#so subtle in the sense that if he’s standing still and far away enough then you might not notice it bc it’s small

[seongwars]

ardently | ii

Pairing: Viscount!Choi San x Countess!Reader AU: non-idol | regency au Summary: After falling victim to one of Choi San’s many wagers, you vowed to a life of eternal spinsterhood. However, when the Choi family faces the imminent threat of losing their estate, the very man you swore you would never forgive re-enters your life.  Word Count: 6K Warnings: angst, use of firearms, mentions of fox hunting, broken limbs, incorrect use of regency terms (sorry history buffs)

Fic Masterlist

The late summer air felt stifling to San as he rode toward your family’s estate, a place he had visited many times before, though now it filled him with a growing sense of dread. The annual hunt hosted was an event of grand tradition—one that the ton anticipated. Yet for him, the weight of this particular invitation was heavy, almost suffocating. It wasn’t the hunt itself, nor the pressure to perform that unnerved him. 

It was you.

San had always been someone who commanded attention, whether he sought it or not. His charm, once something he wielded effortlessly in your presence, was now a weapon that had turned against him.

He had spent countless nights over the years replaying that moment in the garden, as if by thinking about it enough, he could somehow undo it. But no matter how many times he revisited it, the outcome was the same. Whenever you were near, it felt as though the air itself had grown colder. You would sweep past him at gatherings, head held high, never sparing him a second glance. 

The worst part was that he deserved it.

He had turned something precious—a genuine connection—into a game, a fleeting moment of amusement at the behest of his peers. And in doing so, had ruined any chance of earning your trust or your friendship, perhaps even more.

The Kang estate came into view, an impressive silhouette against the sky, and the knots in San’s stomach tightened. Your family’s grounds stretched for miles, the rolling hills and dense forests an ideal setting for a hunt. As they approached, the sounds of hounds baying echoed across the grounds, mixing with the distant chatter of arriving guests. 

The Choi family’s carriage came to a halt, and as San dismounted, his eyes scanned the scene before him. Servants and attendants hurried across the grounds tending to the horses and greeting guests, while members of the ton gathered in small clusters, discussing the day's upcoming events. 

It was then that he saw you, standing a short distance away with your shotgun, its polished barrel gleaming in the morning light. San froze as you lifted the gun with ease, pointing it directly at him, as though you were sizing him up—not just as a target for the hunt, but for something far more personal. 

Your expression was unreadable, but there was a glint in your eyes, one that sent a chill racing down his spine. His heart skipped a beat, every muscle in his body tensing as he wondered if you were serious or simply toying with him. 

You cocked the shotgun with a sharp, mechanical click, testing its weight as you held his gaze. For a moment, the world seemed to stop. San swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry, unsure whether to laugh it off or raise his hands in surrender.

"Y/N, put that thing down!" your mother chided, hurrying over to meet the newly arrived guests. 

You slowly lowered the gun, your expression still unreadable, but the glint in your eyes sent a chill down his spine, making it clear your aim had been intentional. A subtle hint of a smirk tugged at your lips before you turned to greet San’s parents. 

"Viscount Choi, Viscountess!" your mother greeted warmly, gliding forward with her customary elegance. "It’s so good to see you both. Thank you for coming."

"We wouldn’t have it any other way!" Viscount Choi chortled, though his eyes flickered briefly to you, still holding your shotgun with a quiet air of defiance. "It seems your daughter is eager for the hunt."

Your mother let out a light, practiced laugh, though San could see the subtle tightness in her expression. "Yes, well, she’s always been spirited." She turned toward you, casting a glance meant to remind you of the decorum expected today. 

"Viscount, Viscountess," you greeted smoothly, your tone polite but detached. "I look forward to your participation in today’s events," you continued, your tone betraying no warmth, only obligation. "I wager we’ll have a successful hunt."

It was clear to San that, for you, the hunt was a game, but not in the way it was meant to be. It wasn’t about the thrill of the chase or the spoils—it was about proving a point. And today, it seemed, that point was directed squarely at him.

His mother, Viscountess Choi, sensing the strain, stepped forward to fill the silence. "Your estate is as breathtaking as ever, Lady Kang," she said with a warm smile, her eyes sweeping across the expansive grounds. "The weather is truly remarkable—we are very fortunate to be here!”

She turned slightly, gesturing toward the gathering of other guests, who were milling about near the stables, chatting and preparing for the hunt. The sharp glances of attendants could be seen, tending to the horses and ensuring all was in order for the event. Lady Kang’s expression brightened, her words now carrying the unmistakable energy of a seasoned hostess eager to see the event unfold smoothly.

"Come," your mother said, motioning toward the main group. "Let us join the rest of the guests."

Your mother, ever the perfect hostess, shifted her attention toward Viscount Choi with a smile. "Viscount," she said, her tone warm and accommodating, "we have arranged for an attendant for both you and Mr. Choi to ensure that everything is to your liking during the hunt. They will be available to assist with anything you need."

San nodded appreciatively, returning the smile. "You are too kind, Lady Kang. It is always a pleasure to be here. I look forward to the hunt."

You rolled your eyes, unable to hide your irritation as you turned on your heel and headed toward the stables. San’s words echoed in your mind, hollow and rehearsed, like lines from a script. His charming smile felt disingenuous—just another part of the game he was playing.

"Pointing a gun at your guests? Bold, even for you,” came a familiar voice from behind you, dripping with amusement.

You turned to see Duke Jeong Yunho striding toward you, his eyes sparkling with amusement, as if he had just caught you in the middle of some mischief he couldn’t wait to comment on.

"He’s lucky I didn’t pull the trigger," you said lightly, your tone playful but carrying an edge that let Yunho know you weren’t entirely joking.

"You’ve certainly mastered the art of making a memorable impression. Though I have to wonder—were you aiming for him or his pride?"

You shot him a sideways glance, though it was more amused than annoyed. Yunho had always been this way—playful, quick-witted, and never one to miss an opportunity to tease you. Yet he was observant, capable of reading between the lines. It was part of the reason you found yourself oddly comfortable around him.

"He needed a reminder of where he stands."

Yunho laughed, a rich and infectious sound that drew the attention of a few nearby guests. "Don’t you think you might be pushing him a little too hard? Poor Mr. Choi looked like he was about to faint."

You scoffed, though your lips twitched in a small smile, betraying the hint of amusement in your eyes. "He’s not that delicate, and you know it."

San stood a few paces away, watching the casual banter between you and Yunho, his jaw tightening involuntarily. He told himself it shouldn’t matter. Yunho was a close friend of your brother, someone you’d grown up with. Of course, you’d be close. It was all perfectly innocent. Rational, even but still—why did it bother him so much?

"The future viscount has arrived!" Seonghwa’s voice rang out with unmistakable enthusiasm, cutting through the buzz of the gathering crowd. His face lit up in a wide grin as he spotted San approaching the rest of the hunting party. With open arms, he strode toward his friend, his usual air of refinement momentarily replaced by genuine warmth.

San’s tension eased, if only slightly, as Seonghwa approached. There was something grounding about his friend’s presence—steady and dependable. Seonghwa was always able to read the room, and his welcoming embrace was a reminder that not all the interactions today would be as strained as those with you.

"What kept you so long?" 

San managed a smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Just... got held up." His gaze briefly flickered to where you stood, chatting with Yunho a few yards away. 

"Well, you’re here now, and just in time." Seonghwa gestured toward the members of the ton gathered near the stables, their horses saddled and ready, attendants bustling about to ensure the guests’ preparations were perfect. The hounds barked excitedly in the background, eager to begin as their handlers worked to keep them in check.

The attendant led San's horse over, reins in hand, and with a curt nod of thanks, he vaulted into the saddle with practiced ease. From his new vantage point, he could see the rest of the hunting party more clearly. There was a certain energy in the air—the guests were buzzing with excitement for the hunt, eager to prove their skill and prowess.

You were mounting your own horse, your posture elegant and composed, with the shotgun you’d teased him with earlier slung over your shoulder. San’s eyes lingered on you a moment longer than he intended, tracing the lines of your frame as you adjusted in the saddle. Yunho was, of course, right beside you, making a comment that drew a laugh from you—one that felt too comfortable, too familiar.

"I don’t blame her for fancying him," Wooyoung sighed dreamily, his voice laced with mockery. San shot him a pointed glance, his irritation clear, but Wooyoung just grinned, completely unapologetic as always. 

“What? If I were her, I’d rather be a Duchess than a Viscountess,” Wooyoung continued, his grin widening.

It’s not like that between them, he told himself firmly, trying to quell the unease rising in his gut. He wasn’t one to let Wooyoung’s jabs get to him, but somehow, this one lingered, leaving him uneasy and more unsettled than he cared to admit.

“I see you lot are still making my sister the topic of all your conversations,” a voice interrupted, sharp yet amused.

San's heart dropped, and Wooyoung froze, his easy grin faltering as both of them turned to face Earl Kang. Yeosang, perched on his horse with the quiet authority he always exuded, regarded them with a knowing look. His sharp eyes—so much like yours—flicked between San and Wooyoung, his lips twitching in a faint, almost smug, smirk.

"Earl Kang!" Wooyoung chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his neck as he shifted uncomfortably in his saddle, clearly unsettled under Yeosang’s sharp gaze. "We were just... discussing how Ms. Kang is bound to have a successful hunt. Nothing serious."

Yeosang’s eyes narrowed slightly, his expression unreadable, though his tone remained deceptively light. "But of course," he mused, voice smooth but edged with warning. "My sister does have quite the shot. We wouldn’t want any foxes slipping away now, would we?"

The subtle threat hung in the air, and San and Wooyoung exchanged a quick glance, both knowing full well not to push their luck any further.

“Well then, gentlemen,” Yeosang said after a moment, his tone polite but the undercurrent unmistakable. His eyes lingered on San, a beat too long, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. “Best of luck to you both.”

The hunt master’s horn echoed in the distance, its deep, resonant call signaling the start of the chase. The party moved smoothly into action, the steady rhythm of galloping hooves and excited murmurs weaving through the forest as they ventured deeper into the woods. Birds scattered from the treetops, startled by the thundering riders, while the crisp scent of pine and earth filled the air.

San rode just ahead of you, his posture effortlessly confident, flanked by Seonghwa and Wooyoung. The group was focused, each rider scanning the dense underbrush with sharp eyes and heightened senses, poised to react at the slightest hint of movement.

Tension filled the air, the thrill of the hunt creeping into the silence. Earlier, lighthearted banter had filled the morning, but now it had faded into a hushed anticipation. The excitement simmered beneath the surface, growing stronger with each passing minute. Even Wooyoung, typically the most talkative, had fallen silent, his gaze sharp and calculating, tracking every rustle of leaves and shadow in the trees.

The pace of the group slowed as they approached a small clearing, the riders fanning out to search for any signs of movement in the brush. There was a hum of anticipation, the soft murmur of voices as everyone prepared for the hunt to truly begin. San guided his horse forward, keeping to the edge of the group, his eyes scanning the treeline intensely. 

“The hounds have picked up a scent,” Yeosang muttered beside you, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the distant trees. “There’s something close.”

The horses were growing restless, sensing the change in atmosphere as well. Then, suddenly, from the front of the group, the hunt master called out. A flurry of motion erupted as a fox darted from the underbrush, its red coat flashing in the sunlight as it bolted toward the far side of the clearing. The hounds sprang to life, their barks rising in excitement as riders urged their horses forward.

San was among the first to move, kicking his horse into a swift gallop. He tore ahead with ease, his figure a blur as he charged into the chase, flying across the field. You followed close behind, urging your horse to keep pace with his. Adrenaline coursed through your veins as each stride brought you closer. When you finally caught up, a surge of satisfaction spurred you on, driving you to push even harder. The two of you were neck and neck, the thrill of the chase electrifying the space between you.

But just as you burst through the clearing, a sharp shout pierced the air.

You whipped around, eyes widening in shock as San’s horse reared violently. For a split second, it seemed like San might regain control, his hands gripping the reins tightly as he fought to steady the stallion. But in a wild flurry of dust, the horse bucked again, more violently this time, and San was thrown from the saddle. He hit the ground with brutal force, the sickening crack of bone ringing out as his arm twisted unnaturally beneath him.

Your breath caught in your throat as you watched San hit the ground, the sound of his fall resonating in your ears. Time seems to slow for a moment, your mind struggling to process what just happened. The sight of him lying there, unmoving, his arm twisted at a terrible angle, sends a wave of panic crashing over you.

You glance around desperately, searching for someone—anyone—to help. But it’s just you and him, and the terrifying silence between. You dismount quickly, hands trembling as your feet hit the ground. For a moment, you hesitated, the bitterness that had long simmered between you both rising to the surface. But it feels distant now, irrelevant in the face of his pain. 

"San?" you whispered, your voice barely audible over the rush of blood in your ears. Your hand hovered above him, shaking as you reached for him, desperate for any sign of life. "San, can you hear me?"

He groaned softly, the sound weak but laced with pain, and you instinctively reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder. San tensed, a sharp, pained wince crosses his face, and he goes still again, clearly unable to move with his arm twisted unnaturally beneath him. His breaths are shallow and rapid, each one shaky as if he’s fighting just to hold on.

“It’s going to be fine,” you whispered, voice trembling but desperate to sound steady, though you weren’t even sure if he could hear you. “Help will come.”

The clearing was empty, the woods eerily silent, and you were alone with him. You swallowed hard, forcing down the fear that threatened to swallow you whole, as you gently gripped his uninjured hand.

“Hang on, San. Please, hang on.”

San’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, neither of you moved. Despite the agony coursing through him, he managed a slight nod, though it was more instinctive than conscious. This wasn’t how you imagined your next encounter would go—you had always thought there would be words, sharp and cutting, arguments that would drag old wounds into the light. But now, none of that seems to matter. 

“Y/N!” Yeosang’s voice broke through the haze, sharp and desperate, yanking you back to reality. “What happened?” he demanded, kneeling beside San, his voice steady despite the urgency in his tone. 

Yeosang was never one to panic. He was always composed, steady, the one you could count on to think clearly when everyone else faltered. But now, the fear in his voice was unmistakable. It hit you hard—reminding you that even he wasn’t immune to the gravity of this moment.

“Something must have spooked his horse,” you replied, your voice shaky but determined. “He fell—I think he broke his arm and hit his head. He can barely move.”

The rest of the hunting party worked quickly, their voices rising and falling in a flurry of urgency as they attempted to stabilize San. Yeosang barked orders, directing members to fetch bandages, splints, and whatever they could find to tend to his injuries, while others hurried off to locate a physician. 

“Stay with him, Y/N.”

You blinked, the request jarring you. "Stay with him? Yeosang, what am I supposed to do?" Panic threaded through your words, uncertainty swirling in your mind. The idea of being alone with San, especially after everything that had transpired between you, filled you with hesitation.

Yeosang placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder, his voice gentle but firm. “Just be there for him.”

Taking a deep breath, you stepped closer, forcing your legs to move even as doubt gnawed at your mind. You reached out, your hand trembling slightly as you placed it on his uninjured arm.

“Breathe. Focus on my voice.” With every word, you pushed through the discomfort, allowing your instincts to take over. You could do this. You could be here for him, even if it felt strange and uncertain. How could you admit that despite everything, despite all the resentment and hurt, seeing San like this tore at something deep inside you?

"You’ll be fine, I promise," you whispered, your thumb brushing gently against his arm. You weren’t sure if the words were meant for him or for yourself.

“A broken arm, likely a clean break, but the concussion is worrying. He’ll need to be monitored closely for the next few days,” Dr. Song said, rolling his sleeves down. 

You stood on the outskirts of the room, watching as the viscount and viscountess hovered anxiously while the doctor wrapped his arm in a sling and applied a poultice to reduce the swelling. There was a knot in your stomach, a strange feeling of guilt that you couldn’t quite shake. You hadn’t wanted this—hadn’t wished him harm, no matter the bitterness between you.

“We must send word home! We need to retrieve our belongings—anything that might make him more comfortable,” Viscountess Choi was frantic, her footsteps echoing across the wooden floor as she paced around the room. Her eyes darted from her son lying motionless in the bed to the doctor, who was wrapping up his examination, a reassuring calm contrasting sharply with her spiraling anxiety.

“What he needs right now is rest, my lady.” The Viscountess stopped mid-step, her mouth opening as if to protest, but Dr. Song, though young, didn’t waver under her gaze. 

“He’s sustained a broken arm, which I’ve set, and the concussion, while concerning, will heal in time. Moving him too much or worrying him unnecessarily will only delay his recovery. There’s no need to rush for additional belongings. His most important treatment is rest and a calm environment.”

“But he needs—”

Dr. Song remained unflinching, standing his ground despite the weight of her title and her fear. “I’ll be checking on him daily, my lady. He’s in capable hands and I can assure you Earl Kang will see to that. There’s no immediate need for anything beyond what he already has here.”

“It’s too dangerous to move him in this condition,” your mother’s calm, authoritative voice broke through the heaviness in the room. Though gentle, there was a firmness that left no room for argument. “San should stay here and recuperate at our estate,” she declared, the decision final.

Viscount Choi glanced up from the sofa, taken aback by the offer. “We couldn’t possibly impose,” he said, the surprise evident in his voice.

“Of course not!” your mother replied, her voice soothing yet resolute. “We have more than enough room, and it is the best course of action for his recovery! Dr. Song will ensure he is closely monitored and I’ve arranged for his meals to be brought to his room. If there is anything else he requires, we can send for it first thing in the morning.”

There was a brief pause, and for a moment, it seemed as though the Viscountess might continue her protest, but your mother’s reassuring presence and the doctor’s unwavering certainty seemed to quell her panic, if only slightly. She nodded, though her movements were stiff, reluctant.

“Very well,” Viscountess Choi murmured, though her voice was still tinged with worry. “But first thing tomorrow! He’ll be more comfortable with his belongings.”

You watched the exchange with a sinking feeling, knowing full well that once your mother made a decision, there was no changing her mind. Even though your brother was technically the Earl, wielding the title and all the responsibilities that came with it, there was an unspoken rule in the household—one everyone followed without question: when mama spoke, her word was law.

Though you wanted to protest, what could you say? To speak out would only make things worse—more awkward, more tense. And deep down, you knew your mother wasn’t wrong. San did need care, and this was the most practical solution. 

San woke up the next day in a haze, the sharp scent of herbs filling his senses. His entire body ached, but the searing pain in his arm was the worst of it. A dull throb pulsed through the limb, which was tightly wrapped in bandages and immobilized in a sling. He blinked groggily, trying to focus as the events of the previous day came rushing back—his horse, the fall, the crack of his bone hitting the ground.

He glanced down at his arm, the sight of it twisted in an unnatural position still haunted him, but the worst part was the helplessness. How long would it take for him to heal? How much strength would he lose in the meantime?

San recalled the moment after the fall, when you rushed to his side. He could still feel the weight of your hand on his shoulder, the quiet urgency in your voice as you tried to keep him conscious. Despite the pain, gratitude settled in his chest. You could have left him there or walked away but instead, you stayed.

“Mr. Choi?” a soft knock sounded at the door, followed by the voice of one of the house staff, tentative yet concerned. “Are you awake, sir?”

Gritting his teeth, he tried to push himself up into a sitting position, but the moment he put any weight on his arm, a sharp, excruciating pain shot through him, causing him to falter.

Before he could muster another attempt, the door creaked open slightly. “Oh! Oh goodness, Mr. Choi is awake!” the staff member gasped, clearly startled to see him moving. They turned quickly, hurrying down the hall. 

"Viscountess! My lady!" they called, their voice carrying through the estate.

Within moments, the hurried sound of footsteps filled the corridor. “San,” she breathed, rushing to his bedside. “Why didn’t you call for someone? You should be resting!”

San opened his mouth to respond, but before he could say a word, she was already by his side, adjusting the pillows and fussing over him in a way that was both comforting and overwhelming. He winced slightly, trying to move his arm, but her sharp gaze caught it immediately.

"Don't," she scolded gently, yet firmly. “You’ll only make it worse.”

He sighed, his pride stinging more than the injury. “I’m fine, mother. Really.”

As Viscountess Choi settled into the chair beside his bed, her fingers hovered over his good hand. “You gave us all quite the scare,” she said, her voice quieter now, laced with an unexpected vulnerability. “How could this have happened?”

“I don’t… I don’t know,” he murmured, a shadow creeping into the back of his mind. His fingers tightened around the edge of the blanket, his body tensing beneath the sheets. There was a whisper of doubt that refused to leave, no matter how much he tried to ignore it. 

The horse had shown no signs of distress. None. Not a flicker of agitation, no warning before it suddenly bucked, sending him crashing to the ground. It had been a reliable animal, well-trained. Something about its reaction just didn’t add up—not in the way accidents usually did.

His thoughts darkened, the suspicion growing like a slow-burning fire: What if it wasn’t an accident? What if someone had tampered with his riding equipment? The idea wasn’t fully formed, but San could no longer shake the unsettling possibility that this had been no mere accident at all.

“I should let you know that you will be recovering here for the time being,” she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. “The physician insists you rest, and I won’t have you rushing back home before you are fully healed.”

San frowned, shifting slightly under the weight of the blankets. “Mother, I—”

“I know it’s not what you want to hear,” she interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. “But consider this a blessing in disguise.”

“A blessing?”

The Viscountess smoothed a hand over her gown, her eyes narrowing with that calculating look San knew all too well. 

“Yes, a blessing. You will have the time you need to heal, and…” She paused, her gaze drifting toward the door before returning to him. “You will also have the opportunity to grow closer to Y/N.”

San felt a knot tighten in his stomach, realizing where this conversation was headed. The subtle shift in his mother’s demeanor, the way her lips curled into a knowing smile, made it clear that she had plans for him—plans that involved you. 

“Mother, she has nothing to do with our debts– ” he began, but she held up a hand to silence him.

“You may not have received a response to the proposal yet, but that does not mean the matter is closed. In fact,” she continued, her eyes gleaming with purpose, “this is an excellent opportunity for you to spend time with her.”

“I’m not sure Y/N wants anything to do with me,” San muttered, his voice low. He looked away, his mind racing. He wasn’t sure what would come of this—whether you would even want to see him, let alone get closer. But in his current state, there was little he could do to resist the plan his parents had set in motion.

And despite everything—the pain, the tension between the both of you, and the mounting pressure from his parents—a small part of him couldn’t help but wonder if this was an opportunity to make amends with you. 

“Viscountess, I have this morning’s newspaper… for you,” your voice faltered as you stepped into the doorway of the guest room, holding out the latest edition. The words died on your lips when you saw San, awake and sitting up in bed.

The years had changed you—San could see it in the way you carried yourself, with a quiet strength in your posture that hadn’t been there before. You had grown and matured. The light in your eyes was different now—more knowing, more self-assured. In this moment, everything about you shone brighter, and he found himself looking at you with admiration and something deeper, something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel until now.

"Y/N!" Her face lit up at the sight of you, bringing warmth and softness to the room. "Thank you, my dear," she said, taking the newspaper without even glancing at it and turning her attention to San with a determined expression. 

"I must speak with the staff about the upcoming arrangements if San is to be here for the next few weeks!" Her voice brimmed with enthusiasm, clearly thrilled at the prospect of her son’s recovery and the plans that lay ahead.

As the door closed behind her, the air in the room thickened, the sudden quiet almost suffocating. You shifted uncomfortably on your feet, unsure of what to say—or even what you should feel. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence carried the weight of all that had brought you to this point. It almost felt like the room was closing in around you as unspoken words hung between you. 

“Y/N, I… I mean Ms. Kang.”

“There is no need for formalities, Mr. Choi. Consider yourself a welcomed guest here at the estate.” You forced the words out, each syllable tinged with an edge of irritation. The formality felt like a barrier, a way to keep your emotions in check.

San shifted slightly, wincing as he tried to ease the discomfort. “I um…thank you for staying with me,” he murmured, his voice low and almost uncertain. “I can’t tell you what it meant to me, having you by my side.”

Heat rose to your face, the sincerity in his voice catching you off guard, unsettling you in a way you didn’t want to admit. How could he say that? How could he look at you like that, with those eyes—eyes that once made you feel everything—now making you feel the exact opposite?

“Your mother would have been upset if something terrible happened to you,” you stammered, as you quickly glanced away. “I’m not sure my family could sustain that level of wrath.”

There had been a time when you would have rushed to his side without hesitation, when the thought of him in pain would have driven you mad. But the truth was, it was the sight of him, vulnerable and in pain, that stirred something in you you didn’t want to acknowledge. 

“I’m glad to see that you are well. I must attend to other matters now, Mr. Choi. Please excuse me,” you said, refusing to meet his eyes, knowing that if you did, it would only make things worse.

“Wait,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper but sharp enough to stop you in your tracks. 

“Please disregard the letter from my father,” San continued, and this time his voice was more steady, though there was an unmistakable edge of desperation beneath it. “You don’t have to…you should not feel obligated to respond.”

You paused, your hand hovering over the door handle as his words sank in, your heart pounding in your chest. Slowly, reluctantly, you turned back to face him. He wasn’t looking at you—his gaze was fixed on his cast. 

The letter had arrived only days ago, a formal proposal, neatly sealed with the Choi family crest. It wasn’t filled with declarations of love or hope for a shared future—it was a promise. A transaction, born out of loyalty between two men, your late father and Viscount Choi, who had once been the closest of friends. But the reality was far more bitter. 

To the Choi’s this wasn’t about preserving friendship or honoring old promises—it was a cold, calculated move to clear their debts, using the goodwill between your families to their advantage.

They weren’t looking for a union—they were looking for an escape.

For San, it wasn’t even his mess to fix. He was trapped in this arrangement as much as you were, and yet somehow, that didn’t make the sting any less painful. But the voice in the back of your mind, the one that always seemed to grow louder in moments like this, fed into your worst fears. 

San was asking you to disregard the proposal, to reject it like it meant nothing. But his words took hold of your insecurities, dragging them to the surface. You were nothing but a game, a challenge to conquer. Your chest tightened, anger and hurt bubbling up in a way that you hadn’t expected. You clenched your fists at your sides, trying to keep your composure, but the frustration—the unfairness of it all—was too much.

“Are you mocking me?” The words came out before you could stop them, your voice trembling with a raw hurt you hated yourself for feeling. “You expect me to simply disregard it? As if it means nothing? As if I do not deserve a say in my own life?”

San’s head snapped up, his eyes wide with shock at your accusation. “No, that is not my intention, Y/N. I–I don’t want you to feel trapped or forced into something you do not want,” he insisted, desperation creeping into his voice, as if he were pleading for you to understand.

“Do you mean something you don’t want? Saving me from yourself, is that it? How noble of you,” you spat venomously. A bitter, hollow laugh escaped your lips. You narrowed your eyes, voice dropping to a cold, biting tone. 

"That's not what I meant!" he pleaded, his good hand twitched as if reaching for something he couldn't grasp. "I just—"

“Do not act as though you are granting me a favor when it is you who has already shown that I am not worth courting, let alone marrying.”

San flinched, your words hitting harder than any physical blow. He opened his mouth to speak again, but you turned, walking away before he could find the right words. The door slammed shut behind you, leaving him alone, staring at the empty space where you’d stood.

You knew it was unfair to bring up the past, to remind him that he had only courted you for the thrill of the chase. The shock in his eyes, the disbelief, didn’t matter anymore. You had spent too much time living with the knowledge, wondering if he had ever seen you as more than a game.

As you stormed down the corridor, you heard a shuffling behind you. You spun around, your eyes widening in surprise as you saw San, pale and breathless, following after you. His injured arm was cradled close to his body, but his steps were determined, his face etched with pain and stubborn resolve.

Your heart skipped a beat at the sight of him risking further injury to catch up to you. "What are you doing?!" you hissed.

"I think the world of you," he rasped, his voice low and strained but filled with a fierce conviction that made your chest tighten. “And I will not let you become a pawn in my father’s machinations. I could never live with myself if I stood by and let him—let anyone—trap you in a life that doesn’t reflect your desires or dreams," he continued, his voice softer now, almost tender. 

A moment of silence lingered between you, brimming with unspoken emotions. His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, and you could see the exhaustion in his eyes, the weight of everything he wasn’t saying.

What did he mean by that? The question echoed in your mind, yet your attention was drawn solely to the intensity of his gaze and the unfiltered honesty woven into his words. It felt as though he was offering you a glimpse of his heart, laying bare his thoughts and feelings in a way that made your own pulse quicken.

And it terrified you.

<< i | iii >>

[milimeters-morales]

Miguel in his slit dress and Miles takes this as the “OK” to finally wear his outfit with a subtle skirt built onto it. Miguel has yet to notice any difference

[cherienymphe]

There Will Be Blood

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Reader x Lady Margot Fenring

Summary: Knowing that you are too afraid to ever find yourself alone with the Harkonnen heir, Lady Margot secures his heart's desire for his celebration day.

warnings: Dub-Con (use of the voice), blood, knifeplay, choking, threesome, mentions of cannibalism, non canon ages, spoiler free

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies 

⭑

“She looks almost good enough to eat,” were the words that reached your ears in that low timbre, head tilted as he gazed at you. “I don’t know whether to feed her to my darlings…”

The feeling of his finger underneath your chin was almost nonexistent as he tilted your head up. You were too anxious to look away—his reputation preceding him—and even if you wanted to, you couldn’t. You felt paralyzed, held captive by that dark blue gaze you swore was actually black as night in certain lighting.

“…or make her one of them.”

You swallowed at that, and you didn’t miss the way his eyes followed the subtle movement.

He was referring to his ‘pets’ as you knew he sometimes called them, the three strikingly beautiful Harkonnen women with an appetite for human flesh. The thought of being killed and fed to the women in question made your heart skip a beat…but the thought of being added to his harem made you shudder.

…and you couldn’t tell if the feeling was good or bad.

Hands slid over your shoulders from behind, making you shiver again, and your lashes fluttered at the feeling of soft lips grazing your throat. You faintly tried to remember how and why you ended up here, and you could only recall staring into enticing blue eyes. Her familiar face was all that stood out in your memory, features soft and lips curved into an even softer smile. With all of that being said though, you couldn’t remember your thought process behind following her perfect figure down the hall.

Lady Margot Fenring—golden-haired and willowy with that Bene Gesserit serene repose about her that you found subtly disturbing.

Usually.

In this moment, her calm disposition and quiet authority made your heart race. She was a comforting contrast to the man before you, his intense gaze and sharp features serving to make your imagination run wild with what he was capable of. He was so different from his brother, vastly so from his uncle, but he still possessed similarities with the two that made you nervous all the same.

Especially with his hand so close to your throat.

“This one isn’t for consumption.”

Her lips brushed your skin as her soft and even tone filled your ears.

“Not in the literal sense, at least…” mirth colored her voice at this remark. “I saw you watching her.”

Those words made your heart sink, and you were sure that the brief stab of fear you felt passed through your eyes.

Feyd-Rautha was psychotic. He was the kind of man that would kill someone solely because he felt like it. He had an animalistic stare that made alarm bells go off in your head, telling you to never take your eyes off of him—to always keep him in your line of sight. He was the kind of man you couldn’t let your guard down around.

He was the kind of man you didn’t want watching you.

As if he could read your worrisome thoughts, a glint passed through the man’s eyes, and he leaned in closer. Not one to conceal his feelings in any situation, his expression twisted into one of amusement, a sight that made your hair stand on end. Those soft hands slid over your shoulders and down your arms, gently caressing them.

Don’t be afraid.

A voice that didn’t sound like your own filled your mind, its influence settling into your bones and deep into the crevices of your subconscious. You felt yourself relax, felt the tension leaving you, and her soft hum had you leaning back into her chest. You didn’t want to be afraid, and you felt confident in repeating those words to yourself, confirming that there was nothing to be afraid of.

“You want her,” her fingers grazed your jaw, briefly touching his own. “…but she fears you far too much to ever find yourself alone with her.”

“I like them afraid.”

Those words made you blink, your lips parting at the sincerity in them. By the way he held your gaze, you could tell he wanted you to know he meant it, but that voice in your mind assured you that you had nothing to be afraid of. Not when he leaned in closer, and not when his hand traveled from your chin and down to circle your neck.

“You get too excited,” the blonde woman steadily told him, a hint of authority in her voice. “You would kill her.”

Her fingers on your jaw forced you to turn your head, making you look at her, and when she kissed you, you welcomed it. It was a comforting kiss, one that relaxed you further, and you couldn’t help but to close your eyes and bask in the feel of her lips touching yours. Your skin grew warm, and you touched her arm.

“I’m here to keep you in line.”

She spoke the words into your mouth, but she wasn’t talking to you.

Feyd-Rautha’s lack of protest or anger at her words gave you the impression that you were being included in something that already existed. He let her kiss you, the heat of his gaze burning a hole into the side of your face as she drew you in closer. The feeling in your chest was both light and heavy, and you felt as if you couldn’t get close enough to her.

Lady Margot had an aura about her that you’d always been ensnared by—the way she talked, the way she swayed when she walked, and especially the way those attentive eyes watched everyone and everything so closely. She smelled fresh and crisp, an airy feminine aroma filling your nose as her hand rested on the side of your throat, Feyd-Rautha’s arm long falling back at his side.

When she pulled away, only the tip of her nose lightly touched yours.

“He wants you to touch him.”

Her voice reverberated in your mind, influencing your thoughts and movements, and you found yourself turning to look at the man in question. Your advance was slow, hesitant in reaching out to place your hands on the black fabric of his shirt. He visibly shuddered at the contact, and despite the fact that you were clothed, you felt vulnerable and naked underneath his intense gaze.

“This one is fragile, Feyd-Rautha,” amusement danced around her words. “You have to play gentle if you want to keep her.”

Almost as if he wanted to defy her, his hand quickly wrapped itself around your throat, forcing you closer. Your heart stuttered at the action, and despite that brief bout of adrenaline—your body’s way of telling you that you were in danger—that influential voice in your mind told you that you were safe. Your breathing was shallow as you looked at him with wide eyes.

His own gaze traveled over your form, his perusal slow and his hand tightening. You reached up, grabbing his arm, and the noise of protest he made was a cross between a grunt and a hum. His nose touched yours, and when he spoke again, it sounded like there was gravel in his throat.

“Do you fear me?”

The thought settled in your mind that he wanted you to say yes, and so you did, barely whispering it.

That pleased him, and he presented you with a terrifying smile. His fingers were pressing into the skin of your neck, and his blue gaze studied yours, eyes flickering between your own. There was a carnal excitement there that told you he lusted for more than just your body, and when you winced at the grip he had on your throat, it only grew.

“Good,” he praised in a guttural tone.

Kissing Feyd-Rautha was nothing like kissing Lady Margot.

It wasn’t meant to be a gentle and comforting experience, but instead one that forced you to face every one of your discomforts head on. His teeth pressing into your lips, his hand cutting off your airway, the lack of warning as he pushed you back. Every action was designed to make you squirm, and despite that feeling, heat still settled in the pit of your stomach as his weight pressed down on you.

Lady Margot’s gentle touch made your leg tingle. She was pulling on it, making room for him while her other hand grabbed your arm, and you shuddered at the feel of her lips kissing a path to your wrist. The contrast in their efforts made your head spin, and Feyd-Rautha’s constricting grip on your throat only disappeared when his lips replaced his hand instead.

Pain blossomed beneath where his teeth were, and you gasped, chest arching up into his involuntarily. His hands on your frame were tense, like he wanted to twist and tear you apart, but something disallowed him from doing so. When he kissed you again, the pain in your neck lingered, flaring from spot to spot, and you didn’t doubt that bruises would be there.

When you were forced to sit up, the soft and thin fabric of your dress was pulled at by two sets of hands. A feminine touch loosened the back, her lips following behind where his once were, soothing the irritated skin there. He, on the other hand, was yanking your sleeves down, and the sound of a slight tear or two in the fabric could be heard.

The cold air hit you for half a second before a warm mouth covered a sensitive bud before it even had time to harden. The sharp feeling of his teeth pressing into the skin of your breast made you shy away, but with Lady Margot at your back, you had nowhere to go. Her lips along your neck and shoulder was a welcomed feeling, a soothing contrast against the pain the Harkonnen man was inflicting. It almost faded to the background completely when her hand found its way between your thighs.

Your lips parted, and your lashes fluttered, and you couldn’t help but to lift your hips. Her fingers were soft against your skin, the appendages sliding between your folds and stroking you. One of your hands reached down to rest on hers, riding along with her ministrations while the other reached up to grip the arm of the man intent on breaking skin.

The feel of Lady Margot’s fingers pushing into you and curving against your walls made you circle your hips.  The pain and pleasure were starting to blend together so closely that you couldn’t tell what you liked and didn’t like. His teeth scraping down your torso had your breath hitching, and the Bene Gesserit woman behind you hummed when you clenched around her fingers. It sounded like a noise of approval, and when she spoke, her tone and words confirmed that suspicion.

“She likes that,” she mused, her free hand coming up to run over your chest. “She’s starting to like the pain.”

She was right.

Almost as if that triggered something in him, the blue-eyed man relinquished control completely, fingers digging into the tops of your thighs as he pulled you forward. The action caused you to collapse, your head resting in Lady Margot’s lap as he finished removing your dress, the fabric falling around you in tatters. There was only a brief bout of alarm when he brandished a small blade from his waist.

There was that voice again, settling and taking up residence in your mind, telling you not to be afraid.

Pain flared along your skin in a singular path as the tip of the blade just barely grazed your flesh. It was so sharp that a thin line of blood followed the weapon’s descent, but it was gone as quickly as it came as his tongue slipped past his lips, ingesting your essence and soothing that sting. Your eyes closed, and you welcomed her kiss as she leaned over.

Feyd-Rautha’s own lips kissed you too…just before he sank his teeth into your skin.

You were given bites and nips between the kisses—along your hip and along your thighs and eventually in between your thighs. Your hips lifted, and your back arched, and you unintentionally bit Lady Margot’s lip. She smiled into the kiss, and you knew that she could taste the same blood you felt on your own tongue.

Feyd-Rautha was a mad man between your legs, tongue and teeth playing with you, the blade in his hand pressed against your thigh. The soles of your feet pressed into the bed, wanting to both run away from the pain and run towards it. Every shallow cut made into your skin was soothed by his tongue almost immediately, and you wanted to be embarrassed by how wet their combined ministrations made you.

When you found yourself on your knees, the blade at your throat and his naked chest at your back, you could see the way Lady Margot’s gaze held his. Her face was serene and thoughtful, almost as if she were having a silent conversation with the man at your back. The sharpness of his blade drew blood, and by the way his free hand smeared it along your skin, you knew that it turned him on.

“Gentle,” she reminded him, standing.

He wasn’t so gentle when he pushed his way into you, making you sharply inhale, but the blade remained light against your throat. You tilted your head back, both to relieve the sting and because the feel of his cock sliding into you had you submitting. His own deep grunts were right at your ear, and his bloody hand trailed down your frame to roughly knead into your skin.

The sound of skin slapping against skin made your ears twitch, and when he roughly pushed you down with a hand on your back, your fingers twisted into the sheets of the luxurious bed. Your head was bowed, forehead grazing the fabric as he fucked you, power and aggression driving every thrust. Lady Margot was right, you were afraid of the Baron’s sole heir, positive that you’d never find yourself alone with him before today.

Even if you doubted it, you would have never guessed this is how he’d choose to spend his birthday celebration. While fireworks were exploding and food and drink was being passed around, Feyd-Rautha was spending his time burying his cock in you. His fingers twisted painfully into your hair, making you yelp, and the sound only made him fuck you harder.

“Are you still afraid of me?” he roughly asked you, and when you started to nod, he pushed your face down into the bed.

Understanding what he wanted, you managed to force out a small affirmation.

“Yes,” you choked out.

The low laugh that he let out was menacing, and he was aggressive in pushing you onto your back. His hand was tight when it found a home on your throat, pinning you in place as he snapped his hips into yours. The force was enough to make you wince, and his brutal treatment didn’t go unnoticed, the blonde woman coming up behind the man.

Her gaze found yours, holding it as she whispered something into his ear that yours weren’t privy to. Her beautiful hands came around to slide along his smooth chest, her lips still brushing against his ear. Her lips traveled to his throat as he pulled away from you, pulling out and allowing the other woman to guide him to sit back.

He was uncharacteristically still as he watched her take his place.

“Come.”

Her simple command was impossible to disobey, and you sat up, doing as she said. With a hand on the back of your head, she guided you towards the man, an imposing urge to touch him descending over you. With your hands sliding along his lithe frame, her fingers applied pressure, and your head lowered.

Your lips stretched around him as you tasted his cock, tongue flat and cheeks hollowed. Feminine hands were gliding over your curves, fingers eventually sinking into you again. You closed your eyes at the feel, relaxing and heart calming at the 180 from Feyd-Rautha’s earlier brutality. At the thought of him, you peeled your eyes open, looking up at him from beneath your lashes.

It amazed you, how he could be so dominant and forceful with you but so obedient and almost subdued with her. With one look into his eyes or the feel of her hands against his skin, he became a momentarily tamed wild animal. The feral glint in his eyes couldn’t be done away with, the desire to cause pain coloring his features whenever his gaze connected with yours.

As Lady Margot gently curved her fingers into you, you found yourself craving that feeling again.

Your neck and torso still faintly stung from where his blade had drawn blood, and you got the feeling that your skin was already starting to bruise from where he’d tightly held you. You recalled her earlier words, about her presence serving to keep him in line, and your mind lingered on the aches you felt from what he’d done while she was here. You wondered what would be in store for you should he ever get you completely alone.

You suspected that she was right.

He would get too excited…and probably kill you.

When his lips curved into a small smirk, you knew then that your thoughts were written on your face—along with your fear. His hand on your head made you nervous, and still you slid your mouth up and down the length of him. You could feel yourself dripping down your thighs, Lady Margot’s soft ministrations stroking that fire deep within your stomach. It made you moan around him, and if possible, you swore Feyd-Rautha’s eyes darkened at both the sound and feel.

“She would make a well-behaved pet,” he haughtily said.

The way he stared into your eyes told you that was meant more so for you than her. They both shifted, leaning in and you heard them kiss above your head.

“I knew that you would enjoy her,” the blonde woman confidently said, her even tone unable to hide her satisfaction. “Provided you don’t break her.”

When she pulled away, she pulled away from you too, and with a hand on your chin, she lifted your head. She guided you to kiss him, her own lips resting against your cheek, her soft voice telling you not to be afraid. You wanted to listen, your own mind agreeing, and so you welcomed the pain when blood bloomed along your lips.

Feyd-Rautha enjoyed the taste, roughly grabbing your hands and pinning them behind you at the small of your back. He didn’t tell you to lie down, instead making you, and you winced at the feel of your hands trapped beneath your own body. His lips were stained red when he pulled away, and your mouth parted into an ‘O’ shape when the head of his cock started to stretch you out again.

You were completely powerless—at his mercy—and you cried out at the rough curve of his hips. He looked vicious above you, focused not on chasing his high but on seeing the register of pain on your face instead. That was what brought him pleasure, watching you wince and squirm beneath him and his intense thrusts. If his hand wasn’t on your throat then it was yanking your hair or digging into the soft flesh of your breast.

He seemed to like the sight of marking you up whether it be with his teeth or his hand…or that blade.

He held it against your throat while he fucked you, sometimes sliding the flat part down your chest, blue eyes transfixed by the metal pressing against your skin. Occasionally he’d turn it, the edge grazing you, making a cut just shallow enough and then he’d lean down to taste you. Spots of his own flesh was marred by your blood, and he obviously didn’t care as he smeared it over both of you with every movement.

With your hands free, you clutched onto the sheets, eyes rolling into the back of your head. His hands were painfully tight on your waist, keeping your hips lifted for him as he thrust into you. Lady Margot—silently and appreciatively watching—slid her hands along the bed to grab your hands. Her fingers intertwined with your own, holding them down, and you welcomed the gentle kisses she placed on your wrists and then your cheek before finally your lips.

The man above you made a noise of disapproval, and after some time, she granted him what he wanted, his own rough lips replacing hers. You panted into the kiss, tasting your blood on his lips, and you felt almost delirious. It was a constant cycle of pain and pleasure that had you chasing him when he started to pull away. The laugh he gave at the sight told you his thoughts on the matter, but you didn’t care how much power you were giving him.

His gaze suddenly lifted, and his thrusts didn’t stop as he faced Lady Margot. You felt hypnotized as you watched them, eyes focused on the way Feyd-Rautha stuck out his tongue, elongating it in a way you didn’t think possible. The willowy woman had let you go, taking his own blade and dragging the edge of it down his tongue.

It was then that you realized the man inside of you enjoyed pain almost as much as he liked inflicting it.

You wondered if that was why he was so submissive towards her, why she could order him around and why she was so confident that she could keep him in line. You were unsurprised when they kissed, the brutal man kissing you after a while when they finally parted. You swore that his blood tasted completely different from your own.

A thin layer of sweat coated your skin, and you felt almost completely spent. You were sure that the celebration of his birth was still being had while he chose to celebrate between your legs. His strength and the knowledge of how easily he could snuff you out played a part in the way you clenched around his cock. You could feel that you were close—and so could he.

His hand completely obstructed your breathing, and you could only hold onto his wrist. With every thrust into your cunt, the heat in the pit of your stomach grew. Your heart was racing, and your eyes struggled to remain open, and your toes curled as he stretched you around him. A noise of appreciation reached your ears, and for a moment you wondered if he was going to snap your neck.

He could do it. The strength in his hand told you so and that he would probably barely exert himself doing so. You felt your neck strain underneath his fingers, and your nails drew blood over his skin. You knew he liked that because he kissed you again. Your shallow breaths hit his face, and just as you were on the verge of passing out, you came.

…and his hold loosened.

The rush of air into your lungs coinciding with the release of pressure inside of you made your world momentarily go dark. All you could feel was the snug fit of his cock—and the way your walls fluttered around it—and his teeth against your lip. You could faintly feel softer hands on your face, and a choked moan left your lips his hips continued to connect with yours.

His hand tightened again just as your vision started to return to you, and the smile you were met with was chilling. So turned on by watching you straddle death, the fearsome fighter came too but much more violently. He practically growled above you, the noise so animalistic and inhumane sounding. Your neck almost cracked beneath the force of his hand, and the overstimulation from the feel of his cock made you want to clench your thighs together.

You were struggling to breathe when he stilled, chest burning, and when he roughly let you go—pushing himself away from you—you gasped for air. You turned on your side, sweaty and bloody and feeling like you couldn’t breathe deep enough. A hand smoothed along the side of your face—a feminine hand—and when you looked up, the blue-eyed man was cleaning his blade with a crooked smile, terrifying teeth on display.

“I think I will keep this one.”

[lunarw0rks]

────141 headcanons: touching the belly────

a/n: y'all know i'm a sucker for the the pregs trope so i had to do this request. and i only did the four dinguses for this one, sorry anon ☺️

warning(s): pregnancy, fluff+angst, invasion of reader's personal space/privacy, protectiveness, hurt/comfort?, afab!reader

‧˚₊ MAIN MASTERLIST ⟢ 141 MASTERLIST ‧₊˚⊹

๋࣭ ⭑ PRICE

⌞one of the perks of being married to john is being supported. quite literally the definition of it, in every form. that goes for your baby too, no questions asked. he's more akin to simon in being traditional while you're expecting. wants you home, resting and not lifting a finger.

he's very particular about who he lets close to you, more than ever now. it makes sense considering his work and the general fragility of a new family. in the same way as kyle, he's constantly stressed. wants everything to be perfect for you and soon to be little one.

always has his eye on you, just like he does all his men. there's nothing he doesn't see or already knows about. honestly, may even spot a bad apple before you do. won't even bother with politeness and will shoo them away before their hand(s) even make contact with your tummy.⌝

๋࣭ ⭑ SIMON

⌞ he was already protective enough before you got pregnant, but he's at a whole new level now. practically a full-time security guard by the time you reach your third trimester. ESPECIALLY when you two find yourselves out and about — which isn't often.

on the off chance that you're at some sort of gathering with simon, he's at your side no matter what. eyeing every person who approaches you, only chiming in when spoken to, out of mere courtesy. as soon as you give him any inkling of discomfort, he's asking you if he should go start the car.

one thing he hasn't gotten used to yet is the touching. how people often belaud pregnant women. cross boundaries constantly to get a feel of them and their bellies. it's already hard enough getting the man to relax, but it's hopeless now with all the new people he "needs" to keep an eye on. it's not a matter of him catching someone touching your belly; he'll already be standing there most likely. glares, huffs, will certainly go as far as removing their hand if it lingers long enough.⌝

๋࣭ ⭑ SOAP

⌞doesn't see any point in excluding you from functions if you think you can handle them. loves having you on his lap or right beside him when he's out, even in pregnancy. as long as you're comfortable and able to signal to him when you're too tired or need something — he's just happy you're there.

most of all, johnny is fiercely protective of the bump. more than he is of you (which is nearly unfathomable, i know). and if there's one thing he loves more than you — it's gushing about you to anyone who'll listen. so, initially, he might not notice someone making you tense while amid his blabbing.

but after so long with him, you've learned to accept the flattery for what it is and remember how easy it is for him to get distracted. a firm squeeze to his hand or a tug to his jacket will do the trick. but once realizes what's happening, he's on it (with his new Dad Speed). finds a way to distract the person and slip you the car keys. promises he'll be out in two minutes to drive you home — and he always is.⌝

๋࣭ ⭑ GAZ

⌞ even though he'd prefer you bundled up in bed and waiting for him, kyle still enjoys doing things with you. he definitely gives a wider berth than the other guys, but he's just as vigilant (if not more). he's more subtle about it, if anything.

it isn't just you to protect anymore, it's you and his baby. so, forgive the man for his pinched brows and clenched fists, he's reverted into nothing but a ball of anxiety the further the months progress.

doesn't mind people having a feel of you, usually, when they only mean well (it's typically older ladies anyhow). but sometimes it's a more unsavory interaction; someone who isn't taking any hints, who can't bear to leave the two of you alone. on one hand, gaz understands — an expectant, attractive couple out on a wholesome shopping trip is bound to lure attention. he takes a slower approach, less hostile to avoid upsetting you anyone. brushes it off with an excuse; "oh, love, you got that appointment today, right? don't wanna be late." and then makes his exit, a guiding hand around your waist.⌝

[orphicmeliora]

Thinking about harbouring the most atrocious crush on him.

He's the dearest friend you've had since forever and you don't remember when or how this thing started but it hits you like a ton of bricks in the middle of the night, sitting on the kitchen counter and him making whatever shitty blend of coffee he's thought of. He's never been good at that.

Your gorgeous, gorgeous man.

Not yours. Not yours. Not yours. You chant in your head but it's a fruitless endeavor. Your foolish heart always mistakes his one act of kindness, one sweet smile, his gentle assurances, and the way he focuses his undivided attention on you, for something more. For something like... Love.

He does that for everyone! You tell your heart, but the stupid thing never listens to reason does it?

He looks at you, curiosity apparent in his eyes probably wondering what the hell is going on in your head and you realize you haven't said anything in the long while you've been admiring staring at him. And so you open your mouth to say something, God, anything at all. But then—

He tilts his head, his hair swaying with the motion and falling perfectly into place like dominoes, the action so endearing you have to catch your breath you didn't realize you'd been holding and clutch the counter in a death grip lest you do something idiotic like rush into his arms and melt in his embrace.

Gods above, how you'd love to do just that.

"Are you alright?" He asks, so kind even though you're acting quite pathetic. You're acting as if it's been 9 long years apart instead of the 9 hours you hadn't seen him. His mother really raised him to be a gentleman, you think. And a heartbreaker, you add a beat later. You can only imagine how you look to him, like a deer caught in headlights, hair, a tangled mess and—oh God you're wearing your ugliest pyjamas! You just wanted to dig a hole and lie in it for eternity.

Still he looks at you so affectionately.

He moves forward, each step feels like a hammer against your heart as he moves closer to you. You gasp, wide-eyed you look around vehemently for something to stop him. You're not prepared for this. You know the proximity, his scent engulfing your senses would turn you into a bigger fool.

But you find nothing and now he's standing so close, towering over you even with the added height of the kitchen counter. He's so ridiculously tall. He's perfect. He's within reach and your hands tremble. Every bone in your body wanted to assimilate into his.

"Why won't you look at me?" He can't be this oblivious. Surely, he must have suspected something, it's not like you're being subtle.

You breathe deeply to calm down but even that comfort is stolen from you as his scent surrounds you and diffuses into your blood and messes with your brain. As if his presence alone wasn't enough.

"Have I done something wrong? Is that why you're avoiding me?" His fingers graze your chin and you have to bite back the indecent sound you almost let out. He lifts your head and you feel the self-restraint snap inside you.

"Yes!" You yell in his face. Desperate now, you wanted to hide far, far away from him. Being around him was too dangerous. He was too dangerous.

"Oh," His tone is so despondent, your heart wrenches at the thought of him being sad because of you. His hand falls from your face and you mourn the loss, the grief buried for the time being for other important emotions. "Please tell me what I did so I can fix it right away. I can't stand the thought of you being mad at me."

You wanted to cry.

Your chest feels tight and heavy and you can't breathe properly. All you know is that you have to get out of here and now. So you say the first thought in your head then turned swiftly and ran like they were rats hot on your trail.

"Stop being so attractive!"

You know your mind will never let you live it down but you think screaming into a pillow might help.

[waitineedaname]

i was thinking my little thoughts while falling asleep last night, and a concept occurred to me: what if binghe learned about the system not from shen qingqiu, but from shang qinghua

look, he likes shang qinghua alright. he's pretty disinterested in p much anyone who isn't shen qingqiu, but on the list of People Luo Binghe Tolerates, shang qinghua is relatively high. he gave him advice on wooing sqq, after all, and sqq likes his company, so binghe tolerates his shang-shishu

but the thing is, shang qinghua is a spy. has been for decades. binghe knows this. really, everyone knows this at this point, which isn't a great look for a spy, but still. and since shang qinghua is a spy for mobei-jun, who is a subordinate for luo binghe, then technically shang qinghua is also working for him, but you don't get to the position of demon emperor without a healthy amount of suspicion for everyone in your court

so he decides to test shang qinghua a little bit. nothing major, just a little poking around in his dreams. he starts out with a subtle touch, just sifting through his memories. most of it is what he expected. he sees his time on an ding as a disciple and then later as peak lord, he sees him working for mobei-jun. he sees mobei-jun in some compromising situations, which he files away for later, and then sees him in an entirely different flavor of compromising situations, and binghe immediately decides to act like he never saw that

then he decides to take a more direct approach and starts nudging the dreams in other directions, to see how he might react to certain scenarios, test his loyalty. he expects shang qinghua to act cowardly, or bluff his way through a situaton, maybe even draw his sword if pushed far enough

what he doesn't expect is for shang qinghua to frown at the changes luo binghe made and go "I didn't write it like this"

what

binghe is so bewildered by that response that he loses his grip on the dream for a second, and before he knows it, shang qinghua has spun the dream scenario back into the way the scene originally played out. he steps back and looks satisfied. "there we go," he says. "that's how it went. you know, if I'd known I'd be dealing with this scene myself, I would've written it differently"

what the hell does that mean?

fascinated, luo binghe continues to test him. most of the time, when he toys with someone's dream, they're completely unaware of the changes. shang qinghua, despite not seeming aware that he's lucid dreaming, seems very aware of how each scene should go. except for, strangely, many of the scenes that binghe himself was in. binghe pulls up one from his disciple days, one of the times he remembered shang qinghua coming to qing jing on some errand. he hadn't even changed anything yet, had just let the dream version of his younger self launch himself at shizun in a tacklehug, but shang qinghua tsks and takes the reins from him before he can make any edits. "sorry bing-ge, but that was just way too out of character," shang qinghua says. the dream copy of luo binghe's younger self is sent further away, watching the peak lords with a sullen gaze. he's skinnier than binghe remembers being at this age, and one of his eyes is swollen with a purple bruise. that doesn't make any sense, luo binghe thinks. he hadn't been beaten on qing jing peak for years at this point.

the shen qingqiu beside shang qinghua in the dream stands with his back straight as a ruler, and when his gaze lands on luo binghe, he sneers behind his fan. shang qinghua sighs. "cucumber-bro really wasn't as good of an actor as he thought he was. he's way too soft to ever seem like the original goods."

alarmed, luo binghe dispels the dream and steps out of it entirely. sure, he knows shen qingqiu's personality changed almost overnight when he had that qi deviation. everyone knew that. he avoided questioning it much, unwilling to look a gift horse in the mouth when it meant having a shizun that cared for him

but shang qinghua. shang qinghua seems to know something more about shen qingqiu's personality change. something he's not sharing. luo binghe didn't like the idea that one of his subordinates could be hiding something as vital as this from him

well, this had been a test of his spy's loyalties, hadn't it? perhaps he should make a visit to an ding. he had some questions.

[imaginesmai]

Right around the corner - Azriel

(1), (2), (3), (4), (5)

Plot: four times someone notices something weird about Azriel, and that time someone figured it out.

Remember, I'm taking requests! This Azriel fic is an Azriel x reader, but she doesn't appear yet. Let me know if you want a second part with a formal introduction to the family!

Through the years, Cassian had learned a few things about Azriel. He could proudly say that, even if he wasn’t a spy master himself, he was quite observant. Picked things here and there about people, noticed small habits and routines. For example, he knew that Rhysand liked his coffee boiling hot, that Mor always brought something red from wherever she traveled, and that Feyre ordered the colors she painted with in certain way.

From all of them, he spent most time with Azriel, so it made sense that Cassian knew him. Or thought so.

Cassian knew Azriel sometimes talked to his shadows, even argued with them. The male liked his boots clean and couldn’t stand blood on his clothes. He preferred tea over coffee and liked bad jokes, even if he always scoffed at them.

Cassian thought Azriel was a picky eater. That he hated berries, because he had never seen his friend eat any.

So, when after a tough monthly shopping session for the house, he found a berries box, he opened it without a second thought. It was what he always did – eat from the box before he put it away, infatuating Rhysand, who liked everything in its place.

He only had time to open the box and touch the first berry before Azriel snatched it from his grip, tucking it away.

“Don’t touch it” he grumbled, still focused on putting the eggs away.

“Why not? Rhy’s not here. He won’t mind” he would mind, thought. Not that Cassian had cared about it. “It’s just one berry. I barely ate lunch”

“That sounds like your problem” Azriel gave him a wary look when he tried to get closer. “Don’t”

“They’re berries. Give them to me” Cassian replied, putting his palm up and waiting for his snack.

“You’ll have to wait until dinner”

Cassian frowned, because it might had been one berry, but berries were brought because he liked them and usually ended up in a bag in his room, either way. The only problem he had faced so far was Rhysand disappointed face when he found the empty box laying on the counter.

He rounded the kitchen island until he was next to Azriel. Once more, he reached for the box of berries. That time, he was met with a cold, aggressive grip on his wrist by one of his shadows.

“Dude. What’s with the berries?” he asked, staring at his unmoving wrist with morbid fascination.

“I bought them for me, they’re not for the house”

“You don’t… like berries”

Azriel seemed surprised at the statement, and finally looked at him. And for the first time in a long time, Cassian realized he had surprised him. That he had caught Azriel in a lie, or maybe in an omission of the truth. A truth he didn’t want or feel like sharing.

Maybe, any other day, Cassian would have let it go by. If it had happened with any other food, or with any other person, it wouldn’t have made him suspicious. But Azriel actually looked surprised, and Cassian had tried enough to know it was impossible to catch him in a lie.

“Well, I do now” he shrugged finally. “So keep your nasty hands out of the box”

Before Cassian could reply, the shadow holding his hand curled back into its master and Azriel winnowed away, berries in hand and a soft smile on his face.

-

Even though Mor didn’t like Azriel the way he liked her, couldn’t love him like he wanted to, she appreciated him as a friend. As a good friend, who was there for her always and through everything. And it was selfish of her, she knew, but she had grown used to the details of being loved. Appreciated, cared for. Wanted.

When she caught his gaze across the room, she was used to watching him blush and look away. When they went out to have fun, she was used to his eyes fixed on her back, not subtle at all. And worst of all, she had been kind of taking advantage of the presents he gave her every now and then.

They weren’t short of money, and Azriel had bought her many things through the years. Something she stared at, something that made him think of her. Multiple things that warmed her heart, not in the way he wanted to.

It was only logical that when she found Azriel at her door with a velvet box, looking nervous and shy, it was just that.

“Az. What a surprise” she tried to smile. Tried not to think about his dejected face once she told him she appreciated the gift but wanted to be alone. “Isn’t it too late for you to be up?”

“Yeah, I… it’s been a rough day” he shrugged.

The first indication that something was different was that he didn’t shy from her stare, nor hid the box behind his back. The second was that he didn’t leave it at her hands like a timing bomb.

Mor raised an eyebrow and waited for him to continue. She had been about to go to sleep, after a long day for herself, and supposed half of Velaris was already deep into it.

“Maybe you want to come in?”

She couldn’t physically let him down, drop his expectations and hurt him. More than once, she had given him false hopes in fear of losing the friendship. And when she opened a little bit farther the room of her apartment, she intended to do that.

To accept whatever he had brought her, to hug him tight and thank him, and to let him know that she was really tired and would see him tomorrow, maybe. Then, she would go to bed feeling like a horrible person.

Mor didn’t expect Azriel to open the box himself, and show her something she knew wasn’t for her.

Inside the box, was a beautiful blue sapphire necklace, encased in a silver tear that shone under the moonlight. Everything Azriel had got her, everything anyone got her, was always red. Because that was her color, that was her soul. Not blue and delicate, like the piece of jewelry he held in his hands. 

Azriel didn’t have to say anything else before she noticed the problem.

“It broke and I don’t know how to fix it. It’s… really important for me. And I need it for tonight. For right now” he rambled, like she had never seen him do. “I stayed working late and now the shop is closed”

“It’s beautiful” she whispered, having seen nothing so soft, so beautiful lately. “How did it break?”

“Doesn’t matter. Can you fix it? Like, right now?”

Azriel could have asked her to go through her own jewels and pick the most beautiful to give it to him, and she would have said yes, because she owned it to him. So she nodded and ushered him inside, with her eyes fixed on the necklace.

She didn’t mention that it was too delicate for him, that it was obviously for a woman. Mor ignored her conflicted thoughts about it as she touched the broken chain.

It only took her thirty minutes to find a chain similar to the original one, and another ten to convince Azriel to take it and don’t worry about it. Any trace of sleep erased from her body as she stared at him. At Azriel looking at the fixed necklace with a crooked smile.

“Who is it for?” she asked finally, as she opened the door for him once more. “Anyone special worth mentioning”

“No one. It’s a family relic, from my mother I think” he explained, looking between her and the open air. As if he couldn’t stand staying in the ground a second longer. “Thank you for fixing it. See you tomorrow, Mor”

Two thoughts were on her mind as she closed the door. The first one, was that she knew for a fact that blue was his color, not his mother’s color. She wore green, purple, black. Dark colors, if the portraits were correct.

The second thought, that was confirmed when she looked at her stunned face in the mirror, was that Azriel hadn’t acknowledge her outfit. A thin, black nightgown that barely covered her thighs, and that other nights had sent the shadow singer stuttering apologies right and left before leaving in a rush. 

-

Amren stared with half-closed eyes at her friends, noticing the change right away.

She usually wouldn’t entertain that type of activities, thinking ‘family game nights’ were a waste of time. But since Feyre appeared in their lives, she had to admit she liked her family better. She liked the way Rhysand softened around her, how at ease he was and how relaxed she made everyone.

True to her habits, Amren had chosen the farthest chair and the most expensive wine, and was watching the night unfold in front of her.

At the begging, she had thought it was weird that Azriel, almost as closed off as her, had walked in with a bright smile on his face. His hair had been ruffled in a windless, summer night, his shoulders wider.

It took him almost an hour to identify the new smell in the room, and find the source around his wrist. Almost unnoticeable between all of the scents combined – yet clear enough for her.

She stared at the black rubber band around his wrist, similar to the ones Cassian wore but not quite the same. Amren made it her mission to unfold the different smells and identify the new ones.

Rhysand’s was dark and fresh, like the night. His was intertwined with a sweeter one, Feyre’s, that smelt like vanilla and power. Raw, beautiful power that Amren admired.

Cassian’s was wild and abundant. He smelt like war camps and sweat, but somehow, like home too. Nesta’s scent was there too, even if the female wasn’t around. Amren could identify her just fine – and the new scent wasn’t hers.

After filtering the rest of presences, she finally focused on the band. Azriel was still unmated, that much she could tell. His was like ashes and candles. And behind all of that, she finally found it – baked bread, fresh food, vegetables.

“What are you looking at?”

Her line of sight was interrupted when Azriel pushed his sleeve farther down his arm, covering the rubber band. He knew where Amren was looking, and Amren knew that the question wasn’t rude. Still, Azriel’s voice held an edge she had only heard in Cassian or Rhysand’s voice before.

She smiled lazily at him before answering, making sure everyone was busy trying to guess what Rhysand was gesturing.

“Nothing, boy”

“You were staring quite hard for being nothing” Azriel replied. He fixed his hazel eyes on her, a hard edge on his features.

“I thought I smelt something on you” she purred, enjoying way too much the way the spymaster tensed. “Have you grown a sweet tooth lately?”

Amren usually didn’t stick her nose where it didn’t belong. She liked her life quiet, and minding other people business wasn’t her thing. Every now and then, she did like riling up Cassian or messing with Mor, but she had yet to play with the shadowsinger.

She respected him just as much, if not more, as the rest of the family. Understood the difficulty of his job, the people’s souls he carried behind. Most of their interactions were friendly and cordial, nothing more.

However, that night she felt like she had found something wort digging in.

“Do they know yet?” she asked him when Azriel didn’t answer.

“That I stopped in my way here to buy food?” even if the irritation and protectiveness fell from his face, a muscle of his jaw twitched. “Yeah. Cassian already ate half of the banana bread”

“He did, now?”

They silently stared at each other for a long minute. She dared him to deny it once more, to tell her that the smell under his sleeve was just from a quick stop to the bakery. He dared her to ask about the rubber band and give him an excuse to leave the game night.

Finally, Amren looked away and answered correctly to what Rhysand was trying to represent with gestures. Cassian got up and quickly started an argument about how to gesture correctly, while Feyre just laughed her ass off and Mor scurried off to bring more wine.

The next time Amren looked at Azriel’s wrist, the rubber band was gone.

-

The clock chimed five times in a row when the door finally opened, and Rhysand looked up from the papers on his desk. Apparently, he had to write a formal apology to the summer court in Cassian’s account, and certainly, he wasn’t any close to writing it than what he was in the afternoon.

Now, at five o`clock in the morning, his worry had gotten the best out of him. Rhysand had promised himself that, if by the time the sun came up Azriel wasn’t back, he would start destroying Illyrian camps until he found him.

“Before you say anything” Azriel rose a bloodied hand towards the high lord, and no matter how old Rhysand was, he felt his heart plummeting to the ground in worry. “Not my blood. Not even a scratch”

“Hard to believe. You’re leaving a puddle of it in my carpet” his voice was stained, his anger and worry mixing together.

“I…”

For the first time, Rhysand watched Azriel lost at words. The male looked down at his clothes, that were indeed soaked in blood and gore. He was still carrying all his swords and knives. And from where Rhysand stood behind his deck, he could see none of them had been left unused.

He had received a note from Azriel a day ago saying he was going to check on some Illyrian camps for illegal wing clipping, and that he would be gone for a few hours. Since then, Rhysand had had to deal with the worry and panic of not knowing if he was alive, since he closed his mind to Rhys.

Azriel looked back at him, and any type of sermon would have to wait until the morning. Rhysand got up and circled the desk, until he was in front of his friend. Who looked at him with sorrow and pain.

Rhysand didn’t let the surprise of seeing the shadowsinger, the spy master, so vulnerable. He only gripped his shoulder tight.

“What happened?”

“They didn’t even deny it” Azriel admitted, his voice tight. “One of the girls in the village was brave enough to show me where they keep them”

“Keep what?” even if he asked, Rhysand had a feeling he knew.

“The wings. They kept all the wings pinned to a tavern’s wall, like fucking hunting prices. Rhys, they were so… so many. So many”

He knew his brother’s history with the camps. Had seen what they do to women for himself, had fought for years against it. Still, Azriel had always been the calmer one. Cassian often went into carnages when he found an illegal clipping, but Azriel was the one to ask first and kill later. To organize trips into the mountains with reinforcements and not take decisions by himself.

The Azriel covered in blood in front of him, with tears shinning on his eyes, was new.

Rhysand was at loss as words, torn between beating him for his stupidity of leaving alone and going back himself to look for survivors and kill them slower.

“What you did… Az, anything could have happened to you” he tried to reason. “You know better than to do this on your own. What happened?”

“I got a strong hold. Knew where to find them.”

“How?”

Azriel didn’t answer, and Rhysand didn’t need to pry into his mind to know he would find it closed. Sighing, he pulled Azriel close. It didn’t matter that he was staining his clothes too, that Feyre was still waiting for him in bed and that he was ready to drop dead from worry.

Rhysand hugged Azriel and let him grip his vest until it wrinkled, until he was ready to talk. He trusted him with his life, and he had a feeling whatever was what had brought Azriel to that camp wasn’t ready to be shared yet.

He didn’t count the minutes that passed by until his body relaxed between his arms, didn’t acknowledge the wetness on his neck.

“I need to do something”

“What? Unless it’s a fucking bath and – “

“No, I won’t – it’s not what you think” Azriel took a deep breath and locked his eyes with Rhysand. The high lord nodded. “I’ll talk about it tomorrow, I promise. But just tonight, I need you not to ask question. I won’t be sleeping in my dorms”

“You need to take a bath and rest”

“I will take a bath and rest”

Rhysand knew Azriel had an apartment, somewhere. He knew where Mor lived, where Amren had bought a house, but his brother had lived as long as he could remember in the wind house, with him. He didn’t have many personal details, but in the room at the end of the corridor he kept his weapons and clothes.

He even kept the horrible scarf Nesta knitted him last year that everyone else had thrown away.

Before he said anything else, something in his soul told him to shut up. To accept his request, the only one he had done in a long time, and leave the details for the next morning.

“I guess it’s time for me to go home too” he smiled softly. “Just – clean off that blood. And don’t forget to report in the morning. We need to talk”

“We will”

Without further explanation, Azriel disappeared between his shadows. And Rhysand was left with the sudden smell of burnt bread under his nose.

-

What Feyre missed the most about her human life, and from the spring court, were the quiet walks in nature. The smell of leaves and grass, the sounds of the animals and the absence of other voices. Velaris was a busy place, and even if the people were more than nice, she missed quiet.

Nyx had made sure that his mom never knew quiet again.

He was a happy baby, loud and cheerful, and slept less than any person Feyre had known. Always wide awake, smiling and babbling. Before he even turned one, she had grown used to taking midnight strolls down the Wind House like another routine.

That night, Nyx was playing with her tattooed fingers and munching on his pacifier, still managing to babble some words. Rhysand had gone to bed late and was sleeping in their room, unaware of the night walk. And Feyre, who held Nyx tightly against her chest, felt like falling asleep on her feet.

She was considering turning around and letting Nyx lay awake staring at the ceiling when the baby stopped moving.

“Time for a diaper change?” she guessed, used to that type of silence. “I’ve never met a stricter person when it comes to schedule. Most people use the bathroom at day, you know?”

“Bah”

“Yeah, most people sleep at night, I guess” she sighed.

Still, when she felt his diaper, she found it empty, and after a quick inspection of smell, she discovered it was clean. Through her sleepy haze, she frowned and looked at Nyx. He was pointing to the open door to the kitchen, to the table next to the entrance.

As the rest of the house, the kitchen was empty. Not even Azriel’s shadows, who usually snuck around and entertained Nyx for a while, were there.

Feyre walked inside the kitchen as Nyx became more restless, until the baby was close to the object he pointed at. Then, almost dropping from her embrace, he put his chubby hands on the surface and tried to crawl to his destiny.

“Nyx, baby, it’s late. You already had dinner” she sighed, trying to pull Nyx back.

But as soon as she separated his hands from the table, Nyx let the pacifier drop and whined pitifully. He smacked one rebel hand against Feyre’s cheek, showing her his utter disapproval of the action.

All Feyre needed was another slap to the face before she gave in and let Nyx have his way. She let the baby sitting on the counter, and holding his back, she bent down for the pacifier. When she rose again, Nyx had found his prize – something that certainly didn’t belong to their kitchen, since the most complex food she could make was soup.

Large and thin like a fork, Nyx was holding a kitchen tool made of plastic. It ended in soft peaks, similar to a brush. Similar to the baby brush Feyre used with him.

“Did you winnow that here?” she asked Nyx, not expecting an answer. “Please tell you didn’t steal anything”

Lately, Nyx had picked up his father’s power and was starting to conjure things he wanted or needed. It was cute, whenever it was a toy or a plushie. Last month, it was a very distressed Cassian that fell on Feyre, and it was not cute.

But before she could think about Nyx winnowing the tool, she recognized the already familiar smell of bread and cinnamon. Feyre smiled as Nyx brushed its end against his face, and the baby giggled.

During the next ten minutes, she brushed the tool herself against her baby’s hair, tummy and neck. It might had been a little unhygienic and certainly not very mom-like, but it was getting Nyx to drop his eyes and lean against her.

She ended up carrying the baby asleep on her arms, still gripping the new acquisition tight on his fist.

As Feyre let him rest on the crib and tucked him in, Rhysand finally woke up. He apologized softly for not getting up and urged his mate to get in bed with him. Just before he could fall back into a blissful sleep with his family safe besides him, Feyre spoke.

“Remind me tomorrow to wash that thing and give it back to Azriel’s mate. She’ll be happy to know it also works as a baby wand to sleep”

Feyre drifted off with his back to Rhysand as the male got up from the bed, processing the new information.

Want to read more? Check out my side blog @imaginesmaimasterlists, where I keep all the masterlists! Feedback is always appreciated

[samandcolbyownme]

drunkenly admitting to best friend jake that you love him? while still in a relationship with someone? thank you!! i love your writing💛

Warnings: SMUT18+, strong language, mentions of drinking and smoking, being drunk, friends to lovers, subtle flirting, kissing, unprotected sex, fluffy filth

Word Count: little over 4k | unedited

Disclaimer: I am 100% against cheating. This one shot is 100% fictional and for entertainment purposes only! Nothing about this is real. Also, Jake and Tara aren’t as close in this, but it’ll make sense when you read it.

——

You peak you head into your boyfriends office, “You sure you don’t want to come with me to game night?”

He looks up at you, “Yeah, I’m sure. I need to get this shit done for work.”

You frown, “Okay. I don’t know when I’ll be home.”

He nods, giving you a smile, “Call me if you need a ride. Have fun, babe.”

“Have fun with your work.” You smirk at him and head out to grab your bag before making your way to your car. Once you get in, you sit there for a second before driving off.

As you arrive to Jake’s house, getting out and walking up to the door. You walk in, looking around to see if anyone is there yet.

“Hello?” You call out as you shut the door, “Anyone home?”

“Y/nnnn!” Carrington drags out, “What’s up?”

He walks over to you, slinging his arm around your shoulder, “What? No boyfriend tonight?”

You laugh, shaking your head, “Nope. Not this time, he’s at home finishing up stuff for work.” You sigh as you set your bag down, “Some deadline or something. I don’t know.”

“Hey, y/n. You’re the first one here.” Johnnie says as he walks out from his room, “Jake’s moping in his room.”

You furrow your brows, “Why’s he moping? What’s wrong?”

Johnnie shrugs, “Wouldn’t tell me.”

“Yeah, he’s been like this for a day or so.” Carrington shrugs, “oh, who is that?” He looks behind you, “Taraaaa! What’s up?”

“Hey, hey hey!” Tara laughs as she walks in, “Just me and y/n?”

You nod, “So far, yes.” You laugh, giving her a hug, “I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages.” She nods, “I was literally thinking that on the way here, I was like, I wonder if y/n is going to be here tonight, I miss her.”

You smile, “Right.” You glance over at the hall, “I’m gonna go see what’s up with Jake.”

Tara tilts her head, “No one knows, so I’m going to go see what’s up.”

“Good luck.” Johnnie says with a laugh, “Don’t be surprised if he kicks you out.”

You bat the air and walk back to Jake’s room. You knock on the door a few times before pushing the door open.

You see Jake lying on his bed, facing away from you. He’s propped on his elbow, scrolling through his phone.

“Hey.” You say as you close the door, “Jake.”

You walk over and stand there, “Hello.”

You put one knee on the bed and he whips around with a gasp, “Oh my god.” He laughs, pulling the earbuds out from his ears, “What the hell are you doing here?”

You sit down, “Game night, remember?”

He sighs, “Oh yeah, it’s Saturday isn’t it.”

“You good? Johnnie and Carrington say you’re not doing too hot.” You smirk slightly, “They say you’re being a grump.”

He groans, “Can’t a man just lay in bed and watch TikTok without being a grump?”

“I mean..” you nod, “Yeah. But with this attitude.” You purse your lips and tilt your head and Jake laughs, “Yeah, yeah. You’re right.”

He rolls over onto his back and takes a deep breath, “I’m just not feelin’ game night tonight.”

“Nooo.” You pout, “You have to be feelin’ game night.”

“You have to be feelin’ game night.” Jake mocks you, “Fine, since you twisted my arm enough.” He heaves himself forward, sitting in front of you, “Are you drinking tonight?”

You nod, “Yeah, I told Kyler that I’ll call him if I need a ride. I figured my car would be safe here overnight.”

Jake nods, “Well, as long as you don’t leave your keys.”

“Yeah, I learned my lesson last time.” You laugh, “Come on.” You stand up, walking to the door but Jake just sits there and you turn around again, motioning to the door, “Come on.”

Jake smiles and shakes his head as he stands up, “Fiiiine.”

You walk out, Jake trailing behind you and you notice a few more people have showed up.

“Alright party people!” Carrington announces, “Let’s get this game night star-ted!” He looks at Jake, “Ooh look who finally decided to join us.”

“Can it, or I’ll go back into hiding.” Jake laughs and walks over to the couch. You go to the fridge and grab a drink, making sure to grab an extra for Jake.

You and Jake have been friends for years, practically your whole lives. You grew up together, went to school together, everything.

It has never crossed your mind about being with Jake, not until recently at least.

You really liked Kyler, loved him. He built a company himself. Rose to the top himself. You were proud of him, yes. But at the same time, his job bled into you always needing to look presentable, look your best.

Every time you’re around Jake, you feel normal. You don’t have to dress to impress. Wear makeup everyday.

Jake seen you through your worst times and even some of the best times. You weren’t sure if he saw you as more than a friend, and you didn’t want to risk the best friendship you’ve ever had with someone for nothing.

“Alright. So what are we playing first?” Tara asks and you look around, your eyes landing on Jake, who is already looking at you.

He looks away, “I think we should play the drunk dice game again.”

“Oooh that’s a good one! I’ll go find the dice.” Carrington dances as he leaves the room and you roll your eyes laughing.

You walk over, handing Jake his drink as you sit down next to him.

“Thank you, my dear.” He smiles and cracks it open, “They should be in the drawer!” He yells and Carrington comes back in, holding up dice in his hand, “Got’em!”

Everyone sits around the coffee table and Carrington starts, “We only need one right, so..” he tosses the second dice at Jake and rolls the one he has, “Are you fucking kidding me?!”

He rolled a three which means he has to take a shot.

Tara pours him a shot and he sighs, “Here’s to a fun fucking night.” He laughs and takes the shot, cheering himself on afterwards, “Woo! Alright.”

He slides the dice over to the next person, they roll two, which means person to the left of them has to take a drink of their drink.

“Jake, has to drink.” They say, laughing as Jake takes a sip of his drink, “Alright. Jake, your turn.”

Jake leans forward, shaking the dice as he looks around. He rolls and it’s a six.

“Ha! Everyone, take your shots.” Jake leans back, smirking at everyone who groans, “You all agreed to play, so don’t be whining now, alright?” He laughs and you shake your head before you take your shot.

You cringe at the hard liquor and set your glass back down, “Oh fuck.” You blink a few times and lean forward to grab the dice, shaking it quickly a few times before rolling, “Four! I get to pour someone a shot and that person is..”

You fill a shot glass and hand it to Tara, “Here you go.”

“Me!?” She laughs, “Why do you hate me?” She pouts and takes the glass, downing the shot.

“I don’t hate you. I love you.” You laugh and blow her a kiss. She laughs and picks up the dice to roll it, “Oh look.” She turns her head towards you, “A four!”

She pours a shot and hands it to you, “Enjoy!”

You laugh and take it, shaking your head slightly, “I hope I get drunk fast so the taste of alcohol doesn’t bother me as much.”

Everyone laughs and agrees, moving on to the next few people. The person to their left, then the right, then they pour a shot for someone.

Johnnie is finally next and he rolls a three, “You’ve got to be kidding me.” He sighs as he takes the shot glass from Tara. He takes his shot and now it’s back to Carrington.

“Come on baby. Let me give Johnnie a shot.” He laughs as he looks to Johnnie.

Johnnie shakes his head, “No thank you, I already caused myself enough pain with that one.”

Carrington rolls and it lands on one.

“Take a drink, Johnnie.” Carrington bats his eyes at him and Johnnie sighs, “I fucking hate this game.”

You laugh and the next person goes, Carrington has to take a drink. Then it’s back to Jake. He rolls a two, meaning you have to take a drink.

“That I can handle.” You laugh as you roll the dice and your jaw drops, “Oh come on.” You groan as Jake fills one shot glass and Tara fills the other.

You quickly take one and then follow that with the other. You take a sip of your drink to wash down the straight alcohol taste and you whine, “I’m with Johnnie, I hate this fuckin’ game.”

Tara rolls and it’s comes back to you with a one.

You take a sip of your drink and after the next people, Johnnie rolls and cheers as he rolls a six, “Drink up everyone.”

You all clink the small glasses together before downing the shots.

Carrington rolls a five, cursing up a storm as he laughs, “Goddamit son of a bitch.” He takes his two shots and passes the dice off.

After a few for rounds of drunk dice, you were already feeling pretty good. You were giggly, having the best time ever.

You felt your phone vibrate a few times, so you lean back, lifting it from your lap and you see a few texts from Kyler.

How’s it going?

Everything okay?

I just got done with that work shit, so I’m going to bed. Call me if you need anything. Love you.

You smile slightly as you read the last message, taking a quiet deep breath before you reply.

Everything is good. Everyone is having fun. Love you too.

You set your phone down and look over at Jake, “Hi.”

He smiles, “Hi.”

“Can I tell you a secret?” You smirk and he leans in, “Always.”

You laugh slightly, “I’m a little bit drunk.”

“A little? Girl, you wouldn’t pass a sobriety test.” Jake laughs and Carrington chimes in, “Ooh, let’s try it. Y/n. Get up here.”

You stand up, almost losing your balance from sitting and drinking for so long. Jake presses his hand onto your lower back and he can’t help but laugh, “Point proven.”

“Oh shut up.” You laugh as you look back at him, “I’ll pass this. Flying colors.”

You walk up to Carrington and he shines his phone flashlight in your face. You wince at the light and he pulls it away, “Come on, trying to be authentic here.”

You roll your eyes, “Whatever.”

You eventually fail the ‘sobriety test’, walking back over to sit back down next to Jake. He extends his arm out on the couch behind your head, “Told ya.”

You push his leg, “Yeah, yeah. Don’t rub it in.”

“Alright. Next game peeps!” Carrington sighs, “I’m thinking something along the lines of, never have I ever?”

Everyone cheers and Tara raises her hand, “I’ll go first.” She thinks for a moment, “Never have I ever..kissed someone in this room.”

You lean forward to pour a shot and everyone looks at you confused, “What? I’ve kissed Tara before.”

“What!?” Carrington asks, his tone sounding offended, “And you didn’t invite me to watch!?”

“I’ll do it again. Don’t tempt me.” You laugh and Carrington tilts his head, “I don’t believe you.”

You look over at Tara and she puckers her lips. You lean in and press your lips to hers. You lean back and Carrington’s jaw is on the floor.

You can’t help but laugh, “Okay. I need to take my shot.” You down your shot and Tara motions to you, “Go ahead, girlfriend.”

You laugh, humming as you think, “Never have I ever.. had a one night stand.” You raise your brows and almost everyone takes a shot.

“Jake.” You look at him, “Your turn.”

He purses his lips and nods, “Mmm.” He laughs, “Never have I ever given someone a fake number.”

“Does it count if you unintentionally gave someone the wrong number?” Johnnie asks as he raises his hand and Jake shakes his head, “No.”

“Okay.” Johnnie laughs and leans back against the other couch.

A few people take a drink and Johnnie sighs, “May I be excused for a cigarette break?”

“Oh fuck, yeah me too.” Jake raises his hand and everyone agrees that it’s break time.

——

“How we feelin?” Jake asks with a laugh. You tilt your head, “Drunk. How are you feeling?”

He nods, “Drunk.”

You smirk and shake your head, “I don’t really want to go home.”

“Whys that, sweetheart?”

You swear you melted into the couch a little bit, but before you could answer, two people announce they were going home, and Tara is quick to follow, “I think I’m gonna Uber home because no one is in shape to drive.” She giggles as she walks over, plopping down on the couch, “Bye.”

You hug her, “Bye.”

She looks down at her phone, “Oh, shit. They’re here already.” She sighs before standing up, “I’ll get my car tomorrow, is that cool?”

Jake nods, “Yeah, that’s fine.”

Eventually it’s down to you, Jake, and Carrington. Johnnie couldn’t hang so he went to bed.

“It’s only midnight, why is everyone bailing on game night?” Carrington groans and Jake laughs, “We started at eight, dude.”

“Ohhh.” Carrington nods, “That makes sense.”

“You’re so drunk.” Jake laughs at him, and he doesn’t even put up a fight, “Yeah, yeah I am.”

“Can we put on a movie?” You suggest and Jake nods, “Whatcha wanna watch?” He reaches forward and grabs the remote.

“Mm. You pick. I don’t care.” You watch as he flips through the movies and you point to the screen, “Yes. That one.”

You look at Jake, “Can I have a cigarette?”

He raises his brows, “When did you start smoking?”

“I’m drunk, it doesn’t count.” You laugh and Jake nods, “Good point. Come on.” He gets up and you follow him outside. He pulls a cigarette from his pack and hands it to you.

He lifts his hand, flicking on the lighter and you lean in, taking a drag.

It’s quiet for a few minutes, then Jake breaks the silence, “So why don’t you want to go home?”

You laugh nervously, “Oh yeah, I said that didn’t I.”

Jake nods, taking a puff of his cigarette, “You sure did, sweetheart.”

You tilt your head, “I just, I really like Kyler, I just..” you take a drag and hold it before exhaling, “It’s exhausting getting up everyday to put on makeup and a nice dress.”

Jake nods, “I mean, I can’t relate to that, but I’m sure it’s tiring. The same thing everyday.”

You raise your brows, “You get it.”

“Have you..” he takes a puff, “Talked to Kyle about it?”

“Kyler.” You look up at him with a smirk, “And no. I just know that he’ll throw the I’m ceo of a big company that I built myself, blah blah. Bullshit.”

“I’m sorry, y/n.”

You chew on your lip, eyes fixated on the lit cigarette in between your fingers.

Jake walks over, pressing his back against the wall next to you, “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

You shake your head, “Nothing I can’t really say.”

Jake shrugs, “Try me.” He brings his cigarette up to his lips and you feel tear welling up in your eyes. “I-“ you stop, letting out a sigh, “Fuck, okay. I’m just gonna say it.”

Jake turns towards you, his shoulder pressed against the wall, but he doesn’t say anything.

“I’m drunk, and I love you.” You take one last drag of your cigarette before dropping it to the ground and stepping on it.

As soon as you look back up, Jake’s hands are cupping your cheeks, his face inches from yours, “You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear those words.”

His lips press to yours and your hands grip his shirt, pulling him closer.

Nothing else mattered right now.

Your lips move with Jake’s until he leans back, “Sorry, I-“

“No.” You shake your head, “Don’t apologize.” Your eyes scan over his face before you reach up, pulling him in for another kiss.

He pushes you back against the wall, his hands sliding down to your hips.

Jake breaks the kiss, “follow me.” He nods toward the door and you walk back in. Carrington is passed out on the couch, snoring away while the movie Jake out on plays in the background.

You follow him back the hall and into his room and he closes the door. He was quick to have his hands on you, his lips on yours.

Your hands slide up his chest to his neck, holding on as he lifts you up. Your legs find their place around his waist and his hands slide to your ass to hold you up.

He walks over, laying you down on the bed, his body hovering over yours, “I love you.” Jake whispers into your ear, “I could treat you so much better.”

His kisses your jaw line, landing on your lips, “I’ve known you forever.”

“I want to be with you. I want you.” You tug on his shirt and he leans up to take it off, quickly resuming the kiss.

He leans up, his hands pushing your shirt up. You reach down, pulling it up over your head and throwing it. His eyes scan over your body, watching as you reach under your back to unhook your bra.

His eyes flick up to yours before moving down to watch you discard your bra.

“Beautiful.” He kisses down your neck, to your chest, taking one of your nipples into his mouth while he kneads your other boob with his hand.

You moan out, arching your back as your fingers lace through his hair.

He looks up, moving his body up to kiss you, “You are beautiful just the way you are.” He kisses your cheek, “Makeup.” He kisses your lips, “No makeup.”

He smiles, kissing your other cheek, “Dress, or no dress. You’re perfect in anything.”

You smile, tilting your head as you lean up to kiss him.

His hand slides down your side, pulling your thigh up to his hip before dragging it over and slipping it into the waistband of your sweats and underwear, “God, baby. You’re so wet.”

You blush at his words, “Can’t help it.”

Jake’s lips part as he watches your reaction to him rubbing you clit, “That feel okay?”

You nod, small whimpers leaning your lips, “Y-yes.” You tilt your head back, “so good.”

Jake leans down, kissing up the center of your neck and you tilt your head forward, lips meeting his. He swallows your moans as he slips his fingers down and pushes two in to you.

“Fuck baby.” He groans against your lips, “You sound so pretty. All those noises.”

You moan as he curls his fingers, back arching up off the bed, “Sh-shit.” Your eyes roll back and you squeeze his fingers, “Jake.”

“I’m right here, sweetheart.” Jake presses a kiss to your forehead, “Not going anywhere.”

You slide your hands up his arms, nails digging into his shoulders and he groans, “Can you cum for me?” He kisses over your chest, “Wanna hear the sounds you make when I get you go do that.”

You nod, “I’m-“ you gasp, “Almost there.”

Your back lifts up off the bed, moans leaving your lips as Jake guides you through your high, “Fuck, fuck. Yes. Yes.”

You grab his face, pulling him in for a kiss and he groans as his fingers slip out, “you’re so beautiful.” He mumbles against your lips, “I love you.”

He kisses you, his tongue moving against yours as his hand moves to push his pants and underwear down.

“I-I love you.” You nod, spreading your legs more as he wiggles his hips to fit perfectly in between your knees.

Your moans mix together as the head of his cock slips in past your folds and his hips roll forward, giving both what you want.

Your legs tighten around his waist, pulling him into you more and you gasp out, “Fuck, fuck. You feel so good.”

His hands paw at your skin, finding any he can grip on to, “I’ve dreamed about this..” he kisses your jaw line, “You finally letting me treat you how you deserve to be treated.”

You moan at his word, pulling him closer as his thrusts as slow. Nothing crossed your mind. Your mind was finally quiet as your focus was on nothing but Jake.

“Can you roll over?” You whisper, placing your hands on his chest. He nods, pecking your lips before moving to lay over on his back.

You sir up, swinging your leg over to straddle him.

Your eyes lock into his, his hands on your thighs as you sink down onto his cock. You tilt your head back, moaning out as you sink down fully, “Fuck.” You look down at him, hands pressing flat onto his chest as you lean forward.

“That’s it, baby.” Jake reaches up to brush hair from your face and pinch your chin, “Fuck, feels so good.”

His eyes trail down your body, stopping to watch his cock go in and out of you as you bounce your hips.

He lays his head back, groaning out as his grip slips to your hips, “Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum.” He bucks his hips up and you gasp, eyes rolling back as your hips speed up.

“Fu-ck.” Your nails dig into his neck and he sits up, reaching up to pull you in closer for a kiss.

“Keep going.” He mumbles against your lips, “F-fuck.” He tilts his head back, his hips bucking to meet your body, “Don’t stop.”

You moan as your orgasm hits again, squeezing his walls as you guide yourself through your high.

His hands slide down to under your thighs, lifting you up so he can pull out. You glance down, watching his cum spill into his abdomen and you move over to lay next to him.

You stairs up at the ceiling, knowing what you just did settling in.

“Hey.” Jake reaches over, gently turning your face towards him, “It’s okay.”

You can feel your eyes burning, it was guilt towards having sex with Jake. It was guilt towards still being with Kyler.

“I have to break up with him.” You sit up, “I-I never did anything like this..” you move to get something for him to wipe off with. You walk back over, handing him the towel, “Do I have to tell him?”

Jake wipes off and sits up, holding his hand out for you to sit down, “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.“

You nod, leaning into him, “I don’t regret anything with you. If anything, I regret not doing it all with you.”

Jake chuckles slightly, “We have a lifetime to catch up for that.” He tilts your chin up, pressing his lips to yours, “I love you for you.”

“I love you.”

——

Let me know what you think. I love you so much, thank you for reading! See you in the next one! 🖤

Also, this was kind a trial to see how I wrote Carrington so please, feedback on that is wanted! Thank you!

Likes and reblogs are majorly appreciated!

[basset-babe]

five times: the second.

pairing: benedict bridgerton x fem!reader

warnings: unsolicited sexual advances

word count: 3.7k+

a/n: apologies for the late update! i've been sleeping in so bad lately lmao also, please do know that my writing isn't abided by the series' consecutive timeline bcs i just tend take away scenes and themes through s1 to s3 where it would make sense with the fic idea in my head, but all still well within the bridgerton series (S3 SPOILER! also i do not hold any grudge towards lady tilley arnold tho she is the rendezvous love interest of ben in s3, just made sense for me to add her here in this context) but nonetheless, please enjoy the 2nd! ciao belle!

five times series: the first. the one point five. the second. the third. the three point five. the fourth. at last.

spring divider from @thyming and, again, pattern banner from @cafekitsune thank you!

second time.

As the noon sun cast a bright glow over the sprawling estate gardens, Miss Y/N and Benedict strolled along the cobblestone path lined with vibrant blossoms and verdant foliage. The sweet fragrance of blooming flowers mingled with the earthy scent of freshly turned soil, creating an intoxicating bouquet that filled the air. Birds chirped melodiously from their perches in the ancient oaks, their songs adding a gentle soundtrack to the tranquil scene.

Miss Y/N paused by a bed of delicate gardenias, her fingers brushing lightly over the soft petals as she turned to Benedict with a teasing smile. "Have you no other plans than to spend your time watching me procure my plants, Benedict?" she asked, her tone light but her eyes sparkling with curiosity.

Benedict, standing a few paces away with his hands casually tucked into his pockets, returned her smile with a warm, earnest expression. "Actually, I find great pleasure in keeping you company and wandering through your beautiful gardens," he replied, his gaze taking in the lush greenery and the kaleidoscope of flowers surrounding them. In truth, his heart swelled with affection for her, every moment spent in her presence a cherished gift.

A few steps behind, the chaperone lingered near a stone bench, her attention seemingly focused on the distant horizon. Although out of earshot, her presence was a reminder of propriety and decorum.

Miss Y/N sighed softly, her playful demeanor tinged with a hint of exasperation. "We are chaperoned! I mean, probably out of earshot but still," she said, shaking her head slightly as a wry smile curved her lips. "You and your subtle art of flirting."

Benedict chuckled, the sound low and pleasant. "Ah, but where's the harm in a little harmless flirtation amidst such beauty?" he replied, gesturing to the surrounding garden. "Besides, your company is far more captivating than anything." His words carried the weight of his burgeoning love, though he struggled to fully express the depth of his feelings.

As they continued their leisurely walk, the leaves rustled softly in the gentle breeze, and the world seemed to slow, allowing them a few precious moments of stolen intimacy amidst the natural splendor.

"My subtle art of flirting," he murmured, stepping closer and carefully looming over a bed of blooming roses. "Or perhaps it’s not so subtle after all."

She glanced up at him, a playful smile tugging at her lips. "I would say it’s as subtle as a peacock in a library."

"Ah, so it’s quite effective, then," he said, leaning in just enough to catch the gardenia’s sweet scent.

"You are impossible," she said, shaking her head but unable to hide her smile. "Even when you called on me, you've brought a grafted rose to plant, of all things!" She laughed fondly.

"Well, I thought it suited you," he said as his voice softened, casting her a glance full of admiration. "A growing thing of beauty, requiring patience, care, and attention." His heart pounded in his chest, the metaphor echoing his own feelings for her.

The sun glowed warm through the greenhouse window pane. Peering from the vines, the sunlight dawned and cascaded over Y/N, rendering her breathtaking in Benedict's eyes. The golden light danced on her hair, casting a halo-like aura that made her appear almost ethereal.

Her cheeks flushed a delicate shade of pink at his words. "For an artist, you do have a way with words, Benedict," she murmured, a soft smile playing at her lips as she averted her gaze.

Benedict, unable to resist the magnetic pull of the moment, reached out and gently touched a gardenia bloom, his fingers brushing against hers. The brief contact sent a subtle thrill through him, a spark of connection that felt both profound and delicate. "And I mean every one of them, you know," he said softly, his voice carrying the weight of sincerity and unspoken affection as their eyes met.

Y/N's breath caught slightly, her heart quickening in response. Her gloved hand now in his as he gently held it. The intensity of his gaze made her heart flutter, and for a moment, the world around them seemed to fade away. Her lady's maid, the estate, the very garden itself—all blurred into a distant background against the magnetic pull between them.

A gentle breeze stirred, carrying the intoxicating scent of gardenias and roses. Y/N's eyes widened slightly at the depth of emotion she saw in Benedict's eyes, a mixture of admiration and something deeper, something she dared not name yet. Her fingers, still intertwined with his, felt warm and comforting, a silent promise held in the delicate touch.

Her voice, barely above a whisper, broke the silence. "Benedict, do you ever, um, find yourself feeling, well, the same way I do in moments like these, when we're together?" Her eyes, tinged with vulnerability, flicked up to meet his, silently seeking a connection that transcended mere words.

Benedict's smile softened, his thumb lightly caressing the back of her hand as he leaned nearer to whisper, "Every moment with you, Your Grace," he said, his voice filled with a gentle ardor. "Your presence, Y/N, for if I revere you a dream, then I no longer wish to wake from my slumber."

Y/N's heart raced at his words, her cheeks flushing an even deeper shade of pink. She felt a rush of emotions, a blend of excitement and a tender vulnerability she had never experienced before. Her eyes widening in awe, "You speak as if I am something unattainable, a fragment of your mind," she said, a touch of playful skepticism in her tone.

Benedict's expression softened, nearing her as his gaze full of adoration. "Y/N," he murmured, his voice tender yet earnest, "you are not a fragment of my mind, nor are you unattainable. You are the very essence of my heart's desires, a beacon of light in a world of darkness." He reached out to gently cup her cheek, his touch conveying a depth of emotion beyond words. "To me, you are not just a dream, but the reality I never dared hope for. And I will spend every moment proving that to you, if you'll let me."

Meanwhile, the subtle clearing of her lady's maid's throat, positioned at a respectable distance, acted as a genteel nudge to observe the proprieties of their setting.

"Um, I, uh, apologize, Your Grace," Benedict murmured, his cheeks tinted with a shy flush as he took a small, hesitant step back, seemingly unsure of where to place his hands. "I… erm, it seems I, uh, forgot to, um, maintain my distance. Please forgive me," he added softly, his voice trailing off with a hint of uncertainty. "I, um, really didn't mean to, uh, make you uncomfortable." His eyes, a mix of nervousness and sincerity, briefly met hers before darting away, as if seeking refuge in the nearby foliage. "I'm, um, deeply sorry if I, you know, overstepped," he continued, his tone laced with a sheepish awkwardness as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, unable to find a comfortable stance. "I… I suppose I just, er, got a bit carried away in the moment."

Y/N's cheeks flushed deeper as she felt a rush of embarrassment mingled with amusement at Benedict's sheepish apology. She averted her gaze momentarily, suppressing a nervous giggle before meeting his eyes, she reached out to gently place a hand on his arm. "Oh, Benedict," she began, her voice soft with a hint of laughter, "there's no need to apologize. I… I must admit, I too got carried away in the moment." She glanced around, half-panicked that someone might have witnessed their closeness, but finding the situation more humorous than anything. "It seems we both found ourselves swept up in the enchantment of the garden," she added with a playful wink, her laughter bubbling forth despite her attempts to compose herself.

Benedict let out a sigh of relief, his shoulders relaxing as he returned to a more respectable distance from Y/N. He couldn't help but smile at her laughter, finding solace in her lighthearted response. "Indeed, it appears the garden has a way of enchanting us both," he agreed with a soft chuckle, his gaze lingering on her with fondness. "I guess we ought to keep a closer eye on decorum," he mused with a rueful grin, a playful glint dancing in his eyes.

Benedict entered his studio at the esteemed art academy with a purposeful stride, the faint aroma of charcoal and linseed oil pervading his senses as he stepped within. The grand wooden door emitted a gentle creak as he pushed it open, revealing a space that, while seemingly cluttered, held a unique order characteristic of an artist's domain. It's been days since Mr. Bridgerton had paid visit to Miss Y/N; days since his apparent confession unreturned with an answer, hoping of the most favored "yes".

The studio was suffused with the soft, diffused light of late afternoon, filtering through tall, dust-laden windows. Easels stood in solemn ranks, each bearing sketches and paintings in various stages of completion. The floor was a canvas in itself, adorned with a mosaic of paint splatters and crumpled sheets of paper, silent testament to his countless hours of diligent work.

His gaze was inexorably drawn to the central easel, where his latest sketches of Miss Y/N awaited his discerning eye. Countless hours had been devoted to capturing her likeness, her features indelibly etched into his memory and transposed onto the canvas from myriad angles. The delicate curve of her jawline, the subtle arch of her brows, the enigmatic depths of her eyes—each sketch narrated a different story, a moment either observed or conjured from his imagination.

Benedict set down his leather satchel upon a nearby stool, extracting a well-worn sketchbook and a selection of fine graphite pencils. He approached the easel with a sense of reverence, as one might approach a sanctified space. The quietude of the studio enveloped him, disrupted only by the distant murmur of the academy's other activities.

As he perched upon the high stool before the easel, he paused momentarily, allowing his thoughts to drift back to his latest sitting with Miss Y/N. He recalled the play of light upon her hair, the subtle shifts in her expression as her thoughts wandered. With a deep, steadying breath, he took up a pencil, its familiar weight a comfort in his hand, and resumed his sketching. He became immersed once more in the intricate dance of lines and shadows, bringing her presence to vivid life upon the paper.

As he worked, Benedict would lose himself in the intricacies of her likeness, his mind consumed by the challenge of translating her beauty onto paper. Every stroke of his pencil would be deliberate, every line a reflection of his perception of her essence.

In this intimate space, surrounded by the tangible evidence of his devotion, Benedict would pour his heart and soul into each etch, striving to capture the true spirit of Miss Y/N with every stroke of his pencil.

"Someone seems smitten, don't you think, brother?" Anthony's teasing voice broke through Benedict's intent stare as he drew, jolting him out of his reverie. A faint blush tinged Benedict's cheeks as he glanced up, his hand pausing mid-stroke.

Benedict's older brother stood in the doorway, a playful smirk playing on his lips as he observed the tableau before him. Benedict chuckled softly, the sound carrying a hint of embarrassment. "I'm merely capturing her likeness as an artist," he protested, though the affection in his gaze betrayed his true feelings.

Anthony's grin widened, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "Of course, dear brother," he replied, his tone dripping with amusement. "But one might argue that your portraits of Miss Y/N are a tad... shall we say, inspired?"

Benedict rolled his eyes good-naturedly, a fond smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Perhaps," he conceded, returning his attention to the paper before him. "But can you blame me? She's quite the muse."

With a knowing laugh, Anthony stepped further into the studio, his presence injecting a sense of levity into the room. "Indeed she is," he agreed, his gaze drifting to the scattered sketches of Miss Y/N that adorned the walls. "But do try not to get too lost in your musings, brother. The real Miss Y/N might start to wonder what's keeping you so occupied."

Benedict nodded, a wry smile playing on his lips. "Point taken," he said, his focus returning to his work. But as he etched his pencil into the paper once more, his thoughts inevitably drifted back to the enigmatic woman who had captured his imagination—and his heart.

"Oh, and a letter arrived. It's for you," Anthony handed as sealed letter, "from a Lady Tilley Arnold. Seems urgent." Benedict stopped as he looked at his older brother whose held a knowing look. "I am not one to pry for I am one with your contentment, brother, but it seems you have unfinished business?"

"It is not what you are implying, brother. We are done. Lady Arnold had bid me done then. It is probably purely audience." Benedict replied focusing back to his work.

"Then I shall leave you to it, brother." Anthony left the letter on the stool and stepped out the studio closing the door, leaving his brother with his thoughts.

After his brother's departure, Benedict found himself unable to shake the lingering thoughts about why Lady Arnold had sought his audience. Their relationship had long evolved beyond the realms of a passionate love affair, and any such intimacies had faded into the past. Instead, he now saw himself as a respectable bachelor, poised to fulfill his societal obligations and perhaps find a suitable wife.

Despite this unexpected shift in their dynamics, the unexpected summons from Lady Arnold had stirred a curious blend of nostalgia and apprehension within him, prompting him to ponder the nature of their current connection.

As Benedict retired to his townhouse for the evening, his mind buzzed with conflicting thoughts about the impending meeting with Lady Arnold. While he harbored no romantic, nor amorous, feelings for her, the prospect of their encounter tomorrow left him feeling decidedly uneasy. After all, he had been actively courting Miss Y/N, and the mere notion of being seen with Lady Arnold had the potential to ignite scandalous gossip.

But then a knock sounded. In the dimly lit parlor of Benedict's townhouse, a cloaked woman stood before him, an air of melancholy clinging to the elegant form. "Lady Arnold, good evening! Do come in." He moved aside as the women entered. "To what do I owe--" He was cut off as Lady Tilley spoke, her expression tinged with a mix of determination and vulnerability. "Benedict, I sought you out because I'm leaving London soon. I wanted to bid you farewell before I go."

Benedict nodded politely, though a flicker of curiosity danced in his eyes. "Of course, Lady Arnold. It's kind of you to say goodbye."

But as their conversation unfolded, Benedict couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to Lady Arnold's visit than a simple farewell. Her demeanor seemed to betray an underlying tension, a sense of urgency that belied the pleasantries of their exchange.

"Lady Arnold," Benedict began, his voice laced with a hint of concern, "is everything alright? You seem... troubled."

Lady Arnold hesitated for a moment, her gaze flickering uncertainly before she squared her shoulders, as if steeling herself for what was to come. "Benedict, there's something I need to tell you," she confessed, her tone serious. "Something I've been meaning to say for quite some time." Taking a deep breath, she forged ahead, her words measured yet tinged with emotion. "I... I've realized that I can't bear the thought of leaving without expressing how I truly feel."

Benedict's eyes widened in surprise, his mind racing to comprehend the implications of her confession. "How you feel?" he echoed, his voice barely above a whisper.

Lady Arnold nodded, her gaze unwavering as she held his gaze. "Yes, Benedict. I know the risks of me being seen here in your residence but it seems that you have not responded to my correspondence... I have come here to say that I've been thinking about us, about our past, and... I can't deny that I still feel something between us."

Benedict's mind flew to the letter he placed on his desk earlier the night he reached his townhouse. He didn't even want to open it knowing what it could contain. A rakish past he, quite possibly, no longer wants to open. Benedict, then, felt a wave of nostalgia wash over him, memories of their shared history flooding back with startling clarity. Yet, beneath the surface, a sense of unease gnawed at him, a silent reminder of the boundaries he had vowed to uphold.

"Tilley," he began tentatively, his words hesitant as he struggled to find the right response. "I… I'm not sure what you mean. Our past is just that, the past."

But Lady Arnold was undeterred, her resolve unwavering as she leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "But what if it doesn't have to be? What if we could recapture the passion we once shared?"

Benedict's heart quickened at her words, torn between the allure of nostalgia and the reality of his present circumstances. "I... I don't know, Tilley," he admitted, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "Things have changed. I've changed."

Undeterred, Lady Arnold reached out to touch his hand, her touch soft and pleading. "Benedict, please. Don't you remember how good it used to be? Just one last time, before I leave."

Benedict felt a surge of conflicting emotions welling up inside him, his mind spinning with indecision. "I… I can't," he finally answered removing his hand from hers, his voice heavy with his conscience. "It wouldn't be right, just like you decided."

Lady Arnold's eyes gleamed with a mixture of longing and sorrow as she looked at Benedict. "Do you remember, Benedict," she began, her voice soft yet laden with emotion, "those nights we shared? How the world seemed to disappear when we were together? Every stolen moment, every secret touch… it was as if time stood still just for us." She took a step closer, her gaze never wavering. "The way we used to laugh, our whispers filling the darkness with promises only we understood. We explored each other's souls and bodies with such intensity, such reckless abandon. Every touch was a symphony, every kiss a sonnet. Our passion burned so bright, like a flame that could never be extinguished."

Her voice faltered slightly, a wistful smile playing on her lips. "We were invincible then, weren’t we? Bound by nothing but our own desires. It was a love that consumed us, left us breathless and wanting more. Even now, I can feel the echoes of those nights, the way your touch could ignite something deep within me, a fire that no one else could ever hope to spark."

She spoke of memories shared, of passion ignited long ago, and hinted at desires yet unfulfilled. Despite his best efforts to maintain composure, Benedict found himself ensnared by her magnetic presence, a faint echo of their past intimacy stirring within him as she caressed his jaw.

As the tension between them reached its zenith, Lady Arnold's advances became bolder, her fingers trailing lightly along the curve of Benedict's jawline as she leaned in for a kiss. For a fleeting moment, their lips met in a passionate embrace, igniting a spark of longing that threatened to engulf them both.

But as quickly as it began, Benedict pulled away, a confused expression clouding his features. "I am afraid it has ended," he murmured, his voice thick with regret. "This... it no longer feels right." His words hung heavy in the air.

Lady Arnold's expression softened, a hint of sadness clouding her eyes. "I know things have changed, Benedict. We have changed. But those memories... they still linger. A testament to what we once shared, a rendezvous that defied everything and everyone."

She reached out, her fingers grazing his hand. "Tell me you remember, Benedict. Tell me that those moments meant as much to you as they did to me."

Benedict felt a lump form in his throat as Lady Arnold's words washed over him. Her memories mirrored his own, a testament to the bond they had once shared. He swallowed hard, trying to find the right words to respond.

"Of course I remember," he admitted, his voice thick with emotion. "Those moments were among the most exhilarating experiences of my life. We had an affair, some rendezvous that was."

Lady Arnold's eyes softened at his confession, a flicker of hope igniting within them. "Then why can't we have it again, Benedict? Just one last time, before I leave. Let me carry that memory with me."

Benedict sighed, "Because things are different now," he said gently. "Our lives have moved on. What we had was rousing, but it's part of a past that no longer exists."

Lady Arnold's expression crumpled slightly, her hope waning. "But why?" she whispered, her voice trembling. "Why can't we hold onto it, just for a little while longer?"

Benedict took her hand in his, his touch both firm and tender. "Because it wouldn't be fair to either of us," he replied softly. "I can't give you whatever temporary high you want, not when my heart belongs to someone else now. It would be a lie, a betrayal of what we both deserve."

Tears shimmered in Lady Arnold's eyes as she listened to his words. "I understand," she said finally, her voice barely audible. "I just... I had to try."

Benedict squeezed her hand gently before letting go. "I know," he said. "And I'm grateful for what we shared, Tilley, truly. But we both need to move forward, to find happiness in the lives we've chosen. You know it, this cannot be."

Lady Arnold nodded, her shoulders sagging with resignation. "I suppose this is goodbye then," she murmured, a wistful smile tugging at her lips.

"Yes," Benedict agreed, his voice tender. "Goodbye, Lady Arnold. I wish you all the best."

With a final, lingering glance, Lady Arnold turned and walked away, leaving Benedict standing alone in the dimly lit parlor. As the door closed behind her, he felt a profound sense of closure, mingled with the bittersweet pang of lost love. He knew he had made the right decision, but the echoes of their past would remain with him, a poignant reminder of a passion that had once burned so brightly.

taglist: @novausstuff // @pussyslayerhd // @amoosarte // @jupitervenusearthmars

again, please do send me a message or comment down if you would like to be added on the succeeding taglists for the five times series!

[missyandthemisfits]

Bakusquad x Chubby!Fem

Katsuki Bakugo 

- So he actually prefers them on the thicker side??? That said his ideal match is someone who is thickfit, someone who's a little heavier than most other girls but doesn't shy away from working out or training

- Shows determination and drive and he's most definitely attracted to that above all else 

- It feels much less a confession from him and more like a feral dog laying claim to his favorite toy at the expense of a much less intense dog-

- He noticed how uncomfortable (Name) was getting with all the attention of the upper classmen, eyes narrowing as he watched you tug on your sweater nervously

- He was already a little miffed that they'd gotten out of class as late as they did, but having (Name) harassed right outside the school gates? Not on his watch

- "Hey zeros, get lost."

- "What did you say to me, blondie?"

-"I said," he slides an arm around her waist suddenly, the other hand crackling with miniature explosions, itching for a fight, "Get lost." 

- They're obviously nervous but attempt to play it off with a click of the tongue and an unconvincing 'whatever' - they scamper off into the distance 

- "Um...Thank you, Bakugo."

- She's kind of a blushing mess, hands on her hot cheeks and he releases her, quick to turn in the opposite direction, ears bright red

- "Dammit all - Do I seriously have to babysit you like this?"

- It's all he says but he makes no effort to ditch her, slowing up just a bit to match her speed

- I'm not saying he's whipped but uhhh ...he definitely softens up some around (Name)

- He won't say a single thing outright but she notices the subtle changes- it's in the way he finds an excuse brush against her soft skin (while complaining, naturally) when handing her whatever it is, the way he allows his knee graze hers as they sit on the sofa half listening to Kaminari's endless whining, in the way he always ends up standing next to her in any social setting.

- It's cute but the pining drags on for a while because truly neither of them knows how to bridge the gap between friendship and more-

- A very, very slow burn 

Eijiro Kirishima 

- He may be all about fitness, but he is WEAK for a soft, sassy girl. And believe me - the sassier, the better

- Cannot fathom why either he is just really, really into girls like that

- Coincidentally, he's into the shy type as well. But let's face it, he could really link up with most ANY personality save for someone overly bitchy- 

- Upon meeting (Name), there's a weird thump of his heart that he doesn't quite recognize, so he just shakes it off and introduces himself with that adorable toothy grin he gives out like candy

- They're friends instantly (because how could you not be?) and hit it off right away, hanging out with and without the entire crew quite often. He usually is unable to sit still for too long without getting drowsy (he exerts himself a lot so), giving (Name) the perfect opportunity to not only catch up on manga, but to sneak a few glances his way 

- She may or may not have snuck a few pictures of one sleeping Kirishima 

- Always wakes up with tousled hair, disoriented. And without fail, no matter the time of day, is greeted warmly with a "Morning Sleepyhead. Love your hair."

- He's always embarrassed just enough to adorn a light dusting of a blush while smoothing down his hair completely 

- It's during one of these peaceful and (usually) undisturbed  moments that he realizes his heart is beating a little faster than it should be and he enjoys spending time with (Name) far more when it's just the two of them- 

- And suddenly the lighthearted teasing Ashido had been subjecting him to makes total sense

- Plans probably the cheesiest confession one day after class, complete with a nervous but excited grin - too bad his friend group decided to eavesdrop

- "About time!" Kaminari 

- "I'll say." Sero, huge grin on his face

- He's quick to race toward them and roughhousing ensues, but not before tossing another glance at a giggling (Name)

Denki Kaminari

- While he's not necessarily against having a heavier significant other, he may prefer someone closer to his size - baby boy is a little insecure about his own physique, especially in comparison to his friends 

- That said he took one look at (Name) and immediately was starstruck by just the cutest plump girl he ever did see - he actually hesitated to approach, believe it or not

- But he lives by the motto 'You miss 100% of the shots you don't take' so in true Kaminari fashion, he saunters over, smolder in full force as he shoots his shot

- She blinks once, twice as if trying to decide whether or not to respond and he starts to sweat, backpedaling under the gaze of the cute girl and her friends

- "...Or not? Sorry, I'll just uh head that way now-,"

- She catches his hand

- "I was waiting on you to introduce yourself properly, but I guess I'll go first. I'm (Name). And you are?"

- He stutters a bit, lamely and she finally cracks a smile

- "Nice to meet you Kaminari. So, Friday night you said? I may have to flake on something but you're just cute enough for me to bail."

- He is visibly taken aback by her boldness

- "Really...? I mean yea, that's - yea!" 

- Smooth

- They exchange numbers and things move pretty quickly from there since they're both pretty avid texters - he's pleasantly surprised to find she's as into music as he is, even his more eclectic selection 

- "I know it's niche and honestly I can't really understand all the lyrics cause English, but it just sounds like a lowkey banger, ya know?" 

- She nods enthusiastically

- "I see why you like it!" She's humming along with her eyes closed and his heart is doing backflips because somehow, he managed to find a cute girl who likes even the most embarrassing parts of himself

- His eyes flicker back and forth from her jovial form to her plush lips and he desperately wants to close the gap but can't seem to find the courage 

- Defeated by overthinking, he leans over just enough to let his head fall onto her shoulder, positive she could feel the heat radiating from his face 

- Getting the girl? No problem. Planning and planting a dynamite first kiss? Difficultly level 90

Hanta Sero

- Sero truly doesn't discriminate in any capacity, so it makes no difference to him what size his lady love is 

- Althooough it certainly excites him more than one might think, the prospect of having a thick woman on his arm to spoil and tease equally

- He's a firm believer in developing a friendship before pursuing a relationship, not only does it create stronger, deeper bonds but it sort of ensures that he gets to know and love the real them, no filter 

- Can't lie, the crush is more than likely instant, from the moment he saw (Name) he knew he wanted to try and woo her - but these things take time and finesse 

- So the hang out sessions are frequent and she's invited to pretty much every squad hangout from then on. He gets to know her that way; trips to the mall or comic book store, lazy rainy days where they decide which movies to marathon(Bakugo will complain if he doesn't approve mind you), video game tournaments they host in the dorm commons...he very much enjoys getting to know his plump companion and the crush starts developing into something a lot more substantial 

- He starts telling jokes to the group just to get a laugh out of (Name) and involuntarily deflates a bit if it doesn't land. Also starts making solo hangouts a more of a thing, partially to gauge her reaction and partially because, well, you know

- While he's still completely positive he wants to be in a relationship with (Name) the closer they get, the more apprehensive he becomes. He's not the most attractive guy in the room and he's certainly not the smartest or strongest, but he was still a suitable enough to date, right...?

- It's on a night where she's bundled up under his spare blanket and leaning into him that the confession tumbles out. They're watching some show he was only vaguely interested in on her phone, a perfect excuse to scoot in close enough for him to rest his chin on top of her head

- "So, hey," his voice is barely above a whisper

-  "Uh huh?"

- "Would you be opposed to going out with me tomorrow?" 

- She takes a beat

- "Like a date?"

- He inhales sharply before pulling back to look her square in the eyes so that she knew this was wasn't a joke of any kind

- He nods and confirms, hoping for the best but fully expecting the worst. Suddenly, she pulls him close shakily, hiding her face in his baggy shirt

- "I didn't think you'd ever ask..."

- He chuckles lightly, wrapping his long arms around her

- "Sorry it took so long."

Can’t remember if I posted this here or not lol

[toiletclown]

breathless. (part two.)

spencer agnew x gn!reader

mostly fluff, a little angst.

summary: to 'train' for an upcoming guitar hero stream, you head to spencer's for the first time in weeks. the tension is thick, and you have to call your best friend, angela, for some input. your feelings were growing to lengths you weren't sure you could handle -- but what other choice do you have?

word count: 2251

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

It was not fine. The AC in Spencer’s apartment had broken sometime between him going into the office and him coming back home. He sent you a text to let you know, and even offered to bring all his stuff to yours if that was easier, but you knew how many cords and controllers that entailed and told him it was fine, you’d just wear something you’d be comfortable in.

However, you were not prepared for just how warm his apartment was. You came over in a cropped baby tee and some comfy shorts, but you had worn a very thin cardigan over the shirt, hoping it would be thin enough you could keep it on. But alas, the world was constantly against you, and about fifteen minutes into your visit you knew you had to shed the layer. The windows were open but there was no breeze, and the standing fan and ceiling fan were working overtime. 

So here you were, standing in Spencer’s living room, attempting to hide your Guitar Hero skills while also trying to hide your discomfort. Honestly, you weren’t even sure why you were uncomfortable. It’s Spencer. He’s seen you in worse. At least this outfit is cute, right? When you finally pulled yourself out of your thoughts, you realized you were beating Spencer in 1v1 by a country mile. What the hell was he doing? You knew he was good at this game, and despite you purposefully missing every few notes and hitting the whammy bar much too late, he was still way, way behind.

You paused the game and turned to look at him. You had been standing in front of the couch, since it was a little harder to play the guitar when sitting down. He, however, was sitting on the couch in gym shorts he had no right to be wearing (They were so short that if he moved one inch the wrong way there would be a problem. Why did he pick such slutty little shorts??) and a Zelda triforce logo tank top. His arms were on full display, along with his gorgeous legs, and you had to admit your words got caught in your throat when you saw him. You hadn’t really looked at him with much precision when you arrived because you were more focused on how warm the apartment was, but now, seeing him with his leg balanced on his knee and the guitar lazily draped in his lap, you were borderline salivating.

“You okay, Peach?” He always called you that, since you had a penchant for snacking on peaches and preferred to play as Princess Peach whenever the two of you played Mario Party or Mario Kart. He never let it slip at work, but a part of you wanted him to. Just to see how someone else would react to it. Would they hear it as a platonic, long-term-friendship type of nickname, or would they pick up on a subtle romantic vibe beneath that? Was it crazy to want that romantic connotation? 

“Oh, yeah, I’m okay. Are you, though? I’m not very good at this and I’m still beating your ass. You good over there?” You willed your blush away at his nickname for you, knowing he, realistically, didn’t have any romantic implications behind it. You knew why he called you that, and it made sense. Let’s not think too hard on it, okay? No need to make a romantic mountain out of a friend-shaped mole hill.

Spencer sighed, opening and closing his mouth a few times before finding his words. “Yeah, sorry. The heat is kind of making my brain blank out, I guess.” He stood, pulling the string on his ceiling fan to move it from medium to high speed. You were silently wondering why it wasn’t already on high, but chose not to question him. You also knew he was lying. You’ve been friends with Spencer (on top of having severe unrequited feelings for him) for far too long, and you knew him better than he knew himself. You knew all of his tells, and currently, he was avoiding eye contact and picking at his right thumb, which he always did when he was nervous and/or lying.

You sat down next to him, still leaving some space due to the heat. You were both quite physically affectionate with one another, but lately you had both pulled back in that regard, though neither of you wanted to say anything about it. While he had basically stopped being touchy-feely altogether, you still attempted that contact sometimes. He didn’t react the way he used to.

“Spence, honey, I’ve known you far too long for you to lie to my face. What’s going on?” You voiced your concern with a gentle hand on his thigh, close enough to his knee that it didn’t come across wrong, but also far enough away from his knee that you felt a whoosh in your stomach. It was too late to move it now without him calling you on it, though, so you left it there.

He took a deep breath, seemingly gearing up for a word vomit. But instead he shook his head. “Sorry, I’m just dealing with some… personal stuff, I guess, and I was lost in my head. We can get back to it, I’m sorry, Y/N.” He patted your hand with his, before moving to grab the guitar again and start the game back up. You pulled your hand away, burning, and decided you needed to leave. 

“Oh, it’s… it’s okay. I’ll head out, leave you to your thoughts. You can always text me if you need me, okay? I’ll see you tomorrow?” You stood to start gathering your stuff, and you felt Spencer’s eyes on your back as you bent over to pet one of his cats. The cropped tee was definitely showing off more of you than he had seen before, so it was only natural for him to look. But you wondered what he was thinking, too.

“Oh. Yeah. Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow. Sorry again about the AC being broken. Maintenance should be coming by soon,” Spencer supplied, walking with you to the door. “Hopefully I won’t have to sweat to death for much longer.”

You both laughed, and you held your arms out for a hug. Spencer hesitated, before returning the hug and reassuring you that he’ll see you tomorrow. You offered him a goodbye and told him you loved him, like you both did every time you parted. You didn’t miss the fact that he didn’t say it back this time.

//

Angela, please help me. You didn’t know who to talk to about this. Your thoughts had been a bubbling mess for hours at this point, and you couldn’t talk to Spencer, and you weren’t quite ready to talk to Courtney about it. Courtney should be your go-to about this situation, but you weren’t sure how to broach it. Hey, you went from coworkers to friends to lovers. How do I do that? wasn’t exactly the best icebreaker to get into the conversation. Angela had heard you vent many times before, and although you never, ever named Spencer in the conversations, you had no doubt that little Italian gremlin knew you were talking about him. Angela was very intuitive and just because you leave a few details out and refuse to use his name in conversation, that doesn’t mean she can’t pick up on everything else. Especially since Erin was clearly picking up on it. Among others.

What an ominous text to receive at 1am. What’s up babe? 

Holy fuck, was it that late already? You checked the time and sure enough, it was 1:03am. You’d been in your head for far longer than you thought.

Oh fuck I didn’t even realize it was that late lol my bad queen :(( we can hold off till tmr it’s nbd!

NOPE you’re not pulling that shit, ft me rn

You sighed, but it was near impossible to say no to Angela, so you turned your desk lamp on and hit the FaceTime button. You needed to get this out of your system soon anyway, it was starting to eat at you. With other people seeing it clear as day you felt as though you should probably work your feelings out before Spencer realized.

“Hello there my gorgeous best friend, what’s on your mind?” Angela was clearly in bed, face lit only by her phone and the fairy lights she kept strung up around her room. “Is it Spencer?”

Your face went pale at her question, which answered her for you. “Oh, so it is Spencer! Did you ask him out? Did he ask you out? When’s the wedding? Can I sing at the reception? Oh, that might be weird, right? What would I even sing? Oh, I know–”

“Angela.”

“Sorry, go on.”

She let you ramble on for a few minutes, starting from the beginning. When you were hired and instantly bonded with him. When the movie nights turned to movie sleepovers and the game nights turned to game weekends. When he got promoted to cast, then you got promoted, and suddenly your friendship felt different. The first Erin Dougal meme, the second Erin Dougal meme, and finally, whatever the fuck had happened tonight. The way he was distant, but not cold. The way you could feel his eyes on you, and the two times you caught him “lost in his thoughts” as Erin had phrased it. His lack of response when you told him you loved him tonight. That was what hurt the most. He had never left you hanging when you said it, and he said it more often than you did. At lunch, on set, while watching him play Fortnite. You always reassured each other in every aspect of life. And suddenly, it was like that reassurance and friendship was going dormant.

“I just don’t know what I did wrong, I guess? It seems like out of nowhere we lost our friendship and we’re back to being acquaintances, in a way. He’s not as touchy anymore, and he gets weird when I am. He rarely invites me over anymore. I haven’t stayed the night in months. And he didn’t say he loved me before I left tonight. He’s never not said it back. And like, why? What changed? What did I do wrong?” Once your word salad was out and in the open, Angela sat for a minute, thinking on how she wanted to respond.

“Okay, I have a question before we proceed.”

“Ask away.”

“Do you want me to respond as your best friend or as your coworker?”

“Is there a difference?”

“Only slightly.”

“Then as my best friend, please.” You took a breath in, knowing with this selection came some harsh words. If she was responding as your coworker she would be nothing but kind, but with the best friend response you knew she was going to drag you, hard. But at this point, you needed that, didn’t you?

“Y/N, my sunshine, my flower, my angel. He’s pulled back significantly as of late because he thinks that his feelings for you are one-sided.”

“His–”

“Don’t interrupt me, you clown!” 

“Okay!” You laughed along with your friend, knowing that this conversation was going to be hard but it was necessary.

“He sees all these things in a different light because, somewhere in the timeline of your friendship, he got it in his head that you would never reciprocate his feelings. So now, all those things he used to enjoy, almost hurt now. Your touch on his skin is no longer comforting, because he wants more. And he doesn’t think he’s capable of getting that. He’s scared. He doesn’t want to lose you, but he also is having trouble coping with the fact that he doesn’t know if he can ‘just be friends’ with you. Spencer might have held his façade quite well for quite some time, but it’s cracking now and he’s scared. He doesn’t want to lose his best friend, but he also doesn’t want to be strictly friends anymore. He wants to love you openly, and he thinks he can’t do that.”

“Jesus, Angela. How do you even know all this?” You were absorbing her words, letting them flow through you. Spencer thinks his romantic feelings for you are one-sided? Spencer has romantic feelings for you? What the hell is going on, man?

“Because three and a half minutes before you texted me, he also texted me. I was basically reading his text out loud, word-for-word. And before you yell at me for breaking his trust, you are my best friend and I am legally obligated to tell you everything, just like you are legally obligated to tell me everything. Even though you seem to think I can’t parse that the guy you’ve been obsessing and gushing over is Spencer despite your obvious phrasing. You're not as slick as you think, babe.”

You sat in silence for a moment, really trying to let everything sink in. Your feelings weren’t one sided. You had a chance with him. He didn't suddenly dislike you, or hate you, or not enjoy your company. It was just harder now. And that, that you understood, quite thoroughly.

“Ang, how do I unfuck this?”

“I already have a plan for you, Peach.”

You groaned, “Okay, that’s not fair!”

“I know, I know. So here’s what you're going to do…”

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

taglist: @lokidokieokie (thanks for being my first ever taglister hehe)

[lxndonorris]

racing hearts - lestappen

Max Verstappen x Charles Leclerc Theme: Smutish, Teasing, Touching tension rises during the pre-season testing, a sign of what's to come throughout the year x word count: 1600+ taglist: @game-set-canet I just needed this little interlude ;P

Max breathes in the familiar scent of adrenaline and burning rubber as he steps out of the sleek Red Bull racing car, his heart still pounding from the exhilarating test session. The sun is beginning to dip below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the paddock, and Max can't help but feel a surge of contentment wash over him.

The first official testing for the upcoming season has just begun, and it is a moment he has been eagerly anticipating. Max glances down at his new Red Bull racing suit, the iconic logo emblazoned across the chest. He looks so good. As he adjusts his helmet, he can't help but feel a sense of excitement bubbling within him. 

He had pushed the car to its limits, weaving through corners with precision, and clocked some impressive lap times. With a radiant smile spreading across his face, he takes his helmet off and leaves the Red Bull garage to take a break inside his motorhome. 

The rush of adrenaline still courses through his veins, leaving him feeling alive and invigorated. It had been far too long since he had experienced the thrill of racing, and now that he is back behind the wheel, every fiber of his being thrums with pure pleasure.

As he peels off his racing gloves, Max can't help but revel in the sensation of racing lingering inside him as he walks through the paddock, basking in the afterglow of a successful test session. His body hums with energy, every muscle taut and coiled with tension.

With each step he takes, Max feels the tension inside his body and the subtle flexing of his muscles as he moves with purpose and grace. The sheer joy of being back on track is written across his face, his eyes sparkling with excitement, and his chest swelling with pride.

Max can't shake the feeling of euphoria that pulses through him. Racing is more than just a sport to him; it is a way of life, a passion that burned deep within his soul. 

As he strolls through the bustling paddock, a sense of nostalgia washes over him, mingling with the thrill of anticipation for the upcoming season. Memories of the previous season flood his mind, each one punctuated by the exhilarating rush of adrenaline and the sweet taste of victory. It had felt incredible to stand on top of the podium and hold the trophy up in the air, knowing all his hard work had paid off.

Then he reaches the familiar haven of his motorhome, and a smile plays at the corner of his lips. Max opens the door, steps inside, and begins to peel off his racing gear, the fabric clinging to his skin with a mixture of sweat and triumph.

Before he can pull the zipper down in its entirety, a familiar voice cuts through the air, causing him to pause mid-motion.

"Max""

Turning, Max's grin widens as he spots Charles, his childhood rival and now his secret lover. Despite their fierce competition on track, their relationship off it is one of mutual respect and passion. 

Charles stands leaning against the side of the motorhome, his red racing suit unzipped and hanging around his waist, accentuating every curve and contour of his athletic frame. The dimming light of the evening sun casts a golden hue over him, highlighting the allure that seems to radiate from every pore.

"Hey Charlie!" Max greets him, his voice filled with a mixture of excitement and intrigue. "How was your session?"

Charles smirks, his gaze raking over Max's form with a hunger that sends shivers down Max's spine. "Not bad. But I think I left you some big shoes to fill out there." 

Max chuckles, unable to tear his eyes away from Charles' captivating gaze. The tension between them is palpable—a dance of desire and competition that has ignited since the end of the last season. 

It started innocently enough—a shared moment of camaraderie that blossomed into something much deeper. And now, as they stand face-to-face, the air crackles with the electricity of their secretive romance.

Charles takes a step closer into the motorhome, his movements oozing with self-confidence and a lingering desire that sends Max's heart racing faster than any of their race cars. "You know, it's going to be much harder for you to become a world champion with me on your tail."

Max feels a thrill run down his spine at the challenge in Charles' words. Leaning in closer, he brushed his lips against Charles' while closing the door behind him. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

Charles tilts his head slightly, his hands moving to rest gently on Max's chest, fingers tracing slow circles across his frim muscles. The touch ignites a fire within him that burns hotter with each passing moment.

"I missed fighting you on track," he murmurs, his voice low and husky with desire. "Those battles during testing were...so much fun."

Max lets out a deep, rumbling growl in response, relishing the feel of Charles's hands exploring his body. He leans into his touch, his own hands coming to rest on Charles's waist, pulling him closer.

Max's gaze drifts downward, lingering on the tantalizing sight of their bodies mere inches apart. Despite the close proximity, the space between them seems charged with tension, each breath they take heavy with desire.

His eyes trace the contours of Charles's athletic frame, admiring the way his racing suit hugs every curve and muscle with precision.

A low, primal sound rumbles in Max's throat as he licks his lips, unable to tear his gaze away from the sight before him. The sleek fabric of these red fireproofs clings to Charles's skin, leaving little to the imagination and sparking a fierce hunger within Max. He can't help but marvel at how effortlessly Charles wears the suit, exuding confidence and allure with every moment.

The sight of his boyfriend in his racing gear never fails to stir something primal within him, awakening a need that only Charles could satisfy.

With a mischievous glint in his eyes, Max teases, "Admit it, you're showing off your tight fireproofs to mess with me."

Charles smirks, his gaze smoldering with lust. "Maybe I am," he admits, not bothering to hide the truth. Instead, he leans closer, his lips brushing against Max's ear. "But seeing the way you react to them...just makes me hard." 

Max's breath catches in his throat at the confession, his heart pounding in his chest. The thought of Charles intentionally teasing him, of knowing the effect it has on Max, only fuels the fire between them.

With a low growl, Max surges forward, capturing Charles's lips in a fierce kiss, his fingers trailing lightly over the smooth fabric of Charles's undergarments. His touch is electric, sending sparks flying between them as their bodies press together, molding into one another with a sense of urgency and longing.

Charles pulls away for a moment, meeting Max's longing gaze with a playful smirk. He teases Max further, his fingers tracing the zipper of his racing suit, Max's breath hitches in excitement.

With a slow, deliberate motion, Charles begins to unzip his suit, the fabric parting to reveal the tantalizing glimpse of Max's muscles bulging through his fireproofs.

Max's heart races as Charles's hand slips inside, his touch sending waves of pleasure cascading through him. The sensation of his fingers stroking Max's chest is tingling, each caress leaving him craving more. He leans into the touch, his own hands moving to trace the contours of Charles's body, reveling in the feel of his boyfriend's warmth beneath his fingertips.

Both of their bodies, all of their muscles are hard as rock as more tension builds up inside them.

"I can't wait to fight on the track again," Charles murmurs again. "And this time, I will be on top."

Max lets out a low groan once Charles's hand reaches his crotch; all of this teasing causes his member to grow and bulge inside his tight suit.

He knows Charles is a formidable opponent, one who pushes him to his limits both on and off the racetrack. The thought of facing him on the track once more fills Max with a heady mix of lust and desire.

"We will see about that," Max whispers, playing with Charles's nipples, desperately trying to pierce his shirt.

With a chuckle, Charles reluctantly pulls away from Max, his fingers lingering on the zipper of his racing suit for a moment longer. He can't resist stealing one last admiring glance at Max's physique—his chest so firm and his length tenting visibly—his gaze lingering on the alluring sight of his unzipped suit.

"You know," Charles smirks, a playful glint dancing in his eyes. "I won't be able to hide this." He grabs himself through his suit and fondles with his own member. Max bites his lower lip, touching himself as well.

"All I want is to battle you and win." Charles's smirk grows wider while he runs a hand along his length and up his chest to his neck, stroking himself again and again.

Max's heart skips a beat at the declaration, his own desire echoing his sentiments. He knows their battles on track are more than just a competition; they are a test of skill, determination, and passion.

With a shy smirk, Max steps closer to Charles, their bodies still tingling with the heat of their shared desire. "Bring it on," he replies, his voice filled with confidence.

As Charles turns to leave, Max can't help but admire the grace and strength in his stride. Their love may be a secret, but the fire that burns between them is undeniable. 

Max watches Charles leave, his heart heavy with longing, feeling a pang of disappointment that their time together was cut short. The sight of Charles stroking himself before turning back for one last look will linger in Max's mind.

With a sigh, Max gets back into his motorhome, resting for the upcoming race next week.

[depravitycentral]

I’m here to share. Uvo definitely loves face riding and would complain if you didn’t sit all the way down. I can’t be told otherwise.

Tw: dub-con oral, manhandling, implied that you're insecure about your weight but no actual physical descriptors used so anyone of any size can read, fem reader, MDNI

Oh absolutely.

To be honest, most of the time you won't even really have the chance to not put all your weight on him - the moment he decides he wants your thighs around his head, your cunt snug against his mouth, and your pretty tummy in perfect view, you're being manhandled and situated into how he wants. His hands are like iron as he grips you and pulls you flush against his face, the loud sniffing noise he makes and the groan that gets muffled against your folds making embarrassment creep up your spine. He's in heaven, truly, and while he wants to pleasure you and taste you, he'd almost be content to just lay there, smelling your musky, natural scent, and feeling all your weight pressing against him.

(He might even come from that - though you'd probably have to reach back and help him a bit. Don't worry, though - he'll do all the thrusting, you just have to make your hand into a pretty little hole - not nearly as pretty as your little hole, though.)

But for the sake of imagination, let's say you're in a situation where Uvogin isn't letting excitement get the better of him, and you have actual control over your body.

Firstly, while Uvogin doesn't force you into actual, penetrative sex, he does force oral onto you. Frequently. He just can't help it; you're so pretty and sweet and sexy, and he has a good sense of smell - good enough to almost, almost, be able to smell when you're aroused.

Even outside of getting to see your face screw up in pleasure and feel your body tremble and shake and writhe for him, he likes eating you out because it feels intimate, loving, and it's something he'd never do for a random hook up - or, at least, not to the extent, enthusiasm, or finesse with which he eats you. So it's an act driven by lust, yes, but equal parts love - which is why he's absolutely not letting you get away with harboring any insecurities.

He likes going down on you in other positions, but having you sit on his face is his favorite by far. When the mood strikes him (or he catches a whiff of something sweet, something heavy, something needy), he'll lick his lips, sending you that familiar grin while his eyes get a bit lidded, his voice low and sultry as he asks if you're feeling a little lonely over there, babe?

It doesn't really matter how you respond - he'll drop whatever he's doing, strip bare and plop himself down onto the bed, the couch, hell, even the floor, that same grin on his face as he tells you c'mere, I'm starving.

He's not very subtle when he brushes all his hair out of his face, getting comfortable and making sure his lips are wet, running his tongue over his teeth in anticipation because he can nearly taste you already.

And if you hesitate? Well, Uvogin's smile will falter a bit, his brow twitching, his voice just slightly more serious when you tells you to get that cute little ass over here, don't make come get you.

That'll get you edging over to him, standing above him and staring, playing with the hem of your shirt nervously because you know what he wants, but it still makes you a little unsure, a little apprehensive, a little insecure.

Uvogin's having none of it, rolling his eyes and pointing to his face, his smirk coming back in full force. Sit right here babe, you just sit down and look pretty and I'll do all the work.

Eventually, with a warning look sent your way, you'll relent, slipping down the shorts and panties over your knees and off your ankles, the warmth of the fireplace nearby making your skin tingle. You'll kneel down and carefully slot your thighs onto either side of his head, his hair brushes against your inner thighs and knees and tickling ever so slightly.

He's watching you the whole time as you shimmey upwards, those dark, smoldering eyes locking onto yours as your folds get closer and closer to his lips, spit already glistening on them as Uvogin's tongue runs over them again. You're barely even hovering four inches above him at this point and he's already practically salivating because he can already smell you, already see you and feel the warmth coming from between those lovely, soft thighs of yours.

Eventually you'll lower yourself down, feeling his breath (a little heavier than normal) blowing against your sensitive skin, your hands coming to rest awkwardly on top of your thighs. Uvogin hums below you, a hand coming up to squeeze and lightly grope at your ass, his fingers big and calloused as the rub against you.

Soon you'll feel him, his tongue running a teasing lick up your folds, the sensation making you suck in a breath and avert your eyes - he's still looking at you, forcing you to maintain eye contact, even though it's a little difficult to see him from this angle.

Those kitten licks turn into him lapping at you, his tongue wide and wet and warm, alternating between large, flat licks over the expanse of your slit, then dipping in between your folds to lightly thrust into you. His lips press against you, adding extra sensation and stimulation, and as he wanders further up, they latch around your clit while he suckles and licks circles over the little bud, making your breath hitch and your balance momentarily falter, your hands moving forward to catch you as your hips tremble.

You're so damn pretty, and with this new, slight angle change Uvogin gets an eye full of your tits, your nipples already swollen and hard, practically begging to be pinched and played with. His eyes flutter closed for a brief moment, and then he's pulling back ever so slightly, an ass cheek in each hand as he pulls and gropes. His voice is a little hoarse as he tells you with a twinkle in his eye to play with those tits babe, y'know I love when you make yourself feel good.

And you do - one hand comes up to lightly pinch at a nipple as he dives back into you, the hands on your ass pulling you down to meet him. The feeling of his tongue swirling along your clit and his chin rubbing against your folds makes you melt, but you're brought out of your reverie when you realize that he's pulling you down, and now nearly all your weight is resting on him.

Immediately you're trying to lift up a bit, to alleviate some of the pressure, but Uvogin only growls, tongue working at you with more fervor as he pulls down again, your hips effectively becoming a tug of war as you each pull.

Eventually he gets fed up, angry that you're distracting him from the lovely taste of you, and he pulls off your clit with a wet, suctioning pop noise that makes you bristle.

What the fuck, babe? What are you doing?

It's embarrassing to admit, but as he stares at you, one large hand moves from your ass to your chin, forcing your head to stay in place and maintain eye contact.

Your voice is small, unsure, ashamed as you tell him that you're too heavy, I don't want to crush you or suffocate you -

He cuts you off then, his grip on your chin tightening and an honest to god angry look settling into those dark eyes. What. The. Fuck?

You don't know how to respond to that, so instead you just bite your lip, your hand leaving your breast in favor of twiddling your fingers just to keep yourself busy.

Uvogin, meanwhile, can only stare at you incredulously. Are you kidding? You're worried about crushing him? Him, who's a whole head - at least - taller than you, easily weighing three times your body weight, and capable of lifting entire semi-trucks with ease? Are you kidding?

Shit, stop it. Stop looking like that. You're not gonna crush me. I can still breath, trust me, and even if I can't I'll let you know. Not that I would mind, though, suffocating on this pussy would be the perfect way to go.

His free hand smacks your ass at that, and you jump a bit, accidentally grinding your clit against the tip of his nose. He groans.

So quit it. Stop holding back. Sit down on my face, all the way. No more of this 'too heavy' shit - if I feel you pull back against I'll force you to stay down.

You can feel him grin against your folds. Even if the overstimulation makes you beg.

And with that, he's pulling you down again, forcing your weight down onto him and holding you steady, before moving his hands away from your ass to instead grope at your tits.

With some slight, short lived hesitation, you don't pull up, instead letting yourself put your full weight on him, and literally feeling the growl he lets out at that, the vibrations seeming to run from your toes to your fingertips.

Uvogin's good with his tongue - he's licking and slurping and sucking, the noises lewd and wet and vulgar, your cries and his hums and groans making your head spin. Soon the pleasure is making you throw caution to the wind, your full weight still on him as you grind yourself against his tongue, the wet muscle thrusting into you almost as deep as your own fingers can reach, your clit rubbing against his nose in a rhythmic, steady pace.

Uvogin brows cock up a bit - you're close, he can tell. With a renewed vigor, he works at that spot inside you again and again, careful to keep the pace the same but the pressure and precision higher, anything to get you screaming his name and feeling those thighs tense up around his head.

Everything smells like you you you - all he can breath in is your scent, and all the can see and hear and taste and feel is you, and Uvogin thinks he might ascend, your presence clouding all of his senses and making heat swell up between his legs and his muscles clench and his eyes water and oh fuck -

You cry out his name and clench down on his tongue just as something warm and wet sprays onto your ass. You're gasping and clutching at his hair, your orgasm overwhelming as he keeps up his movements, though they're a little strained and uneven as his own pleasure becomes unbearable.

Soon the high fades and oversensitivity takes its place, making you squirm and bite your lip, hips shaking and your thighs clenching over and over around his head.

But Uvogin can only stare - he's covered in your slick and cum all over his chin, cheeks and neck, but it just tastes too good to stop now - plus, you're looking at him with teary eyes and your chest heaving, and how can he stop now? He can't, not when you look this good, not when you taste this fucking delicious.

He'll keep at it for another two or three rounds, just long enough until he's temporarily satisfied, just long enough until you'll need his help to stand up on your own to feet. Just long enough until he's proven that you could never crush him - sometimes he can't help but wonder just where you get these stupid, impossible little worries.

He'll crush all those other insecurities while he's at it - it's his job as your partner, after all.

So really, just tell him.

[kayewrite]

Falling in a wrong way

(blue sticky note ending #2)

skz lee minho x reader x ot8!! lee know x reader!!! word count: 3k

Blue note alternative ending 2 wherein; you choose minho and it felt wrong

an: i dont know if im still doing it right! i dont wanna hurt other memebers . chz TT an2: im having class starting tom and idk if i can update everyday. but ill do what i can

part 1 and part 2 first

As you walked out of that party, tears blurred your vision. The taxi ride home felt like an eternity, each second filled with the weight of the choice you knew you had to make. Choosing to follow your heart felt like a betrayal—either to yourself or to the friendships you held dear. The tears flowed freely, a silent acknowledgment of the impossible situation you found yourself in.

When the taxi finally pulled up to your apartment building, you stumbled out, barely holding yourself together. You made your way to the elevator, desperate to escape into the solitude of your room. But just as you were about to step inside, a voice called your name, stopping you in your tracks.

You turned around slowly, your heart pounding. There, standing a few feet away, was Minho, his motorcycle helmet in hand. His breaths were labored, as if he had sprinted to catch up to you. His eyes locked onto yours, filled with worry, regret, and something else—something deeper that made your heart ache even more.

Seeing him there, so close yet so far, brought a fresh wave of tears to your eyes. You couldn't hold them back as he took a hesitant step toward you. The concern etched on his face, the way he looked at you like he was seeing through all your pain, made you crumble.

Without another word, Minho closed the distance between you. He grabbed your wrist gently and pulled you into a tight embrace. His arms wrapped around you as if he could shield you from all the hurt in the world. "I'm sorry," he whispered into your hair, his voice thick with emotion.

You clung to him, your face buried in his shoulder, your tears soaking into his shirt. "I'm sorry too," you choked out, the words barely audible. "Sorry because I loved you." The confession hung in the air between you, raw and unfiltered.

Minho pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes searching yours. "Why are you sorry for that?" he asked, his voice trembling.

"Because… because I'm afraid," you admitted, your voice breaking. The pain of those words was almost unbearable, and you could see it reflected in his eyes.

For a moment, Minho said nothing. He just stared at you, his expression a mix of sorrow and determination. Then, without warning, he took your hand in his, his grip firm but reassuring. "Then let's run away," he said, his voice steady now.

Before you could respond, he was already pulling you towards his motorcycle. He put a helmet to you, still reeling from everything that had happened. You didn't protest, didn't question where you were going or what you were doing. You just followed his lead, trusting him implicitly.

As you climbed onto the back of his bike and wrapped your arms around his waist, the world around you seemed to fade away. The roar of the engine filled the silence between you, and you pressed your face against his back, feeling the warmth of his body through the leather jacket. The wind whipped past you as Minho drove, and for the first time that night, you felt a sense of peace.

You didn't know where he was taking you, and it didn't matter. As long as you were with him, you felt safe. You let go of everything—the party, the confusion, the fear—and allowed yourself to simply be in the moment, with Minho.

You loved Minho. From the playful banter that always made you smile, to the way he showed his care in subtle, thoughtful ways. You appreciated everything about him, even the teasing that others might have mistaken for indifference. It was in those moments that you saw the depth of his feelings. The teasing was just his way of showing love, and you understood that. He loved you in his own way, just as you loved him. But the friendship you both valued so much had always held you back.

Tonight, though, all those barriers seemed to dissolve. It was just the two of you, riding through the night with the moonlight as your only witness. You held onto him tightly, savoring the feeling of his presence, knowing that this moment was yours and his alone. For once, you let yourself not care about anything else—just you and Minho, under the stars, running away from the world together.

Minho brings you somewhere—a place only the two of you know. It's a small, cozy house nestled right in front of the beach, a secret hideaway that has always been your sanctuary. The moment you step inside, you’re overwhelmed by the familiarity of it all. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore, the faint scent of the ocean air.

Without thinking, you throw your arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. You hold him as if letting go would mean losing everything. He hugs you back just as fiercely, his hand gently caressing your hair. “I’m not going anywhere,” he whispers into your ear, his voice soft and reassuring.

He pulls back slightly, just enough to look into your eyes. “We’re here now,” he says, his thumb brushing away a stray tear from your cheek. “Together.” You nod, feeling a warmth spread through your chest, the fear and doubt momentarily forgotten.

Minho then leads you to the couch, where you both sink into its plush cushions. For a moment, the world outside disappears, and it’s just the two of you, wrapped up in each other. He leans in and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there as if to seal a promise. You close your eyes, savoring the feeling of his love, pure and unspoken, but deeply understood.

-

The next morning, you wake up to the soft light filtering through the curtains. You stretch lazily, realizing that you're wearing one of Minho’s oversized shirts, the fabric smelling faintly of him. It’s a comforting scent, one that makes you smile as you sit up and take in the surroundings.

The sound of clattering pots and pans draws your attention, and you find Minho in the kitchen, cooking something with his usual focused expression. The sight makes your heart swell with affection. Unable to resist, you quietly tiptoe over to him and wrap your arms around his waist from behind.

He glances back at you with a smile, his eyes warm and tender. “Good morning,” he murmurs, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple. “Sit down, I’m almost done.”

You do as he says, settling at the small table. Just as you’re about to get comfortable, a familiar white cat leaps onto your lap, purring contentedly. It’s the cat you both adopted from the animal shelter—a sweet, fluffy companion he named after yourself. You smile, petting the cat, feeling a sense of peace wash over you.

A moment later, Minho places a dish in front of you, and the aroma makes your mouth water. He’s always been an excellent cook, and today is no exception. He hands you a glass of milk, the small, thoughtful gesture making you grin.

You take a bite, the flavors rich and comforting, and you can’t help but smile up at him. He’s watching you intently, waiting for your reaction. “It’s delicious,” you say, your words filled with genuine appreciation.

Minho chuckles, clearly pleased. You scoop up another spoonful of food and, on a whim, offer it to him. He raises an eyebrow but leans in to take the bite, and you both end up laughing at the simple, playful gesture. The laughter fills the room, light and carefree, making the moment feel almost surreal. For the first time, you allow yourself to be completely true to your feelings, to enjoy this fleeting happiness without worrying about the future.

Later, you both find yourselves outside, lounging in a big hammock that sways gently in the breeze. The ocean stretches out before you, a vast expanse of blue that seems to go on forever. You’re sitting between Minho’s legs, his arms wrapped around you, holding you close. The warmth of his body against yours, the sound of the waves, the scent of the salty air—it all feels so right.

Minho tightens his hold on you, his chin resting on your shoulder and he whispered ,“I’m willing to risk everything for you,” he says quietly, the sincerity in his voice making your heart ache.

You shake your head, turning slightly to look at him. Eyes started to well up.

“Minho ---That’s not what I want,” you called him. "It’s okay if I’ll step away, as long as you stay the same. You’ve been with them for so long—you’re like family. I don’t want to be the reason to end it.”

Minho’s eyes darken with determination. “Whatever happens, I’ll choose you,” he says firmly.

His words are like a knife to your heart, and you can’t stop the tears from welling up. “But you’ve spent eight years with them,” you say, your voice cracking. “You have dreams together, and I’m just going to break it?”

You feel like you’ve fallen in love in the wrong way, at the wrong time. The guilt and fear threaten to overwhelm you, and the tears spill over, streaming down your cheeks. Minho gently wipes them away, his touch soothing.

“Everything will be okay,” he whispers, his voice full of conviction. “I’ll take care of it, I promise.”

You want to believe him, to trust in the strength of your love. So you close your eyes, leaning into him, and for now, you let yourself be comforted by his presence, holding onto the hope that somehow, everything will be okay.

-

The weekend with Minho flies by too quickly. You wish you could stop time, hold on to these moments a little longer, but you know that’s not possible.

With a heavy heart, you make your way to Chan’s studio. He’s always been the one you could talk to about anything, a steady presence who feels like a big brother because of how mature and understanding he is. As you approach the door, you manage a small smile and gently knock.

“Can I come in?” you ask, your voice soft.

Chan looks up from his work, a warm smile spreading across his face. “Of course,” he says, nodding towards the chair beside him. You hand him a cup of his favorite coffee as you sit down, and he takes it gratefully. “Thanks,” he murmurs, taking a sip.

He studies you for a moment, concern flickering in his eyes. “How are you?” he asks, his tone gentle.

You take a deep breath, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “I don’t know,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Chan’s expression softens even more. “It’s okay,” he says reassuringly. “Everything will fall back into place, eventually.”

His words are meant to comfort, but the uncertainty in your heart remains, and Chan knows it.

Chan always know you. He knows what words you need.

“As your friend, and as someone who cares about you a lot, seeing you happy, following your dreams and wants, that’s what would make me happiest too.” The sincerity in his voice catches you off guard. "So choose what's your heart saying." He’s always been honest with you, but this feels different—more personal.

He tries to lighten the mood with a joke, his smile returning. “Besides, feelings fade eventually. Who knows? Maybe feelings will just disappear in a day.”

You chuckle softly at his attempt to make you laugh, but deep down, you know it’s not that simple. You know it all too well. After the laughter fades, you look at him, your expression turning serious.

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly, the weight of your decision pressing down on you.

Chan’s smiles, understanding shining in his eyes. “You don't need to be sorry of the things that wasn't your fault,” he replies softly. “And no matter what happens just know that I’m here for you, no matter what.”

The room falls into a comfortable silence, the unspoken words hanging in the air. Chan’s presence, steady and reliable, gives you comfort. You smiled at him and he smiled then ruffled your hair.

-

You helped Felix move out of his old apartment, a task made necessary by the noisy neighbor who had been causing him endless frustration.

You were relieved that Felix never brought up the awkwardness between you two, which meant you could focus on the task at hand without dwelling on the unspoken tension.

As you both worked, Felix’s usual teasing and jokes brought some normalcy back into the day. You laughed at his comments, the sound of your laughter mingling with the clatter of packing boxes.

Suddenly, a knock at the door broke the rhythm of your work. You both paused, and Felix’s neighbor appeared, his face a mix of annoyance and frustration.

“Hey, can you keep it down?” the neighbor said sharply. “You’re disturbing other people.”

The words struck a nerve. You could feel your anger rising, and before you could think twice, you shot back, “Look at what you’ve done to my friend! He’s moving out because of you. Maybe you should be more considerate yourself!”

Felix’s hand landed gently on your shoulder, a subtle reminder to keep calm. He stepped in front of you, his tone even but firm. “It’s okay,” he said. “We’ll handle this. Thanks for letting us know.”

The neighbor’s expression shifted to one of guilt. He muttered a half-hearted apology and quickly retreated. As soon as he was out of sight, Felix couldn’t hold back his laughter. “Well, that was interesting,” he said, still chuckling. “I talked to him about this before, but I can’t believe he’d actually come here to complain.”

You joined in the laughter, the tension of the moment easing away. “I’m just glad he’s gone,” you said. “Moving day is stressful enough without dealing with that.”

You continue your work and when the packing was done, you were ready to bring it downstairs to the unit beside you. When he stopped you with his words,

“I’ll be moving a bit farther away." he flashed a soft sad smile, "Hyunjin’s roommate moved out, so I’m going to crash at his place.”

Your heart sank a little and got surprised at the news that was different from what you had expected. But before you could express your disappointment, Felix patted your head affectionately. “Don’t worry, it’s not because of you,” he said reassuringly. “It’s just a better fit for now. Everything’s going to be fine.”

You weren’t entirely convinced, but Felix’s warm smile and reassuring words helped to ease your worries.

Felix’s grin widened. “Everything’s fine,” he repeated, and you could see the sincerity in his eyes. “Thanks for helping me today. It means a lot.”

You smiled back, feeling a mix of relief and lingering sadness. As you watched him finish packing up the last of his things, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of finality, but also an appreciation for the way Felix had managed to make the best of a difficult situation.

-

The sun was setting, painting the sky with hues of orange and pink, casting a warm glow over everything. You were sitting alone, and the serene moment was interrupted by a familiar voice calling your name. 

You turned to see Minho standing a few feet away, a playful glint in his eyes. He walked over and sat down beside you, his arm slipping around your shoulders, then patted the cat that was purring and resting comfortably in your lap.

Minho's eyes twinkled, and then he laughed, "I was actually calling our cat." 

You rolled your eyes playfully, a smile tugging at your lips. "Why did you name it after me?" you asked, feigning exasperation.

Minho chuckled, his laughter warm and infectious. He pulled you closer, his touch reassuring and tender.

You leaned into him, enjoying the comfort of his presence. The cat, sensing the affection, rubbed against your legs, purring contentedly. You looked at Minho, seeing the joy in his eyes, and then shifted your gaze back to the horizon.

The sky was now a canvas of vibrant colors, the sun dipping lower and lower until it was just a sliver above the water. The scene was breathtakingly beautiful, and it felt like the perfect backdrop to your moment together. You both fell into a comfortable silence, simply savoring the tranquility of the evening.

Minho's fingers lightly traced patterns on your arm, and you felt a sense of calm wash over you. The earlier worries and complications seemed distant now, replaced by the simplicity of this shared moment.

You turned your head slightly to look up at Minho, who was gazing at the sunset with a soft smile. There was a sense of peace in his expression, and you felt a similar calm settle within you. The world seemed to slow down as you both took in the beauty around you.

The sun continued its descent, casting long shadows and bathing the beach in a golden glow. It was a perfect ending to a challenging day, a reminder that amidst the chaos and confusion, there were moments of pure, simple happiness to be cherished.

You took a deep breath, feeling grateful for this serene moment with Minho, and the two of you shared a contented smile, knowing that no matter what lay ahead, this was a moment you would always remember.

----

an: might continue the next one if this will get 80 likes TT

[cinnamonest]

Thinking about terrible terrible boys who use Darling’s social anxiety against themselves

Kaveh who keeps you home because the world is just far too mean, just look at his roommate if you need any reminder. It’s putting himself out there that resulted in his debt, it’s the outside that caused you hurt don’t ever forget. It’s fine, he’ll lavish you enough to fill all you need, you really don’t need any other contact than himself!… and the forced proximity of Alhaitham grrr.

Ayato who keeps bringing you in important social events just to see you cling to him. He doesn’t teach you any etiquette, so you never know what’s socially unacceptable. You stand so close to him, trembling, your voice barely louder than a whisper. It serves as a reminder, see how bad the world is? All of them are vile people. If you run away, who’s to say you won’t end up with someone worse than him? (It’s terrible, how you keep waking these sadistic urges in him. He’s a good man with lots of self restraint but still a man.)

Wriothesley who got you locked up in his office. You complain about boredom, about his behaviour, but he only swat your worries away. He’s not worried about you ever running off, this is an underground prison. Criminals are the only residents, and god knows how many would have enough self control to keep their hands off if he’s not with you. Besides you’ve been here for so long, you have no place on the surface anymore. What would you do, go cry to Neuvillette? Pfff yeah, right. Try saying hello to Clorinde without trembling first.

Yes yes I am FOR this idea, also consider: Kaeya is the top tier candidate for it. He’s already in the top tier of Manipulative Bastardry, but it gets so much worse if he finds a weakness to exploit — and he’s great at sensing those.

He doesn’t mind that you’re introverted. However, he doesn’t just use the situations as opportunities to give you affirmation as a means of comforting you and coaxing you into bonding with him, no, he stoops so much lower than that. Outright taking advantage of it for his own benefit, ensuring he can use every tactic at his disposal to get whatever he wants... except "whatever he wants" actually just tends to be one consistent thing.

In the early stages, where he can pretend he doesn’t know you well enough to be able to feign ignorance to how much it would exhaust you, he makes sure to plan long public outings, watching as your energy quickly drains until you can’t bear another second in the public atmosphere and all but beg him to return home.

This gives him the opportunity to act disappointed (when in reality, he’s overjoyed it’s playing out exactly as planned) — aw, and here he had so many more things he wanted to show you before the night was over, but no worries, it’s fine… no no, it’s fine, really… and now that you’re all nice and feeling guilty, well, that will just make it much easier to coax you into giving him something to compensate for the disappointment you’ve caused once you’re behind closed doors. Maybe you’ll even volunteer it yourself.

But even later on, once he can no longer put on an act of not knowing how easily drained you are, he can still use it against you. Don’t worry, he knows you’re shy and easily tired out, you two can just stay at home tonight… besides, there’s plenty of fun things you can do alone at home, right…? Surely you’ll be able to think of something.

He, however, stoops even lower still, because he’s also willing to exploit your paranoias and insecurities, even if it means hurting you a bit. Part of the reason why you’re so socially withdrawn, he learns, is that you’re afraid of how others perceive you — I’m just annoying them, they all secretly hate me, you say, everyone thinks I’m weird…

And he… doesn’t rush to correct you or anything. Just shrugs.

Ah, who cares what they think? You already have someone who appreciates you as you are, you know.

Not denying it. If anything, it’s a subtle confirmation… he may even throw in a blatant —

Well, sure, they might feel that way, but I don’t. That’s good enough, isn't it? What do you need their attention for...?

— to really drive the point home, and throw in a bit of accusation and guilt for good measure. He likes hearing you immediately panic and stumble over your words as you reassure him that you don't need anyone else... it's adorable, and the ego boost is euphoric.

Honestly, you’re too gullible for your own good, so precious, so cute in how you fall for it so perfectly, effortless on his part. You don’t even hide your reaction in your expression, so transparent and vulnerable, the way your eyes widen with shock and you hang your head and your eyes water, giving him the perfectly opportunity to comfort you and hold you close and assure you it’s okay, they don’t matter, screw them anyway, and so on.

You’re so sweet, so pure. So much so that you almost, almost actually make him feel bad about it. How impressive.

[skzoologist]

A concerning concert

word count: ~2.8k

warnings: angst, hurt/comfort

summary: It's hard to stand up once life beat you down to the ground.

a/n: I've spared Bae from this for more than a year now, so enjoy the angsty lore drop. There will be more of course, in due time.

Back to the masterlist

Please let me know if I left a warning or anything out, I will add it in! Reblogs, likes and feedback are greatly appreciated!

!I don't condone anyone stealing my work and posting it anywhere without my permission, or feeding it to AI!

!This is just fiction, my interpretation of Stray Kids. By no means is this how they are and how they behave in real life!

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Bae was nervous, to put it lightly. His mind was dull, words and thoughts bouncing around in his head with such speed that none could successfully stick for long. His ears rang, and it felt like his stomach wanted to crawl out of his throat to live an independent life far away in another country.

Not to mention the scar that viciously throbbed on his head, making him nearly see dark spots from the force every few seconds.

“You're okay, Hyung.”

It was Hyunjin’s soft voice that broke him out of his spiralling thoughts, a pair of strong arms caging him against the younger's firm chest. He allowed Hyunjin to do whatever the male wanted to, that gentle hold on him grounding his much too loud mind. Somehow the tall boy had always known when to seek him out, when to comfort him in his time of need without any actual words.

He could feel his own heart beating a mile a minute, and he knew his dongsaeng had noticed it too; there was a subtle shift in that hold on his crumbling form as Hyunjin nearly fused them together. It was as if the younger wanted to become his spine itself, to support his entire weight with his own force alone and that action spoke louder than any word ever could.

No other sentences were exchanged between the two as they just stood there, Bae's own arms covering Hyunjin's in silent gratitude, eyes watching the blinding lights and vast stage before them. His frenzied heart was slowly calming down, and he wasn't feeling like he wanted to empty his stomach anymore. His head still hurt and his anxiety was through the roof, but he could feel the excitement of performing again after so long starting to take root in his chest again.

It felt freeing, despite the metaphorical chains he could still feel around his limbs.

With another pat on the younger’s arms he peeled them off, and were it not for their loud cue to go up on the stage, he was sure Hyunjin would have protested immediately. However, he was spared this time, the others gathering around them and looking at Bae worriedly, asking for a sign or permission from him. He took in a deep breath, willing the slight tremble in his body to go away, forcing his legs to move and his persona to take over his mind.

He would be fine.

Cheers erupted around them as soon as they set foot on the vast stage, smiles and excitement taking its rightful place on all the boys’ faces. Even Bae had one, naturally, truly happy to meet STAY again after so long as he had been hidden away from the idol world for long months. The curved line of his lips was as genuine as forced, worries over everything that could go wrong in the next few hours plaguing his mind ceaselessly, hidden under all that joy he felt. As if sensing his inner battles, someone always hovered nearby, keeping a subtle eye out for him and just that act in itself was enough for the tension to partially leave his form, able to enjoy the night for now.

He’d never been a truly active participant up on stage, always allowing the others to be free and do whatever they had wanted to. Of course if they wanted to involve him in their shenanigans, he hardly said no, his love for his bandmates running too deep for that. And so he let Felix whisk him away to annoy Seungmin, and he also allowed Jisung to use him as a living shield from a playfully annoyed Minho. There was never anything too forceful happening when he was involved, the others extremely careful to be gentle with his wounded body this time around. Chan and Changbin in particular, never failing to shoo the others away if things were starting to get too rough, Jeongin surprisingly joining their ranks. Hyunjin was the only one who wasn’t taking sides as he instead stuck to Bae like a second layer of skin, arms wound around his taller form at every chance the man could get.

It was impossible to not feel adoration and utter love towards these people who surrounded him, who cared for him despite how fragile he had become.

Everything was going well for a while, the cue for them to perform heard in their ear pieces and off they went to perform, dancing their hearts out with palpable excitement. Bae was no different, moves nearly the same as they had been before, all sharp and precise in a unique style that just screamed his name. His face didn’t show any sign of how his head throbbed dully to the rhythm of the music with each forceful movement either, able to push it to the back of his mind skillfully. His body felt each vibration down to its very core, a part of him having missed this feeling incredibly so.

The fans were having a good time and so were they, shenanigans and playful mood never stopping even amidst each dance they dedicated to their audience.

But with each passing song, no matter how much his soul longed to be up on stage and perform, his body protested in quiet misery. He couldn’t keep ignoring how that dull throb was growing itself out into something sharp, cutting into his brain each time his feet landed on the ground harshly. Breathing was becoming increasingly difficult as well, his lungs stuttering every once in a while under the heavy strain he endured. Thankfully he had excellent performing skills, able to mask his pain to a worrying degree and thus nobody had noticed it yet; they were much too busy with the ecstasy of the brightly shining lights and ear-splitting cheering from their fans.

His vision was swimming.

After the song ended, chest heaving desperately to capture some air into its empty grasp, he subtly wandered over to Hyunjin. Their heights were the closest to each other, and so it wouldn’t be too noticeable if he whispered something into the younger’s ear. No matter how much he wanted to keep living in denial about his worsening condition, he couldn’t. He needed to take it easy, to rest, otherwise things would take a dire turn.

The moment Hyunjin had heard Bae’s silent request a hand wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him into the other’s side. He allowed it to happen, grateful for the support as he didn’t want to traumatise STAY and collapse in front of them; especially after having been absent for so long.

In a blink Chan was by their side and he had somehow missed the moment Hyunjin had called the older over, much too busy trying to fight off the slight ringing in his ears and the small spots at the edge of his vision. He wasn’t on the brink of collapsing, not yet, but he didn’t want to risk it. His hyungs -and everyone too, mind you- made him promise to tell them if he felt off even a little bit. He wasn’t about to risk getting an earful on top of worrying everyone by collapsing publicly, on stage of all places.

Not in a million years.

“Alright, take it easy, Dal. I’ll tell them to play some songs with easier choreography, like we talked about. Just make sure to drink enough, alright?” - Chan said, placing a steady hand on his shoulder for a few seconds in reassurance.

Bae nodded and before he knew it, a water bottle was thrusted into his vision, the owner of the hand smiling brightly at him. He thanked their maknae with a small smile, unable to resist the urge to pat the younger’s head for a brief moment. The boy was much too cute for him to resist doing so, and Hyunjin must have agreed, if that airy chuckle was anything to go by.

Much too soon they had to split up again and he was forced to silently watch as Chan signalled to the staff members, only to hear the start of Domino playing without any change. His throat closed up as he accepted defeat and went into position, eyes following a very angry looking Chan do the same. Those veins on his leader’s neck emerged from the surrounding skin, jaw set so tight it looked painful.

It was worrying.

He forced his body to move, willing it to dance as good as he could and even better than that, trying his best to not start showing his pain. It wasn’t a particularly easy choreography of theirs and any other time he would have been fine with that, but not now; not when the air burned as he greedily gulped it down, the world slightly tilting on its axis around him.

With each passing move, with each passing second his body fought to stop working, the muscles in his body doing their best to seize up and wither away. His head also felt like it was about to burst into pieces, the pressure behind his skull and eyes only building the more he ignored it. Were it not for the hat on his head he would have been worried about his wound having opened back up and staining the synthetic hair covering it in rich red.

His only saving grace was that he wasn’t in the middle of their group a lot, only once and not for long.

Then the song ended and there he stood, panting almost viciously as subtly as he could. His vision was filling with more and more black spots with each passing millisecond and his legs felt like they turned into jello. He could feel the glances thrown his way, his bandmates having noticed his slight swaying and unsure form.

But he endured.

He waited for the song to fully die down, allowing them to drop their ending poses and he did exactly that, although quite literally. His knees buckled under his weight and his dark eyes nearly rolled into the back of his head, consciousness clinging onto the land of the awake by the thinnest of strings. Strong arms broke his fall as he heard gasps around him, belonging to both his bandmates and their fans.

“Hey, hey, I gotchu, it’s okay. You’re okay. Just lean on me, alright?” - someone whispered to him and only after a few seconds did he realise it was Changbin, the pain in his skull making his ears ring once more. “Here, drink a bit more, please?” - Felix all but pleaded and he obliged, opening his mouth to let the younger quench his thirst.

A sudden breeze on the side of his head made him stop and snap his eyes up, seeing Minho there with a slight, partially hidden grimace. His hat was put back on gently then, having been only lifted up a little bit. Something felt wet as it happened, and he could already guess based on his cat-like hyung’s reaction.

“Shit, his wound opened up. He can’t continue like this, we need to get him backstage to get patched up and rest asap.” - Minho said, looking back at Chan for the eldest’s opinion.

Before the man could open his mouth Bae did so instead, eyes wide with desperation and fear. He didn’t want to stop performing yet, he could still go on! He was fine, he would be fine and he’d been so, so patient to perform again; he wasn’t about to let it get taken away from him so quickly. The dread of being useless again, of being reduced to nothing from a beloved idol reared its ugly head again and this time, he knew the others could clearly see it in his eyes.

“I can still go! I-, I can, please don’t send me away. I’m fine. Please.” - he quietly begged, his hold on Changbin’s arm tightening to a dangerous degree.

Those whose faces he could see looked almost pained at the sight of his broken form, and he couldn’t fault them. It was rare for him to be so open, to beg for something, but he was growing increasingly desperate to the point of throwing his pride away. He didn’t care if doing that allowed him to get what he wanted, to chase that horribly suffocating feeling disappear from his chest.

Chan kneeled down to his level, those warm, chocolate eyes looking deeply into his in a comforting attempt.

“You’ve done well today, Dal. I honestly thought you would only last half this long with your injury, and I’m not saying that lightly. It’s okay to rest, you know, it doesn’t make you any less. And if you’re worried about the company, don’t. I’ll have a word with them, trust me, alright? Hyung’s got you.” - the older said, a smile sitting on those lips with the promise of taking care of things for him, no matter what. There was a glint of malice in those eyes, and Bae knew that Chan would keep himself to those words, even if that meant going against JYP himself.

His mouth opened and closed a few times, ultimately deciding to just close it for good as he instead nodded, knowing when to give up. This earned a gentle smile from Chan, expression only soft for his sake as it reverted back to its silently furious one the moment the male had looked away.

“What the fuck was that anyway? Didn’t you signal to them to change the music order, Chan hyung?” - Seungmin asked, the whole group huddled together at that point.

Changbin nudged Bae as a silent way of telling him that they would be standing up, and he was thankful of that steady grip the shorter male had on him. He despised being seen like this, this weak and vulnerable, idol image now most probably destroyed and reduced to ashes at the very best. The others followed the two, and he nearly reached out to ease the stress and anger that resided inside Chan’s smaller body; but he couldn’t, his head hurt much too violently for that.

“I don’t know but I’m gonna have some words with the staff here as well. I know for a fact that the ones responsible for this weren’t our own, but guest ones temporarily hired for the stage in this country. You know how we had a shortage recently and what troubles that brought. But the solution wasn’t fucking this.”

Every word was laced with deadly poison, and Bae would have felt bad for the poor bastards who crossed paths with Chan were it not for the fact that he could feel his blood rapidly soaking into the hat he wore. The world was moving around, the ground unsure beneath his feet and he wanted nothing more than to just lay down and sleep for a few days at minimum. As if sensing it, Changbin’s hold on him tightened, taking away more of his weight for himself.

He could hear that the others continued to speak around him as they were walking behind the stage now, a sea of people running around them frantically like a stream of colours. Despite all that, nothing truly entered his mind: not the words everyone had said, nor the places they had been walking through. All he could register were touches, and the way he was eventually laid down gently, some soft shushing entering his ears. Everything that covered his open wound was removed, a low hiss escaping his mouth as the dried blood pulled at his marred skin.

All he could feel were the stinging around his wound and the hold someone had on his hand, everyone’s presence obvious around him. If he focused hard enough he could tell who was where, a few members holding onto different parts of him in worry and comfort. It eased his frantic mind, allowing his heart to slow down as the feeling of constricting nausea slowly left his body.

Had it not been for their constant presence, Bae would have allowed those plaguing thoughts to sneak back into his brain; the ones that made him believe that he would end up being alone, thrown out of the world of brightly shining idols with his dimmed light.

It didn’t take long for him to let go, to rest, knowing that his bandmates had his back through everything. That same dread still lingered in his system, fated to never fully leave, but its deadly grip had eased up on him, even if only temporarily.