#I know those two are different but who cares? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hellinistical · 3 days ago

Text

Priest! Vampire! Rafayel x Nun! Reader synopsis: when a charming new priest is sent to your convent amidst the winter freeze, you're naturally untrusting. unfortunately, he's more knowledgeable of the faith, and you could learn a thing or two, especially if you want to protect yourself from the recent vampire attacks. trigger warnings: (heavy plot!). minor and major character death, blood, dubious consent, sacrilegious themes (Not Christianity or Catholicism; made up religion but using synonymous terms), gore, porn with plot, fingering (fem. receiving), hand jobs, piv, non-consensual vampire transformation, bodily horror, drinking blood, playing with blood, human consumption, unwilling cannibalism, afab reader- usage of female anatomy (though not descriptive of size/skin markings). fem. reader- she/her used. biting. choking. manipulation. blasphemy. overstimulation. virgin reader. corruption. monster fucking. slight belly bulge, bondage. incorrect use of holy water. wax play. this list may expand and/or altered. trigger warnings: (for this chapter.) afab. fem reader. implied pregnancy. period sex. piv. wax play. incorrect use of holy water. fingering (fem receiving), biting. overstimulation. corruption. virgin reader. non-con. dubious consent. hate sex. vampire transformation (though not explicit, just implied, and not in standard means; I took creative liberty). blood. slight belly buldge. major character deaths. spit. a:/n:this piece holds no actual religious scripture or quotes, I just needed those terms as they were synonymous. This is in NO WAY a jab at those faiths nor is it meant to spread hate or harm to them. It is also not an insult to those who practice. I tried to write with care, which yeah may be hypocritical of what I have here, so I apologize. Additionally, thank you to everyone who voted in the poll. While it was originally intended to be a one-shot, I felt it would be better to break it into chunks as this is very plot-heavy. Thank you for your support! Reblogs are highly appreciated. word count: 6.1k masterlist | prev.

V. Trasformazione

“We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark"

It’s all-consuming, how he seems to swallow the oxygen before you can breathe. Like he’s taking it straight from your lungs, leaving you lightheaded, weak. His hands are everywhere, mapping you, learning you, claiming you in ways you don’t know if you should allow—but you do.

The tree digs into your back, rough and unyielding, but his body is just as unrelenting. His lips drag along your jaw, down your throat, his breath hot against your skin. A shudder wracks through you as his teeth graze your pulse, and he lingers there, as if tasting your heartbeat.

His fingers tighten their grip. "You’re mine," he murmurs against your skin, voice low and raw. It’s not a question. It’s not a request. It’s a vow.

Your stomach hurts, the cramps from your cycle gnawing at you, twisting in sharp, unforgiving waves. Your body burns, the feverish heat meeting his coldness in a clash that sends a shiver up your spine—a mess of sensation, of discomfort, of something deeper you refuse to name.

You turn your head away, not because you want to, but because you can’t bear to look. His breath ghosts over your exposed throat, his grip firm, possessive, unrelenting. You feel his lips press there, lingering, and it only makes the ache inside you worse, different.

A breath shudders from you, and you hate how weak it sounds. His fingers flex against your skin, and you feel the sharp edge of his teeth as he hums in something like satisfaction.

“You’re burning up,” he murmurs against your throat, his tone almost gentle. Almost. “Poor thing.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. You hate him.

His fangs graze your skin but never sink in, lingering like a silent threat—or maybe a promise. His breath is cool against the feverish heat of your neck, sending a shudder through your already trembling body.

Then, his hands are on you, pulling your leg up and around his waist, pressing you closer until there’s no space left between you. The motion is seamless, practiced, like he’s done it a thousand times before. Like he’s meant to hold you like this.

And it’s humiliating.

Your nightgown is thin, ruined, sticky with blood, the fabric barely clinging to your form. You’re exposed—more than you’ve ever been, more than you should be. And yet, the very sight of you like this seems to draw him in more.

His fingers press into the flesh of your thigh, his breath hitching. "Messy little thing," he murmurs, voice rough, reverent. His lips trail the line of your jaw, slow, deliberate. "Do you know what you do to me?"

You don't want to know. You don’t want to feel the way your body reacts, the way the fever in your veins has nothing to do with your cycle anymore.

You press your hands against his chest—whether to push him away or pull him closer, you don’t even know.

His lips press against your collarbone, soft yet insistent, his breath cool against your heated skin. The way he inhales deeply, savoring your scent, makes your stomach twist—not just in fear, but something else, something raw and unfamiliar.

"Wait—wait, Rafayel—I don’t—I don’t get it." Your voice trembles, caught between confusion and something dangerously close to surrender.

He shushes you gently, his hands smoothing over your waist, his touch both possessive and reverent. "You don’t have to," he murmurs against your skin, voice thick with something deeper than want. "You just need to feel it."

You shudder, your fingers twitching against his chest. He’s cold, so unbearably cold, yet his presence is suffocatingly warm. Every nerve in your body is on fire, your pulse hammering, your breaths short and uneven.

You should push him away.

You should run.

But Astra above, you can’t move.

His eyes flicker down to the deep crimson staining your nightgown, pupils blown so wide they nearly swallow the color of his irises. His chest rises and falls sharply, unsteady, his fingers twitching where they grip your waist.

And yet—his expression twists. Something raw flickers across his face, something tangled between hunger and revulsion.

Not at you.

At himself.

He looks away, jaw tightening, his grip faltering for just a second. His breath comes sharp through his nose, as if he’s trying to will himself into control.

A muscle jumps in his jaw. "Damn it," he mutters, voice tight, nearly shaking. His fingers flex against you like he’s about to let go—like he should let go.

But he doesn’t.

You barely have time to react before his grip tightens—hard.

“Jump.”

Your breath catches. “Jump?”

“Jump, damn it.” His voice is sharp, urgent, commanding.

His hands slide down, gripping the backs of your thighs. He hoists you up with inhuman ease, your legs scrambling for balance around his waist. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, your heartbeat hammering against your ribs.

He presses you hard against the tree, the rough bark biting into your back. His face is so close now, too close, his breath mingling with yours, cool and sharp. His hands flex against your legs, his grip possessive, unyielding.

Rafayel's hands are ironclad around your thighs, his fingers digging into your skin, pinning you where he wants you. The pressure is bruising, possessive. He isn’t just holding you; he’s claiming you.

The air is thick, damp with the scent of earth and blood. Your blood. It clings to you, drying into the fabric of your nightgown, and you can feel how his eyes linger on the stains. His pupils are blown wide, black nearly swallowing the eerie glow of his irises. His breath fans against your jaw, cool and sharp, but his body is burning.

"Tree or the grass." His voice is low, firm. Not a question. A command. "Hurry up."

You grip his shoulders, nails biting into the fabric of his robe. The tree behind you is rough, its bark scraping against your spine as you shift in his grasp, trying to steady yourself. But it’s useless. He’s already made the choice

He holds you up with one hand, your legs around his waist as he undoes the zipper of your nightgown, pulling it down swiftly.

The nightgown pools around your hips, the weight of it dragging against your thighs as Rafayel's cold fingers skim over your ribs. Your breasts free, the cold air on your exposed nipples makes them harden. His touch is reverent, but there’s nothing holy about it. The moonlight barely reaches through the dense canopy above, casting fractured beams of silver across his face. His expression is unreadable—somewhere between hunger and hesitation, worship and possession.

“You look divine like this,” he murmurs, voice hoarse, almost awed. His thumb presses into the dip of your waist as if to test the reality of you. As if he doesn’t believe you’re real.

The night air chills your exposed skin, but you burn beneath it, a fever licking at your spine. Your blood, your scent—it’s making him tremble. You can feel it in the way his grip falters for a moment before he steadies himself, locking you tighter against him.

His grip tightens as the scent thickens, as the warmth of it seeps into the fabric of his trousers. He shudders, a groan tearing from deep within his throat, something raw and starved.

His fingers flex against your hips, betraying his restraint, the barely-contained need that trembles beneath the surface. He exhales sharply, like he's forcing himself to remember something—like he's fighting the very nature that compels him to sink his teeth into the tender flesh of your throat.

"Mine."

The word isn’t spoken, but you feel it in the way his body tenses, in the way his fingers dig just a little too hard into your sides, like he’s trying to brand himself into you. His breath is uneven now, and you realize—with something close to horror, close to exhilaration—that he’s shaking.

His head dips lower, mouth pressing just beneath your ear. “You’re going to ruin me,” he murmurs, almost reverent. His lips are cold, but his voice burns.

Your hands are firm on his chest, trying to push him off,

“Stop- stop, I’m dirty,”

He doesn’t budge. If anything, your resistance only seems to ignite something deeper in him, something far more desperate.

His hands trace your thighs, smearing warmth into your skin, fingers painting patterns in the mess of crimson and sweat. His grip is firm but reverent, like he's touching something sacred, something he refuses to let slip through his fingers.

"You don't get to be ashamed," he breathes against your jaw, his voice shaking with something dark and unspoken. "Not from me."

You shudder, your fingers curling against the fabric of his shirt. “Rafayel—”

“I don’t care.” His lips brush your temple, your cheek, his breath fanning hot over your ear. His voice lowers, dark and hushed, almost mournful. “I would bathe in you if you'd let me.”

He grabs your chin roughly, forcing you to make eye contact. He looks utterly feral. “I want to be in you. I need it. In your skin. In your very soul.”

His lips crash against yours, not with brutal force, but with a yearning so deep it feels like he’s trying to devour something unseen, something hidden inside you. The kiss is desperate, frantic. It’s not just want—it’s need. A need that claws at him, that shakes his very foundation.

His grip tightens, fingers digging into your flesh with an urgency that borders on bruising. His palm presses into the small of your back, pulling you flush against him—your soft warmth clashing against the hard, unyielding chill of his body. His breath, cool and fanning across your lips, mingles with your own, the contrast dizzying.

His mouth moves against yours with a hunger that leaves no room for hesitation, lips parting just enough for his teeth to graze your lower lip—sharp, teasing, just barely holding back from drawing blood. The press of his fangs sends a shiver down your spine.

Your nightgown slips further down and bunches up more as he tugs at the fabric, his fingers tracing up the length of your spine, nails dragging lightly, leaving a tingling trail of sensation. His free hand moves down, skimming over your thigh before gripping it, pulling your leg higher against his waist. The rough friction of his clothes against your bare skin sends a jolt of sensation up your body.

He shifts, pressing forward, pinning you against the tree with his body weight. The bark bites into your back, a stark contrast to the way his hands explore your skin, cold and burning all at once.

"I—" A kiss, deep and forceful, swallowing any protest you might have had.

"Hate—" His hands tighten, fingers bruising against your skin, as if trying to mold you into him, make you stay, make you his.

"You—" He bites your lip this time, just enough to sting, and you gasp into his mouth.

And despite everything—the fear, the confusion, the war between sense and something darker—you kiss him back.

His tongue swipes at your bottom lip, slow and deliberate, tasting the remnants of your breath. His grip tightens around your waist, pressing you flush against him. The rough bark of the tree digs into your back, but you barely register the sting—your senses drown in the feeling of him.

Rafayel’s tongue pushes past your lips, hot and insistent, swirling against yours in a messy, feverish dance. He doesn’t kiss with precision—he kisses with hunger, his movements uncoordinated yet consuming, like a man starved.

Saliva slicks your lips, the wet sounds of your mouths moving together filling the night air. He groans into the kiss, a deep, guttural noise vibrating against your tongue as he sucks at it, pulling you deeper into him. His teeth graze against your lower lip, nipping and tugging before soothing the sting with another deep, open-mouthed kiss.

Your breaths are ragged, mingling with his as he swallows every gasp, every whimper. His fingers dig into your hips, keeping you locked against him, refusing to let you pull away. His tongue moves greedily, exploring, claiming, savoring every inch of your mouth. The kiss is hot, messy, intoxicating—his spit coats your lips, mixing with your own, leaving you breathless and lightheaded.

When he finally pulls back, a thin string of saliva connects your mouths, breaking only when he licks his lips, his eyes dark and hooded with desire.

“Gods-” His palm is firm, pressing against your lips as his eyes darken. "Don’t," he repeats, voice low, almost dangerous. His fingers linger against your cheek, the coolness of his skin a stark contrast to the heat radiating from your own.

His grip tightens slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you—he is in control. His breath is heavy, ragged, his pupils blown wide as he watches you, drinking in every detail of your flushed face.

For a moment, there’s only silence, the weight of his hand against your mouth the only thing grounding you. Then, slowly, deliberately, he leans in, his lips just ghosting over the shell of your ear.

"Do not speak of them here."

The weight of his body against yours is suffocating, his grip unrelenting. His thumb brushes over your cheek, deceptively gentle, a stark contrast to the feral hunger in his gaze. "You’re mine now," he breathes, his lips hovering just above your skin. "No gods. No saints. Just me."

His teeth graze your jaw, sharp but restrained, a warning and a promise all at once. His grip tightens at your waist, pressing you further into the rough bark of the tree, as if he could mold you into the very world around him—an extension of his own being.

"You feel that?" he murmurs against your skin, his breath cool but his presence searing. "That’s the only thing that’s real now. Me. Us."

His fingers trace along the dip of your spine, slow, deliberate, memorizing every shudder, every unwilling response he draws from you. He’s reveling in it, in the way your body betrays you, in the way your heartbeat hammers against his own.

"Say it," he demands, his lips brushing just below your ear. His voice is steady, but there’s something almost desperate beneath it. "Tell me you understand."

His mouth finds the pulse at your throat, lingering there, savoring, but never quite sinking in. His hands roam, gripping, kneading, learning the shape of you as if carving it into memory.

You try to focus—on his words, on his demand—but it’s impossible when his teeth drag along your skin, when his hands press you tighter against him, when every touch pulls you deeper into something dark and inescapable.

"Rafayel—" you manage, but it’s breathless, barely a whisper.

He chuckles against your skin, the sound low, wicked. "You can’t even think, can you?" His fingers slide up to tangle in your hair, tilting your head back so you're forced to meet his eyes. They gleam with something unhinged, something hungry. "Good."

He lays you down before you realize.

The earth is rough beneath you, twigs and dead leaves pressing into your skin, but it barely registers over the sensation of him. His lips ghost over your sternum, his breath warm despite the unnatural chill of his body.

His hands slide down your sides, slow, deliberate, as if savoring every inch of you. The contrast between his cold fingers and the feverish heat of your skin makes you shiver.

"Look at you," he murmurs, voice thick with something unreadable. Reverence? Possession? It’s all the same with him. "You belong to me."

He presses a lingering kiss to your ribs, just above where your heartbeat pounds wildly against your bones. He exhales, and his lips curve against your skin in something dangerously close to a smile.

But you remember you’re technically free bleeding, and your pulse spikes, a rush of panic coursing through your veins as you instinctively try to close your legs. But his hand is there, swift and firm, stopping you. His grip is too strong, his presence too consuming.

He doesn't let go, his fingers brushing over the inner parts of your thighs, his breath shallow and erratic as he drinks in the sight of you. His pupils are blown wide, almost black, utterly lost in something feral and primal. He’s staring at you like he’s found something sacred, something far darker and deeper than just physicality.

"Don’t hide it," he murmurs, his voice raw and low. His gaze flickers down to the blood, and there's something almost reverent in his eyes. "This—this is perfect."

He throws your leg over his shoulder, and your face burns.

Your breath catches as his lips linger against your calf, the warmth of his mouth searing against your skin. Your face burns, a flush creeping down your neck, spreading like wildfire. His touch is reverent—too intimate, too consuming.

He watches you through lidded eyes, something unreadable flickering behind them. "Look at you," he murmurs, dragging his lips higher. "Divine."

The forest around you is silent, as if holding its breath, as if bearing witness. Your pulse pounds in your ears, the rhythm syncing with his own quiet, shuddering breaths. You don’t know what’s more terrifying—the way he touches you like you’re something sacred or the way you’re starting to believe it.

Divine.

He did not want you to utter a word of the gods, and yet here he was, revering you as though you were made of stardust and prayer. His lips traced blessings into your skin, his hands mapping out every fragile piece of you with something dangerously close to devotion.

Your breath shuddered, caught between fear and something deeper, something you couldn’t name. He worshipped you in contradiction—loathing, needing, aching.

His voice was a rasp against your skin. "You don’t even see it, do you?" His fingers ghosted over your thigh, his grip tightening as though you might disappear. "You are holy in a way the heavens could never understand."

He pulls the nightgown off you completely, throwing it aside. The ruined nightgown lands in a crumpled heap, forgotten the moment it leaves his hands.

His gaze devours you, tracing every inch of exposed skin like a man starved, like something sacred has been laid bare before him. His fingers, cool against the heat of your body, press into your waist, lingering, memorizing.

"You were never meant for them," he murmurs, almost to himself. His touch drags up, slow, reverent, mapping out the curve of your ribs, the plane of your stomach. "Never meant for their rules. Their prayers."

His lips follow the path his hands have taken, pressing against you like whispered blasphemy.

His devotion was feverish, a worship not of saints or gods, but of you.

Your body was his temple, and he knelt before it without shame, lips pressing against every inch of exposed skin as though engraving his reverence into you. His hands roamed—possessive, greedy, desperate—as if afraid you might vanish between his fingers like mist at dawn.

“You were made for me,” he murmured against your hip, his voice rough with something deeper than hunger. His teeth grazed your skin, a silent vow. “No holy book, no doctrine—only this. Only us.”

The forest bore witness to the sacrilege, the rustling leaves whispering secrets to the wind. But he did not care. And, Astra help you, neither did you.

“Rafayel, that blood-” “It’s precious. Don’t you dare say otherwise.”

His words came like a command, hard and unyielding. His fingers gripped your wrists, holding you still as if your very body was his to claim, to savor. There was something in his eyes—intensity, obsession, an almost maddening hunger as he traced the lines of your skin.

The blood, your blood, had already stained him, and yet it seemed to hold him captive. It wasn’t just an act of possession—it was reverence, as though your very essence was sacred, and he couldn’t bear to waste a drop of it.

"Every part of you," he whispered, eyes now fixed on the path of blood trickling along your skin, "is mine." His voice was raw, desperate. "And I’ll cherish every bit of it, even if the gods themselves would frown upon us."

His lips hovered just above the blood, as if he was waiting for permission, the tension between you both palpable, thickening the air.

His lips hovered, teasing, just barely brushing against your skin as he waited, and you couldn’t hold back anymore. Without thinking, you pulled him closer, your fingers tangling in his hair, pressing his mouth to your blood-streaked skin.

It was an act of surrender. You were no longer the person who feared him, who resisted his touch. Now, you were simply a part of the chaos between you, caught in the storm of his desire and your own.

His breath hitched as his mouth met your skin, his hands roaming to claim you further. Every inch of him was pressed against you, his body marking you as his, as he whispered your name—like a prayer, like an obsession, like a promise.

If he was going to damn you, it may as well be worth it.

His tongue laped at the blood on your thighs, his grip bruising on your hips as he cleans you up. Nipping and kissing up, up, up, his breath fans over your cunt, abd you can’t help but shiver.

“And Astra said do not be wasteful, so thank you for this meal.”

His lips were on you, drinking your blood. "I could spend an eternity feasting on you,”

His words sent a thrill of excitement through you as he continued to lavish attention to your sensitive flesh, a cold hand coming to press down on your stomach, cool to the touch. Rafayels tongue traced patterns along your folds, your breath hitching as waves of pleasure rippled through your body, conflicting with the apprehension that still lingered in your mind. You let go of his hair, grasping at the dirt, clawing at whatever could ground you, fighting to maintain control over your desires. But with each flick of Rafayels tongue, each gentle suckle, your resolve waned, your resistance crumbling like sand beneath a relentless tide.

Despite yourself, you arched your back, offering yourself more fully to his ministrations, your moans mingling with the soft sounds of his fervent attentions. Lips parting to taste the blood that came from your core, he teased and taunted with each languid stroke.

Rafayel savored you like a forbidden fruit, movements deliberate and precise as he explored every inch of your trembling form. Eliciting gasps and moans from your lips, he threatened to consume you.

His hands, strong and commanding, roamed over your body, tracing the curves of your hips and thighs as he held you in place, ensuring you remained at his mercy.

"Please," you begged, your voice a breathless whisper. "I can't... I can't take anymore..."

Of course, the faux priest ignored you.

His lips were bloody- so bloody, smearing across his chin and mingling with the spit that connected him to your cunt.

“You- you’re beautiful.”

He licks it away, groaning at the taste as he reluctantly pulls himself away, sitting up, keeping your legs apart as he undoes his buttoned shirt, pulling it over his head and-

As if your cheeks couldnt burn any more.

It was as if Astra had carved him himself, and he probably did.

No clay was made to make his form, no.

He was made from fire and starlight.

Two fingers replaced his mouth, inching their way. Your eyes threaten to roll at the intensity of it all, and the feeling of shame was ever present in its advancements.

Rafayel made his way up your body, lips trailing along the curve of your neck, leaving a trail of hot kisses in their wake as he moved towards your breasts. Capturing one of your nipples between his lips, he sucked and nipped at the sensitive flesh, his fangs nearly breaking the skin.

“Divine.”

It was said like a mantra, a prayer on your skin, an obsession with the salvation he so desperately craved. His free hand grabbed one of your own, interlocking your fingers and holding it about your head. Worshipping your breasts with a sense of reverence, he nearly whined.

"I could spend an eternity feasting on you,”

The words send a thrill of excitement through you.

But the ins and outs of his fingers, his mouth on your tits, and the utter act of it all-

You don’t know whether to cry or beg.

Beg for it to be done?

It’s too much- and he knows this. Of course he does.

Father Rafayel always knows.

He lets your nipple go with a lewd pop, taking his fingers out of you before grabbing your face. If you weren't so overwhelmed, you might have gagged.

Until he spits in your mouth and pushes your head back down.

“Stay down.”

His hands go to his pants, and you watch. Watch him take himself out.

Astra above.

He was pretty just about everywhere. Endowed, leaking, his skin tinged the faintest of blues up until his tip, an aggressive deep red-almost purple.

And there's so much cum.

He lines himself up with your quivering hole, breathing hard as if he needed the oxygen. Maybe he did now. “I- hah- I’m taking you. You understand, don’t you? I need this.”

But your gaze is too focused on his member, too distracted.

“He’d probably marry a book,”

Oh, Yvonne, you sweet ignorant soul.

Your blood smears across his tip, and he hisses. “So hot- too hot,”

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Breathe in.

Breathe ou-

You cry out, the push too uncomfortable, too harsh, too mean. And finally- finally- closes his eyes, long lashes giving his cheeks butterfly kisses as he damn near growls.

He leans over you, his forehead meeting yours as he presses his lips to yours, whether just for the sake of kissing or to not look foolish, you don’t know. Don’t have time to think as he goes to your throat.

He bites.

Not enough to break skin, but it hurts.

Hurts more when you gaze at his hands, how they are fisted in the damp soil beneath you, nails caked with blood and dirt, holding himself back.

He moves his hips, pushing in, and your arms scramble around his bare back, nails gifting crescents into his skin. A bulge in your tummy- he presses down on it.

“Here. Here is where I’ll be. Where we will be. Do you understand?”

“What?”

“Miseal. It’s already decided.”

His thrusts are deep- rough, and something feels off as he takes you. Though you’re not sure what.

Almost as if you’re being watched.

And he feels it too.

“Damn him,”

A rush, a rush as he tries to make you both finish, no longer worried about the pleasure of it all, so long as it was done. You whine, legs wrapping around him, keeping him in as he rocks into you.

Soon enough, he spills.

But it's strange, how he pulls away fast, grabbing his pants.

You watch as he pulls out a candle, a muted red wax of a long shaft and a packet of matches.

“You move, and you’re getting burned. Do you understand?”

What?

He lights it.

Panicking, you try to get up-

His hand is on your throat, keeping you down. “Stay. Still.”

He holds it over your body, letting the wax melt and then-

When it drops onto your skin, it burns.

You bite back a yelp, throwing your head back and gritting your teeth.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

His gaze is hard as he lets it fall onto your body, watching it roll down the curves and valleys and dips of your body. Tears pool in your eyes, and all sense of warmth he had in his gaze is gone. Why was he so hard to understand?

He brings a hand to your stomach, smearing the wax before it solidified.

It hits you.

He was drawing something on you. Swirls of roses and vines, stars and something else you can't quite see.

“Rafayel, what’s wrong-” “Quiet.”

His tone is sharp, cold. And then-

Holy water?

He splashes it onto you.

“Rafayel, wha-”

“Stop- Just stop it! Let me finish what I need to do!”

Rafayel’s breath came fast and uneven, his hands shaking even as they held you firm. His panic bled into you like ink in water, spreading thick and inescapable.

No—no, no, no. This was wrong.

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears, drowning out everything else.

He jerked back as if burned, his expression twisting. Regret? Shame? Desire? It all mixed together, unreadable.

"Astra," you whispered, your throat tightening. "Astra is going to punish us."

Rafayel's face darkened, his pupils blown wide, his grip on you tightening like a noose.

Then, before you could utter another breath, he shoved his hand over your mouth, pressing you into the earth.

"Shut. Up." His voice was a raw, desperate growl. His body caged you in, his hand firm against your lips, his eyes blazing with something almost wild.

The wind only grew stronger. The trees groaned. The stars above flickered—then vanished.

Astra was watching.

Your chest heaved, but no air came. His hand was firm, unyielding, stealing the breath from your lungs as the wind raged around you. Your fingers clawed at his wrist, nails digging into his skin, but he wouldn’t budge.

Your vision blurred at the edges, a ringing building in your ears. Above you, the sky churned—inky black swallowing every trace of light, the heavens convulsing in silent fury.

Rafayel’s eyes bore into yours, his grip trembling. His own breath was ragged, his expression torn between panic and something darker.

Then, just as your limbs began to weaken, he let go.

You gasped, choking on the rush of air, your lungs burning. The moment your breath returned, you shoved him away, scrambling backward across the damp forest floor.

"What have you done?" Your voice was raw, torn.

Rafayel didn’t answer. His lips parted, but his eyes weren’t on you anymore. They were locked onto the abyss above, where the sky had fractured.

A sob clawed up your throat, raw and broken. You could feel it—like something had been ripped from you, something sacred and irreplaceable.

Your soul.

The weight of it hit you all at once. A terrible, hollow emptiness where divinity had once dwelled. The connection to Astra, the light you had clung to in your darkest moments—it was gone. Torn away by his hands.

You curled in on yourself, fingers digging into the damp earth as if you could anchor yourself, as if the ground would not reject you like the heavens had. You had been forsaken.

A gust of wind howled through the trees, the sky above still shuddering, the heavens themselves mourning you.

And he—he only stood there. Watching.

"You’ve ruined me," you whispered, voice shaking, eyes wet with grief.

Rafayel flinched as if struck. But he didn’t deny it. Didn’t apologize. He only took a step closer, the shadows curling around him like a crown, his expression unreadable.

"You were never theirs to begin with." His voice was low, reverent, filled with something close to adoration.

You hated him. You hated that you wanted to believe him.

A breeze flows through your hair, comfortable on your scalp.

A field of golden wheat. The stalks sway, whispering secrets in the wind. The sky is endless, a soft, hazy blue, and the sun is warm on your skin.

And then you see it.

Her.

Your body—mangled, broken, wrong. Blood seeps into the dirt beneath, soaking the golden earth in deep crimson. Your eyes are open, clouded and lifeless, staring at nothing. The wind does not touch you. The sun does not warm you.

You are dead.

But you are also here, standing above yourself, barefoot in the soft earth, small hands trembling at your sides. You are a child again.

A shadow looms over your corpse. You look up.

Astra?

No.

A hand grabs yours. You turn, blinking in confusion. There, standing beside you, is a younger version of Rafayel, his eyes wide, full of an unspoken fear. The wheat sways gently around him, but the warmth of the sun, which once bathed you, now feels distant, cold, almost unreal.

“Are you scared?” you ask softly, your voice trembling, not sure if the words are meant for him or for you.

He doesn’t answer at first, his gaze fixed on the mangled body lying in the dirt, still and lifeless. Slowly, he nods. His expression is tense, strained, haunted. The faint trace of a tear glimmers in his eye, but he refuses to look away from the vision of death that lies before you.

Another figure steps forward, his presence almost ethereal amidst the vast expanse of the golden wheat.

He is a man—older, perhaps, though not by much—and yet, his features carry an odd resemblance to both you and Rafayel, as if the strands of your lives had intertwined in ways too complex to decipher. His face is solemn, filled with a quiet sadness that mirrors your own unease. He crouches by the mangled body, planting roses in the earth, the delicate flowers contrasting sharply with the harshness of death surrounding them.

When he finishes, his eyes slowly rise to meet yours, the sorrow in them palpable. "I can't wait to meet you," he murmurs, his voice tinged with a melancholy that feels out of place in this strange vision. There's a heaviness in his words, as though he’s already resigned to an inevitable fate that neither you nor he can escape.

You stand still, caught in the moment, unsure of what to make of him or what he means by his cryptic words. His gaze lingers for a moment longer before he turns away, his figure slowly dissolving into the wheat as if he were never there to begin with.

The familiar sound of Gran's laughter fills the air, cutting through the tension of the dream and pulling you back to reality. You blink, suddenly disoriented as you stand in your kitchen, the smell of burnt soup wafting in the air. Tara, your younger cousin, stands at the stove, a guilty grin plastered across her face.

You roll your eyes and call out, annoyed, “Tara, did you burn the soup again?”

Gran chuckles from her rocking chair in the corner of the room, clearly entertained by the chaotic dynamic. She has seen this a thousand times before, but her amusement is unwavering. "Let her be, love. She’s learning."

Tara, red-faced and clearly embarrassed, scoops a ladle of the charred soup into a bowl, trying to salvage what she can. "It wasn’t that bad," she protests weakly, though the scorched smell says otherwise.

You sigh, but the irritation fades quickly as you watch Tara and Gran in the soft light of the kitchen. It’s a comforting scene, one you’ve known all your life. Still, that dream lingers at the back of your mind, its strange figure and cryptic words echoing through your thoughts, mixing with the mundane and ordinary.

"Gran, I had the strangest dream last night," you start, trying to shake off the unsettling feeling. She pauses, her hands stilling on her knitting as her sharp eyes meet yours.

“Did you now?” “I…yeah. I dreamed I was trying to be a nun…and there was a vampire.” Gran raises an eyebrow, her lips curling into a knowing smile. "A vampire, eh? Sounds like Astra's handiwork, that does."

You roll your eyes, but before you can speak, you hear a soft chuckle from the doorway. The voice is familiar, comforting, yet too smooth—too perfect. "Nightmares again, cutie?"

You freeze, instinctively glancing over your shoulder. There, standing in the doorway, is him. The man who doesn't quite fit, but is always somehow there, a shadow in the corner of your life. He wears the same smile as always—charming, relaxed, but with an undertone you can't quite place. His eyes gleam, mischievous with amusement.

Gran raises a knowing eyebrow. “Rafayel, you causing my grandbaby nightmares again? You ought to be more gentle with her.”

“I can’t help it, Josephine. Gotta get it out of my system before the wedding.”

Gran snorts. You roll your eyes, crossing your arms. “So what, you just had to torment me one last time before I walk down the aisle?”

Rafayel grins, lazy and wolfish. “Of course. What kind of man would I be if I didn’t haunt my bride’s dreams before the big day?” His voice is teasing,

Gran swats him lightly with a dish towel. “Enough of that nonsense. Go set the table if you’re gonna stand there running your mouth.”

Rafayel winks at you before grabbing the plates.

©hellinistical 2025 do not copy, translate, distribute, plagiarize, or reproduce in any form without permission, and do not share to any media outside of tumblr.

171 notes · View notes

heli-writes · 3 days ago

Text

A dragon's heart, part 16.

Pairing: Barbarian!Bakugou Katsuki x female!reader

Summary: The dragonblood tribe is known for being cruel, barbarian warriors that slaughter, loot and rape all places they pass through. They are feared among the villagers and even bigger cities. Having lost most of their women to a plague, they're trying to ensure their tribe's survival by kidnapping women from other places. However, they're not the only monsters in human form out there. When y/n experiences this first hand, she has no choice but to ask for help from no other but the barbarian leader Katsuki Bakugou himself.

Disclaimer: trust issues, implications to abuse

[Please don't read if you are sensible to or triggered by the topics mentioned above.]

Note: Two chapters in a month? Say what. I know, I'm surprised myself. Blame it on a national holiday.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16

Series Masterlist

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Part 16

Y/n doesn't want to admit it, but she enjoys Katsuki's absence.

It's been three days and she has had more company than the entire time she's been with Katsuki. At least, if you don't count the several visits by the healers, that is. Mitsuki is still hostile toward her, but she doesn't leave y/n up to her own devices which y/n appreciates. Moreover, the two women she helped with the knives, have taken an interest in her. It seems as if they've noticed that y/n can be quite useful for a variety of tasks and thus give her chores upon chores. A lot of them revolve around creating weapons or taking care of weapons which y/n does not appreciate that much.

On the last day, y/n spent wrapping arrowheads to shafts. During the day, the skin on her fingers is ripped open in different places which is quite painful. However, y/n doesn't want to look like a wimp in front of the older women and works through the pain. Also, she enjoys the women's company and doesn't want to be sent away because she can't get the job right. She's afraid they'll send her back to Mitsuki.

Nevertheless, she must've done an okay job since her arrows pass inspection by Mitsuki (again). She tries to hide her hands from the blonde woman, but Mitsuki catches on anyway. She says something to the older women who then inspect y/n's wounds and put a slave and bandages on them.

The evenings she spends mostly alone in Katsuki's tent. The other women invited her for dinner around a bonfire, but y/n retreats to the tent rather quickly since the mountains are cold once the sun disappears behind their peaks. Being used to Katsuki's company, the evenings are terribly boring. Eventually, y/n occupies her time by carving game pieces out of wood. She hoped that maybe she could teach Katsuki the game when he returned. She's too shy to ask the women for that.

The next morning, y/n is picked up by the old woman with whom she mended clothes with. The woman animatedly tells her something that y/n doesn't get and leads her to a stone hut she hasn't seen before. Y/n swallows hard. Was I demoted because of my hands?, y/n wonders as the woman pushes her inside the tent.

Inside, an old bearded man stands by a forge and hammers onto metal. The old woman loudly announces their arrival and the smith lowers his hammers. He listens to the woman's rambles while looking y/n up and down. Y/n feels like she's shrinking under his gaze. Why did she bring me to a smith?, y/n wonders. The smith barely says anything and just grumbles as a response to the older woman.

After the woman takes her leave, the smith waves y/n over and shows y/n a couple of knives and some arrows. For a moment, y/n doesn't understand why he's showing them to her until she realizes that those are her work. She sharpened those knives and made those arrows. Looking at the smith and points at the weapons and then at her. “Yes, I did that.”, she tells him while nodding. The smith nods and waves her over to the forge. He doesn't actually believe that I can make weapons, y/n thinks.

Turns out, he doesn't but he makes y/n help him. Apparently, he is working on making a sword. He makes y/n hold the metal piece down while he hammers it into shape. When the forge cools down, y/n has to bring new firewood and it's her task to make sure that the forge doesn't cool down. He even lets her try hammering on some metal but quickly takes over again. I bet I don't have the strength to hammer metal into shape, y/n thinks.

By midday, y/n's exhausted and ash and grime stuck to her sweaty skin. She's glad when the smith waves her outside the hut for some lunch. It's only then that y/n notices how absolutely famished she is. Together, they eat a hearty meal of brown bread and thick slices of cheese and ham. Y/n thinks it's the most delicious meal she's had since she arrived here. Maybe it's because it reminds her of the rustic meals her family used to eat. Or, more likely, she's just that hungry considering that she hasn't done that demanding physical work in quite a while. Either way, she enjoys the meal she shares with the smith. Mostly, because the smith doesn't talk much. She's sure that it's not because he knows she doesn't understand him but it's simply because he doesn't talk much at all. She feels a lot more comfortable around him than around the women who keep talking around her until her head swims.

When she's done with her meal, the smith gives her a cup of tea and they sit in the sun for a little while. To occupy herself, y/n takes out her game pieces and a knife. Her set is complete, but the wood still feels rough. She tries to smooth them with the edge of the knife but she just keeps cutting notches into it. Frustrated she lowers the knife. Only then, she notices the smith watching her while sipping his tea.

Y/n can feel her cheeks heat. He must think I'm incapable of simple handiwork, y/n thinks.

Suddenly, the smith gets up and enters the hut again. Y/n hears him rummaging inside. When he comes out again, he hands her some sandpaper. Y/n's heart skips a beat. How nice of him!, she thinks and beams up at the smith. Immediately, she gets to work and starts smoothing the wood of her game pieces. When the smith finishes his tea, he waves her back inside and the two of them go back to work.

At the end of the day, y/n is absolutely spent. Nevertheless, she feels pretty good. The smith patted her on the head when he let her go for the day and y/n felt like she did a good job. She joins the other women for dinner around the bonfire and they laugh at y/n's ash-covered face. Y/n takes no offense in it as they also pat her on the back and shove some stew into her hands.

As she eats, she looks around the bonfire. Nadia is nowhere to be seen. She hoped to see her and start a conversation, but it was no luck. However, she did see some women take off with some bowls with stew in the direction of multiple living tents. I wonder if more women like Nadia live inside those tents, y/n wonders. But why am I the only one around the bonfire? And working?

After dinner, y/n waves the women goodbye to retreat to her tent for a well-deserved bath. After her bath, y/n sits on the bed working on her game pieces. Carefully, she runs the sandpaper over each piece smoothing the edges and softening their surface until they're nice to the touch. It's rather late when she's finished and slides underneath the covers. Shivering, she wraps her arms around herself.

It's rather cold without Katsuki, she decides as she's drifting to sleep.

~*~*~*~

Y/n's up early the next morning. She wanted to do some laundry before someone came to pick her up for work. She's glad that the wounds on her hands are healing rather quickly. She's standing outside hanging up her washing when the smith approaches her tent. She smiles at him and waves.

Guess, I'm up for another day at the forge, y/n thinks. Not that she minds, y/n actually likes working with the old smith. Maybe I have a thing for grumpy men?, she wonders as she follows the smith to his forge.

The day passes as the one before. She helps out the smith with a variety of tasks. While the smith does not make her hammer onto some metal again, he does make her blow into a large pipe. However, they both quickly give that up. I've got neither the strength nor the lung capacity for being a smith, I guess, y/n decides. It doesn't really matter to her since she's completely fine with playing the assistant.

After lunch, she hands back the sandpaper and the smith points towards the sachet in which she keeps her game pieces. Y/n takes them out to show him. The smith inspects them by turning them over in his hand and feeling the edges. He nods approvingly and hands them back. He asks y/n something she doesn't understand. Maybe he's asking what they're for?, she wonders.

Y/n draws the pattern of the game board into the dirt with a stick and sets up the game pieces. The game's rather easy to explain since the all game pieces can only do the same steps on the board. It doesn't take long for the smith to understand the rules of it and they play for a while until y/n beats the smith. With furrowed brows, the smith gets back to work and y/n follows him.

After the day's work is done, the smith demands another game which y/n is happy to comply. She's glad that someone is willing to play it with her. The game is rather simple: You win when you occupy the most places on the board which means you have to plan multiple steps ahead.

Y/n loved playing with her dad even though he beat her almost every time. Therefore, it's even more fun that she keeps on beating the smith. They keep on playing until someone calls them over for dinner around the bonfire.

~*~*~*~

Two more days pass and y/n continues to work with the smith. She's rather glad that Mitsuki seems to have lost interest in her and leaves her alone instead of handing her around people and inspecting her work. The work with the smith doesn't get boring since he makes not only weapons but household goods as well. He shows her how to make metal spoons which y/n takes up rather easily since it consists of hammering only a thin metal stripe into place and then carving and smoothing the surface with sandpaper. It's a process y/n already knows since her mother and she used to make lots of wooden spoons that they sold in the villages they passed through. The smith seems to approve of her results and she's allowed to keep the first spoon she made. During the lunch breaks, the smith and her keep playing with y/n game pieces and the smith even manages to win once or twice.

~*~*~*~

The air starts to get cooler as it rushes through Katsuki's ears. It's an unpleasant feeling but Katsuki embraces it nonetheless. It means home is getting close. He's even more glad when he sees the familiar mountain chain ahead of them. Kirishima on his golden dragon flies a head and does a somersault whoopingly. The men behind him cheer loudly.

They're all glad to get home. The raid was successful even though they ran into complications with some Todoroki soldiers. However, they faced no losses as Katsuki and Kirishima fought ferociously side by side leading them to victory.

“Yo, Kirishima, knock it off! You're about to lose our precious cargo!”, Katsuki howls through the wind but Kirishima only laughs as he falls behind his chief again.

While the village they raided was evacuated by the king's soldiers, there still was enough gold and goods to appease his men. Even better, in Katsuki's opinion, is that they managed to capture one of Todoroki's men alive. It's about time to squeeze out of this dirtbag what's really going on in the kingdom, Katsuki thinks.

“Ey, Katsuki, what do you think y/n will think when she sees all the goodies you brought for her?”, Denki teases at his side. “Ya think, she'll drop her panties for ya?”, the blonde laughs.

Katsuki glares at him and swivels Drami into Denki's dragon's path. The dragon yelps and quickly maneuvers out of the larger red dragon's way but Denki only laughs in response.

Of course, I wonder what she'll do when we see each other again, Katsuki thinks. He hopes his mother didn't take it too hard on y/n while he was gone. Part of him also wonders if y/n missed him in his absence.

~*~*~*~

Upon landing, a large crowd of people gathered to greet their warriors. Mothers and fathers hug their sons upon arrival. Even Kirishima's mate showed up which is a rare occasion. It sends Kirishima over the moon.

Katsuki scans the crowd for y/n but fails to find her.

“Son.”, his mother calls out to him. Katuski eyes her suspiciously.

“Where's y/n?”, Katsuki asks sharply. Mitsuki gives him a cool look before answering.

“I don't know. Haven't seen her in a few days, actually. The other women say that she's been dining at the bonfire every evening so I wouldn't be too worried about her.”, Mitsuki tells him.

Katsuki is relieved but still suspicious. “Any idea where she could be at?”, he asks.

Mitsuki shrugs. “Probably with the smith. She's been helping him out.”, she tells him.

Katsuki immediately sees red. “Working at the forge? How did that happen, mother? That's no place for a woman!”, he yells.

Mitsuki gives him a sharp look. “Who are you, a man, to determine what a woman can or cannot do? I heard she's rather good with forging and taking care of weapons. Maybe she is good for something after all.”, she replies.

Katsuki feels like ripping his mother to shreds. “It's your doing, I know it.”, he hisses, “Sending her to the forge, giving her such hard, dangerous work. You're punishing her for becoming my mate.”

“Do you really dare to accuse me of such a thing?”, Mitsuki hisses back, “Y/n is the mate of our chief, therefore she needs to pull her weight. She can't relax in the tent like the other women you brought here do. She needs to show her face when you're gone. After all, she's supposed to be the leader when you're not here.”

Katsuki's quiet at that. Of course his mother is right about that, but Katsuki is sure that y/n isn't ready for that.

“Moreover, isn't the smith one of our most honorable craftsmen?”, his mother adds and Katsuki bites his tongue.

“I rather hope so!”, a voice behind them says. It's Testutetsu, the smith's son.

“Is it true your mate picked up the role of my father's assistant?”, Tetsutetsu asks, “In that case, I owe her a thank you. After all, she picked up my work.”

Katsuki grinds his teeth. “I guess so.”, he replies. Tetsutetsu joined his men for the raid, but Katsuki knows the man would rather stay behind helping at the forge. Unfortunately for him, Tetsutetsu is one of the tribe's strongest warriors and therefore indispensable for such raids.

“Let's go and see if she's at the forge.”, Tetsutetsu proposes and Katsuki follows him after giving his mother a last, dirty glance.

~*~*~*~

“I'm surprised my father let her stay at the forge. He's rather picky with whom he works. There are days that he can't even stand me around the forge. Says that I talk too much and he can't focus.”, Tetsutetsu chats as they walk towards his family's workshop.

Katsuki huffs. “I guess he won't have a problem like that with y/n. She can't speak our language and therefore often doesn't speak at all.”, he grumbles. Tetsutetsu gives him a glance.

“Yeah, that must be weird. Can't imagine being mated to someone who doesn't understand me. How do you two even communicate?”, he asks.

“Barely.”, Katsuki says truthfully.

As they march up towards the stone hut that is the Tetsutetsu workshop, they see two figures sitting infront of the workshop on the ground.

“Father!”, Tetsutetsu calls out, “We're back!”

His father waves at him dismissively as the two younger men approach. Katsuki notices the game pieces on the ground. Y/n makes a move and the smith throws his hands into the air.

“She keeps beating me!”, the smith exclaims in a deep, gruff voice. Y/n beams up at him triumphantly.

The two men come to a stop infront of them and y/n notices them for the first time. Upon seeing Katsuki, she only smiles slightly and waves at him. It's not the welcome I hoped for, but at least she's happy to see me, Katsuki thinks.

“What'ya two playing?”, Tetsutetsu asks and crouches down before them.

“It's the girl's game.”, the smith says, “The rules are simple but the girl's hard to beat. She's got a smart head on her shoulders, I've got to give her that.”

“How does it work?”, Katsuki asks and sits down next to the smith.

“She's your mate. Let her show you.”, the smith says getting up to greet his son.

Y/n tries to put the game pieces away thinking that Katsuki has come to collect her, but Katsuki stops her and points at the board. Y/n is quick to understand and sets up the board again. She shows him how the pieces move and Katsuki is quick to take up the rules. They start a game while Tetsutetsu and his father watch.

As they keep moving the pieces around, the furrow in y/n's brow deepens.

“You almost got her, chief.”, the smith mumbles and Katsuki moves another piece. Y/n stares at the board for a long time. She tries to move multiple pieces before giving up. She looks at Katsuki and shrugs. The smith laughs.

“Seems like she's got some serious competition!”, he tells Katsuki and Tetsutetsu gives his father an amused look.

“You're in a good mood, dad.”, he says. The smith only shrugs. “The girl's been some fresh air around here.”, he simply replies. Tetsutetsu laughs.

“Oh my, I feel like I'm getting replaced here!”, he exclaims. His father shakes his head, “Well, you might be. Considering that the girl's actually good at executing orders instead of lounging around by the fire.”

Meanwhile, y/n packs her game pieces back into her sachet and gets up. Katsuki gets up as well.

“We'll be off then.”, he tells the Tetsutetsus. The old smith nods. “Alright then, y/n's welcome back anytime. Maybe she can even teach my son some work ethics.”, he replies at which Tetsutetsu only rolls his eyes. Katsuki walks on ahead and y/n waves at the smith smiling brightly before running after Katsuki.

“What a nice young lady.”, the smith tells his son, “I think our chief made a good choice there.”

~*~*~*~

Katsuki and y/n walk back to their tent in silence. Now that she's alone with Katsuki again, y/n doesn't know how to act. Nevertheless, she's happy that he played the game with her. Maybe he'll play again with me tonight, she thinks.

When they arrive at their tent, there are multiple men carrying wooden boxes into the tent. They greet their chief respectfully despite the blonde y/n has seen before who wiggles his eyebrows at Katsuki who only snorts in return. They enter the tent and y/n looks at the boxes with furrowed brows. Katsuki enters behind her and gently touches the side of her arm and gestures for her to walk to one of the boxes. With a knife, he yanks the box open. He rummages through the box and pulls out a beautiful dark green dress. Golden leaves and tendrils were stitched into both sides of the dress. The best part of it, however, was the long sleeves which is something all the dresses Katsuki brought her so far lacked. Katsuki holds the dress out to y/n who hesitantly takes it. Katsuki watches her expectantly as she inspects the dress and holds it against her own body to see if it fits her. When she looks up and meets Katsuki's eyes, she softly smiles at him.

Katsuki gestures to y/n to go through the box and take what she wants. Hesitantly, y/n walks to the box and peeks into it. Katsuki watches her for a moment as she looks through the contents of the box before turning around. I really deserve a bath, he thinks and leaves y/n to her own devices.

Meanwhile, y/n gets bolder in looking through the box. She finds more clothes that clearly originate from the Todoroki kingdom judging by the designs. They're winter clothes with long sleeves, lined interior fabric and fur overcoats. Y/n smiles as she runs her fingers over the soft, warm fabrics. He must've chosen them for me, she thinks.

Y/n takes the liberty to look at some of the other boxes. She finds a hairbrush, thick socks, books in her language, paper and all sorts of other trinkets. She also finds an expensive-looking flancon of perfume which she can't help and spray on her neck. A modest, flowery scent wavers through the air. Y/n thinks she never smelled anything that nice.

Suddenly, Katsuki enters the tent again. He's only wearing his linen pants and walks towards the closet to get some fresh clothes before hopping into the bath. When he passes y/n, he stops and sniffs the air. He looks at the flacon in y/n's hand and then sniffs the skin on her neck. He grunts and his nose wrinkles in disgust. What the fuck is this shit?, he thinks to himself. The perfume smells absolutely disgusting to him. Why would she cover up her scent like that? Is she planning to walk into enemy territory undetected?, he ponders. Meanwhile, y/n's cheek heat in embarrassment. Clearly, he thinks it stinks, y/n decides.

“That stuff needs to go. No woman of mine should smell so horrendous.”, Katsuki decides loudly and takes away the flacon. Y/n purses her lips at that but doesn't stop him. When he turns back around to her with a mischievous gleam in his eyes, y/n feels like he's about to do something bad.

Katsuki then lunges forward and grabs her by the wrist. He heaves her over his shoulders and marches into the bath hut with her. He sets her down at the entrance of the bathing hut. Y/n's heart thunders. She really doesn't like it when Katsuki shows her just how superior he is to her when it comes to physical strength.

Katsuki moves to the bathtub and takes off the rest of his clothes. Y/n watches his very naked, and very muscular, backside. She's getting embarrassed and tries not to stare at him. It's not like she's embarrassed by his nakedness (clearly she's used to it now), but considering her last naked experience with him (no, not the one where he kept walking around their tent fully naked), she expected to be more repulsed by him. Instead, she finds her gaze wandering and heat rising in places where it really shouldn't. Without noticing, her hand flies to the scar on her neck.

Katsuki notices her stares and gives her a complacent smirk. Then, he throws a sponge at her and points at his back. “Your man just came back from war, you should treat him a bit.”, he tells her.

Y/n is taken aback by it, but eventually complies and washes his back. Katsuki leans forward in the tub so that y/n can reach his back better. Y/n can't help but trace the muscles on his back. It's only then that she notices the many scares that adorn Katsuki's back. When she's done with his back, Katsuki leans back and gives her access to his chest which flusters y/n even more. Y/n stares at his broad chest and tries her best to not let her gaze wander more downwards. Katsuki takes her hand and lets it wander to his abdomen just above his – y/n yanks her hand back, her cheeks flushed in scarlet. Katsuki gives her a dirty laugh.

“It's not funny!”, y/n laughs getting up from her place beside the tub. Anger flushes her system. How can he make such jokes? Doesn't he understand just how traumatizing it was what he did to her? Or does he simply doesn't care?

Upon seeing her angry face, Katsuki understands that he crossed a line. His face becomes regretful He only wanted to see how far she'd go. Katsuki reaches for her hand that balled into a fist by her side. Gently, he strokes over the back of her hand and y/n relaxes.

“Sorry”, he mumbles and y/n understands the apology. She takes the bucket with cold water that stands next to the tub and pours it over Katsuki's head in one swift motion. Katsuki yelps and lets out a string of courses.

“Now we're even.”, y/n tells him grinning and Katsuki rolls his eyes. Y/n laughs and Katsuki is taken aback by how pretty y/n sounds when she laughs. Then, y/n takes the soap again and starts washing his hair. Gently, she runs her fingers through the wild, blonde strands and scratches his scalp. Katsuki leans back again and sinks a bit deeper into the tub. Y/n's hands feel good on him. He regrets pushing her earlier, but her soft hands make him remember how they feel around his dick. Quickly, he tries to shake the thought. He can't get a boner right now, not after y/n made clear what she thinks about touching him intimately. Instead, he tries to focus on the feeling of y/n's hand in his hair.

Katsuki hums relaxed and y/n can't help but notice how he leans into her touch. She tries the anger from earlier. Katsuki's been nice to her. He got her all these new, warm clothes and books. Clearly, he must've thought about her while he was away and y/n feels a little bit bad that she didn't think that much about him.

Maybe I can be a little bit nicer to him, y/n decides.

~*~*~*~

While Katsuki finishes his bath, y/n goes back to their tent and tries on some of the dresses Katsuki brought for her. They're a bit too long for her, but y/n figures she could ask the old woman for help in resewing them. It shouldn't be too hard to tailor them to her size.

The fabric feels nice and warm on her skin and y/n wishes she had a mirror to look at herself. She twirls around in the dress and when she comes to a stop, she sees Katsuki leaning at the doorway to the bath hut grinning at her.

“Ya like it?”, he asks and y/n smiles brightly at him. “Thank you, Katsuki.”, she tells him.

Katsuki's heart skips a beat. I'm being a good mate, right?, he thinks to himself and feels rather smug. He takes a step forward and examines y/n in the dress. He takes the hem of the skirt and swishes it around a bit. The fabric is rather heavy. Doesn't that bother her?, he wonders but y/n seems perfectly happy with it. He runs his fingers over her hips and y/n stiffens. He mistakes her stiffness as a rejection and he clicks his tongue. At least I can see her curves better like this, he decides.

Meanwhile, y/n grows hot under her clothes. I really shouldn't react to his touch this way, she decides, after all his touch hurt me before.

~*~*~*~

After Katsuki's hair is dried, he takes her to the bonfire. It's bigger than most nights and the smell of food and hot alcohol lingers in the air. There are men celebrating and laughing everywhere. I guess it's a feast, y/n decides. Katsuki maneuvers her to Kirishima who sits beside a pale, thin woman who keeps her eyes on the ground. Curiously, y/n looks at her. When the woman raises her head a bit and meets y/n's eyes, y/n smiles at her, but the woman quickly looks down again.

Disappointment flashes through y/n and she quickly adverts her eyes as well. Only then she notices that there are multiple younger women she hasn't seen before. They all look timid and pale. She counts 13 of them including Nadia who only slightly shakes her head when y/n spots her. Y/n walks over to her anyways.

“Nadia, where have you been?”, y/n asks. The woman glances at her husband who is sitting next to her talking to some other men. When he doesn't react, she replies to y/n: “At home, where else?”. Y/n's eyebrows furrow.

“Doesn't the tall blonde woman put you to work?”, she asks and Nadia crooks her head ever so slightly.

“They make you work?”, Nadia says in a hushed tone.

“Yes, I helped at the forge.”, y/n says proudly but Nadia only gives her a bewildered look.

“The forge? Oh, you must have it worse than us! I've told you Bakugou Katsuki is the worst of the lot!”, Nadia exclaims and winces when her husband laughs loudly and hits his own leg in amusement.

At first, y/n is surprised by that. Then, she remembers that people in the kingdom have very different ideas about what is suitable work for a woman. Her own people never made a big distinction between male and female work. Of course, hard labor often was done by men but it's mostly because they're naturally stronger than women. Nevertheless, such work was not forbidden for women. If one had a talent for a certain type of work, they were encouraged to take it up. For example, her father was exceptionally good at needlework. While her mother was good at mending clothes, it was her father who stitched pretty patterns into her clothes.

Before y/n could answer, Katsuki calls her back to his side. She quickly says goodbye to Nadia before turning to Katsuki's side. Katsuki's sitting in a circle with the same men y/n saw close to the dragon's den. One of the men hands her a cup with warm liquid which turns out to be a sort of hot wine. Y/n takes a big gulp of it. It tastes fruity and sweet. She immediately takes another gulp and the men laugh. Katsuki, however, puts a hand on her arm.

“Slow down, that shit's strong.”, he tells her but y/n only shrugs which earns her another round of laughter.

The men continue chatting among themselves and y/n watches how Kirishima offers some of the fruity wine to the woman next to him who courtly declines his offer. Kirishima gives y/n a deflated smile when he notices that y/n is watching them. Having already finished her cup, y/n extends her arm to take the cup from Kirishima.

“Geez, Katsuki! Your woman can drink!”, one of the men laughs when they see y/n on her third cup of wine. Katsuki rolls his eyes. “She most definitely will regret this tomorrow.”, he grumbles and Kirishima pats his back.

At some point, y/n doesn't remember when (probably due to the amount of alcohol she consumed), people brought out instruments and started playing music. The music of Katsuki's tribe is very different from the music y/n's people played. Since y/n's people were always on the road, they didn't bring big, heavy instruments along like drums or horns. They stuck to small flutes and light guitars. The dragon tribe's music is louder, faster and y/n can feel the drums within her bones. Eventually, people start dancing and y/n watches them for a while. While their dance isn't light-footed like her people's dances, they're still enchanting to watch. Heavy foot stomps are followed by graceful turns and rhythmic clapping.

It's been so long since I danced, y/n muses. She remembers the midsummer festival days before she met Katsuki. Even then she only could watch. Turning to Katsuki, she notices that the man is watching her over the rim of his wine cup. Immediately, an idea pops up in her head.

I bet he knows how to dance, she thinks.

She leans over to Katsuki and pulls on the hem of his sleeve. Then, she points towards the dancers and looks at him expectantly. He looks at her bewildered.

“Absolutely fucking not.”, he tells her and shakes his head. Y/n pouts and gives him a pleading look.

“I said no. End of discussion.”, Katsuki grumbles and turns away from her.

Feeling rejected, y/n stares into her empty cup. What an ass, she thinks. Then, another idea pops into her head. I bet the others know how to dance too, she thinks and takes a look at the men sitting next to Katsuki. There's Kirishima who looks a bit deflated and keeps glancing at the woman by his side. He's probably kind enough to teach me, y/n thinks. She almost made up her mind to ask him when her gaze fell on another man. It's the blonde called Denki who gave Katsuki the wiggly eyes earlier. I bet that would really piss Katsuki off, y/n thinks smugly, Good.

Determinedly, y/n stands up. Katsuki gives her a wary glance. Confidently, y/n walks over to Denki who's been watching her for some time now.

“What can I do for you, Miss?”, he asks and grins and y/n. Y/n tucks his sleeve and points towards the dancers.

“Oh, you wanna dance? Doesn't your man wanna dance with you?”, Denki asks and gives his chief a questioning look.

“Over my dead body.”, Katsuki simply replies.

“Then it's okay when I show her how to dance?”, Denki asks and Katsuki only shrugs. “Knock yourself out, Denks. Just be careful she doesn't puke on you.”, he tells his subordinate.

Denki flashes y/n a grin and stands up, leading her to the area where the people dance. Firstly, he shows her a simple coordination of steps which y/n imitates. When y/n feels confident in the steps, Denki speeds up the pace. Y/n has some trouble keeping up with him and steps on his toes. Denki only laughs and spins her around. Y/n has to laugh too and lets Denki take the lead now that she's gotten used to the steps and speed. Together they stomp and clap and Denki keeps spinning her around. Maybe it's the spinning, maybe it's the alcohol, but eventually y/n loses balance and crashes into Denki who luckily is a lot stronger than her and keeps holding her up. They both laugh at y/n's clumsiness and y/n feels fuzzy inside.

Dancing really is fun, she muses as she steadies herself. Expectantly, she looks up to Denki but he looks at something behind her. She turns to look at whatever Denki's looking at, but the man is quicker than her and he quickly pulls her in again.

“Katsuki's jealous.”, he whispers into her ear. Y/n only understands the word “Katsuki” and honestly, it doesn't need a genius or translator for her to figure out that Katsuki's probably not happy about her dancing with another man this closely.

Whatever, he didn't want to dance. It's his own fault when I dance with somebody else, she decides.

She pulls at Denki's arms who gives her an amused look.

“You're playing with fire, missy.”, he says before swirling her around for another dance.

Just when the musicians start a new song, Katsuki materializes next to them.

“Take your hands off my woman.”, Katsuki hisses at Denki. There's rage behind his eyes. However, Denki's not impressed by this.

“Pretty sure she put her hands on me first.”, Denki replies but stops dancing. Katsuki looks as if he's about to spew fire. Denki lets go off y/n and shrugs. “Not my fault you don't know how to please your woman.”, Denki says mischievously and retreats before Katsuki can reply (or punch him).

Katsuki turns to y/n who looks at him equally unimpressed. She rolls her eyes. “Men and their ego.”, she mumbles before turning around to join the group back at the bonfire. Katsuki stomps after her. Sulking, y/n sits down on a log crossing her arms infront of her chest. The men laugh at Katsuki as he joins them again. He tries to give y/n another cup of wine as a peace offering but declines sharply.

To be honest, y/n wanted Katsuki to be jealous. She hoped it scraped his ego enough to make him dance with her but Katsuki seemed to have no intention to do that. Whatever, y/n grumbles to herself, It should've been obvious that he doesn't know how to have a good time.

They stay at the feast for a little while longer. The men chat among themselves but Katsuki doesn't join their conversation anymore and y/n keeps glancing at the dancers longingly. Finally, Katsuki has had enough. He pulls y/n up and says goodbye to the rest of the lot before dragging y/n back to their tent. By the time, they arrive, y/n is still sulking which pisses Katsuki off even more.

Y/n starts to get ready for bed and disappears into the bath hut while Katsuki puts on his own sleepwear. When y/n returns, she still doesn't spare Katsuki a glance.

“I just hate fucking dancing!”, he exclaims loudly as y/n settles onto the bed. She gives him a flat look and shrugs. Then she turns around to slide under the covers.

I just can't get it right with her, Katsuki thinks angrily. He's getting more and more frustrated. A more reasonable voice in the back of his head says: You could've gotten this right. She clearly told you what she wanted and you were too proud to entertain the idea.

Katsuki stands at the edge of the bed and stares at her form. She seemed to have so much fun with Denki. She didn't even mind when Denki touched her hips or when her chest touched Denki's chest when she crashed into him.

It could've been you, she laughed with., that nasty voice says. Unfortunately, he has to admit that the voice is right. He could've made her happy tonight. He could've undone a little bit of the damage of the mating if he wasn't so goddamn prideful.

“Fuck it.”, he grumbles and leans over to y/n pulling her towards the edge of the bed. Y/n swirls around and looks up at him. “What?”, she demands and Katsuki motions for her to get up. Slowly, y/n does so.

“What do you want, Katsuki?”, she asks him increasingly annoyed. Katsuki pulls her into the middle of the tent which is still crowded due to the boxes that were brought in earlier. He stands closely toward her and puts a hand on her hip. He looks kind of embarrassed.

“So... I don't know how to do this. If ya want it, ya need to show me.”, he grumbles and laces his fingers with hers. Y/n stares up at him unsure what his intentions are. She sighs deeply and shakes her head.

“I don't know what you want from me, Katsuki.”, she says and takes a step back turning back to bed. Katsuki catches her arm and twirls her around to him. Clumsily, he starts to sway back and forth. Y/n has to laugh.

“Now you want to dance?”, she laughs, “And what is this? This is not dancing!”

Katsuki's ears turn red and he mumbles something y/n doesn't understand.

“Don't tell me the great Katsuki doesn't know how to dance!”, she says more solemnly. For a moment, she observes him before deciding: “Alright, I teach you how my people dance.”

Y/n takes a step back and for a moment Katsuki thinks she's going to lie down again. Then, she softly bows to him and raises her hand. When he doesn't react, she takes his hand and lays it flat against hers, so that their hands float in the air. Then she takes a step forward and a step back.

Katsuki imitates her embarrassedly. Y/n starts moving them in a circle and after four full circles, she steps closer to him, angling their hand sideways and pulling his other hand on her hip. They spin again.

Katsuki's face is a deep scarlet and a soft smile of amusement graces y/n's face. It's actually kind of sweet that he's trying, she thinks, he's still terrible at it though.

Eventually, y/n takes another step forward and leans her head against his shoulder and they sway back and forth, a dance move Katsuki appreciates. Y/n can hear the thundering of his heartbeat. Katsuki stops the swaying and drops her hand. Instead, he pulls her close against his chest. Gently, he strokes over her back and buries his other hand into her hair softly scratching her scalp. Carefully, he presses a kiss against her temple.

“I'm really trying, ya know?”, he mumbles before burying his face into her hair as well. Y/n hums and runs her hand through his hair which sends a pleasant shiver down Katsuki's spine.

“I really would love to be able to speak to you, Katsuki.”, y/n tells him, “Even if it's only to point out how stupid you are sometimes.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

tag list:

@cosmicbreathe @hello0815 @miacitocco @exoticrasin @angie-1306 @gold24fish @stardream14 @metab0rn @ldk3347 @skibbiescoober @nutellaenjoyer @c04ti @grimm3r @kalulakunundrum @midnightprocrastinator @tetisthings @cax-per

@ilovemushroomss @tinysoulmentality @anon-mouse223 @sagejin @teddyinks @alicecil87 @gabby-ha @edynarys @ebonyrose0013 @doeryy @assieayno @emmaafinchh @lookingforsyd @animesim @angelicarumiseiko @innerblazephilosopher @weebperson2003 @fancylonelygirl @your-mum3000 @girlufr @afre2023 @cheetopuffer0704 @yui-aya @ughrofhgbeogyfbf @doeryy

[Please comment beneath the last update if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters]

166 notes · View notes

daeniradraconis · 2 days ago

Note

plz a auston matthews with fluff prompt 5 or 6!

Thank you for requesting! 💖

Exactly the Way You Are

Auston Matthews had never been one to care what people thought of him. On the ice, he was ruthless, a powerhouse of skill and precision. Off the ice, he was a little different. A little softer, a little more particular about things like fashion, skincare, or the way he folded his sweaters. And it had never really bothered him before.

Until you.

Because suddenly, he found himself second-guessing. Suddenly, he caught himself hesitating before ordering sushi instead of a steak, before tossing on a designer coat instead of a flannel, before meticulously applying his moisturizer in the morning. Suddenly, he was hyper-aware of every single way he might not measure up to the men you had been with before.

For the first time in his life, a relationship wasn’t just about having fun—it was about you. It was about keeping you. And only two weeks in, he knew. He was in love with you, and he never wanted to let you go.

Which was why the thought of you realizing he might not be enough for you, scared the absolute hell out of him.

Because your exes? They were the kind of men who made Auston feel like he was playing pretend. A soldier, a farmer and a firefighter. Guys who could chop wood with their bare hands and fix an engine without breaking a sweat. Men who probably thought a ten-step skincare routine was some kind of witchcraft and would rather eat raw meat than admit they’d ever used lip balm.

So Auston tried. God, did he try.

He took you to steakhouses, even though he much preferred sushi. He wore rugged flannels—even though he hated how they felt, all stiff and itchy—and made a point of rolling up his sleeves when he was fixing things around the house (which, let’s be honest, usually meant watching a YouTube tutorial for an hour before calling a professional). He threw around words like “torque” and “horsepower,” even though he had no real clue what they meant.

But then, there were moments when he slipped—when the real Auston surfaced, whether he meant to or not. Like when you caught him meticulously folding his sweaters, using a technique he’d picked up from some high-end fashion influencer, just to keep his wool cardigan in pristine condition. Or when he helped you pick out the perfect moisturizer for Toronto’s brutal winter, because after just a month in the cold, your skin always felt like sandpaper. Or when he let out a frustrated sigh after a particularly bad game and you found him later in bed, a lavender sheet mask on his face and an expensive candle burning on the nightstand.

And tonight? Tonight was one of those nights.

You watched as he carefully plated the pasta he’d just made, placing each strand with precision before garnishing it with fresh basil. His brows were slightly furrowed, lips pressed together in concentration—he looked like an artist at work.

“You know,” you mused, leaning against the counter with a smirk, “you don’t have to pretend with me.”

Auston shot you a puzzled look. “Pretend what?”

“That you’re something you’re not.” You reached across the counter, letting your hand gently slide down his forearm. “That you’re this rugged, tough guy all the time. I mean, I love that you try so hard, but Aus…” You tilted your head, offering him a warm smile. “It’s actually really sexy that you care about this kind of stuff.”

His fingers froze over the plate. “What stuff?” He tried to play it off, like he had no idea what you were talking about.

“This.” You gestured to the food, the perfectly pressed shirt he wore, the way his skin practically glowed—thanks to whatever magic serum he used—and the accessories that matched effortlessly with his outfit, right down to the purple beanie perched on his head.

Even if Auston had toned down his fashion choices a bit, trying to seem more traditionally “manly” for you, he still looked perfectly put together. Stylish. And, honestly? Mouthwateringly sexy.

“You take care of yourself. You care about the details. And honestly? That’s peak masculinity to me.”

He let out a breath, running a hand through his hair. “But your exes—”

“They’re my exes for a reason,” you interrupted, stepping around the counter and wrapping your arms around his neck. “I want you, Matty. Believe it or not.”

You could feel the tension in his shoulders, the way he hesitated, like he was waiting for you to take it all back. Like he was still unsure whether the way he was was enough for you.

“I know you use a women’s deodorant just because you love the smell,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “And I know you put SPF on your face every morning, then secretly reapply it every few hours, thinking I don’t notice.” A small smile played on your lips. “I see you spending hours in the kitchen, making sure everything is perfect, just to do something nice for us. You try to hide those things, like they don’t fit into some idea of what a man is supposed to be.”

You leaned in, pressing your cheek against his chest. “But Matty, I love those things about you. I love that you care, that you pay attention, that you take care of yourself—and us. That’s not something to hide. That’s not less masculine.” Your voice softened, becoming a gentle reassurance. “That’s what makes you, you. And that’s exactly who I want.”

His arms circled your waist, but there was still a hint of hesitation in his touch. “Yeah, but… what if you wake up one day and realize you’d rather be with someone who can actually build you a bookshelf, instead of paying someone else to do it?”

You laughed softly, standing on your toes to plant a kiss on his cheek. “Baby, I’m not looking for a guy who can build a bookshelf—I need someone to build a life with me. And, ideally, someone who knows the difference between La Mer and drugstore moisturizer. Because if I ever get pregnant and can’t use retinol, at least one of us needs to keep my skincare game strong.”

He huffed out a laugh, pulling you closer. “You really don’t want me to start chopping wood in the backyard?”

You grinned, dragging your fingers through his hair. “I mean, you could, just for fun. But let’s be real—you’d spend more time making sure your flannel matched your beanie than actually chopping.”

“Wow.” He pulled back just enough to raise an eyebrow at you. “You’re really coming for me right now.”

“I’m just saying,” you teased, pressing a quick kiss to his lips, “I love you exactly the way you are. No flannel required.”

He exhaled, something in his expression softening. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you whispered, pulling him down for another soft kiss. “But for the record, if you ever do grow a full blown beard, I reserve the right to call you Lumberjack Papi.”

Auston groaned. “Oh my God, I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” You smiled mischievously.

He shook his head with a playful grin before crashing his lips against yours, deeper this time, his hands sliding to your waist as he pulled you even closer. The kiss became more urgent, more desperate, as the world around you seemed to blur. The pasta sat forgotten on the counter, the only thing that mattered was the heat between you.

–

Later that night, you both found yourselves tangled in the sheets, his head resting against your chest, the warmth of his body pressing into yours like he belonged there. His slow, steady breathing was like a soft rhythm, a lullaby that pulled you into a calm, peaceful quiet. His arm was draped over you, fingers lightly curling into the fabric of your shirt, as if trying to keep you close. You lovingly ran your fingers through his hair, the soft curls brushing against your fingertips as his breath warmed your skin.

His golden tan glowed faintly under the dim light, the perfect contrast to the dark mess of his hair, and every now and then, the faintest shadow of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. You felt his chest rise and fall with each breath, the steady beat of his heart a comforting presence against yours. His mustache—still that goofy, charming thing—brushed against your skin as he shifted slightly, mumbling something you couldn’t quite make out.

"You look so peaceful when you sleep," you murmured softly, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his head, feeling his warmth sink deeper into you.

Auston hummed, a soft, contented noise that sounded like a mix between a sigh and a half-chuckle. His grip on you tightened just a little, pulling you in closer as his sleepy eyes flickered open, barely adjusting to the dark. His gaze was hazy, unfocused, the deep brown of his eyes soft and distant, as if he was still caught in the in-between of sleep and wakefulness.

"'S’cause of you," he mumbled in that thick, sleepy voice of his, barely more than a whisper. "Always you. Don’ ever wanna let you go, babe."

Your heart skipped a beat, a gentle ache blossoming in your chest. It wasn’t even intentional, the way he said it—his words muffled by sleep, heavy with the warmth of his affection, like a confession he didn’t even realize he was sharing.

"You’re not even awake right now," you teased gently, your fingers grazing over his jawline.

He huffed a little, a sleepy laugh escaping him, and his arms tightened around you instinctively, pulling you closer, like he wanted to make sure you were right there. His face nuzzled into your chest, his nose brushing against your skin, and he sighed deeply, like the world could melt away as long as he stayed wrapped up in you.

As you lay there, his warmth surrounding you, everything else felt so distant. There were no worries, no doubts—just the steady beat of his heart against yours. He was exactly what you needed—his quiet strength, the little ways he cared for you, the way he made you feel safe even in the simplest moments. It was those small, real things that mattered most.

In his arms, there was no pressure to be anything other than what you were. Just him—Auston. The guy who could make you laugh, who made you feel seen and heard, and most importantly, who made you feel loved.

And as you drifted off to sleep, tangled in him, you just knew. He was yours. Forever.

#auston matthews #auston matthews fic #auston matthews imagine #auston matthews x reader #auston matthews x fem!reader #toronto maple leafs fic #toronto maple leafs imagine #toronto maple leafs x reader #nhl fic #nhl fanfic #nhl imagine #nhl fanfiction #am34 #auston matthews x you

118 notes · View notes

uniasus · 20 hours ago

Text

The sputter of a coffee pot let Danny know he'd failed in his plan to slip out of the apartment before its owner woke.

He kept his eyes closed as the rest of his body woke up. He was sore, and a shift on the couch let him know it'd take longer to heal from the newest GIW weaponry. The sharpnel cuts on his cheeks felt healed though, and in his pocket he could feel the three marble-sized ghost cores humming softly.

He'd gotten out of the GIW facility. He'd rescued some of their other captives. And the dark apartment he'd broken into had been surprisingly well stocked in terms of medical supplies and even more surprisingly unempty.

He should have known it wasn't though; he felt the liminality of the guy, whose muttering Danny barely heard over the click click click of a stove turning, from across the room. He must have been pretty out of it last night.

Danny opened his eyes. The front door was feet away. If the guy was distracted with breakfast, Danny could slip out. Open the door, or waste a bit of ecto to sleep through the floor. Except from his position he saw the bloody towels on the bathroom floor.

It'd be polite to clean up his mess. It'd be smart to burn any traces of his DNA.

With a groan, Danny pushed himself up. Yup, that blast to his side was a motherfucker. It'd partially healed, but he was not looking forward to wandering around Gotham looking for a way out of the city.

"Don't move," the guy called out.

Danny got more comfortable on the couch, slowly moving to lay against the arm rest. By the time he'd settled, the guy sat on the coffee table, holding a fried egg on toast and a mug of coffee.

Danny eyed them, ravished.

"You want these, you gotta give me a name," the guy said. "I thought you were one of my brothers last night, but you're obviously not."

"Your brothers get in a lot of fights?"

"Whole family does."

Danny nodded. The Fentron weren't much different, if you considered ghost hunting ghost fighting.

"Danny," he offered.

He got the coffee, but the man withheld the egg. "Got a last name?"

"... Nightingale."

The guy didn't believe him, but handed over breakfast. Danny ate the fried egg in three whole bites. When was the last time he had a meal?

"I'm Jason Todd," the apartment owner said, sipping his coffee. "If you tell me who shot you, I'll make you two more of those."

Danny clutched the coffee. He'd prefer more sugar, but if black coffee was what he got, that'd be what he drunk.

"You wouldn't believe me."

"This is Gotham. We have a lot of weird shit."

"I don't want to put you in danger."

"Again, this is Gotham. You never know when you'll be caught in a rogue attack."

Danny looked at him. Jason looked like a fighter. Not just his broad shoulders and defined arms, but the seriousness in his eyes. The sure tone of his voice.

The very well-stocked first aid kit, and the pretty high-quality care considering he'd been half asleep last night.

Danny slipped a hand to his pocket, to the ghost cores he'd rescued. He had more to save. He didn't think he could do it alone.

But he didn't want to put a liminal on the GIW's radar.

"I'll clean your bathroom instead."

Jason sighed, pushing himself to his feet. He reached toward Danny, who flinched, but the older man simply ruffled his hair.

"You're wincing, you're staying on that couch all day. And if you don't want to tell me, I won't press. Just like I'm not going to ignore a starving kid. Two eggs enough?"

Danny curled into his coffee mug. "Can I have sugar in my coffee too?"

"Sure thing, Danny."

Muscle Memory (DpxDc)

Jason barely remembered getting back to his safe house or even finding his way to bed. The night had been so tiring, so busy, and so many parts of his body hurt.

The moment his head hit the pillow, he was out like a light. Drifting off into dreamland for some much need sleep.

That was until a noise stirred him up from his sleep. It was a soft creak of one of his many loose floorboards.

It was in a flash that Jason was up, eyes still heavy with sleep, and a gun held to his thigh as he exited his bedroom. The soft light coming from his bathroom was the first hint.

When he pushed open the bathroom door, the sight before him had him holstering his weapon. Black hair, blue eyes, and blood. That's all Jason needed to see.

Jason would swear he wasn't still half asleep, that he knew this wasn't one of his brothers. In reality, still sluggish from a hard night and sleep deprivation, Jasin's brain had automatically assumed it was one of his baby brothers.

As he immediately settled into patching up the wounds, holding back questions for now. It wouldn't be the first time one of them came to him for aid when they didn't want Bruce to know they were hurt yet.

It was pure muscle memory as Jason worked. Yes, he didn't like the injuries, reminding himself to ask which rogue did this in the morning.

Now wasn't the time for an interrogation. Not with the barely concealed tears in those eyes, or the dark bags that decorated beneath them.

He barely grumbled for the teen to take the couch, reminding that there were extra blankets in the hallway closet. Dropping a few pills into the boy's hand to help with the pain he was surely in.

Jason left the mess in the bathroom, leaving it a problem for more awake him. He waved the boy off when he tried to speak, telling him they'll talk in the morning.

In the end, Jason was glad to finally face plant back into his bed. Barely bothering to curl up under the covers before sleep took over once again.

When morning came, Jason almost forgot about letting one of his brother's crash in his place. Stumbling out of his bedroom to immediately notice the lump on his couch.

He put a pot of coffee on, grabbing his phone, ready to let Bruce know that whoever came to him last night was safe and sound.

Except, when Jason moved over to confirm who it was, he finally noticed. This wasn't one of his brothers. And last he heard, Bruce hadn't taken in any new strays.

Jason stood over the sleeping boy, phone in one hand, and mind figuring out what to do. His mind replaying the half-asleep memories from last night.

It made sense, now that he thought about it. The boy had seemed so scared, so surprised that Jason was helping. The boy hadn't done anything either by the looks of it.

He didn't seem to have taken anything or even snooped. The boy seemed to have just crashed on the couch like Jason had told him to. He didn't come here to rob him or cause trouble. The kid had broken into his safe house only to raid his first aid kit.

The kid had broken into his safe house only to raid his first aid kit.

Well, Jason wasn't about to put Alfred's teachings to shame by being a horrible host either.

#dp x dc #danny fenton #jason todd #jason has a strong desire to help #but he cannot do that if Danny won't tell him how #so food it is #he will feed Danny sooo much

1K notes · View notes

that-weird-thing-in-the-woods · 1 day ago

Text

~{Heyyy, So I got this wonderful idea from @villainmirabelmadriga but it’s not letting me add on to it so I’m just making this!}~

•Protecter•

The JL have a new…problem?

There has been a new pattern when it comes to young vigilantes and young solo heroes where they will disappear for a couple months before showing back up with a power up if they have powers or stronger weapons and technology if they don’t as well as a necklace that they all wear after showing back up.

The JL have located how they get to wherever they are when not fighting but it seems to have something on it to keep everyone out but those who have the necklace or being brought in by someone with a necklace, The JL have tried to take a necklace from a young villain but it burned the one who took it so that plan was a bust.

Martian Manhunter tried to transform into one of the young vigilantes and go in back it sent him flying back if he hadn’t caught himself he would have been thrown more than 20 feet back.

These were the first two plans but the JL have tried many more but all where unsuccessful so they are on their last plan.

They will send YJL with Robin and Nightwing to infiltrate them by acting as a new vigilante group that needs help and a place to stay.

Hope this works.

-•—••••••••••••••••—•-

•Background•

Danny was the Ancient of Protection.

So when he came to this world to see if this was a good place to stay for a bit and saw the young Vigilantes and solo heroes, he was reminded of him when he was still a halfa and fighting with the other ghost and G.I.W and that kick starts his protective instincts (As both a ghost parent and the Ancient as Protection).

So he goes to find a good place to set up a gateway to his lair so he can protect and help the kids and that’s when he meets an old woman.

Her name is Lazaire, she seems to be in her 70 or 80 but Danny doesn’t want to ask and she even sees Danny when he when invisible so Danny of course asks how she can and she explains that when she was a young girl she died for 5 minutes before being brought back since then she has always been able to see and interact with ghost so that’s why then she asks why a Ancient like Danny is on this world.

And Danny explains why he’s here then Lazaire offers up the old church that she has been taking care of for the past 4 decades and Danny agrees.

And that’s how we got here!

-•—••••••••••••••••—•-

•Little Facts•

•The portal to Danny’s lair is in a dark cave also the gems in the necklaces are the keys into it

•Some of the people in the Lair will style the gems in different ways like in ear rings, anklet, bracelets, hair pin, pin

•Danny is the Ancient of Protection and the Life cycle, Dani is the Ancient Of Freedom and Chaos, Dan is the Ancient Of Beauty and Destruction

•Danny’s human half died hundreds of years ago so he’s a full ghost now

•Dan and Dani are his children and they call him “Mother” by Dan and “Mama” by Dani

•Priestess Lazaire is the one to take in the nuns who are in dangerous situations and of course with Danny being the Ancient of Protection he’s more than ok with it [and sends Dan, Dani to go beat the shit out of the abusers or send to Fright Night]

•All of the Nuns kinda think of Danny as a mother/Father as he treats them like he treats Dan and Dani

•Dani is the best (besides Danny because that’s mom) with the kids while Dan doesn’t know how to interact with little kids to he mostly leaves them alone but that just makes the older kids love to hang out with (more like follow him around while he does what he wants or naps)

•Lazaire is like the church’s Alfred but with Bruce’s adoption addiction

•Danny is super chill after living for hundreds of years you kinda get this unnatural chill that is always there

•Just wait until Dan and Dick met lol (Dick is going to SIMP so hard)

•On the outside the Church looks rundown and the trees around it are mostly dead but inside the Lair the Church looks new and beautiful and the forest and gardens and perfect (It’s Dan made it like this, Danny just wants to make the kids safe and comfortable while Dani wants them to have fun and be free while Dan makes it pretty lol)

•Danny has a room where he threads tapestries that the nuns like to hang up [He make them like Penelope from Epic or old Greek stories:) ]

•Dan and Dani joined Danny in his Lair after the first few kids as they missed their mom

-•—••••••••••••••••—•-

•Appearances•

Danny

[Instead of blue it’s black and it’s a lot fancier but I could find one that looked the way I wanted :( ]

Dani

[^ This one is for when she’s fighting and ^this one is for when she’s doing literally anything else than fighting]

Dan

Nuns

[They wear long cloaks when outside of the church but they mostly wear the second one as it was given to them by Ellie and makes it easier for them to do chores and cook so they like it]

Priestess Lazaire

[Instead of purple it’s green and black]

~{And that’s it,Sorry if the story stuff is a bit short and choppy the post didn’t save and I had to redo it lol anyway I hope you gremlins liked it byeeeee}~

117 notes · View notes

chokkzou · 2 days ago

Text

PART. 1 ! the bllk boys discovering that they are your cute submissives (?

characters: isagi, reo, nagi, bachira, hiori, ness and kaiser.

tw?: top! male reader x sub! bllk. i speak spanish so sorry if there is any mistake or idk

link to part two !

⊹ ۪ ࣪ ꒰ Yoichi Isagi has always been someone who thrives on recognition and validation. He lives for those moments when his skills are acknowledged, when he feels like he’s making a difference, when someone tells him that he’s doing great. But it wasn’t until you came into the picture that he realized just how much your words affected him.

At first, he thought it was normal—after all, he liked being praised, right? But then you started doing it in ways that left him completely off guard. A simple "good job, yoichi," said in a low, smooth tone after a match, your fingers barely brushing his sweat-dampened hair? That had him completely losing focus for the next few minutes.

And you noticed. It didn’t take you long to realize that whenever you praised him directly, with intensity in your voice, isagi would react in the most adorably helpless way. His lips would part slightly, his eyes would flicker with something unspoken, and sometimes—if you were close enough—you could hear the way his breath hitched for just a second.

One day, you decided to take it a step further. After watching him score a goal, you pulled him aside, leaned in close, and murmured, "You looked so good out there." His face turned completely red. His hands clenched into fists, his body stiffened, and he stammered something incoherent before looking away, desperately trying to regain his composure.

That’s when you knew. Compliments were his kryptonite. And if you ever wanted to see him break, all you had to do was whisper something sweet with a bit too much confidence.

⊹ ۪ ࣪ ꒰ Reo Mikage is used to taking the lead. He’s confident, he knows what he wants, and he’s never had a problem going after it. But for some reason, when it’s you taking control, he absolutely melts.

It started with small things—placing your hand on the small of his back to guide him through a crowded space, casually hooking a finger under his chin to tilt his head up, pulling him by the wrist with just enough force to make it clear that you were in charge.

At first, he brushed it off, laughing it away like it was nothing. But you saw the way his breath faltered each time, the way his fingers twitched slightly, the way he swallowed a little too hard when you did it without warning.

The moment you realized how much he loved it? You had casually placed your hands on his hips to move him aside while saying, "let me through, reo." He froze.

It was barely a second, but you saw the way his pupils dilated slightly, the way his lips parted as if he was about to say something but completely forgot how to speak. And when he finally stepped aside, he did it almost robotically, like his brain was still catching up with what just happened.

After that, you made sure to test the limits—pulling him into you when he wasn’t expecting it, whispering "stay still" in his ear just to see if he could obey. Spoiler alert: he couldn’t.

⊹ ۪ ࣪ ꒰ Seishiro Nagi doesn’t care about a lot of things. He’s lazy, indifferent, and rarely puts effort into anything unless it’s truly worth his time. But for some reason, he cares so much when it comes to you.

It started out simple—he began noticing the small things you did for him. You’d grab his water bottle before he even asked, adjust his hoodie when it slid off his shoulder, remind him to eat when he got too distracted with his phone. And each time you did something for him, he’d just… stare.

Not in a creepy way. More like in complete awe.

One day, when you casually handed him a towel after practice, he took it but didn’t move. He just blinked at you, gripping the fabric a little too tightly, before mumbling, "…you’re spoiling me."

But he didn’t stop you.

And you noticed something else— nagi never initiated much, but when you did, he followed effortlessly. If you tugged on his sleeve, he’d move. If you tilted his chin up, he wouldn’t resist. If you told him to do something in that smooth, confident voice of yours, he’d do it without even thinking.

So, naturally, you started pushing the boundaries.

One evening, as he lazily lay on the couch, you ran your fingers through his hair and said, "sit up."

And without hesitation, without question, he did.

That’s when you knew— nagi wasn’t just being spoiled. He was waiting to be led.

#sub bllk #sub blue lock #blue lock x male reader #bllk #blue lock #top male reader #male reader

104 notes · View notes

thefandombringer · 1 day ago

Text

Season 3 Milkvan is not nearly as cute as I remembered it being 4 years ago

So I’m rewatching s3 for the first time in a hot minute because I remembered that being the most milkvan heavy season but what I’ve realized in this rewatch is that there is not a single scene between Mike and El where Mike does not have to put up some sort of facade. We see a lot of Mike’s genuine character in the first two seasons, especially when he is happy (playing D&D with the party, spending time with his friends and Will) so we as an audience can tell that all the times where Mike appears happy in season 3—especially in scenes with El—are NOT Mike’s genuine personality.

Im not sure quite how to explain it, but the main scenes that come to mind are the opening scene with them making out in El’s bedroom, Mike’s phone call to El when he lies about his Nana, and the scene in the pool with that human dummy thing. Two of these are scenes where Mike is supposedly happy and joking around with El, but they have a very superficial vibe to them—which will be the first . I’m pretty sure that anyone can clock those moments if they watch those on their own but, as someone that does a lot of acting, mannerism and vocal inflection shifts are key when playing different characters. The way Mike holds himself and delivers his lines do not feel like the same Mike that we grew to know and love in the earlier seasons and, since Finn is obviously not a terrible actor (he is, in fact, quite a good actor), we as the audience are meant to realize that Mike is not being his true self or, in other words, playing another character. He can’t be his genuine self around El (which is also demonstrated very very clearly in season 4 but this shows that these issues did not come out of nowhere), which heavily contrasts the other significant relationships in the show, especially throughout season 3 (Jancy, Jopper, Lumax) who are their authentic selves with each other and are able to bicker and match each other’s energies while still very clearly loving each other. Milkvan is not like them, and not in a good way.

The second portion of this (and why I mentioned the phone call scene) is the fact that Mike talks to her like he has to dumb himself down/like she is much younger and unable to understand how he would talk to her normally. I really don’t has a way to describe this other than just recommending that you watch those scenes again to see what I mean. It’s obvious that he cares about her and really does enjoy talking to her, but in a way that I would talk to my younger siblings/cousins. Is this how a healthy relationship should seem? I certainly hope not. This is doubled by the fact where in that one interview (I have no idea where to find it so if someone has it please link it!!) Finn says that when he first met El, it was like taking in an alien like in ET. Again, not very romantic. It is also explicitly shown that this is not how everyone talks to El, so it’s not like she can’t understand the standard level of conversation. Such a big emphasis on El and Max’s friendship and the fact that Max treats El as an equal and helps her find her own personality instead of babying El and keeping her sheltered and controlled. She can be treated like a regular person and is so much better for it. She’s not you pet, Michael.

Notice how both of these major problems are never found between Mike and Will. All of their conversations and interactions within the show are 100% genuine and authentic and never feel superficial or forced. Their relationship is also taken much more seriously throughout the whole show when contrasted to Milkvan, but that’s a whole separate post. Mike and Will’s fights are serious and real, while Mike and El’s (with the exception of the “From Mike” fight, which is pretty telling) are comedic and surface level and played for laughs.

BYLER ENDGAME BYLER ENDGAME

#Byler #Byler endgame #Byler analysis #anti mileven #anti milkvan #mike wheeler #el hopper #will byers

54 notes · View notes

theelf-online · 15 hours ago

Text

Hello I’m taking this as approval to infodump my entire piglin lore onto you and you can’t avoid it. This will be all over the place and also below a cut. because it gets LONG

Anyways Piglins have a non-monogamous culture but not really in a traditional sense. They have many different relationship types/types of love that are all seen as equally valued. Many of these types are ones that by human standards carry an implication of power dynamic, but for piglins the point is that they're an equal exchange. Some of these are a relationship like that between a mentor and a student (think about how a student learns from the mentor, but mentors also learn via teaching their students) or a caregiver and their ward, but there are others that are between two piglins who are "total equals", between rivals/competitors, and one that's more like friends with benefits. And all these relationships are not inherently romantic. They can be any combination of romantic, platonic or sexual. For example one couple might be platonic and sexual, another purely romantic but not sexual, etc. etc. All of them are held on the same standard of "serious relationship" regardless of the details. And also more familial dynamics that are like "basically siblings" and other similar 'found family'-esque relationships because biological family isn't really a thing (more in depth explanation later). There's also no strict male/female requirements (gender/sex stuff described more below) so homophobia just really isnt a thing. Some piglins also only want to have one partner per relationship/love type which is closer to the piglin equivalent of monogamy but that is very much a personal preference, and many piglins don't mind having overlapping dynamics between partners, and some only have relationships of one type. There are also rare piglins who are entirely monogamous and only hold one partner, but it's not the norm and they might get teased by friends about it. (My friend likes to insult me and compare this section to homestuck quadrants or uh... leprechaun relationships? I don't know homestuck /lh)

There are gender roles within piglin society but their sexual organs do not correlate to gender. They are sort of are what they are. There are many piglins who might be considered trans by human standards who wouldn't see themselves as trans because their physical features never changed or defined their identity. There's also a third gender beyond "male"/"female" which has a more spiritual role similar to that in many native cultures. Because of this, its very normal for "male" piglins to also give birth. As far as children go, everyone takes care of kids and parents aren't really responsible for their kids, and its common not to know who exactly their birthing parents are, but for those who do know its not really a big deal. There are some piglins who take on more of a care giving role as a sort of job but they are not exclusively responsible for the young piglets.

Their society is very barter based, and the reason gold is so highly valued is because it's easy to work with due to the softness of the metal, especially due to the heat of the nether. The societal "love language" is gift giving and creating things for others (usually out of gold). The way they "mark" their partners is by creating things for them to wear. For example one piglin might create an earring for their romantic partner to wear, signifying their committed relationship. Should the other person intentionally take off the earring (outside of regular maintenance, hygiene, etc. reasons) it would be seen as a sign that they no longer consider the person their partner. And because of the polyamorous nature of piglin society, many piglins are decked out in golden jewelry from their partners and friends. Different gifts also mean different things, but that is a very social based thing, and between two groups of piglins, the same object could have very different meanings.

Piglins also have weird biology. Piglin "brutes" can easily reach 9 feet tall, with normal piglins hovering around 7-8 feet regardless of sex, although there is natural variation with some piglins just naturally being shorter or taller. Piglin "brutes" are a combination of a job role and a genetic variation. They have traits that make them perfect to be the role of 'brute' (who actually are guardians and protectors of their groups, and often hunters as well being highly respected), but just because someone is born with those variations doesn't mean they'll automatically choose that path in life (but many are pushed by societies standards into that role anyways) and piglins without those natural variations often become "brutes" job-wise. However most players can't tell the difference between the two and so it's mistaken that all Piglin Brutes are variation piglins. All piglins are naturally adept for the heat, and raising their internal body temperature will basically never kill them, unless they're literally on fire. Also because of the heat of the nether, there isn't much bacteria or viruses because they're basically just killed off. Because of this, Piglin immune systems are not equipped to handle them at all, and if they got infected by something like a cold they'd basically just straight up die. Instead their immune systems are built to help fend off fungal infections which are a common risk in the nether. They also don't sweat (no need to bother regulating internal temperature and also water is a precious resource)

Piglins are also in tune with the natural day-night cycle of the nether. The player, being from the overworld, just never can tune into it because it's unnatural to them. Players also don't understand how to get water in the nether (also don't place the water anywhere like an idiot. Netherack is a porous volcanic rock, of course it's just going to go into the holes in the rocks and just evaporate from there). It is possible, but a closely guarded secret by the piglins. The air in the nether is actually incredibly humid, that's what allows the mushrooms to grow in such quantities. All the water in the nether is present in the air, unlike in the overworld where it's mostly in the ground/in rivers and oceans. Piglins have devised a way to make 'cooling rooms' deep underground where water is condensed using cooled sheets of metal. The water that piglins need to survive however is usually just acquired through food. Mushrooms act similar to cacti in actual deserts, often holding a lot of water inside them, and the water that's naturally in the hoglins they eat as well. (They don't require that much water to survive, but they do still need it.) The collected water they do have is seen as a precious resource and is treated in a spiritual manner. Water bathing is done, but again it's a deeply spiritual and ceremonial act, reserved for before unification's, children surviving past a certain point, etc. and normal hygiene is usually done with dust baths (similar to chinchillas). Pure water also isn't drunk much, and is usually made into teas to get rid of the minerally/rock taste that all water ends up with. Tea is usually made with vines, sprouts and roots, and occasionally shroomlights depending on where they live. Shroomlights can be squeezed/crushed to get a sap/nectar-like liquid out of them that could be added to water, so not really tea like the others but close enough. Netherwart was also used, but typically more as a medicinal thing than just for recreation.

Piglins also don't just grunt, they have a complex language system but it's entirely tonal with very few actual vocalized sounds which is why most players just hear it all as grunting (even though there are sounds outside of grunts used). Different groups also have differences in slang and exact tones leading to many different "accents" that sometimes border on being a whole different language. Like someone with a really really heavy Scottish accent and someone with a heavy New York accent might both be speaking English, but that New York accent person will probably have a really hard time understanding the person with a Scottish accent.

These are what I can remember off the top of my head but I'm pretty sure there's more and I'll answer questions if anyone has any. Anyways Peace.

Can we like- start a movement for Piglin rights or some shit

With how much mojang is trying to demonize piglins I really feel like we need to have them unionize.

Start headcannoning random characters as piglins. Make long and educational posts about their lore. Spite the living shit out of what the Minecraft Movie and Minecraft Legends is trying to pull.

#minecraft #mineblr #reblog comment #piglin #minecraft lore

470 notes · View notes

mr-nauseam · 2 days ago

Text

I decided that I will do that post I promised abt Gaul and the mommy issues but before going there, we have to take care of ONE THING, that I think will be clear with certain female characters that I select, so today at nobody request I bring:

How much Coriolanus hates women. The academy girls issue.

The chosen ones were Arachne, Livia, Clemensia, Lysistrata and Persephone. Let's start with the tricky ones. Arachne and Livia, or rather those who alter the order.

I don't think we would describe Arachne as tomboyish, but I think it's not so risky to say she is in the eyes of Coriolanus, because she's loud, vulgar and even childish, everything a girl shouldn't be, and of course Snow is a sourpuss who criticizes everyone in his head but there is something particular about what bothers him about Arachne when you consider someone similar to her, he calls his best friend: Festus. Festus and Arachne are not two peas in a pod, no no, but it is worth remarking how what Coriolanus finds so unpleasant and irritable about Arachne (enough to laugh at her funeral), he does not find so intolerable if a boy does it.

This is not the strongest argument of this conversation, however, it is the one with which we will open a fact that constantly manifests itself whenever Coriolanus interacts with a female character: expectations of behavior based on their gender.

Which lead us to Livia.

As I said Livia breaks the rules, or rather she breaks the expectations of Coriolanus, because she doesn't behave as a girl should. And I don't made up this, Snow himself says it when he directly compares Livia and Clemensia in the book. His good friend Clemmie received the announcement of her tribute with grace, with delicacy and good taste, because Clemensia does know how to behave unlike Livia, who expressed her excitement at receiving the D1 boy so ungracefully, so improperly. The problem is not that she was excited about her tribute, I mean Coriolanus himself was excited to receive his own tribute before the disaster of being assiganted the D12 girl.

For him is not a problem that a tribute is a child doomed to die, the problem is that Livia does not behave properly. It's why he holds a grudge towards her, this genuine hate not born only from her making fun of him for being an orphan, nah nah, the thing is that Livia Cardew was one of the few or the only female character in the academy who confronted Coriolanus before the events of TBOSAS, and continues to do so throughout her brief but significant appearances in the story.

Don't matter how funny I found the hc about Snow being a friendless weirdo, the truth is that in the text Coriolanus is overwhelmingly popular in the academy, especially he seems to have a very good reputation with his female classmates, really with most of them except for Livia.

The same one who told him he was ridiculous, the same one who told him he was too arrogant, she critic him and while Livia doesn't seem to be as loud as Arachne yet she never shut up about what bothered her, she's always saying what she didn't liked and demanding a proper treatment from the others.

Livia then it's everything Coriolanus hates in a girl.

Clarification.

Arachne and Livia are a good example of duality, because I think both narratively suffer by the misogyny of Coriolanus, (like what the fuck was his twisted pleasure to see Livia CRY AND SCARED and although he feels uncomfortable by the dehumanization of Crane during the funeral he also said how much he wanted to kill her again) that does not take away that they are two extremely bigotred girls, that in the text they exercised their power as citizens of the Capitol to violate two people of the district that in the social hierarchy are below them, even if they did it from very different places (honestly Arachne was so desensitized to hunger and poverty that she could never imagine the consequences of her actions, she did not see cruelty in them, unlike Livia who knew well what she was saying and wanted to provoke - hurt Sejanus with all means, etc.)

These two aspects CAN COEXIST! But coming back to the argument. It pop up the question, doesn't it? If Livia and Arachne are the undesirable girls, who do not know how to fulfill their role as women. Who is a good example then of a good woman in the head of Coriolanus? The answer is simple however before we talk about Clemensia I will quickly divert to Lysistrata.

Because Lyssie is a girl that Coriolanus seems to like very much, he likes how impeccable, reserved, and controlled she behaves. That's what he respects about her above anything else. Again we know this because in another line Snow himself informs us about it: when his grandmother says that the Vickers were trying to get attention, because they always liked to do that, Coriolanus couldn't find himself disagreeing more with such statment, because Lyssie at least he can remember after years of attending school together was never the type of girl who wanted to get attention in an incessant way, she wasn't like Arachne you know? Lyssie was good! She was exemplary in fact, and he feel really happy and comfortable to deal with her during the games most of the time instead of other annoying classmate.

Now, you can correct me if I'm wrong, but Coriolanus doesn't seem to highlight Lysistrata's looks, he never calls her ugly or anything like that, he just doesn't seem to say anything about whether she's pretty or not. This is curious because that's something he does with Clemensia, and that's why I think I dare to define her, as his ideal Capitol girl (remarkable to say, our girl has brown skin in the text).

There is a lot that could be said about Clemensia: Snow definitely considers her attractive, he likes her a lot, and I think we can agree that they seem to be closer, they trust each other, enough for Clemensia to sometimes protest against some of Coriolanus' actions but its okay, because she "ends up giving" in his favour, at least this happened with the report they should in theory deliver to Gaul.

Clemensia did not approve that Coriolanus wrote it when Arachne had died hours ago but she followed the lie, however I want to focus on an aspect that upsets the relationship between them. An aspect that is intimately related to behavior and expectations, and that is that Coriolanus, seems to feel lost, confused, even hurt when Clemensia so perfect, suddenly loses control, showing intense emotions, specifically anger, breaking the paradigm.

I mean, they both had a point for their actions, it's not every day that people go around throwing poisonous snakes at your friends, and Coriolanus at least in the book by that point had already shown the reader how poorly he handles stress, how easily he panics, so him feeling lost when Clemensia shows up screaming at the Hospital, is understandable, even later when she returns at the academy so suddenly but that doesn't take away from the fact that he was too self-absorbed during all the situation, only worrie of his self-preservation, that again made sense, still Clemensia hoped more from Coriolanus, because she was his friend.

She suffer a very tragic event and he can't even see the cruelty of his own acts, that he didn't try to made amends with her by being honest, give Clemensia the right to be angry with that fool. Anyway it is good to point out how exaggerated Coriolanus react about Clemensia's attitude, like she suffered a traumatic event, so yes she is acting intense and unusual in many aspects but overall she is just annoyed with him. And it takes him too long to come up with the solution to the problem: apologize. Instead he spent the previous days whining about how much Clemensia changed, how she was almost a new person.

However, she wasn't a new Clemensia, she was just Clemensia but angry this time (along other strong emotions.) This feeling seems to cause Coriolanus to feel so disturbed by the "sudden" change in behaviour from his ideal girl. That Clemensia expressed her anger, expressed herself made him deeply uncomfortable, even though her reactions are normal, too typical for the extreme circumstances she goes through (but this doesn't justified her actions with Reaper at all. Starve someone on purpose is not the way to deal with trauma.)

I emphasize her anger, because later when they patch things up, while Clem admits that maybe she was being exaggerated and blaming him for something unfair truth be told, I think the two of them making peace didn't happen just because Clemensia had some sort of catharsis of her own, but because Coriolanus put on his pants and acted like a decent friend for once. He helped her contain her panic, approached her to explain his reasons, acknowledged that he could have done more and apologized for his mistakes.

That was the magic key to get everything back to normal between the two of them. And it add to the list of Coriolanus being an asshole, who gets scared and paralyzed easily when a girl is a little messy. A little outside the box.

And you know what girl fits the sexist ideal of Coriolanus but he feels a great rejection towards her because the poor girl has gone a little bit out of the expectations? That's right, let's talk about Persephone Price.

I wanted to leave her last because I think she is the most useful for later when I talk about Gaul, because Persephone would fall into the category of good, well behaved girls in Coriolanus' head. He makes it clear that he finds her attractive, the little we see of her personality around Coriolanus by showing her concern for him and kindness, proof how she's apparently not a rebel.

In another life Persephone would be a girl Coriolanus would have loved to have by his side but TBOSAS is not that life. It is the life in which Coriolanus admits to us that he was frightened of the cannibal girl.

Objectively for Coriolanus to feel that way (disgust, discomfort, terror) about his classmate after learning that she probably committed cannibalism shouldn't surprise us, but I think considering everything that has been said we see where we are going don't we?

One part of his conflicted feelings come from obviously cannibalism and much of what it can entail, but in this case, the discomfort it is because the cannibalism in Persephone is almost a complete destruction of what a woman should be by a person who is still undeniably a woman.

Doesn't it remind you of little Coriolanus seeing Gaul an older woman with a smile, asking if they didn't have any pets they want to get rid of? With her laser.

Just want finish saying that is relevant consider I talk about Capitol female characters. The issue of his misogyny get WORST when it come other factors about female characters that aren't Capitol and clearly belong to a different ethnic group than his (Lucy Gray Baird, Ma Plinth).

#arachne crane #livia cardew #lysistrata vickers #clemensia dovecote #persephone price #tbosas mentors #coriolanus snow #tbosas #tbosas book #ballad of toxic yaoi

64 notes · View notes

nimbus2224 · 2 days ago

Text

youtube

Breaking my radio silence to hurl this fantastic animation (imho) to the Tumblr masses so it can get the love it deserves. :D My reaction (TLDR I can't stop singing its praises): +Beautiful animation and visuals. Love the intentionality and realism to the set pieces (machinery gets used for cover). I loved how the weapons had heft, the droids felt mechanical and brutal, the clones were simultaneously vulnerable and incredible. They felt like real soldiers with real fears and the drive to protect each other. +Cody gets to use his jetpack and rifle. It's about time! +I think my favorite moment from the short is the sunlight coming through the larty door and Cody's demeanor changing from brooding to thoughtful and present, before he looks at his men with pride. That scene just oozes everything good about Cody: Seeing the good moments and appreciating them, living for them. Appreciating and being there for his brothers, what they've accomplished together and who they are as individuals. And there are numerous moments throughout the short of his men showing their individual drive and flair, putting those skills to use. +The fight gets a bit desperate and I'm not entirely certain of the story behind it (Cody kinda fights a bit recklessly, though it surprises the droids and pays off in the end). I feel like they were sent there to investigate a dilapidated and 'abandoned' droid depot, and obviously it was a trap set up by Grevious. I'm a bit anxious as to knowing how they'll get out of there alive but I also remember well the one episode in CW where like three or four 212th boys pile on top of Grevious after the Droid General spider walks at them, no less. +I loved the little nods to the Gendy Tarkovsky Clone Wars animated series. The Squad Seven-esque entrance, the Grevious jumpscare, the dilapidated droid depot. I also felt like this was a parallel to Astartes, which I adore also (it got me into Warhammer 40k lore). :) +There was a lot of thought and care put into the character models. I love how realistic they are. Things like seeing the weathering on Cody's face, the grubbiness of the 212th's armor, the way the light hit the different materials --- it really told a sub-story about where the war is at and what these characters have been through up until this point. +Camera angles were great. They elevated the scenes into something akin to Andor or other thoughtfully shot shows or movies. The angles all had a purpose --- from establishing the staging area to giving Cody's charge at the droids extra momentum and scope (watching those B2 bolts whip after him had me on the edge of my seat). I appreciate the skill and awareness of Hoplite for not just creating these shots but using them masterfully to create pacing and feeling.

+ The music felt gritty and very Doom-esque. I think it's fitting in the sense that many might find the 212th's effectiveness and badassery a surprise. If there is any doubt of these two things being true of the 212th, the music puts that to rest. >:D Rip and tear until it is done! XD I also listened to "Tenet - Trucks in place," "Darktide - The Immortal Imperium," "Darktide - Disposal Unit (Imperium Mix)," and more just for a different vibe while rewatching this short.

#commander cody #212th animation #notmyart #star wars #clone wars #clone troopers #badass #Hoplite VFX #fan film #Youtube

33 notes · View notes

merryshobbithole · 2 days ago

Text

What do your f/o's hugs feel like?

Breath taking. Literally. Sentomaru is the kind of guy to give big bear hugs when he's feeling playful, but for the most part they are very soft and warm. He's a pretty big guy, so even when he's being gentle I can feel that pleasant pressure that makes me so safe and loved. He likes to rest his chin atop my head while we hug

What are your favorite dates to have with them?

I love movie nights. Sitting together on the couch with his arm around me and my head on his shoulder. I drift off more times than not, and he always carries me to bed and kisses my forehead before whispering "Goodnight, sweetheart". I know this because I may or may not have pretended to fall asleep on him. I think he's caught on to me, but he never brings it up

What are their favorite dates with you?

Definetely stargazing. Laying down on the grass and admiring the nightsky, listening to the sounds of nature. He likes to talk about constellations and the stories behind them, and I like to listen

What's the height difference between you and f/o?

He's 279cm (9'1ft) and I'm 150cm (4'11ft)

On a scale from 1 to 10, with 1 being the least and 10 being the most, how much do they like PDA with you?

I'd say 4, maybe 5. He's not very big on PDA but he does show affection in public in his own, subtle ways: squeezing my shoulder to get my attention, placing a hand on my thigh (or even holding my hand under the table) when I'm feeling uneasy in social settings, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, stealing glances at me...

What's your favorite feature about your f/o?

Oooh, that's a difficult oneee but if I had to choose, I'd say his hands!

What do you think they smell like?

Honestly? I have never thought about that. I'll think of something and update this...

What is your f/o's biggest love language?

I'd say acts of service and gift giving. He's not very good at expressing his emotions, so he shows he cares by seeking me out when he's got the time, sometimes bringing with him a little something. It's not anything fancy, maybe he saw something I liked or needed and got it for me, and many times he shares his food with me

Do you guys sleep in the same bed? If so, what's it like sleeping with them?

We do sometimes, mostly in his and when I come over to see him. Sleeping with him in winter is the best since his body temperature is naturally very warm and he loves being the big spoon, but during summer it's best if we either sleep on opposites sides of the bed or apart. We still get back together to wish each other good morning, though (⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠)

What's your favorite headcanon about your f/o?

He participates in Sumo matches in his spare time (and I stand first row to cheer him on) 🗣️

What's the dynamic that you and your f/o have?

Those two awkward idiots who are into each other and everyone is able to see it but them because they're too shy and insecure. Also the short-tempered "Ew, people" introvert (him) and the people pleasing "Oh, no. People..." introvert (me)

What does your f/o do for you when you're having a bad day?

He's a great listener and the kind of person to provide solutions right off the bat, but he knows judging by my expression while he talks when I need comfort instead of logical approaches to the problem

Do you like to hold hands? If so, what's that like?

I! Love!! Holding!!! Hands!!!!

As a matter of fact, it's the one (obvious) PDA we're comfortable with. We're not the kind of couple to do kissing in public. Holding hands with him is nice, but again his body temperature makes his palms sweaty fast. Not like I mind <3

Do they like to give you little kisses? If so, where's their favorite place to kiss?

He loves those! Only in private, though. His favorite place is my nose. He says it's very round and cute... ( ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠)

Vice versa, do YOU like giving THEM little kisses? If you, where's YOUR favorite place to kiss?

I ADORE giving him little kisses! Similarly to him, I feel most comfortable doing it in a more private setting. My favorite place to kiss is his cheek!

What's your favorite leisure activity to do with your f/o?

Training! I'm not a very sporty person, but I enjoy keeping him company while he's training even if I'm doing my own thing

What's your favorite compliment that your f/o gives you? What's your favorite nickname that they use for you, if they have one?

His compliments are more "practical", if that's the right word. He praises me when I push through or when I get something right. His way of complimenting my appearance is subtler, but it's my favorite, nonetheless. As for nicknames, he's not the kind of guy to use them, but he does call me "sweetheart" from time to time. Only in private, though

What's your favorite compliment to give THEM? What's your favorite nickname to call them?

I'm horrible at giving compliments. When he does something I find attractive or puts on something nice, I short-circuit and panic. Me personally I like to call him Sen. It's just the shortened version of his name, but I think it's cute!

I want everyone to have the chance to ramble about their romantic f/os, so I'm gonna make a reblog game where yall can answer the plethora of questions I'm gonna toss down. Any of the questions you want to answer, as little or as much as you'd like!! I'll read them all. PR.O.SHIP DNI!!! AT ALL! GET OUT-

SO!! SELFSHIPPERS! RIDDLE ME THIS:

What do your f/o's hugs feel like?

What are your favorite dates to have with them?

What are their favorite dates to have with you?

Do you have any songs that remind you of them? Do they have any songs that make them think of you?

What's the height difference between you and your f/o?

On a 1-10 scale, with 1 being the least and 10 being the most, how much do they like PDA with you?

What's your favorite feature about your f/o?

What do you think they smell like?

What is your f/os biggest love languages? They don't have to be one of the "five", it can be anything specific they use to show you love.

Do you guys sleep in the same bed? If so, what's it like sleeping with them?

What's your favorite headcanon about your f/o?

What is the dynamic that you and your f/o have?

What does your f/o do for you when you're having a rough day?

Do you like to hold hands? If so, what's that like?

Do they like to give you little kisses? If so, where is their favorite place to kiss? (Face, hands, etc)

Vice versa, do YOU like to give them little kisses? If so, where is YOUR favorite place to give them?

What's your favorite silly leisure activity to do with your f/o?

What is your favorite compliment that your f/o gives you? What is your favorite nickname that they for you, if they have one?

What's your favorite compliment to give THEM? What is your favorite nickname to call them?

Okay I can't wait to see some answers!! Feel free to reblog as many times with as many f/os as you want. ANYONE CAN PARTICIPATE! SEEING THIS POST IS AN INVITATION FOR YOU!!

People I'd like to see answer this off the top of my head (but don't have to!!): @moxanji-real @one-winged-dreams @lovesickvalentines @graveluvr @clawingatmy-enclosure @starshakez @jpeg-indulgence @everynya @tropgothships @selfshipping-tboy @amelielovesamaris @pixel-comfort @fl0ralsxgar

#sen 🪓

215 notes · View notes

sweetmisery · 1 day ago

Text

oops, i think i love you | yoon keeho

summary: falling for your best friend was never part of the plan, but when Keeho returns home, teasing turns into tension and a secret comes to light. now you‘re faced with the question: was this always meant to be or will it ruin everything?

pairing: keeho x female!reader

genre: fluff, angst

word count: 8.3k

a/n: sassy Keeho with a little bit of teasing on top makes the perfect match 🫶🏼 thank you to the anon who requested this, i really enjoyed writing it :) hope you enjoooy!! ♡

The soft hum of your phone vibrating on the nightstand broke the silence of your dimly lit bedroom. You reached for it instinctively, already knowing who it was before even checking the screen.

Keeho.

Swiping to answer, you were immediately greeted by his familiar voice, laced with exhaustion but still carrying that unmistakable warmth.

“Yo, you still awake?”

Rolling onto your back, you stared at the screen. “Obviously. Who else would pick up your late-night FaceTime calls?”

His laughter was soft but genuine. The screen stayed black for a moment as he fumbled with his phone, probably trying to prop it up somewhere. Then, his face appeared, slightly disheveled, hair damp, probably fresh from a shower. His eyes were heavy with exhaustion, but somehow, he still looked effortlessly good.

“So,” you teased, propping yourself up on one elbow, “how was the day in the glamorous life of Keeho?”

He groaned dramatically, dragging a hand down his face. “Brutal. Dance practice for hours, then interviews, then photoshoots… I think my soul left my body at some point.”

“Did you find it again, or is this just your ghost calling me?”

“Not sure. Wanna exorcise me just in case?”

You laughed, shaking your head. This was how it always was between you two - easy, effortless. No matter how busy he got, no matter how exhausted he felt, Keeho always made time to call. It was a small thing, but it meant everything.

“Hold on, let me get comfortable,” he muttered, and the screen blurred as he moved. He shifted until he was lying down, his head resting against a pillow. “There. Now we can suffer together.”

You scoffed. “I’m not suffering.”

“Liar.”

You opened your mouth to protest but stopped. He wasn’t entirely wrong. Lately, things had felt… different. It wasn’t just the same old playful friendship anymore. Not for you.

It started subtly. The way your heart raced when you saw him perform on stage in videos, the way your stomach flipped whenever he sent you a random selfie looking stupidly handsome, the way you found yourself replaying old voice messages just to hear his voice.

And now, lying there, watching him through the screen as he lazily blinked at you, you felt it again - that soft ache in your chest. The one that whispered, this is more than just friendship.

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? Because if you were wrong, if this was one-sided, it could ruin everything.

You took a quiet breath, pushing those thoughts away. “Anyway, are you at least eating properly?”

Keeho smirked. “Look at you, being all caring.”

“Shut up. Just answer.”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry, I’m not about to starve to death.” He shifted slightly, looking at you with an unreadable expression. “Hey… you good, though?”

The question caught you off guard. “Huh?”

“I don’t know. You seem kinda… off lately.”

Your heart skipped. Were you that obvious?

You forced a laugh. “I could say the same about you, Mr. ‘My Soul Left My Body.’”

Keeho narrowed his eyes like he wasn’t buying it, but he didn’t push. “Fine. I’ll let you off the hook. For now.”

“How generous of you.”

You stayed on the call for a while longer, talking about nothing and everything, until eventually, his breathing evened out. He had fallen asleep.

You watched him for a moment, a small smile tugging at your lips. He’d probably scold you for not hanging up, but you didn’t care.

You whispered, just to yourself, “Good night, Kyo.”

And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself wonder - what if?

You weren’t even planning to watch the interview.

It had been a busy day, and you were just about to unwind when a notification popped up: P1Harmony’s latest interview was out. Normally, you caught up on these things eventually, but this time, something told you to watch it right away.

So you did.

The interview started off as expected: questions about their latest comeback, funny stories from the practice room, and the usual chaotic energy from the group. You smiled absentmindedly as Keeho joked around, his personality effortlessly shining through the screen.

Then came a question that made you sit up a little straighter.

“Do you guys even have friends outside the group? Or is it just you six, 24/7?”

The members laughed, exchanging knowing glances. Keeho was the first to answer.

“Of course, we have friends! But honestly, we barely get to see them because of our schedule.”

That much was true. He was always busy, always moving, always working. You had long accepted that your friendship existed mostly through late-night FaceTime calls and stolen moments when he was in town.

But then, Keeho continued.

“I actually have a best friend from childhood.”

Your lips curled into a small smile. That’s me.

“He understands my situation really well. He’s always there for me, especially in tough times, and I’m really grateful for that.”

The smile froze on your face.

…He?

Did you mishear that?

You quickly grabbed the remote and rewound the video, listening again.

“He understands my situation really well. He’s always there for me, especially in tough times, and I’m really grateful for that.”

Nope. You heard correctly.

Keeho just called you “he.”

A mix of emotions bubbled up inside you - confusion, annoyance, disbelief. Why would he say that? It’s not like the interviewer asked for your name. He could’ve just said “my best friend” and left it at that. But no. He specifically chose to refer to you as a guy.

You tried to brush it off, but it stuck with you for the rest of the day. So when Keeho called you that night, you were still fuming.

The second you picked up, you didn’t say a word. You just stared at him through the screen, arms crossed, lips pressed into a tight line.

Keeho, fresh from whatever long day he had, blinked at you in confusion. “Uh… what’s with the face?”

You narrowed your eyes. “So your best friend… who is he? And why have I never met him?”

Keeho paused, processing your words. Then, realization dawned on his face, and just like that, he burst out laughing.

“Oh my god,” he cackled, burying his face in his hands for a moment. “You’re mad about that?”

“You called me he on national television!” you snapped, though the irritation was quickly dissolving into something more playful.

Keeho wiped a fake tear from the corner of his eye, still grinning. “I had no choice! If I said she, people would start digging and freaking out.”

“Wow. So I’m just some mysterious guy to the world now?” You crossed your arms. “I feel so special.”

Keeho smirked. “Hey, technically, I still called you my best friend. You should be honored.”

“Oh, yeah. So honored.”

He rolled onto his side, resting his head on his hand. “You’re really pressed about this, huh?”

“I just think it’s funny,” you said, even though your face was still stuck in an unimpressed expression. “Do I look like a ‘he’ to you?”

“Hmm.” Keeho squinted at the screen like he was deep in thought. “Now that you mention it… maybe a little.”

Your jaw dropped. “You are so dead.”

Keeho cracked up again, his laughter filling the screen. “Relax, relax! You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Sure you didn’t,” you muttered.

The call naturally shifted into your usual banter after that, bouncing between playful teasing and casual conversation. Even after years of friendship, talking to Keeho always felt the same - comfortable, familiar, easy.

Then, near the end of the call, Keeho let out a content sigh. “Man, I can’t wait to go home next week.”

Your ears perked up. “Wait- You’re coming back?!”

“Yeah. Finally. It’s been way too long since I saw you in person.” He gave you a lazy smile. “I mean, technically, I see you every day, but you know what I mean.”

You rolled your eyes, but warmth spread in your chest anyway. “Took you long enough.”

“Missed me that much?” he teased.

“Yeah, yeah,” you said sarcastically, but the truth lingered behind the words.

Keeho grinned. “Good. ‘Cause I missed you too.”

And just like that, your heart did that stupid thing again - the little flutter, the quiet ache, the feeling you were still too scared to name.

You exhaled, shaking your head. “Whatever. Just hurry up and get back.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a lazy salute.

The call ended a few minutes later, and you fell back against your pillow, staring at the ceiling.

Next week.

You were finally going to see Keeho next week.

And somehow, that thought made it impossible to sleep.

The anticipation had been building all day.

Keeho was finally back.

You had offered to pick him up from the airport, but he had immediately shut that idea down.

“Too risky,” he had said over text. “If anyone sees us together, it could cause problems.”

You understood, but that didn’t mean you liked it. The thought of Keeho stepping out of the terminal, exhausted from his flight, and having to go home alone instead of being greeted by a familiar face didn’t sit right with you.

Still, you waited.

And then, finally, the doorbell rang.

You practically ran to the door, throwing it open with an excited grin. The second you saw Keeho standing there, his suitcase by his side and a playful smile on his lips, you launched yourself at him, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug.

“Whoa-!” Keeho laughed, stumbling back slightly before regaining his balance. Then, in true Keeho fashion, he took things a step further.

Before you could react, he lifted you off the ground and spun you in a full circle.

A surprised giggle escaped your lips as you clung to him, the familiar warmth of his embrace sending a rush of happiness through you. His presence, his scent, even his stupid antics - it all made your heart skip a beat.

When he finally set you down, you beamed up at him. “I’m so happy to finally see you again.”

Keeho smirked. “I don’t even know how you survived without me.”

You rolled your eyes, shoving his shoulder. “Shut up.”

He chuckled and reached out to tousle your hair, messing it up on purpose. “I’m just kidding. I missed you too.”

You wanted to be annoyed, but you couldn’t stop smiling. It had been way too long since you had moments like this.

As you finally took a proper look at him, something about him felt… different. Of course, he was still the same Keeho, the same ridiculous goofball you grew up with, but there was something new in the way he carried himself.

“You look so different,” you said, tilting your head as you took him in.

Keeho smirked and ran a hand through his dark hair. “Glad you noticed that I got super handsome.”

You let out a sharp hiss of disapproval. “Cocky much?”

Keeho burst out laughing, nudging your arm. “I’m kidding! Without my team of stylists, I’d still be that ugly guy from a few years ago.”

“Okay, okay,” you sighed dramatically. “I get it. You are suuuper handsome now.”

You both laughed, the playful teasing feeling just as natural as ever. But there was more to it than just his looks.

“It’s not just that,” you added, suddenly more thoughtful. “It’s your whole presence. You’re more confident now.”

Keeho raised an eyebrow, watching you carefully. “Is that a good or a bad thing?”

You met his gaze and smiled. “It’s good, of course. As long as you can still be your old self around me.”

Keeho’s expression softened slightly. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

The moment lingered just for a second before he smirked again. “Now, can we go inside? I need to destroy you in Mario Kart.”

With that, the conversation shifted back to its usual energy, but your words stayed with you. Keeho had changed. And as much as you liked teasing him about it, part of you wondered: was it only his confidence that had changed? Or were his feelings changing, too?

Once Keeho settled in, the two of you ended up on the sofa, falling into your usual routine - lazy, comfortable, and filled with endless teasing. Mario Kart became the game of the afternoon, and soon, the living room was filled with dramatic reactions and exaggerated insults.

“You are so bad at this game,” Keeho groaned as you crossed the finish line before him.

“You’re just mad because I’m winning,” you teased, flashing a smug grin.

“I’m mad because you got lucky,” he shot back.

“Excuses, excuses.”

Keeho dramatically collapsed against the couch, pretending to be gravely wounded by his loss. “How did I ever let you get this good? I trained you! I made you!”

“You did not train me,” you laughed. “You just sucked at the game from the start.”

He gasped, clutching his chest. “Betrayal.”

It was stupid, it was childish, it was perfect. Just the kind of moments you had been missing ever since Keeho moved to Korea and his life became a whirlwind of schedules and stages.

After a few more rounds, you finally asked, “By the way, why wouldn’t you let me pick you up from the airport?”

Keeho groaned, stretching his arms above his head. “Because there could’ve been fans there. If someone saw us together, it could start rumors.”

You frowned. “What kind of rumors?”

He glanced at you, as if the answer should have been obvious. “A dating scandal.”

You blinked. “Dating scandal?”

Keeho laughed. “Yeah. If I get spotted with a girl, people will definitely assume something.”

The thought hadn’t even crossed your mind before, but now that he said it, it made sense. To fans, Keeho wasn’t just a normal guy hanging out with a friend. He was an idol, and any interaction with a woman could spiral into endless speculation.

Still, a teasing glint appeared in your eyes. “Would that be so bad?”

Keeho let out an exaggerated “Uh-huh.”

But then, with a mischievous smirk, he added, “Also… just imagine people thinking you and me were dating. Wouldn’t that be so weird?”

Your stomach twisted.

It was just a joke. Just Keeho being Keeho. But for some reason, it stung.

You forced a laugh, shrugging off the strange feeling in your chest. “Yeah, yeah. That’d be hilarious,” you muttered, quickly focusing back on the game.

Keeho didn’t seem to notice the slight shift in your tone. He simply stretched his arms behind his head, completely at ease. “Exactly. So yeah, no airport meet-ups for us. Gotta keep you hidden.”

You hummed in response, but your mind was elsewhere. Because for the first time, it wasn’t just about hiding you from fans. It was about hiding your feelings from yourself.

The evening passed in a blur of laughter, teasing, and playful competition.

After multiple rounds of Mario Kart battles, way too many accusations of cheating, and an excessive amount of dramatic groaning from Keeho whenever he lost, the two of you finally called it quits.

You stretched, feeling the exhaustion from the day start to settle in. “Alright, I’m heading to bed.”

Keeho let out a deep sigh and leaned back against the couch. “Actually…”

You turned to look at him, raising an eyebrow. “Actually… what?”

“Can I just crash here tonight?” He gestured lazily around the room. “I’m too lazy to go anywhere else.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “Of course, dumbass. You don’t even have to ask. Make yourself at home.”

Keeho grinned. “Knew I could count on you.”

With that, you turned toward your bedroom, already thinking about how nice it would feel to finally collapse into bed. But just as you reached the doorway, Keeho’s voice stopped you.

“Hey.”

You turned back around, finding him sitting up now, his expression softer than before.

“Thank you.”

You blinked, tilting your head slightly. “For what?”

Keeho hesitated for a moment, then gave you a small, genuine smile. “For everything.”

Your heart skipped. “Be more specific, dummy.”

He chuckled but then exhaled, his gaze turning more serious. “For being my best friend. And mostly… for treating me the same way you always did.”

You frowned slightly. “Why would I treat you any differently?”

Something in Keeho’s expression shifted. He glanced down for a second, as if choosing his words carefully.

“You know… once you become famous, people start treating you differently,” he said quietly. “Or worse, they use you for your fame to get something out of it. It’s hard to tell who’s really there for you and who just wants the advantages that come with knowing you.”

You stayed silent, letting him continue.

“But with you, it’s different,” he said, looking back up at you. “I know I can always be myself around you. I can rely on you without wondering if there’s a catch. So… thank you for that.”

The sincerity in his voice made your heart beat just a little faster.

You gave him a soft smile. “Of course, Kyo.”

Keeho’s eyes flickered at the nickname, the corner of his lips twitching like he wanted to smile again.

“I’ll always be here whenever you need me,” you added.

Keeho’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before he gave a small nod. “Good night, then.”

“Good night,” you said, offering him one last smile before finally heading into your room.

You shut the door behind you, but sleep didn’t come easily.

Instead, you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, Keeho’s words replaying in your mind.

You had always known he trusted you. You had always known your friendship was special. But hearing him say it like that, hearing the vulnerability in his voice, the way he relied on you so completely, it made your emotions feel even more complicated.

The boy you had been friends with since forever, the one who had been there through every stage of your life, the one who made you laugh without even trying, the one who had somehow become more attractive every time you saw him, was only a few meters away from you.

But somehow, it still felt like he was far out of your reach.

The room was dark, and the warmth of your blankets wrapped around you like a cocoon. You were lost in the depths of sleep when suddenly, a hand gripped your waist.

A soft breath ghosted against your skin as you shifted in bed, feeling an unfamiliar presence beside you. Your body tensed.

Your eyelids fluttered open, adjusting to the dim light filtering through the window. Keeho.

He was next to you.

Your heart skipped a beat as your mind scrambled to process what was happening. “Keeho? What are you-”

“Shhh.”

Keeho’s index finger gently pressed against your lips, silencing you before you could say anything else.

Your breath caught in your throat. This wasn’t normal. This wasn’t your usual playful Keeho.

Before you could react, he leaned in.

And then - he kissed you.

Your eyes widened in shock at first, the feeling of his lips against yours sending a wave of disbelief through your body. This was real. This was happening.

But as the initial surprise faded, something inside you gave in. Something that had been buried for too long.

Your eyes fluttered shut, and without thinking, you melted into the kiss.

Keeho pulled you closer, his grip on your waist tightening as the kiss deepened. His warmth, his touch, everything about him felt so intoxicatingly familiar yet completely new at the same time.

You had no idea what this meant. Why was Keeho doing this? What did it mean for your friendship?

But in that moment, you didn’t care.

Until-

You woke up.

Your eyes snapped open, heart pounding. Staring up at the ceiling, you tried to breathe, to process, to make sense of what had just happened. Until it hit you.

It was just a dream.

Sitting up abruptly, you ran a hand through your hair, trying to steady yourself. Your lips tingled as if the sensation had been real, and without thinking, your fingers traced over them.

“What the hell was that?” you whispered to yourself.

As if to ground yourself, you glanced around the room. Everything was exactly as it had been when you went to bed. The blanket was still wrapped around you. The door to your bedroom was still closed.

Just then, the faint sound of running water reached your ears. You turned toward the door, realizing Keeho was still here. He must’ve woken up before you and was now taking a shower.

You exhaled sharply, pressing your hands against your face. How the hell were you supposed to look him in the eye after having such a wild dream?

You sat at the edge of your bed, rubbing your temples. Get a grip. It was just a dream. A very realistic, very intense dream, but still, just a dream.

Shaking off the lingering sensation of Keeho's lips on yours, you got up and made your way to the living room, hoping some fresh air would help clear your head.

The first thing you noticed were Keeho's clothes scattered across the sofa. His hoodie, his sweatpants, his socks, his boxers - all of them just thrown there like he had stripped on the spot.

Your brain was still half-asleep, so it took a second to register why they were there.

And then, before you could process it, you turned around and slammed straight into something solid. No. Someone.

Large hands instinctively wrapped around your arms to steady you, keeping you from stumbling back. The warmth of his skin against yours sent a shock through your body, and when you looked up, you froze.

Keeho was standing right in front of you.

Dripping wet.

His damp, dark hair clung to his forehead, strands falling into his deep brown eyes.

His bare chest was still glistening from the shower, water droplets running down the sharp lines of his toned torso.

And that's when you realized.

He was wearing nothing but a towel.

Keeho was basically naked.

A strangled noise left your throat as you jumped back, throwing your hands over your eyes like it would somehow erase what you just saw.

"Oh my god! Keeho!"

Keeho burst out laughing, completely unbothered. "What? Can't handle the sight in front of you?"

Your face burned. "Put on some clothes, you idiot!"

He smirked. "Why are you acting so weird? You've seen me shirtless countless times before."

Yeah. But this time was different.

This time, your mind was still stuck in that dream. This time, he wasn't just your best friend. This time, you couldn't ignore how attractive he was.

You kept your hands firmly over your eyes, refusing to let yourself look at him again.

"That was before you became a full-on gym rat!"

Keeho grinned. "Oh? So you're saying I look better now?"

You groaned. "Shut up and put some damn clothes on!"

Still chuckling, Keeho ruffled his damp hair and finally turned to grab his clothes from the couch.

Meanwhile, you stood there, refusing to open your eyes, trying to will your heart to stop racing.

After what felt like an eternity of keeping your eyes shut, you finally heard Keeho shuffling around behind you. A moment later, his voice rang out, still way too amused for your liking.

“Alright, alright. I’m dressed. You can relax now.”

Cautiously, you peeked through your fingers, just to be safe. Keeho stood in front of you, now fully clothed in his hoodie and sweatpants, hair still slightly damp but no longer dripping.

You exhaled in relief, pretending like your heart wasn’t still racing. Pretending like you weren’t replaying the image of him half-naked in your mind. Pretending like last night’s dream wasn’t messing with your head.

Keeho smirked, watching you carefully. “You good?”

“Yeah,” you said way too fast.

Keeho’s smirk deepened. “Are you sure? You seem kinda… tense.”

“I’m fine,” you said, waving him off. “Let’s just- let’s eat or something. I’m starving.”

“Uh-huh,” Keeho said, clearly not buying it, but thankfully, he didn’t push. Instead, he stretched his arms over his head and yawned. “Alright, food sounds good. What do you have?”

You made your way to the kitchen, glad for the distraction. “Not much. I need to go grocery shopping. But I think I have eggs, maybe some toast.”

Keeho gasped dramatically, cutting you off. “Excuse me? You invited an international K-pop sensation into your home and didn’t prepare a five-star meal for him?”

You snorted, rolling your eyes. “First of all, you invited yourself. Second of all, you’re getting whatever I have, Mr. International K-pop Sensation.”

Keeho grinned. “Fair enough. I’ll make us something.”

“You can cook?” you asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

“I lived alone for years. What do you think I ate? Air?”

“Honestly? Wouldn’t be surprised.”

Keeho rolled his eyes but started gathering ingredients anyway. Soon, the kitchen was filled with the sizzling sound of eggs frying in a pan and the familiar comfort of easy conversation. For a moment, everything felt normal again.

Until Keeho suddenly turned to you and asked, “Hey, are you seeing anyone?”

You nearly dropped your glass of water.

Your brain short-circuited for a second before you managed to choke out, “W-what?”

Keeho shrugged, flipping the eggs like he hadn’t just sent your entire nervous system into overdrive. “I dunno. I was just thinking… I’ve been gone for a while. Maybe you met someone.”

Why was he asking this? Why now?

Your heart was pounding, but you forced yourself to play it cool. “No. Not seeing anyone.”

Keeho smirked. “Interesting.”

You frowned. “Why is that interesting?”

Keeho gave you a pointed look. “Because you’re awesome. Anyone would be lucky to date you.”

For a second, you forgot how to breathe. You opened your mouth, but no words came out. What were you even supposed to say to that?

Keeho seemed completely unaware of the chaos he had just unleashed inside your brain. He just went back to cooking like he hadn’t just casually thrown you into an emotional crisis.

You took a deep breath, trying desperately to regain your composure. It was just Keeho being Keeho. Playful, teasing, completely unaware of the fact that you had been hopelessly falling for him.

“Well,” you said, forcing a smirk, “what about you? You seeing anyone?”

Keeho paused. It was subtle, but you caught it. The tiniest hesitation. The smallest flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. Then, just as quickly as it came, it was gone.

“Nah,” he said easily, plating the eggs like the question meant nothing. “Too busy for that.”

Something about his tone didn’t sit right with you. Too busy? Sure, Keeho was busy, but that never stopped him from making time for you. From calling you at 3AM after a long day. From flying home whenever he had a break, even if it was just for a few days. If he really wanted to be with someone, he’d find a way. Right?

Before you could overthink it, Keeho slid a plate in front of you and grinned. “Eat up, loser.”

You rolled your eyes, but your mind was still stuck on that tiny pause. That unreadable look. And for the first time, you wondered - was Keeho really not seeing anyone? Or was he hiding something?

The two of you were laying on the couch, watching some random movie, when Keeho’s phone buzzed. At first, you didn’t pay attention. But then, he ignored the call.

No glance at the screen. No “I’ll call them later.” He just reached over and flipped his phone over, screen-down. Your eyebrows furrowed.

“Who was that?” you asked.

Keeho stretched his arms over his head and yawned. “No one important.”

Another buzz. A text this time. And again - Keeho ignored it. Your curiosity piqued.

Now, normally, you weren’t the nosy type. Normally, you respected privacy. But something about the way Keeho was deliberately ignoring his phone had your stomach twisting with suspicion.

So when Keeho got up to grab a drink from the kitchen, leaving his phone unattended, you glanced at the screen. Just one quick look. One tiny peek. But what you saw made your breath catch.

Unknown Number: Hey… I miss you.

Your heart stopped.

What. The. Hell.

Before you could process it, Keeho returned, plopping back onto the couch like nothing had happened.

“You want anything?” he asked, sipping his drink.

But you barely heard him. Because your brain was now screaming with questions. Who the hell was that? Why were they saying they missed him? Why did Keeho act like it was nothing?

You opened your mouth, about to say something - confront him, ask him, anything - but Keeho suddenly threw an arm over the back of the couch, stretching out lazily. And then, as if sensing the tension in your body, he smirked.

“Why do you look like you’re plotting my murder?”

You stiffened. “I do not.”

“You do.”

You forced a laugh, shaking your head. “You’re imagining things.”

Keeho raised an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

He was completely unaware of what you had just seen. And maybe it was the paranoia creeping in. Maybe it was the exhaustion of constantly pushing your feelings down.

But suddenly, for the first time since he came home, you didn’t feel like you knew Keeho as well as you thought. And that thought terrified you.

The breaking point came later that night.

Keeho had gone to the bathroom, and you were curled up on the couch, pretending to scroll through your phone. But your thoughts were elsewhere.

Who was texting him?

Why didn’t he answer?

Was he hiding something from you?

And before you could stop yourself, you found yourself reaching for Keeho’s phone. It was sitting on the coffee table, completely unlocked. He trusted you. And you weren’t the type to snoop.

But something deep inside you, something desperate, something insecure, something you didn’t want to name, was itching for answers. So, before you could second-guess yourself, you grabbed his phone and opened his messages.

Your heart pounded as you scrolled, searching for the unknown number. And then - you found it.

Unknown Number: Hey… I miss you.

Unknown Number: Keeho? Are you ignoring me?

Unknown Number: I know things got messy, but can we please just talk?

Messy?

Your breath caught in your throat. This wasn’t just some friend. Something happened between Keeho and this person. And he hadn’t told you.

Your fingers hovered over the screen, temptation gnawing at you. Do you click the number? Do you look through their conversation? But before you could decide-

“What are you doing?”

Your whole body froze.

Slowly, dread creeping up your spine, you turned around. Keeho was standing there, dripping wet from the shower, a towel slung around his neck.

His expression? Not amused. Not confused. Just… disappointed.

You opened your mouth, scrambling for an excuse, a joke, anything. But Keeho’s voice came low, serious.

“I trusted you.”

Your stomach dropped. For the first time in your life, you had nothing to say. And for the first time in your life, Keeho wasn’t smiling at you. Your breath caught in your throat. The air between you and Keeho was thick with tension, heavier than it had ever been before.

“I-” Your voice cracked, and you swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his eyes. “Keeho, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

Keeho let out a sharp breath, shaking his head. “Didn’t mean to what? Go through my phone?”

Your stomach twisted. “I wasn’t- I just-”

“You just what?” His tone wasn’t angry, but it wasn’t Keeho’s usual teasing either. It was calm. Controlled. But that was almost worse.

You felt the urge to explain, to tell him that you weren’t trying to snoop, that you had just seen the text and couldn’t get it out of your head. But how were you supposed to say that without making it sound even worse?

Keeho exhaled, running a hand through his damp hair. “You know, I don’t think you realize how messed up this is.”

Your chest tightened. “I know. I know it was wrong. But Keeho- why are you acting like I just betrayed you?”

Keeho scoffed. “Because you did.”

You flinched.

He sighed, gripping the back of his neck like he was trying to stay calm. “Do you have any idea how many people already invade my privacy? How many people already think they’re entitled to know every little detail about my life?” His voice grew tighter, more frustrated. “I never thought you’d be one of them.”

Guilt clawed at your chest. “That’s not what this was-”

“Then what was it?” Keeho pressed. “You don’t trust me?”

Your heart pounded. “Of course I trust you.”

“Yeah?” Keeho let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “Because it sure doesn’t feel like it.”

Your fingers curled into fists. “Keeho, I saw the text. Someone said they missed you, and you just ignored it. What was I supposed to think?”

“You were supposed to ask me, not sneak around behind my back!”

That made you snap.

“Oh, like you would’ve just told me the truth?” The words left your mouth before you could stop them.

Keeho’s expression shifted, something unreadable flickering through his eyes.

The silence that followed was loud.

He let out a slow breath, shaking his head. “You know what? Maybe I should just go.”

Your heart dropped.

“Wait- what?”

Keeho grabbed his hoodie from the couch, not looking at you. “I think it’s best if I head home now.”

Panic flared in your chest. “Keeho, don’t do that. Can we just-”

“I don’t want to fight with you,” he said, finally looking at you. But his eyes weren’t filled with the usual warmth. They were tired. Guarded. Distant.

And that hurt more than anything.

Your throat felt tight. “So what? You’re just gonna leave?”

Keeho hesitated, like maybe, just maybe, he was reconsidering.

But then, he exhaled sharply and turned away. “Yeah.”

And just like that, he was gone.

The door shut behind him, the sound echoing through the apartment. You stood there, frozen, staring at the empty space he had just left behind. And for the first time since Keeho came home, you weren’t sure if he was coming back.

One day.

It had only been one day since Keeho left your apartment, but it felt like an eternity.

His absence clung to every corner of the space. The empty spot on the couch where he had been sitting, the unfinished game of Mario Kart on the Switch, the faint scent of his cologne still lingering in the air.

And worst of all? The silence.

Keeho hadn’t called. He hadn’t texted. Nothing.

Which meant all you had left was your own mind, replaying the fight over and over again, twisting it around in every possible way, wondering if you had just ruined the most important relationship in your life.

Maybe it was best to just let him go. Maybe you had messed up too badly this time.

But suddenly your phone buzzed.

Your heart jumped into your throat as you scrambled to grab it, nearly dropping it in your rush. And there it was. A message from Keeho.

Keeho: Can we talk?

For a moment, all you could do was stare at the screen, heartbeat pounding. Then, without hesitating, you typed back:

You: Yeah. Come over.

Keeho arrived later that evening.

The second you opened the door, you searched his face, trying to read him. But his expression was… blank. Not cold. Not angry. Just carefully unreadable. That alone made your stomach twist.

You stepped aside, letting him in. Keeho walked past you into the apartment, heading toward the couch like he had done a hundred times before. Only this time, it wasn’t the same.

You quickly grabbed two glasses of water from the kitchen before sitting beside him, but not too close. There was still a strange weight in the air, a careful distance between you. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence was unbearable.

Until finally, you broke it. “Keeho, I am so sorry for-”

“Stop.” Keeho’s voice was firm, cutting you off immediately.

You looked at him, confused.

His jaw tensed slightly before he exhaled and shook his head. “There’s nothing for you to apologize for.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “Keeho-”

“Seriously.” He glanced down at his hands, voice quieter now. “If anything… I should be the one apologizing.”

You blinked. “What?”

Keeho let out a deep sigh, running a hand through his hair before finally meeting your eyes.

“There’s something I have to tell you.”

Your breath hitched.

“I haven’t been completely honest with you.”

Your pulse spiked.

Suddenly, the room felt too small, too quiet. The air crackled with tension, thick with something unspoken, something Keeho had been holding back. And as you looked at him, as you saw the hesitation, the conflict in his eyes, you realized - whatever Keeho was about to say, it was going to change everything.

And the question wasn’t whether you wanted to hear it. It was whether you were ready.

Keeho remained silent at first, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie. The air between you was thick, every second of silence dragging on painfully.

Your heart pounded as you whispered, “What is it, Keeho?”

He took a deep breath, as if gathering courage.

“When I asked you if you were seeing anyone…” Keeho started, hesitating before his eyes finally met yours. “I asked because… I am seeing someone.”

Your breath caught in your throat. A painful sting spread through your stomach, sharp and unexpected. Did Keeho just- Did he just confess that he has a girlfriend?

You forced yourself to stay still, composed, but the sudden weight in your chest made it hard to breathe.

Still, all you could manage to say was, “What- what do you mean?”

Keeho sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I thought that maybe if you were seeing someone, I wouldn’t have to feel so bad for not telling you about this earlier.”

He looked down, ashamed.

“But I was wrong… I feel guilty. I feel like I betrayed you because I was lying to you.”

Even though jealousy gnawed at your insides, you tried to pull yourself together.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and said, “You didn’t lie to me, Keeho. You just kept it a secret, and that’s totally reasonable. Not every single detail of your life is my business.”

Keeho’s head snapped up, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your pulse race. “But you’re my best friend… and there shouldn’t be anything that makes me feel the need to not tell you.”

You forced a fake, shaky. “It’s okay, Keeho.”

Keeho searched your face for something, maybe reassurance, maybe understanding, but his expression only tightened. “But it’s not what you think.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Keeho hesitated again, like he was searching for the right words. Then, his voice dropped lower. “I think I didn’t tell you because I was scared of how you would react to it. Of how it would change things between us.”

Your stomach twisted.

“What are you saying?” you murmured. “Keeho, if you’re happy, I’m happy.”

Keeho shook his head.

“But I’m not happy.”

Your heart skipped.

“I tried- I really tried to open up to her,” Keeho admitted, voice strained. “But I failed. I didn’t want to hurt her, but…” His fingers clenched into fists. “I figured that there’s already someone else my heart belongs to.”

Your lips parted in shock.

Someone else.

What… What did he mean?

Was there another person, someone he hadn’t told you about? Your mind raced, trying to make sense of his words.

Your mouth felt dry as you whispered, “Who…?”

Keeho looked at you, his gaze unreadable.

And suddenly, everything felt like it was hanging on his next words.

Keeho’s eyes darted down to his hands, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie as he struggled to find the right words. His hesitation made your stomach twist. He was nervous. But why?

“I’m not sure how things will change after this,” Keeho admitted with a sigh.

Your nails dug into your thighs nervously. Your heart pounded against your ribs, fear creeping up your spine. You were scared of his answer. Scared of hearing something that would break you into pieces.

But when he finally spoke, his words shattered you in an entirely different way.

“It’s you.”

Your breath hitched. Your lips parted, but no words came out. Did you hear him right? You stared at Keeho, eyes wide in shock.

He gave you a small, nervous smile, but his fingers were clenched together like he was holding his breath, waiting, terrified of your reaction.

“Please say something,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “Or else this is super awkward for me.”

Your mind was still spinning.

“Keeho… I- I don’t know what to say.”

Keeho let out a short, nervous laugh. “Just say something. Anything. Even if you’re gonna break my heart, I won’t be mad at you.”

You quickly shook your head. “No, Keeho. I just- I had no idea you were feeling this way.”

Keeho exhaled sharply, his lips curling into a self-deprecating smile. “Well, that’s because I never told you.”

You could feel the weight of his words hanging in the air. This wasn’t a joke. This wasn’t Keeho teasing you like he always did. This was real. Keeho was serious.

And you needed to say something - anything - to make him understand that you felt the same way. But before you could even form the words, Keeho rubbed the back of his neck, looking away.

“Well… this is embarrassing,” he muttered. “Maybe I should’ve just kept my mouth shut.”

“No!” The word burst out of you before you could stop it.

Without thinking, you reached out and placed a hand on his thigh, your grip firm, desperate. Keeho’s eyes widened, completely taken aback by your sudden reaction.

Your voice softened as you mumbled, “It’s not embarrassing.”

Keeho stared at you, his lips parting slightly, stunned. You took a deep breath, gathering your courage.

“Keeho, I…” You hesitated, then pushed through. “I’ve been feeling the same way.”

Keeho’s body tensed.

You could feel your face heating up, but you didn’t stop.

“I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t even know if I should tell you-” You swallowed hard. “Because I didn’t want to ruin our friendship.”

Keeho blinked at you, his expression unreadable.

The silence was heavy, deafening.

Then, after what felt like forever, Keeho let out a breathless laugh. “Are you serious?”

You gave him a small, nervous nod.

Keeho exhaled, running a hand down his face. “Holy shit.”

You bit your lip. “Yeah. Holy shit.”

Keeho stared at you for a moment longer, like he was trying to process everything.

And then, suddenly, Keeho grinned.

A real, genuine, Keeho-style grin.

“You’re telling me we’ve both been idiots this whole time?”

A laugh escaped your lips, relieved, overwhelmed, completely breathless. “Yeah. I guess we have.”

Keeho shook his head in disbelief before grinning like an idiot. “I can’t believe you kept it a secret that you’re in love with me.”

You hissed, narrowing your eyes. “Who says I’m in love? It’s just a little, tiny crush.”

Keeho let out a deep chuckle, running a hand through his hair playfully. “Oh, come on. Stop lying. I know it’s hard not to fall in love with someone like me.”

You rolled your eyes. “I can’t even believe I like someone as cocky as you.”

Keeho raised an eyebrow. “Oh, you’re gonna regret that.”

Before you could react, Keeho lunged forward and started tickling you.

“K-Keeho!” you shrieked, laughing so hard you could barely breathe.

“Admit it!” Keeho said between teasing attacks.

“N-No! Stop!” you gasped, thrashing against him, but he didn’t let up.

You kicked, you squirmed, tears forming at the corners of your eyes from laughing so hard.

“Keeho, please!” you screamed.

But he didn’t stop. Instead, in the middle of his merciless assault, Keeho lost his balance and suddenly he slipped and fell on top of you.

The room went completely silent.

Your breath hitched as you froze beneath him. Keeho’s hands were on either side of your head, his body hovering over yours, his face only inches away. You could feel the warmth of his breath, the weight of his presence pressing against you.

Your stomach flipped.

Keeho had never been this close before.

You could see every detail - the way his dark eyes flickered with something unreadable, the way his lips were just slightly parted, the way his chest rose and fell a little faster than usual.

“Hey…” Keeho murmured.

Just one word.

Soft. Barely a whisper.

Your lips parted, breath catching in your throat. “What-”

But before you managed to finish your sentence, Keeho leaned in. And then, his lips intertwined with yours.

Your eyes widened in shock.

For a split second, your brain refused to believe this was real.

Was this happening?

Was Keeho really kissing you?

But you quickly realized that this time, it wasn’t a dream. This time, it was real. A million butterflies erupted in your stomach, your whole body tingling at the feeling of Keeho’s lips against yours.

Soft. Warm. Perfect.

And suddenly - you weren’t thinking anymore.

You let yourself melt into the kiss.

Your body relaxed, your hands gripping the fabric of his hoodie, pulling him in just the slightest bit closer.

Keeho responded immediately, tilting his head, deepened the kiss, one of his hands moving to gently cup your cheek. It was slow, sweet, teasing. Just like him.

Your heart felt like it was about to explode.

Every suppressed feeling, every stolen glance, every unspoken word between you - all of it was pouring into this moment.

When Keeho finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his breath shaky. For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then, he let out a soft chuckle.

“You okay down there?” he teased, like he hadn’t just turned your entire world upside down.

“No, I am not okay.” You buried your face in your hands. “You can’t just kiss me out of nowhere and then act all casual about it!”

Keeho chuckled. “Would you rather I have given you a warning?”

You glared at him. “Yes!”

“Alright,” Keeho grinned. Then, he suddenly cupped your face with his hand, leaning in way too close again.

“Hey,” he whispered.

Your breath hitched. “W-What?”

“I’m gonna kiss you now.”

Your brain malfunctioned.

And then, before you could even process what was happening - Keeho kissed you again.

This time, it was shorter, but just as dizzying.

And when he pulled away, he was grinning even wider.

“There. Warning included.”

Your soul left your body.

“Keeho, I swear to God-!”

Keeho cackled, dodging the pillow you threw at him.

“Told you,” he murmured.

You blinked up at him, breathless. “Told me what?”

“That you were in love with me.”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “Shut up, Keeho.”

He just laughed, stealing another quick kiss before finally letting you breathe again.

And in that moment - you realized.

This wasn’t just a crush anymore.

It was so much more.

And it always had been.

The room was still charged with electricity from the kiss, the warmth of Keeho’s lips lingering on yours. Neither of you had moved. Neither of you had spoken. But the question hung in the air between you, heavy and impossible to ignore.

“So… what happens now?” you finally asked, your voice softer than you expected.

Keeho exhaled, running a hand through his hair as he leaned back against the couch, deep in thought.

“I guess that depends on us,” he murmured.

Your stomach twisted. “Us.” That word felt so foreign - so new.

Keeho looked over at you, studying your expression carefully. “You’re overthinking, aren’t you?”

You bit your lip. “It’s just… you’re leaving soon. You’re going back to Korea, back to your crazy schedule, back to a life where we barely see each other.”

Keeho was quiet for a moment before he shifted closer, reaching for your hand. His fingers curled around yours, warm and familiar.

“We’ll figure it out,” he said simply.

You let out a breath. “How can you be so sure?”

Keeho squeezed your hand gently. “Because it’s us.”

Your heart fluttered.

“Yeah, but long-distance relationships are hard. You’ll be busy, traveling, constantly surrounded by people. What if-”

Keeho cut you off. “What if we make it work?”

You blinked at him.

“What if we don’t let the distance change anything?” he continued, his voice steady. “I know it won’t be easy, but I don’t want to pretend this didn’t happen. I don’t want to go back to how things were before.”

Your chest tightened. “Neither do I.”

Keeho smiled, his thumb grazing over your knuckles. “Then we’ll find a way.”

You stared at him, searching for any hesitation, any doubt. But Keeho looked at you like this was the easiest decision in the world.

Like he had already chosen you.

You let out a shaky laugh. “I still can’t believe this is happening.”

Keeho smirked. “If you need another kiss to remind you, I’m happy to help.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile didn’t fade. Maybe this wouldn’t be easy. Maybe there were challenges ahead. But right now, sitting here with Keeho, his fingers laced with yours -

You were willing to try.

───── ♡ ─────

28 notes · View notes