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whitehotforeva · 11 months ago

Text

GREEDY – Anakin Skywalker

best!friend anakin x reader

your panties have been going missing, little did you know that your perverted best friend has been stealing them ♡

word count: 2,129

warnings: smut. oral (fem receiving) male masturbation. anakin is a needy perv for ur pussy 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

a/n: its literally four am n i've been up writing this filth. not proofread im still kinda new to this stuff/writing but i hope whoever reads this enjoys <3

You weren’t sure exactly when it started. Sure, you were never one to be exactly tidy, so it was pretty common for you to lose random tops around your room, or maybe a pair of underwear, but after the sixth pair went missing, you suspected something was up.

You couldn't exactly figure it out. Where the hell did they go? How did they disappear like that? You’d search all around the house, wondering if they’d been misplaced but no.

So when the seventh pair went missing after your best friend Anakin visited, you pressed your lips together as you pieced together the puzzle. Things always seemed to go missing after he’d leave.

Your face warmed at the idea. Surely not? Was it just your brain making things up? Because then that would mean that well...he liked you. I mean that's what it meant right? If a guy stole your underwear? A part of you wanted to giggle and squeal into your pillow. Despite the many years of friendship between you and Anakin, you couldn't deny that you had developed a crush on him. Who could blame you.

But the other half felt anxiety. What if there was a completely other reason they went missing? Something which had nothing to do with him at all? How could you even question it to him? Bring it up?

Hey Ani. You keeping my best underwear? Can I have it back please? At least the one with the little pink bow? And that lacy black pair? Oh and my white panties too. Oh and the four others please?

Fuck no. There were times where your body would radiate a nervous energy around him because you felt intimidated at how perfect he was.

Little do you know, it's what he loved about you. The way you’d quickly glance away after maintaining eye contact with him for a second too long, a blush growing on your cheeks. Or the way you’d tell him to shut up as a flirty remark left his lips, playfully hitting him despite dying on the inside over it because you felt you couldn't read into it. He had always been so charming. So composed and in control of his feelings.

So imagine the surprise and utter shock that filled your body when you decided to hang out at his house and found him desperately rutting his leaky cock into your black lacy panties.

It wasn't unusual for you guys to turn up unannounced at each other's house, so as you made your way through his house, treading upstairs carefully to sneak up and spook him, the last thing you expected was hearing a deep moan coming from his room.

Naturally, you had to see what that was about. Duh. But as you edged closer, you could hear a string of curse words leave his mouth. His door was slightly open, and you inhaled a sharp breath as you saw his long fingers clutching the pair that went missing around his cock.

Your eyes widened at the size. You didnt know what you expected, but you couldn’t help but gulp at his length. And his achy leaky tip that was thrusting against your pair of panties.

A soft gasp left your lips at the sight mixed with the familiar feeling of warmth that begin to pool in your lower half. Your eyes were so mesmerized on the way he jerked off his cock with your panties, you didnt even feel the cold blue stare that was fixed on you.

That was until his deep voice interrupted your staring.

“You gonna come help me angel? Or gonna stand there and stare?” He half groaned, an amused tone coating his voice as your eyes widened in horror at being caught, snapping up to his stormy orbs.

Your lips parted to speak as you took a step back, instantly glancing away as you raised your hands up. “I-I- Sorry- I didnt mean to uh. Sorry!” You stammered out, trying to look anywhere but there.

You barely even registered what he said.

“Don’t be rude. Come on in.” You weren't looking at his face, but you could imagine the arrogant smirk he’d usually wear painted on his lips, matching with his cocky tone. You hesitantly glanced at his face again and noticed the way his face glistened with sweat. He was shirtless and you couldn't help but let your eyes linger back down to his cock. Your mouth was open in shock again especially as you watched his hand envelop your panties around his cock and slide it up again, your eyes snapping back up to his as he let out a low chuckle at your expression, shamelessly stroking his cock.

“Th-those are mine”. You tried to speak firmly, trying to ignore the way his hand picked up the pace. You don't know what gave you the nerve to say that.

“Yeah? You gonna come and get them baby?”. His voice was airy as he almost whimpered the sentence out, biting down on his plump lip at the sight of you bewildered, watching you jerk his cock.

You blushed furiously, blinking a few times to snap yourself out of whatever was going on.

“Ani! W-what are you even doing right now?” You exclaimed, yet he didn't miss the way your legs squirmed around as you tried to get rid of that feeling.

You knew how to. There was only one way.

Suddenly, he sat up, his thick brows tensing in frustration as he huffed out and stood up slowly. You wanted to back away, and as he moved closer, you wanted to be swallowed by the ground.

You felt almost dizzy. There he was, practically naked, his hand clenching your panties tightly, his cock rock hard against his stomach as he stood in front of you. He leaned down to your ear, his lips grazing it as you shuddered.

“Doing what you should've been doing.” He spoke lowly, his large hands finding your waist before tugging down at your jeans.

Before you could even protest, he had them off and you were stepping out of them. You didn't know why you didn't stop or protest, but the heat in between your thighs decided to be your brains now.

“Ani.” You breathed out, your face red and chest shaky from the anticipation, and as you watched him slowly sink to his knees, you couldn't help but let a whimper leave your lips at the way his nose nuzzled against the damp spot your once white panties held.

He let out a groan at your scent, taking it in as he felt his cock leak even more.

His jerk off sessions would usually start with your used panties against his nose as he sniffed them, even tasted them.

It was the closest he could get to having a piece of you. But now you were here, and he could see your legs trembling gently from need and the way your clit was aching for attention. It was obvious by your leaky pussy that was ruining your panties.

A loud moan left your lips at the way his tongue licked over the cloth covering your most intimate parts. You couldn’t help but rest your fingers in his hair, and it was a good idea you did, because he began licking long strips down your clothed pussy that had you beginning to grip onto his curly locks.

“Please.” You couldn’t help but whimper out, needing to feel his tongue against your bare skin. He nuzzled his face against you, basking in your scent before chuckling against your pussy.

You felt yourself get even wetter.

“Please? That’s what I should be saying to you.” He groaned out, slowly pulling down your panties and relishing the sight of your glistening cunt. He couldn’t help but pump his cock again with his other free hand.

“Been wanting you so bad baby. Wanting to smell you. Taste you- fuck.”

Just as he pumped himself again, he dove his head in-between your legs and began to lap at your juices hungrily. Your eyes widened at the sudden stimulation as a loud high-pitched moan left your lips.

Thank God Shmi wasn't home.

Little whines escaped your lips as he devoured you, his fingers digging into your hips to stabilize you further. You were already trembling, and as he caught your clit and sucked at it tightly, you pulled at his hair roughly, feeling yourself go a little dizzy.

“Fuck- Ani!” You half sobbed out as pleasure shot through your body, and you found yourself grinding against his wet face for more. You could feel him grin against your pussy and watched how he had dropped your old pair of panties and yanked at the white pair he had just took off you, beginning to jerk his cock furiously with them.

His own moans vibrated against your pussy, adding to your pleasure as you felt a white hot heat flow through your veins.

He pulled away before nuzzling his nose against your clit, letting out a whimper.

“Fucking taste so good baby. Been so desperate stealing your panties. Needed your pussy. Just a taste.” He whined out to you desperately, his eyes looking up at you sending another electric jolt through your clit.

There your best friend was, desperately lapping at your pussy, admitting how perverted he had been.

“Please. Please!” He whined out, his tongue resuming licking at your wet folds. Sharp gasps left your lips as he begged for a taste of you. Begged for your cum. You felt hear the messy sounds his tongue against your soaked pussy was creating, but also the wet sound your soaked panties and his cock was making as you noticed the way his hips were desperately grinding upwards.

He was chasing after his own release as he begged to give you yours, whimpering incoherent things against your pussy as you felt your vision go blurry and a loud desperate squeal leaving your lips as the coil in your stomach snapped, and your orgasm crashed. Loud moans and gasps filled the air as your legs trembled against him, desperate to move away from the overstimulated feeling of him flattening his tongue against your clit.

The way you gripped onto his curls tighter and let your juices explode against his tongue had him letting out the filthiest sound you had ever heard as his cum spilled out of his hard cock and onto the white panties he was jerking off with.

As he shook from his own orgasm, he shook his face into your sensitive sopping folds, relishing in your extra squeals as you exclaimed out that it was too much for you. He continued his relentless attack, desperate for every drop of you and you couldn't help but let the tears that had pooled in your eyes out.

“Ani! Anakin! Can't- can't take it please” you begged out brokenly, your hips attempting to jerk away as you felt his fingers dig into your thighs, the light pain overloading your senses as a warm pleasure washed over you.

He slowly moved his face away, a dazed look in his eyes and a wide grin staring up at you with his glistening lips. You couldn't do anything but whimper as you felt your knees give out, but he gently lowered you to the floor on your knees. You trembled as you leaned forward, resting your forehead against his sweaty abs as you felt his hand on your back, rubbing it softly to calm you down.

Your eyes caught the sight of his cock and you couldn’t help but whine out at the sight of your panties stained with his cum. Your hand reached out to pull your panties away from his cock, hearing him hiss and gently tremble at the sensation. You looked up at him, then back down at the stained panties.

“Come on. Don’t look at me like that. I’ll buy you more.” He spoke out, laughing as you giggled with him, playfully rolling your eyes at him.

"You need to buy me eight more.”

He playfully scoffed, standing up as he grabbed your hips, pulling you up with him and guiding you onto his bed, pushing you down.

“Yeah?” He questioned, cockily raising a brow as he began to take your top off. You furrowed your brows in confusion.

“Anakin what are yo-mmfhh!”

Your eyes widened at the fact that Anakin had just shoved your cum stained panties into your mouth. The taste of his cum and your own juices sinking into your tongue as he wore yet again another amused smirk on his face.

He was disgusting, and you felt yourself grow wetter.

“Give me a minute, and I’ll show you something that feels even better.”

#anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker smut #anakin skywalker x reader #hayden christensen #hayden christensen x reader #anakin smut #anakin skywalker x you #anakin x you #anakin x reader #ᯓᡣ𐭩 mar writes

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madame-fear · 10 months ago

Note

Okay but like am I the only one that thrives on angst?? Because imagine if Jacaerys and his young wife, who he by the way only married for the support of The Arryns, had marriage problems because there’s always been tension between her and Baela (just an idea, I love my Baela bc she’s my girl!!) as Jacaerys was supposed to be married to her instead..and might I mention that reader was shipped off to Dragonstone by herself to give birth to her son and she’s been alone and scared all the time, until she’s brought back to Kingslanding after her mother in-law, Queen Rhaenyra, finally claimed back the throne with a peace treaty between the Hightowers. His wife is so so shy and alone because she’s only used to being with their baby, and Jacaerys is just absolutely worried for her because he hasn’t visited her at all due to his duties as heir and it just so happens that his wife thinks he hates herr 💔💔 (this was a bit long..but idk)

𐙚 𝐐𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐀 𝐉𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐀𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍.

ೀ amira speaks.ᐟ : the so awaited Arryn reader fic is here !! Hope it was what you expected, and overall enjoy it! Thought this was longer than 3.6k words! 😭🤲💗 ˗ˏˋ ꒰ summary : ∿ request above! ˗ˏˋ ꒰ word count : 3.6k

˗ˏˋ ꒰ genre : angst to fluff. ˗ˏˋ ꒰ pairing : Jacaerys Velaryon x Arryn!Wife!Reader.

After many years of a long, nearly never ending war, it had finally subsided— bringing peace for once and for all. It had been the same war that provoked the death of innocent people, and the one responsible for your marriage with Prince Jacaerys, as well.

A rather complex marriage, you’d say it was— though, it was an engagement that could only be expected. Betrothals and marriages had never been done for the sake of genuine love, but only for the sake of allies & tying deeper bonds between the Houses; helplessly falling in forced, unhappy marriages.

There had been little to no time for any of you two to establish some sort of proper relationships between each other. It worked as an engagement with the sole purpose of gaining support from House Arryn amidst the war with the Greens. “A betrothal, in exchange for support”, and it served with it’s purpose as it should in a way, you guessed.

Except, for the looming tension that came along your marriage.

Jace’s previous betrothal to Lady Baela, firstborn daughter of the Rogue Prince, wasn’t unbeknownst to you; a betrothal that had to be broken off when you appeared in the picture, as the support from the Arryns would be placed as number one priority— with Jacaerys marrying you as the one and only condition for yet another ally. It was inconvenient, but very much needed.

The growing tension between you and his previous betrothed notoriously loomed in the air as soon as you both met one another— being presented with little to no words from Baela, and most of the time, all the endless attempts you did in order to establish a good relationship with her, were dismissed; thrown into the wind, as you were given a cold stare, with no words said... Being walked right past, left ignored.

Often times, you could feel her contemptuous stare fixed on you, each time you were sat next to Jacaerys.

Solitude had leisurely grown as a frequent monster lurking in your surroundings. “I can’t do anything about it, I can’t act as an intermediary to your relationship.” was the strict response given to you by your future Lord Husband, when speaking your mind regarding how the Lady Baela gave you a cold shoulder, despite the constant friendliness you had to offer.

Jacaerys didn’t seem to care much at all. You swore that the eldest Velaryon prince was as indifferent towards you, as his previous betrothed was— maybe, he even resented you for breaking off his already arranged betrothal. And you couldn’t say you didnt understand the situation, however.

Years of having known, trusted, each other, growing by each other’s side... Having their betrothal arranged for years— you could even silently observe the way in which they gazed at each other, occasionally. All of that had only been for it to turn into ash & dust when the time to seek support from allies had come.

But what other choice did you have, except none at all? Had you any blame, at all? Were you truly the one at fault? The growing solitude and the hefty weight of guilt was nearly asphyxiating. You felt desperately trapped in an escapeless labyrinth, being fully aware of how you had no one at all to release each one of your thoughts to— with your betrothed often giving you a cold shoulder as well, or simply, being far too engaged in his duties. Each private conversation, managed to quickly be dismissed; you had been forced to be kept to yourself, in a way.

All for a war between kin. All for the sake of allies. And you, right in the middle of it all.

Things hadn’t grown to become any better at all by the time you fell pregnant with your first child— with his child. Much less considering it was all still under the looming tension of war felt in the atmosphere.

Dragonstone had become your temporary home; one you had been sent to all by yourself, still being with child. Taking proper care of yourself throughout your pregnancy had been a difficult task, considering how the general situation provoked a constant state of fright and concern to you. Alone, with no one else to rely on; finding mere solace in talking to yourself... Or, rather, talking quietly to your unborn child.

It wasn’t exactly the healthiest thing for the fragile conditions you were mentally experiencing— it simply deepened that inner void, those bitter feelings of loneliness; poisoning you slowly with every quiet tear you dropped late at night in your chambers, after holding on to the knot that formed on your throat during the day.

The rocky castle had been the same place where you had birthed your child— a healthy boy, much to your fortune. Something that the Gods had finally graced you with. And that grace was, providing an heir for your husband... Though, you had given birth to your babe in the mere company of a few maids, and maesters. Your own mother-in-law couldn’t be there by your side, as much as she deeply desired to. Your own husband, with his duties as Rhaenyra’s heir, couldn’t assist, either— and much less, your own blood.

The Gods have a strange way of treating you, you thought. Blessing you with an heir to your husband, and, simultaneously, remaining to provide you with solitude throughout the entire way.

Not long passed after you gave birth, that war had finally subsided, moving from Dragonstone to King’s Landing with a small babe in your arms. Queen Rhaenyra had made peace treaty with the Greens, allowing her to claim her birthright, the Iron Throne, for once and for all— bringing a wave of relief, tossing aside a hefty weight burdening you.

Of course, just one small bit of a burdening weight had been removed from your life, and you dared to say, it was the most important heaviness lingering on the atmosphere— yet, you still had your own issues to solve. Moving all by yourself with a small baby boy towards the Red Keep wasn’t an easy task either, it simply stirred the occasional anxiety you suffered, along with bitter loneliness.

Those series of events happened in, what you considered, to be such a short time lapse— barely allowing you to process your wedding ceremony, the looming tension between you and his previous betrothed, not being able to have properly bonded with your husband as you married for mere alliances, having very little bonding with your mother-in-law, living in a whole different place from one day to another, having a babe, and moving once again this time with your child after the peace treaty...

... And you could keep naming each, and every single one of the little things that provoked an asphyxiating knot on your throat; one you had to bitterly swallow and keep to yourself. How could you not be overwhelmed with the circumstances?

You had grown used to being alone, with only the company of your little boy to keep your sanity hanging from a fragile, fraying thread. You briefly, and very feebly managed to interact with the rest of the members of House Targaryen— but you never throughoutly engaged in a deeper bond with them, or were often seen walking around the large halls, once the war had finished and you moved to the Red Keep.

The war had passed immediatly after the peace treaty with the Hightowers. No usurper on the Throne, no more dead men and innocent people— and all the burden you carried behind of you now, was that of the lurking solitude haunting you. It was just your small, sweet boy and you to spend time together; the one whom you found some warmth, despite still being practically a babe. Though, you couldn’t occasionally help but long for the company of anyone else from your new family.

At the present moment, you spent time on your private chambers. your little boy rested on your lap, as you quietly sat on the ground. On his hand, was a dragon wooden toy which he played with— making some cooing sounds. He had been your only companion for the moment, managing to spare you from any feelings of loneliness from the moment you had learned you were with child, being the one you often spoke to despite not receiving back an answer.

A faint grin graced your lips, with your hand gently caressing the back of his hair. You craned your head gently, releasing a soft chuckle at the sight of your boy engaged into his own world. You both were almost headed to sleep, but you preferred to spend some more time together— enjoying the quietness of the night, and the peace that came along.

The stillness looming in the atmosphere had been interrupted by a soft knock sounding twice against the wooden doors of your chambers. Raising your sight curiously as your boy remained playing in your lap with the wooden dragon toy. Not often having many visitors at the late hours of the night, you softly muttered “Come in.”

The door was gently swayed, revealing to be your Husband the one who knocked, closing the door behind him— which, it wasn’t a common occurence, for him to visit you in your chambers. The constant duties of the eldest Velaryon prince, on his role of being his mother’s heir to the Throne, were more than time-consuming; occupying the entirety of his attention.

But of course, with you being his wife, mother of his son, having shared little to nothing — plus having married only for alliances — and having some previous marriage problems regarding his broken betrothal, could only burden his thoughts. You had done an important effort to be a proper wife to him, one that couldn’t pass unnoticed.

You married to support what his mother fought for, you managed the notorious tension there was between you and his previous betrothed— you had given him a son, birthing all by yourself, and moved to Dragonstone, and then the Red Keep all by yourself, as well; only for him to spend his days focused on what was asked of him, leaving little time to even pay you and your baby son a short visit.

Guilt was overriding him in a constant, haunting manner. It was only natural for Jacaerys to be consumed by his preoccupied feelings towards you. Perhaps, you didn’t often engage or bond together in a convenient way, and you might’ve had troubles before when it came to discussing about your uneasy relationship with Lady Baela— but that didn’t mean he didn’t love you, much less notice your strenght in every sense.

It was only fair to show his appreciation, and his concern for your wellbeing.

“Hope I’m not troubling both of you with my presence?” Jace said in a lighthearted manner, with a faint grin appearing on his rosy lips, tilting his head briefly. His presence had been quite a surprise for you, and that expressed on the looks in your features, along with some tension in the air— not being used to being visited by Rhaenyra’s heir, your husband. Which, if anything, it deepened the looming guilt on him.

You shook your head gently, looking down at your son timidly, using your index finger to delicately caress him on his cheek. “Not at all, we were spending some time before heading to sleep.” you muttered in response. “Is anything the matter? Has something happened?” you inquired with slight concern, furrowing your eyebrows, lifting your gaze once again, staring into his dark coffee eyes. The innocence on your features were most beloved by him, managing to properly appreciate them as, now, it was just the two of you in the room— no duties in between, no one else to bother you.

Jacaerys shook his head. “Nothing’s the matter, fortunately.” he answered, with a tone of relief. His lips frowned for a split second, thoroughly processing his words before continuing. “I... Simply wished to pay you, and our son, a visit— as I haven’t been able to do so lately with my duties as my mother’s heir.” his eyes lingered on the ground shyly, before returning to stare at your own. “I wanted to know if you were doing alright as well, and if you felt comfortable around, of course.”

The expressions on your face softened leisurely. “Oh,” your lips partly opened in surprise, stuttering for a moment, before closing them rather quickly. You had been momentarily taken aback by his unexpected statement, as you had never shared a private moment like this with him before. It had been a situation you would have never guessed you would ever experience, yet, here you were— and it felt as if the world surrounding you stopped for a second.

You swallowed thickly, looking down over your boy, who stared at his father, and then at you. “Keep playing with your toys, my love. I will be right back.” pressing a smooch on your son’s forehead, you carefully moved him so he would sit on the rug decorating the room beneath both of you. A wide, almost toothless smile graced his features, before continuing to play with his own toys as you stood, and approached Jace.

It was almost admirable how much of a dedicated, loving mother you were, Jace thought to himself, staring at the scene— with a grin helplessly increasing on the corner of his lips. Your hands turned into fists, meekly fidgeting with the fabric of your dress. You almost couldn’t stare at him in the eyes, allowing him to notice as well a growing fluster in your cheeks.

“I-I’m... Doing quite alright.” the words came off whispered, and stuttered, from your lips, “We have been managing together all this time, after the war.” you mentioned, staring at your boy — who was absorbed into his own innocent world — before returning to stare at Jacaerys. “Thank you... For asking.” the eldest Velaryon smiled sweetly at you, noticing how you very faintly stared at him in the eyes.

“I’m quite relieved to hear so.” he replied back, in a low, casual tone, continuing to offer a kind grin to you as his eyes guided themselves towards his baby boy playing in the background. Brief moments of awkward silence passed, with a palpable tension in the atmosphere.

You had been given little time — to not say , none at all — to bond with each other, before your wedding ceremony. You knew nothing about one another, and it could only be expected that you would be awkward in each other’s presence. But now that the war had ended, the possibility of engaging in a proper, sweet manner with each other was now given. You could softly hear Jace take a deep breath, before continuing to talk with you.

“I came to visit you to offer my apologies, as well.” furrowing your eyebrows, your stare darted at his own— which lingered on the ground, noticing a rosy taint beginning to cover his cheeks. “What for?” it was a rather innocent ask, or at least, Jace considered it to be that way. With a lingering guilt that weighed constantly on him, offering his apologies felt very little with everything he actually owed you, after all the things you had done for him.

The heir nibbled on his lower lip for a moment, allowing himself to properly process in words each and every single little thing he had to thank you, and apologise for. “For many things, I dare to say.” he scoffed in a teasing way, provoking a frowny grin to grow upon your lips, as you kept delicately fidgeting with the fabric of your dress in a discreet manner. “One of the things I would like to apologise for the most, is for... Not simply not visiting you, and our baby son due to my duties as heir— but for having given you a cold shoulder all this time, in a way.”

Your expressions began softening, not uttering a single word to allow him to continue. The looks on your face were almost puzzling to him, as it contained several emotions— all mostly ranging from surprise, to a... relieved one. But mostly, a shyly relieved look began expressing itself all across your features. “I never expressed to you my admiration for your strength and courage. Much less, I have given you my gratitude for marrying me and giving me an heir, all in order to gain new allies amidst war.”

“You have done everything by yourself. Moved to Dragonstone alone, birthed alone, and moved to the Red Keep after the peace treaty all by yourself, with our boy. I often scorn myself for not having done the slightest effort of accompanying you.” it was true. All this time, you had grown to be used only to the presence of your little child offering you solace, and company.

Hearing his words shed a light of understanding to the implicances of war when it came to the perspective— after all, being heir to the Throne is not easy at all, much less when your birthright is usurped. But for Jace, being an heir occupied with his duties, before and after war, was no excuse to give offer you a piece of his genuine love and admiration. If anything, he resented himself for not having visited you earlier.

“There hasn’t been a single moment where I haven’t thought about you, or haven’t grown any more preoccupied. And I’m sorry for not having shown it earlier, when I should have. Your efforts have never passed unnoticed.”

A gentle sigh spurred from you, nibbling shyly on your lower lip, with your gaze meekly darting towards the ground. Hearing such statement coming from him felt almost surreal, considering each moment you spent alone, wondering to yourself if your husband felt mere disdain towards you after breaking off his previous betrothal to Lady Baela. You had to process the moment for several seconds, leaving a few seconds of silence to hang in the air until you gave your response, but you couldn’t deny that a part of you was satisfied to know his true thoughts about you.

“I would’ve thought you... Resented me for breaking off your betrothal, and occupying the place of Lady Baela.” you muttered timidly, maintaining your eyes gazing at the floor. His eyes widened faintly in surprise. Gods, your words didn’t help with the intensely growing guilt-feelings he suffered, almost as if your statement sharply stabbed him in the heart— how could he ever resent you?

You had nothing to do with anything. You simply did your required duties, what was asked of you.

Jace stood silent for a moment, “How could I ever resent you?” he began, a certain desperation, and disbelief, vibrating on his tone upon hearing your statement. It almost shattered him, knowing you thought that— and all because his mind was consumed in war strategies and responsibilities as heir. The tip of his index finger placed itself on your underchin, delicately — yet firmly — lifting your face so you would stare at each other.

His dark coffee eyes stared profoundly into your own, “I could never resent you for something that was not your choice, much less after all the efforts you did.” you swore you could feel a knot beginning to form on your throat, from both the overwhelming sensation of having thought all this time that Jacaerys disdained you, and from content. “The idea of breaking off my betrothal to Lady Baela and become used to your presence for alliances might have been complicated initially, but I could never resent you for it.”

“Quite the contrary, I have grown to love and silently admire you.” both his hands had gone to cup your cheeks affectionately, taking the moments of quietness to admire every inch of your features. That was, before his arms rapidly embraced themselves around you, tightly wrapping you into a hug. One of his hands went to the back of your head, interwining his fingers in between your hair, as his other hand softly moved up and down, caressing your back; nuzzling the tip of his nose against your hair in a discreet manner— finding comfort in your sweet scent.

For a moment, you stood there, being firmly hugged by Jace, as you leisurely processed the — quite abrupt — situation. Your eyes had widened slightly in surprise, only to feel your body relaxing a few seconds after the eldest Velaryon held you in the warmth of his arms, slowly giving into the embrace. Your arms delicately wrapped themselves around his own body, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. A wide range of emotions came afloat at the moment, but all you could feel, was a gleeful sensation of relief.

What you had so longed for, had been finally given in your life— to seek and find comfort in your husband.

“All I can only do, is constantly cherish the lucky fact of your existence, I have never felt a single ounce of resentment, or hatred.” he muttered, continuing to nuzzle his nose against your hair in a loving manner, before firmly pressing his lips against your temple for several seconds. “I hope you can forgive me, and know that I’ll be visiting and spending time with both of you more often— because I adore you, immensely.”

The ghost of a soft, shy grin began growing on the corner of your lips. You knew everything would be alright, from now on— it would all be less dreadful, and less lonely, knowing that your husband would now be accompanying you in a proper manner.

The Gods did have a strange way of treating you, but all for an ultimate good.

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#彡 ꒰ ✒ amira writes ; jacaerys velaryon.── ꒱#jacaerys velaryon x reader #jace velaryon x reader #jacaerys x reader #jacaerys x you #jacaerys x y/n #hotd x reader #hotd x you #hotd x y/n #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon x you #hotd imagine

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frownyalfred · 5 months ago

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Arkham Prince - Masterlist of Posts

I've linked the major asks below with a preview (edited for length) below, grouped by subject/theme and rough chronological order of how I received them. Additional shorter asks/clarifying questions, as well as shorter bits of commentary are at the very bottom.

The very first post:

I have been thinking about the idea of Bruce going insane without being Batman, about Batman being his coping mechanism, and that reblog that was like "he would definitely have ended up in Arkham if he didnt make Batman." Now I'm thinking of an AU where that is exactly the case, and maybe Clark expands his interest towards Gotham a bit, as much as he doesnt like heroing there, because it is the neighbor city of Metropolis. It's like his backyard. And maybe he wants to understand the problem of Gotham at the root, so he goes as Clark Kent, reporter, to interview the patients at Arkham, and there meets Bruce Wayne. Maybe falls in love. Maybe its angsty as fuck because this Bruce is 10 times less adjusted than the Bruce we're used to, but of course, equally as brilliant. (Maybe he could escape any time he wanted but thinks he would murder people if so. Maybe he doesnt trust his anger.)

Expanding Asks:

the idea of arkham patient bruce wayne has burrowed into the depths of my mind. this is SUCH a fascinating thought and changes so many things…how does the justice league fare without batman? how does alfred? i’d assume alfred is given bruce’s guardianship when he’s institutionalized, and i could even see him taking in the robins – finding and helping these children who remind him so much of his own boy, trying not to fail them as he failed bruce. how bruce himself does in arkham is so interesting to consider…is he kept on the same level of security as the real supervillains? is he moved there after Events?

Clark, realizing the League has a problem, a trap from someone like Lex they don't know how to unknot, something which requires finesse and strategy which is a little beyond them... taking that stroll (flight) down to Gotham, feeling insane himself for seeking advise here of all places... but the Arkham Prince delivers. Clark explains the situation, answers questions that he had no idea related to the issue, and Bruce hands him the solution in the span of 10 minutes, while the League had been brainstorming and going in circles over this for days...

Clark Kent and the Arkham Prince Finding Common Ground:

clark’s first attempt to interview the prince of arkham go about as well as you might expect, given that he’s a reporter with sunshine all but seeping out of his pores. the first time bruce doesn’t even talk to him, too furious at the gall of this metropolitan newshound to interrogate him for the sake of some gruesome, sensationalist op-ed obviously about the tragedy of the family wayne and the irredeemable mire of gotham to do anything more than death-glare at him for the entire length of the meeting. but clark, unsatisfyingly, doesn’t give up after that. if bruce doesn’t talk to him, he sure talks to bruce, and with each subsequent interview the questions…change. no longer trying to establish facts about bruce’s life or his crimes, not asking about his experience in arkham, not even going for the low-hanging fruit of why’d you train for years to kill those people, but seemingly random and unrelated things. he wants bruce’s opinions on emissions policies (need to be stricter and more tightly enforced, especially in gotham, jesus, there’s a reason lung cancer and asthma rates are through the roof) and lex luthor’s keynote speeches (unprintable, wiped from clark’s tape recorder in case luthor somehow finds out) and whether or not clark should buy a new suit (why bother, it won’t be any less tragic than every other polyester abomination he cruelly forces bruce to look at every time he stops by). clark slowly and stubbornly makes himself as much a part of bruce’s routine as visits with alfred and lucius and the doctors, and all the while superman is playing a high-stakes game of mental chess with the sinking suspicion that bruce wayne has already won in more ways than one bruce figures out kent is superman about three hours after the first time big blue gets namedropped during an interview. he commences with a plan that is part honeypot, part campaign of psychological warfare, and part genuine bid to get this midwestern alien who holds the safety of his city in his hands to try and give a damn like a proper gothamite would, like no one but bruce ever seems to.

Clark, whose one of his grestest fears is being constrained, treated as a threat, dissected, studied, as the alien specimen he is. He has to pretend. He had to be so careful. Every day or he won't have a life to live.

Clark asking the Arkham Prince to Consult for the JL:

i would kill to have clark-as-supes get some kind of special dispensation to bring arkham prince bruce to the jl hideout (the watchtower doesn’t to be without batman’s engineering/logistics knowhow and WE funding, at least not until bruce is more formally considered a consultant) for help on one of lex’s more convoluted and immediate threats. it’s just not possible for bruce to solve the problem in isolation without the league’s resources, so instead of bringing league missions to bruce superman has to bring bruce to the league mission. i started imagining the team’s reaction to their unwitting reliance on criminally insane mass murderer bruce wayne and then i remembered oliver exists and now i feel only sadness thinking about that particular reunion

Just wondering how regular JL universe would react to meeting this au, meeting Batman and seeing Bruce Wayne's potential Would they realize that their Bruce is limited by what he can do inside Arkham, but that this Batman is also limited by his own rules and codes. Would Ollie be crushed at what his former friend could have been, thinking maybe if he had stepped up and been a "better friend" Bruce wouldn't be in Arkham, he could of been working beside him instead. Can imagine Batman saying "I don't kill" and Bruce just smiling in what should have been the brucie smile and replying "but I do"

The crossover is so funny in regards to Supes. Like here's Arkham Prince AU Clark, terribly in love with a version of Bruce who is so unavailable to him on so many levels, aching with it every time he dares think about it, staring at Regular Universe Clark in complete and utter disbelief. (expansion of "regular JL universe" ask above)

Your take on Prince of Arkham's level of influence on JL members, at the top being of course Clark. And also: first time he is taken into the JL base, does he hack into their systems?

OMG arkham bruce and clark have gotten closer and maybe clark makes bruce promise not to kill again after bruce gets out of arkham so he can join the jl but then someone is killed and theres evidence it was bruce but bruce swears it wasnt him ( bc it wasn’t him ) but theres so much evidence that even clark is starting to doubt bruces innocence and the jl has to kick him out and hes taken back to Arkham or for interrogation and then ANGST BRUCE BEING TORTURED FOR CONFESSION BUT HE STILL SWEARS HE DIDNT DO IT until its proven that he didnt do it

@bat-chik's Harvey Dent Visits Bruce in Arkham

"We can't even claim self defense," Harvey continued. "You-" "He has cancer." Harvey blinked at the non-sequitur, "What?" Finally, the orphaned Wayne turned and faced him, face blank, unconcerned about how much more this action would add to his sentencing. Unconcerned except for the steel eyes seething yet holding back so much hurt. Harvey remembered once again, with a small pang, why he had gotten a crush on Bruce in their college days. "Nygma. He has cancer. The only way to get medical care in Arkham is by ending up in the hospital wing." Bruce moved with all the weight of the world on his shoulders and sat in the bolted chair across from his lawyer, and life long friend.

Where are the Batkids in This?

pls consider. a dick greyson who gets tossed in arkham after tracking down and torturing then killing killing his parent's murderer. tiny and lost now that what was driving him is done. a bruce wayne who hasnt been in That long yet, not long enough for people to see him as a threat rather than just an oddity, who takes one look at that angry little kid and says "oh. oh that ones mine" and spends as much time with the kid as he can. and bruce Loves gotham, thats his whole drive. but to dick, gotham is nothing but the place his world crumbled. and i think this bruce never sat with his feelings of grief either. i think he always needed a cause. and i think he saw dick having lost his cause and tries to help him find another (id like to put forth escaping as a hobby, managing to get into Any part of arkham that he pleases especially with his athleticism and small size)

It would be funny if in the Arkham Prince AU, since all the kids are in there for being um - gremlins and down with murder - that Jason in this was the pacifist?

Re: Jason being the pacifist: "I will follow you forever because you killed him." Endlessly devoted Jason my beloved. If you give him one (1) positive attention he will light himself on fire to keep you warm. I love him so much. Self destructive king.

Tim committing a crime just to end up in Arkham and study the famed insane Bruce Wayne is actually startlingly in character for him...

Clarifying Asks:

when do you see him as getting committed? was he already batman? did he already have any of his kids? if not, what *happened* to those kids who never had bruce to fight for them?

Okay, but since Bruce is the Prince of Arkham, whats stopping his kids from being in there with him?

Oh I am sooooooooo curious about what Clark thinks about Arkham Bruce having a gaggle of prison murder children.…you ever think he’s asked Dick to give Clark flowers during one of his escapes????? Or is that too corny for them.

I've seen some Arkham Prince asks and responses referring to Bruce still being rich, but would he still be?

Additional Thoughts:

i am torn between the other Inmates Hating bruce (hes the picture of those who hurt them. a rich man who is just like them but gets Way less pain for it) and adoring him

Picture this, Alfred goes to see Haly's, sees another black haired blue eyed child losing his parents at just about the same age. Another feral child with murder in his eyes.

it’s extremely important to me to consider arkham prince bruce with longer, shaggy hair and a perpetual three-day beard

The smut in the Arkham Prince AU would be INSANE.

This Arkham Prince AU has folks in a choke hold but ya'll forget one thing. The Joker and Harley Quinn.

god i am just exploding thinking about bruce and sex in the arkham prince au. there is absolutely no way he’s not accustomed to exchanging sex for favors, information, anything he wants or needs. (additional thoughts on how Clark fits into this/Superbat)

Okay hi so my main source of Arkham knowledge is the Penguin show so I’m gonna ramble a bit about factions and divides and stuff. (Sofia Falcone expansion)

continuing my thoughts on Sofia Falcone coming off your great opinions to my last ask.

There is a parallel thread between Bruce and Sofia

#arkham prince #arkham prince au #batman #bruce wayne #dc #asks #anon #batfamily #clark kent #superman #superbat #jl #justice league #fic ideas #fic outline

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boysbeware2 · 6 months ago

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all the old tptm girl journal entries w the new (if anyone wants to see them again and compare them)

please proceed with caution as many of these could be upsetting to read

disposable girl (jordyn)

(old)

i cant fucking stand this. i try so goddamn hard to make friends, to be attractive to people, to be even somewhat appealing to them etc etc. it never works. i thought it would get better the older i get. thats what i was told. guess what! i was fucking lied to!!! im alwasy left out of EVERYTHING i never get invited to shit and my own friends ignore me all the time. everyone looks at me weird. i cant go in public anymore im so fucking terrified of everyone. nobody fuckinf wants me, man. im so close to doing something stupid i feel so gross and ugly and dumb i should actually just die id be doing everyone a favor LOL

(new)

man, i havent been on here in forever. the internet is kind of dumb. what is there to say? my friend group celebrated our outpatient graduation anniversary the other day, that was pretty nice. we’re all trying to figure out housing stuff, nora’s been helping with that. freyja + mayra + kairi found a place already (how are they so responsible??) and the rest of us are trying to find places near them so we can visit more often. i never expected to have such a big group of friends. if you told me 2 years ago that i’d be living like this, i wouldn’t believe you. it’s still surreal to me. i’m not sure what i did to deserve them. same goes for my girlfriends. i don’t wanna say who just yet, we’re still figuring things out, but i’m just so thankful for them. i feel so lucky to have a second chance at life. i really didn’t believe people when they said it would get better, and then it did. how funny…..

irreverent girl (kairi)

(old)

I do not want God to see me anymore. I do not want anymore eyes on me. This is near unbearable. I have no one to turn to. My mother is in the church. Many of my friends are in the church. They would tell me to find hope through Christ. They would tell me to pray to Him. They would tell me that He will save me. He must not remember He made me, and if He does, He simply does not care. I know this is unbecoming of me, and I don't mean to be dramatic. I am simply depressed, nervous, and I cannot tell what's real and what isn't anymore. I know I'm supposed to hear God speaking to me, but I do not, and I am tired of straining my ears. I just want to see a doctor. I want some kind of tangible solution. I do not want to pray anymore. Praying hurts. I only do it when I am afraid, but I am afraid much of the time. I don't want to be unheard anymore. I do not want to hold out hope for someone who does not act like they're there. I am hurting. I am hurting. I am hurting. Belief is hurting me. The idea of God is hurting me. I need an out. I am hurting.

(new)

When I have a job and money and I can move away from my shitty Mormon parents

splitter girl (tahira)

(old)

theres something so broken in me thats beyond saving. so i dont know why i keep trying to be saved. i meant to kill myself when i was 18. i didnt. all ive wanted to do lately is kill someone or something. i havent. im too much of a pussy to plan anything concrete, no matter how much i hate everyone around me. no matter how much i get off to videos of people dying or how much i love cutting myself i cant actually take action against other people. i am fucking purposeless. i was born from evil and i will always be evil and i cant even live up to that. i hate myself i hate myself i HATE myself and the universe hates me too. i dont know what to fucking do at this point. i talked to one of my friends about wantingto die and they said smthn about hospitalizing myself. maybe. i dunno. i dont know what else there is for me/. my eyes are fucking burning from lookign at my computer for so long adn not getting any goddamn sleep. i am not a good person. i dont think i can be helped but i just dont wanna fucking keep goign to school and being around people and pretending like everything is norma;l. i cant keep doing it. what the fuck is wrong with me whagt happened. why cant i be loved or feel love for other people when did something change in me that switched the aggression and affection parts of my brain. im hyperventilating ill be back. maybe

(new)

getting myself onigiri from this one good boba place 2nite bc im 8 months clean…… its the little things~ ^^

fainéant girl (freyja)

(old)

i know i dont hate being disabled... i just hate being disabled in a society that makes existing difficult... but sometimes i really just dont want to be disabled anymore. i dont want my family to lecture me about how i could be helping out more, or how i should get a job. i dont want teachers to keep asking me whats wrong or the fuckin uni counselor to try to get me hospitalized. i dont want to be in so much pain anymore, to feel so exhausted that i cant even do so much as prepare food for myself, let alone do anything meaningful or fulfilling. its not fair. i shouldnt have to stay inside and sit in the dark all day,. i should be able to have friends. to talk to people and to go out with them and to feel like i am alive. its lonely and traumatic to suffer through this and on top of that no one around me understands, and they never fully will. i am tired of trying to justify my existence to everyone, to explain the pain that i am in and why i shouldnt have to experience it. i know the problem isnt me. i know i live in a world that isnt built for me. but if the world cant change then sometimes i truly feel that i should just stop living in it. my lifespan is already shorter than everyone else's anyways. what difference does it make

(new)

my qpps didnt seem to appreciate me playing Alien Kids Alien Rap for them. Do they even love me

caliber girl (nora)

(old)

唉～It is 3 AM and I should go to sleep but I can’t. I have a work zoom meeting early in the morning and I gotta hit the gym also because I haven’t done leg day in like… weeks. Oh well, it doesn’t even matter. My value is depleting but I don’t think I care anymore. The turnaround date for my code is also in a couple of days and I haven’t made any progress. I keep getting the same error and I’m too tired to figure out what’s wrong. I might get fired at this rate LOL(笑). If that happens, I think I’ll just consider ending it all. Not that anybody will miss me. God I sound so weak and pathetic right now. When did it get like this. How did it get like this. I’m sure I’ll be fine. I’ve been through worse before and this is nothing. Ugh, why is it so hard to breathe? My chest hurts and I feel like something is wrong but I don’t know how to make it go away. Should I call someone about this? No. No one is awake or around to help. I’ll be fine. I’ll just sleep it off. Shake it off… shake it off…

(new)

My Tamagotchi beeped during a meeting fml

chocolate box girl (morgan)

(old)

i thought i was doing better but i cant stop thinking about them. their touch, their interests, their smile, everything. the worst part is that i miss them, after all of what they've done to me. i was 13. i dont even feel justified calling it rape since our relationship was so muddy... they never yelled at me or was angry at me, they just got so sad when i tried to speak my mind, and got all my friends to hate me when we finally broke up. i never said no so i feel like im insulting actual survivors by feeling violated. i wasnt even trying to get into a relationship with them, it just happened... i feel like everyone around me wants me in the same way they did, even though im an adult now and i dont even try to make myself appealing. i wish i could trust people not to take advantage of me, and i feel disgusting and selfish for feeling like everyone has ulterior motives of getting me to fall in love with them, or worse. that's so self centered of me. i dont know how long i can keep doing this

(new)

girl help i cant stop looking at anime figures on japan yahoo auctions !!!!!

taxidermy girl (mayra)

(old)

I don't remember ever not having a sex drive, is that normal ? I was born and then it was all downhill from there, something happened to me sexually i think, I don't know what happened, because I don't remember much, but something happened and I was beaten for it and yelled at and my mother hated me, and now I am an adult and I try to have sex, and I'm not there mentally, even if my body is participating, I feel like I am in the past again, being beaten and yelled at . I want to keep trying, I want to have fun, to feel safe in someone else's arms, to reach the heights of pleasure, but my mind scares me so much, I haven't been able to eat anything today because I feel so horrified by my body . If I was good I would have been born as a nonsexual being, no parts, no desires, no instincts, a blank slate, too empty to be enjoyed . Do you know what it feels like, to have your mother tell you people want to sexually abuse you when you are a child, and then to be made fun of by your peers for being so ugly, to have your middle school and high school classmates joke about how much they don't want to have sex with you ? I am illicit and undesirable at the same time, I am everyone's last option, I am nothing and still too much, rotting deer meat on the side of the road . I wish I had been born as something beautiful and pure, I wish I could start over, that whatever that initial sin was had never been committed .. I want to start over

(new)

Went to a kink event the other night and everyone was so nice … The low lights were fucking with my vision so one of the hosts helped me navigate the place . I ❤️ you random disabled ally with a pup mask on

chemical girl (joy)

(old)

LMAOOOOO im too angry and miserable to be around. i think i just need to give up at this point because theres clearly like. something broken inside me that cant be fixed. that has 2 be it because i try to talk and i just sound cold, i try to make a joke and it comes out overly edgy and unfunny, i try to be like everyone else but its too much. i cant even be a collection of the positive traits i see in others, i try to replicate it and it comes out warped and wrong. im either fucking enraged or in abject misery or way too happy and nobody can keep up with me. the thing is i dont even blame them. i wouldnt want to be around me either. do u know what thats like? being someone you wouldnt want to know? i keep hoping that one day ill wake up and suddenly be normal, the mood swings will be gone and everyone will like me and i wont do stupid shit that pisses them off. but i know that day isnt coming. theres no hope for me and i want to say sorry to everyone who has ever had the misfortune of knowing me but i know it wouldnt do anything. theres nothing i could ever do to make myself right

(new)

i need to convince my gf to take me to Round One again soon

refraction girl (nataana)

(old)

i don't want to do this anymore. i'm going somewhere better

(new)

talked with my psych and i’ll be starting TMS soon, it’s some thing where they put magnets to ur brain and it’s supposed to treat depression.. trying to temper my expectations bc i’ve tried so many treatments that just do nothing for me, but i’d be lying if i said my hopes weren’t riding on this. i want to confidently say i’m glad to be alive. i feel like i’m getting closer to that

nurse parallel/machine girl (xiomara)

(old)

I am so excited... Tomorrow my experimental outpatient treatment plan begins!!! I'm beyond delighted. I have complicated feelings about my DID being in remission, but it's nice to feel stable enough to be in charge of something this big, and to not have terrible gaps in my memory anymore. I still don't remember everything that happened to me, but maybe I don't need to. At this stage of my life, I feel content. I can confidently say everything was worth it. I want to help others feel that way, too. I think I can.

(new)

I’m meeting up with a new friend tomorrow… I feel nervous, but it’s a good nervousness, I think!

#the post traumatic manifesto #tptm #refraction girl #weevildoing #splitter girl #nurse parallel #chocolate box girl #chemical girl #disposable girl #faineant girl #irreverent girl #taxidermy girl #caliber girl

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sunshineangel0 · 16 days ago

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TO HAVE AND TO HOLD —﹙ K.SM ﹚

⌁ wc 9.1k warnings marriage of convenience, single dad!seungmin, nsfw content, unprotected intercourse, light choking, emotional tension, slow burn, fake marriage, mild angst, soft comfort, small town meddling. a/n wow i didnt think i would write almost 10k words!! but here i am and got carried away with seungmin (i should study but lets ignore that). ive just finished reading "wild side" by elsie silver and this idea immediately sparked in my head!! this was so seungmin coded and i just needed to write it. i hope you all like it!! 💕 ⌁ part two of the "twin heart series"

The sky over Summerdale wasn’t just darkening, it was bleeding out. A deep lavender haze rolled in slow from the water, swallowing the last threads of daylight like it had something to say and no rush to say it. The tide lapped against the cliffs below the bluff, whispering its secrets through the pine trees that edged the shoreline, soft and rhythmic, like breath against a sleeping body.

Down on Main Street, the neon sign above The Scallop Heaven blinked in its usual broken pattern "Sca op Heaven" thanks to the leftmost ‘L’ giving out sometime back in February. Nobody had fixed it. Nobody cared. That was the thing about Summerdale: things broke, people shrugged, and life just went on. You either made peace with the cracks or you left. Most people didn’t leave.

You pulled into the back lot, headlights sweeping over the dumpsters and salt-stained siding. The gravel under your tires made that familiar grinding sound, like bones rolling in a socket. You turned the engine off and exhaled a breath that felt like it had been aging in your lungs for years. Your body slumped just slightly in the driver’s seat, caught in that strange twilight stillness where movement felt like too much to ask.

The envelope on the passenger seat stared up at you, sealed but scuffed, the corner bent, the weight of it far heavier than the ounces it contained. It wasn’t just paper. It was intention. Agreement. Consequence. It might as well have been a brick.

You didn’t reach for it. Not yet. Just kept your hands on the wheel and watched the lights flicker off in the upstairs apartment, one room at a time. Soft glows blooming behind worn curtains. Minseo’s bedtime routine was unfolding exactly as expected: the nightlight shaped like a crescent moon staying on, the lullaby playlist humming from the old Bluetooth speaker, and three bedtime stories, in the same order every night. God help you if you swapped them. She was stubborn like that. Solid in her routines. Maybe because everything else in her life had already shifted too much.

Finally, you picked up the envelope and stepped out into the thick, salt-touched air. The car door shut behind you with a quiet, final thud.

Inside the bar, the world was dim and warm in a way that didn’t invite questions. The lighting came mostly from mismatched neon signs advertising brands like Schlitz and Genesee, none of which had been stocked in the fridge since at least 2014. The air smelled like lemon cleaner, spilled whiskey, and wood soaked with too many conversations people pretended not to remember. The kind of place where silence spoke louder than music.

A TV in the corner muttered through a baseball game, the announcer’s voice low and static-filled. Nobody was paying attention.

Behind the bar, Seungmin moved like a man trying to keep from unraveling. His sleeves were rolled to the elbows, forearms tensed as he wiped the countertop in slow, punishing strokes. His face was unreadable, carved from quiet resolve and low-grade irritation. Like he was always one memory away from breaking something he couldn’t fix.

He didn’t look up right away when you walked in. Just kept working the cloth like it had insulted him personally.

Then the bell over the door jingled, and his head lifted. His eyes met yours. No smile. There never was, not lately. Not with you. Not because he didn’t want to—but because with you, he didn’t allow himself to slip. Not even for a second.

“You’re early,” he said, voice even, low.

You lifted the envelope slightly. “You’re always here.”

That earned you a shrug—one of those quiet, almost imperceptible movements that said more than words could. A shrug that meant so what, what else is new, what choice do I have.

You crossed the room and slid onto the barstool closest to the register, dropping the envelope between you like a gauntlet. He looked at it like it might bite.

“Everything’s in there,” you said. “License forms, witness sheet, affidavit, notarization schedule. We just need two signatures. And someone willing to lie with a smile.”

He nodded once, then reached for a clean glass and started drying it, gaze fixed somewhere behind you.

“Minseo asleep?”

“Out cold after book number three,” he said. “Same one she always picks. The penguin with the astronaut helmet.”

You smiled without meaning to. “She likes the ending.”

“Because it makes sense,” he said. “It’s the only part that does.”

And there it was again—that stretch of silence. The kind that settled in when two people didn’t know how to name the space between them. Or maybe they did, and neither one wanted to say it out loud.

“I talked to the social worker today,” you said, voice quieter now, like it might spook something. “She asked if we’d set a date.”

His hands paused for just a second. A flicker.

“And?”

“I told her February fourteenth.”

That got his attention. He looked at you for real this time, not just the flick-and-glance. His stare pinned you—focused, assessing, familiar in its intensity.

“Valentines day,” he said. “Day of lovers. Good omen.”

“It’s also three weeks from now.” “I know.”

You studied him—jaw clenched, scar on his knuckle still visible from the bar fight last spring, a faint smear of blue ink on his wrist. Minseo’s markers. Her favorite color.

“You still okay with this?” you asked.

For a beat, he didn’t answer. Just dried his hands slowly, folded the towel, and leaned forward onto the bar.

“I’m not doing it for me.” Soft. Quiet. Unflinching.

“I know,” you said, almost on a breath.

Because this wasn’t about him. Or you. It wasn’t about whatever unfinished history lived in the way he never quite met your eyes when you got too close. This was about the girl upstairs, whose parents had vanished under the weight of their own failures. About keeping her out of the foster system. Out of the trauma mill. Out of courtrooms that didn’t care if she still slept with a stuffed giraffe.

You’d offered your name. He’d offered his time. Together, you’d offered a lie that looked enough like stability to pass as truth.

“This place smells like regret and fried seafood,” you muttered, fingers tapping on the bar. “We couldn’t have met literally anywhere else?”

Seungmin lifted an eyebrow. “This is where I work. This is where I live. This is where she eats.”

He didn’t add and this is all I’ve got, but it echoed anyway. Subtext carved into every breath.

“I’m sleeping in the spare room,” you said. “I figured.”

“And if you snore, I’m buying noise-canceling headphones.” “Be my guest.” “And if this gets weird—” “It’s already weird,” he said. “But we’re still doing it.”

You looked down at the envelope again. It didn’t look heavy anymore. Just final. Your name, written beside his, in ink that wouldn’t wash off.

“You ever think we’re gonna wake up one day and regret this?” you asked.

Seungmin didn’t flinch. “Every day.” And then, with the same calm he used to pour drinks, he peeled the envelope open, pulled out the first form, and flattened it against the counter like it was just part of the job. You watched him. The steadiness of his hands. The restraint in his voice. The quiet ache tucked in the corners of his expression. This wasn’t love. Not yet. But it was something. Duty. Survival. A pact made over coffee and desperation. And somewhere beneath all of it—rising, quiet and patient—was the beginning of something else. Not fake. Not anymore.

You watched Seungmin slide the paperwork out of the envelope like it might disintegrate if he moved too fast. His fingers were steady, precise—the kind of steadiness that comes from trying to hold it together when everything else is coming apart. He didn’t rush. Didn’t fumble. This wasn’t someone signing a few forms for convenience. This was someone about to step out onto a high wire, fully aware there was no net.

He didn’t speak. He almost never did when the stakes were high.

Instead, he read. Line by line. Eyes scanning the page like every word might bite. That was Seungmin’s armor—silence. Careful, controlled, and sharp-edged. But you saw the way his gaze caught on a single line near the top of the form:

Minor child: Minseo Kang.

The name was printed in a government-issued font, uniform, cold, sterile but it still made his jaw tighten. His shoulders shifted, almost imperceptibly, like the weight of her name landed somewhere real. Somewhere that hurt.

He didn’t say Yeji’s name. You didn’t either. That part of the story lived under your tongues now, heavy and unspoken. But the memory didn’t care about silence. It showed up anyway.

Three months ago, your phone rang out of nowhere. The name on the screen stopped you cold: Seungmin. It looked like a mistake, like a ghost dialing from a part of your life you’d already packed away.

You hadn’t spoken in nearly a year. Not really. Just a handful of polite holiday texts. A few heart reacts on mutual friends’ photos. Enough to say we still exist in the same orbit, but nowhere near enough to call it closeness.

Back in high school, you’d barely lived in the same world. You ran with the loud ones, the party crowd, the kids who cut class and vacationed in the Hamptons like it was a birthright. Seungmin had been the quiet boy in the back row, always scribbling in the margins of his textbooks, always turning in homework on time even when no one else bothered.

Then, junior year, he surprised everyone by trying out for the baseball team. Surprised them even more when he became the best batter your school had seen in years. His swing was clean. Focused. Brutal. You remember someone saying he hit like he had something to prove.

But after graduation, when the rest of your class scattered, NYU, UCLA, study abroad programs, gap years in Europe, Seungmin stayed in Summerdale. That always stuck with you. That he stayed. Like the town had something left to hold him, even when most of you couldn’t wait to run.

You picked up expecting awkward small talk. Instead, his voice hit like a car crash. No hello. No lead-in.

Just: “She’s gone. She left her at the apartment and she’s gone. Might need a lawyer at hand.”

She was Yeji. His ex-wife. A hurricane of a woman with pretty lies and a self-destruct button she kept pressing. You remembered her as beautiful, brittle, always halfway out the door. Addiction clung to her like a shadow, quiet at first, then louder, then everything. It had eaten her slow, until there was nothing left but smoke.

Minseo had been six. Alone in the apartment. Crying. Clutching a crumpled lunchbox and a handful of crayon drawings like they could keep her safe.

By the time CPS showed up, the caseworker took one glance at Seungmin, a bartender, single, rent two weeks overdue, and started filling in the foster home recommendation before he’d finished his sentence.

That’s when he called you. Not because you were the best option. Not because you were qualified. Not even because you were particularly close anymore.

He called because you were the only person who wouldn’t ask why him.

Minseo wasn’t his, not on paper. Not biologically. But Yeji had been four months pregnant when she and Seungmin met and got married a few weeks later, and that had never mattered to him. Not once. He’d been twenty-three and drowning in side gigs, barely making enough to cover groceries, but when Minseo was born, he’d signed the birth certificate without hesitation. He’d rocked her to sleep at three a.m. He’d learned how to braid hair. He’d shown up for parent-teacher meetings when Yeji stopped pretending to care. He’d never called her his stepdaughter. He never would.

That night on the phone, you remembered his voice cracking just once. Then he swallowed it down and said, “She’s mine. Even if the paperwork doesn’t say it. She’s mine.”

And before you could even think it through, you said, “Then I’ll make the paperwork say it.”

And then, a breath later: “We’ll get married. For you to get custody.”

There was silence on the line. Heavy. Shocked. Real. He didn’t argue. Didn’t ask if you were joking. He knew you didn’t joke about things like this.

Finally, he said: “Okay.”

And now, here you were. In a half-lit bar that smelled like regret and lemon cleaner, watching him flip slowly to the last page.

The pen between your fingers felt heavier than steel. He paused. Voice low. Careful. “You don’t have to keep doing this. If it’s too much, if you want out, say so now.”

Your fingers curled around the edge of the bar. “Don’t insult me.”

“I’m serious.” “So am I.”

You stood. Not fast. Not dramatic. Just moved, steady and quiet, around the bar until you were close enough to see everything. The faint hollows under his eyes. The smudge of ink on his wrist, still there from Minseo’s last doodle session. The scar on his chin from the fight two springs ago, when some drunk said something about Yeji and didn't walk away fast enough.

“She’s a kid,” you said. “A good one. She says thank you when people hold doors. She remembers birthdays. She cries every time Bambi’s mom dies even though she knows it’s coming. She’s still soft. Still kind.”

His throat worked once. He didn’t speak. “She deserves more than being handed off to a stranger just because the system can’t figure out what love looks like without a blood test.”

When he finally spoke, his voice was wrecked. “And you deserve more than a fake husband with joint custody trauma.”

You huffed. “Don’t flatter yourself. This is strictly bureaucratic foreplay.” A beat of quiet. Then—dry, but soft:

“Liar.” Your stomach flipped.

Not because he was wrong. Because he wasn’t.

But you didn’t let it show. Instead, you held the pen out between you, steady and certain. “Let’s get married, Min.”

He looked at you.

Really looked. Like he was cataloging every piece of you—hair, expression, the resolve in your spine—so he’d remember what you looked like before things changed.

Then he took the pen. And signed.

The Marigold House looked like a set designer’s fever dream, whitewashed clapboard siding gleaming under the late afternoon sun, every window framed with blue shutters that matched the hydrangeas blooming in the front garden. The walkways were lined with crushed shell gravel, crunching lightly under dress shoes and kitten heels, and a trellis of marigolds curled over the gate like the house had grown into the name. It smelled like vanilla, orange blossoms, and something sugary-sweet, like a candle shop or a memory you couldn’t quite place.

You hated it.

Not because it wasn’t beautiful. It was. Everything was, too much so. Too coordinated. Too pretty. The kind of place where people threw real weddings, not legal chess moves disguised in tulle.

The courtyard out back was a honey-drenched watercolor, rows of white folding chairs, cream ribbons fluttering in the breeze, mason jars full of wildflowers perched on every other aisle. It was staged to perfection. Like someone had tried to manifest joy with Pinterest boards and afternoon light.

You stood just off-center from the archway, draped in gauze, strung with fairy lights, clutching a bouquet you didn’t like. Too much lace. Too many peonies. But Minseo had gasped when she saw it that morning and whispered, “You look like the fairy queen from the movie,” and that was the only reason you kept it. Not taste. Not tradition. Her.

Your hands didn’t shake. But your stomach was a war zone.

Across the aisle, Seungmin stood like a man sentenced, navy suit crisp, jaw locked, posture stiff like he was daring the moment to knock him down. He didn’t fidget. Didn’t even blink. Just watched the archway like it might collapse on him. Like maybe he was hoping it would.

He looked good. Too good. Tailored in ways that were unfair, broad shoulders in clean lines, throat dusted with stubble he hadn’t shaved close enough. A bruise-like shadow under one eye from too many sleepless nights. Still, somehow, he looked like gravity. Like a person you’d follow off a cliff if he asked with that voice of his.

In the second row, Chan leaned toward F/N with something snarky on his tongue. She elbowed him before he could finish. You caught her looking at you, and for a moment, her smile softened into something almost tender.

You looked away.

The officiant, a woman named Dottie who gardened with combat boots and baked lavender scones for the PTA, stepped forward with a clipboard in one hand and dirt still under her nails. She cleared her throat with theatrical warmth. “Let’s begin,” she said, a little too loud, her consonants clipping like she was used to reading storybooks to children. “Today, in front of friends and family, we gather to celebrate the union of Kim Seungmin and Y/N L/N”

Union.

The word hit your chest like an elbow. You wanted to laugh. You wanted to leave.

Instead, you felt the small, certain tug of a hand at the hem of your dress.

Minseo. She sat in the front row in a white cotton dress and a flower crown too big for her head, eyes wide, face glowing with the kind of happiness that didn’t know how to question itself yet.

She beamed up at you like this was the best story in the world, and you were the hero.

And just like that, the ache in your stomach stopped mattering.

The ceremony became a blur. Words like commitment, home, forever washed over you like fog. You didn’t hear half of it. You nodded in the right places. Smiled just enough. You remembered the feel of sunlight on your cheek and the way your bouquet weighed heavy against your wrist. You remembered the moment Seungmin reached for your hand.

His touch was calm. Unflinching.

Your breath caught. He wasn’t acting. He looked at you, not like a friend, not like a partner in some plan, but like someone seeing something for the first time that he’d known all along. Dottie smiled like she could feel the shift. Like she’d seen it before in other people and was already rooting for you.

She turned to Seungmin. “Did you prepare something?” He nodded. Slowly. Pulled a folded page from his jacket pocket. But he didn’t unfold it. Didn’t read it. He just held it. Like he needed to know it was there. Then he spoke. Low. Steady. No theatrics.

“You already know I’m not good at this. I don’t do speeches. Or… gestures. But I do what matters. I show up. I stay. I try. Even when it’s hard. I know Im not the best man or... lover or father. But as long as were married I promise to give my best to ensure that you, and Minseo will always have a warm home and a... person you can come home to. I know Im a hard guy. But you said yes. When you didn’t have to. When no one else did. And I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to be someone who deserved that.”

Silence. Thick and dense. No one moved. No one breathed. You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat sharp and unfair. Your chest ached like someone had pulled it open and replaced your ribs with strings. His words were so honest. Raw, Truthful. It made you wonder how long he had thought about them. About what to say. An now you felt bad.

Because you didn’t have vows. You weren’t supposed to have anything.

But then Dottie looked at you, that warm-patient-knowing expression, and suddenly you were speaking. You didn’t remember deciding to.

“I...", you looked up, directly into Seungmins steady brown eyes. They look like hot chocolate swirls, the ones after you stirred the liquid in the mug for minutes with a spoon. They look warm. Sincere. And like theyre holding the world together. Your troath went completely dry, but you continued talking:" I didn´t say yes because someone had to, but becasue I wanted to. Because you never asked for anything, even when everything hurt. Because you carry more than you should. Because the second you said Minseo was yours, I believed you. Ive known you since high school, Seungmin. Even though I didn´t always acknowledged you back then, ignored you most of the time in class, to be honest, I still always had an eye on you. On the hardworking student doing his homework inbetween classes, trying to keep his 90 average just so he can get a scholarship for college. I always saw more in you than just the quiet boy. I always knew you deserved more. And I hope that I will be the one who can give you that”.

Seungmin’s hand gripped yours just a little tighter. Behind you, Minseo sniffled. “That was so good,” she whispered. Way too loud. Someone laughed. Someone else wiped their eyes. You smiled, small. But real.

Dottie beamed. “By the power vested in me by the great state of California and the overwhelming desire of everyone here to see you kiss already—kiss your wife.”

Seungmin didn’t move. Not at first. Then, slowly, like gravity had to decide for him—he stepped in. Closed the distance.

His hand found your jaw, thumb brushing the edge of your cheekbone, and he leaned in like he was stepping over a line neither of you had dared touch before.

And when his lips met yours, it was quiet heat.

He kissed you passionately. Not like he was following a script. Not like he owed anyone anything. But like he was choosing it. Choosing you. Choosing this. And for a moment, the world went still.

His hand stayed steady, fingers curled at your neck. Your mouth opened slightly—only slightly, and he breathed into it, like he was trying to remember the shape of you. It ended before it could deepen.

But you knew. He was choosing you. Choosing this. Like you daydreamed about in class when you were a teenager. About the quiet boy, whose plush lips you wanted to feel against yours so so desperately and who you just wanted to feel close to you. And how you punished yourself back then for being this dumb and not befriending him because you belonged to the popular kids.

But now, he was choosing this. And for a moment, the world went still.

No lie. No paperwork. Just lips. Just warmth. Just the sound of your heart saying finally, finally, finally.

The sun was sinking fast behind the cliffs, casting long shadows over the bluff as guests trickled into the reception space—once a quiet garden, now transformed into a makeshift ballroom draped in paper lanterns and fairy lights. Tables sprawled beneath the open sky, centerpieces spilling with late-summer blooms, wax-dripped candles flickering in rhythm with the coastal breeze. Someone had already hit play on the playlist: soft indie-folk weaving between clinking glasses and easy laughter.

You didn’t let go of Seungmin’s hand right away. Neither did he.

Then Minseo came bounding toward you, arms flung wide, crashing into his side like she’d waited all day for this moment. He caught her without flinching—solid, instinctive—one arm around her tiny frame. The other let go of yours. Gently. Like he didn’t want to. Like maybe he shouldn’t have.

Back to the plan.

You slipped into the crowd like a shadow in tulle. Smiling when you had to. Nodding through small talk. Thanking people for coming. Hugging people too tightly or not tightly enough—people who didn’t know half the story. Most of them thought this was love. That was the point, wasn’t it? Selling the illusion. Convincing them. Convincing yourselves.

Chan found you by the dessert table, which had already been ravaged—cupcake casualties thanks to sugar-hyped toddlers and nostalgic uncles. He had a wine glass in one hand and that unreadable smirk in place.

“So,” he murmured, just loud enough for you. “That kiss?”

You gave him a flat look. “Let me guess. Looked fake as hell.” Then, quickly, to not raise any suspicion, you added: “You know… because we had to do it in front of family and all.”

He tilted his head. “Well actually? Looked pretty damn real.”

You took a sip of champagne instead of answering. Not because you were hiding anything—because you didn’t know what the answer was. Not anymore.

Across the patio, Seungmin caught your eye.

He was crouched by Minseo again, adjusting the strap on her glitter-covered sandal while she chattered wildly, arms slicing the air. He nodded along, completely absorbed. Like nothing else existed. Like this—her, now—was the only thing that mattered.

F/N came up beside you, slipping her arm through yours. Quietly anchoring you.

“You okay?” she asked. Light tone, but real. You nodded. “I think so.”

She glanced toward the empty arch where the ceremony had been, lights still strung across its frame like stars caught in the wood. “You looked happy up there.”

You followed her gaze. “I was.” Just for a moment. Just long enough to think—maybe you weren’t pretending anymore.

Dinner passed in a blur: speeches you half-heard, bites you barely tasted. The dance floor opened. Chan spun Minseo until she collapsed into laughter. Seungmin stood at the edge, hands in his pockets, eyes on her like she might vanish if he blinked.

You drifted off again—habit by now. Toward the edge of the garden, where the lights thinned and the music turned into a distant hum. The grass felt cool under your bare feet when you slipped off your shoes. Finally, the air had cooled too, kissed with salt and stillness.

Then came footsteps. Measured. Familiar. Seungmin.

He stood next to you, saying nothing at first. Just quiet presence. Shoulders a little tight. Hands in his pockets.

“She had fun,” he said eventually. “Said she felt like a princess.”

“She looked like one.” You both smiled. Yours faded first.

“This is going to get harder, isn’t it?” He didn’t play dumb. Just nodded once. “Yeah.”

“I didn’t think it would feel like this.” You turned to look at him. “What does it feel like?” He didn’t answer right away. So you did.

“Like I’m in something I don’t know how to want… but I don’t want to lose it either.”

He nodded again. “Yeah. I know what you mean.”

The silence between you didn’t stretch awkward—it stretched heavy. Full. Like it had weight. Like it was holding everything you couldn’t name. Everything that kiss had awakened, shifted, stirred. Then he said, “Thank you. For today. For… all of it.”

You didn’t say “you’re welcome.” Instead, you said, “If this is what faking it feels like… I’m scared to know what real would even look like.”

He didn’t answer. Not with words. He just stepped closer.

Close enough for you to smell the faint citrus of his aftershave, the warmth rising from his skin, the lived-in softness of him that always felt a little like home.

“Then let’s find out,” he said—so soft you almost missed it.

You didn’t kiss him again. Not yet. But you didn’t walk away either.

The bridal suite looked exactly how a stranger would imagine it: One bed, drowned in rose petals you didn’t ask for. A bottle of unopened champagne sweating in a silver bucket. A clawfoot tub in the corner, positioned like it was waiting for a romance novel cover shoot. Everything white and soft and staged, like someone tried to force intimacy into the decor.

You stood in the doorway for a moment too long, shoes dangling from your fingers, unsure what to do with all that... expectation. It hung in the air heavier than the jasmine-scented diffuser on the vanity.

Seungmin stepped in behind you, hesitated, then shut the door with a soft click. The noise of the party downstairs vanished, sealed off in an instant.

Silence, now. Just the two of you. No Minseo, no guests, no cameras, no pretending.

Only you. And the one bed.

He scratched the back of his neck, already tugging at the stiff collar of his dress shirt. “So... this is what we’re working with.”

You gave a short laugh. “It’s aggressively romantic.”

“Feels like a setup.” You glanced at the petals on the bedspread and snorted. “That’s because it is.”

He didn’t answer, just moved toward the window and cracked it open an inch. The sea breeze filtered in immediately, tugging at the curtains and carrying with it the scent of salt and night-blooming flowers. You walked to the armchair in the corner, dropping your heels beside it and sinking into the cushion.

Your feet were sore. Your back ached. Your head buzzed with champagne and things left unsaid.

“We can flip for the bed,” you offered after a beat.

Seungmin glanced over his shoulder. “Flip?”

“Yeah. Winner gets the bed. Loser gets the... uh.” You looked around. “The chaise lounge that looks like it’s built for Victorian fainting, not sleep.”

He gave a half-smile. “Or, hear me out, we’re adults. Were... officially married. It’s a big bed. We can both fit.”

You stared at him for a second, waiting for the punchline. But he didn’t flinch.

“Yeah,” you said slowly. “Yeah, okay.”

You stood and padded toward the bathroom, peeling out of your dress with practiced movements. You folded it neatly over the back of the chair and pulled on the hotel-provided robe, soft, oversized, impersonal. The makeup wipes felt cool on your skin, like an eraser dragging away the bride mask you’d worn all day. You shortly cleansed your face and dabbed on a serum and moisturizer, before fiddling your hair into a quick braid.

When you stepped back into the room, Seungmin was already on his side of the bed, facing the window. Still in his dress pants and undershirt. The top three buttons undone, tie tossed over the bedside table. He hadn’t touched the champagne either.

You crossed to the opposite side, climbed under the covers cautiously. The sheets were crisp and cold and smelled faintly of bleach.

The mattress dipped with your weight. The room felt smaller somehow.

You lay on your back at first, arms pinned close, staring up at the ornate crown molding. He did the same. For a while, neither of you spoke.

Then “Can’t sleep?” His voice was low. Barely more than a murmur.

You smiled at the ceiling. “Didn’t even try yet.” More silence. Not awkward. Just... thick. Pregnant with whatever was pressing at the edges of this whole night.

“I keep thinking about earlier,” you said eventually. “The kiss. What Chan said.” Seungmin’s voice came slower this time. “Yeah. Me too.”

You turned to face him. He was already looking at you. Eyes open. Vulnerable. Like he didn’t know what the hell to do with how close you were now, physically or otherwise.

Your knees bumped under the covers. Neither of you moved away.

“I didn’t expect it to feel like that,” you admitted. “Me neither.”

Another beat. Then you asked, “What did it feel like to you?” He licked his lips, eyes darting across your face like he was searching for the safest way to answer. “Like I was breaking a rule... but it was a rule that never made sense in the first place.”

That stopped your breath for a moment. The quiet pressed deeper between you, wrapping you both in it. Your fingers shifted beneath the covers, brushing against his by accident—or maybe not. He didn’t pull away. His pinky grazed yours. Then lingered.

A whisper of contact. Stupid and small and devastating. Your breath hitched.

He heard it. Of course he did. His hand turned palm-up, open. Waiting. You didn’t think. You just slid your fingers into his.

The sheets rustled as he shifted slightly toward you. Closer. So close now, your knees aligned. The line of his body was heat and muscle and hesitation.

“Do you think we’re making a mistake?” you whispered. He shook his head, the motion barely visible in the dark. “No. I think not doing anything would be the mistake.”

You exhaled slowly, heart thudding so loud it felt like he could hear it. Then he said, “Can I touch you?”

The question landed like a drop of warm honey in your chest, slow, deliberate, sweet.

You nodded. “Yes.”

His fingers lifted to your face, brushing your cheekbone. Gentle, reverent. He traced the line of your jaw, then your bottom lip, his thumb barely grazing it.

You leaned into it, eyes fluttering closed. Everything in the room faded—the rose petals, the champagne, the fake romance. What remained was something quieter, rawer. The truth, maybe. Or at least the beginning of it.

You shifted closer, chest to chest now, knees tangled.

You could feel his breath on your skin, the hitch of it as your hands explored the space between shoulder and waist, slipping beneath the edge of his shirt. Warm skin. Steady heartbeat. Every inch felt like a confession.

Neither of you rushed it. But the ache was building. Slow and hungry.

And this time, when you kissed him, there was no audience, no plan, no pretending.

Just you. Just him. Just real.

The kiss started slow.

Cautious. Soft. A testing of boundaries neither of you had dared cross before now. His lips brushed yours once, featherlight, almost reverent. Like he was asking permission even as your bodies already answered.

You kissed him back. That was all it took. Something inside Seungmin snapped, some invisible thread that had held him in check all day, through the ceremony, the photos, the act. It unraveled in a heartbeat.

He surged forward, mouth hungry, hands threading into your hair as he deepened the kiss like he wanted to climb inside you. His tongue licked into your mouth, desperate and sure. You moaned, breath caught, thighs instinctively parting beneath the sheets.

“Fuck,” he growled, pulling back just enough to look at you, hair messy, pupils blown wide, lips already swollen. “Sorry. Im so sorry, but gosh, Y/N. Do you know how long ive wanted to do this? Do you know how hard it was all day, marrying you, making you my wife and having to pretend you haven´t been showing up in my wet dreams since high school?", he growled. "Pretty, popular Y/N L/N. You know how bad I wanted to fuck you back then? Do you know how bad I want you right now?"

"Show me,” you whispered. That did it.

He moved fast, tugging the robe off your shoulders, baring skin inch by inch like unwrapping something sacred. His hands didn’t fumble. They claimed. Traced. Gripped.

“Look at you,” he murmured, dragging his mouth down your throat, over your collarbone. “So fucking beautiful. My wife.”

The word sent a jolt straight through you. You weren’t used to hearing it like that, hot and reverent in the same breath. You didn’t think it would turn you on the way it did. But Seungmin said it like a vow. Like a right. Like he was ready to worship you with his mouth and his hands and every sharp edge of him.

“If we’re already married,” he said against your chest, licking a slow stripe up your sternum, “we might as well act like it.”

Then his mouth closed around your nipple and your back arched hard.

He sucked deep and slow while his fingers slid between your thighs. No teasing. Just heat and friction and filthy, slick pressure. You were soaked already—your whole body trembling, wrecked from a day of pretending.

He kissed lower, dragging the sheets with him, settling between your thighs with a low groan.

“Been thinking about this since I saw you today,” he admitted, breath hot against your core. “That little white dress. You didn’t even know how good you looked, did you?”

You whimpered as his mouth found you, tongue firm and greedy, licking you open like he was starving. You couldn’t stay still, hips grinding, thighs clenching around his head. He didn’t stop. He held you there, hands anchoring you down as his tongue fucked you deeper and his voice vibrated against your skin:

“Take it, baby. You can take it. That’s it... that’s my girl.”

You were already close, embarrassingly fast, but he pulled back just before you tipped over.

“No,” he muttered. “Not yet. I want you to come on my cock first.”

He crawled up your body again, his chest flush with yours, cock heavy and hard between you. One hand grabbed your jaw, angling your face to meet his eyes.

“Last chance,” he said, voice dark and low. “You want me to stop?”

You shook your head fast, desperate. “No. Don’t you fucking dare.”

He growled and kissed you again, messy and deep, grinding against your core like he was already inside you.

“I’m going to fuck you raw,” he whispered into your mouth. “I’ll pull out. I swear. For now. But I need to feel you. All of you.”

“Yes,” you gasped. “Yes, yes, just do it, Seungmin, please.”

The blunt head of his cock slid against your entrance, wet, hot, perfect. He pushed in slow, inch by inch, jaw clenched so tight you thought he might snap.

“Jesus,” he hissed. “You feel... fuck, baby, you feel like heaven.”

You weren’t quiet either. You dug your nails into his back as he bottomed out, the stretch too much and not enough all at once. The feeling of him bare, skin to skin, filled some kind of void you hadn’t realized was aching.

Then he started moving. And the rhythm wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t careful. It was raw.

He fucked you like he owned you, like he’d earned it after every second of pretending, every fake smile, every polite touch that meant nothing compared to this.

The bed creaked. Your moans turned high and desperate. His grip bruised your hips as he drove into you harder, faster, head pressed to your shoulder.

“You’re mine tonight,” he groaned. “Mine. Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you gasped. “All yours.”

“Fucking right you are.” One hand reached up and wrapped around your throat, not tight, but enough to claim. To hold. To make your breath catch as he pounded into you, each thrust snapping something loose in your brain.

You clawed at him, pulled him closer, whispered his name like a prayer.

When your orgasm hit, it was violent, body locking, back arching, vision gone white. You sobbed his name, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes.

Seungmin cursed low and pulled out just in time, spilling hot across your stomach with a strangled noise that sounded half-pain, half-devotion.

He didn’t collapse immediately. He stared down at you, panting, flushed, ruined and whispered, “You’re everything.”

Then he kissed you again. Slow now. Gentle. Full of wonder. And for the first time all day, the act was over. This was real.

The room was warm now. Too warm.

The air felt thick with sweat, breath, and everything unsaid. Your heart still pounded in your ribs like it hadn’t caught up with the rest of your body yet. Your chest rose and fell in slow, uneven waves, the world quiet except for the soft rustle of sheets and the muted whistle of the breeze through the cracked window.

Seungmin was still above you, braced on his elbows, forehead resting gently against yours like he couldn’t quite let go yet. Like if he moved, the spell might break.

You weren’t in a rush either. His breath ghosted over your cheek. Warm. Human. Steady. “I wasn’t supposed to do that,” he said, voice low and ruined.

You didn’t move. “But you did.”

“Yeah,” he breathed, more to himself. “I did.” His thumb brushed your jaw. Just once. Soft. Reverent.

“I should’ve taken it slower,” he murmured. “You deserved more than that.”

You turned your head, met his gaze in the dim light. “That was more,” you said, quietly. “That wasn’t nothing, Seungmin.” He exhaled like he’d been holding that breath for days. You reached up and pushed the damp hair off his forehead. “You okay?”

He nodded, slow and quiet. “Yeah. I just—”

His mouth opened. Closed. He rolled onto his side, pulling you gently with him so your body settled into the curve of his chest. One arm wrapped around your waist. Not tight, but firm. Protective.

You felt safe. It startled you a little, how safe. “I kept thinking about it,” he said into your hair. “All day. You. Us. I told myself I wouldn’t... not unless it meant something.”

You pressed your palm to his chest, right over his heartbeat. “And did it?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. It did.” Silence stretched between you again. This time, it felt like a blanket. “I used to think about you,” you said, your voice a murmur in the dark. “In school. In class. I’d pretend I didn’t notice you, but I did. Every time.”

He let out a quiet breath, the hint of a laugh buried in it. “I used to imagine you were way out of my league.” You smiled into his chest. “I kind of was.”

“Yeah,” he said. “You were. And now you’re... my wife.” The word made your stomach twist in a way you weren’t ready for. “You don’t have to keep calling me that,” you said, light but careful. He pulled back just enough to see your face, his expression unreadable.

“I want to.” You swallowed. “Okay.”

His hand stroked down your back, slow and soothing. “This doesn’t have to be anything we’re not ready for,” he said. “But I’m not going to pretend anymore, either.”

You blinked. “Pretend what?” “That I don’t want you. That I haven’t wanted you for a long time. That this... doesn’t feel like the start of something.”

Your throat tightened. “We made a plan. For Minseo. For—”

“I know,” he said. “And I meant it. I’ll keep my promise. We’ll raise her right. We’ll keep her safe.” His hand slid under the blanket, palm warm against your spine. “But I’m allowed to want the rest too. If you want it.”

You turned in his arms, meeting him fully, heart raw and exposed. “What if I’m scared?” you asked.

He cupped your face again, his touch almost unbearably gentle now. “Me too,” he whispered. “But if we’re going to build a lie that feels this real... maybe it’s not a lie anymore.” Your breath hitched.

“I meant what I said,” he added. “You didn’t have to say yes. But you did. And I want to be the man who makes that mean something.”

You felt the tears sting before you could stop them. “Seungmin...”

“I’ve got you,” he said, voice breaking just slightly. “Whatever this turns into. However long it takes. I’ve got you.” He kissed your forehead. Then your nose. Then your mouth. Slow. Tender. Nothing urgent, just connection. Just care. He held you like something precious. Like something he’d finally been allowed to keep.

THREE WEEKS LATER

The mornings had started to find their rhythm.

Not perfectly. Not smoothly. But real.

You woke to the smell of pancakes, again. Seungmin had a thing about breakfast, apparently. Said it anchored the day. You suspected it was more about giving Minseo something constant, something warm to start from. She still clung to her routines like a life vest.

You padded into the kitchen barefoot, robe slung haphazardly around your body, hair in a loose braid that had barely survived the night. The sound of cartoon voices filtered in from the living room, Minseo’s Saturday morning ritual, and over it all: the low sizzle of batter on a skillet, and Seungmin humming some unidentifiable tune under his breath.

He looked up when you walked in.

His hair was a mess. He hadn’t shaved. There was flour on his wrist and a smear of something syrupy on the hem of his shirt. He looked like someone who belonged in a kitchen at 8:07 a.m., tired but present.

His eyes lingered for a beat too long on your legs. “Good morning, wife,” he said, voice still sleep-scratchy.

You rolled your eyes, fighting a smile. “We’re still doing that?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Feels right.” You walked over and stole a piece of half-cooked pancake off the spatula.

“Hey,” he protested, swatting at your hand half-heartedly. “That’s illegal.”

You shrugged, mouth full. “Sue me. But as far as Im concerned Im the lawyer in this household. You can punish me if you want, though”

“I already married you. Isn’t that punishment enough?” Behind you, a tiny voice shouted from the living room: “I heard that!” Seungmin snorted. “She’s always listening.”

You leaned against the counter and watched him flip the next pancake, his movements efficient and quiet. You could tell when he was tired, he moved slower, less crisp. There were new shadows under his eyes. He’d been picking up extra shifts again, covering for a coworker who disappeared without warning.

You crossed the kitchen and slipped your arms around his waist from behind.

He paused for half a second, then relaxed into it, leaned back slightly so your cheek fit into the curve of his shoulder.

“This okay?” you murmured. “Yeah,” he said. “Better than okay.”

He turned the stove off and let the last pancake settle in the pan. Then he turned around, arms sliding around your waist now, pulling you in close.

It was still new, this touch. Familiar and strange at once. Domestic. Intimate. The kind of thing people didn’t notice when they’d been doing it for years. But for you, every brush of skin still felt like a step forward.

He looked down at you, eyes soft. “I like this,” he said. “Us. Here.”

“Even with Minseo insisting on watching that weird octopus show every morning?”

“Even then.” You reached up, brushed a strand of hair off his forehead. “You look exhausted.”

“I am.”

“You could sleep in once in a while, you know.”

“And miss Saturday pancakes?” You rolled your eyes again, but your heart ached a little. With love. With guilt. With everything you still didn’t quite know how to say out loud. Minseo called from the couch, “Is it ready yet?”

Seungmin kissed your temple. “That’s my cue.” You watched him go, watched the way he moved toward the small girl sprawled on the carpet in her dinosaur pajamas, plate in hand, grin already blooming.

She squealed when she saw him. He sat cross-legged beside her, balancing the plate on his knee, feeding her bites between episodes like it was the most natural thing in the world. You leaned against the doorway and just… watched.

Watched the man who used to be a stranger to you, now barefoot in your house. Watched the girl who used to cry herself to sleep, now giggling through a mouthful of pancake. This wasn’t love yet. But it was something. And it was growing.

SIX MONTHS LATER

The laundry never stayed folded.

Minseo had this habit of digging through the baskets looking for the dress, the blue one with the sparkles and the spaghetti straps and the small ink stain that hadn’t washed out. It didn’t matter that there were six other perfectly fine outfits. That was the one. Always had been.

So when you walked into the bedroom and found her standing triumphantly on the bed, arms up, mismatched socks already on, blue dress clinging to her sides like a second skin, you didn’t bother arguing.

Seungmin looked up from the dresser with a crooked smile and no energy to stop her.

“You wanna tell her it’s not weather-appropriate?” he asked.

You looked at Minseo’s messy braid, her socks pulled up to her knees like legwarmers, and shrugged. “I’m not trying to die today.”

“She’s terrifying when she’s committed.”

“Gets that from you.”

He smirked and walked past, pressing a soft kiss to your jaw on the way to the kitchen. You didn’t flinch. Didn’t tense. It wasn’t new anymore, this casual touch, this quiet affection. It happened all the time now. In the mornings, when you passed each other at the bathroom sink. At night, when you reached for his hand in the dark. Mid-conversation, when he tucked your hair behind your ear like he’d been doing it forever.

It had crept in slowly. The love. It hadn’t arrived like fireworks. It hadn’t needed to.

It came in the form of grocery lists and hair detangler and "I already took out the trash" and “Did you eat today?” and the way Minseo had stopped correcting people when they called you her mom. It came in the form of a fully lived-in life.

The apartment reflected it. Messy in the corners, clean where it mattered. A basket of crayons on the coffee table. Three jackets by the door. A fridge full of leftovers in takeout containers labeled in Seungmin’s blocky handwriting. Pictures on the wall, Minseo in the park, Seungmin asleep on the couch with her on his chest, a blurry photo Chan had taken of the three of you, laughing so hard it looked fake. But it wasn’t.

You spent Sunday mornings in bed now, all three of you, tangled in sheets and limbs, cartoons playing quietly in the background. Seungmin called it “the family puddle.” Minseo insisted on pancakes every time. Sometimes he burned them. You still ate them anyway.

He never said I love you with words. But he said it when he kissed your shoulder in the kitchen. When he pulled you back into bed after the alarm. When he wrote “get home safe” on the inside of your wrist with a marker before you left for court one morning.

One night, long after Minseo had gone to bed, her nightlight casting blue stars on the ceiling, you sat on the couch, half-draped over Seungmin’s chest, and whispered, “Do you ever think about how this all started?”

His fingers kept tracing slow circles on your back. “All the time.”

You tilted your head to look up at him. “Do you think we were faking it at first?” He shook his head. “I think we were afraid to believe it was real.”

Silence passed like a heartbeat. “And now?” you asked.

Seungmin looked down at you. The smallest smile curved his mouth. “Now it’s just us.”

You nodded, pressing a soft kiss to his chest, over the spot where his heart beat slow and steady. “Yeah,” you whispered. “It is.”

Minseo stirred in the next room. The wind rustled the trees outside the window. The clock ticked. The radiator clicked.

It wasn’t magic. It wasn’t extraordinary. It was real. And for the first time in your life, real felt like enough.

The windows fogged faintly from the heat inside and the chill of the ocean air outside. Salt crusted the edges of the glass, and the soft clang of pans echoed faintly from the open kitchen. The smell of frying bacon, buttery toast, and strong coffee settled into the booths like an old friend.

It was early enough that the rush hadn’t started. Just a few regulars with coffee cups refilled without asking and a waitress wiping down the sugar dispensers with a rhythm born from muscle memory.

Minseo sat in the booth, legs swinging, a chocolate chip pancake face-down in syrup, her cheek smudged with powdered sugar. She was in one of her moods, singing quietly to herself, narrating her breakfast like a cooking show host. You and Seungmin sat across from her, shoulder to shoulder, a shared cup of coffee between you, half-sipped.

You were barefoot in sneakers. He was still rubbing sleep from his eyes. This was your life now. Breakfast booths. Sticky menus. A child quietly humming a melody to her strawberries. And it felt… good. It felt settled.

“Be honest,” Seungmin said, leaning in, voice low and conspiratorial, “You think she’s going to finish that pancake or wear it as a hat first?”

“She’s definitely wearing it,” you whispered back. “Excuse me,” Minseo said through a mouthful, “I can hear you.”

You both laughed, one of those quiet couple-laughs, full of shared language and affection that didn’t need names. The bell over the diner door chimed.

Yang Jeongin stepped through, carrying a clipboard and a half-zipped jacket, his hair still damp from the ocean air. He moved with the kind of ease you only earn when you’ve come home and decided to stay.

“Hey,” he called, nodding toward the booth as he passed. “Morning, folks.” Minseo perked up immediately. “Mr. Jeongin! You’re late!”

Jeongin grinned. “I prefer fashionably delayed.” He ruffled her hair as he passed and headed behind the counter, slipping into a soft rhythm, checking the order forms, restocking napkins, greeting the cook with a backhanded high five. The place already looked more alive under his care, like it remembered how to breathe again.

Seungmin watched him for a moment, then leaned toward you. “Can you believe he came back?”

You raised a brow. “You mean the boy who once said, and I quote, ‘I’d rather eat my diploma than run a diner in Summerdale?’”

Seungmin smirked. “The very same.”

“You guys still talk?”

“Sometimes. Late shifts. He’s… different now. Softer. In a good way.”

You glanced over to see Jeongin talking to F/N by the pastry case. Her eyes lit up in that way that was half surprise, half defense, like she hadn’t expected him, and yet somehow always had. Something unspoken passed between them.

Seungmin followed your gaze. “He’s not here just for the diner.”

“No,” you agreed. “He’s not.”

Then Seungmin turned back to you. Minseo was now constructing a pancake tower with a level of engineering brilliance that might win her a scholarship someday. The diner clinked and buzzed around you. And suddenly, everything slowed.

You looked at Seungmin, and he looked at you, and it wasn’t one of those cinematic, heart-racing, swell-of-music moments. It was quiet. Steady. Earned.

“I love you,” he said. Just like that. Your breath caught, but you didn’t freeze. You just smiled. Slowly. Like something inside you had clicked into place.

“Took you long enough,” you murmured. He kissed the back of your hand, soft and sure. “I know.” From across the table, Minseo looked up.

“Is this one of those gross love moments?” she asked.

You both nodded, grinning. “Good,” she said. “Because I want waffles next time.”

You laughed, leaned into Seungmin’s side, and let the moment settle.

Outside, the sea crashed in its usual rhythm. Inside, your family ate pancakes in a booth under flickering fluorescent lights. And it was perfect.

©sunshineangel0 𖹭 if you liked this work, please consider reblogging, commenting or liking! xoxo franzi 💋

skz general @velvetmoonlght @scarlet789 @estella-novella @nightmarenyxx @channiesluvrclub @slut4junho @bobaluvzz @channiesbaby1433 @wonniesjungdimple @mythicmochi @m-325 @rockstarkkami @felixleftchickennugget @oceanz7 @seungminsbest @fackeraccount @takuoshuji @xoxomanicpanic @catsforlife6864 @lezleeferguson-120 @angellcvkes

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andy-wm · 8 days ago

Text

"They stayed"

Yes, we stayed.

Thank you @slaaverin for posting a link to the Jikook military discharge Wlive with English subs

So many little things caught my eye but this moment right here stopped me in my tracks:

Yes, we stayed.

Here it is in context:

I guess i can only speak for myself but I'm certain there are millions of ARMYs who feel the way I do.

BTS is where I belong. I'm not going anywhere. I can't imagine my life without them. I haven't even tried to imagine my life without them.

I don't want to.

And within BTS, Jimin and Jungkook bring me a joy that i don't think I could find anywhere else.

For many reasons - some of them altruistic and some completely selfish - cheering on these two young men who obviously mean so much to each other is something I cherish. I delight in the bond they share.

The way they are together is redemptive.

They give me just a little more faith in humanity.

It's not something I'd ever want them to know because it would add to the huge burden they already carry, but they have brought a glow of warmth to my life that i didnt know was missing. They heal an invisible hurt. I'm sure this is true for many of us.

I'm not under any illusion that their relationship is perfect. What does perfect even look like? The idea is so subjective.

We only see what they show us but what they have looks pretty damn good from the outside.

They hold space for one another, and support each other in hard times. They celebrate their achievements and take responsibility for their shortcomings, both individual and collective. They are unreserved with their affection and admiration.

I stayed for BTS - for their music and performance and artistry. I stayed for these seven amazing humans who I admire so much, and I stayed for my ARMY community.

But what a bonus Jikook are! They're a whole extra serving of dessert in an already delicious meal.

I have no expectations that they will always be together because life has a way of making fools of people who have expectations.

But i have a whole separate dessert stomach for jikook ...

and I'm going to feast on everything they serve up, with a double helping of honey-oh-honey and all the gooey sweetness I can bear.

#park jimin #jeon jungguk #jikook #kookmin #국민 #true love #jikook military discharge #we are back #apobangpo

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croquettish · 5 days ago

Note

I'm curious, wdym Hans always fall in love even when we dont romance him? I love your metas so much 🩷 or maybe it was already post about it and I didnt find it. I've got so many questions to ask you coz my autistic ass often dont catch non verbal emotional expressions so you post clarify me things I don't undestand 🥺 Love you 💕

You sending me this made me realize that neither I nor anyone else (that I'm aware of) has actually gone into detail on all of this! So thank you for that!!

I want you to consider Hans' behavior throughout the games. Regardless of whether you read him as bisexual or a comphet gay man, we are dealing with a queer man who has no idea that he's queer. He's grown up sheltered and in many ways unloved. He hasn't seen any models of what love should look like in real life and only knows to interpret the world through what he's learned and read in history and literature. We know this not only because he makes it painfully obvious to anyone with eyes who sees him interacting with Henry, but also because the option to romance him exists at all. The queerness is there, it just has to be coaxed out with the promise of safety.

We also know that Henry is devilishly easy to fall in love with. See here: everyone keeps falling in love with him. And, as we've previously discussed, there is a good reason for why Hans falls in love with Henry to begin with.

Hans is already sweet on Henry and checking him out in that hot tub in KCD1 (reminder that they are canonically naked here) or at the very least finds him attractive:

In other words, Hans just needed to be given a nudge in the right direction. And Henry absolutely gives him more than a few nudges. Like, Henry. You can't just say shit like this and not expect Hans' knees to buckle:

And, as we know, Henry can compliment Hans in Italian even without the romantic context, and Hans loves it even if Henry butchers it, which none of the other love interest appreciate!

Accordingly, we see Hans' slow descent into madness... for the purposes of this meta, I deliberately ignored any and all romance scenes and instead focused on the hints we get outside of that that exist regardless of whether or not you romance him.

The list that follows is meant to serve as individual pieces of evidence that prove that Hans is in love with Henry / falls in love with Henry over the course of KCD2:

Hans is incredibly jealous. The first time this crops up is at the dinner at Trosky:

And then, famously, with Sam:

This, of course, including the conversation we can overhear several times between the two of them. And then later on, if you callously leave Sam behind and he dies, we can get confirmation from Hans!

2. He tries so hard to make Henry jealous:

THIS GIRL DOESN'T EXIST!!!!!! Not only based on this clownery on Hans' part, but also because there is no woman named Karolina in Bohunowitz to begin with.

3. He repeatedly sings Henry's praises to his face:

4. He pays close attention to Henry's state of mind and then acts on that information because he wants to see Henry happy:

5. Hans loves to cut himself off when he notices that he's getting a bit too intimate and panics:

6. Hans outrightly admits that he wants Henry to stay home at Suchdol where it's safe instead of going to meet Erik:

7. And as soon as he hears Henry volunteering for the suicide mission, he volunteers as well:

8. He's heartbroken when Godwin implies that they're going off to die. Not just that, he wavers on what he's saying at all, something that generally doesn't happen with him. He usually just says what he's going to say, he doesn't have stray ellipses showing up out of nowhere like he does here:

9. He'll take on tasks for Henry that no one else will while putting him into the position of a noble.

10. He turns to Henry when he's panicking about the wedding.

11. He is desperate to be worthy of Henry and doesn't think himself worthy at all to begin with (as evidenced by him instigating the divorce arc to begin with).

12. The claustrophobia meta is still applicable even if you're not romancing him. He still has to come to terms with his feelings for Henry, and still comes out on the other side having come to terms with it successfully.

And speaking of, then there's this whole speech:

Not just the prayer (tho jesus christ @ that) but also the bit about the tunnels. Thank Christ for tunnels because they saved Henry?? Taking the claustrophobia : homophobia parallel into account??

13. We still find the buck's blood potion and gay poetry book under his bed at the Devil's Den. (Which you could argue, as per my tags here, was possibly written by him)

14. He could still be argued to be panicking about Godwin discovering his feelings.

15. He still tries to keep the news of the engagement from Henry.

16. He thinks of them as a unit at all times, even while divorced. And this is a running theme for them! He always wants to be by Henry's side and anticipates this being the case of the foreseeable future, like when he talks about how he wants to see the holy land with Henry.

Or when he talks about how he anticipates Henry not only living at his castle, but doing so as castellan (a very prestigious fucking position!). Additionally, he would add a forge just for Henry (recall, again, that Hans' love language is gift giving!):

This similarly crops up right before they're set to torture the guy at Trosky:

He even brings this up to Henry!

There was also a lovely post that I came across a few days ago about how characters act when they're in love but terrified of it. (Many of these don't apply to Hans as far as we know in the game's canon, but that's because they literally can't—the list is meant as a reference for writers and thus is somewhat limited in the scope of its application. This isn't prose and we're not in Hans' head. But I think if you look over the list you'll find that there's a lot of overlap here.) And knowing the risk involved in a confession, it makes sense that Hans would be reluctant.

Finally, I wrote up a whole post about how Hans falls in love with Henry (and when!) that might be of interest to you here as well!!

Thank you so much also for your kind words 🥺 I should say that my evidence for things is almost never rooted in facial expressions, in part because (outside of cutscenes) we can't rely on them. There are a handful of gestures and expressions baked into the game by default. Like the beloved pointing gesture that our dear John is so fond of. It's why I always use dialogue as evidence. You can rely on tone of voice a bit more because our boys act with intent, but even that is something you can read into. Dialogue is concrete and hard to argue with. Even if it's "hey let's overanalyze this ellipsis." At any rate, I hope this proves helpful/insightful!!

#hansry #hans capon #kcd #kcd2 spoilers #kcd meta #kingdom come deliverance #tam talks #this got long bc ofc it did #took me a few days to put this all together for obvious reasons #sorry about that!!! <3

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importantstudentbusinessspy-blog · 14 days ago

Text

That's the Job

Masterlist

Pairing: Bob Floyd x (f) reader.

Tags: friends to lovers, fluff, smut, angst, betrayal, emotions, anxiety, heartbreak, workplace romance, coworkers to lovers, confessions, oral(f receiving), fingering.

Snippet:

You choked on the next words, eyes blurry now. "I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t know it’d hit me like that."

He took another step. "So you left?"

"Wouldn't you? I mean—wouldn’t anyone?"

"And you lied." his voice took a tone of hurt.

☆☆☆☆☆

A week has passed since the nighmarish incident. That day, all staff at Top Gun were informed, as is protocol, of the crash that resulted from a sudden birdstrike during field training, nearly taking the lives of two pilots. Both of whom had been close friends of yours.

Thankfully, both Natasha and Bob survived. Although, they and Coyote were rushed to the hospital for urgent care and testing.

But part of your job description as a rookie R&D Analyst was to assess post-mortems, and when you got your eyes on the images of jet – completely destroyed and burned, your mind flooded with awful hypothetical images.

They were lucky – you realized. Because one minute longer, one detail off, and they could have been gone. He could have been gone. For good.

Images flashed in your mind. Blood and lifeless brown eyes...

Your chest hurt.

Before anyone in the office could notice, you turned away from your computer screen – leaving the images of the destroyed jet on display – and strode out of the room.

☆☆☆☆☆

Engineers — even brilliant ones — didn't go into a job expecting to confront the potential violent death of the people they worked with. It’s not part of their emotional framework. So as a young adult that was new to the field, watching Bob and Phoenix nearly die did something to your brain. Making it scramble for control. And the easiest way it could think to do that was Distance. Detachment. You never wanted to feel that way again.

Prior to the crash, you had been assigned a project; a request to improve the laser nav systems, submitted by Lt. Robert Floyd. You and the WSO had gotten along extremely well, right off the bat. He didn't discard your ideas like many members of your own team did, and you were extremely impressed by his expertise as a Weapons Systems Officer and overall badass.

And he was kind. He often came across as technical and serious, but you found yourself inspired by his dedication to his job.

He was also... distracting.

When you two worked together when you just couldn't help a glance over at him. You tended to linger. On his lips pressing together when he would concentrate. On the movement of his arms – muscular under his uniform, muscular from days of training out in the sun as he disassembled and assembked the machine you were working on. On the gentle hums he would make when you had suggested an idea and the way he would listen with the most intense gaze, afraid to miss a drtail. On the way, his hair was a curly blonde mess falling into his forehead after a long day of training – the only time he could come and assist you with the project.

And what's worse? He was brilliant! He knew his stuff almost too well. Every observation, every test, and every note was detailed to near obsession.

You pointed it out once.

It had been when he had disasembled the laser chamber, displaying each piece on the desk and labeling them to perfect accuracy.

"I didnt know pilots knew so much about the cogs and gears of the weapons systems." You had murmured, not thinking much of it.

"I'm a Weapons Systemd Officer." He leveled you with a smirk.

Your face must have gone red, because his smirk widened into a laugh.

He offered you his hand as if to introduce himself. "Hi im Bob. It’s my job to use the systems in combat. If it fails, I take the hit."

"Sorry! I didn't mean it like that." You had rushed out.

He shook his head. "Dont apologize, I get that a lot. Just know I’m not just here to press buttons and look good in a uniform.” He winked, a rare gesture from him, and it was enough to ease a smile out of you.

Alright, so he was smart, beautiful, snarky, and also a badass. Great.

You always looked forward to interacting with the aviators, but it was different with him. It made you giddy. And you often had to remind yourself to be professional.

Annoyingly, thoughts of him would often cut into your personal life. At the gym, you motivated yourself with memories of him doing push-ups with his fellow flyers on the concrete. Sweaty and tired but still determined, and God damned resilient. With your friends, you'd re-told some of you work stories, which mostly involved him. And when you were by yourself...

That aside, you two had even made great progress on your project to improve the laser systems. In fact, the day of the bird strike, Bob was testing out a new fix you two had come up with.

Now, it had been destroyed along with the rest of the plane. And what's worse, you were pretty sure what you did next was going to hurt him even more

Because that evening, after you dried yor tears in the bathroom and got your breathing under control, you requested to be reassigned from working with Bob on the project.

☆☆☆☆☆

You went through the next days on autopilot, burying yourself in your work. Your new projects were dull, but dull meant safe. Your coworkers helped. They joked, they complained, they distracted you. They left at reasonable hours.

The aviators were all back at the academy, too busy pushing their bodies past the edge of human capability. Their breaks were short, their evenings longer. You barely passed them in the halls, and you were grateful for it.

Occasionally, the uncomfortable conversation you'd had with Bob would replay in your head.

On the day he was discharged from the Military Hospital, it was 18:05 when Bob strode through the metal doors of the hangar. Boots, cargo pants, white shirt — the usual. He carried his tablet under one arm, his dog tags tapping softly against his chest.

“We lost the prototype with the last jet, so we’re back to square one,” he said as he walked up to your table. "We gotta move fast to catch up—"

He paused.

You were perched on the edge of the desk, your work bag at your side. Not unusual in itself — end of the day and all — but you weren’t unpacking, rearranging, or reviewing notes. You were just sitting there. Like you were done.

His expression shifted. "Are you going somewhere?"

You stood, shouldering your bag. Just say it, you told yourself. Be professional. Clean cut.

"Lieutenant," you said, voice steady, "it’s been an honor working with you. But I’m stepping away from the project."

He blinked. "...Can I ask why?"

You hesitated. He was waiting — not with anger or even with disappointment, just that open Bob-ness that made it worse somehow. So trusting.

"I’m just not interested in the project anymore," you said quickly, like ripping off a band-aid.

There was a beat of silence.

"That’s… sudden," he said slowly.

You looked away.

Then, he spoke up softly. "Was it something I did?"

Your stomach twisted. "No," you answered too fast. "Not at all. It’s not you."

"I thought we worked well together," he said, softer now. "Didn’t we?"

"We did." You adjusted the strap on your shoulder. "This isn’t personal. I just… want to try something else."

He nodded, but not like someone who believed you. More like someone who was trying really hard not to push.

"Well," he said, clearing his throat and standing straighter. "Good luck with whatever’s next."

You nodded and offered a tight smile. "You too."

You'd jerk back and shake your head as if trying to force the thought away willingly.

☆☆☆☆☆

You’d stayed late in your cubicle, distracted by some calibration notes. You barely registered the footsteps in the hallway until a shadow fell over your desk.

"Hey."

You looked up.

He stood in the doorway, uniform loose on his frame, dark bags under his eyes, stubble on his chin, his dog tags still.

Iceman's funeral was mere days ago. It had really hit the aviator's morale. The death of a legend. Someone who'd been a mentor to them.

One hand clutched the strap of his bag like it was the only thing grounding him.

"I’m flying out tomorrow," he said.

You blinked. " …you were picked."

An unsettling feeling began to grow in your stomach. Either anxiety. Or fear for his safety. You weren't sure at the moment.

"Phoenix and I." He nodded. "With Mav."

"Congratulations." Your throat closed. You set your pen down, bracing your hands on the desk to stop their tremble. "Who else?"

"Rooster. Payback. Fanboy."

You nodded slowly.

Then, your voice caught as you said. "Be careful."

He didn't react. Almost as if deliberately. At first, it looked like he was ready to keav, but then his gaze was back on you.

"You know," He took a small step forward. "I asked Phoenix and Hangman about you."

You raised your brow, unsure where he was going with that.

He took another step, coming closer. "Figured maybe you needed space. But… turns out they haven’t heard from you either. None of us have."

You backed up just a little until the edge of the desk pressed into your hip. "You were all busy."

"Oh, we’d have made time." He paused — not hurt, just searching. The rest of his sentence was implied in his furrowwed brow. And you know it.

It was true. Being one of the youngest recruits, you were closer in age with the mission candidates and have grown quite close with all of them through your work. And you've been avoiding them like the plague in hopes you wouldn't have to see any of them possibly die...

"See…" Bob cleared his throat. "I was going crazy, trying to figure out what we did wrong. Thought maybe I’d said something. Maybe come off too strong."

You didn’t allow yourself to speak. How could you explain leaving them in a way that didn't make you sound childish?

"I saw you nearly die and it fucked me up. But since you do this for a living and something... worse could happen, I'm scared of what it would do to me, so the less we interact the better."

Yeah, good luck with that.

His voice softened. "And then I realized. It was that day. Wasn’t it?"

You inhaled sharply, eyes stinging.

He stepped closer. Not enough to crowd you, but enough to make you feel him. "The crash."

You looked down. "You nearly died, Bob."

"But we didn’t."

"But you still could have!" Your voice cracked. "And what if you... don't walk away next time?"

His tone lowered, serious. "That’s the job."

"Well, I don’t do what you do!" You sniffled. "I haven’t had friends die mid-air or disappear off the radar. I'm not used to this. I'm not wired for it. And hearing you drop like that—seeing what was left of the plane... if you were still inside—"

You choked on the next words, eyes blurry now. "I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t know it’d hit me like that."

He took another step. "So you left?"

"Wouldn't you? I mean—wouldn’t anyone?"

You found yourself wondering this to no end for the past says.

"And you lied." his voice was hurt now.

You flinched.

But he didn't fill the silence, waiting for you to speak.

"I didn’t want to tell you because…" you swallowed. "Because if I said it out loud, it’d mean I couldn’t handle it. That I’m not strong enough for this. For any of this.”

That I don't belong here. At the job I've dreamed of since I first picked up a physics textbook back in elementary school.

Silence. A breathless, raw silence that pulsed between you like static.

Deep, beautiful brown eyes searched your face. He was so close bow. "You think I don’t get scared too?"

You swallowed hard.

His hand brushed your cheek. Barely there. And still, you felt it like lightning.

He leaned in — close enough you could see the pale gold of his lashes that brushed his cheeks.

Then he stopped. Right there. Inches away. His breath uneven.

"I want to," he whispered.

Your breath caught. You looked up at him, eyes glossy. For a second, he leaned in — the moment hanging in the air like a held breath.

Your eyes held his, steady now.

The words were on the tip of your tongue.

If you're going to kiss me... you'd better come back.

He hesitated, then stepped back. A full, aching step. "This isn't right."

Your chest squeezed. He was walking away and taking his warmth with him and what if he wasn't coming back.

Timidly, your hands moved from their place behind you and grasped as his uniform, and you brought your lips to his.

He gasped. The soft intake of hair brushing your lips. Then his arms wrapped around your waste and tightened, pulling you into himself.

He deepened the kiss. Lips possessive over yours, brushing in a slow but powerful movement that barely gave you a chance to take a breath as he took a step forward. Your back was against your desk.

Capable hands brushed over your body, as if memorizing it.

You wondered if he was thinking the same thing you were. What if this was the first and last time?

Sometimes, his timid demeanor made it easy to forget he was an battle-hardened soldier, a fact that was very evident now by the way he lifted you up with ease and held you like you weighed nothing.

He groaned against your mouth, his glasses brushing your nose.

"Its not fair to do this." His tone was quiet but hard.

With a sinking feeling, you nodded, agreeing. But as your harms began to lower from around his neck, he began to kiss down your throat, not as keen on stopping as you thought he was. Each brush of his lips or his tongue on your sensitive neck sent you gasping arching into him.

Thank god you'd stayed late and most people had gone home for the day.

Your fingers curled into his dirty blonde locks, also attempting to memorise the feel of him.

"M-maybe we should stop?" You stammered.

"Yeah," he nodded, though his fingers were undoing the buttons of your long-sleeved shirt, pulling it out of your skirt. "After, we'll stop."

You couldnt help but giggle, then shudder against the cold air hitting your skin all at once. Hed gently pushed you to lay down with your back to the desk.

Most of your shirt was still mostly on, only open at the front. His movement was slow and deliberate, lowering your bra straps and cups like he was disassembling a machine. Then he took your breasts hin his hands and rolled his thumbs over your nipples.

Your breath caught as pleasure shot through your beasts and you moaned before your could stop yourself. He lowered his mouth on yours to remind you to be quiet.

You felt one of his hands traver down from your breast to the hem of your skirt, fingers brushing the inside of your thigh, making you shake. He pulled your panties aside and slid his finger into your heat.

"Oh fuck," he was struggling to keep quiet too.

You could feel how slick you were, how easily he could slide his digit in and around your pussy, spreading your slick around and over your clit.

You looked up at him, as your chest still rose and fell with his stimulation of your left nipple. Bob had his lower lip between his teeth, eyes scanning your face and body, committing them to memory.

Then he lowered to his knees. Your hand flew to cover your mouth as you felt his tongue join his fingers. "Bob!"

You were getting very close.

His mouth began to move your your folds. Kissing you, licking, sucking your clit. He added another finger inside you, curving and making you buck your hips.

Your hands grasped the edge of your desk. Everything he was doing was sending waves of pleasure through your body. Palm still over your mouth, you bit your finger to stop the moans slipping out.

Then, as if he sensed you were there, he sped up his mouth and fingers.

Oh god.

You couldnt stop panting loudly as you reached your orgasm. Hips shuddering and bucking against him, you fingers grasped hus hair, needing him closer.

His mouth was on you throughout. Still leaving slow, gentle kisses on your poor, sensitive cunt as you came down from the high.

Standing up, he cupped the nape of your neck and brought you up to taste yourself on his lips.

He kissed you for a long time. You don't know how long.

"I had to." He said against your mouth. "I had to know what you tasted like."

The words made your breath catch. "Promise me you'll come back," your voice broke.

He hid his face in the crook of your neck. "I can’t promise that," his voice barely audible in your ear.

You nodded, even though it cracked something in you.

Bob lingered in the doorway. Just before he turned, he looked back over his shoulder.

"Oh — by the way… the laser nav works perfectly." A faint smile. "We fixed it."

And then he was gone.

☆☆☆☆☆

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