#They couldn't have done this without each other. They couldn't have known this kind of life was possible without each other.

[shannonsketches]

something something foils moving in opposite directions Goku's always happy to seek and fight stronger opponents because he spent most of his life being the strongest guy in the room and Vegeta wants to be the strongest/is always exhausted to find stronger opponents because he spent most of his life having to navigate his survival around the whims of the strongest guy in the universe room and so Goku has a foundation of safety and stability and so spends his time craving challenge and adventure and Vegeta has a foundation of challenge and adventure and spends his time craving safety and stability and the overlaid section of their venn diagram is that the only way they know how acquire and maintain those things is through battle

[lovesickchoi]

WHERE HE CAN'T REACH ❥ 강태현, 최수빈

⋆·˚ ༘ * taehyun knew what you were to soobin: off-limits. boundaries were supposed to protect what you all had. but when affection starts to feel like ownership, and longing begins to look a lot like love, taehyun’s desire becomes the loudest betrayal of all.

pairing: taehyun x reader x soobin ✮⋆˙✐ 9.3k

warnings: f!reader, smut with plot, jealousy, toxic best friend soobin, possessive soobin, taehyun's in love, reader favors taehyun, roommates, alcohol consumption, hidden feelings, no mxm, voyerism, dom!soobin, switch!taehyun, sub!reader, eiffel tower, oral (f & m rec.)

˚�� · »-♡→ masterlist

Soobin saw it in the way your eyes followed Taehyun across the room. The way you sighed dreamily, drinking in every inch of him—it was unmistakable.

You thought you were being discreet with your longing stares, only to have Soobin force your attention back to him with a tug on your waist.

Soobin was your childhood best friend. Connected at the hip for as long as you could remember. Every major life event, every core memory, every milestone. Soobin was there, as you were for him.

He had always been quite... territorial about you. And he couldn't tell when the feeling crept up on him.

Maybe it was the first time you cuddled during a movie as adults. Maybe it was the first time you changed your clothes in front of him in college, not thinking much of it since you took baths together as children. Or was it that day he finally had the chance to taste you, drunk and sloppy after a night out?

Or maybe—just maybe—it was when Kang Taehyun stepped into the picture.

Soobin had known Taehyun first, of course. Their friendship formed almost instantly when they ended up sharing the same schedule in college. Naturally, it wasn’t long before Soobin introduced you, his childhood best friend, to the person who had quickly become his closest friend at school. How could he not?

Soobin didn't regret many things in his life. But watching the way your eyes locked with Taehyun's as you spoke each other's names for the first time? That made him wish he could go back in time.

It wasn’t always bad, though. The three of you had once been inseparable, a tight-knit trio that stayed together well beyond college. You even became roommates as you stepped into your busy adult lives. On paper, it was the kind of perfect setup anyone would envy.

Until the year stretched on, and lines began blurring more by the day.

First, it was Soobin coming home from work later than usual, only to find you and Taehyun cooking dinner together and laughing a bit too softly. Not to mention the abrupt end to the laughter once he closed the door behind him.

Then it was Taehyun waiting up for you when you were out late, pretending like it was a casual concern, nothing more.

The worst one to date was you falling asleep on the couch during your typical Friday movie nights. Except your head conveniently rested in Taehyun's lap, not Soobin's like you had done for years.

Soobin couldn’t help but crave your attention. It wasn’t because he wanted you. Not in any real, romantic way at least. It was just that you’d always been his to have around. His constant.

You were supposed to be his. You were supposed to go to him when things were hard. Go to him when you were needy late at night. Trust him with any and everything. Cuddle him, cherish him, love him. Only him.

Yet there went your fucking eyes scaling Taehyun as he walked past the TV and into the kitchen without a care in the world.

You knew exactly how Soobin felt when it came to you. You’d known for a while at this point. But part of you had hoped it would fade—that if you stayed close, stayed safe, you wouldn’t have to hurt him.

Across the room, Taehyun wasn’t stupid.

He felt your eyes on him. He wanted to look back, to match the desire in your stare. But he knew one glance at you would earn him a reprimanding glare from Soobin.

It was no secret how close you and Soobin were. One thing about Taehyun—he notices everything.

He saw how Soobin's hands always managed to find your waist. How your head tilts toward him during conversations. Even now, with your legs swung over Soobin's lap as you settled in for your movie night.

But of course you were close. You were childhood friends, for crying out loud. Your relationship was something sacred. Something off-limits to Taehyun.

It was never said out loud, but you were Soobin's. And Taehyun wasn't the type to steal.

Taehyun had become quite good at playing it cool with you. But his patience would easily wear thin when you laugh too hard at his jokes. When your hand lingers too long on his forearm. When you fall asleep next to him on the couch, Soobin nowhere in sight, and your breath brushing his neck.

And he couldn't do a single thing about it. Not when Soobin set his boundaries so clearly. So instead, he's gotten so used to burying it.

I can live like this, Taehyun would try to convince himself. Stay the third. The extra. It's better than risking the whole trio.

At least until tonight.

Taehyun found his way back to the living room after retrieving the half-empty bottle of wine from the kitchen. A movie night wasn't complete without a few shared drinks.

Topping off both yours and Soobin's glasses, he put the bottle down and settled back on the couch beside you, pretending not to look.

But now it's Soobin's stare that catches Taehyun's attention. He suddenly couldn't take his eyes off the younger boy beside you.

With some liquid courage, Soobin sucked in a breath. Fuck it.

"You want her, don't you?" Soobin muses, his grip on your shin tightening. Your body goes stiff under his touch.

Taehyun’s throat dries. Because he’s wanted you for so long, he forgot what not-wanting feels like.

He glances at you, still frozen, then back at Soobin. "Excuse me?" is all he manages.

A scoff emits from Soobin's throat. He watches you, but speaks to Taehyun. "Don't act dumb. I see the way you eye fuck each other across the room every chance you get."

Your heart drops into your stomach. You swallow hard, pulse ticking behind your ears. “Soobin… what are you doing?” you ask cautiously.

"Giving you what you both want."

Taehyun doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t leave either. His silence screams.

That’s when Soobin smiles. Not cruel or mocking, just curious. Possessive. "Maybe I should see what happens when I share. Just once."

You blink as if trying to reset what you just heard. Your brain floods with static, but underneath it… there’s intrigue. You hate how your breath hitches. Hate that he’s not wrong.

For a moment, you don’t speak. Not because you don’t want this, but because you do. Because this is the kind of thing that changes everything.

Slowly, you turn your head. Taehyun won’t even look at you. His jaw is locked, throat bobbing, fists clenched in his lap. His silence is louder than any yes.

“This feels like a game to you,” you finally say.

"Maybe it is." He nods his chin over at Taehyun. "But he's the one who's losing."

Taehyun's jaw tightens, the first time he's moved since Soobin's outburst. What was he to do? He's been in love with you for years. But he didn't want you like this. Not as some power play. And certainly not as Soobin’s dare.

"Taehyun?" You whisper, exchanging silent words that Soobin can't decipher, and he hates the secret language you two share.

Taehyun felt like he was being set up. Like Soobin was daring him to cross a line. To see how much pride he’d swallow.

If this was the only way he could have you, even for one night, then so be it. He’d give Soobin a fucking show.

“Don’t think this is about you,” Taehyun breaks his silence, eyes never leaving you. “She’s the only reason I’m still sitting here.”

Soobin hums in content. The words sting, but Taehyun is still submitting. That’s a win in his eyes.

Your name lingers in your ears. Then you feel Soobin’s large hand gripping your chin, guiding your gaze back to him. "If you want this," his voice is calm yet commanding. "I need you to stand up. Right now."

You want so badly to look back at Taehyun, to check if his eyes still burn for you. But Soobin's grip keeps you locked on him. He raises an eyebrow, waiting for your decision.

Before fear can catch up with you, you're straightening your shoulders and swinging your legs off Soobin's lap. Now you're standing directly in front of the two men on the couch. Just waiting.

After watching you for a moment, Soobin slowly stands with you. To your surprise, he laces his fingers with Taehyun's, who is still sitting on the couch, pulling him to his feet.

Soobin bends down to pick up both yours and Taehyun's wine glasses. You take yours from his hands without question. After an intense exchange of eye contact, Taehyun finally takes his glass—a reluctant agreement.

Eventually, Soobin picks up his own. "Finish it," he commands, tilting his head back first, downing the dry red liquid. He sets his glass down, staring back at Taehyun. "Hope you can take direction as well as you talk back."

The gravity of the situation was beginning to strike you. You could only hear the sound of your own heartbeat, all the nerves and excitement beginning to pile up. Staring down at the red wine in your glass, you debate whether it's too late to turn back.

It's the second thud of glass hitting the table that brings you back. Taehyun had finished his drink. He was in. Your chest tightens as you lift your eyes to find him already looking at you, steady and unflinching.

Here's goes nothing. Finishing your wine, Soobin is quick to set your glass down for you. He takes your hand in his.

You glance back at Taehyun before Soobin pulls you away, leading you all the way to his bedroom. The two of you follow him closely behind, unspoken consent hanging in the air.

Taehyun rolls his eyes once Soobin turns his back. Of course he picked his own bedroom. It was a deliberate move. A silent dig at Taehyun that he was meant to swallow.

Now the door is shut behind all three of you. The room is buzzing with a new energy, and you almost don't know what to do with yourself. Nobody speaks right away.

Soobin moves first. His large hand presses firmly against Taehyun's chest, guiding him toward the bed. You couldn't quite grasp the dark look they exchanged, but it made your breath catch. "Sit down," he gently commands.

With slight hesitation, Taehyun takes a comfortable seat on the edge of Soobin's bed. Excitement bubbles inside Taehyun, watching you stand so helplessly in the middle of the room. He notices the way you bite the inside of your cheek, a common nervous habit of yours.

The excitement is quick to fade, though, as Soobin slowly circles you, stopping directly behind your body.

"Stand still for me," he directs you this time, pulling your shirt over your head and discarding it onto the floor. "Let him see you like this."

Your lips part in a quiet gasp when Soobin presses himself against your back. He gathers your hair in a ponytail, craning your neck to the side. Suddenly, he begins pressing soft kisses to the warm flesh.

Your eyes flutter closed. The feeling of Soobin's lips was too good not to bask in. Especially as his hands began searching your body. Light grips of your hips and thighs became overwhelming. Soobin had always been greedy when it came to you, and this was no different.

A gentle moan escaped your lips as Soobin's hand settled between your legs. He cups you over your pajama shorts, firm and in just the right place.

Taehyun wonders what he did in his past life to deserve such torture.

It pained him to see you crumpling in Soobin's hands. But watching the way your needy hips leaned in the touch, almost begging for more, had Taehyun tightening in his pants more than he'd like to admit.

Your eyes flutter open, Soobin still moving behind you. “He’s j-just watching us,” you stutter. Across from you, Taehyun’s hands grip his knees, knuckles gone white.

"Good. That means he's learning." Soobin simply responds.

His assault against your skin continues, biting down on the junction of your shoulder and neck. His eyes stayed trained on Taehyun as he did so, predatory and teasing.

Taehyun can't stay silent for much longer. "What do you want me to do?" He's desperate at this point, dying for Soobin to instruct him.

The question delights Soobin. He smiles against your skin at Taehyun's obedience. "You'll know when I tell you." Soobin removes his hand from between your legs, and you whine at the loss of contact. The noise alone has Taehyun twitching where he sits. "See? He can follow directions."

"And what if I want to direct him instead?"

"Then I'll listen," Taehyun answers you quickly, round boba eyes filled with need as he stares at you. His eyes are fixed on your lacy bra, trying hard to ignore the way Soobin's long fingers trace circles over your nipples through the undergarment. The action pulls more whimpers from you.

God, Soobin had you right under his fingertips. Literally. It's all he's wanted to experience again for a while. And having Taehyun as his witness? He felt as if he'd already won.

"Not yet. He only gets what I give him." Soobin is firm in his stance, keeping his focus on your pleasure. "And right now, I want him to see what it looks like when you start to fall apart.

You don’t get a second to brace yourself before Soobin’s hand slips into your shorts, a finger pushing inside you without warning. “Damn, you’re already soaked for us,” he mutters, emphasizing the word us.

Your legs nearly give out, and your arm shoots back, hooking around Soobin’s neck just to stay upright.

But it’s not him you’re thinking about.

You can’t stop your eyes from drifting to Taehyun, guilt blooming in your chest. Every curl of Soobin’s fingers threatens to drag a name from your lips, and it’s not his. You bite your tongue, swallowing Taehyun’s name like a secret, praying he knows these moans are meant for him.

Cursing silently at the situation he could no longer escape, Taehyun gave in—pulling off his shirt and running a hand down over the front of his sweats, desperate for any kind of relief.

It was the most he could do right now, closing his eyes and pretending those moans were coming from beneath him instead. “Fuck,” he groaned, voice shaky. The effect you had on Taehyun bordered on inhuman.

Your eyes ogled over Taehyun's bare torso. You traced every mole, every dip and curve of his abs with your gaze like you’d been starved of him. Soobin noticed your reaction before Taehyun did. His fingers slipped out of you without warning.

"Go on," Soobin says, almost too kindly, peeling off your shorts. He hooks a finger into your underwear, pulling and snapping the fabric against your skin. You yelp, and he’s already hard just seeing you like this, in almost nothing, in front of them both. Taehyun hates how easily Soobin plays with you.

"Give him some attention. He’s earned it. Right, pretty girl?" You nod, breathless.

Although Soobin hates how eagerly you stride toward Taehyun, he lets you. He wants to see how you act when he allows the other boy access to you. This is exactly what he wanted.

Soobin follows close behind you, ridding himself of his own shirt in the process. The wine had made him bold and dizzy. Without thinking, Soobin presses his hand against the small of your back, almost guiding you into Taehyun's lap.

A low groan leaves Taehyun's throat at the mere sight of you on top of him. When you fully settle into his lap, he's already hissing, grappling with the chains of his own self-control.

For fuck's sake, Taehyun didn't know what to look at or where to touch you. He'd imagined this scenario more times than he could count. But seeing how perfect you were on top of him, it was incomparable to any made-up fantasy. His hands skimmed your sides with uncertainty.

If he let himself fully touch you how he wanted, he worried he would never be able to let go.

Taehyun was keenly aware of Soobin's eyes on you both. The older boy had made his way to bed as well, settling in right behind Taehyun.

The filthy grind of your hips pulls Taehyun's attention back to you. His hands fly to your sides, steadying you, slowing you down.

You understand—he wants this to start slow. He wants to savor you, in case this is the last time. Your eyes lock, the silent language between you growing louder than words.

Your head spins watching Taehyun all fucked out from such simple movements. You hope he knows how long you've been wanting this, too. "You look so perfect," Taehyun sighs longingly.

Taehyun’s arms wrap around your waist, subtle but defiant, as he stares up at you. He starts moving with you, his hips syncing to your rhythm.

His eyes stay on yours, mouth parted, already imagining the way you’d feel wrapped tight around him in this position—how you’d sound moaning his name.

What an unfortunate situation this was.

Without thinking, you lean in, ready to finally press the tender kiss to Taehyun’s lips. The one thing you’ve been aching to give him for what feels like forever.

But before your mouths can meet, your eyes fly open. A large hand grips your face, squeezing your cheeks tightly.

It’s Soobin.

He’s reached around Taehyun’s body, fingers firm on your jaw, his chin resting casually on Taehyun’s shoulder like it’s nothing. Like this isn’t the most intimate moment of your life.

Soobin wasn’t content with how effortlessly in sync you and Taehyun were. It unsettled him more than he thought it would. The quiet intimacy, something he’d never shared with you, was too much to ignore.

So he did the only thing he could think of to stop it. He forced space between you, a silent command to hold off.

"You don't get that part until I say so." Soobin chastises you both.

"Soobin, please," you beg. He hates how he could rarely say no to you. Not when you look at him like that. But he needed to retain his control.

A short sigh leaves his chest. "Taehyun, would you like to feel her lips somewhere else?"

Taehyun doesn't speak. He looks to you first, like he always has and will, for any sort of consent. Of course he wants that. He would be a fool to say no. But he can't give in too willingly. Not when this was Soobin's game.

Carefully, he nods, side-eyeing Soobin, whose face was inches from his own.

Soobin hums beside him, chin still resting on Taehyun’s shoulder as his hand slips from your face. “Alright. He’s been good enough. Go ahead, baby. Show him how sweet you can be.”

Your stomach twists with anticipation, heat pooling between your legs. You don’t need to be told twice. Crawling down Taehyun's body feels natural, like instinct.

You don’t dare look at Soobin as you move, but you feel the heat of his palm pressed on your shoulder, guiding you down, allowing you.

Taehyun’s whole body tightens watching you. His hands fist into the sheets. He doesn’t move—he can’t. Not with you between his legs and definitely not with Soobin's admittedly distracting breath against his neck.

You’ve both waited for this moment, dreamed about it in secret. But now that it’s real, his throat feels tight, like breathing too deeply might ruin everything.

When you kiss just above the waistband of his sweats, he exhales a curse. “Shit…”

He doesn’t touch you when you're like this. He wouldn’t dare, not without Soobin’s permission. But every fiber of his being aches to cup your face, to thread his fingers through your hair, to keep you there.

You tug his waistband down slowly, your hands trembling just slightly. He’s already so hard and leaking. He’s beautiful. How long have I wanted this? For a second, you worry that you’re both toeing the line of something you might not come back from.

“Look at him,” Soobin says from the bed, voice low and amused. “He’s barely holding it together.”

You glance up through your lashes. Taehyun’s head is thrown back against Soobin's shoulder, lip bitten and brows drawn in tight concentration. But then his gaze drops to meet yours, and suddenly he looks wrecked. There’s so much raw emotion layered into that look. So when you finally wrap your mouth around him, you feel him break.

His back arches, his hips twitch, but he still doesn’t thrust. He moans loudly and unfiltered, like the sound was dragged from his chest against his will.

You never thought giving a man head could be so pleasurable until now. You felt almost determined to take all that you could, hand wrapping around the base. Your cheeks hollowed, and your tongue slowly worked against him, dragging over every curve and vein.

He sounded so pretty above you, and all you wanted was for him to touch you. Your hair, your face, your neck, anything to prove he was really here with you.

But one glance at Soobin’s watchful expression told you everything. Taehyun was doing the most he could, trapped by the rules of this game.

He was holding himself back so much that if Soobin gave him even the slightest permission, he’d have you pressed into the mattress in no time.

Lost in thought and mindless pleasure, Taehyun accidentally thrusts up into your mouth, forcing a heavy gag from your throat.

“Oh my god…” his breath shudders, followed by your name. As if it were the only word he remembers.

The sound of his voice sends something sharp through you. You realize, deep in your gut, that you need him to say your name like that again. Over and over like it means something.

Soobin moves fast.

His hand snaps out, gripping Taehyun’s jaw tightly, jerking his head towards him. You stop your movements.

“Aht, aht,” Soobin snaps, his voice low and reprimanding. “You don’t get to claim her like that.”

Taehyun blinks, startled. “I'm sorry. I—I didn’t mean—”

“You will be sorry,” Soobin mutters, releasing him with a final squeeze before turning his attention to you. “Up. Come here.”

You hesitate, lips still tingling, Taehyun’s taste on your tongue. Part of you doesn’t want to leave. But Soobin’s voice is commanding, firm, and you’ve never quite been able to disobey him.

He helps you up, pulling you onto the bed and into his lap, your bare back settling against his warm chest as he rests against the headboard. His arms wrap tightly around your waist, grounding you.

But your eyes are still on Taehyun.

He’s panting, undone, watching the way Soobin holds you like you belong to him. And it hurts. More than it should. More than he expected.

Soobin kisses your temple, his lips soft against your sweat-damp skin. “You’re too generous, pretty girl,” he murmurs, a smile in his voice. “Let’s see what he does now that he can’t have you. Not yet.”

And even though his tone is teasing, you hear the edge of something else underneath.

Because even Soobin knows. The way Taehyun said your name just now…

That wasn’t lust. That was love.

Taehyun’s gaze flickers between your parted lips and the curve of your hips as Soobin draws idle circles into your skin. He can’t breathe, can’t think. You’re right there, so close, yet you were still somehow out of his reach.

He’d give anything to feel you against him. But he knows the rules. He knows who’s in charge.

Soobin studies him like a scientist, intrigued by every inch of restraint. “You're holding back,” he says, almost curious. “You want her bad, don’t you?”

Taehyun doesn’t answer right away. Then, through gritted teeth, he speaks barely above a whisper, “Only an idiot wouldn't want her."

Your heart flutters at Taehyun's words. Soobin hums in discontent. His lips graze the shell of your ear as his voice drops. “But you don’t get her just yet.”

You suck in a breath, your body already responding, heart racing. Taehyun doesn’t look away from you. It's an impossible task.

Soobin’s hand trails slowly down your abdomen. “You want to claim her?” he murmurs. “Then you can start where she needs it most.”

And just like that, he's spreading your legs wide apart for Taehyun. A sight he thought he'd never get to see.

“Keep them open, pretty girl,” Soobin purrs, eyes fixed on Taehyun now. “Let him taste what he’s been dreaming of.”

"Anything you want, Soobin," you whimper, voice cracking. "Just... please let him touch me."

Taehyun, being the gentleman he was, wouldn’t make you wait. Not when you looked at him all desperate, chest heaving, hips arching up to meet him.

Even with you squirming beneath Soobin’s mouth on your neck, his fingers drawing lazy paths across your stomach, Taehyun stayed good and obedient.

If it meant giving you the pleasure you so clearly ached for, he’d wait his turn—but not a second longer than necessary.

Two fingers hooked around the waistband of your underwear, slowly tugging the fabric down your thighs and discarding it somewhere in the room.

A shiver raced down your spine at the exposure, your legs spreading wider until they draped over Soobin’s thighs.

Taehyun’s kisses against your inner thighs were soft. His movements are stiff and unsure at first, afraid to cross that invisible line.

That’s when you felt Soobin’s breath against your ear, his voice low with a command. “Taste her.”

Taehyun is quick to oblige. The moment his lips come in contact with your dripping cunt, it's like he's lost in you.

A starving man is the only thing you could compare him to. It was quite a beautiful sight, watching him split you apart.

A hard drag of his tongue on your clit makes you call out for him. Your nails sink into the meat of Soobin’s thighs.

“Fuck T-Tae,” you whine lowly. Taehyun groans against your folds. He swears he hasn’t been this hard in his entire life.

Soobin is watching over your shoulder. Even he could see the way Taehyun devoured you, deriving pleasure from the act alone.

Soobin took note of everything—from the way Taehyun’s hands splayed over your stomach, to the way he looked up at you through his tousled hair, eyeing your reactions to ensure he did everything right.

In a quiet act of defiance, Taehyun held Soobin’s gaze as he deepened his mouth between your legs. The eye contact made Soobin clench his jaw behind you, but he didn’t look away.

You felt the pressure of Soobin’s arousal pressing firm against your lower back, your body flush against his. Every twitch of your hips, every breath you took—he felt it all. He always loved seeing you like this, teetering on the edge.

But he couldn’t stand how your body naturally responded to Taehyun’s movements. His heart secretly panged, wanting to take back some control. Even just a little. Just enough.

Soobin’s hand moved sensually down your arm. Goosebumps rose in the wake of his touch, and Taehyun noticed.

There he goes again, owning you, Taehyun thought.

Soobin’s fingers curl over yours where your hand rests on his thigh. Slowly, he lifts it, bringing your fingertips to his lips. Without breaking eye contact, he parts them and takes your middle and pointer fingers into his mouth, sucking with a lewd, deliberate moan.

The feeling of Soobin’s tongue swirling around your fingers—paired with Taehyun’s tongue flicking over your clit—was almost too much to comprehend. Your eyes roll back as your head drops against Soobin’s chest. The dual attention was overwhelming in the most sinful way.

He pulls your fingers out of his mouth with a wet pop, moving his lips to decorate your neck and chest with kisses.

But not before guiding your hand down into Taehyun’s hair, forcing you to thread your fingers through the soft strands. You tugged lightly without thinking, drawing a desperate groan from the boy between your thighs.

“So good for us,” Soobin chuckles. “Show him where you need him most. Gotta get that pretty hole nice and ready, don’t we?”

If Soobin let him, Taehyun would’ve stayed between your legs forever. He would’ve had you fucking his face until you were trembling and out of breath—just one of the many obscene fantasies he kept hidden away.

The taste of you was intoxicating, the only thing grounding him to reality. His hips rutted helplessly into the mattress, probably staining the sheets with pre-cum, desperate for a friction he could never satisfy on his own.

“So pathetic,” Soobin breathes against your ear, fingers rolling your nipples between his fingers now that your bra lay forgotten on the floor. He watches Taehyun unravel between your legs, lips slick and eyes wild with want. A cruel smile tugs at his lips.

“That’s your type, huh?” he coos. “Men who beg with their mouths full?” His teeth sink gently into the shell of your ear, and you shiver at the sting.

You're so close to the cruel edge of release now. Soobin’s sharp words only twisted the coil tighter inside you, but it wasn’t his voice your heart clung to.

It was Taehyun. He pulled at something deeper and tender, even in the filth of it all.

You should’ve left the room before it got to this point. Should’ve said no. Should’ve stopped this before it got any further.

But you don’t. Because this is insane, yes. Reckless and dangerous.

In your mind, you’ve already made your choice. You fell in love with Taehyun before you even realized it, before you ever meant to.

It was in the little moments—the way he always waited up for you. The softness in his voice when he said your name. The ache in your chest when he would smile at someone else.

Emotionally, you chose him a long time ago. This? This is just confirmation.

Soobin sees your mind churning and your breath increasing. He couldn't lose this game.

Soobin’s fingers grip your jaw hard, forcing your head down. “Look at him,” he spits harshly.

Taehyun’s face is buried in your pussy, eyes shut tight as his tongue flicks fast and firm over your clit. He groans like he’s addicted to the taste, hands locked around your thighs to keep you open and still. His head moves with desperate rhythm, like he’s trying to fuck you with his mouth alone.

“Fucking starving for you,” Soobin growls. “You see that? He’s shaking like he’s gonna cum just from eating you.”

You whimper, your breath stalling. Your hips twitch up against Taehyun’s mouth, and he moans louder, grinding his tongue into you harder.

“Don’t look away,” Soobin says. “You wanted this. Now fucking watch him lose it.”

You obey, but you're only focused on the boy below you. "Taehyun, I'm so close. You feel so fucking good."

If you took any longer to cum, Taehyun might’ve made a mess in the bed just from the way you praised him. But it hits you fast—your legs shaking, clenching around nothing, his tongue relentless as it drags over your folds.

Your hips try to jerk up, chasing more, but Soobin’s strong arm pins you to the bed, holding you down like you’re nothing but his.

A scream builds in your throat, Taehyun’s name right there on your tongue—ready to give him everything.

But Soobin doesn’t let you. He collides his mouth with yours, swallowing it, taking the name meant for someone else and replacing it with his own brutal kiss. He owns the sound, owns the moment, and refuses to let you come undone for anyone but him.

Even though the sight of Soobin’s lips on yours makes Taehyun’s blood boil, he doesn’t stop. He coaxes you through every tremble of your orgasm, mouth tracing soft kisses along your thighs and hips. Anywhere he can reach.

This was for you. Always for you. He’d grit his teeth and endure it if it meant getting to have you, really have you, in the end.

Your body shakes, the aftershocks of release leaving you dizzy and pliant against Soobin’s chest. His fingers trace your skin, proud and possessive. You can barely think, but then you feel it.

Taehyun’s hand, tentative yet deliberate, sliding up your thigh.

It’s gentle, a stark contrast to the way Soobin handles you. Taehyun's touch is lighter against your oversensitive skin, filled with care and longing.

You blink down at him. For a moment, the world shrinks down to the softness in his eyes. A small, shaky smile tilts the corner of his mouth.

Not for Soobin, and not for the game they’re playing. For you.

Soobin doesn’t miss the exchange. His hand fists in your hair, tugging just enough to make you whimper, reclaiming your attention.

"Sweet, isn’t he?" Soobin murmurs into your hair, amused. "Thinks he can fuck you better if he touches you softer."

Taehyun's jaw tightens, but he doesn't let go of your thigh. His thumb rubs soothing circles on your skin, a silent promise that even if he’s not allowed to have you, he still feels for you.

"On your knees," Soobin commands, pushing you forward slightly. You’re quick to listen to him.

A contrast to Soobin forcing you forward, Taehyun quickly helps you shift onto your knees. "She's so good for you," Taehyun whispers, surprising himself, admiring your obedience. But he wishes it were for him, not Soobin.

"Isn't she?" Soobin muses. He observes you on your hands and knees as he stands from the bed. In one motion, he slides down his sweat pants and boxers, cock pressed hard and heavy against his stomach.

Taehyun is sitting, waiting beside you on the bed. His hand strokes your back lovingly. Too tender for Soobin's liking. "Did I say you could touch her yet?" The boy snaps.

Taehyun sucks in a frustrated breath, standing from the bed. "What the hell am I supposed to do then?"

Soobin doesn’t answer, just tilts his chin toward you. That was all Taehyun needed. Their eyes lock over your body, an unspoken exchange passing between them. For the first time all night, they weren’t at each other’s throats. They were united in this moment, in what they both wanted. You.

You knew what was going on, and a shiver runs down your spine at the thought of taking them both.

The bed dips behind you. Soobin grips your hips in a bruising hold, positioning himself just right.

Taehyun is more careful when he gets onto the bed, kneeling in front of you. You’re perfectly trapped between the two of them now. His eyes find yours instantly, that same hunger reflected back at you.

The sight of you, on all fours, waiting for him, was something Taehyun could hardly believe. It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen—your body laid bare, ready for both of them.

A harsh slap to your ass draws your attention, once again, away from Taehyun. You yelp, retreating slightly, only for Soobin to tug you back against him. “Don't make him wait," he chuckles, enjoying every bit of this. "He's been so patient.”

When you look up at Taehyun again, he gives you a subtle nod in confirmation. His hand wraps around himself as you part your lips, taking him into your mouth for the second time tonight. This time slower, deeper, and more intentional.

Taehyun’s breath shudders out of him, eyes fluttering closed as he tries not to lose control too early. He groans, completely undone by the feeling of you.

Behind you, Soobin doesn’t wait. He takes the moment you’re distracted, and bottoms out inside you with a single, ruthless thrust.

Having been so empty for so long, you can't help but whimper around Taehyun.

"Shit baby," Soobin groans loudly above you, throwing his head back. “If I knew you'd be this tight, I would've had Taehyun stretch you more."

You knew Soobin was getting off on this power play. Every thrust, every word, every command—it was all a show of dominance.

The way he gripped your hips, the way he bent your body to his will. He wanted Taehyun to see it. To watch as he fucked you like he created you.

And god, did he know what he was doing. Each ruthless slam of his hips had your mind short-circuiting, your body jerking with every sharp roll. You could feel how deeply he wanted to leave a mark, to make sure neither of you ever forgot this.

You barely had time to process it, given the way Taehyun filled your throat. Your hands gripped at his thighs for stability as Soobin’s thrusts shoved you forward, pushing Taehyun deeper every time. The gagging sounds only made him groan.

And yet, somehow, it all made your stomach twist deliciously. Being used by one and worshipped by the other.

Neither of the boys was small, either, might you add. Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, your throat stretched around Taehyun while your cunt was relentlessly pounded from behind. It was overwhelming—in the best way.

Soobin grunted behind you, digging his fingers into your hips hard enough to bruise, clearly enjoying the way you struggled to take it all. “Look at you,” he growled, watching your body bounce between them. “So full, so fucking messy.”

Taehyun’s hand came up to cradle your jaw, his touch softer, wiping a tear away with his thumb as you blinked up at him. His brows were drawn, his lips parted, like he was barely holding himself together. “You’re doing so good,” he breathed, voice strained.

The praise only made the pressure in your core worse—like you could cum from the stimulation alone.

More than the tears in your eyes, guilt continues to spread through your veins when you peer up at Taehyun. He was so intently focused on you, trying to distract himself from the way Soobin used your body.

Taehyun wanted to show you there was nothing to feel guilty about. You’d both agreed to this, to surrender to something bigger than yourselves. He would never hold you accountable for the situation Soobin orchestrated, for the role you were forced to play in a dynamic you never asked for.

Taehyun saw it clearly now—how Soobin had drawn thick, confining lines around you, ones you couldn’t cross without bleeding. But even as you writhed beneath Soobin, Taehyun didn’t see betrayal. He saw the ache you carried. He saw himself in your eyes.

The fire burning in his chest was undeniable. Hot and all consuming. And he knew you felt it too. Because even with Soobin buried deep inside you, Taehyun could feel your heart racing for him.

Your mind wasn’t where your body was. It was with him.

Taehyun wants to touch you even more. He reaches a careful hand up, ready to grip your head for some connection. But he stops himself, looking up at Soobin.

Soobin is already watching his movements. He gives Taehyun a sly smile. “Pull her hair if you’d like. But watch me fuck her while you do it.”

Taehyun’s fingers tangle in your hair gently. The intention isn’t to tug and pull, its to reclaim even just a small part of you.

Even while locked in that silent war with Soobin, eye to eye, neither willing to back down, Taehyun felt his orgasm creeping up fast.

The way you gagged around him, the sight of you being fucked so roughly, it was too much. And Soobin, ever the showman, only fucked you harder under the pressure, like it was a challenge.

You are breathless and dazed from Soobin’s thrusts and grips at your body, keenly aware of Taehyun’s jaw tightening, nearing his climax.

Taehyun moans, watching the say Soobin slid himself in and out of you with ease. Your ass and thighs recoil with Soobin’s every action, slapping of skin filling his ears.

His senses are fully overwhelmed with you. And it’s about to make him spill his load into your mouth while Soobin gets to take you.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, Taehyun is panicking. He doesn’t want to finish like this. He won’t finish like this.

Without letting another second pass, Taehyun cups a soft hand under your jaw, sliding his length out of your mouth and dropping onto the edge of the bed.

"I- I can't," he pants. "Not like this.”

It didn’t matter how carefully Taehyun stepped aside. The second he did, Soobin grabbed a fistful of your hair, forcing your face down into the mattress, your cheek flush against the sheets as he fucked into you harder than before.

He didn’t flinch at Taehyun’s absence—he welcomed it. This was his chance to remind him, to show him what he could never have. What had always been his. You.

Soobin’s large frame looms over your own, chest pressed against your back. “Fuck you look so good like this,” he moans against your ear.

Both of Soobin’s arms locked tight around your hips like a seatbelt—no, more like a cage. There was nothing protective about his grip. Every thrust was a claim, every shift of his body a reminder that he owned this moment.

His hips slammed into you with brutal precision, his cock dragging along every sensitive spot that had you biting into the sheets. You weren’t going anywhere, not with the way he held you down like a prize he refused to share.

“Shit,” he gritted through his teeth, eyes flicking down to watch where your bodies met. “You feel that? I'm in your fucking stomach.”

He grinds in deeper, making your body jolt with each stroke. It’s not soft. It’s not sweet. It’s raw, filthy, Soobin fully unraveling inside you, and all you can do is take it—and enjoy every second.

Your throaty whines and whimpers go straight to Soobin’s core. It was the perfect circumstance for him. Taehyun sitting beside you both, forced to watch. You, face down in the bed letting Soobin claim your cunt.

Soobin pulled out and came loud and hard on your thighs, painting your skin with ropes of his cum. He held you in place with one hand as the other finished himself off proudly.

His hands roam your body slowly, palming your ass, dragging down your spine. He wanted to commit every inch of you to memory, to hold it over Taehyun later.

Soobin glances sideways, expecting to catch a twitch of jealousy, a clenched fist, anything from Taehyun. But the other man’s face is maddeningly blank, too composed for Soobin’s liking.

“Tsk,” Soobin scoffs, voice low. “Not even gonna put up a fight? Guess you don’t want her bad enough.”

Taehyun’s look darkens at that, his tongue poking at the inside of his cheek. His eyes don’t leave yours for a second. “I want her so bad I’m not about to ruin it by acting like you.”

Instead of feeling jealous, Taehyun is simply fixated on you. Your hair falling around your face as your body dropped down onto the white sheets, glowing and smiling up at him.

He could feel the strangling hold that Soobin had on him for years when it came to you slowly unraveling. He was beginning not to care about the repruciations.

He couldn't keep letting these invisible lines delay what he could have right now. Not when he was this close to heaven.

Soobin's hands still possessively gripped your waist as he basked in the aftermath. You were wrecked beneath him, trembling, used, and somehow still desperate for more.

With an annoyed look, he glanced over at Taehyun, who hadn't torn his eyes off you for a second.

"Whatever," Soobin says, helping you move onto your back. His next words are blunt and vulgar. "Your turn to fuck her."

He said it like a joke, like a gift thrown carelessly into the air.

But for Taehyun, it wasn't casual. Not at all.

Soobin lifts himself from you, pressing a final kiss to the base of your throat. He removes himself from the situation entirely, sitting in his gaming chair in the corner of the room.

In Soobin's mind, he'd already succeeded. He put all his cards on the table and showed Taehyun what those boundaries look like up close.

He felt comfortable enough to leave you each to your own devices under his watch, especially with how Taehyun sat frozen. There was no need for him to stake another claim. He already made his point clear.

Soobin would let Taehyun have his last hurrah with you. Let him pretend, for a moment, that any of this was his.

But even as he stepped back, there was a smug glint in his eye. Because no matter how tender Taehyun touched you, no matter how deep his feelings ran, Soobin knew you’d still be aching from him. Still dripping with him. Still ruined by him.

Taehyun hesitates, fists balled at his sides. His instincts warred inside him—to obey, to fall in line, to pretend this was still just a game.

But then you looked at him. Your eyes pleading and trusting.

Taehyun reached for you, hands shaking, and finally touched you. His palms smoothed over your sides, cradling you as though you were something breakable.

Your heart stops once he climbs on top of you. His hand is holding your face lovingly. The other is on his cock, gliding it up and down your folds, covering himself in your slick.

You're already arching into him, wanting him to devour you. He hovers above you now, lips inches from yours.

Taehyun's eyes soften. "Can I kiss her now?"

Soobin opens his mouth to speak, but Taehyun barely waits for instruction. He’s already kissing you breathless, full of all the reserved energy he’s bottled up since the moment he met you.

His lips were softer than you ever imagined, plush and warm against yours. Tilting his head to the side, he deepened the kiss, tongue slipping past your parted lips to tangle with yours. It was messy and sweet, needy and slow. So perfect it almost hurt.

His heart thudded painfully behind his ribs. He should’ve just played along. Should’ve been grateful for scraps. Grateful for Soobin even letting him touch you.

And yet the second your arms reach around his neck, a whine escaping your lips, something inside him snapped again.

This wasn't Soobin’s anymore. There was no more pretending

You were his. And you always had been.

When he finally slides into you, it’s like the gates of heaven open just for him. The warmth, the tightness elicited a guttural moan he didn’t even try to hold back.

His hands grip your hips with a desperation he’s been holding in for far too long, and for a moment, he’s completely lost in the feeling of you.

The way Taehyun fucks you is at an entirely different rhythm than Soobin. It's slow, focused, and intimate.

Each roll of his hips feels like worship. Like an apology for every second he spent pretending you weren't everything he ever wanted.

Soobin leans back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head. He watches, expecting Taehyun to fall in line—to treat you like a toy the way he had.

But the longer he watches, the more his smirk fades.

Taehyun’s attention is entirely on you. Soobin might as well not exist. His obedience has completely vanished.

Taehyun leans down, his lips brushing your ear as he rocks into you. His voice is just a whisper, too soft for Soobin to catch.

"Please let me have you," he breathes with his head in your neck. "Let me keep you. I don’t want to keep playing this game."

His words make you clench around him, and Taehyun shudders from the feeling. He cradles your waist, pressing his forehead against yours.

Another slow thrust is followed by a broken whimper from your throat that he captures with a kiss. You’re trembling underneath him, legs spread and nails dragging down his back. It’s driving him insane.

"Taehyun," you're gasping. "More. I need more of you."

The way you whisper his name, all broken and needy, undoes him.

At first, Taehyun tried to be careful. Tried to savor the feeling of finally having you underneath him, your body clinging to his with every movement.

But he couldn't do it. Not when you were gasping his name like that. Not when your hands fisted his hair, trying to pull him even closer.

Taehyun groans low in his chest. His hips start snapping harder into you, the bedframe creaking beneath the force.

"Holy shit," you whimper, your voice wrecked. "Please. Don't stop, don't stop."

Taehyun knows Soobin’s still in the room. He knows this isn't how it was supposed to go. But he doesn’t give a fuck anymore.

He kisses you more, claiming every little moan and sob that spills out of you. His hands are everywhere—your hips, your ass, your thighs, holding you down so he can fuck you properly.

"Mine," he rasps against your lips. "You're fucking mine. Say it."

You nod frantically, too overwhelmed to form words. Tears prick at your eyes from how deep he’s hitting, from the way he’s using you like you belong to him—and you do.

"Yours," you gasp, nails digging into his shoulders. "I'm yours, Taehyun. Just yours."

He promised he would burn Soobin's control to the fucking ground.

Taehyun thinks he hears Soobin say something, but he’s not even listening anymore.

It’s your eyes. Your lips. Your voice when you moan his name. Taehyun doesn't know how he lasted this long without you.

Taehyun suddenly slides one hand between your bodies, rubbing slow, tight circles over your clit intimately, right in front of Soobin. Claiming you in a way that wasn’t about performance or obedience.

It was about you and him and nothing else.

Soobin keeps watching from his chair. Arms still folded behind his head, trying to look relaxed. Trying to look like this was all still his game.

But his eyes narrow, because he finally see it.

The way you cling to Taehyun like he's oxygen. The way Taehyun fucks you like he owns every inch of your body, and you let him.

Not because you were told to, but because you wanted to.

Soobin shifts in his seat, adjusting the growing tightness in his pants, but says nothing.

You make a brief, subtle eye contact with Soobin over Taehyun's shoulder. Taehyun's head is buried in your neck, running his tongue over your skin.

The eye contact lasts for only a second before Taehyun kisses you again. Soobin looks down, defeated.

It wasn’t just that he’d lost you. It’s that he’d created the space for you to be found.

In truth, he wasn’t sad about losing control. He felt like an asshole. All this time he’d acted like you belonged to him, without ever really seeing you. And by doing so, he’d left the door wide open for someone else to treat you like you deserved.

He sees it now—the emotional aftermath of his actions. How all his possessiveness didn’t protect anything. It only pushed you further into someone else’s arms.

And Taehyun, he wasn’t some rival. He was the one who waited. The one who loved you gently. Respectfully. Quietly. The one who never needed to control you because he always believed you deserved to choose.

It hits Soobin like a punch to the gut.

Taehyun isn't fucking you. He's making love to you.

It felt like he was watching you fall for each other right in front of him—slow, inevitable, and completely out of his hands.

Unaware of Soobin’s shift in demeanor, you’re too busy with your legs pressed into your chest, Taehyun focused on every inch of you.

You're gripping his shoulders, never wanting to let him go. "You feel so good wrapped around my cock. Always knew you would," Taehyun whines out between heavy breaths.

He reached out to close his hand around your throat. Not squeezing, he just wants to feel your blood pulse beneath his fingertips. See if your heart raced the way his did. He's close, and you are too.

"I'm s-so close Tae, please keep going." You're drowning in him. Moans loud and unconcealed at this point.

"That's it," he's whispering again, savoring the moment for you both. His hips are sputtering against you, about to release. "Let go for me."

A few more thrusts and you're orgasming even harder than you did on his tongue. Taehyun's name echoes on your lips, and Soobin isn't there to swallow it this time.

Taehyun is almost disappointed. He wants to fuck you until the end of time. But your cunt clenching around him like a glove has him spilling his seed on the spot. He pulls out just in time, releasing onto your stomach and chest.

You smile up at him through your pretty eyelashes like you were waiting for an order. But not from Soobin, from him. His heart swells with pride.

Taehyun would hate to put you in a box the way Soobin has forever. But in this moment, he felt you belonged to him.

He collapses next to you on the bed, the hesitation in his mind completely eradicated as he pulls you against his side, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Been wanting this forever."

Soobin abruptly stands from his chair. Your heart jumps, and you're afraid of how he might react. He just watched Taehyun make love to you, and he's the one who let it happen in his own bed.

Both yours and Taehyun’s heads snap in his direction. Instinctively, Taehyun’s hand tightens around your hip, keeping you against him. Soobin’s gaze roams your body until he tears them away to meet Taehyun’s.

Soobin’s eyes soften. It’s a complete 180 from the beginning of the night. He offers Taehyun a faint, sad smile, and for once, Taehyun lets his guard down. They share a quiet nod—a moment just between them, one you don’t try to understand.

Soobin looks at you one last time. “You guys stay here, I’m gonna go get a towel.” His tone is different now, less commanding and more concerned.

Stepping away, he knew what his role was now. Not to possess you, but to care for you. To make sure you felt safe and seen. His earlier attempts at control felt hollow compared to the connection you shared with Taehyun.

As Soobin moved toward the door, he caught a glimpse of you two tangled in bed—noses brushing, lips exchanging words too soft for him to hear.

It hits him again when he closes the door.

He wasn't watching the two of you fall. You already have.

This whole time, the game was over before it had even begun.

tags: @taebatu @yyeonbinn @binniesblep @beomgyusluver @feet4liferss @vvjolyneee @chubichubs @soo-blue @bakugosbottombitch @thegalaxyisunfolding

reblogs/comments/feedback are always appreciated <3

[theorist-fox]

Good Luck

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Crossposted on AO3.

Previous << || >> Next

Word count: 5.2k

Summary: There’s only so much you can endure for love. Simon’s avoidance takes him one step too far, and this time, there’s no turning back.

18+

CW: angst, arguments, canon typical violence (GSW, surgery, medical talk), a drop of smut.

I listened to this song while writing!

Masterlist 🦊 | In The Walls Masterlist 🦊

The treadmill runs underfoot when it shouldn't. 

You shouldn't be here—when the lights in the base are off, and curfew has clocked in. Not when your side is still aching, and your injury is still mending.

One would think that after ages in the special forces, you'd get used to gunshot wounds. 

Truth is—you never do. It's always the same burning pain that makes you piss yourself and throw up your guts. How you survived is still a big, fat question mark—sniper rifles are made to kill, not to neutralize. If that bullet had hit a little higher, you'd be six feet underground, not doing some cardio in the HQ gym.

Even now, two months after the incident, the stabbing ache in your gut still lingers. Granted, it's not fully healed, so any pain you feel is your fault. But sitting idly, twiddling your thumbs, feels far too passive for you. So, you decide to resort to the simplest training—cardio, light weightlifting—anything that might help the rage simmering in your chest subside.

Because yes—the worst thing festering in your guts, right in the broken sinews and ripped flesh, isn't the mending hole of a .308 round, but a growing anger that's making it hard for your limbs to sit still.

And it's that anger that's slowing down the healing process, it must be. 

You're running—not too fast. No headphones on, because you want to hear your breath panting and your feet thudding against the moving treadmill. You want to taste copper down your throat. 

Overexertion. Salivating tongue. The wonderful ache of sore muscles. 

Alive, strong, fast, reliable.

A friendly reminder that even though there is someone else occupying your spot in the team, you're still as fan-fucking-tastic as ever.

A friendly reminder that their role is only temporary. That when you're back on your feet, you're going to be the fifth member of that task force again. 

Breakfasts with Soap, early morning runs with Gaz, cigars in the evening with Price.

Ghost, on the other hand, can go and fuck himself. Hard. 

You don't blame him, really. Or, well, maybe a little. A smidge. 

Because that's just who he is. You can't blame someone for being who they are—and what he is, is a bastard. 

You should've known the moment you met him, the second he introduced himself as Ghost instead of Simon Riley, all those years back.

Instead of giving in, instead of acting kind, caring, and giving him your time—instead, instead, instead—you should've bit the same way he bit you. Ravaged you. Gave you hot and cold, push and pull, sunk his teeth until the bone, until you were nothing more than a rag doll in the maws of a rabid dog.

Surely, you couldn't have expected him to visit.

You couldn't have expected him to knock on your hospital room door, cuppa in hand, and have him give you his precious, precious time.

What you should've done was expect him to treat you in person like he treats you in bed. 

A whore: warm enough to fit his cock in, wet enough to stroke his ego. You being out of commission for anything remotely related to sex meant you being out of his life—plain and simple. 

A hard pill to swallow, but a true one.

And so, you run. 

You run and stare deadly holes into the wall in front of you. 

You run and ignore how the forming scar on your side tightens at each movement. 

You run and try your damned hardest to focus on yourself: on your body feeling alive even when unhooked from cables and machines, on the fog in your brain finally dissipating, on your chest filling and relaxing even without oxygen pumped in your nose.

Ten minutes turn into twenty, until you can feel your thighs chafe and your calves cramp, but still you push through. Because the alternative, the only other thing that would make your stomach finally loosen, would be to have that bastard within reach. Punch him until he hurts like you did.

Alas, God seems to have heard, for the next thing you know, is that Simon is standing, jaded as always, at the threshold of the gym to your left.

As soon as you spot him in your periphery, you punch the big red button on the treadmill. Your run slows to a walk before you stop completely and get down. 

You don't even look at him as you collect your water bottle from the floor, grunting softly when your injury folds and aches.

You don't even lift your head when you reply with a caustic, "Look what the cat dragged in."

He snorts. How dare he.

"See you got your wit back."

It's been two months since you last heard his voice. 

When you got shot and blacked out, the last thing you registered was his voice roaring over comms—but judging by the distant behaviour he assumed right afterwards, the complete absence during your hospitalization, you convinced yourself that the anguished cry of your name you've heard was imagined altogether.

One last attempt of your brain to find some comfort in the pain.

However, a treacherous shiver still runs down your spine when he speaks. The thickness of his voice, the rasp that scratches a nice spot in your brain. 

You shake your shoulders to get rid of it.

It's only then that you clock his form with your eyes. You tongue your cheek.

"Never left," you say, uncapping your water bottle. "Not that you'd know anyway, mh?"

As you drink, the balaclava shifts at his jaw as if he's running his tongue over his teeth. Thinking which approach to take—tactical and measured or absolutely ballistic and corrosive.

"You shouldn't be 'ere." He drawls with that grating tone that makes you believe he knows something more than you do.

Measured it is.

"Got cleared."

"Doc said otherwise."

"As obsessed as ever, uh?"

How his eyes sharpen tells you you've cut deeper than any razor blade could. A smug smile blooms on your cheeks because small things feel like huge victories when there are too many losses to count.

"You're under my command." He says bluntly, "Had to keep myself updated."

"Normal people would ask."

He tilts his head. "M'sure you gathered I'm anything but."

"Right," you say with a wry grin. "What was the doctor's diagnosis, then?"

"Lucky your liver got out of it intact," he replies, "Exit wound clear, no fragments. Minimal internal dam—"

"Oh no, I know that." You cut in, sickly sweet, like poison more than honey. "I meant yours."

His eyes darken, with a warning glint that should be enough to pierce through your resolve—shame for him that you're bulletproof and sharp like a knife. You don't care if it'll hurt—let it. After all, there is little left to lose, and you're sure that whatever is left will soon be lost.

"Abandonment issues? Does it stem from your childhood? Are you projecting something on me, Simon?"

"Sergeant," he says, lower than a growl. 

"What?" You snap, tongue riddled with bitterness. "Isn't that what's happening? Takin' my life apart 'cause you couldn't sort out yours?"

Simon rolls his shoulders and straightens his neck. He often does it when he wants to appear taller, broader, scarier—though you know better.

And right now, he's just as tense as you are. 

Both of you are teetering on the edge, walking a fine line that could lead to resolution, but you're afraid it won't. Not this time.

Each step he takes bends the thin rope under his weight. You wobble—precarious, afraid, a gust of wind is all it would take for you to fall and lose it all in one breath: the earned, mutual trust, the fragile love—no matter how disjointed and uncertain at times.

Reluctantly, you know that it has been tender, too.

"I'd watch my tongue if I were you,” he says. A measured threat.

Your eyes are sharp, and you don't dare to breathe. The space between your faces is tense—a ticking time bomb, something preceding destruction.

"And I'd stay the fuck back." You scowl. "If I were you."

There's a sneer painting his face; you're sure of it, even if it's out of sight. Something heavy and dark, hidden under fabric. 

"Aye, I have," he says at length. "For two months. But looks like you didn't enjoy that much, did ya now?"

Your brows fly to your forehead. Utter disbelief at the sheer audacity of him. Apparently, today isn't one of those days in which you can take what you dish out. 

Fuck it, you'll live.

"You think this is funny?" You scowl, cocking your head.

You watch his jaw shift, perhaps trying to reply, but you don't give him time. He's had plenty of it and wasted it all.

"You think it's alright, what you did?"

Your teeth grit until your head hurts. 

"Not even a knock, Simon." Your voice rises in volume and anger alike. "Two months. Not a call, a text, a wordpassed through Johnny."

Your chest grows tight, and those vines climb upward, closing in on your throat and head all the same. The pressure in your skull threatens tears.

You'd rather get shot again than cry now, of all times.

You thought he'd carved a path specifically for you. Instead, he was only covering your eyes in gentle kisses and cottoning your ears with sweet words—perhaps some remorse, if he could feel it at all. Treated you like a hungry dog, throwing a bone so you'd turn into a more docile pup, whimpering and asking for pets.

And still, you kept clinging with your fingernails to the scraps of tenderness he offered, even when unsure of their authenticity.

There is no trace of that naivete now embedded in your eyes. You're as hard as he's portraying himself to be.

Simon now studies the switch. He must see the sadness in there, even if it's buried under a thick layer of anger and spite. 

"Figured I'd leave ya to it," he says at last, pressing his thumb between his brows—a subtle gesture betraying his calm facade. "Give ya time to recover."

What a poor fucking excuse.

Oh, you want to make him hurt like he did you. 

Make him feel two months' worth of staring at the plain white door of the hospital room, waiting for it to open. Waiting to see him duck under the doorframe, holding a pack of Marlboros in his hand. 

Make a joke about smoking in hospital rooms and how irresponsible that would be, how insensitive, only for him to tinker with the smoke alarm and turn the orange butt of a ciggie your way. 

Bring you tea. The book you still haven't finished. Tell you about his day. 

More than sixty days spent pining, waiting, hoping like a helpless lunatic, with Johnny's pitying blues glued on the lines between your brows.

"Oh, spare me." You scoff. "At least have the decency to do that much."

His eyes narrow. You inhale, challenging him with your glare.

Fuck, he doesn't have to love you—to even like you—if that's the barrier he wants to put up.

But basic human decency doesn't seem much to demand. Especially knowing that you were so much more before this ordeal began. You were a colleague, a friend. A shag here and there doesn't cancel that. How can occasional sex erase years and years of carefully built partnerships, in and out of work?

How can he so easily change his view of you just because you parted your legs for him?

It hurts when you realize it. When it hits you right in the head like that bullet pierced your side. That you're done giving him excuses, that you're done giving him time.

That it's now or never again.

It escapes your mouth like something strangled, fighting its way out with elbows and fists. Thrashing through your throat, guided by better judgment and self-preservation, even as your heart begs for a moment more. 

"You know this doesn't work, right?" You gesture in the space between you two. "You and I."

That seems to be what wakes him. His eyes look alarmed, even if only for a moment, and it's a flash so brief you're not even sure it happened at all.

"We talked 'bout—"

"Oh, shut the fuck up." You cut in, exasperation showing in the way your voice rises. 

He jolts. Freezes.

You sigh a shaky breath. Your body burns hot, like the feelings brewing at the bottom of a much too-deep pot are finally spilling out. Skin lighting up, all too aware of everything, from the blood rushing to your cheeks to the throbbing ache of your healing wound.

"Yeah, we had that chat—no feelings, no strings attached, or whatever rubbish you tell yourself to sleep at night."

Your heart feels heavier, like someone's poured cement over it, and it's about to be tossed into deep waters.

"Doesn't mean you've got the right to treat me like this." You say in a single breath. "Like I'm not even a person. Like I don't matter unless I'm naked."

Something in him hardens like he's looking at you through his scope: squinting his eyes, steeling his shoulders. You struck a raw nerve, casting him in a light that even he wouldn't dare to face, self-critical as he may be.

Or you're just describing what you see. What he's shown you. Given you. Not who he is.

But how are you supposed to know that? Discern the mask from the man when he guards the latter so viciously.

"I'm not just someone you fuck," you say through gritted teeth. "I'm a person. I'm your sergeant—I'm your friend. I deserve your respect."

You slam a finger to his chest. The impact is not as strong as it is shocking.

Simon stumbles back.

"I had your back long before we started fucking, and when I get shot, you don't even bother knocking?" You exclaim. "You hear how fucked up that is? And you think I'll let it slide without consequences?"

You retreat your hand, trembling like a leaf. It falls at your side limply, surrendered as you are.

"You don't know me if you think that."

You gulp down something heavy stuck in your throat, but your voice remains abrasive and sharp.

"And I don't know why I ever thought otherwise."

You step back, holding his eyes a moment more—daring to bite back at your words. Daring to fabricate an excuse.

But you don't waste energy to gauge his thoughts this time. You have tried—so strenuously— to discover Simon Riley, but there are walls too thick to climb, gates too rusted and too old to be opened.

And, for once, you forgive yourself for having failed.

Simon stands stock still under the yellow lights of the gym, hands curled into fists at his sides, fighting an invisible enemy. A statue of a man, stone cold and so awfully far, far away.

You walk past him, water bottle clutched in your hand so tight you think your knuckles might snap.

The doorway's left behind you. Your steps quicken the farther you get from the gym, watching the light from the door give way to the darkness of a sleeping headquarters. 

You don't hear his steps, and you're unsure whether he's following. Hard to tell—the man's a ghost in more ways than just his name. Silent and prudent even when wrapped in tac gear up to his head.

When you reach your room, you think you're safe from further arguments. No more raising your voice, no more putting your heart through the meat grinder. It's gone and done, and you only want to get in your bed and not think about it until you wake up tomorrow. 

Still, your hands shake. You test for your keys in the tight pocket of your leggings and curse under your breath when you pluck them out and they fall from between your fingers.

When you're about to bend down, cussing further because your side still aches, a hand steals them from your sight. You follow the tattoos up to the face of the owner, even if you don't have to do so to recognize him.

He's not wearing the mask anymore. He has it tucked in a pocket of his jeans; you see the dark cloth peeking from the light blue. His shoulders are slouched, hair tousled and messy, likely due to his fingers running through it. Pale cheeks and sunken eyes, darker underneath, like he hasn't caught a wink in a while. 

A certain sadness in them, too. But that might be what your eyes want you to see—rationally, you would put all that much, much past him.

"Careful," he murmurs, handing the keys back to you.

You snatch them from his hands and practically punch them into the keyhole.

"Sarge—"

"No."

He calls your name.

"No."

You slam the door behind you once you're inside, but you don't hear the closing thud. When you look over your shoulder, you find him holding it open. Without further questions or waiting for you to rebut, he steps inside. 

You glower to deter him. It's useless.

Simon closes the door behind him and leans against it. His hand effortlessly finds the switch at the entrance and flicks it on. 

As you blink to adjust to the sudden light, your eyes naturally focus on him: a mountain of a man clad in onyx with the pale cream backdrop of your door. 

"Out," you bark.

He looks at you with eyes so horribly tired. Exhausted. Upset.

"Fuck's sake, jus' listen."

And his voice is not so different.

Then, there's nothing you can do. 

Those boots have been here without your frank permission more times than you can count. You're aware of the impossibility of redirecting them outside. 

You scowl, fingers tightening around the water bottle in your hand because his nerve could bloody well be the last straw.

But still—

You nod. Jaw locked tight.

"Make it quick."

He spares not a second more.

"Day o' the surgery, after they cut you open," he says. "I came."

He points at his neck. 

"Had a tube shoved down your throat, a thing around your chin to keep ya mouth open."

Then, to his face. 

"Beaten black an' blue, you were—swollen an' all. Reckon it was probably the fall after the shot—dunno, couldn't fuckin' think when I saw ya like that."

He licks his lips. Bows his head as if the floor might lend him the strength he needs to pull himself together.

He looks up again. Dark eyes tender unlike anything you've ever seen, and yet one corner of his mouth is downturned, like he's about to say something he's very disappointed with.

Your body is gelatin. Flaccid. Cotton ears, foggy sight, clammy palms. 

"You looked dead," he swallows something thick. "And I wished you were."

Your bottle slips from your hands and falls to the floor. A metallic thud. Water sloshes back and forth as it rolls on the linoleum until it stills.

Suddenly, you feel like a kid who's looking for her ma. 

There's a sadness so deep and suffocating you can't quite explain it if not by digging up childhood memories—a sense of loss, of being small and helpless and alone.

You fought tears all this time, and now it feels fruitless even to try. It's written all over your face anyway. 

You taste their salt before you feel your eyes swell with them.

"Fuck. You." You tell him, voice hoarse but no less spiteful.

"Wished you were dead—"

He walks to you.

"You're disgusting—"

"Because—"

Closer.

"Don't want to see your fucking face again—"

"I didn't know wha' to do."

Until he stands with his boots bumping your trainers. Until the cold wall touches the sweat on your back.

He holds your face in his hands.

You pull back. He doesn't let go.

"'Cause I don't know, love—" He breathes tenderly, like his voice is not his, while your nails claw at his wrist so he lets go.

He doesn't.

"I don't know how to mourn the livin'," he says, "Only the dead."

He gulps. You fall still.

"You said ya wouldn't put me through that again, but you did," he croaks. "Made it worse this time. I couldn't take it."

He thumbs your tears.

"Would've been easier f'me to bury ya with the others an' let the guilt finish me off."

Simon leans in until his lips brush your forehead. When he realizes you won't fight back anymore, his hands slide to your shoulders, then down your arms.

Gingerly, his fingers twine with yours. He doesn't tighten his hold; he merely tests the thin skin of your knuckles.

You pull back a step, burning eyes drifting up at him through the tears clumping your lashes. Truthfully, you weren't expecting him to cry with you. You don't think Simon can—maybe he's already shed one too many tears.

But his cheeks are glowing red. His eyelids are heavy, eyes cast down to you. He's just as affected as you are, but he shows it differently in those subtle ways you've learned to read.

After fighting the tremble of your lips, you steady yourself. Fingers warm within his own; you don't pull them away. 

"I don't deserve what you did to me."

Your voice is so tight you hate yourself for it, but if you don't speak your mind now, you're afraid you never will.

He shakes his head slowly, never straying from your eyes. 

"You don't."

Leaning down slowly, giving you ample time to move away if you wish, Simon kisses your shoulder. 

You sigh.

"Don't deserve a ton o' the shite I put ya through," he whispers.

His ear is right next to your lips. You're sure that no matter how much you try to control yourself, he'll quickly gather your feelings by the way your pulse thunders beneath his kiss.

So why hide it at all?

"And yet you never apologized for a single one of them."

Simon gulps. A subtle sound, as subtle as the man who made it. 

He pulls back. Smooths back your hair, sliding a hand from your forehead to your scalp. 

You lean into his touch, exhaling a breath that trembles like your hands.

"Never did, did I." He breathes. 

He leans in and presses a kiss between your brows, then down the bridge of your nose, to your cheek, the corner of your mouth. You close your eyes so he can navigate this new level of intimacy he's never initiated nor shown at all.

And then he captures your lips. 

His shoulders soften.

A long, drawn-out sigh from his nose. 

He pushes forward, forcing the back of your head against the wall. His hands travel to your stomach, hesitant and curious. He skims over the thicker patch of fabric, where the surgery scar is mending under soft, fresh bandages. 

A slight hiss in your breath because it still feels sore to the touch is what makes Simon pull back. Just enough to have the tips of your noses graze.

Suddenly, he kneels at your feet. 

Big hands envelop your waist, touch gentle but still present enough to rip the air out of your lungs. His thumb brushes over the bandage, causing you to shift uncomfortably.

You look down. Your eyes touch.

The silence around you cracks when he speaks, softness in his breath.

"M'sorry."

Chest tight and sore, like he just punched it. 

He keeps his eyes on you, not to study your expression but to convey his own. The earnestness you catch in there ripples through you like a shockwave ready to shatter you whole.

He leans in and buries his nose right above your belly button, in the rougher fabric of your shirt.

His thumbs hook at the hem, lifting it up so that his face meets your stomach.

"Tell me to fuck off, an' I will," he whispers to your skin. "Know I deserve it."

He kisses your belly, carefully navigating around your bandaged injury. 

"But fuck," he sighs. "I hope you don't."

His lips travel lower, where the waistband of your legging cinches your hips. His kisses turn open but unhurried, like he just wants to savour what he's denied himself for too long.

You roll your lips between your teeth, unsure of how to behave.

"Fuckin' hope you don't," he murmurs.

Your hands land on his head, then, hesitant and trembling, fingers threaded through his hair. Simon sighs like you took the weight off his shoulders and got rid of it entirely.

His fingers curl at the hem of your leggings. 

Slowly, he rolls them down, and he follows their trail, drawing his tongue and his lips down your thighs to your knee. His hand slips to your shoe, and he helps you take it off. Then to the other. Your socks, your pants, until your legs are bare, fabric tossed aside in a heap on the floor.

Simon never stands up.

He holds you by your hips with a covetous grip, but still soft enough to not hurt, almost mimicking the way his mouth moves over you: with smothered hunger, with gentle greed, one that feels somehow oppositely selfless.

Like he's doing it because it feels good for you and not because he desires to have it.

Simon's nose dips in the crease of your thighs. A kiss there, one to the seam of your labia, one on your mound.

His eyes flicker to you.

The lights in your room are a soft yellow, casting a gentle glow on his kneeling body that feels somewhat wrong, like there's too much being shown under the sun when only the two of you should witness it.

Gingerly, you slide your hand along the wall until you find the bump of the switch. With a flick of your finger, the lights go off.

The room is pitch dark now. Moonlight laps at the lines of Simon's face like it's trying to make him glow despite how dim everything around him is. 

It takes a while to adjust to the darkness, but you finally see him when you do. The downturn of his eyes, the telltale signs of sleepless nights, wrinkles of exhaustion and endless battles fought within himself.

Utter, devastating regret. 

You wonder if he can spot the heaviness in your eyes. The uncertainty, the fear of falling right back into the cycle, a trap of yours and his making. 

He's going to tell you the nicest things, pull you in until you can only stick to him like glue, and then he's going to vanish from your life. Treat you like you're strangers until you'll somehow find yourself wrapped around his finger again.

And then it'll all start over. Again, and again, and again.

You brush your thumb on his temple.

Simon leans into it like a dog starving for attention.

He hooks his fingers at the thin straps hugging your hipbones. Slowly pulls your knickers down to your ankles as he holds your eyes.

Gently, he coaxes your knee to bend, lifting your leg off the floor. He kisses the side of your foot, your calf and upward, until your knee is draped over his shoulder. 

Slowly, his nose nudges your clit. The muscles in your thighs twitch.

You're not wet; you're not aroused. He isn't either, you can tell. Otherwise, you'd have had his face buried between your legs hours ago.

The tip of his tongue draws a stroke there. Like waves, it reaches the base of your skull. Tips you off balance, almost. Makes your head spin.

Another tentative lick. The tender fingers in his hair turn into claws, and you grip it tighter. 

Another, another, until you're breathless and inevitably dripping. Simon collects it with his fingers, drawing circles at your entrance.

The flat of his tongue meets your clit in a tortuously slow dance, holding you still with an arm encircling your thigh. And then his finger slides in. You're forced to bite your cheek, muffling a moan that only manages to break free as a sigh.

But when you look down, even in the darkness, you see his eyes, glossy and charged. But still so very tired. 

Like yours.

Because maybe he's navigating through this exactly like you, and you hadn't considered it—too absorbed in your own heartache to notice his. And maybe he's even more afraid because when you have nothing to lose, and something's suddenly given to you, you don't know how to behave.

And maybe Simon thinks that doing this is the only way to keep you.

You exchange a look that holds more pain than lust, shaking your head at him so, so softly it’s almost imperceptible. And Simon sighs, surrendered—he takes back his hand, his tongue, and sits back on his heels.

Carefully, you unhook your knee from his shoulder. He doesn't put up a fight, doesn't tighten the hold on your leg. Instead, he drops his arm limp on his thigh. 

You slide down the wall behind you until your knees bump against his. Simon's fingers reach out, almost shy, and trace mindless patterns on your skin. 

He's hunched over, head bowed in what you venture might be shame, or perhaps that grief he said he doesn't know how to carry. 

Your hand touches his cheek. Dark eyes look at you through paler lashes with reluctant understanding.

That it's over, isn't it?

"Doesn't feel right anymore, does it?" You offer gently.

His chest swells. Shoulders taut and suddenly straight, like something's hit his spine and forced it upright. 

He tongues his cheek. Looks away.

"Don't think so, no."

Your lips quiver. It's okay, it was bound to happen. 

It should've happened so long ago. You should've taken the leap and pulled away from him much, much earlier—when your heart wasn't woven to his yet.

"Maybe one day," you say in the darkness, thumb brushing his cheekbone. "When we're not so…"

With your free hand, you gesture at yourselves. 

"…Fucked." You finish with a hint of a breathy laugh in between. 

Simon huffs too, and then deflates.

It's long before his hand comes to cup yours on his cheek. He keeps it there momentarily, while finally giving you the privilege of meeting your eyes.

And he looks so tender, even when he gently brings your hand down, away from his face. He holds it as it lands on his knees.

"Eloquent." He remarks.

You scoff. Roll your eyes with a pathetic sniffle. "Obviously."

He shakes his head softly. A big hand reaches up, and he flicks your nose. You scrunch it up, smiling in a way that doesn't feel forced for the first time since you met tonight.

Simon's thumb brushes your knuckles.

"One day," he repeats. "When we're not fucked."

Your smile feels wet and shaky. Tears are staining your cheek, but it's freeing instead of reluctant, this time.

His eyes are gentle, allowing you to peek through the curtain for the first time. Perhaps it's too dark now to see, but you're hopeful one day you will.

"Good luck to us, then." You say softly.

Simon breathes a chuckle. Brings your knuckles to his lips and holds your hand there.

"Good luck, love."

Biggest thanks to @/void-my-warranty for helping me out, you're a gem 🧡

[inbabylontheywept]

Weird Grandpa Dale Story #1

The day started with me digging up cactus. Grandpa Dale had a weird beef with cactuses, bad enough to pay me 10 cents for every pound I turned in. Looking back at it, I think they offended him because they could exist without his consent: They didn't need his water, they didn't need his fertilizer, and they certainly didn't need his permission. 

And that, he simply could not abide. 

Grandpa Dale had been doing something weird that whole morning. I knew because I'd been able to watch him since sunrise. Every time I took a break from digging cactus to look back at the house, I saw him doing something with the gopher holes. 

That made me nervous. Things never went well when he started messing with the gophers.  Earlier that month he'd tried gassing them out, and all he got from that effort was nasty looking blisters up both arms. He almost never complained about anything, but he griped all day about how bad those blisters hurt. When his wife suggested that he go to the hospital he said No, what am I gonna tell them? That my trench got overrun? They wouldn't buy that. They'd think I was cooking meth. 

Which was funny to hear, but also, true, and also, enough for me to know better than to get involved in future gopher battles. 

Which is to admit that I did get involved. But I should've known better. A few hours in, he invited me over, gave me a cold soda, and showed me what he had set up: Two camping chairs, a wicked sharp shovel, a car battery, and a long length of copper wire leading to a pit he'd dug in the middle of the yard. Told me that if I stayed a bit and took a break, cooled down there with a soda in the shade, I'd see something amazing. I asked him if there was even a chance I could get hurt by this "something amazing", and he said "no," which I knew was a bald faced lie. But I believed him because I wanted to believe him. Because I wanted to know what he'd done, and I wanted to sit there in the shade with my grandpa. I also figured, hey, maybe getting gassed taught him a lesson. 

(Never, ever assume that the kind of person willing to break out chemical weapons against gophers is capable of being taught a lesson.) 

So I sat down in my chair and he beamed at that. He loved having an audience. Then I watched him lean forward and tap the ends of the wire against the battery terminals.

And that's where everything went wrong.  

The first thing that hit me was the yard itself. Little bits of sand and grit flying fast enough to hit my skin and bite. It took a year and change for all the little bits to work their way out. But I didn't even feel it at the time, because of what happened after. 

I genuinely think he'd imagined the gophers getting launched out of the holes, disoriented but alive. I think that shovel was there to finish them off afterwards. Which also would've been traumatizing, but probably less so than watching each of those cute little gopher holes projectile vomit bloody piles of tattered critter all over the lawn. 

Which, spoiler alert, is exactly what happened. The sky fell down, and the ground flew up, and the gophers found themselves with nowhere to go. So they did the next best thing and went a little bit everywhere.

I don't think it was actually silent afterwards, but I couldn't hear shit. There was just this long, ringing period of us looking at each other, then the meat piles, then the lawn crater, then the big buckled section of yard that looked oddly like Rockies just behind us, then back to each other. 

I think I did that two or three times before I felt my shoulders start to shake a little. I was crying. Felt weird to cry and not be able to hear it. Like a tic almost, or the way your body seizes up right before you puke. 

And then I looked at his face, and I saw him mouth a single soundless word: 

Shit.

[lilou0401]

Choi Seunghyun, let's not fall in love

Choi Seunghyun x fem!reader

Summary: G-Dragon's younger sister struggles to escape his shadow, yearning to be known for herself rather than as "his little sister." Her life becomes more complicated when she falls for his best friend, T.O.P, a charming gentleman she knows she can't have. The emotional tension peaks when she watches the band rehearse "Let's Not Fall in Love," a song that mirrors her forbidden feelings.

Warnings: a bit angst

Masterlist

You have always lived in his shadow. Being G-Dragon’s little sister isn’t as glamorous as people think- it’s a title you never wanted. To everyone else, you're just "his little sister," nothing more. No matter how hard you try to make a name for yourself, you're always overlooked.

You had to expect that he hardly has any time left, or that people would take pictures of you and follow you, but worst of all, that girls would try to suck up to you just to get closer to him. You've already lost so many friends because of this and it was exhausting.

But what made it worse was him- Choi Seunghyun. Your brother’s best friend. He’s kind, charming, a true gentleman… and completely off-limits. Yet, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't stop your heart from betraying you.

You hated yourself for it. For the way your chest tightened every time he smiled at you. For the way you catched yourself stealing glances when he was not looking. And for the way you imagined, just for a second, what it would be like if things were different.

But they were not. He was your brother’s best friend, part of the world you have been desperately trying to step out of. Falling for him wasn’t just wrong, it was impossible. You knew that.

But you still couldn't help but be proud of your brother, he has achieved so much in his life and he has done so with a lot of hard work. He and his friends have managed to grow together and they now called themselves Bigbang. You really had respect for them and had supported your brother all the way to this point, even if it meant suffering yourself. But there were also good things, you were invited to each of their concerts without having to pay anything, you were allowed to stand in the front row, and you were also allowed to watch them at practice and even give tips.

And that was exactly what you were planning to do, your BMW turned into the narrow street of the studio's driveway. To the left and right stood men in suits, shoulders broad, and serious looks. They nodded at you as you drove between them to your personal parking space that your brother had organized for you. The tires rubbed against the pebbles as you came to a stop, perfectly parked in the space.

Your eyes briefly wandered to your rearview mirror to check your lip gloss and mascara before you opened the car door, slipping out. You slammed the black car door behind you shut before you made your way to the entrance. Two more men were standing at the door, bowing to you as you smiled at them before they opened the door for you.

Gratefully, you walked past them and through the door, the cold air conditioning circling your face as you walked down the long hall to the stairs on the far right that leaded up to the studio, where your brother and the others were surely already located.

When you get to the top, you straightened your top before clearing your throat, pushing down the door handle. At first they didn't notice you and you took the opportunity to sneak in, your gaze gliding around the room. Your brother Ji-Yong stood with his back to you as he speaked to his manager, his hands moving wildly as he speaked. All the back dancers had sat down on the floor, some sipping their water bottles from time to time as they talked to each other.

Daesung was talking to a sweet looking girl who was also one of the back dancers, her hands clasped together as she told him something to which he nodded in agreement. You put your purse in the corner with the rest as your eyes wandered to the last two members of the band.

First, your eyes tried to ignore the obviously tall silhouette of the handsome man with white dyed hair as they wandered to Taeyang, who was pressing his hips against the wall, talking to the man in front of him. Although your gaze didn't even land on that person, your body seemed to have thoughts of its own, as your pulse increased in seconds and beads of sweat formed on your neck.

It felt like the walls of the studio room were getting tighter with every breath you took, almost crushing you as you looked down at the floor as soon as his head turned in your direction. Your fingers pulled through the cotton fabric of your top to distract yourself, because it felt like his eyes were drilling burning holes through your head.

"Stop panicking, he's just looking at you. Calm down, gosh." You whispered to yourself, your breath shallow as you shook your head before you looked up again, but deliberately not in his direction, but at your brother, who now also spot you. He gave you a small smile and gestured to the chair next to you for you to sit down before he turned back to his manager.

Nodding to yourself, you sit down on the chair, your body a little tense as you tuck the strands of hair that have fallen out of your high ponytail behind your ear.

"Alright let's start." Your brother's voice brought everyone out of their conversations, and immediately everyone got into position and you had to force yourself not to look in his direction, your eyes fixed on everyone else but him.

The studio was alive with music, the beat of Let’s Not Fall in Love filling every corner of the room. You leaned back against the wall, trying not to be seen, but your eyes were glued to them. To him. And you cursed yourself for not even having managed five minutes without looking at him.

Seung-hyun moved with such ease, his tall frame perfectly in sync with the others. Every step, every gesture, was deliberate yet natural, like he was born to do this. You could tell they were trying to capture the bittersweet longing of the song in their movements, the subtle push and pull, the hesitant touches that mirrored the lyrics so perfectly.

But then it happened. His eyes met yours. Just for a second, his movements faltered, barely noticeable to anyone else, but you saw it. And in that moment, it felt like the room froze. The way he looked at you, with something you couldn’t quite name, was it curiosity? Concern? Something deeper?- made your heart race.

You wanted to leave, to escape the intensity of it all, but your feet wouldn’t move. The choreography continued, each step tugging at your emotions, until you couldn’t tell where the music ended and your feelings began.

Your heart was pounding so loudly in your chest, you were sure everyone in the studio could hear it pounding. Your ears buzzed from the bass that resounded loudly through the room and a lump formed in your throat as you saw a emotion in his brown eyes, his hand holding his microphone at an angle in the air as he sang his lyrics into it, without even looking away from you.

Watching him move, his focus, his grace- it was all too much. For a moment, you thought he looked at you differently. But maybe that was just your heart playing tricks on you again.

It felt like everything you have been holding back threatened to spill over. The lyrics of the song took on another meaning, a much more serious one, and it hurt, it hurt to know that things would never work out between you.

You told yourself to look away, to break the moment before it consumed you. But you couldn’t. His gaze lingered longer than it should have before he turned back, falling back into the rhythm as if nothing had happened. Yet you knew he felt it too- the tension, the unspoken words hanging in the air.

The choreography became more intimate, the dancers moving closer, hands almost touching before pulling away. It was a perfect visual for the song’s meaning: love held at arm’s length, restrained by fear and doubt. It was heartbreak in motion, and every step felt like it was pulling you further into your own feelings for him.

You clenched your fists, trying to steady youeself. What were you even doing here? Watching him like this, torturing yourself with something that could never be. When the music stopped, the silence was deafening, and you realized you’d been holding your breath.

"Did you like it?" His voice startled me. His breathing was heavy from dancing, his dyed blond hair laid wildly on his head, he wore a blue shirt that was unbuttoned at the top and yoz noticed light eyeliner under his big eyes.

You hadn’t noticed him walking over, his face glistening with a light sheen of sweat, his usual confident demeanor softened. He wasn’t Ji-Yong's’s best friend in this moment, or a global star. He was just Seung-hyun. And that made it so much harder.

"It… it was beautiful." You stammered, your voice barely above a whisper and you scold yourself in your head for sounding so nervous

He smiled, that same warm, disarming dimple smile that always left you reeling. "Good. That’s what we’re going for."

You nodded, afraid that if you said any more, your voice might betray you. Because if he knew, if he even guessed at the feelings your were fighting so hard to hide, it would ruin everything.

There was a brief silence, your gaze on the floor, avoiding eye contact, while you still felt his eyes on your. He seemed to be analyzing you, as if he wanted to guess what you were thinking. And you prayed that he couldn't see how nervous his presence made you and how your palms were sweating, which you immediately wiped on your black leggings.

You heard him sigh softly before he sat down on the chair next to yours, his body turned sideways towards you, upper body leaning forward to be closer to you while his arm rested on the back of the chair. Your eyes widened momentarily before you forced your body to relax as you lifted your head and gave him a small smile.

His features softened as he smiled back, your eyes immediately going to his little dimple, your heart skipping a beat and you had to stop yourself from pocking it. Your mouth opened a crack before you closed it again, shaking your head, not even knowing what you wanted to say, but he seemed to do the job for you.

"You okay? You look a little uncomfortable." His voice is soft and his eyes wander down your face, searching for any discomfort. Your lips pressed together, unsure of how to respond, spreading your lip gloss accidentally. "Uhm... no, I'm fine, I'm just a little cold."

His lips curved into a smile as he watched you, his hand lifting for a moment before he slowly and carefully placed it around your chin, his thumb slowly running under your lip, his touch so gentle, and brushing away the now painted-over lip gloss from there.

Your lips parted in surprise, a shaky breath escaped you and a tingling sensation spread throughout your stomach. He paused briefly to look you in the eyes before his hand moved away and hung loosely down his side.

If you weren't mistaken, you could have sworn you saw a hint of pink on his cheeks, but you were sure your cheeks were twice as pink. He cleared his throat and with that the moment ended and you leaned back a little, your body still on fire.

Without thinking twice, his hands reached for his jacket, lined with warm fur on the inside, before he slowly placed it over your shoulders. Goosebumps spread across your arms as the fluffy fur brushed against your arms and immediately your fingers gripped the sides of his jacket so that it wouldn't slip off your shoulders when he pulled his hands back.

"There. It'll definitely keep you warm. Daesong turned on the air conditioning so we wouldn't faint from sweating during rehearsals." A short laugh escaped him, the sound music to your ears, as he leaned back in his chair, running his hand through his white hair.

"Makes sense." You replied with a grateful smile as you pulled the cozy jacket closer to you, the sweet smell of his perfume revealing your nostrils, possibly the only reason you pulled them even tighter. You would love to smell them all until his scent was the only thing your sense of smell could smell and he was the only thought in your head.

Before him or you could say anything else, one of the dancers called his name, pulling his attention back to the group. He gave you a small nod before turning away, leaving you sitting there, your heart racing and your chest tight.

You should have left then. You should’ve walked out of that studio, out of this situation, before your emotions swallowed you whole. But instead, you stayed. You watched as they started again, the music filling the space, their movements perfectly synchronized yet brimming with raw emotion.

This time, you focused on the choreography, trying to distract yourself. The way their hands reached out but never quite connected, the way their steps carried them closer only to pull them apart again- it was beautiful and devastating. It felt like a reflection of everything you were feeling, a silent reminder of the line you couldn’t cross.

But then there was Seunghyun again, moving like the song had been written for him. Every glance, every step seemed so effortless, yet you could see the focus in his expression. When he turned toward you mid-routine, his gaze landed on yours once more, and your breath caught.

It felt like he was dancing just for you.

You shook the thought away, silently scolding yourself for even thinking something so ridiculous. But when the music stopped again and the room filled with chatter and laughter, you noticed him walking back toward you.

"You’re still here, how long are you staying?" he asked, his voice low and calm. You shrugged, trying to play it off. "It’s a good song. Hard to walk away from something like that." You began, before your gaze wandered to your brother, who was laughing at something Taeyang said to him, his head thrown back, and immediately your heart sank and felt heavier, guilt for allowing yourself to think like that about Seunghyun again making its way into your chest.

"Uhm well I'm waiting for Ji-Yong, he wanted to meet me for dinner after practice." You continued while exhaling deeply as you looked up to meet his eyes and you couldn't help but want to melt at the way he looked at you.

He smiled again, but there was something different in his eyes this time, something searching. "You’ve always been honest, you know that? It’s one of the things I like about you."

Your heart skipped a beat. What was he doing? Why was he saying things like that? "Thanks, I guess." You mumbled, unsure what to think of his sentence, your head lowered again, your fingers playing with the end of your top.

A deep laugh escaped him as he tilted his head slightly to the side, his hand came up to scratch the back of his head, a habit you often noticed him doing when he was nervous. "You're welcome, I guess."

You smile uncertainly at him as you slowly stood up from the chair, his jacket slipping off your shoulders, your hands caught it before it could fall to the floor and carefully placed it around the back of your chair before you slowly intertwined your hands and turned your head to Ji-Yong, who at that very moment finished his conversation with Taeyang and made his way towards the two of you with his signature grin plastered on his face, completely unaware of the tension lingering between you two.

Your heart was still racing, but you forced a smile, hoping Ji-Yong wouldn’t notice how flustered you looked. He throwed an arm around your shoulder. "I told you we are good, didn’t I?" He gestured toward Seung-hyun and the other members, completely oblivious to the moment he had just interrupted.

"Yeah" I murmured, my voice unsteady. "You really are." A small smile graced your lips, your breath shallow as you laid your head on his shoulder.

Seung-hyun cleared his throat, his expression now calm and unreadable. "Your sister’s a good audience." he said casually, addressing Ji-Yong. "She’s honest. You don’t get that a lot." His eyes wandered down to you for a moment, a small smile on his lips as he winked at you discreetly, causing your heart to skip a beat.

Ji-Yong grinned at him, clearly amused. "That’s because she’s not afraid to call people out. Don’t let her fool you- she’s tough." I managed a small laugh, trying to keep up the facade. "I’m not that bad."

Your body stood up straight again as your brother's arm slowly slipped from your shoulders, ruffling your hair playfully, completely unaware of the tension still simmering beneath the surface. "You’re worse than you think,” he teased, turning to Seung-hyun. “But hey, at least she’s honest, right?"

Seung-hyun gave a small smile, but you noticed the way his eyes lingered on you for just a second too long. "Yeah. She is." Ji-Yong didn’t catch it—why would he? To him, this was just a casual conversation, lighthearted and harmless. But to you, every word, every glance, felt heavy with meaning.

Sighing and feigning annoyance, you hugged yourself as you stepped aside to put some distance between you and your brother. "Stop with the honest thing, you're pushing it." You murmured, hoping to distract attention from you.

"Anyway," Ji-Yong continued, as he crossed his arms in front of his chest and nudged you with his hip. "you should come by more often. You’re always saying you don’t get to see enough of what we do."

That was true, since Ji-Yong started with the songs, he was very busy and had hardly any time for anything else, including his family and that made our mom especially sad. "I might." You said softly, your mind still reeling.

Seung-hyun looked at you then, his expression unreadable but his eyes saying everything you didn’t want to hear. And as Ji-Yong continued chatting and laughing, completely unaware of the storm brewing beneath the surface, you couldn’t help but wonder how much longer you could keep pretending.

[mrs-weasley-reid]

TRICKY BLUNDER

Spencer Reid x exbau!reader ↳ part 1 here

Synopsis: Mistakes always reveal what the heart really craves. And Spencer wasn't an exception as he desperately makes things right with you. Word Count: almost 4k WARNING: a sprinkle of angst and a cup of fluff. a few curse words. A/N: had two drafts, but this made the most sense in my head. not my gif ctto :)

You gave Spencer a curt nod, "Hey."

Spencer's chest tinged at the sight of your smile. The kind of smile that gave him the impression that you two were absolutely fine and back to normal.

Hotch invited you to assist on the case that's been keeping the entire BAU team stressed out for the past three days. He thought you'd be a great help in increasing the team's morale and, of course, on the case.

Spencer took your arrival as a good sign. It has only been a month since you left the BAU. Maybe you'd change your mind and come back to the team. Besides, you wouldn't have joined them if you were still mad at him, right?

He thought he was getting ahead of himself. He knew he was getting ahead of himself. Taking the tiniest detail of your simple nod and civil smile into a desperate hope.

Your last exchange has been eating Spencer alive. The fallout repeatedly played out inside his head over and over in hopes that he could change the ending. He couldn't. Even an average person knew that they could never change what's been done.

You, on the other hand, did not dwell on your interaction with Spencer. In fact, as soon as you gave him some sort of acknowledgment, you immediately jumped in on a conversation with Emily. You were only being polite. It was in your nature.

If you were given the chance to boast, you would've said Hotch was almost begging you to help with the case. But you kept the idea to yourself and arrived with fresh sets of eyes. After all, the case specifically needed your specialty: human trafficking and victimology.

And fresh sets of eyes, you did bring.

While the others were occupied giving you a warm welcome, an arm suddenly wrapped around your shoulders, taking everyone by surprise, Spencer the most.

"I barely found parking," A man said to you in almost a whisper but loud enough for everyone to hear and gawk about.

Your eyebrows narrowed, "You're an FBI agent. How hard could it be to show your badge and get a spot?" You queried, forgetting about an entire team right in front of you.

The man grinned, "I wanted to prove I could find a spot without my toy." He spoke with you with such ease, as if you've known each other for years.

You rolled your eyes and shook your head. If you only weren't in public, you would've smacked your forehead from the utter disbelief you felt. That's when you remembered that it wasn't just the two of you.

"Oh, shoot! I mean…" You gestured at the man next to you, "Guys, meet Agent Ezekiel." You went on to briefly explain that you offered Hotch another pair of hands to help with the case, thus the agent's appearance.

Although you were clear about Ezekiel's purpose, everyone couldn't help but take note of his arm around you. The only man they saw wrap their arm around your shoulders was Emily during an undercover operation, where she pretended to be a guy.

Spencer was not a fan.

"And Zeke, meet the behavioral analysis unit. Agents Hotchner, Rossi, Jareau, Prentiss, Morgan, and… Dr. Reid." You introduced them accordingly, paying attention to each one of the agents.

"Mr. Genius! Nice to finally meet you! I've heard so much about you." Ezekiel exclaimed, stretching a hand out to Spencer.

Spencer stared at the hand in front of him, "Clearly not enough." He lifted his hands out of his back pockets only to transfer them to the front pockets. "And it's Dr. Reid."

He couldn't help but shift his focus between you and the obnoxious arm on your shoulders. He wasn't exactly certain why he was feeling that way. He guessed it had something to do with the fact that he didn't get the chance to speak with you.

Ezekiel looked at his hand and retracted it with a shrug. He leaned against you, "You said he was fun." His face was of pure confusion.

You lightly shoved his face away from you, removing his arm on your shoulders in the process. "I promise, he's more helpful than he looks." You had the mistake of looking at Spencer as you spoke with a playful smile, immediately diverting your gaze to anyone else but him.

The reflexive habit was still present. You always had a knack for aiming for Spencer's approval of your humor. After years of trying to make him laugh in spite of feeling depressed about Maeve, adjusting your humor to align with his became second nature.

Spencer found himself smiling a bit at the millisecond of attention you gave him. He missed it. He missed you.

If the universe was giving him a sign, you standing in front of him was one big slap of a sign. This was his chance to make things right with you.

He'd do anything to make it up to you.

His first attempt was to join any conversation you had with anyone on the team. He tried. He really tried to get your attention, but somehow, before he could even breathe a word out, Ezekiel pops out of nowhere and takes up all your attention.

"Why can't you do it yourself?" You groaned yet stood up from your seat. Spencer wished you didn't.

Ezekiel ruffled your hair, "Less complaining, more doing. You lost the bet, remember?" He laughed, leaning against his seat.

Derek swore he saw Spencer's eye twitch inside out after seeing Ezekiel ruffle your hair.

You stomped out of the conference room, mumbling, "Stupid bet," under your throat.

"You would've beaten Morgan up if he asked you the same thing."

You jumped out of shock, spilling a bit of the hot water on the counter. Spencer followed you out, standing awkwardly next to you. You silently wiped the water off the counter and quickly stirred the cup.

With one last tap of the spoon on the edge of the cup, you turned to Spencer, "Just be glad it wasn't you." You deadpanned, walking away without giving him the chance to say a word.

First attempt: failed.

You clearly weren't in the mood to speak with him, especially when you hadn't gotten your usual coffee. You hated precinct coffee to the bone. Thus, you tortured yourself from lack of caffeine and exhaustion.

This sparked Spencer's second attempt to gain your friendship back: offer you coffee. Your coffee order has been in the back of his mind for the past month. It turns out he liked your odd coffee concoction after finding himself with two cups of coffee every morning the first two weeks you were gone.

The first two days were purely out of habit. The rest were out of the delusion that you'd be sitting on your old desk when he gets in the office.

So, he could only imagine the dejection when you arrived the next morning with an unfamiliar coffee order and bright laughter as you told Ezekiel how his coffee order had changed your life for the better.

Spencer constantly expressed his disapproval. Of course, you weren't happy about it. What was worse was you didn't know why. And worse than that, he couldn't figure out why.

Or so he thought.

As soon as he found an opening, Spencer pulled you into the side. He brought the two of you into an empty interrogation room.

"What are you doing?" You snatched your arm from his grip. You weren't stupid. You noticed Spencer's fixation for your attention. You did your best to be civil, but he was making it very difficult for you.

"You've barely been in the ViCAP unit, and you're already smitten with your superior. I think it's safe to say it does not look good on you. You don't even know whether he's a decent guy." Spencer gulped. He knew exactly how stupid he sounded.

You blinked loudly and chuckled, "So?"

Spencer straightened his back and averted his eyes away from yours, "So… I suggest you…" He trailed off. He didn't plan this far. He should've planned farther than this. It wasn't exactly very clever of him, and your glare made him dumb.

"Suggest me what?" You crossed your arms on your chest. When Spencer didn't speak for fifteen seconds, you continued, "You have no right to tell me what looks good for me. Or anything about me. You made that pretty clear, Reid. Stick with it."

You purposely bumped into his shoulder on your way out, leaving him dumbfounded and dry-mouthed.

His chest felt tight as if a hand was clenching it into the tiniest crumple of paper. He closed his eyes in agony as he whispered, "Damn it," running his fingers through his hair.

With the 187 IQ he's been bragging about, he couldn't imagine his own disappointment when he failed to realize his feelings for you.

You have been nothing but kind to him. When he was grieving, you were the only one he wanted to confide in. You were the only one who could make him smile. The only one who could make him laugh with an average humor. The one that made painful things less miserable.

And without him knowing, he fell for your kind smiles and warm company.

He became addicted to you.

Spencer did his best to avoid it, but he couldn't help himself. How could someone not fall for someone amazing like you? Clearly not him.

Your friendship felt more important to him, though. It always was. It was too important that he spent his time finding a fix for his infatuation. Shoving his growing feelings for you as if it were a crime.

But you just couldn't let him not fall for you. You didn't even try. You were just you, and he was just one of your willing victims. It was inevitable.

The deeper he fell for you, the more he wanted not to.

He was a weakling, a stupid coward, and irrevocably in love with you.

So, was he disappointed that you fell for the genius prodigy? Or was he disappointed that he never realized how deep he'd fallen for you until you left?

The next day was Spencer's worst nightmare.

You were at gunpoint.

Close and yet so far.

"Come any closer, and I'll shoot her!" The unsub shouted, holding you by the neck with his arm wrapped around it.

Spencer felt his hands clammy. You were too close to the unsub for him to find an opening. Backup was still a few minutes away. He didn't know what to do.

He took a deep breath, "No one needs to get hurt. Just let her go, and we can talk this out." He kept his gun pointed at the unsub.

He made sure you knew that. He never wanted you to think that he'd ever point a gun at you, even if you weren't already.

The unsub's grip tightened around your neck, and you could barely manage to let out a gasp. Tears began to spill from your eyes as air dissipated from your lungs. Your consciousness was hanging by a thread.

"Shut the hell up!" The unsub shifted the tip of his gun towards Spencer. He glanced at you and at Spencer's pleading face. He laughed, "If you let me go, I'll make sure someone rich buys her. You don't have to worry. I'll make sure they treat her well."

"Don't!" You choked, "Don't listen to him, Spence!" You were stammering, almost unable to form words.

Hearing you call him by his first name for the first time in a while gave Spencer a concussion. A string of déjà vu coursed through his body. Spencer was more terrified than he already was. He couldn't lose you again. He couldn't go through it again.

You could see it in his eyes. You knew that look from miles away. You've seen the same look etched in the deepest vault in your mind. The only thing was, you never imagined that you'd ever be the reason for it.

And just as you always have… you chose him.

You focused on his brown eyes. You took a deep breath and met Spencer's gaze, "Take the blunder."

His eyes widened. He felt his heart quicken. Spencer vigorously shook his head, tightening his grip on his gun.

After spending time together in his gloomy apartment, you and Spencer found enjoyment in playing chess. A few phrases stuck to heart, inside jokes that filled both of you with mindless giggles.

What used to be a funny term turned into something Spencer feared the most at that moment.

You were asking him to shoot you.

"No! I won't do that!" Spencer shouted, shaking his head to the point of dizziness. There must be another way. He needed to find another way to save you.

"What the fuck are you two talking about?!" The unsub pointed the gun back at your temple. This time, he made sure you felt the cold metal on your skin.

Both you and Spencer knew that the unsub was too far gone to be reasonable. Your plan was the only plan that'd work. He had to shoot you and let the bullet through to hit the unsub down. Of course, it wasn't a perfect one.

But it'd save many lives and his, and you were content with that idea alone. Except Spencer wasn't.

You closed your eyes, "Spencer, do it!" You begged, suffocating. "Take the fucking blunder! Now!"

Spencer didn't notice his watery eyes, fixing his vision solely on you. His hands were shaking. His body was ice cold. He could hear you and your fading breath. He aimed his gun at your shoulder, steadying his stance.

A bright flash and two loud strikes prompted you and the unsub to fall to the floor.

Hotch came into view across Spencer, pointing his gun to where the unsub used to chokehold you.

Spencer flew to your side, taking you in his arms as sobs spilled out of his lips. "No, no, no, no. Not again, no. Please, no." He brushed the hair off your face, holding your cheek.

A chuckle curved the ends of your lips, "You're a horrible shot." Your eyes were still closed as you felt a small sting on your shoulder grow as it bled out.

His breath hitched. Spencer chuckled a cry as he pulled you into a hug. It was so tight and yet gentle enough to let you catch your breath. "I thought I was going to lose you," He whispered. You never thought Spencer would ever hug you tighter than he already was. "I didn't— I don't want to lose you."

Soon, Spencer had to let you go as the paramedics came to your aid. They dragged you out where everyone waited in anticipation.

Ezekiel was the first to run to you, "You alright?" He replaced Spencer's spot on your side.

"I'll live," you shrugged, regretting it immediately as you felt a painful shock travel from your shoulder. You cursed under your breath.

"Stop moving, dumbass." Ezekiel scolded, turning to the paramedics and asking them if there was any way he could help.

Spencer felt empty at the sight. His heart shattered at the sight of someone else taking care of you. But compared to Ezekiel, he had no chance. And it broke Spencer even more.

But that didn't mean he couldn't try to befriend you.

So he chose friendship. He always did, after all.

He visited you the next morning, the first one to arrive as soon as visiting hours began.

"Hey," Spencer flashed a thin smile.

You placed the book you were reading down on your lap, returning his smile, "Hey."

This time, Spencer knew you weren't just being polite. It made his heart swell from relief. He still had a chance to make things right.

He walked inside the room, placing a small bouquet of white daisies on the bedside table. Spencer pointed at your book, "I have a book just like that." He started, attempting to make casual conversation.

"It's actually yours," You flipped the pages, revealing thousands of annotations. You only knew one person who did that. "It was my favorite. I couldn't let it go…" You gently wiped the cover.

George Orwell's 1984 novel was the first book Spencer ever lent you. As you packed your stuff from your old desk, you couldn't help but pick up one book to keep.

Spencer looked around, "Where's Agent Ezekiel?" He wondered out loud. Maybe too loud. The name rolled off his tongue with subtle disgust. He felt conflicted about the guy's absence from your side but was also relieved that he got to have you to himself.

"He's talking to my aunt," You replied nonchalantly, refraining yourself from shrugging.

His eyebrows furrowed, "Your aunt? Don't you mean your mom?"

You shook your head, looking at him oddly. "Last I heard, Zeke's my cousin, not my brother."

Spencer's eyebrows lifted over his forehead, "Ah, right. Yeah, that'd be weird…" He gave his best to sound casual while he internally screamed in his head. If only he could do a somersault without breaking every bone in his body and looking stupid, he would.

"Imagine the horror," You scoffed, bringing the book up to continue reading.

He watched you silently for a moment. He never knew why he thought a friend was all he was ever going to see you as. It must be the stupidest idea he's ever had.

Spencer bit his lower lip, his hands clenched on the side of your bed, "I—" He bit his tongue, unsure how to continue or how to start.

You turned to him with raised eyebrows, "Hmm? D'you say something?" You closed the book, giving him all the attention he has been dying to get for the past week.

"I—uh…" He swallowed the lump in his throat, "I know it's way too late to say this, but," Spencer wet his lips and met your gaze, "I'm sorry for being a jerk and—"

"It's okay, Spence," You smiled, cutting him off. "I did throw my feelings at you out of nowhere, so I kind of understand—"

Spencer cut you off, "Still doesn't it make it right for me to be an asshole. It's not like you—"

You shook your head, "But I was being unreasonable. I had no right to stop you from—"

It was like a game. Both of you kept cutting each other off like an indecisive scale.

Spencer couldn't take it anymore and grabbed your face, giving you a quick, soft kiss on your lips. "Just shut up for a second…" His breath fanned on your face, "Please…" He rested his forehead on yours and began to speak as soon as he felt you nod. "I'm sorry for being a jerk. I'm sorry for reacting like a coward. And I'm sorry for being stupid." He spoke in a rush as if he knew you'd talk over him as soon as you had the chance to.

"I'm sorry I said I was disappointed in you. I made a blunder…" You laughed at his joke. "I thought if I turned you down, I'd never have to worry about losing you. I was obviously wrong." He playfully rolled his eyes, only widening your grin. "I was falling for you, and I chickened out—"

You felt giddy. You couldn't stop the grin on your face. Your eyes couldn't help but stare at his lips. You did your best to listen to his sweet words, but damn were you easily distracted by him.

Apologies after apologies, sweet words after sappy sentiments. You grew too impatient. He was talking too much.

"Spencer, just say you love me and kiss me," You interjected, pulling his shirt to get him closer.

He laughed softly. A sound that made your heart skip a beat. He caressed your cheek with his thumb, tilting your head higher.

"I love you… I'm in love with you."

Spencer felt so good to finally admit it: to you and to himself. He pulled you in once more and kissed you again, longer this time.

He couldn't get enough of it, enough of you. He only pulled away when a nurse came in to check on you, blushing like a red beet.

Not a second after, his phone rang. The team was looking for him and wondering where he was, emphasizing the fact that they were to fly in forty minutes.

Spencer went back into the room, low-spirited. He didn't want to leave you just yet. You had barely forgiven him, and he barely knocked some sense into his stubborn head. He wanted to stay and make up for the month he'd missed.

But duty calls, so he sat silently as the jet took off the runway, fiddling with the loose string on his cuff. A snapping sound pulled him out of his trance.

"Reid," Derek called out as he sat on the left seat across Spencer. "How'd it go?" Derek queried.

"How'd what go?" Spencer's eyebrows raised. What could Derek possibly mean?

Derek looked at him as if Spencer was crazy, "You said you'd go to the hospital to get your migraine checked out. Is everything alright?"

JJ heard their conversation, turning on her seat, "Didn't you get checked out last week? Is it getting worse?" She worriedly asked, joining the discussion.

Spencer's ears turned pink as he quickly glanced at JJ, "Y-yeah... I mean, no. I'm fine." He stuttered, clearing his throat.

Emily squinted at the boy genius' stutter. She wasn't as smart as him, but she knew him well enough to know when he was lying. "Which hospital did you go to?" She raised her eyebrows.

"The... one on..." Spencer wasn't prepared to take the hot seat. His mind was still clouded by the thought of you. It was like he was under the influence, unable to get his head straight.

"The one where she's staying?" Emily prompted.

"Yeah, the one where she's staying—wait who?" Spencer was taken aback.

Emily grinned, catching a glimpse of a purple hue on Spencer's skin hiding behind his collar. "I think he's fine," She told JJ and Derek. He looked at Spencer, "You're fine, right?"

Spencer hesitantly nodded his head.

Derek's eyebrows knitted, "What are you on about?" He turned to Emily, who was sitting next to him.

"When you're stressed out, what do you usually do?" Emily raised her hand before letting Derek answer, "With Savannah." She smirked.

"Damn, Prentiss. I didn't know you were that curious about my sex life." Derek replied sarcastically.

"No," Emily smacked her forehead. She decided not to explain herself any further. She looked at the genius across him, "So, how is she?" When Spencer gave her a confused look, she rolled her eyes, "Oh, please. Stop acting like you didn't just make out with her."

Spencer looked down and giggled silently. Busted. It was your fault, really. Before he left, you made sure to turn his frown upside down and did it so well that his mind was malfunctioning from the memory of your lips, leaving marks on his chest.

"She's fine. The doctor said she'd be able to fly home in a few days." Spencer replied giddily.

Emily smirked, "Yeah, I bet she's fine, alright." She pointed at Spencer's tie, enough hint for Derek and JJ to catch up in the conversation.

"My man," Derek's grinned.

JJ's eyes widened, and her mouth was slightly agape. "So, are you two made up?"

Spencer nodded, "Yeah... just a tricky blunder."

reid masterlist | masterlist

[wettbewerberrr]

Exdee is the most benevolent god in the eyes of mortals (at least those, who see him as a true god) — a carefully crafted image of his human-like form and frequent appearances to his followers in comparison to other deities. He is, besides other things, a patron of hunters and warriors, who grants them luck and plentiful kill. Punz, being a hunter and a warrior alike, is one of his most devoted followers: Exdee was the only companion in his lonesome life and his word was his only guidance. Exdee himself has a strong fondness towards Punz, towards each and every partner of his reincarnations, actually, as they are a key component in unraveling the secrets of the universe and death itself (one must admit, it would be simply inaffective to explore the afterlife without having the opportunity to be killed and revived yourself). Their relationship became ever deeper with their first meeting in limbo. Punz, perhabs, was teased for redirecting his devotion towards Dream, but praised for dedication and the faith in him right after. The impression made on him by the fact that the god he had been praying to almost before he could speak wore the face of his employer reinforced Exdee's order to obey Dream's every word as if his whole life was built on this one principle. Many things were left unspoken between them, but Punz had the impression, that he knew of Dream's connection to Exdee even more than Dream did himself.

His faith was shaken during Dream's imprisonment though. There was nothing Punz liked about their plan, but the only thing he could, the only thing he was allowed to do, was praying for Dream's well-being. It was a couple of months since the Disc Confrontation when he and Bad had their quiet exchange, when Punz slipped in a question about his partner's state. And Bad, the kind man he is, who became a guard in attempts to ease the nightmares of prisoner's torture, couldn't keep his quiet (or, maybe, he saw a chance - a vulnerability which could be exploited). The news made Punz spiral into a religious crisis - how could the god he was worshipping allow for his disciple to be tormented, how could he ignore his tearful pleas, why didn't he intervene, if he was the only deity known to do that? His god was silent, but the Egg wasn't. Nothing could be done to rescue Dream without rendering both his pain and the whole plan pointless, but the Egg offered Punz relief and oblivion and the chaos he yearned for. Besides, the members of the Eggpire offered kind words and support, unlike the suffocating dark room and Exdee's cold gaze, his icon perfectly capturing it, silently watching Punz's futile pleading.

[sincerelyneo]

sunflower vol 6 | l.hc

“i couldn’t want you anymore, kiss in the kitchen like it’s a dance floor”

💿now playing: sunflower vol 6 by harry styles

❯ summary: Let’s make dinner together, he said. I’ll behave, he said. Honestly, you should have known that was a lie because when it comes to you, Haechan is never on his best behaviour. That’s why he’s sneaking sly touches every time you complete a step in your recipe.

❯ pairings: haechan x fem!reader

❯ genre: established relationship, fluff, suggestive content

❯ words: 1.4k

❯ tags: tooth rotting fluff, domesticated fluff, swearing, kissing, pet names, literally just hyuck being so boyfriend and them dancing in the kitchen together.

an: i’m a firm believer that harry styles wrote this song about haechan

Hyuck bursts through the front door with a sense of urgency, unable to contain his excitement. It's been months since he last saw you, his girlfriend whom he's more than just a little obsessed with, and the door feels like just another barrier in his way. He thought his job, which requires him to tour for half the year, was obstacle enough.

"Baby, I'm home!" he calls out eagerly, scanning the apartment for any sign of you. Disappointment flickers across his face when he doesn't immediately spot you waiting for him with open arms.

The honeyed tone of his voice instead echoes from the living room to your bedroom, drawing you to him like a magnet. Without wasting a moment, you rush down the stairs and wrap your arms around his neck.

You melt into each other effortlessly, as you always do. Your bodies seem custom-made for one another, fitting together perfectly. You've missed his touch, his warmth, in a way that FaceTime calls could never fulfil. Nothing compares to the physical presence of your Hyuck.

You plant a gentle kiss on the soft skin of his cheek before pulling back to meet his gaze. "You weren't supposed to be home for another four hours. What's going on?"

"I got an earlier flight because I missed you so much," he replies with a grin. 

You shake your head, but a smile still tugs at your lips. You've never encountered a man more smitten and in love than him. It's endearing, really. It's the kind of love his friends would tease him about if he didn't take so much pride in it.

You run a hand through your hair, trying to process the fact that he's here in your living room. You're happy, of course, but you had hoped to be all dolled up for his arrival, not standing in old pyjamas after months apart

"Well... are you hungry? We could order takeout if you want. You can tell me all about that tour that's kept you away from me for what feels like forever," you suggest with a smile, and his eyes soften at the invitation

"Babyyy," he whines, catching you off guard a little. His hands slide to your back, pulling you in by your waist as he plants a kiss on top of your head. "Can't we make dinner together?"

You raise an eyebrow, pulling away to look up at him, his hands still wrapped around you. "By 'we,' you mean me?"

"Of course not. You know I make an excellent sous chef. Restaurants should be grateful I chose music instead of culinary arts.” 

You shake your head, with a grin. "We never get anything done when we cook together. Remember last time?"

He smirks, recalling the memory. "It's not my fault you asked me to get something out of the fridge, and when I turned around, you were bent over the counter showing your ass to me. I couldn't help myself."

You give him a deadpan look but he only smirks more.

"And if we're being honest, I remember you loving it." His arms cross over his chest, the satisfaction in him beaming from knowing that you know he's right. You did enjoy those steamy cooking sessions, but not right now; you're hungry.

"Please, baby, I missed your cooking. Nothing any restaurant can make compares to your food," he pleads. "I'll be on my best behaviour."

And although you know better, and you know that there’s no such thing as "best behaviour" with Lee Donghyuck, you still can't resist. And so, you give in. 

Surprisingly, everything goes well. Hyuck isn’t too much of a distraction; instead, he follows your instructions without protest. He grabs ingredients, chops vegetables, and even compliments the head chef— and nothing catches fire.

Progress is being made.

That is until your boyfriend finishes the little tasks you assign him and wraps his arms around your waist while you chop ingredients.

“Hyuck… you promised—”

His plush lips melt against your neck so delicately that you nearly chop off your finger—though Hyuck won’t let that happen, gripping your hands to steady them. He chuckles softly, his lips quirking against your skin.

“I know what I said, Y/N,” he teases. “I’m just trying to help.”

“You’re not trying to help; you’re trying to distract.”

He laughs, “You know… I bought a new record while I was on tour. It has that one song you love.”

You pause, setting the knife down and pressing your hands against the counter as you turn to face him.

“Oh yeah?”

He nods, “I think we should play it while you cook.”

“I thought we were supposed to be cooking together?” 

Hyuck simply chuckles as he heads over to the record player in your kitchen and sets the record spinning. Soft guitar notes fill the space, and despite your need to focus, you can’t help but smile.

You watch as he dances across the cool kitchen tiles, a smirk on his lips, until he stands behind you. His hand finds your elbow, gently pulling you backwards.

The laugh that spills from you is warm and Hyuck matches it as his hands drift down your arms to your hands, fingers threading together before he pulls you back into his broad, solid chest. 

Strong arms cross your own chest, and the two of you start to sway against each other. The music is quiet and grainy and mixed with the sound of your feet creaking on the floor. 

The two of you float back and forth—a stream of sunlight streams in through the high window. You close your eyes and let the light shift across your eyelids. Hyuck’s lips find your ear, singing softly. The sound was gentle and sweet and you could hear the smile in his voice.

“I’ll never forget the moment I realised I love you.”

You sink further against him, your voice humming as you ask, “Yeah? When was that?”

“The minute I saw you,” he breathes. “You were dancing so carelessly, and I knew then—you were my person. You’ll always be my person.”

You’re grinning like an idiot despite rolling your eyes as you let go of Hyuck’s hands and turn around in his arms. You slide your palms up his chest to wind around the back of his neck, pressing your foreheads together. 

“You’re so cheesy.”

“And you love it,” he responds easily, smiling with his eyes closed as he continues to sway with you in the tiny kitchen of your tiny apartment. You nod, leaning forward to knock your noses together gently with an exaggerated sigh.

“I do. And I love you. I wouldn’t want to spend a minute loving anybody else.”

Hyuck hums, pulling you in closer and starts walking you backwards slowly until your hips rest against the counter. He dips down, curling his hands around the backs of your thighs and effortlessly hoists you up to sit on the edge. You open your eyes and run your fingers through his hair, twisting a perfect little strand around your finger just the way he likes it.

He looks back at you, eyes filled with patience and love. Then he leans in, drawing you into a soft, lazy kiss—because he’s finally home, because he can, because he loves doing it, because it’s all he ever wants to do from now until forever.  You melt against his chest, pressing up into the contact. When you break apart, Hyuck rests his lips against your temple, swaying gently with you in his arms.

“I’m so in love with you,” He says softly.

You rest your cheek against his shoulder and brush your nose back and forth against his neck as you close your eyes and smile.

“I love you too, Hyuck.”

You linger in the warmth of his touch until the sharp beeping of the oven interrupts the moment. You pull away slightly, frowning at the oven’s display.

“Ugh, I forgot I put that in there!” you exclaim, glancing over your shoulder to see smoke beginning to curl from the edges.

Hyuck chuckles, but there is no concern creeping into his voice. “Can’t believe my first meal home is going to be charcoal.” 

You rush to the oven, Hyuck close behind. As you open the door, a plume of smoke escapes, and you cough. 

“This is totally your fault! What happened to you not being distracting?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

He shrugs, leaning down to plant another soft kiss on your lips. “What can I say? I’m obsessed with you.”

[tsams-and-co-memes]

Ok

-sighs heavily-

Today was kind of a train wreck, but ngl, I'm not surprised, considering what happened yesterday

Eclipse,, definitely said some things that he shouldn't have. Not to Charlie, who is a litteral child and is still learning. He had every right to be angry and to blow up on her, when you take into account everything that she's done to him (the teeth thing, the baby incident, going into his head without permission (I think? Feel free to correct me if I'm wrong)), but still. There are limits and boundaries, and something that should be off limits to say to a child is that the best thing she did was die. I understand his anger and frustration since this has been building up, but again, he went too far

Charlie, meanwhile,, had no right to suddenly scream at him like she did. It's like she forgot all about the nice things he's done for her (making her last days as a human as comfortable as possible, easing her pain during death, throwing her a birthday party, reuniting her with her dad, etc). He hasn't ALWAYS been mean, he's just under an incredible amount of stress right now. The fate of the world is literally resting on his shoulders, and I don't think she fully comprehends the seriousness and severity of that. I don't expect her to, since. She's only 11, and all, but still

Ruin shouldn't have told her to distract Eclipse, and he shouldn't have blown up at her like he did. He's under an enormous amount of stress and frustration, just like Eclipse is, and trying to sort of indirectly sabotage whatever Eclipse is doing, is just playing dirty. Telling Charlie to distract Eclipse wasn't a good idea either, since Ruin knew how badly Charlie wanted to help, and I'm like 1000% sure that he would've known she'd do it. The only thing he couldn't have known was HOW. Buuuuuuut,, if I'm being totally honest, I don't blame him for exploding at Charlie, either. Again, he's under an enormous amount of stress, and he's desperate to save his Monty, and he's frustrated because nothing seems to be working. Charlie kept offering suggestions, but she essentially kept offering the same idea, even though Ruin explained to her multiple times, in the simplest ways possible, that anything involving her powers wouldn't work. Idk about you, but I think I'd get tired of repeating myself over and over, too

Honestly, considering yesterday, I'm surprised that Eclipse was ok with Roxanne being anywhere near him, but at the same time, she probably just insisted on being there, and he probably didn't care enough to yell at her about it. She.... probably shouldn't be the one to talk to him about today, though. After the bullying yesterday, the best thing I think she could do for him would be to leave him alone and give him space. Solar Flare,, did a good thing by intervening like he did. It's nice that he wants to try talking to Eclipse, and I hope he maintains a middle ground, instead of picking sides, since... if he leans too much into berating Eclipse, that'll just piss off Eclipse even more

TLDR; Everybody sucks and everything is a giant mess. Y’know. Again. Some of it is understandable, but some of it definitely went too far, and they need to learn how to better respect each other. In this extremely crucial time when they should be working together, the worst thing they can do is tear each other down

[minas-linkverse]

about the dynamics thingy, ( sorry if this is late ) botw Zelda and link maybe? Or twi and legend? Have an nice dayyy

Ohohoo you've chosen to ask about the duo with some of the most stuff to talk about. >:]

Zelda and (botw) Link's relationship in this au is undeniably positive, but also very complicated. The best way for me to explain it is to explain the big events in their shared past that shaped that relationship!

Pre-Calamity

Zelda, faced with a heavy destiny she did not want and feared she'd never be able to fulfill... Was understandably in an emotionally turbulent state. When she first met Link --a boy who seemed to lack opinions of his own and seemed to fulfill his role perfectly-- she hated him. However she felt immensely guilty of that, and after an outburst apologized and tried to explain herself to Link. After all, Link was very much in the same boat as her, maybe... Maybe he could actually get it.

He unfortunately had to disappoint her...

The war

Despite their inability to form an emotionally connection through words, they did end up becoming close due to the horrors they witnessed together. They couldn't talk about how they felt but they kept each other safe.

When Zelda lost Link and awakened to her destiny, it wasn't as much due to the pain of losing a friend, but losing the last person she had. The last hope the kingdom had.

100 years later

When Zelda called out to Link in the Shrine of Resurrection, she was speaking out to a legendary hero who was destined to slay Calamity ganon.

The person who heard her however, was a memory-less boy who realized he has epic sword skills and can do back-flips. Hearing of his destiny, he decided to immediately go the very opposite direction and instead have fun. They had the wrong guy! This "Link" guy may have owned this body before but he now didn't know or care about these strangers.

Yet during his journey across Hyrule... He fell in love with it. The first few memories he tried to ignore, but as they kept coming he came to realize two things:

The Link the world had known 100 years ago was not happy. He was simply the ideal soldier, someone with no opinions of his own.

The Princess had deserved better than who he'd been. Now that Link had grown to love the world and tried to reject a destiny forced upon him, the feelings she shared with him suddenly made sense-- And thinking back to his lack of response broke his heart.

He wasn't going to run away from what needed to be done anymore. Link seeked out his destiny and slayed Calamity Ganon. For the world he loved, and... For the Princess who he wanted nothing more than to apologize to.

Post Game

Before being yoinked into the comic, Zelda and Link have been reconnecting while getting started with rebuilding Hyrule-- Not as a kingdom, but a home. It was certainly awkward at first. In Zelda's eyes this boy wore the face of someone she knew, but acted entirely different... And on top of that, this stranger knew her like they'd known one another for ages.

Despite the horrors in their memories that will never fade, and the endless guilt as the only few who made it out... They found a new kind of happiness neither had felt before.

To me their relationship in the comic is probably the best described as queerplatonic. It's not even a question of if they'll be together for the rest of their lives, its a promise they've already made without a single word.

Being taken on a whole new adventure without her has been jarring to Link, but! Zelda has good people around her. The two are not dependent on one another. Hopefully the time travel nonsense will get him back home for a quick hi sometime soon, but at least he'll have a lot of interesting things to tell her...

They're a team! To the very end!

Disclaimer: If the comic contradicts whats written here in the future, the comic's canon is the one you should prioritize!

[greypistacchio]

something something, heartwrenching parallel as dean and castiel mirror each other's original purpose and exchange roles-

"You don't think you deserve to be saved."

"Nothing you could've done would've saved me, because I didn't want to be saved. I needed to do penance."

i'm sure there's a lot more going on than I can coherently express, but there's something about the way Dean and Castiel have swapped their roles that fascinates me.

Dean and Cas both were raised to be weapons who acted as told, and did not question the path laid out before them. John Winchester and Heaven are similar in that any order they gave must be followed to a T without so much as a head tilted to the side. authoritarian parenting is infamous for many things, and one of the ways in which it fucks a person up the most is their moral perfectionism.

good soldier Dean could not bear the thought of not meeting his father's expectations. so when John left them a cryptic message, he jumped head-first into whatever job it pointed to. throughout seasons 1 to 3, we see Sam try to argue against the idealised version of John Winchester that Dean is holding onto, but Dean refuses to hear any of it because he can't. the idea of straying from his father's path frightens him, as does the feeling that he failed to live up to his father's standards, but what might scare him the most is the act of questioning John Winchester's teachings itself. he doesn't have a moral compass other than the hand-me-down one he got from John, after all, and after an entire life spent protecting Sam as they hit the road time and time again, all Dean sees himself as is a hunter. a silver bullet, a syringe loaded with dead man's blood, a rosary plunged into a water tank amongst whispered blessings.

similarly enough, Castiel has been a Servant of Heaven ever since he was created. all he's ever known is his Garrison, and all he's ever been taught to do is fight the fights that Heaven says he must. throughout the centuries, Castiel has only ever been valued as a weapon and treated as such, and weapons do not question their Maker's orders. but along comes Dean Winchester, who defies all of Castiel's beliefs, and soon enough Castiel finds himself experiencing what frightens him, too, the most. he finds himself wondering.

when Castiel met Dean, he was puzzled that Dean couldn't see past his mistakes. he didn't understand why Dean wouldn't agree with him that a second chance from God must mean he's a good enough person, and he didn't understand why Dean couldn't see all the good he did, all the lives he saved, and all the love he gave out with every case he and Sam took on.

now the roles are reversed, though, and it's Dean's turn to watch as Castiel beats himself up about the things he did when he strayed from Heaven's path. when Dean went through the same thing, he had a fatherly figure and a brother that loved him through his self-hatred. it wasn't easy, but he kept getting up every morning, and he kept pushing through the crap. Castiel, though? he's rebelled against his Maker, and against his kind, and he bears the weight of countless angelic lives lost to the civil war against Michael for the sake of keeping Apocalypse away. he cannot see past the deaths of his siblings to look at the many lives that were saved by averting the Apocalypse, and he cannot see how he deserves anything other than pain after his attempt at winning the civil war in Heaven and keeping humanity safe ended up freeing the Leviathan. he did good, so much of it, but he cannot see it. he cannot hear it, no matter how loud Dean shouts.

there was also something in Dean's teary eyes that broke my heart, because he's looking at Castiel with so much pain for him. the man rewrote his own memories because he couldn't bear to live with the knowledge that Castiel let go of his hand, and he's been beating himself up about Cas not making it out of Purgatory because it hurts less than remembering that it was Cas who rejected Dean's hand. and it's easier to relapse on self-loathing and guilt than it is to acknowledge that he never had a say on losing Cas to all the pain and hurt

having been where Castiel is at the moment himself, i can't imagine how tormented Dean must feel. once you've been actively suicidal like Dean was for a good number of episodes, you can tell when someone's going through the same stuff, and it pains you so much that you can't pull them out of the downwards spiral. as much as Dean wishes he could, he can't make Castiel see that he, too, deserves forgiveness and another chance. he can't do anything until Castiel stops shoving him away, and if there is one thing Dean knows damn well - it's how hard it is to break free from a lifetime of chronic shame and deep-seated guilt over having a mind of your own.

i would love to write a quick fic exploring this from Dean's PoV, tbh

[reveluving]

Thought of the Day: Mitch Keller being extra 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂.

warnings: s~mut obv (EXTRA spicy imo, so minors DNI!), bits of fluff (self-indulgent), very brief mentions of dr-gs, & the usual explicit language!

a/n: don't ask, just read because mitch keller. please enjoy, take care & don’t forget to leave some sugar! ᐠ( ᐛ )ᐟ

» wanna read more on garrett's characters? check out my new g.hedlund m.list!

» smut includes; obsessive, panties-stealing husband!mitch (YESSS), mild m~asturbation & 'darlin'' as a petname ❤️

'But would that really quell his thoughts?' ;

Whether you're feeling under the weather or the like for the day, Mitch, ever the attentive husband, will convince you to stay home while he takes care of the saloon for the night.

It was no problem, it wouldn't be his first rodeo, no matter how busy it would get.

The real problem was being away from you even just a few hours.

It had been a while since he had worked the bar without you by his side, but he couldn't bear the thought of you overworking for even a minute, no matter how hard you tried to reassure him.

Sure, there was no harm in texting, maybe video-calling when the shift slows down—he’s done it plenty of times—just for a few minutes.

But would that really quell his thoughts?

Just as he wondered though, helping you out with some chores, he eyed the laundry basket, specifically the little fabric at the top.

He stilled, long enough without even realizing it until your sweet voice called for him from the kitchen. Shortly after reassuring you, he carried the basket to the washer, and even then, he couldn’t stop staring at the pair of panties, in both your favourite kind and colour.

Even as it sat at the very top of the pile, he, instead, shoved the ones below into the machine, giving him just a few extra seconds on whether he should think with his brain or with his cock.

But then again, he always had a daredevil streak, hasn’t he?

The corners of his lips were already quirking upwards as soon as he got a hold of the pretty little material, taking the time to appreciate it in between his fingers.

Man, did he feel like a creep.

It didn’t stop your husband from having a quick whiff of it even before his rational, more ‘civil’ side could berate him, already gaining some form of restraint for the coming shift. 

And even as he pocketed your panties, oh, he should’ve known better than to think it would be enough.

Hours into work, mindlessly serving drinks and all, he was starting to feel it, and one of his hands was in his pocket, already gripping the flimsy material even before he locked the bathroom door. 

His veiny arm shook as he slowly took your panties out, gazing upon the lace with half-lidded eyes, hazy with lust, and before he even knew it, he brought it to his nose, inhaling the panties that were so…

You.

Scent, sound, feel and all.

It didn't help that he realized it was the same panties you wore when he ate you out immediately after closing hours, dimming all but one light just enough to watch you in your glory. 

How he traced his lips and beard along your legs upon placing them over his shoulders before tugging your panties to the side, devouring you like a man starved. All while he couldn't help but roll his hips each time he shoved his tongue deeper into you.

He knew how much of a tease he was when he held your thighs down, ensuring you didn't buck too far from his hungry lips or his facial hair, waiting to be drenched by you.

He remembered how drunk he felt when you tugged at his hair, trying your best not to be forceful despite his pats at your ass turning into slaps and squeezes, encouraging you—downright forcing you to be rough with him.

And even now, as one hand fondled his tent through his jeans, the other holding onto your cute little underwear to his face, nipping and drooling on it, it felt better than any drugs he has ever had in his darker days tenfold, possibly even seeming like one as his eyes rolled back.

One glimpse at the mirror above the sink and he could've sworn he saw you, shyly rubbing at his clothed cock while he kissed you so passionately.

Fuck it. 

His customers could wait. 

He couldn't find it in his to care about the patrons who may have arrived without his knowledge, the man too far gone in his mind, thinking of you as he bit down onto your panties, one hand haphazardly unzipping his jeans while the other scrolling through his phone.

His thumb moved swiftly for a very specific folder in his gallery.

One he named ‘Darlin’ ❤️’.

˚ · . f i n . · ˚

» a/n: look me in the eyes and tell me he's not a freaky freak like this. right, you can't 🗣 ;; gorgeous divider by @firefly-graphics ♡

[toodelusionalforreality]

Azriel x OC | Chapter 10

Azriel

Both his brothers are mated. Both his brothers are happily in love. But after five centuries of rejection, Azriel doesn’t hope for such luxury in his life. When he meets the bar owner who is too mysterious even for the spymaster to decipher, his intrigue turns into more. Lines between mystery and secret blur. The closer he gets to her, the more his instincts warn him to stay away.

Previous Chapter: Whore

Word count: ~2.6k Warning: None [ROMANCE]

A/N: This is an experimental piece of work. I'm testing a writing style, so feedback is welcome. I wanted to post it along with the next one as this is the shortest chapter so far but writing this made me really happy and I couldn't wait to share it. Hope you enjoy!

Soft glow slipped through the cracks and lit the bottom of the stairs. Glasses clinked and clanked. Two familiar voices bantered and laughed, oblivious to the uninvited guest upstairs.

Yet, every one of his senses honed in on the other side of the door. Azriel knocked again. Three short raps.

It was late when he arrived in Velaris. After spending weeks in an enemy territory with nothing but time to mull over the different ways Ayla could be in danger, Azriel looked forward to quieting those fears for good. However, his hope was short-lived.

The summons rang clear in his mind as soon as he breached the wards. For all that Rhys put him through, Azriel hadn’t been eager to face him this soon. It wasn’t a request, though, a High Lord’s order.

He learnt everything there was to learn in less than a day or two, after all, the state of Spring hadn’t improved from what he heard last. Tamlin refusing to take his fae form, wandering through the forests like a mindless predator on the prowl. The lands left unmanned and open to scavengers and vicious creatures alike. Villages lay in ruins as though the people had abandoned the court like their High Lord had done to them. Every now and then, a few Children of the Blessed strays crossed the borders freely without the Wall separating them.

Wilderness consumed the endless meadows, dark and gloomy, the lands devouring everything under the sun as if to cleanse the blood spilt on them. The beauty that once disguised the atrocities for centuries finally cracked, turning into something sinister, unrecognisable. 

If Azriel had any kindness left in him, he would pity Tamlin.

Despite his reports, he was ordered to stay put for weeks. It was a fitting punishment for dismissing a direct command and leaving the city without a word. Deep down, Azriel also knew there was more to it, and his suspicions were confirmed when Rhys insisted on meeting that very night.

His shadows, unwilling to be stalled further, disappeared while he suffered through a long recounting of what he witnessed down to every agonising detail. He expected Rhys to mention Ayla or their altercation at least once, but he didn’t.

No sooner had Azriel stepped out of the River House, a scroll wafted out of the stretch of darkness cast by his stature and inky mists rose up to meet him. Months of restraint that held him together shattered at the sight of the unmistakable sigil of the Court of Nightmares on the concocted seal of black and silver.

Open the door.

There were no names of the victims in the report—each one deemed unimportant, leaving Azriel’s mind churn with fresh fears. The face of the harlot, innocent and hopeful, as flames consumed the vines, the curtains, her red dress, while she waited. Her bright smile as she spoke of the impostor, her Ayla.

Nothing but a husk in her place now. No one to claim or mourn her. 

Azriel shouldn’t have left Velaris. He shouldn’t have left her.

Open the door!

Crimes happened in Hewn City every day, and the pleasure house was an insignificant establishment, to put it mildly. Then why did Keir call upon Rhys? It must have been the impostor’s ploy, too; it had to be.

His knuckles met the wood with a force that bordered on pounding.

Rhys had known of this attack and forbade his early return to keep him out of investigations. Earlier that night, he regarded him with a calculating stare like he was waiting for the right opportunity, a predator waiting for the perfect moment to pick on its prey. Yet, he didn’t utter a word.

Azriel pinched his eyes shut. The air grew thick. Splinters dug into his fingers. Shadows dancing in front of him coiled around his arms and shoulders, pulling him back. For the first time, the silence and darkness he had preferred all his life felt suffocating.

Then, he heard it. Footfalls, the faintest he had ever heard, right before the door swung open.

Ayla stepped out, her eyes on his hand gripping the doorframe with his might, and beyond it down the stairs. Perhaps to find one of her friends, Azriel realised. Her gaze, bright and alert, rose up to his face. A delicate brow lifted in a perfect arc. ‘It’s late.’

The remnant of voices faded. Lights flickered out. A door creaked shut in the distance. And Azriel stood still, every thought eddying out of his mind.

Her pale shirt slipped down the curve of her shoulder, the toggles fastened just enough to hold it together as though she barely managed to pull the crumpled thing on moments ago. Silky tendrils came undone from her braid, teasing her neck, and fluttered under his shuddered breath. Heat radiated from her, warm and real, that even drew his shadows closer. 

Azriel swallowed thickly.

Unimpressed by his silence, Ayla said, ‘What are you doing here?’

There was no anger in her words, nor surprise. Azriel wasn’t sure if she even expected an answer. He asked instead, ‘Are you alone?’

A smile grazed her lips, and Ayla looked away. ‘And what if I were?’ She took a step back, then another, backing into the loft.

Azriel matched her, step for step, his feet carrying him on their own. ‘Tell me it’s over.’

‘What is?’

A soft click echoed behind him. The room plunged into darkness, leaving her trapped alone with him. Her scent, sharp and unadulterated, marking every corner of the room, enveloped him. Azriel drew in another long breath and released it, realising she hadn’t taken anyone while he was gone. ‘You know,’ he said, a mere whisper, ‘The strangers. The late nights.’

Ayla hummed. ‘Why?’

Only a word, and Azriel was speechless. How was he supposed to convince her that the males she brought home were spies? Would she believe the spy of the High Lord she mistrusted? Just a warning should suffice till he fixed this, however, Ayla was too prideful and cynical to accept it from him.

A low chuckle interrupted his thoughts. ‘Which is troubling you? The strangers?’ Her head tipped to the side as she moved deeper and deeper into the chamber. ‘Or the late nights?’

‘It isn’t safe—’

‘You watch me.’ Azriel halted, and so did she, waiting for him to say something. Deny it, admit it. ‘Is that why? For my safety?’

The shadows had always been discreet, or so they made him believe. But as they darted away from his sight, hiding behind his wings, he was convinced Ayla knew more than he did. Azriel couldn’t be blamed for their mischief, and the touches they stole on his behalf were harmless, unlike what the others were capable of.

‘Or is that what you like, shadowsinger?’ Ayla whispered, her voice carrying a sinful note. ‘Do you prefer watching only me or. . .’

Her lips lifted in the way he was familiar with, the way when she was sure she had her opponent deciphered. 

Gods, the insinuation that he was twisted, which Azriel wasn’t far from, but to imply he would crave anyone but her— His throat closed up. A chill went down his spine. It was a trap, a delicious, enticing trap that he wanted to fall prey to. With each ragged breath, his resolve chipped away.

‘This isn’t about me,’ Azriel said more to himself than her, reminding himself of the purpose of his visit. He continued on his path, and she did as well. ‘You shouldn’t be so careless with who you invite in.’

The words came out harsher than he intended, but he couldn’t think past the shrinking distance between them as she slowed her steps or her bared throat as she craned her neck to meet his eyes.

‘I let you in.’

Azriel leaned close, close enough to notice the slight tremble of her lips when she took a breath. ‘End the games, Ayla.’

The finality in his tone rendered her stunned. Ayla blinked twice, and her smile faded. Her lips parted slowly, for a taunt or a threat that never came, as a soft thump interrupted her. Her eyes widening, she stumbled back. She reached forward, fingers grasping at his chest and failing to find purchase in the smooth leathers. 

Azriel slipped his arm around her waist without a thought, the act as easy as breathing. Something knocked into the back of his legs. His wings flared on instinct, but a weight bore them down until he lost his footing and the two fell together.

Holding her close, he braced his weight on his other arm, and his knee sank into plushness. It took him a moment to realise it wasn’t his shadows that broke the fall but her bed. 

The frenzied hum droning in his ears, the heaviness on his back holding him down; Azriel was a fool to trust them around Ayla.

Her heart rattled from their near fall, the sound drowning every rational thought in his mind. Her chest heaved with short, hurried breaths. Ayla was more than capable of getting out of his hold, throwing him off her, and yet, her hands lay by her side as though she had surrendered to fate, to him.

His instincts dictated that he pull away, walk out the door before he did something regrettable.

Maybe he never returned from Spring. Maybe he was poisoned, and maybe this was an elaborate hallucination conjured by his mind to numb its effects. 

But every inch of his body came alive in her presence; achingly aware of her warmth cradling him, her pliant and supple flesh sinking under his fingers, and those eyes. Those damning eyes basking in the glow of his siphons, glimmering like dancing pits of moonless sky, and they shone with something akin to awe as she searched his face. What she saw in him to be worthy of that gaze, Azriel didn’t know.

‘I can’t believe you let me do it,’ said Ayla, any trace of amusement gone. ‘When you didn’t return, I thought you changed your mind.’ A note of sincerity tinged her quiet confession.

‘You wanted to make it fair,’ argued Azriel.

Ayla chuckled almost in disbelief. ‘You let me bed them for fairness?’ Her breaths warmed his skin, and his own rose to match hers.

‘It’s what you wanted,’ Azriel voiced the mantra that kept him sane through this insanity, though in that moment, he hardly believed those words himself.

Unable to hold her gaze anymore, he stared at her pulse fluttering at the base of her neck. The mesmerising beat, a contrast to his raging thoughts, grounded him. Would a taste hurt? He could cherish it for the remainder of his life when this eventually came to an end.

His head barely dipped, her breath hitched.

‘Were you—’ a sigh left Ayla’s lips, tickling the shell of his ear. ‘You wanted to be chosen over the others.’

Azriel stilled. The accusation hung heavy and thick between them, and he almost fell for it. He looked up, expecting another one of that triumphant quirk of her lips; instead, he found naked observation in her eyes, curious even. Like she had been the one plagued with inescapable need and ache for months, the one in fear’s clutches helplessly caged in this wickedness.

Breathless, Ayla glanced at his lips.

Or maybe, she was right.

Azriel panted after the one who never desired him and the other who wasn’t meant to be his. Centuries wasted yearning for this. It was all he knew, to live in the distance, to pray for a swift end so he wasn’t riddled with hope. A part of him wondered if Ayla longed for him, if she sought him without the intervention of fate, he could be worthy of this.

Ayla drew another long breath. ‘Azriel.’

A shiver rolled down his spine. Azriel had dreamt of this moment before. Their first time, he had stolen the kiss from her. He had vowed to make it right the next time. He would stare into her eyes, watch the desire pool in them, trace the curve of her jaw with his scarred fingers. He would make her anticipate more, ask for more. When she was a blushing mess for him, he would kiss her gently. Taste her slowly. First, her lips. Then, her skin. And if she allowed, maybe more. That’s what his mate deserved.

But when Ayla whispered his name with intent—testing it on her tongue, savouring it—Azriel crashed his lips on hers.

And this time, there was no hesitation.

Ayla wrapped her legs around his waist and tugged him flush against her, while her hands smoothed over his chest. When Azriel tried to restore some distance between them again, she slipped her fingers into the collar of his leathers and pulled him back.

Azriel sucked on her lip. Ayla flicked his with the tip of her tongue.

Azriel tightened his arm around her. Ayla sighed against him.

Azriel trailed a path down her jaw, where his blade had once left a bruise, each kiss an apology due. Through the sharpness of her fragrance he adored, he scented something else, something so, so sweet that it fractured his mind, nearly ripping a pathetic moan out of him. He licked a long strip up her neck, wanting to taste something, anything.

Ayla arched her back, allowing him to mark her to his content. Her hands wandered all over him, gripping his shoulder, feeling his back, easing in between them and—

Azriel choked on his breath. Prying her hands off him, he pinned them by her sides. Her greedy little act sobered him before he let it get too far. He couldn’t do it, not with her.

‘Not yet,’ he mumbled into her skin. His forehead pressed against her cheek, he inhaled deeply. ‘Not like this.’

The words he itched to say—ones that singed his tongue—Not like those males. And Ayla nodded like she understood.

And in the moments of their waning desires, Azriel revelled in the sound of her heart calming to a steady beat, his lips ghosting over her skin, sneaking unsuspecting kisses.

‘What are they doing?’ Ayla asked quietly, her voice laced with curiosity.

Azriel looked up to find her attention drawn to something behind him. Shadows darted back and forth, teetering over his shoulders. ‘They want to touch you.’

Ayla blinked. Her brows pulled together as she turned to him. ‘You mean you want to touch me?’

‘I’m not denying it,’ Azriel chuckled at her unabashed words and unflinching gaze. A familiar buzz rang in his ears, angry and impatient. ‘The shadows can think for themselves. Right now, they are feeling neglected.’

Ayla stared at them for a moment, studying their movements. The wisps of darkness coloured smoky blue under the siphons’ light. She raised a tentative hand, and the shadows reached back. First, barely a touch to her finger and when she held still, they engulfed her hand. Ayla gasped a laugh at the sensation, her chest sinking under him. She glided her hand through the air, and they swayed along, chasing her skin.

‘They are beautiful,’ said Ayla, enthralled by the ribbons of misty darkness weaving through her fingers.

The shadows went silent, frozen for a beat before writhing down her forearm as if to indulge her, chanting her word like a badge of honour.

‘They feel the same about you,’ said Azriel. One of the rare few things they agreed on lately.

Ayla blinked, then broke into laughter, the sweetest melody he had ever heard, and draped the shadow-gloved hand over his shoulder. ‘There were more than eight, weren’t there?’

Resisting a smile, Azriel pecked her cheek. It didn’t matter anymore.

[jaelvr]

You were beautiful

Home | NCT 127 masterlist |

Requested : no

Prompts ; 51. “Please, just stay a little longer.”  + 54. “Please don’t cry.”  + 50.  “I love you. Never forget that, okay?” 

Pairing : ex! doyoung x reader

Pronouns : you/yours

Type : angst, fluff

Word count : 1.2k

Warnings : mutual feelings, exes to lovers, idol! au, slightly ooc

Have a great day !! 

——————————

"The things I'm about to tell you, aren't so you change what's already on your mind."

He looked through his bag, searching for the letter he'd been given earlier in the day. They'd had a fan meet for their newest comeback, something they were used to by now. Getting presents and letters was nothing new, but there was something about this one he couldn't quite put his finger on. It felt familiar - like a home of some kind. The writing seemed familiar to him and the person in front of him, despite not being able to clearly make them out, was someone he'd known - he was sure of it. He pulled the letter out, wasting no time in opening it to read it.

"It's just that I keep thinking about all the melodies you made asleep at night."

He got up carefully, not wanting to disturb you too much. A lovestruck smile on his face as he looked at your figure next to him, taking in your peaceful expression and how the sun lightly shone on your face, making you look like an angel. Doyoung leaned down, placing a gentle kiss upon your forehead, thumb softly caressing your cheek. He got up and stretched, about to head into the bathroom when he heard a tired yawn and eyes peering over at him. "Good luck today. I love you." you murmured, a sleepy smile on your face as you battled sleep to stay awake. "I love you too, sunshine. I'll see you later." he promised, pressing a delicate kiss to your lips and watching you for a few seconds before heading into the bathroom to get ready for practice. He could always get through the day if it meant coming home to you.

"I keep trying to forget but you were beautiful."

He thought back on it, remembering the way the pair of you would look at each other with absolute love. It was clear to anyone who saw you two how deep the connection truly ran. They'd been celebrating one of the comebacks, throwing a party to congratulate them. He'd come over when you were watching Jungwoo and Haechan drunkenly sing along to songs on the karaoke machine, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing fragile kisses to your neck. "Hey Doie." you grinned, turning around and wrapping your arms around his neck.

"You alright?" he muttered, brushing hair out of your face while his other hand gently ran circles across your hip. You let out a hum of content, nuzzling into his chest. "I'm so proud of you." you whispered, looking up at him with complete admiration and love, his face mirroring the same. "I couldn't have done it without you." he admitted, kissing your forehead. The way you looked at him made him never want to leave, always needing to either be next to you or have you close by. The way you called his name and how addictive he found it. You felt like home.

"I keep thinking about how we used to be. God, I just hate this part."

You'd known something was off the minute he'd walked through the door. He had said nothing, having a shower and getting into his pyjamas before curling up in bed, silent. You'd crawled in beside him, simply holding him and rubbing his back as his tears escaped, your embrace tight and not letting go of him. "You're okay. I've got you, love." you whispered, your head on top of his as you rubbed his back. You didn't force him to talk, simply letting him take his time and if he didn't want to talk about it at all, you never pushed him to. You stayed with him all night, comforting him in the morning as you caressed and planted kisses all over his tear-stained face, not making a deal or pressing on the issue. Just wanting to be there for him to soothe him.

"Think I've cried more than I had imagined."

The scene taunted him constantly whenever he couldn't fall asleep. The look on your face when he'd uttered the cursed six words. Doyoung was almost convinced he'd heard your heart shatter at his words. He wasn't sure what had broken him more between your desperate pleas to not leave or the tears that streamed down your face. “Please don’t cry.” he pleaded, his own tears falling. He wanted to tell you he was joking or he'd changed his mind, but he couldn't. He wanted to stay but knew it wasn't possible.

Not with him being an idol. He couldn't. He laid awake that night, your face and his actions constantly haunting him, knowing the pain he'd caused which he tried to ignore, convincing himself it was for the better. He'd give anything to go back to how you two were before, his heart hurting more as he read over the letter, realising you'd forgiven him despite the damage he'd caused you.

"'Cause the last time that you looked at me, I did all I could, I watched you leave."

He refused. He got up, and quickly headed to the entrance of the dorm, pulling his coat on and tying his shoes on. "Doyoung? Where are you going?" Taeyong questioned, looking at his phone which read eleven o'clock. "The letter." he murmured once his shoes were done, Taeyong looking at him in confusion as he pushed the letter into his best friend's hands. "They were there. They gave it to me today at the fan meet." he hurriedly explained. Taeyong skimmed through, the end of the letter catching his eye. Besides the “I love you. Never forget that, okay?” was a scrawled sunshine. The nickname Doyoung always referred to you as. Taeyong looked back up, a small smile on his face as he knew what he was doing. He nodded, squeezing Doyoung's shoulder before he left, bidding him a gentle 'good luck'.

"All the things you gave to stay with me."

Once he'd gotten there, he anxiously knocked on the door. He prayed you hadn't moved otherwise he'd look like an absolute idiot - not that he wouldn't already. His breath hitched as the door to the familiar apartment opened, words escaping him as he took in your look in front of him. You were in your pyjamas, your hair slightly messy with your natural beauty. "You look beautiful." he got out, hesitantly stepping forward, afraid of your reaction. Relief consumed him as he felt you step forward, resting your head on his chest, soaking his shirt with your tears. He gently caressed the back of your head, the other resting on your back as he gripped you tightly, almost trying to assure himself he wasn't dreaming and he was actually here.

"I'm sorry. It doesn't feel right without you. I miss you. I miss the way you looked at me. I miss the way you called my name. I miss your smiles when we'd disagree, I-" he rambled, eyes widening as he felt you lean up, kissing him quickly yet lovingly. “Please, just stay a little longer.” you whispered a sad smile on your face. He cupped your face, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"I'm not leaving this time."

[rahuratna]

The Feast at your Table (Part 1 of 2)

Content: Sexual content (MDNI!), explicit sexual content in next chapter, pining, friends to lovers, food play mentions in this chapter.

Posting some drafts that I've been sitting on for a while. Here goes.

It was official. You had no idea, whatsoever, how deal with your burgeoning attraction to Taishiro Toyomitsu, known to most as the pro-hero Fat Gum.

It wasn't that Taishiro was unapproachable. Quite the opposite. He was the embodiment of comfort, the patron saint of open door policies. There was nobody, out there on the streets he worked so hard to protect, or here within the doors of his agency, that wouldn't trust him with their lives.

Taishiro was kind, effusive, magnanimous and always determined, the kind of man who'd never fail to cheer you up, who'd be the shoulder you could always lean on.

All of which formed the basis for the reasons you couldn't ever let him know how you felt about him. You didn't know when it had started. And by the time you caught it, it was too late, spreading like a rampant infection through your system, weakening you to each and every one of this kind man's habits, gestures and traits.

It wasn't as if heroes were strangers to public attention or people wanting a piece of them. As pro-hero Fat Gum, Taishiro had his fair share of fan mail, propositions and adoring followers. As an employee of his agency, with a quirk that certainly didn't fall under the category of 'flashy' you'd managed to make yourself quietly indispensable over the past year.

It was also why you wouldn't want to pursue anything actively with the man who was essentially your boss. Taishiro was kind to you, as he was to all members of the agency. He'd buy you takeout, make sure to check in on you even with his busy schedule, and even dragged you out of the office at times to have celebratory meals with the team.

There were times when you felt something, perhaps a figment of your sorry, affection-starved imagination, times when you felt his eyes linger on you a moment too long, when his expression would switch from its usual congeniality to something more tender. But you'd studiously brushed away any thought of hidden feelings. On his part, at least. Why would he even look in your direction, anyway?

You certainly weren't anything special. Ordinary you'd always been and ordinary you'd remain. All you had to do was continue being the silent support, the rope that bound this agency together behind the scenes, the one who was always there with the towels, bandages, extra snacks and comforting words, the one who fielded the phone calls and briskly dealt with paperwork nobody else wanted to handle.

On this particular evening, there had been an emergency alert in downtown Esuha City, and Fat Gum along with two of his interns, Kirishima and Amajiki, had been called in to deal with a potential hostage situation. You remained at the office along with the two other employees of the agency, Rei, who handled marketing and publicity and Fukushima who dealt with tech and communications.

It turned out to be a tense evening, fraught with danger, and the added challenge of crowd control, considering how packed the area where the hostage situation occurred had been. By the time everything had been resolved, it was almost 2 am and the ragged heroes, their various sidekicks and interns included, were slowly making their way back to agencies all over the city. The rest of the team had left, packing up and congratulating each other with tired eyes on a job well done.

You remained, however. You wouldn't be able to rest easy without knowing that Taishiro was back safely and had a ready supply of food should he be low on energy. Time ticked by and the elevator pinged with its customary chime. Standing hurriedly at your desk, you breathed a small sigh of relief when Taishiro's bulky form appeared in the doorway to the office.

He'd obviously expended a lot of his fat today, his tall form still bearing a visible protective layer around the middle, the raw brute strength beneath now more evident in the chest and arms. His uniform hung on him. It was dirty and torn in various places, the signature knee pads scuffed and dented. The golden tufts of his unruly hair were streaked with dust and grease. He looked worn down and weary when he came in, but his expression changed to one of surprise and tenderness when he saw you.

You realize that's it's been a while since you've been alone with him. To take your mind off the potential awkwardness your infatuation could induce, you hurry forward and start to warm up some of the food you'd ordered earlier, calling over your shoulder to him.

"I'm glad you're back in one piece. But you look like you need something to eat. I'll have it ready in - "

A large, solid hand on your shoulder cuts off your stream of words.

"Why didn't you go home with the rest?"

"I - well, I was worried."

"About me?"

He huffs out a small laugh, and coming from him, it's never condescending or mocking.

"You never have to worry 'bout me, sweetheart. This ol' body of mine can take a real beating and come out just fine. But hey, I'd never turn down some snacks. Now what ya got for me?"

The endearment rolls so naturally off his tongue, and for a moment, you wonder what he would do if you grabbed his collar and tugged him down towards you. You flush and turn away from him, suddenly very occupied with the pork buns you've been re-heating.

"There's a lot we - I ordered in earlier, because I thought you'd be low on energy. Why don't you go clean up while I handle all of this?"

"Gotcha."

He ambled away, yawning and stretching sore muscles slightly with a groan. He headed to the locker rooms that could be accessed through a door in the hall outside the main office. Normally, you wouldn't hear sounds through the partition so clearly, what with the bustle of the office during the day, but the quiet of night allows you to hear the shuffle of clothes being shed, the water turning on and Taishiro humming tunelessly as he gets in.

Those pork buns just might spontaneously combust under the laser-lit stare you're giving them. If you could just focus on getting this food ready ...

In what feels like too short an interval, you hear Taishiro's slipper-clad feet approaching the office once again. You look up and take him in. He is wearing a simple t-shirt and loose cotton pants, of a size more suited to his current form. He lifts one arm up over his head and his shoulder pops, allowing him to utter a distinctly masculine grunt. The shirt hugs his powerful shoulders and stretches over his abdomen in a way that you find very difficult to look away from. Oblivious, Taishiro approaches, warm eyes gleaming at the spread you've set out for him.

"Well now. You've outdone yourself. You know just what I need, dontcha?"

You hope the shaky laugh you utter doesn't give you away, but then the laugh turns to a yawn and you lift your hand to your mouth in surprise, eyes watering. Taishiro chuckles, but he hasn't touched the food yet and his gaze suddenly holds something warmer, something you hope you're not reading too much into. He reaches across the table and pushes a plate towards you.

"You must be tired too."

"Oh, come on. I've only been here in the office all day. It's just late, that's all."

"Late enough that the rest of the team have gone home hours ago. Now eat what's on your plate."

You pause, chewing on an onigiri.

"Don't worry, I'll just... stay over at the office. We do have the sofa here."

He stares at you, the seriousness of his gaze catching you off guard.

"You're telling me you've slept on the couch before?"

"Um ... "

"That's not okay! If I'd known you'd stayed over when we were out on missions, I would've given you the key to my place. It's only a block from here."

The idea of sleeping in Taishiro's bed, surrounded by sheets that smell of him, on the mattress with the dip in the centre that his body would make, almost shuts your mind down. Luckily, you have the wit to respond.

"You don't have to do that! It's only been ... once or twice, anyway - "

"Once or twice too often. Seriously, I ain't gonna let you sleep on that couch again, princess. Just say the word when you're ready to go and I'll take you over."

Arguing is futile. As accommodating as this man is to each and every request, whether from client or friend, he draws a solid, unwavering line when it comes to certain things. And he won't, absolutely won't, have you take the train home at this time. He even offers to sleep here in the office, if that makes you more comfortable, an option you hastily refuse.

Soon enough, you've both finished the food (the bulk of it having been savoured by Taishiro) and your fingers are tapping against your thigh with the anxiety that has now infested your body as you put on your coat and head out into the street with him. Taishiro has always been a walking furnace, the pleasant heat from his tall form distinct whenever he stands close to you. Proximity to him has never been an issue. His bulk, in his fully fat-protected body, is always taking up space in the office, brushing against you every time he moves past.

His confidence and the manner in which he wore his own skin, with pride and certainty, makes him all the more attractive. Taishiro always welcomes other people into his space, into his protective warmth, and you are lucky enough to fall into that category. He obviously found your spluttering reactions hilarious every time he spread his arms and asked you to 'ride the Fat Taxi'.

As you neared his place, a decent-sized apartment with modest furnishings in a high rise not far from the office, you noticed that he'd fallen uncharacteristically silent.

"Taishiro?"

"Yup?"

"You don't have to have me over, really. I understand if you just want your space and ...  rest after that mission."

He was looking at you now, but your eyes were fixed on the street ahead.

"Told you before. It's no issue at all. You'll be safe at my place, and that's what counts. Plus, I know you. You don't even want to go near the train station. You don't like the cold. Come on now. I know you want that hot cocoa and good ol' fleece blanket."

He wiggled his fingers in what was obviously supposed to be gesture of entrapment. You'd never seen anything less threatening and a laugh burst from your throat.

"Fine. I do want that fleece blanket."

The elevator ride up to his apartment was a strange reversal of roles. Taishiro was the one who now seemed a little on edge, while you were humming slightly, imagining the hot shower and comforting softness of the blankets that awaited you. It was just him. Just Taishiro. Just the man you'd already spent so much your time with. You could handle this. Nothing to worry about.

He unlocked and held the door open for you, hitching up his pants slightly. The fabric was still loose on him, even after the snacks you'd provided. You entered and immediately sighed at the warmth which greeted you. Taishiro came in, toeing off his shoes in the entryway.

"Make yourself at home. There's towels in that cupboard, middle shelf, if you need them. The bathroom is that way."

It was common knowledge that Taishiro preferred to wash off the grime of his missions at the agency showers instead of his own bathroom. You supposed that it was something to do with the desire of many heroes to create a separation between the peace of home and the slog of hero work. All the same, you couldn't help but admire the relaxing, muted colors and panel work in the bathroom, the tub huge enough to accommodate someone of Taishiro's height and bulk, with space left over.

Locking the door behind you, you unzipped the small carry bag you always packed in case of having to stay overnight at the agency. It contained a simple silk shift and shorts, a change of underwear and some toiletries. Outside, you could hear Taishiro moving around in the lounge and kitchen, pots and pans clanking. He dropped something with a loud clatter and you heard him mumbling softly.

You ran a bath, scrubbed yourself clean and got into the tub, thinking carefully over his behaviour since you had arrived. There was something different than usual. If you didn't know any better, you'd say he was nervous. Surely not? How many times had the two of you worked long hours together, spending almost every day enmeshed in each other's company when he was at the office? All the same...

Standing, you dried yourself off and dressed in your sleep clothes. Suddenly feeling a little self conscious at how much the sheer shirt and shorts revealed, you slung your cardigan over them, slowly opening the door and heading out.

The scent of burning came from the kitchen. Worried, you hurried over. Taishiro was very proficient at cooking, so it was surprising for you to see him like this, waving his hands through the smoke that permeated the air, coughing slightly. The blackened remains of what looked like pancakes lay curled and shriveled at the bottom of a pan. Taishiro looked up to meet your concerned gaze and froze, one large hand coming up to sheepishly scratch the back of his head.

"Ahhh ... sorry about this. I was just ... making pancakes and ... yeah. I guess I wasn't watching them closely enough, ya know?"

You stepped slowly towards him, as if approaching a skittish animal. You'd never had this issue with him before.

"Are you okay? Was it ... something that happened on the mission today? You seem out of sorts."

Placing a hand on his arm, all earlier hesitation forgotten in the warmth you felt for this man, you couldn't help how your body gravitated to be closer to him. He had always been the one to surround everyone with his reassuring presence, his natural charisma buoying up your spirits. Surely, this was one thing you could offer him in return.

"Why don't you go sit, Taishiro. I can handle the pancakes."

For once, you were met with silence as Taishiro looked down at your hand. His gaze travelled along your wrist, lingering on the button-down front of your cardigan, held together over the shift beneath. There was a gentle fire burning in that glance that you could in no way explain through platonic means. The warmth of his regard was removed from your person as quickly as it had arrived. You plucked away your hand from his arm and his shoulders sagged a little.

"It ain't that. The mission went well. I just - I'm - "

He raised a hand and swept it back through his hair, tousling the golden strands even further, before turning to you.

"Ah, it doesn't matter. It's 3 am and you ain't even in bed yet. That's a crime."

"Not until you talk to me."

Determination was straightening your posture, allowing you to look him in the eye without any of the usual nerves that plagued you in his presence.

"I - c'mon sweetheart." The word rolled out differently on his tongue, wrapped in the sort of hushed intimacy reserved for lovers. "I can't ... don't want you to feel uncomfortable or anything- "

"You could never make me feel uncomfortable."

"Well ... it's just that ... I've never had you over before. Like this, I mean. It's just a little ... you know."

Oh. Oh.

The simple fact that he felt this way, that the implication of being alone with you at his apartment carried the same weight for him as it did for you ...

Something in your expression must have changed because he was hastily waving his hands and attempting some form of what he must have thought of as damage control.

"I mean, it ain't every day that you come over here. And sure, I'm a pro-hero and all, but ... " he paused to chuckle ruefully, "I guess I'm just like the average guy when it comes to having a ... lovely lady like you over. I just ... was wondering if being here was okay for you. I wasn't being pushy or anything, I just wanted you to be safe."

"Taishiro."

Your voice was soft, some part of the slow, steady creep of passion you kept hidden from him on a daily basis filtering through. You couldn't help yourself.

"Taishiro, I was ... also a little nervous to come over here. Not because I don't trust you. I trust you with my life. You know that. It's more... to do with the same reason you're ... feeling the way you are now."

There. You'd gone and said it. You'd finally let him know some small part of what you felt for him. He was staring at you with his mouth slightly open. Something about how ridiculous this situation was, two grown adults behaving like hormonal teenagers simply because they were under the same roof and feeling attraction to one another, snapped you back to some form of reality.

You covered your mouth and looked down. Taishiro raised an eyebrow.

"Are you giggling?"

"What? I don't giggle."

"Oh yeah you do. When you think nobody's looking."

"So you're watching that closely?"

He glanced down at the pan and prodded at the burnt remains of the pancake. He was also smiling now.

"Ahh ... okay, yeah. Most times. Can't help it."

"I see. Now do you want help with those pancakes or not?"

"On one condition."

"What's that?"

"That thin little sweater you have on ain't gonna do the job in this cold. I got some warmer stuff in my closet. Go choose something and then you can help me."

Seeing that he had finally regained a semblance of his usual hearty confidence, you smiled and did as he asked. You'd never seen the interior of Taishiro's bedroom before. The decor was simple, with plenty of room to accommodate him moving around. The bed looked custom made, reinforced and sturdy, a huge mattress cushioning the top.

Hastily looking away, you approached the built-in closet against the right wall and opened one of the doors. It took you a while to find a suitable sized sweater, and when you did, it was obvious that even the smallest size he had would be very, very large on you. At least you'd be warmer. Shrugging, you slipped off your cardigan and had just taken the sweater from where it hung, when Taishiro entered the bedroom.

"Hey, you want syrup and cinnamon with your pancakes or just - "

He stopped dead, eyes widening slightly at the sight of you. If you'd been alone in your own home, your choice of sleepwear would never have raised any issues. Suddenly, you were very conscious of just how sheer the material was, how you'd forgone a bra in the desire for comfort, how the shorts were little better than underwear, now that you really thought about it.

It wasn't as if your body was anything special to look at, at least, in your view. You considered yourself average in most aspects, definitely on the curvy side. Your work clothes were always modest enough to never draw attention. Taishiro, however, was looking at you as if you'd somehow covered yourself in syrup in lieu of the pancakes. Your breathing accelerated a little, and with the way he was watching the rise and fall of your chest, it would probably be very hard for him to miss it.

He swallowed thickly and turned his head.

"Uh, sorry. Didn't know you were still looking for the ... ah ... "

"The sweater."

"Yeah. That. Found one?"

"I did."

You waved the garment around and he must have seen it in his peripheral vision, because he nodded and shoved his hands into his pockets, as if not quite sure what to do with them.

"Okay. Well, when you're ready, the pancakes are done. Come and get yours."

Hurriedly pulling the sweater over your head, you followed him into the living room. Although you weren't particularly hungry, you wanted to keep him him company while he ate, at the very least. Taishiro was now pouring steaming milk into a mug, before stirring and handing you the cocoa.

"One sugar. Just how ya like it."

You didn't know whether it was the encounter you'd just had with him in the bedroom, but somehow, everything he said now seemed laced with innuendo. It didn't help that his warm, deep voice was huskier than usual, that his honey-brown eyes were helplessly tracing the shape of your legs when he thought you were looking away.

You shifted in your seat as your own growing arousal threatened to unseat your composure. You ate the pancakes he placed in front of you and wondered what it would feel like to cover those thick fingers of his in syrup and slowly take them into your mouth with him watching. Your knees brushed against his under the table and you thought of how easy it would be to straddle him, the plush flesh of his stomach cushioning your abdomen. You took a sip of your cocoa and wondered whether he'd taste as rich. You thought of his skin, the soft growth of barely visible stubble on his jaw, the wide and generous mouth, those heavy, powerful hips and how they might undulate between your trembling thighs.

Taishiro has always been so open, so free with his emotions, and now that same transparency is doing little to hide just how much he wants you when he catches your eye across the table. He takes another bite, as if making an effort to tear his gaze away.

"Are these any good? I kinda rushed them."

"They're wonderful. Your batter is always the best."

If it had been a normal day at the office, your comment would have passed unnoticed. Under these circumstances, though, with this tension growing in the air between you both, Taishiro choked slightly. You felt a rush of embarrassed heat cross the bridge of your nose. He cleared his throat.

"Ahh, err, thanks. It's ... just pretty basic. My batter gets the job done."

He was just making it worse. With a sense of impending horror, you felt your nervous giggle coming on. It slipped out of you in a short, staccato burst and Taishiro looked up, surprised, before his own lips quirked upward in amusement. His belly started to shake slightly with repressed amusement. Seeing that contagious smile of his pushed you over the edge. Your shoulders began to heave and you leaned back in your chair and tried to breathe evenly as Taishiro's chuckles grew louder as well. Before long, you were both helpless with laughter.

Wiping your eyes on a nearby serviette you regard him with fondness. This sweetest of all men. He clears his throat and pushes aside his empty plate.

"You don't look so tired anymore. Did my pancakes liven you up?"

"Kind of. They've fooled my body into thinking it doesn't need sleep."

"Lucky tomorrow is a day off, then. The guys from Trackstar's agency will cover the regular shifts and call us in if anything goes wrong. Feel free to sleep in."

"I can't do that, Taishiro. I don't want to inconvenience you," you remind him, gently.

He looks disappointed for a second, before his beautiful countenance brightens once more.

"Hey, come to think of it, there's a farmer's market I wanted to check out on the city limits. Think you'd want to come along?"

"Oh? I'd love that! I haven't been to a farmer's market in ages."

"Then stay here a bit longer. We can just leave together tomorrow."

You don't miss the slightly pleading note in his voice. It softens you in ways that only he can achieve.

"Okay, sure. That's a good idea."

Face as excited as a child with a new toy at this news, Taishiro stands and collects your plate and his.

"Right, off to bed with you."

You hesitate, and he scratches his chin, as if having anticipated your question.

"I have a guest room, just down the hall. I made up the bed while you were in the bathroom."

"Oh, thanks. I'll... head off to bed then."

"Er, yeah. Have a good sleep!"

Hurriedly turning away from each other, you both head in opposite directions. The guest bedroom is smaller, but no less comfortable. You slowly crawl between the covers and realise that he'd thrown the fleece blanket he'd spoken about over the duvet. You take the warm material between your fingers and stroke it gently. A rush of uncontrolled feelings, of all the desire and affection you have for this man, comes flooding through you.

It is at that moment, of course, that a soft knock on the door interrupts your thoughts. You call for him to enter and he does, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly in pleasure when he sees you tucked away, sitting comfortably under the covers. He places a glass of water on the bedside table.

"Just leaving this here in case you get thirsty. It gets cold up here at night. Wouldn't want you freezing your toes off in the kitchen."

He's about to leave, when you capture his large hand hesitantly in your own. He stills immediately, glancing down to where your fingers wrap around his.

"Thank you, Taishiro. For letting me stay here."

He remains like this for a minute, facing away from you, as if fully aware of just how much his expression would betray him. He raises your hand to his lips, slowly, pressing a soft kiss to the top of it.

"Anytime, sweetheart. You can come over ... whenever you feel like."

He doesn't, however, relinquish his grasp on you. You raise your other hand and trace your fingers with infinite softness over his larger knuckles, the surface scarred from old injuries and trauma. He shivers slightly under the contact and you close your eyes before placing that hand against your cheek.

These same palms that slammed a runaway vehicle to a dead stop last week. The same fists that punched a hole through a cement wall to get to the people trapped in a flooded basement. These same hands that protected from stray bullets, that ruffled the hair of his shy intern, that pushed extra sweets into your lunch box when you weren't looking. You had no adequate words for what he made you feel, for how his very presence tugged at some place deep inside of you, creating a void that could never be appeased until you were close to him.

Taishiro's unsteady breathing was loud in the small room, which had suddenly become unaccountably warmer. Before you could fully process what was happening, your body was being tugged gently, but firmly closer to his, your chin  being tilted up until his warm breath washed over you. You opened your eyes and felt a delicious, heavy heat settle in your abdomen when you saw how he wasn't bothering, in the slightest, to conceal how much he wanted you.

His gaze wandered languidly over your face, scorching where it travelled, and then he was leaning forward, mouth capturing yours, his sudden intake of breath echoed by yours. His kiss was like basking in afternoon sunshine, deliciously warm and comforting, hungry as he always was, eager and slightly clumsy. His hands were now on either side of your waist, just beneath your breasts, thumbs stroking dangerously upward. Your arms were coming up as he deepened the kiss, wrapping around his wide neck, fingers tangling in his soft, soft hair.

Taishiro pulled away, breathing hard, unconsciously licking his lips to retain some of your taste. His grip on your body tightened briefly, asking a tentative question, the answer to which pooled like molten honey down there, where you wanted to feel him most. You nodded wordlessly and your breath was briefly snatched away as he tugged at the duvet and looped one arm beneath your knees, lifting you effortlessly out of the bed. The soft, intimate ache of desire in his voice, what had been lingering under the surface all evening, was now laid bare as he pressed his lips against your ear.

"C'mon angel. I'll get you real warm tonight."

[vaguely-concerned]

listen I just... this path of harding's loyalty mission with this specific party. the disrupted self squad. the trauma has made me a stranger to myself Have You Seen Me I can't find my way back union. team fractured reality and I'm piecing it and myself back together as best I can (will you keep me company in the meantime?). the echoes and the implications. as above so below, as in you so in me, large cosmic scale to painfully small personal psychological scale. pain from the distant past still alive and snarling to be known in the now, and pain right now and ongoing but forgotten and unseen, supressed by means natural and unnatural (what's a little blood magic to help denial and dissociation along between frenemies huh solas). the extra meaning 'spite' takes on as a phrasing here (because it's all IN THERE this is all in the big text of the game!!! the themes echo back on themselves everywhere you listen for them!!!!). rook who once more doesn't even know that they don't KNOW they're also speaking to themselves as well as harding in this scene, to their own broken self and mind partially mirrored in someone they love (broken by the same perpetrator, even, in this case!!!!!!!!! hello solas once more), harding who doesn't quite know she's also speaking to them as well as to herself, to the dwarves, the titans, the world; everything and everyone that has ever been hurt, but whose stubborn kindness still has room for it all. (even for solas. hello again. we cannot escape you it seems mr dread wolf it's almost like you and your plethora of fuckery are thematically central or something (grudgingly affectionate).) even without perfect understanding of the full picture, the simple intention to be kind matters.

(forgive me for my sentimental nature and everpresent rookanis bias for a moment but ALSO lucanis looking over at rook Like That in this context, while those words are being spoken!!! spite's role in urging him towards escaping, living, thriving, instead of merely numbly surviving, and how it ties in with harding's revelation and decision here. and rook who opens doors and stays to walk through them with you, at the end being found and helped through a door of their own, and lucanis himself being one of the people to do that. do you. do you get me. I feel strange and wild.)

most of all harding just. saying the whole thing. summing the whole game up. 'we're different, but we're not gone. we will thrive -- in spite of you'. I was RIGHT about it all the way back in november actually and I should say it!!!!! the game is saying this on purpose. 'and then... everyone was there. and that's when I knew we'd be okay. that I'd... that I'd be okay'. my friend lace harding might be the only person who really gets it huh. and what a legacy for varric to leave behind in the narrative (and what a common da2 W, the little team that couldn't does it again better than anyone's ever done it by doing it the worst anyone's ever done it, hawke can't stop winning by always losing). no salvation but each other but my god that is plenty. my god. that is enough. once more

my head is in my hands I love this game desperately, it rewards really sitting with and taking in the themes so much. i'm so sorry for dropping a bunch of my own metas in there like that but I'm finding it so hard to say what I need to say all in one go, it's just -- it's so big! it's so much! I have so many thoughts to express about my unified theory of veilguard and only my poor battered neurons to do it with, please look upon me with clemency and, perhaps, forbearance. and it's so interesting that you can bring another companion along with rook and harding in this scene and have it mean just as much with slightly different nuances, have it resonate just as much with the overall meaning the game is trying to get across, because they're truly all tied in with each other that way; they're all part of a larger truth. you think it's one theme after another but the damn things overlap etc.