#I am emotionally unavailable for the rest of my life | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

itendtothinkalot · 1 month ago

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in this economy? (part 2)

summary: you needed money. he needed a fake girlfriend. easy deal, right? except he’s your best friend’s boss. and you’re one minor inconvenience away from setting something on fire. he’s cold, rich, emotionally unavailable. you’re loud, broke, and very good at pretending this isn’t slowly turning real.

genre: fluff | fake dating

characters: ceo!heeseung x f! broke ass reader

words: 11k???

warnings: implied sex

part 1

"Where's Jake?" you asked, dropping your bag onto the seat in front of Heeseung’s desk like you owned the place.

He didn’t glance up from his computer. “He has a meeting. I sent him on my behalf.”

You blinked. “Wait. You actually trust him to speak on your behalf?”

Heeseung paused, then looked up slowly. “Not really. But the board finds him charming and impossible to argue with, so it balances out.”

“Huh.” You nodded thoughtfully. “Dangerous skill set. Should be illegal, honestly.”

You hesitated for a beat, shifting your weight between your feet.

“Then… should we still continue?” you asked. “I mean, without Jake hovering and directing us like a deranged drama teacher. I can come back in an hour. Or tomorrow. Or never. I’m flexible.”

Heeseung raised an eyebrow. “You’re going to the pantry to steal bread, aren’t you?”

Your mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again.

“I—”

“There’s some over there,” he said, cutting you off with a tired sigh, nodding to a neat tray sitting on a side table near the window. “You don’t have to steal them anymore.”

You stared at him.

He looked back at you, completely unamused.

“You stocked bread for me?”

“No,” he said flatly. “They were already there. I just didn’t bother to hide them.”

Your lips twitched. “So… a passive offering.”

“More like preemptive damage control.”

You crossed your arms and tried not to smile. “You’re being oddly considerate today.”

“I just don’t want crumbs on my conference table again.”

“I make no promises.”

Heeseung exhaled, returning to his screen.

You walked over to the tray, took a roll, and sat down in the chair across from him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And somehow… it kind of was.

The two of you had, against all odds, managed to fall into a kind of rhythm.

Heeseung sat at his desk, typing away at some high-stakes corporate proposal with the focus of a man trying to win a war. His jaw was tense. His posture perfect. Not a single hair out of place.

You, on the other hand, were curled up on his couch—yes, the very expensive, probably Italian-imported couch in the corner of his office—laptop balanced on your thighs, working on a university assignment that made you question all your life choices.

It had been relatively peaceful.

Until you sighed.

Again.

For the tenth time.

Loudly.

Heeseung’s fingers paused on the keyboard. He let out a groan, leaning back in his chair. “Can I help you?”

You didn’t look up. “No.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You’ve sighed ten times in the last fifteen minutes.”

“I sigh when I’m tired,” you muttered, chin resting in your palm. “It’s a coping mechanism.”

“Then maybe you should be concerned for my well-being.”

He rolled his eyes, but there was the tiniest upward twitch at the corner of his mouth. “You know, most people who use my office do it for meetings. Business. Work.”

“I am working,” you said, lifting your laptop like a trophy. “This is an academic battlefield.”

He snorted softly. “Right. And I assume the heavy sighing is your war cry?”

“Correct.”

You slumped further into the couch, dramatically over-exaggerating your next exhale.

Heeseung shook his head, mumbling something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like unbelievable, but he didn’t kick you out.

Instead, he turned back to his screen.

And you kept sighing.

Maybe a little louder this time—just for fun.

You were trying. Truly. Every ounce of effort was going into keeping your eyes open.

But the soft whir of the air conditioning, the muffled clicks of Heeseung’s keyboard, and the dangerously plush couch—the one you swore had memory foam meant for seduction—were all working against you.

You blinked. Once. Twice. Your screen blurred. Your head dipped.

And then you were gone.

Curled up awkwardly, slumped to one side, your head tilted off the edge of the couch like gravity had given up. Your mouth parted slightly, and one arm hung limp off the cushion, fingers twitching like they were still trying to finish a sentence.

Across the room, Heeseung didn’t notice right away.

But then the silence hit.

No more sighing. No muttering. No passive-aggressive typing.

He finally looked up from his screen.

You were fast asleep. In his office. On his couch. With your mouth open.

And somehow… you still looked soft. Small. Asleep in a way only someone who was truly exhausted could be—your guard down completely for the first time since he met you.

His brows lifted, surprised at the sudden pang in his chest.

He set his pen down. Sat back in his chair.

Then, after a moment, he rose—slowly, quietly, as if not to wake you.

He crossed the room, footsteps soundless against the carpet. For a beat, he just stood there, gazing down at you. Your breath was steady, lashes resting against your cheeks, hair a little messy from where you’d burrowed into the armrest like it owed you comfort.

Heeseung let out a small breath of amusement. Shook his head. Then, before he could talk himself out of it, he shrugged off his jacket.

It was still warm from his body. Crisp and dark and clearly expensive.

But without a second thought, he leaned down and draped it over your sleeping frame—gentle, careful. He adjusted it around your shoulders, tucking the edge around your knees like someone who’d done this before. Like someone who wanted you to stay warm.

His fingers hovered at your wrist for a second too long.

He didn’t know when it had started—this quiet shift inside him. This tug. This softness.

You mumbled something in your sleep and shifted slightly under the jacket, your nose scrunching the way it always did when you were annoyed.

Heeseung smiled. Not the amused kind. Not the forced, polite kind he used at business meetings.

He watched you for another beat, hands back in his pockets now, expression unreadable save for the faint flicker in his eyes.

“…Don’t drool on the couch,” he murmured softly.

Your breathing had evened out. The room was quiet. Peaceful, even. But then your head shifted.

Just slightly at first, a twitch in your sleep—then more. A slow, inevitable tilt toward the edge of the couch cushion. Your cheek slipped against the fabric, your entire upper body beginning to slide.

Heeseung caught you before gravity could win. His hand shot out, steadying the side of your head, palm cradling the curve of your temple with surprising gentleness.

He froze.

Your hair was soft. Your skin warm against his fingers.

You stirred at the contact, brows twitching, and he held his breath.

If he moved you too suddenly, you'd wake up. And as much as he'd pretend it was to avoid the awkward explanation, a small part of him didn’t want to see that shift in your eyes—the one where you’d go from relaxed and unguarded to self-conscious in a flash.

So, he didn’t move you.

Instead, with a barely-there sigh, Heeseung sat down beside you. Slowly. Carefully.

And with a hesitant, almost unsure motion, he tilted his shoulder toward you, easing your head against it.

You didn’t stir.

He relaxed, just slightly, settling in. One arm resting loosely behind you on the back of the couch, the other propped on his leg. Your head fit there like it belonged—heavy, warm, grounding in a way that made no logical sense to a man who built his world out of logic.

He turned his head just enough to glance down.

You were still sleeping. Peacefully now, your lips parted, breath brushing the fabric of his shirt.

He shouldn’t have let this happen.

This wasn’t part of the contract. This wasn’t strategy. This was something else entirely. Something real. And that was dangerous.

But… he didn’t move.

Didn’t want to.

Minutes passed. Long enough for the hum of his computer to fade into background noise. Long enough for the warmth of your body to seep through the layers between you.

Eventually, without quite meaning to, Heeseung's head drifted sideways.

And rested gently against yours.

His eyes closed.

Sleep tugged at him.

And before he could tell himself this was a terrible idea, he was out too.

—

“Uh… Mr. Lee?”

The voice was hesitant. Too hesitant.

Heeseung stirred with a low breath, one hand coming up to rub the sleep from his face. His neck ached. His back cracked. His eyes were still half-closed, vision blurry from the impromptu nap—until the shape beside him shifted ever so slightly.

Warmth. Weight. Soft hair against his collarbone.

You.

Still asleep, head nestled against his shoulder, one hand curled lightly near his chest, your body tucked close to his side like you’d been there all along. Your leg had, at some point, slid across the cushion, half draped over his. His jacket—his expensive, custom-tailored jacket—was still wrapped around you.

And you looked peaceful.

Which made it worse.

His breath caught, muscles going rigid. He moved the tiniest bit and—

Your head shifted.

Rested more firmly against him.

His eyes widened. He froze.

The sudden, horrifying realization of his current position crashed down on him like a second cup of scalding coffee: He was on a couch. In his office. Asleep. With you.

His fake girlfriend.

His hired, bread-stealing, chaotic fake girlfriend.

He didn’t even have time to process the panic beginning to crawl up his throat before a second voice—a louder one—cut through the awkward silence.

“SEUNG!”

A loud clap echoed through the room like a gunshot.

Heeseung flinched violently. You jerked awake with a muffled yelp, nearly toppling off the couch in the process.

Jake was standing near the door, clutching his tablet awkwardly like it was a shield. His expression was half amused, half frozen in I’m witnessing something I should absolutely not be witnessing panic.

And behind him—

Grandpa Lee.

Cheerful. Smiling. And very observant.

Heeseung sat bolt upright, his shoulder cold from where your head had been. You blinked up at the room in confusion, your hair a mess, his jacket slipping off one shoulder.

Your eyes met Jake’s first.

Then Grandpa’s.

Then slowly—painfully—Heeseung’s.

There was a long, horrible silence.

Jake cleared his throat. “I—I knocked. I definitely knocked.”

You looked at Heeseung, wide-eyed, still half-asleep. “Did I… drool on you?”

Heeseung said nothing.

Because yes.

Yes, you had.

Right on his dress shirt.

He ran a hand down his face.

Grandpa Lee took one look at the scene—the two of you crumpled on the couch, the jacket, the disheveled closeness, the obvious, inarguable evidence of intimacy—and clapped again.

Grandpa Lee took one look at the scene—the two of you tangled on the couch, his grandson’s jacket wrapped around your shoulders, your face still warm from sleep, Heeseung looking like he’d rather melt into the floor—and clapped again.

This time in absolute delight.

“Well, well, well!” he beamed, eyes twinkling. “So this is the girlfriend I’ve been hearing about.”

He wiggled his eyebrows with the energy of a man half his age and immediately began making his way across the room—eyes fixed on you like you were a prize to be claimed.

Unfortunately, the coffee table had other plans.

He bumped into it with a grunt, then made an awkward shuffle-waddle between the corner of the table and the armrest of the couch, muttering something about how “the furniture in this place keeps shrinking.”

You panicked.

Immediately sprang to your feet like someone had launched you out of a cannon.

“Hello! Mr. Lee!” you blurted, practically diving over the armrest to intercept him before he got too close to your nap crime scene. You stumbled slightly as you landed, pushing your hair back and straightening your posture in one frantic movement. “It’s, um—it’s so nice to finally meet you!”

You stuck your hand out stiffly. Firm grip. Friendly smile. Crisis mode: activated.

He took your hand with both of his, beaming. “My, my, my. You’re prettier in person than the way Jake described you.”

Your eyes snapped to Jake, who was hiding behind his tablet and mouthing I’m so sorry while also very clearly not sorry at all.

You turned back to Grandpa Lee, cheeks on fire. “Ah—thank you, sir. I—um—I really wasn’t planning to… meet you while half-asleep on Heeseung’s couch but—”

You laughed. A bit too high-pitched.

Heeseung made a strangled noise behind you.

Grandpa Lee chuckled. “Oh, don’t worry about that. You’re the first girl I’ve seen knock him out cold. Must be doing something right.”

Your soul left your body.

You smiled, borderline delirious now. “Right. Yes. That’s me. Doing things right.”

Grandpa leaned in slightly, peering at you with amused affection. “You call him Seung, huh?”

You blinked. “Sorry?”

“You called him Seung in your sleep,” Jake chimed in unhelpfully from the corner.

Heeseung let out a sharp exhale. “Jake.”

“I just thought it was cute,” Jake said, shrugging.

“I—I must’ve been dreaming!” you blurted, your laugh high and awkward as you fidgeted with the sleeves of Heeseung’s jacket still wrapped around you. “Dreams are wild, right? Who knows what they mean. Crazy subconscious stuff—anyway!”

Your eyes lit up suddenly, and you reached out, gently grasping Grandpa’s forearm. “Grandpa Lee, have you eaten yet? You must be so tired after all the traveling. I should’ve asked earlier—do you want some tea? Water? Should I—should I find someone to bring you something?”

His eyes crinkled, delighted. “My, oh my. A girl with so much manners.”

He gave you a fond pat on the back, then turned immediately to Heeseung, his face dropping into theatrical disapproval. “You little brat.”

Heeseung, still half-seated on the couch, blinked. “What?”

Grandpa raised his cane with flair, like a sword in a historical drama. “Why aren’t you the one taking care of me?”

“I—I didn’t know you were coming today—”

“She’s the one asking all the thoughtful questions,” Grandpa interrupted, gesturing toward you with a dramatic swing of his cane. “Why aren’t you ever this considerate? Huh?”

Heeseung opened his mouth to respond. Closed it. Looked mildly offended. “I pay for your full-time driver, your concierge doctor, and the personal chef who makes your weird seaweed soup every Tuesday.”

“And yet,” Grandpa sniffed, crossing his arms, “she asks me if I’ve eaten. That’s love. That’s care. That’s human decency.”

You tried very hard not to laugh, smoothing your hair nervously and reaching to help Grandpa steady himself when he shifted his cane.

He gave your hand a squeeze.

“You’re very sweet, dear,” he said, looking at you like you’d just personally renewed his faith in humanity. “If Seung doesn’t treat you well, I’ll disown him.”

You turned pink. “Oh—thank you, sir. He’s been… very kind.”

Behind you, Heeseung made a sound halfway between a sigh and a groan.

You turned to glance at him, and just for a second—just one—his usual blank expression cracked.

There it was.

A barely-there smile.

Small. Subtle. But real.

It disappeared the moment you made eye contact.

He looked away with a mutter of, “He’s going to be insufferable about this for weeks.”

But he didn’t stop smiling. Not completely.

And when you turned back to Grandpa, still fussing over whether he needed tea or a cushion or someone to call his driver, Heeseung just watched you quietly.

With a look that wasn’t quite annoyance.

Not quite amusement.

Something else entirely.

Something dangerous.

—

Somehow, without quite meaning to, you’d been swept into the strange, chaotic current of the Lee family dynamic.

Jake had left hours ago—after giving you a dramatic, drawn-out farewell like he was being shipped off to war and not just heading back to his apartment. You’d waved him off, chuckling under your breath, unaware that the moment he was gone, you were being voluntarily held hostage by a rich, meddling grandfather and his emotionally-repressed grandson.

“I insist,” Grandpa Lee had said, gripping your hand like a man on a mission. “Come to dinner. We’ll order something good. I’ll show you pictures of baby Heeseung. You’ll love it.”

You had tried, really tried, to politely decline.

But the man begged.

Not gently. Not in passing.

He begged—with wide eyes and dramatic sighs and the kind of wounded expression only grandfathers and veteran actors could pull off.

You couldn’t say no.

You weren’t heartless.

Not even if he was filthy, stinking rich and had an estate large enough to qualify for its own postal code.

So now here you were.

Entering the Lee family home like you’d been there a thousand times, when in reality, you were still trying to figure out if this entire week was an elaborate fever dream.

“Careful now,” you said gently, your hand looped around Grandpa Lee’s arm as you helped him up the front steps. “We can go slowly, no rush at all.”

“Oh, you’re an angel,” he replied, letting you guide him toward the front door like you were escorting royalty. “You’re much gentler than my useless grandson. That boy leads me around like I’m made of bricks.”

You laughed softly. “Well, you’ve only got one pair of knees, sir. I intend to make sure you keep them.”

He chuckled, clearly pleased.

Behind you, Heeseung followed a few steps behind—quiet, one hand shoved into his pocket, the other holding the door open as he watched the two of you walk ahead like old companions.

He should’ve been annoyed.

His grandfather was clearly laying it on too thick, pushing boundaries, dragging you into family traditions you had no business being part of.

But instead…

Heeseung just watched.

You, glancing over your shoulder to flash him a smile that was too real for a fake girlfriend.

His grandfather, soaking up your attention like sunshine and already asking if you liked kimchi stew or preferred something mild for dinner.

And Heeseung?

He thought about how much he could get used to this.

—

The dining room table could seat twelve.

Twelve.

Twelve humans.

Maybe fourteen if two of them were toddlers and didn’t mind elbow contact.

You sat across from Heeseung, quietly chewing your food like a peasant at Versailles, trying not to let your eyes dart around the room every five seconds. But how could you not? The chandelier above you looked like it belonged in a royal ballroom. The dinnerware probably had a net worth higher than your student loans.

God, his house was huge.

You were ninety-nine percent sure there was an echo in the room. The soft jazz playing through hidden speakers? Offensively classy. You were half-expecting someone to walk out offering you a wine list in French.

The fanciest place you’d ever eaten was Cheesecake Factory. Once. And Jake had paid.

Meanwhile, here you were being served short ribs plated on imported porcelain while pretending to be the loving girlfriend of Lee Heeseung, Seoul’s most emotionally constipated tech prince.

Heeseung, for what it was worth, sat beside you with practiced ease—perfect posture, calm expression, cutting his food like it was being filmed for an etiquette manual. But every now and then, his eyes flicked toward you.

And lingered.

Just for a moment.

Grandpa Lee, of course, was in full host mode. Reclined at the head of the table, wine glass in hand, looking positively smug.

“So,” he said, pausing mid-chew, “how did the two of you meet?”

You stiffened.

Heeseung paused, fork in midair.

Oh no.

This was it.

The fake dating interrogation.

“Ah—” you began, immediately kicking Heeseung under the table for backup.

“She was…” Heeseung started slowly, eyes shifting toward you. “She was at a café.”

You nodded quickly. “Right! I was getting coffee.”

Heeseung added, “She spilled it.”

“On myself,” you confirmed, gesturing vaguely at your shirt like it still bore the evidence. “Scalding hot latte.”

Grandpa raised an eyebrow. “Romantic.”

You pressed on. “And he—Heeseung—offered me napkins.”

“Nine of them,” Heeseung said flatly.

You turned to him, surprised. “You remember the number?”

He blinked. “It was excessive.”

Grandpa watched the two of you like a cat watching goldfish. “And then?”

“And then we started talking,” you said quickly. “And he—um, he helped me order a replacement drink because I was too embarrassed to go back to the counter.”

Heeseung cleared his throat. “It was a weirdly long line.”

“But he waited,” you said, and then—before you could stop yourself—smiled a little. “He didn’t have to, but he did.”

There was a pause.

A beat longer than necessary.

Heeseung looked at you.

You looked at him.

And something about the way your smile lingered—soft, a little grateful—made his chest feel strangely warm. He swallowed.

You quickly turned back to Grandpa, cheeks hot.

“So, yes,” you said, stabbing your fork into your rice like you were sealing the story with a signature. “That’s how it happened.”

Grandpa sipped his wine, clearly amused. “Hmm.”

“You don’t believe us?” you asked, trying not to panic.

“I do,” he said easily. “Too many details. Real liars don’t share numbers. Nine napkins? That’s commitment.”

You nearly exhaled in relief.

Then, out of nowhere, Grandpa added, “And I saw the way he looked at you just now.”

You froze.

Heeseung did too.

The room went quiet.

“I’ve known that boy since he was born,” Grandpa said, setting his wine down with a quiet clink. “He doesn’t look at people like that.”

Your throat tightened. “Like what?”

“Like he forgot he’s supposed to be faking something.”

You blinked. Slowly.

Heeseung didn’t say anything. But you could feel the tension in his shoulders, the shift in the air beside you.

And then—suddenly, quietly—his hand brushed yours under the table.

Just for a second.

Just long enough to ground you. To say yeah, that wasn’t planned either.

You didn’t pull away.

And you didn’t speak.

But you felt it.

“Oh.”

The room had settled into a strange kind of stillness.

Not uncomfortable—just quiet. Like everyone was waiting for someone else to speak.

You kept your eyes down, gently prodding the last piece of rib on your plate, pretending your heart wasn’t doing tiny somersaults over the fact that Heeseung’s fingers had just brushed yours under the table.

Grandpa, of course, was not one to let silence win.

He set his glass down with a soft clink, leaned forward slightly, and said, with all the casualness of a man dropping a bomb:

“You know, I’ve never seen him like this before.”

Your fork paused mid-motion.

Heeseung visibly stiffened beside you.

You blinked up at Grandpa. “Like what?”

“So… attentive,” he said, as if that explained everything. “My grandson doesn’t just give away his jacket. That thing is practically stitched to his body. I've seen him wear it through a snowstorm. And yet, what do I find? Him curled up next to you, jacket draped over your legs like he’s your personal butler.”

You choked slightly on your rice.

“Grandpa,” Heeseung muttered, eyes narrowing.

But the older man wasn’t finished.

“And don’t think I didn’t notice,” Grandpa continued, pointing his chopsticks at Heeseung. “In the car—on the way back—you turned up the temperature. Just a notch. Quietly. Barely moved a muscle. But I saw you glance at her first. Just once.”

You flushed, your heart tripping over itself.

You had shivered once in the back seat, barely even noticing it yourself. But apparently… he had.

Grandpa leaned back in his chair, smiling like he had just solved a particularly satisfying mystery. “He’s never done that. Not for anyone. And let me tell you, this boy’s been around people his whole life—business deals, charity galas, matchmaking setups I’ve dragged him to. You name it.”

He turned to you, gentler now. “He’s polite, always. But attentive? No. Never. Not unless it’s something that matters to him.”

You blinked. Swallowed.

Across from you, Heeseung was uncharacteristically still.

His jaw was tense, eyes downcast, but something had shifted in his face—something softer, quieter. Like he was letting the words sink in too.

You didn’t say anything at first. You couldn’t.

The room had gone warm. Not from the heat. From the weight of what Grandpa had just said.

And what it meant.

You glanced at Heeseung.

He looked up, met your gaze.

And for the first time all night, neither of you needed to say anything at all.

—-

Dinner had ended… eventually.

The plates had been cleared, the wine glasses refilled twice, and Grandpa had officially shifted into storytelling mode—arms waving, voice animated, eyes twinkling with the kind of energy only decades of mischief could supply.

You hadn’t said much.

You just sat there, chin resting on your hands, smiling as you listened. And oh, the stories. Stories about little Heeseung—piano recitals gone wrong, failed lemonade stands, a brief but passionate phase where he thought he could become a magician.

You laughed. You giggled. At one point, your eyes welled up from how adorable it all was.

Across the table, Heeseung looked like he was deeply regretting ever being born.

“Was he always this serious?” you asked, voice light.

Grandpa barked a laugh. “Serious? That boy once cried for an hour because someone stepped on his sandcastle. Age twelve.”

Heeseung groaned. “Can we not—”

But it was already 11 p.m. by the time the laughter began to fade and your eyes started to droop. You stretched your arms with a yawn, blinking slowly.

“I should probably get going,” you murmured, rubbing at your eyes. “I’ve got an 8 a.m. lecture tomorrow and if I miss it, I’ll cry. Publicly.”

Heeseung stood from his seat automatically. “I’ll drive you.”

But before he could even reach for his keys, whack—Grandpa’s cane smacked lightly against his shin.

“Are you crazy?” Grandpa scoffed. “It’s almost midnight. Let her rest here. You have a perfectly good bed. And walls.”

Heeseung’s jaw dropped. “Are you crazy?”

Grandpa looked between the two of you like you were the ones being unreasonable. “Don’t tell me she’s never slept over here.”

Heeseung shot you a look that screamed don’t you dare.

You smiled tightly, heart racing. “Oh, plenty of times!”

Heeseung choked.

“Gosh,” you added with a nervous laugh, hands fluttering in the air, “this house… it’s practically my second home. I love this house. Love it. So homey. Very… echo-y.”

Grandpa raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced but having way too much fun.

“So,” he said, voice dripping with casual menace, “you’ll be sleeping with Heeseung tonight?”

You blinked. “I—left my—”

“You’ll be sleeping with Seung tonight,” Grandpa repeated with a knowing smile, cane tapping the floor rhythmically. “Won’t you?”

You opened your mouth.

Then closed it.

Then looked at Heeseung, who looked exactly like someone who’d just swallowed a lemon.

You turned back to Grandpa with a grin so forced it should’ve come with a cramp.

“…Yes. Of course. That’s the plan.”

“Well then,” Grandpa beamed, clapping his hands once. “I’ll sleep soundly knowing my two lovebirds are safe and snuggled up. Goodnight, children.”

And just like that, he turned and shuffled down the hall, whistling.

You stood there in the silence that followed, staring down at your socks.

Heeseung exhaled deeply beside you.

“This is the worst lie I’ve ever committed to,” he muttered.

You peeked up at him.

He wasn’t looking at you. Just down the hallway. But the tips of his ears were red.

And yours?

Burning.

“…Where’s your room?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

He finally met your gaze.

“Upstairs,” he said. “But don’t worry. I’ve got an extra pillow.”

—-

You weren’t sure what rich people did with this much space, but Heeseung’s en suite bathroom was bigger than your entire dorm room. Probably had better plumbing too. The water pressure? Heavenly. The heated floors? Life-changing. The mirror didn’t even fog. What kind of sorcery—

You stepped out wrapped in an oversized cloud of cotton.

His pyjamas—crisp, soft, and clearly designed for a man with longer legs and significantly broader shoulders—swallowed you whole. The shirt hung just past mid-thigh, brushing against your bare skin as you walked. The sleeves covered your hands. The collar was just slightly too wide, revealing the soft slope of your collarbone with every step.

You hadn’t bothered with pants. The top was long enough. Besides, who the hell was going to see?

...Right.

Heeseung.

You made a small sound as you fumbled with your hair tie, accidentally knocking over a bottle of something suspiciously expensive on his nightstand.

His head snapped up from his phone.

And everything in him—every rational, composed, deeply repressed cell—froze.

There you were.

Walking toward the bed like some kind of sleepy siren, his shirt hanging off your body like it had always belonged to you. Bare legs. Damp hair. That slightly flushed post-shower glow. He could see the delicate line of your throat when you tilted your head to fix your sleeves.

His breath hitched—sharply.

He looked away immediately, gaze darting back to his phone like it was on fire.

Nope.

He was not going to think about how your thighs looked in the dim lighting. Or the fact that you were wearing his clothes. Or the way the fabric of that button-up swayed slightly as you walked.

He swallowed hard.

Cleared his throat.

You glanced over at him, half amused, half oblivious. “You good?”

“Fine,” he said too quickly. His voice cracked. Cracked.

You raised an eyebrow. “Sounded like a dying bird.”

Heeseung coughed into his fist and sat up straighter, yanking the blanket slightly higher over his lap.

“I’m fine,” he repeated, eyes glued to his screen like he was researching stock reports and not silently begging the universe for strength.

You padded across the room, dropping onto the other side of the bed with a little bounce.

His bed.

You were in his bed.

Wearing his clothes.

With bare legs.

He stared at the ceiling.

You, stretching lazily, tucked the blanket around yourself. “These are really soft, by the way.”

“Yeah,” he muttered. “They’re… cotton.”

“You okay?”

“Perfect.”

Your knee brushed against his under the covers.

He stopped breathing.

You didn’t notice.

But God help him—he noticed everything.

"Are you sure…" Heeseung’s voice cut through the quiet, just barely above a whisper. “You don’t mind sharing one bed tonight?”

You didn’t even hesitate. “Not really. I’ve done this plenty of times with Jake when we go on trips.”

“Oh.” Heeseung blinked. Hard.

Jake. Right. Your other male roommate. The one you’d apparently shared beds with like it was no big deal. The same Jake who drank from the milk carton and sang in the shower and left hair ties in the microwave.

Cool. Casual.

Totally fine.

Except it wasn’t.

Not when you were currently climbing into his bed, his shirt hanging off your body like sin itself, the hem rising with every motion of your legs. Your thigh brushed the comforter as you moved, bare and soft under the dim bedside lamp, and Heeseung’s eyes locked on it like he’d been hypnotized.

You flopped down with a sigh, fingers raking through your damp hair. With a frustrated huff, you pushed up onto your knees and pulled your hair into a ponytail—arms raised, shirt rising even higher, revealing the smooth curve of your hip and a glimpse of skin that did unspeakable things to Heeseung’s already struggling self-control.

Something snapped.

He swallowed.

Hard.

“I—on second thought,” he said abruptly, voice tighter now, “maybe I’ll just… sleep on the couch.”

You whipped your head around. “What? Are you crazy?”

He was already half out of the bed, blanket in hand like he was escaping a wildfire.

“It’s fine. Really. You—you take the bed. I’ll just—”

You rolled your eyes. “Heeseung, it’s just one night. It’s not like we’re going to do anything crazy.”

“That’s not—”

“And besides,” you added casually, slipping under the covers like it was your own bed, “what if Grandpa comes in? Huh? What’ll he think when he sees one side empty? We’ll be exposed. Caught. Fired.”

Heeseung paused, blanket still clutched in his hand.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “He already thinks I call you Seung in my sleep.”

He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“C’mon,” you said, patting the empty space beside you. “I’m not gonna bite.”

He looked at the bed.

Then at you.

Then at the ceiling like he was praying for strength.

And with a sigh—long, heavy, full of the emotional weight of a man who had just been sentenced to a trial by fire—he climbed back in.

Stiff as a board.

Tense as a wire.

And one wrong move away from completely combusting.

You, meanwhile, simply yawned. “Goodnight, Seung.”

His breath caught again.

“Sleep,” you mumbled, already drifting off. “Be normal…”

He stared at the ceiling.

He was definitely not sleeping tonight.

It had been ten minutes since Heeseung shut off his phone.

Ten minutes since the room went still, lit only by the faint glow of the city lights spilling through the tall windows. Ten minutes of lying there, staring into the dark like it might offer him a lifeline.

It didn’t.

Instead, he tossed. Then turned. Then flipped onto his back, onto his side, back again. Adjusted the blanket. Shifted the pillow. Anything to make it stop.

But nothing did.

Because you were beside him.

And you weren’t just beside him—you were curled into the covers wearing his shirt, skin bare beneath it, body warm, soft, close.

Every time you moved—every tiny adjustment, every sleepy twist—your thigh brushed against the back of his hand. Light. Innocent. Deadly.

And he was losing it.

Because your skin was smooth. Because you smelled like vanilla and his body wash. Because your breathing had gone slower, heavier, but not deep enough to say you were truly asleep. And because you’d been inches away from him for ten solid minutes, and he was almost certain the mattress had started shrinking just to screw with him.

His mind spiraled in every direction—don’t look, don’t touch, don’t think. Especially don’t think.

He swallowed hard, chest tightening when you shifted again, this time dragging your leg slightly against his, a friction that had no idea how dangerous it was.

“Can’t sleep?” your voice came through the dark, quiet. Soft. Laced with sleep.

Heeseung let out a slow breath. “No.”

Not when you’re wearing next to nothing in my bed. Not when you keep moving like that. Not when I can smell you.

He didn’t say it.

He just laid there, staring at the ceiling like it was his only ally in this war.

There was rustling beside him. Sheets moving.

And then—

You turned.

Faced him.

He could feel it—your presence shifting, your warmth moving closer. Then your face, just barely lit, settled near his. Inches. Maybe less. He turned his head and you were right there.

Your eyes found his.

And he couldn’t breathe.

“Why did you have to resort to fake dating?” you asked softly, voice low, barely a whisper. Like it was a secret meant only for this room. Only for him.

He blinked. The question registered—somewhere far away. But mostly he was focused on how close you were. How your breath skimmed his chin. How your lips were parted just enough, soft, tempting, completely unaware of the absolute chaos you were causing.

“What?” he managed, though it sounded hoarse.

You didn’t back away.

Your gaze stayed on his like you were still trying to figure him out. “Why’d you resort to this? Paying someone $500 to pretend they like you… must be—”

“Weird?” he said, lips twitching faintly.

You shook your head. “Exhausting.”

That word sat heavy between you.

He swallowed again, eyes flicking down—just for a second—to your mouth.

“I just…” he hesitated, jaw tensing, “I guess I don’t want Grandpa to be disappointed.”

Your features softened. He could see it—could feel the way your expression shifted, less teasing now, more understanding. More real.

You blinked slowly, and then, before he could even brace for it, your hand brushed against his under the covers. Light. Unintended. But it stayed.

Heeseung’s pulse jumped.

You didn’t move away.

Neither did he.

“I don’t think he’d ever be disappointed in you,” you said quietly, your voice gentler now.

And for a moment, neither of you spoke.

The space between you disappeared.

The tension changed—thicker, charged. Heeseung could feel it building in the air between your knees, your chests, your breath.

He didn’t touch you.

Didn’t dare.

But he wanted to.

God help him, he wanted to.

His hand lay there beneath the blanket, centimeters from yours. Still. Controlled. Every muscle in his body tense with the effort of not reaching. Not brushing his thumb across your knuckles. Not leaning forward just to see what your lips might feel like under his.

And then—quietly, like a sigh—he spoke.

“You’d be surprised.”

Your brow furrowed. “About what?”

He turned his head toward you, gaze meeting yours in the dark.

“About Grandpa,” he said, voice soft, almost like it wasn’t meant to be said aloud. “It seems like his whole mission is to make sure I’m happy, yeah. But I don’t think he knows how. So he fills in the blanks. Tries to fix things I don’t say out loud.”

You were quiet for a beat, processing that.

Then, “Are you kidding me? It seems like his entire life revolves around you. The way he talks about you, it’s like this life mission is to keep you happy.”

He let out a soft, dry laugh. “Happy or not alone?”

Your eyes searched his face, reading more in the curve of his lips than in the words themselves.

“In his defense,” you murmured, smiling just a little, “you can be kinda… aloof.”

He turned toward you slightly, one arm propped beneath his pillow. “Oh really?”

You nodded, suppressing a grin. “When I first met you, you said I was late.”

“You were late.”

“I was two minutes late.”

“And that’s still late.”

You huffed a laugh, leaning in just slightly, forehead nearly brushing his. “That’s not late. That’s margin-for-error-level arrival.”

“It’s a time commitment. If someone says 2:30, it means 2:30. Not 2:32. Not 2:31 and thirty seconds. 2:30.”

“You’re such a weirdo,” you whispered, eyes sparkling in the low light.

He smirked. “You’re the one fake-dating the weirdo.”

“Yeah, well,” you murmured, voice quieter now, “he’s growing on me.”

Heeseung blinked.

Just once.

And everything in him stilled.

You didn’t mean to say it. Or maybe you did. You weren’t sure anymore. But it was out there now, floating between your shared breaths, warm and weightless.

The silence returned—but this time, it wasn’t empty.

And neither of you moved.

But that space between your hands?

It got smaller.

And smaller.

Until your pinkies brushed.

And neither of you pulled away.

“I don’t have to… submit a request to kiss you, do I?” you whispered, your voice feather-light, but laced with something deeper—something that curled low in your belly and dared to rise.

Heeseung blinked, startled.

“What?”

“The contract,” you said, gaze flickering down to his mouth. “Clause Five. Physical contact?”

His expression twitched—something between amused and completely wrecked.

“You’re an idiot,” he murmured.

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t soft.

Not hesitant. Not even close.

He surged forward, one hand tangling in your hair, the other gripping your waist like he’d been holding back for hours—days—and couldn’t do it a second longer. His lips crashed into yours, hot and hungry, all restraint forgotten.

Your breath caught—then disappeared completely.

You kissed him back just as desperately, your fingers curling into the front of his shirt, yanking him impossibly closer. The warmth of his body pressed flush against yours, the heat rolling off him. His mouth moved over yours like he’d been waiting for this–firm, demanding, a little messy, a lot needy.

You gasped when his teeth grazed your bottom lip, and he took the chance—deepened the kiss, tongue sliding against yours in a way that made your thighs clench, your entire body arch into him without thinking. Your hand fisted at the back of his neck, pulling, anchoring, grounding yourself as your mouths moved in perfect, aching sync.

His other hand slid under the hem of your—his—shirt, fingers splaying over your bare waist. His palm was warm, calloused, and when his thumb dragged slowly along the soft curve of your side, you shivered.

He pulled you until you were nearly straddling his thigh, your legs tangled with his under the sheets. His lips left yours just long enough to catch his breath, only to return to the corner of your mouth, your jaw, the sensitive spot just below your ear.

You let out a noise—somewhere between a gasp and a sigh—and he cursed under his breath.

“I’m gonna lose my goddamn mind,” he whispered against your skin.

“You already are,” you panted, tugging him back in.

He kissed you again, harder this time. Like this had stopped being fake a long time ago and neither of you had realized it until now.

You felt his breath hitch, his hands still roaming your sides, reverent and aching and starved.

And in that dark, breathless tangle of limbs and mouths and months of built-up tension, one truth burned bright:

This wasn’t part of the contract.

This was real.

And you both knew it.

The moment your mouths found each other again, it shifted.

The desperation from before—hot and rushed—simmered into something deeper. Slower. More dangerous. Like you were both savoring what you already knew would ruin you.

His lips dragged over yours with purpose, tongue sweeping slow and teasing before pressing deeper, pulling a soft, wrecked sound from your throat that made him groan into the kiss.

He rolled slightly, his hand gripping your thigh, fingers slipping under the hem of your borrowed shirt—his shirt—his thumb brushing the bare skin there like it was something sacred. You gasped, the contact sparking fire under your skin.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he muttered against your lips, forehead resting against yours as he caught his breath, voice hoarse.

You barely managed to respond before he was kissing you again—slower this time, but no less intense.

Your own fingers slipped beneath his shirt, running along the firm lines of his stomach, the dip of his waist, the warm, smooth skin stretched over lean muscle.

You pressed closer, your legs tangling with his under the sheets, the soft brush of his sweats against your bare thigh igniting something primal. His hand found the curve of your ass, dragging you just that much closer as he kissed you deeper, harder.

The air grew heavier, your bodies slick with heat and friction.

And then he pulled back—barely—his lips kiss-swollen, chest rising and falling in heavy breaths. His eyes were dark, wild, but searching yours with something softer beneath it all. Something that ached.

“This isn’t just the contract anymore, is it?” you whispered, voice cracking at the edges.

His thumb brushed along your jaw.

“No,” he said. “Not even close.”

—-

The sunlight poured in far too kindly for the chaos it was about to illuminate.

You stirred first, blinking blearily as your body slowly registered the warmth next to you. A solid chest. An arm draped loosely across your waist. A slow, even breath at the back of your neck.

And then it hit you.

You weren’t in your bed.

You were in his.

You were in Lee Heeseung’s bed.

And right—right—you remembered now.

Flashes of last night hit like a slow-burning montage.

His hand cradling your face. The way his voice cracked when he said it wasn’t fake. The way he kissed you like he meant it. Like you were something he'd been holding back from for far too long.

Then—heat. Teeth. Hands. Skin on skin.

And now?

You were naked.

Fully. Absolutely. No-fabric-in-sight kind of naked.

Your eyes snapped open.

You lifted the edge of the blanket and peeked underneath.

“Oh my god,” you whispered. “Shit.”

Your cheeks blazed as you slowly, carefully dropped the covers like they had personally offended you.

You had done it.

You had done did it with your fake boyfriend.

Who was also your fake boss.

Who was also—by technical definition—your employer.

Your CEO.

“Shit,” you muttered again, burying your face into the stupidly soft pillow.

Everything about last night replayed in agonizing, high-definition clarity.

And yet—beneath the panic, beneath the mild oh-my-god-I-slept-with-the-CEO breakdown—a softer, more terrifying feeling began to surface.

Because it hadn’t been just physical.

You remembered how he looked at you before it even began. How he touched you like you were something breakable. How, afterwards, he didn’t just roll over and sleep—he stayed close. Held you. Let his fingers run gently along your back like he didn’t want the moment to end.

And now you were awake.

Naked.

In his bed.

It was an HR violation with a side of deep emotional confusion.

Except you weren’t technically working for him. Not in that way.

You weren’t on his payroll, didn’t report to him, weren’t attending Monday meetings and yet… you were getting paid. By him. For relationship labor.

So what was this?

What was he to you?

You clutched the blanket to your chest, eyes wide, brain spiraling like a loading screen with no internet connection.

You were going insane. That was the only logical explanation.

And maybe—just maybe—your inner meltdown was loud enough to wake the man beside you.

Heeseung stirred beside you, letting out a soft groan. His arm stretched, his hair falling into his eyes as he rubbed at them groggily. Still half-asleep, he blinked blearily at you, then glanced around the room like he was buffering.

“…What time is it?” he muttered, voice still raspy from sleep.

You cleared your throat. “Uh. Eight.”

His eyes widened slightly. “Don’t you have a lecture?”

You clutched the blanket tighter. “It’s not like I can go now.”

“I can drive you—”

“It’s fine.” You looked away, heat crawling up your neck. “I’ll just ask Jungwon for notes.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then Heeseung sat up straighter, blinking the last bits of sleep from his eyes.

His hair was adorably messy—tufts sticking out at odd angles, like he'd lost a round with the pillow. His voice, still husky and half-croaked, sharpened with sudden realization.

And then… his eyes dropped.

Just briefly.

A subtle glance under the blanket that covered both of you, then back up to you.

His entire face went red.

Not just a light flush. Red. Crimson. Full-body blush like he’d been slapped by the truth.

“Did we…” he asked, voice almost squeaking at the end.

You stared at him.

He stared at you.

Then down at the blanket.

Then back at you again.

Your own cheeks heated in response, but you somehow managed to keep a straight face. “Heeseung.”

His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

“I mean—like—did we actually…” he flailed, hand gesturing vaguely toward the bed, the room, your bare shoulders.

You raised a brow and slowly lifted the blanket just enough to peek.

Then dropped it.

“Unless I had a really intense dream and sleepwalked out of my underwear,” you said dryly, “yes. We did.”

Heeseung made a noise—something between a cough and a whimper—and dragged a hand down his already-flushed face.

“I swear I don’t usually do this,” he mumbled into his palm.

“Neither do I,” you muttered, staring at the ceiling like it had answers. “Believe it or not, this isn’t standard protocol in fake dating.”

“God,” he whispered.

Silence settled over the bed again. Awkward. Tangled in expensive sheets. Full of unsaid things.

Then, softly, almost shyly, he added, “Was it… okay?”

You turned your head slowly, raising one unimpressed brow. “Are you asking me for a Yelp review?”

Heeseung groaned and flopped back onto the mattress, pulling a pillow over his face.

You snorted. “For the record,” you said, staring at the ceiling again, “I’d give it a solid four and a half stars.”

He peeked out from under the pillow.

“Four and a half?”

“You lost half a star for the part where you knocked over the lamp.”

“You moaned my name when that happened!”

You rolled your eyes, biting down a grin. “Okay, then what about me?”

He blinked. “What?”

“Me, Heeseung.” You turned your head to face him fully, the blanket still tucked under your arms. “Did I… I mean, did I do fine? Because I haven’t really—”

Your voice trailed off awkwardly. Heat crawled up your neck. You tried to brush it off with a casual shrug. “I haven’t, like… done that in a while. At all. So if I was, like, bad or weird or made a weird noise or elbowed you in the ribs—”

Heeseung sat up, eyebrows raised, lips twitching like he was trying very hard not to look completely charmed.

“I don’t need to know about your ‘previous ones,’” he said, air-quoting with a soft laugh, “but I thought you were…”

He hesitated for a second. Like the compliment got stuck in his throat.

You raised an eyebrow. “You thought I was…?”

His eyes met yours—steadier now.

“I thought you were beautiful,” he said simply.

—-

You didn’t have to tell Jake that something happened.

Son of a bitch knew.

Knew it before you said a word. Probably the second he walked into the apartment and caught you humming Levitating while making coffee with the dopiest smile known to mankind.

So now here he was.

Storming into Heeseung’s office with murder in his eyes and violence in his heart.

“Jake!” you yelled, already chasing after him in panic. “Jake, don’t—”

Too late.

The door slammed open.

Jake marched in like a one-man riot, fists clenched, breathing like he’d just sprinted through traffic—and made it his personal mission to ruin one (1) rich man’s entire day.

“You slept with my best friend?!” he roared.

Heeseung blinked from behind his desk. “…What?”

Jake didn’t wait. “You SLEPT with her?!”

Then he lunged.

Like physically lunged.

“Jake!” you shrieked, grabbing his arm, but he twisted out of your grip like some low-budget action movie star. “I swear I didn’t tell him! He figured it out on his own.”

Heeseung dodged just in time. “Dude! What the hell?!”

“You absolute bastard!” Jake shouted, winding up for Round Two.

“Can you not try to assault him?!”

“I’m not his employee anymore! I quit! I QUIT, baby!” Jake yelled, chest heaving as he pointed at Heeseung with a shaking hand. “Which means I can say whatever the hell I want and throw hands freely!”

Heeseung held up both palms. “I don’t even know what’s happening right now—”

“She was singing Dua Lipa, man.”

Heeseung paused. “…What?”

“LEVI-FUCKING-TATING.”

You groaned. “Jake, please don’t—”

“She only sings that damn song when something life-altering happens. Once after her ex situationship finally disappeared from the face of the Earth, and once when she found fifty bucks in a jean jacket she forgot she owned.”

“Okay, that second one was a really good day,” you muttered.

Jake spun dramatically, wild-eyed. “Exactly! So when I walk in and hear her humming the post-coital anthem of joy, don’t expect me to sit quietly and sip tea!”

“You drink cold brew,” Heeseung said numbly.

Jake turned on him. “Don’t you dare correct me right now, Lee! You think you can just—just—have sex with her like it’s nothing? Like she’s just one of your carefully-scheduled board meetings? Bro, this isn’t a calendar event. This is a human woman! She’s the love of my platonic life!”

“Jake, oh my god,” you groaned.

“She’s not some emotionally available guinea pig you can use to test whether or not you’re capable of affection! She is smart, and kind, and sings weird songs when she’s nervous, and loves shitty takeout dumplings! She is—” Jake choked on his own rage. “She is MY best friend. Yea, she can be irritating. A little annoying. Doesn’t use a coaster. Loud as hell—”

“Get to the point.”

He pointed at Heeseung again. “BUT if you hurt her, I will haunt you. Alive.”

“…Still don’t know what any of this means,” Heeseung muttered.

Jake didn’t even blink. “It means exactly what it sounds like.”

Then, softer, almost broken, “We want out. I don’t care if she doesn’t say it—I’m saying it. This arrangement? This fake dating thing? Over.”

You stared at him, guilt and panic knotting together in your stomach.

Jake took a breath. His voice cracked as he added, “You can’t just sleep with her and expect me not to beat your ass.”

He turned, ready to leave.

And muttered one last time under his breath:

“Levitating. Fuckin’ hell.”

Then walked out.

Slammed the door.

Left behind a room full of stunned silence and one emotionally derailed CEO.

Heeseung turned slowly to look at you.

“…You sing Levitating after sex?”

You groaned, face in your hands. “I’m never listening to Dua Lipa again.”

You and Heeseung exchanged a look.

Then together, without a word, you marched out of the office in search of one (1) dramatic, emotionally unstable Jake Sim. He hadn’t made it far—just outside the hallway, pacing and muttering to himself like he was trying to manifest a HR lawsuit.

You each grabbed an arm and yanked him back inside.

“Jake,” you said sweetly, too sweetly. “Jake Sim. My baby. My sweet, sweet emotional support delinquent.”

Heeseung stiffened beside you, maybe a little jealous. “Not loving the pet names, but okay.”

You ignored him. “Look. Fine, yes, Heeseung and I… slept together…but—”

Jake immediately slapped his hands over his ears. “Lalalalala—I do not need to hear about something that repulsive before I’ve had my first fucking meal of the day.”

“Let me finish! Jake. JAKE!” you swatted at his hands, trying to pry them off. “Jake Sim, you son of a—get your hands off your ears, you dramatic toddler!”

The two of you spiraled into a flailing, full-body slap-fight. It was mostly ineffective but very loud. You were pulling, he was twisting, there was shouting, and all the while Heeseung stood there watching like a war correspondent reporting live from the world’s most undignified domestic disaster.

“YEAH!” you shouted suddenly, loud enough to shake the windows. “YEAH, WE FUCKED!”

Jake froze.

“I’M TALKING FUCKED SO GOOD—”

“EW! Get your musty, dusty, grimy little goblin fingers off me, you unhinged FREAK!” Jake hissed, fighting you off like a wild animal.

“Okay,” Heeseung said quietly in the background, looking one emotional outburst away from leaving the country.

The wrestling match raged on until—

“OKAY!” Heeseung snapped, louder this time.

You and Jake both froze mid-grapple, hands still locked like a pair of tangled action figures.

Heeseung ran a hand down his face, exhaling hard. Then, leveling his gaze at Jake, he said, “Yes. We slept together.”

Jake narrowed his eyes like a detective about to call bullshit, “I—”

“But I’m not playing with her,” Heeseung said. “Despite what you think, this isn’t a joke. This isn’t some fake PR stunt. And it sure as hell isn’t a game.”

Jake folded his arms, jaw tight. “And why the hell should I believe you? Huh, Mr. Contract Clause Five No Touching? Mr. Emotionally Constipated CEO? Mr. Fake Dating Lying Bitch—”

“You really gotta stop calling everyone ‘bitch’ in this office,” Heeseung muttered.

Jake didn’t blink. “Bitch.”

You sighed so hard your soul briefly left your body.

But then—Heeseung took a step forward.

Calmer now. Firmer.

“I’m serious,” he said, voice quieter this time. “I like her. A lot.”

Silence.

Complete. Deafening. Awkward silence.

Jake blinked.

You blinked.

Heeseung, for the first time in this entire conversation, looked… a little nervous.

“And I like her,” he said again. “As in—I want this to be real. If she’ll let it.”

Jake stared at him. Then looked at you.

You were too stunned to say anything.

Mouth slightly open.

Heart pounding like it was trying to escape your chest.

“You…” You swallowed. “You like me? Like you find me attractive kind of like me or is this a friendship kind of thing…”

Heeseung looked at you—really looked at you—like he had been holding that in for longer than he’d ever admit. His voice, when he spoke, was low and sure and a little wrecked.

“Well, you didn’t think I’d just do what I did with anyone, did you?”

Your face burned. “I just assumed—”

“That I was emotionally void?”

“...Kind of?”

He let out a short breath that might’ve been a laugh. “Fair.”

There was a pause. Not heavy. Not awkward. Just… full. Full of everything unsaid between the two of you. Full of five fake dates, one very real night, and every tiny glance in between.

He shifted a little closer, his tone softer now. Sincere.

“Look,” he said. “I know we haven’t known each other long. Barely a month, honestly. And maybe this wasn’t how either of us expected to start… anything. But if you’d let me—if you’re okay with it—I’d love to take you out.”

He smiled. Not the polished, press-ready one. A real one.

“For real this time.”

Before you could respond—

“Over my dead body!” Jake shrieked from the couch, hand dramatically raised like he was about to object in court.

You whipped your head around. “Jake Sim. I swear to God—” Your death glare could’ve ignited small fires.

Jake whimpered. Whimpered. And slowly sank back into the cushions like a chastised poodle.

You turned back to Heeseung, still breathless, still unsure if you were dreaming.

“So… we don’t have to lie anymore?” you asked. Voice small. Hopeful.

“This doesn’t have to be fake?”

Heeseung’s eyes were on you. Gentle. Steady. A little pink around the edges, like he was terrified you’d say no.

“No,” he said. “Not if you don’t want it to be.”

You exhaled. Slowly. Fully. Like you hadn’t realized you’d been holding your breath for days.

“So…” you leaned in slightly, tilting your head with the faintest grin. “You mean I can kiss you… without submitting a formal request?”

Heeseung smirked. “Correct.”

“And touch you without sending an email for approval?”

“You never had to do that.”

“I was being respectful.”

“You licked the top of my bubble tea straw in front of my boardroom.”

Jake groaned from the couch. “I’m going to vomit.”

You ignored him.

“So,” you said again, brushing your hand against Heeseung’s. “If this is real now…”

He turned his palm up. Laced his fingers with yours.

“Then maybe,” he murmured, eyes on your lips, “you should kiss me. No email. No contract. No Jake screaming.”

You smiled, heart fluttering somewhere near your throat.

And then, without another word, you leaned in—and Heeseung met you halfway.

The kiss wasn’t soft this time.

It was a collision.

Weeks of tension, fake-flirting, lingering looks, and one very real night all combusting into one hungry, breath-stealing kiss. His hand cradled the back of your head, your fingers gripping onto the collar of his stupidly expensive shirt.

He deepened the kiss, your noses bumping, your breath catching, your entire body leaning into his like you were trying to erase every inch of space between you.

And then—

“Get me outta here.” Jake groaned loudly from the couch.

You broke apart, lips flushed, cheeks hot, both of you turning in perfect sync to glare at him.

Jake, as always, remained completely unfazed.

He sat up, stretched dramatically, then sauntered across the room, like he wasn’t the same person who just tried to commit CEO murder twenty minutes ago.

“So,” he said, clapping his hands together. “About the whole ‘I quit’ thing…”

Heeseung raised an eyebrow.

Jake smiled sheepishly. “Yeah, uh, I was kinda joking. Like. Performance art. Stress-induced drama. You get it.”

You crossed your arms. “You literally said ‘I want out, and I speak for both of us.’”

“Right, but I was speaking from a place of deep emotional instability.” He pointed at Heeseung. “So. Let’s all just call it even.”

Heeseung narrowed his eyes. “You screamed ‘bitch’ at me five times in a row.”

Jake held up a finger. “Technically three of those were about the situation, not you personally.”

You blinked. “Jake.”

Jake turned to you, smiling way too brightly. “I’m just saying—if I don’t get paid this week, I will marry a rich sugar daddy.”

You snorted. “Honestly? Kind of tempting.”

Jake pointed at you with full enthusiasm. “RIGHT? We could be a duo! I’ll make a spreadsheet. We’ll tag-team it—me and you, taking turns flirting with eligible old men at yacht clubs.”

Heeseung froze.

You blinked. “You made a spreadsheet?”

Jake nodded proudly. “I could make one that’s color-coded. We’ll have target age ranges, net worth minimums, and a calendar for shared sugar daddy rotations. If we get a two-for-one, I call dibs on the one with the villa in Capri.”

You tried so hard not to laugh.

Heeseung, meanwhile, was gripping his pen a little too tightly.

“Jake,” he said slowly, voice eerily calm. “You’re rehired.”

Jake blinked. “Wait, really?”

“Yes.” Heeseung didn’t even look up. “Starting now. With a strict office policy: no more saying the word ‘bitch’…”

Jake opened his mouth.

“…Or sugar daddy.”

Jake frowned. “Is this a personal rule or an HR rule?”

“Yes.”

Jake squinted at him, then grinned with evil glee. “Oh my God. You’re jealous.”

“I’m not jealous,” Heeseung said through clenched teeth.

Jake ignored him entirely, turning to you. “You think if I start dressing like you, I’ll get a CEO to kiss me on a rooftop?”

You smirked. “You gotta be more charming like me, dude”

Jake nodded thoughtfully. “You’re right. I’d get too attached. I’m more of a ‘ruin your life in a week and leave behind a playlist’ kind of guy.”

Heeseung pinched the bridge of his nose.

Jake kept going. “Anyway, I’m free Thursday if you wanna start scouting sugar daddies in the CBD.”

“She’s not free Thursday,” Heeseung said flatly.

Jake blinked. “Oh? And why’s that?”

Heeseung looked right at him, then at you. “Because we have plans.”

You choked.

Jake grinned. “Oh, you’re so jealous.”

Heeseung leaned back, calm but dangerous. “And if you ever mention her dating anyone else again, you’ll be the first person I rehire just to fire.”

Jake raised both hands. “Damn. Okay. Y’all got real.”

He looked at you.

“You sure you don’t wanna keep sugar daddy scouting just in case this one implodes emotionally?”

You smiled sweetly. “Jake?”

“Yeah?”

“Get out.”

“Right, right. Leaving.” He paused dramatically at the door. “But if you change your mind—Villa. Capri. Matching linens.”

The door shut behind him.

Silence.

You turned to Heeseung. “You know he’s gonna keep this over your head, right?”

Heeseung looked at you—then, with the softest smile, pulled you closer.

“As if you could find a better sugar daddy than me.”

part 1

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basically-an-anime-stan-acct · 2 years ago

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Couldn’t have said it any better myself. 🙏🏼🤍

I loved satoru back in 2020, loved him last year, loved him last month, loved him so much last wk, I loved him yesterday, loving him right now, I will love him tomorrow and I will definitely love him forever.

#I am emotionally unavailable for the rest of my life fr #Gojo forever THE one #Gege count your days 😭#you’re my 13th reason #gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen

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fatecantstopme · 4 months ago

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Picture Myself Happy

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader

Summary: Follows the story line of episodes 17-21 of season 5. Lisa doesn't exist, instead it's (Y/N).

Warnings: canon violence, cursing, use of pet names. SMUT, oral (F and M receiving), unprotected sex (P in V), face sitting, light dirty talk.

"Dean? You okay?" you asked softly.

The look he gave you more than answered your question, but he responded anyway. "I'm about as far from okay as I possibly can be."

"I think we all are."

Dean shook his head. "My decisions have an impact on the entire world, (Y/N)--the world! And I'm sitting here denying fate. Where's that gotten me?"

"What are you trying to say?" you asked softly.

He buried his head in his hands. "I don't know...It doesn't matter."

"It matters to me."

Dean looked back up at you, face full of pain. You were certain he was going to say more, but his reply was cut off by Sam's voice calling his name.

"We've got an insane amount of demon omens in some tiny ass town in middle-of-nowhere Minnesota."

"Great," Dean mumbled as he stood up, face once again an impenetrable mask. "Guess we should get rolling."

You stood up too, but Dean cut you a look and shook his head. "Not happening."

"Dean, come on. I'm more than ready."

"Absolutely not. You almost died not that long ago. You need to rest."

"I've been resting for weeks. I feel fine," you insisted.

"Maybe she's right, Dean," Sam cut in. "We could really use the help."

"I'm the oldest and I say it ain't happening--got it?"

"Actually, I'm the oldest," Bobby quipped as he wheeled into the room. "Now, what exactly are we fighting about?"

"(Y/N) thinks she's ready to hunt again," Dean answered.

"Because I am."

Bobby's expression softened as he looked at you. "As much as I hate to say it, I think you should sit this one out (Y/N/N). Besides, I could really use your help here. You're better at research than either of these knuckleheads."

You were about to protest, but decided against it when you saw the worry in Bobby's eyes. He'd always been good to you and you owed him your life--you didn't wanna worry him more than you needed to. "Alright, alright. I'll sit this one out."

Dean nodded, seemingly pleased. "I'll call you when we get there--let you know we're safe."

You sighed, but nodded your agreement. You hated watching the boys leave to go on a hunt on their own--especially these days. End of the world and all that.

You watched in silence as Sam and Dean gathered their minimal belongings and piled into the Impala. You waved goodbye before coming back inside, expression clouded with a variety of inexpressible emotions.

The last two years had been a whirlwind for all of you--drawing all of you closer together. You cared very deeply for the Winchester boys and for Bobby, and they cared for you.

You were the same age as Sam, so the two of you hit it off with ease, but the elder Winchester was a little less trusting. The fact that Bobby trusted you meant a hell of a lot to Dean and went a long way in getting him to trust you enough to help on a couple hunts. You were a great hunter and before long, the three of you were almost inseparable.

You counted all three men as family and you knew they felt the same way about you, although you wished Dean's emotions aligned with your own. You weren't sure exactly when it happened, but you realized your feelings had changed one day during a particularly brutal hunt where you almost lost Dean. Somehow, in the midst of the shitstorm that was your lives, you'd managed to fall in love with the most emotionally unavailable man alive.

To make matters worse, you could never tell him for fear of damaging the little family unit you'd created for yourself. Instead, you stood on the sidelines, watching him flirt with every woman with legs and take more of them to bed than you'd cared to count. It made your chest ache, but you hid it well--even from Sam.

Loving Dean Winchester had never been a part of your plans, but you couldn't stop it from happening anymore than you could turn those feelings off now. Every time he walked out the door, you were terrified it would be the last time you would ever see him. You knew he was strong, but you also knew how self-destructive he could be.

He'd been different in recent months and you saw it more than anyone else did. For some reason, Dean chose to confide in you--perhaps because you listened quietly without judgment. You wanted nothing more than to see him find his way back to himself again and you hoped you were there to witness it.

"You gonna come back in or just stare off into the distance all night?" Bobby called to you from inside.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," you grumbled. "I was just lost in thought."

Bobby gave you a knowing look, which you chose to ignore. "Don't you have some research you need help with?"

He rolled his eyes, but didn't comment. He handed you a book and muttered, "Get to reading."

**********

"Dean's gone."

"What the hell do you mean he's gone?" you yelled into the phone.

"I mean he literally took off, (Y/N)!" Sam yelled back. "He killed the Whore of Babylon--which should have been impossible--and then he took off!"

"He...Sam, that's not possible."

"I was there--saw it with my own eyes."

"I, too, was there," Cas said in the background.

"Only a true servant of heaven can kill her," you said, bewildered.

"Exactly," Sam said, voice much softer than before.

"No," you whispered, disbelief lacing your words. "No--he wouldn't."

Sam understood your meaning. "I don't know anymore, (Y/N). I just don't know."

"We have to find him."

"I have a few ideas of where to find him, but I know he's going to come see you first."

"Why me?"

"To say goodbye," Sam said softly.

Your eyes fluttered closed and you could feel tears pressing against them. "I'll call you if he shows up here," you whispered.

Bobby rolled up behind you as you hung up the phone. "What's wrong?"

"I think Dean's going to say yes to Michael."

Bobby's expression perfectly matched the way you were feeling. A mixture of horror, disbelief, pain, and unbridled terror.

There wasn't much more to say after that--you were both just left to wait. There was nothing left for you to do but wait and see if he'd come home.

**********

The next day, there was a quiet knock on Bobby's front door. It was early in the morning and the older man was sound asleep in the middle of a pile of books on his desk.

You went to the door and peered out to find Dean's face looking back at you. You tugged open the door with more force than you'd intended to and stepped out onto the porch.

"Where have you been?" you snapped. "We were so worried."

"I'm sorry, (Y/N)--I should have called."

"Yes, you should have."

"I--uh, well I can't stay long, but I wanted to come see you."

"Dean, please tell me you're not going to do anything stupid."

He smiled weakly. "Now when have I ever done anything stupid?"

You didn't acknowledge his teasing like you normally would--too worried about the truth hidden behind his sarcasm. "You can't say yes," you whispered.

He gave you a pained smile. "I don't really have a choice, (Y/N/N)."

"Of course you have a choice, Dean! We always have a choice."

"If I don't--the whole freaking world burns! Do you have any idea what it's like to carry that weight on your shoulders?"

You shook your head. "I can't imagine the burden--nor can I imagine losing you to some asshole with wings."

He chuckled softly at that. "None of this matters right now--this isn't what I came here to say."

"Then what did you come here to say?"

He stepped forward and took your hand in his. You were surprised by the gesture, but you didn't pull away.

"You know, our lives are messed up. They're complicated and full of pain and darkness and death. There's not much happiness in our lives--especially not before you came into mine."

Tears filled your eyes as you listened to his words.

"When I picture myself happy, it's with you," he whispered. "I just wanted you to know that."

You inhaled sharply and the tears began to flow freely. "Dean, don't--"

He brushed his lips against your forehead, silencing your pleas.

"Don't worry, (Y/N/N). You'll be fine--I'll make sure of it. They're not getting what they want from me without meeting some conditions first."

"Dean, please don't do this. Just come inside and we can talk about it," you begged.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he said softly. "I have to."

As you opened your mouth to respond, Castiel appeared directly behind Dean. You knew there was a possibility he would never forgive you for this, but you couldn't let him say yes. "I'm sorry too."

He looked confused for a moment until he heard Cas's voice from behind him. "Hello Dean." As soon as the hunter turned around, Cas used his grace to knock him unconscious.

Cas looked up at you with a surprising amount of sorrow on his face. "I will carry him inside."

You watched as the angel picked up the much larger man and walked towards the door.

"Did Bobby call you?"

"He overheard at least part of your conversation--enough to know Dean was here."

You nodded and followed him inside. "Good," you whispered.

**********

"Out of all people, I thought you would understand," Dean growled at you.

"You know what? I do understand! I understand your desire to self-destruct at every turn! I see the pain and the guilt and the utter emptiness inside you every time I look into your eyes, so don't you think for a second I don't understand."

He was taken aback by the anger in your voice--he wasn't used to you yelling at him with such intensity.

"It's for the greater good!"

"Screw the greater good, Dean! What happened to stopping the devil and saving the world, huh?"

"This is the only way!" he roared.

"I refuse to believe that," you said in a much more mannered tone. "I can't believe that...if I do, then it means everything we've done has been for nothing."

His expression softened. "No, (Y/N), wait--that's not--"

You held up your hand to stop him from talking. "I can't do this."

You walked away, leaving Dean alone in the panic room to stew with his thoughts.

"He still being an ass?" Bobby asked when you came back upstairs.

"Maybe you'll have better luck," you say to Cas. Both you and Sam had struck out.

"I will try." Instead of taking the stairs like a normal person, Cas zapped himself downstairs and stepped towards the panic room.

You had gone upstairs to get something from your room when you heard Sam yell your name. You came racing down the stairs, only to find the younger Winchester looking upset.

"Where's Cas?"

"Zapped to Oz," Sam fumed. "Dean's gone too."

"Great," you mumbled sarcastically. "Go find him. We'll watch Adam."

You were sitting in a chair, watching Adam sleep--in the least creepy way possible. You felt bad for the kid--it was a shitty life to be dragged into, especially after he was already in heaven.

Just as these thoughts were crossing your mind, Adam disappeared right before your eyes. You blinked a couple times, but the cot remained empty. "Bobby!"

**********

"What the hell do you mean he's gone?" Sam snapped at you.

"As I said before, he literally disappeared," you snapped back.

"Probably Zachariah," Castiel said as he appeared, holding a beaten Dean against his side.

"Dean!" you gasped. "What happened to him?"

"I did," Cas answered.

You were surprised, but you understood the angel's anger. After all, he'd believed in the Winchesters--in Dean--so vehemently that he rebelled against heaven--against everything he'd ever believed.

Cas tossed Dean's body onto the now-empty cot while you gathered some first aid supplies. You began to clean him up, listening wordlessly to the discussion happening around you.

"I think Dean should come," Sam said suddenly.

"Are you insane?" Bobby exclaimed.

"That is a terrible plan," Cas agreed.

Sam looked over at you for input, hoping you would be on his side. "What makes you think that's a good idea?" you asked gently.

"I have to believe he'll do the right thing."

You looked down at the still-unconscious man and sighed. He was the bravest and most loyal man you knew, but you also knew he could be stubborn and self-righteous to the point of aggravation. However, you believed in him too--maybe not as much as Sam, but it was there.

"I think it's highly likely he'll walk in there and say yes without a second thought--especially if it means saving you and Adam," you said honestly. "But I have to believe that in the moment, when it really matters, he'll do the right thing."

Sam gave you a small smile and a nod of gratitude.

"Now until then, could someone please move him down to the panic room?" you asked.

After Sam had talked to Dean and told him the plan, the two of them came upstairs to prepare to leave.

"Sam mentioned you agreed with him," Dean said softly, so only you could hear.

"There's no one I believe in more than you, Dean Winchester," you admitted. "You'll do the right thing."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because I know you," you said simply.

He shook his head. "I'm gonna say yes, you know."

"I'm sure you will," you murmured. "But in that moment--the moments before you decide--I want you to remember one thing."

He waited breathlessly for your next words.

"Only you get to decide your destiny."

Surprise lit up his handsome face. Out of all the things he'd expected you to say, that hadn't been on his list. "(Y/N), I--"

"Time to go, Dean," Cas interrupted.

You offered him a gentle smile. "Go--and remember what I said."

Sam, Dean, and Cas disappeared before your eyes and you felt the familiar terror wash over you. This time was so much worse than all the others--this time you really did believe he might not come home.

**********

"Hey (Y/N/N)," Dean said softly as you opened the front door. "Did you miss us?"

The brightest smile he'd ever seen lit up your face and you jumped into his arms. "Dean..." you murmured against his shoulder.

He held you tightly before gently setting you back down on the ground. You gave Sam a hug before the smile fell from your pretty face. "Cas? Adam?"

Sam just shook his head and you sighed sadly. "Well come in. Bobby will be glad to see you both."

The boys explained what had transpired in California as you and Bobby listened quietly. You were glad Dean hadn't really said yes to Michael. You couldn't help but stare at him more than usual, eyes seeking some kind of change in him.

You waited until a lull in the conversation to ask the question that had been eating at you. "So why didn't you say yes?"

Three sets of eyes fell on you, but the only ones you cared about were the mossy green ones.

"Sammy believed in me, even when I didn't deserve it--even when I didn't have the same faith in him. He was stupid enough to take me with him because of that faith...I couldn't let him down," Dean answered honestly. "And, well--I remembered what you said."

You offered him a small smile. "Well I'm glad you did."

Dean held up his beer in a mock 'cheers'. "Screw destiny. I think it's high past time we make our own."

"I can get behind that," Sam agreed.

"That'll work for me," you murmured.

"Well not to put a damper on our middle-finger-to-destiny party, but we still don't have a good plan to defeat Lucifer," Bobby chimed in.

"Buzz kill, Bobby," Dean grumbled.

"We'll figure something out. Somehow, we always do," you added.

**********

You were standing in Bobby's living room trying to find a specific book in the overwhelming piles stacked everywhere, when your phone started to ring.

You answered it without looking at the caller ID. "(Y/L/N)."

"Uhh, am I in trouble? It's Dean."

"Oh shit," you said quickly. "No, nothing like that. I just didn't look at the screen before I answered. What's up?"

"We hit some sort of freak storm coming back, so we're staying the night at a motel we happened to pass. I just wanted to let you know so you wouldn't worry."

You smiled even though he couldn't see you. "I appreciate the heads-up. Both of you stay safe and enjoy a nice night off."

"Thanks, (Y/N/N). You too."

It wasn't until Sam and Dean returned from the trip the next day that you learned of the events that had transpired the night before. Several old Pagan gods had gathered at the motel to discuss the end of the world and of course Sam and Dean just happened to be there too.

Apparently the intent was to use the boys as bait to lure Lucifer to the hotel and kill him--at least until Gabriel showed up and told everyone how terrible of an idea it was. Unfortunately, Lucifer had already been summoned by one of the gods and he ended up killing most of the other gods, as well as his brother Gabriel.

In positive news, Gabriel had given Sam and Dean the information needed to stop this whole showdown between Lucifer and Michael. Essentially, they needed all four Horsemen's rings in order to open Lucifer's cage and throw him back into it.

"Small problem with that plan," Bobby stated as the boys finished their explanation. "We only have two rings and we have exactly zero idea where Pestilence or Death is."

"You always manage to find the silver lining, Bobby," Dean said sarcastically.

"He is right though," you said gently. "And it's technically not the only problem. Even if we magically find the other two rings, we still have one very large problem. How the hell do we trick the devil back into the cage?"

"Shit," Dean mumbled. "I hadn't exactly thought that far ahead."

"That's why you have me."

"I guess (Y/N) and I will work on a way to trick the devil, while the two of you look for Pestilence," Bobby stated with a tone of finality.

**********

"This is an absolutely terrible idea," you said angrily. "Out of all the harebrained schemes you idiots have come up with over the years, this one takes the cake. Not only is he a demon, but he screwed us once already. Do you really think working with him is a good idea?"

Dean sighed and ran his hands over his face. "I don't like it anymore than you do, (Y/N/N), but he's the only lead we have."

"Besides, I'm completely trustworthy," Crowley commented as he appeared in Bobby's kitchen. "Well, at least as long as our interests are aligned."

"Fine, but the two of you aren't going alone with him," you said firmly.

"(Y/N), we'll be fine. You should stay here with Bobby."

"I don't need a damn babysitter, Dean," Bobby snapped. "(Y/N)'s better off with the two of you idjits--at least she'll make sure you don't come home dead."

You gave Dean a mirthless smirk and he grumbled in annoyance. "Fine."

"Nice digs," you said sarcastically as Crowley led you to the ramshackle house he'd been staying in.

"No need to be rude," he said in annoyance.

"Okay, what's the plan?" Sam asked.

"The plan, Moose, is for you and the girl to stay here, while Dean and I go to get the Horsemen's stable boy."

"Absolutely not!" you and Sam yelled at the same time.

"I'm not letting my brother go alone with you," Sam added.

"And I'm not letting you come with me," Crowley snapped back. "First of all, you keep trying to kill me, and secondly, I don't like you."

"Fair enough, but why do I have to stay behind?" you asked.

"Someone has to make sure little Sammy here doesn't do anything stupid."

Sam lunged for Crowley again, but you stepped in front of him, effectively blocking his assault. "Cool it, Sam."

Dean sighed, clearly not pleased with the whole situation, but you could see the resignation on his face. You knew what he was going to say before the words even came out of his mouth. "I'll go with Crowley. You two stay here."

"Dean--" you began.

"I'll be fine, (Y/N)."

It was your turn to sigh and nod in quiet acceptance. You looked at Crowley. "If he's not back in one piece, I will hunt you down and rip your heart out."

Crowley threw his hands up in mock surrender. "Understood."

You and Sam watched the two other men walk out the door, concern etched onto both of your faces.

"I don't like this," Sam muttered.

"Well that makes two of us."

"What did you miss about 'one piece'?" you snapped at Crowley when you saw the blood and bruises on Dean's face and torso.

"He's alive. Besides, I had nothing to do with it."

The look Dean gave him said otherwise.

"Technically," Crowley clarified.

You sighed. "You okay?" you asked Dean softly.

"It hurts, but I'll be fine."

Sam started to enter the room where Crowley and Dean had stashed the stable boy (aka Brady), but his entrance was blocked by Crowley.

"What are you doing?" Sam growled.

"Stopping you from mucking this up and ruining any chance we have at finding Pestilence."

"What's he talking about?" you asked.

"Sam--" Dean started.

"Get out of my way," Sam snapped at Crowley.

The demon grumbled, but stepped aside, allowing Sam to pass.

"Sam, just wait a minute," Dean called after him.

The next twenty minutes was a blur of trying to prevent Sam from killing Brady before you could get the information you needed, Crowley going and murdering a bunch of demons, and all of you being attacked by a damn hellhound.

As the five of you raced away from the hellhound fight, you muttered lowly, "Sometimes I really hate this job."

"Tell me about it," Dean agreed.

**********

"Why exactly do I need to sit this one out?" you asked in annoyance.

"Because," Dean started as he threw another weapon into his bag. "I don't like the idea of you going up against a Horseman, okay? It's dangerous."

"Everything we do is dangerous, Dean," you countered.

He sighed. "This is different."

"For the record, I don't like the idea of the two of you going up against Pestilence either--especially without backup."

Dean threw his bag into the trunk of the Impala and slammed it shut. "This whole mess is our fault, which makes it our problem to solve. I've never wanted to involve you in this hell."

"I know, Dean," you said softly. "But like it or not, I'm involved."

He closed his eyes briefly. "Just--stay here with Bobby, please. For me."

His voice was as close to begging as Dean Winchester ever got, so you sighed deeply and nodded, biting the inside of your lip to keep from saying anything else.

Dean pulled you into a tight hug, holding you a little longer than would be typical of a friendly hug. You tried not to notice or read into it--after all, just because Dean had told you he'd pictured himself happy with you didn't mean he wanted to be with you. He hadn't brought it up since, but you supposed there really hadn't been time.

"Be safe," you whispered as he pulled away.

"I always am."

You knew he was lying, but there was nothing you could do about it. Instead, you gave Sam a hug before watching them climb into the Impala and pull away.

When you walked back into the house, Bobby sensed your mood immediately. "You alright, kid?"

"I just don't like the idea of them going after Pestilence alone."

"I know you care about them, but they're tough boys, (Y/N). They'll be alright."

You gave Bobby a sad look. "I think we both know I care too much."

The older man sighed and nodded. "I don't think you can care too much," he said gently.

You understood what he meant, but you were too worried to respond. This was the reason why hunters didn't have families--love was a weakness that would only cause you more pain in the end.

**********

"No, no, no. Absolutely not."

"If it's the only way--" Bobby tried.

"I said no," you growled.

"Then we might as well accept defeat now," Crowley said. "Without the spell, we'll never find Death in time. Without Death's ring, we can't put Lucifer back in his cage, and the end of the world is back on."

"I'm not letting you sacrifice your soul, Bobby!"

"I'll give it back," Crowley insisted. "It's a temporary loan."

"You're a demon, Crowley," you deadpanned. "Trusting you would be insanity."

"I don't see another option," Bobby said quietly.

"The only other option I can see," Crowley mused, "is using (Y/N)'s soul."

"Over my dead body," Bobby seethed.

"If I won't let Bobby do it, why the hell would I give you mine?"

"I didn't think you would. I was simply offering up the only other option."

"(Y/N)..." Bobby said gently.

"I don't like this," you murmured.

"I know. I don't like it either, but it's our best shot."

You closed your eyes. "It's your soul, so it's your choice."

Bobby looked up at Crowley and nodded. "I'll do it."

When the boys returned looking a little worse for the wear, but alive, you were relieved to see them. Especially since they had Cas in tow.

You hugged the angel, eyes scanning over him for any obvious injuries before looking at Dean and Sam. "All three of you look like hell."

"It has not been a fun day," Castiel commented.

You patted his arm gently. "I'd imagine not."

"We got the ring, though," Dean stated. "So that's really all that matters."

"We, uhh--well we managed to find Death's location while you were gone," you said, hoping they wouldn't notice the worried look in your eyes.

"How?" Sam asked.

"With my help," Crowley stated. "And some assistance from Bobby, of course."

There was something in Crowley's tone that made Dean uncomfortable. "What the hell did you do?" he demanded, addressing Bobby.

"It's not a big deal," Bobby said.

"It only cost him his soul," you said lowly, worry lacing your words.

"What? Bobby, come on! You sold your soul?" Dean yelled.

"It's my damn soul, boy!"

"Technically it's on loan. I fully intend to give it back," Crowley interjected.

"Then give it back!" Dean snapped.

"I will, once Lucifer's back in his cage and we all go back to hating each other."

"You son of a bitch," Dean growled.

You stepped in, grabbing Dean's arm to hold him back. "It was Bobby's choice, Dean. We needed the information and it was going to be his soul or mine."

Dean's expression sobered. He didn't want Bobby's soul to be at risk, but he was beyond terrified of losing you. It would kill him if your soul was damned to hell. "If you don't return it, so help me god--"

"I already threatened him," you said softly. "Repeatedly."

"With torture, I might add," Crowley put in.

Dean almost looked proud. "Good."

"Now that's all settled," Crowley began. "We'd better get to Chicago before the storm of the century wipes the Windy City off the map."

**********

Sam pulled you and Dean outside to chat before preparing for the next mission. "I wanted to talk to the two of you alone."

"Is everything okay?" you asked softly.

"I was thinking about what you said--about getting Lucifer into the cage," Sam responded. "And I think I have a plan that will work."

"Okay, let's hear it," Dean prodded.

"So I already talked it over with Bobby and he was telling me how, when he was possessed, he managed to regain control of himself long enough to keep from killing Dean and stab himself--"

"I can see where you're going with this, and I don't like it," you interjected.

Sam ignored your interruption. "I think I can do the same with Lucifer."

"I'm sorry--what?" Dean exclaimed. "Are you suggesting saying yes to Lucifer?"

"Just long enough to get him into the cage," Sam admitted. "I don't see any other options."

"Absolutely not," Dean snapped. "No way--no way in hell."

"Sam," you said calmly, "this is Lucifer! Not just some low level demon. The amount of sheer force of will you'd need to overcome him is--well it's damn near impossible."

"I know that," Sam said softly. "But I think it's worth a try."

Dean was about to say something else when Crowley appeared with a newspaper in his hand. "Read the headline."

Sam took the paper and began to read, "Swine Flu Vaccines to be Shipped Nationwide by Niveus."

The three of you looked perplexed, causing Crowley to groan. "Niveus? Ring a bell, anyone?"

"Wait," you began, "Isn't that the company Brady worked for?"

Crowley nodded. "At least one of you has a brain. Brady was the senior VP of distribution, to be specific."

"Oh fuck," you muttered.

"Please don't tell me--" Dean started.

"Pestilence had a bigger plan. Swine flu was just the beginning," Sam stated.

"The vaccine is phase two," you whispered.

"Exactly," Crowley added. "And it's full of Croatoan Virus."

"Son of a bitch," Dean muttered.

"You've gotta admit, it's an effective way to infect more than half the country all at once," Sam said quietly.

"We have to stop the distribution," you announced. "When do the trucks roll out?"

"Tomorrow," Crowley answered.

"Great," Dean said sarcastically. "So all we have to do is save Chicago, take Death's ring, and stop the mass spreading of the Croatian Virus to the entire U.S....all in one day."

You sighed deeply. "Well, if anyone can do it, it's us."

Dean looked over at you, a proud smile on his face. "That's my girl."

You blushed and looked away, unaccustomed to hearing him call you 'his girl'. Sure, he called you 'sweetheart', but he called most women that. This felt different, and you weren't sure how you felt about it.

"Let's go save the world," Sam muttered.

**********

You hadn't wanted to separate from Dean, but you knew Sam, Cas, and Bobby would likely need your help more than Dean and Crowley did. You still didn't trust Crowley and you hated the idea of leaving him alone with Dean, especially when they were facing an apocalyptic storm and going up against one of the oldest creatures in creation--Death himself.

"You just gonna sit there?" Crowley asked Bobby, drawing you out of your thoughts.

"No, I'm gonna river dance," Bobby quipped back.

"I suppose if you wanna impress the ladies," he teased. "You know, you can really make these contracts work in your favor, for instance adding your legs as part of the deal."

Everyone stared at Bobby in silence as he slowly began to move his legs for the first time in what felt like eternity. You gasped in shock when he stood up to his full height and took a step forward.

The joy was short-lived, given the tasks you were about to complete. There were a couple hugs before everyone sobered up and finished preparing to leave.

You were about to get into the van with Cas, Bobby, and Sam, when Dean approached you and called your name.

"Dean? You okay?" you asked.

He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his hand lingering against your cheek for longer than it should have. "Just--just be careful, (Y/N/N). Please."

You smiled gently and nodded. "You too, Dean."

He pulled you into a tight hug, placing his lips into your hair, gently kissing the top of your head. "I can't lose you," he murmured so softly you almost didn't hear.

When he finally let you go, your eyes had begun to water--emotions bubbling up inside of you despite your best efforts to conceal them. "Come back to me," you choked out.

He gave you a sad smile as he stepped away. You saw him close his eyes as he swallowed thickly, clearly experiencing some complicated emotions of his own.

"Dean!" Crowley yelled. "Let's get a move on."

Dean groaned and his normal impassive mask slid back into place. "I'm coming, quit your whining." He gave you one last look before walking away from you.

Your heart ached in your chest, an overwhelming feeling of fear embedding itself in your bones. You watched him get into the driver's seat of the Impala before you managed to shake yourself out of whatever trance you were in and get into the van with the others.

"You good, (Y/N)? Bobby asked as you shut the door.

"All good," you lied. "Let's roll."

**********

"Have I mentioned how much I hate Croatoan Virus?" you grumbled as you shot yet another infected person who was charging your way.

"Maybe once or twice," Sam shot back.

"We should have known they would infect people before we got here," Bobby commented.

"Yeah, but at least we've stopped the shipment. Now we just gotta kill some Croats," you said with a smirk as you shot another one.

You and Sam traveled farther into the warehouse, following the sounds of people yelling for help. Cas and Bobby stayed up front to make sure no Croats escaped.

You were certain you had to be nearing the last of the infected people, but as you rounded a corner, one got the jump on you, tackling you to the ground. You fought with him, desperately trying to get him off of you so you could shoot him, but he sent your gun flying, leaving you defenseless.

You were starting to lose the battle, the Croat's teeth close to sinking into your flesh, when you heard a yell from behind you. The Croat looked up just in time to see Sam pull the trigger, bringing the terrifying moment to an end.

He helped you up and you retrieved your gun. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks for the save."

He smiled. "Any time."

The two of you started moving back towards the front of the building. You heard a sound down one of the aisles and you started in that direction. You nodded for Sam to get back to Bobby and Cas, confident you could handle the situation on your own.

You cleared the aisle, but didn't find anything. You started heading back when you heard Sam yell and you started running. You arrived just in time to see Castiel shooting a Croat in the head to save Sam.

He looked slightly pleased with himself, gazing down at the sawed off in his hands. "These things can be useful."

You chuckled and Bobby just shook his head.

Sam got up and clapped Cas on the shoulder, a silent thank you for saving him. "Alright, let's blow some stuff up," he said with a grin.

"This has always been my favorite part of the plan," you declared with a grin of your own.

When the four of you returned to Bobby's, you were pleased to learn Dean and Crowley's mission had also been a success. Not only had they saved Chicago, but Dean had managed to secure Death's ring and learn how to use the rings.

"How old do we think Death is, exactly?" you asked.

"He told me he was as old as God...maybe older, but neither of them could remember," Dean responded.

"Holy shit..."

"Yeah. He didn't exactly strike me as the forgiving type, so I doubt he'll appreciate me lying to him," Dean commented.

"You lied to Death? About what?"

"I told him I was okay with Sam saying yes to Lucifer."

You sighed quietly, not wanting to admit which side you fell on in this particular argument.

Thankfully, Bobby did have something to add. "You and I have always treated Sam like he's a kid, despite the fact that he's one of the toughest people I know. He's been running into burning buildings since he was what, 12?"

"Pretty much," Dean replied.

"I saw him today, Dean. We both did," Bobby said, looking over at you. "He's not that little kid anymore. He's strong--stronger than any of us give him credit for. I think we should have a little more faith in his abilities."

Dean looked over at you, silently asking for your input. "I've always believed in Sam," you said honestly. "I'm not gonna stop now."

Dean nodded, a look of resigned acceptance crossing his features.

**********

You'd just gotten out of the shower when you heard a knock on your bedroom door. "Just a second!" you called.

You quickly threw on pajama shorts and an old faded Led Zeppelin t-shirt, before throwing open the door without checking to see who it was.

"Dean," you gasped in surprise.

"Hey," he murmured awkwardly. "I, uhh--I was hoping we could talk."

"Oh, umm, sure." You stepped aside to let him in, shutting the door behind him.

He sat down on the edge of your bed, looking extremely uncomfortable.

"Everything okay?" you asked worriedly.

"I'm just thinking about what's going to happen in just a couple days and I--I don't want to leave things unsaid."

"Dean, we don't have to--"

"I need to, (Y/N/N)," he interjected. "Just in case."

You didn't want to think about the very distinct possibility that one or both of you might not survive the coming fight. Your heart ached at the mere thought of losing him, and to your surprise he felt the same way.

"I don't know if we'll make it through this--all I know is I'm terrified of losing you," he admitted.

You shifted on your feet, unsure of what to say.

"I'm not used to being afraid," he whispered. "It's not a feeling I'm accustomed to experiencing and to be honest with you, I kinda hate it."

"You don't have to be afraid for me," you reassured him. "I'll be fine. You know I can take care of myself."

"In every other fight? I'd agree completely...but this isn't any other fight. This is Michael and Lucifer--it's the biggest fight of our lives."

"I know," you murmured. "But I have to believe that at the end of this, we'll all be okay."

He nodded, but you could see the emotions clouding his normally bright green eyes. "I wish I had that same faith."

You gave him a teary smile. You understood where he was coming from, especially given his past experiences.

"Any chance I can convince you to stay back?"

"There's no way that's happening, Dean. If you're facing two archangels, I'm coming with you."

He sighed. "I figured you'd say that." He exhaled deeply, clearly preparing himself to say something else. "Things have been so--intense--for the past few weeks and we haven't really had much of an opportunity to talk. We've been dancing around our feelings and I don't wanna keep doing that--I can't."

You swallowed thickly. "I don't know if I can..."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't want you to say anything if you don't really mean it. You're scared and honestly, so am I. This might be the end, Dean--the end of everything. I just don't want you to say something you think I wanna hear because we might die, or something you don't really feel just because you don't wanna be alone for the end...I can't handle that."

Dean stood up and reached out to you. You'd finally let the tears fall during your speech, and he couldn't stand to see you cry. He reached up slowly, giving you plenty of time to stop him. When you didn't, he cupped your face in his hands, gently wiping the tears from your cheeks.

"I don't want you to ever think I'm choosing you because of some misguided desire to not be alone. I meant what I said, sweetheart--you're the only person I can imagine myself being happy with. It's always been you--I've just been too scared to tell you."

You sniffled softly as he finished wiping the last of your tears. "So why now?"

He continued to gently rub his thumbs on your cheeks, almost afraid to let go of you--as if you would simply disappear. "Because I'm tired of pretending I'm not in love with you. If this really is the end, I don't wanna go out without telling you the truth. If you don't feel the same, I understand, but I needed to--"

You leaned in to press your lips gently against his, silencing the rest of his sentence. He returned your kiss, one hand sliding into your hair to pull you closer to him.

You pulled away from him to suck in some air, leaning your forehead against his as you caught your breath.

"So does that mean you might feel the same?" Dean murmured softly.

You laughed lightly. "Maybe just a little bit."

He grinned as he slipped his arms around your soft waist and pulled you closer. "Just a little?" he teased.

You giggled as his fingers gently tickled your sides. "Or a lot."

"Yeah?"

You bit your lip. "Yeah...there's a strong possibility I feel exactly the same as you."

"Oh, baby, I don't think that's possible."

You looked at him in confusion.

"I love you more than anything--I don't even have words to express how I feel about you. 'Love' just doesn't cut it."

You practically melted in his arms, a warm, teary smile gracing your face. "I don't think I can compare to that, but I do love you, Dean--so much."

Dean was one of the most deeply emotional people you'd ever known and the way he loved was no exception. He was incredibly passionate and he loved with a kind of fierceness that almost frightened you. But at the same time, you felt incredibly honored to be loved by such an amazing man--a man who was loyal, brave, strong, and sensitive (even if he would deny it).

Dean kissed you deeply, holding your body tightly against his own. You could feel his arousal stirring against your stomach and you moaned softly.

"I could kiss you all night," he whispered against your lips.

"Why don't you then?"

Dean raised his eyebrows, a small smirk playing on his lips. "How would you feel if I kissed every square inch of your body instead of just your lips?"

You inhaled sharply, his words sending a shock wave of need straight to your core. "Please," you begged softly.

"Oh baby, you're in for a treat." He grabbed you and spun around, tossing you onto the soft bed.

It didn't take long for you both to be completely naked, Dean's head between your legs, bringing you closer to blissful release with each passing moment.

Every movement of his lips and tongue had you moaning in pleasure. You tangled your fingers in his hair, nails scrapping against his scalp as he continued to drive you wild.

When your orgasm finally hit, your hips began to buck wildly, causing Dean to lay his arm across your abdomen to hold you in place. He continued lapping up your juices and teasing your clit until you dragged him away, whimpers of sensitivity leaving your lips.

He breathed heavily as he hovered over you, licking his lips in contentment. "I didn't wanna stop."

You smiled. "I could tell."

"So I can go back down and finish--" he started moving lower and you grabbed him to keep him in place.

"No!" you said, laughter filling your voice. "I'm a little too sensitive for that right now, Dean."

He groaned in displeasure. "Fine," he mumbled. "Later then."

He leaned down to kiss you and you giggled softly against his lips. His antics always made you smile, so you weren't surprised to find the experience continued in the bedroom.

As he deepened the kiss, you felt his cock brush against your core, a sharp hiss leaving your lips at the contact.

"Sorry, baby," he murmured.

"I'm not," you said lightly.

He looked down at you quizzically, but didn't have time to comment before he found himself lying on his back looking up at you.

You grinned down at him, clearly pleased with yourself.

"Whatcha doin' sweetheart?" he drawled.

"Taking what I want."

Your meaning was quickly made clear as you kissed slowly down his chest and abdomen, stopping only to make a soft sound of appreciation when you came upon his throbbing cock.

You wrapped your hand around it and licked slowly from the base to the tip, giving a flick of your tongue against it to collect the precum.

Dean moaned softly, green eyes watching you intently as you took his cock into your mouth, slowly lowering yourself down until you couldn't fit any more.

"Fuck, baby," he groaned, hand reaching for your hair to tangle his fingers in it.

You hummed happily and began to move, bobbing your head up and down in a pleasurable rhythm. Your hand wrapped around what you couldn't fit into your mouth to ensure his entire member was receiving pleasure.

Dean's hips jerked slightly each time you made a noise or a particularly pleasurable motion, and his grip on your hair tightened considerably.

You made it very obvious you were enjoying yourself, which seemed to only increase his pleasure. You very gently caressed his balls, massaging them in your soft hand as you continued to suck his cock.

Dean's moans and curses had increased in both volume and frequency, signaling he was nearing his peak. You flicked your gaze up to look at his face, meeting his dark, lust-blown eyes.

You held eye contact as you continued your motions, soft moans vibrating against his cock.

"Holy fuck," he whispered. "Gonna cum, baby."

You hummed, signaling your desire for him to let go. You continued to hold his gaze, but you switched your focus to the head of his cock, using your hand to rub the rest.

Moments later, Dean came with a low groan of your name, hips stuttering upwards as you swallowed every drop he gave you.

Just as he'd done to you, you refused to stop until he literally pulled you off his cock, aftershocks shaking his body.

"That was incredible," he breathed.

You smiled down at him, appreciating the praise.

"I wanna taste you again," he begged softly.

Your eyes widened a bit, but you couldn't deny the ache in your core. You wanted to feel him inside you so badly, but you knew he'd need some time to work back up to it.

"I suppose you can have a little taste," you murmured teasingly.

You started to get off of him, but he grabbed you to hold you in place.

"Where ya going?"

"To lay down..."

He raised an eyebrow at you. "Did I tell you to lay down?"

You inhaled sharply. "No..."

"Didn't think so, babe." He shifted so his head was flat against the mattress. "Come on up and sit on my face."

"I'm sorry--do what?"

He laughed softly. "Sit on my face."

"Umm...you sure?"

He lifted his head to look at you. "I've never been more certain."

You bit your lip and considered his words for a moment. You'd never sat on anyone's face, but you'd heard it was an enjoyable experience.

"Alright," you agreed, pulling yourself up to hover over his mouth.

"Lower, please," he said.

You lowered yourself down, but remained hovering.

"(Y/N)," he said harshly. "Sit."

You lowered yourself as much as you could without putting your full weight on him.

"For the love of god," he growled, tugging down on your hips and forcing you to actually sit.

You heard his groan and what sounded like a muffled "Fuck yes", before his tongue slipped between your folds and the assault began.

If you'd thought he was good with his mouth before, it was nothing compared to the incredible feelings you were currently experiencing. You had to press your hands against the wall to hold yourself upright and your thighs were pressed tightly around his head.

The sounds coming out of your mouth were loud enough to wake the neighbors, but you couldn't be bothered to care.

You could feel his tongue pressing into your channel while his nose bumped against your clit with every movement. The combination was amazing and your hips started to move on their own, seeking more friction to push you over the edge.

Dean's grip on your hips tightened and he started to move your hips more forcefully, letting you know it was okay to ride his face.

You took the hint and completely let go, allowing yourself to truly enjoy the experience. Dean's moans vibrated through your body, which only served to increase your pleasure.

Your thighs began to shake and your moans had turned to cries of his name as your hips made one final thrust before you fell apart. The orgasm that crashed through you was easily the most incredible one you'd ever experienced--the high both better and longer than ever before.

You lifted yourself off Dean's face as the pleasure became too much, but your legs were no longer able to support you, so you fell onto the bed beside him. You were both breathless, but Dean wasted no time in rolling over on top of you and pressing open mouthed kisses to your heated skin.

When you finally caught your breath, you murmured, "I've never felt that good in my life."

Dean smirked, pride evident on his face. "I'm not done with you yet, sweetheart."

You bit your lip and looked up into his handsome face. "Is that a promise?"

He groaned softly and his cock pressed against your core. You both inhaled sharply and he lowered his face down to kiss you deeply. "You're gonna be the death of me, you know that?"

"I hope not," you whispered back.

He smiled and placed another sweet kiss to your lips. "You ready?"

You nodded--you'd never been more ready in your life.

He gripped his cock and lined it up with your entrance, pressing in slowly to give you time to adjust.

You whimpered at the feeling, his cock stretching you in ways you didn't know you could be stretched.

"You okay, baby?"

"Mhmm," you hummed. "Keep going."

He waited another moment before continuing to push forward. By the time he was fully seated inside you, you were both breathing heavily and a light sheen of sweat graced your face.

Dean pressed soft, sweet kisses all over your face as he waited for your breathing to normalize. "Let me know when you're ready," he murmured.

After a few more moments, you took a deep breath and said, "You can move now."

Dean's hips began to move slowly, his thrusts languid and gentle at first. As your grip on his cock tightened and the soft sounds you made washed over him, his pace began to increase.

"You're so goddamn tight, (Y/N/N)," he groaned softly. "So warm and wet--fucking perfect."

You pulled his face down to yours to kiss him passionately. "Feels so good, Dean," you moaned.

He knew he wasn't going to last very long...which wasn't common for him. You just felt so incredible and he knew he was going to lose control.

He'd be damned, however, if he came before pulling at least one more orgasm from your sweet body.

Dean grabbed your legs and folded them towards your chest, flexing your body almost in half. This position allowed him to get even deeper inside you and the head of his cock pressed against your sweet spot with each thrust.

"Dean!" you gasped in surprised pleasure. Not very many men had managed to find your g-spot, but Dean wasn't exactly most men.

You dug your nails into his biceps--the only part of him you could reach, and your moans turned into an unending song of pleasure.

He'd be lying if he said he didn't love every part of it. Every noise was like music to his ears--a soundtrack he could listen to forever. The sharp pain of your nails in his skin only heightened his pleasure and the look of pure bliss on your face was an image he wanted to sear onto his brain.

He was desperate to watch you come undone--to see your beautiful face in full view as you fell apart for him. He was certain it would be an image worthy of an art museum.

"You gonna cum for me baby?" he asked lowly.

You nodded rapidly, unable to form a verbal response.

"Can feel you squeezin' me so tight."

He sped up just a little more and a sharp gasp left your lips. He knew you were seconds away--and honestly, so was he.

"Need you to cum for me sweet girl," he begged. "Wanna feel it so bad."

His words sent you over the edge, your third orgasm of the night washing over you and throwing you into pure ecstasy.

Dean held back his own impending orgasm just long enough to ask, "Can I fill you up, baby?"

"Please!" you cried.

Dean came with a loud shout of your name, hot ropes of cum filling your pussy to the brim. His thrusts slowed as you both rode out your highs and his cock began to soften as he pulled out and collapsed on the bed beside you.

"That was--" you began.

"I know," he finished.

You turned to look at him and giggled softly. He grinned widely and let out a warm laugh along with you.

"Who woulda thought we'd end up here?" he asked.

"On the brink of the end of the world," you added.

"There's no one I'd rather be with," he admitted.

You rolled onto your side to face him completely. "Same here, Dean."

He offered you a small smile tinged with sadness. "I love you, (Y/N/N)...and if we die tomorrow, then at least you'll know how I feel about you."

You closed your eyes and sighed. "I love you too. But I want a life with you, so let's try to make it through tomorrow, okay?"

He smiled warmly. "Alright, sweetheart. I'd like that."

"Good," you whispered as you nestled in close to him, laying your head against his chest and sighing softly.

Dean wrapped his arms around you tightly as if he was afraid you would disappear if he let go. You fell asleep like that, one last moment of peace and contentment before the final battle.

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x reader smut #supernatural fanfic #supernatural smut #dean Winchester smut

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birdsandbeetlesandmoths · 4 months ago

Text

The Sonic Movie Franchise and The Found Family Trope

A personal request by my dear moot and friend @writer--in--theory, which I am entirely happy to deliver on.

Feel free to point out inconsistencies or anything you think I can improve on in my analysis.

Alright, so, the Found Family trope. Extremely popular and very well done, along with one of the tropes I find the most fulfilling to write in to fanfiction.

As I, and I believe most people in fandom, consider the Sonic movies to be an AU, I’m not going to be comparing specific relationships or characterization to any other games or media, other than that the familial aspect is more apparent in these films than in most games, and I haven’t read enough of the comics, either Archie or IDW to develop opinions as to those.

The Sonic movies do a fascinating job at truly displaying and fleshing out that found family trope that is more of a notion or behavioral quirk between characters in most games. They aren’t given as much concrete development in games as the movies have allowed, since the Sonic games focused more on the gameplay aspect rather than a more slice-of-life/slower storyline (a story that takes its time to create relationships between characters) that found families are most often found in.

I'm going to go by specific character relationships, and connect them as needed.

Sonic's Characterization

The first Sonic movie begins with Sonic losing his only parental figure, an extremely traumatic event that leaves a hole in him for the rest of the series and leaves him to fend for himself during his most formative years. He grows up alone, but retains the sassy, care-free demeanor.

I believe the reason he's still so outwardly unaffected by that trauma is that he coped for much of the unseen years between Longclaw's death and formally meeting the Wachowskis through exploring the world. He finds a home in Green Hill because he sees a home in the Wachowskis. We know that he had already been "spying" on them for a while and hanging around their house without them knowing. And he feels that longing for a home, a family, for what he had with Longclaw, and he wants that back.

But he is still aware of what he is, of how they might see him, as only an alien. And that is what keeps him away, that fear of the possibility and being rejected again, being alone again. So he's content with just viewing their life, imagining himself with Tom and Maddie.

I think that's one of my favorite parts of Movie!Sonic. Despite many of his characterizations by the fandom is as an emotionally unavailable character, Movie!Sonic is emotionally intelligent, whether already or as a result of having to grow up too soon. To take care of himself early on, and as much as he may boast or pride that he is totally fine having fun and running around the world, he is, in the end, running to escape the possibility of standing still and realizing that he is still incredibly lonely. While he may not explicitly say it, much of that initial montage in his cave and at Tom and Maddie's movie night, from the outside always looking in, he is aware of what he feels. However, that fear keeps him away.

It pushes him to the baseball diamond, and him running to escape the emotions, the memories, and his imagination, creates that very first outburst of incredible energy and power that alerts the real danger (GUN).

It's only the possibility of being found out by an unknown danger, being attacked and forced out of his cave, out of his home yet again, that forces him to finally act. Not quite meet the Wachowskis yet, as that isn't his intention.

But he does knowingly go to the only other place he feels safe at. The Wachowski's home.

He realizes that he needs to run to escape this danger, doing what Longclaw's last words bade him do before she sacrificed herself for him, but is found by Tom (and promptly shot with a tranquilizer, but, y'know, it starts rocky sometimes!!).

As for the Wachowski's, as original characters we have nothing to expect of them. But they are immediately charming and unique and, while understandably wary of Sonic at first, immediately realize the danger he's in and want to help him.

Sonic and Tom Wachowski

An obvious father-son relationship within the overarching found family (which will eventually include Tails and Knuckles, but I'll get to them later). However, Tom's interactions with Sonic are written in a way that feels incredibly sincere and I think their believability together made my skepticism for humans being related to Sonic (as a character and as a story) disappear.

Tom is obviously skeptical as well at first, especially after finding out that Sonic had just been spying on them for years. But when he learns of Sonic’s past and how he’s been alone for all of the years after that, he understands. He wants to protect Sonic from whoever is hunting him, from experiencing that loneliness again, and after getting to know that little blue blur, is willing to do anything to make sure that Sonic is safe, that he has a home.

And Sonic is bracing for the inevitable rejection again, after he chooses to stay in Green Hill and not escape to a new world, near the end of the movie.

But they surprise him by showing him that they want him to stay, setting up a whole room for him, and allowing him to be a kid!! He doesn’t have to be alone anymore, because he has a family who wants to take care of him, who cares about him and would literally throw the rest of their life to the side to care for this little hedgehog who crashed into their life one day.

There isn’t enough content between Maddie and Sonic only for me to give her a section as well, but she definitely feels the same. The protectiveness she feels is just as strong.

Sonic, Tails, and Knuckles

Sonic and Tails

Now, for the even better found family relationship. Sorry, as much as I love Tom and Sonic, these two will forever be my heart.

Tails, in the movie, is also coming from another planet, bullied and ostracized from his village most of his life for the mutation causing his double tails. He hears news of a blue speedster and, beginning to practically idolize him, uses his capability with technology to track Sonic down. While it’s barely explained why Tails is looking for Sonic in the first place, he is clearly expecting for something to happen to Sonic, saying that he hopes he “isn’t too late.” What exactly, he’s worried about, isn’t explained either, and he and Sonic are pulled into the race to find the Master Emerald against Robotnik and Knuckles.

Tails is, thankfully, not characterized as naive or too young to be responsible, which I am glad for, as I was initially worried that they’d infantilize him as a result of him just being a younger kid. He wants to prove himself, rather, and shows his skills through his gadgetry and eagerness to help Sonic, and his initial adoration and interest in Sonic changes into something more brotherly. Tails was inspired by Sonic and saw someone who was clearly different, other. Just like him. And he thought that if Sonic could be great, then maybe he could too, and his otherness didn’t have to stop him.

My favorite scene for this is when they’re in the inn in Siberia, and both of them are finally able to see a more relaxed, actual child-like version of the other.

Sonic is told that he’s Tails’ first real friend, the first person to truly care about him, and to not judge him for his appearance or his interest in tech. And Tails is surprised by this fact, not sure at first if Sonic is being genuine, but once realizing that he is, hugs Sonic and reveals the parts of himself, the feelings and his past, that he hid and felt shame for for so long.

Sonic and Knuckles

Sonic and Knuckles have a classic rivals to friends relationship and it was probably one of my favorite parts of the movie besides Sonic and Tails being absolutely adorable.

Knuckles is another character who is alone, the last of his kind, a race of fierce warriors and protectors, who value loyalty, strength, and honor above all. He’s seemingly destined for a solitary life, much like Sonic assumed himself to be, from the beginning of the movie, and his lack of knowledge of the world he is adjusting to allows him to be taken advantage of by Robotnik so easily.

(Christ, loneliness and loss is a really reoccurring theme, and I haven’t even gotten to Shadow yet)

Knuckles is only able to truly interact with and talk with Sonic after he is betrayed by Robotnik, breaking one of his key values and shattering his worldview and who he believed was the right side. However, he fully expects Sonic to leave him behind as well after the temple battle, the flood overtaking him. But Sonic, seeing only someone who was taken advantage of and who also lost everything he loved, chooses to save him, nearly sacrificing himself in the process. Knuckles also saves Sonic as well, after realizing that Sonic didn’t swim to the surface with him.

Sonic chooses to deliberately ignore that Knuckles was apart of the tribe that killed Longclaw, letting it bring them together in grief instead of driving them apart, and doesn’t care that Knuckles has been attacking him since they met, as Sonic understands why and forgives him for that. Knuckles doesn’t understand, at first, why Sonic saved him in the first place, but when Sonic explains his hero concept and that he needs to take responsibility for others and couldn’t just let Knuckles die, Knuckles sees who Sonic is.

And a mutual respect is gained.

Knuckles, while he is incredibly blunt, deliberate, and honest, understands this. He sees a pure will that he admires in Sonic.

Altogether . .

The third movie only strengthens their bond, as both Tails and Knuckles have been accepted into the family, as the Wachowski’s are happy to adopt another couple of super powered alien kids.

Tails and Knuckles, while still sidelined due to Shadow’s storyline, are key factors in how their team functions and they work the best together. This is a result of the familial relationship formed in the time between movies 2 and 3, as they, during that time, are able to live together and learn from each other.

While they do have a 3rd act separation that I was worried about, it’s established that it’s only allowed through the trust formed between Sonic and Knuckles. Which they handled perfectly, as it wasn’t out of character and wasn’t even malicious, it was a result of the trust between all three of them. They all suffered when Tom was critically injured, they all watched the ambulance drive off with the same, devastated look. They had become so close over these few months together.

Their relationship becomes the most adorable and genuine of sibling relationships, as they are all able to bond over discovering the world, learning and playing and being allowed to be kids. I know I emphasized this before but I will do it again: What makes this found family so incredibly strong is that all of them are able to learn from each other, to build and grow alongside each other and they have all greatly affected each other’s lives in ways that changed them for the better.

Their shared experiences of otherness, of loss, of grief, brought them together into warmer emotions of family, of friendship, of trust.

That is the basis of a found family. People brought together through mutual respect, understanding, and love.

Outside of Sonic-related relationships . . .

Shadow and Maria

Shadow crashed into Earth from a meteorite and supposedly spent the first moments of his life on Earth in a lab, in a tube, isolated but for scientists who would stare and write and run tests and treat him as, honestly, less than a being with a conscience.

The time before Maria was probably extremely lonely, despite him being surrounded by people, setting a precedent that Shadow would assume that humans wouldn’t want anything to do with him, didn’t care about him aside for his powers.

But when he meets Maria, she immediately interacts with him, smiles and mocks him playfully, not for the purpose of analyzing him, but just because he was another kid in the lab, and she wanted to be friends out of pure interest for who Shadow was, not his alien blood.

The montages of their time together in the lab, spent having fun running around the halls, Maria introducing Shadow to dancing and music and sweets and movies and everything he would never have gotten to experience if not for her, only reinforce their close bond, the family he found with her. She was the only one who could understand him in the lab, probably in his whole life, as we have no clue what happened before he crashed to Earth.

The rooftop scene is my personal favorite, as Shadow feels comfortable, safe enough, to confide in Maria about his self-consciousness, his fear that his power will make him only terrifying, only a monster.

Maria comforts him, telling him that he can choose who he wants to be for himself, that he’ll know who he wants to be in his heart. She teaches him that his purpose and life doesn’t have to be dictated by what he possesses or what he appears to be, as his actions and decisions are what truly matter.

That even when a star has long since faded, their light still shines.

This barely concealed metaphor for the effect your life can have on the people you know is beautifully poetic, and reminds Shadow, near the end, of what his true goal should’ve been.

That Maria would have never wanted him to hurt others, to destroy the world, in order to avenge her. Because she loved the world. And Shadow would never want to destroy what she loved.

They make me hurt in the best way. Maria’s line about a star’s light still shining even after it’s long since faded breaks me every time.

Agent Stone and Ivo Robotnik

I know that this isn’t necessarily found family in the familial sense, but if you don’t ship them or believe them to be romantic, don’t worry, this further analysis is purely from a non-shipping perspective.

While the power dynamic is clearly tilted towards Ivo, and I think this acknowledgement of the relationship is very one-sided in the way that Stone is very aware of how he feels towards Ivo, with his devotion and willingness to do whatever it takes for Ivo, while Ivo does not outwardly admit how attached he’d become to his agent, his presence and intelligence, and that he appreciates and needs Stone’s company. Ivo has never spoken his feelings aloud while Stone has practically worn them on his sleeve.

My point is that the third movie, in terms of Ivo’s plot, outlines the choice between blood relations and your chosen family.

Ivo has a chosen family, which consists of only Stone. He’s never had a true family before, no blood relatives, no parents to speak of, and when he discovers Gerald, who may be the first blood family he’s ever had, he begins to value blood over chosen, leaving Stone to pursue a life with his grandpappy over him.

However, when it’s revealed that Gerald never cared about Ivo in the first place, only needing him to be able to achieve his goal of destroying the world in order to avenge Maria, even going far enough to say that Ivo could never be Maria. Could never be what Maria was to Gerald. Ivo realizes the mistake he’s made.

Ivo has his hero moment, to attempt to redirect the Eclipse Cannon’s impending explosion, that “if he can’t rule the world, he might as well save it.” He is still, as much as he may say he hates it, affected by his humanity.

And when giving his final livestream, he finally speaks aloud the feelings, the effect Stone has had on him, in his own words that he knew Stone would know the true, sincere meaning of. That he truly did value him and care about him (“I love the way you make them”), which wasn’t even just about the work Stone did for him, but also what Stone brought to his life, that consolation and trust.

Ivo said that Stone was the only person in his life he could trust. That he was the only person who truly cared about him. As tragic as that sentiment is, he’s right. Stone loved Ivo unconditionally, and Ivo didn’t realize this, didn’t realize that he also cared for Stone, until it was too late for him, but not too late for him to make sure that Stone lived.

——————————————————————————

All in all, the Found Family dynamic, in all of its forms, from parental to siblings to a weird boss-employee relationship, is practically perfect.

These relationships are well-built, developed by shared experiences that characters bond and heal over, mutual respect for each other, a strong trust, and an unconditional love between them.

Oh, the unconditional love is the most important part. Because that is what brings so many people into the found family trope.

Those who are experienced with not getting that constant trust and unbreakable bond from blood, seek that love from others. Build their own family. And the families crafted in these films are beautiful.

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one-fin-wonder · 2 years ago

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Headcanons: Building a blanket fort with the Moon Boys (After finding out they've never built one before)

A/N: Hey so I've been stuck with being sick this past week and some of last week. So I've had literally no time to write coherently till 3 am this morning. I'm so sorry it's been a hot min since I uploaded. I really liked this concept tho! I found it when looking up date ideas for these headcanons.

Warnings: Fluff, Comfort, cute tooth rotting shit. Jake Lockely being a emotionally unavailable man, But also he has tears so. Don't worry you comfort him. No use of Y/N but it says "you" more often than typically in my writings. Established relationship, I also once again accidently wrote the most for Jake. Sorry, not sorry.

“You never what????” You stare at your boyfriend in shock and bewilderment. “I’ve never built a blanket fort.” He says back plainly with a shrug. You stand up abruptly and run to your shared ‘bedroom’ grabbing pillows and blankets running to the couch periodically to throw them down. “Come on,” you say as you grab his hand and drag him to help “we’re making a blanket fort *right now*”

Steven Grant:

Steven is so excited to get the chance to build a blanket fort with you

He also is extremely happy that you want to do it with him, I mean how can he not be? You’re adorable with how excited you are to share this moment with him.

He does what you ask, pinning blankets up over the loft and grabbing chairs to make into a cute little tent of blankets.

"Love, that's so many blankets."

He fidgets with his hands as you make the fort

He's a little nervous because he's out of his element with this,

"Come on!" you'd tug him inside with a smile and he would gladly follow

He smiles once he’s sitting inside of it with you all the blankets and pillows placed carefully around you both as you settle into the bed

“So this is what it’s like? It’s so comfortable”

He has the plushies from the museum, I don't make the rules. (I say as I quite obviously make the rules)

He would gently hold you as you both talked while sitting in the fort you built together.

Marc Spector:

he watches you very confused as to what is happening

“I mean we didn't exactly have an ideal childhood..”

you’d kindly stop what you were doing and hug him for a moment “I know, I know hon,” you’d say softly “now grab that blanket and follow me.”

He’d do as you’d say. Still very confused but willing to follow your lead

“Y’know we’re going to have to refold all of these right?” He tells you as you unravel the fifth blanket to complete the fort

You’d deadpan looking at him and he’d raise his hands in a fake surrender,

He’d help you when you needed it but mostly he has no idea what to do.

He’s just standing there, he’s out of his element and he doesn’t know how to help.

Marc said: 🧍‍♂️

Once you finish he looks at the fort then at you “soooo?”

You’d shove him towards the entrance (carefully of course.)

He’d crawl into the small space and you’d follow suite

He sits in the fort looking around at all the blankets and pillows you’d gathered for it

“I already have a pidgeon in my life you know.” He’d say sarcastically at you nodding to the nest like interior and you’d stick your tongue out at him

He’d laugh as he pulls you close “thank you,” he’d say quietly

“Of course,” you reply “you deserve the world. And also building forts is like the epitome of childhood.”

You’d rest against him relaxing in the comfort of your newly made fort.

He holds you close as you both chat away, cuddling till the sunsets.

Jake Lockley:

You yank his blanket away and run to the bedroom and he starts cursing in Spanish

“Oye! Bring that back! I was using it.”

He’d then stop in the space between the small kitchen and Gus’ tank and the entrance to his bed as he watched you pulling blankets from every spot you could find them

“The fuck you doin?” He’d ask as he puts his hands on his hips walking up to the edge of the bed slowly

“Fort.” You’d respond shortly

“The fucking hell does that mean??” This poor Spanish man has no clue what’s going on.

He takes his hat off and scratches his head as he watches you utterly confused.

I think Jake didn’t see much of any childhood, he doesn’t know what it’s like to have that whimsical imagination or the enjoyment of toys that the others did (even if their enjoyment was cut short they still experienced it a tad)

This makes him not even aware of the benefits of a good fort.

You’d pull the blankets up gently creating the perfect fort as you look back at him.

“Que?” He’d look between you and the fort several times

“Get in”

“You kidding me?”

“Get. In.” You’d walk over dragging him by his hand

“Jesus Christ! okay, okay!” He gets inside and immediately his eyes light up at the comfort

You watch with a smile as he adjusts himself in the pillows and blankets

Once he settled you get in beside him and bring a blanket over you both

“You like it..?” You’d ask

“Si, gracias, mi amor,” (yes, thank you, my love.)

You cuddle against him as you stare at the ceiling with him

I wonder if he’d cry at the idea of having someone who loves him this deeply to share pieces of their childhood because he didn’t get an ideal one. And he can’t believe that he’s loved in this way.

“Oh, baby..” you’d say wiping a stray tear away and kissing his cheek where it had been “it’s okay,” you’d whisper as you hold him close allowing him to express himself however he feels comfortable because this man is so emotionally cold that he probably has no clue how to express himself.

“Gracias.. gracias desde el fondo de mi corazón, gracias” (thank you, thank you from the bottom of my heart, thank you.)

#moon knight headcanon #steven grant #steven grant headcanon #steven grant x reader #marc spector #marc spector fluff #marc spector headcanon #marc spector x reader #jake lockely fluff #jake lockely x reader

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lemon-towne · 1 year ago

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HOLDEN PREVIEW TIMEEEEUHHH

Okay so I’ve realized that I’ve never given yall anything else abt the Michael book (book? Idk maybe an online fic or smthn) other than the potential covers for it

Needles to say I felt bad and so to make it up to yall I’ll post a small snippet of a part in the actual story so here yall go <3333

(Be nice bookie this is a draft, a really rough one so don’t expect a whole lot.)

___________________________________

“It seems as if you take the things I do for you, MY SON, for granted. Michael I just don’t understand, you’re right; I don’t. But you blatantly refuse to talk to me when you have a problem so how am I supposed to know if something is bothering you?”

She looks at me with a blank expression after that. . .expecting me to answer wrongly. As if I don’t know what I’m talking about.

As if I don’t know how I feel.

“Because you never bother to ask.”

I pause.

“I don’t tell you things because you never even bother to ask. When I do open up to you, you feel the need to tell me I have nothing to be upset over.”

I remain in the same place, just standing there. . .looking down at my mother.

“When I come to you, you lash out on me. You tell me to ‘Just be happy’ to ‘look on the bright side’ or better yet ‘I’ve been on this earth longer than you have, what do you know about the world? You’re still pretty young!’ Well I’m fucking sick of it. .”

The words come out like a flood, it feels like I can’t stop! I want to stop but I can’t, they just keep pouring out of me like river.

Like a damn that was finally broken. First a few drops. . .then a small stream. . .then the rest of the flood.

“You can’t keep telling me to cheer up when there isn’t anything to be happy over anymore ! Fuck man- when was the last time you have asked me ‘How was school today’ ?”

“Don’t you dare get smart with me! Don’t you think I try my best, Michael!?”

She’s screaming now.

“I try my best as a mother to provide you with a home, a bed, clothes to wear, food to eat ! I don’t get a fucking ‘thank you for any of it !”

“Yeah! Mum I think you blatantly forget, that is the bare fucking minimum that you are supposed to do for your child !”

. . . I scream back.

“Thank you for providing the things that I needed as a child ! The shit that I NEEDED, yes ! You could’ve been utterly fucking neglectful but Jesus for you to be emotionally unavailable is just as terrible !”

This was the first time, in a long time that I have seen my mother display such raw emotion. Her face. .i can’t even recognize her face now. It’s all scrunched up and red with anger. It looks as if steam is about to start shooting out of her ears as if she’s some sort of cartoon character.

“All of the sacrifices, all of the time, pain, energy- whatever! I gave up my entire LIFE to raise you as best as I can, your father and I working for hours ! Hardly being home to make sure YOU have a place to rest your head at night ! And you’re right! What the hell do you know about living ? Normally when teenagers complain about wanted to be treated like adults it’s because they ARE being treated as such ! You’re sad ! Okay ! I get it Michael but for fuck sake stop making it everyone else’s problem !”

I had already emotionally disconnected from this conversation. .i start to walk towards the front door, not even looking at Jane anymore.

“Oh where are you going now.”

She says, her voice starting to become quiet

“Out.”

“With whom ?”

“. . .”

“Michael Alex Holden. I know you hear me speaking to you.”

I do. But I don’t say a word. .i don’t say a word as I open the door and I remain silent as I leave the house.

———————————————————————————————————

womp womp hope u like it or wtv

#michael holden #osemanverse

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emilyssky · 2 years ago

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Chapter 9: Burning Bridges

PAIRING: Lee Know! X fem!reader

GENRE(S): college au, smut, angst

WARNINGS: Mentions of violence and abuse, depression, self-harm, eating disorders etc.. mentions of blood, swearing, smoking, smut [ dirty talk, oral; giving and receiving, choking, spanking, praising, degradation, pet names, sometimes Minho is a dick :)

SUMMARY: "Do you remember what you told me the first time we met?"

"What?"

"You said; Always leave people a little better than you found them" he looked at the floor with a small smile for a few seconds and then his eyes found mine.

"You really annoyed me when we first met. I envied your optimism and excitement for life. But each time I saw you, I felt a certain thrill. You made me angry, you made me laugh., you made me feel everything. Something about you made me feel a little more alive each time. I know I fucked up and I know I'm an asshole but I'm also brutally in love with you."

"Get up!" Emma tries to pull the blanket away from my body but I grip it tighter.

"No."

She narrows her eyes, her lips turning into a thin line. She looks adorable. "Get up or I'm calling Chan."

Now it's my turn to narrow my eyes at her. "Low of you to threaten me like that."

"Low of you to stay locked in your room moping over his black cat wannabe best friend rejecting you." She fires back with a smirk on her lips, knowing that her words will get a rise out of me.

I throw the blanket away. "First of all, he didn't reject me, I just realized that nothing is going to happen because I keep going after emotionally unavailable and mentally damaged men." I cross my arms. "And second, don't bring Chan into this, he's not my dad. Now please, let me mourn my failed situationship in peace."

"No." She scoffs. "I will not let you be sad about a guy, let alone a guy that you had nothing with. Get yourself together."

I sigh, pressing my fingers to my temples. For the past 4 days, I haven't left my apartment at all. I get up with a horrible headache, I clean my room, I study, I drink my coffee, I watch Netflix, I take a shower and then I lay in my bed and read until I fall asleep, which rarely happens. So every night I stay up until 5 am, thinking and analyzing everything that's happening in my life right now. Things I could have done differently or how easier my life would be if I just give up on everything and move across the world, maybe to Paris or London. I could open a small cafe, pet friendly, and live the rest of my life peacefully.

"Look babe," She takes my hand in hers and gives me a soft, comforting look. "He feels something for you, he is interested in you but I really don't think that this is something that you wanna get involved in right now." I can tell that she's trying to be really careful with her words.

I frown. "What do you mean? Do you know something I don't?"

"No, no" She shakes her head. "It's just that-" she sighs. "Look I like Minho, I have nothing against him but there are a lot of red flags, and considering your last relationship I just don't wanna see you get involved in something that I can tell it's not gonna end well and it's gonna hurt you."

My heart tightens and for a moment, just for a second, I wanna tell her everything. I wanna let her know all of the secrets I've been keeping about myself and show her the real me. But that moment is gone as fast as it came, just like every time. I completely understand where she's coming from and she's right. I need to heal and I need people in my life that know what they want and don't play games with me.

I nod my head, lifting the sleeves of my hoodie to rub my face. "I know, you're right."

She scoots next to me, wrapping her arms around my body. "Just let it be and whatever happens, happens, but you and your emotions come first alright?" She nuzzles her small face in the crook of my neck.

I nod again, silently grateful for her. I honestly don't know what I would I've done without her by my side, every fucking day. "I love you." I whisper to her and mean it.

*:･ﾟ✧ ⋆ ࣪.* ࣪

"You know, I really like Seungmin and I'm happy that you finally have a boyfriend but I've missed spreading time with you." I flip that pancake once more before stacking it on top of the rest. Emma cancelled her breakfast date with Seungmin to stay and spend the day with me, so I decided to make her breakfast. She loves pancakes. I used to love them too.

"They smell so good, oh my god." She groans above my shoulder, her face twitching with pleasure just from the scent that has now filled our small apartment.

"They're ready." I giggle, taking the plate in my hands. We make our short way to the living room and settle on the couch. While I was making the pancakes Emma made 2 coffees for both of us and cut up some fruit to go with the pancakes. She takes a seat beside me on the couch and immediately begins to assemble her plate. She spreads some Nutella before putting a few strawberries on top. I try not to look too much but I can feel my stomach growling at the sight. It has been ages since I've eaten pancakes and as I look at Emma, absolutely devouring her plate without any guilt whatsoever, the familiar feeling of jealousy starts to spread. Emma's a musical theater dancer and a really talented one. In the past year, she has also taken an interest in filmmaking but she is still a dancer nevertheless. She's a bit shorter than me, only about a few inches, and blessed with a naturally perfect body. She has never been told or needs really to go on any sort of diet, nor has she ever restricted her food choices. She, of course, tries to eat healthy just like all of us but in reality, she can eat anything she wants and not gain a single pound.

I drop my eyes. "I wish I could eat like you."

"You can." She sends me a glare.

Emma has been so supportive of me with my eating disorder and my mental health in general, but while living with another person can be helpful, it can also be really triggering at times. Seeing her have such a healthy relationship with food makes me envious but also motivates me to get through this and reach that point myself. It's just hard.

"Easier said than done."

"You're not going to be able to keep up with this much longer." She says with her mouth full. "This isn't a joke, it's what we've been working on for so long. You need to take care of your body."

"Yeah I know, I'm trying." Is all I can say once again. She holds her gaze on me a little longer, letting me know that she's tired of hearing me say that. "Let's change the subject." I clear my throat.

She swallows her last bite and puts her plate on the coffee table before she crosses her arms across her chest with a knowing smile. "Fine, let's talk about Minho."

I roll my eyes. "Pass."

"You like him?"

"Not answering that." I take a sip of my coffee, to avoid eye contact.

"You like him." She repeats, this time as a statement.

"I don't." I feel myself getting defensive for some reason. "He just seemed...interesting."

Her smile grows. "You know that, that's the same thing right?"

My phone starts ringing from the kitchen counter and I let a breath out, thankful for whoever is calling. Hyunjin's name flashes across the screen.

"Hey. " I answer, returning to the couch.

"Hello, sunshine." He greets back.

Emma touches my arm. "Who is it?"

'Hyunjin' I mouth.

"How are you?" I ask him.

"Better? I guess..." He hesitantly says. "But I'm getting there. Thanks for coming yesterday, it meant a lot."

"It was nothing, you're one of my best friends." Hyunjin was really there for me last year so the least I can do is try to be there for him just as much. "And when you feel better, we can go and beat her ass and his together. " I joke, but low-key I would have no problem doing it. Especially after finding out that it was one of Jackson's friends.

"We can do that after New Year's." He reminds me.

"Ah, yes." I bring my hand to my forehead. "I forgot about that."

"What?" Emma pulls my sleeve, trying to listen to our conversation. I hold my hand up in front of her, quietly telling her to wait at which she pouts.

"I'm gonna have to talk to him." He sighs.

"What?" My tone rises. "You?"

"Who else is gonna do it Y/n? Chan will beat the shit out of him, Felix won't even talk about it, and there's no way I'm asking Em." He sounds frustrated.

"We could just not go to that club you know," I state the obvious. "There are plenty of other clubs that we could go to."

"Yeah, but there are going to be live performances there Y/n." He whines.

Personally, I don't give a shit about the performances but everyone else wants to go and all the other clubs are going to be packed for sure, so it's gonna be hard for all 9 of us to get in.

"I could talk to him." I offer. I would actually rather not see his face ever again but I know that the only way that we could get in is if I'm the one to talk to him.

"Absolutely no." He cuts me off sharply.

"Hyunjin-"

"No," He raises his tone. "There's no way I would let you voluntarily speak to that piece of shit after everything that happened plus you know that if Chan finds out he gonna kill you and then he's gonna kill me."

It pisses me off that everyone thinks that they have to protect my feelings so badly, I appreciate it but I've been through more than they know with him. "Do you want to get in the club or not?"

He stays silent for a few seconds. "I'll figure it out. Don't do anything stupid. I'll see you at the party." He says and hangs up.

"What party?" I question out loud.

"The farewell party Y/n, focus." She laughs, already making her 3rd pancake.

"It's happening at their frat this year?" The farewell party happens every 23rd of December for the students that are leaving for the holidays and it's also a way great way to celebrate the end of the semester. Both of the times I've experienced it are incredibly memorable.

"Yep. All of the guys are super excited."

I had totally forgotten about it. "Is Seungmin coming?" I hesitantly ask but she sees right through me.

"Yes, and the rest of the boys too."

Great.

I groan, turning to my right side for what feels like the 100th time. It's all I've been doing for the past hour, twisting and turning around my bed, unable to sleep. My conversation with Hyunjin keeps playing over and over in my mind, and can not seem to shake the feeling that something is gonna go wrong. I understand why Hyunjin doesn't think that I should be the one to talk to Jackson and I appreciate that he tries to protect me but I know Jackson. He's sneaky and revengeful and I'm not comfortable with any of my friends talking to him, especially asking for favors. Who knows what he'll say or ask in return? I know that I have to be the one to talk to him and If anyone can get him to let us in the club, it's gonna be me. It has to.

I push the covers away, leaving the comfort of my bed. I pull a pair of sweats over my bare legs and a black hoodie before stopping at my full-length mirror across my bed to quickly check myself a bit. I rub my hands over my eyes, trying to get them to look a bit more awake and less tired and I run a hand throw my tangled hair attempting to somewhat fix it but it's useless. I open my bedroom door as quietly as I can and tiptoe across the hall. There's no light coming from Emma's door so she's probably sleeping. I put my shoes on, grab my jacket and walk out of the door trying not to make any noise.

The walk to his apartment is painfully familiar and a mix of feelings rushes through me as I make my way down the streets that a year we would walk together or I would run to get to his place as fast as I could, full of excitement to see him. I was a whole different person back then and the more I think about it the more I'm convinced that If I could speak to my past self I would definitely slap me. I'm ashamed and embarrassed by how I let myself be treated and stayed with him regardless, but the pain that he caused me changed me and looking back, I never wanna be that person again. I wanna bury the past and never have to think of it ever again, yet the memories haunt me still and the idea of what happened coming out scares me. That's why I'm now standing outside his door at 11: 46 p.m. I don't wanna be scared anymore, I want to let go of that part of myself. Minho was right, I was being weak and hiding not only from everyone else but from myself as well. I wanted to pretend that it never happened, hoping that by ignoring it, everything will go away. But everything stayed with me and ate me alive for a whole year. I need this to stop. I knock at his door twice and take a step back. The nail of my index finger scratches repeatedly the side of my thumb and my leg bunches up and down as I try to control my nerves. I haven't faced him in so long, not like this at least. I have occasionally seen him around campus, or at parties where he would approach me, but it would never be for long, someone would appear or I would leave. Now I'm the one that's coming to him. I hear noises behind the door and I take a deep breath, preparing myself.

He freezes, and his eyes widen slightly, only for a few seconds. He leans against the doorway and crosses his arms. I tighten the muscles in my jaw, not wanting my face or eyes to give out any emotion.

"I have to admit; I missed the sight of you standing in my doorway." He speaks softly. He looks like he was about to go to bed, with loose gray sweatpants hanging low on his hips and nothing to cover his well-toned upper body.

I keep my eyes on his face. "I wanna talk."

He lifts an eyebrow. "Now you wanna talk? I've been up your ass for a year." I cross my own arms as he lets his eyes travel down my body. "What do you want Y/n?"

"Can I come in?" I ask, ignoring his question.

His eyes spark and he pushes his bottom lip outwards, shrugging. He steps to the side, allowing me access to his living room that I know too well. I take a few steps into the room and study the place with my eyes. Everything looks the same, exactly as I left them. I remember the last night I was here, it was about a week before I went over to the frat house where most of his friends were staying, and ironically enough it was also where we first met back in my first year of college. We started casually hooking up until it became an everyday thing. Until he started staying the night, until we started talking after sex, until the pet names started and the dates off campus. Everyone knew we were hooking up but none knew what our actual relationship was. I never truly understood his need to keep us a secret but every fight about it would never end up changing the situation whatsoever. I don't know when the sweet moments turned into yelling, fighting, and crying. It was small things at first that my mind would not think much about, the small pushes, the slamming into walls, and breaking things near me out of anger. He was a lot, an extremely emotional person that never learned to deal with his emotions. A lot of times it felt like he just needed a person by his side to unleash all of the things that he grew up burying and most of the time I was that person. Half of our fight started from him, and my constant desire to understand him and be closer to him. But then again one thing I do best is romanticizing things. People, feelings, situations in general, everything. The moment that the realization of our situation finally sunk in was after a little more than half a year into the relationship after yet another party. I could feel his fingers on my neck for days after, his alcohol-filled breath fanning my face, and the sharp pain of the brick wall at the back of my head from the force that he pushed me to it, and everything went downhill from then and the next 2 months things started to change. He would beg and he would promise and things would be good until something would happen again. One night I had enough, I loved him but I couldn't take it anymore, so I went over to the frat knowing that that was where he was, and left with my heart ripped out of my chest. A bet. A joke. A girl he pretended to not give a shit about in public but promised the world in private. I was broken.

"Do you want anything to drink?" I hear him offering, as he closes the door.

I shake my head, keeping my arms crossed as I make my way to his couch and sit down. He follows me taking a seat next to me, leaving some space between us. He stares at my face, studying me as if he hasn't seen me in ages and honestly, I let myself do the same. As much as I hate to admit it, he looks as handsome as ever.

"You wanted to talk." He breaks the silence, stating.

My mind snaps back, trying to focus on all of the things I wanted to say to him, but I say nothing, my mind goes blank.

"You wanted to talk about us?" He presses, in a tone that makes me think that he's hoping I say yes but I shake my head.

"I wanted to ask you about something." I keep my voice steady.

He breaks into a silent laugh, throwing his head back. "I've been begging you to let me explain for months and now you show up at my door to ask me a favor?"

My eyes leave his face, his words shaking my confidence, and I feel myself regretting my decision of coming here tonight.

"Save it, " He continues, waving me off with his head. "I know what you want, one of your dogs already asked me."

My eyebrows come together."What?"

He rolls his eyes, getting impatient. "Hyunjin." He clarifies. "He asked me this afternoon."

Damn him and his stubborn ass.

"Jackson-"

"Are you with someone?" His question catches me off guard. "Have you moved on?"

"Yes." I lie, loud and clear even though I haven't touched a single soul after him. Only flirted with people out of desperation to forget him and boredom but nothing more. His shoulders drop a little like he wasn't expecting my answer, and confidence sparks inside me. I'm not used to having the upper hand with him.

"I can't." He says.

A bitter laugh escapes me. "Bullshit. Not that I care anymore but I know for a fact that you fucked your way through campus ever since we broke up."

"I'm trying." His hands come up to his face and slide down his hair. "I've been trying but none feels like you." He moves closer in a sudden, swift movement, and my body jerks back out of instinct.

"Don't come near me." My hand lifts in front of my face, my heart begins to raise and my mask starts to crumble yet he seems unfazed. He grabs my hand, lowering it and pulling me by it closer to him.

"Y/n, you know me, please." His eyes beg. "I know I hurt you, I know and I'm so fucking sorry." His face starts to shift and emotion takes over his expression. "But baby, I miss you. I need you back. I fucked this up but you were my rock and I want you back. Sometimes my anger takes over me and I'm working on it, I really am, but I need you to know that I never wanted to hurt." He lifts his other hand to the side of my face, his thumb creasing over my cheekbone.

I stay still, keeping my eyes as emotionless as I possibly can even though my heart is aching at his words. And maybe if this had happened a few months ago, I would have given in to him in a second but I'm not the scared, easily manipulated little girl he knew anymore.

"No." I shake my head. "I wasn't your rock, I was your punching bag." I spit, moving away from his grip. "You abused me." My heart tightens as the words leave my mouth. "You wanted someone to be there for you and accept all your shit. That's not love."

His face absolutely drops at my words. "No, no." He shakes his head repeatedly. "It wasn't like that."

I silently curse myself as I feel the familiar sting in my chest. "It's over." My words make him freeze. "That's why I came here. I've been torturing myself with this for so long and I wanna let it go. " I inhale through my nose. "I was naive and I mistook what we had for love, You abused me in every way possible. You don't manipulate or hit or fuck over the people you love Jackson." My eyes fall hard on his face, wanting to make sure that my words hurt him as much as possible but the pain only reaches his eyes. The rest of his face stays still like a statue.

"You're not thinking straight right now." His eyes narrow. "It's that fucker from the party, right? He got in your head. Does he know about us?"

"None knows." I immediately answer, realizing that he's talking about Minho. "I promised you that none will find out. And I kept that promise."

"Who is he?" His focus stays on Minho.

"None important." I lie for the second time. I know Jackson, he's an incredibly jealous person and he can go to great lengths when he wants something. I don't want Minho getting involved in this.

I can tell by his expression that he doesn't believe me. "Look, I just wanted to say this so that I can finally close this chapter. None knows and I don't want anyone to ever find out either." I remind him. He knows damn well what kind of damage something like that will do to his reputation and most importantly to his career if it comes out. I think that's the only reason why he agreed to not say anything as well.

"Baby-" His hand touches my knee and I put my own hand over his to stop it.

"I don't forgive you." I softly say. "I can't. I have to respect myself and move on. I understand you, and I wanted to help you but I'm done." I pull his hand away.

"I will not stop and you know it. I'll do everything to get you back." He gets up, his body towering over me in my seated position. "You'll come back, you'll see. You always do." He kneels slightly, his face coming right in front of mine. I hold my breath, steeling my muscles and tightening my jaw. His fingers brush my cheek lightly as they make their way down to my neck, griping it before I have the chance to pull away. My hands turn into fists on my knees.

He presses his lips to my temple. "And I'll make sure he knows that." He whispers. He plants one last soft kiss on my forehead and lets me go. He turns around and walks towards the hall while I stay frozen in my seat.

He stops near the door. "You can tell your little friend group that they can come to the club under one condition." He doesn't wait for me to ask before clarifying, looking at me over his shoulder. "You stick with me. You stay at my table the whole night. Under my arm. Your friends and your boy toy can watch you from afar." He lifts both of his eyebrows, in a challenging way keeping the muscles of his jaw tight. "See yourself out." He says and disappears down the hall.

It's been 2 days since I talked to Jackson and 3 days until Christmas. I haven't seen or talked to anyone since that night. Emma has been trying her best to brighten my mood in any way possible but in all honestly I just need some space, I need to be alone. Alone to think and put everything in order in my head. I thought I was strong enough to deal with this, ready to face it, to face him, but I was wrong. It was too much, more than I could handle emotionally, and definitely not a good idea. God, I should have listened to Hyunjin and kept myself out of this. Now not only did I fucked up our chances of going to that stupid club but I also targeted Minho for him. I haven't seen him since he dropped me off almost a week ago but I'll be lying if I said that I haven't been thinking about him, cause I have. Every day since then. More than I should. The sure thing is that he doesn't want anything to do with me and as much as it bothers me the last thing I wanna do is get him involved in my personal problems. Again. Emma is out on a date with Seungmin, she wanted to cancel and stay home with me but there's no chance in hell that I would let her do that. She's already done so much in the past few days that she owns it to herself to have fun with her boyfriend. On the other hand, I am sinking further on the couch with a half-empty glass of red wine, watching the second season of The Vampire Diaries for probably the 20th time. I snuggle under my blanket, feeling so comfortable that I could stay like this forever. But sadly, that's not the case cause the sound of the doorbell followed by a loud banging on the door makes me groan so loud that I hope the person outside the door thinks I'm a dog and leaves. The banging continues, getting louder by the second. Who could be banging at my door so aggressively at 11 p.m. on a Thursday night? I lift myself off the couch but my legs start to slow down as the possibility of Jackson being the person standing on the other side of my door runs through my mind and my hand stops at the door nob. Another loud bang makes me flinch backwards and snaps me back to reality. I shake the thought off my head and open the door.

My eyes lock with his and a small gasp leaves my lips at how close he's standing, leaning in with both hands resting on the doorway. He keeps his head low, his dark eyes full of anger shooting up as we come face to face. A few seconds of silence pass as neither of us speaks. I don't even dare to breathe properly.

"As I was walking here I was trying to decide whether is it that you have a death wish or that you're simply stupid."

I blankly stare at him, my mind not working, unable to process what I'm seeing. He was definitely the last person I was expecting to see right now. He moves his head, kinda like he's nodding impatiently, expecting me to say something and I realize that my mouth has fallen slightly open.

"Like," Minho lets out a sharp, breathy laugh. "You're really fucking testing me right now."

I silently take him in, and a weird feeling rushes through me. Weird but in a good way, kinda like my eyes have missed the sight of him. It seems like my silence begins to annoy him cause his grip on the doorway visibly tightens. I notice the redness that covers his nose and cheeks and his slightly damp hair. Is it raining? Did he walk all the way here?

"What are you doing here?" I finally find my voice, stuttering a little. "What are you talking about?"

He doesn't answer, instead, he pushes past me, knocking me with his shoulder and entering the living room, not expecting any kind of permission.

"Sure, come in. " I mumble closing the door.

His thick boots make a squeaky sound as he paces around the living room, just like he did the first time I saw him, and that time I found him practicing at the studio. From the little experience I have with him, I know it means that he's possibly upset. "Well?"

He stops to face me. "I was at the frat, I went to see Chan." His voice is low and steady and his eyes are so focused on mine as if he's waiting to catch any reaction to his words. But even though my nerves are growing by the second, I tighten the muscles on my face, keeping it still.

"And?" I cross my arms.

"We were casually chatting until a very, very disturbing call interrupted us." He continues, slowly building his story. My stomach tightens, having an idea where this is going and silently praying that I'm wrong.

"Hyunjin told you to stay out of it." He spits through his teeth and I feel like a huge weight has fallen on me out of nowhere, forcing my shoulders to slouch. Shortly after I left Jackson's apartment I realized just how unhelpful what I had done was, it only provoked him more, and now he's gonna make it everybody's problem.

"Look I just-"

"How-" He raises his voice, shutting me up immediately but stops and pinches the bridge of his nose instead, giving himself a few seconds. "How, in your mind, did it make sense for you to go and talk to him?" He says in a lower tone.

"What did he say to Hyunjin? Does Chan know?" I ask instead.

"That's what you care about?" He clenches his teeth.

This is the last thing that I expected to happen. Minho finding out and showing up at my door wasn't one of the possible ways this could've gone and my stomach actually turns to the idea that Jackson said anything to Hyunjin or Chan. Then again neither of them has called or texted me about it, which is odd if they actually do know anything.

"Actually yeah. " I'm careful with my words and tone. "I can take care of myself, I don't need any of you to worry about me or take care of me. And let's be honest, I was the only one that could convince him to let us in that club."

"Oh, 'cause he cares about you so much right?" His laugh is dripping with irony. "Cause if you were the one to him he would do as you pleased 'cause you're so fucking special to him right?" His cruel words shake me. "Oh my god, get over yourself Y/n. He fucking abused you for months. He doesn't give a shit about you." His laugh is gone and he lets his anger take over. "And you think it's okay for you to go to him, to his fucking place alone to talk about a stupid club?" He throws his hands in the air.

My hands turn into fists and I take a step towards him. "And what was I supposed to do huh?" I yell back. "Let Hyunjin or Chan go talk to him and risk Jackson saying anything to them?"

"Why it's so important to keep it a secret?" His eyes search mine.

"Cause I want to! " My vision begins to get blurry as the words rip through my throat. "I don't want anyone to know."

He takes a step as well, getting into my face. " Well, I do. I know." His chest rises and falls intensely as he tries to calm himself. "And don't expect me to sit here and let you go anywhere near that piece of shit." His face is hard and his eyes completely dark, looking down at me. "No fucking way." He shakes his head.

I feel shivers dancing down my spine from his words, and I bite my lip instinctively. His eyes drop to my mouth for a second. "I'm not your responsibility." I find my voice again. Even though his protectiveness makes my stomach tighten in the best way possible, I'm tired of relying on other people. I wanna be strong enough to support myself. "And you shouldn't care what I do or don't do."

His lips form a thin line. "You're not going to the club with him and you're not going near him ever again."

Is that what he said to Hyunjin on the phone? That we're only allowed to come if I go with him?

"Is that what you care about? You want to make sure that I won't crawl back to him?" I straighten my back. Does he actually think I'm so weak that I'll run back to him?

"Wil you?" He fires back in a second and my heart actually tightens. For some reason, I truly thought that he would be the one to understand. His past is so similar to mine that I thought that he would actually see me and not think of me like everyone would if they knew the truth. Clearly, I was wrong.

I can feel my face falling, all my muscles loosen, my body and mind somehow defeated by the way he's looking at me right now. "Do you care about me?" I ask the question that has been burning inside my mind for days and hold his questioning gaze, hoping to see any sort of shift or emotion in it. Something to confirm that, there is something. Anything. That it's not just me that feels this way toward him. I need a sign cause I know that there's no way he's actually gonna tell me the truth.

"Do you?" I ask again cause he says nothing. "Cause if you don't then, get out." I point out the door. "You made it pretty clear that you don't want anything from me, so why are you showing up at my door acting like this?" He stays silent, frozen almost with his jaw locked and his eyebrows frowned, only his eyes moving and following my fanatic movements as my anger builds. "You're just like every other dude, you want the validation of me running behind you." I move right into his face. "You don't care, you just wanna play with me. And I won't give you the satisfaction."

His jaw clenches and his eyes twitch with anger. He leans in, dangerously close but I hold my ground. I keep my eyes on his clouded ones, my chin facing upwards, suppressing how intimidated I actually am by how sharply he exhales through his nose and how his fingers clench and unclench into fists. His nose almost touches mine and I try to stop my eyes from flickering to his lips. "You don't know what the fuck you're talking about." He says through his teeth, almost growling.

"Then prove me wrong." I challenge him. I wanna push him. I want him to tell me that he cares.

He makes a harsh sound and his hand comes to wrap around my neck. His grip is loose yet strong enough to make my heartbeat rise. "Why are you doing this?"

"Cause you're full of shit." I keep my tone strong and steady. "And you think you have a saying to what I can and can't do. You're nothing to me." My lips begin to form a small smirk.

"I'm nothing to you?" His grip tightens slightly, and I look at him through my lashes. His tongue comes out to wet his lips, drawing my attention.

"Yes." I breathe out.

He chuckles lightly and backs me out until my back hits the door. His free hand comes up next to my head to rest on the door.

God, please kiss me.

"Let me make myself really, really clear here okay angel?" Each word comes out breathy on my lips, light and smooth but powerful enough to make my thighs come together. "I don't wanna hear, or see or know that you came in contact with him in any way humanly possible unless it involves the domestic violence department of the police and I want him as far away from you as possible. This is not me being possessive about something that's not mine, this is me being protective about something I want safe."

Tell me you care. Say it.

His eyes search mine as if he's trying to see if his response is enough.

"I'm trying to keep my distance but it's really hard to do that when you're pulling shit like this." His thumb comes up to my chin while his other fingers stay wrapped around my neck.

"Why?" I whisper. Why is he holding back?

He shakes his head. "Cause I can't. I can't." He closes his eyes for a second, collecting himself. "I don't want to. "

"Talk to me." My voice comes out almost like a whine. "I don't understand you."

He takes a breath, his lips brushing mine, and my body freezes. He toys around a bit, brushing our noses together until his lips fall to mine lightly, almost like a peck. Like a ghost of a kiss, a light brush of softness. He pulls away to look at me and I can see the hesitation in his eyes, so I lean in, silently telling him to continue but he doesn't. He doesn't cause my phone begins to ring and it's almost like it snaps him back to reality. His hand drops from my neck and his gaze falls to the ground. His other hand stays next to my head, that I lightly bang against the door, annoyed. I pull my phone out of my pocket, seeing Jackson's name across the screen. I look at Minho. His eyebrows frown, and a questioning expression paints his face as he leans in to look at my screen. His expression hardens immediately and he reaches to grab the phone from my hand.

I pull away. "No."

"Give me the phone, I'll talk to him." He demands.

"No," I say again and hang up. "I don't wanna provoke him."

"What will he do?" He narrows his eyes.

"You don't know him." I shake my head.

He throws his head back, groaning. "Here we go again. Running in fucking circles."

"Minho, this is not your problem." I sternly say. It's not Chan's or Hyunjin's or anyone's. And I hate it whenever anyone else gets involved. I have to do this for myself. " I'll deal with this on my own."

"I want-"

"I know." I groan, cutting him off. "But you don't have to. And you don't have to feel the need to just because of your past. I'm not you mo-" I stop myself, my eyes slightly widening realizing what I was about to say. He stiffens completely and his expression goes dark. Absolutely dark, to the point that a hint of fear sparks inside me at the sight and I wanna take back everything I said to erase it from his face. He removes his hand from the door and opens it, pushing me to the side as he does, in silence.

"Minho." I try to touch his hand but he pulls away. He doesn't spare me a single glance as he exits the apartment. I don't follow him, I let him leave.

#lee know #lee know x reader #lee know series #lee know skz #lee minho #lee know fanfic #lee know smut #lee minho fanfic #lee minho x reader #skz #stray kids #stray kids fanfic #stray kids lee know #kpop #kpop fanfic #skz lee know #skz smut #kpop smut

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deadboyfriendd · 4 months ago

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While I’m on the topic of books, I read 16 books this year (not much compared to someone I went to high school with’s EIGHTY FIVE but hey I also finished a degree and am a full time artist and a full time teacher give me a break). My thoughts on them below the cut!!

The first book I read last year was A Little Life by Hanya Yanigihara. WOOF. That was 900 pages of sadness and despair. I vouch that we rename the book, “give Jude a fucking break”. Tragic, I still think about it constantly, and I will never read it again. It made me feel so many uneasy and ugly feelings and literally squeezes them out of you. Like I can’t adequately form an opinion about all of the things this book made me feel. It was profound and shocking and so immensely sad. Very rarely do I cry reading, and I ugly cried through the better half of this book.

Southern Bookclub’s was a palate cleanser for a little life. I call it Steel Magnolias for horror enthusiasts. It’s about a group of women in a prominent neighborhood in the middle of the Bible Belt during the 80s Satanic panic. They end up forming their own book club where they only read horror and true crime and end up convincing themselves that their neighbor is a vampire. It’s hilarious and charming and such a good narrative with the most satisfying ending. A great read!!

Death in her hands by Otessa Moshfegh started my obsession with her entire body of work. Each piece is a narrative in femininity and life through the scope of womanhood. This story follows an elderly woman after the death of her husband and is a fantastic example of the unreliable narrator. It was well paced and a quick read!

The ACOTAR series is… entertaining at best?? It was a drastic change from my usual genres but I was hounded into reading it by everyone and MY mother. I devoured the first and second books in two days. It’s easily palatable, kinda sexy, and a good story overall. Do it think it was life changing profound fiction? Not really. Feyre is super annoying to me but there are so many other cool characters. I think SJM probably could have slowed down and turned the third book into three different books to focus on that world building and really turned ACOTAR into something special. But it was a good story and the world building was pretty cool!

Priest was garbage.

I share the same sentiments with fourth wing and iron flame as I do with ACOTAR. Violet is less annoying than Feyre, but everyone else is so much more annoying. How to train your dragon college AU. Am I gonna read Onyx Storm when it comes out on the 21st? Yeah. I am.

Nothing but blackened teeth was… a little underwhelming? It was a quick read and your run of the mill scary ghost story. That’s all I can say about it.

My year of rest and relaxation is a book I constantly think about. THIS landed on my favorites of all time list. It tells the story of a melodramatic art major who becomes an orphan after her rich, emotionally unavailable parents die and she spends a year getting so ridiculously high on experimental prescriptions and her narrative through these moments of lucidity. It’s like if fear and loathing in Las Vegas was written by a tortured artist. It’s an acquired taste for sure but I was the target audience for that book.

A curse so dark and lonely was recommended to me by a coworker. She described it as something similar to ACOTAR with less spice. It follows the story of Harper, a teenage girl living in the big city with cerebral palsy, and she ends up in a mythical fairytale land as a chosen one to break the prince’s curse. It’s a cute beauty and the beast retelling and I plan on finishing the cursebreaker series eventually!! The characters are a little shallow and Wattpad fan fiction-ey, Harper is very, “I’m not like other girls” but it’s overall a pretty good story.

I ended my year picking up the Outlander series. Oh my GOD. It is my historical fiction writers dream. Jamie is charming and sexy and the book boyfriend to end all book boyfriends. Blows Rhysand and Xaden out of the water. Claire is a witty, sharp, multifaceted FMC and I absolutely ADORE her, and her world building is INSANE. I mean seriously I’m on the third book and I’m learning so much about European history and the Jacobite uprising. Things I wasn’t taught in school. These books are so so long but they’re so thoughtful and so interesting. Easily creeping it’s way up my favorites list.

Bonus points to outlander for having a show that follows so so closely to the book. I’m watching as I’m reading and it’s my little treat.

#flea speaks #books in the freezer

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nothing1me · 2 months ago

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Reflection on the impact of Yellowjackets on my life

One very special thing Yellowjackets is doing for me is the way I'm appreciating my bonds much more. And in a way, I feel like my inner child is receiving answers about the effects of trauma on bonds.

I've mentioned this before (not in detail), but this series from the very beginning had touched something in me that I superficially saw a glimpse of but didn't stop to think about until recently.

I've joked a few times about how I've seen Callie's relationship with Shauna, in me and my mom (and how I've seen my mom in Shauna). But right now I'm so emotional that I just want to reflect on this.

I spent much of my life craving my mother's approval, wanting her affection and respect because my mother was always emotionally unavailable to me. And from a very young age, I knew that my mother was a victim of many things that made her the way she was, and although because of that, and because I had to take care of my siblings and her from herself because sometimes the depression that hit her as a result of her traumas was very destructive (which forced me to mature emotionally abruptly as a child and carry a miserable feeling for the rest of my life), two extreme feelings coexisted in me:

An excessive empathy for others and absolute resentment for having lost my childhood.

I am a mediator who initially had a lot of hunger for the ability to take on the world with my aspirations of success and being someone intellectually important (like Tai), but my traumas caught up with me to the point where I am unable to face anything because of how emotional and vulnerable I become, so I resort to self-destructive practices (like Nat).

Because I was raised to be a comforter, to be something to be cared others; born simply to accompany my mother in her pain because that's what she thought she needed. But I wasn't what she wanted, because people are never the answers to the things that happen inside us. So I became a reminder of her trauma, and every time I did something that wasn't aligned with what she believed was right, I was punished with her contempt.

So, it turned out that I became one of her greatest fears (the very thing that made her take me to a psychologist at age 6 to ask her to please confirm that I wasn't her fear): being queer. And that, in a way, bothered her so much because part of her traumas had to do with the sexual realm, and I was becoming (in her head) more strongly the very thing that had marked her so much.

So, here I was, perfectly understanding my mother and the place of her pain. But I was also suffering from being in this place. My mother spent her entire life anchored to her traumas, and I did the same. And I began to resent and harbor very negative feelings. But I was created to be with her; I was created to repair something. But I didn't ask to be created, nor did I ask to be born and have to do this.

And my teenage years were plagued with suicidal thoughts because I was so tired of being alive, of feeling so miserable because how was I able to bear never being truly seen, how was I able to receive scorn from the people I loved so much, how was it that I kept losing so many friends when I always gave them my whole heart, how could I ever truly be good if I resented my own mother to the point of near-hate. I came from a Christian place (ironically, I discovered I was gay around the same time I was starting life as a religious adolescent), so dealing with so much guilt had become second nature to me.

The audiovisual content of gl/wlw became a refuge for me. Not because of the fetish, not because I'm a wanker; but for something deeper and more emotional. First, it was a place where things weren't necessarily sexual, because since before the age of 9, I was exposed to topics about sex that impacted me on a level I haven't wanted to reflect on to this day. Second, I had been struggling with internalized misogyny for some time, so it became a place where I could learn to respect women, understand them, and empathize through all these stories. Third, I was proving to myself that I didn't resent women because of everything I was going through with my mom. And fourth, it became a community for me that welcomed me since 11-14 years old, making the internet a safe place for me, with all the people I met on forums like CoYuHi and the Hispanic FFN community.

So, I'm this young man on the autism spectrum who really felt a lot, but is sex-averse and had enough trauma to truly commit to entering romantic relationships. So, I poured all the love I felt into the Sapphic characters I connected with. And I've spent most of my life finding comfort in reading and writing about beautiful and complex relationships between women, distancing myself from this real physical world where much of the pain that generates irreparable trauma in women has to do with our patriarchal society, which costs the lives of all of us immersed in it. I never liked Y/N's stories precisely because I don't consume this media to insert myself; I consume it because I want to feel like there are universes where women are masters of their own paths without the chains that men have represented for them. And perhaps a lot of it has to do precisely with my mother, because she has never been able to escape those chains and what men have meant to her life.

I left home when I was 19 (I went to live with my father) because I thought that by moving away from my mother, I wouldn't be able to hate her, because by living outside her home, I wouldn't be under the pressure of her control and contempt. So I also abandoned the religion that had meant so much to my life since I was 13 (and this is something to reflect on another time, because I have a very complicated relationship with religion).

And that period away from her was reassuring in that sense, but I also went through one of the deepest depressive episodes I'd experienced up to that point. I changed majors and missed out on many opportunities, and the WLW community supported me through that process, giving me the strength to continue in this life. Then I graduated, the pandemic began, I started my master's degree, my mom moved back home (she remarried my father, even though she didn't love him), and I dropped out of college. And then I had the most intense depressive episode of my life up to that point, which forced me to check into a mental health center for five days.

I was really in a very, very dark place. And during all of that, my parents divorced again (because they were deeply unhappy together), my best friend passed away, and my relationship with my mom became this thing that made me wonder if I could ever satisfy her and be worthy of her respect and acceptance. So I just resigned myself to the idea that I would truly be free the day she died, but that I would die the same day she died. Also, that I would never be worthy of love because all the people I love could never love me the way I do, or they would be lost if they ever did. And ever since then, there's only been a defeated bitterness in my heart that prevents me from ever really wanting to connect with other people on an intimate level because I constantly feel like I'll be abandoned.

The few times I make time to visit my mother, it's a very desolate experience because she suffers so much from the distance I've put between us, but I suffer so much too because I know we always hurt each other when we see each other. Because she wants to "fix" me, "correct" me, and demand that I change; and I just want her to love me just as I am without hiding behind her God and her traumas to reject me.

Although my rational side empathizes with her deeply, I'm deeply traumatized by our relationship, and that makes me blame her for most of the misfortunes that have happened in my life. My failures with people are the fault of the way she raised me, because she always told me she couldn't give me the love I wanted because "she couldn't give me what she never received."

But then, will I really be free the day she dies because I am entirely a product of her need to fill the voids in her life? Will I really remain anchored to these traumas despite being a 28-year-old man? Is my empathy for her really greater than my resentment? Am I really this unmotivated, guilt-ridden failure of a human being?

And I came across Yellowjackets. By chance, because I consume any media with sapphic content, because my Netflix algorithm thought it would be a series for me even though I'm very adverse to certain themes because I still have traces of religion in me.

The show started to feel very real and personal to me. I went from only sympathizing with some characters because of my shipping tendencies or my moral compass; it became something that made me love every single character there and feel a deep ache in my heart for their stories (even Jeff, despite the fact that I always complain or speak badly about him on Twitter). It's a show about moral formation based on experiences that can be pretty messed up. It's a series that at first glance anyone can read as a "anything goes, they've already done their worst so we can judge" or "it's the yuri gore of the moment, for entertainment."

But it's the first time in my life where a series is genuinely making me think about my relationship with my mom, and it's something that surprised me a lot because for someone who literally her entire life has been based on the effects of her traumatic relationship with her maternal figure, never in a thousand years (despite the reflection I made above that maybe I consume a lot of yuri because I like to think that in a non-phallocentric world maybe my mom would have been really happy and consequently, I would have too) had I linked the programs I consume with her (beyond seeing a loving mother capable of anything for her children and thinking that I wish I had had that).

I see a lot of my mom in Shauna when it comes to dealing with trauma and how they are people who do so much harm to others, not from a place of malice and evil, but as a defense mechanism. I see how they are so sweet to others, how they truly are deeply sensitive, how they self-sabotage even when they are stable, how the world never seems enough, how they have never truly been happy despite spending their entire lives searching for it, how they are not emotionally available to be mothers because they are still traumatized children who are stuck living in the past, how their dreams of being someone great and pretentious were taken away from them because their traumas and life caught up with them; how they truly love with such intensity that they destroy everything they touch. And seeing those parallels simply makes me want to cry and hug her with all the love, tenderness, understanding, and forgiveness in the world.

Because I love my mother so deeply that I truly don't want her to ever die, and I truly don't want to be free if it means losing her. And I know we hurt each other, that the distance I create hurts us both terribly, and that being together will always make us feel miserable because we're not the versions of each other we wish we were. But at least we have the now; we're both alive, we're on the same page, and we have this present that life allowed us to have.

I've always prided myself on having enough empathy to understand her, but I also knew that my own trauma had made me insensitive to her because with her everything always had to revolve around her pain (I could never talk to her about my problems because she was supposed to have suffered more and I was draining her with my things; or my ailments were simply things of the immaturity of youth and not like her life full of wounds).

And Yellowjackets just sat me down and made me reflect on how empathy is something we must renew and nurture. How as long as we have life, we have a chance. How we must sometimes give in to maintain the bonds we hold so dear. How love and pain can coexist, but that we also choose how much power that pain has. How we accidentally let trauma take control of our lives and continue to spread wounds to others. How we are so broken, hopeless, and hurting, but that it's still our lives, and we can act on that to make the world a better or worse place.

And healing will never be linear, because traumas aren't either.

Perhaps these reflections will last for a limited time for me because I can't dismiss a lifetime of moving from my traumas, or perhaps they will change me forever. But I can only live this present day because tomorrow will always be a mystery. And right now, I feel a renewed love from empathy, mercy, forgiveness, and gratitude for my mother that I haven't felt in many years. And this is very special to me because I know my mother has struggled tremendously in this life and has rarely felt truly seen. I would love to show her the program and say, "Mom, you have no idea how much I've come to understand you better because of this," but Mom is deeply homophobic, and her faith doesn't allow her to watch things about cannibalism (or zombies). So, I will simply try to act on this renewed love and try to make her days a little less difficult by striving to share more of it, as she wishes.

Thank you, Yellowjackets, for coming into my life and allowing me to come here so you could teach me such a profound lesson that my soul needed. Thank you so much.

#Yellowjackets

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