#and he's willing to throw all of that away and leave everything behind without even thinking about it if it's for Odasaku”

[yuikomorii]

So, reading that "Daylight" scene, a thought suddenly hit me—isn't Ayato kind of... selfish? I mean, sure, he's willing to sacrifice himself, degrade himself, throw away his worth—but not really for others. It's more like he does it so he doesn’t have to feel the pain of being left behind. That whole “I’ll die first so I don’t feel the pain if you leave” mindset? That’s not exactly selfless.

And with Laito, it’s obvious he feels guilty for not helping him in the past. So now he’s ready to go to extremes—not necessarily to help Laito, but to get rid of that guilt and stop feeling like trash. I’m not saying he has bad intentions, but let’s be honest—most of them seem driven by his need to protect himself first.

So... does that make him selfish, in a way? Not in the obvious “I don’t care about others” kind of way, but in the deeper, quiet kind—where everything he does, even the self-sacrifice, is still about protecting himself from pain?

(I'm reaaally obsessed with this page lately! Love it 😍!)

// You probably didn’t mean it in a bad way, but please be more mindful of your words. There are people who relate to Ayato’s behavior in those situations, so calling it selfish can come across as really hurtful. Sure, Ayato doesn’t like sharing you and sometimes acts without thinking, which can get him or others into trouble. However, when it comes to his self-sacrificing/sui€idal tendencies, those are definitely NOT selfish. >_<

Low self-esteem drives Ayato to degrade himself and accept suffering in some scenes, therefore his sacrifice is more like a form of fairness or self-hatred, not self-centeredness. While it’s true that guilt can be selfish if someone is just trying to get rid of uncomfortable feelings, Ayato doesn’t seek comfort, rather he’s willing to endure pain to do justice because he’s grown tired of watching those he cares about suffer. Pretty reminder that he truly cherishes his own life, so the fact that he’s up to risk it for someone else shows just how deeply he cares for that person, way more than he cares for himself.

In Daylight, Ayato was pushed to the edge of ending his own life because he was traumatized by that hyper-realistic nightmare. He sees himself as nothing more than a burden standing in the way of your happiness. He knows all too well that he can’t control his bloodthirst and the thought of hurting you terrifies him, because it’s the last thing he wants. More than anything, he just wants you to live a happy life, without having to waste it on someone like him.

At the same time, he’s extremely scared of being left completely alone. From a young age, he was taught never to show weakness or vulnerability. That lesson only got harsher later on, like in LE, where his insecurities were used against him, and worst of all, his own brothers were the first to turn on him when they saw him struggling.

Ayato is used to pretending he’s fine when he’s really not, but eventually, everyone needs someone they can truly open up to, and for him that person is Yui. Not having anyone who accepts you as you are is incredibly sad, so when you finally find someone who understands you and likes all of you, you start holding onto them tightly. Yui accepts him as he is and that kind of acceptance gives him strength. It makes him cling to her, not out of desperation, but because she’s the only person he can truly be himself around. But when someone like that dies (and even worse when it’s because of you), that’s a wound that’s impossible to heal. Ayato doesn’t want to be the cause of your suffering and he fears returning to the loneliness he’s always known. Unlike the others, who all have someone to stand by them and support them, Ayato only has Yui. So when she’s gone, his entire world collapses, and he’s left drowning in loneliness once more, with no one to pull him back to the surface. That type of pain is simply too unbearable.

Credit to: dialovers-translations and kyouxa

[cannibalisticskittles]

Boblena Week 2k25 - Day One

He didn’t even do anything. 

He’d get it if he’d fucked something up – if he’d walked through its territory, or stepped on a nest of eggs, or kicked one by accident, or – something.

But as it is, Bob Reynolds just… wakes up one morning to a goose standing at the foot of his bed. 

He’s not sure which of them screamed first, but it doesn’t really matter, because his apartment was soon filled with panicked shrieking of such a high pitch that it would have been hard to tell which was which, anyway.

It had taken hours to get it out of his front door, with oven mitts on both hands to protect him from its bites, brandishing a broom handle at it while he cowered behind a tiny, shitty trash can lid. Even as it waddled out the door, he knew somehow it was only doing this because it wanted to, and not because he had the power to make it leave. But he’s willing to live with the knowledge that he's somehow been bested by a bird, as long as it’s not his problem anymore. 

Except. 

It comes back. 

It waits for him by his car. It waddles up to him when he’s on break at work. It perches on the awning above his apartment door like it’s lurking there. 

And soon, there’s nothing he can do to chase it off. It comes and it does not leave.

Lewis – as he’s taken to calling it recently, because ‘the goose’ feels a little impersonal for something that’s absolutely ruining his goddamn life – is his constant companion, nipping at his heels, his wrists, at anything he’s foolish enough to leave unguarded and within goose-height.

Its moods range anywhere from stoic to absolutely incensed; it may merely give warning nips on occasion, or it may honk and beat its wings so fiercely that he’s left cleaning up stray feathers for ages afterwards. It seems to want something from him, but for the life of him, Bob doesn’t know what. He spends a while researching the sort of foods geese like to eat, but Lewis is surprisingly resistant to bribes, and now he has a whole head of cabbage he has to find recipes for before it spoils. 

Today, he’s made a rare effort at going out in public and pretending like everything is normal. A mistake, he’s sure, but he’s tired and he’s cranky and he just wants a goddamn cup of coffee and something to eat. 

He has to sit outside, of course, at one of the patio tables, and he found that the other tables seemed to find a reason to finish their conversation and leave quite soon after he arrived. But it’s relatively peaceful, if he ignores Lewis’ antics. 

Which is getting harder to do, actually. The bird is in rare form today; Bob doesn’t think he’s gone a whole minute without a peck or a honk or a headbutt all day. 

Lewis squawks, pulling at his fork with its beak, then trying to bite his fingers, honking all the more insistently when Bob just moves his hand away. 

The bird begins to waddle to the other side of the table, presumably for better access to something it can bite, honking all the while – and then suddenly falls silent. Bob had almost forgotten what silence sounded like. 

“You should train this thing better if you're going to walk around with it in public.”

This, at last, makes Bob looks up. 

A gorgeous woman with an accent and steely eyes has grabbed Lewis by the neck in a loose grip that nevertheless prevents him from gnawing on Bob’s arm anymore. She’s  casually dressed, but she carries herself with such confidence that she may as well be decked head-to-toe in designer – essentially, the exact sort of person that would never have the slightest reason to talk to him if not for extremely extenuating circumstances. Which, he supposes having an aggressive waterfowl stalker counts as. 

“–uh,” he says. Smooth. He tries again. “He’s not mine, he just won’t stop following me.”

The woman narrows her eyes at him. “…why,, you got food in your pockets?”

“Uh, no.”

“You throw rocks at his nest?”

“No!”

“Okay, so why the hell is there a goose following you?”

He sighs. “Your guess is as good as mine,” he says. 

And then her eyebrows, formerly knit together, raise. He knows what she’s going to suggest before she says it; it’s the same thing his boss had suggested, right before informing him that they absolutely could not have him back on the premises until this little problem was taken care of.

“Oh,” she says, “is it–”

“It’s not – that,” he says. “It can’t be.”

“Ah. You already got one, then?”

He shakes his head. “No, but…” That’s just a myth, firstly, and secondly, even if it wasn’t… soulmates aren’t the sort of thing meant for losers like him. 

“I get it,” she says. “You’ve got a partner at home and it’s making things awkward.”

“No, not that either.”

“...no partner, or no awkwardness?”

“No partner so no awkwardness.”

“Mmh.” She tilts her head, regarding him and the goose, then seems to come to a decision, and she lets go of Lewis slides into a chair next to Bob. “How long has it been following you?” 

He racks his brain. “About a week? 

She snorts. “Yeah, no, sorry to tell you, but I think this is one of those things.”

Bob shakes his head. She can think what she wants, but it can’t be. He’d sooner believe that he’s cursed than that some bird agent of fate is trying to shepherd him towards the love of his life. 

“Look,” she says, “a pretty face like yours doesn’t have a partner, or some fated twin soul? I’m surprised this hasn’t happened to you sooner. This is the first time it’s happened, right?”

“Yeah,” he says, blinking. She thinks he’s pretty? Her?

“So, even if you don’t think this is, y’know, anything special, maybe just… pretend? Follow the rules? Listen to it, follow where it’s trying to lead you?”

“I don’t know that he’s leading me anywhere,” Bob mutters. “I did… try that, once. But he stayed calm for about 20 minutes and then he started freaking out no matter which way I turned. I think he’s just a goose. An asshole goose.”

The woman shrugs. “Well, maybe. But if you only tried it once, maybe give it another go? You’re sort of a public menace right now, and… maybe you’ll get bit less if you let it lead you around.”

“...is that what you did with yours? 

She snorts. “Oh, no. Noooo no no. I do not have one. I cannot have one. You, though, you seem nice. There’s probably a very lovely someone waiting for you, ah… wherever this hellspawn is headed.”

That’s… interesting, but Bob has a feeling she wouldn’t explain herself if he asked. “I just don't know what to do.”

The woman looks at the goose. “You want it gone?”

“What? – no, not – gone.”

She frowns. “You want it to stick around?”

“No, I – I do want it to leave me alone, but I don’t want it hurt. Lewis is an asshole, but he doesn’t deserve to die.”

“...Lewis?”

Bob ducks his head. “The name of a classmate who was, uh, not nice, in middle school. Had a famous dad and played the drums and thought that made him better than me.”

“Huh. Yeah, alright.” She looks down at the goose. “Lewis. …seems pretty calm right now, though.”

She’s right. The goose is just standing there. Staring. 

“This is the quietest I’ve ever seen him,” he marvels. It’s nice. Peaceful. He turns back to the woman. “...I’m Bob, by the way.”

She nods. She does not offer him her name. 

“Well, Bob,” she says, and begins to stand. “Really sorry about your problem, and I wish I could do something, but I can’t really stick around to see how this turns out; places to be, you know?”

She doesn’t move much, but Lewis no longer seems as content as he did when she was sitting. In fact, he’s started hissing. It’s relatively quiet, and Bob isn’t surprised that she doesn't seem to notice it, but it’s a sound he’s become accustomed to; one of the sole warning sounds he gets sometimes. 

“...you uh, you said you… don’t have a goose, right? Or a… soulmate?”

“Yeah, I don’t really do that sort of thing.”

He’s watching Lewis get more agitated. “I’m… not sure that's true.”

“Oh, it’s very true,” she says. “Those things, they’re meant for other people, you know? You, though, you should look into it.”

She takes a step away from the table. 

– and Lewis bites her hand.

“Ow! What the hell?”

Yelena stumbles back, and that only seems to make Lewis mad. The woman moves with staggering grace, but this goose is no ordinary waterfowl; no matter how she twists and dodges, Lewis pursues her doggedly. Goosedly?

Bob reaches out and places a hand on her arm, gently tugging her towards him, testing out a theory. She follows the motion – and Lewis goes from honking like a furious clown to merely hissing lowly. 

“...huh,” she says. 

She looks at Bob. She looks at Lewis. She takes a step closer to Bob. Lewis lowers his wings. She takes a step away from Bob. Lewis gives a warning honk. 

She places a hand on Bob’s arm, and steps into his space – close, close, closer still. 

“...hey.” She looks up at him, her eyes obscured just slightly by her eyelashes. “Hold still for me, will you? I have a theory.”

“–yeah, sure,” he breathes. Whatever she says. 

She nods, and rests a hand on the side of his face, tilting his head this way and that until she seems satisfied – and then she leans up and plants her lips on his. 

Bob’s arms encircle her immediately, pressing her against him and giving her a better vantage point, and he’s lost in how soft she is, but how insistent. 

She pulls back for a breath, just enough to glance down at the absolutely silent goose at their feet, and then she leans in again – and nips lightly at Bob’s lower lip. 

“I'm Yelena, by the way,” she says, so near that their breath comingles, that he can feel her warmth from the millimeter that separates them. “You still think this isn’t one of those things?”

He’s a little starry-eyed, but manages to retort, “as sure as you are that these things are meant for other people.”

“Mmh.” Yelena looks down at Lewis. “…you wanna see what it takes to make this bird fuck off forever?”

“God, yes.”

[oneofstarkskids]

redemption

THUNDERBOLTS* END CREDITS SPOILERS:

genre; angst with a splash of fluff

summary: bucky knows that even when he feels like there's no one he can rely on, nobody who's willing to stay, you'll be right there beside him.

"it went poorly," bucky tells yelena about his call to sam. part of bucky wanted to be angry with sam.

how could he sit there, knowing this was what bucky's always wanted- purpose, redemption- and try to take it away from him?

at the same time, bucky felt almost guilty. like it was his own fault. he should've done something. said something. told everyone it was another one of valentina's scams.

but he couldn't. not when there were so many people cheering and chanting for him. they weren't calling him the winter soldier. a monster. not a criminal, but an avenger.

a true hero.

he went home to you, heart feeling heavy.

"hey sweetheart," you greeted him at the door, wrapping your arms around his neck.

you ran your hands through his blown out curls, brushing them out of his pretty face. you noticed the tired look in his eyes. "everything okay?"

he sighed before pulling you into him, caging you against him in a crushing embrace.

you didn't push the matter. you just let him hold you like that for as long as he needed, and eventually he sat down and confided in you.

"sam called," he started, but paused. you smiled a bit at the mention of your friend. he'd been there countless times for both you and bucky.

bucky had gone to visit him about a year ago, but it had been awhile since you had talked to him without having to dial his number.

"how is he?" you asked.

"he's suing me," he said flatly. you furrowed your brows and shook your head, trying to wrap your mind around it. "well, not just me, the new avengers. for copyright."

it suddenly made sense.

"oh, bucky," you sat down next to him, interlocking his metal fingers with your flesh ones.

he kept his gaze on the floor, "he was pissed. and maybe he has every right to be."

you didn't say anything. what could you say?

you could see it from sam's point of view. he was an avenger. and he'd lost so many of his teammates.

bucky had even told you that sam was planning to rebuild the avengers a while back. you were so sure that he would've asked bucky to join.

but it looks like he never got the chance.

and bucky. your bucky. this meant so much to him. it's not like he went out searching for it. this team, these lonely, messed up people, just happened to fall right in his lap.

they were just like him. people who'd fucked up beyond redemption.

but here they were, getting the clean slate each of them had only ever dreamt of.

he was supposed to throw that all away?

he rested his forehead on your shoulder, "i don't know what to do. you know, after steve..." you waited for him to finish, knowing it was a rough topic.

"after steve left, i thought i would never have that kind of bond with anyone else," he whispered.

"besides you, of course," he looked up at you with a lopsided grin.

you smiled back, softly.

"but then sam and i...we really started to understand each other. we were forced to work together, and despite him being an annoying pain in my ass... he's filled the emptiness that steve left behind." his face contorts with pain.

you took his face into your hands, thumbs brushing across his cheeks.

"what if he never forgives me?" he asks the question that leaves the room thick with the loss and pain he's lived with his entire life.

you shook your head once more, "buck, don't say that. he's sam. he's pissed off, probably hurting, but he loves you."

"a brief argument over the phone is never going to change that. you two will work this out," you said confidently. it helped that you truly believed the words coming out of your mouth.

there were some bumps in the road of bucky and sam's relationship, but ultimately, they were the captain and his sergeant. inseparable.

bucky was in awe of you. your unwavering faith in him. your never-ending love and support. his blue eyes shined with affection.

"i'm glad that it's you by my side, doll," he whispered. "even if nobody else is."

you pressed your forehead against his and frowned, "which they are."

he couldn't help but chuckle at how adamant you were.

"c'mere," he lifted your chin slightly and kissed you tenderly, his love for you evident in the way his lips lingered against your own.

[suguann]

✎. you've been on the run for a while. you knew someone would come eventually—but not him.

tags. fem!reader, old west era, bounty hunter simon, size difference, size kink, implied the reader's husband is a terrible human, accidental voyeurism, period-typical sexism, masturbation [18+ only]

masterlist

You’ve been running for months, first from your husband (the phantom grip of his hand still sending an ache through your wrist) and now as a wanted conwoman for stealing the clothes from an unsuspecting cowpoke who thought he was getting lucky. You can only imagine what Mama would say about trading your ruffled skirts for grass-stained trousers and boiled-leather suspenders.

(It’s unbecoming of a respectable woman, dear. Uncouth.)

She’d probably have a lot to say if she knew everything you’ve done to survive.

You hop from one place to the next only by the mere chance someone was willing to let a helpless woman accompany them on their travels. Nearly a month has passed since being stranded in a dusty old mining town after a man and his wife dump you off and leave you behind. Washoe’s a little gritty and not welcoming unless there’s money to spend.

It’s not exactly safe, not unsafe, either, but nobody asks questions as long as you keep your head down and play the part of a mourning widow just passing through.

You know you’ve overextended your stay when you can’t leave your room during the day without worrying about a noose and the open end of a barrel meeting you outside. 

(That your husband or that gun-waving cowpoke finally found you.)

Sleep practically clings to you like a second skin, but you don’t dare close your eyes—you can’t.

This is how you end up sitting in the corner of the saloon, using the last of whatever you have in your change purse to order something strong, something your husband kept locked away, and anything else he thought women shouldn’t have a part in. 

You don’t even realize that your eyelids begin to feel heavy, steadily blurring out the flickering lantern on the wall while you wait for your drink. 

You catch yourself once or twice before your head can hit the table, rapidly blinking away the exhaustion before your eyes slide to the swinging doors.

You should stay awake. 

You need to stay awake just a little bit longer—

Your luck runs out that day. 

It’s one thing to know it’d happen eventually, and something else to realize that you make it easy for him—the man with an infamous name and a faded black bandana covering half his face—how he walked into the saloon and scooped you up (all unladylike sleepy dead weight) out of the weathered booth without a fight.

When you’d woken up to find yourself trussed up and thrown over the back of his horse, you cursed him out with every word you could think of that would make Mama clutch her skirts. Your captor ignored you, only talking to you whenever he warned you he was about to set up camp. 

“Did my husband send you?” Acknowledging him after all this time tasted like pennies on your tongue.

The man, Simon Riley, had leaned back against his bedroll and tipped the brim of his hat over his eyes. “Go the fuck to sleep.”

That was several weeks ago. 

Now, you find yourself stranded in another state that’s more green and vibrant than anything you’re familiar with, stuck with a man who refuses to answer the questions you throw at him. He doesn’t talk outside a few cursory words you greedily latch onto. Anything’s better than silence and the sound of hooves hitting earth. 

The pace he keeps you at is exhausting. You complain about it enough until he moves you in front of him, tying your hands to the saddle's horn.

“I would strongly advise you to shut that mouth for the rest of the ride unless you want me to do something about that, too.” The low growl of his voice in your ear makes the fine hairs on the back of your neck stand up, muddling your brain.

You’re distantly aware you had something to say to that, but you don’t. 

And that is really saying something.

It’s because there’s someone he needs to meet in town—an errand that lawbreakers who run their mouths aren’t allowed to go on.

This is how you end up sitting in camp alone, twirling around a knife he gave you solely for emergencies. 

(Surprise, sharp and quick through your middle, when he tosses his pocket knife into the grass beside you. “What’s to stop me from leaving?”

You could’ve sworn he rolled his eyes. “Will you?”

It doesn’t seem worth dignifying with a reply. You don’t want to travel alone, and there’s a high possibility of getting lost, finding yourself saddled up with worse company than the one you’re stuck with.

Until he evidently catches you again.)

He’s a lot nicer than you first gave him credit for—if only by a fraction—not that you know much about Simon other than what you overheard from gossip circles before you became Mrs. Thornton. Afternoons spent sipping tea laden with honey and lounging around a table full of cakes in the sun parlor while wealthy women talked behind their lace-covered hands to hide secret smiles you were too naive to understand. 

Trying not to stare at the bulge of his arms with thin pink scars—unlike the men you’re used to who got through life with a silver spoon hanging from their mouth—as he places his saddle back on his horse, you think you finally know what they smiled about.

You learn those scars also litter his torso from the time you accidentally walked upon him mid-way through putting his trousers on after washing in the river. It’d been too dark for you to see much else, and you quickly returned to camp before he could say something that would embarrass you both. 

Then, of course, tucked away into your bedroll, you can’t help wondering what the rest of him would have looked like if you had stayed a second longer. 

If his jaw is sharp or soft behind that mask he insists on wearing—that’s if he’d let you see at all. 

Simon’s always so serious that it’s often hard to determine whether he’s merely tolerating your existence until he can get rid of you or if he’s unused to traveling accompanied for so long. It’s not as if he goes out of his way to make pleasant conversation with you for you to assume otherwise.

You look off in the direction where he disappeared into the dense line of trees hours ago, wondering if you should go out looking for him (mainly because you’re hot and sticky from the humidity) despite his order to stay put. 

But after four hours turns into five, you head off, searching for something to help cool you off.

Luckily, unlike the heavily eroded lands you’re used to, there isn’t any water shortage in a place that sees rain three times a day, so it doesn’t take long to find a lake. You set your knife down on the stone-covered beach, followed by your boots, until you’re left in nothing but your undergarments. 

The water is icy cold and laps gently at your feet when you step in. You can’t find it in you to complain as the heat from the day slowly washes away the further you walk in and find a wide ledge to sit on. 

Your thoughts drift back to Simon, incessant and intruding even though you shouldn’t be thinking about him while wet and naked. And suddenly, you can picture it: his hands replacing yours as they trace along your neck. You have a feeling they’re probably rough and scarred from years of living hard and gunslinging, extracting the readily available knowledge that they’re big enough to encase your waist.

He could maneuver you around however he wants (you know this), and you feel dizzy just thinking about it.

Sighing, you sink deeper into the water while your hands smooth over the tips of your breasts and down your stomach. 

You wish you could see him without violating whatever personal preservations hide him from the rest of the world. Instead, you’re left with your imagination—the benefits of being a married woman and the little experience you have in the bedroom finally coming into play. 

Closing your eyes, you picture what he might look like under those sun-weathered leathers, knowing that the broadness of his shoulders isn’t only due to his vest and holsters but also from how his job has shaped him.

Your hands travel lower, fingers brushing through the creamy, soft wetness between your legs, evidence of what Simon does to you even when he’s not around. A moan, too high and breathy, slips past your lips as you use your middle finger to circle your clit in slow, clumsy swirls from lack of practice and patience that spreads warmth through your middle despite the cold water. 

It’s good, your fingers discovering places your husband always ignored—too many nights spent with your hand under your nightgown long after he’d tucked his cock away and gone to sleep—but probably don’t compare to the ones you’ve caught yourself staring at far too many times. 

They don’t fill you nearly enough, unlike how you know Simon’s would—thick and unrelenting. Rough and long, reaching deep enough to make you breathless.

Your breath hitches from pinching the tight, sensitive peak of your nipple until you feel a slight sting, and then it slips out, a tiny thing that’s only audible to your ears—Simon—a secret you now share with the lightning bugs and crickets.

“Dirty, no good rotten—” he’d tell you for thinking such lewd thoughts about him, for sinning so easily. Maybe you are, for getting so worked up over a man who isn’t your husband (no matter how terrible a husband he may be).

A man who’s so big that he makes you feel small, the type that gives before he takes. It’s enough to make you work your hand faster—your body vibrating from the chill of the water and the ache between your trembling thighs.  

Fantasies aren’t enough to sate the deep longing in your chest. Yet you’re slipping over the edge of ecstasy before taking your next breath—all of it builds up and gradually crests inside you like the lake rippling against the shore.

Afterward, it leaves you feeling soft and blurred around the edges, a watercolor painting drying under the sun while you wait for your rapid heartbeat to slow.

You don’t realize your eyes have fallen shut until they flutter open, and you’re startled to find Simon standing at the shoreline, his chest heaving as if he ran here. 

(Though he probably did to see if you took the opportunity to leave.)

You’re glued to your spot on the rock, suddenly struck with the mortifying realization that he’d seen you come—that he possibly heard you cry out his name so intimately.

You watch him remove his hat and hang it on a branch with wide eyes. Followed by his undershirt, guns, and—

He keeps removing clothes until he’s completely naked on the shore—aside from his face that stays hidden—scars marred his chest, spreading to his collarbones and below the water as he steps into the lake and sits on another ledge across from you.

His mask makes him look more menacing, erasing any trace of softness there. And you wonder if he’s angry at you for wandering off.

"Come here." His voice is low and deep, rumbling in his chest.

You don't think he'd hurt you. If he wanted to, he would have done it by now.

At least, that’s what you’re going with to settle the nervous fluttering in your middle.

Water laps at your arms as you wade through the water, each shaky step bringing you closer until you stop before him.

"In my lap."

Your breath sticks in your throat as you do as he says, settling down onto his sturdy thighs, palms falling flat against his broad chest. That same breath comes out in one large exhale as his fingers slide along your jaw, to the nape of your neck, curling into your hair, wet and falling around your shoulders.

“Like this?” you ask, trying to ignore how breathy you sound.

He grunts, apparently in confirmation.

You don’t think you’ve ever felt so conflicted in your life—fear and arousal turning into a messy cocktail in your veins.

“Why do I always have to use a heavy hand to make you listen?”

Your lips part. Breath growing short. “I’m sorry.”

And then—

Simon pulls your head back sharply, exposing your throat.

Your body goes slack against his. Mind blissfully blank.

“No,” he says, tone flat. “But you will be.”

[diwtara]

Yes, Sanji and Zoro fight constantly, but afterwards Sanji goes back to the galley as happy as can be.

Growing up in the baratie, teasing each other, throwing insults, it was the language he learned to speak

And he knew just as well that Zoro grew up a fighter, that testing himself against others he considered strong, fighting without inent to harm, was Zoros language in much the same way.

And it was freeing to meet each other, have these playful conversations daily, to blow off stress with someone who spoke their language

Sanji heard people comment on how badly the two of them got along, but he laughed it off. These strangers dont understand them at all.

But then Usopp says it.

Sanji is confused. Because Usopp must know that the two of them are friends. Maybe even best friends, happy to share a drink, or their chores, or even the quiet together

But then Nami says it

And now Sanji is questioning everything. Has he been misinterpreting Zoro this whole time? Maybe Zoro had never been asking for a sparring partner. Maybe Zoro didnt know how to say he didnt enjoy spending their time together.

So when Zoro teases him he starts biting back his own taunts. Swallowing all the things he normally would say.

When Zoro challenges him, Sanji will meet him just as always, not willing to take away from Zoros training if thats all he can offer the man.

Sani finds theres less joy in himself when he returns to the galley after these one sided talks.

Zoro for his part has no idea whats going on with the Cook, doesnt understand the way hes holding back. Their captain is all about freedom, yet Zoro watches as Sanji locks a part of himself away.

He racks his brain for something hes said or done to have the cook shut him out like this but cant think of anything. He could try to ask, but the common tongue had never been Zoros strong suite

When they land at a new island and Sanji volunteers to be the one to stay behind Zoro knows something is up. The cook loves to explore new places and explore new markets.

So Zoro takes the pocket change Nami allowed him and instead of looking for a bar he went searching for something else.

It took a while, and took even longer for him to make it back - someone decided to put a whole forest between this harbor town and the docks while he was shopping - the food he was carrying had long gone cold, but hopefully it still tasted fine.

He pushed his way into the kitchen and dropped the plates on the counter. "Local specials" he said with a shrug, hoping that the Cook would understand all the things he was trying to say with this.

"And...why are you bringing them here?"

"So you can try them." Zoro huffed and quickly looked away, "maybe it will improve your cooking, shit-cook"

Sanji was just staring at the dishes, leaving zoro to squirm internally, knowing he wouldnt have the words to explain more than that.

"Zoro," Sanji started cautiously, still looking at the plates rather than at the swordsman, "are we friends?"

Zoros head whipped around to stare at Sanji like he was stupid. "What are you, stupid?! Of course we're friends idiot!"

Sanjis face instantly flushed red with anger "oh you are certainly not someone who should be calling other stupid you directionally challenged, mossheaded, excuse for a swordsman -"

It wasnt long before insults, swords, and legs were flying, smashing into each other in ways they both understood.

Nami sighed, hearing them clash once again. Shaking her head and lamenting how those two can never just sit down and talk to each other.

Luffy laughs. He hears what they are saying just fine.

[redfadedghost]

At one point soap just… loses his passion for the military. The gruelling missions, the chasing the bad guys, knowing that every mission may very well be his last. From the moment he joined he knew he wanted to fight for his country, and was willing to die for it, too. But one day, he just… didn’t want to die in a foreign country, with bullets in his body, his mam receiving a folded flag at her door and not her baby boy.

So he finished his contract, and much to the dismay of the entire task force, he didn’t reenlist. He packed his things and left credenhill with his life and a few brothers for the rest of it.

When soap had brought up his plan to leave the first time, ghost had laughed. He honest to god had thought that soap had been pulling his leg. Soap, the man who was as adamant at dying in the service as he was, was wanting to quit. Soap had laughed, too, and ghost forgot he had brought it up.

Until he did, again. A month later, soap was laying on his bed, unusually quiet. Ghost didn’t ask him, knew soap would start talking on his own. Which he did, unsure at first, but reiterated his desire to leave the military and settle back at home. Ghost didn’t laugh that time.

“You’re sure you want to be a civilian again?”

“I don’t know what I want. I just don’t want to die here anymore.”

He didn’t say anything else after that, just kept a close eye on soap, watching the other man for any sign of untruth. But there was nothing, just a serious look on soaps face and in his eyes, and ghost wasn’t sure what to do.

The third time soap brought it up, ghost snapped. He didn’t mean to, but the end of soaps term was only two months away and he was serious about it, serious about leaving, leaving the army, leaving the task force, leaving him.

“You’re an idiot, y’know that?”

“Why? Because I don’t want to reenlist? Because I’m not okay with dying somewhere where they have to fly my body back days later when all of the enemies are dead?”

“Because you’re ready to just leave your life behind, without a second thought! To leave all of this behind, all of us!”

“I don’t want this life anymore! I’m done with this, you can’t change my mind.”

“So that’s it? You’re just going to throw away everything you’ve worked hard for? It’s that easy for you? To leave the military, to leave me behind because you’re tired of playing soldier?”

“Aye, I’m done playing. I can’t do it anymore. And it’s not about you, Simon. It’s my decision, and that’s it.”

Ghost didn’t say anything after that. Just stared at soap before leaving.

Things were… tense after that. Their dynamic had shifted, more closed off and on edge, not getting on like they had before. Their relationship was strained the two months leading up to soap’s departure. Both price and Gaz had tried to get them to figure their shit out, but ghost couldn’t get himself to do it. He was hurt - he realized after some time - that soap was leaving him at the base, leaving him on the field, leaving him.

The dumbest part was, was that they weren’t even anything. Soap was just the one person ghost got on with the best, trusted the most, felt the most comfortable with. He spent all his time with soap, did everything with him, was always paired with him. Price had warned him about codependency, and ghost had brushed him off but it was too late.

But he was dependent on soap, of his company, his companionship. Could barely even sleep most nights unless soap was in the bed beside him, waking with arms wrapped around each other.

And it’s not like he didn’t want them to be… more… than just that. But ghost was a coward, through and through, and never bit the bullet, never even tried. Not like he wanted to risk the friendship they had, plus, he was sure soap didn’t feel the same anyways.

It was hard, when soap’s departure date arrived. They’d barely talked outside of missions or trainings in the two months. They were a shell of who they used to be, the relationship they had. Price and Gaz had saw him off, pats on the shoulder and tight hugs, maybe a few tears. Ghost watched from a distance, not trusting himself to not make a scene.

The months following were even harder. Ghost had to relearn to navigate being alone. Something he never thought he had to worry about. He never thought he’d be dependant on another person, but soap had dug his way under his skin, etched permanent marks in his being, changing his perspective on life.

He lasted three months.

Ghost never thought he’d leave the military unless it was in a body bag. He never thought soap would’ve, either.

But there he was, standing on soap’s doorstep, duffel bag full of the few things he owned hanging off his shoulder. A knock on the door and a prayer that soap would let him in was all he had left.

The door opened, revealing a half awake soap, wide eyed and definitely not expecting to see him at the door. His brows furrowed as he looked ghost up and down, like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Ghost dropped his duffel at the sight of him.

“Ghost?”

“Johnny.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Couldn’t do it anymore.”

“Do what?”

“Be apart from you.”

Soap lets him in, sits him on couch, makes him a tea then joins him in the living room.

“So that’s why you were so pissed I was leaving.”

“Hmm.”

“Price know you’re here?”

“Should, he signed my discharge forms.” And ghost doesn’t miss the way soaps caught off guard with that.

“…discharge forms? You mean leave forms, right?”

“Meant what I said.”

“You’re serious?”

“I’m sitting here, aren’t I?”

It takes a moment for soap to respond, with a shake of his head and a disbelieving chuckle. “You’re a bleedin’ idiot, Simon.”

Soap kisses him anyways, and ghost thinks that maybe, just maybe, leaving the military was worth it in the end, if this is the life he gets to live instead.

[multiversefanfics]

You left

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader(Past relationship)- Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader(not a full on relationship but friends with benefits type thing with hidden feelings?) Warning: SMUT 18+‼️Oral (F receiving p in v) ,cussing, mention of sex, angst Summary: After Thanos snapped half of humanity out of existence, then fighting like hell to get them back just for him to leave anyway. A/N: It still irritates me that Steve left everyone behind for Peggy, this fic is for people who are also irritated about Steve leaving, but that doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy it too. this is a short one, well my opinion of short😂 Past in Italics Word Count: 2,565

"Steve, you promised. You told me there was nothing to worry about and that you loved me and only me." He sighed and placed his hand on your shoulder

"I do love you, but I love her too. I can't just ignore it; she is the love of my life." By now, tears were streaming down your face, you couldn't believe what you were hearing, you thought Steve was someone you could trust.

You took a step back, staring deep into his eyes.

"Steve..." Was all you could manage to get out between sobs.

You shrugged his hand off your shoulder.

"I can't believe you right now, after everything, you are willing to just throw away 6 years together." Steve rubbed his face.

When he removed his hands, you could see his facial expression was different

"I have to! When I saw her again, it brought back everything I missed out on.” His sudden change of volume made you flinch.

He apologized and told you he loved you, but his words meant nothing because he still went back to Peggy, leaving you behind to try and move on while he lived out his dream.

You and Steve were in love, even though in the back of your mind the same name kept popping up Peggy Carter. Although he tells you every chance, he can that he loves you and only you, you can’t help but feel like a consolation prize. You loved Steve he was your favorite person in the world, you would be lost without him, but you don't know if he felt the same way about you sometimes. He told you over and over that he loved you and he would never do anything to hurt you, and then he did it. He left. He left you to go back to Peggy.

After all the fighting to bring everyone back, all the moments you shared, everything. He just left like it was nothing. It took a while for you to move on and find your happiness, it wasn't easy, but you did it and you were successful. Something unexpected happened that caused you to rethink everything.

It's been 3 years since Steve left and you're single and still not ready to mingle and that's fine no one is rushing, and you're not really interested in anyone, you're just having some fun. You and Bucky were sitting on the couch, your legs over his lap while he rubbed your calf after you pretended to have a cramp

"Is your cramp gone?" You giggled a bit.

"I never had a cramp I just wanted you to rub my legs" Bucky groaned and smacked your shin, leaning back and looking at the TV.

"Why did you stop?" You whined, rubbing your leg against his hand.

"Because you tricked me." He looked over at you while you made puppy dog eyes at him.

He rolled his eyes and started rubbing your legs again. You smiled to yourself and started watching TV again. Sam strolled into the living room, plopping down beside you.

"Well, aren't you two cozy?" You hit him with a pillow, not taking your eyes off the screen.

"Why don't you mind your business?" Bucky retorted earning a deep chuckle from Sam

"It's cute, that's all." You saw Sam shift awkwardly out of the corner of your eye.

You sat up and looked at him. "What's wrong?" Sam looked over at you and raised an eyebrow

"What are you talking about?" You studied his face

"You never adjust yourself. unless you're nervous about something. Out with it."

Sam sighed and just as he was about to answer you heard the front door open, everyone turned their attention to the door, and in walks Steve. You sat there frozen unable to utter a single word, Bucky got up and did one of those man hugs with him and Sam followed suit, while you sat there still frozen trying to figure out if he was real or if you were dreaming. It was real, no matter how many times you told yourself it wasn’t. He was standing right in front of you staring deep into your eyes waiting for you to say something. Anything. You cleared your throat and stood up joining the group

“Hi...” Steve smiled at you.

God, you missed that smile, but then you remembered that smile belonged to Peggy.

"Hey, Y/N, how are you?" Is he really going to pretend that everything is okay? Like he didn’t just leave you behind,

“I’m good, how are you here?” He sighed and looked around.

“Why don’t we sit down, and I can explain.”

Everyone nodded and went to sit on the couch, you sat closest to Bucky laying your head on his shoulder, you weren't doing it to spite Steve or anything, Bucky was your only source of comfort, but you could see in Steve's eyes he didn't like that. His best friend and his ex-girlfriend? Together? The thing is you guys weren't really together you two just leaned on each other when one of you needed it, or when aggression or stress needed to be released. Maybe you had feelings for Bucky but never expressed them. Steve took a deep breath trying to compose himself

"Stark visited me and said there was much to be done here so, he and Scott pulled me back, and I'm here to help." Bucky felt you tense up and although he knew what he was about to do would rub Steve the wrong way.

He needed to comfort you instead of having to deal with Steve's feelings when he was the one who left. He rested his hand on your knee, rubbing his thumb over your kneecap. It was hard for Steve to concentrate, let alone talk, so he cut it short.

"I'm here to stay and help with whatever you guys need help with." Everyone nodded and started to go their separate ways.

"Hey, Y/N can I speak with you?" You looked back at Steve and nodded

"Sure, what's up?" You stood in front of Steve who was awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck

"So are you and Bucky... Like together?" You shook your head,

"No, but when you left, he was the only one there for me and provided comfort when I needed it. We weren't trying to hurt you earlier; he just knew I was tense and tried to calm me down."

Steve crossed his arms over his chest and took a deep breath "Do you have feelings for him?" You were taken aback.

Why is he asking these questions? Was he judging you for how you repaired yourself?

"I don't think that's any of your business anymore." You rolled your eyes and went to walk away.

“Wait, Y/N, there’s more I need to tell you. I figured it would be easier coming from me.” You turned to face him again, and he took a deep breath.

You’ve never seen Steve so nervous before.

“Peggy is here too.” Your breath hitched and you nodded slowly

“Is that all?” He nodded, and you walked away. You wish you could be happy for him, but he left you behind. ‘He left’ kept echoing in your head

You and Bucky were lying on your bed, his head lying between your legs on top of your stomach, you aimlessly played with his hair while he talked about something Sam did, you weren't really paying attention you were too busy thinking about the questions Steve was asking.

"So, I was thinking of shaving my head and getting a skull tattoo." Your head snapped in his direction

"What?!" He chuckled,

"What's on your mind?" You sighed and stared at the ceiling.

"Is it Steve?" You heard the sadness in his voice, it wasn't what he thought, you didn't want to get back with Steve it was just the questions he asked. You took a deep breath

"It's not that I want to get back with him, he was just asking questions about us and asked if I had feelings for you." Bucky turned on his side and looked up at you.

"And you told him that it was none of his business, right?" You nodded and looked down at him.

"Does he know we had sex?" You shook your head and sat up

"No, I didn't tell him we had sex I didn't think he would want to hear 'Hey Steve, I'm having sex with your best friend, welcome back.' Kinda sounds a little messed up." Bucky let out a hearty laugh

"You got a point." Bucky looked down between your legs, then back at you.

“Speaking of sex.” He leaned down and gently kissed your thigh. you looked down at Bucky as he left several soft kisses up and down your thighs.

You shudder under his touch. “Bucky, is now really a good time?” He dragged the tip of his tongue down the inside of your thigh, not breaking eye contact with you.

“If you want, I’ll stop.” You wanted nothing more than for him to devour you and help you relieve your stress.

You bit your bottom lip and nodded slightly at him; he pulled your underwear to the side and instantly latched onto your clit sucking gently. Over the years Bucky learned what your body wanted, how you wanted, and especially what drove you crazy and that was his tongue. To him, it was just a tongue but to you, it was the best thing in the world. Bucky moaned against your skin sending vibrations straight to your clit, which made you moan out his name. Bucky knew the effect he had on you and used it to his advantage.

Your fingers found their way to his hair tugging slightly as he swirled his tongue all around your throbbing wet pussy, you arched your back and spread your legs farther to give him more access. You felt your orgasm creeping up, you began rolling your hips against his face “B-Buck, I’m close.” As soon as he heard those words he latched onto your clit this time sucking a little harder than before, you cried out in pleasure before releasing all of your juices onto his face.

You laid there breathless as he sucked up all the juice until every last drop was gone.

“Y/N, you okay?” You lazily nodded and watched as he crawled up beside you.

You kicked off your underwear and got on your knees while pulling his boxers down, you wanted nothing more than to climb on top and feel his dick stretch you out. You watched his dick bounce back from his waistband, you licked your lips and took his dick in your hand slowly pumping up and down. As much as you love to tease him you really didn’t want to waste any time, you took his entire length in your mouth, choking a bit until you started to breathe through your nose, you bobbed your head up and down earning a low growl from Bucky, you looked up and saw him watching you. You smirked and pulled back, swirling your tongue around his tip.

Bucky reached down and grabbed you by the throat, pulling you up to his face so he could kiss you. there was something different about the kiss, but you didn’t care you kissed him back. You reached down between his legs and slowly sat down on his dick, as soon as it entered, he flipped you on your back and started thrusting roughly into you. Bucky was always rough with you, and you loved every minute of it, mainly because it was him. His hand still on your throat, he used his vibranium hand to make small circles on your clit, this sent you into overdrive.

“B-Bucky” You managed to moan out between gasps.

Bucky’s thrusts got sloppier and slower as he tried not to cum so fast, he wanted to savor the moment, just then there was a knock at the door “Uh, just a minute.”

But they didn’t listen and walked in anyway. It was Steve

“Buck, I have to- Woah, uh I’m sorry… Y/N?” You mentally smacked yourself putting your hands over your face, mumbling ‘fuck’. Bucky looked down at you, then back at Steve.

“Uh, Steve, could you give me a minute?” Steve was so angry that it literally looked like steam was coming out of his ears. he nodded and slammed the door behind him. Bucky looked down at you

“So, where were we?” You rolled your eyes and pushed him off of you

“Are you kidding me right now? We just got caught by your best friend and my ex. Do you not realize how that looks?” Bucky stood up, putting on sweatpants

“It looks like his ex-girlfriend moved on after he left her for someone else.” As much as the comment hurt, he was right. Steve has no right to be mad when he left you.

You sighed and mumbled

“You’re right…” Bucky looked at you wide eyed

“I’m what?” A smile spread across your lips.

“I’m not saying it again.”

You felt so bad but at the same time, he left you and he has Peggy, he has no right to be mad. You finished getting dressed and headed to meet Bucky and Sam in the living room, you stopped in your tracks when you heard Sam tell them to calm down

“Calm down? I just walked in on Bucky and Y/N having sex!” You peeked your head around the corner and saw Steve pacing in front of Bucky, fuming.

“You can’t be mad at how she decided to repair what you broke.” Steve stopped in his tracks and looked at Bucky

“What I broke? You are my best friend!” You don’t have to see Bucky’s face to know how red it was

“You left us! You went back for Peggy you didn’t think about your ‘best friend’ or ‘girlfriend’ when you decided to go back to her.” You leaned your back against the wall sighing quietly maybe it was time to defend yourself.

“Hi, you must be Y/N” You flinched and looked at where the voice was coming from and there she was, Peggy Carter.

She was even more gorgeous than you imagined, more than the picture Steve carried around when you two were together

“Uh, yeah hi I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you.” She smiled sweetly at you and shook your hand.

“What are they yelling about?” You pointed to yourself

“Steve walked in on Bucky and I being… intimate” She cocked her head and raised an eyebrow

“Let’s go be a part of this conversation, shall we?” You nodded and walked into the living room with her.

Steve’s eyes widened as you both came around the couch and sat on it.

“Please, gentlemen continue. Pretend like we’re not even here.” You couldn’t tell if she was pissed off or not her calm tone threw you off. You looked at Bucky and frowned. He leaned over and whispered in your ear,

“It’s okay, doll.” You heard Steve scoff, which caused everyone to look at him

“I can’t believe you two.” Peggy chuckled and looked Steve in his eyes

"I can't believe you. Why do you care what she does?" The next words out of Steve's mouth shocked everyone.

"Because I am still in love with her!"

Main Masterlist - Steve Rogers Masterlist - Bucky Barnes Masterlist

A/N: I dont know if there will be a part 2. I haven't thought that far yet but, I hope you like it. feedback is much appreciated if anyone wants to be tagged in future fics please message me or leave and ask on what you want to be tagged in or if you want to be tagged in everything.

Tags: @megamindsecretlair @kandis-mom

Divider credit: @firefly-graphics

Part 2

[lvmoure]

Petty, Pretty Arguments CS55

Pairings: Carlos Sainz x long-termgirlfriend!reader

Summary: In which he lets an argument pass a day

Warnings: arguments

The evening air was thick, a sense of tension that had simmered all day was finally breaking loose in Carlos' living room. Usually, this was your safe haven—where late-night talks, laughter, and gentle touches spoke louder than words. But tonight, the warmth was gone, replaced by a biting chill.

Carlos sat across from you, arms folded, his gaze hard and distant. This wasn’t the Carlos who had held your hand through your darkest days or whispered promises under starlit skies. No, this was a man barricaded behind walls, with his eyes fixed firmly on a point behind you, as if he could barely stand the sight of you.

“You’re doing it again,” he said, voice low but laced with a steely edge. The words struck like a slap, unexpected and stinging.

“Doing what, Carlos?” you asked, forcing your voice to stay calm, though it wavered at the edges. “Caring? Checking in on you? Wanting to spend time with you?”

“You call it caring. I call it clingy,” he shot back, his words sharper than you’d ever heard them. You flinched, hurt pooling in your chest. He’d never spoken to you like this before.

“Clingy?” you repeated, barely able to recognize the word in your own mouth. “Since when is it clingy to want to be with the person you love?”

Carlos rubbed a hand over his face, a frustrated sigh escaping him. “It’s like... like you don’t trust me to be alone for five minutes without you,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Every time I turn around, you’re there. Every phone call, every minute I’m out of your sight—you act like it’s a crisis.”

“That’s not true!” you protested, feeling your voice tremble. You fought to keep control, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing you unravel. “I trust you, Carlos. But you’ve been so... distant lately. You hardly talk to me anymore. I’m just trying to understand what’s going on with you.”

“Maybe I just need space,” he replied coldly, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Did you ever think of that?”

Space. The word echoed in your mind like a warning bell, and a sinking feeling began to settle in your stomach. After thirteen years together, it was as if he were drawing a line between you that you couldn’t cross.

“I’m sorry,” you said, barely able to get the words out. “I didn’t know... I didn’t know you felt that way. But you could’ve told me. I would’ve given you space if you’d just asked.”

He shook his head, looking down at his hands as if the conversation were already over. “I did ask, but you didn’t listen. And I can’t keep doing this. I can’t have you hovering over me every second.”

The words hit like a punch, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe. Hovering? After everything you’d been through together, he thought of you as some burden, an annoyance he couldn’t shake off.

“So... what are you saying?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

Carlos looked up, and for the first time, you saw something hard and unyielding in his eyes. “I’m saying... if you can’t stop, if you can’t give me what I need, maybe this won’t work anymore.”

You stared at him, feeling like the ground had fallen out from under you. Thirteen years. Thirteen years of love, of memories, of promises. And he was willing to throw it all away—because you cared too much?

“Is that really what you want?” you asked, your voice breaking. “To just... walk away?”

Carlos’ gaze softened, but only for a moment. “I don’t know,” he replied, and the uncertainty in his voice cut deeper than anything he’d said before. “But I know I can’t keep doing this.”

You felt tears sting at your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “Fine,” you said, your voice hollow. “If that’s how you feel... I’ll leave you alone.”

Without another word, you turned and walked out, each step feeling like a thousand knives driving into your heart. But you wouldn’t let him see you cry. Not tonight.

The next day was a blur of silence. You barely slept, the memory of Carlos’ words echoing in your mind until they felt like they’d left scars. By morning, a cold resolve had settled in you—you wouldn’t let him hurt you again. If he wanted space, you’d give him all the space he wanted.

The phone buzzed with messages from Carlos, but you ignored them. Your heart pounded each time you saw his name flash on the screen, but you refused to give in. You went about your day with mechanical precision, avoiding every thought of him, blocking out the ache that tugged at you with every passing hour.

By evening, you were back in your apartment, exhaustion seeping into your bones. You’d managed to avoid Carlos all day, but a part of you felt hollow, like you’d lost a piece of yourself somewhere along the way.

A knock at the door broke through the silence, and your heart leapt, knowing who it would be. You didn’t want to see him, didn’t want to face the coldness in his eyes again, but something inside you couldn’t resist.

When you opened the door, Carlos was standing there, looking more tired than you’d ever seen him. There was a desperation in his eyes, a vulnerability that took you off guard. He reached for you, but you stepped back, crossing your arms tightly over your chest.

“Are you here for more space?” you asked, your tone sharper than you intended. Carlos flinched, and guilt pricked at you, but you forced yourself to stay firm.

“I’m here because... I made a mistake,” he said, his voice low. “I didn’t mean what I said last night.”

“Oh, really?” you replied, raising an eyebrow. “Because it sounded pretty clear to me.”

Carlos ran a hand through his hair, looking down at the ground. “I know. And I don’t blame you for being angry. But please... can we talk?”

You hesitated, the ache in your chest warring with the anger still simmering beneath the surface. Finally, you stepped aside, letting him in.

Carlos sat on the edge of the couch, looking more unsure of himself than you’d ever seen him. The silence stretched between you, heavy and uncomfortable, until finally, he broke it.

“I was wrong,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “I pushed you away because... I was scared. Scared of how much you mean to me, of how much I need you. And I didn’t know how to deal with it.”

You stared at him, your mind reeling. This was a side of Carlos you’d never seen before, a side he’d kept hidden for all these years.

“So... what? You thought hurting me was the answer?” you asked, unable to keep the bitterness out of your voice.

Carlos shook his head, looking up at you with regret in his eyes. “No. I didn’t think. I just... acted. And I hate myself for it. But please... give me a chance to make it right.”

Carlos didn’t leave that night. Instead, he stayed by your side, refusing to let you out of his sight. He was gentle, attentive, the opposite of the man who had stood cold and distant just twenty-four hours before. And slowly, you began to feel the walls around your heart start to crumble.

The next day, Carlos took you out, determined to make it up to you in every way he could. He led you to a secluded beach, a place he’d found on one of his training runs, where the world felt miles away. The sun was setting, casting a warm glow over the water, and Carlos pulled you into his arms, holding you close.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “For everything. I know I hurt you, and I’ll never forgive myself for it. But please... don’t give up on me. I’ll do whatever it takes to earn your trust again.”

You looked up at him, searching his face for any trace of insincerity. But all you saw was a man who was willing to fight for you, who was ready to tear down his own walls if it meant keeping you by his side.

“I don’t want to lose you, Carlos,” you said softly, your voice barely a whisper. “But I need you to promise... promise that you’ll never treat me like that again. I can’t go through this again.”

Carlos nodded, his grip on you tightening as if he were afraid you’d slip away. “I promise,” he said, his voice steady. “I’ll never hurt you like that again. I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you know how much you mean to me.”

And as he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, you felt the last remnants of doubt fade away, replaced by the quiet certainty that no matter what lay ahead, he would be there—holding you, fighting for you, and loving you with everything he had.

[chadobi]

You Don’t Get to Leave Me

Pairing: Rise!Leonardo x Fem!Reader

Genre: Angst, Friends to Lovers, Emotional Confession

The rooftop was quiet in that special, after-battle kind of way,the kind where everyone breathed a little deeper, laughed a little louder, because they knew they were lucky to be here.

The city sparkled below, dusted in post-storm starlight.

The turtles sat in a circle with April and Casey Jr., pizza boxes scattered around them like trophies of survival. There was a warmth in the air, not from the wind, but from relief. From family.

Everyone was talking. Laughing. Joking about Donnie’s dramatic portal dive. Mikey’s hero moment. Even Raph teased Leo for his “near-death, sacrifice-the-team-for-drama” tendency.

Everyone but you.

You sat at the edge of the rooftop, legs pulled in close, arms wrapped around yourself. You hadn’t said a word since they pulled Leo back through that portal. Since he stumbled out of the void half-frozen, half-broken, but smiling like it didn’t matter.

Like he hadn’t just almost died.

He kept glancing your way, trying not to make it obvious. You could feel his eyes on your back. But you couldn’t look at him yet.

Not without falling apart.

You heard him laugh. Heard his voice, tired and raspy, but still somehow steady. Alive. And with every second, something inside you just kept winding tighter. A rubber band stretched to its breaking point.

April tossed you a glance now and then, brows furrowed.

Casey Jr. offered you a piece of pizza. You took it, but didn’t eat.

Donnie asked if you were okay.

You nodded once. That was all they got.

And Leo, he kept quiet too, at least when it came to you.

Until finally, when the others got distracted by a story Mikey was acting out with far too much flair, he rose and walked toward you.

Careful. Slow.

You didn’t turn.

“Hey…” he said softly, kneeling beside you. “You’ve been awfully quiet.”

Still nothing.

He shifted his weight, glancing sideways at you. “Did I do something?”

Your jaw clenched. You gripped your sleeve.

He hesitated. “I mean, besides almost sacrificing myself in a collapsing interdimensional prison. Which, okay, yeah… was maybe not my best plan ever.”

That did it.

You stood up so fast the movement startled him.

“Not your best plan?” you snapped. “You think this is a joke, Leo?”

His eyes widened. “No - I just meant -”

“You almost died.” Your voice cracked. “You were gone. That portal was closing, and you…you weren’t…I thought…”

Your throat closed up.

Everyone fell silent.

Raph stopped chewing. Mikey froze mid-gesture. Even Donnie looked up from his phone.

Leo stood slowly, hands lifted like you were a wild animal he didn’t want to spook.

“I wasn’t trying to scare you,” he said gently. “I just… I had to. There was no other-”

“There’s always another way!” you shouted, tears springing to your eyes. “But you didn’t even stop to think about us! About me!”

He flinched.

The city lights blurred behind your tears, but your voice didn’t falter.

“You’re not just a leader, Leo. You’re my best friend. You’re…You’re everything to me. And you were just going to throw your life away like it didn’t matter. Like we wouldn’t be left to live without you!”

He opened his mouth then closed it.

You stepped closer, voice trembling. “You always act like your life is expendable. Like the mission comes first, no matter what. But what about us? What about the people who’d have to live in a world without you?”

He was silent.

You shook your head. “I couldn’t breathe when you disappeared. I thought… I thought I’d lost you. And all I could think was that you’d never know, you’d never know that I…”

You bit your lip. Swallowed. “That I love you.”

Gasps. Somewhere, Mikey dropped a slice of pizza. April whispered a soft “oh.”

Leo’s eyes widened.

“I love you,” you repeated, softer now. “And I’m so, so angry at you… because you were willing to leave me behind without even knowing that.”

The silence stretched, thick and aching.

Then Leo took one step forward.

Then another.

Then he was in front of you, gently taking your hands in his, his thumbs brushing over your knuckles like a silent apology.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just… I couldn’t watch any of you die. I thought it was the only way to keep you safe.”

You looked up at him, tears slipping silently down your cheeks.

“You idiot,” you breathed. “We’re only safe when we’re together.”

He let out a shaky breath and then wrapped his arms around you.

You melted into him. Wrapped your arms tight around his waist and buried your face in his plastron. He was warm now. Solid. Real. No longer just a memory or a nightmare.

Leo rested his chin on top of your head.

“I love you too,” he said. “I think I’ve been in love with you for a while now. I was just too scared to say it out loud.”

You laughed through the tears, a soft, broken sound.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again.”

“I won’t,” he whispered. “Not ever.”

And behind you, the others slowly smiled.

Donnie gave a knowing look to April. Mikey wiped at his eyes a little too dramatically. Raph smirked, whispering something like “Took ‘em long enough.”

But it was Casey Jr. who watched the longest.

Sitting quietly by the edge, legs swinging, he watched as the two of you stood there wrapped in each other, framed by city lights and stars. His lips curled into a soft smile, the kind born from deep memory and warmer days long gone.

Because he remembered.

He remembered the two of you in the future, the quiet strength of your partnership. The way you’d bicker and banter and steal little glances when you thought no one was looking. The way you always had each other’s backs, always reached for each other’s hands in the worst of times. The kind of love that didn’t need words.

You didn’t know it yet, but this was the beginning of that love.

And from where Casey sat, he smiled not because he hoped it would last.

But because he already knew it would.

——————————

Okay, after watching the movie I got such a burst of inspiration that I immediately started writing ahaha. Well, I hope you’ll like it!

[conclover]

Thomas Lawrence x Reader — Part 2

Part 3

Summary: In a forgotten chapel, you and the cardinal share one forbidden moment that blurs the line between devotion and desire. Torn between sacred duty and aching love, Thomas surrenders to the one thing his faith forbids. You. As the Conclave calls him away, he gives you everything he can. His body, his heart, and a love deeper than any vow he ever made to God.

Warnings: +18, reader is referred to as she/her, yandere needy man, dom/sub, p in v, breeding kink if you squint your eyes.

Notes: This man is too intense. Also, I got some inspo from Fleabag for this fic hihi

Word count: 6k, I’m a yapper

“You’ve heard the rumors,” Archibishop Wozniak declared, his tone thick with contempt. “She isn’t one of us, and she doesn’t even pretend to be. That, perhaps, is the most dangerous thing of all. How can we allow someone like that to lay hands on our sacred art... let alone work within these walls?”

Thomas said nothing, but his silence was thunderous. His jaw tightened, the muscles twitching beneath his skin, and his fists clenched at his sides with barely contained anger.

“She doesn’t belong here,” Wozniak continued, his voice rough and unyielding. “Her attire, her demeanor… it borders on scandal.”

He was right. You were scandalous. Bold, irreverent, intoxicatingly out of place. But it wasn’t just the judgment in Wozniak’s voice that set Thomas off... it was something else, something hidden behind that pious disdain. Like he’d looked at you too long. Like he’d noticed the curve of your body. And maybe Thomas was imagining it. But even that possibility made his blood run hot.

“You’ve made your discomfort clear,” he said finally, his voice surprisingly even. “But she is here at my invitation. That should be enough.”

“With respect, your Eminence, I only question the message it sends. A woman like that—”

Thomas’s gaze snapped toward him.

“A woman like what, exactly?” Thomas cut in, his voice sharper now. “She’s… unconventional, yes. But she’s done more to preserve what’s sacred in this place than any of the men who’ve walked these halls.”

“You seem unusually invested,” Wozniak said, his brows lifting ever so slightly.

“I’m invested in the integrity of this place...” Thomas replied, his tone flat, almost mechanical. “...And in seeing the work completed without unnecessary interference.”

“Of course,” Wozniak’s mouth curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Still… one might question whether this is about the work, or about the woman doing it.”

“Careful,” Thomas said, his voice low and deliberate as he stepped away from the window, his movements almost predatory. He crossed into the candlelit center of the room, and the gleam of silver from the crucifix at his chest caught the light, adding a sharp edge to the moment. His voice dropped even further, quiet but laced with an edge to it. “She is here because I allow her to be. Because I want her here.”

“Eminence,” Wozniak’s tone turned cautious. “You’re walking a dangerous path. We all know the signs. Temptation wears many faces. You of all people should know that.”

“I do,” Thomas replied, his voice low, carrying the weight of countless battles fought before. “I know it all too well.”

“It’s not only that,” Wozniak pressed. “You risk your name. Your position.”

“I risk nothing that matters,” he said finally.

Wozniak’s brows furrowed, the first signs of unease creeping into his expression. “You’re not thinking clearly—”

“I’ve never been more clear!” Thomas cut in, his eyes darkening, an unspoken intensity in them now.

Wozniak took a cautious step back, visibly unsettled. “You’re willing to throw away everything... for her?”

“No,” Thomas replied, his voice steady but final. “I was already leaving. Long before she arrived. I’ve lived in silence for years, doubting every prayer I ever whispered. She just gave me a reason.”

Wozniak’s face hardened, frustration creeping into his voice. “Thomas. This is not you. I can’t let this happen to you.”

Thomas tilted his head slightly, as if the words amused him. But there was no real smile on his face. Just a quiet finality in the way he stood, unflinching beneath the weight of his concern.

“You’re mistaken,” Thomas said, his voice steady but carrying a quiet conviction. “This is exactly me. Perhaps the truest version of myself I’ve allowed to exist in years.”

“You’ve given your life to this place. To the Church.” Wozniak stepped forward, a note of urgency creeping into his voice. “What do you intend to do?”

Thomas glanced toward the door, then back at him. “Nothing scandalous, if that’s what you’re so afraid of. I have no intention of letting anything undermine my position while I still hold this office. The Conclave requires my leadership. I will carry out my duties. I will not tarnish the reputation of this Church. You have my word.”

“I respect you, Thomas,” Wozniak exhaled, his shoulders sinking just slightly with relief. “I always have. That’s why this… hurts to see. I truly hope you’ll find your way back. That you’ll remember who you are.”

The weight of Wozniak’s words hung in the air, but Thomas remained silent, unwilling to reveal even a sliver of the truth gnawing at him. Instead, he reached for the crucifix at his chest, his fingers grazing it lightly as if to hide the chaos that burned inside him.

“I’ll pray for you, Thomas. Whether you want me to or not.”

...

The eve before the Conclave was an unbearable quiet. The air was thick with anticipation, the kind that always settles in before a storm. Every corner of the Apostolic Palace was alive with whispered preparations, but for Thomas, it might as well have been a tomb. Tomorrow, the cardinals would arrive, and he would be sequestered, hidden away from the world. Which meant: no more you.

The thought gnawed at him, a relentless ache in his chest that he couldn’t escape. He knew this day would come: the day the Conclave would begin and you would soon leave. But now that he was mere hours away from being cut off from everything that mattered, his willpower faltered. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t face the endless days in that cold room with no sign of you.

His heart hammered in his chest as he moved through the palace, stopping only briefly to glance into rooms, checking the quiet corners he thought you might be hiding in. His mind was already spiraling, images of you flashing through his thoughts. The urge to find you grew stronger with each passing moment. He needed to know you were still within reach before the walls closed in on him.

“Where are you?” he muttered to himself, his voice low, like he was speaking to the dark corners of his mind. He didn’t care if anyone saw him like this. He needed you more than he had ever needed anything in his life. It wasn’t just desire, though. No. It was the suffocating sense of losing you.

He passed through the chapels, each room blending into the next as his search became frantic. Time was slipping away, and every moment without you felt like a small death. He could already imagine the hours stretching out ahead of him, endless and painful. The Conclave would start, and that would be it. He’d be lost in the sea of politics and ceremony. No time for the burning hunger inside him that had grown since the moment you first stepped into his life.

...

You stood alone in the gardens of the palace, a rag in hand, brushing centuries of dust from the base of a statue near the colonnade. The work was simple. It was a way to stay unnoticed, useful, and, more importantly, to stay in Cardinal Lawrence’s good graces. The morning sun dappled through the trees, warming your arms as you pulled off your apron and folded it over one arm.

Footsteps broke the quiet behind you. You turned, expecting another worker, perhaps a wandering priest. But it was him.

Cardinal Lawrence. No, Thomas. He stepped out from the shadowed archway and into the light. The sunlight caught on the deep black folds of his robes, the color absorbing everything around him. He was fully dressed in his usual garments, but there was something different in the way he wore them. The red belt that should’ve been perfectly tied was hastily knotted. You could notice one end twisted and trailing just slightly out of place. He’d come here quickly. Or carelessly. Or both. He looked like a man who had made a decision and was ready to suffer for it.

“Thomas,” you said softly. “I was wondering when I’d see you again.”

He came to stand before you. Close enough to steal your composure and close enough for you to feel the heat radiating off him through all that black cloth. His eyes lifted to yours with dangerous intensity, and the weight in them nearly stole your breath.

You had seen him before, but never like this. Never outside, never in the light. His eyes were blue. Sharp like the edge of a blade catching the light. In the dimness of the chapel or the shadows of his office, they had always seemed distant, unreadable, hidden behind the flickering candlelight. But now, in the open, beneath the sunlight, they were alive. They reflected the light, a shimmering ocean of blue that seemed to pull you in with every glance, like you were drowning in them. And there was no escaping them now. They held you like they were peeling you open with a single glance.

He reached for you and pulled you into a tight embrace. It was raw and urgent. His arms locked around your waist with desperation, dragging you against him like he feared you’d disappear if he let go. Your body collided with the heavy press of his robes, the cotton whispering between you. You felt his wild heartbeat beneath the sacred black. And for one moment, you wondered if anyone had ever held him like this before.

“I’m happy to see you too,” you murmured against his chest.

His breath caught. You felt it ripple through him, the tremor beneath the surface. Not from weakness, but restraint. Your hands slid along his back, finding the ridge of his spine beneath the mozzetta. Even through the layers of heavy fabric, he trembled under your touch like a man barely holding himself together.

When he finally eased his grip on you, his hands didn’t drop. Instead, they slid down the curve of your arms, slow and heavy with intention, until they reached your wrists. There was reverence in the way he held you, but also something darker, like he was claiming you in silence. It wasn’t a lover’s touch. Not yet. It was the kind of hold that said mine without speaking, sealed with pressure and presence.

His gaze locked onto yours again. There was no gentleness in his expression, only a dangerous mix of reverence and starvation. Like a man who had spent too long denying what he wanted, and now wasn’t sure he could stop.

His grip tightened around your wrists. It wasn’t hurtful, but it was enough to make your breath hitch. And then, you saw a flicker of shame in his eyes. Awareness or guilt, it was hard to tell. But it changed him. Softened him. Slowly, his fingers loosened, sliding from your wrists to your hands, where they threaded through your fingers instead.

“I want to be alone with you…” he said at last, his voice low, frayed at the edges. He was nervous despite the authority he usually wore like armor.

The simplicity of it made your breath catch. You blinked once, then again. Not because you didn’t understand, but because you did. There was nothing casual in the way he said it.

“Thomas…” you said, the words barely escaping as heat bloomed across your cheeks. “You’re serious.”

His thumbs moved in slow, grounding strokes. His touch was gentle, but his eyes told a different story. They were stormy with longing and restraint, with everything he wasn’t sure he was allowed to say.

“Come with me,” he said, barely more than a whisper. Then, after a pause, softer, almost stumbling, he continued. “To pray.”

But the words didn’t land like they were meant to. They hung in the air, not as an invitation to piety, but as a shield in case you pulled away. And yet, the look in his eyes told the truth. He wasn’t thinking of religion. He was thinking of you.

The silence stretched between you, charged and fragile, until finally he let your hands go only to take one of them again, gentler this time. You let him lead you through one of the side corridors you hadn’t walked before. Neither of you spoke. You could only hear only the soft echo of your footsteps, the whisper of your breath and the distant cooing of doves.

He led you through a narrow archway, past an old wooden door that creaked open to reveal a small hidden chapel. The scent of incense still lingered faintly in the air, mingling with candle wax and old stone. A single stained-glass window spilled soft blue, pink and gold light across the pews, and in that dim glow, he looked almost unreal.

You stood at the threshold, uncertain, your eyes drawn to the altar and the paintings of demons and martyrs behind it. You hadn’t stepped into this place for belief. And he must have known that. Still, he walked forward, releasing your hand only once he reached the first row of pews. He didn’t sit. He knelt. And there was something deeply vulnerable about it. He glanced over his shoulder and saw you still standing there, unsure of what to do.

“Come,” he said quietly. Not an order. But close.

You stepped forward slowly, your footsteps echoing on the stone floor. As you reached the pew, you paused. He turned toward you slightly, hand extended, palm open. Waiting.

You took it and he guided you down beside him. You didn’t kneel at first. You sat. And maybe that was its own kind of confession. You weren’t here to pray. Not like he was. You were here because of him.

Thomas didn’t flinch. If anything, he seemed to draw strength from your presence, like something in him had finally clicked into place. He looked ahead, toward the crucifix mounted above the altar, his lips moving in silent prayer, though you couldn’t hear the words.

You watched him for a while. His profile, sharp and beautiful in the stained-glass light. The rise and fall of his breath. The quiet war waging behind his blue eyes. Here, the colors in his eyes came alive.

You weren’t sure how long you sat in silence, watching him, your hands folded loosely in your lap. He didn’t speak. He didn’t move. But you could feel the tension in his frame, the way he leaned ever so slightly toward you, as if afraid you'd vanish the moment he blinked.

And then, without warning, he turned to you again. Closer now. He raised one hand, not urgently, but with that same quiet authority you’d felt since the moment you met. His fingers curled softly around your arm, like a silent command. It was a featherlight touch, but you felt the meaning behind it. He needed you near. That was the prayer.

“Kneel.”

Your breath caught. His voice filled the space between you like a second heartbeat. And maybe it should have unsettled you, this expectation of obedience... but instead, it pulled at something deeper inside you.

You didn’t break eye contact as you moved to kneel beside him, the polished wood of the kneeler firm beneath your knees, pressing through the thin summer fabric of your clothes. The pew creaked under your shifting weight as you aligned your knees with his.

His hand hovered, just above your cheek, fingers trembling slightly before they finally touched your skin. The pad of his thumb brushed just beneath your eye, as if trying to memorize the shape of you with reverence instead of hunger. But the hunger was there. Coiled behind his restraint.

“You shouldn’t have followed me,” he murmured, even though you both knew it was he who led.

His hand moved lower, trailing along your jaw, slow and deliberate. You felt the weight of his gaze on your lips, the breath between you growing shallower by the second.

Then, his hand moved to the base of your neck in an undeniably possessive way. His thumb brushed your throat like he could feel your pulse there. And for a moment, his lips parted, like he might kiss you. Right there, beneath the gaze of Christ and saints and centuries of silence. But he didn’t.

He leaned in close enough that you could feel the heat of his breath, and still, he held himself back by a thread. The tension in him was unbearable. His jaw clenched like some part of him was begging for the permission he wouldn’t allow himself to ask.

“I’ve thought about this,” he said lowly. “Far more than I should.”

You looked at him then, not like a Cardinal, not like a man of God, but as a man undone. Torn between piety and possession.

Your hand lifted without thinking, brushing against the curve of his shoulder, slipping just beneath the edge of his short cape. His cassock was warm beneath your touch, and you felt him shiver, not from cold, but from the unbearable ache of being this close.

When you didn’t pull away, he let out the softest breath, almost like a prayer. And then his hand moved again, sliding to the small of your back. He didn’t kiss you. But God, he wanted to. And you felt the torment of that restraint in every part of him.

You didn’t know how long you knelt there, but time had warped. It didn’t feel like a moment. It felt like surrender.

Thomas’s breath had grown shallow. You could feel it now against your cheek, warm and uneven. His hand at the small of your back held you firmly and then it slid upward, over the curve of your spine, slow and aching, tasting the exposed skin behind your not so modest attire.

“Forgive me,” he murmured, not to you, not really. It felt like he was saying it to the chapel itself. To the saints watching from the frescoes. To the God he still clung to, even now.

And then his lips grazed your temple. Not a kiss. Not yet. Just the ghost of one. A breath of contact, nothing more. And in that moment, kneeling in the hush of a chapel beside a man breaking everything he believed in just to be near you, your body responded as if he’d pressed you against the altar. If there was a line between sin and salvation, neither of you cared where it was anymore.

Then, with a slow and deliberate exhale, he pulled back. His hand slipped from your body like a final caress, and he rose to his feet with the quiet grace. He walked to the front of the chapel with reverent steps, each one echoing in the stone like a heartbeat. At the foot of the altar, he paused. Then, slowly, Thomas raised his arms to the toward the crucifix that loomed over you both, gilded and watching.

“Forgive me...” he said again, and this time the words were not a murmur. “...for I am about to defile what I once served.”

“Come,” His voice cracked just slightly, and then he turned to face you. “Don’t make me say it again.”

You rose on unsteady legs, your knees aching from the long time they had been bent. He watched you as you approached, each slow step drawing you closer to him. And with every movement, his eyes followed you, blue and burning, darkening with something that trembled between longing and damnation. As if each step you took undid another thread of the man he was trying so hard not to become.

When you reached him, he took hold of your waist with quiet certainty. His hands were firm, as though he were positioning something sacred. He guided you gently, but without hesitation, until you were seated on the edge of the altar, the cold stone a sharp contrast to the heat building between you. You sat in the center, legs drawn close to him, breath shallow, heart pounding beneath the thin layer of fabric that covered your body. He stood before you in the robes of his office, but nothing about him looked holy now.

Then, with a final, nearly imperceptible step, he was right in front of you. His thumb traced a slow line beneath your jaw, tilting your face just enough that you had to meet his eyes.

“Don’t move,” he commanded, his tone lower now, the space between you shrinking with each passing second.

Thomas didn’t speak again. He simply stood before you, his gaze anchoring you in place like a quiet command. His hands, still trembling with barely-held restraint, hovered just above your lap, the soft folds of your dress spilling over the edge of the altar like holy water. Then, without a word, he reached forward. His fingers brushed the hem tentatively at first. Then lifted the fabric slowly, reverently, as though unveiling something too sacred to rush.

Your breath hitched at the closeness, but you stayed still, feeling the cool air against your legs, the warmth of his fingers grazing your skin. But then he hesitated. Too long. His touch faltered, his gaze flickering away from you. So you helped him. Slowly, deliberately, you reached down and pulled your panties, lifting it just enough to expose what he’d been craving so desperately and denying himself just as fiercely. The proof of your want laid bare before him in the flickering candlelight.

He didn’t speak. Instead, he looked down at you, his gaze unreadable, almost as if he was contemplating the consequences. As if he were weighing his vows against the undeniable truth of your body before him.

The air in the chapel grew heavier, charged with an unspoken tension as Thomas carefully removed his cape, the fabric sliding from his shoulders with a quiet rustle. With a practiced, almost reluctant motion, he unfastened his belt, letting it fall to the floor with a soft thud, its absence marking a subtle shift. Even though his movements were slow, calculated, you could almost taste the need beneath the robes.

"You may not believe in what I believe," he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I have never been more certain of anything in my life than I am of this… of you."

For a moment, you didn’t know what to say. Words felt too small, too fragile for the gravity of what hovered between you. So instead, you shifted. Deliberately, you opened your legs wider, the motion unspoken but unmistakable. An answer. A permission. A way to help him make the decision he was already aching to make.

He reached up slowly, fingers trembling, and found the top button of his cassock. It was the first of thirty-three, one for each year of Christ’s earthly life. The fabric was stiff at the collar, starched into ceremonial severity. His thumb pressed against the button, the pad of his finger rough from decades of turning pages and holding prayer beads.

Click.

With each button he undid, there was a small pause, a whisper of fabric parting, the quiet rasp of layers loosening. The line down his chest opened gradually. There was no undershirt, just bare skin, pale and thin. A soft trail of chest hair followed the line of his sternum and you could appreciate the quiet map of age: a faint scattering of sun-flecked blemishes, the hollow between his collarbones and the slight sag at his ribs. And resting over it all, still hanging from his neck, was his silver crucifix. The cross caught the candlelight in a way that made it look both sacred and somehow out of place, like it was caught between sin and surrender.

By the time he reached his waist, his hands had steadied, as if he couldn’t contain himself anymore. The rest of the buttons came undone faster, until the final one slipped free at the base of the cassock, near his knees.

And there you saw it, he wore nothing beneath the cassock. What kind of cardinal was this? Wasn’t he meant to be wrapped in layers upon layers of secrecy, each one designed to conceal this very part of himself? But no. He stood before you exposed, stripped of shame, offering the very part of himself he was never meant to reveal.

The cassock remained, draped from his shoulders like a mantle that refused to fall, its weight still anchoring him to who he had been. But beneath it stood the true man, laid bare before the eyes of God, ready to claim you entirely for himself.

Slowly, Thomas leaned forward, one hand rising to caress your cheek, the other hovering above the sacred altar. His eyes locked with yours, wide and reverent, as though he were watching an angel come undone before him. He no longer looked like the man cloaked in pride for resisting temptation. That weight had fallen away. Now, he seemed free and ready to savor every forbidden moment.

He stepped closer, the fabric of his cassock brushing against your skin like a whispered prayer turned sin. The air between you grew heavy, incense and breath mingling, clinging to every inch of bare flesh that was no longer hidden from heaven. His fingers slid down from your cheek, tracing the line of your jaw, then to your lips, reverent and sure, as though mapping sacred ground. His lips found yours in a kind of holy hunger. And when he kissed you, it was not the kiss of a Christian man, nor of a penitent man, but of someone utterly human, starved and unashamed.

When he finally broke the kiss, it was like pulling away from a drug. His lips lingered a breath away from yours, his warmth still radiating against your skin, and you could feel the tremor in his fingers as they cupped your jaw. His breath, ragged and shaky, fanned across your face, carrying the scent of something deeper. Something more primal.

"I’m going to make you mine, and I’m never letting you go." He whispered against your lips.

The possessiveness in his voice sent a shock through you, igniting a spark you didn't even realize was there. You weren’t just some fleeting desire. No, this was deeper, more consuming. It was as if he was marking you, branding you with the weight of his need, staking a claim on you that went far beyond the physical. You didn't question it, though. But how could he keep you all to himself if you weren’t his personal plaything? A cardinal with a girlfriend was forbidden, something no one ever saw.

His gaze, locked on yours, was fierce and dark, pupils blown wide with need. His hand slid down from your face to your neck, fingers grazing the soft skin there, and he could feel the pulse beneath his touch. It was as if your heartbeats were now in sync, and with every thrum, you felt the weight of his claim.

His cock found your entrance in a kind of holy hunger, a slow, deliberate press that felt like a prayer in reverse. The moment it touched you, you felt it. You felt him, deep inside you, as though the simple act of fucking you had somehow pulled him from the heavens and into the realm of the mortal world. His thrusts were slow but insistent, at first moving with a tenderness that contrasted the hunger underneath.

You could feel the tension in his body, the tightness in his muscles as if he was barely containing himself. His breath was uneven, hot against your neck, and you could taste the urgency in him. It was sharp, desperate, as if every second of restraint was a battle he was losing. His hand, rough yet gentle, slid down your thigh, pulling you closer, pressing your body into his. The silver cross at his neck swung gently with the motion, its cool weight grazing between your bodies like a relic caught in a storm. With every thrust it shifted, like a glint of sacred metal between two sinners too far gone to care.

He’d meant to be gentle. Very gentle. But his inner demons whispered otherwise, possessing him like a man starved by years of puritan restraint. This was his true self, laid bare and unraveled. And if he was to make you his, you had to know exactly who you belonged to.

And then he saw it, how you growled his name between ragged breaths, making it clear you had no desire for gentleness or care. What you craved was directness. Brevity. Violence. Just like he did.

"Who would’ve thought you were such a believer?" he murmured, eyes locked on yours as he kept thrusting in and out. "Worshipping me like that."

You gasped in response, your voice mixing with the creaking of the altar until the chapel echoed back the sounds of your skin against his in an erotic crescendo that left you both embarrassed and breathless. He moved like a man who had waited lifetimes for this moment, who had buried desire beneath scripture and silence until it pulsed through him like a liturgy rewritten in flesh. And you? You had once walked away from the Church, and now here you were... lost in its most forbidden embrace, with the cardinal himself.

He growled your name as he moved, a raw sound that echoed through the chapel, carried on the still air like something blasphemous. The name he had once spoken in the quiet of his bedroom, he now cried out like a litany, like it alone could save him. It was a desperate sort of sound that reminded him that this would be the last time he would be joined to you like this. The last time your skin would meet his in this sacred way before they sequestered him.

Rather than swallow the knot rising in his throat, he let it burn through him, pouring it into his body, into the way his fingers gripped your hips. Harder. Nails digging into your skin with a desperation that bordered on violence. He needed to leave something of himself behind. A mark. A wound. Proof that, for one blasphemous moment, you were his. Even if it would all be taken from him come morning.

And you answered him without words. You didn’t need them. Your hands curled against his chest, nails raking down over the muscle until you felt the skin give. He hissed at the sting, but didn’t stop you. He leaned into it. Welcomed it. Your mark, carved over his heart, as if to say remember me. As if you could brand yourself into the flesh beneath his robes and follow him into the Conclave, where your name would never be spoken, but your memory would haunt every silent prayer. For every night he’d sleep alone, surrounded by marble and men who knew nothing of this, he’d feel the echo of your touch where you’d scared him. Where he let himself be claimed. Where he stopped being only God’s.

Let her stay. Let her be mine. Just once. Listen to me, Father.

He prayed silently for time to stop. For this moment to stretch on forever, for your body to stay joined against his, for the warmth of your skin and the tremor in your voice to drown out the call of duty.

But even as the prayer formed, he felt his body begin to falter. The trembling in his limbs wasn’t from exertion alone, but from the sheer weight of what he had done. What he had tasted. What he had denied himself over years of control. Denying every human want, every ache, every instinct had left him brittle beneath the surface. And now, having touched you, tasted you, loved you in the most carnal way, he began to crack.

His legs gave out first. He leaned heavily against the altar, breath catching in his throat, heart thudding like it was trying to escape his ribs. He closed his eyes, chest rising in shallow waves, his cock throbbing against his will inside you.

You touched his shoulder gently, fingers brushing the damp curve of his neck. His skin was flushed, burning with effort, with shame, with love. He turned slightly toward you, his face drawn, blue eyes shining with surrender.

“This is too much,” he whispered between deep breaths, his thrusts becoming sloppier and more erratic.

Too much for a man who’s spent his life trying not to feel.

He looked at you like he was memorizing you all over again, carving the lines of your face into some sacred corner of his soul. And then, without a word, he reached for your wrists and pinned them above your head, pressing them against the cold stone behind you. There was still possession in every movement, a quiet insistence, as if he needed just one more mark, to prove that you were his.

He wanted to fill you, with his cum, yes, but more than that, with the love he felt for you. He moved sloppier this time, but reverent in every motion, like your body was the scripture he’d spent his whole life misreading. Each thrust was an offering, a confession in flesh. He wanted you to feel what he couldn’t say out loud. That you mattered more to him than Heaven ever had. That your body, your breath, your hands on his skin meant more than the voice of God echoing through a thousand empty cathedrals.

You could feel it in every desperate press of his hips, in the tremor of his hands as he gripped you like he was afraid you might be ripped away by some divine hand. He didn’t care if this was blasphemy anymore. This was the truth he would go to his grave worshipping.

And when he finally spilled inside you, it wasn’t with a cry of release, but a groan that trembled on the edge of grief and pleasure. As if giving you this part of himself was both his highest act of devotion and his final fall.

“I love you,” he choked out against your skin, his voice breaking like something sacred inside him had finally shattered. “More than the God I’ve bled for. More than the Church that owns my name. And I will burn for it in Hell... smiling.”

His body trembled above yours, slick with sweat, the last tremors of release still shivering down his spine. He stayed inside you, buried to the hilt, not ready to break that last, trembling thread of connection. His hands remained where they had gripped you hardest, fingers twitching like he didn’t trust himself to let go. His forehead pressed to your shoulder, lips barely parted, breath still coming in uneven gasps against your skin.

You felt the slow thud of his heart against your chest, fast at first, then gradually calming, like a storm finally giving way to silence. His eyes, those impossibly blue eyes, looked at you not with lust, not now, but with something different. He looked… content. As if in giving himself to you so completely, he found peace, but not in God. In you.

You reached up and gently touched the spot where your nails had broken skin, just above his heart. He flinched slightly but he didn’t stop you.

“Will they see them?” you whispered.

You laid there, still joined, your bodies cooling against the altar. The stone beneath you was unyielding, unforgiving, but the space between you was enough to warm you up.

“They’ll see everything,” he exhaled, a sound that was almost a laugh, but far too broken to carry humor. “But not the marks. Only the absence of me.”

“Then let’s leave,” you whispered, your lips brushing his ear. “Let’s walk away from all of it. Together.”

His fingers tightened around yours, the moment sinking into something heavier than both of you could have anticipated. The weight of his decision was visible in the way he held you, both protective and possessive, but also terrified. There was no turning back now. He had already chosen. He had chosen you.

[theonlyonesora]

The Third Rule

Lily x Oscar Piastri x You (Reader)

Chapter 19 –  Truth

Instagram Post — @(Y/N).m

Caption:

“Not here to apologize, but to explain. Judge me for the right reasons.”

Image: A black screen with the following text in white serif font.

"Hi, I'm not here to apologize, but to explain so you can judge me for the right reasons.

I met Lily in college and we were very good friends, long before I met Oscar. I've never crossed the line in any relationship before, and I didn’t cross it in this one—at least not without consent.

I didn’t want to expose anyone about something intimate between us, but I think everything is already very exposed at this point.

You’re right—something happened between the three of us in Las Vegas, and that was something I wanted to stay there. It should have stayed in Vegas.

But it didn’t. Not because I wanted more, but because she wanted more.

I never intended to be in a polyamorous relationship. I was always convinced of what I wanted, but somehow it happened, and I didn’t know how to get out without hurting people.

I felt like I was losing my essence—becoming something I wasn’t. So I left. Lily understood. I stayed away. I met someone else. I tried.

But I can’t control Oscar’s heart. I can silence mine, but not his.

I was willing to let him go. I did.

Because I loved Lily. She was my friend.

But the decision to leave wasn’t mine—it was his.

And I wonder if all this judgment and hate is because I really did something wrong… or because he chose me?

That’s all. You know the truth. You decide who to throw into the fire now."

Public Reaction on Social Media:

Twitter/X:

@formulaheartx: okay but she’s spitting?? “Is it because he chose me?” like damn.

@racingteaspill: this doesn’t excuse everything, but at least we’re finally hearing HER side.

@teamlilyforever: nah she still broke girl code idc what she says. she shouldn’t have touched him, even with “consent.”

@neutralf1fan: y’all acting like Oscar is some puppy without a brain. He made choices too. She’s not the only one involved.

@mclareninsider: wild how this whole love triangle has become the biggest off-track drama of the season 💀

Instagram Comments:

@lilylover_00: You still betrayed your best friend. No justification changes that.

@oscarstan31: She’s being honest. That’s more than I can say for Oscar or Lily.

@(Y/N)bae: Can’t believe the hate she’s getting for something everyone consented to. The double standards are real.

@teamchaosf1: This post will be studied in PR classes one day. A mic drop, actually.

.

Instagram Post — @oscarpiastri

Caption:

“I wasn’t going to say anything. But silence has hurt more than the truth ever could.”

Image: A plain black background with white text, mirroring (Y/N)’s style.

“I’ve read what (Y/N) said.

And yes—everything she said is true.

There was never any cheating. There was no betrayal behind Lily’s back. What happened between the three of us started with consent, with trust, and with love.

But somewhere along the way… it got messy.

We were all trying to hold onto something we didn’t fully understand, and in the end, we hurt each other more than we meant to.

I didn’t choose sides out of malice. I didn’t stop loving Lily when this began—I just didn’t expect my feelings for someone else to grow the way they did.

I should’ve spoken up sooner. I should’ve said something when it mattered, instead of hiding behind comfort and pretending everything was still fine.

I want to make it clear: (Y/N) didn’t chase me. She didn’t steal me. And she didn’t break anything on her own.

I made choices. I hurt people I care about. I live with that.

Please don’t direct your hate at her. Or Lily.

We’re all navigating this as best we can, and none of us are villains here.

All I’m asking for now is space—for all three of us.”

Public Reaction:

Twitter/X:

@formulaaesthetic: oh so NOW he speaks 😩

@teamlily: “didn’t stop loving Lily” then why’d you stop showing up for her?

@neutralgridfan: his post feels… honest. messy but real. i feel bad for all of them actually.

@f1gossipdaily: “She didn’t steal me.” that line 👏👏👏

@(Y/N)defense: if y’all still blaming (Y/N) after this, you’re not listening.

Instagram Comments:

@lilyangelxo: still doesn’t excuse how you treated Lily like a placeholder.

@teamoscar: brave of you to speak, but late. some damage can’t be undone.

@mclarenbae: finally some accountability. maybe now people will stop attacking (Y/N).

@dramaunfolds: Formula 1 got more plot than HBO rn.

.

Instagram Story — @lilylane

Black screen. Small white text. No music.

“I didn’t ask for this attention. I didn’t ask for this story to be told in front of the world. But now that it is, here’s what I’ll say.”

Yes, I brought someone I loved into my relationship. I thought we were all on the same page. I thought love could expand without tearing things apart. Maybe I was naive. Maybe I held on too tightly, or not tightly enough.

Oscar was mine for years. (Y/N) was my best friend. I don’t hate them. But I won’t pretend I’m not hurt. Or that I didn’t lose something I thought I’d have forever.

I’m not asking for sides. I’m asking for peace. For all of us. So stop messaging me. Stop posting theories. This isn’t a show. These are our real lives. Our real losses.

Please just let us move on.

Public Reaction:

Twitter/X:

@lilyloves: oh my god. this is… mature and heartbreaking.

@f1girlies: she didn’t name names. she didn’t throw dirt. class act.

@bitterf1tea: this is the kind of pain you only write like that if you’ve lived it.

@truthhurts: no drama. no accusations. just grief. and that somehow hurts the most.

@neutralnettie: idk how people can still take sides. they all lost something.

Instagram DMs Screenshot (unposted but implied): Messages flood in—some supportive, others still trying to dig, pry, or pit her against the others. But she doesn’t answer. She said her piece.

Tag List:

@freyathehuntress, @mimisweetz, @aleatorio1234, @totallynotluluu, @rorabelle15, @prongslena, @linnygirl09, @mangotaitai, @forensicheart, @devilacot, @lilorose25, @landofotographyy, @paolexsstuff, @sanctify-mp3, @emma-manuhpe, @virtualperfectioncat, @kopigivesup, @rikersmunky

[wildernessuntothemselves]

Jealousy, Jealousy... | Final Part

A/N: this is the main ending. there is an alternative ending available for the other boy on patreon. the link for which is found at the end of this chapter.

Word count: 13k

Genre: Smut, angst, fluff

Warnings: fem!reader, mostly dom!reader, face-sitting, PIV sex, dirty talk, creampie, handjob, heartbreak.

“Hey, baby.” You greet Yeonjun, giving him a kiss on the lips. “Ready to go?” 

You were picking him up to go home after a long day of work for the both of you. You had in mind a night of drinking wine and complaining about your day until you passed out in his arms and you can’t wait to get home already. 

“Just a little longer, doll.” He tells you and you immediately start whining. “Junnie… those two bottles of wine I bought aren’t gonna drink themselves. We gotta get cracking.” 

He chuckles tiredly. “While I appreciate your efforts to get me drunk, Beomgyu has composed a new song and I need to stay back to hear it.”

“Oh.” It’s still so weird to you how you now have to hear news about what your best friend is up to from other people. You used to know these things first. If this was a few months ago, you’d have already heard the song before anyone else did. But now you’re lucky if you even get to hear it at all. 

But that’s for the best. You’re doing good with Yeonjun. You’re doing good without Beomgyu. You’re breathing. You’re eating. Your heart is beating… maybe even for someone else for a change. It may have been excruciatingly painful at first–forcing yourself to step away from him, not seeking him out to try to make things better after your most recent fallout, not jumping at the chance when he reached out himself, pretending like you’re too busy to see him, making up excuses so you won’t be alone with him, building up your walls so maybe one day you can stand in a room with him and not have to hold back every cell of your body from throwing yourself at his feet and begging him to love you, but you’ve gotten a lot better at it. 

“Do you wanna listen to it?” Yeonjun asks when he sees your curiosity, but you hesitate. Should you? Maybe you should just wait in the car…

But when you see Beomgyu come out with his acoustic guitar and set it on his lap, you find yourself nodding and grabbing a seat next to Yeonjun. You miss hearing him sing. You miss being privy to his passions and whims. Maybe it's selfish of you to allow yourself the opportunity to witness more of him than you’re willing to give him but you never claimed to not be selfish. 

As if Beomgyu shares your thoughts, he glances at you, hesitating for a second and you can see the thoughts flitting behind his pretty eyes–you know him too well. Is he thinking about kicking you out? Does he not want you to hear the song because you’ve been keeping your distance from him? 

Eventually though he looks down at his guitar and starts to play, and as soon as the first words leave his lips, your heart drops. 

Oh, I’m falling in love

As time goes by

As my feelings grow 

I’m becoming more anxious

How deep is your love?

I want to ask

Couldn’t it be the same if not deeper? 

Your heart lurches in your chest at the lyrics. Falling in love? Is Beomgyu falling in love with Haeun? You know you have no right to feel hurt by this but you do. Why couldn’t he have loved you? What does he see in her that you couldn’t have given him? Is she prettier than you? Smarter? Kinder? Funnier? What was it that made you fall short of deserving his love? 

Seeing you change little by little

I’m afraid I’ll lose you

Not mine

My one minute, one second

Take them all

All my time is yours

Why?

Why have you changed?

Why are you so far away from me? 

Now we are at different paths. 

It hurts even more that it seems she’s not reciprocating his feelings. She has everything you want and she doesn’t even want it. He’s willing to give her everything but it seems it’s not enough for her. Oh how cruelly ironic. 

She seemed to be very into him before, at least after the band got more popular, and with every increase in their popularity, she attached herself to him more and more, but something must’ve gone wrong along the line. You have known for some time that Beomgyu and Haeun have been having relationship troubles but you don’t know exactly what because Beomgyu hasn’t told anyone but you guess it’s really bad if this song is about them. 

Is she in love with someone else? Has she lost interest? How could she do it so easily when it’s taking everything in you to do the same. Can she tell you her secret so you can stop suffering and give your heart completely to the man who actually wants it? 

How can I go back

To our beginning

When we were looking at the same place

The when we had the same heart

I hope you don’t know it

This feeling

Even though I love you

I still feel alone

He’s hiding it from her, afraid to reveal his feelings–maybe because he thinks she doesn’t feel the same way, that if he reveals them she’ll reject him. You know that feeling all too well. You wish you could protect him from it even if he was the cause of your own similar pain.

As the chorus repeats, you become even more sure that the song is about him. You can hear the anguish so clearly in his voice. Beomgyu has always been so talented, always able to give his all to the song and live it as if it’s his own, but you know him too well. You know this is real pain. 

I’m drowning in you

Don’t leave me like this

As the bridge reaches its climax, your body shakes, wanting to lunge forward and take him into your arms, to save him from himself even if it would tear you to pieces. But you can’t. You don’t have the right to anymore. All you can do is sit there and wait for him to finish his song, wait for the boys to discuss it as if it’s not his heart being laid out in the open to be dissected. 

“What do you think?” He asks once the song is over, biting the skin of his finger, a nervous habit you’ve always quietly found adorable. You would always grab his hand and kiss the poor finger better, scolding him for hurting himself, but secretly you loved it. You loved having his hand in yours. You loved having an excuse to press your lips against him. And you loved the smile he would always give you in response. 

“It’s really good." Kai says, impressed. "Didn’t know that someone as emotionally stunted as you could come up with such a moving song."

"Fuck off." Beomgyu mutters, not in the mood for jokes, obviously nervous to see what the others think. 

“Yeah, I like it too. You said you’re thinking of having violins in the opening?” Taehyun asks, picking up a music sheet. 

Beomgyu nods. “Yeah. I know we’ve never done that before but I feel like it would really add to the atmosphere of the song.” 

"I think it could be fun." Taehyun hums, turning to Soobin. “What do you think?” 

"I agree. It's good to experiment a bit while still maintaining our sound which I think this song does really well. It could expose us to more people while still not alienating our existing fanbase.” He praises and Beomgyu smiles, relieved at his song being so well-received by the other members. “I especially like the bridge part. I think once Yeonjun sings it, it would really elevate the song.” 

Beomgyu's face falls at that but he quickly covers it up. You furrow your eyebrows. That can't feel good, being compared negatively with Yeonjun, even if Soobin didn't mean it like that. 

You look at Yeonjun, who hadn't said a word so far. He was staring at Beomgyu weirdly. Did he not like the song? 

You nudge him, giving him a questioning look and he just shakes his head, smiling at you before saying, "I like it. Good job, man."

Beomgyu gives him a tense smile in response, and the group falls into an awkward silence for a few seconds–a weird tension hanging in the air, before Soobin clears his throat and begins discussing how they'll play the song, what parts could be improved and who will get which part. You don’t really listen anymore, just looking between Yeonjun and Beomgyu. 

Your boyfriend seems to have gotten over his weird reaction, now focused on the technicalities. Beomgyu is focused too but he doesn’t look as enthusiastic as you expected him to be–as you'd seen him get when talking about his songs before–and it's more proof to you that this is a very personal song to him. 

As the boys finally break up after a while, most of them going their separate ways to pack up their stuff and get ready to leave, your boyfriend stays behind with Soobin, still discussing something with him. That’s when you spot Beomgyu alone, putting his guitar in its case, and you take the opportunity to go talk to him, unable to hold yourself back this time. 

“Hey, Beomgyu, that song was really good.” You start by saying, wanting to congratulate him on a really good song but also needing an opener. But Beomgyu doesn’t say anything in response, simply giving you a blank look–which fucking hurt but you guess you deserve it–so you continue lamely, trying to get him to respond. “You’re really talented. I don’t think you’re gonna need to moonlight as a stripper anymore.” You try to joke but again he doesn’t really say anything, turning his attention back to his guitar bag which he zips up. 

“Umm… Beomgyu, that song… is it about you?” You bite the bullet, and he finally gives you some sort of response, albeit nonverbal. He looks at you like a deer caught in headlights. “Is it about you and Haeun?” 

“What?” He frowns and you explain yourself nervously, hoping you weren’t overstepping boundaries that have sprung up in your absence. “Well, the song is about a guy who loves someone who doesn’t feel the same about him and how she’s changing and being distant… is that what’s happening with Haeun?” 

He sighs. “Maybe. So what?” 

You wince at his callousness, like he doesn’t have time for you. You suppose you brought it on yourself with the way you've been avoiding him. Still you ignore it, determined to tell him what you think anyway. “Well, if it is, you should tell her. Tell her how you feel, she might feel the same way and you don’t even know. You might both be pulling away when all you want is to be with each other.” Yes, you know how hypocritical it is of you to say that but you can’t imagine a world in which anyone would reject Beomgyu’s love. “If you love her then you should tell her, right?” 

He snorts. “What do you even know about how I feel? Do you have any idea about the amount of hurt and self-loathing it would cause me if she doesn’t feel the same way? How it would ruin our relationship if she’s not where I am?”

“I know.” You grit down on that same pain. “I know.”

He pauses, his anger burning out as soon as it ignites. Then he asks quietly, “Yeonjun?” 

You press down on your lips. You know if you say no then he might figure it out. He might finally discover your wretched secret, so you smile and nod, fully knowing how hypocritical you are being right now. You’re such a fucking coward, you disgust even yourself. 

“Right.” He is quiet for a minute, and the atmosphere is charged with weird, unreadable emotions that buzz in your ear and form sparks over your skin. You almost excuse yourself–not really wanting to leave despite how uncomfortable it is but knowing you should. You’ve said what you wanted to say. There is no good reason for you to linger around any longer. 

But then Beomgyu speaks again. "Are you happy?"

You pause, frowning in suspicion at the unexpected question, which Beomgyu notices right away and clarifies, "We haven't talked in a while. I wanna make sure you're doing alright." He says, tone genuine… and a bit sad. 

"I am." You allow, not being untruthful. You are alright, no matter how bad you feel doing it without him. "We're doing well. Yeonjun is as wonderful as ever. He is sweet and funny and he shows me something new everyday. Which is a bit scary for me–you know how I am afraid of change, but he makes it exciting.” 

“I’m glad. I want you to be happy.” He smiles at you. It doesn’t reach his eyes but you know he means it. “And I wish I could be there to see it for myself. Do you think you can let me?” 

That’s what you were afraid of. This is why you shouldn’t have talked to him. You knew he might use it to try to get back into your life, and you know how hard it would be for you to say no. But you do it anyway. You have to do it for yourself and for Yeonjun. 

“I can’t. Not now.” Each meager letter leaving your mouth feels like a blow to the heart. It lays battered in your chest, asking you why the hell you would refuse it its salvation, but you just push it down again, silencing it. 

“But I miss you.” His words come out choppy and weak, and you know he’s holding back tears. You hate him for it because it makes you want to cry too. “Don’t you miss me?”

“Of course, I miss you!” You whisper as if you don’t want the universe to hear it. "I'll always miss you. But I can't keep doing this with you anymore. I'm tired of the whiplash." 

"No more whiplash.” He shakes his head harshly, getting closer to you but you step back, causing pain to bloom across his teary face. “I get it now. I've worked through my stuff and I'm ready to be a real friend again." 

"Well, I haven't worked through mine.” You stand strong. Or as strongly as you can be under such duress. “I still need time and I will not have you rush me."

He moves back, shoulders hunched down. "I'm sorry." 

"I know." You say tiredly before walking away, your bruised heart bleeding out at the bottom of your chest.

____________

Beomgyu’s song has become some kind of a local sensation. It is being listened to by a lot of the young people in your city–resonating with many youths who have gone through similar heartbreaks. From small unrequited crushes to the person you love falling out of love with you–who hasn’t loved more than they have been loved before? 

The painfully relatable song has gained the boys a considerable amount of fame online too. They were being asked to do more gigs than ever. They’ve even gotten an interview, which you’re currently preparing them for, dressing them up to look their best on camera. 

Like always, you’ve left Beomgyu for last, dreading being close to him still. And he gives you every reason to, staring at you the whole time you fix his clothes. 

"What?" You finally ask, and he gives you a dumb look. "What?"

"You're staring." You tell him, and he averts his gaze. You can see from the ear poking out of his long hair that he’s blushing. "Oh. Didn't realize." 

Oh, how many times you’ve teased him over the way his ears turn red when he’s embarrassed. It was such an endearing quality in him, just one of the many small reasons that made up the whole of you loving him. 

You got back to styling him, pretending it doesn’t tug at your heartstrings anymore, and he goes back to staring at you. 

After a long beat of silence, he asks awkwardly, "So what are you up to? What's new with you?" 

"Well, I'm the creative director for this up and coming band's new song." You joke, trying to ease off the tension. Or maybe his cute involuntary reaction softened up your defenses a little bit.

"Oh, are they good?" He grins, falling gladly into your familiar banter. 

"They are, but I think their bass guitarist only got the job because of his looks."

He gives an affronted gasp. "What the hell? Hater! What, you think just because he's so pretty he can't possibly be talented too? Us pretty people are always misjudged."

"Oh, you poor pretty boy." You reach out to pinch his chin, before you realize what you’re doing and quickly take your hand away, clearing your throat and stepping back. “All done.” 

You give him a tense smile and turn to leave but his hand shoots out to grab your wrist. 

"Wait." He shouts, and you look down at his hand wrapped around your wrist. He notices your discomfort and immediately lets you go. "Do you want to get together for some food or a movie or something?"

Why does he have to make this so hard? Why does he do this every time? 

"Not yet." You repeat what you must’ve told him a dozen times before. You can't slip back into it. Because your skin still buzzes whenever you touch him and your heart clenches painfully around the hole he left in it whenever you see him. You need time apart to fully let the love you have for him go. 

"When?” He asks, frustrated. “When will it end? What can I do to help? What do you need me to do so you can be my friend again?"

"I need you to give me space." You say firmly, standing your ground. 

“But–”

“No buts, Beomgyu. You’re the one who made it this way. If you had been my friend when I needed you to, we wouldn’t have gotten into this situation. You need to deal with the consequences of your own actions.” 

He stares at the ground, not answering you. You sigh, turning around to leave with no restrictions this time. 

Though what you said to him about his previous behavior causing a rift between you wasn’t false, it wasn’t entirely the truth either. The other reason you felt you couldn’t be his friend again yet is that you’re still not over him, and you’ve made a promise to yourself and to Yeonjun that you will only be devoting yourself to him from now on, and Beomgyu being there is just going to hinder your progress. 

But as you watch the boys do their interview, you can’t help but feel guilty for what you’d said to Beomgyu. You know it was the right thing to do, but seeing him look so glum, his light dimmed and his spirits down, you wish you had held it off at least for later. 

He is acting nothing like his normal loud, talkative self. He looks down and doesn’t speak unless directly asked a question. It hurts your heart because you know the people watching this won’t get to see how funny and bright and passionate he is. They’ll see him as the quiet guy staring at his own feet. He might still get some fans who would be into the quiet, sad look but that’s not who Beomgyu is. That’s not what he wants to be known as. 

But the rest of the boys are covering for him well, especially Yeonjun. He is so charming, you know he’s gonna be stealing hearts left and right when this airs. He certainly has managed to put a smile on your face despite all the conflicting feelings you’re feeling, and you make sure he sees it whenever he glances in your direction. 

_______________

The boys are doing better than ever, more interviews and gigs coming in and filling their schedule up so rapidly they’ll barely have any free time soon. They’re already in talks with a record company looking to sign them. Which is why you’re actively savoring moments like this when you get to just hangout with Yeonjun at the mall, eating a snack as you take a break from shopping–one of your favorite activities to do as a couple. 

“Just think, soon enough we won’t even be able to do this. We’d be getting mobbed by crowds wanting your autograph and pushing me out of the way to take pictures of you.” You say to Yeonjun, half-joking. It might really happen one day with how quickly they’re gaining popularity. They might have small fame now but who knows what tomorrow will bring, and you believe in the boys. They’re talented enough to do it, and that both worries you and excites you. 

“Well, I’ll only ever have eyes for you.” He winks at you, and you give him a small smile.

In moments like this you should feel happy. You are happy. But your happiness is incomplete. It is shadowed by worry and doubt. Yeonjun is so wonderful. He is so sweet and he can be very caring, but sometimes you can’t help but question how much he really feels for you. It keeps you from letting yourself completely go with him. He tells you words that are supposed to be charming, but they don’t sound personal. They don’t feel deep. You know he likes you, but is he ever going to love you? 

Maybe you’re overthinking it. This is what a budding relationship is like–the novelty comes with uncertainty. The first times come with doubt. The young fire sometimes burns. You shouldn’t let yourself ruin it for you. 

Yes, your love for him isn’t as old and deep-rooted as your love for Beomgyu but maybe that’s a good thing. It will take time to grow and flourish and become something just as beautiful or even more so. In time, you can learn to let go of your all-consuming love for your best friend, cover that gaping hole that Beomgyu has left in your heart, forget about the way every time you see Beomgyu with her you feel like screaming out so loud the gods themselves will weep–

“Beomgyu.” You gasp, seeing him in front of you. Fuck, he’s like bloody marry. Call his name three times and he appears. 

You try to hide, putting your head down and attempting to cover your face with your hair but there is no mistaking Yeonjun’s bright orange head and Beomgyu quickly spots you and makes his way over to you with Haeun of all people. 

“Curse your stupid hair.” You hiss at Yeonjun just before Beomgyu and Haeun arrive at the table. 

"Hey, guys, are you on a date?" Beomgyu asks as if there was any doubt about it. 

"Yes, actually." Yeonjun tells him in a tone that clearly conveys that you don’t want to be disturbed, But Beomgyu doesn’t care, grabbing a chair and pulling it out. 

"Oh sweet." He sits down. "How have you guys been?"

“What are you doing, Beommie? We have a lot of shopping to do.” Haeun complains, and every time you hear her call him that you want to claw her tongue out.

"In a minute, baby. Let's rest our legs for a bit." He motions for Haeun to sit down, but she puts her hands on her hips. “I don’t want to rest.”

“Well then you go on and I’ll catch up with you.” He suggests and she huffs, deciding to sit down after all. Oh, joy.  

“But I can’t leave you alone, Beommie.” She whines, wrapping her arms around him and kissing his neck, making you almost hurl. 

Thankfully, Yeonjun takes your attention away from them. “So, what new crazy thing is your boss asking from you?” 

You turn fully to him, trying your best to ignore the disgusting intruders. “Ugh, don’t even get me started. This morning, she–”

“Boss? What boss?” Beomgyu interrupts, and you clench your teeth, preparing yourself before turning your head to look towards him. 

“The editor of Elements magazine. She saw the Frost shoot and wanted me to do a pictorial for them.” 

“Oh my god, that is amazing.” He shouts, startling Haeun who was so close to his face. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

An awkward moment passes after his mindless question. Because we don’t talk? Because we’re not friends anymore? 

Eventually, you decide to just shrug. “I guess it must’ve slipped my mind.” 

“Right.” He clears his throat, going along. “Well, show me what you’ve done so far.” 

You hesitate, glancing at Yeonjun who sighs and gestures for you to go ahead. So you pull up your phone, showing him some of the pictures you’ve already taken.  

"Wow this is real artistic shit." Beomgyu awes and you laugh. Trust in Beomgyu to give such an un-nuanced but still somehow very flattering opinion. 

“I don’t get it. It’s just a guy in a bathtub.” Haeun speaks up, obviously intending to antagonize you. “My friend Jiwon takes better pictures than this and he didn’t even go to college. If that’s what they teach you at school then you’ve wasted your money.”

Oh fuck no. You may be spineless but you won’t allow Haeun of all people to make fun of your work. You prepare to launch into a screaming match with her condescending ass, but before you could even open your mouth to speak, Beomgyu beats you to it. “Your friend Jiwon takes back camera pictures of weird strangers on the street and makes up an exaggerated or completely false backstory about them to try to make the obviously amateur pictures appear more interesting. How fucking original.”

Beomgyu’s quick defense of you makes your heart swell. Some things never change. 

“Yeah? Like this is original!” She sputters indignantly. 

“I know it’s nothing groundbreaking.” You interrupt their quarrel, “Like a guy in a tub staring longingly at the camera isn’t something that hasn’t exactly been done before but… umm, it’s actually inspired by your song. The colored water is supposed to represent love, you know the “I’m drowning in you” part? It’s killing him but he can’t get himself to get out. He wants to drown in it… I don’t know it may be stupid but I hope you don’t mind.” 

"Oh. No, I'm… flattered." He trails off, staring at you wide-eyed. “I didn’t think I would be able to inspire you again…” 

“Yeah, well...” You mumble bashfully, a charged moment passes over you as you stare silently at each other. 

"Are you done?" Haeun complains, and for once you’re thankful to her for cutting the strange moment. "I'm bored. Let's go." 

“We haven’t even eaten anything yet. Take a look at the menus and order something for us, won’t you?” He asks her, but doesn’t even wait for her response before turning back to you. "You know what would be hilarious. If you get the editor to let you do a shoot with the plastic watermelon dress you made."

“It’s not plastic.” You roll your eyes at him, knowing exactly which dress he’s referring to. “It’s coral organza.”

“Looked like plastic to me.” He shrugs with a mischievous grin on his face. 

“That’s because you're fashion illiterate.” 

“Hey, I’ll have you know I’m very fashion forward and hip.” He proclaims, sounding decidedly NOT neither fashion forward nor hip. 

“Yes, because a punk guitarist wearing ratty shirts and ripped jeans is so revolutionary.” You drawl teasingly and he pouts, pulling at his shirt. “Hey! You were there when I picked these out. You said I looked cool.” 

“Yeah, she’ll say you look cool wearing a garbage bag.” Yeonjun scoffs and you blush, realizing that you’ve completely neglected Yeonjun as soon as Beomgyu got here. You move back from your huddled forward stance to lean against your boyfriend.

“What?” Beomgyu asks and you quickly brush Yeonjun’s comment off. “Nothing. Now Yeonjun is very stylish. He knows all the trends and he knows how to make them work for him.” 

Beomgyu snorts, glancing at your hand that is caressing Yeonjun’s chest. “I don’t follow trends. I make trends.” 

“That’s right, baby. You’re a trendsetter.” Haeun coos, getting her hands on him too, touching him much more inappropriately than you were touching Yeonjun. 

But Beomgyu ignores her once again, asking you, "How did you even reach the editor of Elements?"

"Oh, Yeonjun knew her." Your hand falls down to wrap around Yeonjun’s, squeezing it reassuringly. 

“Of course, Yeonjun knows the editor." For some reason that piece of information really seemed to annoy Beomgyu. But you ignore his unnecessarily snarky tone and turn to smile at Yeonjun, hoping he’d forgive you for your earlier mishap. “Yeah, he’s amazing, isn’t he?” 

"Yes, he’s great.” Beomgyu mutters, standing up. “I think me and Haeun have stuff to do. Let’s go, baby."

"Yes!" She claps happily, standing up too. 

"Oh, okay. Bye, I guess." You mumble, watching them abruptly scurry off as you try to process the weird interaction.  "What's wrong with him?"

“Maybe he’s just being his usual weird self.” Yeonjun shrugs, removing his hand from yours, making you frown. "Or maybe he feels inadequate because I was able to get you the job and he couldn't."

"That's ridiculous." Why would Beomgyu feel inadequate about that? He doesn’t have any obligation to get you work. 

"Is it? If I was in love with a girl and another guy gave her what I couldn't. I would be pretty bummed out too." 

"What?" The world suddenly screeches to a halt, as does Yeonjun. He looks at you, slowly contemplating something as if he doesn’t know that the world has stopped and is waiting on him. 

Finally, he sighs. "I tried to ignore it. Partly because the idiot is trying to hide it and partly because I like you, but ever since we got together, it's been pretty damn hard to ignore. Beomgyu is clearly in love with you.”

"No. You’re getting it wrong.” You shake your head, hoping to get rid of the cotton that has replaced your brain, your thoughts feeling fuzzy and slow as they travel through it. “He's just upset because he thinks us dating will drive me and him apart… which I guess has been true."

"No, he's upset because he wants to be with you and it's killing him to see us together.” Yeonjun clarifies, irritated at having to explain to you how some other guy is in love with you. 

"How can you be so sure? Did he tell you that?"

"He doesn't have to tell me. I have eyes…" He looks you up and down. "And well, I'm not stupid like you two."

"That's ridiculous." You denounce once more. 

"You said that already."

"Well, it is! Beomgyu doesn’t love me. I mean as a friend, sure but not… like that." 

"Oh my god, I'm dealing with two idiots. I don’t even know why the fuck I’m explaining this to you but here goes,” Yeonjun exclaims in frustration, obviously not enjoying this conversation any more than you are. “Think about it, no guy gets this worked up over just a fuck. His first explanation of his anger being just because he’s afraid our relationship is going to ruin the band was total bullshit. It was just to throw you off his scent and have a way to get you to stay away from me without revealing anything. And his second explanation is even more bullshit. Why the fuck would us being in a relationship make you lose him as a friend if he didn’t hold anything but platonic love for you? Why does he get mad every time you and I take a step forward in our relationship? Because he’s fucking in love with you. He literally wrote a whole song about how he’s secretly in love with you and it’s killing him that you’re not his!"

“That song was about me?” You ask and he gives you a look as if to say he can’t believe a single human being can be this dumb. “No, it’s obviously about the girl he’s been ignoring the entire time he was sat with us just so he could talk to you.” 

Your mouth opens slowly, tongue dry as it forms the words. "Let’s say he does love me. Why wouldn't he just tell me?"

"Why wouldn't you just tell him?"

You sputter uselessly for a while, not really saying anything. Until you give up and just stop, submerging the both of you in a suffocating silence. You’d think that your thoughts would be racing a million miles an hour right now, trying to process all this information, but nothing is going through your head except one question. 

Beomgyu loves me? Beomgyu loves me? Beomgyu loves me? 

You’re only taken out of your looping thought when Yeonjun sighs again. "Well, this was fun while it lasted."

"What?" Your mouth hangs open, your frozen brain somehow still having enough power to be shocked. 

"You're obviously still completely in love with him. When he's there it's like you don't even see me. You don't see anyone else." Yeonjun says defeatedly. 

"No, I–" You try to deny, but he gives you a pointed look, daring you to lie to him. 

“Okay, I love him but I’m with you.” 

“Only to get over him.” 

You shake your head vehemently. “No. My feelings for you are real. Don’t you dare deny that.” 

“Maybe, but they’re not as strong as your feelings for him.” 

“But they can be.” You insist–trying to convince yourself or him, you don’t know.  Maybe if you give me the chance to–”

“To what? Wait and see if you’ll finally look for me first when you walk into a room instead of him? Pretend that I don’t know that time and distance haven’t dulled your love for him one bit? I can’t go on in a relationship where I know my partner will always be thinking ‘what if’. I won’t let myself be hurt like that by you. Not anymore.” 

You tear up. You were hurting him? You didn't even think he cared all that much. You must be a terrible judge of character to be getting both boys so wrong. “I’m sorry, Yeonjun. I never meant to hurt you. I really, really tried.” 

You really did. You didn’t do this just to get over Beomgyu. Yes, it was part of it, but you liked him too. You really thought this could work, and you really think it would have if Beomgyu wasn’t in the picture, and so you did everything in your power to take him out of it. You moved out from your apartment. You cut Beomgyu off. You dedicated yourself to Yeonjun. 

But how can you stop your heart from beating for Beomgyu? It’s entirely out of your control.  

"But you did anyway.” He says and you wince, one tear escaping your lashes and falling down the left side of your face. “Do you hate me?” 

“I could never hate you.” He sighs, and your lips tremble as you confess, “I wish you would. It might make me feel better.”

“Maybe you don’t deserve to feel better.” His words pierce your heart, and you know you deserve every ounce of pain it inflicts. 

“That’s fair.” 

You’re both silent for a long while–you trying to keep your tears under control, not wishing for him to see it as any intention to garner sympathy or guilt from him, and him sitting there quietly, his thoughts entirely hidden from you, but you know there is pain and anger in him. You can feel it radiating off of him. 

But eventually your tears dry out, and you gather enough courage to ask one last thing of him. “I know I have no right to ask this but can you not tell Beomgyu about us breaking up? I don’t want him to know yet. But don’t worry, I’ll gather my things and move out. You won’t have to live with me.”

"You're not done playing games?" He frowns and you shake your head. "I'm not. It’s just because you guys are working out that record deal and if anything goes wrong, I don’t want to risk ruining things for you.”

“Fine.” Yeonjun graciously accepts. “And you can stay. I’m not gonna kick you out into the street. I’m not that kinda guy.” 

____________________

Despite your love for Beomgyu, your break-up with Yeonjun wasn’t easy. You really liked him and had grown attached to him. And even though you still lived together, you hardly talked when it was just the two of you alone. You realize with time just how hurt he is by everything even though he tries his best to hide it from the others–not just because they think you’re still together, but because he has always refused to burden his younger members with his troubles, ever the selfless older brother. It’s one of the qualities you both admired and despised about him simultaneously. You wanted him to share his fears and worries, to lighten the load on his shoulders, and for a short while you were able to do that for him, but now that you’ve broken up, he’s left to carry all of it by himself again and with heartbreak to boot. 

You feel incredibly guilty about it, and you mourn for the love that could’ve blossomed between you had you not been so hung up about your best friend. The best friend you still haven’t talked to by the way. 

Yeonjun's words have not left your mind since the day he revealed everything to you. No moment passes by when you don't think about them. But you haven’t confronted Beomgyu about it yet because the record deal was still underway, and because you weren’t sure if Yeonjun is even right about it all. What if he’s wrong? 

Yeah, what? You'll ruin your friendship with Beomgyu? It's already in shambles anyway. Still, the rejection will be brutal. You've lived in the shadows for years. You're used to ignoring your feelings, that kind of pain is familiar to you now, but if you reveal them to Beomgyu and he shoots you down, you might not bear it. 

You'll tell him soon enough though, after the party tonight. The boys have finally reached an agreement with the record company and the contract has come through. They're officially signed to a label now and tonight’s party is a small celebration of that. 

You’ll do it after the party tonight. You’ll ask to talk to him after everyone leaves and you’ll confess everything. You're ready to come clean and end it all. Well, as ready as you can be. 

But as the party drags on, you get restless, and when you spot Beomgyu alone, refilling his drink, you can’t help but steal a little moment with him. 

“Congratulations, Beommie. I hear your song sealed the deal.” You smile widely, your lips buzzing with the desire to tell him what you really want to say–that you love him, that you’re proud of him, and that if his song is really about you then he needs to know that you’ve always been his. 

“Yeah. I’m not so useless after all.” Beomgyu’s reply is short and bitter. 

“What?” 

Yeonjun’s words ring in your ears. If I was in love with a girl and another guy gave her what I couldn't. I would be pretty bummed out too. Is this Beomgyu being insecure like Yeonjun said?

But before you can get him to clarify what he means, Haeun comes running over, incapable of leaving him alone for more than a minute. Can you really blame her? If you had him, you would never let him go either. 

“Baby, there you are! My star boy.” She throws her arms around him, pulling him into an open mouthed kiss that makes you want to vomit. 

You quickly retreat, not having missed the soft-core porn you used to witness while living with Beomgyu. Fucking Yeonjun, is this what he calls Beomgyu being in love with you? You don’t see him pushing her away or anything. He seems pretty happy with the kiss if his tongue in her mouth is any indication. 

"Foul." You mutter, swigging your cider, almost choking on it when a voice speaks up next to you. "That can't be good for the heart, huh?" 

You look at Yeonjun sheepishly, not sure if you can talk to him about this. After all, you did break up because of your love for the man currently getting his face sucked off by Haeun. So you just settle on mumbling out a weak yeah.

"Well, you know you could always fix it by confronting him about his undying love for you." He tells you and you can’t help but snort, annoyance overcoming your trepidation. "Yeah, right. He's so heartbroken, he's going to drown his sorrows in her pussy." 

“He’s just doing this because he thinks we’re still together. If he knows you’re free, I can guarantee you he’ll be dropping her so fast she won’t hit the ground before he’s on his knees for you.” 

“How can you be so confident?” You ask and he shrugs. “Once you see it, you can’t unsee it.” 

He walks away, leaving you to think over his words. Funny, that’s how you feel about the sight still playing out in front of you, the disgusting view getting burned into your retinas. 

Deciding you needed a break, you slip away from the living room, heading towards the bathroom to wash your face off. But on the way there, you pass by your old room, stopping when you see the door slightly cracked open. 

Your feet take you inside without you realizing it, compelled by curiosity to see what he’s done with the room in your absence. Has he turned it into a gaming room? Is he using it for storage? Is he letting her use it as her own? Oh, god, you really hope not. Anything but that. 

But you’re surprised when you step inside and find it mostly empty except for your old mattress and a few items you must’ve forgotten during your move. A T-shirt here, a sleeping mask there–they were all strewn around on your bed with the odd piece of clothing from Beomgyu himself in the mix. 

You step closer, examining the items when something in particular catches your eyes. A flash of pink under a pillow that makes you reach forward to pull it out, realizing just what it was once it’s in your hands–a pair of pink panties. Your pink panties that you’d been missing for a while. Why does Beomgyu have this? You thought he just used this because he was so pent up he needed any form of release but now Haeun is never off his dick so why does he still do this? 

Could Yeonjun have been right all along?  

As you continue to hold it in your hands, puzzling over it, you hear the door open and close behind you and Beomgyu’s panicky voice calling out your name. 

"What are you doing in here?" He squeaks as if this wasn’t your room. Well, your old room but still. It’s not like he made any changes to it yet. 

You turn to face him with the panties in your hands, silent, and his eyes grow wide as he stammers, trying to explain himself. “These are old.” 

“They’re wet.” You say plainly, which means he has just used them, and he knows it too. 

He scoffs, attempting to appear unaffected. As if this is just a completely reasonable situation that you’ve blown way out of proportion. “Well–it’s just–they were on hand.” He gives you what may possibly be the flimsiest excuse in history. 

Once you see it, you can’t unsee it.

"Did you leave these out for me to see?" You question, and he rushes to deny. "No! I just forgot to put them away."

His eyes widen again at what he just said, basically admitting that he took them from you on purpose to do with them exactly what you had in mind. God, he's such a stupid loser. 

You walk towards him until you’re standing right in front of him, leaving him no room to breathe. “Make everyone leave.” 

“It’s our celebratory party, I can’t just–”

You grab his hand and put it under your skirt, pressing his fingers against your warm pussy. “And I want to give you your reward. Make them leave.” 

He looks at you, shocked, and suddenly you realize what you're asking of him. You're coming onto him after weeks of ignoring him. You're asking him to have sex with you when he has a girlfriend–when he thinks you have a boyfriend. Oh god. 

But then he gulps and says. "Okay."

You watch from behind the door as he stops the music and kicks everyone out, telling them that he doesn’t feel good and needs to rest, and when Kai complains loudly, he asks him if he’d like to stay back and hold his hair while he vomits. That quickly convinces everyone to take the party elsewhere, even his girlfriend. But one person knows better, and you see him peeking around Beomgyu to catch your hidden eyes. You share a look before he turns around and leaves the apartment. This is it. You’re going to do this. 

As soon as Beomgyu comes back, you pull him into a kiss, releasing your overflowing nerves with each frustrated and needy moan you let out against his lips. Fuck, you missed kissing him so much. His lips may not be as soft as Yeonjun’s–he may not be as good of a kisser–but god does he still make your heart sing. 

“Strip.” You order when you finally tear yourself away from him, though Beomgyu doesn’t make it easy, resisting you the first couple of times you try and pulling you right back into the hungry kiss. But you finally do, and Beomgyu doesn’t hesitate to follow your cue then. 

After he’s all stripped down, he looks at you, gaze speaking of his own need to devour you. “Will you strip too?” 

“Do you want it?” You ask, putting on an alluring voice but deep down you were just nervous about letting him see you fully for the first time. Even though your experience with Yeonjun has made you gain confidence, you’re still insecure, especially when it comes to Beomgyu. You want to impress him. You want him to think you’re the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen. You want him to forget about her. You want him to only think of you. 

Naturally, that is a lot to live up too. 

Beomgyu nods enthusiastically, somehow managing to come across as adorable in this situation. “Yes, please. Take it all off.” 

He tries to reach out to do it himself but you shake your head, pushing him onto the bed. 

“No. We do this my way.” You tell him, and he nods again, keeping himself in check. 

You reach for the zipper on your dress, hesitantly letting it fall to the floor. You aren’t wearing any bra so now you are almost nude except for your panties as you stand in front of him. 

“Fuck. You’re so hot.” He takes his cock into his hand, pumping it as he leers at you. You should feel dirty having him openly masturbate to the sight of you but it makes you feel so fucking good about yourself. It’s just what you needed–for him to show you how much he wants you. “Please, take off your panties too. Wanna see your pussy.” 

Despite his lewd display–or more accurately because of it–you’re given the courage to finally fully undress yourself in front of him, overcoming years of insecurities of what he’ll think of your body and any unfavorable comparisons he might make.

“Oh fuck–” He licks his lips, squeezing his cock as he stares at your pussy. “You’re perfect.”

“You think so?” You ask demurely, trying to hide your shock. Is he really telling the truth? It feels like it but you still need confirmation after years of doubting yourself.

“God, yes. Your tits are divine. I wanna suck on them and play with them all night. Your little pussy is so pretty, I wanna be buried in it forever. Come here, please, ride me, sit on my face, anything…” 

Is this what you were worried about all these years? He looks pretty fucking happy with what he’s seeing. Why were you so scared? You’re so mad at yourself for wasting all this time with self-doubt when you could’ve had him long ago. 

“You really need that?” You throw your panties at him, feeling more confident than ever after his proclamations. “Isn't this usually enough for you?” 

“No, please, you said you’d give me a reward." He whines, distraught at the thought of you being so close but not attainable yet again. "I’ve been good.” 

“Have you?” You scoff, straddling him, pressing your pussy against his cock and his body goes limp, letting you do what you want. “You’ve been nothing but a horndog, getting your rocks off wherever you can, whether it’s backstage getting sucked off by her or stealing my panties and fisting your cock with them. You’ve been such a bad boy.” 

“I’m sorry.” He slurs, mouth hanging open. 

"Are you? You seem to be enjoying this." 

"I'm sorry." He repeats again, staring at your pussy as it moves forwards and backwards over his cock, covering it in your slick. 

"You're fucking hopeless, Beomgyu. You'd do anything to get a piece of me, huh?"

"Yes." He nods eagerly, "Can you sit on my face?"

You laugh, climbing up his body until you’re hovering over his face and digging your fingers in his hair to keep his head down so he wouldn’t make any unwanted moves before you’re ready. "Is my pussy the only thing on your empty brain?"

"Uh-huh." He says dumbly, almost going cross eyes with the way he's staring at your pussy. You fucking love it. This is what you needed–to be needed. And Beomgyu gives it all to you without you even asking for it. 

"Good boy." You tell him and he shoots you a searing look at that–at you finally calling him that again–before you sit down on his face. 

You try not to put too much weight on him, not wanting to hurt him but Beomgyu has other ideas. He grabs your ass and pulls you down on his ready mouth, tongue flicking out to give eager licks to your already wet pussy. 

"Bad–bad boy–" You hiss, pulling at his hair but he won't let go, too intent on eating you out, nuzzling his whole lower face into your pussy, his tongue and lips alternating between long messy licks and needy sucking motions, his nose brushing against your clit every now and then in his fervor. 

"Fuck, Beomgyu slow down." 

But that word isn't in Beomgyu's dictionary, not when he's wanted this for so long. His fingers dig into your ass, making sure you can’t escape as his tongue presses inside your hole, flicking around as much as he can while your pussy flutters around it.

"So good–tastes so good." He slurs, drool and your juices covering his lower face but he doesn’t even care. In fact if anything it turns him on if his hard, leaking cock that you see when you throw a glance backwards is anything to go by. 

"You fucking the air, Beommie?" You pant, not faring much better than him but needing to tease him anyway. "Need my pussy this bad?"

But Beomgyu can't be teased. Not when he's so shameless. 

"Yes. Will you sit on my cock?" 

"How bad do you need it?" You sit up, pulling away from him and cutting off strings of your combined need. 

"So bad. Feels like I might die without it." 

"You sound like a horny fuckboy, Beommie. You know I only like good boys." You chastise, and Beomgyu shoots back, "Is that why you’re dating a whore?"

You growl, sinking back on his face, this time not caring so much about your weight over him. "Don't talk about Yeonjun like that."

He turns his face to the side to nip at your thigh in protest so you just straighten his head again and sit down on him fully, not allowing him any space to move. "You know the only whore here is you. So stick your tongue out like a good whore and let me ride it or I'll leave your dirty cock all red and weeping."

He whines in fear, sticking his tongue out for you, not daring to risk it. You move yourself over him, grinding your pussy over his tongue as he stares up at you pleadingly. 

“You like it, baby? You like me using you to get off?” 

He moans out in response, not having any other way to communicate his agreement and not willing to pull away from you. But you hear a wet noise coming from behind you and you look back to see him fisting his cock, clearly excited by it all. He wants this as much as you do. He has been begging for it for so long, and so you’re not so cruel as to make him take his hand away, but you need to make sure your excitement doesn’t end too soon. 

“Fuck, you really wanted this, huh? Can’t help yourself whenever you get a taste of this pussy?” You tease, and he whines again, his cock thrusting into his own fist pitifully. “But don’t get too excited. You want to feel this pussy around you, don’t you?”

The needy noises he keeps letting out vibrate against your pussy, driving you even wilder as you pull on his hair harshly and desperately grind yourself on his tongue, your high so close you could taste it. 

“Good boy, gonna make me cum… you want it? Want me to cum all of that pretty face?” You growl, and his hands leave his cock to grab your ass, pressing you so tightly against him, you worry that he won’t be able to breathe. 

But Beomgyu clearly loves it. He wants you to do it. He moves your hips so you’re fucking his face harder, faster, all while those slutty eyes of his never leave your face. 

“I’m cumming–fuck, Beommie… good boy–” You scream, shuddering as you cum over him. But as you stop moving, paralyzed by the intense orgasm, he starts moving his tongue, lapping up every drop you let out, giving your pussy open mouthed filthy kisses as he wraps his lips around you and eagerly sticks his tongue into your hole to get even more. 

You have to pull away from him when it becomes too much, and Beomgyu chases after you, not having had his fill yet somehow. He's still so needy that he ends up pushing you down and laying over you, his lips incessant against yours as his cock lays heavy on your pussy. 

You tug on his hair, finally detaching his lips from yours. "That's enough, Beomgyu."

“I made you cum.” He says in a daze, a stupid smile on his face. 

“Yes, you did.” You wipe his bottom lip with your thumb before sticking it in his mouth, letting him suck on it. It’s useless of course. The entire bottom half of his face was glistening with your cum. Not that you were actually trying to clean him up. You liked seeing him covered in you too much. “Ready for your reward, baby?” 

“Fuck, yes, please.” He groans, his hips bucking up against you, gliding his cock against your wet pussy. "Wanna fuck you so bad. Can I put it in now?"

"Are you gonna keep being a good boy for me? Gonna listen to my instructions and not let your cock take over your dumb brain and make you hump me like a dog?"

He shakes his head even though he was literally humping you right now. "I'll listen. I'll be so good."

"Okay, Beommie. You can put it in–slowly!" 

He rushes to push his cock inside your pussy, only stopping when it's all the way inside you. "Oh god–I'm finally inside you. Wanted it for so long."

This is exactly what you had been missing. This is what you needed that Yeonjun wasn't able to give to you. Beomgyu isn't shy when expressing how much he wants you. He'll beg and plead until you give it to him. 

"Can I move, baby?" He asks, voice strained with the effort of holding back. 

You nod. "Go ahead. But slowly."

He makes a valiant effort, pulling his hips back and thrusting in slowly, shuddering every time his cock is fully enveloped by your pussy. 

“Good?" You ask as if his mouth wasn't hung open, as if his eyes weren't all hazy, as if he wasn't holding onto you for dear life.

"So good. Can't believe I'm fucking you."

Neither can you. You had really begun to lose hope but here you are, laid on your back with Beomgyu fucking you, following your instruction as best he could–the strain of it obvious on his face. It's everything you wanted and you finally have it. 

"Can I touch your tits?" He pleads, giving you his classic puppy eyes and you smile. "Go ahead, honey." 

He groans, reaching out and cupping them in his hands. "Oh god. Missed them." He leans down and attaches his lips to them, biting and kissing all over them as his hips pick up speed. 

"Beomgyu…" You warn, pulling on his hair. He fights against you, looking up but not detaching from your tits. "Don't get ahead of yourself now. You want me to feel good too, don't you?"

He nods, his face still firmly buried in your lips but finally letting go of your nipple to moan out, "Yes, wanna make you feel better than anyone else." 

His own words rile him up and he bites down on the skin next to your areola, making sure not to hurt you but still expressing his frustration. 

"You're such a bratty baby." You scold him, but in reality you love it. You love how possessive and needy he is acting. It doesn't allow a single negative or insecure thought to enter your mind. How could it when he's so obvious about his need for you? "You can go faster now, baby."

"Oh, thank you." He groans, hips picking up speed. 

"Better, honey?" You pant, brushing his wet hair out of his face so you can fully see how lost he is in the feeling of your pussy wrapped around him. 

"So much better. Never wanna stop." He leans down, kissing you harshly, lips opening and closing around yours, his tongue pressing into your mouth hungrily. His hands grab at your thighs, pushing them against your body as he goes even faster, a constant stream of whines and whimpers released into your mouth. 

You force yourself to sober up despite the smoldering fire breaking out in your body from the way he's fucking you so good. You want him to keep going. You want him to keep fucking you until your mind has turned to mush and your limbs have turned to jelly. But you can’t let him have it this easily. You can't let him get away with the amount of pain and suffering he has caused you. He needs to feel it too, even if just a fraction of it. He needs to feel the longing and despair he has made you feel for so long. 

"Slow down." You order, pulling his head away from you, doing it extra mean just the way he likes it. 

"No, no, please." He cries, not slowing down. "Please… I thought this was a reward. You’re driving me crazy." 

"Do you want me to push you down and tie your hand to the headboard to make sure you behave?" You threaten, trying to keep your voice under control against the incessant thrusts of his cock into your poor pussy. "It's only gonna be worse for you."

"No. No. Wanna keep touching you." He blabbers, hands groping at every inch of you he could reach, worried you'd make good on your threats. 

"Then be good." You suck in a sharp breath as he pulls on your nipples before kneading the soft flesh.

"I will. I'm your good boy, right?" He slurs, his hips slowing down. 

Damn, he's really addicted to hearing you say that, huh?

"Yes, you are. You’re my best boy." You coo, stroking his soft hair and he nuzzles into your hand like a puppy, seeking any form of contact with you. 

"Thank you." He groans, fingers digging into your skin as he tries to hold himself back, his poor cock screaming at him to just take you like he wants. "So pretty. Look so pretty getting fucked." 

"Yeah? Is it how you imagined it when you'd fuck my panties?" You ask but once again Beomgyu has no shame, his hips faltering at the reminder of his debauched actions. 

"Better. So pretty. So tight. Could stay in your cunt forever." He almost drools at the thought, and you really believe he'd love to do just that. 

"Dirty boy. Dirty little boy going all dumb for me." You stroke his face lovingly and he peers at you with pleading eyes. "Baby, please, hurts… can I go faster?"

"Aw, poor pup, do you need to hammer your cock into my pussy that bad?" You scold, giving his face light slaps. 

"Uh-huh… will make you feel good. I promise." He babbles, his hips already going faster as if he's sure you'll give him permission. 

"No." This may or may not be the one and only time you get to fuck him. You need to savor it. "Slow down."

Your hands go to his hips, clawing at his skin to slow down his thrusts and he relents, albeit begrudgingly. "You're so mean."

"But you love it." You laugh at his tearful pout. "God, you love it so much you can't stop shaking your hips like a whore. It's like you've never been fucked before.” 

"I haven't. You’re my first.” He admits, knocking any remaining breath out of your lungs.

This is his first time. He and Haeun never did it? What the fuck?

"Did you let him fuck you?" He asks, and you stay silent. He knows you’ve fucked Yeonjun. There is no way he thinks you live with Yeonjun and aren’t fucking him. But then again, he hasn’t fucked Haeun, and you were so sure that he did. 

"Did you?" He asks again, an edge to his voice and you nod minutely. "I didn't know. I thought you and Haeun–"

Beomgyu's whole face changes. "God, you're such a slut. Fucking two men at the same time."

You immediately get defensive. Yeonjun was your boyfriend. You had dated for months. You’re not a whore for fucking him. It would be more understandable if he’s referring to the fact (or what he thinks is a fact) of you fucking him when you have a boyfriend, but you’re almost certain that’s not what he’s upset about. He’s just jealous you’ve fucked Yeonjun at all.  "Just because she won't let you put it in, doesn't make me a slut."

That just angers him more, and he practically bends you in half as his dick pumps in and out of you at a brutal pace, his anger at what you’ve done making him lose it, not caring about your instructions anymore. "I hate you."

You laugh, fighting hard to hide the pain his statement elicits in your gut as well as to keep your voice steady as he practically plows his cock into you. God, he makes you so mad but he’s fucking you so good. 

"But you sure love my pussy." 

"My pussy." He growls, catching you off guard once again. He bends his head down to kiss your neck harshly, and can already feel the marks blooming there under his teeth. "Mine. Not his. All mine."

"What?” You sputter. Is this it? Is this how he confesses to you? “Beomgyu, what–”

"Shut up." He smacks your ass, not willing to hear your protests right now. "You've played with me long enough. Now be good and take it." 

Played with him? What the hell is he talking about? You’ve never played with him. But any attempt to get a sane answer out of him right now is useless as the sounds of skin slapping against skin fills the room and Beomgyu latches his mouth onto yours, trying to dominate you in a way he has never attempted to do before–as if he’s trying to prove that you really are his. 

And you are. He may not know it but you’ve always been his.

But his strong facade is paper-thin and you can see right through it to the insecure boy below when he pulls back to look at you. “Fuck, why did you have to be so pretty?”

“Make me cum, Beommie.” You murmur, moving a hand between your bodies to rest over your pussy, your middle and index fingers on either side of his cock as it fucks into you. “Do you feel how wet I am for you? I’m soaking the bed, baby.” 

“Fuck…” He pulls your hand away, taking a look at how wet it has become already before he grunts and pushes one of your thighs against the bed to allow space for his own hand between your bodies, quickly finding your pussy to rub your clit. 

“Oh… oh, fuck… baby…” You gasp, back arching as you’re quickly hurled towards your orgasm. “That’s it, honey. Make me cum on your big cock.” 

He groans, his hips stuttering as your pussy begins to clench around him. “Don’t talk like that. Gonna make me lose it.” 

“It riles you up when I talk dirty to you? Tell you how good you're fucking me?”

He nods. 

“Dirty boy.” You moan out for him, “Do it. Empty that cock inside me. Want my pussy dripping with you.” 

“Holy s-shit,” Beomgyu cries, and you feel his cum shooting inside of you, his hips not stopping for a second. And though his thrusts become erratic, his thumb keeps up its assault on your clit until your pussy is clamping down on his cock and milking the last drops of cum from him. “Good girl. My good girl.” 

He fucks you through your orgasm, babbling on about how pretty you are and how well you took it. He looks so fucking pathetic with his shiny eyes and needy whimpers that before you even know it, he’s ripping another orgasm out of your already fucked out body. 

“Goddammit, Beomgyu…” You squeal, toes curling at the very intense second orgasm, your body shuddering with the unexpected sharp waves of pleasure racking through it. And through it all, Beomgyu continues fucking you. You can feel his cock begin to harden once again inside you, and as the brutal second orgasm leaves your body, you wince at the overstimulation, putting your hands against his sweaty chest and starting to push him away.  

“That’s enough, Beomgyu. I can’t take any more.” 

But he resists you, shaking his head. “One more. Please, one more.” 

“No.” You tell him firmly, “Don’t be bad. Pull out.” 

He searches your face for any hint of leniency, his big pretty eyes trying to convince you to change your mind but you can’t. He’s fucked you so hard, your poor pussy requires a much needed rest. 

You both watch as he slowly pulls out, his once again hard cock glistening with your cum and his, his seed dripping down your ass now that he wasn’t plugging your pussy up. 

“Oh, baby, does that hurt?” You coo, grabbing his cock. He lets out a sigh of relief as you begin stroking it. “Yeah. So bad.” 

The little shit is milking this, but you play along. “Poor baby. Let me make it go away.” You grin, suddenly speeding up, the slide of your hand so easy when his cock is well-lubricated. You make sure to maintain your position, with him hovering over your splayed open body so he can rake his eyes over it, and you clearly seeing him struggling to choose where to look between your tits that jiggle as you jerk him off quickly, the cum leaking out of your puffy pussy, and your swollen lips as you swipe your tongue over them. 

It doesn’t take long for you to have him spilling his seed again, landing on your tummy as he doubles over and buries his head in your neck. 

“That’s it, good boy.” You praise him, using your free hand to stroke his long hair that you love so much. 

You let him lay there for a whole, catching his breath that is so irregular and stuttered that you almost don’t notice when he starts crying if it wasn’t for the hot tears falling on your skin. 

“Beomgyu?” You call out, and a heart-breaking sob breaks out of his chest. 

"Please, come back to me." He croaks against your neck. 

"What?" You sit up, making him sit up with you and pulling his face away from your shoulder so you can look at him, your heart sinking at the tears streaming down his face. "I can't fucking bear seeing you with him any longer. It hurts so much."

Oh fuck. 

"Beomgyu… Yeonjun isn't–" You try to explain that you and Yeonjun had broken up but he cuts you off. 

"It's not him, it's you!" He shouts, "I love you and I can't bear it any longer. And I know it's selfish and that you don't love me back, at least not in that way, but then you keep messing with me."

He loves you? He really loves you?

"But I thought you loved Haeun?" You need to know what exactly is happening with him and Haeun first. 

"I thought I did too but whenever I'm with her, I find myself thinking of you. You’re always in my head, it ruins every moment I have with her. She hates you too, you know? She can't stand how much I love you. The reason we haven't fucked is not because she won't put out. It's because I only want you. I didn't want to lose it to anyone else but you."

"Beomgyu–"

"But you don’t fucking care. You just see me as your disgusting best friend who you can play with and push away when you're done with him and I can't even bring myself to hate you for it. That's how much I love you. So just please… please give me a break."

“You think I was playing with you?” The idea seems absurd to you. How can he possibly think that? You've done everything in your power to not show how much you love him but never in your wildest dreams would you think that would mean he would see it as you playing with him. 

“Weren’t you? I mean the way you spoke to me… you always pushed me away. I had to beg each time for you to even kiss me.” He peers at you, pain and vulnerability shining in his eyes as he recalls the way you treated him. 

Fuck, you've been so obsessed with not letting your love for him show that you've done the same thing to him you thought he was doing to you. Knowing that pain all too well, you can’t bear the thought of being the cause of it.

You grab his face in your hands and kiss him, intending to pour out your own feelings the same way he did, hoping to staunch the flood of heartbreak you’re witnessing and calm him down enough for him to realize you feel the same way. 

But his reaction wasn't what you expected. He breaks down crying. "You're so cruel."

"No, no! I love you too!" Your hands are in a flurry around his face, wiping his tears, stroking his hair, caressing his cheeks, anything to calm him down.

"What? This is not funny." He sobs, looking like a wounded animal. Your heart aches at the sight. 

"No, fuck, I've loved you for years! The whole friends with benefits thing I started was just an excuse to have a way to be with you."

He stares at you in utter shock, the confusion the only thing stopping his tears from drowning you. "But you never even hinted that you liked me. You called me all kinds of names, freak, disgusting, pervert…"

"I thought you liked these..." You trail off sheepishly. 

"I did but it still makes a guy think.” He mumbles, his fingers playing with yours nervously. “You wouldn’t let me touch you or kiss you." 

"I was afraid if I let you kiss me, I wouldn't want you to stop. And I didn’t want you to touch me because I was afraid you wouldn’t like what you saw." It sounds so silly now that you're saying it out loud–now that you know he loves you and has wanted you just as badly.  

"That's stupid. I had already seen it all." He tells you casually and you frown. "When?"

"You don't always shut the door when you're changing." He shrugs. 

"Pervert!" You gasp, hitting him with no real power behind it. "What about you? You never hinted at anything either.  You only ever talked about my body."

"Well, it did start just physical but I quickly realized that I'm in love with you. Then I kept only mentioning your body because you'd freak out on me whenever I hinted at anything else."

"Fair." You pout, realizing you’ve done as much to hurt yourself as he did. 

"I didn't want to let it show that I loved you because I was so afraid you'd pull away like you did a couple of times. And then you were with Yeonjun and it fucking killed me so I had to pretend it was just sexual."

"Oh god, that's exactly what I've been doing.” You cover your face with your hands, mortified at your stupidity. We're fucking dumbasses."

“Yes, we are.” He replies fondly, taking your hands away from your face so you can look at him, refusing to let you hide anymore. "So you'll break up with him and be with me?"

"We broke up a while back.” You admit sheepishly. “He said he can't be with me when you and I are clearly in love with each other."

“So let me get this straight, Yeonjun could tell we love each other but somehow we, the two people involved, didn’t have a clue?” He raises an eyebrow at you and you nod. “I think it’s safe to say we won’t be winning any genius awards anytime soon.” 

“We could win the biggest dumbasses award though.” He cracks a smile, pulling you close to him and resting his forehead against yours. 

“No one could even compete.” You grin, kissing him. He immediately deepens the kiss, frantic and hungry still. 

“Whoa, whoa, slow down, Beommie. We have all the time in the world.” You tease as if you weren’t just as needy, making him whine. “I can’t help it. You made me yearn for so long.”

“Yearn? Oh, that’s bad. I made you use the word yearn.” 

He yanks your legs up, sending the rest of your body flying backwards and hitting the mattress, your loud giggles quickly covered by his mouth as he kisses you harshly, his teeth biting down on your lips in annoyance when you still don’t stop laughing. 

“Stop it.” He whines in defeat as he pulls back, and you try to keep your giggles under control, his pout is entirely too devastating to look at. 

"Are you gonna break up with her?" You ask and he doesn't hesitate to say, "Of course."

That makes you smile, happy with how easily he chose you, but then a thought pops into your mind and you frown. "You know, I hated her but I still feel kinda bad for fucking you behind her back." You really do. You've never condoned cheating, even if it was on someone as vile as Haeun. 

"Oh you mean the same way she fucked the whole football team?" He counters and you gape at him, "God damn. Why did you even stay with her for that long?"

He shrugs. "Needed a distraction. And to not come across as a loser in front of you. I mean you were with Yeonjun. I couldn't just be alone."

"Oh, honey…" You coo, but anything you planned to say is suddenly forgotten as you feel his cock pressing against your entrance. 

"Beommie!" You squeak. “What are you doing?” 

"You thought we were done? You spread your legs for my bandmate. I'm gonna have to look at him every day knowing he had you first. I gotta make sure you and everyone else knows who exactly you belong to."

It may not be the most healthy coping mechanism, but you’ll let him have it for now. You’re sure you wouldn't be very happy if you were in his position either. Besides, getting to fuck Beomgyu isn’t exactly what you would consider a punishment. 

_________

A/N: Click here for the Yeonjun ending on Patreon.

Also for my patreons, you could suggest a scene from gyu's pov and I'll choose one. There will also most likely be some drabbles about oc and gyu's life after the ending (mostly smut featuring our favorite desperate boy lol) and some will be released on tumblr and others will be exclusive to patreon.

Patreons may also suggest a continuation of a previous fic/drabble. I will do my best to release at least something monthly on there.

Taglist: @blxxsss@sanasour@tinkw1nks@lol6sposts@zuzuhasablog@beomsl@seolis-world@stantxtorurmissingout@wonwooz1@yaorzu-blog@allylikesdabee@rkivezzs@malieno@leviathanlee26@yomomas-stuff@kurisaiyunobara@girlwholovekpop@zuzuhasablog@viaaasdiary@ho3forkpop@skzvcr@th3-3d3n-g4rd3n @izzyexe @boomfrogg @kpop-cakepops-recs @chronicallygyu @girlwholovekpop

[knivestothroats]

The Professionals - One Of Those Days

In which Fletcher has one of those days when they don't wanna wake up. Everything is fucked, everybody sucks. They don't really know why but they wanna justify rippin' someone's head off.

The Professionals is a crossover AU of In The Woods Somewhere and Professional//Victim cowritten with @victimeyez CW: violent whumper, long term captivity, PTSD nightmares, a bunch of annoyances, unfair punishment

It was the fourth night in a row Fletcher had woken up from a nightmare.

There was a scale to their dreams, going from unnotable, to bad, to nightmares. A log that won’t split and an ax that’s too heavy to swing. Losing control of the truck and hitting a tree. A gun that won’t fire no matter how many times they check that it’s loaded and unjammed. Being in a fistfight where their arms feel leadened and weak, unable to put force behind a punch. Dealing a deadly blow to Petrova but she won’t stay down. Trying to warn Tommy - their Tommy, real Tommy - that Boa will betray them and him not believing it. Tommy being at the warehouse that night without them, trying to race there to save him, and knowing they won’t make it. The true events of that night playing out just as they happened. 

This night’s version was close to the real one.

They were kneeling over Tommy’s body, his throat torn through and bloody. They could feel the pain of their own wound, knew they were losing too much blood, but were trying to help their friend. He blinked at them, green eyes unfocused. He was still alive, but he looked so dead, and they didn’t know how to save him, they didn’t even know how to save themself, they didn’t want to be there, they didn’t want this to be happening, they didn’t want this to be real.

And then they woke up.

Fletcher blinked in the darkness a couple times, grounding themself in reality. They looked at the clock. 4:12 am. Too early to get up - they would crash later if they didn’t get more sleep. At least a couple hours. 

But, fuck, sleeping was the last thing they wanted to do. Fletcher sat up in bed and, as their eyes adjusted, looked over at the sleeping form of the other Tommy. 

Fletcher had invited him - ordered him - to sleep in their room this time, desperate to break the cycle. Would another warm body beside them help that much? They were willing to try. 

But now he was tethering them to the bed; they couldn’t leave him alone in their room, even though they wanted to get up and… do anything. Watch a movie on the couch. Make coffee. Wait for dawn and watch the sun rise.

It wasn’t really fair to rouse him from his sleep and kick him out. Fletcher laid back down and stared at the ceiling. They tried closing their eyes for a few moments. They opened them again and sat up. 

Whatever, fuck this guy. They didn’t owe him staying and being uncomfortable in their own bed. He was lucky to be here at all. So he has to go back to his own room? He’ll survive. 

“Hey.” Fletcher gave Tommy’s arm a shove.

Tommy awoke with a gasp and recoiled, nearly falling off the bed.

“Fucking relax,” Fletcher snapped, as if they had not just woken up from their own nightmare. “I’m getting up. Go back to your room.”

Tommy peered around groggily in the darkness.

“What time is it?” he croaked.

“4:15,” Fletcher answered, tossing the covers off of both of them. “You can go sleep in your own room.”

“Okay,” Tommy agreed, slowly rising to his feet and shambling out the door, Fletcher on his heels. Before he reached his room he turned back and asked, “Am I in trouble?”

“No,” Fletcher answered. “I can’t sleep so I’m getting up. You know the rules.”

“Right,” Tommy yawned. “Can’t be in your room without you.” He opened his door. “Goodnight - err…”

“Uh huh.” Fletcher walked away.

Fletcher skimmed over their DVD collection and picked something light, something they’d seen many times. Although at this point, they’d seen everything in their collection multiple times.

They settled into the couch cushions and pulled on a throw blanket. Maybe they would drift off to sleep a little easier here. But, they made it through the movie, and put on another before they noticed the room beginning to lighten naturally.

It wasn’t much - no streaming sunbeams coming through the window. Just a dull ambient illumination. Fletcher rose from the couch and headed to the kitchen to make coffee. They slipped on boots, draping the blanket over their shoulders, and carried their mug onto the back deck. 

The air was damp and the sky was a tumultuous gray. Fletcher watched the clouds flow swiftly across the sky. They could feel the pressure in their head. Their old wounds began to ache.

The lack of sleep probably wouldn’t help. They lifted the mug, breathed in the aroma, and took a sip, flinching slightly. Too hot.  

Fletcher usually enjoyed the process of chopping vegetables, but right now, prep work before breakfast felt tedious. 

They laid out all their ingredients and turned on the burner, measuring the heat by way of melting a pad of butter. As they scraped the diced peppers and onions from their cutting board with the back of their knife, Barlowe ambled into the kitchen. 

“Morning,” they yawned, reaching past Fletcher for the coffee pot.

“Morning,” Fletcher grumbled back. They didn’t want another person in their space while they were cooking. 

Barlowe pulled the toaster toward themself and began to slice a bagel.

Fuck, Fletcher needed to make toast to go with their eggs. And the bread had to toast while the eggs were cooking, because they had to be done and still hot at the same time. Of the two, Fletcher would rather the bread be done first and sitting in the toaster, rather than the eggs getting overcooked in a hot pan or growing cold on a plate. Cold eggs were not worth eating.

It was a four slot toaster, but one side stopped working, and Fletcher had never gotten around to replacing it. Or fixing it, although that was not one of their talents. They just hadn’t wanted to throw it out when it was still the equivalent of an average working toaster.

They couldn’t fault Barlowe for making their own breakfast, so they would just let the vegetables saute a little longer to kill time. They wouldn’t get too soft.

After stalling a minute or two, Fletcher cracked an egg into the pan. They dropped the shell into a container for compost, and cracked another. Fuck, a couple little pieces of shell went in. Fletcher tried to fish them out with the corner of the spatula, but they had embedded themselves into the egg whites, which were starting to match their name as they went from transparent to opaque. They had let the pan get too hot when they were stalling. Fletcher turned the burner down and tried again to dig the pieces out, but they kept slipping away, and it was becoming harder to distinguish them from the whites. 

Fletcher was going to need to start scrambling soon or the consistency would be fucked.

In a moment of frustration, they thought about dumping the pan, but they would lose the vegetables too, and they didn’t want to start over. Instead, they chopped off a large section where the shell pieces had been and scraped it into the trash. They cracked another egg on the side of the pan to make up for the loss. The shell splintered like a broken window, but didn’t form a clean crack across for them to easily pull apart. They dug their thumbs in carefully and split the shell, dumping the egg in. 

A larger piece of shell went with it.

Fletcher clenched their jaw and breathed deep through their nose.

It was big enough to pick out, at least. They had to start scrambling now or the edges of the first egg would start to crisp. 

Am I losing my steady hands? Fletcher wondered as they stirred the eggs with their spatula. Is it because my shoulder is bugging me? I’m already in my 30s, it can only go downhill from here. Am I gonna end up like Miller; an old injury getting worse with age until I need to use a cane? What’s the equivalent of a cane for your arm? I should get some practice shooting in today to reassure myself. Maybe without the trainees around. Before it rains.

Fletcher moved the pan off the heat and reached over to… empty counter space. Their eyes scanned the area before landing on Barlowe, carrying the cream cheese away to the refrigerator.

“Hey!” Fletcher snapped, causing Barlowe to jump. “Don’t move my shit!”

They snatched the cream cheese out of Barlowe’s hand and began to hack chunks off into the pan.

“Jesus, sorry,” Barlowe grumbled.

Fletcher huffed out a sigh. “I just - I have a system,” they said, putting up a hand. Their head shot up suddenly. “Fuck - the toast.”

Barlowe took their breakfast and absconded to the couch as Fletcher hurriedly grabbed two pieces of bread and dropped them into the toaster. They turned the burner down low and replaced the pan, folding in crumbled feta. The eggs smeared across the bottom. Okay, too low. They turned the heat back up to medium and continued to fold, the eggs now solidifying into clumps. Better.

“Fletcher?” Tommy had awoken again, and was doing his nervous little dance on the edge of Fletcher’s personal space. “Do you need any help?”

The toast popped up. Fletcher thought about telling Tommy to butter it and set a plate on top of the toaster to warm up, but they were half frantic at this point and felt it better to do it all themself.

“Uh… no,” Fletcher brushed him off, removing the pan from the heat and addressing the toast situation. 

“Okay, if you’re sure,” Tommy said.

The fuck was that supposed to mean?

“Can I have some coffee?” he asked.

“You know you can,” Fletcher snapped, sick of always having to reassure him that, yes, you can help yourself in the kitchen, for real, for real. 

“Thank you,” Tommy said. “Can I get you a cup?”

“I have one,” Fletcher said, suddenly remembering that they did, in fact, have one. They picked up the mug and took a sip. It was beginning to move past hot and into warm. Goddamn was their timing off today. 

Fletcher examined the target, noise blocking earmuffs hanging around their neck. The holes were all in or around center. It was good, but… not their best. The spread was too wide for their own standards. They had once shot Boa in the eyeball while bleeding out on the floor, for fuck’s sake. Some of these shots would have just zipped past his ear. 

It was an off day.

They can’t afford to have off days. Fate, luck, the universe, whatever - it doesn’t wait for you to be on your A-game. Shit can come for you at any time. 

Fletcher replaced the paper and walked back to the table they had set up. They opened up their case and pulled out a new box of ammo. It lifted far too easily.

Fletcher shook the box. Empty. 

Who the fuck put an empty box back?

They skimmed through the other boxes in the case, but none of them were the right size. Shit. They were going to have to contact Sanders and schedule a meet up. 

They heard the door slide open and a wavering voice call out, “Fletcher?”

Fletcher raised their head just enough to get a look at Tommy, who was cautiously poking his head out from around the doorway. They had a cap pulled low to keep their hair from blowing in their face. The bill shadowed their eyes, and judging by Tommy’s nervous expression, they looked just as intimidating as they intended to be. Although it didn’t take much to scare Tommy.

“Everything good?” he asked.

“Well, I’m out of nines because someone put an empty box back,” Fletcher growled. “We’re going to have to go into to town to restock.”

“Now?”

“No, not now,” Fletcher snapped, like Tommy was stupid for asking. “Probably tomorrow, if I can set up a meeting.”

“Oh, okay.” Tommy said. He hesitated. “You just shootin’ for fun?”

“Practice,” Fletcher said. 

Tommy nodded and drummed his fingers against the doorframe, still hiding halfway inside.

“You know, I used to carry a gun,” he said.

Fletcher raised their eyebrows at him, mouth remaining in a tight line.

“Maybe I could… shoot sometime, too.”

“No,” Fletcher shot him down with finality. “God, you and Buck…” Fletcher shook their head as they began to pack up. “Here, prisoner, take a loaded gun! The fuck…”

“Sorry,” Tommy ducked his head. “D’you need… do you need any help..?”

“Look,” Fletcher clapped their hands together once, holding them in a prayerful manner. “I need you to leave me alone. I’m having a bad day, I’m in a shit mood, I’m getting pissed off at everything, and I will take it out on you if you’re around. So, fair warning.”

“Okay,” Tommy said in a small voice before slinking back inside and shutting the door, leaving Fletcher alone once more.

Fletcher’s anger consumed them. It always had. Anger turned their blood to magma, coursing hot rage through their body, burning up their insides. 

They were trying to whittle. The air outside was cold, damp, and windy, so they had pulled the coffee table up close to the couch and carved away at the little block of wood. But they were too angry. Their grip was too tight, their movements too forceful. A large chunk fell off the block, ruining their design. 

Fletcher stared at the remaining wood in one hand and the carving knife in the other. They didn’t know what to do with all the anger. 

Tommy entered the living room.

“Uh, hey, Fletcher.”

Fletcher didn’t glare at him when they looked up. Their eyes were almost widened, ablaze with fury. Tommy was pinned under their gaze, frozen with his mouth ajar like he was caught mid breath.

“Coffee,” he finally managed to squeak, holding up a mug.

Now Fletcher glared. 

“I told you a million fucking times you can have coffee,” Fletcher roared, whipping the carving knife past his head. It bounced off the wall and clattered loudly to the floor. “Stop fucking asking me!”

“It’s for you!” he said, voice and hand trembling, cowering where he stood. “Because you didn’t sleep.”

Fletcher’s hateful expression dropped somewhat as they looked at the mug in a new light.

“Oh.” They put their hand out. “Thanks.” 

Tommy relaxed his stance after a beat, uncoiling his shoulders. His smile was both nervous and relieved as he brought the coffee over. 

Fletcher had skewed the rug when they pulled the table across the floor, and it caused Tommy to trip. 

He stopped himself from falling but couldn’t stop the coffee from sloshing over the edge of the mug. It landed mostly on the table, splashing droplets onto Fletcher’s pants and shoes. The puddle spread, soaking up into the pages of one of Fletcher’s books and running in rivulets over the edge onto the rug. 

“I’m sorry!” Tommy cried as he rushed to undo the damage. He set the mug down and picked up the book, trying to catch the drips with his other hand.

Fletcher had a brief moment of resigned stillness, a feeling of, of course this happened, before doing something about it and smacking Tommy hard across the face. He tipped sideways before scrambling to his feet. Fletcher stood from the couch and stalked after Tommy as he backed away, spewing “sorry”s like a broken record.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll clean it, I’m sorry about the book, I was just trying to help-”

Fletcher grabbed Tommy by the throat and shoved him against the wall. Tommy’s eyes went wide. His hands flew to Fletcher’s wrist, but he didn’t pull - just held on for dear life.

“I told you to leave me alone.” Fletcher didn’t yell, but their voice was raised and pronounced. “I get it, alright? I do. You want to be a good boy because it keeps you out of trouble, so you trail around after me looking for things to do like it’s going to win you brownie points, when I told you…” 

They leaned into their grip, applying pressure against Tommy’s windpipe. He grimaced and gasped, truly struggling now for air.

“That you need to stay they fuck away from me if you don’t want to get hurt and what do you do? Follow me around anyway like a fucking imprinted duckling!”

Fletcher released their grasp, allowing Tommy to bow forward and gasp for air, bracing himself against the wall. 

“You know what?” Fletcher said. “Yeah. You can help me.”

Fletcher grabbed the front of Tommy’s shirt and hauled him up straight so they had an easier target when they punched him in the face.

Tommy staggered back and tumbled to the floor. Fletcher slammed their boot into his stomach, causing him to curl up like a pillbug, teetering onto his side. 

“Thanks,” Fletcher spat venomously as they stormed off. “I feel a little bit better.”

Fletcher laid awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, hands folded over their abdomen. The darkness was alleviated for the barest instant. A murmur of thunder sounded a few moments after. About fucking time the weather broke. 

The downpour was sudden. It started as a couple plink plinks on the window before a cacophony of rain battered down on the house. The next strike of lightning was brighter, and the accompanying thunder was louder.

Fletcher drummed their fingers against the back of their other hand. It was too loud and discordant to lull them to sleep. The bed suddenly felt so… uncozy. 

Fletcher pulled back the blankets and swung their legs over the edge of the bed. They padded down the hallway and cracked open the door to Tommy’s room.

Tommy had both turned the light on, and buried himself into a cocoon of blankets. It seemed counterintuitive to Fletcher. They approached softly, footsteps muffled by a long roll of thunder, and nudged the lump under the comforter. 

Tommy gasped loudly and threw himself back against the wall, ripping the covers off himself, his hair sticking out every which way. Fletcher put up their hands in a peaceful gesture as Tommy blinked at them against the light, breathing fast. A dark bruise had already formed under his eye.

“D’you call down the rain, Thunderbird?” Fletcher asked in a soft voice, half whispering.

“Y-Yeah…” Tommy played along, beginning to calm down. “I thought the crops could use it.”

Fletcher nodded. “You wanna sleep in my room tonight?”

Tommy hesitated to answer.

“I’m inviting you,” Fletcher added.

“Sure, if - if you want me to,” Tommy said, rising from the bed, blanket still wrapped over his shoulders. “Can I, um… can I bring my bear?”

“The more the merrier,” Fletcher said, heading toward the door.

Tommy picked up his bear but remained where he stood, shifting his weight.

“You’re not… mad at me anymore?”

Fletcher shrugged. “I wasn’t really mad at you. I mean, I was, but I was mad in general. You were just around.”

“And you’re not mad… now?”

“Now I’m just tired.”

“Okay,” Tommy hugged his bear to his chest and followed Fletcher. “Let’s go to bed.”

@suspicious-whumping-egg @whumpyourdamnpears @generic-whumperz @lonesome--hunter

@whumplr-reader @theelvishcowgirl @sunshiline-writes @dont-be-gentle-please @galesgallery

@2in1whump @sparrowsage @apokolyps @whumpinggrounds

@morning-star-whump @leviiio @alexmundaythrufriday

@defire @jumpywhumpywriter @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

@light-me-on-pyre @slightlydisturbedbeans @dislexiher @paperprinxe @desert-dyke

@just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @burtlederp @whatwasmyprevioususername @cursedandtired

@whump-only @misspelledwitch @redstainedsocks @thehopelessopus @im-just-here-for-the-whump

@thatsthewhump @utopian819 @pretty-face-breaker @thesuffererrrr @technicallydeliciousdeer

@notactuallyluska

[bullyhunter--69]

Sometimes the truth isn't that scary, huh? (Jack Kline x Reader)

Summary: During a training mission for Jack, a witch decided to hit you with the goofiest spell ever. How will you keep your mouth shut when you're holding the biggest secret you've ever had from everyone in your group? Good luck!!

Warnings: cussing, angry Dean, crying, self-doubt, miscommunication that gets resolved

A/N: This has been sitting in my drafts for literally years, so I figured I would dust it off. That being said, excuse any of the grammar errors because I did write this like 5 years ago.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

With struggling breaths, your feet mimicked the pounding of your heart against your ribcage with every heavy stride you took. The faster you ran, the more you sweat, maybe this spell might wear off sooner... But that wasn’t the case.

It was supposed to be a simple hunt with Sam, Dean, and Jack. It was an introductory mission for Jack, so none of you guys had your guards up quite as much as normal for things like witches, because that wasn’t part of the case you thought you had. Well, you were all wrong.

Long story short, the filthy witch had shown up and cast a spell on you when your back was turned. It wasn’t painful, or even life-threatening, but it had you running for the hills as soon as all four of you had taken control of the situation and gotten out of that haunted house. It was a spell you never wanted to be cast on you, if you had to pick one, because it was a truth spell. Not only was everything that came out of your mouth blunt and honest with absolutely zero filter, but anything that crossed your mind was said without nearly a second thought. It felt as if you were throwing up your words, fighting with everything you had to keep them in.

See, this typically wouldn’t be an issue… If you weren’t hiding something from all three of the men you were currently hunting with, and the one you were supposed to be meeting back up with at the hotel room. Even though this was going to be a simple mission, the information that was being gathered was also important for Castiel to know, so he was waiting for the four of you to return. Little did he know, the others would be returning without you, or so you thought.

You had gotten out of the house first without a word to the boys and took off. It was what you felt to be the best thing to do in this situation, but you didn’t know Jack was going to try and follow you.

You had been running as fast as you could for what felt like hours, but it was really only about 10 minutes. As you stopped to lean down next to a tree, catch your breath, and grab your water bottle from your bag, a voice from just a few feet behind you spoke up.

“(Y/N)?”

The main person out of the four guys you were hiding from just so happened to be the one who both followed and caught up with you… shit.

You spun on your feet and stumbled back against the tree you had previously been leaning against with a heavy breath.

“Jack, get out of here now, leave me alone.”

His eyes, swirling with worry and hurt, were focused on you heavily.

“With this stupid ass spell on me, I don’t want to be around you. It’s dangerous…”

You were starting to struggle with your words, trying your absolute damnedest to push down and not think about your secret. Your teeth were gritting together, your hand slamming up to cover your lips. The fight was obvious in your tone but Jack had no idea what the fight was even against.

You and Jack were best friends. Ever since the beginning, you were one of the only people who did trust him. It might have taken you a few months of being around each other nearly every day in the bunker, but he learned to lean on you in times of need. When Dean wasn’t willing to work with him on “normal” things Jack hadn’t gotten the hang of yet, or when Castiel was away for god knows how long, you were there. You showed him that when things are scary, you don’t have to be alone. Nobody has to face scary things alone. Jack learned that from you… yet you’re scared now, so why are you running from him?

Jack could tell with how your face was drained of its typical beautiful color, how the sparkle your eyes held wasn’t there, and how the hands that were both holding your mouth shut and reaching for your water bottle were shaking, you were scared. Very, very scared.

“You’re scared. You told me we don’t face scary stuff alone… That’s why we go on hunts together and-”

It was too much. His words, the desperate look in his eyes, the way he softly reached out to you the way you did the first time you reached out to him when he finally trusted you with his emotions… You couldn’t take it.

So you ran.

See, you felt scared for good reason. The absolute mountain of this secret you held in your chest was near soul-crushing to hold in on a normal day, but right now? You couldn’t breathe. Jack's voice sounded off through the forest behind you as you hyperventilated, lungs burning and feet aching. He couldn’t find out about the admiration you held for him or the thoughts you had. How his tooth-rotting sweet smile and stunning eyes drove you wild. How he invaded your dreams every night and how you worried about him every second he wasn’t within 5 feet of you. How you have to leave the room just to keep yourself from strangling Dean when he gets drunk and starts ranting about babysitting Jack. 

You loved Jack with every single fiber of your being and more. 

The words started flying out of your mouth with no control. About how much you love him and about how you want to protect him for all eternity. The words tasted bitter and burned your tongue as if you were speaking sin itself, but only because they were laced with fear. An unfiltered stream of worry and doubt, how he would hate you if he found out, about how Sam and Dean would react if they found out, and what about Castiel?

Your pace was halted to a startling end as you ran straight into… Castiel?

“Mother fucker, why can’t you guys leave me alone? Jack can’t know I love him!”

Scrambling back in the leaves and trigs on the ground you had fallen into, you covered your mouth again, but it was no use.

“(Y/N), it’s okay, you don’t have to run from me.” Castiel's voice, low and rough as always, followed behind you as you fumbled to arise. You didn’t know how he got here, but it was probably because of Dean telling him about how you up and ran, and how Jack followed. “Stupid ass Dean, why couldn’t he have just shut up for once?”

Castiel clasped your shoulders firmly as he gently turned you in the leaves to sit down facing him. You continued to babble on and on about how Jack was going to catch up, how you were going to strangle Dean, and how you were so scared. You were terrified of Jack knowing your feelings and hating you for it, even though you would understand and still love him forever.

A sigh was heard from Castiel as he placed his hand atop your head and ran his thumb across your forehead. Within seconds, the taste in your mouth was gone, and your words slowed to a stop. Even though your heart was still going a million miles an hour and your cheeks were drenched with hot tears, you were cured. Castiel took the spell away, healing you from its effects. 

“I told you that you didn’t have to run. The spell is gone.” He stated, still gruff and calm as he checked you over for any other ailments. Castiel always tended to you as a father would his own child. He might not have the best understanding of humans but he was always there for you. Other than some dirt on your jeans, you were deemed fixed in his eyes, and he stood. Castiel held his hands out to help you up as you stared up at him, stunned and confused. “Castiel… You won’t tell Jack, will you?” Your voice was quiet as it shook with uncertainty. His eyes flickered to the trees behind you for a second before falling back down to meet yours as he hoisted you up from the ground. Your body tensed up as your eyes widened. A wordless exchange went on between you and Castiel for a split second before you took off running again. Jack was right behind you, and by the look Castiel had given you, he was there long enough to witness the interaction the two of you had just had.

This third round of running lasted maybe 10 seconds before Jack was in front of you, his arms around you so you couldn’t escape again. The feeling of his warm embrace mixed with the smell of his jacket, which was dusted in his sweet orange blossom and rich vanilla cologne, that your face was shoved into finally did the trick to snub out the flame that was burning in your chest- extinguishing any drive you had to run further from him. Jack had already heard the conversation between you and Castiel, so there was no point in hiding it anymore, even if you weren’t happy with it. 

Jack's hands rested gently around you, one on your lower back and one around the base of your neck. Slender fingers thread themselves through your hair and capture the thick material of your jacket, holding your head to his chest and his torso against your own. “Breathe with me, it’s okay..” Jack was bringing back the same technique you would use during his panic attacks- breathe in for three seconds, hold for five seconds, breathe out for three more. Even though he had heard the entire interaction you and Castiel had, and he had so many questions, he knew you just needed to calm down right now. 

As you were matching your breath with his, Jack was surveying the woods behind you. He could hear a set of heavy footsteps in the distance, crunching leaves and sticks at a rushed pace. Dean and Sam were catching up with them and Jack knew that was the last thing you needed right now. Shooting a look and a nod towards Castiel, the angel snapped his fingers and disappeared to go deal with the boys, probably planning to take them back to the motel and give them whatever explination will subdew them the best he can considering their little sister just off and ran, followed by the newbie of the group.

With that taken care of and your heart returning to a steady pace, Jack lowered both of you down onto the forest floor. You had given up the fight long ago and were exhausted, so you let Jack do as he pleased. His eyes were still clouded with fear, uncertainty, and concern as they darted around your features. “Why did you run from me?” The tone of his voice pulled at your heart strings, ripping them to pieces. You knew you had hurt him and even betrayed the bond you two had formed. “Jack, I just.. It’s stupid, I know, but you have to understand where I was coming from.” Finally facing your fears, you sighed. You didn’t really have a choice anymore, huh?

Pulling your flannel sleeves down over your hands to fidget with as you found a pretty leaf on the ground to center your gaze on, you dug deep to find the right words to hopefully salvage what the two of you had and just go back to normal.

“Ever since you opened your heart to me and let down the walls that you put up, I just saw something different in you. Everyone thought you were this strong bad guy that just wanted to follow in his fathers footsteps, but you showed me something different. They saw the Jack that was born from hate, but you gifted me the Jack that was born to love. The Jack that loves Christmas and butterflies and stupid cat videos.” Jack's right hand came up to rub your shoulder gently while his left hand rested upon yours. A soft blush danced up his neck and onto his cheeks.

“I grew up seeing men who liked to be tough and strong and never show any vulnerability. I was taught that emotions lead to mistakes. Dean was the big brother who never understood and thought emotions were for the weak, and Sam was the big brother who would just lean into facts more. Yeah, they were there for me, but never for love. Dean had a different girl every other week and Sam never got any...” Even with the tears pooling in the corners of your eyes again, you managed to squeeze a giggle out at the thought of Sam never getting any action. Jack moved the hand that was on your shoulder up to your cheek, gently positioning your gaze to meet his.

“And you just.. You trust me so much. You tell me that I mean so much to you and that I help you more than any of the boys. I never want to lose that. I would rather bury my feelings forever and risk you going off into the world and finding someone else to fall in love with than you never trusting me again. I don’t want you thinking I’m only nice to you because I wish we could be together. I just want you to be happy.” Jack's eyes, still clouded with a tone you couldn’t place your finger on, stared deep into your soul. His thumb swiped at the tears that ran down your cheek as he sighed. 

What you didn’t know was that Jack had a very interesting conversation with Sam a few weeks ago about this exact conversation topic- about what the word love means. What started as Jack asking Sam about the girl he heard Dean telling he loved turned into a crash course on dating and what it means for different people. Some people date just to fill a void, some people date to get laid, and some people date because the person they found is truly just that special. It started making Jack wonder… were his feelings towards you romantic? And, because Jack doesn’t understand the social etiquette around keeping a crush a secret and not telling your crush's older brother you want to be with them forever, he spilled the beans. This led to Sam, Jack, and Castiel all sitting in a circle as they coached the younger boy through his feelings, which also led to everyone taking an oath not to reveal to you or Dean what was going on. 

Jack's bangs blew slightly in the wind, giving more light to his eyes as he took a hesitant breath. “I don’t like that you kept all of this a secret, you always told me that you would be here for me, and I wanted to do the same for you.. We swore to share big feelings before they got too big.” Guilt swarmed in your ribs and surrounded your lungs as he tilted your chin up and closer to his face. You swore on every being you’ve ever met that you would take off running and never stop if Jack didn’t wish to be in your life anymore. “Every time we go on a hunt together and we face a new monster I’ve never fought against before, I remember your voice. I think about the nights you let me come into your room when the voices get too loud or when the feelings get too big. If I leave the bunker, I'll always look for you when I get back.. I think about sharing my day with you and making dinner with you.. I just think about you, like you do me.” 

Your eyes widened at the infliction of his last sentence and the knowing gaze he was giving you. Not only did he understand what you felt, but he felt it right alongside you. A soft blush started to rise, starting at your jawline and rising to your cheekbones. It radiated warmth under the thumb that was still resting on your face. “No, Jack, I don’t think about you like I do my brothers or Cas… You realize that, right?”

His lips turned up into that goofy sweet smile that he always wore the second you walked into any room he was in, and he nodded gently. You could practically see it in his eyes, the excitement of just thinking about how you make him feel. The guilt that had tried to make its home in your chest was swiftly kicked out by none other than the butterflies that had gotten you in this predicament in the first place. Jack took a deep breath and leaned closer to you, noses brushing against each other.

  “And do you realize that I’ve loved you for months?”

There it was, the final nail in the coffin. His gentle, soft, quiet voice mixed with the cool October breeze against your back and the warmth of his body oh so close to you struck a chord in you that you thought had grown old and dusty. The eye contact the two of you had held for the last few minutes was broken by Jack's eyes flickering down to your lips for a split second, followed by his own blush strengthening, somehow brighter and hotter than your own. You couldn't help the giddy giggle that escaped as your arms found their way around his neck, one hand playing with the soft tufts of his hair.

“You did always tell me the truth isn’t that scary, remember?” Jack whispered to you as you rolled your eyes. “I just didn’t wanna lose my boy, I also always tell you how special you are to me.” With a sweet laugh from Jack and the sun starting to set through the tree branches around you both, you figured now was as good a time as any. Knowing he didn’t have a lick of experience in this field, you mumbled to him softly. “Trust me, okay?”

Jack nodded softly as your hand slithered deeper into his hair and guided his lips to yours. Gentle, soft, and sweet was how his lips felt, tasting faintly of the peppermint lip balm you had lent to him that morning. The kiss was short, but it was everything you had dreamt about. Pulling apart, Jack's smile was bigger than you had ever seen before. “You’re perfect.” He blurted out, face still beet red. Your laugh filled the surrounding area, pulling him into a tight embrace. “Thank you. You’ll have all the time in the world to tell me that when we get back to the motel, okay? Let's go.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As you opened up the door to the dingy little motel room that the 5 of you were holding your base in for the night, you were welcomed by what you were dreading the whole walk home. A frustrated Sam, a pissed off and loud Dean, and a defeated Castiel. Cas sat in the chair in the corner while Sam was taking up the desk chair and Dean paced around the room yelling about lord knows what. As soon as you had one foot in the door, the room went silent and Dean was instantly pulling you in, leaving Jack in the entryway. 

“Now what fucking bright idea do you think running off by yourself into the middle of the woods is? And to stay there for over an hour with HIM?” Your face deadpanned as you looked over to Sam and Castiel for help, only to be met with them both holding their hands up as a surrender. Jack slowly crept in and shut the door behind himself, starting to sweat nervously. “Not only do you run away and not tell us where you're at or what you're even doing, but you send the angel to teleport us back here? You're unbelievable.” Dean's voice was stern and gruff as he rubbed his temples. 

“I had nothing to do with any of this, Dean. It's not my fault that bimbo of a witch put a target on my back and just had to hit me with her spell. Jack and Cas were the ones who actually helped me.” You sighed as you stripped your outer layers off, now down to your jeans and just a t-shirt. “Yeah, well, you ran off before either of us even realized you had been hit with something. I had to learn from Castiel that you got hit by the stupidest spell in the book, too. You ran because you got hit with some pussy ass truth spell?”

By this point, Jack had crept his way over to the other two men in the room, making sure Dean's back was to him before he gave them both a thumbs up.

“Yeah, Dean, I did run because I got hit with a truth spell.” You sighed as you grabbed your night clothes and your shower bag. The way you guys did motel rooms when on missions was usually two separate rooms– one for you and Dean, the other for Sam and Jack. Tonight though? Dean was pissing you off and you had a differnet… incentive to switch roommates. 

“Jack, come on. You're gonna be in my room tonight. Miss prissy pants himself can room with Sam since he's soooooo mad at me.” Sam's eyes shot open wide, and he leaped onto his feet. “Woah woah woah now, I don't think that's the best idea.” Before Sam could even finish his sentence and Dean could start his own, you had Jack's hand in yours, and you were running out the door to the room next door, already locked in by the time both men could reach for the handle. Ignoring the shaking of the door and the yelling from your older brothers, you took Jack's hands in your own with a giggle. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other nervously. “Is Dean mad at me?”

“No, if anything he’s mad at me and Sam just doesn’t wanna deal with his bitching tonight. Neither of them know, though, so we’ll be okay. I’ll tell them when I tell them.” 

“Haha yeah..” Jack nervously chuckled as he brought his hand to your waist. Sometimes the truth isn’t that scary, but yours and Dean's reactions might scare him just a bit. 

[reverieblondie]

As someone who will just start tearing up if someone raises their voice at me while they're angry (even if it's not at me), I can't help but wonder how Rolan would react to falling for someone like that.

A/N: Thank you for this request! So I some drabbles similar to this here so if your interested check it out! But I'm always willing to write more for Rolan so I hope you enjoy!

He can't believe you're actually trying to talk to him, the nerve after what you caused.

Asking about his family! Rolan feels like he could burst at any moment, you dare to say Cal and Lias' names.

"They are my responsibility!" He snaps bitterly, his voice rising to a yell.

Rolan then sees a flicker of something change in your expression—true remorse. It's in your eyes; he can see it steadily rising as you stare at each other. Finally, you break, first darting your eyes to the floor.

"I... I am so sorry... I won't rest till they come back." Rolan Catches the tremble in your voice. And there's an aching twist in his chest before he scoffs it off.

"Save it... just... leave me alone...." 

Without another word, he hears you step away; Rolan chugs down the last of his drink as the wobble in your voice echoes in his ears. 

It's hard to breathe, hard to see, and hell, with every step, it gets harder to even move.

Rolan can feel that not only is he drained of magic, but he's also drained of energy.

Protect them, watch over them, your family too... Those words told to him so long ago are what keep him going forward, holding tight onto his torch in a knuckle-paling grip. He has to find them, he has to... they are all he has left! His family!

As the panic in his chest swells, adrenaline gives him energy back to his limbs. Rolan begins to run through the shadows blindly, his eyes set forward, and he ignores everything around him. That desperation causes his misstep, forcing him to the ground instantly. Sitting up with a hiss, he quickly remembers where he is scrambling for his torch. As soon as he has it back in his grasp, he sees the inky, wet shadow demons slivering at his heels.

Managing to pull some energy, he thunderwaves the creature back before scrambling to his feet. Standing, he sees his surroundings—and out of everything. Rolan's fist tightens as he looks at what he's sure is his fate. 

He will fight, but he knows his body will be unrecognizable after this land gets a hold of his corpse. He gritted his teeth... that will probably be best... He doesn't want Cal and Lia seeing him that way. He suddenly thinks of your words, face... your smile at the party.....

Please let her save them and do what he shamefully could not.

Once cornered with nowhere to go, he closes his eyes... It's over... it's done.....

'Rolan!"

The sound of his name forces his eyes to see you, your face one of panic as it's locked on him... Your hands tremble with sparks of fire as the shadows melt before him... You're here… You found him, saved him... always having to be saved... 

Rolan grimaces as you run to him, your voice a blur behind his racing thoughts... then when it's all too much, it bursts out of him.

"Damn it all!" he snaps in your face, "Out of all the people, it's you saving me! Can I do nothing!" Rolan throws his hands in his hair, tugging on his hair till it's loosening.

How did you even find me?" Rolan growls again. His eyes meet yours, and the rest of his tantrum dies in his throat.

Tears rush from your eyes over your flushed cheeks, your breath hiccuping as you try to speak, "I-I am... sorry... pl- please don't yell Ro-Rolan... I was so...scared... you were g-gone!"

Rolan's eyes flick from you to your party. He's in shock that you're crying, but they act like this is common! You're supposed to be a hero, but you're crying!

He's making you cry! Instinctively, Rolan reaches for it, but he pauses before he can touch your skin. You're balling, and he's the one who feels helpless. 

Rolan sighs a standing breath as he clenches his fists out to his sides. "Please, stop crying." His head hangs lower, and he brings his hands to his face. "Please... I won't yell; just please stop."

His sensitive ears hear you steading and swallowing down your tears. Finally, he peaks back up to your puffy tear-stained face... Rolan's chest aches at the helpless sight of you. With another sigh, he relents to you," Fine... I will go back... I know when I've been bested. Wipe away your tears." 

Sniffling and stuttering, you finally speak again. "I will find them."

Rolan looks over you; somehow, despite how you look, he knows you will... "Please do..."

Everyone is in uproar as they reunite. Rolan pushes through the crowd, looking frantic. When he finally sees Cal and Lia, he wraps his arms around them both in the tightest hug he can manage. The moment is a refreshing wave of relief before suddenly he pushes himself back.

"What the hell, you ass! What were you thinking!" He yelled at them, letting all his pent-up emotions free.

"We were kidnapped by crazy cultists!" Lia challenges, of course, and they start to bicker, but Cal is wrapping them before it can get to a fever pitch. All in a hug once more.

"We are all here and safe... that's all that matters." Rolan and Lia stay quiet. He's right. They are safe and together…

"How could we ever thank her..." Lia says as she looks out from the embrace, Rolan looks over to see you smiling at it all. He feels his cheeks redden, and before he knows it, he's marching over to you.

"Hey!" he says a bit louder and harsher than intended. As soon as that reaches you, your eyes water. Rolan pauses with a gulp. Bloody hells, he doesn't want you to cry again! Your eyes are so full of tears, your breaths stuttering and short. The thought alone brings his stomach to knots.

Rolan lets a long sigh go through his nose before his next move. He steps closer and wraps his arms around you tightly. A slight gasp leaves your lips before he feels you rest your head on his chest, holding him back in return. Rolan holds you in his thankful embrace, trying to ignore Cal and Lias whistling.

It's one of the most stressful days he's had since becoming Archmage and the fall of the absolute. The customers, the shop, usually it's all so easy to handle, but today, it feels like a pile of rocks on his shoulders. Rolan just needed a minute of quiet... just a second to breathe…

Then, in a flash, a novice wizard sets off a grease spell in the shop. Rolan stands next to you with a growl in his throat. Before he can yell, though, he looks over at your worried expression... He can't yell... So he does the next best thing.

With a sigh, Rolan holds his arms to you, his sign of, 'Hold me. before I break.' As you hold him, he feels it all start to melt away. His crybaby hero knows exactly how to melt away all his frustrations.

[simplygojo]

The Devil He Made Me - Ch. 9

Authors Note: After a long break (due to me being violently ill for 2 weeks) I have finally finished chapter 9!! Please enjoy and lmk how you feelllll, LUVE YOU ALL

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x f/reader

Series Masterlist

Chapter Summary : Tensions rise after Gojo faces the higher-ups and y/n’s fate hangs in the balance. With unsettling revelations emerging, Gojo is determined to protect y/n at all costs—even as it challenges his own resolve. Amid the turmoil, secrets come to light that could change everything, leaving Gojo wrestling with his own emotions, and how to deal with them after his and y/n's moment...

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: noneee

Taglist: @mawhoreagaa; @peqch-pie; @blue-serendipity; @simplyyyuji; @starrnai; @sorcerersseestars; @n1vi; @angryglitterperfection; @krak-jj; @coweringbear; @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni; @cococola-cocaine; @sdv98o; @theendx888; @dvmb4ssbiatch; @sugxryratz; @kinny-away; @crankyarchives; @enfppuff; If you’d like to be added to the series tag list, leave a comment below:)

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Gojo strolled back into the room where Itadori and Nobara were waiting, his usual carefree expression back in place, as if he hadn’t just threatened the higher-ups a few moments ago. 

His gaze swept across the room, noticing your absence. One brow arched slightly in curiosity.

"Well, well," he said casually, as if he were returning from a leisurely walk instead of an intense confrontation. 

"Looks like I missed something. Where’s y/n?"

Itadori scratched the back of his head, his grin a little too wide. 

"Uh, well… She kind of ran off. Looked pretty embarrassed, actually."

Gojo’s lips curved into a smirk, though his eyes sharpened with interest. 

"Embarrassed, huh? I wonder what that’s about."

Before Itadori could say anything more, Nobara jumped in with a teasing edge to her voice. 

"Oh, come on, Gojo-sensei. You know exactly why. That whole intense-stare-thing… You guys were practically glued together before you left. She couldn’t handle your ‘charm.’"

"Wow," Gojo responded dryly, placing a hand on his hip.

 "I didn’t realize I’d become a hot topic among my own students. I’m flattered, really." His gaze flicked toward the door where you had disappeared, a flicker of something unspoken in his eyes. 

"Anyway, I’ve got some news for you. The execution's off."

Itadori and Nobara’s faces lit up with relief. Nobara crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. 

"Wait, so… did you threaten to kill them or something?"

Gojo’s smirk widened, a mischievous glint in his eye. 

"Somethin’ like that," he said, his tone nonchalant as though he hadn’t just put his career on the line.

Itadori let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. 

“That’s a relief,” Gojo said, glancing at Nobara with a smirk. “Guess that means no more secret meetings.”

Nobara crossed her arms, eyeing him critically. 

“Yeah, well, now she’s probably off somewhere freaking out,” she retorted, raising an eyebrow at him. 

“I wonder who could've caused that?”

As Gojo turned to leave, Nobara called after him with a teasing tone, 

“Try not to scare her off again, sensei! She’s not like your fangirls, you know?”

He paused, throwing a glance back over his shoulder, his grin widening. 

“Didn’t you two scare her off with your teasing?” He quipped, arching an eyebrow. 

Without waiting for a response, Gojo headed down the corridor, his grin lingering. 

But as he walked away, a flicker of concern danced behind his usual carefree demeanour. Protecting you wasn’t just a duty anymore—it was starting to feel personal. And that was making things more complicated than he was willing to admit.

—

As Gojo wandered down the corridor, he tried to push away the memory of your kiss, but it kept resurfacing, unbidden. 

His mind replayed the moment: the way you had looked up at him with a mix of surprise and something else in your eyes that had drawn him in. 

He could still feel the lingering warmth of your lips against his, the way his hand had tightened in your hair as if afraid to let you go.

For just a second, he felt his cheeks warm up at the thought, and irritation flickered in his chest. Stop thinking about it, he told himself sternly. 

It was just a kiss—nothing he couldn’t handle. He wasn’t some lovestruck teenager…But the way your eyes had lingered on his, the way his pulse had quickened... it had felt different.

He forced himself to focus. 

He had more pressing concerns than a moment of weakness. He needed to find you, and then he needed to get some answers about the cursed energy inside you. 

There were still too many questions, and until he got them resolved, he couldn’t afford to let his emotions get in the way.

—

Gojo wandered across the grounds, searching for you when he spotted Shoko near the infirmary. She held a stack of papers, clearly containing the results of her latest findings.

"Shoko," he greeted, keeping his voice casual though his eyes were already assessing her expression. 

"What's the verdict? You got something for me?"

She nodded slowly, holding up the documents as if presenting evidence. 

"I do, but you’re not going to like it," she began, her tone calm but with an undertone of concern. 

"I've been running tests on y/n's cursed energy. The results confirm what I suspected... The dark cursed energy she released isn’t naturally hers."

Gojo’s easygoing demeanour dropped in an instant, his eyes narrowing. 

"You mean to say someone put it there?" His voice was steady, but a dangerous edge lurked beneath it.

"There’s no other explanation,” Shoko replied, her brow furrowed in thought. 

“It doesn’t resemble anything like a curse born from her emotions or trauma. It behaves like a foreign entity—an implanted cursed energy. And not just any kind… It’s layered, intricate, like whoever did this took their time to ensure it blended in, at least until something triggered it."

Gojo's jaw tightened, his thoughts racing as he processed what she was saying. 

"So someone intentionally implanted this cursed energy into her, knowing it would lay dormant until the right moment?"

Shoko sighed and nodded. "It looks that way. There’s no trace of it interacting with her own energy in a typical way. It’s almost like a curse or a technique with a purpose of its own. Whoever did this had a goal in mind." 

Her eyes met his, and for a moment, they softened. 

Gojo's fingers flexed at his sides as a wave of protectiveness surged through him. 

"Do you think she’s cursed?" He asked, his voice rougher than usual.

Shoko tilted her head, considering her answer. 

"If she is, it’s unlike any case I’ve ever seen. Cursed objects or implanted techniques tend to cause a direct, ongoing influence. This is more like… a trap, lying in wait. My gut tells me it’s something else. The energy doesn’t feel like it’s trying to take over her; it’s more like it’s programmed to act under certain conditions."

“So, you’re saying someone’s using her like some kind of weapon?” Gojo’s voice dropped, a mix of frustration and anger leaking through.

"Possibly," Shoko said quietly. 

"But we don’t know why, or who could be behind it. Not yet. What’s clear is that it wasn’t by chance—it’s deliberate. And that means we’re dealing with someone who knows how to work around even the most secure barriers."

Gojo's eyes darkened, a dangerous glint flashing through them. 

"I'll make sure they regret it." He exhaled sharply, shoving his hands into his pockets. “But first, I need to figure out how to help her. There’s no way I’m letting them get away with this.”

Shoko placed a hand on his shoulder, her expression softening. 

“Satoru, we don’t even know what’s going on yet, the only thing my assessments confirmed was that this energy was placed in her.”

He took a moment, allowing the weight of her words to settle. 

“I can’t lose her, Shoko. Not to this. She’s been through enough, and I won’t let her feel any more pain than she has to. Promise me you’ll keep this between us for now.”

Shoko’s brow furrowed slightly, skepticism flickering in her eyes. 

“You know I can’t keep everything from her. She deserves to know what’s happening inside her.”

“Not yet,” he insisted, his voice firm but low, the urgency evident. 

“If she knows about the dark energy, it might only add to her stress. Let me handle it until we understand more. Just… keep your findings to yourself, especially from her.”

Her sigh was heavy, resignation threading through her tone. 

“Fine. But I won’t let you go down this path alone. If things change, I want to know. She’s still my patient, after all.”

Gojo nodded, the weight of his resolve settling back onto his shoulders as he turned to leave, a shadow of concern still lingering in his eyes. He knew he was walking a fine line, and as much as he didn’t want to lie to you, the thought of you carrying the burden of this secret was unbearable.

As he stepped out of the infirmary, the fading sunlight filtered through the windows, casting a warm glow that felt both comforting and misleading. 

He couldn’t shake the feeling that the calm was merely a prelude to the storm ahead, and he was determined to shield you from it for as long as possible.

—

After Shoko left, Gojo found himself wandering the grounds in a daze. Her words echoed in his mind, intertwining with the unease that had settled deep in his chest.

You were being used. Someone had turned you into a pawn in their twisted game, manipulating you from the shadows. 

It infuriated him, made him want to tear apart anyone who had dared to lay a hand on you. But anger wasn’t going to solve anything—it was just a reaction, a mask over his real fear: that he might not be able to protect you.

His fists clenched at his sides as the kiss you shared replayed in his mind, unbidden. 

The way you had looked at him, the softness of your lips, the brief, raw connection. It had felt right in that moment, like something he’d been craving without realizing it.

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? 

He had let himself get carried away by his feelings—by whatever had been stirring inside him since the day he found you. 

He had kissed you–allowed himself to indulge in that moment, when he should have been focusing on what truly mattered: keeping you safe.

What was he doing, letting emotions cloud his judgment? 

You were in danger, and he had no time to be distracted by… whatever this was between you. 

It wasn’t fair to you, either. He couldn’t risk pulling you closer when the threat surrounding you was still out there, lurking in the dark. It was irresponsible. Selfish, even.

His jaw tightened as he forced himself to face the truth. Letting himself kiss you had been a mistake—one he wouldn’t allow to happen again. 

He needed to suppress whatever he was feeling, shut it down, and lock it away. You needed someone who could be level-headed and determined to protect you, not someone who was getting lost in feelings he didn’t even know how to define.

“I’m done with that,” he whispered to himself, the words hanging heavy in the air. “No more distractions.”

It was his job to keep you safe, and he was done letting his own desires get in the way. There was no room for weakness, and no room for mistakes.

With a deep breath, he straightened his posture. He would find you and explain the situation, make sure you were prepared for whatever might come next. 

But that was all. There would be no more moments of tenderness, no more blurred lines. He would be your protector, your mentor—nothing more.

The kiss had to be the last time. And he would make sure it was.

—

As Gojo walked down the hallway, his thoughts drifted back to that moment he had been trying so hard to push away. 

Despite his determination to move on, the memory of your kiss came flooding back, as vivid as if it had just happened.

He could still feel the warmth of your lips on his, the way you had leaned into him, a mix of surprise and something deeper in your eyes that had pulled him in. 

His hand had rested on the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair as if holding you there, afraid to let go. 

It wasn’t just the kiss itself; it was the way everything seemed to fall away—the weight of his responsibilities, the chaos of the world—leaving only you and him in that moment.

For just a second, as he recalled it, he felt his cheeks heat up—a rare blush creeping over his face that he hadn’t expected. 

It wasn’t like him to get flustered, and yet there he was, reliving the sensation of your lips brushing against his, your breath mixing with his, the rapid thump of his own heartbeat as he pulled you closer. 

The feeling had been electrifying, overwhelming in a way he hadn’t experienced in years.

A sudden irritation rose in his chest as he shook his head, scolding himself. 

Stop thinking about it, he ordered silently. 

He wasn’t some teenager caught up in his first crush—he was Satoru Gojo, the strongest sorcerer alive. There was no time for him to be losing composure over something as trivial as a kiss.

But even as he tried to push the memory away, a small part of him couldn’t help but linger on it. 

The way you had looked at him afterward, breathless and wide-eyed, had stirred something unfamiliar inside him—something he didn’t quite know how to name. 

It wasn’t just desire or affection; it was a need to protect, to shield you from whatever was coming. And, as much as he hated to admit it, the kiss had made him feel… vulnerable.

He took a sharp breath, trying to snap himself out of it. 

His cheeks still felt warm, though he hoped it was just from walking quickly. There was no use dwelling on something that had already happened. 

He needed to stay focused on what really mattered—finding out who had implanted that cursed energy in you and ensuring you were safe.

That kiss didn’t mean anything, he told himself again, though the faint sting in his chest argued otherwise. 

And with that, he pushed the memory back, forcing his thoughts to harden, to bury whatever softness he had allowed himself to feel.

He had made a promise to himself that he wouldn’t let it happen again, and he intended to keep it. 

No more letting his guard down. There was too much at stake. 

You were at stake.

—

You walked down the dimly lit corridor, your footsteps echoing softly in the quiet as you made your way back to your room. 

The encounter with Nobara and Itadori replayed in your mind, but it kept getting overshadowed by something else—something that had your pulse racing and your skin tingling.

The kiss.

The moment you thought of Gojo’s lips on yours, your breath hitched. 

The memory of him pulling you closer was still vivid, his fingers weaving into your hair and applying just enough pressure to send a shiver racing down your spine.

That slight tug had drawn a soft gasp from your lips, and in that instant, his tongue slipped into your mouth, the memory of it made you breathless yet again.

You could still feel the faint sensation of him groaning against your lips, a low sound that seemed to vibrate through you, making the kiss all the more intoxicating.

You swallowed hard, your fingers brushing against your own lips as if trying to recapture the intensity of it. 

It had been consuming—like the rest of the world had faded away, leaving only the two of you in that moment. 

The heat of his body against yours, the way his hands had roamed as if memorizing every curve, every breath—it had felt like you were falling into something deeper than just a kiss.

Was it possible that you had feelings for him, more than just the admiration you felt as his student? 

The way you had melted into his touch, how your heart had skipped a beat with every movement of his lips—it was becoming undeniable. 

Whatever you felt for Gojo wasn’t as simple as you had once thought.

You reached your door, your fingers trembling slightly as you turned the knob. 

Once inside, you closed the door and leaned against it, letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. The room was dark, the faint moonlight streaming through the window casting silver lines across the floor. 

But even in the darkness, the phantom touch of his hands on you lingered, the taste of him still fresh on your tongue.

Your chest tightened as your thoughts kept drifting back to him. 

His playful grin, the teasing tone of his voice, the rare moments when his blue eyes softened into something almost tender. 

There was a magnetic pull to him, something about him that was becoming more than just captivating—it was starting to feel personal, intimate in a way you hadn’t fully acknowledged until now.

You couldn’t deny it anymore. 

You had feelings for him—feelings that were far more complex, far deeper than you had ever intended to let yourself feel. 

And now, after that kiss, they were impossible to ignore.

—

Gojo stood outside your door, his hand raised, ready to knock. 

He could sense you on the other side, your cursed energy a soft, familiar presence just beyond the wooden barrier. 

He stared at the door, his expression unusually serious as the memory of the kiss flickered in his mind. 

He could still feel the way you had responded to him, the heat of your body pressed against his, the sound of your breath mingling with his own. 

His cheeks grew warm, and he quickly pushed the thought aside, frustrated by the effect it had on him.

He hesitated, his hand still poised to knock. 

The kiss had been a mistake—he knew that now. 

It had only complicated things, and you probably needed space after everything that had happened today. He sighed, lowering his hand.

"It’s late," he muttered to himself, stepping back from the door. 

"I’ll talk to her tomorrow."

With that, he turned and walked down the corridor, leaving behind the conversation that would have to wait for another day.

—

The morning sunlight spilled across the halls of Jujutsu High, bathing the corridor in a golden glow. 

You could feel its gentle warmth seeping into your skin, but nothing could compare to the lingering warmth from last night—when Gojo's lips had moved against yours and his hands had gripped you with a mixture of need and tenderness. 

The memory sent a shiver down your spine, making your pulse quicken as a smile tugged at your lips. 

You replayed the moment over and over again, the way he had pulled you closer, his breath mixing with yours as if he was afraid to let you go. 

There was no denying it anymore; you were looking forward to seeing him again today.

As you rounded the corner on your way to the common area, you nearly collided with someone blocking your path. 

Startled, you looked up, and your breath caught in your throat. Standing there was Gojo, his familiar grin spreading across his lips. 

But something about it seemed off—it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Hey, Satoru,” you greeted, your voice soft, carrying a warmth that seemed to cut through the distance between you. 

Saying his name felt right, natural, like a promise that hung in the air between you. But as soon as the words left your lips, his eyes flickered, and you saw it—that pang of something in his gaze, a hesitation he quickly buried.

“Hey,” he replied, his voice rougher than usual, as if he was forcing himself to stay detached. 

“We need to talk.”

The brightness in your eyes faded, replaced by a thread of confusion. 

“Oh…?” You asked cautiously, the hope in your chest wavering.

He took a step back, as if creating more physical distance would help keep the conversation from crossing the line he had already breached.

“About last night,” he said, the casual tone in his voice gone, replaced by something colder. 

The mention of it sent a jolt through you, your cheeks flushing at the memory. 

“What about it?” you asked, your voice small.

“It was a mistake,” he stated bluntly, the words like a blade slicing through the air. 

“I shouldn’t have done that. It was completely out of line.”

You stared at him, your heart thudding painfully in your chest. 

"Out of line?" You echoed, barely able to find your voice, "I… I didn’t think it was.”

“Well, it was,” he shot back, the harshness in his tone almost startling. He didn’t soften his gaze, didn’t try to sugarcoat it—he needed to shut this down before the situation spiralled further out of control. 

“I’m your teacher, y/n. I’m supposed to be guiding you, protecting you—not… confusing you with things like that.”

The word "teacher" stung, like he was deliberately trying to widen the gap between you, using it as a barrier to push you away. Your chest tightened with hurt and frustration.

“Teacher?” You snapped, a spark of anger flaring in your eyes. 

“That’s a bullshit excuse, Satoru, and you know it.”

His expression hardened, his jaw tightening. 

“It’s not an excuse,” he insisted, voice low and edged with a warning. 

“It’s the reality. You’re my responsibility, and I crossed a line. It was a lapse in judgment, nothing more.”

You shook your head, disbelief colouring your features as you stepped closer to him, refusing to let the distance grow. 

“It didn’t feel like a lapse,” you argued, your voice rising despite the lump forming in your throat. “You’re acting like you didn’t mean it, like it didn’t mean anything.”

He clenched his teeth, his hands curling into fists at his sides as if fighting to stay in control. 

“Well, maybe I didn’t mean it,” he said, the flatness of his tone a stark contrast to the intensity in his eyes. 

“And it won’t happen again.” His words felt like a wall slamming down between you, closing you out with brutal finality.

The anger bled away, replaced by a hollow ache that gnawed at your insides. You shook your head, the disappointment clawing its way to the surface. 

“Then why did you look at me like you meant it?” You whispered, the question escaping before you could stop it.

He hesitated, his eyes widening, as if you had struck something inside him. He then exhaled sharply, his expression unreadable. 

“It doesn’t matter now,” he said, his voice a touch quieter than before, almost regretful. “I need to focu—”

“What do you need to focus on?” you interrupted, your tone sharpening with suspicion. “What aren’t you telling me?”

His jaw clenched, and for a heartbeat, something unspoken flickered in his eyes—an emotion too swift to name before it was buried behind his usual confidence. 

He took a step back, the distance between you widening as if he was retreating from the confrontation.

“You’re reading into things,” he replied curtly, his voice steady. “There’s nothing to tell.”

“Don’t lie to me, Satoru,” you shot back, taking a step toward him, unwilling to let the space grow wider. 

“I can see it in your eyes. You know something. Is it about the cursed energy Shoko found?”

His expression hardened, the flicker of surprise at her name quickly masked by a cool indifference.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, his tone firm and unyielding. “Shoko didn’t find anything unusual, not anything worth worrying about.”

The words hung in the air, a brittle barrier between you that did nothing to ease the weight pressing against your chest. 

There was a quiet resolve in his voice, as if he had already convinced himself that withholding the truth was somehow justified.

He let out a sigh, his shoulders falling just slightly. 

“Y/n, don’t make this harder than it has to be,” he murmured, almost like a plea. “I’m not going to complicate things. I can’t.”

You felt your throat tighten, the hurt squeezing your chest as you met his gaze one last time. 

“Fine,” you breathed, unable to keep the bitterness from your voice. “If that’s what you want.”

“It’s for the best,” he replied, and god he hated how rehearsed it sounded, as though he had convinced himself of the lie. 

He didn’t give you a chance to say anything else before turning on his heel, his retreating figure disappearing down the hall.

You stood there, staring after him, the empty corridor suddenly feeling much colder. 

Outside, the sunlight continued to spill into the common area, but it no longer seemed to reach you. It felt distant and cold, a reminder of the warmth that had been stolen away by the gap Satoru insisted on creating. 

You watched his retreating figure, the hurt crashed over you in waves, relentless and consuming, as if a tide of disappointment had swept through the corridor, erasing the warmth that had felt so real just moments ago.

Your breath hitched as the weight of his words pressed down on you, the gravity of his rejection settling deep in your chest. 

You couldn’t shake the feeling that he was hiding something from you, something important enough to justify his actions. 

Whatever light had illuminated your heart was extinguishing, fading like the remnants of a dream upon waking. 

The ache in your chest deepened, and the pit in your stomach twisted tighter, gnawing at you with the knowledge that he decided to suddenly push you away, whatever the reason may be.