#that you automatically commented in your first language

[cassiebones]

No better feeling than somebody reading your fic in English and then commenting excitedly in their own language. So great!

[neellscapsule]

the sunshine gentleman

summary | after discovering batman's identity, you continue your work as a secretary for bruce, keeping the secret; then, some days before christmas, your brother visits you. 

pairing | bruce wayne x kent!reader ; platonic clark kent x reader

warnings / tags | fluffy, jealous bruce, clark being the best big brother ever, mentions of drunk sad bruce

word count | 4.5k

authors note | hi there!! english is not my first languaje so there might be some mistakes, or not, it can depend :)

this is part of the kent!batmom!reader series. you don't need to read the other parts to understand this since this is about bruce and batmom's past.  this can be read as wayne's secretary part 2.

taglist | @maolen @joonunivrs @c4ssi4-luv @fanfics4ever @inejskywalker @radenxd @resting-confused-face @fionnalopez @stargirl9911 @idek101-01

YOU WENT BACK TO WORK LIKE NOTHING HAD HAPPENED.

Well… almost like nothing had happened.

Because things had changed, and even if neither of you said a word, you could feel the shift humming beneath the surface like a quiet electrical current. You knew he knew that you knew. And Bruce Wayne—professional, stone-faced, emotionally constipated Bruce Wayne—wasn’t exactly the type to bring up rooftop vigilante confessions or bloody couch collapses during your Monday morning coffee run.

Still, he was watching you differently now.

You’d catch it sometimes—those moments when your head was bent over your keyboard, fingers flying across the calendar updates, only to glance up and find his eyes already on you. Not in that fleeting, distracted way he used to. No. This was different. Intentional. Like he was studying you, trying to memorize something he didn’t realize he’d forgotten.

You never mentioned it.

You didn’t mention the fact that your salary had mysteriously doubled, either. One morning you just… opened your paystub and blinked at the number for a solid five minutes.

You almost choked on your coffee.

Then you laughed—alone, startled, dryly amused.

Not because you weren’t grateful, but because part of you worried what it might look like. You hadn’t told anyone about Bruce’s second identity. Not even Clark. And yet, here you were, getting a suspiciously generous raise right after patching up Gotham’s most elusive vigilante on your couch.

Still, you didn’t say anything to him about the money. Just like he didn’t say anything about the fact that you’d seen him half-dressed and bleeding.

Silence was your shared language now.

Christmas crept closer on the calendar, your week-long vacation to Smallville already approved—and then extended by Mr. Wayne himself without warning or comment. You noticed it on the scheduling software one quiet Wednesday morning and blinked, eyebrows furrowed.

“Two weeks,” you said under your breath, squinting at the screen. “Did I… request two?”

You hadn’t.

He couldn’t say he wanted you to rest. Couldn’t say he wanted you safe, far from rooftops and broken ribs and the kind of darkness Gotham swallowed people in.

You could’ve marched into his office and asked—but you didn’t. You figured this was Bruce’s way of doing something nice without ever being seen doing it.

You let it go.

Instead, you buried yourself in your task list: confirming board meetings, answering endless phone calls, redirecting holiday invitations, scheduling the year-end Wayne Foundation charity appearances, finalizing travel logistics, fixing one of Mr. Wayne’s glaring calendar conflicts that would’ve had him at two galas and a board retreat on the same night.

Currently, you were typing out an email to the Metropolis city hall offices—following up on a donation Wayne Enterprises had pledged—when the phone rang.

You didn’t even glance at the caller ID.

Your hand reached for the receiver automatically, tucking it between your ear and shoulder as you continued typing.

“Mr. Wayne’s office,” you said brightly. “This is Y/N.”

There was a slight crackle on the line, followed by Eloise’s chipper voice from the front desk. “Hi, sweetie. Sorry to bother—there’s a man here—”

��Oh, go ahead and send him up,” you said, not really listening, half-focused on the typo correction blinking at you on screen. “He’s probably here for Mr. Wayne.”

“Wait—”

You hung up.

Exactly three seconds later, Bruce’s office door opened.

You didn’t even turn at first.

“Who was it?” he asked, his voice low and casual, but there was something in the tone—something tense, like a wire pulled too tight.

You glanced over your shoulder. “Don’t know. I told Eloise to send him up.”

He stared at you.

You blinked. “What?”

The tension crackled between you like static. Like the moment before lightning splits the sky. And you hated how you couldn’t stop remembering the look on his face when you asked if he wanted to stay. The way he’d looked at you when you called him complicated. The way he hadn’t denied it.

You opened your mouth to ask if he wanted you to bring water or coffee or a distraction, but then—

“Y/N?”

Your head whipped toward the elevator. The voice was warm. Familiar. Deep and smooth and impossibly safe.

Your heart leapt.

“Clark?” you gasped.

And then you were running—faster than you could remember moving in heels—across the office floor, the thick plush carpet muffling the sound of your footsteps.

Your brother stood in the doorway, tall and broad and unmistakable in that sweet, dorky way only he could manage. Thick-rimmed glasses sat on the bridge of his nose, and his soft dark hair flopped gently against his forehead, a few strands damp from the misty Gotham air. He wore a gray pea coat and a warm smile so wide it nearly broke your heart in two.

You threw yourself at him.

He caught you with one arm like you weighed nothing, like you were still six years old and couldn’t reach the cookie jar, spinning you around as you clung to his neck and laughed, genuine and warm and glowing from somewhere deep in your chest.

“Oh my God, you’re here!” you squealed.

“I’m here,” he laughed, the sound vibrating through his chest. “You didn’t think I’d miss seeing my baby sister before Christmas, did you?”

You beamed, still in his arms, eyes damp with happiness. “You never come to Gotham.”

“Well,” he said with a sheepish grin, “someone had a pretty rough week.”

You pulled back just enough to frown at him, though your eyes sparkled with amusement. “Ma called you.”

He raised his brows in mock innocence.

“Clark.”

“What? She was worried!”

You snorted, finally sliding down to your feet, still holding his forearms as if to make sure he didn’t disappear again. “Unbelievable. She ratted me out.”

“She said you cried.”

You groaned. “I did not cry. I got champagne on my dress.”

“She said you sobbed.”

You buried your face in your hands. “Oh my God, I’m never telling her anything again.”

Clark just pulled you into another one-armed hug, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“I came to check on you,” he murmured. “Because you’re my girl.”

You blinked back something wet in your lashes.

You’d always been his. His first little sibling. His shadow. His anchor. His soft spot.

“You still have the same glasses,” you muttered.

“They’re iconic.”

“They’re huge.”

Clark laughed again, his smile wide and impossibly bright behind those dorky glasses. His hair was messier than usual, curling faintly from the cold, and his eyes—those soft, sea-colored eyes—shimmered like safety itself.

“You look good,” you said, brushing invisible lint off his jacket. “You’ve been flying more, huh?”

“Trying to,” he admitted, sheepish. “Kara says I’m too slow. Which is offensive.”

You snorted. “You’re a blur. I’ve seen it. Remember when you caught that meteor? Like. Mid-air?”

He grinned. “What, this old thing?” He mimed catching something, flexing obnoxiously. You slapped his arm.

“I missed you,” you said, more softly now.

He smiled at that, the kind of smile that reached all the way into your chest and stayed there.

“I missed you more, bug.”

There was a quiet cough behind you.

You turned and—

Oh.

Right.

Bruce.

You’d forgotten he was standing there. Your boss. Who was watching all of this with an expression so perfectly neutral you would’ve missed the sharp tension in his jaw if you didn’t know exactly where to look.

Oh.

He thought—

You stepped back slightly, placing a hand on Clark’s arm. “Oh! Sorry. Uh. Mr. Wayne—this is my brother.”

Bruce’s shoulders shifted almost imperceptibly.

“Clark Kent,” Clark offered warmly, stepping forward and extending his hand. “Reporter. From Metropolis.”

There was the barest flicker in Bruce’s eyes—recognition, maybe?—but it was gone just as fast.

“Bruce Wayne,” he replied coolly, clasping Clark’s hand.

“Pleasure, Mr. Wayne.”

Bruce took his hand, shook it once.

“Likewise.”

You didn’t notice how tight Bruce’s jaw was, how his eyes narrowed for just half a second when Clark touched your shoulder again in that brotherly, protective way.

Didn’t notice the split-second flash of relief that flickered across Bruce’s face when you’d said the word brother.

He’d been bracing himself.

You’d never know that.

You didn’t see the look that passed between them—brief, measured, masculine.

Your smile widened, the tension in the room bleeding out like a pulled thread. “I was just finishing an email. Clark, you wanna sit while I wrap it up?”

He nodded, then threw a glance at Bruce. “Unless I’m interrupting?”

Bruce’s face didn’t move, but his eyes—those eyes—lingered on you.

“No,” he said finally. “Not at all.”

You turned toward your desk again, heart beating a little faster.

You didn’t miss the way Bruce looked at you then.

Not as a secretary. Not as an employee.

But as the girl who knew his secret. The girl who’d wrapped gauze around his ribs with shaking hands. The girl who hadn’t said a word—because she didn’t need to.

 “Do I get a secretary badge too?”

 “No, it's mine only.”

Bruce watched you go—your arm looped with Clark’s, relaxed, the sounds trailing like music behind you.

He stood there, quiet, still, gaze unreadable.

But inside?

Jealousy had come and gone in a blink. And now, it left something softer behind.

He’d seen the way your eyes lit up. He’d watched it all.

And for one agonizing second—before the word brother—he’d hated the thought that someone else could pull that joy from you.

Not because he didn’t want you to have it but because he wanted to be the reason you smiled like that.

And maybe—just maybe—he already was.

The rest of the afternoon went by in a warm blur.

Clark hung around your desk, alternating between leaning on it, teasing you about how fast your typing was, and wandering through the executive suite like it was a museum exhibit. He made small talk with a few assistants from legal—charming as ever, harmlessly polite, somehow looking both like a bumbling reporter and a walking supernova at once.

You finished wrapping up the weekly emails, flagged three reports for follow-up, and cleaned your desk like you always did before a long break. Clark had taken your swivel chair hostage, legs folded in like a grasshopper as he spun slow, lazy circles, absolutely unbothered.

“Clark, people work here,” you said for the third time, nudging his shoulder as you reached to log out of your terminal.

“And I’m helping morale,” he offered brightly, spinning again. “Look at you. All cheered up.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, because watching my older brother act like a caffeinated toddler is exactly what my coworkers needed.”

“You’re just mad I didn’t bring you cookies from Ma.”

You stared at him.

His mouth dropped open. “I knew I forgot something.”

You gasped. “Clark Joseph Kent. You monster.”

He laughed, shoulders shaking, your favorite kind of sound in the whole world. That laugh could turn a whole day around. Could mend a broken afternoon in three seconds flat. It’d been that way since you were little.

“Pa had eaten half of them,” he said between chuckles. “Said something about quality control.”

“Ugh.” You folded your arms. “I bet it was the molasses crinkles.”

“Yup.”

You narrowed your eyes. “I would’ve killed for those.”

Clark smiled as he leaned back in the chair, hands behind his head. “Well. Guess you’ll just have to come home for the rest of them.”

“I am going home. You knew that. You just didn’t want to share.”

“I’m not denying that.”

You kicked the base of the chair lightly, and he spun again, grinning wide.

The sun had dipped low over Gotham, tinting the skyline in shades of copper and soot. Snow hadn’t started falling yet, but you could feel it in the air—the crisp weight of it just waiting for nightfall. It was almost six. You’d already told Mr. Wayne his schedule was cleared. Everyone else in the suite had trickled out.

You closed your laptop slowly, dragging your fingers along the cool edge. “That’s it,” you murmured. “Last one for the year.”

Clark leaned against your chair, his warm hand tousling the top of your hair like he always did. You swatted him, but not with much force.

“You made it,” he said, all soft pride.

You beamed. “And with minimal trauma.”

That’s how Bruce found you.

You didn’t hear his office door open, but you felt it. That soft shift in the air, that weight of a presence even before a single word was spoken. You looked up instinctively—knew without knowing.

Bruce stood at the threshold of his office, silent and sharp in the dim light of the evening, his expression unreadable as ever. He didn’t look at Clark right away. His eyes were already on you.

And for a breath—just a breath—it was like the room quieted.

Clark noticed it too. The sudden stillness. He sat up straighter, adjusted his glasses, and gave a small, polite smile.

Bruce’s gaze didn’t move for a beat longer. Then, finally, he cleared his throat and said, “Y/N.”

You blinked. “Yes, Mr. Wayne?”

He paused.

Clark stood up beside you, suddenly less playful, picking up on something unspoken in your voice.

“I need a moment,” Bruce said.

You glanced at Clark. He gave you a tiny nod and turned toward the hallway, very obviously not listening. 

You stepped over quietly, hands loose at your sides. It felt like stepping into a conversation that neither of you had planned. One that had been waiting in the shadows since that night on your couch.

Bruce’s jaw was set. His eyes flicked to yours, then away again. You waited, patient as ever.

This time, you noticed.

The persona was slipping.

There was no flirty billionaire here. No polished playboy with a champagne flute and a model on his arm. No clever, offhand remarks. No perfectly rehearsed charm.

And he wasn’t Batman either.

This wasn’t the man who bled on your hardwood floors and let you bandage the hidden parts of him.

This was just Bruce.

And somehow, that was even harder to look at. Because he was the one you wanted. Not the mask. Not the myth. The man who looked like he’d spent the last days thinking about something he didn’t know how to say.

You kept your voice soft. “Something wrong?”

He shook his head once. “No.”

You nodded, waiting.

He studied you like a puzzle he couldn’t solve. Something tightened behind his eyes.

“I just…” He hesitated. “I realized I hadn’t said anything.”

You tilted your head. “About what?”

“About Christmas. Your time off.”

You blinked, surprised.

“Oh.”

Another pause. His voice was gentler this time. “I hope you enjoy the break.”

You smiled slowly. “Thank you.”

He glanced down for a moment, then back up. “You deserve it.”

Your heart twisted.

The words were simple—but coming from him? They struck deep. Like a hand brushing the side of your cheek that never quite touched, but left warmth anyway.

“I wanted to… thank you. For your work this year.”

That caught you a little off guard.

You softened, lips quirking gently. “Thank you for not firing me after I spilled coffee on the Q3 reports.”

That pulled a flicker of a smile from him. The briefest upturn at the corner of his mouth. It made your chest ache.

“You’ve been… indispensable,” he said finally.

You blinked again.

You could count on one hand how many times Bruce Wayne had complimented you. And it had never sounded like that before.

“Wow,” you said softly. “That almost sounded like praise.”

He glanced up at you now. There was something in his eyes. Not softness, exactly. But… honesty. A peeling-back, quiet and raw.

“I’ll be with my family,” you said quietly, watching him. “My Ma and Pa. Clark, obviously. My . . . cousin, Kara. And all the pets in there.”

His eyes softened at that. “Good.”

You hesitated, then added, “There’ll be snow. And pie.”

“You like pie?”

You gave him a look. “Everyone likes pie.”

That earned you the smallest hint of a smile. “Then I hope there’s a lot of it,” he said.

You smiled back, not sure what else to say. A knot sat heavy in your throat.

This felt like goodbye. Not just for Christmas. Like something deeper was trying to end itself before it could bloom into something neither of you could handle.

He took a slow breath.

“Merry Christmas, Y/N.”

Your name in his voice was a quiet thing. Almost reverent.

Your chest tightened.

“Merry Christmas, Bruce.”

It was the first time you’d said it like that. Just his name.

No title. No distance.

Just him.

He didn’t correct you. Didn’t move. Didn’t say another word.

You gave him a tiny nod and stepped back, walking down the hallway with your heart throbbing in your chest.

Clark waited by the elevator, arms crossed, his smile patient.

“You good?” he asked, stepping inside with you as the doors opened.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

He watched you press the button. “That was not a professional goodbye.”

You elbowed him gently. “Shut up.”

The elevator ride up was filled with the familiar hum of holiday music through cheap speakers. You leaned against the wall, arms folded, mind still back in the office.

Specifically… in his office.

The words he’d said. The way he’d looked at you. Something unspoken itched at your ribs.

By the time you reached your apartment, the city had gone dark. Snow dusted the sidewalk in soft, fresh layers. The heater hummed as you kicked off your boots, Clark shrugging out of his coat like he lived there.

You gave him a look and then dropped your bag by the couch and flopped down with a sigh. Clark joined you a moment later, settling beside you with two mugs of cocoa he’d made in a blur of super-speed.

“You spoil me,” you muttered, sipping the top layer of whipped cream.

He smiled. “You’re easy to spoil.”

You curled your legs under yourself and leaned your head against the back of the couch.

Clark waited half a beat.

“So.”

You groaned.

“So what?”

He looked sideways at you with the kind of smirk only an older brother could perfect.

“You know what.”

You groaned. “Don’t start.”

“I’m not starting, I’m just observing.”

You turned your face just enough to look at him sideways. “Observing what, exactly?”

He tilted his head, mock-thoughtful. “Oh, you know. Just the way you turned into a blushing schoolgirl the second Mr. Billionaire said your name.”

“I did not blush.”

“You absolutely did.”

You sat up, grabbing the pillow and whacking him with it.

He took it like a champ. “That’s not denial!”

“I’m not blushing over Bruce Wayne,” you insisted.

Clark grinned. “Bruce Wayne. So we’re on a first-name basis now?”

You glared at him. “You’re infuriating.”

He laughed. “And you’re in love.”

You made a strangled noise and threw another pillow at his face. He caught it easily.

“I’m serious,” he laughed, ducking. “Y/N. You’re in love with your boss.”

“I am not—!” you started, then stopped.

“You’ve got a look,” he said. “You’re doing that pouty-lip, faraway-eyes thing.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“I always look like that.”

He arched a brow.

You gave him a pointed glare. “Okay. Maybe.”

Clark grinned. “I knew it.”

You groaned. “Please don’t.”

“What?” he said, grinning wider. “I’m not judging. I think it’s cute.”

“Clark, seriously.”

“Hey, hey—look. I’m just saying. I know that look. You’re soft on him.”

You slumped onto the couch. “It doesn’t matter.”

He tilted his head. “Why not?”

You exhaled slowly, wrapping the blanket around your shoulders. “Because he’s my boss,” you said quietly. “And because I’m just… me. A girl from a farm. He has models and CEOs on speed dial.”

Clark’s gaze softened.

You didn’t meet it.

“And besides,” you added after a beat, “even if he did know I care… it’d just be gratitude. Or, like, professional respect. Nothing more.”

Clark looked at you for a long, long moment.

You didn’t realize your fingers were twisting the blanket.

He didn’t ask. Didn’t press. Didn’t say the words hovering between your teeth—that you’d seen Bruce Wayne in another light, one only a handful of people would ever witness. That you’d bandaged his wounds. That you knew who he really was beneath all the masks.

Because you hadn’t told him.

And Clark didn’t need to hear it to know your heart was wrapped in something complicated.

“You’re one of the best people I know,” he said gently, nudging your shoulder. “If he doesn’t see that… he’s an idiot.”

The city stretched outside your window, still dark, still sprawling.

You thought about Bruce’s face. The look he’d given you tonight. Like he didn’t have the words. Like maybe, he wished he did.

You pulled the blanket off the back of the couch and wrapped it around your shoulders. Clark reached for the remote, flipping to some holiday cartoon you both knew by heart.

And for the first time all year, your heart didn’t feel so heavy.

The train pulled into Smallville just past dusk on the 22nd, the windows fogged with cold and lined with frost, and for a moment, it felt like the town hadn’t changed at all. As if the moment you stepped off the platform, time folded itself in half and brought you right back to being sixteen with a knit scarf and Clark’s oversized coat hanging off your shoulders.

The Kent Farm was still there. Still white and peeling in some spots, still crowned with snow like whipped cream on top of an apple pie. The big oak out front was bare now, wrapped in tinsel and glowing red-and-green lights Clark must have strung at super-speed. The porch swing creaked like it always had. And from the driveway, you could already smell pie.

The air was so clean it almost made your eyes water.

“Ma’s been baking for three days,” Clark said, tugging both your suitcases out of the car’s trunk like they weighed nothing. “You might have to fight me for the cherry one.”

“Yeah?” you challenged. “Bet she made me my own.”

He groaned. “Favoritism.”

“Younger child advantage.”

“Still unfair.”

You stuck your tongue out at him, racing up the porch. He let you win.

Ma opened the door before you could knock, her arms already out, smile breaking across her face like a sunrise. “My baby.”

“Hi, Ma,” you breathed, hugging her tight. She still smelled like cinnamon and sugar, soft and warm and a little like sunshine.

Behind her, Pa stood in his old flannel, leaning on the doorframe, his expression quiet but fond.

“Well now,” he said, arms open. “There’s our girl.”

You hugged him next, fitting into his arms like you never left. His beard scratched your cheek, and his callused hands were gentle on your back.

“Thought you weren’t showing up ‘til tomorrow,” he said, though you could hear the smile in his voice.

“Got lucky with the train,” you replied. “Clark met me in Gotham and drove me the rest of the way.”

“Mm,” Ma said, ushering you inside, “well, lucky us then.”

The house hadn’t changed much. The old quilt on the couch. The fireplace crackling with kindling and soft orange light. The tree in the corner—short, squat, and lovingly cluttered with handmade ornaments, some dating back to your first art class in kindergarten. Clark’s old stocking hung beside yours, both sagging a little under their own weight. The radio hummed with classic carols in the background.

It was perfect.

You spent the first evening in pajamas, curled up with your feet under Ma’s legs while she threaded popcorn garland. Clark lay on the floor with Krypto in his lap, absently petting it while you flipped through old photo albums and teased Pa about his seventies haircut.

You didn’t talk about Gotham.

Didn’t talk about Bruce.

Didn’t talk about the new pay bump or the way your hands had shaken when he said your name that last day. You just breathed.

And it felt like your lungs could finally fill.

Christmas morning broke with the smell of pancakes and the sound of Pa whistling “Jingle Bells” while frying bacon.

Snow had fallen overnight. Heavy, soft, glistening snow that blanketed the entire farm in silence. The barn roof sagged under it. The wind was still. Clark had cleared the driveway before anyone woke up.

You padded downstairs in fuzzy socks and a flannel shirt big enough to swallow you whole. Your hair was messy. Your eyes still carried sleep.

Ma greeted you with a kiss on the temple and a stack of warm flapjacks the size of your face.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

“Merry Christmas, Ma.”

Clark sat at the table, already halfway through a second plate. You plopped beside him and stole one of his pancakes with a fork. He glared. You beamed.

“I have super reflexes, you know.”

“You also have super generosity,” you said sweetly.

The day passed in a slow blur of joy.

You opened presents in the morning—socks and books and Clark’s idea of a joke gift (a Gotham travel mug that said “Bat-teries Not Included”). Pa gave you a new flannel, and Ma gave you a hand-knitted blanket in your favorite color.

Clark got a new camera. Ma teared up watching him unwrap it.

After that, there were pies. All kinds. Ma had made you a cherry one just for yourself. You offered Clark half a slice. He acted like you’d handed him gold.

Later, Clark flew out to visit Lois while you helped Ma with the dishes and watched a black-and-white Christmas movie on VHS. You curled up on the couch with the blanket she made you, sipping cider, belly full and warm.

It was the kind of day that didn’t need anything more.

The kind of quiet that healed something.

Even if you still felt the echo of Gotham under your skin. Even if your thoughts still kept wandering back to a cold tower and a lonely office with dark windows. Even if your heart still ached when you remembered the way Bruce had looked at you—soft, almost apologetic, and just a little too late.

It was past midnight when your phone rang.

You were in bed, tucked under layers, the room cold but your limbs warm. You blinked at the screen, expecting a message from Clark—maybe a picture of a food coma from Lois’s house.

But it wasn’t Clark.

The name on your screen just read: Mr. Wayne :p

Your heart stuttered. You answered on the second ring.

“Hello?”

There was a pause. Then a low, familiar voice, quieter than you’d ever heard it.

“Y/N.”

You sat up slowly, fingers tightening around the phone.

“Hi,” you whispered.

He didn’t say anything for a moment. You listened to the background noise—nothing but silence. No city hum. No movement.

“Y/N.”

Your heart skipped. He exhaled through his nose, slowly.

“Mr. Wayne?” you said. 

Another silence. Then, quieter: “Bruce.”

You blinked. “Bruce. Right. No working hours.”

You could hear him breathing, the faintest rustle of fabric. Something slow, heavy. Like he was lying down.

“Did I wake you?” He asked.

Something in his voice made your throat tighten.

It wasn’t the voice of a billionaire. Not even Batman. It was just him.

Tired. Raw.

“No,” you said. “I… wasn’t sleeping.”

Another pause. You lay back down slowly, pulling the blanket higher.

“Are you alright?” you asked gently.

“I don’t know,” he said, so honestly it nearly knocked the breath out of you.

You swallowed.

“I wasn’t sure if I should call,” he said. “Didn’t want to interrupt.”

“You’re not,” you whispered. “You’re not interrupting anything.”

A faint rustle, like he shifted onto his side.

“It’s quiet here,” he murmured. “Too quiet.”

You hesitated. “You’re alone?”

“…Yeah.”

You bit your lip, thumb brushing the edge of the phone.

“Are you… okay?” you asked again, softer this time.

“I think I drank too much,” he admitted.

There was no bravado to it. No self-deprecation. Just a quiet truth.

You exhaled slowly, curling tighter into the blanket. “Do you want me to stay on the phone?”

There was a pause.

“Yes.”

That one word felt like it cracked something open inside you.

“Okay,” you said gently. “I can do that.”

Neither of you spoke for a while. Just breathing. Just… there.

And then:

“Merry Christmas,” he said, his voice so low it was barely more than breath.

Your eyes burned. “Merry Christmas, Bruce.”

You didn’t ask what he’d done that day. You didn’t ask if he’d seen anyone or if he’d sat in that big house alone with all those ghosts and memories and shadows.

You didn’t need to.

He’d called you. And that was enough.

You heard him sigh quietly, the sound tugging something deep inside your chest.

“I think I’ll fall asleep,” he whispered.

“Then sleep,” you said. “I’ll stay.”

“Thank you,” he breathed.

The line went quiet after that.

You didn’t hang up. You didn’t say a word. You just lay there, the phone pressed to your ear, the line still open, listening to Bruce Wayne fall asleep to the sound of your voice.

[ponderingmoonlight]

Sanemi finding out you pretended to be a boy in order to get trained properly and him falling head over heels for you after

Pairing: Sanemi x fem!reader

Word Count: 4,2k

Synopsis: If there's one thing you always hated, it was being underestimated. Because you're nothing but a petite girl in the eyes of every other demon slayer you stumbled upon with even the sound hashira going easy on you. They left you no choice but to pretend that you're a boy in order to finally get the training you deserve. Little did you know it will be the wind hashira himself who uncovers your dirty secret...

Warnings: it's Sanemi so language, the bonus scene is for those of you who are in desperate need of some spice (no direct smut), last part not proofread because this needs to be published and I'm tired lol

Thank you sooo much for that super cool request, @xxx-oneofthegirls-xxx, I hope you like what I came up with (also, you made me listen to one of the girls nonstop while writing this hehe)

You stare at your foreign reflection in the mirror, cheeks still burning. This looks ridiculous and you know it, your plan so plain and stupid that you regret your decision more and more with each passing second.

But you have to do this.

“Don’t overwork yourself, (y/n). You’ll rest here while the others run a few extra miles.”

“But Tengen-sama, I-“

“Here, let’s get you something to eat!”, Suma cried out.

“You’re overworking that poor woman, Tengen-sama”, Mako commented dryly.

“I already told her to take a break!”

Because without pretending that you’re a boy, they’ll never take you seriously. Not when you’re a petite girl, not when everyone treats you like porcelain because of your small frame and gender. You came her because you’re ready to fight, because being a demon slayer is your true destiny. You want to get trained hard, you urge to surpass yourself each and every day.

You stare at your eyes filled with determination in the mirror. Therefore, you need to make sure they see nothing but a normal boy in you. 

It’s hard to breathe properly with countless bandages tied around your chest in order to hide your feminine curves to their eyes. Carefully, you tie a ribbon around the ends of your hair and pull them up. Good, now your hair is about shoulder-length. A plain hairband that is convincing enough as a sweat band turns your usual longer hair into a temporary short cut.

Is this enough? Will the mist hashira actually believe you?

Confidently, you change into the uniform you stole from a boy nearby earlier and grab your katana. There is no other way than finding out.

“Where’s that little girl? Didn’t Tengen-sama allow her to continue?”

“Huh, you mean the little wallflower? I bet she gave up when she saw what hashira training really means. She wasn’t even strong enough to hold a sword.”

Your heart drops to the floor while your eyes automatically look down in panic and distress. Everyone underestimates you over the sheer fact that you’re a girl. But why? Why would you give up? Why is everyone thinking you aren’t strong enough when women like Shinobu Kocho show them how it’s done? You didn’t train since you were 4 to get reduced to your gender and height.

No, you’ll show them soon enough how good you really are and that you’re no one to be messed with.

“Look at him!”

“Who is that guy?”

“He fights as good as Tanjiro!”

“I’ve never seen him around. Do you know him?”

And you did. Training after training, hashira after hashira. Somehow, you surpassed them all. Despite your small frame, your disadvantage towards the boys with their ability to move freely in the scorching hot sun, you made it.

“It seems like you’re decent handling your sword. I have no use for you here anymore”, Obanai proclaims dryly.

You…you did it? You’ve been here for 3 days, spent the first day tied to a wall while getting smacked by some useless comrades. But you really convinced him, the serpent hashira, the man a lot of the others were so afraid of.

Your heart jumps up and down in excitement. You convinced him.

“Thank you”, you mumble in reply with deepened voice.

“Let’s see how you’ll keep up with Shinazugawa. Now get lost.”

Shinazugawa? You’ve heard that name before. Is this…the wind hashira? Your eyes widen as you sprint down the forest in the merciless sun. If Iguro Obanai is considered rough, Sanemi Shinazugawa has to be a menace. You heard from countless slayers that went back home as soon as they arrived at his estate, some beaten up so badly that they needed treatment.

For days.

You swallow hard. If this man finds out that you’re not who you pretend to be, you’ll be dead. But you have no other choice. After everything you’ve been through, you won’t give up because of the wind hashira’s bad reputation.

“How’s training going?”, Sanemi mumbles while staring into the distance.

“All of them are trash. There’s only one that is decent, though”, Obanai replies dryly.

“Don’t tell me it’s that Kamado brat-“

“No, I’ve never seen that boy before. No one seems to know who he is. He’s pretty small for his age and acts even weirder than the others but I can’t deny that he’s skilled. Even Kanroji…praised him”, Obanai presses out.

He’ll definitely never forget you for taking up the space of a full hand-written site in her note to him.

“You all went too easy on him, then. I’ll mop the floor with his ass when he gets to me.”

“We’ll see about that.”

Your breath gets stuck in your throat. There it is, the estate of the wind hashira. Only him and the stone hashira are left. Only these two until you’re able to drop your false identity and use your newest skills in a real fight. When you’re done here, you’ll finally be able to protect your village properly. No demon will ever hurt your friends and family again.

You just have to get through a few more days of training. A few more days with the wind hashira…

-two days later-

“Get lost, brats”, Sanemi barks out in sheer frustration.

Are these losers really supposed to be useful in a fight against Kibutsuji? They aren’t even good enough to hold their wooden sword correctly, let alone find the right stance to fight. God, this is such a waste of time, so fucking annoying that he smashes his own wooden sword into the ground roughly.

“Fucking useless rabble”, he hisses through gritted teeth.

When his blurry sight catches yours, he’s even more infuriated. He really thought the other pillars were too gentle with you. You, with your thin and small frame, with your innocent eyes that almost make you look like a girl. And while you look like the biggest loser of this whole corps, you manage to fight better than all the others.

“Enough of this bullshit, we’re using real swords now”, Sanemi barked at you while already grabbing his sharp katana.

“Fine.”

You didn’t storm towards him, didn’t act out of confidence or rage. You stayed so calm that Sanemi didn’t know how to act for the split of a second.

The split of a second. This minor moment was enough for you to lift your blade and scratch his cheek ever so slightly.

“Did he…Just hit the wind hashira?”

“This can’t be true. A strange guy like him, hitting one of the most powerful demon slayers?”

“You…You have some fucking nerve, little brat! I’ll make you pay for this!”

Oh, how often he tormented you. Made you stand up in the middle of the night for a fight, forced you to stand up against all your comrades. He pushed you over your limit over and over, made you suffer in a way he never did before.

But you still stand your ground. Still, you grab your wooden sword and follow the others inside at dawn as if nothing happened.

And it simply drives him insane.

“You, little brat!”

“Yes, Shinazugawa-sama?”

Your guts turn in an instant. In contrast to the other hashira training, this feels like a trip to hell and back. It almost seems as if the wind hashira made it his mission to let you suffer more than anyone else. What have you done to deserve his anger? Did you act out of line, aloof? It has to be the fact that you injured his cheek during your fight…

“Never mind. Get out of my sight.”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice. Instantly, you turn on your heels and make your way to dinner. Maybe you’ll finally have to chance to wash yourself tonight. With all those unexpected training sessions and the wind hashira torturing you until far past midnight, you didn’t even find the time to take a bath. Urgh, you can’t wait to finally take those bandages off and to wash your itchy scalp. All that sweating without the relief of a jump in the cool lake nearby is definitely hard to endure.

But tonight. Tonight you’ll finally get the chance to escape the merciless gaze of Sanemi Shinazugawa.

He doesn’t know what keeps him up tonight. Is it the full moon that lights his room, his still enraged heart? It’s still hard to believe that you’re acting up like this, that you manage to hit him. Out of all the jerks he trained, why does it have to be the smallest and therefore weakest one?

Maybe all he needs is letting his anger out on you. Sanemi storms into the dormitory wearing nothing but a casual yukata. He might hunt you around the lake for a few rounds or lets you practice your sword bows until you turn blue-

But his eyes don’t get greeted by your hair sticking out underneath you’re blanket.

“Where the hell are you, brat?”, he hisses to himself.

“This feels like heaven”, you moan to yourself while you dip your head into the cool water.

You never cared about getting covered in mud or dried blood sticking to your skin. But oh, the feeling of cleaning yourself up again after a rough day is just unmatched. Gently, your fingers brush through your wet hair, free yourself from all the dirt of those last days.

When will you be able to return? After that, only the stone hashira is left. How did you manage to land all the way over here? Hiding behind the identity of a boy no one know in order to get treated equally. Your efforts were definitely worth it. With those countless new techniques you’ve learned, you’ll finally be able to stand up against the demons that haunt down your village on a regular basis. Finally, you’ve got the education you deserved.

“You have to be fucking kidding me.”

All color drains from your face in an instant. You don’t have to look past his knees to know who stays right in front of you. Why didn’t you hear him coming? How did he manage to show up in front of you without you noticing?

“S-Shinazuwaga-sama”, you breathe out.

It doesn’t matter how he found you. With your hair open and your upper body barely covered by the water, he already saw through your well-hidden secret. Or better said, your lie.

“You’re so dead.”

You can’t escape. In the matter of seconds, he is with you in the water and grabs your wrists roughly.

“You lied into our faces this whole time?”, he hisses through gritted teeth.

“I had to-“

“You’re nothing but a little girl!”

“You left me-“

“What else do you have to hide? Are you even a demon slayer? I’m totally in the mood to kill you right on the spot-“

“YOU LEFT ME NO CHOICE”, you finally blurt out.

“No choice? Are you out of your goddamn mind?”

“Tengen-sama treated me like porcelain because I’m a woman, but I didn’t want that! I wanted to train like the boys do, I wanted to suffer like everyone else! How am I supposed to become a decent swordswoman when everyone goes easy on me because of my gender!?”

“You…You lied to us.”

“I did.”

“You aren’t a guy.”

“I’m not.”

Thick silence hangs between both of you, only interrupted by sharp and heavy breaths. What now? Will he send you away in dishonor or even worse, exclude you from the corps completely? You’ve worked so hard to even get accepted, poured your heart and soul into those past days. All of this, vanishing in thin air?

“Please don’t send me away”, you finally press out.

“Are you dumb? Ain’t no way I’m letting you stay-“

“I can’t return home in dishonor. I did all of this to be able to protect my family and village. If I return home like this…”

You can’t finish your sentence, your throat suddenly feeling so tight that you even fail to breathe.

“Get out of my sight.”

“But I-“

“I said get out of my sight!”, he screams on top of his lungs.

You flinch backwards and almost trip into the water. Talking doesn’t do much. If you’re not leaving the next few seconds, he might drown you.

With a heavy heart you leave the water, carefully hiding behind a tree until you’re fully dressed again.

“What’s your real name?”, he shouts towards you harshly.

“My name is (y/n)”, you mutter, not daring to look into his cold eyes.

And then you stumble back. Back into the dormitory you know so well by now. Back into what might be the last night at the demon slayer corps for you.

“Remember that skilled guy you told me about?”, Sanemi mumbles while staring at the ground.

“Yeah. What about him?”

“It’s not him. She’s a fucking girl that pretended to be a guy.”

It still feels like a feverish dream. Why did nobody realize sooner? Not even himself…God, he’s such an idiot for not throwing you out instantly. You lied straight into his face, you lied to the whole demon slayer corps all this time. You deserve to leave, you deserve all that hatred and disgust.

“That’s actually quite impressive. How did you find out?”, Obanai comments dryly.

“I caught her bathing. Said she didn’t want to get differently because she’s a girl.”

Just the thought of seeing you there lit by nothing but moonlight, your long hair draped like a veil around you and your female curves he didn’t even know existed…

“That are some unexpected news. Do the others know?”

“I won’t tell ‘em. I’ll kick her out the corps when I return.”

“Why kicking her out? No matter if boy or girl, you can’t deny she’s the most promising one until now. Why not keeping her?”

“Keeping her?”, Sanemi repeats in sheer disbelief.

“Ain’t no way I’ll ever speak to a filthy little liar like her again.”

“Her plan worked, though. And I hate to admit it, but she did pretty good.”

Sanemi’s furious eyes dart towards Obanai in nothing but frustration. You fooled every single hashira until now. You hold so much potential that eventually…Would you survive as his tsugoko?

“I’ll leave”, he finally speaks out before turning his back on Obanai and storming away.

What the hell is he supposed to do?

How utterly dumb you feel sitting on that porch with your wet hair still open in the cool breeze far past midnight. You have no idea where he went, if he’s out to inform the head of the corpse about your behavior or even worse, your own family. Is it too early to pack your few belongings, to leave before he comes back? You definitely can’t stand another round of getting yelled at by the wind hashira.

“What are you doing here outside, brat?”

Fuck. He steps out of the darkness like an unpromising shadow with his face as hard as stone.

“I can’t sleep anyway”, you murmur.

“I’m so fucking mad at you for shitting me like this. Pretending you’re a guy while you’re just a girl.”

“I’m not just a girl”, you clarify sharply.

“Shut the fuck up. You’re a lying little brat but-“

He takes a deep breath in while sitting down next to you.

“But you’ve got what it takes. I’ve been looking for a decent tsugoko for quite some time now and-“

You can’t believe your ears. This man can’t possibly be the wind hashira you know by now, the man who looked like he’ll drown you any minute just a few hours ago. He can’t suggest to take you in as his tsugoko, right? There’s absolutely no way this man wants to train you on a regular basis-

“And maybe you’re that decent fit.”

Oh.

“Me, as your tsugoko”, you repeat his words in order to make them sound real.

“I’ll still kick your ass for lying into my face like that, though”, he adds aggressively.

Never in your life would you ever dreamed of being the apprentice of a hashira. You always worked hard, always made sure to develop your skills with everything you do, but being considered a tsugoko? Of the wind hashira, who never takes in a student? Who seems so rough and cruel but allowed you to handle your katana even better?

“I’d love that”, you finally breathe out.

“I’m beyond thankful you’re e-“

“Shut up immediately. A yes is enough. You’ll stay here with me, then.”

“Y-yes, Shinazugawa-sama!”

“No go to sleep, I can’t beat your ass when you’re tired”, he mumbles before getting up and leaving while your feelings are still over the place.

You, the tsugoko of Sanemi Shinazugawa?

-a few months later-

“Gimme your best shot now, brat!”, he barks at you.

Sweat runs down your forehead like a waterfall, your heavy panting tasting like blood. Just one more hit, one more strike and you’ll get him.

“Thunder breathing, fourth form-“

“Too slow”, he comments next to your ear.

Within the split of a second, you find yourself just inches away from the dirty ground with Sanemi’s arms keeping you from falling.

“Still not fast enough. Do it again.”

Mindlessly, he still drops you into the dirt with his sword casually draped over his shoulder.

You lift yourself off the ground with trembling limbs. There you are again, deep within your trip to hell and back. What you expected when agreeing on being the tsugoko of Sanemi Shinazugawa?

You grab the handle of your sword even tighter and storm towards just like you did hundreds of times before with the smallest of smiles creeping up your features.

Well, exactly that.

-steaming hot bonus: meeting in the lake at night-

You allow the cool water to caress your countless wounds gently. How good it feels to finally bathe every single day instead of once every few days. When the truth came out and everyone started to realize that you aren’t a boy, you regained a part of your freedom along with the merciless training of the wind hashira. Each and every day, he tortured you and others with his cruel training methods before you slide into the lake before the sun sets and go straight back to sleep.

Not today, though. It has to be almost midnight by now, the stars in the sky glimmering so magnificent that you can’t look away. Sanemi allowed you to visit your family and friends today. As you have learned, demon attacks have subsided since the sister of Tanjiro Kamado mastered the sun. And even though that means your loved ones will be safe, you can’t deny the slight turn of your guts. This means a war is around the corner, that Muzan Kibutsuji himself might come for all of you.

But this is nothing you should think about now. Not when you just returned and desperately longed for a bath. You dip your head into the cold water, moan to yourself as the water surrounds you fully-

“What the hell are you doing here, brat?”

Sanemi.

Out of instinct you cry out while burying everything except for your head inside the dark water. You’re butt-naked. How long has he been here already? And…has he seen you? Suddenly your whole body feels hot against the cool water around, cheeks turning dark red.

“Calm down, idiot-“

“How long have you been here already!?”

“What? I’m always taking a bath around this time. You’re the one who shouldn’t be here”, he clarifies dryly.

There he stands. Droplets of water run down his bare chest and almost make him shimmer in the moonlight. His wet hair stick to his face so delicately that you can’t force yourself to look away. He looks…hot.

Hot?

“I-uh…I just returned from…home”, you stutter.

“Hope your family is fine”, he mumbles along with slicking his hair back.

Within these past months, you’ve caught a glimpse of Sanemi you’ve never witnessed before. This man isn’t as cruel as everybody makes him look, his words aren’t always meant as harsh as they sound. Sanemi has a very tender side. Especially when his eyes soften for the blink of a moment, you couldn’t help but feel lost.

“They are. Apparently, the incidents with demons involved lessened when I departed”, you press out.

God, you’re acting ridiculous and you know it. Sanemi is your teacher, your training partner. Even though you’re living under the same roof (he even gave you an own room), there aren’t any romantical feelings between both of you.

“Good to hear. I’ll let you rest a little tomorrow morning. You have to be dead tired.”

“I’m fine”, you lie in an instant.

Truth is, you’re so drained out that the water is the only thing that’s able to keep your knees for failing you at the moment. Not only from your journey, but all those countless harsh training sessions, dueling yourself over and over with Sanemi and the others. But you’d never admit it, would never say it out loud.

“You’re probably the baddest liar out there. Your cheeks are red as hell, (y/n)”, Sanemi comments dryly.

You don’t dare to move when he stretches out his hand. Enough to gently caress your cheek, enough to cause an explosion in your stomach.

Did Sanemi just touch you? Tenderly?

“I…N-no…I…”

You can’t find the words. In fact, you are too distracted to care about something like words. Slowly but surely, he draws closer with his perfectly formed chest exposed to your hungry eyes.

“(y/n), I…There’s actually something I wanted…Well…Fuck!”

Is that really Sanemi Shinazugawa, stumbling over his own words? And why is it him who’s blushing at the moment?

These past few months made it really easy for you to actually respect the wind hashira. Not only his frightful skills when handling the sword, but just him. Him, when he’s brushing the fur of the cat that visits his estate from time to time. Him, when he tucks you into your blanket when assuming you’re already asleep. Him, when checking on you in his own unique way.

How ridiculous to even think about him like that, to even allow your heart to jump up and down in joy. But you can’t help yourself. Despite the way you despised him when the two of you first met, you really started to love this man with all your heart.

“(y/n), you’re a pretty decent women”, he begins again while drawing closer.

“Well, I…Thank you?”

A decent woman? Is that what he thinks about you?

“I still can’t believe you lied to me about being a girl, though”, he barks at you.

Oh.

You hate the way your heart drops. Were you really dumb enough so think he might have something to say, that he might tell you he has feelings for you as well? How ridiculous, how absolutely dumb.

“I think I should get going. It’s been a long day”, you mumble.

It’s probably the best to get away from here as soon as possible. But just when you start moving towards the shore, his hand grabs your arm tightly and twirls you around.

Right against his bare chest.

“Don’t you dare leaving now, brat”, he hisses through gritted teeth.

“I…there’s something I wanna tell you…”

“Why are you acting like a child?”, you finally spit at him yourself.

Oh, you’re having enough of all those ups and downs. Especially today, when you’re totally drained out already. You really don’t have the nerve for him to pick on you again, not when his last statement lies like a heavy stone in your stomach-

“Acting like a child?”, he challenges you.

Just before his lips crash into yours.

Longingly, Sanemi wraps his strong arms around you, devours you against his body while all you’re able to do is holding onto his broad shoulders for dear life.

This…is really happening, right? This is really Sanemi, pressing his lips against yours over and over again while your naked skin brushes against his?

“You’re fucking driving me insane, brat”, he mumbles against your lips before grabbing you even tighter.

“Since the moment I realized you aren’t a boy.”

He grabs you by your waist firmly, your naked skin rubbing against his sixpack almost making you lose everything that’s left of your self-control.

“I can’t get you out of my head.”

Your hands wander around his biceps, feel the deep valleys of his muscular back. God, this feels so good – almost too good to be true. But even if this is nothing but a dream, you’ll enjoy every minor movement, every sweet moment until you open your eyes again.

But when you do, you don’t find yourself in the comforting darkness of your room. No, his eyes glimmer like molten iron when staring down at you in the moonlight, his hot breath brushing against your wet face so seductive that you threaten to lose your balance.

“Still saying I’m acting like a child, brat?”

[rafesslxt]

⋆˚࿔ reading 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

summary: mattheo finally get‘s to see what you‘re really reading

warnings: fluff, mention of smut in books, cursing, kinda dirty talk, little grinding against each other, reader making fun of mattheo at the end

words: 691

notes: love reading dark romance so that‘s where i got the inspo from 🫠 english is not my first language

Mattheo had always thought you were the smartest girl on the planet. Always studying, writing good notes even If you didn‘t.. your nose was always in a book with those dark mysterious covers.

When he asked you what they were about, you always answred something like oh just a silly romance or oh just some thriller stuff, with a blush on your cheeks which he had thought came from thinking he might find it corny that you read such things.

That‘s when your birthday was close and Mattheo wanted to buy you the biggest book boquet you had ever seen. He looked for someone who also lived in the muggle world like you and your family did to get you some of them. He just had to figure out what you were reading exactly and what you already had in your gigantic bookshelf.

So imagine his wide eyes and dropping jaw, when he opened one of your books and read right into it, landing on a page he almost wanted to get a priest for.

"Oh hey Matty, what are you – oh my god put them down!" you screamed at him in shock when you realised what he was doing. "Why the hell are you reading literal porn?" he gasped, taking his eyes away from the book, meeting yours.

"It‘s not porn! It‘s a romance, dark romance.", your corrected yourself. His eyes went back to the pages in front of him and he started to read something off of it. "His fingers toyed with my already dripping pussy –" "Mattheo!" you gasped and ran towards him, slapping a hand over his mouth so he couldn‘t continue reading.

Your boyfriend pushed up his eyesbrows, looking at you with a expression that was supposed to look like as If he had just proved a point. You took your hand away, his mouth opened instantly, "Wow here I am thinking my girlfriend is so smart for reading all of these books.." he gestured towards your full bookshelf, "and here she is just reading two people fucking over pages the whole damn time."

You rolled your eyes and walked towards your bed, dropping your bag down next to it and letting yourself fall onto your soft bedsheets. Mattheo continued to look through the pages, his face changing between shock, confusion and being surprised.

He put the book away and walked towards you, climbing on top of you. "Do you want to try some things from your books? Is it that why you read them? Because you want them too?" He smirked arrogant and just as you wanted to fire back a comment, he grabbed your wrists with one of his big hands, the other one on your hip and turned you onto your stomach with one swift motion.

He grabbed you unter your stomach and pushed your ass up, your back arching almost automatically. His hips grinding slowly and teasingly against your ass, slowly pushing your skirt up.

A gasp left your lips. "Mattheo!" "Be honest.. you just wanted someone to fuck you like they do in the books right? I always had thought that you were satisfied enough from all of the fucking we do."

You pushed your ass more against his scrotch, making him groan in a primal tone, feeling the heat rising in his stomach. "I am!"

He leaned down over your shoulder and whispered into your ear, voice dark and controlled. "I‘m gonna pick out one book per day now and you‘ll tell me what you wanna recreate from it. We‘re gonna do this until you need new books."

You bit your bottom lip and slowly nodded, knowing there was no use to tell him no. "So.. tell me what‘s first baby."

You had to tease him at least a little bit so you thought about the books you had and let out a quiet giggle before telling him. "They‘re fucking with his best friend.."

You looked over your shoulder and started laughing loudly when Mattheo looked at you as If you had three heads and were the devil itself. "Fuck no."

Thank you for reading, every like, comment and reblog is appreciated! <3

taglist: @supernaturaldawning @slytherinscreamqueen @belle-blue @cardibre91 @little-miss-naill @Rriddlexx @jeannie-beannie @itsarajr @ummmmmmm-username @jolly4holly @prettygirlism @aussiehufflepuff @aegonsslxt @cloudyyydayzzz @africancracker @helendeath @theblogformydeluluself @juliet-017 @siriuslystvrniolo @lizzysmith110 @lilith28zero @delacourdarling @alexa554

taglist | masterlist ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡.

xoxo sarah <3

[reveriebae]

You Wrote That For Me, Didn't You?

pairing(s) : Idol!Yunho x Atiny!reader

word count : 1931

summary : After casually revealing your face on Tumblr, a well-known smut writer attend an ATEEZ fan meet, unaware of the consequences. When you sit in front of Yunho, something feels off—the way he looks at you, the way he lingers. Then, just before your time is up, he drops a bombshell. He follows your account. He’s read everything. And he’s not letting you go that easily.

genre : suggestive

warning(s) : Slight dub-con vibes (power imbalance), heavy tension, teasing, suggestive language, explicit themes, idol-reader dynamics, Yunho being way too confident and knowing, mild obsession undertones, reader’s worst (or best?) nightmare coming true. Let me know if I missed anything!

A/N : this one got my toes curling SKSKKSKSKSK. Here's the part 2!

Minors do not interact, 21+ only!!

🪐fic under the cut🪐

You never thought twice before posting your fics. Why would you? It was just writing—just words strung together for thirsty Atinys who craved something a little more. Some of your works had gone viral, and you had a loyal following of readers who loved every filthy thing you put out.

So when you finally did a face reveal on your Tumblr, you didn’t think much of it. A casual selfie, captioned with something dumb like “Since y’all keep asking… here, take it”. A few hundred likes, some teasing comments, and that was that.

No big deal.

At least, that’s what you thought.

The excitement of the fan meet buzzed in your veins as you finally sat down in front of Yunho. Seeing him this close was unreal—the warmth of his presence, the way his smile reached his eyes, the deep, smooth hum of his voice as he greeted you.

But something felt off.

You couldn’t quite place it at first. It was subtle—just the way his gaze lingered, a little longer than it should. The way he studied your face like he was placing you, as if you weren’t just another fan in his long line of meet-and-greet interactions.

Then came the compliment.

“You’re really pretty in person,” he murmured, and his voice had a weight to it, like there was something more behind the words.

Your heart skipped a beat. “Ah—thank you!”

The response felt automatic, but your brain was still trying to process the way he was looking at you. Not just with the usual idol-to-fan warmth, but with something… different. Like he knew you.

His fingers tapped lightly against the table, rhythmic and patient, as if he was waiting for something. Then, just as the staff was about to signal your turn was up, Yunho leaned in ever so slightly.

And then he said it.

“You should be more careful about what you post, Jagiya.”

Your body stiffened.

Your mind blanked.

Did he just—

Your breath caught in your throat as you stared at him, eyes widening in pure, unfiltered panic. But Yunho? Yunho just smiled. A slow, knowing curve of his lips, dark amusement flickering in his gaze.

“I follow you on Tumblr,” he continued, voice dropping just enough that only you could hear. His tone was smooth, casual, like he was discussing the weather. Like he wasn’t completely wrecking your reality in real time.

Your stomach twisted. No, this had to be a joke. A coincidence. There was no way—

“Mm.” His fingers brushed against the table, casual and lazy. “I recognized you the moment I saw your selfie.”

Oh, God.

Oh, God.

You had so much smut on that account. And not just any smut—detailed, filthy scenarios that had Yunho doing things that could get you banned just for thinking about them too hard.

“I—” Your voice came out weak, shaky, and you were suddenly painfully aware of how warm your face was.

Yunho chuckled, the sound low and pleased. “You look flustered,” he mused. “Why? You weren’t shy when you wrote all those things about me.”

He was teasing you.

No—he was toying with you.

Your fingers clenched around the edge of the table as you swallowed hard, trying to force your brain to work. But you could barely breathe under his gaze, let alone form a response.

He leaned in just a little more, close enough that you could catch the faintest hint of his cologne. His voice was soft, but there was no mistaking the edge behind it when he said—

“You wrote that for me, didn’t you?”

Your time was up.

The staff was gently urging you to move along, but you couldn’t move—wouldn’t—until Yunho tilted his head, gaze flickering to the line behind you.

Then, just before you stood up, he murmured one last thing—low, quiet, for your ears only.

“See you later, baby.”

You walked away from the table in a daze.

The voices of other fans, the bright lights, the excited chatter—everything blurred into a distant hum, like white noise. Your body moved on instinct, following the line toward the exit, but your mind was stuck. Frozen.

Yunho knew.

Yunho read your fics.

Yunho—Jeong Yunho—had been watching your blog, scrolling through your late-night thirst posts, reading every filthy thought you had ever put into words.

Your breath shuddered as you stepped outside the venue, the cool night air doing little to calm the heat burning under your skin. Your heart was pounding—too fast, too hard—like you had just run miles instead of sitting for a harmless fan meet.

Except it wasn’t harmless.

Because Yunho’s voice was still ringing in your ears.

"You wrote that for me, didn't you?"

A shiver ran down your spine, and you had to physically shake your head, trying to snap yourself out of it. No. No, there was no way this was real. Maybe you had misheard him. Maybe he was just teasing.

Maybe—

Your phone buzzed in your pocket.

You nearly dropped it when you pulled it out, fingers trembling as you glanced at the screen. A notification from Tumblr. Someone had just liked one of your posts.

A post from two years ago.

Your stomach dropped.

Slowly, hesitantly, you opened the app. The notification led you straight to the post—a particularly filthy piece about Yunho, one that had gone semi-viral when you first wrote it. And sitting right there, at the top of the notes—

A new like.

From a user you didn’t recognize.

Your pulse hammered as you clicked on the profile. It was nearly empty—just a default avatar, no posts, no bio. But there was one thing.

The blog name.

"ateezyunho1999."

Your mouth went dry.

No. No, no, no, this had to be a joke.

Then another notification popped up.

A message.

Your vision blurred for a second as you forced yourself to tap on it, breath shallow as you read the words.

"Come outside."

A pause.

Then—

"I'll be waiting."

Your hands shook as you stared at the message.

You could feel your own pulse in your throat, hammering like a warning. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening. Yunho was an idol. A celebrity. There was no way he would actually—

Your phone buzzed again.

The third message.

"Don't make me wait, baby."

The air in your lungs turned heavy. Your brain screamed at you to walk away, to ignore it, to go home and pretend none of this ever happened.

But your body?

Your body was already moving.

Like you had no control over yourself, your feet carried you toward the back of the venue, slipping past groups of lingering fans, past the staff still bustling around. You shouldn’t be doing this. You knew you shouldn’t be doing this.

And yet—

As soon as you turned the corner, stepping into the dimly lit alley behind the building, you felt him before you even saw him.

Yunho.

He was leaning against the side of a sleek black car, one hand tucked into the pocket of his coat, the other holding his phone. The glow of the screen lit up his face, casting soft shadows along the sharp angles of his jawline. But it wasn’t the way he looked that sent a shiver down your spine.

It was the way he smirked when he saw you.

Slowly, he slipped his phone into his pocket, pushing off the car as he took a step toward you.

“You listen well,” he murmured, voice smooth as silk. “That’s good.”

You should have said something. Anything. But your tongue felt heavy, thoughts tangled into knots as you stood frozen in place.

Yunho tilted his head, eyes flickering over you in a slow, deliberate sweep. His gaze was too knowing, too intimate—like he had already stripped you down in his mind.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d actually come,” he continued, his tone almost teasing. “But then again…”

A pause.

Then—

“I know what you want.”

Your breath caught.

Yunho chuckled, the sound deep and satisfied. He took another step forward, closing the distance between you inch by inch. He was so tall, so effortlessly imposing, and when he finally stopped in front of you, the heat of his body was enough to make your skin prickle.

“You didn’t think I’d notice you, did you?” His voice dipped lower, smooth like honey but edged with something darker. “You wrote all those filthy little things about me, and yet, when I look at you now…”

He reached out, fingers brushing along the side of your jaw, so lightly it almost wasn’t a touch at all.

“You look so shy.”

A slow smirk curled at his lips as he leaned in, lips grazing the shell of your ear.

“Tell me, baby.” His voice was a whisper now, barely audible, but it wrapped around you like a vice.

“Do I match your imagination?”

Your breath came shallow, uneven.

The question sent a violent shiver through you.

You wanted to deny it. To shake your head, pretend you weren’t completely unraveling under his gaze. But the moment you tried to step back, his hand moved.

A firm grip on your chin.

Not rough, not forceful—just enough to keep you still. Enough to make your knees weaken.

He hummed, tilting your face up to meet his eyes. His thumb brushed along your lower lip, and his gaze darkened.

“You’re not answering,” he murmured. “That’s cute.”

Your heart pounded so hard it hurt.

This was dangerous. This was a situation you had only ever fantasized about—except now, reality was so much worse. Because in your fics, Yunho was just a character, a version of him built from your own desires.

But this Yunho?

This Yunho was real. And he had read everything.

His thumb pressed against your lip, just enough to make you part them. The smirk that followed was pure sin.

“Mm,” he mused, tilting his head slightly. “I wonder…”

He let the word hang in the air as his fingers trailed down, a featherlight touch along the column of your throat. A tease. A warning.

“Does the way I touch you match your imagination, too?”

Heat pooled deep in your stomach, a slow, unbearable ache curling at your core. Your body betrayed you before you could even think—back arching just slightly, like you were reaching for more.

Yunho saw it.

And he liked it.

A quiet chuckle rumbled from his chest, deep and pleased. “Ah,” he sighed, thumb tapping against your chin. “So responsive.”

Then, just when you thought he might close the distance completely, he pulled back just enough. Enough to leave you breathless, desperate.

“You’re cute when you’re flustered,” he murmured, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. His touch was deceptively gentle, like he wasn’t the same man who had just whispered filth into your ear moments ago.

Then, his lips curled again. That smirk.

“I should get going,” he said casually, like he hadn’t just ruined you with a few words and touches.

Your body screamed in protest, but before you could even think of stopping him, he was already turning toward the sleek black car parked nearby.

The door opened. He paused. Then—

He glanced back over his shoulder, eyes locking onto yours one last time.

“Don’t stop writing,” he murmured. “I like seeing what you come up with.”

A slow, teasing wink.

And then—

He was gone.

[citrustan]

omg commissions open!! how about an E2L angsty fic? maybe with jungkook, where he hates the reader at first but is drawn to her and finds her fascinating?

yessirrr, you're speaking my language 😛 the moment i read this, a scenario instantly built in my mind!! thank you for messaging :D

killah (jjk) [1]

pairing: managing partner/lawyer!jungkook x spoiled brat!reader

genre: enemies to 😛 idk bec you irk him, angst, smut, like slight fluff, infidelity au (jungkook has a girlfriend)

wc: 1.4k

warnings: hinted emotional cheating, jungkook is a taken man but 🫵 you kinda want him and he sorta kinda wants you too??? but he's fighting it bec he's got a girl already, bratty behaviour from reader (that's all for thjs part, yes there will be a follow-up)

You were standing a few feet away from the hostess' table, scrolling through Pinterest, barely blinking while your brother whisper-bickered with the staff about a table.

You had been waiting at this reservation-only restaurant for almost thirty minutes now. If you don't get seated in the next ten minutes, you're going to start tearing up.

Logan would glare at you every other minute.

It was your fault, you had forgotten to reserve a table. But in your defence, you need to be told things at least thrice for it to stick. Logan knew that. So really, he's just as to blame.

He's trying to put some sense of responsibility in you but you're... persistent. Resistent.

Because why must you work when you don't absolutely have to?

You roll your eyes, trying to drown Logan out and switch apps to complete your daily NYT Wordle.

That’s when someone spotted you.

"_____?" The figure squealed, a little too loud for the atmosphere, “I didn’t know you’d be here!”

You glanced up and smiled automatically--- wide, sweet, a little rehearsed.

Who the hell is that? You can't seem to recognise her.

The girl leans in for a small hug, but you remain frozen, politely blocking her attempt to engulf you entirely.

She backs off immediately, probably embarrassed? You can't tell.

Clearing her throat, she reintroduces herself, "It's Hyewon!"

Oh! Now it clicks. And it shows on your face.

Hyewon smiles in victory. You remembered her.

"Heyy, I could not recognise you with the new hair!" You could've sworn she was a redhead the last time you saw her.

You had first interacted with her at a mutual friend's house party.

You were seated on a faux-velvet couch, barefoot and yelling about how every colour had a personality.

"Blue is the friend who bails you out of jail," you smiled deviously at each of your friends as if you were attributing the colours to them.

"Yellow is the one who put you in there. Green is the innocent one that people suspect. And pink..." you pause to think, "Pink is who you did it for."

Everyone around you looked so engrossed.

Hyewon had never heard anyone talk like that. She had come across occasional shit-posts on Tumblr but never thought people actually had serious discussions about this stuff out loud.

She didn’t even like you at first. You were too loud. Too much.

But she couldn’t look away.

After introducing herself to you, later that night, Hyewon requests to follow you on Instagram. You accept instantly but don't follow back.

What kind of weird power play was she being subjected to?

Then you two met coincidentally a few more times, still you hadn't followed her back.

Tonight was the first time you came into contact with each other without any buffers around you.

She bit her lip in a shy smile, "Thanks." She seemed to have taken it as a compliment.

So you comment on her hair anyway, "I really like it, it frames your face well."

Your eyes fall on another figure behind her.

The first instinct you had was to stare. Because this was the sexiest man you'd ever seen. And you've seen a lot of those.

Cautiously, you look back at Hyewon, who seemed enthralled by the man too.

The man approaches you two and wraps his tattooed hand around hers.

Ah.

Whatever.

"_____, This is my boyfriend, Jeon Jungkook. Babe, this is _____ _____!"

You glance at him. “Oh. Hi.”

It’s barely a greeting. You’re more interested in your reflection in the glass.

Jungkook nods at you before looking back at his girlfriend, whispering to her about their table.

That only riles you up.

They have a table and you still don't. You feel a slight rush of entitlement taking over you.

Hyewon nods but then paused, "Oh, uh, are you leaving, _____?"

You shake your head, "Logan's trying to get us a table."

Hyewon sees this as an opportunity to get closer to you.

Just when she was about to extend an invitation to you and your brother, said brother calls out to you.

Finally. You weren't in the mood for any more small talk.

When Logan looks over at you, and in the same breath, his gaze lands on Jeon Jungkook, "Huh. Jeon, right?"

Jungkook, who had been sizing you up quietly with polite disinterest, raises a brow, "Yeah."

Then it clicks. Jungkook nods, resemblance flickering in his eyes. "Right. I’ve seen you in the elevators."

"Hard to miss a face like mine," Logan says dryly.

You roll your eyes at that.

Hyewon laughs. "I had no idea you two knew each other."

"We don’t, really," Jungkook replies. “Just hallway sightings.”

You swing your bag to your shoulder, ready to leave, when something fluffy drops to the floor. It's your bag charm.

You don't move, just stare at it.

Hyewon, without missing a beat, crouches and retrieves it for you.

"Aw, thank you," you say casually, this time sporting a genuine smile.

But Jungkook observes something else. He notices how you don't pick up after yourself. You didn’t even pretend to go for it. You just expected Hyewon to move for you.

He watched you struggle to clip it back on. You then pass it off to your brother, who successfully attaches the charm back on.

Jungkook's jaw ticks a little. As if he was holding back on telling you off.

Brat.

The hostess returns then, apologizing profusely as she attempts to guide you and your brother ahead of two other waiting couples.

No one says anything because you’re used to this kind of priority.

"I'm hungry, we're going to go in now," you announced, later adding, "See you around, Wony!"

You entangle your fingers in Hyewons, slightly swinging it as to bid goodbye, smiling cutely.

"Have fun, you guys," Hyewon says sweetly.

Logan awkwardly smiles and escorts you in.

Jungkook silently follows Hyewon to the hostess table.

Once they’re past the threshold and walking through the foyer, Hyewon peeks up at him, finding him usually quiet. "You okay?"

He shakes his head once. “Your friend’s kind of a brat.”

Hyewon snorted, "Okay."

She didn't think much of it.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡

Later that night, at Jungkook's apartment. He had just stepped out of the shower.

For some reason, he kept replaying the moment he met you over and over again. It angered him.

"She’s a little ridiculous," Jungkook suddenly mutters, annoyed. "Your friend."

Hyewon lifts a brow, "_____?"

"She didn’t even reach for her own bag charm."

Hyewon raises a brow, "You’re still thinking about that?" Why the fuck was he thinking about you in the shower?

"She just stood there. Expected you to do it." He continued.

"That's just how she is. I don't know, I don't think it's that big of a deal..." Hyewon treads lightly.

"It doesn't bother you to be treated like that by your friend?" Jungkook scrunched his brows.

He seemed very intrigued.

She considers for a second. It's not like you're friends. She doesn't think you're even acquaintances. "It... doesn't, I think it almost makes her a little charming. Like she's not faking anything."

Although, Jungkook does have Hyewon rethinking her perception of you in her mind.

She tries to rationalize it, "She doesn't try to be something she's not..."

Jungkook pulls a shirt over his head, "_____ doesn't try at all."

Hyewon smiles, "But that's what makes her fun. You just don't get it."

"No, I do get it," he argues, "She's rich and a spoilt brat because nobody's ever told her no. So now she treats everyone like they're made to serve her."

Hyewon patiently watches him for a second. He looked so riled up over you.

"Well, you're rich too," she weakly adds.

"I am now, but I wasn't always... It's not the same, it's... Whatever."

"You sound like you've given this a lot of thought." Hyewon frowns.

Jungkook doesn't answer right away, choosing to deflect and instead just calls for her to return to bed after her bath quickly.

Hyewon doesn't want to think too much of it. But then her phone dings.

You had requested to follow her back.

.｡⁠*⁠♡

Back at your shared penthouse with Logan, you conduct slight research of your own.

"Who is Jeon Jungkook?" You barge into your brother's room.

Logan stills for a second. "Why?"

You shrug, "It's just a question."

Logan squints, unconvinced, but answers anyway, "He's the managing partner at Jeon, Kim & Kim."

Ohhhh. Of course, he is. You've heard of him. He really does live up to his name. You'd heard he was almost unapproachable. How in the world did Hyewon end up with someone like him?

You nod slowly. Okay.

After returning to your floor, you waste no time and look up Hyewon's Instagram. To your surprise, she had already been following you.

Oops.

You click on the follow button and toss your phone away for the night.

next: killah (jjk) [2]

note: i was listening to killah by lady gaga hence the name, now, i know the song is super groovy and the vibes do not match but!! throw me a bone here, i think the song describes the situation fairly well. and as ush, please tell me what you think of this :) is it worth following up on or is it just predictable and whatever? thanks for reading :)

[sapphicandgraphic]

Sick As A Dog—Chapter 4

Summary: You’re a dog walker. When your favorite clients notice you’re not feeling well, they insist on taking care of you.

Chapter: 4/? In which we discover the healing powers of Dr. Strange and finally get some clarity on where we stand with WandaNat.

Warnings: Mostly still fluff and sick!fic hurt/comfort with growing sexual tension and KISSING. That’s right. Also some allusions to parental abuse, family trauma, runaway experiences. Reader continues to struggle with accepting help, relying on others, and accepting self-worth.

A/N: Thank you to everyone for reading and commenting and getting in touch to request the next chapter! I’m planning to continue this story since it’s striking a chord with people. If you want to show me some love, please subscribe to my Patreon channel — you can vote on what happens next, and get early access to future chapter updates!

You woke in a warm tangle of flushed skin and heavy limbs. Sunshine was streaming in through the window, casting a bright, buttery column of light across the ceiling. The storm had passed, and you could hear a faint rumble of traffic outside. Horns honking, engines backfiring. For a few delicious, dumbfounded seconds you had no idea where you were—and you didn’t care.

You stretched, trying to shake off the tendrils of feverish discomfort. But as soon as you moved, you felt something tighten around your waist. You frowned in confusion, blinking sleepily as everything came into sharper focus. The blankets. The pillows. The toned arm flung across your stomach. Oh.

“Noooo,” the owner of the arm grumbled. “Too early.”

Lifting the corner of the blanket carefully, you discovered Natasha wedged beside you in the bed. Her face was half-buried in a pillow and she scrunched her nose in displeasure as light streamed into her carefully constructed cave.

“Too bright,” she whined. You felt a crooked smile working its way across your face.

“Someone’s not a morning person,” you said, voice scratchy and low.

On your other side was Wanda, looking composed and elegant and impossibly pretty even in her sleep. Her head was draped protectively across your chest, one leg slotted over your hips like a seatbelt holding you in place.

Most mornings you woke up alone, before the first rays of dawn stretched along the avenues. You had a ritual of sorts, moving through the shadows swiftly, mechanically—rolling out of bed, making coffee, exercising. Your routine had been your lifeline for the last decade, providing structure and stability and refuge. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d slept in so late. It was…really nice. Dangerously nice. Waking up with them felt like coming home.

Before you could examine that thought too deeply, a voice in your head issued an automatic, familiar warning: Don’t get used to it. This was just a one-time thing, you reminded yourself. The lazy grin slipped off your face, the warm, dreamy feeling in your chest fizzling.

Wanda’s eyes fluttered open. Her hand automatically reached up, touching your cheek, your clammy brow. The sensation of her fingers made you shiver. You couldn’t resist leaning in. You turned your head to face her in the same moment that she lifted hers, bringing you close enough to kiss. You froze, locked in the position.

“Morning,” you rasped.

Wanda shifted, bringing her knee up between your legs. Your hips jerked forward at the pressure and you inhaled sharply. Wanda glanced down at your mouth, exercising great restraint as she finally tore her gaze away.

“You’re awake,” she said, giving you a sleepy, sexy smile.

You swallowed thickly.

“When did we decide to have a slumber party?” You asked, trying to ignore the sensation of Wanda’s warm breath on your neck, her hairs tickling your cheek. “Not that I’m complaining...”

Wanda sat up. “You don’t remember?”

Her words made you go completely still, and a low-grade anxiety blossomed in your throat. Wanda noticed the shift in your body language—the tension that took root in your muscles, the way a shadow of doubt flickered across your face.

“Relax,” Wanda instructed gently. She laid the palm of her hand against your chest. Your heartbeat hammered beneath her touch, flighty and too fast. “Deep breath for me.”

You instantly complied, feeling the tightness ease a bit.

“Did I…” you trailed off, not sure how to ask the question. “Shit, did I embarrass myself? Or make you and Nat uncomfortable? I should have just gone back to my place last night. I’m so sorry—“

Sensing your agitation, Nat’s grip on your waist loosened. She finally emerged from the blankets, hair tousled and eyes narrowed in concern. “What’s wrong?”

Wanda sat up straighter, shifting slightly to give you some breathing room.

“You fell asleep downstairs,” she explained. “We put you to bed in here. I decided to…watch you sleep.”

She rushed through that last sentence, becoming a bit flustered. You noticed an adorable pink tint to her cheeks.

“You watched me sleep?” You repeated, unable to resist teasing her just a little bit.

Natasha chuckled, yawning. “Told you it was creepy.”

“It was not creepy!” Wanda insisted, voice a bit higher than normal as she attempted to characterize her actions in the proper light. She buried her face in her hands. “I was just worried about you.”

You softened, reaching out to pull her hands away. “Hey,” you said, smiling as she finally glanced at you. “I’m sure it was creepy in a cute way.”

She glared at you.

“Anyway,” she continued. “Then your fever got worse in the middle of the night.”

You squinted, struggling to follow her version of events.

Natasha reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “What do you remember?”

You frowned, realizing the previous night was rather hazy.

“I remember the movie,” you said. “And then…”

You concentrated. There were vague outlines of other memories: Natasha cradling you against her chest, carrying you up the stairs. Wanda tucking you in.

You felt your breath catch.

“Nat…took me upstairs,” you mumbled, feeling shy. “You tucked me in.”

Wanda smiled. “And then?”

You swallowed. There were a few vivid flashes of horrible dreams intermingled with snatches of real life….everything blended together so seamlessly that you struggled to differentiate what had really happened and what had been a figment of your imagination.

“Nightmares,” you admitted softly, eyes going wide and glassy. A shiver worked its way up your frame.

Natasha scooted closer to you, pulling you halfway into her lap and draping the covers over your shoulders.

“It’s ok,” she murmured, feeling protective.

“Do you remember what they were about?” Wanda asked, careful to keep her voice neutral. She didn’t want to pry, but seeing you so frightened had unsettled her. “They sounded…scary.”

You dipped your head against Nat’s chest, accepting the comfort she was offering. Her heartbeat was steady, soothing.

You had been in your dad’s house, running down the hall. You could hear the heavy fall of his footsteps thundering up the stairs behind you. He was drunk, furious. You had hidden in the closet, cowering behind cardboard boxes—a favored refuge of yours when you were younger. He had appeared in the doorway, shadowy and terrifying.

And then…Wanda’s voice, soft and anchoring, calling you back to the present moment. Wanda’s hands curling around the back of your neck, her forehead pressed against yours, murmured whispers. You’re safe. We’ve got you.

Your cheeks flamed with a mix of humiliation and desperation. It had felt so good to wake up in her arms, to be held like that, to be watched and cared for. But knowing they’d both seen you in such an unguarded state—so pathetic, so weak—made your stomach roil unpleasantly. You disentangled yourself from Natasha, fighting for some semblance of control.

“No,” you lied, hating the way your voice shook slightly. You cleared your throat, grimacing at the sharp pain when you swallowed. “Can’t remember.”

Wanda glanced at her wife, clearly concerned and thoroughly unconvinced. Before she could press the issue, you were peeling back the covers and crawling toward the edge of the bed.

“Sorry you had to deal with that.” Every instinct in your body was telling you to retreat. “I better get dressed. It’s almost noon. I’m sure you have —“

Natasha realized you were shutting down, running way. So she did the only thing she could think to do, and clapped her hands together. “Who wants pancakes?”

The abrupt question caught you off guard. You blinked at her slowly, foggy brain trying to catch up to the shift in conversation.

“Oh, how silly of me,” she said, slapping her palm against her forehead. “Little wolves don’t eat pancakes, do they? Cinnamon rolls, then? Or maybe…French toast?”

You ducked your head, trying to hide the reluctant smile that was fighting its way onto your face.

“Nooooo,” you moaned, glancing at the ceiling. “You don’t have to make me breakfast.”

Oscar raised his head from the foot of the bed, wagging his tail at the sound of his favorite word. You reached out instantly, scratching his ear. Natasha took advantage of your distraction, snaking a hand out to tickle your ribs playfully.

“But it would be cruel and unusual, sending a little starving wolf out into the world on an empty stomach!”

You laughed, squirming away from her and collapsing onto your side. The mattress bounced and Oscar barked happily, entering the fray and licking your face.

“Mercy!” You pled, laughing so hard that you started coughing. “Have mercy!”

In a matter of seconds you were wheezing, struggling to catch your breath. Even that minor exertion tired you out. Wanda intervened.

“Enough, Nat,” she said, wrapping her arms around your waist and pulling you upright, away from the other woman. “No rough-housing! I swear, you’re like a teenager sometimes.”

“I’m fine,” you said as soon as you could speak, hating the matching looks of concern on their faces. Wanda handed you a glass of water from the bedside table, and you took a few grateful sips.

“You’re not fine,” she said. “But you will be.”

Wanda insisted you take a hot shower while Nat got busy in the kitchen. The redhead clapped her hands together again, waggling her eyebrows at you.

“Waffles for the little wolf!” She howled quietly before padding out of sight.

Wanda watched her disappear with an expression halfway between exasperated and besotted. Then she extended a hand, pulling you gently out of the bed.

“Come on, detka,” she murmured. “The steam will make you feel better.”

She was right. You stepped out of the bathroom about ten minutes later feeling marginally refreshed, the pressure in your head and chest lessened. Wanda watched as you toweled off, laying out a fresh set of clothes. Oscar started barking downstairs and the doorbell rang.

“I’ll be right back,” she said, giving you one last lingering look before she disappeared into the hallway. The heat from her gaze made your skin tingle. It almost looked like she wanted to eat you alive.

Whoa, where did that come from? A furious blush worked its way up your chest and neck. You buried your face in the damp towel with a groan, trying to forget the feeling of her leg pressed between yours, the traitorous way your hips had bucked against her firm thigh.

Once you were dressed, you hung your towel up on the hook in the bathroom and then sank onto the edge of the bed. This was partially out of obedience (Wanda had told you to wait here) and partially out of exhaustion. The shower had wiped you out again.

Downstairs you could hear Wanda speaking faintly, and then an unfamiliar voice—a deep baritone. A few moments later, there were footsteps on the stairs. The sound reminded you of your dream, and you pushed down an anxious shudder as the door to the bedroom swung open.

Wanda reappeared. She smiled gently, happy to find you right where she’d left you. A tall pale man with a dark beard lingered in the doorway. A stethoscope was draped around his shoulders.

“This must be the patient?” His eyes glittered with curiosity. Wanda nodded.

“This is Dr. Strange,” Wanda told you. “He’s a friend of mine and Nat’s, and an excellent physician.”

You raised a weary hand in greeting. The man in the doorway regarded you for a long moment, like his diagnosis was already underway, then closed the distance between you in a few efficient strides.

He knelt, opening a small leather medical bag, and retrieved a thermometer. As he started his exam, Natasha wandered back into the bedroom. She leaned against the far wall, watching the doctor silently.

“Symptoms?”

“I’m fine,” you said, wincing as he placed the thermometer in your ear. “Just feeling a little under the weather.”

Wanda rolled her eyes. “She has a fever, a cough, muscle aches, sore throat, and that’s just the symptoms I’ve been able to observe so far.”

Strange snorted. “That explains why you look like death warmed over.”

Your legs and arms pulsed dully with a persistent ache, and a throbbing pain had started to manifest again at the base of your skull. Still, you shot the man a weak glare.

“Nice bedside manner,” you growled.

“Thanks.” His lips quirked upward, clearly delighted at the barb. “It’s taken me years to perfect.”

The thermometer beeped and he glanced at the readout. “102.6,” he said, frowning. “Quite high.”

He reached toward you, palpating his fingers gently against your throat. You flinched. He noticed. “Does that hurt?”

You glanced at Wanda, hating to see worry shining in her eyes, then Natasha, who gave you an encouraging smile.

“Don’t look at them,” Strange said bluntly. “Be honest.”

You pressed your lips into a stubborn line, not wanting to cause more problems. But then you relented, nodding once.

He donned the stethoscope and pressed the diaphragm against your chest. “Breathe in,” he instructed. “And out.”

You did as you were told. In the silence, you watched Wanda. You noticed the little crease in the middle of her forehead, the way she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, worrying the soft pink flesh. You gave her a lopsided smile, and even mouthed the words totally fine.

She rolled her eyes in exasperation at your antics, and you realized it was a look eerily similar to the one she’d given Nat earlier. The thought sparked a warm, pleasant feeling in your chest.

Finally, Strange rocked back on his heels, giving you an appraising look. “You’re fighting off a pretty nasty viral infection,” he said. “Something’s going around the city right now. Fever, muscle aches, cough, it all tracks. But I’m worried about your chest—there’s a rattle in your lungs, a shortness of breath. Could get worse if you’re not careful.“

You opened your mouth—to disagree, to argue, you weren’t sure—but Strange lifted his hand, silencing you. “I’m not finished.”

Your mouth snapped closed. The doctor quirked an eyebrow, clearly relishing the dramatic pause.

“You’re also,” he added, jabbing an accusatory finger against your chest. “Very dehydrated.”

“Ouch,” you muttered resentfully, rubbing the spot on your sternum.

Wanda crossed her arms, clearly disliking this news. “What can we do?”

Strange sighed as he considered the options. “I can give her an IV,” he said. “Replenish her fluids and her electrolytes.”

The words were barely out of his mouth before Wanda was nodding her head. “Do it.”

He bowed sarcastically. “Yes, ma’am.”

Wanda smiled. “Sorry,” she said, reaching out and fiddling with the hood of your sweater. “Is that alright with you? I just hate seeing you like this.”

You felt that familiar tug in your chest as the other woman stared at you, eyes brimming with an enormous unspoken affection. You couldn’t help but feel unworthy, undeserving of such kindness.

“‘Course,” you said.

Strange glanced from Wanda to Natasha and then back to you, an unnerving expression on his face. “How did you say you knew each other?”

“I’m their…dog walker,” you said, feeling a hot flush of embarrassment lick its way up your throat.

Nat watched you carefully, noticing the way you swayed toward Wanda, like a flower seeking the sunshine. Only to freeze up at Strange’s question, relegating yourself to something small and unimportant. The second you started to retreat, to withdraw, she intervened.

“She’s more than that,” Natasha corrected, fixing you with a stern look that dared you to contradict this clarification.

You ducked your head.

“Fascinating,” Strange said, closing his medical bag with a snap. “Let me run out to my car and get my equipment. I’ll be right back.”

As soon as he was gone, Wanda joined you on the bed. You leaned against her shoulder instinctively, gazing across the room at Natasha. For a beat, the three of you regarded one another silently. Then…

“Do you really believe that?” The question slipped out before you could stop it. Being ill had worn you down, shredded your normally strong defenses. “I’m more?”

Wanda turned to face you. Her hands covered yours, her fingers drawing random shapes over your palms. You realized she was nervous.

“You’re so much more.”

You felt an impossible swell of hope and longing in your chest. It was almost painful.

“You’re just saying that because we slept together last night.” You meant it as a joke, hoping to cut the tension. But the air seemed to thicken even more. Wanda settled her hand on your thigh.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Wanda asked, voice soft. “How we feel about you?”

You drew in a shaky breath, refusing to let yourself believe they could possibly be interested in you like that.

“You feel sorry for me,” you guessed, dreading the confirmation that would shatter the fragile magic of the past 24 hours. You didn’t belong, you never belonged.

Then you felt soft fingers under your chin and you braced yourself for the terrible kindness that would no doubt be painted across Wanda’s pretty face as she let you down easy. But when you looked up, it wasn’t Wanda. It was Nat. She had crossed the room and crouched between your legs, staring at you with something fierce, something furious in her expression.

“How could you think that?” She asked, her voice a low, loving growl. You blinked hard, suddenly fighting back tears.

You shrugged, breath hitching at the raw confession. “I’m not used to…”

You trailed off, gesturing at the air between you. Not used to what, Natasha wondered, half-afraid to hear the answer. Kindness? Love? Comfort? Each possibility broke her heart more than the last.

But Wanda nodded, sensing you were close to articulating something important. She squeezed your hand, encouraging you to keep going.

“But I love being here,” you whispered, terrified at how true the words rang. “When I woke up this morning, I felt so safe, like I was right where I’m supposed to be.”

“What if you are?” Natasha traced her thumb over your jawline, hanging on your every word. “What are you so afraid of, little wolf?

Now that you had started to talk, your true feelings came rushing to the surface, spilling out in a flood of honesty and desperate surrender.

“I’m scared of how good I feel when we’re together,” you said. “Scared of wanting too much, getting greedy, and then…having it taken away.“

“You deserve to be greedy,” Wanda sighed, threading her fingers through your hair. “You deserve to feel safe, to be taken care of, to feel like you belong.”

“And you do belong,” Natasha added, gripping your chin firmly between her fingers. “Right here. With us.”

Your eyes fluttered shut at the claim, the possessive touch. Your head was spinning.

“What if you change your mind, realize I’m not worth it?” Your voice was barely a whisper now, eyes still closed like you couldn’t bear the answer. “That I’m too much, too messy, too broken—?”

“Impossible,” Natasha said, cutting you off firmly.

“You’re not broken, milaya,” Wanda breathed, leaning forward and resting her forehead against yours. “Whoever told you that was…sorely mistaken.”

You cast around for another argument, another evasion. But you found it harder and harder to resist what they were offering, the acceptance in their expressions so open and honest. Gradually, the stiffness receded from your shoulders.

“Okay,” you sighed, curling closer to them both. “Okay.”

Natasha smiled, feeling the tension seep out of you. “Good girl,” she breathed, relief flooding her chest.

And in an instant, something shifted. Wanda’s eyes fluttered open, catching yours. All that vulnerability was still pooled around you like gasoline, and those two words were a match, catalyzing the dynamic, igniting your attraction. You could tell they both sensed it in the way they shifted closer to you, gripped you just a little bit tighter.

You licked your lips, entranced by the feeling of Wanda’s warm breath against your cheek, Nat’s gentle touch on your jaw.

“So good,” Wanda sighed in agreement with her wife, eyes darting down to your mouth. Your breath caught in your throat as those words washed over you again, the praise lighting up something desperate and beautiful in the very core of your being. They both watched, transfixed, as their claim stoked the fire, heating you up from the inside out.

Then, moving slow, giving her plenty of time to pull away, you brushed your lips against hers. The kiss was impossibly soft and inquisitive, like you were figuring out how to ask the ultimate question. Is it ok to want this too? At first she didn’t move, afraid to shatter the moment. Then she turned her head slightly, giving you better access. She sighed.

“Been wanting to do that all day,” she whispered. You could feel the shy curve of her smile where your lips met.

Wanda wanted to lean in even closer, but she paused, fighting to keep her own desires in check, needing to make sure you were ok. Natasha watched, hardly daring to breathe as her wife swayed back just a fraction, searching your face, saying your name softly. You didn’t respond, and her eyebrows knitted together in concern.

“Are you—“

You rocked forward, claiming Wanda’s lips again, interrupting whatever question she had been about to ask. The only thing you cared about was this feeling, and making sure it never ended. You felt Natasha’s hand drop away from your face, moving to the back of your neck, guiding you, supporting you.

“Our perfect girl,” she said softly, the edges of her voice roughened by desire. “So fucking pretty when you let us take care of you.”

You whined, tearing yourself away from Wanda and gripping Natasha’s shirt. You were desperate to feel them both, to soothe the awful ache in your chest, the emptiness that suddenly seemed like it could only be filled by being with them, belonging to them. You pulled her onto the bed. She didn’t resist, pushing you backward, her strong arms bracketing either side of your head.

This kiss was different, messier. Where Wanda was tender and careful, Natasha crashed into you. She licked against your lips, seeking entry into the warm cavern of your mouth. You opened for her immediately, arching your back, melting into the hot, wet feeling. Her hand skated up along your ribs, your chest, your neck. You moaned in surprise when she bit you, pain blooming along your lower lip.

“Nat,” Wanda warned, pushing her wife off you like she was a wild animal. She muttered something in Russian. “Be gentle, she doesn’t feel good.”

“Yes, please be careful with my patient,” Dr. Strange said dryly. He had reappeared in the doorway holding an IV and a needle kit. “She requires rest and rehydration, not…whatever this is.”

Natasha blushed, pulling away from you and standing up in one smooth motion. You missed her instantly, craving the warm, rough feel of her hands on your body. She reached out, tangling her fingers in your hair before giving you a wink.

“I’m going to check on the waffles,” she announced, wiping her mouth delicately and then shoving her hands in her pockets.

Wanda helped settle you back in the bed, arranging the pillows and pulling the blanket up over your legs. You leaned against the headboard, sinking down into the soft sheets.

In a few swift motions, Strange had set up the IV drip and inserted the needle in your arm. He was surprisingly gentle. You barely felt a thing. Wanda hovered nearby, watching the entire process hawkishly.

“This should help her rest,” he explained. “And I’ll write her a script, something to bring down the fever.”

“Thanks,” Wanda said. “Stay for breakfast? Natasha’s —“

“Making waffles,” he interrupted drily. “Yes, I heard. Sounds lovely.”

She swatted him on the shoulder and he ducked out of the room, heading downstairs to interrogate Natasha.

“Wanda?” You mumbled blearily. “Gonna fall asleep.”

She smiled. “I’ll be right here.”

“Creepy,” you sighed, eyes drifting shut. “But cute.”

She rolled her eyes, running a hand over your forehead. “Brat.”

“Yours,” you added softly just before drifting off. And you had never meant anything more in your life.

Taglist: @boowhobabe @lizziescutiepie @lizzieslover129 @tvseries-writings @natascharomanoff21 @marvelwomen-simp @loverluzer @tomy5girls @annya05xtreme @unholyhelbig @lesbianexistence @upsidedowndanvers s @eatingouturmomrn @tobeawriter98

[ivhmavie]

you’re too sweet for me

hwang in ho

first of all, just a little advice that english its not my first language! be kind

༶ he knew that you were too good for him, that his world was way to cruel and defiant to a girl like you. The games, the carnage, the involvement of VIPs, the arrogance, the money.

༶ but oh, everytime that he sees you, he forgets that. The monotonous days that he spent locked in his small apartment, without spending a cent of his prize, began to have a purpose when he knew you.

༶ your laugh, that he heard before seeing you, your hands looking for something to hold on to so you don't fall, your shy look when you apologize for tripping over him and your gentle tone of voice. The joy that only the joviality and naivety of someone who did not see bad things in your eyes.

༶ you were an interesting little thing to him. Something that took him out of his automatic state on days when he waited until the next game.

༶ it had been a long time since he allowed himself to think of a woman as anything other than a one night fuck.

༶ his routine was messy. Normally he would spend part of the morning with a glass of whiskey while talking to the VIPs about the next edition of the games or evaluating the people recruited for the game.

༶ and the more you two talked, the more he realized that you were too sweet. Trying to balance your study routine and still take care of yourself.

༶ the first time you went out, he couldn't say for sure what had made you shy. Whether it was the expensive restaurant, which you clearly couldn't afford with any part-time job as a student. Or if it was because he was older than you. Whether it was the experience, or his money that intimidated you, he liked it.

༶ for him, it was fun to see you turn into a shy mess, not knowing where to look, fidgeting with your own hands.

༶ honestly, he likes seeing you shy. Whether it's because he took you to a chic and expensive place, because he gave you a very pricey gift and you don't know how to react, or because of the comments from people who see you together, even when your friend talks about the "hot, rich old man" that you’re going out with

“soo, did you two already..?” your best friend asks sitting on your bed, watching you open another gift from in-ho. Not that you were complaining, but you didn't know how to reciprocate while he spoiled you so much.

“did we what?” you ask a little confused, turning your present okhar away to look at your friend. After a while, you got used to her being excited to see you dating someone, especially a rich older man who treats you like his wife.

“god, you’re so naive, I’m talking about sex” when you heard what she said, you looked at her a little disconcerted as you finish opening the package and see a beautiful pair of boots, it was obvious that she would want to know the details. And you'd be lying if you said you hadn't thought about it yet.

“noo!! we did not, it’s still a little to early for that”you respond, laughing and throwing one of the pairs of boots at her as a joke. “now come here, I need help with this other gift”

༶ and yes, sex with him is for sure a thing.

༶ he’s a natural dom. Even though he likes the view of having you on top, he loves having you on the bottom. He's a big, muscular man, and he's not at all modest about it. So having a small girl underneath him is exciting.

༶ he likes to hold one of your hands when you are underneath, the other hand on the side of your head. But sometimes, when things are at their roughest, he likes to have a firm hand around your neck, kissing you while his other hand travels between your legs and massages the inside of your thighs.

༶ afterwards he would like to stay in bed, you lying with your head on his chest while he pours himself a glass of drink. Hearing you talk about that mean teacher who is very strict with you, or about the girls you and your friends don't like.

༶ he allows himself to think it's funny. While your mind is filled with the things you want to buy, your care routine and the tests you have to study for, he thinks about games, receiving VIP guests and especially how to keep everything in order.

༶ when he has to return to the island for the games, he invents a business trip, you are a little confused, because he had never told you about his work. So he uses as an excuse the story that he comes from a rich family and is going to visit some important old friends.

༶ during game week, he seriously considered telling you about everything. You missed him, considering that you were practically never apart from each other since you started dating. He had even planned to ask you to live with him, having even bought an expensive and large apartment for that.

༶ after a while, he started taking you to some events that he, as the frontman, attended, like the Halloween. Even if he hadn't told you exactly what he worked with, you could already tell that it wasn't something common, but you didn't care, you just wanted him.

༶ so when he tells you about the games, you accept it. Of course, you're so good to him, you'd never doubt him when he said they were just giving people a better opportunity.

༶ in the next edition you would watch the games with him. In-ho sat on the couch, a glass of whiskey neat in his hand, with you snuggled next to him, hiding your face in his chest every time someone got shot or got a bad bruise.

༶ he likes to admire you. He knows you are bright as the morning, as soft as the rain, pretty as a vine and as sweet as a grape. hee knows he's the opposite of those cute and innocent things, but he can't resist keeping you close, pulling you more and more into his world, even if you were too sweet for him.

[eu-nicola]

Topper's sister

summary: since you were a child you had been in love with Rafe even though he never saw you, he always saw you as his best friend's little sister and nothing else, until one night everything changed.

warnings: nothing

word counter: 4487

author's note: english is not my first language

Since you were a child, you had always been Topper's "little sister." You grew up surrounded by him and his friends, watching from the shadows as they lived their days with a carefree attitude that you, in your innocence, envied. Among them all, Rafe Cameron had been your beacon. A platonic love that had begun when you were barely ten years old and he was already an arrogant and charming teenager.

It was impossible not to notice Rafe. With his easy laugh, his hair messy from the wind, and that confidence that radiated as if the world belonged to him. Every time he came to your house, he would greet you with a quick knock on the door before entering without waiting for an answer, and he always gave you the same gesture: a distracted flutter in his hair, as if you were a pet he found cute.

"Hey, little one." That was his standard greeting. A casual smile, without stopping to look at you for more than a second.

It made you burn inside. Not with hate, but with frustration. To him, you had always been the girl Topper shared DNA with, nothing more.

But time had passed. You were sixteen now, and you were no longer that shy girl who watched from the stairs as the boys joked and drank in the living room. You had changed. Your eyes, once filled with naivety, now knew how to see beyond the surface. Your hair fell in neat waves, and your style had become refined. You knew that many of Topper’s friends looked at you differently. The pool boy last week, Kelce at the last party, even some who were more distant were starting to seek your attention.

Except Rafe.

He was still the only exception.

One summer afternoon was an especially hot day, and as usual, Topper had invited his friends over to spend the day at the pool. You were in the kitchen, looking for something cold to drink, when you heard the familiar voices from the patio. Rafe’s laughter was loud, and as an automatic reflex, you looked out the window. There he was, with his cocky grin, throwing a ball back and forth with Topper and Kelce.

You decided to join in. You were no longer the girl who hid; now you knew how to move in his world. You came out with a glass of lemonade in your hand and headed toward the group.

“Maintaining the pool again?” you commented with a hint of mockery.

Topper rolled his eyes, but it was Kelce who answered first, smiling in a way you had seen before.

“There’s always room for you.”

Rafe didn’t even bother to look at you. He kept his eyes on the ball, as if your presence wasn’t worthy of his attention. That indifference stung, but you refused to let him notice.

“Sure, Kelce. Because you’re always such a gentleman,” you replied with a wink, playing along with his flirtation.

You sat down in one of the nearby chairs, letting the sun warm your skin as you feigned disinterest. You knew the others were looking at you, but your eyes were focused only on Rafe. Despite everything, he was still the one who held your attention.

After a while, the dynamic changed. Topper and Kelce decided to get into the water, leaving Rafe alone by the table. Without thinking much, you stood up and walked over.

“Are you going to stand there like a guard or are you going to have fun?” you asked, taking a seat next to him.

Finally, Rafe looked at you. His blue eyes met yours for a brief moment, and for the first time in a long time, he seemed to notice something different. But his usual smile quickly returned.

“Someone has to keep order. I don’t trust those two.” He pointed at Topper and Kelce, who were fighting over a float.

You rolled your eyes, leaning a little closer to him.

“Always so responsible, Rafe? You surprise me.”

“And you’re always so curious, huh?”

There was a mocking tone in his voice, but also something else. Something that made you wonder if, after all these years, Rafe was starting to see you as more than just Topper’s little sister. But you shouldn’t get your hopes up; you knew Rafe Cameron and his world of dangerous games all too well.

The afternoon passed without any major problems. The boys joked around and competed in absurd games, like who could stay on the float the longest or who could do the best dive from the edge of the pool. You joined them at times, letting the laughter flow freely. You felt the gazes of Kelce and the other boys on you, but as always, you didn't care enough.

Even so, there was something different in the air. A subtle tension. At one point, as you were toweling off after a dip, Kelce approached with a playful grin.

“So… you’re going to the party tonight, right?” he asked, leaning slightly towards you.

“Sure,” you replied without hesitation.

“Perfect.” Kelce winked at you and walked away, but not before Rafe pushed him away with a light punch on the shoulder.

“What are you doing?” Rafe said with a dry laugh.

“Just being friendly,” Kelce replied with a crooked grin, knowing full well what he was doing.

You watched the interaction, trying to figure out if there was something more behind Rafe’s reaction, but he didn’t say anything else. He simply turned away and refocused on the game. Although his apparent indifference was still present, you couldn’t ignore the small spark you’d seen in his eyes.

As the sun began to set, everyone started packing up their things. The boys went home to get ready for the party, while you stayed a little longer by the pool. You enjoyed the moment of calm, letting the warm breeze caress your skin before heading inside.

In your room, you opened your closet, searching for the perfect outfit for the night. You knew the party was going to be big; the entire Outer Banks was talking about it. You wanted to stand out, not only because you knew a lot of eyes would be on you, but also because you wanted to provoke a specific reaction. You wanted him to see you.

You chose a tight, deep blue dress, which highlighted your eyes and hugged your figure in all the right places. You carefully applied your makeup, opting for a style that combined naturalness with a hint of boldness. Looking in the mirror, you knew you were ready.

You walked down the stairs just as the first guests began to arrive. The house was already filled with music and laughter. Topper, as always, was in his element, greeting everyone and making sure drinks were never in short supply.

Hours later the atmosphere was electric. The house was filled with young people dancing, drinking and chatting in every corner. You walked through the living room confidently, greeting a few acquaintances before heading out to the patio where most of them were congregating. There, under the dim lights hanging over the pool, you saw Rafe.

He was leaning against the railing, a glass in his hand and that carefree smile that seemed permanent on his face. He was talking to a group of guys, but even from a distance, you could notice how some girls tried to catch his attention. He, however, ignored them with an ease that you found frustrating and fascinating in equal parts.

You decided not to approach him right away. Instead, you moved through the party, letting others come to you. Kelce appeared almost instantly, offering you a drink and throwing out flattering comments that you accepted with a smile.

However, every time you turned your head, your eyes went back to find Rafe. You watched him move around, talking to Topper or just watching the crowd, but never coming close to you.

After a while, you felt somewhat suffocated by the crowd and decided to step out onto the back balcony for a moment. The music was muffled, and the fresh air was a relief. You leaned on the railing, enjoying the brief respite.

You hadn’t been there more than a few minutes when you heard footsteps behind you. You turned your head and, to your surprise, it was Rafe.

“Escaping the party?” he asked with that smile he seemed to have been practicing for years.

“Just taking a break.” You shrugged, trying to remain calm.

He walked over and leaned on the railing beside you. For the first time in a long time, you were alone with him, without the distraction of others.

“Kelce seems to be quite interested in you,” he commented casually, though there was something in his tone that made you raise an eyebrow.

“And that bothers you?” “You asked, challenging him with your gaze.

Rafe let out a low laugh, turning his head to you.

“Should I?”

You didn’t answer right away. There was a tension in the air, an energy that seemed to envelop the two of you. Finally, you decided that, this time, you weren’t going to be the first to give in.

“I guess not,” you said with a hint of sarcasm, before looking away towards the horizon.

The silence that followed was brief, but loaded with meaning.

“Maybe.” His reply was almost a whisper.

The tension on the balcony was almost unbearable, but you refused to be the one to give in. Without giving him time to respond or analyze his words further, you stepped away from the railing and left him there, with his thoughts. You weren’t going to let that little moment consume you, not when there was an entire party waiting for you.

You went back inside the house, and as soon as you walked through the door, someone handed you a glass. You accepted it without thinking much, feeling the alcohol begin to warm your veins. The music was louder, the lights dimmer, and the energy of the party enveloped you again.

Soon you found yourself in the middle of the makeshift dance floor, surrounded by bodies moving to the beat of the music. It wasn't long before one of Topper's friends approached, a boy who had always tried to catch your attention. You knew that tonight he had his goal clear too, and it didn't bother you at all.

"Will you dance with me?" he asked you with a cheeky smile, already a few drinks in.

"Why not?" you answered, letting yourself be carried away by the music and the atmosphere.

He positioned himself close to you, his hands resting on your waist as you both followed the rhythm of the music. There wasn't a considerable space between you, and the closeness was enough to make other eyes fall on you, although you didn't care. At least, not until you felt a different presence at your side.

Suddenly, a strong hand rested on your arm, gently but firmly pulling you away from the boy you were dancing with. When you looked up, you met Rafe's eyes. His face was serious, and though his balance wasn’t perfect due to the alcohol, his gaze burned with an intensity you hadn’t seen before.

“Come on,” he said in a deep voice, almost inaudible over the music.

“What are you doing, Rafe?” you asked, surprised and confused, as he led you through the crowd.

“You shouldn’t be with him,” he replied, not even looking back.

You, your head clouded by the drinks you had consumed, could barely process what was happening. Before you knew it, you were in one of the rooms upstairs, away from the noise of the party.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” you snapped, breaking free from his grip.

Rafe closed the door behind you, leaning against it for a moment. There was something different in his gaze, something beyond the alcohol.

“I don’t know…” he murmured.

The silence between you was heavy, but not uncomfortable. You moved closer, your heart pounding in your chest. There were so many emotions mixed together: frustration, desire, confusion. Rafe looked at you, and for the first time in a long time, he didn’t seem to have all the answers.

So, without thinking about it any further, you took a step closer and kissed him. It was an impulsive kiss, filled with years of repressed emotions. At first, Rafe seemed surprised, but he quickly reciprocated.

The kiss intensified, and soon everything else faded away. There was no one else, no past or future, just that moment.

What happened next was a mix of desire and confusion. You were both drunk, and even though your thoughts tried to stay clear, your actions betrayed you. That night was the first time you were with a man, and it was with him, with Rafe, the person you had idealized for so long.

You didn't say anything about it, and you didn't afterward either. Rafe didn't ask you, nor did he seem to care. To him, it was just another night, a mistake caused by alcohol and closeness.

When it was all over, you stayed silent, staring at the ceiling as he quickly got dressed. Rafe wasn't the type to stick around, and you knew that even before he opened his mouth.

“This isn’t going to happen again,” he said, his voice hoarse and tired. “We were just drunk, that’s all.”

It hurt, but you didn’t show it. Instead, you shrugged, pretending you didn’t care.

“I know.”

He gave you one last look, like he was searching for something in your expression, but when he found nothing, he simply left, closing the door behind him.

You stood there for a few minutes, letting reality hit you. You had known something like this could happen, that once you were around Rafe, your feelings would complicate everything again. But you also knew you weren’t going to let it define you.

You stood up, fixed your dress, and walked out of the room, ready to face the rest of the night. Rafe might want to pretend nothing had happened, but you weren’t going to get caught up in that. If he wanted to forget about it, you would too.

You returned to the party, head held high and a confident smile. There were more drinks, more laughter, more glances. Kelce found you again, and this time, you didn't hesitate to accept his attention.

The days following the party were a whirlwind of emotions for you. Every time you saw Rafe, a knot formed in your stomach. However, he didn't seem affected at all. He acted as if that night had never happened, as if it had all been an unimportant blur.

You expected it, but it didn't hurt any less. You had spent years dreaming of a moment like this, imagining what it would be like if Rafe finally saw you as more than "Topper's little sister." And even though it had happened, the reality was very different from your fantasies.

Rafe was back to his old self: distant, cocky, focused on his own world. His interactions with you were sporadic and cordial, if anything. There wasn’t a single sign that he remembered what happened, let alone cared.

You, for your part, tried to stay strong. You knew you couldn’t let a single moment define your life, but that was easier said than done. Despite everything, you were still in love with him. Every time he walked into a room, your attention was automatically drawn to him, even if you tried hard to look away.

You spent more time with Topper’s friends, especially Kelce, who seemed determined to win your attention. Kelce was friendly and knew how to make you laugh, but no matter how hard he tried, he could never make you completely forget about Rafe.

At night, you found yourself replaying the moments from that night over and over in your mind. You remembered his hands on you, the warmth of his body, the intensity of his gaze. But every time those memories came up, you forced yourself to push them away. Rafe had been clear: it wasn’t going to happen again.

Everything was moving on, and it was impossible to avoid Rafe entirely. You often saw him around the house, chatting with Topper or relaxing by the pool. When you were around him, you tried to act natural, but each interaction was harder than you wanted to admit.

One day, while you were in the kitchen preparing something to eat, Rafe came in, reaching for a beer in the fridge. For a moment, you were alone, silence filling the space between you.

“Everything okay?” he asked casually, not looking at you as he opened the bottle.

“Yeah, everything okay,” you replied in a neutral tone, trying to sound nonchalant.

Rafe nodded and leaned against the counter, taking a sip of his drink. There were no more words between you, and after a few minutes, he simply walked out of the kitchen, leaving you alone once again.

Those kinds of encounters became commonplace. Rafe was always polite, but it never went beyond a “hello” or an occasional question. It seemed like for him, nothing out of the ordinary had really happened.

You decided you couldn’t stay stuck in that cycle anymore. If Rafe could ignore what happened, then you could try too. You pushed yourself to focus on other things: hanging out with your friends, focusing on your own interests, even considering the idea of ​​starting something with someone new.

Yet every little bit of progress fell apart the moment you saw Rafe. There was something about him that always drew you back, as if your heart refused to accept what your mind already knew.

One afternoon, as you sat on the patio, watching the waves in the distance, you heard footsteps behind you. You turned your head and saw Rafe, walking with that nonchalance that always seemed to accompany him. He sat down on one of the nearby chairs, not saying anything at first.

“Thinking about something deep?” he finally asked, with a slight smile.

You didn’t answer right away. You bit your lip, trying to keep your composure.

“Maybe,” you finally said, without looking at him.

Rafe didn’t press. He stayed silent, sipping from his glass as you both stared at the horizon. For a moment, you almost seemed like friends, like there was nothing strange between you. But you knew it was just a passing illusion.

That was the problem with Rafe. He always managed to sneak into your life, into your thoughts, even when you tried to keep him out.

Days after trying to ignore him, there was another party but this time not at your house but at Rafe’s house. The music was pumping loudly, filling every corner of the house. The lights flickered to the beat of the bass, while the air was charged with the energy of bodies moving in perfect synchronicity. You stood in the center of the dance floor, lost in the music, letting a boy lead you confidently. He was attractive, and his smile had a mischievous touch that kept your thoughts away from Rafe, at least for a while.

“You’re a great dancer,” the boy told you, leaning close to your ear so you could hear him over the music.

You smiled, grateful for the compliment, although it didn’t affect you too much. All you wanted was to enjoy the night without complications, without thinking about what had happened days ago. But just when you thought you could finally relax, you felt a strong hand on your arm.

“That’s enough,” you heard Rafe’s voice, sharp and determined, as he pulled you away from the boy.

You turned quickly, coming face to face with him. His eyes, despite the slight glint of alcohol, were filled with an intensity you hadn’t seen in a long time. The boy you were dancing with raised his hands, taking a few steps back, clearly not wanting to confront Rafe.

“What the hell are you doing?” you asked, pulling away from his hold, furious at the interruption.

“What am I doing?” Rafe repeated, as if the answer was obvious. “What do you think you’re doing, dancing with him like that?”

You stared at him incredulously, your emotions swinging between surprise and anger.

“Excuse me? Since when do you care who I dance with?”

Rafe looked at you with his lips pressed together, his jaw tensing.

“I don’t care, but you don’t have to behave like that in front of everyone.”

“Behave like that?” you laughed bitterly. “Don’t tell me what to do, Rafe. You’re nobody to butt into my life.”

His face showed a hint of something, maybe surprise, maybe frustration. But he quickly hid it, taking a step back.

“You’re right,” he finally said, his tone cold and distant. “I’m nobody.”

With that, Rafe turned around and walked away, leaving you there, your heart pounding and a mix of emotions you couldn't control.

You stood in the center of the dance floor, watching him walk away. The music continued, people continued dancing, but to you everything seemed to have paused. His words echoed in your mind: I'm nobody.

You tried to regain your composure. You went back to where your friends were, but your mood was no longer the same. Although you pretended everything was fine, inside you the anger and confusion continued to grow.

Rafe had made his point clear: he didn't want anything serious, but he didn't seem to want you to be with someone else either. What right did he have to make a scene out of jealousy if you meant nothing to him?

You took a long drink from the drink someone offered you, determined to erase that moment from your mind.

The next morning the sun shone high in the sky as the group enjoyed the afternoon by Topper's pool. You were lying on a lounge chair, your sunglasses covering half your face, letting the heat tan your skin. You could hear the sound of the waves in the distance and the laughter of the boys drinking beers near the pool.

Rafe was there, of course, sitting next to Topper and Kelce. You tried not to look at him, concentrating on the book in your hands, even though you hadn’t read a single word since you sat down. Your tranquility was interrupted, however, when one of Topper’s friends, a boy named Mason, decided to approach.

“Enjoying the sun?” he asked with a smile, leaning in slightly so you could hear him.

You looked up over your sunglasses and smiled lightly at him.

“Yeah, it’s a nice day,” you replied in a relaxed tone.

Mason sat on the edge of your lounge chair, his presence much closer than you expected.

“I was thinking maybe we could take advantage of this nice day and go out on the jet ski later. What do you say?” he suggested, clearly interested in spending more time with you.

Before you could answer, you felt a shadow approaching. Rafe was now standing next to your lounge chair, his gaze fixed on Mason.

“Don’t you have anything better to do, Mason?” Rafe asked with a tight smile, though his tone made it clear it wasn’t a friendly suggestion.

Mason looked uncomfortable, but he didn’t move immediately.

“I was just talking to her, man. Relax.”

“Well, talk from over there,” Rafe replied, pointing towards the group of guys by the pool.

You sat up, furious, and pushed your sunglasses aside to face him.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Rafe?” you snapped, your voice filled with anger.

Rafe didn’t respond immediately, simply keeping his gaze fixed on Mason until he finally stood up and walked back to the group. Then, he turned his attention back to you.

“Can we talk?” he said in a tone that tried to be softer.

“No, we can’t.” You stood up from the lounge chair and grabbed your towel. Without waiting for an answer, you headed into the house, leaving Rafe standing by the pool.

You went up to your room, closed the door behind you, and dropped onto the bed, trying to calm yourself down. But it wasn’t more than a few minutes before the door slammed open. Rafe had walked in without even knocking, his face a mix of frustration and determination.

“What do you want now?” you asked, standing up to face him.

“I want to know what the hell you’re doing,” he said, closing the door behind him.

“What am I doing?” you repeated in disbelief. “I’m the one who should be asking you that! You were clear, Rafe. Our thing was just one night. I accepted it, remember? So why do you keep showing up every time someone else is paying attention to me?”

Rafe ran a hand through his hair, clearly uncomfortable.

“I don’t know,” he finally admitted, his voice lower.

That only made you angrier.

“Well, I do know that. You have no right to butt into my life, Rafe. No right to make me jealous when you yourself said it meant nothing.”

Rafe stayed silent, his eyes locked on yours. He knew you were right, but he couldn’t seem to find the words to respond. Instead, he took a step towards you, and before you could react, his lips were on yours.

You resisted at first, pushing him away slightly, still angry. But Rafe didn’t pull away, and after a second, the tension between you exploded. You gave in, kissing him back with the same intensity. His hands slid down your back, pulling you closer, as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

When you finally broke apart, you were both breathing heavily. Rafe looked at you, his eyes darker now, filled with desire.

“We have to stop here,” he said quietly, though his hands were still firmly gripped by your hips. “If we don’t, I won’t be able to stop later.”

You stared at him, not pulling away.

“Then don’t stop,” you whispered, with a determination that surprised even yourself.

That was all it took. Rafe kissed you again, more urgently this time, as he led you toward the bed. You both knew you were crossing a line, but at that moment, neither of you seemed to care.

[certaimromance]

ꫂ ၴႅၴ Allegation of Love.

Boyfriend!Hotch x Lawyer!reader

main masterlist

Summary: When you arrive at the police station to defend a client's innocence, you don't expect the man accusing her to be the same man you've been dating for months.

Words: 1,6k.

Warnings & Tags: fem!reader. mentions of crime and serial killers. established relationship. aaron already divorced. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: I just love Hotch and wanted to write something with him here. To me, he is definitely the kind of man who is so tired from work that he tries not to mention it on a date (of course, after all the trauma he has been through).

It wasn't that you were annoying, particularly aggressive, or obsessed with being right, you just did your job to the best of your ability. Even if that meant being the villain of other people's stories and mentally going over every law to make sure it was obeyed.

The issue was that not everyone saw it the same way. In the workplace, where you managed, your exact memorization of the rules wasn't always appreciated if you were the one carrying the defense and doing everything to overthrow the other side's theories. For the same reason, you usually had to argue with cops, prosecutors, judges, and, on this occasion, even an FBI agent who wasn't happy with your presence.

You had in your hands an alleged confession of several murders delivered by your client under the coercion of the man who was interrogating her, without your presence there and with some pretty questionable methods to put her in an empty room without concrete evidence or an order from the judge. Unbelievably, it was a fairly common occurrence in your day-to-day work.

At least it was until the boss of the agent you were arguing with showed up and everything started to get complicated.

“What's going on here?”

The cross words and your intensity in emphasizing the injustice of the manipulation of the confession did not allow you to realize that there was someone else in the room. Much less that it was someone who looked exclusively at you until one of the police officers present cleared his throat.

“There has been a violation of the law.” You slowly turned to look behind you, and that's when you saw him.

Aaron stood stiffly, trying to look professional and serious, wearing a tie that matched your dress.

“There wasn't one, Hotch. We just got the confession.” Agent Morgan interjected into the silence provoked by the exchange of glances between you and his supervisor.

For the first time in the half hour you'd been there, you were completely silent. Even when two more agents showed up to try to defuse the situation, you didn't stop repeating the same arguments and insisting on your point. Now, however, you seemed to have lost the ability to speak.

There was a long pause before Aaron spoke carefully. “I'll take care of clarifying the situation.”

Trying to remain serious and stoic, he led you to one of the station's offices with the excuse that he wanted to talk about the case quietly so as not to attract the attention of his team. The strange thing was that he called you by name in front of everyone, without anyone having introduced you before. Maybe one of you two would have noticed if you had been a little less attentive to the other and more attentive to how the situation looked in the other's eyes.

“What are you doing here?” He asked as soon as he closed the door behind you, loosening the tension in his jaw a little, at least now it was just the two of you.

“Where's my 'Good to see you, sweetie. Please don't sue us' or anything like that?”

He raised an eyebrow at your comment, hoping you would take it seriously. Automatically and unconsciously, he had begun to move away from you and sat down on the other side of the desk, marking a distance between the two of you. Aaron had brought out his work side and you had hidden it at the mere sight of him.

“The woman your team pressured into confessing to a crime is my client.” You finally spoke in a serious tone, staring at him with some surprise. This wasn't the usual dynamic with him, you usually had a more relaxed side to him.

“Since when do you take cases like this?”

“Since it's been assigned to me.” You said, raising your shoulders. “One of the buffet partners is on vacation and left me to his clients, as I mentioned the other night.”

The other night when you were in his car, when he had his hand on your thigh as he drove home, when he smiled at you every chance he got to turn around and look at you. When the two of you weren't on completely different sidewalks and weren't supposed to act like strangers.

“This is pretty weird.” You said after watching him for a few seconds and noticing that he seemed lost in his memories. “I hope the agent I was arguing with isn't your friend. That would be awkward.”

Aaron looked at you, trying to figure out what could have happened before he showed up. He already knew you were a good lawyer, very capable and, above all, a good striker. It was too weird for him to think that you had been using your skills against his own team, against the friends he once wanted to introduce you to and that you had now met for the first time in the most unimaginable way.

“What?” You asked.

“Nothing.”

“You look at me like I'm a ghost.”

His brow furrowed again.

He didn't want to say out loud that everything related to his work had ended badly and was completely destroyed, just like his ex-marriage and any attempt to fix it. He had always felt comfortable with you because your work was just as demanding but less dangerous than his. You usually handled family cases, divorces, estates, and coordinating child care. You were away from the blood, the killers, and all the atrocities he lived with.

“I'm worried about you being in the middle of this. It can be dangerous.” He showed his concern for you and had to hold back from holding your hand.

“You should worry more about the lawsuit.” You pointed out in a tone somewhere between teasing and serious. You didn't like him worrying too much. “I'm very good.”

“This is serious.” He finally let his guard down and placed his hand on your knee from under the table, giving it a gentle touch.

That was the man you know and love.

“Me too, it's my job.”

“And you're making my job harder.” He pointed out with a small smile in response to yours.

What were the chances of your love life and work life crossing paths like this? You thought they were pretty slim, which is why you steered clear of talking about work when you were together.

You were just about to answer when you heard a tap on the door and one of the agents who had been watching you during your discussion came over to give Aaron some information about the profile. You couldn't understand him very well because he seemed to be speaking in code because of your presence.

“I'll be there in a moment, Rossi. Get the team together and we'll talk.” Hotchner finished earnestly. You could still feel the warmth of his touch on your knee. “I'm just finishing up here.”

As soon as he left the office, you looked at Aaron with surprise.

“Is he who you always mention?” You asked, and he nodded. “I thought it was 'Rosie,' not 'Rossi,' and that he was a woman.”

“Now I understand why you grimace when I mention his name.” He replied with some amusement. “You were jealous.”

Yes, especially when you found out that they'd shared a room once.

“Don't mock me, I'm about to sue you.” You advertiste in a fake threatening tone, pointing a finger at him. “And I don't care how handsome you look right now, I'll do my job.”

“Me too.” He replied, trying to ignore your compliment to keep a serious expression on his face. “And you look pretty too, I like that dress.”

The love between you seemed to be bubbling anyway, and it was impossible to hide it when you had breakfast together just a few hours ago. You went from making him coffee to offering him a lawsuit if he didn't agree with you.

“I know, I'll use this dress while I debunk your profile theory.” You got up from your seat suddenly after taking your phone out of your bag. It was then that you looked him in the eye. “Are you going to release my client now or should I call the judge?”

“You're not going to take a suspect in five murders. I'm not going to let her off the hook.” He copied your action.

“Give me the evidence then, love.”

Oh, to call him that at that point was a cheap shot, especially when you were the one who won because he had no concrete evidence, only theories and his complex profile.

“But stay away from her anyway, she can be dangerous. My agents will keep an eye on her.” He snorted after a few seconds, trying to find an argument, but failing.

At that moment, you gave him a little smile, proud of yourself and what you had accomplished. “See you at dinner?”

“Sure.” He replied without being able to help but give you a small smile in return. “But I'll pick the place.”

“Well, that's an argument I'll let you win.” You put your phone back in your bag and took a couple of steps towards the door, stopping when you saw him coming after you. “Can I kiss my opponent?”

“This is pretty unprofessional.” He said, putting a hand on your waist and leaning you against the door. Without hesitation, he kissed you firmly on the lips.

After a few minutes, the two of you walked out of the office as if nothing had happened, and the professional scene continued. Your heels clicked towards the exit with your client at your side, while Aaron met with his team, trying to find new ways to solve the case and refine the profile. The only problem was that he happened to be working with people who were very detail-oriented.

And, gosh, it was impossible not to notice the traces of your lipstick on his lips.

[pucksandpower]

Like … for Uber?

Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: maybe you should have been a bit more specific when you told your parents that your boyfriend drives for a living

The aroma of roast chicken and freshly baked rolls wafts through the air as you nervously adjust the centerpiece on the dining room table. Your parents and younger brother are due home any minute, and you’ve spent the afternoon preparing for this pivotal family dinner. Tonight, they’ll finally meet your boyfriend.

The doorbell chimes, sending a jolt through your body. You hurry to the entrance, smoothing down your dress before opening the door. Max stands there, a bouquet of flowers in hand and an easy smile on his face.

“Hey,” he says, leaning in to kiss your cheek. “These are for your mother.”

“Thanks, you didn’t have to do that,” you reply, taking the flowers. “Come on in. My family should be here soon.”

As you lead Max into the living room, you can’t help but feel a twinge of guilt. You haven’t exactly been forthcoming about Max’s career, telling your family only that he’s “a driver.” It wasn’t a lie, per se, but you knew they assumed he worked for a ride-sharing service or delivery company.

“Nice place,” Max comments, looking around. “Very ... homey.”

You laugh. “Is that a polite way of saying it’s nothing like your fancy Monaco apartment?”

“No, I mean it,” he insists, pulling you close. “It feels lived-in. Comfortable.”

The sound of a car pulling into the driveway interrupts your moment. “That’ll be them,” you say, your stomach doing somersaults. “Ready?”

Max squeezes your hand. “Always.”

Your parents burst through the door, arms laden with grocery bags. Your mother’s face lights up when she spots Max.

“Oh, you must be the boyfriend!” She exclaims, setting down her bags to give him a hug. “You’re even more handsome than Y/N said.”

Your father steps forward, extending a hand. “Nice to meet you, son. Heard a lot about you.”

“All good things, I hope,” Max replies with a chuckle.

As introductions are made, you can’t help but notice your parents exchanging curious glances. You know they’re dying to ask about Max’s job, but they’re too polite to broach the subject right away.

“Dinner smells amazing,” your father says, sniffing the air appreciatively. “Shall we sit down?”

Everyone gathers around the table, and you begin to serve the food. The conversation flows easily at first, with your parents asking Max about his family and where he grew up. But as the main course is cleared away, you can sense the questions they’re itching to ask.

Your mother finally breaks. “So, Max, how long have you been driving?”

Max looks momentarily confused. “Uh, professionally? Since I was 17, I guess.”

Your father’s eyebrows shoot up. “Seventeen? Isn’t that a bit young to start with Uber?”

“Uber?” Max repeats, bewildered. “I don’t-”

You quickly interject, “Dad, Max doesn’t work for Uber.”

“Oh, my mistake,” your father says, looking embarrassed. “Lyft, then?”

Max turns to you, a mix of amusement and confusion on his face. “Schatje, I think there’s been a misunderstanding.”

Before you can explain, your mother chimes in. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, dear. Driving for those apps is honest work. We’re just curious about what it’s like.”

Max opens his mouth to respond, but you cut him off. “Mom, Dad, I think I need to clarify something. When I said Max was a driver, I didn’t mean-”

The sound of the front door slamming interrupts you. Your younger brother, Tommy, comes barreling into the dining room, out of breath and wide-eyed.

“Sorry I’m late, I was at practice and-” He stops short, his jaw dropping as he spots Max. “Holy shit! You’re Max Verstappen!”

The room falls silent. Your parents look from Tommy to Max, then back to Tommy, confusion etched on their faces.

“Language, Tommy,” your mother scolds automatically, before adding, “Wait, what did you say?”

Tommy is practically vibrating with excitement. “That’s Max Verstappen! He’s not just any driver, he’s a Formula 1 World Champion!”

Your father turns to Max, his expression a mix of shock and disbelief. “Is this true?”

Max nods, looking slightly sheepish. “Yes, sir. I’m a Formula 1 driver for Red Bull Racing.”

The silence that follows is deafening. Your mother is the first to recover, letting out a nervous laugh. “Oh my, and here we were asking you about Uber! We must look so foolish.”

“Not at all,” Max assures her, his smile warm and genuine. “It’s actually quite refreshing. Most people I meet already know everything about me.”

Your father leans forward, his interest piqued. “So, Formula 1 ... that’s the racing with the really fast cars, right?”

Max nods, launching into an explanation of the sport. As he talks, you can see your parents becoming more and more fascinated. Tommy, meanwhile, is peppering Max with questions about his latest races and rival drivers.

“I can’t believe my sister is dating Max Verstappen,” Tommy says for the third time, shaking his head in disbelief.

You feel a blush creeping up your neck. “Tommy, please ...”

Max reaches under the table to squeeze your hand. “It’s alright, liefje. I’m just glad they know now. No more secrets, yeah?”

Your mother stands up suddenly. “Oh, goodness! I completely forgot about dessert. I’ll just go fetch it.”

As she hurries to the kitchen, your father clears his throat. “So, Max, I have to ask ... is it dangerous? All that racing, I mean.”

Max considers the question carefully. “There are, of course, risks. But the cars are incredibly safe these days, and we take every precaution possible.”

Your mother returns with a homemade apple pie, setting it down in the center of the table. “I hope you like pie, Max. It’s an old family recipe.”

“It looks delicious,” Max says sincerely. “Thank you for going to all this trouble.”

As your mother serves the pie, the conversation shifts to more casual topics. You find yourself relaxing, relieved that the truth is finally out and that your family seems to be taking it well.

“So, how did you two meet?” Your father asks, between bites of pie.

You and Max exchange a glance, both smiling at the memory. “It was at a charity event in London,” you begin.

Max jumps in, “She spilled her drink all over my shoes.”

“Max!” You exclaim, swatting his arm playfully. “I did not spill it, you bumped into me!”

He laughs, holding up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. Maybe we bumped into each other. Either way, I’m glad it happened.”

Your mother sighs contentedly. “That’s so romantic. And now look at you two, so happy together.”

Tommy rolls his eyes. “Gross, Mom. Can we talk about racing again?”

The rest of the evening passes in a blur of laughter and conversation. As the night winds down, you find yourself in the kitchen with your mother, washing dishes while Max chats with your father and Tommy in the living room.

“He’s a lovely boy,” your mother says softly, handing you a plate to dry. “I can see why you like him so much.”

You smile, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. “Thanks, Mom. I’m sorry I wasn’t more upfront about his job. I just ... I wanted you to get to know him as a person first, you know?”

Your mother nods understandingly. “I get it, sweetheart. It must be hard, dating someone so famous. But from what I’ve seen tonight, he seems very down-to-earth.”

“He is,” you agree, glancing towards the living room where you can hear Max’s laughter mingling with your father’s. “He’s just Max to me.”

As you finish up in the kitchen, Max appears in the doorway. “Need any help?”

Your mother shoos him away. “Absolutely not, you’re our guest. Go relax.”

Max insists on helping anyway, drying the last few dishes as you and your mother put them away. The domesticity of the moment strikes you, and you find yourself imagining a future where scenes like this are commonplace.

Later, as you walk Max to his car, the cool night air nips at your skin. He wraps an arm around you, pulling you close.

“That went well, I think,” he says, a hint of relief in his voice.

You nod, leaning into him. “Better than I expected. Sorry about the Uber mix-up.”

Max laughs, the sound rumbling through his chest. “Don’t be. It was kind of fun, actually. Your family is great, by the way.”

“They liked you too,” you assure him. “Even before they knew you were famous.”

He stops at his car, turning to face you. His eyes are soft in the moonlight as he cups your face in his hands. “That’s all that matters to me. That they like me for who I am, not what I do.”

You lean in, pressing your lips to his in a gentle kiss. “I love you, Max Verstappen, Uber driver extraordinaire.”

He grins against your lips. “And I love you, Y/N Y/L/N, girl who definitely did not spill her drink on my shoes.”

[dailynnt]

ONE NIGHT AS THE PRICE OF A REQUEST

⋆˙⟡ Summary: You hate your neighbor Jungkook, but you have to ask him to pretend to be your boyfriend at a party to get rid of your annoying boss. He agrees, but you don't even imagine what you'll have to pay him with. Everything goes according to plan until Jungkook reveals his true price during the dance: one night with him or your life in the neighborhood will be hell.

⋆˙⟡ Couple: Jeon Jungkook/ The Reader, Jungkook/Y/N

⋆˙⟡ Age restrictions: 18+

⋆˙⟡ Index of chapters: ≣

⋆˙⟡ Number of chapter: 18/?

⋆˙⟡ Tags: enemies-to-neighbors-to-lover, fake relationship, hate to desire, dom!Jungkook, heated blackmail, one bed trope (later more than one bed), undeniable chemistry, forced deal, mutual obsession, dangerous game, unexpected feelings, passion on edge, impossible to resist, tension and desire, unprotected sex, sexual tension, slow burning

⋆˙⟡ From author: This chapter comment turned out way longer than expected 😅 so you’ll find it at the end of the chapter 👇🏻 I’ve become so chatty, haven’t I? 😃 I know some of you aren’t fans of long comments, but I had to share all this with you 🥺❤️‍🔥 Yours truly, Tiger Lily 🧡

⋆˙⟡ Dedication: to my biggest love @kelsyx33, @curse-of-art, @kooko009, @someoneelse0109, @smokinghotstargirl, @myjungkookthighs, @mskookie, @minimoninini, @medstudentlifestyle for loving me for nothing. I love you girls twice as much 🥺🤭💜🫶🏻

⋆˙⟡ Tag list: @kelsyx33, @curse-of-art, @kooko009, @someoneelse0109, @smokinghotstargirl, @myjungkookthighs, @mskookie, @minimoninini, @medstudentlifestyle, @bhonbhon, @ottergirl, @vantelover1306, @deepikhaprakash, @mar-lo-pap, @zeytiable, @lallataegi, @vintagemoonsstuff, @indigomoonchild09, @diame93, @bts-ruu, @asyr97, @taeloversblog, @songbyeonkim, @miniruuu, @hubbytaehyung, @queen1599, @goldenboysmuse , @nikkinikj, @kookiesncreamri, @guwol, @unholyforjk, @hisdecalcomania17, @kooklovee, @theycallmebaepsaee, @kash98, @aqueshasteele, @xsyruhh (If you want to be on the tag list, let me know)

⋆˙⟡ Warning: English is not my native language, so please be lenient with mistakes in the text 🥹

Chapter 18. A real arranged marriage

The sun had already disappeared behind the horizon, leaving only a light, pinkish-blue haze in the sky. The air was fresh after the heat of Jeju, but it was still hard to breathe, as if every breath was an invisible burden.

Everything looked as if nothing had changed. The same group of friends returning from a carefree vacation. The same Icheon airport, calm and routine. The same Jungkook, who took turns saying goodbye to everyone, hugging, nodding, smiling.

But in reality, everything has changed.

You followed Jungkook in saying goodbye to his friends, smiling politely, playing along with the jokes, promising to see him soon. However, inside, everything was shrinking into a small ball of anxiety. All day you felt like you were on pins and needles. You wanted to be alone, to digest the news that was hanging inside you like a heavy, throbbing stone.

When it was Namjoon's turn, you gave him a quick hug - warm enough, but brief. Just enough not to offend him, and not too much to make Jungkook jealous again.

The last person you said goodbye to was Haewon. She hugged you gently, a little longer than you expected. Leaning back, but not letting go of your arms, she whispered with a sly smile:

"I'll send you the video like I promised. We were all so drunk, but it's a good thing I recorded your vows and your first kiss."

You smiled as sincerely as you could. Although there was a wave of conflicting emotions inside.

"Don't worry, when you have the time, you'll send it to me," you said in a friendly tone.

When you finally got into Jungkook's car, the silence between you became too loud. He started the engine and slowly pulled out of the parking lot. The headlights cut a shadow on his face - handsome, focused, unusually silent.

You automatically opened your phone. Social media. Messengers. Nothing new. No mentions. No messages. All the things you've already watched on the plane several times.

The network was silent. No mention of your wedding to Jungkook, Manager Lee seemed to have the situation well under control. But for how long?

You locked your phone and dropped it to your lap. And then you looked at Jungkook. And at his hand.

His gold wedding ring glinted in the streetlight as he turned the wheel. A small, round reminder that this wasn't just a deal anymore.

This is a marriage.

A legal one, officially registered. And although on the outside Jungkook looked the same-your neighbor, your partner in agreement, the man you feel something for...

Now he was more than all of that. He was your husband.

And this thought sent a chill through your body. You were not ready for this. Your freedom, your caution, your control-everything break. You turned away to look out the window. You remembered the conversation this morning, the one that made you keep the ring on.

"Are you sure this certificate is real?" Jungkook asked his manager seriously, looking at you. You froze with a frightened expression. It was as if you couldn't quite believe it was true. Your brain refused to believe that the wedding on the beach was real.

"Yes, Jungkook-nim. It was sent in an official letter." Lee said calmly. Jungkook looked at you, and you couldn't tell what he was feeling. Was he shocked? Was he angry? Or was he happy? He didn't take his eyes off you, and you only clutched the blanket tighter.

"Okay. You're sure no one else had access to it?" Jungkook asked.

"No one," the manager replied shortly. "Judging by your reaction, this was not planned?"

Jungkook allowed himself to smile.

"Yes, Manager Lee. It was an accident," he said through the smile. But you didn't share his levity. It wasn't funny to you. The fact that the marriage was real was a disaster.

"So what are we going to do?" asked Manager Lee. You get out your leg that Jungkook was holding under the covers and moved to the other side of the bed. You gathered the blanket around your body, preparing to go to the bathroom. Jungkook followed you with his eyes, while giving instructions to the manager.

"Do your best to keep my parents and the media from finding out. This must remain a secret. For now. I'll be back in Seoul today, and we be talking about that, this’s not a phone conversation."

You were walking by when you suddenly felt Jungkook grab your wrist. You weren't expecting it - you got tangled up in the length of the blanket and literally fell into his lap. He still had the phone to his ear, but his other arm wrapped around you.

"I'll try to do that," you heard Manager Lee's voice say, "But it’s can't hide this for long. Someone from the registry office, someone from the staff in Jeju-anything can come out."

You looked at Jungkook intently, but he seemed to remain calm.

He nodded, even though Lee couldn't see it. His eyes were fixed on you, confused, in a blanket, a little disheveled, after a night that changed everything.

"Hold on to this information as long as you can. If there is anything urgent, call me," Jungkook said and hung up. His attentive gaze made your heart race. "Are you running away again?" he asked purring, with a slight smile on his lips, "but you're my wife now, you can't run far."

Your insides clenched at this fact. You looked him in the eye a few more seconds and then turning away.

"This isn't funny Jungkook!" you said seriously, "We need to get an annulment quickly."

The smile on Jungkook's face slowly slipped away and his eyebrows drew together slightly.

"Why would we do that?" he asked, squeezing you tighter.

"Because we didn't planned to a fake marriage, it was only supposed to be a fake relationship," you reminded him. Jungkook's eyes sparkled with undisguised disappointment.

"But our relationship hasn't been fake for a long time," Jungkook stated.

You froze.

Your brain didn't want to address the topic. Not now. Not like this, not with the ring on your finger, not in this room after everything that had happened in the last two days.

"But call them real can't either," you blurted out. And as soon as you said it, you realized it was true. You couldn't fully understand what was going on between you and Jungkook. So from the very moment you asked him to play the role of your boyfriend, everything between you was mixed up: your enmity with physical desire, your fake relationship with needing each other, your sex with controlling feelings. Everything was strange and unlike anything normal. And now to this was added a marriage that, instead of being a joke, turned out to be real.

"Why aren't they real?" Jungkook wondered. "As for me, they are very real."

You clicked your tongue, turning away. On the one hand, you liked that Jungkook thought your relationship was real, but the presence of the agreement made did not give you a sense of peace. You couldn't fully relax and accept that there was no longer a deal and that what you had was real. You still feel like it's all a game and that sooner or later it will end.

Jungkook looked intently at your profile, trying to read your true emotions. But you didn't even realize what you were feeling. Being his wife was not something you were ready for.

"Kitten... we've been out of the agreement for a long time. You are mine, and you know it. We're together because we want to be." His words seemed to strip you bare. They removed the shield from your deepest desires. And you're actually glad he said it out loud.

Jungkook is right, there is no agreement for a long time, and you don't even remember at what point it disappeared. It has long since become just an excuse.

But marriage? Anyway, this is a serious step. And you took it when you were completely drunk, unconsciously went for it, and unconsciously said any words that you can't even remember. This is not how you imagined your wedding. It wasn't supposed to be drunk and random.

You looked at Jungkook and realized that this man ignites your whole being, and maybe in the future you even dreamed of becoming his wife. However, you are not satisfied with the fact that this marriage took place without a conscious choice.

"If it's a real relationship, it's a mess," you summarize quietly. "But marriage? Jungkook, do you have any idea what that means?" you said in frustration, turning to face him. A silence fell between you. "It's all just nonsense with the flavor of disaster," you broke the silence.

"It's not nonsense," Jungkook said seriously, "On the contrary. This is my chance to get out of that damned contract marriage with Sukhi..." You felt the blood rushing in your ears. "I'm not going to annul this marriage..."

"Jungkook..." you wanted to protest, but he cut you off.

"Right now, I'm going to do everything I can to keep it quiet for now. And when the time is right, we'll say it out loud. Now they can't force me to marry Sukhi, because I'm already married. Why didn't I think of this before...?" Jungkook smiled, but you couldn't bring yourself to smile.

It's so easy for him: easy to have sex without feelings, and now easy to get married without a conscious choice. This angered you. You wanted to stand up, but Jungkook's strong arms held you in your seat.

"Jungkook!" you said angrily, trying to get out of his arms.

"Listen," he held you back, "I realize that this is unfair for you. You weren't going to marry me. And I have no goddamn right to force you to... But I need this marriage..." he was silent for a moment, as if he had forced himself not to say more. For some reason, you were more nervous. And when you made another attempt to escape from his arms, you found yourself on the bed, pressed down by Jungkook on top of you. You opened your eyes and saw how close he was. His handsome face was just a few centimeters away. "...and you. I need you..."

You froze at his sincerity. He wasn't talking about a deal right now and you knew it, but something was stopping you, you were afraid that this world that doesn't love you could take Jungkook away from you. You were afraid that if you gave yourself the opportunity to feel happy, you would lose everything.

"I'm not ready... I'm not ready to be your wife..." you whisper, shaking your head. Jungkook gently turned it back, taking you on the chin with two fingers.

"But you've already become that one," he said quietly. You looked into each other's eyes and you felt yourself slowly drowning in your mixed feelings.

"You don't understand!" your voice sounded desperate. "You can’t afford to play with this marriage like a new toy! Don't you realize that I... I will be the first to be destroyed if the truth comes out. The media will start looking for information about me, and you know exactly what they'll find. And when everyone finds out that I'm a bastard with an alcoholic mother, it will affect my life. I've been hiding it so hard. Jungkook... I can't take another public scandal." Tears were already filling your eyes, but you tried hard to hold them back.

"I'll take care of you," he said gently. "I won't let anyone hurt you. But if someone does, they will pay for it."

You huffed in disbelief, looking down between the two of you.

"You're can’t to shut up an entire country," you mumbled. Jungkook smiled playfully.

"You don't even know what your husband is capable of," Jungkook assured you with a smile. You looked up, holding back a smile. "Please," he whispered, "don't take the ring off."

Silence. You closed your eyes. The feeling was like smoke in your chest. Light, corrosive, and sweet at the same time. You wanted to say no. You had to say no. But instead... your hand remained on his shoulder. With the ring.

"We'll cancel it later. If that's what you want. But please trust me. I will protect you. You just have to stay by my side and pretend you're in love with me."

Tears rolled down your face. You sobbed softly. The truth was, you didn't have to pretend anymore. You are in love. And you feel that you will pay dearly for these feelings for him, but maybe it's worth it?

Suddenly you feel Jungkook's lips touch yours. He didn't deepen the kiss, at first he just kept your lips locked. And then he kissed you gently, lovingly. As if he had loved you all his life. You responded, thinking that this man would drive you crazy. Why do you always agree with everything he does?

Jungkook broke the kiss and slowly opened his eyes, and the way he looked at you at that moment broke the last of your barriers. He was no longer Jungkook - arrogant, narcissistic, unattainable. Now he was your husband. A man who carried passion, protection, and risk.

You tried to hold on. Not to panic and not to worry about what would happen soon, but scenarios kept popping up in your head. Some worse than others. And as if sensing your state, you felt Jungkook sneak a hand onto your knee.

You looked at his palm and then at him. You managed to force a smile, but your tension was too obvious for Jungkook.

"Are you okay?" he asked. It was hard for you to answer that question because you didn't know if you were okay. But you lied.

"Yes, I'm fine," you answered quietly, not quite sure.

Jungkook squeezed your knee a little harder, warmly, reassuringly. His eyes remained on the road, but his voice was gentle:

"Kitten, please don't think too much. Just trust me, I'll take care of everything."

You exhaled heavily, confirming that you had already thought too much.

"I can't stop thinking. When I imagine how your parents will react to this…" you admitted honestly, looking down at your interlocked fingers. "Or your 'fiancée'. It's going to be quite a show."

Jungkook didn't answer right away. His hand remained on your knee, pulsing with calm. Outside the window, fields and quiet houses passed by, the highway lost behind the curves. Inside the car, it was quiet and cozy.

"Hey..." his voice was soft. He turned away from the road for a moment and gently took your chin for a moment, forcing you to look at him. "I already said: I'll decide. This marriage is my responsibility. And I won't let you down. I promise."

Your heart sank. There was such confidence in his eyes, such courage that for a moment made you believe that nothing was really scary with him.

"You're very calm for a man who got married by accident," you muttered, still looking into his eyes.

"Why should I panic?" Jungkook smiled, but it was a smile with a slight shadow. "It's not the end of the world. It's just... an unconventional beginning."

You snorted, and a subtle smile appeared on your face.

From that moment on, you drove in silence. But this silence was not oppressive - it was warm. His hand slipped back onto your knee, a gesture that calmed you.

As you were reaching Seoul, familiar streets began to appear outside the window. You recognized the turn, then the traffic light at you always waited long, and then the supermarket in your neighborhood. And very soon, the tall building where your apartments were located.

Jungkook calmly parked the car at the main entrance. The engine stopped, and with it came a silence that immediately became tense. He turned to you and touched your thigh with his hand.

"I need to stop by the office," he said quietly. "But when I get back, I'll come straight to you."

You were sheepish. You wanted to be alone, to clear your head a little. You pressed your lips together for a moment and then took a deep breath:

"I'd like to be alone... if you don't mind."

Jungkook's eyes darkened. He looked at you carefully, assessing your condition. Confused, tired, tense. He could see it.

"If that's what you want, I won't come," he whispered gently and leaned closer, gently touching your lips. It was a warm, soothing kiss, almost like a hug. You could hardly stand that look. And those touches.

"I'll help you carry the suitcase..." Jungkook began, but you immediately shook your head.

"No, I'll do it myself. It's not worth it. You'll only waste time."

He sighed, raised his eyebrows, and said in a jokingly offended tone:

"You've just ruined my plan to stay with you for a few more minutes."

You smiled involuntarily. You didn't want to spoil his plans, and his words made you a little excited. Something warm spread through your chest.

"You'll have time to be with me." you said, still smiling.

Jungkook leaned closer again. His face was very close.

"Not today. And you know, even though you haven't gotten out of the car yet, I already miss you."

Your heart sped up. His kiss was different this time. There was more hunger in it. More need. More... feelings.

You responded, but barely managed to keep from losing control completely. He slowly pulled away and whispered:

"I had to do it... so that I could remember it before I went to sleep."

His words made your insides tremble and the feeling of butterflies filling your stomach came automatically. Jungkook got out of the car, walked around it, and opened the trunk. You followed. He took out your suitcase and set it on the sidewalk. You took it by the handle.

He leaned down again and gave you a quick kiss on the lips.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Jungkook said softly.

"Yes..." you replied, barely audible.

You walked into the apartment and immediately smelled a familiar scent: a slightly tart, yet delicate aroma of ginger and young coconut. You adored this scent. It was with this scent that your home began: the aroma diffuser appeared on the first day of your move in to fill your new apartment with a sense of comfort and warmth. And it became yours... until it began to be associated with Jungkook.

Why?

Perhaps because he was the only neighbor you had any interaction with. Every time you came home, something in the air reminded you of him. Your attention would involuntarily catch little things that had to do with him: the sound of his door slamming, a bass tune playing behind the wall, or a paper coffee cup on the floor next to your mailbox, just like the one he used to use.

You thought about him while breathing in that scent.

After you lived in the apartment for a month, you realized that Jungkook was not the best neighbor, in fact, he was a terrible neighbor. You remember one time when he was playing video games and didn't spare the shouting and the volume "for the best effect," as he explained to you later.

He was playing these games in the middle of the week, and you were angry. And when you were tired of putting up with it, you decided to go and ask him politely to turn down the volume and tell him that normal people use headphones for this.

You went out in your bathrobe, with your hair disheveled and your heart determined, and pressed the bell. You almost regretted it-but it was too late.

He opened the door. He was so relaxed, wearing a sleeveless T-shirt and with sparkling eyes that had something irritatingly seductive about them.

You thought he was too attractive, but his behavior was annoying. You asked him to be quiet because you had to wake up early for work. Jungkook looked you up and down, as if he was evaluating not only your words, but also... everything else. His smile was defiant and it made you feel uncomfortable.

When you asked him to turn down the game, he said he would turn down the volume, and then handed you his phone, which he pulled out of his shorts pocket. He said that you should write down your number in his phone and next time you won't have to come in person, although he wouldn't mind if you did.

You muttered unhappily that you hoped there would be no next time, because you asked him to remember that this was an apartment building and that you weren't the only one who could hear him, probably two floors down.

Your heart was pounding when you got back to your apartment, and you inhaled that same scent... you thought: how cunning he was, how easy it was to get your number.

The next fight was over the loud TV on your day off, when you were trying to concentrate on your reports. You came again. He met you in a bathrobe and offered to watch it together, saying that you were suffering in vain.

You refused. But your heart fluttered again, and again, breathing in the aroma of coconut, you thought: what is it about him

And then... there was the case of the pizza.

The delivery guy got the wrong door. You ordered food, and it went to his place. And as a normal neighbor, he would have sent a courier to you, but instead he paid for the delivery and for the food and wrote to you that if you wanted, you could come to his place for dinner. There was no end to your anger.

There were many reasons for your quarrels, and you fought more often than you said hello. But now you realize that it was his way of getting your attention. And he himself admitted that he liked to tease you.

It was fun for him. For you, it was a war.

And the day you asked him to be your boyfriend so that your boss would leave you alone. Jungkook condition to apologize on his knees, the conversation in his apartment.

When you got home, your heart was beating like crazy. You breathed in the air, and again felt this familiar aroma: coconut and ginger. And from that moment on, it became his.

Because every time your breath got out of control, you inhaled it. That smell. And with it, the memories of him.

You automatically took off your shoes, walked to the living room, sat down on the edge of the couch, and leaned against the armrest.

And you remembered.

Your fight right by the door, and you realize that this trip to Jeju has divided your life into before and after. You thought that you would never let Jungkook near you again in your life, because he screwed up and caused you to get fired from your dream job.

You gave him one last chance to make things right, but here's what you have: you admit that you fell in love with him, and you accidentally got married. Now, by law, you are his wife. The wife of a man you couldn't stand.

Fate really loves to play. And as Jungkook said, never say never.

You remember almost nothing from that night. You remember very vaguely putting on the dress, the ceremony itself, you remember Jungkook kissing you when you were in the room, he said some words but you can't remember. You also remember your sex after the wedding, it was intense. And you even begged him to stop. But not because you didn't want to. But because it was too much.

Your body instantly reacted to these memories. It throbbed between your legs, and an impulse ran through your walls. The thought of his strong body pressing pleasantly against you, his low, husky voice, his kisses, his big cock filling you, washed over you a wave of desire. And behind it, a wave of sadness.

You already miss him. Even though you asked for space.

You stood up and sat up straight, thinking that maybe he wouldn't listen to you and would come, which would be good, because you need him.

A few minutes later, your grandmother called. You talked to her, discussing simple things, and she asked you to come over when you could. You promised her that you would come as soon as possible, and when you said it, you felt like a criminal. How do you tell your grandmother that you accidentally married Jungkook? She'll be confused if you tell her, but you can't keep quiet about the marriage either. Or should I wait for now, maybe this marriage won't last long?

After talking to your grandmother, you feel hungry and decide to go to the convenience store to get some food. You were not in a good mood, so you bought some ramen, kimpab, and chocolate cakes.

When you returned, you turned on the kettle. You sat down on the floor by the coffee table, turned on the TV, poured boiling water over the ramen, and waited for it to cook and started eating. As you took a new portion of noodles, a ring caught your eye, and you couldn't help but keep your gaze on it. How strange this is for you. Being a Jungkook wife is something fromthe realm of the surreal.

You continued to eat, but you didn't taste much, but you felt something else: the tension dissolving. But also at the same time... how realization comes.

Your thoughts kept coming back to Jungkook. To his words, to his touch, to the way he looked at you in the car. About that fucking wedding, which you felt was going to be a big problem, no it was going to be a disaster.

You thought you were really in love with him. But the world didn't ask if you were ready for this turn of events. Time went ahead of you. And now... now you are married, but sleeping in different apartments. How did this happen?

Around nine in the evening, you heard the sound of Jungkook's combination lock on the door. He had come home. Your desire to see him increased exponentially, but you held back because you decided you needed to be alone.

You went to the bathroom and took a quick shower, you didn't feel like taking a bath, even though it was your favorite way to relieve tension. You dried yourself with a soft towel and put on a simple T-shirt and pajama pants. It was raining outside, so the apartment was cool.

You went to bed and got under the covers. But sleep did not come. You turned at bed a many times, listening to the rain outside the window. The sound of the drops hitting the window sill could not drown out the obsessive thoughts that were tearing at your head. So you picked up your phone and tried to distract yourself with it.

You were scrolling through your Instagram feed when you received a notification that Jungkook had written to you. Your heart instantly sped up. You clicked on the message:

📲 Jungkook: "It seems like it's been forever since I slept in bed alone... It feels so big."

You smiled. His hint was obvious. And something warm spread in your chest. You wanted to write him something in response, but your mind was empty, only the desire to be near him.

A minute later, another message came:

📲 Jungkook: "You read it so fast and don't answer? 😏"

You smile again, and throw an emoticon instead of replying:

📱You: "😶‍🌫️"

Jungkook replies almost instantly;

📲 Jungkook: "😁 Anyway, you need a break from me, so good night..."

You're about to say goodnight back when he adds another message.

📲 Jungkook: "my wife."

You froze in mid-word as you typed. Everything inside you shuddered when you read those two words. You locked your phone and lay down, staring at the ceiling.

Should you go to him? But you didn't know what to say to him. Is it normal for you to come to him in the middle of the night and tell him you miss him? You laughed out loud, covering your face with your hand. You're married with him, but you're afraid to go to him and tell him you miss his warmth. You put the phone down and tried to go back to sleep.

Forty minutes passed and you got out of bed. The desire to see him was too strong. It's like feeling thirsty, and to get rid of it, you need to take at least a sip of water, or even better, drink a bottle of cold water.

That's why you were already putting on a zip-up sweatshirt over your T-shirt. You took your phone in your hands. You left the apartment and stood in front of his door.

It was already late at night, and the silence in the hallway was like a vacuum. You pressed the call button. And you regretted it. He must be asleep... You were about to leave.

But the door opened.

Jungkook stood on the threshold, disheveled, with his torso exposed, wearing sweatpants that sat seductively on his hips. You gulped in a breath, your eyes sliding treacherously over his collarbones... his abs, and a little lower. You can’t notice an underwear under his pants.

You met his eyes and you felt your legs go weak. Jungkook seemed to be looking at you as if nothing existed around him. There was an awkward silence between you and you decided to speak first, because you were the one who came to him.

"Did I... probably wake you up?" you mumbled.

"I was awake," Jungkook said shortly. He leaned one hand on the doorjamb and smiled slyly. His gaze slid gently over you, from head to toe. And you felt déjà vu. Just like the moment when you came to ask him to be your boyfriend.

You looked at him, waiting for him to say "come in". But he was silent.

"I... came to say good night," you mumbled, trying not to drown in shame.

His laugh was low, warm, a little sly.

"Why didn't you text?" he asked, tilting his head. You were even more confused, and Jungkook's smile grew even bigger. You realized he was testing you. You raised your eyebrows and looked away.

"Isn't it obvious that I came to see you, and you're asking these stupid questions?"

He didn't answer. He just grabbed your wrist and literally dragged you into the apartment. The door slammed behind you. And at the same moment, his lips crashed into yours. A hot, greedy kiss that intertwined your tongues. You responded instantly, hugging his neck as he led you forward without breaking the touch.

Jungkook stopped and parted your lips. He smiled with satisfaction when you opened your eyes.

"I wanted to hear that you missed me," he murmured between you. He kissed you briefly on the lips and continued to lead you to the bedroom. And you didn't mind at all when he began to undo the zipper on your sweatshirt as he walked.

"I missed you," you finally whispered. "That’s real reason why I’m here."

Jungkook stopped, dropping your sweatshirt to the floor.

"I knew you wouldn't last long without me," he smiled. His gaze was warm, but his passion was burning. He brought your lips together again and kissed you, enjoying each of your lips in turn.

Before you knew it, you were in his bedroom. The bed touched your ankles, and in a moment he was already laying you on it. You spread your legs, letting him between your legs while he covered you with kisses, touching your body as if he had finally gotten something he had been craving.

"Kook..." you whispered, barely holding back a moan.

He put his hand on your hip, pressing his already aroused cock against your pussy. His breath hitched on your neck.

"Mmm?" he murmured as he continued to suck in your skin, leaving hot wet marks.

"Did you... did you talk to Manager Lee?" you gasped, trembling as you felt him start to move against you, building towards orgasm.

"Yes," he replied. Jungkook stopped and lifted your T-shirt higher. His eyes flashed with lust when he saw your bare breasts - you weren't wearing a bra. "Oh, fuck..." he whispered before his tongue slid over your nipple. You moaned, arching up against him.

Jungkook lingered at your breast, playing with one nipple with his tongue, then bit it lightly, and then moved on to the other. Your breath came in ragged gasps, your hands tightened on his shoulders, your nails slid over his skin, warm and taut with tension.

"Have you decided something?" you asked, barely able to get the words out. He pulled away from your chest and lay down next to you. His hand slid down to the edge of your pants, slowly, almost lazily. But his eyes were hungry, focused only on you. He caught your lips, completely possessing them.

Jungkook still didn't answer your question. His fingers touched you through the fabric of your underwear. He ran his fingers up and down, drawing out the moisture. Jungkook pulled away from your lips.

"Wet..." he whispered, penetrating your underwear. His fingers parted your folds and the next moment you felt him touch your clit. "You missed me with more than just your heart, didn't you?"

You bit your lip, unable to answer. You just closed your eyes, and your body curved toward him again. You moved your hips slightly to meet his fingers. His middle one entered your passage and you wanted more.

He pulled down your pants and panties without looking away and moved lower. His breath touched your thighs. His tongue touched your sweet moisture. You moaned, involuntarily spreading your legs even wider.

Jungkook caressed you with his tongue, knowing your every spot, every inch of your body, the one that would make you moan louder.

His tongue slid in circles around your clit, and his fingers gently penetrated inside, making you shudder with pleasure. You moaned over his head, louder, more frequently. There were no more thoughts in your head except for Jungkook and his skillful tongue.

"Are you close?" he asked as he lifted up, licking his lips. You nodded, faintly, unable to speak. You were really on the verge. "No, kitten, you're not going to cum now," he said, rising above you. You felt his hard cock touching your bare pussy, his lips near your ear. "I want you to scream my name when you come."

Jungkook got off you to take off his pants. You opened your eyes when you realized his warmth was gone. He pulled off his sweatpants and you understood that he was not wearing any underwear. It was expected, because you had suspected it the moment you saw him at the door.

He kept looking at you lustfully as his pants fell to the floor. Jungkook stood completely naked in front of you. You moved to the edge of the bed, keeping your eyes on his crotch. The way the tip dripped with pre-sperm made you want to taste it.

You took off your T-shirt and then looked up at Jungkook, who had already taken a step toward you, towering over you. He knew what you wanted, so he took his cock in his hands and rolled it up, standing in front of your face.

His pupils dilated and you smiled wider, licking your lips to moisten them.

"It’s my good girl want to make me feel good?" he asked, placing his hand on the top of your neck. His fingers get lost in your hair as he gently tilts you forward, touching the head of his cock to your lips. He runs his head over them, not pushing cock into your mouth. You grab onto his hips to have some support.

You tasted the saltiness of his pre-cum, and by inertia opened your mouth to receive it. But he withdrew his cock without entering.

You raised your eyes, looking at him. His gaze was completely dark, and a smile played on his lips. You took the length of it in your hand, and then, without taking your eyes off it, you leaned forward and ran your tongue along the tip.

Jungkook groaned as you took the head of his cock in your mouth and sucked on it, feeling it twitch, spurting more fluid onto your tongue. Your tongue swirled around the head, making him moan more louder.

You let go of his cock, which was glistening with your saliva, and licked your lips. You looked up at him again and smiled. It was like you were teasing him, but Jungkook wasn't the type to take it well.

He smiled back at you, breaking into a sigh, and then taking your chin in his other hand, he began to shove his full, hot cock into your mouth. You squeezed his thighs with your fingers as you felt him plunge the length of it into your mouth. You opened your jaw wide to let him go deep.

He stood still for a moment to enjoy your welcoming mouth. His hand on your neck went up to the back of your head, but he didn't do anything but keep it there.

"Fuck..." he cursed. "Fuck, it feels so good here..." he moaned softly. You took a deep breath and started moving your head. You made a few movements, feeling the saltiness of his cum on the tip of your tongue. Jungkook was pressing on the back of your head, moving his hips forward, sliding his cock over your tongue.

"Yes... don't stop..." his voice was low, like a coo, with undisguised desire.

You smiled as you swallowed him again, looking up for a moment to see his expression. His eyes were closed, his head was tilted back, and muffled moans were escaping his lips.

It was so intimate, so sexy. You felt the moisture between your legs increase.

You caressed him with your tongue, changing most sensitive pace, and felt him tremble every time you pressed your lips on the same spot. His cock was getting harder and harder and you knew he was going to come. The movements of his hips and your mouth became more intense. The sinful squelching sounds sounded sexy and you wanted to take Jungkook to the end.

"Fuck what a mouth," he murmured from above, "you're so good at it, sucking my cock so well. I love your blowjobs..." he praised you. You wanted to smile, but it was impossible because he was deep in your mouth.

Your jaw started to hurt and tears were running down your cheeks, but you had to make Jungkook cum in your mouth. He became as hard as possible and when you thought that the moment had come, he abruptly came out of your mouth. You coughed a little, saliva mixed with his cum dripping down your chin. You wiped it away with the back of your hand and then felt Jungkook grab your hand and lift you to your feet.

He took your face in his hand and pressed his lips to yours, intertwining your tongues. Your kiss tasted like Jungkook's cum, and for some reason that made you two even more exciting. Jungkook's tongue plunged deep into your mouth, making you feel the clench on your walls. His kisses alone made your insides tremble, that's how much he affected you.

It was stupid to deny what you had between you. With every sex you had, your feelings grew stronger and you thought it was time to stop pretending that you were acting on an agreement. Jungkook thinks that you have a relationship, you are married after all, and you want to accept what you have. You're in love with him, and to hell with everything else that's going on around you. He is all that matters to you.

He pushed over you and you touched the bed again, but he didn't lay you down on the bed. He pulled away from your lips and you both breathed heavily, looking into each other's eyes.

Jungkook smiled first and you automatically did the same. He held your face, squeezing your cheeks. He bit your lips and then let go. He sat down on the edge of the bed, slapped his thighs, inviting you to sit on top of him. His expression was playfully seductive.

"Come on, kitten, I want you to ride my cock," he suggested, and you hurried to sit on his lap.

You spread your legs and climbed on top of him. He held his cock with his hand, immediately guiding it to your entrance. You were too wet, you were literally dripping, you were uncomfortable. Jungkook noticed your anxiety and pressed on your hole, and then he took you by the neck and pulled you in for a kiss. He was gentle, but not without the passion that was raging between you.

"You're always so wet for me," he whispered as you began to slowly lower yourself onto his length, "it feels good, you take me so well."

You lowered yourself completely and held your breath. The way he filled you from this angle made you feel almost dizzy. Jungkook grabbed your buttocks and tilted you to him as much as possible. You hugged his neck, touching your cheek to his shoulder.

His cock entered deeply, stretching you, and you feel - right there, deep inside... like something clicked. You inhaled shakily. The feeling was so crazy, and it was impossible to move.

"Kook..."

"What...?" he asked hoarsely, with barely restrained pleasure.

"Fuck... you're... in there, I can feel it..."

His fingers squeezed your buttocks harder.

"Is that it... The cervix..."

You nodded, unable to speak. You pulled away from his shoulder and made a movement, a slight one, but it made you feel his cock in every cell of your body.

"Move... slowly. And tell me when it's too much," he ordered. You rose a little and then fell back down again, panting. "It’s good?" He asked softly.

"Yes... fuck it’s so good..." you exhaled. And you don't know if it was like that before, it seemed like he was already reaching your uterus, but now it's not like that, it's something completely different. It's a crazy pleasure.

"I love it when you're on top of me. The way you let me in so deep..." he murmured against your lips. You started to move, slowly, in a circular motion, feeling his cock pressing against the most sensitive spot inside you.

Jungkook looked at you in complete admiration, his mouth open. Your moans mingled, and the air in the room grew hotter. Your knees pressed against his thighs, and you felt the pleasure spread throughout your body.

You rested your hands on his chest and began to move faster. His fingers caught your hips again, helping to set the rhythm.

You sank deeper, and with each thrust he reached places no one else could. Your head threw back, your breasts trembled excitedly, and between your legs throbbed so hard you could barely breathe.

"Faster..." you heard his low voice say, bringing you back to consciousness. You tried to speed up. His hands moved to your buttocks and squeezed the skin on your buttocks harder. He was guiding you, he was impaling you as deep as he could. You felt a wave of pleasure rolling in. With each stroke, it became clearer, closer. He found your G-spot and furiously stimulated it with his cock.

Something powerful began to grow inside you - it wasn't like a normal orgasm. It was... more. It was unfathomable.

"I..." you moaned, wanting him to stop, because the sensations that were rolling over you were too much to bear. "I... I didn't..." you whispered breathlessly, clutching his shoulders in confusion.

"Shhh," he hissed, "a bit more..." he moved his hips, intensifying that crazy feeling so that your head started to spin.

"Kook... no. Stop. I can't take it..." you moaned.

He stood up a little and put one arm around your back, forcing you to lean back against him, while the other reached down and began to stimulate your clit.

"You can, my love. I going to destroy you tonight," he says in a deep, low voice that echoes on your skin.

"Fuck...." you breathe out, "I can't take it anymore, it's too much..."

"You're so fucking beautiful when you're about to break... Just a little bit more…" he says, squeezing your ass and speeding up his movements from the bottom up, deeper, harder.

The sensations grew in a wave that covered you with a head. And then... just at the moment your body trembled, you could neither think nor speak. Your pussy contracted, and your body suddenly released its tension.

You didn't feel the liquid spill out of you, you only felt a wave of orgasm crash through your body.

You rested your forehead against his shoulder and breathed heavily while sitting on his still-excited cock. It took some time before you could realize what you were feeling.

"Oh, hell..." Jungkook muttered, running his hands over your buttocks. You sat up looking at him, still breathing heavily. "Did you just finish squirting on me? That's... the hottest thing I've ever seen."

You blushed, looking down between you. You saw a little liquid between your joined bodies.

"Oh my God..." you said in horror, "Did I really squirting on you?"

Jungkook smiled slowly, a little tired but seductive, truly happy.

"You don't even know how much I liked that..." he murmured, and his fingers slid easily between your thighs. He touched the wet spot and brought his finger to his lips, licking a drop. "You're incredible..."

Your cheeks burned with shame, but before you could speak, his hands were already around your waist. He lifted you up, stepping out of you, and put you on the bed. He climbed on top of you and you spread your legs so that he could have a comfortable position.

"I'm not done yet..." he said and pushed his cock sharply into your hole, entering again, just as deeply. You moaned. Jungkook lay down on top of you, pressing his weight on top of you. He found your arms and crossed them, holding you with one hand and resting his weight on elbow with the other.

His cock was still hard, hot, throbbing inside you, and his movements, at first slow and powerful, grew to be fast and sharp. He was chasing his own orgasm, causing a new wave of orgasm in you.

Jungkook held your hands, confidently controlling the rhythm. His gaze was focused only on you - deep, dark, full of lustful passion and the same possession you felt in his every move.

You were breathing heavily, feeling a new wave of pleasure coming over you, mixing with the achingly sweet afterglow of your first orgasm. Your neck stiffened, your legs tightened around him, and your fingers tightened in palm.

You bit your lip to keep from screaming. But he heard your moan - deaf, strangled, real. His body loomed over you-hot, strong, driven only by desire and lust.

And at the moment when your body arched, when his hand touched your clit again, you were covered by a second wave. Powerful, almost unbearable. You screamed out his name, torn between shame and delight, between love and physical combustion. At that very moment, Jungkook hardened and then spilled out into the middle of you. He twitched, releasing his semen.

Jungkook lay down on top of you, pressing down hard with his weight, and his head fell near your shoulder, his heavy breathing merging with yours. Your bodies trembled for a few seconds, connected, stuck together like one.

"Fuck..." he whispered breathlessly, "I'll never have enough of this sex..."

You gasped for air, unable to say anything. You just smiled weakly, feeling his hand gently running down your side. Your bodies sticky, wet, throbbing in unison. Jungkook let go of your hands and finally got off you. He sat on the edge of the bed, running his hand through his hair.

You were both exhausted and sweating. Jungkook looked at you and smiled with satisfaction.

"We made a mess of it," he said, looking at your body and the crumpled blanket. You smiled shyly and reached for his hand. He intertwined your fingers and kissed the back of your hand. And deciding that this was not enough, he leaned down to kiss you on the lips.

He connected your lips and gave you an absolutely tender, loving kiss. Jungkook pulled away a few centimeters and said in a quiet, husky voice:

"You... were so hot on top..." he confessed, "This sex will be in my head for a long time."

You smiled, licking your lips.

"In mine too, you do things to me that I don't recognize myself," you admitted now. Jungkook smiled slyly out of the corner of his mouth.

"I'm just unlocking all that potential," he joked, and you burst out laughing.

Jungkook touched your lips one last time and stood up.

You took a shower, and in the shower, Jungkook tried to seduce you again, but you told him that you couldn't take it just once and that he would have to wait until your pussy stopped hurting. Jungkook was disappointed, but he was good at hiding it.

After taking a shower, you changed the soiled sheets and went to bed. You felt tired, the flight, heavy thoughts, and intense sex had exhausted you to the max. You lay on Jungkook's chest listening to his heartbeat. You found yourself thinking that you liked the sound of his heartbeat. You put your hand on his chest and noticed wedding ring. Jungkook put his hand on top of yours and now you could see his ring too. Your fingers were intertwined and the rings reminded you that your relationship was different now.

"Kook..." you called softly.

"Mmm?" he murmured sleepily.

"You didn’t told me about your conversation with Manager Lee. What did you decide?" you lifted your head to look at him. Jungkook opened one eye, meeting your gaze in the darkness, and then closed it and relaxed.

"We talked and decided that it would be better to leak the information about our wedding right away. Tomorrow, the media will write that we secretly married."

Hearing this, you raised up on your elbow, nervously looking at his face.

"What do you mean tomorrow? Why so soon? You said we should wait for the right moment!" your voice was trembling. You weren't prepared for your wedding to be announced so soon. Jungkook opened his eyes and turned his face to you. He looked at your face for a few seconds, and then with the hand he was hugging you, he touched your hair and tucked it behind your ear.

"We need to act quickly, because of some things. My father has already prepared everything for the merger of the companies," he exhaled irritably and looked away, "He did it behind my back. So I have to thwart his plans. In addition, the Busan branch is rapidly losing shares, which are being bought up by Kang Tehwon’s offshore company. And that complicates the situation," Jungkook explained.

You frowned thinking about what tomorrow morning will be like. You imagine the headlines and the comments that will be made. For a moment, you imagine Sukhi and did a small smile, but it disappeared instantly as you thought about his parents' reactions.

"Okay. I’ll think tomorrow will be fun," you said ironically. Jungkook hummed.

"You bet," he agreed. You laid back down and felt a wave of anxiety in anticipation of the morning. Jungkook's hand began to run lightly over your back, up and down, drawing circles as if to soothe you. "Tomorrow, when the news comes out, I want you to be with me. We will go to the office together and wait for my parents to arrive. We will confirm that we are married."

Everything inside you clenched with fear and worry. You lay on your back, looking at the ceiling. Your body was heavy, but your mind was racing.

"Jungkook..." your voice was quiet, almost childlike. He turned his head toward you, and you met his dark, calm gaze.

"Do we have to? Can I... not meet your parents for now?" you asked desperately. "I'm... I'm not really ready. They'll hate me... I remember how your mother looked at me... like I was trash."

Jungkook was silent for a few seconds, and this silence was not devastated, but deep. He leaned over and hugged you, covering you with warmth.

"I understand that you are scared..." he whispered, touching your forehead with his nose, "I will take care of everything, but if they hurt you, I'm safe you. And if you want I’m letting you not hold back and fight. Don't be afraid of them. Because I don't care what they think."

His voice sounded firm, but with a touch of tenderness. You felt something inside you lighten a little. Not for long. But enough not to run away. You hugged Jungkook, resting your forehead on his shoulder. You lay there in silence for a while, and you even thought Jungkook had fallen asleep because his breathing was steady.

"Y/N?" he suddenly called to you. You moved around.

"What?" you asked, against his shoulder.

"If we're married, shouldn't we live together?"

It was as if you were struck by lightning. Something inexplicable stirred in your chest. And you froze, even holding your breath. Live together? As if you were a married couple?

Jungkook leaned back and looked at you. Even in the darkness of the room, he could see how puzzled you were. He laughed low, meeting your gaze.

"You look as if I told you to throw yourself off Namsan Tower, not ask you to live together," he joked. You pressed your lips into a thin line, feeling your heart pounding fast.

"Well, our marriage isn't real... so I don't think it's necessary..." you mumbled. Jungkook raised a sarcastic eyebrow.

"It is real," he reminded you, his voice firm but not without a touch of irony. "With seal."

You released yourself from his arms and lay back, turning your head away. You were silent. Jungkook looked at you silently for a while, and then moved over, pressing his body against you.

"You really can't run away from me now. You're my wife and I'm not going to let you go," he said seriously. "And if you're my wife, then you have to live with me."

"Jungkook, are you starting this again?" you snapped. "You're blurring the lines between us, but they still exist..." Jungkook interrupted you before you could finish.

"It’s you starting again..." he said, irritated, but without anger, "What boundaries can there be between us if we love each other?"

You froze, puzzled by his words for the second time. Love... You opened your mouth but couldn't say a word. Instead, you just looked into his eyes, feeling your breath catch in your chest.

"We didn't..." you began, but your voice trailed off.

"Oh, we are," he assured. "The deal was a good way to get closer to you," Jungkook said, his voice even more serious, "I wanted you to be mine. I liked you from the first time we met. I told you that I stayed in this apartment for you. When you came to ask me to be your boyfriend, I almost choked with joy. I deliberately didn't tell you that I was the heir to the ‘John Group’, because you would have canceled the deal. When you agreed to my terms of paying you back for my services overnight, I knew I would become dependent on you. And so I did. I couldn't get that sex out of my head after you blew me off, but I wanted you, and I was looking for a way to get close to you again. And then that article about you being my mistress. I saw it in the morning. I went to work and waited for you to come to me..."

You listened to Jungkook and couldn't believe your ears. You raised your eyebrows when you heard that he was waiting for you when the article about you came out.

"It’s you did that we to be filmed at corporate?" you asked in horror.

"No. I didn't do it. It was really an accident, but it played into my hands. That's why I made you a deal. Not only would it help me get out of the contract marriage, but it was the only form that allowed me to be with you even if you didn't trust me. Even if you still didn't believe that I really wanted you. That's why I was always angry when you pushed me away. I know you like me, but you clung to this agreement and didn't let your feelings go. But now you see? We are meant to be together, and this accidental marriage is proof of that..." Jungkook was silent for a moment. And you didn't know what to say either, having heard his revelation. He leaned down and touched your lips. He kissed you, putting all his feelings into this kiss. You squeezed his shoulders, not wanting to lose his closeness. "I'm head over heels in love with you, and I want you to be mine to forever ," Jungkook whispered, pulling back just for a moment to look into your eyes.

His gaze was not seductive, not playful, not intrusive. It was sincere. Almost vulnerable. He never took his eyes off you, as if trying to convince you that it was true. No games. No deals. No masks.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, and your voice came out softly, like a whisper:

"I... don't know what I feel. Or rather, I'm... afraid to believe it. Everything between us was too fast. Too wrong. It was too..." you looked down, but Jungkook pressed his fingers to your chin and forced you to look up at him again.

"To hell with how it was, just stop pushing me away," he said softly, kissing you briefly, "You feel that way too? So just say yes or no." he whispered.

"Yes," you admitted. "I love you," you finally admit out loud. Jungkook hovers over you. You don't realize what a storm of emotions he's holding back inside. He's blissfully relieved at the uncontrollable euphoria that has suddenly filled his entire being.

Your confession hit him harder than any blow he had ever received - but it didn't hurt. It was like a breath of air after a long dive. Like finally finding the answer to a question he was a long time to find.

Jungkook froze, as if petrified for a few seconds, not blinking. His breathing became heavier, and something warm, gentle, almost trembling, glistened in the corners of his eyes. His jaw twitched, as if he was trying to say something, but no words came out. His whole body seemed to be torn - tension, joy, pain, relief, and... love. Love he thought he would never know.

Slowly, carefully, he leaned toward you and touched his forehead to yours.

"Say it again..." he whispered hoarsely. His voice broke, as if it were something unreal, something that seemed to him an auditory illusion.

You smiled through your tears.

"I love you, Jungkook..." you whispered again.

His eyes closed. He exhaled as if after a hard battle he had just won. His arms tightened around you, holding you close as if he was holding the most precious thing he'd ever had.

He kissed you lightly on the cheek, on the lips, on the forehead, wherever he could reach, as if trying to imprint your confession on your body. His lips connected with yours again, and this time there was no thirst in that kiss, only warmth, tenderness, and love.

Exclusive Dispatch

Jeon Group's heir apparent married in secret? Who is the woman next to Jeon Jungkook?

Author: Song Erim | Dispatch Korea

Date: [current date] | Publication time: 08:00 KST | Seoul, South Korea

This morning, Dispatch received confirmation that has shocked the business elite. Jeon Jungkook, the sole heir to the ‘Jeon Group’ giant back in the spotlight. According to our information, Jeon Jungkook secretly got married last week in a private ceremony, without warning to the media or the public.

The photos we have obtained show Jungkook with an unidentified woman wearing a wedding ring similar to the one visible on Jungkook's own hand.

A ‘Jeon Group’ spokesperson confirmed Jungkook's marital status, but refrained from elaborating:

"Yes, Jeon Jungkook-nim is officially married. This is a private matter, and we ask that you respect his privacy."

But who is she?

Sources say that his now wife is not affiliated with a large corporation and does not belong to a well-known dynasty. She is rumored to have worked in creative marketing, but her identity is carefully concealed. According to some rumors, she is a former employee of a subsidiary.

It was this girl who was first was spotted at an EON Creative corporate event together with the heir, and later the same girl was photographed a month ago in Jungkook's arms late at night in Jamwon Hangang Park in downtown Seoul. After the photo went viral on social media, ‘Jeon Group’ refused to comment, and Jungkook himself disappeared from the public space for several weeks.

Meanwhile, rumors are already circulating among the corporation's shareholders about the impact of this news on the merger with Kang International, as Kang Tehwon’s daughter, Kang Sukhi, was considered as Jungkook's future bride in a strategic marriage.

Jungkook's marriage is not only a personal decision, but also a potential corporate earthquake. And if it is true love, it has jeopardized deals worth billions. Will Jong's family support his choice? And who is this mysterious wife really?

We'll follow the story and try to find out more about Jungkook's mysterious wife.

All the details are first on Dispatch.

You finished reading the article and looked at Jungkook sitting across from you with frightened eyes. You looked at the photos Hyewon took again. Jungkook told you that he asked her to send those photos. You didn't know what to say. The article was provocative and seemed to have been written the way Jungkook wanted it. He smiled at you as he took a sip of his coffee.

"Is this..." you looked down at the tablet again for a moment and then up at him, "is this what you planned? Is it?"

Jungkook nodded, sipping his coffee slowly. His gaze was attentive but calm, even a little satisfied.

"Everything is written exactly as it should be. No unnecessary names, no details... but with the right hint."

You sighed nervously, swallowing down the anxiety that was pressing inside.

"You talk about it so easily..." you said quietly.

Jungkook put down his cup and stood up. He walked around the table and, standing in front of you, leaned down to kiss your forehead.

"I'm taking easily because it’s easy. Everything will be fine. Now, my love, we have to get ready - my parents already know. And, by the way..." he pulled out his phone and showed you the screen — ten missed calls. Mostly from his mom and... Sukhi. "They don't seem to be happy about the news," he joked.

You felt your heart pounding. Your palms grew cold. Jungkook leaned down and kissed you on the lips, soothing you. You let yourself break down for a moment, returning his kiss.

At that moment, his phone rang. Reluctantly leave your lips, he looked at the screen and answered it.

"Yes?"

You heard Manager Lee's muffled but recognizable voice.

"Jungkook-nim, we had a problem. Kang Tae-won. He's..." Jungkook turned around and walked out of the kitchen.

You were left alone. The silence hung heavy. Your gaze slid to the tablet - the article was still open. You moved your finger to scroll down, but accidentally tapped the bottom line, and all the active tabs opened.

You wanted to click on the article again... but something made you stop. On one of the neighboring tabs, your mother's name stood out, followed by yours.

Your fingers froze. You clicked.

It was an internal file, obviously in preparation for an investigation. Strategic analysis, brief biography ... It was all about Kang Tehwon. Your eyes stopped at the paragraph with your mother's name on it.

Warning: In 1997-1998, he was seen in a relationship with a local model, Han Seo Ri, a well-known figure in Busan at the time.

Insider information: There are confirmed rumors that Kang Tehwon had a child out of wedlock as a result of this relationship.

Paternity has not been recognized.

Model's name: Han Seo Ri

Child's name: Han Y/N."

You froze. Your blood ran cold.

The tablet fell from your hands, hitting the table with a loud clatter.

At the same moment, Jungkook appeared in the doorway, still holding the phone. He held the phone to his ear as he walked toward you. He saw that you were frozen in terror, and when he approached the table, he saw that the tab with information about Kang Tehwon was glowing. You found out that you were his illegitimate daughter.

"Damn it..." Jungkook said. He immediately pressed the phone. "Lee-shi, I'll call you back," and hung up.

⇠ Previous ⟡ Index ➩ ⟡ Next ⇢

Hello everyone 👋🏻 It’s me, Dailynn — finally back with a new chapter!

First of all, I want to say that I’m feeling better now, though I’m still far from fully recovered. But there’s definitely some progress 🥹 and I’m so happy about that.

As soon as I started feeling a bit more like myself, the inspiration slowly came back. I actually started writing this chapter earlier this week, but honestly, my mood is still unstable, so I had to put writing on pause a few times.

I’M SO NERVOUS posting this chapter after such a long break 😭 I keep rereading Chapter 18 and thinking it might be obvious that my thoughts are still a bit chaotic 🫣 But I still hope you’ll find something in this chapter to enjoy 🥺

Also, I really need to thank you all from the bottom of my heart — I was absolutely blown away that Chapter 17 got over 500 notes. That’s crazy! No other chapter in the series has reached that number!! Looks like you guys really enjoy the wedding theme ☺️🥰

I’m just so grateful for all your love, and it makes me want to give you even more in return.

Secondly, I want to ask for a bit of patience and understanding, since I’m still dealing with some struggles with my mental health, and I also go to work (which definitely doesn’t help, but it’s something I have to do, whether I feel like it or not 🤭).

Right now, I’ll be focusing only on one series — “One Night…”

But! If I get time and a chance between chapters, I promise I’ll write Chapter 3 of “No Mercy”.

So please, my dear ARMY, I truly hope this chapter touches your hearts too. Let me know — did you like the way they confessed their feelings to each other? Or was it too much?

Actually, this chapter is meant to lead into some important upcoming events, so if it feels a bit slow or unnecessary — I’ll humbly accept that. Just know I put as much of my heart into it as I could 💜🙏🏻🥹

[labelleizzy]

Reposting from Morgana Alba on Facebook.

It's a reality check for white US Americans that there's WORK involved in emigration or asylum.

One comment on the original post was, "we're not leaving, my husband would never, he's too attached to his family" and the reply "if that's so, you could be the point person looking after /helping manage things for someone else who's got to flee.

Another point: the assumption that folks have $$ wherewithal and physical health enough to do the process as described. I understand that's not true for all of us, but there's a few items in this list that are good for anyone to try and accomplish:

Get a passport

Get all your important documents in a safe, grabbable space

Set up power of attorney for legal matters (your home, your pets if you have to leave them behind, etc)

Research and network for a possible safe landing person or location.

Otherwise, read the list, have a good think about what might apply to your situation, and start doing your research.

....

Morgana Alba:

You need to have a plan - Actually, you need 3.

(TL/DR - get a passport, a foreign one if you qualify, and start with anything in plan B to take actionable steps today to set yourself up for success)

Just in case you should ever need to uproot your life and move out of a country, for any reason, nothing in particular: you should have 3 plans. Not options. Not ideas. Plans. And I realize not everyone as raised like I was so I’m going to tell you how to make them. (And Step 1 is to have a passport. Do that immediately)

First of all, to be a plan it needs a clear objective, identified required steps, and a trigger point. A trigger point is the deciding factor or event that will automatically activate that plan. You must decide what your lines in the sand are in advance. Historic events rarely feel historic when you’re in them and if you don’t decide what you will not accommodate before you’re in it, incrementalism will paralyze you.

For the best coverage, start with plan C and work backwards.

*****

Plan A: Leaving under the best possible circumstances.

This is where a lot of you get stuck. Leaving under the best possible circumstances is a privilege but it’s not the only way out. This takes a lot of time and research and honestly you should have started this plan a year ago if it was what you wanted. To leave via plan A you should:

1. Research what countries you can live in long term and make a living in. This could mean countries you could transfer to with your current employer, countries that are expat friendly, or countries where you qualify for a work visa. If you have living grandparents or aunts that are citizens of and living in a foreign country you may even qualify for a foreign passport. Start that process now.

2. Start learning the language

3. Apply for jobs in that country

4. Find temporary or long term housing

5. Once you have residency and financial support/employment you can sell anything you aren’t moving and leave.

Trigger point for plan A is typically finding employment for most people.

*****

Plan B: Creating the flexibility for short or long term, potentially temporary, absence

This plan is about restructuring your life so that you could leave quickly even if you don’t have the security of Plan A.

1. Determine where you could go, short term. With a U.S. passport you could stay in most countries up to 3 months as a tourist but wouldn’t be allowed to work locally. Call up friends who live abroad and see who would be ok with a long visit if need be.

2. Start selling things you don’t necessarily love. Do a clothing and items purge. If you do have to leave without plan A there may not be the time for storage and sales so start reducing possessions now while you have the time to be mindful.

3. If you own a place, consider getting a roommate or having family move in so that you may not necessarily have to sell if you have to leave. Having someone else to look after the place and the added financial cushion of rent takes a lot of the pressure off during the departure. You’d have someone back home to ship or store your stuff or sell your car if you aren’t returning but you don’t have to make that call at the time.

4. Plan your financial support. Build up savings as you sell things. Look up what jobs will qualify for a digital nomad visa in the countries you’re considering visiting friends in, and very seriously start applying for remote work that fits those restrictions. Open a non-US based bank account to hold your savings. Get a credit card for this and only this. Stick it in the back of your wallet and forget about it.

5. Hoard Medication. Build up a 3-6 month supply of any required daily medications so that you have a cushion to hold you over between leaving and finding new medical care.

6. Digitize all your vital docs, including deeds and medical files. Store them in the cloud and email them to a friend who lives abroad

7. Have a plan for pets. With plan B you may be leaving them behind if you don’t know how long you’ll be gone or where you might settle. Talk to friends and family now about who would be willing to take them in in this situation.

Plan B is about giving you the most flexibility and options. You make big changes now so that you can be prepared to react to changes around you down the road. Trigger Point for plan B is often unique to the individual and involves law changes like access to medical support or the safety of their finances/job/marriage.

*****

Plan C: Run.

This plan is a last resort. It’s easier and less scary than most people think. But you absolutely need to be ready, and you need to know, firmly, what your trigger point is. This plan is for leaving in an emergency, potentially under scrutiny and persecution, with absolutely no plan to return. You should do as much of Plan B as you can, but you can still do plan C without that prep.

1. Have a go-bag. Your go bag is a waterproof, fireproof, personal-item sized piece of luggage that lives pre-packed with your vital documents (passport, medical records, SSN card, birth certificate, marriage certificate, name change docs, any extra photo IDs etc), your medications, around $1000 in non-sequential twenties, your emergency CC, addresses, phone numbers, and info written down for who you could go visit, proof of ownership docs for your house and/or car, and a single change of utilitarian clothing. Keep a pair of sturdy boots next to it if they don’t fit in it.

2. Pack your carry on. In this bag pack your jewelry, photo albums, grandma’s ashes, etc: whatever bits of precious you couldn’t possibly abandon. You need to make those decisions now, not in the moment. This suitcase must meet the SMALLEST restrictions on carryons for international flights (often smaller than what we’re used to in the U.S., typically 22" x 14" x 9") fill any extra space with toiletries or clothing as they reduce suspicion, but don’t prioritize packing clothing or comfort items. You can get that wherever you’re going.

3. These bags live packed in a safe place near the back door of your house; or in your car.

4. Decide where to run to and have a conversation about cover. In this scenario, if your trigger point is a certain executive order, your goal is to get to airport before enforcement goes into place. You need to know where you’re going and “why” your ticket is last minute in advance. Call up whoever is the safe person you’re running to and build the story. “Someone died suddenly” is a good one. This person needs to be ok with you showing up with 0 warning, and automatically going to the cover story if they one-day randomly get a call from a customs agent asking them to confirm why you’re traveling. If you have kids, have go bags for them as well, and only tell them the cover story.

5. Plan for your pet. Once you decide where you will run to look up what you would need to bring your pet and have those things ready to go (carrier, shot record, etc). Also plan for a situation where you have to leave your pet behind. Discuss with friends and family and get a commitment on who would take then in

6. Have a point person that is remaining behind that you trust to handle your affairs. If you have to run with no notice like this, you need someone here to sell your car, ship any possessions you need, cancel your lease, etc. Find your person and have the conversation about that now.

7. If you need to run you grab your go bags and maybe your pet carrier and you get on a plane. Use your normal bank accounts if you can, and your cash and emergency credit card if you can’t. Buy the ticket online if possible. If it has to be in person look for a visible minority ticket agent and if you’re questioned about the last-minute travel lean on the “my mother just died while visiting my aunt in France (or wherever you’re running). I have to go, I’m so distraught, taking my emotional support cat and kid cause idk when I’ll be back, there’s just so much to figure out. My Aunt has dementia. I have to get there before she does something crazy”

8. Try not to worry about what comes next. Humans have cut and run for thousands of years. You can do it. Immediate defense of life comes first. Everything else can be figured out after you’re safe. Don’t let worry over the logistics keep you in a dangerous situation.

Those are three plans you should have. But keep in mind there’s a lot of middle ground. Do as much of B as you can, and if you have to leave without a job, you can figure it out there. The place you run to doesn’t have to be where you’ll settle. You’l have more time to plan after you’re safe.

Americans have this warped idea of immigration. We believe other countries are as insanely draconian about it as we are but that’s not the case. Do your research. Make your plans. And don’t let fear of the unknown or a lack of planning keep you in danger. You can always just pack your bags and get on a plane to a friend’s place or a Sikh temple, and figure the rest of it out when you get there.

But definitely get your passport

[please-destroy]

Afterglow

Scarlett Johansson x Reader

Word Count: 4k

.

‘It’s nothing.’ Scarlett defended. Her hand dropped from her lower back. She stood straighter. You dropped your eyes to the floor at her tone, heat crawled up your neck.

It wasn’t nothing. 

You’d only been hired as her assistant a month ago, but you knew it wasn’t nothing.

.

You didn’t meet her in person until after you’d gotten the job. 

At your interview, conducted over zoom, Scarlett Johansson had explained her skin-care line would be launching before the end of the year. She’d detailed the lengthy list of job responsibilities with an edge to her voice. Even through the screen, you’d caught the challenge in the tilt of her chin. 

The unspoken dare. If it was too much for you, back out now.

You only smiled.

‘I’d love the opportunity.’ You told her sincerely.

Scarlett’s eyebrow raised. For a moment, you thought you saw a sparkle of humour in her eye. Then, the tension returned.

‘I’ll be in touch.’ She told you, ending the call before you could respond again.

The job contract, the NDA and the practicalities of relocating for your new job took two weeks. 

.

There was something Scarlett did not mention on the phone. 

You knocked on her door on the first day. 

You’d already been let through security checks at the gate. You knew you were expected.

Scarlett opened the door. 

You were anticipating her to be very tired, exhausted even. Scarlett was currently on a virtual press tour for her new movie. 

You were not expecting her to be so.

Pregnant.

Scarlett’s face was smooth, except for subtle lines of tension around her eyes. She waited, holding the door ajar, daring you to comment. 

You glanced at the cardboard boxes lining the hallway behind her. 

‘How can I help?’ You asked, feeling your senses come back to you. 

You followed Scarlett through to her own kitchen. Even walking behind her, you felt in awe. You savoured the moment out of her sight to let the shock of her pregnancy run through you.

No-one knew.

You’d been watching her press junket interviews for the past few days, calling it work prep. There had been no indication. No hint at all.

You tried to wipe your expression blank again when Scarlett next turned to face you. The same warning was written across her face. You let a belated congratulations die in your throat.

‘I have a busy day.’ She told you in a tight voice. ‘I have video interviews scheduled back to back.’

You gave a silent nod. Scarlett gestured to yet another taped cardboard box sitting on her kitchen counter. 

‘I need to move him out.’ She continued. 

You kept your face frozen. Colin Jost, your mind supplied helpfully. You’d been researching your boss, more work prep.

‘I need you to move him out.’ Scarlett corrected herself. She gave you an assessing look. Disappointment swirled in her eyes as she took in your stunned reaction.

You snapped back to the moment. 

‘Of course.’ You murmured, trying to calm your reeling mind. You moved over to the kitchen counter and the box.

Scarlett stepped away from your advance automatically, heading over to the door. 

The distrust in her body language trickled over you. You blushed in embarrassment.

‘The NDA.’ She reminded you bluntly, voice rasping. 

‘The iron clad one I signed?’ You asked, voice too innocent.

For a moment, a hint of humour sparkled in Scarlett’s eye. Exhaustion cut through it quickly. 

‘I’ll be back later.’ She told you evenly, before she left the room.

When she was gone, you nearly had a panic attack. 

Standing alone in her kitchen, staring at a box of her ex’s belongings. 

Scarlett Johansson was beautiful. You closed your eyes and knew she was embedded in your brain. 

It didn’t matter. 

The box was heavy as you lugged it through to sit with the others in the hallway. You walked through her house numbly, searching out more cardboard boxes. You avoided only the room that you could hear her laughing in. You found half a dozen more heavy boxes. 

Back breaking work on your first day should have been a red flag.

Still, you’d never had a pregnant boss before. You found yourself grateful that you’d been designated the task. You didn’t like to think of her doing it herself. 

You spent the next half hour pacing unsurely around the kitchen. At last, Scarlett came through at lunchtime. 

There was nothing subtle about her exhaustion or tension now. Her hair was tied back, it made her look drawn. 

A buildup of questions fell from your mouth before you could help it.

‘Can I get you something to eat? Who should I call about the boxes? Is there anything else I can do?’

Scarlett stared at you for a moment in the doorway. You watched her exhale in frustration. Alarm flared inside you.

‘I don’t have time for lunch. I have back to back interviews.’ She told you, voice simmering. ‘If it’s not in front of me right now, I don’t have time to eat it. I assumed that was clear.’

An apology caught in your throat as she unlocked and slid her phone across the now bare kitchen counter. 

‘He’s my last missed call.’ She told you bluntly. ‘Tell him to pick the boxes up.’

You nodded nervously, searching for the contact hurriedly. 

Scarlett moved to the fridge.

She stared at the contents with a kind of misery that told you how hungry she was.

Her expectation that you’d have known to prepare lunch was unreasonable, but you still felt awful.

‘I’m sorry.’ You squeaked out before she left again. 

Scarlett gave you a wry smile, it didn’t meet her eyes. 

‘I’m fat enough already.’ She shrugged, nodding down at the bump.

Your chest felt hollow with her joke, her final acknowledgement of the pregnancy. 

Colin Jost answered the call immediately. This was not surprising. There were fourteen missed calls from him on Scarlett’s phone. 

‘Scarlett.’ He sounded relieved. 

‘This is Scarlett’s assistant.’ You cut in immediately, not wanting there to be any confusion. 

You arranged for the boxes to be collected that afternoon by his own assistant. 

Impossibly, Colin had sounded tenser than Scarlett had. Guilt had dripped from his words and you didn’t want to imagine why.

.

You were dismissed when Scarlett next left her office. 

This time, you hovered at the foot of the stairs. Scarlett was notably ungainly as she walked down them, hand gripping the railing. 

Your heart caught in your mouth with a panicked premonition of her falling. Scarlett was very pregnant. Her centre of balance was clearly off. 

You moved to climb the stairs, ready to help before you could think it through. 

Scarlett froze midway down. 

Her eyes flashed dangerously at your presumption.

Cautiously, you backed down from the stairs.

‘My daughter will be home soon.’ She informed you, in the same blunt tone as earlier. ‘You can go now.’

You nodded silently, not admitting that you’d snuck a look at her schedule whilst her phone was unlocked. 

Scarlett gave a careful sigh then. You glanced up at her, still several steps above you on the staircase. 

‘I should have been more prepared for today.’ She admitted suddenly, shifting slightly with the discomfort of standing. ‘I’ll call you in the morning.’

‘Okay.’ You said simply, not sure where you stood at the end of your first day.

You left the house. You ignored curious texts from friends wondering about your new mysterious job. You ignored the fact that, all things considered, your new boss had not been fair to you at all.

Instead, you wished desperately that you’d been brave enough to insist on making her dinner.

That night in bed, you stared up at your ceiling, trying to imagine what the next day would bring.

The next morning, with not nearly enough sleep, you found out.

.

It did not take you long to become good at your job. If you were being honest, this was because you thought of little else.

Your job had two main parts. 

The things you were asked to do. 

The things you were not asked to do. 

You excelled at the first but you lived for the second.

Scarlett’s calendar was colour coded within the first week. You parsed through various scheduled appointments, altering as many as you could so they didn’t overlap with her time with her daughter. 

You didn’t expect recognition for it. You lived for the small smile Scarlett gave when she checked her phone and saw the afternoon clear yet again.

Her favourite lunch was chicken salad. Soon enough, you could’ve prepared it in your sleep. 

Scarlett never thanked you directly. 

You didn’t need her to. Her voice softened towards you. You thought about it at night. You thought about a lot of things you shouldn’t.

.

You never touched Scarlett. 

Not that you were expecting to. 

A flush crawled up your neck every morning just from looking at her. You couldn’t get used to being close to someone so beautiful.

But, you didn’t even touch Scarlett in passing. You brought her lunch up to her office every day. Every day, she would lean subtly away from you as you put the plate on her desk. 

You would hear her breath catch in discomfort. She radiated tension at your proximity.

You tried not to let it bother you. You hoped desperately that she couldn’t see your crush, even though it felt painted on your skin.

.

And then, one morning, Scarlett met you impatiently at the front door. Her hair was tied back neatly. You understood the visual clues immediately. She had a professional meeting scheduled soon. You remembered her talking about potential investors the day before.

‘I have a call this morning.’ Scarlett confirmed, matter of factly. ‘I’m already late and I need you to take notes.’ 

You nodded, eyes widening in surprise. This was not usual. Scarlett’s office door stayed shut for most of the day, and you didn’t disturb her when it was closed.

Scarlett turned to hurry up the stairs, making you immediately nervous. Your hand hovered secretly at the small of her back as you walked a half step behind her. 

She handed you a notebook when you reached her office. Her fingers dragged over the back of your hand. Scarlett went very still. You forgot to breathe. 

She turned back to her desk and you caught the pink flush to her cheeks.

Longing burned in the pit of your stomach. The back of your hand was seared with her fingerprints. 

When the call began, you sat to the side of her desk, just out of sight.

You realised quickly why Scarlett had implored you to sit in. Distracted didn’t cover it. She couldn’t sit still. You watched her fidget in her seat for thirty minutes, barely remembering to nod at the right moments. 

Your attention stayed on her as you wrote out your notes. 

Discomfort was to be expected. You tried to remind yourself that it was inevitable. Scarlett was only becoming more pregnant. 

You watched her subtle winces as she continued to readjust herself in the office chair. 

There was an inevitable date approaching that neither of you had discussed. Scarlett hadn’t confirmed a thing, but you were sure she had entered her third trimester now. 

The call ended at last. 

Scarlett’s focus turned to you immediately. 

‘I’m hungry.’ She informed you pointedly. Her words took you by surprise. She never acknowledged the meals you were preparing for her. She’d never commented about the dinners you’d begun to leave stacked in her fridge before you left.

‘Okay.’ You agreed, waiting for her to stand first. 

Scarlett looked back at you, impatiently. 

There was an awkward silence before you realised she wanted you to leave first. You exited quickly, staring at the floor in embarrassment.

.

It didn’t take long to prepare a snack in the kitchen. 

You focused on the task angrily, wishing you were brave enough to ask the questions that were burning inside you. 

You’d been in this job long enough now and still every conversation was stilted and formal. 

Scarlett was very cautious about what others could see. Nobody in her family even seemed to know she was pregnant. Or at least, no one was checking in. 

You could see the cracks in the cold facade of it all. The brief pain on her face when she rejected an incoming call. 

You wished you could see all of her, not just the cracks. 

The obvious discomfort you’d noticed today felt like the final straw.

.

Still, you watched her descend the stairs surreptitiously.

Every few steps, Scarlett paused and her eyes squeezed tight with pain. Once, she pressed her knuckles hard against the small of her back. 

You didn’t say anything when she entered the kitchen. 

Her eyes were determined, the challenge in the tilt of her chin always present. Her hands were carefully at her sides. She walked straighter than ever. 

You didn’t move away from the counter, blocking her path to the plate you’d prepared.

You tilted your chin in an imitation of her own expression. Irritation crossed Scarlett’s face as she met your gaze. After a moment, her hand moved subtly to press against the small of her back again. 

‘How can I help?’ You asked, quietly but firmly. Scarlett startled at your question.

You looked pointedly down at her hand.

‘It’s nothing.’ Scarlett defended.  Her hand dropped from her lower back. She stood straighter. You dropped your eyes to the floor at her tone, heat crawled up your neck.

It wasn’t nothing. 

You were getting sick of this. Renewed strength brought your eyes back up to meet hers. 

‘How can I help?’ You repeated your words to her calmly. You tilted your chin again in defiance, it was more demand than question.

You stared at each other for a long time.

Scarlett’s attention flitted to the snack that you’d prepared. Suddenly, it was her who was looking down at the ground.

You watched as the cracked pieces of her broke entirely. 

She stretched her hand out, leaning against the counter and relieving the pressure on her back.

‘Please.’ She whispered, admitting everything. 

You stepped forward. Your hand touched her back gently, unsurely. Scarlett’s breath hitched.

‘Lower.’ She whispered, something almost humiliated in her tone. 

You moved your hand obediently.

Scarlett moaned between clenched teeth when you found the spot.

Slowly, but surely, you pressed the heel of your hand against her back. 

Scarlett gave a strangled whimper, leaning automatically into your touch. You moved the pressure in a slow circle, trying to ease out the pain. 

Scarlett covered her mouth with her hand, muffling the noise. Her eyes were closed, but you saw a tear slip down her cheek.

When Scarlett turned around a few minutes later, she did not look like the woman you’d been working for. 

Defeat tangled with embarrassment in her expression. 

You watched her unsurely, not knowing what to say. 

Her voice cracked. 

‘I’m just so tired.’ She admitted, purposefully avoiding your stare.

.

Touching her now was easier. 

You took her hand, soft and warm in yours. It felt perfectly weighted. Gently, you led her to the sofa. 

Scarlett had never sat on it. Not whilst you were here. She gripped your arm suddenly as she lowered herself carefully down onto it. Shame tinted her cheeks pink. You understood abruptly that she would need a hand up from it too. 

Annoyance flared at her relentless stubbornness.

Scarlett exhaled shakily at the relief of a comfortable seat.

She looked over and caught the frustration written across your expression.

‘Y/N’ She murmured lowly, uncertainly. A shiver went down your spine at the way she said your name. 

‘You’re still hungry.’ You said quietly, getting back to your feet. Scarlett’s face burned with embarrassment as she watched you leave. 

When you returned, she was sitting as straight as she could on the soft sofa. Despite your frustration, it made your lips quirk upwards. 

You placed her plate down on the coffee table. 

You didn’t speak as she ate. Instead, you played nervously with your fingers. You tried to find the right words. 

You waited until you heard the plate thud back against the table. 

‘I want to take care of you.’ You whispered at last, staring at your hands. ‘I know it’s my job. But, I want to do it too.’ 

Scarlett didn’t speak. Your strange confession hung in the space between you.

Your skin tingled and your heart jumped erratically in your chest. You took a chance, glancing over at her. Scarlett’s eyes closed for a brief moment. You recognised the expression on her face. She was also trying to find the right words.

‘It always.’ She started unsurely. ‘It always goes wrong.’

Your head tilted in confusion. Scarlett gave a sad smile. 

You looked down at her belly and she followed your gaze. 

‘I’m sick of being disappointed.’ Scarlett’s voice caught, tangling with a raw pain. Her hand curved across her front. The action was stilted, as if her stomach was still unfamiliar to her. 

‘But, it’s me.’ She whispered, voice cracking open now. Her eyes glanced up at the ceiling, and you watched them fill with tears. ‘It’s always my fault.’

You wanted to help. An ache rippled through you.

You touched her leg. Scarlett froze.

She caught your gaze, and your intention too. 

She shook her head suddenly, you saw the tears slip down her cheeks.

‘Don’t pretend.’ She whispered now, almost begging. ‘Just, please, don’t pretend to care.’

‘I don’t know how.’ You murmured.

You leaned closer, giving yourself up to the want of her. 

Her lips were fuller than you expected. You could taste the salt on them.

Scarlett’s fingers were shaky as she touched the nape of your neck. 

Shivers rippled down your spine.

You kissed her harder and she responded in kind. 

Scarlett’s fingers tangled in your hair now. Her grip was sudden and tight. You felt her desperation in the curl of her fingers.

Blindly, you searched for her other hand, resting at her side. Already, the warmth of it was familiar. You held it tightly in yours, Scarlett exhaled slowly.

You leaned back to look at her. The flush of her cheeks doused you with affection and arousal. 

‘Scarlett.’ You said unthinkingly, enjoying the sound of her name on your tongue. 

She didn’t look up at her name, still focused on your lips. 

‘You’re perfect.’ She murmured, trailing a finger along your cheek and down the side of your neck. You wondered if she could feel your jumping pulse. ‘You’re not going to stay.’ 

Anger flared through you now. Indignity at being judged by other people’s mistakes.

You moved to kiss her collarbone harshly. Your teeth stung her skin as you nipped and sucked. Scarlett moaned into your ear. She fidgeted on the sofa as you left wet marks across her exposed skin. She grabbed at the sofa cushion to the side of her. 

‘I just want to help.’ You murmured determinedly, planting one last kiss just below her ear. Scarlett whined, her head tilting back.

You moved to kneel on the floor. 

You settled between her legs, fingers tugging down her pants. Everything felt predetermined. Maybe because you’d dreamed it. Maybe because it was always going to happen.

You looked up at her as you spread her legs. Scarlett was looking down at you, her pupils had dilated entirely. Everything felt right. You had wanted to be here for so long. 

You dragged your nails up her bare thighs. 

‘Thank you.’ Scarlett rasped and your heart clenched at the strange insecurity of it. You wanted to be here, you didn’t know how to tell her again.

Instead, you licked along her cunt. You could taste her already, coating your tongue. Scarlett couldn’t reach you from around her stomach. Your eyes flitted up to see her nails digging into the sofa cushion. Her head tilted back against the sofa, eyes closing.

She mumbled something quietly to herself. Annoyance continued to flicker inside you. You wanted to hear her.

You pressed your tongue hard against her clit and made her scream instead. 

When you were done. When she’d fidgeted against your wandering tongue. When you could taste the sweet tang of her in your mouth. When you would never think of anything else ever again. When she was trembling. You looked back up at her.

Scarlett’s hair was mussed, her mouth was parted as she panted. 

Scarlett was undone. 

You kissed her clit lightly, giving her one last aftershock before you slid her pants back up her legs. She acquiesced limply, still not quite in the room.

You sat beside her on the sofa, enjoying the weird domesticity of her afterglow. You rested your head against her shoulder feeling her chest move with each ragged breath. 

Your heart was still pounding beneath your ribs, trying to adjust to the new way the world was hung.

After a minute, you felt Scarlett tense again. You knew she was going to speak. 

‘What now?’ She asked bluntly, words purposefully calm. You lifted your head and read the challenge in the tilt of her chin. You knew instinctively that she was daring you to leave, readying herself for it even now. A strange, soft affection built in your chest. You realised that you would always win her dares.

You took her hand in yours. You weaved your fingers together and held tight. The warmth of her skin trickled inside you. 

You didn’t speak. Neither did she. 

You watched her thumb rub circles against your knuckles, enraptured.

.

(Some time later)

.

‘It won’t stop.’ Scarlett looked down at her phone cradled in her lap. Her voice was tight.

The phone buzzed in her hand, over and over as the news stories rolled in. You sat next to her, on the edge of her bed. You touched her very rounded stomach, still covered by the dress she’d worn to the earlier meeting. 

Even now, you found yourself hesitant to touch her, for so long she’d been your boss. 

Scarlett gave you a searing look. You weren’t sure if she regretted it. The public announcement of you. The personal assistant turned girlfriend. The implications for her, her sexuality, her career, her expected child. 

Her phone kept buzzing as more implications rolled in. You watched the headlines appear on the screen, one after another.

You watched Scarlett’s forehead crease with worry. Your stomach clenched, the moment felt unbearable.

You touched her shoulder, your fingers slipping under her sleeve. Her skin was warm. Scarlett’s breath caught. 

‘You’re all I think about.’ You told her, letting your mind cloud with familiar want. 

Scarlett’s lips parted. She watched you, something still unsure in her eyes. You scratched her skin lightly. Her eyes closed.

Her phone slipped in her grip and the buzzing became louder. Her gaze returned to it.

‘I can’t ignore everyone. It’s not polite.’ She snapped suddenly. 

With confidence you rarely had, you moved to stand in front of her. You pulled at the phone in her grip, Scarlett released it with unexpected obedience. Maybe she could see your mood better than you could feel it. 

You let the constant tug between your souls pull you forward. You leaned down, letting your lips find each other. You pressed yourself against her front, feeling her bump brush against you. 

The air was thick with anticipation. You slipped the vibrating phone beneath the skirt of her dress.

‘I have no interest in being polite or heterosexual.’ You whispered against her ear. Scarlett gave a soft cry and her hand twisted the fabric of your shirt.

You pressed the phone higher, letting it sit against the familiar cotton of her underwear. Scarlett moaned. She gripped your shoulder with sudden fierceness, holding you in place. 

You moved your fingers over the elastic of her panties, desperate to feel her. The vibrating phone stayed cradled against your palm, pressed to her.

Scarlett was slick against your skin. She started to whine, her neck falling back as she held you tighter. You kissed her neck, letting your teeth graze her skin.

Your fingers moved inside her with every vibration, Scarlett jolted against you. Her eyes were screwed tight, her cheeks flushed. She called your name, over and over. 

Her walls tightened around you at last and she screamed into the room. 

In the moments after, she lay back against the bed. You slid the dress up to kiss her exposed stomach. Scarlett’s breathing was still heavy as she reached for your hand, slipping her fingers between your wet ones. 

You kissed damp cotton and whispered a secret there, just to make her body twitch.

[velaenam]

𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬

                                                                         ◦ ♡

𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐛 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 – non!mc. you said you were happy with your boyfriend ,then caleb came home, and now his mouth is on your neck. 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 / 𝐭𝐰 –  NSFW (18+!!) dirty...nasty!!! RAW!! smut!!!, smut w/ alcohol (dubcon), reader cheating on bf w/ LI, caleb is the other man, swearing, mature languages, sexual themes, riding, creampie,raw doggy blah blah, p to v, internal conflict from reader 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 – not proofread. i got this idea from a very wonderful post i saw from the amazing @strwberri-milk. link to the post. i kinda went crazy, i loved the concept sm. its so fun and i hope i did the og justice. also im sorry but i made ur bf so loveable im sorry for the internal conflict ur about to go thru. 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 - 1 of idk ! next chapter — reblogs comments & likes are appreciated. let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist!

m.c. stirs her drink with a lazy swirl, the clink of ice against glass filling the lull between topics. it’s warm. light spills in through the kitchen window, catching the sheen of your lip gloss and the undone button of her blouse. her voice is casual, as always—too casual.

“oh, by the way,” she says, not even looking at you. “caleb’s coming back next week. shore leave. only for a bit.”

you freeze mid-sip.

not enough for most to notice, but she’s known you too long.

you set your cup down too carefully, as if grounding yourself with the porcelain. “he is?”

“mmhm.” she picks up a grape from the bowl between you and pops it into her mouth. chews. doesn’t meet your eyes. “fleet grounded his unit. some political thing. he’s visiting family. probably crashing at my place the first night—he said he wanted to see everyone.”

your stomach does a quiet, traitorous lurch.

“oh.”

you don’t mean to say it like that. like someone’s name you’ve tried not to whisper in years.

m.c. finally glances at you. there’s something unreadable in her gaze—maybe curiosity. maybe knowing. maybe something harder. “you two still talk, don’t you?”

you nod, too slow. “here and there.”

she hums. leans back, legs crossing at the ankle like she’s weighing something in her head. “he asked about you. said he saw that photo you posted—the one with your boyfriend and the birthday cake.”

your breath catches.

“what’d he say?”

m.c. smirks, but it’s faint. tired. “he said you looked good. then he changed the subject.”

your hands fold in your lap. you keep your voice neutral. “has it really been two years?”

“two and a half, i think. since you last saw him.”

you want to ask what else did he say? you don’t.

m.c. leans back, eyes flicking to your face as she wipes her hands on a napkin. “what about you and lover boy? how’s that going?”

you smile before you even think about it. automatic. polished. like second nature. “we’re very happy.”

“mm.” she raises a brow. not suspicious. just amused. “that’s what people say when they’re very engaged. or very lying.”

you let out a soft scoff. “he’s good to me.”

“you always say that first.”

“because it’s true.”

she nods slowly, resting her chin on her palm. “and?”

you pause. the words get caught somewhere in your throat.

he’s everything you were told to want. considerate. rich. driven. makes reservations for you, opens car doors, tells you how lucky he is when people are watching. he buys you jewelry you never wear and posts anniversary photos you never take. he’s safe. he fits.

and yet you find yourself measuring him against someone who’s never even tried.

“he’s stable,” you finally say. “he makes sense. my parents love him. his place has a whole wing just for books.”

“sounds like a dream.”

you smile again, quieter now. “it is.”

but m.c. watches you a second longer than comfort allows. not pressing. not cruel. just… seeing. like she’s trying to figure out what’s missing from your voice.

“i’m glad you’re happy,” she says. and for a moment, you wonder if she believes you.

you nod. drink the last of your coffee. and try not to think about a man who hasn’t even walked into the room yet, but still manages to pull the air out of your lungs.

.

the landing deck rattles beneath him as the hatch opens, hydraulic hiss like an exhale. after weeks in deepspace, everything smells like static and heat and too many days without sleep. but the gravity that wasn’t his feels good. real. like something pulling him back to where he doesn’t belong anymore.

he’s still stripping off his gloves when his comm buzzes in his jacket pocket.

incoming call: m.c.

he accepts it without thinking. holds it to his ear as he walks down the ramp, duffel slung across one shoulder, black fleet coat whipping in the wind.

“you survived,” she greets, bright as ever.

“barely.” his voice is rough. low. “tell your government contacts thanks for the political nightmare. nearly got my squad killed before they figured out how to spell diplomacy.”

“you sound dramatic.”

“you sound cozy.”

she laughs. “because i am. and you will be, too. i washed the guest sheets.”

“right. thanks.” he pauses, steps off the tarmac into the waiting shadows of the city port. “won’t be in your way too long, pipsqueak.”

“caleb,” she says. “you’re never in the way.”

he doesn’t answer that. he’s too tired to lie.

“you’ll be here in time for dinner?”

“depends on traffic. fleet’s got me filing three reports before i’m even cleared to breathe.”

she hums. “she’s gonna be surprised to see you.” he stops walking. breath catching like static in his chest. “she?”

m.c. is smug. too smug. “you know who.” he shifts his grip on the strap of his bag, jaw tightening. “you told her i was coming?”

“nope,” she says cheerfully lying. “wanted to see her face when you walked in.”

he exhales through his nose. “you’re a menace.”

“you’re welcome.” and then, gentler, “i think you should talk to her.”

he doesn’t reply right away. doesn’t know how to

finally, he says, “i don’t think it would change anything.”

and m.c.—goddess bless her—just says, “then don’t say anything. just let her look at you and remember.”

the line clicks dead before he can say another word.

.

you’re in the kitchen when you hear the lock turn.

he calls your name before he even steps in fully, voice muffled by the door swinging shut behind him. there’s the soft shuffle of his coat hitting the hook, the familiar jangle of keys tossed into the bowl by the counter.

“hey, baby,” he says, stepping into your space with that easy grin. he leans in, kisses your cheek, your temple, then your mouth. he smells like leather and his cologne—the one you bought him last fall.

you smile. because you should. because it’s safe here.

“how was work?” you ask, pouring water into the pot on the stove. your voice is steady. your hands aren’t.

he wraps his arms around you from behind, pressing his face into your neck. “long. boring. wanted to come home to you all day.”

your pulse stutters—not because of him. but because you haven’t stopped thinking about caleb since m.c. said his name.

since she said he’s coming back.

your skin’s been prickling ever since, like the air’s heavier. like the past is sitting just outside your window, waiting for a chance to knock.

but you don’t say that. you let your boyfriend’s hands slide up under your shirt, warm palms against your ribs. his lips trace your shoulder.

“missed you,” he murmurs. “need you.” you turn to face him, let him kiss you like nothing’s wrong. like your heart isn’t sprinting. like it isn’t someone else’s eyes you keep seeing behind your lids.

his mouth is on yours, his touch gentle and familiar, and still— you flinch when he whispers, “your heart’s racing.”

you pause. then smile, small and secret. “that’s your effect on me,” you lie, threading your fingers through his hair.

and he believes it— kisses you harder. but deep down, you know better.

you know whose name is making your pulse go wild.

he picks you up, one arm beneath your knees, the other around your back like he’s done a hundred times before. you let him carry you to the bedroom. let him lay you down like something precious, like he doesn’t notice the far-off look in your eyes every time he says your name.

his hands are reverent. his kisses slow, familiar, patient. he undresses you like a lover, not a stranger—but tonight, it feels far away. muted. like your body’s here, but something else is miles above it.

“you’re beautiful,” he breathes, kissing down your sternum. his fingers trace your ribs, the dip of your waist. “you always are. but tonight… it’s different.”

you smile at him, soft and practiced. “i missed you too.”

and you mean it, but not like that.

his mouth finds your collarbone and lingers there. he likes the way your breath hitches, doesn’t know it’s because you’re imagining someone else’s hands. someone else’s voice. you don’t even realize you’re clutching the sheet until he laces his fingers through yours.

“hey,” he says gently. “you okay?” your eyes meet his. he’s so kind. too kind. you could tell him the truth and it would break him.

you nod. “just overwhelmed.” he leans down, presses his forehead to yours. “i’ll be gentle.”

he thinks it’s his touch. that you’re nervous because of how much you want him. and you let him believe it.

you close your eyes. open your mouth. let the intimacy wrap around you like a warm tide, even as your thoughts drift—treacherous, unforgiving—to caleb.

to caleb………and the way he used to say your name like a secret only he got to keep.

you arch into your boyfriend’s hands.

but your mind is somewhere else entirely. imagining caleb on top of you kissing you, moaning your name like your boyfriend is doing right now. 

imagining its his dark brown hair you’re curling your fingers on, his purple gaze is the one piercing you as he fucked you so —

.

he’s asleep beside you, one arm heavy across your waist.

you stare at the ceiling.

your skin is still warm, flushed from his touch. the room smells like him. like routine and comfort and things you’ve tried to convince yourself are enough.

but your heart won’t slow down. not entirely. you shift gently, just enough to slide your arm out from under the covers, reaching for your phone on the nightstand. the screen lights up your face in the dark.

no messages.

you check anyway.

his name sits there—caleb xia. no photo. just the initials.  he never had a photo. never needed one.

you scroll. past the old messages. the ones that never meant much until now.

"congrats on the new job. i always knew you'd do something big." "heard the city's cold this week. you still forget your jacket like an idiot?" "hope you’re doing good. i like the photo"

you reread that one.

you remember the post. your boyfriend had taken the picture. some gallery opening. new dress. new earrings. and you had smiled like your heart wasn’t breaking from something you couldn’t name.

you hesitate. your thumb hovers over the keyboard. just a simple message. nothing dangerous.

you: heard you’re back.

you send it.

then, you lock your phone. place it back on the nightstand like it’s burning your hand.

his arm tightens slightly in his sleep. your boyfriend. the man who holds you like a promise.

and yet. you roll onto your side, facing the wall, eyes wide open, because caleb is somewhere in this city.

and for the first time in years, you’re starting to wonder if fate didn’t just miss its shot.

if maybe—it’s circling back.

.

the city stretches out below him, all glitter and silence.

caleb stands by the window of m.c.’s high-rise apartment, arms crossed, jacket draped on the back of the nearby chair. the lights cast gold against the glass, but he’s not looking at the view. not really.

he’s thinking about you.

how you might be sleeping right now. if you still leave the window cracked even when it’s cold. if the man lying beside you knows how you sound when you laugh until you cry. if he gets your references. if he even deserves you.

behind him, m.c. pads in barefoot, two mugs in hand. she offers him one. he takes it without a word.

“you always get like this when you’re back,” she says, settling onto the couch. “broody. contemplative. tragically poetic.”

“comes with the rank, pips” he mutters. but his mouth twitches. just barely. she watches him. “you saw her post, didn’t you?”

he doesn’t answer. doesn’t need to.

m.c. sips her drink. “they met at some space tech convention. she told me about it after the second date. said he made her laugh during a seminar about aerospace ethics and that was it.”

caleb’s jaw ticks. “sounds charming.” — “he’s fine,” m.c. shrugs. “rich. clean. knows how to dress himself. his parents are political investors, i think. very... curated.”

he glances over. “what’s his name?” — “adrien…. toulouse? i can’t remember at the top of my head.”

the name tastes sour in his mouth. he looks back out the window.

“he good to her?”

“yeah,” she says. then quieter, “but that’s not the same as being right for her.” he says nothing. the silence between them settles like dust. “you missed your window,” she says gently, not unkind. he breathes in. lets it burn. “i didn’t know it was open.”

m.c. stands, finishes her drink, and sets the mug in the sink. “that’s the problem with you, caleb. you only notice things once they’re already slipping through your fingers.”

he watches her go. but his mind stays on you. on the version of you that might’ve waited, if he’d just asked. he rolls his eyes as he shifts to the couch to watch a movie.

his phone buzzes against the coffee table.

he’s sitting on m.c.’s couch, long legs stretched out, jacket shed and collar undone. the room is dim, lit only by the city outside and the soft flicker of some old-drama playing in the background. neither of them’s paying attention to it.

he glances at the screen.

just one message.

you:  heard you’re back. 

his thumb hovers over the screen.

he doesn’t open it— doesn’t delete it either.

he just sets the phone down again, face down, like he can’t stand to see it glowing anymore.

m.c. watches him from the kitchen counter. she doesn’t say anything at first—just keeps peeling the label off a bottle of water like it’s a puzzle she means to solve.

“you’re not going to answer her?” she finally asks.

he shrugs. leans his head back against the couch. stares at the ceiling like it’s got the answers he’s too coward to ask for.

“what am i supposed to say?” he murmurs. “hey, it’s me. sorry for leaving when it mattered. wanna catch up while you belong to someone else?”

“that’d be a start,” she says dryly. he exhales. rubs a hand over his face. “i saw that post. he took her to that lakeside place. she always wanted to go.”

m.c. nods. “she mentioned that.” he’s quiet. a beat. another. then: “you think he knows?”

“knows what?”

“that she still carries me in her bones.” m.c. sighs, soft but sharp. “i think she tried to bury you.”

he flinches. “but,” she adds, folding her arms, “adrien’s gonna propose. soon.”

his head snaps toward her. “what?”

“she doesn’t know,” m.c. says, voice low. “but he’s been talking to jewelers. he asked me about her ring size a month ago.”

caleb’s throat tightens.

of course he is. of course someone who didn’t waste their chance would hold onto her with both hands.

“it’s not official yet,” m.c. says, like she’s offering him a thread to cling to.

he doesn’t take it. instead, he closes his eyes and sees you. not with a ring. not in a white dress.

but in that space hoodie you used to steal from him. curled up on the floor of his dorm with your head in his lap, laughing at his annotated star maps. warm. alive. his in a way no one else ever was.

he opens his eyes again. reaches for his phone.

but he doesn’t unlock it. he just lets it sit in his palm, heavy as regret.

m.c. walks over and drops onto the couch beside him, her knees bumping his. she hands him a new drink, one he didn’t ask for, and he takes it anyway.

the silence stretches.

“xavier says hi, or the best way he could, anyways” she says after a minute.

caleb glances over. “he of on mission again?”

“yeah. some wanderer dispute ” she shrugs, swirling her glass. “he loves it though.”

“you two still good?”

“we’re solid,” she says simply. and she means it. there’s a quiet steadiness in her voice that wasn’t there when she dated anyone else. “i love him. i don’t have to guess what he’s feeling”

caleb hums. “you always hated guessing.”

“i still do.”

he sips. it’s not strong, but it burns anyway. “and you?” she asks, eyeing him sideways. “you seeing anyone?” he laughs under his breath. “you know better, pipsqueak.”

“i also know that you never stayed anywhere long enough to try.”

“fleet doesn’t exactly lend itself to dating.”

“you don’t even try while you’re here.” he shrugs. “not interested.”

“because of her.” he doesn’t deny it. just stares down into his drink like it holds a confession he’s not ready to say out loud.

m.c. lets him sit in it.

then, softly, “she deserves to be happy, caleb. you know that.”

his voice is quieter when he says, “i never said she didn’t.”

“so what’re you going to do?”

he doesn’t answer. just runs a hand down his face, jaw tight, like he’s holding in the answer with his teeth.

m.c. leans back, sighs. “i wish things had gone differently for you two.”

he glances over. “yeah,” he murmurs. “me too.”

.

the grocery store smells like citrus and warm bread. the lights are too bright for this hour. everything is a little too quiet, too still, the kind of stillness that makes your thoughts louder than they should be.

you’re pushing a cart, hair tied up, sweater too big, list half-finished. you told m.c. you’d grab a few things for her dinner party—she texted last night, “you’re my favorite guest, but i need lemons and wine.”

“best produce comes in at 8 am,” she added. you’d rolled your eyes at the time. now you wonder if you should’ve known.

you’re halfway through the produce section when it happens. you reach for a lemon at the same time as someone else. your fingers brush theirs.

you freeze.

and then you look up.

his hand is still half-extended. callused. familiar.

caleb.

fleet jacket half-zipped. hair damp like he only just showered. he looks tired, but good. leaner. older. sharp in all the same places, softer in a few new ones. his eyes meet yours and—god, he still has that look. handsome, sweet..

your name leaves his mouth like a breath he’s been holding.

you try to speak, but nothing comes out. your fingers curl around the lemon instead. like it’ll keep you grounded.

he blinks once. then lifts the corner of his mouth. “figured she’d pull something like this.” you manage a laugh—dry, breathless. “she said the best produce comes in at 8.”

he nods. “yeah. she told me the same.” you both glance at each other. then the lemon. then back.

“guess we’ve been set up,” you murmur.

“looks like.”

the silence that follows isn’t awkward. it’s just thick.  with years. with almosts. with the weight of his message still unanswered and your heart still racing.

“you look good,” he says finally.

you smile. not quite at him. “so do you.”

you shift the lemons to your cart, fingers trembling just enough to notice. he sees it—you can feel him seeing it—but he doesn’t say anything.

instead, he grabs one for himself, examining it like it’s the most important thing in the universe.

“so,” you say, trying for casual, pushing your cart a little forward, “fleet let you off the leash for a bit?”

he follows, a step behind. “briefly. they’ll reel me back in soon.”

“what’d you do this time?” — “nothing,” he says, grinning slightly. “just politically inconvenient.” you huff a laugh. it slips out easier than you thought it would.

you glance from the side,. “you didn’t message me back.”

he stops walking.

the air shifts. subtle. like the quiet pulls tighter around the both of you.

“i didn’t know what to say,” he admit.

“you could’ve said anything.”

he looks at you. “would it have changed anything?”

you don’t say, so you keep walking. slowly. toward the wine aisle. he falls into step beside you like no time has passed at all.

“m.c. said you’re coming to dinner tonight,” you say, voice thinner now.

“she said i owed her. didn’t mention you’d be there.”

“you think she didn’t do that on purpose?”

“i think she’s a menace.”

you both smile at the same time.

you reach for a bottle—he does too. your hands meet again. this time, neither of you pulls away right away.

he glances down at your fingers, then back up at your eyes. “how is he?” he asks.

you hesitate.

then: “he’s good to me.”

“that’s not what i asked.”

you swallow hard. pull your hand back.

“he’s... safe.”

caleb nods, slow. quiet.

you can’t breathe for a second. just stand there, wine bottle forgotten in your hand, heart screaming under your sweater.

someone walks past with a squeaky cart and breaks the spell. you blink. step back. clear your throat.

“we should finish up,” you murmur.

“yeah,” he says, just as soft. “see you tonight.”

you nod.

but your fingers are still tingling from where he touched you.

.

you arrive on time, wine bottle clutched in your hand like a shield. adrien’s hand is on the small of your back, warm, grounding, his laugh low in your ear as you ring the bell.

you’re dressed too nicely. you told yourself it didn’t mean anything. you just wanted to look good for dinner. but as m.c. opens the door with a grin and a flourish of perfume, and you step inside, your heart starts to climb straight out of your chest.

because he’s there.

you see caleb the moment you cross the threshold. black button-up rolled to the elbows, sleeves creased like he’d ironed them just to ruin them again. he’s leaning casually against the kitchen counter, glass in hand, profile sharper than you remember, the soft gold light casting shadows over his jawline.

his eyes meet yours instantly.

and everything slows.

he doesn’t smile. just looks. long and quiet, like the rest of the room fell away and you’re the only thing that ever mattered.

adrien doesn’t notice at first. he leans forward to kiss m.c. on the cheek, laughing at something she says about the wine, and hands it off to her with his usual charm.

“you must be caleb,” adrien says, turning to him with that open, polished grin. “m.c. told me all about you. hell of a record in the fleet. colonel, right?”

caleb straightens. takes a slow sip before offering his hand. “that’s me. and you’re the boyfriend.”

“guilty.”

they shake hands.

it’s firm…too firm. neither one lets go first.

“adrien toulouse,” he adds. “i run a few companies. data logistics, spaceport infrastructure—boring stuff.”

“not boring if it pays well,” caleb says, voice smooth.

adrien chuckles. “doesn’t hurt. my board loves it.”

“we don’t really have boards in the fleet. just casualties and black boxes.”

you laugh a little too quickly. “he’s joking.”

caleb’s eyes flick to you. unreadable. “am i?”

adrien grins, undeterred. “i respect it. not many people can make a career out of combat anymore. takes guts.”

“takes loss,” caleb replies, quiet but even. “but the perks are decent. hazard bonuses. pension. a lot of medals.”

adrien raises a brow. “better than dividends?”

“depends who you’re trying to impress.”

you open your mouth to say something, anything to shift the mood, but m.c. saves you—breezing in with a tray of olives and cured meats, laughing too loudly and ushering everyone toward the table.

“save it for the dinner table, you two. god, it’s like testosterone in a wine glass over here.”

you slip away toward the dining room. your hand is still warm where caleb looked at you. adrien slides in beside you, fingers brushing your arm, oblivious.

but caleb watches you.

and you feel it like a match pressed to skin. you’ve screamt fuck in your head about 20 times now.

the dining room glows with soft overhead lighting, and the table is full—platters of roasted vegetables, grilled fish, wine glasses catching the gold reflections like tiny stars. laughter hums under the music playing low from m.c.’s sleek speaker tucked into the corner.

xavier’s seat is empty, just a folded napkin and a half-drunk glass of sparkling water. m.c. had said he’d be late, caught in something coming back from headquarters .

you sit beside adrien, his knee brushing yours occasionally, hand warm at your back when he refills your glass. across from you—caleb. calm, unreadable. fork moving with methodical grace as he picks at his plate.

“so, colonel,” nero says, raising his glass like it’s a toast and a challenge, “what have you been up to in the galaxy’s darker corners?”

jenna smirks beside him. “he probably can’t even tell us.”

“i can tell you some of it,” caleb replies, resting his elbow on the table, glass twirling lightly between his fingers. “spent most of last month in the outer rim, negotiating a ceasefire. fleet needed someone intimidating and tired. i qualified.”

tara laughs. “you always did look mean when you haven’t slept.”

“wasn’t about sleep,” he says, shrugging. “just tired of watching people die for decisions made lightyears away.”

the table quiets for a second.

adrien cuts in with a smile, smooth and practiced. “that’s why i stayed in civilian sectors. less blood. more spreadsheets.”

jenna snorts. “what a life.”

“it has its rewards,” adrien says, eyes flicking briefly to you. his hand finds your thigh under the table. “especially when you work hard.”

you feel caleb looking at you.

just a glance. a flick of his eyes.

but it lands like a crash.

you don’t turn your head. you just reach for your wine.

m.c. speaks up, trying to shift the tone. “i think caleb’s still the only person i know who voluntarily flew into a crossfire zone just to drag out two wounded rookies.”

“they weren’t going to make it,” caleb says, flat. “and i wasn’t going to leave them behind.”

xavier walks in then, saving you from your own pulse. “sorry i’m late,” he says, sliding into his seat beside m.c. with a soft kiss to her temple.

the room lifts again—conversation swirling back to lighter things. food. travel. politics. someone makes a joke about nero’s cooking attempts. laughter picks up. wine flows freely.

but every now and then, you look up.

and caleb is watching you like he never left.

like he’s still remembering the sound of your voice when you said his name.

and you don’t look away… not right away.

.

the clatter of forks dies down. glasses half-full. conversation slow and lazy like the lull after good food and too much wine.

someone’s moved to the couch. someone else is arguing softly over music selection. xavier and nero are in a quiet debate about defense policy. m.c. watches the room like a conductor, eyes flicking, measuring, waiting.

then, casually, too casually, she sets her glass down and turns toward adrien.

“hey,” she says, bright and charming, “could you help me with that thing? the new table setting i told you about? i need a second opinion. might order it tonight.”

adrien blinks. “now?”

“yeah, i’ll be quick.” her smile is sugar-sweet. “promise.”

he leans over and kisses your cheek. “you okay here?”

you nod. “go ahead.”

and then he’s gone. down the hall. the door swings shut behind them. voices muffled.

you stay seated… you should get up.

but caleb’s still across from you.

and he hasn’t moved either.

the quiet settles in. low hum of distant voices. glass ticking against wood as someone laughs from the other room.

caleb leans back in his chair. one arm draped over the side. the collar of his shirt slightly rumpled. his gaze, fixed.

“she’s always been a terrible liar,” he murmurs, eyes still on you.

you smile without looking at him. “she tries.”

“you look different,” he says, voice low.

“older?”

“no,” he says. “quieter. like you learned how to hide things.” you finally look at him. his eyes haven’t changed. sharp, steady, familiar in a way that feels dangerous.

“you think you know what i’m hiding?”

“i know you,” he says. “or i did.”

“you left,” you reply, trying not to sound like it hurts.

“i had to.” you nod, once. “and i had to move on.”

he doesn’t argue. just watches you like he’s trying to see what parts of you are still his. “he loves you,” he says after a beat. “i can see that.”

“he does.”

and then, more softly: “but you don’t look at him the way you used to look at me.”

the words land in your chest like a bruise.

you should tell him to stop…. you should get up.

but instead, you whisper, “you don’t get to say that.”

“i know,” he breathes. “but i still wanted to.”

the hallway creaks. voices coming back. the moment’s slipping, fraying at the edges.

you stand, finally, smoothing your dress. not looking at him.

“you shouldn’t wait around for something that isn’t yours.”

“i’m not,” he says. “i’m just remembering what was.”

and when you walk away, you feel it—that heat in your spine.

he’s still watching you.

.

it’s late when the message comes in.

adrien’s beside you, asleep. one arm draped across your waist, steady breaths against your shoulder. you should be sleeping too. the apartment is quiet. the kind of stillness that makes you feel like a ghost in your own life.

your phone buzzes on the nightstand.

caleb: you still up?

you stare at it for a while.

you shouldn’t answer. you really really shouldn’t answer.

but your thumb moves on instinct, like a silly idiot in love .

you: yeah.

a moment passes.

caleb: couldn’t sleep.

you wait.

caleb: been thinking about dinner. you.

your heart stutters.

you: don’t. caleb: why not? you: because it’s not fair.

there’s a long pause.

you think maybe that’s it. maybe he’ll stop.

but then—

caleb: i don’t want fair. i want true.

you close your eyes. your chest aches.

your fingers hover. shake. then:

you: i love him. caleb: i know. you: i’ve built a life. one with walls and calendars and routines and its domestic. he fits in it. caleb: but do you?

you don’t respond.

not for a long time.

you stare at the ceiling, heart beating like it’s trying to outrun your ribs.

then your phone lights up again.

caleb: do you remember the night before i left for the fleet?

you do…of course you do.

how you sat in the gazebo, knees drawn to your chest, his jacket around your shoulders. how he looked at you like he wanted to say something—but didn’t.

you never talked about that night, not really, nor did you really have a chance to.

you: yes. caleb: i should’ve kissed you.

your chest collapses inward. you turn your face into the pillow so you don’t make a sound.

you: i wanted you to. caleb: i still do.

adrien shifts beside you, murmurs something in his sleep. your phone nearly slips from your hand.

you lock the screen. press it to your chest.

but you don’t delete the conversation.

you don’t reply either.

fuck. 

.

the morning light spills through the apartment windows, golden and soft. adrien is already dressed—pressed linen shirt, slacks, and that easy, handsome grin that makes him magnetic at every event. you’re still in your robe, coffee warm in your hands, the weight of caleb’s texts buried deep beneath your ribs.

“i’ve got an idea,” adrien says, turning from the mirror as he fastens his watch. “hear me out.”

you raise a brow. “those are dangerous words.”

he laughs, leans over to kiss your cheek. “my company’s hosting a celebration this weekend. nothing formal. just something small for the board and a few close friends. we booked out a beach hotel on the coast. really secluded. great food, even better cocktails.”

“sounds like a nice break,” you murmur.

“yeah—and i thought,” he says, pouring himself coffee, “why not invite the gang? the more the merrier, right?”

your stomach drops.

you look up slowly. “what gang?”

“m.c. tara, nero, obviously. xavier if he’s back. even caleb, if he’s still in town. i feel like he could use a weekend off from… whatever world-saving things he’s been doing.”

your throat dries.

adrien’s still talking. “it’ll be good for everyone to unwind. ocean breeze, bonfires, no boardroom stress. and besides—i think it’d be good for you, too. you’ve seemed… tense lately.”

you try to smile. “just tired.”

“then it’s perfect. you, me, the beach. what could go wrong?”

your phone buzzes from the counter.

m.c.: he’s in. caleb’s coming. xavier too. hope you packed something scandalous.

you stare at the message, he’d already ask them before he asked you.

your suitcase lies open on the bed, half full. a few folded dresses. sandals. sunscreen. a silk scarf you haven’t worn in years. you pause, fingers brushing the fabric, chest tight.

the apartment is quiet. adrien left earlier for a board meeting. you said you’d finish packing, take your time.

your phone buzzes on the dresser.

you already know who it is.

caleb: pack something nice. or don’t come with clothes at all.

you stop breathing for a moment. thumb hovering over the screen.

you: don’t be an ass. caleb: can’t help it.

i’m picturing you sunburnt and annoyed, drinking something fruity, trying not to stare at me.

you press your palm to your face, the blush crawling high.

you: you’re not that charming. caleb: but you are packing that black swimsuit, right? the one that fits your body so perfectly?

your heart slams in your chest. you never posted that photo. you only sent it to m.c. once, in a private message. you hadn’t even known he saw it.

you: you shouldn’t know about that. caleb: i shouldn’t want you either. and yet.

you sit on the edge of the bed. the heat of his words curling slow, making you feel something that you should only feel for your partner.

your phone buzzes again.

caleb: you really going to let him have you for the whole weekend?

you don’t answer.

you reach for the swimsuit. fold it carefully. quietly. and lay it on top of the other things in your bag. you’re already in trouble. but you zip it shut anyway.

.

the car hums down the coastal highway, sunlight flashing through the windows in golden streaks. adrien’s driving, one hand relaxed on the wheel, the other resting on your thigh. the wind is warm, the sky impossibly blue. everything should feel like peace.

but your phone buzzes again in your lap.

you glance down.

caleb: what are you wearing right now? please tell me it’s something i’ll regret seeing you in.

you shift in your seat. cross your legs.

adrien doesn’t notice. he’s talking about the hotel—how the chefs are all imported from a five-star kitchen, how the fire pits are custom built into the sand, how he’s planning a surprise dinner the first night.

your phone lights up again.

caleb: let me guess. sundress. soft. stupidly pretty. easy to pull up.

you grip the phone a little tighter.

you: stop. caleb: say it like you mean it.

adrien squeezes your thigh affectionately. “you okay, baby?”

“mhmm.” you smile, tight. “just checking something.”

you angle the phone a little farther away from him. open your messages again.

you: i’m in a car with my boyfriend. caleb: and still thinking about me.

your throat goes dry. you type back quickly:

you: caleb.

he waits.

you don’t know why you do it, but your thumbs move anyway.

you: it’s a white dress. cotton. nothing special.

the reply comes almost instantly.

caleb: you in white’s always been a problem. easy to make a mess in.

you bite the inside of your cheek. stare out the window.

adrien shifts, turning the music up a little, his voice easy and soft as he asks you something about checking in. you nod. pretend to listen.

but your phone buzzes again.

caleb: can’t wait to see you. in that dress. orrr— out of it.

you don’t answer. but you don’t block him either and you don’t stop the way your stomach flips, either, because fuck, it’s intense. what the fuck are you thinking? you are in this non stop tumultuous fight against morality and dignity. 

.

the hotel sits like a dream against the coastline—white stone and glass, balconies dripping with flowers contrasting the environment, ocean waves crashing just beyond the edge of the private beach. the valet takes your bags. adrien thanks him with a generous tip and slides his sunglasses up into his hair, flashing that confident, easy grin that always draws attention.

you’re still catching your breath from the ride—heat pooling at the back of your neck, caleb’s messages burning a little too fresh in your mind—when you spot her.

m.c. is already waiting by the entrance, perched on a curved stone bench in a straw sunhat and linen dress, oversized sunglasses pushing her hair back. she grins when she sees you, stands, and practically floats toward you.

“you made it!” she says, pulling you into a hug, smelling like coconut and orange blossom. “you look like summer incarnate.”

adrien chuckles behind you. “i planned the whole thing.”

“of course you did,” m.c. smirks, kissing him on the cheek. “we should all be so lucky to have a boyfriend with a corporate card and taste.”

and then you hear it—footsteps. low voices. the weight in your chest returns before you even turn.

“hell of a place,” caleb says, sauntering up with xavier beside him, both in crisp short-sleeves and aviators, fresh off the elevator.

he’s tan. looser than you’ve seen him in years. like the salt in the air is good for him.

adrien smiles wide and steps forward, reaching to clasp caleb’s hand in that quick, firm, shoulder-slap bro-hug men have perfected.

“glad you made it,” adrien says.

“wouldn’t miss it,” caleb replies, easy.

xavier grins, giving adrien a similar greeting. “this place is insane. whose idea was it to put a full bar in the infinity pool?”

adrien laughs. “mine.”

“you’re officially my favorite person,” xavier says, heading off toward the front desk to check in, his bag slung lazily over one shoulder.

caleb doesn’t move.

his eyes drift to you. slow and unhurried. he doesn’t say anything—doesn’t have to.

because the way he looks at you says enough. you glance down, fingers tightening around the strap of your purse. m.c. watches all of this. doesn’t say a word, just smiles, like she knew this was coming.

“drinks after you unpack?” she asks sweetly, “definitely,” adrien says, brushing a hand down your back. “we’ll meet you all at the pool.”

“can’t wait,” caleb murmurs, gaze never leaving yours.

the resort sprawls across the coast like something pulled from a dream—white stone buildings tiered into the cliffs, kissed by sprays of seafoam and crawling ivy. the main entrance opens into a vast open-air atrium, where sunlight floods through curved glass ceilings and dances across polished marble floors. fragrant bursts of jasmine and citrus drift from planters lining the walkways, and the sound of trickling fountains follows you with every step. 

past the concierge desk, the space widens into a sprawling promenade: a private shopping gallery lined with luxury boutiques, soft jazz playing as high-end fabrics sway behind crystal

windows. the central courtyard glows gold in the sun, with a tiered infinity pool spilling into the horizon, bordered by low cabanas, ivory parasols, and a gleaming bar half-submerged in water—guests wading up with cocktails in hand. above it all, arched balconies overlook the beach, private and serene, while the scent of salt, fruit, and sunscreen clings to the warm air. even the staff moves with a kind of reverent grace, every guest treated like royalty—

the group gathers at the front desk, luggage in tow, sun already warming their shoulders as the glass doors close behind them with a soft hiss. laughter drifts in from the lobby bar, the distant scent of espresso and saltwater mixing with perfume and cologne.

“party name?” the receptionist asks brightly, fingers poised over a sleek touchscreen monitor.

“toulouse,” adrien says, pulling out his sleek black id and card. he smiles, charming as ever. “we’ve got a few rooms under that name.”

“of course.” the receptionist begins scanning them in. one by one, the group passes over their credentials—m.c. tossing hers with a wink, xavier balancing his bag on his hip, tara and nero chatting about whether the beach view is better than the garden side.

then caleb steps forward.

his id hits the desk with a soft click.

fleet-issued. black-accented. unmistakable.

the receptionist’s eyes flicker down, and her posture shifts instantly. there’s a beat of silence.

she looks up—smiling wider now, more formal. “colonel caleb xia,” she says, her voice suddenly edged with something deeper. “welcome.” caleb blinks, casual. “just here with friends.”

“of course, sir,” she replies, fingers moving faster across the screen. “as a decorated officer of the farspace fleet, your stay qualifies for our high level courtesy protocol.”

m.c. glances at caleb. “your what now?”

the receptionist continues without missing a beat. “your group will be upgraded to the resort’s top-tier suites. each room includes a private oceanview terrace, complimentary spa credit, and full access to our elite guest-only lounge and services.”

“i didn’t—” caleb starts.

“it’s policy, sir. we’re honored to host you.”

adrien raises a brow, half-laughing, joking . “i should’ve brought my medals.” xavier whistles low. “fleet perks.” tara leans toward nero and mutters, “i knew he was important.”

caleb just shifts his weight slightly, expression unreadable, one hand resting casually in his pocket. “you all came here to relax. figured i’d make it worth your time.”

m.c. grins. “we should bring you everywhere.”

your heart does something strange. heat rising behind your collar as the front desk slides you your keycard—suite 9: north tower penthouse.

you take it with a thank-you. but your fingers brush caleb’s hand when you do.

the elevator dings softly, and the group spills out into a polished marble hallway—light slanting through tall windows, casting the floor in soft amber stripes. the suites stretch down the length of the corridor, tall doors with brushed gold handles and engraved plaques that gleam in the afternoon sun.

adrien’s at the front, laughing with nero about the time one of his board members confused a zero-gravity treadmill for an espresso machine. his voice echoes lightly off the high ceilings, easy, familiar.

you fall into step beside caleb without meaning to. he’s quiet. but he always was.

his hand brushes yours once— twice. you pretend not to notice—but you don’t pull away either.

the second time, he doesn’t move. his fingers linger just a little longer, pinky grazing yours like a secret in motion. it feels like the hallway narrows around the two of you. the air grows thicker. warmer.

m.c. glances back, says something to tara about the spa hours, but she doesn’t miss it.

you see it in the small smile she hides behind her glass.

“here we are,” adrien calls, stopping in front of the corner suites. “ocean view, floor-to-ceiling windows, personal plunge pools. you’re welcome.”

“he wants a thank you in writing,” xavier adds, nudging him.

“maybe a toast,” adrien jokes. “or a statue.” you laugh, even as your pulse is thudding in your ears.

caleb moves past you to his suite—his hand just barely brushing the small of your back as he does. not enough to be noticed.

“see you in a bit,” he murmurs.

you nod, and then step inside your own room, letting the door close softly behind you.

your bag is missing. but your thoughts are already somewhere else entirely

.

you’re halfway through unpacking when you realize it.

your smaller bag—the one with your swimsuits, the silk wrap, and your favorite perfume—is missing. it’s not in the closet. not in the bathroom. not in the entryway with the other luggage.

you check again. and again. your stomach drops.

adrien’s in the shower, humming something off-key, steam curling under the bathroom door. you step out onto the suite’s balcony, signal low, and flick open the group chat on your comm.

you: hey, anyone see a cream-colored travel bag? soft leather, gold zipper. it’s missing from our stuff. maybe got mixed up?

you wait. stare out at the ocean. the wind is warm on your skin.

a message pings a moment later.

caleb: yeah, it’s in my suite. looks like it got tucked into the side of my luggage. you can come grab it.

you freeze.

your thumbs hover.

you: oh. okay. thanks. caleb: door’s open.

adrien calls your name from inside. you glance back, then text:

you: be there in a sec.

you lock your screen. heart tapping too fast beneath your ribs.

it’s just a bag. it’s just a room. and yet— your hands are already reaching for the keycard as if your body’s moved faster than your thoughts.

his door is slightly ajar, just like he said.

you knock once, soft, “come in,” his voice calls from somewhere inside—lower than usual. unhurried.

you step in. the room smells like cedar and something clean, and there’s music playing, soft and smooth—something old, something with a bassline that rolls slow. the kind of music that gets into your pulse without asking.

and then you see him. he’s standing near the open suitcase on the bed, back to you, half-dressed—black swim trunks low on his hips, bare feet on the marble floor, a white towel slung over his shoulder. he’s rifling through folded clothes, pulling out a thin shirt, but he hasn’t put it on yet. and gods. his back is carved. every muscle cut and coiled, broad shoulders tapering down to a lean waist, skin golden from the sun, small scars scattered like whispers from a life you’ll never fully know. his arms flex as he moves. slow. casual. you were a deer in headlights. but the headlights was a sexy 6’2 fleet colonel with the physique of a god. 

you stare longer than you mean to—longer than you should. he hears the door click shut behind you and turns, still towel in hand. and when he sees you—he smiles.

“thought you’d take longer,” he says, voice warm. low.

“you didn’t say you’d be half-naked,” you mutter, trying to sound annoyed, but your voice catches somewhere on the way out.

he tilts his head slightly, smirk deepening. “you want me to put something on?”

your throat goes dry, “you’re impossible.” he walks toward you—lazy, deliberate steps. the shirt still hanging loose in one hand, forgotten. “you’ve seen me worse,” he murmurs.

you try to keep your eyes on his face. fail. your gaze dips—chest, abs, the faint trail that disappears below his waistband. holy fuck.  when you drag your eyes back up, he’s watching you. head to toe.

“if you’re going to keep looking at me like that,” he says softly, “you might want to close the door properly.”

you realize then—it didn’t latch. you reach back, fingers fumbling for the handle. but you don’t stop looking at him. and he doesn’t stop walking toward you.

you close the door. not all the way. just enough that it clicks. when you turn back, caleb’s closer. still shirtless. still smug. he raises an eyebrow, that infuriatingly soft curl at the corner of his mouth growing. “huh,” he says, lazy. “thought you were just here for your bag.”

your stomach flips you open your mouth, trying to find something—anything—casual to say.

“i didn’t want the breeze blowing it open,” you offer, weakly. he laughs. low and warm, the sound licking at your spine. “right. the breeze.”

you clutch the strap of your purse a little tighter. “you said the door was open.” — “it was,” he says, stepping closer.

you don’t move, “but you locked it.” his eyes drag down, slow, deliberate,not crude—intentional. like he’s memorizing the shape of your breath, the curve of your silence.

“caleb,” you whisper, he says your name back—quiet, reverent. “i’ve missed the way that sounds coming from your mouth.”

your back finds the wall before you realize you’ve been retreating. his hand finds the surface beside your head, fingers spreading out like he owns the space around you.

he’s so close now you can smell the salt on his skin. feel the heat radiating off him. “you should go,” he says, but he doesn’t step back. his voice lowers. “but you won’t.”

your breath stutters. “this is a bad idea.” — “it’s the only idea that’s ever made sense.”

your heart hammers in your chest. his fingers lift—slow—ghosting up your arm. not touching. just close.

“is he enough?” he asks, voice quieter now. “or is he just… safe?”

you don’t answer… you don’t answer him.

instead, you inhale—steadying yourself like you’re preparing for gravity to give out. and then you move, shifting just enough to duck under the curve of his arm. his bare chest grazes your shoulder as you slip past him, and the heat that radiates off his skin feels like it clings to you long after you’re out of his reach.

he doesn’t stop you. he just turns, tracking you with that same steady gaze. like he’s waiting to see what you’ll do with your escape.

your footsteps echo softly against the marble floor as you reach the bed. your cream-colored bag sits there, neatly perched beside the open mouth of his suitcase, as if it had always belonged there. innocent. untouched. except now your fingers tremble just slightly as you reach for it.

you curl your hand around the handle and force your face into something neutral, something calm, even though your pulse is slamming against your ribs.

“thanks,” you murmur, your voice too soft, too normal for how wrecked you feel inside. you make it three steps toward the door before he says it.

“i took a souvenir.”

you freeze. 

your back stiffens. the room stills with you. you don’t turn. not at first. his voice is casual—low, smooth, velvet draped over something darker. “from your bag.”

you glance back over your shoulder. “what are you talking about?”

he holds something up between two fingers.

a scrap of red silk and lace.

your heart drops like a stone in your chest.

they’re unmistakable—your favorite pair. delicate, barely-there, the ones you packed last-minute without thinking. the ones you almost didn’t bring. crimson and sheer and trimmed in the thinnest whisper of embroidery.

his grin is slow. knowing. just this side of smug, “you really should pack more carefully.”

you stare at him, your mouth parted in silence, heat creeping up your neck and into your cheeks in a flush you can’t begin to fight. he twirls them once on his finger, then drapes them across his palm, like he’s offering you a dare. his voice drops even lower. “or maybe you left them for me.”

you don’t say anything.

you just turn, bag clutched tight in your hand, and walk.

each step feels like it echoes—too slow, too loud, too obvious. the air outside his suite is cooler, but it does nothing for the heat burning beneath your skin.

when you open the door to your room, adrien’s standing by the balcony, shirt halfway unbuttoned, a glass of sparkling water in his hand. he turns when he hears you come in, eyes flicking to your face.

he smiles, but it falters slightly. “you okay?”

“yeah,” you say too quickly, dropping the bag onto the chair, avoiding his eyes. “it’s just—hot. it’s the beach.”

you grab a hair tie from the nightstand and pull your hair back, trying to pretend your ears aren’t burning.

adrien grins, walking over to brush a kiss against your cheek. “you’re right. i forgot how thick the air gets near the coast.” he pulls a linen shirt over his shoulders, still barefoot. “m.c. says everyone’s heading down to the bar soon. they’re starting the party.”

“okay,” you say, grounding yourself in the word. you focus on that—normalcy. the night. drinks. laughter. anything but what’s still fluttering in your chest.

within the hour, you’re all heading down—the group buzzing with early vacation energy. tara arrives in a gauzy wrap and sunglasses, dragging xavier by the hand. m.c. loops her arm through yours, all smiles and mischief. nero’s already asking about the drink menu before you’ve even reached the elevator.

and then caleb joins at the lobby entrance, freshly showered, crisp linen shirt open at the collar, hair damp and pushed back.

he doesn’t look at you, not directly. but his mouth quirks—just slightly—when he catches you looking at him. and god, he still has your underwear.

adrien slips his hand into yours, you smile up at him.  and pretend that you’re not still trembling on the inside.

the resort’s bar isn’t just a bar—it’s a whole open-air lounge carved into the edge of the cliffside, with glass railings overlooking the sea and sunken seating arranged in half-moons of plush white cushions and low stone tables. lights are strung overhead in warm strands, flickering like captured stars. the sun is just beginning to set, turning the sky a bruised gold and washing everything in that kind of glow that makes even tension look beautiful.

the group claims a corner table near the edge, laughter easy, legs bare and drinks already sweating in their glasses. m.c. and tara are leaned together, sharing a bowl of citrus-soaked olives, xavier and nero comparing cocktails. adrien sits beside you, his hand tracing light patterns over your thigh as he tells caleb something about property shares on the coast, voice smooth, not bragging—but close.

caleb’s across from you, lounging low, one arm draped along the back of the seat like he owns the curve of the air behind him. he’s got a glass of something dark in his hand, condensation trailing slow down his fingers. he’s half-listening to adrien, nodding politely, but his eyes keep drifting. to you.

you look away, sip your drink.

he speaks, voice low and amused. “adrien, you ever try a flamefruit old fashioned? they only serve them off-world, but i’ve got a connection.”

adrien raises a brow. “can’t say i have.”

“i’ll have the bar replicate it. you’ll love it.” caleb turns, gestures to the server without waiting for permission. “round for the table. my treat.”

m.c. smirks behind her glass. “colonel card again?”

caleb winks. “if i’ve got the perks, might as well use them.”

“what’s it taste like?” you ask, before you can stop yourself.

caleb’s eyes meet yours.

and he smiles, slow and deliberate. “burns going down. sweet after.”

your breath catches. your thighs press together under the table.

adrien chuckles beside you, nudging your knee with his. “i’ll drink anything if it’s free.”

caleb raises his glass slightly, gaze still locked on you. “oh, it’s not free.”

tara fans herself dramatically. “stars, is it hot out here or is it just all this masculine tension choking the oxygen?”

m.c. laughs. “i think caleb’s trying to intimidate your boyfriend, babe.”

“oh, he’s not intimidated,” caleb says, sipping casually. “yet.”

adrien grins, unfazed. “depends. are you trying to charm me or compete with me?”

“does it matter?” caleb says smoothly. “either way, i win.”

the table erupts into a mixture of laughter and groans, but your cheeks are already burning. you don’t dare say a word. because every time you look at him, all you can think about is the red lace still sitting somewhere in his room.

the drinks arrive in short, crystal-cut glasses, glowing faintly pink-orange like sunset syrup. tiny flames flicker at the rim—real fire, hovering just above the liquid like it’s dared to touch it. a soft gasp rises from the table. they smell like heat and sugar, like something forbidden.

“they’re infused with flamefruit,” caleb explains, lounging a little deeper into his seat. “rare export. the alcohol levels double within five minutes of exposure to oxygen.”

“you mean—” m.c. squints at her glass. “this’ll make me blackout drunk?”

“if you’re lucky,” caleb says, sipping his first.

tara grins. “then i want two.”

cheers erupt across the table, glasses clinking, the laughter rising with the tide. the first round hits fast. the second hits hard.

in less than half an hour, nero’s shirtless and swaying to music that isn’t even playing. m.c. has xavier in a headlock in the pool, both of them crying laughing over something that doesn’t even make sense. tara’s floating belly-up in the water, sunglasses still on, whispering to the stars.

adrien’s sprawled across a deck chair beside you, half-asleep, half-chuckling, hand loosely tangled in yours, his voice slurred.

“you’re—so fucking gorgeous,” he mumbles, “you know that?”

you smile at him, soft, but your heart’s somewhere else. because caleb hasn’t moved.

he’s sitting near the pool’s edge, ankles dipped in the water, watching everything with that quiet, unreadable expression. glass empty. gaze fixed.

you pull your hand gently from adrien’s. he doesn’t notice. you rise, your balance steady, even though your skin buzzes faintly from the drink. maybe it’s adrenaline. maybe it’s him.

you walk toward the pool. he watches you approach, lips parting slightly like he’s about to say something, but doesn’t. you sit beside him, legs dangling into the water. the heat from the drink hums beneath your skin. the air smells like salt, citrus, and fire.

“they’re all gone,” you murmur.

he smirks. “lightweights.” you smile, “you didn’t finish yours.” he shrugs. “i wanted to remember tonight.”

you glance at him. his eyes are already on you.

the pool glows beneath your feet. somewhere behind you, adrien calls your name and slurs something about marshmallows, but the sound doesn’t reach you fully. not here. not beside him.

“you planned this,” you whisper. “i didn’t plan you showing up in that dress,” he says back, voice low. “but i’m not complaining.”

your stomach twists. “caleb—”

he leans in, just slightly, voice brushing your skin like velvet. “if i kissed you right now, would you still blame it on the drink?”

you don’t answer

you watch him, the edge of the pool casting shifting ripples of blue light across his chest and jaw. he looks good like this—barefoot, relaxed, but still sharp. always sharp.

“why aren’t you drinking?” you ask softly, trying not to sound like you already know.

he glances at you, half amused. “fleet protocol.”

you raise an eyebrow.

“active duty officers aren’t supposed to drink in public unless it’s sanctioned. even on leave. especially when there’s a crowd.”

you blink at him. “that’s… incredibly responsible of you.”

he snorts. “no, it’s annoying. but i’ve seen what happens when we slip. one colonel blackout-drunk in the wrong company, and it’s a planetary incident.”

you laugh—just a little. soft. “guess that’s why you let us fall apart instead.”

his expression shifts—just for a second. unreadable. raw. you don’t push, but the silence between you isn’t comfortable. it’s full. heavy with all the things you’ve been too afraid to say. a splash breaks the tension—tara, floating sideways, blinking up at the moon like it personally offended her.

“i think the diplomat’s drowning,” caleb mutters.

you both rise at once.

the rest of the night is a slow unraveling. you and caleb move from one friend to the next—xavier slung between your shoulders, nero mumbling something about becoming a beach hermit, m.c. giggling hysterically into caleb’s chest as he carries her in both arms like she weighs nothing. she calls him sir in a fake voice and salutes before passing out.

tara refuses to sleep indoors, insisting the ocean invited her personally. you bribe her with aloe vera lotion.

adrien is the last one—he stumbles into your room, mumbling praise, pressing a kiss to your temple before collapsing sideways on the bed. you help pull his shoes off. he’s already snoring by the time you dim the lights.

you stand at the door for a long moment.

caleb’s across the hall.

you decide to call it quits for the night instead.

you lie in bed, staring at the ceiling fan turning lazy circles above you. adrien’s out cold beside you, one arm flung across the pillow, mouth slightly open, the sound of his breathing rhythmic, steady. the room is dim, moonlight casting long silver shadows through the sheer curtains.

you try to close your eyes. you try to sleep, but your heart won’t slow down, and you know exactly why.

you slide out of bed carefully, quietly, padding barefoot across the cool tile. you reach for your phone, thumb hovering over the screen.

you don’t text him.

you just open the door. across the hall, his light is still on. your heart thuds once. you knock.

he opens the door almost immediately. like he was waiting.

he’s changed into a dark tee and joggers, barefoot, hair still damp from the night. there’s no smirk this time. no tease. just the quiet question in his eyes.

you whisper, “come walk with me?”

he doesn’t answer. just nods once, grabs his keycard, and follows.

.

the resort is near silent at night. lanterns glow low along the stone paths, lighting the garden walkways and casting soft reflections over the still pool water. the air is warm and salty, the kind of breeze that curls around your ankles and hums beneath your skin.

you walk side by side in silence for a while. until he says, “you always used to sneak out like this.”

you smile faintly. “you always caught me.” —“because you were bad at sneaking.” a pause, “because you were obsessive.”

he glances at you. “you say that like it’s a flaw.” you laugh, soft and tired. “you still are.” he hums. “only about some things.” you walk past the little row of cabanas, their curtains fluttering in the wind.

“remember the old beach station?” you say. “the busted one we thought was haunted?” — “you mean the one i dragged you into during a thunderstorm?”

“and then left me when a bird flew into the window.” he grins, sharp and nostalgic. “you screamed first.”

“i had reason to. i thought it was a ghost.” he glances at you again, eyes softer now. “you always believed in things i couldn’t see.”

you stop walking. just for a second.

the wind picks up, and you wrap your arms around yourself. not from cold—just to keep something in.

“why now, caleb?” you ask. “why all of this?” he looks at you. eyes serious. voice low. “because for years, i told myself you’d be there when i was ready.” you inhale. feel it sting.

“and now that you’re not mine,” he adds, softer, “i can’t stop wondering if i waited too long.”

you walk again, wordless, the silence a little heavier now. not cold—just brimming. every step brushing against the edge of something you’ve both kept locked away for far too long.

then the path curves.

a narrow stone turnoff, half-hidden by a curtain of vines and low-hanging lanterns. you slip into it without thinking, your feet moving before your mind catches up. he follows. the alcove is small. private. a carved-out space in the garden wall, ivy crawling over old stone and no cameras, no windows, no footsteps nearby. the moonlight doesn’t quite reach this far. it feels like another world tucked inside the resort—untouched, unseen.

you stop walking. and then he’s there, you turn to face him—barely. his hands find your wrists. slow. deliberate.

and he pins them above your head, pressing them gently into the cool stone wall. your breath catches—more in shock than fear. your eyes widen, but you don’t pull away.

you can’t.

his body is close. too close. heat rolling off him in waves, his mouth just inches from yours, his knee brushing yours, chest rising and falling steady while yours stutters.

his voice is low—dangerous and velvet. “you want to know the worst part?”

you can’t speak— can barely move.

“it’s not just that i want you,” he murmurs, head tilting, his breath hot against your cheek. “it’s how much i know you want me back.”

your fingers twitch in his grip. he leans in closer—lips at your ear now.

“you lock your knees when i touch you. you look away every time i say your name. and when i held your panties in my hand—” his mouth brushes the shell of your ear—“you didn’t tell me to give them back.”

your pulse is roaring. his grip stays firm but gentle—like he’s restraining himself more than you.

“i don’t need to kiss you to know how you’d taste,” he says, voice ragged now. “i remember you. and i’ve dreamed about this for too long.”

your whole body trembles. his forehead leans against yours, and for a second—just one—he softens.

“tell me to stop,” he whispers.

his breath fans against your lips, heavy with want and the weight of everything unsaid. he has you pinned—not roughly, not cruelly, but like he’s clinging to the one thing in this entire galaxy that still feels real. his fingers are firm around your wrists, pressing them gently into the cool stone behind you, his body a whisper away from yours, heat coiled between you like a storm about to break.

and god, you want him. so bad.

you want him the way your body remembers—hot and hungry, instinctive. the way your heart still does—tangled in the memory of laughter in empty classrooms, late-night talks and half-written letters, the smell of his skin on your pillow long after he left.

but your heart isn’t quiet. not now.

and your mouth, when it moves, doesn’t say yes.

it says—soft, barely audible—“stop.”

he goes still— completely still. like the air’s been sucked out of him.

his fingers twitch where they hold you, then slowly, almost reverently, let go. your wrists drop to your sides, tingling, your arms aching in the absence of his touch. he steps back, just an inch, like it hurts to put distance there, but he respects it anyway.

he’s breathing hard. not from exertion, but from everything he’s holding back.

you don’t look at him right away. your head is down. your chest rises and falls like you’re trying not to cry.

and then you do.

tears slip down your cheeks before you can stop them—warm and silent, cutting slow paths down skin that still burns from where he touched you.

you lift your head, finally, and meet his gaze. he looks stricken. like someone who just realized he’s still bleeding from a wound he thought had healed.

“you didn’t pick me,” you whisper, voice trembling. “you had your chance. you left.”

he opens his mouth, but no words come.

“i waited for you,” you continue, stronger now, bitterness threading through the ache. “i waited longer than i should’ve. and you just… disappeared into the fleet. you sent reports. updates. hollow things. and i tried—i tried so fucking hard—to make peace with that.”

he takes a step closer, instinctive. but you back up, just slightly.

“and then i met someone,” you say. “someone who chose me. who stayed. who wanted a life, not just a memory.”

his jaw tenses, but he doesn’t speak.

you wipe the tears from your cheek with the back of your hand, breath sharp in your chest. “you don’t get to come back now and do this. you don’t get to touch me like i’m yours. you don’t get to look at me like that when i’ve finally, finally chosen to be happy.”

but i love you. your head buries the thought.

the silence that follows is suffocating. he’s breathing through his nose, eyes locked on you like he’s memorizing the pain he caused.

you hold his gaze one last time.

then you turn, footsteps light but unsteady as you walk away from him. past the vines, past the soft lights, past the garden path that still smells faintly of sea salt and firefruit.

he doesn’t follow.

he just stands there, rooted to the stone, with the weight of your words draped over his shoulders like a cloak he’ll never take off.

.

the sun creeps through the curtains like it’s apologizing. golden and soft, too kind for the ache sitting behind your eyes.

you dress in silence.

adrien’s already downstairs—he left early to meet with one of his execs flying in for the tail end of the celebration. he kissed your forehead before he left. you barely felt it.

your reflection in the mirror looks almost normal.

except your eyes— your eyes tell on you.

by the time you reach the dining terrace, the rest of the group is already gathered at a large outdoor table. white linen umbrellas shade half-drunk smoothies and strong coffee, sunglasses hiding most of their misery. nero looks like he’s about to melt into his plate. tara’s eating fruit directly from the tray with no shame. m.c. is dressed immaculately, of course, sipping lemon water like she didn’t drag half of xavier’s body weight through the hallway the night before.

“there she is,” m.c. says when she sees you, tone light. “sleep okay?”

you nod, sliding into the seat between her and tara.

“adrien told me you were already up,” xavier says groggily. “you people with morning routines are terrifying.”

you smile, small, polite, careful.

but your heart is already scanning the table.

he’s not here. you wait. maybe he’s just late.

but then m.c. sets her glass down and clears her throat.

“before anyone asks,” she says, tone just a little too smooth, “caleb had to leave early. fleet business. emergency recall. left just before sunrise.”

there’s a collective groan of disappointment. tara swears under her breath. xavier shrugs, “figures.”

nero mutters something like, damn, i owed him twenty credits.

but your stomach sinks… he didn’t say goodbye.

m.c. doesn’t look at you when she continues, cheerful now. “good news, though. the suite arrangements are staying the same—and he left instructions to keep everything on his card. so drinks, spa, room service—go wild.”

cheers rise across the table. xavier lifts his coffee like a toast. nero suddenly looks awake. tara claps her hands like someone just proposed. you force a smile. raise your own glass, but something inside you feels hollow. like a door closed quietly in the night, and you didn’t get to see what was on the other side.

he’s gone. again, and this time, he didn’t even look back

.

the rest of the trip slips through your fingers like sand.

there are bonfires and cocktails with flowers in them. ocean breezes and overpriced massages. poolside games and laughter that never quite reaches your chest. adrien is warm and sweet, always touching your hand, your shoulder, the small of your back. you let him. you kiss him when he leans in. you laugh at his jokes. you say “i love you” when he murmurs it against your temple.

but your heart stays quiet.

and caleb doesn’t message you.

not once.

no apology. no explanation. not even a hollow joke or a sign that he’d been thinking of you at all. it’s like he vanished again—just like before—leaving only the ache of what almost was. no one asks. not even m.c. she watches you sometimes, like she wants to, but she never says a word. she just stays close. brings you tea in the mornings. walks with you at night.

you keep waiting for something to break the silence.

it never does and eventually, the trip ends.

everyone hugs goodbye on the private landing deck. adrien kisses your cheek, promising he’ll take you somewhere even more beautiful next time. nero grumbles about work. tara’s already posting sunlit pictures. xavier pretends he didn’t cry when he saw the bill.

you hop in the car and look out the window as the coastline disappears beneath the clouds.

no messages.

no name lighting up your screen.

just your reflection, staring back at you, quieter now.

.

it’s been two weeks.

you’ve returned to routine—your apartment, your desk, your carefully managed calendar of quiet obligations. adrien is away on business, a two-week summit. he calls when he can. he sends gifts. you thank him with a soft voice and a smile he can’t see is empty.

you haven’t heard from caleb.

you’d convinced yourself that was permanent.

so when the building’s front desk pings you with a call, and the attendant says, “miss, there’s a colonel caleb xia here to see you. he’s requested you come down,” your breath catches like a hook in your lungs.

you almost say no, however, your feet are already moving.

the elevator doors open to the private valet entrance, and you step into the golden light of late afternoon—soft, clean, and far too warm for the cold in your chest.

and there he is.

leaning against the most stunning piece of car you’ve ever seen—gloss-black body, brushed metal trim, glowing fleet detailing along the edge of the door. a top-of-the-line sports car, modified beyond standard specs. of course.

he’s dressed simply—black shirt rolled at the sleeves, dark trousers, aviator shades tucked into his collar—but he still looks like he walked out of a novel.

and when he sees you—god, he actually looks nervous.

“hey,” he says, voice low. “thanks for coming down.” you stop a few steps away. arms crossed. walls up. “what are you doing here?”

he straightens. runs a hand through his hair like he’s bracing for something. “i owe you an apology.”

you don’t answer. you just wait.

“that night,” he says, “it was a fleet emergency. a real one. intel flagged a threat linked to one of my old operations—classified level. i had to leave before sunrise. couldn’t even bring my comm back online until i cleared orbit.”

he takes a step closer.

“i wasn’t ghosting you. i wasn’t running. i just—had to go. and i’m sorry you thought i didn’t care.”

your eyes sting, but you hold his gaze.

he exhales. voice softer now. “i should’ve told you as soon as i landed. but the longer i waited, the harder it got. and i… didn’t want to make things worse for you. not if you’d already chosen to forget me.”

silence stretches. and then—he nods toward the passenger door.

“i just want to talk. no pressure. no expectations. just you and me. one hour. that’s all i’m asking.”

your hand tightens around your phone. your heart’s a mess.

you nod, following him out of the apartment entrance.

you get in.

you don’t say anything at first.

just buckle your seatbelt and stare out the window as he pulls out of the lot, the engine humming smooth and low beneath you. he doesn’t play music. doesn’t speak. just drives—steady, like he knows every road but isn’t rushing through any of them.

the city thins. buildings stretch out into tree-lined residential zones, then the pavement turns soft with shadows. he pulls off into a small overlook just past the western ridge—where the city lights look like stardust and the sky hangs low and warm in the early dusk.

he puts the car in park but leaves the engine running.

for a moment, he doesn’t move.

just rests his hands on the wheel, staring out the windshield like he’s trying to breathe evenly.

then, quietly: “i don’t know what the hell i’m doing anymore.”

you glance at him, unsure of what to say.

his jaw flexes. “i thought i could just see you again. that it’d fade. that i’d remember why i left it all alone in the first place.”

his voice cracks slightly when he says your name. he turns toward you, finally, and there’s nothing calm in his eyes now. none of the smooth teasing or practiced control. just hunger. grief. something that’s been clawing at him for far too long.

“but it hasn’t faded,” he says. “it’s worse.”

you shift, pulse thudding louder in your ears.

“i miss you,” he breathes. “i miss you like it’s a sickness. like it’s in my bones.”

his fingers tighten on the wheel. “i think about you every goddamn day. and it’s not just memories. it’s need. it’s knowing exactly how you sound when you laugh and how you bite your lip when you’re overthinking something. it’s how you used to tuck your feet under mine on the couch just so they’d stay warm.”

you swallow hard.

“and i’ve tried,” he continues, raw now. “i’ve tried so hard to let go. to respect what you’ve built with him. but seeing you with him—smiling, reaching for his hand, looking up at him like he’s your future—i fucking hate it.”

you don’t look at him. you can’t.

“i know what this makes me,” he says. “but if the only way i get to have you is behind closed doors—if that’s all you’re willing to give me—i’ll take it.”

your breath catches.

he leans closer across the center console. “i’ll take anything,” he whispers, “as long as it’s you.”

you sit there, the silence thick as the sky around you. the console hums gently between your bodies, the glow of the city stretching out in front of you like a life that isn’t yours.

your fingers twist in your lap, voice raw when it finally breaks free.

“i don’t want to do that to him,” you whisper.

caleb says nothing.

you stare at your hands. “he’s never lied to me. never hurt me. he’s always been there, always—shown up. and he loves me.” your throat tightens. “he really loves me.”

you turn your face toward the window, breath fogging the glass. “how do i do this to someone like that?”

caleb shifts. not toward you—just slightly. like he’s holding himself back with everything he has.

“i’m not asking you to stop loving him,” he says finally, voice low, rough. “i’m asking you to stop pretending that’s all you feel.”

you shut your eyes.

he leans a little closer, his voice a breath against the quiet.

“you ache when i look at you,” he murmurs. “you flinch when i say your name. like you’re terrified of what it does to you.”

your heart slams against your ribs.

he exhales. “you think i didn’t see it? in the alcove? at the pool? even now—you won’t look at me because you’re afraid you’ll want it again.”

you turn, slowly, meeting his eyes—and he’s already there. watching you like he’s memorized the exact shape of your restraint.

“you’ve been wanting to fuck me for years,” he says, low and devastating. “you want to know how i know?”

you don’t breathe.

his gaze drags down—slow, deliberate—then back up, landing squarely on your mouth. “because i’ve been wanting it just as long. and i feel it—every time i’m near you. you’re thinking about it right now, and you hate yourself for it.”

your lip trembles, and he sees it. of course he does.

but his voice softens—just slightly.

“i’m not asking you to be cruel,” he says. “i’m asking you to be honest.”

he leans back then, like he’s giving you room to choose.

like he knows he’s already cracked something wide open.

you don’t answer.

you just sit there, the words still echoing in the low, humming cabin. his voice lingers in your blood, thick and hot, and your throat feels too tight to swallow.

he doesn’t push. doesn’t speak again. he just watches you for a moment longer—like he wants to reach  out, like he won’t.

then he shifts, gently easing the car out of park.

the drive back is quiet.

the kind of quiet that makes your skin itch, like your whole body is trying to scream beneath the weight of what wasn’t said. the city glides by in a blur of golden streetlights and reflections in glass. you don’t know what song is playing, if any. your pulse is too loud in your ears to notice.

caleb pulls up in front of your building.

he doesn’t turn off the engine.

doesn’t look at you, at first.

you reach for the door handle with fingers that don’t feel like yours.

he speaks, soft, one last time. “you don’t have to decide tonight.”

you nod, but you don’t look at him.

you open the door, step out onto the curb. the air is cooler now, night brushing your skin like a warning. you don’t say goodbye and he doesn’t ask you to.

he waits until you’re inside the building before he pulls away. you don’t watch him go. but god, you feel it.

you feel every inch of distance stretching between who you are and what you want.

and you’re still thinking about it. thinking about him. even as the elevator closes. even as your door clicks shut.

even as you crawl into bed beside a man who has never made you cry, and still—

he isn’t the one making your heart race

.

morning comes slow, the kind that bleeds in through the curtains too gently to jolt you awake. your body moves on muscle memory—coffee, robe, soft slippers against the floor. adrien is already at the dining counter, sleeves rolled, reading through a holo-brief projected over his tablet. he looks up the second you enter.

“hey,” he says, with that easy smile. “you slept in.”

you nod. pour yourself a cup. you don’t meet his eyes.

“bad dreams?”

you shake your head. “just… tired.” he watches you for a second too long. you feel it.

he sets the tablet aside, his expression softening. “you okay?”

you stir your coffee. it takes longer than it should.

he gets up, walks over, and wraps his arms around your waist from behind—warm and sure, chin resting lightly on your shoulder. “you’ve been quiet,” he says. “colder, maybe. just a little.”

your throat tightens.

he presses a soft kiss to the curve of your neck. “if there’s something wrong—if i’ve done something—”

“no,” you interrupt gently, your voice barely above a whisper. “you haven’t.”

you turn slightly in his hold, enough to face him but not enough to really look.

“i get like this sometimes,” you lie. “just… little dips. random depression waves. i don’t always see them coming.”

his brows knit in concern, but he nods. you smile, and it feels brittle.

“i’m sorry if i’ve been distant. it’s not about you. really.”

he leans in and presses his forehead to yours.

“you don’t owe me apologies for how you feel,” he says quietly. “i’m not here for the best parts of you. i’m here for all of it.”

that breaks something in you. you hug him tighter than you mean to. he doesn’t question it. he just holds you. and you close your eyes. not to rest— but to hide from the truth pressing like a bruise beneath your ribs.

.

adrien’s message hits m.c.’s inbox just before noon, voice-attached, full of that effortless charm that makes him impossible to say no to.

“hey, sunshine. thinking of throwing something small this weekend at our place. just food, drinks, the usual. she’s been a little… off lately, and i thought maybe being around friends might help her shake it. you in?”

then, a second message, a little sheepish:

“also, i may have bought an embarrassing amount of alcohol. could use your help curating it so it doesn’t look like a cry for help.”

m.c. doesn’t even hesitate. she sends back a voice note with a laugh and a “count me in, you reckless wine hoarder.”

by the next day, he’s pulling strings.

he orders catering from her favorite fusion spot. hires a soft jazz duo for background music. stocks the bar with rare liquors—imports, aged things with names he can’t pronounce, glittery mixers from a lunar distillery she once offhandedly said reminded her of childhood.

and then, almost as an afterthought—but not really—he messages caleb.

adrien: got a favor. hosting a small get-together for her. thought maybe you could pull a few strings and get that flamefruit cocktail mix again? she loved it. figured it might get her smiling.

the message is casual. friendly. trusting.

caleb reads it twice.

he doesn’t respond immediately.

but two hours later, adrien gets a delivery confirmation for an off-world case of flamefruit extract with a note:

“tell her it burns going down, but it’s sweet after.”

adrien smiles. texts back a simple “you’re a legend.”

he has no idea what he’s set in motion.

[mcrdvcks]

congratulations on 2k!!! 💐💕

logan always seem like a giver, i wonder how he'd react having a significant other who adamantly takes care of him? maybe not in the same way he takes care of others, but in small, soft ways?

logan is the type of person who says he's "not a hero" yet his actions consistently proves his words are lies. same with him saying that he's "not a good person." like?? you protected rogue and were willing to sacrifice your life for a teenage girl you just met?

anyways, this is a bit short, but i hope you enjoy it!

send an ask for my 2,000 followers celebration!

warnings/tags: established relationship, soft!logan, fluff

Logan’s not used to being taken care of. He’s the one who patches people up, does the heavy lifting, and quietly steps between others and danger. It’s instinct. Automatic.

So when you start doing it—bringing him water after a mission, setting out fresh clothes without a word, making sure the heater’s on when his joints are stiff—he doesn’t quite know what to do with it.

He notices immediately, though. You fold his laundry the way he likes. You learn how he takes his coffee without asking. You remember he sleeps better when there's rain sounds playing. It makes him blink, still and quiet, like he's not sure how he earned it.

He tries to wave it off at first. “Don’t fuss,” he grumbles, even as he lets you rub tiger balm on his shoulder. But the way his eyes flutter shut? The soft noise he makes when your fingers find a sore spot? He loves it.

The first time you run your fingers through his hair to help him sleep, he jerks like he’s been shocked. Then he goes completely quiet. Eyes closed. Breathing even. Gone.

You always have something warm waiting when he comes back from patrol. You leave his boots near the heater when it’s snowing. You slip a protein bar into his jacket pocket when you think he’s skipped lunch.

He’s rough around the edges, but the first time you kiss the scars on his knuckles instead of commenting on them, he stares at you like you’ve just spoken another language. Doesn’t say a word. Just pulls you in and breathes you in like a prayer.

He’s weirdly flustered by quiet affection. You press a kiss to his temple. He grunts. Looks away. But later, you find him still touching the spot absentmindedly like it’s some kind of talisman.

He starts catching himself checking for you in every room. Not to protect you—though that’s always there—but just… looking. For your presence. For your little rituals. The cup of tea cooling by the window. The folded towel left for him by the shower. The way your hand finds his wrist and squeezes once when you pass him in the hall.

He keeps trying to repay every act of care tenfold. You bring him soup when he’s sore? He chops wood for two hours. You tidy his flannel drawer? He fixes the leaky sink in your bathroom before you notice it’s dripping. (You have to sit him down and explain that it’s not a competition. That taking care of him isn’t a job. It’s love.)

He has to learn how to receive. He’s not used to the idea that someone would choose to take care of him, without expecting him to carry it all. So he fights it at first. Shifts his weight, changes the subject, mutters “m’fine.” But you keep showing up. Keep being steady. And eventually, he starts to believe it.

When you run errands, you always come back with something small for him. A new bar of the soap he likes. A snack he thought no one remembered he liked. “Thought you said you weren’t one for soft stuff,” he teases. “I’m not. I’m just nosy,” you reply. But you both know it’s love.

You started rubbing lotion into his knuckles one night without saying a word. He sat there completely frozen like a bear being tamed by the gentlest trap. Didn’t say anything, just stared at your hands and thought about kissing them. He did, later.