#sorry I was thinking about this the other day when I was writing Your Fingers In These Wounds

[star-girl69]

❦ Buttons

Daniela Avanzini … college!au

Synopsis: It turns out it was never casual.

Feel free to send Dani requests 😘

Warnings: y’all they play strip poker except it’s not poker bc idk how to play. They play strip card. Idk. I think we get the point… but just to make it clear!! Alcohol, reader drinks, probably inaccurate depictions of parties and alcohol (guys I write fanfic I don’t go out.) possessive!dani, jealous!dani, a little bit of angst but a happy ending, lots of making out, some sexual innuendos and such, the usual swearing, lmk if I missed anything!

A/n: this is my first Katseye fic but anyways I think it’s cute lmk what y’all think 😘 this fic is so long. Omg. I’m sorry. ALSO!! This fic is not a real portrayal of anyone mentioned! This is for entertainment purposes only 💗

And also yes I’m using my original side characters from my other fics BC I WANT TO!!!!

Maybe listen to … Buttons by The Pussycat Dolls (or the Dream Academy version 🙈)

—-

Your eyes flick over the elaborate Instagram post, smiling at the shameless picture of your best friend on the second slide, looking at the infographic again.

Another party your best friend is throwing.

This one is supposed to a game night with promises of seven minutes in Heaven, spin the bottle, card games, and stripping games.

You roll over in bed, turning to face your roommate.

“Jackie?”

She’s engrossed in her phone, giggling at something, but as soon as she turns to look at you a wicked smile crosses her face.

“Have you seen my beautiful new instagram post?” She smirks. “Don’t I look so pretty in it?”

You stare her down, the corner of your lips unwillingly turning up into a smile.

“Ugh. Whatever! I’m a grown woman, okay? And, besides, it’s not even my party. It’s Matty’s and his frat’s party, I’m just promoting.”

“When is it?” You relent, slightly curious, feeling a little bit better by the fact it wasn’t technically her party.

“Girl, read the fucking infographic. That shit takes time to make.”

You roll your eyes but look back to your phone anyways.

“Tomorrow. Fun. No way I’m going with one day’s notice to a themed party.”

Jackie quickly stands up at this, crossing the room to throw herself on top of you.

“No!” She shouts, straddling you and pinning your hands to the bed. “You have to come, Y/N!!”

You attempt to push her off you with a screech.

“I literally don’t!!”

“Dani will probably be there…” she says suggestively, wiggling her eyebrows.

Shit.

As soon as she mentions the name of your infuriating friends-with-benefits-situationship-who-you-kinda-want-to-be-more she knew that you would be coming.

An opportunity to see Dani is an opportunity to… do other things with Dani.

“Maybe I’ll come,” you shrug, but your heart beats more just at the thought of her.

“You’re so in love with her,” Jackie teases, light-heartedly.

You quickly stick a smile on her face as she relents, getting up off of you and moving to your shared closet, talking animatedly about an outfit for you to “bag a baddie” whether that’s Dani, or someone to make her jealous.

Maybe your life revolves a bit too much around Daniela.

Sometimes, laying awake in her arms after a hook up, you stare up at the ceiling and try to coach yourself into believing that you’re happy with just this. You’re happy with whatever the hell you two are. You’re okay with not having all of her.

Then you’ll remember what just happened moments earlier.

And you’ll remember the way she makes you feel, that bad habit she has of biting her lip that drives you crazy, the way she tucks your hair behind your ears even when she’s on top of you.

She always finds a way to tuck your hair behind your ear. It’s not in a weird way, and you’ve never asked her why she does it, but you like to think to yourself that it’s just another way to touch you.

Sometimes she lingers.

God, sometimes her fingers stray just a bit too long, and her eyes widen and she catches herself. She’ll tuck her hands behind her back and start biting her lip, like she’s physically restraining herself from touching you.

Holding hands is a bit too platonic. Grabbing your waist is a bit too romantic.

But this, for whatever reason, feels good. It feels right.

You usually lay in bed for a bit longer. Listening to her breathing against you. And every night you tell yourself this is the last time you’ll let yourself pretend she’s your girlfriend. And every time the cycle repeats again.

—-

“Fuckin’ Professor Davis,” you mumble to yourself, angrily zipping your bag up as you sigh heavily. Your last class on Friday is always the worst no matter what it is. So close to freedom yet so far. It didn’t help that Professor Davis was fucking infuriating.

“What are you mumblin’ about?”

Your body tenses up.

“Nothing, Dani,” you mumble.

She easily falls into step beside you, shoulders bumping, and usually her presence would brighten your day- but Jackie was sending you pictures all class of outfit options for the two of you. Now you were stressed out, annoyed by the impossible deadline Professor Davis had set- really? A three page essay due on Wednesday?

“I don’t know why I ever wait for you after your class with him. He pisses you off so much,” she teases.

“It’s not my fault he’s the most idiotic professor to ever teach ever. I mean, seriously-”

She reaches out and tucks your hair behind your ear in a gesture that’s supposed to be calming.

And you’re… kinda in love with her. So it works.

“Calm down,” she soothes. You meet her eyes. She’s smiling at you softly, amusement etched all over her face. You quickly look forward again.

“Fine, whatever,” you mumble.

“Mumbling again,” she scolds jokingly, but thankfully lets it go. “Are you going to the party tonight? I figure you are, since Jackie posted it.”

“Yeah. Are you?”

“As long as you’re there, cariño.”

Her voice drops.

“Can I see you after? Please?”

Everything in your body screams to run to her. But that part of you that is still fighting desperately not to get hurt is screaming at you to run away.

Your heart starts beating faster.

She makes you feel like you’re drowning.

“Maybe,” you say.

“I’ll change that,” she smiles. She gets closer until she’s whispering in your ear. “I’ve missed you so much.”

You fall back into it.

“Maybe, Daniela.” You shoot her a smile. Her eyes light up. This is part of it, for her. The chase thrills her. She’s a little bit like a big lion, or something. She gives off this fierceness and definitely can be, but there’s also this big cuddly side to her. And that part of her that likes to chase you around on a stick.

That’s what it’s like, you suddenly realize.

She’s chasing you around like you’re dangling on a stick in front of her. When really you’re attached to her already.

You stop in front of the door to your dorm.

“I mean, no pressure.” She backtracks. “It’s not like we’re dating. You can do whatever you want.”

And just like that, she breaks the fantasy you were building.

“Oh, yeah, obviously.”

You start walking to your dorm before you can stop and replay the conversation in your head. You don’t notice the way her jaw tightens. The slight change in her voice, like she was forcing the words out. You don’t stay long enough to notice it.

—-

She says all the right things, calls you these Spanish pet names that are ten times better than anything anyone could say in English, and you know the intention behind it is wrong.

It’s not done out of love.

It’s all transactional- she makes you feel special. You fall into her bed. Into her. Again. And… again. And you flirt right back because it feels so good to pretend.

You sigh, cheers coming from the next room over as the already drunk frat boys get the broken speaker to work again. Music starts blaring through the house.

You don’t recognize the song, but it is in Spanish.

You roll your eyes, red solo cup crunching under your tight grip. Of course everything always comes back to her.

Maybe she’ll just always haunt you.

“Fuck,” you mumble, shaking your head as you reach for a bottle of vodka and pour more of it into your shitty drink.

“Y/N,” Jackie says with a bright smile, although the concern seeps into her eyes. “You okay, babe?”

It’s 9pm, the start time Jackie wrote on her infographic. People will start showing up soon, but it won’t actually become a true party until 10.

“Pregaming,” you shrug, knowing she sees right through it.

“Okay, fuck this.”

Her hand clamps around your wrist and she drags you through the mostly empty house until she locks the two of you in the bathroom.

“You’ve been acting all fuckin’ moody lately,” she immediately accuses. Your mouth drops open in shock. “I’m sick of it. Talk to me.”

“What the hell are you talking about? I literally haven’t.”

Sure, you’ve been thinking about Dani a bit more lately, but it wasn’t outwardly noticeable.

“The last time you hooked up with Dani you came home the next morning with some really sexy bruises on your hips to be fair, but also some crazy sad look in your eyes. Then you laid in bed staring at the ceiling hugging a goddamn pillow.”

Her eyes narrow on you.

“Dani is really beautiful, but no friends with benefits shit should make you feel like shit.”

Maybe you did do that.

“It’s whatever, okay?”

“It’s not, though. Not when I can see it on your face, babe.”

She grabs your hand, this earnest look in her eyes that suddenly reminds you she’s your best friend. She’s the girl who hugged you when you would get homesick freshman year. She’s the girl who parties with you and makes sure you’re never alone. She’s the one who listens to you talk about Daniela.

“It just sucks,” you finally relent.

“Yeah?”

“Like, sometimes I want to be more. But I know that would never happen. She’s just so… Dani. She doesn’t really fit with me. She would never want me back. Like ever. So maybe it’s better to just let her go now, you know?”

Jackie draws you into a tight hug that literally fixes every broken part of your soul.

You don’t realize it when a single tear escapes your glassy eyes and rolls down your face, but she notices it.

“I don’t think I want to keep being led on like this.”

It breaks you to say that. You’ve given Dani so much of your time, finally accepting that you were only meant to love her and leave her is harder than you thought.

The thing about Daniela is not only that she’s startlingly beautiful and haunts your every waking moment, but she’s so goddamn charismatic that everyone loves her. It’s why you love her.

Jackie backs away, and you look at yourself in the mirror. Red sparkly top. Jean shorts that were way too short. Your arms wrapped around yourself and a look on your face like you had just survived a war.

“First of all, don’t think like that. You are so gorgeous, and she’s lucky to have you. Also, she’s completely in love with you. I honest-to-God think so.”

You roll your eyes.

“Okay. Why don’t we just have fun tonight? Tomorrow we can talk.”

“I need to get so drunk,” you weakly laugh, wiping the tears from your face.

“I can definitely help with that.”

—-

This is definitely not the best party you’ve ever been to. But you’re so drunk that it certainly feels like it.

It’s 11, the house is now so full of people you just have to push through the crowd and hope you don’t knock someone over. So crowded that saying “excuse me” is pointless.

It’s exhilarating, this many people around, and for a while you really forget about her. Dancing with Jackie until Megan crosses your path on the dance floor.

Dani and her group of 5 other girls are inseparable.

Where one of them is, the rest of them are soon following. If Megan is here, so is Lara, Yoonchae, Sophia, and Manon. And Daniela.

Megan doesn’t see you, but by the way she’s animatedly greeting people, she probably just got here. And, shit, your eyes gravitate towards the door.

You don’t see her come in.

Jackie grabs you, obviously seeing Megan too, pulling you close to whisper in your ear.

“You good?” She asks, shouting slightly so you can hear her over the music and commotion.

You take a deep breath. You’re that perfect level of drunk where nothing can stay in your mind for too long, and all you want is to dance.

You nod.

She smiles.

Daniela appears behind her.

She’ll never want you back.

It keeps repeating in your head like a mantra. It’s written behind your eyes. It’s all you can think about.

“Hi Jackie,” she says, but doesn’t even spare her a glance.

She’ll never want you back.

Dani’s eyes rake their way up your body and you’re sure she can see you visibly swallow.

She really is like a lion. Her eyes are striking, her smile is sharp, everything about her has this sort of quality that makes it seem like she’s hiding razor sharp claws somewhere.

Her eyes are like claws now, stopping specifically around your hips and chest and leaving particularly deep marks.

“Hey, baby.”

Her smile. Your legs feel weak.

“Miss me?” She asks, joking on the fact you just saw each other a few hours ago.

“Obviously not,” Jackie says for you, a joking smile on her face. Her eyes are full of panic, glancing to you, not sure how she’s supposed to react on your behalf.

She’ll never want you back.

“H-hi,” you say back, stupidly. Your brain feels like it’s being sloshed around in a bucket of vodka.

She laughs. “Wow, you are so drunk.”

She steps closer, one hand coming to your waist, too low, fingertips brushing your ass- the other tucking your goddamn hair behind your ear.

You can’t stop staring at her eyes.

Your inhibitions are down. You’re about to make a total fool of yourself, you’re about to literally fuck her on the dance floor.

She’ll never want you back.

Someone squeezes your hand and caresses your shoulder. But it takes you a few seconds to look away from Dani, for everything to come back into focus.

The music starts blaring again. An elbow jams into your back.

She’ll never want you back.

“Y/N,” Jackie says. “I gotta go talk to Matty.”

“Wait, Jackie!” You say, needing to get away from Daniela, but she’s already disappeared into the crowd.

Dani grabs you as you try to run after her.

She’ll never want you back.

“You are way too drunk to be on your own,” she’s slightly teasing, slightly serious, and her thumb is rubbing back and forth from where she holds you by your arms. “You good?”

She’ll never want you back.

“Drunk,” you shrug. Drunk on her. And on vodka, but whatever. “I’m sorry, Dani, I really have to go.” You start trying to pull away, watching her frown.

Dani frowns. “Y/N-”

“No, I-I’m sorry. I gotta get away.”

You don’t stay long enough to see the hurt look on her face.

—-

After another few shots of reassurance, you feel a little better, a little more drunk, and now that you’re away from Dani- your head is clearer.

You would laugh if you could.

You’re so drunk your balance is shot, you can’t even think about what you’re doing, and yet you don’t feel like you’re drowning.

After watching you down three shots, Jackie had sighed, made Matty promise to watch out for the two of you, and quickly caught up.

The two of you like this with dangerously low inhibitions was probably not good… but it was too late to do anything about it.

People had been playing card games all night mixed in with some drinking, placing bets on who would win, but now the party had started to congregate in whatever room this was.

There were two couches, and in between was a small coffee table, low to the ground. There were a few decks of cards and drinks scattered about, but everyone gave the area a wide berth.

You and Jackie watched the unmoving area.

“That’s where he wants the strip poker to happen.”

“Really?” You turn to Jackie, her Instagram post suddenly flashing back to you. “Oh, yeah. Strip poker,” you giggle. “They’re all a bunch of pigs.”

“Could be fun.”

She shrugs, as if what she says is nonchalant.

You lock eyes before she suddenly bursts into laughter.

But something inside of you lights up.

“Wait, let’s do it.”

“What?” She gawks. “You can’t be serious.”

“Why not? We’re single…ish. Hot.”

For once, this excitement doesn’t have you thinking about Dani.

Jackie thinks it over.

Matty suddenly comes up behind the two of you, all of you forgetting his earlier promise to watch out for you two, and he’s clearly just as drunk.

“Did I hear you say you wanna play?”

You and Jackie share one last look.

—-

“Ladies and gentlemen, my drunk guys and girls, welcome to another one of my fuckin’ amazing parties!”

The crowd cheers.

You and Jackie are sitting across from each other at the table, being given random kitchen table chairs and told that you’re more than welcome to stand on them. You smile. You’re happy.

“Tonight is our main event. My two beautiful friends, Jackie and Y/N, are going to give everyone a wonderful show of… strip poker!!”

The house literally shakes with how much cheering happens.

“Remember to pay 5 dollars to me if you haven’t!” He shouts, before unceremoniously and rather quickly dealing each of you seven cards. “You draw one card at a time. Whoever gets the lower number has to take something off. Aces beat everything.”

He flashes both of you a bright smile before stepping back.

You’re not nervous. You’re not thinking about her. You cross your legs on the chair, a few boys whistle, and that only makes you feel more confident.

“Ready?” Jackie asks, smiling wide, giddy and excited.

“Yes,” you say, sporting and equally cheery smile.

“3..!” Matty starts counting down.

You grab a card.

“2..!”

Your stomach flips.

“1..!”

You swear you see a flash of something familiar in the crowd.

You both flip your cards.

Jackie draws a 10. You draw a 6.

The crowd erupts into cheers and whistles.

You smile, standing up as you place one of your legs on the chair. You run your hand down your legs before finally slipping your shoe off.

“Nope! Nope!” Matty shouts. “Shoes aren’t technically an item of clothing, but I’ll allow it if you take both off.”

This is met with more cheers.

You’re honestly kinda flattered by how many people want you to take your clothes off. You pretend to pout, when really you feel great. This was the reminder you needed.

So what if Dani didn’t want you back? Someone else in this crowd could take her spot.

You take your other shoe off with the same amount of fanfare before sitting back down.

Jackie loses the next round and takes off her shoes too.

Jackie loses again.

She undoes her belt and throws it to Matty.

You lose.

You don’t have enough clothing to be playing this.

Thankfully you do have a pair of fishnets on, but all of this cheering is kinda getting to your head, so you stand up on the chair. You wobble a bit and the crowd laughs, but you steady yourself by bending over and grabbing onto the back of it. Jackie and the group of people behind her cheer a little louder.

You start rolling down your fishnets, letting them shimmy down your ankles, and finally kicking them off into the crowd.

They were ripping, anyways.

“Spin! Spin! Spin! Spin!” The crowd chants.

You laugh. “You want me to spin?” You shout.

You glance at Jackie, but she only laughs and starts clapping to encourage you.

You twist your hands up into the air, tilting your head back slightly to expose the column of your neck. You do a few spins, looking back down at the crowd. The faces mostly bend together, and it’s mostly boys like Matty in the crowd, clearly enjoying the show.

You feel this sense of headiness that reminds you of when it’s good with Dani. You feel this all rush to your head, this admiration. You may have a giant ego after all of this.

That’s when you see her. When you really remember that she’s there, she’s real. She was almost yours.

But she’ll never want you back.

She’s in the crowd with a few of her friends who are cheering for you and smiling. They’re all sweet, and you wave to them.

Dani’s eyes are dark. She’s practically glaring at you. Her red solo cup is getting crushed in her tight grip.

Good, you think to yourself. You’re not stupid. You’re sure she has a roster. She can find someone else because she’s incapable of choosing you and committing.

You blow her a kiss.

You sit back down, feeling flushed and exposed. But in a weird good way. Maybe you wouldn’t be doing this if you were sober. But you’re drunk, and there’s nothing you can do.

At this point, Jackie has grabbed her cards and started standing on the chair too. You grab one of yours, feeling hundreds of eyes rake over your body the way that Dani’s do.

A drumroll starts.

You flip your cards.

You lose again.

Now you really don’t have anything else to give up.

Jackie throws her head back and laughs.

Your hands find the ends of your shirt, lifting it up over your head, leaving you in your short shorts and a red lacy bra.

The crowd goes absolutely crazy. You can’t stop smiling.

You can’t help but look towards Dani again. She’s facing Manon, her best friend, looking back at your intermittently.

Your heart stutters as you realize she’s angry.

She keeps gesturing to you.

Manon looks to be trying to calm her down. Sophia is holding onto her arm like she had tried to run up to the chair and stop you.

You look away, taking a steadying breath.

The sixth round. Jackie loses and takes off her shirt too, leaving herself in a bra and shorts just like you. At least she still has her tights on.

The last round.

You lose.

You start to fiddle with the buttons on your shorts. There’s two of them, and you have fun unbuttoning them slowly, biting your lip as you do so, sharing a few charged glances with Dani- who can’t take her eyes off of you.

You finally slip them off. Someone whistles so loud it actually kind of hurts your ears. You flick them off onto the floor.

Jackie shrugs before raising her hands in the air.

“I may as well join you!” She shouts, slipping off her own shorts.

She’s two far away to reach, but you suddenly wish you could hold her hand.

After a few more seconds of standing up there, a bunch of boys rush forward to help you off of the chair, one guy actually getting on his hands and knees in front of you as a very ineffective stepping stool. You grab two random hands as you step onto the guys back, before finally stepping off and onto the floor again.

At the bottom of this staircase of men is Dani and her group.

Megan and Lara are laughing hysterically at all of the men reaching for you.

You walk forward, hips swaying. Lara and Megan immediately bow down and grab your hands jokingly.

“Oh my god, you were so good!” Megan says, smiling as she stands up again.

“You are so hot,” Lara compliments simply. “Do you wanna get out of here?” She wiggles her eyebrow suggestively before bursting into more laughter.

“I think I have a very long roster now,” you laugh. “But I’ll add you.”

“Oh thank you Y/N, the amazing sexy Y/N.”

Yoonchae is the next to speak up. She’s an exchange student from Korea, and you smile at the way her cheeks are a little pink from just watching you.

“I’m scared,” she says. “I’ve never seen anything like that before.”

“We get crazy in America, babe!” Lara shouts.

You finally bring yourself to look at Dani, placing your hands on your waist.

Manon is standing shoulder to shoulder with her. Sophia is smiling at you but holding Dani’s hand tightly.

“Did you guys like it?”

“Um, yes!!” Sophia shouts. “You really put on a show! Are you sure you don’t wanna change your major to theatre?”

“I think I have a boner,” Manon jokes with a shrug.

Dani, who had been silently glaring at you the entire time, finally seems to break at this. While the rest of you erupt into laughter, she breaks out of Sophia’s grip and grabs your wrist.

“You need to come with me. Now.”

“Dani,” you start. Her grip on your wrist is possessive.

“Shut up.”

Her friends all try to interject but she’s suddenly pulling you through the crowd. You’re too surprised to even think about letting you go.

You find yourself in a hallway.

She opens one door. Someone shouts and you get a glimpse of two people on a bed.

“Oh god,” you mumble.

She drags you to the next door.

“Dani. What the fuck are you doing?” You try to tug her to stop, but she quickly rejects that and pulls you forward.

The next door is locked.

“Fuck,” she curses, taking you to the next door.

“Dani!” You shout.

The next door is open and empty.

She pulls you inside. She doesn’t even bother to turn the lights on, but the light to the adjoining bathroom was left on, giving you enough light to see her.

Seeing Dani in the dark is all you’ll ever do. Unless you get out now, you’re stuck in this cycle forever. She told you when you first started this that she’s not ready for commitment. And you respect that, and you love being with her- but you can’t keep pretending that you’re okay with only having some of her.

She unzips her hoodie and puts it over your shoulders.

“Please. You look like you’re freezing.”

“Dani.” You take a breath, zipping up her jacket, not feeling well enough to be completely exposed to her. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Like actually?”

“Um, with me? You fucking blew me off earlier. Next time I see you, you’re getting fucking naked for the entire goddamn party.”

“We are not dating,” you remind her. “And also, don’t slut shame me. I can do whatever I want.”

She leans against the door, her head hitting the back of it. Her neck is exposed, and you think back to the last time you were with her, how you kissed up her neck.

Sadness burrows deep inside you before your anger resolves.

“I can do whatever I want,” you repeat. “You told me this was casual. Besides, I’m sure you’ve been fucking other girls.”

Okay, that wasn’t true. But you’re angry.

Her mouth gapes open in shock.

“What the hell are you talking about?!”

“Don’t be dumb, Daniela. You’re, like, the most popular girl here. You could have anyone.”

“You don’t be dumb. You’re the only girl I’m fucking. Are you serious? Why would I even look at anyone else when you’re right in front of me.”

“Whatever. You wanted this to be casual. Remember that, Dani.”

She jumps off of the door. She grabs your face with one hand, her fingers digging into your cheeks and kisses your roughly. It’s all emotion. It’s all anger, jealously, every ugly emotion that she bares openly to you in this messy kiss.

It feels like fireworks. Like butterflies. Like what all the cliches say it’s supposed to feel like.

She finally lets you pull away. A string of split connects the two of you. Her lipstick and yours is smeared on her face. You’re both breathing heavily, her pupils are dilated, her eyes moving from your lips, pouted due to her tight grip on your cheeks, back up to your eyes.

“I’m changing my mind- no. I have changed my mind, Y/N. I want all of you. I’ve wanted all of you. For a long time. And I wish I told you sooner, because this was the worst night of my life.”

She smiles like that solves anything.

It all starts to click in your head.

“Are you serious?” You push her hand off of your face.

Her smile falters.

“I’m in love with you, hermosa.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“What?” She asks, looking genuinely confused.

“You wanted this to be casual. You led me on for months, Daniela. You made me feel like shit. I-I lost so much. So much of my self-respect and my confidence letting you drag me around. I’ve been in love with you since the moment I saw you. And tonight was good for me. It… made me feel good again.”

You didn’t even know you were feeling like this until she was in front of you with your lipstick on her face and you were suddenly shouting at her.

But it’s always been there.

The reason you thought she would never want you back… maybe it wasn’t anything she did. Maybe it was just your own brain making stuff up.

“I don’t think you could ever love me.”

“Herm- Y/N-”

“I think I want to be alone right now.”

“Oh.”

She looks like a kicked puppy.

You want to leave. But you can’t bring yourself to.

“It doesn’t matter that I love you?”

You take a step towards her and the door. You can’t decide which one you’re stepping towards.

“Because I do. I love you. I was literally about to step up there grab you off of that chair myself. I-I was so jealous. Like embarrassingly jealous. I think I discovered things about myself,” she laughs quickly before sobering up again. “And I just… I just want you.”

She steps closer.

“Please just say you love me back.”

“I do love you, Dani.”

Her eyes soften.

“But I need to, like, think about myself for once. Seriously. So I can’t… I can’t do this right now. As much as I want too.”

The silence stretches out.

“Say it one more time,” she whispers, finally looking away from you, eyes fixing on the floor.

It’s easy to say because it’s true.

“I love you, Daniela.”

—-

When you leave the bedroom, tears are streaming down your face. You’re not looking where you’re going, too busy trying to keep mascara from running down your face. It’s no surprise when someone says your name and softly stops you.

“Manon,” you say, taking a deep breath. Dani still hasn’t left the bedroom you were in.

“What happened?” She asks, in a way that tells you she’s not demanding, but simply open to listening.

“How much did you know?”

You’re not sure how much of what you did Dani told her friends.

“I know you guys were having sex,” she says, cautiously.

“Mhm.” You laugh dryly. “And we just confessed our love for each other, so, yeah.”

Her brows furrow. “Wait. Then why-”

A door behind you creaks open and shut.

Manon looks up and you can tell by her reaction that it’s Dani leaving the bedroom. You can feel her eyes on your back.

“I’m gonna go,” you mumble, slipping away from Manon and into the crowd of people. She hesitates but doesn’t stop you.

You lose yourself in the anonymity of the crowd.

Manon draws Dani into a hug, comforting the brunette as she does her best not to cry. “Babe, what happened?”

“She loves me,” is all Dani can think to say. Because that’s all that matters.

—-

You wake up the next morning hungover. Your head pounds, you can hear Jackie throwing up in the bathroom, and you remember everything.

How good it felt playing that game. How good it felt to know that Dani loved you. How much it hurt to know that you needed to step away to love yourself.

You stare at the ceiling, unmoving, listening to Jackie in the bathroom and trying to will away your own nausea. When she comes back, she flops onto your bed which makes your head scream.

“Jackie!” You moan, putting your hands over your eyes.

“What happened with Dani?”

“Damn. No hi? How are you?”

“Girl.”

After the talk with Dani, you had quickly found Jackie and left with her… without some of your clothes. You hadn’t wanted to talk about it last night, but it was obvious something had happened. You felt like you had been drowning, on the brink of death, and had finally been returned to air. All you wanted to do was sit here and breathe… even though you yearned for the touch of the hands that were drowning you.

“Y/N?” She pries, gently. She’s laying on her side, tucked in next to you with her head on your shoulder. “I saw her drag you off. What happened after that?”

You sigh.

“She… told me she’s in love with me.”

“WHAT?!”

“JACKIE!”

You hiss, digging your hands into your temples as she groans too. After a minute of recovery, your headaches have both faded back to their regular dull stabbing.

“Sorry. But what. The. Fuck. I fuckin’ knew it, first of all.”

“Oh, well that’s nice for you,” you remark sarcastically.

“And… why isn’t that good?”

“Because I hated myself when I was with her. You were literally the one who told me that she shouldn’t make me feel like shit.”

“Okay, true. But half of that stuff you were freaking out about was in your head. Babe, it was obvious she was in love with you.”

“Well why didn’t you tell me?!!”

“I literally did.”

“Whatever,” you mumble, not emotionally ready to handle that. “I think it’s pretty over. Or it will be over, once we get over each other.”

“But.. you’re in love with each other? I think you can learn to love yourself while she loves you too. Actually, that may be helpful. Like, I can tell you you’re beautiful, but I am not going to kiss you. Sorry.”

“Rude,” you gasp.

“Like, you’re hot, but Dani would kill me. I saw her while we were playing. She was pissed.”

“She told me she was jealous,” you admit.

“She wasn’t just jealous, she was, like, crazy possessive. She did not stop looking at you the entire time. Except for when she started arguing with Manon. She looked like she wanted to kill everyone in the room and then fuck you.”

She pokes you.

“Girl, that’s kinda hot.”

You stare at the ceiling.

“That’s okay. I know you like it.”

“Anyways,” you sigh, ignoring your best friend’s giggle. “I think I just need some time?”

“That sounds like a question, babe.”

“Because I don’t know!” You sigh. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Okay, well, I guess you should take some time to think. But I am team Dani, just so you know.”

“Thanks, Jackie,” you roll your eyes, wincing when it aggravates your headache.

“You do know you fell asleep in her hoodie though, right?”

You sit up on instinct, looking at the hoodie in shock. It’s hers. The one she put on you in the bedroom.

“Fuck.”

Your stomach turns.

“Fuck.”

“I’m supporting you from over here,” Jackie says as you run into the bathroom.

Dani: I hope ur not too hungover this morning.

Dani: If u ever need anything I’m here. Always

—-

The next time you see Daniela is after your Monday class with Professor Davis. Luckily, he was tame today, because you and Daniela always cross paths in this hallway.

You go the same direction at the same time. She always finds you in this hallway and walks you to your dorm. It used to be something cute that made you feel special. That made it easier to pretend like you were really dating.

When you exit the lecture hall, the first thing you do is look at her. She’s walking down the hallway, but looking straight ahead in an almost unnatural way. You hesitate at the door.

You watch as she finally gives in, sneaking one glance over to your lecture hall as she walks past.

Your gazes lock immediately.

Someone walking out of the classroom bumps into your back. You don’t even acknowledge it.

She looks away first.

Then glances back again.

—-

Matty places a McDonald’s bag on your desk.

“I’m sorry about not taking care of you guys on Friday.”

“It’s ok, Matty,” you say, grabbing the fast food bad from him and smiling at the correct order. “Thank you very much.”

Despite the shit you and Jackie sometimes give him, he really is a good guy. And by frat standards, he’s an angel.

“If it makes you guys feel any better, you were both really sexy.”

“Thanks,” you smile.

“We know,” Jackie says at the same time.

“A few of the guys already asked me if I can throw another party with strip poker again,” he laughs.

“Maybe we should perform again,” you joke.

“For real?” Matty asks, face turning serious.

“No,” you roll your eyes.

“Oh. No, yeah, that’s cool. A few guys asked for your guys numbers, too. But I shut that down.”

“I dunno,” Jackie starts, picking at a throw pillow in her lap. “I think Y/N needs a little something-something.”

“About Dani, right?” Matty asks. “I saw you two getting pretty heated but you disappeared with her before I could get over there.”

“Well,” you sigh, and Jackie lays back in her bed with a loud groan. You ignore her. “You know how we were having sex, right? Turns out we were both in love with each other. But I thought she was just kinda leading me on and I felt like shit, so now I’m like… taking space, I guess.”

“But you’re both in love with each other?” He frowns.

“Not the point. I need to love myself.”

“Sure,” he mumbles. “We are throwing another one this Friday too. We forgot it was the chapters birthday on Friday, or else we wouldn’t have thrown the last one.” He glances at you with a smirk. “Wanna make sure Dani’s there and then pole dance?”

You laugh.

“Sure!”

“Wait, for real?” You roll your eyes at his serious face.

Jackie throws a pillow at him.

“Obviously not, Matty. God, men are so stupid sometimes.”

“Damn, okay. Will you post again, Jacks?”

“Of course,” she smiles. “And Y/N- I think a distraction could be good for you. A one night stand, you know? Either to forget about her or make you realize that you’re meant to be with Dani. I prefer the second option.”

She smiles.

You glare back.

“Whatever. We’ll be there.”

—-

You: hey I still have your hoodie

Dani: keep it

You: Idk if that’s a good idea

Dani: keep it anyways

Dani: I’m not giving up on us

“Okay, so,” Jackie starts, looking up from your phone. “First of all, oh my god that is so hot. Second of all, I don’t think you should say anything else. Leave her wanting more, you know?”

You sigh, taking the phone back from her and looking at the text chain. Not only did she infuriatingly text back 10 seconds after you texted her, like she was just sitting around waiting for you to talk to her again, but her chasing you did feel… kinda good.

You understood why Dani did like a little bit of a cat and mouse game. It feels good to be wanted.

—-

This outfit feels like you’ve accidentally played another game of strip poker, and every time you lost, you had to take a pair of scissors to these tiny shorts and purple top marked with cut outs, showing so much skin you feel like you should pray just for wearing it.

You hug the wall. You’re not drunk enough to feel confident yet, and Dani will probably be here, and you think about her more than you should for someone who just walked away from her.

Jackie finally comes back, handing you two shots.

“Hey!” She scolds, watching you try to pull up and down on your outfit simultaneously. “Stop that. Now drink and be fun again.”

You sigh.

“I probably shouldn’t be using alcohol as a confidence booster.”

“No, probably not.”

You scan the party. Still no sign of Dani or any of her friends.

“You’re looking for her,” Jackie teases. “I can tell.”

“Shut up,” you mumble, hiding behind the now empty shot glass.

“Did you, like, want her to prove that she loves you?”

You toy around with the idea. “Maybe? Is that bad? That I don’t even know why I’m doing this?”

“No, because I know.”

You look towards her with a smile, but her face is serious.

“You’re overthinking it. You were sad when you were with Dani because you thought she would never choose you. Then she chose you, you got scared, but you want her back.”

She leans in closer.

“You need to get out of your head and let her prove that she loves you.”

“Jackie,” you groan, too overwhelmed.

But you know she’s right. You keep staring into the crowd, hoping she’ll pop up again. Remembering how good it felt to know that she wanted you until that self-sabotaging sadness and anger took over. Remembering the way she kissed you. The way she grabbed you. The way she said she wanted to take you off of that chair.

Jackie slaps your ass.

“Come on, girl! You look sexy! Go dance, and I’m sure as soon as she walks in she’ll be sliding all up on you.”

The alcohol is slowly starting to make you feel a little looser…

“I’m not going alone.”

Jackie grabs your hand.

—-

The dance floor is decidedly unsexy. There are green strobe lights making everything look kinda sickly, it’s hot, you’re sweating, and you’re surrounded by a bunch of hot and sweaty people.

It doesn’t help that half of these frat boys are practically seven feet tall and looming over everyone else, either.

Jackie had abandoned you a while ago, but you were okay with that.

You feel good.

You feel eyes on you.

It makes you feel like you did on that chair.

And it helps that you’ve had like 10 more shots.

A body appears behind you, hot skin pressing against your exposed back- you immediately know it’s not her. You turn around only to find some random frat boy with an unbuttoned shirt grinding up on you.

He grins.

You’re drunk and lose your balance, and he immediately swoops in to steady you.

“Remember me? I’m the guy you stepped on last week.”

You do laugh at that.

“That was you? Well, thanks.” Too busy thinking about her to really look at him.

He leans forward, breath hot in your ear.

“Wanna give me a private show?”

You pull back, stomach sinking, awkward smile on your face.

“Thanks,” you start, putting your hands on his chest to slowly try to push him back, his hands remaining tight on your waist. “But no thanks.”

“Come on, you know you want too, sweetheart.”

And the only thing you can think is that it’s not in Spanish.

Suddenly his hands are pushed off of you and replaced by familiar hands, by hands that you would know anywhere, the hands that could drown you and you would still want more.

“No touching,” she says to him, a faux gasp in her scolding tone. Her fingers splay out across your hips. You can practically hear the smirk in her voice.

He looks between the two of you.

“Threesome?”

“Ew,” you automatically blurt out.

Dani hums.

“I’m not big on sharing.” Her arms wrap around you tighter. “You can go now. She’s good here.”

“Whatever,” the guy, who never even told you his name, says before ducking his head in embarrassment and disappearing into the crowd.

But you’re too focused on the way Daniela is touching you. She kisses your neck and your entire body shudders.

“Every time I see you at these parties you’re always getting someone else’s attention.”

She needs to stop whispering in your ear in that tone of voice.

“Dani,” you start, but your voice is breathy. You’re shaking in her arms. You think it’s anticipation. “What are you doing?”

“I told you. I’m not giving up. But I’ll stop if you really want me too.”

You don’t speak.

She smiles and kisses your neck again.

“That’s what I thought.”

You place your hands over hers.

“Dani.”

It’s a warning. To her. To yourself.

“Hermosa.”

You told her not to call you that. But she’s obviously testing your boundaries… and you don’t say anything again.

“I’m sorry,” you suddenly breathe.

You can feel her confusion against you.

“Wh-”

She barely gets the word out before you whip around in her arms, plant your hands on her cheeks, and slam your lips onto hers.

She kisses you back immediately, her hands running up and down your sides like she’s trying to touch as much of you as possible. Like her hands are covered in paint, and the more of you she touches the more that everyone can see you’re hers.

That you never stopped being hers.

Both of you are hungry and the kiss is just as messy as the last one, except this one is so much sweeter because you both know you won’t ever go back to what this last week has been again. You’ll never let her go again. She’ll never let you go again.

She starts kissing your cheek, moving down to your jaw, your neck, mumbling something.

“Espléndida,” she keeps repeating. “Beautiful, hermosa, you’re so beautiful, so beautiful…”

“Dani,” you say, staring into the green strobe light across the room and letting the dots burn across your vision. You would be okay with going blind if she was the last thing you got to see.

She bites down hard on your neck. You gasp but pull her closer, your hands tangling in her curls.

“I want you to be mine,” she says against your skin, kissing the red mark she just made. “Please be mine.”

It hits you.

She’s begging for you.

Daniela has never begged for anyone in her life. Not Daniela, perfect Daniela either her perfect hair and outfits and mouth. With her perfect words and the way she speaks Spanish when she’s losing herself in you.

There are people all around you. You can barely hear her over this loud uptick in the music, and she’s whispering into your ear that she wants you, all she wants is you, her hand curling around the base of your neck.

Another hickey slowly forming.

Someone taps your shoulder.

“What?” You mumble.

“Um, guys,” the voice says, slightly sheepish.

Dani lifts her head from your neck, cheeks flushed with… jealousy?

“Can you not?” She immediately hisses without even seeing who it is.

Megan and Lara stand in front of you.

Megan is at least trying to hide her laugh. Lara is just doubled over hysterically crying.

“I don’t know if you guys noticed.,, but a lot of people are looking at you and you’re basically fucking in front of everyone.”

You finally glance around, nameless faces immediately turning away and staring at anything else.

“Um…” you start, feeling your cheeks heat up.

“We’re clearly busy,” Dani answers for you.

“Okay, damn, Miss Possessive,” Lara laughs, holding her hands up in mock defense. “Nobody is gonna take her from you.”

Dani hasn’t moved her hands from your neck and your waist.

“Just leave us alone,” she groans, throwing her head back, voice slightly whiny. “Seriously, guys.”

“All I’m saying is your car is literally parked outside,” Megan shrugs.

Dani blinks. Grabs your hand.

“We’re leaving.”

Lara stops you, putting her hand on your shoulder.

“Wait, Y/N. Do you feel safe?”

You burst out laughing.

Dani tugs you closer to her.

“Shut up, Lara!”

Her cheeks are red as she drags you through the party, ignoring your laughter, she only stops to let you snatch a mostly empty bottle of vodka you insist on grabbing… sensing you may need some liquid courage to get through this conversation.

But you hope there isn’t a lot of talking.

Dani’s red Mustang is parked a little ways down the street, and you don’t talk the entire way there. You’re trying to hide the bottle of vodka in your jacket, and she’s intently holding onto your hand.

The sun is setting. The sky is painted dark purple and pink.

The car is eerily quiet. It’s definitely different in the light. Without the anonymity of the dark, you feel as exposed as you did during the game. But the way her gaze lands on you- she makes you feel held and loved even when the console of the car separates you.

She makes you feel as heady as you did performing for all those people.

You bring the bottle to your lips and choke down a disgusting sip before handing it to Dani. She does the same.

“Dani,” you start, but your breath hitches when she reaches over and puts a hand on your thigh. Like it’s casual. Like it’s meant to be there.

“Yeah?”

You take a breath. You have to say this now, because everything about her makes you want to climb over and kiss her. Hard.

“I’m sorry.”

She frowns.

“Why? You don’t have to be sorry, baby.”

“Dani-”

“Wait,” she stops you, squeezing your thigh so you look at her instead of your hands. “Can I say something?”

You can’t stop looking into her eyes. Her entire face is full of real, earnest honesty.

You nod.

“You… told me that you felt like you weren’t good enough for me.”

She pauses. Your heart sinks, but you nod again.

“So it’s my fault. I should have showed you I loved you better.”

“No,” you sigh, looking away again. “You didn’t do anything. No- I mean- you did everything right. It was all me being stupid. I was just…” it takes you a second to say the word. “Insecure. Really insecure. And then I got scared when it got real. But I love you, Dani. And I’m sorry I ran away.”

She grabs your chin, softly angling your face toward her. She’s smiling.

“You came back. That’s all I care about.”

“I did.”

You smile.

You lean forward to kiss her, but she leans back, biting her lip.

“I’m not gonna kiss you, baby. Not until you say it.”

“Say what?” You ask.

The way she tucks your hair behind your ear. The way she makes you feel. The way she holds you. The way she kisses you. The way she’s so kind, so smart, so talented. The way she’s everything you’ve ever dreamed of.

“That you’re mine.”

“I’m yours, Dani,” you breathe, watching as that feline look crawls its way home onto her face.

“Yeah?”

“I’m yours, Daniela Avanzini.”

Her lips part, corners of her mouth still curled up, and she leans forward achingly slow- then stops.

“Hermosa, I spent a week without you and went crazy.” Her hand moves higher, toying with the end of your jean shorts. “We’re going to need some rules.”

“Rules?” You smile. “Maybe I don’t feel safe.”

She squeezes your thigh like a warning.

“I think you like me like this.”

You don’t respond, and that’s answer enough.

“First of all, clothes like this are for me only.”

She kisses your jaw, lips lingering there.

She’s right. You do like her like this.

“Second, you need to talk to me. I don’t want you to ever feel like that again, baby. You’re mine and I’m yours. I’m not going away.”

You nod. “I will, Dani.”

The way she cares about you makes her even sexier.

“And please, for the love of God, Y/N, don’t ever play a stripping game again.”

You laugh together, leaning forward until your foreheads are touching.

The kiss is sweet and soft. It’s not rough or angry, or charged with insane amounts of desire. It’s the kind of kiss that you don’t have to think about, because you know you’re gonna do it again and again.

She pulls back with a smile before reaching next to her and pulling her seat all the way down until she’s lying flat.

Her cropped shirt leaves her stomach exposed, and you have to tear your eyes away from her.

She pats her thighs.

“Sit, baby.”

You make your way over the console, heart continuing to beat faster and faster until you’re straddling her, her hand resting comfortably on your ass.

She grabs the vodka and hands it to you.

You can feel her watching the column of your throat as you swallow, a drip of liquid trailing down your lips and chin in your haste to get the burning stuff down your throat.

She tucks your hair behind your ear again and this time- she lets her fingers linger. Openly.

She sits up, her tongue darting out onto your sweaty skin, lapping up the trail of vodka until she reaches your lips, leaving one final chaste kiss there.

She grins. She’s like a cat. But she’s yours.

“I think your girlfriend should get one of your infamous shows. Right, mi hermosa?”

“Of course, baby.”

You smile, reaching down to slowly undo the buttons of your shorts.

—-

[utopeian]

be sweet to me

SUMMARY Bob notices that you're painfully shy to initiate physical touch and takes matters into his own hands. Literally.

PAIRING bob reynolds x gender neutral!reader

GENRE fluff, slight humor, established relationship

WORD COUNT 1.7k

WARNINGS a lot of oh's, reader is a working civilian, bob & reader's relationship is fairly fresh, no Y/N mention

AUTHOR’S NOTE requested! i listened to japanese breakfast's be sweet on loop while writing this, enjoy!

The city’s usual hustle and bustle has died down a little considering it was the middle of the afternoon, the sky was bluer and brighter and clearer than usual, soft music murmuring from the cafe’s hidden speakers. Or maybe it was because you were with Bob that everything happened to feel a little lighter.

You’re in disbelief that a man has made you think and feel this way.

You were in the middle of a discussion with Bob about the new book he picked up when your phone vibrates on the table. You shut your eyelids just to roll your eyes under them and redirected your focus back on Bob.

However, he also got distracted and pointed out, “aren’t you going to check that?”

You are, but you knew once you confirmed it was a message from your job, you’d have to burst the comfortable bubble you were sharing with your boyfriend. The title still felt incredibly new, in the awkward, squeaky clean way. In the way that makes you tiptoe around it to make sure the dirt from your shoes don’t soil the shiny ground.

“I— yeah, I probably should.” You sigh, getting the inevitable over and done with.

You see that the notification was, in fact, from your co-worker. Something about needing you to come in at the last minute, revoking your day-off privilege with a promise of giving it back some other time instead. Yeah right.

You grumble to yourself— or so you thought, not used to having a partner with heightened hearing— before putting your phone face down with a little more force than necessary, “I can’t believe I thought I could ever get a day away from work.”

(Bob doesn’t know if it’s acceptable to admit that he finds your annoyance attractive.)

It’s not that you found it difficult or that your co-workers gave you a hard time, but rather it gets tedious and boring at times. Sitting in front of a screen waiting for clients to get back to you regarding revisions and cramming them because it was their fault they didn’t email back right away didn’t sound so appealing right now. You didn’t really have the liberty of choice, though. So much for living in New York.

“Bob, I’m so sorry to end our date here, but I’m being summoned to work.” You sadly tell him. The hand you rest on top of your phone itches to reach over and hold his own that cradles his drink, but you manage to will it otherwise; it takes your whole being not to touch him. Too soon, you think to yourself, don’t scare him away.

He noticed the way your fingers shifted slightly towards his direction, eager to finally feel your hands intertwine. Keeping his eyes on your regretful expression instead, he waits for you.

Your hand never found his.

Bob slumps in his seat out of disappointment due to two things now. But living with a bunch of retired assassins forced into public duty has desensitized him from taking conversations cut short too personally.

He shakes his head to recover, a reassuring smile now resting on his lips. “Don’t apologize, I get it. The others also have times when they need to leave abruptly in the middle of conversations.” 

You’re sure he didn’t mean to, but now you just feel like more of an asshole. As you sluggishly start doublechecking your things, you ask him something out of curiosity. “Do you ever join them?”

He thinks about it a little, trying to see if there have been instances that he tags along because he was also summoned with them. “Hmm. No, not often. Too many risks involved.”

Half of your attention was towards fixing your bag but you manage to nod thoughtfully, listening as he vaguely recalls a time he actually joined The New Avengers to an important meeting, not wanting him to expound further if he wasn’t comfortable.

Before you had gotten together officially, when he knew he could trust you more than the level of friends, Bob had forced himself to open up a conversation with you about everything: his fucked up past, how he landed in Malaysia, and the time he had lost control of his strength and engulfed almost the entirety of the city in darkness.

You heard it all. And you decided to stay.

(If you put it that bluntly, it doesn’t exactly sound… romantic. There were obviously more nuances you considered before dating him.)

You lift your head up to see Bob already looking at you patiently and attentively, both his hands still on the paper to-go cup. You give him a little nod to indicate that you’re good to go if he is. He acknowledges it, standing first to be by your side before you get up. Cute.

Bob throws the empty cups in the garbage bin beside the receiving area; you hadn’t even noticed that he also grabbed your trash.

The barista by the counter says ‘come back soon!’ as the two of you exit, the little chimes above the glass door clinking to announce your departure from the cafe. The two of you walk a minor distance to stand outside by the glass display, not wanting to cover the doorway.

Your thumb slides under the handle of your bag, pretending to readjust it on your shoulder because you don’t know what to do with your hands yet, still painfully hesitant to reach for Bob’s. You peer up at him shyly. “Um, this is where we part ways, I suppose.”

He blinks at you owlishly, your concern only grows when he says a single syllable defeatedly.

“Oh…”

You blink back at him. Anyone intently watching your interaction from a distance might think you were communicating through morse code. “‘Oh’? What, ‘oh’?”

Bob fiddles with the sleeve of his soft sweater, eyes looking away from yours every few seconds. He can feel his face getting warmer and he’s sure you can physically see it.

“I, uh, wanted to walk you to work to… make sure you get there safely. I–If that’s alright with you, of course.”

Oh.

You’re stunned. You know it’s the bare minimum, but you can’t help but be surprised that anyone ever thinks to be a decent person nowadays. The rise of assholes, you suppose. “No, yeah. That’d be perfect, Bob. Thank you.”

He waves you off then stops his hand out right in front of you. Again, what is it with this man just being an annoyingly perfect gentleman? You felt the blood in your veins freeze, thinking he was going to ask for your hand, before he offered, “I can hold your bag.”

Your mistake for thinking he wanted to hold your hand, too! Whatever. You put your harmless bitterness aside to thank him again and give him your handbag, keychains rattling at the motion. Bob looks for the source of the noise, eyes lighting up once he sees the charms hanging on the side of your bag’s buckle.

You start walking towards the direction of your work building as he follows, cradling your purse cautiously in his arms to inspect your decorations and points one out. His finger taps on a sun-shaped charm inspired by the opacity of suncatchers.

“I like this one.”

Your eyes move from the street in front of you to what he was looking at.

…Oh.

“Me too, it’s my favorite,” you share, yet you’re reluctant to verbalize what you want to admit to him. Fuck it.

“I actually bought it ‘cause it reminded me of you.”

Your pace picks up nervously as your eyes immediately fleet anywhere except for the presence to your right; at a rat making its way down the subway stairs, strangers haphazardly crossing the road, a distant digital billboard blinking colorful images out.

Too frantic at the idea of Bob being weirded out at your confession, you don’t realize that he had finally shouldered your bag to reach out for your hand. The moment his palm slides into yours, your whole body is electrified. You love it.

You jolt to look over at him, a shy grin on his face, clearly pleased with your reaction. You realize that he had noticed your reservations and took matters into his own hands. Literally. You mirror his expression in double the glee.

From that moment to when you finally arrive in front your office, your hands never once detached from the other.

“This is where we part ways, I suppose.” You smile at him cheekily, parroting what you had told him earlier. 

Bob gives you your handbag; you almost forgot about it. His face hurts from smiling. Your moods are contagious. “For real this time, then.”

“Yeah…”

You really don’t want to go and Bob really doesn’t want to leave. But duty calls and bills and dates and gifts won’t pay for themselves. This time, you’re the one to take the step forward first, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

The way you bring him into the embrace is rigid at first but once you feel his body reciprocate, you melt together perfectly. You can’t believe you were nervous to hug Bob.

Pulling away seems like a foreign concept to you, so he does it for you, knowing your work desk awaits your arrival. He didn’t know he was capable of grinning this widely, laughing at your playful pouting.

He thinks you’re about to bid him a verbal farewell when you take another step closer, placing a delicate lip gloss-coated kiss on his cheek. He feels the same exact electricity you had felt minutes ago. You whisper when you pull away, gazing meekly into his affectionful eyes. “Thank you for today, Bob. I really enjoyed it, even if it was cut short.”

“Thank you too, I also had fun.”

You just look at each other, rocking your feet. After a moment of sweet silence, you finally point at your building with your thumb along with an exaggerated look of disgust playing on your features, sighing dramatically to get a laugh out of him. You think his laugh is cute.

Unwillingly, you turn your back on him to move forward, only to turn around a millisecond after. Bob’s still there, looking at you so lovestuck, hand awkwardly raising to wave. You giggle, finally taking your eyes off him and walking into reality.

Damn, you’re in deep.

[koyagifs]

free

pairing:: seonghwa x reader genre:: angst | au:: non idol | college au | lovers to exes synopsis:: all the secrets that keep me in chains, and all the damage that might make me dangerous. word count:: 2 k warning(s):: emotional neglect, quiet breakup, fem!reader.

It started off small—little things. Things you could shrug off, tell yourself weren’t worth overthinking. He’s just friendly, you'd say. That’s who he is. That warmth, that charm, that easy way he made everyone feel special… it’s what you loved about him. What you fell for.

But love starts to feel a little different when he's constantly rescheduling.

"I'm so sorry, baby. Something came up—can we reschedule?”

“Hey, hun. This session ran late—can we reschedule?”

“Shit, I’m sorry, princess. I totally forgot. Can we reschedule?”

At first, you laughed it off. Because that’s what you do when you love someone—you make space. You make excuses for them. You understand. But understanding turned into waiting. Waiting turned into wondering. And wondering… turned into doubting.

Now you catch yourself staring across the room, watching him lean in too close to her again. Her. The one he told you not to worry about. Over and over again, like if he repeated it enough, it’d become true. Like you were the crazy one for even questioning it.

you try not to be that person—the one who doubts, who checks phones, who reads too far into every smile. But God, it’s hard not to when you can see it so clearly now. The way his eyes soften around her. The way his smile lingers just a second longer.

He doesn’t cancel on her.

He doesn’t forget her.

And maybe that’s what hurts the most. Not the lies. Not the missed dates. But the slow, quiet way he stopped choosing you.

So you started to pull away—not loudly, not all at once. Just little steps backward. Small silences where there used to be laughter. Delayed replies instead of excited ones. You hoped he’d notice. Hoped he’d look up one day and realize you were slipping through his fingers. That maybe—just maybe—he’d reach for you again.

But he didn’t.

And as you stood out in the pouring rain, watching him rush toward her, his jacket already halfway off, an umbrella in his hand—not even seeing you on the other side of the street— your heart sank.

He used to do that for you.

Your shoulders slumped as your tears mixed with the rain, cold and unnoticed. You didn’t call out to him. Didn’t make a scene. You just stood there, soaking, watching the last piece of him walk away with someone else.

And in that moment, you realized: You weren’t losing him.

He was already gone.

You picked at your food, barely tasting it, the fork moving more out of habit than hunger. Seonghwa sat beside you, laughing easily with his friends—like nothing was wrong. Like you weren’t falling apart quietly beside him.

His hand rested on your thigh, the same spot it always had. Once, it used to spark something in you. Warmth. Comfort. Reassurance. Now it just felt cold. Foreign. Like a habit he hadn’t broken yet.

You flinched at the sound of her laugh from across the table. That soft, sweet laugh he used to say made his day. You used to think he meant your laugh.

You swallowed hard, the food suddenly like lead in your stomach. Your appetite had long since disappeared—right around the time you started noticing the way he looked at her when he thought you wouldn’t see.

He leaned in to whisper something to you, but his voice sounded distant, muffled behind the noise in your own head. You nodded anyway.

Because what else could you do?

You were still his, technically. But he hadn’t felt like yours in a long time.

“Say, Y/N, how’s the lyric writing going?” Hongjoong asked casually, eyes flicking over to you as he noticed the way you were just picking at your food.

Your head shot up, startled by the attention. Seonghwa glanced over at you too, his brows pinching together.

“Oh—uh… it’s going well, I guess,” you mumbled, not quite meeting his eyes.

“Writing?” Seonghwa repeated, his voice low with confusion. “I didn’t know you were working on lyrics this year.”

You gave him a tight smile, the kind you’d mastered lately—half-hearted and tired. “Didn’t really come up.”

Hongjoong leaned forward slightly, his tone brightening. “She’s got some real talent. You should hear some of the stuff she’s been working on. Actually—hey, you want to join Mingi and me in the studio tonight? We could really use your input.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Really? I mean—”

“Oh my god, Seonghwa, we have that recording session today with the agent!” Her voice cut through the table like a knife, high-pitched and urgent as she leaned in from across the way.

You stopped mid-sentence. Just like that, swallowed whole by the conversation.

Your lips pressed into a thin line as a wave of congratulations erupted around the table. Everyone turned to Seonghwa, clapping him on the back, offering their praise. Even Hongjoong’s smile faltered, his gaze flicking uneasily between you, Seonghwa, and her.

Seonghwa let out a sheepish laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “Thanks, guys,” he said, his voice tight but polite. “Really appreciate it.”

Then he glanced at you. As if suddenly remembering you were there.

“Thanks, but I promised Y/N I’d take her out to dinner tonight,” he added quickly, reaching under the table to squeeze your hand.

His grip was firm—like he was trying to ground you. Or maybe just anchor himself.

You pulled your hand away almost immediately, voice steady but cool. “It’s fine. An agent is a big deal, Seonghwa. You should go.”

The words hung in the air between you—polite, but edged with something sharper. A quiet refusal disguised as understanding.

He looked down at the table, caught off guard by your sudden distance. For a moment, the confident smile slipped, flickering like a crack in his carefully held facade.

The girl smiled widely across the table, eyes bright with excitement. “Great! This works out perfectly! We can go to the recording, and Y/N can go with Hongjoong and Mingi to their studio.”

You forced a polite smile, but inside, the walls felt like they were closing in. Seonghwa glanced at you, caught somewhere between surprise and resignation—like he hadn’t expected this plan to leave you out.

And just like that, you were the one left behind in the conversation.

Quietly, you slipped away from the table, your presence fading into the background like you were invisible. Tears welled up behind your eyes, but you bit your lip hard to hold them back. Pulling your hoodie over your head, you avoided every pair of eyes you were sure were watching—judging.

Envy and hurt coursed through you like a slow-burning fire. Seonghwa never mentioned the agent. Not once. And you knew how much this meant to him—how it was the dream he’d chased for years. To be picked up. To be an idol. To sing.

That he hadn’t shared it with you made the ache sharper. Like you were standing on the sidelines of his life, watching the one thing he wanted most slip just out of reach… And it wasn’t because he didn’t care. It was because he didn’t choose you to be part of it.

You had little hope that Hongjoong or Mingi would come for you. Seonghwa was long gone—no whispered “I love you” left on his lips as he was pulled away by the girl.

You didn’t even bother waiting. Already, you were walking away, head down, pulling your hoodie tighter as you made your way toward your dorm— away from the noise, the laughter, and the space where you no longer felt like you belonged.

That was until you felt a tug on your arm.

You turned to see Mingi standing there, eyes searching yours with concern. Hongjoong stood just behind him, his expression warm but curious.

“Where are you going?” Mingi asked softly. “Didn’t you want to join us at the studio?”

Their presence was unexpected, like a small crack of light in the darkness that had settled around you.

You were speechless, caught off guard, and Hongjoong couldn’t help the soft chuckle that escaped his lips.

“Did you think we were going to stand you up?” he asked, teasing but kind.

You knew he meant well, but the words still hit a raw nerve.

“I’m used to it,” you said a little too quickly—too sharply.

You saw the two boys recoil, their smiles faltering as they registered the weight behind your words.

“Shit, Y/N—I did—” Mingi started, his voice catching with regret.

“It’s okay,” you interrupted softly, forcing a small, genuine smile. “I’d love to join you guys in the studio.”

-

Hongjoong was flipping through your lyrics book while you and Mingi played around with some beats, switching back and forth on what to change and add.

“These are so… sad but good, Y/N,” Hongjoong said softly, handing the book back to you.

You nodded, offering a small, grateful smile—one he didn’t miss.

He picked up the microphone and held it out toward you.

“I think I have a good melody for the latest one. Want to give it a go?”

You hesitated for a moment, fingers curling protectively around your lyrics book. “Actually… do you have an acoustic guitar?” you asked, your voice quiet but steady.

Hongjoong’s eyes softened as he nodded, signaling Mingi without a word. Mingi gave you a small grin and disappeared into the back, already knowing exactly which one to grab.

Your heart was pounding, nerves coiling tightly in your chest. But maybe—just maybe—this was what you needed. Not the perfect take. Not the spotlight. Just a chance to be heard.

You were at the celebration party.

Seonghwa had been picked up just weeks after that recording session—the same week your own track with Hongjoong and Mingi had started gaining quiet attention online. Everyone was buzzing, drinks were flowing, and laughter echoed off the walls.

You stood near the edge of the room, red cup in hand, letting the bitter tang of whatever was inside ground you.

Across the space, you saw her. Nestled comfortably by Seonghwa’s side like she belonged there—like she’d always belonged there. Her hand rested casually on his arm, her smile radiant, and he… he didn’t seem to mind.

He looked good—confident, glowing under the soft lights, the kind of shine that came from dreams finally within reach.

You hesitated for a second, then walked up to him, fingers gently tugging at the edge of his sleeve.

He turned almost instantly, his eyes softening the moment they met yours. And for a brief second, it felt like the world quieted—like the music, the voices, the lights all faded into the background. He leaned down instinctively, close enough that his lips brushed yours in a near-miss. Familiar. Automatic.

“Can we talk?” you asked, your voice barely audible over the bass pulsing behind you.

His smile faltered—just a little. Subtle, but enough for you to see it.

He laced his fingers with yours, and for a second, it felt like maybe he would choose you. Maybe he still could.

But before he could say anything, she was tugging him back.

Her smile twitched when her eyes dropped to your joined hands. “We have to get a group picture!” she said brightly, though her voice was a little too sharp around the edges.

“Just give me a minute, I’ll be—” he started, glancing between you and her.

“Come on, it’s just a picture, Hwa,” she cut in, tugging him again, her fingers curling tighter around his arm.

And just like that… you felt him slipping again.

But instead of letting go, Seonghwa pulled you with him, his hand settling on your waist as everyone began to position themselves for the photo.

You stood still, frozen in place, eyes glazed as you stared somewhere just past the camera. You didn’t smile. Couldn’t.

You didn’t even see it happen—only felt it.

The absence.

Her hand cupping Seonghwa’s face. The soft laughter. And then the kiss.

His hand… slipping away from your waist.

You pulled back instinctively, stumbling a little as the space you once occupied was filled without hesitation. No one stopped you. No one reached for you.

But a few eyes lingered—some filled with concern, others with pity.

You didn’t cry. You didn’t make a scene. You just offered a small, sad smile to the ones who noticed. The kind of smile that said I’m fine, even though everything inside you was splintering.

And then, without a word, you turned and reached for your coat.

Because if he couldn’t hold on to you… you’d learn how to let go.

taglist: @soso59love-blog | @yeosionist | @bbokarismeow | @moonlitcelestial | @sunnysidesins | @hoeforalbedo | @majáaxx | @fandom-freak-geek | @Vix3e | @xh01bri | @lveegsoi | @puppyminnie | @tournesol155 | @xuchiya | @asesinas | @kyukyustar | @akreacja | @fran0407 | @flambychan | @sparda1234 | @elorabean | @hyxciinth1206 | @lizzstark | @addi-3 | @faeriehwa | @bangtan-sonyeondamn8 | @riri53 | @cromerstudios

[kuronarnze]

a/n: another sae oneshot... I think I have an obsession with writing sae 💔💔 enjoy reading !!

Itoshi Sae x Reader !

‧₊˚🪾✩ ₊˚🍂⊹♡

"If we had more time"

In which... you and Sae fall in love again after years apart—

only to realize he was never yours to keep.

Just borrowed time…

and a goodbye written in his own handwriting.

‧₊˚🪾✩ ₊˚🍂⊹♡

You and Sae had always been an odd match.

He was quiet. You were not.

He was precise, cold, and blunt. You were warm, expressive, and full of life.

And yet, somehow—you fit.

In the cracks between his schedule and silence, he let you in.

‧₊˚🪾✩ ₊˚🍂⊹♡

You met again in Tokyo after years apart. He’d just returned from Spain. You were working nearby. The first time he saw you again, he didn’t say a word.

Just stared.

You raised a brow. “What, no ‘long time no see’?”

He blinked. “You’re taller.”

You snorted. “So are you. And more awkward.”

He didn’t deny it. But you saw the edge of his mouth twitch. That was his version of a smile. You missed that.

‧₊˚🪾✩ ₊˚🍂⊹♡

The weeks passed. He asked to see you more often.

Sometimes you met at a quiet café.

Other days, you just walked in silence, listening to the city breathe around you.

You never talked about the past—not the sudden distance, not the pain.

You didn’t need to.

Sae showed his love in little ways.

An umbrella waiting at your door before the rain started.

A scarf handed to you without a word when the wind got colder.

Him sitting beside you quietly, letting your voice fill the air as you rambled about your day.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic. But it was real.

‧₊˚🪾✩ ₊˚🍂⊹♡

One night, while watching the stars from the rooftop of his apartment, he looked over and whispered,

“If I asked you to stay with me, would you?”

You blinked, confused. “Stay with you?”

“Here. In Tokyo. Even if I leave again for matches. Even if I’m gone more than I’m here.”

You swallowed.

“If it means being with you… yes.”

He turned away, and you saw it—his eyes glistened. Just for a second.

“Good,” he said softly. “That’s good.”

‧₊˚🪾✩ ₊˚🍂⊹♡

The next few days were perfect.

He kissed your forehead before matches.

Left little notes for you when he knew you’d sleep in.

He held your hand like he never wanted to let go.

You should’ve known.

The way he stared at you a little too long.

The way he held you tighter each night.

The way he whispered “I love you” with something like desperation in his voice.

You should’ve known.

‧₊˚🪾✩ ₊˚🍂⊹♡

It came on a rainy Wednesday.

You woke up and the apartment was quiet.

His jacket was gone.

No note.

No calls.

Nothing.

You called his phone—no answer.

You tried the team. They said he was “on leave.”

Leave?

Panic began to bloom.

And then—

a small letter arrived at your door, sealed in Sae’s handwriting.

‧₊˚🪾✩ ₊˚🍂⊹♡

I’m sorry I didn’t say this sooner.

I didn’t want to ruin what we had.

But I’ve known for months now.

There’s something wrong with my heart.

Not metaphorically. Literally.

The doctors in Spain told me it’s degenerative. That I might have a few years, maybe less, if untreated.

The only way to live is to step away from the game. From the world I built everything on.

But I’m selfish. I wanted just a little more time with you.

I wanted to love you once in this lifetime.

Even if it meant disappearing before it got worse.

Please don’t wait for me.

Please don’t hate me.

Thank you for giving me the happiest version of myself, even if it was borrowed time.

— Sae

‧₊˚🪾✩ ₊˚🍂⊹♡

Your fingers trembled.

The room swam.

You didn’t know if he was in Spain. If he was in surgery.

If he was okay. If he was—

No.

You refused to believe it.

You held the letter to your chest and whispered,

“I would’ve stayed, Sae. I would’ve stayed even if you had no time left at all.”

But he was gone.

‧₊˚🪾✩ ₊˚🍂⊹♡

Sometimes you still see him.

In the rain, under umbrellas.

On rooftops, in stars.

You don’t know if he’s alive or if he just didn’t want you to see him fade.

But every year, on the anniversary of that letter, you receive a single envelope.

No return address. No name.

Just a pressed flower.

Your favorite kind.

And a postcard that says:

“Still thinking of you.”

You were his peace. He was your heart.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough—even if the story never got to finish the way it was supposed to.

‧₊˚🪾✩ ₊˚🍂⊹♡

aw hell yeah I'm sick and angst is my medicine 😈 I'm not so good at writing angst sooo this is prob my like uh 3rd? 4th? 5th? Angst fic !! Thank you sm for reading & have a nice day 🫶💗 THANK YOU SM FOR REQUESTING ANON !!

[holasoythecreator]

pairing> mc/reader x yandere Caleb

warings> kidnapping, suicidal thoughts, caleb speaks very nicely to be the perpetrator but he is, shitty and criminal behaviors in general by caleb ofc, stockholm syndrome, depersonalization, angst???? i dunno, i dun usually write for others, or write in english to be fair

word count> 900

Since my funeral, everything’s been the same. And I don’t mean the same as before, of course not, my world completely changed after that.

I wish I could say the only constant is Caleb, that he’s the one thing I’ve kept from my old life. But I refuse. I refuse to believe that the man he is now and the one I knew when I was young are the same person.

I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m really dead after all. That this is hell. I think the funeral Caleb staged in my honor to erase me from every record and every search was real.

I died on December 16th, and everything’s been the same since.

There are no differences between Wednesday and Sunday, only between the days when he’s here and when he’s not. I don’t bother checking the dates; I don’t want to know how long I’ve been here. Or how long my friends have missed me. Or worse, how long it’s been since they got over me.

I don’t want them to move on. I want to haunt their memories forever, I want them to suspect, to look for me, to stop Caleb in the street and ask about me every time they recognize him.

I want them to parrot over and over, “Im sorry about your sister, that must’ve been hard.” I don’t care if they think I’m dead — I just want to exist in someone’s mind.

Now I live in a cabin. He visits sometimes; he doesn’t live here. He spends more time on the fleet than with me. And I don’t know if that makes me feel relieved or furious.

Caleb makes sure I have everything I need to survive. And to stay busy. That way I won’t start thinking, not even by accident, about hanging myself from a tree.

I think it didn’t work.

There are cameras everywhere, like the ones he had in his apartment at Skyhaven, like the ones he used to put in my clothes, or the one he set up in my place to see if Xavier was visiting me too often.

My privacy was never really mine.

I realized it too late.

“You’re more… alive when I’m home,” he said once, as if this were remotely similar to a home.

“What do you mean?”

He was touching my skin as he spoke. Not like it was skin, but like it was a treasure**.**

Maybe that’s what it was.

People keep their treasures hidden away, in places no one will ever find them.

“Every time I check the cameras, your eyes are empty,” he whispered, like it was a secret, or like someone might overhear. “But now... they don’t.”

Of course not. He’s the only human contact I have left.

The first months — weeks, days, hours, or god-knows-what — I preferred loneliness a hundred times over being near Caleb. A long time ago I stopped considering the days when he’s not here as actual days.

What the hell is a day, anyway? Twenty-four hours, sure. And what are hours? How do I know when one ends and the next one begins if every second feels so distant from the next?

I still remember what a second is only because I can count them.

I wonder how long it’ll take me to forget that too.

I still count the seconds until my death.

“You grew all this by yourself…” he sounded proud, as he looked over my plants, holding me just as close as always. “How are the bees going? Do you like ‘em?”

“Fine. I like them.”

He already knew that. He’d seen it on the cameras.

He kissed the slope between my neck and shoulder, proud.

“Did you know you can make candles with beeswax?” he asked. “I’ll print you a tutorial so you can try it whenever you like.”

I liked that.

Those tiny traces of freedom he let me have.

“Thanks.”

Thanks for what?

The dragonfly tried to escape when Caleb and I got too close, but it stopped mid-air and “flew” back toward us, and landed in my hands. Then he deactivated his Evol, and I had to trap it between my fingers so it wouldn’t get away again.

“Did you get a good look?” he asked, guiding me toward the cabin’s porch so we could sit.

“Yeah.”

“Does it remin’ you of anything?”

“The Meganeura.”

“Bingo!” he grinned, proud. “This is the closest modern species to the Meganeura from the Carboniferous period.”

I let it go again, but Caleb made it land on the table in front of us so I could look at it better.

“Can I keep it?”

“In a terrarium?”

“Uh-huh.”

He shook his head, a little sad to have to say no.

“Dragonflies can’t live in captivity. Trust me, I checked,” do I have another option? “Adults need open spaces to fly and natural sunlight, otherwise they get stressed and their wings can get damaged.”

I stared at the huge dragonfly in front of us, still, wrapped in a soft orange and dark blue glow. It could die with just a little more pressure —Caleb knew it, and so did the dragonfly, apparently. It could move, but if it did, it would get hurt. Killed, in the worst case.

It was beautiful. Majestic like the Meganeura. Maybe not as big, but it didn’t need to be for me to admire it.

Maybe it’ll become my favorite animal.

I loved it.

I wanted to take a picture, but I had nothing to take one with.

Maybe if we kept it, it wouldn’t last long, but I could look at it a little longer.

…

“Let it go, please.”

you can take the addicted out of the addiction but not the addiction out of the addicted?? i used to write a lot of content like this before. but then i stopped, and now the fever is coming back, stronger than ever (im working on a visual novel)

no gona lie im scarid

[pintobug]

maintenance

dbf!joel miller x female reader

chapter 7: who’s still standing when the smoke clears?

rating: 18+ MDNI

masterlist

summary: first day back at the diner & a flat tire? joel can make it better.

word count: 5.5k

tags: internal conflict, mentions of anxiety/OCD, mild angst?, little bit of fluff, very transitional chapter im sorry lol, age gap, reader is 23, joel is 46.

a/n: got myself back on schedule. have the next few chapter outlined and i’m excited to write them. thank you all for being beyond patient. <3 also- i've tried to make my writing of reader to be as neutral as possible besides the mention of a little bit of hair length. but if theres ever a sentence of time where you guys think i'm possibly too descriptive of the reader, please point it out!!! i literally just think of myself when writing and have found myself mentioning that readers face turns red when embarrassed while that isn't true for all skin tones. so as i've caught it i've tried to change it to things like 'you feel your face warm' instead. if theres anything i'm overlooking please do not shy away from calling me out! the next chapter will be fun you guys i promise

You did not expect your first day back at Riverside Diner to be so fucking horrendous. It started with two people calling out. Not too bad, but that was just the beginning. Frank was ticked off, but he picked up some tables here and there to take some of the pressure off of you and the other servers. You were nearing the end of your shift, beyond thrilled to go home, get clean and settle down. You’re proud of the way you handled it- just being thrown into the pits of hell like you haven’t missed a day. Bill even tossed some french fries in a paper boat your way, his silent way of thanking you.

You pushed through the swinging doors of the kitchen to look for Frank in the dining room. You locked eyes with him immediately and knew something was wrong. His eyebrows were all pinched up, eyes wide enough to see the whites clear as day and that forced a little too wide smile of his. Frank is moving quickly between the aisles of booths and nodding frantically at the new tables. Your shoulders dropped, the lead weight in your chest pulling them down. You have a feeling you won’t be able to leave right now.

“Hey, sugar.” Frank says with pleading eyes and a sickeningly sweet tone.

You inhale deeply and nod your head, knowing exactly what he’s asking for.

“Need me to stay a little longer?” Deep down you hope he says no.

He nods his head.

“Overheard a few of the tables talking about the arena on campus. I guess there's a band playing- I don’t know. But I need hands, hun. I cut Michelle ten minutes ago. It’s just us.” He wears a pained expression on his face while admitting that last part.

You can’t leave him. You exhale while scanning the dining room, the bell on the door indicating that new customers are filing in is relentless. Slowly but surely table after table filled up, then it was the bar stools and no one was able to flip tables quick enough to keep the line out the door under control. Double sat, triple sat and before you know it there's six tables that don’t have drinks yet. You can’t even think about the bar yet.

“Excuse me!”

You can’t even tell which table it’s from.

Your forced smile is fading and tunnel vision sets in. Frank checks in with you here and there by patting his hand on your back while passing by. He’s running around you, weaving through customers trying to lessen the load. Trays of drinks going out quickly. You’re sure you forgot to put syrup on one of the tables but you can’t remember which. Tightness in your chest reminds you to breathe.

“Come on.. Not now.” You mutter to yourself while repeatedly jamming your finger into the service computer.

It locks up and freezes every now and then but you didn’t have the time for it right now. You’re only halfway through putting the damn order in when it seizes up. You close your eyes and bite back a groan. You can hear the kitchen scrambling, Bill barking out dishes, ticket numbers and tables that he’s still waiting for one more thing. Your throat feels tight. You’re wasting time standing here and just waiting for the stupid fucking computer to pick back up. You slam your guest check down onto the counter and make a round of the tables.

“Can I have a refill?”

You have to double back to grab the cup which wasn’t even empty. It sloshed as you gripped it up and spilled onto your forearm. You cursed under your breath and quickly turned away. Before you dropped that drink off another table stopped you.

“Hi, how much longer for our food?”

Words to the tune of: ‘Are you fucking kidding me?’ are bubbling at the back of your throat. You bite them back and force a toothy grin.

“I’ll check.” You feign kindness.

Quickly you drop off the refill and practically run into the kitchen and past the swinging doors. The first thing you notice is the constant mechanical whirr of the ticket printer spitting out the papers non stop. Bill keeps this a well oiled machine but even now there's tickets hanging from the printer that haven’t been looked at yet, bodies darting from station to station- plating, wiping, topping and serving it through the pass. Bill whistles to you and gestures to the plates he set on a large serving tray.

“Booth ten.” He says, scrapping the ticket and piercing it on the pin.

You grab the large tray mindlessly and head back out into the dining room.

Ten. Ten. Booth ten. Ten.

You’re bobbing through people standing in the walkways, your ‘excuse me’s falling on deaf ears.

“Can I have another straw?” “I think I ordered…” “Are there more napkins?” “…An extra side of bacon.”

You don’t even know which direction the voices are coming from at this point. Somehow you make it there in one piece and don’t even remember setting the food down.

“Can we have syrup?” “And some more napkins.” “If you have any hot sauce, we’d love it if you could bring some out!”

Fuck, you knew you forgot the syrup. By the time you grab the bottle you forget what table even asked for it. You chewed nervously on your lower lip while almost jogging up and down the rows of tables before finally- no syrup in this booth. You set it down, apologize and scurry back to the kitchen before they have the chance to get a word in.

The computer. Holy shit you forgot about the fucking computer. You still didn’t finish putting that order in. You try to now show your pure panic on your face while making your way back to the system. You whine quietly, bouncing on your feet impatiently as you wait for the screen to wake up. It takes a few seconds longer than usual but it’s up. All the air leaves your lungs in a long exhale. Quickly, you enter the order that was forgotten about. Double check it and send it.

You’re running on fumes. Your hands are sticky from syrup and drinks splashed up your arms and your apron is covered in crumbs and smeared whipped cream. Your sweat is sticking to your temples and you’re sure you’ve sweat off half your makeup. There's an ache in the soles of your feet and your lower back and your palms and your bladder- you really need to fucking pee.

The bar. How could you forget about the bar? You quickly make your way behind it and check in with each and every customer sitting there. You turn around and refill, turn again and set it back down. You’re grabbing ketchup, cream, sugars, tabasco, syrup, butter squares, silverware and anything else you could think of- they’re asking for it. The sweat is visible running down your temples, beading under your eyes and the top of your lip.

It goes on for so long. So, so long. Frank trying to keep up with tables, Bill trying to keep up with the kitchen and you trying to keep up with survival right now. But there is a turning point. A light at the end of the tunnel where you’re printing more checks than you’re creating. The bell on the front door no longer signals patrons coming in, but going out. You’re actually able to clean a table off here and there.

It ends. Eventually. You don’t know how it ends but it fucking ends. Hours later. Hours after you were supposed to be home and in bed. When the last customer exits Frank quickly locks the door behind them and takes a moment to lean against the door.

“Holy shit.” Is all he says.

You finally get to pee before starting the break down. Your head is buzzing while clearing tables, thoughts on loop of how exhausted you are and how gross all of these tables are.

“Don’t do any silverware. Just.. We just need to get this place looking like a bomb didn’t go off, hun.” He speaks slowly, clearly exhausted while beginning to sweep the floors. You just finished cleaning the last table when Frank lets you go. He shushes you when you tell him you can still help but he thanks you and pulls you into a hug before sending you on your way.

You made it to your car twenty minutes ago but you just couldn’t muster up the courage to start it. The center of your steering wheel is at the focus of your stare the entire time. Grateful doesn’t even begin to explain your feelings towards sleeping in a little more earlier today. You didn’t have enough time to walk, so you took your car. If you had to walk home after all of that you might have lost it.

Empty. Drained. Fatigued.

All accurate words to describe you right now.

In time you manage to start the car then slowly pull out of the spot and start heading home. You turned into the street and stopped at the red light once you reached it. Sighing, you peered over to your phone that's sitting in the passenger seat. There's a few texts from Ellie. That’s it. You’ll see her soon so you don’t need to answer her right now. There's a soft pull in your chest. You were hoping to see a text from Joel, if you were honest with yourself. Something to pick you up after the shit show you encountered.

The light turns green.

You slowly turn the wheel to the right and let up off of the brake and-

POP! Pfffffffffft.

You jump at the loud noise and slam your foot into the break just as your car slowly begins to tilt. You look around frantically with wide eyes.

“Fuck.” You whispered, peeking out into the street.

You gently pushed your foot into the gas, trying to pull to the side and you heard the crunch of glass under your flattened tire.

“Fuck.” You say again but sharper this time.

You quickly throw the car into park and fling the door open, legs moving quickly while rounding the hood of the car and-

There it is.

The flaccid rubber of the passenger side tire.

You refuse to believe it. Theres absolutely no fucking way you popped a tire after the day you just had. The universe has to be playing some sort of sick joke.

You’re mouth hangs open. Flat. Throat is dry. Buzzing fills your ears and tears sting your eyes and your fingers start to numb and your chest is tight and the dizziness starts to creep in and now your face is wet from tears you don’t even have to push out. A broken sob leaves your lips. You pat your hands down your jeans and your pockets are empty. There’s fucking syrup everywhere and the sweet smell on your hands is starting to turn your stomach.

Nauseous. Dirty.

You throw open the passenger door and scramble for your phone with trembling fingers. Everything is blurry through the stinging in your eyes but you find your phone and swipe through it maniacally. You don’t even know what you’re doing all you can feel is lead in your chest and in your stomach and pins and needles in your arms and running down your fingertips and-

“Another late night call?”

The sound of his voice makes you cry harder.

“Woah- What's wrong?” His voice is taught and frantic, that slow sultry drawl now thrown out the window.

You choke out his name.

“Where are you?”

You’re babbling and making no sense. Sore. Your eyes are sore and your throat is sore and your nose starts to run.

“Baby, please tell me where you are?”

You hear keys over the line. You’re rubbing your eyes to regain some sight through tears and running makeup while choking out the closest street sign you can make out and that you think there's a coffee shop behind you. You’re stuttering, every word that passes your lips pulls any lasting energy in your body. Hands are so numb you can’t hold the weight of your phone anymore and it bounces back onto the passenger seat while you sob uncontrollably. Raw and broken and loud.

Crumbling onto the curb, you try to soothe yourself by wrapping your arms around your knees. But you’re sticky. And dirty. Your chest is heaving with breaths ripping through your esophagus. There’s nowhere you can go to wash off and you’re all alone with the walls closing in despite being outside, crying too fucking hard to see your hands right in front of your face.

You don’t know how long you’ve been here. It could be seconds, minutes, or even closer to hours. It’s all melting into one. Continuous sobs while your hands paw at your face in a useless attempt to dry it from tears.

You hear his voice in the distance all muffled and broken up between your sobs. The usual roar of his truck engine is just barely there. A sharp pain in your lungs prevents you from taking a full breath. All the muscles are constricting around your chest. You can’t take a deep breath and your eyes are fluttering while the ringing in your ears takes over everything, deaf to any other sound.

If you thought your throat was raw before, you were sorely mistaken. Every breath hurts. Ripping in and out of your esophagus that's heating up from all the irritation to the point where you’d believe it if you coughed up blood.

Two strong hands settling at your shoulders drags you to a somewhat conscious state. Your face is hot, head throbbing from all of the blood whooshing around. You’re hunched over and shaking. The hands. Strong hands. You feel them gently on your cheeks, tilting your head up. You hear your name over the all familiar crashing waves.

Joel is on the verge of panicking himself. His large hands are enveloping the side of your head that's slick with tears and sweat and who knows what else. His calloused thumbs are swiping at the tears but it’s no use. They keep rolling. Joel catches a glimpse of what should be the whites of your eyes- all red and irritated now with puffy lids. Your lips are swollen and red. He can’t tell what is tears, spit, snot or sweat but he doesn’t care. He just needs to make sure you’re okay.

He’s feverishly scanning your body over and over and over again. No wounds. No injuries. That he can see at least. His stomach turns, nursing his own bout of anxiety but anger bubbles over that as the worst comes to his mind.

Did someone hurt you? Did someone fucking hurt you and leave you here?

He can’t spend time seething over the possibility while you’re hysterical in front of him. He needs to reel you in. He starts by whispering your name but it’s overshadowed by your cries and gasps for breath. He repeats it but can see the disconnect. You’re looking through him right now. Not at him. He’s talking but you’re not hearing.

He does the only thing he thinks he could and pulls you into his chest there on the curb with his knees digging into the asphalt. Joel soothes a hand down your back repeatedly and whispers into your ear. He’s talking aimlessly about anything that comes to mind. But it starts to cut through.

He pulls you from his chest after some time and takes another look at you. This time you’re looking at him. Really looking. Pupils dilated. His heart throbs heavily. Seeing you like this makes him sick but he doesn’t dwell on it. He knows he needs to be a rock for you right now and he wouldn’t want to do anything else. All caution is out the window. Joel doesn’t care if anyone sees him consoling a ‘client’ at this time of night. The word leaves a bad taste in his mouth. You’re no damn client to him, no matter how badly he tries to convince himself.

He thinks about you a lot. He tries to control himself, he swears he really does but it’s to no avail. He tries not to contact you the second he opens his eyes and it’s getting painful. He doesn’t have an easy time trying to process these emotions. Forget explaining them. He’s not good with words despite how well he can talk you through it. Joel likes to think his actions speak for themselves.

They do.

The waves begin to settle and the gravel of his voice takes over.

“Shhh, s’okay sweetheart.”

“Gonna need to try and calm down f’me, now.”

“I’ve gotcha, darlin’.”

Your voice is frail and cracking.

“M-My tire.. I’m dirty.” You sputter out through a coughing fit and quieting sobs.

He can just barely make out what you’re saying through your gasps for breath and coughing.

“Are you hurt? Did somebody hurt you?” His voice is soft and unwavering with fear in his eyes.

“No!” You choke out and sob into his hands that linger at your face.

You don’t mean to raise your voice at him but he doesn’t mind. You bring your hands to cover your face but instead they clamp over his hands that cradle your face. He pulls you closer into him, feeling the sticky syrup grab onto his shirt and frowns. It doesn’t bother him really but he knows it's upsetting you.

“C’mon baby, look at me.” Joel tries to coax you through your heavy breathing but you don’t listen.

Slowly he pulls his hands from your face and finds your eyes again. Joel takes both of your hands in one of his and presses it to his chest. He takes slow, calculated breaths that force his chest to expand and collapse.

“Breathe with me darlin’.” He whispers

You tried to focus on the steady rise and fall of his chest but it was hard. Joel reeled you back in with a squeeze of your hands. You can feel the soft thud behind his chest. Steady and strong. You flatten your one palm there and try to focus. Rise and fall and thud. He’s here and he’s real and you can feel him.

You suck in a slower breath through a tight jaw, attempting to match him. It’s broken and shaking but it’s slower. Joel nods his head encouragingly and continues to exaggerate his slow, deep breaths.

You’re almost matching his pace now, your own heart no longer thumping in the base of your throat. Tears are slowing to a drip down your cheeks.

“Are you hurt?” Joel speaks up eventually.

“No.” Your voice is hoarse.

“Why are you out here all alone, sweetheart?”

“Tire.”

He looks over his shoulder at it and then back to you.

“Did something happen before that?”

“Work.” You have no energy to give anything more than that flat, one worded answer.

You can’t force anymore and Joel knows that, so he doesn’t push. He lets you sit quietly against him for some time.

Eventually Joel taps you and pulls you up with him while holding you steady.

“C’mon with me.” He whispers and walks you over to his truck that's pulled in front of your car.

He keeps his arm wrapped around your shoulders as you walk next to him. Joel lowers the tailgate of his truck and turns to you then picks you up like it’s nothing and sets you onto the edge with your legs dangling off. He stands between your knees with hands at your shoulders, steadying you.

“I’ll be right back.” He mutters and leaves you to dig in the cabin of his truck.

You’re slouched over with the weight of the world on your back and your arms collapsed into your lap. You sniff and rub your wet nose with the back of your arm and let it collapse again. Joel returns shortly with a bottle of water with the cap already removed.

“I always got some in the back seat.” He says casually while gesturing it towards you.

You blink at it a few times then look at Joel before slowly taking the water bottle into your shaky hand and bringing it to your lips. He leans forward to press a kiss to your forehead while you take small sips. Then another. And another. And the last one lingers for a long time. The water hurts going down your throat, still swollen and raw from your cries but it will help.

“You tell me if you need somethin’. M’gonna fix that up for you.” He says while giving your thigh a gentle pat and a squeeze.

You don’t respond or react but look at him with wet and irritated dyes. You watch him walk over to your car and ponder for a moment with his hands at his hips and one knee cocked out. He rifles through your trunk before coming out with the car jack. He slips it under the car and starts cranking it up.

Joel works quietly and doesn’t say anything to you while he’s working but he does look at you maybe every ten seconds just to make sure you’re still there and breathing. Maybe to make sure you’re not going off the deep end again. Joel has noticed small comments over the past few weeks but he has never pressed you on anything you haven’t come outright and told him about. But he makes a note in his head to press you about this. Not right now. Or any time tonight. But he will. Joel doesn’t know if he’s helping you and it makes him feel uneasy. Could he be making this worse for you? His only saving grace is that you’re no longer screaming and crying. He replaces your flat tire with the spare in your trunk in record time.

“Still got it, huh?” He jokes lightly.

It’s exactly what he said after moving your dresser into your room and it makes your heart heavy. You remember how you responded all those weeks ago but you do not have the energy to do it now. It doesn’t look like he minds. Without another word he helps you off of the tailgate and sets you back on your wobbling feet. Joel walks with you around his truck to the passenger side and opens the door for you. You grab onto his shoulder while climbing in.

“Stay here.” He says.

You listen, no desire to move in the slightest. The rumble of your car's engine startles you and you whip your head to the side. Joel slowly rolls your car against the side of the road, lining it up before shutting it off again. Guilt pangs in your stomach. Moments later he returns with your phone, bag and keys. He reaches over you to set them all on the center console and lets his hand rest on your knee.

“I’m sorry.” You choke out.

He tuts quietly and shakes his head. Hus pressed into the side of the car, knees pressed into the running board and arm slung over your thighs. His other hand brushes some hair from your face while he whispers to you.

“Nothin’ to be sorry for, baby. When I told you to call me next time you needed me, I meant that. M’proud of you for rememberin’.”

You open your mouth to blubber out another apology but he cuts you off with a simple kiss. It’s sweet. Gentle and warm against your face that feels like an open wound. You barely return the kiss but not because you don’t want to, you simply don’t have the energy to. He pulls back from the kiss and just stays close. Your eyes bore into his, almost ready to cry again from how sweet and gentle he’s being despite not knowing what the fuck is going on.

“Moved your car into an actual spot so you won’t get a ticket. I’ll take you back here tomorrow morning, alright sweetheart?” He hums.

You slowly nod.

“Can I take you home?”

You nod again before Joel buckles you into the seat and gently closes the door. He rounds the hood of the truck and hops in the driver's seat. His hand makes immediate contact with your knee, heavy and comforting as he drives away. The ride is silent other than Joel triple checking if you’re okay. And to remind you to drink water. A few more squeezes of your knee and you’re sitting outside of your house.

Ellie’s room light is on. Fuck.

“She home?” Joel questions while lowering his head to look at what you’re looking at.

“She is,” You say quietly with eyes lingering on the window. “I don’t want you to leave.”

Joel turns the key and the engine rumbles before stopping. He didn’t question your request.

“Can you wait here? I can sneak you in.” You say while unbuckling your belt.

“Sneak? Why do you have to sneak me in?” He asks with saddled brows.

“You want Ellie to see you bringing me home this late? You didn’t even want the neighbors to see you coming over without a toolbox in your hand.” It sounds more harsh than you mean it.

It makes Joel’s chest tighten but he doesn’t comment because it’s true. He did say something to that effect. He regrets it. But he’d be silly to deny the excitement he gets from sneaking around like a teenage boy again.

“Stay here?” You look over your shoulder at Joel.

“You sure you’re okay to go in by yourself?”

“Just for a second. I’ll be okay.” Your voice keeps its soft, hushed tone.

Joel nods and watches you exit the truck, walk to the front door and disappear.

You sigh the second you enter your house, a comforting and familiar space feels better than the sidewalk at midnight. You hang your bag on the hook and slowly wall up the stairs to Ellie’s room.

“Ellie?” You call out quietly with a hand on her door knob.

Slowly, you push the cracked door open while the door squeaks and you silently curse yourself. No answer. She’s laying on her belly, game controller in hand, slipping off the bed. Face smushed into the comforter she’d sprawled on top of. You blink a few times and shake your head. She had to have fallen asleep in the middle of a game, the monitor still had a game lobby up with quiet music playing on a loop. You sigh quietly and back out of the room, quietly clicking the door shut.

You turn and make your way down the steps again and open the front door. Joel is still sitting in his truck across the street from your house. You wave for him to come in and wait for him to get up to the doorway. You lock the door behind him and gesture him up the steps while ‘shhhhsh’ing him when he takes a step that creaks too loud.

“She’s asleep,” You whisper once the two of you make it into your room. “and I really need to shower. But feel free to make yourself comfortable here.”

You look around your room with Joel in it. It’s surreal.

“Let me come in with you.” He says softly while taking a few steps closer to you.

You don’t speak for a moment, surprised at his comment.

“Come in with me?” You repeat his words back to him.

He chuckles quietly and nods his head.

“Yeah, come in with you.” He repeats again in a lighthearted tone.

So, you shower together. The water was warm enough to create steam that fogged the mirror as it billowed out from behind the curtain. Joel steps in first and makes sure the water feels right before taking your hand and guiding you under the stream. It feels normal. You don’t stop to think about being fully nude in front of him for the first time because he doesn’t make it feel like you should. He’s soft and gentle, no lingering stares anywhere but your face and his hands massaging shampoo into your hair. Joel cradles your head and tilts it under the water to let it wash away the suds then brings you out of the stream to press a soft kiss to your forehead. He’s doing all of the work for you, sudsing the soap between his hands and the washcloth and softly scrubbing it over your arms to get rid of any sticky syrupy patches. You want to stay like this forever.

With his hand, Joel pushes his hair away from his face, now shades darker from the water and slicked back. Brown eyes blinking the water away under heavy lids. A pang of guilt hits you low in your stomach for the second time. You don’t even know what time it was when you called him. He has to be exhausted but here he is in the shower, washing your strawberry scented soap off of your skin.

“Feelin’ alright?” He says just loud enough over the patter of water.

“I’m alright.” You nod your head slowly.

He turns you around a few times in the water making sure there's no more suds latched onto your skin before reaching around and turning the water off. You wrap your arms around your chest and stand there with water rolling down your legs while Joel reaches for one of the towels hanging up. He helps you out and wraps the warm towel around your shoulders. You pull it tighter around yourself while Joel reaches for a second towel and wraps it around his waist. He reaches out and settles a hand on the door knob.

“Wait-” You blurt out and he turns his head back to you, not moving a muscle.

“Let me check and make sure she’s still asleep.” You whisper.

Joel nods and stands to the side. You slowly turn the knob and push the door open, peeking out to confirm that the coast is clear. You open it and gesture Joel out, his arms filled with the clothing the two of you were previously in.

“I’ll be in there in a minute.”

He nods his head and presses a soft kiss to your lips before you watch him disappear into your bedroom. You take a deep breath and sigh while turning to face the mirror hanging on the wall. There's still some stubborn mascara under your eye. You fasten the towel under your arms and start to spot clean with a cotton pad. Moments later you’ve got a clean face, brushed teeth and you’re about to finish detangling your hair when a soft knock rasps at the door. You pause and turn towards it, cracking it open.

You nearly jump out of your skin when you’re greeting with Ellie’s drowsy face. You’re grateful her eyes are barely open because she can’t question the pure shock on your face when you see her.

“Y’got home so late.” She mumbles while rubbing her eyes.

“I know. I promise I’ll fill you in tomorrow but go back to bed. Your eyes aren’t even open, Ellie.”

“Gotta pee.” She says with eyes still squinted.

“Shit, sorry.” You cringe and slip out of the bathroom.

“Goodnight.” Ellie grumbles.

“Night, Ellie.” You whisper while slipping into your bedroom.

You slowly click the door closed and turn around, pressing your back into the door and sighing heavily.

“Looks like you seen a ghost, darlin’.” His low voice breaks the anxiety building in your stomach.

You force a breathy laugh and lift your head to look at him. God, it takes all of the air out of your lungs. His hair is no longer soaked, it’s damp and starting to curl at the ends like it normally does. His tanned torso is exposed with hair littering his chest with a fine line down his soft stomach while it disappears under the band of his boxers. His sweatpants hung so low on his hips you could see said band before the elastic of his pants just under it. That was it. Joel Miller, damp in your bedroom. You couldn’t ask for anything more.

It reminds you of the night of the storm. When he surprised you at your front door, soaked to the bone. The only difference is, this Joel just helped you through a panicked episode without a shred of knowledge of them, washed you off and showered you clean and this Joel helps you get dressed, too. He helps you pull on a shirt over your head and he makes sure none of your hair is caught in the collar of it. He holds out his arm to balance you while you’re slipping on a pair of your shorts. This Joel lays in bed next to you under your comforters with your back pressed firmly into his chest and his strong arm draped over your waist.

You like this Joel, too.

[odeverload]

I love the idea of being with subby nuggetz.

imagine them always bickering about you, but if one of them gets too mean, he's forced to stand in the corner and watch while you pleasure the other

subby nuggetz...save me subby nuggetz...

im writing this in more of proper fic style than before! ty for the req this is great :))

cw: sub!gaon and jooyeon, dom!reader, afab!reader, impact play, hair pulling, oral (f and m recieving), threesome duh

nsfw under the cut !

jooyeon and jiseok are literally the human embodiement of two bumbling overexcited puppies, and you're no stranger to it. your two lovely boyfriends, as much as they love you, also love to tease the shit out of you. you'd be grocery shopping with them, looking through aisles for eggs and toilet paper. you pushing the shopping cart, jiseok obediently following you and pointing out the things you need, and jooyeon running off somewhere to find the candy and chip aisle. jiseok had been quiet for a suspicious amount of time, so you turn around to catch him staring at your ass unashamedly. a stern glance perks his head up again, and you continue your shopping. that is, until you reach a secluded area of the store, and jiseok finally corners you and practically glues himself to your backside.

"s-sorry, couldn't help it, you look really good today baby-fuck." he says as he grinds into your ass, his growing bulge pressing into the material of your pants. "y-you think i can, uh-f-fuck you right here? no one's gonna see i promise.." you gasp, and jiseok takes the opportunity to shove a finger into your mouth. while a part of you wanted to put him in his place, the other (much louder) part of you felt your knees buckle a little when jiseok nibbled on your ear continued to press his already fully hard dick against your pants, hoping for any kind of friction to help his situation. in that moment, jooyeon comes reeling around the corner of a shelf, many colorful cereal boxes in hand. if he wasn't as tall as he was he'd be mistaken for a kid in a candy store. "they finally had all the different boxes in stock so i can get the toys! wanna see-" he stops himself mid-sentence upon seeing jiseok shuffle away from you awkwardly with a huge tent in his pants, and both of your lips puffy from making out. you glance at jooyeon, who now had a situation of his own growing in his sweats. without so much as a glance at jiseok, you respond curtly. "go wait in the car. we're going home so i can show both of you who's really in charge."

jiseok really doesn't know when to behave sometimes. a part of you wonders if he acts out just so he can get punished. while he tends to be the lesser brat between the three of you (jooyeon wins in that category any day), when he misbehaves it's bad. straight up nearly pulling your pants down in broad daylight and fucking his cock into you until he cums all over your chest, moaning and cleaning up his mess with his tongue sucking at your tits. you've never been caught thank god, but you're sure jiseok wouldn't mind a bit of an audience. so you decide to give him one. except not in the way he wants.

you have jiseok seated on one end of the bed, wrists loosely tied in front of him and a vibrator below his leaking cock, begging to be touched. he's damn near tears at the lack of proper stimulation, but it's not like he can do much about it. he's too focused on the way jooyeon is squirming in your lap as you stroke his aching cock. you make sure to keep eye contact with jiseok, never taking you eyes off of him as jooyeon mewls into your ear. his hips buck up, chasing an orgasm he knows won't be his last tonight. "silly puppy, keep looking at me. don't look at jiseokie, he's just watching tonight." jooyeon is practically humping your leg as you drag your fist up and down his length, squeezing every so often and earning a yelp from him. your naked body pressed against his back glistens with sweat and cum from jooyeon's previous orgasms, and jiseok can't stand not being able to grind against you and chase his release.

"c-can i please touch you-fuck, please? please i won't be bad again i promise i'll be a good boy plea-" you place your foot against jiseok's cock to interrupt him, pushing up against the vibrator so that it hits his aching tip.

and jiseok wails.

he humps up into the vibrator and your leg, and his eyes cross at the stimulation he was seeking for so long, even just this much. you giggle, looking at your two fucked-out puppies both chasing their climaxes. you removed jooyeon from your hold momentarily and scoot over to jiseok, his cheeks bright red and hands still tied, wrists stinging from being bound for so long. "oh baby" you smile, scratching his head behind his ears which earns you a loud groan from him, "you don't get to cum tonight, remember?" and with that, you turn around, leaving jiseok and his leaking cock untouched, and push jooyeon so that he's laying down. his eager eyes watch as you sit down on his cock all at once. you sit up so that his cock is just barely inside of you, and then drop down to the hilt, sending your puppy into an overstimulated frenzy. "ah-ah, fuck, p-please yes, fuck! thankyouthankyouthankyou-ah! so good, sososo good!" jooyeon bucks up into you wildly, and you can feel his cum slowly seeping out of you as he chases yet another high. you turn around to glance at jiseok again, and he's right where you left him; cock still upright and an angry red color, the vibrator now covered in his precum. a tear rolls down his face at the understimulation, and you're sure he's learned his lesson. for now.

author's note: thank u for being patient y'all i'm packing for a trip rn and haven't had the chance to sit down and write! but i hope to crank out some reqs on my long flight in a few days :) hope this was what anon had in mind, i love me some subby pathetic men ! tags: @breakffastclub @enemyjoo

[littlcdarlin]

Was thinking about this writing the new chapter, and I think one of the worst parts about being SAed at 15 was how it made me feel about other people. Yeah, you are made to feel your body only belongs to you until someone else decides it doesn’t, and it fucks up this youthful state of basically being a functioning narcissist, in that you no longer have this experience of the world in which you are the main character, which I think is what most people mean when they talk about the world losing colour etc. afterwards. But as an adult who still struggles severely with trusting people, as in my ex told me she loved me and I had a panic attack so bad I threw up, what makes me the angriest, is that one single indulgence in desire by someone stronger than you can completely warp your perception of people you love. Which tells you that at its core, fear is the most base emotion, and stronger than love by far. Love won’t save the day and it can’t overcome anything, which is quite…chastening to realize as a child when you‘re supposed to be full of hope and faith. Idk it’s so insane to me that a guy did that to me and for him it’s this most likely random night, and I will forever doubt the people I love the most. Such an extreme discrepancy of consequence idk

[saymio]

In Ho headcanons | (NSFW)

Pairing: Hwang In-ho (player 001/the front man) x Fem!reader

Genre: headcanons, smut

Warning: dead dove do not eat, manipulation, dub/noncon, age gap, might be more but im too lazy to write it down

A/N: not proof read. thanos story in the works rn!! I have writers block so to help a little I'm making some hcs 4 this baddie (prob ooc)

hwang inho, the man that protected you from Thanos and his stupid friend during the first day of the games. he shoo'ed them away. stopping their harassment and took you with him with the rest of the group

hwang inho, the man that gives you his milk. reassuring you every time that its okay for you to have it, and it'll help you get stronger.

hwang inho, the man that checks up on you throughout the night. standing over you to make sure you're getting your nights rests. making sure no creeps try touching your delicate skin.

hwang inho, the man that lets touches linger a little longer than they should, whether its on your hands, thighs, waist..his touches feel more than platonic

hwang inho, the man that tells the guards to make sure you stay safe, to kill a player that hasn't broken the rules if they had to. anything to make sure you stay safe.

hwang inho, the man that would excuse himself to the bathroom just to touch himself to the thought of you. whether its your calm voice or plush hands that feel so soft and delicate...he just couldn't help it.

hwang inho, the man that squeezes your thighs when no ones looking...and when you express discomfort he used his past generosity as an excuse for it.

hwang inho, the man that will kiss you in the middle of the night with no warning. telling you to be quiet and take the kiss because if it were any other man it would've been worse.

hwang inho, the man that will find the perfect timing to sneak away from everyone else with you. he'll make you strip for him in the bathroom. savoring every inch of your body before he sends you away, leaving him in there alone to masturbate.

hwang inho, the man that wont let you sleep. he'll grope and squeeze your thighs, tits and ass. feeling you up while you hold in tears.

hwang inho, the man that reminds you this is your fault when you cry to him during a bathroom strip session. expressing how uncomfortable this makes you and how you don't want it anymore.

hwang inho, the man that will tell you nothing in the world is free. and your body will be the payment he receives for being so generous with you.

hwang inho, the man that gets hard thinking about your age gap. how youre only 19 and he's in his 40's..he loves it.

hwang inho, the man that slips his fingers inside of you when the lights are off, fingering you aggressively. reminding you once again that it'd be so much worse if he wasn't such a nice man.

hwang inho, the man that captures you during the raid against the guards. forcing you to stare into the eyes of your past friends as he kills them.

hwang inho, the man that keeps you as his pet after the games end. reminding you you're lucky because he spoils you with money.

hwang inho, the man that doesn't let you socialize with anyone after he's gotten his grip on you.

Another not: this one is pretty short compared to my last fic, this was to just try n get me out of writers block. expect a Thanos fic to pop up tmr. sorry if this sucked/was ooc, I tried my best T T~~

[a-hermit-pining]

LADS Men When You Move in with Them

AN: Sorry for anyone who followed for jjk but that phase is over for now people. I am playing LADS and kinda obsessed so I just have to write about it. I'm still finishing main story so let me know if I'm off but this is just fluff for fun. I might just extend my househusband series for LADS bois.

Pairing: Lads boys x fem reader

Genre: fluff

Summary: How do LADS men react to reader moving in with them.

Xavier:

The second you’re out of sight, Xavier is on a mission. Your skincare collection? Compromised. Tiny vials of serums and creams vanish into his hands as he experiments, utterly fascinated by how good you always smell.

Did he scream when he mistook your fake lashes for worms? Yes. Would he ever admit to it? Absolutely not.

So don’t be surprised when your shampoo, conditioner, serums, and lotions start running out at an alarming rate. This other worldly prince will not hesitate.

Zayne:

Zayne, dressed in his eternal black-on-black, will take an unreasonably long time staring at his closet once you move in. Because next to his monochrome fits? Your colorful, glittery clothes. He’s fascinated. Maybe even a little in awe and jealous.

You might even catch him pulling out his secret stash of cardigans from the depths of the void, trying to match your vibe just a little.

Also? He loves watching you do your hair. The man is mesmerized by air wrap, loves running his fingers through freshly curled hair.

And his watch collection? Now proudly displayed next to your jewelry. (He's so cute istg ><)

Sylus:

Does the sudden invasion of cutesy decor completely wreck Sylus’ carefully curated aesthetic? Yes.

Does he resist it? Hell no.

Be it Hello Kitty blankets on his sleek black leather couch or tiny fairy garden decor in his study, Sylus lets your presence take over his space without a fight. A cute blanket is a cute blanket, perfectly good for cuddling.

Also, Mephisto? Number one fan of pecking at your shiny trinkets.

Rafayel:

Your foster kitten loves him.

Rafayel, the man who wants 'nothing to do with cats', suddenly finds himself the chosen one. The second you move in, the tiny gremlin attaches itself to him. Following him from room to room, napping in his studio, demanding attention with its judgmental little eyes.

And despite his dramatic sighs and endless complaints about your “vicious monster,” you know the truth.

Because one day, you catch Rafayel casually working while the kitten sleeps in his lap. And before he can argue, you adopt the little guy permanently.

(Oh, and you get another cat for yourself, because fair is fair.)

Caleb:

Caleb owns a ridiculous amount of tactical gear. More than you, even.

But never in his life did he think he’d see a penguin-themed holster.

Yes, he was aware of your growing plushie empire. No, he did not expect the theme to continue onto scabbards and grips.

And yet, here you are. And here he is. In awe.

Does he judge? Not at all. Does he join in? Absolutely.

He now owns matching sock complementary to your gear aesthetics.

Colonel in the streets, pookie in the sheets.

[eddiesfaerie]

who you let in

Summary: Jack has a soft spot. He didn't expect you to be the one to find it. (6.9k words) read on ao3 here

Pairing: Jack Abbot x f!reader

Warnings: NSFW, porn with plot (the storyteller within me can't help it), unspecified age gap, hurt/comfort for both of them LOL, canon typical gore? medical stuff? idk, panic attacks, trauma, angst, power dynamics (reader's a med student), suicidal ideation, Jack being flustered, oral (m receiving because he needs it), big dick Jack, fingering, rushed sex despite how long this fic is i'm sorry, unprotected PIV sex, Jack's sort of a soft dom, semi-public sex, praise kink, competency kink, lots of fleshy bodily words in here to describe lust idk

AAAAA i just spent all day writing this yes i'm embarrassed <3 also haven't posted my writing in like actual years at this point.... anyways be nice to me

It’s unlike you, Jack thinks to himself, to look so out of it. 

GSW to the chest. A young girl in her early twenties maybe. She’s lost a lot of blood. Her blonde hair somehow already matted with it, so much so that she could pass as a natural brunette. It’s gone dark with oxygen and coagulation. 

Your team huddles around her, as do the other units around the dozens and dozens of gurneys being brought in one after the other, unrelenting and without promise to end soon. 

All protocols you’ve learned in the last year are out the window. Disregarded for the mass casualty event that was PittFest. None of the residents had ever seen anything like this, you’d never seen anything like this. This was the most action you’d ever witnessed and suddenly you felt like there was a balloon in your own chest, compressing air flow or blood flow or something to your head. 

All the blood, the smell of metal inescapable no matter which section of the ER you were suddenly rushed to. 

Your knees go weak, they shake, your hands shake. Everything’s wrong- 

“She’s going white Abbot pull her out.” 

You hear your attending huff from right behind you before his hand finds your bicep, curling around it and pulling you from where you leaned over the patient. You can hardly protest, your mind elsewhere and your feet blindly follow Dr Abbot who leads you to the family room. 

“Robby I need you to cover over on the GSW to the chest for a sec.” He calls over, his voice ringing in your ears, your mind trying to focus on one single thing but everything’s registering all at once. His hand on your arm, all the beeping, the cries of agony, tubes being intubated and balloons being puffed into chests. It all seems a lot further away when Abbot closes the door. 

You never thought you were particularly his favourite. You’re much younger and typically too upbeat. You clash naturally, he’s not drawn to you and you’re not drawn to him.

Dr Abbot is unafraid of correcting you in front of your peers. After a year now of him being your attending you’ve become familiar with his ways but that doesn’t mean you’re any more appreciative of the public humiliations.

There’s something about these older ex military men, the ones who joined too young and have been in the system ever since, climbing up and up the ranks, hardening at each level to a point where disassociation is expected. Hold it in, hold it together. There’s is no I in team. All for one and one for all. All that bullshit. 

Dr Abbot wasn’t really that guy to a T but hell was he uncrackable, unshakeable, hard as stone. No doubt it’s helped him here in the ER, you’ve never seen someone as laser focused and capable as Dr Abbot. It’s almost effortless for him, it seems. Like he doesn’t have to think twice about anything. His confidence is unmatched and you’d always admired that, no matter how much you thought he disliked you. So yeah it was kind of surprising when he was the one to pull you away for a time out. 

Jack never meant to become so attuned to you. He didn’t do it on purpose. He blames it on being your attending for a while now, he’s worked with you the closet over this past year and he knows how you work, how you operate. He didn’t mean to but it happened. He feels like he can read you like an open book, you wear your emotions on your sleeve, on your face. You’ve never been one to conceal how you were feeling, unlike him. So when you stopped talking, stopped making little remarks and little jokes, nearly frozen and clearly dissociating, he knew what was happening long before the resident called for you to be pulled out. He wanted to give you a moment to bounce back as you usually do. 

Dr Abbot closes the curtain to the family room, shutting the door. He turns around and finds you still awkwardly standing there, eyes far off, elsewhere. He had expected you to take a seat immediately, he doesn’t know what you’re still doing up considering how close you look to collapsing. 

“S-sorry I don’t know what’s happening, I-” You stammer, embarrassed yet not in control of whatever’s taking over your mind and body. 

“Hey, hey stay with me, kid. Don’t go to that place.”

Abbot puts his hand softly on the middle of your back, guiding you to the chair. You sit down reluctantly, unable to move your body in a coordinated way for some reason. He kneels in front of you, groaning as he goes down and his knees cracking. 

“Listen, don’t tell anyone but I’ve had my fair share of panic attacks, okay?”

“Is that- is that what’s happening?” You ask dumbly, squeezing your eyes shut. You suddenly feel dizzy. Not enough oxygen to the brain.

“How does your chest feel? Can you breathe?” 

“I feel like I can’t.” 

“Then yeah, that’s what’s happening.” 

Your lip wobbles despite how much you’re still trying to hold it together, that much Abbot can tell. You’re fighting like hell against this panic attack which might only threaten to make things worse. He grabs your hand in his, squeezing lightly. You’re barely able to return it. 

“What are five things you can see?”

“W-What?” You sniffle.

“Tell me five things you can see, come on.” He squeezes your hand again, reassuringly. 

You try to take a deep breath but your diaphragm spasms and it comes in all shaky, causing you to hiccup like a child. 

“Y-you.”

Against all odds, Dr Abbot smiles. Incredibly small but you see it. 

“That’s right. What else?”

You try to take a deep breath again. “Uh, the paintings on the wall.”

Abbot nods. You continue. 

“The curtains. The chairs. The door.”

“Good. That’s good. What about four things you can touch?”

“Your hand.” You say most obviously, since he’s still holding your clammy hand in his. You’d be embarrassed if you weren’t so shaken up. 

Dr Abbot squeezes your hand again and this time you squeeze back, a silent thank you of sorts. 

“Um, my scrubs, my hair on my neck, the wind from the fan.” 

“Okay, now three things you can hear.” 

“Your voice.” Dr Abbot chuckles, like he was expecting it. 

“Sure.” He nods.

“You’re breathing.” You take a deep breath now, as if it reminded you. Abbot breathes deeply with you. 

You try to motion lazily to the door, “The doctors outside, I can hear them talking.”

“That’s right, and they’re being pretty loud, aren't they?” He tries to joke, to lighten the mood. 

You nod your head, yeah. 

“What about two things you can smell?”

You go to open your mouth but Abbot cuts you off again. 

“And don’t say me, we’re about an hour into this shift and I know I’m not smelling too pretty right now.” 

You laugh, you actually giggle a bit, albeit a bit breathless, your body still trying to catch up to your more relaxed mind. Jack smiles. 

“I can smell metal and disinfectant.” 

“Okay and one thing you can taste.” 

Your cheeks burn a bit. You know it doesn’t mean anything but when you started each sentence with something relating to him… You can’t help but think. 

“My stale gum.” 

Jack chuckles a bit, shaking his head. What were you doing with mouth in your gum. It’s not allowed on shift but everything had started so suddenly you hadn’t had a moment to toss it and you got scared on choking on it if you swallowed it. 

Abbot clicks his tongue at you in disapproval, holding out his open hand near your mouth. You look at him confused, but he just gestures to his outreached hand. 

“Spit it out, let’s go get you a new one, hmm?” 

Your face burns again, but you do what he says for some reason. 

Because he asked. 

He closes his palm around your gum for a moment before easily tossing it into the trash can in the corner of the room. 

Dr Abbot stands back up, knees cracking again. He helps you up, holding your elbows in each of his hands. You’re still a little wobbly, weak in the knees from your body’s sudden breakdown. You haven’t yet regained all your strength. 

You try to steady yourself, your hands gripping his forearms, trying to concentrate on the strength of him holding you up. 

You suddenly feel oddly close to him. Not just physically seeing as how close you two are standing but in the air, it feels like something’s shifted, like something’s irreparably been changed between you two. He’s just seen you at your most vulnerable, talked you through your first panic attack and even admitted to having experienced them himself. How many people in the ER can say they know that much about Dr Jack Abbot. 

Maybe you’re just over analyzing what’s transpired. 

“How you feeling?” His voice sounds out and you realize you had your eyes squeezed shut, when you open them Jack’s peering down at you, trying to give you the softest look he can muster. 

“I’m okay.” 

“Yeah? You don’t have to be.” You shake your head no. 

“No, no I’m good. Promise.”

“I’ve got my best med student back?”

You can’t help but look at him quizzically, laughing a little. 

“I don’t think I’m your best med student but sure, I’m back.” 

“Come on, take the compliment.” He quips and it surprises you. You didn’t think he’d press your objections. 

“I actually thought you-” Hated me, you want to say.

“I know.”

Oh. 

“I know I’m hard on you. But I only do it because I know you can take it. I think it makes you better.”

Your lips go into a hard line, you nod. Right….

“I mean, it doesn’t hurt to be told I’m doing good every now and then. I do think I’m tough, you’re right, but I don’t know… I like this side of you.” You admit before you can stop yourself. 

Now it’s Jack’s turn to blush. His cheeks go red in that boyish way and it blossoms all the way to the tips of his ears. Your heart leaps a bit. 

If you weren’t back to yourself before, you were now. You’re suddenly very aware of how close you’re standing even though you’ve both let go of each other. It was sobering. 

“Alright kid, as long as you don’t tell anyone.” He winks. 

You burn. 

“Promise.”

/

Things did, in fact, change after that.

Dr Abbot pulls you for huddles, just you and him now for feedback, no longer doing it in front of the other med students, doctors or attendees.

You stand closer to him, he stands closer to you in general. 

He’s not afraid to grab your hand and stop you from doing something. Or start something. The amount of times he’s guided you through a procedure you’d never done before with his steady hadn’t engulfing yours, guiding a blade smoothly through a patients skin or a thin tube through an incredibly small incision. 

You wondered if anyone noticed. If anyone had become attune to the fact that you followed each other around like each other’s shadows. Never one without the other. You could see Princess and Perlah whispering to each other whenever you stood close to Dr Abbot, you couldn’t help but smile at the fact that at least someone noticed how he’d picked you as his favourite and warmed up to you. It made you feel special, all girlish and giggly even though it absolutely shouldn’t. 

A new unusual sound had started to fill the ER. Jack Abbot’s laughter, even quiet giggles fuelled by none other than you. Not even Robby, once his rival now best friend in the ER, could get that sound out of him as often as you do. 

Jack gets you sandwiches, juice boxes from the cafeteria when you look particularly out of it or if the moment granted a quick escape for food. He’d find a chocolate bar or anything to perk you up on days where you weren’t doing so hot, or had a particularly anguishing patient. Death was inescapable in the ER, everyone knew that but not everyone handled it well, it didn’t matter how well versed or experienced you were in the medical industry. 

Not even Jack himself. 

The night shift was now coming to a close, meaning the clock was close to striking 7am. That awkward time before the day shift shows up and the night team goes home to sleep through the day, all to start again in 12 hours. 

It was weird working in the off hours, you felt like a vampire or a bat, you thought to yourself as you climbed the steps to the roof, trying to find Jack. You knew him well now, and you know where he goes to run away when he can’t handle the weight of the shift anymore. 

You open the door, it creaked open annoyingly loud, announcing you rather ungraciously. 

Jack drops his head low at the sound of the door opening. He knew it was you coming to find him. He leans back against the railing behind him. 

“What are you doing up here?” He asks, calling out to you without turning his head. The wind carries the sound of his voice to you. 

The sun is threatening to come up over the city line, light only beginning to spill upwards into the sky, painting the clouds all pretty shades of light blue, pink and orange. You struggle to take in the beauty due to the night that just transpired. 

The vet hit and run. It was a hard one on Jack. He’d known guys like that in the military. They seemed untouchable, surviving tour after tour. It was never easy to watch one go, especially the ones that made it home and get taken out in some seemingly avoidable way. 

Some church bell tolls in the distance. You approach him, unsure how to answer what you’re doing up here. Checking on you, wanting to make sure you’re okay, everyone’s worried but the reality was no one batted an eye at him escaping after spending the last two hours coding this guy into the system. This was how Jack operated. Disassociate, dissociate until he couldn’t anymore and his feet carried him up to the roof. Contemplating. 

So you don’t say anything, you just stand behind him. 

Jack’s skin looks golden up here. The light passing through his curls, catching the greys. Your heart tightens. 

“It’s always a rough way to end the night.” You offer, unsure of what else to say. 

“I must’ve had a reason at one time to keep coming back but… I can’t think of it right now.” Jack grips onto the railing, leaning forward and looking down below him. 

You instinctively reach out to him, your hand going for his bicep, it’s closest to you. Despite the cool early morning air, his skin was still hot to the touch, still coming down from what had just gone down in the ER room. 

“Jack…” You can’t help but sigh, silently pleading with him to stop. 

His head turns, dark eyes meeting yours. God he looks so sad, a man worn down. 

And you realize you’ve never called him by just his name. Just Jack. 

“D-Dr Abbot, I mean- sorry.” 

He doesn’t correct you. He doesn’t particularly care right now. And the way you said it makes his heart tight like your hand is on his arm. Palms clammy with being so high up and so close to a ledge. You never liked heights and you hate that he’s always flirted with them. 

He clicks his tongue, sighing before crouching down and reeling himself back over to your side of the railing. You sigh in relief, you hadn’t realized you were holding your breath. 

Jack is completely distraught. He looks wrecked, broken. 

Your hand still on his arm, he comes to face you, standing so close but you can’t find it in you to step away from him, not when he’s like this. 

Jack drops his forehead to your shoulder, you try not to freeze up at the sudden extreme closeness.

“Are you okay?” You ask dumbly, voice gone quiet because of how close he is. Your lips ghost over the shell of his ear, plush flesh on soft cartilage. Jack shivers, turning his head slightly and his nose pushes into your neck. 

What else is there to say to such a quiet man, lost in his own solitude of reflection. 

“No.” He says simply, plainly. 

Your heart aches for him. 

Your hand is still on his arm, you flatten it and trail it up to his shoulder, squeezing him there. 

He presses himself closer to you. You hold your breath, your heart threatening to leap up out of your throat. You swear he must feel it beating through his own chest. You think you can feel his. 

He trails his nose along your neck, up your ear. You can feel that subtle white beard that carves the angles of his face so sharply, so perfectly, colour so soft and white it nearly blends into his skin seamlessly. They catch at your skin in that scratchy way and its almost too much. 

His hands, they move and suddenly they’re on your waist, sliding around the circumference of you until he’s enveloped you in his strong arms. You can feel how sturdy he is, how solid and strong from years of exertion and force and yet you feel like you could blow away at any moment. This cannot be real. You can smell his hair, the remnants of his cologne peaking through the smell of antiseptic and disinfectant. You can smell him. 

He knows this shouldn’t really be happening. You both do. You’re both very much aware of that fact. Even though its just a hug its just a hug. Jack had been aware of it ever since that day in the family room when he first worried about you. Because that’s what friends do… they worry about each other, right? Friends….

Jack lets his nose travel higher, along your hairline behind your ear, relishing in the closeness of  another living, breathing human being. Warm flesh against flesh, closeness of muscles and organs. Hearts, beating. When was the last time this happened? When was the last time he let his walls down like this? You both wondered. 

“I’m sorry.” He offers lamely, voice quiet and matching yours. He tries to pull away from you but his body doesn’t get the memo, he stills clings to you. He’s afraid of what would happen if he were to let go now. Surely he’d crumble into nothing off this roof. 

He moves his head, nose against your cheek as your hands move to his chest, bunching up the fabric of his shirt in your palms. You don’t want him away either. You need him close, suddenly very close. Despite your breathlessness at the closeness, you think you’d stop breathing if he were to pull away now. You wouldn’t bear it. 

You shake your head no, “Don’t be.” You reassure him, voice still quiet. 

Something posses you and you nudge your nose with his, Jack sighs loudly, arms tightening around you and you sigh too. Your mouth opens in an innocent way, trying to get more oxygen to your brain. But you can feel his breath on yours, feel it fanning against your lips and you lean closer, pushing your nose into his again and he has to use every iota of strength within him to not lunge into you. 

This shouldn’t be happening, he reiterates to himself. All the alarms are going off in his head. He shouldn’t be touching you like this, he shouldn’t have grabbed you, you shouldn’t be letting him. You could both get in serious trouble for this. 

But you fist at his shirt, hands trembling against his chest, feeling him, muscles under supple flesh. Your lips part, small breath fanning against his lips and he breaks. He’s just a man. 

Jack presses his open mouth to yours, and you let him again for a reason he doesn’t quite understand. It’s sloppy in a desperate way, passionate and sad. You could cry if you weren’t so wrapped up in the feel of being completely encompassed by him, his soft lips on yours. 

You open your mouth wider, your hands moving from his chest to wrap your arms completely around his neck, hauling his body into yours as if you couldn’t get any closer. You wanted to meld into him. Bone fusing to bone. You let your tongue poke out and suddenly he’s right there with you, his tongue going as far into your mouth as it possibly can, trying to get to every inch of you. Jack whines and you burn at the pathetic sound. A grown man, whimpering for you. Your knees threaten to buckle. 

His body flush with yours, you can’t help but feel how his body reacts to you. Hard and solid against your hip, your leg as your bodies writhe against the other, pleading to get closer. 

“Jack,” you whimper into his mouth, unsure, testing. 

Jack lets his lips travel to the corner of your mouth, kissing every inch of you that he possibly can, your teeth as you say his name, your cheek, earlobe, the spot underneath your ear. 

“Tell me to stop.” He groans, hands moving back to their spot on your waist, trailing down to your hips where he grinds you against him, making that aching part of him known. 

You whimper again, eyes threatening to roll into the back of your head like the sun threatens to come over that edge and catch you both where you ought not to be. 

“I don’t want you to stop.” You admit, face burning even though you’re both as debauched and pathetic sounding as the other.

Boldly, you let one hand travel down from his neck, down his body to softly touch in between his legs, feeling where he’s hard, aching between his legs. He groans again, this time absolutely pained, his forehead dropping to yours. 

“W-We shouldn’t be doing this.” He admits, like you both don’t know that already. He’s practically begging you to give him a reason to stop this now, even though he knows he’s already too far gone to do anything at this point. You’re too warm, too welcoming and soft and willing. Salvation. 

“Especially not here.” You manage to laugh a little. Suddenly you pull away from Jack and he thinks that’s it, you’re calling it. His instincts propel him to check his watch to check the time. T.O.D. Time of death. He’s being dramatic. 

You pull him to the opening of the stairwell, creaking open that squeaky door once again and you lightly press him against the wall furthest away from the stairs.

It’s an enclosed space, a room up on the roof. You have to open another door to get to the stairs which lead all the way down to the ER, blocked by another set of doors. If someone were to go into the stairway, you’d hear them from a mile away. At least that’s what you hoped.

Jack let’s you move him, lets you press your body against his and kiss his tanned, freckled neck. Your hand finds its spot on his crotch, feeling him through his pants. God he hasn’t gone down an inch. He feels huge, painfully hard. You can’t believe you’re feeling him like this. You can’t believe The Jack Abbot is letting this happen, you can’t believe he wants it. With you. 

“Can I?” You ask, already lowering yourself to your knees. 

Jack just looks at you in complete and utter disbelief, mouth agape as he watches you get down on your knees, pressing your face to his clothed dick, kissing him through the fabric. Kill me now, he thinks. If anyone were to find you both like this… 

He feels like a dirty old man as you pull his cock from his pants, watching it spring up and slap his belly with wide eyes, like you need it, like you’re suddenly starving. 

His cock is huge. You don’t know what you expected but it wasn’t this. You try not to look frightened by it, by the prospect of shoving it into your mouth and hopefully, your cunt. 

He’s your attendee, you try not to think about that. Try not to think about how you’re his subordinate and he’s so much older than you, experienced, well versed. This is all completely wrong, incredibly fucked up but fuck if it doesn’t turn the both of you on just a little more in the worst way. 

His dick is hot in your hand, skin like silk and you salivate at the pure sight of it. You look up at him, his face flushed all the way up to his ears and down to what you can see of his chest poking out through the small v in his shirt. Skin on fire. 

You give him a sort of inquisitive look and he realizes he never answered you. You looking up at him with those big, needy eyes. He can only bring himself to nod his head, at a lost for words. 

You smile up at him, hand already gliding up and down his thick length. Jack hisses at the near foreign sensation, in this moment he can’t bring himself to remember the last time this happened, let alone a time when it wasn’t his own hand. Yours is much smaller, more delicate than his, you can barely wrap it around the entirety of him and suddenly he feels dizzy. 

You lean forward, kissing the tip of him and he squeezes his eyes shut. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, they open and close into fists at his sides. God does he want to touch you, to have you let him take what he wants but he’s afraid. Afraid of over stepping, afraid of scaring you. 

Suddenly you’re opening your mouth and kissing at the head of him, licking at his slit, collecting whatever’s pooled there and humming to yourself at the taste. You’re worried you’ll become addicted to this.

More of him slides into your mouth, all the way until he’s hitting the back of your throat. Suddenly his hands are flying to the side of your head, holding you there. His eyes open and he looks down at you, eyes intense, mouth set into a hardline like he’s barely hanging by a thread. You make eye contact with him and he groans, loud. You’ve only ever seen him like this leaned over a patient, intense focus, blinders on to anything except the task at hand. But this time its you. Your pussy throbs. 

Jack let’s himself thrust into your mouth a couple of times, eyes squeezed shut again, head leaned back against the wall behind him in complete surrender to you and your mouth. He says your name so broken, like its the only thing he can remember, the only thing keeping him grounded. 

You wonder if he’ll let you fuck him. 

A few more thrusts and suddenly Jack is pulling you off of him, looking back down at you again and hauling you back up to your feet. You give him the saddest eyes and he swears his heart breaks. 

“I’m- I was gonna cum if you kept that up.” He sort of laughs to himself. Jack’s never felt more out of practice than he does now, pants down around his ankles, cock heavy and begging still in your hand, and a young, pretty girl looking at him with wet eyes, hungry for him. 

What did he do in a past life to deserve this? 

“That was kind of the idea.” You smile, bitting your lip and your hand continues to move up and down on his aching length. 

Back face to face now, Jack can’t believe he has you like this, lips plump and swollen with exertion and slick with spit. Your eyes are dark with greed, hunger for something else. He never though this would happen, not between the two of you. Not that he ever explicitly thought about it but there were moments of weakness. Moments where he let his mind wander as he held your hand in his, guiding you through a procedure, noticing your body and its proximity, its warmth, that girlish smell you carry around you. You’ve always been intoxicating, a temptation just begging to be indulged in. Had he mentioned how wrong he thought all of this was?

“Jack?” You ask, pulling him out of this thoughts. 

“Hmmm?” He basically slurs, distracted by the continuous movements of your hand on his cock, it was on the verge of turning painful. 

“I asked you if you’re gonna fuck me.” You ask, devilish grin plastered on your face like you’re the cat who got the fucking cream. Or is at least trying to.

Jack lets out a broken laugh, voice cracking from your particularly harsh grip on him. 

“Is that- Is that what you came up to the roof for?” He jokes but suddenly you think he’s being serious. 

You worry thats all you thought of him, of this. A quick fuck, a need for release, a need to forget what happened tonight. 

“No, Jack that’s not- I swear-” You struggle to find your words. 

Jack smiles at you, it alleviates some of your worries. His hand moves and finds the waist band of your pants, he shoves it down until he’s cupping your sex. You gasp, his hand hot, feeling your hotter core and whats embarrassingly seeped out of you ever since you pulled him from the railing. 

Jack clicks his tongue at you, like he always does. 

“Yeah, I bet you want me to fuck you, alright. You’re soaking for it.” 

Oh fuck. 

You whimper, leaning easy into his touch, letting him feel you. 

“Fuck, baby.” He groans, his fingers gliding easy through your glossy folds, playing around in the mess you made. Its embarrassing. So much so that you almost miss him calling you baby. 

Jack doesn’t fight the temptation long, no matter how much he wants to tease you about it. His two fingers find your hole and push in steadily, afraid to hurt you. You gasp, body falling into his, letting him hold you with his other arm. Your hand on his cock stutters but is determined to keep pleasuring him. 

You moan when he pushes his fingers all the way in, crooking them to press up against that spongey spot inside of you, your eyes nearly rolling into the back of your head. 

“Fuck-” You choke, head heavy on his shoulder, your lips grazing his neck as he thrusts his fingers in and out of you, switching it up between that and toying with that fucking spot inside of you. 

“Jack, I’m-”

“Oh I bet you are.” He chides and you burn. 

This could have been so humiliating if you chose it to be. How quickly you folded for him, how badly and desperately you needed him. As if he hadn’t folded just as quickly, if not faster, for you. 

Suddenly his fingers are ripped from your core and he’s ripping your pants down along with your underwear. You step out of them quickly, letting him manhandle you around to get you were you wants you. 

“Look at you listening to me so easily now.” Jack remarks, turning you around and pushing you up against the wall. 

“I always listen to you.” You admit, voice breathless and breaking and sounding completely debauched. 

You feel him step in to your space, you arch your back instinctively and Jack basically purrs all soft for you. You feel the head of his cock at your entrance, threatening your folds. You whimper, shiver. You try to push into him but his hand flies to your neck, holding you still where you are. 

He leans over your back, rucking your shirt up with the hand that was holding his dick. He hadn’t meant for this to happen like this, all dirty and rushed and in his fucking workplace. He thinks about the rest of you, hidden under your scrubs, how he’d kiss every inch. Maybe that was for another time. Hopefully. 

“I know you do.” He praises, kissing the back of your neck and pushing into cunt in the same breath. You both groan way too loudly, pure relief coming over the both of you. 

Jack breaches you slowly, he knows he’s big. He’s not even being any type of way about it, he just knows its a lot from past…. flings. But God do you take him like a champ. You push your hips back into his, needing him to fill you completely you’re fucking whimpering for it. 

But Jack’s still got his hold on you, pinning you down so he can work you onto his cock slowly, at his own pace. He’s in control here. 

You both moan again once he reaches the end of you, fully seated in your velvety pussy. His head falls onto your back, his arms wrapping around you to hold you to him, anything to get closer. You scramble to gain purchase on anything, the wall, his strong arms, anything. You feel dizzy, you feel full, you feel drunk. 

“Always so good for me. Such a good girl” He moans, hips pulling back to just thrust back in punishingly. It punches a moan out from your gut. 

You nod your head, unable to speak. I try to be good, I try to be.

Jack doesn’t wait, this has to be quick anyways, you both have been gone for far too long, he’s suddenly reminded that the day shift will be showing up in a matter of minutes and God knows Robby will be looking for him up here. His dick throbs at the thought of being caught balls deep inside of you, his little med student. 

He pulls you back by the ass to meet his hips, pumping himself in and out of your creamy pussy at a brutal pace, his eyes nearly rolling into the back of his head. He says your name, you’ve never heard him say a name quite like that and it breaks you. 

“I-Is this good?” He asks, trying to be sexy but it comes out broken, desperate and pathetic.

You nod your head frantically again, trying to turn your head to look at him and Jack’s heart soars at the sight. Your pupils blown black, eyes big and watery from the feel of his cock filling you up to the absolute brim, hair matted to your sweaty forehead. He wants to lick the sweat from you. Next time, next time. 

Jack leans closer, kissing you on the open mouth and you moan debauchedly into him. As he moved closer to you to keep kissing you it pushed his cock that much further into you, his hips grinding into your ass and his cock into the absolute end of you. You can barely keep yourself standing, you’re thankful for Jack’s strength keeping you up, you could’ve had both feet off the ground and you’d have no idea. 

His cock pummels into you, moan after moan being punched from your chest, your gut, the deepest part of you. 

You whimper into his mouth at his sweet kisses in contrast with his harsh thrusts, it was enough to make your head spin, your pussy clench, threatening to burst. 

“Tell me it’s good, need you to say it for me.” 

“S-So good, Jack. You feel-”

“Yeah?” 

You cry, you think a lone tear falls from your eye and maybe Jack kisses it away or licks it but his cock doesn’t stop and suddenly you’re cumming, completely surrendering your body to his. You shudder and twitch and your pussy squeezes his dick so tight he nearly sees stars, it takes everything in him to not blow his load inside of you in that instant. 

That would be bad, that would be really bad, that would be messy and irresponsible and fuck he’s not wearing a condom how could you both have been so stupid and drunk off each other to not grab a condom. It’s not like you have them in your scrubs but theres a dispenser in the bathroom and - 

“Jack please,” You beg, voice so small and worn out. Your hand reaches out behind you, grabbing for him and suddenly he’s pulled back to the very real reality where he is fucking the shit out of you and he’s about to cum about it. 

“Please what?” He asks, needing to hear you say it. 

“Need you- need you to cum for me. Please Jack.” 

Fuck, he doesn’t want this to be over, he needs this to go on forever, needs you to suddenly be his salvation, he’s not quite sure how he’s gone on this long without you but he knows he can’t go forward without it. 

Jack’s body tenses, his cock somehow gets impossibly harder, you feel it thicken inside of you and you moan again, another orgasm threatening to rip through you. 

But suddenly he’s pulling himself out of your greedy hole, his voice breaking as he spills himself onto the concrete floor beneath the both of you. Your cunt pulses, desperate to have him fill you again. Before you can protest his fingers lunge up into your abused hole again and he grating at that spot inside of you, the one that has you seeing stars. 

“Need another one, yeah?”

“Jack- fuck!” It complete takes over you. 

Somehow without having to even tell him, he felt the way your pussy spasmed and cried around him right before he pulled out, he knew you were close to cumming again. And ever the gentleman he is, he’s going to give you another one. 

He’s unrelenting, just like he was with his cock. His two fingers crook up against that spot again and suddenly you’re seeing stars. 

Jack’s arm wraps around the front of your shoulders, hauling your back straight against his chest, holding your trembling body to his. You can feel his slowly softening cock against your lower back, cum still dripping from it onto your ass. 

“Do it, please.” He begs of you this time, the muscles in both arms trembling from his own orgasm. 

Jack feels your pussy spasm again, feels the way your chest quickens its breathes, the way your feet nearly kick out from under you with the strength of it all and your cumming on his hand, your eyes going black and blind from the force of it. 

You slump back against him, letting him hold you once again. Jack wraps both his arms around you, swinging you around so that his back is pressed against the wall so he can lean on something. You both try to catch your breath, clinging to each other with leftover desperation. 

Greedily, he lets a hand swipe through your abused folds, collecting what you’ve given him. You whimper, leaning your head back to hide it in his neck, embarrassed. 

“Jack,” you whine in a pathetic attempt at protesting. 

He clicks his tongue at you, “Let me.” He tells you, plainly. 

His fingers linger, scooping up what he can and bringing it to his lips. He licks everything, groaning at the taste and letting his eyes close. You whine, pushing your face further into his neck, smelling him. He smells manly, like sweat, cologne and sex. You let it envelop you. 

Jack holds you like that for as long as he humanly can. Before the thoughts of getting caught inevitably come crashing down upon him again. 

“We have to move, kid. Can’t stay like this forever.” He tells you in a sad tone. You press a final kiss to his neck, breathing him in before pulling away. 

“I know.” 

You both pull yourselves back together. Jack puts his own pants back on as he watches you pull your underwear on slowly. Mindlessly, he reaches for your pants and holds them out for you. You put your hands on his shoulders while you step into them. 

“Thank you.” You tell him, voice gone quiet again, like you already have to be hush hush about this. 

Jack kisses the top of your head sweetly. You wonder what’s to come after this. You look up at him and he gives you that slick side smile you’ve only seen him throw Robby or Dana. 

“Didn’t know you could make noises like that.” He smiles and you push him back against the wall you were both just fucking up against, your face absolutely burning. This motherfucker likes making fun of you. 

“Jack I swear to God-”

He grabs you and kisses you again, holding your face to his. You let him kiss you, fighting the want to just melt back into him and stay here. 

Jack pulls away first. His anxiety getting the best of him. 

“Can I drive you home?” He asks, unsure of what else to say. He needs to get you out of the workplace and have a normal fucking conversation with you that doesn’t revolve around grief and dying kids and elderly on life support. 

And besides he knows you take the bus. 

“Yes please.” 

/

okayyy i literally had to cut it short because this shit was getting too long LOL, i had a full final act outlined but maybe that could be a shorter part two if anyone's interested..... lmk <3

[lovelyhan]

— starcrossed losers ⟢

at age fifteen, you’re betrothed to a prince named jeonghan. at age twenty-five, you’re set to marry him. so when your father gives you a chance to find love all on your own, you immediately take it. now if only jeonghan would stop fucking sabotaging every relationship you’re trying to get into.

★ FEATURING; jeonghan x reader

★ WORD COUNT; 21k words

★ TAGS; princess!reader, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, magic & fantasy, betrayal (not frm jh), angst, minor character death, blood and violence, smut (MINORS DNI)

★ NOTES; two years... it took me TWO YEARS to write this and post it AJAHDSFJSHFDGDF i am sorry? SO DEEPLY SORRY!?!?!? but that aside, this probably only starts to get more jeonghan-centric at the 10k word mark... OUGH..... i needed to do a lot of worldbuilding AHAHAHAHA BUT I PROMISEE it's for good reason!

this is part of the it’s complicated series.

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE

★ SMUT TAGS; vaginal fingering, making out in places where you shouldn't, semi-public sex (that's it for this part unfortunately...)

Your life changed forever on a Tuesday morning.

As a princess, your days were dictated by a perfectly curated schedule. Every hour accounted for, every moment neatly placed in a grid of expectations and duty. It should have felt restrictive for most girls your age. But not for you. You liked the structure. The routine gave your life shape and purpose. You didn’t have to wonder what the day might hold or scramble to meet your obligations. All that was required of you was to show up, shoulders squared, chin high, and play your part in the ever-charming production of royal daughterhood.

Mondays and Wednesdays were for lessons with your private tutor—arithmetic, magical history, the foundations of politics and diplomacy. Tuesdays and Thursdays belonged to physical training. Fencing and archery were your common favorites. Fridays were reserved for etiquette, where you were taught about flawless posture, graceful curtsies, and a hundred ways to say no without ever using the word. Meanwhile, weekends were for socializing, when nobles from Ancarra and beyond paraded their heirs and fortunes before the court like trinkets at market.

On this particular Tuesday, Changkyun’s form was sloppy—left shoulder too low, footwork too eager—and you exploited it mercilessly, driving him back across the mat with a flurry of perfectly timed lunges. He faltered on his retreat, lost his balance, and went down with a sharp oof before the tip of your foil points just shy of his collarbone.

You didn’t smirk, but it took effort.

Flat on his back, your fencing partner let out a groan and flung an arm over his eyes. “You’ve been spending too much time with Master Yesung. He’s turned you into a menace.”

“I’ve always been a menace,” you tell him, withdrawing your foil with a flick. “You’re just slow today.”

From the far end of the training hall, a low, throaty rumble of approval rolled across the floor like distant thunder. You glanced over your shoulder to find Reya lounging on the polished stone, tail twitching like he’s amused with your victory. The massive white tiger regarded you with half-lidded pride, resting his chin on his paws like the king he thinks he is.

Changkyun gave Reya a wary glance. “He still hates me.”

“He hates everyone,” you replied fondly. “Except me.”

You didn’t say the rest: that Reya is more than a pet. That you hadn’t tamed him—you found him, half-starved and snared by a hunter’s trap in the snowfields. That when your magic surfaced and it turned out you weren’t a fire-wielder, or a stormcaller like the other gifted scions of noble houses but simply a girl who could speak to animals: everyone acted like you’d been cursed with the art of babysitting.

That is not real magic, they said. It will never be useful in court.

So you honed your body instead. 

Foil. Footwork. Form. You mastered it all, until no one dared question your worth out loud. And maybe Changkyun is the only person who ever looked at you without that shadow of disappointment on everyone’s faces when they thought you wouldn’t notice.

Your fingers brushed as you help him to his feet, and your heart lifts—

—just as Royal Advisor Siwon clears his throat.

The sound snapped through the air like a blade cracking on steel. You and Changkyun jump apart.

“Your Grace,” Siwon said, bowing deeply. His silver-rimmed spectacles gleam in the sunlight. “The king requests your presence. Immediately.”

You blinked. “I’m in the middle of training.”

“I’m afraid this takes precedence, Princess,” he told you with the faintest edge of regret in his tone. He’s always been considerate of your feelings. “The matter is… personal.”

Your stomach twisted at that.

Moments later, you pulled off your gloves, tucking them under your arm beside your training foil. Reya got up from his corner with a huff as he padded silently toward you, his presence at your heel like a silent question.

“I’ll return,” you told Changkyun, though you’re not sure you will.

The halls of the Castle of Ancarra were quiet at this hour, but never truly still.

Morning sunlight streamed through stained glass windows, spilling pools of color across the floor dancing faintly over the stone as if the palace itself breathed. The scent of blooming flowers drifted in through open archways from the garden courtyards beyond, clinging to the walls like perfume. Somewhere distant, you heard the faint hum of magic wards being tuned by the royal mages, that soft shimmering sound like glass being struck gently by wind.

You, on the other hand, smelled like sweat.

Each step echoed a little too loudly as you padded down the eastern corridor. Beside you, Siwon walked with his usual glacial calm, every inch the model of a court advisor. Reya prowled silently behind you, massive white paws silent against marble. His fur rippled like snowdrifts in motion, and his blue eyes tracked every passing flicker of movement with the lazy wariness of a predator who knew he had nothing to fear.

You squinted up at Siwon, who maintained his pace without so much as glancing at you. “You know, if you don’t tell me what’s going on, I’m going to assume I’m dying.”

“I assure you, Your Grace,” he replied without inflection, “you are not.”

“Then I’m being exiled.”

“Also incorrect.”

“Then what is it?”

He gave a patient sigh, the kind adults always gave when they thought you were being childish. (You were fifteen, not five, but that never seemed to matter.) “It is not my place to say.”

You groaned. “That’s what you always say.”

“Because it is always true.”

“Can you at least tell me if I’m going to like it?”

“Some might consider it an honor.”

“...Will you make me one of those snowman figures with your frost magic to shut me up?”

Siwon glanced at you, startled but amused. “I thought you already outgrew those, Princess.”

You huffed, and Reya let out a rumble behind you—his version of agreement, no doubt. You didn’t like the way this was heading. Siwon’s face gave nothing away, as usual, and there’s no way to break through his defenses.

Rounding the corner near the west wing stairwell, you nearly collided with one of the younger palace maids, who let out a startled yelp and nearly dropped her stack of linens.

“Oh! Princess!” she gasped, eyes wide as saucers. “You’re still in your fencing kit?”

You look at her bizarrely. “Yes? It’s fencing day?”

Regardless, she looked horrified. “Your hair is all—your tunic—oh dear, you’re soaked. I-I’ll have the other attendants prepare a bath immediately. Do you want rosewater or lavender? I can call for your blue silks, or maybe—”

“She won’t have time for that,” Siwon interrupted mildly, stepping forward. “Her Highness is expected in the king’s study at once.���

The maid faltered. “Oh. I see. O-Of course.”

You offered a weak smile. “It’s fine. My father’s seen worse. Remember when Reya broke into the aviary and I spent half a council meeting covered in goose feathers? This can’t be worse than that.”

Behind you, your tiger gave a low, pleased chuff. You could feel his smugness. The maid tried to laugh politely but gave up halfway through. She curtsied and retreated with all the urgency of someone fleeing a burning room.

You scratched behind Reya’s ear absently as you continued walking with Siwon. “You’d think they’ve never seen sweat before.”

“You are a princess, Your Grace,” Siwon said. “The ideal princess does not perspire. She glows.”

“I’ll be sure to glow after I’m dead.”

Siwon did not react.

Which, of course, was the worst reaction of all.

He reached the grand oak door at the end of the corridor and knocked twice with the back of his hand, the sound deep and final before opening the door.

“After you, Princess,” Siwon said, and you stepped across the threshold, sweat-streaked and bracing yourself for the sentence that would ruin the rest of your youth.

The scent of ink and parchment greeted you first.

Not the cloying perfume of court scrolls but something plainer. Vellum stacked in rows, ink dried in the well, candle wax crusted in yellow pools on the old wooden desk. A fire smoldered low in the hearth, casting long shadows over the high shelves. A half-eaten plate of bread and cheese sat untouched near the window, forgotten beside a ledger the size of a paving stone.

Your father sat behind the desk, hunched over a thick sheaf of correspondence, pen stilled in his hand.

The King of Ancarra was not a large man, not like the kings in your history books who towered over battlefields in gleaming armor. He was wiry, silver streaking his dark hair while the creases at the corners of his eyes deepened not by age but by long nights and hard decisions. He looked up when you entered, and the tiredness in his face softened.

“Bug,” he said, smiling gently. “You’re here.”

As Siwon left you two your own devices, you bowed because you were expected to. But when you straightened, you didn’t hide the concern in your face. Not even that old, endearing nickname could dispel your unease.

“You look awful.”

He barked a tired laugh and set the pen aside. “Thank you, sweetling. That’s what every man longs to hear from his daughter.”

You stepped forward, Reya padding behind you with the faintest growl of warning. He never liked this room. Maybe it reminded him of confinement, or maybe he just hated the smell of parchment.

“You’re still doing all the ledgers by hand,” you said, eyeing the mountain of work.

Your father didn’t deny it. “Who else would?” His smile was wry. “The ministers mean well, but they’d outsource my soul if I let them. I trust my own hand better.”

You bit your lip. He’d always been like this—stubborn in his solitude, steadfast in his refusal to lean on others. Ever since your mother died, he’d carried everything himself. That day was etched into your life, even though you weren’t old enough to remember it. You were told she passed giving birth to you. That her last words were your name. Your father never married again, never even considered it.

Part of you always wondered if that was loyalty, or guilt.

You moved to stand beside him, your sweat-streaked fencing gear looking very out of place in the quiet glow of his study. “You could have waited for me to change.”

He gave a soft hum. “Didn’t want to waste time. I know how long it takes for you to pick a ribbon for your hair.”

You gave him a playful glare.

And then, his expression changed—just slightly. The weariness didn’t fade, but something settled in beside it. A sort of gravity you’d seen only a handful of times in your life.

He gestured to the seat across from him. “Sit. There’s something I need to tell you.”

The hairs at the back of your neck prickled, but you do as you’re told. Reya let out another disgruntled noise as he curled at your feet, frost blue eyes squared on your father. Shortly after sitting down, you folded your hands and straightened your spine like you’d been taught.

“Is something wrong?” you asked.

“...You’ve grown,” Your father’s fingers brushed across the parchment before him, as if searching for the words inside it instead of in his own mind. “Fifteen now. Three years left until you’re given the Dawning Crown.”

That doesn’t quite answer your question.

The Dawning Ceremony was a rite of passage for every member of Ancarran royalty. On your eighteenth birthday, the veil of childhood would be lifted. You’d stand before the court in ceremonial robes, swear your oaths beneath the kingdom’s banner, and receive the Dawning Crown—a silver circlet that marked your right to advise the throne, to lead, to inherit. 

But something told you that wasn’t what the king summoned you for today. 

“Yes,” you said warily. “What of it?” 

Your father looked up at you then. His eyes—tired, kind, and quietly burdened—searched your face as if trying to memorize it before he said something you wouldn’t forgive.

“I’ve arranged a betrothal for you.” 

Silence dropped between you like a stone into water, and it rippled in your chest. You blinked, as if you’d misheard. “What?”

“A betrothal,” he repeated gently. “To Prince Jeonghan of Seraphia. The engagement will be announced before the year’s end. You’ll be married once you both come of age.”

Your throat went dry as you sat there stiffly, the rest of your body frozen while your brain scrambled to catch up. Outside, you could hear the distant flutter of birdsong through the windows, absurdly cheerful for the moment. Reya stirred at your feet, sensing your shock.

“But…” You swallowed. “I thought I would— I thought I’d be able to choose.”

Your father’s face flickered with regret, but his voice was firm. “I did what I had to, bug. This alliance is necessary. Seraphia’s port routes feed half our inland trade. And their King trusts Jeonghan to succeed him one day. He’s… he’s a good boy.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Tried not to make a sound like a dying bird.

Jeonghan.

You remembered him only in flashes. A diplomatic visit when you were thirteen. A boy with moonlight hair and a smile made of silk and sunshine. All the noble daughters swooned while he bowed and kissed their hands like something out of a storybook.

But you saw it.

You saw the glint of amusement in his eyes when he flattered people just to watch them squirm. The flick of his wrist when he’d “accidentally” stepped on your dress train. The way he’d offered you a honeyed tart, only for you to discover it was filled with chili paste. Your lips had burned for hours.

You scowled. “I would’ve preferred his brother. Joshua at least has a soul.”

The king’s sigh was long and worn, as though he’d rehearsed this conversation a thousand times in his head and never found a version where it didn’t end with you furious.

“I know this isn’t what you wanted,” he said quietly. “But it’s what’s best. For the kingdom.”

You could feel the pressure in your chest start to swell—tight and hot and helpless. You shoved back from your chair, the legs scraping loudly against the polished floor. Reya’s ears flicked at the sound.

“So that’s it?” you demanded. “You marry me off to another kingdom and hope I forget everything I wanted? What about Ancarra? Who do you expect to rule when you’re gone, if I’m stuck in the next kingdom over with a husband I didn’t choose?”

Your voice rang louder than you meant it to, but once it started, it wouldn’t stop.

“Father, I’ve trained my whole life to help you. I’m learning about the laws, the politics, the treaties. I’ve fought and studied and bent over backwards to prove I’m not some fragile little girl just because my magic doesn’t shoot lightning out of my hands!” you sniffled, barely breathing with how much your throat feels like it’s stuffed with cotton. “And now you’re saying it’s all just... for decoration?”

Your father closed his eyes.

For a moment, the silence returned. Not heavy like before, but much more somber.

“You think I don’t want you here?” he asked, and your heart cracked at the roughness in his voice. “You think I haven’t dreamed of the day I’d see you on the throne beside me, crowned and proud, finally free to shape this kingdom with your own hands?”

The king stood behind his desk, and the gesture felt too slow for the weight of what he carried.

“You’ll still rule Ancarra in my place one day, bug,” he said, his voice low with weariness. “But I’ve seen the parts of you that mirror the worst of me. The way you shoulder everything on your own. The way you keep others at a distance, offering only what’s required and nothing more. I know that kind of loneliness. I’ve lived it. And I wouldn’t wish it on you.”

He looked at you then, and the weight behind his gaze was heavier than any crown.

“I’m not trying to chain you to another kingdom. I just want you to have someone by your side. Someone who sees you not as a sovereign, or a symbol, but as a woman. As a queen who doesn’t have to stand alone.”

You turned away, biting the inside of your cheek to keep the anger from spilling out again. Just minutes ago, you’d been silently fretting over your father’s terrible habit of grinding himself into the ground—and now he was saying you were the same. That you’d inherited his loneliness like it was part of your bloodline.

Reya brushed against your side, his fur warm and solid as a low huff vibrated in his chest. You’re not alone, he said. I’m still here.

But the comfort didn’t dull the sting. It didn’t make the room feel any less like a cage.

“Please, bug,” he said softly, reaching across the desk to take your hands in his. His grip was warm, steady, and just a little too gentle. “I need you to trust me. Just for now.”

You looked at him—at the sleepless shadows beneath his eyes, the ink smudged into the creases of his fingers, the quiet burden he carried alone because he never let anyone close enough to share it. Your chest ached.

You nodded, once. “Just for now.”

Life went on, as it always did.

Your schedule remained unchanged—lessons, training, etiquette, more training. The castle walls stayed the same shade of honeyed stone, and the banners still rippled with the wind in Ancarran silver. No one treated you differently, but that was the worst part. The servants still curtsied, the guards still bowed, and Siwon still handed you your briefing scrolls with quiet efficiency. As if nothing had changed. As if your future hadn’t just been carved into stone.

But when you walked through the halls, people looked at you a little longer. Nobles smiled a little too kindly. Maids paused mid-task to whisper behind their hands.

Reya sensed the shift, too. He stayed closer than usual, his great striped head brushing your elbow when you walked, his breath warm at your back when you slept. His presence grounded you, but not even he could quiet the nervous churn in your stomach as the ceremonial dinner approached.

The Seraphian royal family arrived two days after the harvest moon. Their procession was the usual fanfare—banners and courtiers, guards in gilded armor, a fleet of pearl-dappled carriages led by plumed steeds. You watched it unfold from the balcony with arms crossed, ignoring the way your heart drummed harder when you spotted Jeonghan stepping out in gold-trimmed robes, his hair ink-black and tied back with a silken cord. 

It used to be much lighter, didn’t it? Though there were always rumors about the eldest Seraphian prince—that he changed his hair as often as his wardrobe, either by spellcraft or cosmetics. You weren’t sure which unnerved you more. 

The ceremonial dinner was held that evening in the Grand Marbled Hall. Candles glittered in every chandelier. The finest cutlery had been polished to mirror-shine. You were seated at the right of your father; Jeonghan sat directly across from you, grinning like this was all terribly funny.

For the sake of appearances, you were perfect. Pleasant and regal as you should be. You smiled when prompted, clinked your glass when toasts were made, and managed not to stab anyone with your fork. But once dessert had been cleared and the nobles began drifting into smaller pockets of conversation, you stepped away from the main table. 

And, of course, Jeonghan followed.

“You’re brooding,” he said, appearing at your side like a shadow. “It’s a charming look on you, truly. Very mysterious, but also very tragic.”

“I’m resisting the urge to toss you into the fountain,” you said coolly, still upset over Reya being barred from the ceremonial dinner. Siwon claimed your tiger would terrify half the guests into fleeing back to their homelands, but honestly? That’s exactly where you want Jeonghan to be. 

All of a sudden, Joshua materialized behind him with a sigh. “Brother, maybe you shouldn’t antagonize your future wife during the first dinner.”

The older boy raised an innocent brow. “I’m simply trying to get to know her better. It’s called bonding.”

“It’s called being a smug little shit,” you muttered, turning to Joshua. “Remind me again why they didn’t marry you off instead?”

“Because I’m only thirteen, Princess,” Joshua said with a rueful smile. “And unlike Jeonghan, I can’t talk my way out of anything. Or into it.”

Jeonghan pressed a hand to his chest. “You wound me.”

This was what your interactions looked like for the next few years. 

Time wore on in polished routines and reluctant familiarity. Your lessons deepened. You traded your fencing foil with a sword. Your council briefings grew longer. And through it all, the shape of your future loomed larger, carved into every careful glance from the court, every politely worded expectation.

Jeonghan visited often enough to fulfill duty, but never more than that. He was cordial in public, infuriating in private. He knew just how to smile at the other noble girls, how to offer a compliment sweet enough to make them blush. But never you.

You weren’t sure when it started to bother you.

He didn’t try to charm you. Didn’t send letters. Didn’t hover by your side during banquets or take your hand when music played. Instead, he teased you, irritated you, challenged you. When you dueled with the court trainers, he’d lean against a post with a smug grin and critique your footwork. When you won a mock debate in strategy lessons, he’d ask if you were aiming for tyrant or empress.

He wasn’t cruel. Just… completely uninterested.

And so, you mirrored him. Distant, cool, and unimpressed.

It was easier that way. You told yourself it didn’t matter, that you preferred it like this—that it was better if neither of you cared. That way, when the Dawning Ceremony finally arrived, and the court crowned you with silver and called you queen-to-be, you wouldn’t look for him in the crowd. You wouldn’t hope he was watching. Wouldn’t wonder if he saw more than just a political pawn.

You were eighteen now. The veil of childhood had been lifted. The Dawning Crown gleamed in your reflection like a weight you’d only begun to feel.

The door creaked open behind you. Your stylists fell silent at once—one still halfway through pinning the final clasp on your ceremonial mantle. When they turned and caught sight of who had entered, they dipped into low bows, murmuring deferentially before excusing themselves in a flurry of silks and whispered footsteps.

You met your father’s reflection in the mirror.

He looked tired. Always did, these days. The strain of kingship lived in the soft slump of his shoulders, in the silver threading through his dark hair. But tonight, he wore a quiet pride that almost softened it.

“I still remember when you used to run barefoot through the garden, covered in dirt and insisting you’d seen a dragon in the clouds,” he said, his voice low and fond. “And now look at you.”

You turned to face him fully. The ceremonial robes felt heavier under his gaze—woven from Ancarran silver and river-blue silk, embroidered with threads that shimmered like starlight. The Dawning Crown had been nestled into your hair not ten minutes ago, and already it felt like a permanent weight.

“You’ve grown into a fine heir,” he went on. “The court respects you. The people speak your name with hope. I have no doubt you’ll rule even better than I did.”

The words landed gently, like feathers instead of stones, but you only offered a small nod. ���Is that all, or did you come to deliver another surprise engagement?”

He huffed a laugh. “Not today.”

A shape lingered in the hall behind him. You turned toward the figure, and felt your spine straighten when he stepped inside. You recognized him immediately. 

Lord Kwon Soonyoung of the River Quarter. Young for a noble, but sharp-tongued, quick-witted, and endlessly frustrating to the older lords who couldn’t keep up. He spoke boldly during court sessions, often to your quiet amusement. Not because he was reckless, but because his suggestions made sense. Because they weren’t rooted in pride or greed or tradition-for-tradition’s sake.

You could tolerate Soonyoung.

More importantly, Reya mirrored the same sentiment. Your beast stirred at your side but made no noise. His tail thumped once against the floor, and when Soonyoung reached out, Reya allowed him to touch his head—without biting or growling or snarling.

You blinked. “He never lets anyone do that. Not even the king.”

Soonyoung smiled faintly. “I bring very expensive jerky to council meetings.”

Your father gave a dry cough that might’ve been a laugh. “I thought it was time you had an advisor of your own,” he said, shifting his weight. “Someone who understands your vision. Who won’t cower, but won’t sabotage you either. You’ll still have access to the council, of course. But from now on, Lord Kwon will report directly to you.”

You glanced back at Soonyoung, one brow arching.

He inclined his head solemnly. “If you’ll have me.”

And despite the crown digging into your temples, despite the pressure mounting outside those palace doors, you found yourself almost relieved for once.

The kingdom held its breath as the sun dipped low behind the peaks of Ancarra, casting long shadows across the capital. From the grand plaza to the marble steps of the palace, thousands had gathered to watch you rise.

The Dawning Crown sat heavy atop your head—woven silver and moonstones, forged centuries ago for this moment. You wore it like you wore the future: unshaking, though it pressed against your every thought.

You stepped forward beneath the carved arch of the Grand Marbled Hall, every bell in the capital chiming at once. Your people stood below. Nobles flanked the raised pavilion. The wind caught your cape and made you look more like a figure from myth than flesh and blood.

Jeonghan, of course, was in the very front of the crowd, cloaked in Seraphian white and gold. His black hair fell loose tonight, ribbon tied lazily at the nape of his neck, and his expression is half amused, half something else. He didn’t look proud. He didn’t even look solemn. That damn prince simply looked like he was waiting for something only he knew the shape of.

You tore your gaze from him as the High Chancellor stepped forward.

His voice carried through the twilight air: blessing your name, your bloodline, your title. You bowed your head at the proper moment.

When it was your turn to speak, you found your voice more easily than expected. You spoke not just as a daughter, but as a queen-in-waiting. You spoke of duty, and legacy, and of your people—of Ancarra’s strength. The crowd answered with a roar.

And just like that, it was over. The stars blinked to life overhead. The music would begin soon. So would the toasts, the dancing, and the procession of noble flatterers lining up to be seen. But first—you slipped from the velvet crush of the crowd and found Soonyoung waiting just off the ceremonial steps, where the torchlight flickered low and Reya prowled like a sentinel in the dark.

He stiffened when he saw your expression. “Princess?”

You pulled him aside, away from the footmen and ladies-in-waiting, and met his eyes.

“You’re my advisor now,” you said, voice low but steady.

He nodded.

“Then this is your first task,” you whispered. “If you cannot stop my betrothal to Jeonghan… delay it. Months, years—I don’t care. Just buy me time. As much as you can.”

Soonyoung blinked. “And if they ask questions?”

“They won’t.” You stepped closer. “Because you’ll be clever. And because no one—not the council, not the court, not even my father—can know that it was me who told you.”

Your advisor hesitated only a moment longer.

Then he smiled, something sharp and wolfish. “Consider it done.”

Years passed like storms over open fields—loud, relentless, and gone before you could catch your breath.

Your title grew heavier with each passing season. Every month brought new scrolls to sign, new decisions to weigh, new nobles testing your patience and pretending not to. But by your side, always, was Soonyoung.

He proved himself more than just a quick wit and a clever tongue. He was tactful when you were tired, bold when you hesitated, and disarmingly good at navigating court politics without letting it twist him. Most importantly, he did as you asked: he stalled. And stalled. And stalled.

Soonyoung often cited economic instability. He sowed polite doubt about timing. He suggested further diplomatic exchanges. And every time the matter of the betrothal crept to the surface, he found a way to push it back under without leaving fingerprints. For that, you trusted him more than most.

Still, no amount of clever maneuvering could keep Jeonghan away.

The Seraphian prince was a constant thorn in your side. Not overtly cruel but sharp enough to get under your skin. He made biting comments over tea with the council. Danced merely once at galas, and always with just you, even if his smile never reached his eyes. He acted the perfect prince in public, all grace and golden formality, but in private he still found delight in teasing your temper and smirking when it frayed.

And you matched him, blow for blow. It was the only way you knew to survive it.

You tried everything else. You proposed policy changes that would jeopardize the alliance. You drafted appeals to dissolve the arrangement. You whispered to other members of court, trying to find a crack in the centuries-old yet unspoken agreement binding Ancarra and Seraphia. But the betrothal endured, untouched, like some ancient curse carved into stone. 

You were set to marry each other once you both turned twenty-five, and not even Soonyoung could circumvent the inevitable for longer than he already had.  

On the eve of your twenty-fourth name day, you couldn’t bear it any longer.

You found your father in the observatory, where he often retreated these days, away from court noise and council bickering. He looked older now—softer around the eyes, silver threading his entire beard—but still steady, still listening.

“I’ve done everything you asked,” you told him, voice low but urgent. “I’ve honored the engagement. I’ve strengthened our kingdom. I’ve waited. But please…” Your hands clenched at your sides. “Please let me find love on my own. Not in a treaty. Not in an obligation.”

The king looked up at you, quiet for a long moment. And in that silence, your heart thudded so loudly you feared he could hear the break in it.

Your father didn’t answer right away. He looked at you for a long time, like he was peering through the layers of duty you wore like armor—past the queen-in-waiting, down to the little girl who used to trail behind him with ink on her sleeves and admiration in her eyes.

Then finally, he sighed, running a hand through his hair, wearier than you’d ever seen him.

“If you must,” he said softly. “Then choose. But do it wisely.”

And just like that, the floodgates opened.

Soonyoung, ever your loyal accomplice, was the first to act. But your father’s advisor, Siwon, was ten steps ahead. Between them a list was compiled: eligible bachelors from noble families across the continent. Men with good standing, decent lineage, tolerable personalities. A thick folder of names, portraits, court records, and correspondences appeared on your desk within the week.

“You asked for love,” Soonyoung reminded you, lifting an eyebrow. “Not obscurity. We still have to make it look… proper somehow.”

You stared down at the endless sea of faces, all of them smiling too politely. The illusion of choice wrapped in silk and gold. It wasn’t exactly what you’d hoped for, but it was something—a sliver of agency in a life that rarely allowed any.

Near the end of the list, a familiar face stopped you cold.

Im Changkyun.

The boy who used to spar with you in the training yard until both your arms gave out. The only one who never pulled his strikes. Who called you “lightfoot” just to get under your skin and laughed when you beat him anyway. He’d left court years ago to pursue something abroad for a few years—you hadn’t heard from him since.

You held his portrait a moment longer than the others.

He looked older now, jaw sharper, eyes steadier. But something in his expression was the same: direct, unafraid. You set the image aside, just slightly, like a card at the top of a deck.

“Considering him?” Soonyoung asked, not even trying to hide the curiosity.

You didn’t answer. Not really. Just tapped the edge of the page and muttered, “He’s not terrible.”

Several days later, you invited Changkyun to the castle.

The back gardens were quiet this time of day—just enough sunlight spilling through the high hedgerows to illuminate the walking path in pale gold. The magnolias were in bloom, their wide petals fluttering in the breeze like fallen silk. You waited near the old stone bench beneath the olive tree, Reya sprawled lazily in the grass at your feet like he didn’t weigh as much as a small carriage.

Siwon and Soonyoung lingered at the archway entrance, trying and failing not to look like posted guards. You’d already told them three times that Reya was protection enough—and given the way the striped beast flicked his tail with bored menace, you were fairly confident no one would get within lunging range without permission.

Still, you appreciated their presence. Just as you appreciated the way the household staff had been strictly instructed, sworn to silence, and double-compensated for their discretion.

No one from Seraphia could know. 

You heard footsteps before you saw him—light, careful, and familiar. When Changkyun emerged from the vine-draped path, the first thing you noticed was how tall he’d gotten. His frame was broader, shoulders squared. His hair was longer now too, tied back against his nape.

But then he grinned, and you knew it was still him.

“Well,” he said, stepping into the clearing with a casual ease that made Reya lift his head. “Some things don’t change.”

You quirked an eyebrow. “Like what?”

“Your taste in terrifying pets.” He nodded at your tiger. “Still looks like he wants to eat me.”

Reya snorted through his nose. You weren’t entirely sure it wasn’t a laugh. “He does. But only a little.”

Changkyun bowed low, more mockery than formality, then straightened and met your eyes. “Your Highness.”

“Don’t,” you said, voice softer than you expected. “Not here.”

His expression eased. “Alright, Lightfoot then.”

You nodded despite the jab, the name fitting better in his mouth than you remembered. And for a moment, standing there in the hush of a secret meeting surrounded by the scent of olive and magnolia, you felt like a girl again. A little reckless. A little hopeful.

“So,” Changkyun said, glancing past you to where the advisors waited in careful silence. “Am I here for tea, or a political inquisition?”

You smirked. “That depends on whether you’re still terrible at fencing.”

“Oh no,” he groaned. “You’re going to beat me again, aren’t you?”

“If you’re lucky,” you said, turning to lead the way deeper into the garden. “If you’re not, Reya will.”

And Reya, as if understanding perfectly, bared his teeth in a lazy grin.

You walked side by side with Changkyun through the garden path, Reya ambling behind like a silent chaperone. The quiet between you wasn’t uncomfortable, just tentative. It had been years, after all. He’d grown into his frame the way trees settle into their roots—steady, grounded, and unpretentious.

You stopped at the far end of the gardens beneath a low-limbed willow, leaves swaying like curtains in the wind. When you turned to face him, the words tangled briefly on your tongue.

Changkyun tilted his head. “You’re fidgeting.”

“I’m not.”

“You are,” he said, grinning. “Same way you used to before you asked to borrow my practice foil. Or when you were about to do something reckless.”

You huffed, cheeks warming. “I’m not here to be reckless. I’m being strategic.”

“Same thing, in your case.”

You gave him a look, then sighed. “Fine. I’ll be frank with you.”

“That’s new.” He raised an eyebrow in mock surprise.

You ignored him. “You’re here because I’m… looking.”

His expression shifted—curious, but not alarmed. “Looking? For what?”

“A husband,” you said quickly, like yanking a bandage off. “Someone suitable enough that my council and court will approve. Someone who could make this kingdom feel less like a cage, and—” You stopped, biting the inside of your cheek. “Someone I could maybe stand.”

Changkyun blinked, taken aback for a moment, then leaned in slightly. “But… aren’t you already betrothed?”

You stilled before carefully saying, “It’s complicated.”

He looked at you for a long moment. Not pressing, not even judging, but he did take a moment to read between the lines.

“Right,” he said finally, with a nod. “Complicated.”

You were grateful he didn’t pry further.

Hmph, you thought. If Jeonghan were this thoughtful, I wouldn’t have a problem with it.

You immediately wanted to punch yourself. What? No. No. Why in the world—? You shook the thought off like water from your hands. Ridiculous. Completely and utterly—

“I’m flattered,” Changkyun said gently, pulling you from your spiraling thoughts. “Really. It means a lot that you’d even consider me.” His eyes dimmed just a little. “But I can’t.”

Your heart paused. “Can’t…?”

He nodded, almost apologetically. “There’s someone else. We’ve been together a while now. She’s not from a noble house, so it was never going to be public, but… we’re expecting a baby in the spring.”

It hit you like a brick wall of mortification. “Oh, gods—Changkyun, I didn’t know. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to put you in a—”

“No, no,” he said, holding up a hand. “I know you didn’t. You never would have tried if you did. I’m honored you thought of me, but I’ve already made my choice.”

You took a step back, mortified beyond belief. “I just tried to poach a taken man.”

“With a pregnant partner,” he added with a teasing grin. “A bold move, even for you.”

“Stop laughing,” you hissed, trying to suppress the heat crawling up your neck. “This is a diplomatic disaster.”

And of course, when you turned to stalk back to the garden entrance, you saw them—Soonyoung and Siwon, standing just where you left them, whispering like schoolboys and failing horribly at hiding their laughter.

“You both knew, didn’t you?” you growled.

Siwon cleared his throat and looked up at the sky. Soonyoung offered a helpful shrug. “We just wanted to see how long it would take for you to find out.”

“You’re both fired.” 

“You’ve said that four times this month,” Soonyoung said cheerfully.

“And it gets less believable every time,” Siwon added.

Behind you, Changkyun laughed again. Reya huffed. You tried very hard not to fling yourself into the hedge and disappear.

You went back to the drawing board with a vengeance.

The wall of your study, once reserved for regional maps and grain forecasts, was now a collage of organized chaos. Pinned parchments fluttered in the breeze from the open window—portraits, lineage charts, summaries of estates and personalities. It looked less like a matchmaking effort and more like a war room. Reya had taken to curling up just outside your door, wisely avoiding the flurry of thrown quills and muttered curses.

Siwon and Soonyoung stood to one side, arms crossed like generals surveying a battlefield. They were your most loyal—yet infuriatingly conniving—advisors, offering unfiltered commentary with the energy of drunk gossip mongers.

“Lord Hwan?” Siwon suggested, tapping one parchment with a silver quill.

“Too stiff,” you replied without a hitch. “He talks like he’s trying to sell me on an insurance scheme every time he opens his mouth.”

“What about the Crown Viscount’s second son?” Soonyoung asked. “Handsome. Educated. Keeps birds.”

“He also believes women shouldn’t sit in council chambers. Next.”

After a while, the portraits dwindled down to just a few names that hadn’t been immediately dismissed. Among them, a new face caught your eye—a boyish nobleman from the southern coast. You remembered him. Soft-eyed but sharp-tongued. He has an earring glinting in his official portrait, a reputation for charity work, and biting courtroom wit.

“Boo Seungkwan,” Siwon said, noticing your gaze. “Heir to the wine barons of Chasan.”

“Isn’t he the one who screamed at the High Treasurer for misappropriating village taxes last winter?” you asked, intrigued. “

Soonyoung grinned. “The very one. Rumor has it the Treasurer nearly cried.”

You plucked Seungkwan’s page from the wall. “I like him.”

“He’s a bit dramatic,” Siwon offered.

“He’s principled,” you corrected, pinning the portrait near the top of the selection board. “And I’ve had enough of spineless men. Give me someone who isn’t afraid to raise his voice when something’s wrong.”

“He also sings,” Soonyoung added helpfully.

“Even better.”

You three stood there a moment, gazing up at the organized chaos—your court of candidates, your silent rebellion. It could be the most brilliant plan in the world, or the one that precedes its impending doom, but you’re more than willing to take a gamble.

It didn’t take long for you to make the journey to Chasan.

You traveled in an unmarked carriage with Soonyoung at your side, no royal banners or official escorts. Siwon had protested—loudly, thoroughly, and with increasing despair—but your father, ever the silent observer of your misery, gave his blessing with one condition: Keep a low profile. 

Chasan was warm with early spring, the hills rolling green and gold beneath a sun that glinted off the distant sea. When your carriage pulled up to the modest but elegant estate of the Boo family, no one rushed to greet you. No horns. No footmen. Just a confused stable boy blinking at you like you’d ridden in on a cloud.

You glanced at Soonyoung, who raised an eyebrow.

“Guess no one told them the queen-to-be was dropping by.”

“I did write in the letter that I’d come in person,” you muttered.

One of the household servants scurried out after some frantic internal shouting. “Our deepest apologies, Your Highness, Sir Boo is in the lower vineyards at the moment. We… we weren’t expecting you so soon.”

“It’s fine,” you said, already stepping down from the carriage. “We’ll find him ourselves.”

Soonyoung caught up, eyes scanning the gentle sprawl of grapevines that stretched toward the southern slope. “Maybe you’ll get to see what he’s like in the wild,” he joked.

You shot him a look.

The two of you wandered down narrow earthen paths between sun-dappled vines, boots crunching softly over tilled soil. A few workers paused to bow, but no one made a fuss. Chasan was humble in the way that made you ache a little. No gold plating, no marble archways. Just earth, sky, and the scent of crushed grape skins in the wind.

“There,” Soonyoung whispered, grabbing your elbow and pulling you behind one of the taller vine trellises. You followed his gaze and stopped short.

Boo Seungkwan was farther down the row, partially shielded by the grapes, one hand still gloved in working leathers. He was laughing, light and warm, as he leaned close to the young servant boy in front of him. 

And then, without hesitation, he kissed him.

Not a scandalous kiss. Not a stolen one either. But soft, sure, and heartbreakingly tender.

You stared, your heart thudding with a strange sort of… sorrow. Or maybe guilt. You hadn’t meant to intrude. You hadn’t expected this.

Soonyoung gently nudged your arm. “Guess we’ll be checking him off the wall.”

You swallowed and turned away, careful not to make a sound as you whispered, “Let’s go. He deserves to enjoy this moment without a royal shadow looming over it.”

Neither of you spoke again until you were halfway back to the estate, the quiet breeze tugging gently at your cloak.

“…Siwon is never going to stop laughing about this,” Soonyoung said at last.

You sighed. “I know.”

That crushing defeat hit you harder than you thought.

You didn’t speak to anyone for days. Not after Seungkwan. Not after Soonyoung tactfully burned the last of the correspondence in your fireplace while Siwon wordlessly updated the registry of Unviable Matches with a heavy sigh.

Maybe this was your fate. Maybe it had always been. Maybe you were foolish to think you could outrun the gods' ink when the story had already been carved in gold. Betrothed at fifteen. Crowned at eighteen. Wed to Jeonghan by—

You didn’t let yourself think the year aloud.

Your advisors, mercifully, didn’t try to coax you out of your misery. No jokes. No teasing. No “we’ll find another” or “what about this one.” Just silence and quiet presence.

Siwon left your tea in the mornings and your scrolls at dusk. Soonyoung started keeping his sarcasm locked behind his teeth. Even Reya laid his massive head across your lap while you read, his usual restlessness tempered as if he, too, knew your storm was not one that could be barked away.

You went through the motions. Court duties. Decrees. Oversight reviews. But your spirit dragged its heels, worn and brittle. And after nearly a week of going nowhere, you couldn’t take the stillness anymore.

So you left.

No guards or carriages. Only a cloak over your shoulders and Reya at your side, his striped form padding silently beside you as you stepped out into the humming heart of the capital.

The city had always been your balm. Cobblestone streets. Songbirds in the eaves. Familiar chatter from vendors and weavers calling out their wares. The people greeted you with warmth, not fanfare. They knew Reya by sight now—knew his name, even—and parted for him without fear. Children ran up to scratch his ears. Old women offered you candied dates or weathered blessings.

You wandered further through the market square, slowing as a tapestry caught your eye. It looks new, strung between two wooden posts—its threads shimmering silver in the sunlight. A dragon this time, coiled mid-roar and stitched with care and pride.

Before you could move on, a small hand tugged at the hem of your cloak. You looked down to find a boy, no older than ten, staring up at you with wide, serious eyes. In his hands, he held a delicate ring of daisies and chamomile.

“It’s a crown, Your Highness,” he said shyly, holding it out like a secret. “Not the fancy kind, but it  feels nice to wear.”

You crouched to his height, gently taking the floral gift with both hands. “Then it’s perfect,” you whispered. “Thank you.”

Thank the stars you hadn’t worn your Dawning Crown. It would’ve felt like mockery now. You slipped the flower ring over your head and straightened. The child beamed. Reya gave a gentle huff of approval, as if to say: See? You still matter to the people.

You exhaled slowly and looked over the rooftops where the palace glittered far above the city.

You weren’t ready to give up yet.

After purchasing some trinkets to bring home to your father and your lousy advisors, your footsteps take you further beyond the market. The flower crown sat a little lopsided on your head, but you made no move to fix it as you settled onto the edge of the city square’s old stone fountain.

Reya laid down beside you with a content grunt, his chin resting on his massive paws as his tail flicked idly across the cobblestones. A warm breeze blew, catching the scent of fresh bread and sun-warmed stone. Pigeons cooed and strutted about the square like they owned it.

One of them hopped closer, cocking its head.

“Well?” you asked it. “I don’t have food but you get conversation. Fair trade?”

The pigeon blinked, unimpressed. You’re not who usually feeds us. Where’s that baker girl with a soft voice and flaky biscuits?

“Hm. She’s got better treats and a softer voice,” you laugh. “You birds have standards.”

Another pigeon joined the first, eyeing Reya suspiciously. Why do you always drag around that oversized tiger? He looks like he eats things like us for fun.

Reya rumbled low in his throat without lifting his head. Keep talking, feathers. I haven’t had lunch.

The pigeons flapped backward in alarm, cooing indignantly.

Savage! Barbarian! You wouldn’t dare—

“Ignore him,” you said, stifling a smile. “He likes pretending he’s scarier than he is.”

Reya huffed again, this time clearly offended.

One pigeon scoffed. He nearly ate one of us the last time you were here.

“And one of you tried to steal his jerky. Actions have consequences.”

You sat there for a few more minutes, chuckling quietly at the birds' gossip—half of it nonsense, half of it accurate enough to be alarming—until you heard a voice behind you. Gentle and familiar in a distant, unexpected way.

“May I join you, Your Highness?”

You turned your head, and nearly gasped.

Standing just beyond the sun-dappled edge of the fountain was a boy you hadn’t seen in years. No—not a boy anymore. He was taller now, broader at the shoulders, his dark hair falling just past his collar. Instead of court finery, he wore a pared-down version of Renxing armor: travel-worn, softened at the edges, the pauldrons stripped away and the gold embroidery dulled by dust and sunlight.

You blinked, almost laughing from the sheer surprise of it all. “Minghao! Stars, it is you.”

“It’s good to see you again, Princess.” He caught your hands when you reached out—steady and familiar. 

But before the moment could settle, Reya let out a low growl, rising onto all fours. His ears are pinned back, blue eyes locked on your old friend with unmistakable suspicion.

“Oh, stop that,” you said, stepping in to soothe him with a hand on his head. “Reya, Hao’s a friend. Not lunch.”

Something’s wrong, he growled, muscles coiled beneath your touch. He smells like fire and blood.

You hesitated, fingers buried in Reya’s thick ruff as his growl faded to a low, vibrating hum. His tail didn’t flick, his gaze didn’t waver.

Fire and blood…

Minghao probably did smell like both, even if you couldn’t catch the whiff. Maybe in the way old battlefields did. Burnt magic clung to his clothes like smoke. His hands bore the marks of sword work, knuckles darkened with bruises that hadn't fully healed. Still, he was a fire elemental. And the general of the Renxing army. What else was he supposed to smell like? Roses?

But hostile as he was, Reya had never reacted like this before.

You gave his ear a scratch, more for your comfort than his. “He’s just being dramatic,” you said lightly. “Doesn’t like surprises. Or anyone who’s taller than me.”

Minghao smiled. “I could kneel, if that helps.”

“Don’t tempt him.”

He chuckled, stepping closer with a graceful ease that didn’t match the war-weathered armor. “Did he say anything interesting?”

“No,” you lied smoothly, straightening up. “Just a lot of growling and wounded pride. Why? Worried he’s giving away secrets?”

“Only curious,” he said, voice soft. “It’s not every day a celestial tiger growls at me like I kicked his favorite moonstone.”

“You did once steal a peach tart from my plate. He never forgot.”

“I regret nothing.”

You looked him over, still stunned. The years had sculpted him into something sharp and striking. There’s a faint scar curving along his forearm, and the unmistakable presence of someone used to command. But his eyes… his eyes were exactly the same.

“I didn’t even know Renxing was sending delegates.” 

“Technically, soldiers,” Minghao amended. “My father offered support in fortifying your kingdom’s defenses. He sent me and a small contingent to assist in training.”

“That’s the official reason, isn’t it?” you teased.

He chuckled. “You’ve grown sharper.”

“And you haven’t changed at all,” you interject with a beaming smile. “Do you still carry that lopsided bow you used to train me with?”

Minghao grinned. “I retired it years ago. But I remember those lessons well. You nearly took out my eye once.”

“It was one time,” you said, rolling your eyes. “And you moved too close to the target!”

Reya, however, didn’t find this reunion nearly as delightful. He rose behind you, placing himself between Minghao and your side with a deliberate flick of his tail.

You gave him a dry look. “He taught me archery, Reya. If he meant to hurt me, he’s had a ten-year head start.”

“I must’ve offended him in a past life.” Minghao chuckled, giving a short, respectful bow towards the tiger. 

“He just doesn’t like being left out of things,” you said, motioning for Minghao to sit with you by the fountain again. Some of the pigeons scattered as Reya circled, settling beside you with an annoyed huff. You pretended not to notice the way he kept one sapphire eye trained squarely on your old friend.

“It’s strange,” you said, watching the breeze stir the trees across the square. “I feel like I should’ve known you were coming. Or that I would’ve felt it somehow. We used to be glued to the hip during all those summer visits.”

“We were children,” Minghao replied gently. “But I remember it, too. I was glad when my father chose me to come here. I hoped I’d see you again.”

You flushed, just a little. “Well… you have. And I’m glad. Really.”

“I’ll be staying at the castle with the soldiers,” he told you. “We begin drills in a few days. Until then, I thought I’d take a walk through the city. See what’s changed.”

You grinned, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Not much. The pigeons are still rude.”

A few feet away, one of them let out a coarse squawk. You’re the one talking to birds like a madwoman. Can’t even find a husband.

You lobbed a pebble at it. “You eat garbage.”

Minghao watched in silent amusement as you finished your not-so-private argument with the town’s most opinionated pigeons. When you finally noticed his expression, you offered a sheepish grin.

“I missed this,” he said, the corner of his mouth tugging up.

You raised a brow. “The pigeons?”

“You,” he said, laughing softly. “You’ve always had a… unique way of handling the world.”

“You say that like it’s a flaw.”

“It’s not.” His gaze lingered, warm and thoughtful. “It’s just—very you.”

Reya let out another displeased noise. But you were too caught up in the moment to notice the way his muscles stayed coiled beneath his striped coat, the faint bristle in his fur. He didn’t like this reunion.

But you? You were just happy to see an old friend.

Back at the castle, preparations for your guest had moved quickly. One of the east-facing guest rooms—typically reserved for visiting dignitaries—was swept, polished, and perfumed with lavender water. Minghao’s soldiers were escorted to the royal barracks, where Ancarrian efficiency met them with warm cloaks, strong cider, and a welcome that was formal but kind.

By morning, the dining hall was bathed in golden light, sunlight spilling through the tall arched windows. The table had been set with a surprisingly casual spread: flaky breads still warm from the oven, crisp autumn pears, spiced porridge, and thick cream served in polished stoneware.

You were already there, hunched slightly over a steaming cup of tea, still groggy but determined not to show it. Reya was helping himself to whatever lavish breakfast the castle chefs had laid out for him, utterly absorbed in his bowl. From the way his ears twitched with contentment, your tiger was clearly pleased. You only looked up from your own food when you caught the quiet rhythm of approaching boots.

“Good morning, Your Highness,” Minghao said, bowing first to your father, then offering you a softer nod. “Princess.”

“You’re early,” you replied, smiling into your cup but it drops the moment Reya starts baring his teeth at your friend again. “Reya. Knock it off.” 

Your father chuckled. “He tells me his men were stretching at dawn on the south field. Quite the commander.”

“Discipline is second nature in Renxing,” Minghao said, lowering himself into the seat next to yours with smooth, princely ease. “Though I’ll admit—your lands make it easier. Crisp air. Clear skies. Even my men look taller here.”

“Flatterer,” your father said, grinning. “Careful, or you’ll find yourself a permanent guest.”

“That would be no punishment,” Minghao said, his eyes catching yours for the briefest moment, light with mischief.

You bit back a laugh and nudged the basket of pastries toward him. “Try the honeyed ones. They’re dangerous enough to make you not want to leave.”

He did, and the way his face lit up made you grin. “You weren’t exaggerating.”

Across the room, Soonyoung and Siwon stood with the servants near the door, their posture still and unreadable—save for the way Soonyoung’s brow lifted slightly when you leaned in, listening to something Minghao murmured beneath his breath.

You talked like it had been days, not years. He spoke of Renxing’s northern reaches—wild coasts and glass-shelled beetles that migrated through frozen rivers. Of teaching a recruit to read by bribing him with hawthorn sweets, only for the boy to repay him in river crabs. Your father listened with gentle amusement, but it was you who laughed the most

And then, without warning, the thought crept in like smoke curling under a door.

What if it were him?

The match with Jeonghan had been sealed long ago, your fate marked in ink and crown and ritual before you could even attend council meetings officially. But what if it hadn’t? What if you hadn’t spent your whole life dodging destiny like it was a creature waiting to pounce?

What if love was simple?

A shared pastry. A soft story. Warm hands over tea and morning sun.

You looked at Minghao again—his easy smile, the grace in his posture, the power quiet and controlled beneath the silks and steel. And in that stolen, treacherous heartbeat, you let yourself wonder.

What if it had been him instead?

Before your thoughts could wander dangerously, however, your quiet meal was interrupted.

You noticed the change before you heard it. A flicker of movement by the door. A servant, breathless and wide-eyed, darted toward Soonyoung and Siwon. She was whispering something too fast for you to catch. 

Minghao was still speaking beside you, animated as he described a night march through an ancient canyon in northern Renxing where their footsteps echoed like ghosts trapped in a glass cage. His voice was smooth and warm, and you wanted to listen, truly you did—but your gaze kept slipping back to the door.

Soonyoung’s arms were folded now. Siwon murmured something in return to the servant, nodded once, then approached the table with the quiet stride of someone who only ever brought important news. The king glanced up at the shift in mood, and you followed his gaze as Siwon stopped just behind your chair and bent slightly at the waist.

“Your Highness,” he said softly, his eyes flicking toward you, “Prince Jeonghan of Seraphia has just arrived. He’s asked to speak with the princess at her earliest convenience.”

There was a beat of stillness.

Minghao’s story paused mid-sentence. He looked toward Siwon with faint curiosity, but said nothing. Your father gave only a slight nod, an order to let him join breakfast, and returned to his tea as if this were a perfectly ordinary disruption. But your hand, still resting near the plate of fruit, curled into a quiet fist.

Moments later, the doors opened with their usual hush, but somehow it felt louder this time. Jeonghan stepped in, haloed in sunlight through the high windows. He was still draped in Seraphian silks, still unfairly beautiful. 

His hair was brown now, swept back with a soft curl falling over his brow in a way that seemed carefully unintentional. He moved with that same effortless poise you had grown up watching and (grudgingly) admiring.

Minghao, ever-so gracious, stood as Jeonghan approached, offering a nod before shifting seats to the other side of the long table. It left the space beside you open intentionally. 

Jeonghan slid into the empty chair like he’d belonged there all along. “Good morning,” he greeted, his voice dipped in velvet, his smile almost disarmingly warm. “I apologize for the surprise visit. I was in one of my moods and thought—why not go see my future wife?”

You gave him a withering look, but it faltered when he leaned in just slightly and added, “Joshua sends his regards. He’s recently been engaged himself, you know.”

“Oh?” the king said, lifting a brow. “Congratulations are in order.”

“Yes,” Jeonghan said with a calm nod. “The daughter of one of our royal mages. She isn’t of noble blood, but she’s well-versed in magic and negotiations. My brother’s always had a soft spot for strategists.”

“Sounds like he inherited that from someone,” Minghao said mildly.

You raised a brow. Jeonghan only smiled, utterly unbothered. “Hardly. I prefer my companions predictable. Less likely to start a war over breakfast.”

A chuckle moved around the table.

Then Minghao tilted his head and said, almost idly, “And he’s not using magic, still?”

Jeonghan blinked. “Pardon?”

“Joshua,” Minghao clarified with a small smile. “Both of you, actually. Last I heard, neither of the Seraphian princes had taken up their birthright. The royal bloodline in Seraphia is known for its strength in enchantment, no? And yet you keep it buried, still?”

You stiffened a little. Not in shock, but because the question came from nowhere. Your spoon hovered above your tea. Magic was always a strange subject between nations. But the abstention of Seraphia’s recent royalty was somewhat a hot topic among the surrounding kingdoms—Ancarra included. 

Minghao, for his part, was infamous across empires as a fire elemental prodigy. The youngest to command a regiment of war mages in Renxing’s history. His aura carried that same warmth now, flickering low like a hearth. Reya, beside your chair, shifted uneasily. His icy blue eyes fixed on the man across from him like a second set of judgment.

Jeonghan’s gaze didn’t waver. “Our magic is not the crown’s priority. Seraphia thrives through diplomacy, not flames.”

Minghao leaned back, folding his hands. “A shame, really. I always wondered what it would look like—royal Seraphian magic unleashed.”

You didn’t miss the slight tension in Jeonghan’s jaw.

And that, more than anything, gnawed at the back of your mind as Minghao took another sip of tea. You sat there in your seat with perfect posture and a polite smile, but the thought slipped into your skull like a splinter.

You’ve never seen Jeonghan use magic.

Never seen him spark even a flicker of it. Never caught a rumor, never heard a whisper. Not even from the palace gossip mill, which had happily speculated about the color of his undershirts once and still hadn’t shut up about the time he laughed too hard at a coronation toast.

And you would’ve asked. You should’ve asked.

But that would’ve required speaking to him longer than a required greeting, longer than the bare-minimum exchange you both had perfected over the years—smiles for the court, ice behind closed doors. You found out about Joshua’s affinity by accident, really. He’d once stopped to admire a hedge maze in your gardens, and when he touched a dying stalk, it bloomed again beneath his hand. Simple and gentle, much like the boy himself.

But Jeonghan?

Nothing.

No elemental surge. No runic marks. No rumors of illusions, or voicecraft, or even basic wards. Either he had nothing—or he was hiding something so carefully, so deliberately, that no one had been able to name it.

And now Minghao was here, a walking blaze of power, and Jeonghan was smiling like none of it even mattered. You reached for your teacup, mostly to keep your hands busy.

You didn’t like mysteries. Especially not when they sit beside you, pretending to be harmless.

The silence stretched just long enough to begin tasting uncomfortable. Minghao’s smile didn’t falter. Jeonghan’s posture remained infuriatingly elegant, but you could tell—if only because you’ve spent years learning how to read him—that he’s ready to change the subject. 

It’s your father who spared him the effort.

He cleared his throat and gently set his goblet down. “And how long will you be staying with us this time, Prince Jeonghan?”

You turned slightly toward the head of the table, grateful for the break in tension. Jeonghan flicked his eyes toward the king and answered smoothly, “Just a few days, Your Highness. I was passing through the border en-route from the east and thought it best to pay a visit.”

“An unannounced visit,” Soonyoung muttered under his breath from his post by the door. Siwon nudged him with an elbow.

The king chuckled, brushing past the remark. “It is always a pleasure, no matter how sudden.” Then he glanced toward you. “Perhaps you and my daughter might walk the gardens this afternoon? The roses have finally bloomed this year.”

You almost choked on your tea.

Jeonghan nodded with a faint, serene smile. “Of course. It would be an honor.”

Your spoon clinked against porcelain just a little too hard. Reya emitted a low growl from under the table, whether in protest of the plan or of Minghao’s lingering presence, you can’t tell.

Minghao, to his credit, simply sips his tea again. But his gaze flicks to you, then to Jeonghan, curious. Assessing.

And for the first time in a long while, you can’t tell which prince unsettles you more.

You didn’t get far from the dining hall before your hand shot out to catch Soonyoung by the sleeve, dragging him into the shadowed archway beside one of the tapestry alcoves. Siwon followed of his own accord, arms folded neatly behind his back, expression already knowing.

“I’m asking this plainly,” you whispered, eyes flicking back toward the corridor. “Are we absolutely certain Jeonghan doesn’t know what we’ve been up to?”

Soonyoung blinked. “As in the matchmaking campaign?”

You stared at him.

“Right, yes, that,” he amended. “Then no. I mean yes. As in, he doesn’t know. I’m almost sure of it.”

“Almost?”

Soonyoung’s smile twitched. “Prince Jeonghan is… difficult to read. Cheerful as he is, he doesn’t quite let anyone be privy to his intentions.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “What if he’s just biding his time? Waiting until I’m alone before springing some awful, ‘You’ve dishonored our families’ speech and demanding we set the wedding date?”

“Princess,” Siwon said gently, “he’s had nearly a decade to pull such a stunt. And he hasn’t. Don’t start doubting the quiet now.”

You glanced up at him, voice lower. “But what if Minghao's presence stirred something? What if he sensed it, somehow—that I’m searching for someone else?”

Siwon regarded you with the patience of a man who had outwaited a thousand royal tantrums and twice as many council disputes. “Prince Jeonghan is many things. But petty is not one of them. He’d confront you if he had suspicions, not toy with them.”

“Not petty, huh?” you muttered, “I’m not so sure about that…”

Soonyoung scratched the back of his neck. “We did keep the search quiet, Princess. Every servant sworn to secrecy, every meeting arranged through as discreetly as possible. If Prince Jeonghan knows, he’s clairvoyant. Or just very, very nosy.”

You sighed and pressed a hand to your forehead. “This whole morning felt cursed. Reya was uneasy the whole time. I—gods above, I liked being with Minghao again. That’s the worst of it. I liked it, and Jeonghan probably sensed that.”

“So?” Soonyoung said, baffled. “You’re allowed to entertain visiting nobility, especially if they’re your friends. Prince Jeonghan doesn’t own your breakfast companions.”

“But he’s my betrothed!”

“In title only.”

Your shoulders sagged, and you gripped the edge of the column beside you. “I felt like I’d been playing a game I didn’t know the rules of. And everyone else was holding cards I’d never seen.”

Siwon’s gaze softened. “That is the nature of court.”

A sigh escaped your lips. “I’m supposed to walk the gardens with him soon.”

“Try not to trip into the koi pond again,” the older advisor added.

“That was once,” you scowled. “And it was raining.”

Soonyoung grinned. “Still your most graceful fall.”

You shook your head and pushed away from the column. “Pray for me.”

“I’ll light a candle,” Siwon said dryly.

“I’ll start digging a moat,” Soonyoung chirped.

You waved them off and stepped back into the corridor, spine straightening with every step. Whatever awaited you in the garden, you would meet it with dignity.

The royal gardens stretched out before you, awash in morning light where sunlight filtered through the trees that swayed with the breeze. You walked slowly along the mosaic path, hands clasped loosely before you, Reya trotting a few steps ahead. He hadn’t growled once—not even when Jeonghan fell into step beside you like a ghost slipping from a dream.

“It’s been some time since we walked here,” Jeonghan said plainly.

You didn’t meet his eyes. “Has it?”

“I suppose not that long,” he amended with a soft chuckle. “But long enough to miss the scent of the roses. Your gardeners have always done them justice.”

You glanced toward the flower bed just ahead—wide as a banquet table and brimming with tangled stems of roses. Their leaves are a lush, lacquered green, buds curled tightly on the branches like secrets not yet told. A few bold blooms had already unfurled—deep crimson, velvet-soft, catching the morning light like drops of spilled wine.

“They’re late in blooming this season,” you murmured.

“Maybe they’re waiting for a sign,” he said. “Something worth blooming for.”

You didn’t respond. There was always something slippery about him—how his compliments wore the face of riddles, how his tone was too gentle to grasp without suspicion. You didn’t trust softness when it came from him. Not when you’d spent half your life bracing against it.

Still, he continued beside you, hands tucked behind his back in perfect princely grace. His eyes scanned the gardens, the trees, the rooftops just beyond the horizon.

“I heard your father’s invited Renxing to join our military councils,” he mused.

You stiffened, just slightly. “He has. Their soldiers arrived yesterday.”

“And Minghao is their prince and general?” Jeonghan added lightly, almost amused.

That makes you pause. “You’ve met?”

“A long time ago,” he said. “I doubt he’d remember it, but he does seem aware enough of my existence to want to pick a fight with me .”

You huffed. “You make it easy for anyone to want to pick a fight with you.”

Jeonghan didn’t deny it—just offered a knowing smile, the kind that curled at one corner of his mouth and made you want to both slap it off and stare a little longer. You walked in silence for a few steps. The wind stirred the trees again, rustling petals onto the stone path, and somewhere nearby, water trickled over the lip of a marble fountain.

Then he said, almost offhandedly, “He likes to speak first. Draw lines before anyone else has a chance to set the terms.”

You glanced sideways at him. “You mean Minghao?”

Jeonghan nodded. “He’s clever. Knows exactly where to place a cut for the deepest bruise.”

“Well, he’s a general. He’s trained for that.”

“He’s also a prince,” your fiancé pointed out, tone light but edged. “Which makes it harder to tell when the blade’s diplomatic.”

You didn’t answer. Not because he was wrong, but because you were surprised he noticed. Still, Jeonghan wasn’t looking at you. His gaze wandered, serene and distant, as if this was just another quiet stroll instead of a conversation tensed on the knife-edge of politics.

“For what it’s worth,” he added after a moment, “I’ve never liked men who think precision is the same as power.”

That caught your attention.

You studied him for a beat longer. His posture, as always, was deceptively relaxed—too smooth, too practiced. But something had shifted. Maybe it was the way he said it, or the fact that Reya brushed gently against his side as he passed, tail flicking once before moving on. Jeonghan looked down at the beast, a faint smile twitching at his lips. 

“He’s warming up to me.”

You scoffed. “He’s tolerant, at best.”

He tilted his head with a lazy smile. “Still better than hostile.”

It was. You hated that you agreed.

Days drift by in a hush. You expect tension, expect something grand to stir. After all, two foreign princes now share your roof, both with their own legacies, their own shadows trailing behind them. And yet, the palace breathes as if nothing has changed. No great disruptions, no clashing tides. 

The soldiers in the barracks adjust to the presence of Renxing’s warriors with the wary politeness of men trained to kill side by side, and the kitchen staff still sends up too many pastries at tea. Minghao spends most of his days in the training yards or reviewing your kingdom’s defenses with the captains. He is gracious when he joins you at court, always with a smooth word or charming smile. Reya still watches him like a hawk from afar—but the tension has settled into a sort of cold awareness, like two great cats pacing the edge of each other’s territory.

Jeonghan, on the other hand, has made it his personal mission to haunt your every quiet moment.

He never speaks of the conversation in the garden again, but you can feel it hanging in the air whenever he appears. You pass him in the corridor, and he gives you a smile. You leave the solarium early, and he’s somehow in the hall just outside, pretending to admire a tapestry. You ask the cooks to surprise you with something new for breakfast, and he comments idly at the table that you’ve always liked tart things with honey.

It’s maddening.

By Thursday, you’ve had enough.

You marched down to the archery range before breakfast, bow in hand, and jaw set with razor-tight focus. You haven’t had time for this in weeks, and it shows in the tension of your shoulders, the crackle in your spine. You notch your arrow, draw back your arm, exhale—

“Good morning, Your Grace!”

You startled a little too dramatically. The arrow sailed in a wide arc and landed somewhere in the hedges with an unceremonious thwack.

You spun around to find Jeonghan standing at the edge of the range, hands clasped like he’s arrived for a morning stroll. Beside him was Soonyoung, who gave you a guilty, wide-eyed look before mouthing I’m sorry and quickly stepping out of the line of fire.

Your voice came low and clipped. “Are you following me?”

Jeonghan only lifted a brow. “Why, of course not. I was merely enjoying the views that the Ancarran castle has to offer. As your future consort in alliance, I should know the corners of your kingdom, don’t you think?”

Soonyoung took one careful step back, and from his perch under the nearby tree, Reya let out a snort that sounded suspiciously like laughter. Jeonghan didn’t even bother making himself look like he didn’t purposely startle you at all. 

You sighed and retrieved another arrow. Next time, you’ll aim for him.

You notched it, shoulders tight with barely restrained irritation. Behind you, Jeonghan and Soonyoung settled onto the bench near the range like they have every right to be there. Which, technically they do, but that didn’t stop your fingers from twitching with the urge to send an arrow through the wood beside Jeonghan’s ear.

Another shot—closer to the bullseye this time. Still not enough to stop your pulse from thrumming too fast.

“You’re good,” Jeonghan said, his tone easy and observational, like he’s commenting on the weather. “Shua and I weren’t trained like this in Seraphia. As you know, our court prefers diplomacy and dance over daggers and bows.” 

You didn’t turn, but you heard the amusement laced through his voice. Soonyoung gave a small, sympathetic shrug from beside him. “It’s true. I once saw him faint at the sight of blood.”

“Exaggeration,” Jeonghan replied airily. “I merely swooned with elegance.”

You let out a slow exhale, notched another arrow, and fired. This one landed square in the center of the target. You heard a low whistle from your advisor and—more infuriatingly—a small, approving hum from Jeonghan.

“It’s rather convenient,” the prince mused, crossing one ankle over the other. “My future queen being so fearsome with a bow. I daresay I won’t need to lift a finger. You’ll protect me, won’t you, Princess?”

The arrow you’d just pulled from the quiver snaps between your fingers.

“If I protect you,” you said coolly, “it’s only because I don’t trust anyone else to finish the job of ending your miserable existence cleanly.”

Soonyoung looked away, coughing suspiciously into his sleeve.

But Jeonghan? He beamed like you handed him a bouquet. “How romantic,” he sighed, resting his chin on his hand as if admiring a painting. “You do know how to make a consort feel cherished, after all.”

Your heart pounded, and it’s not from the archery.

The morning was clear the day Jeonghan left.

A soft breeze combed through the courtyard where his carriage waited, draped in the white-gold sigils of Seraphia. The horses pawed the cobblestones impatiently, as if mirroring the mood of the man they wait for—restless and infuriating to the very end.

You stood beside your father beneath the marble archway, cloaked in the formal grays of a diplomatic farewell. The king’s voice was kind when he spoke to Jeonghan, and your fiancé was all grace and bows and eloquent farewells. Even Minghao lingered beside you with an inscrutable smile, hands behind his back like a soldier at ease. You’re aware of the others watching too—Siwon and Soonyoung among the entourage, the guards, the servants—all witnesses to this perfectly polite departure.

It’s nearly done.

But then Jeonghan stepped forward to take your hand in his. He kissed it, gently and reverently, all according to protocol. And then he leaned in too close for comfort.

“I look forward,” the prince murmured into your ear, warm breath brushing your skin, “to the next time I get to ruin your aim.”

You jerked back before the blush could spread to your ears, willing your face into a mask of court-trained calm. Every lesson you endured under the glare of etiquette tutors saved you in that moment—your shoulders straight, your smile pleasant, your tone as composed as a glacier.

“Have a safe journey, Prince Jeonghan,” you said, eyes narrowed in the most ladylike way possible. “Do try not to miss me.”

His smile could set cities alight.

“Oh,” Jeonghan began, stepping back toward his carriage, “I intend to do exactly that.”

You resisted the violent urge to throw something at his head.

He’s gone before you could reply, the carriage wheels rolling across the stones like the closing of a storybook chapter. 

Only, you suspected—no, you knew—he’ll be back soon.

By the time Jeonghan vanished beyond the gates, you'd already gathered Siwon and Soonyoung in the war room—not for military strategy, but something far more treacherous: 

Court-approved matchmaking.

“We’re at a consensus then,” you said, tapping your finger once against the map of Ancarra. “Prince Minghao is not a viable option. Even if I wanted to—”

“Which you actually do,” Soonyoung cut in with a pointed look. 

“Even if I did,” you repeated with force, “it would be a diplomatic nightmare. Calling off an engagement with Seraphia for the prince of Renxing? We’d be lucky if we only lost trade ports and not entire border towns.”

Siwon chuckled. “I’m surprised you’re willing to pick the task up again, Princess. You looked… quite dejected after your trip to the Boo Estate.”

You had to pin Soonyoung down with a glare to keep your advisor from saying anything that will raise your blood pressure to dangerous levels. “Failure is part of the journey to true love. Hasn’t anyone told you that, Siwon?” 

Your father’s advisor hummed, his spectacled gaze skimming the interior list of nobility you’d had scribes compile over the past few weeks. “So the suitor needs to be from Ancarra. Someone who can cause enough gossip, enough scandal, enough public affection to make it plausible you fell wildly in love and couldn’t help yourself.”

Soonyoung grinned. “Which means we need a boy you could realistically kiss in public without gagging. Oh, and someone that won’t run when Reya so much as growls at them.”

You glared at him. “You’re on thin ice.”

Your advisor raised his hands in defense. “What? I’m just saying—you do tend to scowl at most men like they’ve insulted your bloodline. Same goes for your beast.”

Siwon, ever the calmer tactician, cleared his throat. “We’ll approach this with structure. Let’s narrow the list to eligible bachelors who meet the following criteria: loyal to the crown, reasonably attractive, tolerable by Reya, and—preferably—already a little in love with you.”

You tapped your fingers again, faster this time. “It doesn’t need to be a real romance. Just enough of a performance to convince Seraphia the engagement fell apart because of me, not them. If I’m the reckless one, Jeonghan saves face. Everyone’s happy.”

Soonyoung leaned back, arms behind his head. “You really think Prince Jeonghan cares about saving face?”

“…No,” you admitted, remembering the smirk he wore as his carriage departed. “But Seraphia might. And the court definitely will.”

“Then we manufacture a heartbreak,” Siwon said simply. “We choose someone charismatic, familiar, close to the palace—enough that no one questions why you spent time together. You’ll laugh too loud at the gardens. Leave flowers in his rooms. Maybe even—gods forgive us—write a poem.”

Soonyoung winced. “That’s low.”

“All is fair in love and politics,” you muttered. “Or at least, in fabricated love.”

You glanced out the window, where the sun slipped behind the edge of the tower, casting long shadows across the floor. Jeonghan was gone, and your future hung on the next name you circled with ink and lied through your teeth about.

War you could prepare for. But this? This was treasonous theater. And it didn’t help that the world kept sending you warning signs left and right.

It began with Lord Doyoung of the northern territories—a bookish type with a gentle voice and decent bone structure. You think, Yes, this one might do. But the very morning he’s due to arrive in the capital, his carriage overturned on a clear road with no other travelers. His horse? Spooked by a pigeon. A pigeon wearing what the guards swear was a tiny gold ribbon.

Suspicious.

Then there’s Jaehyun, a second-born noble who helped manage his family’s glasswork business. Intelligent, considerate, and crucially uninterested in politics. You traveled discreetly to a manor on the coast to meet him. However, the moment you arrived, he was gone. Apparently left the day before to pursue an urgent pilgrimage after receiving a mysterious letter from a "reputable Seraphian monastery" asking for his divine insight.

But the worst, the true collapse of your sanity, came when you tried to court a commoner. A sweet, curly-haired apprentice scribe from the capital. You met by accident—he dropped his stack of scrolls, Reya frightened the life out of him, and you ended up laughing like someone in a romance novel. You arranged to meet him again secretly by the statue of the winged lion after dusk.

And guess who’s already there?

Jeonghan leaned against the base of the winged lion like it was a throne carved just for him. The dusk painted him in gold and shadow, and he looked utterly at home—one ankle crossed over the other, arms folded loosely, a single wildflower tucked behind his ear like he’d stolen it from a love-sick dream.

“You’re early,” he said lazily, as if he’d been waiting minutes rather than hours. “I almost thought you weren’t coming.”

You stopped dead. “You’re not him.”

“No,” he agreed. “But I’m certainly better-looking.”

“You—” You took a sharp breath, rage tightening behind your eyes. “Where is he?”

Jeonghan tilted his head. “The apprentice? I believe he’s having a lovely evening at home. His mother made delicious stew, and he felt it’d be rude to miss it. Or so the note said.”

You stared. “You intercepted him?”

Your fiancé smiled, all teeth and wicked charm. “Technically? I intercepted the opportunity. You never said this was an exclusive audition.”

“You are unbelievable.”

“And yet,” he said, stepping into the moonlight, that damn wildflower still tucked behind his ear, “you keep trying to replace me with men who don’t know the difference between a sword hilt and a dinner spoon. Truly, you wound me, Your Grace”

You didn’t realize your fists were clenched until your nails dug crescent moons into your palms.

“This isn’t about you,” you hissed.

Jeonghan stepped closer, voice maddeningly gentle. “It always is.”

Your fists were clenched so tightly your arms shook, your breath short and ragged. The statue's winged shadow barely concealed you from the open square, where lanterns were being lit one by one, their warm glow spreading like a slow-burning fire.

And Jeonghan just stood there.

Mocking you with that unbearable calm, his eyes full of all the things you hadn’t said in ten years. The flower behind his ear was ridiculous. His shirt collar was crooked. His entire existence was meant to push you to the edge of insanity.

“You’re infuriating,” you snapped.

He smirked. “Then stop chasing ghosts and—”

You didn’t let him finish.

Your hand fisted his lapel and pulled hard, slamming your mouth against his before your brain caught up with your body. It wasn’t soft or sweet or measured, but raw, full of teeth and fury and years of words swallowed down in silence. You’d meant to shove him, maybe slap him. But somehow, your lips found his instead. 

And the worst part—the truly damning part—was how good it felt.

The warmth of his mouth. The way he froze for the barest second, then exhaled against you like he’d been holding his breath for a lifetime. And then he kissed you back.

Jeonghan didn’t just return it. He answered it.

His hands slipped to your waist, slow but sure, like he’d dreamed of this and was finally awake. He kissed like he knew every inch of your stubbornness, every sharp edge, and loved the way you cut him open. One hand tangled in your hair, tilting your face, deepening the kiss—and it became something molten, dangerous, entirely public.

Somewhere behind you, Reya snarled like a warning. You weren’t alone. The statue’s shadow didn’t hide the way Jeonghan’s hand curved around your hip, the flush in your cheeks, the hunger in the space between your mouths.

You tore away first, panting and wide-eyed as your heart thundered in your ribcage. Jeonghan looked at you all while swiping that tongue of his across his bottom lip.

“Was that part of the act?” he asked softly, lips still red, voice dangerously close to tender.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Because if you spoke, you might admit it wasn’t the kiss that terrified you.

It was how long you’d wanted it.

By unspoken agreement, neither of you addressed the kiss behind the statue. Not in words, anyway. But everything afterwards shifted.

Jeonghan began appearing in Ancarra with alarming regularity—always with a perfectly valid excuse. Delivering letters from Seraphia. Attending diplomatic luncheons. Touring agricultural reforms that absolutely did not require a prince’s attention. And every time he stepped through the gates with that lazy smile, your blood pressure spiked.

He was still insufferable. Still poking at you like a child with a stick and a beehive. 

“You missed me,” he’d say, voice low in the hallway.

“I was hoping you’d gotten arrested,” you’d reply without looking at him.

“You dreamed about me again.”

“Reya dreamed about biting you. I just watched.”

But no amount of sarcasm could undo the heat that had settled between you like a splinter you couldn’t dig out. And while your verbal battles raged on, your bodies fell into an entirely different rhythm—one of breathless tension and stolen moments.

A quick kiss when no one was looking. A lingering touch at your waist beneath the pretense of helping you onto a horse. A late-night visit to the library that ended with your back pressed against the cold wall of a forgotten corridor, his mouth hot against your throat.

You hated him.

You hated how good he was at knowing when to push you. You hated how you let him.

One day, Jeonghan found you in the west wing solarium—alone, for once, dressed in something plain for the heat. The moment he stepped through the arched doorway, you already knew he was going to do something reckless.

You tried to keep your tone sharp. “Don’t even think about it.”

“I wasn’t,” he said innocently, approaching anyway. “I was remembering how you kissed me first.”

“I kissed you to shut you up.”

“Well,” he murmured, stepping behind you, brushing your hair aside to press a kiss just below your ear, “it didn’t work.”

You didn’t stop him when his hand slid beneath the hem of your dress, fingers trailing up your thigh with infuriating patience. You should’ve. You always told yourself you should’ve. But instead, you exhaled through your teeth and leaned back into him, fists clenching the edge of the table as he teased his way higher—his touch maddeningly sure, maddeningly soft.

And when his fingers finally slid inside you, you didn’t even pretend to resist.

Because for all the years of distance, all the fire and anger and scarred memory between you, Jeonghan still knew exactly where to find the weak spot beneath your armor.

“You’re shaking,” the prince murmured against the shell of your ear, and you could hear the smirk in his voice. “Didn't know you could be so delicate.”

“I will break your nose,” you hissed, breath catching as his fingers curled just right. “Shut up and get it over with.”

He chuckled. “You say that like I’m doing this for me.”

“Gods, I hate you.”

“You don’t sound very convincing.”

You bit down hard on your lip to stop the moan rising in your throat. His hand moved with a maddening rhythm—confident and precise, like he’d learned you in secret. Maybe he had. Maybe Jeonghan had always known how to find the cracks in your walls, the fault lines in your resolve.

Your knees nearly buckled when he dragged his thumb over your aching clit. The spot that made your vision flicker, made your breath stutter.

He caught you before you fell.

“Oh,” your fiancé said with mock sympathy. “Is this where the princess begs?”

You turned your head, eyes glittering with fury and heat. “You’re so lucky I’m unarmed.”

“Am I?” He dipped his head to kiss the corner of your jaw. “Because right now, I feel like the one being conquered.”

You made a sound—part growl, part gasp—as the pleasure crested higher. You hated how easy it was for him to pull you under, hated how your body betrayed you, trembling at his touch even as your mouth spat venom.

But gods, it felt good.

It felt like revenge, like surrender, like twelve years of wanting something you swore you’d never let yourself need. He played your body like an instrument only he knew how to tune—drawing out every gasp, every tremor, until the fire in your gut finally, finally broke.

You clutched the table edge like a lifeline, moaning his name as each wave of your orgasm shuddered through you. You felt sticky and unclean, and Jeonghan thought it to be a good idea to smear the mess he’s made of your cunt across your inner thighs.

As if to mock you even further, he leaned in, lips brushing your cheek as he whispered, “You’re going to think about this tonight. When you’re all alone.”

You whipped around and shoved him—half-heartedly, breathlessly. 

“Get out before I feed you to Reya.”

Jeonghan grinned, catching your wrist and pressing a kiss to your knuckles like a knight, of all things. “I’ll come back when you miss me.”

“I never do.”

He was already gone by the time you realized your legs still hadn’t stopped trembling.

Thankfully, Jeonghan left before lunch. That meant you could change your ruined dress and have a meal in the peace and quiet you deserved after that daunting encounter in the solarium.

You sat between your father and Minghao in the smaller sunlit dining chamber—the one reserved for informal meals and less scrutiny. Sunlight poured through the windows, glinting off the crystal decanters and catching in the honey glaze of the roast pheasant. The servants came and went like shadows. Minghao poured you some tea without asking, which you would have appreciated, if you weren’t so wrapped up in your own mind.

“So,” Minghao says casually, “how’s the treason?”

You glanced sideways at him. “Treason?”

He smiled. “You’ve had that look on your face since you walked in. Like someone who just burned a letter and buried the ashes under a rose bush.”

Before you can answer, it began.

The birds.

You heard them before you saw them—three magpies nestled like gossiping witches along the arched windowsill. One of them fluffed her feathers and gasped loud in your skull.

She was scandalous with a man just this morning!

Your eyes widened. No one else reacted. Of course they didn’t. Only you could hear them.

Back in that room again, another cooed. Pressed up to him like a heat-starved mare—

I told you, the third interrupted with a huff, she’s betrothed to him. It’s legal. The king said so. Even if she climbed that prince like a ladder, it would still be state-sanctioned.”

You nearly choked on your tea.

Your father paused mid-sentence. “Something wrong, bug?”

You covered your mouth with your napkin, glaring furiously at the birds. One of them winked.

“Just… feeling a little hot,” you muttered.

Oblivious to your internal unraveling, thye king picks up his fork and says, “We should start finalizing your name-day celebration soon. Twenty-five is a milestone.”

“I vote we skip it,” you said darkly, eyeing the window again. The birds have not left.

Minghao hummed. “You’ll have to get used to celebrations. Especially now that your wedding with Prince Jeonghan is not far behind.”

You hesitated just long enough for him to notice. 

“...Unless it’s not happening?” the general asked jokingly.

You didn’t know how to explain it. How every time Jeonghan visits, he kisses you like he wants to ruin you. How your body remembers the curve of his smile before your mind catches up. How you tell yourself it’s a temporary madness—just lust, just unfinished business, just war-born tension—but your hands keep betraying you anyway.

And now the damn magpies were singing it to the skies.

She moaned his name! one of them cackles, beak open wide. She gripped his hair like—

“Excuse me,” you said sharply, standing up so fast your chair skitters back. “I need some air.”

Your father looked mildly concerned. Minghao raised an eyebrow.

“Should I send someone with you?”

“Only if they can shoot birds,” you mutter, already turning toward the hall, cheeks blazing.

Behind you, you heard one final chirp:

Reckless princess. She’ll marry that boy or die trying.

The weeks leading up to your twenty-fifth name-day blur into a storm of brocade, guest lists, and mental breakdowns.

What was once meant to be a modest royal banquet has spiraled into a full-blown spectacle at your father’s behest. The ballroom has been draped in gold silks and strung with imported glass lanterns, and couriers from neighboring kingdoms have arrived daily, bearing gilded gifts and stomach-turning compliments. You’ve had to write nearly a hundred invitations by hand—because of course you did, since your father insisted that nothing but your own pen would do for a celebration of this scale.

Four gowns. Four. In one night. Each more elaborate than the last, all designed by different tailors to reflect “the four faces of the princess.” (Whatever that means.)

And looming behind the lace and laughter and godforsaken gemstone embroidery is the other event everyone is whispering about: your wedding.

To Jeonghan.

You tried to keep a mental list of reasons to loathe him, just to stay anchored. He’s insufferable. He flirts with everything that looks his way. He laughs when you’re mad. He kisses like he owns the air you breathe and gets away with everything because his face is tragically symmetrical.

And worst of all?

You’ve started to imagine what it would be like to marry him and not hate it.

The very thought sent you into a tailspin of self-loathing and denial. But no matter how many times you told yourself you didn’t want this, something traitorous inside you fluttered every time he looked at you with those unreadable eyes and said your name like he’s always known it.

By the time your name-day arrived, you’re equal parts exhausted and vibrating with tension. The maids were still pinning the final layers of your first gown—a deep rose silk trimmed with silver thread—when someone knocked at your chamber doors.

“Princess?” one of the guards called. “Prince Jeonghan and Prince Joshua request to see you.”

You nearly groaned aloud, but waved them in. “Fine. But if they mess up a single pin, I’m going to skewer them with it.”

The door opened, and the two Seraphian princes entered like they own the place—Jeonghan with his usual amused swagger, and Joshua with a more subdued grace you haven’t seen in months. 

You didn’t rise from your seat as your maids were still halfway through adjusting the fall of your sleeves. but you did narrow your eyes when Jeonghan swept in with a smirk and a flourish. The new color of his hair wasn’t lost on you either—deep burgundy red. You still had no idea how he changed its color like the seasons. 

“Happy birthday, Your Grace,” Joshua greeted warmly, offering a polite half-bow.

“Thank you,” you replied, eyes softening. “It’s good to see you again. I thought you’d be too busy planning your own wedding.”

Joshua’s smile flickered, but he was quick to recover. “Ah. Well. Some things are in motion, others… less so.”

You raised a brow. “That doesn’t sound ominous at all.”

“It’s complicated,” he said, then adds with a small laugh, “But I’ve learned from Jeonghan not to overshare.”

His brother leaned against the wall with a lazy smile. “I’m an excellent role model.”

You snorted. “You’re a warning sign carved into a cliff face.”

Before either man could reply, a footman appears in the doorway, whispering something in Joshua’s ear. The younger prince bowed again before excusing himself, promising to speak with you again before the night is over.

And then it’s just you and him.

Jeonghan eyed the gown you’re still being pinned into with a mock-solemn look. “Do I get to see all four today, or is this one the final form?”

“Don’t act like you care,” you quipped, trying very hard not to shift under his gaze.

“Oh, I care. I’ve always loved watching you suffer.”

“Wonderful. Then you’ll enjoy what happens next,” you told him coolly, gesturing for the maids to step back. “Because if you’re going to keep staring at me like that, I’m going to assume you came here to be mauled.”

As if on cue, Reya let out a rumble of noise from where he was being pampered by one of the braver palace maids. Ferocious as he was, he always did like getting his claws clipped, as well as wearing his favorite collar if the occasion permits. 

Jeonghan closed the distance between you with infuriating calm, eyes never leaving yours as he flashed a wicked grin. “You look beautiful when you threaten me.”

Your pulse did that annoying thing it always did when he looked at you like that—like you were something worth chasing, even when you were bristling with knives. You rolled your eyes so hard it nearly dislodged the Dawning Crown pinned into your hair. 

“And you look like a scandal waiting to happen.”

His grin widened. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Before you could come up with something scathing in return, Reya padded over, nails clicking softly on the polished floor, his gleaming coat freshly brushed, a ridiculous silk bow tied around his collar. He stopped beside Jeonghan and huffed, as if unimpressed with the theatrics.

Jeonghan crouched smoothly to scratch behind Reya’s ears. “Ah, my true supporter arrives. Don’t worry, I’ll protect you from her wrath.”

Reya growled, just faintly.

You smirked. “He’s siding with me, clearly.”

“I’m wounded,” Jeonghan said, rising with mock offense. “Betrayed by beauty and beast alike.”

Then he extended his arm to you. “Shall we?”

You stared at it for a beat, suspicious. But Reya nudged your leg gently with his snout, and you sighed, slipping your hand into Jeonghan’s. “Fine. But if either of you embarrass me tonight, I’m feeding you to each other.”

“Romantic and resourceful,” Jeonghan said with a wink. “You’ll make an excellent queen.”

You didn’t dignify that with a response. But as you walked down the corridor, Reya flanking your other side like a silent shadow, the three of you looked like a tableau of something unspoken and inevitable.

The ballroom was a gleaming vision of excess: golden drapes spilling from vaulted ceilings, glass lanterns casting slow-dancing light over a sea of jewel-toned silks and polished marble. An orchestra played on a raised dais, their melody light and sweet, but charged with the weight of spectacle. 

You stood beneath the tallest chandelier, Reya sitting loyally at your side despite the sea of legs and perfumes swirling around him. The first toast had long since passed. You’d curtsied, smiled, and performed your gracious-lady routine so many times your cheeks hurt. And then the master of ceremonies called your name.

A hush fell.

Your father approached with a dignity that made your throat tighten. He was dressed in deep blue, embroidered with your kingdom’s sigil, and he extended a gloved hand with gentle formality. You placed yours in it, and let him lead you into the center of the floor. The music swelled.

Your first dance had been rehearsed, of course—weeks of steps and spins and graceful nods. But when he whispered, “You’ve grown into someone I’m proud to call my heir,” you missed a beat. His voice was low, almost shy. “And I know… it’s time to let my little girl go.”

You blinked hard, eyes stinging. “Father…”

“I asked too much of you, bug. Pushing this match before you were ready.” He exhaled, voice heavy but warm. “But Jeonghan… for all his faults, he’s steady in the ways that matter. If you’ve come to accept him, then maybe I wasn’t entirely wrong to hope.”

You didn’t correct him. You couldn’t. Not when he was looking at you like that—like someone trying to make peace with the things he had broken, and still dared to believe he hadn’t ruined everything.

The dance ended in soft applause, and you embraced him tightly before slipping away into the crowd. You barely had time to exhale before another hand reached for yours.

Minghao.

He wore black trimmed with crimson thread, Renxing’s crest gleaming like bloodied gold on his shoulder. His touch was precise, his posture perfect, but his eyes held a steadiness that grounded you. Your heart warmed even further. 

“I’ve never liked these things,” he murmured as he led you into the dance. “The court politics. The pageantry. Celebrations of this caliber are rare in Renxing.”

You gave him a dry smile. “And yet you came anyway.”

“I came because I’m loyal to the alliance between our two kingdoms,” he said simply. “And to you.”

That steadiness—his quiet presence, his unwavering calm—had always comforted you. Minghao was the shield between Ancarra and the unknown. For months, his men had trained your country’s footsoldiers and honed them into formidable warriors. You felt safe with him, the way one does with stone walls and drawn blades.

But then he added, almost as an afterthought, “It’s a beautiful kingdom. Shame what war does to beautiful things.”

You glanced at Minghao, frowning faintly. “We’re not at war.”

“No,” the general said, still smiling. “Not yet.”

The song ended, and he bowed with courtly precision. You blinked after him uneasily. But there was no time to dwell—another partner was approaching.

Of course, it had to be him.

Jeonghan offered his hand with a dramatic flourish, his red hair far too striking to ignore. “May I steal the final dance of the night?”

“Only if you promise not to talk,” you muttered, taking it.

He did not promise. Of course not. He pulled you in with the confidence of a man who knew every beat of your rhythm, every angle of your resistance. His hand rested lightly on your waist, the other guiding you effortlessly into the waltz’s pattern.

“You cried,” he said smugly.

“I did not.”

“You almost cried.”

You glared up at him. “If I did, it was because I had to dance with you.”

His grin softened, just slightly, something real shining through the mischief. “You’re beautiful. Not just the dress. You. I thought you should hear that without a punchline attached.”

You blinked.

It unsettled you more than his teasing ever had.

The song slowed, spiraling toward its final note. For a moment, your fiancé held you still, one breath closer than necessary. The world spun in candlelight and cello strings around you, and you hated the way something in you leaned toward him instead of away.

“I won’t always be an enemy, you know,” he said quietly.

“I know,” you replied, just as quiet. “That’s what makes you dangerous.”

After the dances, your stomach practically growled in protest.

Dinner was winding down into a soft haze of candlelight and velvet laughter. The tables glittered with the remains of a decadent feast—glazed meats, sugared fruits, wine-stained napkins folded like petals. Reya lay at your feet, gnawing contentedly on a thick strip of jerky, a gift from Soonyoung (via the royal kitchens, of course). Every so often, his tail thumped against the marble with a low rhythm, as if to remind the room that he was still on guard.

You barely had time to sit between greetings, pulled into conversations and compliments from all sides. There was Yeri, a childhood friend turned court mage, who gave you a vial of bottled starlight as a name-day gift. And Seulgi, the clever young ambassador from the coastal isles, who kept trying to guess which gown was your favorite. You laughed freely for the first time all night, warmed by the company, the flicker of candles, the slow-blooming sense that maybe everything might be all right.

Until it wasn’t.

Near the center of the ballroom, Jeonghan stood facing Minghao. It looked almost casual, but only on the surface.

Then Jeonghan said, loudly enough for the conversation to die around you, “Tell me something, General. How many times have you tried to kill your own father and emperor now? Was it three?”

Minghao’s eyes narrowed. “That’s a bold accusation to make in public, Seraphian.”

“And yet,” Jeonghan replied with unbearable calm, “you haven’t denied it.”

You stood up from your seat, heart jumping to your throat. Minghao stepped forward, his voice still even, but you could hear the warning beneath it. “I serve Renxing with my blood. My father knows this.”

“Does he?” Jeonghan tilted his head. “Or did you send his last stand-in home in pieces, too? Or was that an ‘accident’ like the rest?”

A cold, electric silence followed.

“I’ve seen the way you linger at the map of Ancarra when no one’s looking,” Jeonghan added. “The way your men move when no orders are given. You’re not here to serve the alliance. You’re here to watch it rot.”

Minghao’s hand twitched. Just a flicker. Just enough to make Reya growl.

You shoved back your chair and moved, fast. “Jeonghan, stop—”

Too late.

“I should’ve cut your tongue out the moment I knew what you were,” Minghao hissed.

“And I should’ve told her what you are days ago,” Jeonghan snarled, and without waiting for another word, he punched him. The impact rang through the ballroom like a crack of thunder.

Minghao didn’t fall. Of course he didn’t. But his head jerked back, his lip split—and when he turned back, he looked every bit the general people feared. Cold and murderous. You stepped between them before another blow could land.

“Enough!” you said, chest heaving. “This is a royal banquet. On my name-day. You will not spill blood here.”

Reya pressed his flank to yours, snarling low. Behind you, guards surged forward—but no one dared act before you gave permission. Jeonghan wiped his knuckles on a napkin. “You should tell your father. Or don’t. Doesn’t matter. The truth always shows eventually.”

Minghao didn’t speak. But his silence was louder than anything. And just like that, the celebration fractured. Not with a scream, not with blood—but with the breaking of something deeper.

Trust.

It was several hours past midnight when you heard three gentle but firm knocks on the door to your bedchambers.

Annoyed, you stared at the collection of unopened gifts stacked high on your vanity. From delicacies imported from neighboring kingdoms to the most expensive cosmetics in all of Ancarra, your guests had certainly spared no expense in trying to curry your favor. But not even their lavish presents could dispel the pure vexation that had made your blood boil the entire evening.

You didn’t bother to answer the door. Instead, you swept yourself into the plush seat tucked beneath the dresser mirror. There was only one half wit currently residing in the castle brave enough to disturb you in the dead of night, and with how miserably tonight’s festivities had gone, you were in no mood to extend your hospitality to anyone—least of all Seraphia’s exasperating, insufferable, scheming—

“Isn’t it a little too late to be testing out swatches, Your Grace?”

You tried to ignore him. The way his silken dress shirt dangled half untucked from his trousers. The self-satisfied look on his face when he noticed you fumbling with the cherry red rouge you’d been applying to your lips.

But try as you might, you couldn’t ignore Jeonghan when he reached a hand in front of you, nimble fingers wiping off the excess color you’d accidentally tinted just a few millimeters past your lip line.

Not when his smoldering stare held yours captive in the image reflected in your gilded mirror. Not when you couldn’t even find it in yourself to resist when he gently grabbed your chin and forced your gaze to marvel at the man himself.

“Sulking again, Princess?” Jeonghan sneered, and you wanted to hate him for it, but you couldn’t. “I saved you from a man charged with treason three times in a single decade. Why are you pouting at me like I took away the love of your life?”

“Because you’ve made it your life’s purpose to make mine miserable,” you snapped, lacing each word with venom. “Minghao isn’t a traitor. If he was, he wouldn’t become the general of the Renxing army. He wouldn’t even be daring enough to live in our castle for months.”

He sighed, sounding almost sympathetic—but you’d long seen past the ruse. “Poor little thing, still being played like a fool all because you abhor the idea of one day becoming my wife. Tell me, didn’t you find it odd, how persistent he was in pursuing a woman who’s already spoken for?”

“Minghao is not pursuing me, and I am not spoken for,” you hissed, trying not to crumble from the way his thumb dabbed lightly at your lower lip. “Not by you. Not by anyone. Father gave me a choice—”

“Yes, of course. Everyone knows the story of the Ancarran Princess chained to a troublesome foreigner. So troublesome that she had to beg on her knees just to get the king to reconsider,” Jeonghan cooed, his face inching closer to yours.

“But as it turns out, all the other men you’re trying your damnedest to replace me with are even worse fiends than I.”

Your lungs burned as if they’d been set aflame, and Jeonghan was merely fanning the fire. “You’re despicable.”

“And you, Your Grace, are far too gullible,” he chuckled, each breath searing against your skin. “I’d say just give it up and surrender, but you’ve been fighting me since we were children. Ending our relationship in such a boring way wouldn’t make for a good story, now would it?”

You remembered something Soonyoung once told you in passing: how Jeonghan loved deeper than anyone expected. He loved his homeland. He loved his family. He loved his people. And with how tirelessly he kept pulling you back into this engagement, anyone would assume he loved you too.

But how were you supposed to believe that someone like him was capable of love when all he did was thrive off your misery?

“This new rouge you’re testing,” he murmured, as if he hadn’t just stomped on your last nerve. “It’s the kind that takes days to remove once it dries, isn’t it?”

“In what way does that concern you?” you gritted out.

The despicable prince simply hummed. “Oh, nothing. I’m just curious about its actual longevity.”

Your heart practically stuttered to a stop when he closed the distance between you—only a hair’s breadth separating your mouth from his. You didn’t know how it happened, but your fingers were suddenly coiled in the fabric of his shirt. Searching for purchase. For solid ground.

But you should have known better than to anchor yourself to someone as volatile as Jeonghan.

“If someone were to ruin it in the next ten seconds,” he whispered, his voice all heat and danger, “would you be even more furious than you are now? Or would it have the opposite effect? Would you finally melt into their arms? Would you let them tear all your defenses asunder?”

Your pulse roared in your ears, and suddenly, you couldn’t remember how to breathe. His intense gaze pinned you in place no matter how badly you wanted to flee. The scent of expensive champagne lingered on his lips, and to your horror, you found yourself craving a taste.

But you couldn’t. You couldn’t want that. You couldn’t want him.

This was the man who had made your life a waking nightmare for as long as you could remember. The man you’d be cursed to sit beside in the throne room if you didn’t act soon.

You knew these facts perfectly well, and yet…

A scream ripped through the corridor, sharp and blood-chilling.

Jeonghan snapped his head toward the door. The sound of shouts followed, heavy footsteps, the unmistakable ring of steel against steel.

“What was that?” you breathed, your voice brittle with disbelief.

Jeonghan was already on his feet, eyes narrowing as he reached for the dagger he always kept hidden inside his coat. “Trouble,” he said grimly. “Exactly the kind I warned your father about.”

Another cry echoed down the hall—this one closer.

Then the door burst open.

A castle guard staggered inside, crimson soaking the front of his uniform. His mouth opened, a desperate warning hanging on his tongue, but it was too late. A blade sliced across his back, and he fell with a gasp. Behind him came two men clad in obsidian armor trimmed in blood-red. Their faces were obscured by masks, but the crest etched into their chests was unmistakable.

Renxing.

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

Jeonghan swore violently and grabbed your wrist. “We have to go. Now.”

He yanked you into motion. Your bare feet slapped against the cold stone floor as he led you out the side passage and into the corridor beyond. Chaos bloomed all around you. Servants scattered, guards fell, and the dark-clad invaders moved with deadly precision through the castle.

“Jeonghan—what is happening?” you gasped, stumbling to keep up with him as he veered toward the grand stairwell. 

He didn’t look back. “The Renxing Empire. Minghao. He’s making his move.”

“No,” you said, heart lurching. “No, he wouldn’t—he’s still here, he’s been living here—”

“He’s been watching you. Learning the gives in your defenses. Counting how long it takes for your soldiers to mobilize.” Jeonghan’s voice was hard as steel. “And now he’s using it all against you.”

Around the corner, a blur of motion caught your eye.

Reya came barreling through the hall—his snow-white maw stained crimson. He pounced with his teeth bared, knocking one of the Renxing soldiers clean off his feet, and with a snarl, clamped his jaws around his neck.

You let out a cry. “Reya!”

The tiger lifted his head, ears twitching, and bounded back to you, fur bristling, blue eyes alight with fury. Jeonghan cursed under his breath.

“I knew it,” he spat. “I knew that bastard wasn’t here to play diplomat.”

He grabbed your hand, fingers firm and unyielding. “We have to find the king. Now.”

The three of you sprinted through the castle, Reya leading the charge with a guttural roar. The corridors grew slick with blood. Familiar faces—servants, guards, nobles—lay scattered and motionless. The once-gleaming halls of your home were being razed from the inside out. When you finally reached the king’s bedchambers, the massive oak doors were already ajar. The scent hit you first—metallic and thick. Then you saw him.

Your father lay slumped over the edge of his bed, blood soaking through his embroidered robes, pooling beneath his lifeless hand. And standing above him, eyes cool and unrepentant, was Minghao.

His sword dripped with red.

You stumbled backward in disbelief. “No…”

Jeonghan stepped in front of you, shielding you instinctively. “So this was your grand plan, was it?” he growled, tone deadly. “Cozy up to the Ancarran throne and strike the moment our backs are turned.”

Minghao didn’t even flinch. “You were never naïve, Jeonghan. That was always your problem. But the princess…” His gaze flicked to you, unreadable. “She wanted so badly to believe in goodness. It made her easy to control.”

Your heart shattered. “Why?” Your voice was barely a whisper. “Why do this?”

“Because peace is a lie,” Minghao said, voice cold and resolute. “Ancarra has grown weak. Soft. You live behind silk curtains and delude yourselves with choices you were never truly free to make.”

He stepped forward, sword still glinting in the torchlight. “I came to study my enemy. And now I’ve buried your king. The only thing left to do… is take the rest.”

Jeonghan snarled and drew his blade. And behind him, Reya let out a thunderous roar, low and full of rage. You stood paralyzed between the past and the future, your kingdom falling apart in front of you—betrayed by one you’d defended, protected by the one you’d hated. Your hands shook at your sides. Jeonghan wasn’t a warrior, he’d said it himself. You were unarmed too, but even with your weapons, your down spiral into grief would make it impossible to wield. 

A sudden blast of cold tore through the chamber—sharp as shattered glass, singing with elemental fury. The air cracked as a jagged beam of frost magic erupted from the doorway, striking toward Minghao with blistering speed.

He parried it without hesitation, raising his palm as searing fire spiraled out from his fingers. The two magics collided midair, frost and flame meeting in a violent, hissing explosion that shook the floor beneath your feet and bathed the room in blinding steam. You staggered back, stunned—not by the impact, but by the magic itself.

You knew that spell. You’d seen it only a handful of times, in hushed moments of practice behind closed doors. Only one person cast frost magic that way.

Siwon.

The king’s most trusted advisor, robes singed at the edges, his eyes blazing not with panic but with purpose. He emerged from the ruined entrance, frost still crackling at his fingertips.

“There’s no time,” Siwon said, voice hoarse but commanding. “You have to go. The southern gates have already been breached—Soonyoung and Prince Joshua are waiting with a carriage at the old postern tunnel.”

“No,” you gasped, still frozen in place. “I’m not leaving him. I can’t—”

“Princess,” Siwon cut in, harsher now. “The king is gone.”

You shook your head, the burn in your throat rising with each breath. Your eyes remained fixed on your father’s body—his crown toppled, his blood soaking the carpet your mother once chose. It felt impossible. It felt wrong to leave him here alone. But Reya had already made his decision. With a deep growl, your tiger stepped forward, nudging your side with his enormous head. His low whine was almost mournful as he lowered himself to the ground, offering you his back.

“Reya…” you whispered.

He growled again, firmer this time, nudging you harder. And then—miraculously—he allowed Jeonghan to climb on behind you, his tail lashing with urgency. Jeonghan didn’t question it.

“Let’s go,” he said, gripping your waist as Reya tensed beneath you, muscles bunching like coiled springs.

“Don’t let him take the throne,” you whispered to Siwon, your throat raw.

He gave a single nod, eyes heavy with something far more complicated than grief.

And then Reya bolted.

You clung to her as she raced down the blood-soaked halls of the royal wing, Jeonghan’s arms around you, the wind screaming in your ears. Behind you, the flames of Minghao’s betrayal burned hotter than ever, and you knew this was only the beginning.

The wind had long since dulled into a low, steady whistle as Reya carried you through the winding woods beyond the outer citadel. The scent of smoke clung to your skin. The copper taste of blood still lingered at the back of your throat. But you felt none of it. Not until his paws hit the forest floor and slowed, the ground beneath him trembling slightly with the echo of distant explosions. The rendezvous point was just ahead—a small ridge overlooking the secret passage that led to the waiting carriage below.

Reya knelt again.

You slid off his back slowly, your knees buckling the moment they touched the ground. You didn’t cry out. Didn’t speak. Just curled your fingers in the dirt and stared at them like they didn’t belong to you.  Jeonghan dismounted after you, quiet for once. He took a step forward, maybe to say something, maybe to steady you—but you turned away, shoulders trembling with the weight of everything you’d tried to keep inside.

The tears came then. Finally. Hot and merciless, carving tracks down your cheeks as a sob tore itself from your throat. “I should have known,” you whispered. “He was here for months. And I didn’t see it. I trusted him. I trusted—”

Your voice cracked, the image of your father’s lifeless body flashing in your mind’s eye again. “Father told me I had a choice. And I chose wrong.”

“You didn’t choose wrong.” Jeonghan knelt beside you, gently pulling your hands away from your face. His teasing smile was gone. All that remained in his eyes was something gentler. “You chose to believe someone could be better than the world made him. That’s not a flaw, Your Grace. That’s who you are. It’s why people love you.”

“But the kingdom... M-My father, Siwon—”

You shook your head, overwhelmed with memories of Siwon making ice sculptures for you in secret, of your father lifting you into the air when you were small, telling you that Ancarra would someday be yours. That all the land the sun could touch was worth protecting.

“I was supposed to protect them,” you said, voice raw. “But I couldn’t.”

A rustle in the trees cut the air like a blade. Then another. And another. Jeonghan rose to his feet instantly, hand going to his waist where his blade was sheathed. You scrambled up behind him, Reya growling low in his throat as shadows stepped out from the dark.

Renxing soldiers.

Half a dozen at least, clad in black and red, their armor glinting beneath the moonlight.

“Well, well,” one sneered. “The little princess, right where we want her.”

“You think you’re getting out of this alive?” another added. “You let your kingdom fall from within. You let us in. And now you want to run? After everything?”

Their words twisted in your gut like poison. You didn’t speak. But beside you, Jeonghan went terrifyingly still. And then—you saw it. A glint in his eyes, sharp and inhuman. Something reptilian. Slitted pupils. A golden gleam, cold and ancient. It vanished a second later, but it made your breath hitch.

Before you could question it, Reya stepped forward, positioning himself between you and the soldiers. His tail lashed. His fur bristled. But most startling of all—

Go.

Your eyes widened. Reya never spoke like this—rarely ever with such clarity. But his voice rang clearly in your head, steady and resolute. I’ll hold them off.

“No,” you gasped aloud. “Reya, no—”

He turned his massive head toward you briefly, his frost blue eyes impossibly calm.

Ancarra will never die as long as you live.

Then he charged.

“Reya!!” you cried, arm outstretched, but Jeonghan grabbed you from behind.

“We have to go,” he said firmly—though you knew he hadn’t heard a word your tiger said. Somehow, he still understood.

You stumbled after him, barely able to breathe, heart threatening to break clean in half—but you ran. You ran, tears blurring your vision, Reya’s roar behind you echoing in your bones as you and Jeonghan raced for the ridge where Soonyoung and Joshua were waiting.

You didn’t look back.

Because looking back would break you beyond repair.

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE

⟢ end notes: oh mein gott... after two years, i finally put this baby out of my system and into existence. HELLOOOOO lovely people of caratblr, i missed you all so terribly!!!!! this story has been camping in the back of my mind the entire time i was gone, and i'm so happy to finally get to share it with you! the entire thing is 40k ish in total, and i've been told tumblr gets EXXXTRA cranky if i even dare to dump everything in one go, so here we are, chopped into two parts :( i will probablee have the next part up next week just to keep you guys on your toes heh. i hope you liked reading this as much as i loved writing it. i miss jeonghan so terribly, and this fic got me to blow off that steam SIGHHH.

this is part of the it’s complicated series.

[theglassofmiddleearth]

Imagine Being Isekai'ed into KPOP DEMON HUNTERS. (part 3)

This chapter is mainly Baby (Beom) oriented!) THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH FOR THE SUPPORT! I think this ones a little longer!(my tag list IS closed but you can follow the post in order to receive updates on when i make edits!! So sorry!)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 part 5 Part 6 Part 7

To Y/N’s surprise, the Saja Boys were actually a talented bunch. Although, she wasn’t sure how much of it was raw talent or made by demonic power. 

The tired girl had finished up the lyrics, allowing Baby and Romance to write with her. She had ingrained into them that, if they used their fake charm on her, she would withdraw her offer and leave them to rot. Y/N despised flattery, it was a candy trail for those, foolish enough to pick up a piece of poisoned candy.

‘Huh, you really make it obvious. “Gotta drink every drop.”? I might as well tell them I'm a demon.’ Jinu sneered, with his hand over one headphone as he listened to the demo Y/N had drafted. His words, however sharp, bounced off Y/N as she noticed a small detail in Jinu’s behaviour.

‘Your shoulders are dancing.’ Y/N grinned cheekily, her chin resting on her balled fist.

‘I didn’t say it was bad.’ Jinu grumped, bopping his head to the beat. ‘Abel was right, you do have talent.’

‘Why thank you Jinu.’

‘Y/N?’ A voice called out, ‘For the rap, can you help me with some of my lyrics?’ Baby grasped Y/N’s hand delicately, as if unsure.

‘Hm? Yeah.’ Y/N slipped out of her chair, inconspicuously removing her fingers from Baby’s grip. She wasn’t sure how much of him was actually shy, and the other just a sarcastic mock of the industry’s infantilisation of idols.

‘Let me know if you want anything changed, Jinu.’ Y/N patted the older man on the shoulder quickly before moving over to sit with the youngest of the bunch. 

Jinu watched on with a familiar feeling in his chest.

Envy.

Greed.

Jinu blinked, quickly jerking his gaze away from Y/N and his youngest friend. Was he jealous? What for? His eyes narrowed, sneaking a glance at the pair again.

Y/N and Baby, were leaned over Y/N’s notebook, chattering animatedly. Baby, actually seemed to be enjoying the conversation.

‘Hey, wait, these are actually really good, kid!’ Y/N laughed, ruffling the hair of the youngest. The boy in return grumbled, red cheeked, battering Y/N’s hand away.

‘I’m over two hundred years old.’ He slumped over, laying his head on the cool marble table.

‘Huh, y’know sometimes I forget.’ She mused, looking at Baby’s now messy hair. 

‘Is this actually you writing or you guys using your powers.’

‘I was a poet before I took a deal with Gwi-ma. My name was Beom.’ He hummed, looking at the notebook, tapping the pen on his cheek.

‘I see! It really shows. You have really good flow as well.’ Y/N smiled, leaning back, forgetting that the stool had no backing.

‘Watch it.’ Jinu’s arm wrapped around her waist securely. His gaze was… conflicted? When did he move from the set up to the kitchen table?

Jinu was stuck between wanting her to fall and wanting to wrap her up to keep her safe. He could feel the heat of her skin through her thin shirt.

‘Holy crap, thanks Jinu. I forgot about these chairs. I don’t usually sit here, I don’t really have people over a lot.’ Y/N’s sentence drifted off, as she realised how sad that sentence sounded.

‘I mean, you’ll be stuck with us for a while.’ Beom smiled nervously, looking at the girl with hopeful eyes.

‘Yeah, this song will take me less than three days. I mean, look at your writing! It’s been less than two hours and you’re already almost done with your lyrics!’ Y/N praised, forgetting for a split moment that she was talking to a demon.

‘Thanks Y/N.’ Beom beamed, standing up and gathering his notes. ‘I’m going to go practice with the music!’

‘Alrighty kid, let me know if you need anything.’ Y/N called, watching the man’s blue hair bounce slightly as he ran over to join Romance, Mystery, and Abel.

‘Why are you pretending to be nice to them?’ Jinu sounded irritated, his voice was filled with aggression. 

‘Huh? I’m not pretending to be nice. In fact, I actively claim to be a rude and disagreeable person.’ Y/N crossed her arms, at his accusatory tone. Why was he being so rude to her? He was at least somewhat nice to Rumi in the movie. Maybe, even kind.

‘Yeah well, I can see that.’ Jinu bit back, staring at her with a similar stance.

‘Look Jinu, I don’t know what your problem is, but I'm helping you at the moment so the least you can do is be nice to me. Or in the least, be agreeable.’ She spun around, picking up her note book and standing. ‘I get that I’m not pretty like the rest of Huntr/x but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel bad when you treat me differently.’

‘Who said I thought you weren’t pretty?’ He frowned, looking confused. ‘I’m an asshole, not blind.’ 

Y/N  waved him off, seemingly seeing through his lie.

‘Flattery won’t get you anywhere. I’m not stupid Jinu. All I’m saying is, you don’t have to hate me.’

‘But I-’ 

‘Let's go over the lyrics. Is there anything you want me to change? Do you want line distribution done by you or by me?’ Y/N picked up a pen, changing the topic so quickly it almost gave Jinu whiplash.

‘Uh…’

‘Well, Jinu was a singer before we became like this. He should have the most lines.’ Abel hummed, leaning over Y/N’s shoulder. 

‘I think we can take care of line distribution. Did you wanna change anything?’ Abel smiled as he continued. ‘I think we’re ready to record!’

Y/N nodded at the taller man before turning to look back at Jinu.

‘Is there anything you wanted me to look at Jinu? Or did you wanna start recording?’ Y/N tilted her head, a habit she had picked up from leaning to listen to Bobby ramble during loud Huntr/x concerts.

‘No, they look good. Let's start recording.’ Jinu looked at the hand that Abel had placed on the small of Y/N’s back, guiding her towards her set up. Why did he feel heat spreading through his chest? An uncomfortable burning that set him aflame with this... resentment. 

--

The recording lasted only two other hours, but the mixing and mastering lasted the rest of the night. Y/N ended up with eyebags and heavy eyelids as she finished up using her pitch corrector and adjusting the mixer levels to be within industry standards. She slumped down the back of her chair as she pressed export, sending it to be downloaded onto her desktop.

‘ ‘m done.’ She mumbled, closing her eyes as she slid off her noise cancelling headphones. The boys had decided to stay in her apartment to figure out the choreography. Of course, being demons meant they didn’t have to sleep so they actually could spend hours upon hours doing whatever suited them.

Honestly though, Y/N was surprised that they actually came up with their own choreography. She had thought it was just some spell the demons had cast to make it easier. 

‘Wow, that was fast!’ Romance commented.

‘Can we hear it?’ Mystery asked, leaning to rest his forearms on Y/N’s seat from above.

‘Mm.’ Y/N mumbled laying her head on her crossed arms and ignored the boys. She was getting too old for these all-nighters. She could feel the youth drain out of her body as she closed her eyes. 

‘Oh oh! Me first!’ She could hear the boys squabbling over who got to hear the finalised version first. The voices began to drown out, as Y/N drifted into a silent sleep. Blocking out the noise from the conscious world. Whenever she overworked, she tended to pass out completely rendering her useless to the rest of the world. Not even alarm clocks would wake her up. Several times, Bobby had to come into her apartment and rouse her from sleep. It was why he had a spare key card. He wanted to make sure Y/N was alive during the weeks where they were preparing for a new album.

‘Be quiet.’ Jinu hushed the group, looking at Y/N, hearing her slowed, steady breaths. 

‘She’s asleep. Y/N’s been working on this the whole night.’ He said slowly, eyes tracing over her slowly rising shoulders.

‘Right. Should we leave her here or?’ Beom kneeled down to look up at Y/N’s sleeping face. He made a mental note of how Y/N’s eyelashes fluttered when her eyes moved behind her closed lids.

‘I’ll carry her back to her room. Keep practicing the choreo, just make sure you’re quiet.’  Jinu kneeled, delicately slipping his hands under Y/N’s knees and wrapping a protective arm around her neck. He stood with little effort, his demon strength aiding him in carrying Y/N.

He nudged a door open, decorated with sound proofing foam with his foot, peeking around to see if it were her room. He hummed in amusement, spotting pages of writing on the floor, scattered in a semi readable pattern.

‘So you’re a work-aholic, huh?’ He whispered, laying Y/N down on her back. The room was relatively clean despite the lyric sheets scattered on the floor. It looked like she spent more time in her set up than in her room.

Y/N groaned, as she rolled over in the bed, hunching over.

‘Cold?’ Jinu mumbled, shifting Y/N’s legs so he could grab the comforter and lay it over the sleeping girl. He watched as Y/N’s face smoothed, relaxing under the light pressure of her blanket. 

A rush of warmth.

What? Since when did he feel anything but rage and shame. He had feelings, but none of them ever felt so…

So tranquil, as if it were lulling him into a gentle embrace.

No.

He didn’t have time for that. Jinu needed his memories gone so he could move on with his life. He was sure that he could find a way to leave Gwi-ma’s hold, he just had to get past his first hurdle. 

‘Who cares if you’re pretty or not. I’m not shallow enough to think that’s what matters.’ He muttered, turning around before pausing. 

‘And I never said you weren’t pretty.’ He added, before stepping quietly out of the room. Jinu returned to the living room after closing Y/N’s door, watching his friends practice their new choreography.

‘Is she asleep?’ Mystery asked, pausing the music as he spotted Jinu stalking back towards them with a sour face.

‘Yeah, let’s get to work.’ Jinu nodded, taking his position in the formation. ‘Abel did you figure out the entire dance?’

‘That's right.’ Abel looked proud, his thumb pointing toward his chest. ‘Y’think Y/N will like it?’ 

‘She doesn’t have to like it. It’s about whether or not the people will. We’re stealing the fans.’

‘I think it would be nice if Y/N also liked the dance.’ Beom rolled his eyes, sassing the leader.

‘She isn’t important. We’re just using her to make sure we can steal Huntr/x’s fans and get Gwi-ma his souls.’ Jinu stated firmly, As if trying to convince himself of his own statement. He pressed play, resuming the music on the computer.

‘There's no need to be mean about it.’ The purple haired man hummed, before falling into position with the rest of the group.

‘Enough. We have two days left to have this choreo down. Let's start rehearsing.’

A soft melody of whistling, and popfunk synth filled the night, accompanied by shuffling footsteps and quiet singing. Y/N remained fast asleep as the boys practiced well into the morning, each man making sure to be as quiet as possible to keep from waking their new producer and writer. 

-

Y/N winced as she stretched her complaining joints, creaking in protest. She sat up, rubbing her sleep filled eyes, looking around at the new scenery. Huh, she was in her room. Last she remembered, she was laying her head down on her desk after finishing Soda Pop. The tired girl roused herself from the bed, shrugged on a random jumper and opened her door.

A soft whump as the boys landed on their feet into their ending pose.

‘Huh, that's lookin’ good!’ Y/N cocked her head, an approving smile lighting up her face. ‘Wanna show me the number from the top?’ 

Pressing play, Y/N watched the boys easily slide into their beginning poses and begin their song from the top. It was extremely impressive, the way Jinu’s voice was almost an exact one to one of the recording. His stage presence was evident, even in her very own living room. Mystery had an incredibly sweet voice, whilst Romance had a round, upbeat one. Coupled with Beom’s deep voice and Abel’s boyish charm, the group meshed into a force to be reckoned with.

Huntr/x really did have some competition. But Y/N was sure that she would be able to figure out a way to stop Gwi-ma from slipping through the Honmoon. 

She’d find a way.

‘Thoughts?’ Jinu grinned, his chest heaving from exertion. 

‘If you guys weren’t trying to take over the world, I’d actually consider taking you on as personal clients.’ Y/N smirked, turning around to switch off the music. 

‘A couple more times and I think you guys have it down to perfection.’ She laughed, turning her chair to open up her browser.

‘Watcha doing?’ Beom walked over, dragging another gaming chair with him. Y/N kept several of those for whenever she had HUntr/x over.

‘I’m gonna send you guys the file so you can upload it. That way you can also have it in your respective phones.’ Y/N hummed, logging into her email.

‘What's your email?’ 

A pause.

‘Do you guys even have phones?’ Y/N blinked, turning back to face the boys.

‘Yeah, here I’ll give you mine, Beom nodded enthusiastically, putting his phone on the table in front of Y/N. 

‘Alrighty Beom, I’ll send it over to you. After this, I’m going to get breakfast. Are you guys gonna go home?’ Y/N clicked away on her screen, typing in the details of Beom’s email.

‘We’ll get breakfast for you.’ Mystery called out, already walking away towards the elevator. The rest of the boys besides Beom walked towards the door.

‘Beom will stay here with you.’ Jinu clarified, walking towards the door that led to the stairs.

‘Hey Abel, do you think you could out run me on the stairs while I took the elevator?’ Jinu struck up a challenge in a prodding tone.

A challenge that Abel jumped on.

‘Oh, you’re on.’ Abel flung open the door and rushed down the stairs. The pattering off feet on stairs diminished slowly, echoing off the stairwell.

Jinu however, strolled leisurely back to the elevator door and pushed the button. He met Y/N’s confused stare with a confident smile and said, 

‘He's the biggest one and I wanted more space. Y’know how it goes.’ He walked into the elevator doors as they opened, whilst Romance and Mystery gave small chuckles, shaking their heads.

‘We’ll see you soon Y/N.’ Romance waved as the doors closed.

The girl slowly side-eye'd Beom and pressed send on the email she had written.

‘So, is there anything else you wanted me to do?’ Y/N spun around in her chair lazily, allowing the inertia of her spinning chair to keep her entertained.

‘No not really. Although, I do want to say that, I saw another song in your notebook.’ Beom’s eyes followed Y/N’s spinning figure.

‘Wait what?’ Y/N slammed her hands on the table, grasping at her notebook.

‘Did you write that for us?’ Beom’s tone was inquisitive.

And there it was. The back bone of ‘Your Idol’ written out in the notebook. When had she written this?

‘I… It’s not finished.’ She gazed into the book, as if in a trance. 

‘It looks pretty cool! I hope that I can hear it one day.’ Beom shrugged, leaning back on his chair.

‘So, a poet huh? What made you choose that path?’ Y/N closed her notebook, setting it aside. She wanted to change the subject, and fast. ‘Your Idol’ wasn’t meant to be written already and if she were being honest, she wanted to avoid the story plot advancing to that stage.

‘Yeah, my father was a court official in the palace. They wanted me to become a scholar and follow his footsteps.’ His eyes were glazed over, staring out the glass window.

‘Yet, all I wanted to do was write. I wanted to make words flow into a beautiful stream, to be read and understood by all.’ He continued, smiling slightly before his eyes came back into focus.

‘But my father disapproved.’ Beom's gaze hardened and his jaw was set.

‘He wanted me to be just like him. A cunning, snivelling leach who kissed the feet of the emperor. So I took a deal with Gwi-ma. That I’d give him my soul and in return, I would be a well known writer, famous enough to sustain myself and my mother.’ Beom’s hands were clutched in tight fists.

‘And so?’ Y/N prompted cautiously, leaning over, elbows on her knees, resting her head on her open palms.

‘It was amazing at first. People paid to hear my poems, they came from all over the country. But then the patterns started. And they kept spreading until Gwi-ma took me into the underworld.’ Beom’s patterns flashed, his form glitching for a split second into his true image.

‘He took you?’ 

‘Yes. Just like he took Jinu and the rest of the boys. I guess he wanted to use us somehow. Gwi-ma always takes back the favours he’s owed. It’s part of the reason we’re here.’ Beom sighed, shaking his head as if to clear away thoughts, clouding his mind.

‘But even here, we can still hear him. Telling us we aren’t enough. That we deserve nothing and that without him, we’d be rotting in the dirt.’ Beom smiled bitterly, looking up at Y/N through his lashes.

‘Well that's simply untrue.’ Y/N laughed, sliding her chair closer to Beom’s side.

‘I think you would have been successful, even if you didn’t take that deal. I mean look at your own writing! I’m a harsh critic, trust me. But you wrote these lyrics in such little time and they’re actually good!’ Y/N gently placed a hand over Beom’s shoulder, in a comforting motion. 

A spark. 

Just like before.

A jolt of white blue electricity, emanating from her fingertips into Beom’s skin, Illuminating his patterns. Y/N slowly took her hand away, watching the boy’s patterns rippled, amalgamating with the white blue light.

‘How did you…’ Beom stood abruptly, splaying his hands, flexing his fingers. ‘My patterns, they… You made them shine.’ He looked utterly stunned.

‘Um… I don’t know?-’

‘My head!’ Beom raised a shaky hand toward his forehead. ‘I can’t hear him. I can’t hear Gwi-ma. How is that possible?’ His eyes snapped to Y/N, yet there was not an ounce of malice in his gaze.

‘I’m still me, but I can’t hear him! Do you think he could still call me back? Does he still have control over me? I have GOT to tell the others.’ Beom hurriedly pulled out his phone, typing away a message possibly to a groupchat of the Saja Boys.

‘No, wait. Don’t’ Y/N grasped at Beom’s wrist. ‘You can’t tell them. If Jinu finds out, he won’t be happy.’ She reasoned, whilst lowering Beom’s hand.

‘That's true… He still wants his memories erased. You’re right.’ Beom nodded, sitting back down, placing his phone back in his pocket.

‘But how did you do it? Is it permanent?!’ He rambled on eagerly, like a puppy that had just found a new toy.

‘I’m not sure honestly. I mean, I was meant to be a hunter but… I can’t manifest a weapon. Maybe it has something to do with that?’ Y/N raised one eyebrow, turning her hands to splay her palms. She scrutinized each line on her palm, wondering if she could control whatever it was.

‘Well whatever, I’ll keep your secret Y/N.’ Beom softly wrapped his hands around Y/N’s and lifted her left hand. ‘Just promise me you won’t think too badly about Jinu?’

Y/N looked up, bewildered at the sudden mention of Jinu.

‘He’s not actually a bad person. He just… He wants to forget his mistakes. I know it seems selfish but it’s been four hundred years. Jinu barely talks to us about it. I think that's what’s slowly eating away at him.’ Beom explained, releasing Y/N’s hand and leaning back on his chair.

‘I think he just has to accept his actions. But it’s easier said than done. His mistake cost him his family. The rest of us didn’t actually leave anything behind, so we don’t understand how he feels.’ Beom continued, shrugging his shoulders. ‘It doesn’t help that he hears Gwi-ma the most. He’s been with Gwi-ma the most often so Jinu’s already so heavily under that old man's influence.’ 

‘I see.’ Y/N let out a short snort. ‘But I don’t think he’s going to talk about it with me to be honest. He very clearly hates me.’

‘What makes you think that?’ Beom looked floored, as if this were a new revelation.

‘Um, hello? He insults me whenever he sees an opportunity? He never smiles around me and lets not mention that he accused me of being fake.’ Y/N rolled her eyes, slumping down in her chair.

‘Jinu’s just like that. He’s blunt and prickly, but that's how he protects himself, and us. But, Y/N I think, he doesn’t hate you. He genuinely thinks you're talented! And, he was the first one by your side when you collapsed last night on the street.’

‘Huh..’ 

‘Yep! Jinu doesn’t hate you.’

Y/N was about to retort as the elevator dinged happily, the doors revealing three of the boys, the same ones as before.

‘Huh, where’s-’

‘AH HAH.’ Abel cried out, flinging the stairwell door open. ‘See? I can make it up the stairs at the same time. I'M A BEAST.’ 

‘Oh honey…’ Y/N stifled a chuckle behind her fist.

Part 4

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[dollgxtz]

Can you write a short somno fic for Sylus but he’s already been doing it for awhile? And he feels so damn guilty about it but genuinely can’t stop because it’s like an addiction to him now? :)

In Somno

Word Count: 3.6k

Tags: sylus x fem!reader, somno, nonconsensual somnophilia, noncon, unprotected sex, creampies, fingering, facials

Summary: Sylus just can't help himself when it comes to your sleeping body <33

Over and over he'd tell himself how wrong this was. How terrible he was for using you like this. All he could think about when he picked you up now was how long it would be before he got to cum on your pretty face again. How could he even think such thoughts? All that guilt would quickly subside as soon as you started yawning though.

Yes, even a simple yawn from you was enough to get him rock hard now.

AN: Sorry anon, I know you said "short" but I got really excited and got carried away. So lets just say this is my version of a short fic LOL. Also thank you thank you thank youuuu for requesting this, I've been itching to write another somno fic hehehe. Btw the title means “In slumber” in Latin!!! :33

He hadn't intended for things to escalate to this point.

Normally, Sylus was a master of self-control, able to reign in his desires with ease. But on that particular day, something had been stirred within him, something that he couldn't quite explain. It had started when he saw you lying in his bed, fast asleep and naked, after a long and exhausting mission. You'd taken a shower and had passed right out. Your fatigue had been palpable, and he had gone to cover you with a blanket, his hand accidentally brushing against the side of your breast.

Sylus froze, his breath catching in his throat. He hadn't meant for this to happen, hadn't meant to touch you like...that. His hand lingered for a moment, a mere whisper of contact, before he moved it away as if it burned. He stared at you, sleeping peacefully, unaware of the turmoil his innocent touch had ignited within him. He had always prided himself on his ability to control himself. Yet here he was, his heart pounding, his body betraying him.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. It was just a touch, he told himself. A harmless, accidental touch. But his body refused to listen, his mind refusing to let go of the softness of your skin, the warmth that had radiated from you. He gritted his teeth, fighting the urge to touch you again, to trace the curve of your breast, to feel more of your warmth.

He knew he should leave, let you rest, should respect your sleep. But he found himself rooted to the spot, unable to move, unable to tear his eyes away from you. He had seen you naked before, had seen you sleep countless times. But this was different. This time, he felt something stirring within his groin as he watched your naked chest rise with each breath. Your beautiful, peaceful face was messing with his senses. He tried to dismiss it, to attribute it to the fatigue of the long day, the heat of the room, anything but the truth.

The truth was, you two hadn't had much time for each other lately, and even less for anything intimate. The lack of physical connection had left him pent up, achingly so. He couldn't remember the last time you'd both had a moment to yourselves, a moment to explore each other's desires and needs.

As he sat there, looking at you, he couldn't help but feel a surge of longing. He shut his eyes briefly, trying to calm himself down, but it was no use. Better to quell the urge to touch you now, and then forget about this, he figured. He reached back over, his hand gently touching the soft roundness of your breast, giving it a light squeeze. The touch sent a spark of electricity through his body, and he felt his cock harden in his pants.

Shit. He had definitely just made it worse.

You stirred, letting out a soft whine, and he felt his heart skip a beat. The sound of your voice was like music to his ears, a sweet melody that only added to his arousal. He quickly withdrew his hand, however, as you began to shift and turn your body away from him in your sleep.

Your butt was now completely visible to him. His heart dropped into his stomach. You had always been the only one to undo his calm, to make him feel this way. He ran his fingers through his hair, now having an internal battle within himself. It felt wrong...undeniably wrong...and yet…

One thing had led to another, and he found himself carefully pushing his fingers inside your wet folds. The sensation was almost too much to bear, and he was breathless as your cunt sucked in his fingers bit by bit. The feeling of your inner walls clamping down on his fingers sent his mind into a frenzy, and he couldn't help but think about how much he wanted to be inside you.

How wet you'd be.

How tight you'd be.

His cock was rock hard and throbbing in his boxers, pressing against the back of your leg. He pressed himself against your butt lightly, trying to relieve some of the ache that had been building up inside him.

It wasn't enough.

You began to squirm, your body shifting slightly in your sleep, and he froze. He didn't remove his fingers, but ceased his motions...as if pausing could erase what he’d just done. He watched you closely, heart pounding, waiting to see if your eyes would open. If they did, he told himself, he’d just say you two had dozed off like that. Just a sleepy accident.

The lie formed easily in his mind, but the weight of it hit hard. He had never lied to you before...and now, standing on the edge of it, he felt something bitter twist in his gut. Shame crept up his spine, hot and sharp, settling in his face until his skin burned. But he didn’t move. Didn’t pull away. He smothered the guilt with silence, burying it under the oldest excuse in the book: what you didn’t know couldn’t hurt you.

As you pressed your backside against him, unknowingly in your sleep, he felt a surge of desire wash over him, replacing all guilt and shame with a primal, aching need. The pain in his groin became almost unbearable, and he couldn't bring himself to care about anything else except satisfying his craving for you.

Within the next few minutes he had rid himself of his underwear, lifted your leg and slowly began to sink his aching, throbbing cock inside you, only a little bit at first. The sensation was almost too much to bear, and he felt himself plunging into you over and over, his hips moving in a slow, rhythmic motion. His hand gripped the roundness of your ass, holding you in place as he thrust into you, his fingers digging slightly into your skin.

"Ah...fuck. Kitten, Im sorry..."

He bit his lip, trying to suppress a groan as he sunk himself deeper, slowly at first, then with increasing urgency. The room filled with the sound of your bodies meeting, the creaking of the bed, and his ragged breaths. He could feel every inch of you, tight and warm around him. He wanted to savor this moment, to imprint it on his memory forever. He reached around, finding your clit with his fingers, rubbing in time with his thrusts. You moaned softly, still deeply asleep, arching your back to meet him.

"Mghn...S-sylus..."

He froze, his heart pounding in his chest. He was worried that you had woken up, that you would discover him inside you, and that everything would be ruined. He lay there, holding his breath, as he frantically thought of excuses, of ways to explain what was happening.

But as the seconds passed in silence, and you didn’t move, he began to ease—just slightly. He glanced over, searching your face for any sign that you were awake, that you knew. But your eyes stayed shut, your expression calm, untouched. Still lost in sleep.

You looked so docile, so innocent and soft with your mouth agape, small snores escaping your lips. He hates that he feels a rush of arousal looking at you in such a vulnerable state, peacefully sleeping in his bed.

He wondered if you were thinking you were having a dream, if your subconscious was responding to his presence inside you. The thought sent a thrill through him, and his cock twitched in your inner walls. Maybe you wanted him too? Even in your dreams?

As he began to thrust again, this time with a bit more force, he could feel the pressure building up inside him. The ache in his groin was becoming almost unbearable, and he knew he was on the verge of cumming. He groaned, the sound choked out of him as he struggled to maintain control.

But as he looked down at you, still asleep and unaware of what was happening, he knew he had to pull out. As much as he didn't want to, he couldn't risk finishing inside you. Surely you'd put two and two together when you woke up and he'd be caught.

With a strangled groan, he forced himself to pull out, his cock throbbing with the effort. He gripped the sides of your hip, holding himself up as he shot a hefty, sticky load of his cum all over your inner thighs. The sensation was intense, and he felt a wave of relief wash over him as he finally released the pent-up tension.

As he looked down at the mess he had made, he felt a pang of guilt and anxiety. What would you think if you woke up and found out what had happened? Would you be angry, would you be scared? He didn't know, and the uncertainty was eating away at him.

So he simply cleaned you up as best as he could, and when you awoke the next morning you were none the wiser. You did question the ache between your legs, but fortunately for him you simply chalked it up to pushing yourself too hard during the mission. Besides, your entire body hurt already. What was one more area?

He swore that would be the last time.

Except it wasn't.

You didn’t always spend the night, but when you did, it was usually because you were too tired to head home after a long day. Sylus would swing by and bring you back to Onychinus’s base without complaint. You’d shower, get comfortable, and eat whatever dinner he’d ordered the chef to make you—just like always.

Then the two of you would settle in. Maybe you’d watch a movie, maybe listen to one of his new records. It was an easy routine. Comfortable. Soothing.

Eventually, you’d get too tired to keep your eyes open, and drift off beside him on the couch.

Then he’d carry you to the bedroom—slow, careful, as if you might break in his arms. On the surface, it was about comfort. He wanted you to sleep well. To feel safe.

But underneath that was something more selfish. He wanted to test the limits. To see how close he could get, how much movement he could do before you would stir, how long his hands could linger on your skin.

Most nights, you didn’t even move. You stayed limp and warm in his arms, face tucked against his neck, breath slow and even. It should have calmed him.

Instead, it made things worse.

Guilt curled in his chest like smoke. You trusted him. Implicitly. You let yourself go completely in his care. And he hated how that trust made something coil low in his groin, thick with heat and desire to strip you down and plunge himself in your wet walls.

And that's exactly what he did. Night after night, he'd start carefully moving your underwear to the side, swiftly inserting the head of his hardened cock inside you, and fucking you until a creamy white ring of your juices formed around the base of his shaft. Touching your breasts, butt, and pussy in ways you'd never let him before. And just as he felt himself about to release, he'd quickly pull out, covering your soft skin in his cum. Sometimes it was your thighs, sometimes your back. He'd even gotten bold enough to do your face at one point.

To compensate for the guilt that gnawed at him every time he let himself fall into his dark cravings, Sylus had started buying you more gifts.

At first, it was subtle—a snack you liked, a book you’d mentioned in passing. But it escalated quickly. If you so much as glanced at something in a store window while the two of you were out, or paused a moment too long while scrolling on your phone, it would show up in your hands within days. Sometimes hours.

You noticed, of course. It was hard not to.

“Another one?” you’d ask, brow arched in amused suspicion as you unwrapped a new plushie, or a piece of jewelry that matched your favorite dress, or a gadget you’d casually mentioned needing just once.

When you asked him why he was suddenly giving you so much, he’d just shrug—casual, like it meant nothing.

“You've always been spoiled, why question it now?” he’d chuckle.

As if that explained everything.

And maybe it did. At least, enough to keep you from pressing further.

Because to him, each gift was a way to say I’m sorry I touched you too long, I’m sorry I wanted more than I should, I’m sorry I’m not being honest. I love you so much.

It was his way of trying to be good for you.

Even as the craving got harder to ignore.

Over and over he'd tell himself how wrong this was. How terrible he was for using you like this. All he could think about when he picked you up now was how long it would be before he got to cum on your pretty face again. How could he even think such thoughts? All that guilt would quickly subside as soon as you started yawning though.

Yes, even a simple yawn from you was enough to get him rock hard now.

He found himself unable to stop. Would you really blame him if you found out? You must clearly want it too...the way your body greedily sucked in his cock, squeezing around it like a warm, wet vice. It was as if your body was begging him not to pull out, to keep going, to keep giving you more. Every time he thrust into you, your muscles would contract, holding him in place, and then release, allowing him to slide back out, only to repeat the process again. It was a sensual, intoxicating rhythm, one that threatened to consume him whole.

And the soft little whines you made when he was stretching you out or when he pumped into you a little harder than he meant to drove him absolutely crazy...

He'd promptly cease his movements, gently shushing your little noises while he waited for you to calm.

"Im sorry, baby. I didn't mean it, stay asleep for me," he would coo, his voice a soft, gentle whisper, as he gazed down at your sleeping face. He would pause for a moment, his chest heaving with desire, as he struggled to control his own needs. But then, with a quiet sigh, he would resume his movements, his hips slowly rocking back and forth, his cock sliding in and out of you with a smooth, gentle rhythm.

As he moved, he would continue to whisper sweet nothings in your ear, his words a soothing balm to your sleeping form. "Just need to see you covered in my cum one more time..." His voice was a gentle hum, a vibration that seemed to resonate deep within your body, as he continued to pump into you.

He did this for several weeks, reassuring you whenever you began to grow concerned at the continued ache between your legs. Of course, you'd trust him. Relax after. He'd feel terrible but he'd tell himself it was for your own good. You just felt too good. Too soft, so warm.

Tonight was no different. You both were watching a new movie in his home theater this time, when you promptly yawned. Immediately he felt his breath get shallow, and his pants get tighter.

“Tired, kitten?” Sylus asked, his voice lower than usual—rough around the edges, like he was holding something back. He reached for the remote and shut off the screen, the soft click echoing in the quiet space between you.

You nodded through a sleepy stretch, arms lifting lazily above your head before collapsing into your lap.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, eyes already heavy. “We never finish these movies. I just…I don’t know. I’m always so tired now.”

There was a faint furrow in your brow as you said it—genuine regret, like falling asleep beside him was some kind of failure.

He leaned in without hesitation and kissed your forehead, slow and deliberate. His lips lingered there a moment longer than they needed to, soaking in the warmth of your skin.

“You don’t have to apologize for being sleepy,” he said softly, slipping one arm under your legs and the other around your back. “You’re welcome to come back and finish it any time.”

You didn’t respond.

He was rock hard now.

As he rose to his feet with you cradled in his arms, your body melted into him completely. Your head dropped to rest against his collarbone, lips parted in the beginnings of sleep. He felt the small puff of your breath against his neck—warm, steady.

Halfway down the hallway, he glanced down at you.

Out cold.

He smiled. There was something in your face when you slept—unguarded and soft. Your lashes fluttered faintly, cheek pressed against the curve of his chest like you belonged there.

“They must be working you to the bone,” he muttered to no one, voice barely audible.

Unfortunate for you.

But for him…

You felt incredibly wet and tighter tonight. He'd boldly set you on your back this time, not wanting to miss a single facial expression or noise. Even if it meant being more gentle than usual. He watched greedily as your breasts bounced up and down with his movements. He leaned down, hands on either side of your head, trying with strained effort to quiet his groans.

"How am I ever going to stop doing this to you? You feel so good," he hissed through his teeth, his voice a low, tortured whisper, as he struggled to keep his gentle rhythm. His cock was buried deep inside you, and with each thrust, he felt himself getting closer and closer to the edge. The sensation of his tip grazing your cervix was almost unbearable, threatening to overwhelm him.

He gritted his teeth, his jaw clenched in a fierce effort to hold back, but it was no use. The feeling of being inside you, of being surrounded by your warm, wet flesh, was too intense, too addictive. He couldn't get enough of it, couldn't get enough of you. And as he looked down at your sleeping face, he knew that he was doomed, trapped in a cycle of desire and pleasure that he couldn't escape.

His hips moved faster, his thrusts becoming more urgent, as he chased the sensation, as he sought to prolong the pleasure. And with each stroke, he felt himself getting closer, closer to the point of no return, closer to the moment when he would finally succumb to his desires and let go. "Hah...gonna cum...," he growled, his voice a low, animalistic snarl as he felt his orgasm building.

"Mmmm..."

As you began to squirm under him, your eyes peering open just a bit, but still not enough to be considered awake, he felt a surge of panic mixed with excitement. Were you waking up? He should stop, he knew he should, but he couldn't. He was too close, too caught up in the moment, too desperate to cum inside you.

He leaned in closer, his large body encasing yours, his warm breath whispering against your ear. "Shh...I'm almost there baby...don't wake up..." He pleaded, his voice a low, husky whisper, as he tried to calm you down, to keep you from waking up and discovering what was happening.

But you whine, sleepily grabbing onto his arms, your hands wrapping around his biceps like a vice. You clearly aren't aware enough to even realize what's happening, and he takes advantage of that, using it to his benefit. He continues to thrust into you, his hips moving faster, his cock pounding into your wet flesh with a relentless rhythm.

As he looks down at your face, he can see the faintest glimmer of awareness in your eyes, but it's not enough to stop him. He's too far gone, and he knows that he's going to cum inside you, no matter what. The thought sends a shiver down his spine, and he leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear.

"Fuck..."

As he pushes as far as he can go, his hips stuttered, jerking forward with a mind of their own, as his cock pulsed, throbbing with the intense force of his release. As he came, he felt his cock unleash a torrent of cum, wave after wave of it flooding into your body, filling you to the brim.  A wave of relief crashed over him, drowning out the relentless hunger that had been gnawing at him all night.

As he looked down at you, Sylus noticed you were starting to squirm again, your body shifting slightly under the covers. You were clearly on the verge of waking up. Your brows twitched, your breathing changed, and your fingers gave a small, unconscious twitch.

Thinking quickly, he moved to wrap himself around you, encasing your body in his arms in a way that was both protective and possessive. His chest pressed against your back, one arm curling securely around your waist, hand resting just beneath your ribs.

You let out a soft breath, eyes fluttering open for a brief moment—glazed, unfocused—before slowly slipping shut again. He felt your body melt against his, the subtle tension in your shoulders and spine easing as sleep reclaimed you. Your breathing evened out. You relaxed fully in his grasp.

Relieved, Sylus allowed himself a quiet breath of his own, feeling the tension in his body begin to dissipate as he gazed down at you. He looked down to see the remnants of his cum slipping down the trails of your thighs, a warm, sticky liquid that glistened in the dim light. 

He would definitely have some explaining to do when you woke up...guess it was time to buy that cart full of items you'd been begging for...

[lostalioth]

𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫

→ premise: sometimes logan’s age showed more than it normally would and so just once you called him an old man, affectionally of course. Well he was determined to show you he wasn’t one.

→ pairing: logan howlett x fem!reader

→ warnings: smut | 18+, nicknames [baby, sweet girl, princess], daddy kink, both reader and logan use old man as a nickname, oral [f receiving], unprotected sex, established relationship, slight overstimulation.

→ a/n: the pictures/moodborad above are purely for vibes :) you can imagine any logan pretty much for this fic i think. this is mt first time writing logan so sorry if hes out of character and sorry for any mistakes this was written and proof read at 1am.

Logan wasn’t the type of man to be insecure about his age, his body and face didn’t necessarily show it like how it did on others obviously. He was well aware he was way older than you, he was much older than most people. His age showed more with his taste in music and movies, even in some of the outdated slang he frequently used.

You were currently laid up in your shared bed with Logan. You loved being curled up in his lap, your head resting on his chest cuddled up against him. A cigar nestled between Logan's lips, him periodically puffing out smoke. One of his arms lazily resting over your body holding you against him. An older movie was playing on the tv in the background, the volume was high enough for you to hear it, however you could hardly pay attention. Your mind was too lost in how domestic and old timey it all was, the feeling making your heart flutter.

“You know this was my favorite movie, well one of 'em used to watch it all the time” Logan's gruff voice breaks you from your train of thought.

You look up at your boyfriend and smile softly, his gaze fixated on the black and white images flashing across the screen. You chuckle softly and reach up towards his neck to thread your fingers through the hair at the base of his skull. An action that Logan has come to love and even crave on the days when life gets just a little too much.

“You're such an old man” your voice breaks his focus , it was teasing and full of affection as you said it. Logan could clearly hear it, and your statement was correct and didn't bother him, however he couldn't help the little plan forming in his head to mess with you. Shaking your head lightly you turn your attention back on the television.

“Ya’ wanna say that again sweet girl?” He leans his head down, all his attention now glued to you. His words came out almost mockingly instantly making your gaze snap back up to him. He grabs ahold of your chin so that your focus and your eyes stay on him. You knew that teasing tone of voice like the back of your hand by now and what it meant. It made the flutter in your heart drop to your stomach, his arm that was wrapped around your body tightens. You can feel him starting to grow harder against your thigh, making you squirm a bit in his grasp. You swallow hard, your voice suddenly caught in your throat. Logan watches as your pupils dilate and that sweet smell that he's become addicted to fills his nose, giving away your own growing arousal.

“Cause i'm thinkin’ you just called me old princess” He cocks his head to the side in a teasing manner, his lips breaking out in a smirk. Still not being able to find your words you shake your head ‘no’ causing him to chuckle deeply. “No? cause i think ya’ did baby, yeah i think you called me an old man” His words come out in almost a growl as he leans forward, pushing you down on your back. His body now perfectly nestled between your legs as he hovers over you, pinning you down with his weight. His large rough hands holding onto your hips, one slowly drifting and pushing up the t-shirt you had on. A t-shirt that looked an awful lot like the one he's been looking for all week.

“Maybe i did.. but you are an actual old man Logan, you’re much older than me baby” Finally finding your voice you attempt to explain yourself, though you knew he wasn't actually upset by your comment. His strained cock pressed against your clothed cunt being more than an indication of that. Your damp panties and his jeans doing nothing to stop him from feeling the way your pussy was throbbing already from his teasing.

“Yea? Well ima show you just what this old man can do huh” He questioned, barely giving you a moment to answer. Wasting no time he has your shirt pushed up revealing your bare tits and his other hand pulling your panties down your legs. Sliding down your body and the bed he slowly kisses down your exposed chest and stomach until his head has made it between your spread thighs. “Logan..” you whine softly, your eyes glued to his every move as you grow more impatient. A rush of cold air hits your lower half when he finally rids you of your soaked underwear.

That damn smirk not wavering from his face as he grabs ahold of your thighs and nearly growls when his tongue finally laps at your pussy. “Fuck i dont think i’ll ever get over just how fuckin’ good you taste baby” his words come out a bit mumbled as his face is buried between your folds. “Lo..” you whine in embarrassment at his statement. Your slick had coated his face in seconds, though it was clear he could care less, wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking. Even biting the nub softly causing your hips to buck up against his face, his scruffy facial hair rubbing your inner thighs. He groans against you and grips your legs tighter pulling you closer to his mouth.

“Daddy…fuck!” You gasp softly and moan at the sensation and tighten your thighs around his head, Logan's favorite thing was to feel your plush thighs squeeze his head. His adamantium skull being able to take the pressure. You can feel him smile against you at both the name and the action. “Atta girl, princess. Such a good girl for ya’ old man” he praises, his deep voice vibrating through your body.

Letting your clit go Logan pulls away for a moment, dropping his grip on one of your thighs as well to bring his hand and spread apart your lips. Leaning his head back a bit he spits on your pussy, his saliva sliding down to your throbbing hole. “Fuck she always looks so pretty sweet girl” he hums in approaval and admiration at your pussy. His eyes finally lift back up to your face, he takes note of your already blissed out look. “No cuming til I tell you baby, ya’ got it?” He questions, a small smile on his face that was covered in you.

“Yes daddy” you whine, your voice coming out a bit soft as you were taking the time he was giving you to catch your breath.

With a small smack to the side of your ass he dives his head back down, sticking his tongue out flat and licking a strip up the center of your cunt. Growling and burying his face between your legs again he laps and sucks at your clit and folds. Your hips having a mind of their own buck up against his mouth, nearly riding his face. His hips rutting up against the bed of their own accord as well, his precum now leaking through his boxers a bit. His cock straining against his jeans as wonton moans and whimpers leave your lips. Your eyes screwing shut in pleasure as his tongue every now and then pushes inside you and his nose nudges your swollen nub.

You could feel your climax quickly approaching, pushing your fingers through Logan's signature tufts of hair and pulling his face closer. “Fuck- Lo…Daddy please” you moan out pleading with your boyfriend to let you cum. He squeezed your thigh and groaned roughly against you, you knew that was his way of saying ‘not yet’. You whine and tug harder on his hair causing him to let out a small muffled moan. He pulls his face away a bit and with his hand that wasn't squeezing your leg he slips two fingers through your lips, collecting his spit and your slick together. Continuing his attack on your nearly now oversensitive clit he slides his thick soaked fingers inside you stretching you slowly. The rough pads of them instantly finding that spot deep inside you.

“Daddy I don't- uh shit! I don't know how much longer I can hold on, please Logannn!” You moan and whine out his name as your hips thrust back against his skilled fingers and rut against his face. Your high teetering on the edge as you try your hardest to hold it back. “Cum baby, cum on daddy's face princess” he commands and in an instant your body responds and allows your climax to hit you head on.

A string of curses leave Logan's lips as he laps at your cum as it leaks out of you, broken whines and small moans leave yours as he draws out your climax a bit longer. Finally emerging from between your legs, his lips swollen and pink, the whole lower half of his face covered in yours and his combined mess. Heat floods your face a bit at the sight, though your boyfriends still got that smirk glued to his pretty face. The dynamic of you being nearly entirely naked and him still entirely clothed caused an ache to settle back in your core as if Logan hadn’t just made you cum.

He makes his way bad up your body, quickly pulling off his shirt as well as finally pulling yours up and over your head, definitely leaving you entirely naked now. Leaning down, pressing his crotch right up against yours, his clothed bulging cock nudging open your wet and sticky folds. His lips hover over yours as his hand slides up your side, the other brushing over your breast before it’s wrapped around your neck and pinning you back against the bed. He squeezes your neck softly making you let out a whimper.

“You were saying baby?” His voice comes out deep and a bit hoarse as he questions your previous comment again. “Not callin’ me an old man now are ya’ sweet girl, noo cause you cant even talk” he mocks, a small smile on his face as he rocks his hips up against your pussy, the rough material of his jeans stimulating your abused bundle of nerves setting it off again. Your slick creates a wet spot on his jeans the more he grinds his dick against you.

“Won’t do it again i swear daddy, you're not an old man” you whimper softly as your hands grab at his arms and hands, your fingers rubbing at his knuckles where his claws rip through the skin. When his fly zipper brushes your clit you let out a short moan and move to grab at the waist of his jeans tugging, trying to get him to take them off. Tears lightly coat your eyelashes as you bat them at Logan. He scoffs softly and shakes his head at you as he lets go of your neck to undo his belt and the buttons to his jeans, pulling off his belt and jeans. You watch with a sparkle of excitement in your eyes, your chest heaving in impatience, hands wandering his body and rubbing over his muscly arms and board chest. He tugs his boxers down his thighs as he grabs your legs, wrapping your thighs around his waist. His tip leaking precum is redden and twitching as he rubs it through your lips before pushing at your hole.

“Come on princess, apologize for it” he goes painfully slow as he pushes inside you. “Apologize nicely for calling daddy an old man” he grins and brings his hand up to your boob, brushing his rough thumb over your nipple. You gasp softly and whine, wiggling your hips both in protest and to try and get him inside you faster.

Realizing he won't keep going further til you apologize, you give in. Pulling him down and closer, you wrap your arms around his neck and look into his eyes. “I'm really sorry for calling you an old man Lo, i didn't mean it i promise. You're not an old man daddy” you whine and brush your lips softly against his. “Oh fuck, you’re so sweet on me baby i love it” he growls and thrusts inside you hard as his lips crash against yours. You moan out loudly the sound muffled in Logan's mouth as his hips snap against yours. His cock thrusting deep inside you, hitting that spongy spot making your brain go foggy. Kissing you hard and passionately as his hands roam your body not being able to stop himself from touching you everywhere, you're all his anyway.

“My sweet, sweet princess, takin’ it so good from your old man huh?” He groans and presses his forehead against yours as your hips bounce off his. All you can do is frantically nod and mumble and whine about how good he feels and say yes daddy. Your nails digging into his back and running through his hair.

Logan may be an old man but he was your old man and he definitely didnt fuck like one. He knew how to keep up with his sweet little young girlfriend.

→ a/n: hope you enjoyed my loves, PLEASE SEND ME LOGAN REQUESTS< MY REQUESTS ARE OPEN AND IM CURRENTLY OBESSED WITH THIS MAN

[eternalsams]

My Taste ↠ Robert 'Bob' Reynolds

pairing: Bob Reynolds x gn!reader

warning/content: fluff, anxiety, non-established relationship, Bob's a cute puppy in love, might contain spoilers if you look into it, it's giving Avengers fanfic with Clint in the vent and Thor eating pop-tarts.

summary: You take Bob out but his anxiety gets the best of him and he's scared he might ruin everything.

word count: 1.9k

a/n: english isn't my first language, please take that into consideration. This is my first time writing for Bob, I saw the movie so I know the way I'm writing for him isn't the same as in the comics.

marvel masterlist main masterlist

You grabbed your bag and walked in the common room when something caught your attention. Bob had just turned a page of his book, his lips parted in concentration as his eyes read word after word on the paper. You smiled softly to yourself, he just seemed so relaxed after a couple of months with you guys.

The first few weeks were the hardest, he'd stay mostly silent, only speaking when talked to. His relationship with Yelena was the strongest, the two connected very quickly and she was the one he talked the most to. But he eventually opened up to the others, including you. He once found you reading a book and sat down next to you on the couch, sometimes stealing glances at you and your book as you flipped pages. "What's it about?" He asked quietly and if he'd said it any lower, you wouldn't have heard him. You looked up at him, surprised he was interested in what you were doing. You looked back down at the words you were reading and mentally marked your progression before looking back at Bob. "It's uhm... it's a romance." You noticed his cheeks flush a little as he smiled sheepishly. "Is it any good?" He then asked and you smiled at him, pitching him the plot of the romance you were reading.

And so the next time you went to the library for yourself, you looked for a book you could get for Bob. During your previous conversation on your own reading, he quickly told you what he liked in the plot and what he disliked, so you had a vague idea of what to get him. And when you came back home, the new recruit was getting coffee in the kitchen. He added a cube of sugar as you noticed he always did in every hot drink he had. "Hey, Bob!" You called him and he jumped a bit, holding his cup extra-carefully. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you." You chuckled and pushed his new book on the counter towards him. "What's this?" He frowned as he sipped on his coffee, the hot drink warming up his tired body and numb muscles. "It's for you! If you don't like it, you can still give it back, I kept the receipt." You explained as you pulled the think piece of paper out of your bag. He put down his cup of coffee and reached for the book, his fingers caressing the hard cover. "You really shouldn't have, thank you. It means a lot to me." He smiled and you could've swore you saw his eyes shine with tears before he looked down at the book and opened it.

Since that day, you'd exchange about your last readings and more. He opened up to you and sometimes asked you to get him particular books when he knew you'd pass by the library. Leading to today. He was so focused on the fictional story he was reading about he almost missed you but he eventually looked up and smiled at you.

Bob liked you, he liked how passionate you were about what you loved, he liked how patient you were with him. When you first met, he was apologizing for every breath he was taking a bit too close to everyone and every time he did so, you'd smile at him with kindness and tell him he was fine. You never told him the things he felt were senseless, you acknowledged his feelings and accepted them. And he liked your smile, how small wrinkles appeared beside your eyes when you laughed at one of Alexei's bad jokes. And he couldn't not notice how much work you put in your body and strength. He knew you were waking up early to go work out with Bucky, the two of you showing up sweaty and tired in the kitchen when he was having his umpteenth coffee after a long night staring at the ceiling of his room.

Bob noticed how you were dressed and holding your bag in your hand, he frowned. "Are you going somewhere?" He was confused, you didn't have anything coming up in your agenda, so maybe a last minute trip to the store or something. "I wanted to know if you wanted to go grab a coffee somewhere. But I see you're deep in your book so I don't want to disturb you." You chuckled sheepishly and put down your bag next to the couch. Bob parted his lips and looked down at his book, the plot was getting really interesting and he was almost done with his chapter. He didn't really like putting down his books in the middle of a chapter but he also really wanted to go out, and especially with you. "I can finish reading my chapter and then I'm all yours. I mean... not all yours, I mean yeah but-" He stuttered, warmth flooding his face as he tried to crawl out of this embarrassing slip of the tongue. "Of course! Finish your chapter, I'll be waiting." You smiled at him and pulled out your phone before sitting down on the couch and staying busy until Bob was ready for you. The young man stared at you for a little longer, surprised with how comprehensive you were, but also not shocked at all. And before you could catch him staring, he focused once more on his book. He quickly finished the chapter, snapped the book shut and almost run to his room to change into something else than his usual sweatpants.

When he came back, you were waiting for him by the door and held it open for him. You locked behind the two of you since the others were out on different missions and Bob followed you in the street. Even after a few months in New York, he was still amazed by the tall buildings and how loud the city was. There were so many people in the streets that he almost wanted to grab your hand not to lose you in the crowd but he stopped himself because that'd be weird if he did. You eventually turned into a quieter street and he noticed the small café with the tables on the pavement. You went to sit in the sun and he followed you silently. A waitress came to bring you the menu and Bob politely smiled at her as you thanked her. "So... tell me, Bob." You caught his attention and he looked up at you above his menu. "Did you talk with Bucky like I told you to?" Bob once told you he wanted to learn how to fight but was still too scared to go out and find a gym. So you convinced him to think about telling Bucky because you knew the ex-soldier would be very attentive and caring with Bob. "Uhm, no... Not yet. But I think I'll talk to him when he'll be back home tomorrow." He nodded as if to convince himself he could do it. "He actually offered to help me if I ever wanted to get into... that." He explained a little shyly. "That's great! See? I'm sure he'll be glad to see you're taking his offer."

The waitress came back to take your orders and you simply asked for two coffees and a piece of pie to share. You and Bob kept talking about what he's been doing while you were out on missions, sharing funny stories about Yelena's guinea pig or how thrilling the last movie he saw was. The lady brought you your drinks and food and you thanked her. You took a sip of your coffee and closed your eyes as the bitterness of coffee burned you tongue. When you opened your eyes again, you noticed Bob was fidgeting and not touching his cup. "Something's wrong?" He looked up at you and quickly shook his head before forcing a smile. "No. Everything's fine." He shrugged awkwardly and grabbed his cup before taking a sip and hiding a grimace. "Bob. What's wrong?" You put down your coffee and reached out for his hand. He stared at your hand as he felt the softness of your fingers rub his knuckles. How can someone who might've taken lives have hands this soft? "It's nothing, they just... Aren't they supposed to give a cube of sugar? You know, just in case..." He asked quietly, not really knowing what he was getting at. He hasn't been out in society for so long, he couldn't even remember the last time he went to a fast-food.

"They forgot your sugar?" You asked as you moved to stand up and go ask for some. Bob squeezed your hand to stop you from doing so with panicked eyes. "No, don't! It's fine, really. I can drink it without sugar." To make his point, he took another sip and did a better job at hiding his grimace, but still not perfect. "Bob... You never take your coffee without sugar." You sat back down, your second hand joining the first one holding his. He could feel his heart beating faster at the contact but ignored it. "How do you- Never mind, it's okay, I promise." He anxiously glanced at the waiters inside, they might've forgotten because they're busy or maybe they're having a bad or long day.

"I always notice things about you Bob." You admitted, drawing back his attention on you. He almost spilled his coffee on his shirt when he looked into your eyes and saw the softest of them. He couldn't remember when was the last time someone looked at him that way. It made him think, hope, that what he was starting to feel could be reciprocated. He smiled and felt his cheeks flush. You let go of his hand and stood up, but before he could ask you where you were going, you told him. "I'm going to the bathroom, will you be alright by yourself for a minute?" You asked him jokingly, a teasing smile on your lips. He nodded and smiled as you left the table and he watched you go inside. He quickly averted his eyes when he realized his gaze was dropping and punished himself mentally. He was supposed to be your friend, not a pervert who checked you out every time you turned your back to him. True to your words, you came back a minute later at your table and dropped a cube of sugar in his cup of coffee.

Bob's eyes snapped at you and back to the waiters inside. Before he could fully panic, you grabbed his hand and rubbed his knuckles once more. "I said I wanted more sugar for my coffee, I didn't tell them it was for you." You explained and noticed his shoulders drop in relief. You knew Bob never wanted to be a burden, even more after what happened when you all first met. He felt guilty over everything and anything. But you could work with that, half your friends were that way. One more or one less wouldn't change how you'd handle things. "Thank you." He said quietly before taking a new sip and smiling softly. "Better huh?" You chuckled and he nodded, enjoying the feeling of coffee waking up his body and your hand still in his, keeping him out of his thoughts and in the present. But he was way more surprised when you lifted his hand and placed a kiss on his knuckles, timidly smiling at him, not knowing if he would accept the gesture. But the look of pure adoration in his eyes gave you an answer and your smile widened.

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