#I know we are mutuals (and I love it and you) so there is a good chance you might see this

[jakedustry]

I need enha smut headcanons

OT7 x fem!reader

wc 2.5k

warnings fingering, mirror sex, oral, phone sex, audio kink, manhandling, mutual masturbation, edging, temperature play, lingerie kink, nipple play, body worship, degrading + roughness, slight sub and dom dynamic in sunoo's, handjob, vaginal penetration, I might have missed some

↪ izzy adds... oh mae, you know I love you. This idea was so juicy but you already know that from the way we talked about it together. Sorry it took me so long to get it done </3 It's late and I did not read this after myself so I'm sorry if there are any mistakes btw :3

m.list

HEESEUNG

Has an audio kink 

“You hear that?” His voice is low as he leans to whisper into your ear, his fingers sliding between your folds. The wet sound sends a shiver down his spine, his hard cock trembling, searching for some kind of pleasure. “You’re so wet, I haven’t touched you yet.” You whine, arching your back more and he groans, the sounds you make echoing in his ears. His name leaves your lips in a desperate plea and he immediately pushes two of his fingers in your hole. “Say it again. I want to hear you.” You do as he asks, repeating his name over and over again as he fingers you, making your eyes roll back. “I’ll have to record this next time,” he whimpers. “And have your moans playing in my ears at all times.” 

Loves mirror sex

“Look at yourself,” he coos, circling your clit slowly as you bounce on his cock, your eyes closed from all the pleasure. He bites your shoulder and you finally listen to him, your eyes shooting to the mirror in front of you. You watch yourself bounce on his cock, one of his hands squeezing your breast while the other massages your clit, bringing you to your second orgasm that night. “You look so fucking good,” he says, thrusting his hips up, his eyes tracing the reflection in the mirror. 

Into phone sex 

“Wait, fuck, I’m almost in my room,” he says, in a hurry as he unlocks the door of his hotel room, hoping no one saw the bulge in his pants as he passed by, your soft moans echoing in his ears. He pulls his pants down as soon as he reaches the bed, putting you on a speaker as his hand wraps around his cock, imagining it’s your pussy sucking him dry while you finger yourself on the other side of the country in his very own bed, wearing one of his shirts. His name rolls on your tongue with so much ease it has him groaning so loud he’s convinced Sunghoon can hear him from his room. But he doesn’t care, not when he knows you’re about to cum with him even when he is in a different city. 

JAY

Needs to make you cum at least once before even undressing himself

“Does that feel good, baby?” He asks between kisses, his thumb rubbing your clit while you sit on his lap. Your mouth hangs open, broken moans escaping your lips. You grind on his lap, leaving a wet patch on his thigh. He leans down to your neck, kissing your collarbone as his fingers find your entrance, finally pushing them in and giving you the pleasure you’ve been searching for. “Right– Right there,” you gasp, your head falling to his shoulder as he works you through your first orgasm. It’s only when you fall apart on top of him that he helps you lay on the bed, taking down his clothes and hovering over you. 

Manhandling king

You knew what being a brat would lead you to. It hasn’t been the first time you’ve had an attitude with your boyfriend, but not even knowing the consequences would stop you. Jay watches you throughout the entire dinner, his jaw clenched. It’s obvious to anyone who knows him that he’s mad, and you can only imagine what that means for you. 

As soon as you walk through the front door of his apartment, your back hits the wall beside you, your eyes wide as one of his hands finds your waist and the other rests beside your head. “You like being a fucking brat?” He questions, holding your jaw and making you look at him when you avoid his eyes. “Couldn’t be nice during dinner at least?” When you don’t say anything, he turns your body in the blink of an eye, your chest pressed against the wall now. He leans closer, pressing himself against your ass. “I need to fuck the attitude out of you, don’t I?”

Has the best aftercare 

You’re worn out when Jay lays down beside you, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you flush against him. You hum with a smile as he kisses your forehead, mumbling soft praises into your ear. You lay still for a while, simply cuddling and inhaling each other’s presence, until he gets out of the bed, walking over to your side and gently picking you up. You giggle as you wrap your hands around his neck, letting him carry you into the bathroom. When you sit down in the tub, you notice all the marks he has left on your thighs. Before you can comment on it and scold him, he’s already setting the water temperature to help you wash you up. 

JAKE

Gets himself off by simply eating you out 

Jake’s fingers are cold on your thighs, holding you in place as his tongue laps between your folds. You tug on his hair, your hips rolling against his mouth, trying to find more friction. He hums on your clit, a soft moan escaping his lips. Your eyes roll back, clenching around nothing when he sucks your clit. His hips thrust against the mattress but he doesn’t take any initiative in jerking himself off, too busy focusing on the sounds you make when he pleases you. 

Talks you through it + likes to watch you masturbate 

“That’s it, that’s my girl,” he praises, slowly palming himself through his pants as he watches you, his eyes glued to the way your fingers pump in and out of your pussy. Your eyes roll back and you squeeze your thighs together on instinct. “Open them for me, baby. Let me see.” You whine but listen, giving him a clearer view. A curse slips past his lips, a groan following shortly after as he unzips his pants. “You’re doing so good, fuck. Rub your clit.” You follow his commands with ease, your eyes rolling back from the pleasure, pretty sure you could come just from his voice. He knows so as well, using up the very fact in his advantage as he leans closer to you, whispering into your ear. 

Doggy — > ass guy

Jake’s hands wrap around your ass, pulling you onto his lap with a smirk. You smile, grinding on top of him as you press your lips onto his, moaning quietly when he gives you a tight squeeze. It doesn’t take much longer and before you can fully comprehend his movements, you’re on the bed, your ass up in the air while you fist the bedsheet beneath you. “So pretty,” he groans, slamming his hips against yours. You’re sure there are red marks everywhere but you don’t care, not when his hand slides to your clit, massaging it gently as he leans closer to you, his stomach pressed to your back. “So fucking pretty.” 

SUNGHOON

Likes being in control and denying you orgasm 

A loud whine leaves your lips as he pulls his fingers away, a playful smirk spreading on his lips. You hold his wrist, trying to pull his hand back between your legs but he is stronger, resting his hand on your side instead. “What is it, hm?” He asks, his lips wrapping around your clit. You feel your orgasm building up again, gripping the sheets beneath you. But right when you’re about to cum on his mouth, he pulls away again, causing a whimper to escape your lips in protest. “You’d like to cum, huh?” He teases, satisfied with the cries you let out.

Has a lingerie kink 

Sunghoon’s eyes wander up from his phone, his jaw clenched when he sees you standing near the bed in a robe wrapped around you. He scans your figure, a smirk forming on his lips as he places his phone down and moves closer to you, sitting on the edge of the bed now. You come to stand between his legs, smiling sheepishly as he unties your robe, letting it fall to the ground. He smirks when he sees the lace underwear you have on, his hands gripping your waist. “Wore this for me?” He teases, bringing you closer and placing a kiss to your stomach. “You’re so fucking beautiful. Let’s keep this on, shall we?”

Loves temperature play

The ice cube on your nipple makes you arch your body forward, your pussy clenching around nothing. “So sensitive,” he hums, leaning down and wrapping his lips around your breast. His hot breath replacing the cold ice cube makes you shiver, the moan that escapes your lips almost pornographic. You can feel him smirk against your body, as he rubs the ice cube down your body, trailing your curves. You gasp when he presses it against your clit, moving lower to replace the ice cube with his mouth again.

SUNOO

Loves breast/nipple play

You lay on your bed, your eyes following every one of his movements as he sucks on your nipple, massaging the other with his hand. You bite back your moan, your head spinning as his tongue circles your nipple, his thumb brushing over your sensitive bud when he switches to your other boob, making sure it’s not forgotten. “Sunoo,” you whisper, running a hand through his hair to make him look at you. He pulls away for a second, scanning you with his eyes. “Feels good?” He asks with a smile when he realizes you made him pull away just because of that. You nod, biting your bottom lip. He rolls your nipple between his two fingers, not saying anything else and simply watching your every reaction.

Is a sub mostly

Your smirk, your hand wrapped around his cock as he squirms under you, soft pleas and cries leaving his lips. “Just a bit more, baby,” you coo, squeezing his tip as you jerk him off. Your free hand slides between your own legs, gently rubbing your clit. He listens to your every word, whining under your touch. He has to bite his lip to prevent any sounds from escaping his lips when you position yourself on top of him, slowly sinking in. His head falls on the pillow behind him, his hands finding your waist as you ride his cock in a rhythm that suits your preference.

Teases just to fall apart under you later 

Sunoo opens his mouth to say more but before he gets the chance to, your lips crash with his and you pull him closer by the collar, making sure he shuts up. It’s been a long night of listening to him brag about how well he pleases you and that he could do so right then and there without a single care that you were outside. You didn’t mind it at first, chucking or rolling your eyes playfully every time he said something. You have enough of it now. If he wants to brag so much, he better start doing more than just talking. He rests his hands on your sides, keeping you close as he kisses you back, melting into your touch when you hold his neck while kissing him. All his plans disappear as you push your tongue into his mouth, his head turning blank. He couldn’t win this fight.

JUNGWON

Worships your body any chance he gets

Jungwon’s hands trail your hips, his touch gentle and soft. He places a few kisses to your stomach, slowly making his way up to your chest. He cups your breast, smiling as he massages them softly. A soft moan escapes your lips and you run your hand through his hair. “You’re so pretty,” he mumbles, helping you to sit on his lap. He squeezes your thighs, his eyes locked with yours as he kisses your chest again. “Absolutely beautiful, baby.” You smile, leaning down to press your lips onto his. “Gorgeous,” he mumbles, causing a soft giggle to escape your lips before kissing him again.

Loves being praised

“Fuck, it feels so good, Wonnie,” you gasp, lacing your fingers with his as he thrusts into you. He groans, his cock twitching inside you. “Yeah?” — “Yeah,” you nod, biting back your moans. “You’re amazing. Filling me up so well.” His eyes roll, thrusting into you with more force now. His head spins as he listens to your moans, trying to match his thrusts with your sounds. “Fuck– Yes, Wonnie, exactly there.” It’s a matter of seconds before he finishes inside you, your words echoing in his ears.

Likes to be vocal — “be good for me, baby.” “That’s it, just like that” 

His moans fill your ear as soon as he slides his cock inside, soft praises leaving his lips. You whine, your hips rolling against his. “You’re so perfect,” he groans, pulling his cock out completely before thrusting back in. You gasp, your eyes rolling back as he leans down to kiss your neck. “Taking me so well.” — “You feel amazing,” he moans right after, his nails digging into the flesh of your waist. He would fuck you all day if he could. “Fuck– you squeeze me so well, I’m going to cum.”

RIKI

Public teasing

His hand settles on your thigh, giving it a tight squeeze while keeping his eyes on your friends, nodding to whatever story your best friend was just talking about. Honestly, you completely turned off when you felt his hand on you, her words making it in by one ear and out the other right away. Your boyfriend leans closer to you and you can practically hear the smirk in his voice when he reaches your ear. “You’re squeezing your thighs together,” he whispers, briefly glancing at your friends on the opposite side of the table. “You should behave, love. What are they going to think if they find out?” It was easy to say Nishimura Riki knew how to make you weak in the knees. 

Into hearing you beg

“Tell me what you want, I can’t know if you don’t,” he coos, his thumb circling your clit. You squirm under him, closing your legs on instinct. He spreads them apart again with ease, his fingers teasing your wet hole. “Please,” you cry, your eyes closed and hips trying to rub on his fingers. “Please, Riki. I need– Need more,” you plea, his hum sending a shiver down your spine as he pulls his hand away instead. “No! No, please, I’ll be good. Please just–” you gasp when he thrusts two of his fingers into you without a warning, scoffing proudly as you moan into his ears, letting him know just how good he feels. 

Into watching you touch yourself 

“Open up more,” he commands, his hand lazily moving up and down his cock as his eyes wander all over your naked figure, his eyes stopping at your fingers buried deep inside your pussy. You obey, spreading your legs more to give him a better view as you finger yourself, your head falling back as your orgasm builds up. You moan his name on repeat, listening to his broken curses as he matches his speed to your. You pull out your fingers to rub your clit, looking at him again. Your mouth falls open but no sounds come out as his fingers replace yours and he brings you to your orgasm in the blink of an eye.

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[eyelessfaces]

if anything

bob reynolds x reader

summary: no one wants to talk about how close you came to dying, everyone walking on eggshells until bob finds out what really happened and asks why no one trusted him enough to tell the truth; you both know the reason involves your mutual feelings.

tags: some angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, mutual pining, idiots in love, yearning, light descriptions of violence, reader is held at gunpoint during a mission, mentions of wounds and bruises, tiny bleed, shame room, everyone in the watchtower knows you and bob are in love, bob has a cat (he gets her in this one shot that absolutely does not require to be read to enjoy this!)

word count: 2k

masterlist | taglist | ao3 | @eyelessupdates

buy me a coffee ♡

It’s unusually quiet when you step in and join the room, so quiet that you would have first guessed no one is actually here, so it comes as a shock when you hear the faint sizzling of the pan over the stove and see Walker and Ava cooking in a peaceful, unusual, almost unsettling silence considering they usually can’t stop bickering and picking at each other.

Yelena is sitting at the table lazily filing her nails, Bob is tucked away in his reading nook, and you glance around but Bucky and Alexei are nowhere to be seen, so you assume they’re down at the training floor.

You pull a chair and sit across from Yelena, making her glance up at you with a compassionate, gentle smile before she resumes her business. “You okay?” she asks simply, polishing her nails back and forth.

You hum softly and nod, repressing anything more. The truth is you’re exhausted and your limbs ache more than the painkillers can handle, and you’ve developed an awful headache from the pressure of it all, but you would rather leave today behind.

You know the reason everyone is so uptight and quiet, you know why the air feels so heavy. You’re painfully aware of the tension you have brought into the group after what happened during the mission, and you know how everyone feels despite no one really talking about it or letting it seep through except for that cold, weighing silence and the gentle motion as if everyone is afraid it will break the space around you. 

The overwhelming quiet after the storm.

“I filed the report and got it sent to Valentina” you announce in a mutter.

Yelena’s eyes are back on you in a second. “Did you make it true to what happened?”

You nervously play with your fingers, picking at the skin around your nails, giving her a shake of the head. You can see Walker and Ava closely listening from the corner of your eye, exchanging a look before they resume their task when you look in their direction. 

You sink back into your chair, wincing in discomfort when the shift in position painfully jabs at your side and steals your breath. “We didn’t tell Bob,” Yelena declares, setting her nail file down. “We figured we would save him the worry. We know how much he cares about you” she says, prompting you to look over your shoulder at Bob reading, earbuds in, blissfully unaware of the heavy atmosphere of the room. 

Your heart tightens inside your ribcage but you are convinced it doesn’t have anything to do with the nagging pain of your wounded body. “Yeah, we should move on” you agree, turning back to Yelena. “Let’s not talk about that again,” you offer.

“We got to thank you one last time though” she grins with a slight tilt of her head. “You really put yourself out there for us. I doubt we would have made it if you didn’t offer yourself and put your life on the line for us. As stupid as it was”

You chuckle softly. “Come on, what’s a few broken ribs and a bet that could have easily gotten me killed?” you joke with a grin, the ache at your temple strangely familiar and similar to the feeling of the gun barrel pointed at it hours ago. 

Despite the joke, you try to shake the feeling and memory away, grounding yourself with the thought that you’re here, you’re home, you’re safe, and there will only be bad dreams to catch up on you, nothing real.

You turn and lightly clear your throat when you hear Bob shift across the room, removing his wired earbuds, Yelena quietly quickly dismissing the conversation by not adding onto it, looking at you with a knowing glance. 

“Bob, buddy, train your cat not to jump over the fucking counter when we’re cooking” Ava points at the evidence, the black cat meowing in response. 

“Sorry, I’ll work on that” Bob says with an apologetic quirk of his lips as he gets Missy off the kitchen counter and puts her down on the floor. “She’s just hungry, it’s feeding time. C’mon Missy,” Bob calls, and the cat follows his every step as he grabs the box containing her food, needing to push her head aside when she already has it in the bowl even before he gets to pour her food. 

“You can also work on those fangs of hers,” Walker remarks. “She bit me this morning.” 

“Oh I’m sure you deserved it” Yelena casually mutters. Bob tilts his head in silent agreement, a small smirk threatening to grow on his face, and you can’t help but silently snort, the tension finally beginning to lift. 

You feel safe here. It all feels warmer. 

—

Missy is curled onto your bed, slowly blinking her sleepy yellowish eyes at you, not moving even as much as a millimeter when you sit down at the edge, not far from her. 

A painful sigh escapes you, hand instinctively coming to clutch onto your badly wounded side in naive hope that the heat of your hand would make the pain subside just for a moment, but even the rising and falling of your chest as you breathe makes it hurt.

Your hand leaves your side and you try to compose yourself when you hear a soft knock at the door, Bob’s head peeking in the slight opening. “Hi– just checking in, have you seen– oh” he pinches his lips into a smile when you lean to the side – painfully, but you try your best for it not to show – and reveal Missy sleeping behind you.

“I didn’t close the door all the way so she made her way in,” you turn to look at the cat now peacefully sleeping.

“Sorry for that–”

“What are you apologizing for? I don’t mind. At all” you shrug. 

Bob pinches a smile again, repressing another apology like you all have been teaching him, having been working on making him stop apologizing for everything and anything. 

“Okay, I’ll–” he starts to back away, but suddenly stops, a worried frown forming over his face as he points a finger at you. “You– You’re bleeding”

You look down at yourself and see the spot of blood seeping through your shirt, a curse escaping under your breath. Bob quickly comes to your side, sitting down next to you. 

Then, the second his hand rests over your arm, you’re sucked in.

Back there. 

Your breath falls short again as you're standing in front of yourself, the version of yourself a few hours ago, gun kissing your temple. You watch as the civilian you willingly replaced breaks down in sobs, two other people clutching his side, leading him away from the scene.

When you turn around, the whole team is in front of you, just the way they were earlier, only this time, Bob is also there.

That's when you get it. His touch triggered this.

The scene unfolds, excruciatingly slowly for the second time today, and Bob watches intently, mouth slightly agape as Walker points his gun, as Yelena tries to reason with the man holding the gun to your head, as Alexei gets ready to charge onto him at any opening that could be offered.

You and Bob both remain silent as it goes on, flinching when the man threatening you readjusts and grips harder onto his gun, but you both know for a reason he eventually won’t go through with it.

Bucky steps forward and offers the man a deal, and everything seems to accelerate again as the man eventually gives up and kicks a knee onto your side before he violently drops you to the ground like a marionette with cut strings, your body crashing onto the same side you have been kicked. The man runs away while you groan and clutch the ground in pain, Alexei and Bucky rushing to you while the rest of them go after the man, Ava shifting through to stop him in his run and Walker giving him a hit of his folded shield, knocking him out. 

Then, like you just blinked, you’re back in your bedroom, sitting next to Bob. Your eyes widen over him like you have seen a ghost, and he seems equally distraught, if not more.

“I’m sorry– You know I can’t control it” he pulls away, visibly shaken by what just happened.

“I know.”

You swallow, hard. The room remains heavy with silence until Bob speaks. “Why didn’t you tell me? Any of you?” 

You sigh, rubbing a hand over your eyes. “It was easier that way”

He nods and hums. “So much for trying to make me feel included” he smiles bitterly, hurt.

You close your eyes for a second, suddenly aware of how wrong it sounded. “Bob” you reach for him and pull him back when he tries to leave. This time, you remain here, and your hand stays over his arm. “I didn’t mean it that way” you nod seriously. He readjusts his position over the bed. “We decided to just put it under the rug and not talk about it anymore. I even lied in the report. Valentina won’t hear about that but it wasn’t meant for the same reasons as you”

He frowns softly, listening intently. His gaze is focused on you, like your face could speak hidden facts directly.

“If we decided not to tell you it’s not because we don’t trust you or something” you explain with a small shake of your head, looking at him earnestly. “It was probably wrong that we tried to hide something like this from you, but we just didn’t want you to worry.” you nod. Your throat feels tight from the pressure, invisible hands grasping at you, suffocating you. “Because we know you care.”

“You’re damn right I do” he mutters, his dark blue eyes slightly flickering. 

You can't exactly read his expression; it sits between frustration and something else that translates into the softness of his gaze but that you couldn't really pinpoint.

But you don't ask yourself any more questions. You have grown tired of it, and today might as well have been the last straw, so you do this the exact same way you did on the mission; you rush into it. 

You rush into taking his face into your hands, pressing your lips against his without even questioning yourself. 

A soft sound escapes his mouth as you do, but before you can even begin to wonder if you’ve startled him, he reaches for you with hesitant hands, as if he’s afraid to touch you, before they eventually come to rest at your neck for good. 

When you pull back, your foreheads are still pressed together, his lips still lightly grazing yours before a contented smile lights up his face, his knuckles brushing against your face with more confidence he suspected he could have. 

It feels like behind pulled back to the surface when you hear Missy’s high pitched meowing, making you both turn in her direction, making her desire for attention obvious when she sits right in the tight space between the both of you; it’s tricky, but she still manages to adopt a strange position that makes it fit.

Bob huffs out a laugh, petting her back, looking back up at you and watching the amused smile over your face when Missy stretches her lithe body under his scratches, asking for more. 

You hiss softly when a fresh shot of pain courses through you, reminding you of the current state of your body, and Bob’s expression instantly shifts into a more serious one. “You gotta let me help,” 

“That’s fine” you dismiss, trying to convince yourself that not giving importance to your pain will make it lessen; everything would be so much easier if it worked that way.

Bob’s head tilts slightly. “Trust me,” he mutters. “I know a thing or two about bruises”

You give him a bittersweet, compassionate smile before eventually surrendering, letting him take a look, assessing the situation before he takes it as his personal mission to look after you the way he wished he could have been looked after when he needed it.

—

any and every feedback/reblog/comment is greatly appreciated and helps more than you think!!

buy me a coffee ♡

thunderbolts taglist: @majestic-jazmin @eternallymaroon

[arylleth]

Growth isn't a matter of age, nor of knowledge—it is measured in the space between impulse and response, in how we navigate discomfort without turning it into a weapon.

There comes a moment—quiet, often humbling—when you realize that emotional maturity is not about perfection, but about presence. It’s the courage to pause when all you want is to lash out. There's a quiet strength in emotional maturity. Not in knowing everything, but in being willing to unlearn, to listen, to say, “I was wrong,” without collapsing into shame or defensiveness. This is the work of becoming whole: knowing that being flawed doesn't make us unworthy, but refusing to take responsibility does damage the spaces we inhabit with others.

As Carl Rogers, one of the founders of humanistic psychology, wrote: “The curious paradox is that when I accept myself just as I am, then I can change.” Growth begins with self-awareness, not self-reproach. And it deepens when we learn to offer that same gentle awareness to others—especially when they falter.

As Bell Hooks wrote in All About Love, “Love is an action, never simply a feeling.” And action requires effort. Not just in grand gestures, but in the daily work of listening better, judging less, asking instead of assuming. Real connection can only grow where accountability lives—where people are brave enough to confront themselves and kind enough to do it without shame.

We often long for others to be better. To understand us, forgive us, fight for us. But how often do we offer them the very grace we demand? We crave safe spaces, but are we safe people? We want honesty, but do we know how to hold it when it’s not flattering? not recoil when it's uncomfortable? Maturity begins when we recognize that relationships aren’t built on performance, but on mutual responsibility.

It’s easy to blame the other, to say they failed, they disappointed. But what about us? Are we willing to look inward, not to condemn, but to understand? Healing begins when blame ends. When we stop outsourcing our discomfort and start asking: What’s mine to repair?

In his Letters to a Young Poet, Rainer Maria Rilke reminds us: “The only journey is the one within.” And from that inner journey, everything flows: empathy, clarity, strength. We grow not by avoiding our flaws, but by facing them with tenderness. Not by never failing, but by learning how to rise without stepping on others.

John Bowlby, in his attachment theory, showed us that emotional connection is a basic human need, not a weakness. But it is earned, sustained through trust, consistency, and repair. No bond survives without responsibility. Real love requires us to be better not just for ourselves, but for those who dare to be close to us.

We often believe that how we love will shape how others love us back. But that's only part of the truth. It's not enough to give love—we must give it where it can live. “Love is an act of will—both an intention and an action.” And part of that will is discernment: learning to invest in people who return love in kind, not just absorb it.

So yes, love generously, show up fully—but not blindly. Teach people how to love you by loving yourself enough to walk away when they can't meet you there. We don't always receive the love we give—but we can choose to give it to those who do. We grow not by avoiding conflict, but by staying present in it. By choosing repair over pride. By learning to say: "Here's what I feel. Here's what I need. And here's what I'm responsible for." That's not weakness—it's the foundation of every honest relationship.

We mirror the world we want to live in by how we choose to be, especially when no one is watching.

In the end, the version of ourselves we hope others will be with us—honest, kind, brave—we must first become for them. Not to earn love, but to make space for the kind of love that holds, honors, and reciprocates. Be the version of yourself you’d want others to become in your presence. Because deep down, we’re all just hoping someone will meet us in that space — willing, open, and real. And perhaps the most loving thing we can do is meet them there first.

May you find people who water the roots of your being, who don't run from your truth, who make the garden of your soul not just bloom—but feel safe to keep growing. May you become that person for others.

You're not grown until you know how to communicate, apologize, be truthful and accept accountability without blaming someone else.

[bluewxrld07]

What I Want (Luke Hughes)

Luke Hughes X Female!reader

Summary: In which Y/N wants Luke, but she is scared to let him in. Luke wants Y/N too, but doesn't want to scare her away

A/N: This is probs my most fave I've wrote :') so so good. I hope y'all enjoy (This do be inspired by the newest song by Morgan Waller feat. Tate McRae. Go listen if you haven't!!)

Warning(s): Mentions of cheating, angst, jealousy, ghosting, mutual pining, kissing

Nah you ain't gotta worry 'bout no trust issues, I got 'em too, I got 'em too

Nah you ain't gotta worry 'bout no exes that's crazy, I got 'em too, you know I do

"Your Chariot awaits you m'lady." Luke jokes as he motions to the entry to the ice arena.

Y/N chuckles at his antics as she passes by him, holding her clipboard close to her chest while she takes in the scene around her. The arena never disappoints to amaze her. She loved her job.

She was wearing her New Jersey Devils quarter zip with a pair of track pants, hair pulled back with a clawclip to keep it from flowing around while she skated on the ice.

The girl was one of few conditioning coaches for the Hockey team, having landed an internship with them post grad school, moving there with her boyfriend of three years, and she couldn't have asked for a better team to coach with. She had grown close to everyone on the team, feeling like she fit in instantly, especially after becoming closest with Luke Hughes.

Luke made her feel better. Brought out the light in her. Her boyfriend, Chase, has been dimming it lately as their nights together have been increasing with more fights and unloyal actions by the man.

She had caught texts between him and another coworker of his, a female that is, sending awfully provocative messages to one another. Ever since that night Chase has been short with her when he is home, and ends up leaving for the night after leaving a mess in their shared apartment.

Y/N always looked forward to work during these times at home, especially because now Luke was helping keep her distracted from it.

Which was whom she was heading out onto the ice with as they wait for the rest of the boys to make their ways out.

"So what's on the chopping block today boss?" Luke asks as he skates with her while shooting pucks around.

She gives him a sly smirk while shaking her head. "You'll figure it out with everyone else. No special treatment, you know that." she tsks, making him groan and roll his eyes.

"Oh come on, not even for the one who brought you lunch and your favorite coffee place?"

"Nope not even them."

"You're ridiculous."

"And you're a crybaby."

"A pretty crybaby."

She laughs at his comment and says nothing, going to move the nets over and place back in their holder.

Luke quiets for a second before clearing his throat. "So how're things with Chase?" he asks slowly, not wanting to strike a nerve. Which is too late, watching her smile fade.

"They're fine," she says with a shrug. "Haven't seen him around lately, so not much to say."

Luke raises a brow. "I'm sorry to hear that." he says as he helps her raise the goal to put it into place. "I thought he got off an hour before you?" he questions.

"We got into an argument about something. Ever since then, he's been staying later or goes out with coworkers." she says, her tone becoming shorter with each sentence that leaves her mouth.

"Wait what? What happened?" he bombards, and she huffs before snapping her head towards him.

"Just some stuff I was catching onto."

"Like what?"

"That is not your concern," she snaps back. "No more questions."

The boys all are making their ways out to the ice by this time and skating around for warmups. "But Y/N-"

"Go skate, Hughes."

He watches as she turns away from him and skates away from his view, the blond boy standing there with confusion written all over his face.

She said, "You don't want this heart boy, it's already broke"

Told me everything she touch just blows up in smoke

Only stay a couple nights, then she gon' be gone

I said, "Baby, you should know that's what I want"

Y/N wiped the tears from her face. Not caring about the people who would send her pity stares around the room.

She was sat by herself in the bar, one closer to her workplace so it wouldn't be a hassle walking to the hotel across from it later when she was intoxicated. She looked down at her drink while crossing her arms over one another in front of her on the bar counter.

She had to get out of there, she had to. Her intuition was right, and she was glad she made a plan out of it.

The girl had known Chase was still seeing the other girl, as he had been coming home reeking of some cheap and fruity smelling perfume and marks hiding barely underneath his collared shirts.

In which she had conducted the plan to say she would be out working at the rink till late, seeing if he would take her bait. He did.

The scene she had walked back into had her heart breaking into a million pieces. She knew it. Everything in her mind screamed it.

Clothes were scattered amongst the entry hallway floor, shoes too. She could hear moans, gasps and everything in between as she walked further into their once-shared home. As she walked down towards their bedroom, the door was left open a crack and she could see things she wished she didn't just through it.

Which was when she slammed the door open with a loud thud, the back of it hitting the wall. The pair in bed jumping and scattering to wrap the sheets around themselves.

Chase looked more pissed than scared, while the woman looked so afraid for her life. Y/N's face dropped in shock, as she held back the tears that were glossing over her eyes.

She scoffed while pushing her hair out of her face. "Oh well don't mind me," she snidely comments, while going towards the closet to pack up some of her things. Chase got out of the bed, scurrying over towards her.

"I'm sorry," he says softly, trying to reach out to her. She ignores his pleads and cries while she packed and zipped up her bags. "Y/N please I'm sorry. I just didn't know how to tell you, I've been so stressed and you haven't been home and-"

"So fucking your coworker you specifically told me I was being crazy and insecure about is your next best option? Seriously?" she yells back, whipping her head back toward him.

He stands there silently. "You're a coward." she whispers, walking past him. He grips her arm.

"Please don't leave! We-we can figure this out! We can-"

"No."

"Y/N please I can't do this without you, I need you-"

"Then you shouldn't have gotten your fucking dick wet by another woman, Chase." Y/N growls, ripping her arm from his grip and walking towards the door while ignoring his further calls of her name.

She let the door slam behind her as she got out of that apartment complex as quick as she could, tears streaming down her face.

Her mind was trying to figure out where to go, what to do. She didn't have a place to live. She couldn't call anyone, not even Luke as she hasn't spoken to him since that day at practice.

She was so scared to face him, because she knew he knew.

Which led her to where she was now, sitting in the bar alone at almost one in the morning, thanking herself that she didn't have work till Tuesday. It was Thursday.

She turned her phone on Do Not Disturb, as Chase was blowing up her phone with texts, calls, emails, anything he could do to get her to respond.

She refused.

"Y/N?" A voice says behind her, making her snap out of her daze and whip her head around.

A very confused Jack Hughes was walking in with a couple of his fellow players whom were going to sit towards a table. She turns her head back around as he began to walk over to her, quickly making work to wipe under her eyes before he reached her.

She smiled the fakest smile she could muster as she turned back to him when he sat next to her, his eyebrows furrowing. "Hey Jacky boy." she says with a dry and hoarse chuckle.

"Y/N are you okay? What's wrong?" he asks her.

She shook her head and bites her bottom lip. "Nothing, why?" she says, eyes glossing over.

Jack gives her a look, wiping a tear that escaped. "What happened?" he asks, his voice softer. Y/N then lets her guard down, and sniffles.

"I was right," she shrugs, taking a sip of her drink. "I should've called it off months ago, but part of me wanted to be so wrong. I really thought this one would work." she rambles, tears falling nonstop.

"What? Wait, did something happen with Chase?" he bombards, his eyes looking back and forth between hers.

She chokes on a sob and nods, covering her mouth with her hand.

Jack looks behind her, doing a double take before placing his hand on her arm to have her look at him. "Stay here, I'll be back okay?" he says, and she nods.

Jack leaves a second later, Y/N turning back to her drink and finishing it off before motioning to the bartender for another.

The bartender hands her another tequila and pineapple, the girl taking a few gulps. She tries to not jump at the feeling of a hand softly being placed on the middle of her back.

Her head turns over, seeing the one boy she had been avoiding coming to sit next to her. His eyes looking down at her with a frown.

"Y/N," Luke says in a soft tone. "What happened with Chase?"

"What do you mean?" she asks, playing dumb.

"Jack told me," he starts. "He said something happened between you two and to come to you. What's going on?"

Y/N just sniffles, stirring her straw around her drink before taking it out and going to chug the rest of it.

Before she can even let the glass hit her lips, a hand is snagging it from her grip and putting it out of reach. She furrows her brows as she follows it, seeing Luke is taking it from her view and setting it behind him.

He motions to the bartender to take it, doing a slash signal across his neck. "She's done, I'll close her tab." he says to the bartender, handing him his card before turning back to Y/N.

She's pouting at him when he looks at her, making him give her a look. "Tell me what happened. I can't help you if you don't tell me."

"Why would you want to help me?"

"What kind of question is that? Why wouldn't I want to help you?" he asks, watching her shrug.

"I ruin everything I let get too close to me." she says, zoning into the space in front of her. Luke sighs, lifting his hand to place is pointer and middle fingers underneath her chin to have her look at him.

"What. Happened?"

Y/N looks into his eyes, sighing as her tears free fall once more. "Chase cheated on me. He's been sleeping with one of his coworkers for months," she admits, watching his face fall as he takes his fingers out from under her chin.

"That's why we were fighting," she explains. "I saw messages, and so I called him out. Then he got defensive and short with me. I caught them tonight."

Luke feels his chest get tight as he watches her slowly break.

"So I packed my stuff and left," she huffs and sniffles as she picks at her nails.

"Y/N," he says in a sadder tone, and she shakes her head.

"Don't, Luke. Enough."

"Why? Why won't you let me be there for you?"

"Because I can't."

"Yes you can."

"No I can't," she whips her head over. "I already ghosted you once, what makes you think I won't do it again? So no, I don't want your help or your pity or anything. It's better to keep your distance."

Luke looks at her shock. Watching as her nail beds start to bleed from picking at them.

Fuck it.

He grabs her hands, lacing them with his own to keep her from hurting herself more.

She glares over at him, and he shakes his head.

"Where are you staying?"

"Luke I already said-"

"Where are you staying?"

She sighs and looks down at her lap, Luke caressing the top of her hands.

"I was going to stay at the hotel across from the arena." she mumbles, and he purses his lips.

"Come stay with Jack and I."

She snaps her head up with a frown. "Luke I can't-"

"You can, and you will," he starts, sighing as he sees she's going to argue more. "I know what it feels like. I do, I've been through this too. You can lean on me. I know you have no trust right now, I've been there. But you can trust me."

Her lip quivers as she looks at him, only seeing sincerity in his eyes. "So please just come stay with us. You're not going to be bugging us or pestering us. Jack would kill me if he found out I'd let you stay in a hotel."

She sits there and thinks for a bit, before looking at him.

"Only a few days, then I'm gone." she says, and he looks at her with a knowing look.

"Only a few days." He agrees.

She nods slowly before yawning, Luke standing up and helping her up from her chair. "Let's get you to bed, yeah?" he says, watching her nod and blinks slowly.

There are no hard feelings if you only wanna act like lovers do, for a night or two

And sometimes in the mornin', go back to being someone you never knew, you never knew

Baby don't you worry, you ain't gonna hurt me tonight

It won't be the worst thing, If this is how it is, then he kissed me again

It had been close to a few weeks since Y/N had agreed to stay with Luke and Jack.

She had kept her promise to only stay a few days, wanting to somewhat get herself back on her feet.

Or in this case, in which she had tried to leave after a few days.

Luke and Jack told her otherwise, and that they preferred her company more than anything. They had begged for her to stay longer, saying she could pitch in if she truly wanted to get back on her feet like she's saying.

Although they were more than fine if she also didn't spend a dime towards them. But knowing her all too well, they knew she'd refuse and would make a compromise wanting to help.

So after a few negotiations, Y/N had agreed to stay with them, the boys helping her one day gather the rest of her things from her apartment.

They had made sure to go when she knew Chase wouldn't have been home, a breath of relief had left her lips when the place was empty amongst entering.

So now she was a few weeks into living with the Hughes boys, and she had felt much better. Well as good as she could be.

Moving in with Luke and Jack, had also brought some weird emotions and feelings to light between her and Luke. Ones she wasn't aware of until one morning when she had woken up to him bringing her breakfast in bed, alongside her favorite coffee order.

Luke made things feel easier. Lighter.

The boys had included her in more nights out, wanting to help her forget about the ex who had ruined her trust and broke her heart.

Also Luke wouldn't let her stay home and bedrot a moment longer, to which he actually carried her over his shoulder till they were secure in the uber on their way to their destination for the evening.

She had her arms crossed, a pout and frown on her face as she stared at Luke who sat next to her. He looked down at her in amusement.

"Oh stop," he chuckles. "You needed to get out of the place. I will no longer allow you to lose your youth over a man who couldn't see over five foot seven."

"He wasn't that short."

Nico looked behind at her with a smirk and nod. "Oh yes he was."

"See? Cap agrees." Luke says while motioning towards the boy in the front seat. Her mouth dropped at Nico before she smacked his shoulder.

"Rude!" she huffs, and Nico puts his hands up in surrender. "We don't lie in this car." Nico chuckles, earning an eyeball from her.

"You're all ridiculous."

"Not ridiculous sweetheart," Luke laughs, placing a hand on her thigh and tapping his fingers against it. "Just honest."

"Easy for you to say," she scoffs. "You're taller than average."

Luke puts his other hand over his chest with a fake awe face. "Are you complimenting me? This is a rare sighting!" he gasps, making her push his hand off of her thigh and cross her arms again and look out the window.

Luke laughs, before putting his hand back on her thigh and squeezing. He leans over to her, getting close to her ear. "Relax I'm only messing around." he chuckles softly before placing a kiss to her temple and sitting back up straight.

Her face began to heat up and she tried to hide the smile forming on her face.

Luke always knew how to make her fold and give in. Especially nowadays when he would do little actions like the kisses on the temple or holding her thigh or hand.

Y/N didn't mind it one bit, and he didn't seem to push or ask her either. He just knew.

When they arrived at the bar for the night, they found the other boys already gathered around a corner booth inside, drinks in their hands as they all conversed.

Some of the boys got up and gave her big hugs, some saying how excited they were that she decided to join them while some were just glad she was there.

Y/N felt a little nervous at first, but was now becoming at ease especially with Luke not leaving her side as she conversed with them all.

Throughout the night he kept his hand on the small of her back, or his hand laced with hers if they had to walk through a crowd so he wouldn't lose her.

He never abandoned her, and it made her insides feel weird. A good weird, but still weird.

It was later in the night and she had already become a little past the point of being buzzed. The girl was sat in the booth, listening in on the boys conversations. Luke had gotten up to go get her and him another drink.

She had felt the need to go to the bathroom, excusing herself from the table to get up and make her way towards where she needed to go.

As she excused herself in between the bodies filling the bar, she lifted her head up once through the crowd soon doing a double-take.

Her eyes narrowed at the sight not too far in front of her.

Luke was sitting on a barstool turned away from the bar, a leg supporting him on the floor while the other sat on the metal bar of the barstool with his drink in hand. A pretty brunette girl who looked tall and model-like talking to him.

They looked invested in one another, Luke smiling at her while the girl is smiling him while working the triangular stare tactic on him.

Y/N felt her stomach churning at their closeness, especially seeing Luke never got her her drink he had promised. She felt her trust issues sinking in, her mind starting to become louder and sobering her entire body up.

She no longer felt the need to go to the bathroom, only wanting to get out of that place.

As she made her way towards the front door, she began to realize her emotions she was feeling towards Luke and the girl weren't betrayal or annoyance.

They were jealousy.

She was jealous of the girl and Luke.

Which means she likes Luke.

Y/N had feelings for Luke.

Once she stepped outside the cold air blew into her face, instantly sobering her up.

Y/N began walking down the street, somewhat aware of where she was at. She stopped at the end of the street and began to pull her phone up for directions back towards the Hughes household.

"Y/N!"

Her name is being hollered behind her, causing her to turn around and then roll her eyes when she sees the familiar head of curly hair jogging down the street towards her.

"Y/N what're you doing? Where are you going?" he says to her once he catches up to her.

"I'm going home."

Luke nods. "Okay I'm coming with you-"

"No, it's fine."

"What's-"

"Nothing I'm fine Luke, fucks sake." she snaps, making him frown at her with confusion. His eyes began to search hers.

"Why are you acting like this? Did something happen?" he asks, and she huffs, putting in the address for the apartment silently.

"Y/N."

She stays quiet.

Luke huffs before grabbing the phone from her hand, earning a gasp from her as she goes tor each for it.

"No, stop, Y/N- stop!"

Y/N freezes at the slight raise in his voice, looking at him with a scowl.

"Not till you tell me what happened."

"Nothing I just want to go home." she crosses her arms and looks at the ground.

"You're lying."

Her eyes snap up at him as if looks could kill. "What did you say?"

Luke purses his lips. "You're lying, Y/N."

"No I'm not-"

"You can't look someone in the eye. That's how I know you're lying." he explains, making her open and close her mouth unsure of what to say.

"That's not true, I want to go home."

"Okay fine. Then let me come with you."

"No."

"Why not?"

She huffs and crosses her arms. "Don't you have a girl to get back to?" she snaps, making him look at her all confused.

"You mean Lydia?" he asks, making her eyebrows raise while she runs around to walk away.

"Oh great she has a name." she mumbles before walking away from him.

"No don't you dare walk away," Luke says as he grabs her hip and turns her back to him.

He frowns at her, seeing her slightly shaking from how cold it is. He shrugs his jacket off and wrapping it around her shoulders.

"Why're you so upset?" he asks in a softer tone, watching her eyes leave his and look at her toes.

"Nothing."

"What did I say about lying to me?" he says, watching her huff before rolling her eyes and looking at him.

"Go back to Lydia. I'm going home." she says before turning to walk away once more, leaving his grip quick enough before he can try and prevent her from leaving.

"Stop this!" he says behind her, and she shrugs her shoulders.

"I'm not doing anything."

"Yes you are." he says.

"I'm not."

"She's Nico's cousin, first off and second off she was asking if I could help with a surprise for him. I don't want her."

"That's nice. Goodnight Luke." she calls out behind her as she continued walking.

"Dammit Y/N," he groans. "When are you going to realize it's you I want?"

She stops in her tracks, turning towards him slowly. He sees the pleading look in his eyes as he walks closer to her.

"I want you. I've wanted you." he says as he approached her.

"You don't want me, Luke."

"How can you tell me what I want and don't want?"

"Because I'm broken. I'm messed up. I'm not someone who gets a happy ending. You don't want me." she sputters out. Luke frowning at her.

"Seriously?" he exasperates, putting his hands on his hips as he looks down at her in disbelief.

"Yes seriously. I've got a lot of shit Luke. I'm a broken person. I can't be fixed."

Luke looks at her, his heart clenching at how she thinks of herself. Her hand comes up and caresses his face with a sad smile.

"Goodnight Luke." she says softly as she lets her hand fall from his face and turns to walk away.

Luke grabs the back of her neck in a soft grip, turning her around and slamming his lips onto hers in a bruising and passionate kiss.

Y/N gasps in shock, but she soon lets her emotions take over, and lets her hands fall onto his chest as he lets his tongue find hers and move in sync with her lips.

Luke kisses her as if it's his last, not wanting to ever let her go.

She said, "You don't want this heart, no, it can't be fixed"

And I ain't ready to try on a night like this

But if you still wanna stay, there ain't nothin' wrong

I said, "Baby, you should know that's what I want"

They break away from the kiss, Luke leaning his forehead against hers while his thumbs caress her cheeks. Y/N lets her hands go up and grip his wrists in a soft manner.

She opens her eyes as he opens his, looking between the eyes she had fallen hard for.

Y/N shook her head lightly. "You don't want my broken heart, Luke."

Luke smiles at her and nods slowly as his eyes never leave her own. "Trust me, sweetheart. It's what I want."

That's what I want, that's what I want

What I want

[apple-onigiri]

please may we know some more about the understudy recalled au................. the patients need toxic sifloop yuri to live

the patients are going to get so much toxic sifloop yuri they're going to ascend all the way to the firmament, let me tell you

in big summary, understudy recalled au is what happens when you get my thought process going because of this sifloop self-love/self-hatred analysis i did a while back and crank up those two's worst mutual destruction tendencies to the point where it all ends with siffrin disappearing from existence and loop reprising their role

[details under the cut for the sake of not creating a long post]

what you get in this au is a loop whose propensity to project their own self-hatred onto siffrin because they're still getting used to the idea that siffrin is his own person and not just a reflection you can jeer at with no consequence is dialed up to 11. a loop who doesn't know when to stop with all that envy, bitterness, unresolved anguish and self-destructive tendencies within them, and who starts to realize that they messed up too late to fix anything.

what you get in this au is a siffrin who kept getting constant feedback fueling his own spiraling thoughts about just how bad he is at everything, who kept being told by the only person he could really actually talk to within the loops how he's constantly stumbling helplessly. a siffrin who really starts to believe they're the worst possible person to deal with all this, actually. just useless, useless, useless. no good at all. someone whose party must be tired of him, grossed out by him. wholly inadequate to solve the issue of the time loop, and maybe not even deserving of the resolution.

one night, far into the loops, loop having caught sight of siffrin's lifeless face, usually hidden by their hanging head and big hat, earlier this loop, puts their own fragmented psyche together. there's a pit of guilt actively opening in their stomach because they very suddenly realized that stardust is not and has never been them - but they treated him like he was, like their words would have no effect because they both would think the same about each other. but even if siffrin thinks the same things about himself as loop, that's not the same as hearing it from someone else. someone who you don't even know is the same person.

loop decides, in a panic, that they need to try and fix it, if they even can, starting the moment they see siffrin next loop. beg for forgiveness, or maybe just for an opportunity to redeem themselves, maybe even come clean about who they are, be helpful to the best of their ability, be a point of support from now on, try to fix it, fix it, fix it—

just then, siffrin, having snuck out from the clocktower in the dead of night, approaches the favor free to make a wish. a wish for someone else to figure a way out, someone who isn't as useless, as aimless as him. someone like loop, who always seems to know what's going on and has to explain reality to him like he's a little kid. for someone else to take over and for himself to just disappear. loop sees him pick a leaf from the ground and start mumbling into it.

despite loop's efforts to get down the tree in time to stop siffrin, tear the leaf out of their hand, stifle their words of self-renouncement, they don't make it in time. it is done, the universe realigning to push this new reality into existence. siffrin just smiles sadly at them from the ground they're kneeling on, face wet with tears, and asks loop to make sure the others make it out of the loops they have no idea they're even trapped in.

and then he disappears, as if consumed by a black hole or swallowed up by the shifting shadows, just stardust left behind on top of his hat, resting on the grass. loop is left alone right there, under the tree; looking painfully human again. back to the stage, loop.

loop ends up playing the role of siffrin once more and, knowing how much the party cares about them just from observing them, finally gets out of the loops; but it feels like the biggest loss they've ever gone through because they didn't want this, they didn't realize how far they took it, they want him back, give him back, this wasn't theirs, it was his—

but he's gone, not even a whisper or a ghost left behind. and no one remembers. after all, a siffrin is still there. just not stardust.

[lustlvii]

May I request a San and Mingi x reader fic? Maybe as a Mafia AU where the reader (fem) is from the enemy family and she’s there to discuss business with them. Something ensues, tension builds.

A smutty one if possible lol. Go wild. Love ur fics and would love to be mutuals!

got some nerve. San , Mingi x Female!reader [MAFIA AU]

Including: Choi San and song mingi

Warnings: Mafia AU, threesome, double penetration, oral (m receiving), like one ass slap, name calling (slut, angel), floor sex basically, spit (MINGI DOES IT LIKE ONCE), This is long and dirty so 😍

Authors note: sorry Anon this took awhile to write!! And yes ofc let's be moots 😽😽🤭 guys I think I enjoy this 🫨 but it's also very long :(

The room smelled like burnt cigars and sandalwood cologne, thick with a silence neither of you cared to break.

You sat, legs crossed at the knee, eyes flickering between the two men at the other end of the table. Mingi leaned back, shoulder brushing San’s as he toyed with a toothpick between his lips, expression unreadable behind the dim glow of low light. San, on the other hand, was all sharp lines and smirking eyes, elbows on the table like he owned the space. Like you were already his, in some twisted way.

"You’ve got some nerve showing up alone," San said first, voice smooth but edged like a blade. "Pretty little thing from that family thinking she can waltz into our territory with demands."

You smiled. Not sweetly. Not apologetically.

"Correction," you said, fingers tapping slowly against your glass of untouched whiskey. "I came with an offer. You want to talk nerves, let’s talk about how you two didn't bring backup either."

Mingi chuckled, low and lazy. "Didn’t think we’d need any. Not for you."

"That confidence is going to get someone killed one day," you murmured.

San tilted his head. "Is that a threat?"

"Not yet."

The silence crackled between the three of you like thunder waiting to break.

San leaned forward now, gaze fixed on yours like he was trying to peel layers back with his stare alone. "You think we’re stupid? Coming in here talking truce like it doesn’t reek of setup?"

You met his gaze evenly. "I think you're smart enough to know that sometimes the enemy of your enemy is worth keeping alive."

Mingi’s eyes narrowed, finally discarding the toothpick. "You mean Jang’s crew. You want us to believe you'd rather help us than see your own family win?"

"Let’s just say…" you said, finally picking up the glass and sipping slow, "I believe in personal survival more than loyalty. And your rivals don’t discriminate when they put a bullet between someone's eyes. Family name or not."

They didn’t say anything. Not for a moment.

Then San’s tongue clicked behind his teeth. "I don’t trust you."

"You shouldn’t."

"But I want to hear more."

Mingi nodded. “You’ve got five minutes, angel.”

You set the glass down with a soft clink, the whiskey untouched again.

"Jang’s expanding. Fast. Too fast," you said, voice even, laced with something just beneath the surface — a dare, maybe. "And he’s not doing it clean. Half of his new muscle is ex-military. The other half? Trigger-happy kids with something to prove. You think this territory of yours is safe?"

San leaned back slowly, tongue pressing into the inside of his cheek. "We can handle Jang."

You nodded once. "Maybe. But how many casualties are you willing to stomach first?"

Mingi crossed his arms over his broad chest, eyes still fixed on you, watching every breath, every flicker of expression. "Why do you care? If he takes us out, that just clears the board for your people."

"My people," you scoffed under your breath, lips twisting. "Would gut me the moment it benefits them. I’m not here to make friends. I’m here to survive. That’s the difference between me and them."

San’s eyes didn’t leave yours, but there was a new glint in them now. Curiosity. Maybe even respect. "And what’s your plan, little traitor?"

You raised an eyebrow. "Information. Routes. Names. I give you access to what Jang’s trying to hide. You hit them before they move. In exchange, I walk when this is over. Clean. Untouched. No ghost on my back. No bullet in mine."

Mingi let out a low whistle. "That’s a lot of trust you're asking for. Dangerous thing to gamble in our world."

"And yet," you said, standing slowly, voice lowering just enough to tighten the room’s tension like a noose, "you haven’t told me to leave."

You stepped around the table now — not rushed, not fearful — until you were standing directly across from the two of them. San’s hand twitched once near the pistol at his waist. You smiled, slow and knowing.

"Am I close enough for you to shoot, San?" you asked. "Or is it that you just don’t want me to leave yet?"

His gaze was sharp. But he didn’t answer.

Mingi sat up straighter, jaw ticking. "You’re a pretty girl with blood on your hands. We’ve killed for less than the name you carry. And yet here you are."

"Here I am," you echoed.

For a long beat, no one moved. The city outside the window pulsed like a heartbeat, muffled by the glass and the weight of what hung in the air between you all.

Finally, San stood, slow and deliberate.

"Three days," he said. "If the intel checks out, we talk again. If it doesn’t—"

"I know," you cut in. "I’ll be the one in the body bag."

Mingi chuckled again, but there was no humor in it. "You really do have some nerve."

San’s stare hadn’t moved from you since the word “walk” left your lips.

But when you stepped closer, just within arm’s reach, his fingers curled around your chin without hesitation.

“Untouched, huh?” he murmured, tilting your face up. His thumb swept over your bottom lip like he was checking for a lie. “Bet that mouth’s told more stories than your eyes ever will.”

“Want me to tell you one?” you breathed, lashes low.

San’s smirk was sharp enough to cut. “No,” he said. “I want you to show me.”

Behind you, Mingi stood as well—slower, heavier, the sound of his chair scraping against the concrete floor echoing like a countdown.

Your breath hitched.

Two predators now circled.

San’s grip slid to your throat—not choking, just holding, commanding. “On your knees, angel,” he said, voice so low it barely qualified as sound.

You sank without protest.

“Good girl,” Mingi muttered behind you, dragging his palm across your cheek once, affectionate in a twisted way.

The clink of a belt unbuckling made your stomach flutter. San tugged his jeans down just enough for his cock to spring free—hard, flushed, already leaking. He tapped it twice against your lips.

“Open wide. Don’t make me ask again.”

You did.

He slid in slowly at first—almost gentle—but that mercy vanished the moment your tongue flattened against the underside of him.

San groaned, hand threading into your hair. “Fuck… just like that. Traitor’s mouth was made for this.”

Mingi crouched beside you, watching the way your cheeks hollowed as San thrust forward again, testing your limits.

“Sloppy little thing,” he muttered. “Drool’s already running down your chin.”

San chuckled, low and pleased. “You like being used, don’t you?”

You moaned around his cock, eyes fluttering shut.

“Keep them open,” he ordered, jaw tight. “Wanna see that look when you choke on it.”

He shoved deeper this time—faster—fucking your face like you weren’t someone who’d just bargained your way into a war.

You gagged once. Then twice.

And San only groaned louder. “God, that sound... makes me wanna ruin you right here.”

Mingi’s hand gripped your jaw, turning your head slightly even as San’s cock stayed buried in your throat. “Bet your cunt’s soaking, huh? Squeezing nothing but air.”

You couldn’t speak.

Didn’t need to.

Mingi’s fingers slid down your side, grazing over your ass as he murmured in your ear. “Don’t worry, pretty girl. I’ll fix that real soon.”

San pulled out with a wet pop, strings of spit connecting his tip to your lips. You gasped, swallowing air.

But you weren’t given long.

Mingi had already unzipped, dragging the thick length of his cock along your cheek before slapping it against your tongue.

“Let’s see if you can take both of us, angel,” he growled.

Mingi didn’t ease in the way San had. No warning. No gentle stroke. Just a firm grip on the back of your head and the heavy weight of his cock forcing past your lips, thick and hot and demanding.

“Keep your mouth open, sweetheart,” he muttered, voice gravelly. “Gonna fuck it the way you begged us to.”

San stood behind you now, watching—palms dragging slowly down the curve of your back to the swell of your ass, fingers digging into the flesh like he owned it.

And he did.

They both did.

Your throat protested as Mingi thrust deeper, one hand now fisted in your hair, the other guiding your jaw to take more. Drool spilled freely, strings of it falling to the floor, smearing across your chest as you choked and moaned around him.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “This mouth’s unreal. Wet little hole just begging to be ruined.”

Behind you, San dropped to one knee, his breath hot against your thighs.

“You hear her?” he said, voice thick with lust. “So wet I can smell it.”

Two fingers slid between your legs without warning, dragging through the mess dripping down your inner thighs.

Then—smack.

His palm landed hard on your ass. Once. Then again.

You whimpered, full of Mingi, unable to do anything but take it.

San laughed darkly. “She liked that.”

“Of course she did,” Mingi groaned. “Slut like this was made for it.”

Another slap.

San’s fingers returned, this time slipping between your folds, gathering the slick coating your cunt before bringing it to your puckered hole. He pressed, slow, teasing.

“You ever had both holes filled, angel?” he asked, dragging his tongue across the back of your thigh.

You gagged around Mingi’s cock as your body jerked, overwhelmed.

Mingi pulled out just long enough for you to breathe—and that’s when San struck.

Two fingers plunged into your pussy, curling immediately.

“Say it,” he growled in your ear. “Say you want both of us.”

“I—ah—fuck, yes—please,” you gasped, lips swollen, spit and cum slick on your chin. “Want both—please, San—please, Mingi—want it so bad—”

Mingi chuckled, mean and low. “Look at you. Begging to be split open. Your family's little traitor, getting face-fucked and dripping all over the floor like a whore.”

He slapped your face lightly, just enough to make you blink and gasp.

“Dirty little thing,” he spat. Literally. Onto your tongue. “Swallow it.”

You did.

And when you looked up at him, eyes wide, breath hitching—Mingi’s grin widened.

San was already unbuckling again, stroking his cock slow as he stood behind you, tip brushing the soaked seam of your cunt.

“This is gonna hurt, angel,” he murmured into your shoulder, aligning with no hesitation. “But you’re gonna take it. Because you said you wanted to walk away clean, right?”

He pushed in.

One thick inch after another, until your thighs trembled and your moans turned into desperate little sobs.

“Fuuuck—tight little pussy gripping me like she’s scared,” San hissed.

Your face fell forward against Mingi’s thigh as you tried to breathe, but the stretch, the pressure, the fullness—San was deep. So deep.

Then Mingi tapped your lips again.

“You’re not done, sweetheart,” he said, cock sliding along your cheek. “You’ve still got a mouth to fill.”

And just like that—you were trapped again.

Face full. Pussy full.

Used like they’d been planning it from the moment you walked in with your offer and your little whiskey glass.

San fucked you hard, steady. Deep strokes that made your legs shake.

Mingi held your face still, grunting as he used your throat like a toy.

You took it.

Like the good little traitor you were.

“You’re shaking,” San muttered against your shoulder, breath hot and full of mock sympathy. “Is it too much, baby?”

He didn’t slow down.

Not when his cock was buried to the hilt inside you, forcing needy cries from your mouth every time his hips slammed forward. Not even when Mingi shoved you down farther on his length, grip bruising at the sides of your face as you sputtered around him.

It was too much.

Your body didn’t know what to do—split open, gagging, crying, coming again and again. You were locked between them, wrecked, used, and still begging for more with every broken gasp.

“She’s squeezing me so fuckin’ tight,” San growled, digging his fingers into your hips to slam himself deeper. “Like her cunt doesn’t wanna let me go.”

Your vision blurred. Your knees nearly gave.

Mingi laughed, low and cruel. “She’s crying. Look.”

He tilted your chin up, angling your face toward the mirror on the wall.

And there she was.

You.

Mascara streaked. Mouth red and puffy. Drool and tears all over your face, tits bouncing from the force of San's thrusts behind you.

Mingi pushed back in, down your throat again without mercy.

“She looks pretty like this,” he said, voice a rasp. “Mouth wide. Eyes wet. Body full.”

You moaned helplessly. The pain had long since blended with pleasure. It was fire. Electricity. The kind of fucking you didn’t walk away from the same.

San’s hand came around your throat.

“You asked for this, didn’t you?” he murmured. “Came in with your smart little mouth and your cold eyes—thought you could play with fire. Thought you could handle us.”

He squeezed. Just a little. Enough to make your next moan catch in your throat.

“You can handle us though, can’t you?” Mingi muttered as he pulled out with a slick pop, stroking himself in your tears. “Gonna take both now, baby. We’re not done.”

You barely nodded. Couldn’t even speak. Your body already twitched with another orgasm you hadn’t even realized was coming.

Then you felt it—San's cock sliding out of your soaked cunt, slick and hot against your thigh… and then lower.

“No—no wait—” you gasped.

“Shhh, angel,” he whispered, lining up with your ass. “Just breathe.”

Mingi kissed your temple mockingly. “You wanted both holes, didn’t you? Said it so sweet with my cock down your throat. Time to make good on that little promise.”

The stretch was unreal. Burning.

Your whole body seized as San slowly, relentlessly pushed in—while Mingi slid back inside your raw, used pussy like he belonged there.

Full.

Overwhelmed. Impaled.

You moaned.

The mirror blurred again with fresh tears, your body convulsing with overstimulation and pain and white-hot need.

“Oh my god—fuckfuckfuck—”

“You’re taking it so well, baby,” Mingi groaned, bottoming out and grinding his hips forward. “So fucking deep.”

They moved in tandem now. A rhythm so punishing it left your thoughts in ruin.

Mingi fucking up into you while San split you open from behind.

“Can feel him,” Mingi growled, eyes dark and locked on your face. “Feel him inside through your pussy. You’re stuffed so full it’s crazy.”

You couldn’t hold it.

Your body locked up—spasmed—and then broke.

You came again, harder than ever, your whole form wracked with sobs as you squirted all over Mingi’s cock, soaking both of them, the floor, your thighs.

San groaned, filthy and breathless.

“Fuck— she just gushed all over me,” San groaned, hips stuttering. His voice was wrecked now, your walls clenched around them both. “She’s still fucking pulsing—god, I’m gonna—”

His voice broke off.

You felt it.

Hot. Sudden. Thick.

San’s hands dug into your hips as he buried himself to the hilt and came deep inside your ass with a ragged growl, body locked against yours, breath trembling as he painted your insides with thick heat.

“Fuck—fuck,” he breathed.

Mingi wasn’t far behind. He snarled something sharp in Korean you barely caught—tight little slut—before he was slamming in one last time, grinding his hips as his own release flooded you.

Two loads.

Deep inside.

One in your ass, one filling your pussy to the brim, so much it was already leaking out around their cocks, dripping down your thighs in messy streaks.

Your body gave out. Utterly limp. Muscles twitching in the aftermath.

They stayed there for a moment—San pressing his forehead to your back, Mingi brushing damp strands from your ruined face.

Then San pulled out with a low hiss.

“Goddamn,” he muttered.

Mingi followed, watching the mess leak from your pussy with a look of smug satisfaction.

“Full of us,” he murmured. “Just how we like it.”

You whimpered, still trembling as the overstimulation bled into exhaustion.

San stood and grabbed your chin, forcing your dazed gaze up toward him. “You still with us, sweetheart?”

You nodded weakly.

He chuckled. “Good. Because we’re not done talking.”

He helped you get up, not gently but not cruelly either. Mingi took the seat again, back to lazy posture and half-lidded eyes like he hadn’t just broken you open minutes ago.

San poured himself another drink. Lit a cigarette.

“Now,” he said, voice calm again, collected. “Jang’s main storage hub. You said you know the new route?”

You swallowed thickly, still panting. “Warehouse 39… by the docks. They rotate every five days. Next shift is tomorrow morning. 4 a.m.”

San nodded slowly. Mingi’s eyes sharpened.

“Names?” Mingi asked.

You gave them—three enforcers, one truck driver, a corrupt customs agent.

San blew out smoke toward the ceiling. “How’d you get this?”

“My brother’s burner phone,” you said, voice raw and barely audible. “He left it unlocked. Got sloppy.”

“And you just happened to be looking?”

“I was looking for anything that would keep me alive.”

Mingi smirked. “Smart girl.”

“Dangerous girl,” San corrected, eyes lingering on your wrecked body. “Traitor. Liar. But fuckable.”

You didn’t flinch.

“Still breathing, aren’t I?”

He laughed low. “Yeah. You are.”

Mingi stood and cracked his neck, eyes flicking toward San. “We move before sunrise. Hit the route before Jang even smells a rat.”

San looked back at you. “You’ll be in our custody ‘til it’s over. Insurance. Can’t have you slipping back to your side with a sweet little smile.”

You didn’t argue.

You couldn’t.

Not with your thighs still slick from cum and your body barely holding together.

You just stood there, eyes half-lidded. Waiting. Wanting.

They would use you again. Soon. You knew it.

But for now… business came first.

Writing by @lustlvii please do not translate or publish anywhere

[toriaaniin]

Between Belief & the Fog: A Mid-Series Reflection

We are three core posts into this series now. We’ve talked about optics, aesthetic pivots, strategic shifts, industry norms, emotional cost, and PR-driven contradictions. And yet, at the heart of it all, is something much simpler:

We’re trying to make sense of what doesn’t make sense.

For me, and for so many in this fandom, this didn’t begin as a PR investigation. It began as something far more beautiful. Something called resonance.

It began with two actors whose connection felt like energy. A natural ease, mutual and magical joy, and something unspoken that seemed to pass between them in glances, gestures, and touches. What we saw didn’t just serve the story — it suggested something more. It felt like a lighthouse in a storm — steady, unmistakable, and pointing us toward safe harbour. Magnetic.

That was what drew me in. And that is what keeps me here.

So when I write about rebranding, and contracts, and calculated narrative maneuvers, it isn’t because I’ve stopped believing in Luke and Nicola.

It’s because I do.

Because I believe in them so strongly, I want to understand why things look so strange right now. Why optics have shifted. Why the PR choices feel so clumsy, so contradictory. And why the love we all witnessed — not just between Colin and Penelope, but between Luke and Nicola themselves — seems to have been pushed into the shadows.

Some readers have told me that this series is hard to read. I understand. But confusion left unnamed doesn’t make it go away. It festers. And frustration turns inward or sideways. At Luke. At Nicola. At other fans. And most dangerously, at ourselves — for daring to believe in the first place.

That’s not the kind of fandom I want to be part of.

I want to be part of a space where we can:

Hold belief and doubt side-by-side without shame

Ask questions without being accused of turning on them

Speak honestly about the emotional cost of this narrative

Remember that love doesn’t always look the way PR says it should

So let me say it plainly:

I am a Lukola endgamer. I believe something very real exists between Luke Newton and Nicola Coughlan. And I believe PR — the real, messy, manipulative side of it — is being used (either in support of or in lieu of a legal contract) to protect that.

Not destroy it.

That’s why I’m writing. That’s why this series exists. Not to tear them down. Not to divide the fandom. But to help make sense of the fog.

Because what we’ve been watching unfold over the last year, and most notably since January 30th and the BOSS event, hasn’t always made sense. But the resonance we felt back during the World Tour? That still does; that makes sense. We witnessed it again at SAGs just three months ago — in the glances, the laughter, and that hug.

I’ll publish the next post — "The Bad Boyfriend Optics"— tomorrow, and that means diving back into the uncomfortable. Know that each post in this series explores something we've all been talking about and questioning. My theories, based on research and critical thinking, may make sense or may not. Take what works for you and use it to help your own understanding... to make sense of your fog.

But first, I just wanted you to know where my heart is... right here. With them. With you. Still witnessing. And still believing.

Aaniin Xxx, Tori

P.S. Find a listing of this blog post series along with short summaries of each - including those not yet published - here:

[multimix101]

Thanks for the tag, fren!~ Honestly, I've done so many of these chains I'm sure my mutuals are tired of it by now- ;v;

Favourite Colour: Magenta (lmao), then purple, then blue!

Last Song: My music taste varies so wildly sometimes it's actually funny. My playlist just went from Somewhere Only We Know by Keane, to Welcome Home by SquigglyDig & Gabe Castro, to Interlude I by Alt-J, to Afton Family by Apangrypiggy, to Fighting Trousers by Professor Elemental.

Currently Reading: Re-reading Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams again! <3 Absolute classic.

Currently craving: Democracy sausages, for some reason (any Aussies in chat? /j)

Tea or Coffee: Tea - only if it's good though. You'd be surprised how badly someone can mess up tea of all things :shivers: . Anyway, love me a good chai.

@dynamic-k if you wanna do it, otherwise I don't really wanna tag anyone help

love to all <3

get to know your moots tag game!

✶ answer the questions, then tag six people

Thanks for the tag @kiraandhervibes

Favourite colour: blue and purple

Last song: the challenge from EPIC

Currently reading: I just started Silverborn

Currently watching: rewatching Series of Unfortunate Events

Currently craving: nothing in particular rn, but I’m always craving iced tea

Tea or coffee: tea!

Npt: @somanyquestions-featuringanxiety @shelbeforgotten @sparkleylittlepoo @stars-and-leather @ravensncrowsx @permetutotheworld + anyone else who wants to

[nithica]

iiii wannaaaaa talk about something. i have opinions. so ok here goes and please,,,, i’m just sharing my perspective and i don’t want to shade anyone so don’t take it personally :(

but i’ve noticed that a lot of people want to find a community here, they want to find friends and maybe even validation and that’s totally normal. we’re a social species, and it’s also normal to have your own group of friends whom you mostly interact with.

but if you want a community, and if you have a voice in that community especially, you also have a part to play in making that inclusive and welcoming to all. whether you want to be in that position or not, it’s just simple math that someone with 3000 followers has a bigger impact on a community than someone with 100.

and as someone with a small blog (~100 followers), it can be hard to get interaction at all. now, this post isn’t for me, because i’m here to yap and do my thing and i genuinely could not care less if my kashima fic gets 15 notes or 150, as long as i have my little people in my phone and a space to out my silly little thoughts; but regardless, i AM familiar with how hard it is to get any interaction whatsoever besides mutuals and i know that unlike me, there are people out there who DO find this hard and struggle with that fact. so this post is more for them.

no one is obligated to interact with anyone. absolutely not. but something’s been bugging me here about this topic. if you want a community to be inclusive and welcoming, you have to actually put work into creating that space.

that means that sometimes you will have to step out of your own bubble to support, either people you don’t know, characters you don’t know nor care about, or even WLW ships when you’re straight, or on the other end, straight ships when you’re queer.

i know that i yap a lot and talk to everyone whether i know them or not, and maybe some people are uncomfortable with this, but i’d rather those people block me than that there are people out there who feel like they are excluded from “my” community (“my” because, i don’t know if i’m in one lmao), because they don’t have many friends (yet) and don’t get any interaction.

those people will, eventually, inevitably, stop trying to be a “part” of this community because, well, they don’t feel like they are part of it.

maybe i’m harsh i don’t know, but i think sometimes we kind of lose track of what a community is.. or what it means to be in one. some people have to try really hard to get even 5 notes on here at all, and they aren’t any less part of the community, but they probably don’t feel that way. so idk i think if you want to be in one you also have to try your best to actively make people feel included and WELCOME most of all (again, outside of your own bubble).

ANYWAY IM JUST YAPPING SORRY.

[caffeinated-chicken]

I know you focus more on Nuzi by itself, but what's your opinion on NVUzi?

I love the fan content for it, it’s very popular and I can totally see why. Personally though, I honestly can’t see N and V working like that anymore. (This is all my personal analysis of her) V very purposefully separated herself from N in the time that he was digitally lobotomized. I can only speculate what kind of things happened between them in their time as genocidal angels of death, but whatever it was like, it ended up with V not being by N’s “side” anymore. She cares about him a lot, and I think she wishes they worked out like that, but a lot happened to her since she was taken apart and she’s not the same drone who was happy to believe that things would be ok if they just stuck together. I think I saw another tumblr post once that pointed out this writing foil between V and Uzi: when N confronted V during the prom episode, he said that whatever it was, they could figure it out together. He had faith in their relationship, but her response (in a bit of regret) was to decapitate him and leave him to figure it out after she was done. I can’t blame her for that either, (he hasn’t had his memories in forever, there’s no point in trying with cyn as their admin), but it encompasses how she feels abt him. She wants to protect him but she’s not gonna hold his hand and tell him it’s ok (maybe partially because no one was there to do that for her when she was figuring it all out) But later in the series with Uzi, N tries comforting her and this time asks, “we can figure it out, together?”. He’s not so sure she’s gonna meet him on this anymore after he tried with V, but she does. Uzi is more than happy to meet him halfway, she needs his hand as much as he needs hers. They’re both by each other’s side and clinging tighter to each other the worse things get. Their hand holding and constant touching and grabbing each other is a reach out for support that gets a response back every single time. They have this mutual agreement to be there for each other because they understand each other, they’re both outcasts and although they seem very different in nature they just make sense to each other. After making a connection like that with someone who understands and needs you so much I doubt N would want to ever think about going back to romantic delusions towards someone deliberately babying him in such a cold fashion. And I don’t think V would want to revisit those feelings either because it’s a dead end now. She did that on purpose because she knew she needed to change to survive and at least protect N. There’s still a love between them but I can’t see it as romantic, it’s more of a growing respect I think. I realize I wrote a lot wow I’ve been thinking about this dynamic for a long time haha

[porcelainbirdss]

my december love

summary: Mydei was the sun that peeks out from the clouds after a particularly heavy thunderstorm. she was the air you breathed in. she was everything. when someone asked you: "how did you two met?", all you could reply with was: "funny story. actually, i think i know her from the past life."

in other words: you and Mydei become roommates — this leads to a chain of events neither of you saw coming.

cw: fem!reader, fem!Mydei, fluff, angst, modern au, and they were roommates!, mentions of alcohol consumption, both of them are emotionally suppressed, yearning, like a lot of it, mutual pining, jealousy, reader is somewhat obsessive, dependency, slight hurt/comfort, good ending. || wc: 12k

it has been one year since you decided to share an apartment with Mydei. due to how expensive the costs were, you posted a simple question, asking whether someone would like to live with you. after all, you were a college student, and the state of your bank account was… well, rather questionable.

some people reached out to you, and you conversed with them for a while, getting to know them, and explaining the potential boundaries you’d have to set. unfortunately, no matter how hard you tried to convince yourself they were good candidates, the doubts still continued to linger in the back of your head. no one seemed good enough (and you were not picky — you actually could think of yourself as an extrovert).

you almost gave up on your search, until she came into picture.

you remember reaching for your phone upon hearing the notification sound, a short: "i’m interested.” appearing on the screen. you clicked on the message, cocking one eyebrow up at the rather sparse greeting. then, you decided to check that person out — and, as it turns out, she was hot.

unbearably so, if you may be so bold. your heart hammered when you pressed on her profile, seeing her icon photo on full display. that girl — you even forgot to see what she was called — was absolutely beautiful. blonde locks with faded red encompassed her sharp features, golden eyes so piercing, you felt as if they would bore through your phone’s screen, and split you in half. to only add to your tragic crush at the first sight, she looked rather muscular. and had tattoos.

does it get any better than that?

still, no matter how stunning she was, you had to get to know her. obviously, you could blindly agree — hell, you could provide for her if she asked you to! — but you had a part of your wits with you, and so, you should do better than that.

in response, you quickly typed out a simple: "great! :)) the apartment cost is 1,200 monthly. tell me if that’s alright with you?"

you remember waiting anxiously, hoping for a fast answer. oh, you didn’t even know her, and she already had you tied around her finger.

when five minutes passed, and you didn’t get any messages back, you slumped into your bed with a groan of defeat, cursing your own mind. then, a loud 'ping!' reverberated through the space, and you practically launched yourself at your phone with a dumb grin sprawled across your face.

it read: "that is fine with me.", huh, she’s formal, isn’t she?, "we can also split the cost of groceries, if you’d like."

you gasped in triumph at the conversation, giggling to yourself like a teenage girl. only then you thought to actually see what that mysterious person’s name was — Mydeimos. you repeated it out loud, and thought you liked the way it sounded on your tongue.

"that would be awesome! should we meet up and talk over the details?” you wrote, internally hoping Mydeimos would agree. you have never offered any of the potential candidates for your roommate to met before — alas, you wished to see that breathtaking face in person.

all you received in response was a thumb-up emoji.

well. could have been worse.

after that, you pretty much hit it off… at least that’s what you like to think. you couldn’t get much out of the girl during your first meeting — she acted the same way as she typed her messages. a little stern. somewhat frigid. but at the same time, it was obvious to you she was immensely patient, and kind, and you failed to spot any evident red flags.

not to mention, her profile picture hardly represented just how prepossessing she truly was. there were a few times where you had to ask Mydeimos to repeat herself, because as you ogled her, all you could hear was an incoherent: "blah, blah, blah."

ultimately, you talked some more through your phone, and decided to move in together. you can recall that day so vividly, as you practically trembled from excitement.

you stood in the middle of your still somewhat empty apartment, observing as Mydei carried in the last of boxes, filled with her stuff. she allowed you to help her with dragging in the majority of her things, sending you a polite smile as you earnestly offered to give her a hand. this one, however, she insisted to carry herself.

"c’mon, you must be tired from walking up and down," you chuckled, even though the girl didn’t seem affected at all, "give me that, i’ll put it in your room."

Mydei cocked one eyebrow up at you, settling the box down with a huff. "and you’re not? you’ve been running around like a headless chicken."

you laughed abashedly, waving your hand at her comment. it is true you were acting a little absurd, but you had no bad intentions! all you wanted to do was to appease your new roommate. you didn’t perceive it as any trouble, since you managed to move all of your stuff the day prior, and were still bustling with energy.

you shuffled your feet towards the box, inspecting it, and finally deciding to pick it up. it didn’t budge. you groaned in surprise, sending Mydei a perplexed look. "what the hell?"

"told you.” she shrugged nonchalantly, wiping her sweaty forehead. even though it was already september, the weather remained hot. "don’t try moving it, else you’ll hurt your back.”

you nodded stiffly, watching her walk towards the open kitchen space, and pour water into two glasses. couldn’t she just refill one? "okay…” you murmured, swiftly prying the box open to look at its contents. at least six dumbbells, two of them having a combined weight of 130 pounds — and she carried it up the stairs?!

with a gasp, you straightened out, your back almost bumping into Mydei. you swiveled on your foot, the sight of her perplexed face being the first thing to greet you. "uh, i—"

"here you go." she said, extending the glass towards your way. you blinked twice, because you were absolutely sure she’d scold you for rummaging through her things. so she poured that water for you, it would seem. huh…

you sent her a weak smirk, taking a generous sip. "thanks. to be honest, i’m spent.”

Mydei sighed at your words, stepping towards her empty room. "well, i’ve still got some things to take care of, but you go ahead and take a break.”

instead of plopping down on the couch, you followed in tow, stopping in front of your own personal space (which you were extremely proud of). "wanna see my room?”

the girl paused her walk. “what for?”

"oh, come on, we’re living together now! you have to know how your house looks like!” you beckoned in an upbeat tone of voice, opening the door.

upon seeing it, Mydei’s eyebrows narrowed in a frown, a certain mixture of disdain and perplexity growing on her face. you gulped.

"do you… do you seriously need this many plushies and fairy lights?”

“what, you don’t like it?” you huffed, knowing the clash of your personalities would come sooner or later — but honestly, you wished for it to never arrive.

she shook her head, schooling her look into something less judgmental upon your dejected eyes. "that’s not what i meant, [name]. it’s cute. suits you well.” she responded, though there wasn’t much conviction in her voice.

"…thanks.”

you decided to leave it at that, moping around in your bedroom instead of helping Mydei. the nightfall came, and you were starting to miss your family, filling up with doubts and various anxieties. perhaps you were a little sad — okay, more than sad! you felt like wallowing in your despair, pressing one of your childhood toys close to your chest — that is, until you heard a knock.

"can i come in?" called the familiar voice, causing your head to snap up.

you instantly sat, throwing the stuffie away, afraid of what Mydei could possibly think of you if she were to see you in such miserable state. "sure."

the door cracked open, a crown of blond hair peeking through. she walked in, checking you out as you sent her a tight smile. "are you okay? you haven’t left your room for the whole day.”

"totally!” you lied, of course.

she didn’t point out how stiff you were, her line of vision instead landing on the discarded plushie, now hopelessly sprawled out on the floor. she picked it up, a bit tentatively, and gently placed it on your bed. you wanted to burn from embarrassment. "i just finished setting up my room. do you want to see?" the girl offered, her tone flat but kind all the same.

you practically sprung from your sitting position, like a wind-up toy. "yeah, i’d love to!”

both of you strolled into Mydei’s space — and, to be fair, you don’t know what you were expecting, but surely not this.

well, the dumbbells along with a skipping rope and a rolled mat in the corner seemed in-character, though the rest completely contrasted with the girl you knew. first off all, her bed — a pale-pink duvet draped over its surface. then, the posters hanging above, one depicting a cutesy boysband you were unfamiliar with, and the second showing some rather hardcore metal band.

your eyes flied around, locking on the desk — a stack of cooking books on its side, topped with a dictionary of sorts. an orange cat figurine. a couple of music records on display. a mousepad — again, in pink color.

"and you made fun of my room!” you exclaimed, swiveling your head to face Mydei.

she frowned at you. “i said it was cute!”

"but you looked like you were seconds away from puking!”

the girl paused, blinking twice. "…can’t deny that.”

you sighed, shaking your head — alas, you could never take any real offense from Mydei. she may as well spit on your shoes right there, and you’d thank her, because who are you to tell what this goddess of a woman can and cannot do?

——

september fourteenth.

the second year of your college life rolled around, and you couldn’t yet discern whether you were absolutely despaired, or happy.

happy, because you got to finally see Mydei. the girl wasn’t from this city, so she left during summer vacations, leaving you alone with the few feeble friendships you managed to establish during the first year. you often called her, talking for hours on end, catching up and whatnot — but it simply couldn’t replace the sound of her quiet laughter by your ear, or how sweetly she smiled at you when you offered to help her out with maths.

i am doomed, you thought one day while you were lazing around on your bed, fanning your face as waves of hotness hit your body. sure, you were crushing on her since the start, but honestly, it was pretty shallow back then. the only thing you were infatuated with were her good looks. you failed to take Mydei’s lovely personality into consideration, or see how interesting of a person she truly was.

right now, you were absolutely certain your dumb crush was treading into a dangerous direction — and, well, you only hoped Mydei didn’t catch on your hopeless behavior towards her. still, it may have been pretty obvious when she stood in the doorframe with a singular suitcase, and you practically broke down in front of her, wailing at how badly you wanted her to stay.

well. that was embarrassing.

anyway, no matter how joyous you were at your final reunion with the girl, there were some problems too. the main cause of your troubles, right now, was the overload of stress and work piling up on your shoulders.

even though college started barely two weeks ago, you were already drowning in unfinished projects and deadlines, crushed under its weight. sometimes you felt as if you didn’t have the time to even catch a breath.

Mydei managed just fine. she stuck to her routine, waking up everyday at exactly 5 AM to go on a run, shower, prepare you both breakfast (because she was kind enough to make you food — it started once you praised her cooking so highly, her whole face burned up in a vermillion), head out to the campus, and come back. then, she’d go to the gym while you were still groaning over your textbooks, and come home at a rather late hour, but still having enough time to study.

you didn’t know how Mydei was doing that. sometimes you genuinely thought she was some kind of a super-woman, because there was no way someone possessed this much energy and self discipline. it only made you feel worse about yourself.

right now, you were hunched by the dining table, a multitude of books displayed on its surface as you tried gathering your thoughts.

no matter how hard you attempted to focus, everything seemed to bother you. birds singing outside the window, people from above your floor stomping loudly, Mydei accidentally dropping her fork—

"could you be quiet?” you snapped, your eyes flickering over to the girl who was currently sitting by the other end of the table, eating the late dinner you refused (which you did begrudgingly, alas, you didn’t have the time to even think about food).

her eyebrows narrowed at the harsh tone of your voice, and only then you actually regretted raising it. "you don’t have to scream at me, i can hear you clearly.” she retorted, digging the fork into a piece of beef. it scraped over the plate, evoking another uncomfortable sound.

"i’m trying to focus.”

“then go focus somewhere else.”

you huffed. “it’s my home, and i can focus wherever i want!”

Mydei already opened her mouth to take a bite, but paused, her sharp irises sending you a glare. “it is my home too, and we are in the kitchen, so i didn’t think you’d mind me eating here.”

you kept silent, trying to reciprocate the unpleasant look she was giving you, even if you couldn’t harden your eyes around the corners. you felt tired. utterly tired, and you just managed to anger Mydei by your stupid outburst. does it get any worse than that?

"i’m sorry…” you finally muttered, your gaze falling back onto your notebooks. what else were you supposed to say? you’ve never fought with her before — could it even be considered a fight? more like a bitter bicker, but still. your breath trembled, and you felt awful.

the girl continued to eat more quietly now, and once she was done, she slowly got up from the chair, as if afraid of startling you further. once Mydei put the dish away in the sink, she leaned over you, her hand suddenly squeezing your shoulder.

you looked at her with question in your eyes, gripping your pen a bit too hard. "i’m sorry too.”

now you were almost baffled. why was she apologizing over your own spillage of ugly emotions? "no, Mydei, it’s alright. it is me who yelled at you.” you quickly forced out, straightening in your seat.

she shook her head, and you swear you could melt on the spot from the mere look on her face. "it’s alright. shit happens.” she spoke, letting go of your shoulder — you wholeheartedly believed the conversation to end here, but then the girl reached for your tousled hair, swiping it to the side. "i can order some takeout for you. i could cook, but… i don’t want to make any more noise.”

you had to stop your jaw from slacking into the floor, completely stunned by her display of understanding. Mydei wasn’t like you — she was patient, and had this calming effect on people, no matter how intimidating she may have appeared. you were jealous.

not jealous of her, specifically — but of the people she considered her best friends. the ones who could taste her kindness on a deeper level, those who knew her for longer than you.

you didn’t know what connected you. sometimes your relation resembled a tug of war, with her pulling at the rope, and making you stumble with the sheer impact of her benevolent actions. you liked her. you liked her so badly it hurt in every single fiber of your body, and yet, you couldn’t do anything about it.

there were moments that got you questioning her sexual orientation, but she never mentioned having a girlfriend, or anything of the sort. how could you know if she was like that? what would you do if one day your resolve broke in half, and you confessed your feelings, only to be turned down with a few of dismayed words? she’d hate you, surely.

maybe you’re mistaking her acts of kindness for something deeper — maybe your friendship was nothing more but a shallow bond, created between two people who strived to survive in this unforgiving life of a college student.

perhaps, all the times you shared your woes, and all the secrets you spilled to each other weren’t as meaningful as you thought. you must be delusional, no?

"[name]?”

you jumped up in your seat, brutally snapped out of your morose reveries. "uh— what?”

Mydei sighed, taking a singular step back. "i asked if you want a takeout.”

you chuckled awkwardly at your own disorientation, scratching the nape of your neck. "sure, i don’t see why not.”

the girl nodded, reaching for the phone in her back pocket, and quickly dialing the number of your favorite restaurant. you observed her walk around the kitchen in circles, finally leaning her hip against the counter as someone decided to mercifully pick up.

she recited your usuals by heart, and then hung up, turning to look at your slightly dazed expression. "why’re you looking at me like that?” she questioned, her eyebrows knitting together.

oh. you were staring.

"like what?”

Mydei huffed, tossing her blonde locks over her shoulder. "never mind. try to focus for now, and i’ll let you know when the food comes." she declared, touching your chair’s backrest before walking towards her room.

when the girl left, you groaned to yourself, embarrassed at how many times she caught you practically consuming her with your eyes. you denied every time she pointed it out, though deep down, you knew you were lying. if you closed your eyelids for long enough, the visage of Mydei’s face always appeared in your mind, seemingly engraved there for good.

——

october thirty-first.

life got easier now, and you managed to fall back into the rhythm of studying, and juggling between the chores of everyday life. you and Mydei helped each other out as much as possible, taking on some tasks when one of you was too tired, or just generally remaining supportive.

and it was going great. perfect, even, if not for your brilliant idea of going to a costume party. well, it was the hallows’ eve, and since you were a big fan of all spooky things, you just had to go. halloween lasted for only one day, and so, you practically begged Mydei to accompany you.

at first, she didn’t agree. then, as you pressed some more, she started to question what she could even dress herself as — you proceeded to list all the ideas off the top of your head, but neither satisfied the girl. a werewolf? too weird. a zombie? what are we, in the middle of the walking dead casting? a mummy — no way, she won’t deal with all the toilet paper. a witch? absolutely no. an angel? too generic. a devil? also too generic. a cat-woman? that earner an exasperated snicker.

well, Mydei ended up going with you, but she wasn’t dressed as anything. you, on the other hand, decided to wear a vampire’s costume. okay, maybe costume was an exaggeration — you simply searched your wardrobe for some black and red garments, and smothered the corners of your lips with an intense lipstick, which was supposed to imitate blood.

when your roommate saw you, all she did was raise an eyebrow at you, sending you an unimpressed look. you, however, had to contain a gasp of astonishment at just how pretty she looked — usually, Mydei wore sport clothes, nothing overly flashy or anything. this time, the girl adorned herself in something more official-looking, and you couldn’t help but fawn internally at how beautiful she was.

after that, you got to the organizer’s house, immediately greeted by some notorious melody, booming loudly throughout the space.

and you were having fun — really, you were — but at some point you and your friend got separated, busying yourself with different circles of people. you seethed internally on the other side of the room, watching as Mydei talked with some guy. you didn’t know him, but he carried that easygoing smirk on his face, which, truth be told, reminded you of a snake. a vicious viper, waiting patiently for its victim to let their guard down, and sink its teeth deep inside their throat.

he was leaning in way too much, and Mydei didn’t seem exactly bothered by the little proximity between them. she casually sipped on some wine, legs crossed, nodding along to whatever that man was saying.

perhaps what you did was spiteful, but you spoke to some unfamiliar man too. you weren’t flirting with him, or anything, just laughing at his poor jokes, pretending like you actually enjoyed the company.

and then, you got drunk. your heart felt a little too heavy, so you reached for one cup of beer after another, gulping them down irresponsibly. before you knew it, you were practically stumbling over that guy’s side, gesticulating wildly as you told him yet another story of your life — which he didn’t seem to be overly interested in, but still listened with intent.

suddenly, you felt a firm grip on your wrist, squeezing your limb hard enough to pull you out of your drunken stupor. you turned, only to see Mydei, scowling at you as if you at least murdered her whole family.

it was barely after 11 PM, but the girl tugged you out of the party, demanding to go home. you, of course, agreed without much hesitation, telling her to call for a cab.

the whole ride to your place was gravely silent, and you wished to ask what caused her such a deep dismay, but whenever you glanced in her direction, all she did was scoff at you. you decided to keep your mouth shut.

as you finally sat down on your trusty couch, Mydei continued to simmer internally — frown embedded on her sharp features, making her appear even more fierce than usual. you wanted to be scared of her — because that’s what she was aiming for, most likely. unfortunately, your drunkenness only caused you to become even more bold.

"Mydei,” you whined, circling around your roommate as she stood by the kitchen counter, preparing something quick to settle your stomach, "are you mad at me?”

"take a wild guess.” she answered lowly, her movements stiff.

you sighed at her words, looking around the space, as if it was supposed to offer you some miraculous solution. a slightly beat-up radio you thrifted stood on the windowsill, almost beckoning out to you, like a siren’s cry — so you turned it on.

"turn it off, [name].” Mydei muttered, drying her hands after she washed the knife, "i’m not in the mood.”

you swiveled on your foot, your eyebrows narrowing at the girl with determination. "tell me what’s wrong, or i won’t.”

she grumbled under her breath in response, the dismayed sound reminding you of a faraway thunder’s road. "you’re too drunk to even understand.”

a pleasant, slow melody filled the space. you grinned to yourself, grasping Mydei’s hands in yours, and tugging her forwards before giving a gentle twirl. her frown only deepened. "such a nice song, don’t you think?” you hummed happily, pressing your body closer to hers.

what you were doing obviously lacked in any sense or tune. once you sober up, you’ll regret everything you did and said, but…

"just what are you doing?” your friend murmured, still yet to pull away. she looked so stunning from up close. the warm light seeped into her golden irises, making them appear amber-like.

in response, you shrugged, swaying without much elegance, nor finesse. "trying to cheer you up, is all.” you slurred, taking a big breath in. she smelled of cherries.

"then stop it, because it’s obviously not working.”

"why aren’t you pulling away, then?”

that seemed to shut her up temporarily. after a short beat of silence, Mydei spoke again — reluctantly, but that was progress.

"wanna know why i’m angry at you?”

you nodded slowly, trying to showcase you were still able of properly communicating. "yes."

she exhaled, her fingers clutching a bit harder around your joints. "i didn’t like you talking to that guy."

upon hearing it, at first you wanted to burst out into salves of laughter — but then you realized that she wasn’t joking. the girl rarely pulled stunts of such nature on you, always remaining rather serious in her demeanor, so she was obviously telling the truth. she was… she was mad because you latched yourself to some man. well, you did that with this exact purpose, yet at the same time, guilt squeezed at your heart.

you didn’t mean to hurt her feelings — never, ever — but why was she actually irritated by this? it’s not like you had some unspoken rule, saying: do not talk to others.

your slightly hazy eyes scanned her face, and you led her into another twirl, trying to gather your disarrayed thoughts. "why didn’t you like it?”

Mydei scoffed, pointedly looking away from your searching gaze. she bit on her lower lip, obviously consternated. "that’s the worst part of it all. i don’t know.”

you chuckled quietly, thinking you’d be a lunatic if you got your hopes up over something as trivial as this. maybe she just felt lonely, with you pretty much ignoring her existence during the party. "you don’t?”

"no,” she sighed, her softened irises returning to you with defiance, "sometimes you drive me crazy. did you know that, [name]?”

your drunken mind couldn’t fully grasp the weight of those words, and you laughed again, pressing your head towards her neck. "you drive me crazy too.”

Mydei didn’t respond, and her silence urged you to continue. "but don’t worry. i think he was an asshole anyway.”

"that’s good.”

"his costume was shitty.”

"i’ve noticed.”

"do you think mine is shitty too?”

she huffed out an airy snicker, shoulders relaxing. suddenly, your track of the slow dancing got interrupted by your friend’s back meeting with the counter. you didn’t even notice when you led her there. "no. yours is beautiful.”

you giggled at the compliment, nose prodding at the column of her throat. "and do you know what vampires do?” you asked, out of the blue. Mydei shook her head, and that was all it took for you to latch your lips around her neck, giving a bite, careful enough not to break through the skin.

she hissed, but didn’t move. didn’t do anything to actually glue you away from her — you barely sensed her letting go of your palms, moving her hands to your waist. just what the hell were the both of you doing?

"they bite me—" she paused, taking a shaky breath, "i suppose.”

you hummed, pulling away to observe your creation, sprawled across her delicate skin like a purple moth, painted with the vibrant red of your lipstick. it melted into one with the tattoo adorning the girl’s neck. an artistic mayhem, you thought. the mark of your deeply-insatiable covet.

Mydei’s hand reached for the apple of your cheek, cupping it gently. "you’ve smeared makeup all over your chin.” she remarked, an easy smile growing on her lips.

then, as she looked at you through her thick eyelashes, you genuinely believed she was some kind of a vixen, sent down on this earth with the sole purpose of torturing you. an otherworldly being, with eyes of gold, and equally golden heart.

how could you not love those irises, who saw you in every state, and still decided to stick around?

before you thought of taking a step back, the pleasant music long gone, now replaced by the broadcaster’s monotone voice — Mydei’s grip on your face tightened, and you were pulled into a kiss.

your mind short circuited, and you gasped into her mouth with surprise, forgetting how to breathe — how to move your limbs.

the whole world seemed to stop spinning altogether, and the air got unbelievably heavy in your lungs. you’d adore her forever. there was no changing to that.

tears prickled at your eyes uncomfortably, but none fell, and you heaved, allowing Mydei’s consoling touch to support your suddenly lax body. forever, forever. even if you got changed into a bug — you’d find relief under the sole of her shoe.

when you pulled away, your mind instantly sobered up, shaken by how both of your lipsticks smudged, appearing as if you just feasted on some raw flesh. Mydei’s dazed look changed into a perplexed one when she noticed the conflict on your face. you reached to touch your lips, hand trembling.

she must have been playing with you, because there was no way this was real.

"[name], i’m—"

you turned on your heel, quickly walking towards your room without letting the girl finish her sentence. you shut the door, sliding down on the cold floor, and you let out a strangled sob, thinking: gods, why did i do that?

(perhaps it is true that all suffering originated from attachment).

the next day, you both agreed it was a mistake, and promised to never talk about it again.

——

november tenth.

honestly, you expected the atmosphere between you to remain tense, because after that halloween incident, neither of you were able of looking each other’s in the eye. fortunately, the situation managed to ease down a little, and you fell back into the usual tempo.

even if you were a bit afraid of touching Mydei, thinking she’d misunderstand you, and decide to move out.

even if Mydei sent longing looks your way every so often, clearing her throat awkwardly when you caught her staring.

well. never mind that.

three days ago, you got caught up in rain, and now you were absolutely sick, sprawled out on your bed with a febrile condition. it was tiring you out beyond all senses, and as you coughed and whined in pain, Mydei was constantly by your side.

at first, you insisted she doesn’t need to worry about you, but the girl dismissed you sternly. it is only logical she’d have her way — after all, she was quite stubborn.

you wouldn’t describe her as exactly rebellious — because she never outwardly displayed such traits — but she surely was. always treading her own path, making her own decisions, concluding what was the best for her.

you remember when some time ago, a topic of your families came up. you briefly joked about your siblings and parents, laughing how terribly they must miss you. Mydei smiled along to your words, saying she wished to have such a loving family too. you felt a bit consternated then, so obviously, you asked her what was up.

she then proceeded to casually explain how her father almost forced her to become the next CEO of his big-ass company — with the most deadpan expression on her face, mind you!

you were stunned into silence, because, most importantly — she must have been dirty rich, but still acted like a humble civilian, dressing in normal clothes instead of those lavish ones you could only dream of whenever you went shopping. certainly, you noticed Mydei’s jewelry looked rather expensive, but when you inquired where she got it from, she always responded with an unsure shrug. one time, you checked her necklace out, remembering the brand’s name (which sounded pretty luxurious). you closed your browser as quickly as you opened it, baffled by the first 20.000 dollars on the display.

yeah. there was no way you could afford it.

another thing — Mydei spoke of her father as if he was a mere pest. the disdain filling her eyes didn’t fail to slip past your notice, and you felt almost guilty for even touching upon the topic.

so, summing up, the girl was certainly rebellious. and now, she denied your protests, coming in and out of your room with new portions of soup or medication.

the frown on Mydei’s face only deepened as she took a brief glance at the thermometer, her sharp eyes narrowing with such perturbation, almost as if the inanimate object managed to offend her personally. you giggled weakly at the girl’s expression, trying not to showcase just how awful you felt.

"don’t laugh, it’s not funny.” she murmured, standing up, and starting to shake the thermometer, allowing the mercury to seep down.

you sighed, closing your eyes. your whole face seemed to be set on fire. "do i have a fever…?”

your friend clicked her tongue, setting the thing aside. "yeah, and a very serious one at that. are you sure you don’t want me to call for the doctor?”

oh gods, anything but a doctor!

"no, no. i’ll be fine.” you quickly responded, trembling at the mere thought of having some stranger loom over your exhausted frame instead of Mydei.

you cracked one of your eyelids open, gazing at the girl. she could serve as a good physician, you thought — and she really looked like one too. hair tied back into a ponytail, stern expression, and those reading glasses she had to wear, because the letters on some meds were too small.

she glanced at the clock before turning on her heel, and walking out. "soup time.” she announced, and you groaned under your breath.

yeah, this so called 'soup time' occurred every three hours, and you had to sit up on your bed, sipping on chicken broth Mydei seemed to be cooking up in a bottomless cauldron.

in addition, you felt guilty. you were troubling her to no end, no matter if it was her own decision to take care of you. she even skipped her gym time! how awful is that?

still. no one was forcing her to look after you. she did that out of her own volition. your heart clenched, and you couldn’t help but daydream about how nice it would be if her tender acts towards you were motivated by something more than friendship. again, you were acting delusional, but at least you had your febrile condition as an excuse.

the familiar footsteps resonated through the space, and your vision locked on Mydei, now seated by your bed with another bowl of that soup you were already sick of. "sit, [name].” she spoke calmly, waiting for you to scramble up.

you attempted to heave yourself up, but the strain in your muscles caused another cramp. those painkillers didn’t work at all, did they? "i can’t…!” you whined, perhaps a bit overdramatic.

Mydei rolled her eyes, setting the dish aside, and pulling you upwards as if you were featherlight. you blinked, flustered. "now, go and eat. you’ll feel better.”

since she was so generous, you decided to see how far her benevolence could stretch. "i don’t have the strength to eat by myself.” you concluded, spreading your arms helplessly.

your roommate looked at you like you had at least a few screw loose — and then she breathed in defeat, reaching for the bowl. "alright, if you wanna act like a baby,” the spoon prodded at your lips, "open up.”

"but it’s too hot—" your complain got interrupted by the soup practically pushed into your mouth once you spoke. you gasped, feeling at the uncomfortable temperature running down your throat, and settling somewhere in your chest. it felt like molten lava. Mydei probably didn’t estimate it as any sort of problem, because the girl often ate hot food. how crazy do you have to be to drink freshly-brewed tea while it’s still scalding?

before more protests fell from your lips, another spoon found its way towards them. you almost wanted to say: alright, never mind, i’ll eat on my own, but obviously, you didn’t. how could you refuse when all of your yearnings came true? Mydei is feeding you, eyes soft, even though her lips remain pressed into a thin line. if it turns out you died, and somehow found yourself in heaven, you wouldn’t be surprised.

once you were done eating, you took some more painkillers, and went to shower. of course, when you were taking far too long, Mydei felt inclined to knock at the door, asking if you were alive. she was really worried about you, huh?

then, both of you got busy with yourselves, and after a longer while of tossing and turning, you fell asleep.

your dreams were usually nice, however the fever seemed to mess with your brain even in the state of rest — your childhood dog, prancing around your legs happily. you were in your garden, tossing the stick for it to catch. instead of coming back to you, the dog burst through the line of poplars, disappearing from your view. you panicked, chasing after the pet, and calling out to it.

you’d probably continue sprinting (in slow-motion, to your dismay) through the labyrinths of trees, if not for the familiar voice coming from behind your back. you turned, dazed, the visage of Mydei in her hallows’ eve outfit reaching you, your dog obediently sat by her feet. she held him on a leash. you exhaled in relief, coming up to them.

and then, she gave you a shove to your shoulder. you gasped, jolting awake — only to see the same face, now looming over you, shaking your arm in the same manner. "gosh, finally awake.” she murmured, and you felt a pang of hotness spread over you.

ugh, you could barely open your eyes — your head pounded, sweat sticking to your forehead and back. "what…?” you forced out, trying to regain focus.

"i just came to check up on you.” the girl stated in a quiet tone, and only then you sensed the thermometer sticking out from under your armpit. your hazed gaze flied over the room, taking notice of a refilled jug of water, and another portion of ibuprofenum.

you didn’t respond, keeping your vision locked on her. Mydei sighed morosely, and you meant to ask what time is it, but her hand pressed by your temple, cutting you off. her touch was gentler than usually. "you’re burning up again… oh well, i suppose that’s normal during the night.” she commented meekly, taking the thermometer. "as i thought.”

you gave a silent hum, rolling on your back. "is it late?”

"half past one. i didn’t mean to wake you, but you seemed distressed so…”

"that’s alright. thanks.”

she smiled at you. "were you having a nightmare?”

"no, not really…” you chuckled weakly, running a palm over your weary eyes, "you were there. so it wasn’t a nightmare.”

your friend nodded once, the corners of her lips itching even further upwards. "good.” she tapped the bedside table, redirecting your attention, "take the meds. and if that doesn’t help, we’ll drive to after-hours medical service."

obviously, you didn’t want to go there, so you obediently took the pills, wincing at the unpleasant taste. "and why’re you awake, huh?” you thought to ask, seeing she was still dressed in her casual clothes.

"i couldn’t sleep.” was all the girl said, though you felt as if there was more to it.

looking at the concern on her face, and how generally stressed she seemed, you came to a simple conclusion — you are the reason for her sleeplessness. if that wasn’t the case, she surely wouldn’t be hovering in your room in the middle of the night.

how can anybody be this pure?

"Mydei,” you started, your eyelids too heavy to keep open now, "you’re my favorite person, did you know that?”

you failed to spot her reaction — all you heard was a quiet huff of neither laughter or dismay, and then she left. maybe it’s for the better.

——

november twenty-ninth.

things between you got weird.

well, not exactly weird, but it definitely wasn’t normal either. you fell into a routine especially tailored for each of you; studying together, doing your makeup, watching movies every friday and saturday evening (while inconspicuously leaning into your sides).

earlier on, whenever you broke down over your studies, Mydei would briefly ask you if everything was alright, quickly escaping the room with an awkward expression. now, she wiped your own tears, allowing you to wail into her shoulder, and offering to help you (even if she had a big workload on her shoulders as well).

you, on the other hand, possessed this habit of pointedly ignoring her outbursts when the girl’s father called, insisting she comes back home. her eyebrows always narrowed in such a glare, you were afraid you’d accidentally get intertwined into her flury of nerves. however now, you ensured consolation, listening to her vent the frustrations out.

Mydei show you her favorite music, and laughed when you sang along to that overplayed song you’d both listen to in the morning. she taught you history, and you allowed her to rant about all the events and wars. you learnt from her how to make those incredible dishes — and she never lost her patience, even if you weren’t the perfect cook.

you got closer, and closer. your terrible crush grew so much until it wasn’t a crush anymore, and now you couldn’t function properly with it.

there was this one time when you decided to snoop through Mydei’s phone while she was showering. a shameful act indeed, and you’re disgusted with yourself even now — but at least you got some closure.

first of all — you went into her messages. half of them were some weather alerts, or delivery men saying her package was home. one contact was tilted as "dumbass"…? what kind of name is that? you clicked on it, and saw a candid photo of a grinning girl with ivory locks. before your gut could clench with any jealousy, you read through their texts. the last one was from a month ago, and every single of them went pretty much like this: "what’s up?" — "nothing" — "how are you?" — "good. hbu" — "i’m good too!" — "ok".

well. that’s acceptable enough.

then you headed straight for her gallery. two hundred photos overall — not much in comparison to your ten thousand. one folder filled with screenshots of recipes, another one of some animals, one for friends, and… your heart practically stopped when you saw the inconspicuous name: "with [name]". you pressed on it, only ten photos showing. selfies you took of when you were doing some silly things together, and sent to her. one picture depicting two plates of food you got at some fancy restaurant as a treat with half of your torso in sight. another of when you went to the main square, and a pigeon sat on your head. third one — a selfie the girl took herself, her face close to the camera with you in the background, coddling a stray cat.

the fact Mydei didn’t delete any of the photos you sent her was already a big achievement, but making a separate folder specifically to store them? now that was bewildering. yeah, of course, she had one with her friends too, but it was a general package of their faces. none of them had an unrelated folder — unlike you.

then, you heard the shower turn off, so you quickly locked the phone, and put it back in its previous place.

your emotions were in a state of conflict, because all of this time you believed you were pretty much insane for thinking Mydei perceived you as anything more. your relationship with her was stable, and you could say you were happy with how things were — but at the same time, it wasn’t. after all, you’ve kissed before (and didn’t discuss the act any further), relied on each other more than you probably should, opened up about the most embarrassing secrets you’d never tell anyone. you continuously stared at Mydei — and she stared back at you, not even bothered to hide the fond smile stretching her lips, almost as if beckoning, signifying: "stop being so oblivious, and come to me.”

but neither of you spoke honestly of your feelings, and it was killing you. perhaps you were stubborn, after all, and wouldn’t ever tell how you truly felt. that is, until you got that brilliant idea of trying your luck, and pushing to see where your lack of restraint would get you.

your first attempt was… well, of questionable results. Mydei was making herself some protein shake, back turned towards you as you neared her in steps loud enough to not startle the girl. you carefully hugged her from behind, leaning your chin on her shoulder, and asked what she was doing. your roommate froze, one of her big palms accidentally crushing a handful of wild strawberries. she cursed you out for scaring her — which was weird, because you obviously didn’t sneak up.

you wholeheartedly believed this whole charade was a failure, and you should stop, except your efforts borne some fruition. one day later, you were in the same spot, washing your skillets with incomparable fervor. then, Mydei stood beside you, her hand touching the small of your back — she said something about how you should use less soap, but all you heard was white noise, and the rush of blood running through your ears.

you deemed it as a success (considering that your friend has never initiated such closeness), and now there was a silent agreement between you — where you could finally touch without any fear caused by some prejudice.

but it still doesn’t change the fact it’s not enough.

right now, you were sprawled out on the couch, hanging upside down with your legs hooked over the backrest. you were bored, and tired. yesterday (or rather — today) your upstairs neighbor decided to throw a party. it lasted until 3 AM, and normally you wouldn’t mind, except it was in the middle of a week! at around 1 AM, you sent Mydei to confront them, because she was braver than you. it didn’t take long before their conversation changed into a screaming match and police threats. your roommate already started dialing the number, so you had to forcibly drag her away.

with that, you didn’t get any real sleep. Mydei was running on fumes, considering she managed to fall into rest at around 4 AM, and woke up an hour later. you were no better, with barely three hours of sleep, and eyelids so heavy you thought you might pass out right there.

"i’m bored. entertain me." you murmured, irises focused on the reversed image of the girl. with your current position, she seemed to be hanging from the ceiling, like some kind of a bat.

her hands paused, but she didn’t move her eyes to look up at you from her laptop’s screen. "perhaps you should try reading one of your overdue books."

you snickered. "no way. besides, i like annoying you better.”

it was not entirely true, but you felt like teasing her. sometimes your witty comments or actions led you to places where mere words would never take you.

"well, you’re succeeding.”

you let out a mocking gasp, the corners of your lips stretching even further. "damn, that was almost a compliment."

Mydei smirked faintly, typing a few letters, still yet to look at you. "it really wasn’t."

with a sigh, you rolled over. your head hurt a little from the weird position you took earlier, blood probably coloring your whole face red. it was already pretty late, and if not for the tapping rain along with your friend’s meek shuffling, the whole space would be completely silent.

and then, a thought passed your brain. it was equally crazed as the rest of your ideas, but non-committing enough. you could easily snake your way out, in case Mydei got angry at you. you’d simply chalk it up to a joke, pretending as if you weren’t genuinely truthful.

"tell me… why don’t you ever let go?"

you saw her jaw clench, but she didn’t look up. "what’s that supposed to mean?"

try and guess, is what you itched to say — alas, knowing Mydei, she’d probably offer the most roundabout answer in the world. you couldn’t be thrown off-track now.

"you’re always doing something. working out. cleaning." you paused, taking an unsure breath. "pretending like what we have is normal."

her joints stopped moving again, eyebrows narrowing together. an obvious sign you stepped into a dangerous territory — it often felt like that with her. you’re having fun, and then you can almost sense the lion’s breath on your nape, because you were foolish enough to parade into its liar. "i’m not pretending."

your gut clenched. "uh-huh. sure.”

Mydei finally glanced at you. you were staring at her — really staring. a beat of something silent passed between you, and it pushed you to speak again.

"you know what i mean."

"i don’t think i do." she responded quietly, so unlike her.

"Mydei."

it was painfully easy to spot how her whole body seemed to tense up. "don’t."

you should stop — but you had this weird conviction that if you ceased the conversation now, neither of you would talk about it again. just like it was with that unfortunate kiss.

now it was your eyebrow’s turn to furrow. "why not?"

she exhaled heavily, running her fingers through the blonde locks. they grew so much, the red paint on them barely visible now. maybe you’ll offer to redo her hair once you have the time. "because if i say something—" a pause, "if i say something— then this changes. and i don’t know what happens after that."

you straightened out in your seat, because for whatever reason, you imagined a sharp guillotine hanging above your neck. it surely felt like so. your heart hammered at your ribs, and all the boldness you previously harbored began to crack. "you don’t think it already changed?" you asked in a low tone.

Mydei’s expression was now shaped into this weird mixture of a snarling dog and a dejected fawn. "i just don’t want to mess up whatever we have, alright?" she retorted, suddenly closing her laptop. it clattered so hard you thought she might have accidentally broke it.

"i don’t understand you."

the tug of war. the chains bidding your wrists. the mixed signals. the kennel you were both stuffed into, forced to deal with your own emotions while simultaneously rejecting them.

when your friend didn’t respond, you heaved yourself up, slowly closing the distance between you. you leaned your hip on the table’s edge, an arm’s length separating you now. her golden eyes fixed on you, but they lacked in their usual fierceness — perhaps it was the dim light that caused them to soften around the corners.

she opened her mouth to speak, but you were faster. "what if i told you i think about you all the time?"

Mydei huffed out a dry laugh. "i’d say you’re being dramatic.”

"and you’re deflecting. again."

it wasn’t your place to decide whatever the girl was feeling — but maybe you’ve managed to hit the bullseye, because she seemed to flinch. a sigh escaped her lips, and she looked down, biting on her inner cheek. it took her a while to look back at you. "i just really don’t know how to do this."

"do what?”

her voice was barely audible when she began. what a contrast to how she was yelling at the neighbors during the night. "i don’t know how to not ruin it."

no matter what you felt now — it seemed to instantly dilute with something gentler. and no matter how gentle you were — you felt hungry. "you think i know how? Mydei, i wake up in the morning and i swear you’re the first thought in my head. it’s infuriating. you—"

oh no.

your roommate blinked at you, as if you managed to stunt her with your mere words. "[name]—"

"i didn’t mean to say that." you quickly interrupted, cowardice squeezing at your chest.

(it would be safer to back out now, wouldn’t it?)

"but you did."

"yeah. i guess i did."

what happened then was the last thing you expected, but Mydei reached for your hand. it was a tentative move — you deemed to be already past holding back, but your assessment of the situation might have been wrong. after all, how could she suddenly act natural when you’re both tugging at each other’s heart strings? you swallowed thickly, eyes widening when her fingers interlocked through yours. it wasn’t casual. none of it was. whatever you shared, it long stopped resembling a friendship.

her thumb ran across your knuckles. "i think about you too."

it hurt. how terrible it is that she was so close, but felt so faraway. "then say it."

a pause. "how?"

"say anything, Mydei, say anything and i’ll be—" you practically forced out, leaning into her, eyes desperately searching for any sing of mutual longing. you saw it, and when you were sure you’d fall into her embrace, a notorious sound of knocking interrupted your trail of words.

the girl’s previously softened expression rapidly morphed into a scowl — she got up from the chair, going to open the door. you, in exchange, breathed like you were taking in the oxygen for the first time in your life. you were so close. so damn close.

you kept your eyes fixated on the table’s surface, listening to the lock’s click. "what the hell do you want?” resonated Mydei’s frigid voice, and you thought it’s very unusual for her to greet anyone like that.

with a dim curiosity, you looked back, only to see that neighbor who interrupted your sleep. he seemed so small in comparison to your friend, clenching his hand around a box of chocolates. "i wanted to apologize for—"

she shut the door, not letting him finish. you gaped at her, slightly surprised — but maybe it was one of the better options, considering how tightly her fingers formed into a fist. you observed her stand there idly for three more seconds before turning on her heel, and quickly walking out of the room.

what a pain.

——

december eleventh.

time passed faster than you wanted it to. holidays were nearing, and so you busied yourself with various things. the studying sessions got more intense now, and your search for an appropriate gift for Mydei seemed endless.

one day, you walked into her room, seeing a small bag, colorful paper sticking out from it, and a ribbon glued to the side. you asked her if you could see (because your curiosity peaked at that moment), but she sternly refused. it’s a surprise — is what she said, and you had to hold back.

well, anyway. that’s not important.

what is important, is the fact you were going crazy.

as you predicted, none of you touched upon the topic of your near-confession. you could say you were already used to missing out, and pretending you were alright — except this time, things between you did not fall back into place. every single previous situation dissolved after a while, leaving you unsatisfied, but content that nothing really changed. right now, it was awkward, and all the progress you made was gone. okay, maybe not exactly gone — it was buried. hidden away, waiting. for what, you didn’t know, but it drove you insane. you were jumping around like startled hares, pretending not to see the problem blooming between you.

you both reached for the salt — your fingers brushed, and then you were stumbling over your words, apologizing.

her arm accidentally touched against yours when you stood by the kitchen counter — you jolted back, and she mouthed something under her breath.

you wanted to use the bathroom at the same time — you insisted Mydei goes first, and in return, she argued you should go instead of her.

in attempts of keeping your resolve and kindness as persisting, you began to crack once more.

you should consider yourself a lunatic for falling so deeply for a girl who was your roommate, but you couldn’t bear it any longer. the way her lips curled into a smile, and how she brushed stands of hair away from your eyes.

previously, you thought she didn’t like you that way. now you were halfway sure. no, maybe seventy percent sure. after all, she didn’t seem defiant those two weeks ago when you were inches apart from finally confessing. still, complete certainty was still quite far away from you.

in the mornings, Mydei was the first thing you thought of. you always went to search her out, hopping happily to her side as she cut some bread.

during the night, when light was gone, and the world was quiet, you drowned in reveries about the girl — constantly.

how could you tear your eyes away from her, now that you’ve seen her? if you were sunflowers, you’d face Mydei instead of the sun. that’s how far your affections towards her stretched.

and it was dumb. utterly dumb.

"wow, this color is so bright.” you commented, smiling to yourself as your gloved fingers stretched the box dye across your friend’s hair ends.

she complained about how faded the paint was, so you quickly jumped into action, running to the nearest store, and buying the most expensive dye. after that, you offered to do all the work yourself, convincing the girl it would be easier this way. she agreed without much hesitation.

she hummed under her breath. "that’s good. maybe it won’t wash away so soon."

her eyes were glued to the TV, watching some poor christmas comedy. you turned in on just to occupy your minds with some noise, in case you both accidentally slipped into that cave of awkwardness and reluctance. you paused your work, taking a second to watch the film as well. as you thought — it was absolutely cheesy.

you huffed out a small laugh, taking another strand to smother it in intense red. "why are these movies always about a big-city girl falling for a guy who owns a pine lumberyard?"

"capitalist propaganda." Mydei deadpanned.

"you’re so festive." you teased sarcastically, giving a gentle tug to her locks.

she shrugged, her neck bending backwards as if following after your touch. "i’m full of cheer."

"you’re surely full of… something."

your roommate briefly turned her head to look at you from the corner of her golden eye. she was smiling. "you’ve been weird recently, [name]."

here we go again, you thought morosely. "thanks."

"i don’t mean it in a bad way," she corrected, turning her vision back towards the TV, "just… kinda quiet. that’s unlike you."

Mydei was awfully perceptive and smart — but failing to notice how heavy the air between you was as of late would be impossible, even for someone dense. "you’ve been avoiding me."

it’s a good way you were dying her hair, else she’d probably spring out from the chair, and give you a bitter look. "no, i haven’t—"

"yes, you have." you forced out against all your wits, tired of the countless conversations you had about this specific topic. it was like an endless circle, with both of you chasing after each other, and finding yourself in the same spot.

a sigh. "maybe. i guess… i didn’t know where we stood. after that.”

you scooped another portion of red on your fingers, running them over the blonde. "neither did i."

she chuckled dryly, crossing her arms over her chest. perhaps it’s a good thing you couldn’t see her face now. "so we both just stopped talking. like cowards."

“like cowards." you repeated, nodding to yourself.

you knew Mydei despised people who ran away from the consequences — those who cowered in fear, afraid of meeting with the truth. you did too, but then silence fell over you, and neither of you spoke again. so you shall remain as cowards.

after waiting for about twenty minutes, Mydei went to wash her hair. you followed in tow, like a stray dog begging for a bone. she sent you a curious glance, cocking one eyebrow at you.

"what?"

“want me to rinse the dye off?”

(could you get any stupider than that? surely).

you wholeheartedly expected her to chase you away, but the girl tilted her head to the side, lips stretching upwards in inconspicuous assessment.

"…okay. since you wanna be so helpful today."

your whole body seemed to breathe out with relief at her agreement. you happily waited until she bent over the bathtub’s edge, reaching for the handheld shower. you let the water run through her hair, streaks of red painting the white ceramic. the hum of it caused your thoughts to cease for a brief moment. if you could, you’d stay like that forever — except soon your back will start to hurt from being hunched over, and Mydei will certainly complain along.

you put the hose away, lathering your hands in shampoo. your fingers interwoven in her locks, patiently washing away the remnants of dye. it was quiet. it was good.

your eyes briefly flickered upwards, catching on the darkened sky through the small window above. it was snowing. you didn’t say anything — and then you thought how much you detest december.

you turned the water back on, rinsing the foamy soap. once you were done, Mydei straightened out, thanking you quietly. you handed her a towel.

both of you dragged your feet towards her room, and you didn’t know why you followed after her still, but you did. she didn’t comment on your actions, which was a relief.

she seated herself on the edge of the bed, hairdryer working loudly as she blew her locks dry. you almost leaned into her side, relishing in the warm air, and how close you were. your legs were hooked around each other, tangled, like snakes in their den.

and when your friend turned it off, you grinned at her, proud of how skillfully you managed to paint her hair (even though it was your first time).

"wow, you look nice!" you complimented, but then again, was there ever a time when she didn’t?

Mydei reached for her phone, opening the camera to look at the final result. "indeed. you chose a nice shade." she smiled back at you.

"uh, so…" you began, afraid of slipping back into that uncomfortable silence between you. you didn’t know what to say, but you were desperate to uphold the conversation.

"anyway, [name]," Mydei interrupted, and you were thankful for it, "wanna see the gift i brought for you?"

you blinked at her with surprise. "but didn’t you say it was supposed to be a…?"

she waved her hand dismissively, stretching her arm to its full extent, and reached for the bag sitting on the floor. "yeah, but i can give it to you now. i’m sure you’re more than curious."

"can’t deny that." you chuckled, observing as she set the thing by your thigh. you sent her the last questioning look, seeing if she will change her mind.

"don’t be shy." the girl coerced, and so, you reached into the bag.

your fingers met with something hard, its shape resembling a rather small box. you carefully took it out, and when you saw the letters engraved atop, your jaw slacked to the ground.

it was the same luxurious brand of Mydei’s jewelry — the exact same one you searched up some weeks ago, baffled by the absurdly high prices. your eyebrows narrowed together, thinking it was a joke, and once you open it you’ll meet with nothing.

upon seeing your bewildered expression, she giggled. how can she be giggling at a time like this?! "c’mon, go ahead."

slowly, you pried the box open, your eyes widening at the sight of a ring — it remained dainty while having that classy air around it, and you gawked at Mydei like a fool. it must have been expensive. hell, expensive’s definition probably doesn’t cover half of the money spent on it!

"no way…" you muttered, your vision flickering back to the ring. "it’s— it’s so beautiful, but i… how could i accept it?"

she shrugged, taking the thing away from you, and pulling the ring out of cushioned box. "it would be impolite to refuse a gift.”

you nodded stiffly, eyebrows still knitted together, as if you were in some kind of a real emotional distress. why would she buy you something like this?

your breath hitched when Mydei tugged your palm closer, carefully slipping the jewelry on. "see? it looks nice." she smiled at you kindly, and you thought your heart might shatter from the sheer force it drummed with.

"yeah, it does." you admitted meekly, looking at the way light reflected off of it. “but i still don’t understand…"

"what do you not understand?"

"i— i’m not deserving of such gifts—“ you stammered, running your tongue over your teeth nervously, "i can’t, i just—"

her joints suddenly curled around yours, and she pulled you towards her. at this point, the whole ground might just open up, and devour you. “[name], do you seriously think i go around buying my friends pricey stuff?"

your irises flied away from Mydei’s face, but her free hand caught your jaw, forcing you to look at her. you swallowed harshly. "maybe…?"

she huffed out an exasperated sigh, probably barely stopping herself from rolling her eyes. "no, i do not. but… you’re different. and that’s why i gave it to you."

the rope tying you both seemed to tighten impossibly hard, and you were sure you heard the creaks of it.

when no meaningful words found their way out of you, she continued. "do you remember when you called me your favorite person?" she asked, and then you thought there’s no running from it now. you were doomed — or perhaps salvaged.

"yes." you answered, unable to keep your gaze away from her comely features.

"well," she began, leaning a bit closer, “you’re my favorite person too."

before you even knew it, Mydei’s lips connected with yours. it knocked the oxygen out of your lungs — but it felt different from what you’ve shared during halloween. it was not fueled by the fleeting fancy or impulse.

it was giving. tender. almost evocative in its nature — ripe and soft, just like the sweet flesh of an apple in full-bloom. the fingers of your unoccupied hand found their way onto the girl’s shoulder, and you couldn’t hold your body back from practically pushing into hers.

you couldn’t believe it was happening. your covets were so nigh for all this time — and now, they finally came true.

she must have liked you. if she didn’t, she certainly wouldn’t be kissing you like that — like you were made out of the finest porcelain. her hand wouldn’t be caressing the back of your head, and you would not be able to feel how hard her heart hammered, threatening to rip through her breast.

when you pulled away, chest burning from the lack of air, Mydei let go of you. her gaze was unsure, but it quickly eased into something less restrained upon your mesmerized look.

"let’s not run away from it anymore, alright?” she almost pleaded, brushing the unruly strands of hair away from your temple.

you immediately nodded, lips stretching into a grin so wide, your whole cheeks began to hurt. "let’s not."

her muscular arms wrapped around you, and you chuckled to yourself, embracing her back. with the touch — your forehead resting in the crook of Mydei’s neck, and her fingertips brushing across your waist — the ache from your body seeped away. it was strained from constantly sprinting, acting as if you were chased by a pack of bloodhounds. but now the pain was gone.

——

december twentieth.

you held onto the girl’s hand tightly, burying your nose in the warm scarf when another sting of coldness caught your face. snow was falling from the sky relentlessly, covering the whole ground with a blanket of whiteness.

another train passed by, its loud horn startling you slightly. she glanced at you, snickering at your sudden jolt. you sent her a lighthearted glare.

currently, you were standing on the platform, waiting for her train. when Mydei told you she was going away for the holidays, you felt as if someone stabbed you — after all, you just managed to finally stabilize your relationship.

you asked why, because obviously, she wasn’t going to visit her father. she then proceeded to vaguely explain something about her mother, that she needed to see her, and talk to her. you inquired if she’s willing to introduce you to her — she merely nodded, sending you a small smile. only later you found out that her mother passed away when the girl was only two years old.

it was a crushing revelation, but Mydei didn’t seem particularly moved by how you began to weep. she simply wiped your tears, saying not to grieve in her stead — but how could you not? upon your vivid sadness, Mydei promised to bring back albums from home, and show you what her mother looked like. then, she offered to visit her during summer, and that was enough to placate your shaken emotions.

there was still so much you did not know about her. just how much sorrow and woe must she carry on daily basis? what kind of shape her thoughts take when she has to deal with the hardships fate placed on her shoulders? how does she prevail?

you wanted to be the first person she reached out to when life got tough. from what little you deduced, Mydei’s existence was never easy. you wanted to be there for her, no matter what — so you squeezed her hand now, knowing she’ll have to face her megalomaniac father soon, and share a meal with him. if you could, you’d hop on that train with her — alas, she probably wouldn’t agree.

another horn tore you away from your grim reveries, and you glanced at the train, Mydei’s hometown on its display.

"here it is." she announced, walking closer to the yellow line. you followed in her step.

"are you—” you began in a hasty manner, watching as a multitude of passengers spilled from the car, "are you sure you’ll be fine?”

she chuckled, letting go of your palm to adjust your scarf. "yeah, everything’s gonna be okay."

you nodded, smiling weakly when she leaned in to kiss you. her lips felt warm against yours. "call me when you get there."

"sure." she nodded, planting her foot on the train’s step. "i’ll see you in a week."

you waved at her, feeling at how uncomfortably your guts clenched. the girl tugged her suitcase up in one swift move, now hugged closely by all the other people walking in and out, steadily disappearing between their silhouettes.

"Mydei," you called over the clamor, catching her attention, "i love you!"

you observed her turn her head towards you, golden eyes widening before the door closed. it was the first time you ever mustered up those words. your heart clenched, dejected by how she didn’t even say it back. when the train moved, you were ready to walk away — but then, one of the windows snapped open, the familiar flury of blonde hair peeking out.

"i love you too, [name]!" she yelled, a grin plastered across her face. the train’s wheels pushed forwards faster now, causing her locks to billow around, tousled by the wind.

a surprised gasp left your mouth. you ran after the large machine, laughing along with Mydei as she pushed the strands obscuring her vision. your legs burned, and now you were sprinting after the girl — not away from her. once you could no longer keep up, you finally stopped, completely out of breath, and smiling like a love-struck fool.

no matter if she’s not by your side — there’s always going to be a home for her in your heart. you’ll leave the lights on.

[hanniebaeee]

I'm crying I'm crying I'm crying 😭😭😭😭😭

You're the sweetest omg 🥺🥺🥺 Babe you don't know how much you heal my heart. And your words mean the world to me 🥹💕

Ah you're so right 💕 We do leave a little piece of our heart and soul in everything we create, and that's why it's so so important to always be true to what you do. Be it anything. For me, it's writing. It's one thing I always lean on, when happy or sad or literally anything.

Babe, those feelings are mutual, because you make me wanna do better and you keep motivating me 🥹🫶 Hehe yep, let the love fest continue forever 🤭🤭🤭

(Thanks for sharing the book love, I'm gonna read it 🤭💕)

(Thanks for being here and let's make sure none of us are crying omg 😭😭😭😭 Channie hug incoming 🤗💕🫶)

Hold My Hand

Han Jisung x fem!reader

Warnings: nothing much!

Genre: classmates to lovers, fluff

Summary: Your life was a straight line. Graduate top of your class. Marry Minho. Take over your family business. But then there's Han Jisung - the sweet geeky genius, who has completely stolen your heart.

a/n: Needs another round of editing which I'll do soon. Written under distress, so please forgive me for any errors!

You were terrible at this. Numbers? Fine. Business strategy? More than fine. But Python? It might as well have been ancient hieroglyphs. You sighed, trying to remain calm even though all you wanted to do was scream.

Your life was a straight line - graduate top of your class (questionable, considering you may or may not fail your coding class), marry Minho (your father’s friend’s son and your closest friend - because your fathers promised you to each other) and take over your family business. It was a plan carved in marble. No deviations allowed.

But then there was him. Han Jisung. The scholarship guy from a world that was exactly opposite to yours - completely chaotic. He was all messy hair, glasses slipping down his nose, and thrifted hoodies, making your pulse raise for reasons unknown to you.

You weren't supposed to want someone like Jisung. He wasn't part of the plan. But yet, seeing him stumble into the library with his laptop in hand, your traitorous heart stuttered shamelessly. Exactly like how it had, when he lent you a pen during the first week of class, during an emergency pen situation.

You tried to focus on your screen, but your eyes betrayed you, watching as he looked around for somewhere to sit.

Get it together, you scolded yourself.

But Jisung had noticed you, and it was like watching a cartoon character short-circuit. His eyes widened, his foot caught on a chair, and he nearly faceplanted into a table.

“Oh, uh…h-hey, Y/N!” he stammered, pushing his glasses up with a shaky finger.

His voice cracked, and you bit your lip to keep from smiling. He was such a mess, and it was so unfairly hot.

“Hi, Jisung,” you said, your tone cool and measured, though your heart was doing cartwheels.

You crossed your legs under the table, hoping he didn’t notice how your hands were trembling. Well, he wouldn't, since he just stood there, frozen. His hands clutched his laptop like a lifeline.

“You, uh, working on the coding assignment? The one due Friday?” His voice was too loud for the library, and a nearby student shushed him.

He winced, mouthing a silent 'sorry', before taking the seat next to you.

“Yes,” you said, glancing at your screen. “It’s… challenging.”

“Challenging?” He laughed nervously, scratching the back of his neck. “That’s one way to put it. Um, do you need help? With the coding, I mean! Not that you’re bad at it! You’re probably great! I just…uh…”

He was spiraling, and it was absolutely adorable.

You tilted your head, considering. This was a bad idea. Getting close to Jisung was like playing with fire when your life was already a perfectly curated museum exhibit. But your assignment was due in three days, and you were drowning.

“If you’re offering,” you said carefully, “I wouldn’t mind some assistance.”

His eyes went wide, like you just handed him the keys to a Ferrari.

“Really? Okay, cool, cool, I can do that. Totally chill.” He was not chill.

He vibrated with nervous energy as he dropped his laptop on the table and slid his chair closer to you.

Too close. His knee brushed yours under the table, and you both froze. He quickly jerked his leg back, muttering, “Sorry, sorry, oh god -,” while you stared at your laptop, trying to ignore the electric jolt that shot through you.

“It’s fine,” you said, pointing at the screen. “I don’t understand why my code keeps crashing.”

Jisung leaned in, squinting at your laptop. His arm brushed yours, and you caught the faint scent of his shampoo - something citrusy, that shouldn’t be this sexy, but was. He was muttering about syntax errors and missing semicolons, but you were barely listening, too distracted by the way his tongue darted out to wet his lips.

“See, here’s the problem,” he said, pointing at a line of code.

His glasses slipped down again, and he pushed them up with a pout. His fingers flew over your keyboard as he fixed the error like it was nothing, and you were mesmerized by how confident he was when he was in his element.

This was a different Jisung - not the flustered mess he was a second ago, but a geeky genius.

He finished typing and turned to you, grinning.

“Try running it now,” he said.

You hit the execute button, and - miracle of miracles - it worked.

“Oh my god,” you breathed, genuinely impressed. “You’re a lifesaver.”

Jisung beamed, but before he could say something, another voice boomed through the silent room, disturbing its peace.

“Hey, Y/N!”

Your head snapped up as Minho walked over with his designer coat and smug grin.

“Didn’t expect to see you slumming it in the library.”

Jisung shrank back into his chair, looking like he wanted to melt into the floor. You sat up straighter, slipping back into your polished persona.

“Minho,” you said coolly. “I was studying.”

Minho’s eyes flicked to Jisung, and he smirked.

“With him? What, you are hiring tutors from the thrift store now?” he asked, but there was no real bite in his words. Minho was always joking around, and that was just his nature.

Jisung’s face flamed, but he muttered, “At least I don’t need daddy’s money to pass my classes.”

Minho’s smirk faltered, and you bit back a laugh.

“Enough,” you said, standing. “Jisung was helping me with an assignment. But we're done here.”

Minho raised an eyebrow, clearly not used to being dismissed.

“Whatever. Let's get going. We have to be at the dinner party in 2 hours, babe.” he said, waiting for you to gather your things, while his eyes lingered on Jisung.

Jisung stared at the table, picking at the edge of his laptop looking like a kicked puppy.

You hated these business parties that your father forced you to attend. But you had to play your part to perfection - Y/N, the poised heiress, future CEO. Your arm looped through Minho’s as he navigated the crowd, his tailored suit hugging his frame perfectly.

He was all charm tonight, flashing his sharp grin, his hand resting on the small of your back.

You’ve kind of known since you were teenagers that he would most probably be your future husband - the final piece of your carefully curated life.

But tonight, it felt so off. Your mind kept drifting to Jisung and his nervous laugh. And you were mentally preparing yourself to talk to Minho. To ask him that one question that has been haunting you for more than a year now.

You two have been friends since forever. But this friendship has been nothing but a friendship from then. The most platonic one ever. Even after your parents casually mentioned that you'd marry Minho one day - there was literally no spark between you two.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Minho murmured, leaning in.

His hand slid lower, fingers grazing the curve of your hip through the thin fabric of your gown.

“What’s got you so distracted?”

You forced a smile, tilting your head to meet his gaze, which was playful, but there was an edge to it, like he knew exactly what you were thinking.

“It's nothing,” You lied quickly and Minho hummed, a frown taking over his face.

He stepped closer, his chest brushing yours as he maneuvered you toward a quieter corner of the ballroom, away from the prying eyes of the crowd.

“What is it?” he asked again, his hand still resting on your waist.

You were used to this - Minho has always been handsy, and you’ve let him get away with it before, chalking it up to familiarity, to the inevitability of your future together. Even though you two weren't actually together. Or engaged. Just stuck in the purgatory of the in-between situation. Unwilling to say the least.

But tonight, his touch felt… wrong. Like it was trespassing on something that didn’t belong to him anymore.

But before you had to act on it, your phone buzzed in your purse, the vibration cutting through the tension. You jumped back, breaking his hold, and fished it out. The screen flashed ‘Mom’, and your heart leapt with relief. Perfect timing.

“I need to take this,” you said, already turning away.

Minho’s expression clouded, but you didn’t give him a chance to argue.

“Sorry, it’s urgent. I’ll find you later.” you said, scurrying away to a safe distance.

And that's when you knew - you were screwed. Absolutely, royally screwed.

You didn’t plan to end up here. Parties weren't your scene - too loud, too messy, too uncontrolled. But your roommate dragged you along, insisting you needed to “live a little” before the stress of midterms (and an impending engagement) crushed you.

So here you were, in a simple black top and jeans, sipping a beer in a corner, trying to blend into the wallpaper. Your parents would have a heart attack if they saw you here, but for once, you weren't thinking about them. Or Minho. Or the way his face fell when you ran away.

But then you see him. Jisung. He was across the room, looking like he wandered into the wrong universe.

He was clutching a beer as talked to some guy - probably one of his nerdy Comp Sci friends - his free hand gesturing wildly as he spoke. Your heart did a stupid little flip, and you hated it.

But then his eyes caught yours, and it was like the room shrank two sizes. His smile faltered and his cheeks flushed as you raised your beer in a half-hearted greeting, and he grinned, all lopsided and shy, before making his way over.

“Y/N?” he said, like he’s shocked you’re real. “What are you doing here?”

“Needed a break. What’s your excuse?” you said, moving over to make room for him to sit.

He laughed, scratching the back of his neck.

“Uh, free beer?” He held up his drink, sloshing a bit onto his sneakers. “Oops. Shit. Pretend you didn’t see that.”

“Too late,” you teased, and he groaned, his blush deepening.

He was so himself - clumsy and sweet - and it was doing things to you. Dangerous things.

And just like that you both get into a conversation. And your cups are empty at some point. So naturally, you followed him into the kitchen, where you found a cooler stuffed with beers. You both grabbed one, popping the caps with a bottle opener someone had tied to the fridge. You leaned against the counter, and Jisung mirrored you, his shoulder brushing yours.

As you looked over at him with a soft smile on your face, and he did the same, you couldn't help but realize that you've never felt this way before. No one has ever made your heart flutter like Jisung did.

The night blurred, and one beer turned into two, then three, and soon you were both tipsy, laughing too loud at Jisung’s dumb impressions of your Comp Sci professor.

Jisung was more at ease now, his nerves dulled by alcohol, and you were not much better, your usual prim-and-proper filter slipping. You were close - too close - your knees bumping as you talked, your hand grazing his when you reached for another drink. Every touch felt like a match struck against your skin.

“God, you’re so cool,” Jisung slurred, leaning closer, his glasses fogging slightly. “Like, you’re all fancy and perfect, but you’re here, drinking shitty beer with me. It’s unreal.”

You laughed, shaking your head lightly.

“I’m not perfect, Jisung. Trust me.” you said, the words hitting even though you're drunk.

“You are,” he insisted, his voice soft, earnest. “You’re, like… you. I can’t explain it.”

Your cheeks burned as you said, “You’re not so bad yourself, you know.”

He gasped, clutching his chest.

“Are you flirting with me, Y/N?” He asked, and it’s so cheesy you burst out laughing, but god, you wanted to kiss him. You wanted to grab his stupid hoodie and pull him close until there was no space left between you.

Until you realize that you were sitting so close. So close that you were literally half on his lap. You didn’t know how you got there - maybe you tripped, maybe he pulled you, maybe the beer made you bold. Jisung’s hands hovered over your shoulders, like he was scared to touch you, his face flushed crimson under the fairy lights.

“Y/N,” he whispered, voice shaky, “is this-”

You didn't say anything. Just rested your head on his shoulder, your lips brushing the soft skin of his neck (accidentally, to be honest). He smelled like cheap cologne and something uniquely him, and it drove you wild. Your lips lingered, and you felt him tense beside. A soft whimper escaped him, barely audible, and it was the hottest thing you’ve ever heard.

You pressed closer, and he actually moaned, his hands finally settling on around your shoulder, gripping you tightly, like he was afraid you'd disappear.

You were drunk and dizzy, but at that very moment, you knew it - you were in love with Han Jisung. You didn't just want him or just crave - you loved him and his clumsy charm and geeky rants and his heart so big it spilled out of him.

But then, there was something gnawing at you from the inside. A sharp stab of realization that this was just so unfortunate. Because you were promised to someone else. Like a damn object. And it was so unfair.

Reality crashed in, cold and brutal. Minho, your almost-fiancé.

You froze, pulling back with a jerk, and Jisung gave you a confused look.

“Y/N?” he said, voice small, like he was scared he did something wrong.

“I…I can’t,” you stammered, sliding off the couch, away from his warmth, your heart pounding. “I’m sorry, Jisung. I… I have to go.”

His face fell, and it was like a knife to your chest. “Did I-?”

“No,” you said quickly, grabbing his hand. “It’s not you. It’s… complicated.”

You couldn’t explain it, not here, not now, not when you were still buzzing with alcohol and guilt and want. You squeezed his hand, then let go, standing on shaky legs.

“Y/N, wait -” he started, but you’re already moving, weaving through the crowd, your vision blurring with unshed tears. You didn’t look back. You couldn't. If you saw his face, you’d break, and you were already too close to shattering.

---

You stumbled outside, the cool night air hitting you like a slap. You leaned against a tree, catching your breath, and wiped at your eyes. A sob spilled from your lips, and at that exact moment, you heard Minho’s sharp voice, cutting through the haze like a blade.

“Y/N, what the hell?” Minho was striding toward you, his usual smug confidence replaced with something harder.

It looked a lot like annoyance, maybe, or something deeper. He stopped a few feet away, taking in your disheveled state - your flushed cheeks, the way you were clutching your arms like you’re holding yourself together.

“You’re wasted. What are you doing out here looking like… this?” he snapped and you bristled, straightening up despite the wobble in your legs.

“I’m fine,” you snapped back, though your slurred words betrayed you. “Just needed air.”

“Air?” He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as he scanned you. “You look like you just stumbled out of a bar fight. This isn’t you, Y/N. Getting drunk at some shitty party? What’s gotten into you?”

His tone - condescending, scolding - lights a fuse you didn’t know was burning. You were so fucking tired of it. The expectations, the control, the way everyone assumed that they could dictate your life.

Jisung’s face flashed in your mind - his soft shy smile and his hurt face from a few minutes ago, and it was like a dam breaking inside you. You pushed off the wall, swaying slightly, and pointed a finger at him.

“Tell me this, Minho. Why do you want to marry me?”

He froze, his expression shifting from annoyance to incredulity.

“What?” He laughed, short and disbelieving, like you just asked him why the sky was blue. “What’s the matter with you? You’re drunk and talking nonsense.”

“I’m serious,” you said, your voice rising, unsteady but fierce.

You took a step closer, your eyes locked with his.

“Why do you want to marry me? Because our parents decided it? Because it’s good for business? Tell me, Minho. Why?”

He faltered, his smirk slipping, and for the first time, you saw uncertainty flicker in his eyes. He opened his mouth, then closed it, like he was searching for the right words and coming up empty.

“Y/N, come on,” he said finally, his voice softer. “You know why. We’re good together. We make sense. Our families -”

“That’s not an answer!” you cut him off, your hands balling into fists.

The alcohol made you bold, reckless, and you couldn't stop now.

“I don’t want to be a puppet, Minho. I don’t want to be some trophy wife you control, some box you check off for your perfect life. I’m not a thing you get to own.” you cried, and his face crumpled as the tears flowed freely down yours.

He stepped closer, his voice low, almost pleading.

“You think I see you like that? A puppet? Y/N, I -” He stopped, running a hand through his hair, his composure cracking. “I’ve known you forever. I thought… I thought you wanted this too.”

His words hit harder than you expected, a pang of guilt slicing through your anger. For a moment, you saw the Minho you grew up with. The one who snuck you extra dessert at boring dinners, who teased you but never let anyone else cross you.

But it wasn't enough. Not when your heart was screaming for someone else. And it hurt more because you'd promised yourself to quietly go ahead with the engagement and the wedding if Minho told you that he loved you. You obviously would have, considering the fact that you've known him your whole life, and you would never break his heart. But now, you wanted to scream.

“It’s not fair,” you said, your voice breaking. “It’s not fair that I don’t get a say. I don’t want this, Minho. I don’t -”

The words spilled out before you could stop them - sharp and final, and you saw the hurt flash across his face, his eyes widening like you’ve slapped him.

“Y/N…” he was reaching for you, but you stepped back, shaking your head.

You turned and ran, stumbling toward the street. You heard him call your name, his voice raw, but you didn’t look back. The party’s noise faded, replaced by the thud of your pulse and the burn of your tears.

You hated this. Hated yourself, hated the stupid plan that chained you to a life you don’t want.

The morning came with a headache that was literally tearing your head apart. And the weight of last night’s drunken outburst crushed you.

What was worse, Minho didn’t show up to class, and it was unheard of for someone as annoyingly perfect as he was. You panicked all through the day, and felt too scared to text or call him.

The memory of his hurt expression, the way you ran off after shredding your almost-engagement, kept replaying like a bad movie in your brain. So, here you were, standing outside his door with a peace offering: his favorite black forest cake from that overpriced bakery he loved and a large iced Americano, just how he liked it.

You knocked with your heart in your throat, half-expecting him to slam the door in your face. But when he opened it, you almost dropped the cake. Minho’s usually sharp eyes were dull, his hair was a mess. And he was in a rumpled T-shirt and sweatpants, like he hadn't slept at all. It totally broke your heart because you've never seen him like this and you had no one but yourself to blame for this.

He sighed, long and heavy, when he saw you.

“Y/N,” he said, voice flat, but his gaze flicks to the cake and coffee.

He stepped aside, taking the offerings without a word, and let you in. No snarky comment, no smirk. Just silence. That was scarier than any lecture he could’ve given you.

You hovered by the door as he shuffled to his bed, flopping onto it with the cake box and coffee in hand (picking up a fork from the little kitchen on his way). He popped open the box and started eating, not even looking at you.

The silence was deafening, and you felt like an idiot, standing there like a statue in your pristine sweater and skirt.

He finally glanced up, mid-bite, and raised an eyebrow.

“You coming in to share this or are you leaving?” His voice was tired, like he’s too drained to care.

You hesitated, then nodded, kicking off your shoes and climbing onto his bed, and cuddling up beside him like you always did. The familiarity of being in his space made your throat tight.

You curled up closer, tucking your legs under you, and whispered, “I’m sorry, Minho.”

He didn’t say anything, just took another bite of cake, the fork scraping softly against the box. The silence stretched, heavy and awkward, until he set the cake on his lap and looked at you, his eyes searching.

“Who is it?” he asked quietly, no venom, just curiosity tinged with something resigned. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

You froze, your heart slamming against your ribs. You weren’t ready for this. Not now, not here, not with him looking at you like he already knew the answer and just needed to hear it.

“I…” you started, but the words stuck, your mouth dry.

He tilted his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“Come on, Y/N. I have known you from when we were in diapers. I know this isn't some random impulsive thing. Who’s got you throwing away our whole… whatever this is?”

His voice was steady, but there was a crack in it, a hint of the hurt you saw last night.

You swallowed, your hands trembling in your lap. If there was one thing you could never do, that would be lying to Minho. So you just told him the truth.

“Han Jisung,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Minho blinked, then leaned back against the headboard, staring at the ceiling. For a moment, he was silent, and you were bracing for anger, for a fight. Or tears even. But then he started laughing. A loud, almost manic laugh that filled the room, like he was possessed.

You scowled, offended. “What’s so funny?”

“Sorry, sorry,” he gasped, wiping his eyes as he tried to catch his breath. He looked at you, still chuckling, and shook his head.

“Really? Geeky is your thing? Han Jisung? The guy who trips over his own backpack and talks to his laptop like it’s his girlfriend?” he laughed and you huffed, shoving him.

“Shut up! He’s not like that!” you argued.

Okay, maybe he was, but it’s cute, and Minho's laugh pissed you off. You cross your arms, sulking.

“He’s… he’s sweet. And smart. And -”

“Okay, okay,” Minho said, holding up his hands in surrender, still grinning. “I get it. You’re into the hot loser vibe. No judgment.”

His smile faded, and he leaned forward, his expression softening.

“It's a relief you left me for love and not for someone richer. So…there’s no use of me fighting him, is there? You’re set on Jisung?” he said, and you nodded, your throat tight.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “I think I am.”

He exhaled, long and slow, and looked down at the cake, poking at it with the fork.

“Have you told him?” He asked.

“No.” You said, sighing. “Not without talking to you first.”

“Ok.”

“I’m so sorry, Minho,” you said, reaching for his hand, squeezing it, desperate for him to understand. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just… I can’t keep pretending this is what I want. It’s not fair to you either.”

He looked at you, and for a moment, you saw the Minho who has been your closest friend for years.

“It’s okay,” he says finally, his voice soft. “Thanks for being honest.”

You didn’t know what possessed you - guilt, affection, the need to hold onto something familiar, because you wrapped your arms around him in a tight hug. He stiffened for a second, then relaxed, his arms looping around you tight. You buried your face in his shoulder, the scent of his cologne grounding you even as your heart aches.

He chuckled, the sound rumbling against your chest. “Babe, are you breaking up with me or trying to start something here? Mixed signals much?”

You pulled back, flustered, and shoved him lightly.

“Minho!” you squeaked, your face burning hot.

He laughed again, softer this time, and ruffled your hair, the gesture so familiar it hurt.

“You’re a mess, Y/N,” he said, but there was no malice in it, just sad fondness. “Go figure your shit out with Jisung. But if he breaks your heart, I’m not buying you cake to cry over him.”

---

The days that followed your break up (can you even call it that), your mother has been driving you up the wall with her dramatic crying and angry screeching and lectures.

It had become a daily ritual. Waking up to her scolding you and threatening to disown you. And then begging you to get back together with Minho. When you tell her you were never actually together in the first place, she flipped again. And it was all a loop.

You were not sorry for choosing yourself, for wanting Jisung, but the weight of your family’s disappointment was suffocating.

You spent the mornings venting, Minho listening and cracking jokes to lighten your mood. It was funny how much better your relationship with Minho was, now that you two were just friends. In the evening, he would order takeout, and you would end up cross-legged on his floor, eating dumplings and laughing at his stupid jokes.

It was the only thing helping you forget about your mother, the company, and the mess you’ve made.

---

But across campus, Jisung wasn't laughing. In fact Jisung was a walking tragedy, and he was leaning into it hard. In the days since the party, he had transformed into a melodramatic shadow of himself, moping around campus in his heartbreak.

He was in your shared Comp Sci class, slouched in the back row, his hoodie pulled up and completely heart broken. He had watched you leave the party in tears and arguing with Minho. And now he has been seeing you and Minho together, walking across the quad, you leaning into Minho’s side, lost in conversation, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

To Jisung, it looked like you were something, like the party was a drunken mistake, and it’s eating him alive.

He was quiet in class, not his usual fidgety, joke-cracking self. When you tried to catch his eye, he ducked his head, pretending to focus on his laptop. You wanted to talk to him, to explain, but every time you got close, your nerves betrayed you.

What if he didn’t feel the same? What if he thought you were just some rich girl playing with his feelings?

The jealousy festered over the next few days. Jisung saw you and Minho at the campus coffee shop, your head on Minho’s shoulder as he scrolled through his phone.

He slumped over his tray, poking at a sad pile of fries, muttering to his roommate, “What’s the point of life when you’re just the guy who gets kissed and ditched?”

His roommate sighed, used to the theatrics, and slid him a soda, but Jisung just stared at it like it betrayed him too.

Then he saw Minho sling an arm around you at the library. This was proof enough for Jisung - you were Minho’s, always have been, and whatever happened at the party was a fluke.

His chest ached with it, a mix of longing and hurt that he buried under late-night coding sessions and too-loud music.

You noticed Jisung pulling away - if ever you caught his attention, his smiles were forced, his eyes avoiding yours. It hurt more than you expected, especially after the party, when you felt so sure he wanted you too. You were so in love with him, but the chaos with your family and Minho’s constant presence made it impossible to bridge the gap.

---

You’ve been psyching yourself up for this all day. Your mother’s morning tirade still rang in your ears - another lecture about ruining the family legacy by ditching Minho. But you were done letting her control you. You were here for Jisung, to clear the air, to tell him how you felt.

You knocked on his door, clutching your bag like a shield. When Jisung opened it, he looked like he'd been through a war with his own brain. He froze, one hand gripping the doorknob.

“Y/N?” he said. “What, uh, what are you doing here?”

But he stepped back, letting you in. You stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind you, and the air felt charged, like you were both standing on the edge of something big.

“I need to talk to you,” you said, trying to sound calm, but your voice wavered. “About the party. And… other stuff.”

Jisung’s face paled, then flushed red, and he started pacing, his hands flailing.

“The party? Oh, you mean the party where you…where you kissed my neck?” He pointed dramatically to the spot on his neck, where your lips had been, his finger jabbing like he was marking a crime scene. “Right here, Y/N! You did that, and I was, like, losing my mind, and then you just bolted! And now you’re, what, playing house with Minho? I see you two everywhere! Laughing, cuddling, sharing coffee like you’re married or something! What am I supposed to think? That I’m just some drunk mistake you made for fun?”

His words spilled out in a torrent, his voice rising with every sentence, and he wasn’t even looking at you now, just ranting to the air, gesturing wildly.

“I mean, I’m not an idiot, okay? I know I’m not, like, Minho. He’s all cool and rich, but I thought - god, I thought maybe you liked me, you know? Because you kissed me! Here!” He pointed to his neck again, his cheeks flaming. “And now you’re back with him, and I’m just the nerd who got too excited over nothing, and -”

“Jisung!” you tried to cut in, but he was on a roll, pacing faster, his glasses slipping down his nose.

“- and it’s fine, really, I get it! You’re you, and I’m me, and we’re not even in the same universe, but it hurt, Y/N, because I’ve been crushing on you since, like, the first day of class when you asked me for a pen, and I gave you my favorite one, and you never gave it back, by the way, but that’s not the point! The point is, you can’t just go around kissing people’s necks and then -”

You couldn’t take it anymore. He wasn't shutting up, and every word was like a knife, twisting your guilt and frustration tighter. So you did the only thing you could think of - you grabbed the front of his T-shirt, and kissed him.

It wasn't not gentle. It was desperate and messy, your lips crashing against his to silence his rant. Jisung froze, his hands hovering mid-gesture, and for a second, you thought you'd broken him. Then he melted, a soft, surprised whimper escaping his throat as he kissed you back, his hands gripping your waist like he was afraid you’ll vanish. His lips were warm, a little chapped, but absolutely perfect. Your heart pounded, hands sliding up to cup his face, and you poured everything into the kiss - every apology, every feeling you’ve been too scared to say.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were panting, and his eyes wide, like he’s just seen a miracle.

“W-what… what was that?” he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.

You were still catching your breath, your forehead resting against his.

“That,” you said, “was me shutting you up because you wouldn’t listen.”

You stepped back slightly, but kept your hands on his shoulders, grounding yourself.

“Jisung, I’m not with Minho. We’re not together. We never really were…not like that. It was… arranged, by our parents, and I broke it off. He’s just my friend now. A really good one, but that’s it.” you said, and Jisung blinked, processing, his mouth opening and closing like a fish.

“Wait, so… you’re not… with him?” His voice was small, hopeful, but still wary.

“No,” you said firmly, your thumb brushing his cheek, and he leans into it, almost unconsciously. “I’m not. I broke it off with him, because I love you, Jisung. A lot. And I’ve been trying to tell you, but you keep avoiding me, and I thought maybe you didn’t feel the same -”

“Feel the same?” he interrupted, his voice rising again, but this time it was laced with disbelief. “Y/N, I’ve been in love with you since you stole my pen! I was losing my mind at that party, thinking you’d just…ugh, I’m such an idiot!”

He groaned, tipping his head back, but his hands tightened on your waist, pulling you closer. You laughed, the sound shaky with relief, and leaned into him, your arms looping around his neck.

“You’re not an idiot. Well, maybe a little. But a cute one.” You bit your lip, your heart racing. “So… you like me too, then?”

He stared at you like you’ve grown a second head.

“Like you? Y/N, I’m obsessed with you. My roommate’s ready to kick me out because I won’t shut up about you,”

He cut himself off, blushing furiously, and you couldn’t help it - you kissed him again, softer this time, but just as needy.

He moaned into it, a low, soft sound that sent heat curling through you, and you’re both stumbling back until you hit his bed, collapsing onto it in a tangle of limbs. His hands roamed your back, and the kiss deepened, all tongue and need, until you’re both gasping.

“Okay,” he panted, “so we’re… we’re doing this?”

“Yeah,”

“For real?”

“For real.”

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[cloveroctobers]

home life with them! | multi 🏠

A/N: because being booed up can be fun & this is just a quick little thing I’ve been thinking about and decided to write for shits and giggles tbh!

WARNINGS: language, usage of the n-word, fluff, bickering, talks of intimate moments, Mary being delusional, & modern times with Smoke & Stack?

𖤓 ｡𖦹°‧ ⋆☀︎. 𖤓 ｡𖦹°‧ ⋆☀︎. 𖤓 ｡𖦹°‧ ⋆☀︎. 𖤓 ｡𖦹°‧ ⋆☀︎.

~ KEVIN ATWATER ~

Slow Sundays were a thing in your household…except it really wasn’t with Kevin?

Usually it’s his only day off and sure he may lay in bed a little longer with you propped up on his chest but when the man was ready to work? There was no stopping him.

Basically he was like that parent that loved waking your ass up on a Saturday morning with the vacuum cleaner and old jams bouncing off the walls, except in this case…it was a Sunday!

Majority of the time he would let you sleep in, might even start off a little quiet but you should have known that was short lived and him trying to soften the blow by pressing lingering kisses at your brow and squeezing your shoulder before he let go of you.

“Babe! Have you seen my—oh my fault I found it.” — as if he hadn’t been knocking stuff over in the room for about five minutes now, always apologizing each time as you tried to sleep.

He’ll get some laundry going, even throw a few of your pieces in too—although you may have had more time to get through your laundry during the previous week—the man is just considerate like that.

“Babe, whatchu want for breakfast? My famous pancakes or something else?” He’ll question poking his head back into the room. You’ll lift your head out from over the covers, if you’re not a morning person (like me) that look says it all.

Eventually you’ll make your way to the kitchen, the aroma of food luring you out. Your attempts to sneak up on him, hugging him from behind and burrying your face in his back always makes his heart swell. He knows your footsteps well and it’s pros of being a cop, so you sneaking up on him? Never works in your favor but sometimes he doesn’t mind playing along.

Definitely the type to stop what he’s doing to press his hand on top of yours as you hug him.

“What you want to do today after this house work? Movies? Dinner at the diner? Head to Kim and Adam’s? You need to make a grocery run for something?” He’s ranting as if last Sunday wasn’t ridiculously busy.

You’re seated at the island counter pressing your cheek into your hand just gazing at him, “I just want to look at you, flash.” You say giving him that old silly nickname since he used to be on a track team in his high school years and you were postive he’s done a lot of running around in the IU…which is always a little funny to picture with his long legs.

Kevin shares the same look of love in his doe eyes as he looks up and over at you after flipping a pancake over, “Well in that case…I’m all yours if you want me, you got me.”

“There’s never a day that I don’t…even when you wake me up too damn early on a Sunday.”

Kevin shrugs, “You love me, though.”

“That I do.” You sigh but perk up as he slides you a bowl of cut up fruit.

Kevin presses his teeth over his bottom lip with a smile, “Feelings mutual, baby. Now you eat up, we got a day ahead of us.” He starts, easily picking up on the blank look you send him, “I promise it’ll be a good one. Not too much.”

You hum as he comes around to smack a kiss against your cheek, squeezing at your hips.

~ DANTE TORRES ~

Dante’s not much of a tv person, never has been but when he starts dating you and divides his time between yours and his childhood home, he starts to be? Sort of.

You quickly learn during your sleepovers that he doesn’t do much sleeping in the first place…even if you end up tangled through the sheets and put through a mattress…the man hardly sleeps.

He’ll nap at best and when you question him about it, he tells you he’s always been that way, always had trouble with insomnia since he was a kid. There were countless times where he would stay up at night to make sure he didn’t hear his step-father hurting his mom. His sleeping habits got even worse once he ended up in juvi.

Ofc it broke your heart and you always told him he was safe here with you. This he knew but it still felt nice to hear it.

He found it odd the first time he stayed over, learning that you liked to sleep with the tv on. You peered over at him before climbing into bed, “I’ve been in this place by myself at night for awhile…I need the noise as a distraction. When it’s too quiet, it makes me anxious.”

Which lets Dante know that you’re not that much different at all. “Guess that means I need to be over more.” Before he fully enters the room, making you smile at the thought.

You’re into those trashy dating reality shows, where you’ll give your own commentary, really getting into it like his ma when she’s watching those soaps. Dante finds it humorous himself, watching you get all riled up at the couple where the other half just found out their significant other tried to gaslight them after finding out they were cheating.

“Can you fucking believe this guy?! He’s GARBAGE.”

“Absolutely.” Dante quietly says with a nod of his head as you look over at him, “He shows no respect.”

“Thank you!” You exhale before flopping back against your pillow as Dante is up on his elbow staring more at you than the screen.

You’re aware of it, it’s something he’s always done and at times it did make you self-conscious but when you were slightly distracted you just viewed his eye contact as sunlight.

You tune it out once you’re so deep into a show, looping your arm with Dante’s as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head before focusing back on the show with you.

Some months later into your relationship, you end up with a cat (or any other house animal if you’re allergic or don’t like them)…much to Dante’s surprise. Yes you mentioned getting a pet before in the early stages of dating and even showed him the one you really wanted but it was a good two hour drive away. He didn’t actually think you would end up having a spur of the moment…that was more his thing.

“I…guess that means the girls weekend trip went well then.” Dante comments, looking at the odd looking feline that made it’s self comfortable on his spot on the couch.

It’s rocky at first, the lykoi cat (that you named Britain after the film “An American werewolf in London”) tried to get used to the home and Dante. Yet it loved you…as it should!

Britain even started to piss on Dante’s white shirts. The first time he stole it from one of the lounge chairs Dante tossed in your room.

“What’s his problem?” Dante questioned with a deep frown as he held the stained shirt up, “I’ve been nice to the guy since he’s got here and all I got in return is a scratch to my hand, my shirts ruined, and hissed at when i stay over and try to hold you at night.”

Your attempts to hide the bubble of laughter in your throat does not go unnnoticed as you wrap your arms around Dante’s neck, “Don’t take it too personal honey, he’s just a baby.”

You already planned on getting a bunch more white tees and leaving them here and out of reach from the kitten.

“Well I was your baby first.” Dante mutters as you laugh, running your thumb over the tattoo on the back of his neck.

Dante soon comes to a understanding with the Lykoi. He’s saying at your place but you’re at an event for your friend and just let him know that you’re on your way home for the night. He realizes that you left the tv on in the living room and turned it off with no sign of the cat. This time.

Dante’s upstairs, already undressed for the night and set his timer estimating what time you should be here and when he would go back downstairs. Dante decides to turn the tv on in the room, getting caught off guard as Britain hops onto the bed and turns into a loaf at the end of it.

After a few moments of silence, the cat meows looking over its shoulder at Dante and Dante cautiously changes the channel, earning more meows until he finds something he likes.

“Wooow.” Dante laughs to himself after the cat goes quiet and he hops into bed, ready to text the guys about this since they already witnessed the nasty scar on his hand from the wolf looking feline.

That same scar (which resulted in stitches) he got when he turned off the tv one night in the living room where you fell asleep with the cat nearly sleeping on your head.

Dante gets comfortable on the bed, clasping his hands on top of his head shifting his gaze from the screen and the cat, making sure to keep his feet away from Britain as well.

When Britain gets up to stretch, Dante holds his breath as his yellow eyes pour into his hazel ones. The lykoi is on the prowl, taking cautious steps and Dante would really hate to have to harm your cat with a lamp if he decided to claw at his face this time!

Instead the cat purrs taking a spot right on your pillow, meowing as he turns his attention back to the tv.

Dante with his guard still up slowly relaxes when the cat moves again, nudging its head against his shoulder, demanding pets.

Which he ends up giving, “Oh we’re homies now, huh?”

Leading to the pair falling asleep together with the tv on.

Leaving you a smirking mess as you snap a picture once you get home, already finding it odd that Dante wasn’t downstairs waiting up for you.

This would be your new screensaver…until you realize the two bastards were up watching your show without you.

~ ELIJAH SMOKE MOORE~

“We really about to go to this dumbass party?” Smoke asks you for what felt like the millionth time, standing behind you in your walk in closet, after putting the custom made necklace he got for you one Christmas around your neck.

You laugh in the mirror, “Of course we are, it’s for Stack.”

Smoke rolls his eyes, “It ain’t even that nigga’s birthday—even though he think it is. And trust me, I would know.”

You snicker, “Didn’t we promise…RSVP to this thing a month or two ago?”

“I never promised nothin’. I helped with the set up and planning along with Bo n’ them, that should be good enough.”

“Not you complaining about having a night out to support your twin’s success! We’ve been homebodies ever since you put this baby in me.” You turn around pouting a little as you play with the collar of Smoke’s shirt.

It’s true, ever since y’all got married you’ve been on the go. Now with your first baby on the way, the both of you definitely slowed down.

Smoke had no problem showing you the world just enough to share one once he knew you were his. It wasn’t easy getting him to open up due to the trauma of being a vet along with his childhood and all that but you were a light in his world that he wanted to keep close.

He preferred roadtrips whether that meant he drove or catching a train or hell even cruises he was cool with! He was not big on airplanes and none of that air shit. Which meant you were limited for certain destinations but one day you were going to get him on a plane.

Being at home was no thing to Smoke since he already co-owned a very busy successful club with Stack that started in their home town back in Mississippi. (Which was now looked over by Bo and other trusted workers but the man was still about his business. If there was an issue he couldn’t handle over the phone then he was there!)

Stack managed the second club in Chicago mainly and just started his own brown liquor brand: Clark Striker which was the reason for this night out.

You and Smoke resided in Tennessee (with a property managing business) and made this special trip out to Chicago for stack. You knew how much Smoke loved Stack, that was his baby brother after all and he would do anything for him…he just preferred not be around a few of his friends he’s made out here.

Smoke lifts his chin, “Who even gon’ be there?”

“Me,” you laugh, “All you gotta do is focus on me. And you know we can always use the truth of me being pregnant to slide whenever we want.”

Smoke grinned at you then as you did a spin for him in that dress. You were in your second trimester, the first had you sick as a dog with a bad attitude but your second? Had you beaming with a burst of energy. You looked as if you were ready to tear it up on the dance floor already, having plenty of playlists as you started getting ready three whole hours before this function was even supposed to start.

Smoke found it unnecessary and barely needed a hour to get ready. He knew how to clean up well and Stack always told him he had him to thank for that or else he would, “still be walkin’ around this bitch like G.I. Joe. You not gonna embarrass my ass.”

“You embarrass me every day, nigga so what’s your point?” Smoke would snap back as Stack rolled one up for them to share, while they sat on the back patio together.

It was a rule, any smoking would be done outside of the house. You did not want your house smelling like that. It also applied to you too if you were a smoker—unless you were down for edibles instead then it was free game.

It brought you pride whenever someone visited and stepped into your shared home with smoke, that people were not only impressed with the architecture (s/o to Terry Richmond’s contracting and building company: Timberline Ridge Renovations) but the way it always smelled so good.

Of course smoke knew how much appearance was important, especially for events and owning multiple clubs. Yet he was also comfortable in his own damn skin and if anybody had a problem with it, he would take it up with their kneecaps.

You informed after getting a notification on your phone that sat on the cabinets which contained your other jewelry, “C’mon James St. Patrick, the traffic is picking up a little bit on the main route.”

“Then we ain’t goin’,” he starts up again and catches your eye, “That route. I’ll find another.”

Ofc he would! He always found secret ways and sometimes they always felt longer. When it came to trips, smoke was always looking for different directions with less people, best deals, and professional customer service or else things would be said.

Making sure the both of you had every thing and receiving a call from stack on your way out, who asked where y’all were at, “It ain’t no surprise y’all didn’t leave the damn house yet. Stop being whack and get your asses here.”

Having a house in three different states was a lot, to the point Smoke even considered selling your smallest one in Chicago or turning it into a Airbnb (you didn’t want anybody living in your house—smoke wasn’t the only stubborn one—and stack had no problem looking after it even with smoke’s bs demands) but you both made it work.

“You sure you got everything, woman? Cause we know you’re sometimes forgetful and then I got to come back.” Smoke states as you left the front door open, standing on the steps as he got ready to set the alarm.

You scoff, looking up from your phone after texting some friends that you two were leaving now, “Don’t work my nerves, Elijah. You’re just looking for any excuse to stay here. Four hours won’t hurt us too much.”

Smoke sets the alarm and makes sure the door is locked, plucking the gift bag you were obsessing over for him to hold instead, “Who said four? I thought we compromised on two. The good thang is you’re not drinking so it won’t be a full shift tonight.”

Scrunching up your nose, you take his hand nonetheless as you go down the steps together. It was no secret, once you got drunk that meant you loved to dance. Now you were on a cleanse and wouldn’t be indulging in that brown liquor but would sip on a pretty mocktail.

“Keep throwin’ shots at me and Ida-May will learn just how mean her daddy is being to her mama. Keep it up.” You sass as you hop up into the “family car.”

Elijah snorts to himself, placing the gift bag by your legs but not without placing his hand on your belly and whispering, “Don’t listen your your mama girl, it’s all lies—you know she crazy already just from livin’ inside her don’t cha?”

A kick is felt right against his hand, making him grin wildly while you suck your teeth, already convinced those two would team up against you.

“Let’s go already.” You order while Elijah stands up with a dip of his head.

“Yes ma’am,” he responds closing the door and jogging around to the driver’s side but not without glancing at your house, smiling to himself at this lifestyle, before getting into the car.

~ ELIAS STACK MOORE ~

“Sign here.” You can hear just as a KAYTRANADA track on a shuffled playlist faded out.

You spent the last hour working out downstairs in the gym.

“Didn’t I just tell yo ass we didn’t order nothing?”

Which automatically made you pause a upcoming song, making quick work of walking around the corner to the front entrance of your home.

The mover just got finished saying your name, after shuffling through papers and you grinned as you stepped up behind Stack who spun at your presence.

Plucking the clipboard from one of the movers you quickly scribbled your name down, apologizing for your man’s behavior.

Confusion was clear on Stack’s face who began folding his arms and mean-mugging the man that sized him up before he spun around to bark orders at the other workers.

“Mind tellin’ me what the hell is goin’ on?”

You’re all grins as you hold out your arm pushing Stack back against the wall and also stepping out of the way as the head man popped back into the home.

“Dinning room is just towards the back there across from the kitchen.” You told the head mover who nodded his head, peeking around the home—which didn’t sit right to Stack—because wtf was he plotting?

Bouncing on your toes you say, “I’m gonna take a shower while you play nice with the movers.”

“That’s coo and everything but what they bringing into the house? Which I know nothing about.”

“Oh that’s just our new dining table that you’re going to put together.” You respond with joy in your tone, “Annie, Uncle Slim, and I went and picked it out weeks ago, it was on back order because I switched to a different wood that was imported from somewhere…I can’t remember. All I know is that it matches better with the emerald green walls we got going on in that space.”

Stack scratched at his nose now, laughing a bit in disbelief but not really because he knew his girl as his grills were flashed at you while he did so, “Were we not supposed to pick that shit out together?”

“And the day we were supposed to, you got a call the night before and booked a ticket back to Clarksdale that same morning for what? Five days. Business is business right? So I handled ours here.” You went to pat his face, smug smile on your lips now.

Stack snatched your hand from his face and gave you a warning look but you’ll be damned if you feared a man.

“Behind my back? You deadass?”

“Just like you allowed that bitch into our home that day and she thought she could walk out of this house untouched.”

Stack held his head back in annoyance puffing out air from his nostrils, “You still actin’ like I asked Mary to bring her ass here when I don’t even know how she got our address.”

Probably snooping through Annie’s phone if you had to guess.

You met Annie and the Moore twins at Annie’s establishment actually. They just moved in from Mississippi but the twins were already familiar with Chicago. Smoke barely liked staying here in the first place but it sounded like they needed to get out of the delta.

Annie was originally from New Orleans, which didn’t take long for you to guess. Smoke was actually trying to convince her to move back there but she was content taking “vacations” there instead. Her beauty shop also consisted of oils, incense, and some home products. Annie Moore was a true boho goddess who practiced hoodoo.

When you met Stack, you were in there getting your hair done and he was ready to cut up as soon as he laid eyes on you. Making Annie interrupt as you sat with her homemade conditioner and steam treatment. “Boy, if you don’t get out of her face before I mop the floor with yours!”

That didn’t stop stack from kissing your hand and winking at you, saying he was sure he would see you soon. And every other appointment you had, you did.

This relationship wasn’t a breeze by any means and part of it had to do with Stack’s ex, Mary. Who couldn’t let him go despite the amount of times he told her he’s moved on and didn’t want her ass no more.

He even told you, “Not that I asked but Sammie told me that Pearline told him that Mary s’pposed to be datin’ some dude that looks like the dude who played in get out.”

Which had you looking at the invisible camera.

Mary even had the nerve to show up to your house and barge her way in. She didn’t expect you to be home, coming out of the half bathroom by the living room, which resulted in a beat down after she also had the audacity to wave her fingers at you, asking what was for dinner.

You didn’t have a dinning table for almost two months so you did the honors.

“And I also asked you if she was going to be a problem, for you handle it back when she was blowing up your phone, before she pulled that shit that she pulled. Regardless…I’m letting that go and finding my happiness in a much better table anyway. So get to it, Bob the builder.”

You’re ready to head upstairs as you see the men taking their time carrying boxes up the steps to your home.

“Got me fucked up. I got your Bob the builder, alright.”

“What was that?” You spun on the steps with a wicked look in your eye which Stack had no problem matching.

Stack gave a mocking grin, “I said I gotchu, girl.”

You took your sweet ass time in the shower too, not that stack expected anything different. Your routines were always as long as ever plus he had something to keep himself busy.

When you got back downstairs to the main floor, you let out a sigh of satisfaction at the sight of your new dinning table.

You mumbled to yourself, “Where are the chairs?”

“Ma, I’m workin’ on it, damn.”

You didn’t even notice stack lounging underneath the table on the other side, almost making you jump out of your skin.

“You did good baby,” you encourage as you watch him crawl out from the table to wipe the sweat off his forehead and kick the hammer to the side, “Want me to order from that East African spot you like for dinner?”

With your phone already out you pulled up the site to order online for delivery. Knowing his usual order of Luwombo you made sure to include what he vocally said, “And extra Injera and Boo sauce. Put it on my card.”

“Nope this one is all on me. The table was on you.” You wink over at him while Stack snorts out a laugh, knowing he should have expected that. And doesn’t bother to argue this time.

After confirming the order with no other added items, you walk over to the kitchen to hydrate the both of you. Meeting Stack in the dining room, which he leaned against he takes the drink from you, “if I don’t get to the chairs, I’ll definitely get to them next weekend.”

“So…that means Halloween?”

“Ah-ha! You got jokes.”

You smile as you sip on the sweet tea, “No, baby it looks great, just like i knew it would.”

“Yeah?” Stack questions as he looks back at it, running his hand over the material, “You made a solid choice if I do say so myself, I’ll give you that. Now how about we test it out?”

You frown, “How if we don’t have any chairs?” Missing the look in stack’s eyes and the lick of his lips as he reaches out for your waist.

Stack shrugs, “Ain’t no thang. I lay back and you just get on top.”

“Ohhhh,” you drag out catching on, “So now you want me to do all the work and then blame me when the table ends up broken, again?”

Stack smirks, “I didn’t say you had to bounce on it. My face is also the perfect seat.”

You shove him, sharing a laugh, before Stack is pecking your lips and letting a hand grip on your backside. Breaking away from him you point a finger at him in warning, while he bit down on his bottom lip before nipping your finger.

“We have like thirty-forty minutes until the food gets here, don’t we?” Stack was still trying to persuade you, making you laugh once more.

You nod, “Yes! That’s the perfect amount of time to get started on one of the six chairs.”

“Got damn, six!?” He raises his brow while you sip at your tea with a smirk, “Oh hell no you’re tryna work me to the bone, gal.”

You snort moving to take a seat at the small back table by the windows that had the view of the backyard, “When have you ever been afraid of a little work, Elias?”

“I think I’d be a little less afraid with that cat on my tongue instead of this brew.”

You gasp, “You’re so nasty!”

“Don’t act like you don’t love it.” He clicks his tongue at you, pulling out a chair by the island to relax for a bit, daring you to tell him to get back to work.

The both of you playfully glare at each other, until stack cracks first, pecking his lips at you before turning his attention back to his phone and you gazing out the window.

𖤓 ｡𖦹°‧ ⋆☀︎. 𖤓 ｡𖦹°‧ ⋆☀︎. 𖤓 ｡𖦹°‧ ⋆☀︎. 𖤓 ｡𖦹°‧ ⋆☀︎.

FIN.

[shanastoryteller]

Not a prompt, I just keep thinking about the classic spn plot of "boys transported into au where they're happy" with the au being See Something, Say Something and the boy being Sam at his most depressed, and then sighing gleefully at the thought of how much angst he'd feel over everything. Beautiful fantasy.

See Something Say Something

Dean hears Sam shout and goes running.

Nothing should be able to get to them in their impenetrable dead guy bunker, but they’ve barely explored the place, who knows what kind of weird shit Sam could be getting into when Dean’s looking.

Except when he turns into the library, he sees Sam standing there looking perfectly fine. In fact, he looks great, something Dean’s long practiced at not noticing, but there’s something just a little off. Does he have less wrinkles? Did Sam sneak out and get botox when he wasn’t looking?

“Dean,” he says with obvious relief, completely unabashed, and it hits him hard. They’re not fighting, exactly, at the moment, but that’s more because they’ve made a mutual, silent decisions to stop talking about Amelia and Benny and purgatory than anything else. “Man, what happened?” He looks around. “What the hell are we doing at the bunker?”

“What?” he says blankly. Where else would we be. “Did you hit your head?”

He scrunches his nose and Dean almost smiles. “I don’t think so? Am I missing time?”

How would Dean know that?

Before he can say that, Sam turns the corner, head buried in a book. “Hey, Dean, I found–” He looks up and blinks. “Um.”

Dean reaches for his gun, but isn’t sure where to aim it.

“Oh.” Sam blinks. “Well, I guess I’m not in Kansas anymore.”

“Actually,” Dean hears himself saying, “we are in Kansas.”

Both Sams roll their eyes.

~

Other Sam is apparently from a parallel universe and he mostly seems unbothered by the whole thing, although the first thing he does is text a witch named Rowena for help. “This is probably her fault in my world,” he explains. “She’s always doing shit like this on accident. That’s the real problem with witches that are on her level, they just start fucking with the fabric of space and time for something to do.”

“Right,” Dean says. He needs a drink.

“Your hand,” his Sam says, a strange look on his face.

Dean follows his gaze and sees what must have upset him. The other Sam is wearing a wedding ring.

He’s spent his life trying and failing not to covet Sam in ways he shouldn’t. He’s done a lot of fucked up shit, hell, he’s fucked up in ways that put him about equal with the things they hunt, and this is something he should have gone over. Right, like his little snit over Amanda or whatever her name is hadn’t proved he hasn’t had a handle on it for a long time. He was better at ignoring it before hell. After, it was like all his careful self control had been ripped away from him, in all things. At least when he’s mad at Sam he’s not thinking of – things he shouldn’t.

Other Sam looks at his hand then at Sam’s and he becomes visibly upset, emotions so close to the surface in the way they haven’t been on Sam for a long time. Since before Dean sold his soul. “You’re not married?”

Sam shakes his head, hesitates, then asks, “What’s her name?”

“Jess,” he says, love and fondness clear in his voice.

Oh, fuck.

“Jessica Moore?” Sam whispers.

Other Sam lights up. “Yeah! You know her?”

“I did,” he says.

Other Sam isn’t stupid and his face crumples. “Oh, man, I’m sorry. What happened?”

“The demon,” Dean says so Sam doesn’t have to. “Yellow eyes.”

For some reason, the other Sam seems surprised, but he says, “Oh. Well,” he looks between them and forces an encouraging smile. “I mean, at least you still have each other, right?”

The bitterness is close enough to the surface that neither of them say anything.

Other Sam raises an eyebrow. “Lover’s spat? You know, me and Dean have found that fucking it out first really helps.”

Sam snorts and shakes his head like it’s a joke but the other Sam just looks confused by his reaction.

Dean feels his stomach bottom out. “Sam, I need to talk to you.”

His Sam starts to rise, but he grabs other Sam’s arm and drags him down the hall. He sees hurt briefly flash over his Sam’s face, but he doesn’t have time to do something about that right now. Other Sam follows him pliantly enough, even when Dean shoves them both into a random storage room. He just crosses his arms and waits.

Dean doesn’t know how to ask this. Even the idea of saying out loud this thing he’s been trying to will out of existence for most of his life terrifies him, because it can’t be, but if it is he needs to make sure that this Sam doesn’t say anything in front of his Sam.

“Are we,” he licks his lips. “Have we. I mean. When you said, before, did you.”

Sam blinks and then scowls. “Seriously? Jess is dead and we’re not sleeping together? What the hell have I been up to here?”

“What,” he says blankly. Holy shit. Really? No way.

Now Sam looks concerned. “Dean. You have told me, right?”

“Why the hell would I do that?” he spits. As if Sam isn’t always looking for reasons to leave him anyway and this would just be perfect. It’s not like he’d be able to blame him. Of course he wouldn’t want to be around Dean if he found out that he was in love with him.

Sam opens his mouth then closes it. “No, okay, I mean I was the one who – and I haven’t figured it out? Really? I mean, I did.”

Dean’s suddenly terrified. Could Sam know? But no, it’s not possible, if he knew he wouldn’t be here, if he knew then it would have come up in one of their many fights recently.

“You should tell me,” Sam says. “Or just, I don’t know, plant one on me and then go from there, I’ll figure it out pretty quick that way.”

Okay, not only is this Sam from a different universe, but he’s insane. “You don’t – you’re not – it’s just me. You’re not like me. You’re normal.”

Not normal in a lot of ways, but in this one. It’s not like he’s unaware of the irony of those times he’s called Sam a freak when he’s the one that wants to fuck his brother.

Except Sam gives him a dry look. “Dean, I’m pretty sure loving you is as fundamental to my DNA as nucleic acids. You’re probably just overthinking it.”

Overthinking it? He’s overthinking it?

“You can kiss me first for practice if you want,” he says.

Dean’s mouth goes dry. He wants it so badly he has to clench his hands into fists. “That’s a bad idea. I just – don’t say anything, alright? Don’t tell Sam.”

He rolls his eyes, like he finds Dean exasperating and unreasonable for not wanting the brother who he’s barely managing to hold onto to know his deepest, darkest, worst secret. “Fine, but you’re making a mistake.”

He’s not.

Making sure the worst part of him doesn’t ever touch Sam is one of the few things he’s done right.

[better-setterv2]

Hii, okay I have a request now heheheh. Could you imagine writing sth. about reader and lewis trying to keep everything as secret as possible (maybe she is famous too) and then they are oit one night for dinner, and suddenly when they leave together there are so many paparazzi and flashlights and then there are news articles about them the next morning when they wake up?

Thank you for all your stories💕💕

𝒰𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑅𝒶𝒹𝒶𝓇

Authors Note: Hi lovelies! This was such an amazing request. I hope it meets the expectations asked. Enjoy it! Lots of love xx

Summary: Lewis and reader’s love navigates through chaos of sudden public exposure, finding strength and honesty in their relationship as they choose to embrace their truth together.

Warnings: mild sexual content

Taglist: @hannibeeblog @nebulastarr

MASTERLIST

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

You’ve never had to be this careful with anything in your life.

Not with movie contracts that demand endless legal back-and-forth. Not with studio leaks or paparazzi whispers that seem to trail behind every red-carpet appearance. Not even when your ex threatened to drag your private moments into the tabloids with screenshots of old texts.

But this?

Being with Lewis Hamilton?

This is a whole new level of hiding.

He never said the words, “We need to keep this secret.” He didn’t have to.

From the very first night you met fresh off a film premiere, adrenaline still buzzing through your veins and him just off a podium, his energy vibrating at the same pitch. You both understood the stakes. To step into the world hand in hand was to risk everything you’d both carefully built. So, you didn’t.

You met through a mutual friend at a private afterparty in Monaco. You’d followed a few races before, knew the name, the victories, the charisma. But you didn’t know him not like you do now.

You didn’t know he chews gum when he’s nervous, a habit he’s never quite shaken. You didn’t know his voice softens slightly when he says your name, like it’s a sacred song only you’re meant to hear. You didn’t know he texts you drive safe even when you’re just crossing the street. You didn’t know he could kiss you like he did that night in the hotel hallway - slow, grounding like he was anchoring you both to something real amid the chaos.

Ten months later, you’ve become experts at slipping through the cracks.

Black cars waiting silently at hidden entrances.

Staggered exits from crowded venues so no one sees you leave together.

Encrypted messaging apps.

A secret email account you only check when alone.

And late-night hotel rooms in cities where no one’s looking for either of you.

It’s not always glamorous.

It’s often lonely.

Sometimes it hurts especially when you have to walk past him in public like he’s a stranger, masking everything behind polite distance. When he’s jet-lagged and you’re midway through a gruelling press tour and all you have is a 3 a.m. voice note that says “I love you” in a whisper so soft it barely reaches you.

But it’s worth it.

He’s worth it.

Tonight, you just wanted one normal date.

“Babe, you sure about this place?” you ask, fingers tracing lazy circles along the leather seat between you as you glide through a quiet London street. Your hand slips into his, seeking that small, steady anchor. “Feels a little…public.”

He turns to you with that smile the one that starts slow, lips first, then spreads to his eyes. “I called ahead. Private room in the back. The owner’s a friend. He swore to keep it discreet.”

You glance out the window, watching the streetlamps blur past. “We said that about the hotel in Tokyo.”

He chuckles, that low sound you love. “That was different. The staff were starstruck. This is just dinner.”

You look back at him, heart tugging with affection and something more fragile. “With you, there’s no such thing as ‘just dinner.’”

His thumb brushes the back of your hand. “Then let’s make it worth it.”

The restaurant is tucked into a quiet alley; cobblestones slick with earlier rain. A flickering lantern marks the door, casting dancing shadows on brick walls. No cameras. No fans. Just the soft glow of golden light spilling from within.

You’re led straight to a private corner, curtained off from the world. Champagne chills on ice, already bubbling with quiet promise.

He lets you order, like always he knows your favourites by heart now.

For two hours, the world falls away.

It’s just you.

Your knees brushing beneath the table, his fingers occasionally drifting along your thigh. Laughter between sips of wine. Talk of his upcoming race. Your latest callback for an indie project you can’t stop dreaming about. The playlist you’ve both been building over time - songs to cry to, to dance to, to feel together.

Your heels come off under the table. His hand stays on your leg, a steady, comforting weight.

At one point, he leans forward and kisses the inside of your wrist like he’s committing it to memory.

“I miss this,” you whisper, your voice thick with longing.

“You have it,” he murmurs, breath brushing your skin. “Always.”

But time, as always, slips away.

The night air is cool as you step out, skin still warm from wine and his touch. He pulls up his hood, threads his fingers through yours.

And then -

Flash.

Flash.

Flash.

A wall of light hits you like a wave.

Voices roar from every direction.

“Lewis! Over here!”

“Wait - is that her?”

“Are they together?!”

It feels like the sidewalk tilts beneath you.

His hand clamps around yours, shielding you as he moves toward the car with practiced ease. His body becomes a shield, cutting through the chaos like he’s done on countless circuits focused, fast and controlled.

The car door slams shut behind you.

Your breath comes in shallow bursts. Your pulse races.

“Shit,” you say, barely above a whisper.

He exhales, fingers combing through his hair, tension radiating off him. “They saw. All of them.”

You turn to him. “Do you think they got a clear shot?”

He’s already scrolling through his phone, jaw tight. “I don’t know.”

You swallow hard. “It’s going to be everywhere by morning.”

He nods slowly. “Yeah. And for the first time in months, there’s nothing we can do to stop it.”

The city blurs by, a silent countdown to the headlines.

You lean into him, heart pounding.

“Whatever happens,” he says softly, steady as always, “we face it together.”

Because no matter how fierce the spotlight, no matter how loud the world becomes you have him and he has you.

And that has always been enough. ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

The morning comes slow and hazy, like the world itself is still waking up.

Soft golden light slips in through the hotel room curtains, muted and gentle, casting long shadows across the rumpled white sheets. The city hums quietly beyond the window, but here beneath the covers, tangled together there’s only warmth.

You’re still nestled against Lewis; your cheek pressed into the steady rise and fall of his chest. His heartbeat is a soft, rhythmic drum beneath your ear, a comforting pulse that slows the world down. One arm wraps around you with protective strength, pulling you close enough to feel the steady heat radiating from his body. The other hand is tangled in your hair, his fingers threading through the strands with a familiar tenderness.

For a moment just a breath it’s still just the two of you.

Then you hear it the buzz…

First his phone, vibrating sharply on the nightstand, then yours. A soft chorus of alerts, each one a reminder that the quiet bubble around you is about to burst. You groan, muffling it into the crook of his neck.

“No, no not yet,” you whisper, reluctant to let go of this fragile sanctuary.

Lewis doesn’t answer. Instead, his arm tightens, drawing you closer, and he exhales through his nose a quiet breath that holds more than words, like he already knows what you’re about to face.

The moment shatters.

You reach blindly for your phone, the screen’s sudden brightness stabbing your eyes in the dim room.

Sixty-five notifications.

Your thumb hesitates, hovering, heart suddenly racing. Then you tap Instagram, knowing exactly what you’ll see but needing to see it anyway.

The first post is a fan edit blurry, grainy shots from last night. You and Lewis, walking side by side down a London sidewalk. Flashes explode around you like fireworks, painting the night in harsh light and shadow. You’ve got your hood up, trying to hide, but your face is still unmistakably visible. His hand curls around yours, fingers tight. Someone’s added a sparkly filter over the photo, and the caption screams:

“NEW COUPLE ALERT?? LEWIS HAMILTON SPOTTED WITH A-LIST ACTRESS AFTER LONDON DINNER”

You stare at the image like it’s a stranger, like it’s someone else’s life splashed across your screen.

Lewis shifts behind you, pulling his phone free. The glow of his lockscreen catches your eye a photo you took of him laughing quietly in bed, safe and unguarded, two months ago when you were hiding out in Paris.

He sighs, heavy and slow.

“We’re everywhere.”

You scroll through the headlines Page Six, Daily Mail, TMZ, and…Vogue?

“Why is Vogue involved?” you ask, bewildered.

He chuckles, a dry sound low in his throat.

“Because they want the exclusive if we confirm it.”

The weight of that sinks in like a stone in your stomach.

It’s real now. The world knows.

There’s no slipping back into the shadows.

Your phone buzzes again. A text from your publicist, Katie, flashing urgent and relentless:

Are you awake??

Call me. Now.

Also I told you this would happen.

You mutter, waving your phone like it’s a live grenade.

“Mine’s already spiralling.”

Lewis flips his own phone toward you. Three missed calls from Angela his closest friend and unofficial crisis manager.

“Join the club,” he says, voice tired but steady.

You lie there in the heavy silence, the quiet before the storm. The calm feels fragile, like the world is holding its breath with you.

“What do you want to do?” you ask softly, your fingers tracing lazy circles on his chest.

He turns to face you fully, brushing a stray lock of hair away from your cheek. His eyes, dark and steady, search yours.

“What do you want to do?”

You hesitate, the weight of everything pressing down on you.

“I…” Your voice cracks a little. “I want to stay here. Like this. With you. For as long as we can.”

His thumb grazes your bottom lip, gentle and reassuring.

“Then let’s do that. Screw the headlines. We’ve got time.”

You bury your face in his neck, breathing in the scent of skin and sleep something grounding, something safe.

“I can already hear Katie’s voice in my head,” you say, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “She’s probably halfway to my apartment with a crisis binder.”

“You want me to talk to her?”

You lift your head, meeting his gaze.

“You’d do that?”

He shrugs, a little smile playing on his lips.

“I’ve got practice. My life’s been a PR nightmare since 2007.”

You both laugh, but it’s the kind of laugh with weight behind it knowing, bitter, hopeful all at once.

You press a slow kiss to his collarbone, savouring the moment.

“We can’t put this back in the box, can we?”

“No,” he says quietly, voice thick with something deeper. “But maybe we don’t have to.”

He kisses you slow, grounding the kind of kiss that doesn't rush, doesn't demand. It just is. A truth between you. His lips press softly against yours, lingering, almost shy in their tenderness.

But there’s something underneath it, something simmering. A tension that’s been building quietly, waiting for the moment it could bloom without fear or interruption.

His fingers slide deeper into your hair, cradling the back of your head as his mouth moves against yours with more certainty. You feel it in the way his other hand slides from your waist to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him. Skin to skin, breath to breath. The duvet falls away as you shift, exposing warm limbs tangled in cool sheets, hearts racing in sync.

The kiss deepens and grows hungrier, surer like you’re trying to memorise the feel of him, like you’re afraid you’ll be dragged apart the moment you stop. His tongue brushes against yours, slow and searching, sending heat straight through you. Your fingers trail up his bare back, mapping the muscles there, the curve of his shoulder blades, the places you know so well but never stop wanting.

He rolls you gently, your back meeting the mattress and you go with it willingly, lost in him. His weight presses over you, not heavy, just real. Anchoring. His body fits against yours like you were made in the same breath, every point of contact sparking something deeper something electric.

His mouth leaves yours only to travel lower along the line of your jaw, to the sensitive spot just beneath your ear, down your throat. Each kiss is soft, deliberate, like he’s tasting every piece of you he missed in the chaos of yesterday. He lingers at your collarbone, lips warm and open, teeth grazing gently before he sucks the skin there just enough to make you gasp.

All that remains is the heat building between you, the way he worships every inch of you like he’s trying to write a story on your skin with his mouth, his hands, his body. The way you move together, slowly at first, like you’re rediscovering each other in this new, fragile world where you no longer have to hide. Then faster, harder, deeper fuelled by love and something more primal.

“Still with me?” he murmurs, voice rough from sleep and something else.

You nod, barely able to speak. “Always.”

You press your forehead to his, still breathless.

“I think I forgot my name for a second.”

He chuckles, voice raspy. “Good. I was aiming for at least three seconds.”

You both laugh softly, and then fall into silence again content, connected.

The world is still humming beyond your door, but in here, it’s just you and him.

Still warm. Still safe.

Still together.

And for a while, you forget the flashing lights. ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

It’s past noon when you finally call the outside world.

The hotel room is heavy with quiet the kind of silence that hums just under your skin. Light streams in through a gap in the curtains, cutting a golden line across the duvet. Your phone vibrates again and again on the coffee table, face down and ignored for as long as you’ve been wrapped up in your own little world.

But eventually, reality knocks louder.

You FaceTime Katie first.

She answers on the first ring, already mid-pace in what looks like her office, Bluetooth headset in, a stack of papers balanced against her hip like a third limb. Her hair’s in a high bun, her lipstick perfectly intact. Crisis mode suits her, terrifyingly.

“Oh thank God,” she breathes, stopping short. “You’re alive. I was five minutes away from sending someone to check your pulse. Maybe a drone. Possibly a team of investigators.”

“Good morning to you too,” you mumble, still tangled in sheets, pulling them a little higher around you.

Katie narrows her eyes, hawklike. “Is he there?”

You glance across the room. Lewis is by the window, legs stretched out on the windowsill, sipping from a coffee mug with that maddeningly relaxed expression. Shirtless, of course. Because why would he make your life easier?

“Yes,” you say simply.

“Is he shirtless?” Katie’s voice is flat. Dangerous.

You sigh. “Katie.”

“Oh my God, he is.” She presses a hand to her forehead. “Okay. Wow. Okay. Listen this is manageable. We can do this. But you need to tell me how serious this is. Are we talking summer fling or full-blown, headline-stealing, statement relationship?”

You glance at Lewis again. He raises an eyebrow like he knows exactly what you’re about to say. That soft little smirk of his that you’re listening, and he already knows the answer kind of smirk is there, warm and quiet.

“It’s serious,” you tell her.

Katie pauses, something in her expression shifting. Her voice softens, just a notch. “Then we need to get ahead of it. You’ve got maybe six hours before the internet starts cannibalising itself. Do you want to confirm or stay silent?”

“I don’t know,” you admit. “Can I think about it?”

“Not for long. Vogue’s already emailing for comment. So is Variety. Everyone’s speculating. There are clips from your last premiere being reanalysed, fans zooming in on your necklaces someone even made a chart. They think one of them is his initials.”

Lewis chuckles from across the room, setting his coffee down. “Wait, which one?”

“The one you gave me,” you say, giving him a look. “The tiny ‘L.’”

He grins, delighted. “That’s adorable.”

Katie groans, dragging a hand through her hair. “Please don’t flirt while I’m spiraling. It’s cruel.”

“I’ll call you back,” you say gently. “Promise.”

She exhales hard. “Okay. But babe - this might be a storm, but it doesn’t have to be a disaster. If you’re happy we can work with that. We’ll shape the story before it shapes you.”

You hang up, letting the quiet settle like dust.

Lewis walks over and sits on the edge of the bed, still bare-chested and sun-drenched. He reaches for your hand, fingers curling around yours.

“How are you really feeling?” he asks, eyes searching yours.

You let your shoulders drop. “Like the world just changed.”

His thumb brushes over the back of your hand. “And?”

You look at him. Steady, solid. Here.

“Still worth it.”

His eyes soften, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Same.”

You sit like that for a while, hand in hand, side by side. Not planning, not fixing just being. The storm’s still out there, rising fast. But in here, it’s just you both.

And maybe…maybe you’re done hiding. ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

The hotel feels like a bunker.

Not because anyone’s chasing you inside but because you haven’t let the world in yet. It’s not fear. Not exactly. It’s the feeling right before a door opens, when everything is still quiet, and you’re holding your breath, unsure what waits on the other side.

The curtains are half-drawn, their edges glowing with the diffused light of early afternoon. Outside, the world is roaring feeds refreshing, timelines speculating, headlines forming but inside this room, it’s still. Safe. Lewis has Sade playing low through the speakers, her voice like silk through smoke, threading through the air in slow, soulful loops. It anchors you. It always does.

Your phone is face down on the table, screen black, though you know it’s lighting up like a Christmas tree every few seconds. The air smells like coffee, clean linen, and the faint trace of that candle Angela insisted you pack for “grounding purposes.” You never thought something so small could matter, but today, it does.

Lewis is still in sweatpants and no shirt, legs stretched out on the couch, a book open but forgotten in his lap. His attention keeps drifting to you with soft glances, little half-smiles like he’s memorising the shape of this moment. It’s only been hours since the world shifted. But already, everything feels louder. Closer.

Then comes the knock. Sharp, quick, familiar.

Katie arrives like a thunderclap in designer boots. She barrels through the door with the force of a woman who has already been on four calls and fought three media fires before lunch. Her outfit is all black sleek, battle-ready and her sunglasses stay on, even indoors. She’s clutching an iced oat milk latte like it’s an explosive she’s ready to detonate.

“Okay,” she says, sweeping into the room, her coat already sliding off her shoulders and landing on the back of a chair. “I’ve printed three different response options, drafted a joint statement in two tones friendly and firm and if you’d prefer to go the soft-confirmation route, we can float a boomerang of your hands or something equally corny.”

Lewis raises an eyebrow from the couch, his voice lazy and amused. “That’s actually a real strategy?”

Katie doesn’t even pause. “Worked for Zendaya and Tom. The fans like to feel like they cracked a code. Subtle gets them talking more than screaming it from a rooftop ever could.”

You glance down at your hands, still loosely curled in your lap. You don’t know if you’re ready to hold this moment up to the light yet not the kind that comes with a million opinions and screenshot reactions.

Another knock. This one lighter, more rhythmic.

Angela steps in like the eye of the storm. Calm, unshaken, holding a brown paper bag in one hand and a silver water bottle in the other. She’s dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, hair tied up, the picture of casual control.

“I brought food,” she says, lifting the bag like an offering. “And aloe. For your PR burns.”

Katie sizes her up instantly. “You must be Angela.”

Angela smiles, a touch dry. “And you must be the one who doesn’t sleep.”

They shake hands like co-generals on the eve of battle. A silent understanding forms in that moment. They might not operate the same way but they both know how to win.

Lewis glances at you, nudging your knee gently with his. “Should we be worried or impressed?”

You whisper back, “Definitely both.”

Angela moves toward the coffee table and starts unpacking the bag vegan croissants, fruit, pressed juices, a smoothie she places directly in front of you.

“Start with this,” she says softly. “You haven’t eaten.”

You mumble a thanks, fingers curling around the condensation-slick glass. The cold bites pleasantly at your skin. It’s a small comfort, but right now, you’ll take it.

Katie has already cracked open her laptop, keys clacking at rapid fire. “Let’s assess the damage,” she says without looking up.

Angela’s phone screen lights up, and she holds it out. “Thirty thousand likes and counting. This one’s everywhere.”

It’s a blurry, vertical fan video, the kind that somehow still ends up in full HD across every platform. Someone had caught you just before you climbed into the car last night. Your hood is up, face barely visible, but in that brief second you turned toward Lewis, and he leaned in pressing a kiss to your temple. It’s fast. Blink and you miss it. But it’s out there now, on every platform, looped over soft music and dramatic captions.

“Twitter’s a mess,” Angela adds. “Instagram’s worse.”

Katie chimes in without missing a beat. “TikTok has already made three edits. One with Billie Eilish’s ‘True Blue,’ one in slow motion with dramatic captions and one pulling your red-carpet interviews to prove ‘they’ve always been endgame.’”

You groan, dropping your head into your hands. “This cannot be real.”

Lewis just laughs under his breath. “Could be worse.”

Katie doesn’t look convinced. “Wait until Piers Morgan gets his claws in. He’ll say something gross, and then we’ll have to pretend we didn’t see it.”

Angela rolls her eyes. “Ignore him. He’s like a mosquito with a Twitter account.”

The smoothie is tart and cold and grounding as you take another sip. The quiet hangs again.

“So,” Katie says, voice softening now. “What’s the plan?”

Her eyes go to Lewis first, then to you. The question’s real now not just PR tactics, not just timing. It’s about what you want. What you’re ready for. How much you’re willing to give the world, and how much you want to keep for yourself.

You look at Lewis. His expression doesn’t waver warm, steady, like he’s been waiting for you to meet him here.

And you feel it again. That thread. That thing that’s been tying you together since the first late-night phone call, the first secret flight, the first look that lasted too long. What you’ve built has never needed an audience to be real. But maybe now it’s time to stop hiding.

“I’m tired of hiding,” you say quietly.

He reaches for your hand, fingers wrapping around yours like he’s been doing it his whole life. “Then we stop.”

Katie straightens. “Joint statement?”

Angela shakes her head. “Too polished. Too Hollywood. It’s not who they are.”

Lewis nods. “We have that photo. From Paris.”

A small smile tugs at your lips. “The one on the balcony?”

He squeezes your hand. “That morning. Just us. Sunlight and sleepy eyes.”

It’s one of your favourite photos. No makeup, no stylists, no fans. Just you in one of his hoodies, curled into his side, his arm around your waist. Your face is hidden in his neck, your hair a little wild, his smile soft. You can’t even see the city clearly behind you just the morning light and a curtain billowing to one side. It’s the closest thing to peace you’ve ever caught in a frame.

Katie leans over to glance at it as you pull it up. “If you’re dropping this, it needs to be on your terms. Your timing. Your tone.”

You take a breath, hands trembling slightly as you select the photo and start typing. Slowly, deliberately:

“Kept this for ourselves for a while. Now it’s yours too.”

You show it to Lewis.

He reads it, then looks at you his smile slow, content, full of something deeper than just approval. “Perfect.”

You hit post.

The app refreshes. The world, it seems, was already watching. Comments flood in like a tidal wave. Likes rise in real-time. The notifications become a blur.

But you don’t look at them. Not yet.

Instead, you lean into Lewis, let your head rest on his shoulder, and let the music wrap around you again. The world may be spinning a little faster now, but in here right now you’re still steady.

Still just you.

And maybe, just maybe, you’re ready. ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

Within an hour, you’re trending worldwide.

The hotel suite becomes a command centre of chaos, softly lit and low-ceilinged, a strange haven from the noise exploding outside its walls. Your phone buzzes constantly notifications stacking like dominos: fan reactions, media speculation, celebrity likes, interview requests, speculative tweets, Instagram edits with soundtracks ranging from romantic to unhinged.

At one point, Katie barks, “Don’t touch anything,” while snatching your phone out of your hand to prevent you from doom-scrolling yourself into an anxiety spiral.

A director you worked with three years ago reposts the photo with three heart emojis and the caption: "Always knew she had excellent taste."

Lewis’s current teammate comments simply: “Finally,” with a fire emoji, which somehow makes you laugh and blush at the same time.

The number of followers on your account ticks upward like a slot machine. Angela checks Twitter once and mutters something about needing tequila and a media blackout.

Eventually, the four of you; you, Lewis, Angela, and Katie have exhausted all the practical things you can do. Statements reviewed. Comments limited. Phones silenced. Food half-eaten. By then, the adrenaline starts to bleed off, leaving behind this soft hum of stillness and disbelief.

Lewis and you end up on the floor, in the quietest part of the suite. You’ve changed into sweats, both barefoot, backs pressed against the bottom of the couch. There’s a plate of lukewarm fries abandoned between you, a candle flickering steadily on the coffee table, and the city glowing faintly beyond the glass. From here, it doesn’t feel like the worlds on fire. It just feels…normal.

Surreal, but normal.

You scroll one last time, watching the comment section on your photo fill like floodwaters. You pause on one a fan edit of your Paris balcony picture, now overlaid with poetry in a looping GIF: “Love, even in silence, speaks volumes.”

You set your phone down on the rug and exhale slowly.

“Is this real?” you whisper, almost afraid that if you say it too loudly, it’ll all vanish.

Lewis tilts his head back against the couch and closes his eyes for a moment. “As real as it gets.”

You turn to look at him. Really look. His profile in the low light sharp but soft at the same time. His curls a little messy from running his hands through them. There’s a peace to him that you hadn’t noticed before. Not the performative calm he wears in interviews or on podiums, but something deeper. Something like relief.

“You’re not scared?” you ask quietly.

He opens his eyes and looks at you steady, clear. “I was. For a long time. I thought if people knew, they’d ruin it. Twist it into something ugly. Or make it feel like it belonged to them instead of us.”

“And now?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

Lewis reaches out, rests his hand gently on your knee. His thumb moves in slow, grounding circles. “Now I know they don’t get to decide what we are. They can talk. They can guess. But they don’t get to shape it. That’s ours.”

Your throat tightens, emotion catching there. This man, this moment so honest, so vulnerable. And he’s giving you everything without asking for anything in return.

“I should probably say something poetic,” you manage, half-laughing, half-choked up. “But I think I’m just going to kiss you.”

He smiles, slow and warm, like the sun rising. “Good plan.”

You shift toward him, crawling into his lap like you’ve done a hundred times in private. His arms open instantly, instinctively, wrapping around you like a shield. He holds you like he always has secure, steady, infinite. Only now, the door between your world and the rest has been left ajar. And still he’s here. You’re here.

The kiss is slow.

Unrushed.

His lips find yours gently, like a promise whispered against skin. There’s no urgency, no firestorm behind it. Just presence. Connection. The weight of everything you’ve held in and everything you’ve now let go of. It’s the kind of kiss that anchors you and roots you to a person, to a feeling, to the belief that love can be quiet and still shake the earth.

It’s not for the cameras.

Not for the headlines.

It’s just for you.

And it’s enough. ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

The morning after your big reveal, the world feels different.

Not just louder though it is but heavier, charged with a new kind of energy. It’s like the air itself is holding its breath, waiting to see what happens next. Your phone buzzes nonstop, a never-ending cascade of messages that makes it heat up in your hand. Friends, colleagues, distant relatives you haven’t spoken to in years. Fans you’ve never met leave paragraphs of love, encouragement, even a few who say they suspected something all along. A stylist you once worked with sends a voice note sobbing, “FINALLY, OH MY GOD.”

Lewis’s team sends a flood of updates screenshots of trending hashtags, news clippings, the surge in his engagement numbers. His last post hit ten million likes overnight. The photo of you two your hand in his, faces close but not kissing has become an instant cultural moment. There’s commentary. Dissections. Think pieces.

But through the noise, you look up and see him.

Lewis stands across the room, in soft grey sweats, a mug in one hand and his phone in the other. His face is calm, serene in a way that makes your heartbeat slow. Like he’s the anchor tethering you to solid ground.

He sets his mug down and crosses the room. “You ready?” he asks softly, brushing a stray hair behind your ear. His fingers linger on your cheek a moment longer than necessary, warm and grounding.

You nod, though your chest tightens. Today’s a big one the charity gala where you’ve been asked to present an award. Normally, it would be about your work, your moment in the spotlight. But now? Now you’re arriving together. As a couple. Publicly.

The gravity of that word hits you as you step into the car. Couple.

The ride there is wrapped in silence, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s the kind of quiet that only exists between people who know each other deeply. Lewis holds your hand like he knows you need it his thumb brushing lazy circles across your knuckles. Every so often, he glances your way with a small smile, the kind that says, We’re okay. We’re in this together.

Outside the car windows, the crowd builds before you even arrive fans waving signs, paparazzi perched like vultures, their flashes flickering like lightning in a summer storm.

As soon as you step out, the night erupts.

The red carpet is chaos incarnate. Photographers shout, cameras click in a deafening rhythm, reporters wave microphones like weapons. Bright lights strobe around you, disorienting and unrelenting.

“Is this your first public appearance as a couple?”

“How does it feel to finally be out?”

“Are there wedding plans already?”

You squeeze Lewis’s hand so tightly your knuckles ache. He leans in, his breath warm against your ear. “Not tonight,” you whisper, feeling the edges of panic trying to crawl up your throat.

He chuckles, low and reassuring. “One step at a time,” he murmurs, and suddenly, you can breathe again.

He walks beside you, not a pace ahead or behind, but perfectly aligned. The cameras can’t capture the soft pressure of his hand in yours, or the way he turns slightly toward you every few steps like he’s checking you’re okay. In the blur of flashes and noise, he leans in and whispers, “You look incredible.”

A smile tugs at your lips despite yourself. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you say, pretending not to notice the flutter in your chest.

The gala is all glitter and grandeur. Inside, chandeliers sparkle like constellations, music hums beneath the chatter of the elite, and champagne flows endlessly. You mingle, you smile, you pose. But somewhere between introductions and small talk, you steal away.

The balcony is quiet, lit only by the soft spill of moonlight and city glow. Below you, the skyline stretches endlessly, a galaxy of lights reflected in glass and metal. Lewis leans on the railing, pulling you into his side.

“This…” he says, voice quiet, “I know it’s new. And scary. But I promise no matter what happens out there, here with me, you’re safe.”

You rest your head against his chest, listening to the steady, grounding rhythm of his heart. The words rise without effort.

“I love you.”

He exhales; a breath caught somewhere between surprise and relief. “I love you too,” he whispers, voice thick with emotion.

What you don’t know is that somewhere nearby, a reporter’s hot mic catches the momentthe vulnerable confessions, the barely audible declarations. Hours later, the clip circulates online. But instead of tabloid fodder, it becomes something else. Something rare. People repost it not to dissect it, but to hold it up like a fragile thing that deserves to be protected. For once, the internet doesn’t chew love up it preserves it. ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

At the afterparty, the glamour doesn’t feel quite real. There’s laughter, music, and a hundred conversations happening at once, but none of it touches the quiet bubble you’ve built around yourselves.

You find a seat near the grand fireplace. The glow paints Lewis’s face in amber and gold, making the tiredness in his eyes look almost poetic. His fingers rest on your arm, tracing idle shapes like he doesn’t even know he’s doing it.

“Do you think we did the right thing?” you ask, your voice barely louder than the crackling fire.

He pauses, thinking. Then shrugs. “I don’t know. But I do know I’m happier not hiding anymore.”

You inch closer, feeling the warmth of him seep into you. “Me too.”

Then his phone vibrates another message, another reminder that the world hasn’t stopped. You see the flicker of tension in his jaw.

“Want to get out of here?” you whisper.

He doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah.”

You slip out the side entrance, hand in hand, dodging the spotlight. The night air is cool, crisp. It smells like damp concrete and possibility.

Lewis pulls you into him, arms winding around your waist, his forehead resting against yours.

“You’re everything,” he says softly.

“I love you,” you reply again, the words falling effortlessly.

He laughs under his breath and presses a kiss to your temple. “You’re stuck with me.”

“Good,” you whisper, smiling.

You stay like that for a while, just being two people in love, untouched by noise. And then you head back inside, stronger than before.

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

The days after are a whirlwind press requests, brand campaigns, interview offers. But somehow, it feels manageable. You’re steering the ship together now.

And one afternoon, Lewis surprises you.

A park tucked away behind city buildings. A picnic blanket snacks you’d mentioned offhand weeks ago, a chilled bottle of sparkling water, and sunlight filtering through the leaves like a kaleidoscope.

He sits across from you, nervous in a way you don’t usually see. “I’ve been thinking about all of this. Us. The future.”

Your heart skips. “Yeah?”

He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a tiny velvet box.

Your breath catches.

“Open it,” he says.

Inside is a delicate silver necklace with a miniature steering wheel pendant simple, elegant.

“For the journey ahead,” Lewis says quietly. “No more hiding. Just us.”

Your throat tightens. “It’s perfect.”

He fastens it around your neck himself, fingers trembling just a little. You lean into him, and something shifts between you like the last wall crumbles.

That night, you talk. Really talk. About the weight of fame. The risks of honesty. The dreams you hadn’t dared say aloud.

“I want to show you off,” Lewis says, touching your cheek.

You laugh, heart full. “Is that a promise?”

“Always.”

Later, tangled in each other, the lights low and the world blissfully quiet, you realise something.

This is it. The love you built in shadows now shines in the light.

And for the first time, you’re not afraid of being seen.

[catsushinyakajima]

Asterika's Spring Sem fic recs!

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