#Flight: Dare to Dream

[radiant-reid]

24 Hours

request: a blurb where he actually gets mad at JJ when she confesses to love him but doesn't really say anything at the moment. But then when he introduces reader to the team as his girlfriend, JJ is being kinda rude to her. She tries to tell him she doesn't like her, that she's not good for him. And spencer gets mad and protective👀 maybe he even throws a "i'm going to marry her, whether you like it or not".

a/n: my return piece !!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader (Fluff)

Word Count: 2.2k

Spencer sees red when he walks out of the jewelry store after shooting the unsub.

JJ is the first girl he has ever asked out, someone he pined over for years after her subtle rejection at the Redskins game. He understood her reasoning. It would have been impractical for them to add relationship highs and lows to everything the BAU has been through over fourteen years, and that's if they stayed together. If they hadn't, things would have been even more complicated.

Also she just generally didn't like him that way. Or so he thought.

It didn't mean she wasn't his ideal for many years. His first love, who had so many traits he didn't have that he desperately wanted.

His confirmation he would be unlucky in love came after that with Maeve, who he once again thought could be the one for him. And then he realized that maybe the person for him had been taken away from him.

Then he met Y/n, and it all seemed worth it. All those terrible nights of crying and feeling like he would forever be alone, all the times he was the only single one on the team, knowing everyone was going home to someone they loved unconditionally and relied on for support.

She's the sun and the moon, and he fell in love so fast he couldn't stop it. Luckily, she did too.

Until JJ fucked it up.

The truth she had to tell to get them out alive dropped an atomic bomb on his newly formed life plans.

Spencer doesn't speak to her that night as they finish their recounts and reports. She leaves it out, though, he discovers, opting to write the secret about her miscarriage instead of confessing her love for her best friend and the godfather of her kids.

It messes with his head the whole way home. He can't sleep on the jet, even if he wanted to as he tried to work out what he was feeling.

All JJ does is send him pleading looks, and all he does is get angry because how dare she do this now? After she had fifteen years of them working together, all those chances to tell him how she felt.

He would have married and had a family with her, the family he always wanted. It's always stayed in the back of his head for so long, and just as he sees someone else in that role in his dreams, she drudges all of it back up.

It's such a long flight, and he taps his foot the whole way while staring out the window, not even able to read.

He goes to Y/n's. He's not sure what he's going to say, how much of it he's going to tell her, but he needs to see her to cool off the fury boiling out of him.

"Hey, handsome." She calls out when he walks in the door as cheerful as ever.

He feels a pit of guilt sink into his stomach because he can't tell her without ruining everything they delicately have put together. Maybe it's wrong to lie by omission, but his brain keeps coming back to fault. And it's JJ's fault. She's the one who's jeopardizing everything.

"Hi, gorgeous." He replies, walking into the living room to find her laying on the couch, book in her hands and her head on the armrest. He's reminded how accurate the petname he calls her by is when he's taken off guard by her breathless beauty. "How are you liking it?" He asks.

"It's good." She answers, putting the book down. "But that's because it's very you."

She gets up, meeting him behind the couch to cup his jaw, stroking over his skin and staring into his eyes for a moment before kissing him properly.

He relaxes into it, the tension in his shoulders easing and his brain slowing down for a moment. It's heavenly, as always, and it's what being loved is meant to feel like.

"How was your case?" She asks when she pulls back, still not daring to move too far away from him.

He tenses instantly at that, totally readable behavior, but he's got to perfect excuse to play it off. "It was rough." He holds out his bandaged hand that he's been avoiding showing her. "I got hurt."

"Shit." She straightens up, noticing how big it looked. "What happened?"

"Cut it on glass." He answers, not going as far as to say where he was when it occurred. "I'm fine, though. Promise."

She nods, reassured. "We've got to be up in, like, six hours, you know?" She reminds him of the time.

With the amount of coffee and adrenaline in his system, he barely registered it was already past 2 in the morning. Usually, they would have stayed in LA for the night, but being home in time for Rossi's wedding trumped a good night of sleep for everyone.

"Can I sleep here?" He wonders, awkwardly looking down at his feet.

"Duh. I'm not going to kick you out and make you come pick me up so we can go tomorrow morning." She jokes. "Picked up your suit, too. You're going to look very handsome."

Spencer grins because she seriously can't get more perfect. She still feels so unattainable, but he'd do anything to make sure he doesn't lose her.

He really should tell her, but he can't. Not right now.

Y/n snaps him out of it. "Bedtime now?"

"Please." He agrees gratefully, keeping his arms wrapped around her while they walk to her bedroom.

He keeps her close while they go through the motions of getting ready for bed. Spencer quickly sheds his suit and both of them brush their teeth.

His head is on the pillow for only a few seconds before he's asleep, and she follows soon after.

The alarm going off isn't as much of a problem when Spencer is lying in bed next to her, arm wrapped around her waist. It's one of the things she misses a lot when he's away.

"Hi, beautiful," Spencer whispers, a husky voice as always. He's glad he fell asleep quickly, not having wanted to sit up thinking about the stupid things JJ has said. He just couldn't understand why it was coming up now. Sleep provided absolutely no clarity.

She grins at him. "Hi."

"Are you ready for today?" He asks softly.

"A little nervous," Y/n admits. The BAU is his family after all. His mom is there but the BAU has been where he's spent most of his life for the last 15 years.

"They'll love you." Because I love you. Spencer assures her.

She smiles softly, feeling a little better. "Let's get up then."

Spencer agrees, not before planting a few kisses on her lips and hugging her tightly.

They get ready side by side, feeling a great sense of domesticity. She's never gotten close to someone as quickly as she has with Spencer. Somehow, it's not scary that it's happened this way.

"Wow, you're very gorgeous," Spencer tells her as she touches up the final strand of her hair, adding enough hairspray that it won't fall out. He stands in the doorway of the bathroom, admiring her. "Wow."

"Thank you." Y/n spins around to look at him in his deep maroon suit. It matches her dress color which she agrees looks very nice on her. "And you're very handsome."

"Ready? The car is coming soon." He says.

She nods, fixing her bracelet. "Let's do it."

There are still some nerves as the car takes them to the venue. Spencer does a good job of assuring her it'll be okay, his hand like a magnet to her thigh. He seems slightly off like there's something out of place, but she shrugs it off. She hopes he's being cute and afraid his friends still say something embarrassing.

The venue and interior are exquisite as they make their way in. She takes a deep breath before they come across the man of the day, welcoming everyone at the entrance. She has no doubt that the value of the artwork in this room totals her apartment and everything in it.

"Spencer." Rossi, supposably, greets him in a tight hug.

"This is my girlfriend, Y/n." Spencer introduces them.

As she expects, and as she was warned about by Spencer, Rossi pulls her in for a hug, immediately calming her nerves with his warm greeting. "It's so nice to meet you. This one won't stop talking about you." Rossi jokes, nodding at an increasingly reddening Spencer.

"It's nice to meet you too." She smiles. "Thank you for inviting me."

Rossi nods. "Of course, it's a pleasure."

And then the rest of the introductions begin. Everyone's so kind, like she expected. She's seen photos and heard stories but everyone seems to have more personality than he conveyed. She's quickly fast friends with Penelope and Tara who do their absolute best to make sure Y/n's feeling comfortable.

It's how she ends up being dragged onto the dance floor after the ceremony. Once the alcohol starts flowing, there's no more anxiousness left and some extroverted spirit has been brought out.

Spencer's not one to dance, but he's one to admire. Only Y/n, though. She looks angelic, despite the old-style dance moves.

He's so wrapped up in watching her that he doesn't register JJ's heels on the ground as she approaches him. It's only when she sits next to him that his head turns around to face her.

He waits for her to speak first. Hopefully, provide some explanation.

"Spencer." She says his name softly, almost like how he used to imagine she'd say it if they were together. Much to his surprise, she doesn't go into any detail about the bomb she'd dropped less than 24 hours ago. "I'm worried about you."

He doesn't hide his scoff. "Worried about me?" He repeats.

She goes for another tactic, trying not to get him mad. "You don't think you're rushing into this?"

"Rushing into what, Jennifer?" He spits back, snapping to anger. Using her first name drives the point home, almost unnecessarily when he sounds so angered.

"You know what I mean." She continues. "You've only been talking about her for a few weeks and now she's here."

He can't fathom that she'd suggest he's rushing into a relationship. He's been careful and deliberate, but Y/n's safe, and she's proved it time and time again.

"She's been part of my life for 6 months." Spencer fact-checks her. "And you said I seemed happier since I met her."

JJ stalls, regrouping before trying another angle. "She's just not what I expected. Is she really the type you should be with?"

"What does that mean?" Spencer states, more furious than ever. There's a chance he will fully snap at her and he wouldn't be sorry.

"I feel like you should be with someone extroverted." She suggests. "You know, someone to get you out of your shell."

Spencer needs a deep breath. "You're not being a good friend right now." He tells her much more calmly. There's not one thing he doesn't love about Y/n, whether she's more on the extroverted or introverted side."I'm going to marry her, whether you like it or not." It's not even what he expected to come out of his mouth.

"Spence-" JJ tries again to reason with him.

"No, don't you dare," Spencer says firmly. "You flew back and forth from New Orleans so many times to see Will, without telling us once and we were all accepting of your relationship. If you don't like my relationship, I don't care. But it's not too soon for me to know. We can talk about what you told me later, but for now, I'm going to dance with my girlfriend." Without another word, he gets up and walks off, leaving her a little gobsmacked.

Y/n frowns at him as he approaches the dance floor. "Are you okay?" She checks.

"More than okay," Spencer tells her with a soft smile.

"Dance with me then." She says, mirroring her smile and holding out her hand.

"I'd love to." He takes her hand just as a slow song comes on for them to sway together.

JJ gets ignored by him for the rest of the night, something unnoticed by Y/n but purposeful by Spencer. But it's fun. So much fun. And he's sure he wouldn't be having as much fun had Y/n not been there. She truly makes his day.

They're in the car later that night, parked near her apartment, ice cream eaten on the trip home. "I'm in love with you," Spencer admits when her laughter falls off after he tells a joke.

It's not a word they've said before.

Her expression is of pure shock, but joy quickly creeps in. "I'm in love with you too." She tells him, grinning.

And it's an entirely better confession than the one he heard 24 hours ago.

[dcxdpdabbles]

DCxDP idea: To Be Human Again

Danny had not been human for a long time. His home dimension had long since fallen. He lost his friends and family to old age, watched their descendants rise and fall in the same way, and witnessed his Earth come to an end.

When the cosmos erupted and took the solar system he knew and loved, Danny was oddly at peace with the end. He was no longer a Halfa but a full Spirit of the Stars. Solar flares ran through his veins rather than blood, stardust decorated his skin in gently kissed freckles, and his eyes held the swirling clouds of the cosmos.

Danny had not become a ghost. He had transformed into an Ancient, commanding the prophecies, fates, and endless opportunities that all living beings could experience in their lifetimes.

He flouted through his domain, witnessing battles between Lords of Choas and Order. Planets gain life and break apart. Endless time stretching from the graveities he weaves to flouting stones.

As time passes, his name begins to fade into legends and myths, and even the ghosts that once battled with him forget their time together. They, too, can age at a much slower rate, but change comes for them. He is present for Box Lunch's birth, but when he leaves to create light in the darkness, he misses her growing up. When he returns, Box Lunch does not know him, trembling in place as she bows low like her parents.

He stares at her, wondering what he found wrong with her, until he realizes she is a young adult. Were it not for his once evil timeline, he wouldn't have known her child form. He had missed it.

His gaze falls onto the much older pair of ghosts who call him by his new title. Neither Box Ghost nor Lunch Lady show any signs of remembering his name. They greet him with his title, and act as if though that is his identifier.

How many eons had it been since he last heard someone call him Phantom? Or even Danny?

"Lord Star Weaver?" Box Lunch stammers when the giant being only continues to stare. "Is something the matter?"

"Hmm," he considers her question, wondering if his realizations upset him. It's not that he was lonely or that he missed the sound of his name. But he has spent eons in a haze focusing on his work, and now it's almost as if he was waking from a dream.

Dreams....what did those feel like again?

"Tell me, Box Lunch, are there any portals to any living Earths?" His voice booms over the Realms, echoing as if they were a part of him. Maybe they were.

Danny had not sat on his throne since his elder sister breathed her last, but he still remembered the way the Infinite Realms changed on his whims. It's where he learned to weave stars. The young woman's ghost looked startled before she gestured vaguely to a path behind her.

"Yes, sir. I regularly use the anchored portal to visit the local Earth. It's where my father was born before his death."

Danny looks down at Box Ghost before leaning toward Box Lunch's height. She is no bigger than his pupils, and she seems frozen in terror as his eyes glow with hunger. "Show me," he says.

Her parents make strangling noises, but they wouldn't dare speak against the King and Ancient of creation. They send their daughter worried tight smiles but encourage her to lead the Star Waver to the portal.

She flights for a solid hour, his large form sending every ghost into hiding as he passes. Despite not having a living heart, he knows that it beats a mile a minute within her chest as her glow flickers in uncertainty.

They arrive at the portal, a swirling green pool resting in the open mouth of a mechanical jester. Danny thinks it looks like the building of an amusement park. He remember going to one once with Sam. This had been the Funhouse, filled to the brim with trick mirrors.

The memory causes him to smile.

Lunch Box nervously moves her hands one after another, bowing at the waist and stepping to the side so Danny can consider the portal. He is much larger than the building and doubts his foot would fit inside the portal.

He should change his form.

"Here it is, Lord Star Weaver, the portal to the human-AGHHHH!" Box Lunch's words fade into a scream as two bright rings of light form around the Ancient. Fearing she had offended the being and he was planning on retaliating, she flings herself to the ground before the portal, begging for her existence.

"I will do anything!" She cries, head pressing against the glowing green stone underneath her. "Mercy, please, Lord Star Weaver."

"Anything? Then you shall be my guide in the new Earth, " a human voice says. Shocked, she raises her head only to see that the Ancient has vanished and that a human teenager with soft fluffy hair, big baby blue eyes, and the most innocent demeanor is staring back at her.

Were it not for the soul she could feel carefully folded up inside him, she would have thought him a human who stumbled through the portal.

"My....Lord?" she dares to ask, and she's rewarded with a soft smile. Honestly, the human body the Star Weaver has chosen is an odd one. It looks like a strong gust of wind could knock him over.

"Yes. Where does this portal lead?"

"Gotham," She shutters out, "The city within the United States of Earth. This portal is in te middle of a human outlaw named Joker, but humans there aren't able to see us very well so he never bothers me."

"Gotham" Danny rolls the name on his human tongue, tasting it as the sound vibrates through his bones and his heart. It's been so long since he last felt this alive, and if that was what the name could do, who knows what the city could bring him. "What a wonderful place to get lost in, don't you agree, big sister?"

"Um...I beg your pardon?" Lunch Box blinks, but he shifts her fate with a snap of his fingers. Since she had never been alive, having been a Realms born, Danny has control of her guiding star. He moved it for one that belonged to a version of herself born in the human world.

Lunch Box's body shifts into flesh and blood. Her draw drops as she stares at her human hands. Danny grins. "I'm Danny Fenotn, moving to Gotham with my older sister. Adopted, of course. Who might you be?"

She looks at him with horror and heartbreak, but what leaves her mouth is only three words: "I'm Della Fenton."

"Della." He repeats the name, nodding his head and smiling. "It's lovely."

"It was my mother's Earth name before her death, " she says in a daze, and Danny smiles, striding into the portal without a second glance.

"Come on, Della, I want to see our new home."

He steps into the portal, while she can only look out over the Realms that no longer whisper and speak to her. How could it? She was no longer a ghost. She silently apologizes to her parents, who would likely be waiting at their haunt for her, and turns away from the only home she's ever known.

She can not afford to anger the Star Weaver. If he can breathe life into her with a mere snap of her fingers, she fears what he can do to take it away.

On the other side of the portal Della finds that her King has been caught by humans, who have tied him up to a chair and a snickering clown waved a knife in his face.

His gentle smile did not leave his face even as the Joker sliced two thin lines on his cheek.

"Della" Danny calls never taking his eyes off the clown. "Is this the outlaw you spoke of?"

Human goons swarm her. She is shocked to find that they can touch her as she is thrown on the ground, only to remember she is now human. The dull ache in her chin is her new reality.

"Yes. That's the Joker," She says after getting her wits about her. One of the goons presses the heel of his foot on top of her head, slamming her back to the ground and breaking her nose. A scatter of snickers echoes through the room as Joker loudly cackles.

"That's right, little boy. I'm the Joker, and this is my Fun House. What were you two doing sneaking about here uninvited?"

There are teeth in the Star Weaver's answer, and she shivers in place, wondering how she will survive him. "Oh, I just felt like star gazing. Say, did you know your guiding star is becoming dim?"

[abbotjack]

Booked for One

pairing : Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x fem!resident!reader

summary : A black-tie charity gala in Chicago. One bed. Months of tension. And a storm that forces both of you to stop pretending.

warnings/content : 18+ content, explicit sexual material (fingering, penetrative sex, condom use), strong language, emotionally repressed characters, unresolved sexual tension (resolved), jealousy, mutual pining, power dynamics (attending x resident), one bed trope, clothing sharing (his hoodie/boxers)

word count : 4,850

18+ ONLY MDNI, not beta read. Please read responsibly.

a/n : This is me projecting every inch of tension into one hotel room and letting it burn. Robby is so done pretending he doesn’t want her. She’s so done pretending it doesn’t wreck her. No further questions.

The Chicago skyline glittered beyond the ballroom windows like something out of a dream, but the room itself was thick with too much perfume and performative laughter to feel romantic. Somewhere between the crystal chandeliers and the overpriced floral centerpieces, you remembered: this was a charity gala, not a fairy tale. Not that you’d expected it to be one.

Your heels clicked confidently across the marble as you stepped into the crowd, the sound sharp and unapologetic. The red dress did exactly what it was meant to do—stop conversations mid-sentence. Backless, sculpted, slit high enough to make someone drop their champagne. Almost inappropriate. Almost. But cut with just enough class to keep mouths shut and eyes glued. You didn’t stumble into this look—you chose it. Every inch of it said exactly what you needed it to.

And beside you—silent, composed, unreadable—walked Dr. Michael Robinavitch.

Not behind. Not trailing. Beside. Step for step, shoulder to shoulder. Close enough that your perfume reached him, close enough that his silence pressed against your skin like static. The air between you practically hummed. No words were exchanged, but you felt his presence—intentional, sharp, heavy. Not accidental. Never accidental. He wore that tux like a threat and walked like he already regretted coming.

You didn’t blame him. He’d hated the idea of this from the moment the assignment hit both your inboxes. He spent most of the flight to Chicago muttering about schmoozing donors and dressing up for people who’d never seen what a ruptured spleen looked like in real life. Said if AGH wanted charm, they should’ve sent a PR team—not a trauma attending and a second-year resident.

But for all his complaining, he showed up anyway.

Beard neatly trimmed, jaw tight, suit tailored to the exact width of his frustration. He hadn’t bothered with a tie—left the top button undone and rolled his sleeves up in the car, like he couldn’t stand the performance of it all but still dared anyone to question whether he belonged.

Classic Robby.

All precision. All control. Except, maybe, for the way his eyes kept drifting back to you like he hadn’t meant to.

You’d felt it before you even got here.

The moment you stepped out of your hotel room earlier that evening, still adjusting the strap of your dress, you felt the air shift. His gaze had dragged down your spine like heat—slow, reluctant, and absolutely devastating. He hadn’t said a word. No compliment. Not even a grunt. Just stood there in the hallway, watching you like a problem he didn’t know how to solve.

Then you got into the car.

And now, here you were. Walking beside him like none of that tension had happened—like it wasn’t still buzzing under your skin.

He said nothing.

So, you flirted.

You’d barely handed off your coat when a man caught up to you. Mid-thirties, polished, expensive suit, and the kind of grin that usually came with a boarding group upgrade and a trust fund. His eyes dragged over you—slow, practiced—and landed on your badge.

“Emergency?” he asked, matching your stride.

You didn’t break pace. “That a problem?”

“No,” he said, trailing beside you now. “Just wasn’t expecting it. Not in that dress.”

“Guess I don’t dress for your expectations.”

He laughed under his breath, clearly intrigued. “Wasn’t trying to offend. You just... don’t look like you’ve pulled a chest tube.”

You glanced at him, expression unreadable. “You don’t look like someone who’s coded a patient without crying, but I’m not holding it against you.”

He blinked, thrown for half a second—then smiled, slower this time, like the game had just gotten interesting.

“Alright,” he said. “I deserved that.”

You gave a noncommittal shrug. “Probably.”

He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “Should I try again?”

You didn’t answer right away. You just looked at him—cool, steady, unreadable. Not interested, but not walking away either.

“If you want,” you said finally.

And then you turned, letting him follow you into the crowd. He kept close, too close, like he wasn’t used to being dismissed.

“I’m Lucas, by the way,” he said, offering it like a favor.

“Of course you are.”

He laughed under his breath, clearly not sure if it was a compliment. Robby was across the ballroom, watching it all.

You watched him back. The way his jaw clenched every time you touched Lucas’s arm, the way he barely blinked when Lucas leaned too close.

"You here alone?" Lucas asked.

"That depends," you said, voice light.

"On what?"

You looked past him. Past the buffet table. Past the sea of donors and old-money medicine. Straight into Robby’s eyes. And you smiled.

“On whether he comes over here or not.”

Lucas turned, confused. “Who?”

You just tipped your glass toward Robby.

Robby didn’t move. He just stared back—still, unreadable, drink untouched in his hand like he wanted to throw it at something.

You turned back to Lucas. “Nevermind.”

You ended up pressed against the gold-veined marble counter in the bathroom ten minutes later, Lucas’s mouth hot and insistent on yours, his hands already on your hips like he’d earned the right. The chill of the marble cut against the warmth pooling low in your body, but you didn’t stop him.

Outside, rain had started to streak across the windows—steady now, soft at first and building. You barely registered it. All you felt was Lucas’s palm dragging slowly up your thigh, slipping beneath the slit of your dress, fingers skimming skin like he expected you to beg for it.

He kissed like a man used to being told yes. Confident. Greedy. A little too practiced. His teeth grazed your lip, tongue sweeping into your mouth with a low hum as he pushed closer, like he couldn’t get enough of the way you tasted.

You let his hand slide higher. Let him mouth at your neck, at the soft line beneath your jaw. Let him tug the strap of your dress down far enough for the fabric to slide off your shoulder.

Your lipstick smeared between you. Your breath came faster than it should’ve. And all you could think about—even now—was how Robby hadn’t said a single goddamn thing about the dress.

Lucas tasted like champagne and ego. His hands were good. His mouth was eager. His knee pushed between yours and your back hit the mirror with a dull, aching thud.

“You’re unreal,” he muttered against your collarbone, breath hot, hand skimming the edge of your breast now. “Jesus.”

You tilted your head back and closed your eyes.

Pretending it was enough.

Pretending it didn’t burn.

Then, gently—too gently—you pressed your palm against his chest.

“I should go.”

Lucas blinked. “Seriously?”

You didn’t answer at first. You just looked at him, steady, breath catching, lips swollen from someone you didn’t want.

Then: “Yeah. Seriously.”

Not cold. Just done.

You slipped out before he could say anything else, smoothing your dress and swiping your thumb across your mouth.

Outside, rain ticked louder against the glass.

And just a few feet down the corridor, exactly where you didn’t want him to be—was Robby. Like he'd positioned himself there on purpose. Like he knew exactly where you’d be. His eyes tracked you the second you stepped back into the ballroom—sharp, steady, and unmistakably furious.

“Was that worth it?” Robby’s voice cut through the hum of the ballroom, low and sharp like a scalpel slipping beneath skin.

You froze mid-step, spine straightening. “What?”

He pushed off the column, slow and measured, like he’d been holding himself still for too long. “Lucas. From Hopkins, right? He’s been at a few of these things.” Robby’s voice was low, sharper than it had any right to be. “In the bathroom. That's how you planned to go about your night?”

You crossed your arms. “Careful. You’re starting to sound jealous.”

“I’m not jealous,” he said, stepping in closer. “I’m pissed.”

You lifted your chin. “Why? Because he touched me, or because I let him?”

His jaw flexed. “You really want me to answer that?”

“You’ve been watching me all night, Robby. If you had something to say, you could’ve said it before I walked away.”

“I didn’t think you’d let someone else touch you first.”

You laughed once, dry and humorless. “That’s on you.”

“Don’t twist this.”

You held his stare. “Don’t try to control something you keep pretending you don’t want.”

He stepped closer, voice rough. “You think I don’t want you?”

“I think you want me when it’s convenient. I think you want me more when someone else does.”

His eyes darkened. “You don’t get it.”

“Then explain it.”

He shook his head. “You walked out of that bathroom looking wrecked—and all I could think was, I should’ve been the one to ruin your lipstick.”

Your breath caught.

“I mean it,” he said, voice lower now, almost ragged. “I stood here like a fucking statue while he got to touch you. Got to taste you.”

“Then do something about it,” you snapped, the air between you flaring hot.

“I can’t,” he said, jaw tight. “Not here. Not when I’m still trying to be the version of me that’s good for you.”

Thunder rumbled outside, closer now. A gust of wind rattled the balcony doors, and someone across the room shut one with a sharp bang that turned a few heads. Staff began to move like shadows between tables, and the string quartet shifted into something slow.

“Why not?” you whispered.

“Because the second I touch you,” he said, “I won’t stop.”

A waiter brushed past with a tray, and the spell broke—the quiet clatter of silver on porcelain snapping the air between you.

You stepped back like it burned. “We should go.”

Neither of you said another word.

Minutes later, you sat stiff in the back seat of the Uber, arms crossed tight, trying not to look like your heart was still somewhere back in the ballroom. Robby stared straight ahead, one hand flexing on his knee, the other resting uselessly between you. The driver didn’t ask questions. Neither of you offered answers.

By the time you stepped back into the hotel, the lobby was chaos—umbrellas dripping onto the tile, soaked coats draped over chairs, luggage leaving wet trails across the marble.

You were halfway to the elevators when the concierge spotted you.

“Miss?” she called out gently. “Room 124?”

You turned, already bracing.

“There’s been a situation,” she said. “A pipe burst on the first floor. Maintenance was able to shut it off, but your room was affected.”

Your chest tightened. “Affected how?”

“Flooded,” she admitted. “We pulled what we could from your room and sent everything to the laundry department for evaluation.”

You blinked. “Evaluation?”

She hesitated. “Some items were soaked. Our team is assessing what’s salvageable.”

You didn’t need her to spell it out. You could picture it already.

Your suitcase—soaked through from the bottom up, clothes clinging to the lining like wet leaves. The silk sleep set you packed on a whim, twisted and ruined. Your toiletry bag overturned, mascara tubes and tampons and a busted travel-size mouthwash bobbing in shallow water. Your heels wrapped in white hotel towels like they’d been injured. Your charger? Fried. The paperback you'd half-finished on the plane? Warped and curling at the edges like a dried flower.

You didn’t want it assessed. You wanted it not to have happened.

“We’re also fully booked due to the weather,” she added, almost apologetic now. “We’ve had cancellations, stranded travelers, local walk-ins. There’s a waitlist, but we can’t guarantee anything for tonight.”

Of course not.

You stared past her, toward the barricaded hallway at the far end of the lobby. Caution tape. Industrial fans. A sign printed in sharpie: FLOOR CLOSED FOR CLEANUP—1st. You could hear the low, constant roar of air pushing moisture out of drywall.

“Fine,” you muttered, reaching for your phone. “I’ll find another hotel.”

You had barely tapped the screen when Robby spoke.

“She’s with me.”

You turned your head slowly. “You don’t get to decide that.”

“You don’t have a room,” he said, measured. “You don’t have clothes. You’re not getting another hotel this late.”

“I didn’t ask for help.”

“I’m not offering help.” He looked at you then—just once, jaw locked, eyes hard. “I’m not letting you walk around Chicago at midnight with a dead phone especially during a thunderstorm.”

That shut you up. Not because he was angry.

Because he was worried. And trying not to show it.

The concierge handed over a second keycard.

Robby took it before you could say anything.

Just like that.

Final. No discussion.

He didn’t even look at you as he turned toward the elevators.

You followed him.

The click of your heels echoed against the tile, sharp and precise. Rain streaked the windows behind the lobby seating area, lightning flashing faintly across the marble floor. Neither of you spoke.

“I don’t have anything to sleep in,” you said finally, your voice clipped.

“I’ve got boxers and a hoodie,” he answered without looking back.

You stopped. Right there in the middle of the lobby.

“Oh, perfect. I’ll just wear your hoodie like this is totally normal and not weird at all,” you said, tone sharp.

He turned—slow, deliberate. Shoulders tense, jaw tight.

“What’s your move, then? Wander around downtown at midnight in heels that are cutting off your circulation, soaked through, no phone, no plan?”

You didn’t answer fast enough.

His jaw ticked. “It’s a hoodie and boxers, not a wedding dress. Don’t flatter yourself.”

You blinked, slow. “Oh, I’m not. I just prefer not to sleep in something that smells like you’re still wearing it.”

He stepped in—closer than necessary. “You didn’t seem so bothered by that smell earlier. In the elevator. Or at the event.”

Your pulse jumped. You hated that it did.

You crossed your arms. “I’d rather not spend the night with someone who can’t stand to look at me.”

His eyes didn’t move from yours. “You’re not upset about me glaring.”

“Oh no?”

“No,” he said. “You’re upset because the wrong man undressed you with his eyes—and made a move before the one you wanted ever did.”

Your stomach dropped.

You opened your mouth. Nothing came out.

He didn’t move. He didn’t smirk. He just let the words sit there between you, heavy and sharp and so goddamn true you wanted to slap him for it.

“Wow,” you breathed. “You’re a dick.”

“And you’re still standing here,” he said.

The elevator dinged.

You turned and walked in first.

He followed.

The doors slid shut behind you with a hush that felt like it should’ve echoed.

You stood a little too close to the mirrored wall. He stayed behind you, angled slightly off to the side. You watched him through the reflection. He wasn’t watching you, but he wasn’t relaxed either. His jaw was locked. His hands were in his pockets, knuckles tight enough to show through the fabric.

His chest rose slow. Measured. Controlled.

The air between you wasn���t just tense—it was alive. Like it had heard every word back in the lobby and didn’t believe either of you were done.

The elevator climbed.

At floor ten, your arms were crossed so tightly your shoulders ached.

At floor eleven, your pulse jumped just from the space between your hands and his body.

At floor twelve, he looked at you in the reflection—just a flick of his gaze—and your breath caught.

“We’re both adults,” he said.

Your voice barely made it out. “Barely.”

The elevator doors opened, and you stepped out before he could say anything.

His footsteps followed—steady, patient. The hall was quiet except for the distant hum of the rain hitting the windows at the end. The carpet muffled everything but your heartbeat.

He unlocked the door with one swipe of the keycard, then held it open. You didn’t look at him as you walked in.

You flicked the lights on.

And there it was.

One bed. Big. White. Obvious.

Robby walked in behind you, shutting the door with a soft click. He shrugged off his jacket and hung it neatly, like this was any other night.

You stared at the bed, then at him. Your voice was dry.

“Of course it’s one.”

He didn’t flinch. “Wasn’t expecting company when I booked it.”

You crossed your arms. “But when you offered to share—”

“I knew,” he cut in, voice smooth, unreadable. “Yes.”

“And you didn’t think to mention that part?”

He turned to face you fully, one brow lifting just slightly. “I had a single room. Why would it have two beds?”

You blinked at him, but he kept going, tone low and infuriatingly rational.

“Sorry, I forgot to ask the hotel for the ‘in case my coworker gets drenched and stranded’ package.”

You scoffed. “A heads-up would’ve been nice.”

He tilted his head, eyes skimming over you. “Right. And if I’d said, ‘It’s one bed,’ you’d have said what? ‘No thanks, I’ll sleep in a puddle’?”

You didn't answer.

He smirked. “Exactly.”

The silence stretched. Long enough to make the storm outside feel closer. You peeled your clutch from under your arm and set it on the dresser like it gave you something to do.

He crossed to his bag. Pulled out a hoodie and a pair of boxers, both folded with the kind of care you recognized in him—practical, precise. He set them down at the end of the bed.

“They’re clean,” he said. “Bathroom’s yours.”

You didn’t move yet. Just looked at the bed again. Then at him.

He hadn’t looked away once.

You took the clothes in one hand.

“So,” you said slowly. “We’re just gonna sleep next to each other like none of this ever happened?”

His voice didn’t waver. “Is that a problem?”

You raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know. Can you keep your hands to yourself?”

“Yeah.”

“Even if I wear this?” You lifted the hoodie an inch.

His gaze dropped for a single second. Just one. Then back up.

“Especially if you wear that.”

You stared at him.

He didn’t blink.

The moment hovered—thick and heavy with something neither of you wanted to name.

Then you turned toward the bathroom without responding.

The door clicked shut behind you, and you swore you could still hear the sound of him exhaling—low and rough, like he was trying not to want something he didn’t have permission to reach for.

The bathroom was quiet except for the faint hum of the fan and the thunder outside.

You reached behind you, fingers brushing the zipper. It slid down with a soft sigh, the dress loosening around your frame. The straps slipped off your shoulders, and the fabric followed, slow and heavy, like it didn’t want to let go.

It fell in a hush against the tile—crimson and careless at your feet.

You stepped out of it without hesitation.

His hoodie came next. It was oversized and warm. The sleeves hung past your hands, the hem grazing your thighs. You pulled on the boxers last. Loose, low, unfamiliar. You kept one hand on the waistband, like that might anchor you.

In the mirror, you didn’t look like the girl who’d worn that dress. You looked like someone else entirely—bare legs, messy mascara, lips still parted from things unsaid.

Like someone who’d made a choice.

Even if you hadn’t figured out what it meant yet.

When you opened the door, the lights in the room had dimmed. Only one lamp was still on, casting a warm glow over the bed and wall. The storm outside had deepened to a constant rhythm—rain tapping like fingers against glass, thunder slow and low in the distance.

Robby had moved. He was no longer standing.

Now he was sitting in the chair by the window, already in his pajamas. But the second you stepped out, he looked.

And stayed looking.

His gaze dragged from your legs to the oversized hoodie, to the hand resting at your hip like you didn’t quite trust the boxers not to fall. Then to your face.

He didn’t say a word.

He didn’t have to.

The air in the room changed. Tightened. Coiled.

You walked past him in silence, slid into the bed slowly—like you weren’t listening for the hitch in his breath, even though you were. The sheets were cold. Your skin prickled beneath the fabric, awareness spreading like a pulse.

You heard him stand.

Not right away. Not fast.

Just... eventually.

The creak of the chair. The soft thud of his steps against the carpet. The flicker of the switch. Then the dip of the mattress behind you.

He pulled the blanket up slowly. Settled on his back. Close, but not touching.

You stared at the ceiling. Felt the heat of him beside you—close, steady, impossible to ignore. Six inches of space. Maybe less.

And then you moved.

Not much. Just enough for the blanket to pull tighter across your hips, for the edge of your thigh to graze his under the sheets. It was barely contact.

But it felt like heat.

You knew he felt it too—because he stilled.

His breath caught, just slightly, like his lungs had registered something his mouth hadn’t been cleared to speak on. You could feel the way he was holding himself back. The way every inch of him had been still and disciplined until now, and now… now he wasn’t.

"Robby," you whispered.

He turned his head toward you.

Just a glance. But in it—everything. The tension. The ache. The silent plea for permission. Or for you to stop him before he crossed a line he couldn’t walk back from.

You didn’t.

Instead, you reached out—slow, careful—and let your hand find his forearm beneath the blanket. Warm skin. Solid muscle. He tensed at your touch, but didn’t move.

So you let your hand drift down, sliding along the inside of his wrist until your fingers brushed his.

He hesitated.

Then laced them through yours like he couldn’t help it.

That was all it took.

His fingers slipped free again, and his hand moved—up your arm, slow and deliberate. Not over the fabric. Under it. He pushed the hoodie up just enough to touch your bare skin, his palm dragging heat along the dip of your waist, the soft slope of your stomach. He moved closer, his leg brushing yours beneath the blanket, chest barely grazing your shoulder.

Your breath caught.

He heard it.

He hovered above you now, weight on one elbow, eyes locked on yours in the dark.

You reached up and found the side of his neck. Warm, tense, familiar.

That was enough.

He kissed you—deep, slow, but hungry. Not rushed. Just built-up control finally cracking. His hand slid higher beneath the hoodie, fingers spreading across your bare ribs, then rising to cup your breast—skin to skin. His thumb brushed over your nipple, and you gasped, the sound catching between your mouths.

He pulled back a breath’s distance, just enough to look down at you.

“You knew,” he said roughly.

Your lashes fluttered. “Knew what?”

His eyes dragged over your face. “That I wouldn’t stop if I touched you.”

You didn’t answer. You just arched into him, hips tilting, hand reaching for the hem of his shirt. Your fingers found the edge and pushed up, knuckles brushing his stomach.

He moved to help, lifting his arms, letting you tug the shirt over his head and toss it aside. Then he leaned back, one hand tugging the blanket down from both your bodies, eyes never leaving yours.

His chest rose and fell—slow, deliberate, barely in control. And he was still watching you like he hadn’t even started.

His hand slipped beneath the waistband of the boxers.

You gasped—quiet, sharp—and he froze.

“Okay?” he asked, voice hoarse against your throat.

“Yes,” you said. “Don’t stop.”

He groaned—quiet, guttural—and kissed you again, his fingers sliding through you slowly, then sinking deep. One, then two.

The hoodie stayed on.

But everything underneath it was his now too.

“You have no idea,” he whispered, “how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

“I think I do,” you said, breathless.

He kissed you again, but this time deeper—tongue sliding against yours with the kind of hunger that tasted like restraint finally breaking. His mouth moved from your lips to your jaw, then your neck, slow and deliberate, as if he was testing how far you’d let him go.

You didn’t stop him.

You tipped your chin up and gave him more.

“You’re soaked,” he said, voice dark. “Jesus.”

“Yeah,” you breathed. “I’ve been like that all night.”

His hand moved in slow circles over your clit. You arched into him.

“Robby—”

“Fuck, you feel—” He cut himself off with another kiss. His forehead rested against yours, breaths coming fast now. “Don’t rush me.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re shaking.”

“You’re making me.”

He added another finger. Your hips jerked, and he caught them with his other hand, holding you still while he fucked you slow with his fingers—deep, steady, curling in all the right ways. You whimpered into his mouth.

“Look at me,” he said roughly.

You did.

His pupils were blown wide. His jaw tight. His fingers still moving, still coaxing, still building the ache that had started the second he offered you this bed.

“Tell me when.”

Your breath broke. “Almost—don’t stop.”

His thumb pressed against your clit, just enough pressure to push you over. You came with a gasp—hips trembling, body curling into his. He kissed you through it, slow and open-mouthed, like he was breathing you in.

When your body stopped trembling, you reached for his waistband and pulled it down. He was hard. Thick. Heavy in your hand.

You stroked him once, twice—slow, just to feel the way his body jerked under your touch. His eyes fluttered shut, jaw clenching hard as your thumb teased the underside of his cock.

“Condom?” you asked, voice low.

“Top drawer,” he said. “I checked earlier.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Hopeful?”

“Prepared.” he muttered.

You fished it out and handed it to him. He rolled it on with shaky hands, then settled between your legs again—his hips aligned with yours, one hand braced beside your head, the other curling under your thigh.

He paused. “Last chance.”

You locked your eyes on his. “Shut up and fuck me.”

He pushed in with one slow, smooth thrust—stretching you open inch by inch, until your back arched and your nails dug into his shoulders.

“Jesus,” he gritted out, forehead dropping to yours. “You feel like—”

“Move.”

He did.

Long, deep strokes that built slow—his body pressed against yours, breath hot against your cheek, the bed shifting beneath you. His hips rolled just right, his rhythm steady but desperate, each thrust dragging a sound out of your throat you couldn’t have silenced if you tried.

You wrapped your legs around him, ankles hooking behind his back, dragging him deeper. His hand slid under the hoodie, found your breast, thumb brushing your nipple until you cried out.

“That’s it,” he whispered. “Come again.”

He angled his hips and thrust again—harder now, rougher, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing through the room. You moaned into his mouth, fingers clawing at his back as your body built again, tighter, hotter.

Then you broke.

Your climax hit fast—sharp, shattering. You buried your face in his neck and held on as he fucked you through it, thrusts stuttering, voice breaking on a groan.

“Fuck—I’m—��

He followed you over the edge with one last deep thrust, his body shaking above you, hips grinding into yours as he spilled into the condom with a low, guttural noise that sounded like surrender.

When it was over, he collapsed half on top of you, chest heaving, skin slick with sweat.

Neither of you spoke.

You lay there tangled in each other, his hoodie bunched around your waist, your breathing slowly syncing with his. His hand rested on your thigh—still, warm, unhurried. Gentle in a way that felt unfamiliar for both of you.

The storm outside had quieted to a hush, rain tapping a soft rhythm against the windows like it was trying not to interrupt.

Minutes passed.

Then, quietly—like it had been sitting on his tongue all night—he said, “You looked really beautiful in that dress.”

Your heart stuttered.

You turned your head just enough to look at him. “You didn’t say anything.”

“I know,” he murmured. “Didn’t think I should.”

You didn’t answer right away. You just watched him, his features softer now in the dim light, his usual armor cracked wide open.

After a moment, you whispered, “I waited for you to.”

His fingers flexed lightly on your thigh, like the weight of your words hit somewhere deep.

“I know,” he said again, barely audible. “I’m sorry.”

You didn’t forgive him out loud. You didn’t need to.

You just shifted closer, let your leg hook over his, and finally let yourself exhale.

Not everything had to be said right now.

But for the first time in a long time, it felt like something had changed.

And neither of you reached to undo it.

[loved-reid]

Sweet Dreams

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Summary: The team discovers that all it takes for Spencer to shut up is a specific someone to fall asleep on him.

Warnings: Mentioning of admiring someone while they sleep? Fluff!!

Note: AHHH I LIVE FOR FLUFFY SPENCER FICS

It wasn’t an unusual occurrence, for his mouth always seemed to be moving, yet the she wasn’t one to complain.

She liked watching the excitement dance in his eyes as he spoke about science and fun facts that she for sure didn’t know about.

Sometimes, she was going to be honest, she would go to the library and get some fancy book just to rant some facts to him to make her seem smart. Or maybe it was the look on his face when he recognized a reference she made, or how his eyes crinkle when he laughed at her nerdy jokes.

It wasn’t much, just a laugh, but to her they meant everything.

But today, today she was too tied to listen to Spencer, for the words he was saying we’re going right out the other ear once they entered one, yet his voice was something she was always happy to hear.

He was sitting on the jet seat, his bag next to him and his sleeves rolled up, the purple doing wonders to the sight of him. His wrist held a watch, the hands ticking as each second went by, each one occupied with his facts and stories. She was laying beside him, resting her head in her bended elbow, eyes dropping every once in a while before they would flutter open again.

She wanted to stay awake and listen, she really did, but the soothing sound of his voice and the draining case they recently solved prevented her from resisting the urge to sleep.

The only thing truly preventing her from falling into slumber was the fact that her elbow wasn’t the best pillow. She decided to wear a sweater that day, and, as one should know, the texture of the yarn wasn’t too pleasant on one’s cheek, therefore not providing comfort.

She turned her head to and fro, wishing she’d eventually get a sleeping position, therefore getting sleep during the flight that way she’d have at least a little energy to make her way home.

Yet, as hard as she tried, she couldn’t get the right angle.

So, she turned to Spencer. A practical living teddy bear.

And who was Spencer to know that at that moment that he got into the theories of how people started celebrating birthdays she decided to lay her head on his leg?

And, for the first time in years that the time the team has known him, his lips stopped mid-pronunciation of a word, the sound dying on his tongue as he grew absolutely speechless.

He swallowed thickly at the sight of her sleeping on his lap, murmuring little sweet nothings to herself as she slept.

He couldn’t help but admire, staring at her sleeping face (not in a creepy way of course) and eventually built up the courage to play with her hair strands, running the soft material between his finger tips.

Garcia noticed first, for she was one of the few actually listening, therefore causing her to look up. When she did, and what she saw something that she hadn’t expected, and that something was the sweetest thing ever.

Her friend was laying on Spencer’s leg, sleeping soundly as if nothing could bother her. Her arm was draped over his leg as well, hand carelessly on the jet seat between his legs.

The absolute expression of peace had taken over her face, eyelashes fluttering once in a while.

And what surprised her the most was that Spencer didn’t seem bothered at the physical contact. He instead seemed to encourage it, for his fingers were in her hair.

The rest of the team soon noticed, yet they didn’t dare to tease Pretty Boy, for the contentment radiating off them seemed to prevent them from doing so.

[lamb-teaa]

` last of his kind, or not

` C.1 - dragons, flowers and what?

—⁠ tags: AU for Sylus's myth. canon divergence. Sylus x fem!reader. human-dragon hybrids. comedy/crack me thinks.

—⁠ teaa’s note: short scenario. possible future fic. or not lol. cliffhanger am sorry (ᵕ—ᴗ—)

—⁠ edited: caved in and wrote C.2 ooft. happy reading!

—⁠ ` C.2 - first impression failed successfully

Sylus believed he was the last of his kind. Doomed to a life of solitude as an extinct race and condemned by the humans as an abomination.

Yet he persevered, survived and lived out of spite against those foolish humans - creating havoc everywhere he goes, stealing treasures for his trove of collections, and when he's feeling mischievous, he'd toy around with humans that dared to even dream to cross him.

Or stupid enough to try to kill him.

Sylus wouldn't even grant them an instant death, no no, that'd be too boring. He'd let them live for a short while, torture them as he deemed fit and watched in amusement as they begged for mercy. Truly, these humans are much more entraining alive than dead.

That is until he gets bored of them and stabs them straight in the throat with his sharp tail.

Just another normal day for the last dragon of Philos.

Only the rarest day when Sylus isn't being a menace is when he took himself to the skies to observe the lands below, especially towards a certain flower field that gave him even just the tiniest taste of tranquility.

His large wings flutter behind his back, his eyes gazing down at the field of red daturas coming into view. The sight of the flower field that brought solace to his empty heart.

Until he saw something that made him freeze mid-air.

He saw you.

You were crouching down slightly amidst the vast field, picking the flowers into your arms to make a lovely bouquet, your dress fluttering as you moved around, your light blue tail swaying calmly behind you, your moonlight horns shone slightly by the evening sunset - completely oblivious to the dumbfounded dragon watching you from above the sky.

Sylus thought he might have lost it. That the centuries of isolation and loneliness finally caught up to him that he hallucinated the existence of another dragon like himself.

A trick of the light. An illusion. It can't be rea-

But the moment you stood up with an armful of daturas, your eyes flickered up towards the sky, locking gaze with Sylus - he felt time stilled around him.

The confused tilt in your head, the wondering gaze in your eyes and the slightest of movement as you took a step back while still maintaining eye contact with him.

His eyes widened at the sight of you, his heart raced both in anticipation and trepidation, his fist clenched so hard that his claws stung his palm.

You looked alive.

You weren't an illusion.

You are real.

You -

His body reacted in an instant, his wings flapped strongly behind him and before Sylus knew it, he was flying fast towards the alarmed humanoid female dragon.

He didn't even think, subconsciously causing the speed of his flight to increase. In his mind, he'd already be thinking of landing calmly and gracefully in front of you.

Unfortunately for him, his lost control of his own speed caused him to crash unceremoniously into you, sending both of you tumbling across the flower field until he ended up hovering above you.

His breath hitched as stared down at you sprawled on the ground, jaw slightly agape as he took in your similar draconic scales like his, only yours shone in light blue unlike his dark red ones.

Sylus opened his mouth to speak but no words came out, too stunned at the prospect of finding another dragon like him in this lonesome world.

But he should say something, anything, just speak damnit-

Sylus snapped out of his reverie when he felt a strong smack of the flowers against his cheek, causing him to freeze up for the umpteenth time that day. His gaze flickered between your bewildered eyes to the flowers in your hand - he could only continue to stare at you in utter silence, flabbergasted.

You had just slapped him with the daturas.

[luvbinnies]

i made a promise, to distance myself

A boy who kept his feelings locked away and someone who wore their heart on their sleeve. When he walked away, it was without warning, without reason. And they refused to wait for an explanation. Now few months later, forced to work together on a project neither can escape, old wounds resurface. Silence turns into stolen glances, resentments bleeds into something dangerously familiar, and the past refuses to stay buried.

Genre: fluff, angst, exs to lovers, el oh el.

warnings: swearing, isaac newton mentioned, could be sad ig (?), i can't think of anything else

a/n: im back from the dead, recently fell under a moving car and got dumped el oh el, some parts in here are inspo by like my actual life, i have a list of all the similarities if anyone is curiosu at the end of the story. basically wake up from a dream where me and my ex got back together and wrote this.

wc: 9.6k (longest fic ever el oh el)

Jumping off a flight of stairs was probably not the best idea, but it was the only thing you could think of at the moment.

Reluctantly moving down the stairs and following the loud clunk sounds of your stupid bright neon green water bottle. Books and papers of drawings and blueprints that won't fit into your messenger bag without getting damaged. Maybe you should’ve listened to when people said getting a regular backpack was much more convenient than the bag you had now, but it was much more fashionable. 

Landing at the bottom of the staircase, take a moment to breathe and prepare yourself for having to go back up five flights of stairs to get to class. Because even though the school is one of the prestigious in the country, they refuse to have any sort of elevators to ruin their “dark academic” aesthetic of the building. 

Eyes traveling on the old cobbled stoned flooring, trying to locate a neo-coded water bottle, your mother insisted on getting since she read somewhere green is this year's lucky colour. Probably found in some ridiculous article, really got to get her off social media. 

Bright neon green slipped through your peripheral vision, turning to face the still rolling bottle and walking towards it before it makes you late for your next class. It stops in front of a pair of solid black shoes, one that looks all too familiar. The figure stops at the feeling of the ratchet bottle that wants to ruin your day even more than it already has. 

A recognizable pale hand, with a silver ring on the index,  hesitantly drops down to pick up the bottle that led you down a path to the literal pits of hell for you. Eyes not dare looking up from the ground, taking your somewhat free hand and extending out your pinky to the now stranger you have a bitter taste in your mouth everytime you come near. Once the feeling of your pinky is weighted down by the feeling of the water bottle’s hook, you take off up the stairs with energy that you didn’t think you had anymore left of, as it’s your third time climbing these stairs in the past ten minutes. 

Not a care in the world if a stranger walks by and deem you as a rude bastard who can’t even say thank you, because you can;t even say a word to the “nice stranger” who handed you your water bottle. All you can do around him now is just run and avoid. That’s what you continue to do until you reach your class, probably looking a little weird as you were also cursing at your bottle and gravity, mainly isaac newton, he’s usually the bane of all your problems lately, besides the man you used to call yours. 

—

His friends would sometimes joke to him that the world is too fast for him at times, usually when he doesn’t get a joke right away or for him zoning out, especially as it has been worse in these past few months. 

But that happened so fast, he has no idea what to do, or how to react but just to stare at your figure rushing up the stairs. Sunghoon’s jaw tightens as you fade away up the many flights of stairs. Acting like he is some contagious virus, even afraid to touch him, much less look at him. 

He would remember when their friend group was still intact and when they would all hang out, how sometimes the gang would get too overwhelming, even from the other side of the room you would catch his eye and always give him a comforting smile. And the simple eye contact with one another, while the world moves along around them. 

But he had lost that with you and it’s all his fault. 

—

Taking a little break from the assignment in front of you to angrily tap on your phone so the ads on your music app stop, knowing you aren’t really actually doing anything to get rid of them unless you become one of the apps victims and pay for music. But your stubbornness and being broke, so aggressively hitting your phone is your next best solution. 

The little silence after the ad is finally done and the next song is about to start, you can hear a mechanical pencil roll off of a desk. A quiet clatter could barely be noticed in the slight hum of the library. You didn’t hear it at first, the angry high you had because of the ad made you lock out of concentrating from your work— until you noticed the hand reaching for it making you pause.

Long pale fingers. A silver ring on the index.

You know those hands, it's your second time seeing them in… you weren’t too sure the last time you saw those hands when they were wrapped around your water bottle. All you knew was that you were seeing those hands much sooner than you needed to. 

Those hands, you remember the weight of those hands in yours, the way they used to hold your face and caress your cheek, the way they tug at your sleeves on your sweater absentmindedly. 

And you recognize the pencil.

It’s yours.

Not exactly, but you did buy that pencil. 

Something in you starts feeling nauseous, or light-headed, you couldn’t really figure out in the moment because without thinking, you reach out and yank that pencil right out of his grip. 

Maybe you shouldn’t have done that, because now that gross boy opened his mouth, but you didn’t care. 

Sunghoon blinks. “Hey did you just—”

Whenever you were bored in class you would always do fun pencil tricks and even taught him how to do some with this said pencil in your hands. 

Spinning the pencil around, inspecting it with feigned interest, not caring about the boy next to you with his mouth open like a fish staring at you. “Huh. I forgot how nice this pencil was.”

Now his mouth is close as he clenches his jaw, his  stare sharpening. “You can’t be serious.”

Finally turning your head to look at him, trying to maintain the emotions on your face. Instead of saying something you might end up regretting, in the fear of sounding cringe, you just shrug. 

“Give it back.”

“Why?” Resting your chin on your hand. “It’s mine.”

He exhales sharply, the kind of exasperated breath he used to let out when you teased for taking things too seriously. Except now there’s a little bit of an edge to everything. 

“You gave it to me.”

You tilt your head “Did I?”

You weren’t sure if he could clench his jaw any harder, but somehow he does. “Yeah. You did.”

Your grip on the pencil tightens. You can’t say you remember everything that was said the night of the break up, but you remember the way you felt, the way he left without explanation— like he couldn’t bear to stay with you any second longer. As if he couldn’t stand to hold on to something that was already slipping away. 

He didn’t even let you have a say, you didn’t get the chance to do anything, not even fight for what was yours then. 

So now you hold on to that damn pencil. 

“Well,” you say, voice light, “technically, it was mine first.”

Sunghoon lets out a humorless laugh, one you don’t recognize in this fever dream daze of nostalgia. Leaning against the table, he’s close now, closer than you could've prepared for. You hate the way your heart stumbles over itself at the lack of distance, at the way he still smells the same— like something clean and sharp, a little cologne you had bought him about a year ago for his birthday. 

His voice drops an octave. “You’re seriously pulling this shit?”

Shrugging again, simply just pulling a stare you hope doesn’t reveal how fast your heart is beating stupidly like it used to. 

He watches you for a long second, his brown eyes scanning your face like he’s trying to figure out what type of game you were playing. But then, not arguing, instead of pushing back, he just exhales softly. 

“Fine,” he mutters, “Keep it.”

And then, right before he turns away— so quiet you almost think you had imagined it—

“It suits you better anyways.”

You blink.

Before you could say anything, maybe asking what the fuck he meant by what he said, he’s already walking off. Leaving you with a mechanical pencil in your hands and this time you watching him as he walks away, with a taste of words you don’t quite understand.

—

Two year ago

Rain pitter patters against the windows, a dull hum in the background in the near-empty classroom. It’s late— too late for anyone to be here— you didn’t care, you were too stubborn. Chewing on your nail, brows furrowed in concentration as you glare at your notebook, completely oblivious to the fact that Sunghoon hasn’t turned a page in the last ten minutes. 

He should be focusing. He should be running through formulas in his head, thinking about the test tomorrow, or at the very least be pretending to be studying. Instead, he’s watching you— watching the way you puff out your cheeks when you stop understanding what you were just doing, the way you spin the pencil in your hand absentmindedly, the way you whisper to yourself while doing each exercise when you think no one’s listening.

You’re always like this– loud without meaning to be, pulling attention without even trying. 

He should’ve known sooner. That you were dangerous in the kind of way that crept up on him, slipping past his defenses before he had the chance to stop it. 

“Sunghoon.”

Your voice snaps him back to reality, he straightens, forcing his face into something neutral. “What?”

Pushing your notebook towards him, sighing dramatically. “Did you do this one yet? I don’t know if I did it correctly.”

He glances at your notebook, eyes widening a little, as to the most he could see on the page was a bunch of scribbles and some incoherent formulas and calculation. Having a hard time reading it , before shifting his chair closer. You don’t think twice about it when your shoulders brush. You never do. 

But he does.

He always does. 

“Is this your answer, at the corner?” he asks, taking your pencil without thinking, to circle the little number at the bottom of the page. Your fingers graze for a second, and he wonders if you feel the static the way he does. Probably not. You’d pull away if you did.

He attempted to go over your work, commenting on what you have written in a voice that’s much steadier than he feels. You nod along, resting your chin on your hand, eye flickering between his face and page. 

“I hate Isaac Newton and that stupid apple.” you grumble.

Sunghoon huffs a quiet laugh shaking his head. “You just overthink everything.”

You groan. “I wish that apple killed that stupid white man.” 

He watches as you bury your head in your arms on the table, tapping your forehead lightly with the end of the pencil before setting it back down. “Just stop overthinking and wishing death upon an already dead man.”

Lifting your head, you blink at him, lips parting like you want to argue, but for a brief moment, something passes between the two of you— something neither of you have a name for yet.

And then you roll your eyes, reaching for your notebook. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever, idiot.”

Sunghoon watches as you turn your pages to start a new question, completely unaware of the way his fingers twitch against his knee, resisting the urge to brush a stray strand of hair from your face.

Yeah.

He’s in trouble. 

—

A few months ago

The night air is cold, but not as cold as the space between you.

Your arms are crossed. His hands are shoved into his pockets.

A street light flickers overhead. A car passes in the distance. 

Sunghoon exhales, steadying himself.

Then. before he can stop it— before he can think too hard about what he’s about to lose—

“I think we should break up.”

Silence.

The kind that swallows everything whole.

Your lips part, but no words come out. 

Your lips part, but no words come out.

The look in your eyes— confusion, disbelief, then something else, something that burns— 

“What-Why?”

He doesn’t answer. Or maybe he does, but it’s not the right thing.

It’s never the right thing.

The air is heavy, thick with things neither of you are saying.

Then, finally— your voice, quieter this time.

“Okay.”

A single step back. Then another.

And then—

Nothing. 

—

The classroom hums with chatter, students moving around and the teacher speaking about some project, but you were barely listening. Your attention is elsewhere— on your notebook, on the scratches of pen against paper, literally anything but him.

He was two rows ahead, resting his chin on his hand, half-focused on his laptop. Almost similar to you right now. Too similar. 

You don’t look at him. You don’t let yourself.

But then—

“For the project, you’ll be working in pairs.”

There is a ripple of movement through the room, students glancing around already choosing their partners. 

“I’ve assigned them to you.”

Your stomach twists. 

You sit a little straighter. Your fingers tighten around your pen. 

 The professor starts listing off names. One by one, students find their partner. You’re holding your breath, waiting for—

And then—

Your name.

And then, immediately after—

His. 

You freeze.

The room suddenly feels too small, the air too thick. 

Someone nudges your arm, murmuring something about how lucky you are since you get to work with the “hottest guy on campus”, but their voice is distant, muffled by the sound of blood rushing in your ears.

Slowly, hesitantly, you lift your gaze. 

Sunghoon had turned in his seat. 

For the first time in months, you’re looking at each other. 

And the worst part? He doesn’t even look surprised. 

—

Sunghoon doesn’t hear from you for the rest of the day. 

Not a text, not a call— nothing.

And the, at exactly 11:51 pm., an email lands in his inbox.

Subject: Project Task

From: yn@beliftuniversity.com

To: parksunghoon@beliftuniversity.com 

Attached is the project outline. I’ve divided the tasks. I’ll handle the structural analysis and concept sketches. You can do the mechanical components. Tell me when you are done. 

Sent from my phone

That’s it. No greeting. No unnecessary words. Not  even your name.

Sunghoon exhales through his nose, clicking open the file. You’ve already set up everything— titles, labels, even deadlines. You’ve practically built a wall of professionalism between you, as if you were never anything but classmates. 

And it pisses him off.

Fine. two can play this game. 

He types a reply, short and to the point.

Subject: Re: Project Tasks

Got it. 

He doesn’t hit send. 

His fingers hover over the keyboard. His jaw clenches.

Then, in a moment of stubborn impulse, he types—

You can’t avoid me forever.

And hits send before he can take it back.

—

“You know, he’s right.”

You shoot a glare over at Sunoo. “Don’t start.”

“I’m just saying,” he continued, kicking his feet up on the bench. “You can’t ignore him forever.”

“I can, actually.” you sip your matcha pointedly. “It’s called email.”

He snorts. “You sound like a middle-aged professor.”

“Good. Maybe he’ll leave me alone then.”

Sunoo raises an eyebrow. “He literally told you, ‘You can’t avoid me forever.’”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, and? I don’t care.”

The words are barely out of your mouth when Sunoo suddenly stiffens, eyes darting over your shoulder. 

“Uh—”

You don’t even have to ask. You just know.

There’s a familiar shift to the air, an awareness pressing down on your skin. 

And then, just to confirm it—

“Shit,” Sunoo mutters. “He’s down the hall.”

You don’t think. You just move.

Your hands shoot out, gripping his sleeve as you drag them down the corridor. 

“Are you serious?!” he hiss between stumbling steps.

“Shut up, shut up , shut up—”

“Please can we stop running, I don’t think he would be chasing us down for sport.”

You don’t care. You don’t turn around because you know if you do, you’ll see Sunghoon standing there, staring after you, that unreadable look on his face. 

And you are not giving him that satisfaction.

Not today. 

—

Staring at your laptop screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard, the flashing cursor blinking back at you in defiance. You’ve been avoiding this email for days— every time you think about it your stomach churns, and you mind races with excuses. 

You don’t want to deal with him. Not now. Not ever again.

The project, the meeting, the unavoidable tension. You had hoped, foolishly, that you could really just avoid Sunghoon completely— keep everything strictly professional, send email, handle the assignment without having to face him in person. But that plan was crushed the moment the email landed in your inbox, his name in bold. 

“Let’s meet in person tomorrow to go over the project. I’ll bring the drafts.”

Of course, Sunghoon had to take the initiative. You had a suspicion he’d never let you hide behind your screen forever. He was stubborn, too, in a way that always seemed to get under your skin. 

You arrived at the library, dragging your feet, already feeling the weight of the situation settle in your chest. The project was an assignment, but the real challenge was having to sit across from him, pretending that nothing had happened, pretending that the last year— no, the last months— hadn’t been a whirlwind of frustration and heartache.

But here you were, faced with reality. You walked into the library, hoping to avoid eye contact, but you couldn’t escape the familiar sight of him sitting at a table with all his papers neatly organized, a slight form on his face as he scanned the documents. 

His eyes flicked up when he saw you enter, and for a second, your heart skipped a beat. But you force yourself to remain calm. He was just a classmate now, just another part of your academic routine. Nothing more. 

You set your things down at the table across from him, pulling your laptop out with the practiced motions of someone who had done this a thousand times before. You weren;t going to make this more personal than it had to be. No small talk. No catching up. Just the project. 

“Hey,” Sunghoon greeted, his voice neutral but carrying the weight of something unsaid. He glanced at the papers in front of you and then back to you. “Are you okay with everything so far? I made some revisions to the outline.”

You didn;t look at him. Instead, you glanced at the project papers and began sorting through them, avoiding his gaze entirely. “I’ll read them over later. Just… let’s focus on getting it done.”

You felt his eyes on you, the tension palpable in the air, but you refused to acknowledge it. You had your own part to do, your own work to focus on. Nothing else mattered right now. The project was the only thing that mattered. 

—

Sunghoon sighed, and you could hear the edge of frustration creeping into his voice. “Look, I know this isn;t easy for either of us, but we’re stuck with each other for this project. We might as well get it done right.”

“I’m not here to talk,” you snapped back, the words sharp and defensive. “Just focus on your part. I’ll handle mine.”

His expression hardened , but he didn’t push it any further. He opened up his own laptop and began typing, the sound of the keyboard tapping filling the silence between the both of you. 

For a while, it was quiet— just the sound of typing, rustling of papers. But no matter how hard you tried to focus, you couldn;’t shake the nagging feeling that he was watching you. His presence was like a shadow that followed your every move you made, and you hated how it made your chest tighten. You shouldn’t feel like this. You had no reason to. This wasn’t supposed to be personal. It was just a project. 

But then, suddenly, Sunghoon spoke again, his voice quieter, almost reluctant.

“You know,” he said, voice low but insistent, “we used to work well together. Back in high school. Why are you making this harder than it has to be?”

You froze, your fingers still on the keyboard. You could feel the old pain creep up your throat, but you swallowed it down, shoving it away. No. Don’t go there.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, your voice steady but with a hint of something you don’t want to put a name to. And then, with a sigh, he turned his attention back to his laptop, typing in silence for a long time. 

—

Two year ago

 It had been a late night at the library, the kind where the air felt thick with concentration and the promise of deadlines hanging over every student in the building. You were sitting at the same table as Sunghoon, both of you buried in textbooks, trying to get ahead before the weekend.

It was supposed to be just another study session, but something felt different. Maybe it was the way the soft overhead lights cast shadows over his features or how the silence between you two wasn’t awkward but comfortable. You couldn’t help it— his face was so focused, his lips slightly pursed in concentration, and for some reason, the sight of him studying like that made your heart skip. 

“Is there something on my face?” he asked, his voice teasing but gentle.

You blinked and quickly looked away, flustered. “No … it’s just, you look… nice when you study.”

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. He leaned forward slightly, his voice lower than usual. “Nice, huh? That’s a first.”

You wanted to curl up and die from embarrassment, but instead you found yourself smiling despite the heat in your cheeks. Something about being with him felt so easy, so natural.

And then, before you could stop yourself, the words slipped out. “You look… pretty. When you study.”

There was a long pause, and then Sunghoon chuckled, his smile widening. “Pretty, huh? Well, that’s new.”

You couldn’t help it. You laughed too, the awkwardness melting away in the warmth of his gaze. That moment— when you both realized that maybe there was something more there— was when it all started. 

—

The silence in the library stretches again. You go back to your laptop, trying to focus on the work in front of you. But the memory of that moment, of those words you’d said so long ago, hangs in the air like a ghost.

Sunghoon’s presence is undeniable now. Every time his shoulder brushes against yours as he reaches for his drink, it feels like a jolt of electricity. You grit your teeth, forcing yourself to keep working, to ignore the way his proximity makes your heart race. 

“You know, if we just worked together instead of pretending we’re strangers, this would be a lot easier,” Sunghoon says again, his voice a little more insistent now, but still carrying that gentle tone. 

You refuse to look up, clenching your jaw. “Just finish your part. I’ll finish mine.”

“I’ve always liked how stubborn you are,” he mutters, but there’s a soft fondness behind the words. “But you’re going to make this harder than it has to be, aren’t you?”

You bite your lip, fighting the urge to snap back. But the reality is that he’s right. You are making this harder. You’re making everything harder by refusing to acknowledge how much you still feel for him.

But you can’t admit that, not now, not when the walls between you two are so high, so insurmountable. 

—

It’s late—too late for anyone to be at the library anymore. The harsh overhead lights flicker in the empty room, casting long shadows on the tables where students usually sat, buried in their books. But not you. You’re still here, alone, a stack of textbooks and papers spread out before you. The hum of the fluorescent lights fills the air, broken only by the soft tapping of your fingers on the keyboard.

You’ve been here for hours, the deadline looming closer with every passing second. Your mind is tired, but you won’t leave until you finish. It’s like a race against time. A way to distract yourself from everything else.

But then, you feel it. A presence.

You look up, and there’s Sunghoon, standing by the entrance, his gaze scanning the room. You immediately look away, pretending you hadn’t seen him. Why is he here? You weren’t supposed to see him, not tonight.

He walks toward you slowly, his footsteps soft but deliberate. You keep your eyes down, focused on the papers in front of you, but you can feel him getting closer.

“You’re still here?” Sunghoon says, his voice low, like he’s not sure what to make of the situation.

You sigh, unwilling to make this a conversation. “I’m working. Is that a problem?”

“No,” he answers quickly, but there’s a softness to his tone now. Something gentler. “Just... thought you’d left by now.”

You don’t look up, but you hear him pull out the chair opposite you. He sits down, but doesn’t speak immediately. You don’t say anything either. It’s awkward. You try to focus on the work in front of you, trying to ignore the feeling of his presence, so close but still so far away.

You keep your head down, but the longer you stay in the silence, the more you feel the walls you’ve built start to crumble, piece by piece. He doesn’t push you. Doesn’t force a conversation. He just... stays.

You try not to think too much about it. It’s just Sunghoon. Just a classmate.

But then, hours later, you’re blinking, your head feeling heavy as you try to focus on the screen in front of you. You hadn’t realized how tired you were until your eyelids started to flutter. You hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but the exhaustion catches up with you.

You don’t even realize you’ve nodded off until you’re suddenly jerked awake, your head jerking up from the desk. The library is quiet, almost too quiet, and the light from the desk lamp casts a soft glow around the room. That’s when you notice it.

A jacket—dark, heavy, and familiar—draped over your shoulders.

You blink, still groggy from sleep, and turn to see that Sunghoon is gone, his chair empty. You try to shake the fogginess from your mind, but there’s no denying it: He left his jacket with you.

You didn’t hear him come back. Didn’t feel him approaching. But somehow, he’d slipped it onto you while you were asleep, without a sound.

You sit there for a moment, the jacket still warm against your skin. His scent clings to it, and you find yourself unable to take it off. It feels wrong to just leave it behind, but you’re not sure why it feels so important to keep it on.

You look down at your own hands, your fingers grazing the sleeve, feeling the weight of the jacket, both literally and emotionally. You’re not sure if it’s the jacket that’s weighing on you or the memories that come with it. But it’s there. And so is he.

You stay there for a few more minutes, just sitting in the quiet, knowing that it would be impossible to get anything more done tonight. You pack up your things, but you don’t take off the jacket. Instead, you walk out of the library with it on, your heart a little heavier than when you came in.

—

It was dark outside, and the bus was filled with the soft chatter of your classmates. You and Sunghoon were sitting in the same seat, your shoulders brushing as you both leaned against the window, tired from the day’s activities.

You’d always been close, never quite aware of how it felt to have someone just be there with you. But that day, there was something different about it. It was like you both had settled into this quiet rhythm—comfortable, easy.

You leaned your head against the window, gazing out at the passing lights. The bus was warm, and your eyes were starting to grow heavy from the day’s exhaustion. Without realizing it, you drifted off, your head slipping onto Sunghoon’s shoulder.

He didn’t immediately pull away, didn’t complain. He just let you sleep, his body slightly tensing at the sudden closeness, but not enough to push you away.

And when you woke up, it wasn’t awkward. You just rubbed your eyes, looked up at him, and smiled.

“You’re comfy,” you murmured.

Sunghoon chuckled softly. “You really just fell asleep on me, huh?”

You laughed, feeling a warmth in your chest. “It’s not like I did it on purpose. I didn’t even realize.”

And even though it had only been a few seconds, you both lingered in that moment, your eyes meeting briefly before he gave you a smile that made your heart flutter.

You’d brushed it off as nothing—just a friendly gesture.

—

You’re still sitting in your room, the jacket still on your shoulders. It feels like a weight, not because it’s heavy, but because of the memories it brings. The warmth lingers on your skin, but so does the uncertainty. You can’t figure out why this is bothering you so much.

Your phone buzzes on the table, pulling you from your thoughts. A new email. You don’t need to look at it to know it’s from him. Sunghoon.

The message is simple: “Still need help with the project. Let me know if you want to meet up.”

You close your eyes and let out a slow breath. You want to ignore it. Pretend you didn’t see it. But you can’t. Because part of you wants him to be there. Part of you wants him to still be the one to help you, even if you don’t want to admit it.

You stand up, pacing around the room, the jacket slipping slightly off your shoulders as you move. You pull it tighter around you, almost subconsciously.

You know you’ll have to face him again. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe sooner. Hopefully later. But right now, with his jacket still draped over you, you’re not sure if you're ready.

But for some reason, you know you’re going to have to take it off.

—

You walk into the classroom, clutching the jacket in your hands. It’s been a couple of days since you woke up to find it draped over your shoulders, Sunghoon’s jacket—a silent gesture that spoke more than words ever could. He hadn’t said anything when you first found it. It had simply been there. At first, you thought it was an accident, but the longer you held onto it, the more it felt like something else. You hadn’t returned it immediately, unsure why you kept it. But now, with the fact the two of you share a class together, it felt like the right time.

You spot him sitting by the window, alone, lost in whatever thoughts occupy his mind. He doesn’t notice you as you approach, and the moment feels strangely... intimate, even though you're still far from the comfort you once shared.

You stand in front of him, holding out the jacket, but he doesn’t immediately take it. His eyes flicker up, and for a split second, something unreadable passes between you. He reaches for the jacket, but as his fingers brush yours, it’s more of a reflex than any real desire to touch.

Before you can pull away, a voice from behind you cuts through the moment.

"Are you two... together or just friends?"

You glance over to find a couple of classmates watching you both curiously. It’s a casual question, but the curiosity in their eyes is unmistakable. Sunghoon’s hand freezes mid-motion, his fingers still hovering over the jacket. He looks back at them briefly, his gaze faltering, not quite meeting yours.

For a moment, you’re not sure what to say. You notice how Sunghoon looks at the ground, avoiding any real response. His lips press together, his hand still unsure of whether to take the jacket back or not. He’s hesitant, as always.

You, on the other hand, feel the weight of the question, but you don’t shy away from it. Not this time. You stand tall, glancing over at your classmates and meeting their gaze.

“We’re just friends,” you say, your voice steady and clear. “Nothing more.”

Sunghoon doesn’t say anything. He just takes the jacket from your hand, his fingers brushing yours again, but this time it’s almost mechanical. You turn away quickly, the moment lingering behind you like an unspoken tension.

Your classmates exchange glances, their curiosity piqued, but they don’t push further. They turn their attention to the front of the room as class starts, but the question still lingers in the air.

You sit down at your desk, feeling the eyes of your classmates on you for a moment longer than usual. You force yourself to focus, pretending it doesn’t matter, but the thought of that brief interaction, the way Sunghoon avoided the question, settles heavily in your chest.

The class continues, but your mind drifts, back to that jacket and the weight of unspoken words. You can’t help but wonder what he might’ve said if you hadn’t answered for both of you.

No, that’s what he should’ve said because you guys were not dating, he broke up with you, and now the two of you were simply forced to work together. That’s it. 

—

The autumn air was crisp, carrying the scent of fallen leaves as the two of you walked side by side down the quiet street. The school festival had just ended, and the distant hum of laughter and music still echoed behind you. Groups of students were lingering back at the event, but somehow, the two of you ended up here, together, away from it all. 

It wasn’t planned. It never was with him. It was just how things always seemed to happen.

You hugged your arms around yourself because of the cold, cursing at yourself for not bringing a bigger jacket knowing the weather but wanting to look good for the event. He walked a little ahead, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jackets, his head tilted slightly towards you as if he was waiting for you to say something. 

You had always been the talker between the both of you. The one who made friends easily, the one who never hesitated. But right now, the words sat heavy on your tongue, unspoken. 

He let out a small sigh, looking up at the sky. “It’s late.”

“You should’ve left earlier then.”

He huffed, a tiny, almost-smile tugging at his lips before he looked back ahead. “You didn’t have to leave, you know.”

You shrugged. “Didn’t feel like staying.”

It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the full truth either. The festival had been fine, fun even. But then you’d seen him standing by himself, lingering near the edges of the crowd, not quite a part of it. And suddenly, the excitement of it all had dimmed. 

He kicked a small rock with the tip of his shoe, watching it tumble along the pavement. “Didn’t think you were the type to leave a party early.”

“I’m full of surprises.”

A breeze picked up, and instinctively, you crossed your arms tighter over yourself. Without a word, Sunghoon shrugged off his jacket and held it out to you.

You blinked at him. “What are you doing?”

“You’re cold.”

You scoffed. “I’m not cold.”

He didn’t say anything, just kept holding the jacket out with that blank expression of his— the one that meant he wasn;t going to argue. You hesitated for a second too long, and then, as if deciding for you, he draped it over your shoulders himself. 

You looked up at him, a retort on the tip of your tongue, but then you caught the way his fingers lingered just a second longer against your shoulder, the way he swallowed, like he wanted to say something but thought better of it. 

It was nothing.

It was everything.

Your heart did something stranger in your chest, a quiet stutter. But then he pulled away, shoving his hands back into his pockets, eyes flickering elsewhere like it was no big deal.

Like he didn’t just leave you standing there in the middle of the empty street, drowning in the scent of his cologne, trying not to overthink what had just happened. 

“Let’s go.” he said, his voice calm, steady. Like always. 

You didn’t move right away. You just watched him, this boy who always seemed out of reach.

Then you exhaled and started walking again, side by side, your steps falling in sync.

And if your hands brushed once— just once— neither of you said a word about it. 

—

After class, you head out of the room, your mind still lingering on the awkward exchange. As you walk down the hallway, you notice Sunghoon a few paces behind you, his expression neutral. You don’t turn around, but you can feel his presence. It;s the same as always, but somehow it’s different.

The hallway stretches ahead of you both, and you find yourself wondering if it’s the same for him, if he’s feeling the same weight of the unsaid words hanging in the air between you. But then you push the thought away. You can’t keep thinking about it. Not now. Not like this.

The day continues, but it doesn’t feel the same. Something has shifted again. Not a big thing, just the subtle change in the air whenever Sunghoon is around. But for now, you focus on the present. The project. The work. There’s no room for anything else. At least not yet. 

—

Sunghoon hated studying in public places. He hated the noise, the crowded spaces, the way it was impossible to concentrate. But for some reason, he was here.

With you.

The library was dimly lit, the only sounds coming from the occasional turning of pages and the soft clicking of keyboards. It was nearly empty at this hour, just the two of you tucked away in a corner, buried under textbooks and notes.

You sighed dramatically, stretching your arms over your head before slumping onto the desk. “I’m going to die here.”

Sunghoon didn’t look up from his notes. “You say that every time we study.”

“Yeah, and one day it’ll be true. And when that day comes, I hope you feel bad about it.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Dramatic.”

You turned your head to look at him, resting your cheek against your arm. The lamplight softened his features, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw, the curve of his nose, the way his lashes cast faint shadows on his skin. 

He was so pretty.

Unfairly so.

You frowned, furrowing your brows. “Do you know you’re pretty?”

That finally made him look up. He blinked at you, pen pausing mid-air. “What?”

“What?”

There was a flicker of something in his expression— surprise, amusement, something unreadable. He tilted his head slightly. “I don’t think about that kind of stuff.”

You scoff. “Oh shut up.”

Sunghoon shook his head, turning back to his notes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“Because it’s a weird question.”

“It’s not weird.” You sighed, pushing yourself up onto your elbows. “I just think it’s unfair that some people get to be smart and pretty.”

His lips twitched, like he was trying not to smile. “You’re calling me smart too?”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

You hadn’t meant anything by it. It was just a passing thought, casual observation. But for some reason. Sunghoon kept stealing glances at you for the rest of the night, his fingers tapping idly against his notebook, like he was trying to figure something out. 

—

The library is quieter than usual tonight. The steady hum of air conditioning fills the space, and the dim, golden glow of the desk lamps casts long shadows on the wooden tables. It’s late— too late to still be working— but neither of you have left.

At first, you barely acknowledged each other. The project was the only thing keeping you here and even then, you refused to speak unless absolutely necessary. You typed your sections. He worked on his. Simple.

But at some point, between the furious clicking of keys and the scratching of his pen against paper, something shifted. 

The silence wasn’t as sharpe anymore. The air between you wasn’t quite so cold.

You were still stubborn, still keeping your distance, but Sunghoon had started to slip through the cracks. 

It was in the way he quietly slid your match closer when he noticed you reaching for it absentmindedly. In the way his eyes lingered a second longer than necessary whenever you furrowed your brows at the screen, lost in thought. In the way he wordlessly handed you a new pen when yours ran out of ink, his fingers brushing yours just for a second.

Little things.

Things you didn’t want to acknowledge.

Things that made it harder to pretend that you hadn’t missed this— missed him.

You force yourself to focus on the words in front of you, but your mind is elsewhere. On him. On the past. 

—

It had been a long night.

You weren’t supposed to stay out this late, but somehow, time slipped away. It was just the two of you, walking home after an evening study session, the sky stretched out in a blanket of deep navy blue. The air was crisp, autumn settling in with a quiet chill, and your footsteps echoed against the empty sidewalk.

“I can’t feel my fingers,” you muttered, shoving your hands into your hoodie pockets.

Sunghoon glanced at you, amused. “Then why didn’t you bring gloves?”

“Because I didn’t know it’d be this cold.”

“You say that every year.”

You huffed, nudging him with your shoulder. “And every year, I am caught off guard.”

He rolled his eyes but reached for your sleeve, tugging your arm towards him. Before you could react, he took one of your hands in his, tucking it into the pocket of his jacket along with his own.

The warmth of his palm against yours sent a shiver up your spine— not from the cold, but from something else. 

Something you hadn’t quite named yet.

Neither of you said anything about it. You just kept walkin, the streelights casting soft golden halos around you.

You reached your doorstep too soon. 

Sunghoon stood there, shifting on his feet, his fingers still loosely curled around yours.

You should’ve pulled away. You should’ve said goodnight. But instead, you just stood there staring at him.

The light from the porch illuminated the sharp angles of his face, the way his dark eyes softened when they met yours. His gaze flickered down— just for a second— before he quickly looked away.

You swallowed, suddenly hyper-aware of how close you were. “Are you gonna keep standing there, or—”

“Shut up,” he muttered.

And then—-

He kissed you. 

It was hesitant, barely a whisper of contact. But it sent your heart into a frenzy, your breath hitching, fingers tightening around him without thinking. 

When he pulled away, his ears were red, and he wouldn’t meet your eyes. “I— I wasn’t planning to do that.”

You blinked at him, mind still catching up. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay,” you repeated, this time smiling.

Sunghoon exhaled, sometimes easing his shoulders.

“You;re still holding my hand.” you pointed out. 

He let go immediately, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Shut up.”

But you could see the way the corners of his lips twitched upwards. 

—

You stare at the screen in front of you, but the words are a blur. The memory lingers, making your chest feel tight.

Sunghoon shifts besides you stretching out his arms. His sleeves push up slightly, revealing the faint outline of veins along his forearms. You look away quickly, annoyed with yourself. 

This is ridiculous.

You don’t care. You don’t.

“Take a break,” he says, voice low.

You exhale, rubbing at your temples. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

You shoot him a glare, but he’s already looking back at his screen, unaffected. Typical. 

Silence settles between you again, but it’s different now. He’s too close, the air between you too charged. 

And then—

“Do you still hate me?”

Your breath catches. The question is quiet, but it feels deafening.

You turn to him, meeting his gaze for the first time in what feels like hours. His eyes are steady, but there’s something else there— something raw, something careful. 

You open your mouth, but no words come out.

He swallows. “ you won’t even look at me.”

You force yourself to scoff, to roll your eyes. “I look at you all the time.”

“Not like before.”

That makes you freeze.

Because he’s right. 

Before— before everything— you had looked at him like he held the universe in his hands. And maybe, in some ways, he had.

But that was then.

And now—

Now you don’t know what to do with this version of him, this version of you.

The air is thick with something you don’t want to name. 

And before you can think better of it, before you can stop yourself—

You kiss him. 

It's reckless, desperate, a collision of past and present, of things left unsaid and things you don’t want to admit.

His lips part slightly in surprise, but he doesn’t pull away. If anything, he leans in, his fingers grazing your jaw, like he’s afraid to break the moment.

And maybe you are too. 

But then—

Reality crashed back in.

Your eyes widen, and you pull away abruptly, breathless, heart hammering.

Sunghoon blinks, still processing, “Wait—”

But you’re already pushing away from the table, standing up too quickly, your chair scraping against the floor.

“I have to go,” you say, voice unsteady.

And before he can stop you, before he can say anything else—

You turn and walk away.

Leaving him sitting there, watching you go.

Again. 

—

Avoidance has always been your best defense.

You mastered it after the breakup, convincing yourself that if you could just stay out of Sunghoon’s orbit, then none of it— none of the pain, none of the unanswered questions, none of him— could touch you.

But ever since that kiss, it’s been impossible to keep up the act.

You stop sitting in your usual spots in the library. You change your walking routes between classes. You leave early to avoid any chance of running into him. Your emails about the project become even shorter, even more detached.

And still— it doesn’t feel like enough

Because the problem isn’t just him.

It’s you.

It’s the way your mind keeps replaying that night in the library, the way your lips still burn with the memory of his, the way your chest aches everytime you think about how you didn’t pull away immediately.

You shouldn’t have let it happen.

You shouldn’t have wanted it to.

But worst of all— you shouldn’t still want it now.

You tell yourself this over and over again. But nine of it matters when you turn the corner one evening, only to find yourself face-to-face with the one person you’ve been trying so hard to avoid. 

Sunghoon.

Waiting for you.

Like he knew.

“You’re avoiding me again,” he says, his voice eerily calm.

You grip your bag tighter and look away. “I’m busy.”

“Liar.”

The word lands heavier than it should.

You take a step back, but he matches it, blocking your way. His eyes search yours, and you can feel how tired he is— tired of the silence, of the pretending, of whatever this is. 

“Do you hate me that much?” His voice is quiet, but there’s an edge to it, something sharp and desperate. 

You exhale hardly. “Sunghoon—”

“Just answer me,” he pressed, jaw clenched. “Do you hate me?”

The words catch in your throat. 

You should say yes. You should give him the finality he seems to be looking for. 

But you can’t. 

And maybe he sees it— maybe he sees the way you falter, the way your fingers tighten around the strap of your bag— because his expression shifts.

And then—

The door beside you suddenly swings open. A group of students spills out, laughing and chatting, shoving past both of you. 

You barely register it before someone crashes into you from behind, sending you stumbling backwards—

Right into the supply closet.

And of course— because the universe must hate you— the force of it slams Sunghoon into the tiny space as well. 

And before either of you can react— click.

The door locks

Silence.

Then—

“You have got to be kidding me,” you hiss. 

Sunghoon tries the handle, but it doesn’t budge. He exhales sharply, resting his forehead against the door for a second before turning back to you. 

“Great.”

You let out a bitter laugh, crossing your arms. “What, you think I planned this?”

“No, but it’s convenient, isn’t it?” He glares at you, frustration bleeding into every word. “You’re always running away, and now you can’t.”

Your pulse spikes. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he mutters. “You left the night. You’ve been avoiding me ever since. You won’t even talk to me—”

“Because there’s nothing to say!” you snap.

“Bullshit!” His voice rises, his patience unraveling. “Don’t act like you don’t care. You kissed me, and then you ran away like it meant nothing.”

You freeze.

Because he’s right.

It wasn’t nothing.

But admitting that? Giving him that satisfaction? You can’t.

So you do what you do best. 

You push back

“You don’t get to act like you’re the victim here, Sunghoon,” you say, voice colder now. “Not when you broke up with me.”

Something flickers across his face.

“And not just that,” you continue, the weight of everything you’ve bottled up finally breaking through. “You left me without any warning. You didn’t talk to me about what was wrong. You didn’t even try. You just decided one day that it was over and that was it.”

—

It had been an ordinary afternoon. You remember it oo well— how he wouldn’t look at you, how his hands trembled slightly as he shoved them into his pockets.

And then—

“I think we should break up.”

The words hit you like a slap.

You laughed at first, thinking it was some sort of joke. But then you saw the way he avoided your gaze. The way his fingers curled into fists.

“Why?” Your voice had cracked. “What happened? Did I do something?”

He had only shaken his head. “It’s just…. I don’t think this is going to work.”

“What—”

“I am not sure I am what you really need.”

It was the last thing you expected to hear.

But it was the only explanation he ever gave you.

That's what started it, why you just started running away from him. 

—

“You thought it wouldn’t work?” you glare at him now, eye burning. “What the hell does that even mean?”

Sunghoon pressed his lips together, like he regretted saying it. But it’s too late.

“You didn’t even give us a chance,” you continue, voice rising. “You just decided that it wasn’t going to work out for the both of us.” 

“I wasn’t sure if I was what you really needed.”

Your breath catches. “Sunghoon—”

“You’re always surrounded by people. You make friends so easily. I wasn’t like that, I am not like that.” His voice is quiet now. “I feel like I was always holding you back.”

You shake your head, feeling something sharp and painful twist in your chest. “That’s what you thought?” You let out another bitter laugh. “You know, I thought that’s what brought us together. That we were so different. That worked because of that.”

Sunghoon looks at you then, something unreadable in his expression. 

“There were two people in our relationship, you and me. You made that decision that we don’t work well, for the both of us.” you say, voice shaking. “And now you think it’s going to work now just because you want it to?”

He doesn’t answer. 

And you hate how much that silence still hurts.

You exhale shakily, turning away. “I don’t trust you., Sunghoon.”

His jaw clenches. “I know.”

“And I don’t trust myself to let this happen again. Because if you could leave that easily once, what makes you think I believe you won’t do it again?”

This time, he doesn’t try to deny it. 

Because he knows.

Because he did leave. 

And you don’t know if you’ll ever be able to forgive him for that. You hated yourself for never being able to hate him at all. 

The only sound in the tiny space is the faint buzz of the overhead light—

And the deafening weight of everything left unsaid. 

The supply closet is cold, but the tension in the air is suffocating. When the door finally swings open, neither of you move right away. Sunghoon steps back first, his jaw clenched, like he’s holding back something he’ll never say. You follow a second later, not looking at him as you walk away.

After that, things are different.

You don’t avoid him anymore. Not really. You still exchange emails about the project, still sit across from each other in the library, still in the same space without outright hostility. But the sharpness between you dulls— replaced by something softer, something sadder. 

One night, long after the library should’ve closed, you look up from your notes to see Sunghoon staring at you. He doesn’t look away this time. Neither do you. For a moment, the world stills. 

Then you blink, and the moment is gone.

—

The project ends.

So does your reason to stay in each other’s orbits.

You expect things to go back to normal, whether normal is supposed to be. You expect distance to creep back in, the silence to settle. 

But somehow, Sunghoon lingers. 

He doesn’t force conversation, doesn’t push. But you catch him in the corners of your vision— watching, waiting, hesitation. As if he’s waiting for you to decide what happens next.

—

Then one evening, you run into him.

It’s late. The air is cold, thick with the scent of winter. Sunghoon is standing outside the campus gates, hands shoved into his pockets, the street lights casting long shadows around him. He notices you before you can turn away.

“Hey,” he says, voice quiet.

You hesitate. Then, “Hey.”

There’s so much unsaid between you, so much left unfinished. 

A part of you wonders— is this it? The last conversation before you both fade from each other’s lives completely?

Sunghoon opens his mouth, like he wants to say something more, but you shake your head, stopping him. 

“It’s okay.” you say. “You don’t have to.”

His throat bobs as he swallows. He nods.

The streetlamps flicker above you. A car passes, its headlights flashing between you like a border, a final dividing line. 

You should say something else. You should tell him you’ll see him around, that you’ll stay in touch, that you’ll find your way back to him someday.

But you don’t.

Instead you step back, offering a small, almost imperceptible smile.

“Take care, okay?”

For a second, you think he won’t respond. But then, finally— softly— he nods.

“You too.”

You turn around first. You don’t look back.

Sunghoon watches you walk away, his hands still in his pockets, his lips parts like he wants to stop you— but he never does.

The night swallows the both of you whole.

And just like that, it’s over. 

—

The city hums in silence in the distance, but here, on the rooftop, it’s quiet/ the two of you sit side by side, legs dangling over the edge, the skyline stretching endlessly before you. The night is warm, the stars barely visible through the glow of streetlights. 

“You’re gonna fall,” Sunghoon murmurs, eyeing the way you lean forwards slightly, hands bracing against the ledge. 

You grin, tilting your head towards him. “You’d catch me.”

He doesn’t answer, but the corner of his mouth twitches, like he wants to smile but won’t let himself.

A soft breeze ruffles his hair. You reach out before you can stop yourself, fingers brushing through the strand, smoothing them down. Sunghoon stills at the touch, but he doesn’t pull away. 

“You do that a lot,” he says after a moment.

“What?” 

“Touch my hair.”

You blink, your hand dropping back to your lap. “Does it bother you?”

He exhales, looking away, down at the glittering streets below. “No.”

That’s all he says. But in the way his fingers clench slightly against his knee, in the way his shoulders stay tense even as the night air cools his skin— you realize something.

Sunghoon likes it.

He likes being close to you.

The thought makes your chest feel warm, something soft and fluttering settling behind your ribs. You don’t say anything about it, don’t tease or push. Instead, you lean back on your palms staring up at the sky. 

“Feels like we could stay here forever,” you murmur.

Sunghoon glances at you, his expression unreadable.

Then, so quietly you almost don’t hear it—

“Yeah.” 

-

author's note: basically everything in here thats inpso from irl with my actaully ex. the water bottle incident but it was in a classroom. us actually having fucking class with each other the next semester. me running away constantly every time i see him now. me buying him a pencil as a present and him still using it (i really want to steal it back). him asking me if i hate him cuz i keep running away and even dragged a friend as i run away from him. him saying "i dont think it's going to work out" and thinking becuase im very outgoing and him being a big introvert was something that would lead to us breaking up, haha but it was just him and him not communicating with me about his feelings. el oh el.

[puppym3]

felix x reader ─── two-time thing

synopsis - after everything that happened last time, you couldn't bare to see him face-to-face, but after restless nights and finding him in your dreams, you made it to his bed.

wc: 9.1k

silly tags: MDNI! 18+, bsf!felix, afab!reader, definitely pining, angst, questionable dreams, idiots to (eventually) lovers, realization of feelings, awkwardness, other members appear, pt 3 will come!!, pt 1 -> here - PT 3 -> here

MDNI!! smut warnings under cut!!

WARNINGS: smut, lots of kissing, lowkey dry-humping, grinding, masturbation (m. rec), hair pulling, handjob, a lot of sounds are made

Fight or flight? No doubt you chose flight.

You weren't sure how long you stayed in your room, but the tension was so thick throughout the entire house that you couldn't dare to step out of your comfort place.

Embarrassment clung to your skin like a second layer, suffocating and unrelenting. You, too mortified to face reality, had trapped yourself in your room.

Your friends had noticed, of course. You couldn’t completely cut yourself off without them catching on, especially when meals became a problem. The reliance on others for basic needs was humiliating, but the thought of stepping outside your self-imposed prison made your stomach churn.

Chan, ever the nurturing friend, complied without question at first, bringing you food with a furrowed brow and soft reminders. “You’re gonna get sick if you stay in here,” he’d say gently, setting the plate on your desk before retreating without prying too much- though the concern in his eyes lingered long after he left.

Lee Know, on the other hand, was less forgiving. When you’d sheepishly asked him through text for a favor, he left you on read without a single reply. The message was clear: get your act together.

Then there were Seungmin and Han. Unlike the others, they weren’t content to just drop off food and go. Seungmin, sharp-eyed and intuitive, had crossed his arms and leaned against your doorframe one afternoon, his voice tinged with amusement but lined with curiosity. “You wanna tell me what’s really going on?” he’d asked, his tone deceptively casual. When you shook your head, he’d sighed dramatically. “You’re lucky I’m nice.”

Han was less subtle. He’d plopped down outside your door once, knocking rhythmically until you opened up just a crack. “C’mon,” he coaxed, grinning mischievously. “Whatever happened can’t be that bad. Spill it.” You’d slammed the door in his face before he could say more, your face burning.

But tonight was different.

"So you like pulling hair, hm?" A deep voice drawled, the words barely a whisper before the tug on your hair sent a jolt through your entire body.

Your knees hit the floor, the sharp sting of the impact radiating through your legs, but it was nothing compared to the scorching heat that coursed through your veins. Felix stood above you, his dark eyes gleaming with an amusement that made your pulse quicken. His hand remained in your hair, pulling your head back with an ease that made you feel entirely at his mercy.

"Tell me, is that all you want from me?" His voice was low, teasing, almost dangerous. The question lingered in the air, thick and charged, as if daring you to admit something you weren’t sure you wanted to say.

You wanted to answer, wanted to insist that wasn’t the case at all. You couldn’t think like this about Felix. He was your best friend. He always had been. But the words stuck in your throat, none of the words formed in your head being able to come out. Instead, a single, breathless "Yes" escaped, and it felt like your whole world tilted.

"If I’d known sooner," Felix murmured, his breath ghosting against your ear, "I would've just given you what you wanted right away. Saved us both the trouble, huh?"

Heat flushed your skin. Shame mixed with something more dangerous, as his words settled into your chest like a weight. The rough pull on your hair made your breath catch. He didn’t have to speak again for you to understand the power he wielded over you in that moment.

"You thought you could hide it, didn’t you? Pervert."

The word hit like a slap, but it only stoked the fire burning deep inside you, a dangerous mixture of arousal and guilt. The feeling was intoxicating, suffocating, leaving you dizzy.

Your eyes flew open, your body jerking awake with a gasp as if you'd just surfaced from deep water. The darkness of your room enveloped you, but it did little to soothe the wild thrum in your chest. Your skin was sticky with sweat, the sheets clinging to you in uncomfortable heat.

Felix’s voice lingered in your ears, a faint whisper that refused to leave you. The echo of his touch, his hand in your hair, was still present, the warmth of it searing your scalp and making your body ache in places you didn’t want to acknowledge.

What the hell?

Your heart hammered in your chest, too fast, too loud. You couldn’t get his words out of your head: Pervert. The way he had looked down at you, amused, like he knew exactly what you were feeling. The power, the control. It was all wrong, and yet the heat between your legs told a different story.

"God," you whispered hoarsely, your body betraying you as you squeezed your thighs together, trying in vain to will the ache away. It was irrational, unwanted, but you couldn’t stop it. You couldn’t stop thinking about Felix. Your best friend.

You shifted in the bed, throwing an arm over your face in a feeble attempt to block it all out. This was all your mind playing tricks on you. Your subconscious messing with you because of that stupid night, the one when you'd been curled up against him, your fingers brushing through his hair absently. The sound he made when you tugged at the strands had been so soft, so unexpected, that it had sent a bolt of heat straight to your core.

You hadn’t meant to pull his hair. You hadn’t meant to like it. You hadn’t meant for anything that followed to happen, either. But there was only so long you could tell yourself it was a mistake before it stopped feeling like one.

That night. That night when you’d asked- no, pleaded with him to let you watch. It had been an accident, a slip of the tongue, a momentary lapse in judgment. But it wasn’t just a mistake.

It wasn’t just one.

That was the part that made your chest tight with panic, the feeling that it had already happened once, and now you couldn’t stop thinking about it.

No. You wouldn’t let yourself do this again. You couldn’t.

It was just a dream, you repeated aloud, as if saying the words would make them true. Just a dream.

But even as the words left your lips, you knew they didn’t make sense. The ache, the heat, the guilt, they were real, and they felt dangerously real.

Just a dream.

-

You tried. You really did.

You buried yourself under your blankets, squeezed your eyes shut, and willed your mind to drift anywhere but back to him- to Felix’s voice, his touch, the ghost of his breath against your skin. But the harder you tried to suppress it, the more it clawed its way to the surface, relentless and consuming.

Sleep wouldn’t come. It never did on nights like this.

You rolled onto your side, gripping the sheets in frustration, your heart still unsteady. The dreams had unsettled you in ways you weren’t ready to confront. It wasn’t just the weight of his words, the way they had sent a shiver down your spine, it was everything else. The longing. The loss. The quiet, aching realization that you missed him.

Not just his touch, not just the confusing way your body had responded to him in your dream. You missed him.

His laugh would make his eyes sparkle, and always broke through the heaviest of silences. The way he clung to you without hesitation, throwing his arms around your shoulders or draping himself over you like it was second nature. You used to roll your eyes, shove him off playfully, but now? Now you felt cold without the weight of him, without the warmth of his presence filling the space beside you.

And you’d been avoiding him.

You’d kept your distance, hoping that space would clear your head, but it only made it worse. The days felt empty without his voice in them, without his brightness cutting through your usual gloom. Now everything seemed unbearably quiet.

A choked sound slipped past your lips before you even realized you were crying.

Hot tears rolled down your cheeks, and you curled into yourself, gripping the pillow like it could somehow fill the space Felix left behind. You felt stupid. Weak. But no matter how hard you tried to push the feeling down, it only swelled, filling your chest with a pressure you couldn’t escape.

You missed him. You missed him so much it hurt.

You hated this. You hated yourself for feeling this way, for wanting him so badly when you weren’t even sure what it was you wanted. For running away when all you really wanted to do was run straight to him.

Why couldn't you have just said nothing that day? Why did you have to make a mess of things and then disappear? Why did you have to ruin everything with a few stupid words?

"Lixie..."

Your voice sounded foreign to your own ears, the words a strained, choked whisper.

"I miss you."

-

The next morning, the sky was overcast, threatening rain. A dull grey had settled over the world, the clouds hanging low in the sky, the air heavy and damp.

You couldn’t bring yourself to care.

You were exhausted, having barely slept a wink, and the last thing you wanted to do was get up.

But there was a nagging sense of guilt, a persistent feeling that you should at least try. So, with great effort, you dragged yourself out of bed.

The house was quiet, the silence broken only by the distant patter of rain against the window. The kitchen was empty, the countertop clean and bare, as if nobody had touched it.

You stood in the empty kitchen, fingers ghosting over the cold countertop. The house was eerily still. No clatter of dishes, no muffled voices from the other rooms, no muffled music playing through the walls, nothing.

Felix wasn’t here.

Your feet moved before your mind caught up.

The hallway was dim, the soft patter of rain against the windows the only sound accompanying you as you stopped in front of his door. It was cracked open, just enough for you to push it the rest of the way without much effort.

The moment you stepped inside, his scent wrapped around you.

Warm, familiar, Felix.

A mix of something subtly sweet; maybe vanilla, and the faint trace of his cologne. It was so distinctly him that your chest tightened painfully, a strange feeling simmering under your skin.

Your gaze drifted over the room, taking in the familiar chaos. His desk was cluttered, papers scattered haphazardly, some crumpled at the edges like he’d been frustrated while working. His PC sat idle, a dark screen reflecting the dim light filtering in through the rain-streaked window.

And your eyes roamed to the other side, you saw them.

An array of different kinds of photos all together on his desk.

Your breath caught as you stepped closer, fingers hesitantly brushing over the small collection of photos.

It was you. Both of you.

Photos you don't even remember taking, one of you and him dressed for a formal night, a photo strip you guys took at a mall together, a picture of you sleeping on him.

He had kept these.

You swallowed hard, a wave of something you didn’t know how to name crashing over you. You didn't know what this meant right now, sure, it was normal to keep photos of your friends, but so close to his desk? A place he spends a lot of his time at?

Slowly, you turned away from the desk, eyes landing on his bed. The blanket on his mattress was messy, like he’d left in a hurry, and the sight of them made your stomach twist.

You shouldn’t. And you knew you shouldn’t.

But the weight of everything was too much, the pull of him too strong. Before you could second-guess yourself, you were crawling into his bed, sinking into the warmth of his space, his scent enveloping you completely.

Had he been sleeping well? Hopefully, he had some peace at night compared to you.

Or did he spend his nights thinking of you as well? Did he miss you too?

Did he stare at your photos until his eyes started to hurt, and then close them, wishing he could fall asleep and see you instead of the back of his eyelids?

Was it wrong to imagine him like this? To think about him the same way he had thought about you?

You weren’t sure. Maybe, probably, definitely.

But in the safety of his room, surrounded by his scent, the thought was too tempting to ignore.

Felix was your best friend. He had been since forever. And yet, you couldn’t help but think about him like this. The way he had looked at you, the way his fingers had curled around your chin, his gaze focused on you. The way his breath had hitched, the way he had pulled his lower lip between his teeth. The way his cheeks flushed.

He was beautiful. You knew that, you always had, but the thought never felt this... dangerous.

And he had looked at you. Just, only at you.

Like you were the only thing he could see. Like you were the only thing that mattered. Like he wanted to devour you, and it scared the shit out of you.

It was stupid. Irrational.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his sheets, his scent overwhelming you in the best and worst way possible. It made your skin burn, your stomach twist, your mind spiral into places you shouldn’t let it go.

It wasn’t just missing him anymore.

It was wanting him.

The weight of it pressed down on you, suffocating in its intensity. You squeezed your eyes shut, biting down on your lip, desperately trying to will the feeling away. But it was useless.

You could still feel the ghost of his touch, the way his fingers had brushed against your skin, the way he had looked at you, really looked at you. Not as a friend. Not as someone he’d known forever. But as something else. Something more.

The memory of it sent a shiver down your spine.

Your thighs pressed together involuntarily, but it only made things worse. The ache was unbearable, sharp and all-consuming. Your body was betraying you, responding to something you weren’t ready to admit to yourself.

You let out a shaky breath, barely a whimper, and before you could stop it, a sob ripped through your chest.

Tears burned hot as they slid down your cheeks, frustration and guilt tangling into something unbearable. What was wrong with you? Why were you like this? Why did you have to ruin everything by feeling this way?

Felix was your best friend. Your best friend.

And yet, here you were, crying into his pillow because you wanted him so badly it hurt.

The sound of the door creaking open barely registered at first.

"Y/N?"

You froze.

The sound of Felix’s voice cut through the haze of your emotions like a blade, sharp and inescapable. It shouldn’t have been this way. You shouldn’t be in his bed, gripping his sheets like they were the only thing tethering you to the world. You shouldn’t be crying over him, missing him so desperately that it physically hurt.

You shouldn’t want him.

But you did.

And now, standing at the foot of the bed, Felix was looking at you, really looking at you, his damp hair from the rain clinging to his forehead, his lips slightly parted in shock. His eyes, warm and deep, flickered with too many emotions to decipher.

“Shit,” he breathed.

His voice was unsteady, like he wasn’t sure what to say, like he was trying to understand why you were here, curled up in his sheets, looking at him like he was the only thing keeping you from shattering completely.

He said your name again, softer this time, laced with concern.

You forced yourself to sit up, your fingers trembling as you swiped at your tear-streaked cheeks. The weight of his stare was suffocating. What are you even supposed to say? That you missed him? That you had spent nights aching for him, haunted by the way he used to fit into your life, into your space, into you?

You swallowed hard, voice barely a whisper. "Sorry."

Felix’s brows furrowed. That was the last thing he expected you to say.

“What are you doing here?” His voice was quiet, but there was something else beneath it. Something careful. Something dangerous.

You hesitated. “I… I was looking for you.”

It wasn’t a lie. But it wasn’t the whole truth either.

Felix’s expression softened, his sharp features easing into something more familiar, something more him. He took a step closer, then another, hesitance flickering in his eyes like he was afraid you might bolt.

You didn’t.

Instead, you stayed still as he slowly, cautiously, sat down on the edge of the bed beside you.

The space between you was barely there, just inches separating your leg from his, the warmth of him reaching you before his touch did. The tension was suffocating, thick enough to drown in. It was the closest you had been to him in weeks, and the reality of it sent your pulse into a dizzying rhythm.

"Y/N…"

The way he said your name; gentle, almost pleading, made something inside you splinter.

He turned his body toward you, leaning in slightly, his voice softer than the rain against the window. “Are you okay?”

You wished he hadn’t asked.

The moment the words left his lips, something inside you gave way, cracking under the weight of everything you’d been holding back.

You squeezed your eyes shut, but it was useless. The flood was already coming.

A choked sob tore from your throat, your body betraying you as fresh tears spilled down your cheeks. You shook your head, barely able to breathe through the tightness in your chest.

“No,” you whispered, broken and raw.

And then Felix moved. No hesitation as he reached for you, pulling you against him in one fluid motion, his arms wrapping around you in a way that felt effortless. Like this is where you were meant to be.

His warmth consumed you instantly, the steady rise and fall of his chest grounding you even as your own breath came out uneven and shaky. He smelled like rain and something distinctly him, vanilla, musk, and home, it made your head spin.

You clung to him, your fingers gripping the fabric of his hoodie like he might disappear if you let go. You buried your face into the crook of his neck, his skin warm against your cheek. The scent of him, the weight of his arms around you, it was everything you had missed, everything you had craved but refused to admit.

Felix let out a breath against your hair, his grip tightening, his fingers tracing slow, soothing circles against your back. But you could feel it, the way his heartbeat wasn’t steady, the way his own breath was just slightly uneven.

Was he feeling this too?

Was this affecting him the way it was breaking you apart?

"Lix…" Your voice came out in a desperate whisper, muffled against his skin.

His arms flexed around you, just for a second.

"Don't-" he sighed, his tone heavy with something you couldn't quite place, "-don't say anything now."

He sounded tired, almost resigned, like he had finally come to terms with something he couldn't fight.

"I want to be selfish for a moment," he said quietly, his words sending a shiver down your spine, "just for a little while."

Your heart thudded against your ribs, too fast, too loud, a painful reminder that this was real. That he was holding you, that he was whispering against your hair, that he was breathing in your scent, and god, this wasn't supposed to be this way.

It wasn't supposed to be this painful.

You closed your eyes, willing yourself not to let more tears fall, not now, not when you were already clinging to him like a lifeline.

You weren't sure how long the two of you stayed like that, tangled in each other's arms, his hands tracing patterns against your back.

The rain continued to fall, a soft patter against the windows. The faint glow of the sky had shifted, the grey giving way to a warm orange hue as the sun dipped below the horizon. You weren't quite sure what happened in that time, the exhaustion finally kept up to you and the feeling in his arms was too good, and soon, sleep was pulling you under.

But just before the darkness took over, Felix spoke again, so quietly you could barely hear it, his breath ghosting against the shell of your ear.

"I missed you, too."

-

The first thing you registered upon waking was warmth.

The steady rise and fall of a chest beneath your cheek lulling you into a state of half-consciousness. For a moment, you forgot where you were, caught in the hazy in-between of dreams and reality. Then, the scent of him filled your lungs, the slow, even heartbeat under your palm grounding you, and it all came rushing back.

You were in his bed.

Your breath hitched as the realization settled. He was still right next to you, you were still curled into him, his arms still loosely draped around you like he had never let go.

Maybe he hadn’t.

You barely dared to move, afraid of shattering whatever fragile moment this was. But the ache in your chest, the longing you had buried so deep, was unbearable. You wanted- no, needed to be closer. Just a little more.

Slowly, carefully, you shifted, nuzzling deeper into the crook of his neck, your nose brushing against his collarbone. His scent surrounded you, overwhelming and intoxicating, a cruel reminder of everything you had missed. Your fingers hesitated for only a second before they moved, ghosting along the hem of his hoodie before slipping underneath, meeting the warmth of his skin.

You could feel how he tensed under you.

It was barely perceptible, just the smallest hitch in his breath, the subtle tightening of his fingers against your waist. If you weren’t pressed against him, you might’ve missed it.

But you didn’t.

You stayed still for a moment, waiting. His breathing remained steady, deceptively even, as if he were still asleep. But you knew better. You knew him. The way his fingers twitched, the way his chest rose just a little too sharply, the way his lips were parted just so... it was all too careful.

Felix was awake.

But now, you couldn't afford to care. Your fingers, still under his hoodie, traced the bare skin of his stomach, featherlight, barely there. The muscles beneath your touch tensed slightly, his breath faltering for half a second before evening out again.

He was pretending.

You swallowed back a laugh, feeling emboldened by the way his body reacted despite his act. Slowly, you tilted your head up, your lips barely grazing the line of his jaw, soft and unintentional, or at least, that’s how you wanted it to seem. His Adam’s apple bobbed with a swallowed breath, and the smallest noise, something between a sigh and a hum, escaped his throat.

That was all the confirmation you needed.

“Felix,” you murmured against his skin, your voice low and sweet, testing, teasing.

His grip on your waist tightened, a fraction too firm, and this time, he didn’t bother to hide the way he inhaled sharply.

You smiled against his jaw. “Are you asleep?”

Nothing.

No response.

Just silence and the pounding of both your hearts in the space between you.

Your lips ghosted down, soft and unhurried, tracing the line of his throat. You could feel his pulse hammering beneath his skin, fast and uneven, betraying him in a way his stillness couldn’t. Your hand slid higher under his hoodie, your fingertips brushing over the warm planes of his abdomen, teasing along the defined lines.

Then, just as your lips met the sensitive spot where his neck met his shoulder, Felix finally broke.

A sharp inhale, a barely contained shudder, and then—

“Y/N.”

His voice was rough, breathless, like he had been holding it back for too long.

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, and he was staring back at you, heavy-lidded, filled with something unreadable yet entirely unmistakable. His lips were parted slightly, his breath uneven, and the way he was looking at you sent a shiver down your spine.

You felt him shift, his hand sliding up your back, his fingers grazing your skin beneath your shirt. His touch was deliberate, careful, like he was grounding himself. Or maybe grounding you.

“You knew,” you accused, voice barely above a whisper.

Felix’s lips curved into something dangerously close to a smirk, but there was something softer beneath it, something hesitant.

“Of course I knew,” he murmured, his thumb stroking absent patterns against your hip. “You’re not subtle.”

Heat curled low in your stomach, and you hated how easily he could turn the tables with just a look, a touch, a word.

His eyes flickered to your lips.

Your breath caught.

Then, so quietly you almost didn’t hear it, Felix whispered, “What are you doing?”

Your fingers curled against his chest, gripping his hoodie as if that would steady you. You didn’t have an answer. Or maybe, you had too many.

But right now, in this moment, none of them mattered.

Because all you could think about was how close he was, how his hand was splayed against your skin, how his lips were right there, and how neither of you seemed willing to pull away.

How easy it would be to just lean in.

Your breath trembled, shaky and desperate, as you leaned in, just enough for your lips to graze his, barely a whisper of a touch. But it was enough. The moment they made contact, a sharp, electric shiver shot down your spine, spreading heat through your entire body. Felix’s breath hitched, and for a fleeting second, he stayed still, holding his breath, as if unsure how to respond.

But the moment you started to pull back, his fingers dug into your hip, pulling you back toward him with a quiet urgency that sent your heart pounding. His lips parted, and the sound that escaped him; a relieved sigh, broke you completely. It was so raw, so needy, and it undid you in ways you hadn’t expected.

You couldn’t stop yourself. Your fingers found their way into his hair again, tugging gently, guiding him closer as you let him pull you in. The soft strands slipped through your fingers, and you could hear him, so close to you, making those quiet, broken, desperate sounds that made everything inside you burn. The heat in your stomach twisted, a knot of need that only seemed to grow tighter as his hand slid higher along your back, pulling you flush against him, pressing you harder into him like he couldn’t get enough.

The second kiss wasn’t tentative. It was hungry. A deep, urgent collision of lips and tongues, slow but with a hunger that left you both breathless. His lips moved against yours, teasing and tasting, savoring. When you sighed into him, something broke, both of you, releasing any last semblance of restraint.

His grip on you tightened, turning desperate, pulling you impossibly closer. His lips parted against yours, moving over you with an intensity that sent a wave of heat crashing over you. You moaned quietly, fingers framing his face, your thumbs brushing over his cheeks before your hands tangled deeper into his hair, tilting his head to deepen the kiss, to taste him, to lose yourself in him.

A low sound rumbled in his chest, raw and broken, as he exhaled shakily against your lips. His fingers slipped under your shirt, the warmth of his touch sending waves of fire over your skin as they traced the curve of your spine, leaving a trail of heated promises. You could feel him trembling beneath you, his body taut, his breath a shallow, uneven rhythm. He was barely holding back.

“Y/N,” he rasped, and the way he said your name; like it was the only tether keeping him grounded, sent a shiver straight through you.

Your breath came in sharp, uneven pulls, your mind spinning as you forced yourself to break away. Your forehead pressed against his, and for a brief moment, you tried to gather your thoughts, but the haze of heat clouded your mind, leaving nothing but need, nothing but him.

What the hell were you doing?

Felix was your best friend. Your sweet, goofy, sunshine of a best friend. But right now, there was nothing sweet or goofy about the way he looked at you.

You were now- somehow, straddling his lap, your fingers tangled in his hair, your lips swollen from his kisses. And Felix- Felix looked absolutely wrecked. His pupils were blown wide, his breath coming in shallow, uneven pants as he stared at you like he wasn’t sure if he was dreaming. His hoodie had slipped off one shoulder, exposing smooth skin, flushed with heat, and the sight of him like this; disheveled, desperate, waiting, had your stomach twisting with pure, aching want.

“Fuck.” The curse slipped out before you could stop it, your voice shaking with everything you were feeling. Because you knew.

You weren’t stopping.

His tongue flicked out to wet his lips, and that was it. That was all it took for the last fraying thread of restraint to snap.

You crashed into him, and he met you with just as much desperation.

The kiss was nothing like before. It was raw, all heat and hunger, lips moving together in a mess of gasps and teeth and need. His hands were on you in an instant, gripping your waist, sliding up beneath your shirt, fingers splayed across your back like he needed to feel every inch of your skin against his.

You gasped into his mouth, and the sound made him shudder beneath you, his nails pressing into your hips, pulling you impossibly closer. The friction sent a dizzying wave of heat through you, making your stomach tighten, making you crave more, more, more.

Your hands roamed, desperate to touch him, to make him fall apart beneath you. You dragged your nails lightly down his scalp, and the noise that left his lips; low, needy, wrecked, shot straight through you, pooling molten heat between your legs.

“Fuck, Felix,” you breathed against his lips, your voice barely a whisper, but he heard it. You knew he did, because he groaned, his hands gripping your waist harder, grinding up into you without thinking. The feeling of him beneath you, warm and hard and completely lost in you, sent a sharp thrill through your veins.

Your lips parted, and he took the opportunity, his tongue sliding against yours, deep and slow, tasting, savoring. The way he kissed you; like he was drowning in it, in you, had you whimpering into his mouth, had your fingers fisting his hoodie, holding on for dear life.

“Shit-” He pulled back just enough to breathe, but his forehead was still pressed against yours, his lips hovering over yours like he couldn’t bear to be too far away. His voice was hoarse, ruined, his breath warm and heavy against your mouth. “Y/N…”

He couldn't seem to say anything else.

You swallowed, the ache between your legs growing more insistent by the second. Your body was burning, aching for him, and the fact that he was so hard beneath you, grinding up into you without hesitation, only made it worse.

You could feel the way his body tensed, the way his hips moved against yours, slow, experimental. His breaths were coming out in shallow pants, his lips parted, and his expression... he looked completely and utterly wrecked.

Your heart stuttered as it hit you all at once.

This was why you had kept him at a distance, why you had refused to let yourself linger too long in the warmth of his presence, why you had forced yourself to ignore every stolen glance, every lingering touch.

The realization crashed into you, knocking the air from your lungs.

You liked him.

Not just as your best friend. Not just in the way you always told yourself was innocent. No, this was something deeper, something that had been simmering beneath the surface for longer than you cared to admit. And now, with him beneath you, his lips swollen, his breath ragged, his body trembling with want, you couldn’t deny it anymore.

Felix was wrecked. But so were you.

A shaky exhale fell from your lips. You didn't want to think. Not now, not when everything was falling apart. All you wanted, all you could think about, was him.

Felix was unraveling beneath you. And you, God, you weren’t any better.

His hands trembled against your skin, his grip on you tight, unrelenting, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go. His chest rose and fell in uneven, ragged breaths, his swollen lips parted, so aching.

Your pulse thundered in your ears, it felt like your heart was working overtime—what you were feeling in other places wasn't any better. And yet, when you shifted in his lap, when you rolled your hips against him, just to see, just to feel, Felix gasped, his head tipping back, a low moan falling from his lips.

“Y/N-” His voice wavered, his fingers digging into your waist. “Fuck, don’t-”

He cut himself off with a shuddering breath, his body tensing, his eyes screwing shut. You feel him trembling beneath you as you did it again, slower this time, you could feel your clothed core rub against the length of him with an unhurried, intoxicating friction. It caused your swollen clit to drag deliciously against the fabric of both of your clothes, causing you to throw your head back.

His hands flew to your thighs, gripping hard, as if to steady himself. A sound tore from his throat, breathless and wrecked, somewhere between a groan and a whimper, so desperate it made your entire body burn. So deep that it brought a chill up and down each vertebra of your spine.

“Shit-” His fingers flexed against your skin, his breathing erratic. “I can’t- I can’t fucking think when you do that.”

The confession sent a heady rush through you, and made something dark and hungry curl in your stomach. You wanted more. You wanted to hear him fall apart even more. You leaned in, lips ghosting over his jaw, down the column of his throat, feeling the way his pulse pounded beneath your mouth.

A soft whine left his lips, his hips jerking up into yours without warning, and the feeling, the friction, had you moaning softly into his skin. His fingers gripped your thighs, digging into the soft flesh, and the slight sting, the thought of his grip leaving a mark had heat pooling low in your stomach.

A sharp knock at the door sent a jolt through both of you, the sound cutting through the thick haze of heat that had settled in the room.

“Felix?”

Chan’s voice was muffled through the wood, but it was clear, steady, completely unaware of the way you and Felix were currently tangled together, breathless and trembling.

Felix went rigid beneath you, fingers twitching against your thighs before they fell away entirely, like he’d just realized where they were. His wide, dazed eyes snapped up to yours, his expression shifting from desperate hunger to sheer panic in a matter of seconds.

You barely had time to process the loss of his touch before Chan spoke again.

“Have you seen Y/N?” A pause. “She wasn’t in her room when I checked, and I- oh, uh, I brought breakfast for everyone.”

Felix made a choked sound in the back of his throat, somewhere between a cough and a quiet curse.

Your stomach dropped.

Your face burned, your breath still coming in short, uneven pulls as reality came crashing back down on you.

Felix looked just as wrecked, just as breathless, his chest still heaving beneath you, lips swollen and parted like he was still stuck somewhere between the moment you’d shared and the one you were currently panicking through.

You had to move. You had to get up, act normal, open the door, something-

But then you shifted, and the second you felt the hard press of him against you, felt the way your own body was still burning from the friction of before, you realized something else entirely.

You couldn’t leave like this.

Felix must have come to the same realization at the same time, because his hands shot out, gripping your waist, holding you still before you could make it worse. His jaw clenched, his eyes screwing shut as he inhaled sharply through his nose, trying- failing to steady himself.

A quiet curse slipped from his lips.

You swallowed thickly, your heart hammering as Chan’s voice rang out again, a little more hesitant this time.

“Felix?”

Felix’s throat bobbed, his grip on you tightening for a fleeting moment before he forced himself to speak, voice hoarse and uneven.

“Uhm- yeah. Yeah, I’m here.”

There was a pause.

“…Are you okay?”

Felix glanced at you, but you felt like you were on fire.

“Yeah!” He cleared his throat, scrambling for composure, but the breathless edge to his voice betrayed him immediately.

Felix’s grip on your waist tightened, as if desperately begging you not to move.

Chan hummed on the other side of the door, completely oblivious. “Alright, well, hurry up and come eat. I got enough for everyone. And please- please," he paused for a moment, trying to find the right words, "just call Y/N, it's not good for either of you to keep fighting.”

A beat of silence. Then-

The sound of retreating footsteps.

You both exhaled at the same time.

It took a second for the tension to shift, for the weight of what had just happened to sink in.

And then-

Felix groaned, dropping his head back against his pillow, running a hand over his face. “Oh my God.”

You swallowed, staring at him, your entire body still burning from the inside out.

He was still hard beneath you.

And you- well, you weren’t exactly in a better state.

You licked your lips, nerves twisting in your stomach as you tried to force yourself to move, to think, to figure out how you were supposed to get out of this mess without making it even worse.

Felix beat you to it.

“We can’t leave like this.” His voice was low, strained.

You nodded, heat creeping up your neck. “I know.”

A pause.

His throat bobbed. “I-” He hesitated, his fingers twitching against your waist like he wasn’t sure what to do with them. “I can- figure something out. Just- just give me a second.”

He was trying so hard to be responsible about this, to be rational, to get through this without making it worse.

But your mind was still spinning from before, still drowning in the memory of his body beneath yours, the sounds he had made, the way he had looked at you like he couldn’t think about anything else.

And maybe that was why the next words slipped out before you could stop them.

“I can take care of it.”

Silence.

Felix froze.

Your stomach twisted at the way his breath hitched, at the way his fingers tightened against your skin like he wasn’t sure he had heard you correctly.

His eyes found yours, searching, disbelieving.

“…What?”

You swallowed, your pulse thrumming beneath your skin. “Just- just let me, please.”

Something flickered across his expression, something hesitant and utterly wrecked. You could see the thoughts racing through his mind, the questions, the uncertainty, the sheer disbelief at what you had just suggested.

But when he spoke, his voice was quieter this time, more vulnerable.

“But..." he swallowed, his eyes searching your face, "you won’t run away after?”

You paused, something in his voice making your chest ache.

How could he think you would do that? After everything?

But then again, hadn't you pushed him away first? Didn't he have every right to think something like that from you?

Guilt simmered in your chest, you couldn't run this time.

"No, I won’t run," you said softly.

Felix held your gaze, and for a brief moment, it seemed like he was trying to figure out if you meant it.

"J- Just this once... then..?" His voice wavered, unsure, hesitant, but you could tell how much he wanted this. How much he had been waiting for this.

Just this once?

You don't know why, but even though you've heard those words before, this time they left a sharp sting in your chest.

You couldn't tell if it was guilt or not. Maybe it was the idea that he just saw this as a one-time thing. Or I guess, two-time thing now.

You shook the thoughts away, letting out a deep breath as you slowly got off of him, moving into a spot in between his legs and crouching down, and his head raises at the sudden change in position.

You don't have much experience when it comes to giving handjobs, so you were just going to follow what he did last time with the addition of a few things that you researched yourself. You had already seen him do it up close, the way his fingers tightened around the base of his shaft before sliding upwards in a slow movement. He had taken his time with himself, drawing it out and keeping it steady, the movements practiced and sure.

His breathing grew a little more ragged when he realized where this was heading. He started to sit up, his expression wary, a protest rising to his lips. But the moment his hand dropped to cover himself, your fingers found his. You could feel them twitching.

He fell still.

Your chest tightened.

His lips parted, a small gasp escaping, eyes fluttering closed as you let your hand hesitantly outline the trace of his length, replacing his hand. Your hand slid upwards, mimicking what his other hand did.

You didn't look up, didn't dare meet his eyes. But you could feel the weight of his gaze.

It's the same, yet different. This time you are touching him, it's you making him feel that way, the soft gasps falling from his lips, the way he's biting back a moan, it's because of you. You try to copy the things you saw him do, tightening your grip just enough and letting the pressure slide slowly upwards. Your heart skips at the sound of Felix's breath stuttering, the way his muscles tense, the way his fingers dig into his thighs, holding on, struggling not to react too much.

His lips were parted, his breaths coming in shallow, uneven pulls as your hand moved against his clothed length in an unhurried, almost lazy pace. You kept your eyes down, unable to bear seeing what was in his eyes. Unable to bear seeing the look you'd put on his face.

Felix wasn't unaffected either. You could feel the tension in his muscles, feel the way his thighs twitched when you stroked his cock through his pants, the way he gasped and whimpered softly. You were suddenly very aware of just how close you were, your fingers moving beneath him, brushing his own every few moments as he moved. The air in the room had changed, shifted.

You were acutely aware of every sound, every hitch of breath, every shaky exhale, of the heat coming from his skin and the scent of his skin so close, and it was like every one of your senses had sharpened.

"Uhm..." you hestitate, wondering how to ask without embarrassing yourself too much, "can- can I?" You asked shyly, gesturing to his pants and hoping he'd get the idea, and when he doesn't respond for a while you looked up to see his face filled with confusion.

You exhaled, feeling your cheeks burn as you finally forced yourself to meet his eyes, trying not to stare too long at his swollen lips, his mussed hair, at how utterly disheveled he looked, and tried to make your voice more clear, "can I touch you... like- without... the pants?"

His throat bobbed, his Adam's apple dipping before his lips parted to say something, but it took him a while before he finally managed to let out a choked sound. "O- Oh-" his voice faltered, cracking under pressure. He took in a shuddering breath, nodding hesitantly. "Y- Yeah- Yeah, okay."

You swallowed, shifting in your spot between his legs as your hands went down to tug at his waistband, letting your knuckles brush against his skin as you pulled his pants lower, feeling a flutter of heat low in your stomach.

He was watching you with half-lidded eyes, his gaze dark and unreadable. His breath was coming in short, uneven pulls as he leaned back, bracing himself against his hands. You couldn't help but glance at his chest, watching it rise and fall with every unsteady breath. He looked... vulnerable, almost soft in the dim light of his bedroom, like this, in a way he never usually did.

His jaw was still clenched tight, and he swallowed, the bobbing motion of his throat drawing your eye for a moment before you dragged your gaze back down.

Your fingers trailed along his waist, feeling his muscles tense under your touch as you finally pulled his pants down enough, freeing him from the restraints of his clothes.

He was aching, and hard, the tip swollen and pink. Your stomach tightened at the sight of him, at the memory of last time and everything you felt then.

You started slow, like he did. Letting your palm glide smoothly over his tip, his hips stuttering into the air at the contact, letting out a broken noise, and when you didn't move your hand any further, he let out a breath. His body was wound up like a coil, every muscle taut and rigid, waiting for your next move.

Your grip tightened, stroking upwards in a slow movement that drew a low groan from deep within his throat. He gasped, his chest heaving, his breaths ragged and uneven.

"God- fuck, you-" he let out another strangled moan, his voice strained and raw.

His hips rocked into the air, thrusting up to meet your palm, his movements needy and desperate. The sound of him panting beneath you was sending shivers down your spine, sending heat coursing through you like electricity.

He was reacting way more than last time, every touch, every brush of your skin against his sending him into a spiral of pleasure. It was intoxicating, watching him lose himself under your hands, hearing him gasp and whine, his moans and groans like music to your ears, knowing you're the one doing this to him, to make him lose control, to fall apart at your fingertips, knowing how much power you had over him at that moment.

The knowledge left you lightheaded, dizzy with a rush of heady power as you sped up your hand just slightly. He was completely and utterly lost, his hands gripping the bed sheets tightly, his fingers twisting in the sheets as he struggled to breathe, to hold himself together. You felt the tension in his thighs, heard the sharp hiss that escaped through clenched teeth, felt the tremors running through him.

You felt your clit pulse, the sore feeling causing you to squeeze your thighs together. It felt so good. You could feel the wetness pooling between your thighs, soaking your underwear.

It wasn't long before he was teetering on the edge, his head thrown back against his pillow, eyes screwed shut, his chest heaving as he tried to hold himself together.

"Felix..?" you whispered, your voice trembling with desire, the sound of your name falling from his lips only serving to make you throb harder, the feeling between your thighs almost too much to handle.

"Yes-" his voice was raw and rough, broken as it was forced from his throat, a groan cutting through the silence, a desperate whimper escaping him as he finally let himself go. "Yes, I'm so fucking close-"

It didn't take long before he was shaking apart beneath your touch, a shuddering moan leaving his lips as his back arched, his hips bucking up into the air. He came undone with your name on his lips, his fingers twisting in the bed sheets. The way he sounded as he came was the most beautiful thing you've ever heard. His voice was hoarse and shaky as he whispered your name like a prayer, as he trembled and shook and let himself unravel under your touch.

He fell apart and came undone, spilling himself on his own stomach with your name on his lips. The sight made something warm and fuzzy pool in the pit of your stomach, something you'd never felt before, something you'd never let yourself feel. You couldn't tear your eyes away from him, from the way he looked in that moment. It was so intense, so intimate. It felt so real and raw, and it hit you in a way you never expected it to.

Your gaze drifted lower, your heart stuttering at the sight of his mess, his stomach painted with white. You were transfixed by the sight, unable to stop staring even as he shuddered beneath you, gasping and trembling as the waves of pleasure slowly subsided. He collapsed back on the bed with a sigh, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. His hair was plastered against his forehead, his face flushed and sweaty, but he looked so extremely hot nonetheless. His lips were swollen and parted as he stared at you with half-lidded eyes, completely blown from arousal, from how good you'd made him feel.

The sight had you aching for release. You bit back a groan as your cunt throbbed.

He watched you with glazed eyes as you leaned over and grabbed the towel you'd seen on the ground. You pressed it gently against his stomach to wipe him.

It's like he didn't care if you'd seen it or not, he was completely undone, boneless, his entire body still buzzing, still high from his release. He let out a soft hum when he felt you touch his stomach. He was so warm. He looked like a cat who got what it wanted.

Felix let out a content sigh as you wiped him down, his body loose and pliant beneath your touch. His head was still tilted back against the pillow, eyes heavy-lidded and glassy, but when you shifted to move away, he blinked up at you, something soft and almost hesitant in his gaze.

His voice was hoarse when he spoke. “I-” He swallowed, his fingers twitching where they rested by his sides. “I can help you, too.”

Your breath caught.

The air between you shifted again, his offer sending a rush of heat through you, settling low in your stomach. The way he looked at you, all earnest and drowsy and still so, so beautiful- it had you aching all over again.

"But-"

You hesitated, panic creeping in around the edges of your mind. It wasn’t that you didn’t want it. You did. But now that the haze was clearing, now that the heat of the moment was cooling just slightly, reality started creeping back in.

Too much time had passed.

You couldn’t still be in here when breakfast had already been announced.

You forced yourself to swallow down the nervous lump in your throat, shaking your head as you pulled away. “No, it’s fine. We should-” You cleared your throat, trying to sound as normal as possible. “We should clean up. Breakfast is waiting.”

Felix stilled for a second, his expression flickering- hurt, then understanding, then something else entirely.

He didn’t argue.

But you saw it- the way his face fell slightly, the way guilt settled in his features. Like he thought he’d done something wrong.

You reached out, squeezing his wrist briefly.

“It’s okay,” you murmured.

He nodded, but you could tell he wasn’t fully convinced.

Still, he got up, following your lead as you both cleaned yourselves up. You made sure to go first, slipping out of his room quickly so it wouldn’t look suspicious.

The moment you stepped into the dining area, a chorus of voices erupted around you.

“Oh my God, she lives.”

“Finally out of your room, huh?”

“You good? You were MIA for a while.”

You barely had time to sit down before a hand smacked your back playfully. Jisung grinned at you from across the table, a knowing glint in his eyes. “We were just about to plan a funeral for you, what happened?”

You swallowed thickly, your face burning. “I was sick,” you blurted out, the first excuse that popped into your head.

Jisung’s brows shot up. “Sick?”

Hyunjin snorted. “What, like love sick?”

Your stomach flipped, but you forced yourself to roll your eyes. “No, dumbass. Just… sick.”

Jisung hummed, unconvinced, but he let it go in favor of stuffing his mouth full of food.

The table returned to its usual chaotic energy, playful banter bouncing back and forth between the members. You joined in where you could, laughing when Changbin and Minho bickered over the last pancake, Chan stepping in, telling them they had to leave it for Felix. You felt a little lighter now that the focus had shifted off of you.

But then, you felt him before you saw him.

Felix.

Emerging from his room, freshly cleaned up, hair still slightly damp, eyes sweeping the room before they landed on you.

Your stomach clenched, your breath catching in your throat.

He looked normal. He looked composed. Like nothing had happened.

But the second his gaze met yours, you knew.

You clenched your thighs together instinctively, forcing yourself to look away, shoving a spoonful of food into your mouth as a distraction.

Felix sat down across from you, grabbing a plate, acting as if everything was normal.

But you could feel it.

The tension still lingered, simmering beneath the surface, waiting.

And you had no idea how long you could keep pretending it wasn’t there.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

tags for beauties : @loverbangchan, @reignessance, @imperfectlyperfectprincess1, @armystay89, @ihrtlix, @lovestaysblogs, @jeyelleohe, @celebration88, @velvetmoonlght, @honeyybbuubblleess, @skzswife, @c9b7luv, @lixies-favorite-cookie, @yeetfellx, @lailac13, @amortiff, @crazylinofangirl, @sunshinesfreckless, @darkwitchoferie, @sanriomilk, @st4rv3lly, @skybluelixie, @potentialgay, @ana006banankica-blog

[pointlesscandies]

GMMTV 2025

Dare you to Death: JoongDunk: rival investigators crime drama where they have to catch a serial killer. Baby Ohm is one of their bothers

Head to Head: SeaKeen: frenemies to lovers set in college with death premonitions thrown in

I Love a Lot of you: Nanon straight romance where he has to "cure" love interest suffering from dissociative identity disorder

Burnout Syndrome: OffGun: Gun is an escort and artist hired by businessman Off to help deal with customers, love triangle with Dew

Whale Store: MilkLove: Milk inherits her father’s store, meets Love, they must work together to make it successful

Only Friends Dream on: OhmLeng replaced by AouBoom, EarthMix, JossGawin as actors and musicians putting on a play with all the drama you can imagine

That Summer: WinnySatang: Satang is a prince in disguise, Winny becomes his caretaker after an accident

My Romance Scammer: JuniorMark, OhmFluke: Con artists falling in love with their victims. There’s weddings involved.

Melody of Secrets: ForceBook: crime drama/psychological horror with dopplegangers

Love you Teacher: PerthSanta: established boyfriends until an accident causes Santa to lose his memories and think he's a kid again

Mu-te-Luv: Ensamble cast: 7 love stories revolving around fate, fortune, and magic (SeaKeen, and OhmLeng have stories, among others)

Cat for Cash: FirstKhaotung: Debt collector who can talk to cats ends up running a cat cafe with Khaotung

Girl Rules: NamtamFilm, MilkLove, ViewMim: Messy lesbians, models and actresses

Boys in Love: PaulKen, PapangPodd, ChokunAston, MickLuke: High school romances with Papang and Podd as teachers

My Magic Prophesy: JimmySea, FrancTee: Doctor and fortune teller flee from someone who is trying to kill them and must hide out together

A Dog and a Plane: TayNew, MarkPoon: EMT and flight attendant, messy enemies to lovers with Poon playing New's cheating boyfriend

Me and Thee: PondPhuwin: Photographer Phuwin accidentally gets involved with rich, troubled, mafia wannabe who begins to pursue him

Wu: Sky and Nani: Dark fated soulmates

Memoir of Rati: GreatInn, AouBoom: Moody period drama, teacher and bureaucrat, forbidden love

Ticket to Heaven: GeminiFourth: A Catholic seminary student struggles with his faith while falling in love with bad boy Gemini

[solxamber]

VALENTINES EVENT IM HERE AND IM SAT

Rook, Romantic, I bet on losing dogs by mitski plssss

"I bet on losing dogs" || Rook Hunt

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠: I bet on losing dogs by Mitski

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 650

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: Angst with a happy ending, Pining

Rook Hunt has always loved things that would never love him back.

He has known this since childhood, since the first time he reached for a bird with trembling hands only to watch it take flight, startled by the mere thought of his touch. He learned it in poetry, in old stories where knights swore themselves to princesses who wed kings instead, in the lonely way the moon followed the earth—close enough to see, never close enough to hold.

He learned it when he loved his first masterpiece, a painting so beautiful he wept at the sight of it, only to realize the brushstrokes would never look back at him.

And he learned it again, years later, when he met you.

Because Rook has always been a fool for beauty, for brilliance, for things that shine so brightly they leave him blind. And you—you were dazzling. You existed with the kind of presence that made the world shift around you, made the air hum with the echo of your laughter. You burned like a star, and Rook was foolish enough to stand too close.

He loved you. Of course, he loved you.

But love, for Rook, was never meant to be something returned.

So he did what he had always done—he watched. He loved you quietly, from the shadows, from the sidelines, from just beyond your reach. He made himself your friend, your confidant, your ever-present companion, never once daring to hope for more.

Because that was not the way the story went.

He was the fool, the poet, the audience. You were the masterpiece. And masterpieces did not love the people who admired them.

So he swallowed it down, this unbearable, aching devotion. He stood at your side, smiling as you chased after others, as you dreamed of things that did not include him, as you built a future where he was merely an afterthought.

And it was enough. It had to be enough.

Because Rook did not love expecting to be loved in return. He loved because it was in his nature, because it was what he was made for.

Until one night, when you shattered everything.

"Why do you do this to yourself?"

The question was soft, but it cut sharper than any blade. Rook turned, startled, but your expression was unreadable.

"Mon trésor?" His voice did not waver, though his heart did.

"You love things that never love you back," you said, and it was unbearable—the way you looked at him, the way your voice wrapped around the words like a secret, like a confession. "You love things that leave. That fade. That slip away. You love like you expect to lose."

His breath hitched. Because it was true. It was always true.

And yet, hearing you say it—hearing you see it—felt like being stripped bare.

"You don't have to," you murmured.

He wanted to laugh. Oh, but you did not understand. He did not know how to exist outside of longing. Outside of being the one who waits, who watches, who loves and loves and loves without ever being held in return.

He opened his mouth to tell you as much, but then—

You reached for him.

Fingers slipping through his, anchoring him to something real. Something solid. Something that had never, not once, slipped away.

A breath trembled from his lips, the weight of longing so deeply ingrained in his bones that he barely knew what it felt like to let go. But then you shifted, close enough that he could feel your warmth, and when you pulled him forward—hesitant but certain—he let himself lean into you.

His forehead brushed against your shoulder, the tension in his body slowly unwinding as you squeezed his hand. And maybe, just maybe, Rook Hunt had been wrong all along.

Because in this moment, in the quiet hush of your presence beside him, he realized—

Some masterpieces love their admirers, too.

Masterlist ; Valentine's Event

[dilf-docs]

Saturday But in Your Sunday Best

bfd!joel miller x younger fem!reader

summary: joel has a co-worker's wedding in las vegas. everything that can go wrong, does.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, smut, p. in v., creampie, oral (f. and m. receiving), breast play, fingering, dacryphilia, degradation kink, ANGST (as in i've suffered so will my characters. this wasn't at all what i had envisioned at first for this part), hurt/comfort, a bit of fluff (that's new), pls be nice this writer's block shot me in the foot

word count: 11,121 words

side note: sorry this took so long. between movie watching for the oscars, my other works, midterms, pedro pascal horny hours, my wattpad fic, the max fic you citizens let flop (ĉüřşę ÿoụ āĺļ), the brat taming fic that made numbers among my oomfs on twitter, a very shitty date (the situational irony of letting a man ruin my women's day) a ptwt fic gc in twitter (love u frens), and uni again, i let the ttdik series collect dust, my bad. as compensation, take this girthy chapter altho it makes me kinda insecure IDK. this is why i don't do series okay!! i'm my worst enemy and i fear procrastination is a chronical disease of mine atp

part: prev | masterlist | next

What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas

His foot taps anxiously against the marble floor, sound drowned by the bustling crowd.

People come and go. Some hug, others cry. And Joel? Well, he's just waiting for you to come.

He checks his watch, the one Sarah gifted him, and sighs. Should've known better.

It's been two months since the pregnancy scare, and ever since then, you have put a bit of a distance between yourselves.

It was slow, gradual: first the excuses then nights were you wouldn't stay or ask him to. And, even if your affair was that, just an affair, he missed sleeping in the warmth of your embrace. He also missed the way your nose would crinkle when you laughed. You didn't laugh that often anymore, and if you did, it sounded like you were holding in: as if you were afraid to let loose and let him see through you. And to be honest, it was killing him.

So when he reached out to you for this, he should've expected for you to say no. That you wouldn't show up after that I'll see if I'm free text: no, Joel Miller simply shouldn't have harbored that much hope for his daughter's bestfriend he happened to be banging.

If he hadn't confirmed his invitation, he'd probably gone home and layed down. Watch some garbage TV with Sarah and some beer in hand, but here he was, like a lonely loser, luggage in hand.

(Sarah helped him pack. He didn't even know what to wear to a wedding, and then she showed up with his old suit-- that still fit, somehow, albeit a bit more tight, from the dry cleaning. Joel would be lost without her)

The speaker announces his flight is about to leave. Joel gets up, trying not to be dissappointed about the whole thing. He's got no right to, after all.

"Joel?"

He'd end up breaking his neck by how fast he turned.

There you are, and it's like the weight he wasn't aware of, settling on his chest, had been removed.

"You made it" is the first thing that makes it out of his lips.

You softly laugh, "Hello, Joel"

He gets closer to you, slowly, like if he where to do it faster, he'd scare you off. Or you'd be gone, as if a dream.

(It'd be a nightmare, though, because you wouldn't be here)

"Sorry. I-" he cuts off, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. There's some tension lingering in the air, the same when you left his house a week ago. Joel had been too much of a coward to invite you then, rather hiding behind a screen.

But now you were here.

"I didn't think you'd come" he says after a beat of silence.

You tilt your head to the side, eyebrow up as if you hadn't been acting weird at all.

"Why wouldn't I?"

(Because it seems like being in the same room as me tires you. That your eyes don't shine anymore, and the starry sky looks like a storm when you dare search my gaze as we fuck. Every time you breath, its like breathing the same air as me burns)

He rather not press, so instead, he says:

"I'm jus' glad ya' came. 'S all"

You nod, not adding anything at all. Then, both you walk to your gate, side by side in silence, the same that had seemed to seep inside your romance for the past weeks.

Well, romance was definitely a stretch. An affair seemed more like it.

Of course, you're aware the change it's on you. It would've been dumb of you to think Joel wouldn't notice your withdrawal, or how more often than not you'd be stuck in your head. But still, he didn't comment on it, and like you, danced around the subject, afraid for different reasons as yours. Or the same. Yet, you'll never know. No, you're aware you both are too stubborn, and that whatever it started on that day, had settled in between like a burning flame.

(Had you been engulfed by the fire yet?)

You try not to think about it. After all, you had the option not to come. But a weekend away in Las Vegas after midterms? Too tempting to let go.

(And it's not like images of a stood up Joel in the airport, looking miserable, had made you restless the last couple of days after his text)

"Ya' can take the window" he says, even if it's his seat.

He knows you're nervous about flying, a little detail that came up during a post-sex small talk.

(What're you're dreams? Joel asked. You had answered that you'd love to travel the world after graduating, but that you had a fear for flying, despite having only done it once. It may have been because the first time you did, it was to fly for your grandma's funeral. Perhaps it was by association then, that the bad feelings about boarding a plane could be related to that)

"Thanks" you mumble, sitting down. You're avoiding his gaze, but know he's looking at you.

"What?" a little harsher than intended.

He looks taken back, looking at his lap as he let's out a soft whisper, sheepishly:

"Nothin'. Jus' thinkin' you look pretty today"

A light blush creeps up your cheeks as you huff out a Whatever.

Joel let's a breath of relief out his tight chest and allows himself to smile.

(At least, he's still got an effect on you)

The wedding Joel was supposed to attend is in the Ángel De La Guarda cathedral. You'd be staying nearby, at a hotel room Joel's coworker had paid for, the same where the reception would take place.

Being in the same room as Joel one night should be the least of your worries, but then the space is even smaller than it was supposed to (given by Joel's cursing as he paced around, anxiously), and the strain of your relationship settles in the air, physically so, tight around your throat.

Then, it's the bed issue: there's only one. It's not like you haven't slept in the same bed before, obviously, but there's a certain dread deep in your stomach about sharing the enclosed space when you're at your most vulnerable. He moves around a lot during night, and something tells you you'd wake up to his strong arms and hot breath fanning over your neck, hairs rising at the proximity, making it harded to calm your heart.

"You okay?" he's asking, dropping the bags in a corner.

"At what time is the wedding?" you ask.

He checks his watch. "In about seven hours"

The glass bounces a ray right into your face, and you have to close your eyes at yet nother reminder of why this is all so wrong.

Sarah.

"We should rest..." he says, plopping on the bed. His plaid t-shirt rises up at the same time the color of your cheeks does, when the glimpse of soft tanned skin reveals itself. He looks up to your stiff standing figure, bulk arms behind his neck as he rests his head on his biceps. "Don't 'cha think?"

Lay with me. Not outloud.

"No" you say, hastily so, not missing the way a flicker of dull akin to the pain of rejection finds its way to his brown eyes. "I..." your voice softens. "I'd rather take a tour of the place, you know? It's not like I'll come every weekend here"

He's about to raise up. I'm coming with you, again not out loud, in case you'd reject his offering again.

Which you do.

"I'm fine" you say, grabbing your purse. "Just... I need a moment"

Away from you.

"Suit yourself" but there's a sharp edge on his apparent kindness.

Closing the door behind you, it takes all of you to not turn around and see his face one last time.

You wander off through the bright lights and noisy hallways, walking until the sun of the outdoors filters a ray over the carpet through the glass doors. Strides take you to the pool area, kids giggling, parents sunbathing and youngsters chilling.

You sigh, dipping your feet in the pool, chlorine up your nose and water baterly grazing your sundress.

But you're drowning.

Drowning on his presence, every room he's in now smaller. Walls of the room collapsing, as the ones of your lungs, every breath tight if your nose catches a whiff of his scent lingering in the air. You'd wash the sheets almost immediately, crying when your head hit the pillow and it smelled like lavender and not Joel.

It was the only right choice: to erase him out of your life, because with every new kiss and thrust, he'd take another part of you with him, and you don't know how much more you can give of yourself without dying. A part of you dies every time he walks out the door, anxious heart pondering when will he walk out for good. When he'll realize the thrill is gone, that your escapades were all but a product of his crisis, and what started as a mutual use of bodies, ends in the waste of your heart.

Joel has become a drug for you: knowing it's destructive, but the high so addictive, you don't mind the crash. It's unevitable, and a small treacherous voice in the back of your head says you're just postponing a foretold death.

Yet Joel Miller makes you feel alive. Alive as a spring, grassbed full of blooming flowers. As sun carressing your skin: if you stay too long, the warm becoming burning.

A kid walks up to your sad lonely pensive corner, splashing water onto you.

"Hey!" but he's gone, and it's Vegas, so his parents are three mojitos down from the open bar, asleep under the sun. You curse, getting up and back to your room to change.

When you get to your room, is eerily quiet. And dark, the curtains closed.

You rumage through your suitcase, pulling out a change. The dress slips off, falling to the carpet with a pathetic drowned sound. You're about to change into the t-shirt when the lights flicker.

"You back?"

You scream, trying to cover yourself.

"Woah!" Joel covers his eyes, both your reactions ironically funny. Your cheeks burn as you finish dressing yourself up, and if he takes a small peak between his fingers, well, you'll never know. "Jesus, doll. If ya' wanted it so bad, could've asked"

Something akin to anger and deception morph into a burning flame in the pit of your stomach. Even after all this months, after this imminent fight, Joel can't bring himself to ask, dancing around the fragile line that barely holds on with the clap of skin against skin and sweat, as to replace the tears that will never see the light of the day.

"Right, because that's all I want"

He raises an eyebrow at your tone. "S' a joke"

"Jokes are supposed to make people laugh"

He shoots you a look, before standing from the bed.

"What's gotten into ya'?"

He walks closer, yet you give him your back, tossing the sundress with too much force in your bag.

"Don't know what you're talking about" as nonchalant as you can muster.

"Look at me" you keep the harsh packing going on. Joel grows impatient at your confusing demeanor, not just from today, but days ago. He's had enough. He spins you around, losing his cool as he shouts. "Damn it, y/n, stop actin' like a brat!"

"Don't touch me!" you yell back, pulling away.

"So that's how's it now?" Joel lets out a scoff. "Y' get on ma' bed but the moment I put a finger in ya', y'act all coy and angry?"

"Right, 'cause I'm a slut. That's what sluts do: we get on lonely men's bed and fuck them"

He grabs the bridge of his nose, breathing heavily. His voice is laced with frustration, and you know it's your fault.

"Never said that"

Why not talk it like adults? No. Too much of a coward to do that.

"Jus' tell me, doll. What's goin' on?"

I think I love you, and I'm fucking scared.

His voice is soft, pleading. In your lifetime, you never thought you'd see Joel Miller beg. You did once, but it wasn't like this. Please, he'd say. Now, here he is, standing before you like the smallest man who ever lived and not the unstoppable force you made him out to be.

It should be easy. But words never come easy. Not to you. Neither love, so foreign it makes you shiver with fear. So natural, one day you opened your eyes to him laying next to you, Sarah staying in another city for a soccer tournament, and decided that was what you wanted. All his mornings. His bed voice, thick from sleep. His droopy eyes and tired smile, facil hair tickling your face as he says Good mornin', Southern drawl never more prominent, kisses in between. Let's get sum coffee after, because he always had to drink the bitter liquid out of his owl mug or wouldn't be able to make it through the day.

You want him to be the first thing you see when you open your eyes.

You want Joel Miller. Want. Want. Want.

"I hate you"

You have ruined me.

He probably expected anything but that, given his crestfallen face. Joel wishes for time to go back, at the beach. He'd say no, push you away. Fought a little harder. Never gotten into your bed.

The worst part is, he's a fucking liar: he'd probably still choose the same, even if the end is near.

"You ain't mean that" not knowing if he's trying to convince you or himself. "Jus' wanna hurt me"

You don't humor him with an answer.

"I shouldn't have come" is what you say instead, the bitter taste of defeat and hurt etched in your voice.

Would've been easier to stop when we should've.

His words run through the tense air like a bullet.

"I agree"

Weddings had always made you cry.

You weren't even a romantic, but the whole thing-- the promise of forever, it seemed to move your heart a bit.

So, if your eyes shimmer when the bride makes her entrance and the groom, Joel's co-worker, tears up, you feel your chest tight and stomach drop. It clenches with something akin to dread and want, as if suddenly, all that mattered to you was love. A year ago, if you told yourself-- the one who got on her knees to suck Joel's dick at the beach that night, that you'd be here?

You would've laughed.

Falling for the grumpy old man who also happens to be your bestfriend's dad?

Right. Imagine that.

Except there is nothing to imagine. All of it is real.

From his quiet laughter, the sound foreign and not frequent by the way it rasps against his throat. But now the wrinkles around his eyes are more prominent, forbidden laughs marking his blushing face. as he looks away, embarrassed. You can laugh, you had said, I won't tell anyone, yet he made you swore like the sight of Joel Miller laughing was the worst thing in the world. So had become the grey strands on his hair, more sprouting each time, as his damp curls twisted in your fingers.

It is also in the way his sweat that drops over your body as he tries hard to last longer, to his grunts that fill the room as he fills you to the brim with his warm cum. How his rough seems to meet every inch of your soft skin, like pieces of a puzzle.

Something clicks when you're with Joel, and you can't help but feel it's your fault this rift has been created, aggressively peeling the white off your nails as some form of anxious torture. But, he too, aside from his initial Just glad you came, hadn't said a word about it again. Even if he had noticed it all, before Vegas too. Nothing. And then Joel told you it was best if you didn't come. Fucking great.

You feel him tense next to you, body stiff when your arm accidentally brushes his when you stand up from the bench, making you roll your eyes.

The fallout had been awkward. The elevator ride took forever, and then the space on the cab felt too small. He took you to the back, on the benches near the exit, like he didn't want to be seen with you. It got you fuming: why bother to invite you at all?

In all truth, you could've picked up your bags and left after the fight, yet you stayed. You wonder who's more of a coward. In this weird dancing around you've got going on, walking in circles over the words Stay and Leave, like both are too delicate to say out loud. Even as the couple speak their vows, amid the claps and tears, your mind keeps drifting back to one question: Which would hurt less?

It's not until it ricochets on your arm that you realize the tears are also your own. You brush it fast, but by the corner of your eye, you know Joel notices. Still, he doesn't say anything, which contributes to your spite.

The ceremony is over, and just as you can feel the anticipation of the reception's drinks to buzz your nerves down, someone blocks you the exit. A couple, more like it.

Before fully registering their faces, Joel's hand flies to your back, pressed in a firm manner that oozes protectiveness. It makes your heart flutter, no matter how much you try to suffocate the treacherous butterflies in your stomach. You try not to think too much about it as you take them in: a man, looking in his middle forties, probably around the same age as Joel, so as the woman next to him, who smiles warmly. Not like the man, who seems unwelcoming.

"Joel" he pronounces his name, manners coming out cold. "It's nice to see you made it"

His grip on your back becomes more firm.

"Mark" he uses the same tone. "Well, when ya' confirm, y'gotta come"

"And who may this be?" Mark's wife asks, not thinking there's harm in her words. You swear you can hear him snicker next to her.

"She's-"

Joel stops midtrack. How is he supposed to even call you?

"I'm his girlfriend"

You don't know why you did that but you did. You also don't know why it causes you such satisfaction to see their wide eyes and Mark's disdain.

"Oh, I didn't know you had a girlfriend. How lovely!"

His cheeks go pink. "Thanks, Laura"

"Yes, Joel. Didn't think you'd move on" but his tone isn't like his wife's. "I just assumed that being with someone wasn't on your list anymore, you know, at your age. Especially one so... young"

Laura shots him a look.

Maybe it wasn't your place to get angry, not after how you've subjected Joel to your silent treatment this past months. Not after the fight you've just had hours ago. But he is also the same man who held your hand after you thought you were pregnant. He was the one who stayed. It is too how his shoulders slump, like he believes it to be true. You can't bear to see him sad, as contradictory as that may sound.

"Mark, right?"

The man nods, still sickly smiling.

"To me it sounds like you're jealous. Which is awful, because you've got a lovely wife" she looks away embarrassed while Mark fumes. "Also, when I turn around, try not to stare at my ass. I saw you when we arrived"

There's nothing left to say, so you walk past them.

"I think that was funny. Don't you?"

He avoids looking at you.

"I called a cab. Should take us back to the hotel"

No thanks. Nothing.

"Alright" your tone is dry. "Do as you please"

He opens the door for you, but his movements seem stiff and unnatural. Like he's second guessing every breath and step.

The car begins to move. You lean against the window, seeing the hues of neon through the glass. Joel's eyes burn holes on your head, a glimpse of brown in the reflection.

"I liked the wedding"

Joel looks at you properly for the first time since the fight. Your hair falls gracefully in cascades, hinting at an effort that tries to pass as a nonexistent one. Your makeup is soft, but your lips are in a shade he can't quite name, yet manage to make them even more fuller than usual. God, he thinks of it smeared on his clothes and mouth, feeling dumb all of the sudden. Then there's the dress. He doesn't have a favorite color, but as of now, it may be red: specially if its the red that hugs your curves, pushes your tits up and gives a little peak of your leg with its open cut, dangerously close to the start of your inner thigh. Not appropriate to wear at a church, maybe not a wedding either, but fuck didn't he care. He'd even rip it off, if it was such a problem.

"It was beautiful" he agrees, softly. "Never been to one. Maybe's why I think so"

You remove yourself from the window, now holding his gaze.

"What?" your mouth drops in surprise. "What about yours? Weren't you married?"

He smiles, but it appears to be sad. "Never got time for a wedding thought"

Joel has told you things. Things he'd never say outloud to anyone else. So whenever he opens up, letting you in, you let him, feeling that familiar pleasing ache in your chest at the thought of being enough: enough to be trusted with a piece of him. Of Joel Miller's heart.

The rest of the ride is silent, your mind still on Joel's hand on your back, on his words, and how the sting never goes.

In every thought of yours, he is.

"What'appened to your nails?"

The question catches you off guard. You're surprised he even noticed at all. But your hand lays in the space between his and your dish, stiff, as if waiting for him to hold it.

"Oh" you remove it from the table, placing it in your lap. "I chipped the polish off"

"Why?"

You turn to look at him, brown eyes examining you curiously, as if he didn't know you. Like he hadn't almost whisper those three words you had been tettering around as well.

"Why what Joel?" tone brash.

He scoffs at the change again, shoulders slumping a bit. Probably in annoyance, perhaps in defeat.

"Dunno" he goes back to his dish, cutting the steak with a bit too much force. I thought we were okay again. "S'rry I asked"

Your chest tightens, as it had been doing lately.

Was this the only thing you knew how to do now? Hurting Joel?

"No, I'm sorry"

It's his turn to get back at you. "Sorry for what?"

You swallow the lump that's formed in your throat, avoiding his gaze.

"I-"

Your eyes nervously dart across the room, trying to ignore the churn of your stomach and knot on your throat. You then catch the perfect distraction.

"I think Mark is staring at us again"

"What?" Joel asks in disbelief at your change of topic.

"Mark is staring" you sigh, getting up and dusting your dress off. "Wanna put on a show?"

"I didn't come to a wedding and wore this dress to be seated all night" you extend your hand. A quiet truce settles in between. "Let's dance"

At some point he gets up and takes your hand. It feels good. For a moment, be it childish or foolish, your mind thinks this is how it is: with no one around to know you, you're his and he's yours. It's just the two of you, dancing and laughing under the lights. He'd know the song that's playing, and when you'd ask, unfamiliar, Joel would joke: how could ya' know it, if you ain't even born yet?

For just a moment, it feels like it could be.

The music is soft. It's some sort of rendition of Lady, Lady, Lady by the band Jim hired to play at his wedding.

Joel's clammy hands slip against your cold palms as you walk to the dance floor.

"Nervous?" you ask, biting back a smile.

He squints his eyes at you. "I'm just outta practice, 's all"

You laugh. "I would've never guessed"

He shakes his head, but the ghost of a smirk hides in his lips.

"Cheeky baby. Now you actin' funny?"

Joel's hand finds its place in your waist, holding firmly as the first verses go by.

Dancing behind masks, just sort of pantomime.

But images reveal whatever lonely hearts can hide.

"Maybe I'm just tired" you reply, placing your head against his chest. His heart starts drumming faster, and you hear him gulp.

"It ain't even midnight yet"

You close your eyes, feeling every breath of his chest against your cheek.

"You know that's not what I'm talking about"

Lady, lady, lady, lady

I know it's in your heart to stay

"Y/n-"

Lady, lady, lady, lady

"I'm sorry" this time clearer.

His body rocks yours slowly to the tempo of the music, and for a brief moment, amongst the sea of guests and the voice of the singer, time stops, and it's just him and you.

"Don't"

He can't bear it. Not tonight.

When will I ever hear you say

I love you

Not when your body feels so well against his, your head resting on his chest like all those nights ago, where Joel held you close, the silent promise of never letting you go on his warm strong embrace. Not when just the thought of losing you is too unbearable to even think of. Not when today, he can let his mind drift away and heart beat, dreaming of things that'll make him the butt of the joke. For a moment, you're not wearing this red dress that's making him insane. You're all in white and there's a ring in your hand, just as there's one in his. You'd dance and say I'm yours, forever. A giggle. You can't get rid of me. And he'd smile and reply a Good, wasn't plannin' to.

But now he feels like he's going to lose you forever.

"I missed you" it's your way of trying, again.

His head is a whirlwind of emotions.

"Yeah?"

You lean closer, until his cologne burns in your nostrils.

"Yeah"

Time like silent stares, with no apology

"Joel"

Move towards the stars, and be my only one

This time, he finds it impossible to shut you up. Not when you've raised your head until your eyes meet his, and the constellations he very much loves are ever present in your stare.

Reach into the light, and feel love's gravity

"Yeah?"

You pull in closer, and he can feel the whiff of champagne coming out of your mouth. Your lips are parted, and a shaky whisper is all it takes for his head to spin, drunk in love.

"Please"

That pulls you to my side, where you should always be

Your lips are so inviting. All he has to do is cut the centimeters separating your mouths.

But it's a wall. One filled with doubts, fear and the quiet rage of rejection.

His voice wavers when he starts speaking.

"I think-"

He hasn't even finished his sentence, but your heart is already broken.

No wonder why you've always treated it like a burden: nothing is worst than a heavy heart.

Maybe he'd come to realize just how absurd this all was. Him, much older than you and Sarah's dad. How could he let his daughter's bestfriend go this far. That he was a forty something guy, dancing with a twenty two year old girl. That love comes in all shapes and sizes, but there's no name for this you have going on since last summer. Perhaps, there'll never be.

"Please" you hear yourself repeat.

It started as a plea for a kiss. You don't know what you're begging for anymore.

"No, baby-"

And Joel is the first to step back.

Lady, lady, lady, lady, I know it's in your heart to stay

The cold water of rejection hits you in the face, far from his warm embrace, the contour of his face, centimeters away, now meters.

"We can't"

An ocean away.

"Joel-" your throat tightens, panic bubbling in your chest.

"I think we should stop"

The whole world around you does as soon as those words leave his mouth.

Sorrow is quick to turn into anger, and all those months of guilt, rush, thrill, labored breaths, broken rules and promises you held to your heart as an oath, sweet whispered cons in your pillow that smelled like him. It all comes crashing down with force.

A dry laugh escapes past your lips. Joel winces at the sound.

"A bit too late for that, isn't it?"

"Baby-"

"Don't call me baby" you hiss, feeling your vision blurry. "Don't call me like you meant it"

"I do" the music has reduced to a buzz in the back of your head. His firm voice borders between desperate and pathetic. "Which is why am making 'tis"

"Fucking coward" you spit, feeling your skin on fire.

Don't give up. Please.

Fight for me. Fight for this.

For us.

"Coward?" it's Joel's turn to laugh. His dark chuckle sends shivers through your skin. "Y' shouldn't be talkin' 'bout that"

"Don't put all of this on me" you raise your shaky finger, accusing. "Don't you fucking dare"

"Thought Mark was watchin'. Or 's that 'nother one of y'r lies?" Joel seethes. "Or maybe ya' don't give a shit 'bout it. Jus' like you ain't give a shit 'bout us!"

"You think this is easy?" your voice raises. "You think I wanted this?"

You think I don't care? That I'm doing well? That I wanted to pull away from you? That I knew things would got as bad as they are?

You think I wanted to fall for you?

His eyes darken. "You started this"

Your heart stops beating. People laugh, the band is still playing and chatter bubbles like the champagne flutes waiters carry by.

But all you can hear is the moment your palm meets his face.

"I wish I never met you, Joel Miller"

And then you rush out the door, your heels burning as much as your eyes and chest. Far from the party, far from the world.

Far from him.

"We ain't done yet!"

You hear him bark behind you, yet your legs don't stop, despite the buzz in your ears and the slight stumble in your walk.

Your voice sounds like it doesn't belong to you when you hear yourself speak, without turning around.

"I think we are"

But Joel doesn't give up, making you feel trapped between wanting to hit him again and let yourself be held.

"Y/n!" he calls out just like he used to when you were a kid. Like you knew no better. Reckless. Berating. But now the taste of bitter mingles with his punishing demeanor.

You spin your heel, walking menacingly towards him.

"Don't call me that" you seethe, jabbing a finger to his chest.

"That's your fucken name!" he shouts.

Tears spring in the corner of your eyes. "You know what I mean"

"Enlighten me, doll" the nickname feels like a slap to your face, and for a moment, you wish he called you by your name again, instead of tainting the always sweet calling with his vitriol, as if the four letters meant something sacred he had profaned. "S'a matter of fact, why don't y'enlight me 'bout everythin' that's goin' on. 'Cause guess what? I'ont know what the fuck is happenin'!"

And it terrifies me.

His shout probably ran across the empty hallway. The music coming from inside sounds like a muffled heartbeat, mirroring your own.

To lose you. I might as well have.

"I don't know why you seem'a hate me now" quiet this time, like every word coming from his mouth take his voice little by little. "Why ya' get all sweet on me after weeks of leavin' me, pushin' me to the side... I'm old, doll. I ain't capable of takin' this anymore"

I'm not capable of surviving a broken heart.

The possibility of losing Joel, foever, had never crossed your mind, not even as you closed off, ignoring the way his brown sad eyes would search yours to try and find answers, maybe scraps of the... whatever it was you shared.

Now, it was real, and it shook you to the bone.

"Was fun while it lasted" closing off, trying to shut the doors he let you in, clawing back to that Joel Miller who couldn't be bent. The one Sarah deemed unbreakable. But it's the same that didn't know when to back down, now praying the price of his foolishness.

I don't regret it, but Joel doesn't have it in him to give you more of his heart for you to take. If he cuts it now, from the root, he'll spare his brain from saving more seconds of the image of you he'd have to get rid off: you, taking your coffee with two bags of sugar because you hated uneven numbers, and three seemed too much for your latte. You, standing on his room like you belonged there. You, on his car, the leather having absorbed some of the floral scent you seemed to carry with you. In your clothes, your skin, your hair. He'd have to go to bed knowing he'd never get to feel your strands in his fingers, tickling the remmanents of desolation he'd been carrying like a second skin ever since Sarah's mother walked away.

Your blood runs cold.

"Fun?" the words spill in a bitter incredulous tone, all the while you're trying to hold to him without raising your hand for him to take it, like just the thought of it would be enough to choose you. Words seem to fail you, and grasping at him feels like holding sand: it keeps falling from your fingers, a cruel reminder of your borrowed time. "Joel"

"Fun" he repeats the word, feeling sick. "As in, you'd marry someone who's worth for ya'. Probably choose Texas, maybe you'll stay away. 'Cause you're smart, and know what's good. But if ya' came back, livin' at the same neighbour, in the house across mine, you'd glance up and see my porch, thinkin' 'bout us, and this will become a joke with y'r husband, 'bout your rebel days. To your kids, summ cautionary tale. To you? An'scape of summ sorts of y'r other wise boring life"

Your shaking at this point, not knowing if it's anger, humilliation or sorrow.

I'm sorry. Please, don't give up on me. Stay.

"I'd be an experience. But to me? Doll" Joel chuckles, humorlessly. "You were everythin'"

A choked up sob bubbles from your chest.

"So that's what you think of me?" you laugh, a sound so hollow it makes his skin shiver. "That this is for the thrill? For the fucking anecdote?!"

"Trust me. I've lived long 'nough, kid. You'll understand later"

It's like all those months next to him meant nothing. Like pulling away from your lips was the easiest thing to do.

"Don't you fucking dare call me a kid!" you push him. "I'm not a kid"

"I know you ain't!" he roars back. "But you don't know shit!"

"Neither do you!" your quick to counter. "You think you've got me all figured out, huh? Bet you think that I'm some helpless naive idiot who doesn't know what I want. I don't know what I'm doing, that you're right. But I do know what I signed up for, the price I would pay" losing you or Sarah. Both. "I wanted it, and newsflash: so did you" you breath, running your hands through your hair, trying to comb some sense of normalcy to ground yourself while you try to recover your composture. His arms lay weakly by his sides, restraining himself from running to you and craddle you on his arms. "You chose this. You chose me, Joel Miller" each word pronounced with contempt. "I'm not a victim. Neither are you"

A dry chuckle escapes past his chapped lips. "What are we, then?"

(Two lonely souls who seek warmth. People who fell into the same bed. Shared time they shouldn't have. Selfish. Living on borrowed time. Always tettering around the edge, so easy to fall. History repeating itself. The dancing around. Dirty, like the Texan roads: and they all lead back to his bed)

"So do it" you shove him again, as if by doing so, you could push him away forever. From your mind, from your heart. From your life. "Say it"

He shakes his head, as if you'd insulted him.

"Sweetheart-"

"Say. It" you bark, tasting the venom on your tongue. "Say it!"

"I can't" looking so small, your resolve almost crumbles. Almost.

"Coward" you spit, repeatedly punching him feebly on the chest as tears stream down your cheeks. He tries to grab your hands, to stop you. "Don't touch me! Let me go"

"I can't" this time louder.

Tears sprout with more intensity at the desperate weight on his tone.

A single drop runs down when you say, defeated: "Quit me"

"I can't!" he shouts in your face, voice breaking slightly.

"Why?!"

"'Cause I fucking can't!" Joel breaks. He crumbles in your arms, body shaking as he buries himself in your reluctant embrace. He speaks again, this time softer, "I can't lose 'cha, baby. If that makes me sum goddamn coward, then so be it"

Something in you stirs. Like a lost boat, finding a lighthouse during a storm. Arriving to shore with gentle waves. Home, where it belongs.

"Joel-"

"I'm sorry for bein' selfish" between agitated and terrified, afraid of the silence and what you may say. "For noticin' your quiet and still carryin' on"

"Joel"

"Believe me, doll. I tried to stop. To leave ya'" he swallows, "but then I got invited and my mind went to ya'. Fast. You were the first person in my mind. Always are. I think that's when I knew. S'okay if you don't-"

"Joel!" you shout this time.

He raises his view from his little spot on your chest.

"It isn't just you" in a whisper that could easily pass as the wind that sweeps inside from the main door. Voice so fragile it hurts like glass. "I feel this too"

Just like that, he's both gone and back. His heart beats on his throat, voice raw when he searches for your eyes and asks:

"You do?"

The big unbreakable Joel Miller, looking at you not like a force to be reckoned with, but as a man, worn down by years of solitude and the weight of a secret.

You smile through the tears. "I've been many things, but a liar never"

He chuckles, softly. "Always was a bad one"

"See?" softly teasing, "you can attest to that"

"Twenty one years seem 'nough"

"Soon to be twenty two" pause. "And I would love it if you were there to see it"

A breath hitches somewhere in the middle of the new aphonia that's settled.

"You don't mean all'at. Think 'bout it-"

"I do" you interrupt him, firmly. You hold his gaze while cupping his face, the fright on his face mirroring your own. "You asked before, remember? There's your answer"

Joel is at loss for words. Was never good with them, less when it came to you: like your presence unsettled him in the same way tornadoes made him quiver when he was a child, rattling him to the bone. But there was a morbid fascination to them, in their destructive nature. Like beauty could be horror too, and he had learnt it thanks to your unforgiving winds that had swept him away from his feet.

He was flying. Fucking flying. Never quite landing. Afraid of the fall.

"I'm scared"

Joel leans in, forehead touching yours. His skin is warm, something about it soothing your nerves down.

"Me too"

You bite back a smile. "Big broody Miller, scared?"

"Y' know how'da disarm a man. I'll give ya' that"

You laugh, eyes crinkling while you swat his chest playfully. It's the same sound he missed so dearly. Joel can feel himself breath with relief.

"Now that's the story I'll tell my kids" could be our own. "The one where I won over Joel Miller"

A deep, rich rumble erupts from his chest as he pulls you even closer, this time, your head the one on his chest.

"I'll do you one better" he slowly moves his leg closer to the inner part of your thighs. "Wanna hear how it ends?"

"Jesus, Joel" laugh tense. Your heart pulses like his cock. Hard. "You sure are a mood killer"

He presses further. "But ya' want it, don't 'cha?"

You whimper, weakly. Truth is, you've been wet since you saw him dress on his rather tight suit. Now, after what you just confessed, you're not sure you can hold back any longer.

"Use y'r words, baby"

"Our room" the possesive adjective making his stomach rumble with need. "Now"

Stumbling feet. Whispered breaths oozing with drunk desire. Giggles. Buttons of an elevator pressed forcefully. A crammed space that felt even smaller. More giggles in a hallway full of doors that looked the same. Some mumbling, trying to remember the room. Grabbing the card from his pocket. You somehow make it to your room. Fumbling fingers. One swipe. Two. Try slower, but his voice is as urgent as strained. The door gives in. Finally, couldn't wait any longer. And he's chastising you, for being so impatient. Yet his eyes are all dark and sweet when looking it at you.

"We're here" and then the door closes with a loud thud. And Joel is yours again, just like he was that night, and forever was since.

You wrap your arms around his neck, kissing him back fervently. You open your mouth and let his tongue get inside as you moan his name.

"Please" you whine.

"Please what?" Joel chuckles, enamoured at your hanging mouth and heaving chest. Fucking tease. "Use y'r words, doll"

"Please, Joel" and hearing your name fall out of your lips like it's the most sacred prayer brings him weak to his knees. "I need you"

(I need you, as in I need you here. With me. Now. To never let go and hold my hand, not only when we fuck, but also when we walk, side by side, hands brushing like a touch it's too much to bear. Because if we held hands, I'd never be able to pull back. I need you to look at me as you undress me, because I'm bearing all of me for you, scars, body and secrets, trembling like a scared child, because no one's ever had me. Not like you. Not like you)

"'S right, sweet thing" he drawls out in a husky whisper, like his slick tongue was coated in honey. He pulls your head back, nipping and sucking on your skin. "Say ma' name like 's the only thing you know"

And in a way, it is. Because you'd always call Joel, fingers itching at a number you've memorized until it's burned in your eyelids, like when you close your eyes, you can see him standing in front of you, Texan accent and heavy boots in your doorstep, later to be discarded and hidden beneath your bed.

He pulls back, making you involuntary whine at the loss of his lips and tongue on you.

"Tell me you want this" he's saying, and for a moment, past the fire and the need, you see Joel as not the man who can bring you to come two times in a row, but your bestfriend's dad, who's slept in a bed alone for the past two decades, who can't meet you in the eyes when he undresses himself, looking like the one who's got the more to lose when his lips press aginst yours in a soft manner, not out of tenderness but out of fear.

"I do" without hesitation, as if you would tattoo your promise and wear it like your heart on your sleeve. "I want you, Joel"

You want all of him: from his boring Sundays sprawled on the couch watching a rerun of some old sitcom to his greying hair, aching joints and creaking bones, that despite so, would still kneel and eat your pussy like a man starved, tongue sliding through your folds with a learned ache, pouring the same yearn, longing and hunger that he wears on his eyes when they land on you, no matter if his brown are miles away, because they'd always find your own, like a boat lost in translation and a sea of sorrow coming back home, as if you're the only important thing in the world. His anchor. The lighthouse of his vast ocean of forlorness.

"That's my girl" but no smirk adorns his face, rather a small smile that warms your chest, right as he pulls you back in. There's a shift in the aire as he kisses you know, as if not only his tongue is in your insides but his soul, without holding back this time, like all limits have blurred and melted into a pool of desire and affection.

Joel pushes you down onto the wide bed, climbing on top of you as he kisses your jawline, leaving wet kisses along your warm skin. You moan as every contact of his mouth sends shudders to your body, him taking his time as he works over your jaw, down to your chest.

"Such'a pretty doll. And's mine" his calloused fingers fiddle with your bra, unclasping the lingerie until it falls messily discarded next to the bed. "Got summ nice tits on you, baby" and Joel's eyes sparkle with excitement, lighting up like the neon lights of the Vegas sign, "don't 'cha think?"

Your back arches with his touches, mouth ghosting over your nipple, already pebbled at just Joel's breath.

"Fuck, Joel" you mewl his name, dragged with difficulty as he laps his tongue over your breasts greedily. You can feel Joel's cock pulse and throbb in your thigh as his body hovers over yours, lips still wrapped around your nipple as he suckles and nibbles at the tender flesh.

"'S sorry, doll" he's apologizing in a mocking manner as you whimper at the contact of him against you, suckling hard, tongue swirling and flicking over the sensitive bud as he drew it deeper into the wet heat of his mouth. "Ain't know you'd be so fucken responsive with just a lil' lick at y'r pretty tits"

As your body trembles and quakes, he speaks again.

"Open y'r mouth" you do so, because honestly, you'd never deny him a thing. "Want 'cha to suck on 'tis fingers, like the slut ya're. Get them wet so they feel good against 'tis greedy pussy"

You take the fingers as you'd take his cock, sucking on the skin that tastes like salt and gasoline, a slight bitter taste but you take them as deep as you can, until your lips brush his rough knuckles.

"Good greedy whore" he praises. "Now let me help ya' with that"

Joel gestures your damp panties, taking them off and putting them up his nose, inhaling like he did the first time you ever fucked, back at the beach house that summer that feels a life ago, seawaves crashing onto the shore as they drowned out your moans.

"Sweet" as if your arousal was his favorite dessert, gripping the sticky lingerine until his knuckles turn white. "Fucken wet and drippin', and s'all for me"

He feels your greedy hands fumble with his pants and belt, pulling him closer as the feeling of unfairness at his clothed figure dawns upon you.

"I like how you look in a suit, but right now-"

He laughs, a deep rich sound bubbling up from his chest.

"Ma' baby wants it that bad, huh?" you nod your head feverishly, a beg threatening past your lips.

"Please, Joel. I want to suck your cock" the dirty words come out as quick as a breath. "I missed it so so bad" not caring at all about how desperate you come across or the pitiful begging that's a plea away from drooling out of your mouth with an aching hunger.

"'S that what you want? Draggin' me out'a reception 'cause y'r greedy dirty mouth couldn't keep still? Bet you'd crawl on da' floor just to get a taste of this dick" every word makes you mewl. "Might have to see ya' beggin' for it"

"I'll do it" you beg, voice a wanton plea. "I'll do whatever, I just need to-"

"I see ya' really do"

He removes your hands from his body, chuckling as you pout and whine like a baby.

"Love hearin' ya' so eager fo'me" Joel says, tugging the pants finally down. Through the cloth of his underwear, it's impossible not to see the silhoutte of his hard throbbing dick.

The sight of him, hair disheveled, pupils blown wide, white button shirt now wrinkled and sticky with sweat, tie loose and that faint smell of champagne that clung to his mouth and scent like a second layer of his skin.

"Get on the floor. Now" he commands, and you're quick to obey. "Gonna fuck that dirty mouth of yours until my cum dribbles outta your cheek. S' now? Be obedient if ya' want a taste, slut"

You let out a small whimper as Joel frees his cock from his underwear.

"That's right, baby. Like what ya' see?" his cock is straddling your face in your current kneeling form. "Need that mouth to open wider"

You obey in an instant.

"Good girl"

Joel shoves his cock inside your mouth, giving you a few seconds to adjust before pushing a little further. You bob your head forward but the task proved to be hard when he was thrusting at the same time. His big hard dick hits the back of your throat, a gag dying past your busy lips. 

"'S it bad if I tell ya' I like watchin' you squirm and struggle with my cock? 'S fuckin' hot"

You narrow your eyes, struggling to keep your throat relaxed as he thrusts forward, fucking your mouth and throat. Your thighs clasp together, the slick pooling down your legs in the absence of underwear.

Joel's groans become raspier as his body begins to tense.

"'M gonna fuck y'r throat raw, doll. And then, I'm gonna cum. Down y'r greedy throat. 'S my girl okay with that" he can see the plea in your eyes as you choke on his cock once more. "S'alright then. Ya' know I love to spoil ma' girl"

As his body starts to edge closer, his tongue runs loose.

"Love watching you suck ma' dick" he looks down on you, eyes glossy, probably because he was drunk in alcohol and you. "Love how it feels. Love how you feel. Love- I love you"

(There's an involuntary gag somewhere)

Joel's body tenses and it doesn't take that much for you to feel the warmth of his cum go down your throat.

You choke again and he brings his dick out of your throat and let you swallow the rest. 

There's a beat of silence, as dense as his fluids down your throat. You avoid his gaze, heart drumming on your chest.

"Doll..." he whispers, the last bits of climax sweating off his skin; all that's left is shame. "C'mere"

(Say it back, he should plead. I know your eyes don't lie, but if I heard those three silly words out of your mouth, I could die happy tonight. A bigger man would beg, but he's never been good, even if he tried)

He helps you get up, wobbly legs not being of help when it comes to the shock of his confession.

I love you.

As much as a tender touch as a knife slitting your chest open in a clean cut.

(You're bleeding love)

Love.

Such a foreign word, one you've never felt before. Yet, what's scary is recognizing that latent warmth on every stolen glance; brush of a hand. The tingles provoked by getting the largest serving, even if his daughter sat at the same table. The flutter of your chest when he tried to be there for you when you thought you were pregnant, even if he was as scared as you. In every little thing he had done since you first started playing with fire, how you wore his heartbeat as an echo and his skin like a second layer to your own.

His lips are swollen when they take yours.

"'S fine" some kind of tiredness seeping through the cracks of his gruff exterior and composed rejected posture. "Ya' don't have to-"

"I love you" you croack out.

His voice comes out impossibly small as he whispers. "What...?"

A fireworks show explodes out somewhere in the background.

"I love you" you repeat, words dripping with an adoration only known to captain's going down with their sinking ships.

You're drowning, but the water doesn't burn your lungs anymore.

"Lemme help with that sore throat of yours" he's tugging down your bottom lip, fingers playing with your mouth to open it. He gazes at you with a look that tugs at your heartstrings. "Open, baby"

Your dry throat and warm mouth welcomes the spit he lands inside.

"There ya' go" and you swallow it, making him curse. "Fuck. 'S so hot seein' you do that, my lil' sweet slut"

"Joel" you whine, hands curled up in white fists as you grab him by the collar of his button shirt.

"Whoa, baby. What's goin' on?" he chuckles softly. "Use y'r words"

"Y-You made a mess-" you blabber, the wet slick between your thigh sticky. "I-It hurts, Joel"

"Hurt?" he cocks an eyebrow. "Care to show me where?"

You sit in the bed, parting your legs, finger pointing out the moist zone.

"Here"

His adam's apple bobs, and the gulp reverberates against the walls of the room.

"Fuck... I see" each word strained. "Don't worry, doll. I can help ya' with'at"

It's his turn to kneel, knees burying on the carpet.

He places one of his big hands on your knee, his calloused fingers tracing absent patterns over the skin. His other hand drums slighty against your trembling leg, so close yet so far. You're so impossibly eager, and a part of him, that fragile ego, is boosted to the roof at your (actual and very real) want for him.

All that glistening pussy was his work. Joel really disarmed you like that.

"If I do this, maybe it won't hurt anymore" his mustache and recently trimmed beard tickle against your sensitive folds as he presses a kiss to your core. You writhe, throwing your head back as your hands fly to his hair, gripping the greying loose curls tightly at the contact. "Will ya' let me eat out this pretty pussy, doll?"

"Please" you let out, breathlessly.

"Love hearin' ya' beg" and he dives in, strong hands holding your thighs on place as he sucks your clit lightly. Your hips buck, his face burying into your cunt to the point his nose touches the warm folds. You moan at the feeling, his tongue now circling against your center.

"J-Joel"

"Feels s'good, right? As good as I feel feastin' on this tight little cunt" and his deep voice sends jolts when it echoes against your walls. You squirm at the sensation, stomach tight with his sucking and licking, misntrations sending you to the edge.

"Joel?"

Barely above a whisper, voice tight.

He looks up to you, pupils blown wide. "Yes?"

"C-Can you finger me, please?"

"Fuck, baby" he whistles. "You really know how'da bring a man to his knees"

And you chuckle at his lame attempt of a joke, not laughing at him but with him.

Joel slides one of his thick, calloused fingers through your soaked folds, feeling the velvet softness of your inner walls clench down on the invading digit, a demonstration of how impatient they were to take his cock. He circles your clit with the pad of his thumb, rubbing the sensitive bundle of nerves in tight, slow circles.

"Wanna hear you, y/n" just your name alone on his mouth makes you writhe, and Joel's encouragement as his finger dips lower to tease at your entrance. He slides a second finger into your cunt, pumping in and out of your tight walls in a steady, driving rhythm. You roll against his hand as he curls his fingers. "Fuck yourself on my fingers, baby. Wanna see you ride 'em 'til you come undone. Wanna taste your cum on my tongue as you scream ma' name"

He can feel your body start to tremble, pussy clenching down on his fingers as he fucks you with a relentless pace.

"Shit" he groans, tongue lapping firmly at your clit, "s' fucking tight"

"I-I can't help it" you feel the burning sensation in the corner of your eyes, "I-I feel every inch of you in me"

(Up to your body, head and heart)

"And you ain't even had my cock yet" he's quick to tease. "But I know you'll feel s'good, baby. Takin' my cock like da' good girl y'are"

Tears begin to stream down your face freely, the salty drops hot against your warm skin.

You sniffle, and Joel's movements stop for a bit.

"You cryin'?" but you know damn well he's aroused, by the way he licks his lips absentmindedly as his brown orbs stare back at you, dilatated. You still remember the last time you cried during sex, and how his reaction was practically the same, except this time, it's received with a grateful welcome home. "Fuck, baby- I love when you cry like a lil' cocksleeve over ma' dick"

Despite the lewd words, he's wiping your tears away with his thumb in a soft gentle touch.

"S'okay, baby" he coos, kissing up your throat and onto your chin. Then, you feel a wet sensation on your cheek: but it isn't the tears, yet his tongue, licking the hot stream. "I'll give ya' ma' cock if you want it so much. Now quit your cryin', yeah?"

But you keep sniffling, impossible to close the dam once it's broken.

"My sweet crybaby" Joel mumbles, "I love ya', doll"

"I love you too" each time you said it, a new flower blooming in your heart. It could be. "I do, Joel"

He smiles, the kind of smile that is painful to watch. The kind that says: Is this real? Do I deserve this?

"Y'know I'm bad with words, so lemme show you instead"

He's climbing on top of you as you push yourself into the middle of the bed, lips tangled into a demanding kiss, his tongue dominating your mouth like he wants to tame it. He drops his underwear again, but he's still wearing the goddamn shirt. You whine, and for a second, while over you, he stops.

"What is it, baby?" Joel pants.

"T-take it off" you huff, worked up. You let the tie loose first, starting to unbutton his shirt after. "I want to see you, Joel"

His hand is quick to fly and stop you from taking it off. Even in the dim lit room, you can see the faintest of a blush covering his cheeks.

"Sweetheart..." he mumbles, "I dunno-"

"Please" trying to remove his hand.

"You really wanna?" but behind his teasing smile there's both a hopeful and vulnerable glint to his voice.

You extend your hand, cupping his cheek. He leans into the touch, and for a moment, the world outside ceases to exist, and it's just you, your ragged breaths and the light tickle of his growing beard on your palm.

It could be.

"Because I love you" holding his gaze firmly. "All of you"

"Fuck, baby" Joel starts to get off the shirt, "ya' really made those fuckers downstairs drop their damn mouths when ya' walked in with me. Couldn't believe it, such'a pretty girl could be mine" he snarls, grabbing your face by the chin. "Hell, I'ont believe it either. That you could wanna be with me"

But then you're touching his now naked form before you, fingers slowly tracing through his face to his tense jawline. Then across his broad shoulders to his tummy, feeling the soft swell against your stomach as he leans over your eager form. It's the way you look at him, as if he's the most beautiful man in the world, that makes his breath catch on his throat, staggering.

Your sweet broken voice rings in his head.

It isn't just you. I feel this too.

(Scared. Confused. Happy. Grieving. Loving)

It should be his ego boosted and cock stroked, but when his eyes find yours, it's his heart that feels the fullest.

Fuck, he was too old for this shit.

"Look at 'cha, making lame ol' me a sappy motherfucker" he laughs, the same blush from earlier now more prominent. He leans down to kiss you, his moustache brushing your lips. "If ya' don't stop, I'll take ya' right now and we're gettin' married tonight by summ random Elvis guy"

"What If I wanted that?" you challenge as your mouth presses fluttering kisses to his caging arm, lips stopping on each spot and mole peppered through his thick bicep.

"Then get dressed" you feel him squirm under your insistent lips, "'cause I ain't gettin' married again while naked"

"Where you married, Joel?" you can feel the salt air up your nose of the first night again, asking the same questions. The fact that he's opening to you warms your chest in a pleasant way.

He looks at you absentmindedly, humming as to confirm.

"We were too damn young. Had to, for the baby on the way" he tells. You remember Sarah's aversion to the topic, and given his next words, it makes sense. "Then she left"

I would never leave.

"I'm sorry" you offer instead.

"Don't" the atmosphere is quick to change again as thise words leave his mouth. "Now, where were we?"

You're quick to spread your legs to him, gilstening cunt on full view.

"Good girl" he smirks, lining himself with your warm entrance. "If ya' keep behavin', I might give ya' my cum"

His tip against your clit for a few seconds before pushing down against your hole. Joel groans as his length sinks in your gummy walls, feeling the tightness from before.

"You feel s'good" grunting as he slowly pushes in, letting you adjust to his girth. "Always do" 

He presses a gentle kiss to your sweaty hairline. 

"Tell me how it feels"

"Good" you mewl. "Big"

"Ain't that right" he chuckles.

"Need it all. Please" and you grip his neck tightly, arms around it. His nose brushes against yours as he grunts out a You little minx. "Want it, Joel. I can take it"

He bottoms out. "Then do"

"Fuck" you curse, cunt stretched to adapt to his girth. You breath in painfully, and Joel's eyes lace with concern. "I-It's fine"

"Sure? I can wait"

"I’m okay" you assure him, moved by his care for you. You buck your hips. "You can move"

He starts by setting a slow pace, taking all the space insade your clutching heat. Joel groans at the sensation, your walls gripping him like a vice as he continues to move in a slow motion, pounding into you with deep, powerful strokes. Yet, as his arms cage you by your sides and you look at him with certainty, he picks up a brutal pace, just as you like it, slamming into you over and over again, the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin filling the small bathroom.

"K-keep going" you grip his left arm. Joel lets out a hiss as your nails dig on his skin. "Feels so good"

"Good'nough for you to cum on m'dick?" he groans huskily in your ear, breath ghosting on your skin like a hot kiss. "Gonna fill you up, doll. I'll mark you as mine, now and for da' rest of y'r life"

The way his voice drips with dominance as he commands you, filled with a rough rich baritone tinted with a possesive hunger, his hips moving faster as he drives into you with force, pistoning harder is enough to set you on edge.

He leans forward, capturing your lips in a kiss. 

"Cum f'me, baby. Let me hear ya' cryin' over my cock"

Tears. Stars. Grunts. Moans. Cum.

Your cry for his name against his lips is how you announce your orgasm, washing over you. Your walls flutter as Joel lets you ride slowly through your climax.

"There ya' go, baby. Go on, ride it" then, he pauses. His face strains. "Hold on tight. I'm gonna- I'm gonna cum. Right there, baby. Stay"

Somewhere along the moans and the writhes of your soft skin against his hard planes and soft belly, Joel asks where you want it. Inside, you hear yourself say, eager to feel all of him again, filling your insides, invading every inch of your body until a part of himself leaks into your heart. He's then blabbering as your walls and heart flutter, about kids and other things you both want but can't have. Tonight, though, as he Joel buries himself deep inside you, his cock throbbing and pulsing as he starts to come, grinding against you, making sure you feel every last spurt, every last bit of his release, you allow yourself to believe.

He pumps some shallows thrusts inside of your slick dripping cunt, emptying himself, before pulling out and looking down at you with a tired smile.

"I love you" he says again in fervent whisper, as if by repeating it, he could materialize it. "I love you so fucking much, y/n. And if ya' can't accept that, can't believe in that, then... then I'ont know what the fuck I'm gonna do. 'Cause I can't lose ya', baby. I can't"

"You won't" you don't know why it comes so easy, or why the promise slips as natural as a breath. "I'm here, Joel Miller. You won't lose me"

credits: divider @kodaswrld / gif @loregifs

[h3nderyss]

you as nct 127's 9th member (headcanons)

pairing: ot8 x fem!reader . . . masterlist . . . 127 part 2 dream ver wayv ver genre: fluff a/n: romantic headcanons for each member if you were the 9th member and only girl in 127! u can imagine if ur in a secret relationship or not!

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

taeyong

after long schedules he'd immediately check on you either irl or call/text to make sure you're okay, and his soft voice and concern literally making u melt.

he gets soso shy from ur compliments, usually laughs it off meanwhile it's stuck on replay in his head for the rest of the day..

he'd fix ur hair during photoshoots and pretends it's professionalism while his fingers linger a little longer..!

customizes some choreos so u guys are purposely together! he sometimes says it's "a pure coincidence"???

i feel like he'd bake cookies for u. then say the members helped. but it truly was all him.

during meetings he'd sometimes lose focus bc he's distracted by u!

during your alone times in the practice room, you'd find romantic and sweet notes taeyong had made hidden in your bag

i want to say he's the king of words of affirmation.

johnny

teaser. but as soon as u guys are alone, his teases get softer and more flirty.

DEF the type to pull a random cheesy ass pickup line out of the blue. "did it hurt? ... when u fell from heaven." (THOSE kinds)

purposely shows off his strength to u during practice, lifting heavy props as if it was nothing

if he notices u haven't drank water in a while during practice or before rehearsals or WHENEVER, he'd actually place a drink in ur hand and go "gotta keep my girl hydrated." JBJSJSBDS??

always insist on walking u home or offering to stay at his dorm if it's late. he wants u to be safe!

calls u late at night to yap sometimes, he loves to hear u laugh

pls steal his hoodie, he might act like he doesn't care but trust me, he loves it

always manages to find a way to sit next to u during interviews or flights

yuta

he just likes calling u "pretty girl" so casually? how dare he.

surprises u with small gifts! like a hairtie or hairpin, he loves when u do different things w ur hair

he'd stay close to u in group activities to ensure ur comfortable and feel included (my sweetie pie)

walking anywhere in public if there was a mob of fans, you will ALWAYS be in front of him. he needs to make sure ur safe at all times.

he'd compliment ur stage outfits. a lot. most of the time he can't hold back his smile!

he'd teach u japanese FOR SURE. if you suck at pronounciation, he's patient as hell, and find your mistakes actually cute.

loooooong hugs if ur feeling down/upset!!!!!

lowkey steal ur phone to take selfies of himself (idk??)

loves deep late-night convos abt life and dreams and allat, he'd throw in a little "you're part of my dreams too."

doyoung

always always always notices when ur feeling down, literally offers u ur fav snack or drink!

stays up late rehearsing with u, soft encouragement pushing u through.

but it's hard bc.. how could u not fall asleep to his angelic voice ?!

lovesss teaching u new things, always there to guide u through new songs and choreo, his hand brushing urs every now & then

becomes surprisingly shy when the members tease him for how much he cares abt u (hes so cute ☹️)

takes lots of candid photos! if ur not confident in yourself that day, he deletes the photos upon ur request

always saves a spot next to him reserved for YOU and ONLY YOU. lowkey subtly tho, he just wants u close tbh

ur the only one that can make him flustered when u compliment his singing voice bc it's just... special to him??

he'll literally insist on giving u his scarf or coat on chilly days, as long as ur warm it's enough for him!

jaehyun

he'd offer u his jacket even if it's freezing. he doesn't care.

literally the epitome of a gentleman?! holds the door open for u, walks on the sidewalk nearest to the road, and all that shizzle.

very often watches u quietly during practice, just gazes at u honestly

loves taking u out to places quiet and intimate and shares personal stories

gets jealous. but like SO subtly, he just becomes extra attentive if he sees any sort of human flirt with u.

he'd help with vocal practices but honestly, he just does it so u guys are in a private area tg. only u two.

jungwoo

loves making u laugh and smile

subtly touching ur hand in group activites, pretending it's unintentional

idk i feel like he's an emoji guy... expect emojis every time u text!

i feel like he'd always share food with u and offers u bites like it's so natural, yall do it a lot

if u have long hair, expect him to play with it often!

also gets flustered when the members tease him abt how much he likes you!!!!!

u guys would often have movie nights, being cuddled up tg under a blanket.

he'd start serenading u just out of the blue. bursting out a random love song and singing it!

mark

don't even get me started on how many songs/raps this man has made about you.

he'd perform some of them only for u but he's madly blushing during!

he'd ask for ur opinion on everything. he values ur thoughts sooo much

becomes so tongue-tied every compliment u give him, he actually can't function ?? mark.exe has stopped working. he'd be smiling like a loser

actually gets excited if ur paired tg for interviews and projects! his energy gets so high, it's like ur presence just gives him dopamine

he gets protective when you're overwhelmed, "let me handle this, okay?" ......heh...

he'd learn ur fav songs on the guitar and play them when ur around to see ur reaction.

i think he'd be a kissy guy. he just loves giving & receiving kisses.

haechan

oh he'd flirt with u even in front of the members

pretends to steal ur food but ends up giving u the last bite

he'd poke u every now and then, laughing at ur reaction every time

playfully try to hold ur hand in group photos, either discreetly or evidently

during karaoke nights he'd sooo dramatically sing love songs to u, he loves showing off his voice since it's one of ur absolute fav things about him

surprisingly gets serious when ur upset!

we all know how offline his insta is.. literally cobwebs forming.

but somehow he'd send you a memes late at night saying "this is us" .. is this man really as chronically offline as u thought?

he'd call u at night and just say "did u miss me yet?" this cheeky man..

gets jokingly jealous if u hang out with another member for so long, "hey, i'm your favourite, right?"

he'd make sure you're NEVER left out, he'll be hanging around with u a lot

[milksnake-tea]

━━ say you still dare to dream .

Sunday has lost everything. His status, his home, his sister, all of it has slipped through his fingers, all for a failed attempt at salvation. Now imprisoned and destined to live his life in shameful shadow, you, his former subordinate, appear to offer him one last chance of redemption.

sunday x gn!reader

contains: aftermath of 2.3, depression, sunday at his lowest

word count: 1.5k

a/n: depressed sunday is my favorite sunday. like damn bro you got BROKEN ig this is what being rammed by a train 8 times does to a man... ANYWAYS. DONT TAKE THIS TOO SERIOUSLY THIS IS JUST ME DOING SOME WRITING PRACTICE WITH BEING DRAMATIC hunches over and dies

taglist: @sh0jun , @themoderatelyawesomeninja , @xphantasmagoriax , @rainswept , @lucensei , @akutasoda , @naraven , @scribs-dibs , @apathicace , @flurrina

“I can only allow you a few minutes at most,” says the woman in purple.

A devil in velvet, that was what they called her. Although she may not look like much - from a distance, you’d mistake her as yet another filthy rich vacationer of Penacony - up close, her snake-like eyes and elegantly poised stature, always ready to strike unsuspecting prey, told you just how dangerous she was.

Lady Bonajade, the Stoneheart of Credit and the most deranged loan shark the galaxy had to offer. She who does the impossible and creates miracles for the price of one’s livelihood.

She, who is currently the master who holds the life of the fallen Oak Family Head in her perfectly manicured hands.

You meet her chilling gaze with steeled eyes. With a deep breath, you force down the lodge in your throat.

“I understand.”

Jade smiles. It is neither threatening nor comforting, although you cannot help but feel unsettled by her calm amusement.

“Most of the Family has turned their back on Mr. Sunday,” she comments, crossing her arms and tapping one nail against her arm. “Why haven’t you, I wonder? Surely, a mere subordinate wouldn’t be so loyal to a traitor of this degree.”

You know better than to answer her. After all, all of her questions are rhetorical - tests. She already knows their answers, she just wants to hear them come from your lips.

But you don’t give her that satisfaction. Your silence is answer enough.

You walk past her and come before a heavily armored vault door. A bit much, in your opinion, for a man who has spent the majority of his life asleep. But he is also the man who had taken control of the Asdana system and nearly ascended into Aeonhood, so this level of security is to be expected.

Hundreds of locks and gears turn before the doors open with a hiss and a billowing of smoke. With a mental prayer to Xipe for strength, you step into the dark cell.

There’s little to no light in the small room, leaving you to wonder how Sunday had managed to stay sane all this time. You already know the cells are essentially soundproof, and with so little light, the Family’s prisoners were shut off from the rest of the world and their senses.

The brief rustle of chains catches your attention, and you turn your gaze to the iron throne at the center of the room.

Oh, how far he has fallen.

Once gleaming gold has lost its luster, reflecting not sympathy nor love like you had known them to, but defeat and a resigned acceptance. Fair skin has become drained and faded like that of a corpse. Feather-like hair, once so meticulously cared for, is ruined and frayed.

Bound are the hands that would never raise against another, and shackled are the wings that have never known flight. Caged is the bird who has known no other home; only now, his gilded shackles have become sullied, ugly, disdainful.

He is hollow, empty in every sense of the word - drained of what little vitality he once had.

“Sir,” comes your whisper. He doesn’t respond.

Your footsteps are heavy as you approach. Sunday’s head is bowed - something his pride would’ve never allowed back in the day.

Once upon a time, you had found his arrogance annoying, hypocritical even. Yet at the same time, it was endearing, knowing that even the perfect and saint-like Sunday had his faults. In a sense, it had brought him down to earth, it had made him human.

Seeing him like this, so despondent and defeated, makes you long for the days where he’d scoff at the IPC or make back-handed compliments for his own sick pleasure.

“Sir,” you repeat. You stop before him, and kneel down to one knee.

Sunday’s eyes flick to meet yours, before dropping down to his lap, as if he couldn’t bear to look at you. Out of guilt, or out of scorn, you don’t know.

“Why have you come?”

Your heart aches at his voice. It cracks from the days without use, deeper than his typical chirp.

“I am a sinner, a traitor to the Family.” Not once does he meet your gaze again as he speaks. “Visiting me…”

He exhales.

“You should leave.”

“I won’t.”

His hands clench from where they’re bound to the arms of his throne. Briefly, annoyance flashes over him, before he lets it wash away with a slump of his shoulders.

“It would be easier if you just- left me here,” he says painstakingly. “I am of no use to you anymore - if anything, I am a stain. Abandoning me… is the logical thing to do.”

“You and your logistics,” you sigh. “Did it never once occur to you that I cared for you as a person, and not just as my superior?”

His eyes are shaking. Sunday’s expression is pained, like that of a grieving mother.

“Why?” he asks again, his face straining as he tries to understand. “Why are you here?”

Your answer is simple. “To free you.”

Bitterly, the corners of his lips twitch in a cynical chuckle.

“You of all people should know that I was not meant for freedom,” he mutters.

You shake your head. “That is what you believe. Lady Bonajade and I agree that you deserve to have this chance.”

“Lady Jade, huh?” Resentment flashes in his irises as he scoffs. “So you intend to coerce me into accepting charity from the IPC?”

Hurt pangs at your chest and you flinch. “That isn’t-”

“Spare me the concern,” Sunday spits, turning his head. “I may have fallen, but I still have my pride. If that’s all you have to say, you can leave.”

For a moment, you are speechless. Then you are indignant, and you rise slightly, your brows furrowed.

“Why are you so willing to accept your fate?” you ask, almost angrily.

Sunday exhales. “What else am I expected do?”

“This can’t be how your story ends." Your fist balls up the fabric of your pants in its grip. “Locked away, isolated from the rest of the world - that can’t be what you want. It is too cruel a fate for you.”

For you, who loved humanity so deeply.

“Tell me,” you say, gazing up at the man who had torn his skin and carved his heart for the people. “Tell me you want to be freed, and I will do so. I’ll take care of everything. All I need is for you to say that you want it.”

He shakes his head, his eyes squeezing shut.

“I don’t understand,” he whispers after a moment of silence. “Why, for me…”

“What is there to understand?”

“This is unreasonable,” he starts.

“Not for me, it isn’t,” you say softly. “If it’s for you, nothing is unreasonable.”

His voice raises, trembling upon its crumbling pedestal, panic seeping into every word. “I don’t deserve that kindness - that mercy. I am a sinner, I am a traitor, I am-”

“You are a man worth saving.”

Sunday’s eyes fly open. He stares at you, eyes wide with surprise, his lips parted as to say something, only for the words to die on his tongue.

Your neck is beginning to hurt from how long you’ve been looking up at him, but you push the pain aside.

“The Sunday I knew was kind and gentle,” you say, subconsciously leaning forward. Pent-up emotions, cumulated through the years, begin to bleed into your voice, weighing it down. “He always looked out for the weak, and cared when no one else did. He put others before himself, and even if he was a little arrogant, he was selfless.”

“No,” Sunday protests weakly. “I am not- You- I-”

“You are so much more than you allow yourself to be.”

Rising from the floor, your knees aching slightly, you gently take the face of the fallen angel in your hand. Cradling him like glass, you force him to look at you, to look one of the many he’d betrayed in the face, and see the love for him despite it all.

“Sunday, do you wish for freedom?”

For the many years you’ve worked under him, his eyes have always been a cold gem, calm and unfettered. Never have you seen them glossy with tears, threatening to break at any moment.

You see fear and desire clashing as he grapples for the first time, a choice not for the people, but for himself. You see the beliefs that have been molded into him beginning to crack. You see the caged bird gaze at the world beyond his bars, and for the first time, want to soar beyond them.

Sunday’s lips open and close as he struggles to find the right words to say.

“Where will I go?” he asks instead, tearing his gaze away. It is answer enough.

You smile softly.

“Anywhere you desire.”

reblogs w comments are appreciated !!

[svt-luna]

𝜗℘ LET THE WORLD BURN

❛ 𝘪’𝘥 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘯, 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘯𝘥, 𝘪𝘧 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘯𝘰 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯. 𝘪'𝘥 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘯— 𝘪'𝘥 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘯, 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦, 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘨𝘰 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘭𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘴. ❜

timeline: 2022

synopsis: After Luna gets injured during Be The Sun tour rehearsal in Bangkok, her members— willing to do anything and everything for her— refuse to let her face it alone.

warnings: angst, cursing, crying, injuries, mentions of blood, stitches, graphic description of injury, graphic description of stitches, medical jargons, protective!svt, worried!svt, injured!Luna, angry!Cheol, anxiety, mentions of panic attack, fluff by the end, couple goals, team goals (i lOvE mY tEaM, i LoVE mY cReW!)

angst might be my favorite genre to write… what does that say about me? 😝 anyway, hope you lovlies enjoy this one! happy reading❤️‍🔥

part two: the aftermath - She Will Be Loved

╰ ౨ৎ LUNA-VERSE MASTERLIST ╰ ౨ৎ writings masterlist

There were good days, and then there were perfect days.

This was the latter.

Luna had woken up that morning with the kind of well-rested feeling that came once in a blue moon. The kind where her body felt weightless, her limbs loose and relaxed, as if sleep had actually done its job for once instead of teasing her with a few hours of restless tossing and turning. The kind where her eyes opened naturally, with no groggy blinking or sluggish protests against reality, just a deep inhale followed by a satisfied sigh.

No alarms blaring, no manager knocking, no overwhelming exhaustion from back-to-back schedules— it was almost unsettling how good she felt.

Almost.

She rolled over, half-expecting Jeonghan to still be fast asleep beside her, but to her surprise, he was already awake. Awake and staring at her with a soft, sleepy-eyed smile that made her heart flip just a little.

“Good morning,” he murmured, voice still husky from sleep.

Luna blinked at him, half convinced she was still dreaming. “You’re awake before me?”

He smirked. “Miracles do happen.”

That alone was enough to tell her that today was going to be a good day. Because if there was one thing Jeonghan wasn’t, it was a morning person.

They both weren’t, really.

They usually spent their mornings in a sluggish haze, shuffling around each other in slow motion as they tried to find the will to start the day.

But today? Today, they were both awake, well-rested, and— dare she say it— energized.

Which was shocking cause it usually takes the both of them a couple hours to actually wake up— sometimes they don’t even talk, a mutual understanding enveloping them that it could take a few minutes.

And if that wasn’t enough, breakfast had only solidified the perfection of the morning.

They had eaten together, just the two of them, something that didn’t happen as often as they would have liked with their schedules. The meal had been simple but satisfying— nothing extravagant, just warm food and quiet company. And Jeonghan, despite being notoriously grumpy before noon, had been in a good mood. He had nudged her knee under the table, stolen a bite from her plate with a mischievous grin, and even made her laugh before she had finished her coffee.

Perfect.

The weather, too, had decided to play along.

It was the kind of day that made traveling easy— clear skies, a gentle breeze, the kind of temperature that was neither too hot nor too cold. The airport had been bustling as always, but their departure had been smooth, their flight to Bangkok a breeze.

No delays, no turbulence, no last-minute chaos that usually came with their schedules.

And, to top it all off, Luna looked good.

She wasn’t even going to be humble about it. Her airport outfit was one of her favorites— effortless yet chic, the kind that made her feel both comfortable and confident.

She knew she looked amazing because Jeonghan had given her that once-over when she walked out of their room, the kind of look that lingered for just a second too longer than normal before he hummed and said, “You’re going to make the fans go insane with that outfit, Nana-ya.”

And he wasn’t wrong.

Everything was going right.

They were in Bangkok for the Be The Sun tour , a city filled with fans who always made them feel like royalty, and as soon as they landed, the energy was contagious. Excitement buzzed in the air as they made their way to the venue. The anticipation for tomorrow’s concert was already thick, and the entire team was riding on that high.

By the time they arrived at the arena, spirits were high. The members were in a great mood, their team was in a great mood, and— perhaps most importantly— everyone was in excellent condition. No colds, no injuries, no exhaustion lingering in their bones from the previous leg of the tour.

It was rare for things to align so perfectly, but somehow, today, everything just was.

As always, the day before a concert was dedicated to rehearsing— going through the flow of the show, refining their markings, making sure every little detail was in place. Unlike the soundchecks on concert days, which were open to VIP ticket holders, today’s rehearsals were private. Just them and their team, no audience, no distractions.

It was a familiar routine.

They ran through their setlist, making sure their formations were clean and tight. They tested their microphones, adjusted their in-ear monitors— everyone had their own preferences for how they wanted to hear themselves, whether they needed more bass, more vocals, or a balance of both. The tech team ran through lighting cues, pyrotechnic timings, and camera placements.

Everything had to be perfect, every detail accounted for.

But despite the professionalism, there was still that undercurrent of chaos that only they could bring.

Dokyeom kept acting he was playing random guitar riffs in between songs. Hoshi and Seungkwan kept breaking into impromptu dances that had nothing to do with their actual choreography. Mingyu was either mimicking everyone’s vocal runs or dramatically collapsing onto the floor every time they finished a song. Even Woozi, their usually focused producer, had cracked a few jokes, making everyone laugh as they rehearsed.

And Jeonghan— of course, Jeonghan— had been nothing short of a menace.

At one point, he had somehow gotten his hands on a stage prop and used it to poke at the other members mid-rehearsal. Then, when he got bored of that, he started throwing Luna mischievous glances, making faces at her from across the stage until she nearly choked on the water she was drinking.

But through all the chaos, the rehearsal itself was smooth. Everyone knew their marks, their moves, their cues.

It was all going so well.

Too well.

Luna should have known.

Should have known that the moment she started labeling the day as perfect, she had already jinxed herself.

Should have known that there was no such thing as perfect.

Because perfection was a fragile, fleeting thing. A delicate illusion that could shatter in an instant.

And in just a few moments, it would be.

The stadium was quiet, save for the gentle strumming of the backing instrumentals playing through their in-ear monitors. The air inside the vast arena was still, almost heavy with the kind of warmth that came with rehearsing for hours under stage lights.

They were nearly done for the day— so close to wrapping up their final run-throughs before they could head back to the hotel and rest.

Seated in rows along the metal bleachers set up on the main stage, the members swayed lightly to the melody of ‘Our Dawn is Hotter than Day’. The song was always a moment of solace in their setlist— warm, nostalgic, fun, filled with a quiet kind of comfort. It wasn’t a song they just performed; it was a song they felt.

Luna sat beside Jeonghan, their shoulders barely touching as they sang, their voices blending effortlessly with the rest of the group. Their microphones were held up to their mouths as they always did, their bodies slightly leaned forward as they focused on their harmonies. She could feel the energy between them, that unspoken connection of knowing exactly when to breathe, when to soften, when to let the music take over.

The moment was peaceful.

Almost lulling. Almost perfect.

And then it wasn’t.

It happened so fast that for a second, Luna didn’t even register it as pain— just a sudden, sharp pop in her right ear, so loud and jarring that it rattled her skull. A strange sensation, foreign and terrifying, like something had snapped inside her head.

And then— Agony.

A white-hot, slicing pain shot through her right ear, so sharp, so immediate, that it was as if she had been electrocuted. The pain was cutting, searing, burning— an unbearable sting that radiated from deep inside her ear canal and spread like wildfire through the side of her face, down her neck, into her jaw.

Her body reacted before her mind could catch up.

A startled, high-pitched squeal of pain tore from her throat as she jolted up from her seat, her left hand instinctively dropping the microphone she had been holding. The mic hit the stage with a loud, echoing clunk, the sound of it reverberating through the empty stadium and blasting into the members’ in-ear monitors with a harsh, grating screech.

At the same time, her right hand shot up, yanking both of her in-ear monitors out of her ears in one swift, panicked motion. The small earpieces tumbled from her fingers, falling somewhere on the stage, forgotten. Her heart was slamming against her ribs, her entire body seized with alarm.

She barely registered the members’ voices, their sudden shouts of confusion and concern as she stumbled away from the metal bleachers, her legs moving on autopilot.

She needed space.

She needed to breathe.

She can’t breathe.

She’s in pain.

Her hands flew up to her ears, pressing against them as she crouched down on the stage, trying to steady herself. But nothing was steady. The pain was relentless, roaring in her right ear like an explosion that refused to fade.

And the worst part—

The worst part was that she could feel it.

The warm, sticky sensation trailing down her neck. The unmistakable wetness pooling beneath her fingers.

Blood.

It was pumping, both inside and out— throbbing in her head like a relentless pulse, trickling down the curve of her jaw, soaking into the collar of her shirt. Her ears were ringing, a high-pitched whine that drowned out everything else, leaving the world muffled and distant.

She wasn’t even sure if she was crying or if it was just the blood she felt dripping down her skin.

Maybe it was both.

Somewhere in the haze of pain, she vaguely registered movement around her— shadows shifting, voices yelling, hands reaching.

“Jiyeon-ah!”

“Hey, hey— what happened?!”

“Someone get the medic, now!”

But the words were warped, lost in the deafening ringing in her ears. She squeezed her eyes shut, her chest rising and falling in rapid, uneven breaths.

The perfect day was over.

And all she could do was hold her head in her hands as the world blurred around her.

The metallic scent of blood was thick in the air, sharp and unmistakable. It clung to her skin and her clothes— overwhelming her senses as she pressed her right hand tightly against her ear. The sticky warmth seeped between her fingers, and even without looking, she knew the extent of it. The iron-tinged, coppery smell made her stomach churn.

Hands were on her— gentle but firm, rubbing slow circles on her back, trying to ground her. Voices overlapped in frantic concern, some closer, some further away. Through the relentless ringing in her ears, she could just barely make out the distinct sound of Seungcheol’s voice cutting through the chaos.

“Where the hell are they?!” he barked, the weight of his authority sharp and urgent. “I said hurry up!”

Luna barely processed his words. She kept her head bowed, eyes shut tight, too afraid to look at the damage. She wasn’t good with blood— never had been. It made her queasy, made her feel lightheaded. If she removed her hand, if she actually saw how much she was bleeding, she knew she’d be teetering on the edge of passing out. Her body already felt weak, her breathing uneven.

But then, through the mess of panic, there was Jeonghan.

He was crouched in front of her, his presence steady, unwavering. He had been one of the first to reach her the moment she screamed, and now, as she blinked against the blur of pain and tears, she found his eyes— calm, focused, searching hers.

For a second, everything else faded. The noise, the chaos, the overwhelming nausea. It was just Jeonghan, his gaze locked onto her like he could somehow anchor her back to reality.

Then he moved, reaching out with a touch so careful, so deliberate, as he cupped the back of her neck. His palm was warm against her clammy skin, his thumb ghosting over the curve of her jaw in the softest reassurance.

“You’re okay,” he murmured, his voice impossibly gentle. “You’re alright, Nana-ya.” His eyes never wavered, steady as the way he spoke. “I know it hurts, but you’re gonna be fine. I promise.”

Luna swallowed hard, her breath shuddering as another sharp pulse of pain throbbed through her ear. She winced, squeezing her eyes shut, fighting against the dizziness creeping in.

Then suddenly, there was another shift beside her— stronger, more urgent.

Before she could react, she felt herself being lifted, scooped up effortlessly from the ground. A pair of arms secured her in a bridal carry, firm but careful, moving with quick purpose.

Seungcheol.

His jaw was tight, the muscle in it flexing as he carried her with ease. His usual composure was cracked, frustration seeping through in the way his grip tightened just slightly, in the way he muttered under his breath, words laced with quiet, restrained anger.

“They need to be way faster in situations like this,” he muttered darkly, his voice low but sharp.

But when he looked down at her, the frustration melted into something softer. His brows furrowed in concern, his lips pressing together for a second before he exhaled through his nose. And then, despite everything, he offered her a reassuring smile.

“You’re gonna be okay, Jiyeonie,” he said, this time gentle, meant just for her. “We’re getting you help. Just a little longer, alright?”

Luna didn’t say anything— she couldn’t. She only nodded faintly, her body instinctively leaning into him, her forehead resting lightly against his chest. Even with her hands still pressed against her ears, she could hear the murmurs of the other members trailing closely behind as Seungcheol carried her off the stage.

The moment they entered the backstage area, the chaos only intensified.

Backstage was always busy, always filled with movement and overlapping voices, but this was different. The usual calm, controlled energy had been shattered. Managers and staff were darting around, some grabbing medical supplies, others speaking hurriedly into their earpieces.

Everyone’s eyes were on Luna.

And not in the way she liked.

There was no hiding it— she was visibly shaking, the top of her shirt stained, her hands still shielding her ears like she could somehow block out the pulsing pain.

The rest of the members hovered, not a single one of them sitting despite the waiting room’s couches lining the space. They couldn’t. Their worry was palpable, radiating off of them in waves as they stayed close, watching as Seungcheol carried her straight to one of the sofas.

Only when he gently lowered her down did they finally exhale, but the tension in the room remained thick, suffocating.

And as Luna sat there, dizzy, aching, and clutching onto the last bit of strength she had left, she knew one thing for certain.

She jinxed herself.

The second Luna was sat down on the sofa, Jeonghan was right beside her. He moved without hesitation, pressing himself close as if to shield her from everything else in the room. His hand found her thigh, palm warm as he caressed it in slow, soothing strokes. The touch was grounding, firm but gentle, a silent reassurance that he was there. That she wasn’t alone.

Her breathing was uneven, her hands still clamped over both of her ears, though it was the right one that throbbed relentlessly. Her fingers were sticky with blood, and the coppery scent was still thick in her nose, making her stomach churn. She kept her eyes down, trying to focus on anything other than the pain, other than the fact that her head was spinning.

Then a voice cut through the tense silence of the room.

One of their tech team members, a man with glasses and a staff badge hanging around his neck, stepped forward hesitantly. His expression was tight, nervous, like he knew that whatever he was about to say wouldn’t be well received.

“We checked the equipment,” he started, his tone careful, measured. “Jiyeon’s in-ear monitor… it malfunctioned. It, um… exploded.” He swallowed, shifting slightly under the weight of so many stares. “From what we can tell, it was a wiring issue. A buildup of pressure. It caused the internal components to—” He exhaled sharply. “Basically, it blew apart from the inside. Thankfully, it only affected the right ear and not both.”

A beat of silence.

Then—

“Thankfully?”

Seungcheol scoffed, his voice cutting through the room like a blade. His jaw was clenched so tightly it looked like it might crack, his eyes dark with barely restrained frustration. He turned his full attention to the staff member, incredulous.

“Seungcheol-ah,” Jeonghan said with a warning tone, his eyes not leaving Luna.

“We should be thankful?” Seungcheol’s voice rose slightly, though not from hysteria— no, it was something sharper. Something dangerously close to fury. “This shouldn’t have happened in the first place.”

The air in the room shifted, tense and heavy.

Joshua was the first to move. He stepped toward Seungcheol, placing himself between him and the tech staff, his presence as calm and collected as ever.

“That’s not what he meant,” Joshua said, his voice steady, level. He turned slightly toward Seungcheol, making sure his words were heard clearly. “It could’ve been worse.”

Seungcheol’s jaw tightened. He let out a sharp exhale through his nose, shaking his head. His hands curled into fists at his sides before each raked a hand through his hair.

“This isn’t worse?” His voice was low, but the anger behind it was clear. He gestured toward Luna without looking, his eyes still locked onto Joshua. “She’s bleeding.”

Joshua didn’t waver. “It could’ve been worse,” he repeated. His tone didn’t change, still as levelheaded as before. “She could be bleeding out in both ears. Don’t be mean.”

The weight of the words settled over the room.

But the thing was— no one thought Seungcheol was being mean.

Not really.

Everyone knew why he was reacting the way he was. He wasn’t just the leader of SEVENTEEN. He was their oldest, the one who carried the weight of their well-being on his shoulders. His job, his responsibility, was to make sure his team— his family— was safe. And out of all the things he hated, out of everything he could tolerate, the one thing that gutted him was seeing his members hurt.

And right now?

Seeing Luna sitting there, blood trailing down her fingers, eyes glassy with unshed tears, visibly shaken— this was the worst it had ever been.

So of course Choi Seungcheol was pissed.

If he was a cartoon character he would have steam coming out of his ears right this second.

Jeonghan was angry too, sure. Not angry at anybody— he knew none of this was intentional. But he was angry at the circumstances, the cards that Luna was dealt with today.

Before anyone could say anything else, the medics finally arrived.

The moment they stepped into the room, they swarmed to Luna, their movements efficient and practiced. They wasted no time— one of them crouched in front of her while another stood to the side, pulling on a pair of latex gloves. A third unpacked medical supplies from a case, working swiftly.

Luna barely reacted. She just let them do whatever they needed to do, too drained to resist. Her mind was foggy, her body heavy. She could still feel Jeonghan beside her, his fingers running through her hair, soft and rhythmic. The gesture kept her grounded, kept her from slipping too far into the haze of pain and exhaustion.

“Alright, sweetheart,” one of the medics murmured gently. “We need to take a look.”

She felt gloved fingers against hers, prying her hands away from her ears. The second her palm lifted from her right side, she winced. The fresh sting of air against the open wound made her suck in a sharp breath, and Jeonghan’s hand immediately slid to her back, rubbing slow, soothing circles.

There was a pause. Then a murmur. The medic studying her injury leaned in closer, brow furrowed as they examined the damage.

There was a long, deep cut on the top of Luna’s right earlobe. It was bleeding heavily, the skin torn in a way that suggested something sharp had sliced through it.

One of the medics exhaled through their nose. “Looks like she was cut by something sharp.” They turned slightly, addressing the others in the room. “Most likely from the shards of her in-ear monitor when it blew apart.”

Another medic nodded. “It’s a bit deep. She is gonna need stitches.”

The second Luna heard the word stitches, her entire body went rigid. A sharp inhale hitched in her throat before she instinctively recoiled, twisting in Jeonghan’s arms as a whine escaped her lips.

“No, no, no—” she mumbled, attempting to squirm away.

But Jeonghan was faster.

The moment she moved, he moved too— his grip firm yet gentle as his arms tightened around her, stopping her from slipping away. His fingers curled securely around her forearm, his other hand pressing lightly against her back to keep her steady. He wasn’t restraining her, not really— just holding her in place, keeping her from running when they both knew she needed to stay.

“I’m fine,” Luna whined, her voice breaking, the threat of tears bubbling up again.

“You’re not.”

A chorus.

The room spoke in unison, voices overlapping— some firm, some soft, but all unwavering.

Luna’s chest heaved. She could feel all their eyes on her— the members watching from the couches, quiet and tense, their expressions drawn with sympathy.

“I don’t wanna—” Luna’s voice came out so small, barely above a whisper, and that made it worse somehow.

The members exchanged glances, their faces softening at the way her shoulders curled inward, the way she was shrinking into Jeonghan like a child avoiding a doctor’s visit.

“It won’t hurt—” one of the medics attempted to reassure her.

But Luna shook her head vehemently, cutting them off before they could finish.

“It’s not the pain.”

Jeonghan’s voice came at the same time as hers, his understanding immediate.

“It’s not the pain,” he repeated softly.

He knew.

They all did.

Luna was terrified of getting stitches.

She had only gotten them twice in her life, and this was about to be the third.

The first time was when she was ten. She had broken her collarbone after falling during a ballet recital. But that time, she had been asleep during surgery, and when she woke up, the stitches were already there— just small, neat little lines held together with dissolvable thread.

That experience wasn’t traumatic.

But the second time?

The second time was different.

She had been twelve when it happened. She had cut herself with a pair of scissors, a deep gash along the side of her palm that wouldn’t stop bleeding.

And this time, she had been very much awake when they stitched her up.

That was the moment she realized she hated getting stitches.

It wasn’t about the pain— Luna had a high pain tolerance. She could handle pain. She had powered through sprains, bruises, even broken bones before.

No, it was the feeling that made her stomach churn. The sensation of a needle threading through her skin, the constant tugging and pulling as they sewed her back together— it made her head spin, made her skin crawl.

Some people didn’t understand why.

Luna had tattoos, after all.

But tattoos were different— very different.

A tattoo needle moved fast, penetrating the skin in rapid bursts, barely giving her time to register the sensation before the next movement came.

And getting her blood drawn? Shots? Cake. The needle went in, then out. Quick. Simple. Done.

But stitches?

Stitches made her feel like Frankenstein’s monster. Like she was being stitched together, piece by piece, with nothing to do but feel it all.

A deep, anxious breath shuddered through her as she turned toward Jeonghan, still encased in his arms. She tipped her head back against his shoulder, looking up at him with wide, pleading eyes.

“Han,” she whispered. “I don’t want…”

Jeonghan’s gaze softened instantly. His fingers moved to stroke her arm, his touch featherlight.

“I know you don’t want stitches, my moon,” he murmured, his voice low, soothing, like a lullaby. He nodded slowly, his thumb tracing small circles against her skin. “But you need them.”

Luna opened her mouth to argue, but Jeonghan was already speaking again, his tone calm, steady— gentle, but leaving no room for negotiation.

“We know you— you’re going to want to perform tomorrow,” he said knowingly, brushing his fingers along her cheek to tuck away the strands of hair stuck to her damp skin. “Despite all of this.”

Luna blinked at him.

“And we won’t let you if you have an open wound.” His tone was patient but firm. “You know that.”

Her lips parted, ready to protest— but the words never came.

Instead, Jeonghan used the sleeve of his hoodie to wipe away the dried tear stains from her cheeks, his touch careful and unhurried, like he was tending to something delicate. “It’s going to be okay,” he continued softly. “It’ll be over fast. I promise.”

Luna stared up at him, her breathing still uneven, her lips pressed into a hesitant line.

Jeonghan held her gaze, nodding ever so slightly. Then, after a beat—

“Do you want to lay on my lap?” he asked gently.

Luna hesitated, her mind warring with itself.

For a few long seconds, she just sat there, the weight of his words settling over her. Then, slowly, almost imperceptibly, she gave a small nod.

Jeonghan’s lips quirked in understanding. He shifted slightly, adjusting his position, his hands warm and steady as he helped her maneuver onto his lap. It was a careful process— his fingers bracing her waist as she turned, his touch never rough, never rushed.

Eventually, Luna settled, laying sideways across the couch, her head resting on Jeonghan’s lap. Her injured ear was facing up, perfectly positioned for the medics to work.

Jeonghan’s hand found her hair again, fingers gliding through the strands in soft, rhythmic motions. A silent reassurance.

She swallowed thickly, squeezing her eyes shut.

This was the best she could do.

God— she’s gonna throw up.

The room buzzed with quiet shuffles as the medics began preparing their tools, the soft clinking of metal against metal mingling with the occasional rustle of gauze and sterile packaging being torn open. The scent of antiseptic grew stronger, sharp and clinical, contrasting the warmth of Jeonghan’s touch as he continued to run his fingers through Luna’s hair.

Though her eyes remained closed, she could hear everything— the sound of gloves being snapped onto hands, the shuffle of boots against the floor, and the faint murmur of instructions exchanged between the medical staff.

One of the medics, their voice calm yet firm, broke through the quiet preparation. “Before we begin, we’re going to need to give you a tetanus shot,” they informed her. “Since you were, in fact, cut by… unknown materials, it’s just a precaution.”

Luna exhaled through her nose. She knew it was coming, but it barely fazed her. The next thing she felt was a light squeeze on her shoulder— a silent reassurance— before a brief, sharp pinch as the needle entered her skin.

It was over in seconds, and Luna didn’t even flinch. Again, cake.

What she focused on instead was Jeonghan’s fingers still carding gently through her hair, his other hand tracing slow, absentminded circles on her waist, grounding her. It was comforting, something familiar amidst the severityof the situation. The medics continued working, methodically cleaning the dried blood from her ear and neck, the damp sensation of antiseptic wipes ghosting over her skin. The sting was mild compared to the deep, dull throbbing of her wound.

“We’re checking for any remaining shards now,” one of them said, the faint clatter of tweezers against a metal tray following soon after.

A few moments passed before another medic confirmed, “Looks like you’re clear. No remaining fragments.”

Luna let out a slow breath. Good. That was good.

And now… the hard part.

She kept her eyes closed, allowing herself to just exist in Jeonghan’s hold, listening to the soft rustling of the medics moving around her. But as the distinct sound of tools shifting on the tray reached her ears, her stomach twisted. Her heart pounded louder, beating erratically against her ribs.

She knew exactly what was coming next.

The stitching.

She didn’t need to see it to know, the second Jeonghan linked his fingers with hers it was almost a signal. It was the same hand that had been smeared with blood earlier but she hadn’t even noticed it had been cleaned. She was too out of it to care at the time.

Now, though, the warmth of Jeonghan’s grip around her own was all she could focus on.

And if that wasn’t enough of a sign, the quiet shuffling of the members confirmed it. They knew she was tense. They could see it, hear it in the sharp breath she inhaled.

Then, suddenly, she felt her legs— previously sprawled across the couch— being carefully lifted. Someone settled into the empty space before gently resting her legs on their lap, large hands smoothing over the fabric of her sweats before rubbing soft, reassuring circles over her shin.

Mingyu.

She knew it was him without even opening her eyes. Don’t ask her how, she just did— when it comes to the members, she always knows.

Dokyeom moved next, circling the couch to stand behind it, peering down at her with unspoken concern. She could feel the weight of his stare, watching her closely, making sure she was okay. Making sure she was distracted.

Luna exhaled shakily before blinking her eyes open, her blurry gaze immediately landing on Dokyeom’s face. His usual bright expression had been replaced with something softer, something worried. But the second he saw her looking at him, his lips stretched into a bright, dimpled smile, as if trying to will the tension away.

Without thinking, Luna lifted her free hand and did grabby hands in his direction.

Dokyeom let out a soft chuckle before instantly intertwining his fingers with hers, squeezing gently. But then, as if facing a grave dilemma, he whined dramatically, his brows furrowing. “Aigo… Jiyeonie, don’t look at me like that because I might actually tackle them away from you and drag them out.”

The joke was lighthearted, effortless, exactly the kind of thing he always said to make her laugh. And it worked. The medic team chuckled, the members around them letting out amused huffs. Even Luna, despite the looming dread sitting heavy in her chest, felt the corners of her lips twitch into a small, appreciative smile.

Dokyeom sighed, his grip on her hand tightening slightly as he looked down at her. His voice was softer this time, tinged with genuine sympathy as he gently whined, “I’m so sorry.”

And he meant it. Not just for the stitches, not just for the situation, but for the helplessness he felt in not being able to take her place.

Luna squeezed his hand in return.

Luna barely had time to brace herself before she felt the faintest brush of fingers against her injured ear.

Even though she knew it was coming, even though she knew they were being careful, the sudden touch still sent a sharp prickle of awareness up her spine. Instinctively, she clenched her jaw and squeezed both Jeonghan’s and Dokyeom’s hands tighter, her grip turning rigid with the kind of tension that refused to leave her body.

She screwed her eyes shut again. She didn’t want to see, didn’t want to think about what was happening, only about getting through it. But the second the cool antiseptic swiped over her skin, a sharp, burning sensation igniting in its wake, she felt faint.

It was just a disinfectant, just numbing cream settling over her torn skin, yet her body reacted as if she were already in the thick of the stitching process. Her stomach churned. She swallowed hard, her breathing slowing, controlled, forcing herself not to focus on it, forcing herself to focus on the familiar warmth around her instead.

Jeonghan’s thumb ran over the back of her hand in soothing, lazy circles, his grip steadfast and unwavering. Dokyeom’s palm, slightly clammy with nervousness, squeezed hers gently, a silent reassurance that he was right there. And Mingyu, who had barely spoken since taking his place beside her, continued to rub slow, comforting patterns over her leg, his fingers pressing in just enough to ground her.

Then— she felt it.

The first prick of the needle.

It was supposed to be numb. And it was. Mostly. But there was still an occasional sting, a sharp reminder that her skin was being punctured, thread being pulled through, looped, secured.

The sensation was horrible. It wasn’t necessarily pain— it was something worse. The second she felt the thread glide through her skin, tight and unnatural, she wanted to claw at her own flesh, rip it away just to stop the feeling.

God, she hated this. She hated this so much. It made her feel like… like a piece of fabric, being sewn back together as if she weren’t human at all.

A flinch.

Luna barely noticed it at first, but her body reacted before she could stop it, her fingers twitching in Jeonghan and Dokyeom’s hands, her leg tensing in Mingyu’s lap.

Instantly, Mingyu’s hand slid from her shin to her knee, rubbing gentle, mindless strokes over it, his warmth seeping through the thin fabric of her pants. Dokyeom, who had been doing his absolute best to avoid looking at the process, tightened his grip on her hand, his thumb stroking over her knuckles as if to say, I know, I know, I hate this too.

Dokyeom’s face, when Luna dared to open her eyes for even a second, was slightly pale, a hint of queasiness lingering in his expression as he purposefully kept his gaze fixed on her and only her.

And then there was Jeonghan.

A soft, delicate “shh” left his lips, barely above a whisper, as he shifted closer. His free hand, the one that had been holding her waist, lifted to brush a stray strand of hair from her face, his touch featherlight.

“You’re doing so well, angel,” he murmured, voice laced with warmth and something so heartbreakingly gentle it almost made her cry. He tilted his head, pressing a lingering kiss to the back of her hand, his lips warm against her skin. “Just a little more, yeah? You’re okay. Almost over.”

His voice was a lifeline.

A thread tying her to reality, steady and unshakable, unlike the one currently being woven through her skin.

She exhaled through her nose, trying to focus on his words rather than the loopty-loop sensation of the thread moving through her ear.

Another sharp sting, another flinch, another press of Jeonghan’s lips against her hand.

“You’re okay, Nana-ya. You’re so strong,” he whispered, his thumb brushing over her wrist. “I’m so proud of you.”

Luna barely had the energy to react, but deep down, his words settled over her like a warm blanket, softening the jagged edges of her discomfort.

Around them, the other members sat silently on the sofas, watching her carefully.

They didn’t speak, didn’t disrupt the moment, but their presence alone was enough. They were her silent support system, steady and constant.

Luna didn’t need them to say anything— just knowing they were there was enough.

And then there was Seungcheol.

He hadn’t moved.

Not once.

Still standing exactly where he had been earlier, arms crossed so tightly over his chest it looked like he might snap in half. His sharp, scrutinizing gaze remained locked on the medics, watching their every move like a hawk.

Every time the needle so much as twitched, every time Luna so much as winced, his jaw clenched tighter, his eyes darkening as if he were committing every detail to memory.

As if the second something went wrong, he would bolt out that room and sue for malpractice and personally ensure someone lost their medical license that night.

God, Luna loved them.

Soon, it was finally over.

Luna didn’t know how long she had been lying there with her eyes closed, but she was grateful it was finally over.

The moment she felt the soft press of gauze being placed over her upper ear, a deep breath slipped past her lips, her body finally— finally— releasing the tension it had been holding onto so fiercely. Every muscle that had been locked in stiffness slowly uncoiled, her shoulders slumping as the reality of it being done settled into her bones.

Now came the aftermath.

The adrenaline was already starting to drain from her system, leaving behind an exhaustion so deep it nearly swallowed her whole. It was creeping up on her faster than she expected, the sharp clarity she had maintained throughout the process now slipping away like sand through her fingers.

Luna could hear her doctor speaking, the sound of her voice reaching her ears, but the words themselves barely registered.

Something about changing the bandage.

Something about taking the painkillers she was going to be given.

Something about not getting the area wet.

Something about how Luna was cleared to perform tomorrow.

She barely caught any of it.

Thankfully, the rest of the members were listening for her, nodding along with rapt attention, their expressions set in the same serious concentration they wore during meetings, as if they were students listening to a lecture.

They would remember. They always remembered.

They had her covered.

She just wanted to go back to the hotel, crawl into bed, and watch something mindless until she inevitably passed out.

Once all instructions were settled and the medics packed up to leave, Luna finally made the effort to move. Slowly, carefully, she pushed herself up, her body feeling heavier than it should, her hair slipping forward to frame her face in soft waves.

The reaction was immediate.

“Slowly, noona—”

“Does it hurt? Are you dizzy?”

“Wait, don’t move too fast—”

“Careful with your ear, please—”

Questions and reminders came at her from every direction, overlapping and blurring together as the members crowded around, fussing over her like an entire flock of worried mother hens.

A soft smile tugged at Luna’s lips as she listened to them, their concern seeping into every syllable they spoke. Before she could say anything, she felt arms carefully wrap around her, a gentle but firm presence pressing into her side.

“Noona…”

Seungkwan’s voice was quiet, filled with something tender and unspoken as he held her close, mindful of her injury.

Luna melted into his embrace, her hand coming up to squeeze his arm reassuringly. “I’m okay, Boo.”

That didn’t seem to convince him, but he didn’t say anything else. He just held her for a few more seconds before finally letting go, though his hand lingered on her arm as if making sure she was really there.

As the others continued fussing, Jeonghan moved behind her. Without a word, she felt his fingers gently gathering her hair, brushing it away from her face with careful precision. His movements were slow, patient, almost habitual, as he reached for the hair tie he always kept around his wrist. Within seconds, he secured her hair into a loose ponytail, mindful not to tug too much, ensuring nothing disturbed her bandage.

She didn’t even need to ask— he just knew.

Then, for the first time since the stitches started, Seungcheol finally moved.

Luna barely had time to react before she was being pulled into another hug, this one a bit firmer, warmer, grounding her completely. His arms wrapped securely around her, his chin resting lightly atop her head.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured, his voice low and weighed down with guilt.

Luna turned her head slightly, pressing her cheek against his chest. “Not your fault, Cheollie,” she mumbled, her voice muffled by the fabric of his shirt.

“I—”

“Don’t argue with me, please,” she cut him off before he could even try.

And he didn’t.

He only sighed, nodded once, and squeezed her a little tighter before finally pulling away. His gaze flickered downward, and the next second, he was pointing at her collar.

“You need to change,” he said, nodding toward the small bloodstain marring the fabric. “Then we can go to the hotel and rest. We are done for the day.”

Luna glanced down at her shirt, barely registering the stain before she felt Jeonghan’s hand gently rubbing soothing circles over her back, his touch steady and comforting.

“You want my help?” Her boyfriend asked, already knowing the answer.

Luna turned to face him, exhaustion evident in her features as she nodded.

“Please, Han.”

He hummed in acknowledgment, his eyes softening as he reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear— the uninjured one. “Alright.”

Then, without hesitation, he leaned in and pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead, warm and reassuring, before gently guiding her toward the bathroom so she could change.

Once everything was done— clothes changed, things packed, and the last of the lingering worries soothed— the members finally made their way out of the venue, exhaustion weighing heavily on their shoulders.

The adrenaline from earlier had long since faded, leaving behind only the telltale signs of weariness in their steps and the occasional heavy sighs that filled the quiet of their car ride back to the hotel.

They needed this rest.

Luna most specially.

After everything that had happened, after the stress, the panic, and the sheer emotional rollercoaster they had just endured, they needed this moment of peace before tomorrow’s show.

Luna barely remembered walking into the hotel, barely registered the soft murmurs of goodnights exchanged between the members as they each retired to their respective rooms.

By the time she finally found herself where she wanted to be— curled up in bed, dressed in her softest pajamas, and tucked safely against Jeonghan—her body felt like it had melted into the sheets.

This was exactly what she had been craving.

Jeonghan, after finally finishing his endless fussing over her, had settled down beside her, his arm wrapped securely around her shoulders as he idly scrolled through Netflix on the TV. His fingers absentmindedly traced slow, lazy patterns against her arm, his touch featherlight and soothing, as if he wasn’t even aware he was doing it.

Then, as he continued scrolling, his voice broke the comfortable silence.

“They have Harry Potter.”

Luna tilted her head slightly to look up at him, immediately perking up at the mention of one of her all-time favorite movies.

“You always know how to make me happy,” she said playfully, the corners of her lips twitching upward as she nudged him lightly.

Jeonghan smirked, his thumb still moving lazily over the remote as he glanced down at her. “I am your happiness, aren’t I?” he teased, his voice smooth, effortless, dripping with that familiar charm he wielded so easily.

Luna rolled her eyes, fighting back a smile. “Wow. You really think highly of yourself, huh?”

Jeonghan hummed, shifting slightly so that his face was closer to hers, his gaze dark and teasing. “Isn’t that one of the things you love about me, Nana-ya?”

Luna scoffed, but she couldn’t deny the warmth creeping up her neck at the way he was looking at her.

Smug.

Charming.

Absolutely full of himself.

But God, did it work on her every single time.

“I tolerate it,” she replied coolly, lifting her chin in mock indifference.

Jeonghan chuckled, clearly entertained. “Right. Tolerate.”

He let the word roll off his tongue like he didn’t quite believe her, like he was daring her to take it back. But instead of pressing further, he simply returned his attention to the TV, resuming his scroll through the Harry Potter movies.

Luna watched him for a moment before furrowing her brows.

“There are only eight movies… What are you looking for? The first one is right there.”

Jeonghan didn’t respond right away. Instead, he clicked on Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 1.

Luna’s confusion deepened.

“This isn’t Star Wars… why are we starting there?”

Jeonghan, completely unbothered, simply leaned back against the pillows, his smirk widening. “It has that scene.”

Luna narrowed her eyes at him. “What scene?”

His smirk remained, unwavering, filled with that all-too-familiar mischief she had seen countless times before.

“You know that scene.”

Luna scoffed, shaking her head. “No, I don’t know.” She let out a chuckle, amused by whatever nonsense he was trying to pull now.

Jeonghan’s eyes gleamed. “You know… This is the movie where one of the twins loses an ear.”

Silence.

For a brief second, Luna just stared at him, her brain processing the words he had just so casually thrown at her.

Then—

Without hesitation, she reached for the nearest pillow and whacked him square in the face.

Jeonghan burst into laughter, his body shaking against hers as he clutched his stomach, absolutely delighted with himself. His laughter was loud, unapologetic, completely unrestrained, and despite herself, Luna felt the corners of her lips twitching upward.

“Yoon Jeonghan!” she yelled, hitting him once more for good measure.

He was crying from laughing at this point, barely able to contain himself as he dodged her next attempt. “What? Too soon?” he managed between fits of laughter.

Luna huffed, but the amusement in her eyes betrayed her. “You’re terrible.”

Jeonghan wiped at his eyes, still grinning. “Aren’t the twins your favorite characters?” He tilted his head, feigning innocence. “Now you can twin with one of them.”

Luna could only laugh, shaking her head in disbelief.

“I still have an ear!” she shot back.

Jeonghan shrugged, leaning in close once more, his smirk never fading. “Technicality.”

Luna rolled her eyes, but as she looked at him— really looked at him— she felt something warm settle in her chest.

This.

This was one of the main things she loved about him.

She knew how much the others cared. She knew their concern was genuine, and she was grateful for it. But sometimes, the weight of their worry, the endless “Are you okay?” the pity in their eyes— it could be exhausting.

Luna appreciated the concern and being taken care of by the members but— she hated being fussed over for too long. She didn’t want to dwell on what happened, didn’t want to let it dampen the mood for everyone.

And Jeonghan knew that.

He always did.

So instead of treating her like she was fragile, instead of letting things become too tense or too serious, he made sure to give her exactly what she needed.

And right now, what she needed was to laugh.

He was doing a damn good job.

Luna playfully pouted at Jeonghan, her lips pushed forward in exaggerated offense as she stared at him with wide, betrayed eyes.

“You’re so mean,” she mumbled, huffing for added effect.

Jeonghan, in return, gasped dramatically before cooing at her like she was the cutest thing he had ever seen in his life. “Aww, is my baby upset?” he crooned, shifting closer and cupping her cheeks in his warm hands. His thumbs stroked against her skin, his voice dripping with faux sympathy as he pouted right back at her. “I love you, my pretty baby. Even if you don’t have an ear— even if you didn’t have two ears, I’d still love you.”

Luna narrowed her eyes at him, the corners of her lips twitching. “Oh, how kind of you.”

Jeonghan chuckled before continuing, his tone light but his grin mischievous. “Actually, I’d still love you even if you had Dumbo-sized ears. Imagine that.” He made a wide motion with his hands next to his head as if demonstrating. “You’d be so cute flapping them around.”

Luna gasped, swatting at his chest. “Yoon Jeonghan!”

Jeonghan only laughed, dodging her weak attempt at retaliation before capturing her hands in his. “I’m serious! I’d still love you. Would you still love me if I had Dumbo ears?”

Luna scoffed. “No.”

His mouth dropped open in exaggerated shock. “Wow.”

“I’m kidding,” she giggled, then dramatically sighed. “I would still love you. Even if you looked like an elf or something.”

“Oh, that’s generous of you,” he teased, his hands still holding hers.

Luna hummed in thought before her eyes twinkled with a new idea. “Would you still love me if I had no eyebrows?”

Jeonghan burst into laughter. “What happened to your eyebrows?”

“I don’t know, maybe they got burned off in by accident.”

His laughter didn’t falter. “Then of course, pretty girl, I would still love you.”

Luna wasn’t done. “Would you still love me if I had scales instead of skin?”

Jeonghan squinted at her before nodding solemnly. “I mean… it depends. Are you a mermaid or a lizard?”

Luna snorted. “Why does that matter?”

“Well, one is mystical and the other is just… concerning,” he grinned.

She rolled her eyes but was unable to hide her smile. “Okay, okay. What if I turned into a fish?”

Jeonghan pretended to think for a moment before responding, “I’d get you a really nice tank.”

Luna gasped, smacking his arm. “Jeonghan!”

“What?! You’d be a fish! What am I supposed to do, take you on a date to a restaurant?”

“I’m leaving you.”

“No, you’re not,” he said easily, and before she could argue, he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss against her lips. When he pulled back, he had that smug, knowing smile that she hated to admit was justified. “See?”

Luna sighed dramatically, shaking her head as if put upon. “Fine. But last one— would you still love me if you woke up one day and turned to see that I was a horse?”

Jeonghan’s grin faltered as he blinked at her, as if genuinely processing the absurdity of the question. Then, he leaned back against the pillows, crossing his arms. “You know what? If I woke up one day and turned to see a horse, the first question in my head is not if I would love you. It’s ‘how did you turn into a horse?’”

Luna let out a laugh, but he wasn’t finished.

“Or worse,” he added, pointing at her. “I’d probably just turn to the horse and go, ‘Did you eat my girlfriend?’”

That was it.

Luna burst out laughing, her whole body shaking as she collapsed against his chest. Jeonghan joined her, his laughter intertwining with hers as he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her closer.

“You’re an idiot,” she managed between giggles.

“But I’m your idiot,” he said smoothly, grinning as he placed another kiss to her forehead.

Still chuckling, Luna shook her head. “Let’s just watch the movie.”

Jeonghan hummed in agreement and reached for the remote, but just as he was about to press play, Luna swiftly took it from his hands and exited the movie he had chosen.

Jeonghan blinked in confusion as he watched her navigate back to the first Harry Potter movie instead. “Nana-ya, what are you doing?”

She glanced at him with innocent eyes. “Starting from the beginning.”

Jeonghan squinted. “We were literally about to watch the seventh one.”

“And?”

“And we can’t watch all the movies tonight.” His voice was serious now, as if he was explaining something incredibly obvious.

“But why not?” Luna pouted, knowing damn well why not.

Jeonghan gave her an incredulous look. “Because you need sleep, I need sleep, and we have a show tomorrow.”

Luna sighed, flopping back onto the bed. “But it wouldn’t make sense to just watch one.”

Jeonghan exhaled through his nose, amused but firm. “How about we just sleep?”

She frowned but couldn’t deny that exhaustion was settling into her bones. Begrudgingly, she nodded. “Fine.”

Jeonghan smiled in victory before turning off the TV, then reaching over to switch off the bedside lamp. The room was cast into darkness, the only light coming from the faint city glow outside.

Settling back into his arms, Luna let out a content sigh as Jeonghan pulled her closer, his warmth surrounding her.

A few moments passed in comfortable silence before Jeonghan murmured, “Don’t turn into a horse.”

Luna giggled. “I can’t promise you that… but I thought you’d still love me no matter what?”

Jeonghan smirked. “Fine. As long as I turn into a horse as well.”

Luna chuckled softly. “Why?”

“So that we can live our horsey lives together,” he said, completely serious.

She giggled again. “Okay.”

Jeonghan pressed one last kiss to her forehead. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Hannie.”

There was no such thing as a perfect day.

Luna realized that.

Because it wasn’t the fact that she woke up energized that made today perfect. What made it perfect was waking up next to Jeonghan, who was just as energized, his sleepy voice teasing her the moment her eyes fluttered open.

It wasn’t the food they ate this morning that made it perfect. What made it perfect was eating with Jeonghan, their conversations stretching endlessly about everything and nothing at the same time.

It wasn’t the flight itself to Bangkok that made it perfect. What made it perfect was the members who she was with, filling the space with laughter and lighthearted chaos.

Just like how the rehearsal earlier wasn’t perfect because of itself. What made it perfect was the shared excitement, the inside jokes, the way they hyped each other up and eased the nerves that threatened to creep in.

There was no such thing as a perfect day.

Just people who made it perfect.

[part two: the aftermath - She Will Be Loved]

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[madam-kumo]

Locked Dove

Yandere Capitano x Columbina's sister reader

Ah, the beloved older sister of the third harbinger. Your graceful wings matched hers perfectly, white as snow and as soft as a cloud. Those same soft feathers covered your eyes from the world around you, only opening them when you wanted to.

Your elegant nature and relation to a harbinger intrigued the first harbinger. He had heard your sister vaguely singing of you throughout the Zapolyarny palace, her soft and high pitched voice humming your praises in a mezzo piano. Capitano never really thought about the girl's lyrics until he met you himself.

Oh, how lovely you were. The dress, similar to your sister's, covered in lace and layers to conceal your figure from those around him, not that he was complaining. He didn't like those that stared at you during your performances. Your violin would sing for you. It spoke your emotions and dedication to every piece to anyone willing to listen. And, bless the Tsaritsa, did he listen to every single one of them.

He would clap at every performance, knowing full well that he's seen sides and parts of you that no one else in the crowd would even dare to see. And that, was one of the many things that kept him above them. To you, to your sister, everyone. He was above you, always one step ahead. He would pluck any feather from your wonderful wings if it meant you would look at him, love him, just be by his side. And that he did.

Though he just clipped your wings, for once letting Dottore touch you by letting him place specific slices in your wings. But don't worry! You didn't feel a thing, see a thing, because you didn't want to. Capitano made sure you were in a cold sleep, tucked away in the escape of dreams from any pain.

Oh, how you grieved for your flight, for your freedom, but it was okay. Capitano was there to hold you close, hiding your head in his chest as he wrapped his arms around you like a gilded cage.

[elllisaaa]

how seventeen would confess to you - hhu vers.

-> pairing : svt hhu × gn!reader

-> words count : 2.9k words

-> genre : svt members crushing on you, fluff

-> warnings : while make you giggle and kick your feet

-> sorry if I made any mistakes, english is not my first language.

-> reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated !

-> masterlist | svt masterlist

hhu vers. | vu vers. | pu vers.

CHOI SEUNGCHEOL - INTIMATE

cuddles, cuddles, cuddles !

once he tackled you on the couch or bed and you’re in his arms, you’re not getting up for at least an hour. 

watching long shows together, and you’re forbidden from watching even one episode without him, or he’ll get so pouty. 

big golden retriever energy, he’s always so smiley around you.

but also big on protecting you.

he’s the type to say “dress how you want, i can fight”, and he will definitely fight if needed.

always has an arm around you, making you feel safe in every situation

since both of you are friends since as far as you can remember, he’s like another member of your family.

i can literally picture your aunts asking you when you’re gonna marry him at every gathering lmao

with all of that, the line between friendly and romantic feelings is blurred, but cheol wished he had the courage to fully cross it. 

however, everyone and their mothers knew about his big crush on you, and about yours on him. 

his confession would be so domestic crying because i’m lonely. 

It wasn’t uncommon for you to cross paths with Seungcheol late at night. Just like you, he often got thirsty and you always ended up staying in the kitchen until the early hours of morning, and being sleepy at the family gathering. And this time was not different. Well, it was, in fact, a bit different. You had been aboard for the past year and only got back to Korea a few weeks before, so both of you hadn’t really seen each other and you had a lot to catch up on about your lives. 

“- And after that, this bitch didn’t even dare to look me in the eyes for the rest of the year ! Can you believe this ?

- I don’t like to judge people I don’t know, but she’s indeed a bitch.”

Both of you bursted out in laughter, and your heart felt warmer again. It was as if you were finally complete again. Being away from Seungcheol when he had been by your side for the majority of your life was the most difficult thing you ever had to do, and feeling him slip through your fingers as he started to respond less was horrible. He apologized so many times about how busy he was, and you knew it was not his fault, but still, you just wanted to be back home, back in his arms. 

“- Yeah, she definitely is.”

You landed your head on his shoulder with a smile, and Seungcheol feared that you would hear how fast his heart was beating. He was happy for you when you announced to him that you had the opportunity to go aboard for your studies, and he was immensely proud of you. But at the same time, all he wanted to do was convince you to not go and keep you forever with him. But he was only your best friend, and he couldn’t ask you to give up on your dreams for him. But he wished he could be your boyfriend instead. 

“- I have something to confess…”

You lifted your head from his shoulder, looking at him as you waited for his next words. Seungcheol eyes’ dived into yours, and he just knew. He knew that this was the right time, that the particular atmosphere surrounding the two of you would certainly never arise again. He had to do it now.

“- The day you left, I came to say goodbye at the airport, remember ?”

You nobbed. How could you not ? He had engulfed you in a big hug  that made you want to stay, and left you with teary eyes as you got on your flight.

“- I never told you what I did after. I drove off to the park we always played at when we were kids, and I cried on the swings for maybe two hours because all I could think about was that you were not with me. And it felt so wrong.”

Your right hand found purchase on his cheek, forcing him to look down at you as he consciously avoided your eyes since he started to tell you his little story. But your soft smile was the only reassurance he needed.

“- It felt wrong being away from you too. I missed you so much Cheol…

- Me too…”

And just like that, you both leaned in at the same time, your lips meeting in between and suddenly, everything felt right again, as if it was where you were supposed to be - in each other arms. 

“next time i’m squeezing myself in your luggage, i don’t want to spend another night without you in my arms.”

JEON WONWOO - SIMPLE

i don’t know how to explain it, but I’m sure you’ll get it when I say that this man is the definition of soft. 

he’s so cozy, every one of his hugs feels like a warm cocoon (that’s why you always find an excuse to get a hug).

very good at giving advice, and a good listener, he’s always there when you need a shoulder to cry on. 

you were friends with the other members at first, but slowly, you started to grow closer when he discovered how sweet and lovely you were. 

the more he talked with you, the more he found himself hooked.

literally has heart eyes for you (everyone and their mothers know about his crush on you) and would drop everything if you need him.

of course, he’ll be more than happy if you agreed to play video games with him, it doesn’t matter if you’re good at it or not 

it’s even better if you never played, he’ll have an excuse to make you sit on his lap while he teaches you how to use the controller. 

but in the end, he’s a simple guy, and he doesn’t see the point of hiding his crush for too long, but he also wants his confession to be meaningful. 

The boys had organized a big party for your birthday this year, and surprisingly, they succeeded at keeping it a secret until tonight. And the past months spent trying to perfect every little detail was worth it when they saw the big smile on your face and your teary eyes when you recognized your friends and family as you walked through the room. 

And even if Wonwoo couldn’t be more happy than seeing you wander around, laughing and smiling non-stop, he felt a weight on his heart. He wanted to steal you away from all these people, have you all for himself and finally tell you how he felt about you, finally tell you how glad he was to have you in his life. But he couldn’t, and he would never do that. He was just waiting patiently for your eyes to meet in the crowd, and for you to smile brightly at him. Every time you did that, his heart beat faster. 

“- Finally ! I’m so happy that everyone came, but I’m exhausted !

- I can imagine, you’ve been running around the whole night.”

You sighed dramatically as you seated yourself on the couch next to Wonwoo, resting your head on his shoulder. Like a habit, he put his arms around you, bringing you closer to him, just because you were so comfortable around each other that everyone else thought you were already dating. 

“- It’s the best surprise of my life. You guys are my favorites. Thank you for doing this for me.

- You deserved it, that and all the presents we prepared for you.”

You lifted your head from his shoulder, looking at him with a sparkle of curiosity in your eyes. 

“- And what’s yours Wonwoo ?”

He had planned to do it later, when everyone would have left, when he’ll have a moment alone with you. But if this wasn’t a sign that he had to do it now, he didn’t know what it was.

“- It’s not something material. It’s more… Spiritual I’ll say.

- It’s intriguing, tell me what it is.

- My heart. I’m offering you my heart, because you already have it, you did for a long time now, and I wanted to let you know, just in case you were feeling the same about me.”

Wonwoo knew how emotional you could get, but he didn’t expect you to cry from his confession. Still, he wiped your tears away, waiting for you to calm down with a soft smile on his face.

“- I feel the same, I’ve been feeling the same for so long. You have my heart too.”

“I’ll take care of it, I promise. I’ll always protect you.”

KIM MINGYU - JOYFUL

100% golden retriever energy

you would often tease him along with the members (because we all know that seventeen ultimate goal is to make fun of mingyu)

partner privilege : would not get as pouty as with his members, all it takes is a smile from you and you’re forgiven.

however, when you tease him about how being so muscular but so afraid of everything is a shame, he’ll be like a child throwing a tantrum. 

pouting until you compliment him (and cannot stop blushing once you do, he’s so cute someone help me).

tries to impress you all the time by flexing his muscles, showing how strong he is. 

he’s so obvious please, this boy cannot hide his love for you.

follows you everywhere like a lost puppy, just in case you need him (he’s adorable).

he feels so comfortable around you because beyond all the teasing, you’re very understanding and kind. 

you’re always here to remind him how amazing he is every time he doubts himself. 

and because he feels so comfortable around you, his confession would slip like it was the most natural thing ever. 

Mingyu always had a tendency to show off his skills whenever you were in the same room as him. Yes, he felt an incredible ego boost when you complimented him about his muscles, but what he took real pride in was how much he was able to make you laugh. He always feared that his jokes were lame, or just not your type of humor, but every time he cracked one, you bursted into giggles. And by the way you were beaming, there was no way that you were faking it. 

And he always managed to make you laugh in all types of situations, chuckling and resisting the urge of kicking his feet like a teenager everytime you hitted his shoulder playfully as you tried to contain your own giggles. Mingyu was addicted to the way your eyes were glowing with joy everytime you just smiled. However, he discovered that the easiest way to get you to laugh was to tell you all the stupid things his members did. Like now, as you were crying from how funny you found the story of Seungkwan volley ball. 

“- He really only discovered it when he saw that video ?

- Yeah, really ! You should’ve seen the betrayal in his eyes, it was priceless !”

And you were laughing again, your head thrown back, tears almost spilling out of your eyes. But Mingyu wasn’t laughing anymore, too lost in his contemplation, because you were literally a work of art to him. Every single detail about you was perfect, the more he discovered, the more he wanted to be yours.

“- Your smile is so beautiful, gosh… I love you so much…”

The melody of your giggles died as soon as you registered the meaning of his words. Silence enveloped the both of you as you stared at him as if you were trying to enter his mind and find all the answers to your questions. And Mingyu was forcing himself to keep his mouth shut, and not embarrass himself further, already cursing himself in his head for being so careless.

“- Wha- What did you say ?”

Mingyu was too focused on his overthinking to notice the little grin spreading on your lips. Of course, you already knew that he had a crush on you. Of course, you had a crush on him too because who doesn’t ? And of course, it was very cute to watch him stumble over his words with red cheeks. 

“- I-I said that you have a beautiful smile…

- And after that ?

- Don’t want to tell you.”

You giggled as you leaned in to peck his warm cheeks, restraining yourself from going in for his pouty lips too.

“- Well, just know that I love you so much too Gyu.”

“see, you heard it perfectly ! but i’ll tell you a hundred times if you want me to.”

CHWE HANSOL - BRIGHT

he’s so random, like one minute he could joke along with you and the other he’s asking you the most existential question possible, fully serious about it. 

like we say vernon is just vernoning in the most vernon way possible. 

he's very chill about pretty much everything so it's really soothing to be around him.

he's your go-to person when you want to isolate yourself from the rest of the world because you could spend evenings just watching tv and not saying a word to each other

there's also times where both of you end up talking about your lives until the early hours of the morning. 

your relationship feels like it's all natural, there has never been an awkward state, only comfort. 

it's like hansol had known you for years because he felt so at ease every time you were with him. 

you made him feel like he was special and normal at the same time, and even if he doesn't show it often, he really appreciates it. 

you two liked to stay inside so it was rare for you to go out somewhere, but it was always unexpected and when it happened. 

hansol knew that you liked to be surprised, and often showed up on his days off to take you somewhere without telling you.

that's why you weren't shocked when he picked you up at 5 in the morning, on a random Sunday. 

“- Can I at least choose the music ?

- Go on.”

Hansol handed you his phone which was connected to the speakers of his car, letting you put on whatever song you wanted. He owed you this with how early he forced you to get out of bed on one of your days off. But he really wanted to take you to this spot he loved. He played it off as one of his random wishes, but he planned this in his mind for a long time, not all the details, but he knew he wanted to bring you there to tell you how he felt. 

He watched with a small smile on his lips as you opened the window, one of your favorite songs playing as you let the wind hit your face and make your hair fly all over your face. Hansol quickly focused on the road again, seeing that he was near your destination, he asked you to close your eyes.

“- Are we there ?

- Almost.”

The rest of the way was quiet, a comfortable silence settling between the two of you. When you finally felt that Hansol had stopped the car, you heard him go out of the driver seat to get to your side and help you get out too, ordering you to keep your eyes closed. He pushed you to take some steps forward before he finally authorized you to see what was in front of you.

“- You took me to the ocean ?”

You didn’t even turn around to look at him, too entranced by the sight in front of you. And all Hansol could do was smile when he saw how parkly your eyes were. 

“- I guess that I wanted you to see the sunset.”

You were rather speechless as Hansol got a blanket out of his car, leading you to the beach for you two to watch the sunrise on the horizon. He contemplated you as you ran around, touching the water to see if it was cold or not before finally sitting down beside him, your head finding his place on his shoulder, and his arms around yours.

“- Thank you for bringing me there… It’s beautiful…

- I wanted to make it special.”

Before you could even ask him what he was talking about, Hansol leaned in, his eyes fixed on your lips, and yours on his. Basking in the warm light of the sunset, he kissed you for the first time but certainly not the last, a smile spreading on his face as he rested his forehead against yours. 

“i think i could get used to this.”

-> i don't allow any copies, reposts or translations of my works.

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@lil-kpopstan @hann1bee @iraisswiftie

[sugurusladyknightt]

gojo x gn!reader

when you finally make it through the front door of your home, your expression drops, and with a deep sigh, you flop onto the the carpet covered ground.

you're just so tired.

simply opting on laying there, you didn't get to make it that far into your home. the ache in your body and heaviness in your mind leaving you unable to do much else but enjoy the view at your home from the new perspective; worms are living the life man. you know, it's important to expand ones horizons by experiencing life from different perspectives.

you're not quite sure how long you've been laying there, or when the heavy of your eyes started fluttering shut, taking over mind as it's blissfully teleported to the land of some dream you likely won't remember by the time you wake.

it's soft. you're home. the gruel of the day left behind you now becoming only a fading memory of the agony you had endured and survived.

it's difficult not to be thankful to satoru for his lavish over spending on home furnishings in moments like these. the soft carpet brushing against your face, welcoming you into its embrace with a saccharine sweetness you never thought possible for a floor covering.

~~

you find yourself waking to the feeling of fingertips softly brushing over your features. with your eyes still closed and somehow fully aware of your surroundings. a small grey space between reality and senseless images the mind can devise — it's difficult to tell whether your still dreaming or not.

tracing the column of your neck, the shape of your face, your hairline, and the arch of your ears.

the sensation a comfortable ticklish sort.

along your brow bone, down the bridge of your nose, and against the curve of your cheek. the lines your lips, the round of your chin, and back up to count the lashes that protect your slumbering eyes.

your woken up by the gentle feeling. your on a cloud, floating through the sky. or maybe it's a little boat, drifting further away guided only by the tide. your eyes once again begin fluttering; a butterfly's wings preparing for flight. your adjusting to the glowing lights that come through the windows, a pinkish orange hue.

slowly your sight is regained, eyes droopy though trying to focus. you can see the image of a man laying next to you, hands tucked gingerly below his neck. soft white locks splayed over the carpeted floor, crystalline blue eyes gazing softly upon your own, faded summertime freckles that can only be seen if you're this close (hardly anyone else is ever this close), and a soft smile playing on the lips; replacing the usually smug, boyish grin.

and you smile back, mouth dry from your nap and evidence of the now-dry drool that has collected in its corners. but you smile back anyway. you don't think you could ever do otherwise.

his smile grows, revealing the pearly white hidden by his pink lips as he greets you in a cheery whisper.

"well, hello there sleepy."

softer than the tone you'd have approaching a stray cat, soft and welcoming. carried with an air of happiness you think only satoru could ever manage to mean genuinely.

a hand comes back up to pet your head, fingers moving to play with the ends of your hair,

"tired?"

the lights coming through the window dancing along the white of his hair and his enviously long eyelashes. there's a halo around his head. the pink and orange glow making it so his eyes glow in the dimmed natural light collected in the room.

your only reply is a nod. you can't speak, not before such divinity. you wouldn't dare.

his thoughtful tone followed by a more serious one.

"hmmm, shit day?"

pfft. there's nothing to be so nervous about. after all, this is your boy. your perfect blue-eyed boy. your lover boy. your silly man. yours. because he wants to be.

there's your gentle laughter and the soft smile playing on his lips grows — newton's third law of motion.

what a lovely sound, he thinks.

"no, not especially so. 'm just tired"

"mmh"

it's rare that he's so quiet. well, it's rarer to others than it is you, but nonetheless rare. you're somewhere between missing the loud of his voice and enjoying the quietness of understanding.

it's not difficult to understand one another without the use of trivial things like the spoken word. satorus eyes, reminiscent of the endless depths of the seas, they will tell you everything you could ever want to know.

your own hand moves to play with his hair, eyes as razor focused on the piece you've got between your thumb and index finger as can be, before the whole of your hand gently rakes through his soft hair.

the silence is so comfortable, you really are on a cloud. or a little boat. you don't wanna share it with anyone else. you wonder if you could feel this way with anyone else, and the answer is so easily available to you.

no.

possibly being the quickest you'll ever answer a question.

your eyes drift back to his before you say,

"toru, what are your thoughts on snacks and a movie in bed in place of dinner. just tonight. .... though i don't think we've got any right now." you think out loud. voice coming out a little raspy but you pay it little mind.

you're pulled closer by the strong hand at your hip, the muscles under his skin, shifting with the movement and you can't help being mesmerized.

he smells clean. the fresh scent of aloe clinging to his skin, your hands curl around the pale blue button up he wears. it's instinctual; newton's third law of motion.

"i like that idea. although, we both know that it's very obviously very clearly been stolen from me. y if you will. robbed from my countless thoughtful recommendations that have always remain ignored. dismissed. without a second thought" he says matter of factly and in the most dramatic tone imaginable ending it with a little hmph. acting as if all the lights are on him as he presents his dramatic little shakespearean soliloquy. the cherry on top? satoru trying to make his voice sound a little posh to really drive his performance home.

(he doesn't have to try too hard)

he's trying to make you laugh. again. to hear that lovely sound. satoru accomplishes his goal but is it what it seems to be?

his own success? or ads your only indulging him?

divider by @saradika-graphics