line stretching from his collar bone up to his neck and when Eddie looked down at his knuckles, he winced. Swollen, cherry purple, lathered in dried blood. And he didn't have to touch his right cheekbone to know it was starting to swell.

He wouldn't be able to hide this from his wife.

Eddie didn't sleep in a shirt, (Y/n) would become suspicious if he did. The markings on his chest he might just get away with by saying they happened on the job, it had been a rough shift. But when she saw his busted knuckles she was going to know something had happened. She wasn't stupid or naïve.

He did his best to be quiet as he grabbed a dish cloth and soaked it under the cold tap before he pinned it against his chest beneath his arm, biting down on his tongue to stop from groaning when icy shivers sparked through his nerves.

Anticeptic wipes cleansed his knuckles and revealed mostly bruises rather than cuts, Thank God. The cream made him groan and made each sting and ache triple and his body started to throb when he lathered each bruise in as much cream as he could. He needed these marks to disappear as fast as possible.

"Baby?" Tiredness dripped from (Y/n)'s voice as she slowly shuffled down the corridor, one hand on her lower back and the other rubbing her eyes to try and keep them open.

She had been half asleep, about to drift off when she heard the front door open and close. (Y/n) never slept well without Eddie beside her.

Eddie spun round on his heels as his jaw dropped open and his eyes swelled with panic. What was she doing awake at this hour? He didn't even hear the bedroom door open. He thought he was safer patching himself up in the kitchen rather than the bathroom that was right next to their bedroom.

His mind short-circuited and he became momentairily distracted when his eyes landed on his wife as she rounded the corner into the kitchen. He raked his eyes up and down, unable to stop from licking his lips when he drank her in. She wasn't wearing a shirt. She was wearing a black bra and a pair of his black pyjama shorts that hung low on her hips, tucked beneath her bump that was on full display.

But Eddie snapped back to reality when (Y/n)'s smile faded and her eyes widened. She hurried forward and planted her hands down on his neck, tilting his head down towards her as her frantic, worried eyes did three sweeps up and down over his body.

"What happened?!"

The cold cloth dropped to the floor when Eddie lifted his arms and gently cupped her wrists. His thumbs brushed across her flushed skin and he tried to smile, leaning forward to peck her lips but it didn't distract her nearly enough as he'd hoped.

She shook her hands from his grasp and trailed her fingertips along each bruise and mark on his skin, tensing when he flinched or growled at the tender spots.

"It's nothing mi amor. It's late, let's go to bed."

"Eddie, what have you been doing? Baby you're black and blue, tell me."

He could feel the way her fingertips started to shake against him and she stepped closer to observe his marks and tender wounds. She wouldn't let him hold her hands or try to move them both away from the kitchen. He wasn't getting out of this conversation no matter how hard he tried.

"I'm fine," His fingers cupped her chin and he tilted her head up, capturing her lips in a kiss and swallowing the gasp she let out. He could almost feel her resolve fading when his hand moved to cup the side of her face and he kissed her deeper. But then he felt her palms pressing into his chest, nudging him back so she could come up for air.

"You've been at the fights again, haven't you?" Apprehension flooded (Y/n)'s voice as she took a tentative step back to add some distance between them so Eddie couldn't try and distract her again.

He didn't need to speak, his face said it all.

"Why?" (Y/n) let herself lean against the counter while her hand moved to clamp down on her hip, squeezing tightly to try and help control her tone and keep her voice quiet. It had taken her over two hours to get Chris to sleep, she didn't want to wake him by arguing with Eddie.

"You know why. I feel better when I fight, I don't come home angry or… or feeling like I need to explode. It's not a big deal."

"It's… Eddie look at yourself, how is that not a big deal?" Her hand left her hip and waved across at him to try and prove her point. How could he stand there and pretend this was nothing but a little brawl outside a club that ended with a few scratches? He was bloodied and bruised, he was in pain. This was a very big deal to (Y/n).

"It's a few bruises, baby. I can handle this, look I'm okay. I get worse on bad day at work." He went to take a step closer to her, his hands stretched out in front of him but he stopped when (Y/n)'s jaw locked and both her hands moved to her hips.

"That's not the point and you know it."

"Look, you never had a problem with it before. If I remember right, you came to at least three of my fights so why is this any different?"

Eddie let his hips fall back against the counter and he folded his arms across his chest, puncturing his teeth into his lower lip to hide the grimace he felt when his arms rubbed his sore chest. His jaw set tight and his eyes narrowed on his wife as he waited for an answer.

When he started out at the fights in the parking lots, Eddie had (Y/n) standing behind him, watching and praising him and having her there pushed him to win. He loved those nights when (Y/n) came along with him, he loved having her in his corner and seeing her smile when he came out on top. But she never came to the darker fights. The indoor ones in a closed gym under headlamps. Eddie wouldn't take her to those even if he always looked around for her face when he won.

He didn't want her there around those people. Eddie trusted them in a fight, but he wouldn't trust anyone there out of the ring.

He didn't like the way (Y/n) scoffed as if he'd just told her a silly joke that didn't make sense or as if he'd just lied to her face.

And he found himself tensing and taking a deeper breath when he watched her jut her hip out and switch her weight to the other leg. Her left hand curled around the countertop but Eddie's eyes focused on her other hand that was running along her stomach. She was distracting him even if she didn't mean to.

"I didn't have a problem with you fighting for fun but I have a big problem with you fighting illegally for money. What if the next guy you knock out isn't as lucky as the last one? Will you stay and give medical help or do CPR until they put you in cuffs?"

(Y/n) may not have been to any of Eddie's illegal fights, but when he came home he always told her about them. He told her about the last one that happened four months ago which happened to be the reason he stopped going to those fights.

The man Eddie fought had taken too much of a beating. Eddie broke his nose so violently his cartilage shattered and he began to choke. No one was pleased when Eddie called for an ambulance and took the broken fragments out the man's throat and left him in the recovery position. He knew he had taken things too far that night, he should have stopped himself but he didn't want to and Eddie couldn't do that again.

He cracked tonight when he got the message but he held himself back, he won the fight but he did it safely, he didn't pummel his opponent almost to death.

"That wouldn't happen-"

"You don't know that Eddie! You didn't think you'd fight so hard you would break a guy's nose last time but that happened."

(Y/n) tilted her head back and let a shuddering breath escape past her lips. He wasn't seeing this from her point of view. It was all well and good if he went fighting for fun or to release some energy and stress, (Y/n) would never judge him for that and she knew her husband was a good fighter. But this wasn't right. Eddie was fighting somewhere unsafe where they had no rules and no one would help if someone got seriously hurt.

"I won't make that mistake again." His tone lowered down into a deep growl as he braced his hands on each side of the kitchen counter and hunched forward with tense shoulders.

"What if you're the one to get hurt next?" (Y/n)'s hand tightened around the counter when her stomach suddenly twisted.

She clicked her spine into place and tilted to the side a little to try and relieve the tension building up in her stomach that made her want to be sick. She could feel her breaths running away from her and the more Eddie argued with her, the more anxious she could feel herself becoming.

Her lips pressed together into a thin line and she started to press her palm harder against the lower side of her abdomen to try and settle the baby and the growing sickness she was feeling.

"I haven't lost one yet. I know what I'm doing, baby." The way he said her name made a shiver roll down (Y/n)'s spine and another jolt sparked through her stomach. She could see his fingers tightening around the counter tops and he arched forward until he was pushing his weight onto his hands and his feet were barely touching the floor.

"And so do they. They don't give a shit how badly you get hurt and if it was you that got knocked out they'd leave you there, for dead. They might not have families to go home to, but you do Eddie. I'm not raising two kids by myself."

(Y/n) could feel the blood rushing to her head as she spoke and shivers coursed beneath her skin that was prickling with goosebumps. The other people he fought against might not care about the people waiting at home for them, but that wasn't the case for Eddie. He had a family and (Y/n) didn't like the risk he was taking. If someone hurt Eddie badly, who there would call the emergency services for him? What if they left him and no one got to him in time? What if the police turned up and he got arrested?

She had those kind of worries already with the job Eddie did but at least (Y/n) knew when he was at the station, he was looked after. If anything ever happened to Eddie on the job, he had the team there to give him the best chance and watch his back and look out for him.

He didn't have that when he was fighting.

Eddie swallowed down the groan that burned at the back of his throat and dropped his weight back down to his feet. He turned around and moved over to the sink, rinsing his knuckles under the cold water to try and clean them and turn them numb for a while. Anything to distract him from this conversation that was turning into an argument.

"Nobody said you'd raise them alone," He whispered the words under his breath but he knew (Y/n) heard him when he heard her move. "I always come home to you, don't I?"

"That's not a guarantee!" (Y/n) snapped her jaw like that of a crocodile and hissed the words through clenched teeth. "You can't promise me that, not when you're risking your life with the team. And you can't guarantee you'll be fine when you're fighting in that ring. It's…"

A sigh passed through Eddie's lips and he turned off the tap, shaking his trembling hands in the sink as he pressed his lips into a thin line when he waited but (Y/n) didn't carry on talking. He reached across and grabbed the tea towel, roughly tossing it between his hands but when he turned on his heels to look over at his wife, his chest tightened. His stomach tensed and his brows narrowed as he took in her state.

(Y/n) was slumped forward, one arm folded on the counter and one leg bent forward so her lower back and bum were arched out. In any other situation Eddie would have smirked at the way she was stood but he could feel the panic dwelling in the pit of his stomach when (Y/n) pressed her forehead down into her arm.

He didn't get to say a word before (Y/n) groaned against the counter and he realised her other hand was cradling her bare stomach.

"Mi amor what's wrong?"

Advancing over to her, Eddie flopped his right arm on the counter so he could crouch over her and his other hand rested on her lower back just above the hem of her shorts. His upper lip curled when (Y/n) turned her head to face the other way and she pulled away from him and tried to shake his hand off her back.

"You're stressing me out!" (Y/n) reached her hand out and slapped his arm away before she turned her back to him and tried to straighten up.

Her hand moved to brush beneath her eyes, swiping away the tears starting to fall down the bridge of her nose. And her other hand stayed against her stomach, applying pressure as she rubbed circles into her skin to try and take away the twinging pains.

Deep breaths didn't take away the light-headed feeling or calm down the panic that was coursing through her blood and making her fingertips turn numb.

(Y/n) tipped her head back and closed her eyes as she sniffed, trying her best not to cry but it wasn't working. Her stomach was really starting to hurt now. Her fingernails pinched into her stomach to try and distract herself and when she felt Eddie's hands on her arms and his chest mould up against her back, she fought in vain to shake him off but she didn't have the energy.

He only became persistent, moving his hands down from her arms to hold her hips tightly so she couldn't push him away.

"Baby go sit down,"

"This is your fault." Her words made Eddie wince and he thought she was about to push him away but she didn't seem to know what she wanted to do. Her hand moved back and settled on his lower arm, gripping ferociously tight while her other hand stayed cupping her stomach and her chin pressed down into her chest.

"I know, I know and I'm sorry baby. I'm sorry," He whispered each word against the side of (Y/n)'s head as he gently nudged her to walk and guided her out of the kitchen, towards the living room that was basked in darkness.

He turned her round and helped her slump down onto the sofa and he hated the way she flopped her head onto the arm rest and tried to curl up. (Y/n) heard him turn on the lamp before his footsteps retreated back into the kitchen.

(Y/n) kept trying to rub circles across her stomach as she let her tears soak into the sofa and she jumped when she suddenly felt Eddie's hands on her waist. He gently nudged her until she was slumped back into the sofa instead of curled up and her chest tightened when he crouched down in front of her. His fingers curled around her thighs and raked up beneath her shorts so he could slowly part her legs and kneel between her thighs.

She felt the sharp breath he took when her knees pressed into his torso but he didn't say anything. His hands trailed up her thighs and over her stomach until he grabbed one of her hands and she realised he had brought the blood pressure cuff through with him.

She let him slide the cuff up her arm and waited through the discomfort of the band tightening around her arm making tingles shoot down to her fingers. (Y/n) wanted to close her eyes but she couldn't find the will power, all she could do was lock her gaze on her husband.

His eyes burned bright with intensity as he watched the monitor beep and flash before he raked his hands up and took the cuff off. He didn't give (Y/n) chance to speak before he held his fingers over her wrist and took her pulse.

"How bad are the pains?" Eddie dropped her wrist and moved his hands to grip her thighs while he sat back on his heels. His hands dug reassuringly into her flesh and he was relieved when (Y/n) moved her hand down to hold his wrist and she didn't push him away or shrink away from his touch.

"Mild cramps," (Y/n) dropped her eyes between her stomach and Eddie as she spoke quietly.

"Are you sure?" Eddie leaned forward to kiss her thigh when she bit her lip but nodded. "Your blood pressure is high, if it stays high or the pains don't go I'm taking you to the doctor in the morning."

(Y/n) moved her hand from his wrist so she could tangle her fingers through his hair, brushing the damp strands away from his forehead while he perched his chin on her thigh. Something softened in his eyes like melting chocolate and the way he stared at her made (Y/n) shiver and she could feel her resolve fading away by the second.

"I didn't mean to worry you or start an argument, I won't do those kind of fights anymore, mi amor. I swear."

Eddie moved his arms around (Y/n)'s waist when she leaned forward and buried her nose in his hair. Her cheek pressed against the top of his head and her hands cradled his neck when he pushed up and moved to kiss her bare stomach. His fingertips pressed into the back of her hips as he held her as tightly as he could, smothering himself against her.

He didn't want to make her worry or become ill, he wouldn't go into the ring anymore. Not now he could see how much it was jeopardising his family and making them worry.

[hongjoongspoetry]

Hi!!! Thank you so much for writing the march event- the soulmate au's, They were all really wonderful; As a writer myself, I know that it can take SO MUCH to just put down a couple words on a blank document but you guys managed to create so many wonderful stories- it's mind blowing.

Thank you so much for letting us, readers, see this masterpiece💗💗

Hello!!!!! 🩷 Thank you so much for your kind words. I’m so happy you liked it 🥹 A lot of thought and time went into this event, so it truly means a lot to know people enjoyed it!

And you're 100% right. I don’t think people always realize how exhausting writing can be. Just coming up with a plot is hard enough, and bringing it to life is a whole other challenge 😭 But honestly, without readers like you, I don’t think many of us would keep going. So thank you so much for reading and taking the time to share your thoughts. As a fellow writer, I know you understand just how much it means to hear someone connect with your work, so really, thank you 🩷

Also!! Since you’re a writer too, I’d love to be mutuals or friends 😭 if you’re comfortable with that, of course!!

Btw since you are a writer yourself, I would love to become mutuals/friends 😭 if youre comfortable with it, of course!!

[misswynters]

Weirwood Whispers

Davos/Benjicot Blackwood x targ!afab!Reader

[warning: mdni (18+), smut, p in v, unprotected sex, rough sex (kinda), not proofread

[note | pls don’t just like, reblog & give me feedback. i don’t want to get shadowbanned

[similar | As the Tides Turn | Surrender

Seeing the beautiful moon as it hung low in the sky, casting a silver glow over the godswood at Raventree Hall, was an ethereal experience. The ancient weirwood tree stood as a silent sentinel, its red leaves rustling in the gentle breeze. You stood beneath its boughs, the cool night air whispering secrets against your skin. Your Targaryen blood felt almost foreign here in the Riverlands, a land steeped in history and lore far removed from the dragons and fire of your heritage. The soft crunch of footsteps on the fallen leaves drew your attention.

Benjicot Blackwood emerged from the shadows, his dark eyes gleaming with a mixture of desire and reverence. His raven-black hair framed his strong face, and his presence sent a shiver down your spine.

"My lady," he greeted, his voice low and filled with warmth. He reached out, his fingers grazing your arm as if to reassure himself of your presence.

"Benjicot," you whispered, a smile tugging at your lips. The formalities dropped away, replaced by the intimacy of shared nights and whispered promises. You had come to Raventree Hall as a guest, but the bond you had forged with its lord went far beyond that of simple hospitality.

He stepped closer, his body heat enveloping you in a cocoon of warmth.

"You look enchanting tonight," he murmured, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw. "Like a queen of old, standing beneath the heart tree."

Your breath hitched as his hand moved to the nape of your neck, pulling you closer. The scent of pine and earth filled your senses, mingling with the faint hint of smoke from the evening's hearth fires. His lips brushed against your ear, sending a spark of electricity through your body.

"I've thought of nothing but you," he confessed, his voice husky. "The way your eyes shine like dragonfire, the softness of your skin..."

Your hands found their way to his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart beneath your fingertips. "And I of you, my lord," you replied, your voice barely more than a breath. "Every moment apart feels like an eternity."

Benjicot's mouth captured yours in a searing kiss, his lips demanding yet tender. Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened.

The world around you faded away, leaving only the sensation of his touch and the taste of his lips. He pressed you gently against the ancient weirwood, its rough bark a stark contrast to the smooth heat of his body.

His hands roamed over your curves, memorizing the shape of you through the thin fabric of your dress. Each touch ignited a fire within you, a dragon's flame that burned hotter with every moment. You broke the kiss, gasping for breath, your foreheads resting together.

"My lord," you whispered, your voice trembling with desire. "I need you."

Benjicot's dark eyes bore into yours with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. His usual restraint was gone, replaced by a raw, primal desire.

Without a word, he closed the distance between you, his hands gripping your waist with a possessive strength.

His response was a low growl as he captured your lips in a bruising kiss. His hands roamed over your body, rough and demanding, leaving no part of you untouched. The urgency of his movements sent a thrill through you, and you arched into his touch, craving more. He lifted one of your legs, wrapping it around his waist as he pressed you harder against the tree. You could feel his arousal through the layers of your clothing, and it only fueled your own need. His hands found the hem of your dress, yanking it upwards with little care for the delicate fabric. The cool air hit your bare skin, but the heat of his touch quickly chased away any chill.

"Do you want this?" he demanded, his voice rough with need.

"Yes," you gasped, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. "I need you."

That was all the encouragement he needed. With a swift motion, he turned you around, pressing your front against the tree. The bark bit into your skin, a sharp reminder of the intensity of the moment. His hands were everywhere, one gripping your hip, the other tangling in your hair, pulling your head back to expose your neck to his biting kisses. The night air caressed your bare skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat of his touch. His lips trailed down your neck, leaving a path of fire in their wake. Each kiss, each gentle bite, made you ache for more.

You could feel his hardness pressing against you, and you pushed back, seeking more. He obliged, his hand sliding down to lift your skirts higher, his fingers teasing your slick entrance. When he finally entered you, it was with a rough, urgent thrust that had you crying out in a mixture of pain and pleasure. It was a tight fit however he was struggling to keep his thrusts slow. Your hole was hugging him and sucking him in, he lost control of his thrusts due to pleasure.

His movements were fierce and relentless, each thrust driving you harder against the tree. The roughness of the bark against your skin only heightened your arousal. His grip on your hip was bruising, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered your name.

"You're so tight," he growled, his voice filled with possessive fury. "Only for me."

"Yes," you panted, your hands clawing at the bark for support. "Only yours, my lord."

The intensity of his thrusts began to become more animalistic, each one pushing you closer to the edge. You could feel the coil of pleasure tightening within you, ready to snap. His hand moved from your hip to your front, finding the sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs. His fingers worked in tandem with his thrusts, driving you over the edge into a blinding climax.

Your body trembled and tightened around him, and with a final, forceful thrust, he found his own release, his growl of satisfaction echoing in the night air. He held you there, pinned against the tree, until the last tremors of pleasure faded away.

Once he saw that you calmed down, he turned you around to face him. Your own hands were not idle, working to free him from his clothing until you could feel the warmth of his skin against yours. When he entered your already wet and sensitive core, it was sweet feeling of longing. Your bodies moved together in a primal dance, the rhythm as ancient as the weirwood itself.

Each thrust brought you closer to the edge, your gasps and moans mingling with the sounds of the night. His hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as he drove you both towards release.

When you both finally came, it was like a dragon's roar, fierce and consuming, leaving you trembling in its wake. Benjicot held you close as you both came down from the heights of passion, his breath ragged against your ear. "I love you," he whispered, a promise and a claim all at once. You nodded, your heart swelling with a love that went beyond mere words.

"Me too" you replied, sealing the vow with a kiss.

As the night grew deeper, you stayed entwined beneath the weirwood's watchful gaze, two souls bound by love and desire, finding solace in each other's arms amidst the ancient shadows of Raventree Hall.

[ln444]

spider-man!lando

cw: strangers to friends to lovers, uni au, idiots in love, fluff fluff fluff, slight angst; comfort/hurt (reader comforting lando), sad and tired lando:::(((((, mention of blood/wounds/bruises.

words: ~1,5k

notes: hii i'm finally back:D, i've been thinking about abt spiderman lando for weeks now omg!!! anyway it took me so long to write this pls don't hesitate to leave feedbacks😭 enjoy<3

playlist (to listen to for a better experience !!!): daylight by harry styles, yellow by coldplay, sparks by coldplay (my fav song in the whole world)

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lando norris. the adorable, clumsy guy you spot every day in class. he's always in his own world, snoozing on his desk and consistently late –somehow managing to still have good grades. you've been watching him for a few weeks now, totally fascinated by the curly boy. a goofy smile always creeps onto your face when he does something silly like accidentally bumping into people and mumbling apologies or drooling on his notes while falling asleep in class.

oh, you definitely have a small crush on lando norris — or maybe even a big one. your mind has been filled with all sorts of ideas on how to approach him –daydreaming about it during class or as you're trying to fall asleep at night, finding yourself staring at your ceiling with a stupid grin, lost in thoughts of that adorable guy you've been keeping an eye on.

today, you stayed a bit longer in class, diligently recopying your notes from the previous lecture. however, you weren't alone; a dozing lando occupied a nearby table, blissfully drooling on his notes. concentration became a struggle as you wrapped up quickly, sighing as you stole glances at the dreamy boy. rapidly packing your bag without a sound, you approach him, taking a moment to admire the sleepy boy, a smile instantly gracing your lips as your heart melts. inhaling deeply, you find the courage to gently tap his shoulder.

"hey," you softly whisper, lando whimpering and stirring slightly. patiently, you wait, hoping his eyes will finally open. when they don't, a suppressed giggle will finally open, and you tap his shoulder again, a bit more insistently this time.

"wake up!" you whisper-scream, a blush coloring your cheeks as a hint of regret surfaces –maybe it was too much, maybe you should have let him sleep, uncertain if he'd appreciate your wake-up call. his eyes eventually flutter open, struggling to grasp the situation. once he does, he clears his throat, quickly fixing his posture and adjusting his glasses. the sight makes your heart feel like it might burst out of your chest.

"class is over," you say sofly, standing in front of him, resisting the urge to run your hand through his messy hair.

"what?" he groans, still attempting to shake off his sleepy state. "already?" he glances around in confusion, seeing the empty room before turning to you, finally becoming aware of the one who put him out of his sleep and his cheeks slightly turns red.

"do you need notes?" you ask, eager to have a conversation with him. the pink on your cheeks persists since he opened his eyes, intensifying as he looks at you with big, confused and sleepy eyes. his gaze shifts down to his notes, damp with drool, and suddenly his cheeks burns. clearing his throat once more, he nervously scratches the back of his head.

"oh... right... uh," his eyes return to you, hesitantly meeting yours, and you stand there, fighting the smile on your face. "i guess i could use some of your notes," he chuckles nervously, "if that's okay for you, of course!" he quickly adds, causing your heart to race dangerously close to exploding because of how cute he is.

"of course, you can give it back to me tomorrow," you smile, your stomach tightening with the anticipation of talking to him again.

"thank you," he softly says, still clearly in a sleep state and a bit lost, but he manages to offer you a shy smile that almost brings tears to your eyes.

"see you tomorrow, then," after giving him a final smile, you turn around, hearing a small "see ya!" behind you before leaving the class, feeling happier than ever.

lando runs a hand through his hair, attempting to process what just happened. conversations with people at uni is rare for him, making it a surprise when someone approaches. he gazes at the notes you handed him, lost in his thoughts for a few more minutes before reality hits him—he just embarrassed himself in front of a pretty girl.

"fuck..." a groan filled with frustration and embarrassment escapes his lips as he buries his face in his hands, his cheeks bruning.

______________________________

since that day, you and lando start having study sessions, usually at the library or in relaxed coffee shops. the transition is a bit of a mystery; lando returned your notes, and somehow, conversations about the lecture led you to offering help, which he accepted without hesitation.

your study sessions became more and more friendly, both of you getting comfortable in each other's company. you couldn't be happier, realizing that you get the chance to see him every day and appreciate the subtle details, like the way he crunches his nose when he is thinking or how his glasses slide down when he attentively listens to your explanations.

it's the way lando consistently gives you his full attention, not just during study sessions, but also when you share bits about yourself, your interests, or even random stuff you've seen on the internet or the way he never forgets to bring two snacks, always excited to share it with you and making sure you're eating and drinking well. despite his lateness, he puts effort to be present, sincerely apologizing and making it up to you everytime.

you somehow got used to his habit of arriving late, accepting that it's a part of who he is. even though frustration and questions nag at you occasionally, you never found the courage to ask and feel like you don't have the right to say anything. of course, there have been moments when you were mad, waiting for over an hour, but you're way too whipped for him to stay mad forever.

just like that, you find yourself slowly falling for lando. what started as a silly crush turned into something more profound; it's evident when butterflies go wild in your stomach at the sight of him, and your heart races unusually fast whenever he smiles at you.

lando can't quite understand how you've become a constant presence in his thoughts. the frequency of your hangouts has become unexpectedly high, something unusual for him. being spider-man and a student was already challenging enough; adding a social life seems nearly impossible. he tried before –having friends, attending parties, socializing –but it never lasted, the fatigue and busyness making it hard to keep up.

with you, everything feels different for lando. falling this hard was unexpected from the moment he first asked you to study with him. slowly, he starts making time for you, always finding a way to see you, even if study sessions became an excuse. you became a ray of sunshine in his life, bringing light to his otherwise tiring days. whenever he feels miserable, a glance at you makes everything feels right.

beyond study sessions, you both start having dates –that's how you secretly both call your hangouts. lando takes you to the arcade, introducing you to his favorite games, while you share cherished spots in your favorite park; sitting there, watching swans, you engage in lighthearted conversations, while your hearts secretly beat for each other, missing the subtle starstruck gazes and the way your cheeks burn when your hands accidentally brush against each other.

the worst part for lando is finding himself thinking about you even in the midst of fighting villains, getting distracted more than he should. it frustrates him how he can't shake you from his mind, even when he's spider-man. at first, he hated himself for it, attempting to ignore his growing feelings. but it become undeniable the day you smiled at him with the most sincere and loving expression. in that moment, he realized he was already too deep into it and let himself drown deeper into the feeling.

________________________________

letting out a frustrated whimper, you bury your head in your hands. you've been attempting to finish this essay for hours now, but thoughts of the curly-haired boy persistently invade your mind. you've tried to push him out, if only for a moment, to focus on this stupid homework, but he always finds a way back into your thoughts. being stuck in your small apartment due to villains doesn't make the situation any easier.

sighing for the umpteenth time tonight, you stare at the almost white screen of your pc, hoping that motivation will miraculously appear. amidst your frustration, a subtle noise catch your attention. you turn around, your eyes scanning outside. you notice nothing out of the ordinary, brushing it away and convincing yourself it was just a passing bird. you had bigger problems anyway.

as you try to refocus on your work, the persistent noise grows louder, intensifying your unease. determined to dismiss it, you turn around for a second time, only to be shocked by the unexpected sight of lando. his face is covered with bruises, and he's struggling to climb the last steps of the fire escape stairs. reacting quickly, you jump from your chair, urgently guiding your steps as you open the window to lend him a hand.

"oh my god lando!" you choke on your own split, and lando lets out a pained groan, fighting to maintain his balance as he relies on you. with careful effort, he makes it to the sofa, collapsing upon it. you rush to his side, cupping his bruised face, your heart sinking as you take a look at the injuries. the sight nearly brings you to tears, a mix of concern and distress filling your stomach.

lando looks drained, the effort to keep his eyes open visible on his face. despite the weakness, he manages to maintain an unwavering gaze locked onto yours. the pain you're reading in his eyes sends a shiver down your spine, making your heart heavy.

"lando... what happened?" you say softly, your voice betraying the dryness in your throat. his response is delayed, taking a minute for lando to found the strength to answer. throughout this time, his hands grip your shirt, and his eyes remain fixed on yours, unbroken since he arrived.

"just a stupid fight... i'm fine," his voice is deep and weak, feeding your concern. despite the fatigue, he manages a small, gentle smile.

"what do you mean you're fine? are you kidding me?" you try to keep your voice soft, not wanting to add tension. "let me take care of you first, then you're going to tell me everything," with a sigh, you stand up, but lando's hands on your wrist stops you. you can't miss the painful groan that escapes him.

"i'm fine... i promise," he says weakly, his words carrying a weariness that tugs at your concern. "you're not fine, lando!" you voice unintentionally rises, a reflection of your worry, but you regret it the moment you lock your eyes with lando's softened gaze.

your hand instinctively reaches for his cheek, your thumb gently tracing the lines of his bruised skin. "it's okay, let me take care of you, please?" you implore, your voice adopting a softer tone. lando's heart seems to respond, warmth spreading as he relaxes, gently releasing your wrist.

"okay," he mumbles, too tired to resist, and you hurry to the bathroom to get your aid kit. returning swiftly, you find an exhausted lando, battling fatigue. your heart tightens, and you take a deep breath, holding back tears. lando starts regretting coming to you, the worry on your face making him feel guilty. as you come back, without a warning, you put an arm around him –and he's surprised that even in this awful state, you manage to make his heart beat faster. "let's get you on the floor," you gently suggest, doing your best to avoid hurting him. with a few soft whimpers, lando makes it to the ground, and you sit in front of him, getting the closer you can.

you gently take his chin between your fingers, inspecting the wounds again, unable to get over the extent of his injuries. lando feels his cheeks burn from the closeness and attention, his heart racing. without wasting any time, you start cleaning the bruises, handling him carefully.

your eyes shift to his white shirt, now stained with fresh blood, revealing notable marks underneath. a gasp escapes you, and you look at lando, your hands gripping the bottom of his shirt. "can i?" you timidly ask in a quiet voice, and lando don't hesitate to nod, trusting you more than anyone. you proceed to gently take off his shirt, ensuring not to cause him more pain. he winces, and your eyes fall on his wounded body, your hand instinctively covering your mouth. "oh my god..." you fingers trace the big and deep wounds, and lando watches you with remorseful eyes.

you don't add anything, wanting to take care of everything as soon as possible so he can finally rest. a comfortable silence fills the room as you begin with his face, gently cleaning and bandaging the wounds.

on the other hand, lando can't tear his eyes from you, enjoying your pouty expression because of your concentration. occasionally, he closes his eyes when you touch a sensitive area, his lips parting to release small groans. you find yourself apologizing each time, looking at him with sympathetic eyes.

you take a second look at his blood-covered body, and a million of questions race through your mind. this can't be a simple fight. lost in your thoughts, you don't notice lando's gaze or the flush on his cheeks due to your intense staring of his chest. he's about to call your name, but you're quicker than him.

"are you hiding something, lando?" you gently speak, your hands cupping his face with tenderness. you give him a soft look that seeks not just the truth but a shared vulnerability. lando opens his mouth to respond, but the words gets stuck in his throat, caught between the desire to tell you everything and the fear of exposing too much.

"i..." he starts, the weight of unspoken words evident in his eyes. sensing his struggle, you lean in closer, a soft and reassuring forming on your lips. your fingertips dance gently over his cheek. "you know you can tell me everything, right ?" you whisper, your voice filled with understanding. lando don't even dare to blink, drawn into the sincerity in your gaze.

without hesitation, he closes the gap with a tender kiss. your mind momentarily pauses, trying to process the situation. slowly, you kiss him back, feeling the heaviness of his heart in the softness of the kiss.

pulling back slowly, your eyes meet again, and there is a change in lando's expression. the warmth is replaced by a hint of concern, even sadness, making you rise an eyebrow curiously; "wh-"

"i'm spider-man."

his words hang in the air, and it takes a moment for you to process, leaving lando feeling like he's on the verge of a breakdown. completely petrified, he continues, "i understand if you don't want to see me anymore... i-"

"lando," you try to cut him off, but he's panicking, his eyes welling up, and it tugs your heart. "god, i'm so stupid," the instant regret hits him, he keeps mumbling, expressing his fear of messing everything up. it becomes too much for him, and he bursts into tears. without hesitation, you wrap your arms around him, holding him as tight as you can.

"hey, you're okay. it's okay, i'm here," you softly whisper in his ear, your hand gently rubbing his back. the sound of his sobs makes your heart ache, as if it's breaking into pieces. "i'm so tired," his voice is muffled, but you can hear all the pain and exhaustion in it. your stomach tightens, feeling your own eyes burn as you try to hold back the tears.

you let him cry in your arms for a moment, letting him take it all out, whispering sweet and reassuring words in his ears. your hand hasn't left his hair, stroking it gently. you feel him finally calm down, his sobs getting quieter.

he finally decide to look up, meeting your eyes and the sight breaks your heart; his eyes are puffed and red, accentuated by his bandaged bruises. you immediately grab his face, overwhelmed by a sudden rush of empathy and affection.

"do you still want me? even if i'm spider-man," his voice is soft, and you could feel all the exhaustion in it.

"of course, lando, why wouldn't i?" you reply without any second thought, sincerity evident in your eyes, softening lando's heart.

"i don't know... i'm always late and... tired," his voice is weak and hesitant, and you wish he'd stop talking and just rest.

"you're always late, but you're always here. you always do your best to make it." you reassure him, wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him closer with a soft smile. "it's okay to be tired, especially with your life, you should never apologize for that." your hand finds its way to his hair, "even when you're tired, you find the strength to take care of me and spend time with me. and for me, that means a lot," you gently stroke his hair, comforting him.

lando's eyes remain locked onto yours, caught in the sincerity they hold, and he swears his heart could explode at any moment just from hearing your words.

"you're so good to me..." he says in a whisper, pulling you into a quick but sweet kiss that makes both of your hearts melt. "of course, you deserve it," you whisper back, stealing a other kiss. "let me finish taking care of you, and then you can finally rest." you don't give him the time to complain, pulling back to resume cleaning his wounds.

after what felt like an eternity, you finish bandaging the last wound, looking up to find an exhausted lando. he fell asleep multiple times but insisted on staying awake until you finish. without wasting a minute, you put your arm around him to help him up, struggling to guide him to the bed where he manages to use his last drops of strength to remove his pants. once he's laid on the bed, you turn around to clean up the bandages on the floor, but lando immediately stops you, pulling you down.

"don't go," he whispers, and you smile, laying beside him without any hesitation, welcomed by his warm embraced.

you gaze at the sleepy boy beside you, your fingers gently ghosting his cheek.

"thank you," he says softly, and the sincerity in his words resonates. you offer him a loving smile, putting your lips on his for a passionate kiss. you manage to pull away just in time before lando succumbs to the sandman.

in that moment, it hits you—the boy you've fallen in love with is spider-man. a proud smile spreads across your face as you look at the peacefully sleeping lando beside you.

"i'm so proud of you," you whisper, determined to repeat those words to him tomorrow and every single day after that.

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tysm for reading! don't hesitate to leave a feedback if you liked it<3

[louferrighojr]

Praise kink Lou that gets flustered and embarrsssd during sex with Oliver loving it???

ask and you shall receive! added as a second chapter to this. enjoy! 💕

good boy

louliver // chapter 2/2 // 1,055 words // rated E // read on ao3

🙏

"Thought you were my good boy?" Oliver asks, voice deliciously patronising as he teases Lou's hole with the head of his cock, thick and hot and dripping inside him.

Lou whines, cock throbbing against his come-slick stomach.

"I am, please baby, I'm your good boy," he babbles, so high on pleasure that he might as well be on another planet. "Need you, Oli, please, baby."

Oliver smirks down at him, a teasing, cocksure smile that has Lou's breath catching in his throat even before Oliver digs his fingers into his thighs hard enough to bruise.

"Only," he says, rolling his hips just enough to brush the head of his cock across Lou's aching hole, "if you promise not to move."

"I promise," Lou replies without hesitation, so desperate to have Oliver's cock inside him that he thinks he might have agreed to anything at this point. "I'll do anything."

"Anything, huh?" Oliver teases, quirking the damned eyebrow that had started all of this in the first place, and Lou nods, so beyond aroused he can hardly think. "That's a tempting offer…"

Lou moans, wanton and desperate past caring. "Please, baby, just need you inside me."

"Keep still then for me, darling," Oliver says with a grin, pushing back inside him with a torturous slowness that pulls a low whine from Lou's lips as he tries not to move, holding his own wrists up above his head.

"God, you're so beautiful like this," Oliver mutters as he bottoms out once more, cock hot and thick and throbbing inside him. "So fucking beautiful when you're being good for me."

Lou flushes hot with more than just arousal at Oliver's words, a shiver of something indescribable running down his spine; he's almost embarrassed by how much it affects him and that only makes the feeling more intense, a feedback loop of pleasure as Oliver eyes him appreciatively, a spark of something like wonder in his gaze.

"So fucking beautiful," he murmurs again as he finally moves, rolling his hips slow but hard, a filthy grind that has Lou throwing his head back against the mattress as pleasure roils thickly in his gut.

"Oh fuck, baby, yeah, right there-" he mutters, barely even aware of what he's saying as Oliver pushes his thighs back, knees practically by his ears as he presses deeper inside him, so deep Lou feels he could choke on him.

It takes every ounce of willpower he has to keep his hands above his head, to not grab Oliver's ass, dig his fingers in and hold him tight inside him, and he shakes with the effort as Oliver continues to grind into him, the head of his cock pushing at his prostate with every torturously slow grind.

"You doing okay, sweetheart?" Oliver asks and it takes Lou an embarrassingly long time to realise he's being asked a question, his thoughts thick in a fog of arousal.

"So good," he eventually manages, the words catching in his throat as Oliver starts to move faster, the rolling of his hips becoming a less controlled snap as he starts fucking into him with abandon.

"Look at you," Oliver moans, voice competing with the sound of skin on skin as Oliver's hips slap against Lou's ass, leaving him a panting, moaning mess beneath him. "So good for me, keeping your hands to yourself when I know how much you want to touch me."

"So much," Lou moans, fighting the urge to do just that. "Want to feel you."

Oliver chuckles, low and deliciously condescending, and he snaps his hips hard as if to prove a point, pulling a desperate moan from Lou.

"You can't feel that?" he says, a shit-eating grin sitting pretty on his flushed face. "Can't feel my cock buried inside you?"

"You know what I mean," Lou growls and Oliver laughs again.

"Just checking," he says before starting to pound into Lou as if his life depends on it, punching a choked cry from Lou's throat with each slam of his hips.

Lou gives himself up to his pleasure as Oliver continues to take him apart, his cock throbbing and twitching on his stomach with each nudge of his prostate. He's close, so close, but Oliver is murmuring my good boy over and over and he doesn't want it to end, not ever, wants to hear those words on a loop forevermore as a warm flush spreads through him from head to toe, except that his orgasm is racing towards him at a hundred miles an hour, no way of stopping or slowing it while Oliver is taking him to pieces.

"Gonna come, baby, can I come-" he asks, voice breaking with desperation, and Oliver nods, looking just as wrecked as Lou feels.

"Yes, yeah, come for me darling, my good boy-"

Lou cries out as he comes untouched, hard enough that stars burst behind his eyes while hot ropes of come spill across his stomach, Oliver fucking him through his orgasm, fucking him into oblivion, fucking him into something so beyond pleasure he barely knows who he is anymore.

"There you go, look at you," Oliver murmurs, the words only dimly registering while Lou's orgasm is still fizzing under his skin, "such a good boy, aren't you, keeping so still while I fuck you-"

Lou clenches around Oliver's cock almost involuntarily and then it's Oliver's turn to come, spilling hot and wet inside him with a strangled cry of pleasure.

He collapses on top of Lou, face flushed and chest heaving, and Lou finally moves his arms, sliding one hand into Oliver's hair and the other around his waist and pulling him close, heedless of the sticky, cooling mess on his stomach.

It's a while before either of them say anything, the only sound in the room the huff their breath as they come down from their highs together.

"Well fuck," Lou eventually says and Oliver laughs into his chest, breath warm on his skin.

"Yeah," he says, "fuck. That was…"

"Yeah, it was."

"Not sure I've ever had birthday sex like that before."

Lou grins, carding his fingers through Oliver's sweat damp curls.

"Glad you liked it. Though I hope it's not only limited to birthdays?"

Oliver tilts his head, smirking up at him. "I'm sure I can come up with some other occasions…"

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Love Game 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your fiance suggests incorporating roleplay in the bedroom to keep the spark alive, but playing pretend turns out to be all too real.

Characters: Andy Barber, Lloyd Hansen

Note: another surprise double day.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You wake up alone. The night of reverie fogs in your mind. Touching, biting, slapping, choking, fucking... The kinkiness of it all has you tingling again yet you’re raw and sore from the overstimulation. Beneath the afterglow is something else. Doubt. 

You agreed to it. You wanted it just as much as Andy. All you want is to keep him happy and this is what he likes. And you can’t say you didn’t enjoy the thrill of it. It was so unlike anything you’ve done before, especially with him. The whole scene was so out of character. It’s roleplay, it’s supposed to be, and yet it just feels off. 

Again, it’s your first time. It’s going to be new and weird and wild, right? Will there be a next time?  

You roll over, thighs grazing tenderly, and sit up. The cuffs are gone along with all other remnants aside from the tangled sheets and the shell of dried sweat over you. You feel grimy as you look down at your naked body, your lingerie crumpled up at the corner of the mattress. You barely remember when you passed out. It’s all just a blissed out blur. 

You stand and stagger. Oh. Your mouth forms an O as you daintily touch your pelvis. You can feel the stretch still as your walls twitch. He was so rough, so deep inside you. 

As you hobble into the bathroom, surprised by the gingerness in each step, you can’t help the flow of your thoughts. Is this what Andy will want from now on? Why? Were you not enough before? He’s always seemed content. At least with that part of your relationship.

The way he groans when you touch him, the way he begs and whines before he cums. It’s all so wonderful so why now? Why this? 

You heard all his explanations but you just don’t know what to believe. Your innate insecurity can’t help but latch onto the worst suggestions. He wants someone else. He wants someone better. Then why did he ask you to marry him if you’re not what he wants? 

Ugh. You lean on the counter and look your reflection in the face. You blow out through your lips and trail your hand up your stomach. There are bruises all along your torso and chest, your neck, even your thighs, maybe a few on your ass. You didn’t expect to like that sort of intensity so much. 

You push away and limp to the shower. How do you act like nothing’s changed? Like it’s all back to normal. A naughty grin curves your lips. That’s kind of hot. 

You step into the shower and take your time. You’re reluctant to wash away the filth only because you want to go back to the night before. You want to feel that electricity. You remember how peculiar it felt when he had his face between your legs and the way his hands moved so deftly. Why couldn’t he be like that before? 

All those expectations restrain Andy. He must need to pretend to be someone else to let out his inner needs. It helped you too. For the first time last night, you shut your brain off and just felt the moment. 

You bask in the steam but make yourself get out and face the day, letting the night fade behind you. You go through your usual routine, with all the creams and cosmetics Andy bought you. He was always certain to get you the best of the best.  

You never even stepped foot in Sephora before him, but when he took you, he was certain to ask the associate the most important questions. The woman told you about each product and showed you how to use them, doing you up before you left. It took you a while to get a hang of it but now you feel naked without it all. 

You put on a red camisole blouse and a white wrap skirt, along with a silver chain around your neck and your engagement ring in place. As you come downstairs, you can hear Andy’s voice. He’s on the phone as you enter the kitchen. He’s already dressed; a dark blue suit with a light blue shirt and matching tie.  

You round the island to face him and he gives you that look. The one that says I’m busy. You turn and cautiously work at starting the morning right. You flip the kettle on and take the lid off the french press to wait for the boil. You scoop the grounds into the glass and turn to Andy as he wraps up his call. 

He stares at you as he puts the phone screen down. His eyes flick up and down and his cheeks dimples. You smile and step up to the edge of the marble island. 

“Last night was so fun,” you cheep. 

His expression remains stony. Your cheeks loosen and you fix your face. Oh. 

“Last night was last night,” he says. 

“I... yeah, sorry, sir.” 

“Sir?” he challenges. 

“Honey,” you correct yourself. So, it is back to business as usual. You’re disappointed and a bit confused. 

“You slept in,” he checks his watch. 

“I’m sorry, I--” you pause and tilt your head, “it’s Saturday, where--” 

“Emergency,” he says, “not like I want to be spending my weekend working but...” he looks up at the ceiling then decisively traces the room with his oceanic irises, “well, I gotta pay for all this, don’t I?” 

You lower your eyes guiltily, “I can pick up some appointments, hon--” 

“We’ve talked about this.” 

“Erm, I know, but if we need money--” 

“When are you giving notice?” He asks abruptly. 

“They’re short right now, Andy, I can’t just--” 

“Look at me when you talk to me,” he girds, “you know I don’t like it when you act like a child.” 

Your eyes flick up and you pout, “I’m sorry, Andy. I just don’t want to let you down but I can’t let them down either.” 

“You do nails, not rocket science,” he snips. 

You do your best not to flinch. You should be so happy. Everyone at work tells you how jealous they are. You get to work whenever you want without having to worry about rent or expenses. Andy will help you out. He insists on it and when you said yes to the ring, that meant saying yes to his expectations. 

“I’m not putting the wedding off,” he insists, “so you need to make up your mind soon. Sweetie, I don’t have the same time as you.” 

“I’m sorry,” you gulp. 

The kettle clicks as he stares at you. You wait for him to say it’s okay but he doesn’t. You turn and pour the water and place the lid on the press. You meekly glance over your shoulder and face him as you wait for the coffee to steep. 

“You know what I expect. I don’t think it’s a hard ask at all. You take care of the house, I take care of you,” he taps his fingers on his phone case, “simple.” 

The last word is sharp. It says a lot; it’s simple enough for you to understand. You can’t be mad at him. You did promise and you haven’t followed through. 

“I’ll talk to Gina.” 

“Good,” he looks at his watch again, “you can put my coffee in a travel mug. I gotta get my stuff together.” 

“Right, yes, sir—honey,” you correct yourself, “I love you.” 

He stands and his chest rises. He slowly lets out his breath, “love you too.” 

He leaves you with the dulcet, almost flat proclamation. What happened? Was last night bad for him? Did you do something wrong? Maybe you liked it too much? Maybe you didn’t play the role well enough? 

Oh, you don’t know. You love Andy so much and you only want to do what’s right but sometimes it seems like there is no right with him. You look at the clock, a few more minutes and you can pour the coffee. It has to be just perfect, like everything else. Not too weak or strong. Exactly as he prefers. 

💕 

You wile away the time on your own. It used to be that you longed for time off, to catch up on your favourite shows, to do your hobbies, but now, you have too much of it. You watched everything, you’re bored of crocheting and diamond art, and your focus is split into pieces. You’re restless and lost in the large empty house. 

It makes you even more nervous about the future. You thought have a ring, having Andy, having a place to live, would make all a bit more stable. Nope. Now you’re terrified that every day is going to be as lonely and tedious. 

You make yourself sit down with a bridal magazine. There is stuff to be done. You just like to procrastinate. It’s a habit you’ve yet to break since your college days. Those get further and further behind you yet you don’t feel any wiser. 

Another point of envy you don’t quite understand. Marciana at the salon loves talking about the wedding, she has so many questions, and yet you don’t have the answers. She tells you all the time how she can’t wait to get married and do it all. You find it all a bit too much. 

It’s not just flowers and a dress and the ring; it’s catering and music and guests and cutlery and too much! You asked Andy what he liked for wedding colours and he told you he didn’t care. He says it’s a woman’s thing to plan the wedding. 

Gina said her mom helped her with her wedding. Well, you wish you had a mom to ask. The girls at work gave you some suggestions and tried to help but work always comes first. They’re your coworkers, not your friends after all. 

You still haven’t even booked the dress appointment. You don’t have anyone to go with and you feel ridiculous going alone. Andy can’t come, even after you said you don’t care if he sees you. He says it’s tradition. 

So you’re back to square one. You have an aunt who sends you a text now and again but not much else. The more you think of everything you don’t have and never had, the more you wonder how you ended up with Andy. He’s too good for you and you’re not the only one to think so. 

You close the magazine and mope at the pretty model on the front in her veil. You’re not going to look like that. She’s smiling and happy and you’re just stressed. Maybe you could just go to the courthouse. That way you won’t have to stand in front of the empty pews on your side. 

Before you can sink further into doom, the bell rings and you jolt up. Huh? You can’t remember the last time someone stopped by. In the early days, one of the neighbours stopped by to introduce herself and you noticed the other women across the street, watching from a porch. She never came back. You realised after they were trying to find fodder for their gossip. 

You get up, worried it’s another nosy neighbour. The bell rings again at your reluctant pace and you speed up. You peek out the window beside the door and see a man bouncing on the balls of his feet. Maybe it’s a delivery. 

You flip the lock and push down on the lever, inching the door open enough to see through. You give an uneasy smile. The man stills and shoves his hands in his pockets. He looks you up and down and you blink at the striking resemblance. His hair is different, shaved around the sides, longer on top, he wears a mustache instead of a beard, and he sports a short sleeved turtle-neck and cream-coloured pants. Despite all that, he reminds you of Andy. 

“Uh, hello?” You stammer. 

“Hey, darling,” he winks and pulls a hand free, putting it on the doorframe as he leans in, one foot hooked on the other, toe digging into the mat. “Is Andrew around?” 

“Andrew? No,” you answer tentatively. 

“Oh man, I don’t got the wrong place, do I?” He pushes himself straight and reaches into his back pocket. He pulls out his phone and squints, tapping on the screen. 

“No, uh, no Andy’s not home,” you clear your throat, keeping your hand tight on the inner handle. 

“Andy, right. He hates Andrew,” he scoffs, “I was thinking you might be too young so I wasn’t sure,” he snickers and shakes his head, “well, I got a delivery for the old man. Well, he put a name on it...” 

He swipes on his phone and reads out your name. It can’t be a mistake. You feel a little less stressed now. 

“Sure, that’s me,” you confirm. 

“Great, wait one minute,” he holds up a finger. 

You have no other choice but to do just that. He turns and bounces down the steps, jogging back up the walk of the perfectly trimmed lawn and vibrant garden planted inside the white picket. The man goes to a black cube van and opens the back doors. He shuts the door as he hugs a basket in his other arm. 

You watch him dumbly as he returns to you and holds out the basket. You take it, surprised at the gesture. Andy can be sweet but this morning was rough. He seemed to be in a hall of a mood. Even after what you did the last night.  

Maybe that was it? Maybe he freaked himself out. He had gotten pretty carried away. Well, this is as good an apology as you’ve ever got. 

“Old man loves you,” the man purrs with a crooked smirk. His timbre strikes you as familiar, gravelly and gritty, as if you’ve heard it before. It’s almost as if you can feel his breath against your throat. 

You look over the basket at him and smile, “uh, yeah, thanks, er...” 

“Lloyd,” he answers, “I’m an old friend. I owed him a favour.” 

“Well, it’s very sweet of you to bring this by,” you say. 

“Ah, you know, I just do what I’m told,” he drawls. His gaze is close to a leer and makes you want to shiver. 

“Yeah, well, um, thanks again, but I...” you glance over your shoulder. 

“You got a wedding to plan, Mrs. Barber,” he spouts, “you must be a busy lady. Lucky at that.” 

You face him again and wince, “yep...” 

“You make sure you have some of that wine, sweetheart,” he points to the ribbon around the bottle’s neck, “you earned it.” 

“Uh, oh, okay,” you shake your head, “that’s... kind.” 

“And say hello to the old man for me. Remember, Lloyd,” he winks as he backs up, “have a good night, baby girl.” 

He leaves and you stand with the basket, heavy in your arms as the rest of you sinks down too. You have a strange feeling about the unexpected delivery and that man especially. You feel as if you’ve met before. Maybe it’s that he reminds you of Andy. 

Well, no use in overthinking that as well. You won’t complain for a surprise, especially one as nice as this. 

[kenjakusbraincum]

Reverence

Sukuna x Reader

Synopsis: Sukuna finds you clinging to life by a thread, trapped underneath the rubble of fallen buildings, after the final showdown. He saves you, deciding you’d make a good pet to keep him company at his lonely mansion. Word count: 8.9k Tags/warnings: Afab reader + gn language but the word ,whore’ is used, true form 2 dicks sukuna, dubcon, masturbation, fingering, penetrative sex, dacryphilia, size difference, biting, bruising, belly bulge, creampie Author’s note: First fic I’ve written in ages!! :> Feedback is very appreciated! This may be a part 1 depending on how inspired I get.

The razed city is quiet around him as he stands and scans the aftermath of his destruction. A moment of calmness after a catastrophe, similar to the rays of sun after a thunderstorm. But when he looks up into the sky, no sun shines down on him. The city is engulfed in dust, and beyond it, dark clouds gather above, weeping over the fate of the world that now lays in his four hands.

Everyone unfortunate enough to be close in the moments the battle went down is gone. Everyone who fought him has either died or escaped. He wasn’t a foolish man. He knew he would win, and once again on top of the world… what awaited him was loneliness and boredom. He let them escape. One day when they think they’ve grown strong enough to face him again, they will entertain him. But for now, they’re gone, and he’s bored.

Then there’s a rustle. Little rocks topple over each other in the ruins. You push them out of your way, crawling out from under blocks of concrete. Bloody, dusted, dirty… and still, he finds you beautiful. He follows you with sharp eyes. Under any other circumstance, you would’ve noticed you were being stared at. But now it’s different. Your vision is blurred by blood dripping from your forehead into your eyes, and every movement of your body hurts. You are dying, you know that. You just don’t want to die under a rock. If you’re going to die, let it at least be in the open. Let it be under the bright blue sky, under the sun, so you’re at peace. But when you turn around to lay a final look at what you wish for, you are met with a heavy gaze of four red eyes.

You’ve sparked his curiosity. A human who survived his divine chaos. A human he’s seen before, in passing, while possessing Yuji. His eyes always did linger on you, but he’s always had something more important to focus on. Now, you’ve fully got his attention.

-

The warmth of sunshine that you so badly wished for in your last moments welcomes you when you wake up. Reborn. You shuffle around in bed, letting out a strained noise. You look around to find you’re alone in the room. Your memories slowly come back to you as you sit up. Fighting alongside your friends. The falling building. Crawling out of it’s remains. The pain, god the pain. It’s all gone now. You look down on yourself, dressed in sleeping robes. Clean. Not a scar on your body. The light soreness you feel is probably from too much sleep. But despite the fact you’re healed, you feel uneasy. You search through your head for your last memory. The realization comes to you grounds you with it’s heaviness, and you feel like you’re sinking into the depths of the earth.

Your friends didn’t come back for you. They either died, or left you to die. But you ended up here instead. This was Sukuna’s home, unmistakably. Where else could you have ended up, after the last thing you saw was him? Who could’ve possibly rescued you from him? Who could rescue you now? Your fate was sealed the moment you were crushed under debris, but you were supposed to be dead. This was a change in plans. This was an impulsive decision, that someone is yet to see prove it’s worth. Or disappoint.

You understand immediately what position you were in. The situation is very clear. The entrance to the garden from your room is closed, undoubtedly to prevent you from running away. But truly, even if it was open, how far would you get before getting caught and inevitably punished? And where would you run? Where in this world, that now belongs to him, is it safe to hide, and how far away is that place? No, running away is impossible. In a way, the safest place from Sukuna was his home. Surely if he let you reside in it, that meant something. Fighting was another foolish option. You discarded it as soon as it crossed your mind. You don’t even have to instigate to know you’d lose. Everyone lost. You were no different, despite of your strength and potential. Besides, your gut told you that running and fighting wouldn’t end in simple terms such as being killed immediately. No, if he brought you here, there was no way he would just kill you. He likes to watch people suffer after all.

Your only option is to stay. You are grateful he gave you this time alone to come to terms with your fate. You understand that staying here, and staying unharmed, would mean compliance. Obedience. Something that went against your very essence as a person, and as a sorcerer. You laugh with unease. Just as you begin to imagine what your life will entail from now on, the door opens, and you’re met with a short white haired person. Sukuna’s minion. You recognize them from before.

‘’You’re awake.’’, they exclaim with no emotion. They look at you, but it feels like they’re looking straight through you.

,,I am.’’, you say after a moment. An attempt to break the discomfort.

,,I didn’t ask.’’, they shoot you with a stare, a warning.

,,S-sorry…’’, you correct yourself immediately, trying to cause as little problems as possible. It’s merely your first interaction in this estate, and you already find yourself backtracking. Giving in.

They let out a tiny tsk sound. ‘’What do you remember?’’, they ask. They sound completely uninterested, and their eyes are empty.

‘’Everything.’’, you reply sadly. It comes across as a smile.

‘’You don’t need catching up then.’’, they sigh, not considering that maybe you would like to be caught up as to where exactly you are right now, and how long have you been sleeping. ‘’My name is Uraume. I’m assigned to help you transition into this new environment.’’, a moment of silence, and they scan your face for a reaction. ‘’Master will see you. The ladies will come to prepare you and dress you up promptly.’’, another pause. Uraume lets you process the information. ‘’When you are around Master, you should act properly. Do not look up at him without permission. Do not speak unless spoken to. Do everything he says with as little delay as possible. He’s your Master now. Obey him and address him as such.’’

Silence drowns the room. The instructions strike a wave of fear and anxiety in you. What bothers you now is not whether or not you’ll be forced to do things you don’t want to, it’s will you be able to do everything right? Will you slip up, or forget an instruction? Will you embarrass yourself, or more importantly disappoint your master?

‘’Understood?’’, Uraume asks, clearly annoyed judging by their tone. You wonder if they’ve asked this twice but you haven’t heard the first time. You simply nod, and your head droops down. Uraume watches you. ‘’When you’re ready knock on the doors, the ladies will come in. Don’t take too long.’’, they say and turn back to the open door. ‘’I’ll see you later.’’

You sit with yourself and think about your future. Every passing second makes it more imminent and clear.  Seeing as there’s no other option, you make peace with your future of servitude. You can only imagine what it entails. You’d be lucky if you were assigned with mopping floors or chopping human meat in the kitchen. Deep down you know that the job you’ll be assigned with is a much less dignifying one. You rationalize things in your head. Since there’s nothing else you can do, you might as well try your best to avoid problems by being good at what you’re tasked with. You sense that it will rid you of all your pride and personhood. Your innocence, that you’ve been saving your whole life for a moment that’s supposed to be special. It will be special, but not in the way you’ve always imagined. It will be ceremonial, a symbol of entering a new chapter in your life. You dread this. But, the alternative is death, or possibly worse. Between those two, you’ve already made your choice. You’re not going to die twice.

You will yourself to stand up and knock on the door. Get it over with as soon as possible, you think. Once the deed is done it will be easier. Two women open the doors and greet you with a deep bow. You’re confused as to what about your presence warrants an extraordinary show of respect. You guess that in the hierarchy of this estate you are above the measly servants. But just by a little bit.

The women guide you down a long hallway, into a bathhouse. They begin to undress you, and there’s not much you can do to protest. Not that you’d say no to a warm bath, but the discomfort is still there. You feel watched, violated, even when their touch is light, even gentle. The women sense this, and they incorporate asking questions into their routine, checking if you’re okay with this, that. It helps you relax, at least a little bit. Over the course of the next few hours you’re thoroughly bathed, shaved, and dried. By the end of it, you don’t mind the little spa treatment you got. It makes the situation seem a little less bad, if you pretend you don’t know why you were taken care of with such precise detail. They dress you up, wrapping you in expensive silk and comment on how beautiful you look.

It’s true, you look mesmerizing. Your skin glows under the dim lights. If it wasn’t for the sadness in your eyes… no one could tell that a day ago you were on the verge of death. Time came to thank your Master for gracefully giving you a second chance.

Uraume waits outside of the bathhouse. They eye you up and down, as if they’re checking if the women did a good job at making you look presentable. They nod and the women are discharged. ‘’Did you enjoy yourself?’’, Uraume makes small talk as they lead you back down the hallway. Nothing in their voice suggests they’re interested in your answer. Everything they do feels like they’re filling out a form.

You don’t know how to answer. ‘’Yes.’’, you answer. It’s not completely truthful, but your emotions are too complicated to explain. Especially since no one here cares about them anyways.

Uraume doesn’t look at you. ‘’Master knows when people lie to him.’’

You’re caught off guard. Are you that bad of a liar? Once again, your impulse to come clean wins over you, and you spew words. ‘’I didn’t mean to come off as ungrateful..’’, you say.

‘’You need to work on it more.’’, they say. You wonder if they could spare you at least one word of encouragement for trying. You wonder if something like that even crosses their mind. If they think about this at all. Or is this a routine they’re used to from before. ,,Master has been busy today. Try not to get on his nerves.’’, they add after a moment.

You stop in front of a huge, monumental door. Uraume faces you. They give you a long stare, fix your collar and tuck your hair behind your ears. Anxiety never left you, but now it’s drumming in your ear, overwhelming you. It feels like static in your whole body, rendering you weak. Your palms sweat and tears begin to pool in your eyes.

Uraume notices. You are their responsibility after all. Master won’t be happy with them if you come in crying and disheveled. They try to come up with something that would console you quickly. ‘’Don’t worry too much. Master wouldn’t go out of his way to heal you from imminent death just to kill you immediately after.’’, even they sound like they’re not sure what they said is completely true. Was Sukuna really above doing such a thing? Somehow the statement has an opposite of the intended effect, and you feel even worse now.

Uraume grabs your shoulders and looks you intently in the eye. What they say sounds like the most sincere thing that’s left their mouth so far during your conversations. ‘’You will be fine.’’. With that, they open the door and enter before you. You try your hardest to stop yourself from crying.

‘’Master, I’ve brought them.’’, they say, bowing deeply. There’s no answer from the inside, but he must’ve approved, since Uraume opens the door fully and lets you in.

You exchange one last stare with them and step into the room. You do as you’ve been told and keep your gaze fixed to your feet. The atmosphere engulfs you instantly. The air is thick and heavy, the room smells like death. You pass by a couple of pools of blood, fresh and dry ones, and you feel your hands start to shake. There are bones piled around his throne. The weight of the air, his four eyes watching your every move, and the aura of evil, pure evil. You feel as though you’re pushed onto your knees. You weren’t instructed to do so, but it comes to you as an impulse. You do it out of reverence, out of instinct. Out of paralyzing fear. You plant your hands in front of you and kiss your forehead against the cold ground.

‘’Master..’’, you say. It comes out shaky and desperate. You get no approval from him either. You feel his stare in your bones.

When he finally speaks, it’s not directed at you. ‘’Leave us.’’, he says, and you hear the doors close a moment after. You feel his stare lift from you for a second, before you’re granted his full attention. He observes you for another moment, that feels like an eternity.

‘’Stand up.’’

You stand up immediately, straightening out your robe with your hands. You stare at the bones before his throne. Some of them human, some animal. Some old and dusted, some fresh with hints of pink flesh and blood on them.

‘’Come to me.’’

You raise your gaze enough to scan where exactly you should come to. You’re disheartened to find that there’s no such thing as stairs to take you to where he’s sitting. You don’t hesitate for too long, suspecting it may anger him. You place your foot on the pile of bones and climb towards him, quite unceremoniously. You come to a stop a couple of steps away from his feet. You needn’t look directly at him to see how huge he is, sprawled in his seat. His head is leaned against his palm. One of his hands taps the armrest impatiently, the other two sit still at his sides.

Your eyes are fixated on the bones, trying your best to maintain balance on the uneven surface. You hear him tap his thigh twice, signaling for you to come closer. You choose your steps carefully as you enter his personal space. There’s nothing but him to hold onto if you fall. You sit on his knee clumsily, keeping your hands in your lap so as not to touch him without permission. One of his hands comes down on your back immediately, and you shiver.

,,Obedient.’’, he notes. ,,But that’s not what I meant.’’

In a moment, his hands are on you, pushing you back up and guiding you into a different position. He grips your hips, and heavy hands settle you in his lap, making you straddle him. Your legs struggle to stretch far apart to accommodate you in this pose. Your heart pounds in your chest, so loud you’re afraid he may hear it.

Once again you fail to control your words. ‘’Master, I’m sorry, I misunderstood...’’, you cut yourself off before you go into babbling. He must have accepted your apology, because his hands pull you closer by the hip, grinding you against his bulge. Your insides throb at the contact, and you don’t know what to do with your hands.

He finds your flustered reactions amusing. ‘’You may look.’’, he says, and meets your eyes with a smile.

You do as you’re told, returning the stare. Your eyes explore his face for a second before settling on his eyes. Everything you do is unsure, even looking at him. You don’t want him to find it offensive. You don’t have any ideas what exactly you’re dealing with. He stares back only for a moment, before he moves on to your body. He feels your cheek, hair, the fabric of your kimono, your hands and nails. You shudder against the gentle touch. You didn’t expect to be handled with such care, even for this short moment. You don’t think for a second that he will stay this gentle. But you want to cherish it while it lasts. You relax into his touch and observe him. Four eyes judge every detail of your presence. Strawberry blond hair slicked back, strands tucked behind his pierced ears. Strong jawline, accentuated by his tattoos. Wide shoulders, bearing four arms. You feel small and weak in his lap, more aware than ever before of just how powerless you are. Just how much your life hangs by a thread that is his good will and mercy.

‘’Beautiful.’’, he observes you, not quite meeting your eyes yet. His gaze lingers on your lips, nose, cheeks. ‘’Well behaved too, it seems.’’. You shudder under his praise, and the hand that trails gently down your back, teasing you. Two hands sit snugly on your hips, holding you in place. The last one travels from your shoulder, to your neck, lingering for a moment as he drags his finger against your throat. It crawls up to your cheek, cupping it, brushing the soft, flushed skin.

‘’Yes.’’, you say, catching yourself spilling words again. Your mind doesn’t quite work in this moment. You’re completely dazed by his energy, his touch, his gaze. You’re helpless as you feel yourself clench around nothing, slick pooling in your most sensitive parts in response to his advances.

‘’Yes what?’’, he asks, thumb hooking under your chin and tipping your face up.

‘’Yes Master.’’, you correct yourself quickly, catching immediately what it is he wanted you to say. In this moment, you think of Maki. You think of how she would have done anything to get herself killed before ever uttering the words of compliance that just escaped your mouth. You have no spine at all. You’re not, and never were nearly as brave as her. You’d always crumble in the face of danger. You imagine the look she’d give you, if she knew what you were doing in this moment.

‘’Good.’’, Sukuna’s low voice snaps you back to the present moment. His thumb finds your lips, swiping over them for a moment before stopping against them. You part your lips in response, and he inserts his thumb into your mouth, pressing against your tongue. You let out a tiny noise in response. You don’t need to be told. You seal your lips around him and start to suck. You close your eyes in focus, feeling the taste of his skin in your mouth. In a moment, there’s a hand on your throat, pressing just lightly enough to warn you. You open your eyes and blink at him, compensating for another mistake by sucking harder. Underneath yourself, you feel his bulge awaken, twitching in response to your efforts. So snugly pressed against him, you wonder if he feels you throb too. Your body works against you. You’re enjoying this.

‘’So willing to please..’’, he says. ‘’As you should be. You have quite a favor to return.’’

You lower your head, his words reminding you why you’re here. He must’ve sensed that you forgot, even for a moment. You pick your words carefully. ‘’It’s true, Master.. you saved my life, and for that I don’t know how to thank you enough...’’, you sound pathetic to yourself. Maki’s eyes loom over you again. She is the devil on your shoulder, whispering to run, kick, scream obscenities. Anything, just not to give in to his command. But you already have.

‘’You needn’t concern yourself with that.’’, he says. The hands on your hips guide you slowly into a grinding motion against his crotch. You sigh at the contact. ‘’You’re here to serve me.’’

‘’Master...’’, your words come out in form of a whine. Your hips move slowly in sync with his hands, your body assumed in complete submission. Pleasure builds inside your core, making you almost forget you stopped mid-sentence. ‘’Whatever you need.’’, you stare into his eyes intently. You’ve truly sunk so low.

Sukuna huffs in amusement, watching you move against him desperately. He’s satisfied that you catch on quickly. But his stare is focused on where your body meets his. He’s leaned against his palm again, pondering what to do, how to test you next.

That’s when the doors open. You freeze in panic, and look back to see Uraume, bowing deeply once again. Next you start to feel shame. You’re straddled snug against the man who razed a city, killed people, innocents, maybe even your friends. And now there’s someone watching you while you’re at it. Uraume pays you no mind, or they pretend not to. They look straight through you, into their master.

‘’Master, I apologize profusely for interrupting. It’s an urgent matter.’’, Uraume says, and looks at the ground.

Sukuna’s finger taps on the armrest in frustration. His demeanor changes, pleased expression exchanged with a frown. You feel the switch in energy in the core of your being, and fear grows in your chest again. He stares at Uraume for a while, then he reverts back to you.

‘’Come back to me tonight.’’, and with that, his hands push you off his lap and you stagger back to your feet. Your body mourns the lack of contact.

‘’Yes master..’’, you mumble and bow, then make your way down the pile of bones again. Sukuna doesn’t react, at least not that you can see or feel, so you guess he doesn’t have a complaint on how you said your goodbyes to him. You walk back to Uraume, swallowing your shame. They wait for you at the doors and lead you outside.

A couple of turns later you’re back in the room you woke up in. Your bed was made in the meantime and a new set of sleeping clothes waited for you nicely folded on top of it. Your eyes linger on the door to the terrace.

‘’Can I see the garden?’’, you ask, and turn back to Uraume.

‘’Master doesn’t allow it yet.’’, they say.

‘’Yet?’’, you narrow your eyes. Uraume starts to get visibly annoyed by your questions. Their voice however remains unchanged.

‘’Good behavior earns privileges.’’

,What a privilege, to go outside.’, you think to yourself, and look back through the window.

‘’You seem to be in Master’s good graces already. I’m sure you’ll be allowed outside in no time.’’, Uraume speaks what sounds like words of comfort for the first time.

Of course you are in his good graces. Because you left all dignity at the doors of his throne room. He stripped you of it, without any effort. His energy alone forced you to your knees, his words struck directly to your core. You wonder how much more you’ll have to endure before being granted the simple mercy of feeling the sun on your skin. ‘’Thank you.’’, you say to Uraume. You appreciate their sentiment.

‘’Are you hungry?’’, they ask. You wonder if anyone in these premises knows, or cares about your name. Or are you that worthless to them.

‘’Yes.’’

Uraume nods and leaves the room to bring you some food. You sit by the terrace door and look outside.

-

You can’t see the sunset from where your chambers are located. All you’re left with is the little piece of sky, uncovered by the surrounding trees, and the limits that windows impose on your view. The outside of the estate looks weirdly peaceful, like it’s not a home to a monster. All sorts of animals appear in the garden, from bugs to birds. As the night falls, you hear the faint sounds of frogs, and even catch sight of a little hedgehog, trotting from one bush to another. The garden truly seems like a little piece of heaven inside what effectively is your prison. Your heart longs to see it, to spend time in it. To smell the grass and feel the earth, your mother, against your skin.

You’re called to him again when the sun has already set, and the last bits of light leave the night sky. Uraume holds the door open to you without a word. You’re forced to part your eyes from the outside, and look to them instead. Their head is low, their stare adorned with what you recognize as pity. You haven’t felt fear about the imminent encounter until you’ve seen them look at you like this. Now it’s starting to creep up on you all over again. Static. Tingling and restlessness. Maybe they know something you don’t, perhaps about what kind of mood your master is in now. You stand up and follow them out. It’s easier to just get it over with, you think again.

Uraume knocks on the door and opens just a crack. ‘’Master, as per your request.’’, they bow. Once again there is no verbal confirmation. You know he’s reacted when Uraume moves to make space for you to come in. You start to see patterns in their interactions.

His chambers are dimly lit, the interior hard to see. He sits on the edge of his bed and stares your way. You feel it again. A lump in your throat. A force of understanding that has you picking up your robes and falling to your knees. If he wasn’t in the mood before, your willingness to serve now puts a smile on his face. You don’t get to see it though. Your face is touching the ground.

‘’Leave, Uraume.’’, he says. You hear the doors close shut, and note that he sounds a bit more impatient than before.

You feel a bit easier when Uraume isn’t there. Something about another pair of eyes observing your ordeal made it all the more difficult.

‘’Come.’’, he says, and you hear the familiar tap. You look up to see his hand on the spot next to him on the bed. You struggle back to your feet and walk over to him hesitantly. Your hands sweat, and you try to wipe them off of each other. You overthink every little detail. How close to him should you sit? Is it better to sit further away and be lulled closer, or sit closer and be pushed away?

‘’Well?’’, he asks, eagerly watching you debate with yourself. ‘’Or do you prefer my lap?’’

You’re not quite sure what’s the right answer. ‘’Wherever you wish, Master…’’, you reply, reminding yourself to stare at the ground.

He sees every doubtful thought reflect on your face. He knows you’re being diplomatic, neither wanting to refuse him, nor make requests. ,,Pick.’’, he challenges you.

Your mind races as you think through the positives and negatives of either choice.

,,I’m waiting.’’, he follows up with a warning. It sounds sinister. Giving up any further mental efforts, you pick up the fabric of your clothes and climb onto his lap again, dipping your knees into the bed besides him. He hums in response, seemingly satisfied with your choice. A pair of hands quickly finds your hips again, drawing you closer, he seems to like to hold you in place. Once again you’re seated snugly against him, layers of fabric being the only thing parting you from his bulge. ‘’Look at me.’’, he says, tilting your chin up. ‘’Let’s continue where we left off.’’

You do as he says, meeting his eyes. You try to gauge his mood. For now, he seems content with you. You let yourself relax. So far, there’s nothing unenjoyable about your encounter. Other than the nature of being made into a servant, of course.

‘’Do you know why you’re here?’’, he asks, rocking you slowly against him. Your hands sit at his hips, clinging to the scrunched up fabric of his kimono. You’re not quite sure you’re allowed to touch him deliberately. You wish to, though. You yearn for a connection, after all you’ve never been in this position before.

‘’To serve you, Master.’’, you reply, blinking at him with doe eyes. Nothing about this situation should be arousing, yet you find your insides clenching at your own words. Effectively you’re trapped, with no chance of another untimely interruption. You’re going to be made to do things even if you’re unsure of yourself. Even if you don’t want to. But you’re still pushing against him, searching for more of him, on your own accord. He has a power over you.

‘’True.’’, he tucks your hair behind your ear, leaning closer into you. You can feel his breath on your face, hot, dangerous. ,,But you’re not my servant.’’, he thinks out loud. ,,Or a slave, for that matter. Let’s crown you as my pet.’’

Another throb.

,,A source of entertainment. A subject of training. My little human jester.’’

You imagine looking at yourself in the mirror, at what you’ve become within a day of being under threat. A piece of you wants to mourn, a piece of you wants to spit on your reflection. What comforts you is that, even if your friends are alive, they will never know the extent of your compliance. They will never know the words that leave your mouth as you sit upon a monster’s lap, wanting more. ‘’How can I entertain you, Master?’’, you ask.

A reserved, but wicked smile graces his face. ‘’Undress.’’

Your heart sinks. But you move, standing up from his lap and taking a step back. So he has a better view. You hesitate, but eventually undo your obi and unwrap your kimono and undergarments, discarding the clothes on the ground. The cool air touches your skin, making you shiver. Your hands sit at your sides, feeling your goosebumps. He observes you carefully from his seat, his eyes exploring your naked form. When he’s satisfied, he motions for you to come closer with his finger. You follow, drawn in by desire.

He doesn’t let you sit back yet. You stand between his legs, as his cold hands start to feel you up. Plush soft skin, reactive to his every advance. His touch is gentle, but hungry. Impatient. He grasps at your waist and behind, fondles your chest between his fingers. One of his hands teases your thighs, your stomach, before finally dipping between your folds. You whine out loud as his finger brushes against your sensitive bud, and feels up your wet entrance. Pleased with your reaction, he draws his finger back to your bud, spreading your essence to ease friction. Your knees buckle and you gasp again.

‘’So responsive.’’, he comments, as he starts to rub circles around your sensitive spot. ,,Has anyone touched you like this before?’’

‘’N-no, Master, just me..’’, you say, hiding your face in shame.

He likes your response. He likes your shame. He will make you feel so much more of it than just this. You’re all his for the taking. ‘’Lay down.’’, he commands, and withdraws his hand from between your thighs. He stands up, and just for a moment before you climb into the bed, you get to see how tall he is in comparison to you.

‘’Not that far away.’’, he says. You wiggle back so you’re closer to the edge of the bed. You lay on your back, propped up on your elbows, legs spread wide for his viewing. You try to do your best. He looms over you now, fingers finding your private parts again. He rubs you carefully with one hand, the other feels your entrance again, and one finger dips in. You sigh, head leaning back at the foreign feeling. Two fingers and the pain of the stretch already pricks at you. A whimper escapes you, but you lull yourself to be quiet. It’s only his fingers, after all. They’re thick and long, and practiced, as they explore your insides. He’s doing you a favor.

‘’You’ve been such an obedient little human. You deserve a reward.’’, he says, his words making you squeeze his fingers. You moan as sparks of pleasure rattle your body, his fingers effortlessly finding the spot inside you that makes your leg shake. You forget about your manners. He stops, and you look back to him in desperation. ‘’What do you say when I reward you?’’

‘’Thank you Master!’’, you look at him through hazy eyes. Standing above you like this, he looks like a god. In complete ownership of your smaller, sprawled out body. You feel filthy, but his fingers inside you make you see stars, make you completely forget how you got here in the first place. You’re overtaken by a perverted, primal instinct, as you near your orgasm and force your legs open wider. The squelching noises of his fingers working out your hole fill the room.

Sukuna responds to your movements with a devilish grin. ‘’’Close, little pet?’’, he asks you, almost mockingly. His fingers massage your spongy walls, the sensitive spot in the depths of your fragile body.

‘’S-so close… Ahh!’’, you mewl through the moans, squeezing your fingers in a fist.

‘’Don’t hold back.’’, he says, eyes fixated on you, his own erection starting to strain unbearably against the fabric of his clothes. ‘’I may be generous, but that doesn’t mean I’m patient.’’

His words are truly your command. His energy, his presence, it strips you of any agency you have over yourself. Your body shakes to his words and pleasure washes over you, blacking your vision out as your eyes roll back. It rocks you, your hole throbbing, squeezing hard around his fingers. He rubs you through it gently but persistently, until you’re so sensitive you’re closing your legs to make him stop. You don’t have time to be embarrassed, coming down from your orgasm. He is entertained, but his hands are on your knees in no time, spreading them back apart, reminding you you’re far from done. When you look back up at him, his stare spells a warning. You quickly react by symbolically spreading a little wider, and tilting your hips to give him access.

‘’Would you rob me of my turn, pet?’’, he asks, undoing his obi.

‘’No! Never, Master..’’, your eyes travel down his figure as he discards his clothes. Even from this angle, his sculpted body looked massive in comparison to you. You wonder if it would engulf you if he lied over you right then and there, leaving only your clinging arms and legs as evidence that there is someone underneath him at all. Adorned by tattoos and muscles, he looks monstrous, imposing. You look at him with admiration, as your gaze drops to his hips, and the essence of his manhood. The two of them that hang from his crotch, rock hard and throbbing at the sight of you. At first you are taken aback, but after a moment you realize the math is right and it’s weird this hasn’t crossed your mind earlier. He does have a pair of everything else, so it makes sense he’s double gifted down there too. The base of his cocks is crowned with a low hanging set of balls, plump and ready to be drained. Nervousness that paints your face and changes your demeanor. You’re suddenly very aware of just how small your frame is compared to him, and the size of his cocks.

He likes watching people’s reactions. He is a cruel man after all. He likes his subjects nervous, fearful. A little resistance even excites him. But your pale face and tense body almost make him feel sorry for ruining your relaxed composure. Almost. It also happens to make him throb with desire. Underneath him, your face is contorted in fear. You think he might just kill you. What a painful and degrading death it would be, to die split on his cock like at the stake.

‘’Don’t like what you see?’’, he smirks at you, teasing, his demeanor seeming to change in an instant.

‘’Master, it’s not that... it’s just that...’’, you stutter over your words. Embarrassment and horror cojoin in your excuses. ‘’I’ve never done this before. I don’t think I can…’’, your eyes meet his and you trail off, leaving your thoughts unfinished. Sukuna doesn’t consider his subjects. He is a man who takes and takes, without a second thought, or a look at the person he’s taking from. His stare does linger on your fearful eyes though. He notices that in himself, feels himself slipping up from his usual behavior. An impulse comes to him to assert dominance aggressively, but he doesn’t react. He remembers how easily you submitted to him in the first place. He doesn’t need feats of aggression to scare you into compliance. You’re very compliant anyways. It’s just that you make him feel the closest emotion he’s felt to guilt in a very long time.

‘’Scoot back, pet. Hands and knees. Just one will do for tonight.’’, he says. You doubt he tried to comfort you, but thinking of it like that makes it easier to bear.

You obey him and turn around, crawling further onto the bed on all fours. He follows you, knees dipping into the mattress. His words are of little comfort as he crawls over you like a predator over his prey. Fear rises in your chest and you feel your heart start to pound again. He settles over you, heavy hands landing on your hips and pushing your thighs further apart to accommodate him between them. Another hand lands flat on your back, the plane between your shoulder blades, so small against his massive palm. So fragile against his brute strength. He could break you if he wanted to. Yet, he barely even pushes you.  

‘’Down.’’, he says, urging you to bend, allow him better access. You follow instructions, letting his hand guide your torso lower until your chest is pressed into the mattress. You feel uncomfortable, bent into this position that is completely new to you. Your slick folds are exposed for his viewing, your opening gaping with a shameless noise. He’s going to take you from behind, like an animal. You won’t even see, or feel your suitor, the man who will claim your innocence.

‘’Master..’’, your voice trembles and you turn your head to the side, searching for his gaze. He looks from your body back to you, listening. ‘’I’m scared..’’

He huffs, his expression not changing to signal he’s unhappy. Rather, he seems amused. Noticing that doesn’t help you feel any less scared. His first reaction is ,you should be.’. But he doesn’t want to send you into hysterics. He likes the peace and quiet. ‘’Relax pet.’’, he says, more of a command than a suggestion. ‘’It’ll hurt less.’’

You will yourself to relax, trying instead to focus on something else. However there’s little else to think of in a position like this, just him, his hands on your hips and back, keeping you snugly in place for him to use and enjoy. Your mind wails in anticipation.

You feel his wet tip grind against you, feeling the familiar need slowly come back to you as it rubs at your clit. His grip is unfaltering on your hips, holding you in place as he starts to enter you. You cry out loud, and your body instinctively tries to wriggle out of his grasp, escape the intrusion.

Sukuna growls, his fingers dig into your hips hard enough to bruise, and he pushes you back onto him.

‘’Where do you think you’re going?’’, he says, audibly displeased. His rock hard member protrudes deeper into you, and you shut your eyes tight and grip the sheets so hard your knuckles go white. You wanted to be brave and quiet, wanted even to babble an apology, but as he advances, stretching you open painfully, you cannot help but cry out loud. Tears drop from your eyes and you bury your face into the bed.

He grunts as you envelop him, coating him in a mixture of your blood and wetness. He pushes through your resistance, the feeling overwhelming, even for him. Your walls cling to him so tightly he has to put mental effort into not releasing right then and there. He moves slowly, caring just enough to not break you. In no time he’s fully sheathed in, his balls pressed against your clit. You’re so incredibly full, you think you may just pop. Sukuna bends over you, and you feel his hot breath on your back. You turn around to see him through a blur of tears. You’re a sobbing, mewling mess. Filled to the brim with his want for you. It brings a smile to his face.

‘’How does it feel, pet?’’, he asks. He truly doesn’t care for your answer, he’s just entertained by your measly crying voice.

‘’H-hurts..hurts so much, Master!’’, you sob.

‘’Shame.’’, his head leans in closer to yours, and you can see nothing but his glowing red eyes. ,,Because it feels heavenly to me.’’

With that, he starts moving. You gasp, holding onto the sheets as he rocks your body with his thursts. Slow and deep, mercifully you think, his cock heavy inside of you, spreading you thin. His hips meet the soft flesh of your ass with a slap at every stroke. The stretch burns, but the discomfort dissipates slowly, as his fat tip stroking your sensitive walls, sending hints of pleasure through you. You feel him whole, every vein and ridge and curve of his cock.

Slowly your tears begin to dry, and your painful sobs are replaced by lustful gasps and moans. His eyes keep coming back to you from time to time, observing your reactions to his every move. Your head is turned to the side, and at first you avoid his gaze, ashamed of crying like a weakling. You know there’s nothing he despises more than that. Now that you’ve began to accept him, welcome him inside of you, you look back. Eyes blinking back at him idly, innocently, as your mouth drops open. He grunts as he fucks you, the sound low and masculine. He picks up the pace and the room echoes the sounds of your squelching wet cunt and the skin of his hips, thighs and balls meeting yours with every push. His cock rummages through your depths with abandon. Your moans follow his frequency, as you feel pleasure build in your core slowly, each of his movement coaxing you closer to another orgasm.

Your hands ache with the need to touch his body, to feel him close, feel his muscles tense and relax as he breaks you. The pleasure sparks inside you and you’re restless, craving another release so bad. Your legs tremble, toes curl, you start to push back, meeting his hips mid stroke.

‘’Enjoying yourself, pet?’’, Sukuna asks, dipping his head closer to you again, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. Straight to your core. You tighten around him, nearing your release and he growls.

‘’M-m, yes Master! So big... Feels so good!’’, you stutter, reduced to a trembling mess, clinging desperately onto anything you can get a hold of, in hopes of delaying your orgasm. He hasn’t moved a finger to please you this time around and you’re already fluttering around him. ‘’M-master..please.. Wanna touch you, feel you..’’, you open and close your hand in tune with your words.

His hand digs into your hair and tugs, picking the upper half of your body up from the bed. ,,What was that, pet? A demand?’’

‘’No! No Master.. I wouldn’t.. I-I was begging!’’, you backtrack immediately, your neck straining from the force he’s pulling you with.

He relaxes the hold and you fall back into the previous position. He is satisfied with your answer, but he won’t grant your wish. ‘’You may not.’’, he says, and exhales shakily as you tighten at his words again. ‘’But you’re cute when you beg.’’, you do it again, and he knows you’re close. ‘’Such a horny little human. How quickly you’ve changed your mind.’’

‘’A-ah, Master.. Gonna, gonna cum..’’, you whine, his cock hitting your insides perfectly, his pace steady, unfaltering.

‘’I’ll allow it. Whore.’’

With his last word, you’re tipped over the edge and your orgasm drowns you. Your breath hitches, hands grip the sheets, and the whole world stops as pleasure shakes through your body like electricity. You trash against him helplessly, your body not fully under your control. His hands finally release your hips, and your quivering body slumps against the mattress, your cunt fluttering around nothing as you lose contact with your master. You’re left a moaning, sensitive mess, sticking to the sheets in your sweat and juices. Your shaking legs still, and you feel numbness envelop your body

Sukuna gives you a moment to ride out the aftershocks. Then he straddles you and leans his weight against you. His hand crawls under your body, stopping to grip your breast and continues to pick up your cheeks between his fingers, turning your face towards him. His eyes are threatening, and he doesn’t need to tell you anything. You know what he wants.

‘’T-Thank you, Master. S-so good... Thank you! ’’, you say, your hand itching to feel his face. He chuckles, takes both of your hands and traps them underneath his on either of your sides. Tonight, he is adamant on not allowing you to touch him.

Satisfied with your answer, he guides his cock back into you and continues where he left off, chasing his own end. With your legs closed like this, you feel even tighter around him. You’re trapped between his heavy body and the mattress, unable to move a muscle as he picks up the pace, withdrawing and snapping back in with each powerful thurst.

‘’Good pet. You know where you belong.’’, his grip tightens on your wrists as he nears his release, growing weary and relentless. ‘’Under me. Always.’’, he growls into your ear.

You meet his eyes and hold his gaze, enticing his pleasure with your words. ‘’Yes Master! When-whenever you need me!’’, you moan, and let your mouth hang open in an ,o’ shape.

His pace slows, strokes getting sloppy as his orgasm draws close. He breathes hard, face close to yours. You feel him waver, feel him slowly lose his composure. Feel him come apart slowly nestled in the warmth of your insides. His brows are furrowed, eyes tight shut, mouth hanging loose. One of his hands crawls under your belly, propping your ass up just a bit, for a better angle. He feels himself inside you, a bulge protruding in your lower belly as he holds you in place. This is the final push that makes the coil of pleasure inside of him snap. He comes with a guttural, animalistic groan, and comes down biting your shoulder. His cock twitches violently, kissing your womb as he empties his load inside you. He groans through every spurt, hot and sticky as he paints your inner walls. His thighs shake against yours, his whole body rocked by the powerful orgasm. One he hasn’t experienced in what could be hundreds of years.

You feel so completely full of him. As he comes down from his high, he licks up the blood off your shoulder, tongue hot over the place where his teeth punctured your soft skin. He finally lets go of your wrists and sits up, slowly withdrawing his cock. Beads of his cum follow his cock, leaking out of your empty cunt. So much of it, you feel dirty letting it drip out of you like this.

He takes a moment to observe you, laying there fucked out, marked and utterly claimed by him. You let out a helpless noise, feeling your hurting wrists. The bite on your shoulder will leave a bruise, same as the place his finger dug into your hips. Your cunt aches from the assault of his cock inside it. Weakness takes over you, and you feel like you can barely move. He doesn’t consider healing you. He wants you to be reminded of him, constantly. When you stand up on wobbly legs, when you take off your clothes to go the bathroom. When you turn in bed. When you look into the mirror. He won’t let you forget, even for a moment, where you are, and who you belong to.

He stands up from the bed, and you turn your head to search for him. ‘’Master? Have I..’’, you stutter when you meet his eyes. His gaze is attentive as he fixes his ruffled hair, slicking it back. He gives you a moment to finish your sentence, but you don’t. You just sit up in his bed, pulling your knees to your chest. Hiding from him, as if in shame. Your hand searches for covers to pull over yourself. You’d most like to disappear under them. How pathetic you are, you think. Searching for approval, for praise, from a man who took you with no regards to your wishes or feelings. Why would he compliment you? You’ve hardly been anything but a fucktoy for him, not even worthy enough for him to fuck you looking at your face. Tears begin to pool in your eyes, emotions from your first experience overwhelming you. You crave touch, affection, anything to contrast the treatment you’ve received until now. If he would let you, you would cling to him like a newborn would to it’s mother. Like your existence depends solely on him, and he is your entire world. But he is not a man who likes to be touched. Not a man who likes intimacy. You could only dream of a kiss, of tenderness of any kind.

When you look back, Sukuna is standing above you, a piece of clothing already wrapped around his waist. His hand feels your cheek, the expression on his face almost soft, but still dominating. Seeing you cry in doubt you haven’t done a good job truly somehow makes him more satisfied with you. You show a great concern for your master. He likes to be the center of people’s worlds.

‘’Weep not, my pet. Your efforts will not go unnoticed.’’, he says, voice still as stern as ever. ,,I’m happy with your servitude.’’

Your eyes lighten up as you look up to him. His stare is docile, but threatening, as you remember that after all you are supposed to keep your head low. You duck down in apology. ‘’T-Thank you, Master.’’, your voice falters, but Sukuna is still satisfied with how quickly you pick up on your mistakes. He finds you’re quite easy to work with. He turns and leaves you, for only a moment, to sit and reminisce about this whole encounter on his bed.

‘’Uraume.’’, he then says, in a relaxed, almost quiet voice. You don’t think you’ve even heard the doors open, but the white haired monk stands in the corner of the room. Have they been there the whole time? You spiral in shame as they nod and approach you, their hands finding yours. They pull lightly, urging you off the bed. You didn’t think about where you’ll spend the night, but it makes sense it won’t be here. Sukuna wouldn’t let you touch him, see him, he wouldn’t kiss you, much less let you share his bed while he sleeps. You feel used, dehumanized. It hurts, but you stand up. Uraume picks up your clothes from the floor and wraps them around you lazily, doing enough just to cover you up until you’re back in your room.

‘’Rest up, pet. I’ll keep you quite busy during our times together.’’, Sukuna tells you, and gives you one last look, before he disappears in the shadows of his chambers. You bow to him and follow Uraume out.

What follows is a walk of shame. There is no one in the hallway, and Uraume walks in front of you, but you feel the weight of a thousand eyes. You watch each wobbly step with care, so as not to make further cause for embarrassment. Uraume lets you in your room. It is lit by a single candle. You stare at it’s faltering flame as Uraume disappears, leaving you alone for a moment. So this is what your life will look like from now on.

Uraume returns with a warm, wet towel. ,,Clean yourself up. You have a fresh set of clothes on the bed.’’ Their stare, empty as ever, finds your eyes and lingers for one last moment. ‘’Get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow for breakfast.’’

You stare at the towel in your hand, not returning their gaze. They eventually move, closing the door behind them and leaving you alone in the room. You do what you can to clean yourself, wrap yourself in sleeping clothes and lay on the bed. Squeezing your knees to your chest, you long for comfort, for warmth. For any reminiscence of humanity that you’re yet to find in this mansion.

[lightdancingwords]

Crossroads of the Heart - Part Forty of ?

Pairings: CJ Braxton x Y/N Female reader

Series Summary: Y/N is a psychology major assigned to shadow CJ at The Stand, unaware he's the one who basically saved her life four years before. CJ is unaware that she's the one who left a notable impact on him over the phone four years ago. As they navigate the work at The Stand, they develop a spark that demands revelation and connection.

Word Count: 5,002

Tags/Warnings: fluff, some angst, biological medical issue

A/N: Comments, Likes, Reblogs, Kind feedback are always highly appreciated. Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

NOTE: Please refer to THIS POST about the new posting schedule! Thank you!

Addendum: I have a tremendous favor to ask all my readers. Please read THIS POST for more.

Dividers: credit to @saradika-graphics

Chapter Forty: Holding Love With Both Hands

A week later, the rhythms of life had returned—almost.

The Stand moved like it always did, steady in its pulse of calls and quiet conversations and lives stitched together by the smallest gestures of care. But even with the comfort of the routine, a certain heaviness still lingered in Y/N’s chest. Not overwhelming, not paralyzing—just… present. Like a bruise that hadn’t yet faded.

She hadn’t made a decision about the letter.

Every morning, she’d pass it where it sat tucked into her notebook on the entry table, and every night, she’d ignore the instinct to pick it up and read it again. The words were etched in her memory now anyway. There was no forgetting them. Just the long, slow process of feeling them—and not knowing what to do with the feelings that followed.

CJ never pushed. Not once.

He held her hand when she needed it. Gave her space when she didn’t. Every evening, he made dinner or cleaned up after she did. Every night, he curled around her, breathing steady and quiet, asking nothing, offering everything.

And she loved him even more for it.

Gabby had been her usual whirlwind of chaos and affection, though slightly slowed by what she now called “the great urinary betrayal of 2025.” She still came in every day, slightly hunched, but full of dramatic flair.

“I swear to God,” Gabby had said just two days ago, hobbling into The Stand and immediately flopping into the desk beside Y/N, “Miles kissed my forehead and handed me cranberry juice this morning like he was proposing marriage. I can’t decide if I want to marry him or throw this bottle at him.”

Y/N had laughed until she cried.

That had helped.

Priya remained a quiet constant. She checked in without hovering, offered gentle nudges when Y/N seemed too far inward, and let silence sit between them when that was all that needed to be said. When Y/N asked for advice, Priya gave it. When she didn’t, Priya simply stayed.

And now, on a late Thursday afternoon, Y/N sat at her desk, hands folded in her lap, the buzz of the day quieting around her.

The letter still hadn’t moved.

Her decision still sat, undone.

But for the first time all week, the weight didn’t feel quite so sharp.

CJ was somewhere in the back, finishing his check-ins. Gabby was sprawled on a beanbag chair in the corner with a hot pack and a pack of gummy bears. Priya had just walked past with a cup of tea for someone and given Y/N a glance that said you’re still breathing. That’s enough.

And maybe… it was.

Maybe, today, being undecided was its own kind of step forward.

Not peace. Not closure.

But breath.

And breath was enough—for now.

Gabby shuffled through the front doors of The Stand just shy of ten, oversized hoodie hanging off one shoulder and a scowl carved deep into her face. She held a to-go cup of coffee like it personally owed her money and moved like each step was a betrayal.

Y/N looked up from her desk as Gabby slumped dramatically into the chair beside her.

“You look like someone ran over your last nerve,” Y/N murmured.

Gabby didn’t answer right away—just groaned, dropped her head back against the chair, and muttered, “My doctor wants to do a culture.”

Y/N blinked. “A what?”

“A urine culture,” Gabby snapped, lifting her head just enough to glare over at her. “Apparently the antibiotics didn’t work, probably because I didn’t give them a chance to work, and now she thinks we need to find a more targeted treatment.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, lips twitching. “You mean because you were—what’s the medical term—jumping on Miles like your life depended on it while taking the antibiotics?”

Gabby groaned again and buried her face in her hands. “Don’t remind me.”

“You didn’t even finish the prescription before resuming ‘activities,’” Y/N said, barely hiding her amusement.

“I have no self-control,” Gabby mumbled through her fingers. “Do you know how hard it is to say no to a man who brings you mango slices, kisses your shoulder, and says things like ‘You don’t have to do anything—just let me hold you’ while actively being the most attractive man alive?”

Y/N laughed, soft and fond. “So, instead of letting your body heal, you kept… testing it?”

Gabby sat up and pointed at her, wounded. “I was optimistic.”

“You were reckless,” Y/N corrected gently. “With a UTI.”

“I’m in love and deeply compromised,” Gabby said, dramatically flopping forward onto the desk. “Tell my bladder I’m sorry.”

Y/N chuckled, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder. “Maybe tell Miles no for like, two days.”

Gabby peeked up. “But what if he makes tea and plays me a record and looks at me like I’m the sun?”

Y/N grinned. “Then you tell him to keep his romantic eyes to himself until your urinary tract clears the hell up.”

Gabby groaned again, but this time there was a laugh under it.

“I swear, if this culture comes back and the new meds take even longer, I’m sending him to your place for safekeeping.”

Y/N patted her arm. “He’s not safe there either.”

Gabby buried her face in the crook of her elbow and wheezed. “I hate how true that is.”

But even with the discomfort, even with the culture pending, Gabby was smiling again.

Because misery was always softer when you could share it with someone who didn’t flinch.

Y/N shook her head, barely able to keep the grin off her face as she reached over and gently patted Gabby’s back.

“It honestly never stops being funny,” she said, voice low with amusement. “Our resident grump—Mr. I-Don’t-Do-Small-Talk, jaded tech guy Miles Jensen—is somehow the human embodiment of a Jane Austen love interest for you.”

Gabby turned her head just enough to squint at Y/N from where she was still half-collapsed on the desk. “It’s terrifying.”

Y/N laughed softly. “He used to grunt his way through morning meetings. Now he’s making you soup and whispering sweet nothings about the cosmos?”

“And carrying my heating pad cord across the apartment like it’s a crown,” Gabby added, face still pressed against her sleeve. “He even Googled if Epsom salts would help.”

“Oh, he’s gone,” Y/N murmured, the smile deepening on her face. “Completely gone for you.”

Gabby groaned, but it was the good kind—the kind that came from being adored so much it was almost embarrassing. “And I’m a mess. A limping, over-caffeinated, painfully in-love mess with a vengeful bladder.”

Y/N gently rubbed her back, soothing and teasing all at once. “And he still looks at you like you hung the moon.”

Gabby sat up slowly, hair slightly wild, eyes narrowed. “If you start writing poetry about this, I’m breaking into your notes app and deleting everything.”

“Too late,” Y/N said with a smirk. “I already titled the piece Love in the Time of Sulfamethoxazole.”

Gabby stared at her for a beat—then burst out laughing.

And for a moment, even with all the chaos and culture tests and heat packs, everything felt a little easier. Because the people who knew you best knew how to make the worst days a little funnier.

And in Y/N’s case, watching the grumpiest guy in the building turn to mush for her best friend? That was the kind of love story even she hadn’t seen coming.

CJ sat alone in his office, the late morning light slanting in through the high windows, cutting across the edge of his desk and spilling over a small stack of forms he wasn’t yet ready to face. The phone was quiet for once. The hallway beyond his door held only the low murmur of distant voices. It was the kind of rare stillness that didn’t ask for movement. It invited reflection.

He leaned back in his chair, one ankle crossed over his knee, pen forgotten between his fingers.

His other hand drifted down—familiar now in its ritual—to the ring on his finger. White-gold. Subtly etched with delicate snowflakes, just like the one on Y/N’s ring. A design they’d chosen together, something beautiful and quietly personal. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t meant to be. Just like them.

He turned it slowly, thumb brushing over the smooth edges, the carved lines.

He still remembered the look on her face when she slipped it onto his finger that day. The way her hands trembled a little. The way her eyes didn’t.

CJ swallowed hard, the memory blooming in his chest like warmth from the inside out.

He loved her.

Not in a simple, passing way—but with the depth of someone who had learned how fragile love could be. How sacred. He loved her in the silences. In the small gestures. In the nights she couldn’t sleep and the mornings she barely spoke. He loved her even more when she doubted herself—especially then.

He thought about their quiet conversations lately. The pain she still carried. The letter still folded on the entry table. The fact that she hadn’t rushed to make peace with it, and how deeply he respected that.

She was brave, not because she forced herself to heal—but because she gave herself time to.

And he was proud of her. Endlessly.

His thumb lingered on the ring once more before he let his hand fall back to his lap, exhaling slow and steady.

This was the woman he’d marry. Not because she was perfect. Not because he was. But because they had walked through fire—separately, together—and had chosen to build something real in the ashes.

He didn’t need vows or a chapel to know the truth.

He was already hers.

And whatever came next, whatever decisions waited—he would meet them by her side. Always.

A soft knock tapped against CJ’s office door—gentle, deliberate.

He blinked out of his thoughts, his thumb still caught on the curve of his engagement ring. He hadn’t realized he’d been turning it again. He glanced toward the door and straightened just slightly in his chair.

“Come in,” he said, voice even.

The door eased open and Priya slipped inside, calm as always, a mug in her hand and something unreadable in her expression.

But her eyes—sharp and kind all at once—flicked straight to his hand before he even moved it. Just a glance. Just enough.

A knowing glint softened the edge of her otherwise neutral face.

CJ cleared his throat and let his hand fall back to the armrest.

Priya walked in, closing the door softly behind her. “Caught you fidgeting,” she said, voice quiet but warm, a hint of something close to amusement curling around the words.

CJ didn’t deny it. He just lifted his chin a little, meeting her gaze. “It’s a habit.”

Priya nodded and walked further into the room, setting the mug on the corner of his desk. “That kind of habit usually means the person in question is thinking about something—or someone—they can’t quite put into words.”

CJ glanced down at the ring again, then back up. “Y/N,” he said simply.

“I figured.” She leaned back against the edge of the desk. “You good?”

CJ hesitated for a breath, then nodded once. “Yeah. I mean… she’s still figuring things out. The letter. Her dad. All of it.”

Priya didn’t interrupt.

“And I just—” he paused, hand brushing his ring again. “Sometimes I wish I could take it all off her shoulders. Carry it for her. But I know I can’t.”

“No,” Priya said softly. “But you’re showing her she doesn’t have to carry it alone.”

CJ looked up at her then, eyes slightly tired but steady.

Priya offered the faintest smile. “That’s what love looks like, CJ. The quiet kind.”

He gave a small, quiet nod, and this time when his thumb moved over the ring, it was slower. Not fidgeting. Just grounding.

“I think about the future a lot,” he admitted.

Priya tilted her head. “With her?”

“With her,” he echoed.

And for a moment, neither of them said anything else. Just stood in that quiet space, anchored by understanding, by something deeper than reassurance.

By truth.

Priya pushed off the desk. “Don’t rush her. But don’t doubt her either.”

CJ gave a quiet smile. “I don’t.”

She started for the door, then paused and glanced back.

“She’s lucky, you know. To be loved like that.”

CJ’s eyes softened. “So am I.”

And as the door closed gently behind Priya, he looked back down at the ring—then let his hand rest still over his heart.

Later that afternoon, the warm buzz of The Stand had started to mellow into its late-day rhythm—fewer calls, softer voices, keyboards clicking in bursts rather than constant streams.

Y/N was jotting something into a logbook when a familiar groan—low, theatrical, and unmistakably Gabby—echoed from the hallway.

Seconds later, Gabby rounded the corner like a woman approaching her doom, slumped under the weight of invisible burdens, a paper bag clutched in one hand.

She flopped into the chair beside Y/N’s desk like a wounded soldier returning from war.

Y/N looked up, one brow arched. “Another pharmacy run?”

Gabby didn’t lift her head. “The culture came back,” she mumbled into the crook of her elbow. “I have been cursed.”

“Oh no…”

Gabby lifted her face just enough to glare. “Persistent strain. That’s what they called it. Persistent. Stubborn. I have a bacterial infection with commitment issues.”

Y/N bit back a laugh. “So… more antibiotics?”

Gabby dropped the paper bag onto the desk with a dramatic thud. “Stronger antibiotics. The kind that require a signed blood pact and, probably, a separate savings account.”

“Yikes,” Y/N said, sympathetic but still amused. “You okay?”

“No,” Gabby snapped. “I’ve been betrayed by science and my own bladder. And Miles looked genuinely sad when I told him there would be no activities of a physical nature for at least another week. Like he was mourning a national holiday.”

Y/N covered her smile with her hand. “Poor guy.”

Gabby pointed a finger at her. “I’m the one being reduced to herbal teas and prescription-strength horse pills and peeing every seventeen minutes. Don’t you ‘poor guy’ me.”

“I’m just saying,” Y/N teased gently, “maybe this time… finish the antibiotics before you climb him like a tree.”

Gabby groaned again and dropped her head onto the desk with a dramatic thunk. “I hate you.”

Y/N grinned, patting her friend’s back. “You love me. And you’ll survive.”

“Barely,” Gabby muttered. “If this thing mutates again, I’m going to start charging my immune system rent.”

Y/N just kept patting, her amusement softened with affection.

Despite it all, Gabby would be okay. Frustrated. Tired. Dramatic as hell.

But okay.

And Y/N was, strangely, grateful—for this moment, this ridiculous, miserable, shared breath of normalcy in the middle of so much else.

The golden hue of early evening stretched long across the parking lot as CJ and Y/N made their way to the car, their hands intertwined, their pace unhurried. The workday had been long, but the late sunlight and the gentle breeze made the walk feel like a small reprieve.

Y/N gave his hand a playful squeeze. “So. Gabby came by my desk this afternoon.”

CJ raised a brow, glancing sideways. “That tone says I should brace myself.”

“Oh, you should,” she said, smiling. “Because the culture came back. Apparently, she has a persistent, stubborn strain of UTI.”

CJ grimaced. “Oof. Poor Gabby.”

“She’d agree with you. But only after telling you that her doctor has now put her on stronger antibiotics, and—this is the best part—she’s miserable because she’s officially banned from all physical activity of the… intimate kind until the meds do their job.”

CJ blinked as he opened the passenger side door for her. “You mean to tell me she told you that?”

“Oh, not just told me,” Y/N said, laughing. “She groaned it. Flopped into the chair like the world had betrayed her and announced, ‘I have a bacterial infection with commitment issues,’ and then said—and I quote—‘I’m in love and deeply compromised.’”

CJ climbed into the driver’s seat, buckling in with a dazed expression. “Why do I know this now?”

“Because I care about your emotional wellness,” she teased, eyes dancing.

CJ shook his head slowly, adjusting the mirror with a muttered, “You’re ruining Miles for me.”

“Oh, it gets better,” Y/N said, delighted. “Apparently, Miles looked genuinely sad when she told him there’d be no activities of a physical nature for the next week. Like he was mourning a national holiday.”

CJ dragged a hand down his face. “That’s it. I can never talk to him again.”

“You’re officiating their wedding someday,” she reminded him.

“Only under a gag order,” he muttered. “And blindfolded.”

Y/N laughed, settling into her seat and tucking her legs beneath her. “Still. You have to admit, it’s kind of sweet. Grumpy, stoic Miles Jensen being brought low by a UTI and a woman who refuses to rest.”

CJ smiled despite himself, one hand on the wheel, the other still laced with hers. “They’re ridiculous.”

Y/N grinned. “They are. Completely. But… kind of perfect for each other.”

He shook his head, amusement warm in his voice. “You know what’s scary?”

“What?”

“You’d think I’d be immune to shock after working here so long. But I still wasn’t prepared to hear the phrase ‘persistent bacterial strain’ in the same sentence as Miles Jensen.”

Y/N laughed, her head resting against the window, the sound light. “I don’t think Miles was prepared for that sentence either.”

CJ’s expression softened as the car rolled toward a red light. “It’s funny. They’re so chaotic and open. It’s like… they crash into each other and don’t care who sees.”

Y/N hummed. “They’re bold.”

He nodded. “They are.”

Then, after a quiet beat, he added, “They’re what we weren’t five years ago.”

Y/N looked over at him, curious.

CJ glanced at her, the light from the dashboard casting soft shadows across his face. “Back then? We had crushes and didn’t say a thing. Danced around each other like the world would end if one of us actually spoke up.”

Y/N smiled, the memory warm and a little bittersweet. “I remember thinking about you all the time… and convincing myself it didn’t matter.”

He gave a quiet laugh. “It mattered. God, it mattered.”

She reached for his hand again, squeezing it softly.

“Well,” she said, voice gentle, “we figured it out.”

CJ looked at her—truly looked—and nodded. “Yeah. We did.”

And as the light turned green and they rolled forward into the settling dusk, their hands stayed clasped, their silence filled with something deeper than words.

Not the crash-and-burn chaos of new love.

Something steadier. Quieter.

The kind that lasts.

As they pulled into their spot and the car rolled to a gentle stop, Y/N let out a soft, weary sigh. The kind that wasn’t heavy with despair—but spoke of a long day, too much thinking, and the quiet ache of a heart still learning how to carry what it hadn’t asked for.

She stayed still for a moment, her head tipping sideways, resting lightly against CJ’s shoulder.

He didn’t move. Just let her stay there.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low, careful.

She didn’t answer right away, her eyes still closed.

Then: “I’m hanging in there.”

CJ nodded, turning his head slightly to kiss the top of hers. “I know.”

The silence sat between them a moment longer before he spoke again, voice soft and steady.

“How about this,” he said. “You go take a long bath. Hot water, maybe some of that lavender stuff you like. Just… let your body rest. Let your mind drift a little.”

Y/N lifted her head slowly to look at him.

“And you?” she asked.

“I’ll take care of dinner,” he said simply. “Something easy. Something good. You don’t need to think about anything but warm water and peace for a little while.”

Her lips curved into the faintest smile. “You’re going to hide vegetables in it, aren’t you?”

CJ smirked. “I would never hide vegetables. I openly declare them.”

She let out a soft laugh and reached for his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Okay.”

He brought her hand to his lips, kissed her knuckles. “Go. I’ve got the rest.”

And with that, she stepped out into the fading light of evening, walking toward the door with the weight on her shoulders just a little lighter.

Because some nights, love looked like drawn baths and dinner quietly made in the next room.

And that, for now, was more than enough.

The apartment welcomed them in with its familiar hush, the kind of quiet that didn’t feel empty—but safe. Lived in. Worn soft by laughter, late-night talks, and the scent of CJ’s cooking that lingered in corners like memory.

Y/N slipped off her shoes by the door and gave him a look over her shoulder—grateful, tired, but smiling just the same. CJ leaned down, brushed a kiss to her temple, and murmured, “Go on. I’ll call you when it’s ready.”

She nodded, and with that, padded down the hallway, the sound of her steps soft against the wood floor. The bathroom door clicked shut behind her a moment later.

CJ lingered for a second, watching the space she’d left behind. Then he rolled up his sleeves.

In the kitchen, he moved with practiced ease—opening cabinets, pulling out a pan, washing his hands. Nothing fancy tonight. Just something warm. Comforting. He pulled out a box of pasta, a few vegetables, and began slicing mushrooms and spinach with deliberate, quiet focus. He added garlic, olive oil, tossed in a bit of red pepper—something with flavor, but not too much weight.

A background hum of music filtered through the Bluetooth speaker—one of their shared playlists, something mellow and soft. The apartment smelled like sautéed garlic and rosemary before long.

Meanwhile, down the hall, Y/N slipped into the tub slowly, steam curling up into the air, lavender filling the space around her. The heat sank into her bones, the tension in her shoulders softening by degrees. She let her head fall back against the edge, eyes fluttering shut, CJ’s voice still echoing gently in her memory.

“You don’t need to think about anything but warm water and peace for a little while.”

And she didn’t.

Not about the letter.

Not about the past.

Just his voice. The way he looked at her. The way he loved her without needing to fix her pain—just hold her through it.

By the time CJ knocked gently on the bathroom door and called, “Dinner’s ready,” she was wrapped in warmth, her skin pink from the heat, her breath easier than it had been all day.

She dressed slowly, one of his worn t-shirts hanging long over her legs, her hair damp against her neck.

When she stepped into the kitchen, CJ had already set two plates down and poured water into their favorite mismatched glasses.

He looked up and smiled, eyes soft, steady.

“You okay?” he asked again, not expecting a different answer—just wanting to keep asking.

Y/N stepped closer, wrapped her arms around his waist, and pressed her face into his chest.

“I’m getting there,” she whispered.

And he held her there, like he always did.

No rush. No pressure.

Just love. Patient and whole.

Dinner passed in that kind of quiet that didn’t need to be filled—just shared. The pasta was warm and buttery with garlic and a hint of heat, the mushrooms tender, the spinach wilted just enough. Y/N twirled her fork slowly, stealing bites from CJ’s plate even though they were nearly identical, and CJ didn’t complain once. If anything, he leaned in closer when she did it, just to make the stealing easier.

The air was thick with the scent of rosemary and good company, and the soft music still played in the background—low and slow, barely there.

They didn’t talk much. A few smiles exchanged. A small toast with water glasses that clinked quietly. CJ asked if the bath helped, and Y/N nodded with a hum. He didn’t press. He never did.

She leaned her head against his shoulder for a moment after they’d finished eating, their plates still on the table, untouched since the last bite. She closed her eyes, just breathing in the comfort of the moment, the steadiness of him.

Then—ping.

Y/N’s phone, tucked beside her glass, lit up.

She sighed, then reached for it, thumb unlocking the screen.

CJ tilted his head. “Gabby?”

Y/N smiled. “Gabby.”

She read the message under her breath, her voice already trembling with laughter.

“I was doing so well. SO well. Taking my meds. Drinking my water. Staying far, far away from Miles’ hands. And then he sat on the couch in that hoodie, called me ‘baby’ in that low voice, and handed me a cup of tea with both hands. WHO DOES THAT?! I folded like a lawn chair.”

Y/N burst out laughing, setting the phone down and covering her mouth.

CJ raised a brow. “Oh God. What now?”

Y/N wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “She says, and I quote, ‘If I die of another UTI, tell the paramedics I died stupid and in love.’”

CJ groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “They need supervision.”

Y/N tapped back a reply, still grinning. “You’d think after the last lecture from her doctor she’d know better.”

CJ leaned back in his chair, watching her type with that little fond smirk he always got when she was amused. “She doesn’t have a self-preservation instinct. Just a Miles instinct.”

Y/N chuckled and locked her phone again, slipping it back beside her plate.

“She’s ridiculous,” she said, shaking her head.

CJ nudged her ankle under the table. “She’s yours.”

Y/N looked over at him, eyes warm. “Yeah,” she said softly. “She is.”

They lingered at the table a little longer, the evening folding around them like a well-worn blanket. Outside the windows, the sky darkened, stars beginning to stretch across the sky. Inside, love lived in soft laughter, warm food, and shared glances.

Steady. Certain. Home.

CJ leaned back in his chair, arms crossed loosely over his chest, a faint smirk playing at the corner of his mouth as he watched Y/N swipe the last of the sauce with her bread.

He nudged her ankle again beneath the table, a little more deliberate this time.

“So,” he said casually, “if you were sick like Gabby—stuck on the couch, miserable, medicated… think you’d be able to resist me?”

Y/N looked up, a piece of bread halfway to her mouth. Her brow lifted, amused. “Are you actually fishing for reassurance right now?”

CJ gave a thoughtful shrug, but his smirk deepened. “Just curious. I mean, if I made you tea with both hands, would that do it?”

She chewed slowly, drawing it out just to watch the flicker of anticipation in his eyes. Then, as she swallowed, she leaned back in her chair, mirroring his relaxed posture, her expression utterly unreadable.

“Well,” she said, tapping a finger to her chin, “that depends.”

“On?”

“Are you also wearing that hoodie I like? The soft one that smells like cedar and always falls off your shoulder a little when you’re tired?”

CJ blinked. “You mean the one you’ve stolen three times?”

Y/N grinned. “I plead the fifth.”

CJ chuckled, leaning in a little, his voice dipping low. “So that’s a no. You wouldn’t resist.”

She tilted her head, lips twitching. “If you called me ‘baby’ in that voice and brought me tea with both hands? No. I’d be doomed.”

“Noted,” he murmured, eyes warm.

Y/N reached across the table, her fingers lacing gently through his. “You wouldn’t have to seduce me, CJ. I’m already yours.”

CJ stilled, the smirk softening into something deeper. He brought her hand to his lips, pressed a kiss to her knuckles, and let it linger there.

“I know,” he said softly.

And in the silence that followed, neither of them needed to ask the question again.

CJ kept her hand in his even after the kiss, his thumb brushing slow arcs over her knuckles, the quiet between them stretching comfortably.

Y/N watched him from across the table, the soft kitchen light catching in the moss green of his eyes. There was something unspoken lingering there now—affection, yes, but also that quiet awe he sometimes carried when he looked at her like this. Like he still couldn’t quite believe they’d found each other, chosen each other, kept choosing each other.

“I mean it,” she said after a moment, voice low. “You wouldn’t need tricks or tea or some tragic hoodie. I wouldn’t last five minutes pretending to resist you.”

CJ smiled, small and real. “Good to know.”

She squeezed his hand, her gaze softening. “But I also know you’d let me. If I needed space. If I was hurting or sick. You’d never push.”

His thumb paused for a second, then resumed its slow rhythm. “I’d wait,” he said, his voice like dusk—calm, deep, full of something steady. “No matter how long. Always would.”

They sat there for a while longer, still hand in hand, the scent of dinner still lingering, the music now faded into quiet.

Finally, CJ stood and tugged her gently to her feet. “Come on,” he said, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Let’s get you to bed.”

Y/N leaned into him, head on his shoulder as they walked down the hall, their movements slow and unhurried. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head as they passed the entry table—the same spot where the letter still sat tucked inside her notebook, untouched but not forgotten.

She glanced toward it briefly, then back up at him. “Maybe tomorrow,” she murmured.

CJ didn’t look at the letter. He just looked at her.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he said.

And they stepped into their bedroom, leaving the weight of the day behind, wrapped in the soft certainty of each other.

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