#trust me it has more depth and one day i will write all of it down properly but for now get this

[prlssprfctn]

Do you ever sit down here for a minute and start thinking that technically Jason asks from Bruce the only thing Bruce can not give him (to kill Joker or to let him kill him), but for Jason it is the only thing he had ever asked from Bruce at all?

[lilianne-tarot]

PICK A CARD: Your favourite things about your future spouse ✮⋆˙

✧˚. How to Pick Your Pile: Take a deep breath, clear your mind, and look at the images above. Which one pulls you in the most? Trust your gut! Once you choose the image, The number below your chosen image is your pile. If more than one catches your eye, that just means there’s extra tea for you, go ahead and read both!

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✧˚. My Masterlist🫶🏻

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ PILE I

Cards Pulled: High Priestess, the Chariot, Judgment, Justice, Knight of Wands and oracle cards

Okay, honey, welcome to this pile 1!! Let’s see into what you’ll be lowkey obsessed with when it comes to your future spouse hehe. Before I start this reading, I just wanna mention something really crucial here, UHM......... y'all are LUCKY AF. 😭😭like TF. Also for people who chose this pile, the person described here is sooo similar to the character of Sang Yan from the C-drama The First Frost. I haven't even watched that drama yet, just saw it all over tiktok and insta reels and it's soo crazy how I was constantly thinking about him throughout writing this. The way he carries himself in that drama and SPECIFICALLY HIS EYES. THIS PILE IS LITERALLY HIM. PERIODT.

First off, this person is Mysterious AF. Like you know when someone doesn’t post on social media but when they do, it’s in black and white with a strange caption and you’re like “HELLO? What does it mean??” so Yeah, that’s their entire vibe. It’s not that they’re quiet, NO NO, they’re intentional with everything they do. Everything they do feels magical to you, even if it’s just tying their shoes. You’re gonna love how they somehow make you slow down and listen more, not just to them but to your own damn intuition as well. I’m getting this image of you two sitting on the floor, legs touching, and you’re rambling about your day while they just watch you like you’re a rare eclipse. And they’ll say something like “You feel like the ocean right before a storm,” and boom. You’re ruined.

And OMG don’t even get me started on the emotional depth… because wow.

Yeah, I got CHILLS. Literal chills. ? Bestie, your future spouse doesn’t just love you, they DROWN in you. There’s a softness to them that feels ancient. Like they’ve lived a thousand lives and chose you in every single one. Their love language? Definitely some spicy combination of telepathy, forehead kisses, and knowing your exact comfort food without you saying a word. And yet, they’re not soft in the doormat way. HELL NO. Baby, this person moves. When they decide they want something? Game over. They’re a force. You’ll love how they’ll be gentle with your soul but a literal wildfire for your protection. Someone stares at you weird? They’ve clocked it. You’re nervous to speak up in a group? They smoothly redirect the convo so you shine. It’s that ride-or-die loyalty with a spicy side of “Don’t mess with what’s mine.”

Your future spouse has transformed by the time they meet you. Like… phoenix out of the ashes levels of rebirth. I’m seeing someone who may have had to break out of their own cycles, maybe even some shadow work that slapped, but they did the work. That’s something you’ll absolutely adore about them: their self-awareness. You’ll be so drawn to how they hold themselves accountable. They’ve probably been the villain in someone else’s story, and instead of playing the victim, they faced it. Shadow work? Check. Therapy? Likely. Apologies? Given when needed. They’ve done a full spiritual exfoliation, and now? They’re GLOWING. AND they treat you with such intentional fairness. They don’t play games, they don’t breadcrumb, and they sure as hell don’t ghost (WHEW. thank god cuz i hate that shit) What you’ll cherish most is how they show up for you, consistently. Every little action feels like, “I see you. I honor you. I’m choosing you, even on the messy days.”

And um, can we please talk about how HOT they are when they’re PASSIONATE??? Because the Knight of Wands is coming in LOUD with main-character energy and It’s giving “I’m dragging you into the hallway to make out because I missed you for two hours.” FJNIDNSBTRVIH There’s a bit of chaos in their passion, but like… the fun, flirty, seductive kind. You’ll catch yourself staring when they’re focused on something they care about, eyes lit, words flying, and it’ll hit you: “Damn. That’s my person.” Like they could be talking about some weird niche topic, idk, the ethics of time travel or why a band’s debut album was superior, and you’re just sitting there like, “Okay, philosopher.” It’s hot. It’s brainy. It’s unhinged. And it’s so them. (did i just describe my type here?) 

But here’s the real one, your potential most favorite thing? It’s how they love you through your shadows.

It tells me that they don’t just love your highlights, babe. They’re the one who knows about the parts you try to hide, and loves them deeper. You’ll feel so safe being raw with them. Like crying-on-the-floor-at-2am kind of safe. They’ll be the person who doesn’t try to fix it, they’ll just sit with you in it. You’ll finally feel like, “Oh. I don’t have to perform here.” Also, minor side message that just smacked me: they might help you release a generational wound. Yep. It’s giving “breaking ancestral chains with one good relationship.” I’m not saying they’re your healer (you’re healing yourself, boo), but they are a safe space that lets the healing happen. And the ocean symbolism? BABY. Their love is like the tide, constant, natural, overwhelming in the best way. You might not even realize how deeply they’ve rooted into you until one day they’re not there for a few hours and you’re like, “Why does the air taste different???”

Okay, a few more spicy psychic messages which I got throughout the reading I'll drop here before we close because the tea is still hot:

You’ll love their hands. Like, obsessively. Spirit keeps showing me images of their hands wrapping around yours, brushing your hair back, gripping your waist, yeah, you’re gonna be down bad. They have a “hidden” creative side. Music? Poetry? Painting war miniatures? IDK 😭but it’s something they keep private until they trust you, and once you see it? Prepare to melt. 🫠 They’re a consent king/queen. In the bedroom, in arguments, in making plans, they’re always checking in. Always making sure your voice is heard. It’s HOT. You’ll laugh together in the weirdest moments. Like cracking up during a serious movie or turning a grocery run into a full-on comedy sketch. The emotional intimacy? Unreal.

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𝜗𝜚˚⋆ PILE II

Cards Pulled: Death, Ace of Cups, Four of Cups, Five of Pentacles, Knight of Cups and oracle cards

OKAY BESTIE… buckle the HELL up. This pile??? This pile is literally a love letter from the universe, and it’s about your future spouse in a way that’s got me gasping and screaming into the void. Like, if you’ve ever wondered what it would feel like to be truly chosen, truly adored, and truly transformed by love??? this is THAT reading. I’m already sweating more because the cards are kinds big ones as you can see😭 . This ain’t a crush. This is main character's energy meets divine rebirth through love . And your favourite thing about this person? Oh honey... it's EVERYTHING they awaken in you. But let me explain because DAMN it gets DEEP. 💀

this pile is all about how utterly devoted and obsessed he is with you, but in that controlled, sexy, lowkey psycho but make it romantic way. He doesn’t say much, but when he does?? It cuts straight to your soul. He makes you feel like the only person that’s ever existed. And when he touches you? The world fades.

Okay so first of all, this love is not soft-launch energy. Actually there’s no soft energy here. It’s not the kind of love where you post a blurry arm on IG stories and call it a day. No no. This is Death + Ace of Cups type of sh*t. This person literally drags you out of a fog you didn’t even know you were in. Like, imagine going through life feeling fine, maybe kinda meh, autopilot vibes, and then BOOM. You meet this person and suddenly, colors are brighter. Food tastes better. Music hits differently. You’re like, “Wait, am I ALIVE again??” Yeah. That.

You don’t just fall in love with them. You fall in love with yourself through their eyes. Because they see you in this way no one ever has before. They don’t pedestal you in some weird, unreachable way, but they mirror back your rawest essense. And you start to remember who TF you are. ✨ Like, you start off this journey feeling a lil rejected, a lil disillusioned (Four of Cups + Five of Pentacles energy… hello loneliness my old friend), but through this love?? You rise. You blossom. You reclaim your power. The crown was always yours, you just forgot. They don’t give you your power back, babe. They just remind you where you left it. And that?! That is your favorite thing about them: they activate the version of you that had been buried under years of rejection, doubt, and disconnection.

Bestie, I’m not gonna sugarcoat, this is NOT some sunshiney, fluffy past you’ve been through. You’ve known the ache of being left out in the cold. Maybe you’ve been the one always giving, always chasing, always hoping for scraps of love from people who didn’t even deserve to speak your name. You’ve had your heart cold-stoned and ghosted and breadcrumbed, and you were probably starting to believe that maybe love just wasn’t in the cards for you. Enter: this person.

They don’t just walk in with roses and pretty words (though they absolutely do that too, Knight of Cups energy is full-on poetic simp vibes 😭). But more importantly?? They SHOW UP. When you expect abandonment, they stay. When you push them away, they lean in. When you flinch at love, they don’t take it personally, they just hold you through it. You’re not their project. You’re their equal, their mirror, their muse. And you’ll find yourself sobbing randomly, “Wait… this is what it’s supposed to feel like??” Because for the first time, love isn’t a battlefield. It’s a sanctuary. It’s not conditional. It’s safe. I’m not kidding when I say this person is the Knight of Cups in every form. So with this person prepare to also see the perfect blend of this combination. prepare for random voice notes at midnight because they saw a cloud that looked like your side profile. Prepare for forehead kisses, poetic ramblings, playlists that sound like your soul. But also?? It’s not performative. It’s not just vibes and aesthetics. It’s intentional.

They speak your love language fluently, even the ones you didn’t know you had. You like thoughtful gifts? Boom, they kept the receipt from your first coffee date and made it into a bookmark for your favorite book. You like acts of service? Baby, they’re doing your laundry and ordering your comfort food on a day you can’t get out of bed. You like words of affirmation? They’re sending full monologues about how divine you are. Honestly, at some point you’re gonna be like, “Can you STOP being obsessed with me for five seconds?” But also you’ll be like, don’t stop. Ever. 😭

Let’s circle back to that Death card because whew… this is the CORE. Your favorite thing about this person isn’t just what they do, it’s who they are and who they inspire you to become. You literally go through a soul transformation in their presence. They don’t fall in love with your mask. They fall in love with your shadow. With the parts you thought made you unlovable. With your mess, your moods, your madness, and suddenly, those parts stop feeling like flaws and start feeling like facets of your magic. And in turn?? You’ll start holding them that way too. You won’t be idolizing each other. You’ll be liberating each other. This love isn’t about being perfect, it’s about being real. It’s about death and rebirth. It’s about watching each other burn and saying, “I still choose you.” They are going to be your favorite revolution.

"Wear your power proudly and unapologetically" is not just advice, it’s what your future spouse pulls out of you. You’ve spent so long shrinking. So long waiting for permission. And this person? They’re gonna hand you the crown and go, “You were born royalty. Act like it.” And the best part? They don’t do it for clout. They don’t flaunt you like a trophy. They cherish you like you’re made of stardust and war paint. Your softest parts are sacred to them. Your weirdness? Worshipped. Your power? Encouraged. Like babe... you will feel both feral and safe in their arms. Do you know how rare that is????

Okay this is so random but it came through SO clearly, I’m getting this image of you hating Mondays your whole life, until this person shows up and suddenly?? You’re excited for the week. You’re looking forward to slow morning texts, coffee runs together, messy buns and “just 5 more minutes” cuddles before they leave for work. They re-sensitize you to the beauty of everyday things. And that is so underrated. They make your life feel like poetry again.

 Final random Favorite Things You’ll Obsess Over:

The way they say your name like it’s a prayer. Youll love listening to your name from them. Their ability to sense your moods before you speak. That would be their superpower, honestly. And also the contrast of their softness in private vs their strength in public.

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𝜗𝜚˚⋆ PILE III

Cards pulled: Six of Swords, The Empress, The Fool, Five of Wands, Ace of Swords amd oracle cards

OMG This pile wow. This is “you didn't know you were starving ‘til they fed you” energy. Wow that was deep LOL. They LOVE the full spectrum of you. Your sensitivity, your rage, your need to cry during commercials, he eats it up. Encourages you to take up space. He celebrates your chaos. And the banter would UNMATCHED.

So first off, let me just say this: I legit felt like I was watching one of those dramatic K-drama slow burns when I started reading this pile. Like ep 1 is you emotionally limping out of some messy chapter of your life, and ep 16 is you soft-smiling while they brush hair from your face and I’m crying just thinking about it 😭 but I digress—

Now let’s start peeling the layers of this absolutely BONKERS beautiful energy: your fave things about this person, Oh honey. It’s not just their looks (although, side note, the way they carry themselves, that quiet “I know who tf I am” swag? Oof. HOT). But no, what melts you? What gets you twisted in the sheets, It’s their consistency with their expression of emotions, their emotional maturity, and the fact that they’re lowkey your safe space after a lifetime of chaos. Yeah, I said it. The trauma you didn’t even realize you were still carrying, they help you walk that.

And listen. This person doesn’t swoop in and fix you, don’t get it wrong. They don’t love you despite your wounds, they love you with them. Like “hand-in-hand with your demons” type love. They don’t run when things get messy. You’ll sit there anxious and they’ll hand you a coffee mug and be like, “Keep talking, I’m not going anywhere.” THAT kind of presence. Yeah, bestie. That’s what you’re gonna worship. But don’t think this is some therapist in a man’s body situation either lmao. There’s a whole wild side to this person too, like, this person challenges the fck outta you.😂 They’re gonna debate you for fun, tease you just to make you roll your eyes, push your buttons not to be toxic, but because it turns them on to see you all passionate and fired up. The intellectual banter is chef’s kiss. Your fave thing about them is that you never get bored with them. They don’t just nod along, they’re present. They got opinions, they got a backbone, and they’re not afraid to go toe to toe with you when you are acting up (and honestly? You love it).

This pile is all about liberation. Your fave thing about them is how they remind you of who you are before the world made you smaller. They give you permission to laugh too loud, cry too much, and dream too big. And they're gonna do it all right beside you.

Now The way they see you… like, you're not just a person to them. You're a literal universe. The way they look at you when you’re ranting about something random, Or doing your skincare, Or just existing in oversized pajamas, They’re gone. Fully GONE. And because of that, you start to see yourself differently too, which is honestly the best part. Like, your favorite thing about this person is how they love you into softness, into full self-worth. They speak to the parts of you that felt unworthy and whisper, “More. You deserve more.” You start walking different because of how deeply they hold space for you.

 😩 Baby This person is your reset button. You’ve been carrying so much emotional weight from past relationships, maybe even from family crap, old fears, toxic exes, and here comes this person like… “Why are you still dimming your light?” this is literally them encouraging you to live a little, say yes more. Take the leap. Splurge. Cry. Yell. Make a mess. Be too much. They LOVE that you're extra. They don't flinch when you're chaotic. They jump off the cliff with you, giggling. (that one was a little exaggerated but nvm😭)

Like, your favorite thing about them is how much they let you take up space. Not just tolerate it. They encourage it. “You are worth every desire, every dream. Demand what is yours.” And this person believe in that. They fight for that. And I’m telling you right now, they’ll probably be the one who drags you to that dream vacation you were too shy to plan, or who makes you apply for the job you think you're not good enough for. They see your power. They know your value. And it becomes your favorite mirror. 💅

And YESSSS, there’s a sexuality to this pile too 😏.This person? They worship your body like it’s art. Like a damn temple. And it’s not just hot passionate nights, it's playful, explorative, curious, FUN. That “I can’t keep my hands off you but I also wanna laugh in your neck while doing it” kinda vibe. 😭That alone could’ve been the whole reading LMAO. But here's the secret sauce: the emotional intimacy hits harder than the physical. It's the way they look at you when you’re vulnerable. When you’re quiet. When you’re in your dark. They just get you. Like intuitively. You’ll be like “I didn’t even say anything” and they’re already making you soup or running you a bath or telling you to block that toxic friend. HOW DO THEY KNOW??? Idk, babes. Soul contract things. 💀

OH and one more image i saw, you're going through a rough time emotionally. You're bawling, maybe imposter syndrome, maybe an old wound opened up, idk, but this person, they stop everything and hold your face and say something brutally honest but loving like: “You forget who you are. Let me remind you.” And it floors you. Floors. You. 🥹

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Thank you so much for reading all the way through! I hope my reading resonated with you and that you had a lovely time going through it. If you enjoyed it, please like and reblog, it really means a lot! Let me know which pile you chose; I absolutely love hearing your thoughts and feedback on my readings! If my reading resonated you, you may consider buying my paid reading as it would really help me out financially♡

Note: tarot cards provide guidance and possible insights into what could happen based on current energies, thoughts, and actions. the cards can highlight potential paths or outcomes, but they do not fixedly predict the future. this is a general reading so take what resonates!

[eelliotss]

— Borrowed time, part 4

‼️Caleb x reader x Sylus. Reader not MC. University AU. Modern AU. Angst angst angst!

Everyone knows Caleb is in love with MC. Everyone. Including you. But that does not stop him from flirting with you, teasing you, keeping you close. And it definitely does not stop you from falling for him—even when you know you’re just a stand-in, a place holder.

“Use me.”

word count = 8.5k

i appreciate all likes, comments, reblogs, and asks. i may not reply to all of them, but i want you to know that i reread them over and over <3

also, i finally got to write the scene i wanted to 😭—took me over 10k words to get here but ugh finallyyyy

part 1 | masterlist | part 5

Peace has never felt more profound. Wrapped in the quiet hush of evening, the cool hum of the air conditioner, and the soft duvet cocooning your body, the weight of the world loosens its grip. The storm of thoughts, the heaviness pressing against your ribs—it all quiets, dissolving into the stillness.

Only when left alone, surrendered to the depths of sleep, do you finally feel light. Free. At ease.

But of course, peace was never meant to last. Not when you agreed to this trip.

Three knocks at the door. A soft beep of the lock.

“Yn? Are you still sleeping?”

MC’s voice pulls you from the haze of slumber, gentle but insistent. The mattress dips slightly as she steps closer.

You groan, turning away from the sound, but she only huffs.

“It’s already seven. You haven’t eaten anything all day.” Concern laces her words as she reaches out, pressing the back of her hand against your forehead. A soft smile tugs at her lips. “You’re not burning up anymore.”

Blinking against the lingering blur of sleep, you rub your eyes, squinting up at her.

“Mhmm,” you mumble, barely coherent.

The tension in her shoulders eases at your response, the worry fading as a familiar brightness returns to her face.

“Here—eat.” She sets a bowl in your hands, warmth seeping through the ceramic. Steam rises, carrying the scent of something unmistakably familiar.

Dark green seaweed sways in golden broth, delicate strands floating between pieces of soft tofu.

Your brows furrow. “Where did you get this?”

“Caleb made it.” She grins. “He was adamant about you finishing every last drop, so you better eat up.”

The words settle heavily in your chest.

You know this dish.

It’s the same soup you once made for him when he was too sick to get out of bed, voice hoarse, fever clouding his mind. The same one he had groggily murmured was the best thing he had ever tasted.

The warmth of the memory seeps in before you can stop it.

Back then, his voice had been hoarse, barely above a whisper, thick with exhaustion.

“Caleb, you should eat.”

“Mmnh… not hungry…” He mumbled, shifting away from the dish in your hands, cheek pressed against the pillow.

You huffed, exasperated but unwilling to let him get away with it. “I promise it’ll make you feel better. Seaweed soups are the best for colds. Trust me.”

It took a few more tries to convince him. A few more weak protests before you had enough.

“Bzz, the airplane’s coming!” You guided the spoon toward his lips, making an exaggerated motion.

A smile flickered across his face, slow and lazy, before it stretched into something wider. “Pfft—Stop acting like I’m five!”

His laughter was bright, warm. It tugged at your heart in ways you didn’t want to admit.

“You’re acting like one, so I must treat you as one,” you countered, puffing your cheeks. “Now open up!”

His shoulders shook from suppressed giggles, but he relented, raising a mock defensive hand. “Okay, okay! Pfft—”

His laughter was cut off by a fit of coughs, his body curling in on itself slightly. Your expression immediately shifted, a deeper frown settling between your brows.

“Stop playing around. This is my secret recipe. It’ll stop you from starting another pandemic,” you scolded, pushing the spoon toward him again.

He groaned, but finally obeyed, letting the warmth of the soup settle in his mouth.

His eyes widened, lips parting in surprise.

“You weren’t joking,” he muttered, almost in awe. “This is really good.”

Fatigue seemed to lift slightly from his face, a softness settling in its place.

“See?” You huffed, victorious.

But then—his gaze softened in a way that made your heart skip a beat.

“Thank you, shortcake,” he murmured, reaching up with sluggish movements to ruffle your hair. His touch was light, absentminded. Familiar.

Your heart had tugged—just slightly.

Now, staring at the same soup, the warmth of the past curling in your chest like a ghost of something you no longer recognize, you swallow down whatever unspoken feeling rises in your throat.

“Well?” MC grins, nudging you. “Eat up before it gets cold.”

You hesitate, just for a moment, then lift the spoon to your lips.

It tastes the same.

And yet, somehow, it doesn’t.

You take another spoonful, swallowing the warmth down along with the lump in your throat.

MC, oblivious to the thoughts stirring in your head, plops down beside you, stretching her limbs dramatically.

“God, today was exhausting,” she groans, tilting her head back. “I swear, if I have to redo that crying scene one more time, I might actually start sobbing for real.”

You hum absentmindedly, stirring the soup with your spoon.

“And Caleb—ugh, don’t get me started on him. He seemed really out of it today.” she continues, rolling onto her side to face you. “Like, he kept missing his queues, kept dazing in the middle of the shoot. Kept asking me if you ate, made me go shop for the soup’s ingredients with him, double-check the soup, even told me it was your favorite like I didn’t already know that.”

Your hand stills over the bowl.

MC doesn’t notice.

She sighs dramatically, propping her head up with one hand. “He even snapped at me earlier. Like, Caleb snapped at me. Can you believe that?”

You glance at her, arching a brow. “What did he say?”

She huffs. “I was teasing him, you know? Asking if he’s finally realizing he’s in love with you or whatever. And he just looked at me—like, seriously looked at me—and said, ‘She’s sick, Michaela.’ Like, what?”

Something sharp presses against your chest, but you don’t acknowledge it.

MC groans again, stretching her arms before flopping back onto the bed. “I get it, though,” she sighs, rolling onto her side to face you. Then, without warning, she grabs your hand, squeezing it tightly.

“I was worried sick about you too, Yn.” Her voice softens, the teasing gone. “Don’t go fainting like that again, okay? You gotta tell me if you’re too tired. I need you to be okay.”

You stare at her, her fingers warm against yours, grounding you in a way nothing else has. The weight in your chest—the anger, the ache that’s been gnawing at you since this trip began—fades, just a little.

Because this is MC.

Bright, infuriating, golden MC, who always means it when she says she cares.

And you love her for it.

You love her.

You always have.

So despite everything—despite the storm in your chest, despite the way the world has been tilting under your feet—you smile.

“Yeah,” you murmur, squeezing her hand back. “I know.”

Her lips curl into a grin, her eyes gleaming like the sun itself. And just like that, just for a second, the world feels a little lighter.

“Anyways, enough about that. You need to catch up on all the drama you missed today. And—”

She launches into a rant, animated as ever, filling the room with stories of the ‘earth-shattering’ events you somehow survived without.

Somewhere between her exaggerated retellings and her scandalized gasps, you find yourself laughing.

And just like that, the fatigue melts away.

You only realize you’ve finished the soup when MC casually plucks the empty bowl from your hands, setting it on the table without missing a beat.

She keeps talking, her words tumbling out in a steady, animated stream—until they don’t.

You notice it immediately.

The slight stutter. The way her voice falters mid-sentence. The way her fingers suddenly fidget with the loose threads of the blanket. The way a soft, barely-there pink dusts her cheeks.

Your brows furrow slightly. “MC?”

She clears her throat, forcing a casual laugh. “Sorry, I just—uh—” she waves a hand, trying to dismiss whatever just flustered her, but you catch it. You always catch it.

The way her lips press together. The way her eyes flicker away, focusing anywhere but you.

Suspicion creeps in. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“MC.”

She groans dramatically, covering her face with her hands before peeking through her fingers, her voice dropping ever so slightly.

“It’s just—I was practicing lines with Sylus today, and—”

She hesitates, the words caught somewhere between reluctance and amusement.

Your brows lift.

Sylus?

Of course, you know he’s popular. You’ve seen the way girls linger around him, how they find excuses to talk to him. But MC?

Your lips part slightly, but before you can say anything, something else creeps in—unbidden.

The warmth of his body on the tip of your fingers.

The sharp scent of rain clinging to his skin.

The steady grip of his hand, pulling you away from the storm.

The way he leaned against the wall, damp silver strands falling over his eyes, a towel draped over his shoulders, sharp and unbothered.

The quiet turn of a page, his presence steady, grounding, when everything else felt like it was slipping through your fingers.

You swallow.

The memories pass in a flash, leaving behind something you don’t quite understand.

MC doesn’t notice your silence. She groans again, shaking her head.

“Ugh, never mind. It’s not a big deal,” she mutters, but there’s a warmth on her face she can’t quite hide.

Your lips twitch.

“Oh my god,” you gasp dramatically, eyes widening as you lean in closer. “Are you blushing?”

MC swats at you with a pillow, groaning into her hands. “I said never mind!”

That only makes your grin widen.

“No, no, this is important information,” you tease, nudging her shoulder. “MC, do you have a crush on Sylus?”

She groans even louder, flopping onto the bed in defeat.

“Shut up, Yn. My character has a crush on his character. I’m just way too immersed in the acting!”

You laugh, the sound light, genuine.

•

The next few days go by like a blur.

You wake up to MC’s blaring alarm.

You get ready.

You practice your part.

You film.

You watch MC film.

You watch her cheeks flush a little more in scenes she shares with Sylus.

You watch their characters develop.

You eat.

You listen to her rants.

You enjoy the sunset, alone.

You sleep.

Like clockwork, everything plays out like it did yesterday.

And just like everything else, he is on replay, too.

His voice weaves itself into your routine, persistent and unrelenting. A teasing remark over breakfast. A lazy greeting when he passes by. A nudge here, a comment there. Always casual. Always acting as if nothing happened.

“Still mad, shortcake?”

“Damn, I didn’t know you had this much endurance. Impressive.”

“Let me make it up to you.”

You don’t respond.

“Was today tiring?”

You don’t acknowledge him.

“Are you hungry?”

You don’t even look at him.

“Someone’s making a full-time career out of dodging me.”

It’s almost comical, how hard he’s trying to act like things are fine. Like you didn’t stand there, glaring at him with every ounce of anger you could muster just a few nights ago. Like you weren’t left in the rain, stranded in a memory of him choosing her, again.

But that’s Caleb. Always brushing things off, playing it cool, making it seem like nothing ever really matters.

And maybe if you weren’t still seething, it would’ve worked.

And to an extent, maybe it has.

Because the desperation in his eyes seems to seep out a little more with every interaction.

And when he leans a little too close one afternoon, when his fingers brush against your wrist as he tries to catch your attention, your heart still skips. But the scene of that night haunts you. The line cutting, her laughter, his tender eyes looking at her. So you snatch your hand away, sharp and final.

The laughter in his eyes dims, if only for a second.

“Damn. Harsh.” His playful tone faltering a little.

You don’t answer.

And after each of these interactions, your eyes always somehow find its way to the man lingering on the side. And more often than not, you meet his gaze. His ruby eyes pierces through you with a smug smirk plastered on his face.

Oh how much you hate that smug face of his.

It’s a look that says he’s watching. That he’s amused.

Like you’re the most interesting thing in the room. Like he already knows how this game ends.

You tear your gaze away, but it’s too late. That smirk is already burned into your mind, curling at the edges of your thoughts, creeping under your skin.

Sylus never says much. He lingers—always just far enough to be uninvolved, yet close enough to witness everything.

Though every single time, he holds your gaze just long enough to let you know that he sees you.

And maybe that should feel comforting.

Maybe it should make you feel like you’re finally being seen.

But with him—with the way his eyes glint like he’s one step ahead, like he’s entertained by something you don’t even understand yet—

it doesn’t feel like comfort.

It feels like a warning.

•

“Hey! Can someone grab more drinks?”

“On it!” you shout.

Being done with all of your scenes, you try to help out around the set where you can. You walk away from the beach and to the parking lot where the tents and coolers are set under the trees’ shades. The bickers and chatters fade into the heat as you approach the swaying canopy. The air is heavier here—thicker, still carrying the scent of salt and sunscreen but now mixed with the plasticky cool of stored ice.

You crouch by one of the coolers, popping the lid open, letting a gust of chilled air wash over your arms.

The silence here is different.

Less alive, less buzzing.

You should be relieved.

But instead, all you can hear is the echo of their voices.

“She’s pretty good at acting,” someone says.

“She does her job well,” another agrees.

“We should’ve given her another role. She could’ve pulled off a character with more significance.”

“Nah, I don’t think so. She acts well, but she doesn’t shine. Not like her.”

You exhale, pressing your lips together.

Something inside you tenses.

The other laughs in response. “Of course, I wasn’t comparing her to Machela. Their auras are very different. One’s the main character, the other’s a decent supporting. You can’t compare them.”

Your brows knit together.

You keep your hands still, your breath steady. You don’t react, don’t turn, don’t acknowledge the way the words settle against your skin like grains of sand—light and fleeting, but impossible to shake off

It’s fine. It doesn’t matter.

They’re just opinions, just talk.

You don’t care. You’ve never cared.

You know your role. You know your place.

And yet—your gaze betrays you.

Before you can stop yourself, your eyes flicker to the beach, to her.

MC stands effortlessly at the center of it all, bathed in the golden afternoon light, surrounded by the main characters, the ones who make the scene come alive.

Even among them, she stands out.

She doesn’t try to shine, she doesn’t try to call for attention—she just does.

And then there’s you, just there.

Blending so well into the background that no one even notices you listening.

You swallow, pushing away the uncomfortable weight creeping up your throat.

A breeze stirs the trees, making the tents flutter. You reach into the ice, grabbing a handful of cans, the cold biting against your fingertips.

You exhale, force your shoulders to relax, and do what you always do.

You shake it off. You move.

You quickly grab as many drinks as you can hold and hurry back to the set.

“Who wants water?” Your voice bright, easy.

You step back onto the sand, the heat pressing down on your skin, the voices of the crew and cast swelling around you once more. The coolness of the shade lingers faintly on your fingertips, already fading as you carry the drinks back.

But the words silently follow your trails.

“Oh my god, you’re a life saver!”

MC’s voice snaps you out of it as she practically lunges for one of the cans in your hands, tearing it open like she’s been stranded on this beach for days. She presses it to her cheek, sighing dramatically.

“I’m dying,” she groans, tipping her head back for a long gulp. “Why did I agree to film on a beach? Who thought this was a good idea?”

Before you can answer, another shadow falls over you.

A shift in the air. A presence that arrives so smoothly, so effortlessly, that you don’t even notice until he’s already there.

Sylus.

He reaches out and plucks a drink from your hand, slow and deliberate, fingers brushing the condensation-slick surface.

Then—he opens it.

The sound is sharp against the hazy heat, a crisp hiss that barely lingers before he tips the can back.

And you watch.

The way his throat moves as he drinks, slow and deep, his Adam’s apple bobbing with each swallow. The way a bead of sweat drips from his temple, trailing down the sharp line of his jaw, catching in the dip of his collarbone before disappearing beneath his shirt.

For a second, the world feels too slow.

When he lowers the can, he’s already looking at you.

“What?” he says, voice smooth, amused, a smirk tugging lazily at his lips. “Not for me?”

Your face immediately scrunches up.

Not a word leaves your mouth, but the reaction is enough.

Sylus chuckles, taking another sip like he’s entertained by something only he understands.

Then, just as effortlessly as he arrived, he turns and walks off, the warm breeze ruffling through his hair, leaving behind nothing but the faintest trace of cool metal and salt air.

Silence settles between you and MC.

It takes you a second to notice it—the fact that she hasn’t moved, hasn’t said a word.

You glance at her. The red dusting her face. The way she presses her lips together, eyes darting everywhere but where Sylus just stood.

Something tugs at your chest.

A feeling—small, unclear, curling at the edges of your ribs like an itch you can’t quite scratch.

You don’t exactly understand it, nor do you want to.

So you push it down, bury it deep, shove it away before it can take shape.

“Oh,” you hum, forcing a smirk on your lips.

MC immediately stiffens. “No.”

“Ohhh.”

“No, no, no!” She flails her hands in front of her face like she can physically push the accusation away.

“You’re blushing.”

“I am not!”

“You totally are.”

She lets out a strangled noise, shaking her head so fast her hair whips around her shoulders. “I—I’m not crushing!” she wails, throwing her hands up. “I’m just—ugh, it’s the next scene, okay?!”

You pause.

The next scene.

The kiss scene.

With Sylus.

You blink, then grin. “That’s what you’re nervous about?”

MC groans, dragging a hand down her face. “He’s so annoying,” she grumbles. “How am I supposed to do this with someone who just—oozes arrogance?” She gulps down the drink in her hands, turning away.

“Try not to melt, yeah? Would be real awkward if the crew had to scrape you off the floor after this.” A playful voice interrupts your conversation.

Caleb.

He strides toward the two of you, effortless as always, plucking a can from your hands and popping it open with a crisp hiss. His smirk is there—light, teasing, the same one he always wears when he’s messing around.

But it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

His gaze flicks to the spot where Sylus had just been.

Something in his jaw tightens.

Others might have missed it, but you know him too well. You’re well too accustomed to watching him, seeing all his micro movements when he interacts with MC.

His fingers curl just a little too tightly around the can, knuckles faintly stiff.

Still, he plays it off.

“So,” he drawls, turning back to MC, forcing that smirk back into place. “How long are you gonna make us suffer through this? You practicing, or are we just skipping to the part where you swoon?”

MC snaps to attention, the red still fresh on her face. “I don’t—shut up.”

Caleb clicks his tongue, mockingly thoughtful. “Huh. So defensive. Makes you wonder.”

“You wonder too much,” she fires back, narrowing her eyes.

“Nah,” he grins, taking a slow sip of his drink. “I just have an eye for lost causes.”

And then, before she can dodge, he presses the cold can against her cheek.

MC yelps, jerking away. “Caleb—what the hell!”

“Thought you were overheating,” he muses, completely unbothered. “Wouldn’t want you fainting before the big scene.”

MC glares, rubbing at her cheek like he’s personally offended her. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet,” he sighs, shaking his head. “Still a better option than him.”

MC groans. “Are you seriously insulting Sylus right now?”

“I’m just saying,” Caleb shrugs, casual. “The guy looks like he bites.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“And you’re gonna let him lick your face in front of all of us.”

“It’s a kiss, you idiot—”

“Same difference.”

Before MC can strangle him, the director’s voice cuts through the chatter.

“Alright, places, everyone! Let’s run the scene.”

MC freezes.

The teasing dies.

Caleb hums. “Uh-oh. That’s your cue.”

She exhales sharply, smoothing down her clothes like that’ll somehow fix her nerves.

“Don’t overthink it,” he says lightly, taking another sip. “It’s just a scene, right?”

MC glares at him, muttering something under her breath before stomping toward the set.

His eyes follow her form, watching her go.

Caleb’s smirk lingers, but it’s hollow now—more muscle memory than anything else.

Then, without a word, he crushes the empty can in his fist.

You don’t say anything.

You just stand there, staring at the crumpled metal in his hand, feeling the weight of everything he isn’t saying.

The sharp crunch of aluminum still lingers in the air when you finally take a step back, about to turn away—

But before you can, his hand grabs your wrist.

Firm. Unrelenting.

Your breath catches.

“Come here,” he mutters, low, rough, before pulling you with him.

You barely have time to react before you’re being led away from the crowd, past the chatter, past the cameras and the blinding sun.

He doesn’t stop until you’re tucked into the shadows of a secluded corner, hidden behind a wall where no one can see.

Only then does he let go.

Only then does he turn to you, dark eyes burning with something too raw, too intense.

“How long are you going to keep this up?” he asks.

The words hit the air, heavier than they should be.

You blink. “What—”

“I’m sorry, okay?” His voice is frustrated, breath uneven. “I know I messed up. I should’ve paid more attention. I should’ve—”

He stops himself, exhaling sharply, dragging a hand through his hair like he’s barely holding something together.

Then, before you can move—

His hands press against the wall, caging you in.

Not touching you. But close.

Too close.

His scent fills your senses—something warm, sharp, unmistakably him.

“You can’t convince yourself to hate me with every fiber of your being, wouldn’t you agree?” he murmurs, voice quieter now, but no less desperate. “I’ll eventually find a way to make things right. As long as…” he pauses. His breaths are shuddering.

Your heart stutters.

“You’re by my side,” he whispers.

His eyes flicker over your face, searching, waiting—

And then, softer, rougher—

“Please.”

A breath.

“I need you now more than ever.”

The words sink into your skin, settle into your chest, and God—

It hurts.

Because you know.

You know this isn’t about you.

Not really.

Not in the way you want it to be.

He’s frustrated. He’s angry. Not at you—but at something else, at someone else, at the way things are slipping through his fingers.

And here you are.

Pulled into the scene like always.

Here to fill in the gaps.

Here to be the character he needs in this moment.

Your throat tightens.

Your fingers curl into fists.

You don’t shove him away.

You don’t give in, either.

You just look at him.

At the tension in his jaw. At the way his chest rises and falls just a little too fast.

“Action!”

The director’s voice rings out.

Like a snapped thread, Caleb pulls away.

Your attention shifts

And you see it.

The perfect scene unfolding before you.

The setting sun drenches the world in gold, soft and warm, casting a glow over the sand, the ocean, the two figures at the center of it all.

MC and Sylus.

MC in the center, like always.

Sylus’s hands rest on her waist, firm but careful. His fingers trace along the curve of her back, pulling her closer, into him, into his world. His head tilts, his smirk faint, unreadable—like he’s in control of every beat of this moment.

MC leans in.

Slow, hesitant, shy.

Like a girl falling into the gravity of a man she can’t escape.

The light catches the soft parting of her lips, the uncertainty, the delicate trust in her expression.

Sylus’s fingers tighten, and he closes the distance.

Their lips brush—light at first—before she melts into him, hands lifting to his chest.

It’s effortless.

Beautiful.

The kind of moment people will remember.

The picture-perfect romance.

A story falling into place.

Your stomach twists.

It’s not the kiss itself that gets to you. It’s the way the scene feels like fate, the way it’s framed, the way the world seems to bend itself around her like she was always meant to be at the center.

Like everything happens for her.

And, as if to prove your point—you gaze shifts.

And you see Caleb.

He’s watching the scene.

Watching her.

His breaths are coming even more uneven than before.

Not obvious, not noticeable to most.

But, caged between his arms, you see it.

The way his chest rises just a little too fast, the way his fingers flex and release at his sides, the way his jaw locks so tightly you swear he might break something.

And your chest burns more than ever.

You hate it. You hate everything about this.

You hate how, no matter what happens—this world, this story, this entire thing, bends itself around her.

That all of you—you, Caleb, and even Sylus— are just pieces in the grand design of her narrative.

That no matter where you stand, no matter what you do—

MC is the one the light falls on.

She is the one everything happens for.

She is the one whose all her wishes come true.

You hate it. You hate how you’re just here.

Always here.

Always playing a role in someone else’s story.

And you hate it most that your eyes are turning green looking at her.

That the jealousy creeping up your throat, curling tight in your chest, isn’t just about the scene or the way Sylus or Caleb seem to orbit around her.

It’s about the way the world chooses her, time and time again.

And the fact that you’re bitter about it—

That you feel this way at all—

God, you hate it.

“You don’t need me, Caleb.” your voice much weaker than you want it to be.

You push him out, and quickly turn away, walking off, leaving the beach, the golden sunset, the picture-perfect scene.

And if Caleb calls after you—you don’t hear it.

You don’t want to.

•

The night air presses against your skin, cool but not enough. Not enough to wash away the tension in your chest, not enough to erase the way your own voice had echoed back at you—

The long walk you took should’ve made you feel lighter.

You should feel relieved.

But you don’t.

Instead, the weight follows you, pressing against your ribs with every step, every breath, every slow drag of the tide pulling at the shore. The muffled sounds of the set fade behind you, swallowed by the darkness of the beach.

Only when you get closer to the resort do you start hearing the music.

It starts as a distant thrum, pulsing faintly through the heavy night air. A low bassline reverberating from somewhere ahead, blending with the sound of crashing waves. It takes a second to register, for your feet to slow, for the familiar heat of it to sink in.

The afterparty.

It’s inside the main house, a sprawling beachfront villa that serves as the cast and crew’s retreat after long filming days. The windows glow golden and inviting, the silhouette of moving bodies visible through the sheer curtains.

You hover near the doorway.

Inside, the world is warmer, hazier, looser.

The weight of the evening still sits heavy on your shoulders, but no one else seems to notice. No one else cares.

People are sprawled across couches, tucked into booths, pressed against walls, drinks in hand, faces flushed from alcohol and laughter. The lighting is low, a mixture of dim lamps and fairy lights strung along the ceiling, flickering against the glass like trapped fireflies. The scent of spilled liquor, cheap cologne, and the lingering trace of bonfire smoke fills the air.

MC is somewhere in the center of it all.

You see her immediately.

Perched on the arm of a couch, grinning, draped in warmth and attention, her head tilting back in laughter as someone hands her another drink. She looks effortless, as if the day never happened, as if the weight of the scene she filmed with Sylus didn’t still cling to her like it does to you.

She glows.

Like she always does.

And for the first time, you don’t want to be anywhere near her.

Not tonight.

You turn away, slipping past the clusters of people, past the thrumming energy, and find a quiet corner.

A small table sits against the wall, lined with bottles, a stack of plastic cups haphazardly placed beside them.

You grab one.

Then a bottle.

The first drink goes down too fast. The second burns, but you barely react. The third is easier, a slow warmth spreading through your limbs, seeping into your fingers, dulling the sharp edges of your thoughts.

You lean back against the wall, fingers wrapped loosely around the cup, and watch as the night moves on without you.

MC is spinning, giggling, spilling half her drink as she sways to the music. Someone reaches for her waist, catching her just before she loses her balance. Caleb.

He’s there, as always.

Steadying her, teasing her, watching her.

You tip your cup back, draining the rest of your drink.

The music swells, the bass thrumming against your skin. The alcohol curls deeper into your system, warm and heady, numbing the part of you that still feels too present, too aware.

You don’t want to be aware.

You just want to sit here in this corner, where no one is watching, where no one is expecting anything from you.

And for a while, you do.

Drink after drink, until the night feels softer at the edges, until the sound of laughter no longer feels like it belongs to a world you can’t touch.

But then, a loud clap pierces through the room and the music lowers.

The music lowers.

“Alright, listen up! It’s time to bring some romance to life!”

The energy shifts.

People perk up, some groaning, some cheering, all of them gravitating toward the center of the room.

You barely react, swirling the last bit of alcohol in your cup.

But then, you hear it.

“Seven minutes in heaven, baby! Who’s in?”

Your fingers tighten around your drink.

MC perks up immediately, eyes gleaming with the kind of reckless excitement that only comes with being several drinks in.

Caleb groans, rolling his eyes, but he’s grinning.

Meanwhile, you simply sigh as your gaze falls back to the cup in your hand.

Because of course it’s this.

Of course this night, like everything else, will find a way to make her the center of it.

“We’re going to spice things up a little bit,” someone announces over the music, their voice dripping with amusement. A cup filled with rolled-up pieces of paper rattles in their hands as they shake it for emphasis.

“Instead of randomly drawing two names, only one name will be called.”

A pause. Anticipation thickens the air, curious murmurs rippling through the crowd.

The person smirks. “Once that name is called, you’ll be given ten seconds to either volunteer yourself or—” they tilt the cup teasingly, “your friend to be their partner.”

A wave of excitement rolls through the room. Some people cheer, some groan, some exchange knowing glances. A few shove their friends forward, already laughing at the thought of throwing them into the game.

The first name is drawn.

Someone calls it out, and there’s a brief, charged pause before someone steps forward, dramatically throwing their hands up. The crowd erupts as they disappear behind the door, laughter and wolf whistles chasing after them.

Then another name.

And another.

Each round follows the same pattern—a pause, then cheering, then the shuffle of two people slipping into the closet.

Some stumble back out minutes later, flushed and breathless, met with hollers and teasing. Others laugh it off, shaking their heads, grinning like they’ve just escaped something ridiculous.

The alcohol, the music, the flickering lights—everything feels looser, bolder, dipping further into recklessness with each passing round.

People egg each other on, nudging shoulders, calling out names before they’re even drawn, spurring the night forward like a challenge.

And then—

Another name is pulled.

The voice rings loud over the noise.

And your heart stops.

“Yn!”

Heads turn. Conversations pause. A slow wave of curiosity and anticipation ripples through the crowd as people glance around, searching for you.

“There she is!”

A pair of hands grab your wrist before you can even think about running.

Laughter spills around you as you’re dragged through the throng of people, the heat of bodies pressing in from all sides. Your pulse spikes, the alcohol in your system making everything feel sluggish yet sharp all at once—like you’re wading through a dream you can’t control.

They stop right in front of the closet.

Someone swings an arm over your shoulders, grinning.

“Sooo,” they drawl, their voice dripping with mischief, “who’d like to partner up with her?”

A beat of silence follows.

A moment—thick, expectant.

And then—

The crowd parts.

The shift is subtle at first, a presence cutting through the sea of bodies, slow, unhurried, inevitable.

Then you see him.

He steps forward with the kind of effortless confidence that demands attention—shoulders relaxed, hands tucked into the pockets of his fitted black slacks, the faintest smirk curling at his lips.

The room reacts before you do.

A low hum of interest, a few knowing whistles, someone muttering “Oh, shit.”

And God, does he know what he’s doing.

His stride is measured, each step slow and deliberate, the kind that makes you feel like he’s taking his time just to make a statement. The dim lighting casts sharp shadows along his jawline, highlighting the sculpted edges of his face—the messily tousled silver hair, the piercing crimson eyes that lock onto yours like a brand.

He doesn’t blink.

Doesn’t waver.

Just watches you as he approaches, like he’s already decided—like this was never even up for discussion.

Then, finally—

He stops right in front of you.

Too close.

The warmth of him seeps into the space between you, a contrast to the cool scent of his cologne—something crisp, dark, dangerous in a way that makes your stomach twist.

He tilts his head, the movement slow, teasing.

“What?” his voice is smooth, low enough that only you can hear. “Not for me?”

The words slam into you like a punch to the gut—because he knows exactly what he’s doing, and he’s enjoying every second of it.

The room erupts around you, people whooping, clapping, some downright losing their minds over the fact that Sylus fucking Qin just stepped forward for this game.

You swallow.

Your fingers twitch at your sides. Your pulse spikes, heat curling at the edges of your skin—not just from the alcohol, not just from the intensity of his gaze, but from the sheer presence of him.

Your eyes flicker around the room, anxious of all the cheering going on. Though, it lands on her. On MC.

Your breath catches.

She is staring. Not laughing. Not cheering like the others.

And for the first time tonight, she looks shocked.

Like this wasn’t supposed to happen.

Like this wasn’t part of the story she had in her head.

Your stomach twists, heat creeping up your spine.

However, you were quickly pulled out of your daze when someone claps you on the back, pushing you forward.

The crowd cheers louder and the closet door swings open.

Darkness yawns before you.

Sylus steps forward first, his hand brushing against your lower back as he guides you inside. Casual. Effortless. Like he’s done this before. Like he’s leading you somewhere only he understands.

The door clicks shut.

And the world is swallowed whole.

The music, the voices, the party—it all fades, muffled by the thick wooden walls, leaving only this.

Only him.

Your breath comes uneven, your pulse a heavy drumbeat in your ears, because suddenly, the space around you feels too small. The darkness presses in from all sides, thick and stifling, and the only thing clouding your senses—

Is him.

Sylus leans back against the door, his presence unshakable, his scent thick in the air.

Woody. Dark. A hint of spice laced with something richer, smokier.

Cigar musk and worn leather. Something dangerously smooth, something that lingers.

You can’t see him, but you feel him.

Feel the warmth of his body just inches away. Feel the gravity of him, the way he takes up space without even trying.

The realization of your positions slams into you, sharp and sudden, sending heat curling through your stomach.

You take a step back, but there’s nowhere to go—the closet is too small, too tight, too suffocatingly intimate.

A chuckle. Low, amused, sinful.

“Already nervous?” His voice is pure velvet, thick with the kind of arrogance that makes your stomach tighten.

You swallow, your fingers twitching at your sides.

“I’m not nervous.”

“Mm.” He hums, unconvinced.

The air between you is loaded, heavy, charged with something you don’t know how to name.

And then—

A shift.

A quiet creak of leather. A faint rustle of fabric.

He moves.

Closer.

You don’t even hear him step forward, don’t see him in the thick darkness—but you feel it. The way the space tightens. The way his heat licks at your skin, close enough to touch.

Close enough that if you just reached out—

A warm breath skims along your jaw.

You freeze.

Not touching. Not yet. But so close it doesn’t even matter.

Your own breath hitches, and that’s when you feel it—

His smirk.

You can’t see it. But you can feel it.

The way the air shifts between you, the way the silence stretches, the way his head tilts just slightly, like he’s waiting.

Like he’s playing with his food.

The muscles in your stomach tighten.

“You’re quiet,” he murmurs, voice dipping even lower, more intimate, like a secret meant only for you. “Not used to being this close to me?”

Your fingers curl into fists, nails biting into your palms.

And God, you hate him for this.

For the way he gets under your skin without even trying.

For the way he makes you feel like you’re standing on the edge of something dangerous, something uncontrollable, something that might swallow you whole if you let it.

The air between you is charged, electric, the kind of tension that makes your skin feel too hot, too tight.

A low chuckle erupts from his chest, its vibrations reaching yours. He leans down towards your ear, his breath tickling your skin.

“Use me.”

The words hit the air like a match against gasoline.

Your breath catches.

A smirk curves against the dark. He knows.

Of course he knows.

“Use me to make him jealous.”

Your stomach tightens, heat spreading through your limbs like liquid fire.

You swallow. “That’s—”

“That’s what you want, isn’t it?” His voice dips lower, a soft, taunting hum, stepping closer, just enough that you catch the faintest trace of clean linen and something sharp beneath it.

You hate that your pulse spikes.

You hate that he’s right.

You hate how easily he gets under your skin, how effortlessly he peels you open without even touching you.

You part your lips to deny it, but—

“Or,” he muses, tilting his head slightly, voice edged with something wicked, something dangerous, something that makes your knees feel weak—

“If you’d rather make it more interesting…”

A pause. A shift. A fraction of movement, barely there—

But you feel it.

The brush of his breath against your skin, the slow, unbearable closeness.

“…Use me to make her jealous.”

Your breath stutters.

He sees it.

He feels it.

And the slow, lazy smirk that tugs at his lips—it’s lethal.

Like he’s already won.

Like he knows exactly what buttons he’s pushing.

Like he’s daring you to say yes.

Your fingers curl into fists. Heat rolls beneath your skin, something dangerous, something reckless.

You should tell him to fuck off.

You should shove him away.

You should—

But you don’t.

Because in this moment, in this dark, stifling space—

You don’t know what you want more.

To prove him wrong.

Or to let him be right.

Perhaps it’s the pain you’ve been swallowing for months, the way it’s settled deep in your ribs, pressing against your lungs like a bruise that refuses to fade.

Perhaps it’s the alcohol, heavy in your bloodstream, loosening your grip on restraint, making you weak to the things you never let yourself touch.

Or maybe—maybe—it’s the way your stomach twists at the memory of her face.

MC’s wide, stunned eyes. The sharp sting of betrayal flashing across her features.

And as much as you hate it, as much as that look should send you crumbling—

Some twisted part of you puffs.

Some part of you, buried beneath layers of resentment, self-doubt, and the endless role of being cast in the background, thrives on it.

Because for once—for once—she is not the one standing in the center of the world.

For once, you have something she doesn’t.

And maybe it’s wrong. Maybe you’ll hate yourself for this later.

But right now—right now—

The weight of Sylus’s heat against you, the scent of smoke and clean linen and something sharp curling into your senses, pressing into the empty spaces inside you—

It’s stopping you from thinking straight.

And when his lips part, when his breath brushes over your skin, when the last thread of tension pulls taut between you—

You stop thinking altogether.

Because before you can second-guess yourself—

You grab him.

Fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, yanking him down, crashing into him like you’ve lost control of gravity itself.

Heat.

Pressure.

It is all you can feel.

His lips crash against yours, and everything ignites.

Your lips slowly move, and his follow suit. You can feel the smirk on his lips.

That damned smirk.

But your mind is wiped clean as soon as he tilts his head, the kiss turning hungrier. The tension builds, unraveling into something desperate, something heavy, something neither of you have the willpower to stop anymore.

Sylus lets out a low, dark chuckle against your mouth, but you swallow it whole.

He recovers quickly—of course he does—because the moment you give in, he’s already taking.

His hands slam against the wall behind you, pinning you between him and nothing else, his body pressing in, heat bleeding through his clothes and onto your skin.

The kiss is rough, deliberate, his lips moving against yours with slow precision, dragging, teasing, tasting.

Like he’s memorizing you.

Like he’s proving a point.

Your breath shudders when he bites, just enough to sting, just enough to make your knees buckle.

You hate that he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Hate that he’s making you melt so easily.

Your nails dig into his shoulders, gripping him tight, using it as leverage when you press your body flush against his.

A sharp inhale from him.

A brief pause.

His fingers dive into your hair, twisting, tugging, tilting your head back as his mouth slants over yours, harder this time.

Deeper.

His other hand slides down, skimming over your ribs, tracing heat into your skin through your clothes before settling at your waist.

Firm. Possessive.

You don’t even realize you’ve been backing up until your back hits the closet wall and he presses in, caging you there, forcing you to feel every inch of him.

Your head spins.

The alcohol, the heat, the weight of him—it’s too much. But not enough.

A low groan rumbles deep in his chest when you tug at his hair, nails raking lightly against his scalp.

And then, his lips break away from yours—just barely, just enough to breathe against your mouth, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his swollen lips.

“Didn’t know you had it in you,” he murmurs, voice thick, husky, laced with something dangerous.

You exhale, your own lips tingling, your chest rising and falling too fast.

“Shut up.”

His teeth flash in the dimness, his breath hot against your lips.

Your grip tightens on his shirt, but it does nothing to steady you.

Sylus moves slowly—deliberate, like he’s savoring this moment, like he has all the time in the world to watch you unravel.

His hands dip beneath your shirt, fingers curling against your waist, his touch cool against the heat of your skin.

You shudder, a sharp inhale betraying you as his fingers start to move—slow, teasing strokes, tracing along the sensitive dip of your spine, mapping you out like he’s memorizing you by touch alone.

His mouth hovers just over yours, his breath fanning against your lips, his smirk felt more than seen in the heavy darkness.

“You’re shaking,” he murmurs, voice a low hum of amusement, his fingers pressing just slightly harder into your waist.

You bite your lip, hating the way your body responds to him, the way his touch burns through the fabric of your self-control.

“I’m not shaking.”

Sylus laughs, a deep, satisfied sound, his grip flexing slightly—his thumbs skimming just beneath the curve of your ribs, fingertips lingering dangerously close to places they shouldn’t be.

“Sure,” he muses, tilting his head. “Keep telling yourself that.”

Then—he shifts.

A slow, taunting drag of his mouth, skimming along the curve of your jaw, down to the edge of your throat.

You swallow hard, your pulse thundering beneath his lips.

“You still thinking about them?” he murmurs, voice dropping into something dark, coaxing, his fingers spreading wider, pressing into the dip of your lower back, pulling you flush against him.

The sharp heat of his body bleeds through your clothes, overwhelming, intoxicating, making it impossible to focus on anything other than him.

His mouth brushes against your neck—just barely, just enough—and a low, approving hum vibrates from his chest when he feels your breath catch.

“Good,” he whispers, voice dark with satisfaction.

His hands trail higher, warmer, slipping beneath the fabric of your shirt, his touch searing against your bare skin.

His fingers splay over the curve of your spine, pressing in just enough to make you arch, just enough to remind you that he has full control of this moment.

“You know,” he murmurs, lips grazing against your throat, voice thick with amusement, “when I said to use me…”

His hands continue their slow ascent, fingertips tracing along the delicate line of your ribs, slipping under the thin strap of your bra, his knuckles brushing dangerously close to places that would mean no turning back.

“I was talking about simply making it seem like we did something.”

He pauses.

A teasing smirk curls against your skin.

“Didn’t think you’d take it so literally.”

Your breath stutters.

A sharp mix of heat and indignation surges through you, twisting deep in your stomach, because he’s playing with you.

Like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you—and he loves every second of it.

Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, gripping tighter, a silent warning, a desperate attempt to keep yourself together.

He just chuckles—low, dark, sinful.

“Getting shy now?” His voice is all arrogance, his hands still skimming, still testing, still pushing you to the edge of losing control completely.

You hate him.

God, you hate him.

But you hate yourself more for the way your body leans into him, for the way your breath hitches when his teeth graze your pulse, for the way his heat drowns you whole.

And the worst part?

He knows.

He always knows.

His lips ghost over your skin, the smirk never leaving.

“Tell me, sweetheart,” he whispers, voice velvet-smooth, “if I slipped my hands a little lower, would you stop me?”

Your stomach flips.

Your grip tightens.

But you don’t answer.

And that silence is exactly what he needs.

Sylus hums, a low, knowing sound, his fingers tightening against your spine, dragging heat along your skin as they trail downward again—slow, teasing, excruciating.

And then, his lips move, lower—tracing just barely along the column of your throat, hovering, not quite touching, not quite giving in.

“No protest?” His voice is mocking, rich with amusement and something darker, something heavier.

His fingers skim along the waistband of your jeans, just a whisper of pressure, enough to send a jolt through your system, enough to make your nails bite into his shirt, into his skin beneath it.

Your pulse hammers, every muscle in your body coiled so tightly you swear you might snap.

His breath brushes against your ear, soft, deliberate, taunting.

“Still not stopping me?”

You should.

You should.

But your body betrays you, tilting into his touch, into his heat, into the danger of him.

Sylus hums, a deep, satisfied sound, his fingers hooking onto the waistband of your jeans—

A knock shatters the daze you were in.

Loud. Sharp.

The closet door rattles slightly.

“Time’s up, lovebirds!” someone calls, muffled through the wood.

Everything freezes.

Your breath catches.

Sylus doesn’t move, not immediately.

For a long, tense second, his fingers linger—just barely pressing into your skin, his body still flush against yours, his lips hovering just over your jaw.

Though slowly, deliberately, devastatingly—he pulls back.

Just enough for you to breathe again.

Just enough to make you ache from the loss.

Sylus stretches, rolling his shoulders lazily before throwing you a look that’s pure, wicked satisfaction. He runs his thumb across his lower lip, like he’s still tasting you there.

The door finally swings open, and light floods in.

His voice is low, smooth as silk, but dripping with mocking amusement, he whispers before he steps out of the closet—

“Shame. I was just getting started.”

part 5

[thetrasha]

I don't usually make requests, but even though I know you've been told this before, I won't hold back from saying that I love the way you write the characters and, well, I love your writing in general!

I wanted to request something about the Straw Hats and how their ideal partner would be like.

(I don't know if this comes off as too vague, I just need more of your writing, please.)

Thank you so much, anon ╰(*°▽°*)╯ I'm glad you trust me with your request!! And I appreciate your support - more than you know, in fact 🥺Glad you enjoy my silly blog and want more. Luckily, I'm here to deliver...

And don't worry, I love vague asks, it gets the creative juices flowing :D Hope you like this one~~

PS. This is based on this post

Ideal Types

STRAW HAT EDITION

Law, Ace, Sabo, Shanks, Buggy version here

LUFFY

Luffy needs someone who…

isn’t afraid of rediscovering the world and in turn themselves

can be the voice of reason sometimes

feels rather than thinks

is open-minded, spontaneous and authentic

Luffy can help you cope with these character flaws:

awkwardness

naivete

timidness

An absolute dealbreaker would be…

dishonesty and apathy

Luffy sees you and, at first glance, just knew that you were going to be very dear to him. The world hasn’t been kind to you, even if you try to downplay your circumstances. You claim that others have it worse, that you’re not at all special, that you don’t have what it takes, but he knows. Oh, he knows that you do. You’re waiting to be liberated, to live life on your terms. He’s giving you that chance because he sees more than just potential in you – he sees expanding horizons when he’s looking into your eyes, he sees a soul that rivals the depth of the ocean, and he sees unimaginable treasure in you.

ZORO

Zoro needs someone who…

is self-assured, ambitious and humble

knows their place in the world or is relentlessly trying to find it

is an introvert rather than an extrovert

cares deeply about him and others

Zoro can help you cope with these character flaws:

pride

stubbornness

self-sacrificial tendencies

An absolute dealbreaker would be…

a weak sense of self and no desire to self-improve

Zoro sees you and… sees himself. Well, a less hardened version of him; you still have that softness about you, you have vulnerability and you’re not yet frayed, pulled apart by the seams, …you’ve had to carry your battle scars, yes, but they made you stronger, inspired you to take on the world, not shut yourself away from life experience. Your dream and your kindness coexist… Zoro thinks that’s fascinating. Your care for him proves your bravery – you are fond of the man who rarely talks, rarely reciprocates touch, who rarely… lives for himself, but you still see him for who he is and believe it’s worth protecting. You’re so admirable.

USOPP

Usopp needs someone who…

seeks harmony

hasn’t given up on the world and wants to make it better

has no tolerance for cruelty

is cheerful, dedicated and forgiving

Usopp can help you cope with these character flaws:

cowardice

anxiety

envy

An absolute dealbreaker would be…

choosing cowardice over doing what’s right and ingratitude

Usopp sees you and knows you’re someone who’s been burnt too many times. People don’t have nearly as much empathy for your situation as they say they have – believe him, he knows all about it. They can be so unnecessarily cruel, hostile for no reason… He understands why you’re like this and he feels an immense amount of protectiveness towards you, knowing that he can lift you up and show you that anyone can make it. You just have to believe in yourself! And if that’s too hard for you right now, he can believe in you for you, he doesn’t mind. One day you’ll stand beside him and you’ll thank the other for the things you’ve taught one another.

SANJI

Sanji needs someone who…

doesn’t judge other people prematurely

is deeply empathetic and acknowledges other people’s struggles

sees through anyone’s facade

is sweet, loving and reliable

Sanji can help you cope with these character flaws:

being too trusting

overthinking

insecurity

An absolute dealbreaker would be…

spite and being cold-hearted

Sanji sees you and feels seen. Nobody ever bothered to do things for him… just for the sake of taking some weight off his shoulders. It’s like your well-being depends on his own; he cannot fathom why anyone would want to spend time with him without expecting a favour or anything in return. And he desperately tries to pay you back with acts of service, but you just won’t budge. You tell him that this is what love’s like – it’s innocent and nurturing, a constant give and take. You respect him, which almost makes him cry. It’s a strange feeling… to be wanted without offering an arm and a leg, but he’s given you his heart anyway. Even without asking for it… you always had it, after all.

FRANKY

Franky needs someone who…

rejects rigid social structures

has something unconventional about them

has a strong sense of justice

is fun-loving, humorous and intelligent

Franky can help you cope with these character flaws:

self-destructive tendencies

deep regrets

scepticism/ distrust

An absolute dealbreaker would be…

greed and hubris

Franky sees you and thinks you’re enough just the way you are. You don’t have to change a thing about yourself. That fragile state you’re in – he’s here to mend it, slowly but surely. The world just didn’t appreciate your brilliance enough! You were just fine when you fit in because you’re one of the few people who could fell the system; that’s who you are at your core. You saw Franky and you saw a friend first, not a machine and certainly not a weapon. And as you slowly got to know him, you learnt to love both his human heart and the wires, pistons and cogs making it pump. You were hard-wired to reject yourself, but he’s here to tell you that you’re super awesome… well, until you learn to believe it.

BROOK

Brook needs someone who…

has a deep understanding of what it means to be lonely

is creative, funny and perceptive

feels like they are the odd one out

thinks rather than feels

Brook can help you cope with these character flaws:

feeling like you don’t belong anywhere

loneliness/ solitude

melancholy

An absolute dealbreaker would be…

disloyalty and small-minded thinking

Brook sees you and just intuitively knows that you’re his missing piece. You relate to his greatest source of pain, but you don’t let it keep you from living your own life, no, you use it as fuel to make your time on this Earth matter. You know just how precious time really is, so you are unapologetic in your pursuit of your own happiness, even if the path towards it isn’t exactly easy. It’d take him some time, but he wants to be the reason behind ever chuckle, every smile, every bit of affection you’re ready to offer. You’ve been so alone for so long, nobody has ever bothered to see you for who you are: You are vibrant and so worthy of being alive. It makes him appreciate the time he’s got now, too.

JINBE

Jinbe needs someone who…

is wise, mature and caring

is curious about other cultures and their customs, wants to understand the world

loves learning something new every day

recognises that one person cannot change the world – but doesn’t obey in advance either

Jinbe can help you cope with these flaws:

inability to find your purpose

feelings of inadequacy

pessimism and/ or nihilism

An absolute dealbreaker would be…

hypocrisy and hedonism

Jinbe sees you and knows you’re meant to be something great, you just need a helping hand and some words of encouragement. Maybe that’s what you’re lacking – a strong support system. He’ll gladly provide that for you, just to see you thrive right next to him. It’s strange; he thought he would never find someone quite like you, everybody has their charm, but you were introspective and self-aware. With him, you can put most of your worries to rest. You don’t have to adapt to getting the short end of the stick anymore, you don’t have to be there for everyone only to get nothing in return. He makes sure that you’ll always have someone to lean on and cry with.

[thedilfydoctorshow]

My Type

A/N: So I used to write fics back in the day and I haven't written anything in years but noah wyle and his stupid brown eyes have pulled me into the depths of the pitt and I cannot leave

Summary: I kind of got stuck on the idea of Robby and younger reader who is a kindergarden teacher and how their relationship would unfold

Warnings: smut (cunnilingus, felatio, etc.), age gap relationship (Robby = 50s, reader = 25 (20s in general works but there is one specfic date of birth joke)), medical inaccuries because author does not work in the healthcare field

Are there more important things the chief attending physician to be doing than some simple stitches. He’s sure there is something that needs his attention but he needs to take a break and do something basic before he ends up back on that roof he told Abott he’d try to stay away from. 

And so here he is, looking at his patient’s arm before he starts. Mid 20s, kindergarten school teacher sliced her arm with an exacto blade while prepping her classroom. 

“Oh that’s a nasty gash,” he whistles when he unwraps the towel she has around it, “You did this to yourself?” 

“Not on purpose,” you say quickly, “Like you don’t need to call a psychiatrist for me or anything. It’s the end of the month and I have this big calendar that I do with holidays and the kids birthdays and stuff so I was getting that set up and I was cutting a piece of cardboard for it and it just kind of got stuck and yeah. I’m kind of embarrassed because I tell my kids about scissor safety all the time and here I am.” She gestures at her arm

Robby laughs, “Accidents happen all the time, trust me, this isn’t remotely the most embarrassing injury I’ve seen.” 

You pause like you’re debating on asking what you want, “I’m sorry, I have to ask, but please feel free to tell me to shut up if I’m overstepping. What’s the strangest thing you’ve ever had to…remove from a patient.” 

Ah yes, everyone’s favourite question to ask an ER doc. So common Robby immediately knows his answer. He debates not answering. 

“Way back in my med school days someone came in with a flashlight stuck in them.” 

Your jaw falls open, “A full flashflight? Not partial and it got stuck?” 

“A full one. Still worked when the surgeons got it out of him too.” 

You laugh, “of course it was a dude.”

Robby shakes his head in amusement, “it’s always a dude. Women live longer for a reason.”

He finishes up relatively quickly, it was a pretty standard irrigate and suture - probably would have been good to have the med students lean, but Robby is grateful for the small pause in his day. 

“Alright keep those dry for the next 48 hours. After that they’re okay to get wet in the shower just make sure you dry them off properly afterwards. You can get them removed in  2 weeks.” 

“Not to sound totally vapid but how badly is this gonna scar,” he sees the way you bite your in anxiety. 

He chuckles, “Not to worry, it’s a completely normal question. But, lucky for you, I have been doing this for a very long time and I am very good at my job so scarring should be minimal. If you’re very concerned then you can speak to a dermatologist and they’ll have some options for you as well.” 

You smile at him, “Dr. Robinavitch I hope you don’t mind my asking but sometimes I ask people to come in and talk to my kids about their work. Obviously they’re young and not actually thinking about careers but it’s a fun exercise for both the kids and the adults that have participated so far.” 

Michael Robinavitch is many things. He is a good physician, a decent father figure for Jake, an above average tennis player. But at the end of the day he is still a man, and a weak one at that. He noticed your sweet face as soon as he walked in, the way your brightly coloured dress complemented your deep skin tone and highlighted your curves-

“What exactly would I have to do?” 

You light up at the realization he might say yes, “Oh its simple really. You just talk about your job as a doctor, maybe some interesting cases - but they are kindergartners so not too interesting. I doubt parents would like it if their children came home talking about foreign objects in rectal areas.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind” 

~~~

So that’s how Robby ended up in a kindergarten classroom on one of his precious days off. He did some prep, it reminded him of his med school days a bit. Even his actual presentation felt like he was being interrogated by his peers in an auditorium again - except this time his peers were 5 year olds. 

“Dr. Robby, I went to the doctor and they took my blood away. Why?” 

And honestly, Robby is having a great time talking with the kids. Usually the ones he deals with in the ED come in distress so he rarely gets to interact with them when they’re having fun, “Oh it’s very common. Your doctor was just making that your body is healthy, and blood has lots of stuff in it that can tell us that.” 

“Dr. Bobby,” a few of the kids keep messing up his name, he can’t bring himself to correct them, “My brother broke his arm at hockey and the doctor took a picture of bones.” 

“Yes, that is called an X-ray.” 

“And then they put his arm in a cast and our cat scratches it like her tree in my room.” 

“Well you probably shouldn’t let your cat do that.” 

By the end of his time Robby feels lighter. The kids are heading out for their recess and sticks around to help clean up after the activity you set up for them. 

“Oh, Dr. Robinavitch, you don’t need to help me clean up.” 

“Just Robby, please,” he says as he collects the discarded items, “I don’t mind, really. Do you think the kids had fun?” 

“I’ve never seen them ask so many questions before. And you answered them well even when Ava asked how her baby sister got in her moms belly.” 

Robby feels like he didn’t handle that one super well, he kinda just clammed up and sputtered until you had guided the conversation along, “Oh I never know what to say to kids about that.” 

“Yeah I know that I’m their teacher but I teach little kids, not reproductive health so I feel like that conversation is above my pay grade.”

By now the classroom is clean and it’s time for Robby to take his leave. But he lingers for a moment debating his options. You’re obviously very pretty, but you’re also nearly three whole decades younger then him. He doesn’t think he’s making up the way you look at him, but the last thing he wants is to make you uncomfortable.  

“Dr. Robby,” you say as he starts to pull on his coat, “I know that you’re a little bit older than me but if you wanted to ask me out, I wouldn’t say no.”

~~~

“Mikey” 

Your voice rolls around in his head as he kisses down your throat. He tried to be the gentleman his mother raised - took you out to a nice a dinner, paid the bill, and was about to drop you off home and call you in the morning. But the second he got into the drivers side of his truck you climbed over the centre console, planted yourself on yourself on his lap and pressed your lips to his. Conversation over dinner had been pleasant, the two of you taking the time to get to know each other, but now Robby is learning that there is a completely different side of the sweet kindergarten teacher.

“Baby,” he tries when he feels you messing with the buttons on his shirt, “baby, slow down.”

“You look so sexy in this suit. I’ve been wanting to rip it off of you as soon as we sat down.” 

It takes every ounce of willpower for Robby to physically pull away from you, “No. Not here.” 

“Afraid your old man knees can’t handle some good old fashioned car sex?” 

And honestly Robby does consider dragging you into the backseat to show you exactly what these “old man knees” can handle, but he has plans for you. 

“The car does not have enough space for me to bend you over the way I’ve been planning since you walked through the doors of my ED.”

~~~

Robby has died and gone to heaven. He’s sure of it. You, between his knees on his bed, looking up at him with your big doe eyes, nuzzling his cock through his boxers. You tease him, your hand coming up to comb through the wiry hairs on his stomach before they dip below the waistband and pull his cock free. Robby’s head falls back against the headboard. 

“Oh you’ve been holding out on me,” you let out a moan as you lick a stripe from base to tip, “might not fit.” 

“Don’t worry, baby, we’ll make it fit.”

Your lips stretch around the tip of his cock and he’s certain his heart stops for a moment. His head falls back. You reach up and thread your fingers between his before guiding his hand to your hair.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, “You’re going to kill me.” 

That spurs you on, bobbing your head lower and lower each time. He can’t control the way his hips juts up as you swallow him down, but you don’t seem to mind. You use your hands to help with what you can’t swallow. You let out an occasional cock-drunk moan and the vibrations go straight up his spine. He loses track of time, doesn’t know if he should be embarrassed by how quickly he feels that coil in his belly. Needs you to pull off so he can savour the moment. 

“Baby, “ he tugs on your hair, guiding your head up, “baby, need a minute.”

“Did I do something wrong?”

Your voice is hoarse, and the knowledge that he’s the reason why makes his cock twitch. You look up at him, lashes wet with your tears. Robby wonders if you’re wearing mascara, and if it’s waterproof, and what he needs to do to get you to throw it out and wear something that runs. 

“No, god no. You’re perfect but if you keep going I’m not gonna last long enough to fuck you.” 

You smile at him, “I don’t mind.” 

“I mind. In case you haven’t noticed, I am much older than you.” 

You roll your eyes, “yes and-”

“And that means once I finish, I’m out for a while.” 

“Oh,” you look like you’re processing the information, “well unless you were planning on kicking me out, we’ve got all night.” 

And really what else is he supposed to do except flip you over and bury his face in between your legs until it feels like your thighs are going to cut off his oxygen supply.

~~~

Robby is not an idiot. He knows 30 some years between the two of you is a lot. In fact he was worried that after the initial lust faded that the two of you would be left in awkward silence. But that time never came. 

You might not see the worst that humanity has to offer while working with 5 year olds, but you understand the struggle of being overworked and underfunded - though you and Robby have a fundamental misunderstanding of what underfunded means (Robby nearly has a heart attack when you ask him for budgeting help and he sees your biweekly paystub - he decides then that he’s paying for your gas every week, would also take care of your groceries if you’d let him). You listen when Robby complains about his inability to move borders because of the hospital’s refusal to hire more nurses and he returns the favour when you have a breakdown over the district’s decision to increase class sizes again. 

On his days off he looks forward to picking you up from work and either taking you somewhere nice to eat. You both are aware of the optics of your relationship; pretty young woman, getting wined and dined by an older man who probably bought the expensive dress she’s wearing and the sparkling rocks in her ears (because he did). Sometimes you like to play that part of the relationship up, thanking him for dinner by getting down on your knees in his living room and sucking his soul out through his cock. But Robby isn’t actually a skeevy old man, the night always ends with you tired and spent, curled up against Robby’s body. 

~~~

Dana’s the first one to realize he’s seeing someone. He’s not surprised, no one can ever hide anything from her. 

“Let me see a picture of the new girl,” she all but attacks him as they walk into PTMC together. 

“What new girl?” he knows playing dumb isn’t gonna work, but he has to try anyways. 

“You think I don’t know you? This is the happiest you’ve been in years, and I know it’s not because of Jack’s therapist…unless the new girl is Jack’s therapist.” 

“Jack’s therapist is a man,” he corrects, because he is a feminist after all, “I don’t know if I want to tell you about her yet.” 

“What are you hiding from me?” Dana punches him lightly in the shoulder, “I gotta know what she looks like. I’m your emergency contact, I need to know who else to call if you end up dropping dead on me.” 

“Won’t be much longer if you keep making jokes about me dying. You’re not that much younger than me, you know.” 

“Tell me about her.” 

“No.” 

“Why not?”

“Because she’s…” he’s trying to figure out some way of getting out of this, “young. A lot younger than me.” 

“Collins was younger than you.”

“Younger.” 

Dana stops in her tracks, “Robinavitch, she is legal, right?”

“Jesus, fuck, Dana yes. She’s 25. She’s a teacher. I’m not some pervert.”

She hold her hands up in surrender, “You were scaring me there a bit. 25 is…fine.” 

“You’re judging.” 

“I’m not judging, I'm just surprised. I thought you would end up with someone who had the same number at the beginning of your birth year.”

Oh. 

It had never really occurred to Robby that you were born this century. Or that he was born last century. 

~~~

When he finally gets home after his shift that ended up going overtime again all of his qualms about your relationship melt away once the smell of whatever delicious meal you’ve conjured up hits him.

“Hey baby,” you smile at him, wine glass in hand. You’ve changed from your school clothes to one of his old shirts that hangs off you like a dress, nipples poking through the fabric like something out of a wet dream, “hope work wasn’t too awful.” 

He just wraps his arm around your waist and pull you close to him. He’s still in scrubs, you don’t care. 

“Dana figured out I was seeing someone.”

You gasp in jest, “finally telling the world about us?” 

“She gave me shit about you being half my age.” 

“What, she doesn’t think it’s sexy?” 

“I don’t care what she thinks.” 

He lifts you on top of his counter, stepping inbeween your legs before he slides your body so he can feel your pussy against his clothed crotch. He peppers kisses down your neck, scratching with his beard the way he knows you like. He continues down loweer, a trail between your breasts, still covered in his shirt. He continues lower until he sinks down to his knees. He already knows you’ve forgone the panties - still shudders when he hooks your legs over his shoulders and presses a kiss to your inner thigh. 

He squeezes your thighs, roaming then presses a kiss to your clit. You let out a soft hum, hand coming down to card through his hair. He can never get enough of you, his hands tighten around your hips, holding your legs open as he dives in. He can feel his nose bumping against your clit, gulping you down and moans. Every bad thing that’s happened that day melts away as you writhe underneath him, chanting his name.

 Robby, Robby, Robby 

It plays through his mind on a loop as he adds two fingers. He can feel the heels of your feet digging into his shoulders trying to pull you impossibly closer to you, can feel the way the cabinet handle is digging into his sternum hard enough to leave a bruise and yet he doesn’t care. Nothing matters except for the sound of you coming undone for him in ontop of his kitchen counted. 

[beomiracles]

— 𝖨𝖳 𝖶𝖠𝖲 𝖠𝖭 𝖠𝖢𝖢𝖨𝖣𝖤𝖭𝖳 𝖨 𝖲𝖶𝖤𝖠𝖱... .ᐟ

𐔌 💥 ꒱ Yeonjun didn't mean to brutally hit you with his car. It was an accident, he swears! He will do anything if it means avoiding a lawsuit — as the consequences, which is him losing his inheritance of his father's company, would be fatal. But when you struggle to make ends meet on a daily basis, the problems of a high income taker seem minimal. "Steal from the rich and give to the poor." And it seems Yeonjun is more than willing to pay the price for his mistakes.

⋮ 🎬 ⋮ 𝖲𝖳𝖠𝖱𝖱𝖨𝖭𝖦: chaebol!yeonjun x poor!reader (f) 𝖥𝖤𝖠𝖳𝖴𝖱𝖤𝖨𝖭𝖦: assistant!taehyun, court judge!beomgyu lawyer!kai & lawyer!soobin

wc : 16.2k

𝖢𝖮𝖭𝖳𝖤𝖭𝖳 𝖶𝖠𝖱𝖭𝖨𝖭𝖦 ⚠︎ [ car crash, descriptions of injury and blood, cursing, fake-dating, strangers to enemies to ...?, kissing, lots of tension between the mcs, crack fic ]

🎙️ yello yello, I'm slightly nervous to post this — mostly because I've never written something like this before. my writing isn't as descriptive and in depth as you're used to, the characters are also a lot more lighthearted so it might be somewhat of a switch. so please don't expect too much writing wise — the pacing might also be a little off (?),, I also haven't proofread this at all >< oh and I didn't research at all for the court scene but trust me I will be doing that for criminal conscience lolsies.. but please please comment/reblog/send asks with your thoughts and opinions afterward, that would make me so incredibly happy! I hope it's still an enjoyable fic despite it not being what I usually do, love you lots <33

note, this fic started as a joke to spite my friend cam,, so when I say it's unserious I mean it.

SOME LONESOME WEDNESDAY AT 10:25 PM

The rain bats against your naked arms as you pull them tighter around yourself, a pathetic attempt at keeping the blistering cold away. Your mascara has run down your cheeks, undoubtedly making you look even more of a mess than you felt – it wasn’t like your meek paycheck covered a water-proof one, hell it barely covered your rent. 

On top of the ungodly weather, you had been held back at work for another two hours, making it your third day of overtime this week. Not only did that mean two hours less sleep tonight, it also had you running down the wet pavement as you hoped to catch the last train home. In your haste you’d forgotten your jacket, and despite it being late april, the air was freezing.  

And it was only Wednesday. 

Your steps echo down the vacant street, rain pouring over you like that of a cold shower turned on at full force. Keeping your head bowed as you squint, you focus on your worn out sneakers as they move forward – and in spite of the rush you were in, you still carefully avoid stepping on the cracks. 

The screen of your phone quickly becomes covered in wet droplets when you pull it out, your eyes widening tenfold as you check the time. “Three minutes.. I can make that..” You deluded yourself into thinking you had a chance, your legs were already aching but you still geared up into a jog. 

Your surroundings become a blur, the buildings you pass blending into one another as the dim street lights prod at the corner of your eyes. — Suddenly your foot catches on something, causing you to stumble forward. The shout of what could only have been a most miserable homeless man rings in your ears. But you don’t stop to check on him, merely yelling out a “Sorry!” over your shoulder as you keep going. 

Maybe if you had been more attentive that night, if you had bothered to check your left twice, maybe things would have turned out differently. The red light blares in front of your face, signaling for you to stop, a clear warning sign. But you ignore it. Hell, it was nearing 10 pm, the street was vacant – and you had a mere two minutes to spare. 

You go for it, water splashing around you as your feet hit the road crossing. You’re halfway across, the subway sign ahead illuminating your way – filling your desperate self with hope for the first time today. Your bed was just three stops away, warm and dry, a night's sleep and a freshly brewed cup of tea awaits you. 

But then, just as you think you’ve made it, a light brighter than that of the street lamps suddenly floats into vision. It starts out small, a tiny dot in the corner of your eye. But as it grew in size you quickly came to understand that the source was heading straight toward you – and fast. You barely have time to react, but the sound of screeching tires is deafening, and it’s then you realize your mistake.

It doesn’t hurt at first, but you can clearly feel the heavy vehicle as it rams into you from the side. You hit the ground, it’s cold and the silence that follows is loud. It takes you a moment to comprehend just what had happened. Then pain flares up, and you immediately forget about the cold and the rain. Because it felt as though your entire body was on fire. 

Your breath, previously knocked from your lungs due to the sheer force of the crash, returns and you gasp for air. The once tiny dot of light is now all you see, and it makes you squint, it feels as though you were put under a spotlight, on show for everyone to look at and possibly even applaud, if they wished to. 

The sound of a car door closing echoes into the air, and soon you can make out approaching footsteps. “Holy fuck.” It’s a man’s voice, he sounds alarmed, and you fucking hope he was, seeing as he’d just hit you with his big piece of junk car. — “Shit”, he murmurs under his breath, “No… No I don’t know, she’s not moving…” Was he talking to someone on the phone, the emergency services?  

There’s a brief moment of silence, and all you can think about is how much everything hurts, you were sure you could feel your fucking bones. And even if you wanted to scream, not a single sound would make its way past your bloody lips. 

“What the fuck do I do?” The man hisses, but it’s clear that he isn’t addressing you. You can hardly make out his face, just the faint shadow of his silhouette as he stands above you. — “Oh my god”, he gasps, and you feel your stomach drop, bracing yourself for whatever doomsday news he’s about to deliver. “The paint is chipped!” The man suddenly exclaims and for a short second the consistent pain vanishes and you frown. 

What?

“My fucking car– Shit, this is my most expensive one!” He whines into the phone as he leans over you to rub at the car hood. Your mouth falls open, there is no way he was being serious right now. You quickly understand that he was not on the phone with emergency services, or anyone of importance for that matter. 

Your cough is what finally catches his attention again – blood follows and you cringe at the metallic taste on your tongue. “Oh fuck..” He murmurs as he crouches down next to you, his trembling hand placing against your forehead. Was he checking your fucking temperature? “I’m so going to court for this..” He says as he fiddles with his phone, bringing the device to his ear and emitting a shaky exhale as he waits for his next call to go through. 

This better be 911, you thought with a small grimace, wincing as another flash of pain shot through you. — He’s talking, but you can hardly make out the words, apart from an occasional “shit” or “fucking, fuck, fuck, fuck.” 

At least he knew how to curse. 

After that, everything went dark. 

10 MINUTES EARLIER 

Yeonjun’s fingers drum against the steering wheel as he waits for the light to turn green. He sighs, leaning back against the leather seat as his eyes flicker across the vacant streets. The faint buzzing of his phone, coming from the passenger seat catches his attention. He bites back a groan, leaning over and reaching for the annoying device as he swipes to accept the call coming through. 

“Yes?” He drawls as he inspects his cuticles in a bored manner. — “Where have you been all day?” Taehyun’s voice is just as strict and accusing as it always was, despite the late hour. Yeonjun rolls his eyes, his feet pressing the gas pedal with a little more force than necessary as the light finally signals green. 

“Always so happy to see me, are you?” He hums, earning himself a scoff from the other man. Taehyun mutters something unintelligible under his breath before sighing. “You’ve missed two meetings, one dinner and five important phone calls”, he lists them as though he’s reading off of a powerpoint, the monotone yet scolding edge to his tone slicing through the call. 

Yeonjun bites the inside of his cheek, his brows furrowing as his finger taps the back of his phone. “So, reschedule them?” He suggests to which his assistant snorts. “To when? – You’re fully booked all of this week, and the next, then there’s the ball on the 29th not to mention-” — “Alright! Alright! I get it”, Yeonjun cuts him off with a heavy exhale, “Tell them I was sick, or… I don’t know, make something up.” 

A moment of silence follows and Yeonjun watches the raindrops as they race down the windshield, an impassive expression on his face. “You’ve used that excuse three times this week already”, Taehyun stubbornly reminds him and Yeonjun has to fight the urge to just hang up on him. 

“You’ve got to start taking things seriously”, his assistant says, “Taking over the business when your father passes won’t be easy, and it’s…” — “Best for me to get as much experience as I can so that I’m prepared for when the day comes, I know”, Yeonjun finishes with a heavy exhale. 

“Yes, precisely”, Taehyun hums. 

Yeonjun nods, not that the other man could see it – a sense of dread settling within the pit of his stomach at the thought of overtaking such a huge role. His eyes dart from building to building, his nose scrunching at the cheap architecture of the area. Responsibilities had never been his forte, in any sense really. Neither was paperwork or mingling with important people and pretending to actually be interested in a single thing they had to say. Yeonjun often wished he hadn’t been the only child to come out of his parent’s loveless marriage. It would’ve been nice to share the burden with someone else. 

The sound of Taehyun typing away at his computer echoes through the call, the persistent noise only adding to the overwhelming feeling coursing through his chest. He sighs, trying his best to relax and focus on the road ahead, not noticing the growing acceleration of the car he was currently driving. “What’s on my agenda for tomorrow then?” He begrudgingly asks, regretting the question as soon as it passes his lips.

Taehyun quickly goes off to list his schedule for the upcoming days, but all Yeonjun can hear is his future being carved out in stone before him. Meeting this, dinner that, small talking here and chatting people up there. It was exhausting. 

He pinches the bridge of his nose, blinking once, twice to shake the sleep from his already drooping eyes. “Are you even listening?” Taehyun asks, his sharp voice clipping him across the face and making him jerk in his seat. “Hm? Yeah, meeting at 11 tomorrow?” — “10”, his assistant corrects and Yeonjun groans. 

“Are you headed home?” He then asks to which Yeonjun hums. “Yeah I’m…” But he can barely finish his sentence before the car suddenly shifts on the road. “Shit!” He curses, but it didn’t matter that his foot hit the brakes with a force that could’ve easily snapped his ankle in half, it wasn’t enough to stop the car in time, the wet road throwing the vehicle into hydroplane. — The screeching noise of the tires ring in his ears, the thud of what could only be another person hitting the hood of his car and then the ground is deafening. 

The car jerks as it comes to an abrupt halt, but it’s far too late. 

For a moment everything is silent. Only the sound of rain batting against the windows can be heard, and Yeonjun watches with his heart in his throat as the windshield wipers continue their pathway back and forth over the glass, as though nothing had happened. “Yeonjun? Are you there? What happened?” Taehyun’s voice, now lacking any sense of composure, is coming from the floor, for he’d dropped his phone in the haste of it all.

“Yeonjun! Answer me!” He demands, and only then is the older male snapped out of his trance as his hands let go of the steering wheel. “What happened?” Taehyun hisses on the other line and Yeonjun winces as he brings the device to his ear once more. 

“Fuck…” He exhales, his voice trembling as he speaks, “I think I just hit someone.” — “And… oh my god my car!” 

FOUR DAYS LATER 

It’s bright. Really fucking bright. The sharp light stings your eyes, making you squint as you peer up at the sterile ceiling. This was so not the afterlife – because if it was, you most certainly wouldn’t be hooked up to a beeping machine and laying flat on your back on a small and hard hospital bed. 

The constant chatter of nurses surround you, and it was to your greatest dismay that you realized you hadn’t even been granted the luxury of your own room. Separated only by thin, teal curtains you glance to the other patients occupying the room. — There was an older man opposite you and two beds to the right, he was staring silently ahead as a nurse tended to his plastered body, it covered both his legs and arms, making him essentially imobile. Upon glancing down at your own plastered arm you suddenly realized that you might actually have been in for more luck than you’d thought – unfortunately for you, it was your dominant hand that was out of order. 

Still, you could perfectly wiggle your toes, and you were relieved to find that your legs obeyed your every command. With a small sigh you lean back against the lonesome pillow provided by the hospital. You glance around, trying to find out where you could possibly be – hopefully not somewhere too expensive, you were already indebted in every aspect of your life, a broken arm was not going to be next on your list. 

Clearing your throat, you try to call for one of the nurses, but before you can even raise your still working hand, the curtain to your right is dramatically drawn aside. The sudden action makes you jump, your mouth falling open in a scream that never leaves your lips. 

“Fucking finally, you’re awake!” A man you did not recognize, occupies the empty bed next to your own, you weren't sure that was even allowed – he hardly looked ill… At least not physically. “I was beginning to think you would never peel those eyelids open”, he mutters as he swings his legs over the edge of the mattress before standing up and approaching you. 

He was handsome, no doubt. The jet black hair on top of his head fell across his face in even sections, framing his already sharp and prominent features. The grin that stretched across his lips displayed a set of perfectly white and straight teeth, almost uncannily so – and his eyes sparkled with what you thought to be relief as he came to a halt by your bed. 

“I’m sorry… Who are you?” The question comes off almost stingy, but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t place the man into any of the awful categories of people in your life. The man’s expression falters for a moment, his grin falling as his dark brows raise on his forehead. “What?” He echoes, and he sounds almost in disbelief. “You… Do you not remember what happened?” He then inquired, and this time he came off almost excited – he was probably ready to feed you a bunch of bullshit lies.

You scoff, averting your gaze for a moment as you let yourself recall the events leading up to your unfortunate and current predicament. It was embarrassing to say the least, and you remember the pain, the air being knocked from your lungs, the blood and the bright lights. — Your silence is not well received by the man as he immediately goes on another rant. “Well if you don’t then that’s fine – it wasn’t anything serious really, you just-” His voice was awfully familiar, and the longer you listened, the more pieces fell into place. 

“You.” 

The blunt accusation cuts him short and you turn to him with narrowed eyes. “You fucking hit me.” You jab a finger to his chest, making him grimace as he scratches the back of his head sheepishly. “Ah… I see amnesia wasn’t the case then..!” He nervously chuckles to which your frown only deepens. “Excuse me?” 

The man clears his throat, straightening out his shirt before reaching a hand out to introduce himself. “Sorry, I should've probably done this from the start… I’m Yeonjun, Choi Yeonjun.” Your eyes linger on the expensive watch that wrapped around his delicate wrist, then to the perfectly ironed shirt he wore, the brand foreign to your eyes. In fact, nothing he wore was something you’d ever see at the local markets you did most of your shopping at, it was all put together and neat, down to the very detail – which could only mean one thing. 

This guy was absolutely loaded. 

You take his hand, the handshake becomes awkward as you’re forced to use your left hand, seeing as he’d completely immobilized your right one. His grip is firm, and it surprised you, because truthfully he looked like a wimp. But the action in itself feels formal, as though it was something he did on a regular basis. 

Your silence has him holding onto your hand a beat longer. “Not going to give away your own name?” He asks to which you nod toward the foot of your bed, “Says right there doesn’t it?” you mutter unenthusiastically. Yeonjun chuckles, shaking his head as he lets go of you, “She makes jokes I see.” — You send him a nasty grimace in return, but he hardly seems offended. 

He then takes a small step back, creating as much distance between you as the narrow space would allow. But when he glances over his shoulder, his demeanor suddenly switches. It takes him about half a second to have the curtains pulled around you once more, shielding you from the crowded room and leaving the two of you alone. 

“Listen”, he says as he approaches you once more, and this time there’s not a drop of charisma to his voice. In fact he looks almost like he’s about to tell you a secret that might have the both of you beheaded.  “About that night–” He begins in a hushed whisper but is abruptly cut off by the sound of the curtain he had just so meticulously closed, being yanked open. 

A small nurse appears by the opening, the white hat sitting awkwardly atop her head, as though it was too big. She flattens out her robe when she steps inside, a friendly smile plastered onto her face. “I see you’re finally awake!” She exclaims as she grabs the clipboard hanging by the foot of your bed. That was the second time someone had said that, just how long had you been knocked out? 

But you don’t get to ponder that thought any further as the woman takes place on the other side of your bed. “You can imagine it’s been a rough couple of days”, she says whilst shoving the clipboard under her arm to mess with the IV drop attached to you. “Your boyfriend’s been worried sick”, she then says without skipping a beat. — Yeonjun’s cough is almost comically loud as he brings a hand to his mouth, very obviously aware of your beyond baffled expression. 

“My what?” You question, your brows shooting high on your forehead. The nurse turns to you with a perplexed look, her face faltering for a moment, as though she had said something out of line. But before you can further object, Yeonjun has grabbed ahold of your shoulder, pulling you against him in one quick motion. 

The scent of his expensive cologne hits your nose, making you almost dizzy as you brush against his chest. “Darling”, he exhales against the side of your face, “You must’ve hit your head pretty hard.” He glances toward the nurse, sending her an apologetic smile and completely ignoring your protesting huff. “She gets a little disoriented at times.” 

“Oh– Of course”, the nurse nods before shaking her head once, as if coming back to her senses. The remainder of her stay is spent in silence as she quietly checks your vitals, not oblivious to the tension lingering in the air as your eyes practically burn holes into Yeonjun’s figure – the latter, on the other hand, seems completely at ease as he watches the nurse work with an impassive expression, his arms folded neatly across his chest. 

She leaves as soon as she’s done, quickly excusing herself and closing the curtains behind her once more. You don’t waste as much as a second, quickly pushing yourself into a sitting position as you try your hardest to yank the IV from your arm, it proved quite the challenge as your right hand was completely fucking useless. 

“Woah there”, Yeonjun suddenly springs into action as his fingers clasp around your healed arm, keeping the needle safely in place, “I don’t reckon that’s very safe.” — You scoff, brushing him off but refraining from touching the drop again. “I don’t reckon hitting me with your car was very safe either.” 

The comment has him biting the inside of his cheek as he takes a step back. “Touché”, he says as he runs a hand through his dark hair, his eyes darting across the small and makeshift room you were currently in. — “Ahem..” The clearing of your throat hardly deters him as he steps toward the IV drop, watching with great intrigue as the droplets slowly transfer through the plastic tube. 

“I reckon you’ve got some explaining to do.” 

“Hm?” 

Yeonjun cocks an eyebrow as he turns your way, his hand placed thoughtfully under his chin. “Do I? You seem to remember just fine”, he drawls to which you frown. “I’m not talking about the crash-” — “Accident.” Yeonjun firmly corrects. 

“What?” 

“It was an accident. Don’t use the word ‘crash’ it’s too vulgar”, he shudders as he lets his hands drop to his sides. “Besides”, he then says as he takes a seat on the edge of your already narrow bed, “Accident’s make for better sob stories.” 

You regard him with a look of disbelief, your brows pulled deep into a frown and your lips slightly parted. “Are you being serious right now?” You scoff, but the determined expression on Yeonjun’s face didn’t once waver – causing you to groan as you avert your gaze. “Alright, whatever. I wasn’t talking about the accident, because it was a crash – I’m talking about the whole boyfriend thing, what the fuck is up with that?” 

Yeonjun shrugs as he fiddles with the expensive looking watch on his arm. “Oh, that small detail? They wouldn’t let me stay until you woke up unless I was family – figured boyfriend was as close as I could get.” He then glances at you with a small frown, “What, are you a lesbian or something?” 

Your jaw slacked, half in disbelief and half in offense to his sheer audacity. “I… No? But why would it matter if I was!” You shake your head, blinking twice as you try to make sense of your current situation. “You’re telling me no one here knows you’re responsible for my arm being fucking encapsulated?” 

Yeonjun huffs, “Alright now you’re being dramatic. It’s just a cast, you’ll have it off in a matter of weeks.” — “Weeks?” You shriek, “I can’t even type on a computer with this, how am I supposed to work?” 

The man tilts his head to the side as he watches you with slight confusion. “So? Just take a couple of weeks off – I basically gave you a free vacation.” He then adds with a sly grin as he pats your knee. You resist the urge to quite literally kick him off the bed. “It doesn’t work like that. I can’t just take time off work, the rent won’t pay itself.” Well, his probably did, you thought with a bitter grimace. 

Yeonjun shifts on the bed with a small sigh, “Listen, I’m sorry about your arm alright – but it’ll heal. What I’m here for is to discuss something of far more importance.” He says as he turns to face you, his expression suddenly morphing into a most serious one. “What happened that night, it was an accident… And you don’t go to court over accidents.” 

You frown as you listen to his words. “What? You’re asking me not to sue your ass?” — Yeonjun rolls his eyes but you catch the flicker of hesitation behind them. “Well, yes, something along those lines.” He runs his fingers through his hair, grimacing as they catch on a strand before he continues. “How do I explain it to someone like yourself..” He murmurs thoughtfully. 

“I’m not an imbecile”, you spit. The comment has him raising a brow as his lip twitches, “Your brain scans beg to differ.” — “What?” But Yeonjun only shakes his head as he bites back a chuckle. “Alright”, he begins as he straightens his back ever so slightly,  “Supposedly, I have a reputation to uphold”, he says with a small shrug, “Nothing serious, just my future and my career depending on it.” He glances toward your injured arm, then over to the scowl plastered onto your face. “And this situation… Let’s just say it won’t look good for me to go public with it.” 

“So you’re begging me not to sue you?” 

Yeonjun frowns, “I wouldn’t use the word ‘beg’..” 

“I would.” 

He rolls his eyes, folding his arms across his chest as he throws one leg over the other. “Fine. I want to settle this without involving more people than necessary, how about that?” — You regard the expectant look on his face, from his calculating eyes to the subtle twitch of his defined jaw. Your financial situation was already bound to take a blow from this, not to mention that you might even lose your job. There was no way you were just going to let this man walk away with his pockets full and his ego still intact. 

Take from the rich and give to the poor. That was the motto you strived to achieve. 

“Alright..” You slowly begin, watching as his eyes lit up and his head jerk in your direction. There was something undeniably satisfactory in his already celebrated victory – and you have to push down a small smirk. 

“How far are you willing to go?” 

25 MINUTES LATER 

“Come on – I think I can see the top!” You excitedly exclaim as you lean forward. The late afternoon breeze caresses your face, instantly bringing a smile to your lips as you bask in the warm air. Behind you, Yeonjun pants, his heavy breath fanning across your neck. “You’ve said that these past ten minutes now”, he groans as he continues to push you forward. You roll your eyes, not caring for his unenthusiastic attitude. “Well, I mean it this time around!” 

What was probably meant to be a snort comes out as half a whine, half a whimper as Yeonjun begrudgingly pushes the wheelchair up the steep hill. “I don’t… -pant- get it… -pant- your legs are.. -pant- just fine.” His complaints were nothing but background noise to your ears – still, you glance down to your legs, swinging them back and forth to further prove his point. 

The hospital grounds were a lot more terrained than you had initially anticipated, and what had started out as a walk around facilities, had ended with Yeonjun struggling to push you up the large hill that had caught your eye. The wheels of the wheelchair caught on snares and rocks, making it quite the bumpy ride, and you had to grip the armrests tightly with your one good hand to not fall overboard. 

“Mind where you’re going! You’re transporting fragile cargo”, you snap when Yeonjun pushes the wheelchair over yet another branch, causing it to snap under the weight of it all. The man merely scoffs, the sound coming out breathy as he gathers whatever strength he had left. “Fragile my ass”, he mutters under his heaving breath, the words brushing against your neck. “That crash ought to have killed you then.” 

“You wish it did, huh?” 

Yeonjun sighs, “I’m starting to seriously reconsider.” 

Finally, the steep hill pans out into flat ground and with one final push, the wheelchair comes to a stop. Bracing himself on the handles, Yeonjun trembles as he looms over you, panting heavily as he does. “This better have been worth it”, he coughs, completely overtaken by exhaustion. — “We’re about to find out!” You state whilst stretching your legs out in front of you before jumping to your feet. 

“Oh fuck you”, Yeonjun spits as he watches you walk off to inspect the area. You ignore his crude comments, your eyes wandering across the few benches scattered around, none which were occupied. The spot was cozy enough though. With an approving nod you approach one of the larger trees, leaning against its trunk to peer out over the hospital yard. The place turned out to be quite decent after all, the food was good, and your room had been upgraded to a suite - the company however… You glance toward Yeonjun who had taken a seat on the wheelchair, his shoulders slumped in defeat. 

He would do. For now. 

His willingness had surprised you. He really must not want that lawsuit, you thought to yourself as you plucked a leaf from a low hanging branch. Oh well, you would continue to abuse your temporary power for as long as you could – if he could splurge money on a suite then he could surely treat you to a nice dinner as well. 

And who said getting run over didn’t have its benefits? 

“Hey stranger!” You wave him over with your good arm, and Yeonjun reluctantly lifts his head to see you jumping up and down by the nearby tree. With sluggish movements he drags himself from the wheelchair and over to you, his expression already painted with dismay. — “What’s with the long face?” You hum as he comes to a stop before you. 

Yeonjun quirks an unamused brow as he glances between you and the handful of leaves you had picked from the tree. “Oh nothing, just the stock market crashing and my funds losing value while I’m playing nurse”, he shrugs, “But really I’m fine – I’m having loads of fun.” He flashes you a quick smile that drops just as fast as it had appeared. 

“Really?”

“No.” 

There’s a small pause as you both glance out over the hospital facilities, your eyes lingering on the patients out and about as they try to catch the last afternoon sun. The once warm breeze was slowly turning chilly and you could see the sun setting over the horizon. — For a short moment you stopped to wonder what would become of you when you were finally discharged. The call you had to make to your boss upon returning inside would surely not be a pleasant one. How did you explain your previous absence and the one to come? The chances of you keeping your already low paying job were slim… 

“Is this why you wanted to come out here?” Yeonjun suddenly breaks the silence as he crosses his arms over his chest, a displeased look on his otherwise handsome face. “I mean, the view is nothing marvelous – plus it’s fucking freezing.” — “Hm? Oh, yeah.. It’s alright I suppose..” You murmur, your gaze dropping to the ground beneath you. The grass grew wild and untamed, peeking up in uneven sections and brushing against your ankles. 

Your sudden change in demeanor doesn’t pass him unnoticed and you can feel his eyes on your frame as he regards you quietly. “What?” He then huffs, “Don’t tell me I’ve pushed you all the way up here for nothing?” There’s a light-hearted edge to his words but you can also make out the uncertainty behind them – as though the sudden switch in your mood confused him. Accident or not – your financial situation wasn’t his fault. Everything else though… 

“No”, your lip twitches into a small, half-hearted smile, “It wasn’t for nothing.” You say as you walk past him and back to the wheelchair. “Plus”, you throw a glance over your shoulder, “Even if it was – I would’ve made you do it anyway.” 

Yeonjun’s scoff echoes over the hilltop as he jogs after you, “I don’t doubt it.” 

“Are you walking down?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” 

He sighs, “Should’ve never asked.” —  “Wow! Look at you, you’re learning!” 

Though hardly amused by your sarcastic reply, he still waits for you to take a seat. “Don’t let it get to your head”, he grumbles as he grabs the handles and turns the wheelchair around as he begins your shared journey down the hill. You huff as you lean back in the chair, “Whatever do you mean?” 

Yeonjun doesn’t reply as he steers you down the narrow pathway you had originally ascended from, this time with a lot more ease. The sky, now painted in hues of pink and orange, casts you in a warm glow and makes you squint. — Had it not been for your unfortunate situation, you would have probably found the scene quite beautiful. 

“You know..” Yeonjun begins, his voice ringing out somewhere above you, “I actually don’t know shit about the stock market – I made that up.” The admission makes you grin as you shake your head, “I know.” 

“Alright, fuck off.” 

THAT SAME EVENING 

The sound of footsteps echo down the hall as Yeonjun paces the empty corridor. Surrounded by white sterile walls and flickering bright lights, he battles the headache that had been so persistently following him around these past four days. — And Taehyun’s nagging voice certainly didn’t help one bit. 

“Your father is asking for you”, his assistant says in a curt voice. “Did you tell him to check under my bed?” Yeonjun counters, earning himself a disapproving tsk from the other man. “Do you realize how serious this is? You injured someone- If she died you could’ve been charged with manslaughter!” 

“But she didn’t die.”

“That’s not the point”, Taehyun cuts back and Yeonjun swore he could hear the gray hairs forming on his assistants head. “You’ve got to start seeing the consequences of your actions and… Where are you even?” 

Yeonjun purses his lips as he glances down the hallway, “The hospital.” — “The hospital..” Taehyun sighs, “No, of course, Jesus, where else would you be?” He pauses, “Did she wake up yet?” 

“Mhm”, Yeonjun hums as his gaze fixates on the door opposite him. It was only a matter of seconds before you called for him again, no doubt having him perform yet another task that a nurse easily could’ve done in his place. — “And?” Taehyun presses, the sound of his fingers tapping against what Yeonjun assumed to be the table of his office, echoes over the line. 

“And… I’m handling it.” 

“Handling it how? – The last thing you need is a lawsuit after you. If your father finds out about…” His assistant doesn’t even dare finish the sentence as he instead falls silent. Biting the inside of his cheek, Yeonjun leans against the wall behind him, his free hand reaching deep into his pocket as he exhales. He knew all too well what was at stake – Hell, he’d been lucky enough that you didn’t seem to have a single relative to come look for you, leaving him your only visitor these past days. When he thinks about it, the reality of it all was quite sad. But he couldn’t afford to waste his energy on such trivial matters.  

“She won’t press charges”, Yeonjun finally states. The confidence in his voice is unwavering, but it does little to impress Taehyun who scoffs. “You ran her over.” — “Correction”, Yeonjun says with a frown, “My car hydroplaned and she was walking toward red.” 

“You were speeding.” 

“Was not.” 

Silence. 

“Alright”, Taehyun sighs but it was clear that he thought the conversation far from finished. “Did you offer her compensation?” — The frown on Yeonjun’s face deepens, “Compensation?” 

“Money, Yeonjun. – You’ve got enough to waste, and especially if it means keeping her quiet.” 

“Right.” He throws another glance toward the door which you reside behind, the suite had cost him half a fortune, but then, it was a lot more comfortable to discuss private affairs behind closed doors, especially when said affairs regarded his possible career. “I have compensated her, somewhat.” 

Taehyun tsks, “What does that mean?” — “Oh wouldn’t you like to know?” Yeonjun drawls as he flattens out his shirt. The memory of pushing you up that god forsaken hill was still fresh in his mind and his arms ached just thinking about it. A small grimace passes his face as he imagines what you could possibly ask of him next. 

As if on cue, your irritable voice calls for him. For someone currently hospitalized you still seemed to have loads of energy. “Ooooh Yeonjun~” His name coming from your lips alone was enough to send shivers down his spine. 

“Was that her?” Taehyun wonders and Yeonjun suppresses a shudder as he swallows. “Don’t worry about it”, he says. His assistant makes a noise of disapproval, “I’m serious, you have to be careful with-” 

“I’m handling it, alright? – You just focus on keeping my father away.” With that he ends the call and shoves his phone back in his pocket before pushing himself off the wall and approaching the door. He stops with his hand on the handle, gathering the last of his strength as he prepares to step inside. 

The room in itself was grand, with its own bathroom and shower, a Tv and a fat stack of books. It was accompanied by windows that ran from floor to roof, giving the room as much natural light as possible during daytime. Your bed here was a lot bigger too, with a variety of both blankets and pillows. But despite being bathed in luxury, you seemed intent on using Yeonjun as your primary source of entertainment. 

Propped on said big bed, you lean comfortably against the fluffy pillows, a shit-eating grin plastered on your face. “Took you long enough”, you say as your narrowed eyes search his figure. “Where’s my coffee?” — Shit, Yeonjun had completely forgotten about that the moment he’d stepped outside and Taehyun called. 

“Machine was broken”, he shrugs as he approaches the chair not far from your bed. He brushes past the look of disbelief you send him. “Did you even go down and check?” — Yeonjun shakes his head, “No. But they never work in places like these, besides the coffee tastes cheap.” He really was unable to grasp the fascination for such a beverage if it wasn’t brewed to perfection in the comforts of his own home. 

“Cheap?” You retort as you twist on the bed, “What, do you get the beans grinded in your backyard?” Yeonjun shakes his head, “No. I have that done in the kitchen.” — You stick your tongue out in response. He couldn’t quite understand your frustration over such a mundane matter, but he watches as you then flop back down against the mattress with an exasperated sigh. 

There’s a brief silence that follows your short conversation. Yeonjun had realized long before you even woke up that the two of you were very different. He’d spent the majority of these past four days studying you intently. — Your brows grew frantically, like they’d never seen a pair of tweezers, and your lips were chapped. Your nails were short and bitten, the lines on your forehead damn near permanent, as if stuck forever in a slight frown. 

Still, you intrigued him greatly – for reasons still unbeknownst to himself. There was something raw in the way you acted, your words blurting out unfiltered and without a second thought – much like himself, in a way. The only difference was you had the freedom to express yourself without the constant worry of people’s approval. It must be nice, being that uncaring. 

“The fuck are you staring at?” 

Your sharp voice startles him from his thoughts and Yeonjun nearly jumps out of his seat. “Christ, do you intend to wake the dead?” He huffs in an attempt to downplay the fact that his soul just left his body and was on its way up the tenth and final floor. 

You roll your eyes as you regard him with amusement. “Caught you lackin’” — “You- What? No, I..” He shakes his head, tsking as he dismisses you and instead turns his attention toward the black Tv screen. Just as he was about to suggest putting something on, do you interrupt him. — “I’m kinda hungry.” 

“So?” 

“Feed me.” 

Yeonjun’s jaw slacks, his brows shooting high on his otherwise smooth forehead. “What?” He echoes to which you groan. “You heard me”, you point to the large fruit bowl by the Tv bench, “Fetch me those grapes.” 

“You can’t be serious”, Yeonjun grumbles as his eyes flicker between you and the fruit, staring back at him with menace. The smirk on your lips only grows and he feels his heart sink as the reality of his situation dawns on him. — “Come on”, you drawl in a sing-songy voice, “Think about the lawsuit~” 

Those words alone are enough to have him shooting up from the comforts of his chair and walking across the room in order to access the fruit bowl. It’s heavier than he’d anticipated and he almost stumbles over his own feet before reaching your bed. — “Jesus, I bet you weren't picked first in gym class?” You tsk as he places the bowl on your bedside table. 

Yeonjun’s brows twitch in anger as his narrowed eyes find yours, “Alright fuck off.” Though he makes sure not to mention that he was in fact always picked last for football practice – or any other matter that involved some kind of physique. His nine-year old self still lived with a bruised ego, and he would be damned if his 25 year-old self had to live through the same torment, no less by you. 

A flicker of confusion passes his face when you wordlessly part your lips, glancing up at him expectantly. His eyes drop to your round cheeks, the skin soft and smooth – just waiting for him to pinch it and make you squeal. Then his attention shifts to your lips, despite being slightly chapped they were still oddly enticing to look at and Yeonjun catches his tongue darting out to wet his own. 

“Fuckass. Feed me the grapes.” 

The quick and sharp snap of your voice breaks his trance and Yeonjun blinks twice as he shakes his head, “Huh?” You scoff, folding your good arm across your chest as you send him an impatient grimace. “The grapes. What the fuck are you thinking of?” 

Right. Yeonjun coughs as he picks a handful of grapes from the bowl. “Nothing your mediocre mind could wrap itself around”, he spits before shoving a perfectly round and green grape into your mouth. It’s with great satisfaction that he watches you slightly choke on the fruit before angrily chewing it, your teeth grinding together as you shoot him a glare. 

You swallow, “We’ll see how mediocre my lawyer is then.” 

“Funny.” 

“You think so?” 

“Shut up and have another grape.” 

You don’t protest when he shoves the fruit in your mouth, in fact Yeonjun thinks he might’ve even caught a subtle smirk playing on your lips. Whatever. You’ll be back on your feet soon, then he’ll offer you compensation, the case will be sealed off and forgotten about – and his life would go back to being what it had always been. 

“Can you use that fan over there on me?” 

“No.” 

THE FOLLOWING MORNING 

Turns out hospital curtains were shit. Your eyes have barely peeled open and the sun is already stinging them. With a frustrated groan you squeeze them shut once more, intent on getting another hour of sleep. What time was it even, 5am? The bed was comfortable at least, far better than the petty excuse of a mattress you had been sleeping on last night. 

You smack your lips together, cringing at how dry your mouth felt as you swallowed. The pillow felt wet against your cheek and with slight horror you realized that you had probably been drooling. “Ew..” Your attempt at sitting up proved futile as there was something warm and heavy occupying your left leg and greater portion of your right. — Confused, you finally tear your eyes open, squinting against the harsh light as your gaze falls on Yeonjun. 

The frown on your face deepens, your face twisting into a small grimace as you scoff. “Fucking idiot”, you mutter when pushing yourself onto your elbows. Yeonjun, once slouched on a chair, now had his whole torso draped across your legs, his cheek squished against your knee as he snored lightly. 

His once put together hair now lay a mess, a few strands falling across his forehead. The sleeves of the expensive shirt he wore had been pushed up to his elbows, his coat discarded on the backrest of the uncomfortable chair. The warm glow of the sun cast him in bright hues that highlighted the natural flush of his cheeks — his long lashes fluttering slightly as he frowned in his sleep. 

What was he thinking? He should’ve gone home, changed and slept in an actual bed. Did he seriously think you were still suing him? God, you had too much on your plate to worry about arguing with his petty ass in court. — You purse your lips as your eyes linger on his unconscious figure. He looked funny. Slightly… cute, you suppose – he would’ve been a decent 8/10 had he not hit you with his car and immobilized your left arm. 

Torn between wanting to kick him off the bed or watch him sleep just a moment longer, you’re suddenly pulled from your thoughts when the door to your room clicks open. A nurse enters, her robe wrinkled in places and her hair spilling out of the bun she wore, you imagined she’d worked the night shift for she looked absolutely beat. — Her eyes flicker between your unenthusiastic expression and over to Yeonjun’s slumped self. 

A small smile tugs at her lips when she approaches your bed and you resist scrunching your nose in disgust when she says, “Why, aren’t you two the cutest?” — That was highly debatable and you don’t reply, instead settling back against the pillow as she begins checking your condition. You were still in disbelief over the ridiculous lie he’d told. Boyfriend? He could’ve went for distant relative, fuck you would’ve even taken cousin. 

“You’re very lucky..” The nurse begins as she fiddles with the bandage wrapped around your arm. Her voice was filled with adoration and you held back the objection waiting on your tongue. You wanted to argue that you were anything but lucky. From losing four days of consciousness to the possibility of losing your job as well.. All thanks to the jackass shamelessly sleeping on your legs at this very moment.

But the nurse seems oblivious to your silent disagreement, and continues with a lighthearted tone. “He’s never left your side, you know? Barely slept either.” — You give her a tight-lipped smile, nodding quietly as your gaze travels down to Yeonjun by the end of the bed. He’s yet to wake up despite the conversation around him. Pushing the wheelchair must’ve really taken him out, you thought with a small huff. 

“Lucky me”, you mutter. Your un-enthusiasm however, doesn’t seem to disturb your diligent nurse, who despite her rough exterior, works quietly on readjust your bandage. “How much longer until I’m out of here?” You wonder as you try to conceal the desperation laced curiosity of your voice. 

The nurse pauses, her fingers having just fastened the bandage around your arm. “Well, my guess is sometime this afternoon, we need to run another brain scan since you’ve woken up from your coma. If your results come out clean you should have nothing to worry about.” 

Right. Nothing to worry about. You lean back against the pillows with a deflated sigh, must be nice, having nothing to worry about. Your wandering gaze returns to Yeonjun’s sleeping figure, his chest heaving slowly as he takes long and steady breaths. “Bastard”, you mouth with a not-so-subtle sneer, though you quickly mask the grimace with a smile as your nurse gives your shoulder a small pat. 

“I’ll be back to check in on you by lunch time.” She says before heading back out through the door she had emerged from not even ten minutes ago. Once the thick silence of your hospital suite returns, you find that you can’t take it anymore. — “Hey jackass”, your knee twitches under his cheek, making Yeonjun grimace as he mutters a string of unintelligible curses under his breath. 

You groan, yanking the blanket from your legs and kicking him off in the process. Yeonjun wakes with a startle, his eyes wide and alarmed as his hands grip the armrests of his chair. The giggle bubbling in your throat makes its way past your lips without second thought. “At ease soldier, the enemy is still far”, you drawl as you throw him the blanket. 

Yeonjun frowns as he blinks, slowly taking in his surroundings as he realises where he’d fallen asleep. “Fuck”, he grunts as he stretches out on the small chair, “My back is killing me.” His gaze snaps over to you, “Why didn’t you wake me?” 

Giving him a small shrug as you pick at your already chipped cuticles, you say, “I tried — But holy shit you weigh like three tons when you sleep.” You survey his displeased expression with narrowed eyes before adding, “Plus you drool.” 

“I don’t.” 

“Yes you do.” 

“No, I don’t.” 

“Yes. You. Do.” 

Yeonjun sits up a little straighter, the chair creaking under his weight as if to testify to your previous statement. “Who are you to police me anyway? Last I remembered you couldn’t even eat your own grapes.” 

“And whose fault is that?” You counter to which Yeonjun obliviously glances the other way. You scoff, rolling your eyes as you swing your legs over the side of the bed. “Nurse came, she said I’ll be out of here before dinner time.” With a small exhale you let your fingers dance across the soft pillows, remembering your own stale one at home with slight distaste. 

“That’s good news”, Yeonjun mutters as he shifts in his chair, his dark eyes lingering on your hand for a moment. “Yes,” you hum in agreement, yet for some reason the thought of returning to your cramped apartment didn’t seem so appealing anymore. You were hardly getting any more days off of work, which would mean back to business within the day… Which would make today your last one of freedom. 

Your gaze flickers over to Yeonjun who was currently flattening out his expensive shirt and running a tired hand through his tousled hair. “Soldier”, you say, easily garnering his attention and a small glare. But you merely brush past his lack of enthusiasm. With an exhausted grunt you slide off the comforts of your bed, stretching your sore muscles for a moment. “I think we should go explore the vending machine.” 

Yeonjun raises a brow as he, too, rises to his feet. — You snort, “Oh come on, don’t act like you don’t have a few pennies to splurge on poor o’le me.” But he only shakes head, “I don’t keep small change like that.” 

With your hands on your hips you tsk: 

“Alright. Then we’ll beg the elderly lady next door for some.” 

THAT AFTERNOON 

“What? You mean all of it?” 

Your voice is unsteady as you hold your phone close to your ear. Your legs felt like jelly, your knees buckling under your own weight as you flop back down onto your bed. A distressed frown tugs at your brows and you chew your bottom lip anxiously. “How long will it take for them to get it back in order?” 

With a small nod you hum along to whatever the plumber was reciting on the phone. Bunch of difficult terms, but none of them good, that much you knew. “Alright… Does insurance cover it?” 

“Oh.” 

“I see.”

When the line finally cuts the silence of your hospital suite was louder than ever before. You purse your lips, blankly staring ahead as you ponder your next move. Check into a hotel? Expensive. A motel? You grimace. — Scrolling through your pathetically short contacts list only serves as a reminder of how alone you really were. No place to crash, no place to go, no shoulder to lean on when your own was bandaged. 

Before you can completely spiral, the door opens and Yeonjun stumbles inside. He’s clutching a paper in his hand, presumably your discharge one. “Ready to head out?” He asks as he approaches you, though his steps quickly falter upon noting the distant look on your otherwise expression filled face. — “You okay?” 

Are you okay? No one had asked you that question in what felt like forever. It was always do this, get this done before the deadline, don’t forget that.. And when you weren’t being persistently nagged by your boss, there was nothing. Just silence. His expected question shouldn’t feel so… You give a small shrug, but the second you open your mouth to explain, everything just comes tumbling out all at once. 

“My apartment’s fucking flooded”, you sob as your hands come up to wipe away the tears that forced their way down your cheeks. “Fucking stupid water leakage and– everything’s ruined!” Your words are interrupted by hiccups and small gurgling noises coming from deep within your throat. “C-Can’t go there and I… It’s going to be so expensive”, you whine as you shake your head. 

Your chest heaves in tune with your pathetic sobbing as you aggressively wipe at your face. “Fucking– worst week ever! – Can never even.. Catch a fucking break…” You hated yourself for breaking down like this, for not being able to stop the tears that streamed down your face, your voice refusing to obey as you tried to reign in the helplessness to it. 

Yeonjun’s fingers curling around your wrists as he pries your hands from your face is what finally breaks your trance. Granted you should’ve probably had a little more shame than you did, but nothing mattered in that moment and you immediately buried your face against his chest, sobbing your heart out against the smooth fabric of his shirt. 

His arms are stiff and awkward as they wrap around your trembling frame, his hand patting your back in what was probably supposed to be soothing, but it more felt like he was beating a drum. — “You uh…” He clears his throat, his voice low and uncertain. “Gonna stain my shirt…” He murmurs as you snivel against the fabric. 

“Shut up or I’m gonna use it as a tissue”, you huff between sobs. Yeonjun gives a short laugh, like he wasn’t sure if you were being serious or not. Good. He shouldn’t be. 

It takes you a couple of minutes, but soon the tears subside, leaving behind ugly and wet streaks on your face as you pull away. Yeonjun’s arms release their hold on you, though his hands slide down to rest on your hips, the movement probably subconscious, but you were too beat up to even ponder on it, or slap him off for that matter. 

“It’s fine”, you finally say with a shaky exhale as you meet his gaze for the first time since he stepped through the door. Yeonjun slowly nods as he watches you wipe off the remnants of your tears, blinking twice to clear them from your lashes. — “Yeah”, you then say with a firm nod, straightening back up as you glance over at him. 

Immediately recognizing the mischievous glint in your eye, Yeonjun takes a step back as his hands fall from your hips. “What?” He says as his eyes narrow. You shrug, “Oh nothing… It’s just that, since I don’t have anywhere to go for the time being…” 

“No.” 

“It would be very considerate of my boyfriend to offer his couch for a couple of days.” 

You can practically see the gears turning in his head as he slowly realizes that he’s effectively backed himself up into a corner. “Besides”, you add as you present your still bandaged arm, “I reckon I could use some assistance around the house.” 

Yeonjun’s eyes widen tenfold, “I’m not–” 

“You’ll be wiping my shit, bitch.” 

HALF AN HOUR LATER 

Yeonjun contemplated driving you both off the road approximately seven times on your fifteen minute drive home. This was a terrible idea, one you had decided on without consulting him about for as much as a second. Part of him thinks he deserves it — he did hit you after all… No. He shakes his head, fingers flexing around the steering wheel. You were crossing a red light, actively breaking the damn law. And Yeonjun was only going 10 miles above the speed limit. 

He holds back a fifth sigh when your voice breaks the silence for the nth time. “How much longer?” You chirp, your legs moving restlessly in front of you as you gaze out the window. That was the third time you asked said question, and he knew his answer would be of little satisfaction. 

“Almost there.” 

“You said that last time.” 

“You asked two minutes ago.” 

Silence falls over the flashy vehicle. Yeonjun briefly worried that you might stain his expensive leather seats. But he held back any comments about the way your fingers wandered across the dashboard, you seemed intent on leaving your prints everywhere. “Are you trying to pin a crime on me?” He asks as he glances your way. — “Wouldn’t be pinning it on you if you actually committed it”, you snort.

“I didn't.” 

“The law disagrees.” 

God would you just shut up. It feels like pure bliss when he finally pulls into the familiar driveway of his house. The three floors were a most ordinary and mundane sight for him, as were the big and shiny windows covering the side of the building. But your impressed whistle still makes his ears burn. 

“This is neat”, you say as the car comes to a halt, already halfway out before he even has the chance to turn the engine off. “And you’re telling me you live here all by yourself?” You wonder as you go to scour the cars lined up on the driveway, eyeing them each like a potential buyer would. 

Yeonjun hums as he follows you with hasty steps, much like a parent anxiously waiting for their toddler to break yet another vase. Once you notice his lingering presence you turn around, your hands raised in surrender. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep my paws off your shiny toys.” — He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, that hasn't aged well thus far. 

Bringing you inside was an undoubtedly even more frightening experience. Yeonjun had never considered just how much stuff he actually treasured within the four walls of his home until you stepped foot on his marble floors. “Shoes off”, he snaps as you mindlessly saunter down the long hallway. You pause, glancing over your shoulder before your eyes drift to the worn out sneakers you wore. With a small shrug you pull them off, a grin Yeonjun knew all too well playing on your lips. 

“Catch!” 

The dirty shoe comes flying before he can as much as blink and he thanked god for his fast reflexes as he manages to catch it. “Fuck”, he huffs as his nose wrinkles in disgust, “Your feet stink.” Your second shoe strikes him across the face before the insult leaving your lips even has the chance to. 

“I’ve been in a coma for four days, thanks to you.” You spit as you fold your good arm across your chest. 

Yeonjun heaves a sigh as he realizes the devastating truth to your words. With a begrudging grimace he motions down the hall, “Bathroom’s to your right.” You send him a quick smile before disappearing from sight. Left alone with one shoe in his hand he contemplates just how long he would have to keep you here until he could finally get you off his back. Then there was the money too… You had yet to ask but he felt it was only right he offered some kind of compensation. Anything to settle it outside of court he reminds himself as he places your dirty shoes next to his freshly polished ones on the shoe rack. 

The sound of the shower echoes throughout the flat, going through all the vacant rooms, following him around wherever he goes. Your presence is unfamiliar, the sign of life beside himself in this house an unusual phenomenon. — Yeonjun busies himself by preparing one of the guest bedrooms for you. He figured you’d want the biggest one. 

He irons the sheets to perfection, gives each pillow a slap across the middle as he organizes them neatly by the headboard. Should he tell Taehyun that you were staying here — or was that better to be kept secret? He drags a hand across his face, groaning into his palm as he thinks back to a time where he wouldn’t have to deal with this. 

In fact — Yeonjun is so busy with setting up the room for you and mulling over if he should make you dinner or not that he doesn’t even register the sound of the shower turning off. Nor does he pick up on your light footsteps as you descend down the hall. The uncharacteristically quiet knock you deliver to the door, despite it being ajar, is what pulls him out of his trance. 

“Yes-” 

But his words get lodged in his throat as he sees you lingering in the doorframe. Your skin is still wet and glistening as you hug the towel tighter around yourself, your bandaged arm hanging awkwardly by your side. Swaying back and forth on your feet, you release your bottom lip with a quiet exhale. “I uhm… Don’t have any clothes with me.”  

“I can see that.” 

God Yeonjun wanted to slap himself across the face. He quickly shakes his head, “I mean– I probably have something you can borrow…” You give him a small nod, and had it not been for your lack of clothes, and the fact that he was actively struggling not to stare like a kid in fifth grade, he would’ve probably relished in your shyness. 

“Just uh, give me a minute”, he excuses himself as he squeezes past you in the doorway, wincing when your arms brush against each other. “When did you become such a prude?” He mutters to himself as he descends down the hall and to his own room. 

Turns out picking clothes for a woman was a lot harder than he’d ever imagined. Yeonjun finds himself in front of his closet for a good ten minutes, wavering between green and blue like it was his finals. Perhaps he was reading into it too much, you weren’t going to care what he offered. He emits a defeated sigh as he glances over his options once more. 

“Pushing her up a fucking hill, feeding her grapes and picking her damn clothes. Could’ve just hired a nanny”, he grumbles with a frown deep enough to touch the floor. He chews on the inside of his cheek, close to just giving up all together and letting you go naked. That would be a sight. No, ew, it wouldn’t. — “Girls like pink don’t they?” He finally huffs as he folds his arms across his chest. Well Yeonjun certainly didn’t own anything pink. 

Red was close enough right? 

“Fucking red?” You echo as he holds out the hoodie to you. Disgust is written across your face and Yeonjun resists the urge to tell you that the piece of fucking red garment was actually worth more than your months paycheck. Instead he scoffs, “You’re in no position to make demands.” Except you were. With a small tilt of your head you send him a look that could be best described as “Oh really?” 

“Fine. Is green better?” 

“... Red will do.” 

You catch the hoodie with a glare that could slice through flesh. Were women always so angry? Yeonjun never lingered long enough to find out. He watches intently as you twist the fabric in your hands, then down to the naked skin of your thighs. 

“Stop staring you perv.” 

“Your kneecaps look weird.” 

“How would you like them squashing your balls?” 

Yeonjun suppresses a shudder at the mere thought, his hands flexing by his sides as he shakes his head. “I brought you some shorts too, not sure they’ll fit though.” He hands you the pair he should’ve gotten rid of five years ago, not that you had to know that of course. — You eye them skeptically, your lips pursed, another comment waiting behind them. 

“Alright.” 

Huh? Yeonjun blinks, his jaw slacking. 

“No buts?” He frowns. 

“No buts.” 

Before he has the chance to speak, you reach for the towel wrapped around your body, undoing the small knot. It takes him about a fraction of a second to realize what you’re about to do. “Jesus woman! Let me flee the scene first”, he says as he scrambles for the door. — Your giggle echoes in his ears long after he’s slammed the wood shut, leaning against it as he screws his eyes together. 

His hand clutches his chest, the erratic pounding of his heart thrumming against his knuckles. “The fuck…” He mutters as he tries to calm himself down. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen women before, or brought them home for that matter. Usually he wouldn’t offer his clothes, they were far too valuable for that. But you left him no choice — which was becoming somewhat of a pattern. 

With slow and heavy steps he makes his way over to the kitchen. The marble countertops feel smooth under his fingers as he drags a lazy hand over the clean surface. Yeonjun never felt like he took the comforts of his home for granted, but with the way your eyes had followed every single line of furniture like it was made out of gold made him reconsider. 

He should probably make you something to eat. That would be the least he could do, right? Only problem was Yeonjun had never cooked as much as a single meal in his kitchen. It stood brand new, just like it had for the past two years. 

“Where are the pans at?” He murmurs as he pulls cabinet doors open. He’d made sure to stock up on appliances, not that he was planning on using them, but they felt like a part of the house decor. 

Once he’s got his hands on a decent pan he tackles his next obstacle. Turning on the stove. He tsks as he reprimands himself for choosing such extravagant and high-tech luxuries. Scratching the back of his head with a small frown he searches fervently for any button, but there were none. 

“It’s a stove not a fucking ipad”, he grunts as he begins tapping the cool surface — flincing when it makes a beeping sound. 

“Can’t believe it didn’t come with an instruction manual.” 

20 MINUTES LATER 

Yeonjun’s clothes felt light on you. The fabric was smooth against your skin and the garment wasn’t heavy. Admittedly you looked like a kid on the soccer team, but that was the least of your problems — not like there was anyone to dress up for around here anyway. 

Having disappeared off to god knows where, Yeonjun had left you to roam his gigantic house. And you did exactly that. The hallways seemed never ending, sparsely decorated with a few plants here and there, who you all noticed to be made out of plastic when you passed them. “Must not have green fingers”, you hum as you twirl the artificial leaf between your fingers. Your eyes flicker down to the expensive-looking vase, “But a mind for money at least.” 

Upon passing an ajar door, you stop in your tracks. Hesitating for only a moment, you push the door further open as you dare a peek inside. The room you find is nothing short of extravagant. With a king sized bed, clad in silk sheets and a carpet lining its perimeter. Windows lined the opposite wall, going from floor to roof, showing off the setting sun as it basked the room in a warm glow. 

It hit you then that he would get to sleep in here every single night, in the comforts and luxury of such a nice home without a single worry about next week's budget. Your eyes flicker over to the dresser opposite the bed, your fingers twitching by your sides. No, you were no thief. Besides, you doubted there was anything worth selling aside from his plastic plants. 

“Asshole”, you mutter as you step back out into the hallway. 

Just then, a familiar scent hits your nose. It smelled just like a house fire. Joyous. — Yeonjun’s curses echo down the hall, the sound of cutlery clinking together making for a terrible beat to back up his vocals. Your bare feet pad toward the source of his chaos, and the scene you arrive at is far from disappointing. 

Yeonjun stands bent over the stove, the culprit of the burnt smell being the eggs he’d attempted to scramble in the pan. Now all that was left was a crisp mess that had lost all its yellow — which he poked at with a spatula. Sweat pearls on his forehead, his expression stuck in a permanent frown as he pours his full attention onto the failed meal he was preparing.

“Need help?” 

He startles at the sound of your voice, having clearly not expected your sudden arrival. Throwing a glance over his shoulder, he finds you watching him with an amused expression. It was impossible to bite back the grin currently splayed across your lips. 

“No.” He quickly retorts, sounding somewhat defensive. 

“You sure?” 

“Yes.” 

You round the marble countertop, stopping beside him as you peer down into the pan. “Smells…lovely”, you murmur, your nose betraying you as it scrunches in disgust. Yeonjun rolls his eyes, his tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth as he turns to you. Spatula gripped in one hand like a weapon, he folds his arms across his chest. 

“What?” He snaps, clearly unamused by your silent critique. 

Motioning toward the eggs still sizzling in the pan, “You do know how to cook right?” 

“Of course I do”, he grumbles as he readjusts the grip on the spatula, “I cooked… In college.” 

Your gaze flickers between him and the food, your brows rising on your forehead. “I can tell.” 

You take a step forward, attempting to grab the spatula from his hand, only for him to immediately recoil, holding the utensil out of reach as he shakes his head. — “I’ll do it”, you scoff as you take another step forward, caging him against the counter. “No”, Yeonjun protests with another shake of his head, “You’ll burn the kitchen down.” 

“I reckon that’s where you’re headed.” 

He huffs, opening his mouth to bark out another remark — but all that he manages is a yelp when his free hand comes in contact with the scorching hot stove. The spatula slips from his grasp, hitting the floor with a clattering sound as Yeonjun grips his injured hand. You almost laugh, but the pain striking his face made you waver. Why did you feel bad? 

“Fucking idiot”, you snort as you shake the thought away, grabbing ahold of his wrist and yanking him toward the sink. Yeonjun stumbles after you, muttering curses under his breath as you turn on the faucet. “Ow!” He hisses when you bring his now bright red hand under the lukewarm water. 

“Get over yourself”, you mutter. 

“It hurts?” 

You give him a look of disbelief and Yeonjun’s eyes drift toward your bandaged arm, “Fine.” 

He remains silent after that, letting you run his fingers under the water without complaints. His hands were oddly soft and you tried not to think about it too much, that and the fact that you were still holding on to him when he could’ve easily kept his hand there himself. — The silence seems to stretch on forever, making it the most awkward one yet, and that was saying a lot considering what the two of you had endured. 

You avoid his gaze, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you focus your attention to his hand, your thumb smoothing over his palm absentmindedly. You should say something — but for once you can’t find the words. Not a single remark came to mind. 

Yeonjun clears his throat awkwardly, shifting his weight from one leg to the other as his eyes flit between your face and his hand. “I can–” 

“Shut up.” 

He presses his lips into a thin line, likely biting back another protest as he sighs. 

“Do you ever cook?” You ask without looking at him. Yeonjun shakes his head, murmuring out a quiet, “Not really.” 

Glancing at him through the corner of your eye, you find his brows pulled into a small frown, his lips pursed into an almost cute pout. “Then what?” You wonder as you turn his hand under the water. Yeonjun shrugs, sounding almost defeated as he says, “Usually just eat out.” Right. He could afford restaurant worthy meals seven days a week, must be nice. 

“Does it still hurt?” 

“Just a little.” 

The silence returns, it seemed unavoidable at this point — and for some reason it bugged you. He doesn’t say anything when you turn the faucet off, nor does he comment on the fact that you had yet to let his hand go. 

Jesus. 

Yeonjun throws a glance over his shoulder, his failed attempt at scrambled eggs staring back at him from the pan. He turns back to you, his mouth open in a sentence he never gets to finish. 

“I can make–” 

Your lips against his swallows his next words. 

It’s weird. Nothing like the kisses you were used to, it was awkward. His lips were stiff against yours, in fact you don’t think it could’ve even counted as a kiss. It was more a ‘our lips are touching and that’s kinda weird but none of us are gonna pull back’ type of thing. He blinks once, then his eyes flutter shut, his long dark lashes caressing the top of his cheekbone. 

You do the same. 

The moment might’ve lasted two seconds or two years for all you knew. Yeonjun’s hand went lax in your own, his fingers twitching slightly. His lips felt soft, and they tasted almost sweet — like the candy your parents only allowed on special occasions. 

When you finally pull back his jaw hangs slack, his eyes slowly opening as his gaze finds yours. Neither of you speak, and you couldn’t tell if he was embarrassed, weirded out or strangely enough, turned on — or all three. You didn’t even know what you were. 

Finally he speaks, “What was–” 

“For letting me crash here”, you quickly say, your voice coming out a lot shakier than you’d anticipated. 

“And for attempting to cook.” 

He clamps his mouth shut once more, his expression unreadable for a moment before it softens. “Yeah?” He echoes, a small grin tugging at his lips. 

“Yeah.” 

“You kinda–” 

“Don’t mention it again.” 

“...” 

You let go of his hand, pulling back like it had stung you. Yeonjun doesn’t comment on it, but you catch the flicker of disappointment striking his features before he covers it with a sly smirk. “Takeout?” He offers, already fishing his phone out of his pocket. 

“Preferably.” 

THE NEXT MORNING 

The rich slept real fucking comfortable — and as you stretch your limbs out on the mattress, the expensive silk sheets tangled between your legs, you could’ve sworn that at least 23 years of back pain had been cured. Despite it being early morning the sun was already piercing through the thin curtains of the guest bedroom, making you squint against its bright rays. 

Thankfully Yeonjun had gone back to being a self centered and arrogant prick shortly after dinner last night. The kiss was still fresh in your mind, and every reminder was like a harsh slap across your face, more specifically your lips. Luckily he hadn’t mentioned it, and neither had you. It was better to just forget it all together — your situation was messy enough as is. 

With a tired groan, you swing your legs over the edge of the bed, gingerly getting up as you trudge toward the door, nature calling you urgently. 

The house is still silent as you step out into the hallway and you glance both left and right to secure the area before making a move toward the bathroom. Every sound becomes intensified in the quiet morning air and you wince when you accidentally knock one of the vases on your descent down the hall. 

Breathing out a sigh of relief only when the bathroom door closes behind you, you go about your business quickly. Yeonjun lingers in the back of your mind — but not for the reasons he had these past two days. Catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror above the sink, you frown at the state of your face. 

“Jesus, I look like shit.” 

He’s probably disgusted with the kiss — well, all the more reason not to bring it up at least. You would talk to him about finding another living situation for the time being. He was practically a stranger after all. It would be weird for you to keep staying here, right? With those exact thoughts in mind you push the bathroom door open, only for it to slam against something — or rather, someone. 

Startled, you let out a shriek as you come face to face with an actual stranger. 

“What the fuck?” You bark as you take a quick step back, your injured arm hitting the wall and sending a spark of pain through your body. — “Who the fuck are you?” 

“I ought to ask you the same thing.” 

The man, who looked to be your age, says as he peers over at you, the glasses on his nose sitting crooked. Then his eyes flicker down the hall. “Yeonjun! What did I say about warning me when you have hookers over?” He shouts, the irritation in his voice palpable. You were almost too stunned to catch the term he’d used to describe you with. But only almost. 

“Excuse me?” 

He gives you a quick one-over, “You’re excused.” 

Your jaw slacks and you’re quick to raise your good fist. 

“Listen here you little shi–” 

Milliseconds away from getting your swing at the man, you freeze when someone grabs ahold of your wrist. Snapping your head to your left, you find Yeonjun next to you with a conflicted look on his face. “Taehyun”, he says through gritted teeth, his grip on your wrist unwavering, “I see you’ve met my guest.” 

The man, Taehyun, gives you another glass, his dark eyes peering at you through his glasses. His lips part once his gaze lands on your bandaged arm — had this been a cartoon, a small light bulb would have probably been lit above his head right about now. 

“Oh.” 

He immediately clears his throat, reaching a hand out for you to take. Snatching your arm back from Yeonjun’s grasp, you awkwardly extend your left hand, making Taehyun mumble out a quiet apology as he, too, switches hand. The handshake is somewhat awkward, as you both exchange names, and you learn that Taehyun is Yeonjun’s assistant. Figures. He looked like a nerd. 

An awful silence settles over you after that as your unfortunate trio shifts in the hallway. Yeonjun is the first to speak, his brows tugged into a frown as he regards his assistant. “Why are you here? Did my father–” 

“No.” 

Taehyun cuts him off with a shake of his head, “Worse.” 

Yeonjun’s frown deepens, “What could possibly be worse than–” 

“The CCTV footage from six days ago.” 

“Oh.” 

Confused, you glance between the two of them. “Footage of what?” You ask. Yeonjun avoids your gaze like it might blind him, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his sweats as he studies the floorboards beneath him. You turn to Taehyun, an expectant look on your face. 

“The crash.” 

“Accident”, Yeonjun quickly chimes in, though quickly quieting down when both you and his assistant send him a sharp glare. 

Stunned, you blink twice. “Wait, you mean to tell me there was footage of him hitting me?” All this time you had thought it would’ve been your word against his, should you ever bring it to court. And who would trust someone unable to afford their own lawyer? But a video of what had happened that night… It would change everything. 

“Shit”, you say as you turn to Yeonjun who looked like someone had drained the blood from his face. 

“You’re fucked”, you scoff as you give his shoulder a shove. 

Yeonjun shoots you a glare, “Should’ve reversed up on you.” 

You roll your eyes, dismissing him as you turn back to Taehyun with your good hand on your hip. “So, when are we going?” 

“In thirty minutes.” 

“Oh.” 

“I would’ve been here an hour ago if Yeonjun picked up his phone.” 

“Asshole.” 

30 MINUTES LATER 

Court was fucking lit. A little less excessive wigs of course, but the judges were still dressed in robes and one of them had one of those funky little hammers made out of tree, a gavel, your lawyer had said it was called. — Oh right, you’d gotten lawyers as well, epic. Knowing that there was an actual video with hard proof evidence of what had happened that night made you feel strangely at ease. 

“What was your name again?” 

“Kai.” 

Your lawyer did not seem as relaxed — you couldn’t fathom why. 

“Rough day at work?” 

He quirks a brow in your direction, “Something like that.” 

You scoff, “I can imagine. I mean, having to combat that thing.” You motion toward the opposite side of the courtroom where Yeonjun was currently sitting. His arms were folded across his chest, his dark hair neatly styled. He was dressed in a suit, which was a lot more convincing than the simple dress pants and blouse you wore. You had stopped by your apartment on the way, and it was only a miracle that some of your clothes were still intact. 

Yeonjun’s lawyer sits beside him, you think his name might be something on S. He’s talking to him, but Yeonjun hardly looks to be listening, his dark eyes are stuck on you, a damn near permanent scowl on his face. 

You mouth the words ‘Good luck!’ to him. 

‘Fuck you.’ 

You grimace, whatever. He was going down, one way or another. A part of you almost felt a little bad for him. He’d actually been quite helpful these past two days — even though it had all been to avoid your current predicament. Oh well, beggars can’t be choosers. You would take your chances today. 

A loud bang sounds through the room, efficiently quieting down the previous murmur. Your head automatically turns to your right where you find that the bangning noise had come from the peculiar little hammer thing. The judge holding it didn’t look credible in the slightest, with an almost boyish grin on his face and eyes that glimmered with mischief. 

“Ahem”, the man clears his throat, coughing into his closed fists as his eyes gaze out over the crowd. You follow his line of sight, noting Taehyun posted up by the very front row, an anxious look on his face. But when the judge starts speaking, your attention returns to him. — “Good day”, he begins in an overly cheery voice, “My name’s Choi Beomgyu and I’ll be leading today’s trial. Let us commence.” 

The sound of the gavel slamming against the mahogany desk rings in your ears, and the air inside the courtroom suddenly shifts. Kai had given you a brief rundown of your rights and how things worked. He’d informed you what you could say and what you should say. That meant bringing up how you’d exploited Yeonjun for two days probably wasn’t a fantastic addition. 

“Alright, we’ll begin with both sides testifying their side of the story, blah blah— uh, and then we’ll play the provided evidence, mhm, and then… some more questions blah blah..” Beomgyu slams the file before him shut as he leans back in his chair. His sharp gaze flickers between you and Yeonjun, his eyes, despite their mischief, oddly calculating. 

“Listen here, the faster you lot solve whatever happened – the faster we can all skedaddle out of here, and I don’t know about you– but I’ve got someone very special waiting for me at home. And yes, she’s a real woman, not a cat.” — The other judges shift uncomfortably in their seats but none of them comment on the head judge’s oversharing segment. 

“You,” 

Beomgyu’s voice is sharp as he directs it your way and you nearly jump out of your seat upon being so suddenly addressed. 

“Let’s hear it”, he says as he stretches his arms out behind his head. 

You glance over at Kai who gives you a small nod of approval and a look that says, ‘Don’t say anything stupid now’. With a small cough you lean forward, adjusting the small microphone placed on the table in front of you. 

“Uh… So I was walking and–” 

Beomgyu’s yawn pierces the air, somehow overpowering your voice on the mic. He gives you a quick wave with his hand, signaling for you to continue. With a small frown you straighten up slightly. “Well, I was making my way to the subway… It was dark, raining too– and my mascara was running. Do you know how much it stings when you get mascara in your eye?” 

Beomgyu shakes his head, “Can’t say I do.” 

“Oh. Well, that made my sight lessen significantly, and did I mention it was dark too? Yeah so I’m making my way down the street, and I run into this homeless man — completely unprovoked he starts yelling at me, and you can imagine I’ve already had a bad day working overtime, and not to mention my mascara smudging too. Anyway then I–” 

“Objection.” 

You frown when Yeonjun suddenly speaks up, it was the first time he had since you’d arrived here. Beomgyu raises a brow but nods for Yeonjun to continue. 

“This has nothing to do with the accident.” 

Beomgyu purses his lips, as if considering Yeonjun’s words for a moment. 

“You’re right.” 

“But I’m intrigued, and I don’t even wear mascara.”

Beomgyu turns back to you, “Continue.” 

Yeonjun’s sigh is theatrical as he slumps back in his seat and you bite back a smirk as you pull the mic closer to your mouth. 

“So as I was saying, whilst I was hurrying down the street, I came to a road crossing. Now me being a role model civilian and all, I check my left and my right before proceeding. But then–” You pause, glancing around the room as the suspension rose, even Kai is looking up from his papers, his eyes filled with both dread and curiosity. 

“There was light, I’m talking real big flashy ones — and they’re coming fast. There was no way for me to jump out of the way, and before I knew it, something, well more like someone, rammed straight into me.” 

Hushed murmurs erupt amongst the crowd, the judges conversing quietly with each other as their gazes flicker between you and Yeonjun, who was currently adjusting his tie nervously. Beomgyu on the other hand stifled a yawn as he blinked slowly. — You lean back in your seat, giving Kai a small thumbs up which was responded to with a subtle nod from your lawyer. 

“Impressive story telling”, Beomgyu hums as he flips the papers before him, fingers tapping against his desk idly, “You should start a podcast.” Then he promptly shifts in his seat, redirecting his attention to Yeonjun. 

“Alright, take the stage.” 

Not late to bite at the opportunity, Yeonjun practically jumps in his seat as he grabs ahold of his own mic. “Your honor, that is not what happened.” He clears his throat, sending you a quick glare before turning back to Beomgyu. “I as a role model civilian was on my way home after a long day of tiring work. I run a business, so you can imagine that I’m exhausted after a long day.” 

Beomgyu’s brow twitches as he leans forward, “You run a business, what kind? Is it like an ice cream shop?” 

Yeonjuns lips part, “I– No, it’s–” 

“Oh, oh, a children’s store?” 

“No.” 

“Hm. Alright, continue.” 

Yeonjun mutters something unintelligible under his breath, and you watch as his lawyer leans over to whisper something in his ear. He responds with a small nod, his fingers flexing around the mic stand. 

“I was driving home, the roads were practically vacant and I was going comfortably at the speed limit.” 

“Objection!” 

Your yell echoes out in the courtroom, making everyone turn your way. Beomgyu nods, motioning for you to proceed. 

“He was speeding, he had to have been. There was no way he wouldn’t have been able to stop if he wasn’t!” 

“Your honor that is the furthest thing from the truth”, Yeonjun fires back as he glares you down. 

“Then how do you explain it huh?” 

“If you would so kindly allow me to get to the part where my car hydroplaned because of the rain, you would know.” 

“That’s a load of–” 

“Alright!” Beomgyu slams the little hammer against his desk, making you both fall silent as you reluctantly turn to face him. “I reckon we watch the evidence sent in by the state, which would be the CCTV footage from the night at uh… 10:27 pm.”

There’s a slight rustle coming from somewhere to your right as one of the staff workers fiddles with a computer, finally managing to connect it to a projector. Beomgyu leans back in his seat as the footage becomes presented on screen, meanwhile both you and Yeonjun lean forward, eyes glued to the projector. 

With a small bruising noise the video begins to roll. It’s showing the road crossing from a far different angle than you had been witnessing it all. Placed about 10 ft tall on one of the corner buildings, it captures the scene with a fishbowl format. — The whole courtroom is silent, everyone watching intently as quite literally nothing happens. 

Beomgyu’s groan is the first to pierce the still air. “Is there a way to speed it up?” 

The staff member mumbles a quick apology before tapping a few buttons, upping the pace of the footage until a figure makes an entrance. You quickly recognize yourself, drenched head to toe in rain, your arms wrapped snugly around yourself as you dart down the street. Ew, why did you run like that? Whatever. 

You watch your past self run toward the road crossing, barely slowing down to glance left and right before proceeding over the white markings on the ground. You’ve barely made it halfway when the familiar sight of Yeonjun’s car cuts through the screen. It’s coming in at an awkward angle, its wheels locked to the left, testifying that it had actually been hydroplaning. 

The collision echoes on the tape, and the whole courtroom lets out a unified noise of distress, everyone but Yeonjun. It almost hurt even more to watch than it had when he’d actually hit you. 

Beomgyu’s whistle is low and dramatic as he motions for the footage to be rewinded. “Ouch”, he says as he parts his hair with the help of his pinky, “That’s rough.” 

“How the fuck did you walk away with just a broken arm?” He then asks as he glances over at your bandaged arm. You give him a small shrug, “Call it luck.” 

“Well, I think that settles it. — You were speeding, otherwise your car wouldn’t have gone into hydroplane.” 

Beomgyu had already grabbed a hold of the gavel, raising it high as he prepared to slam it against the table when Yeonjun suddenly shot up from his chair. 

“You honor! She was walking toward red!” 

The head judge pauses, arm raised mid air. 

“She actively broke the law!” Yeonjun motions between you and him fervently. 

“Oh fuck off, so were you!” You snap as you, too, leap out of your chair. 

“Well I wouldn’t have hit you if you hadn’t walked toward red.” 

“Well you would have actually seen me if you weren’t speeding.” 

“Ladies–” Beomgyu begins as he raises his hands in surrender, a conflicted look on his face. 

“Don’t you think exploiting me like that for two days was a little too far when you were the first to break the law?” 

“You’re talking nonsense.” 

“Your honor, she made me push her in a wheelchair up a hill!” — “Her legs are perfectly fine!” 

“Oh my god are you still stuck on that?” 

“Yes. Yes I am. My arms ached for days.” 

“So you’re calling me heavy?” 

“In a sense I guess I am.” 

“Your honor, are you hearing this?” 

You turn to Beomgyu, your chest heaving with suppressed anger and injustice as you point an accusing finger Yeonjun’s way. But the head judge is merely yawning, his head tiredly propped up on one hand as he watches the two of you battle it out. 

Kai’s hand tugs at your wrist as he urges you to sit back down. But you merely shake him off, snatching your arm back to wave your hand in front of you dramatically. “No! Don’t silence me!” 

Yeonjun snorts, “I reckon it’d take a lot more than that to shut you up.” 

“You know I’m starting to get real sick of you.” 

“It took you that long to come to the realization?” 

“Can you just shut the fuck–” 

The loud and final bang of the little tree hammer rings out into the room, breaking off yours and Yeonjun’s argument as your heads snap in Beomgyu’s direction. The head judge heaves a tired sigh as he leans back in his chair. 

“This is going nowhere – you both are idiots and off the hook. Now get the fuck out of my courtroom.” 

You blink once, then twice, your gaze darting from Yeonjun, whose reflection was a mirror of your own and over to Kai who looked more relieved than anything. “Wait what?” You dumbfoundedly say as you turn back to Beomgyu. “What does that even mea–”

“It means scram. Go!” 

“God”, he mutters as he slumps against his chair, “I need a margarita.” 

APPROXIMATELY 15 MINUTES LATER 

You stand quietly outside the shut doors of the courtroom you’d just spent an hour in. Your back leaning against the wall and your hands clasped together in front of you, you gaze ahead. The hallway was silent enough to where you could hear a pin drop. 

“Well, this is awkward.” 

“No fucking shit”, Yeonjun scoffs somewhere to your right. He was also leaning against the wall, an equally impassive expression on his face. 

“I can’t believe he kicked us out”, you mutter somewhat petulant as your gaze drops to your feet. 

Yeonjun doesn’t reply as he sighs next to you. For a moment you think he might just pack up and leave, you wouldn’t put it past him anyway. But he doesn’t, instead he clears his throat. 

“So, are we going to address the elephant in the room or?” 

“I swear to god if you’re referring to me I’ll–” 

“You kissed me.” 

Oh. Right. That was hardly an elephant, more like a blue whale on land. You cough into your closed fist, avoiding his gaze like the plague as you debate on how much longer you could prolong your reply. 

“Why?” He turns to you, his shoulder leaning against the wall as he peers at you through his dark lashes. 

“Do I need a reason? Jesus.” 

“Yes, you do.” 

You bite the inside of your cheek before shrugging, “Felt like it I guess.” 

“You felt like it?” 

“Yeah, what else do you want me to say?” 

Yeonjun huffs, burying his hands into the pockets of his suit as he glances over his shoulder. The tension between you two was worse than inside the courtroom itself and in that moment you just wanted the ground to swallow you whole. 

“Listen, I’m not gonna stand here and explain myself to you so you can either–” 

Your words are cut off by his lips on yours. A small strangled noise wriggles its way from your throat at the sudden proximity he displayed, your eyes going wide and your shoulders stiff. Yeonjun doesn’t seem to care as his hand comes up to caress the side of your face, the touch so oddly gentle and tender that you would’ve probably thought you were dreaming if it weren’t for the uncomfortable way your bra was digging into your chest. 

He doesn’t pull away for a long moment, the seconds dragging on far what seemed like forever, but for some reason you find that you don’t want it to end. And when he finally does part from you, his lips hover just a centimeter above your own. 

“Why?” 

You feel him smirk, his breath hot against your own, “Felt like it.” 

“Asshole.” 

“Does that mean I can do it again?” 

“Yeah.”

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[lemurianwildfire]

This made me laugh because I could just see this happening! If I could draw, I could just picture this in my head so perfectly. But I guess the next best thing is that I can sort of write a little. So this is what I imagined was happening.

Small fic below (quickly written, not edited):

I sit on the couch in Sylus' armory, my head in my hands as my eyes scan the new public post made by the hunter's association offical social media account. The recent wanderer attack has been taken care of and the safety of Linkon citizens has been restored. I let out a silent sigh. I am not used to being so bored.

Today is my day off. But I almost wish this wanderer attack was a greater threat, just so that I would have been the one called in. Sylus had promised a day for just us today. But I understood that this was never guaranteed with him.  

This morning, I had woken up in Sylus’ bed with distant murmurs, the fading smell of his cologne and the faint smell of gunpowder the only thing to greet me.  

My eyes were on my phone but not really seeing it. I was focused on the ground beyond my phone, listening to the threatening growls Sylus made into his phone as he paced the room behind the couch. He was talking about missing protocores again, the man on the other end stammering and tripping over his words.  

As Sylus spoke, my gaze landed on a small protocore that was left on the fireplace mantle. With a small smirk and a devious idea forming in my head, I set my phone aside and went to it, lifting it into my hands. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Sylus’ focus solely on the phone call. 

I walked over to him without purpose as if I were just pacing the room myself. As I reached him, I lifted my hand and handed him the protocore. Without thought, he took it, continuing his conversation.  

With a mischievous smile I turned and scanned the room. I picked up a pen from his desk, trimmed in pure gold with his name emblazoned across its heavy exterior. 

He was still preoccupied with his phone call. I no longer cared about the details, but as he took the pen from me, his gaze dropped to it. I almost thought he had caught on, except his gaze stared past the pen and onto the floor.  

“No!” He shouted, then cursed.  

I chuckled inwardly as I turned to scan the room again, his conversation gaining more friction.  

I pulled a sticky note from his desk and scrawled a quick message across its surface before folding it away, taking the gold letter opener he kept in the desk storage stand at the last second, watching as the diamonds on its handle shimmered under the light.  

I stood just beside Sylus in his periphery, his strong jaw clenched as he listened to the man on the other end, his eyebrows knit together in frustration. I held out the note, which he took without question, tucking his phone between his shoulder and ear and held it between two hands as if he were going to read it then, the protocore and pen tucked further into his palm still.  

I waited in anticipation. Would he notice my little game? But I took a relieved breath when he dropped his hand and responded to the man on the other end. While he was distracted, I held out the letter opener and he took it.  

I continued this a few more times, handing him small trinkets and objects; his eyes never meeting mine. I smiled to myself as I took in the image of Sylus standing near his wall of guns, a scowl on his face as he held a mini horde of small objects in both his large hands as if they were each precious to him.  

I had to pause. The amount of trust this man felt towards me, to come up to him and know without a doubt that I would not harm him. He felt at complete ease with me, and it warmed me to the depth of my soul. I felt a small part of me begin to purr with contentment at that thought.  

But then my smile faltered, and I tilted my head in thought. Whatever happened must have been huge to take up all his attention. He was a big strong man with a mind-blowing evol, why was he wasting his time on this phone call? I grew more frustrated. The game wasn’t fun anymore.  

With a devilish smirk, I reached under my shirt and unhooked my bra, pulling it free and sauntering to him. I held it out to him, following his hand movements as he took it from me, his eyes unfocused as he listened.  

At the touch of the silky fabric, he finally dropped his gaze to it before his eyes snapped to mine.  

I raised my head in defiance, a smirk at the corner of my lips as I held his gaze. I folded my hands behind my back as I took a step back. I could see the heat in his eyes as they trailed down my body before meeting my gaze once more. 

I couldn’t stop the giggle the came out when he moved to take his phone from his shoulder but paused when he realized he was holding so many things, a baffled expression on his face for a moment before they all dissolved in a red mist and his heated gaze was back on me.  

He ended the call abruptly and threw his phone to the desktop as he stalked towards me. I backed away slowly, meeting his smoldering eyes with my own. I felt the hard press of the wall behind me as he continued to crowd me, his presence everywhere, surrounding me. His heat settling in my bones like a warm embrace. He leaned down and pressed his nose to the curve of my neck and inhaled. 

“Does my kitten need my attention?” He growled softly.  

Closing my eyes, I let out a small sigh and nodded my head.  

Finally.  

[delulu-julia]

Hi! This is my first time requesting on this blog, so I hope I do it right 🙏

I have two requests but you can choose whichever you want and go from there!

First one: TMNT 2012 boys and what would their type be? I know all of them had at least one love interest in canon, but I'm wondering what do you think that would both be good for them and/or that they would find attractive.

Second: What would a foreigner reader dating/being in a relationship with TMNT boys include? I would really appreciate an 'as long as it goes' kind of hc post with lots of fluff, but please don't force yourself to meet those!!

Good day/night/noon and happy writing hehe 👉👈

Tmnt 2012 boys and their Ideal type

I LOVE both ideas, so I might do the second one when I’ll get more time, thank you for requesting!! Also, it’s just my opinion, nothing more but silly headcanons, I can be wrong

But let me be clear here. It seems to me that love is a very vague feeling that consists of many factors. First impression, further interaction, your role in the story, attitude to things and so on. As for me, it is impossible to fall in love AT FIRST SIGHT ,, I don’t know why I write this, nobody cares about it anyway. So, enjoy!!

Leonardo

What he needs:

Leo is very responsible, and he always thinks for others. He carries the weight of leadership on his shoulders, so he needs someone who can ground him—a partner who is patient, understanding, and can remind him that he doesn’t have to bear everything alone. Someone who respects his dedication but also encourages him to relax

What he finds attractive:

Confidence, but not arrogance. He admires people who are sure of themselves. Also he respects those who are self-assured without feeling the need to announce it constantly

Graceful, composed individuals who can keep their cool in stressful situations immediately catch his attention. He is drawn to people who can think rationally, understand others emotions, and avoid impulsive reactions. He doesn’t mind disagreements, but if someone starts yelling and throwing words around in anger, it turns him off immediately. He needs someone who can have a conversation, not just try to “win” an argument

Small gestures of affection — a hand on his wrist, a soft gaze, a gentle smile in his direction — ignite a deep sense of warmth inside him

He’s not looking for a genius, but he appreciates a natural curiosity about the world. If someone shares new knowledge with enthusiasm, he’ll listen with genuine interest. A love for reading, deep thinking, and exploring different cultures (especially Japanese culture) will immediately intrigue him

Leo is used to being responsible and needs a partner who trusts his decisions but isn’t afraid to speak their mind. Respecting his role while also being able to gently point out his mistakes earns his deep admiration

A partner who isn’t afraid to challenge his ideas also captivates him. Hearing “Are you sure about that? What if you look at it this way?” never fails to impress him. He doesn’t want someone who simply nods and agrees with everything he says. He seeks balance — a calm but confident individual.

At first, Leo might be seen little cold, but he’s not. He’s just reserved. The ability to bring out his genuine smile leaves an unforgettable impression on him

He especially enjoys witty humor—clever jokes and light sarcasm. Mikey’s silly memes? Not his thing. But sharp remarks and playful teasing? He notices them, and he might even return the favor

His ideal partner is someone who is emotionally mature but has a playful side when he needs a break. Leo values depth—in both emotions and thoughts. He needs someone who can be strong yet gentle, confident yet understanding, intelligent yet humble. And if you can make him trust you and smile, he’s not going anywhere

Raphael

What he needs:

Raph needs someone who can stand up to him but isn’t reckless. He’s drawn to people with a backbone—someone who won’t let him push them away when he’s frustrated but also won’t enable his worst habits

What he finds attractive:

He’s used to people being intimidated by him, so when someone doesn’t flinch at his temper and instead calls him out on his nonsense? Instant attraction. Meeting his fiery nature with a smirk instead of fear or annoyance instantly catches his attention

Passion. Whether it’s for fighting, art, music — just something that drives you

He lives for banter. Matching his sarcasm and teasing him back earns his silent respect. He might roll his eyes or pretend to be annoyed, but if you catch him smirking afterward? He loves it.

Raph is protective to a fault, but he’s not looking for someone fragile. He wants a partner who can stand on their own, who doesn’t need him but chooses to be with him. Handling your own battles while still allowing him to step in when things get really tough is a quality he deeply admires

Loyalty is everything to him. When you prove that you’ve got his back, no matter what, he’ll be hooked

He’s drawn to people who aren’t afraid to get their hands dirty—someone who won’t hesitate to jump into battle beside him or stand up for what they believe in

If you ever physically shield him from danger, even for a second? Expect his heart to race in ways he won’t say.

Initiating affection casually, without making a big deal about it, completely melts him. Just don’t expect him to ask for it outright — he’ll stubbornly wait for you to do it first

Protective instincts. Raph is usually the protector, but when someone looks out for him? Yeah, he’s gone

Raph doesn’t just want anyone—he wants someone who can handle him, who can stand beside him, not behind him. Someone who gives as good as they get, but also brings out his softer side. If you’re loyal, strong, playful, and willing to call him out when he’s being an idiot — congrats, you’ve just won over the hot-headed tough guy with a heart of gold

Donatello

What he needs:

Donnie isn’t someone who falls in love easily, but when he does, he falls hard. He doesn’t just want a pretty face (let’s just ignore the “April incident” here, mmokay? I'm inclined to think that Donnie fell in love with April JUST because she was the first person he saw, and like she was in trouble and he wanted to save her and blah blah so on. He didn't fall in love, but wanted to be something important and necessary for her. But I think, love is not built on the desire to save someone, but on deep mutual understanding. Donnie paid attention only to how he felt next to April, but not to how she herself thought, how she treated other people, what her dreams, values, and outlook on life were. Over time, it became clear that they didn’t have much in common. If Donnie were really looking for love, he would choose it not by first impression, but by the criteria that are important in long-term relationships. I will write about them below, but this applies to all turtles. Each female character in the show, in my opinion, was not love, but simply a first crush, and these are different things. As i wrote above, donnie's love for april is empty, like a soap bubble, there’s no good intersection, just good first impression. That’s why i call it “April incident”. Because april was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, by incident, and ended up in donnie's attention. if it was any other pretty girl/guy in her place, donnie would have been so crazy about them too. It’s wasn’t April, it’s was his inexperience. But If we're talking about the real slow burn without external factors, and the deep, strong love, then) —he’s drawn to depth, intelligence, and a connection that stimulates both his heart and mind. He’s spent so much time feeling like an outsider that finding someone who truly sees him? That’s what will steal his heart.

What he finds attractive:

Being a genius isn’t necessary — having a deep passion for something is more than enough to captivate him. He loves deep conversations. If you randomly drop a philosophical question or nerdy fact into a conversation? He’ll notice it. He finds it insanely attractive when someone can keep up with him mentally — or, even better, teach him something new

Donnie pours his heart into his inventions, and nothing makes him feel more valued than someone who cares about what he creates.

If you ever watch him work, ask him questions, or genuinely compliment his skills, he’ll get all flustered. Bonus points if you say something like “You’re a genius, Don! ” with total sincerity — his cheeks will glow

He’s used to being the ‘background guy’ — the one who isn’t as loud or attention-grabbing as his brothers. He needs someone who sees his worth without him having to prove it. If you’re the kind of person who listens when he rambles about science or tech, who waits for him to finish his thoughts instead of cutting him off, he’ll treasure that

He’s attracted to kindness, to people who have a warm and understanding aura. As long as you’re patient with his occasional awkwardness, you will have a special place in his heart

Donnie is a thinker, but he also wants someone who helps him feel more. If you’re open with your emotions, he’ll admire that. When you get vulnerable with him, or you trust him with your deepest fears or hopes, he’ll cherish that trust more than anything

He won’t say it, but he loves being taken care of, even in small ways. It makes him feel safe. He’s always looking out for his brothers, always overworking himself. Someone who gently reminds him to rest, eat, and breathe? He melts.

You place a snack near him while he’s working, drape a blanket over his shoulders, or run your fingers through his bandana when he’s stressed — he’ll fall for you so fast.

He acts like he’s fine without it, but if you casually touch him — placing a hand on his shoulder, brushing his fingers when handing him something — he’ll get flustered. He’s not great at asking for affection, so if you initiate it, he’ll be so happy. The first time you hug him without reason, just because you felt like it, he won’t know what to do with himself

Donnie is drawn to intelligence, kindness, and emotional depth—but more than anything, he falls for someone who makes him feel understood. Someone who listens when he speaks, encourages his passions, and reminds him that he doesn’t have to carry everything alone. If you do that, congratulations—you’ve just stolen the heart of the most inteligente turtle in New York

Michelangelo 

What he needs:

Mikey may seem like the type to fall for anyone who gives him attention, but in reality, he craves something real. He wants a love that’s fun, passionate, and full of life, but also one that grounds him. He falls for someone who embraces his playful nature but also understands that beneath all the jokes. He has a heart that loves deeply

What he finds attractive:

Mikey needs someone who gets his jokes, or at least enjoys them. You actually match his humor, throwing back jokes and playful teasing? He’s already crushing. He’ll adore you even more when you can keep up with his energy—whether it’s dancing, parkour, or spontaneous fun

People often underestimate Mikey, treating him like just the “goofball” of the team. But he’s more than that — he’s creative, emotional, empathetic and incredibly loyal. He’s drawn to someone who sees his depth, who recognizes that his joy isn’t just silliness — it’s his way of dealing with the darkness around him

If you ever say something like “You’re not just comic relief, Mikey. You’re the heart”—he might actually cry

Being an artist isn’t necessary. Mikey just loves people who appreciate creativity. If you enjoy street art, cool music, or even just doodling on napkins, he’ll feel a special connection with you. Even join him in one of his creative hobbies —painting graffiti, cooking weird food or writing dumb rhymes —he’ll be smitten

Mikey wears his heart on his sleeve, so he’s drawn to people who aren’t afraid to express their feelings

If you’re the type to openly tell him you care, give him random hugs, or shower him with compliments, he’ll thrive. If you ever casually say “You make my life better just by being in it, Mikey” — expect him to cling to you forever

Mikey’s life is unpredictable, and he loves people who can roll with the chaos. If you’re open to trying new things —whether it’s exploring abandoned subway tunnels, testing out crazy food combos, or pulling harmless pranks — he’s all in. When you say “Let’s do something fun and kinda reckless” he’ll grin and respond something like “You’re speaking my language, angel”

For all his confidence, Mikey does get insecure sometimes—about being the youngest, about not being taken seriously. He needs someone who reassures him without making a big deal of it.

You just sit with him when he’s feeling down, no pressure, just presence? He’ll remember it forever. You casually run your fingers through his bandana while cuddling? Yeah, he’s in love.

Mikey lives for unexpected moments, so when you do something totally random —like breaking into dance in the middle of a fight or making up a ridiculous nickname for him — he’ll adore you. You’re the type to start a food fight just because? Or you wake him up at 3 AM just to say “Mikey, do you think pigeons have deep thoughts?” — he’ll be like “We’re soulmates”

This boy loves for physical touch. Hugs? Yes. Hand-holding? Absolutely. Cuddling? Mandatory. If you randomly tackle him in a hug, drape yourself over his shell, or hold his face in your hands? Prepare for giggles and happy squeals. If you ever kiss his cheek and say “You’re my sunshine” he’ll be so gone for you.

Mikey doesn’t just fall for someone fun — he falls for someone who sees him, someone who embraces life the way he does but also makes him feel safe. A playful, affectionate, and slightly chaotic nature, combined with kindness and understanding, is enough to steal his heart

[yanderemommabean]

My dearest butterfly, 

I usually pride myself on having a way with words, never having my tongue tied, never having to stutter or stumble, and yet, with you, I find it hard to even breathe let alone speak. Ever since the day you stepped into my clinic, stepped into my life, I’ve found myself in a fog, never able to say what I feel, to speak with confidence, like without you I'm some sort of shell of myself. 

As a doctor, I assumed I was ill, sick, perhaps coming down with something that would pass with rest and time. However, I found out the truth- I was sick of course, but nothing that would be cured with needles and antibiotics. 

My dear butterfly, I have come to find out, my ailment is love sickness. As cutesy as that sounds, what I mean to say is- I'm utterly obsessed with you, and cannot rest or feel alive until I see you in my sight, or feel you by my side. 

The fact I am blessed enough to touch you, to examine every area, intimate or not, to be trusted with your darkest medical secrets-It fuels me more than any other patient has. With you, curing you and your health just has more meaning to me, has more depth and humanity. You have that way about you, making me feel deeper than any human ever has, reaching my core and burrowing deep within the walls of my heart. 

This letter is nothing but a love filled ramble, but one I simply had to write. I can no longer hide how I feel, how I crave. I don't expect you to know what to do with all of this information right away, so, I’ll give you a few good rules to go by while everything sets in and has time to process. 

This is all true. I adore you, deeper than anyone could ever adore you, and more intense than any past lover could ever dream 

I refuse to let you try and deny me. You can be coy, you can be shy, you can even need time and space, but you wont be with anyone else but me in the romantic sense. I’ll take whatever precautions I need to ensure this rule is followed. 

I mean you absolutely no harm, however, as mentioned above, I’ll do what I must. Just sit back and take in what you need, but know, I’m utterly sick for you darling, there’s no way you can turn me away, be your attempts silly or desperate. 

I’ll be sure to send this letter over the weekend to give you more time, but, if by chance the postal service messes up, a few days letting your mind wander at your work wouldn’t be awful either. 

I’ll see you soon, my love. We’ll discuss this more in person, where my words are sharper than the pen I used, and my voice will convey just how serious I am about all of this. 

All yours, only yours, 

-Doctor Lee.

(-Mommabean, hope you liked!)

[tovibeornottovibe]

masterlist ~ join the fun!

currently writing for Azriel, Eris, and Nyx (i know, i'm shocked too) as well as other miscellaneous, ACOTAR-based things

🔴 have a request? they're closed at the moment, but i may have already written something else you like on Ao3

fluff ✨ | smut 💖 | angst 💢

Azriel 🪽

Azriel x Fem!Priestess!OC (Thea)

💢Oil and Fire - Azriel and Thea have a meeting in the training pit of the House of Wind. She tells him a secret.

💖✨💢Deny! Deny! Deny! 1 | 2 | 3 (coming soon) - Azriel knows Thea is just as attracted to him as he is to her. He's content to only think about her when he's in bed and he's happy to know that she's doing the same. They can spar and meet up in the training ring secretly when they can't sleep. They can talk about sex and revenge and whatever they're reading at the moment like they're things two friends just discuss at the same time. Unfortunately, an external problem forces them to be confined in the House of Wind together, with only a certain Eris Vanserra as temporary company.

Azriel x Fem!OC (Merrin) ~ there are more fics on Ao3 for these two!

✨💢Club Rats - Azriel and Merrin have been meeting in clubs for months now. Sometimes, they ditch Rita's for dinner, and most of the time, they end up sleeping together. This time, they drink far, far too much, make some regrettable decisions that get them thrown out, and share a moment more intimate than they ever have before.

✨Don't Be Daft, You Practically Live Here 1 | 2 (coming soon) | 3 - Azriel and Merrin have been together almost one whole year now, all without his family knowing she existed. After he comes back from a mission and spends the day with her, he realises that it might not be so bad for them to meet after all. So, what better time to introduce her than Starfall?

Azriel x Fem!DayCourtProdigy!OC (Sereyna)

💢✨Broken Things - After a terrible night in the Day Court, one where he feels more lonely than ever, one where his heart won't stop fucking shuddering in his chest, Azriel unexpectedly meets his mate. The problem? She wants absolutely nothing to do with him and rejects him in all but name. He goes to Rhys for answers, and doesn't like what he hears.

Azriel x Reader

💢✨Don't Panic - Nesta doesn't like you. Never has, not since the first time Azriel introduced you as his mate, and you chalked it up to a personality clash; namely, Nesta being prickly and you being, well, you. You had thought that was how it was going to stay, but when you and Nesta get captured by Illyrians, you have to work together, and you find yourself understanding each other a little more. You might even end up friends.

Eris Vanserra ❤️‍🔥

Eris x Healer!Fem!OC (Cleo) / Kingmaker Series

✨Before Someone Misses You - Eris is mere moments away from death. He can't think straight; the faebane and the blood loss is making him delirious. With what little strength he has, he winnows to Cleo's backdoor and practically collapses into her arms. Unfortunately for him, his usual restraint is severely impeded and yeah, he's so fucking in love with her, even if he can't admit it to himself.

💢✨Do You Trust Me? - Eris catches Cleo just at the wrong moment; she's on her cycle and she's in agony. For some inexplicable reason, he feels this intense urge to help her, so he does. He struggles to deal with his own vulnerability, and to reconcile how he feels about her with what he expects from himself.

💢✨Damnation - In the depths of the night, Eris goes to the temple on the outskirts of the grounds of the Forest House. He asks the Mother for guidance, for forgiveness, for whatever it is he's searching for. He goes because Cleo is on his mind. These days, she always is.

💖Eris Wants - Eris has a dream about the female who heals him. A very, very nice dream.

with more to come...

ModernAU!Eris Vanserra x Fem!OC

💢✨Friday, 4PM, E.V. ~ Increase Dosage? -Every Friday without fail, Eris leaves his office and goes to see his therapist. This week has been long, infuriating, and all he wants is for everyone to leave him the fuck alone and let him do whatever the fuck he wants. Unfortunately, his therapist has a way of needling and needling and needling and he seriously isn't in the mood to think about his dying father, Morrigan, or the woman he met at University and can't seem to let go.

Azris ⚔️

✨💢 Patience - Eris lies beside Azriel and knows he isn't asleep. He's waiting while Eris collects his thoughts. Mostly, of course, Eris is thinking about the frustratingly wonderful, patient, criminally attractive male next to him.

Nyx Archeron 🌃

Adult!Nyx x Vanserra!Fem!OC

💖✨💢Oh, It Just Had To Be You, Didn't It? - Nyx Archeron and Seren Vanserra have known each other since they were children, harbouring mutual, begrudging resentment and respect for one another. When Nyx's Auntie Elain happens to invite Seren's mother to the Night Court (to see the gardens, of all things), Seren and Nyx have to play out their little feud in secret. That is, until he persuades her to come to Rita's with him and his cousins, and a mating bond snaps. Oh, and they've all been invited to Tamlin's wedding at the end of the month. Nothing can go wrong there.

Bits and bobs 🏋️

Notes on the Night Court - Merrin has some less than favourable opinions on how Rhys treats the people of the Hewn City.

[foreverisntenough]

‘Aperture’

Summary: A professional footballer with a playboy reputation finds his world reframed when he meets a talented photographer who captures the light and depth he’s never seen in himself. As their friendship develops, he finds himself illuminated by her presence—a stark contrast to the shallow spotlight he’s used to, but her guarded heart keeps her from fully trusting his intentions. Their friendship develops, like film in a darkroom, shifting into something far more intimate. But when their connection begins to blur the lines between friendship and something more, he realizes she’s the light he’s been chasing without knowing it and fights to prove he’s ready for something real. Yet, their love hangs in the balance—will the film of their story overexpose and fade, or will it develop into something vivid and timeless. Sometimes, love is about adjusting the focus, letting in the right light, and trusting the process.

Chapter Index:

Fashion Index Cont: For all Y/N's looks! No more bad links!

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI [ smut, slight mention of drugs, drinking - not sure what else really… if i miss anything please lmk!]

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series!

Please read:  Little note from me about him and one more about our community In summary: This is a swan song fic. The fic was never really about "him" as much as it was a fictional story and character I got to create and share with you all. I hope you still love reading it as much as I still love writing it. xx

Chapter 28 - 'Boyfriend' | 'Aperture'

word count - 15.7k (sorry I know 🫣)

Campbell flung open the door to Leon and Foster’s place like she’d never left, dropping her sunglasses onto the counter and kicking off her platform slides with a dramatic sigh.

“Okay. Which one of you lot has heard from them?” she demanded, already half-scowling, half-smirking. Foster glanced up from the sofa where she and Leon were curled under a throw blanket watching a film for what must have been the fiftieth time. 

“Cammy, I just texted you welcome back! I don’t even get a hello?” Foster laughed completely amused with Campbell’s intrusion. 

“Don’t deflect,” Campbell snapped, hands on her hips, ponytail swinging. “She was on the phone with me before the vigil, crying, obviously, but since then? Radio silence. No texts. No voice notes. Not even a single random TikTok. Nothing.”

“Maybe she’s grieving.” Leon didn’t look up, taking a purposeful sip from his glass of wine

“Lee.” Campbell raised an eyebrow. “Don’t be daft. You’re telling me you think my girl is just grieving? Alone? Quietly? And coincidentally he has gone mia at the same time?” She smirked. 

“I mean…” Leon shrugged with a cheeky smile. “I don’t know where Trentski’s at to be fair.” He looked at Campbell, hands raised in innocence. It was true. Leon didn’t know Trent’s exact location. But he knew well enough that when Trent didn’t participate in the boys group chats it meant one of two things; footy or you. And well… his England camp ended two days ago. 

“Cam, you know she’s with T,” Foster muttered, suppressing a smirk. “She’s fine. She only goes off-grid when she’s wrapped up in a footballer, drowning in Xerjoff Erba Pura and some deep dimples.” Campbell pointed in confirmation like she’d just solved a murder case. 

“I know that! But why do you lot not care? She hasn’t sent a single message. Like I’m praying it’s because of that certain scouse boy.” Campbell tilted her head at Foster, half serious, half teasing. 

“Trust me… she's horizontal right now.” Foster giggled.  “With said scouse boy obviously. Probably doesn’t even know where her phone is. Just somewhere in his bed. Or lost in the haze of too many orgasms.” She smirked. 

“Eugh, Fos.” Leon grimaced with a shake of his head but only before finally falling into a laugh. “You two need to let them lie.”

“We are!” Foster yelped with a big smile. “...Literally.” 

“Nah, you’re being menaces.” Leon raised a brow. 

“Menaces who care,” Campbell countered proudly. “And if she’s being held hostage in Hale, I want confirmation. I’m giving her till tomorrow before I start calling.”

“Wait, should we make it fun? Like a game?” Foster sat up a bit straighter, grinning.

“What kind of game?” Campbell narrowed her eyes, greedy. 

“Nah. Don’t.” Leon groaned. 

“Whoever gets the first confirmation of their little hideout wins. Loser has to send Trent a voice note saying ‘Thank you for your service.’” Foster declared, with a devious little smirk. Campbell gasped but not without a giggle. Leon rolled his eyes but didn’t really bother protesting. 

“Just let the girl get fucked in peace.” He muttered with a soft chuckle. 

“See! You’re just like us, Lee. We all want the best for them.” Campbell giggled. “Pour me a glass. I’ve got recon to plan.” She cooed plopping down onto the sofa next to Foster.  

—

There was a knock. Then another. Then a third, distinctly impatient. You stirred, limbs tangled beneath soft sheets and Trent’s heavy arm still wrapped around your waist like a seatbelt. His voice was muffled, half-asleep and possessive.

“Mm... don’t answer it.” He whined barely audibly. 

“I have to,” you whispered, trying to peel his arm off you, failing miserably. “They’re going to break the door down.” Five minutes later, barefoot, flushed, and wearing Trent’s T-shirt like a dress, you cracked the door open. And there stood Campbell, chic in sunglasses far too large for the clouded sky, a smoothie in hand and a smug grin playing at her lips.

“Hi, sleeping beauty. Were you in bed?” she smirked, already aware of the situation. You yawned, more post-orgasm than post-nap, and stepped aside.

“Cammy. Uh... yeah. Hi.”  You cooed attempting to play nonchalant. But it was well into the afternoon now, there was no hiding but you’d try.  She stepped in casually, her eyes already sweeping across the flat like a detective on a mission, albeit attempting some subtly. And there it was. A man’s Bottega wallet on the island. Size 11 trainers at the door. The scent of showered skin and candle wax lingering in the air. She didn’t need confirmation. Trent was written all over you, although his Range Rover keys did really cement her assumption. 

“You’re glowing,” she teased over her shoulder. 

“Tea?” You ignored her, heading for the kitchen. 

“Mmm. Sure.” She followed you like a bloodhound, scanning for more dmaning clues, setting her smoothie down. Then, sweetly, too sweetly:

“Do you have my Aquazzura heels? The nude ones… those ones with crystals? I want to wear them to brunch tomorrow.” Your heart stuttered. You knew you were getting played. It was Campbell afterall. 

“Course,” you said casually, a little too quickly.

“They’re in your room, right?”  She hummed as she turned. 

“Cammy! No!” You came rushing from around the island, tea forgotten, grabbing at her arm. “No, no, no”

“What are you hiding?” she grinned, leaning back, with playful resistance. You both nearly doubled over in hushed laughter.

“Stop!” you giggled, flustered and breathless.

“Who are you hiding?” she sang, spinning out of your grip with a devious sparkle in her eye. “Y/N, is there someone here?!” She taunted you in song. You covered your face, cheeks burning. Your head dropped with a reluctant nod. Her jaw dropped in delight. “Oh my god,” she shrieked as quiet as she could.

“Shhh!” you hissed, glancing wildly toward the bedroom. “Cammy, please.”

“Well, I’ll just go get the shoes and be out your hair,” she said sweetly, stepping back toward the door like a cartoon villain just to tease you. 

“Cam! Stop!” You lunged again, grabbing her by the arm again, half-laughing, half-panicked. “I will get them and then I will come talk to you.” You looked her dead in the eye, still out of breath. “Stay.”

“Y/N, is there a boy in your room?” She raised a brow, entertained, mocking, and loving every second.

“Stay.” A beat. Then she plopped herself dramatically onto your sofa, legs crossed, victorious. 

“I’ll wait.” You scurried away, the back of your neck hot, the sound of her stifled giggle trailing after you like perfume.

—-

You opened the door to your bedroom slow and gentle, careful not to disturb Trent.  Warm shadows moved across the bed in slats, sunlight slipping through the gauze of your curtains. The air felt thick with that late-morning kind of stillness, the kind that didn’t want to be disturbed.

“Babyyy,” Trent whined, voice low and syrupy. One arm stretched blindly toward where you stood across the room. His hand grasped at nothing. “Where you goin’…”

“I’m coming back,” you murmured, voice hushed. Your fingers slid along the wardrobe handle, searching for Cam’s heels. “One sec, baby.”

“C’mere.” His voice dipped, sweet and needy. You turned, and his pout alone undid you. You padded barefoot across the floor, leaning over the edge of the bed, brushing your lips to his temple. He smiled, eyes still closed, breath warm against your chest.

“Why you in clothes?” he murmured, hands slipping up your thighs, disappointedly finding the hem of his shirt draped over your frame.  His brows furrowed like it offended him. “Get this off,” he mumbled, tugging lazily at the fabric, trying to gather it over your hips with one hand.

“T…” you warned, eyes flicking toward the cracked door where you knew Campbell would undoubtedly be eavesdropping. 

“Baby, come on,” he whined, this time dragging the shirt up, exposing the softness of your waist. “Don’t need that. Not here. Not now. Come back. Just be with me” You bit your lip, shaking your head as he pulled you closer by the backs of your thighs, and then like magic his shirt was falling somewhere behind you with a careless thud on the floor. He nuzzled into the crook of your body with a satisfied hum, arms winding around your bare waist. “Yeah, there she is,” he purred, voice a hush, like this moment could fold back into sleep if you weren’t careful. From the hall, Campbell could see the tiniest sliver of you go from standing in the room, to sinking into the bed, only for a second. She took in the sliced scene: your hushed giggle, a tanned hand pulling at you, a lazy drawl wanting you like something holy, and a sleepy grin on his face like he’d dreamed you into being. Campbell rolled her eyes with a smirk, returning to minding her business while you “found” the heels she didn’t need.. No need to investigate further. 

Back in the living room, she shook her head with a soft, knowing laugh.

“So gone,” she muttered to herself, opening her phone ready to text Foster and Delaney. “So, completely, stupidly gone.” And back in your room, Trent exhaled against your skin, already half-asleep again, arms locked tight around you like he had no plans of letting you go, not now, not ever.

—

The light was slow and syrupy, golden where it streamed through the curtains, dust catching in the air like flecks of glitter. You were half-covered in the sheets, half trying to get back out of bed, and half trying to stay in it. But currently a 72kg boy was completely draped over you, a warm, heavy weight, all bare skin and tangled limbs, his breath soft against your chest.

“Mmm,” he mumbled sleepily, voice thick and low. “Why you tryna leave me, baby…” You shifted slightly, brushing your fingers over the curls at the top of his hair. 

“I’m not going anywhere.” You softened immediately. A moment cementing Campbell was correct. You were so gone for him. 

“You moved,” he murmured, lips brushing lazily over your skin. “That counts.” You smiled, chest lifting with a soft laugh. 

“Need to get up, baby.” You purred. 

“Nah you don’t,” he grumbled, nuzzling further into your body, arms tightening around your waist. “Stay.” His leg slid between yours again, pulling you back into him, and that’s when you felt it. He was still hard, lazily pressed against your thigh, but too sleepy to do anything about it.

“Really?” you whispered, smiling into his hair. He groaned like it wasn’t his fault. 

“S’not fair. You’re warm and soft and right there.” He tilted his head up, eyes barely open. “What am I supposed to do.”

“Sleep,” you teased, kissing the curve of his jaw.

“Can’t,” he pouted, face buried in your chest again. “Brain’s sleepy. Body’s not.” You giggled, brushing over his curls again. 

“So dramatic.” You teased him. 

“I’m serious. Can’t even move but I still want you.” He hummed. 

“You’re not even fully awake.” You whispered. 

“Still want you.” He kissed over your sternum, slow and languid, half-dreaming it. “Just stay here. Just… lemme hold you.” You softened, chest aching in the sweetest way. His weight was melting you into the mattress, his breath steady against your skin. Everything was quiet. Safe. You sighed, running your fingers up the ridges of his back. 

“Okay. One more minute.” Campbell would understand… you hoped. Either way, a hum of approval purred from Trent’s chest. He shifted just enough to pull you tighter, his body wrapping around yours, lips resting against your shoulder like they belonged there. He was almost asleep again in seconds, hard, needy, but peaceful, like he didn’t care if it was solved or not, as long as you were with him. You waited until his breathing evened out again, the weight of his body fully surrendered across yours, all skin and sleep, lips parted slightly against your shoulder. You could feel his heart, slow and steady against your ribs. Then, carefully, slowly, you peeled yourself from under him. He groaned, face scrunching.

“Nooo,” he whined, voice rough and low, a little raspy from sleep and kissing and everything in between.

“I’m just slipping out for one second,” you whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. “You go back to sleep, and when you wake up... I’ll be back in your arms, hmm?.” He grumbled incoherently but didn’t argue, his arm lazily draping over the spot you’d just vacated. You tucked the duvet around him like he was something precious. Because he was.

–

The flat was quiet, warm in the midday light. You padded softly toward the kitchen now back in one of Trent’s shirts, too big, hem brushing high on your thighs. Bare legs, flushed cheeks, sleep-swollen lips. You turned the corner and… Click. Your head snapped up. 

“Did you just take a photo of me?” Campbell was lounging at the island now, her phone casually raised, smoothie in hand, a smirk playing on her lips.

“Might’ve,” she said with a shrug.

“For what?” you narrowed your eyes, already smiling. She wiggled her phone with glee. 

“For the group chat. Fos and Delany and I have been worried. But I told them my theory was you’ve been screwed into silence.” You flushed instantly

“Campbell!” You groaned dramatically, hiding your face behind your hands. “Oh my god, Cammy.”

“I thought the wording was clever.” She shrugged, far too pleased with herself.  “You’re literally glowing. Look at you. You’re wearing his shirt and nothing else, aren’t you?” She grinned over her cup.  You didn’t answer, just flushed harder. “That’s a yes,” she sang. “You’re glowing like you’ve been laid horizontal for a full forty-eight.”

“You’re horrible.” You stifled a snort.

“Alive though,” she said smugly, sipping her drink. “Which is all we needed to confirm.” You giggled, walking to the kettle to make her a proper cup. 

“You want tea?” You asked. Campbell notoriously lazy when it came to a good cup and a sucker for yours, nodded immediately but then paused. 

“Only if you spill.” She offered you a deal. And one you couldn’t wait to take. “I want all the details. Where’s Lover Boy now?” She smirked.  You glanced toward the hall, heat licking your cheeks.

“Still sleeping.” You mouthed to her playfully.  Campbell’s smile curled as she pulled out a stool. 

“Perfect. You’ve got three minutes before he realises you’re gone and comes hunting.” You giggled rolling your eyes at her, although you knew it was probably a fair assumption.  

—

The kettle hissed softly behind you, the scent of black tea swirling through the sun-washed kitchen. The soft clink of two mugs set down on the island punctuated the quiet. Campbell had tucked one leg up onto the stool, chin in her hand, watching you with that knowing glint only best friends could wear. You stirred honey into your cup, still flushed in the cheeks, hair a sleepy mess. His shirt hung off one shoulder. You felt bare, but only in that sweet, in-love way.

“So,” Campbell began, dragging the word out. “Are we gonna talk about the fact that you dropped off the grid after Mr. Dyer’s vigil or are we just gonna play housewife and pretend that didn’t happen?”

“Cammy…” You rolled your eyes gently, smiling.

“No, babe, it’s fine. I sent flowers to your parents, you know, as one does, because I thought you might’ve run off to a lighthouse or something to grieve in peace…but no. No, you were just hiding under that man.” She reached out to squeeze your arm lovingly. 

“I wasn’t hiding.” You shook your head, lying straight through your teeth. 

“You were burrowed.” She grinned wickedly, sipping her tea. “Like a very well-sexed mole.”

“Cam!” She giggled and held her hands up, unbothered. 

“Hey, I get it. I deeply get it. But just know the group chat thought you joined a cult and Delaney said if she had to file a missing persons report she’d be pissed.” Your eyes dropped to your tea as you toyed with the string on the bag. 

“Sorry. It’s just… I needed the quiet. After Mr. Dyer and…everything.” Campbell’s expression softened instantly, her teasing folding back. 

“I know,” she murmured. “Only kidding. It’s okay. I was just worried. He was really important to you. I was gonna come back early.” 

“I told you, you didn’t need to.” You glanced up, touched. 

“No. But I would’ve.” She smiled sadly. You reached across the island and held her hand. For a moment, neither of you said anything. “So,” she blinked, tone flipping like a switch, “did you finally say it?” You bit your lip. “Oh my god, you did, didn’t you!” she gasped. You nodded, heat blooming across your cheeks. 

“Cam… it was surreal. Like I could feel the words coming this time, like I knew. But I didn’t want him to say it first. I stopped him.”

“This time.” Campbell rolled her eyes with affection. “How long was the pause before you said it?”

“Maybe like… a full minute.” You giggled

“Must’ve felt like ten years to that boy.” She grinned.

“Shut up,” you laughed, swatting a tea spoon at her.

“Was it cute? Was it, like… cinematic?” You sighed dreamily, nodding into your mug. 

“It was sunset. Top of a hill. He kissed me right when I hit the shutter.” You smiled almost mocking yourself at how cliche it all felt and yet how very real it was.  

“Ughhhhhh. I hate you.” Campbell pouted.  You giggled, covering your face. 

“It was perfect, Cammy. Like, actually perfect. It’s never felt like this with anyone. The way he looks at me… like he already knows.” Your face lit. 

“He’s known… I told you he looks at you differently. Night you met I told you that.” She said smugly. 

“I know, I know, I know. But now… Like the way it feels is just so…” You paused trying to find a word. 

“So it’s the sex?” she whispered, leaning forward, eyes wide and conspiratorial.

“Like…are you asking if we did or…?” You giggled behind your mug. Campbell threw her head to the side teasingly annoyed by your feigned naivety. 

“No, I’m asking now… how does it feel? Like a rating out of ten.” She purred.  You widened your eyes, laughing into your hands. 

“He’s ruined me. Emotionally. Physically. Spiritually.”

“Say less,” she whispered, clutching her chest in faux agony. “I knew he had it in him.” You rolled your eyes but you were grinning. 

“But he’s so soft, Cam. Like, it’s…gentle. But then… not.” You smirked recalling it all, every moment, every gasp of air, pulled hair, tender kiss to your cheek, and slap to your ass. 

“Y/N!” she whisper-yelled, swatting the air. “That makes so much sense though. He’s such a controlled guy. And like dedicated and well… obsessed with you so I’m sure in bed that’s a dream combination”

“He’s just—ugh.” You ducked your head, giggling uncontrollably.

“You’re gone,” she teased. You nodded helplessly, cheeks glowing. 

“No, but I really am.”

“Okay but wait, so where are these photos he sent?” She narrowed her eyes on you. You’d texted her about them but after the news of Mr. Dyer’s passing, the conversation shifted and you’d almost forgotten to gush about them in full to her. 

“Oh my god,” you perked up, standing to fetch one. “He sent me this giant box. Every campaign I’ve shot. Framed. Labeled. On matte paper.” 

“Okay so he listens.” She teased clapping silently, knowing very well your distaste for glossy covers. 

“But Cam, he like compiled them and made up like titles and they were wrapped up.” You pouted. A little patronizing but it was cute. “And then at the end… He got this photo frame. One I took of us. The mirror one.” Her eyes lit up. 

“Not the one you snuck into his bag?!” Her jaw slacked a little bit.  You nodded. 

“Can… he framed it. Wrote on it.” You tried to fight back a smile but failed miserably. She clutched her chest again, dramatically collapsing into her elbow. 

“Ugh T. Wow. You win. This is disgusting. I hate how much I love this.” You blushed, barely able to meet her eyes. 

“Yeah.” You sighed. Campbell leaned back, shaking her head with a grin. 

“He’s so in love with you.” Her eyes never faltered in sincerity. 

“I know.” Your bottom lip rolled. 

“And you deserved to be loved like this.” She said a little softer.

“I know,” you whispered, the grin stealing across your face again.

“Well…” she sipped her tea, eyes narrowed with satisfaction. “As long as he keeps putting that look on your face, I’ll allow it.” Campbell set her mug down gently, the soft clink of ceramic against countertop marking a pause. She leaned her elbow along the island, chin in her palm again, but her tone shifted, less sparkle now. A hush beneath the warmth. “Hey…” she said quietly. “But really… are you okay?” You looked up from your tea. “With everything, I mean. With Mr. Dyer. With Trent.” Your smile faltered a little, and for the first time since she stepped through the door, you weren’t glowing. Not really. The flush on your cheeks softened into something more muted.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, blinking slowly. “I’m… sad.” She nodded gently, giving you the space to find the rest. “I feel like…” your voice caught, so you cleared your throat. “Like I lost a piece of myself. He was… he was the first person who saw me do this. All of this. Cameras, lighting, the way I see the world… He gave me the darkroom. He gave me space to fail. He just…got it. Got me.” You exhaled. “And now I keep waking up forgetting he’s gone.” Campbell’s face was soft, her brows pinched together in quiet empathy. “I thought about it at the vigil, I have an ad campaign coming out next month… and he won’t see it. I won’t get to bring him a copy. I think I just keep waiting to go to the shop,” you said. “It’s still there. The photos I left hanging, the ones I hadn’t picked up. One’s I won’t get to share. But it’s like… if I don’t go, he’s still in there.” Campbell reached across the island and took your hand, warm and firm in yours.

“But he’s not gone, you know?” she said gently. “Not really.” You looked up at her, teary. “You have so much of him. Like actual pieces. Printed. Marked. Framed.” Your throat tightened. “That’s not nothing,” she whispered. “That’s love too.” You nodded slowly, your eyes glossy as you squeezed her hand back. A silence stretched, tender and still. And then: “How do you feel about him?” she asked, and her voice was even softer now. “About Trent. Like jokes aside.” You sat back on the stool, letting the air settle over you.

“It’s good,” you said, voice quiet. “It’s so good.” Your lips twitched, bittersweet. “And I’m scared. Is that stupid?”

“Not at all,” Campbell said, shaking her head. “It’s okay to be scared.” You looked down at your tea again. “He loves you,” she added. “Like really loves you. He always has.” You smiled faintly.

“I know,” you whispered.

“And yeah, okay, maybe he’s dropped the ball,” she said, honest but kind. “But so have you. You’ve both had your messes. But now…” she shrugged gently. “There’s no ball to drop.” You breathed out a quiet hum, one that sat between relief and truth. You felt it in your chest. “You’re just together now,” she said.

“Yeah,” you whispered. And you were. In the kitchen’s quiet glow, between fading grief and a full heart, you were. Campbell had just curled her lips into another smug grin, elbow propped on the counter like she was mid-courtroom closing argument.

“I mean, you do kind of owe me your life,” she teased. “Introduced you to the love of it, didn’t I?” You rolled your eyes, grinning. 

“I thought you said I owed you a drink, not a blood oath.” You taunted back.

“Same thing,” she said with a shrug, smug as ever. “Though honestly, maybe Trent owes me…should I send him my rates?” Just as you opened your mouth to clap back, a familiar groggy voice floated from your room, raspy and endearingly needy.

“Baby…” You froze mid-giggle. Then another distant, sleepy voice “Baaaaaaby…” Campbell raised her brows, smirk deepening. 

“He doesn’t know I’m here, does he?” You giggled into your palm. 

“Not a clue.” You whispered. A second later, the door creaked open, and Trent peaked his head out the threshold of your bedroom, hair mussed, voice heavy with sleep, blinking like the light offended him. He leaned lazily on the doorframe, bare chest on show, the other bare part of him still hidden in the room, squinting toward the sound of your laughter. He spotted Campbell instantly, half-hiding against your shoulder, your arms slung loosely around her like two kids caught whispering in class. His eyes narrowed playfully. Then he just sighed, smiling, and turned back into the room for a second. Campbell covered her face and squealed into your arm, giggling. 

“He is gonna kill me,” she whispered. 

“He’ll survive.” You smiled, your heart full and unbothered.  Moments later, Trent re-emerged, this time clothed just enough in a pair of black boxers slung low on his hips. He padded barefoot across the hardwood, a sleepy grin on his lips as he made his way to the kitchen.

“Hi, T,” Campbell sing-songed, feigning innocence.

“Hi, Cam,” he returned, dryly amused. He slipped behind your stool and leaned down, pressing a kiss to your neck before his arms slid around your shoulders, hugging you from behind. “How long you been here, then?” he asked, eyes flicking to Campbell.

“Mmm… since you told “baby” she doesn’t need clothes on,” she teased. He paused, deadpan. 

“Sound.” You laughed, shaking your head. “Can I have this back?” he murmured, hands squeezing your shoulders softly before dipping to your waist, his lips brushing your cheek.

“No,” Campbell replied flatly, lips pressed into a line before she burst into another laugh. “You’ve had her for days!” She yelped in retaliation. You smiled, tilting your face to nuzzle against Trent. You were fully melted into his body now, your back flush to his bare chest, his arms wrapping securely around you like a blanket.

“Alright then,” he grinned, dragging a stool next to yours and sitting with one arm still slung around your chair. “What we yappin’ about then?”

“Cam’s updating me on what the outside’s like,” you teased, eyes closing briefly as you leaned your head against his shoulder.

“Yeah? Any good?” he quipped, looking first at you, then at Campbell with raised brows.

“Eh…” Campbell gave a shrug, mock unimpressed.

“Not better than in there,” you murmured with a smirk, tipping your chin toward the bedroom. Your fingers ran absentmindedly along Trent’s forearm, still wrapped protectively across you.

“Mm,” Trent hummed, smug. 

“I’m sure your birth control would think otherwise.” Campbell cracked, kicking your chair with her foot.

“Cammy!” you gasped, nearly choking on your tea, scandalized, though the wide smile on your face betrayed you instantly

“What!” she giggled, holding her hands up. “You’re glowing! I’m just giving credit where credit’s due!” Trent chuckled low against your skin, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. 

“She’s got a point.” You rolled your eyes, still blushing, unable to stop smiling even if you tried.

—

“Alright, I’m going to the toilet before she says anything else outrageous,” you teased, laughing as you pulled gently out of Trent’s arms and slid off your stool. Trent caught your wrist, tugging you back just enough to steal a kiss. Quick and sweet, but with enough pressure to make your knees bend slightly and Campbell roll her eyes behind her mug.

“Come back this time,” he murmured, lips brushing yours again, voice low and a little cocky now that you were up and glowing and still wearing nothing but his shirt.

“I’ll literally be right back, T.” You narrowed your eyes, smiling

“Might miss you.” He winked.

“Behave,” you laughed, swatting his chest as you padded out of the room. The second the bathroom door clicked shut, Campbell sipped her tea and tilted her head, watching him with that quiet curiosity only a best friend could carry. Trent let out a sigh through his nose, glancing toward the hallway, then back at her.

“You know,” he said after a moment, voice low, fingers fidgeting with something on the counter, “I should probably say thank you.”

“For what?” Campbell raised an eyebrow

“For introducing me to her properly. You know, the hotel room and that.” He looked up, and for once, there was no smirk. Just something a little raw in his eyes, a little boyish. “And for caring about her. You’ve always done that.” Campbell softened, lips parting, caught off guard by his sincerity. “She’s… I don’t know,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “She’s the only thing that makes me feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.” 

“You’re lucky, you know.” Campbell blinked, then smiled, small, knowing, like she was trying not to tear up.

“I do know.” He nodded. “That’s why I’m not gonna fuck it up this time.”

“You better not,” she said, eyes narrowing playfully. “Or I’ll kill you. Lovingly, obviously.” He chuckled softly, the tension in his shoulders dropping. The light in your flat had shifted,  all warm honey and long shadows pouring through the windows, dust motes floating lazily in the quiet after-laugh. The kettle had clicked off, steam curling softly as it filled the space with comfort. Campbell sat perched at the kitchen island, chin in her palm, bare legs crossed in her leggings and a sly glint in her eye as Trent leaned beside her, elbow braced against the counter. The hum of the city outside was muffled,  like this moment had thickened, slowed, hushed. “So…” she said, drawing it out with the arch of a brow.

“What?” Trent glanced sideways, dragging a hand over his curls, the faintest smile tugging at his mouth. 

“T,” she said, drawing her voice low and teasing. “Really, don’t fuck this up again.” He scoffed gently, shaking his head, but he didn’t look annoyed. He looked tired in the way love makes you, soft around the edges, wrecked in a good way. 

“Cam, what?” She leaned forward a little, her bracelets clinking faintly against the marble countertop. 

“You love her. You date her. Make her your girlfriend.” He sighed, lips pursed, eyes tracing the grain in the wood cabinetry like it might answer for him. 

“I know. I just… I don’t want to fuck it up. I’m trying to figure out how to do it right. Not too big. Not small either. Just right.” Campbell tilted her head, expression softening.

“Trent,” she murmured. “Honestly…” He turned toward her more fully now, arms crossed over his chest, the muscles in his forearms flexing slightly as he braced himself.

“Alright, go on then. Give me the advice.” He smiled amused and expectant. 

“Just… whatever it is. Make it feel like you two. Like her and you in your own space. No one else.” She smirked

“I know that. I will.” He nodded slowly

“And tell your friends. She’ll want them to know. That you’re sure.” She dropped her voice slightly, a tenderness creeping in. A smile curled at the edge of his lips.

“They will know.  A joke is already loading, I’m sure.” Campbell gave him a knowing look.

“Good. Just make sure, when you say it… it’s not like, ‘hey, you’re the girl I’m seeing.’ Because she’s not.” He swallowed, eyes fixed on a faint ring of light on the countertop, the sun catching the rim of a teaspoon.

“I know she’s not, Cam,” he echoed, and then looked up, voice low and honest in a way that caught her off guard. “She’s the rest of my life.” Campbell blinked, lips parting for a beat. 

“Aw, T…” She cooed. 

“Don’t. Please.” He grimaced, hand waving her off. 

“Okay, okay. That was good though. Properly good.” She giggled. He gave her a half-smile, leaning back against the island, heart beating louder than the quiet deserved.

“Yeah?” Trent hummed. 

“Yeah.” She gave his arm a soft nudge. “You’ve got her. Just tell her that.” He nodded, absently reaching for your mug, still warm from your hand, like it tethered him to the moment.

—

[Burning Blue - Mariah the Scientist]

The water whispered over your skin, a soft cascade warming your shoulders, tracing the curve of your spine. Morning filtered through the frosted pane of glass beside you, casting the bathroom in a hushed, golden fog. The tiles were warm beneath your feet, the steam curling into the still air like breath held between kisses. You were somewhere in the quiet between thought and feeling, head tilted back under the stream, eyes closed, humming lazily to yourself. The scent of your soap lingered thick in the mist, floral and sweet and faintly citrus. You didn’t hear the door open, but you felt him. A shift in the silence. The gentle scuff of a barefoot step. Then a knock of knuckle to glass. You turned, just as the shower door eased open. Trent stood there, bare and beautiful in the low light, his chest rising with quiet laughter. His skin gleamed golden in the mist, and the steam caught in his tight curls, glinting like it had nowhere else to go but him. His low fade was still fresh, clean lines curving up into his temple, making the softness of his smile even more disarming. You hummed, amused, letting your arms fall to your sides as you looked at him through a veil of steam.

“Just couldn’t help yourself, huh?” you teased, voice half-laughter.

“Was too tempting.” His grin tugged at one corner of his mouth. “Sounded too good to miss.” He stepped inside slow, but soft with you and entirely too smug, entirely too beautiful, droplets already catching on his lashes.  

"Excuse you!” you gasped with a giggle, twisting in the spray as moved. Your gaze fell down to the water clinging to the broad lines of his chest, the playful spark behind his heavy-lidded eyes. You giggled, nose scrunching up as the water splashed gently against his back, and he blinked slow, lashes wet. He braced a hand on either side of you, caging you gently in the hot mist, that crooked smile pulling at his lips, the heat of his body meeting yours with just the distance of breath between.

“Gotta talk to you about something,” he purred, water running down his shoulders, his curls now heavy and dripping. This wasn’t really the plan but Trent couldn’t wait. He didn’t want to. He didn’t want a plan. He wanted you. 

“Wow. Must be urgent,” you teased, laughing as your palms slid up his warm, slick abs, feeling his body tense and soften all at once beneath your fingers. But something in his eyes changed, serious now, sincere in a way that made your laughter falter. Your heart thudded once, hard. “You okay?” you asked, quieter, watching the shift in his expression. A strange pressure built in your chest, was he leaving? Was something wrong? You inhaled, slow and shallow, bracing yourself for whatever those impossibly perfect lips might say. He leaned in, nuzzling his nose against your cheek, his voice almost bashful, muffled by the steam and closeness.

“You think you’d let me be your boyfriend?” Your heart tripped, heat rising to your cheeks that had nothing to do with the shower. You blinked, smile threatening, breath catching in your chest as your arms slipped around his waist. You nudged his jaw with your nose, bringing him closer, dragging him back into the gravity of you.

“Do you want to be my boyfriend?” you asked, voice feather-light, nearly drowned by the water, but he heard you. Of course he did.

“I really…” He paused, forehead resting against yours, water running down his temple. “Really do. And I don’t just mean for now. I mean I want this. You. Us. I want it.” There was a swell in your chest, something soft and unbearable all at once. Like your ribs couldn’t quite hold the ache of how much you wanted it, too.

“I’m okay with that,” you whispered, lips brushing his, words suspended in the mist like a secret just for him. He smiled into you, slow and sure, his arms wrapping around you under the shower’s warmth. Everything else melted—the water, the tiles, the day. All that remained was him. The heat of him. The steadiness. The love echoing in the hush of this moment. You couldn't feel the water anymore. All you could feel was him.

“Yeah?” His voice was low, teasing, but there was something warm curling underneath it. “I mean it. I’m locked into this if you’ll let me. Lifetime warranty.” He smirked as he pulled you flush against him, skin to skin beneath the gentle stream of water, your laughter brushing over his jaw like sunlight breaking through fog.

“For a lifetime, huh?” you cooed, one brow raised as your hands skimmed over his shoulders, gliding slick with heat and soap.

“Mhm.” He hummed with certainty, that crooked grin blooming with all his usual cheek, but softened now, deepened by something real. 

“That’s a long time.” You whispered. 

“And I’m gonna love you for long after that,” he said, barely above a whisper, eyes flicking down to your lips, then back up again. “Want to do this with you.”

“This being?” you teased gently, raising your bro, already knowing the answer. He rolled his eyes like you’d asked him if the sky was blue. 

“This being you and me.” His hands dropped low, palms molding over the curve of your ass, grounding the moment. “Nobody else. Lifetime loving you. Only you.”

Your breath hitched, not from surprise, but from the way your chest ached sweetly at the way he said it, like it was already written somewhere permanent, carved into time. Then, with a flash of that smug boyish mischief.

“Maybe I throw a ring in there at some point, hmm?” Your soul nearly levitated. You smiled slow, dragging your fingers up the warm, wet plane of his back, curling into his curls, soft and damp against your palm, before leaning in, lips brushing the shell of his ear.

“If you throw in a ring…” you whispered, “maybe I’ll throw in some babies.” He groaned, low and guttural, hands gripping you tighter. 

“Don’t play with me like tha.” He smiled. 

“T…” you said, pulling back just enough to search his face, the grin playing on your lips, but your eyes full of something deeper. 

“Hmm?” He blinked slow, lids heavy, voice like velvet.

“Does this mean I’m your girlfriend?” you asked, half-sincere, half-sultry, but hoping you already knew the answer.

“C’mere, baby.” He laughed, kissing you hard, pinning your back against the warm ceramic wall. His lips pressed against your skin, curled in love. “You’re outta your fucking mind if you think you’re not my girlfriend. My baby. The love of my life.” His voice was thick with affection, kisses trailing down your throat between each word like punctuation.

“Keep going…” you whispered a tease, soothed by his lips, lulling your head to the side as he devoured you with soft reverence. He smiled against your collarbone.

“The most beautiful girl in the world.” kiss.  “Sexy.” kiss.  “Talented.” kiss.  “Perfect.” kiss.

“Yours,” you breathed, quieter this time, like it was just for him,  your body humming with it now, your fingers buried in his curls, your voice a ribbon wrapping around his heart. Trent groaned into your skin, pressing a kiss just beneath your jaw, then another, like he was trying to memorize the taste of that promise. His hands moved over you with aching slowness, water trailing down your back in rivulets, your slick bodies sliding together in a rhythm so gentle it felt reverent.

“You saying that’s a fact now?” he murmured, nosing at your cheek as he pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze molten.

“I’m saying it’s always been a fact.” You smiled, letting your fingers weave up into the curls at the back of his neck, soft and damp. “You’re mine too, you know.” A crooked grin broke across his face, all boyish charm and uncontainable joy. His eyes closed for a beat, like he needed to take in the weight of it, the truth of it.

“Fuck,” he breathed, laughing softly. “I love you so much I feel dumb.” You giggled, brushing your lips over his with featherlight care, your bodies swaying gently under the water like seaweed pulled by the tide. Everything about this moment felt suspended,  heat curling low in your belly, the mist wrapping around you like silk, the smell of him mixed with your body wash and steam.

“Then be dumb,” you whispered, “but only for me.”

“Oh, I will,” he smirked, lifting you easily, your legs wrapping around him like muscle memory, like instinct. “Only ever for you.” He pressed your back against the warm tile again, mouth finding yours in a kiss that was less about urgency and more about certainty, about choosing this, choosing you, again and again. Steam curled around your bodies as the water rained down, but you didn’t feel cold, not even a little. Not with his arms around you. Not with his lips spelling out the rest of your life against your skin.

—

The sun poured gold through the tall windows of the airy, modern restaurant Campbell had claimed for her brunch,  an effortless blend of polished oak tables, plush velvet chairs, and gleaming influencers and industry people. The soft hum of quiet conversations and clinking glasses filled the space, but to you, the world shrank the moment Trent slipped his hand into yours as you crossed the threshold, his presence turned every other face into a soft blur. It was like no one else existed but him. You think it was for a brand. But honestly, Campbell had just invited her friends, the usual crew; friends swirling around with laughter and warmth. 

You had stumbled in a little late, flushed from a kiss that had melted into something deeper, and as you settled beside him, the cool murmur of the room faded behind the warmth radiating from his body pressed close. The soft clink of the restaurant and low chatter surrounded the long sunlit table, brunch in full swing beneath linen parasols. Champagne flutes sweated, rosé ran like blush in the glass, but Trent only had eyes for you. You were curled into his side, your little white dress [ref index] riding up teasingly high, your thigh coyly brushed almost over his lap beneath the white tablecloth, his hand resting there like he owned it. Your fingers played lazily with the collar of his crisp white shirt, still slightly wrinkled from the mad rush to get out the door, not that anyone believed that was what had caused your tardiness.

“Did I tell you you look beautiful today?” He leaned into you, low and easy, lips grazing your ear as he murmured. His hand cupped your chin gently, thumb trailing over your bottom lip.  Your fingers brushed his wrist, then slid up, your palm pressing teasingly on his thigh now. 

“No…” You whispered,lips curling softly. He raised a brow, mock surprise lighting his eyes. “Said I looked sexy when we walked in,” you added, eyes twinkling, your gaze glinting with mischief.

“You do look sexy. Beautiful, too, though.” His lips curved into a slow, knowing smile.  You kissed the pad of his thumb, cheeks flushed, just as his lips dipped to your temple. For a second, everything was quiet between you,just the heat, the citrus sting of mimosa in the air, and the slow hum of being stupidly in love. Then, Kieren, impossibly sharp-eyed and always at the ready to tease Trent, spotted you two locked in your private world. 

“Should we tell them?” Kieren stage-whispered down the table, loudly enough for half the restaurant to hear. “Or should we just quietly leave and let them finish whatever foreplay they started outside on the pavement?” Campbell choked on her iced coffee. Foster exhaled a laugh, covering her eyes with a napkin playfully. You flushed, pulling back slightly but still pressed close to Trent, who chuckled, sliding a possessive hand down your back.Campbell caught the exchange from across the table, her smile teasing but fond, as the moment dissolved into laughter and warm chatter.

“Oh my god, please, don’t start with this Kier.” Leon groaned, burying his face in his hands.

“We’re literally ten minutes into brunch,” Campbell said, shaking her head. “Some of us are just trying to eat our eggs in peace.” Trent didn’t even flinch. 

“Bit rich though from the man who tried to tongue a girl behind a dessert menu last month.” He raised his brows, taunting Kieren. A story that’d been relayed to you from Trent, that’d been relayed to Trent from Leon, who had been told first hand from Kieren about a date he went on. 

“That was different,” Kieren shot back. “That was passion. This is just…disrespectful to the sourdough.” You laughed, head falling against Trent’s shoulder. 

“Don’t listen to them, baby. You do look beautiful.” He dropped a kiss to your hair whispering. 

“Thank you,” you whispered back, unable to keep from grinning.

“Get a room!” Kieren called.

“We had one,” Trent muttered under his breath, lips curling into a smug smile. Your cheeks flamed as you smacked lightly his chest. He only laughed harder, pulling you tighter. “Should’ve been late another half hour,” he murmured into your ear.

“God help us,” Foster said, raising her glass.

“To finally,” Campbell smirked, clinking glasses with Foster. Trent just leaned in again, chin on your shoulder, letting the world blur while he whispered something only meant for you.

—

The clatter of cutlery and soft murmur of conversation wrapped around the long wooden table where you were all sat, sunlight pooling warm across plates of avocado toast and steaming coffee cups. Campbell knew how to throw a brunch. It was always the perfect mix of relaxed energy and effortless style, fresh flowers in low vases, flickering candles, and the faint scent of lemon zest lingering in the air. You tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear and smiled, picking at a flaky croissant as the conversation drifted. Campbell was animatedly telling a story about her latest brand trip, Foster chiming in with teasing commentary, and Leon leaning in with genuine interest.

“Y/N, any new shoots coming up for you?” Leon asked casually, swirling his espresso. You glanced at Trent, who caught your eye and offered a small, sly smile. 

“Actually, yeah,” you said lightly, “I’m shooting something for Wales Bonner soon. Just something for new Adidas sambas.” Leon hummed thoughtfully, his brow furrowing just a little as if piecing something together. 

“Nice, nice. Sounds pretty cool. So you’ll grab me a pair?” He teased. 

“I’ll try, Lee.” You smiled.  Trent’s hand slid just enough to press into your thigh beneath the table, a gentle squeeze, brief but deliberate. You caught Campbell’s gaze out of the corner of your eye. Her lips curled into a subtle, knowing smile. She said nothing, choosing to hold back, storing the moment for later. You kept your tone casual, deflecting any deeper questions. “Just a quick campaign though.” You added. Leon nodded, clearly intrigued but respectful. 

“Looking forward to seeing it… and getting my shoes.” He winked at you. You laughed but Campbell’s eyes twinkled as she leaned back in her chair, watching the two of you with amused patience. She’d known something was up the moment you mentioned the shoot. The moment that a footballer was potentially in it. And now…she knew right then who that footballer for certain was.

“Want to come to the toilet with me?” she said, her tone low, but the excitement bubbling under it was impossible to miss. Campbell’s eyes caught yours across the table, a mischievous glint dancing in them. You nodded, giving her a quick glance that said ‘yes, I really need to talk to you.’ You hadn’t had a moment alone with her yet, and your best friends still had no clue you had a boyfriend. Foster and Delaney had perked up immediately, sensing that something juicy was about to drop. The four of you slipped away from the table, the clink of cutlery and chatter fading behind the restaurant’s heavy door. Inside the bathroom, the mirror’s soft glow caught your flushed cheeks as Campbell turned, leaning in with that familiar playful smirk.

“So… spill. What’s actually happening with the Wales Bonner shoot you’ve got coming up with? Are you shooting someone we know?” Campbell teased, one eyebrow raised. 

“You know him.” You hummed coyly, tilting your head, trying to keep your cool but failing because your heart was racing. Foster and Delaney exchanged wide-eyed looks, barely containing their excitement.

“Oh, come on, tell us!” Foster urged, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet. Delaney nodded vigorously, biting her lip to keep from laughing. You hushed them with a finger pressed lightly against your lips. 

“Shhh. Don’t freak out okay?” You hushed them. Delaney dragged her fingers across her mouth like a zipper over. “I didn’t want to tell you who until it officially got confirmed. But… I’m shooting my…” you paused for a moment, eyes shooting around the toilet looking for any potential eavesdroppers. “I’m photographing my boyfriend.” You whispered, a full smile uncontrollably blooming.  The girls stared at you, jaws dropping simultaneously.

“You’re photographing your WHAT!?” Campbell breathed, eyes sparkling. You nodded, cheeks burning. 

“Yes. I’m photographing my boyfriend.” you giggled proudly pushing your hair off your shoulder smug with the word. The room exploded with whispered shrieks and laughter.

“Wait, wait, wait… when did he ask you?!” Delaney squealed, clutching your arm.

“He asked this morning, it was really sweet.” You pouted. 

“Finally! About time, babe!” Foster threw her head back, laughing.  Campbell grinned widely, a little victorious. 

“Ugh I love love.” Campbell gushed squeezing you. You covered your face, laughing despite the embarrassment, your heart warm and full.

“I mean it’s new so maybe keep it hush though.” You cooed gently. 

“Won’t say a peep about you and your boyfriend” Delaney teasing wiggled her eyebrows. 

“Serious though, not even for us. I just don’t want anyone to know I’m dating the boy I’m photographing. I don’t want it to be seen like that’s why either he or I is at this shoot.” You said. 

“Course. Course. That’s fair. They wouldn’t but I get it.” Foster nodded understandingly. 

—

You and the girls slipped back into the warmth of the bustling restaurant, the lively hum of chatter and clinking glasses folding around you. Foster and Delaney caught your eye with wide grins, clearly, the secret was out, but for now, it was safely tucked between close friends. Kieren, perched beside Trent, caught your entrance and smirked knowingly. 

“Trentski,” Kieren leaned forward on his elbows, nursing his third mimosa like it was water. “What’s the plan next week? What are we doing? Got anything interesting going on?” There was an edge to his tone, one only a best mate could slip in, playful but baiting. Trent’s smile tugged slightly wider, a quiet flicker crossing his face like he already knew this was coming.

“Nah, bro. Told you, I'm busy. I got something,” he replied, brushing a hand over his fade, casual, but that glint in his eye gave him away. A touch too pleased with himself. Campbell, across the table, gave him a look so pointed and drunk-smug it could cut through glass. Her brows lifted. Her lips twitched. She didn’t say a word, she didn’t have to. Her eyes danced between you and Trent like she was enjoying a private game. Kieren watched all of it unfold. Slowly. Then suddenly. He blinked once. Then again.

“Ohhh…” he sat back in his chair, letting the realization hit full force. “So when you said ‘the girlfriend thing’s overlapping with work,’ you meant, like… actual work.” The table paused.

“T!” You turned to look at him.  Kieren grinned, eyes wide and mischievous, like a boy who’d just cracked a code. 

“Yeah, man didn’t exactly specify you were the creative direction of the week.” Campbell pressed her napkin to her mouth to hide a laugh. Foster let out a soft gasp. 

“Oh my god.” Delaney blinked once before murmuring. Trent didn’t even flinch. He simply reached under the table and squeezed your thigh, grounding you like it was nothing. Like this was exactly where he wanted you.

“Guess the NDA’s out the window,” Campbell joked, raising her glass. You shook your head, cheeks warm, eyes flicking back to Trent, who just kept smiling, his thumb brushing over your leg, casual and quiet, but comforting. You hadn’t even known he’d told his friends. But he had. And somehow, that made everything feel even more real. 

“They were always gonna find out, baby.” He turned to you, leaning in with a soft, crooked smirk, voice barely a whisper in the hum of the restaurant. You smiled, heart stammering. A ripple of restrained laughter circled the table, and you felt Trent’s warm breath against your temple as he slipped an arm around your shoulder, pressing a gentle kiss to your hair.

“Yeah,” you whispered back, heart fluttering, soaking in the moment; the teasing, the closeness, the beautiful secret that was yours alone to share, when the time was right. “I know.” And at that moment, you didn’t even care who else knew. The way he looked at you? Everyone probably already did.

—

The car hummed beneath you, gliding through golden-hour light that slipped like honey between the buildings, painting the streets in warm amber. The windows were slightly fogged from the inside, your laughter still hanging in the air, the kind that only comes after a table of friends, good food, one too many flutes of champagne and the buzz of shared secrets. Trent’s arm curled around your shoulders as you leaned into him, your cheek resting over the soft cotton of his white tee. He smelled like sun-warmed skin and whatever cologne he wore that made your stomach flutter, it was faint now, dulled by the hours you’d spent tangled in each other. You looked up at him, voice a little shy. 

“I hope it’s okay I told the girls. I didn’t say anything specific, I just… I don’t know, it felt right. They could tell anyway.” Trent tilted his head to meet your eyes, the corner of his mouth tugging into a crooked smile. 

“Baby, I’ve been texting Kier for days about this ” He smirked.

“You haven’t.”  You laughed, hiding your face in his chest. 

“Swear.” He chuckled, voice low, warm. “Think I told him I was gonna marry you before I even asked you to be my girlfriend.” You looked up, heart full and a little achy from how badly you’d needed this, his arms, his sincerity, the ease of it all now that nothing stood between you.

“Yeah?” you whispered. Trent nodded, pulling you in tighter until your legs were almost across his lap, his chin resting in your hair. 

“Yeah. Just feels like, fuck, baby, I don’t even know. Like I’m breathing easier now. Like I’ve got you, proper. And I’m not letting go.” You exhaled slowly against him, melting into the cradle of his body, your fingers threading with his.

“Me neither,” you whispered. “I don’t ever want to let go.” The world blurred past the windows, but inside the car, everything was still, safe, sweet, yours.

—

[Would’ve Been You - Sombr]

The front door clicked shut behind you with a gentle thud, muffling the hum of the outside world. The scent of home hit instantly, laundered cotton, candle wax and something boyish, familiar. The golden light from outside had followed you in, spilling across the hardwood floors like it too wanted to stay close. You slipped off your heels with a sigh, fingertips brushing along the edge of the console table, but before you could move another step, Trent's arms were around your waist from behind.

"Where d’you think you’re going?” he murmured against your neck, voice playful, warm.

“To get changed? To pee? To breathe?” You laughed, light and tired in that sweet, full way. 

“Nope. Can’t have that.” He nuzzled in, dragging his nose along your jaw with ridiculous stubbornness. “Need you here.”

“T,” you laughed, trying to twist out of his grasp, but he just turned you around and walked you backward until your spine met the wall near the stairs. His hands planted on either side of your hips like brackets, a grin spreading across his face as he looked down at you.

“You’re such a brat,” you teased, reaching up to run your fingers over the curls at the top of his head.

“Mm. And you’re my girl now, so you’ve gotta deal with it,” he said, leaning in to kiss the corner of your mouth. “All mine.” Your smile faltered just slightly, replaced by something softer, deeper. He noticed it immediately, brushing your cheek with his thumb like a reassurance, though he didn’t speak on it. Just held you there like the safest place in the world was right here,  not behind locks or under blankets, but wrapped up in arms that knew how to hold you exactly right. 

“Can I go change now?” After a long beat, you poked at his side gently. 

“Nope.” He smirked. “Come lie with me for a minute first. Clothes later.” You rolled your eyes, cheeks already warm from the way he was looking at you.

“Just a minute?” You hummed knowing it was a bold face lie.

“Maybe two,” he purred, already tugging you toward the stairs, your fingers still looped with his. And you let him, let him lead you like that, up the steps and into the soft quiet of his bedroom, where the light spilled through sheer curtains and the sheets were still rumpled from the last time you’d tangled yourselves in them. He climbed onto the bed first, flopping dramatically, then held out his arms. “C’mere baby.” You crawled up and settled onto his chest, laughing as he pulled the blanket over you both even though it wasn’t cold, wrapping you into him like you were something precious that had to be kept close. You were. You’d barely been on the bed five minutes when he let out a long, dramatic sigh beneath you, fingers lightly trailing up and down the curve of your back through your dress.

“I could stay like this forever,” he mumbled into your hair, voice already thick with that lazy, post-brunch haze.

“Yeah?” you giggled, propping your chin on his chest. “Thought you said just a minute.”

“I lied,” he said without shame, eyes still closed but smiling. “Don’t go. I’ll make tea. Toast. Champagne donuts. Whatever you want.” You giggled, curling closer. 

“You want me to stay in bed with you… and you’re trying to bribe me with food?”

“Baby,” he cracked one eye open, gaze playful. “I’m desperate.” You grinned, shifting your leg to slide over both of his, properly straddling his hips now as you let your weight settle. 

“Well, if you’re desperate…” you hummed, letting the words trail off as your fingers slowly ran along the hem of your dress. His hands came to your thighs instantly, gripping, grounding, eyes now very much open as he watched the little smirk forming on your lips. “Maybe I should get more comfortable then?” you offered innocently, tilting your head. “You sure about not letting me change?” You taunted him. 

“Mm no, I think you can.” A dark spark flickered across his face, lashes heavy as he sat up just slightly, chest brushing yours. “Yeah…” he purred, one palm gliding up your spine, greedy now. “You want some help with that?” Your only answer was a quiet giggle and the slow, deliberate peel of your dress off of you. He hummed low in his throat, the sound barely audible but deeply felt, vibrating between your ribs as his hands came up to meet your bare skin like he already missed the barrier. “Fuck me, baby…you’re trouble,” he whispered, reverent, pulling you into a kiss that stayed smiling even as it deepened.

“You started it,” you teased, breath brushing over his lips as your arms looped around his neck.

“I plan to finish it too,” he murmured, and then, softer, almost like he didn’t want to break the spell, “Stay here with me.” You kissed him again, slower now. 

“I’m not going anywhere.” He leaned his forehead against yours with a grin. 

“Good. Because I’m absolutely not letting you out of this bed.” And the blanket fell back over both of you as the afternoon slipped away, warm light filtering across tangled limbs, your giggles buried in the quiet hush of skin and kisses, the whole world reduced to soft sheets and him. 

—

The blanket had slipped halfway down your back, your bare chest pressed to his as your bodies settled again in the quiet. Outside, the day was shifting golden, the afternoon sun casting lazy streaks of amber across the white walls of his bedroom. The air was thick with stillness, not silence, the gentle hum of life muted behind closed curtains and warm skin.

“C’mere. I love you, you know that?” He hummed against your lips. 

“Mmhmm.” you sighed contentedly against him, cheek resting on his collarbone, your leg slung between his. His fingers were tracing mindless, feather-light shapes across your lower back, dipping just beneath the waistband of your panties but never quite testing the line. Just resting there, like he needed to know where you were.

“Warm enough?” he murmured.

“Mmhmm.” You nodded, nuzzling your nose against the soft skin of his neck. “You’re like a radiator.”

“Built different.” He huffed a sleepy laugh, lips brushing your hair.

“Truly.” You giggled, lifting your hand to stroke through the tight curls at the nape of his neck. “Pouty lips, hair faded, doe eyes, and high heat.”

“You forgot dangerously in love,” he added, pulling you closer so your entire body melted into his with a dramatic squeeze. “And cuddly to the point of inconvenience.”

“Mmm, you’re very inconvenient,” you teasingly agreed through a smile, kissing just beneath his jaw. “Can’t do anything when you’re wrapped around me like this.”

“That’s the idea,” he mumbled, shifting slightly to bury his face in your shoulder, exhaling like you were the pillow he’d spent years trying to find. “No more moving. No more responsibilities. Just us. Naked. Napping. Eternally.”

“Tempting.” Your fingers danced along his spine. “But I think eventually we’ll need snacks.”

“I’ll door it in.” He peeked at you through lidded eyes. “Don’t test me. We’re making this bed a permanent residence.”

“Okay, but…” you giggled, slipping your hand down to squeeze his bum, “we might need to negotiate rent if I’m gonna live here.” His chest shook with laughter. 

“Nah, nah. I always take care of you. But if you want to chip in, can pay in back rubs and forehead kisses, and midnight tea, and slow showers.” He hummed. 

“I love slow showers.”  You paused, lifting your head just enough to meet his eyes.

“I know,” he said softly, brushing your hair behind your ear. “I pay attention.” You smiled, cheeks flushed with the sincerity in his voice. A beat passed, quiet and comfortable. Then—

“Baby…” he said with sudden mischief, thumb stroking your hipbone now. “You just squeeze my ass?”

“Absolutely.” You smirked proudly.

“Mad.” He rolled onto his back, dragging you with him like a greedy magnet. You squealed through your laughter, limbs tangled and still bare, your knees bracketing his hips now.

“I’m just making sure I still like it,” you teased. 

 “And?” He grinned up at you, sleepy and stupidly gorgeous beneath you. You bent low, kissing the curve of his cheek, your nose brushing his.

“Still deciding.” You purred as the duvet fell somewhere behind Trent’s back as he rolled you back underneath him. Afternoon light filtered through the curtains in soft gold ribbons, casting the room in warmth, but none of it compared to the heat curled between you. He was half above you now, half beside you, your legs draped over his hips. Skin on skin, breath on breath, the space between you nonexistent. One of his hands traced gentle patterns along the inside of your thigh, slow, idle strokes, more affectionate than urgent, but the burn of them still left you exhaling softer. “Feels like we’ve been in bed for days,” you murmured, your fingers intertwining through the top of his curls. You scratched gently at his scalp, the way you knew he liked. His eyes fluttered closed.

“That’s cause we have,” he hummed, nosing along your collarbone, his voice still sleep-heavy and sweet. “And I’m not finished.” You giggled softly, but it fell into a sigh as his mouth found the hollow of your throat. He kissed you there, slow, reverent. Then again, lower.

“T…” you whispered, voice thinner now.

“Mm?” He looked up, lips brushing your skin

“You okay?” You asked earnestly.

“Yeah, baby.” He nudged your nose with his, kissed the corner of your mouth. “Just need you.” There was nothing cocky in the way he said it. No smugness or swagger. Just truth. Raw and aching and full of love. You lifted your hips into him slightly, arching into his warmth. 

“Okay. Then take me. Slowly.” That got him. He exhaled hard through his nose, something close to a whimper escaping under his breath. His hands slid up your body, one anchoring at your waist, the other curling gently around your jaw as he kissed you. Deep and unhurried. Like he could write sonnets with his mouth. His tongue traced yours with the softest ache, a rhythm that matched the lazy drag of his fingertips down your ribs. He pulled back only barely, foreheads pressed, both of you breathless.

“I love you,” he said, almost like he didn’t mean to say it out loud. “So much I feel sick with it.” You gasped a laugh and then wrapped your arms tighter around him. 

“Same. I feel like I’m full of you.” His eyes closed as he rested his weight over you again, pressing his hips just enough for both of you to feel the tension ignite again. The kind of touch that set you both trembling but neither of you rushed it. He kissed your chest, your shoulder, every inch of you he could reach, reverent like he was rediscovering the body he already adored. You scratched lightly down his back, hips slowly rolling up into his, matching him beat for beat in a rhythm that was more about closeness than climax, though that wouldn’t be far behind either.

“You feel like mine,” he whispered into your skin.

“I am,” you whispered back, already breathless again.

—

[Sin On Purpose - Isaiah Falls]

The room was dipped in that glow of an afternoon you let slip away, where time softened and stretched, and the world outside felt too far to touch you. The sheets were tangled somewhere at your feet, one of Trent’s legs slung over yours, his bare skin warm against your thigh. His hand grazed slow, deliberate strokes up the line of your waist, knuckles brushing your ribs like he could memorize you through touch alone.

“You’re staring,” you whispered, your voice low, nearly shy, though your body arched slightly into him. He smiled against your jaw, lazy, unhurried, his breath humid against your skin.

“’Cause I like what’s mine,” he murmured, kissing just below your ear. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” You rolled into him, dragging your fingers across the firm curve of his chest, feeling him twitch slightly beneath you. 

“Thought you said you were tired, Mr. Alexander-Arnold…”

“Mm,” he hummed, voice curling with mischief. “Must’ve gotten my second wind.” His lips found yours, soft but increasingly deep, hands sliding lower with more certainty now. You whimpered gently into the kiss, fingers splaying up the base of his neck. He shifted, nudging your leg open with his thigh, the weight of him grounding you. You could feel him now, warm and hard, pressing against your stomach, his need unconcealed. “You feel that?” he whispered, dragging his lips down your neck, along your collarbone, each word a low rumble vibrating against your chest. “That’s what you do to me, baby.” Your nails skimmed down his back, your breath catching as his mouth closed around the peak of your breast, sucking soft, then teasing it with the scrape of his teeth. 

“T…” A moan slipped from your lips, quiet but desperate.

“Tell me what you want.” He looked up, his eyes dark and earnest. 

“You,” you breathed, no hesitation. “Just—.” He kissed a line down your stomach, reverent, teasing, leaving your skin marked in warmth. You parted your legs a little wider, the slow, eager motion of invitation that made Trent’s breath hitch, his dark eyes flicking up to meet yours from where he slid between your thighs. “Mmm,” you hummed, breath warm and shallow. “Can do anything you want, T.” The words landed like fuel to flame. Something behind his gaze shifted,hungrier, needier. Yours.

“Fuck, baby,” he murmured, voice low and reverent as he dragged your panties down the length of your leg, fingers slow and grazing. “You’re soaked for me.” He didn’t wait. His fingers slid through your slick folds, slow at first, like he wanted to memorize every texture of you. He groaned at the feel, like it was driving him mad in the best way. His thumb pressed gently to your clit, circling, coaxing, as he slid two fingers inside you, curling just right. Your walls fluttered greedily around him, your hips tilting toward his touch, mouth falling open. And then he dipped his head. His hands anchored your hips as he buried himself between your thighs, tongue slow, purposeful. You gasped, hands flying to his curls, thighs instinctively closing around his shoulders as your body began to tremble.

“T…oh fuck, right there—” You gasped when his lips met your center, plush and hot, the wet heat of his tongue immediately flicking at your clit. He groaned into you, like the taste of you ruined him. His fingers stayed buried, slow and deep, while his mouth worked you with purpose, sucking, kissing, worshipping. He repositioned himself, shoulders locked between your thighs, arms wrapping under them to pull you closer, tighter, like he couldn’t bear any space between you. His tongue parted your folds, teasing you with broad strokes, then sharper ones, fluttering at your swollen bud with soft, relentless focus. He moaned against you like he couldn’t get enough, like your taste was holy.  The sounds, your breathy moans, the slick heat of his mouth, the quiet praise tumbling from his lips, filled the room like music.

“That’s it,” he whispered against you, his smile barely audible but felt all the same. “I got you, baby.” You caught the curve of his lips right before your eyes rolled back. He was soaked in you, shining with you, smiling like your pleasure was the only thing that mattered in the world.

“Baby,” you whined, over and over, your voice slipping higher, breath caught somewhere between disbelief and ecstasy.

“Cum for me,” he coaxed, gentle, loving, his words vibrating against your clit. “Just relax, beautiful. Let go. I’ve got you.” Your orgasm crashed over you like a wave you didn’t see coming, white-hot and all-consuming. Your hips stuttered beneath him as he kept going, chasing every last tremble, every last moan. You keened, fingers tangling in his hair, your thighs trembling around his shoulders as he carried you through it. “Good girl,” he whispered, lips brushing your inner thigh like a kiss made of silk. “So good for me.” And when he looked up at you, face slick, eyes soft, chest rising with heavy, reverent breath, you felt more than claimed. You felt loved. Completely.

He moved slowly, mouth slick, eyes half-lidded coming back up to kiss you hard, messy and wanting. You could taste yourself on his tongue.

“Need more,” you panted, pulling him closer.

“C’mere, baby,” he said, guiding himself to you, his forehead against yours. “I’m gonna take my time.” And he did. He slid into you slow, filling you so deep you couldn’t breathe for a moment, your fingers clawing into his back as your body adjusted around him. He stayed there, fully inside you, not moving, just holding your gaze. “You okay?” he whispered, completely bare.

“I love you.” Your eyes stung as you wrapped your arms tighter around him. His heart faltered. And then, the rhythm started, lazy, loving, aching with everything you’d both held. His hips rolled into yours with slow strokes, deep and intentional, his lips all over you. Your name on his tongue sounded like worship. 

“I’ve got you, baby.” His voice was a promise, low and sure, as he kissed the crown of your head. Then, with one smooth, fluid motion, Trent hooked an arm beneath your thigh and flipped you, his grip strong but reverent, laying you flat on your stomach. You barely had time to gasp before he was kneeling behind you, hands warm and certain at your hips as he pulled you back into him, guiding you to rise to your knees, arching on all fours. “Be a good girl for me,” he purred, voice brushing your spine like silk. “Arch your back how I like.” And you did. Instinctive. Obedient. Yours was a body that had learned his language. “That’s it… fuck,” he groaned, taking you in from behind, eyes fixed on the slope of your back, the curve of your hips, the way you opened for him like it was the only thing you’d ever known. “You’re perfect like this.” You felt the first slow press of him sliding into your wetness, your body parting to welcome him. It was languid at first, his hips moving with restraint, like he wanted to memorize the way you felt around him again and again. But he didn’t stay patient for long. The rhythm built, steady to sharp, deep to deeper, until you were gasping, head dropped forward against the mattress, the sheets soft against your cheek. 

“Fuck, T..” you moaned, voice cracking into a whimper. “So fucking deep…” His thrusts grew harsher, rougher, each one stealing the breath from your lungs. His balls slapped wetly against your clit with each movement, and you cried out when he landed a sharp slap to your ass. Your body responded before your mind could catch up, arching deeper, your hips rolling back to meet his. You wanted more, always more.

“Yeah? You like that, huh?” he grunted, voice breaking on a growl. “You’re so dirty f’me. Taking it so well.” You could barely nod, the words caught in your throat replaced by ragged, high-pitched sounds of need. He knew. He always knew. The way your body trembled under his, the heat radiating off your skin, the way your breath hitched when he leaned in close, it all told him everything. You felt a warm string of spit land on the small of your back, slick and sinful, sliding between your ass cheeks.  You knew this feeling. You knew it well. You shivered. Bit down on your lip. Your body aching and eager. Then his finger pressed lightly against your tightest point.

“Baby…” you gasped, stiffening, nerves fraying. He stilled. Kissed the small of your back, his touch featherlight.

“Shhh… relax, baby,” he whispered, hand splayed across your spine, grounding you. “You’re my good girl. Let me take care of you. I know what you like.” His finger circled slowly, teasing, coaxing. You moaned, softer now, letting yourself melt into it. The pressure built, gentle but insistent, until he was sliding in, his finger easing past the tight ring of muscle as your hips twitched, involuntary. The stretch made you cry out, part bliss, part release. He didn’t stop. He stayed with you. His cock filled you, his finger curling inside you, the dual sensation making your vision blur. “Just like tha. Take it. Let go for me, baby,” he murmured. Your release snapped like a fever breaking.

“I’m gonna cum, T.” You whined as your body convulsed, cunt clenching greedily around him, waves of pleasure crashing as his name fell from your lips like a prayer.

“Fuck…fuck.” he growled behind you, burying himself deep as he came, his grip bruising, breath uneven. You felt him fill you, warm and thick, pulsing inside your walls before he collapsed forward, catching himself just barely, forehead resting between your shoulder blades. Silence settled soft and golden between you. Just the echo of your panting breaths. The heat of him draped across your spine. The ache of love in every muscle. He rolled beside you, pulling you into him instinctively, his arm locking around your middle, your back pressed to his chest.

“That was…” he tried, breathless. You reached back, finding his lips with your finger, quieting him.

“Baby,” you whispered. “Shh. Just hold me.” And he did. His arms encased you, your bodies tangled in the sheets, your pulse still fluttering from the weight of him, the weight of all of it. Because you knew, without needing to hear it. He loved you. Not just in the way he fucked you, but in the way he touched you after. The way he buried his face in your neck like it was home. The way he stroked your skin, like memorizing it would keep him safe. “Stay here,” he murmured. “Like this. Forever.”

“Deal.” You smiled, eyes fluttered closed, half asleep from orgasmic bliss. 

—

The room was warm with the lull of late afternoon light, the shadows long and syrupy across the wooden floors. Somewhere in the distance, you thought you heard a soft crack of thunder, like the sky itself had sighed. But inside the four walls of Trent’s bedroom, it was silent, thick with the kind of stillness that follows something sacred. You lay chest to chest, limbs tangled like ivy, skin damp and glowing. The duvet was half-kicked to the floor, the two of you cocooned in the heat of each other instead. His hand was tracing lazy, aimless shapes along your spine, fingers featherlight, like he was still drawing the memory of you onto his skin. Your cheek was pressed against his chest, ear catching the steady thrum of his heart, and for a moment you imagined it had changed rhythm just for you.

“You alright, beautiful?” he asked softly, his voice raspy and barely there, like it didn’t want to disturb the quiet.

“Mhm.” You nodded against him. “Perfect.” Trent smiled, lips brushing the crown of your head. 

“Didn’t think it was possible to feel this good and not be asleep.” He hummed. 

“You will be soon,” you teased gently, drawing your fingers along the edge of his jaw. “You always doze off after…”

“Don’t say it,” he groaned into a laugh, hand slipping down to squeeze your hip. “Let me enjoy being awake with you for five more minutes.”

“Fine,” you whispered, peering up at him with a sleepy smile. “Five.” The light flickered through the slats of the blinds, golden and slanted, catching on his lashes as he blinked down at you. You reached up and ran your hand over his curls, thumb brushing his temple.

“What?” he asked, a quiet grin forming.

“Nothing. Just…” you trailed off. “You’re really beautiful. And I’m… really happy.”

“Me too, baby. I didn’t know it could feel like this.” His eyes softened.

“Like what?” You asked. 

“Like peace.” His fingers curved gently beneath your chin, tilting your face up. “Like home.” Your throat tightened, and you swallowed, blinking slowly before pressing your lips to his chest, right over his heart. For a while, neither of you spoke. There was nothing that needed saying, really. His hands moved in soft patterns over your back, your fingers curling just above his waistband where the sheets tangled low on his hips.

“Don’t fall asleep,” you whispered again with a yawn.

“I won’t,” he murmured, but he was already fading, his arms still pulling you tighter. “Just… resting my eyes.” You smiled to yourself, kissed his shoulder, and let your own eyes drift closed, safe, sated, and folded perfectly into the quiet hush of love.

—

[Inside Out - Keshi]

You woke to the sound of rain, gentle, steady, a rhythmic hush against the windows that made the whole room feel wrapped in cotton. The golden light had dulled into a blue-gray glow, dusk settling in softly like a secret. Trent was still asleep beneath you, one arm heavy across your back, his hand tucked into the curve of your waist. His chest rose and fell slow and steady beneath your cheek, the cadence of his breath like a lullaby you could live inside. You shifted slightly, curling into him. Your thigh slid over his, the sheets warm between you. You tilted your face upward, chin resting on his sternum, studying him. His lashes fluttered, long and low, and his lips, God, those lips, were slightly parted in the softness of sleep. You smiled, so full it made your chest ache.

“I like being your girlfriend.” Your voice was a whisper against his skin. His brows pulled ever so slightly, lips twitching. He wasn’t fully awake yet, but he’d heard you. You waited.

“Yeah?” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep, low and warm.

“Yeah.” You nodded against him, pressing a kiss just above his heart. “Like… a lot.” He groaned, pulling you tighter into him, burying his face into your hair. 

“Good,” he mumbled. “’Cause I’m obsessed with you.”

“Obsessed, huh?” You giggled. 

“Dangerously,” he said, voice still muffled. “Like might get it tattooed somewhere.” Your eyes widened in surprise but he didn’t see. 

“Where?” You pulled back just enough to look at him, nose brushing his. He cracked open one eye, the corner of his mouth lifting. 

“Somewhere scandalous.” He smirked. 

“I’d pay to see that.” You laughed, kissing his jaw.  He caught your waist, flipping you gently so you were on your back and he hovered above you, grinning now, curls mussed and eyes sleepy but bright. 

“Eh, least my girlfriend thinks I’m cute.” He teased.

“She thinks you’re adorable,” you corrected, brushing your fingers over his curls.

“She’s got great taste.” Trent dipped to kiss your collarbone.  You hummed in agreement, letting your fingers trace the line of his spine. 

“You’re really sweet, T.” He paused for a beat. His eyes softened as he looked down at you. 

“So are you. I’ve never had anything like this before.” He whispered. 

“Me neither.” You admitted.

“Still doesn’t feel real sometimes,” he whispered, touching your cheek. “Like I’m gonna wake up and be in some hotel in Spain still trying to figure out how to find you, how to kiss you properly.” 

“You figured it out just fine,” you teased, drawing him down for another kiss. Slow. Sweet. Deep. He smiled against your lips. 

“So… do we live here now? Is this our life? Just hiding from the world in bed?” He smirked. 

“Honestly? Could be worse.” You giggled. 

“But—” he groaned dramatically, collapsing beside you. “I’m starving.” You curled into his side, legs tangling again.

 “Me too.” You purred.

“Okay, hear me out: I carry you to the kitchen.”  He looked at you seriously. 

“I can walk,” you laughed.

“Nah, nah, nah. My girl’s delicate,” he teased, already starting to move.

“I swear to God if you drop me—” You yelped. 

“Then we order pizza and I feed it to you in bed as an apology.” He hummed.  You pressed your face into his shoulder, grinning. 

“Fine. But I’m picking the toppings.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. But I’m still carrying you.” You rolled your eyes, linking your arms around his neck. Trent had never dropped you. Not even for a moment. 

—

The kitchen was dimly lit, warm with the haze of evening and the quiet hum of rain still whispering against the windows. Trent stood shirtless in a pair of joggers curls slightly flattened from sleep, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand like a boy reluctantly pulled from a dream. You padded in behind him, his hoodie now nearly swallowing you, bare legs brushing his as you leaned into his back and wrapped your arms around his middle. He smiled lazily, placing his hands over yours, fingers lacing instinctively.

“Takeaway?” he mumbled, voice low and gravel-soft. You shook your head, cheek pressed between his shoulder blades. 

“No. I should cook.” He turned in your arms, brow raised dramatically. 

“Cook? You sure you’re not still half-asleep?” You giggled, pulling him closer by the drawstring of his sweats. 

“Don’t act shocked. I’ve cooked for you before.”

“Yeah,” he drawled, pressing a kiss to your hair, “but I can have food made for us.” You swayed with him lazily, smiling into his chest. 

“You’re spoiled. Too used to that chef of yours.” He gave an exaggerated gasp. 

“Aye baby…Excuse me. I do my part.” He smirked knowing very well… he did not. 

“You have no groceries, T.” You giggled. 

“It’s the off season!” he protested. “I have a chef during the year!” You just shook your head, grinning as your hands slipped up his bare chest.

“What would you do without me?” You purred. 

“Starve,” he replied instantly, then leaned down and kissed your jaw. “You tryna be my chef, baby?”

“Maybe.” You nodded slowly, cheekily. 

“Might take you up on that.” He hummed, eyes sparkling with that playful glint again.

“Yeah?” You raised a brow.

“Could use a live-in chef.” He purred, brushing his nose against yours, and your heart skipped a beat, soft and dangerous in its gentleness.

“That a proposition, T?” You swallowed.

“Just sayin’. You cook… You kiss me… You sleep in my bed… Might as well be on payroll.” He shrugged with a smirk. You smacked his chest, giggling.

“Ridiculous.” He caught your hand and pressed a kiss to it. 

“Nah. I’m in love.” You rolled your eyes, blushing. 

“Okay. Enough flirting. Let’s make something. Pasta? You have to have pasta.” You muttered looking around the bare kitchen. 

“Carbs? Sexy.” He winked. You shook your head. “You want help?” You turned, tugging open the fridge. 

“No offence, baby, but your idea of help is boiling water…” You began to tease him but he cut you off. 

“It is,” he grinned, hopping up to sit on the counter. “But I’ll also look very good doing it.”

“That’s true. I wasn’t gonna say no.” You peeked back at him cheekily.

“And I’ll clean.” He pointed a finger.

“No you won’t.” You laughed at him. Trent just shrugged.  And just like that, the two of you moved together with the ease of a rhythm you hadn’t known you’d memorized, him grabbing a pot, you chopping garlic, both of you barefoot and flushed with the kind of intimacy that wasn’t loud, just certain. You’d lost track of the outside world again, tucked away in this glowing kitchen, wrapped in laughter and the quiet sweetness of love that showed up in the smallest, most ordinary things.

—

The pasta bowls were warm in your laps, wine glasses resting on the coffee table, condensation trailing down the stems. The lights were low, just the golden glow of the kitchen spilling into the living room and the flicker of a candle on the windowsill, dancing against the glass. Rain tapped lazily outside, softer now, like even the sky had quieted to let you two exist a little longer in this pocket of peace. You curled your feet beneath you on the couch, Trent’s thigh pressed flush against yours as he used his fork to steal a bite off your plate, completely ignoring his own.

“Hello?.” You narrowed your eyes.

“Yours tastes better than mine,” he mumbled, mouth already full. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“It’s the same!” You yelped, swatting your fork at his.

“Nah.” He shrugged with a grin. “Yours is always better. Swear.” He nudged your fork with his again, just to steal another piece.  You laughed, tucking your legs across his lap, stretching a little to reach your wine. He caught your foot absentmindedly, fingers rubbing gentle circles against your ankle. The TV was playing something neither of you were watching, background murmurs to the softness between bites, to the way his thumb moved absentmindedly against your skin, to the way you kept glancing over at him and catching him already looking at you. When your plates were empty, Trent reached to set them on the table, then tugged you fully into his lap with a low groan of satisfaction. “This is it. This is everything.”

“Wine and carbs?” He pressed his nose into your neck. 

“You. My hoodie. Your pasta. And the smell of it in my house. Heaven.” You giggled, lazily tracing the shape of his jaw with your fingertips. He caught your hand and kissed it softly, letting your fingers linger against his lips. After a moment, he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. “You excited to shoot me next week?”

“That’s a ridiculous sentence.” You blinked, smiling slowly. 

“Be honest. Can’t wait to boss me around in whatever nonsense they throw me in.” He smirked.

“You're not wrong.” You laughed, pushing his shoulder gently. 

“Gonna have me posing all moody in a £2,000 tracksuit like I don’t sleep in the same bed as the photographer.”

“Mmm.” You hummed, scratching at the fade of his hair. “You’re already moody anyways.” You teased. Trent’s lips parted in feigned offense.  “Maybe I’ll make them have you model shirtless. You okay with that?” 

“I’ll be fine. Think you could handle that though, baby?” His eyes lit up, grin teasing. 

“I’m professionally capable.” You leaned in close, your nose brushing his.

“You sure you won’t jump me on set?” He kissed you, just once, soft and smug. 

“Not if you behave.” You purred.

“Nah, I don’t think I want to.” You both dissolved into a soft laugh, your arms falling around his shoulders, wine forgotten, the room blurring out around you again like it always did when he held you like this, just you and him, the warmth of dinner lingering on your skin, and that slow, silly, beautiful love that made everything feel brand new.

—

The night had settled sweet and heavy around you, like honey pooled at the bottom of a mug. Upstairs, the low hum of the toothbrush filled Trent’s bathroom as you stood at the sink, your eyes soft in the mirror, your limbs loose with warmth and wine and the glow of him. He stood beside you, fresh from the shower, curls damp and low fade glistening at the edges, toothbrush tucked into his cheek as he spoke around it, mumbling something you didn’t quite catch. You were tugging one of his t-shirts, soft and worn, warm from the dryer, over your head, the hem falling to your thighs. His eyes flicked to you in the mirror, and he mumbled again, quieter.

“What?” you laughed gently, the cotton catching on damp skin. “Baby, can you please finish brushing and then tell me what you just said?” He grinned with a mouthful of toothpaste, spat, rinsed, then leaned in to press a kiss to your shoulder, warm and wet from the tap. 

“I said—” he kissed you again, voice teasing now— “a live-in chef wouldn’t have to borrow shirts. Could have her own drawer here. Whole wardrobe, even.” Your laugh was sleepy, thick with affection.

 “You tryna bribe me into domesticity?” You raised your brows.

“Just sayin’,” he shrugged, following you into the bedroom, only in his boxers now, toned and golden under the soft bedroom light, his chain catching against his chest. “Might be room for all your things too. Little shelf here, little shelf there. Designer robe. Slippers.”

“I’d take the slippers.” You crawled into bed, still giggling, folding into the pillows as he climbed in after you, the mattress dipping under his weight. He pulled you into his chest without a word, your cheek resting over his heart. One of his legs hooked around yours, his hand smoothing up your thigh and setting it snug across his hips. You draped your arm across his waist, nails dragging soft, absentminded patterns into his skin.

“So what are you saying?” you whispered against his skin, breath brushing his collarbone.  He was quiet for a second, like maybe he was considering keeping it to himself. Then he tilted his face toward yours, lips near your temple.

“I’m saying,” he repeated gently, “a live-in photographer sounds little better than a chef.” His fingers slipped into your hair, his voice so low and affectionate it melted into you. “Think about it, baby.” You lifted your head, your hand sliding up his chest until you could see his eyes. Your lips curved into a knowing smile. 

“I have,” you murmured. Then you kissed him, slow and deep, not out of urgency but comfort, that aching need to show him that you already were his. He smiled into it, fingers cradling your face.

“Love you so much,” he whispered against your mouth, then again softer against your hair. You exhaled through a smile, burying yourself in his chest again as he held you tighter, your legs tangled, your heart full, and the whole night settling over you like silk. The last thing you heard was the softest hum in his throat, his chest rising and falling under your ear, the quiet, unspoken promise of forever lingering in the warmth between you.

•

Thank you for reading! I really hope you enjoy this chapter and look forward to what's ahead!

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Next part - Chapter 29 Coming Soon!

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[lilianne-tarot]

PICK A CARD: WHO ARE YOU GONNA DATE NEXT? ᯓ★

I. II. III.

How to Pick Your Pile: Take a deep breath, clear your mind, and look at the images below. Which one pulls you in the most? Trust your gut! Once you choose the image, The number below your chosen image is your pile. If more than one catches your eye, that just means there’s extra tea for you, go ahead and read both!

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⋆✴︎˚⋆ Pile I

OH- OHHHHHHHHH (I HAD to do this🤓) The moment I flipped these cards, I had to take a deep breath because WOW this spread is screaming romance, romance, ROMANCEThe energy here? Soft, dreamy, emotionally available, and actually willing to communicate their feelings like a functioning adult. (Shocking, I know.) This is the kind of person who has main character energy, but not in an obnoxious "look at me" way, more like a "low-key mysterious but actually an absolute sweetheart who accidentally makes people fall in love with them" type. They are also giving ‘hopeless romantic with a heart of gold’ vibes, but also kinda shy and dorky at times.

They’re deeply in touch with their emotions, thanks to all this Cups energy, which means they feel things deeply. We’re talking someone who sends you “thinking of you” texts just because, who remembers tiny details about you that even you forgot, and who probably makes killer playlists based on your mood. (OML😭) They might even be the type to write poetry or play an instrument. (If this person owns a guitar and has ever strummed it while looking out of a window dramatically, I will scream.) They’re also super romantic. They believe in love. Like, BELIEVE believe. They’re not out here for some casual nonsense; they’re here for the feels. If they’ve been hurt before, they’re still hopeful and open to love instead of being bitter. (We love emotional maturity.) Physically i am seeing doe-eyed, soft-smiling, artistic cutie vibes. BABE. BABE. This relationship is so soft, so wholesome, so emotionally fulfilling, if yall are people who had a relationship where you felt like you didn't even exist to the person then this NEXT relationship is totally different. You know how in movies there’s always that one couple who makes everyone else sick with how adorable they are? Yeah, that’s y’all (i’m really NOT jealous) . They’re also a partner in every sense of the word meaning they work with you, not against you. . If you’re struggling, they’re there to support you. If they’re struggling, you’ll actually know about it because they communicate. (A rare species, truly.) They’re most prolly a Water sign/ has strong water placements or just very emotionally intuitive. If you have someone with these placements around you, then this is your sign.  3 out of 4 cards are cups so i believe Y’all might bond over something artistic, music, painting, poetry, photography, film, something that requires emotions to create.They fall fast and hard, so if you’re used to people who are distant or confusing, this is gonna feel like a whole new world. This is the kind of love that feels like a warm hug after a long day, safe, sweet, and real. 

this person is a walking green flag. Soft but passionate. Romantic but stable. Playful but serious about love. This is the kind of relationship that feels safe and exhilarating at the same time, like home, but with butterflies. If you’ve been manifesting someone emotionally available, thoughtful, and ready to go all in for you…well, here they come. Oh, and one last thing, the fact that three out of four cards are Cups? That’s no accident. This person is MEANT to stir up your emotions and bring you into a deeper love experience. It’s not just about dating; it’s about feeling something real again.

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⋆✴︎˚⋆Pile II

First off, this person? Chaotic. But like, in the best way possible. The Fool and Page of Cups together are giving ✨ golden retriever energy ✨ with just a sprinkle of emotionally confused poet vibes. They’re the type to send you ten unhinged tiktok totally out of the blue with no explanation, and then disappear for three hours because they had an unexpected emotional breakdown. I had a friend like that who used to do this, and trust me these kind of people are strangely ADORABLE. They’re playful, optimistic, and have this lowkey naive, wide-eyed way of looking at life, but don’t be fooled, Strength is here, meaning they know how to handle their emotions. They just choose to exist in this dreamy, slightly reckless way.  I’m getting someone with a youthful look, no matter their actual age. Soft features, expressive eyes that basically scream “I have deep thoughts but I get distracted by cute dogs”, 

Okay, so, Page of Cups and 7 of Swords? Babe… this is giving situationship that could turn into a masterpiece or a disaster, depending on how you play it. There’s gonna be a lot of dreamy, flirty, almost cinematic moments where you’re both caught up in the fantasy of each other. But here’s the thing, with 7 of Swords meaning, there’s a hidden element to this person. Not necessarily in a bad way, but you might feel like they’re holding something back. Strength is telling me you might end up being the one keeping this relationship stable, because this person? Yeah, they’re fun, romantic, and spontaneous, but they need someone who grounds them. Otherwise, they’ll float off into whatever alternate reality they live in. You might find yourself teaching them how to actually deal with their feelings instead of turning everything into an inside joke or a quirky monologue.

This connection? It’s got potential. I was getting ‘JUST KISS ALREADY’ vibes from this spread so many times. But also, This person might have commitment issues at first, or they just don’t realize when they’ve caught feelings. This relationship will be fun, unexpected, and maybe a little messy at times. You’ll never be bored, but you might have to decide if you’re willing to wait for them to fully step up and be emotionally present. If you do? This could turn into one of those soulmate-tier love stories that start off as chaotic best friends and then evolve into something real. This person is gonna make you laugh so hard your stomach hurts, and you’re gonna make them feel like home. Just make sure they don’t get lost in the clouds before they realize what they have with you. 

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⋆✴︎˚⋆ Pile III

Picture someone who walks into a room and the air literally shifts, not in a dramatic, "I’m better than you" way, but in that "damn, why does this person feel like a wish come true?" kind of way. The Star as the headliner of this spread? BABY, this person is ethereal. 

They’ve been through their fair share of life lessons, some of them painful as hell, but instead of becoming bitter, they’ve transmuted all that pain into wisdom and grace. (Honestly, teach me your ways, mysterious heartthrob.) They’re a dreamer, but not the delusional kind. I have a strong feeling that pile 3 already know their person at the very least, they’re connected to your past in a really poetic way. The 6 of Cups is screaming, "This ain't no random fling, this is destiny, baby!" There’s a familiarity about them, like the feeling of revisiting your childhood home after years of being away. There’s also a chance that this person is deeply sentimental, they might keep old love letters, hoard little trinkets from meaningful moments, or be the type to remember the exact date you first texted them "lol" and took it as a sign from the universe. They’re romantic, but in a quiet, "let me show you, not just tell you" kinda way.

Physically? ELEGANT. LUXURIOUS. GOURGEOUS. 10/10. I also have the feeling that for some of you, this person might be quite rich as well. They could be successful or at least super stable and independent, but there’s something soft and sentimental about them like they love deeply but don’t fall easily. One thing i would say that they don't fall easily. 4 of the Pentacles is telling me that they guard their heart like a bank vault. Not in a "toxic, emotionally unavailable" way, but in a "I don’t just give my energy to anyone, I need to be sure" kinda way. They might be financially stable or working towards major success, so they protect what they’ve built. At first, they might be reserved, taking their sweet time to open up, but once they do? BABY, THEY’RE ALL IN. Slow-burning but SO rewarding. This is the kind of love that feels like déjà vu, like you were meant to find each other.  And the thing is, you’re worth the risk to them. Your connection makes them feel safe enough to let go of their tight grip on control. This isn’t a surface-level situationship, this is intentional, slow-burning, "I want to build something real with you" love.

(Also, be ready for someone who spoils you subtly, not in a flashy, Gucci gifts every day kinda way, but in "I remembered you liked that indie artist, so I got us front-row tickets" kinda way. 🥹) BUT one more thing, also think They’re going to be verrryyy slow to say ‘I love you’, but when they do? Oh, it means something. This is the kind of person who will show you they love you 100 different ways before they ever say it out loud.

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─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Thank you so much for reading all the way through! I hope my reading resonated with you and that you had a lovely time going through it. If you enjoyed it, please like and reblog, it really means a lot! Let me know which pile you chose; I absolutely love hearing your thoughts and feedback on my readings! If my reading resonated you, you may consider buying my paid reading as it would really help me out financially♡

Note: tarot cards provide guidance and possible insights into what could happen based on current energies, thoughts, and actions. the cards can highlight potential paths or outcomes, but they do not fixedly predict the future. this is a general reading so take what resonates!

[silversinfinity]

Taste Of Your Own Medicine

*this is a fetish blog- non-fet blogs and minors DNI (no age in bio -> blocked)*

Fandom: J/ujutsu K/aisen

Spoilers: None

Pairing/AU: N/anaG/o, normal universe set during N/anami's Salary Man Era TM

Length: ~2k

Tags: sneeze fetish content, sickfic, sneezing via flu swab test, inducing, light contagion themes, mess

ANON, IT'S BEEN 84 BILLION YEARS... ARE YOU STILL OUT THERE 😭😭😭

It’s 5/7 for a few more hours here still, aka n/anag/o day!! So I’m taking it as a sign to kick myself in the ass and drop a little n/anag/o treat for you all 🤑 I loved writing this when I first started it, and then I lowkey forgot about it, and THEN couldn't find the document when I remembered it existed... 😭 it’s been a long journey for a mere 2k words, woof!

Fanfic Masterlist

It’s surely the flu. Surely. Anything else would feel far better than this. 

Far better than the brain fog, the lethargy, the massive pressure behind his eyes and sinuses. 

Far better than the fever that stole his sleep last night, left only to shiver, sweat. Too hot with a blanket, too cold without. 

And anything else would be far, far better than the body aches. That was the worst of all, the thing that dug the last nail into Nanami's personal coffin. Everything hurt, dull yet wickedly persistent- even the very hairs on his head weren't an exception. He didn't know hair was capable of hurting, and boy, he's finding it out the hard way.

And maybe, maybe, despite all that, it would all be far better, if not for the annoying weight currently clinging to Nanami’s shoulders.

“Get off of me.” Gojo only presses into him heavier, mocking the few inches of height he has on him.

“Come back to bed then,” Gojo whines in his ear. Nanami’s headache squeezes tighter at his temples.

He sighs, breath crackling unpleasantly in the lower depths of his lungs. Though grating, Gojo’s voice has never sounded so convincing. “Trust me, I wish I hadn’t left.” The misconduct in his lungs catches on the end of his words with a weak, wheezing cough.

It should motivate him, at least. The sooner he gets this done, the sooner he can go back to bed, and hopefully, sleep.

Gojo rests his head on Nanami’s shoulder, idly watching him tear open the plastic wrapping in his hands. “Why even bother testing?” he mumbles, cheek squished against him.

“I need proof to get time off.”

“Man, your job sucks.” 

“Thangks, Captain Obvious.” Nanami wishes again that he would stop talking, just so he didn’t have to hear himself reply. The congestion dragging his consonants down is unpleasant to his ears, only worse layered over the roughness of a sore throat.

While Gojo manages to hold his tongue, Nanami assesses the items below him. He hovers his hand above the test kit on the counter, with a long q-tip lazingly perched between two fingers. His eyes glaze over the instructions; this isn't the first time he’s ever taken such a test, but a refresher never hurts. 

… Whether looking at it actually helped refresh anything was contentious, however. The font and diagrams were muddy where they lay, only legible enough to jog his memory.

15 seconds in both sides, mix the end into the tube of fluid, place a few drops into the test strip, and then wait for the result that wouldn't surprise anyone with an ounce of common sense.

Easy enough.

…Sort of. Nanami’s eyes water the instant the cotton swab touches just inside one nostril. A sharp tingle radiates up into his sinuses and lingers. He dreads actually moving the thing, knowing it will only prod and tease at each swollen, sensitive nerve within. 

Simply holding it in place won't do him any good either, though. He does as instructed, swirling the cotton tip along the walls of his nasal passages in a circular motion. The urge to sneeze increases tenfold. Nanami scrunches the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezed in a tight, focused squint.

Gojo notices all of this, much to his dismay. “Don’t sneeze…” he sings into his ear. 

And Nanami nearly does. “HHdt-!” Tongue smacked to the roof of his mouth, he manages to withhold the urge from completely seizing him. But just barely. He blinks tears from his eyes. 

“Cand you please nod- guh…” Nanami is left with a lingering, even thicker congestion, if that's even possible. He should really blow his nose, except that he also really shouldn't, not until this test was over. 

The cotton swab dips into his other nostril- the one that's more sensitive of the two, because of course one of them has to be. It's the one Gojo has a better view of, too. Oh, joy.

Nanami’s breath catches almost instantly, only to release in an uncertain, tight exhale. “...hehh…” Gojo sees his abused nostril flare up and twitch, hiking upward as the entire bridge of his nose crinkled. Torturously, he swirls the cotton swab once, twice, three times. Hand trembling, breath shaking. The natural lines of his face turn more rigid to match his expression, barely holding it together. 

Don’t sneeze. Don't sneeze. Gojo’s earlier advice echoes in his head, much as he loathed it at the time. Just a few more seconds…

“That looks like it really tickles…”

It's a few more seconds too long, and Gojo’s urging is the final straw. “hhuH-!” Nanami gasps loudly, urgently, shuddering under the other sorcerer’s still incessantly pressed weight on him. That inward breath messily crashes into the main production- “hEHH’SHIEhh-! hEHHH’ZSHHieh-!” His shoulders jostle violently. His throat barks through the deepest parts of it, fully exposing the flu-centered trauma his vocal cords carry.

Spray sprinkles wet, grey dots in a random pattern on his shirt, baggy and soft to the touch. Gojo’s weight against him only lightens a little, although Nanami is too distracted to care or notice. “hhdh… hiH-!” Without opening his eyes, he draws up for a precursor to another sneeze. He clumsily grabs the collar of his shirt, ducking down within the fabric this time- “hiehHH’SCHFHH-!”

Oh, God.

“Oh. Bless you.”

Gojo says it like he's surprised to hear him sneeze. Nanami feels a vein threaten to bulge on his temple.

Pinching away any excess evidence with his shirt- he winces when the damp fabric touches back to his chest- Nanami re-emerges with a scowl no less irritated than before. In his other hand hovers the soiled cotton swab, having been yanked from his nose the second before disaster. 

He blinks away the stars that dance in his vision, wondering if it's possible to actually sneeze his brains out. The pain behind his eyes swells significantly, heightening his suspicions. Ugh.

He glances back down at the instructions. Right, next step. Into the tube the cotton swab goes, and Nanami swirls it, pushing against the sides of it. Just watching the motion stirs a tingle high in his sinuses, having not quite abandoned the sensation of the swirling motion.

Nanami glances at his watch after applying a few drops to the test strip. 6:51. He'd know by 7:06, then. 

Gojo watches him set his watch, cheek pressed into his shoulder. “Hm… I don’t see anything in those instructions about sneezing all over yourself?” he teases.

The vein from before does finally bulge on his temple. He’s almost- almost- exhausted enough to sigh another sigh and let it go. But there’s fifteen minutes he needs to kill before he can send his halfwitted boss a picture of this stupid test, and Gojo doesn’t sound like he’s going to become any less insufferable in that time. 

A taste of his own medicine might shut him up, or at the very least dent his pride. The unopened test kit resting on the counter is snatched into Nanami’s hand. He pauses for a dreadfully damp sniffle. “Gojo, I don't suppose you'd like to show me how to do this properly, then?”

Silence. Then, the other man tilts his head. “That’d be a waste of a good test, wouldn't it?”

“Haven't you considered that I might be contagious?” Might be, he says- more like definitely, absolutely. “Antivirals work better if you catch it early, you know.” Nanami maintains an even tone under the blanketing congestion.

“ …My Infinity protects me.”

Nanami pulls the new, fresh cotton swab from its packaging, careful not to touch the soft end. “You’re touching me right now, though.” And all this morning. And all last night. Satoru Gojo, the Strongest, Clingiest, Sorcerer in the world.

Said Sorcerer finds nothing to argue back with, instead speaking a short, “Fine.” Though his blindfold conceals his eyes, the pout on his lips is enough for Nanami to imagine the faux, pity-seeking look they’re wearing. Good thing he knows better than to fall for it.

Quicker than before, Nanami arranges the test tube and test strip on the counter top. Fresh cotton swab still in hand, Gojo actually steps back an inch when he faces him, showing reluctance. It's a rare emotion for him to express so physically.

He takes Gojo’s chin in one hand, holding him in place. The other man grimaces. “Hey, I can do it- myself, ya know…!”

”This is how Shoko would do it, and a doctor knows best. Chin up.” His hand grips a little firmer, and he tilts Gojo’s head up and towards himself. It’s an angle suited to expose his- and he hates to admit it- absolutely perfect nose. A straight, long bridge complimented by a set of narrow, symmetrical nostrils, all aesthetically framed by the dark fabric of his blindfold. 

Given a few minutes though, it won't look nearly as composed.

Nanami doesn’t bother to warn Gojo when he slips the cotton swab into his nose. The other man gasps reflexively, and the bridge shivers in protest. Nanami’s hold on his chin keeps him steady though. 

Any other day and he certainly wouldn't tolerate getting sneezed on- especially by someone who got on his nerves so regularly. But considering current circumstances, he can't find it in himself to care. He fully intends to change into a fresh pair of sweats after this test, not to mention that he's already dealt with enough of his own outbursts and fluids in the last 24 hours- what's a little more?

It would be worth the brief euphoria that came with getting payback, until his headache along with all the other bits of his misery tugged him out of that moment.

He changes the angle of the swab just slightly, softly bumping the shallow top wall of his nasal passages. Gojo swallows under Nanami’s palm. A circle is drawn along the rims of one nostril, and then another. His lips part to whine, but the sound melts into a telltale hitch.

“Nanhha- Nanami, whhait-hih-hihHH’SHIhh-!” Nanami doesn’t stop, nor does Gojo. “hyH’SHh-! ihhk‘SHieh-!” They’re fittish, rapid, and yet they drag out of him, like the last bit of juice squeezed from a lemon. He's trying to hold them back, but his willpower is faltering under Nanami's efforts and hurling out his throat instead.

A few more sneezes later, and Nanami gauges it's been long enough. He wordlessly removes the torture device from Gojo’s nose, and he sighs something between relief, exasperation, and another sneeze stopped in its tracks. He sniffles and tries to pull away, but Nanami tuts his disapproval.

“Still need to do the other side.” He doesn't allow Gojo so much as a spare breath to fight him on it. The nasal swab is already pressed to his septum, just inside the other nostril.

The tighter, desperate pinch of his eyebrows is visible even through his blindfold. Gojo’s lip quivers. He actually manages to hold it together this time- for the first five seconds.

Then…

“hih…hh, hihH-! hh…ghh-hiHH-! Hhp’TSHhh-! hihT’SHh-! Hh-hhH… HH’TShiew-! hY’ISHH-!”

His nostrils turn pink, shiny at the rims. Nanami ignores the mist settling on his wrist in progressively wetter qualities. It's generously soaking him when he decides again that he's done enough again, and he promptly wipes his hand on the leg of his sweatpants.

Gojo’s repeated sniffling, panting, and whining is mere background noise as he goes through the motions of this test.

“Nanamiiii… you're so meannn…”

Without taking his eyes off his watch to acknowledge Gojo’s Man-Child-like behavior, Nanami hands him a tissue. He always keeps a box close at a time like this. “Blow your nose, Gojo.”

There's still about 10 minutes left until he can actually consider this hassle taken care of. 

Well, one hassle taken care of, anyway. Gojo has regrettably pressed himself back against him, sinuses cleared into a now crumpled tissue. “Can we please just go lay back down now?”

That, Nanami could seriously consider. A dull throb trickles back up into his head, coupled with a growing feeling he'd swallowed glass in his throat. He may as well take Gojo up on this- standing here isn't doing him any good.

A fresh change of clothes and a new dose of ibuprofen later, and enough time has passed that Nanami’s watch goes off, once for his test, which he snapped a picture of, and then again a few minutes later.

Test results on Nanami’s read positive- no surprise. Test results on Gojo’s read negative- for now, at least.

[thetrasha]

no one mentions how good you write Buggy and Doflamingo, I would love to see more of them 🫶🏻

Thanks, anon (●ˇ∀ˇ●) This request got me excited, I rarely get to write about the less popular cast members, especially the antagonists!! So I hope you enjoy this one in particular, I think it came out great LOL

<3

Tell Me You Love Me

feat. DOFLAMINGO, BUGGY

DOFLAMINGO

MOOD: possessive

Doflamingo couldn’t wait to hear to hear you say that you love him. You weren’t the type to utter things in passing – everything you ever said, you meant it. It was like a promise to yourself. You hid things pretty well by omission, but if you decided to talk, it had always been true. Exactly what he wanted and needed. Now that you’re with him, he appreciates the depth of your words even more. Your words were gospel, almost… sacred. And he’s just dying to hear those words that would bind you to him. It would give him the security he needed to dive deeper into this relationship and devote himself fully to you.

You rendered him completely powerless – you were absolutely perfect in every aspect. Loyal, discreet, intelligent, funny and… despite your cunning, you never lost a certain kindness that you’d buried deep. Doflamingo saw it in the way you treated others. Although you knew that you were better than most people you didn’t dare to look down on them. You held your head high and kept your heart under lock and key, but you were quite vulnerable in day-to-day life; you had excellent manners, but your partner would never thank one of his servants for doing their job. It is expected of them… but you did go to those lengths. He couldn’t quite say that he way jealous; he knew that he was the best and only choice for you, but it did make him feel a bit conflicted.

You didn’t wear your heart on your sleeve around Doflamingo.

He knew why. Of course he did. He saw you for who you are. Someone who’s been treated so unfairly and has been dealt the worst cards but still chose their own ambition over misery – you struck harder than steel but were worth all treasure in the world, even if you wanted none of it. Actually, he kind of saw himself in you, now that he’s been thinking about.

He, too, has lost it all at some point, but rose from those ashes like a phoenix. Befitting of someone of his calibre; nobody else could come even close. Others would have decided to succumb to the pain and live a life that they knew they didn’t deserve, but Doflamingo has always prided himself on his ability to detect talent, refine it and use it for his own gain – he just had to become the best possible version of himself before that all happened. He had to become a reliable man with a terrifying repertoire of abilities and connection.

You reminded him of… him, yes, you just weren’t as ruthless. You complemented him well.

You really were the one.

Maybe that’s why it soured his mood so much to watch you wear a mask around him. You were so afraid of falling for a man like him – a man who was so much like you.

You just knew that he was going to consume you whole, just like you did to him. He would occupy your every thought, just like how you’d infested his own mind. You’d have to let yourself fall into his arms and trust that he wouldn’t betray nor break you, but that promise had already seared itself into his soul.

Doflamingo was great many things, but he was no traitor.

He’d accepted your place in this family, so it was about time for you to accept yours as well.

One day, you’d both crack.

“It seems you get uncomfortable around me.”, he mused with a grin, but the way his voice darkened towards the end couldn’t be ignored by either of you.

It startled you seeing as you were currently in his arms, cuddled up into his side while he was watching a visual transponder snail project footage from a Navy meeting he’d tapped. Someone in there was wearing a wire, but you’d both concluded that the discussion was too charitable and bureaucratic to go anywhere. Still, Doflamingo liked to keep an eye on these things, especially if he wasn’t invited.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Doffy.”

Your partner grinned. You’d started calling him by his nickname and he could just preen every time those two syllables left your lips. The fact that you wanted to divert attention away from the issue at hand was annoying though.

“You know exactly what I mean, my sweet. Keeping your guard up around me. Thought I was a fantastic husband.”

“We’re not married. And we’re not the type to marry.”, you retorted with a dramatic roll of the eyes, playfully hitting his arm.

“Ah, tomato, tomato.”

Silence befell you two, neither of you chose to speak during that moment, but he could very much feel you snuggle into his side. You’d thrown a blanket across your legs due to the chilly air of the night biting at your skin, which made you look extra cosy. Doflamingo, who’d previously only seen your professional side before you started… whatever this was, was delighted that you felt at home inside of his palace.

You slowly got used to him, warmed up to him, you were so in tune with him now… you knew that you loved him.

“It seems that you’re playing with me, sweetheart.”, he commented. He just knew that you’d understand him as soon as he’d uttered these words, and judging from the way you were fidgeting… well, he was right.

“You haven’t said it either, Doffy.”

He let out a sinister laugh – you got him there. You were too clever for your own good and you didn’t bow to anyone. That’s what made you who you are. People had to earn your trust and respect, just like you had to earn theirs.

And both of you kept playing this game of cat and mouse – one he was certain he’d win.

“Acute observation, darling.” He grinned, ruffling through your hair and messing it up. You glared at him, but then rested your head on his shoulder with a playfully annoyed groan.

“We can just say it together.”, you pouted.

Doflamingo shot up. Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant!

“3…”, he began, trying to bait you. Victory was oh so sweet.

“…2”, you continued-

“1…”

Both of you drew in a deep breath, preparing yourselves for a heartfelt moment…

“…”

“…”

…that never came, because you stayed silent.

Owlishly, you blinked at each other. It’d started to click what just happened.

Doflamingo’s forehead vein popped all of the sudden as he let out an angry pant through his nose. How could a mouse like you outfox the cat? He began clenching and unclenching his long fingers, trying to keep his blood pressure down. Also, he didn’t want to tear this room apart on such a beautiful night.

You just giggled at him, not an ounce of fear in your expression… because you trusted him; it was as clear as day. The blanket bunched up at your feet as you propped yourself up to sit on your knees.

Your arms wrapped themselves around his neck while he has huffing and puffing in silent rage, feeling cheated out of an experience…

But his eyebrows shot up in surprise as soon as you initiated an intimate kiss. You leaned in and licked his lips – and who could ever deny you access? He opened his mouth, loving the way you fell into him, letting him feel the entirety of your weight against his body and his large hands slowly travelled up your lovely physique, leaving possessive touches here and there –

– until you leaned back, watching him with an easy smile dancing on your lips.

“I love you.”, you’d whispered, leaning back in just to feel his wide smirk against your mouth.

Of course you'd prove him right.

Doflamingo was so right. You were, in a way, just like him.

You were... everything.

BUGGY

MOOD: sentimental

Buggy tried to never let it show that he was jealous… of mostly anyone that interacted with you. Yes, it wasn’t exactly a great mindset and he never doubted you once, but he cannot help but compare himself to every other person you come across and spiral in silence, watching like a kicked puppy as you got along well with someone else. And then he would snap at anyone who’d dare to interrupt his self-deprecating behaviour at that moment, promptly yelling at them in his shrill voice to scrub the deck or else, but… at the same time, he eyed you with a worrisome wistfulness. You had so much charisma – you immediately clicked with other people. Well, depending on who they were. But you didn’t have to fail upwards to get what you want… Why you chose to follow a fool like him was still an utter mystery to the Star Clown, but he wouldn’t complain. He’s got you right where he wanted you… You’d confessed your love to each other – amazing, show’s over.

…Except it wasn’t. Now Buggy has to come to terms with the fact that he might be… more interested in you than he originally believed himself. He tried burying it, tried to play it off in a cool way, but he was well-aware that you could read him like a book. You knew that he was just a tiny bit pathetic, and you preferred it that way. In fact, you teased him these days. You were constantly playing it up just for him, making a show out of your love… just to get to see him blush and stammer through a half-assed expression of gratitude before his body parts would separate themselves from one another and fly around like chaos incarnate.

Still, that way, he had your whole attention on him and he loved it.

You were the star of the show – figuratively, not literally. He was still the masterful ringleader, the clown prince of piracy… or whatever they write in the papers these days. Buggy was an acclaimed criminal who’s been perfecting a rare craft: Showmanship!

Right now, he felt like he barely had a say in the play, though.

Nobody could deny that judgemental gazes followed you around when you would hang off of your captain’s strong arms, looking at him like he was worth a million Beri. Fifteen million actually, by the way. Thanks for the flowers, sweetheart, you’re the best.

But he tried to deny it all anyway.

He was Buggy the Genius Jester! The one and only! People were literally dying to get a seat at his circus sometimes. They had a lion who could jump through rings of fire!… If Richie was feeling up to it.

Anyways, he tried to counter all that gossip said in a whisper behind his back with brazen displays of confidence and terror.

Nobody could hurt you… or him if Buggy took the wind outta their sails right away! Haha! Take that, you good-for-nothing buffoons and watch as the next King of the Pirates reveals his master plan to take control of the Grandline…

But in private, after all those words eventually got to him, Buggy lies in your arms.

He would have taken a bath that drained all of his energy because he ate that godforsaken Devil Fruit because of that bastard Shanks, all of the makeup had been washed off in the steamy bubble bath, leaving the naked visage of the usually prettily adorned Star Clown behind… and you’d be able to stare at the bright red nose in all its glory. Sometimes – especially in the beginning of your relationship – he maliciously assumed that you were actually just blind. Maybe that’s why your pupils couldn’t focus on the thing that gave him so many insecurities… but your innocent kisses were always at it with perfect precision, so that was clearly out of the picture.

Still, in every possible metric, you were so out of his league.

You were gorgeous. If Buggy didn’t know better, he would have assumed you’d run from Mary Geoise and were pursuing a freer life away from the Red Line. Shanks and him, when they were mere chore boys on the Oro Jackson, used to bicker about who’d marry a princess like you first. Of course Buggy wouldn’t have ever thought that he’d best Shanks there, but here he was.

Of course, you were no royal. Well, not yet. Just you wait until he finds the One Piece!

You were also smart and reliable, responsible and sensible, sweet and caring, strong and ruthless – fuck, you had it all. You were all he’s ever dreamt of.

And Buggy was just… Buggy.

Yeah, he’d achieved some things, but girls like you usually went for Shanks. Someone who, you know, wasn’t a complete fraud… who had something to offer.

But here you were…

“I love you, Buggy.”, you’d whisper as you brushed through his blue tresses – a ritual you’ve grown accustomed to.

“You’re so pretty…”, you sang as if he was an actual star, “I love your hair.”

…and you adored him so much.

Like Buggy was anyone but himself.

You loved him like he was worth it, like he was… your soulmate.

And because of moments like these did he know that you would always come back to him. In your eyes, he was no failure, he was the greatest man alive.

He might just believe that he could become the King of the Pirates… and a man who’d make you happy, forever and ever. He’d throw it all away for you.

He leaned back with a dopey smile, blushing at your gentle touch.

He would cling to you forever.

[heavenlyscandal]

tattoo artist! choso kamo x reader

synopsis: a reunion at his tattoo shop reveals the depth of his unspoken feelings.

choso kamo who knew you didn’t like the idea of getting tattooed, but still secretly hoped, maybe even believed that one day, you’d walk through his shop doors and ask for one anyway. Not just from anyone but from him. That you’d want his mark. His art. His presence, inked into your skin like a quiet promise. He told himself not to wait and yet he did, he always did.

choso kamo who nearly short-circuits when you actually walk into his shop one late afternoon, sunlight haloing behind you, illuminating your skin that he’s always admired from a distance, skin that, in his words, looks “perfect for ink”

You looked different. Older but you're still you, the girl who once made his fingers twitch with the urge to draw every version of you he could imagine.

“Hi.” You greeted him as if you weren't apart for years. "Do you take walk-ins?”

He’s behind the counter, his mouth parting just slightly. God, he wants to hug you. Wants to say everything like Where have you been? Are you okay? Did you think of me? But he doesn’t.

He just lifts a brow and smirks, slipping effortlessly back into the version of himself you remember.

“Depends. You finally gonna let me tattoo you?”

“That’s why I’m here.”

Just like that, the years that stretched between you crumbled.

choso kamo who leads you past the front desk, past the buzzing needles and music-filled spaces, into his private studio, the one reserved only for his long-time clients, the ones who matter. But you? You’ve always mattered more than all of them.

He gestures to the familiar black leather chair, and you sit, effortlessly at ease. Like you’ve been here a thousand times before.

“So,” he says, pulling on his gloves, “what do you want?”

You glance around the room, hid sketches pinned to the walls, vials of ink lined like soldiers, and the slight scent of antiseptic mixed with the trace of his cologne.

“Something from you,” you reply with a shrug. “Whatever you think fits.”

He pauses but just for a second.

“You trust me that much?”

“Always have.”

Those words hit harder than he expects. And maybe it’s a little pathetic, how quickly his hands still when he hears them. But he nods, quiet, before turning to prep the machine.

choso kamo who already knew exactly what he wanted to give you not just a design, but a piece of himself. Something that speaks where his mouth has failed for years. He lines up the stencil, tests the ink, and doesn’t even need to sketch it again. He’s carried this image in his mind for a long time. His hand guided by his heart and fondness, wanting to make it sentimental not only for him, but for you too.

He tattoos them onto you slowly. Carefully. With the reverence of someone writing a confession in a language only the two of you understand.

His gloved hand supports your arm, thumb pressing just slightly into your skin as the machine hums. You don’t flinch. You trust him. You always have.

The silence between you is warm not awkward, not uncertain but full of everything you both left unsaid for too long.

choso kamo who finally finishes, gently wiping away the last speck of ink, admiring the bouquet now blooming against your skin, his work, his heart, his feelings.

You sit up slowly, glancing down at the piece. Three flowers, delicate but firm, intertwined like a story.

“Does it mean anything?” you ask, your voice quieter now.

He doesn’t speak at first. Just stares at the tattoo then at you.

authors note: this is the promised part 2 i hope you like it, also i got a little bit too carried away and made it a bit longer. lastly, this will be a 4 part series so stay tuned. <3

written by angelonfire | plagiarism not authorized

[dailydelulu]

"No More Tears"

Pairing: Bucky x Fem! Reader

Hurt/ Comfort/ Angst/ Romantic tension

(Lots of comforting Bucky!)

Summary: Only two weeks ago, you were saved from a HYDRA lab and now find yourself adjusting to your new life in the Avengers Tower with Bucky, who has a similar past. Things begin to heat up while sparring with him until things take a turn for the worse

CW: PTSD, Panic Attack, PTSD induced panic attack. Implications of past abuse- physical and emotional from the readers' Handler. Bucky crying (That should be a warning in of itself) Painful flashbacks, heavy, heavy angst, brief mention of a loved one being killed, brief mention of blood

Note: It took me forever to write this because I struggle with writing romantic tension, so please give honest feedback!

Please also read my other post "Code Coffee" which gives more context to this Bucky x reader pairing

Also the ending seems sad but trust me they will have a happy ending in future parts!

Pound, pound, pound.

Each punch against the torn fabric of the punching bag kicked dust into the air, up into your face, ringing through the training room of the Tower along with the clicking of the metal chains that kept it suspended. Finding the training room had been a bit difficult without help, but being in a room full of weapons wasn’t exactly a good look on someone who was still being investigated for being a spy, so you’d found it yourself instead of dealing with Tony’s nagging. A scent of dust and the lingering smell of the donut you’d nabbed from Sam’s stash earlier filled the air. Not that you blamed anyone for not trusting a random HYDRA experiment that had shown up out of nowhere. At times, you even worried if you were a threat to the team around you with the programming still stuck in your brain. Hurting any of them would be a nightmare. Bucky crossed your mind, which made you quickly shake away the thought. If you ever hurt him, killed him, you’d never recover. In such a short time, you’d grown attached to him in a way that couldn’t be explained. He was the only one who understood your pain, and at times it felt as if only his eyes could truly see what you felt. 

Muscles ached, but you couldn't care less. Some of your hair was falling out of the practical style you’d put it in for training. Right now, all you wanted was to have an outlet, anything at all to pour the sharp fragments of memories.  The pounding roared in your ears, and it was becoming more difficult to differentiate it from your heart. Not as if it mattered anyway, as over the years, differentiating anything from the heart has become increasingly difficult to separate. At times, in the cell at HYDRA, you’d lie there sore, counting the beat while counting the hours. 

Alive was always better than dead, at least. Being alive meant hope for escape. Pain meant the breathing hadn’t stopped, no matter how many times the pain drove you to wish it would. Even now, the lingering pain tearing down your back from the injuries received days before being abandoned in the base was a frustrating reminder of life. They were healing quickly, of course, since one of the few perks of being a super soldier was quick injury repair. 

Sure, maybe going back to training so quickly after literally almost dying from being left for dead wasn’t the smartest decision, but you needed anything to get the edge off. Anger had been building up for far too long, like a match ready to set off a blaze to burn the world down. If it didn’t have an outlet to simmer, who knew who’d get hurt in the crossfire? 

Punch, punch, punch. 

“You are a worthless piece of nothing. No more than a dog, now act like one!”

The words tore out, trying to make their way back from the depths from which they came—words, so many words, repeated over and over and over. Pushing yourself, you began mixing uppercuts into the rhythm you’d made, hoping to drown out the voices. Handler’s voice seemed to carry with you most, since his had been the one whispering in your ear the sickening orders. 

“I’m not worthless. I’m not worthless. I’m a person, not a dog. A person.”

You told yourself over and over. 

Kick, side kick, front kick. 

“I gave you an order, soldier. Shoot him. Feelings don’t matter here, now shoot! Comply.”

Hot, angry tears threatened to rise to the surface. No, you couldn’t cry. Crying would only lead to trouble and punishment. Memories of a haunting face seemed to stare back, begging for life. Whether or not it hated you or forgave you, you’d never know.

“I’m sorry, so sorry. I can’t control the orders, I didn’t mean to. Don’t leave me, please. I love you! It wasn’t my fault! It wasn’t my fault!” 

Those words broke the most words from your lips, not HYDRA’s. Even if they had been true, the truth didn’t take away the damage. Words could never undo actions. 

“Comply. Comply. Comply.”

A scream escaped, tearing out of your throat- one which had been sleeping in the shadows for a very long time, needing to be released. Something seemed to snap within your very core in that moment, feeling as if it didn’t want to crawl back into the corner in which it was hiding. Here, at least, you could be as loud as you wished. 

Giving one final punch to the bag, which threw it back so far it nearly tore off its chains, you caught it as it swung back. Resting your forehead against the surface, you caught your breath as sweat dripped off your shoulders, mumbling, “I’m free. I’m free. I’m free.”

A gentle reminder, Bucky had given you, something to remind yourself that all of this was real. One to keep pushing, since surviving would come. You’d survived much worse, yet why did healing feel so much harder? 

A string of stubbornness tying all the broken pieces together was the only thread holding it together and preventing it from breaking. At least one of your best traits has always been being stubborn; it was what had kept you alive at HYDRA, the very spite to stay alive surrounded by people who wanted you dead. 

Luckily, nobody had been around to hear you scream or disturb anyone in their sleep since, after another sleepless night, you were up at who knows what hour.

At least, you thought nobody had heard until you saw a shadow out of the corner of your eye…

“Bucky?” you asked, “What the heck are you doing here?”

“Couldn’t sleep either, and had some strange feeling I’d find you here,” he said, snapping out of the deadpan stare he’d had moments before. Staring was always an issue for Bucky. Everyone knew it, and they pointed it out to him as if he were being simply rude. The Winter Soldier had always been on alert, eyes locked on the target ahead. Now there were no targets or reasons to worry about losing focus, but parts of the conditioning never faded. Something he’d never admit to his court-ordered (and highly pushed by Steve) therapist had suggested once that maybe he worried if he looked away for even a split second, a disaster would happen, which was partially true, even if she'd never get the satisfaction of hearing him admit to it. 

A few moments ago, he couldn’t help but find himself staring at you. Looking at the muscles rolling in waves as sweat glistened in the early light pouring through the slats of the training room’s shades. Each blow was precise, perfectly timed to take out an enemy. If anything, it almost terrified him. Nobody before had ever managed to match him in combat, and now he was beginning to wonder if HYDRA had created something even more dangerous.  A soldier undefeated. Yet, somehow, he couldn’t help but find himself in awe of how scary you were, rather than concerned. 

Watching the sheer amount of power behind every kick, punch, and way you threw your body into training as if fighting for your life. Maybe in your head you were. He’d been there before, after all. 

You moved like a machine, unstoppable and relentlessly precise. Bucky had been a super soldier for decades now, so seeing an unnatural strength as the kind you both shared didn’t faze him. No, there was a power beyond all of it, as if lightning were building in the sky. One, he had a feeling, was the only reason you were standing before him today instead of rotting on a lab floor. One, he felt as if it must have existed deep within years before HYDRA ever got hold of you. 

Grabbing a towel hung off the dumbbells, you began to wipe off your shoulders, “Sorry if I got too loud, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“No, don’t worry, I was already awake.” He carefully took a few steps closer, making sure not to startle you. “Do you need any coffee?” he added with a raised eyebrow. Of course, you knew what he meant by coffee; a code only the two of you could understand.

“I’m not in the mood for coffee right now.” You tossed the towel down, unable to meet his gaze. The action didn’t go unnoticed by him, as most things didn’t go unnoticed. 

“I get it, after everything it’s hard,” he went on, “Steve used to come in here and beat that thing for hours and hours after he woke up. At least, that’s what Sam told me once. We all have our ways of getting through it, I guess.”

“I just couldn’t sleep, is all.” 

Turning, you picked up your water bottle, gulping down a few sips; super soldiers didn’t get tired, but they sure did seem to need extra food and water. Bucky caught a glimpse of your back from the cut-out in the back of the tank you were wearing, noticing the scars that lingered, snaking down the skin in sickly red grooves, before disappearing behind the fabric. 

A memory flashed before him of the day he found you, seeing the blood pouring off the chair your limp body had been strapped to. Those wounds on your back had been so deep, so cruelly carved into each part to bring quicker pain and an even slower death. Metel whirred as his hand gripped into a fist at the reminder. 

Bucky had never felt so hopeless since he’d been stuck in that chair himself at the hands of HYDRA. He hadn’t known what true hopelessness felt like until another life he could save was about to be lost.  Even now, the scars still form a ring around your neck from where the collar had been. 

“Are you sure you don’t need any coffee?” you asked, noticing the fist and lock in his jaw. 

“No, I’m fine,” Bucky said, “But you should rest. Those injuries may be healing quickly, but you’re in no shape to train just yet.”

“I have to get back to training. If I’m not on top of my training at all times, I could slip up. Slipping up means a failed mission, and a failed mission means putting everyone at risk.” Your voice was near robotic, the programming surfacing again. 

“There’s no mission, nobody’s at risk if you take a break,” he rubbed a hand down his face in frustration. As much as it had taken, well was still taking, for him to break the habits HYDRA had forced into him, at least he was aware enough to know when and when those habits were relevant and when not. Maybe since you’d been kidnapped at such a young age is what made you truly believe all the crap they had put in your head. The thought alone twisted his gut as he clenched his fist tighter. “If you take a break, it really won’t kill anyone, you know.” 

“I’ve trained in worse conditions.”

“Yeah, I get that, but you’re here to recover, not train anymore, so just take a break.” 

Crossing your arms, you rolled your eyes, “I know my limits. Plus, I thought there were no orders here.”

Bucky sighed, “I’m not giving you an order. I’m trying to help. How many times do I have to tell you nobody here is going to give you orders?” 

“Sounded like one to me,” you said, fidgeting with the spout on the water bottle before muttering, “They called me Killswitch.”

“What?”

“Killswitch, it was a stupid name, I know,” you went on, “Nothing as iconic as ‘The Winter Soldier’, but it’s what my code name was. Something about how I could kill on sight was like a switch of a button from a single command.” 

“And that’s what they called you?” he asked, even if he knew the answer. Yup, it was a stupid name as much as a heartbreaking one with the implications, but now wasn’t the time to bring up either of those facts. 

A short nod, as you took a seat on the floor, finally catching your breath. This time, Bucky made no move to get closer. He didn’t want to tower over you, since he remembered how many times HYDRA would shove you below as a sick reminder, to be made to feel beneath. Although he was close enough, his heightened senses could almost pick up on the faint flutter of a heartbeat. For most, it would be normal after a workout, but for super soldiers, it meant too much strain or heightened emotions. He doubted the ladder since he was the only one in the room with you. 

“Look, when I tell you to do something, I’m not ordering you around. Just a strong suggestion, nobody’s forcing you to do anything.” 

“Or maybe you’re just worried you can’t keep up with me, old man,” you grinned up at him, which caught Bucky off guard. Were you teasing him? Ever since your arrival, you’d been nothing but a quiet shell, minus the one interaction with him and Sam, which he knew was forced on your part for the sake of appearances. Usually, he’d be upset at someone so blatantly making fun of him, but right now he couldn’t find himself to get angry. Seeing you say anything at all without asking you a direct question was better than the quiet. 

“Old man?” he raised an eyebrow, “That’s the best you can come up with?” 

“What? It’s true! You’re like 100 years old!”

“Maybe I am, but I’m a super soldier as much as you are,” he grumbled under his breath, “Besides, I have more experience.”

All of a sudden, he felt himself in the air as if the wind had been knocked out of him as his back hit the padded floors of the training room. It took a moment for him to register that you had swooped your leg under his when he wasn’t looking. 

“More experience, huh?” you smirked, now looking down at him, outstretched a hand to help him up. Part of you almost felt guilty for tricking him, except how much his shocked and near-impressed expression made it all worth it.  Bucky hated how much he didn’t want to wipe that confident look off your face. If anything, he felt as if he could easily get used to this view. 

“You got lucky,” he mumbled as he clamped his hand around yours, hoisting himself up before twisting his hand around your wrist and flipping you to the floor with a smack against the mat. Dust formed a cloud at the impact, 

“Cheater!” you sputtered from the dust up at him before jumping to your feet, grappling for his arms.

“Fair is fair,” he nearly grinned back as he countered each attack, dodging each bullet-fast movement with a huff. Maybe he was getting older, or you had picked up on decades' worth of training in a matter of a few years, since everything he threw at you was met with an equal amount of strength and skill.  He sent a blow towards your chest, before slipping his other hand under to grab your wrist while you would be focused on his upper attack, but it was almost as if you expected the trick move, already blocking his fist with a palm. 

Wait- the move he’d tried was one only taught to him as the Winter Soldier. HYDRA had made sure to teach him specific combat skills in secret so nobody would be able to best him, so how had you recognized the maneuver? 

 “Nobody’s ever been able to block that one,” he tugged your arm, pulling you to his chest. 

“Why do you sound surprised?” you asked with the same grin that was getting under his skin. Suddenly, you could feel how close you were, breath in synch as your chests rose and fell at the same rate. 

“When it comes to you, I can’t say that I am,” he huffed, gaze lingering a little too long for simply keeping eye contact with an opponent, “Nothing surprises me with you.”

“Focus,” you told yourself, “Distraction in combat only means death, so while he’s distracted…” 

A gleam in your eyes let him know you had him exactly where you wanted him, but before he could react, it was too late. 

A knee to his stomach sent him stumbling back a few steps before he got back into a fighting stance, his legs locked and fists raised, daring you to make another move. 

“We don’t have time for this,” Bucky noticed the mirrored stance of your own. Weapon against weapon; fire against fire. “Besides, I thought you had agreed to a break.” 

“I’ll take on if we just go one round.” You were far too competitive to let this go easily, “Just one, and then I’ll take a break after. Come on!” Bucky could feel the competitive spirit in you, and he did admit it was tempting to go for a sparring round with someone at his level. Besides, seeing you so enthusiastic about something instead of the pained indifference he was used to made him unable to say no. 

“Just one,” he held up a metal finger, “Then you stop until you’re recovered.” 

“Deal,” you balled up your fists and rushed at him like a snap of lightning. Block, punch, block, counter. A carefully balanced dance between power and precision, each step as calculated as it was graceful as the last. Throwing two punches, you managed to get in a few blows on his torso before he locked his arm around yours, pulling your back to his chest in a twist. 

“Ready for that break now?” he asked, breath warm on your ear. Getting an opponent winded was usually the best tactic in combat to find the upper hand. In this case, super soldiers never got exhausted, so Bucky was frustrated. “I can work with that,” you thought. 

“Does the old man need to take a nap?” You tilted your head to meet his gaze.

He tightened his grip. “I don’t get tired.” Honestly, the banter was a nice change of pace for Bucky. Unlike the awkward small talk he was forced into now as an Avenger, where he had no clue what to say, or the moments when you would shrink into yourself and refuse to speak. 

“Well, you’re sure grumpy enough to need a few naps,” you teased him, noticing his increasing annoyance. Keep it up, if he’s distracted…

Quickly, you ducked below his hold on you before throwing a side kick aiming for his hip, when you felt a metal arm wrap around your thigh. No, no…you were stuck. Think, think, think. 

Before you knew it, the sound of a thud against the mat made you realize he’d somehow managed to pin you down. Panic squeezed your chest at the weight of him above you, from the familiar feeling of a hand wrapped around your wrist being pinned above your head. Even if his eyes were gentle, teasing, all you could see was the cold, lifeless stare of someone else gazing down. A face not belonging to the person before you, but one forever seared into memory. 

“Try to disobey me again, soldier, and you’ll see just how little worth you are. Feel that? It’s how helpless you are against me. I command, you listen, I order, you move. I own every breath you breathe. This is a reminder of where you belong.” 

Memories hit harder like a punch to the gut as they filtered in and out. How many times had you been in this exact position with Handler? 

No, you needed to gain control, to bring the fight back into you own hands, to feel as if you weren’t trapped. 

Locking your leg against his, you flipped him over, pushing your knee into his chest as you pressed your arm against his throat. Bucky was caught off guard, but not at all surprised since this was exactly the kind of stunt you would pull. 

His steely blue eyes stared up, locking in an intense gaze. There was a change in the air. The tension was so thick it could be cut with a knife. Your breath began to quicken, and you could feel the rapid beat of a heart beneath you. Right now, it was different from what it had been in the break room by the coffee maker, where things had been still, too void and empty of everything, rather than unspoken words. Unspoken feelings between the two of you were being spilled over quietly in each other’s gaze, with every short breath and flex of his wrist in your grip, secrets were shared. Now, things were too much, filling you up with emotions which had been tucked away for so many years by orders. There was a crackle in the air, igniting the space between the two. An emotion you recognized in your gut, one too dangerous to have. Bucky recognized it as well, even if it felt so out of reach. One he hadn’t felt since 1945, and never expected to feel again. An invisible force pushed you closer, leaning in to his face. A fraction of an inch, only one noticeable action. His breath hitched at the implication of what you wanted. Even if it had been small, it was enough to send a shockwave through him, a burst through his spine. 

Maybe, right now, after everything you’d been through, it wouldn’t hurt to be selfish. To have one thing that wasn’t a direct order. With a shaking hand, you nearly brought it to his chest after a sudden urge to be closer to Bucky, to remind yourself he was there. 

He caught the action out of the corner of his eye, knowing exactly where this could be going, and what a mistake it would be if it did. Think of something, anything, to stop this. 

“Not like this,” he wasn’t sure if he said the words aloud, or if they stayed stuck on his tongue. Either way, the quiet was all the same, as if you understood what he meant with silent agreement. He grabbed your wrist before it could get any closer, before any of this could go further. 

“Fine, you win this time,” a hint of a smile ghosted his lips, hoping to ease the tension, “Now let me up.” Things had progressed too far with you in so little time to ruin with feelings. Besides, after everything you’d endured, he was sure your emotions were all over the place. As much as it didn’t feel like anything, for now, it would have to be pushed aside. 

Then everything stopped as if a flick of a switch; the moment gone as quickly as it came. An image, not a memory, came back like a fuzzy film of a man with brown hair and blue eyes projected onto a dark wall- Bucky’s face. 

“This is your target. Do not hesitate to kill on sight. A traitor of HYDRA who chose the Avengers over our dream.”

No, no…your target was Bucky. Say something, say anything! Please, not the only person who cared, who understood. 

A single word drowned out everything. 

“Comply.” 

Concern was etched across his face as he noticed something was wrong. Had he pushed you too hard?

“Can you let me up now?” he asked again, barely nudging you. “I get it, you made your point.”

“No, that sounded like an order,” you pressed your arm further against his throat, making him gasp for air, “And I don’t take orders from anyone anymore.” 

A stillness came to your eyes, void of any life or feeling, as if possessed by a machine. Bucky instantly recognized the look, horror gripping his features. The programmer was talking again, not you. This had been a risk, to bring up the programming again by letting you fight. A mistake he may lose his life for. Nobody matched his strength as you did. Hell, you may be stronger than him with whatever stuff HYDRA had pumped you full of. 

“Don’t listen to it,” he choked out, “It’s me, Bucky.” More air left his throat.

A few broken phrases in Russian he recognized, and hoped to forget how ominous they were. 

“Die,” a distant voice, as if someone else were talking, seethed, “Traitors have to die.” 

Great, he knew well enough there was no snapping you out of it for now. “Sorry about this.” He shoved you off with all his strength before shoving you to the wall. “Snap out of it!”

The only response he got was a jab to the side, nearly knocking him over, yet he held on.  Throwing a punch, uppercut, then aiming for your leg by kicking his knee hard against your leg, trying to trap the knee. Every single move you countered, blocked, or managed to stop before he could even try. 

As if you knew all of his moves, as if you were trained to fight the Winter Soldier. 

A cracking noise filled his ears as you slammed an elbow to his nose, blood trickling past his already busted lip. For once, he was unsure what to do, how to fight someone able to match everything he did without fatally injuring you. 

“I have to eliminate the target,” you reached out, grabbing his metal arm, trying to twist it off. Why did everyone always go for the arm?

Bucky’s eyes widened, making the white clearer as a faint dent appeared in the wrist. Vibranium was practically indestructible, especially a device built directly in Wakanda. What had they turned you into? 

If he didn’t reach you soon, he would die and leave you with blood he had a feeling wouldn’t wash away. 

“Winter Soldier,” you mocked, “What a pathetic excuse for one of HYDRA’s best. How do you even live with it all?”

“I live with it the same way you do,” he groaned out as another punch hit his ribs, “I know it’s hard, knowing what you did, knowing everything you took, but it’s not your fault.”

A flicker, a spark of recognition in your eyes as you searched a terrified, yet understanding pair looking back. There was a small part buried deep, trying to make its way to the surface and reignite. 

How could he beat the code? With one of your own making. 

“Coffee,” he blurted out. His eyes softened a fraction as he could see the coldness begin to break away.   “Coffee, you want coffee?” 

To his relief, you let go of the tight grip on his shirt, taking a few stumbling steps backwards. Even as his muscles untightened, worry suddenly knit at his brow as he saw the now frightened look in your eyes. 

“I’m sorry, Handler.” You stuttered out, “It won’t happen again. No, don’t.”

His stomach twisted, realizing it wasn’t him in front of you any longer. Not as if he wasn’t used to seeing terrified looks in his direction, but seeing it from you was almost too much for him to bare. Bucky remembered the handlers at HYDRA and how many he went through over the decades. They were the ones who gave orders, all while manipulating you to seek them out as a source of comfort in some messed-up version of attachment.

“I’m not your handler.” It took everything to keep his voice calm as anger rose up, mind rushing with ideas of what your handler may have done, “It’s Bucky, remember?”

He reached out a bit; a bad mistake. Immediately, you stumbled back more, pressing your hand to the wall for balance as you tilted your head down in and out, in and out. Breathing was the only thing you could seem to do as the weight of everything came down in a dizzying force. 

Coffee. What did that mean? And why did it sound so familiar? Safe? Fractions of clarity were left, desperate to be clung to. Out of what little of your own voice you had left, you clawed at those bits of yourself, trying to hold on, to push past the programming. 

“Get it off, get it off,” you began tearing at an invisible collar where the scars still formed a ring around your neck. Too tight, too constricted. As long as they had it around your neck, you would never be free. Every breath felt like breaking, every thought a shock. 

Memories rushed back, causing all of the training room to fade away, shifting into the cold lab, which felt ages away. A familiar voice crying out for you muffled into the background, the place you’d been locked away from so long, the feeling of helplessness back again. Once again, your mind had become a prison, and these memories were holding back the key. Words and codes were the bars caging you within yourself.

Trapped, all the world was a dark trap. Get out, get out, I want to get out! 

With every lasting bit of yourself left, you pushed past the words, holding onto the parts left. 

Bucky quickly snatched your wrist in a secure grip, “Stop that, you’ll only hurt yourself.” He felt bad about manhandling you, but if you kept up like this, you’d only injure yourself further. 

“Take it off,” you pleaded, staring back at him with a face so horrified he knew it would haunt him the rest of his days, “Please, just get it off!” Lights flickered overhead as you let out a strangled scream. What the-? No, he didn’t have time to think about that. 

“There’s no collar. See?” He guided your hand up to feel the empty space, pushing your fingers against the scars. Slowly, things became still, clear, and once again all the voices were gone. Well, except for your own. 

“No, Handler,” you muttered, eyes still distant, “Stop tricking me…I know it’s you.”

“It’s not,” Bucky repeated, growing frustrated at how hard HYDRA made it to get through to someone, “I’d never lie to you, remember?”

“Prove it!” you snapped, “Prove you’re Bucky!”

Slowly, he switched hands, bringing his metal one up to your neck as the cool vibranium hit your skin. As if something broke, your eyes widened as if seeing him for the very first time.

“Bucky?” you whispered, staring at him in relief, taking in the blood on his face as well as the cut on his lip. “How did you get hurt? What happened?”

A sinking feeling came, one felt too many times before, as you realized exactly what happened. Your hands began to tremble as you looked down at them, searching for any signs of blood. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” you choked out, lowering to your knees on the mat, too shaken up to stand any longer.  “I didn’t mean to hurt you, I couldn’t help it.”

“I know, I understand,” he crouched down to meet your level, watching as you caught your breath, “Trust me, more than anyone I know.” 

“Why didn’t you stop me?” you asked, unable to understand why he hadn’t simply demobilized you on the spot. 

“I couldn’t bring myself to hurt you, even if it came to it.” If anything, those words broke you even more. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Over and over again, you pleaded, as silent sobs broke out. How could he ever forgive you? 

Bucky couldn’t help but be startled at the lack of tears, even as the sobs racked your body as if you were crying. Maybe they had all dried up long ago. 

“Shh..it’s okay, it’s okay,” he hovered his hand near, not quite touching you, but close enough to reach before making a small nudging motion under your chin, trying to get you to look at him. Relief flooded him to finally see you again, as the light began to flicker to life in your eyes. A picture he had already somehow begun to miss. 

Slowly, you lifted your gaze to meet his, expecting anger, hate, or even a hint of betrayal. 

“There you are,” Bucky coaxed gently as you didn’t try to pull away. Tentatively, he brushed his hand against your cheek for only a second, checking again to see if it was really you still with him. Instead, all those blue eyes conveyed was forgiveness, full of concern, despite the blood on his cheek. Blood you had spilled. Above all else, it was understanding, an understanding only the kind between two people who had both been in this exact place before. 

 “It’s not your fault,” he reassured, bringing his body closer to shield you, creating a small space for just the two of you consisting of only the shared look each of you held with each other.  If he could shield you from all the pain and misery the world had brought you, he would. 

It’s not your fault. 

“Can I have some coffee?”

“Sure.” 

A few moments later, the two of them sat side by side on the floor of the training room, a warm cup of tea cradled in your hands. He’d rummaged through the break room’s cabinets for a good twenty minutes for anything besides coffee, considering your distaste for the “crime against all things that are drinkable” as he’d overhead you call it once. A small brush of the shoulders, barely perceptible, but enough to feel a million unanswered things at once. 

He stole a glance over at your sitting figure, staring down into the cup with a lost look, and that strange piece of white hair peaking out. You were a bit of a mess, not as if Bucky could say anything with how he looked right now. A bandage across a cut on his forehead and a bit of gauze to his lip to soak up the blood. Steve would ask questions, ones he wouldn’t have lies to cover up once he caught sight of his battered state. None of the team trusted you already, and Steve was the only one showing any sort of sympathy. If he lost Steve’s support on this, who knows what sort of place they’d try to lock you up in? Not as if it would ever happen, not on his watch. 

A small part of him was tempted to reach out and tuck it back, but he held back. Right now, you need no sudden moves to trigger whatever happened back there. Even now, he sat close enough to be there without touching, knowing a person’s presence was often enough. 

“I’m sorry,” you muttered, snapping him out of his thoughts, catching him off guard as you held out an arm in front of him. 

“Uh…what are you doing?” he asked in confusion, staring at the outstretched arm. 

“Awaiting punishment,” you answered matter of factly, as if it were the most normal response in the world, “I hurt you, so I would understand.”

“No,” he quickly cut you off, staring back at you wide-eyed, and the look of surprise on your face made his hand curl back into a familiar fist.  A sick, twisted feeling rose in his stomach, and he was horrified at the implications. It wasn’t as if Bucky wasn’t used to these sorts of actions, expecting punishment after so many years at the hands of HYDRA. Punishment became as normal as breathing, always to be expected. Months after he had been awakened, he’d expect hits or even a quick slap across the face while he was recovering in Wakanda, but all they had ever given him was help instead. He’d still flinch from time to time near Steve, but the difference between you and him is that while it was instinct to expect, he never asked. 

“Why not?” you pushed your arm further, “I almost killed you, this is the least I deserve.” Guilt was already eating at you, slowly tearing away all the care you had for Bucky bit by bit. Why wouldn’t he do anything? “I thought fair was fair?” 

“Fair in a fight, and this-” he gently pushed your arm down, “Are two different things. Don’t ever ask me to punish you again.”

“I thought there were no orders!”

He held back, wanting to punch a wall, anything, at how screwed up HYDRA had made both of you. 

“I’m not giving an order, I’m,” he sighed, “Making a promise, okay? I will never lay a hand on you, and if I do, I give you permission right now to punch me in the face.” 

“I already did today,” you answered in a deadpan voice. Wow, he forgot how blunt you were sometimes. 

A bitter laugh escaped him as he shook his head, “Guess you’re right about that. How did you know about those maneuvers anyway?” 

“I’m not sure,” you shrugged, “Everything from HYDRA is sorta a blur, but I remember them teaching me all those things.”

Great, so for some reason, HYDRA had trained you to fight him specifically. Oh, this was not going to go over well with Tony. Or maybe the billionaire would be happy knowing there was a living weapon walking around who could kill the Winter Soldier with a single command. If it wouldn’t ruin his precious reputation or run the risk of Steve trying to kill Stark, he wouldn’t put it past him to try. 

“Why don’t you show me that move of yours?” Bucky suggested, trying to change the subject, “You know, the one where you wrap your legs around the person’s shoulders?” 

“Oh, you mean the one I used to disarm the agents?” you asked, “Sure, I could show you sometimes, only if you promise to teach me that move where you pinned me back with your arm.”

“I can teach you,” he said in an almost mock-stern voice, “Once you’re recovered.” Then, he added in a softer tone, “It’s a promise.”

Daring a look in his direction, you focused on his metal arm a moment before asking hesitantly, “Can I ask, what happened to the arm?”

Once again, he was caught off guard, unsure where to begin. 

“If you don’t want to, it’s fine. I shouldn’t have asked.” 

“No, it’s okay,” he flexed the metal hand in front of him, watching as the metal caught the early morning light in his palms, a constant reminder of the pain he’d endured.  Too much blood had stained it, and even right now, he could swear he saw red dripping off the fingers instead of drops of sunlight. “I fell off a train during the War, HYDRA found me after, and gave me one of these. Of course, this one was made in Wakanda.”

“That’s…awful.” It was the worst possible thing to say, but how else do you respond to information like that? “I’m sorry.”

“No, couldn’t have said it better myself,” he scoffed, full of sarcasm, resting his head back on the wall. “It was awful.” As much as he hadn’t wanted to share those memories with you, he could see the cracks slowly starting to open in the walls you kept up. If saying something difficult meant keeping you talking, then he’d take hard conversations over the quiet shell you were days ago any time. 

“Now, I’ve shared my secret, you share yours,” he lightly nudged your shoulder, nodding towards the white in your hair, “So what’s that about?” Even if he was asking, you knew with Bucky, there was no real pressure to answer. Instead of revealing the secret he wanted, another spilled out, bubbling to the surface before you could stop it: “I never cried.”

“What?” Bucky lifted his head, trying to gauge what you were getting at. Taking a shuddering breath, you looked towards him. 

“While I was at HYDRA, the whole time, I never cried. From the start, even with the first tests, all the tortures, punishments,” the words spilled out like a confession, a secret you’d carried now shared between two, “I screamed a lot, tried to fight them even if it wasn’t much use, but I never once cried. I couldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing it, let them know they couldn’t break me.” 

Bucky wished he could say the same about himself. Those first few days at HYDRA were still too vivid, too real for him, even if nearly a hundred years had passed.  He had screamed, cursed at them, cried, and begged at times, until finally he began crying in the confusion of it all, and they had laughed at him. Laughed as if his suffering were entertainment, saying broken phrases in German he recognized as any word for weak. All the bull about men not crying, especially soldiers, which had been drilled into him from the moment he was born, had been thrown out the window once the pain of HYDRA hit. The worst point is when he cried for his mother, who was waiting back at home for him for who knows how long. 

“I have a feeling nothing could break you,” he said, breaking the silence. Those words meant more than he’d ever realize to you. 

“About what happened back there,” you began, unsure where to start.

“I already told you I understand, okay?” 

“No, not that,” you tugged at the hem of your tank. “What happened while we were sparring?”

Oh. Oh. Heat crept up his neck as he quickly scratched at the spot nervously. He had almost forgotten about the moment with the chaos that had followed it. He knew it was probably just some reaction from all the heightened emotions you were experiencing after nearly dying alone, only about two weeks before. Looking at you now, he couldn’t help but feel his heart stutter at the sight of how strong you were to push past so much, but deep down, he knew those feelings were all a consequence of the horrors you’d endured. Why would you want him anyway? 

“Look, you’ve been through a lot, and that can make you feel a lot,” Bucky tried. Where was Steve when he needed him? Talking through stuff wasn’t his area of expertise, especially not this sort of thing. “And you probably caught up. Don’t read into it too much.”

“But, I thought, maybe,” you faltered, not even sure why you had brought it up again, or why it was suddenly so important to know if you were imagining the look he’d given you on the mat. 

“Don’t read too much into it,” he repeated in a firmer tone, but not a harsh one. “Just forget about it, okay?” 

  The scars are still on your neck, along with the fresh ones from the scratching moments before, were a stark reminder of exactly why the whole thing needed to be forgotten. Healing took time, patience, all things he was willing to give, but after seeing the reaction you’d had today, whatever had happened between the two of you was out of the question. Right now, you need to heal, not complicate things further in your life. He would be a steady presence, nothing more, nothing less. 

“Right, just forget I said anything,” you mumbled, quickly pushing out all the feelings away, forgetting them. “Can we just be quiet now?” Forgetting was for the best right now, so forget you would, like every other painful memory you kept hidden away. 

“Sure, we can be quiet,” he softly smiled, sitting there beside you, not ready to leave any time soon. A comfortable silence grew between the two of you as the sun rose over the city behind. If sitting in the quiet was what you needed, Bucky would give what he could. 

Thoughts began to race in his head, the events of the hour replaying over and over in his head. 

Who could ever want him anyway? A broken, screwed up ghost of a man. Sure, maybe the two of you wore the same scars, but why would anyone want of reminder of where they came from? Maybe Bucky could help you heal with his actions, his odd way of being there. After all, he was still a soldier deep down, so his actions were the only way he knew to make his way through the world. He put his all into everything, but if he gave all of himself to you? He was sure that if he did, the weight of the burden of his heart would crush your own heavy one. So, he’d let those feelings go for now, even if it did break your heart, because broken hearts could heal. A heavy heart would only grow heavier carrying the weight of another. 

  He didn’t understand how he’d grown so attached to someone in such little time, usually standoffish and reserved, and whatever had happened moments ago, he understood even less. Right now, the only thing he knew was that he would have to let you go in order to keep you close, and he made another promise to you silently. As long as he was around, he would make sure you had no more tears, no reason to cry. And, if it ever came to it, you’d be in a place where you’d feel safe enough to cry all those saved-up tears, because he had a feeling he would be there to wipe away every one, whether he could admit it to himself or not. 

What were you doing to him?

Part of a larger work "In Your Eyes"

Link to fic: In Your Eyes - Chapter 1 - daily_delulu - Marvel Cinematic Universe [Archive of Our Own]

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Tags: @buckybarnes82 @strych9ghost