#I grew to like him over the course of his run

[uniquexusposts]

But I am Lando Norris | L. Norris

Summary: Lando Norris went to a random concert and ended up seeing his childhood neighbour on stage. What would he do to see her again after all those years? Words: 2.619 A/n: I got the inspiration after seeing Tom Odell and Billie Eilish at their concert :)

The venue was filled with many people. A lot of people. Something Lando hadn’t really expected, for some reason, but it was very real. 20.000 people in this stadium. All for Your artist name (Y/a/n). Everything in the stadium was louder than expected. 

It wasn’t chaotic, not yet, but there was a humming with that kind of pre-show tension that made everyone talk louder than usual, laugh sharper, sing along with the background music, scroll their phones more nervously, as if trying to pass the time before something important dropped. And to many, something important would happen. The opening act had just finished.

Lando tucked his hands into the pockets of his jacket and scanned the crowd beneath and next to him, from where he stood near the VIP lounge entrance. His friends had disappeared a few minutes ago, getting drinks or merch or whatever else people would do before a show like this. He had said he would wait here. He didn’t mind it. 

He wasn’t even really sure why he had said yes to coming. His friend had offered the spare ticket with zero pressure, and he had said ‘why not’ like it meant nothing. He hadn’t expected anything, they said it was just a show of an artist, just music, good music, and maybe some songs he would vaguely recognise. 

And then he had seen the name on the poster when arriving. 

Y/a/n. Just that. Stylised. Sharp. Backlit in white. 

He remembered seeing it and pausing, only for a second. Enough to think, Huh. That’s wild. Because even if she went by something different now, even if her look had changed, he knew who she was.

They had grown up on the same street. Played in the same games with the same kids outside. Played football, hide and seek, ring and run. Things kids would do when playing outside. They had never been close, just part of the blut of childhood. And then one day, after going to high school, the entire group stopped meeting up. 

Lando exhaled slowly and glanced over the crowd. Y/a/n had a massive fanbase, she had so many hits, the tickets to her tour were sold out quickly. People would camp a week before her show to get the best seats. People were standing outside without a ticket, hoping someone would give up a ticket to still give them a chance to see Y/a/n. 

He ran a hand through his hair, then followed the others inside. They took a seat on their designated seats. 

Max nudged him. “Didn’t know you were a fan.”

“I’m not,” Lando said, almost absently. “She just… grew up in my neighbourhood.”

Max blinked. “Wait, seriously?”

“Yeah. We used to play outside with the same group of kids.” He shrugged like it didn’t matter. “That’s it.”

And then the lights went out.

A breathless silence fell like a wave, followed by a sudden scream from the crowd. Somewhere beneath it all, a low, pulsing synth began to rise, slow, haunting, magnetic. Lando sat up straighter. He hadn’t expected much. But the moment the music hit, the first note, the sudden bloom of lights, something shifted.

The screen behind the stage flickered to life, abstract visuals in grayscale, like static breaking into water, and the bass deepened, vibrating in Lando’s chest. Then, through the smoke and fractured light, she appeared.

Y/a/n. 

Y/n L/n from house number 47. 

It wasn’t just the way she stood there, still, centred, not saying a word, but the way the entire arena reacted on her presence. She wore something simple, red, almost careless, yet very stylish, but held herself like gravity had shifted in her favour. The crowd roared. She didn’t flinch.

Lando forgot to blink.

It was her. Of course it was her, her voice was on every radio, her face was on every screen. But this was different. This was now. And the shy girl, who used to kick gravel down their street had turned into a phenomenon.

And when she began to sing, the crowd was screaming the lyrics along. They knew every single word. She moved energetically along the stage, waved every now and then to the crowd. It was like a bomb with energy exploded in the stadium. 

Lando didn’t hear the lyrics.

He only watched her. The way she moved with purpose but without effort. The way the crowd swayed like she was pulling every string.

His friends were cheering. Someone bumped into his arm. But Lando didn’t move. He wasn’t starstruck, it wasn’t that. He just suddenly couldn’t believe that someone like her had been standing five feet away from him all those summers ago, barefoot and shy and loud and ordinary.

And now?

Now she looked like a storm that had learned how to sing.

-

The crowd screamed, clapped, their cheers nearly drowning out the music when Y/a/n walked around the stage to wave at her crowd for the last time. Lando stood, clapping along, but it was automatic. He didn’t feel the rush of excitement everyone else was experiencing. He was still lost in the haze of that last moment.

His mind was still back at the moment she had stepped on stage, her presence a magnet. His heart wasn’t pounding, it wasn’t nerves, but something deeper, quieter. A magnetic pull he couldn’t explain.

Max slapped him on the back. “She was incredible, huh?”

Lando nodded, eyes still on the stage as the lights began to fade, her presence fading away as she got off the stage. “Yeah. Incredible.” His words felt empty compared to what he was actually feeling, but he couldn’t find the right ones. Incredible didn’t even begin to cover it.

The crowd slowly began to spill out of the stands, but Lando wasn’t moving. His friends were already heading toward the exit, chatting about the encore and how they could grab drinks after. But Lando’s feet stayed planted.

How could she be that powerful?

He scanned the stage one last time, searching for any sign of her, his heart still racing despite the calm exterior. There was a stir in the air, a buzz of people rushing behind the scenes, a mix of crew, security, and the last few fans who were hoping for a glimpse.

He didn’t think, he just acted.

Lando got up and he walked towards one of the doors that said ‘backstage, staff only’. He could hear the excitement of all the fans, many were screaming, crying and almost hyperventilating. Some recognised him, but they were still processing the moments they had with their favourite artist. His pulse was fast, not from adrenaline but something else entirely, something raw and uncertain. He couldn’t explain it, but the need to see her, just for a second, had overtaken him.

By the time he reached the backstage entrance, a security guard stepped in front of him, blocking his path.

“Can I help you?” the guard asked, arms crossed, his gaze unimpressed.

Lando swallowed, trying to push away the uncertainty that suddenly hit him. “I… I just need to talk to her. Y/n. Is she still here?”

The guard raised an eyebrow. “You a friend?”

Lando hesitated for a beat too long, the weight of his own words feeling heavier now. “Yeah. I grew up with her. We-”

The guard didn’t even let him finish. “And I grew up with the King. You can turn around and go home.”

Lando bit back a frustrated sigh. He glanced at the exit, hoping for a glimpse. But he knew that wasn’t enough. He wasn’t going to leave this night like that. Not after what he had just seen. “Do you have any idea when she’ll be available?” he asked, his voice steady but urgent now. “I don’t want to take up much time. Just a quick conversation.”

The guard looked him over again, as if debating whether or not he should let him through. He squinted his eyes. “You know, mate, we can do it the friendly way or the difficult way. There’s a reason why I am here. And you should know all about it. We can’t give everybody access to their favourite person. You would not like it too.” 

“No, I fully understand,” Lando sighed. He couldn’t leave, not yet. He had to see her again. “But how can I see her? This is personal. And as you said, I know all about it. So why would I disturb her for no reason?”

The guard didn’t budge, still eyeing him with skepticism. The silence between them stretched for a moment, the background noise of the crowd's excitement humming in the distance. Lando could feel his patience wearing thin, but he knew he had to stay calm. He couldn't risk losing his chance.

Finally, the guard spoke again, his voice softer, though still guarded. “Alright, mate. Here’s the deal. She’s not going to have time for some random fan to chat her up after the show, even if you used to play football with her as a kid-“

“But I am Lando Norris,” Lando said, throwing out a card he hated. 

“And I am Leo Samson, nice to meet you. I can’t make exceptions. Stop the debate, it’s not going to happen-“

“But I’m not a random fan,” Lando cut in, sharply but not unkind. “I’m not trying to take a picture or get an autograph. I’m not even here for her music, well, I am now, I guess. But I didn’t come here because she’s famous.”

The guard’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t interrupt.

“I came here because I recognised the name on the poster,” Lando continued. “Because I remember her before all of this. Before the crowds and the lights and the sold-out stadiums. I just... I saw her tonight and I remembered who she was. And she probably doesn’t even remember me, but I would hate myself if I didn’t try to say hi. That’s it.” He let the silence settle again. “I’m not trying to cross any lines,” he added quietly. “But if I walked away right now, I think I would regret it. For a long time.”

The guard studied him. Really studied him. Then finally, he huffed a breath through his nose and reached for his microphone that was connected to his transceiver. “I’ve got Lando Norris coming through for Y/n L/n. It’s alright.” He stepped aside and opened the door. “Don’t do weird things, mate. I will find you.”

A relieved smile came on Lando’s face. “I will, thanks.” 

“Someone will bring you to her.”  

Lando gave the guard a quick, grateful nod, then stepped through the doorway, the heavy sound of the door closing behind him like a shift in atmosphere. The hallway he entered was quieter than the rest of the venue, cooler, dimmer, like the pulse of the show had finally exhaled back here.

Someone, one of the backstage crew, was already waiting. She didn’t ask questions, just gave him a glance, then motioned with her head for him to follow. They walked down a corridor lined with industrial pipes and faded posters from past shows. He could still hear the crowd outside, but it was muted now, distant. He wasn’t sure what he was going to say when he saw her. He wasn’t even sure she would want to see him. But the idea of not trying had been worse.

He turned the corner, and there she was.

Y/n was walking down the hall toward him, alone, her hair damp from the show, her outfit stuck to her skin due to the sweat. Her head was down, scrolling her phone. She looked so normal like this. So real. The stadium version of her was still echoing in his mind, but this, this was the part he had been desperate to see.

She looked up.

Stopped.

He froze too.

“…Lando?”

Her voice was cautious, halfway between recognition and disbelief.

He exhaled a laugh, barely a breath. “Hey.”

Y/n blinked like she was trying to make sense of him standing there. “What are you… how did you..?”

“I saw your name on the poster,” he said. “Didn’t believe it at first. Then I saw you tonight and I-” He ran a hand through his hair, suddenly unsure of everything he had rehearsed in his head. “I couldn’t leave without seeing you.”

She didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at him. Really looked.

He stepped closer, slowly, not wanting to spook her, not wanting to mess it up. “You probably don’t remember me.”

Her brows rose. “Of course I remember you. You’re the reason I almost broke my arm falling out of the neighbour’s tree. And the reason I never touched Capri-Sun again.”

He laughed, a little dazed. “You threw it at my head. Deserved, for the record.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, and for a second, the years between them shrank. “I didn’t know you were into concerts,” she said.

“I’m not, really.” He shrugged. “But apparently I’m into you.”

Her eyes flicked up to his, a quiet spark lighting behind them.

Lando cleared his throat, suddenly nervous again. “I just… I didn’t want this to be one of those things where I remembered someone forever and never told them they meant something to me. Even if you didn’t remember me.”

Y/n looked at him, soft now. “Well… I do.”

They stood in the hallway, just looking at each other, while the world outside buzzed and pulsed with the afterglow of her performance.

Lando let out a breath, eyes still on her like she might disappear if he blinked. “I don’t even know where to start,” he said, a little breathless. “You were… insane tonight. In the best way. Like… I don’t think I’ve ever been in a crowd that loud before. And I’ve stood on podiums, but this? You had everyone wrapped around your finger.”

Y/n flushed slightly, the way an older neighbour made a comment about them playing on the road. “I mean, F1 podiums are something different, huh?” She smiled. “And I mean, it’s kind of surreal, still. Even after all this time.”

��It shouldn’t be,” Lando said. “You’re meant for this. I don’t know how I didn’t see it back then. You were always singing, always messing around with lyrics or humming something under your breath. I guess I just thought everyone had something like that.”

She smiled again, the kind of smile that carried a hundred memories. “Most people grow out of it.”

“But you didn’t.” His voice was quiet now, sincere. “You built a world out of it.”

Y/n looked down at her hands for a second. “It wasn’t easy. Still isn’t.”

“I can imagine,” Lando said. “But tonight… God, Y/n, you were like this force. You had everyone screaming one minute, dead silent the next. It was electric.”

Y/n’s smile turned shy, like she didn’t know what to do with the praise. “Thanks. That means a lot, coming from you.”

Lando shook his head. “I’m not saying this as the Lando Norris, if you mean it like that. I’m saying it as some kid who used to race you down the street for ice cream and lost every time. I’m proud of you. Seriously.”

The silence between them filled with warmth, a fragile but growing sense of something shifting.

“You always were terrible at running,” she murmured.

“And apparently, really good at recognising stars before they go supernova.”

That made her laugh. Really laugh. And Lando swore it sounded just like it used to.

Taglist: @itsjustkhaos @crashingwavesofeuphoria @maryvibess @ironmaiden1313 @sltwins @heart-trees @npcmia @llando4norris

[pretty-royals]

Missing something

| Summary : Once upon a quiet morning a small thing was forgotten—just a ring, simple and gold, left behind without a thought. And yet, for the rest of the day, Sanji grew quiet, distant, and strangely flustered. You watched him dodge your gaze, sidestep your touch, wrapped up in a secret he wouldn’t speak aloud.

Type : Fluff

Warnings : Slight angst on Sanji’s side,very soft hurt/comfort, Married™

The morning sun poured through the porthole of the shared bedroom, casting golden light over the curve of your shoulder. You stirred with a soft sigh, warm and wrapped in the lingering scent of Sanji’s cologne and the faintest trace of last night’s perfume—an blend of lavender and black tea that always clung to him after a late-night cleaning spree in the kitchen.

He was already gone, of course. Sanji always rose before everyone else, like the sun itself couldn’t function without him in the galley. You smiled sleepily, fingers trailing over the sheets where he’d lain beside you. But as your hand wandered, it caught on something small and cold resting on the edge of the nightstand.

Your brow furrowed.

You sat up, blinking away the fog of sleep, and picked it up.

A wedding ring.

His wedding ring.

The same gold band you had both exchanged months ago. You’d both promised to never take them off unless absolutely necessary.

Your lips twisted into a crooked smile. “Really, Sanji?”

He must’ve left it behind during his morning routine. That man could be precise in a fight and in the kitchen, but he was an absolute mess when it came to organizing his own life. How he managed to forget his ring of all things, though, was beyond you.

Still holding the ring between your fingers, you padded out of the room barefoot, intent on returning it.

—|

Sanji was in hell.

Not actual hell. No, not the fiery, brimstone kind.

This was a personal hell—a very specific nightmare built for only one man:

He had lost his wedding ring.

It started like any other morning. He’d gotten up early, brushed his teeth, showered, prepped breakfast, and was halfway through chopping vegetables before he looked down at his hand and realized the unmistakable absence of cool metal against his skin.

Panic had gripped him like a vice.

His first instinct had been to retrace his steps. He’d run back to the bathroom, rifled through towels, checked the sink drain like a madman, then sprinted back to the bedroom to toss the sheets like a burglar.

Nothing.

He hadn’t told you. How could he?

He couldn’t face you without it. You meant everything to him. That ring was more than a symbol—it was you. Losing it felt like he’d just dropped his entire world down a drainpipe.

So, he avoided you.

Which was hard, because you kept trying to talk to him.

You’d poked your head into the galley once that morning, the ring held behind your back. “Hey love, you okay? You seem a little distracted today.”

He hadn’t even looked up from the cutting board. “Oui, ma chérie, everything is perfect. Just focused on breakfast. Run along, okay?”

The confused look on your face had almost broken him.

Then there was lunch. You’d come by again, ring in hand.

“Sanji, can we talk?”

“Sorry, lunch rush! Later, my sweet! Mwah!”

He’d all but shoved a tray of soba into Usopp’s hands and practically dove into the pantry to avoid you. Each time he saw you, guilt tore another hole in his gut.

⸻

By the time dinner came around, you were fuming.

You’d tried giving him the ring three more times. Each time, he brushed you off. The most recent attempt, he’d actually ducked under the table when he saw you walking in.

You stood outside the galley, arms crossed, the ring clutched tightly in your palm. Maybe you were overthinking it. Maybe he didn’t want to wear it anymore?

No. That didn’t make sense.

Sanji adored you. Worshiped the ground you walked on, to the point of idiocy. Whatever this was, it wasn’t about not wanting to wear the ring.

But damn if it wasn’t hurting.

⸻

It was late.

Most of the crew had turned in for the night. The lights on the Sunny’s deck were low, the sound of the waves soft against the hull. You sat on the bed, legs tucked beneath you, the ring sitting on the pillow beside you like a small, accusing ghost.

The door creaked.

You looked up.

Sanji stood in the doorway, half in shadow, half cast in the soft golden light from the hall. He looked exhausted. Hair disheveled. Tie undone. Shoulders slumped.

But worst of all—he looked ashamed.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

You didn’t respond. You just looked at him.

He walked in slowly, as if approaching a minefield, and sat at the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, hands twisted together.

“I…” he began, then stopped, cleared his throat, and started again. “I have something to tell you, mon amour.”

You waited.

“I lost it,” he whispered. “I lost my ring. I noticed this morning and I… I’ve been looking for it all day. I tore apart the ship. I searched the kitchen, the vents, even the damn seagull nests. I was too embarrassed to tell you. I didn’t want you to think I didn’t care. That I wasn’t careful. I’m so sorry.”

He still didn’t look at you.

You picked up the ring and held it out to him, your voice calm.

“You mean this wedding ring?”

Sanji froze.

His head whipped toward you, eyes wide, jaw slightly open.

You arched a brow, voice carefully even. “The one I tried to give you since the start of the day? The same one you forgot in the bedroom this morning?”

His mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again.

“I—I left it in the bedroom ?” he croaked, horrified.

You nodded slowly.

“I found it on the edge of the nightstand. I figured you took it off to wash your face or something and forgot. I tried to give it back. Multiple times. You even ducked behind Luffy once.”

“I thought you were mad at me,” he said, eyes still wide. “I thought you—”

“Sanji,” you interrupted, voice softening, “I’m not mad that you forgot it. I’m mad you ignored me all day. You could’ve just told me.”

He took the ring from your hand like it was sacred, eyes shimmering. “I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

You sighed and shifted forward, wrapping your arms around his shoulders from behind, pressing your forehead to the side of his neck.

“Sanji, I married you because I love you, not because of a ring. That’s just a piece of metal. A beautiful one, yes, but you are the reason it matters.”

He turned his head slightly, his nose brushing yours.

“I’ve been a fool,” he murmured. “A lovesick, panicking, fool.”

You kissed his cheek. “Yes, but you’re my fool.”

He slipped the ring back onto his finger slowly, reverently, as though he were putting it on for the first time.

Then he turned to face you fully, cupping your face in his hands.

“Je t’aime” he whispered.

You smiled. “Je t’aime aussi. Now, no more hiding from me behind dining tables.”

He laughed, breathless and warm, pulling you into a real kiss this time—soft, deep, full of the silent apologies and gratitude he couldn’t quite say aloud.

When you finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, eyes closed.

“I swear, I’ll never take it off again.”

“Good,” you teased. “Because next time, I might just make you earn it back.”

His eyes lit up, lips curving. “Does that mean you’ll punish me, Mrs. Vinsmoke?”

You smacked his shoulder lightly. “It means I’ll make you sleep in the kitchen.”

He laughed again, and this time it was full, bright, and wholly relieved.

And just like that, the weight lifted, replaced with something infinitely warmer—something that sparkled even brighter than a silver ring under moonlight.

Love, as chaotic and imperfect as it was, had never tasted sweeter.

By the command and exclusive favor of Her Most Radiant and Serene Highness, the Princess.You are hereby named the Special Guest of the Court : @clare-875

The Princess thanks you dearly—for your wit, your charm, and most importantly, your service to the crown.

The Court :

@dazaiwifey @the-maladaptive-daydreamers @sle3pymarimo @sweet-3-whispers

[ozarkthedog]

guard dog!pope hitting too close to home. tmi, but as someone who grew up without any men in a family (like protector/provider figure) and seeing Andrew who always ready to fight for his brothers just does something to me. Like that fight ring scene in s4, I would be all over him in his truck after that fight.

you get me! Pope would be so protective. He'd keep his arm wrapped around your waist 24/7 if he could but of course we all know that ain't possible...

Let's say you're at the grocery store together and you run back to the last aisle because you forgot an item, leaving Pope with the cart. It takes him all of 2 minutes to realize something is up. (Not that he's counting the seconds you're gone.) Pope leaves the cart in a hurry, focused only on your whereabouts.

Pope doesn't stop moving the moment he turns the corner. The second he spies you pressed uncomforably against a row of cereal boxes by a man standing too close and chatting your ear off, Pope barrels a heavy shoulder into the man, and knocks him off his feet.

"the hell do you think you're doing?" Pope snarls into the stranger's face as he pins him against the metal shelf, knocking cereal boxes to the floor. The man struggles under Pope's hold, mumbling nonsense as you gather your bearings.

You don't even hear the stranger's response; you only care about finishing your shopping and getting back to the house. You lay your hands on Pope's shoulders and dig your fingers into his muscles, bringing him back to you. 

"Andrew, it's okay. I'm okay."

Hearing his name on your tongue makes him pause. 

Pensive, hazel eyes look over his shoulder at your softening face, ensuring you are, in fact, unharmed. "C'mon, let's go." You implore, tilting your head to the end of the aisle and sliding a hand down his freckled arm. "The ice cream is going to melt."

Pope loosens his grip, but not before yanking the man from the shelves, forcing him to stumble on his feet. "You got lucky." Pope rumbles the threat like it was second nature. 

"You sure you're okay?" Pope asks, brushing a thumb against your cheek. 

"More than." You smile, hoping to ease his worry. "Thank you for coming to my rescue." 

"Always," Pope vows, hooking a protective arm over your shoulder and curling you into his side. He reaches for the box of cereal you originally went to retrieve as you walk back toward your cart, leaving the shocked man to run a hand over his warped shirt collar, wondering where he went wrong. 

[katnissmellarkkk]

🚲

“Okay, see, I’m doing it-Peeta!” I scream as I feel myself begin to tip.

“It’s okay,” he promises, his hands back on my waist immediately. “I’m right here.”

“You promised you wouldn’t let go!” I stare up at him in betrayal and anger.

His smile widens as he fights a laugh. “You were doing good,” he says and pats my thigh, signaling me to pedal again.

“That doesn’t mean you can just let me go.” The accusation still hasn’t left my voice. Not one little bit. “This is still new to me.” And we both know I hate anything that’s new.

Especially shiny contraptions that I have no idea how to work.

Effie has sent some crazy things to us since we came back to Twelve three years ago. Some useless stuff, like perfumes and makeup and jewels. Some things I begrudgingly got attached to like lavender and strawberry shampoos and a hair dryer.

But this purple bicycle she sent two weeks ago as an early birthday present confused me more than anything else. I had never in my life had a bike. I had no idea how to ride one. And I don’t know what possessed her to send it in the first place.

But Peeta knew how to ride one. He grew up riding his older brother’s hand-me-down bicycle to school every day. And he wanted so badly to teach me.

“If I fall off this thing because you let me go, Peeta, I swear-”

I can’t even finish my threat before Haymitch cuts me off. “Then the boy and me will pick you back up and you’ll be no worse off, sweetheart.”

“You need to calm down,” Peeta murmurs in agreement, his voice gentle in my ear as he pulls on my braid. “You’re doing great.”

“You could be doing better,” Haymitch corrects and tugs my shoulder up. “Sit up straighter. Lean back. And quit overthinking it. If I could learn how to ride a bike, you can in no time.”

That was another motivation for me. How am I supposed to live with the knowledge that Haymitch can do something I cannot?

“That’s it,” Peeta encourages as I lean back slightly and pedal faster. “You’re getting it.” And then, just like before, he drops my waist and gives me a shove, propelling me forward without him as my safety net.

“Peeta!”

“You’re doing it, girl,” Haymitch calls, his voice sounding more faint by the second as I head deeper snd deeper into the meadow.

“You’re doing it!” Peeta exclaims, clearly proud of me. Which makes me proud of myself too.

“I am!” I yell back, laughing suddenly as the giddiness kicks in. “Peeta, I’m riding a bike!”

“Just don’t lean-”

“Katniss, you’re headed into-”

Neither of them can finish their warnings before the bike’s front wheel runs over a tree stump and sends me flying over the handlebars.

In an instant — faster than I knew Haymitch could even run — they’re both there, yanking the bike away and crouching over me, tugging and twisting me until I’m upright again.

“Move your hand,” Peeta instructs quietly, prying my palm off my temple, where I scraped my head on the tree.

Haymitch inhales sharply while Peeta examines the damage. “It’s just a cut,” he concludes as I wince from his prodding.

“Guess you’re done with riding lessons for today, huh, sweetheart?” Haymitch says, as Peeta pulls me to my feet only to immediately scoop me up into his strong, inviting arms.

“Yes, Haymitch, I’d say her lessons are done for the day,” he retorts, rolling his eyes.

“We are still gonna have cake though, right? I mean after you get her head bandaged up.” He looks more worried about cancelling my birthday dinner than he does about the cut.

Before Peeta can snap at him for being crass though, a laugh slips out of me. “Well I’m sure not gonna forfeit my cake over a little blood.”

“That’s my girl.” My mentor beams.

At that, my husband blinks twice and shoots me a look. “You’re just as insane as him, you know that?”

“Yes, but you love me.” I smile up at him cheekily, the pride and excitement from having actually managed to ride the bike on my own for three seconds still coursing through my veins.

“Yeah.” He sighs softly and squeezes me tighter to him, his mouth contorting into a smirk. “Yeah, I do. More than anything.” His lips press a kiss to the tip of my nose. “Happy birthday, honeybee.”

[send me an emoji and i’ll write a tiny micro story in honor of katniss’ belated birthday]

[orangepeelknives]

good morning willmack nation we are gathered here today to talk about: the windshield. a deeply important cultural artifact. a touchstone. a symbol. a moment in history. i am actually never moving on from the windshield.

so here’s the thing about mack: this is a kid who grew up thinking love was something you earn. not something you’re given. not something soft. not something warm. no, in the celebrini household love is a performance. it’s discipline. it’s run hills until your knees go soft and your head swims, and if you say “thank you” at the end of it all maybe you’ll get a nod from your father. maybe. love, to mack, has always meant proving yourself. 

so of course his emotions have nowhere to go but outward. because when you grow up walking on eggshells around a man who blows up without warning, you start to think that’s just what emotion is. big. loud. destructive. so mack doesn’t sit with his feelings. he throws them. yells them. smashes them through a windshield. and then immediately feels guilty and sheepish and stupid about it, bc he doesn’t even have the language to unpack what he’s actually feeling. all he knows is that it hurts. and he has no tools for dealing with that except impact.

and then you’ve got will. lovely soft steady will. who feels so much and just… holds it. he carries his emotions like they’re delicate. private. he doesn’t lash out, he absorbs. he loses the biggest game of his career so far and pulls his friend off the ice with a hand on the back of the neck and zero fanfare. he’s hurting, but he’s not making it anyone else’s problem. will doesn’t think you should have to bleed for someone to prove you care. he doesn’t think pain should be currency. he's all ""we're just kids"" ""hope youre having fun"" like im sick over it!

and mack, who has spent his entire life punching walls and throwing gloves and yelling at people he loves and being yelled at back, sees that and goes a little bit crazy inside. bc it’s so foreign to him. it’s not just that will doesn’t react the way mack does, it’s that will doesn’t need to. and that shakes something in mack’s bones. bc will’s way of loving doesn’t look like punishment. it looks like patience.

so now you’ve got this beautiful, messed-up contrast. mack’s on the bench during a game, chest heaving, full of heat and panic and please tell me i’m okay, and who does he look for? will. who is calm and grounded and always knows what to do. will is the safe place. will is the opposite of rick. will is who mack turns to even if he can’t say why.

and then he punches a windshield. because someone was twenty minutes late and his plans got ruined and all of a sudden his emotions are too big for his body again and boom. and then he’s awkward and embarrassed and brushing it off and offering to pay for it but not really apologizing bc he doesn’t even know how to begin to unpack why it happened in the first place. bc he’s never been taught how to repair. only how to endure.

the windshield is the physical manifestation of all of it. the love that’s loud, the regret that’s quiet, the boy who wants to be good but doesn’t know how yet. and will, watching the whole thing unfold, doesn’t yell. doesn’t punish. just… waits. bc he knows mack is still learning. he knows love doesn’t have to hurt.

anyway. will is the safe harbor. mack is the storm. and the windshield never stood a chance. i digress

[croworro]

I’d let him: part 2

Pairing: Jschlatt (Jay) x fem!reader

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings: Southern Gothic setting, emotional tension, cigarettes (used as a stress habit), suggestive flashbacks, heavy nostalgia, heartbreak, small-town trauma, Jay being reckless, reader being soft and overwhelmed, longing, ANGST

Summary: You grew up. But he never stopped being the boy you wrote poems about on gas station receipts.

A/N: sorry not sorry bout this one folks. Ain’t no happy ending for these guys ☝️🤓

You see him on the second day you’re back.

It’s sudden, like being hit with the memory of a song you forgot existed.

You’re standing at the end of the gas station aisle, fingers tight around a bottle of water, sunglasses perched on your head, trying not to spiral over the way everything here looks exactly the same. The freezer still hums with a loud clatter. The plastic tiles still curl at the corners. And then—

He’s there.

Jay.

Walking through the door like nothing changed.

Like the last time you saw him wasn’t three years ago with your knees pressed to your chest and a note tucked under your windshield wiper.

You freeze.

He doesn’t see you at first. He’s laughing at something one of the boys says, voice a little rougher, broader shoulders under his worn denim jacket. He’s older. Fuller in the jaw. His curls are longer than they used to be.

But it’s him.

You haven’t seen him since he left. Since you left.

And now you’re twenty-one and standing in the gas station like eighteen never ended.

Your chest tightens.

You slip out the side door and light a cigarette with shaking hands.

⸻

You didn’t smoke back then.

You only do now when your hands are restless and your chest feels too full.

But the moment you see Jay, it’s the first thing you reach for.

The smoke tastes like grief.

⸻

FLASHBACK

It was hot that night. Real hot.

The kind of heat that sticks to the backs of your knees and makes you do things you don’t tell your mama about.

You were sitting in the passenger seat of his truck, bare legs curled up on the dash, a slushie in your hand, cherry red leaking through the straw.

Jay was watching you from the driver’s seat.

Didn’t say a word.

Just leaned in, eyes dark and unreadable, and said, “I think about kissin’ you every time you do that.”

You blinked.

“Do what?”

He plucked the straw from your lips.

“That.”

And then he kissed you.

And you didn’t stop him.

⸻

That night, after the gas station, you sit on your childhood bed and stare at the ceiling fan.

The same posters are still taped to your walls, slowly peeling off from the stale heat. Your old hoodie still hangs behind the door.

You changed. You know you did.

But here, everything feels fragile. Like you could slip and fall back into the girl who waited for his truck to show up at midnight.

You hate how badly you wanted to see him again.

You hate how badly you still want to.

⸻

You run into him again the next morning.

Diner on Main. You’re with your aunt, nursing a black coffee and fighting off a headache.

He walks in with a cigarette tucked behind his ear and grease on his shirt.

He looks like a boy who never learned how to sit still. He looks like him.

Your heart jumps.

He sees you.

Stops.

You see the flicker of surprise before he covers it with a smirk.

“Didn’t know you were back,” he says, slow and careful.

You nod. “Didn’t think you’d still be here.”

He shrugs, stepping a little closer.

“Someone’s gotta keep the place falling apart.”

You glance away.

Your hands won’t stop fidgeting.

He notices. Of course he does.

He studies you.

“You cut your hair.”

“And you didn’t,” you murmur.

He grins.

But it’s quieter than it used to be.

“Still got that mouth on you.”

And for a second, it feels like no time passed at all.

⸻

FLASHBACK

He kissed you in the rain.

Right outside your mama’s front porch, soaked to the bone, laughing as thunder rolled in the distance.

“You’re gonna get struck by lightning,” you said, pulling your hoodie tighter.

Jay just grinned.

“Wouldn’t be a bad way to go.”

And then he kissed you.

Messy. Open-mouthed. Like he didn’t know if it would be the last time.

And maybe he already knew.

Maybe some part of him was always planning to disappear.

⸻

That night, you light another cigarette on the porch. You’re alone. The cicadas are screaming. The street is empty.

Jay’s truck rolls to a slow stop across the street.

You feel it before you see it.

Your chest gets tight.

He climbs out, slow, deliberate, like he’s waiting for you to run.

You don’t.

He crosses the street and leans against the railing.

You look at him.

You really look.

He still has that ring on his pinky. The one he used to spin when he was nervous.

His nails are dirty. His shirt’s torn at the hem.

He looks like home and heartbreak and summer sweat.

“Didn’t think you smoked,” he says, stepping up beside you.

You don’t look at him. Just blow smoke into the night air.

“Didn’t think you noticed what I did.”

He laughs. It’s low and familiar.

“You back for good?”

You shake your head. “Just a few days.”

He’s quiet.

Then: “You look good.”

You glance at him.

“So do you.”

It’s a lie.

He looks tired. Older. Like someone who never left but never settled.

But still—he’s him.

And your heart hasn’t stopped aching since you saw him at the gas station.

⸻

FLASHBACK

You were half-drunk on creek water and sun.

Jay was lifting you by the waist onto the rope swing.

You were squealing, laughing, legs around his hips.

“Let go,” he said.

“I’m scared.”

He leaned in.

“Trust me.”

So you did.

You let go.

You screamed.

You fell.

And when you surfaced, he was laughing so hard he dropped his cigarette in the water.

You swam to the bank, tackled him into the mud, and kissed him until your teeth hurt.

He called you his favorite sin.

You told him he tasted like trouble and cherries.

⸻

“Do you still have it?”

His voice pulls you back to the porch.

You blink.

“What?”

He nods to your chest.

“The necklace. The one I gave you.”

Your fingers fly there before you can stop them.

You do still have it.

Tucked away in a box you swore you wouldn’t open again.

You don’t answer.

You don’t have to.

He smiles. It’s not smug. It’s not teasing.

It’s soft.

Almost sad.

“I think about you when it rains.”

You don’t say it back.

But you feel it.

⸻

It starts raining two nights later.

Soft at first. Then heavy. Southern summer rain, warm and loud and familiar.

You’re outside before you even realize it.

Just standing in it.

Hair damp. Shirt clinging.

Like a memory.

Like a ghost.

Then headlights pull up.

Jay’s truck.

He climbs out without an umbrella.

You both stand there for a moment.

Then he walks up to you.

No words.

He just reaches for your hand.

You let him.

And when he kisses you this time, it’s slower.

Less hungry. More afraid.

You kiss him back.

And it tastes like goodbye.

Even though neither of you says it.

⸻

FLASHBACK

The last night.

You were curled up on the tailgate, hoodie zipped, Jay’s head in your lap.

You were combing your fingers through his hair.

He was quiet.

Too quiet.

Then he sat up.

Didn’t look at you.

Just said, “I got a call. A job. Out west.”

Your stomach sank.

“You’re leaving?”

He nodded.

You didn’t say anything.

You didn’t cry.

You just nodded too.

And the next morning?

He was gone.

You found the note an hour later.

Don’t wait up.

So you didn’t.

You packed your bags.

And ran.

⸻

He walks you home from the rain.

You don’t invite him in.

But you don’t tell him to leave.

You stand on the porch and stare at him.

He stares back.

“I should’ve stayed,” he says.

You nod.

“I should’ve said something.”

He takes a step closer.

And you whisper:

“You still make me feel eighteen.”

He flinches.

So do you.

But neither of you move.

And when he finally leans in—

You turn your face.

He kisses your cheek.

Soft.

Grieving.

And then he turns and walks away.

⸻

You watch him go.

Then go inside.

Peel off your wet clothes.

Lie on your old bed.

And cry.

Because leaving once was hard.

But seeing him again?

That’s the part that ruins you.

[lixiesstorys]

Food poisoning

Trigger warnings: emeto, emetophobia, nightmares, food poisoning (how unexpected), cursing

Sickie: Chan

Caregiver: Jeongin, Changbin

Chan gets a food poisoning. I don't know what to write else qwq

Chan blinked at his laptop. He didn't want to admit it, but he was exhausted. The Aussie felt like he would fall asleep as soon as he closed his eyes. Looking at the clock made him realize why: it was 2:34am. Not such an unnormal time for the workaholic, but he was in the studio since 2am. 2am last day.

Chan stood up and regretted it instandly. His body felt stiff and sore. Of course, dumbass! You sat in that chair for nearly 24 hours. Looking around, Chan searched for something that would keep him awake for at least one hour, so he would be able to get home.

Frowning the leader had to accept that the only thing with caffeine in this office was coffee. Chan thought for a moment. he absolutely hated coffee. On the other hand it wasn't safe to walk home as tired as he was right now. He could just sleep in the studio. But when Minho or Changbin found out... no, he wanted to live a bit longer than that. So coffee was the option. He could just pour milk in it.

Sighing he just took the coffee they had and warmed it up. After checking the expiry date (he always did that) the Aussie poured some of the milk in a cup and filled the rest of it with the coffee.

Taking a sip, Chan noticed how bitter coffee was. With a slight grimace he forced himself to drink a bit more of it. He knew that that was questionable but his sleep deprived brain wasn't able to find a different way.

After drinking half of the cup, Chan eventually decided that that would be enough for coming home without falling asleep while walking.

He grabbed his things and went out of JYPE.

Just when he opened the main door, the leader felt raindrops in his face. Wonderful. Chan honestly wanted to cry. He didn't really know why, but he just wanted to cry.

But he couldn't do anything than just walking through the rain. Without an umbrella. So he just put the hood of his hoodie over his head and started to walk as fast as possible. With the time the rain got worse and worse and when the Aussie arrived at the Stray Kids dorm, he was completely soaked and looked like he jumped into a lake.

Trying to be as quiet as possible, Chan opened the door and went through it without turning on the light until he stopped in the kitchen. He leaned against the corner to catch his breath again. He had run the last meters to the dorm and panted slightly.

Suddenly, Jeongin stood in the door frame. He just wanted to get himself a glass of water out of the kitchen, but when he saw his leader, he grew a bit concerend.

"Hyung, is everything okay? Why do you look like you went swimming with all your clothes on?" Chan, clearly startled by the appereance of the maknae, spun around. But when he saw who just entered, the leader relaxed a bit. "Oh, Jeongin-ah, hey. I just came back home and when I left the studios it started to rain. But don't worry about me, you can go back to sleep."

But the vocalist had other plans. "Oh no Chan, I won't go to bed with knowing you could catch a cold. Come on, you'll make yourself ready, best would be a hot shower, and I'll search up some dry clothes for you." Chan opened his mouth to protest but one glance in I.N's face made him close his mouth again. He was way too tired to argue with the stubborn maknae.

Jeongin on the other hand was suprised that the older one didn't argue and just nodded.

After Chan had showered and changed in some dry clothes, he came out of the bathroom again. Jeongin noticed that the Aussie looked really pale and more exhausted than ever. He stepped forward to get a better look at his hyung. "Are you sure you're okay? You look pale. I mean paler than usual." he stroked through Chan's wet curls and the other boy leaned in the touch. "Mhm, just tired" Jeongin hugged his friend, who closed his eyes. "Come on, then you should sleep now."

A few minutes later, it was completely dark and quiet in the dorm. But Chan wasn't able to fall asleep. He didn't know why, since he was so fucking tired. Chan groaned. His stomach started to churn out of the sudden and felt heavy. Great. He was tired and finally would've been able to sleep but now his stomach threw a fight against him. His body really didn't want him to rest, did it?

Closing his eyes again, the leader tried to find a comfortable position. If he could just sleep, it would be okay in the morning for sure. But his stomach had other plans.

A sudden wave of nausea hit Chan so unexpected, that he thought he would throw up onto the floor (wich would have been a worst-case for him). He sat up abruptly with a hand covering his mouth. The Aussie squeezed his eyes shut and tried to stand up slower, so he wouldn't wake up the others. Then after he went out of the room he shared with Changbin and Jeongin, he speed-walked into the bathroom.

Sitting down in front of the toilet, Chan tried to take deep breaths. Why was his body always against him? He felt how liquid starting to come up his throat and he tried to swallow it back down, wich sent Chan right into a coughing fit.

And of course the coughing fit triggered a gag. The young leader barely had time to lean over the toilet again, when a wave of vomit escaped through his half closed mouth. While he retched, his chest started to feel painfully tight. It wasn't because he wasn't breathing properly, or that wasn't the main reason.

The main reason was, that Chan had emetophobia, wich meant he was scared of vomiting. He felt like the bit of control he had over his body slipped away. And with that, Chan started to sob.

That was actually one of the worst things that could happen, since the chance of choking was much higher then. Those thoughts didn't really help him and sent him over the toilet again. Since he didn't eat anything real the last days, he was mostly empty except bile, stomach acid and the bit coffee he had forced down.

Jeongin was already back to sleep, when he heard some weird noises. He sat up, rubbing his eyes and wondered if it was already time to get up. But then, he saw that Chan's bed was empty. And after a bit there were those weird noises again. It sounded like two different things, but one he quickly recognized: someone was crying, no sobbing. Counting two things together, I.N nearly jumped out of his bed and made his way to the bathroom.

When he opened the door, the maknae was sure that his heart just broke in a million pieces. His hyung sat in front of the toilet, still throwing up and, that was what concerned Jeongin the most, sobbing like JYP said that Stray Kids would disban. Not knowing what to do, Jeongin just did what he thought would be right. He slowly moved in the bathroom and kneeled down next to Chan, laying a hand on his back. He felt how Chan's muscels tensed when his hand started to rub slowly along his spine. "Ssh, it's okay Channie-hyung, just let it out. You'll feel better after it." but it didn't seem to comfort Chan, more like the opposite, he started to sob harder, wich triggerd another heave.

The young boy was completely overhelmed with the situation by now and did the only thing he could think about: texting Changbin. He would know what to do. Now he was happy that he took his phone with him literally everywhere. He just had to hope that Changbin would read it, since the rapper was known for his deep sleep (what was one reason he shared a room with Chan), but luckily his friend seemed to feel something was wrong.

Not even a minute later Changbin stood in the door frame and looked fully awake. "Oh Channie" he murmured and sat down next to Jeongin and their leader. "I.N-ah, could you bring me a wet washcloth and a glass or bottle of water?" the maknae nodded, relieved that the rapper knew what to do.

As soon as Jeongin had left, Changbin sat closer to Chan. "Hyung, what happened? Did you caught a stomach bug?" Chan, who seemed to finally get a break just shrugged and rested his head on the toilet seat. "No Channie, don't do that" the younger boy gently pulled the Aussie to his chest and started stroking through his still (or again) damp curls. The leader just closed his eyes. A tear rolled down his cheek again.

Changbin gently put a hand to his friends forehead. "Mmh, you don't feel like you have a fever. When did that start?" Chan gulped before answering. "-I don't know. May...maybe half a-an hour ago..." he closed his eyes again, but this time it seemed forced. "Do you need to throw up again?" his friend just shook his head... maybe a bit to hard. Right after the sudden move, he kneeled over the toilet again.

Chan tried his best to focus on his breathing but this was a loosing battle. He hunched forward with one unproductive gag, that was followed by a productive heave.

"Aigoo Chan, let it all out, it's okay. I make sure nothing will happen to you, okay?" he tried to comfort his hyung, but just like Jeongin's try, it caused the whole opposide of comfort. Again, Chan started to sob even harder, what almost made him choke. Changbin quickly changed from rubbing circles to pat Chan's back gently.

Chan coughed up a bit of bile again, wich splattered in the toilet with a sickening sound. He tried to catch his breath again, just to nearly choke again. Tears of anger and fear rolled down his cheeks and fell in the toilet aswell. He hated that. His head already started to hurt and his throat felt like it was on fire.

But after a few more heaves, he body gave him a break again. The Aussie felt how Changbin pulled him in his arms again, stroke his hair and whispered something that Chan couldn't hear. His thoughts were too loud, his blood was rushing through his ears and he still tried to concentrate on breathing. But the leader heard one thing: a comforting tone in the rapper's voice. And that made him feel safer.

The door opened again and Jeongin came back in. "Hey Channie-hyung" he greeted and crouched down next to his hyungs and smiled warmly at Chan. "Here Channie, can you drink a bit?" the maknae held out the glass to Chan, but he just shook his head. "Come on Channie, you have to drink something" Changbin tried but Chan shook his head again, tears started to sparkle in his eyes again. "Okay, but at least rinse your mouth then. You'll feel better after it."

Chan had to think about it for a moment. Yeah, he wanted to get rid of this awful taste in his mouth, but what if he needed to throw up again because of it. He looked up in Changbin's face and realized that he didn't have an option.

So he just took the glass out of Jeongin's hand and took a sip of the water. He immediately felt how his stomach turned again and just spat the water in the toilet as fast as possible.

"There you go sweets" Changbin praised and rubbed Chan's back, while the older one tried to focus on his breathing again. Jeongin stood up again, fetching a washcloth out of one of the cabinets and came back with a wet washcloth. "Channie-hyung, can you turn your head in my direction?" Chan did what the maknae asked for. I.N smiled at him again and began to wipe his face gently.

"Do you think we could move you back to our room? It would be more comfortable than the bathroom floor" Changbin tried, but Chan shook his head again. No, he lost the fight against his body right now, but he didn't want to vomit in the dorm or on the floor, that would be gross. It already was and it was pathetic that his dongsaengs had to take care of him!

"And with a bucket?" I.N asked but got the same answer as Changbin. "Okay, then not. Jeongin, can you go and bring some blankets?"

After the vocalist rushed off, Changbin looked at the pale Aussie again. "So why don't you want to go back in our room? It would be way more comfy than this." the leader looked down, to ashamed of the answer he would give. "I-I have emetophobia, fear of vomit and vomiting. An-d I'm afraid that I'll trow up on the floor or something like th-"

Just like only mentioning vomit was enough to make Chan's stomach angry again, the young boy quickly leaned over the toilet, before his body was wrecked by pitiful retches.

By now Chan was too weak to keep up his body weight all alone and Changbin carefully wrapped one arm around the leader's waist to support him. "Oh Channie-ah, what the hell made you so sick mh?" the rapper asked, his voice full of sympathy. "I... dun-no" Chan whispered back between unproductive heaves. One minute later this episode ended just like the others before.

Tears started to sting in Chan's eyes and before he knew what was going on, he sobbed in Changbin's strong shoulder. "Pl-please Bin-nie... m-make i..t-it sto-op..."

Changbin's heart felt like it would break apart when he heard Chan begging him to make something stop both perfectly well new he couldn't.. "Aigoo Channie-ah, I wish I could. Really, I wish I could take the pain away, but I can't I'm sorry. I can just be here with you okay? Sshh Channie, I'm here, you're not alone, please stop crying, ssh..." it continued like that until Chan was clearly too exhausted to cry. He hid his head in Changbin's neck, crying silently and still thinking about what made him this sick.

I.N opened the door again a few moments later. "I know Chan-hyung didn't want to move but I thought it would be good to get him to the couch at least" Changbin looked at him greatful and nodded. "Channie, do you think you're ready with throwing up? At least for now?" their leader just nodded. "Okay, can you stay with Chan a bit, or try to get him to the couch, Jeongin-ah? I'll just take out some medicine that may help. I'll be back in a second... or five minutes"

With that Changbin and Jeongin switched places and Changbin hurried out of the room, while the maknae crouched down in front of Chan again. "Channie-hyung, can you put your arms around my neck?" he asked as soft as possible. The older one just did how he was asked asn the maknae carefully lifted him up. "Okay, I'll carry you to the couch now, is that fine?" Chan gave a hesitant nod and Jeongin slowly stood up and koala-carried the Aussie the couch.

Changbin was stunned when he saw how easy it seemed for Jeongin to carry Chan.

When they reached the couch, Changbin helped the vocalist to get Chan under a blanket. "Channie, can you maybe swallow this? It should help against the pain." the rapper offered two pills to Chan. The leader, who was too tired to argue just took them and swallowed them without water. Jeongin and Changbin looked at him stunned and a bit disgusted. "H-how??" I.N stuttered and Changbin mumbled: "disgusting". "Sorry, force of habit..." Chan said with a hoarse voice, but at least he smiled a bit.

That however didn't last long...

After maybe 5 minutes, Chan's stomach started to churn again. He felt hot, burning liquid climbing up his throat. The leader closed his eyes and tried to sit up, but wasn't able to.

Changbin luckily noticed and helped him up without asking any questions. Jeongin handed Chan the bucket in silent, knowing the leader wouldn't like to be asked if he was okay, when he was clearly not.

Chan meanwhile didn't take the bucket out of the makane's hand. The Aussie closed his eyes and tried to breathe. He didn't want to throw up. Not again. And he knew that if he wanted the medicine to work, it had to stay in for at least 20 minutes. But he knew that his trying was without any success and that made him angry.

I.N slowly noticed that the leader wouldn't take the bucket out of his hand, but it was also clear that he would throw up. It was just the question, when. So he just sat down next to Chan and kept the bucket near the Aussie.

And his worries were confirmed when Chan suddenly hunched forward with a gag. Jeongin was able to get the bucket under the older one's chin just in time to catch the littel water he had managed along with the medicine and a bit stomach acid.

Chan felt weak when we felt Changbin's arm around his waist again, to protect him from falling over. He felt weak when he realized that Jeongin was holding the bucket he was throwing up in. He felt weak when he heard the rapper's soothing voice, telling him that he would be okay and that he wasn't alone and he felt weak when Jeongin started to rub his back. Short said: he felt weak. Awfully weak.

His stomach was still cramping and it felt like there was still something inside that needed to come out, but all his gags, dry retches and heaves were effordless.

The young boy didn't realize that he was crying again, until Changbin pulled him in a tight hug. First he fought against the embrace. He had to throw up, he knew it. But after some time Chan realized that he wouldn't bring anything up right now, so he just leaned on the rapper's chest, listenig to his heartbeat and tried to match his breathing.

The maknae went in the bathroom to rinse the bucket.

Chan looked at his older dongsaeng with tears in his eyes. "I ju-st want th-this to e..end Binni-ie" "I know sweets, I know. It'll be over soon, I promise. Do you have any idea what caused this?" the leader thought about it for a moment. He hadn't eaten for nearly two days now, one day befor this and now half a day. He drank only water... except...wait! "I-I have an ide-a. Whe-when I came hom l-late, I felt li..ke I c-could fall asleep every se-cond. So I drank a bit of c..coffee to come home sav..save... but th-the coffee tasted even m...more bitter th-an normal..." he traile of, afraid the thoughts could make him sick again.

Changbin looked at him, his face unreadable. "That could actually be. I'll call the manager so they put out all the food we have there, just for being safe." Chan nodded. "Can you stop talking about food... please?" the rapper didn't answer and simply hold his friend even tighter.

I.N came back and placed the bucket next to the couch again. "Chan-hyung, you should try to sleep a bit." he said warmly, while he started stroking Chan's hair. The leader nodded hesitantely and closed his eyes. It didn't even need 5 minutes until Chan was asleep.

The peace lasted around an hour. Changbin, who was still holding Chan had dozed off a bit and Jeongin had layed down too, sice he was awake nearly all the night since Chan came home.

Chan breathed through his nose and closed his eyes. "channie, come on try to relax. It'll only hurt more" against Changbin's expectations, Chan nodded and actually relaxed.

so they put out all the food we have there, just for being safe." Chan nodded. "Can you stop talking about food... please?" the rapper didn't answer and simply hold his friend even tighter.

I.N came back and placed the bucket next to the couch again. "Chan-hyung, you should try to sleep a bit." he said warmly, while he started stroking Chan's hair. The leader nodded hesitantely and closed his eyes. It didn't even need 5 minutes until Chan was asleep.

The peace lasted around an hour. Changbin, who was still holding Chan had dozed off a bit and Jeongin had layed down too, sice he was awake nearly all the night since Chan came home.

Around 11am Changbin woke up again. First he didn't know what woke him, but then he saw how Chan grew restless, but in his sleep...

Chan stood in front of JYP with his members. He had prepared for this day. It was the day on wich JYP had to decide if the should disband or not. That Chan was nervous was grossly understated. He was shivering when JYP started to speak: "I really appreciate all your hard work, really! But I don't think people are interested enough in you. You work hard, but not hard enough. You will be disban!" "NOO-"

"Chan, wake up!" Chan sat up, panting. His eyes darted around the room. Where was he? The Aussie needed a bit time to come back in reality. Then, he threw himself in Changbin's waiting arms. "Hey Channie, it's okay. It was just a nightmare. Whatever happened was not real" Chan shivered. He knew it wasn't real. But it felt so real. Too real. "I-I thought we got disbanned..." he choked out with a sob. "No, no sweets, we're not disbanned, okay?" the rapper suddenly felt how Chan tensioned. "You goning to throw up?" the Aussie just nodded and Changbin placed the bucket in his friend's lap.

Chan breathed through his nose and closed his eyes. "channie, come on try to relax. It'll only hurt more" against Changbin's expectations, Chan nodded and actually relaxed.

It didn't need long and Chan started to retch again. But as the last time, nothing came up. He felt how tears made their way over his cheeks again.

"Channie, I know you hate this, but shall I help you?" Chan thought for a moment and nodded hesitantely.

Changbin carefully pulled the Aussie in his lap and started to rub along his spine, to the shoulders and back. At the same time the rapper pressed his other hand gently against Chan's stomach.

It didn't need long and Chan burried his head with a gag in the bucket. After a few unproductive retches, Changbin heard how liquid hit the ground of the bucket again. "That'S it sweets, get it all out. You are not alone". After maybe 10 minutes Chan's retching slowly trailed of.

With a sob he leaned back against Changbin's chest. "Oh sweets, you did so well. I'm proud of you Channie, I know how hard this was for you" while he stroke through the Aussie's messy curls, he wondered how he should get the bucket in the bathroom, since Chan still sat on his lap.

But right in that moment Jeongin came back downstairs. "I got it, don't worry" the vocalist said and took the bucket out of Chan's hands to rinse it.

After he came back and placed the bucket on it's place next to the couch, the maknae sat down next to his friends. Chan, who had finally layed down, rested his head in Jeongin's lap, who started to play with his friend's hair. Changbin still sat at the same spot and traced patterns over Chan's back.

"You should try to sleep again Channie-ah" Changbin hummed and the leader nodded sleeply. "Thank you for taking care of me. I know this was gross, I'm sorry." "Hey, there is nothing to be sorry about Chan-hyung! It's not gross, it is something completely normal. And for the first part: of course we take care of you, what else is family for if not for being able to rely on them?" Jeongin smiled at Chan with his warm Jeongin-maknae-smile and Chan smiled back before slowly drifting of.

END

OMG this got fluffyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! But what do I have with the word 'sweets'??? New requests are welcome <3

[mika-no-sekai-blog]

Part VII

Word count: +4100

Warnings: mention of violence, angst and fluff

Part VI | Part VIII

When I calmed down and all the tears had dried, I found myself following Viviane down the long, silent hallway without any doors, mostly immersed in the dark shadows. The air here was so chilly that I could see my own breath. I tugged my fur cloak closer, my fingertips already red and tingling. We passed a few windows, however, the view was blocked by one of the massive mountains behind the castle. I had no idea where we were, as we had to descend several floors and then we ascended an old and narrow spiral staircase, but this floor seemed to be on the same level as my chambers. Looking around, nothing indicated that we were heading to the quarters of the future High Lord nor that the beloved son of the owner of this castle lived here. This part of the castle was completely secluded, forgotten even.

"We are almost there," Viviane glanced at me over her shoulder. "Are you okay?"

I only nodded. My heart pounded in my ears and a lump rose in my throat. We walked slowly, yet I was heaving and cold sweat rolled down my back. If I could, I would rather run away and hide somewhere until the storm was over, but Viviane had given me an ultimatum. If I didn't tell Kallias about my step-brother, she would do it. It was hard to say which option was worse. One way or another, today my husband would find out about reality of my life, the secret I didn't dare to share even with my own father, afraid that his heart wouldn't make it through.

"Here we are," Viviane came to a stop in front of the tall, carved double doors made of nearly white wood with silvery veins running through it. At first, I thought it was just paint, a top-notch piece of art that had no equal, but looking closely, I realized the wood was only coated with a thin layer of lacquer and nothing else. I had never seen anything like that. Viviane noticed my raised eyebrows and lightly touched the cold surface.

"It's made from a rare tree, the kind that grows only in one very sacred place here in the Winter Court. Nobody except the High Lord and the chosen maiden who takes care of it, can enter there. They are also the only people who know its location."

I nodded again. Normally, I would love to hear more about it, but now wasn't the right time. Viviane sighed and pressed her lips together.

"I'm sorry, Y/N, and I really hope you won't hate me for this, but he needs to know. It's for your own safety.."

"I understand that.." I wanted to tell her more, to ensure she knew that I didn't hate her, but the lump in my throat grew larger, cutting off my voice.

"Kal will take care of things. I'm sure he won't be angry. Well," she rolled her eyes, "he most likely will be mad - of course he will - but not at you, because you did nothing wrong. He will understand, just.. give him the chance."

I clenched my chattering teeth, gazing at the door. I felt tears gathering in my eyes and tried to blink them away. I didn't want to cry in front of my husband. The things that I was about to tell him, were embarrassing and mortifying enough.

"Oh, dear," Viviane sighed and pulled me into an embrace. She gently rubbed my back. "Everything will be fine, I promise."

She held me a bit longer and then released me, taking a step back. Looking into my eyes, she nodded resolutely, more for herself than me. Without giving me time to prepare, she knocked on the door, opened it and pushed me inside. I gasped, shielding my eyes. The room was so bright that my eyes needed a moment to adjust. Meanwhile, the door softly clicked behind me. There was no way back now.

Still squinting, I looked around. This sitting room was slightly bigger than mine. The large desk with stacks of aligned documents occupied most of the space, while shelves of books decorated the walls. It was nice and clean, everything organized, yet it seemed cozy thanks to the crackling fire in the hearth, small pillows and other decorations and paintings placed around the room. It was such a blend of workspace and leisure area.

And there was no one except me.

I awkwardly stood there, unsure what to do. Viviane said that Kallias was always in his chambers at this hour, so where could he be? As I took a deep breath to clear my head, a pleasant scent tickled my nose. It was crisp like freshly fallen snow, masculine, with a subtle undertone of sweet vanilla and I realized that it was his scent lingering in the air. I hadn't given it much thought before because I had always been too nervous or focused on something different, but it was quite a pleasant scent. A balm to every wound. A smell I'd love to be enveloped by for the rest of my life.

'I should stop thinking like that. Seriously,' I scolded myself. All this could possibly lead to, was only disappointment and a broken heart.

To the right, I noticed another door and decided to go closer, the soft carpet muffling my steps. The door was ajar, so I peeked in. All I saw was a corner of the bed and the tall mirror, exactly same as the one in my room. Kallias' bedchamber was a mirror to mine, all the furniture, bedcovers and decorations a duplicate of those I already knew so well.

I backed away, not wanting to be too rude even though there wasn't anyone who could see me. The room was silent anyway, there was no way he was inside. As I helplessly twirled around, a slight swirl of the curtain caught my eye. The windows were closed, however, the glass door to the balcony was slightly open. I stepped outside, tugging my cloak closer as the freezing cold breeze took locks of my hair and played with them. I carefully walked over to the stone banister with posts, everything covered in snow and ice.

The balcony was situated on the southeast side of the castle and the view was slightly different from the one in my chambers. The whole city spread out before me in all its glory, the streets lined with buildings stretching along the mountainsides. From this angle, I could also see the waterfall and the route leading from the city beyond it. It was so beautiful that for a moment, I forgot my purpose and the cold, and just gaped at it in awe.

The snow creaked and I almost broke my neck as my head snapped in the direction of the sound. The breath hitched in my throat at the sight.

Kallias was there, sitting on the banister between two pillars, his long legs swaying above the gardens deep below. He wore only trousers, a piece of fur wrapped around his hips. He was gazing into the distance, completely unaware of my presence. I couldn't see his whole face, but from what was visible, he looked sad, like someone pondering whether to jump or not.

Dread twisted my insides as he adjusted his position, sitting even closer to the edge. The pulse drummed in my ears and my mind went blank. Without thinking, I ran to him and embraced him from behind. His body was freezing cold. At my touch, he slightly jerked and twisting at the waist, he looked down at me. Kallias inhaled sharply, his eyes widening.

"Y/N..?"

I squeezed him even firmer, my arms trembling with exertion. "Please, don't do it," I pressed my forehead to the hard muscles on his back.

"What exactly am I not supposed to do?" he chuckled lightly.

"Jump.. Don't jump.. Please.. If there's something I can do to help, I'll do anything. Just, please, don't jump." I didn't even know when exactly I started crying, hot tears falling from my eyes and rolling down his back.

"Hey, hey," he cooed softly. The Winter Prince effortlessly broke free from my hold, and swaying his long legs over the banister, he fully turned to me. He pulled me to his chest, holding me close. His heartbeat was strong beneath my cheek and his skin slightly warmed up. "I'm sorry I scared you, dear. You see.. this is my favorite place to relax and think things over. I would never.. jump."

He held me like that a bit longer and then gently pushed away, his cheeks a crimson red. He chuckled nervously and crossed arms over his naked chest, realizing he didn't have a shirt. He seemed to be flustered.

"So... is there something you need from me?"

Reminded of the reason of my invasion into his private quarters, unease took over again.

"Are you all right?" He stood up, peering down at me. "You paled all of a sudden.. Did something happen? Are you unwell?"

"I-It's about my step-brother.." Better to go straight to the point than prolong the torment, yet my body wasn't very cooperative.

"I'm listening," was all he said, frowning.

"I.." I took a deep breath, mentally preparing myself to say the most important part - the one I had practiced over and over again as Viviane led me here. "Could you send him away?"

His brows shot up to his hairline. "Why? I thought you two were close. Did he tell you something you didn't like? Did you have a fight?"

I swallowed hard, nervously fidgeting with my fingers. I couldn't look him in the eyes. I thought I was prepared for this conversation, yet my lips stayed sealed, refusing to utter those horrible things.

"You can talk to me about anything," my husband whispered, encouraging me to confide in him.

My heart hammered so hard that I almost didn't hear him. Recalling Viviane's assurance about his kindness, I breathed in and closed my eyes, forcing the words out.

"We aren't close at all. He's been harassing me ever since he and his mother moved in and since my last birthday, it's been getting worse."

I waited, but silence was the only answer. When I couldn't take it any longer, I dared to peek at my husband. He stood there like a statue carved from ice, staring down at me. His powers swirled beneath his almost translucent skin like snakes, his eyes gleamed dangerously, all traces of the usual kindness completely gone. His muscles strained to the point of bursting as he tried to keep himself in check, the knuckles of his clenched fists white. He was furious, so unbelievably enraged that the tears filled my eyes again. I subconsciously curled into myself, awaiting his outburst.

"How far..? How bad is it?" he pushed through clenched teeth. His cold eyes roamed over me, stopping on my wrists as if he could see the almost healed bruises and frostbite hidden under long sleeves.

My lower lip quivered and I took a step back. He was so scary right now. I hugged myself with trembling hands. Seeing it, Kallias let out a long, deep breath.

"I'm sorry. I scared you again." It still wasn't his usual calm tone, but at least he didn't sound so frightening anymore. He took a hesitant step forward, his hands reaching out to me. "Could I touch you?"

I nodded, trembling. His arms slowly wrapped around me. He gently tugged me to his chest, resting his cheek on top of my head as his other hand soothingly rubbed my back.

"I'm so sorry you had to suffer in silence all alone. I should have noticed it," he sighed heavily. "If only you had told me sooner.."

"I'm sorry," I sobbed.

"Don't apologize, dear. You did nothing wrong. It's that perverted pig-" he stopped himself, taking a few deep breaths to contain his rage before he continued. "Leave it to me. I'll take care of it. You don't need to worry anymore."

"Viviane was right," I murmured between loud sobs. His words.. they took a significant burden off my shoulders, the one I hadn't even realized I carried all this time. I even dared to wrap my arms around his waist while he slightly rocked us from side to side.

Kallias said nothing, but he held me tighter. We stood on the balcony while the cold wind danced around us until I stopped crying and trembling. Then he took me inside, holding me close, and we curled up on the sofa near the crackling fire, warming up our stiff limbs. I felt ashamed of my tears and even more ashamed for being so close to a young male and willingly touching him - that was something new for me. Yet strangely, if it was the Winter Prince, I didn't mind his closeness. I felt really safe with him, despite knowing so little about him so far.

It was about an hour before lunchtime and I was already drained. Thinking about everything that had happened to me since the morning, I unknowingly grabbed the front of his shirt that had magically appeared on him as we sat down. His big hand covered mine, untangling my fingers from the fabric, only for it to be replaced by his thumb.

"I heard you went to visit the new bear cub the other day. Knut is the name you gave him?" he whispered into my hair, clearly intending to make me think about something less traumatic.

"Uhm, yes. Shouldn't I..?"

He made a disagreeing sound that vibrated through his chest. "That's not what I meant," he said softly, running his hand down my spine. "Aurora was happy to get to know you. She mentioned that she and her son hope to see you again soon."

"You met her?"

"Hmm, I went to check on her this morning. They are both doing fine."

"I'm glad to hear that. The cub is so cute. It was nice to be able to play with him."

"You can go see them anytime you like. I, Viv or any guard will gladly take you to the den."

"Thank you."

He definitely knew how to scare the dark thoughts away. A comfortable silence spread between us. Curled against his chest, I listened to his calm heartbeat. My gaze wandered to the clock above the hearth. I'd been here for quite a while. Maybe I should excuse myself and leave. My husband was certainly busy, yet he was too considerate to ask me to return to my rooms. He was usually the first to excuse himself, but this time, I was the one lounging in his chambers. Pondering, I gnawed on my lip and wiggled around.

"Everything alright? Do you feel uncomfortable?"

"Yes.. I mean no, this is.. quite comfortable. I just thought that maybe I should leave.. You certainly have a lot of work and I'm wasting your time.."

"Nonsense," he chuckled. "Actually... I hoped to spend more time with you. Just the two of us.. to get to know each other better.. It's been on my mind ever since we talked the last time. I mean really talked. You know, the time you told me about your condition."

"S-sure." My cheeks were burning and I wasn't the only one flushed. Even though I didn't see his face, judging by the red spots on his neck, he felt the same way. His throat bobbed as he swallowed.

"If you don't mind.. could you tell me more about your life this time..? I mean your relationship with your stepmother and her son. If you don't want to talk about it, it's absolutely fine.. But someday I'd like to hear it.."

I held my breath, pondering and meanwhile, his heartbeat sped up a bit. Today, I already told my friends about it and they didn't take it well. How would Kallias react upon hearing it? Would he be even angrier than he had been moments ago when he learned the truth about Zima? It wasn't an easy decision, but this was a chance that might never present itself again. Better to get it out now, so I wouldn't have to touch on the topic hopefully anymore.

With small breaks, I gradually told him the same story I had shared with my friends, more concise at times because going into details was too much. He quietly listened from beginning to end and I was grateful that he didn't interrupt me and even more that I didn't have to look him in the eyes as I spoke. By the time I finished, he heaved, his hands with white knuckles lightly shaking as he held me firmly. He was trying to keep his rage in check.

"And your father knows about all this?" His voice was strangely hoarse, restrained.

I sat up, gazing down at him in terror. "He doesn't.. He can never find out about it! It would kill him. Please, promise me you won't tell him."

The Winter Prince watched me, considering it. After a while, he sat up and nodded. "I promise. But I can't guarantee that I'll be able to control myself around them." He infused so much hatred into that single word that I shuddered.

A shiver ran down my spine as his powers swirled in his irises, making them gleam dangerously. When he regained control of his rage, he began telling me about his travels to the other courts to lighten the mood. We were interrupted only once when maids brought us lunch. Kallias didn't mind, though, and continued while we ate and even long after that, showing me small souvenirs he had brought back. All his stories were fascinating. Imagining the places he described in detail, my eyelids grew heavy. Exhausted by everything that had happened in such a short span of time, I fell asleep listening to his deep, smooth voice and heartbeat.

I woke up in my bedroom, wrapped in warm blankets. While I was asleep, the shadows grew longer and the sky outside the windows was painted with hues of pink and orange. I blinked, confused. How did I get back? The last thing I remembered, was Kallias telling me about his visit to the Night Court and its famous Starfall celebration. Did he carry me in after I fell asleep?

Rubbing my eyes and yawning, I sat up, letting my legs dangle from the bed. My gaze fell on the empty stand in the corner near the tall mirror. While I was away, Millie had cleaned up the vase shards, scattered all around. My heart picked up, thrashing in my chest. I inhaled slowly and exhaled deeply. My husband promised to take care of everything. It should be okay from now on.

Millie, always the curious one, asked me at least a million questions when she brought me dinner. She had been worried when I didn't come back even for lunch. It was the very first time I had spent so long alone with my husband and even though the reason for looking him out wasn't ideal, it turned into a pleasantly spent time and I was grateful for it. In those several hours, I learned more about him than in the weeks after the marriage. He was truly a kind and nice person. If only he weren't in love with someone else.. I quickly waved away such thoughts.

After I finished dinner, Millie took the dishes to the kitchen, staying there to help with the cleaning. Not having anything better to do, I pulled the armchair closer to the windows and curling up in it, I watched the lights of the city on the other side of the gorge. Despite having taken a nap, I was still tired, slowly drifting away when an urgent knock sounded. Before I could answer, the door flew open and out of breath Millie stormed in.

"Something happened?" I was immediately awake.

"You won't believe this, Milady," she heaved. "I ran here as soon as I heard it." She rubbed her chest and sank onto the sofa near me, leaning over the armrest. "I was helping with cleaning, when the servant assigned to your step-brother returned with the untouched dinner. He said that the young master invited Lord Zima for a walk later in the afternoon and nobody has seen your step-brother ever since then."

I inhaled sharply, covering my mouth with my hand. All kinds of possible scenarios flashed through my mind. However, only one thing stood out to me and I dreaded voicing it, scared to hear the answer, but I needed to know.

"And Kallias?"

Millie waved her hand. "The young master returned shortly after going out. He looked a bit ruffled, though. He's currently in his chambers, most likely taking a bath. He told his servant that he is tired and doesn't want to be disturbed."

I sighed with relief, a stone falling from my chest. "Thank the Mother.. Do you think he..?"

Millie nodded, her expression grave. "I do. Our young master isn't a bad person nor is he violent, but hearing what Lord Zima did to you.." She didn't need to finish the sentence.

Nervous, I bit my nail. What happened between the two of them? Was Kallias really fine? Wasn't he hurt?

"Anyway, you don't need to worry anymore, Milady," Millie smiled and took my hand. "Everything will be fine from now on."

I was so worried that not even the bath helped to soothe me. An hour after Millie bid me goodnight, I was still wide awake, pacing in front of the hearth. Because Kallias didn't want to be disturbed, his condition was uncertain and I couldn't go to check on him as well. Oh! If only there were someone who knew what had happened.

I turned around in time to see Kallias stepping out of the mirror. He was surprised to find me elsewhere than in the bed, but the corners of his lips curled into a soft smile. Without minding my thin nightgown, I rushed to him.

"Kallias! I was so worried! Are you alright?"

"Ah.." he bashfully retreated, flushing. He rubbed the back of his head, his smile turned apologetic. "So you already heard it."

"Well, Millie didn't know much, only that Zima disappeared after going somewhere with you and that you sent everyone away upon returning. Wh-what happened?"

He was avoiding my eyes. "Nothing is hidden in this castle," he murmured under his breath and sighed.

"Could we perhaps sit down?" he asked me and we moved to the bed and sat down on its edge. Kallias' movements were somewhat sluggish.

Gnawing on my lip, I waited for him to speak. Resting his elbows on his knees, he leaned forward, hanging his head. Sighing heavily, he began to speak.

"I.. Today I told you I would take care of the.. problem, didn't I?"

I nodded.

"Well.. I didn't anticipate it would take this turn. Honestly, I planned to expel your step-brother from the court, but when I saw him and that arrogant sneer of his today.."

Inhaling deeply, he straightened up, properly facing me.

"He's dead," he announced emotionlessly. "I killed him. Well, technically, he fell into the gorge while we were fighting, but it's the same. I couldn't even stand to look at that bastard and I genuinely don't feel sorry for what I've done. I would do it again and again if necessary. However, I thought you should hear it from me directly before someone else tells you, but it seems I'm late. I'm sorry."

I clearly saw the moment he steeled himself, awaiting some kind of outburst and while it was horrible news, I was relieved. I moved closer and carefully took his hand into both of mine.

"Are you hurt anywhere?"

He shook his head. "Only a few bruises that already healed."

"I'm so relieved to hear that. I was worried, you know."

"I'm sorry."

Even though he said he wasn't sorry for what he had done, it was clear that he wasn't completely okay. Without thinking it over, I pulled him into an embrace, running my fingers through his soft snow-white hair. Eventually, his tense body relaxed and he returned the hug.

"Would you mind if I stayed here tonight?" he murmured into my shoulder. "I won't touch you, I promise. I just don't want to be alone..."

"I don't mind." I surprised even myself when I agreed so easily. I would ponder my behavior later.

For tonight, I just wanted to let go and forget everything bad. And so we crawled under the thick blanket and holding hands, fell asleep.

[sachikokuroichi]

4 Times Alastor wanted to fall and the one time he did it involuntarily

It had gotten worse. Alastor cursed and tried to get the bandages to stop clinging to his torso, or more precisely what was left of it. It had been a whole month since the failed extermination and Adam’s lucky hit. The hotel was already up and running again, with Alastor caught right within the chaos yet again.

That damn deal.

It had been the radio demon’s biggest mistake, right after trying to fight the first man on his own.

He felt himself weakening with every passing day and he knew that even with all the angelic meat Rosie had gifted him, there was no other solution than to wager a deal with the devil. Alastor despised the thought. To be shackled to yet another one, to that ridiculous clown of a king on top of that, made his skin crawl in disgust and his fur stand up. He growled in annoyance but finally decided to give in. He couldn’t get back to all those who’d wronged him if he was double-dead. There would be no revenge, a thing that he thought he deserved like nothing else in this universe.

Giving up the fruitless task of fixing up the gash, he ordered his magic to dress him properly before cursing again. Using his powers was like a reflex, the repercussions of doing so nowadays still too new to be already ingrained in his movements.

I have to get that gash healed, post haste. Deciding that it was worth the pain, it would only be brief anyway, and maybe he could use this “hurt” and “helpless” display to address the bleeding heart that all of the Morningstar’s had beating in their chest (by blood, not the one’s married into the family), he slipped into the shadows, using them to travel across the floor, not wanting to be seen by anyone besides the king. And that was only because out of necessity. Who in their right mind would want to spend time with that joke of royalty out of their own volition? Nobody, exactly. Alastor for sure didn’t.

The moment he dived into his trusted shadows he instantly knew something was wrong. The pain was blinding, even without a physical form, something that shouldn’t be possible. He tried manifesting again, just to find that it wasn’t happening. No matter what he tried, how strongly he commanded his shadow to stop the nonsense, it was hopeless.

You’ve become weak.

No! He wasn’t weak. This was just a minor setback! He’d get fixed up right away, back to being right as rain. He just needed to-

You’ve been weak since that day 8 years ago. You know we don’t serve weaklings. They serve us.

Then he felt it. Something all his targets, enemies, victims probably had been all too familiar with: a cold sensation starting to feast on him, effectively tearing his essence apart. Again, he found out that pain was definitely happening in his shadow realm.

Our shadow realm. You were only allowed to traverse it, little deer.

Alastor tried to hold in the screams as unbearable pain was coursing through him; without being able to locate a place of origin it felt all-consuming.

It’s time to perish, oh mighty radio demon.

No! I won’t! This is not over! I’ll swear on my soul! I’ll get back at you for this! The next time you see me, you’ll cower before me! Then you will cease to exist!

Bark all you want, little sinner. There’s no bite behind it. Empty words. Pledges on a soul that’s not even yours anymore.

The hatred in Alastor festered and grew, but at the same time there was a tiny part within him that hoped for someone, a guiding light to come and rescue him.

Nobody will come to save you. He doesn’t even tolerate you. Not even he can find you in here. This is our realm. We rule here.

Blinding pain tore at his being and Alastor’s consciousness faded, going out with a scream. And just like that, the radio demon was no more.

The shadows cackled, now stronger than ever, after having consumed their prior master. Their glee was short-lived though.

The moment Alastor’s shell fell apart, a blinding light, angelic in nature, pure poison for the tainted, tore through them. Comfortably nestled within it laid the now cleansed soul of the radio demon. Free of all sin, all deals. And then, it was gone as well.

~*~

If you liked the first chapter, consider bookmarking it on AO3 because there are four more of them waiting in the back, ready to be published once a week (think I'll go for Tuesdays). Don't forget to leave a little love too - I'm living off of Kudos <3

[gcddcsscs]

emily smiled at erik as she lied under him and kissed his lips deeply. she just hummed of happiness and relaxation, realizing how beautiful her day and life turned out to be.

she woke up this morning in her small apartment, single and ready to go to work. now she was in the bed of the only man she dreamed about for the past ten years, in his breathtaking house and comfortable bed. full of his cum, full of their passionate exchanged and roleplay.

her smile grew warmer as erik told her she was amazing. he was incredible, he was perfect as the king. her king. she knew she wanted to spend her life with him. she had had ten years to dream about this: a life full of love, passion, laughter. eventually a family, kids looking like the perfect mix of them both running around them. erik and her growing old together, watching their grandchildren run in this beautiful house, always staying together and loving each other until their last breath.

this life is what emily wanted. and she knew she would have it with erik. he confirmed how perfect he was for her. she caressed his sides before whispering: "you were incredible." she looked at the camera and nodded. "i am sure we got it all." she smiled warmly and exhaled of happiness.

the aftercare part was something she absolutely loved. there was so much tenderness, sweetness in their gazes. there were no need for words, only the look on their faces, the special light sparkling between them was enough to show how incredibly attached to each other they were. emily caressed his face tenderly before kissing his lips and hearing his words.

she was full of his seed, chuckled when she felt his hand sliding between her legs and whispered. "someone had to mark me here, huh?" she commented, a light smile coming across her face as she then smiled. "it was perfect. for sure that little maid would swell with the king's child." she teased as she kissed his lips tenderly. "but then, would the king accept a child out of his marriage? from a lowlife maid like her?" she chuckled and caressed his back sweetly.

as he commented that she was something else, emily whispered: "well you are too." she smiled tenderly before kissing his lips deeply and resting in his arms, feeling completely exhausted. it was close to midnight, she had a long day.

at his words, emily remained quiet, a sweet smile coming across her face as she nodded. she took a deep breath before whispering: "i trust you because i've seen you for the past ten years. entering my library, exchanging words about our common love for books. the sweet smile on your face, the light in your eyes. i got to know you over the years, erik. i've grown fond of you, attached to you before dreaming of a life with you." she said kindly before adding. "of course i would trust you with my life. and i love the beast living inside of you." she chuckled.

as he took a picture, emily laughed and stayed in the bed. her body was sore: from the ladder session this morning, the doctor's appointment, kneeling under the table at the restaurant and tonight. she was finished, but so happy.

when he left to the bathroom, the woman closed her eyes for a few seconds as she exhaled. she heard him return and opened her eyes as she felt the warm cloth washing her. caressing his face, emily heard his words and smiled.

"you have. but in a good way. my body is so sore but happy." she bit her lip as she rested her forehead against his. "have i worn you out?"

Erik couldn't help but smile against her skin, his breathing still ragged as he hovered his body above her on the bed; adrenaline just giving him enough energy to keep himself raised on his arms. He was careful not to crush her. The sheets beneath them were damp with sweat and other fluids, evidence of their passionate role-play. He traced his fingers along the curve of her hip, admiring how her skin glistened in the soft light of their bedroom.

"You were amazing," he murmured, his voice still carrying a hint of the authoritative tone he'd used during their fantasy. His eyes drifted to the small red light of the camera perched on the dresser across the room. "Do you think we got it all?"

Erik ran his hand through her tousled hair, pushing it back from her flushed face. The sight of her—lips swollen from his kisses, eyes still dark with desire. He glanced down between them, noticing how his seed was slowly leaking from her.

"Look at that," he said, his voice low as he slid his hand between her thighs, fingers gently tracing her sensitive folds. "My cum marking you, just like you wanted."  The sheen of sweat on his body caught the soft light highlighting the defined contours of her body. He watched Emily's face, memorising every detail of her post-orgasmic glow.

"You're something else," he murmured, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on her skin. Erik propped himself up on one elbow, admiring how beautiful she looked in this vulnerable state. Her body bore the marks of their passion—light bruises forming on her hips where he had gripped her, her lips swollen from his kisses. 

His fingers tangled in her hair as he pulled her against him, their lips meeting in a kiss. “I’m very glad you trusted me. I’ve never done anything like this before” he confessed with a laugh, kissing her lips once more before he rose from the bed. “but, I think you’ve unleashed quite a beast in me after this.”

He walked to the camera, stopped the recording before he grabbed his phone and walked to her with his camera taking a quick photo. “Sorry, I couldn’t help myself - my girlfriend looks amazing covered in my cum. And, I think I’d love to keep this for later on those lonely. Though, I doubt you’ll give me many of those”

“Stay there” he asked, putting his phone on the bedside before he disappeared to the bathroom and wet a small towel with warm water to clean his body. He grabbed another before leaving to return to Emily and began to do the same. 

“Have I worn you out, Em?”

[billpottsismygf]

Just rewatched The Celestial Toymaker and I think I had somewhat underrated it in my memory. It's not the most exciting, but the way the Toymaker and his world work is actually really well pitched.

One of the most effective parts of the story is the way his toys work. They play against Dodo and Steven, often cheating or being otherwise difficult, but they're people under there. It's ambiguous whether they had lives before they were toys - it's certainly possible, given that the threat is that our main characters might become like them - but Dodo points out that they do have personalities of their own even if they were created as toys. All they want is to be allowed to keep living. They don't want to go back to the toybox. The clowns becoming solemn when they realise they might lose is the first time this is evident, but perhaps the best moment is the "if we go, we go together" between the playing card king and queen. It makes you feel for these people trapped within the Toymaker's world!

The Toymaker himself is also such a good villain. His motivations make complete sense, and even when he's lost at the end, I really believe he doesn't care about losing his world; he just wants to spite the Doctor for beating him. He's also just a fantastically menacing presence, with a really effective, reigned-in performance. It makes me worry slightly just how big a performance NPH looks to be giving in the upcoming episode, but I'll withhold judgement till I've actually seen it. (I also wonder how they'll handle his face having changed, since he's not a Time Lord. Though for a character with the power to bring toys to life, changing his appearance is probably not all that difficult.)

I also love that the Doctor has clearly met the Toymaker before, and that we don't learn when or how or why. It's just allowed to be a relationship with an obscured past, somewhat proto-Master. And, of course, as the Doctor says, "there will be other meetings in an other time." Indeed there will, Doctor!

[foldingfittedsheets]

There was this park near where I grew up. I remember we’d just moved to the area so I was around six and we drove past and saw this waterfront area. My parents decided to check it out so we went for a walk. It was a lovely park, there’s a lazy slough, lots of trees, extremely picturesque. My parents ambled along the trail enjoying the nature while my siblings and I ranged around in their orbit like excitable moons.

Then I saw something odd. Something vibrantly alive down by the water that was entirely the wrong color. I called back my vital scouting info and my family gathered around me. We looked down the steep verge toward the slough, screened by underbrush. We couldn’t quite make out what it was. The only thing we could agree was that it certainly wasn’t a duck. However it was about duck sized and roughly duck shaped. It just wasn’t a duck.

This led to some heated debate amongst my siblings and I but we were forbidden to scramble down the muddy hill to harass the mystery animal. Reluctantly we continued down the trail, speculating wildly when a chicken popped out of a bush in front of us with a train of several chicks.

We froze. The chicken did not. She placidly herded her little puffs across the trail, pecking happily for seeds, unbothered by our proximity. My family had not yet delved into farming and this was the first time any of us kids had seen a chicken up close. It was like a fairytale thing, a creature we had seen over and over in books was suddenly here in the wilderness of the park. We all realized the mystery creature had likewise been a chicken.

Another couple came up the trail and saw us staring.

“Is this your first time at the park?” They asked?

We nodded.

They informed us that this park had become a dumping ground for unwanted chickens. Once the chickens were dumped they were park property and the locals didn’t mind the eccentric additions at all. No one looked after the chickens, but they got on surprisingly well.

As the years went by we visited the park regularly. Signs were added to warn people not to dump off chickens or they’d be fined. They were also excluded from snatching the existing chickens. The hope was that the chickens would eventually run their course and the park would go back to normal.

It did not.

Instead the menagerie grew. Peacocks cropped up occasionally, turkeys; and one visit we saw guinea fowl. But there were always chickens. Eventually feed dispenser were installed so park goers could pay a quarter to enjoy the motley flocks.

Because we’d moved into a house with land my mom started up a chicken coop and we got our very own chickens at the feed store like proper folks. The first rooster we had was a gentleman, politely clucking at us when came into the coop, but the second proved troublesome a year later. He either adored or hated me. Every time I entered the coop he’d dance and flounce and brandish his spurs.

My mom didn’t want to off him frankly she didn’t know how at that point but his fascination ended with him flying at me and the rooster was sentenced to banishment.

We drove to the park.

We saw him there for years afterward, clucking dutifully around a small flock of hens. He did pretty well in exile.

Anyone who’s kept chickens knows that eventually there’s always a tragedy. Ours happened when a neighbors dog broke into our coop and slaughtered the flock. I was absolutely distraught, my lovingly hand reared chicks all decimated in a flurry of senseless bloodlust. I have not loved a chicken since. They are too fragile to bear it.

After a few days of mourning my mom offered that she knew where to find some more chickens. To make up for the massacre she planned a night raid with us. We stayed up past our bedtime and drove to the park with tarp covered kennels in the back of the truck.

We crept down along the gravel parking lot, looking up into the trees, spotting the telltale lumps of shadows that meant chickens. We quickly developed a strategy. We picked a chicken branch, creeping close underneath. Then we reached the end of the branch and gave it a good shake until the roosting chicken glided down to the ground in confusion. It was easy to scoop them up and we went home the proud new owner of a handsome flock of chickens.

The Take a Chicken Leave a Chicken park is still a beloved feature of its neighborhood to this day.

[madamechrissy]

Just Friends!?

-Art in the banner from nek0zuu_ on X-

Pairings- Former Nerd! Gojo and popular F! reader

Summary - Satoru Gojo was the biggest nerd EVER in high school with you, next door neighbors, study buddies, you were the best friends in the world. Never having the courage to ask you -the 'popular girl' out- you never knew he felt for you. He ended up leaving town, moving to the big city of LA- getting famous with a modeling career, and lost touch with everyone from his old life. While you're working the family pub to help out your parents, years later, he finally comes back to visit, just to have you making his drink. Everything about him is different, aside from those pretty blue eyes and the sweet grin. You feel he's so accomplished now, and you're just a small town girl, but little do you know, you've never left his mind.

Warnings - Will be explicit and smutty (it's me!?) Nerdjo turned famous and cocky, but he's still just a Nerdjo deep down hehe- his chap, mentions of sex/getting turned on, Gojo being an ass tbh, welcome back Jock Sukuna and say hi to bitchy model Samantha lol, some angst and mutual pining, lots of feelings

Based HEAVILY on the 2005 Rom com Just Friends - part of my amazinggg moot @indiewritesxoxo's Friday night flicks! 🌙

<<<Part One - Masterlist - Part Three>>>

Part Two

Your POV

It was odd, being back in your hometown after years of living on your own, but when your family needed help with their bar, and with student loans piling up -  teaching did not pay very well - you couldn’t help but come back home for a bit. The shifts at the hometown bar helped, and staying with your parents for just a few months was definitely a life saver.

It’s not exactly where you saw yourself, teaching lay offs all over, now you have a preschool class here and you love it, but it’s definitely not enough to cover everything. You feel so… just upset, that you’re back here at your first job, grabbing beers for familiar faces, people who never left their hometown, and some that have, but came back like you did.

Despite it being Spring, it was freezing where you lived, some cold spurt that brought on snow in March, so many of the town were curling up by the roaring fire, bundled up laughing and drinking to stay warm. The bar had quite a cozy atmosphere, it reminded you of home, truly, you grew up here, from bussing tables and cleaning to serving drinks.

“Hey love, you look amazing.” You see Suguru and Shoko then, Shoko has a cigarette between her fingers, a familiar smile that makes you beam, as you come out from behind the bar, hugging them both.

“I missed you two oh goodness!” You receive a kiss on each cheek from them, as you hug them together.

“We heard you were back in town, how have you been?” Suguru asks softly, you sigh a bit, peering up at the tall man.

“I can’t believe I’m back here. Layoffs.” They frown then. “I heard you all run a whole dentist office!?”

“Sugu is a hot dentist.” Shoko teases, and he smirks a bit.

“Shoko runs the clinic attached to it. She outranks me.”

“Always.” You laugh with the two of them, hands on their shoulders now.

“I’m so proud of you two, what? Doctors, I can't believe that.”

“Hey now, teaching is important.” Shoko brushes your hair back softly, earning your flushed cheeks at her praise.

“They definitely don’t make enough.” Suguru says, earning your sigh.

“You’re telling me. Let me get you all drinks!” You eagerly bounce back, mixing them up drinks, Shoko loves a lemon drop from what you remember, and Suguru always enjoyed a rum and coke.

“You remember!” Shoko winks as you hand her the pretty drink, garnishing it with a little lemon swirl and grinning. The noise of the bar fills your ears, as you lean across the polished bar table, glinting under the soft lights overhead.

“Of course I remember. Gosh, it’s been four years since I’ve seen you all I think.” You all start catching up, but of course it starts to get busier, and you begin to take care of all the customers as Suguru and Shoko start tossing darts at the black and red circled board.

You smile at them, they’d always been the perfect couple, making that longing fill you too much. You fully expected to be married with kids by now, sure it was quite a homey little dream, that white picket fence, maybe two kids and some cute golden retriever, but that’s what you always dreamed of. Unfortunately, your bad taste and men did not end in high school.

“Speak of the devil…” You murmur nervously, when you see him, Ryomen Sukuna looking just as good if not better than high school, he still wears his damn letterman’s jacket from college, where he’d become an all star player, you hear now he’s even going pro.

What’s he doing back home?

He grins over now, red eyes sharp as ever, and you fully anticipate him bothering you, saying something pervy, as he walks across the crowded bar, stopping to talk to almost everyone, he was quite a name here. The only person more famous from your little town - there is a population of fourteen thousand and perhaps four stop lights- was Satoru Gojo.

You’d seen him on the damn cat walk, recently he was on the cover of Vogue, him and some other really famous model, this little smirk on his face that just doesn’t fit the boy you knew. If you thought he was cut before, his body was damn near godly, so perfect it was intimidating, and he’d only gotten prettier, not that Satoru wasn’t always so pretty.

He just didn’t know it then.

You think of him sometimes, hurt initially back when summer break hit after high school, and he refused all your calls, he refused to see or talk to anyone when you all lived so fucking close. You tried everything you could, feeling awful because it was your party and you didn’t know, could you have done more? Could you have shoved everyone out?

You were fully planning to if he’d just given you a moment. Your yearbook to this day is something you cherish, and reading his sweet words over and over, he’d taken over an entire page, with words of love you’ve never felt before. But to say it was all ‘a joke’ and leaving, never accepting a friend request, shit he didn’t even talk to Suguru or Shoko, his other best friends.

Satoru never spoke of his hometown in interviews, and when you saw his mom recently, you learned he’s never come home. You know things were hard on him, brutal even, but you wish he knew just how much you loved him, cared for him, sure it was more of a beautiful friendship, but you also were attracted to him, though you were scared to ruin that friendship.

If he just gave you a damn moment.

A friendship you built your entire life demolished, and you miss him even now, you miss the quiet mornings you two would study at the library, you miss the cup of coffee he’d have for you every morning. You missed the little sleepovers, playing pokemon games together, battling it out on the Wii, the amount of things the two of you shared, gone in a moment.

Sukuna leans across the bar, shaking you out of your reverie, his familiar, arrogant smirk just a little softer as his ruby eyes drape down your body, you’re just in some jeans and a polo, nothing too sexy for the family bar here. But he seems to take pleasure in every slow inch, murmuring your name.

“Look at you, even hotter than high school, shit.” You heat up a bit under his gaze, tilting your head and running your hand across your neck.

“Thank you, Sukuna. You look good too.” You earn his wide grin, as he swipes a hand through his pink hair, snowflakes melting just a bit as he leans his hip against the bar now.

“I’ve wondered how you were doing, aren’t you a teacher?”

“I am, but… layoffs.” Sukuna frowns a bit. “I’m teaching preschool here for now, but it’s…”

“They don’t pay shit.” On this, everyone agrees,

“Mmhmm, but it’s my passion. So here I am, working the student loans off.” You wink at him, and he softens then, resting his elbow on the bar, a hand in his chin.

“So pretty you shouldn’t be working.”

“Oh… no. Not at all.” You clear your throat, something is so different about him, he’s not the asshole you remember, or so it seems. “But just temporary, I’m finishing up a couple classes to teach higher education.”

“You always were smart, you’ll do well.”

“Oh… thank you, Sukuna.”

“Used to call me Kuna you know.” You giggle now, easing a bit, even under his gaze, which keeps darting down your body. “God you haven’t changed a bit.”

“Say that to the freshman fifteen that never left.” Sukuna chuckles then, when you turn and bend over, grabbing a beer.

“Went to your nice ass-”

“Sukuna!” You glare behind yourself, and he’s chuckling. “Here I was thinking you were all sweet.”

“I am sweet, thank you. Shit I’d love to catch up sometime?” You hand him his beer, sighing then.

“I don’t know…”

“Lunch or something?”

Satoru’s POV

Satoru’s stepping into the bustling bar with the most annoying model ever, cock hungry too, who’s clinging to his arm, looking at the little bar in disgust, while he eyes the familiar surroundings. He scoffs as he sees Sukuna’s letterman jacket, so pretentious really, and eyes everyone around, surely… your parents still run this place, he wonders, do you ever come visit?

“It’s so… quaint.” Comes Samantha’s voice next to him, running her fingers along the dusty bar, grimacing, she’s as tall as Satoru in her heels, perhaps one of the few women who he doesn’t tower over. All models were pretty tall, but typically he still had a couple inches, but Samantha was the best in her field, and maybe longer legs than Satoru Gojo himself.

“Yeah, I guess compared to LA.” He murmurs, the surroundings oddly comforting, despite how much he thought he’d hate it here. Something about shivering in the cold and then coming to this warm, bustling bar was…

Homey.

It gnaws at him, as people recognize him, and they begin to all come up, many who used to pick on him. He clings to that pretty model of his tighter, putting on a bright grin and lowering his black Gucci shades, the two of them are decked out in Saint Laurent and looking like a million bucks. Even in public, you had to make sure you were dressed to kill.

“Holy shit…” Satoru sees Suguru and Shoko then, their mouths drop as they come up to him. He's spoken to them a little here and there, but overwhelmingly has not said much since college was over. “Look at you two!”

“Look at you, all preening like a peacock.” Shoko rolls her dark eyes, sipping on a drink as she assesses him and his ‘girl’ who is clinging to him, laughing far too fake to ever be taken for as genuine, grating on his nerves.

“How cute, townies!” Samantha says, tossing blonde hair back, and Satoru scowls over at her.

“Who’s the snob?” Suguru asks boldly, making her gasp as Satoru’s muffling his laughter.

“Be nice.” Satoru warns, hands in the pockets of his red dress pants, a ruby so bright and bold it’s ridiculous for a place where people wear jeans and flannels.

“They’re not nice, Gojo. I don’t like it here!” She’s stomping her feet, and Satoru sighs, shaking his head.

“Go get a drink, hmm?” He turns her and smacks her ass, she cringes then.

“Myself!?”

“Become immersed in the small town, it’ll be good publicity, sweets.” He winks as she pouts and saunters off, ignoring the men and at one point hissing at one.

“She’s on drugs or…” Suguru trails off, and Satoru snorts.

“She’s definitely on a good Adderall / Xani combo. Shit… I missed you guys.” He ruffles Shoko’s hair, and shoves at Suguru good naturedly, Suguru smiles a bit, dark hair even longer than Satoru remembers.

“Sure you did. Come back to visit?”

“Uh… no.” He peers at his phone, sighing now. “Our suite for whatever reason isn’t available, I was stopping here and going to call Mom, since I have no reception whatsoever.”

“Why would you bring her to your mom’s, doesn’t she suffer enough with you as her kid?” Shoko earns Satoru sticking his tongue out, picking up the phone and dialing.

“Toru, sweetie!” Satoru sighs, he loves his mom, but to this day she really treats him like a child, even now.

“Hey mom, cool if I stay a few nights? I have a modeling-”

“You’re coming home!?” Satoru winces, pulling back the phone as Suguru and Shoko laugh.

“Yeah, if it’s-”

“I’ll make your favorite, baby, triple stack pancakes with sundae-”

“No, no, too many carbs.” He hears his mom’s sigh of disappointment, and clenches his jaw just a bit, looking over to see Samantha taking pictures of herself on her fancy phone, throwing up a pose now. “I guess yeah, I’ll eat pancakes.”

“My baby, oh I can’t wait, let me get started now!” His mom hangs up, and he can’t help but feel that fondness, the emptiness he’s had for so long just the tiniest bit filled by her voice.

“She’s excited.” He muses, sighing then. “I need a drink.”

Suguru and Shoko eye each other, and Satoru’s blue eyes narrow, studying their odd expressions. “Yes, you should, bartender she’s amazing.” Shoko’s smiling, and Satoru’s lips purse a bit.

“Hmm, guess I’ll see. I’ll be back.” He pats their shoulders again, heading over and passing more and more familiar faces, gosh none of them left, huh?

He leans against the bar, poking around on his phone as he hears Sukuna, asking then - 

“Lunch sometime?”

He snorts, eyeing the tall, big man who used to torment him, now eye to eye with him, and damn near his size. Sukuna blinks in surprise a bit when Satoru eyes him with humor.

“Lunch is friendzone territory, ouch.” Sukuna glares now, fists clenching on the bar, and that’s when…

You see him.

Satoru Gojo.

“Maybe I like lunch.” Your voice shocks him then, he eyes you, wide blue eyes going to the face of the girl he loved.

Your face.

You’re so pretty it makes his heart thud out of his fucking chest, you’re just like you were, maybe a bit more mature looking now, but god it was like a blast from his past, the ultimate memory of you couldn’t compare. You’re so beautiful, this fucking glow around you still, that comfort he has been craving hitting him in one instant, as he just stands there.

Satoru Gojo, who got whatever girl he wanted, was just standing there, staring at you, with his lips parted, you are heating up under his scrutiny, unsure of just what he was thinking, biting that lower lip a bit and shifting. He notices now, that you’re not fawning over him, drooling, like women did, if anything you’re glaring just a bit, your jaw set.

“I… you… here…” He can’t compute a fucking word - stupid, stupid - why did you reduce him to pathetic again, after all these years!?

“Yes, I work here again. I know, it’s not what I imagined either.” Your soft, devastated words attack him, making him feel like you punched him right in the gut, as Sukuna raises a brow at Satoru.

“Friend zone, did you just say that?” Satoru’s sputtering now, before clearing his throat, shutting his eyes and taking a breath.

He’s not some ‘nerd’ anymore.

He’s Satoru Fucking Gojo.

He smirks and leans against the bar, eyeing you slowly, pulling off pretentious shades that make you miss his tortoiseshell glasses. But when those piercing, swirling blue eyes hit you, trailing like Sukuna’s had, you feel so shy suddenly, so nervous around him, after so long. Surely he was looking down at you, surely he was so high and mighty that your life seemed sad to him.

You stand a little straighter now, while the two men, who have changed so much, both eye you, a blast from fucking high school if you ever saw one. “Look at you…” He murmurs your name softly, like a caress- shit his voice is deeper, it’s so sure, so cocky and conceited, not the sweet boy you miss. “You look great.”

“Thanks, so do you.” You manage softly, he’s in some suit worth as much as your year of work you’re sure, open with a vest showing of chest muscles, fuck he has red silk gloves, it’s so ridiculous you almost laugh.

He’s gorgeous but…

Who is he really?

“Working here again, huh?” He means it to be casual, but the way it comes off makes you straighten your shoulders, as Sukuna winces.

“All that money, all those women and you never learned.” Satoru scowls at Sukuna now, while you turn away, giving him a view of a body he’s dreamed of, fuck you’re even sexier now, those jeans sitting just right, is none of you not perfect, not beautiful?

“What can I get you, Gojo?” You ask after grabbing another beer for Sukuna, who takes it with a smile, and he tenses at that.

Gojo.

When did you ever call him anything but ‘Toru’?

But, you all are literally strangers now.

“Martini.” He says, earning Sukuna’s snort, Satoru’s scowl heads his direction once again as you start to get the ingredients together, shaking it up in the gold shaker like a pro.

“Little bitch drink.”

“Beer is disgusting, fuck that.”

Sukuna glares as he sips the drink, and you pour Satoru his martini, garnishing it and giving a small smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. “One martini.”

“Thanks, sweetheart.” You falter, at his soft voice, at the way he says everything as if it were some caress.

“You’re welcome.” He hands you far too much money then, making you blink. “It’s only ten bucks.”

“Keep the rest, love.” He winks now, and you feel your face heating up, did he think you needed it so badly? Does he pity you?

Does he care?

“Thanks… um, sure on lunch, Sukuna.” Satoru’s teeth clench, like watching history repeat itself. “Even if it’s ‘friend zone’ I’m fine with meeting up.”

“Perfect, here’s my number…” He writes it right on one of the pretty white napkins, and you take it carefully. “I’ll be in town all week.”

“Alright, sounds good.” Sukuna tips you, not the exorbitant fifty dollars Satoru just handed you, but a twenty, with a little nod of his head, as he passes Satoru now, and Samantha comes right up to him.

“Oh look at you, all star for the-” She’s flirting but Sukuna ignores her, winking at you and making you want to giggle, but you barely hold it in. “So rude! Gojo, can we please leave this shitty little bar?”

You scowl right up at the tall, beautiful model who pouts over at Satoru, clinging to his arm, he stiffens, but you see it, clearly they’re… together. “The ‘shitty little bar’ is owned by my family. And you are more than welcome to leave.”

“Oooh, you’re feisty.” She’s giggling psychotically, using her hand to make a clawing motion. “Rawr!”

“The fuck…” You shake your head, sighing as you set back to work, Samantha’s hands running down Satoru’s chest, irritating him to no end.

All he can see is you, and you’re just turning away, the girl he…

He left.

He left you.

No word, no goodbye, and he thought maybe it wouldn’t feel like this, maybe after eight years and endless women in his bed, he could stop feeling like this, stop the love he had. He tried to chalk it up to puppy love, you were the nicest person to him, of course he developed feelings, right?

Wrong.

He watches as you head out from behind the bar as Samantha’s going on and on about some Instagram post, downing the rest of his martini. “We’ll leave in a minute, go wait in the car.”

“I can’t believe we don’t even have a driver, ugh!” Satoru blinks at her, turning her now, watching as you stop and talk to Suguru and Shoko, smiling so sweet, lighting up the whole fucking room.

“I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Oh fine but…” She drags him down by his tie, whispering in his ear then- “I can suck you while you drive.”

What would once excite him doesn’t compute, he just nods and pushes the crazy woman to the entrance of the bar. “Sure whatever.”

“No pictures, please.” She throws on her sunglasses, as curious people wonder just what this woman is talking about, and Satoru feels your eyes on him then, his catch yours across the room. He watches you tense, as he steps closer, and Shoko and Suguru depart, giving you both one moment.

“Hi.” He manages to say, and for once, the pretentious rich model reminds you of him, the boy you grew up with, the one you miss so badly it feels like he’s a dream.

“Hi.” Your soft voice ends him, you’re shifting side to side, Satoru towers over you, making you feel so small then, as he presses a hand against the wall over your head, tilting your chin up with his other hand. Your eyes go wide then, breath catching, heart hammering.

“I’d love to catch up, I am here for a few days, I’ll be at mom’s.” You blink a bit then, looking down, gently taking his hand off your chin by his wrist, the contact making you both pause. For a moment he pictures it, kissing you, making every move he failed at in high school, taking your lips over.

He pictures so much, up to and including you under him, shit maybe now he’d have a chance with a girl like you, maybe he could taste your sweetness, could inhale that vanilla body spray you somehow wear eight years later. Could show you pleasure he bets you never got before, cock aching just being in your presence, he has to will it to go down.

“Your mom, I just saw her.” You ease his hand down, back resting against the wall just a bit, hair falling across your shoulders, you gasp when he brushes it back, another move he had tried and failed at back then.

That night should have been his first kiss.

You should have been his first everything, fuck.

“Could we do dinner or drinks?” His tone reminds you of what he said earlier, so you smile, a little mean glint in your eye.

“Maybe lunch.”

“Lunch!?” He’s glaring, thin white brows lowered, and you giggle.

“Coffee?”

Shit.

“Or is that too ‘friend zone’ for you, Gojo.” Satoru blinks a bit, hand falling, barely brushing your shoulder when it falls, you try to ignore how good it feels, he tries to act nonchalant, not like the fucking world is faded, aside from you. That the entire bar is just an echo, it’s just you.

And you’re furious, he can feel it. “No, no I mean it’s fine. If you want… coffee we can do coffee.” He can’t believe he’s saying this, he brushes his white locks back, winking down then. “We can do whatever you want.”

“Uh huh. Well, coffee then, if you want to catch up I’m surprised, considering it all though.” Satoru’s jaw clenches just a bit.

“I’d like to catch up.” You soften at his first vulnerable statement, the first thing that feels real. “How about in the morning, are you staying nearby?”

“I’m living with my parents for a couple months.” He frowns at that, you suddenly feel so insecure, a rich model right in front of you, just as he said that day- that he’d make it, and you all…

Would just burn out.

Maybe you did.

“Oh, you are, is something wrong?”

“Helping them a bit, big teacher layoffs nationwide.”

“You teach?” His smile is finally genuine, as you nod, so shyly, his shoulders relax, as his hands slip in his pockets once more. “You always wanted to.” Your eyes shoot up to his now, swirling beautiful blue, a hint of the sweet boy you adored.

“You remember?”

“How couldn’t I…”

“I figured you forgot us all.” Satoru gulps down the guilt, as you manage to pull yourself together, sighing. “Come by my parents in the morning, if you remember where they are.”

“How can I forget, it’s across the street.”

“All right then… I look forward to it.” He awkwardly leans down, as you wrap a friendly arm around his waist, inhaling his cologne, much different than the boy who wore axe body spray and always sucked on lifesavers. His hard body against your much softer one feels a little too good, when he rests his chin on your head.

Nothing has ever felt better than holding you in his arms.

Memories swirl for the both of you, but it’s different, Satoru seems like some bold and pretentious stranger, but for a moment you remember. You remember crying in his arms, over this breakup or that, you remember his sweet hugs during study sessions, you remember laughing and watching the dumbest movies. You exhale just a bit, as a big hand presses the small of your back.

Satoru missed you.

He doesn’t say it, he can’t say anything, pulling back and looking at you then, hand coming to cup your face, opening his mouth to speak when Samantha starts shouting “I’m bored Gojo! I’m so bored!”

The entire bar turns her direction, you fall back a bit, as Gojo internally curses, seeing the brat that is his partner crossing her arms in that fur coat. “I’m coming okay, shit!”

“Your girlfriend is bored.” You’re giggling then, you can’t help it, covering your face as Samantha glares.

“Not my girlfriend, jesus. Um… okay, the morning.” You nod, walking off now, past Samantha, who hisses at you like the psychotic bitch she is, making Satoru grimace with Suguru and Shoko walk up to Satoru.

“You fucked that intro up.” Suguru says, snorting as he puts his arm around Shoko’s waist, and she’s laughing.

“Fucked it up bad.”

“Oh like you’re any help.” They just shake their head, eyeing Satoru’s screaming model bestie.

“See you in eight more years.” Suguru’s words sting, as Satoru feels it then, the guilt eating away at him, but Samantha won’t shut up long enough for him to process, he drags her out into the cold, chilled air, seeing you climbing up into what appears to be your SUV, your eyes flicker to him for just a moment, before you shut the door.

“You like townies hmm? Can’t stop eye fucking girl next door.” Satoru’s eyes make even Samantha falter then.

“Who I like is none of your fucking concern. In.” He plops down in the rental, an audi of course, god forbid Satoru Gojo or Samantha would be seen in anything less, on that they are the same.

“You’re so cranky, she’s hot, just… gives those girl next door vibes.”

“Yeah well, she was the girl next door for me. Almost.” He feels her hand now, trailing over his thigh, she leans over and laughs in his ear, making him cringe. “How’d I get stuck with-”

“Let me make you feel so good, should I suck little Gojo?”

“Little Gojo!? It’s not little, Samantha.” He shoves her off, and she pouts again, crossing her arms.

“How’d I get stuck with you is the question, no fun. Now we have to go stay in poorville.”

“It’s the fucking suberbs.”

“Poor. Poor. Poor. Boring, boring.” Satoru almost pushes her out of the goddamn car, no blow job would be worth it, even if it would shut her up for a moment, even if his cock twitches thinking of you.

He pulls up to his home, his mother already has it opened when he walks up, hugging him tightly, kissing his face all over and making him wince. “Mom…”

“My baby, I never thought you’d come home.” She’s got tears in her pretty blue eyes, she visits LA once a year or more, but now the way tears fall from eyes that match his wracks him with guilt.

He could have come back at least once, right?

No, no he couldn’t.

“And this is…”

“Samantha.” She shakes his mom’s hand, tossing back long blonde locks and smiling. “You have such a quaint little home.”

Satoru’s mom blinks rapidly, brows together, this wasn’t a small home, it was four stories and lovely, left to them from Satoru’s dad, but he supposes to a rich, spoiled brat like Samantha, it’s ‘quaint’. “Um, thank you, and you’re staying too?”

“Unfortunately.” Satoru’s mom raises her brows, as Samantha clings to Satoru once again, grinning.

“I get to meet the mom, huh? I’m so special-”

“Let’s eat.”

Satoru finally leaves a snoring, annoying model brat Samantha alone in the guest room, when he walks inside his childhood room, frozen. Time has been frozen, his mother hasn’t changed a single fucking thing, up to and including pictures of you and him all over the walls. He gulps down his emotions, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click, undressing carefully.

He sees his old nerdy ass sweater, one you’d gotten him, still folded on his desk, like he never left. His fingers brush the fabric, as he stares at his reflection, feeling like he’s a ghost in his own room. The connections start to build, the mirror he kissed that night, the endless photos and mementos he kept. He eyes that box now, opening a letter carefully, crumbled and faded ink.

My Toru, I hope you have the best day, I can’t wait for the movies!

Toru, can you believe how the year has flown by!?

Do you want to go bowling Y or N

Your new glasses are so cute I love them!

Bad day today, sorry I’m quiet.

Tears fall down his cheeks, he only notices when the blotches form on the ink, all the times you’d write to him every day, passing little notes in class with hearts all over them, brightening his day. He’d kept every single fucking one, and there were so, so many in this tin box, stuffed inside like all of his fucking feelings.

He wipes his eyes quickly, shaking it off, pulling out his luggage with his own clothes and getting dressed in sweats for the night, curiously pushing on the cd left in the player, sighing then. Your favorite song, it’s that mixed CD he was making you, the one he never gave you. Satoru quickly turns it off, the button a resounding click, walking to the corkboard littered with you.

Knock knock knock.

“Come in, mom.” She does just that, peeking her pretty face, still so young looking, so sweet as she smiles at him. “You didn’t change any of it.”

“No, I always hoped you’d come back, at least for a day.” She walks up to Satoru now, seeing the photos he’s staring at now, Satoru and you sipping a milkshake together with two straws, in the middle of a diner. “You two were so sweet, she’s back in town you know.”

“I know… I’m seeing her in the morning.” His mom’s eyes light up, and he laughs a bit. “Don’t get excited, my life isn’t here mom.”

“Part of it will always be.” She cups his face, smiling up at him. “I hope you have fun with her, she has kept in touch all these years you know.”

“She has?”

“Yes, she… misses you. She asks about you when she visits town.” Satoru blinks back emotion, turning away now, clearing his throat.

You asked about him after all this? After he'd gone out of your life for good? What if he just heard you out, what if he…

“I’m tired, mom.” Mrs. Gojo nods, a hand on his back for a moment.

“Good night, Toru.”

“Night.” He lays in his bed, phone blowing up, his agent with details, a coordinator for the show, friends from LA teasing him on having to come back home, but he quickly turns it off, holding a photo of you, the only one he brought.

He gently touches it, sighing, wondering…

Will you like him now, could he be good enough?

While you lay in bed, tossing, turning, fuming damn near at Satoru Gojo’s audacity, sitting up finally, putting on Satoru’s favorite song, on that mixed CD you had been making him, before he disappeared. Your childhood room is the same as it always was, littered with photos of you and Satoru, your best friend that just disappeared, and came back a different person.

You touch a photo, one where he’s grinning so big with his cute little braces, holding up a science award, and you’re so overcome with emotion you have to hold back your tears, touching the polaroid gently. Was that boy in there somewhere, the boy you knew, the one who deserved the world - he seemingly got it of course.

Would he find you so boring? He hung out with celebrities, he walked runways, he’s clearly got a beautiful - batshit insane but- girl on his arm. Was it some pity, did he feel bad you were in a little bar? Your mind can’t handle it all, as you plop down in your childhood bed, mind racing.

Who was Satoru Gojo now?

Ah why'd I tear up when Satoru goes home? Next part we see just how coffee goes lol

taglist #1- @pinkyvomit @saitamaswifey @kachowness @vraiao @artbligh @psychoartiste @ghostskilledmyaddiction21 @bsenpai @simp-for-wanderer @rjreins @emonaculate @myahfig4 @casua11ycrying @psycren @blushedcheri @ureuphoriasworld @frozenmallows @kanaojacksonofc @rcveriees @xlilycoco @yukimaniac @sypnasis @tokina @sharkubi @tztuoo @hyori2 @yesdere @gradmacoco @gamerhere @seikamuzu @xinsonyax @vvaoo @angie420 @ria54sworld @blue-musingss @mysticmyth @asimpinamillion @arabellasolstice @ilovebeansyay @notme000 @emochosoluvr @iv-vee @heh123321 @fushikamo @danilovesboba @spookyy-gracee @satorusleftnut @clqxuds @femaholicc

[syluss-littlecrow]

better than the devil

<sylus x fem!reader>

where you find out if Sylus really has horns, and why he avoids letting you touch them

genre/warnings: smut, pwp, unprotected sex, size kink (i mean bro is PACKING), breeding kink, sylus’s horns are ✨sensitive✨, dirty talk, sexual tension, missionary, a fuck ton of horn play, horny horns, cumming untouched, orgams galore!, so much cum♡

w/c: 2.9K

a/n: gotta thank the loml @bro-atz for helping me with this a little ehehehe >:) I hope this destroyed yall as much as this destroyed me to write it!!🥹

They say he takes the form of some dragon-like creature—with large black horns and wings. 

The first time you witnessed it with your own two eyes was when he choked out a serpent wanderer ten times his size before it got to you. You were semi-conscious at that point of time, the fatigue threatening to take over, but you had caught a glimpse of his silhouette—two thick appendages that curled proudly past his dirty silver hair, and large wings that hung off his back—before you blacked out. 

“Staring at me isn’t going to get any of your curiosities satisfied”, Sylus snaps you out of your thoughts. Your gaze flickers to his face, but Sylus has his eyes on his phone. 

Then his gaze shifts to you. 

“What are you thinking about, sweetie?”

Of course, you couldn’t just tell him outright that you wanted to see him magically grow his horns out of his head. You doubt even Luke and Kieran have seen it themselves. 

“Your horns.”

Sylus lowers his phone onto his lap, then he cocks an eyebrow, which turns to a furrow in seconds. 

“What gave you the idea that I grew horns?” He asks, his tone laced with mock and caution. His attention is fully on you now. 

Yeah, maybe that was not a good question to ask. Then again, being around someone as direct as Sylus had made you pick up his mannerisms quite a fair bit. 

“Nothing really”, you brush off, attempting to derail the conversation before something goes wrong. “I’m just curious.”

“Talk”, Sylus demands, albeit in a soft tone. “I’m listening.” 

His crimson eyes burn a hole into your head, and you now only realise the way he has you cornered on his couch, his large frame looming over yours. 

You sigh, realising he’s not about to let it go anytime soon. 

“A few weeks ago, during one of the battles we had, where I almost died-“

“Get to the point, sweetie”, Sylus cuts, seeing through your guise. 

You pout. “Right. Before I blacked out, I saw you appear right in front of me, with horns.”

Sylus raises his eyebrows, seemingly in amusement. “You sure you weren’t hallucinating?”

He earns a smack on his chest. You’re ready to let him disprove you further or whatever, but your body jolts when you feel Sylus snake his arms around your waist before he carries you effortlessly off the corner of the couch and onto his lap. 

You watch his eyes grow soft when he locks his gaze with yours. His expression is unreadable.

Your eyes widen in amazement when the thick pair of horns curl past his locks, the black a stark contrast with his white hair. He looks like he’s wearing bows in a funny, demonic type of way. Not that he has to know that. 

You continue to stare at his horns, visually taking in the rough yet smooth texture and patterns that run downwards as the horns grow thicker towards the base. 

“What are you really?” You wonder aloud, your fingers reaching out to feel the interesting texture of his horns, only for him to pull away quickly.

“It’s not the right time for you to know”, he replies curtly. You notice the glint of concern in his eyes, shrouded under the indifferent expression he wears. 

So you decide to leave it for now, at least. 

Nonetheless, it doesn’t stop you from annoying the ever-loving shit out of Sylus about his horns once you found out about it.

He would stare at you with his eyebrows furrowed, muttering that he should have never told you about his horns, only for you to bat your eyelashes at him, much to his annoyance. 

“At least let me touch them if you’re not gonna tell me more about them”, you would whine. With a frown, he would push your forehead with a finger, giving you his standard answer.

"No."

“Then could you at least tell me why you won’t let me touch your horns?”

He would rest his thumb and index finger on his chin, feigning a thinking stance before his expression drops deadpan and then the curt answer leaves his lips.

“No.”

You’re putting this right next to when you were fighting for your life to get that fucking brooch months ago. 

While the thought continues to eat into your curiosity, you mostly let Sylus off the hook after a while. For some reason, you’ve been noticing that Sylus has been walking around his mansion with his horns freely out. Maybe because he’s shown you his full horns once that’s why?

Or he’s just straight-up taunting you. 

You feign nonchalance, only stealing glances at the thick appendage that stood out against his pale locks from time to time, but never really bringing it up to him, for now at least.

You hear the raindrops patter against the large windows of Sylus's room one afternoon. At least the heavy clouds are hiding the sun on top of the dark curtains drawn, and it makes Sylus's rest a little more comfortable. 

He's sound asleep beside you on his bed, but you're seated up on your phone, the sound of the rain also slowly luring you to grow sleepy. You stretch a little, careful not to wake the male beside you. Sylus grunts softly, and you feel his hair tickle your thighs.

Through your peripherals, something catches your attention. The black on white is undoubtedly hard to miss.

Now that Sylus seems dead asleep, you're considering taking a chance to take a closer look at his horns, and maybe even touch them. 

Carefully, you shift your weight closer to Sylus, monitoring his expressions and movements. When the coast is clear, you lean closer, staring at his horns with much amazement. It's a lot different now that you're this up close to admire them. 

His horns aren't simply a simple shade of jet black–at different angles, you notice how the scales of his horns shimmer like an oil spill under the soft light. Close up, the base of his horns are thick, and as it extends, it curls, almost fully wrapping around his head. 

“So pretty”, you mutter to yourself. Your fingers are reached out as if by instinct, barely inches away from touching his pretty crown. 

You pause, weighing the risks of attempting to touch his horns. How fucked would you be if you actually did? 

Your eyes scan Sylus’s calm sleeping face. He doesn't seem to have even noticed his horns have grown out. 

“It’s just a little touch, he won't feel it anyways”, you convince yourself softly, your resolve firming as your curiosity begins to bubble over your rationale.

You let your fingers brush his horn, feeling the cold and scaly texture beneath your fingertips. Your eyes are sparkling in amazement even more, now that your curiosity has been satisfied. You press your fingertips onto the appendage, enjoying how nice and cool it feels to the touch.

Just then, you hear Sylus groan slightly. Your hand immediately retracts before you fully freeze, watching the way he presses his head against your leg, his eyebrows slightly scrunched before it returns back to relaxed. 

Close call. 

You obviously don’t learn your lesson, because your fingers are on his horns almost immediately once more. You grow more curious about the feeling of running your palm across his horns this round. 

So you do.

Your hand starts from the thick base, and you stroke it, following the horn's curl, enjoying the way the texture of the scales run smooth under your palm.

And then Sylus makes a sound beneath you. You squint in curiosity, wondering if you heard it right.

So you run your hand from his tip to the base this time. 

And this time, Sylus lets out another moan. You definitely did not hear wrong. 

Your cheeks are slowly flushing when you realise what you're doing to him. But for some reason, it makes you want to do it more.

So this is why he doesn't want you touching his horns? 

With a cheeky smile, you run your fingers along his horns in various ways and places, eliciting more pretty and erotic reactions from Sylus. 

You giggle to yourself, trying to ignore how he's making you aroused with all the noises he's making with every stroke you give his horns. 

You want to go for the next round, wondering how far you can take this.

Obviously not very far, because the next time you do, Sylus’s hand catches your wrist before you're about to touch his horns again.

He stares at you with half-lidded eyes, pink dusted on his cheeks and his breathing shallow.

“Are you having fun, kitten?” He asks with a frown.

Fuck.

You feign a smile, trying to wave your hand from his grip, of course, your attempts futile. 

Sylus’s other arm curls around your thighs, locking you from leaving the bed while Sylus lets his sleep leave his body from the rude interruption. 

“Denying me of satisfying my curiosity only makes it worse”, you shrug. Well, if only Sylus had just let you have a little touch…

The corner of Sylus’s lips pull up to a half smirk. 

“Right”, Sylus replies, a hint of annoyance and something else laced in his tone before he shifts above you in one swift motion, trapping you underneath him on his bed. 

“Then, I'm sure you don't have to be reminded that actions have consequences?”

You swallow hard. 

His hand that grabbed yours is placed on his chest, and he forces you to trail down his body, feeling his thick chest, then his abs under your touch, all the way down until he stops you right on his thick erection.

“You should take responsibility, don't you think?” Sylus asks with a raised eyebrow. 

You know it's pointless even attempt to escape when he’s devouring your lips like he hasn't eaten in days. It's so intoxicating. You would never admit your greed, but Sylus knows you well enough to feed you so good. You want to pull him so impossibly close.

In between breathless kisses, your warm hands trail from his biceps to his shoulders, to his neck, and right to his hair.

You test waters–letting your fingers rake through his hair, grazing the base of his horns. You get his green light when he doesn't swat you off, on the contrary, it makes Sylus grow more desperate in the kiss.

You confidently stroke his horn, from base to tip once more, and the moans that leave Sylus’s lips sound like fucking heaven. 

His crimson eyes finally meet yours, and he almost looks like he's in pain. 

“If you keep doing that–ngh–” Sylus trails off with another strained moan when the sensation of you stroking his horn buzzes right to his cock that he has shut his eyes to hold back. 

“This?” you tease, sliding your palm down to his base once more, rubbing the scaly appendage, watching him failing at trying to keep his composure. 

“Fuck”, he hisses, diving into your lips once more, eating you up. 

He pulls away briefly, pressing his lips just below your ear.

“You’re gonna be taking responsibility, kitten.”

He presses himself close onto you, so close that you feel his cock just pulsing against your pelvis, only separated by his black sweats. Sylus takes your chin in his fingers and steals your breath away once more, uncontrollably grunting with every stroke your hands play with his horns. You feel his cock twitch, then pulse before the feeling of warmth spreads across your skin, accompanied by a long, drawn out moan in your mouth.

It makes you dizzy with bliss, realising what you've done to him. 

Sylus pulls away once more, catching his breath, his eyes reflecting something more feral when you met his. 

But all you do is flash a cheeky smile at him, letting your fingers caress his cheek. 

His fingers tug at the waistband of your shorts and he yanks them off, almost growing feral for the second time when his eyes meet the sight of the way your pussy is glistening so much that a wet and thin string of arousal sticks itself in between your pussy and your soaked panties. 

Well, Sylus is holding the short end of the stick anyway, because when he tugs his sweats down, your heartbeat accelerates as your eyes land on his cock–thick, red and completely covered in white and thick cum, some staining his underwear, twitching slightly with dribbles of cum seeping past his cockhead when the fabric brushes past his balls. 

He looks so fucking delicious when he's messy like that. Shit.

“You seem to be enjoying yourself, staring at me like that”, he teases. He doesn't even look embarrassed.

“Maybe I should play with your horns more often”, you reply with a smile. Sylus narrows his eyes at you, his expression mixed with annoyance and affection. His fingers press against your soaking clit, enjoying the way the smile on your face gets wiped, replaced with a contorted expression of pleasure when he rubs it in slow circles. 

“I’m strongly against that idea, sweetie”, Sylus responds, leaning in to take in the expression of your mind slowly growing dumb and blank just from his slender fingers rubbing you out. “It’ll give you a little too much leverage over me.”

Through the hazy and building pleasure, you still manage to reply, “that's the whole point.”

Sylus only smiles at your reply, his fingers leaving your clit. You're about to protest, that is, until he grabs you by your hips, dragging you closer to him, then pressing your knees to your chest, before his wet cock slowly enters you from below. He watches your face contort in pleasure–your eyes rolling back and your eyebrows furrowed–while soaking in the fucking delicious feeling of your cunt warm and wrapped around his cock. 

“S-so good”, you whimper, his fullness knocking out any ounce of breath and sense out of you at a dangerous pace the his cock inches even deeper into you.

“Such a nice and warm pussy hole”, Sylus grits, pushing himself even deeper, his control slipping when he's buried himself all the way in. “Fuck, you're so good for me, kitten.”

You're clawing his pillows when Sylus starts fucking you, and you're looking at Sylus with such a glazed out expression–and you know it drives him fucking crazy. His palm rests on the bulge that his cock is pushing every time he enters you, and it makes your thighs shake. Your moans grow in pitch and tone on top of the sounds of lewd wet skin slapping. 

He lets you wrap your legs around his waist in return for letting him scatter love bites across your neck.

So you decide that it’s the perfect time to aim for his sensitive spots once more.

Your fingers tug against his scalp, then alternating to stroking his horns once more, throwing Sylus into another round of pleasured daze. 

You feel his cock fill you up even more, and it makes you greedy to how far you can push it.

“I really should make you regret this”, Sylus mutters, failing to suppress another groan when your fingers scratch against the base. 

His thrusts become more like ruts, his cockhead hitting your g-spot over and over as payback. Sylus sprouts a satisfied smirk as he watches you completely come undone on his cock. You throw your head back while stars flicker in and out of your vision. The pleasure is growing so fucking good that you're choking on your moans too. 

“Right there! Fuck, that feels so fucking good, Sylus”, you sob through wet lashes and heavy pants. 

Sylus is mesmerised by your pretty expressions and the pretty sounds you always make for him when he's breaking you apart. 

Maybe you finding out about his sensitive horns is his punishment for indulging in these sick pleasures. Nonetheless, he still wouldn't have any other way.

Your hands find his horns once more, and he falters for a split second. But he doesn't shake you off since he's much too focused on trying to force an orgasm out of you.

Your pussy squeezes him before it starts uncontrollably fluttering against his cock. Ah, his goal is slowly being fulfilled.

As your orgasm dangles above you, you react with periodical squeezes on his cock and his horns, which definitely draws a much larger reaction from Sylus. 

“So close”, you whine, your orgasm slowly filling the crevices of your brain, plunging you deep into pleasure. Your cunt clenches on his cock, and you unintentionally yank his horns.

Sylus fucking growls, pressing himself so fucking deep into you, his cum fucking spurting into you–so much that some is leaking out from your plugged pussy hole and onto the bed. 

He pulls his cock out momentarily, letting his cum ooze from his cockhead, his eyes darting to the loads seeping out of your hole, before he slides his cock into you once more. You gasp at the fullness, another squeeze to his horns, which only stimulates Sylus once more, and his cock fills you up with another warm and sticky load. 

He’s panting, but he musters his energy to meet your eyes. 

“Sweetie”, he calls out to you amidst his dick attempting to take over his brain. “If you don't get your hands off, your pussy won't be able to hold anymore, I guarantee.”

He's met with a fucked-out and sly grin from his partner. 

“And I thought you enjoyed challenges.”

Sylus scoffs at your comment, realising that he really has to teach his kitten a lesson to not touch things that aren't hers.

[fairy-angel222]

𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

—your boyfriend does not appreciate you, but his uncle toji does.

pairing: toji x fem! reader

content: smut, cheating, unprotected sex, choking, petnames, praise, a little degradation, toji’s hot ass has tattoos, belly bulge, cumming inside you

You couldn’t really pinpoint when things went wrong. When your boyfriend just lost interest in you. You couldn’t even date back the last time you had been fucked. Simply turning his body when you tried to start something, or using the excuse that he wasn’t in his mood and that you needed to stop being so needy.

But how could you? You just needed to feel something. Anything. You were so tired of using your fingers when he left for work. Or the shower head on your clit when you showered alone, which was now always.

Your relationship was failing, but you couldn’t find it in you to break up with him.

You were quite confused when your boyfriend invited you over for a dinner at his parents. Getting to meet all his family as he introduced you with a wide smile, hands on the small of your back to guide you from person to person.

There was somebody who stuck out like a sore thumb. And you couldn’t take your eyes off of the man was probably twice your age and most definitely twice your size. Tall, broad and muscular with tattoos of all shapes and sizes trailing down his neck and onto his toned arms.

You swallowed hard, ignoring the heat you felt in between your legs as you ogled the greek god infront of you. With his messy black hair and dark eyes, a smirk spread across his handsome face as he tilted his head to stare you down. Hands in his pockets as he strolled towards you, your hand gripping your boyfriend’s shirt as you felt yourself getting smaller and smaller under his gaze.

“Now who’s this pretty thing?” The deep voice questioned, looking down at you with the subtle bite of his lip as he let his gaze run over your figure. “You’re not gonna introduce your lil ole uncle to your girlfriend?”

Your boyfriend scoffed, rolling his eyes and pulling you closer into him. “I have no need to. Now beat it.”

You frowned at his harsh tone. Toji’s hands raising in defense as he chuckled. “Just trynna be nice.” His smirk widening when he turned to face you fully. “Now, what’s your name doll?”

Your knees grew weak at the deep rasp of his voice, avoiding eye contact when you felt yourself face getting hot. “uh.. y/n, my name’s y/n.”

Toji hummed, grabbing hold of your hand and bending down to place a kiss to the back of it. “Pretty name for a pretty girl.” He winked.

“Okay that’s enough. You can go now.” Your boyfriend fumed, your eyes never leaving the older man’s as he took his leave, leaving you with a short. “Nice to meet ya, doll” before he walked away.

“We’re leaving.”

Your eyes widened at your boyfriend’s words. “What? Baby why? Your family seems so nice we can’t just leave.” You tried to convince him.

“We can when you’re looking at my fucking uncle like he’s a five course meal.”

You resisted the urge to scoff, maybe you wouldn’t have to if he did what he was supposed to. “I promise you, i wasn’t. Now let’s at least enjoy an hour for dinner before we leave. Okay?”

Your boyfriend only scoffing before shrugging your arm off of him and walking away into the kitchen.

Great. This was just what you needed.

The dinner was awkward for you. Your boyfriend wouldn’t talk to you and kept glaring at his uncle. Who only added fuel to the fire by sending short smirks your way, his muscles flexing as he ate.

You couldn’t help the way your face flushed, fidgeting with the food in your plate as you bit down on your lip.

“Y/n, dear? Are you okay?” your boyfriend’s mother asked in genuine concern. “You have barely touched your food honey.”

You gave her a smile. “Sorry, i’m just feeling a little sick right now.”

“Oh dear, would you like to go to the bathroom? Darling, show her the way.” his mom insisted. Your boyfriend not even sparing you a glance when he spoke, “I’m sure she knows the way, mom.”

You sighed, a piece of you missing the relationship you once had. Giving a tight lipped smile and assuring her that you knew the way before getting out of your seat and heading to the nearest bathroom.

You stood staring at yourself in the mirror, rubbing at the bridge of your nose while telling yourself to get your act together. You gasped when the door swung open. A smirking Toji closing the door behind him and leaning onto it, his hands crossed over his chest as he looked you in the eyes.

“You know, for a girl pretty like you, you sure are stupid.” He laughed, “Don’t you see you deserve better than my scumbag of a nephew?” Closing the gap between you two until you were backed up against the sink’s counter.

Toji’s hand reached up to stroke gently under your cheek, trailing his finger across your lip as he bent his neck to look down at you. In turn looking up at him through your lashes when his other hand held onto your waist.

“You gotta know how a real man treats a lady. How a real man fucks. You want that doll?” Waiting for your shy nod of approval before sitting you on the cool marble top. Your legs hooked around his waist and your hands gripping the counter’s edge when his rough lips met yours. Kissing you hard before trailing soft bites down your neck, careful enough to not leave any marks.

You let out a moan, Toji’s hands moving to peel off his shirt so his rock hard abs were on display. Grinding lightly onto the hard surface with a whimper at the full sight of black ink spread across his pale skin. A grin on his face when he went back to attacking your neck, hand slipping under your dress and pressing against the heat of your panties.

“This wet for me already? I’m flattered.” His fingers making their way to rub between your folds through the side of the fabric. Collecting your wetness before dipping a finger into you. “Think you can take it doll? You’re so fucking tight. Practically a virgin again, how long’s it been since you were given a good fuck?”

You truly didn’t know the answer for yourself. Only moaning as Toji pulled off the lace material, spreading your legs wider and pulling his thick cock out the confinements of his jeans. You whimpered when Toji stroked his length, the size being bigger than anything you’d seen before. “‘S alright, ‘m gonna mold her round my cock.” he groaned, lining up with your sopping hole before slowly thrusting into you.

“Nnhg— so big, T-Tojii— can’t take it.” you mewled, Toji’s hand latching over your mouth to muffle your pleas as he forced himself deep into you. “Gonna make it fit doll, just sit real pretty for me and take it yeah?”

You nodded with a shaky moan, your pussy stretching to accommodate his thick girth as he bottomed out inside you. Grunting heavily at how tight you were around him, his cock so deep that he could see himself bulging in your stomach through the thin fabric of your dress.

Toji started off slowly. Your moans increasing in volume as he sped up. The burning sensation turning into nothing but pleasure as he fucked into you, ricking your body back and forth with each thrust.

Toji’s hand fell from your lips, the tattooed skin finding itself wrapped snugly around your neck instead. His cock grazing your gummy spot as he leaned into your ear. “This is exactly what you need doll. Need me to fuck that pretty little pussy so good.” he grunted. “Exactly what your dumb boyfriend failed to do.”

You could only let out a cry, your smaller hands holding tightly onto the arm around your throat. Digging your nails into his flesh as you moaned out into the air. Your lips parted in a string of mewls as the older man’s cock pierced deep into the depths of your insides. Fucking perfectly into your g spot before bullying its way to the entrance of your cervix.

The unfamiliar sensation making you cry out even louder as your head fell back. “T-toji- ahh— so good Toji, feels s’ good.” you cried, your legs trembling around him with curled toes.

“Careful now doll, as much as i would love for him to hear me fucking you right, there’s other people out there.” he teased, your pussy clenching when your eyes met his. Your eyes glassy and your head fuzzy as you were fucked into oblivion.

Letting out a whimper when his grip tightened unintentionally on your throat. Drool falling past the sides of your lips as your eyes fixed on his v line, up to his abs then further until you reached his face. Finding his dark irises staring back down at you hungrily before pulling you closer to him.

His large body swallowing yours when he pressed you up against him. Your moans and cries getting noisy again as you felt yourself getting close. “Tojiii— nnh, ‘m so c-close, ahh— gonna cum.”

“Yeah doll? Close f’ me? Gonna make a mess on this old man’s cock?” he rasped, broad hips still rolling hard into yours as he watched your mouth hang open slightly, your eyes rolling back before closing completely as you reached your high.

Body shaking and pussy spasming around him as your pussy held onto his cock like a vice, letting out a choked scream muffled by Toji’s knowing kiss as you came. Squirting messily onto his cock with the quiver of your hips.

“So fucking hot.” Toji groaned as he pulled away from you. Your breathing noticeably heavy as he fucked you through the aftermath of your orgasm. “Fuck, gonna cum. Where’d you want it?” he breathed.

And you let out a mewl as his thrusts grew sloppy, veiny cock twitching against your walls as he got ready to release. “Fuck, gotta hurry up and tell me doll.”

“Nnhg— inside, want you inside.” you moaned, “C-cum inside me.. please.”

Toji’s pupils dilated and his grin grew wide. “You’re a slutty one in disguise aren’t ya? ‘S my pleasure baby.” His thrusts becoming merciless as he slammed into you. Using your pussy to stroke his cock as you choked out little cries at the fast pace.

“Fuck, gon’ fill you up so good.” he panted, “Gon’ stuff you so full that you’ll be begging to be my good girl again.” his cock throbbed, “Shit— there we go, that’s it doll.” Spilling spurts of his hot cum into your cunt. Making you moan at how easily he filled you up.

Toji gave his final slow thrusts before he was pulling out of you, letting his cum seep out as he helped you put back on your panties. Trapping his seed deep inside you with a hum. “Feel better doll?” he smirked, giving you a short kiss to your lips and laughing as you tried to not let him go.

“Come back to me when you gain some sense and drop that asshole, okay? I’ll be waiting.” Pulling his shirt back on and tucking himself into his boxers, giving you a wink before trying to fix his hair. Your eyes glued onto his back as he walked out the bathroom door.

Leaving you touching your lips that just felt his tongue. Your heart beating faster before you were startled by hard knocking on the door followed by your boyfriend’s voice. “Can you hurry up in there? You’re making my mother think you’re dying or something.”

You closed your eyes and let out a breath, thoughts of Toji plaguing your mind and keeping you calm. “Coming!”

[cbeargyu]

virgin's debut

A friendship can’t be ruined by having sex… can it?

⊹₊⋆ pairing: best friend!haechan x fem!reader x love interest!jaehyun (slight)

⊹₊⋆ warnings: angst, fluff, smut, best friends to lovers trope, protected sex, unprotected sex (use protection pls), fingering, making out, nudes, slowburn, suggestive redaction, mild cursing, reader is a virgin lol, haechan isn't, English is not my first language, so I apologize in advance.

⊹₊⋆wc: 18,3K

READ THE PREVIEW [HERE]

Two weeks later

haechan sighed again, his chest heavy as he collapsed onto the couch. With both hands, he covered his face, fingers digging into his skin, trying to block out the past two weeks.

hyuck didn’t understand why there was this twisted mess of emotions swirling in his stomach, why his thoughts were so scattered, a jumble of "what ifs" and "should I's".

it had been two weeks since you made that insane proposition to him. haechan hadn’t talked much since then, just the occasional texts letting each other know when they’d left or entered the building they both lived in. the topic hadn’t come up, and you hadn’t pressured him either. but, god, it haunted him.

it was unthinkable. his values just wouldn’t allow it. sleeping with his best friend? never crossed his mind. but you—you weren’t just anyone. you’d been inseparable since high school. your sense of humor matched perfectly, and everyone knew the two of you were a damn force together. their friends noticed the bond, the way they both seemed to fit like puzzle pieces, always there for each other, even when they fought. like siblings, but with none of the blood ties.

that word, "siblings"—it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. It was strange that others saw them two like that. but they were okay with it. there were boundaries in their relationship, and crossing them was unforgivable.

of course, you were angelic. your bubbly personality and constant jokes made you irresistible. physically, you were gorgeous, though you were a bit shorter than him—way too short, maybe. you had black hair and an odd but cute bangs just above your eyebrows, something he liked to tease you about.

and yeah, you’d catch anyone’s eye. he wasn’t gonna lie—he’d had a crush on you when he first met you in high school. but over time, that romantic attraction faded as your friendship grew stronger.

maybe it was also the way you were so open with your thoughts—no filter, no shame—that when you asked him about sleeping together, it sounded completely natural to you. to him, though? It was a punch to the gut, a cold shower, a slap to the face. he was spinning, disoriented, trapped in what felt like a twisted fantasy—or maybe a nightmare.

for him, sex wasn’t a taboo subject. he’d lost his virginity at 17 to one of his many girlfriends, and talking about it was casual. hell, haechan didn’t even hold back when discussing the details of his past experiences with you. he’d even described how he’d "done it" in vivid detail—like it was nothing.

but you? you were different. you had dated three guys since high school, but none of those relationships lasted more than two months. so, you didn’t exactly know what it was like to be in a serious, long-term relationship. snd sex? It didn’t seem like a necessity in your life—at least not until now.

“I mean, when you’re dating someone romantically and nothing happens, i’d call that a win,” you said, casually munching on a slice of lemon tart.

haechan furrowed his brows, taking a sip of his coffee. “explain that.”

“it’s simple,” you shrugged. “because if they haven’t seen you naked, you can run into them on the street and not have to worry about that bastard seeing your ass.”

heck couldn’t help but laugh at your reasoning. “right, totally.”

you both chuckled, agreeing on that one. but he also knew, deep down, it wasn’t that simple for him. not anymore. he couldn’t ignore what was bubbling beneath the surface.

haechan felt a buzz in his pocket. his phone. the first class of the day was about to start, and he had to rush if he didn’t want to be late. he lived close to campus, just a five-minute walk, but the class was on the other side of the building.

but this situation? it was messing with his head so much that he couldn’t fall asleep until 3 AM these past two weeks. he grabbed his backpack and keys, about to head out when his phone buzzed again.

it was you. a message: “i’m heading to class, just leaving my apartment.”

haechan froze. he hadn’t expected you to text him now. his hand gripped the doorknob, but he didn’t open it. the thought of seeing you right now made his heart race. he wasn’t ready. not yet. he couldn’t just pretend like everything was fine.

"shit... y/n, what were you thinking?"

he sighed deeply. what was this? haechan could hear his own voice in his head, his thoughts like an endless storm. he couldn’t stop thinking about you—about what you had said, and about everything that had changed in such a short time. his stomach twisted. what would happen if he saw you now? could he face you? could he even be the same around you after what you had suggested?

he shook his head, hoping to clear his thoughts. He didn’t have the answers, but he knew one thing: this wasn’t going to be easy.

haechan let out a deep sigh, adjusting his scarf around his neck before stepping out of his apartment. he tried to calm himself, convincing himself that he could handle whatever came next. as if nothing had happened. as if he could just brush it off and pretend it hadn’t been weighing on him for the past two weeks.

but every time he thought about it, it made his chest tighten. that proposal of yours. the way you had looked at him, so casually, as if it were no big deal. he couldn’t get it out of his mind. he had always been the life of the party, the one to make jokes and laugh things off. but this—this was different. it gnawed at him like an insistent itch he couldn’t scratch, a question with no answer.

he made his way to campus, each step seeming faster than the last, but his thoughts were tangled in a mess of confusion and frustration. you hadn’t seemed bothered. if anything, you had acted like it was just another conversation. you hadn’t even tried to talk to him about it again, hadn’t pressured him. but that only made it worse. the silence between you both was deafening. you had sent that message, but it wasn’t the same. it was as if you had moved on without even thinking about it, while he was still stuck in the same place, drowning in his thoughts.

it was absurd. he was known for being the carefree one, the one who didn’t let anything get to him. but now? now he was a mess. the more he tried to convince himself that it was no big deal, the harder it was to believe it. you had said it so easily, like it was a joke, and yet it had shattered something inside him. the truth was, he didn’t know how to look at you anymore. he didn’t know how to face you after that. how could he? after everything?

haechan shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. his footsteps carried him toward the building, and the closer he got, the more his anxiety grew. he couldn’t avoid it forever. he’d have to see you eventually. the communication department wasn’t that big, and it seemed like the entire campus would lead him straight to you.

as he reached the entrance of the building, his alert system kicked in. you were probably inside already. and damn it, the thought of running into you—now, after everything—felt like a punch in the gut. you hadn’t even mentioned it again, hadn’t tried to force a conversation. yet he could feel it. the tension. the distance. how had it gotten to this? why did he feel so… disconnected?

he stopped for a second, hand resting against the doorframe, trying to breathe. but it was like everything had changed. nothing was simple anymore. he had been your best friend for so long, but now? now it felt like he was walking on eggshells, unsure of what would break first.

“hey.”

a light punch to his back snapped him out of his daze, and the blood immediately drained from his face. that voice—he couldn’t mistake it, not even if a million voices tried to mimic it. His breath hitched, and he turned around so fast it almost hurt.

there you were. small, as always. a knitted beanie sitting snug over your head, that— ridiculous—fringe barely brushing the tops of your brows, framing your delicate face in a way that made his throat dry. a long grey coat hung from your shoulders, swallowing you slightly, and your black boots clicked softly against the floor. everything about you looked… normal. the way you looked at him, the way you smiled, even the casual punch to his back.

physical contact.

that word echoed in his head like a siren. he quickly shook the thought away, locking his focus on the paper Starbucks bag dangling from your left hand. maybe you’d stopped by the café on the way. maybe you ordered delivery. maybe someone gave it to you. maybe—god, he needed to stop. the hamster in his brain was doing flips, and he wanted to knock some sense into himself.

you held the bag out toward him.

haechan just stared at it for a second, until you raised your eyebrows, shook it again, and snapped, “are you gonna take it or what?! geez, i brought it for you and you’re just standing there looking at it like an idiot.”

your expression twisted in mock annoyance, brows curved upward—but oddly, he felt the tightness in his chest ease a little.

reluctantly, haechan reached out and took the bag, brushing his fingers against yours for a second too long. he tried not to react, but his mind was a chaotic storm. He couldn’t help but look at you—really look.

had you always looked like this? that coat hugged your waist just enough. the shape of your figure was something he never let himself notice before. and your chest… jesus. it wasn’t like you’d suddenly changed, but it felt like someone had wiped the fog off his glasses. He was seeing you differently. entirely.

and that terrified him.

he lowered his eyes quickly, too aware of how warm his ears were getting.

“thanks,” he mumbled, voice a little hoarse.

“no problem,” you replied, glancing around casually. “i figured you might skip breakfast again, so…”

you trailed off with a small shrug, stuffing your hands into your coat pockets. haechan tried to smile, but his stomach was tangled in impossible knots.

haechan took another deep breath as he tried to collect himself, shifting the weight of the Starbucks bag from one hand to the other. he looked at you, trying to ignore the pull in his chest—the sudden awareness of every little detail about you. there was a tension he couldn’t shake off, something that sat heavy in his stomach.

you seemed to notice his distracted state and leaned against the wall, your usual easygoing posture, the same as always, except now, he couldn’t stop noticing how you looked in that oversized coat and those boots. he was spiraling again, caught in the thought of you.

“so…” you broke the silence, “i’ve been kind of swamped lately. working on this branding project for a client. it’s been a pain, though. my computer decided to die on me right when I needed it most.”

haechan raised an eyebrow, his mind snapping back to reality. “really? you didn’t tell me about it. why didn’t you ask for help? I mean, i know a thing or two about fixing computers. I could’ve helped you.”

you shrugged, a small, nonchalant smile playing at the corners of your lips. “nah, i called taeyong instead. he’s better with that stuff.”

there was a sharp tug in haechan’s chest. he hadn’t expected that. the knot in his stomach tightened, a wave of discomfort washing over him. taeyong? really?

he tried to laugh it off, but there was something bitter in his tone as he asked, “taeyong? why him? i thought you knew I was good with that kind of stuff.”

“yeah, well,” you quipped with a raised eyebrow, “taeyong just happened to be the first one I thought of. besides, he’s pretty quick with tech stuff.”

haechan’s smile was tight, and his stomach churned. he told himself it was nothing. he was being stupid. but why didn’t you ask him? he had always been there when your tech failed. it felt… weird. almost like you didn’t need him anymore. but, of course, he didn’t voice any of that. instead, he played it off, trying to act casual.

“sure, sure,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. he was so not handling this well. the thought of you asking someone else for help left him unsettled, and he hated how much it bothered him. It was irrational, but he couldn't shake it.

you noticed the subtle shift in his demeanor, the way he pulled back just a little. your smile softened as you leaned forward slightly, breaking the silence again.

“hey,” you said gently, “i’m sorry if it upset you. it wasn’t meant to make you feel left out, really.”

haechan quickly looked up, trying to look unfazed. “nah, it’s fine. I mean, it's not like i’m the only one you can ask for help, right?” he joked, but there was an edge to his voice that didn’t quite match the tone of his words.

you raised your eyebrows, a knowing look in your eyes. “you’re acting like a total prude right now,” you said, a smirk forming. “didn’t you used to tell me all the crazy stuff you did with jang chanmi back in high school? and now the topic of helping a friend with a computer is freaking you out?”

haechan blinked, taken aback. the mention of chanmi, especially in the context of your teasing, was enough to snap him out of his spiraling thoughts. he groaned, running a hand through his hair, trying to laugh it off. “well, that was different, okay? that was high school stuff.”

you chuckled, leaning back against the wall, clearly amused by his discomfort. “oh, come on. don’t tell me you’re too shy to talk about tech problems now. you used to explain every position you tried with her—like it was a lesson in geometry or something.”

haechan let out an exasperated sigh, not sure whether to be embarrassed or grateful for the way you were managing to cut through the tension. he couldn’t stop the blush creeping up his neck, and he cursed under his breath. of all the people, you had to be the one to make him feel like a damn fool.

“well, that was different, okay? It’s... it’s not like i’m comfortable talking about that stuff with you anymore, alright?” he almost winced at his words. the last thing he wanted was to make it sound like he couldn’t be himself with you.

you tilted your head slightly, your tone playful but with a hint of mischief. “don’t worry, though. I just asked taeyong to help with the computer. i didn’t make the same proposal to him that i made to you.”

haechan’s eyes went wide. he froze, his face instantly flushing. did you really just say that? the sudden wave of heat rushing to his face felt like he was on fire. his brain scrambled for words, but all he could manage was a surprised, “wait, what?”

you laughed softly, clearly enjoying the effect you had on him.

“you’re scared i’m gonna bring it up, aren’t you?”

“what? i—no, i’m fine,” he said too quickly, almost defensively. “just tired. you know, early class. cold outside. normal stuff.”

you didn’t say anything right away. just looked at him with that calm gaze of yours, the one that could read people like open books.

that hit him harder than expected. he flinched. swallowed. you tilted your head slightly.

“it’s okay,” you said, voice even. “if it made you uncomfortable… we don’t have to talk about it. ever. i’m not gonna ambush you or corner you or expect anything.”

haechan blinked. your tone was so mature, so measured—like you’d thought about this. like you knew what it had done to him.

“it was dumb of me,” you continued with a small smile. “or maybe not dumb, just… bold. and i get it, you didn’t sign up for that. so, if you want to forget it ever happened, consider it forgotten. clean slate.”

he didn’t know what to say. a hundred emotions jostled in his chest, fighting for space. gratitude. relief. guilt. and something else entirely—something heavier and harder to name.

because despite everything, despite the panic and confusion and awkward silences, you were still here. talking to him. offering him coffee. smiling at him like you always did.

but something had changed. he saw it in the way he noticed your lips when they moved. in the way his eyes lingered a beat too long on the curve of your body. in the way his mind kept circling back to that question you’d asked two weeks ago.

and the worst part?

haechan didn’t know if he wanted to go back to before.

before everything had shifted. before he started noticing all these things about you—things he had never allowed himself to see. he wasn’t sure if it was fear of the unknown or something else entirely, but the thought of things returning to how they were felt… difficult.

“anyway,” you said, standing up from the railing and brushing your hands off as if to clear the air between you. "i’ll see you later. don’t overthink it, alright?"

the casual way you said it made his chest tighten. he could feel that something was still unspoken, that there was more you weren’t saying, but he didn’t press. you were good at hiding what you truly felt, always had been.

haechan tried to push the conversation out of his mind as he entered his class on media studies. he sat down, pulling his notes in front of him and attempting to focus, but his thoughts were all over the place. his brain kept circling back to your words—had you meant everything you said? Was it really that simple for you?

the ice-cold americano you’d brought him sat on the edge of his desk. Its perfect arrangement, just the way he always liked it, made his chest tighten for reasons he couldn’t explain. he watched as droplets of water gathered on the glass, slowly tracing their way down to pool at the bottom.

he was distracted. but even more than that, he was feeling something he couldn’t quite name. his gaze wandered over the cold surface, the way the water clung to the glass—his mind drifting to you. to your smile. to the way your voice had lingered in his thoughts.

he imagined, for a moment, what it would be like if those droplets were slipping along your skin instead. He didn’t want to think about it, but his mind had other plans. every thought that surfaced seemed to lead back to you—the curve of your lips, the way you had looked at him just before leaving.

his pulse quickened, a wave of heat rising to his face. he snapped back to reality, but the blush was already creeping up his neck. "what the hell am i doing?" he muttered under his breath, quickly looking down at his notes again, trying to focus. his mind refused to cooperate. why was he thinking about this now? why was his body reacting like this?

he could feel the tension rising, like a knot tightening in his stomach. he had never been this aware of you before—not like this. and the worst part was, he didn’t know how to stop it.

you buried your face in your hands, heart racing, panic rising in your chest. what had you done?

the proposal you made to haechan wasn’t random—not by a long shot. It came from somewhere raw, impulsive, and aching. you’d convinced yourself he would say yes. no hesitation. no second thoughts. that’s what your friends told you, right?

"guys are easy. especially when it comes to sex. they’re always down," yeri had said with a laugh, trying to encourage you. “come on, it’s haechan. he jokes about that stuff all the time.”

and maybe that was the worst part. because you believed her. you judged your best friend through a lens of assumption, reducing him to some stereotype, thinking he’d just say yes because he was a guy. because he was him.

but he didn’t.

and now you knew—you had judged him so, so wrong. haechan wasn’t like the guys in those stories your friends always told. he wasn’t thoughtless. he wasn’t careless. he was kind. and considerate. and the look on his face after your question… you could still see it. confused. hurt. maybe even disappointed. not because you asked, but because he didn’t know how to respond without breaking something between you.

the guilt clawed its way up your throat.

you hadn’t asked him just for the sake of it, either. it wasn’t some random experiment. it was desperation. because ever since last fall, ever since he came into the picture, something in you had changed.

jung jaehyun.

a senior in the visual arts department. tall, graceful, and unfairly good-looking—like he’d walked straight out of a perfume ad in a fashion magazine. chiseled jawline, smooth voice, perfect smile. the kind of man who turned heads in every hallway he walked through. girls whispered about him constantly—rumors, fantasies, stories that may or may not have been true. he was confident, magnetic, dangerous in that way only people who know they’re desired can be.

and of course, you weren’t immune.

you saw him at a few parties, caught glimpses of him sketching in the studio, his sleeves rolled up and headphones in, and felt a pull you didn’t fully understand. it wasn’t love. It wasn’t even a crush. it was curiosity. lust. a hunger you didn’t recognize as your own until it became too loud to ignore.

your friends told you to go for it. "just hook up with him," they said. "get it over with." but you couldn’t. you didn’t have the experience, the confidence, the… proof that you could be the kind of girl someone like jaehyun might want.

so you turned to the only person you trusted. the only one who made you feel safe, unjudged, seen.

haechan.

and now you’d hurt him.

you hadn’t just crossed a line—you’d shattered the trust he’d always given you so freely. all because you were afraid. because you wanted to prove something. because you thought he’d just say yes.

but he didn’t.

now you sat in the middle of your typography and composition class, surrounded by the soft clatter of keyboards and the low hum of your professor’s lecture, your laptop open in front of you and your adobe illustrator file untouched. letters floated on your screen in random positions, but your brain couldn’t form a single coherent thought. you weren’t even sure what the assignment was supposed to be.

your body was there—but your mind was somewhere else entirely. caught in the swirl of embarrassment, regret, and confusion. a storm of emotion you didn’t know how to calm. all you could think was: what have I done?

it had been a week since that conversation. on the surface, everything seemed fine—like a reset button had been pressed. you and haechan still exchanged jokes, shared snacks, and sat next to each other in class. but underneath the laughter and casual glances, there was a strange hollowness, like the two of you had become actors reciting old lines in a play that didn’t fit anymore. robotically pretending the elephant in the room didn’t exist, even though its shadow loomed over every interaction. after all, everything had already been said, hadn’t it?

still, something was off.

haechan hadn’t hooked up with anyone since then. it wasn’t for lack of trying—he’d gone out, flirted, danced—but each time, his mind wandered back to you. and it wasn’t just idle thoughts. no, it was worse.

every night that week, he'd woken up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, heart racing, and a painful hardness straining against his boxers. dreams of you—wearing almost nothing, bent in suggestive positions, whispering filthy things in his ear, inviting him to taste you, to touch you—played on a loop in his subconscious. but right when he was about to finally reach you, melt into you, he’d wake up frustrated and breathless. left with no choice but to slip his hand under the waistband and relieve the aching pressure. for serotonin. for oxytocin. for sanity.

now, it was saturday night and he was stuck at work.

the burger place was dead quiet. maybe it was the cold snap that had settled over the city, keeping everyone snuggled up in their homes instead of venturing out for greasy fast food. Haechan didn’t mind, really. he was sick of putting on his fake retail voice—“welcome! Fries with that?”—and dealing with people who didn’t say thank you. right now, he was working the closing shift, wearing the stiff black uniform cap and flipping patties that hissed on the flat top grill. the whole place smelled of grilled beef, fryer oil, and cheap pickles. his coworkers were goofing off while mopping the floor and stacking chairs, and haechan, while half-listening to their jokes, was just counting the minutes till he could clock out and go back to bed.

that was when his phone buzzed in his pocket.

unknown number.

haechan hesitated. he barely ever answered unknown numbers, but something in his gut told him to pick up.

“hello?”

“HAECHAN!”

a girl’s voice. loud, panicked. He blinked.

“…who is this?”

“it’s seojung—y/n’s friend. you probably don’t remember me. we met, like, once.”

oh. right. you had sent him the numbers of your friends months ago, just in case. he’d never saved them.

“yeah, uh—what’s up?”

“it’s y/n,” she said quickly.

the emergency button in his brain went off.

“what happened? is she okay?! did something happen to her?”

“well—kind of?”

apparently, you’d gone out for a girls’ night. a little bar in the city downtown. everything was fine, until you’d gotten verydrunk. so drunk, in fact, you couldn’t even hold your head up, slurring nonsense, sobbing into seojung’s shoulder.

haechan grabbed his jacket before she even finished explaining.

“she kept saying… uh, really weird stuff,” seojung added nervously. “like—please don’t be mad, okay?—but she was screaming in the middle of the street that she was gonna die a virgin because her own best friend refused to help her.”

haechan stopped dead in his tracks, blinking in disbelief. “she said what?”

“i know! i was like, girl, stop embarrassing yourself! but she kept going. she even tried to climb on a statue to do a dramatic monologue or something, it was chaos.”

the line went quiet for a second.

“anyway,” seojung continued, “we can’t take her to the dorms—they don’t let us bring people in after curfew, and she’s way too far gone to be alone. you’re the only person she might listen to. can you come get her?”

“i’m on my way,” haechan said without hesitation, already sprinting out the back door. he didn’t even clock out. his coworkers just watched in stunned silence as he bolted into the freezing night air, hoodie half-zipped, hair disheveled, heart pounding.

he didn’t know exactly what he’d find when he got there.

but part of him was already bracing for it.

despite the cold weather, you had decided to wear a short velvet dress, sheer black tights, and an oversized puffer jacket that looked hilariously disproportionate on you—but also kind of cute. haechan blinked twice when he realized the jacket was his. the one he’d been looking for since last week. seeing you in it made his chest do something strange, tight and warm, like a coil winding in his ribs.

you looked disoriented, your makeup slightly smudged, your eyes glassy but still sparkly. your long legs peeked out from under the hem of the dress, knees wobbling as you leaned heavily on seojung for support. Behind her were yeri and jimin—both trying to look casual but clearly avoiding haechan’s gaze.

“sorry for calling so suddenly,” seojung said with an awkward smile, shifting nervously on her feet. “we didn’t know who else to call…”

“she just kept saying your name,” yeri added, crossing her arms.

“she’s been… emotional,” jimin muttered, eyes darting to the side. “also—sorry for… earlier stuff.”

the three girls looked anywhere but at haechan. there was something stiff in the air, a subtle frost behind their polite words. they knew what had happened. they knew he’d rejected you.

“thanks for looking after her,” haechan said simply, ignoring the tension as he gently took your arm. you mumbled something about “fuck friendship” and “i’ll die a virgin anyway,” making all three girls wince in embarrassment.

after quick goodbyes, they left hurriedly. haechan helped you into a cab, the inside warm and dimly lit, smelling faintly of peppermint and old leather.

“address?” the driver asked.

haechan rattled it off. the driver glanced in the rearview mirror and smiled.

“cute couple,” he said.

“oh—we’re not—” haechan began, but the man cut him off.

“young love. must be nice,” he chuckled. “leaving work in the middle of your shift to take care of your drunk girlfriend. that’s real devotion, son.”

haechan opened his mouth to correct him again, but then—

“HE REJECTED ME!” you suddenly shouted, head lolling dramatically to the side. “I asked him to have sex with me and he SAID NO.”

yhe cab fell into a stunned silence.

“…ah,” the driver finally said. “one-sided love, then.”

haechan wanted to crawl out of the moving car and disappear into the road. yhe driver shook his head sympathetically.

“you’re making a mistake, boy,” he said gravely. “a pretty lady like this? she won’t wait forever. you two already look like a couple. all that’s missing is the kiss.”

haechan glanced down at you, now slumped against his side, your cheek pressed to his shoulder. your makeup was a mess, your breath reeked of gin and lime, and you were clutching the hem of his jacket like it was your last lifeline.

and somehow, even like this, you looked heartbreakingly beautiful.

haechan stepped out of the taxi and paid the driver, the man's words echoing in his head like a song stuck on repeat. “you’re letting a good girl slip away…” he shouldn’t care what some stranger thought, but there was something about the way the guy said it — confident, certain — that made the sentence stick like honey to the roof of his mouth.

he turned around just in time to see you stepping out of the cab in your short dress, sheer tights hugging your legs, and a massive oversized jacket drowning your frame. his oversized jacket.

his breath caught a little. you looked both sexy and soft — long, graceful legs out in the cold, but your face flushed from alcohol and framed by the collar of his jacket. somehow, even in that state, you looked... perfect.

“you know where we are, right?” he asked gently, offering you his hand.

you nodded lazily, squinting at the familiar entrance of your apartment complex. but instead of walking toward it, you turned to him, a sly, sleepy smile playing on your lips.

“i don’t wanna go to my apartment,” you said, voice low and vaguely suggestive.

haechan blinked. “you need to sleep. you’re drunk.”

“i don’t wanna go to my apartment,” you repeated, this time slower, like you were daring him to challenge you. “i lost my keys.”

“you what?” his voice cracked as he stared at you in disbelief. “where the hell are you gonna sleep then?”

you tilted your head, your eyes glinting under the streetlight. “with you.”

silence.

haechan’s mouth opened slightly, the color rushing to his face like fire. he stammered, trying to find the words — to remind you of your promise, of how you said you'd drop this whole thing and start over.

but before he could say a word, you leaned forward with a groan and threw up directly into a nearby bush.

“oh, shit—” he muttered, rushing to hold you. he gathered your hair, gently rubbed your back, whispering reassurances under his breath. “okay, okay, it’s fine… just let it out…”

eventually, you straightened up, eyes glassy, cheeks damp from the cold wind. he sighed and wrapped an arm around you, leading you toward his place — your weight half-slumped against him.

inside, the warmth of his small apartment wrapped around you both. he carefully sat you on the couch and disappeared into the kitchen, filling a glass of water and setting a tea kettle on the stove.

you watched him in silence for a moment before breaking it. “i know what i said,” you murmured. “About letting it go. About forgetting. but i can’t. i literally can’t.”

he froze, slowly turning toward you.

“i feel like a hormonal teenager,” you laughed bitterly, wiping your mouth. “I keep thinking about you. about what i asked you. about what it would be like.”

“y/n…” he warned gently, setting the water beside you.

“i have this thing,” you blurted. “with my sunbae. jung jaehyun. he’s… god, he’s stupidly hot. tall, broad shoulders, perfect hair, every girl wants him. he only sleeps with older women — the kind who know what they’re doing. and I just… i don’t want to disappoint him.”

haechan’s expression darkened, not with anger, but something deeper. “so you wanted to use me as practice?” he asked, voice low.

“i’m not trying to use you,” you said, firm but vulnerable. “you’re my best friend. i trust you more than anyone. and you’re… you’re good at it.”

haechan blinked. “what?”

“you’re good in bed.”

he narrowed his eyes, stepping closer. “and how the hell do you know that?”

you gave a half-smirk. “you talk about it all the time, remember? bragging about your conquests like a walking NSFW podcast. you made it sound like you practically invented foreplay.”

haechan groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “god, I was joking half the time—”

“but that’s exactly why i asked you in the first place,” you cut in, locking eyes with him. “because there’s no one else i’d trust for something like this. and let’s be honest—” you tilted your head with a teasing smile. “it’s not like you’ve gotten laid recently either.”

his jaw tensed. “i’m not desperate for sex, y/n.”

“oh, really?” you raised an eyebrow. “so those midnight jerk-off sessions because of your dreams about me are just… what? a new coping mechanism?”

his face burned red. “how do you—?!”

“i may have heard a little something.” you sipped your water dramatically. “you’re not as quiet as you think.”

“i hate you,” he muttered under his breath, turning away to hide the growing smirk on his lips.

“no, you don’t.”

you stood up slowly, unsteady but serious, your eyes fixed on his. “if we did this… it would be safe. familiar. no weirdness. just… two people helping each other out.”

“that’s not what this is about for you though, is it?” he said, voice low.

you looked away for a moment before answering. “no. It’s not just that. i want to feel… wanted. i want to be good at this. and yeah… I want to impress jaehyun. but i also… want it to be with someone who won’t hurt me.”

and for a moment, everything was quiet. the only sound was the water boiling and both your hearts pounding.

he exhaled sharply, frustrated — but not just at you. At himself. At this whole ridiculous night.

then, haechan stepped closer.

he leaned over, hands gripping the back of the couch, caging you in — his face mere inches from yours. you froze. Your breath hitched. your fingers clenched around the glass.

then, without thinking, you kissed him.

it was messy. desperate. tasting of beer and heat and something reckless.

he kissed you back — just for a second — his hand cupping the side of your face, thumb brushing your cheek. but then he pulled away suddenly, breath heavy, pupils blown wide.

“you’re drunk,” he said, voice hoarse. “i'm not kissing you like this.”

you blinked up at him, breathless.

“but if i weren’t?” you whispered.

he didn’t say anything.

but the fire in his eyes gave you all the answer you needed.

and that silence? it was louder than anything either of you had said all night.

that night, haechan slept on the couch, buried under a mess of blankets. you, on the other hand, took his bed — warm with freshly changed sheets and a white oversized t-shirt that smelled like him. he’d also lent you a hoodie for the cold, soft and worn from use.

when he asked if you'd prefer to sleep with the door shut for privacy, you shook your head and left it cracked open. Just slightly. maybe it was a silent invitation. maybe a part of you hoped he'd come in.

but he didn’t.

haechan's self-control was ironclad. he wouldn't touch you — not like that, not when you were drunk, no matter how much you asked. and you had asked. desperately.

by morning, your head throbbed with a brutal hangover. the light leaking through the blinds was cruel and unforgiving. still half-asleep, you blinked at the side table — a glass of water and a neatly placed pill waited for you. of course he remembered.

you padded out into the living room, barefoot, limbs aching. the smell of warm broth hit you first. then the quiet hum of a streamer's voice coming from his computer.

haechan sat hunched at the small dining table, glasses perched on his nose, hair slightly tousled from sleep. he was watching some gaming livestream, lazily slurping noodles from a bowl of ramen. a small pot sat between you, steam still curling up, and beside it — another bowl.

you noticed the sausage in the pot had been sliced perfectly small, just the way you liked. he always remembered little things like that.

your stomach twisted, not with hunger, but something softer. deeper.

without saying anything, haechan patted the seat beside him. you moved toward him slowly, like you were walking through a dream. he didn’t look at you — just kept his eyes on the screen as he grabbed the second bowl, carefully ladling ramen into it while glancing back and forth between the pot and your bowl to avoid making a mess.

you let out a quiet, involuntary giggle.

he glanced up at you then — his lips curved ever so slightly. and that's when you noticed it: his thick-rimmed glasses. the ones he only wore when he was deep into gaming or editing something late at night. they made him look effortlessly cool. casual. comfortable.

and stupidly handsome.

“thanks,” you murmured, your voice still hoarse from sleep and dehydration. “for… last night. picking me up.”

he didn’t respond at first — just nodded once, still watching the screen. no mention of the kiss. no mention of your drunken confession. nothing. just silence.

the elephant between you had never been bigger.

you glanced sideways again and noticed the dark circles under his eyes — deep and tired. he’d barely slept.

“you okay?” you asked gently.

“i’m fine,” he said, pushing up his glasses with a knuckle. “you had it worse.”

you looked down at the bowl in front of you, steam rising like it was trying to fill the silence. you slurped a noodle quietly, chewing.

that’s when you noticed something else.

the shape of his jaw as he ate — sharp, cut like stone under soft skin. you’d seen him eat ramen a hundred times, but this was the first time you really looked. the way his throat moved when he swallowed. the subtle flex of his neck. his collarbone peeking from under his hoodie. even the slope of his nose and the way his glasses rested perfectly above his cheekbones.

he wasn’t just your best friend. he was… really attractive.

painfully so.

and that realization made your stomach clench — not from the hangover, but from something dangerously close to want.

you sat there, fingers wrapped around the warm ceramic of the ramen bowl, the heat grounding you as your mind spun.

“hey…” your voice came out soft, hesitant. “about last night—”

the sound of his chopsticks hitting the table made you jump. it wasn’t loud, but it was enough. enough to cut through the quiet and slice the conversation before it could begin.

haechan didn’t look at you. his jaw tensed as he stared at the table, hands clenched loosely on either side of his bowl.

you froze. unsure.

he inhaled through his nose, controlled, calculated. then, finally, he spoke. “if you’re done eating… maybe you should call a locksmith. for your apartment.”

your stomach dropped.

just like that, the warmth left the room. or maybe it was still there, but it couldn’t reach you anymore.

“o-oh.” you blinked. “yeah… right. my keys.”

he stood up slowly, not rushed, just… distant. like something inside him had gone cold.

you watched him close the laptop screen with one hand, then gather his bowl and yours, moving with quiet efficiency. not meeting your gaze once.

you couldn’t move. couldn’t speak. the shift was too sharp, too sudden. it left you sitting there like a statue, hands still wrapped around the now lukewarm bowl.

“i’ll wash these,” he muttered, almost to himself.

you opened your mouth, but nothing came out. your throat was tight, words caught somewhere between confusion and guilt. you hadn’t meant to ruin the morning. hadn’t meant to push.

but there it was again — the elephant. bigger than ever.

and this time, haechan had chosen to turn his back on it.

you stood up slowly, the chair scraping against the floor. he was already at the sink, rinsing the dishes like it was any other sunday. like nothing happened. like you hadn’t kissed him. like you hadn’t confessed the things that had been burning you from the inside out.

but your eyes were stuck on his back. the slope of his shoulders. the way his hoodie clung slightly at the waist. and still — that feeling. that gnawing ache deep in your chest.

he was right there. and still, he felt so far away.

“haechan…” your voice barely carried.

he didn’t turn around.

you bit your lip. hard. maybe you had crossed a line. maybe he was just being kind last night, and you mistook it for something else. maybe—

“i need to shower,” he said abruptly, setting the last plate down. “you can use my phone to call someone.”

and then he was gone, the bathroom door closing with a click that echoed too loudly in the silence he left behind.

you were alone again.

but this time, it hurt more than it should’ve.

your phone was still dead.

you hadn’t charged it since last night, and at this point, it didn’t matter. you weren’t exactly in the mood to speak to anyone else anyway.

you curled up on the couch, pulling your knees to your chest, arms wrapping tightly around them like they could somehow protect you from the weight pressing on your chest. you stared blankly ahead, trying to piece together what went wrong.

you hadn’t meant to make things weird. you hadn’t meant to cross a line. and yet… you did. and now, all of it felt like a mistake unraveling at your feet.

you chewed on your lip, eyes unfocused.

was it when you asked to stay with him? or when you told him the truth — that you couldn’t stop thinking about him, that you wanted to learn with him because you trusted him? maybe it was the kiss. that moment, hazy and laced with beer, when you leaned in and felt his lips move against yours. he kissed you back. you were sure of it.

but now… maybe it wasn’t enough. or maybe it was too much.

the sound of the bathroom door opening pulled you from your spiral. you looked up, heart stuttering in your chest.

haechan stepped out, steam drifting behind him in lazy clouds. his black t-shirt clung to his skin slightly, still damp from the shower. his sweatpants sat low on his hips, and around his neck hung a white towel, which he used intermittently to ruffle through his damp, dark hair.

he looked surprised to see you still there.

his expression flattened quickly, going unreadable. “you still haven’t called the locksmith?”

you didn’t answer.

he sighed and ran a hand through his hair, towel dragging with it. “y/n…”

but you were already crying.

your face was turned away, but he saw the tremble in your shoulders, the way your hands gripped tighter around your legs. the soft sound of you trying not to make a sound.

“i’m sorry,” you whispered, voice cracking under the weight of your own words. “i ruined everything.”

he went quiet.

“i should’ve never suggested that,” you continued, barely audible. “i didn’t mean to treat you like you’re some— some kind of object. i was just thinking about myself. about what i wanted. and that was selfish. i wasn’t thinking about you.”

he still didn’t move.

“i just—” you swallowed thickly, lifting your head to look at him through blurry eyes. “i wasn’t trying to use you. i swear. i… i just trust you. you’re my best friend. and maybe i took that too far. i just… i feel like i’ve messed everything up.”

you laughed bitterly. “you didn’t even have to say anything. your face this morning said it all.”

for a second, haechan just looked at you. his gaze scanned your face — your tear-stained cheeks, your trembling mouth. the regret swimming in your eyes.

then he sighed and walked closer. dropped the towel onto the coffee table. crouched down in front of you.

“you’re not the only one who’s confused,” he said, voice softer now. “and yeah, maybe last night was messy. maybe we said shit we weren’t supposed to. but… you didn’t ruin anything.”

your breath hitched.

he leaned in, resting a hand gently on your knee.

“you’re not selfish for wanting something. and you’re not using me. i know you.” his voice dropped a bit, more intimate now. “maybe that’s why it’s so hard to pretend it didn’t affect me.”

you blinked. “…what?”

he looked up at you from where he knelt. “you said… kissing could help calm you down. remember?”

your eyes widened.

he tilted his head, a small, careful smirk pulling at the edge of his mouth.

“so… if it helps…” he leaned closer, letting his hand trail up your thigh. “i could kiss you again.”

you stopped breathing.

your lips parted, unsure of what to say. but your body moved before your brain could catch up. you leaned in.

he met you halfway.

this kiss was different. slower. more controlled. still tasting faintly of mint and something warm, like cinnamon from the tea he’d made earlier. his hand cradled your cheek this time, thumb brushing softly beneath your eye.

it wasn’t rushed. it wasn’t hungry.

but it burned.

and then he pulled back, just barely.

“but only when you’re sober,” he whispered against your lips, breath warm. “only when you really mean it.”

you nodded slowly, heart pounding so loud it drowned out everything else.

“okay,” you breathed. “okay.”

and for now — that was enough.

a few weeks passed.

you had finally gotten a replacement set of keys and returned to your apartment. that weekend was a blur of mundane things—scrubbing your bathroom floor until your arms ached, catching up on overdue sketches, finishing the last pages of an assignment you’d been dodging for weeks. you needed the quiet. the stillness. a chance to feel like yourself again.

but even in your own bed, the cold side of the sheets reminded you of that one night you hadn’t slept alone.

the kiss with haechan had, strangely, softened everything between you. the awkwardness melted away like snow on sunlit pavement. now, you were gentler with each other. your laughter came easier. your glances lingered longer. but the elephant—the weight of what that kiss meant—never left. it simply learned to sit quietly in the corner.

on tuesday afternoon, you were leaving the print room when you nearly ran into jaehyun.

"whoa, careful, pretty girl," he said, catching your elbow with a hand that felt way too steady, too confident.

“sorry,” you chuckled, tucking your hair behind your ear. jaehyun always looked like he belonged in some magazine spread—jaw carved from stone, lashes too long for someone that smug, silver rings glinting against his fingers like he knew where the light would hit.

“what brings you over here?” he asked, eyeing your sketch tube slung across your shoulder.

“professor cho. needed some stuff for his class. he’s on his power trip again.”

“classic,” he smirked. “listen… we’re having something this friday. low-key. not one of those packed, flyer-in-the-bathroom kind of things. just a curated crowd. people who get it.”

your brow arched. “curated?”

he laughed. “yeah. you know. people with taste.”

you rolled your eyes, but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips.

“you should come,” he added, stepping a little closer. “might help with that tension you’ve been carrying around.”

“what tension?” you teased.

he leaned in, eyes flicking down your face. “the kind that makes you think too much. sometimes you gotta stop overanalyzing and just feel it.”

“feel what?”

his smile was maddening. “depends who you end up with.”

you laughed it off, but your cheeks were already warm. maybe he was flirting. maybe he wasn’t. either way, the idea sat in your chest like a dare.

you thought about it all the way back to your place. and later that night, lying on your bed staring at the ceiling, you let yourself wonder what it’d be like to… try. to stop guessing what sex felt like and actually find out. you didn’t want to rush it. but you didn’t want to keep floating in uncertainty either.

and somewhere else on campus, haechan couldn’t stop thinking about you either.

he was standing in the backroom of the burger place, mirror fogged with steam, face damp and flushed from another rush. and there you were. again. in his head. like you’d carved a space he couldn’t seal shut.

he felt pathetic.

like some teenage boy discovering self-pleasure for the first time. except it wasn’t discovery—it was addiction. every night, without fail, his body woke him up with a pulse he couldn’t ignore. his hand would slide beneath the waistband of his sweats, his breath shallow, mind full of you. always you.

and god, those lips.

maybe he should’ve never kissed you.

but the second your mouth touched his, something inside him had snapped. like it had been waiting for that moment all along. you’d kissed him with a kind of messy urgency—too fast, too eager, bumping teeth before finding a rhythm. but then came the softness. the unspoken need. the trust. you had tasted like beer and breath mints and something far too intimate for a one-time thing.

now, he couldn’t un-feel it.

behind the counter, he’d zone out mid-shift, hands wet from dishes, and suddenly he’d remember the way you had moaned into his mouth. the way you had gripped his hoodie like you were holding on for dear life. the way your body had melted into his.

he couldn’t stop picturing you in that black dress, jacket slipping off your shoulder, legs crossed like a sin. or the way your lips had parted when you looked at him like you needed more. like you wanted him.

and at night—his room dark, quiet, too warm—he would close his eyes and imagine your thighs on either side of his hips. your voice whispering his name. your nails on his skin.

he used to admire you from a safe place. used to think of you as a friend, maybe even a muse. now? now he couldn’t look at you without imagining what it would be like to bury his face between your legs. to ruin you a little. just enough.

he hated how much he needed it.

he hated how much he missed the feel of your mouth on his.

he hated that he wanted more.

you were stepping out of your digital illustration class, bag slung over your shoulder, neck stiff from hunching over your campaign poster project. when you exited the building, you spotted him right away—haechan, hoodie sleeves pushed up, hands tucked into his backpack straps like he’d been waiting a while.

you always found him there these days.

“hey,” you said, breathless from the stairs. “thanks for waiting. again.”

he gave a casual shrug. “you make it sound like i have a life.”

“do you?”

“…not really.”

you both smiled.

as you walked side by side, the sun cast long shadows behind you, painting the concrete in soft amber. you weren’t touching. but it felt like you were. something invisible had always linked you two. lately, though—it tugged harder.

“so,” you said, voice light, “i think i’m gonna go to that party. tomorrow”

he blinked. “jaehyun’s?”

you nodded. “he made it sound... exclusive.”

“and you’re going?”

you smirked at his tone. “might be an opportunity.”

he stiffened beside you. “opportunity for what?”

you gave him a look. “you know what.”

he stopped. “you’re really gonna sleep with him?”

your cheeks flared, heart skipping. “no. it’s not like that. i just… maybe it’s time to try. get some answers.”

you watched his face carefully. saw the way his jaw locked. the way his brows twitched.

“but,” you added softly, “if it happens… it happens.”

and then, bold as ever, you turned to him. “unless you still wanna help me.”

his breath caught.

“we already kissed,” you said, eyes steady on his. “feels like we’ve done half the homework. next part’s sex, right? that’s what comes after. and you—you’re the one who used to brag about how good you were at it.”

he looked like you’d cornered him. because you had.

“remember those nights you’d ramble about girls? ‘her tits are insane’, ‘i’d fold her in a second’—that was you, haechan. your words.”

he swallowed, hard. “i didn’t think you were listening.”

“i always listen to you,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “especially when you talk about what you like.”

and then, with a wicked grin: “and let’s be honest. guys lose their minds over tits and ass. that’s not complicated.”

his silence told you everything.

you took one step closer, slow and steady.

“so?” you asked again, quieter now. “are you still willing to help me?”

and he didn’t answer.

not with words.

but you saw it in his eyes—the panic, the desire, the war between instinct and restraint.

you had no idea how long he could keep resisting.

but you were getting closer to finding out.

the night felt quieter than usual when they arrived at your apartment. your didn’t speak. the walk there had been filled with those kinds of silences that don’t necessarily feel awkward, but make you too aware of your own thoughts. you walked a few steps ahead of haechan, and he found himself watching you — the way your fingers twisted nervously, the slight tension in your shoulders, the soft sway of your hair brushing your back. he could tell she was unsure. and if he was being honest, so was he.

he’d never seen you like this before. not really. not in this light. there’d always been this boundary between both of you, this invisible thread that kept everything just on the edge of becoming something else. but lately… it had changed. the way she looked at him lingered a little longer. the way he touched you — in small, passing moments — felt less like habit and more like gravity. and right now, standing in the dim glow of your apartment, he realized just how close you were to crossing that invisible line.

he stands close, but not touching, his gaze fixed on you with a kind of careful intensity that makes your skin warm.

you unlock the door without saying a word, your fingers fumbling slightly. you can feel his eyes on you, not judging, just watching. when you step inside, he follows, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

inside, it’s quiet. you cross the room and sit on the edge of your bed, heart racing.

he doesn’t follow you immediately. Instead, he leans against the wall, arms crossed loosely over his chest, his expression unreadable. you feel his eyes on your back as you drop your keys onto the counter, your breath shaky, heart pacing with something you don’t quite understand but desperately want to. when you finally turn around to face him, he’s already watching you — not with that usual teasing smile, but with something heavier, deeper. something that feels like want.

you turned to face him, eyes uncertain, but there was something else behind them. something softer. something raw. “i want to do it,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. 

“still thinking about your plan?” he asks softly, voice calm, like he’s trying not to spook you.

you nod slowly. “i just… i want to be good for jaehyun.”

his jaw tightens just a little, barely noticeable. but his voice doesn’t change. “you’re trying to learn how to please someone else,” he says, stepping closer, “when you haven’t even taken the time to learn yourself.”

you blink, suddenly unsure. “i thought… that’s what you were going to help me with.”

he exhales gently, closing the space between you, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off his chest. “i will. but only if you let me take the lead. if you trust me completely. no pretending. no rushing. just… you. raw. honest.”

your breath catches in your throat. something about the way he says it, the quiet authority in his tone, the way he looks at you like he already knows your body better than you do — it makes you ache in places you’ve barely dared to explore on your own.

“okay,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “i’ll do whatever you say.”

his eyes soften. there’s something unspoken there — a tension that’s been building between you for longer than you realized. and now it’s finally unraveling.

“then take off your clothes,” he says, his voice low, steady. “lie back.”

your fingers feel clumsy, nerves fluttering in your chest as you undress. he doesn’t look away. his gaze follows every inch of skin you reveal like he’s memorizing you. but it never feels invasive. it feels… reverent. when you’re finally bare, you lie down, body exposed, unsure, vulnerable. he doesn’t move right away. he just watches, like he’s waiting for you to fully settle into the moment.

“you’re beautiful,” he says quietly. “but i’m not going to touch you until i see that you believe it, too.”

you want to believe it. you want to feel beautiful in your own skin, not just because someone else says it, but because something inside you says you deserve to be. but right now, all you feel is nervous. exposed. seen.

he kneels at the edge of the bed, his eyes never leaving yours. “you’re safe,” he murmurs. “you’re in control. i’m just guiding you.”

his hand touches your thigh, light as air, and your breath stutters. the warmth of his palm spreads through you like liquid, grounding and electric all at once. he doesn’t rush. his fingers explore slowly, tracing the curve of your hip, the softness of your stomach, the inside of your thigh. each touch is a question, and your breath is the answer.

when his fingers finally find you, you gasp — not because it’s too much, but because it’s perfect. just enough. just right. he doesn’t push, doesn’t demand. he simply explores, watching every reaction, every shift of your hips, every shaky breath you take like it’s the only thing that matters.

his fingers finally reach where you need them, but he doesn’t go straight for it — no, he teases, tracing along the outer edge of your heat, making you gasp at the sudden jolt of electricity. your hips shift instinctively, seeking friction, but his free hand presses gently against your stomach, grounding you.

“easy,” he murmurs. “we’re not rushing. i want to feel every part of you fall apart.”

your head tips back against the pillow, lips parted, eyes fluttering shut as his fingers finally slip between your folds — gentle at first, just enough pressure to make your toes curl. he exhales softly, as if the heat of you surprises even him.

“relax,” he whispers. “feel. don’t think about what’s next. just stay with me. here.”

his fingers stroke you with a patience you didn’t know could exist, learning your body like it’s a language only he can understand. you’re wet, embarrassingly so, and he seems to revel in it, the way your body responds to his touch. he circles your clit with slow, practiced motions, his thumb brushing over you with maddening precision. you’re moaning now, soft and quiet, not even realizing the sounds are yours.

“fuck,” he whispers. “you’re soaked.”

your cheeks flush, but any embarrassment is quickly replaced by want as he finds your clit, rubbing slow, deliberate circles that make your legs tremble.

you whimper his name, voice barely there, and his response is a low groan against your skin. “that’s it, baby. let me hear you.”

his mouth is everywhere now — at your neck, your chest, sucking marks into your skin like he wants to claim you, mark you, make you his. and god, part of you wants it too — wants to be wanted like this, worshipped like this.

his fingers move lower, one pressing gently at your entrance, testing. “you okay?” he asks, voice soft but thick with desire.

“yes,” you gasp, clutching at his wrist. “please.”

your hips begin to move on their own, chasing the rhythm of his fingers. the pressure is building, coiling deep inside your core, unfamiliar and terrifying and addictive. he slips a finger inside you, slow and gentle, curling just right, and you cry out, your body clenching around him without meaning to.

“h-hyuck...” you cried.

“you like that?” he asks, voice rough now, closer to a groan than a whisper. you nod frantically, unable to form words, your hands gripping the sheets like they’re the only thing.

he slides in slow, giving you time to adjust, watching your face the whole time. his thumb returns to your clit, rubbing in time with the slow push of his finger. your breath stutters, and he leans in to kiss you, stealing the sound from your lips.

you moan into his mouth, overwhelmed, undone, as he adds a second finger, the stretch just enough to make your back arch. he curls them just right, finding that spot inside you that makes your thighs shake.

“there it is,” he groans, his lips brushing yours. “fuck, you feel so good.”

you can’t answer. you can barely think. all you can do is feel — the heat building inside you, the pull of release so close you can taste it.

“don’t hold back,” he whispers against your neck. “i want to feel you fall apart for me.”

and when he starts moving faster — fingers pumping deep and sure, thumb pressing harder against your clit — it’s too much. the pressure breaks, crashing over you like a tidal wave. your body tenses, then shatters, crying out his name as you come harder than you ever have before.

he holds you through it, kissing your jaw, your cheek, your lips. his fingers slow but don’t leave you, drawing out every last wave of pleasure until you’re trembling beneath him, boneless and gasping.

“let go,” he murmurs again, lips brushing against your ear. “don’t hold back. i’ve got you.”

his thumb presses harder against your clit, his fingers moving faster, more deliberate, and the pressure explodes inside you, all at once — a wave crashing over your body with violent tenderness. you cry out, shaking, the world narrowing to nothing but heat and light and the sound of his voice grounding you as your orgasm rips through you.

he finally pulls away, resting his forehead against yours. his breath is ragged, his eyes full of something you don’t quite understand — but you feel it in your chest. raw. intense. real.

“you don’t know what you just did to me,” he whispers, voice hoarse.

your body arches, muscles tightening, breath gone, and everything — everything — goes quiet except for the echo of your release.

and when you open your eyes to meet his, you realize something terrifying and beautiful — you don’t think you’ll ever look at him the same again.

your back pressed against the sheets, your skin bare under the dim, golden light of your room, your breath already shaky as haechan settles beside you, fully clothed, fully in control. you should feel nervous, and maybe you do, but it’s buried under something stronger — something warmer. the way he’s looking at you now is enough to make you forget how to breathe.

haechan sits on the edge of your bed, staring at his hand—now clean—like he can’t believe what just happened. his breath is heavier than he wants to admit. his thoughts are scrambled, the feeling of touching you, of showing you something he never thought he’d share, overwhelms him. something inside him burns, something he doesn’t know if it’s frustration or desire, but he feels it with an intensity he can’t control.

when you step out of the shower, your skin still warm from the hot water, he stays there, still. you go through your skincare routine, but every movement seems to echo in him more than it should. the way your fingers brush against your face, the way you move... everything feels different now. he watches in silence, the space between you now thick with something unspoken.

“i didn’t think it would feel like that,” you say softly, breaking the silence. your voice has a tremor you can’t hide. “thank you... for helping me.”

the gesture feels sincere, but there’s something in your eyes that makes him feel exposed. he doesn’t quite understand it. he tells himself it’s fine, that he’s just helping you, that he’s just being there for you. but his body betrays him, his jaw tightens, and his fingers twitch at his side.

“you don’t need to thank me,” he says, his voice quiet, almost too quiet. “you just needed to know yourself. that’s all.”

you pause, pressing moisturizer into your skin, still feeling that soft hum in your body, a low buzz you can’t seem to shake off. it’s from what happened, but you try to tell yourself it’s just the adrenaline, just nerves. nothing more.

“i think i can handle things now,” you reply, keeping your eyes on your reflection in the mirror. “maybe tomorrow at the party... i’ll kiss jaehyun, just see how it goes. no pressure. i don’t want to rush.”

the moment the words leave your mouth, you feel it—the way the air shifts between you two. you don’t mean to look at haechan when you say jaehyun’s name, but you do. and his eyes flicker for just a second, something hard behind them that he quickly hides. he doesn’t react out loud, but his shoulders stiffen, his mouth pressing into a tight line.

“yeah,” he says, his voice controlled, but you can hear the tightness underneath. “sounds like a good idea. you deserve to figure out what you want.”

you smile, trying to lighten the mood, but something in you catches as you look at him. you feel like you’ve said the wrong thing, but you’re not sure why. haechan doesn’t look at you anymore. he stares at the floor, his jaw working like he’s holding something back.

he doesn’t let himself show it. he can’t. you’re his best friend, and he promised to help you, to guide you, not to get caught up in his own feelings. but with every word you speak, with every step you take toward jaehyun, something deep inside him twists.

he’s tasted something he shouldn’t want. and now, the thought of you with someone else—even someone you love—is unbearable.

still, he says nothing. he can’t. because he promised to help you discover yourself, not to confuse you more.

even if every part of him wants to be the only one who gets to touch you like that again.

friday came faster than expected, slipping through the cracks of your week like it had been waiting for you. unlike the other days, this one was bitterly cold—the kind of cold that crept into your sleeves and curled around your spine. haechan had texted you earlier, his usual playful tone dulled by exhaustion. "today i actually have to close, so i’ll be stuck at work late," he wrote, followed by a yawning emoji and a tired little heart. you stared at the message longer than you should’ve, feeling something heavy settle in your chest.

the cold winter air bites at your legs as you step out of the cab, your breath fogging in front of you in soft clouds. the house isn’t just any house—it’s one of the old fraternity houses on the edge of campus, the kind that looks more like a mansion than a place college boys live in. warm light glows from the tall windows, and the low hum of music leaks out from behind the heavy wooden door before it swings open.

jaehyun is already waiting, leaning casually against the doorframe. he looks unfairly good—his hair slightly tousled, a dark turtleneck hugging his figure under a sleek wool coat. he gives you that smile, the one that always makes your stomach twist in ways you’ve never really understood.

“you made it,” he says, stepping aside to let you in.

you settled on a black leather jacket, cropped just above the waist, its silver zippers catching the light every time you moved. underneath, you wore a satin navy blouse, soft and loose, with a deep neckline that hinted without revealing too much. your high-waisted dark jeans hugged your figure just right, paired with heeled ankle boots that clicked confidently against the pavement. a silk scarf, deep burgundy, wrapped around your neck—not just for warmth, but as a finishing touch. your hair was pulled back loosely, tendrils framing your face, and your makeup was soft but sharp—dark liner, flushed cheeks, and a deep berry gloss that caught the chill in the air.

you notice jaehyun’s gaze drop, lingering for a beat too long before he leads you inside.

the party isn’t crowded—maybe twenty people, maybe less. it’s quiet in that expensive kind of way: muted music, low lighting, golden liquor sloshing in crystal glasses. there’s laughter and whispers, but nothing too wild. you’re not sure what you expected, but somehow it feels more intimate than you’d prepared for.

after your second drink, the room gets a little warmer. the vodka-orange is stronger than you thought, but it burns in a good way. you’re not drunk, not like that night, but the edges of your thoughts are softer, looser.

the music is barely audible now, just a low pulse behind your ribs as jaehyun leans in. it happens the way you always imagined it would—with the warmth of alcohol in your veins, the subtle tension in the air, his breath fanning softly against your cheek as his lips finally meet yours.

at first, it’s cinematic.

his hand is at your waist, careful but firm. his lips, smooth and slow, move against yours like he’s done this a thousand times. his cologne is rich—something expensive and clean, like bergamot and wood.

“you look incredible tonight,” he murmurs, voice low. It’s not the first time he’s flirted with you, but tonight it feels more focused.

you laugh lightly, sipping again. “you say that to every girl you invite to one of these,” you tease.

he smirks. “i don’t. just the ones i hope will stay after everyone else leaves.”

that catches you off guard. there’s a pause, the kind that’s heavy with implication. you don’t answer right away. instead, you tilt your head, watching him through the haze of dim lights and liquor.

more intentional. you close your eyes, willing your heart to speed up, your stomach to twist, your knees to weaken.

but none of it happens.

instead, there’s a slow, creeping emptiness that settles over your skin. you taste the sharp tang of beer on his tongue—bitter and stale—and it dulls the moment like a film of dust on something once shiny. it’s not that he’s doing anything wrong. in fact, he’s doing everything right. and maybe that’s the problem. it’s all too perfect. too rehearsed. too... lifeless.

you keep your lips against his a second longer, maybe two, hoping that if you just try, the magic will follow.

but it doesn’t.

what started as something dreamlike begins to dissolve, unraveling into something flat. weightless. forgettable. like kissing a statue—beautiful, yes, but cold. you feel your body slowly disconnect, like your mind is pulling away, shrinking back into itself. you’re kissing jaehyun. jaehyun. tall, broad-shouldered, silver-tongued. the guy every girl fantasizes about.

and yet... nothing.

when you pull away, you do it gently, trying not to show the disappointment pressing against your chest like a bruise. he looks at you with those deep, unreadable eyes, but you can’t meet them for long. something in you already knows: this isn’t what you wanted. maybe it never was.

and then, like clockwork, your thoughts betray you.

because in the silence that follows, in that stretch of breathless stillness, a name rises uninvited in your mind.

haechan.

you blink, shaken by the immediacy of it. why him, of all people? but it doesn’t stop. your mind floods with him, with everything he is and isn’t. jaehyun is all sharp lines and polished edges. he’s winter: sleek and cold, dressed in cashmere and shadows. and haechan...

haechan is sun-warmed skin and mischievous smiles. he’s a burst of color in a black-and-white room. his skin is golden, kissed by sun even in december. you remember the first time he wore glasses in class—how suddenly he looked different. not in a new way, but like you were finally seeing something that had been there all along. it had startled you. he looked good. really good. and you’d stared a little longer than you meant to.

you think about how he always cradles that old gaming console on his lap during breaks, fingers dancing over buttons like it's second nature. how he talks about characters and plots with the same intensity people reserve for politics or love. how he orders black coffee like it's a religion, never anything sweet. how he complains about the cold like it's a personal offense—bundling up in layers and still shivering, nose pink, eyes watery, grumbling but cute.

and you remember something else.

the way his eyes light up when he talks about music. not just any music—he’s always been drawn to layered melodies, harmonies that build slowly, that sneak up on you. you’d caught him once, eyes closed, headphones in, mouthing the words to a song you didn’t recognize. something soft and slow. when you asked what it was, he smiled, kind of shy, and said, “it’s this track i found—it builds so gently, but when it hits, it hits. it makes you feel everything, you know?”

you didn’t then. but now, maybe you do.

because that’s what haechan is like. he builds slowly. gently. he makes you feel everything without trying. without asking. just by being.

you think back to his kiss—that moment in the quiet of his room, when the world felt too small and too loud all at once. his lips weren’t smooth or calculated. they were warm. real. tasting faintly of coffee and breath mints, of nervousness and care. his hands weren’t firm—they trembled just a little. like he wasn’t sure, but he wanted to be. and that kiss? it burned. it lingered. it left something behind in your chest, something heavy and aching.

jaehyun’s kiss, in comparison, feels like water evaporating before it ever touches your skin.

“i need some air,” you say, barely loud enough to hear over the music.

you step away from the kitchen, your hands shaking slightly—not from cold, but from clarity. it’s unsettling, how fast something can shift. how a fantasy can collapse in on itself the moment reality arrives.

you walk toward the front door, ignoring jaehyun’s curious glance. and as the winter air hits your cheeks again, sharp and sobering, you realize the only thing you want right now is warmth.

and the only person who’s ever made you feel it... is haechan.

you step outside, the cold air biting at your cheeks like reality trying to sober you up. it’s quiet out here, except for the faint music pulsing through the windows behind you and the distant sound of traffic. your lips still taste faintly of beer and disappointment, and you try not to let it show on your face—even if there’s no one around to see.

you wrap your arms around yourself, shivering slightly. not just from the cold, but from the feeling growing in your chest. a hollow ache that started the moment jaehyun pulled away and left you with nothing but the bitter aftertaste of something that should’ve felt magical. it was supposed to mean something. you’d wanted it to. for weeks—months even—you thought that maybe this was what you needed. something new. something exciting.

but standing there in the dark, with the wind tugging gently at your coat, all you can think about is how wrong it felt.

how empty.

you sigh and glance down at your phone. 11:45 p.m. haechan probably just got home not long ago—he said he’d be working late tonight, and you remember the slight frown he gave you when you mentioned the party. not because he disapproved. but because he wouldn’t be there.

you hesitate, thumb hovering over his contact. calling him now would make you look ridiculous, wouldn’t it? but god… you need someone. someone who knows you, who doesn’t expect you to be dazzling or mysterious or anything other than exactly who you are.

before you can overthink it again, your thumb presses “call.”

the line barely rings twice before his voice comes through, groggy but alert, like he hadn’t really been asleep yet.

"y/n?" his voice is a little breathless, alarmed. "are you okay?"

you don’t answer right away. the sound of his voice cracks something open inside you. your throat tightens, and your eyes sting, a rush of heat behind your lashes. the words won’t come, caught somewhere between your tongue and your heart.

"hey, talk to me. what happened?"

his concern hits you like a wave. not because of what he’s saying, but how he’s saying it. gently. urgently. like nothing else in the world matters except you right now. like your silence is enough to make his chest hurt.

you swallow thickly, finally managing to breathe, “i… i didn’t know who else to call.”

he exhales slowly, like he’s relieved to hear your voice, even if it’s shaky. “i’m glad you called me.”

and it’s so stupid—so fucking stupid—but that’s when the tears come. silently at first, then all at once. and still, haechan says nothing. just waits, gives you space to fall apart without asking for an explanation.

he always does that. always shows up, always makes you feel like you’re not too much, even when you’re too much for yourself.

and suddenly you realize something—not like a lightning bolt, but like a quiet click, something that was always there, waiting to be noticed. it was never about jaehyun. not really. it was the idea of him. and now, with that illusion shattered, you’re left with the one person who’s been real all along.

the one who always answers the phone. the one who remembers how you take your coffee. the one who listens when you talk about your art for hours and never pretends to be bored.

“can you…” your voice is small, choked, “can you come get me?”

“already on my way,” he says without hesitation.

and just like that, you feel less alone. maybe not okay, not yet—but safe.

safe in the way only he ever made you feel.

you step back into the warmth of the house, wiping your cheeks and pretending the cold air is the only reason your eyes are red. inside, the party hasn’t changed at all—music still pulsing, people still dancing, someone already passed out on a couch. it feels like you left the chaos and walked right back into it, except now it doesn't swallow you whole. now, you’re just… drifting.

you spot jaehyun near the kitchen, leaning against the counter, lazily scrolling through his phone. he doesn’t look up at first, but when he does, his eyes land on you immediately. he straightens, sliding the phone into his back pocket before making his way toward you.

your stomach knots—not because you're afraid, but because you’re not sure what you're supposed to say to the guy you just kissed and then immediately ran away from.

before he even opens his mouth, you raise a hand slightly, your words tumbling out faster than you can stop them.

“i—i’m sorry. i just… i think i was really into the idea of you. like, really into it. but tonight i realized maybe… i don’t know…”

you trail off, eyes dropping to the floor, suddenly very interested in the scuff marks on your boots.

jaehyun quirks a brow, and for a second, it’s awkwardly silent—but then he lets out a soft laugh. it’s not cruel, not mocking. just… amused.

“you know,” he says, arms crossing over his chest, “when we first started talking, i thought you and that guy donghyuck?—were together. like, definitely together.”

you blink, lifting your head. “what?”

“yeah,” he shrugs. “you’d always come to class with him. always laughing, always close. and the way he looked at you? i figured i didn’t stand a chance. but then i saw you alone for a few days, and thought maybe you broke up or something, so…” he gestures vaguely. “i shot my shot.”

you feel your cheeks heat up instantly. “we’re not… he’s not my boyfriend. we never dated.”

jaehyun smirks like he doesn’t believe you, but also like he knows better than to argue. “sure. maybe not technically. but come on.” he leans in slightly, lowering his voice. “you really think there’s nothing going on there?”

you start to protest, but then stop. because he’s not wrong, and you’re too tired to lie—to him or to yourself.

“it’s complicated,” you mutter.

he smiles again, this time softer, more genuine. “well, if it helps… i’m not offended. not at all. i mean, you’re sweet, and you kiss okay—”

“okay?” you gasp, half-laughing, half-horrified.

“hey,” he chuckles, holding up his hands, “it was a mutual ‘meh,’ right?”

you both burst out laughing, the tension finally breaking like a balloon popped with a pin. for the first time that night, you feel lighter.

“i really thought i liked you,” you admit.

“you probably did,” he shrugs. “or… the idea of me.”

“yeah.”

jaehyun gives you a wink. “for what it’s worth, i think you and haechan are cute as hell. even if you don’t know it yet.”

you roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. a real, unforced smile.

“thanks,” you say quietly.

“anytime,” he replies, already turning toward the kitchen again. “just… don’t let that one go, alright?”

and as you watch him disappear into the crowd, your phone buzzes in your pocket.

on my way. almost there.

you press your lips together, the ghost of a smile still there.

maybe you didn’t come to this party to kiss jaehyun after all. maybe you came to realize who you should’ve been calling all along.

the cold bites harder now. you’re standing outside again, fidgeting with the hem of your sleeves, your phone clutched tight in your hand. every passing second feels like it’s stretching eternity, but then—you spot him. haechan walks up the sidewalk.

haechan was wearing sweatpants, mismatched socks stuffed into crocs, and a hoodie that’s too big even for him. his hair is a mess, fluffed and wild like he just rolled out of bed—and he probably did. you freeze, heart caught in your throat, as he blinks at you sleepily, rubbing at one eye with the heel of his palm.

you stare at him—at the boy who still showed up, in the dead of night, after a long shift, just because you needed him. and something inside you swells so big, so full, it spills over before you can contain it.

you don’t think—you run.

you crash into him with a force that makes him stumble half a step back, arms instantly wrapping around you, warm and steady. he doesn’t say anything. he just holds you, one hand coming up to stroke your hair gently, his breath warm against your temple.

you press your face into his neck, breathing him in—coffee, fabric softener, something so haechan. your chest heaves, and your eyes sting again.

when he pulls you into his embrace, it feels like the weight of the world finally lifts from your chest. his touch is soft, his fingers brushing against your skin in the most familiar way, like he’s always been there, always meant to be there.

he sighs softly, tugging you closer like he’s scared you’ll slip away. “seriously… what’s wrong with you lately?” he murmurs, voice groggy, laced with concern. “why are you acting like such a crybaby, huh?”

you lift your head, blinking up at him through the tears that won’t stop pooling. your eyes meet his—those deep, sleepy eyes that always seem to see too much—and your lips part as if to answer, but no words come.

so instead, you kiss him.

you pull him down by the collar of his hoodie and press your mouth to his with all the confusion, all the ache, all the longing you’ve buried for far too long. his lips are warm, soft, and as soon as he realizes what’s happening, he kisses you back.

and then, when you press your lips to his, it’s like every other kiss you’ve had fades away into nothingness. the world around you dissolves, and all that remains is the sensation of him. it’s pure, it’s grounding—everything that jaehyun’s kiss wasn’t.

he doesn’t ask questions. he doesn’t stop you. he just holds you tighter, like he’s afraid this moment might shatter.

his hand cradles your cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing under your eye, and the kiss deepens—not rushed, not clumsy, just real. like he’s trying to tell you all the things neither of you ever dared to say.

your fingers curl into his hoodie as you pour everything into the kiss—your gratitude, your fear, your guilt, your truth.

it feels like you're being purified, as if every trace of doubt, of confusion, of disappointment, is being washed away by the intensity of haechan’s presence. there’s no bitterness, no strange aftertaste—only him, only the steady rhythm of his heartbeat as you lose yourself in him. with each second, you realize just how much you’ve longed for this, how much you’ve needed him, even when you didn’t know it. this, this is what real intimacy feels like, and it’s everything you never knew you were missing.

the walk to haechan’s apartment felt different. the night air was biting, and the cold seemed to press against your skin, but it wasn’t enough to cool the heat that was bubbling in your chest. you didn’t want to be here, not tonight, not after everything that had just happened. but here you were, once again, losing yourself in the warmth of his presence.

“lost your keys again?” haechan asked, his voice playful but with a hint of concern in his eyes as he stepped aside to let you into his apartment. you gave him a sheepish smile, pretending to fumble with your bag and looking down, avoiding his gaze.

“yeah, I’m such a mess,” you murmured, but your words felt hollow, like they were slipping through your fingers as quickly as the night’s events.

he didn’t say anything more, but the slight furrow of his brow told you he was paying attention. it was a game, a little lie that you used to keep yourself near him just a little longer, but tonight, it felt like more. it felt like you were hiding something from him.

inside his apartment, the quiet enveloped you like a blanket, and for a moment, it felt like everything was still. you sat on the couch next to him, the tension between you thickening by the second. it was always easy to talk to him, but tonight, the words felt like they were stuck in your throat. and you knew why—because the taste of jaehyun’s kiss was still fresh on your lips, and it made you sick to your stomach.

“what happened?” haechan’s voice cut through the silence, and you could see it in his eyes: that flicker of concern. he knew something was wrong, and you could feel his gaze on you, waiting for the truth.

you let out a breath, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “jaehyun... I kissed him.”

he stiffened beside you, his body tensing. you didn’t have to look at him to know the change in his expression. it was there in the way his muscles locked up, in the way he barely moved, his eyes narrowing slightly as he processed the words.

"what? you kissed him?" he repeated, his tone laced with disbelief. "good for you, I guess..."

the final sentence hit you like a punch to the gut, but you couldn’t stop now. it was too late to take it back, and the confession felt like it was clawing its way out.

"it wasn’t what I expected," you whispered, avoiding his gaze as your stomach twisted. "it was... bad. it didn’t feel right. at all."

haechan’s hand clenched into a fist, his face hardening, but there was something more in his eyes now—something you hadn’t expected. jealousy. confusion. it was almost as if he wanted to say something but was holding it back. you felt the heat rise in your chest, your own guilt gnawing at you.

"wait—what?" haechan leaned forward, his voice suddenly sharp, though his face was tight with barely-contained emotion. "it was... bad? after all that?"

you nodded slowly, your throat tight as you continued, “yeah. it wasn’t what I thought it would be. there was no passion, no spark. the taste of beer... it was all I could focus on, and I hated it. I... I just couldn’t feel anything.”

the silence that followed felt thick, suffocating. you could see the storm brewing in his eyes. he wasn’t angry—at least, not completely—but he was something else. hurt, maybe? or disappointment? you couldn’t tell.

"so, that’s it then?" his voice was quieter now, the sharpness fading into something softer, more contemplative. “your feelings for him are... gone?”

"yeah," you admitted, finally meeting his gaze, feeling the truth weigh on your shoulders. "they’re gone. I don’t want him anymore. I don’t even want to kiss him again."

the words hung in the air, and you waited for him to respond, your heart racing, unsure of what he would say. when he finally spoke, it wasn’t what you expected.

“you know,” he started, his voice light, almost teasing, “i never liked the idea of you with him. not even for a second.”

you blinked, surprised at his admission. “you didn’t?”

“no,” he said, the edge of his smile almost teasing, though there was something else behind it. “I always thought you deserved someone who wasn’t... like him.”

you frowned, still processing what he was saying, but before you could respond, he continued.

“but now i get it. i see why you would be disappointed. he’s not... him,” haechan said, his voice lowering, the underlying sadness creeping in. "i guess i’m just glad you’re realizing it now. even if it took you kissing him to see it."

a chill ran down your spine as you looked at him, unsure of what he meant. your heart tightened with a strange mix of relief and something else—something more complicated that you couldn’t name yet.

“you’re not... mad?” you asked quietly.

“mad?” he repeated, laughing softly, though there was no real humor in it. “no. why would I be mad? I’m just... relieved. you deserve better.”

“so... what now?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

haechan didn’t answer immediately. his eyes lingered on you—soaked in the way your makeup had smudged slightly, how your lips were still a little swollen from that kiss with jaehyun, how your dress had ridden up your thighs from the car ride. he swallowed hard, jaw clenched like he was fighting the urge to say something reckless.

then he said it anyway.

“now i take care of you.”

your breath hitched.

he stepped closer. slowly. deliberately. the kind of approach that made your knees weak. the kind of approach that said he knew exactly what you needed before you did. his hand reached for your waist, pulling you gently toward him, until your bodies were flush against each other.

“unless you don’t want that,” he murmured against your ear, his lips grazing your skin and leaving a trail of goosebumps. “you tell me to stop, and i will. no questions, no pressure.”

you didn’t say anything. you couldn’t. Instead, you tilted your head and captured his lips in a kiss—needy, messy, full of everything you hadn’t said for weeks.

he groaned into your mouth, hands gripping your hips, grounding you. but he didn’t rush. he kissed you like he had time. like he was savoring the moment he’d waited for far too long.

“haechan…” you breathed when you finally pulled back.

he looked at you, eyes burning.

“yeah, baby?”

your cheeks flushed. “i… want to go further. i trust you.”

he blinked, just once, and something softened in his expression.

“are you sure?” he asked, voice lower now, rougher, but laced with concern. “i need to hear you say it.”

you nodded, fingers brushing his jaw. “i’m sure.”

he kissed you again, slower this time, like a promise. then he scooped you up effortlessly in his arms, carrying you to his bed, the same way he always carried you emotionally—careful, steady, never letting you fall.

he laid you down like you were precious, and then crawled over you, caging you in with his body, forehead pressed to yours.

“tell me if anything feels too much,” he whispered.

you nodded. he reached over to the nightstand, rummaging for a condom, giving you a look that made your stomach flip.

“Prepared?” you teased softly.

he smirked. “baby, i’ve been in love with you since you spilled coffee on my camera. i’ve always been prepared.”

your laugh faded into a gasp as his hands slipped beneath your dress, touching you with reverence, praise pouring from his mouth like it was second nature.

“so fucking perfect,” he murmured, kissing down your neck. “every part of you. mine to take care of. mine to love.”

his fingers teased you through your panties until you were arching, needy and aching, the room filled with the soft, wet sounds of your arousal.

“you’re already this wet for me? fuck—baby, you're killing me.”

you squirmed, overwhelmed by the sensation, but craving more. then you heard the foil tear, and your heart pounded louder.

the moment he entered you was slow, intense, a stretch that bordered on pain and pleasure, but he was right there—kissing your forehead, telling you how beautiful you were, how good you felt, how proud he was of you.

“you’re doing so good,” he groaned. “so fucking tight. you were made for me, weren’t you?”

you nodded desperately, clinging to him.

he moved slow, deep, rolling his hips so you felt every inch of him. his name fell from your lips like a prayer.

one condom turned into two. then three. you couldn’t stop. neither could he.

sweat clung to your skin, tangled sheets beneath you. he had you on top of him at one point, his hands on your hips as you moved, his eyes never leaving your face.

“that’s it, baby. take what you need. fuck—ride me just like that.”

another position had him behind you, one hand gripping your waist, the other slipping between your legs to make you scream his name as your body fell apart.

by the time the fourth wrapper crumpled beside the bed, you were both panting, dazed and desperate.

you rolled onto your back, breathless. “we’re out.”

you reached for your phone, already sitting up. “I can run down to the 7-eleven—”

he stopped you instantly, pressing a hand to your stomach.

“no, baby,” he said, voice firm. “i’ll go. you stay here. let me take care of it.”

the way he said it—so naturally, so possessively—sent a wave of heat straight through you. you bit your lip, something wicked curling inside you.

“or…” you said, voice dripping with mischief. “we could just… try without one.”

he froze. eyes dark. jaw tight.

“don’t tempt me,” he growled.

you crawled into his lap, pressing your lips to his neck.

“what if i want to?” you whispered. “what if i want all of you?”

he exhaled sharply, head falling back. “fuck… you’re dangerous.”

still, he hesitated—until you ground down on him and whispered, “i trust you, haechan.”

that was all it took.

he didn’t say a word for a moment. just stared at you like you’d set him on fire.

then he kissed you—hard. not rushed, but full of hunger, like you’d just pulled the leash off something he’d been holding back for far too long.

you could feel him against you, throbbing and hot, even without anything between you now. your body tingled in anticipation, in fear, in want. you were bare in every way—and he saw you, accepted you, craved you.

he guided you down onto the bed again, positioning himself between your thighs, his hands cupping your face gently.

“if i do this…” he said, voice low and trembling with restraint, “you need to tell me if anything feels wrong. anything at all, baby.”

“it won’t,” you whispered. “i want you. just like this.”

he lined himself up, one hand steadying your hip, the other brushing hair from your face. when he pushed in—slow, careful, deep—your whole body tensed, wrapped around him like he was the first breath after drowning.

it hurt. just a little. enough to make your lips part with a gasp. but he stopped instantly, not moving, just whispering against your cheek.

“breathe for me, sweetheart. you’re doing so fucking good.”

you nodded, clinging to his shoulders, letting yourself relax little by little until your body opened for him.

he began to move—not fast, but deep and fluid, his voice rasping against your ear with every thrust.

“you feel unreal,” he groaned. “so tight. so fucking warm. shit—you're making me lose my mind.”

your nails dug into his back. you couldn’t think. could barely breathe. all you knew was him—his scent, his voice, his body fitting against yours like you were made for this moment.

“does it feel good, baby?” he asked, barely holding it together.

“yes,” you moaned. “it feels so good, haechan.”

he reached between you, his fingers finding that perfect spot again, circling gently as his hips rolled deeper.

“i want you to cum for me,” he whispered, eyes flicking up to the mirror across the room.

and that’s when you saw it too—the reflection.

the sight of yourself, spread out beneath him, his body covering yours, the way his hips rolled into you, slow but relentless, the way your mouth fell open in pleasure.

you locked eyes with him through the mirror.

“look at you,” he said. “so fucking pretty. you should see what i see. you should see what you do to me.”

you whimpered, already close. the feeling of him inside you, the way he praised you, the reflection showing you everything you felt but couldn’t describe—it pushed you right to the edge.

“you’re mine,” he growled, thrusting deeper. “say it.”

“i’m yours,” you gasped, back arching.

“again.”

“i’m yours, haechan—fuck—i’m—”

the orgasm tore through you like a tidal wave. your whole body trembled as you clung to him, moaning his name like a confession.

he followed with a deep, broken moan, hips grinding into you as he came, his entire body tensing above yours, the sound of your names and curses filling the air as he spilled inside you, raw and unfiltered.

afterward, he collapsed next to you, pulling you into his chest, kissing your forehead with trembling lips.

“i’ve never felt anything like that,” he whispered.

you couldn’t answer. your body was still shaking, your mind a mess of stars and heat.

he held you close, running his fingers up and down your spine.

and for a long time, neither of you spoke.

because nothing needed to be said.

haechan stood by the door, shirtless, hair messy, pulling on his sweatpants with a crooked grin on his face.

“be right back,” he said, grabbing his keys. “we are out of condoms.”

your heart jumped at how casually he said it. like he already knew you weren’t done. like he couldn’t wait to get his hands back on you.

“don’t be long,” you said, your voice a little hoarse, a little needy.

“i’ll run,” he smirked, and you believed him.

the moment the door closed behind him, your body buzzed with anticipation. you felt sore, satisfied… and yet completely empty without him there.

a little while later, you were curled up on his couch wearing nothing but his oversized hoodie, legs tucked under you, sipping water with your thighs still trembling from everything he just made you feel.

your mind ran wild imagining all the things he’d do when he got back.

and oh—he did.

he came back ten minutes later, breathless and grinning, holding a bag with the corner of a box peeking out.

“miss me?” he teased.

“shut up,” you mumbled, biting your lip as he approached you on the couch.

but he didn’t give you time to banter. his mouth was on yours again, hungry and hot, hands already sliding under the hoodie like he’d been starving the whole way back.

“i couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he growled into your ear, lips dragging down your neck. “every fucking step i ran, i was thinking about how wet you were. how tight. how you said my name when you came.”

you whimpered, legs parting automatically as he knelt between them on the couch.

but this time—he was different. rougher. more commanding. his eyes darker.

“get up,” he whispered, pulling you to your feet.

“where are we—?”

“shower,” he said. “now.”

you didn’t argue.

the water hit your skin like a shock, but his body was hotter. he pressed you up against the cool tile wall, mouth devouring yours as his hands slid down to your ass, lifting you up, making you wrap your legs around him.

“you’re mine tonight,” he growled against your lips. “no stopping now. you started this—now i’m gonna finish it. again and again.”

your back hit the wall as he slid into you, wet and desperate. the sounds of skin against skin, water splashing, your moans echoing in the steam—filthy and perfect.

you lost count of how many times he made you come.

after the shower, he didn’t even let you dry off.

he carried you—carried—naked and dripping, to the living room, laying you over the back of the couch. your knees barely held as he bent you forward, one hand gripping your hip, the other sliding between your legs.

“still so wet?” he teased, running his fingers through your folds. “what did i do to you, baby?”

“you ruined me,” you gasped, pushing back against his hand.

“good,” he hissed. “you’re gonna take me again. right here.”

and you did.

he fucked you from behind on the couch, your moans muffled in the cushion, your fingers clawing at the leather. he didn’t let up—he used you, praised you, told you how fucking hot you looked taking him like that.

then the kitchen.

you barely made it there.

he bent you over the counter, spreading your legs with a low groan.

“you trust me?” he asked, voice low and rough.

“yes,” you breathed.

“good,” he said, sliding in again, slow and deep. “because i'm not holding back anymore.”

he fucked you while gripping your hips, your body slamming gently into the counter with each thrust, your breath fogging the cold surface.

“so fucking perfect,” he groaned. “you were made for me.”

then came the dining table.

you ended up on it—legs open, arms thrown over your head, his name spilling from your lips like a mantra. he kissed every inch of your body, left love bites on your thighs, praised every moan and whimper you gave him.

you didn’t even remember how many condoms you went through until—

“fuck,” he muttered, breathless, sweaty. “last one’s gone.”

the apartment was thick with heat and the smell of sex. your bodies glistened with sweat, tangled over the polished wood of the dining table. haechan’s chest was pressed to your back, his arms wrapped tightly around you as both of you struggled to catch your breath.

it wasn’t until the digital clock on the microwave blinked 4:02 AM that either of you realized how much time had passed.

“shit,” you whispered with a soft laugh, still breathless.

“yeah…” haechan’s voice was husky, worn out, but content. he pressed a lazy kiss to your shoulder. “we’ve been at this for hours. you okay?”

you nodded, eyes half-lidded, still processing everything. your body felt sore, used in the best possible way, and your heart was floating somewhere between exhaustion and complete peace.

he helped you off the table, careful and gentle now, holding you by the waist as you stumbled a little, your legs wobbly. you both laughed quietly at that, and he gave you a soft kiss on the forehead.

“come on,” he murmured. “let’s clean up and go to bed before the sun comes up.”

the warmth of his bed was a balm against your tender skin. after a quick rinse in the bathroom and slipping into one of his worn shirts, you curled up against him under the covers. his fingers traced light circles on your back as you lay there, your leg thrown over his, his other arm wrapped around you like you were something fragile and precious.

“you okay?” he asked again, softer this time. there was a hint of vulnerability in his voice—like he was afraid this had been too much.

you nodded into his chest.

“i’m more than okay,” you whispered. “i feel… safe. and really, really good.”

he exhaled a little laugh of relief and kissed the top of your head. the silence that followed wasn’t awkward—it was peaceful. comforting. like your bodies had said everything your mouths didn’t need to.

soon enough, your breaths synced. his hand stayed on your waist as you both drifted off to sleep.

the next morning came slowly.

soft rays of sunlight filtered in through the curtains, painting lazy golden streaks across the sheets. you blinked awake first, still pressed against his warm body. his hand was splayed over your stomach, holding you close, and his legs were tangled with yours beneath the covers.

you didn’t want to move.

there was a quiet hum in your chest, that afterglow still lingering like a dream. you turned slightly to look at him—his hair was messy, lips parted, eyelashes resting gently on his cheeks. peaceful. beautiful.

you shifted a little, and he stirred, eyes barely opening.

“mmm,” he murmured. “you’re still here.”

“where else would i be?” you whispered.

he smiled, still half-asleep, and pulled you closer.

“good,” he said, voice low and raspy. “i want you right here. just like this.”

you melted into him, your heart full, your body still tingling in places, and thought maybe—just maybe—waking up like this with haechan could become your favorite part of any day.

haechan made breakfast in nothing but his boxers, hair still messy from sleep, humming some old song as you sat on the counter, wearing only his oversized t-shirt and the glow he’d left on your skin.

there was laughter. soft jokes. syrup on your lips that he licked off with a grin.

and when you finally curled back into the couch, your head on his shoulder, legs tangled under a shared blanket, it didn’t feel strange.

it didn’t feel like you’d crossed a line.

it felt like you’d stepped into something deeper.

he looked at you then, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek, and whispered:

“you know… i think we’re still us.”

you smiled, heart fluttering.

because he was right.

maybe in the end, sex doesn’t ruin the friendship— it transforms it.