#I was distracted and laughing the whole time

[sosasturns]

bad ideas & good distractions - c. sturniolo

fic, part one of bed chem… next door neighbor!chris x beauty influencer!reader

the first time you notice the moving boxes in the hallway, you don’t think much of it.

it’s a nice apartment building, and people come and go all the time. besides, you’re too busy editing a new video to care about whoever’s moving in.

then, later that night, it starts.

the music.

so loud it rattles your walls, pulsing through your head as you stare at your laptop screen. you try to ignore it, try to focus, but the bass is relentless.

eventually, you sigh, shut your laptop, and crawl into bed, hoping it stops soon.

it doesn’t.

this continues for the next few nights—loud ass music, doors slamming, voices in the hallway. annoying as hell, but not enough to make you confront your new neighbor.

until one night, around 1 a.m., when it’s actually a full-blown party.

laughter, shouting, people stumbling up and down the hall like they pay rent here.

you lay in bed, glaring at the ceiling, seething.

what the hell is his problem?

but instead of doing anything about it, you toss and turn, forcing yourself to sleep.

the next morning, you’re filming a get ready with me for an upcoming event, sitting at your vanity, blending concealer under your eyes.

“i did not sleep last night,” you say, “my new neighbor—who, by the way, i have not met yet—thinks my apartment complex is a frat house, apparently.”

you shake your head, dabbing in more product. “anyway, i’m going to this event later, so let’s fix my face and act like i’m not sleep deprived as hell.”

you post the video and go about your day, shoving the whole situation to the back of your mind.

but that night, when the music starts up again, you’re done.

at first, you try to ignore it, sipping on a glass of white wine as you edit a brand deal video, but then there’s moaning. loud, exaggerated, fake as hell.

you slam your laptop shut.

this motherfucker has lost his mind.

you storm into the hall, crossing your arms as you knock on his door, loud as hell.

the music doesn’t stop, but the door swings open a moment later.

and that’s the first time you see him.

low sweats. shirtless. hair slightly messy.

he leans against the doorframe, eyes dragging over you—your heartless hair curlers. pink pajama set. silk robe. fluffy slippers. the sleep-deprived glare on your face.

you looked like you just woke up from a slumber on twenty mattresses and still felt the damn pea.

then he smirks. “cute pajamas.”

you shift your weight onto your hip, unamused. “most people on this floor are in bed sleeping right now.”

his smirk deepens. “clearly, i’m not most.”

your eye twitches. “turn the music down. and the fake ass moaning, too.”

he chuckles.

you wait. “so?”

he shrugs, barely moving. “i’ll think about it.”

oh, you hate him.

“whatever.” you spin on your heel, stomping back to your apartment and slamming the door behind you.

the next morning, your head is pounding, but you push through and meet your girls for brunch.

“babe,” one of them says, stirring her mimosa. “you look rough.”

you sigh, stabbing your eggs. “my new neighbor is a fucking menace.”

they lean in. “spill.”

so you do.

you tell them about the loud music, the party, the smug ass smirk.

they listen, nodding along, sharing their own bad neighbor horror stories.

but one of them grins. “he’s hot, though, right?”

you hesitate. “that’s not the point.”

“but he is, isn’t he?”

you purse your lips, sipping your mimosa. “whatever.”

they laugh. “oh, you so think he’s hot.”

you don’t answer.

but you don’t deny it, either.

a few days pass, and you avoid him.

not hard to do.

but the thought of him lingers, especially late at night, especially when you’re in bed, mind wandering.

he’s just a guy.

just your annoying ass neighbor.

but you can’t stop thinking about his voice, his smirk, the way he leaned in the doorway—

get it together.

except you can’t.

and eventually, you come to terms with it.

it could just be a singular fuck. nothing more.

just something to scratch the itch.

so, one night, against your better judgment, you grab your keys, take a breath, and step out into the hall.

heading straight for his door.

@ sosasturns

part two 02.14

sosa mafia taglist: @submattenthusiast @sophand4n4 @secretlocket @mrsdillonx @ch6rm @sweetrelieef @gabri3la-sturns @inspiredangel @sturn777 @et6rnalsun @faiyaz555 @whore4mattsturniolo @courta13 @katie-tibo @ifwdominicfike @raesturns @adoremattsturns @conspiracy-ash @chrisslut04 @ily-tothemoonandback

+ @riasturns @angelic-sturniolos111 @cinnqmonsw1rl @blushsturns @fratbrochrisgf

[anticipatedexhale]

How could anyone hate the rain?

⋅˚₊‧ ���୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧୨୧

♡ ◞ includes: caitlyn, jayce, jinx, mel, viktor, vi, ekko.

☆ ◞ summary: getting caught in the rain together!!

△ ◞ warnings: gn! reader. Fluffff.

---

Jayce Talis.

The rain hit without warning, heavy drops splattering against the cobblestone as thunder rumbled low in the distance.

Jayce stopped mid-sentence, blinking up at the sky in disbelief. "Oh, come on!"

You barely had time to react before the downpour became relentless, soaking you both in seconds. Your clothes clung to your skin, water dripping from your hair, but instead of panicking, you just laughed.

Jayce, on the other hand, groaned dramatically, pushing wet strands of hair from his face. "This is not funny," he grumbled, shaking his arms as if that would somehow help. "I had a whole day planned, and none of it involved looking like a drowned rat."

"You say that like you don’t look ridiculously handsome even when drenched," you teased, crossing your arms.

Jayce blinked at you, taken aback, before a slow smirk tugged at his lips. "Oh? You think I look handsome?"

You rolled your eyes, stepping back. "Don't get cocky, Talis—"

But before you could escape, Jayce lunged, wrapping his arms around you and lifting you off the ground.

"Jayce!" you shrieked, laughing as he spun you around in the rain.

"If I’m wet, you’re suffering with me," he declared, grinning as he held you close.

You could barely catch your breath between laughter and the feeling of raindrops pelting your face. His grip was warm despite the cold, his chest solid against yours.

Then suddenly, everything stilled.

Jayce looked down at you, his eyes softer now, the mischief fading into something deeper. The rain dripped from his lashes, sliding down his cheek, and you felt your breath hitch at just how breathtaking he looked like this—so unguarded, so Jayce.

His gaze flickered to your lips.

You barely had time to react before he leaned in, capturing your lips in a warm, rain-soaked kiss.

It was slow at first—hesitant, like he wanted to savor the moment. The rain poured around you, but the only thing you felt was him—the warmth of his lips, the way his hands tightened on your waist, pulling you closer.

You kissed back without hesitation, arms wrapping around his neck as you melted into him.

Jayce hummed into the kiss before pulling away just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the damp air. "You taste like rain," he murmured, a teasing smile on his lips.

You chuckled, pressing a quick peck to the corner of his mouth. "And you taste like trouble."

He laughed, deep and warm, before kissing you again—this time quick, playful. Then another, on your nose. Then one more, just because.

"Alright," he finally said, breathless and grinning. "Let’s find some place warm before I get too distracted."

You smirked. "Too late."

And with another stolen kiss, Jayce took your hand and led you through the rain—because, soaked or not, he wasn’t letting go.

------------------------------------------------

Mel Medarda.

The first drop of rain landed on Mel’s cheek like a cold whisper. She paused mid-step, her golden eyes flicking toward the sky just as the clouds finally gave in.

A steady drizzle quickly turned into a downpour.

You barely had time to react before the rain soaked through your clothes, clinging to your skin in chilling waves. Mel, ever poised, simply sighed and tilted her head slightly, allowing the rain to trail down the elegant curve of her jaw.

"Well," she mused, voice smooth despite the unexpected situation, "this is inconvenient."

You bit back a laugh. "You say that like you’re not standing there looking like a painting come to life."

Mel arched a brow, the corners of her lips curving into something both amused and knowing. "Flattery won’t keep you warm, darling."

"Maybe not," you shrugged, "but it might distract us from the fact that we’re completely drenched."

She hummed, thoughtful, before reaching up to brush wet strands of hair from your forehead, her touch featherlight. "You’re right," she admitted softly. "I do like distractions."

The intimacy of it caught you off guard—her fingertips barely grazing your skin, her gaze lingering on yours. Even in the rain, even when utterly soaked, Mel Medarda was effortless. Graceful. And yet…

Yet, there was something different about her in this moment. Something unguarded.

"You don’t like the rain," you observed, watching the way she exhaled, slow and measured, as if forcing herself to accept the discomfort.

Mel smiled faintly. "It reminds me of home," she admitted. "The storms in Noxus were… different. Unforgiving." Her gaze flickered, distant for a moment, before she shook herself from the thought and looked back at you. "But I suppose this isn’t so bad."

A mischievous idea struck you.

Grinning, you suddenly reached for her hands and tugged her forward.

Mel gasped as you spun her under the rain, the movement surprising her enough that she let out a rare, genuine laugh—soft, melodic, nothing like the controlled chuckles she gave at council meetings.

You took it as encouragement.

"Dance with me," you said, still holding her hands.

"In the rain?" she asked, incredulous but intrigued.

"Why not? You wanted a distraction, didn’t you?"

Mel shook her head in disbelief but let you guide her, her steps hesitant at first before she melted into your rhythm. You moved slowly, swaying with her, the rain drumming against your skin as you spun her once more.

She was still elegant even when drenched, even as stray curls clung to her face. But her walls were down now—just for you.

"You are impossible," she murmured, lips curving as she let you pull her closer.

"Mm," you hummed, resting your forehead lightly against hers, the rain cool between you. "But you’re still here."

Mel studied you for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, ever so gently, she leaned in.

Her lips met yours in a slow, deliberate kiss.

It wasn’t hurried. It wasn’t frantic. It was intimate—a quiet surrender to the moment, to you. Her hands cradled your face, her touch soft but sure, anchoring you as the rain poured around you both.

When she pulled away, her eyes searched yours, as if memorizing the way you looked beneath the storm.

"You’re a menace," she whispered, but there was no heat behind it—only warmth, only affection.

You smirked. "And yet, you love me for it."

Mel chuckled, pressing one last kiss to your lips before sighing dramatically. "Let’s find somewhere warm before I regret indulging you."

But her fingers were still laced with yours as you walked away—proof that she wouldn’t change a thing.

------------------------------------------------

Viktor.

The first raindrop landed on Viktor’s cheek, and he barely reacted. The second one, however, made him pause mid-sentence, his golden eyes flicking upward in irritation.

And then the downpour hit.

The two of you were caught in the middle of the academy courtyard, with no umbrella, no warning—just sudden, relentless rain soaking through your clothes within seconds.

Viktor groaned. "Of course."

You stifled a laugh as you watched him push wet curls from his forehead, his usual sharp intellect momentarily dulled by sheer annoyance. "Not a fan of the rain, huh?"

"It is not that I dislike it," he muttered, adjusting his grip on his cane as he shifted his weight, clearly uncomfortable. "But I would prefer it did not make walking even more difficult than it already is."

Your amusement faded slightly, guilt replacing it. The uneven cobblestone streets were already hard enough for Viktor to navigate on dry days, and now they were slick with rainwater. You immediately stepped closer, reaching for his free hand.

"Here," you murmured, wrapping your fingers around his. "Let me help."

Viktor stiffened at first, clearly unused to being fussed over, but he didn’t pull away. If anything, his grip tightened slightly, grounding himself in your presence.

You started leading him carefully toward the nearest awning, but before you could reach it, Viktor suddenly stopped, his gaze fixed on you.

"You are laughing," he observed, tilting his head.

You grinned, unbothered by the rain dripping down your face. "Because you look absolutely miserable, and it’s kind of adorable."

Viktor let out a short, incredulous laugh, shaking his head. "You are insufferable."

"And yet, here you are, still holding my hand."

His expression softened, but he didn’t respond. Instead, his thumb absently brushed over your knuckles, as if testing the feeling of your skin against his own.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The rain poured around you, the world fading into nothing but the sound of water and your own shared breaths.

Then, to your utter surprise, Viktor suddenly tugged you toward him—off balance, you stumbled forward, your hands catching against his chest. His warmth seeped through the wet fabric, his heartbeat steady beneath your palms.

"You want to laugh?" he murmured, voice low, teasing. "Then let me give you something to really laugh about."

And then he kissed you.

It was sudden, unplanned—yet impossibly gentle. His lips were cold from the rain but warm in the way they moved against yours, slow and unhurried, as if savoring the moment. As if memorizing you.

You melted instantly, tilting your head to kiss him back, your fingers gripping the damp fabric of his shirt to keep yourself steady.

When he finally pulled away, his breathing was uneven, his forehead resting lightly against yours. "Now," he murmured, a small smile tugging at his lips, "are you still laughing?"

You exhaled a breathless chuckle. "No, but I am thinking about kissing you again."

Viktor hummed in approval, pressing another lingering kiss to your lips before sighing. "Now we can go find shelter."

But he didn’t let go of your hand as you walked, the rain continuing to fall—but neither of you seemed to mind anymore.

------------------------------------------------

Caitlyn kiramman.

It started as a light drizzle while you and Caitlyn walked back from a late-night patrol in the Undercity. Nothing too alarming—just a misty haze clinging to the streets, making the lantern lights shimmer.

But within minutes, the sky opened up.

Caitlyn groaned, tipping her head back as cold droplets splattered against her cheeks. "Of course," she muttered, pulling her coat tighter around herself. "The one time I don’t bring an umbrella—"

She was cut off by a splat—the distinct sound of your boot stepping into a deep puddle right beside her.

Right onto her boot.

She froze, looking down at the mud now streaking across her pristine uniform. Then, slowly, she turned to you with narrowed eyes.

"You did not just do that."

You bit your lip, trying—failing—to hold back a grin. "It was an accident?"

Caitlyn scoffed. "Oh, please, you—"

Splash.

She didn’t even see it coming. You had already stomped into another puddle, sending a wave of water up and onto her legs.

"Oh, it’s war," she said, before immediately kicking up water at you in retaliation.

You gasped at the cold impact, but before you could react, Caitlyn took off down the rain-slicked street, laughing.

She was daring you to chase her.

"Not fair, you have longer legs!" you called after her, already splashing through puddles to catch up.

"Then you’d better run faster!"

The rain came down harder, drenching both of you completely, but neither of you cared anymore. The chase became a game, weaving between alleyways, slipping on cobblestones, dodging lamplight shadows—until you finally caught up, grabbing Caitlyn’s arm and spinning her around.

She crashed into you, breathless and laughing, her blue eyes bright despite the downpour. "Alright," she admitted, panting slightly, "maybe that was fun."

"Maybe?" You huffed a laugh, still holding onto her arms to keep her steady. "Come on, you loved it."

Caitlyn tilted her head, considering. Then, before you could react, she leaned in and pressed a quick, soft kiss to your lips.

It was brief, but it left you breathless—warmth blooming in your chest despite the cold rain.

When she pulled back, she smirked. "Now I love it."

Your face burned hotter than ever, and Caitlyn, ever the tease, took full advantage. "Speechless?" she asked, arching a perfect brow.

You swallowed, still reeling. "I—I mean, if this is my reward, I might start splashing you on purpose."

Caitlyn laughed, shaking her head as she took your hand and laced her fingers with yours. "Let’s get somewhere warm before we both catch a cold, love."

You followed without protest, the rain still pouring around you, but it didn’t matter. The warmth of her hand in yours was enough.

------------------------------------------------

Vi.

It had been a long day—one of those that left both you and Vi aching, exhausted, and desperate for a break. She had dragged you out of the Last Drop, promising just a quick walk to clear your heads.

Neither of you had checked the sky.

The first raindrop hit Vi’s nose, and she scrunched her face in mild annoyance. “Huh. Think that’s our cue to head back.”

Then, as if the heavens were listening just to spite her, the drizzle turned into a torrential downpour within seconds.

Vi swore under her breath and grabbed your wrist, tugging you into the nearest alleyway, where an old awning barely provided shelter. She ran a hand through her now-soaked hair, grinning despite herself. “Well, that went to hell quick.”

You laughed, shaking your wet sleeves. “Guess we should’ve checked the forecast.”

“Oh, sure. Lemme just ask Piltover’s fancy scientists when it’ll rain in Zaun.” She rolled her eyes playfully before nudging you with her shoulder. “How are you holding up?”

You shrugged. “Honestly? I kinda like it.”

Vi blinked at you. “You like being soaked?”

You held out your arms, letting the rain hit your palms. “Yeah. It’s kinda nice. Feels… freeing.”

Vi’s gaze softened. She watched you for a moment before suddenly stepping out from under the awning.

“Vi—”

Too late. She was already standing in the downpour, arms spread like she was daring the sky to hit her harder. Water dripped from her crimson hair, clinging to her jacket, her undershirt—everything was soaked, but her grin was nothing short of mischievous.

“Alright, I get it,” she called over the rain. “Kinda does feel nice.”

You snorted. “You’re ridiculous.”

Vi smirked and held out a hand. “Come on.”

You hesitated for only a second before taking her hand, letting her pull you into the open. Cold rain met your skin instantly, but Vi was warm—always warm—and suddenly, you weren’t thinking about the cold anymore.

You turned to say something, but Vi was already staring at you, her grin fading into something softer. More serious. The way her fingers laced through yours, the way her thumb brushed against your knuckles—it sent a warmth through you that had nothing to do with the rain.

She exhaled a small chuckle. “You’re lookin’ at me like you wanna kiss me, babe.”

You smirked. “Maybe I do.”

Vi didn’t hesitate.

She crashed her lips into yours, hands cupping your face as if you were something precious. The rain blurred everything else—the world, the noise, the ache in your bones—until there was only her.

When she pulled back, her forehead rested against yours, her breath warm against your lips. “Told you,” she murmured, smirking, “rain’s not so bad.”

You laughed softly. “Yeah… not bad at all.”

And as the rain continued to fall, Vi just held you, like there was nowhere else in the world she’d rather be.

------------------------------------------------

Jinx.

You should’ve known.

You should’ve known that taking a “shortcut” through the industrial district of Zaun with Jinx would lead to something.

But you hadn’t expected the sky to crack open above you mid-run.

“Oh, for—seriously?!” Jinx shouted over the sudden downpour, throwing her arms up dramatically as she skidded to a stop on the rain-slick pavement.

You huffed, catching up to her, your clothes already sticking to your skin. “Okay, this is why we don’t run around in places with no cover.”

Jinx whipped around, grinning despite the rain streaming down her face. “Awww, c’mon, scaredy-cat! It’s just a little water!”

“Jinx, we’re drenched.”

She squinted at you, tilting her head as if considering something deeply. Then, before you could react—

WHAP.

She flung her entire body into a puddle, soaking you in a fresh splash of dirty rainwater.

You sputtered. “JINX!”

She was already cackling, rolling onto her back in the puddle like a complete menace, arms spread, blue hair plastered to her skin. “OH, LOOK AT YOU—” she wheezed through laughter, “SO GRUMPY! What, afraid you’ll melt?!”

“Oh, you absolute gremlin—” Without thinking, you dropped down and swiped a handful of water, sending a splash straight at her face.

Jinx gasped, all wide-eyed and dramatic, pressing a hand to her heart. “Betrayal!”

You grinned. “You started it.”

“Ohhhh, babe, I’ll finish it.”

Before you could react, she pounced, tackling you down into the puddle, laughing as the cold water soaked you both further.

You landed with an oof, Jinx half-straddling you, giggling like a maniac above you. “Gotcha now,” she purred.

Your heart pounded—not from the fight, not from the rain, but from the way she was looking at you.

And then her expression shifted—just a little. The teasing edge softened, something warmer flickering behind her violet eyes as she traced a finger through the raindrops on your cheek.

Her voice, when she spoke again, was quieter. “Y’know… you’re real cute when you’re all soaked and pouty.”

You swallowed. “Jinx—”

And just like that, she dove down, pressing a quick, electric kiss to your lips before pulling back just as fast. “Mwah!” she chirped, grinning.

You barely had time to react before she was hopping to her feet, yanking you up with her. “C’mon, loser, let’s get outta here before we actually catch a cold.”

Dazed, soaked, and still trying to process what just happened, you let her drag you along—her hand warm, solid, real in yours despite the rain still pouring down.

And you knew, without a doubt, that Jinx’s chaos was something you’d never want to escape.

------------------------------------------------

Ekko.

You’d been walking through the streets of Zaun when the sky, once clear, suddenly darkened with ominous clouds. You didn’t think much of it—after all, weather in the Undercity was unpredictable at best. But within moments, the first few drops fell, splattering against the ground and your face.

Ekko glanced up, his eyes narrowing. "Uh-oh, looks like a storm’s coming."

You could barely react before the rain began to fall harder. It wasn’t just a drizzle—it was a torrential downpour. You instinctively pulled your hood up, but it wasn’t enough to protect you from the cold, soaking rain.

Ekko quickly caught your wrist, pulling you into a nearby alley, trying to shield you from the worst of it. "Come on, we need to find cover."

The rain was relentless, the streets slick and puddled. You could feel the cold creeping through your clothes, but Ekko’s grip on your hand was warm and steady. "We’ll be fine. Just a little rain," he said with a reassuring grin, though you could tell he wasn’t exactly enjoying the downpour either.

"Right," you muttered, looking down at your drenched shoes. "Because standing in the middle of a downpour is perfectly fine."

Ekko chuckled, glancing at you with a teasing smirk. "Guess you don’t get how fun it is, huh?" He stepped out from the alley, extending his hand to you. "Come on. Just once, let’s do something spontaneous."

Before you could argue, he grabbed your hand and pulled you into the open street, twirling you around in the rain as if it were just another game.

"What are you—"

"Don’t think, just enjoy!" Ekko laughed, spinning you again before pulling you into a close dance, the water splashing around your feet.

You couldn’t help but laugh at his energy, his carefree nature in stark contrast to the intensity of the storm. His hands guided you effortlessly, a surprising gentleness despite his usual wild personality.

But as the rain pounded harder, the two of you slowed down. His hand slid to your waist, holding you close to shield you from the cold, and you leaned into him, feeling his heartbeat match yours.

For a moment, everything was just the two of you, the storm around you forgotten. Ekko leaned down, his voice quiet but playful. "I told you. Sometimes you just gotta let loose."

You smiled, shivering slightly from the cold. "You’re crazy, you know that?"

"Maybe," Ekko said, his voice low and serious now. He touched your cheek softly, brushing the rain away with his thumb. "But I’m glad we did this. Just… you and me, no worries."

Your heart skipped a beat, the intimacy of the moment almost overwhelming. Despite the storm, despite everything happening in Zaun, with him, there was a sense of calm that made everything feel right.

The moment lasted longer than expected, the rain still falling, but neither of you were in any rush. Eventually, Ekko spoke again, a mischievous grin pulling at his lips. "Alright, but now I’m soaking wet, so we’ve got two choices: go home and dry off, or—"

Before he could finish, you pulled him close, pressing your lips to his in a soft kiss. He froze, momentarily stunned, but then melted into it, deepening the kiss with the rain still falling around you.

When you finally pulled back, you couldn’t help but smile. "I’ll take the dry-off option," you teased, your heart still racing.

Ekko smirked, the playful glint in his eyes returning. "Yeah, that’s probably for the best. But next time, we’re dancing for way longer."

And as you both laughed, the storm continued to rage on, but you didn’t care. The rain couldn’t wash away the warmth you both shared in that moment..

[wihellib]

Reblogging this to add my kinda summarized opinions about Barbatos’ and Gamigin’s H scenes under the cut.

Barbatos

You nearly collapsed in the Hades palace, but Barbatos caught you, wearing an anxious expression you weren’t used to. He carries you into his rose garden, which is full of sunlight and vibrant colours unlike the rest of Hades. So, his kink is on full display here.

Barbatos sets you down in the middle of the garden and starts sniffing you all over, while waxing poetic about you. He waxes poetic about you the entire H scene. Lots of Sun and flower metaphors. Being showered with genuine compliments is very nice.

You are acting cold to him because of the whole poisoning situation. And I’m happy to see a bit of backbone from the MC that’s nonexistent when it comes to Leviathan. You question why he’s acting so into you when he tried to kill you and he implies that since he didn’t actually kill you it means he wasn’t trying to kill you (because you’d be dead if he truly tried).

Barbatos fingers you to climax, while encouraging you to cum as much as you want. He purposely removes his fingers so you squirt all over him and the grass. He thanks you for watering his garden.

He takes off his shirt (and we finally get to have an H scene where the guy has a shirtless sprite, since Barbatos already has a shirtless sprite for other reasons. It looks so much better, please give everyone a shirtless sprite for their H scenes, PB!)

Barbatos teases you for your cold words while at the same time looking at him with so much heat and compares you to Leviathan. He disrobes you and mouths at your chest, sucking and biting.

This is my favourite CG of all the H scenes. The proportions are good. The expressions are nice. The poses make sense. I think the roses in the background are pretty. I like the detail of the bite marks and other marks all over your upper body. Your hand griping his hair while one of his is suggestively at your crotch. Really, I just think it’s a very well done CG.

On a side note, I’m very surprised that they just had female MC’s nipple right out in the open in the CG. They usually try very hard to censor stuff like that and Barbatos could have easily just had one of his hands on top of it, but they didn’t do that. I just thought that was interesting.

You’re getting impatient with Barbatos’ teasing. He’s rubbing his tip at your entrance. He finally penetrates you when you say you forgive him. He jackhammers away at you and sucks at your chest. You release your grip on his hair and grab his horn. That gets him going even more. He uses flower and seed metaphors to imply he wants to impregnate you. Which was a very pleasant surprise for me.

You climax together, panting hard. You think about how you said you forgave him, but there still needs to be more of a discussion about it. Which is good, you’re showing some sensible post-nut clarity. After there’s good pillow talk. He starts smelling you again, but is upset that you don’t smell like the sun anymore. You laugh and reply that it makes sense since you smell like him now. Which makes him very happy. He praises and compliments you. It ends with him holding you while you sleep and reaffirming that he really wants to get you pregnant.

Very solid H scene, definitely in the top 3 for me.

Gamigin

Gamigin hugs you from behind to stop you from falling over. He can tell something’s missing from you and thinks you’re about to die. The Hades nobles start squabbling over who gets to help you, while the Tartaros nobles are off to the side already knowing it’s a lost cause.

Gamigin takes you to a shower room while they are distracted. He says it’s important for a patient to be clean, turning on the shower so the room fills with steam. Another H scene that has the guy’s kink front and centre.

You assume because of his innocent expressions and behaviour that Gamigin is not well versed in adult matters. But that is not true.

He drenches himself as he moves under the steam of water and he tells you to come to him. You’re completely overwhelmed by his presence, blocking out everything but him.

He recognizes your humanity and apologizes for being to eager with his ‘words’. The world comes back into focus for you. So, Gamigin seems to have some kind of mind control abilities.

Gamigin pulls us under the water with him, drenching us as well. He smoothly offers to help you out of your clothes so you don’t get sick. And you offer the same to him.

He pulls your shirt over your eyes so you can’t see and tells you to turn around. You bend over as he finishes taking off your and his clothes.

You realize he loves the sound of water hitting your naked body, so you turn the pressure up on the water.

The CG is okay. Lots of negative space. Just not as visually interesting as others.

He throws his head back in pleasure and you see his reverse scale on his neck. He muses that you caught him then penetrates you in a position lets him get deep.

He tells you about the open secret of him being a dragon, not a devil. You stutteringly tell him you’ll keep his secret, but Gamigin isn’t sure you will because you’re human. He covers your eyes again and says it would be better if you didn’t see it.

So, it turns out that canonically Gamigin has two dicks (Yes!!!) and he double penetrates you. I wish there was more prep and foreplay rather than him surprising you by just sticking it in.

He threatens you that if you don’t keep his secret then this is what’s going to happen from now on. You tell him you’ll keep his secret as long as he doesn’t stop right now.

Then, Gamigin wonders if he should cum inside you since he can get you pregnant unlike devils. And you enthusiastically want him to, pushing your butt back against him. Which is definitely not very smart since it would be a very bad idea to bring a baby into your current situation, but what do I know.

He, though, was ecstatic with your response and came inside you. He hugs you and looks contrite, wondering if you were scared. You ruffle his hair and tell him you’ll weren’t scared but you want him to trust you from now on. He smiles brightly.

Later on, he thinks happily about how you and him now share a secret.

I thought this H scene was fine but I was really hoping that Gamigin was going to be cutely submissive with you. Since he wasn’t, it was a bit of a let down for me. But I’m really glad it was confirmed he has two dicks. Overall, it’s middle of the pack in my personal ranking of H scenes.

Mammon was voted #1 in the Favourite H Scene poll here. Not really surprising. His H scene was quite good. Satan was 2nd and Foras was 3rd. I am surprised by Foras. I think there might be a bit of recency bias in this case.

Under the cut is my completely biased, quickly-written, kinda summarized opinions on each of the H scenes.

Satan

Satan staring at you without blinking while kissing and sleeping still throws me off.

I like that Satan reassures you that he’s doesn’t just like you because you’re the descendant of Solomon.

I don’t like hair pulling or strangulation, so not very fond of this scene, even though I like Satan a lot.

The CG is nice. I like how he’s grinning and the glow of his eyes.

Only features a little bit of spanking even though that’s his kink.

It’s mentioned that we’re feeling the pleasure that Satan’s feeling. This is done in several scenes. I’ve never liked it. It feels like a cop out.

The scene ends abruptly with you blacking out. I much prefer when there a bit of follow up/pillow talk afterwards.

Sitri

Sitri gives you tea to calm your nerves that makes your heart beat a lot faster and louder because of the caffeine… but I don’t think caffeine works to this extent, so creative liberty I guess.

His kink, hearing heartbeats, features prominently in this scene. Keeping his head near your chest, mouth on your chest, feeling your heartbeat through your intimate connection, and moving in time with your heartbeat.

You’re feeling turned on because he’s turned on, similar to Satan’s scene, still not a fan.

You feel more aroused as your heart beats faster and you think it might explode… I don’t see what’s arousing about that.

CG was good again. I liked that he’s showing a lot more emotion than his normal sprite usually does.

He calls you Solomon throughout, which is annoying, but does call you by your real name at the very end (the only time he’s done so).

Some pillow talk at the end which is nice.

Zagan

Zagan blushes and turns away when he sees your naked body, which is cute.

He’s quiet like usual, but does speak when you ask him why he wanted to help you, and says he wanted to do it with you and give you devils energy, while blushing. Very cute.

You get to take a bit more of a lead, be a bit more assertive, in this one, you’re not just manhandled around, which is refreshing.

I like that he seems to have a praise kink.

He tries to increase his muscle use, get a better workout, increase movement, which is his kink, which arouses him more, which arouses you. Fine whatever.

The CG is fine. Your foot looks wonky with its finger-like toes but Zagan looks good.

Some pillow talk again. Zagan has been mostly silent, but does say it was a good workout and he wants to do it again at the end.

Leraye

Leraye is completely overwhelmed by pleasure from hearing thunder, which is his kink. He basically tackles you onto the bed and glues himself on top of you.

I’m pretty sure this is the first time one of them play with your genitals during foreplay.

You are getting aroused from the thunder too, so we’re keeping the trend of whatever the guy likes you also like inexplicably.

MC comments he’s more like a growling wolf and not his golden retriever self.

I really like this CG. He’s completely on top of you, pressing you down on your stomach, while covering your eyes and biting your neck. His presence is overwhelming.

The thunder goes away and Leraye comes back to his senses. He’s so happy that it wasn’t a dream, smiling, lays down next to you, wishes you good dreams and kisses your forehead. I very much like this wind-down to the scene.

Paimon

We go to Paimon’s room instead of ours for this scene, which is a nice change of pace. His room is full of mirrors, which feature heavily in this scene. His kink, which is blood, isn’t included at all.

We’re also not naked right at the very start, which I much prefer. I like the undressing phase.

Paimon rubs your genitals and forces you to look at what he’s doing to you in the mirror, which he continues throughout the scene. I was surprised how dominant Paimon was in this scene, but I wasn’t against it.

Paimon says he loves pretty things and looking at pretty things from multiple angles. He says that you’re pretty and a devilish human.

He makes you brace your hands against a wall mirror and stuffs your shirt in your mouth.

The CG is good. For the first time we are shown a different angle than us on a bed. Paimon’s face seems a little off to me, but overall it’s good.

Paimon throws the mirror on the ground, so you’re forced to look at a different, more revealing angle.

Just a little bit of pillow talk. Paimon kisses us and tell us to come him when we want to play more.

Mammon

Back in Minhyeok’s room unfortunately. Mammon comes out swinging by immediately commenting on how skilled we look in accepting devil’s energy.

Mammon says that it was obvious since he first met you that he had to have you, but he also realized that he would just be one of many that would try that tactic. So, he decided to do something he’s never done before and let you have him. You will be his first master. He also reveals that he wasn’t as close to Solomon as the other Kings. You ask if he only likes you because you’re the descendant of Solomon and he replies that he just fell in love with you at first sight. This affection is clear throughout this scene, which increases its rank a lot for me.

Mammon’s kink is all about bottoms, and this scene reflects that. You’re both grabbing each other’s butts and getting more aroused.

Mammon picks you up and holds yours buttcheeks open while you wrap your arms around his neck. I like that Mammon is showing off his strength here.

I do wish that they had spent some time on Mammon using his fingers or tongue to prep you to take him. He is very large, evident by the fact that your first thought when he entered you was, ‘I am going to die’, so it would have been nice to see him care about making sure he doesn’t hurt you. He does hold himself still at first to let you adjust, but I still would have liked some prep beforehand.

The CG is good. No complaints.

Mammon flips you around, so you’re in a standing 69 position, showing off his strength again, and you give each other oral.

Longer pillow talk. He lays you on top of him, it was very nice.

Bimet

Bimet changes his tune about you real quick when Mammon declares you to be his master. He kneels before you and informs you that you became the being that arouses him the most with that declaration. He cannot covet Mammon, but now he can covet you, the only one who owns Mammon, and he is ecstatic about that. He wants to serve you. Bimet’s kink is wealthy people and you’re the wealthiest of all.

I do not like Bimet and I do not like his reasons for favouring you. It is shallow and fragile. He would be back to contempt for you the moment Mammon lost interest. I’m not a big fan of this H scene simply because I don’t like Bimet.

He licks your toes, which no thank you. He does oral on you and puts his conniving tongue to good use.

CG is good. I like how wet his mouth is because of you.

Some pillow talk. He gives you the first thing he truly owned himself, a coin from Solomon, and tells you to give it back to him if you choose him. I would have preferred if the first thing he owned wasn’t from Solomon.

Belial

You go to wrap your naked body in a blanket like you usually do, but Belial stops you and says you’ll end up taking it off anyways. The immediate assertiveness was surprising but interesting.

Because of his throat injury, Belial talks very little and Jjyu is not there to help him, so he communicates with you by writing on your naked body, which is his kink. It is a very good, intimate solution. He writes lots all over your body while fingering you.

You are against the wall, facing Belial, while he penetrates and writes adorations on you.

The CG shows that everything he’s written is glowing red on you. It’s a nice picture, but I could have done without him licking your armpit. I think I would have preferred a kiss in the lips instead.

Some pillow talk, you fall asleep with him inside of you.

Valefor

We have moved on from Minhyeok’s room, which is great. I felt it was much too restrictive, and caused repetitiveness.

Valefor reassures you and you tell him he is kind and reminds you of Mammon, which he approves of. When you see that he likes it, you lean more into the comparisons. Valefor is turned on by being compared to Mammon because he respects him greatly. You talk about Mammon a lot, but I wish it was a bit less, because this is supposed to be Valefor’s moment, not Mammon’s. His kink is supposed to be hearing explicit narratives, so I don’t think this really relates to it.

Valefor praises you for how well you know how to please a devil. And tells you to run away if you want to only know him as the kind relaxed Valefor.

Then we start going into exhibitionism territory, with him leading you to the closed door, where Bimet is just outside keeping watch. This is also not his kink.

Bimet leaves to check something, so Valefor increases the risk factor and opens the door while you’re both naked and penetrates you.

The CG is fine. The way you and he are positioned are a bit odd. It’s hard to tell whose body part is whose.

Valefor basically taunts you asking where Bimet is, then puts you in an even more embarrassing position.

Some pillow talk. He lifts you up, kisses your forehead, and you admire his chest.

Leviathan

Levi decides to give you devil energy even though he doesn’t like you. He hangs you and insults Minhyeok in an effort to make you mad so you hurt him, which will arouse him. So that’s what happens.

The CG is my least favourite of all of them. You start stomping on his lap and dick. Your toes are oddly long again and you have an oddly muscled thigh. Levi is not even naked. This is the only CG that doesn’t take place during some sort of penetration.

You straddle him and start strangling him and enough clothes have been taken off at this point that he penetrates you.

Then you kissed him for so long that you were both feeling oxygen deprived. He is in awe that you showed him there’s another way to suffocate. He thinks you’re talented. Only very little pillow talk.

I don’t like Levi. The way he acts and talks to you. I don’t like it at all. I also don’t like breath control, his kink, or anything to do with strangulation/choking, or beating people up. So this H scene was not for me at all.

Glasyalabolas

Glasy’s kink is necrophilia, and they include his kink in the H scene by making you as limp as a corpse after kissing him. Oh boy. I’m not fond of Glasy and I don’t like the idea of not being in control of yourself and unable to move at all. So this scene ranks very low for me.

He licks your toes, not a fan. He plays with your chest and nipples. He spreads you open and just stares, then performs oral on you, while keeping you spread open.

He makes your limp hand jerk him off, then uses your slack mouth. This is the second time you performed oral on a demon. This is what the CG shows, though I would have preferred if they picked something else.

Then he manhandles you into position to penetrate you. He cums inside you. Then he moves to your throat again and comes there too. This is the first time the guy has come twice in an H scene.

There is pillow talk. He wraps you in his cape, holds you and kisses you as the limpness wears off. He tells you he’ll fetch you when you die, but it’s good you’re alive now.

Foras

You realize you need devils energy, but none are around you right now, so you start masturbating. You hear the door open, but don’t see anyone. Foras is invisible, which plays into his kink.

He starts playing with your genitals while invisible. You realize who he is and call out to him, but he ignores you.

Finally he tells you to take off your clothes, pose embarrassingly, and just sit there in silence while he watches while still invisible. The dominance he’s displaying is unexpected, but fine.

Foras puts his dick near your mouth and you suck him off.

He penetrates you, again while all the while being invisible, so it looks like you’re being fucked by a ghost.

The CG could be better. His expression looks a little wonky and you’re clothed in it even though you’re supposed to be naked.

Foras informs you that he was there for every H scene. He really liked that you never noticed him.

He doesn’t let you see him afterwards, which I think he should have. He gets your permission to keep watching you having sex. Then he inexplicably cums on your face after you fall asleep. No thank you sir. And for some reason you don’t even comment on it after you wake up.

Overall

I liked Leraye, Mammon, Belial, Zagan, Paimon, and Valefor H Scenes the most.

[dulcescorderitas]

Hi! I was wondering if you would ever possibly write a part two to Juno (either with the very fun times trying to make a kid or with them having a kid) I just adore the way you write Clark and would love your take on either situation (especially Clark as a girl or boy dad!) thank you regardless and keep being incredible!

you’ve got your hands braced on either side of the headboard, breath coming fast, teeth worrying your bottom lip as you try—really try—to look sexy. but then clark’s face does this thing, this deep-in-thought furrow, and you lose it.

“why are you laughing?” he groans, already half-wrecked but now thoroughly distracted.

“because,” you gasp between snickers, “your sex face looks like you’re trying to calculate the square root of our mortgage.”

he throws his head back, barking out a laugh. “wow, okay. mood’s ruined. hope you’re happy.”

“deliriously.” you wiggle your fingers dramatically before sliding them down his stomach, teasing, trailing lower. “but let’s try again, professor deep-in-thought.”

he’s about to fire back, but then you move just right, and instead of a retort, a downright obscene moan tumbles out of him. your smugness is instant.

“ohhh, now we’re getting somewhere.”

“shut up,” he grumbles, face burning.

“make me.”

so he does. with his mouth, hot and insistent, trailing down your stomach as he spreads your thighs wide. with his hands, gripping your hips hard enough to bruise as he buries himself inside you, hips snapping forward in deep, punishing thrusts that knock the breath from your lungs. with his body, pressed flush against yours, sweat-slicked and trembling as he fucks you like he needs this more than air.

he groans into your neck, the sound guttural, desperate. "God, baby—so mhm—"

you claw at his back, dragging him deeper, chasing the pleasure that coils hot in your belly. "clark—faster—"

he listens. he always does. his rhythm turns frantic, each thrust leaving you gasping, your legs locking around his waist as he drives into you, relentless and perfect. he kisses you like he’s trying to swallow your moans, swallowing his own when you squeeze around him just right.

when he finally shudders, spilling deep inside you, you’re right there with him, nails digging into his shoulders as your whole body shakes.

later, sprawled in bed, catching your breath, you roll onto your stomach, eyes still hazy. "so, you think this is the one? the magic baby-making round?"

clark hums, running a hand over her back. “if not, we’ll just have to keep trying. and trying. and—”

“okay, we get it, you’re suffering.”

“deeply,” he murmurs, nuzzling into your neck, his arms tight around your waist. “but, you know, if suffering means holding you and making love to you like this every night, I think I can live with it.”

and to answer your question:

clark is 100% a girl dad. he’s got princess bandaids in his wallet, a collection of tiny hair ties in his pockets, and can paint little nails with surprising skill. he’s memorized every disney princess song and will belt out "let it go" with zero shame if it means making his baby girl smile. he’s the kind of dad who lets her pick out his tie in the morning, even if it’s bright pink and covered in sparkles.

he absolutely lets his daughter do his hair and has gone to work with glitter in it more than once. the first time, his colleagues gave him weird looks, but now they just expect it. he’s a walking canvas for tiny, chubby hands, and he’ll sit still for hours while she "styles" him with clips, bows, and whatever else she finds in her little hair kit. once, she even convinced him to wear pigtails to the grocery store.

he cries the first time she calls him “daddy,” but pretends it’s just allergies. in reality, he gets teary-eyed at a lot of milestones—her first steps, her first day of school, the first time she tells him she loves him. he’s hopelessly wrapped around her little finger, and juno teases him mercilessly for it, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

taglist: @legalmente-loca @soangelbaby

[sdmnpact]

Heyyyy can you plz do a fan fic of George Clarke x reader where they look after the readers little cousin for the day and they go out to different places

Day Out.

George Clarke x Reader ff

~~~

Are we still on for today? 😘

You received that text from your boyfriend George Clarke, you love the boy to pieces and today you two had a whole date planned. He had spent so much time planning such a lovely day out for the two of you. Unfortunately or maybe not so unfortunate your aunt had just asked you if you could babysit your cousin.

As much as you would love to go out with George, you know your aunt needs your help and of course you love your cousin so you couldn't resist seeing them.

Sorry baby, my aunt needs me to watch my cousin, y/c/n. Remember them? Raincheck?? 🥰

You sent back. You were hoping he wouldn't be upset by this as he knows how much you love your little cousins. You looked at your phone screen as bubbles appeared then disappeared repeatedly.

What if we take them along with us? 👀

You didn't hate the idea. Your cousin hasn't met George yet and you don't know whether they'll be fine with it or not but who knows maybe it'll be better than you think.

Alright then xx

>>>

"Okay now, his name is George and he's a really nice guy, I think you'll like him." You explained to y/c/n who was hesitant on meeting this guy. You looked in the rearview mirror to see them still slightly discontent with this situation but you know that once they meet him, they'll love him.

You finally arrived at George's flat, calling him to come out. He came out with a backpack on holding a small plushie. You narrowed your eyes, wondering where he pulled that from. You watched at he walked up to the back window.

"Hey there." He said waving the plushie in y/c/n's face. You saw their face light up as they reached for the plushie as George smiled widely. He gave the plushie to them as they laughed happily. You 'awwed' at the sight watching as he got into the car.

"That was sweet." You grabbed his hand. He leaned forward and gave you a small kiss on the cheek. "Well, I'm only sweet." He winked at you as you let go of his hand and rolled your eyes. He laughed as you began driving. "So where are we going anyways? Shouldn't you be the one driving?" You said driving aimlessly. "Well it isn't that far from here, I'll drive after this." You nodded as he pulled up the maps on his phone.

You finally arrived at the destination, an outdoor mini golf course. "Mini golf? Is this what you had planned for us?" He nodded smiling from ear to ear. "Only the finest for ma' lady." He is such a dork, but he's your dork.

All of you went up to the putting booth and grabbed your equipment. Y/c/n seemed so happy to be there. "Yay golfing!!" They shrieked as they ran to the first hole while you walked side by side with George. "They're so cute!" He gushed as you grabbed his arm. "I know, they're just like me" You batted you lashes at him as he playfully shoved you off.

"I'm gonna beat both of you!" Y/c/n shouted grabbing the club in their tiny arms. "Is that so? Well, I'm the golf master!" George said getting his club ready. You chuckled to yourself as you watched them playfully fight with their clubs.

"Okay, settle down, let's do this."

You know George is a big softie but you've never seen him like this. When he's around children, he sort of turns into a big teddy bear. You watched as he would playfully tackle your cousin, hugging them in his arms or helping them putt when they couldn't get the angle right.

You couldn't even concentrate on the actual game but rather George's interactions with y/c/n.

"Y/N! It's your turn!!" Y/c/n shouted at you as you were caught up watching George.

"Distracted, are we y/n?" George smirked. You shot him a little glare but sent a cheesy smile to your cousin.

You set yourself up for the shot, taking your sweet time aiming the putter.

"Any day now" George teased as you just shook you head, finally striking the ball, getting a whole in one.

"Was that good enough for you?" You said a bit sassy, swishing your hair at him. He playfully rolled his eyes coming over to grab your waist.

"You're actually really annoying" He towered over you, the breeze sending a whiff of his cologne, you basked in his musky scent.

"You're one to talk, so obsessed with me." You chuckled lightly pushing past him.

The three of you continued your game of mini golf, with y/c/n taking first place at the will of George who you watched purposely throw the game so your cousin can win after you explicitly told him not to. Of course that meant you got second place and you couldn't not rub it in his face.

After mini golf, George planned on having a picnic for you two at a botanical garden but since your cousin has gone along, he decided a park would be more suitable.

You guys arrived at the park and found a nice spot on the grass underneath a giant oak tree.

He laid out a large blanket, unpacking all the food he had packed for you guys. Sandwiches, crisps, fruit, juice, gummies. He had packed a whole meal for you lot and you couldn't have been more appreciative of the thoughtful man that sat in front of you.

"Here you go baby, just how you like it." George laid out a plate in front of you filled with your favorites.

"You're so ridiculously sweet." You teased, pinching his cheek making him blush a bit.

You watched as your cousin went off to play on the playground. "Be careful!" You shouted making sure they don't injure themself.

"Calm down, mom, I think they'll be alright." George chuckled taking a bite of his food.

"I just wanna be cautious, if there is one scratch on that little head, my aunt will have my ass on a swivel."

"Don't worry, everything will be fine." He reassured, getting closer to you. He sat behind you, wrapping his arms around your body. He planted a soft kiss on the top of your head.

You sat there for a while in his arms watching your cousin play on the swing set. "You fancy having one, one day?" He asked you suddenly making your eyes go wide with shock.

You have been dating for quite a while now and seeing as basically all your mates are having babies, you can't say you haven't thought of having one with George.

"With who?" You joked earning a smirk from him.

"Of course, I'd like to have one, one day. I need to find Mr. Perfect first." You continued.

"What if you've already found him?"

"Then I'm the luckiest person in the world." You looked up towards him, the sunlight beaming through the leaves down on his face showing just how beautiful he is.

You enjoyed spending time with him, safe in his arms. You loved him deeply, and you made sure that you always showed him that.

After a while you both laid back on the blanket looking up at the clouds.

"Look at that one." He pointed out. "Looks like a heart. It's almost as big as the heart I have for you."

You looked at him and he turned to look at you. "I love you, so much."

"You know I love you with my entire being." He replied back brushing a loose strand of hair from your face.

You brought you hand to his face, brushing your thumb against his cheek. It was a moment of bliss. Just you two in this vast open world, without a care in the world except each other.

"Y/n!" Y/c/n yelled as you sat up, forgetting about them for a split second.

"What's up?"

"Can we get ice cream?" They asked pointing to the truck that pulled up near the playground.

"Of course, come on, I'll take you." George said standing up, grabbing their hand. "Get your usual babe?" You nodded as a reply.

He walked off with your cousin, hand in hand. Seeing George with a small child was making you go crazy with happiness. You know that he will be the best dad ever.

~~~

After you enjoyed your ice cream. you got a text from your aunt telling you that she was home.

"Your mom wants you home now? Shall we go?" You said brushing your cousin's hair.

"NO! I wanna stay with Georgie!!" They yelled grabbing onto his leg. "Aw it's okay, we'll see each other again, next time I'll plan a better day out for all three of us." He said picking them up.

Your cousin hugged him tightly, not wanting to let him go.

He walked like that to the car and placed them in the backseat.

You both got in the car and you began driving towards your aunt's house. George grabbed your hand, shooting you a toothy grin. You shook your head at him as you looked back towards the road.

You finally arrived and got out to greet your aunt.

"That's your boyfriend?" She asked as she walked up close to you. You two watched as your cousin said their goodbyes to George.

"Yeah, he's a sweetheart." You gushed.

"He's a keeper, make sure to tie that one down."

"Don't worry, I'll make sure to do that." George said holding y/c/n as he walked up behind you.

"Thank you and nice to meet you." She said taking y/c/n from him, shooting him a smile.

"Nice to meet you too." He said as she winked at you, walking back inside the house.

George grabbed your hand as he led you to the car, opening the passenger door for you.

"Thank you, but you're driving? Where're we going?"

"The night's still young."

---

A/n

This is such an adorable idea!! I hope you enjoyed it!!

[everdeensworld]

HOW TO LOSE A GUY IN TEN DAYS | chapter one

summary: for an assignment you are tasked to lose a guy in ten days, the guy happening to be the one and only finnick odair.

pairings: finnick odair x journalist!reader

authors note: this has been sitting its ass in my drafts for the past few days but i finally got around to writing it, my brain was full of ideas and i couldn’t choose

parts: chapter one, other chapters coming soon.

journalism had been your dream since you had been able to read and write, you used to steal your mothers newspaper just to study the way people wrote, the beauty in reading how other people shared their thoughts, their opinions on things.

an outlet.

though of-course you hadn’t expected it to be so hard to achieve, so controlling, that you’d practically be unable to write what you want to but what you have to.

“you want me to what?” your jaw dropped, the woman, your boss, who stood before you, a clear grin in her face. “well, ever since katniss and peeta won the games, love is in! it’s all the rage here in the capitol.”

you wanted to roll your eyes. “love is a trend? i don’t see how that’s—”

“nevermind the logistics of it.” your boss waves you off. “you are a desirable woman, i want you to write a piece on what not to do, dating wise, i want you to find a guy, a cute one, date him for ten days, and drive him away, write about it so our love obsessed citizens know what not to do.”

“isn’t that a little cruel?”

she scoffs. “choose someone who won’t care then, like..” she trails off, eyes glancing the room of the capitol victors party, katniss and peeta’s party, “what about gloss, he’s a good looking guy, a victor too.”

you glance over the boy, he was handsome, he was charming, and he had asked you out multiple times before, he was pushy, you gave your boss a apprehensive look, hoping this was just a time and you could forget about this whole ordeal and pass the assignment on to a apprentice.

“if you do this, i will give you your own column, to write about whatever you want.” she bribed, a wolfish grin on her face.

that caught your attention, you did desperately want to be able to have free reign over your work, your writing, to be able to express yourself through your work, and this might be your opportunity.

but to mess with someone’s emotions like that to get what you want, it was wrong.

“oh come on!” your boss scoffed. “i promise it won’t be personal, besides, you’re going to drive him away! he’s not going to care, he’ll be fed up with you by the end, you’re the only one of my employees that i trust is a good enough writer to write this!”

you bite your lip and sigh. “fine! but i get not a column, but a whole page, and i get to choose the guy!”

your boss mulls the idea over before sighing, a fed up sigh, punching her nose. “fine! if you must, a whole page just for you, now trot on— go find yourself a suitor.”

a glass of the capitols finest alcohol was in the capitols finest glass, in his hand. he had finally managed to fend off everyone asking for his autograph, questions about his game and lots of other pointless things too.

his game was almost ten years ago, you would think they’d be bored of him by now, with the way trends change here in the capitol, yet they haven’t.

gloss laughs at his exhausted look. “wow man, you look beat.”

“i am beat, i wish they’d all just leave me alone sometimes, all the time.” he corrects himself, sipping on the alcoholic beverage, the drink is sour, and stings as it goes down but once its in his system he can’t help but enjoy the buzz the drink gives him.

“get yourself a girl, distract yourself.” goss tells him patting his shoulder, finnick scoffed. “from the capitol no way.”

gloss shrugged, “i don’t know man, not all the chicks here are that bad.” he slurred.

“i’ll tell you what, let’s make a bet, see that girl over there.” gloss grabs him, spinning finnick around to face you, finnick noticed you right away, you were speaking to a very pink looking woman, her skin was dyed pink, and she wore pink from head to toe.

your clothes were more cooler tones, you still had a capitol look to you, clean, and it was quite clear you weren’t poor. you looked shy, like you wanted to be anywhere else but here, you didn’t fit in with the rest of the people that were in the room.

you intrigued him.

“she is extremely wanted round’ here.” he says with a grin. “i’ve tried it before, she will not let up, all the men here want her because she’s so untouchable, i will give you anything you want if you can make her fall in love with you, literally anything.”

finnick thought for a moment, there was really nothing he needed, but he was intrigued by you, and it couldn’t hurt, besides, gloss said he could have anything, and finnick had a couple of things in mind.

[jd-loves-fiction]

Heh. I am back :3

An alternative of the kidnapping scenario with the same characters (Boothill, Blade and Gallagher) but when they get to reader they find them already having finished the job, covered in blood but they seem terrified of even themselves and apologizing for what they have done in tears.

🌑making my way through all the shorter requests cuz the event is coming!! Excite :)

✦ 𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐥 ✦

Doesn't blame you in the slightest

Scours your surroundings quickly just to make sure you're safe first

Then he's immediately making himself smaller while shushing you softly - he knows what it's like to let your revenge take over

It's literally his every day, it's why he joined the galaxy rangers, why he traded his body for the one he now has

Tries to make you laugh, brushing away your worries about the blood covering you and your apologies - he couldn't care less about that

But he's scrambling on what to do - his instinct is telling him to hold you close, just as his father's had when he was young, but they weren't made of cold, unfeeling metal

If you muster up the courage to ask for it tho? No hesitation, immediately wraps you up in his arms even if he feels sort of bad for not being able to provide you proper human comfort :(

If only you'd met earlier...

✦ 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐞 ✦

Oh honey

No way he's gonna blame you, no way

Not the best with comfort but trust that he tries :(

He's rushing to your side and urging you to calm your breathing

When you start apologizing he'll tell you firmly to stop doing that >:[

You have nothing to apologize for, and he wants you to understand that

I feel like i say this about him in every post but QUIET COMFORT!!!

Just stays by your side as long as you need it and gives you space if that's what you need

Will not offer words of comfort unless you ask him to, but will wrap you up in his arms if you let him

May seem distracted the whole because he's trying his best not to lose with how angry he is with the people you killed - thank your lucky stars you took care of them cuz he would've done much worse

✦ 𝐆𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐫 ✦

You've never seen so much raw emotion on his face before

First instinct is to hold you and that's what he does the moment you give him permission

Swaying slightly and shushing and cooing at you while you're trying to apologize

No need for that, he's just happy you're safe

Casts a glance around to make sure they're all dead

Wipes the blood and tears from your face while comforting you the best he can

All the reassurance - this doesn't change who you are or what you're worth and he doesn't blame you for doing it nor does it make you any lesser in his eyes

Won't let you out of his sight for some time after

He just has to make sure it doesn't happen again :(

[cosmiclily]

chapter nine: the edge

wc: 2.8k

notes: next chapter will be the interview that i mentioned a couple of chapters ago!!! pls send some questions to our fellow rock stars

Apparently, sex was, in fact, a fantastic creative exercise—or at the very least, an excellent incentive for spitting out lyrics. Once you figured that out, the entire process of choosing lyrics, organizing tracks, and brainstorming ideas became a hell of a lot easier.

Writer’s block? Fixed with Vi’s hands gripping your hips, her mouth marking a trail down your stomach.

Frustrated over a melody that wouldn’t click? Easily solved by the way she pressed you into the mattress and pulled sounds from your lips sweeter than any song you’d ever written.

Tension from long hours in the studio? Well… she had a very effective method of dealing with that.

Of course, you weren’t oblivious. You knew exactly what Vi was doing—using you as a distraction, a way to keep from drowning in whatever emotions those songs dragged back up. You knew she was using you to not think about her. Caitlyn.

But when Vi held you like that, when her fingers tangled in your hair, when she bit down on your neck just enough to make you shiver, when she touched you exactly the way you needed to be touched? None of that mattered. Not even a little.

And, honestly? It was a great way to de-stress.

The long nights spent cramped in the studio became more bearable when you knew you could go home and have Vi all to yourself.

It was like having a place where the weight of the world could just melt away. You got to pull her closer, scratch, bite, and touch every inch of her as if she was yours to do with as you pleased.

And the memories were almost addictive. Every time the pressure of the studio, the deadlines, or a fight with someone built up, you could close your eyes and retreat to your happy place.

“We’re almost finished here,” Archie said, barely looking up from his tablet. “Mark was talking to me about promotions, interviews, appearances—the whole deal. So clear your schedules.”

You sat back in your chair, stretching your arms over your head with a satisfied sigh. For the first time in months, the studio didn’t feel like a pressure cooker. No one was snapping at each other out of frustration, no one was sulking over failed ideas, and—most importantly—no one was on the verge of throwing their instruments against the wall.

The hard part was finally done.

You’d recorded a couple of solid tracks, and almost every song you wanted for the album was ready. The weight that had been crushing your shoulders for months had finally eased, letting you breathe a little easier.

“Finally,” Jinx groaned, throwing herself onto the couch with a dramatic sigh. “If I had to listen to one more version of that last chorus, I think I’d start hearing it in my dreams.”

Ekko smirked, tuning his bass idly. “You say that like you don’t already.”

Jinx pointed a finger at him without lifting her head. “Shut it, time boy.”

Vi chuckled from her spot by the drum set, twirling a drumstick between her fingers. “Admit it—you’re gonna miss all this once we’re done.”

Jinx peeked up at her with a lazy grin. “I’ll miss driving you crazy. That part was fun.”

You shook your head, laughing, before glancing back at Archie. “So, what’s next?”

Archie scrolled through his tablet before giving you all a pointed look. “Now? We get ready to *sell* this thing. That means promo shoots, interviews, maybe even a live session or two.” He narrowed his eyes. “So, try not to look half-dead for the cameras, alright?”

You snorted. “No promises.”

“Great. Love the enthusiasm,” Archie deadpanned before turning back to his notes. “Now, let’s talk deadlines…”

He turned his tablet to us, displaying his calendar.

“This month, we’ll be finishing the recording, and the producers will take care of the rest. Next week, we want to shoot some pictures for the cover and also do some introductions for your channel—you know, fan stuff,” he rushed through, glancing up at us, his finger hovering over the screen. “And we want to do an interview, answering questions from your fans, and some general stuff.”

He continued explaining the calendar details, but you couldn’t help but notice the way everyone else’s faces seemed to blur into confusion. You weren’t the only one who was a little lost in the whirlwind of the plans. With everything that had been happening in the studio lately, the reality of the promotion process felt like a whole new beast to tackle. The recording was one thing, but now there were public appearances, live sessions, photo shoots, and interviews to manage too.

Vi, sensing the shared hesitation, shot you a quick, silent look across the room, one brow arched in that familiar, unspoken question. Is this what we’re really getting into?

You couldn’t help but grin and shrug. “Fan stuff, huh? Sounds… fun.”

Jinx leaned back in her chair with a loud groan. “Wait, wait, hold up. So now we’re gonna have to look good for the cameras too?” She ran a hand through her messy hair. “I mean, sure, we look good, but I’m not exactly camera ready.”

Ekko chuckled, clearly amused. “Jinx, I think the camera is going to need a lot more than a filter to handle you.”

Jinx shot him a glare. “If you’re trying to be funny, it’s not working.”

Archie’s face was a mixture of professional concern and barely-contained amusement. “Look, I know this is a lot, but we’ve been working for this moment. The album’s almost ready, and now we need to give people a taste of what’s coming. You want them to care, right? Then we have to make them care.”

Vi, ever the voice of reason, raised her hand, leaning forward to address the group. “We’ve been locked in here for months. It’s time to show the world what we’ve been working on. Let’s just get it over with, yeah?”

There was a brief silence, followed by murmurs of agreement. Everyone seemed to acknowledge the inevitable.

“Alright,” you said with a deep breath, sitting up straighter, “let’s just get this done. We’ve made it this far.”

Archie nodded, satisfied. “Good. So, here’s the schedule for the next two weeks. Let’s get moving on it.” He handed out the specific tasks and assignments, detailing each member’s role in the upcoming photo shoots, interviews, and other appearances.

As he wrapped things up, the room fell into a quiet hum of anticipation. This was the next phase—one where the music wasn’t the only thing that mattered anymore.

──────────────────────

You were paired off in twos to film a short introduction video for yourselves and the album—Vi and you, and Ekko with Jinx. Archie gave you the freedom to choose where you wanted to film and what you could talk about (as long as you stuck to the schedule, of course).

Vi suggested filming at your place, claiming “the plants give off a nice vibe.” You didn’t argue—if it made things easier, you were all for it. So, to your apartment you went.

As you both stepped inside, Vi kicked off her boots near the door while you tossed your keys onto the table, the familiar clatter echoing in the quiet space. The apartment felt weirdly calm compared to the chaotic energy of the studio. But now came the hard part—figuring out what the hell to do for this video.

“So, what do you think we should do?” Vi asked, her voice casual as she wandered over to your living room, eyeing the plants like they’d give her the answer.

You trailed behind her, chewing on the inside of your cheek. What could you film that would actually reflect your energy without coming off as too much… or, worse, boring?

“Honestly? I’ve got no clue.” You flopped onto the couch, sighing. “Ekko and Jinx are doing some painting session or whatever since they’ve got that in common. But us?” You gestured vaguely between the two of you. “What do we do? Besides, you know…” You trailed off with a smirk, your mind flashing back to Vi's very creative methods of stress relief.

Vi chuckled, flopping down beside you and tossing her legs over your lap. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s exactly the vibe Archie’s looking for.” She shot you a teasing grin. “Though I’m sure it’d get us a hell of a lot of views.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Yeah, not trying to get us banned off every platform before the album even drops.”

Vi leaned back, staring at the ceiling in thought. “Okay, so… no painting, no X-rated content.” She tapped her fingers against the couch rhythmically. “What about something simple? Like us just talking about the songs, the process, you know?”

You made a face. “That sounds kinda… stiff. Everyone’s gonna do that. I mean, sure, we talk about the songs, but there’s gotta be something more us in it.”

Vi was quiet for a second before her eyes lit up. “What if we do something more casual? Like, we’re just hanging out, talking shit, maybe playing some old tracks and reacting to them?” She grinned, nudging your shoulder. “You know, let people see the real us—chaotic mess and all.”

You laughed, the idea settling in your mind. That actually sounded like fun. “Alright, yeah. I like that. Maybe we can even throw in some behind-the-scenes clips? Like the time Jinx nearly set the mic on fire?”

Vi burst out laughing. “Or when Ekko tripped over his own bass cable and tried to play it off like nothing happened?”

The two of you were already in stitches, the tension from earlier melting away. This felt right—natural, fun, and totally you.

“Okay,” you said, standing up and grabbing your phone. “Let’s set this up before we lose the vibe. You grab the speaker, I’ll get the camera.”

Vi gave you a mock salute. “Aye aye, captain.”

In no time, your makeshift filming set was ready. You grabbed some snacks, adjusted the lighting just enough to look effortless, and set the camera to start recording.

You both introduced yourselves, diving into the story of how the band came together. It felt natural, almost like reminiscing with an old friend rather than filming something for fans.

“At first, it was just the two of us,” Vi said, pointing between the two of you with a grin. “We were messing around, trying to figure out our sound. Then my younger sister decided to be extremely annoying while we practiced—always yapping about how two people weren’t a real band. Eventually, she dragged Ekko into this mess, and, well… here we are.”

You laughed, the memory still vivid. “Oh, I definitely remember the first time Jinx quite literally dragged him into that old room at school—the one we used for practice. She barged in, shouting about how Ekko had a garage we could use, and how she had all these brilliant ideas.”

Vi chuckled, shaking her head. “Yeah! I remember that. Poor Benzo looked so displeased with a bunch of teenagers making a racket in the back of his shop. I’m pretty sure he aged ten years in that first month alone.”

You both laughed, the camera kept rolling, but for a moment, it didn’t even feel like it was there.

As Vi continued talking about the process of creating the album—how the songs and lyrics meant so much to all of you—your mind began to wander. You couldn’t help but notice how effortlessly beautiful she looked, sitting there comfortably, her voice steady and confident as she spoke to the camera. The black hair dye had almost completely faded from her hair, leaving the natural pink vibrant and bright against her skin. Her hair had grown out a bit, just enough that it curled slightly at the ends, and you found yourself fighting the urge to reach out and drag your fingers through those soft, messy locks.

Your eyes traced the freckles scattered across her cheeks, the way they bridged her nose, delicate and familiar. And her eyes—God, her eyes sparkled when she talked about something she was passionate about, like the music, like this. It was the kind of sparkle that pulled you in, made you want to listen to her forever, just to keep that light alive.

It was almost like…

Oh.

Oh.

No, no, no, no.

You were not catching feelings. That was impossible. This was supposed to be casual—just fun. You both knew that from the start. So what the fuck were you thinking?

Panic tightened in your chest, a cold, sharp edge to the realization sinking in. You were spiraling, and you barely registered Vi’s voice cutting through your thoughts.

“Hey,” she said, her brows furrowed, concern softening her features. “You good? Do you want to take a break?”

You blinked, trying to pull yourself out of the fog. “Huh? Sorry, what was the question?”

She tilted her head, studying you carefully. “Are you okay? You look kinda out of it.”

Your heart was still racing, but you forced a tight smile. “Yeah, that would be great.” You stood up from the couch, barely meeting her eyes as you made a beeline for the bathroom.

Once inside, you shut the door behind you and leaned heavily against the sink, gripping its edges like it could anchor you to reality. Your reflection stared back, wide-eyed and flushed, like you’d been caught doing something you weren’t supposed to.

This is NOT happening. You mentally shouted at yourself, trying to shake the feeling off. *You’ve known her for years. The moment you start sleeping with her is the moment you catch feelings? Seriously?*

You turned on the tap, splashing cold water onto your face, hoping the chill would snap you out of it, wash away the thoughts clinging to your mind. But as the water dripped from your chin, pooling at the edges of the sink, the tightness in your chest remained.

Staring at your reflection, you whispered under your breath, “Get it together.”

But no matter how many times you repeated it, the weight of what you were feeling didn’t budge.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself before stepping out of the bathroom. The moment you did, you saw Vi in the living room, methodically packing up the filming equipment. The casual ease with which she moved, like this was just another normal day, only made the knot in your chest tighten.

“What are you doing?” you asked, your voice sounding steadier than you felt.

Vi glanced up, pausing as she turned off the camera. “I think we’ve got enough material for today—maybe even the whole video,” she said, her tone light but tinged with something softer, more careful. “I can see you’re tired. I’ll come over tomorrow, and we can go through the footage, see what we can use. For now, you should rest.”

Her words were simple, but the small smile tugging at the corners of her lips wasn’t. It wasn’t just the usual smirk or playful grin—it was something else. Genuine concern. And that look … it hit you like a sucker punch.

Because all you could think about was how easy it would be to want this every day. To have her not just in fleeting moments, not just in casual touches or hurried nights. But fully. Completely. The idea burrowed itself deeper into your mind, wrapping around your thoughts like vines.

“Yeah,” you forced out, your voice quieter than before. “That sounds good.”

Vi gave you one last glance, like she wanted to say something more, but instead, she just nodded, slinging her bag over her shoulder before heading for the door. The soft click of it shutting behind her echoed louder than it should have.

And then it was just you. Alone.

You stood there for a moment, staring at the now-empty room, expecting some sense of relief to wash over you. But it didn’t. If anything, the silence made it worse.

You should’ve been able to crash the moment she left, but sleep was the last thing your body wanted. You were confused, frustrated—mad at yourself, mad at her, for making you feel this way. Your body felt heavy, physically exhausted, but your mind was running on overdrive, replaying every glance, every touch, every word she’d said.

You sank onto the couch, rubbing your hands over your face.

You’d told yourself from the start—this was supposed to be casual.Just a way to blow off steam, nothing more. But somewhere along the way, those lines had blurred, and now you didn’t know how to pull yourself back from the edge.

──────────────────────

masterlist - chapter ten

taglist: @saturnhas82moons @oidloid @vaebear @wicked-laugh @baylegend6 @nomarksonelegance @antobooh @80saturn

[angelltheninth]

How would star wars character relax their S/O?

A Star Wars request, lets go! Miss writing for this fandom.

Pairing: Anakin Skywalker, Luke Skywalker, Ben "Kylo Ren" Solo, Rey, Leia Organa, Han Solo, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Din Djarin, Sabine Wren, Shin Hati x Reader

Tags: fluff, established relationship, relaxation, cuddles, kissing, literal sleeping together

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters | Commissions

A/N: Feel particularly sleepy today. The weather sucks. I need cuddles from my favorite characters.

ANAKIN

Pulls you into bed with him and doesn't let you do anything work related for the rest of the day. Don't even think about anything work related when you're spending time with him, he is your beacon for a stress-free zone. He kisses your forehead while you cuddle, his hands pressing into your tense muscles. Considers it a great achievement when you fall asleep in his arms like that.

LUKE

Invites you to a meditation session with him. Might sounds silly but it really helps relax both the mind and the body, clear your thoughts, let go off all the stressful things of the day. His hands reach for yours, constantly rubbing his thumbs over the back of your hands to help you relax further. If you can't relax he will talk you through it, giving you his words of affection to focus on.

BEN

Oh he is not the best at relaxing, in fact he might be one of the worst people in the galaxy for that. But if there's anything he can be proud of is that he really does try to help you de-stress. It's a little aggressive still, he wants to be close to you, give you a few little kisses but passion soon takes over. And while that can help you relax in certain ways you'd much prefer a simple cuddle session.

REY

You tell her she should take care of herself as much as she's taking care of you. This confuses how her. How will this help you relax? Well, if she isn't freaking out about you all the time and how much she has to work to give you the things you want then you would both be able to relax together, which would also mean more quality time spent together.

LEIA

Tells you to get as comfortable as you can be because she's gonna give you the best massage you've ever had in your life. She hadn't given many but she did get a lot of massages growing up. It's the perks of being royalty and she's confident she can help you relax the same way. She goes a little too hard on the knots in your shoulders but eventually she does hear you sigh in relief.

HAN

Will take your mind off anything stressful by telling about the latest heist offer he got. Yeah, the job is pretty reckless, but it sounds fun. He won't really go on this specific heist mind you, the pay is too low for someone of his caliber, but he's telling you how it could go, making you laugh by doing so. Making you laugh is all the reward he needs at the end of the day.

OBI-WAN

Has a whole relaxing evening planned out perfectly by the time you get home, no detail will escape him. It's almost too perfectly planned, so much so that he puts all that pressure on himself but hopes his charming smile is enough to distract from that. Won't put that pressure on you, he only wants you to relax and let him do things for you for a change. You deserve to relax after a long day of work.

DIN

The man is a great listener and cuddler and he will use both of those skill sets to help you unwind. Whatever you need to say to get things off your chest you can say it to him, and he will do his best to take care of the problem. Not necessary by going in and taking care of the problem personally, but just offering advice. But if his personal intervention is necessary he will go in and clean up the mess.

SABINE

Latches onto you whenever she can. She acts like she's a sponge that will absorb all of your stress, she will soak it up and help it melt away. Every time she notices you're feeling stressed, or pent up or sad there's a hug waiting for you, big or small it hardly matters to her how long you want her to hug you. It's important that you know she's there for you whenever you need her.

SHIN

Isn't good at giving advice or dealing with stress. She's not someone who considers herself a stressed person so the feeling is unfamiliar to her, she doesn't know how to help you. That being said she will at least listen, really listen to what you have to say and the reasons why you're stressed. At the end all she can offer you is her closeness, her presence there, but even that is enough.

[vandme12]

I'm so sorry you got a NSFW asked in your inbox from someone, So I'm here to give ya a completely Different prompt-to make up for the random NSFW prompt.

Prompt: Ronin popping in at random into visit his darling, expecting to take them out on a bloody date he's got in mind, only to find them watching a marathon of Puppybowls as serious as can be- as in cheering for their favorite puppy when they score, laughing at the puns, wearing either something blue or orange. That sort of thing. I would love to see what his reaction to this whole thing would be and if he joins in lol.

Thank you so much!

Bloody Plans and Puppy

Ronin had a plan.

A perfect, beautiful, bloody plan.

He had it all mapped out—sweep you off your feet, drag you into the night, and paint the town red. Maybe he’d take you to a nice rooftop where you could watch some poor bastard’s final moments together, or maybe he’d let you pick the target this time. Romantic, right?

Except—when he strolled into your apartment, all smug confidence and sharp edges—

You didn’t even notice.

No, you were too busy cheering.

For puppies.

Ronin stopped dead in his tracks, blinking at the scene before him like it was some bizarre hallucination. You, curled up on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, eyes glued to the TV like it was the most intense thriller of the decade. Except instead of murder or mayhem—

It was a goddamn Puppy Bowl.

On screen, tiny, clumsy puppies in blue and orange bandanas were tumbling over each other, chasing around a mini football. The announcers were going wild, spewing dog-related puns at a machine-gun pace, and you—

You were into it.

Like, genuinely, seriously into it.

Ronin watched as you fist-pumped the air when a golden retriever pup barrelled into the end zone.

"YEAH! GO TEAM FLUFF!"

He blinked again. Slowly.

What. The. Hell.

"Babe." His voice was smooth, easy, as he strolled further inside, finally making his presence known.

You didn't even look away.

"Hey, Ronin," you said, voice distracted as your eyes flicked across the screen, laser-focused.

He raised a brow, waiting for you to acknowledge him properly, but instead, you just grabbed a handful of popcorn and shoved it in your mouth, nodding at the TV like some grizzled sports veteran analyzing the game.

"God, that Pomeranian's got no game sense," you muttered.

Ronin's lips twitched. Was this real?

"You're kidding me, right?" He flopped onto the couch next to you, propping his feet up, smirking. "You're skipping out on my very romantic murder plans for… this?"

You threw him a brief glance. "It's the Puppy Bowl."

"Right, and I'm the Pope. Babe, what the hell is a Puppy Bowl?"

You gasped like he just stabbed you in the heart.

"Oh my god, you don’t know??"

Ronin’s smirk widened. "Would I be askin’ if I did?"

You turned to him fully now, eyes wide with shock, hands gripping his jacket like you were about to tell him the meaning of life itself.

"It’s only the greatest event of the year."

He snorted. "Yeah? Thought that was our anniversary."

You rolled your eyes but didn’t let go of his jacket. "It’s a big, adorable football game where puppies ‘compete’ for the Lombarky Trophy."

Lombarky.

Oh, Jesus Christ.

Ronin blinked at you, expression unreadable. Then, after a long pause—

"You are… way too invested in this."

"And you are way too NOT invested!" You pointed aggressively at the screen. "Look at them. Look at their little tails! Their tiny, stubby legs! Their over-the-top replays!"

Just as you said it, the slow-mo cam caught a Labrador puppy tripping over its own paws and face-planting straight into the goal line. The dramatic replay made it look ten times funnier than it should have.

Ronin stared.

Then—he actually snorted.

You gasped. "See? SEE? You’re enjoying it!"

"That was one laugh." He smirked, but the way his eyes flicked back to the screen? Yeah, he was already hooked and didn’t even know it yet.

You grinned and grabbed his arm, pulling him in closer. "C’mon. Stay and watch with me."

"Babe, we had a date planned."

"Puppies first. Murder later."

His grin widened. "You’re lucky I love ya."

"Damn right."

Five minutes later, he was into it.

Like, way too into it.

"GO, YOU LITTLE FURRY BASTARD! GO!" Ronin shouted at the TV, gripping the armrest with white-knuckled intensity.

You cackled beside him as he leaned forward, eyes dead serious, watching a tiny dachshund sprint toward the end zone with all the power of an Olympian.

"If this pup doesn’t score, I’m personally takin’ out whoever rigged this game," he growled, narrowing his eyes.

"It’s not rigged!" you laughed.

"That Pomeranian’s been hoggin’ the damn ball all game. It’s clearly a setup."

You buried your face in your hands, laughing so hard your stomach hurt.

Ronin, meanwhile, looked like he was watching the Super Bowl. He was all in. When a tiny beagle got distracted mid-play and just started rolling around on the field, he let out a long, suffering sigh.

"No discipline. No strategy. This team’s a joke."

You nudged him. "They’re literally puppies."

"AND? If you’re gonna play, play to win."

"Oh my god."

And then—it happened.

The dachshund—Ronin’s guy—made a break for it, zooming across the field, dodging bigger puppies left and right. The announcers were going wild.

"LOOK AT THOSE LITTLE LEGS GO!"

"UNSTOPPABLE! A TRUE UNDERDOG STORY!"

Ronin leapt off the couch.

"HOLY SH—RUN, YOU LITTLE DEMON, RUN!"

The dachshund dove—DOVE—into the end zone, ball clenched in his tiny mouth. The crowd on TV erupted. The score updated. Touchdown.

Ronin fist-pumped the air.

"YES! THAT’S MY BOY! MVP! MVP!"

You were cry-laughing at this point, clutching your stomach. Ronin was actually invested. You never thought you’d see the day.

He collapsed back onto the couch, running a hand through his hair, exhilarated.

"Shit," he exhaled. "That was better than half the fights I’ve been in."

"Told you." You grinned.

He glanced at you, then at the screen, then back at you—before smirking. "Guess you got me, angel."

You leaned against him, pressing your face into his shoulder. "So does that mean… Puppy Bowl is a new tradition?"

He let out a dramatic sigh. "Guess so. But next year, I’m bettin’ on Team Ruff."

"Traitor."

"Competitive."

You laughed, and Ronin, despite all his chaos, all his darkness, found himself smiling.

Maybe, just maybe, he didn’t mind nights like this.

Even if it meant postponing a little murder.

For now.

[hannahssimblr]

Christmas day is white and razor sharp. A blanket of cloud extends far over the fjord, the sky so bright it stings the eye. We walk together, the Larsens and me, on a path, unsheltered from a biting wind that slices over the inlet, head on, roaring in my ears, sending tears streaming from my eyes. Astrid’s gloved hand is warm in mine, humming a tuneless melody as she gazes out over the water, her hair billowing behind like a white flag. 

We trail behind the others. Gitte and Mia, hiking purposefully in suitable shoes, and Pernille, Felix in a sling on her back, his fat little limbs hanging there, insulated in his thick, puffy winter suit. They’re all talking, not bothering with English now as we’ve fallen out of earshot, but it’s pleasant anyway, just to hear the joyful peaks of their voices rising over the bluster. Pointing out seabirds to Felix, who does not care, then bursting in to simultaneous laughter about something. It echoes, carrying far out over the tattered land around us.

“It’s fairly great here,” I say, and Astrid, distracted, turns her head. “Hm?”

“Like, I like it here. Your house, and your family and all.”

“Oh, yes. It’s fine.”

“If this was my home, I’d be here the whole time. I’d come back to visit every chance I could.”

“Easy to say that, I think, but it was a boring place to grow up.”

The ground is uneven, pockmarked with puddle-filled divots from this morning’s rainfall. Around us is a wild landscape with silver headed wild grasses shimmering in the wind. When I run my hands over them, they hiss through my fingers.

“I think that’d be okay.”

She laughs. “It would not be okay. You, of all people, loathe being bored. Imagine being stuck here,” gesturing around us, a palette of grey, bare trees, orange roofs standing out like beacons. “You would want to die.”

“It seems okay for your mother. And for Pernille.” 

“Oh, yes, Pernille,” she rolls her eyes. “Who didn’t know she had the option to leave, and now it’s too late.” 

“Well, she seems happy. I know things with her boyfriend didn’t work out and all, but she’s got a nice quiet life at home with your mom and Felix. There are worse things.”

Astrid scoffs, as though happiness in these circumstances is inconceivable. “She could have gone to college, travelled the world, dated a man who wasn’t a known failure. She’s twenty-seven, and this is it? In her hometown with a baby, living again with her mother? At weekends she goes for coffee with the women she knows from school, and they are all the same as her. She–” she breaks off, catching sight of my expression. “I don’t mean to speak harshly of her, obviously. Maybe she is happy. I don’t know, but I find it all frightening.”

This makes me laugh. “Frightening?”

“Yes! See?” throwing a hand toward her sister, I look, and see nothing to be horrified of. A woman carrying a baby, is all. Heavy winter coat, woollen hat, nose red from the wind. “Pernille was cool, once. Always going to parties and things, wearing fashionable clothing, smoking weed all the time… the pregnancy did horrendous things to her body, too. Her hair was falling out, and she swelled up so much her clothes never fit anymore. Oh, and the birth.” She shudders in horror. “I’m glad I will never do it.”

“Give birth?”

“Of course. I would never. And what would I do with an infant? What would we talk about? It’s an outrageous concept.”

“Oh, c’mon. I know there are downsides, but don’t you ever look at Felix and think he’s such a cool little guy? I think it’d be fun. You could put the baby in one of those sling things and bring them around the place. Give them a set of keys to look at for an hour. They think everything is amazing.”

“You are naïve.” 

“I just don’t think babies are horrible.”

“Well, me neither. They are fine. But I don’t plan to have one.”

“Never? Like, not a chance?”

“No,” her mouth curls up. Comical. And indeed, Astrid. Pregnant. Astrid with a baby in her arms. It’d never occurred to me to envisage such things before, as being responsible for a pregnancy was never my agenda, but it’s a near alien idea. She wouldn’t do it. She’s not the type of woman to subject herself to it. The blood and tears and sick of it all. 

She looks at me. “Would you?”

I hesitate. “Well, I don’t know. I suppose not.”

Ahead, the others are stopping to greet a woman who has come down the path in the opposite direction. In her fifties, wrapped up for the weather, greeting Gitte with a hug.

Astrid swears under her breath and turns herself away. I frown. “Who’s that?” Behind me are greetings, “Hej, Pernille, Mia!” Wishing each other a happy Christmas, chattering happily. 

“Oh, she’s a friend of my mothers. Very boring. One of those women that just goes on and on forever. I don’t want to talk to her today.”

“Hej, Astrid!” The woman calls out, adding something else I cannot understand. Astrid turns slowly with a grimace, like the action is painful. “Hej,” she mutters. “Glædelig jul.”

She addresses me, then. A barrage of words I cannot even begin to understand. “Eh,” I say. “Jeg kan ikke tale dansk.” I cannot speak Danish. One of the few phrases I know. My pronunciation was diabolical, I can tell by her sympathetic expression, but it gets the point across. She addresses Gitte instead, while I stand there smiling, being discussed without the luxury of understanding. Having to assume what is being said is both flattering and factual. 

“Ahh!” the woman says, fascinated. Yes, yes, very interesting. Your friend’s daughter’s Irish boyfriend is here. There he is, now. Have a good look at him while you have the chance.  

“Oh, let’s just go home,” Astrid mutters. “It’s cold.”

“Hm?”

“Let’s go home. They will talk forever.”

“Are you sure? Looks like it isn’t too far to the end of the walk. We could finish it.”

“No,” she says. “I’d rather go. I want to be by the fire.”

She doesn’t seem herself. The body language of a small, insecure person. Shoulders hunched, face turned defensively away, and this frown upon her face, brows pulled together. She wipes her running nose with the back of her glove. 

“Uh, yeah, okay then,” I say. “Are you all good?”

“Yes, of course, I just would prefer to be home now.”

“Okay, yeah, fine then.” We turn to leave, but Gitte calls for us. “Astrid? Jude?”

“Yeah, we’re just cold. We’re gonna head back,” I say. 

“Helle has invited us for gløgg at her home. We are going, but if you don’t want to…?”

I look to Astrid, already marching ten feet ahead. I scratch my brow. “Uh, I don’t think so, Gitte. We just want to get home, but enjoy yourself. Nice to… tell Helle it was nice to meet her.”

I meet Mia’s gaze for one moment, smirking to herself, before turning away. 

I hurry after my girlfriend and take her hand again, unsteady feet on the terrain, dodging the puddles, but the wind is at our backs this time, propelling us toward home. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

[fall0utmind]

hi, i used a translator when i wrote this text, so if there are any mistakes, please forgive me 🙏we probably have one brain for the whole fandom, because i'm also hatching an idea with an a/b/o au in my head.my main idea was similar to yours with all the pain and illness, but in addition to the main focus on the relationship between vale and marc, i also wanted to write about marc's pack.his pack, consisting of young boys with whom he trains and cares for. for example, dani holgado, is definitely an alpha. looks at marc as an example, as someone to look up to. david alonso, i don't know, most likely also an alpha (for the sake of the plot lol). fermin aldeguer could be a beta. and of course maximo quiles, marc's protégé, omega. a hot-tempered boy looking at david with loving eyes.(all the boys look at him with such tenderness) I think they fit your idea perfectly.Marc, who is not a member of any packs except for the family one and is only the unofficial head of the pack of these boys. They are like his children to him.In the 2025 season, when all his guys are either in moto2 or moto3, they need his support, help and advice (they need to be held in the evenings after falls or when they are on the verge of a rut/heat) (this is in addition to his own season) and he has no time to think about his inner omega.I think this would be so different from the relationship between Vale and his academies, where the alpha of the pack is support in the media, a firm hand on the shoulder and distraction from all problems through entertainment.And Marc is soft with everyone, a support for them (he does not run away from problems, but solves them). the boys always know that they can come to him: he can listen to them or understand without words, teach them to stand up for themselves, give advice on how to take a certain turn on the track or what to choose as the first gift for courtship (or from what angle to look at the alpha))well, here is the true omega of the pack.another scene before his eyes - the day before the public loss of consciousness. maybe this is maximo, before the third race on the calendar on saturday - his first moto3 race because he just turned 17 the other day. he lies close to marc in his camper, burying his face close to the neck of the older omega. in his arms he feels like he is on the clouds, sometimes he does not finish some sentences, but marc understands everything and answers him with a laugh. perhaps before this grand prix, the boys gathered in their little pack and, he does not know for how many times, discussed that marc does not smell of anything. nothing at all. they asked alex a long time ago, but he never answered them.and max awkwardly asks about it, when before that he had been mumbling about David and his unique overtakes in his first year in moto2 for about 7 minutes non-stop, feeling how Marc relaxed. and literally three seconds later he regrets it, when Marc's breathing rhythm gets out of whack and how his shoulders tense under his grip. but the man only grabs the kid tighter and tells in general terms what happened between him and Vale, choosing only soft expressions, without hatred, sadness or pity.and the next day after the victory he faints. imagine Maximo's face lolin any case, thank you for your creativity and for your brain. not only is every word of yours read in one breath, you are also a very nice person. thank you ❤️

Hi, firstly, I'm so in awe of everyone on this app when English isn't their first language. You all make me feel so stupid 😂😂 so never apologise for that.

Secondly, what a lovely message!!!

Omg!!! Im so excited?? We all have a million a/b/o ideas and it's fantastic!!! I love that for us!

Wow! I never even considered that, it's so good??? The idea of Marc having this little gaggle of boys (borderline men) following him around like ducklings because he's like the main/pack omega (and he should be for the whole paddock) - i love it. I think there's so much room to work with in that dynamic. Like you said, the way the boys look up to him, how they need to be looked after when they've fallen or when they're about to enter heat/rut cycles. And marc is 100% being a mother hen. He doesn't even realise that he's doing it half the time? Like sitting with all the boys over lunch, giving advice, talking to them after a bad race, squished onto the motorhone sofas.

In one way, it's healing for his omega. But another is ruining him. Because it's suppressing so much that he isn't actually bonded to these kids, not on a biological level. He doesn't scent with them, etc, because he doesn't do it with ANYONE. (Post reconcilliation, he does. And they become his pups basically). These kids are clinging onto him and it hurts so bad because he doesn't actually have that connection with them 💔💔

Omg, and yes, the idea of Marc, an omega, by definition, being head of a pack. He is the one they always come to for advice, direction, and love. I especially love the comparisons to the VR46 pack. I think it would be really different. I think a. It is not a true 'pack' because of Marc's issues (although they act like one, and the boys desperately want it to be one, but don't want to push marc, just sometimes pile into his motorhome and lie on Marc's bed, confused about why there's no nest; leaving their clothes in Marc's space, he secretly hoards them for comfort).

The boys asking marc what happened omg 💔😭 marc telling them, but only the bare bones as he knows they look up to Vale and he doesn't want to ruin that, also he doesn't want to hurt/scare them because he's FINE, damn it. And then how they react when marc gets sick, can you imagine the fear? The anger they have at Valentino, but they feel so powerless because they're young and in lower leagues and UGH. God I love this idea so much. Love the dynamic, its very cute.

Thank you so much for the ask and for the kind words!!! 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

[lcvebuckley]

mornings with you

written for @bucktommyfluffebruary

prompt : day 5 - mundane chores | word count : 672 | rated : G

i'm back! i took a quick break hence i missed a few days but i will be catching up slowly,, i'm planning to post two (usually shorter) fics per day until i catch up to the daily prompt and hopefully get back on track before valentine's!

enjoy! ♡

Mornings used to be simple for Tommy. His alarm would go off, he'd roll out of bed, shower, brush his teeth, grab a protein bar, and head out. Efficient. Quiet. No distractions.

And then Evan happened.

Or in which Tommy's morning routine is not the same anymore.

full version below or read on ao3

-------------------------------------------------------

Mornings used to be simple for Tommy. His alarm would go off, he'd roll out of bed, shower, brush his teeth, grab a protein bar, and head out. Efficient. Quiet. No distractions.  

And then Evan happened.  

Now, mornings were an entirely different experience. Starting with the fact that Tommy didn’t just wake up anymore. No, he was woken up—either by Evan draping himself over him like a human blanket, mumbling something about "five more minutes," or by Evan pressing half-asleep kisses to his shoulder, his face buried against Tommy’s neck. If the younger woke up before him (which wasn’t often), Tommy would find himself being watched, Evan grinning like he won the lottery.  

And then there was the bathroom situation. Tommy had been used to peaceful solo time, but Evan had no concept of personal space. If Tommy was brushing his teeth, he would squeeze in next to him, arms wrapped around Tommy’s waist from behind, chin resting on his shoulder. It was like trying to get ready with a very affectionate, overly large koala attached to him.  

“You’re making this very difficult,” Tommy would mutter, spitting into the sink. Evan, still clinging, would grin at him in the mirror. “You love it.”  

Tommy did love it. That was the problem.  

On some mornings, when Evan was extra groggy, he’d try to brush his teeth with his eyes half-closed, inevitably making a mess. Tommy would chuckle, bumping Evan’s shoulder just to mess with him—causing the younger to get toothpaste all over his cheek and waking him up almost immediately.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Evan would groan, while Tommy would try his best to bite down a laugh. Of course, Evan didn’t let that slide. He’d poke Tommy’s sides in revenge, their sleepy morning routine briefly devolving into laughter and playful shoves. Eventually, Tommy would sigh, grab a washcloth, and wipe the toothpaste off Evan’s cheek and chin while Evan smiled at him like an idiot.

Breakfast was another adjustment. Tommy used to be fine with a quick meal—just enough to get by. But Evan had decided that wasn’t acceptable. “We’re living together now, Tommy, you can’t just survive on caffeine and vibes.” So now, breakfast was a whole thing.

Sometimes it was eggs and toast, sometimes pancakes, sometimes just fruit and yogurt. Evan, being the better cook, usually took the lead, while Tommy handled the coffee. Except Evan insisted on being a distraction—hovering and wrapping his arms around the older’s waist as he poured their coffee, murmuring a sleepy, “Mmm, warm,” like Tommy was a damn space heater.  

“You do realize we have an actual heater, right?”  

“Yeah, but it’s not you.”  

And what was Tommy supposed to say to that? Absolutely nothing. He just shook his head and let Evan cling to him, because, well—he didn’t mind it. Not one bit.  

By the time they both had to leave for work, their routine ended the same way every morning: Evan stealing a kiss at the door, lingering for just a second too long, making Tommy roll his eyes playfully but also kissing him back just as much.

“Be safe,” Evan would say every time either of them had to leave for shift, and Tommy would do the same. It was something they’d said to each other from the very start of their relationship, a small reassurance in the face of their dangerous jobs. Having someone to come home to made all the difference.

Even on mornings they didn’t spend together due to different shifts, they found ways to keep the routine alive. A quick FaceTime, a “Good morning, handsome” text, a picture of breakfast even if they weren’t eating together. They love keeping each other company no matter how far apart they were and it was a quiet sort of intimacy, the kind Tommy never imagined he’d experience.

Yeah. Tommy’s mornings used to be quiet. Peaceful. Simple.  

Now they were warm, messy, and full of Evan.  

And he wouldn’t trade them for anything.

[mr-cha-n]

Merger & Acquisition (Of My Heart)

Pairing: Yoon Jeonghan x gn!reader

Genres: Angst, fluff, crack, office romance AU

Warnings: Swearing, alcohol, sexual insinuations, bad decision making

Word Count: 17.2k

Summary: Jeonghan thought navigating corporate mergers was hard—turns out, navigating corporate mergers with his ex is harder.

A/N: Missing Jeonghan hours

For more office romance, please check out Glass Towers!

"Jeonghan, just trust me! It's gonna be perfect!"

You're grinning, and it’s that grin. The one that made Jeonghan's heart do that ridiculous, fluttering thing the first time you flashed it his way. The one that’s practically a cheat code for his soul. Your eyes are sparkling like you just cracked the secret to world peace—or maybe just how to make him melt like a popsicle in the sun.

You’re gesturing to something behind him, but honestly, he’s not even looking. To take his eyes off you? Not in this lifetime, buddy.

"I’m serious!" you press, eyes wide with wild excitement. "We should get matching sweaters!"

He stares, blinking slowly like maybe he’s hearing things. You look so absurdly excited, like you've proposed something truly genius. And, for a second, just for a second, he almost gets it. Matching sweaters... Huh. He squints.

"I swear to God," he mutters, almost in awe of your audacity. "You've got a one-track mind, you know that?"

But you're already dragging him inside the store, ugging him toward a rack of sweaters in shades so painfully pastel, they might be illegal. You’re holding up two—one a disturbingly washed-out pink and the other an equally offensive lavender - and beam at him, radiating enough joy to power a small city.

Jeonghan narrows his eyes at the monstrosities in your hands. "Are you trying to publicly obliterate my dignity?" he asks, deadpan. "Because I’m pretty sure this is some kind of crime."

Your laugh—sweet and impossibly bright—bounces off the walls. It’s so loud, it feels like the store itself is laughing with you. And for a split second, he doesn’t even care that you’re suggesting he wears an offence to fashion. All he hears is your laughter. And, okay, it is contagious. He can’t help but chuckle, his chest warming even as he contemplates his future in pastel hell.

"I’ll wear it if you wear it," you challenge, a wicked glint in your eyes, practically daring him to back out.

And you know Jeonghan can't resist a dare.

He crosses his arms, a perfect picture of exaggerated seriousness, mirroring how seriously you’re taking this whole thing. "Fine," he sighs dramatically. "But only because I’m too exhausted to argue with you."

Before he can even finish his thought, you're already wrapping your arms around his neck, giggling into his ear like it’s the most precious sound on earth. And just like that, any resentment he might have had about wearing a sweater straight out of a fashion crime scene? Gone. The swell of his heart forgives you, even as he silently prepares to suffer through the world’s most embarrassing outfit.

"I love you sooo much," you murmur, squeezing him a little tighter.

And, just before he can say it back, his phone buzzes in his pocket. Distracted, he fumbles for it like it’s the most urgent thing in the world—because, hey, maybe it’s a work thing or, God forbid, a text from his mom about dinner plans. When he looks up, you’re gone. The matching sweaters are gone. The street is just a blur again, and the store, with its obnoxious neon lights, has disappeared completely.

For a heartbeat, Jeonghan’s standing there, staring at the space where you were, feeling like he’s just been dropped into some weird alternate universe. The air feels thick, heavy, and for a split second, everything just feels—wrong. Empty. Off.

And in that moment, he realizes with a gut-punch of clarity: it’s all slipped away, like sand through his fingers. He’s standing in the middle of a street that doesn’t make sense, holding onto an empty promise he can’t possibly keep, his hand still tingling where you once touched him. And all he can hear now is the echo of your laugh, so bright, so full of life, fading into nothing.

And just as quickly, before he even has time to breathe, the dream shatters. Gone. Like it was never there at all.

Jeonghan wakes up with a jolt, his chest tight like a too-small sweater, heart thumping like it’s trying to escape his ribcage. The sheets are tangled around him like he'd been wrestling them all night, and he blinks at the daylight streaming through the window, a little too bright, a little too real. For a second, he’s not sure if he’s still stuck in the dream, his body caught in some weird limbo between sleep and being awake.

That laugh. That stupid, infectious laugh. It hangs in the air, teasing him like a ghost that refuses to leave. Jeonghan’s hand brushes absently over his chest, like he’s trying to wipe the sound away, like it hasn’t completely lodged itself in his mind.

“Stupid,” he mutters, shaking his head and tossing the sheets off himself, hoping to shake off whatever weird spell the dream’s put on him.

By the time he’s staring at himself in the bathroom mirror, his mind is a chaotic mess of swirling thoughts. Mostly, he’s thinking about the dream and how ridiculous it is that it’s still making his heart beat a little too fast. And then, of course, there’s the thing he can’t shake—the stupid, pastel sweaters.

He scoffs at his reflection, splashing water on his face like it’ll somehow help him wake up properly. Matching sweaters, he thinks bitterly. Really

Getting dressed feels like a chore, like he's moving through molasses. His eyes drift over his usual black jeans and plain tees, but then—something catches his eye. A flash of pink, hidden at the back of his closet like some kind of forbidden treasure, tucked behind other, more respectable pieces.

Jeonghan hesitates.

His fingers brush over it, and for a moment, he feels as though he's standing back in that ridiculous store, the weight of that challenge still hanging in the air. He almost laughs at himself. You can’t be serious, he thinks. But before he can stop himself, his hands are already pulling it out.

“I’m not doing this,” he mutters to himself, but even he can tell his voice is a little too uncertain, like he’s trying to convince someone else.

A few minutes later, Jeonghan stands in front of the mirror again, the soft, unreasonably pastel pink sweater clinging to his frame. He tilts his head to the side, frowning at his reflection. Then, he looks back at the sweater.

It's ... fine. Actually, it's kind of comfortable. And, okay, it’s not nearly as terrible as he thought it would be. The color is soft, gentle—more like a whisper than an explosion of pastel horror, and the fabric feels a bit like a soft cloud. 

Of course, none of that changes the fact that it’s ridiculous that he’s wearing it.

“What’s wrong with me?” he laughs, shaking his head at himself, unable to stop the sound from spilling out.

And then your laugh—that bright, carefree, spark-of-light laugh—flashes through his mind again. It’s like the room is a little less dark when he thinks about it, and, for just a second, he lets himself imagine that maybe... maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad to go along with it. The matching sweaters, the ridiculous plans, that kind of carefree joy only you could make him feel.

But he's alone now. And the sweater is just that. A sweater.

He shakes his head, adjusting it one more time, trying to ignore the flutter in his chest as he thinks about you—your voice, your touch, your laugh—and focus on just getting out the door. He grabs his jacket, slinging it over his shoulder like he’s trying to shake off the last remnants of the dream.

“Fine,” he mutters to himself. “It’s stupid. But I’m wearing it.”

And if anyone dares to comment on it, he’s donating it to the first charity store he passes on his way home.

Jeonghan's brain feels like a blender on full speed as he pushes through the glass doors of the office building, his shoes clicking against the marble floor. He steps into the start-up chaos, where the morning energy is already off-the-charts: people darting between desks, having phone conversations that are somehow both urgent and completely pointless, and juggling coffee cups that are half-full of caffeine and stress. And there’s something else hanging in the air, something that makes him feel like he’s forgotten something super important, but of course, he has no idea what that is.

He shrugs it off and marches to his desk, where Joshua's already sitting, a fresh cup of coffee in hand and laptop open in front of him. He looks like he's already been up for hours - effortlessly composed, a picture of fcous while Jeonghan has barely kept it together this morning.

He drops his bag on the desk with a dramatic thud, letting out a long sigh. 

Joshua glances at him, then at his sweater, then back up at Jeonghan’s face like he’s trying to piece together some kind of puzzle.

"I thought you didn't do pastels?"

“I don’t,” Jeonghan responds immediately, running a hand through his hair like he’s trying to untangle his thoughts. “But… it’s a long story, actually. Not one I’m getting into right now.”

Joshua’s lips twitch, clearly not buying it. "Uh-huh. And I'm sure it has nothing to do with a certain someone who shall remain nameless waltzing back into your life?"

Jeonghan freezes, his whole body going cold like he's just been caught in a lie. How in the hell did Joshua figure that out?

He forces a laugh, but it’s way too high-pitched. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, his voice cracking like a bad sitcom.

But Joshua isn’t letting it slide. “Sure. And I’m definitely not looking at someone who’s still wearing a sweater that belongs to their emotional turmoil.”

Jeonghan snorts. "Oh, please, the only thing emotional about this is how much I regret wearing it." He waves his hand dismissively, but can’t hide the way he checks the sweater like he's trying to make sure it’s still presentable. “Anyway, what’s going on today? Please tell me we're not having another one of those ‘I-just-want-to-innovate-the-industry’ creative meetings. I’m not sure I can sit through another round of ‘brainstorming’ where I’m expected to solve all our problems with a Pinterest board.”

Joshua’s face glitches as he shuts his laptop with a dramatic click. “Tell me you’re joking?”

Jeonghan blinks. 

Joshua sighs, long and slow.

"The merger? I know you remember that the merger is happening today, right?"

"Merger? Oh. That merger." Jeonghan’s brain starts scrambling for clarity, trying to sort out the chaos of thoughts. They’ve been talking about this merger for weeks now—a rival company with a reputation for being way more corporate and buttoned-up than their own start-up chaos. Jeonghan hadn’t really paid attention. Too busy juggling project deadlines, chasing creative briefs, and making sure everyone’s sushi orders were on point.

But now, with Joshua’s reminder, the weight of reality hits him. Today’s the day. The day they officially merge with the enemy—and, if we’re being honest, it’s a little more corporate than he ever thought he’d get. Also, probably the reason for those stress dreams last night.

Jeonghan grimaces. "Right. The merger." He sighs, slumping in his chair. “I think I just blocked it out of my mind for the past week because I’m not sure I can handle becoming corporate Jeonghan.”

Joshua chuckles, setting his coffee down. "That’s the point of today. They’re bringing in their big bosses to meet with us—this afternoon, right after the all-hands meeting. It’s officially happening. The big, serious meeting where we all sit around and pretend to care about ‘synergy’ and ‘optimisation.’” He does air quotes with his fingers, rolling his eyes. "But, don't worry - you won't be corporate Jeonghan. You'll be corporate Mr Yoon."

Jeonghan groans, leaning back in his chair dramatically. “‘Synergy,’ optimisation...” he repeats, doing an exaggerated version of Joshua’s air quotes. “Honestly, I think I’d rather go back to bed and wake up in a parallel universe where I’m not wearing this sweater and we’re not merging. Could we please pretend we’re still a bunch of creative geniuses who just want to make awesome things? Is that too much to ask?”

Joshua smirks, clearly enjoying Jeonghan’s theatrics. “It’s the price of progress, my friend. Besides, I’m sure you’ll do just great. Just remember: don’t look too enthusiastic about the merger. We’ve got to keep some of that ‘creative chaos’ spirit alive, right?”

“Right,” Jeonghan mutters, still adjusting his sweater. “Creative chaos—that’s what we’ll call it. But, seriously, I’m really hoping they don’t ask me to do the whole ‘powerpoint presentation’ thing today. I’m already two cups of coffee in, and the only thing I can think of is whether this sweater’s a crime against fashion or a step toward self-expression.”

“Why not both?” Joshua grins, clearly enjoying the chaos of it all. “Maybe your sweater will be the key to saving us from corporate hell. You never know.”

Jeonghan shoots him a look. “If this sweater saves us from anything, I’ll personally make sure we keep it as a company mascot.”

“Deal,” Joshua says, grinning wider as he takes a sip of his coffee.

The conference room looks like a page out of Jeonghan's worst nightmares: sleek, polished, and cold enough to make an ice cube look like it’s on vacation. A long, minimalist table stretches down the middle, surrounded by chairs so expensive they probably cost more than the rest of the startup's furniture.

Jeonghan slides into the room with Joshua just behind him, trying his best to look like he belongs in a room where every person looks like they could run a Fortune 500 company. He adjusts the collar of his pastal pink sweater, wondering for the hundredth time if he's made a grave mistake. But, well, it's too late to back out now. 

Joshua, in the seat beside him, has immediately begun typing away on his laptop, not a hint of nervousness in his posture. Jeonghan, on the other hand, is doing everything he can to stop himself from fidgeting. He's been in plenty of meetings before, but this one feels different. It's like everyone is playing on a higher level - every handshake more formal, every "good afternoon" more stiff.

He slouches further into his chair, doing his best to hide behind the carefully natural expressions of the other startup team members—everyone’s pretending they’re not deeply unprepared for this meeting (Jeonghan knows they are).

Just as the final few stragglers file in, Jeonghan hears it again. 

The laugh.

It’s quiet, almost imperceptible, but it’s unmistakable. That laugh. The one that makes his stomach do that ridiculous fluttering thing. Jeonghan freezes, his hands stiff at his sides like he’s a statue trying to pretend it’s not about to crumble. His pulse quickens, and he does his best to shake the thought out of his brain. I'm hearing things, he tells himself. It’s probably just my brain playing tricks after that stupid dream

But no. It’s there again—soft, bubbling, infectious laughter, drifting from somewhere off to the side. Jeonghan blinks, his head snapping towards the sound like it’s the answer to a riddle he didn’t know he was solving.

And then he sees you.

There you are, standing at the front of the room, radiating effortless confidence in a sharply tailored suit, like you belong in the boardroom as much as Jeonghan belongs in a hoodie.

His heart stops.

It can't be. 

He blinks. And blinks again. But you're still there. You’re still smiling, your grin as radiant as it ever was, as you exchange pleasantries with the higher-ups from the startup. The same grin that used to make Jeonghan question his entire life philosophy, every single time you flashed it his way.

What the hell?

There's no way. You can't possibly be the one running things on this side of the merger. This has to be a joke, right? His head spins, his thoughts running in frantic circles as the realisation dawns on him. 

You are here. In the flesh.

A hundred questions rushes though his brain all at once - how, why, when? But most of all: Why didn't I know about this?

And then it hits him. The absurdity of the situation. The dream. The sweater. The weird sense of unfinished business he'd woken up with this morning. It all seems to click in a way that makes his brain ache with the sudden weight of it all. 

Jeonghan slouches even further into his chair, if that's even possible. His stomach is in knots, and his palms are starting to get a little too clammy for comfort.

Maybe if he just... quietly gets up and leaves. Maybe if he just—

“Are you okay?” Joshua leans toward him, his voice low.

Jeonghan swallows hard, trying to keep his cool. “I—I think my ex is in charge of the merger.”

Joshua’s eyebrows furrow, confusion flashing across his face. "Yeah, I know."

Jeonghan blinks, his brain trying to process this new layer of nonsense. "You—what?"

“I thought you knew.” Joshua leans back, looking unbothered, like Jeonghan just missed a memo. “I literally brought it up this morning.”

Huh?

Oh. 

That makes more sense than Joshua knowing about the dream. 

Jeonghan’s brain is running full speed ahead, trying to piece together the puzzle of his existence in real-time, but nothing’s clicking. Joshua’s voice is just a dull hum in the background as his eyes are locked on you. There you are, standing at the front of the room, looking like you’ve just walked out of a business magazine. His mind keeps bouncing between the memory of you in those casual clothes, laughing over pizza, and the version of you now, all polished and corporate, like you’ve somehow always belonged here. It’s dizzying. How the hell did this happen

He forces himself to breathe and look away for a second, trying to center himself, but just as he’s about to look down at his hands—those traitors who are clammy and betraying him—he hears the sound of a microphone clicking on. 

Your voice.

“Good afternoon, everyone.”

And just like that, the room falls silent, hanging on every word. Your voice is smooth—confident—but there’s this little edge of warmth that makes Jeonghan’s chest tighten in a way that’s definitely not professional. He’s trying so hard not to look at you, not to let his eyes wander back to where you stand—hands moving gracefully, voice flowing effortlessly. You’re the same you he knew, but also not. Somehow both.

“Today marks an exciting new chapter for both our teams,” you continue, “and I’m thrilled to be standing here with all of you as we embark on this new journey together. As many of you know, this merger is the culmination of months of careful planning and preparation. We’re combining our strengths to create something that will redefine the industry. And we’re all here today to ensure that we’re setting the right course.”

The words are professional, perfectly crafted, and so very corporate—but it’s the way you speak them that gets to Jeonghan. It’s the way you still carry that spark, that undeniable energy, as though nothing’s changed. As though you’ve just slid seamlessly from one world to another.

Jeonghan rubs his forehead, wishing his brain would just catch up with reality. But no. Instead, it’s like everything around him is shifting, the room suddenly way too big and his sweater way too bright for comfort.

You continue with the presentation, talking about key figures from both companies, introducing executives and senior members—those faceless people Jeonghan will never need to remember—but then… you pause. Your gaze sweeps over the room, and then it locks with his.

Jeonghan freezes. Time slows, or maybe it speeds up. He can feel his heartbeat in his throat, thumping against his ribcage as if it’s trying to break out.

You don’t look away.

For a split second, Jeonghan wonders if he imagined it. Maybe his mind is just playing tricks on him, but no—no, there’s a shift in your expression. It’s subtle, but it’s there.

Then—oh, God—your gaze drops to his sweater.

You stop mid-sentence.

The room goes quiet, all eyes on you, but Jeonghan knows it’s him you’re looking at. His sweater. Specifically, that sweater.

You swallow hard, your fingers tightening around the podium as you glance at his sweater—that damn sweater. He watches, horrified, as the corners of your mouth twitch—not with amusement—but something else. Something close to annoyance.

He can’t breathe. His hand twitches around his collar like he might rip the damn thing off and flee the building entirely.

Then, mercifully, you clear your throat. The sound snaps through the silence like a rubber band, and for a moment, it feels like the tension might break. But still, that look—that look on your face—it doesn’t go away.

"Uh..." You stop. A beat of awkwardness. You glance at him again, brow furrowing just the tiniest bit. "I’m—I’m sorry, I just... I'm a little distracted. Let me start that again.” You take a breath, visibly steadying yourself before you continue with the presentation, but Jeonghan can hear that slight crack in your voice.

He tries to make himself invisible in his chair, sinking lower, his hands buried in his lap like he could somehow physically shrink into the chair itself. The way your lips tighten as you force yourself to focus on the presentation makes Jeonghan want to disappear.

“Oh, my God,” Jeonghan mutters under his breath, doing his best to keep his voice just quiet enough so only Joshua can hear.

Joshua just gives him a deadpan stare. “What happened? Is this because of the sweater?”

“Don’t. Please.” Jeonghan’s voice cracks, and he’s pretty sure he’s never felt more exposed in his life.

Jeonghan’s heart is still trying to hammer its way out of his chest when the meeting finally breaks. The tension in the room has been almost unbearable, and now, as everyone starts shifting in their seats, the low murmur of conversation rising, Jeonghan begins to think maybe—just maybe—he can make a quick exit. Maybe sneak out of the room and pretend this never happened.

But before he can even attempt a graceful getaway, he feels a sharp pressure on his arm, and a voice—your voice—cuts through the noise like a knife.

“Jeonghan. Now.”

There’s no mistaking the authority in your tone, the same tone you’ve always used when you were determined to get something done, to make sure things went your way. He doesn't even need to look up to know that your eyes are narrowed with a familiar intensity.

He’s being dragged down the hall, his feet barely keeping up with the determined pace you set as you pull him into a small, secluded room just off the main conference area. The door shuts with a definitive thud behind them, and it’s as if the air in the room thickens, suffocating him.

You whirl around, closing the distance between you with a look of pure exasperation on your face. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Your voice is low, but it still carries the bite of someone who’s been wronged. “Wearing that ridiculous sweater—here—of all places. You knew I’d be in charge today. You knew I’d be in this room. So why? Why would you do that?”

Jeonghan, on the other hand, is trying to appear unbothered—but inside, his mind is spinning. He's suddenly very aware of how small this room feels, how close you are, how everything about you is pulling him into a vortex of confusion he does not want to be in. But outwardly, he’s just... smirking. Of course. Because what else can he do but pretend this whole thing is no big deal?

"Why would I wear a sweater to throw you off?" His voice is as nonchallent as he can muster, the words coming out cockier than he intends. With a shrug, he adds, "With or without it, you always said I was hard to ignore, didn't you?"

He sees your face twitch, your eyes narrowing further, and something about the way you stare at him makes his breath catch. Shit.

He's panicking. He's trying to hold it together, trying to keep that sharp edge in his voice, but the truth is, looking at you right now - it's like nothing's changed. It's like he's still that idiot who'd fall for you in a heartbeat. The way your gaze locks with his, the way your presence fills up the room, makes his insides twist.

It makes his chest ache.

But you don't get to know that, not anymore.

So, instead, he leans back against the door with his arms crossed, letting the smirk stretch wider on his lips. “I mean, really. Look at you.” He gestures to your perfectly tailored suit. “You’re the one who seems all riled up. Could it be that you're the one trying to throw me off? Hmm?"

You open your mouth, about to fire back some scathing retort, but Jeonghan watches your shoulders stiffen instead. You exhale a slow breath, something like frustration flickering behind your eyes.

“Jeonghan,” you begin, voice dangerously calm now, but still carrying that edge, “I’m serious. You are not making this easy. I’m just trying to do my job, and you’re in here, wearing... that. I swear to God, are you doing this on purpose?”

“Would it even matter if I was?” Jeonghan raises an eyebrow, his tone light, casual, as if he doesn't feel like he’s one stupid comment away from completely combusting. “It’s not like I care what you think about my sweater. It's a free country, and I like a little colour in my life, alright?” He shrugs again, even though inside he's a mess. A nervous wreck. A miserable wreck. “You don’t get to dictate my wardrobe.”

But God, every word he says feels like it's coming out of his mouth without his permission. He watches you, sees the flicker of something that’s almost like frustration—and he can't stand it. He really can’t stand the way you're looking at him right now. He’s never been good at being calm when it comes to you.

You shake your head, running a hand through your hair in that way that’s more exasperated than anything else. “I don’t know why you do this. Why do you always make everything so complicated?”

And that’s it. Jeonghan’s breath catches, and something cracks in his chest. 

He doesn’t even know why he’s here, trying to push you away with all these stupid jokes and sarcastic comments. You’re still the one who holds all the strings in this game. Even now, even after everything, he’s still just as tangled up in you as he was back then.

“I don’t know,” he mutters, his voice finally losing its bravado. His arms uncross, and he takes a slow step toward you, his gaze falling to the ground for just a moment before he looks up again. “I guess I just can’t help myself.”

You blink, visibly taken aback, and for just a second—just a second—there’s a softening in your expression. A flicker of something.

He’s about to say something—anything—to regain his composure, but then the door swings open, and a voice from the hallway shatters the fragile moment.

“Hey, is everything alright in here?”

Jeonghan’s chest tightens again, and he forces himself to turn, pulling away from you with a rueful glance. “Yeah, everything’s fine,” he says, the sarcasm back in full force. “Just having a lovely chat about fashion choices."

As you move past him toward the door, your eyes lock for just a split second, and Jeonghan can’t help but wonder if this is where everything starts unravelling again.

The door closes behind you with a quiet click, leaving Jeonghan alone in the empty room, the weight of his own confusion pressing down on him like a suffocating cloud.

He breathes out a shaky laugh. What the hell is he even doing?

Jeonghan's never been good at avoiding things - especially you. But he's trying. Really trying. 

The second he steps into the office, he practically sprints to his desk, eyes darting across the room like he’s in a spy movie and not just trying to avoid his ex at his place of employment.

It’s a solid plan. A foolproof plan.

Except, of course, the universe hates him.

���Hey, Jeonghan, did you see that email from accounting?”

He freezes.

His heart does that stupid, traitorous thing again—racing a little too fast, a little too obvious. He forces a smile, carefully ignoring the fact that you just happened to walk by at that exact moment.

And, of course, he hears you before he sees you.

The sound of your heels clicking against the floor—the same precise rhythm only you have—cuts through the noise like some cruel reminder that he’s fighting a battle he’s already lost.

“No, I didn’t,” he replies, voice too tight, too controlled. He stares at his screen, ignoring how your gaze flickers toward him for just a split second. His palms are sweating again, but he’s good at pretending.

He doesn’t even glance up at you.

Not yet.

By some miracle, Jeonghan makes it through the rest of the week relatively unscathed. He’s been ducking behind desks, taking suspiciously long coffee breaks, and strategically avoiding eye contact like it’s an Olympic sport.

But, of course, his luck has limits.

And today, at the all-hands meeting, he knows he’s finally reached the end of the track.

Everyone from both companies is gathered in the conference hall, waiting for the latest updates on the merger, and Jeonghan?

He is mentally checked out.

Completely.

He’s sitting at the very back of the room, scrolling through his phone, barely registering the corporate bullshit being discussed at the front. He’s safe. He’s comfortable.

Until—

"Jeonghan, would you mind coming up to give an update on the latest project?”

Joshua’s voice cuts through the room like a gunshot.

Jeonghan’s entire soul leaves his body.

His head snaps up, panic settling in his bones.

And then—oh, no.

Because there you are.

Sitting right in the front row.

And you’re looking directly at him.

Your eyes flick over to him, slow, deliberate, the way a cat might look at a bird right before it destroys it for sport.

Then, just to make it worse, you raise an eyebrow.

And smirk.

Not now.

Jeonghan stands up, legs way too stiff, shoulders squared like he’s heading into battle. He’s trying to look professional, trying to appear composed, but all he can think about is you.

You, sitting there with your arms crossed, wearing the exact same expression you always used to give him whenever he was desperately trying to impress you.

And the worst part?

It almost works.

Almost.

Standing at the podium, Jeonghan realizes immediately that he has made a mistake.

A huge mistake.

Because he cannot focus.

His brain is full of static noise.

The slides? No idea. The project? What even is a project? His own name? Questionable.

He starts talking—kind of. Words are coming out, but he’s not sure they mean anything.

Somewhere, in the distance, Joshua looks like he’s re-evaluating their entire friendship.

Meanwhile, Jeonghan’s mind keeps veering off track.

Because you’re there.

Right there.

Arms still crossed, head tilted, eyes locked onto him with that look. The look that says impress me. The look that used to make him try harder. The look that used to make his entire day.

And it is so distracting.

He stumbles through the rest of the presentation, barely making sense, barely keeping himself together, barely resisting the urge to die on the spot.

By the time he finally scurries back to his seat, he hears it—

The faintest whisper of laughter.

From you.

And it’s all he can do not to scream.

The Friday team dinner is supposed to be a casual affair. Just a bunch of coworkers, bonding over overpriced appetizers and painfully forced small talk. No stakes. No tension. Chill.

Except, Jeonghan has this suspicion—no, this certainty—that the universe has personally taken offense to his existence and is now actively trying to ruin him.

He walks into the restaurant and immediately spots you. Of course, you're sitting at the head of the table like you own the place. Everyone else has already sat down, their conversation filling the air with a hum of disinterested chatter. Jeonghan spots the seat that was “reserved” for him—right next to you.

“Hey, Jeonghan, come join us!” Joshua waves him over cheerfully, all but pushing him to the only empty seat at the table.

The thought of sitting next to you—of having to endure hours of the same damn tension—makes his stomach churn. But what can he do? He can’t just ... stand there and look like an idiot.

So, with a carefully hidden sigh, Jeonghan accepts his fate.

His steps are slow and deliberate as he slides into the chair, forcing a perfectly polite smile as he does. He keeps his gaze fixed ahead, not looking at you, not acknowledging the fact that you are literally right there.

But he doesn’t have to look—he feels you turn toward him. He knows you’re watching.

And then—

“Fancy seeing you here.”

The words are light, playful—too casual. But the way you say it? The way you pause just long enough to make sure he knows you’re enjoying this?

Jeonghan opens his mouth to say something snappy, something clever to deflect the growing weight between them, but instead, he just smiles—tiredly, like he’s given up trying to fight the inevitable.

“Yeah. Guess we’re stuck together again.”

He flicks a glance around the table, where everyone is too absorbed in their own conversations to notice the invisible battlefield currently forming between the two of you. But Jeonghan notices. He notices everything.

And worse, so do you.

You hum, tilting your head slightly. “I didn’t think you were the type to shy away from good company.”

There’s a bite to it. A slight challenge. A reminder of the way you two used to talk before—when the teasing was easy, when the tension was intentional.

Jeonghan exhales through his nose, willing himself to stay composed.

“Depends on the company,” he mutters, aiming for casual, but it doesn’t quite land. Not when his pulse is pounding in his ears, not when his fingers are gripping the edge of the table a little too tightly.

For a moment, there’s silence—just the lingering weight of his words.

Then, instead of responding, you just smirk and turn back to the person beside you, amusement flickering in your eyes like a silent victory.

Jeonghan barely makes it through the rest of the meal.

The conversation around him blurs into meaningless chatter, and the food tastes like cardboard because how the hell is he supposed to focus on anything when you’re right there—close enough that if he so much as shifts, his knee might brush against yours, close enough that he can still smell your perfume, close enough that every time you laugh, something in his chest tightens stupidly, unfairly, uncontrollably.

He tries so hard to focus on his plate, on anything other than you.

But his mind keeps slipping—back to old memories, back to the way you used to look at him, back to the way things were before he ruined it.

And it hits him, all at once.

How much he’s still invested in this ridiculous, unspoken battle.

How much he’s still hoping for something that’s already gone.

How impossible it is to pretend like you’re just another coworker at a casual Friday dinner when the truth is—

You’re still the only person in the room that matters.

Things take a turn for the worse.

It starts innocently enough—a vague email from his superior that’s equal parts informative and infuriating, letting him know that he’s going to be working with you on a new project. A crucial one. Something about "collaboration being key to success." 

Jeonghan can feel his blood pressure spike just reading it.

For a moment, he considers drafting a quick email to HR—maybe something professional, like:

Subject: Urgent Request Regarding Project Assignment Body: Please, for the sake of workplace productivity (and my personal sanity), put a clause in the merger agreement ensuring that Y/n and I never have to be in the same room again. Ever. Thanks.

But of course, that would be unprofessional.

So instead, Jeonghan settles for the next best thing: avoidance.

He doesn’t look at you in the office. Keeps his distance like you’re a literal bomb ticking in the corner.

But there’s no avoiding it now.

He shows up to the morning meeting, already bracing himself for the collision of chaos that’s about to unfold.

“Jeonghan, you and Y/n will handle the creative direction,” Joshua announces, voice bright and cheerful like he isn’t actively ruining Jeonghan’s life.

Jeonghan forces a smile, the kind that could probably be classified as a threat in some countries. “Great. Thrilled.”

When he finally dares to glance your way, he catches it—

The look.

Just the briefest flicker of amusement in your eyes, like you know exactly how much this is going to drive him insane.

“Just like old times, huh?” you muse, sipping your coffee, your voice smooth—too smooth.

Yeah. He hates how his stomach flips at that.

The first meeting to discuss the project is, to put it mildly, a disaster.

“Let’s start by deciding on the key themes,” you say, flipping open your laptop and pulling up a presentation.

Your eyes flicker toward him, expectant.

He shrugs it off, trying to stay neutral, focusing on the screen. “Yeah, sure.” He types quickly, trying to keep his fingers from betraying him.

Your hands brush ever-so-slightly as you both reach for the same document on the table, and for a brief second, Jeonghan feels that electric connection between you. The old chemistry that used to make every second with you feel like he was walking on fire. The kind of chemistry that used to make his pulse race. And now? He feels it all over again, like it’s been reawakened.

You pull your hand back fast, but the moment hangs in the air, heavy and undeniable. No words. But Jeonghan can see it in your eyes—annoyance.

Of course, you’re annoyed.

Because this? This thing between you? It’s still there. It’s always been there.

And neither of you know what the hell to do about it.

The project moves forward, takes shape, but so does the tension between you two.

“I think we should go with a more minimalist aesthetic,” Jeonghan suggests, his voice casual, but he knows the words are loaded.

You look at him over the rim of your coffee cup, eyes narrowing slightly. “Minimalist?” you repeat, incredulous. “Jeonghan, that’s your go-to for everything.”

“And?” he replies smoothly. “It works.”

“It’s predictable,” you shoot back, leaning forward. “You’ve been stuck in that box for ages. It’s time to try something different.” There’s the challenge. There’s the dig. Jeonghan can feel his temper flare, bubbling under the surface.

“You think you know better?” He’s a little too sharp, but it’s impossible to hold back. 

And there it is again.

That look.

The one that always made his chest tighten. The challenge. The fire. The heat. It makes his heart beat too fast, and for a split second, he’s there again, back in that night.

It’s late. The air is thick with everything you’ve both avoided saying for God knows how long. The tiny apartment is a disaster: takeout boxes strewn across the counter, half-finished projects littering the floor like ghosts of attempts never fully made.

“You never talk about what’s going on with you, Jeonghan!” You’re on your feet, pacing now, voice rising with frustration. “It’s like you’re a wall! A goddamn wall I can’t break down!”

“I’m fine,” he mutters, but even he can hear how empty it sounds. His jaw’s clenched, eyes hard as stone. “Everything’s fine.”

“No, it’s not!” You slam your hands down on the table with a force that rattles everything in the room. Anger, frustration, everything spilling out like a dam that’s finally cracked. “You shut me out every time, Jeonghan. Every time! And I’m so damn tired of it! I feel like I'm the only one holding this together."

A breathy, almost humourless chuckle escapes him, but his voice stays flat, defensive. "That's not fair."

"No?" You glare at him, hurt flashing across your face like a strike of lightning. "Then tell me, when was the last time you actually tried, Jeonghan? To show up - to be here, with me, instead of just ... floating through this like it's some casual thing?"

His jaw tightens. "That's not-"

You cut him off, standing up straight now, fire in your eyes. “I tell you things, and I don’t even know if you’re listening half the time. You joke when I’m being serious. You shut down the second anything real comes up. And I—” You stop yourself, voice cracking, barely holding it together.

His fingers curl into the hem of his shirt—the same way they always do when he’s trying to keep something inside. But still, he stays silent.

And maybe that silence hurts more than anything.

"Just say something," you whisper, your voice barely there, exhaustion bleeding into every word. "Anything."

Jeonghan exhales sharply, shaking his head like he’s already decided he doesn’t know how to fix this. “What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t want you to say anything—I want you to mean it.”

That hits him. Hard. He knows it’s true—he’s been so closed off for so long, pretending everything’s fine, and maybe it never was.

“I don’t need you to fix me,” he says, his voice colder than it should be, every word sharp like glass. “I just need you to stop pushing.”

You let out a dry, humourless laugh, nodding to yourself like you’ve heard it a thousand times. "Okay," you whisper, voice barely a breath. "Got it."

You stand, grabbing your coat, your bag—anything to keep your hands busy, your mind elsewhere. Jeonghan stays sitting, motionless, like maybe if he doesn’t move, none of this will be real.

And that only makes it worse. 

His voice finally breaks the silence, quiet but cutting. "So that's it?"

You freeze for half a second, then shake your head, slow. "No, Jeonghan. You ended this way before I ever did."

His breath hitches, just slightly, just enough for you to notice - but it's not enough. He doesn't stop you.

Doesn't ask you to stay.

Doesn't fight for it.

So you walk away, closing the door softly behind you. 

Jeonghan blinks, pushing the memory back as quickly as it came. The sting is still there, lingering under his skin, burning. 

"Maybe you're right," he mutters, forcing his focus back on the task at hand, pretending it’s not tearing him up inside. "I'll rethink the design."

You meet his gaze for a beat, something flickering in your eyes—satisfaction, maybe—but you don’t say a word.

The office is quiet.

Late-night quiet. The kind of quiet that settles in your bones, heavy and unmoving. The kind that makes you feel like if you breathe too loudly, you might disturb something fragile—something that’s been stretched too thin, waiting to break.

Most of the team has already left, abandoning their desks for the promise of sleep, leaving behind the low hum of fluorescent lights and the rhythmic click of Jeonghan’s fingers against the keyboard.

The project drags on, never-ending, details shifting like sand. But Jeonghan isn’t really focused on any of that anymore.

His mind keeps wandering.

His eyes keep drifting to you, sitting across from him, scribbling furiously on a notepad, the stack of papers in front of you growing steadily higher.

You’ve barely spoken since the argument earlier that afternoon—sharp words and stubborn silences widening the already vast distance between you. And Jeonghan is starting to wonder if this… whatever fragile truce exists between you, is about to snap.

Still, he can’t help but watch you.

The way your brow furrows in concentration. The way you bite the edge of your pen, like it’s the only thing tethering you to the room.

You look up suddenly. Your gaze meets his, and for a second, everything in the room goes still. His stomach flips.

His fingers still over the keyboard, his breath catching just enough for him to feel pathetic about it.

“Jeonghan,” you say, your voice quiet, almost tentative. “You ever think about how we used to joke about working these ridiculous hours and still getting paid like it’s a 9-to-5?”

The words catch him off guard.

Like a memory materializing out of nowhere—late nights spent in this very same office, takeout boxes stacked on the desk, laughter echoing between you as you made fun of the corporate grind, passing time with inside jokes and shared exhaustion.

His lips twitch before he can stop them. Without thinking, he mutters, “Yeah, we used to joke that if we worked this much overtime, we’d need to start paying rent here.”

You grin—a small, genuine smile. One that shouldn’t affect him as much as it does.

And just like that, for a second, it’s like no time has passed at all.

You sigh, leaning back in your chair, and Jeonghan catches the way your eyes soften just a bit. “I miss that,” you say, voice distant, almost melancholic. “I really miss that.”

The words are quiet. Honest.

They land between you with the kind of weight Jeonghan doesn’t know what to do with.

His heart skips, hope flaring in his chest before it’s immediately smothered by the cold, logical certainty that he’s taught himself to live with.

You miss that.

The late nights. The way things used to be. The version of you that existed before everything fell apart.

You don’t mean him.

And still—still, Jeonghan is stupid enough to want to believe it, even for a second.

You exhale, shaking your head slightly. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought that up.” You hesitate, fingers absentmindedly tapping against the table again. “I just… I don’t know.”

You pause, and when you speak again, your voice is quieter, more uncertain.

“The merger, everything… it’s been a lot to handle. Honestly, sometimes I wonder if I’m doing the right thing. If I’m really where I’m supposed to be.”

Jeonghan freezes, his thoughts swirling. Your voice is quiet, almost vulnerable in a way that he hasn’t heard in a long time. He hasn't heard this from you in a long time—not this version of you, the one with the mask cracked, revealing something deeper, something real.

Before he can think too much about it, the words leave his mouth.

“I think you’re doing just fine.”

Your gaze flicks up to meet his, startled.

His voice is steady, but his heart isn’t. He leans forward slightly—like he wants to get closer, but knows better.

“You’re good at what you do,” he says, softer now.

You shake your head, a humourless laugh escaping your lips. “I don’t know. Sometimes I wonder if I’m just faking it. I thought I had it all figured out, but...” You hesitate, glancing down at your hands, clasped tightly in front of you. “But I don’t. Not anymore.”

And God.

The way your voice cracks. The way your words linger. The way you sound so tired, so uncertain, so—

So much like him.

Something twists in Jeonghan’s chest, sharp and unforgiving.

He wants to fix it. He wants to reach across the table, to close the distance between you, to say something—anything—to make it better.

But he knows he can’t.

He knows he shouldn’t.

So instead, he just says—quieter than before—

“I think… I think you’ve always known exactly what you’re doing. Even when you doubt yourself.”

Your gaze softens, and for the first time in a long while, you smile—a small, bittersweet thing.

A smile that isn’t just for him—it’s for everything that came before.

For the memories.

For the version of you that once existed together.

For something that will never fully fade.

The realization creeps in slowly, settling into his bones like a weight he can’t shake.

Jeonghan is still in love with you.

Deeply, hopelessly, impossibly in love with you.

And maybe—maybe—he never stopped.

Maybe all this time, he’s been pretending. Trying to convince himself that the past is over. That whatever was between you is gone.

But now?

Now he knows the truth.

The past isn’t gone. Not for him.

And you?

You’ve moved on. You’ve found your place. Built a life without him in it.

You’ve figured it out. And maybe—maybe—that’s something Jeonghan can’t do.

Not without you.

He exhales shakily, the weight of the truth pressing on his chest.

He doesn’t say anything.

He can’t.

Because there’s nothing left to say.

He looks at you one last time. His gaze lingers, and he knows.

Deep down, he knows.

You’re not his anymore.

On paper, the company retreat probably sounded like a good idea—team bonding, trust-building exercises, maybe even a temporary escape from the soul-crushing chaos of the merger.

In practice?

Jeonghan is one minor inconvenience away from throwing himself into the nearest ravine.

First, Joshua confiscated the small tumbler of gin he’d carefully smuggled in ("It’s literally a wellness retreat, Jeonghan." / "And alcohol would greatly improve my well-being, Joshua.").

Then, he tripped over a cursed log in the middle of the path, landing straight into a muddy ditch and missing out on all the good barbecue meat while he scrambled for a change of clothes.

And now he’s been paired with you for a “group hiking activity”, which is apparently supposed to teach teamwork.

The others have already split into their little groups, laughing, chatting, pretending like they’re not all secretly praying for a sudden earthquake to whisk them away from this corporate nightmare.

Meanwhile, Jeonghan is silently suffering, trailing behind you, doing his absolute best to not notice how good you look in your hiking gear.

He isn't sure it can get much worse, until the storm hits.

At first, it’s just a slight drizzle—barely worth acknowledging, but still enough to dampen his already miserable spirits.

Then, as the group ventures deeper into the woods, the rain turns into a full-on downpour—the kind that drowns out everything else, hammering against the trail, soaking through his clothes in seconds.

"Oh, shit, let’s find shelter!" you call ahead.

Before Jeonghan can even process what’s happening, you grab his arm—your fingers wrapping around his wrist, firm and unthinking—and pull him toward the only visible structure in sight: a small, semi-constructed shed at the edge of the clearing.

The storm is coming down so hard now that it’s impossible to hear anything over the roar of the rain.

By the time you both stumble inside, dripping and breathless, Jeonghan already knows—

This?

This is about to be a problem.

The shed is even smaller than it looked from the outside.

It’s barely holding itself together—nothing but a few sharp-looking tools hanging on the walls, broken pots stacked in precarious piles, and a couple of empty barrels.

Oh.

And you.

Standing so close that Jeonghan can feel the heat radiating off your body, the storm trapping you way too close for way too long.

He doesn’t mean to stare, but—

Your clothes are soaked, clinging to your skin. Your breathing is steady but deep, the rhythm oddly calming, almost hypnotic.

Jeonghan swallows.

This is fine.

It’s totally fine.

Just a normal work retreat. Normal rain. Normal amount of completely ignoring the fact that every single nerve in his body is currently hyper-aware of how close you are.

Your chest brushes against his, the warmth of your body a gentle pressure as you close the space between you. His breath hitches at the proximity, your exhale a soft whisper against his skin. Your arm extends, reaching for something Jeonghan doesn’t even register anymore; all he can focus on is the heat radiating from you, the way you glance at him with that look, that steady, determined gaze that’s always made his heart flutter.

"You should know," you murmur, your voice barely more than a breath, the words hanging between you with an intensity that makes his pulse quicken. Your eyes flicker to his lips for a moment, before meeting his gaze once more, unwavering and focused. "I'm very determined when it comes to getting what's mine."

His heart stutters, caught somewhere in his chest as your words settle into the space between you. His breath is stolen by the closeness, the silent weight of the moment. His hand instinctively lowers, his fingers brushing against yours in a fleeting touch. The briefest of touches. Barely a graze.

You notice the shift, the slight tremor in his fingers, and your breath catches too, your eyes darkening with something he can’t quite name. And in the next heartbeat, you pull your book free from his grasp with a soft, triumphant laugh, a sound that echoes in his chest as you take a step back, dancing with victory. Jeonghan stands frozen for a moment, watching you with a quiet, stunned smile playing on his lips. The adventure, the chase—none of it compares to this. Watching you, in this small, victorious moment, he’s certain he’s never seen anything quite as beautiful.

Jeonghan shifts uncomfortably, scanning the shed like maybe, if he glares at it long enough, it will magically expand and offer him a dignified escape.

It does not.

The only space available is the narrowest possible gap between a stack of old crates and a wall of wood, and it is still far too close for comfort.

Fantastic.

“Great,” he mutters, avoiding your gaze like it might set off another chain reaction of unwanted nostalgia. “What now?”

You let out a small laugh, clearly too entertained by his suffering. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

Jeonghan dares a glance at you—just a quick one—but you’re already busy adjusting the collar of your soaked jacket, trying to make yourself a little less miserable.

He exhales slowly, forcibly fixing his focus on the floor.

It’s not that he can’t handle being near you.

He can.

Or at least, that’s what he’s been telling himself for weeks.

But what really messes with him is how his heart picks up speed every time you’re close. How his chest tightens, like it’s about to implode under the weight of everything unsaid.

And then he says it. Because he's an idiot.

“Why is it always you?”

The words leave his mouth before he can stop them. A little too sharp. A little too bitter.

But he doesn’t take them back.

Because, seriously—every single time something goes wrong, somehow, you are there. As if the universe gets some kind of sick joy out of watching him suffer.

You look at him then, the same sharp expression flickering in your eyes. “You think I want to be stuck in here with you?” you shoot back. “I didn’t exactly sign up for this either, you know.”

And, well. Fair point.

Still—

uJeonghan can’t help but laugh, low and humorless. “You’re right. I did miss this,” he drawls, sarcasm thick enough to choke on. “The chemistry. The—” he waves a hand between you, his smirk lazy, “—tension. It’s great.”

You roll your eyes, unimpressed. "Is this really how we're going to do this? Right now? You just can't help yourself, can you?"

He stiffens, a retort biting at his tongue, but he holds it back. The old banter—the biting sarcasm—is supposed to be a defense mechanism. A way to keep the walls up. But there’s no denying it now. The walls are crumbling, and so is he.

You speak again, your voice softer this time. “Jeonghan…” The way you say his name, it feels different than before, less confrontational, more—careful.

He doesn’t want to acknowledge how much that does to him. 

“Maybe we should talk about it,” you continue, your voice steady but gentler now. “Before it blows up in the middle of a meeting.”

Jeonghan’s breath catches.

It’s too much, too fast. The walls he’s been desperately keeping up are crumbling, and he knows that once they’re gone—really gone—there’s no putting them back up.

His pulse jumps, the back of his neck heating, a cold sweat creeping in.

A conversation like this—the one he’s been avoiding forever—feels like something he should run from.

And now that it’s here, he doesn’t know how to approach it.

He opens his mouth.

Then closes it.

Because he’s not sure if he’s afraid of the past being dragged back into the light—

Or if he’s terrified of what it will mean to finally face the truth.

The truth about what happened between you, about how it ended, how he ended it.

“You think it’s really a good idea to talk about this now?” he manages to say, his voice quieter than usual. He’s trying to keep his cool, but the tremor in his voice betrays him.

His hands tighten at his sides—a futile attempt to hold himself together.

You stand still, your gaze never wavering from his. "Is there ever a good time, Jeonghan?"you ask, voice firm but achingly soft. "It’s been months. We’ve been walking around like we’re strangers, and yet here we are, stuck in this damn shed, acting like the last time we spoke didn’t mean anything.”

The words hit him like a punch to the chest. He’s been pretending, hasn’t he? Pretending the silence between you didn’t matter, that the weight of your absence wasn’t suffocating him. That the ache in his chest wasn’t still yours.

But it was.

It is.

And as much as he hates it, he knows that now. He knows it because of the way his heart clenches at the sound of your voice, the way his breath catches when your eyes meet his.

There’s no pretending anymore.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” Jeonghan admits, his voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t know how to handle it. Everything was changing so fast, and I just… I shut down. I pushed you away when you needed me most.”

You don’t respond right away.

For a long moment, it feels like time stops, like the storm outside has swallowed up everything but this—this moment, this space, this thing between you that refuses to die.

Then—finally, softly—

“You didn’t push me away, Jeonghan.”

The way you say it—it’s not angry. Not sharp. Just tired.

“You just… withdrew,” you continue, your voice carrying the weight of something unspoken. “You closed off in a way I couldn’t reach you anymore. I tried—God, I tried so hard. But you were so distant, so quiet.”

Your eyes meet his again, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you let your guard down.

“I never understood why,” you murmur. “Why you couldn’t just talk to me. Why you couldn’t let me in.”

Jeonghan swallows hard.

Because how does he explain it?

He wants to say something, to explain, but the words feel inadequate, like a poor substitute for everything that’s been left unsaid. How could he explain that he was terrified? Terrified of how much you meant to him, terrified of what it would mean to feel everything he’d been holding back.

And in the end, he’d chosen the only defense mechanism he knew: silence.

“I’m sorry.”

The words barely escape his lips, a whisper, a confession, a wound reopening.

He takes a step closer before he can second-guess himself, his voice trembling.

“I was scared,” he admits, the truth cracking through his composure. “I didn’t know how to open up. I thought if I let myself feel too much… I’d lose everything.”

His voice is hoarse, stripped bare in a way he never allows. The floodgates have opened now, and the words won’t stop coming.

"You were always the one, you know," he continues, voice uneven. "I spent so long convincing myself that losing you was better than hurting you. But I never asked what you wanted."

He exhales, a bitter laugh catching in his throat. “I never stopped to think that maybe not fighting for us was the thing that hurt you the most.”

The words settle between you like an exhale—heavy and fragile all at once.

Jeonghan can barely believe he’s saying it.

But he’s made the mistake of staying silent once before.

He won’t make it again.

His heart is pounding so loudly now, drowning out the storm outside, the rush of blood in his ears making it impossible to think about anything except this.

His hand twitches at his side, caught between reaching for you and knowing he has no right to.

But then—

Your fingers brush against his.

It’s barely anything. Just the smallest, hesitant press of warmth against his skin. But it wrecks him.

His breath shallows, chest tightening, lips parting slightly as his body leans in, as if drawn by some unseen force. He's not thinking about anything else. Just you. Just this. 

And then, you move closer, just an inch, and his pulse spikes, his lips parting slightly, the ache to close the distance between you almost too much to bear.

"Tell me to move," he murmurs, voice so quiet it barely exists between you. "Tell me to stop, and I swear I’ll never do this again."

A pause.

A heartbeat.

A lifetime.

"But if you don’t…" His voice drops lower, barely a whisper. "I don’t think I can pretend anymore."

Your eyes flicker from his to his lips.

And Jeonghan knows this moment. He’s felt this moment before—the slow, aching pull, the gravity between you, the kind of anticipation that makes his head spin.

Maybe this time.

Maybe this time, you’ll—

Your breath catches.

Something shifts behind your eyes.

Hesitation. Uncertainty. Regret.

And then—you take half a step back. Just enough to break the spell. Just enough to make Jeonghan’s chest hollow out.

Your fingers slip from his, as if the moment had never happened.

"I can’t," you murmur, voice barely steady. Your hands curl into fists at your sides, grounding yourself. “Jeonghan… I’m not ready to go back there. Not yet.”

The words are quiet, but they land like a blow.

Not cruel. Not harsh.

But final.

Jeonghan doesn’t say anything, not at first.

He lets the silence fill the space instead.

Because he gets it.  The weight of the past is too much. Too much to dive back into. Too soon.

You search his face for something—answers, reassurance, something neither of you know how to give.

He forces himself to swallow past the tightness in his throat.

"I understand." His voice is softer now, tinged with something dangerously close to heartbreak.

“I didn’t expect you to be.” He exhales slowly, carefully. “I just… I needed you to know. I never stopped thinking about you.”

The storm rages on outside, but inside this moment, it’s quieter than it has been in months.

And as Jeonghan watches you turn away, watches your fingers curl slightly, like you’re fighting the urge to reach for him—

His own fingers curl at his sides.

The ghost of your touch still lingering.

Jeonghan can tell you're wasted the second he hears the knock at his door.

It's an uneven, erratic tap—like you’re struggling to find the rhythm of it, like the way you’re standing is fighting against whatever balance you thought you had. It’s nothing like the usual grace you carry, the poised, deliberate way you do everything.

His first instinct? Don’t answer.

Maybe if he ignores it, you’ll turn on your heel and trudge back to your room, drunk enough to collapse into bed and forget whatever reckless idea brought you here in the first place.

Maybe that would be the best option—save both of you from whatever petty revenge you’ve decided he deserves.

His fingers hover over the door handle.

He can hear you on the other side—your breath, shallow and unsteady, like you’re bracing yourself.

He knows he should stay inside. Let you figure it out on your own.

But of course, he doesn’t do that.

He’s never been good at resisting you.

With a soft sigh, he opens the door, half-expecting a drunken rant about how terrible he is, how he's probably ruined your life, again. You've always had a sharp tongue when you were upset, and he's sure that alcohol is only going to fuel it more.

But when the door swings open, the sight that greets him is nothing like he expected.

You’re swaying slightly, cheeks flushed from alcohol, eyes hazy but burning with something Jeonghan can’t quite place.

And then, there’s the smile—mischievous, reckless.

The kind of smile that makes his pulse spike for all the wrong reasons.

"You know," you slur, voice low and playful, "I've been thinking about you all evening."

Jeonghan freezes, the words hanging between you like a strange, insistent pull. He was expecting anger. Accusations. Anything but this.

He clears his throat, tries to steady himself. "Uh—you're really drunk right now." His voice is careful, measured. "Maybe you should go back to your room."

You don’t listen.

Instead, you take a slow step forward, swaying just enough for Jeonghan to notice how unsteady you are, how the world is just a little too much for you to handle right now.

Your fingers brush the front of his shirt, then slide up to his collar, curling lightly around the fabric.

"Don’t you miss me?" Your voice softens, the playful edge gone, replaced by something rawer. "Don’t you ever think about what we could've had? I know I do."

Jeonghan’s stomach lurches, and a sudden wave of panic sweeps through him.

His first instinct is to back away. Create space. Put distance between you and this mess of a moment.

But he looks at you again, really looks at you, and what he sees wrecks him. Because behind the alcohol, behind the reckless smirk, behind the dangerously soft voice—

There’s desperation.

The same raw, aching need he’s spent months forcing himself to suppress.

“No,” he says quickly, shaking his head, his voice more strained than he intends. “You’re drunk. This isn’t—this isn’t the right time for this.”

You laugh, but it’s not light. It’s not amused.

You laugh, but it’s not a light laugh. It’s heavy with something else, something he can’t quite decipher. “So you’re saying I don’t know what I want? Or maybe you don’t know what you want?”

The words sting more than they should. It’s like you’ve taken all the walls he’s spent so long building around himself and torn them down in one shot. The thought of you, standing here and waiting for him, the weight of your gaze—he can't ignore it. But it's not right to give in, either. Not like this.

He takes a step back, his hands instinctively raising to create space between the two of you. “You don’t mean this. You’re not thinking straight right now.”

You reach for him again, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him a little closer than he’s comfortable with.

He can feel your breath on his skin, warm and uneven, and the tension in the air is suffocating. Every instinct in him is telling him to kiss you, to lean into the dangerous edge between the two of you and let it all unravel.

Your voice is heavy, thick with something undeniable, something Jeonghan wants so badly it hurts.

“I’ve missed you,” you murmur, fingers tightening against his chest. “I need you.”

Jeonghan’s heart is pounding in his chest, but he knows—

If he gives in now, this moment won’t be what he wants it to be.

It won’t be real.

Not in the way it should be.

“No."

The word comes out raw, heavier than he expected.

Your face falls, disappointment flashing across your features before the alcohol muddles your expression again.

But Jeonghan holds his ground, even as his heart aches in his chest. You deserved more than this, more than a careless, drunken mistake.

“I don’t want to take advantage of you,” he continues, his voice quieter now. “I care about you too much for that.”

For a long moment, you don’t say anything. Just stand there, swaying a little, staring at him. Jeonghan watches you, heart pounding in his chest, waiting for something to give. But it doesn’t.

And then, in a quiet voice, you say, "You don’t care about me."

The words are so fragile, barely holding together as they slip past your lips.

Jeonghan flinches.

Because it’s not true. It’s never been true.

"Of course, I care-"

You don't let him finish, the door closing with a slam behind you. The sharp click of the lock echoes through the room, final and unforgiving.

Jeonghan stands there for a long moment, staring at the closed door, his chest too tight to breathe properly.

Then—slowly—he leans against it, closing his eyes, exhaling sharply.

You won’t remember much of this tomorrow.

You won’t remember the way you looked at him, the way your voice trembled when you said you missed him. You won’t remember the way his heart nearly gave out when you touched him.

And Jeonghan—

Jeonghan prays that when the fog of alcohol lifts, you won’t resent him for this.

Jeonghan had spent the weekend stewing in his own thoughts.

The retreat, the storm, the alcohol, the way your fingers curled into his shirt like you needed him—and most of all, the quiet rejection that followed.

It’s all settled into him in ways he doesn’t want to admit.

But one thing is clear through the mess of it all:

You deserved better.

Better than a rain-soaked half-confession. Better than an almost-kiss in the dim light of a cramped shed. Better than standing outside his door, drunk and vulnerable, only to be turned away.

You deserved something real.

So Jeonghan spends the better part of Sunday evening preparing himself.

He rehearses what he’ll say, how he’ll say it, what kind of apology might be enough to make things right. He tells himself that this time, he’s going to be open, that he’s going to stop hiding behind his usual emotional armour.

That he’s not the same man you left behind.

Jeonghan isn't exactly a grand gesture kind of guy, but he figures that flowers might be a good place to start.

So he picks up a small, simple bouquet—a mix of pale pink roses and white lilies. It feels right. Not over-the-top, not desperate. Just… gentle. Sincere.

Something to tell you that he’s serious about this. About you.

About fixing what he broke.

Monday morning. A bouquet. A plan.

Jeonghan walks into the office, bouquet in hand, the familiar weight of anticipation pressing down on his chest.

He hasn’t seen you yet, but he knows you’re here—probably sorting out someone else’s mess, busy fixing problems that aren’t yours to fix.

And besides, the lingering tension between you still hasn’t been resolved. There’s still too much left unsaid.

He weaves through the office, eyes scanning each cubicle, looking for a glimpse of you. Your desk. Your chair. The little personal touches you leave behind.

But when he walks past your workspace, he barely slows down. Because, of course, you wouldn’t be there yet. You’re probably in a meeting or grabbing coffee—

Right?

Jeonghan stops by the coffee machine, hovering near a group of junior associates, waiting for the right moment.

He’s still running through his speech in his head when one of them—clipboard in hand—pauses beside him, eyes flicking to the bouquet with mild curiosity.

"Those are nice," she comments. "Are you bringing them to Y/n?"

Jeonghan blinks.

He’s pretty sure no one saw you leaving his room that night, but maybe word spreads faster than he thought.

"Uh, yeah, I was just—" His voice falters, uncertainty creeping in. "Wait, what do you mean? Are they—?"

The associate raises an eyebrow. “Oh. Didn’t you hear?”

And then, with the casualness of someone delivering a weather report—

"Y/n put in their resignation over the weekend. They’re leaving the company."

The words hit Jeonghan like a punch to the stomach. He feels the air leave his lungs, his body momentarily forgetting how to function. What?

His mind races. No. It can’t be true. You—you wouldn’t just leave. Not without saying something, without—

He forces himself to reply. "When? Why?"

The associate looks a little sheepish, as though she's not sure if she should be saying anything. "I don't know the details. Something about another job, though. It's pretty sudden - just packed up this morning, said goodbye, and - yeah."

This morning.

Jeonghan’s thoughts go numb.

His eyes dart back to the desk he had walked past minutes ago—

The empty desk.

The chair is still there, but everything else is gone. No personal belongings. No little notebooks. No coffee cup. No lingering signs that you’d ever been there at all. Just an empty space. Cold. Unfamiliar.

The associate says something else, but Jeonghan doesn’t hear her.

He barely registers her walking away.

Without thinking, Jeonghan walks swiftly towards your office, although it feels like his legs are moving on their own, his mind detached from his body. He knows he shouldn't chase after you. He has no right. But this - this is different. You're leaving.

When he reaches your office, he knocks once.

Then, before he can talk himself out of it, he pushes the door open.

And what he finds is—

Nothing.

The space is just as empty as your desk had been.

The table is stripped bare. The computer monitor is gone. The air still carries the faintest trace of your perfume, but even that is fading.

Jeonghan just stands there, clutching the flowers in his hand like they're the only thing keeping him tethered to this reality.

And then, the quiet voice he’s been trying so hard to ignore finally makes itself heard: You're too late, again.

Jeonghan slumps into his chair, staring blankly at the computer screen like it might somehow offer him answers.

It doesn’t.

It just sits there—cold, unhelpful—mirroring the hollow ache in his chest.

The bouquet on the corner of his desk is dying a slow, miserable death. The once-vibrant petals are already wilting, drooping under the weight of their own existence, looking just as pathetic as he feels.

He doesn’t realize how much time has passed—how long he’s been sitting there, stuck in the endless spiral of what-ifs—until a voice yanks him back to reality with all the grace of a toddler on a sugar high.

"Jeonghan."

He blinks up, sluggish, seeing Joshua standing over him like some sort of judgmental yet well-meaning ghost, arms crossed and face set in that deeply irritating, all-knowing expression that screams I know exactly what’s going on, and I’m about to make it worse.

Joshua’s eyes flick to the flowers.

Then back to Jeonghan.

Then, like he physically cannot help himself, he smirks.

“Are those for Y/n?”

The words are light, teasing—too casual. But the look in Joshua’s eyes is something else entirely—a mix of sympathy and secondhand embarrassment, the kind that makes Jeonghan want to sink into the floor and never be perceived again.

He exhales, dragging a hand down his face. "Uh, yeah…"

His fingers skim over the petals, careful—like touching them too much might make them fall apart completely. "I was going to give them today. I mean, I did. I wanted to, but…"

His voice trails off, disappearing into the abyss of 'things that aren't going to happen'.

Joshua doesn’t say anything at first.

Instead, he just leans against the desk, watching Jeonghan with the kind of quiet scrutiny that makes his skin itch.

"I told you, man,” Joshua finally sighs, shaking his head. “You have to start reading your emails.”

Jeonghan’s mouth opens—ready to argue, ready to say something, anything—

But nothing comes out.

He’s just so tired.

And so unbelievably stupid.

"I was going to fix it," Jeonghan mutters. The words taste bitter, hollow in his mouth. He hadn’t meant to say them aloud, but there they are. Out in the open. "I was going to apologise. I was going to... to make it right."

Joshua just watches Jeonghan—arms crossed, gaze unreadable—like he’s waiting to see if there’s anything left to say.

When he does speak, his voice is softer. Gentler. Like he’s stepping carefully around fragile ground.

“You know, Jeonghan… Sometimes you can’t wait around for the right moment. Sometimes, you have to make that moment yourself. No one’s gonna do it for you.” He pauses. “And it’s okay to feel bad about it. Hell, I’d be a mess too if I were you.”

Jeonghan lets out a quiet, bitter laugh. "Congrats, Shua. You are me. This is your life now."

Joshua hums thoughtfully. “That’s unfortunate. I’d like a refund.”

Jeonghan huffs out something that almost sounds like amusement—but it dies quickly, sinking beneath the weight pressing against his ribs.

His shoulders sag. His head tilts forward, gaze locked onto the wilting flowers.

"I thought I had time," he murmurs.

Joshua stays quiet. Listening.

"I thought they’d still be there," Jeonghan continues, voice barely above a whisper. "Waiting for me to get my act together."

Silence.

Thick and heavy.

And then—finally—

“I don’t even know if they’ll want to talk to me again.”

Joshua doesn’t hesitate this time.

He just smiles—small, knowing.

“Well,” he says simply, “you won’t know unless you try.”

Jeonghan doesn't get drunk on purpose. He just ... allows the alcohol to win.

Besides, it's the first step in his extremely well-thought-out, definitely-not-drunken plan to win you back. (alternatively titled: The worst idea he's ever had, and that's saying something).

Step One: Drown Your Sorrows Like a Man

One drink? Fine. Two drinks? Even better. Five drinks? You know what? Life is short, and so is his ability to keep a functional relationship. Might as well commit.

By the time he's properly marinated in alcohol and self-pity, Joshua has started looking at him with that face—half pity, half “I should have left you at the bar and gone home.” But it’s fine. Everything’s fine.

“You know what,” Jeonghan slurs, pointing an accusatory finger at his best friend. “I think I gotta— I gotta do something. Something big.”

Joshua sighs. “No, you don’t.”

“I do, actually,” Jeonghan says, deadly serious. “I need Y/n to know I’m a changed man, Joshua.”

Joshua takes a sip of his beer, unbothered. “You are quite literally drunk in a bar, thinking of doing something stupid. So, no, you’re actually the same man.”

Jeonghan glares. “Wow. Negative energy. Get out.”

“This is my apartment.”

“Okay but, like. Metaphorically.”

Joshua shakes his head. “What’s the plan, then? You gonna text her?”

Jeonghan gasps, scandalised. “No. That’s pathetic.”

Joshua sighs in relief.

“No, I’m gonna send a voice message.”

Joshua physically lunges for the phone.

Step Two: Send a Message That Will Definitely Solve Everything

Jeonghan fumbles with his phone, blinking until his vision stabilises enough to find your contact. He hits the audio message button and clears his throat, ready to deliver the most heartfelt, sincere message of his life.

"Heyyyy," he starts. Good start. "I was just thinking. About us. About how we had, like, something special, y'know? And then I was like. Wow. I'm dumb. Like, really dumb. Like, 'couldn't pass a third-grade math test' dumb. But you knew that."

Joshua groans from the kitchen.

"But you liked me anyway. Which is crazy. And so nice of you, actually. You're so nice. The nicest." He hiccups. "And I was thinking. You always used to say that I never fight for anything - which, rude, because I am literally fighting for my life every morning when I wake up. But like, emotionally, you were right. So I'm fighting now. Right now. At this moment."

Pause. Hiccup. Thoughtful silence.

"... Okay, technically, I'm sitting on Joshua's couch. But I mean it. I am spiritually standing up for this relationship."

There's a loud thunk as Jeonghan's knees hit the coffee table from the sheer force he throws his body up with.

Joshua looks up from his phone. "DId you just break my table?"

"Shhhh," Jeonghan waves him off. "Important matters are happening." He brings the phone back to his mouth.

"Anway. Listen. I was bad at the whole relationship thing. But I'm a changed man now. I mean, not right now because I'm drunk, but like, in general, I will be. Probably. Statistically. So like. Call me. Or text. Or send, like, a pigeon, I don't care. But let's talk."

"Wow. That was awful. Are you gonna send it?"

Jeonghan grins. "Oh, it's already gone."

Joshua looks like he wants to throw himself off the balcony. 

Step Three: Online Shopping

Jeonghan, still drunk and now high on the confidence of his definitely good voice message, decides he needs a gift. Something thoughtful. Something sentimental. Something way better than those shitty flowers he's glad you never had to lay eyes on.

And then it hits him. The perfect idea.

"Joshua," he says, tone dead serious. "I need a taxidermy frog."

Joshua looks at him, horrified. "You what?"

"A frog," Jeonghan's fingers are already moving at lightning speed, typing the words into a very shady-looking website. "Y/n loved that stupid frog we saw in that antique shop. Remember? Y/n said it had 'big personality'. They respected that frog."

Joshua looks like he’s physically in pain. “Jeonghan, no—”

“Too late. It’s ordered.”

Joshua stares in disbelief. "You seriously just spent—" He looks at the screen, jaw dropping. "FOUR HUNDRED DOLLARS?! ON A DEAD FROG?!"

Jeonghan nods, looking very proud of himself. "Only the best for my love."

"You don't even know if she wants that!"

Jeonghan scoffs. "Joshua. It's a frog. Everyone wants a frog."

Joshua puts his head in his hands. "This is literally why you're single."

Step Four: Pass Out and Let Tomorrow-You Suffer the Consequences

The last thing Jeonghan remembers is a very smug sense of accomplishment.

He has done it. He has made his move. He has sent a heartfelt message. He has made a grand gesture. He is fighting.

He is unstoppable.

…He is also face-down on Joshua’s couch, snoring so loudly the neighbours might call animal control.

The phone, still clutched in his hand, lights up with an incoming notification.

A text.

From you.

Three words.

"Are you serious?"

Jeonghan wakes up feeling like death.

His head is pounding, his mouth drier than the Sahara, and his soul feels like it has been forcibly removed from his body and drop-kicked into the sun. He groans, rolling over onto his side, only to come face-to-face with Joshua, who is standing over him with the look of a man who has seen things.

“…Morning,” Jeonghan croaks, voice wrecked from what he can only assume was a night of tragic decision-making.

Joshua crosses his arms. “Do you remember what you did last night?”

Jeonghan thinks. He remembers alcohol. He remembers emotion. He remembers… Oh God.

His eyes fly open. “I bought a—”

“A $400 taxidermy frog? Yes. Yes, you did.” Joshua gestures to the corner of the room, where, sure enough, a very dead, very wide-eyed frog sits in an equally dead, equally wide-eyed glass case.

Jeonghan stares at it in horror, clutching his blanket like it might protect him from reality. “Oh my God.”

Joshua sighs and pulls out Jeonghan’s phone. “And you sent this,” he says, pressing play on The Message.

Jeonghan has never known true fear until now.

“Heyyyyy…” comes his own very drunk voice, echoing through the apartment like a ghost of his worst mistakes. “Soooooo. I was just thinking. About us. About how we had, like, something special, y'know? And then I was like. Wow. I'm dumb. Like, really dumb. Like—”

Jeonghan slaps the phone out of Joshua’s hand so fast, it skids across the floor. “OKAY. Got it. Yep. Thank you.”

Joshua levels him with a stare. “Oh, you’re welcome. Also, she replied.”

Jeonghan freezes. “She what?”

Joshua pulls up the message, holding it out for him to read.

Are you serious?

He stares. That’s it? No "never speak to me again"? No "please lose my number and also possibly yourself"?

Joshua claps his hands together. “And now, you’re gonna go over."

“What? No, I—” Jeonghan gestures wildly at himself. “I can’t just—”

“Yes, you can,” Joshua interrupts. “You were literally crying over this last night—”

“I wasn’t crying.”

“You sobbed into my hoodie and called me ‘a real one,’ so actually, yes, you were.”

Jeonghan glares. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Oh, so much,” Joshua agrees. Then he gestures to the taxidermy frog still sitting ominously on the table. “Also, you’re bringing that.”

Jeonghan sits up so fast his brain almost leaves his skull. “What?! No! I’m not—this was a drunken mistake!”

Joshua gives him a look. “Yeah? So was letting her walk away the first time. And the second time. And whatever number time we’re on now.”

Jeonghan glares. “I hate you.”

Joshua pats his shoulder. “I know. Now take the frog and go.”

Jeonghan stands in front of your door, frog in hand, deeply regretting everything that has led him to this moment.

There are a lot of ways to win back an ex. A heartfelt apology. A romantic gesture. Literally any option that does not involve showing up at her doorstep, hungover, holding a dead frog in a display case like some kind of unhinged antique salesman.

But here he is.

He exhales, steadying himself. He has to do this. He has to explain everything—how he didn’t know you were working for the merging company, how the pastel sweater was not some dramatic power move, how he’s an idiot (but, like, a reformed idiot now).

Most importantly, he has to fix whatever mess he made last night.

With a deep breath, he knocks.

The door swings open a few seconds later, and there you are—standing there in sweats and an oversized hoodie, looking at him like you knew this day was coming but are still deeply unprepared for it.

Your gaze flickers to the frog. Then back to him. Then back to the frog.

“…No,” you say immediately, trying to shut the door.

Jeonghan wedges his foot in before you can. “Wait, wait, wait,” he pleads, balancing the frog case in his other hand. “Just hear me out.”

You cross your arms, unimpressed. “Are you seriously standing outside my apartment at—” You check the time. “Nine-thirty in the morning holding a stuffed frog?”

Jeonghan shifts awkwardly. “Technically, it’s taxidermy.”

Your expression remains unchanged. “You’re insane.”

“Passionate,” he corrects, trying to smile. “Look, I just… I wanted to talk. Properly. No drunk messages. No misunderstandings. Just—can we?” He gestures vaguely, still holding the frog case like it’s part of the conversation.

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “Fine. But the frog stays outside.”

Jeonghan pouts. “It has big personality.”

You slam the door in his face.

Five seconds later, you open it again. “Get in.”

Walking into your apartment is surreal.

Mostly because it looks different. Like you took every single thing that might’ve even slightly reminded you of him and threw it into a bonfire. Jeonghan half-expects to see a sage stick burning in the corner, cleansing the air of his scent.

You sit across from him at the kitchen table, arms still crossed, watching him like he's about to unleash another round of chaos. Which is fair.

Jeonghan clears his throat, hands clasped together, like he's in a business meeting and not a shambles of  a man trying to win back the love of his life.

Before he can even begin, you cut in.

“I heard you brought me flowers.”

Joshua, that absolute rat—

"Julie from legal told me."

Ah. That makes more sense.

“Well,” he starts, thrown completely off track. “I figured you might be feeling bad. I just… didn’t think you’d quit before I could even apologise.”

"Yeah, well, I guess it all got a little too much for me."

Jeonghan squints. “So you did quit because of me?”

You level him with a deadpan expression. “Jeonghan. I got a bit tipsy and practically begged you to take my clothes off.”

He blinks. “A bit tipsy seems like an understatement—”

"That doesn't mean much coming from you."

Okay. Fair.

You exhale sharply, rubbing your temples. “Come on, Jeonghan. You felt it too. How could I stay there when every moment, I was bracing myself in case I heard your voice? If every time someone passed, I’d look around to check if it was you?” You shake your head. “That’s not a productive way to work, and it’s definitely not healthy. I mean, I was thrown off the second I saw you, and I don’t think I ever really recovered from that.”

Jeonghan licks his lips, hesitating. “About the sweater—”

Your eyebrows shoot up.

"I didn't know you were leading the merger when I wore it," he says quickly, desperate to clear at least one crime off his record. "I swear to God, I didn't."

You narrow your eyes. "So you just ... casually decided to wear a pastel pink sweater to the most important corporate meeting of your career?"

Jeonghan hesitates. “Uh. Yes?”

You stare at him.

He sits up straighter, suddenly feeling defensive. “I had a moment that morning, okay? I had a dream about the day we went to get them, and I thought, Hey, maybe if I wear this, then I'll feel one sliver of the same joy I did that day.” He waves his hands. “I didn’t realize that it would lead to—” another vague, exasperated gesture “—this. Besides, you know I don’t check my emails, Y/n. I didn’t even know you were going to be there.”

You blink. "You wore it because of a dream?"

" ... Technically, yes."

A pause. Then, to his absolute horror, you start laughing.

Not a mocking laugh. Not a wow-you’re-an-idiot laugh. Just… pure, unfiltered amusement, like you cannot believe this is what started all of this.

Jeonghan watches as you shake your head, covering your mouth with your hand.

"Shit," you gasp between chuckles. "I spent an entire week planning what I was going to wear, what I'd say to you when I saw you, how I'd prove to you that I'd moved on and was better without you before that meeting. And you saw right through it, without even realising."

Jeonghan is stunned and, frankly, a little offended.

“You think this is funny?” he grumbles, watching as you wipe at your eyes, still giggling.

“Oh, I know it’s funny,” you say, shaking your head. “All that effort on my part and you just—obliterated it. By accident. With a sweater.”

Jeonghan huffs, crossing his arms. “Well, excuse me for having a sentimental moment.”

“Oh, so now you’re sentimental?”

He hesitates. “...I mean. A little.”

Your laughter fades then, softening into something quieter, something a little too knowing. “I guess that’s what last night was, too?”

Jeonghan stiffens immediately.

The message. 

Oh. Right.

The actual reason he's here.

His fingers drum anxiously against the table. “I… don’t suppose you ignored that?”

“Oh, no,” you say, shaking your head. “I listened. Multiple times, actually. Almost sent it to HR for psychological damage.”

Jeonghan groans, burying his face in his hands. “I knew it was bad.”

You tilt your head, considering. “Honestly, it started fine. You sounded, like, half composed. Then you hit the ‘I am literally fighting for my life every morning’ part and, well…” You gesture vaguely. “It kind of fell apart.”

He peeks at you through his fingers. “Just a little?”

“Oh, no. It was a complete disaster.”

Fantastic. Love that for him.

Sighing, Jeonghan lets his hands drop, his fingers still fidgeting. “Look, I—” He hesitates, pressing his lips together before forcing himself to just say it. “I meant what I said.”

Your expression shifts, just slightly, just enough for him to notice.

His voice is quieter now, steadier. “I know I sounded ridiculous, but I wasn’t just talking out of my ass. I—” He swallows. “I really do regret how things ended. I should’ve fought for you. I should’ve at least tried. But I didn’t, and I lost you. And now…” He exhales sharply, shaking his head. “Now I don’t even know if I have the right to be sitting here.”

You don’t answer right away.

Instead, you watch him carefully, as if you’re still trying to figure out if this is real, if it’s safe to trust what he’s saying.

Then, finally—

“You know, you could’ve said all of this before I left.”

Jeonghan winces. “I know.”

“I mean, instead of waiting until you were drunk out of your mind and making Frogbert the most cursed apology gift of all time.”

His face burns. “We don’t have to talk about Frogbert.”

“Oh, we absolutely do.”

“Y/n—”

You smile, shaking your head, but there’s something softer in your eyes now. Something that makes Jeonghan feel like maybe—maybe—he hasn’t completely lost his chance.

You sigh, leaning forward slightly, resting your elbows on the table. “Look, Jeonghan. It wasn’t just you. I didn’t exactly handle things perfectly either.”

He blinks, startled. “You didn’t?”

You shoot him a look. “Wow. Try not to sound so surprised.”

“No, I just—” He rubs the back of his neck, struggling to process this information. “I kind of assumed you had everything figured out. That you were, y’know, thriving without me.”

You shrug. “I tried to be.”

The weight of that sits between you for a moment.

Jeonghan wets his lips, his hands still twitching slightly against his knees. “So… what now?”

You tilt your head, considering. “I don’t know.” There’s something guarded in the way you say it, like you’re waiting for him to give you a reason. A reason to walk away, or a reason to stay.

And Jeonghan—Jeonghan is so tired of giving you reasons to walk away.

So he leans forward just slightly, his voice lower, steadier than it’s been all week. “I’d rather spend the rest of my life proving that I love you than waste another second pretending I don’t.”

Your breath catches.

And for a moment, everything stills.

Jeonghan can see it—the flicker of emotion behind your eyes, the way your fingers tighten just slightly around the edge of the table. He’s spent so much time trying to read you, but this? This is the closest he’s felt to understanding you in a long, long time.

Your lips part, but no words come. He watches as you swallow, watches as you fight the instinct to look away.

“…That’s a really unfair thing to say,” you murmur finally, voice quiet.

Jeonghan exhales a soft laugh. “Yeah. It is.” He tilts his head slightly, a small, wry smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “But it’s true.”

You shake your head, eyes narrowing, but there’s no real bite behind it. “God, you are so annoying.”

“Infuriating, actually,” he corrects. “But, y’know. At least I’m consistent.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling now—just a little, just enough for him to notice. And Jeonghan thinks that maybe he’s finally done something right.

A beat of silence passes between you. Not tense, not uncomfortable—just quiet. Just… yours.

Then, softly: “Do you mean it?”

Jeonghan meets your gaze, unwavering. “Yeah,” he says simply. “I do.”

You exhale, rubbing a hand over your face. “You literally sent me a voice message saying you were spiritually standing up for this relationship.”

Jeonghan groans, slumping forward dramatically. “I knew you’d bring that up.”

“Oh, I’m never letting that go.”

Another pause.

Then, finally—

“…I don’t know how this is supposed to work,” you admit, quieter now. “I don’t know if it can.”

Jeonghan nods, understanding. “Me neither.” He swallows. “But I think—I think if I lost you again without at least trying this time, I’d regret it for the rest of my life.”

You stare at him, searching.

Then, after a moment, you let out a slow breath, sitting back in your chair. “Okay,” you murmur. “Then try.”

And Jeonghan, for the first time in forever, feels like he can finally breathe again.

Planning a romantic date is, unfortunately, not Jeonghan’s strong suit.

Oh, he can be thoughtful when he wants to be. But romantic? That requires effort. That requires vulnerability. That requires not making everything a joke to avoid feeling things. And frankly, Jeonghan has built his entire personality around not doing any of that.

But here he is.

Planning a real date. A meaningful one. A Hey-I’m-Actually-a-Decent-Boyfriend-This-Time-I-Swear kind of date.

Which is why Joshua, who is watching this entire thing unfold from the couch, looks horrified.

“I need you to be honest with me,” Jeonghan says, standing in front of a fully crafted itinerary. “Is this too much?”

Joshua, staring at a literal printed schedule, does not even blink. “Yes.”

Jeonghan sighs dramatically. “I knew you’d say that.”

“You wrote out timed activities, Jeonghan.”

“It’s called being prepared.”

“It’s called being insane.”

Jeonghan waves him off. “Okay, but listen. I messed up. And this—” He gestures grandly to the schedule. “This is how I fix it.”

Joshua pinches the bridge of his nose. “Why do I have a feeling this ends with something deeply embarrassing?”

Jeonghan does not answer.

Which means Joshua is right.

Jeonghan picks you up at exactly 5:00 PM (because he planned this), and the first thing he notices is that you’re suspicious.

"Okay," you say, arms crossed, giving him that look. "What’s the catch?"

Jeonghan gasps. "Wow. Zero faith in me."

You raise an eyebrow.

“…Okay, fine. A little faith in me.”

You hum. “We’ll see.”

And that is so unfair, actually, because Jeonghan is really trying here. So instead of arguing, he just grins and takes your hand, pulling you toward the car.

"You trust me, right?"

You hesitate for a second too long.

Jeonghan squints.

"Okay," you say finally, sighing. "I trust you. For now." (Jeonghan will absolutely be holding onto that for life.)

The first stop is that little bookshop café you always used to drag him to, the one where you’d spend hours getting lost in shelves while Jeonghan sat in a corner, half-asleep, pretending to be deeply interested in a book he never actually read.

You blink when you realize where you are. “You remembered this place?”

Jeonghan scoffs, feigning offense. “Excuse me. I was a very supportive boyfriend.”

“You literally fell asleep on the couch last time we were here.”

“…I was a tired boyfriend.”

But you’re smiling now, eyes soft with something that makes Jeonghan’s chest ache.

"Come on," he says, nudging you toward the door. "I owe you a coffee. And maybe a book. Or five. Whatever shuts you up about my alleged napping problem."

Somewhere between coffee and Jeonghan deeply regretting letting you pick out a book for him ("This is 800 pages. Have you met me?"), he takes you to the park.

It’s nothing fancy—just a quiet place to walk, somewhere just yours, somewhere he can talk to you without the weight of everything pressing down too hard.

"You're still here," he says eventually, his fingers brushing against yours as you walk.

You smirk. "Yeah, well. I haven't decided if I'm staying."

Jeonghan groans. "Oh my God."

You laugh, nudging his shoulder playfully. But then, softer—“I’m glad you’re trying.”

And that—that is all Jeonghan needs.

Jeonghan was not planning on this part.

The night is winding down, and everything is going well, and he should just call it there before he does something stupid.

But then—

Then, as you’re walking past a store, you freeze.

Jeonghan follows your gaze—

And, oh.

Oh no.

Matching sweaters.

The pastel monstrosities. The ones that started everything. The ones he swore he would never wear again.

And you—you are grinning.

Jeonghan is so in love with you, it’s disgusting.

You turn to him, eyes gleaming. "One last time?"

Jeonghan exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re the actual worst.”

You tilt your head, completely unbothered. “So that’s a yes?”

Jeonghan looks at you, at your stupid smile, at the way your fingers are already reaching for the sweaters—

And, well.

What else is he supposed to do?

Sighing dramatically, he grabs the second sweater and pulls it on.

You beam at him, absolutely delighted.

"God," he groans, looking at his reflection. "This is so much worse than I remember."

"You love it."

Jeonghan turns, catching the way you’re looking at him—soft, affectionate, the way you used to, before everything got messy. Before he ruined things.

Before he got you back.

And—okay. Maybe the sweater isn’t that bad.

Jeonghan exhales, shaking his head. “Yeah,” he admits, pulling you closer. “I really, really do.”

The thing about kissing you again is that it should be easy.

It’s not like he hasn’t thought about it—a lot—in the most pathetic, pining, staring-at-the-ceiling-at-2AM kind of way. It’s not like he hasn’t memorised the shape of your lips, the way you used to kiss him like you weren’t even thinking about it, like it was just natural for you to be that close.

But now, when you’re standing right in front of him, beaming at him in that stupid, unfairly charming sweater, it feels like the first time all over again.

You tilt your head slightly, as if daring him. “Are you gonna stare at me all night, or—”

Jeonghan kisses you before you can finish the sentence.

It’s not careful. It’s not calculated. It’s not like any of the times before, when he thought he had all the time in the world to figure this out.

It’s just him, leaning in like it’s the most obvious thing to do, his hands sliding against your waist like muscle memory, like they belong there. You gasp against his lips, surprised, but it melts away in an instant—your fingers curling into the fabric of his ridiculous sweater, pulling him closer, like you don’t even want him to second-guess it.

And Jeonghan—God, he could die like this.

It’s slow, and warm, and so achingly familiar that it makes his chest tighten, makes him want to grab onto you and never let go. He tilts his head, deepening it just enough to make sure you feel it, to make sure you understand—

That this isn’t just a kiss.

That this is a promise.

When you finally pull away, your breath is uneven, your lips way too tempting, and Jeonghan has never been good at restraint, so he almost kisses you again.

But then you blink up at him, slightly dazed, and—

“You taste like regret and poor life choices,” you murmur.

Jeonghan snorts, pressing his forehead against yours. “That’s your fault. You’re the one who made me wear this sweater.”

You laugh, quiet and breathless, and he feels it against his skin, and suddenly, everything is worth it.

Because you’re here.

And so is he.

And this time, Jeonghan isn’t letting you go.

Divider Credit: enchanthings

[prettyboykatsuki]

as someone who lives close to a football/soccer stadium... my ex and i decided to not have sex on match days because we would get distracted counting the goals made by the local team by how they scream and would track the whole match by those sounds lmaoooo

most of the blue lock men are, in fact, lore accurate to reality

i haven’t had such an ugly laugh in response to an ask in a long time

[lets-get-kraken-boys]

*in Patrick’s’s voice* I have an idea! Bakugou changing from being the #1 morning person to ever grace this planet to a grumbling, snuggly mess who won’t let you free from his strong hold because of your influence on him.

Bakugou is 100% the type to wake up at the ass crack of dawn to fulfill his whole morning routine. Call him a creature of habit because he wont feel like he’s even a real person until he completes every step with flawless ease. This includes, but is not limited to, his brutal morning workout, whipping up a quick protein shake, and browsing the headlines of the news. Like, it’s not a question for him to be alive and exist coherently without complaint at that time of day—he’s just gotten used to it after committing to the idea of getting the most out of his day for so many years. Comes with striving to be the best, you suppose. Still couldn’t wrap your head around why it feels right for him to be doing pushups with over a hundred and fifty pound strapped on his back at SIX AM, but nonetheless. Many times you’d have only just shuffled out of your shared bed, blanket swaddled tightly around the lower half of your face in an attempt to keep the delicious heat generated from your sleeping body around you, and you’d see him sitting on the couch, ankle crossed over his other knee, midnight black blend coffee in hand as he’s reading a novel. He’d zing out any number of snarky one liners he’s got in his back pocket with a knowing smirk, before getting up to give you a loving kiss on your frazzled hairline and pulling you close into his sturdy arms, swaying you back and forth to an imaginary song playing for only you two.

When you guys first started dating and staying at each other’s places, it actually used to annoy him how long you’d “sleep your day away” (you literally wake up around 10AM on your days off. Like, come on, Kats). Day in and day out, he’d grumble as he watches a nearby clock inch to 9AM, wait for a couple minutes to see if you changed your habits (unlikely), and stood with a heavy sigh. He trudged on over to the bed you’d only just snuggled in a few hours ago, shaking your shoulder with a gentler voice he reserved only for you to hear in the privacy of your home. Thankfully, he learned from his mother that if you wake someone up not by their own choice, you either reap what you sow and face the wrath of the sleeping bear, or you appease their fury with a gift. So, before you’d ever get angry enough to rip him in two (which he’s sure you’d be able to do, given enough incentive), he presents you with your favorite breakfast in bed to start your day.

After all that, I need to make a correction. I should say he WAS the type of guy to do all that.

Now, Bakugou’s a changed man. For better? For worse? You’ll have to decide that, because you’re currently stuck underneath the mountain of muscle you deem your husband.

Bakugou’s now a member of the eepy seepy honk shoo mimi club after all your years of “bad influence” on him. You’d swear he’s a grizzly bear from how long he sleeps in! He used to be the one waking you up with you grumbling unhappily about the intrusion—which used to end in him starting a war with tickles as his artillery and raspberries as his ammunition being blown into your cheeks and tummy until you were laughing so hard it warranted gasping for air. Now, you’re the one smacking his broad, and totally not distracting, shoulders in an attempt to wake the sleeping hulk of a man currently sinking deeper into your embrace. Throughout your pleads for him to get up or at least get off of you, he just buries his cute button nose into the dip of your warm neck.

Usually, two negatives equal a positive, but if the “right” positive in this situation was supposed to equal one of you taking responsibility to wake the other up on time…

Welp…we failed that test.

He really only grumpily rolls off of you when you threaten to murder him if he makes you wait to use the bathroom any longer. Even then he doesn’t let you stray far. He blearily opens his crimson eyes the tiniest sliver with a deep, gravely groan of displeasure. He watches as you stand up, lean back until you hear a satisfying crack your back, and make your way to the restroom. You’ll the feel a tug at your wrinkled sleep attire as he’s now standing behind you. One hand is occupied gripping your outfit between his pointer finger and thumb, his other hand clutching your cozy down comforter blanket draped over his head, eyes draped shut once again, and a displeased pout stitched over his gorgeous facial features.

You’d have killed someone to get a picture on your phone of him right now to treasure forever, if you weren’t currently dealing with the dilemma of nearly pissing your pants at the moment. So, snapping delectable blackmail pictures of your man will have to wait.

He’ll shuffle close behind you as you make your way to the bathroom, reluctantly release you and allow you to shut the door on him to handle your business, and stand patiently waiting for you like a knight protecting his precious princess. Once you’re back, he’ll tilt his head down to you and leave it hanging there as if awaiting something. It hits you that the knight is waiting for his princess to repay his valiant bravery of watching over your chambers with a sweet kiss. You’ll giggle, and stand up tall to place a loving peck to his hairline just like the many he used to place on your weary bedhead in not too long ago. A pleasant, soft expression dispels the crease that used to invade his pinched brows. You could almost imagine the silly doodle flowers dancing around his head as Bakugou relaxes into a blissful state.

You tenderly slide his rough, calloused hand into yours and lead him back to your bed. He doesn’t even have to ask or force you to lay back down to continue your cuddle session, you just automatically lay back, and lead him to rest fully on top of you again. You pet his spiky hair and he wraps his thick arms around your waist. Bakugou uses the last of his energy to drag his head up to give a quick peck to your lips, as if congratulating you on not fighting him anymore. You both will slowly slip back into a blissful sleep together entangled in the real hero of this story, your mattress.

…

Of course, racing out the door only a few hours later because you were going be late for work all the while still battling a needy husband wasn’t relaxing, but it was still totally worth it.

With Love,

Kraken 🐙