#sure. they could text. but its like passing notes this way. its a little secret just between the 2 of them

[weirdbabs]

i like to imagine that once isabel gets eightfold back, she and max send eachother notes using their tools. isabel makes paper airplanes and throws them at his window, trusting that eightfolds powers will propel it enough and direct it to its destination; max puts his in an envelope with either a small magnet or some paperclips and points to approximately to where her house is and repels the letter hoping it hits a small sheet of metal shes put outside her window. she could poke fun at how much better she is at hitting her mark than he is, and he could say something about how its a lot easier when your spirits doing all the work for you. he could set up a little dart board for her with a basket underneath so she could dip the tip of the planes in paint and see just how spot on she is

[kooklovee]

HOLD ON TO ME (m) - JJK

Your husband forgets your second anniversary. What starts as disappointment and heartbreak soon spirals into doubt- about your love, your marriage & whether he even sees you anymore. But when Jungkook realizes his mistake, he’s willing to do anything to prove that his love has never wavered..

Can he make it up to you, or is it already too late?

Pairing - CeoHusband!Jungkook x Wife!Reader

Genre - 18+, established relationship au, angst, fluff, smut, some more angst MDNI

ONESHOT - 11k words

Warnings - angsty ride, hurt/comfort, workaholic Jungkook, miscommunication, crying, deep emotional intimacy, slow build, Jungkook is an idiot but trust me he's sweet alright😭, Explicit smut- unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), soft dom Jk, nipple play, lots of kissing, love-making, creampie, pet names <3, praises, happy ending (sad ending's not in my veins🫸)

a/n- snsjkqkw It's my first fic (well more like I've taken the courage to actually post it)🥹 do let me know your thoughts on it <3 n consider a reblog if you like it, thank you for reading! 🫶

Masterlist kofi☕

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The soft glow of the overhead light casts long shadows across the dining room. But its warmth does nothing to chase away the cold emptiness creeping into your chest.

You sit in one of the dining chairs, fingers idly tracing the gold band on your ring finger, the once-familiar weight of it.. feeling heavier than ever. The house is silent, except for the distant hum of the city beyond the huge windows.

Jungkook is late. Again.

You’ve lost count of how many nights have passed like this, curled up alone in bed, the space beside you growing colder with each passing hour.

He always has a reason. A meeting that ran overtime, a last-minute project, something urgent that demands his attention more than you do. And you’ve always understood. Until now.

Your second anniversary is just around the corner, and for the first time in weeks, you have something to look forward to. Something that, surely, he wouldn’t forget.

You let out a slow breath, staring at the untouched dinner on the table. It’s the third time this week you’ve set two plates, only to eat alone. The food has long gone cold, but you still can’t bring yourself to clear it away. Some foolish, desperate part of you still hopes Jungkook will walk through the door, pulling you into his arms, murmuring apologies against your skin.

But the door stays closed. Your phone stays silent.

You check the time—almost midnight.

He used to call. Even when he was busy, he always found a way to let you know he was thinking about you. A quick text. A voice note. Something. Now, hours pass without a word, and you’re left wondering when exactly you started feeling like a ghost in your own marriage.

You clench your fists, blinking back the sting in your eyes. This isn’t you. You don’t doubt him. You don’t overthink things. But these days, love feels a lot like waiting, and waiting feels a lot like breaking.

And you’re so damn tired of breaking.

You close your eyes, trying to remember the Jungkook from before, before work took over, before the distance set in. The man who, despite his quiet nature, always found a way to make you feel cherished. He wasn’t one for grand speeches, but his words had always carried weight. Small, simple confessions once meant everything. Now, silence is all you get.

It wasn’t always easy with Jungkook. Back in college, he was cold, reserved, a storm you could never quite predict. But little by little, he let you in. His love had been careful, deliberate, whispered promises in the dark, stolen glances across crowded rooms, fingertips brushing against yours like a secret only the two of you understood.

And now, it feels like you’re losing him.

The thought sends a sharp ache through your chest. You tell yourself it’s just work, that the weight of being CEO is heavier than either of you expected. That he still loves you, even if he doesn’t say it as often.

But love isn’t supposed to feel like this.

The clock hits midnight.

You don’t know what you were expecting. A text? A call? Maybe the sound of the front door unlocking, Jungkook stepping in, exhausted but still managing to hold you close?

But there’s nothing.

Your throat tightens as you stare at the small cake sitting on the dining table, the frosting slightly uneven, the decorations a little clumsy. You were never a good cook. Jungkook knew that better than anyone. But in the early days of your marriage, you had tried. Because back then, cooking together had been something special. Flour-dusted fingertips, shared laughter over burnt pancakes, stolen kisses between stirring batter.

So tonight, with him too busy and too stressed, you thought a quiet, cozy celebration would be enough. Something small, something just for the two of you.

But now, looking at the untouched dinner, the unlit candle, and the cake that no longer seems worth eating, you realize how foolish that hope was.

You glance at your phone—no messages, no missed calls.

You put away the plates. You put the cake in the fridge, even though you know it’ll probably stay there, forgotten.

And then you crawl into bed alone, wrapping your arms around yourself because if Jungkook won’t hold you, who else will?

----

You stir, feeling the warmth of an arm lazily draped around your stomach. The weight is familiar, and for a moment it feels like everything is okay.

Jungkook is still asleep. Shirtless, his toned chest rises and falls in steady breaths, his face soft in the morning light. His dark lashes cast faint shadows on his skin, and his lips parted just slightly, making him look so much younger, so much more at peace.

You take your time looking at him, memorizing the exhaustion on his face, the faint crease between his brows even in sleep. He must’ve come home late—so late that you hadn’t even heard him.

Still, he’s here. Beside you. And that alone is enough to make something flicker in your chest.

Maybe he’s planned to stay home today.

Of course he remembers.

You can’t help but lean in, pressing a soft, loving kiss against his cheek. His skin is warm beneath your lips, and for a fleeting moment, everything feels like it used to.

Jungkook mumbles something incoherent, his brows knitting slightly before relaxing again. A small, sleepy noise escapes him, and the sound makes you giggle softly.

He stirs, his grip on your waist tightening just a little before his lashes flutter open. His dark eyes, still hazy with sleep, land on you, and for a second, there’s nothing but quiet warmth in them.

"You're up early," he murmurs, his voice thick with drowsiness. His thumb absentmindedly brushes over your waist, a touch so familiar yet so foreign all at once.

You smile, brushing a few strands of hair from his forehead. "Couldn't sleep much," you admit softly.

Jungkook hums in response, his eyes falling shut again for a moment. He nuzzles into the pillow, his grip on you still firm like he has no intention of letting you go. And for a brief, fragile second, the weight of last night, of the distance, of everything, seems to disappear.

Maybe he really did plan to stay home today. Maybe this morning means something.

Your heart clenches with the smallest trace of hope.

Jungkook lets out a long breath and shifts onto his back, stretching his arms above his head before blindly reaching for his phone on the nightstand. His warmth leaves your side, the air turning cold almost instantly.

You watch as his expression shifts, sleep slipping away as his screen lights up. His brows furrow, jaw tightening ever so slightly.

Then, with barely a glance in your direction, he mutters, "Shit, I need to get to the office."

The hope you held onto so desperately?

Gone.

You blink, your mind scrambling to catch up.

Maybe he's kidding. Maybe this is just one of his teasing games, the kind where he acts all nonchalant just to catch you off guard later. That’s how it used to be. Him pretending to forget something important, only to turn around and surprise you in a way that left you breathless.

So you wait.

You wait for the smirk to tug at his lips, for him to toss his phone aside and pull you into his arms. You wait for him to kiss you insane, to murmur a husky "Happy anniversary, baby," against your skin.

You wait for him to prove you wrong.

But he doesn't.

Jungkook swings his legs over the bed, rubbing a hand down his face before standing up. He moves through the motions—grabbing a fresh shirt from the dresser, checking his notifications again, already half-immersed in whatever work emergency is pulling him away.

The realization settles in. suffocating. He’s not playing. He’s not pretending. He really forgot.

And with that, the last flicker of hope inside you dies.

----

The sound of the bathroom door clicking shut barely registers in your mind. The faint rush of water follows soon after, but you’re still frozen in place, staring at the empty space where Jungkook was just moments ago.

Your fingers grip the sheets as you try to process it, try to make sense of the ache settling deep in your chest.

He forgot.

The thought circles endlessly, refusing to fade. It should be simple, just a mistake, something easily fixed with an apology. But it doesn’t feel simple. It feels like another crack in something that’s already been fragile for weeks.

Your gaze drifts to your phone, the screen lighting up with messages from friends and family. Warm wishes, sweet texts. All reminders of the day that Jungkook should have been the first to acknowledge. And of course, they must have messaged him too.

But you know the answer before you even have to question it. Jungkook has two phones—one for work, one for personal use. And these days, his personal phone sits untouched, collecting dust somewhere in the house while his work phone never leaves his side.

Your throat tightens.

Even if someone did remind him, would he have even seen it? Would it have even mattered?

You swallow hard, blinking against the sudden sting in your eyes.

Maybe you should say something. Maybe you should remind him.

But a part of you, one that you don’t want to acknowledge—wonders if it even matters anymore.

You push yourself up from the bed, the weight in your chest making it harder than it should be. You don’t want to sit here, waiting for him to remember, waiting for an apology that might never come.

So you move. Just as you step toward the bathroom, the shower turns off. The door opens a moment later, as Jungkook steps out, towel slung low around his waist, droplets of water trailing down his toned chest.

For a brief second, your eyes meet. He looks at you, blinking away the last remnants of sleep, his expression unreadable. There’s no sign of realization, no flicker of guilt or hesitation. Just the same tired, distracted gaze you’ve been seeing for weeks.

You say nothing. Instead, you walk past him, entering the washroom to go about your usual routine. brushing your teeth, washing your face, anything to avoid the tightness in your throat.

The sound of the sink running is the only thing filling the silence between you.

By the time you step out of the washroom, Jungkook is already dressed for work. His tie is slightly loosened, one hand adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves while the other holds his ever-present work phone. He looks like he’s in a hurry, but that isn’t surprising. He’s been having breakfast at the office for weeks now—always rushing out, always too busy.

Still, you can’t grasp that he’s actually forgotten.

Some part of you still expects him to pause, to turn around and say something. But he doesn’t. He’s focused on his screen, scanning through emails like today is just another ordinary morning.

Your chest tightens. You need to look away before the emotions creeping up inside you spill over. So, you pretend.

You settle at the table, opening your laptop like it’s just another workday. Since you’ve been working from home for the past couple of months, this isn’t unusual—but today, it’s not about work. It’s about avoiding him. About keeping your head down so he doesn’t see the way your hands tremble slightly.

If you act normal, maybe it’ll hurt less. Maybe you won’t break in front of him.

And maybe, just maybe, if you pretend hard enough, you can fool yourself into believing it doesn’t hurt at all.

“Baby, can you help me with the tie?”

His voice is smooth- like every other morning before this one. Like today isn’t supposed to mean more.

You hesitate for half a second before standing up, walking towards him. Your fingers move automatically, looping the fabric, tightening the knot, straightening it against his crisp shirt. You should pull away the moment you’re done, return to your seat, to your laptop, to pretending like everything is fine.

But just as you step back, Jungkook’s hand catches your wrist.

Before you can react, he tugs you closer, his warmth enveloping you as his large hand cups the side of your face, fingers splayed against your skin like he’s memorizing the feel of you. His touch is tender, his thumb tracing slow circles against your cheek, his dark eyes holding yours for a beat too long. like he’s seeing you, really seeing you, for the first time in days.

Then, he kisses you.

Warm & lingering. Like he actually means it. Like he actually feels it.

“Need it for good luck,” he mumbles lovingly against your lips, his voice deep, hushed.

You blink up at him.

Jungkook pulls back slightly, offering a small smile. “Big deal with the Kims today.”

And just like that, reality crashes back in.

Your mind struggles to process, to understand how he can be like this. How can he kiss you like this and still not remember.

His mind is somewhere else. His thoughts, his focus—none of it is here. None of it is with you.

You force a smile, nodding wordlessly. Because what else is there to say?

----

Jungkook moves around the house, gathering his things- his wallet, his keys. You stay where you are, settled on the couch with your laptop open, pretending to be busy, pretending that your heart isn’t sitting heavy in your chest.

Just as he’s about to leave, he steps toward you, bending down to press a quick kiss to your forehead.

“Love you,” he murmurs.

Before you can even respond, he’s already halfway through the living room, his focus elsewhere, his steps hurried.

A bitter chuckle escapes your lips before you can stop it.

You remember a time when things were different. When he used to whine, pout, and nudge you relentlessly if you didn’t say it back right away, just to tease him.

Flashback

The movie playing in the background had long been forgotten, the dialogue drowned out by the soft moans slipping from your lips. The purple neon glow cast dreamy hues across the living room, painting Jungkook’s skin in shades of violet as he moved above you.

His fingers laced tightly with yours, grip tightening slightly as his thrusts grew more desperate.

“J-Jungkook…” you moaned softly, nails digging into his hand.

He groaned against your neck, his breath hot, voice wrecked. “Fuck, baby…”

Your body arched beneath him, pleasure building to something uncontrollable. “I—I’m gonna—”

“Come for me, baby,” he urged, voice deep and rough, sending you tumbling over the edge.

You both unraveled together, gasping, shaking, holding onto each other like the world outside didn’t exist.

Jungkook pressed lazy, loving kisses all over your face, his lips brushing over your cheeks, your eyelids, the tip of your nose. “You alright?” he whispered.

You nodded, a sleepy, satisfied smile tugging at your lips. But then he just stared at you. A little too long. A little too intensely.

And then, barely above a whisper, like a secret meant only for you—he said, “I love you.”

Your eyes widened slightly, a playful grin tugging at the corner of your lips as you bit down on them, trying to contain your smile. He’d been saying it more often lately, slowly getting used to voicing what he felt.

But when you took a second too long to respond, he groaned dramatically, dropping his head into the crook of your neck like a kicked puppy.

“Say it back,” he grumbled.

“What?” you teased, laughing.

Jungkook huffed, then playfully bit down on your shoulder, just enough to make you squeal.

“Say it,” he demanded, his voice muffled against your skin.

Still giggling, you cupped his face and pressed a soft kiss to his nose. “I love you, you big baby.”

His grin was instant, arms wrapping around you as he pulled you even closer, like he could never get enough.

End of Flashback

Now, he just says it in passing. quick, thoughtless, already moving on.

The front door clicks shut, and just like that, Jungkook is gone.

You sit there, fingers motionless on your laptop’s keyboard as the weight of what just happened settles deep in your chest. He forgot. He kissed you, held you, told you he loved you, but none of it was because he remembered.

Is this what your relationship has become?

Work, work, work. Always work.

It’s not that you expect Jungkook to run behind you all the time, to ditch his responsibilities just to shower you with affection. Hell, you supported him through everything- through college, through late nights chasing his dreams, through every stressful moment leading up to him becoming CEO. You believed in him.

But what about your love? Your marriage? Communication?

You’ve been patient. Too patient. more understanding than any normal wife would be. And you know Jungkook. You know he loves you, would bring you the whole damn world if you asked. But then why—why are you beginning to question it all?

Jungkook stepped into the CEO position a few months ago. At first, things were fine. He handled it well, still made time for you. But then… everything became about work. Slowly, then all at once.

You can’t even remember the last time you had truly loving sex. Not that Jungkook doesn’t love you but it doesn’t feel the same anymore. There’s tension in his touch, frustration in the way he moves against you. It’s not the warmth, the desperation to be close to you like it used to be.

Is this how life is going to be from now on?

Sure, you could talk to Jungkook about your feelings. Tell him that the distance is starting to feel unbearable.

But when?

When he’s always checking his phone? When he barely even looks at you in the mornings? When you feel like you’re living with the CEO rather than your husband?

Well, happy anniversary to you.

----

Your gaze drops to your hand, to the delicate band wrapped around your finger.

Your wedding ring.

For the first time in a long time, you really look at it- tracing the intricate details, the subtle shimmer in the morning light. And suddenly, it feels… heavier. Like you’re only noticing the weight of it now, as if it’s trying to remind you of everything it once meant.

Before you even realize what you’re doing, your fingers slip beneath the band, sliding it off. It’s only when the cool air brushes against your bare skin that it hits you.

Your breath catches, eyes widening at the sight of the ring resting in your palm. You hadn’t even thought about it—you just did it. And now, staring at the small, beautiful piece of jewelry, something inside you cracks. Tears gather before you can stop them.

Jungkook had spent weeks searching for this ring. Dragged you to countless jewelry stores, analyzing every cut, every design, obsessed with finding the perfect one. And no matter how many times you had told him that anything would make you happy, he had refused to settle for less.

"It has to be special," he had murmured against your temple the day he finally found it, slipping it onto your finger with the softest smile. "Because you’re special."

A broken sob escapes your throat as you clutch the ring tightly in your palm.

How did you end up here?

----

Jungkook leans back in his chair, exhaling slowly as he watches the final contract details appear on his screen. The deal with the Kims had gone smoothly, better than expected, actually. It should’ve been a moment of satisfaction, of relief.

Instead, he just drowns himself in more work.

The hours blur together, his coffee going cold beside him as he moves from one task to another. Another meeting. Another report. Another email. The same routine, the same cycle.

It’s later than evening when a familiar voice interrupts the quiet hum of his office.

“So you’re really here.”

Jungkook glances up, his fingers still typing as Taehyung steps into his cabin, arms crossed, a deep frown on his face.

“Hey, hyung,” Jungkook greets, barely looking away from his screen.

Taehyung scoffs, shaking his head playfully. “I really didn’t believe it when Yuna said you were still in your cabin.”

Jungkook blinks, confused. “Why?”

Taehyung gives him a look like he’s the biggest idiot in the world. “Y/N must really love you to let you work even today. My wife—dude, she would’ve killed me.”

Jungkook hums absentmindedly, still typing, still lost in work. “Mmm.”

Taehyung clicks his tongue, watching him for a second before letting out a chuckle. “Anyways, you’re still an asshole for working on your anniversary.”

Jungkook’s fingers freeze over the keyboard. The realization crashes into him all at once, like a punch to the gut, like ice spreading through his veins.

Fuck.

Jungkook’s fingers hover motionless over the keyboard.

His mind races to catch up with Taehyung’s words, but they don’t make sense. Not right away.

Anniversary?

No, that can’t be right. His brows furrow slightly as he glances at the date on his laptop screen.

November 22.

His wedding anniversary.

For a second, he just stares, as if the numbers might shift into something else, something that doesn’t prove what an absolute idiot he’s been. His heartbeat picks up, but his body doesn’t move. It’s like his brain refuses to register it fully, like if he doesn’t react, it won’t be real.

He’d forgotten.

Completely.

No hints, no reminders, no last-minute realization before heading out this morning. Just an entire day of emails, meetings, and a deal he had been so damn focused on that he hadn’t even spared a single thought for you.

His wife.

But—no, that can’t be right. He would’ve remembered. He should’ve remembered.

His jaw tightens, his mind scrambling for some excuse, some reason. anything to justify how this happened. But no matter how many ways he tries to twist it, the truth doesn’t change.

You had expected something. Of course you had. And Jungkook had given you nothing.

Taehyung’s voice barely registers now, his casual teasing just background noise to the way Jungkook’s pulse is starting to hammer against his ribs.

His wife. His love. His anniversary.

And he had let it pass him by like it was just another day.

How the fuck is he supposed to fix this?

Taehyung squints at Jungkook, waiting for some kind of reaction. When Jungkook stays quiet, his fingers frozen over the keyboard, Taehyung lets out a sharp laugh.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.” He leans forward, palms flat on Jungkook’s desk. “You just realized, didn’t you?”

Jungkook inhales deeply through his nose, his jaw tightening. “Hyung, not now.”

“Oh, no. Especially now,” Taehyung shoots back, shaking his head. “Damn, man. Y/N must really love you to put up with this shit.”

Jungkook doesn’t reply, his mind already spiraling. He checks the time—late. The entire day is gone. He’s spent hours sitting here, drowning himself in work while you—

Fuck.

He pushes his chair back abruptly, grabbing his phone and shoving it into his pocket. His coat is next, yanked from the back of his chair as he moves on instinct.

“Whoa, whoa.” Taehyung raises an eyebrow. “So now you care?”

Jungkook levels him with a glare, his voice lower, sharper. “Hyung.”

Taehyung lifts his hands in surrender, though his smirk lingers. “Go. Try not to get divorced on your second anniversary.”

Jungkook doesn’t wait for another word. He’s already out the door, moving faster than he has all day.

And for the first time today, work is the last thing on his mind.

----

Jungkook’s mind races as he grips the steering wheel, his fingers tightening with every passing second. The city lights blur past, but all he can focus on is the suffocating weight in his chest.

How the fuck did he forget?

His phone vibrates in the passenger seat- probably another work email but for the first time in months, he ignores it. Instead, he swipes through his contacts, pressing the first name that comes to mind.

“Pick up, pick up,” he mutters, jaw clenched as the dial tone rings.

“Yes, Mr.Jeon?”

“Yuna.” His voice is rushed, urgent. “I need you to get me something. Flowers. A gift. Something big—just—fuck, anything.”

A pause. “Sir?”

“Now,” he snaps.

There’s a shuffle on the other end before his assistant hesitantly speaks again. “I…Mr.Jeon, it’s almost 10 p.m. Most places are closed.”

Jungkook exhales sharply, raking a hand through his hair. Of course they are. Because he’s too fucking late.

His grip tightens around the wheel. “Just—check. Call whoever. I’ll pay whatever.”

“Understood,” Yuna replies before hanging up.

What the fuck is he even doing?

No expensive gift, no overpriced bouquet, no last-minute grand gesture can erase the fact that he forgot. That he spent an entire day drowning in work while you—his wife, his love, the woman who has stood by him through everything—sat at home, waiting for him to remember.

His hands clench the wheel.

How much had he missed? How much had he ignored?

And the worst part—the part that makes his pulse spike, that has panic clawing at his ribs is the question he doesn’t have an answer to.

What if you’re done waiting?

Jungkook slams his foot down on the gas.

He’s not losing you. He won’t.

----

Jungkook steps into the house, and immediately, something feels off. The air is still. The silence stretches, suffocating, pressing against his chest. Almost all the lights are off, the space eerily empty, like no one has been here for hours.

His throat dries. “Baby?”

No answer.

He frowns, dropping his keys onto the counter with a sharp clink. His feet move quickly, checking the kitchen, the living room, even the hallway leading to the bedroom. nothing.

A weird feeling starts creeping up his spine. His heart beats faster as he strides toward the bedroom door, only to find the bed untouched, the sheets exactly the way he had left them this morning.

You’re not here.

His pulse spikes, a cold sweat forming at the base of his neck. His hands tremble as he yanks his phone out, immediately dialing your number.

One ring.

Two rings.

Three.

Straight to voicemail.

His stomach drops. A shaky breath escapes him as he stares at his screen, the call log mocking him with the lack of response. His fingers tighten around the device, his mind spiraling.

Where are you? At this time of night, alone- where could you have gone?

The walls feel like they’re closing in on him. His lungs strain for air.

Then, another thought claws its way in, violent and unwelcome.

Did you leave?

No. No. His chest tightens, his breath coming faster now. That’s not—that’s not possible. You wouldn’t just leave him. You wouldn’t—

He swallows hard, shaking his head. Don’t go there, Jungkook. Don’t even fucking go there.

But the panic is already curling around his ribs, suffocating, unrelenting.

You’re not here. And right now, that is the worst fucking thing in the world.

Jungkook’s fingers tremble as he redials your number.

Voicemail. Again.

“Fuck.” His breath comes out uneven, panic clawing at his throat. His hands are clammy, his chest tightening with every passing second. Where are you?

His mind is spiraling now, every worst-case scenario flashing through his head. His jaw clenches as he swipes to his contact list calling your friends.

Each time, the same response.

No, I haven’t seen her.

Did you check with—

Wait, what’s going on?

Jungkook grits his teeth, his hand tightening into a fist. His breathing is shallow, his pulse out of control. You weren’t with your friends. You weren’t picking up. You weren’t home.

And he still had no idea where you were.

Jungkook grabs his car keys with shaky hands, his mind racing. He doesn’t know where to go, doesn’t have a plan. All he knows is that he has to find you.

His feet move on instinct, carrying him toward the door. But just as he reaches for the handle, something catches his eye.

A small glint.

His breath stills. His gaze shifts toward the couch, and that’s when he sees it.

Your wedding ring.

Sitting there. Abandoned.

For a moment, everything stops. The pounding in his chest, the rush of his movements—everything.

The air in the room feels heavier, suffocating. His fingers twitch at his sides as he stares at the delicate band, his stomach twisting into something painful.

You never took it off. Never.

Jungkook swallows, his throat suddenly dry. He steps forward, slowly, almost cautiously, like touching it will somehow make this nightmare real.

His hand trembles as he picks it up, the cool metal pressing into his palm..

Jungkook stares at the ring in his palm, his vision blurring as a lump lodges itself in his throat. Tears burn at the corners of his eyes, his chest tightening painfully.

You wouldn’t just leave him like that… would you?

The thought alone knocks the air from his lungs. His grip on the ring tightens as his mind spirals, drowning in questions that only make the ache worse.

Were you thinking about this before today?

How long have you been feeling like this, so alone, so unloved that taking off your ring even crossed your mind?

A sharp breath escapes him, shaky and uneven. His knees buckle, and before he can stop himself, he’s sinking onto the floor, the weight of everything crashing down at once.

The ring feels heavier than it should, pressing into his palm like a cruel reminder of everything he’s neglected, everything he’s taken for granted. He squeezes his eyes shut, exhaling a slow, trembling breath.

He needs to find you. He needs to fix this.

Before it’s too late.

Jungkook exhales shakily, forcing himself to move. His legs feel unsteady, but he pushes through, gripping the wedding ring so tightly it bites into his skin.

Somehow, he manages to stand, his entire body tense with desperation. He stumbles toward the door, his heart pounding, his mind racing with every possibility of where you could be.

But just as his fingers reach for the handle—

The door swings open.

And there you are.

Jungkook freezes, his breath catching in his throat. For a split second, everything stills. His panic, his thoughts, his entire world narrowing to the sight of you standing in front of him.

Then, in the blink of an eye, he moves.

He crashes into you, arms wrapping around you so tightly it nearly knocks the air from your lungs. His grip is desperate, his hands fisting into your clothes, his entire body pressing against yours like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

You stand there, stunned, your own arms hovering slightly, unsure of what just happened.

"…Jungkook?” your voice comes out confused, hesitant.

But he just clings to you, burying his face into your neck, his breath warm and uneven against your skin.

You don’t know what’s going on.

But Jungkook?

He feels like he just got his heart beating again. You feel the way his body trembles against yours, his grip impossibly tight, like he’s holding onto you for dear life.

Then, the sound reaches you. A broken, uneven breath, followed by the unmistakable hitch of a sob.

Your heart clenches. “Kook…” Your voice is soft, laced with worry as you try to pull back, just enough to see his face. But he doesn’t let you. His arms only tighten, his body curling into yours, as if letting go would physically hurt him.

Panic bubbles in your chest, your hands instinctively reaching up to cradle his face, your fingers threading into his hair. “Hey… what happened?” Your voice wavers slightly. “Are you okay? You’re scaring me.”

But Jungkook just shakes his head against your shoulder, another quiet, shaky breath leaving him.

You don’t understand.

But whatever this is, whatever’s breaking him like this—your own heart aches just watching him fall apart. Your concern deepens with every shaky breath that leaves Jungkook. He’s still clinging to you, his body trembling slightly, his face buried against your shoulder like he’s afraid to let go.

You don’t know what’s wrong, but seeing him like this—Jungkook, your Jungkook—completely unraveling, is enough to make panic rise in your chest.

Gently, you pull back, your hands cupping his face. His skin is warm, slightly damp from his tears, and when his glassy eyes finally meet yours, your stomach twists painfully.

“Come inside,” you whisper, your voice softer now, coaxing. “Please.”

He swallows thickly, nodding ever so slightly, but his grip on you doesn’t fully loosen. You guide him inside anyway, one hand wrapped around his wrist as you lead him toward the couch.

He sits down heavily, elbows resting on his knees, fingers threading through his hair as he exhales shakily. His shoulders are still tense, his whole body radiating something raw and unspoken.

You kneel in front of him, reaching for his hands, but he doesn’t lift his head.

Your worry deepens. “Jungkook… please tell me what’s wrong.” Silence stretches between you, heavy and suffocating. His fingers twitch against his temples, his breath uneven.

“I—” His voice is hoarse, cracking slightly. He swallows hard, gripping his knees. “I thought you left me.”

You blink, his words settling in, but it takes you a moment to fully process them.

He thought you left him?

Your brows furrow slightly as you shake your head. “Jungkook, I was babysitting Hanuel.”

His breath is still uneven, his hands gripping his knees like he’s trying to ground himself. His eyes flick up to meet yours, confused, searching.

“Hana and Seokjin had a date night,” you explain gently. “They asked me to watch him for a few hours.”

Hanuel, your neighbour's son. Jungkook stares at you, his body still tense, like his mind hasn’t caught up yet. You watch as his lips part slightly, his gaze flickering between you and the ring still clutched in his hand.

His fingers tighten around it, his knuckles paling. A beat of silence passes before he swallows thickly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“…Then why was this on the couch?”

The question hangs heavy in the air, fragile and uncertain, as if he’s afraid of the answer. And for the first time tonight, you don’t know what to say.

“I…” The word barely escapes your lips before you stand up, turning away from him. You can’t meet his eyes, not when your emotions are still raw, not when the weight of everything is pressing so heavily on your chest.

Jungkook notices immediately. Panic flickers across his face, and in an instant, he’s scrambling up after you. “Wait—baby, please.” His voice is desperate now, thick with emotion, his hands reaching out like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, stepping closer, his tone cracking under the weight of his own guilt. “I—fuck, I forgot—I don’t know how, I don’t even have an excuse, but—” He exhales sharply, shaking his head, his eyes glassy as they plead with yours.

“I never meant to make you feel like this,” he whispers. “I swear, I didn’t.” But you still don’t look at him. And that alone is enough to make his heart sink.

You swallow hard, your arms wrapping around yourself as you stare at the floor. His words, his desperation, his guilt—they all swirl around you, but they don’t erase the ache in your chest.

“Do you even realize how much this hurt?” Your voice is quiet, but the weight of it makes Jungkook flinch. “I spent the entire day thinking—hoping—that maybe you had something planned. That maybe you were just pretending to forget.”

Jungkook’s throat bobs as he steps closer, hesitating before reaching for your hand. You don’t pull away, but you don’t hold onto him either.

“I know,” he whispers. “I know I fucked up, baby. I—I was so caught up in work, I just…” He trails off, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “That’s not an excuse. Nothing is. I should’ve remembered. I should’ve been there.”

You let out a hollow laugh, finally lifting your gaze to meet his. “Jungkook… this isn’t just about today.”

His brows furrow, but he doesn’t interrupt.

You take a shaky breath. “It’s been weeks..maybe even longer—since I felt like your wife instead of just… someone waiting for you to come home.” Your voice wavers, but you push through. “And it’s not that I don’t understand. I do. I’ve always understood. But at what point do I stop being understanding and start being invisible to you?”

Jungkook’s breath catches, his grip on your hand tightening like he’s afraid to let go. “You’re not invisible,” he says, voice thick with emotion. “You never could be.”

“Then why do I feel like I am?”

Silence.

Jungkook shakes his head, his jaw clenching as he exhales unsteadily. “I never wanted to make you feel this way,” he murmurs. “You are everything to me, baby. Everything. I don’t even know who I am without you.”

Your eyes sting, but you force yourself to hold his gaze. “Then show me, Jungkook. Because I can’t keep being the only one fighting for us.” The vulnerability in your voice nearly breaks him.

He’s been losing you, piece by piece, for a while now. And he hadn’t even noticed.

Jungkook feels his stomach drop, the weight of your words hitting harder than any argument, any fight you could have thrown at him. His grip on your hand tightens, but you don’t squeeze back.

He’s losing you.

And it’s not because of one forgotten anniversary—it’s because he hasn’t been here.

He swallows hard. “Baby…” His voice cracks, his free hand reaching up to cup your cheek, but you step back before he can touch you.

The distance, however small, is enough to make his chest ache.

“Tell me, Jungkook,” you whisper, your voice barely holding together. “When was the last time we sat down and had breakfast together? When was the last time you really looked at me—not just kissed me on the forehead before rushing out the door?” You shake your head, a bitter chuckle escaping. “When was the last time we made love without it feeling like you were trying to release your stress instead of loving me?”

Jungkook’s breath hitches.

You let out a slow exhale, your voice calmer now but even heavier with hurt. “I don’t need grand gestures. I don’t need fancy gifts or a picture-perfect romance. I just… needed you to see me.”

His entire body feels cold. Because the truth is—he doesn’t have an answer.

He’s been so caught up in his responsibilities, his work, his stress, that he’s let the one person who has always been there for him slip through his fingers.

And the worst part? He didn’t even realize it was happening until now.

“Fuck.” His voice is raw, his hands running through his hair as he looks at you, really looks at you. At the exhaustion in your eyes, the way your lips tremble slightly like you’re holding back everything.

His heart clenches painfully. “I fucked up, didn’t I?”

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you hold his gaze for a long moment before whispering, “I don’t know, Jungkook. Did you?”

Jungkook's breath is unsteady, his chest rising and falling too quickly as he stares at you, at the distance between you, the weight of your words suffocating him.

He moves. Before you can react, his hands are cupping your face, his touch desperate, almost shaky. His forehead presses against yours as he exhales a trembling breath, like he’s trying to hold himself together.

“I see you,” he whispers, his voice raw, strained. “I swear to god, I see you, baby. I just..I lost myself somewhere along the way, and I didn’t even realize I was dragging us down with me.”

His thumbs brush over your cheekbones, a silent plea laced in his touch. “I don’t want to lose you. I can’t lose you.”

Your heart clenches, but you don’t push him away. You should- you should make him sit with this, make him feel what it’s been like for you all this time. But then his grip tightens, his voice breaking.

“Please, baby.” His lips hover just above yours, not quite touching, his breath warm against your skin. “Tell me it’s not too late.”

His vulnerability shakes you to your core.

You close your eyes, inhaling deeply, trying to steady yourself. “I don’t want to lose us either, Jungkook,” you whisper. “But I can’t keep being the only one holding on.”

Jungkook shakes his head instantly. “You’re not. You won’t be.” His lips ghost over your forehead before he pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. “Let me prove it to you. Please.”

His desperation is tangible, seeping into every word, every touch. And for the first time tonight, you wonder if maybe, just maybe—he really does see you now.

Jungkook watches you, searching for something—anything in your eyes that tells him he hasn’t completely lost you.

Before doubt can settle in, he takes your hand, pressing it over his chest, right where his heart is hammering wildly. “Feel that?” he whispers. “That’s what you do to me, baby. Always.”

Your fingers twitch against his shirt, but you don’t pull away. You don’t move at all, just staring up at him, your expression unreadable.

He swallows hard. “I know I don’t say it enough. I know I don’t show it enough, but fuck, Y/n—” His hands tighten around yours, his voice barely above a breath. “There is nothing in this world that matters more to me than you.”

You let out a slow exhale, your gaze flickering, like you want to believe him. like a part of you does, but the hurt is still too fresh. So he gives you more.

“I’ll fix this,” he promises, his thumb brushing soft circles over your wrist. “Not with flowers, or gifts, or some last-minute bullshit—but with me. With us.”

His voice drops lower, thick with emotion. “Just tell me it’s not too late.” Your lips part slightly, but you don’t speak. Instead, you finally—finally press your palm flat against his chest, feeling the way his heart beats erratically beneath your touch.

It’s enough to break something inside Jungkook. His grip tightens as he leans in, his lips brushing against your temple, then your cheek—slow, hesitant, as if he’s still afraid you’ll slip away.

And when you don’t, when you let him, he exhales a shaky breath, his forehead resting against yours once more.

“I love you,” he whispers. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

Like if he says it enough, he can make up for all the times he didn’t. And maybe, just maybe—you’ll believe him again.

Jungkook’s breath is warm against your skin, his forehead still pressed against yours, his grip on you unwavering. His words linger in the air between you. raw, desperate, filled with a love that had always been there, even when he’d failed to show it.

You swallow hard, blinking against the tears clouding your vision. He’s waiting—watching you so intently, so hopelessly, as if your next words will either put him back together or completely shatter him.

You take a shaky breath. “Jungkook…” Your voice wavers, and his grip tightens instinctively. “I love you too.”

A sharp exhale leaves him, his entire body sinking slightly in relief. But before he can say anything, you continue. “But this hurt,” you whisper. “More than you realize.”

Jungkook stiffens, nodding quickly, his hands cupping your face again, his thumbs brushing away the tears that slip down your cheeks. “I know, baby. I know. And I hate myself for it.” His voice cracks, his jaw clenching before he presses a lingering kiss to your forehead.

You let your eyes flutter shut for a second, exhaling slowly. “I don’t want promises, Jungkook,” you murmur. “I just… I need to feel like I matter to you again.”

His hands tremble slightly as they slide down, wrapping around yours. He lifts them to his lips, pressing gentle, reverent kisses to each of your knuckles, his dark eyes never leaving yours.

“You do,” he whispers. “More than anything. And I’m going to spend every damn day proving that to you.” His voice is steady now. no hesitation, no doubt. Just quiet, determined love. And though the ache in your chest hasn’t fully faded, something shifts.

Because this time, you don’t just hear him. You believe him. Even if just a little.

Jungkook presses another lingering kiss against your knuckles, his touch reverent, as if grounding himself in you. But before he can lose himself completely, you gently murmur, “Have you eaten?”

The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. He shakes his head, gaze still searching yours. “No… I—"

“Go freshen up,” you say softly, stepping back just a little. “We’ll eat together.”

His fingers twitch against yours, hesitating to let go, but eventually, he nods. With one last glance—like he’s making sure you’re really here, he pulls away and heads toward the shower.

While he’s gone, you move to the kitchen, setting out dinner in quiet contemplation. The ache in your chest hasn’t completely faded, but there’s something else now- a warmth that wasn’t there before.

----

By the time Jungkook emerges, hair damp, dressed in a fresh t-shirt and sweatpants, you’ve already placed the food on the table.

He hesitates for only a second before joining you, sliding into his chair. “Thank you,” he murmurs, voice softer now.

You nod, offering a small smile as you take a seat. The conversation is light, effortless. Jungkook fills the silence, stealing glances at you like he’s still memorizing you all over again. And through it all, his hand never leaves yours, his thumb rubbing slow, soothing circles against your skin.

After dinner, he helps with the dishes, working beside you in quiet understanding. The air between you feels lighter, yet still fragile, like something delicate being pieced back together.

Jungkook sets the last dish onto the drying rack, wiping his hands on the towel before turning to you. There’s a soft, almost hopeful look in his eyes, like he’s clinging to this moment.

You step away, hesitating for just a second before opening the refrigerator. Jungkook watches in silence as you carefully pull out the cake, placing on the counter, your fingers grazing the edges of the plate, before finally speaking.

“I…I’d made this.”

The words are quiet, but they hit harder than any raised voice ever could. Jungkook’s entire body stiffening as guilt crashes into him all over again. His eyes flicker to the cake- to the careful details, the effort, the thought you had put into it, for him. And suddenly, it feels like the walls are caving in.

His throat tightens. His fingers curl at his sides. He can’t look at you. He doesn’t deserve to. Tears gather in his eyes, blurring his vision, his heart breaking all over again, not just because he forgot today, but because he had broken you in so many ways without even realizing it.

And that? That’s something he doesn’t know how to forgive himself for.

“Jungkook..”, your voice barely above a whisper, but it cuts through the heavy silence like a knife.

He wants to look at you, wants to say something—anything, but he can’t. His head remains bowed, his hands gripping the edge of the counter, as if holding himself together takes everything in him.

You take a small step forward, the space between you feeling larger than it actually is. His silence is deafening.

“Jungkook,” you say again, a little firmer this time.

His lips part, a shaky breath slipping through, but no words come out. He wants to speak, to apologize again, to tell you how much he loves you, to somehow fix this- but his throat feels tight, his chest heavy.

He doesn’t know if words are enough.

“I… I’m so fucking sorry, baby,” Jungkook chokes out, his voice trembling as he finally speaks. His hands shake at his sides, his eyes still glassy with unshed tears. “I’ve been an asshole—a terrible husband. I don’t even know how to make this right.” His breath stutters, his words spilling out faster now, raw and desperate.

“I wouldn’t even be surprised if you left me,” he continues, shaking his head. “You should’ve. You deserve better. I—I can’t believe I—”

“Jungkook.”

You don’t let him finish.

Instead, you reach up, cupping his face with both hands, your thumbs brushing away the tears that have already begun to fall. His lips part in surprise, his rambling cut off as you rise onto your toes.

A gentle kiss on his lips.

Soft. Loving.

Tear-streaked and real.

Jungkook exhales shakily against your lips, his whole body melting into yours. His hands find your waist, holding onto you like you’re the only thing keeping him upright.

The kiss is slow, there's no desperation, no urgency. Just you and him, emotions bare. Tears continue to slip down your cheeks, mixing with his, salty and warm, but neither of you pull away. Because in this moment, there’s no need for words.

Just this.

Just love.

When you finally pull away, your forehead rests against his, both of you breathing heavily, your tears still wet against each other’s skin. Jungkook’s grip on your waist is firm, like he’s grounding himself in your touch, afraid to let go. His lips part, like he wants to speak, but before he can, you whisper,

“You’re not a terrible husband, Jungkook.”

Jungkook’s eyes glisten with more unshed tears, his lips pressing into a thin line, unable to speak. You wipe his tears away with your thumbs, offering him the smallest smile. “Just… love me better, okay?”

His throat bobs as he swallows hard, nodding again, more determined this time. “I will.” His voice is barely above a whisper, but you believe him.

You press one last gentle kiss to his cheek before stepping back, glancing at the cake still sitting on the counter. “Come on,” you say, nudging him lightly. “Let’s cut this before it melts.”

Jungkook lets out a breathy chuckle, wiping at his face as he nods. He steps beside you, his hand instinctively finding yours again as you both move toward the small cake. The two of you cut into it together, Jungkook’s fingers lacing through yours around the knife handle. He doesn’t let go, even as you both take small bites in comfortable silence.

Once the plates are cleared, you tug at his wrist, nodding toward the bedroom. “Come to bed?”

Jungkook exhales, relief washing over his features as he nods. “Yeah.”

A few minutes later, you’re both under the covers, warmth surrounding you as Jungkook pulls you against his chest. His arms wrap tightly around you, his breath fanning against the top of your head as he whispers,

“I love you.”

This time, you don’t hesitate to say it back.

“I love you too, Jungkook.”

And for the first time in weeks, you fall asleep in his arms, where you’ve always belonged.

Jungkook’s fingers still tremble against your skin. Even as he holds you, his grip is laced with hesitance, a silent fear lingering beneath the warmth of his touch. It’s in the way his hands press into your back yet remain careful, as if he’s afraid of holding on too tightly.

You can feel the erratic thud of his heart beneath your palm, his breaths uneven, his chest rising and falling as if he’s struggling to keep himself steady.

And something about that, about him—makes your own heart ache.

Slowly, you lift your head from his chest, your eyes locking onto his in the dim glow of the room. His lips part slightly, his gaze unreadable, but the moment you lean in, his breath catches.

You kiss him.

It starts soft, so gentle, full of longing. Filled with everything you can’t put into words.

Jungkook melts into it instantly, his grip on you tightening, pulling you impossibly closer. The warmth of his lips, the slight hitch in his breath when you press harder. It sends a familiar heat curling through you.

The kiss deepens, your fingers gripping his t-shirt with urgency, needing to feel more. It’s desperate, heady, the space between you charged with something deeper than just want—something raw, something that had been missing for too long.

Jungkook pulls back gently. His forehead stays pressed against yours, both of you panting softly, but his hands shake slightly as they hold you in place.

His lips part, his breath uneven. “I… we shouldn’t…” He swallows hard, voice thick with hesitation. “I mean… I don’t want you to think I’m gonna fix this with sex.”

His words cut through the haze of warmth between you, grounding you both back in reality. You understand. Because even now—even now, he’s afraid. Afraid that this isn’t enough. Afraid that he isn’t enough.

Your eyes soften as you take in his hesitance, the uncertainty in his gaze, the way his breath trembles against your skin.

You reach up, your fingers threading gently through his hair. “I’m never gonna think like that, Kook,” you murmur, your voice quiet but sure.

His lips part slightly, his brows still knitted in concern, but before he can say anything, you lean in again. This time, the kiss is softer, filled with nothing but love.

You linger for a moment, your lips brushing against his as you whisper, “I just… I need you.” Another soft kiss. “Please.”

Jungkook exhales sharply, his entire body shuddering under the weight of your words.

And just like that, whatever hesitation he had left—it’s gone.

Your breaths grow uneven as your lips move against his, the heat between you intensifying with every passing second.

Jungkook shifts, his body hovering over yours, his weight pressing down just enough to make you feel him. His hands slip beneath the oversized t-shirt you’re wearing, his touch still hesitant, fingertips ghosting over your waist like he’s memorizing the feel of you all over again.

But you don’t want hesitation.

You tug at his shirt, a silent plea, and Jungkook obeys without question, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside. Before he can think, you pull him back in, capturing his lips in another deep, hungry kiss.

A quiet groan escapes him, his hands finally exploring freely, pressing against your skin, feeling the warmth beneath his palms. His lips leave yours only to trail down your neck, his breath warm as he presses soft, lingering kisses there.

You shiver when he reaches the collar of your shirt, your own hands moving to help him remove it. Dark, love-filled eyes roam over every inch of your skin, his lips parting slightly, as if he’s trying to find the words but nothing he could say would ever be enough. Still, he tries.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, voice thick with awe. “So fucking perfect.”

Your breath catches when he lowers himself again, his lips planting soft, reverent kisses along your collarbone, trailing lower over your shoulder, your chest. Your husband's mouth mapping you like you’re something sacred.

His lips slowly wrap around one breast, his tongue flicking teasingly before sucking softly. A moan escapes you, your fingers tangling into his hair, tugging lightly as he hums against your skin. His other hand moves to your neglected breast, his thumb brushing over the sensitive peak as he keeps mouthing sweet nothings against you.

“You’re everything,” he whispers between kisses, his voice muffled against your skin. “I love you so much, baby.”

And as the heat between you builds, his touch grows bolder. A desperate whimper escapes your lips as your fingers tangle deeper into Jungkook’s hair, your body arching toward him, silently pleading for more.

He groans against your skin, the sound low and warm, vibrating through you. “Patience, baby,” he murmurs, pressing another lingering kiss to your chest before trailing lower, his lips tracing the curves of your body. “Let me take my time… let me make love to you.”

The way he says it, love—makes your stomach tighten, your heart aching as much as your body craves him. His hands glide down your waist, slow and purposeful, before slipping between your legs. His fingers find the damp fabric of your panties, pressing just lightly enough to make you gasp. Your hips lift instinctively, chasing his touch, and Jungkook groans at the feeling.

His dark eyes meet yours, silently asking for permission. You nod, unable to form words, and that’s all he needs.

Hooking his fingers into the waistband, he tugs your panties down, dragging them slowly along your legs before discarding them somewhere behind him. His gaze never leaves you as he lowers himself further, trailing kisses down your stomach, over the sensitive skin of your hips.

He settles between your legs. You feel completely bare under his intense gaze, the way his lips part slightly, his eyes darkening as he drinks you in.

“So fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice filled with something reverent, something devoted. His hands spread your thighs wider, his thumbs brushing along your skin in slow, soothing circles.

“My wife.”

The words send a shiver down your spine, making your core clench in anticipation.

Finally, he closes his mouth around you. One long, slow stroke of his tongue, and you fall apart instantly, a breathless moan slipping from your lips as your head tilts back against the pillows.

Jungkook hums against you, pleased, his hands gripping your thighs as he licks another slow, teasing stripe through your folds. “So fucking sweet,” he groans, the heat of his breath against your slick skin making your body tremble. “Gonna make you feel so good, baby.”

He isn't just making love, he's devouring you.

Jungkook hums against you, the vibration sending a shockwave of pleasure up your spine. His hands grip your thighs, holding you open as his tongue moves with slow, deliberate strokes. learning you all over again, savoring every little gasp and shudder that escapes you.

“Jungkook—” Your voice is breathless, almost pleading, your fingers tightening in his hair, tugging him closer.

He groans at that, the sound reverberating through your core as he laps at you with more purpose. His tongue flicks over your clit, teasing, testing, before he sucks gently, making your back arch off the bed.

“Fuck—” You whimper, your thighs threatening to close around his head, but his strong hands keep you spread wide, completely at his mercy.

His lips brushing your sensitive skin as he pulls back just enough to look up at you. His lips are slick, his dark eyes burning with desire.

Your cheeks burn, he dives back in, this time with more urgency. His tongue moves in tight circles, alternating between slow, teasing strokes and deeper, firmer licks that have your breath hitching.

One hand slides up your stomach, fingers splaying across your skin before reaching your breast, rolling a nipple between his fingers. The combined sensation makes your thighs tremble, a moan tearing from your lips as your hips buck against his mouth.

Jungkook groans, clearly enjoying how responsive you are, his grip on you tightening as he eats you out like it’s his last meal. He flicks his tongue over your clit again, then sucks, harder this time, sending sparks shooting through your body.

“-fuck, Jungkook—” Your head tilts back, eyes squeezing shut as the pleasure builds, coiling tight in your stomach.

He pulls back just enough to murmur against you, “You gonna cum for me, baby?”

The heat inside you is unbearable now, hot and consuming. You nod desperately, your moans spilling freely as you grip his hair, your body teetering on the edge. Jungkook doesn’t stop. He pushes you closer, his mouth working you over with expert precision, his hands holding you steady as your body starts to tremble.

“Come for me, baby,” he whispers against your heat. “Let me taste you.”

And with one final flick of his tongue, you shatter. Pleasure crashes over you, your back arching, thighs trembling as you moan his name like a prayer. Jungkook groans, drinking in everything you give him, his hands stroking your body as he helps you ride it out.

Only when your body goes slack does he finally pull away, pressing soft kisses against your inner thighs, his voice thick with pride and adoration. “You’re so perfect,” he breathes between kisses, his voice thick with adoration. “My love. My wife.”

Jungkook moves up, trailing kisses along your body, over your stomach, your ribs, your collarbone. When he reaches your lips, he captures them in a deep, languid kiss, his hands cradling your face like you’re something fragile, something cherished.

Your fingers roam over his chest, tracing the lines of his muscles before moving lower, brushing over his abdomen until you reach the hardness straining against his sweats.

A groan rumbles from his chest at your touch, his hips twitching into your palm as you cup him, feeling just how ready he is.

“Baby…” he breathes against your lips, voice thick with want. You tug at the waistband of his pants, wordlessly asking for more. Jungkook obliges, sitting back just enough to push them down, kicking them off entirely.

He’s fully hard, the sight of him making your stomach tighten, heat pooling between your legs again. But before you can even reach for him Jungkook takes your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. The intimacy of it overwhelming.

His other hand moves between your bodies, guiding himself to your entrance, his eyes locked on yours, searching, making sure-

With a final nod from you, he pushes in, slow and careful, stretching you inch by inch.

A soft moan escapes your lips, but Jungkook kisses you instantly, swallowing the sound, his own groan muffled against your mouth as he sinks deeper. The moment he’s fully inside, he stills, pressing his forehead to yours, breathing you in. And as he holds you close, as your bodies mold together so seamlessly, you realize- this isn't just sex.

This is home.

Jungkook moves slowly, each roll of his hips deep and deliberate, as if he’s trying to make up for every moment he let slip away. His body is pressed flush against yours, warmth seeping into every inch of your skin, his breath shaky against your lips as he kisses you between each movement.

Your fingers dig softly into his back, nails pressing just enough to ground yourself in the overwhelming sensation of him. One hand moves to his hair, your fingers threading through the strands, tugging gently as his lips travel from your mouth to your jaw, down your neck, planting soft, lingering kisses that make your heart ache.

It’s slow, it’s deep, it’s love.

And then, suddenly, you feel it.

A faint tremble against your body.

Something warm and wet against your neck where Jungkook has buried his face.

Your breath catches as realization dawns- he’s crying. Tears gather in your own eyes without warning, the sheer weight of the moment crashing over you all at once.

You tighten your hold on him, your arms wrapping around his shoulders as you press a soft kiss into his hair. “Kook…” you whisper, your voice barely holding steady.

He shudders at your touch, at the way you hold him, like you’re not just letting him fall apart but falling apart with him.

“I—” His voice cracks as he exhales shakily, his thrusts faltering for a moment. “I’m so sorry, baby.” His lips find your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin as he presses kisses there—apology after apology, praise after praise.

“You’re everything to me,” he murmurs between kisses, his words thick with emotion. “You always have been.” A tear slips down your cheek as you cup his face, guiding him up until his forehead rests against yours.

“I know,” you whisper, voice trembling. “I know, Jungkook.”

His lips crash against yours again, the kiss slow and deep, his movements resuming, gentle but full of something raw, something unspoken. His hands grip your waist tighter, his body moving in perfect sync with yours, as if this moment is rewriting everything.

“I’ve got you,” you whisper, voice laced with love. “I’ll always have you.”

Jungkook shudders, gripping you tighter, his lips pressing against your shoulder, his movements slowing but never stopping. You can feel the love in every touch, every kiss, every whispered breath against your skin.

And when the pleasure builds to its peak, you come undone together, your bodies melting into one as waves of warmth crash over you. His name spills from your lips, his deep groan following right after, his arms holding you so tight you swear he never plans on letting go.

Silence lingers, only the sound of heavy breathing filling the space. Then, Jungkook shifts, lifting his head just enough to press the softest kiss to your lips.

“I love you,” he murmurs, voice hoarse but full of devotion. “I don’t deserve you… but I swear, I’ll spend my life proving that I do.”

You cup his face, your thumb brushing away the remnants of dried tears. “Just love me like this, Jungkook,” you whisper, voice steady. “That’s all I need.”

His hands tightening around you as his forehead presses against yours. “I’ll love you more,” he vows, his voice breaking slightly. “More than this, more than anything. Always.” His words settle deep in your chest, warm and real, and when he pulls you impossibly closer, tucking you into his arms, you believe him.

His heartbeat is steady now, no longer frantic with fear. Just warm, solid, home.

As sleep begins to pull you under, you hear him whisper one last thing against your hair.

“Happy anniversary, baby.”

---------------------------------------------------

[sesmiq]

a night to remember Underneath the sheets, you enchanted me And whispered sweet nothings in my ear ‧₊˚🖇️ pairing: bottom male reader x secret one night stand ⤹warning: mister/sir kink ?, y/n being bratty,, soft/gentle sex, v vanilla, drunk reader, no condom D: (be safe aa), blowjob (receiving), fingering (receiving), door>table sex,,, aftercare!! always have aftercare ,, age gap(reader/y.n 21, one night stand 32) rlly rushed in general, not proof read, if this flop ill simply explode (ﾉ´ヮ`)ﾉ*: ･ﾟ 𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ word count: 3.3k

today was a shitty day. for y/n, at least, it started when his brand new shoes, in the worst color possibly, white- getting completely ruined when he stepped into dog’s poo. then, he checked his grades on his phone, only to see a big red F. on the class he needed to pass in order to graduate. the reason? one of his groupmate didnt do their part, even worse- they dont even attend the class! and now, because of that person, y/n wasnt going to graduate on time. y/n asked his other teammate who was the one that didnt do their part, he made sure to write down their name into his note app to (maybe) beat them up one day,, just when he thought his day couldnt get worse, he was on his way to his part time job before getting a text from his boyfriend. the message was short, a simple, “lets breakup.” he read the text over and over again, his boyfriend of 2 years- ending things without even a word of explanation, over text at that. y/n didnt go to his part time job that day, asking for a sick leave from his manager. his friends noticed that he looked down, then dragged him to a bar to distract him from whatever was in his head. shots. beer. loud music.. y/n drank everything his friend poured him as he listened to the other’s rant about how can his boyfriend just dump y/n like that. he just wanted to forget. after a few drinks in, feeling a little tipsy, y/n told his friends that hes gonna step out for a smoke and maybe fresh air. he leaned against the cold brick wall, he pulled out a cigarette and lit it, taking a long drag as he tried to calm his racing thoughts. ..its cold. maybe he shouldve borrowed his friend’s coat, He exhaled, watching the smoke curl up into the dark sky, when something warm and heavy draped over his shoulders. “??” he blinked, turning his head. Ah, this guy is handsome, he thought to himself, the stranger stood beside him, he looked like he's a few years older than y/n (maybe around his early 30s, he thinks.) , with messy dark hair, piercing black eyes and only wearing a black turtleneck with slacks. “youre shivering.” the man said, voice low and smooth, y/n glanced down at the coat, then back up at the man “‘m fine.” he slurred his words, swaying on his feet like hes gonna fall any moment. the guy huffed out a quiet laugh, “you sure?” “..’m not that drunk.” “mhm.”

“what are you? my mom?” the guy let out a breath that was somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, “go back in, you’re gonna freeze.” “dont wanna.” “dont be stubborn.” he huffed. “I’m not-” y/n stopped, blinking, as the words caught up with him. “..you’re annoying.” on impulse, y/n yank him forward, grabbing the front of the guy’s collar, pulling him down his height and then his mouth was on his.  it wasn’t graceful. hell, it wasn’t even all that romantic. just messy. sloppy. drunken. but the guy kissed back. like hes not going anywhere. y/n wasnt sure how theyd get from the bar to an apartment? or motel, he couldnt tell. the door clicked shut behind and he barely caught it before nearly tripping over if it werent for the other’s steadying him by the waist. “you alright?” the man murmured, before he could say anything, he was pushed against the door, the man covering the back of head with his hand, his back hitting the wood with a soft thud, and then the guy’s lips were on his before pulling away, “you talk too much.” y/n groaned, alcohol still buzzing through his system. he stared back at the stranger, before asking, “whats your name?”

the man paused for a second before tilting his head to the side, as if thinking what to say, he leaned in- just a little closer to touch his forehead with y/n’s,

“does it matter?” he murmured. y/n shouldve said yes, but instead, he pulled the stranger in for a kiss. before he could pull away, the guy already had his hands underneath y/n’s shirt, the sudden warmth against his cold skin sent an immediate jolt through him.

the man's lips left his for a brief second, the man's mouth moved to y/n’s neck, lips hot against his skin, sucking and biting just enough to leave a mark.

“m-mister..”

upon hearing this, the other raised an eyebrow, eyes flashing with amusement. “mister?” he repeated,

y/n only shrugged, before tugging at the man’s shirt once again, as if wanting it off. “mm.”

the man’s hands slid lower, teasing the waistband of his pants, then pulling him closer again, grinding against him in a way that made y/n gasp.

y/n’s hands, impatient and shaky, pushed at the other’s shirt again. “off,” he mumbled, tugging at it.

“eager much?” the man dropped onto his knees, taking off his own shirt before throwing it somewhere in the room.

y/n's breath hitched when the man dropped to his knee, staring politely at the other’s body.

hands firm on his thighs, pressing them apart just enough to show the man his hardening weewee, his fingers tugged at y/n’s waistband once again, tugging it off along with his boxer.

y/n face flushed, his member standing proudly, feeling shy, he meekly hid his crotch from the other man.

“perv.”

the man laugh, before forcefully pulling apart y/n’s thigh. he lightly caresses y/n’s inner thigh, while his other hand strokes the younger’s member,

y/n let out a whine when the man swallowed his length in one go, he immediately covered his mouth with both his palm, stifling any whines that would come out.

gently, he started bobbing his head up and down while grabbing a small bottle of lube from his pocket pants.

y/n noticed the lube, it was almost sweet, like he was handling something fragile. he let out a breathless laugh, “hah, you were really prepared for this?” he murmured, eyes half lidded as the man continued on sucking him and pours the lube into his hand. “i guess you really are a perv.”

the man sighed around y/n’s length, he brought up his hand towards the younger’s entrance, teasingly circling two of his fingers around it.

y/n shivered at the cold feeling against his rim, he was starting to get impatient, “just—” his words suddenly cut off into a whine as the tip of the man’s fingers slid in.

the older of the two hummed, sending vibrations to y/n’s member. he let out another whine when the man curled his fingers, pressing against a spot that had y/n arching his back,

y/n lightly hits the man’s shoulder when he pulled off his member, giving it a small kiss on the leaking tip,

with his head thrown towards the door, y/n covered his mouth with his palm once again, hoping nobody can hear them outside the door. flush spread around his chest, barely hidden from his low neck hoodie.

“feeling shy now?” the older teased, rising from his knees, he grabbed one of y/n’s thigh and hooked it around his waist, fingers still pressed deep onto that one spot, twisting his finger just to hear y/n sigh.

y/n scoffed, hiding his face in the man’s shoulder before letting out a muffled moan, his hand never stopped massaging y/n’s prostate.

when the man pulled his finger out, the younger one let out a huff as if in annoyance, before he could let out another snarky remark, he felt something stiff and warm under him.

glancing down, he noticed the man’s breath growing heavier and heavier, he moved his hips, the tip of his.. weapon? prodding against y/n’s hole.

he paused at the sight ‘thats going in me?’ was the only thing he could think at the moment, the man noticed y/n’s stare, nuzzling into the younger’s shoulder, “im getting impatient.” he murmured, his voice low and raspy as he gripped onto y/n’s waist.

“really?” y/n laughed, wrapping his arm around the man’s neck so he doesnt fall. the man’s breath hitched, a small grin tugging at the corner of his lips,

“yeah,”

the man lines himself up against y/n’s, him kindly enough had poured a generous amount onto his length, before slowly pushing himself in.

y/n yelped, while he did have experience, its been a while he had taken anything like the man’s size.

he took his time, moving slowly, one of his hand gripping y/n’s leg, one gentle hand strokes y/n’s back, circling around his back, his movement slow, as if he werent going anywhere.

pressing a soft skin to y/n’s neck, he slowly pushes his length inside inch by inch, taking note of how y/n whine or gasps.

the man grunted when he finally fit his entire length in that tight warmth, he noticed how quiet y/n have been (besides letting out a few whines here and there), concerned, he placed y/n on the nearby table.

he pulled back just enough to check on him, “still with me?” he muttered, brushing a hand though y/n’s hair, though, all he got was a, “mhmm..”

y/n’s face was still buried in his neck, his lips parted slightly as he lets out small, breathless whine, his arms still hung around the man’s shoulder,

the man let out a low curse, yet he gently cupped y/n’s jaw to take a look at his face-, y/n’s eyes were half-lidded, unfocused and dazed (?)

he was about to pull out, thinking maybe the alcohol had made y/n tired, he can just jerk himself off later.. but before he could, he felt something wrapped around his waist, as if not wanting him to go,

“mister..” y/n, still clearly out of it, voice was barely above a whisper surprising the older, “whyd you stop?”

the mans heart skipped a beat, something about y/n’s expression, how his face flushed and how y/n wrapped his legs around the man so he wouldnt go.

he let out a small smile, clearly caught off guard yet amused, the younger one could be so cute when hes isnt letting out sarcastic remarks— but even if he does, the man wouldve still found it cute anyway. “i told you,” he chuckled softly, “im not going anywhere.”

the man chuckled again, he cupped y/n’s face gently, tilting his head to meet his gaze, “i-”

“stop talking and keep moving.” y/n muttered, giving the man a lazy smile.

oh..

slightly amused, the man let out a laugh, his fingers brushing against y/n’s cheek almost tenderly. “alright.”

y/n didnt want to wait, he clenched onto the man’s length, making the older groan.

the man shook his head, “impatient,” he said, his voice soft making something tingle inside y/n’s stomach.

y/n whined when he felt the man pulling away, he was ready to snap something snarky, but his words got cut off into a moan when the other suddenly thrusted into him,

y/n let out a soft, startled gasp as the man’s hands found their way back to his waist, pulling him flush against him, the tip of his member directly pressed against the bundle of nerves inside of him.

the man occasionally lets a low grunt, his hands moving to hike up y/n’s hoodie just enough to see his abdomen and chest, he leans down, his lips ghosting over his skin before nipping at one of y/n’s perked up nipples.

the younger inhaled sharply, the soft whimper that escaped his throat betraying him. his face flushed, trying to bite his lips to hold back another whimper when the man continued his pace.

y/n couldnt help but arch his back whenever the man pulled out so slightly, then bottomed inside him in one go— or the way his hips instinctively move by itself whenever the man pulls away.

y/n’s eyes snapped open just in time to catch the soft smile tugging at the man’s lips. before y/n could protest, he was pulled into a kiss—soft, but deep, silencing the whimpers and desperate gasps that were about to spill from his lips.

he couldnt help but melt into the kiss,, muffling any moans that would leak out whenever the man’s length grazes his prostate.

he relaxes under the man’s touch, hands moving from the older’s shoulder to his back, scratching slightly at his skin.

each movement from the older man was slow, yet y/n felt like he could feel his length in him so deep. pushing y/n closer to edge, he pulled himself away from the man to catch his own breathe,

“fuck-” y/n gasped, his insides tightened, making the man above him grunt. his back arched again, clinging onto the man on top of him, hands desperately gripping the man’s shoulder.

“im gonna..” he squeezes his eyes shut. “M-mister!”

his body tensed up, his eyes slightly rolling back to his skull. thick, white ropes fell onto his own abdomen, some even getting to the man’s body.

the man slowed down for a second, his lips curling into a small smile, he watch y/n’s face contort into pleasure before leaning down to kiss him again.

“you did so well.” he murmured.

y/n, still dazed, only hummed in response.

the man wished he had the stamina to keep going, the sight of y/n in his arms and the noises he makes whenever he moves are just so addicting.

his movements grows erratic, he felt himself throbbing inside of y/n, his grip tightening around y/n, enough to leave a bruise.

his hips stuttered, a deep groan escaping his throat as he buried his face into the younger’s neck. just before he was about to climax, he pulled out and jerked himself off. spilling his come all over y/n’s stomach.

and for once, y/n forgets everything around him, the break up, the bad day he was having,, and the fact he doesnt even knows the name of the man he just spent the night with.

but it doesnt matter, right?

while he felt himself drifting into sleep, he was carefully carried to the bathroom, he felt his hoodie being taken off and before he knew it, the man had gently put him in a bathtub filled with warm water. by the time the man had finished bathing him, he was already half asleep. he was tucked in into the bed, the man climbed into the cover with him, “are you really not gonna tell me your name..?” y/n murmured, too tired to care anymore, but still slightly curious. the man simply laughed, his voice sending butterflies to y/n’s stomach, his hand gently brushing through y/n’s hair. “maybe later.” y/n hummed one last time, before drifting into a well needed sleep. the next morning, y/n woke up with a headache that felt like a hammer to his skull, his body ache from the waist down- though not in a bad way, enough to remember what had happened last night.

he looked around the room, noticing theres nobody else but him. next to the bed was the nightstand, his half lidded eyes landed on whats on top.

a bottle of hangover medicine and an energy drink.

huh, how nice.

so the guy, whoever he was, hadnt left him butt naked and was nice enough to actually give him a bath and dress him up.

y/n exhaled, running a hand through his hair and dragged himself out of the bed,

theres no sign of the man last night, no note, no nothing.

maybe that was the best decision, at least y/n doesnt have to see him again.

with a huff, y/n took the hangover medicine and drinks it in one go, then grabbed his bag (making sure he still have his personal items..) and left.

the motel was coincidentally near his dorm apartment, letting y/n have just enough time to change his clothes from last night, making sure to bring a coat before heading out. (hed rather be caught dead than wearing the same clothes from yesterday ;; )

eventually, with enough convincing from himself, he hauled himself to his university. his friends were already waiting for him, one of them raising an eyebrow at him and his appearance, “you look like hell.” “thanks,” y/n muttered, having no energy to even fight back, sipping his coffee as him and his friends trudged to class. on the way to class, his friends were talking about a rumor, something he have no interest in unless its about him, “have you heard about the new TA?” one of his friend asked, poking y/n from the side for a reaction, y/n only grunted in response, barely paying attention to their conversation (& nearly walking into a pole if his friends didnt tug him aside with his bag.) “they say hes young,” another chimed in, “and apparently hes hot.” y/n only hummed, almost falling into a bush if it werent for his friends pulled him by the collar of his coat. “so?” someone scoffed, do y/n even know him..? maybe hes a friend of another friend. “he probably has those “im better than you.” mindset being so young.” ..whatever he said immediately went into y/n’s left ear and left from the right ear. when they finally reached their class, they sat in their usual place in the middle, all of them still talking except for y/n— whose mind kept drifting to last night, the warm hand, soft kisses, the aftercare.. “dude you’re zoning out again.” his friend lightly waved his hands in front of y/n, finally snapping him out of it. “ugh,” y/n groaned, “and whose idea was it to go to that bar yesterday-” before he could say anything else, the door clicked open, the room immediately went silent as footsteps echoed against the floor, some of the students instantly murmured about the person who had just entered the room, some complimenting their look, some talking about some rumors. y/n looked up from the table, eyes widened at who was standing in front of the lecture hall. the same man from last night? dressed in a crisp shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, looking the same as he had when y/n last saw him. he nearly ran out of the hall, but he needed that attendance. “good morning, everybody.” he greeted smoothly, the same deep voice that y/n heard last night. “ill be your TA for this semester.” you gotta be kidding me he screamed internally, panic shot through his veins, y/n yanked his hood up, tugging it so low it nearly covered his eyes, his friends, thinking hes having another episode, just shrugged it off and continued talking. he slumped forwards, elbows against the desk,, trying to hide himself. please don’t recognize me. please don’t recognize me. he glanced up again, trying to take a peek at the man in front to make sure hes not going coo coo crazy— but to his dismay, the same man from last night- now his TA was staring directly at him, smiling as if they were best friends. y/n froze, his brain short circuited, AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA as if on cue, the man introduced himself to the class once again. “you can call me Seo Seungjae.”

y/n nearly choked.

a/n hooo leee sheet i finished this. hooe lle sheet. smut took me,, 4 hours. aha. stared at my google docs like a madman whenever i typed something since id get distracted to something else TT ( ´ ω ` ) hopefully you guys enjoyed this ;; based on a real story of mine? harhar (excluding the TA part,) but i actually loved writing this,, i liked y/n and oc's dynamic here,! if anyone else liked this character,, ill probably write a second part ; i recently updated my carrd! feel free to check it out at the description,, my inbox r open as well ^^ goodnight everyone!! mwa

[aeralux]

"Love Game" - Aegon Targaryen

Modern!Aegon x Reader (pt2 to Wicked Game, but could be read on its own)

Summary: After Aemond discards you like you're nothing more than a "convenient hole to fuck" (according to his words). Who better to make him jealous than his own older brother?

Warnings: SMUT 18+; rough sex; name calling (slut etc...); jealous Aemond; choking; LOUD af sex; alcohol consumption; angst (like a lil); slight Aemond x reaader (?); mentions of infidelity (Aemond)

Words: 8k

Notes: I'm not responsible for the media YOU consume.

Aemond Targaryen deserved to suffer. That was the only thought running through your head as you lived your day-to-day life. Even as weeks passed, the anger and bitterness inside you only grew stronger and stronger.

You wanted to pay him back, not just out of a sense of vengeance but because you felt it was necessary. He was older than you, and to be honest, he seemed to not even have any feelings that could be hurt.

But that didn’t matter; it wasn’t just about him. Hurting him would mean hurting your sister, the one person you cared about more than anyone else. You couldn’t let her find out what you had done—how you had betrayed her trust and broken the bond that held you together. The weight of your secret pressed heavily on your chest, filling you with a mix of guilt and fear.

He seemed to be doing well enough though, pretending that everything was fine. Looking at your sister with love in his eye, telling her sweet nothings. You couldn't help but roll your eyes, that pretentious jerk. With that same mouth, he had kissed you like he never even loved your sister.

Maybe you just needed another body to warm your bed to get over him, to forget all about that one-eyed freak and move on with your life. You had better things to do, truthfully.

Aemond catches your eye and flashes you a smirk, a knowing glint in his depths. He knows exactly what you're thinking, and can see the anger simmering beneath the surface. He thinks he's won, that he has you right where he wants you - desperate, bitter, and powerless.

Your sister, bless her naive heart, is completely oblivious to the tension between you. She chatters on about her day, laughing at Aemond's witty remarks, oblivious to the fact that the man she loves has been balls deep in her sister mere days ago.

Aemond reaches over, squeezing her hand affectionately. "Darling, you look radiant tonight. The most beautiful woman in the room, as always," he purrs, his voice dripping with false sincerity.

Your sister blushes, preening under his praise. If only she knew the real reason behind his smooth words and charming demeanour. The way he used to call you his 'dirty little secret', his 'convenient hole' to fuck when he needed release.

You feel the bile rise in your throat at the memory, your anger boiling over. You need to get away from him, from the sickening sight of him pretending to be the perfect boyfriend.

Suddenly, you stand up abruptly, the chair screeching loudly against the floor. Your sister looks at you in surprise, concern etched on her face.

"Sweetie? Are you alright?" she asks, noticing your pale complexion and the way your hands shake slightly.

"Yeah, listen I gotta go. Baela just texted she's having some people over at her place tonight. We're gonna pregame there and then hit up this new club downtown. Don't wait up, alright?" You say distractedly, already rising from your seat and grabbing your phone.

You shoot a quick smirk in Aemond's direction, just to let him know this is your way of getting back at him. Two can play his games.

"I'll be Quiet...I hope," you add with a wry smile, your voice dripping with sarcasm as you saunter off towards your bedroom. You make sure to put an extra sway in your hips as you walk away, just so he can get a good long look at your best asset in this tight skirt. 

You slip into your room and begin to get ready quickly, shimmying into the slinky black dress you bought on sale last week. You admire yourself in the mirror, confident and sexy, ready to take on the night and forget all about your sister'slying, cheating, manipulating bastard of a boyfriend.

Let Aemond jerk off to thoughts of you tonight, the dirty bastard. Probably will anyway, even if you're not there, you muse with a smirk, slipping on your silver kitten heels and grabbing your purse.

Aemond watches, his gaze lingering on the sway of your hips as you strut out of the room. He feels a flicker of annoyance at your snide remark, the obvious attempt at getting under his skin. Two can indeed play this game.

He turns to your sister, flashing her a disarming smile. "Ignore her," he says dismissively, waving a hand in the direction you disappeared. "You know how unpredictable your sister can be sometimes."

Your sister frowns slightly, a hint of worry in her eyes. "I just hope she's not getting mixed up with the wrong crowd again," she muses, biting her lower lip in concern.

Aemond laughs, a rich, deep sound that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Don't worry about it, my love. I'm sure she knows what she's doing." At least, he hopes she doesn't know what she's in for tonight. The thought of you stumbling home drunk and throwing yourself at some random guy causes an unfamiliar tightness in his chest. He quickly pushes the thought away, focusing instead on your sister's lovely face.

The events of the night are hazy, interspersed with flashes of strobing lights, pounding music and the warmth of too many bodies pressed together on the dance floor. You recall Jace shouting something about an Uber, but the details are lost in a haze of alcohol and adrenaline.

Somewhere between the club entrance and the bar, you found yourself getting dragged to the floor by a drunk and overeager Rhaena. Before you could protest, her hands were already gripping your hips as she pulled you back against her. You began to shamelessly dance with her, practically grinding against her on the dancefloor.

Aemond slipped further from your thoughts with each pulsing heartbeat radiating from the speakers. For a blissful, drifting moment, everything else faded away - the betrayal, the anger, the heartache. It was just Rhaena, the thumping music, and the heady, almost electric atmosphere.

You could feel the eyes of strangers on you, but in the darkness and the buzz of the crowd, you didn't care. You let the music take over, let it consume you and make you feel alive.

Rhaena grins drunkenly at you as she grinds against you on the crowded dance floor, her hands gripping your hips tightly. "Woo! You're so hot!" Rhaena shouts over the pounding music, her words slightly slurred. She's a few drinks in, her inhibitions lowered.

Baela bounces up to you both, her silver hair swishing wildly as she moves to the music. She's wearing a tight, shimmering mini dress that shows off her toned dancer's body. "Girl, we need shots!" Baela yells over the pounding beat, her eyes sparkling with excitement and a bit of intoxication.

Jace, never one to miss out on a drinking opportunity, nods eagerly. He's been eyeing the bar, ready for the next round. Cregan just smirks, his gaze flickering between you, Baela and Rhaena. The strobing lights of the club illuminate his chiselled features and the mischievous glint in his eyes as he watches the two beautiful women grind together.

You flash Cregan a coquettish smile, playfully biting your finger as you catch his heated gaze. Wiggling your eyebrows teasingly, you let out a tinkling giggle, enjoying the blatant admiration in his eyes. The strobing lights of the club dance across your beautiful features.

Cregan watches, transfixed by your playful antics with a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. His eyes rove appreciatively over your curves, lingering on the way your dress rides up your thighs as you dance. He takes a swig of his beer, never taking his heated gaze off you.

You lean in close to Baela, shouting over the deafening music and the chatter of the crowd. "Ooh, let's do tequila shots!" you suggest, your voice lilting and eager. "No, wait, vodka! Neat, no lime or salt!" Jace argues, his own words slightly slurred.

Rhaena giggles drunkenly at your shot suggestion, slinging an arm around your shoulders. "Tequila it is!" she agrees enthusiastically, already pulling you off the dance floor towards the bar. Baela and Jace follow close behind, with Jace hollering out to the bartender.

As you reach the bar, Rhaena leans in close, her alcohol-laced breath hot against your ear. "You're such a tease," she accuses playfully, jerking her chin towards where Cregan is watching you with blatant appreciation. "The poor guy looks like he wants to devour you whole."

Baela chimes in, grinning widely as the bartender lines up the shots. "I don't blame him. Look at you, working that dress like it's your job." She winks at you, her own dress riding dangerously high on her thighs as she leans against the bar.

Jace slides the shots towards you both, his own eyes a bit glazed over from drinking. "Alright ladies, bottoms up!" he cheers, already tossing his shot back.

You toss back the tequila shot, feeling the burn of the alcohol slide down your throat and warm your belly. As you set the glass down, you catch a flash of blonde hair out of the corner of your eye. Your heart seizes in panic for a moment, fearing it might be him. But as you turn to look, you realize it's not Aemond, but his older brother, Aegon.

Relief floods through you as you meet Aegon's gaze, his smile widening in recognition. You can't help but smile back, giving him a little wave. Aegon is handsome, like all the Targaryen men, but he doesn't have the same intense, almost frightening charisma as his younger brother.

Aegon returns your smile, his grin widening as he notices your relieved expression. He's always found you charming. Not to mention the way that dress hugs your curves in all the right places. He saunters over, the crowd parting easily for the handsome man.

"Aemond's girlfriend's little sister," Aegon greets, his voice a low rumble over the pounding music. "Looking as lovely as ever. What brings a pretty thing like you out tonight?" He leans against the bar beside you, his eyes roaming appreciatively over your form.

Aegon is no stranger to the effect he has on women. With his golden hair, piercing eyes, and the strong, muscular build that comes with being a Targaryen, he's used to turning heads. But there's a warmth to his demeanour that Aemond lacks, a kindness in his eyes that makes people feel at ease in his presence.

He watches as Rhaena, Baela and Jace chat and laugh, already a bit tipsy. His gaze flickers back to you, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. 

You lean back against the bar, casually crossing your legs as you eye up Aegon with a smirk. "Aegon, these are my friends - Baela, Rhaena, Jace and Cregan," you say loudly enough to be heard over the blaring music. You gesture to each of them in turn, noting how Baela openly checks out Aegon's handsome features while Rhaena leans in to whisper something giggling to Jace, no doubt an impressed comment about your sister's 'brother-in-law's' looks.

Turning back to Aegon, you let your gaze shamelessly wander over his muscular frame, taking in the way his tailored shirt stretches across his broad shoulders and the way his dress pants hug his lean waist. "This is Aegon, my sister's boyfriend's older brother," you introduce him with a naughty lilt to your voice.

Aegon knows he's being checked out, and he takes your brazen appraisal as an invitation to do the same. His eyes slowly travel the length of your body, lingering on the swell of your breasts, the dip of your waist, and the way the skirt of your dress rides up your thigh.

"A pleasure to meet you all," he says smoothly, his eyes glinting with amusement. He turns back to you, his gaze intense and appraising. "And an even greater pleasure to see you again. You look absolutely stunning," he adds, his voice lowering to a more intimate tone.

Aegon flags down the bartender, ordering another round of tequila shots for everyone. "Drinks are on me tonight," he declares, sliding the shots towards you and your friends with a wink.

As the night goes on, Aegon stays close by your side, his hand either resting on the small of your back or holding yours possessively as you dance. He makes it clear he finds you captivating, desirable even. His flirtations grow bolder with each drink, his body pressing closer to yours as the crowd jostles around you both on the dance floor.

You grin as Aegon's hands boldly explore your curves while you move to the beat, a shiver running down your spine as you feel his arousal pressing insistently against your backside. You spin around to face him with a coy smile.

His eyes darken with lust as they meet yours, drinking in the sight of your flushed cheeks. You lean in close, your voice breathy as you tease, "Careful Aegon, don't get too excited now."

You punctuate your words with a playful swat to his muscular chest, feeling his firm muscle beneath your palm. Glancing over at Baela and Rhaena, you see them watching your exchange with curious eyes and understanding grins.

You roll your eyes at them playfully before turning your attention back to the Blue-Eyed Adonis before you.

Aegon chuckles lowly at your flirtatious teasing, not put off in the least. If anything, your coy smile and the way your hand lingers on his chest only ignite the desire smouldering in his eyes.

"Oh, I'm already far too excited," he murmurs, his voice a low, intimate rumble that sends a shiver down your spine. His hand slides lower, coming to rest on the curve of your ass. He squeezes the supple flesh, pulling you more firmly against him so you can feel the hard press of his arousal.

"I could take you right here if I wanted to. Bend you over the bar and fuck you until you scream my name."

His lips brush against your ear, sending tingles down your spine. You can feel the heat radiating off his body, the sheer masculine power of him. Part of you wants to give in, to let him have his way with you right here in the middle of the crowded club. But a bigger part of you wants to make him work for it, to tease and torture him.

Your eyes glint with mischief as you meet his heated gaze. "Is that a promise or a threat?" you ask, a kittenish smile playing at the corners of your mouth.

Aegon leans in closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he speaks. "Perhaps we should get out of here and find somewhere... more private," he suggests, his tone leaving no doubt about his intentions.

He glances over at Baela and Rhaena, who are not-so-subtly looking and mouthing 'holy shit' at you. Aegon smirks, clearly amused by their reaction.

Turning his attention back to you, Aegon reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering to caress your cheek. "What do you say, little one? Ready to get out of here and have some real fun?" he coaxes, his thumb brushing over your lower lip teasingly.

You lean in close, your lips brushing against Aegon's ear as you whisper sultrily, "I've been hoping you'd say something like that all night."

Your fingertips dance along his chiselled jawline before giving his earlobe a playful nip, tugging lightly. "My bed sound good enough for you?"

You press your body flush against his, letting him feel every curve and contour. "Tonight, you can do whatever you want with me~" you breathe. Your hand boldly cups the prominent bulge in his tailored trousers, giving it a teasing squeeze.

"Unless you'd rather stay and give my friends here a real show," you add with a coquettish wink at Baela and Jace, who watch your heated exchange with avid fascination.

His eyes darken with lust and he inhales sharply, the prominent bulge in his trousers twitching under your bold touch. He’s already imagining all the things he wants to do to your lush body, the ways he wants to make you scream and beg for more.

Aegon's lips curve into a wicked grin at your teasing offer to give your friends a show. "Tempting," he murmurs, one hand sliding down to grope your ass roughly. "I'd love to fuck you in front of an audience." His other hand tangles in your hair, tugging your head back to expose the column of your throat. "But I want you all to myself tonight," he growls. "I'm going to take you home and use this sexy little body of yours in ways you've never been used before."

"Enough to drink? I'm ready to go whenever you are," he says, getting restless by now.

"Come on then," you purr, smirking up at Aegon with a wink. "Call the cab, I'm ready to go."

You blow kisses goodbye to Baela and Rhaena, giggling mischievously as you start leading Aegon out of the crowded club, your hips swaying with each step. The anticipation of the night ahead makes your heart flutter with excitement.

Aegon smirks as you lead the way out of the club, his eyes glued to your backside. He keeps a possessive hand on your lower back as he guides you out into the cool night air. The cab arrives quickly, and Aegon opens the door for you, allowing you to slip inside before sliding in beside you.

As the cab pulls away from the curb, Aegon's hand finds your thigh, his fingers. He starts to slowly slide his hand up your thigh, inching closer and closer to your centre. "Can't keep my hands off you," he murmurs, leaning in close. "You have no idea how much I want you."

Aegon's lips find your neck, placing hot kisses along the sensitive skin. His hand creeps higher, pushing the hem of your dress up as his fingers brush against your lace panties. He can feel the damp heat emanating from your core, making him let out a whine against your neck.

His eyes flash with lust as they meet yours in the darkness of the cab. His other hand comes up to cup your cheek, tilting your face towards his. "I can't wait to get my hands on you," he murmurs, his lips brushing against yours in a teasing, promise-filled kiss.

You can't help but shiver with anticipation, your body already aching for his touch. You know this is going to be a chance to get revenge on your sister's lying boyfriend in the most delicious way possible.

The cab rolls to a smooth halt outside the familiar apartment building, the sudden stillness a stark contrast to the pulsing energy of the club. You gather your clutch and step out onto the pavement, one shapely leg at a time.

Aegon emerges a moment later from the cab with an air of casual confidence. He places a hand on the small of your back as you walk towards the entrance, his touch igniting sparks beneath the thin fabric of your dress.

As you approach the door, you pull ahead slightly, fishing your keys from your purse. With a coy smile, you glance back over your shoulder at Aegon. "You don't have to wait a moment longer," you whisper, the night air cool against your flushed cheeks.

Your fingers tremble slightly as you slip the key into the lock, a thrill of excitement and nerves coursing through you. Over your shoulder, you see the hunger in Aegon's eyes, the way they drink in every inch of your form in the dim light of the entryway. You know he wants you, and the knowledge sends heat coursing through your body.

Biting your lip softly, you step inside, holding the door open and letting Aegon follow you in.

Aegon follows you inside, his eyes never leaving your swaying hips and the tantalizing view of your ass. As soon as he’s through the door, he kicks it shut behind him and immediately pulls you flush against his hard chest. "I don't want to wait another moment," he murmurs hotly, his hands gripping your hips possessively as he walks you backwards towards your bedroom.

His lips find yours in a searing, passionate kiss. It's a kiss full of pent-up desire and hunger, a kiss that speaks to just how much he wants you. His tongue delves into your mouth, tangling with yours and exploring every inch of you. He tastes like tequila and sin, and you can't get enough.

Aegon's hands roam your curves greedily as he walks you to your room. He squeezes the globes of your ass, pulling you harder against the prominent bulge in his trousers. His fingers dipped under the hem of your dress, teasing the soft skin of your thighs. He wants to touch and feel every inch of you.

Breaking the kiss, Aegon tugs you into your bedroom, his eyes burning into yours. He looks around your room, taking in the feminine space before his gaze lands back on you. A wicked grin spreads across his face as his eyes rake over your body, drinking in the sight of you.

Without warning, Aegon reaches out and grabs you, pulling you back against his hard chest. He kisses along your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as his hands grip your hips. He wants to mark you, to claim you, to make you his. He wants to fuck you until you forget your name and only remember his.

Aemond tosses and turns in bed, his mind a whirlwind of twisted thoughts and dark imaginings of you. He can't get the image of your scantily clad body grinding against another out of his head, no matter how hard he tries.

His hand moves faster over his aching cock, stroking himself with hard, punishing grips. He pictures you pinned against the wall of the club's bathroom, your dress hiked up around your waist as some nameless man pounds into you from behind. The thought makes him groan, his hips bucking up into his fist.

Just as Aemond nears the edge, he hears the front door slam open downstairs. He freezes, his heart pounding in his chest as he wonders if it's you stumbling home, drunk and reeking of sex and another man's cologne.

Your sister bursts into the bedroom, fresh out of the shower. "Did you hear the door? Looks like she's finally home...." she starts to say, before noticing Aemond's state of undress and the obvious bulge in the sheets. He exhales heavily, his cock softening slightly at the interruption.

"Oh!" she gasps, a pretty blush spreading across her face. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you. I just thought..." She trails off, biting her lip as she takes in the sight of her boyfriend stroking his impressive erection.

Aemond forces a smile, trying to hide his lingering distraction and frustration. "It's alright, love," he says smoothly. "I think your sister just got back from her little night out. Probably passed out somewhere."

He hopes you're okay because right now, he's in no state to go check on you. Not with his cock still throbbing and his mind full of depraved thoughts.

Aegon's eyes darken with lust as you slip out of your tight dress, the fabric pooling around your feet and leaving you in nothing but a lacy black lingerie set. Your hardened nipples peeking through the delicate material. A thin strip of lace runs between your legs, barely covering your most intimate area.

You step forward as your fingers start to slowly unbutton his shirt. You lean in close, your soft lips brushing against his neck as you whisper sultrily, "You like what you see?"

Your voice is a breathy purr, dripping with seductive promise. You place teasing little kisses along his neck and jaw, feeling his pulse jump beneath your lips. Making Aegon's head fall back, a low groan rumbling in his chest.

Aegon's breathing grows heavier as his eyes rake over your nearly nude form, taking in every inch of exposed skin and curves. The black lace of your lingerie leaves little to the imagination, and he can see the way your nipples strain against the delicate material. His cock throbs almost painfully in his trousers, aching to be buried inside your tight heat.

"Fuck, you're gorgeous," Aegon growls, his large hands gripping your hips and pulling you flush against him. He can feel every inch of your body pressed against his, and it ignites a hunger in him that he can barely control.

As you slip the shirt off completely, your hands roam over his muscular torso, exploring the hard planes and ridges. You walk your fingers up his chest, feeling his abs flex beneath your touch. Leaning in, you capture his lips in a deep, sensual kiss, your tongue teasing the seam of his mouth.

"I want you so badly Aegon," you murmur against his lips, your voice ragged with desire. Your hands slide down to his belt, starting to undo it with nimble fingers. "I need you to fuck me, right here, right now. I want you to claim me, make me yours."

In one swift movement, Aegon sweeps you up into his strong arms, carrying you over to the bed. He tosses you down onto the mattress, crawling over you with a wicked grin. "Keep begging for my cock like the needy little slut you are," he commands, his fingers hooking into the delicate lace of your panties. With a sharp tug, he tears your panties off with a rough tug, the flimsy lace giving way easily to his strength.

He tosses the ruined garment aside, leaving you bare and exposed before him. His eyes drink in the sight of your glistening pussy, already dripping with arousal.

"Look at this pretty cunt, so wet and ready for my cock," Aegon growls, his fingers brushing teasingly along your slick folds. He circles your clit with the pad of his thumb, feeling it throb under his touch. "You're fucking drenched, you filthy girl. Are you really this fucking needy?"

Aegon makes quick work of his belt and trousers, shoving them down his thighs along with his boxers. His thick, hard cock springs free, the swollen head already leaking with desire. He strokes himself a few times, smearing the bead of pre-cum down his impressive length.

Crawling back over you, Aegon settles between your spread thighs, the thick head of his cock nudging against your entrance. He teases you with shallow thrusts, letting you feel how big and hard he is, how much he wants to split you open.

"Beg for it," Aegon demands, his voice a low, dominant rumble.

"Oh god, Aegon..." you moan, your head lolling back against the pillow as you feel his thick cockhead teasing your aching, soaked folds. "Please, I can't take it anymore! I've been dripping for you all night, from the moment we started dancing together at the club."

You lock your eyes with his, desperation and lust swirling in their depths. "I already wanted you to bend me over the bathroom counter and fuck me hard like a nasty slut," you confess shamelessly, your cheeks flushed with arousal and a hint of embarrassment at your brazen words. "I've been imagining how amazing your huge cock would feel splitting me open, filling and stretching me."

You spread your thighs even wider, putting yourself on a lewd display. "Please Aegon, I'm begging you," you whimper, your voice dripping with need. "Use me like the desperate, cock-hungry slut I am." Your voice grew louder and louder, already forgetting that just in the other room your sister and Aemond were probably sleeping.

Aemond's eye snaps open as your desperate pleas ring out, your voice echoing through the apartment. He can hear every word, from the lustful moans to the shameless begging for his cock. His jaw clenches, a muscle ticking in his cheek as he listens to you reduced to a wanton mess, so consumed by desire that you've forgotten all sense of volume control.

Beside him, your sister jolts up, blinking in confusion. She looks towards the door, her brows furrowing as she hears the obscene noises spilling from your room. "What the fuck?" she mutters.

Aemond grabs her wrist, stopping her. "Don't," he says shortly, his voice strained. He shakes his head when she opens her mouth to protest, silencing her with a sharp jerk of his chin towards the door. "Listen," he says quietly.

Together, they sit in tense silence, your sister's eyes widening as she realizes what she's hearing. Aegon is pounding into you hard enough to rock the bed against the wall, the headboard slamming rhythmically. His hips are smacking loudly against your ass, punctuating every powerful thrust. The room is filled with the vulgar sounds of flesh slapping against flesh and your cries of ecstasy.

Aegon is wrecking your pussy, claiming it with ruthless strokes of his thick cock. He's thrusting into you so hard that the bed creaks and groans in protest. The sounds of your pleasure fill the apartment, leaving no question as to what'shappening in your bedroom. Aegon is so deep inside you, stretching you wide around his girth, just as you begged him to do.

Aemond sits rigidly on the bed, jaw clenched and hands fisted in the sheets as your shameless moans and the sounds of carnality fill the air. His heart pounds violently against his ribs, a wild mix of anger, disgust, and a sickening twist of arousal coursing through him. The lecherous symphony of your coupling assaults his ears, each lewd noise a dagger twisting in his gut. 

Aegon's hips piston relentlessly against yours, the force of his thrusts rocking the bed frame against the wall with a rhythmic thud. Slick, obscene squelches and the vulgar slap of flesh against flesh echo through the apartment, punctuated by your whorish cries for more, for harder, begging to be used like the desperate cock-hungry slut you apparently are. 

Your sister's face pales as the reality of the situation sinks in, her eyes wide with shock. She stares at Aemond as if waiting for an explanation. But Aemond remains still, his expression grim, unable to meet her horrified gaze. 

He's never felt such an overwhelming surge of rage, revulsion, and perverse, twisted jealousy. Hearing you degrade yourself for another man, screaming in ecstasy, begging to be used...it's unforgivable. It makes his blood boil and his cock throb in a way it shouldn't, given the circumstances.

Aegon is ruining you, claiming you, fucking you with a ruthless, punishing intensity. And from the sounds of it, you'reloving every second of it. 

Your sister finally finds her voice. "Oh wow... I didn't think my sister liked it this rough..."

Aegon snarls, his hips pounding into yours with brutal force as your begging drives him wild with lust. He hooks your legs over his broad shoulders, nearly bending you in half as he looms over you, his muscular frame caging you in. The new angle lets him plunge even deeper, his heavy balls slapping lewdly against your ass with every savage thrust.

Your slick walls clench and flutter around his pistoning cock, gripping him like a vice. The obscene squelch of your juices fills the room, mixing with the erotic slap of skin against skin and your wanton cries. Aegon's eyes are wild, blazing with possessive hunger as he ruthlessly claims your body, using you like the cock-starved slut you are.

"That's it, take my fucking cock," Aegon growls, one hand fisting in your hair as he pounds into you. "This is what you wanted. To be split open on another man's dick, used like a filthy little fuck toy?" 

He leans down and crushes his mouth to yours, swallowing your screams of ecstasy. His tongue plunders your mouth, dominating you completely. All the while, he never slows the brutal pace of his thrusts, each one striking that perfect spot deep inside you that makes you see stars.

"Ohhhh f-fuuuuck, yesss!" You wailed, your voice cracking with raw pleasure as Aegon's massive cock pummeled your cervix with ruthless precision. Tears of pure ecstasy streamed down your cheeks, your hair splayed wildly across the pillow. "Thank you, thank you, thankyouthankyou!" You chanted deliriously, too lost in sensation to form coherent words.

Your back arched sharply, pressing your tits against Aegon's chiselled chest as you clenched around him. "H-harder," you whimpered desperately, your eyes rolling back in your head as you surrendered completely to the brutal pleasure radiating from your core. "Please, I n-need...I need..." you trailed off, unable to even articulate what you craved, your mind shattered by the relentless, mind-numbing bliss of Aegon's animalistic rutting.

The obscene squelch of your dripping cunt taking his merciless pounding filled your ears, punctuated by the slam of flesh against flesh and your escalating wails of ecstasy.

"You want it harder?" Aegon taunts, his voice a low, dark rumble. "You want me to destroy this greedy cunt?" Without waiting for a response, he leans down as he looms over you with your legs still on his shoulders. The new angle lets him plunge even deeper, his heavy balls slapping lewdly against your ass with every savage thrust.

Your pussy is drenched, soaking his cock and dripping down onto the sheets beneath you.

"Fuck, you're squeezing me so tightly," Aegon growls, his eyes wild with primal hunger as he stares down at your pleasure-drunk face. "Such a good little cock sleeve, taking me so well." He captures your mouth in a brutal kiss, swallowing your screams of ecstasy as he continues to pound into you with ruthless intensity.

His hand moves from your hair to your throat, wrapping around it possessively as he squeezes slightly. He can feel your pulse fluttering wildly beneath his fingers, matching the erratic beat of his own heart. Aegon knows he's taking you to the brink of what you can handle, pushing you to the very edge of your limits.

Aegon snarls like a wild beast as he feels your pussy spasm and clench around him, gripping his cock. Your desperate, incoherent cries and the way you arch your back, presenting your perfect tits to him, only fuel his lust. He wants to ruin you, to fuck you so hard that you'll be ruined for any other man.

Aemond sits frozen as your screams of bliss and the lewd sounds of your coupling flood the apartment. It's like a punch to the gut, hearing the woman he actually wants debasing herself on another man's cock, begging to be used harder. The obscene noises fill him with sickening jealousy and a twisted, shameful arousal he can't deny.

Your sister stares at Aemond in shock, her mouth agape. "Is she...is she okay? That sounds rough..." She looks towards the door.

Aemond jolts as if electrified when he finally registers the name falling from your lips in ecstasy over and over again. His heart stops, a cold sweat breaking out over his skin as the horrible realization crashes over him like a bucket of icy water.

White-hot rage explodes through Aemond's veins, his vision flaring red at the edges. Aegon, his own brother, is violating his girlfriend's little sister in the most degrading way possible. Using her like a cheap fucktoy, pounding into her so hard that the whole apartment knows what a filthy slut she is for him.

Aegon.

Aegon is the one fucking you. Aegon is the one ruining you. Aegon is the one claiming your body in the most primal way imaginable.

Aegon's name falls from your lips like a prayer, a mantra repeated with every devastating thrust. "Aegon, Aegon, Aegon!" You scream, your back bowing off the bed as he fucks you into the mattress with ruthless intensity. The bed creaks and groans under the force of his lovemaking, the headboard slamming against the wall with every snap of his hips.

Your sister looks at Aemond with wide, horrified eyes. "That's...that's your brother, isn't it?" she asks breathlessly. "Your brother is - is he really fucking my sister like that?"

Aemond's jaw clenches, his hands fisting in the sheets as he nods numbly. His mind is reeling, a vicious storm of jealous rage and unwanted, twisted arousal swirling inside him. He can't believe it. He can't believe out of all the guys in the club you could've brought home, you're letting his older brother fuck you stupid.

Your fingers fly to your clit as Aegon squeezes your throat, making your world explode into a million pieces.

"Fuck! I fucking love your huge cock so much," you wail shamelessly, too lost in ecstasy to care how utterly slutty you sound. Tears stream down your flushed cheeks as you feel Aegon throbbing deep inside, splitting you open so perfectly. His smirk above you only pushes you closer to the edge.

"I-I can feel you, Aegon..." you sob, your pussy clenching and spasming uncontrollably around his pistoning length. "I can feel you in my fucking guts, holy shit!" Your eyes, hazy with lust, can barely focus on Aegon's handsome face as you cry from pleasure.

Aemond feels like he's been punched in the stomach, the air leaving his lungs in a brutal whoosh. Rage, jealousy, and a sick sense of lust churn violently inside him as he listens to you screaming his brother's name, begging for more as Aegon abuses your pussy.

His brother. His fucking brother Aegon is the one splitting you open, claiming your body with ruthless, animalistic fucking. The bed creaks and groans, the headboard slamming against the wall with every devastating thrust. Aegon must be pounding into you with enough force to leave bruises, fucking you like the desperate, cock-starved slut you've become.

The whole fucking apartment knows now what a whore you are for his brother. The way you're screaming, the obscene sounds of flesh slapping against flesh...you're not even trying to be quiet.

Not to mention the fucking tears. You're crying from pleasure, sobbing his brother's name like your life depends on it.

"You fucking love it, don't you?" Aegon snarls above you, his hand tightening around your throat. "Love the way my cock is splitting you open, reshaping this hungry cunt to fit me like a glove?" He leans down and captures your mouth in a brutal kiss

Aegon grins wickedly as he feels your pussy clamp down on his cock like a silken vice, gripping him rhythmically as you cum hard. "That's it, cum on this fucking cock," he snarls, his hips never slowing their brutal pace. "I want to feel this slutty little cunt milking me dry."

His intense gaze locks with yours, his eyes burning into your soul as your world shatters around you. You shake and convulse beneath him, a silent scream ripping from your raw throat as your climax crashes through you like a tidal wave of ecstasy. Tears stream freely down your cheeks.

Your wide, glazed eyes stare up at Aegon in helpless, mindless rapture, seeing nothing but him. You're utterly lost, drowning in the overwhelming pleasure that's consuming your every sense and thought. You can't speak, can't form a single coherent word or syllable as your trembling body surrenders completely to the exquisite agony of your release.

You can only feel - the scorching heat of Aegon's skin, the slick, obscene slide of his thick cock pounding into your fluttering, grasping pussy, the way your ass jiggles and bounces with every relentless thrust. Your breasts heave and strain beneath him, your nipples grazing his chest with each devastating surge of his hips.

Aegon doesn't let up, fucking you straight through your climax with ruthless intensity. He's merciless, pounding into your spasming cunt like a man possessed, forcing you to take every thick, throbbing inch of him. The sensation of his heavy balls slapping lewdly against your ass with each thrust only prolongs the mind-melting ecstasy.

You're just a vessel for his pleasure now, a set of holes for him to use and ruin as he sees fit. Your body is no longer your own as you writhe and thrash beneath him.

Aegon leans down, his lips brushing against your ear as he growls filthy words. "Fuck, look at you. Coming apart so beautifully on my cock. You were made for this, made to be fucked stupid and used for my pleasure."

He pistons his hips at a brutal pace, the obscene slap of skin against skin echoing through the room. Aegon is fucking you right through your climax, not letting you come down from your high at all. Each thrust rocks the bed frame, the headboard slamming against the wall with enough force to leave a dent.

"Fuck, I'm going to cum," Aegon snarls against your throat, his thrusts becoming erratic and uncontrolled. "I'm going to fucking fill this hungry little hole. You want that, don't you? Want me to pump you full?"

With a roar, Aegon buries himself to the hilt inside you, his cock jerking and pulsing as he finds his release. He grinds his pelvis hard against yours, making sure you can feel every hot, thick spurt of his cum painting your insides.

Aemond lunges to his feet, a snarl ripping from his throat as he starts to storm towards the door. His girlfriend jumps up and grabs his arm, stopping him cold. She stares at him with wide, shocked eyes, her face pale and stricken.

"What the hell are you doing?" she demands, her voice shaking. "They're literally having sex in there! Does it really bother you that much, hearing them..." She trails off, biting her lip as another lewd shriek echoes from your room, followed by the crude slap of flesh against flesh and the rhythmic creaking of the bed.

Aemond's jaw clenches, his eyes flashing with a chaotic mix of rage and jealous lust. "Yeah, it does," he grits out, his voice low and dark. "You're my girlfriend, not her. I should be able to fuck you harder and make you scream louder, not listen to my brother ruin the little slut."

He shakes his head, his expression grim and unforgiving. "I can't stand the thought of Aegon touching her, tasting her..." He squeezes his eyes shut, the obscene sounds still filling his ears. 

Aemond's hands clench into fists at his sides, his whole body trembling with barely restrained fury and a sick, twisted arousal he can't comprehend. He's never felt so violently possessive before, so consumed by jealous rage.

His girlfriend looks at him with a mix of anger and betrayal in her eyes. "Well get over it, 'cause it's happening. Your brother is the one fucking her stupid, not you," she points out coldly. "Maybe if you treated me half as good as he's treating her..." she trails off bitterly.

"A-Aegon... I can feel you, oh god, I can feel you pumping me so full..." Your voice is breathy and weak, your body trembling as you feel Aegon's hot, thick seed flooding your insides. "Mmmnh... it's so much, I can feel it leaking out..." You bite your lower lip, a shaky moan escaping you as the rivulets of his cum start to seep out from where you're still intimately connected.

"Thank you... for ruining me..." You gaze up at him with hazy, adoring eyes, your hair splayed messily across the pillow, your cheeks flushed and dewy. "Mmm... I feel like I'm your personal cum dump now." You clench your walls around him and giggle, trying to milk out every last drop of his release.

"I love feeling your cum leaking out of my fucked hole... I'm so happy I let you use me like this." A soft, dazed smile plays on your lips as you savour the intimate feeling of your bodies remaining joined. "I've never felt so full."

Aegon's expression softens as he looks down at your dazed, blissed-out face. He brushes a few strands of hair from your forehead, tucking them gently behind your ear. "You did so well, taking my cock like that," he murmurs, his thumb caressing your cheek. "I've never felt anyone as tight as you before."

He leans down and presses a surprisingly tender kiss to your lips, his other hand sliding down to squeeze your ass possessively. "Look at you, covered in sweat and my cum," Aegon says with a smirk, trailing his fingers through the mess leaking from between your legs. "I've marked you as mine now."

Aegon carefully scoops you up into his strong arms, cradling you against his bare chest as he maneuvers you both to lay on your sides. He pulls the blanket up over your naked, trembling body, tucking you in like a precious treasure. "Get some rest," he orders softly, pressing another kiss to your forehead. "You earned it after that performance."

Aegon holds you close, letting you bask in the afterglow of your intense coupling. His heartbeat is slow and steady beneath your ear, a soothing rhythm that lulls you into a state of tranquillity.

Outside the bedroom, Aemond is still arguing with his girlfriend, his expression dark and stormy. He's pacing back and forth, his fists clenched at his sides as the sounds of you and Aegon's coupling still fill the air.

"Why can't you just let it go?!" his girlfriend argues, her voice rising. "Your brother is in there fucking my sister into a coma! Who cares?! She's an adult!"

Aemond whirls on her, his eyes flashing. "Of course I fucking care!" he snarls. "I'm just - I can't believe she'd let him do that to her. In your shared fucking apartment." He runs a hand through his hair in frustration, his jaw clenching.

Aemond's girlfriend glares at him, her eyes flashing with anger and betrayal. "Oh, you mean like how you haven't fucked me into a coma in months?!" she snaps back, crossing her arms over her chest. "I've seen the way you look at her, Aemond. Like she's some prized piece of ass you wish was yours."

Aemond recoils as if slapped, his face paling. "That's not - I would never…" he starts to protest, but she cuts him off with a bitter laugh.

"Save it," she scoffs, rolling her eyes. "You think I haven't noticed? The way your eyes follow her every move, the little glances you sneak when you think I'm not looking." She steps closer to him, jabbing a finger into his chest. "Face it, Aemond. You want to fuck your own girlfriend's little sister. You're just pissed it's Aegon doing it instead of you."

Aemond's jaw clenches, a muscle ticking in his cheek as he glares down at her. "Watch your fucking mouth," he grits out, his voice low and dangerous. "That's not - I'm not - " He breaks off, gripping the back of his neck as he turns away from her.

His girlfriend laughs again, a harsh, grating sound. "You can't even deny it," she points out coldly. "You're jealous that Aegon is the one fucking her, not you. Well, get over it. She's not your property, Aemond. She can fuck whoever she wants."

With that, she turns on her heel and storms off towards the kitchen, leaving Aemond alone in the bedroom. He stands there for a long moment, his chest heaving with angry breaths as he tries to collect himself.

You peek up at Aegon through your lashes, a playful smirk tugging at your kiss-swollen lips as you hear the muffled shouts and a female voice rising in anger in the other room. You nestle closer to Aegon's warm, muscular body, relishing in the intimate feeling of your sweat-slicked skin still pressed together.

"Mmm, by the way, I think your brother's out there losing his mind," you murmur, tracing idle patterns on Aegon's chest with your fingertip. You giggle softly. "Poor thing seems pretty worked up about you defiling the 'precious little princess', hmm?" You tease, your voice breathy and low.

Aegon chuckles, a wicked grin spreading across his handsome face as he hears the muffled shouts and angry voices coming from the other room. "Sounds like he's in quite a state," he remarks casually, seemingly unfazed by the drama unfolding outside the bedroom door.

He rolls onto his side, facing you with a smirk playing on his lips. "Poor, dear Aemond," Aegon mocks, his voice dripping with disdain. "Probably wishing it was his cock splitting you open instead of mine."

Aegon reaches out, grabbing your chin and tilting your head to look up at him. His eyes burn into yours, intense and possessive. "Let him be jealous," he growls. "You're mine now, not his. I'll make sure of that."

With that declaration, Aegon crushes his lips against yours in a searing, dominating kiss. His tongue pushes past your lips, claiming your mouth with a fierce hunger. It's clear he has no intention of letting his brother have you, no matter how much Aemond might want it.

[fairlyabookie]

when you call him by a nickname

author's note: batboys x reader! enjoy!

“Guapito” [handsome] / Dick Grayson

You had a penchant for coming up with nicknames for everyone, from their contact names on your phone to the nicknames you had for them. One day, you’d let slip, as an endearment in your own way.

After a successful mission, you land on a peck on Dick’s cheek with a smile on your lips. The dimples bleed into a curious little smile of his.

“What does that supposed to mean, my love?”

The flirt rattled your heart, Dick’s inclinations for flirting with you after a mission always came unexpected. A devious smirk makes its way to your lips.

“I’m sure you sat through enough Spanish class to figure out that, Boy Wonder.”

You pat his cheek affectionately, watching his expression go from curiosity to understanding in a beat. At least his smirk returns, his hand closing in on your waist, his sky-blue eyes darkening to a shade of cerulean.

“I like that very much.”

You chuckle with his flirt, feeling a warm sensation blooming by your forehead.

“Amor” [love] / Jason Todd

You accidentally let slip an endearment to Jason that was only meant for no one other than yourself. Surely, the others wouldn’t catch it, right? You bite down your lip, waiting for a few seconds to pass on the coms before a voice crackles through.

“What was that, [Reader]? Did you say something?”

A part of you collapsed to the abyss as soon as you recognized the voice.

Please, please, please, let him forget it.

“I’m sure you meant me, right, love?”

The emphasis on 'love' was definitely a jab - he understood what you just said. You could certainly picture the smirk dancing on the boy’s lips.

“Shut up, Red Hood, we got a mission to do.”

”Righto, princess.”

“Starlight” / Tim Drake

You knew Tim wouldn’t like the cheesy nicknames, so you went for the more practical one - one not only connotate his brilliance but also his perfections and imperfections, something that would only mean him to your definition.

You send a message to him, leaving an emoji to where his name would be - a secret code you hoped he could decipher right away.

A text bubble appears, the dots flickering until it forms a text.

”Starlight? That’s new. Is that a new superhero name you came up with?”

No dice, that wasn’t what you were going for.

“No, you silly goof, you are Starlight, my starlight.”

Wow, that sounded better in your head. You fear for the worst, perhaps a tomato fest or just no response..

“Your starlight, I like it.”

A smiley emoji accompanies his response. You let go of a breath you were holding minutes prior, the tension leaving your body as soon as you saw his response. He liked it.

[nxuvillette]

“LET’S KEEP THIS HUSH, HUSH.”

CEO SECRET RELATIONSHIP W/ TR MEN

synopsis: messing with the ceo of your rivaling company didn’t seem that hard to let go of.. or did it?

❥- including : ran haitani, sanzu haruchiyo, rindou haitani

❥- note : trying this again! praying it actually works 😭 reblogs are appreciated!!

content warnings: nsfw [17+], fem!reader, ageless + blank blogs dni, ceo!reader, bonten timeline, all men are ceo’s, mentions of harassment (sanzu), praising, use of pet names (baby , angel , princess), slight breeding kink (ran + rindou), creampie (all), some possessive behavior, mentions of pregnancy (rindou).

♡ RAN HAITANI

you never expected to fall for someone like ran haitani. 

he was cunning, attractive, and quite a clever man. he also ran one of the best businesses in all of Roppongi. he attracted all kinds of women by just doing simply nothing, so when he saw you at a club, you didn’t think it would be anything more than a quickie in the bathroom. 

that quickie turned into dates, hookups at his apartment, and him taking you out more than you had anticipated.

however, all of that changed when you discovered that ran just wasn’t a ceo for some random company, but it was the same company that rivaled yours. your father had some previous ties to the business and he seemed to have forgotten to mention it to you when you took hold of the reins. you were now worried. as a ceo of your own company, you placed yourself at risk for possibly sabotaging things that your father had worked so hard to create. 

but, you just couldn’t help yourself. 

your face was smooshed into the leather of ran’s expensive couch. his fingertips danced along your spine while his cock lazily dragged inside of your walls. you had told yourself you weren’t going to see him tonight. you wanted to ignore his text messages, but there was something about his presence that drew you in. he was addictive. 

“you’re taking me so well, angel..” he squeezed the plush of your ass, savoring how soft your skin was. 

your eyes rolled back from how well ran was fucking you. there was just something about how he did it that made you light on fire. it’s what made you come crawling back to him every single time. “a-ah! ran! yes, right there!” you mewled when the tip kissed that spongy spot inside you, sending waves of pleasure over you.

the older haitani loved how pretty you sounded right now. he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. you were too damn perfect to ever pass up. he didn’t give a single shit if you two were meant to be “rivals.” how was someone like him supposed to never see someone like you? you were one of the only women he genuinely saw himself being comfortable with. he didn’t want to be a secret, but for you, he’d do absolutely anything.

his grip on your hips tightened and his pace suddenly became quicker than it had originally begun. “ran! fuck, fuck, cum inside me!” you cried, turning your head just a little so you could see his handsome face.

he couldn’t stop the smirk he wore from writing itself on his face. god, he had been wanting to do that for so damn long. “ah..? okay, baby, i’ll make sure you’re nice and full when i’m done..” he cooed, pushing you further into the couch.

skin slapped against each other as ran’s pace was practically animalistic. he groaned deeply when he finally met his release. spurts of his cum made its way into your cunt, making you shiver from how it felt. that had been the first time he had ever came inside you, and you honestly craved it a lot. it was so amazing.

he pulled out of you, leaning down to whisper into your ear. “i’ll gladly be your secret, baby, but nobody better touch you other than me..” 

♡ SANZU HARUCHIYO

you met sanzu in an odd way one evening. you were on the way home from your long and tiring work day when some random guy kept egging you on. he kept making comments towards you and practically begging for you to give him any ounce of attention.

well, the guy didn’t end up leaving you alone, and he ended up trailing after you in a pretty shitty part of town. you couldn’t lie that you weren’t scared. the sun had already set and that guy was hot on your tail. you could try calling the police but you knew full well that they wouldn’t get there in time to help you, so you tried your best to rush out of there and lose the guy.

unfortunately, he caught up to you and ended up yanking on your arm. you let out a scream and shoved him away from you, but he was quite strong. you thought you were about to be robbed or even worse, but that all immediately fizzled out when someone had intervened. a man with bubblegum pink hair had the guy shoved on the ground. he kicked and beat the shit out of the guy, leaving him completely scared and helpless on the dirty floor. 

sanzu had tended to you the moment he saw your frightened expression. he brought you to the police station and you reported the man who had been following you. you thought that would be the last time you’d ever see him, but that wasn’t the case.

you saw him more often than you should have. you two started a connection with each other and began to go out to bars or even little dates. you tried to tell yourself it was just platonic, but you disliked how your heart would often skip a beat whenever you saw his name light up on your phone. the only issue was that sanzu was the head of a huge company in Tokyo. he rivaled you, and seeing him could cause issues within your business. however, you just couldn’t stay away.

that’s how you ended up in your own office with sanzu hovering above you. his cock bullied your walls, making it difficult for you to keep quiet. “mmm.. sanzu! oh, god..” you moaned, looking at him through your eyelashes.

a smile stretched across his scarred lips. he knew from the beginning that you were his rival. he had seen you before, but he could care less. you were a beautiful woman and he couldn’t lie that you made him happy. “keep sayin’ it, baby, scream out my fuckin’ name so everyone in this building knows who’s making you feel good..” he then began to play with your swollen clit, increasing the pleasure. 

you practically screamed his name when you finally came all over his cock. he thought it was so cute seeing you becoming such a mess for him. “s-sanzu! sanzu!” you whined, trembling within his hands from your orgasm.

your desk began to creak from the movements and the weight you both were putting on it. sanzu’s pace was rough and fast. you could hardly keep up with him. his cock was twitching and within seconds he felt himself let go inside of you. he loved how warm your pussy felt around him. he just couldn’t help himself.

he kissed you sloppily, biting on your lower lip. “don’t think we’re much of a secret now, are we..?”

♡ RINDOU HAITANI

rindou haitani was quite the charmer. he didn’t have the best luck with women, but when he did, he treated them like angels. that was no different when he met you at one of the clubs he DJ at.

he drew you in almost instantly. his expensive cologne, lavender hair, a smile that could make any girl drop her panties. you knew hooking up with him that night would be good, and you thought it would be just a simple one night stand. most men your age never really stuck around after one sex filled evening, so you placed your expectations below what they usually were.

though, it shocked you when rindou continued to message you, even after your hookup.

although you were a little unsure of his intentions, you decided to keep seeing him. he took you out on nice dates, and he had even went as far as buying you a few nice gifts from expensive stores. it wasn’t until your assistant pointed out who rindou actually was that you realized how wrong it looked to be seeing someone like him. rindou ran a company that rivaled yours. it shocked you that you hadn’t noticed far sooner, but you just couldn’t stay away from him.

you repeated to yourself over and over that you wouldn’t fuck him again. you shouldn’t be doing it at all. 

but, your body had betrayed you and that desire for him lit like a candle in the dark.

rindou had your legs around his waist. his thrusts were deep and fast, making you cry out in pleasure every single time he reached those great spots inside you. he had you just where he wanted you. “rindou..! fuck, it feels so good..!” you threw your head back onto the pillow behind you. 

“heh, you enjoying yourself? you’re so fucking beautiful..” he groaned, leaning down to nibble at your neck.

you gasped when rindou bit down on that sweet spot on your neck. he sucked on it hard enough that there would for sure be a mark afterwards. it’s like he was begging for you two to be caught by others. that thought alone didn’t seem to bother rindou. if anything, he wanted people to know what you two were doing with each other. 

you clawed at his back when you felt your orgasm hit you harder than a truck. rindou couldn’t help but grunt when your pussy clamped around his cock so perfectly. fuck, it’s like you were made for him. “so good for me, baby, so fuckin’ good..” he quickened his thrusts, inching him closer to his high. “want me to cum in you..? make this pretty pussy all mine?” 

“y-yes! yes, please, rindou!” you cried, nodding your head.

he held your thighs tightly, fucking the absolute shit out of your cunt. you were so fucking great. he never found someone like you. he didn’t care what your statuses might be. all he wanted was you. 

rindou groaned one last time then he reached his climax. he had completely let go inside of you. thick cum filled your womb, leaving a huge mess inside. you took it all so well. he didn’t want to leave your snug walls. “wanna go again..? maybe i can give you a baby while i’m at it..” he smirked.

© NXUVILLETTE ┆ all rights reserved, do not repost, translate, or claim as your own.

[got-into-worm-by-mistake]

Kylia Reads Pact: Bonds 1.3

This is a liveblog written as I read. Please don't spoiler me for future developments or details in the story.

“You going to be alright?” the woman in the driver’s seat asked me.

From the like, one spoiler I know, I'm pretty sure the answer is no.

But also, like, he's a Wildbow protagonist, so he's definitely not going to be okay.

 Molly, it seemed, had been systematically dismantling those touches.  Boxes sat by bookshelves, filled with books

Okay, that's an unforgiveable sin. She deserves everything that happened to her. :P

 I was a little unnerved to see Rose’s vague shape reflected in the black screen, instead of my own. “There’s a mirror in the bathroom at the end of the hall,” she said.

Does Rose ever end up existing? Or is she always gonna be a mirror self thing?

“Is it bad?” she asked. “Been hurt worse,” I said. “That doesn’t answer the question.”

And raises a whole bunch of new ones.

I didn’t feel like answering that one.  “They weren’t for me.  It was for a friend.  This’ll be the first time stitching myself up.”

Where's PanPan when you need her?

“It’s a house.  A boring, ordinary house that my grandmother lived in for her entire life.” “Our grandmother,” she replied. “It’s soulless,

Like Granny!

The second page… is going out of its way to outline that the notes accompanying the text ‘aren’t binding nor are they intended to be read as such’… 

Ah, the height of ass-covering.

“Does it make more sense that we’re really truly free to walk away, or that there’s a trap waiting for us if we try?” “A trap,”

Soulless, like I said.

In the midst of the briefs and warnings regarding renovations, I saw a floor plan.  Room layout.

Secret room!

The room was a study.  A library.  There were two parts to the room, suggesting it took up two floors in the house.  The upper half was a ring, looking down through an opening, bordered with bookcases on the four exterior walls, with a wrought iron railing keeping people from falling through the hole in the middle.  Soft, mottled light shone down from a dust-caked window in the ceiling, lighting both halves of the library better than lightbulbs lit the rest of the house.

SECRET LIBRARY! YASSSS! GIMMIE!

Pitiable: Transcriptions from informal dialogues with Vampir.

Vampire's are sexy, not pitiable. Stupid Wildbow not getting basic facts right. :P

Where did I even start, when it came to trying to look up bird-skull undead things?

Look for a Monster Manual? Seriously, I'd legit start with TTRPGs and then use the names they use for whatever those are as a starting point. Games are name magpies so it'll be a good starting point.

I sat back while I watched her take it all in.  In the frame of the mirror, she turned and walked over to a bookcase, picking up a book. No effect on my end, I noted.

It's weird the sort of mirror but only partially existing space she lives in.

 The Index is a catalogue of all things found in my library, which I penned myself, and will help direct you to solutions to whatever ails you.

Or you could check the index for 'bird skull undead things' I suppose.

 The family line is a long one, and we have had some involvement in more anagogic sciences since the early 1800’s.

Call a spade a spade. it's magic. Pretentious bitch.

Magic.  However, all things have a price, and it is impossible to become rich, powerful, wise or strong without paying in some form.  For this reason, among others, practitioners rarely ascend to any great status and remain there.  But our predecessors tried, they accrued a karmic debt, and they have passed it on to their children, and their children’s children, and so on down the line.

Aaaah, generational trauma. Wildbow's favorite plot device, apparently.

Also

Beings as long-lived as powerful Others have trouble telling us apart, when we live and die so quickly and when we often look the same, and it helps to establish a pedigree or pattern.  

"all you Thornburns look alike!"

On a graver level, you may well doom yourselves and the bloodline with your failure, depending on how it plays out.

Eh. Feel like the bloodline deserves some solid doom.

Do not allow your familiar to take the form of a rat or dog.

But Cats are okay? Please say Cats are okay?

5.  Find a good man to marry.  By this, I don’t mean that he should be decent and kind.  Such may be a detriment.  You will need an ally in this, and a man who can support you in more mundane matters will give you strength in this world.  I reckon many of the best partnerships in the recent past came about when our family married bastards rather than gentlemen.

Is this Granny being homophobic, or Others being homophobic? Or her just knowing all her granddaughters are straight?

6.  Attend the council meetings.  Second Saturday of every month, at the park, in the twilight hours.  In a five year term, there will be sixty such meetings.  Miss six in total, and your rights to the property will be forfeit.

Harsh.

“I’m supposed to marry a guy.  I’m getting the impression this isn’t the first obstacle I’m going to run into.” “Gay marriage is legal,” she said. “I’m not gay.” I said.  “I wonder if the lawyers will allow me any leeway, here.”

You can probably get away with this one. But also it's not like #5 has a specific timeframe or penalty clause.

8.  See our bloodline to the end of the fifth year with less of a debt than we had at the start of your custodianship.

Wanna enlighten us as to how to reduce the debt, Granny? Since it sounds like the only way to survive is gonna be more debt.

Which I suppose is a nice late stage capitalism/cyberpunk dystopia type stuff.

Make no major deals or bargains.  Until the end of the custodianship, you’ll need to run any major deals past Mr. Beasley (including the three major rituals.  He will protect you from other decisions, or lend his aid if he can’t, but he will exact a price.

*rumplestiltskin voice* "All magic comes at a price!"

I'm never gonna be able to hear references to prices when it comes to magic related stuff without thinking of that line.

Mr. Beasley, as well as individuals you’ll find in Jacob’s Bell and the surrounding area, is described in a little black book I playfully dubbed Dramatis Personae, when I was younger. Our family has made enemies, and I confess that I have turned allies into more enemies.  

Is Jacob's Bell some sort of magic-heavy area? How big is it as a town for it to have enough people to worry about? Hellmouth, Mystic Falls, what sort of vibe are we looking at?

Also: Granny made enemies out of allies? I'm stunned. I'm truly shocked to see gambling in this establishment.

I won’t ask forgiveness or understanding.  I suspect you may find those things when the time comes for you to bear an heir and visit these wrongs on them.

Ah yes. Because generational trauma good.

“That old bitch.” “It doesn’t sound like she had a lot of choice,” Rose said. I spun around to stare at her.  “You’re awfully sympathetic to the old woman who has your name,” I said.  “Can we verify, again, that you’re really a female me?”

Everyone's got choices. Granny just made the ones she did. maybe they were the best option, maybe they weren't, but eh.

Also, I mean, she's a female Blake, but she presumably had different life experiences.

“We’re allies, Blake.  Allies, understand?  Look, the letter said a magic user can’t lie, right?  I’m a unicorn from outer space, and I can’t speak English.  See?”

If you can't use magic, what kind of use are you an ally, bitch? :P

  Orange, purple and green cloth covers,

Orange? Purple? And Green? God, those three together have to make a garish eyesore

There were tabs.  One for ‘allies’, which was virtually empty, with only the lawyer’s number.

Calling your lawyer an ally is like calling your therapist your friend.

Devils and Details.

Subtitle drop!

Pact

TITLE DROP!

She’d written them.

Given that she's the reason you're in your current predicament, how useful is her advice in her books?

Still intriguing, though the length of these chapters is making me consider going back to what I did with Worm after a while, a bunch of smaller posts per chapter. I dunno. We'll see.

[anna-the-undertaker]

Shadows of Divinity

Chapter Eight Summary: Summoned unexpectedly to the Devildom, Nephila—an imposing figure with an ethereal grace—finds herself navigating a world of demons, secrets, and hidden truths. Towering above those around her, Nephila’s presence commands attention, but it’s the sense of something more, something ancient, that truly unsettles those she encounters. With no knowledge of her own mysterious origins, Nephila must uncover the secrets of her family's lineage while contending with the intrigue and suspicion that follow her every step. As the Brothers, the Royals, and the angels attempt to unravel the enigma that is Nephila, they are drawn into a web of past events and divine legacy that could reshape the very fabric of the Devildom.

Tags: @leniisreallycool

Chapter Seven

IMPORTANT NOTICE: Hence forth I will be posting this fic to AO3. Here is the link

Chapter Eight: The Weight of Choices

The man in the attic’s request lingered in Nephilia’s mind, a persistent whisper that tugged at the corners of her thoughts. The days had settled into a strange rhythm, one where normalcy had returned, but with an underlying tension that she couldn’t quite shake. The everyday interactions were comforting distractions, but they did little to erase the feeling that something was waiting, just out of sight, pressing against the edges of her consciousness.

Diavolo had taken to calling and texting her frequently. At first, it had been under the guise of checking in on her well-being, ensuring she was recovering well. But as time passed, their conversations evolved into something more casual, more personal. Diavolo’s voice and laughter was a warm, rich sound that Nephilia found herself looking forward to more than she cared to admit.

It wasn’t just the calls and texts. Diavolo had also begun escorting her to her classes at RAD, a gesture that did not go unnoticed by the other students, or the brothers. The once speculative murmurs had now turned into full-blown rumors, with everyone from the students to the angels speculating on the nature of their relationship. The whispers followed her through the halls, blending with the soft echo of her footsteps, a constant reminder of the scrutiny she was under.

Yet, neither Nephilia nor Diavolo acknowledged the rumors. Their friendship, while growing, remained platonic, and engaging with the gossip would only add fuel to the already roaring fire. But even though they didn’t speak of it, Nephilia could feel the weight of the rumors pressing down on her, a silent question hanging in the air whenever they were together: What are we becoming?

Despite their attempts to ignore the gossip, Diavolo’s actions began to speak louder than words. He had started sending her gifts—small tokens at first, like books he thought she might enjoy or a bouquet of rare Devildom flowers that glowed faintly in the dark. But soon, the gifts became more thoughtful, more intimate. A beautifully crafted dress arrived one morning, tailored to fit her perfectly, followed by a collection of ancient texts on magic and its relation to bloodlines that he had handpicked from the royal library. Each gift was accompanied by a note in his elegant handwriting, expressing his hope that she would find them to her liking.

The gifts warmed Nephilia in a way she hadn’t expected. She wasn’t used to such attention, such care. The dress, in particular, with its plunging neckline left her feeling flustered, a blush rising to her cheeks as she tried it on and admired the way it hugged her curves . It was clear that Diavolo was putting thought into each gift, and while she wasn’t sure what to make of his intentions, she couldn’t deny the warmth that bloomed in her chest with each new package that arrived.

It wasn’t just the gifts, either. Diavolo made it a point to spend time with her whenever he could, whether it was inviting her to the palace for tea or finding an excuse to walk her to class. Their conversations, once filled with polite curiosity, had become more intimate, more layered. He asked her about her life in the human world, her childhood, her hopes, and her fears. And in return, he shared more about himself, about his dreams for the future of the Devildom, his longing for a world where demons, angels, and humans could coexist in harmony.

Their growing closeness didn’t go unnoticed by the brothers she had pacts with. Levi would sometimes glance at her with an expression that was a mix of curiosity and surprise. Mammon's protective nature manifested in the way he would hover near her whenever Diavolo was around, as if he were her big brother trying to intimidate any boy who came near her. But even he couldn’t ignore the gifts, the way they made her smile, and he would grumble under his breath about “overbearing royals” while still ensuring she was happy.

Yet, even in the midst of this newfound normalcy, the man in the attic’s words haunted her. The nagging urge to find out the truth refused to be silenced. She would often catch herself staring off into space, her thoughts wandering back to that locked door, to the man with the mysterious smile  that should have terrified her instead of anger her.

As time went on, that urge to uncover the truth only grew stronger. It gnawed at her, even as she tried to push it away, telling herself that it was better to leave well enough alone. After all, she was building a life here, with people who cared about her, who were becoming her friends, her family. Why risk that for the sake of a man she didn’t know, who was lying to her anyway?

But fate, it seemed, had other plans.

The dreams grew more intense, more detailed. She would wake up drenched in sweat, her heart racing, the man’s voice echoing in her mind: “They need you more than they realize.” She knew she couldn’t ignore it for much longer. The truth was calling to her, and she could feel that it wouldn’t be denied.

But what was the truth? And more importantly, was she ready to face it?

Nephilia found herself standing at a crossroads. On one side was the life she was building with the brothers, with Diavolo, and with the new friends she was making in the Devildom. It was a life filled with laughter, with shared secrets and new experiences. It was a life that she could see herself becoming a part of, if only she could let go of the past.

But on the other side was the unknown—the man in the attic, the truth he spoke of, the power that was growing inside her, whether she wanted it or not. It was a path fraught with danger, with uncertainty, but also with the possibility of answers, of finally understanding who she was, and why she had been brought here.

And fate, it seemed, was determined to see her through.

Nephilia was seated beside Mammon in class, her eyes drifting between the notes in front of her and the bustling classroom. The scent of something savory wafted through the air, catching her attention. She glanced to her right, where Mammon was digging into a bento box with gusto.

“Mmm, this is amazing!” Mammon groaned in delight, a satisfied smile spreading across his face. “Ahh... nothing beats a fried scorpion sandwich with vinegar and tartar sauce for a late morning snack! With all the fixings, of course!” He was savoring every bite when, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a shadow looming over him. Startled, he looked up to see Beel staring intently at his food, his expression unreadable.

“Ah! Beel!” Mammon jumped, clutching his bento box closer. “St-stop it! This is MINE! Don’t look at my food like that. It’s like you’re devouring it with your eyes!”

Beel simply shook his head, a rare disinterest crossing his face. “I don’t want it.”

Mammon blinked, taken aback by the unexpected response. “...Huh? Wait, what’s that now? Did you just say you don’t want it? ...Are ya sick to your stomach?! Is this the day when hell really does freeze over?! Or wait... is this a dream?!”

Beel shook his head again, his expression calm. “Nope. None of the above.”

Mammon’s eyes narrowed in confusion, genuinely perplexed. “All right, then what’s goin’ on here?!”

Beel simply shrugged. “I don’t like your cooking, that’s all.”

Mammon huffed, crossing his arms. “Wow, way to say somethin’ super rude like it’s not a big deal, Beel. That really hurts, ya know! Actually though, I DIDN’T make this. I got it from a witch who gave it to me as an offering.”

At this, Beel perked up, his eyes lighting up with renewed interest. “All right, then I’ll take it.”

Before Beel could reach out and claim Mammon’s food, Nephilia intervened, placing a gentle hand on Beel’s arm. “Hold on, Beel. I packed an extra lunch for you just in case.” She handed him the food, a small smile playing on her lips as she watched Beel’s eyes light up with appreciation. He wasted no time in digging in, his earlier indifference forgotten.

As Beel happily munched away, Simeon approached the group, his usual serene smile on his face. “Hey there, you three. It’s so nice to see how well you all get along.”

Mammon and Beel barely acknowledged him, their attention focused on their food. They offered noncommittal grunts in response, their mouths too full to form proper words.

Luke, however, was not so easily dismissed. He appeared beside Simeon, his small fists clenched and his face set in a familiar look of indignation. “Show some respect!” he demanded, his voice high with irritation.

Mammon barely glanced toward the young angel, a piece of scorpion sandwich halfway to his mouth. “Eh? Ah, Fido... it’s you. Didn’t even realize you were there.”

Luke’s cheeks puffed up in annoyance, his eyes narrowing. “Wh... don’t call me Fido! My NAME is Luke. Can’t you get that through your head?! Or are you as stupid as you are rude?!”

Mammon, unfazed, simply shrugged, taking another bite of his sandwich. “Mmmhm, whatever. Do you ever stop yippin’ and yappin’?” He placed his elbow on top of Luke’s head, leaning on him in a teasing manner, clearly trying to rile the young angel up further.

Nephilia, watching the exchange with mild amusement, nudged Mammon with a chuckle. “That’s enough, Mammon. Leave him be.”

Mammon rolled his eyes, a playful smile still on his lips as he reluctantly moved his elbow, returning his attention to his food.

Nephilia then turned her gaze to Luke, who was still bristling with frustration. “And Luke,” she said gently, “what you said was just as rude. Don’t throw stones.”

Luke looked up at her, his expression softening slightly, though his indignation still simmered just beneath the surface. He seemed to struggle with a response, torn between his frustration with Mammon and his desire to appear dignified in front of Nephilia.

Simeon, sensing the tension, placed a hand on Luke’s shoulder, giving him a reassuring squeeze. “Come now, Luke. There’s no need to let their teasing get under your skin.”

Luke huffed, but the fight had gone out of him. “Fine,” he muttered, crossing his arms. “But I still don’t like being called Fido.”

The little angel’s frown persisted, his small frame tense. Nephilia, however, couldn’t resist the opportunity to lift his spirits. With a playful grin, she leaned toward him, her fingers wiggling in the air as she reached out to poke at his cheeks.

“Let’s put a smile on that face,” she teased, her voice light and mischievous.

Luke’s eyes widened as he tried to move out of her reach, but Nephilia was quicker. Her fingers found his sides, and she began to tickle him with gentle but relentless precision. Luke squirmed and twisted, doing his best to resist the onslaught, but it was no use. He tried to maintain his frown, but the corners of his mouth twitched despite himself.

“St-stop that!” he managed to say between gasps, his voice caught somewhere between a giggle and a protest.

But Nephilia didn’t let up. She continued her playful assault, poking his cheeks and tickling his sides until Luke could no longer hold back his laughter. The sound of his giggles filled the air, and slowly but surely, a smile bloomed across his features, brightening his entire face.

His eyes sparkled with mirth as he looked up at Nephilia, his earlier frustration completely forgotten. “Okay, okay, I’m smiling!” he conceded, his voice breathless from laughing.

Nephilia finally relented, pulling her hands back and smiling down at him warmly. “There we go, that’s much better,” she said, satisfaction evident in her tone.

Luke shook his head, still smiling, though a bit of the usual seriousness returned to his expression as he tried to regain his composure. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, but there was no heat behind the words. In fact, his smile lingered, refusing to leave.

Simeon, who had been watching the exchange with a fond smile, chuckled softly. “I have to agree with Nephilia—seeing you smile suits you much better, Luke.”

Luke huffed but didn’t argue, his good mood now firmly in place thanks to Nephilia’s playful intervention.

Mammon, who had been watching the whole thing with amusement, finally swallowed his mouthful of food and spoke up. “Heh, who knew all it took to get ya to smile was a little tickling, huh, Fido?”

Luke’s smile turned into a playful glare as he looked at Mammon, but he didn’t respond with his usual bite. The warmth in the room was contagious, and even he couldn’t deny that it felt good to laugh and smile with the others.

Mammon was the first to break the silence that followed Luke’s cheerful wave. “So, what is it ya angels want?” he asked, his tone laced with suspicion. “I know ya must want somethin’. Otherwise, ya wouldn’t walk up and strike up a conversation with us outta nowhere.”

Simeon smiled gently, seemingly unfazed by Mammon’s directness. “Ah yes, right. I almost forgot. We’re actually going on a camping trip soon, you see. We thought it would be a good way to have fun and get to know each other better. And that’s why I’m here to invite you. We’d love it if you’d all join us.”

Mammon’s expression shifted to one of mild disdain as he crossed his arms. “Wha? Ugh, so it’s another one of your lame ideas. You always do this… Listen, for starters, camping is a total drag. Isn’t that right, Beel?”

Beel, who had been lost in thought, suddenly perked up at the mention of camping. His mind, as usual, went straight to food. “Hmm, camping… That would mean cooking out... Ooh, and roasting marshmallows... I’m in.”

Mammon sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “Ya see, this is your problem, Beel. You’ve gotta quit lettin’ your stomach make decisions for ya.”

He then turned his attention to Nephilia, hoping for a more grounded perspective. “So what do ya think about this camping thing, Neph?”

Nephilia shrugged noncommittally. “Camping can be fun with the right people and environment, but I haven’t really gone camping since I was a child. Do they even make tents big enough for me?”

Simeon chuckled at her response, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Well, just keep in mind that we’re going camping, and you’re all invited.”

Just then, his D.D.D began to ring. He glanced at the screen and sighed softly. “Uh-oh, if you’ll excuse me, I should really take this.” He offered them a polite nod before stepping away to answer the call. “You three take care now.”

Luke, still lingering by Simeon’s side, waved goodbye to Nephilia with a small smile. She returned the gesture warmly, watching as the two angels made their way out of the room.

Later that evening, Nephilia found herself alone in her room, once again consumed by thoughts of the man in the attic. The task of gaining pacts with the remaining brothers loomed large in her mind, and she wondered how best to approach such an ambitious endeavor. Just as she was getting lost in her thoughts, her D.D.D buzzed, jolting her back to reality. It was a message from Mammon.

“I’m feelin’ hungry,” the message read. “Meet me in the kitchen?”

She sighed, typing back a quick response: “You know we’ll get in trouble if Lucifer catches us.”

Mammon’s reply was almost immediate, “That’s why we gotta be stealthy! Hurry up!” The message was punctuated with a series of stickers, depicting a little creature drooling in anticipation.

With a resigned smile, Nephilia slipped out of her room and made her way to the kitchen. She arrived just as Mammon did, his usual mischievous grin firmly in place.

“Let’s see what we can find,” he whispered, already digging through the fridge. His search was punctuated by a quiet groan. “Ugh, there’s nothin’ good in here. Wait...now what do we have here? Looks like custard.”

He pulled out a small dish, and Nephilia’s eyes immediately caught the note attached to it: Property of Beelzebub. You eat it, you die.

A chill ran down her spine as she read the warning. “Mammon, you should put that back,” she urged, her voice low and serious. She had already witnessed Beel’s wrath when his food was tampered with, and she wasn’t eager to see it again.

But Mammon, ever the risk-taker, simply grinned. “Aw, come on, Neph! I’ll make ya eat it with me!” he teased, playfully pushing the custard toward her mouth.

She pushed his hand away, trying to stifle a laugh. “Stop it, Mammon! Put it back!” But in the scuffle, the dish slipped from his fingers, crashing to the floor with a splatter.

For a moment, silence hung thick in the air, the two of them frozen in place as they stared at the mess on the floor.

Then, as if summoned by the sound, Beelzebub appeared in the doorway. His eyes fell upon the shattered dish and the custard smeared across the floor. His normally placid expression twisted into one of pure fury, his body tensing as his anger ignited.

Beel’s demon form was a sight both terrifying and majestic, exuding an aura of raw, unrestrained power. His skin darkened to an obsidian hue, and his already formidable stature seemed to swell, towering above them with an almost godlike presence. His eyes, once warm and inviting, now blazed with an eerie, unnatural purple light, betraying an insatiable hunger that sent a cold shiver through her. The horns that curled from his head were sharp and jagged, twisting with a menacing grace that suggested the potential for violence.

From his back, immense wings unfurled, their translucent surface buzzing with a sinister energy. These were not the wings of any ordinary creature but the grotesque, chitinous wings of a monstrous fly, their edges gleaming ominously in the dim light. They thrummed with a barely contained force, ready to propel him into action at a moment’s notice. His claws, long and razor-sharp, glinted dangerously, a reminder of the destructive power he possessed in this enraged state.

This transformation left no doubt that Beel was beyond reasoning, and the sheer magnitude of the devastation he would unleash was a sobering reality.

Nephilia felt her own magic stir within her, bubbling up in response to the danger. But she bit down on the rising energy, refusing to let it take over. The memory of the incident with Levi was still too fresh, and she couldn’t risk losing control again. Instead, she reached out and grabbed Mammon by the collar, yanking him out of the way just as Beel charged at them with a roar.

Beel’s momentum carried him forward, his powerful frame smashing straight through the kitchen wall and into Nephilia’s room beyond. The destruction continued as Beel tore through the space in his blind rage, his claws shredding through the walls and furniture with terrifying ease.

The noise was deafening, a cacophony of destruction that reverberated through the House of Lamentation. It wasn’t long before Lucifer arrived, drawn by the chaos. His eyes narrowed as he took in the scene—Beel’s rampage, the gaping hole in the wall, and the two culprits standing amidst the wreckage.

Then, with a calm that was more terrifying than any outburst, he turned his gaze to Nephilia and Mammon, who were both standing frozen in place. “Wait for me in my office,” he barked, his voice like ice.

Nephilia and Mammon exchanged a glance, both knowing better than to argue. As they turned to leave, Nephilia couldn’t help but glance back at Lucifer. He had already shrugged off his coat and was rolling up his sleeves, his gaze fixed on Beel with a steely resolve.

As they walked down the hallway toward Lucifer’s office, Mammon muttered under his breath, “Of all the things to go wrong… Beel rampagin’…”

Nephilia could only nod, her heart still racing from the close call. The sight of Beel in his full demonic form, coupled with the knowledge that Lucifer was now left to deal with the aftermath, was enough to keep her thoughts occupied for the rest of the night. But despite the fear and adrenaline, a small part of her couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of relief that she had managed to keep her own powers in check—for now, at least.

Nephilia, Mammon, and Beel sat side by side on the plush, velvet couch in Lucifer’s office. The atmosphere was tense, and the air seemed thick with the weight of impending judgment. Lucifer stood before them, arms crossed, his gaze fixed pointedly on Mammon.

“And then what happened?” Lucifer asked, his voice calm but with an underlying edge that hinted at his frustration.

Mammon groaned, slumping slightly in his seat. “Cooome oooon! How many times are ya gonna make me say it? I was hungry, so I went to the kitchen to get somethin’ to eat, and Neph came with me... And while I was diggin’ through the fridge, Beel suddenly came up and attacked me!”

Beel, still simmering with anger, shot Mammon a seething glare. “You ruined my custard,” he growled.

Mammon glared back, indignant. “We didn’t mean to, Beel. I told ya, I was just holdin’ it and it slipped from me hand, that’s all.”

“Liar,” Beel retorted, his voice low and accusing. “You were going to eat it. I could tell. The lid was off.”

Mammon huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “Wha? Well, don’t look at me. It was probably open to begin with.”

Beel’s eyes narrowed. “I made sure to write my name on it, and you still tried to take it.”

Mammon lifted his chin defiantly. “Oh... really? Huh... I never noticed...”

“It was my custard,” Beel repeated, his voice dripping with restrained fury.

Mammon opened his mouth to retort, but Nephilia nudged him sharply, eliciting a hiss from the second-born. She looked at him with a mixture of exasperation and calm resolve. “Mammon, stop. I told you to put it back, but you didn’t, and now we’re all dealing with the consequences.”

Mammon fell silent, his mouth snapping shut as Nephilia turned her attention to Lucifer. Her expression softened as she continued, “It’s true that the custard getting ruined was partly my fault since I pushed his hand away. It really was an accident.”

She then shifted her gaze to Beel, sincerity in her eyes. “Beel, I’m sorry. If I can, I’ll buy you another custard or find some way to make it up to you.”

Lucifer pinched the bridge of his nose, a long sigh escaping him as he processed their words. “So, let me get this straight. Mammon was hungry, so he went rummaging for food and dragged Nephilia along with him. That’s when he found Beel’s custard. Then he dropped said custard, and when Beel saw, he was so angry that he went on a rampage. The kitchen ended up being destroyed, along with Nephilia’s room, which was on the opposite side. All because of an accident.”

Mammon shrugged, nonchalantly. “Yeah, that pretty much sums it up.”

Lucifer’s nostrils flared, his patience clearly wearing thin. “Now listen, and listen well. First of all, you three—”

Mammon groaned, interrupting with a defeated sigh. “I just know this is gonna take forever.”

Beel added, his tone filled with the indignation of someone wronged, “It isn’t fair. I’m the victim here.”

Nephilia remained silent, understanding that arguing would only prolong the inevitable. She let the conversation wash over her, her mind racing with the events that had led them to this point.

Three hours passed as Lucifer lectured them relentlessly, his voice never faltering as he drove his point home.

“...So, now that we’ve got that straight,” Lucifer concluded, his tone heavy with finality, “I expect each of you to learn something from all this.”

He turned his gaze to Nephilia. “Nephilia, it seems you won’t be able to use your room for some time. You know, since it lacks a wall now. So, for the time being, I want you to stay in Beel’s room.”

Mammon’s head snapped toward his older brother, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Wha?! Now just a second. Why’re ya puttin’ Neph in his room? I mean, there’s enough space in my room, isn’t there?!”

Nephilia nudged him again, this time more gently. “Let it be, Mammon,” she murmured, her voice calm but firm.

Lucifer nodded in agreement. “There is an extra bed in Beel’s room that she can use, and it’s important that she has a place to rest that isn’t surrounded by the aftermath of tonight’s... incident.”

Mammon grumbled under his breath, clearly unhappy with the arrangement, but he didn’t argue further.

Lucifer then turned his attention to Beel. “Do you understand, Beel? This isn’t a request.”

Beel nodded slowly, his earlier anger dissipating as he accepted the situation. “...Yeah, I understand.”

The tension in the room eased slightly, but the weight of Lucifer’s words still hung in the air. Nephilia glanced at Mammon, who still seemed disgruntled, and then at Beel, who had returned to his usual stoic demeanor. She sighed inwardly, knowing that this was far from the end of her troubles.

She followed Beel, though her mind was occupied with the events of the past few hours. As they reached the door to his room, Beel opened it with a gentle push, and she stepped inside, immediately struck by the distinct atmosphere. The room was split down the middle, each side a stark contrast to the other.

The left side, was warm and inviting, bathed in hues of red and orange. It had a sun design that made the space feel cozy and vibrant, with rays of sunlight seemingly radiating from the wall behind the bed. Various posters and framed pictures decorated the walls, each reflecting Beel’s personality—simple yet full of life. The bedspread was plush and deep red, its surface looking like it would sink you into the most comforting sleep imaginable.

The right side, however, was a deep contrast. The moon and stars design gave it a cool, serene atmosphere, with deep purple and blue hues creating a peaceful night sky effect. Stars twinkled faintly on the ceiling, and the bedspread was a soft, cool blue, evoking the quiet and calm of midnight. This side felt more ethereal, almost like it belonged to another world entirely.

As she took in the room, she felt a hesitation creep into her movements. She wasn’t sure which bed she was meant to use and instinctively started to head towards the right side, drawn to the cool serenity of the space. But before she could go further, Beel’s voice gently halted her.

“Don’t,” he said, a touch of sadness lacing his words. “Use my bed instead.”

Nephilia paused, turning to look at him. His usually calm and stoic demeanor was tinged with something else—something almost vulnerable. She noticed the way his eyes lingered on the bed on the right side of the room, a sadness deepening in his gaze. It wasn’t just a bed to him, she realized. It belonged to someone—someone important.

“Why?” she asked softly, her voice carrying the weight of her curiosity and concern.

Beel hesitated, glancing between her and the bed before finally nodding. “That bed… it belongs to my twin brother, Belphegor,” he explained, his voice low. “He’s in the human world right now, as an exchange student.”

Nephilia was taken aback. “He’s in the human world?” she repeated, the surprise clear in her voice.

Beel nodded again. “Yeah. You came to the Devildom, and Belphie went to the human world. He went there with another demon named Diaval…” His frown deepened, the sadness in his eyes intensifying. “Belphie had a falling out with Lucifer, so he was chosen to be an exchange student. Belphie didn’t want to go, but he was forced. So… don’t mention his name in front of Lucifer.”

Nephilia set her things on Beel’s bed and sat down, the weight of his words pressing on her heart. She patted the spot next to her, inviting him to sit beside her. Beel hesitated for a moment but eventually joined her, his large frame settling down on the bed with a quiet sigh.

“Can you tell me more about your twin?” she asked gently, wanting to understand the sadness that seemed to shadow him whenever he spoke of his brother.

Beel was silent for a moment, his gaze distant. “Even though we’re twins, all it means is that our father created us at the same time. It’s not like we’re alike in any way.” A small, almost wistful smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Still, Belphie and I got along. We used to have a little sister, Lilith. So the three of us were always together: me, Belphie, and Lilith.”

The name “Lilith” struck Nephilia like a bolt of lightning, sending a shockwave through her entire being. It wasn’t just a name—it was a memory, or the ghost of one, lingering at the edges of her consciousness. She felt as though she should know that name, that she did know it somehow, but she couldn’t place where she had heard it before.

A woman’s face flashed in her mind’s eye, vivid and clear: long platinum blonde hair that cascaded like silk, fair skin that seemed to glow with an inner light, and bright blue eyes that held a warmth and wisdom beyond words. The image was fleeting, but it left an indelible mark on her mind, stirring something deep within her—a feeling of familiarity, of loss, and of a connection she couldn’t quite grasp.

Nephilia’s heart began to race, her thoughts swirling in confusion and frustration. Why did the name Lilith affect her so strongly? Why did she feel as though she knew this woman—this beautiful, ethereal figure who had appeared so suddenly in her mind?

Nephilia forced herself to push aside the questions and the strange sense of recognition. “What happened to your sister?”

His expression turned pained, his earlier smile fading as he spoke of his sister. “I don’t feel like talking about her right now,” he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion.

She looked at Beel with sympathy and understanding, her heart aching for him. Whatever had happened to Lilith, it was clear that it caused him deep pain, and she couldn’t sit there and do nothing.

Reaching out, she hesitated for a moment before placing her hand on his arm, offering what comfort she could. “I know you don’t know me well, but if you ever need to talk to someone, I’m willing to listen. Sometimes it helps to vent, just to let some of it out.”

Beel looked down at her hand on his arm, then up at her, his eyes reflecting a mix of emotions—surprise, gratitude, and lingering sorrow. He didn’t pull away, instead offering a grunt in response, a sound that was as close to acceptance as she expected to get from him.

Her thoughts drifted to his twin brother again, and then to the man in the attic. A feeling nagging at her. Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t realize she was staring at Beel until he noticed.

“…What? Why’re you staring at me like that?” he asked, his brow furrowed in confusion. “I told you Belphie and I were twins, but we don’t look alike.”

Nephilia smiled slightly, shaking her head. “It’s not that. I was just wondering… could I see a picture of your twin?”

Beel seemed to ponder the request before nodding. “There’s a portrait of him in the portrait hall. I’ll show you.”

He led her through the mansion, the silence between them comfortable yet charged with anticipation. When they reached their destination, Beel pointed out Belphie’s portrait. Nephilia’s breath caught in her throat as she stared at the image. The man in the attic and Belphegor were one and the same. She knew it. He had lied to her, and that cold feeling spread through her chest like frost on glass. Part of her had wanted to hope he hadn’t, but he had, and she had known it.

She kept her face neutral, masking the storm of emotions swirling inside her. She hadn’t trusted Belphegor from the start, but now her distrust had solidified into something more intense. As they left the portrait hall, Nephilia made a silent vow to confront the seventh-born and uncover the truth.

She made her way back to the attic late that night, her footsteps light as she ascended the narrow staircase. Her heart pounded with a mixture of determination and barely contained anger. The truth she had uncovered about Belphegor weighed heavily on her mind, and she was resolved to extract answers from him that he had been so keen on withholding.

When she reached the top of the stairs, she found Belphegor sitting lazily against the locked door, his posture relaxed and almost indifferent. He glanced up at her approach, his expression initially one of mild curiosity, though it quickly shifted to feigned nonchalance.

“...Ah, it’s you,” he said, his tone casual as if he were greeting an old friend. “So, how did it go? I trust you haven’t forgotten what I told you—”

She cut him off, her voice laced with cold fury. “You lied to me, Belphegor.”

The air between them grew taut, her words hanging like a challenge. For a brief moment, his eyes widened, just a fraction, betraying his surprise. But he concealed it quickly, letting out a sigh as if she had just ruined some elaborate game he had been playing.

“Aww, so you’ve figured me out, have you? Well, you’re no fun at all.” He stretched his arms above his head, the picture of arrogance and laziness intertwined. “But you’re right. I’m Belphegor, Avatar of Sloth. The seventh and youngest brother.”

Nephilia’s eyes narrowed, her gaze cutting into him like a blade. “Why did you lie to me?”

He waved her off dismissively, as though her question were of little consequence. “It wasn’t so much that I lied to you, more that I was teasing you. Though I figured it wouldn’t be long before you found out the truth either way. Humans really are a stupid, foolish lot.”

Anger flared hot and fierce in her chest, but she fought to keep it under control. Her eyes, unbeknownst to her, briefly flickered with a dull golden light—a sign of the power simmering just beneath the surface. Belphegor noticed the change, but he said nothing, choosing instead to observe her with a calculating gaze.

He continued, his voice smooth and taunting. “Did Beel actually tell you about me? Well, that alone suggests that he trusts you. He and my other brothers all believe that I was forced to go to the human world, don’t they? I’d love to see their faces if they found out that Lucifer was actually keeping me here in this filthy attic.” He chuckled darkly to himself, the sound filled with bitter amusement.

Nephilia took a measured breath, willing herself to stay composed. “Why don’t you get your brothers to help you?”

Belphegor’s scoff was immediate, his expression one of disdain. “If that were possible, I would have done it a long time ago. Think about it—if my brothers learned about my current situation, what do you think they’d do? I’m sure they’d fly into a fit of rage and confront Lucifer about it. And if that happened, it wouldn’t be an ordinary family squabble. No, it might very well devolve into a war that would envelop the entire Devildom. If worst came to worst, even the human world wouldn’t be spared its effects.”

Nephilia listened closely, her mind working to piece together the implications of his words. She could believe what he was saying. The brothers, for all their differences and conflicts, were bound by a fierce loyalty to one another. Love, she knew, could be a force more destructive than any weapon, capable of turning even the most rational beings into monsters driven by a singular, consuming rage.

Belphegor’s voice drew her back from her thoughts. “So you are the only one who can help me.”

She regarded him with skepticism, her trust in him nonexistent. “I don’t trust you,” she stated plainly. “And you could still be lying to me.”

He shrugged, the gesture casual and unconcerned. “I guess I can’t blame you for that. But if you reconsider and decide to help me, then come back here. I’ll be waiting for you.”

She turned on her heel and left without another word, her mind already turning over the possibilities, the dangers, and the lies that had yet to be uncovered. As she descended the stairs, she didn’t see the look of disgust that crossed Belphegor’s face, a fleeting glimpse of the malice he kept carefully hidden beneath his uncaring exterior.

The next morning, Nephilia found herself wandering through the House of Lamentation, her mind still swirling with the events of the previous night. She was lost in thought, her footsteps nearly silent on the cold, polished floors, when the sound of voices caught her attention. Instinctively, she slowed her pace, realizing she was approaching a conversation between Beel and Lucifer. Something in their tones made her curious, and against her better judgment, she decided to eavesdrop.

She pressed herself against the wall, just out of sight, and strained to hear the exchange.

“I haven’t heard anything from Belphie up in the human world,” Beel’s deep voice carried a note of worry, underlined with frustration.

Lucifer’s response was calm, almost dismissive. “He’s probably been busy. The life of an exchange student is a busy one.”

Beel’s frustration seeped into his voice. “Belphie was against the whole idea of the exchange program from the start. I know he didn’t want to go to the human world of all places.”

Lucifer remained unmoved. “No, I don’t imagine he did.”

There was a brief silence, and Nephilia could practically feel Beel’s tension through the wall. When he spoke again, his voice was tinged with desperation. “Come on, Lucifer. You have to forgive Belphie. If you insist on sending an exchange student to the human world, I’ll go instead. So could you please let Belphie come back to the Devildom?”

“No,” Lucifer’s reply was immediate, final. Beel tried to protest, but Lucifer cut him off, his tone brooking no argument. “You understand Diavolo’s dream, don’t you?”

Beel’s reply was reluctant, almost resigned. “...For angels, demons, and humans to recognize, accept, and respect one another. And to create a new world together—”

“Exactly,” Lucifer said. “The first step toward that goal is this exchange program. But Belphegor opposed it. I will eliminate anyone who tries to stand in the way of Diavolo’s dream, no matter who they might be. Even if it’s my own brother.”

“Beel,” the eldest continued, his tone softening, “it’s not that I don’t understand how you feel. Belphie is your twin brother, and you were especially close to him. So with that said, answer me this. Who would you choose to side with, Belphegor or me?”

Beel’s silence was deafening, the weight of the question crushing down on him. His voice, when he finally spoke, was small, uncertain. “I, um...”

But he couldn’t finish. The words seemed to fail him, and Nephilia could almost see the pained expression on his face. 

Nephilia’s heart ached at the pain in Beel’s voice, and she felt a surge of anger toward Lucifer. The cold detachment with which he spoke, the way he seemed to prioritize Diavolo’s vision over his own family, it all felt so wrong. Forcing Beel to choose between his loyalty to his brother and his obedience to Lucifer was nothing short of cruel, especially when the very reason Beel and Belphegor had been separated was Lucifer’s own doing. And all the while, Lucifer was lying—holding Belphegor captive while pretending he was in the human world.

Despite her distrust, she couldn’t help but sympathize with the seventh-born in that moment. 

Suddenly, a presence beside her made her jump. She turned to see Mammon standing there, his expression unreadable.

“So he can’t manage an answer, eh? That’s just like Beel...” Mammon’s voice was soft, almost resigned.

Nephilia blinked in surprise, not just at his sudden appearance but at the fact that he had been eavesdropping as well. Before she could say anything, Mammon raised an eyebrow at her. “What? Don’t look at me like that. You were eavesdroppin’ on ‘em too. Ya tryin’ to tell me that it’s okay for you to do it, but not me?”

His words snapped her out of her thoughts, and she bit back a retort. He had a point. She wasn’t exactly in a position to judge.

Mammon glanced around the corner, quickly assessing the situation before pulling his head back. His expression grew serious as he grabbed her wrist. “If we stay here too long, eventually Lucifer is gonna find us. Come on, let’s head over that way.”

Nephilia hesitated for a moment, her gaze flicking back to where Beel and Lucifer were still talking. She wanted to stay, to hear more, but Mammon’s grip on her wrist tightened, urging her to move. Reluctantly, she nodded and let him lead her away, her mind still racing with everything she had overheard.

They slipped quietly into the empty dining room, the soft echo of their footsteps fading as they sat down. Nephilia’s thoughts swirled around what she’d overheard. She glanced at Mammon, who seemed lost in thought for a moment, picking at the edge of the table absentmindedly.

Taking a deep breath, Nephilia broke the silence. “Beel told me about Belphegor and Lilith.”

Mammon looked up, his eyes widening slightly in surprise. “Really? Huh... I gotta say, gettin’ him to tell you about both of ‘em... for a human, you’ve done good! I gotta hand it to ya!” He shook his head in mild disbelief, a small smile tugging at his lips. “But ya seem to have that effect on all of us.” He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest as if to make sense of it all. “Anyway, how do I explain this? So, we were actually all angels up in the Celestial Realm before we fell from grace, so to speak.”

Nephilia nodded. “I know that much. I may not be religious, but I’ve done some reading.” Her voice was steady, but her expression was contemplative. “The human realm has its stories and histories—myths, legends, and accounts from the Bible and of those who’ve made deals with demons before. While I don’t believe everything humans have written on those subjects, they sometimes contain fragments of truth. You were a Throne, right?”

Mammon blinked, a little caught off guard by her directness. “Yeah... I was a Throne. One of the big shots, you could say,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. His usual cocky demeanor wavered, and for a moment, he seemed far more vulnerable than usual. “I dunno, back then, things were different, ya know? We were all supposed to be part of this big divine plan or whatever... I followed orders like a good little angel, but man, did that get old fast.”

He paused, his eyes drifting away as if he were seeing something far off in the distance. “Back then, it wasn’t all bad... Lucifer was... well, he wasn’t as stiff as he is now. Especially when it came to Beel, Belphie, and Lilith. He loved those three more than anything.” There was a soft, almost wistful note to Mammon’s voice, something she hadn’t heard from him before. “But things changed after we fell to the Devildom.”

Nephilia didn’t interrupt, sensing the weight of what Mammon was saying.

“Lucifer...” Mammon continued, his voice dropping slightly, “he’s always been super serious, ya know? But after pledgin’ loyalty to Lord Diavolo, he started puttin’ Diavolo’s desires first, no matter what. Even when it’s somethin’ he doesn’t agree with, he sticks to it. Seriously, would it kill him to be a little flexible sometimes?”

Nephilia gave him a small nod, understanding that Mammon’s words weren’t just about irritation with his brother’s rigidity, but also a subtle expression of concern. Mammon continued, a little more animated now.

“Anyway, that’s what brought all this on. When Diavolo suggested the exchange program and Belphie opposed it... Lucifer wouldn’t listen to a word Belphie said. He just sent him up to the human world, like that. And... well, that was that.” Mammon exhaled sharply, as though the memory still frustrated him. “I’m not sayin’ Belphie would’ve convinced him of anything if they had actually talked it out. But still... if the two of them had talked, maybe things would’ve turned out differently.”

Nephilia absorbed his words, her mind fitting together the puzzle pieces of this fractured family dynamic. The brothers’ bond, Lucifer’s stern sense of duty, the heartbreak woven into their fall from the Celestial Realm—each piece fit in a way that was both tragic and inevitable. She nodded, her expression thoughtful. “I get what you mean. There’s this... distance now, isn’t there? Between all of you. But especially between Lucifer and Belphegor.”

Mammon sighed, leaning forward onto the table, his voice dropping once more. “Yeah... that distance has been there for a while. I mean, we’re family, but there’s a lot of stuff that’s been left unsaid. Too much pride, too much history. And when you’re immortal, that stuff doesn’t go away so easily.”

Nephilia studied him, feeling a wave of sympathy for him and the rest of the brothers. “It’s sad. How something so important just slipped through the cracks.”

Mammon grunted in agreement, his face a little more serious than usual. “Yeah... well, we’ve all got our demons, I guess.” He cracked a small grin, trying to lighten the mood despite the heaviness in the air. “But we manage, right?”

Nephilia smiled softly. “Right.”

She had wrestled with her decision, but in the end, she couldn’t ignore the weight of Beel’s sadness or the tension that hung between the brothers and Lucifer like a storm cloud ready to burst. If assisting Belphegor could somehow ease that burden, then she would do it—at least for now. But that didn’t mean she would trust the seventh brother, nor did it mean she believed in whatever his motives were. Something about Belphegor’s aura unsettled her, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was walking into a trap. Still, she found herself climbing the stairs to the attic once more, her footsteps echoing in the quiet, dust-filled air.

As she reached the top, she found Belphegor lounging against the wall, his head tilted back lazily, as if he had all the time in the world. A slow, smug smirk spread across his lips as soon as he saw her, one that immediately sparked irritation in her. There was something about that look—arrogant, cocky, far too self-assured—that set her on edge.

“Well, this is certainly unexpected,” he drawled, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “It’s only been a day, and already you’re back. I thought it would be longer before you returned, if you ever did at all. So I take it you’ve decided to help me?”

Nephilia stood before him, her arms crossed over her chest, her eyes narrowing as she studied his face. He looked so relaxed, almost bored, but she knew better. The man was anything but. She could feel the tension humming beneath the surface, the barely-contained energy of someone who had been caged for far too long.

When she didn’t answer immediately, Belphegor pushed off the wall and stepped closer, his expression shifting to one of mild curiosity. “I have to wonder, though. What was it that changed your mind?”

Nephilia met his gaze evenly, her voice steady. “Beel.”

Belphegor’s eyebrow arched slightly, and he hummed as if considering her answer. “For Beel? I see... Well, no matter what your reason is, this works out well for me. So I’m fine with it.” There was a casual indifference in his tone, as though her reasoning didn’t really matter to him as long as she was doing what he wanted. It only made her angrier.

Nephilia turned to leave, ready to put some distance between herself and the caged demon, but Belphegor’s voice stopped her in her tracks.

“There is something important I haven’t said,” he called out, his voice softer now. “I really do appreciate your help. Honestly. If you hadn’t shown up, I would’ve been trapped for who knows how long. So I want you to know I’m grateful... Thank you, Nephilia.”

She paused, her back still to him. The words were so sickeningly sweet that she could practically taste the lie on them. He didn’t mean a word of it, she was sure. This was desperation talking, a last-ditch effort to keep her on his side. But the undercurrent of his voice, the hatred she could feel radiating from him like heat from a flame, told her everything she needed to know. This wasn’t about gratitude. This was about something much deeper, much darker. And she had no intention of falling for it.

Without another word, Nephilia left the attic, her mind whirling with thoughts she couldn’t yet piece together. Whatever it was that Belphegor had against Lucifer, whatever had twisted him into this state of seething animosity, she didn’t know. But she would find out. And when she did, she would be ready. For now, she would play along, but she would not be a pawn in anyone’s game—not Lucifer’s, not Belphegor’s, and not anyone else’s.

As she descended the stairs, the cold, prickling sensation of distrust and suspicion settled in her chest. The attic’s musty air lingered on her skin, as if trying to cling to her even after she’d left. She shook it off, her resolve hardening. Whatever happened next, she would keep her eyes open and her mind sharp. She couldn’t afford to be blindsided by whatever scheme Belphegor was plotting. 

[darksigns-exe]

Sweet Like Honey - Secrets I Have Held

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of infidelity Word Count: 2.7 k Note: I wanted you to have both sides of the story. This is Noah's side of To Be Caught Adrift.

Read on AO3

Noah shouldn’t have picked up the phone in the first place. Her name on the screen should have been enough of an indicator for him to just throw the damn thing out of the window. But no. Like the damn fool he was, he’d picked it up, answered the call and listened to her excuses. Vic’s honeyed words had wrapped around his mind, and he’d almost agreed to see her again. 

Almost. 

This wasn’t the first time, either. She’d called the week before as well, had texted in between. Noah knew what he had seen. The image had burned itself into his brain. The writhing bodies on top of his bed were a near-permanent fixture of his sleeping hours now. He tries to bury it beneath the excitement for the tour, but then she texts him again, and it’s all he can think about again. 

It hadn’t been just bad. When they were good, they were really good. Was it love? In retrospect, he wasn’t so sure any more. They’d been more fast and loose than he would have liked, but as far as he’d been aware they were exclusive. Obviously, she’d seen that a little differently. He tries to count his losses and tally them up against the good things that’ll wait for him up the road. Emphasis on trying because he’s only moderately successful with it. They’ll be going on tour, the biggest one to date, the album is selling well, people love it. There isn’t a lot more than he could ask for. 

But that doesn’t stop him from wanting more. It’s a little selfish because he’s only met Bee once, but he can’t stop thinking about how easy those few hours had felt. He wants to learn all of her secrets, understand every furrow of her brow and how to undo it. It’s a little stupid because Noah doesn’t know a whole lot about her, but what he knows is already enough to have him running after her like a lovesick puppy. 

He doesn’t know what it is about this girl, but in the brief time they’d spent together, she’d managed to worm her way into his thoughts like nothing else. It doesn’t matter how hard he tries not to think about it, she always finds her way back — Nick and Tasha certainly don’t help when they talk about her. 

It's a welcomed distraction. He’d rather think about the pretty girl with her big ideas than whatever had happened in his bedroom. Maybe that’s why he keeps coming back to it. If she’d at least had the decency to fuck that other guy in her own home, maybe he’d be able to get over it already. But what kind of person do you have to be to cheat on your partner in their bed in a house that you don’t live in? 

Noah finally forces himself out of the studio in the back of the house and up the stairs. Thankfully, neither Nick nor Mari comment on his sudden appearance when he passes by them in the living room. Although, Mari gives him that look she’d thrown his way a few times. Thinly veiled pity and that even less veiled distaste for his ex. In a way, he was glad that Mari hadn’t been here when he’d found out.

He strips the bed down to its barest bones. If he washes it again, maybe it’ll go away this time. 

He passes the time until the washing machine is done, scrolling through his phone. A day-old picture of Nick, Mari, Tash and her follows some band's tour announcement. 

They’d been down at the beach, Nick looking more displeased than the girls to be out in the sun like that, but they seemed to be having a good time. Noah faintly remembers Nick asking him if he’d want to come with them. If he’d known that she’d be there, maybe he’d come — not that he doesn’t want to spend time with his friends, but sometimes he can’t quiet the voice in the back of his mind that keeps him inside. 

Noah taps the screen to see who is tagged in the picture. To his luck, Tasha is very diligent about this and three little name bubbles pop up on the screen. He easily recognises Nick and Maris’ usernames. The third one is a new. 

lisbethsander

It’s right there, hovering above her head. It feels a little invasive, even though her profile is public, and he’s friends with her friends, so really why shouldn’t he. A lot of the pictures of her profile seem to be of her research, with ones of friends, her cat and the odd vinyl record scattered in between them. There are places he has never heard of that she talks about with so much passion. Ruined remnants of things at surely were impressive at some point – not that they’re not impressive now. Some of it he can piece together, but a lot of it just flies right above his head. 

Lisbeth Sander.

He rolls the name around his mind for a while. It suits her. 

Finding her name like this feels a little odd, though. It feels as if he’s invading her privacy in some way. The longer he scrolls through her posts, the more he feels as if he’s gaining, at least, a little bit of an insight into her life. He finds a video of when she got a tattoo from Tasha, they’re laughing, singing along so poorly to the song playing over the sound system. Whenever the camera catches a glimpse of her, his chest feels that little bit tighter. 

He doesn’t know why he feels so hesitant. They got along well, she’s friends with his friends. It wouldn’t be weird if he would follow her. 

Vic hadn’t liked it when he’d spent time with other women. Tasha had rarely been over while they were together, and Mari had a very clear stance on the woman from the moment they’d met for the first time. 

That should have been enough of a sign. 

He taps the button before he can change his mind and tosses his phone onto the desk. 

Sometimes the voice in his head still sounds a little like Vic. It’s an awful, demanding thing. Maybe it had been just bad. Maybe the good had been the bits he had filled on his own. 

She’d been the one to ruin it, he tells himself. No matter how unapproachable he might have been at certain points during their stint, none of it justified fucking a shared friend in his bed. 

By the time he has dressed the bed again, it’s almost five. Nick had informed him at some point that most of them would head out for a couple of drinks later, which Noah had politely declined. Now that he’s alone in the house, he thinks that he should have gone with them. Maybe the distraction would have been good for him. They always go to the same place, so really there’s nothing stopping him from just joining the rest. The drive isn’t too long. 

He has to park a bit away from the bar. It is the middle of the week, but the place is usually packed. The campus isn’t too far from here either, so he figures that a lot of them will pile into the local bars as well, regardless of the weekday. Noah briefly wonders if Bee comes here sometimes. He’s never seen her when they go, maybe she’s not one for bars. 

The walk isn’t too bad. The air isn’t fresh, but it still feels good to not be cooped up inside for once. It’s starting to get really dark when he reaches the building. The light inside pours out onto the street. And he finds himself stuck in his tracks in front of the large window.

He watches the group — his group. He finds her almost immediately. She’s sitting between Tasha and Jolly. The latter has her wrapped up in a conversation about god knows what. For a brief moment, he feels like an outsider, like he doesn’t belong in there with the rest of them. It clutches at his chest, threatens to burrow itself back into the marrow of his bones. 

But the feeling quickly develops into something warmer. They’re all in there, the whole lot of them. Everyone he holds dear is gathered in one place. He tries not to let himself believe that they’re having a good time because isn’t there, that the laughter would still be there if he was in there with them. 

His eyes find Bee once again. The last time he had seen her, he had been too close to take it all in properly. It’s almost like he’s viewing a painting from the proper distance now, instead of standing right in front of it with his nose pressed up against the glass. He wonders if she's even aware of the magnetism she possesses, how people flock around her when she talks with that bright, burning passion. He hasn’t met a lot of people who manage to draw in crowds like that and still remain likeable enough for him to want to spend time with them. But then there’s Bee and that —

He’s fucked. 

Completely. 

Surely this is just a way for his brain to distract itself from the actual emotions that still mess with his sleep schedule. And even if this is something else, he’s hardly in the position to get involved with someone again. 

He watches as she detaches herself from the group and heads towards the counter for another drink. 

Noah slips into the door before she notices him lingering outside like some kind of creep. Instead of heading to the back to the rest of them, he sidles up next to Bee at the bar. 

“Who do we have here?”

Her head whips around, loose strands of hair falling from that already too loose ponytail. A range of emotions races across her face, and for a second he thinks that the surprise on her face is of the bad kind. 

“Didn’t know that you’d be here.” 

They talk for a while, and it’s just as easy as the first time. He wants to ask so many things. Burning questions that suddenly feel too invasive to ask now that they’re not really alone. It’s wrong, but he wants to keep her secluded to that quiet place where it’s just them, where he’s the only one that gets to listen to her. 

They do eventually join the rest at the back of the bar. He doesn’t miss the look Jolly throws him, but he tries not to think about it. He knows that he has to be careful. The feeling that is growing in his chest could easily turn bitter again. Noah is aware that the wound Vic has left behind in his chest is still too fresh to let someone else in. 

It doesn’t matter how long he tries to deny it. 

The damage is done, and now he has to deal with the fallout of it. 

Noah forces himself out of his thoughts. 

He’s surrounded by friends, if he keeps himself here, maybe he won’t drift back into that headspace. He listens to the stories people share, the jokes they’re telling, and he lets himself enjoy it. It doesn’t fix everything immediately, but it takes away some of the ache. He feels a little bit warmer, a little less caged in. 

The warmth rises further when he feels a set of eyes bore into him. Across from him, Bee seems to be entirely narrowed in on him. She stares �� unblinkingly – for a little moment longer before her focus breaks and her cheeks turn bright pink. The brief trace of embarrassment dissipates quickly. She looks so awfully caught and – 

He knows the look her face devolves into.

Noah pushes himself up from the sofa he has sunk into. He stops by the armchair Bee is placed in “I’m getting more drinks, coming with?” 

She blinks up at him a few times before following him. 

He heads straight towards the far end of the counter, that so far is still empty. 

“What —”

“I know that look.” he tries to convey a sense of calm, “You don’t have to explain it.” 

Instead of the drinks he said he’d get, he orders a glass of water, the rest of them can wait. 

“This isn’t for you, huh?” he takes a look around the somewhat crowded room. 

They’d had this talk before, but he needs her to know that he understands the feeling that clutches at her. 

“Just a bad day.” 

Noah has used that same excuse often enough to know that this isn’t just a bad day. But he won’t pry, if she wants to share she will. 

“If it makes you feel better, I’m glad you came.” 

He doesn’t miss the little smile on her face. 

Noah watches as she downs most of her water in one go. He wants to ask how her week has been, if she’d thought about them as much as he had, but if he lets himself indulge in this feeling he runs the risk of either of them getting hurt. 

“I still have your sweater.” she says quietly. 

“Oh?”

He’d hardly thought about anything else. 

“I can go get it. My place isn’t too far from here.” 

The words are so rushed that he almost thinks that she’s trying to get rid of it. But with the way her fingers prick at the skin of her palm, he’s sure that it’s just nerves. 

“You really don’t have to.” 

“I wasn’t going to stay that long anyway. I have to work tomorrow, and I’ve already had a long day.” 

It’s adorable, he has to admit that. She’s trying so hard not to be a burden, not to be a cause for disruption when he wants nothing else. 

And worst of all, he doesn’t want her to go just yet. 

“I can walk you home.” he offers instead. 

It’s a two-in-one deal, really. He’ll get to be around her for a moment longer and maybe if he plays his cards right, he can get his hands on her number. 

She really doesn’t live too far from the bar. It’s just a short and sweet ten-minute walk before she stops in front of an older, multi-story building. 

“This is me.” She says, fishing a clunky set of keys from her back, “I’ll just pop upstairs and get the sweater.”

Noah gathers his wits. It’s not as if he hasn’t practised the line the entire way here.

“How about this…how about instead of that sweater you just give me your number, and we call it even?” 

It still comes out a little shakier than he had hoped. 

“You don’t want that back?” 

“Keep it. It looked good on you.” 

Her eyes find the ground in a futile attempt to hide the flush of her cheeks. She takes the phone from his hand anyway. Noah keeps his eyes trained on her while she types her number into it. 

He could watch her for hours. 

Their goodbyes are brief, but Noah waits until a light upstairs flicks on. Before he leaves, he snaps an admittedly dumb picture of himself and sends it to her. It’s easier than the words he wants to say. It’s still too tender. He doesn’t even know if she’d want him like that. 

Noah doesn’t go back to the bar, instead he takes the long route home. He values the company of his friends, but right now he needs the silence. He doesn’t know if he needs time to think or shut his brain off entirely. Neither option sounds like the best right now. 

He trots up the stairs and finds his way into his bedroom. Noah lets himself sink into the mattress of his bed. He lies in the silence for a while. It should feel bad to put Vic behind him so quickly. She made it easy, though. There’s no coming back from that. Even if it turns out that Bee isn’t interested in him after all, he needs to get over this mess, for his own sake. The tour will help, he’s sure of that, if anything it’ll take his mind off of it. 

When he picks up his phone to text Nick that he has gone back home, there’s a reply from Bee. A picture of her in the hoodie, the hood pulled up over her head and half of her face hidden behind her fingers. 

And wishes that it wouldn’t make him feel inside as warm as it does. 

[theoldaeroplane]

fiddling with how I want to write Mineru for some things I have in mind, so have a sample interaction

---

"It makes good sense to me that you're who you say you are," Mineru tells Zelda, watching her as she subjects her cryptolith to another battery of tests. "Rauru gets that same look."

Zelda's brow furrows. She lifts her head and tries not to feel self-conscious about how large and awkward the "secret stone" feels in her hands. "What look?" she asks, frowning.

From where she leans on her cane by the doorway, Mineru's elegant mouth curls into a smile. "Like you've got the weight of the world on your shoulders."

It's strange, going from being recognized everywhere to having your identity constantly questioned. While Rauru and Sonia are willing to believe to her mad tale, Mineru exudes a certain aloofness and distance, one that drives Zelda to distraction. But she is still the sister of the king (king like her father). Irritating or not, Zelda must not bite back. "I fear that to be the natural reaction to knowing that thousands of lives rest on the back of your ability and wisdom," Zelda says stiffly. "As king, I'm sure Rauru feels the same pressure on occasion. You must excuse me if I am distracted."

No answer. Mineru does not so much as pretend to consider the reply. She simply stays right where she is, watching Zelda with her steady, unblinking gaze. She leans motionless against the threshold, like a statue, with the bulk of her weight split between it and her cane.

(Is physical weakness common in Zonai, Zelda wonders. Is it common to see one with walking sticks or crutches or one of those rolling chairs she has seen Mineru in? With their long, spindly bodies, are they simply easier prey for gravity? Or was Mineru in some kind of accident? Perhaps she can find some texts on the subject. Perhaps she could use a break from throwing herself at the problem of the cryptolith. Perhaps it would make her find Mineru less frustrating.)

A minute passes, agonizing in its slowness. Every time Zelda dares look up, Mineru is unchanged. Zelda is accustomed to being watched in silence, her childhood under scrutiny of the court and her adult life with Link at her side. Somehow Mineru's observation still crawls beneath her skin. It's neither the judgemental eyes that follow royalty nor the careful intention of her knight. "May I ask why you're looking at me in that way?" Zelda asks, mustering every ounce of politeness she can find.

Mineru says, "Am I?"

The politeness cracks apart. "Every time I look at you you're staring at me," Zelda says curtly. "I am in the grip of an upsetting ordeal, currently---"

"Being flung back in time."

"---yes, and the staring is not easing my nerves."

"I understand," says Mineru. "It's not my intention to distress you."

"Then what is your intention, pray tell?"

Silence, again. Zelda is about to give up and flee to somewhere more private when Mineru says, "I'm interested in your process, but I don't want to interrupt you further."

Zelda pauses. "My process?"

"Your examination of your abilities," Mineru says at once. "The way you inspect everything from your surroundings to what is said to you. I would call it meticulous. I find it endearing."

There had been a few seconds in Mineru's explanation where Zelda had been to feel a bit flattered. To feel, a little, as if she has judged Mineru too harshly. Upon her last sentence, however, irritation again rears its snarling face. "Endearing," she echoes. "So pleased to hear I can be of entertainment for you, then." She begins to scoop her notes together, stuffing the cryptolith into her satchel alongside them.

Mineru's ears, long and lapine, fold backwards. Her flat expression doesn't change. She does push herself up off the doorframe when Zelda gets to her feet. "Where are you going?"

"Elsewhere."

"I've upset you," Mineru says. "Why?"

"I am not upset," Zelda replies, and sweeps past her on her way out the door.

[maxdreavus]

It Was Always You | Ch. 1*

(Piers x OC Maxine)

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Summary: “Here Max was, telling a long withheld secret to the very subject of it.

... She didn’t expect a kiss then. But she could tell in that moment that this was Piers' own confession of sorts. His way of trading his own secret for hers."

Author’s Note: This was supposed to only be a one-chapter follow-up to this fic, but I’ve gotten a little silly with it.

Hope y'all enjoy :3 x

This is part of a series of one-shots! Please see my SWSH Masterlist for the recommended reading order.

Check it out on ao3!

Next

Max’s twenties were flying by almost too quickly.

Once she had saved enough for her own apartment, she moved out of the one she was living in with Piers and Marnie to start fresh in Circhester. Far enough from Spikemuth for a nice change of pace, but close enough to see her best friends any time she wanted to. That was when she was 23.

Things were going well. Max obviously missed the easy access to the people who mattered most to her, but she was proud of how far she’d come, considering she spent her pre-teen and teen years living in a tent and barely scraping by.

She moved on from training at the Dark gym to become an Ice-type trainer under Melony’s rule, and it was Melony who pushed Max to join the gym challenge a year later — with an endorsement to boot. Marnie also happened to be entering the competition, and both of them were elated that they’d be up against each other. 

Marnie and Max trained hard, duking it out in the wild areas and going into plenty of Dynamax dens together in their downtime. They busted their butts, worked their way up the rankings, and made it to the Semi-Finals. Max even earned a sick nickname for herself from fans along the way: DynaMax. Cheesy, of course, but she couldn’t blame them! The pun was practically begging to be made.

Unfortunately, neither Max nor Marnie won — Max went on to the Finals, only to get her ass kicked by Allister — but at least they grew as trainers and made worthy rivals out of each other. 

As much as Max enjoyed the gym challenge, she was relieved to finally be out of the spotlight. And as much as she felt terrible about her defeat, she felt worse for the others.

Marnie wanted to be the Champion so badly, only to lose to Max, who wound up not even winning. Sure, Marnie was taking Piers’ spot as Spikemuth’s gym leader, but it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t her goal. She wanted to be the Champion, not a cog in the machine that was the Galarian league.

Max mentally reminded herself on repeat, much to her obvious detriment, that Marnie deserved a chance to enter the Finals more than she did.

Those other kids, Hop and Gloria, deserved better too.

Max ruined it for all of them.

And that made her feel like shit. 

She told Melony she needed some time off, and the older woman was more than willing to accommodate. So, Max spent a solid while in complete isolation after her battle with Allister.  She brought all her blankets over to the couch and let them absorb her, passing time by playing games, watching her comfort shows on repeat, napping, and crying. 

Oh boy, there was a lot of crying. 

It was utterly pathetic. She knew it was pathetic. She couldn’t stop it if she tried, though.

Her misdreavus was more than willing to act as a weight for her chest or a snuggle buddy when she needed it. She was happy to have its support, but it wanted to do more than it could ever possibly manage. Max often found herself sending it away to another room, pretending she was fine, just so it could have the much needed breaks it didn’t want to take.

Worried about barely having heard from Max since the day of her loss, Piers finally texted her to check in about 2 weeks in. She sent him a picture of her set-up, and he instantly recognized that she needed help. 

He informed her that he was coming over. She objected, dumbly insisting she didn’t want to burden him. Piers ignored her, and the next thing Max knew, he was letting himself in with the spare key she gave him.

Having a view of the front door from her sofa, Max peeked over the back of it to silently greet her visitor. Piers’ heart sank when he saw her big, sad eyes poking out from atop the furniture like a shy sobble. He’d seen her in worse states for sure, having aided her through depressive episodes and autistic burnouts that lasted for months at a time, but it had been so long since she’d been like this. Who knew if it would evolve into something more akin to those past experiences?

After removing his boots, Piers wordlessly padded over to his friend. Max watched him the whole way, and when he sat close enough for their legs to touch, she leaned into him. He instinctively wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close to his side. Pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

For good measure, of course. 

After sharing their first kisses with one another, they became more casually intimate. They’d always hugged and held hands, but that kiss changed things. 

They weren’t dating, but rather, filling in the blanks. They started to cuddle more often. They’d wind up kissing some more, no strings attached — or at least that’s what they told themselves — just because they felt lonely, or felt like doing it. 

It worked out. As long as they were both single, they acted as a physical support for each other. This instance was no different.

The two trainers sat in silence for a bit. Max repositioned slightly to share her blankets with Piers before settling back down. Listened to his heartbeat. Worried the hem of his black tee. Absorbed his scent as if it were incense. It basically was, with how calming this felt for her.

Piers played with Max’s hair, twirling the short waves around his fingers. It reminded him about how he had cut her hair himself. Max wanted to chop her obnoxiously long tresses to her mid-back or so, but absolutely brutalized it; by the time Piers finished correcting her mistakes, it was as short as her shoulders.

He gave her a fringe, too. 

Another act of good measure.

She often kept it half-up, with a pigtail on either side of her scalp. An ode to her Misdreavus in a way. But at this moment, it was a loose, frizzy mess. Piers ran his fingers through it, working some tangles out. 

Max had a tendency to neglect herself when she felt this awful, but she’d been doing her best to eat and shower as needed this time.

Piers smiled to himself as he noticed that, although Max’s hair hadn’t been brushed, it was at least clean. He wanted to praise her, but held back, not wanting to come off as demeaning. Max didn’t expect him to notice, and was completely oblivious to Piers’ swelling pride as she began absentmindedly playing with the ends of his own tresses. 

A few more minutes went by, and the silence was broken.

“I really fucked it up, didn’t I?” Max questioned, barely above a whisper.

“What?”

“The gym challenge.” Those few words came out more hoarse, and were accompanied by a sniffle. “What right did I have to rip the opportunity away from those kids? It wasn’t fair.” 

“Max…”

“Marnie pretended to be happy for me when I beat her, but I could see the sadness in her eyes. She probably could’ve won it all had it not been for my dumb luck that day, and now she’ll just be constantly reminded of that every year during the challenge!”

“Max.” 

“She’s gonna make an amazing gym leader but god, Piers, she could’ve been an even better Champion—“

Piers cut her off sternly. “Maxine!”

He felt her flinch and tightened his grip around her shoulder. He wrapped his right arm around her too, pulling her into a fuller embrace. Silently reassuring her that he wasn’t mad, he just needed her to stop spiraling. 

“You were amazing. You are amazing. You deserved the chance to win jus’ as much as anyone else there, alright?”

“It doesn’t feel like it, though…” she squeezed out. Her voice cracked mid-sentence and her body began to shake. Piers pulled her closer and rested his cheek on top of her head while she cried. “I shouldn’t have even joined.”

A deep sigh ebbed Piers’ chest. “You’re allowed to feel however you want to feel, but Max, so many people rooted for you right through to the end. Thousands, maybe tens or hundreds of thousands in Galar alone! And out of those people, just think of how many saw you as an inspiration. As their muse.”

That last part was more about himself than the others, but the point still stood.

Piers kept his head on Max’s, but raised a hand to her cheek, blindly wiping her tears as they fell. The strokes from his thumb and the gentle reverberation of his voice against her soothed her sobs away, her tears falling silently. Calmly, even. 

“None of that was a waste for anyone,” Piers continued quietly. “Not for you, not for the other competitors, an’ definitely not for Marnie, I can promise you that. She really isn’t that miffed.” 

Max shifted beneath him so she could meet Piers’ eyes. As he raised himself from his makeshift pillow, he grinned. Rather than responding, Max reverted back to her original spot against his chest with a solemn nod.

More silence, and then, “With the obvious aside, did ya enjoy the rest of the challenge? We haven’t had a chance to catch up.”

Max sighed and proceeded to nod against him. “Almost being killed in a Dynamax den and going out with Leon aside, it was a lot of fun, yeah.” 

Piers can hear a slight grin in Max’s voice, but was caught off guard by the statement. “Was Leon not good to you?”

Thinking of Max with Leon was already hard enough without fear of how he might have treated her. Piers was doing his best to stay calm. 

“Nonono, he was really good!”

Piers felt a pang in his chest. He was glad he wasn’t a dick, but… 

“He just…” Max hesitated, moving away from Piers’ grasp to pop her knuckles before hugging her knees to her chest. In the process, she let her portion of the blankets drape off of her, revealing a cropped white camisole and her old Dark gym shorts. All that warm coverage made sense now. 

Piers waited patiently while his friend gathered her bearings. A sigh escaped her. She pursed her lips in thought, zoned out on the coffee table in front of them.

“I dunno,” she finally trekked on, “It just wasn’t the same as—“ 

Max cut herself off. Her mouth stayed slightly ajar and her eyes widened, as though she was about to reveal something she didn’t want to share. She closed her lips and sighed again, shutting her weary eyes.

Piers cocked his head to the side, watching Max intently. What was she going to say? Should he pry?

He hoped for the best, his heart skipping a beat. Was she… was she going to compare Leon to him?   

No, it was wishful thinking. It had to be. Max probably saw their occasional escapades as an escape, a tool. A filler. Just like he had tried to convince himself she was for him, too. 

Unable to tame his curiosity, though, Piers pressed on, his voice quiet. “The same as what?”

Max tilted her head to get a better view of him, resting her cheek against her knee. Closed her eyes again. Opened them and kept her vision off of his face. Blinked a few times, then finally, “I-it wasn’t the same as with you, I guess. I dunno.”

Piers could fucking cry. Why did this feel like a confession? Was it one?

Being the type of person to haphazardly ramble on when she’s nervous, Max kept going. “Like, Leon was nice, and I still consider him a really good friend, and he wasn’t a bad boyfriend, I don’t think, but, like, I couldn’t help but keep comparing him to you, w-which is stupid because we aren’t dating,” Max gestured between Piers and herself, still refusing to look him in the eye, “but sometimes I-I guess it feels like we are, in a way? Which is dumb. And like, he was a great kisser, but those weren’t the same either, like, there wasn’t that- that same spark, and—“

“Max…”

The girl blinked before widening her eyes. She said too much. Her chest tightened and she hid, resting her forehead to the knee her cheek had been pressing into.

She couldn’t believe it. Why did she say all that? The whole reason they decided not to date, even though the physical attraction was there; not to kiss more than, like, once or twice a month at most; not to fuck when things got a bit steamy while they kissed… it was all to not risk making things weird. To not ruin the special bond they had with each other. 

Yet here she was, telling a long withheld secret to the very subject of it.

What had she done?

“I’m sorry,” she squeaked into her knees.

Piers didn’t know what to say. His heart was racing, his face was on fire, his eyes were wide, his head was spinning. 

He hadn’t noticed how much she truly meant to him until she was with Leon. Up until that point, he had an ignorant confidence that maybe they’d stay the way they were forever. Both single, both messing around with each other and others… until they eventually broke and lived happily ever after. Or something.

And he’d tried to move on, having a few dates with Milo in tandem, but that didn’t go far. Even spent a night between Raihan’s sheets here and there (yet another act of good measure). And while none of that was bad, they… 

It was like Max just said. They weren’t the same as her. They weren’t her.

For a moment, he felt frozen. 

In the next, he was swiveling himself to face her, ejecting Max’s discarded blankets off of himself too. He put a hand on her shoulder, whispered a soft “Hey.”

When Max looked up, her eyes shy and her cheeks tamato-hot, he moved in. 

Max didn’t expect a kiss then. In the past, it as an unspoken mutual agreement before the event. Something along the lines of,

“Hey, kiss me.”

“Oh! Why?”

“Why not? T’s fun.”

“Fair point.”

Or,

“I wanna smooch.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“‘Kay, c’mere.”

Piers was gentle enough that she could have easily stopped him from tilting her chin up, from laying his lips against hers, from running his thumb up and down her cheek in the same way that always gave her gooserene bumps in the past, and from weaving his fingers through the messy hair near her nape. 

But she didn’t. She didn’t want to.

She could tell in that moment that this was his own confession of sorts. His way of trading his own secret for hers. Of keeping things even. They’d continue this trend as the moments passed by:

When Piers pulled back, Max chased him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

When Max parted her lips for a breath, Piers explored her tongue with his own.

Just like the first time, and plenty more after that, when Piers nudged Max back, she obliged, happily laying herself beneath him.

When Max pulled Piers closer, he strengthened his hold on the arm around her.

When Piers’ hand retreated across her back before wandering down her hip, down her thigh, gripping her thigh, Max welcomed it, letting her corresponding leg lightly wrap around his bony waist.

And when Max let a hushed moan slip in response to Piers’ hardening sex pressing against her clothed slit and lower belly, Piers softly rutted himself against her, again, and again, and again.  

All shame had flown out the window. They both hated to admit that they were getting off on dry humping after the barest hint of a love confession like a bunch of depraved teenagers. They simply ignored it in favor of breathing each other’s air and absorbing each other’s embarrassing sounds with more kisses…

Until a high-pitched chirp across the room interrupted them. Both trainers’ eyes shot open and over, locking onto those of a worried misdreavus. The creature peered back and forth between them before it ultimately locked its eyes onto its human’s, its blueish brows furrowed.

Max’s surprised open mouth morphed into a smile while Piers’ upper teeth dug into his bottom lip, containing his own grin.

Max reassured her partner, “Mis— Erm. It’s okay, he’s okay! You know he’s fine!”

It squinted, chirping again. 

“Yes, I— pfft, I promise.”

Chirp.

“Just, uh. Go wait in there, or in your ball, or,” a defeated grunt escaped her before she pleaded, “anywhere other than here, please, oh my god.”

The Misdreavus’ eyelids narrowed again, and it chirped one last time — a stubborn, almost rebellious one — before retreating to Max’s bedroom, where it had been napping prior. It had the decency to nudge the door shut behind itself, at least.

Max’s shoulders shook with laughter as her eyes screwed shut, and the man mounting her leaned his forehead down to her shoulder, giggling against the fabric covering her upper chest.

“That little shit!”

“It was just looking out for me!” Max defended it, “You know it gets protective!”

“Yeah, well…” Piers punctuated his point with a lighthearted eye roll and shake of his head.

Their laughter died down, but their lips stayed curled up as their views aligned.

Piers speaks his friend’s name matter-of-factly, a mere few inches from her face. “Max.”

“Piers,” she parroted.

“I… fuck,” he murmured, before propositioning with dark eyes, “Can I fuck you?”

“Whoa!” Max’s eyebrows shot up and her heart stuttered. She was awestruck.

Piers misinterpreted Max’s shock for discomfort. “Oh,” the zigzagoon-haired man began to lift himself into a kneel, “Is that— did— is that okay or did I just—“

Leaning up onto her left palm and encouraging him to meet her with her right, Max shut Piers up with another kiss. He instantly relaxed into her touch.

When Max nodded, Piers parted from her to question it. He was stopped short.

“Please.”

[anime-in-new-albion]

Radar Love ~ Rio Mason Busujima

Summary: Rio can sense you need him. So he drives as fast as he can to get to you. Just call it radar love.

Pairing: Rio Mason Busujima X G/N!Reader

Genre: Fluffy Oneshot

Word Count: 1051

Warning: N/A

Masterlist

A/N: Inspired by the song Radar Love by the Golden Earring

The quiet night was permeated by the sound of an engine’s low rumble. Rio didn’t often drive, but something was bothering him. He couldn’t help but feel like something was wrong and he needed to get to you as soon as possible. So he took his jeep out of storage to drive to you.

Now, he wasn’t doing this on a whim. He had had this feeling all night, but he didn’t understand why. But he knew now. You needed him and he wasn’t not going to leave you alone any longer. So he got up from his spot by his campfire, doused it, secured his campsite with a trillion boobytraps that could be seen as overkill, and grabbed his jeep. Now he was driving as fast as he could to you, on the other side of Yokohama.

As soon as he got in his jeep, he had plugged in his dead phone, which started charging immediately. It didn’t take long for it to alert him with a text from you. It was four simple words that drove him to get to you as fast as possible:

“I need you here.”

Glancing at the time, Rio noted it was half past four in the morning. Knowing you, you were worried or sad about something. He didn’t want to pry until he had you in his arms. He was afraid if he asked you about why you needed him, you would start to break down again. He needed to be with you now. If that meant pushing his jeep to its limit, that’s what it meant.

While he drove down the highway, he could feel your loneliness and sorrow, as if you were sitting next to him right now. It made his heart ache. You were usually so strong and capable. But tonight was different. You needed him to hold you together, and he was willing to crawl through oceans and deserts to be there for you.

Samatoki and Jyuto would often tease Rio that he was too dense and didn’t understand people’s true feelings. For the most part, that was true. But for you, it was like you were an open book. He understood your deepest desires and secret dreams as if they were his own. That’s what he loved about you. He understood you better than anyone else in his life.

As he raced through Yokohama, his radio was playing faintly in the background. He couldn’t make out the words, but he didn’t change the station or turn it off. Rio was effectively hypnotized by the road. He had to get to you as soon as possible. He already had a feeling he was gone too long. You needed him now and he wasn’t there. So, making sure there was no one around to catch him, he sped off even faster.

It wasn’t too long when he realized he was halfway there. A small smile tried to worm its way onto his face, but he shook it away. No, he needed to stay focused. He needed to get to you now. Come hell or high water, he would have you in his arms before the end of the hour. So he applied a little more pressure on the gas pedal. Anything to go faster, go further, and get to you sooner.

A quick glance at his gas meter and he noticed he was running low on fuel. Going fast was not helping, he deduced. But he couldn’t risk being away from you a minute more. Taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself down, he slowed slightly. Just enough that he wasn’t going too much over the speed limit, but also fast enough that he would still get to you in time.

Rio needed to relax. Yes, he had to get to you, but not at the cost of his life or his car. He still had to be smart and safer about this. And so he kept taking deep breaths to calm his anxiety somewhat. He saw other cars starting to hit the road along with him. It was still the middle of the night which meant night crew people were out and about. He didn’t let anyone slow him down. He passed dozens of slow cars and matched the speed of the few fast cars. No matter what, no one was going to stop him from getting to you. Not himself, not other people, no one.

The radio changed it’s song, but again, he was too focused to care. He was almost there. As he passed by familiar buildings, he knew he was getting closer to your apartment. The feeling of needing and longing that he could feel coming from you was getting stronger. His pull to drive him forward increased. He was almost there, you just had to wait a few minutes longer.

Finally, after what felt like hours of driving, but was only forty minutes, he finally saw your apartment building. A sigh of relief escaped and he allowed that small, simple smile onto his face. It felt like he could breathe easier now. You were almost within his reach. He just needed to park, enter the building, climb to your room, and enter your door. Then you would be back in his arms, where you belong.

After parking in the parking garage, Rio practically jogged into your apartment building and took the stairs three at a time. It was a short trip down the hall before he was standing right in front of your door. Taking a deep breath, he knocked three times.

The door flung open and there you were. He took in your rumpled appearance and tear-stained eyes. His heart cracked. However, your voice didn’t shake as you spoke.

“You came.”

“You needed me.”

With a choked sob, you flung yourself into his arms, and he caught you deftly. His smile grew slightly. This was what home felt like. You wrapped snugly in his arms, his head resting on your shoulder. You were both exactly where you belonged. And he wouldn’t trade it for the world.

As he helped you back into bed, his smile grew once more as he heard you whisper in his ear:

“You and that radar love of yours. Don’t know what I would do without it.”

[olivyh]

That Jamil fic with the ladybug was hilarious!

Now I wanna see Jamil with a reader who's great at making, well, anything. Leave her in the kitchen? She's already made a whole feast. Give her some fabric and a sewing machine? Boom! She's made a snake plushie. Leave her in a workshop? She's made a music box.

Jamil's heart is probably overflowing with love

A/N: EVERYONE HERE LOVES JAMIL SO MUCH AND IT MAKES ME SO HAPPY!! He's such a complex character with so much lore!!! Jamil needs to be cared for <<33

Jamil thought he would have gotten used to this by now- waking up to warm breakfasts sitting on his bedside table, combing back to the dorm after practice to a warm quilt made out of scrap fabric found in Ramshackle, a homemade phone case when Floyd broke his during practice?

They'd even gone through the trouble of handcrafting him a small music box that plays a small lullaby similar to a song he'd mentioned in passing; a lullaby from his homeland that his mother would sing to him at night. The small box had sprung tears to his eyes when he'd unwrapped it and allowed the sweet melody to drift into the night air. He still listens to it often, winding it up and listening to the notes when he's had a long day or feels homesick. It also serves as a constant reminder of the love that he received from his partner day in and day out- love that exceeded the puppy love that he was told he would feel. Jamil felt as though the word love alone couldn't describe what swelled his heart every time he looked at one of the gifts- it was adoration, yes; Respect for them and their skills, absolutely; awe at their crafty nature... he couldn't seem to settle on just one word.

He couldn't help but feel a little uncomfortable at the affection at first- he was so used to being given gifts with the intention of delivering them to Kalim, so used to having to hand off items that he desperately wanted to keep to himself. He couldn't help but smile at the familiar swell in his heart when he discovered a snake plush that had somehow found its way into his backpack when he set it down during lunch, looking around the room for his Love only to catch their passing glance as they shot him a wink and a smile.

He sat down in his seat, his hoodie suddenly feeling too tight and way too warm against his skin as he slipped it back into his bag, feeling suddenly possessive over the item. A part of him wanted to set it up on the table to show to everyone what he got, that he had someone who loved him so deeply that they took time out of their life to make him something solely because they wanted to.

At the same time, he wanted to keep it all to himself, like a little secret shared between lovers and hidden from the world's prying eyes. He also didn't want to risk Kalim's incessant questioning once he surely saw the plushie. He continued to eat lunch, as usual, only looking up occasionally to see if his partner had left. Once he's seen them raise from their seat and bid their friends farewell, he stood suddenly, making the white-haired boy across from him jolt as his head shot up.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Jamil mumbled, grabbing his things and turning to the heir. "The prefect texted me and asked if I could help them with something."

Kalim smiles and the sight of it nearly makes Jamil freeze- the boy had been nothing but supportive of his relationship, even going so far as to pay for them when Jamil brought up the idea of taking them back to see his home. Yet, his knowing grin arose some sort of conflicting emotions within him- once more, greed and possessiveness rising above all. Deep within, however, seeping through the cracks, thrived the feeling of acceptance, of giddiness at the idea of Kalim knowing that the prefect was his and his alone, as well as the possibilities that opened knowing that Kalim was accepting of their relationship.

He rid his head of the thoughts and quickly hurried off, approaching the prefect once they split from the group and pulling them into a quiet stairway, the two of them hidden behind a beam.

"You're tricky," He looks at them, a small smile forming on his face.

"Did you like it?" Jamil could hear more and more people start flooding into the hall, and he lamented the limited time they were able to spend together. He pressed a chaste kiss to their lips, glad to be hidden by the shadow.

"I do like it," Another kiss, this time on their forehead. "Thank you."

"What are you gonna name it?"

"Hm? I didn't think about that," He admits quietly, wrapping his arms around their waist and trying to prolong the moment, knowing that this will be the only few moments they would be able to spend together until they're both pulled in separate directions. If they were lucky they would have time at the end of the day to unwind at either dorm (which ended up being Scarabia). All too often would Jamil have to ignore that familiar tug of 'not yet' as it pulls at his heartstrings.

"You should name it! Something like..." They hum for a moment. "Snake themed?" He chuckles.

"Any ideas?" He pulls away from them once the hallway becomes too crowded for their liking, already longing for their warmth.

They nod and open their mouth to say something else, their hand snaking into Jamil's and intertwining their fingers together as they try to find some semblance of the affection that was between them just moments before.

"Pre~fect!" Ace's voice rings through the hallway, making Jamil sigh and frown as he looks over his shoulder to see if he could spot the boy. "Grim got stuck in the vents again!"

"What?!" He winces at the sudden loudness of the voice as they sigh, eyebrows knitted on their forehead in exasperation. "How?"

"His ass is stuck!" Ace's voice breaks into rowdy laughter towards the end. His lover sighs and rests their head against his chest once more.

"Duty calls, Love," He snickers as he presses a kiss to the crown of their head. "Better get him out before classes start." That earns him a glare from them as they tug playfully at his hoodie strings before leaving. He watches them warmly as they leave, still hidden in the shadow of the pillar. He can feel the plushie pressing through the fabric of his backpack against the space between his shoulder blades.

As he walks back to the dorm, he can't help but feel overwhelmingly loved, a pressure that presses hard down on his chest until it steals his breath from his lungs the more he thinks about it. He silently promised to return the favor one day- hoping to express his gratitude with a warm meal and cuddles well into the night, followed by a flurry of kisses across their face until they looked as giddy as he felt in this very moment.

Until then, he had to return to his treasures and add the newest member of the family to the pile.

[cloudy-zephyr]

Bakugou x Shinsou + dadzawa

No cws, just fluff!! Some scenes of "oh god aizawa can't know" (but he does hehe)

Dad- aizawa

Papa- hizashi

- in hitoshi's dorm-

"Shut up, fucker. You're way too loud," Bakugou snorts in the dark room, a room he wasn't even *supposed* to be in so if his boyfriend wants him to *stay* then he better shut the fuck-

"But Kats,,, im cold as fuck and you won't get closer," said boyfriend pouts and attempts to scooch over on the bed.

"No, it's too hot just lay down oh my god," he rolls his eyes, "you're gonna get us caught and in trouble."

"No im not! If you cuddled with me we wouldn't even be here and-!" His ramble is cut off by a knock on the door. Shit.

"Hitoshi?? You okay?" It's aizawas voice.

Aizawa is Hitoshis dad and doesn't know he and bakugou are together,, much less *together* past curfew.

"Yeah!! Just talking to myself about this uh show I have on!!" Hitoshi lies, hoping its enough to get his adoptive father to leave him alone.

"Okay, goodnight toshi"

"Yeah, goodnight,"

"Holy fuck, he's so stupid," bakugou scoffs but finally relents and holds Hitoshi close.

-at the aizawa-yamada residence-

"Hey, dad and papa?" Hitoshi stood in the kitchen one Saturday morning.

His dad hummed and glanced in his direction, prompting him to continue.

"Is it okay if Ka- ahem,, uh Bakugou comes over?" *great job, stupid you almost just told them.*

"Sure. Just don't be too much noise, we have to work from home and do paperwork and grade," papa says as he eats his toast.

"Thanks!" Hitoshi runs off to his room to text his boyfriend.

🐱💥 cat-suki

Mind freak 💤: you can come over :)

🐱💥: ok

💤: okaayyy??? Hurry tf up >:(

🐱💥: don't tell me what to fuckin do!

💤: oh stop whining

🐱💥: open your front door before I turn around and go home

💤: bitch you better not 😦😦😦

🐱💥: whore.

💤: damn. Omw

Hitoshi laughs and goes to open the door and let his boyfriend in, making sure his parents aren't in the room and give him a quick kiss.

"Cmon, got a new game the other day."

The couple heads up to Hitoshis room, Aizawa and Hizashi sharing a look after seeing their sons smile and his *friends* soft look.

- at school, specifically aizawas class-

The class is loud, per usual, but something has Kaminari especially wound up.

"Kaminari, would you like to share with the class or be quiet so I can continue the lesson?" Aizawa stood at the front of the room, looking incredibly bored and slightly irritated that Kaminari won't stop passing notes to his friends and giggling.

"I know a secret sir and it's eating away at me!" Kaminari yells, then slaps a hand over his mouth and looks over at bakugou.

If looks could kill, then fly high kaminari because Bakugou just killed him.

"Hmm, and is that secret more important than your education?"

Kaminari is practically vibrating in his seat, and opens his mouth, "Hitoshi is dating a loud blonde!" He yells, and immediately puts his head down.

Hitoshi looks mortified, and Bakugou is about to go in for the kill.

Aizawa just laughs, and everyone goes dead silent.

"Kaminari, you said you had a secret. A secret is something no one knows, and I think everyone knew my son and Bakugou are together. Now you can join me for lunch detention for yelling and disrupting the class. I suggest next time you blurt out someone's secret, tell me something I don't know."

Hitoshi is pretty sure he died of mortification, and bakugou even looks a little sheepish.

AAAHH i love shinbaku so much please 🤲 accept this offering shinbaku nation

[twodimecastle]

fifty bucks & six months.

spencer reid x gender neutral reader new relationship, secret keeping nonsense, 4.5k words, ao3 a/n; turns out i love writing texting fic but tumblr destroys the formatting rip

zero months.

You smile conspiratorially, extending a pinkie towards Spencer and he gives you a skeptical look.

“You know the odds of being found out immediately are-” he starts, but you cut him off.

“Astronomical, I know. I know. But don’t you think it’ll be fun to see how long we can push it?” you wheedle, not caring that your voice sounds more like begging than is strictly dignified because seeing the way Spencer’s nose crinkles in amusement at your heavy handed persuasion is too adorable to pass up. You scoot closer on the couch, tapping the end of his nose with your pinkie finger, letting him catch your hand between his as you continue “I think we’ve got a good shot at hiding it for a little while. It would be like a game.”

Spencer draws your captive hand to his lips, brushing them across your knuckles and watching fondly as you forge ahead in your campaign to persuade him, enjoying the show and the attention too much to tell you he’s already on board. Your eyes are shining with the prospect of the caper, and you’ve made no move to take your hand back from him, and Spencer’s pretty sure he’d be more than happy to sit with you in this moment forever. “I mean-” you go on, gesturing animatedly with your free hand, “you’re like-a really good liar when you want to be. And everyone else always forgets how good you are at it.”

He snorts at that and the sound makes you light up, eyes tracking the arch of his brows, the warmth in his soft brown eyes, memorising the way he looks like this; utterly unbothered, completely at ease. It might be your favourite version of him, but that race has always been a tight one with no clear winner in sight. You have lots of favourite versions of Spencer. Twisting your hand in his, you tangle your fingers together, savouring the way you feel his thumb glide delicately along your skin and the unhidden joy in his face at the simple show of affection.

Time to play your trump card.

“$50 says we can hide it from the whole group for at least six months. If everyone figures it out before then, you win. But if not everyone has worked it out by then, I win.”

The mischievous shine in your eyes is irresistible, and Spencer smiles, disentangling one of his hands from yours to extend his own pinky finger.

“You’re on.”

The words barely make it out of his mouth before you’re colliding with him, pressing your lips to his.

two months.

“So, how long has this whole thing been going on?” Derek’s question catches Spencer off guard, and, based on the way he can see you freeze in his peripheral vision, takes you by surprise as well. Sliding into the driver's seat of the SUV, Derek continues “I hope you didn’t think you were gonna be able to keep me in the dark for long, pretty boy. You should know better than that.”

Following mechanically after him, Spencer takes the passenger seat, trying to frame his next statement as carefully as possible as he hears your door close and the car start. “We were-going to tell you guys-” he begins uncomfortably, glancing back to you for support, but you look just as on edge as he feels. “We were just gonna-keep it to ourselves for a while-before telling Hotch and everything-” he tries again, the mounting tension levering his shoulders higher and higher with every passing moment, but then Derek just laughs, shaking his head.

“Hey, I’m happy for you, kid. For both of you.” He spares a look at you in the back seat through the rear view mirror, and you can feel the tension in your jaw relax, the furrows in your brow straightening out at the note of approval in Derek’s voice. “I’m glad you two finally figured it out,” he says, fondly, and you laugh.

“I bet Spence we could keep it from you guys at least six months,” you explain, reaching forwards through the centre console to link your pinky with Spencer’s, and the touch of your hand releases the last of the tension he had been harbouring as he covers your hand with the other one of his own. He knows Derek clocks the motion, filing it away in his mind somewhere, but he doesn’t care about the scrutiny so much right now. Not when your hand is so warm and comfortable in his.

Derek reaches for the dial on the radio and flicks through the channel, thinking about something, and as you watch, a slow mischievous smirk spreads across his face a moment later before he glances first at Spencer and then at you.

“I’ll tell you what,” he says to you, and Spencer can feel a familiar grin tugging at his own lips as he watches a plan take shape in his friend’s eyes. “I’m happy to sit on this information for a while for a cut of the winnings from whichever one of you comes out on top.” He snorts good naturedly as he continues “I have my own bet to win with Prentiss, so if you two help me win that one, I’ll cut you in too.”

“A quid pro quo of sorts,” Spencer says slowly, and he feels your fingers tighten around his, as you snort softly, and he knows instinctually you’re grinning the same way you always do when you’re winning a game. “I think we can do that.”

Derek grins, turning the music up as he nods, eyes on the road. “Then you two love birds have got yourselves a deal.”

two months and two weeks.

PG: youre not as slick as you think you are ;)

YN: ???

PG: ;))))))))) you should invest in some concealer for your work bag sweetness or tell the good doctor to pay more attention to whats visible in your work clothes

YN: oh my fucking god wait how do you even know thats how that happened

PG: im all knowing and all seeing im like the omnipotent goddess of the fbi

YN: derek blabbed

PG: he sang like a canary but also im an omnipotent goddess im also totally clued in on the whole bet situation with em so for the low low price of every single juicy detail about how this adorableness went down you can buy my silence :)

YN: im getting derek decaf coffee on all coffee runs from now on >:( traitors dont get caffeine

PG: darling sweet angel i need deets all of them like immediately

YN: >:( fine ok so. after that case down in georgia a few months ago? the weird one? with the creepy mother son thing?

PG: omg yuck pls dont remind me im here for the CUTENESS not the MURDER

YN: sorryyyyyyy anyway so spence was like being super weird about it all on the plane and whatever but he was doing that super annoying thing where he ignores it and says hes fine so everyone leaves him alone

PG: YEAH why does everyone here do that ALL THE TIME its SO annoyingggg

YN: ikr its insufferable and like super not subtle ANYWAY. spence was being weird and whatever and i just. refused to let him sulk on his own or whatever like i could tell there was something bothering him and so after work i insisted that we were gonna get like shitty diner food or whatever and watch a movie and he knows better than to say no to me

PG: smart boy

YN: so we got fries and milkshakes and then went back to his place to watch a movie and he was still like weird and silent and like brooding yknow? but whatever just figured hed talk about it when he was ready so i put on a movie and offered to make popcorn and then he was just staring at me and he looked so SAD and TIRED and i thought id done something wrong like the poor guy looked like he was gonna cry and i was panicking over fucking popcorn and then he says ‘why are you always so nice to me?’

PG: oh my god hes like if a sad victorian orphan was actually a triplicate phd holder

YN: i was SO thrown off i was like spencer. spencer were best friends. ive been forcing you to hang out with me for years now why do you THINK im being nice to you its bc i care about you asshole and then. like after another million years after letting me sweat it out over whether hes about to cry for like fucking years the asshole grabs my hand and says. i shit you not. ‘you know im in love with you, right?’ !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

PG: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

YN: anyway hes my boyfriend now :’) dont tell anyone tho gotta win the bet

four months.

Lingering by the elevator, you glance around at the uncharacteristically silent office building, waiting for Spencer to leave the bullpen. The sound of his footfalls drawing nearer makes you smile and you mentally applaud yourself for suggesting the two of you remained behind after disembarking from the plane, taking advantage of the manufactured privacy to take the same car home, back to his apartment.

When he sees you waiting for him, he can’t help the soft fond smile that tugs at his face, as he reaches for your hand, sliding his fingers into yours with a gentle squeeze, the quiet of the building allowing him to indulge in the show of affection. You return the squeeze, leaning your head on his shoulder with a yawn and as he presses a fond kiss to your temple he’s rewarded by a sleepy hum of approval from you that sends a rush of quiet joy shooting through him.

“At least we won’t be sleeping in hotel beds again tonight,” you say, voice weary, and Spencer nods as he shuffles you into the elevator. The doors slide shut and the elevator starts to move and in the moment of absolute privacy, you steal a kiss, tilting your chin up to catch his lips with yours, revelling in the soft huff of surprise he lets out, even as he smiles against your mouth. Even after months, the simple act of kissing Spencer still feels new and thrilling somehow, like you can’t quite believe it’s something you’re allowed to do.

His nose brushes yours and he breathes “unless something big comes up, we get a sleep in tomorrow too,” and the way you beam at him sends his heart racing in his chest, unable to look away from the fondness shining in your eyes.

As the two of you exit the elevator and make your way through the Bureau car park, you tuck yourself against his side, wedging yourself under his arm with a happy sigh, eager to get yourself horizontal and asleep as fast as possible. Spencer brushes his lips against your temple again as the two of you close in on his car, almost free and clear of the office when a voice behind the two of you brings you up short.

“Reid?”

Spencer is reacting before his mind catches up, turning on his heel towards the sound of Hotch’s voice echoing through the parking lot, conscious of the incriminating way you’re still tucked against his side, even as his brain is rifling frantically through any possible excuses for the current circumstances.

“Hotch-” you step away from Spencer, cheeks flaming, not wanting to chance a look at him. “I-we-thought everyone else had gone home,” you trail off lamely, trying your hardest not to balk under Hotch’s ominously impassive scrutiny. A second passes, then another, and the short silence feels like months, or years even as the three of you stand locked in a stalemate.

“I take it the two of you would prefer to keep this under wraps?” He asks, finally, and it registers with Spencer, somewhat belatedly, that Hotch’s tone isn’t admonishing. It isn’t enough to dissipate the tension coiling in Spencer’s muscles just yet, but he spares a glance at you as he nods, and a moment later, Hotch gives the two of you a curt nod of his own. “I’ll tell you what,” he says, a shade of irony colouring his voice. “If you two fill out the paperwork for in-team relationships for me, I’ll keep it to myself. I understand privacy is hard to come by in our office.”

The words take a while to fully sink in, and you’re conscious that you’re standing there blinking and gaping at your boss like a bemused fish for a good few seconds before you’ve composed yourself enough to say “absolutely, sir. Of course. Thank you.”

Hotch nods again, heading towards his own car, and as he passes the two of you, a brief smile flashes across his face.

“Congratulations, you two. Get some sleep.”

four months and three weeks.

Spencer isn’t sure how late it is, but he knows you’re not asleep yet, the faint glow of your phone screen casting faint distorted shadows across his room as your free hand rests lightly on his chest. In the dark blue twilight of his room, the space feels undefined and dream like somehow, the line between his mind and his surroundings blurry or indistinct somehow, and as you huff out a near silent laugh at something on the screen in your hand, a thought rises to the surface of his thoughts like flotsam on an unwanted tide.

The more clinical part of his mind notes the autonomic response in his body, the way his heart lurches unpleasantly in his chest, heart rate rising with an influx of cortisol through his nervous system, automatically rifling through ways to control the anxiety response. Age old instinct surges forwards, starting to push his spiralling anxiety down out of sight so as not to bother you with it, but then your hand shifts infinitesimally on his chest, fingers curling in the soft fabric of his pyjama shirt, and for once his body is miles ahead of his brilliant mind, your name is leaving his lips before he’s really aware of it happening.

Your gaze flashes up from your phone at the sound of his voice, soft and hesitant, and you let the screen go dark as you set it down. You can feel Spencer’s heart hammering against his ribs under your palm, and your brows knit together in concern as you shift closer to his side, tracing gentle circles over his shirt with your fingertips, the repetitive motion intended to soothe, though you’re not sure if it’s for his benefit or yours.

“Yeah, baby?” You ask softly, working hard to keep the rising worry from your voice. After three years of friendship and almost six months of dating, you know him well enough to sense when his propensity for overthinking and catastrophizing is slipping out of his control. You can feel his chest rise as he inhales sharply, whatever he’s about to say cut off by second guessing, doing nothing to pacify your concern. “Spence? Is everything okay?” You ask again.

“This-bet-hiding our relationship-it’s-” he trails off, throat tight as he rolls onto his side, facing away from you, and smushing his face into the pillow, already wishing he hadn’t said anything. You’re the kindest person he’s ever met, but offering up this kind of raw insecurity feels like pulling teeth. Even if it’s you. Especially if it’s you. He doesn’t know if he’s ready to find out if you care about him enough to stay when his racing mind gets the better of him. The pillow muffles his voice as he says “never mind.”

You feel your own heart rate tic up in response to that, matching the wild beat of Spencer’s that you could feel under your palm only a second ago. “Baby, talk to me. What’s on your mind?”

He shakes his head, face still hidden in the pillow. “It’s stupid.”

He can feel the rush of your breath on his back as you sigh, and your voice is almost achingly patient as you say softly “it’s not stupid if it matters to you.” There’s a long pause, and you press yourself against his back, settling close and letting your hand slide over his side to rest on his chest, the heat of his skin sinking into yours even through his thin shirt. In spite of his height, he feels so small as you wrap yourself around him, drawing closer, trying to reassure him without yet knowing what he needs to be reassured of. “Spence?”

“Are you ashamed of-being with me? Is that why you want to hide it?” The words are almost whispered, the sound almost lost against his pillow and your heart sinks, plummeting faster and further than if you’d dropped it off the side of a skyscraper. You should’ve known he might worry about that, should have realised it might have felt that way. Remorse rises hot and bitter in your throat and you swallow it down, trying to steady your voice.

“Spencer. Sweetheart. No. Never. I could never be ashamed. I love you. I’m so sorry.” Your arms wrap more tightly around him and you bury your face against the crook of his neck, the tension you can feel in every inch of his body making you feel more cruel and short-sighted than you already do. “I’m sorry I didn’t realise it might feel like that. I could never be ashamed of being with you, Spence. You’re my favourite person.” He takes the kind of shaky, shallow breath that comes with trying not to cry and your heart breaks a little more as one of his hands slowly moves to cover yours where it rests against his chest, just over his heart.

As his hand rests over yours, his thumb strokes lightly along your knuckles, and he knows you know him well enough to notice the way his hand trembles, just a little, because then your hand is shifting against his, turning to clumsily tangle your fingers with his, holding tighter to him as he tries to collect himself, drawing in a deep, shuddering breath as his eyes squeeze shut. He can hear the contrition in your voice as you say softly “I’ve never really liked having people know everything about what’s going on in my life. And I love our friends but-something like this, that’s so-special? So new? I wanted to be able to keep it to just us for a while.”

“I’m sorry.” His voice comes out a little shaky, scarcely more than a whisper, and it’s more than you can take as you pull back and gently force him to roll over to face you. He’s not crying, but his eyes are glassy and you recognise the fight to keep the tears unshed in the tight set of his jaw and the hard line of his lips. Leaning on your elbow, you lift your free hand to gently smooth out the furrows of his brow, letting your fingers linger along the planes of his face.

“Why are you sorry,” you ask gently. “You don’t need to be sorry, baby. Not for talking to me about things that bother you. We can tell everyone else tomorrow, if you want? We can call off the bet. Derek will live. If he’s got a problem with it I’ll turn all his shirts into crop tops.”

He can tell the joke is a last bid attempt to make him smile, to ease his fear, and it works. In spite of the anxious weight in his chest that feels like it’s pressing him into the mattress, Spencer laughs weakly, meeting your eyes, and he watches as a relieved smile breaks across your face, releasing your lower lip from where you’d trapped it worriedly between your teeth. The unmitigated affection that floods into your eyes renders him momentarily breathless as he takes in the moment. You’re still here, still trying to take care of him. Just as kind and steadfast as ever.

“No,” he says eventually, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you down on top of him like a living weighted blanket, letting your warmth chase the bulk of the tension from his body and luxuriating in the way you curl into him, one hand sliding into his hair. “We shouldn’t call off the bet. We still have to take Emily’s money, remember?”

Your sleepy laugh is the last thing he hears before his eyes close and the feel of your body wound around his lulls him to sleep.

five months.

SR: Can I talk to you about something?

DM: you dying or something? that’s a really fuckin ominous text to recieve out of the blue

SR: I’m not dying, why would that be what you assumed? I just have a question.

DM: just a figure of speech but what’s up?

SR: It’s about your bet with Emily. What’re the terms for it?

DM: wym?

SR: What exactly did you two make the bet about? What needs to happen in order for you to win the bet?

DM: does this count as collusion?

SR: Technically yes, but calling it collusion implies a certain degree of illegality.

DM: whatever anyway the terms i made with em were that you’d make some kind of move before your birthday but she reckoned you were gonna need some kind of near death experience to do anything about your crush why?

SR: I’m just making sure I have all the information.

DM: what’s going on pretty boy? you planning something?

SR: Maybe.

DM: not a helpful answer reid is everything good?

SR: Everything’s fine. We’re just figuring some stuff out. Nothing to worry about.

DM: is there something you’re not telling me?

SR: Don’t worry about it.

five months, three weeks and six days.

In the chaos that was the scramble from the briefing room to the jet, you haven’t yet had the chance to speak to Spencer about the outcome of his most recent thesis defence panel. By the time you’ve got a moment to breathe, the jet is underway, coasting across the country towards Montana, the whole team settled in for the six hour flight. You corner him in the tiny kitchen area of the jet as he’s making a mug of mediocre coffee, fingers tapping out an absent minded rhythm on the countertop as the coffee machine whirs, clearly not paying attention to anything outside of his head.

“Hey, boy genius.” He jumps, whirling around, eyes wide with surprise, and you smile fondly. “So?” You demand, and Spencer raises an eyebrow in confusion. You snort, rolling your eyes as you elaborate. “Your defence panel. Did it go okay?”

You’re shifting your weight and fidgeting restlessly with the belt loops on your pants and as he studies you for a moment, it occurs to Spencer that you’re nervous for him over this outcome. The thought brings an almost giddy smile to his face.

“You know this isn’t my first thesis defence panel, right?” He says mildly, deliberately burying the lede, enjoying the way you scowl in irritation too much to answer your question right away, too enamoured with this display of concern on his behalf.

“Don’t be difficult, Doctor Reid. It’s still a big deal.” He just shrugs noncommittally, and you huff, swatting his arm lightly. “So did it go well?” You ask again, eyes narrowing as you try to dissect his microexpressions, trying to discern the answer he seems determined to keep from you for yourself. A few seconds later, he relents.

“I can now add degree number six to my wall.” He confirms. Getting degrees doesn’t hold the same rush of pride for him now, the accomplishment feeling somewhat less exceptional as he acquires more of them, but the way your face lights up with pride for him reminds him how special the things he’s capable of can be. You’ve always made him feel like more than the sum of his parts somehow, like something infinitely more precious than he always assumed he is.

“I fucking knew it. That’s amazing, Spence,” you say, chest warm and full with pride and love, and his almost shy smile in return is enough to make a decision for you in a split second. Your hand dips into your back pocket, drawing something out, and you carefully hide it from view in your palm as Spencer tracks the motion curiously with his eyes.

Your eyes are shining with affection and something that looks like mischief and the way you’re smiling at him is more than enough to divert his attention as you step closer, just barely noticing as you slip something into his hand. You’re dangerously, distractingly close now, and he’s conscious, if somewhat distantly, that neither of you is concealed from the rest of the team, scant meters away in the seating area of the jet. But you’re smiling and close enough for him to feel your breath on his face and suddenly your lips are on his, and even after nearly seven months of being able to touch you like this, it’s enough to make him forget everything else as he melts into the contact, savouring the warmth of your skin and the faint smell of your shampoo.

You pull back a second later, the kiss over almost as soon as it started, but it’s enough to attract attention, and you can hear a belated ‘oh SHIT’ from Emily in the main cabin of the jet. In your peripheral vision, you can see money changing hands, your friends scrambling to react, but you don’t look at them, choosing to enjoy the bemused, affectionate look on Spencer’s face as his brain catches up to the events unfolding around the two of you.

“I was tired of keeping it a secret,” you say fondly, loud enough only for him to hear. “You win.”

Blinking in confusion, he finally tears his gaze away from yours, fingers uncurling to reveal the fifty dollar bill you had pressed into his palm right before you kissed him. The penny drops and he snorts with laughter, shaking his head in half hearted indignation as his other arm loops around you, pulling you in, letting you rest your head on his shoulder, hiding your face from the rest of the team as he kisses your temple, revelling in the way you wind yourself around him in response.

“I was gonna do this in like two days. I wanted you to win,” he murmurs against your hairline, and he can feel your faint laughter.

“Too bad, baby. I’m used to getting my way,” you say, pulling back to steal another quick kiss before peeling yourself out of his arms with a wink, turning to face the onslaught of ‘care to fucking explain that’ and ‘I fucking told you so’ from the rest of your friends, tugging him with you by your joined hands.

[hhjs]

love or lack thereof.

pairing  — felix x reader

genre / trope  — angst, fluff / exes with benefits.

word count — 7.7k 

warnings  — suggestive, heavy implications, swearing, some making out but no actual r rated stuff but i will say this is suitable for 18 and up audiences. 

note  — this is unedited, subject to change. spare me lol

There are two sides to every person. The side that you want people to see and the side that you keep to yourself.

You think you've come to discover all those aspects of Lee Felix. Given that he's sweet, unassuming and inexplicably kind to the naked eye but you know, the rising anger in you knows he's only ever been cruel to you.

"Move," you seethe, he moves to let you in but you unintentionally knock your shoulder against his. There's people on the subway, and you hate the way Felix's innocent gaze finds yours for a second and it makes you look like the bad guy.

You feel the disapproving glare of a grandma who has a crumpled catalogue about seasonal pie recipes on her lap, as if she can't believe how much of a cunt you were being to an absolute stranger.

A roll of eyes follows, fishing for your ear phones, if only they knew.

Seeing your ex boyfriend outside of your casual deal hits you with the force of a punch to the gut. But you hid it exceptionally well. Arrogantly jutting your chin upwards. Whilst he cowers beside you, having supposedly caught your sour mood.

To think you had spent an hour with him in a bedroom just formerly...is rather strange. You've been sleeping with him for the past few months now and where it had begun is slightly mysterious to you — was it Chan's birthday party or a clubbing gone wrong one night stand just after Felix had come back to town....? You aren't entirely sure.

Albeit the arrangement is ingrained in your head — what you have with him is a secret strictly kept from your friends who otherwise if even caught air of a mere conversation between you two would invite an influx of queries. This is simple, physical, you don't have time for a relationship, let alone one with him and to mend how utterly lonely you are with someone who hasn't already seen you naked, someone who you couldn't blindly trust, is too much work.

Even though Felix is indubitably affected by your unwavering indifference, something he wasn't used to when you were together because of how giving you were to sate his utterly needy tendencies. Now he feels himself clawing at your hardened exterior in search of just those affections to no actual avail —hurt crossing his eyes when you sneak out of bed without saying goodbye, when days pass and you don't call or text and most importantly, when you're in public and you can't be bothered to spare him as much as a glance. To you, it's nothing more and nothing less. You make it a necessity to keep reminding him.

See you liked to pretend you're a resilient person. That in your heart you really do forgive people and move on.

But he is an exception.

"Did you eat?" He perks up, his voice is small. Careful.

You keep your stoic expression, looking ahead. "No."

Then he blinks, like he usually does when he doesn't understand why you act the way you do. Impolite, communicating only in monosyllables.

Do you really hate him that much?

There's a hoodie pulled over his black hair, longer along the neck,headphones dangling from his neck and his backpack in his hand, he hopes when he holds onto the same railing as you are, that your fingers should brush just a little.

Despite the way you adamantly ignore him, Felix opens his mouth to utter a passing inquiry. Your jaw clenches. And you desperately begin to scan the city map plastered inside to navigate passengers to their destinations.

"Can we...do you want to get something to eat..." He swallows, "together?"

As if he's crazy for even making such a proposition, you look at him once but from the corner of your eye and he thinks that's a lot considering how often you look past him, through him, never at him. You shake your head, giving him a warning stare.

Across from you, his reflection is frowning at your negative response. Still staring at you with a marveling gleam in his eyes, how much you've changed over the past two years just as he has....still takes him by surprise. Suddenly and unexpectedly, his eyes flicker to yours and he finds you staring at his image against the glassed doors. And like a deer caught in headlights, your heart drops to the depths of your stomach.

The announcement above falls deaf to your ears as you exit in a blind rush of sheer panic. Ignoring the biting cold and unfamiliar station. Your stop is still quite far. Maybe you'd have to take the taxi... or walk.

But in the face of all those hassles you sense yourself feeling incredibly relieved...because frankly, you think, you could go to hell and back if gets you away from him.

—

"So you came to tell me you're just gonna give up? Is that it?"

Felix carefully glances at you through his lashes, silently pursing his lips as to convey the answer.

You stare at the speckles of light kissing up his freckled cheeks, his big beaming eyes, a slightly low bridge but rounded tip of his nose paired with a small upturned mouth.

You can't believe you won't see him again.

Whenever he'd catch a break, he'd take the 2 hour bus to town and come see you, meet you and those once in six months meetings alone, to you, compensated for his lengthy absence.

So it couldn't be the distance, you thought, if that were the case he'd have dumped you when he moved to the capital for university.

Felix just doesn't want to be with you anymore.

"You don't get it...." He closes his eyes, as if he doesn't want to see himself saying what he is about to say, you almost don't get the resistance in his tone. The subtle drop of his Adam's apple. "I don't want to hurt you." He starts, "Just think about this rationally... we're so young, what if I find someone else there?"

Someone...else?

Is it that easy to dispose of you? Aren't you enough?

How foolish of you to only ever think of him.

It felt like Felix was kicking you where knew would hurt the most.

Your sardonic laugh is cracked, garbled and it's so fucking embarrassing that you're crying in the middle of a fast food joint, your fries have gone cold. Had you known seeing him this time would be vastly different from usual, you wouldn't have ordered at all. Why didn't he tell you before? Why had he insisted on catching you unawares?

But then again...this isn't about you at all. This is about Lee Felix. This is about him reducing your worth to make room for himself.

Ultimately, you understand, what is worse than not being loved back is being loved by someone who doesn't love you as much as you do them.

"Well I won't stand in your way then,"

You clear your throat,

"Fuck..." you rub your temple, the sadist in you coughing up hysterical laughs. The ache inside your heart at this point has turned into physical pain, cracks fissuring out against its surface and gnawing at the flesh like its being torn apart at the seams.

You should've seen this coming.

Everyone told you and told you you could only drag on an opposites attract sort of relationship for so long before you start to realise how incompatible you are.

Felix has the audacity to reach over and place his fingertips on your knuckles,his eyes are sad, overflowing with pity. It makes you feel small, the way he looks at you, small, sad and abandoned.

What tips you over the edge, however, is how calm he seems, as if he had been precisely planning to dump you for days and months and years while you continue to make a fool out of yourself never have forseen his decision.

There are tears running down your cheeks, abusing your vision with a vicious sting. You bring your sleeve to collect the needless moisture in a sudden rise of temper that is oh so typical of you.

You snatch your hand away from his touch.

"Don't touch me." You say, the simple comment transfers pain to Felix's eyes, mouth parting in silent words. You want to scream at him, you want to shake him by the collar and tell say something, just say anything at all and I will forgive you. Goddamnit.

In a perfect world, you think, a world where things happened exactly the way they should, you wouldn't have said, instead,

"And don't you fucking dare come back here...ever again."

And...in that very perfect world, he would've listened.

—

Felix thinks he could, dare he say, love everything about you. Even though you most certainly deserve someone who hasn't hurt you the way he has.

Now it's funny actually, how the tables have turned...back then, he wasn't sure about you and now you aren't about him.

Felix doesn't really blame you though...because he knows he asked for it.

Your presence in his life has somehow become an absolute necessity to say the least. And ironically enough, while he had so confidently pushed you to let go of him, he realises he had been holding onto you all along.

Now what was he saying...again?

Right. Felix loves everything about you.

But what he loves most...is the way your hand instinctively finds his heart when you're kissing. It's just a simple movement of your fingers splaying against his chest, the warmth of them seeping through the fabric of his shirt. He doesn't even know why it means so much to him.

His hand drops from your ass to the back of your thighs to situate you closer to his chest. He moans into the kiss when your teeth comes to scrape against his bottom lip, your ministrations are typically rough and speedy but he is seemingly far too absorbed by the exhilarating feeling coursing throughout his entire form — it's not just blatant lust, he knows, but a much deeper understanding that he is inexplicably gladdened by the fact that he's touching you and you're touching him.

A shaky breath leaves Felix's parted lips as he cranes his neck to allow your lingering kisses to shift along his angular jaw.

Then without quite meaning to, his vision focuses on the table clock that reads it's well past midnight...you had run late tonight for reasons you neglected to disclose. Now that he really focuses, a strong musky fragrance akin to unfamiliar men's cologne wafts up his nostrils.

It couldn't be....

As Felix's suspicions run deeper, he restlessly begins to search up every aspect of his surroundings as best as he can in the limited provision of light. There is a large coat discarded on his bed, one he hasn't seen you wear before...then again it might not be yours at all...

You notice how he's stopped responding to you, so you pause, leaning back, still on his lap. "Is something the matter?"

Felix swallows, blinking up innocently at you. This deal is simple, isn't it? He knew what he was getting into the first time you got together and the second and the third and so on, so why had the possibility of you getting involved with someone else even bother him then?

Both of you knew why.

And what's worse is that Felix is sensitive by nature, never truly succeeding to hide his emotions, especially intense ones when faced with them. So he is hyper aware of the fact that what he is feeling in the moment is not jealousy, it's neither anger nor resentment but a deep seated insecurity that he will lose you.

Again.

"Were you...with someone?"

As expected, your hands resign from cupping his face, you avoid looking at him.

"What?"

Felix clears his throat, his accent thicker, voice heavy from disuse. He thinks about something being with you in the same way only he has...and it causes a dull ache inside his chest.

He rests his head back against the sofa and shrugs lazily. As if to prove a point, as if to say did he touch you here? his fingers ride up your t shirt, gently cupping your ribs, he tries not to look too satisfied when you quiver under the touch.

Still you lift yourself up and the sudden lack of contact almost makes him whine.

You stand before him. A hand at your hip.

"Why are you acting like this?" You say and he notes you sound more... curious than annoyed. Though what frustrates him is that you hadn't answered his question. "I thought I made myself clear...there are rules we agreed upon."

Oh he knows — no staying over, no personal questions, no jealousy.

Felix purses his lips. The downside of your forwardness, the same utterly admirable trait he finds really fucking hot, the one that conditions you to tell Minho off when he hogs all of Felix's brownies though the latter himself is too much of a pushover to say anything, the same one which had in times of recurring doubtfulness assured him of your strong feelings towards him, is that you say whatever comes to mind without sparing anyone's feelings.

"I'm just asking, [........]," he lies, trying to control the pain from projecting itself onto his voice. It hurts to see the way you jump to defend yourself around him, as though you're scared he'll hurt you again. The lack of faith you have him, after all this time, causes him hurt. "Why are you getting so upset...."

Felix is gentle. Communicating his feelings through his actions rather than words, cooly, slowly. And you are the exact opposite — there is an immediacy in your conveyance, a roughness. You mean what you say and you say what you mean so you think everyone does too. Which is why, he concludes, his present actions are insufficient to remove the seeds of resentment he'd left in the wake of his bitter utterances when you broke up.

But Felix was only 18 then, a kid completely unaware of his overwhelming need to have you in his life....what matters is, he's trying...he really is, to recover from his mistakes......shouldn't that least matter?

Thinking the slight inhibition in his tone is just a figment of your imagination and that he is simply and indifferently inquiring you, you feel a wave of embarrassment wash over you. Then you drop down on the bed, feeling for his remote.

You sniff through your nose and against your better judgement say, "I went out with an acquaintance,"

On weekends Chan usually wasn't home, you could come over. This is the routine, it has been for some time now...so, you've come to know Felix's room more intimately than your own, the walls are a deep blue, like the kind of blue out of a Holly Warburton painting. There's an old Coldplay poster on the back of his door and X-Men action figures from eons ago lined on the edges of his bookshelf.

You know where everything goes when though it's dark. But that doesn't mean anything.

It shouldn't.

"A acquaintance who gave you their coat midwinter...you must be close,"

You ignore his pointed comment, he ignores the way your eyes light up when you talk about this acquaintance.

"He's nice." You say, "He walked me to the station and everything."

A happy hum comes in response.

Because when was the last time you talked to him as freely as you are?

Felix plops down on his stomach beside you, elevating his form on his elbows. His fingers come to brush loose strands out of your eyes. Your gaze meets his for the second time that week. Slower. As if you hadn't minded looking him this time. He feels his heart being tugged at all possible angles.

Then, because he can't stop himself — he leans down and kisses you, tentative and indolent, like he has all the time in the world, like all he wants to do is kiss. Don't get him wrong...you've done downright unspeakable things with him, to him...but nothing mediates his adoration for you without the employment of speech like these little chaste...purposeless movements. His fingers coming to splay against your neck, thumbing along your throat when you gulp, the tip of your nose brushing against his cheekbone, eyes fluttering shut. They're...they're intimate. Utterly special. He knows you feel it too, from the way you look slightly surprised, searching his face, eyes skimming up any fragment of emotion conveyed in his features. But you don't encourage it, slowly shifting to turn your back as you lay quietly against his chest.

"Let me stay here tonight," you say, "I'm tired."

"Okay,"

Felix thinks you've broken not one, but two rules now. He hadn't expected you to answer. He hadn't expected you to get into bed with no intention of departing either.

Though he doesn't hold it against you, this is what he wants, for you to open up to him again...after all. These changes can't be bad changes, even if they are little, it's still progress...right?

—

You wet your fingers, dipping the moistened muscle against the clay mold. All around you is not as eerily quite as it is in your apartment, footsteps thrumming against hardwood floor, kiddish humming from the kitchen, the smell of sugar in the air, you've never worked outside of your home station and well...in class. You thought of yourself as a self sufficient individualist, you liked to believe that you didn't enjoy other people's company like you did your own, with the exception of your roommate. But that's only since you aren't close enough for her to disturb you.

Yet with Soomi moved out for good, the place felt...odd to stay by yourself.

So you found yourself spending more and more time at Felix's. It's nice to have a place to crash in every now and then, the sex is great and when you get hungry after, you don't have to think twice about scouring the fridge.

You don't know why you put off spending time aside from sleeping together at all, more time spent didn't necessarily add to your deal or subtract from it....because the action itself doesn't really mean anything. Everyone gets tired of being alone at some point. That's a universal fact.

Initially, you told yourself your presence was a consequence of Chan catching you two in the shower one night...so now that the cat's out of the bag, you two figured his place could become the only premise you didn't have to play pretend in. You both knew the elder would be more than willing to keep the younger's secret even if he didn't exactly approve of it.

With the increased frequency of your visits, bits and pieces of you remain dispersed all throughout the apartment, your body wash in his bathroom, your underwear in his laundry, the smell of you in his sheets, on his clothes. You had relaxed yourself through the periphery of his life and he had small glimpses of yours, habits and flaws, unknowingly...or knowingly....whatever. — Felix could only thank God that Chan had found out, in spite of the revelation itself putting you both in a compromising position.

With time, he starts to keep a few secrets from you too, here and there, knowing that if you knew you will stop doing it altogether. He can't have that...

You throw a leg around his hip when you're fast asleep, flinging an arm not a second later to cage him in your warm embrace. Felix likes the way your chest rises and falls against his back, how your breath tickles his skin and your mouth parts against his shoulder blade. Sometimes he stays awake and waits for you to do it, then when you do, he grins so hard his face hurts a little. Felix likes being the little spoon.

"Are you listening?"

His vision narrows down to the sight of you holding out your palms in the air, there's wet clay on them, as well on your cheek and legs, between them your pottery wheel is halted to desuetude, there's old newspapers layering the floorboard to prevent staining.

"Sorry...," he smiles sheepishly, "What did you say?"

It's your turn to shift your gaze to your feet. Felix thinks it's highly uncharacteristic, the way you seem almost...shy?

"Can you..." You eye the mug mounted on his study desk, he catches onto your request easily, "I'm thirsty—"

"Yeah yeah hold on... careful," Felix chirps, carefully guiding the rim to your lips to make sure it doesn't spill. He uses the tip of his thumb to wipe the corner of your mouth, you flinch first but then whilst the mild shock subsides, simply stare up at him as the pad of his thumb brushes against your skin. "There you go..." he trails, eyes bright with care.

You feel like a child being doted on, the mere emotion plunging you back to when you were 5 and had crushes on boys who shared skittles with you.

"Thanks."

Felix's ears perk up at the courtesy, you were never one to express yourself easily and when you did, every time, he felt inexplicably delighted.

The apples of your cheeks feel hot for some reason, by putting yourselves in in these small situations, you keep confusing him, you know, because you keep confusing yourself too.

You come out again that night but this time Bang Chan is shifting around in the kitchen. He hardly sleeps, you observe, but probably refusing to come out because he wanted to avoid bumping into you.

Chan doesn't seem to like you very much. Probably. You don't blame him. Before you came along, Felix and he spent more time together, now you had become a constant in his life without will.

You have to listen twice to realise he's speaking with you. Not an invisible being behind you.

"What?"

"I said..." His tone dropped dangerously low, he looks annoyed at something. "Listen I don't care what you're doing but don't hurt him." He's wearing a black t shirt and a pair of pajama shorts with cartoon wolves littered all across the baby blue fabric. He's trying to appear intimidating. It's not really working.

You stifle a laugh.

Frankly had you not known how deeply he cared for Felix, you'd not have cared about his advice. Or warning....?

"Fine," you respond, watching as the tension visibly left his body with one bating breath. "I hope this isn't about me stealing your yoghurt though."

"It's a little about stealing my yoghurt," he jokes, you think he's one of those people who'd apologise if you punched them in the face and spat in their drink. It's interesting...

Chan laughs a little. His eyes sparking with amusement for the first time of all the times he's looked at you. Did he trust your word that much?

—

"He talks about you a lot you know,"

You nearly spit out your drink. Seungmin isn't exactly the densest guy you know. Far from it exactly and he isn't discreet either. So your first instinct is to think he knows something.

You watch Felix from a distance, a solo cup in hand, he's laughing at something Hyunjin said, there's a crinkle along the bridge of his nose and his upper lip curls upwards to reveal his teeth. In reality, in everyone's eyes, your lives are separate. They walk on eggshells around you still...you assure yourself there's no way anyone could've guessed.

So you play dumb, glugging the whiskey into your cup. It spills around the edges, landing on the semi-lit neon counter.

"Who?"

Seungmin blinks at you. An unreadable expression on his face.

"Jisung." He says, "Who else?"

You feel yourself getting less excited, the breath you were unconsciously holding passing your entire form. Jisung is the newest addition to your life, a performing arts student who offered to portrait model for a project you'd been given in class. He's cute, forward, which you like a lot. And you notice whilst using him for inspiration, that he looks at you just as attentively as you had at him.

Only for different reasons.

Jisung asks for your number. You say yes. Half-heartedly. Though at the forefront of your mind you keep comparing everyone to the guy you go home to ever so often, you pick out their flaws and their perfections and you think to yourself he isn't like this, he is like this.

"Yeah?" You pose, sipping and wincing. "What did he say?"

"Just the usual stuff...." Seungmin tilts his head, he's not drinking tonight because he has an exam tomorrow. You think it's a little funny that he's carrying around water in a solo cup. "But I can tell he has the hots for you,"

You laugh this time. That's no surprise to you. "Well he's not so bad himself."

Seungmin narrows his eyes, shooting you a suspicious look.

"Of course you'd say that...." He taunts, "Heard you guys hung out...how was that by the way?"

"It was alright. Sort of just...happened. We bumped into each other and he offered to buy me dinner."

"And you...said yes?"

You give him a blank look, sarcasm dripping from your monotonous sentences, how else would you have spent time together?

"No, I didn't, Seungmin,"

The owner of the name rolls his eyes at your satirical comment, "No need to be mean, I'm just a little surprised is all."

"Surprised?"

You raise an eyebrow, Felix is still in your line of sight, it looks like he's stalling, waiting for your conversation to end so you could leave. He glances at you a few times and you quickly text him a 5 more minutes. "Why's that?"

"Cause every time you start to have feelings for someone, you take one step forward and ten steps back," he points out, "Think about it...you haven't been in like an....actual relationship after...well, you know," he postulates.

You glare at Seungmin, your pride somewhat injured.

"Hey! I've....dated."

"No....you slept around with people, that's not the same as dating." He retorts.

You snort.

Wouldn't you know.

Minho changes an upbeat pop song to something mellow. It's in a foreign language...maybe Spanish, you understand nothing but you don't have to to know it's a sad tune, the lyrics coming together in a melancholic harmony. Your eyes drift away, you feel your attention falter.

It was not unknown for you to have absolute control over your life, be it living your days by strict routine or building such a sturdy pretentious armour around yourself so that your organic self remained unscathed underneath. You had learnt the hard way that being yourself in front of other people would only bring you hurt...but if no one really knew you, no one could hurt you.

This game of hide and seek had become such a long standing practise in your life that it disconnected who you are from who you pretended to be. And every time the extent of your actual desires, monsters much beyond your control rose to the surface, they brought you shame, disgust.

You found those pretences withering away, the shell of protection around you falling apart whenever the thought of Felix crossed your mind. — his heavy noise of content against your neck, his fingers curling into your sheets, his open mouthed kiss against the arch of your hipbone, everything and anything...you had again, despite all your abrasions, become madly consumed by him.

And you must admit to yourself that you are becoming quite ridiculous because of it.

In this strange moment, you realise you almost need Felix to harp on about you even though you specifically asked him to keep all that you have a secret. You want his friends to come scurrying to you to start telling you that he cares so much he can't keep his mouth shut, to be so enamoured with you that his innermost feelings become painfully apparent, that it's utterly stupid of you to not see how he feels about you.

That's not how it goes though. Stuff like that only happens in movies.

Felix responds, texting, "Take all the time you need." Surprised, you steal a glimpse of him, but only when Seungmin isn't looking. You didn't know what you expected, something more crude, that would give away that he was jumping on the balls of his feet to only get into your pants, that would remind you that Felix is nothing but your fuck buddy. You find that you always look for reasons to resent him....because if you did, it meant that you didn't have to acknowledge how you're still in love with him.

You knew what you were in for. And hoping, wanting something more....is no more than wishful thinking.

Felix smiles at you, a genial smile, a simple curve along the corner of his lips which conveys patience, but also something deeper, like...understanding.

Again no matter how much you pushed him away he seemed to find his way back to you in some fashion, just to convey that your union is not all as black and white as you told yourself it was.

You down the entire drink in one swig. Seungmin makes a face at you, the kind he makes when you stick your fries in ice cream for shits and giggles,

"Well....we broke up a long time ago," You hiss at the awful taste stinging your throat, sounding slightly angry. You can't believe it matters still, but when you've been clutching onto something for too long, be it a painful emotion or a memory...you start to think it's the locus of your life, an integral part of you. It terrifies you to think who you'd become without it — vulnerable, malleable, sensitive.

You can't do that again.

The last few weeks, regardless of how good they were, didn't change a thing.

It couldn't. You wouldn't let it.

Seungmin is right, you think, you are taking ten steps back. Just not in the context he thought.

"There's no reason I shouldn't start now."

—

Turns out there is a reason.

Jisung asks you out the next day. He's so friendly that you feel overwhelmed. At all times of the day, he dresses like a frat boy out on his morning jog. A nike running shirt and loose fitted trousers, a baseball cap worn the other way around...it's a little silly.

You don't mind it, having the kind of apathy you would have towards someone you don't know very well.

Everything with him feels new, awkward. But also slightly exciting. He talks too much when he's nervous and you notice that he's almost always nervous because of your personality, as though he can't really put a finger on you and doesn't know what to do about it. Besides...he’s not a horrible kisser either, you muse, he just doesn’t know what you want.

Yet whenever you heard yourself thinking those compliments, you couldn't help but feel utterly guilty, a strangely deep seated feeling that you were doing something wrong.

Why did you feel this way....

Felix isn't your boyfriend anymore. You don't owe him any form of loyalty. You knew that. You're someone who sticks to their gut feelings and your gut had decided that something about seeing Jisung didn't feel right and not just because of Felix, but because you're not interested in a relationship just yet. And you're sure he could tell you aren't, he shouldn't quite expect a call back anytime soon.

"I had a nice time," you say, because it's true. He took you out for ice cream and bought you candy floss when you stared at it for too long.

When Jisung doesn't respond for a hot minute, you follow his trail of vision, which instead of focusing on you, has shifted to the semi-lit backdrop of your apartment. He's too obvious.

"Do...you want to come in?"

He flounders a little at your suggestion, embarrassed. "Would that be alright?....if I did...."

"That depends, are you gonna kill me?"

You say with a straight face. No matter much Jisung prodded at your exterior, you wouldn't budge, like you usually hadn't. Unravelling isn't really your thing so....he can't tell if you're kidding or not.

"No...?"

You snort, "Why do you sound so unsure?"

Jisung's face has grown impossibly red, he could feel his ears burning in indescribable shame. You just have this air about you that makes you incredibly hard to read and it's really attractive.

"I....I didn't..."

You keep your voice, steady, calm, "Relax," "I'm just screwing with you," you say, stepping aside for him to enter, "Make yourself at home."

—

You suppose you were born to study the arts.

You never could consider yourself a studious being. When you were in school, you remember falling behind in classes where the arduous process of revising was required, say mathematics or the sciences even.

Though that realisation hadn't come to you naturally.

Your parents wouldn't take kindly to you not taking up a "well paying" profession and you fell victim to the constant barrage of criticisms, of mockery which ultimately conditioned you to think some part of you, a large part just wasn't good enough.

And with Felix gone....

You were at your worst.

The two years you spent without him were the hardest, a set of years that obliged you to protect yourself from all the hurt around you, inside you. And while the security that you provided yourself is undoubtedly necessary for well...anyone, the process itself had its wicked way of rendering you unspeakably lonely.

You agreed to apply as an engineering major to gain your parents' approval and then transferred to the arts department by the time you'd successfully moved out. You haven't spoken to them ever since...and it hurt you more than you would deign to admit.

When your mum drops over for a surprise visit and chances upon your ex-boyfriend loitering about in your kitchen, fixing up midnight munchies, she takes a natural guess that you've gotten back together. (Which you think is far more agreeable than the truth. Knowing your mother, a staunch supporter of your relationship with him, she wouldn't take lightly to your arrangement.) And before you know it, you're all having dinner.

Felix makes an effort to dress up well, discarding his usual hoodies and joggers for a more formal look, you suspect it has something to do with the fact that you haven't attended any casual settings with him since you broke up.

Cutlery clinks against ceramic, coming down with a semi-loud thump as you try to swallow the enormous lump in your throat. Your mum makes a passing jab at you, saying how you had settled for a much "easier" major than say architecture or philosophy, she bitterly mentioned that everything worked out in the end. After all, your choice is a "much fitting" field of study for someone of your caliber, backhandedly insinuating that you're far too stupid to pursue anything else.

What inspires hilarity is how those insults still affected you. In front of Felix, you act like these few years have brought the fighter out in you and here you are trying to blink away the onslaught of tears prickling your vision. It feels like someone stripped you off your skin, off your flesh and picked out all your shortcomings for him to see.

You expect him to stay quiet, you expect him to think of you as the utterly shameful, selfish being you tell yourself you are,

But Felix's fingers find your shaky knuckles under the table where they rest on your knee, he implants the weight of them in a reassuring squeeze. "Well I think it's great," he says instead, smiling cheerfully at your mum. To which she, for the lack of support, sheepishly beams at him, "Not many people have the drive to do what they want to do. Or know what they want to do...take it from me, Missus [.....]" He laughs nonchalantly, the hairs on the back of your neck standing to attention upon hearing the lovely sound. You always liked his laugh, the sound rippling against your naked skin, thick baritone when he'd just woken up and a kiddish falsetto when he's extremely happy.

You wonder when you started paying so much attention.

Felix glances at you, lingering for a long minute."I bet it took a lot of guts."

You feel your chest constrict with a sudden surge of emotion from the mere look, you can't remember if the Felix you knew in the past, or anyone for that matter, had ever beamed at you with such pride.

You wonder what he'd think if he knew about Jisung, why you had neglected to tell him at all....you knew, because this little moment is precious to you and you had no reason to tarnish it. Not when you had time.

You tilt your head, using your free hand to hastily find the back of his neck, drawing closer to him with little strength. The more he realised what you're doing, the more excited he got. See he found your newly introduced public display of affection immensely attractive, though obviously embarassed by the sudden motion...

You can do crazy things sometimes. Really crazy things. In public and he has never opposed to such exhilarating things, be it in restrooms or even in a similar setting when you were dating, there was a certain thrill to it which drove him to the brink of insanity. Felix would silently implode your attention when you were alone and when you were out in the open, in whichever way he was to receive it, the way which insinuated you were his was the best of them all. All that was fine though...because it was just the two of you.

But now...in this indecent time, he wishes he could hear what you're thinking.

Had... had you gone completely mad?! Your mum is looking!

Your face is stoic, Felix's mouth parts, then you reach over and kiss him shamelessly.

Over the years, all the things that have caused you pain were things you had endured on your own, in his absence. This realisation alone invites a heavy conviction inside you.

Because you know it just as well as he does, no matter how sincere he is to you — you don't need Felix. Not really.

But you want him.

—

You do a stupid thing. A stupid endearing thing and Felix's heart beats like it would jump out of his mouth if he opened it.

It was meant to be a secret, what you two have, a matter of uncomplicated lust which didn't require the attention of anyone because it initially or so you put it, wasn't important enough.

Then you charge to him, he supposes it has a little to do with the person who was blatantly flirting him in the middle of Changbin's Halloween party, he doesn't care though.

You don't like embarrassing yourself, so he doesn't actually expect you to wear a black cat hairband matching his white ears and feline tail. Felix wants to think it means something, how despite the coos and the caas, the giant wave of surprise washing over your friends, you interlace your fingers within his and kiss his cheek.

He doesn't what that makes the two of you now... but he would give you all the time in the world to figure that out if it meant you could be his again.

—

You trace your fingers against outline of his face. Splatters of moist moonlight kissing the high rise of his cheeks, dusting along the long fringe of lashes which cast shadows along his skin, his freckles are like dots of bronze dispersed on his skin. He's beautiful like this.

"You're thinking too much," he says with his eyes closed, smiling a little. "Don't think so much."

You laugh. "Or what, huh?"

Felix cracks an eye open, his grin big, kiddish. "I was hoping you'd say that," he rubs the tip of his nose against your collarbone, he snuggles closer to your chest. What you hadn't expected was how he shifted his entire weight onto you, lying entirely atop you as though he were a starfish.

You couldn't stop laughing at the motion, it's so cheesy and gross...you love it.

—

Here's something you don't know — Jisung tells his friends everything, about making out with you and taking you out...everything. News travels fast. Faster than you anticipated. Despite wanting to divulge the matter, you were too taken by the recent shifts in your feelings to confess to your little interaction. You had told yourself again and again — a little later, just a little later and I’ll tell him.

It could be too late now.

The entire campus knew of your little rendezvous, shooting you curious looks... it's not until Minho comes up to verify the floating rumours do you all but sprint to Felix's place. You think of Chan's trusting eyes, of don't hurt him, of laughing in the intimacy of your bedroom and swiping your fingers down his spine like you were trying to commit the undulating design to memory.

You're not sure where it all began.

but you don't want it to end.

Felix doesn't answer your calls or your messages. When he buzzes you up, just from his gait, just from the resigned look in his eyes, you know he knows.

You watch as he listlessly leaves you to enter, walking before you without saying as much as a word.

You grab Felix’s elbow, making him stop in his tracks. He looks at your fingers wrapping around the muscle, shrugging you off easily. It’s just a small gesture but its impact is so large...that you feel your heart break into a million pieces.

You had never seen Felix being so quiet, even when he was down, he found a manner to radiate a form of optimistic energy which baffled you. You can’t believe how much you could have possibly hurt him. 

 “I can explain.” you gulp, “We went out on one date. It wasn’t because I liked him, I know it’s stupid and...I should’ve told you. I’m sorry, that's not an excuse, but you have to trust me when I say it didn’t...it doesn’t mean anything to me—”

“Did you sleep with him?”

With his back turned away, he still isn’t looking at you, speaking to you with a surprisingly stable tone.

“No.”

Felix takes a shuddering breath, one which expresses the small relief of knowing that Jisung hadn’t seen, touched you, felt you in the way that he only had, but there’s still so much more he wants to know. 

“Did he make you laugh?” 

It’s a silly question, he realises belatedly but he can’t help it. Some part of him, a large part, thinks he’d be more hurt if you made someone happy and they made you happy than if you fucked them.

You shake your head even though he can’t see you. “He didn’t.”

Your fingers again reach for his, wrapping your index into his thumb. You slowly move your hands to his middle, clutching him close to your chest, chin hooking into his shoulder, suddenly...you feel him melt into the embrace. Felix’s voice falters for the first time, small trembles against you. You’re willing to answer all his queries if it could put his mind at ease. You put your heart on hold for too long.

"Do you hate me...?" He sniffles.

You blink....did you?

Felix had changed, like you, he had matured, the past version of him you had so stubbornly ingrained in your endless inner monologue is not the one you grew all too familiar with...

Familiarity does breed contempt, does it not? Well you think the line between love and contempt is untraceable, melded together as a mysterious whole. After all those years, you were still angry, still filled to the brim with contempt for him and more importantly, yourself because you still love him much more than you'd like to admit. After all you've been through. After all this time. The need to love him ultimately encompassed every other emotion which posed itself as a hindrance.

So the opposite of love, the absence of love, you think, isn't hate, it's indifference. An emotion you never felt towards him.

Felix has wedged himself into every aspect of your life, tainted every portion of your routine in his presence and in his absence.

You don't think you'd have it another way.

"You broke my heart," you explain, "I was angry....but I could never hate you for the sake of hating you."

"I can't..." Felix whispers, twisting his body so he could look at you now, “I can’t promise you that it won’t be hard but I'm not—I’m not going anywhere...you know that right?”

You lean your forehead against his, his eyes shifting to your mouth, hands rising to wrap around your neck. You smile.

“I know.” you say, "Me neither."

“I love you...” He says in a small voice, putting his hand against your knuckles. “Do you love me?”

Your eyes soften, cupping his face like this — carefully collecting a lone tear with your thumb before it could touch his cheek. This time there is not a shred of hesitancy, no pause, no pondering before you say, 

“I never stopped.”

—

You enter in a blind rush of panic, thinking you might miss your ride, feet knocking together, elbows hitting elbows, bustling all around you and the sudden overwhelming stench of people hit you, it’s not an ideal setting, not at all actually. 

But you couldn’t bother to be displeased a second you spent with him. A teenager rolls her eyes at how disgustingly in love you are, elderly couples tutting under their breath...albeit, you don’t fail to notice their subtle smiles, small shake of their heads which attested to the fact that the joy you both radiate is.. absolutely infectious. You stumble with him behind, Felix is laughing breathlessly, bumping into your chest as the train suddenly starts moving, you place a finger on his cheek and he raises his chin to look at you.

“Did you eat?” he repeats, mocking himself, a dialogue from a time which seems an element of the distant past replaced by a love which compensated for every hitch in your relationship. You still argue, still disagree and still make up the same. Felix was right, it isn’t easy.

But when two people love each other as much as you do,

it’s worth trying. With every fibre of your being.

“No.”  You laugh, playing along, “But I could, with you.”