#Peace Consolation Anxiety

[always-hope-laurel-blog]

[yawnderu]

cr: @ave661

Simon wasn't a stupid man. He always knew better, knew to look between the lines even when you tried your best to be deceiving. Even then, the pure rejection you showed to your newborn baby was something not even the best actress could hide. Refusing to hold her after she was born and fully shutting down on Simon, screaming at him whenever he tried to offer any sort of help and support, only getting worse if he ever tried to approach you while holding the baby.

Post-partum depression is no joke, Simon realized after doing his own research, only then realizing just how bad it can get after accidentally stumbling on article upon article of mothers getting to the point of harming their own child. You weren't like that— Simon liked to convince himself despite the growing pit of dread in his stomach, anxiety seeping out of every pore of his body when even months later you refused to hold or interact with the baby.

It all came crashing down after he came back from deployment, the nanny holding his daughter while soothing her with calm words, doing her best to console the crying infant despite the tears falling down her cheeks when she confessed to him that you're gone.

Gone without a trace, at first. Simon wasted no time using his connections to know where you were. Laswell was the most helpful, giving him all the details of the help center you were in, yet even then, Simon didn't reach out first in fear of messing up your progress, not wanting to add more stress to your situation when you were trying to get better.

Four years. For four years, Simon's life was divided in deployments and taking care of his daughter at home, never once thinking about moving on, always asking Laswell for updates— updates she was glad to give him using her own connections, wanting to give Simon some peace of mind even if it went against the rules.

“It's okay.” Simon reassured his daughter, his long sleeves wet with cola that she spilled from her little cup. His home was the complete opposite of the absolute hell he grew up in, not allowing himself to scream, hit, or take out his frustration on the little carbon copy of himself sitting on the couch.

“'M sorry, daddy.” Her sweet voice made the corners of his lips tilt up into a smile, planting a soft kiss on the top of her head, taking off his sweater and putting it away, wasting no time on grabbing a towel to clean up the now sticky mess of coke on the table.

“It's okay, love. Jus' don't tip it, 's gonna spill.” She gave him a small salute in understanding, a cheeky grin on her lips when she saw him holding in his laughter, knowing fully well she's copying him— as usual.

The doorbell ringing got Simon's full attention, giving his daughter one last look before he went to answer. His eyes widened slightly the moment he saw your shorter figure waiting for him, purposely making yourself smaller like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs, a small folder held in your hands. You're both quiet for what seems like forever, the only sounds coming from your daughter in the living room, the TV displaying a kid's show Simon put on.

“I'm so so—” You don't even have the chance to finish your sentence before you're being pulled into a tight hug, Simon's burly arms wrapping around your body, every single second spent missing you, secretly hoping you'd come back one day crashes down on him the moment he feels your arms wrap around his waist, holding him as tight as possible, as if he'd disappear if you don't hold onto him for dear life.

“I got better.” You whisper into his ear, rubbing his back soothingly when he doesn't let go of you. Not yet— not when the love of his life is finally back after years. He plants a soft kiss on your shoulder before his face goes back to burying in the crook of your neck, taking in the familiar scent.

It takes minutes for Simon to finally let go, hesitation clear in his actions as he looked down at you, keeping one hand on your waist in silent fear of you seeping through his fingers. The folder in your hand gets his attention, giving you a questioning look before you offer it to him, managing to give him a small smile of reassurance despite all the anxiety and fear.

“My psychotherapist wrote it. It's... just a paper that shows the progress I've made from her perspective.” You stand awkwardly as he reads the document, taking in every single word written by the woman who has been helping your for four long years. You can hear your daughter giggling at the TV show, only making the anxiety in your stomach grow more by the second.

To your surprise, Simon steps out of the way to allow you into the home he created, his safe haven. Nothing changed from the last time you were here, other than toys scattered all over the place, likely from Simon being too busy bonding with his daughter to even clean.

You can see the little girl sitting on the couch as you walk closer, her brown eyes fully focused on the screen until she hears something from behind her. She's so much bigger now, looking like a tiny carbon copy of Simon, down to the little skull-patterned pajamas she was wearing.

She turns around after seeing you from the corner of her eye, her little face lighting up into a toothy grin as she jumps from the couch, sprinting towards you as fast as her little legs allow her to.

“Mommy!” You crouch down to her height out of pure instinct, almost being knocked off balance when she crashes into you, her tiny arms wrapping around your neck. The fact that Simon never stopped talking about you to her and kept your pictures warms your heart, being as delicate as possible as you hug her back.

“Y'look so pretty.” She has Simon's accent, making you let out a small laugh before looking down at her, cupping her cheek just to examine her features better.

“Thank you, sweet girl.” You're glad for the way she cuddles up to you again, not bothering to hide the tears falling down your cheeks at the sheer love displayed by the same girl you left four years ago. Your gaze drifts up to Simon, whose eyes are glossier than usual despite the fact that he's not shedding a tear. He gives you a small nod in acknowledgement, not daring to look away from the heartwarming scene in front of him.

“Daddy talks a lot about you.” She whispers into your ear, covering her mouth as if she's telling you the biggest secret ever. You giggle at the little gossiper, your warm hand running up and down the length of her hair.

“He does?” You whisper back, giving Simon a cheeky look at the admission, one of his thin eyebrows raising when he sees your daughter nod her head vigorously, giggling as she looks at Simon.

“Well, I'm sure he talks a lot about you too.” The pure forgiveness that comes from both of them drowns the guilt, if only for a short while.

“You're such a pretty princess.” Your arms wrap around her again, rocking her softly from side to side, allowing yourself to take in their love. It doesn't take long for Simon's resolve to falter, dropping to his knees and wrapping his burly arms around his girls protectively, planting a little kiss on your forehead.

Despite everything, there's no one else he'd rather spend the rest of his life with.

Dad!Ghost Masterlist

[ovaryacted]

HOMECOMING

PAIRING: Jackson! Joel Miller x afab! reader || WC: 1.8k

SYNOPSIS: After a long day of patrol, Joel comes home later than he said he would be back. You are just happy to welcome him back into your arms.

CONTENT/WARNINGS: FLUFF. Suggestive content - 18+. Established relationship. Soft & affectionate Joel Miller. Ambiguous age gap (Joel is in his late 50s, reader is 25+). Mentions of early pregnancy. Cute stuff. Banter and teasing. No use of y/n.

A/N: Hey there, been a while. In case y'all forgot, yes I do still write LMAO. This is a little something that I wrote miraculously on my free time, and it is my first Joel Miller piece. I'm also slowly getting back into writing so pls be nice! I did originally write this with the new Pedro Pascal picture as Joel in mind, but I'm a gamer Joel type of girl at heart so that's what I went with. Hopefully, it is enjoyable for those who choose to read it. Any likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated! Dividers by @saradika-graphics.

➣ TLOU was created by a zionist and is based off of the Israeli occupation of Palestine. Please refer to this link to learn how you can help the Palestinian people.

NAVIGATION | MASTERLIST | AO3

Night fell over Jackson, soothing and quiet as it usually was. You’d think after some time, you’d get used to the stillness that often consoled others in a world full of unsettling clicks and gunfire, but you found yourself troubled with the calmness that followed once the sun went down. The change of the seasons propelled a temperature shift outside; bitter winter exchanged for the rebirth of spring, which hopefully meant the sun would stay in the sky just a little bit longer.

Your face nuzzled into the pillow beneath you, the material not yours to claim, but it wasn’t unfamiliar. Digging your nose further into the bedding, you subconsciously chased the faint scent of pinewood and gunpowder, one of the few things that eased your anxiety. It was a smell you got used to recognizing over the past few years, not that you’ve been keeping count.

Despite the warmth the sheets provided you as you rested on the left side of the bed, your body felt cold, missing a familiar set of strong arms and a welcoming chest pressing up against you. He had told you before he left for patrol that he’d be back before sundown, that was the plan anyway. But you knew better than anyone that stepping outside the protective gates of Jackson always left room for the unpredictable.

In the haze of your dreams, you faintly heard the click of the front door opening and closing, the floorboards of the stairs creaking with the ghost of muted footsteps. You stirred in bed, ears trained to pinpoint the noise, yet too stubborn to wake up entirely. A breeze entered the bedroom before you sensed something else sharing the space.

That’s when you felt the phantom touch of plush lips skimming along your hairline. If you weren’t awake then, you certainly were now.

“Joel?” A call of his name equivalent to a whimper at the sudden contact you craved. You caught the slight intake of breath and the exhale that followed.

“It’s me darlin’. Didn’t mean to wake you,” Joel spoke quietly, the peaceful baritone of his voice awakening you fully. As you sighed, you met his tired gaze with your own, bruised knuckles raising to brush your cheekbone affectionately.

“Things went okay on the patrol?” You questioned him, pleased that he was here with you in one piece rather than focusing on the fact that he came later than you’d like.

“Yeah, had to check something out with Tommy to be sure before coming back. I’m sorry honey, didn't want to make you stay up for me.”

Even if it was unintended, Joel felt guilty whenever he didn’t stick to his word. He was not much of a virtuous man, lived a large part of the past two-plus decades giving less of a shit about honesty and ethics. But when it came to you, it killed him when he couldn’t follow through on his promises, even if things weren’t within his control. The last thing Joel wanted was to upset you or make you worry, but no matter how many times he reassured you of his return, you still tried your hardest to wait for him to come back home, back to you.

“It’s okay, I’m just happy you’re here,” you blinked slowly as his voice filtered through the lagged mess of your head. Leaning your face towards his hand, you kissed the inside of his palm. “Go freshen up and come to bed; I’m cold.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he chuckled with a smile at your forgiveness, parting from you for a second and heading to the bathroom, not planning to make you wait any longer.

You watched his silhouette from where you lay on the bed, fluttering your eyes closed at the sound of running water. When the door opened again, Joel’s broad figure returned wearing a worn-down flannel and some fleece pants he had snagged long ago.

“Scoot,” he jutted his chin to gesture to the right side of the mattress, your side, suggesting to reclaim his on the left. Shifting to the right, you let him slip into the bed feet first, hauling the sheets to cover the both of you. A bulky arm wrapped around your waist and tugged you close to him, your body molding to his like a missing puzzle piece.

“Not too far now,” Joel grinned as you nestled right into his warm chest, seeking his attention and attempting to siphon more of his warmth. It takes you off guard how your nerves instantly settled once you had Joel near you again. In his arms, that was where you belonged—protected, loved, safe.

“I missed you,” you mumbled, eyes shutting to breathe in his typical musk. One of his hands cradled your lower back, thumb running circles into your skin.

“I missed you too, darlin’. Too damn much.” Joel kissed your forehead, drawing lines up and down your back with his fingertips.

His hand moved again from behind you to the front of your body, palming your stomach protectively. A smile crept up on his face as he felt your tummy under the material of the flannel you stole from him, the only thing you preferred for pajamas. The gentle curve of your belly was not yet prominent enough to be overly detectable, but he knew what you carried. Precious cargo. That’s what he called it after you both adjusted to the shock of adding to Jackson’s current population count.

“Still feelin’ sick?” Joel asked you in the room’s darkness, his eyes shifting to watch over your facial features. The moonlight illuminated the edge of your jaw and the roundness of your cheeks, and his chest ached at the thought of witnessing other growing changes over the next couple of months.

“Sometimes. It bothers me, but nothing I can’t handle.” You reassured him the best way you knew how, having to rely on Maria’s advice for all things related to childcare and Ellie being your new overly protective guard and nurse when Joel wasn’t around.

If someone had told you that you’d find yourself alive after the apocalypse in a safe community and pregnant at that, you’d consider them crazy. Yet here you were, carrying a man’s child when you least expected it, a man years older than you with memories of a reality you couldn’t experience or remember. But you didn’t mind; the end of the world didn’t leave much room for strict morals anyway.

Make the most of it. You don’t know when you’ll miss something once it’s gone.

Joel had told you that after the first few patrols you had with him once you adjusted to Jackson, growing comfortable with the stoic and quiet man who grabbed your attention everywhere he went. He shared stories of a time before the world fell apart, discussing things like watching the sunset, listening to music from artists you’ve never heard of, and sweet treats he missed tasting. Things changed after the seventh patrol together, where you saw him smile for the first time after successfully hunting some game for the town.

That night, one thing led to another. It started after some drinks, a hungry and messy kiss on your doorstep that led to clothes on the bedroom floor, and hands pawing at one another. You woke up the next morning with an arm wrapped around your waist and his nose rubbing the back of your neck.

Simply put, you haven’t left since.

“Oh, I know. Can handle a whole lot, strong woman you are.” Joel taunted you a bit, his memory fleeting momentarily and recalling the spitfire you always were with him in particular. He could never seem to tame your spunk and attitude, but he grew to love it like the rest of you.

“Mhmm, real strong, if you ask me.” You held his gaze with a gleam of mischief, bringing your body closer to his wide chest and tilting your chin upwards, silently asking for more than a cuddle.

“You tryin’ to tell me something I don’t already know?”

“I don’t know. Am I?” You were a tease, always have been, jerking Joel’s chain more than he cared to admit. 

“Those hormones are messing with your head, darlin’. Got you acting feisty,” he smirked, shifting nearer to your face.

Curious hands reached up to curl through his thick, graying curls. The contrasting streaks along his temple became more noticeable as time passed, matching the graying beard you’ve come to love and adore. He hesitated to let his hair grow out initially, thinking he’d look too much like his younger brother. Much convincing later, paired with hiding the shears, you got the desired result, and now you were lucky enough to enjoy the fruits of your labor.

The kiss was velvety as it was intimate, your tongue lining his bottom lip before he groaned, granting you entrance into his mouth. You swallowed the rumble he released, drawing a path of your touch from his neck down to his lower abdomen. Antsy fingers itched to skim the waistband of the fleece that concealed him, reaching close to the hardness you felt before he seized your hand away.

“Aht aht, no. As much as I want you there, it’s bedtime.” Joel didn’t necessarily want you to stop. Hell, if it were up to him, he’d let you go to town on him however you wanted. But his energy levels were dwindling, and all he wanted to do after a long day was get some proper rest with you in his arms.

“But-”

“Sweetheart, if you let this old man sleep, I’ll wake you up to a real nice surprise in the mornin’.” It was an effortless proposition, easy to keep you at bay until the next day and enough to curb your insatiable appetite.

“Promise?” You beat your lashes at him, knowing the last thing Joel would do was deliberately not provide for your needs, even if that meant having to keep up with you physically.

“Pinkie swear.” Joel gave you another peck before letting you get comfy against his chest once more, cuddling into him as much as your growing belly would allow without being squished. You started to drift off as sleep called to you, listening to the gentle rhythm of soft beating in your ear.

“Breakfast too, Miller.” You murmured to him, peeping how he laughed in the dark with his eyes closed. The pleasant and lively sound made you smile and your heart pound. 

“Oh, I’ll feed you. Don’t worry your pretty little head about that.”

The peace in your bedroom matched the serenity that fell over Jackson. Now that you had Joel wrapped around you, you didn’t mind how quiet it was. So long as you have him, you can handle anything that comes your way.

©️ ovaryacted 2024. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

[websterss]

JUST TRYING TO BE BRAVE — ERIC (AQPDO)

REQUEST: A request for Eric from A Quiet Place: Day One The reader only knows of one way to calm him whilst he's having a panic attack during the madness, and they gently let him rest against their chest and listen to their heartbeat until he calms down <3

WARNING(S): SLIGHT SPOILERS, fluff, angst, panic attacks

WORD COUNT: 1,286

PAIRING: Eric x fem!Reader

A/N: I hope you enjoy it! Feedback is always welcomed! I didn’t know where you wanted the reader to calm him down so you get a two-for-one scenario fic lmfao <33

MASTERLIST

You don’t know what you would’ve done if you hadn’t run into Sam like you and Eric had. You two probably would have continued to wander the discarded vacant streets of New York, had you decided not to follow the cat.

Sam had been insistent on you both leaving her be with her cat, but at last she got used to your presence. Now as you shelter in her abandoned home, watching and hearing the rain fall from the windows, you can’t help but feel relieved those creatures can’t hear your beloved's panicked inhales and exhales.

“Eric, it’s okay! You’re alright. We’re okay!” He only shakes his head at your reassured comments. Your consolation this time wasn’t doing the trick to calm him down, if you hadn’t run out you would have given him his prescribed anxiety meds. “It’s okay. They can’t hear us up here right now. You’re okay. We’ve made it this far haven’t we?” You breathe out a laugh as you cup his face. He barely musters a nod before his eyes close again, you could imagine the tornado spinning around in his chest. Wreaking havoc on his sanity and any small chance of serenity. You could imagine it all. You could see the panic, the fear in his eyes, making his chest rise and fall rapidly as he struggled to maintain his breath. “Do you want to try it again, what your doctor recommended us to do? Your head pressed on my chest. Match your breathing to the rhythm of each beat of my heart…” You trailed off letting him take the lead.

At your suggestion, he nods slowly, his eyes closing as he reaches out for your hands again. "O-Okay..." Eric tried to take deep breaths, but they came out as panicked stutters.

You sat back against the sofa, allowing space for him to rest against your chest. You began to steady your rhythmic pace, knowing it only worked if you were just as calm and relaxed. You press a gentle kiss against his curls. As his breathing slows to a soft inhale and exhale. He tuned out everything around him. Hearing every thump, feeling every minor skip in your chest. He felt your steadiness, felt the caresses in his hair. The strong warm hold of your other arm as you held him close. He could feel you, hear every intake of air. You were present for him, and he was welcoming the stillness the moment allowed for you both to have once again. He guessed as much though just how the rest of your lives would dissolve into, a world of quiet.

It seemed heavenly at first, but otherworldly frightening, knowing he might just have to savor the small moments where he’d get to hear your voice again. Just as he was doing now.

Once you registered his slackened jaw and relaxed shoulders, you assumed as much that he had fallen asleep. You didn’t dare move. Your fingers continued to rake through his hair as he had succumbed to sleep. You couldn't help but feel relieved that he had calmed down and been able to find some rest. The rain continued to patter against the windows, its soothing sound acting as a natural lullaby to ease your nerves. As you held him close, you found yourself unable to tear your gaze away from his peaceful face.

“What started the attacks?” Sam watches you both from the windows.

“Moving far from home. His parents were so proud of him for following through with law school, but he was devastated to leave them. I completely out of mind in love with him, made the biggest jump of my life following him to the U.S.”

“Do you ever regret it?”

You peer up at Sam with glistened eyes. “N-No. I wouldn’t be sane going through this apocalypse without him. Whatever this whole mess is!” You exclaimed quietly. You look down at him, brushing back his curls. “I’d regret it more if I hadn’t followed him here. I can’t imagine what he would’ve done all alone, if he’d survived it this far. I think he would. I wonder if he’d have met you just the same if I wasn’t here. I’d have been thankful just the same though, Sam. For letting him stick with you.” You choke back a sob, your smile widening at the corners. Sam only nods, turning her head away from your vulnerable confession. You didn’t take it to the heart. Who knew what pain she was going through herself.

As you spoke to Sam, your voice quivered with a mix of love and vulnerability. You could feel the weight of your words hanging in the air, and for a moment, it was as if the world outside faded away, leaving only the three of you to navigate this strange new reality. You couldn’t help but wonder how Eric would have fared if you hadn't been by his side, a thought that sent a shiver down your spine. With bated breaths, you turned your focus back to him, sleeping peacefully in your arms.

-

“Eric baby please!” You swish around in the water, eyes glistening as you look up at the creature crawling out from the hole on the roof. Sam had taken a more firmer approach. Holding her hand over his mouth. You had caught him about to squeak, before Sam shushed him. His need to express his panic in screams was hard to muffle.

You moved as quietly as you could in the water. Making your way to take over Sam’s place. Eric only shook his head at you. You had to nod, to remind him to stay calm.

“Eric, we need to slow your heart.”

“N-No, no, no.” He muttered. “I can’t…”

“You can, you can. Baby, look at me.” You whispered harshly, gripping his face like Sam had done. In a more serene and calm scenario, your softer touch would have been your go-to, but not when that thing was getting closer. “I’m scared right now, I’m scared too, but we need to get you back on track. I need you to focus and match your breathing to mine, right now!” Your eyes plead with him. “Please!”

His eyes were wide with fear, pupils dilated and breaths shallow. The panic was clearly taking over him as water dipped into his mouth, making it difficult for him to focus on anything other than the impending danger. Despite his obvious distress, he nodded slightly, trying his best to calm himself down. As you held his face, he tried to match his breathing to yours, each breath a struggle for control over the mounting fear. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to stay grounded in the presence of your touch.

"I got you. D-Deep breaths…" You barely whisper to him, your frequency morphing into mouthed words.

He took a shaky breath, shuddering as he attempted to follow your instructions. Your steady presence grounded him to the moment.

You didn't hesitate to place his head on your chest. You placed your hand on the back of his head, rubbing his wet hair back and forth in hopes of reassuring him. You tread lightly backwards, keeping your sights on the beast behind you three.

Eric pressed his ear against your chest, the sound of your steady heartbeat providing a calming rhythm to focus on. His breaths were still shaky, but with your hand on the back of his head, soothing in soft caresses, he slowly began to calm down. He closed his eyes and let himself be guided through the water, trusting your instincts to lead the way. Trusting both Sam and you to get him far away from the damned creature.

[forlix]

𝐜𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠・h.h.

— you're uninviting, there's no doubt about that, your resolve like unpolished diamond and tongue like broken glass. but hyunjin finds you're not half as impossible as everyone assumes you are.

words・11.1k

pairing・idol!hyunjin x female stylist!reader (inspired by this)

genres・fluff, angst, eventual smut so MDNI, some hurt/comfort, some humor, mc is a bad bitch and hyunjin is a #simp, enemies? to lovers, sexual tension, workplace relationship, mutual pining, slow burn, nonlinear narrative

warnings・reader vividly remembers an anxiety attack, alcohol is consumed, lots of compartmentalization and imperfect communication, complex people feeling complex emotions, smut warnings under the cut

playlist・farewell, neverland by txt・like crazy by jimin・black friday by tom odell・collide by justine skye・crying lightning by arctic monkeys

a/n・call me victor frankenstein bc i've given birth to a MONSTER (except i actually love and care for mine ofc). this was easily the greatest challenge of my fanfiction-writing career and it feels like my magnum opus; i hope it's worth the wait! also a huge shoutout to sahar for being my voice of reason and my biggest supporter :’) i don’t deserve u i love u

smut warnings・cunnilingus, overstimulation, creampie (practice safe sex!!), mild dacryphilia

Present day. Cannes, France. 5:54 P.M.

You’ve long made peace with the fact that Hwang Hyunjin is incapable of shutting up for more than five minutes.

As it is, the man has a mouth that runs like a cross-country marathon; then throw in his uncanny aptitude for annoying you, and what do you get? A nonstop slew of terrible jokes and teasing quips, tailored according to his thorough mental manual of what gets under your skin hardest and fastest.

This is the reality you live in, presumably because you were evil in your past life, and you’ve steeled yourself to see it through.

But twenty minutes have passed since you and Hyunjin ducked into the back of a cab and gave the driver the show’s address—and, as stunning as the red rooftops and lazuline coastline of Cannes are, you find you’re more interested in Hyunjin’s peculiar silence.

You move your gaze to his face. He’s looking outside, his chin resting upon the palm of his hand, the afternoon sunlight dusting over his chiseled features like polish on pottery; his complexion an exuberant gold against the cream-colored linen that makes up his clothing.

Maybe it’s because you opted for a simpler makeup look today, leaving the most telling contours of his face warm and bare, or maybe it’s because you’ve spent the last year committing his every mannerism and expression to memory. Nevertheless, you see through his pursed lips and tight brow right away.

“Nervous?” 

Hyunjin’s head swivels towards you with a small snap, like he’s forgotten you’re here. His lips fall open, their glossy peach color glinting with the small shift.

“No,” he replies reflexively, but then his facade flickers. “Fuck, maybe a little. It’s just hard to believe, you know?”

You do know. It was a huge honor for both of you when Hyunjin was named the newest global ambassador of Versace. For you to be attending the brand’s pop-up show in one of the most beautiful cities in Europe, among some of the world’s most prolific creatives, is truly incomprehensible. Even you’ve been feeling antsy since you landed; you can only imagine Hyunjin’s anxiety.

You have never been good at consolation. You think your mouth is too coarse, your propensity for honesty too strong. But you’ve always known just what to say when it comes to him.

“Just remember who you are.”

Hyunjin takes a few seconds to process your words, but his understanding washes over his whole body; straightens his back; hardens his gaze. You don’t see this change in posture, though. You’re too busy looking anywhere else, all of a sudden feeling quite embarrassed.

Nor do you see the private smile that disperses across Hyunjin’s lips; his eyes softening so, so marginally when they peer at your profile; his hand twitching where it rests on his knee, as if contemplating reaching for you with a mind of its own.

Thirty seconds. That is the amount of time you have left to bask in this otherworldly tranquility. And then he speaks.

“I want you to meet my parents.”

Your arm reacts before your mind can. Without having to turn your head an inch, you smack him squarely in the bicep, sending him crumpling against his door with a bark of a laugh; “please,” he adds, and you’re biting back a smile as you hit him again, with less conviction this time.

The cab driver nearly misses an exit, too busy wondering about the peculiar pair in his backseat and the nature of your relationship. He can’t tell if you hate each other or if you’re married.

One year ago. Seoul, South Korea. 8:42 A.M.

“I still can’t believe you’re abandoning me.”

“For my newborn daughter.”

“Yeah, okay. I still can’t believe you’re abandoning me for your newborn daughter. What does that brat have that I don’t?”

“My genes, to begin with.”

“That’s unfair. She’s using—”

An important-looking pair of women step out of the nearest elevators, the clacking of their heels ricocheting sharply off the lobby walls. Hyunjin straightens his back so quickly he thinks he pulls a muscle. He and Seojun incline their heads in perfect sync, their “good morning”s prim and professional.

“She’s using cheats,” Hyunjin hisses the second the women are out of earshot again, and this wrests a laugh from the older man at last.

Around one month prior, Seojun confided in Hyunjin that he and his partner were expecting their first child soon, and that he would be putting his career on indefinite hiatus to welcome her into the world.

Hyunjin had never felt so conflicted in his life. On one hand, he’d grown closer to his stylist over the last two years than he’d thought possible, and he knew it was stupid to be anything but delighted for him and his expanding family. On the other hand, it was precisely because they’d become so close that he wanted to grab the man by the ankles and shake the decision clean out of his body. He couldn’t imagine a dressing room or tour bus without him.

Today is a Saturday, but it’s also Seojun’s last day with the company. Hyunjin dragged himself to the JYP building at half past eight with much less reluctance than he let on. He wouldn’t have missed it for the world.

“Fourth floor,” Seojun instructs after the pair enter the elevator, and Hyunjin presses a knuckle to the according number. “Thanks.”

The doors slide shut; the floor numbers tick upwards.

“What was her name again?” Hyunjin asks.

“Y/N,” Seojun returns. “Y/L/N.”

“Is she here already?”

“No, she’ll be here at nine.”

There’s a small pause. 

“Hyung.”

“Hm?”

“I feel like I’m being married off to another family for political reasons.”

“God, I can’t wait to be free of your theatrics.”

At this, the two men make eye contact; exchange smiles. The elevator announces their arrival to the fourth floor, and they step through the doors.

“You’ll be in good hands,” Seojun reassures. “She’s the best of the best. I hear she’s basically running the industry these days. I’m surprised she agreed to take you on.”

“I’m surprised an old fry like you knows someone like her,” Hyunjin replies, and the look Seojun gives him is so withering that he thinks he pulls a muscle again with his apologetic bow.

“You’re not wrong, though,” Seojun concedes. “We happened to work on the same project back when she was still a small name, and we’ve kept in touch ever since. She’s a great kid. Ambitious, hardworking, strong as hell—”

They arrive outside their destination, and Hyunjin holds open the door to the conference room. Only to find that Seojun has stopped in his footsteps, temporarily stunned by a new realization.

She reminds me of him.

“He’s forgotten how to walk,” the him in question whispers like he’s narrating a nature documentary, and the moment is over. “Is this what fatherhood does to a man?”

Seojun kicks Hyunjin into the room by the seat of his pants.

The minutes pass slowly. Seojun moves his eyes between the door and his phone every few seconds, visibly antsy about the imminent meeting. In the meantime, Hyunjin makes the groundbreaking discovery that these office chairs are absurdly and almost suspiciously comfortable. All it takes is a chin upon his palm and a few seconds of shut-eye, and he’s suddenly slumped over the table, snoring softly into the crook of his elbow.

At 8:57, Seojun’s phone lights up with a new notification. At 8:58, he notices that Hyunjin is asleep, and closes his hand around the crumpled receipt in his pocket. At 8:59, he scrunches said receipt into a ball and launches it in Hyunjin’s direction. It hits him squarely on the head, and the boy is nearly knocked to the floor like a bowling pin.

“For that,” Hyunjin sputters, “I’m the godfather.”

“Absolutely the hell not.”

Then, it is 9:00.

When the door of the conference room opens, Hyunjin is still trying to gather his wits, wondering if the bastard is leaving the makeup industry to secretly pursue a career in professional basketball. He just barely notices the unfamiliar figure who steps into his line of vision.

“There she is,” Seojun greets warmly, rising to his feet right away. “God, how long has it been? Two, three years now?”

You’re not doing anything remarkable when Hyunjin sees you for the first time, simply walking across the room and bowing graciously in Seojun’s direction, but he is immediately under the vague impression that you’re cutting through space as you move, scorching the particles of air that dare obstruct your path. 

With his head cocked slightly to the left, like a fascinated puppy, Hyunjin watches the stunning smile that forms on your lips when you take Seojun’s hand; your finger as it tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear with the elegance of rippling silk. His mind feels impossibly slow, like you’ve tapped open his skull and robbed him of his ability to think.

Then, you toss Hyunjin a look over your shoulder, and he’s reminded of lightning forking towards the earth. Terrifying, volatile, beautiful.

“Something like that,” you say, turning back to Seojun, and time starts to move again. “It’s great to see you again, Mr. Lee. Congratulations on the baby.”

“Please, Seojun is fine,” he answers hastily. “And thank you. Thank you for all of this, actually. I can’t tell you how excited we are to have you.” 

“You’re too kind—I’m excited too.”

Upon uttering the word “we,” Seojun delivers Hyunjin a fleeting side-eye; he takes the hint and pushes himself to his feet, feeling uncharacteristically clumsy as he moves towards you.

The second time he meets your gaze, it feels wrong, almost, for him to hold it for as long as he does. Like he’s approaching your throne with his chin held high and eyes fixed forward instead of his head sweeping the ground.

Except he swears he senses a strange warmth within the rings of your irises, and he spends every second of eye contact following, chasing it, almost craning his neck with how badly he wants to get a closer look. Until he’s as close to you as is socially acceptable for a first meeting and comes to a halt.

He ends up losing its trail, but he won’t forget that it’s there. 

“My client, I’m guessing?” You say, extending your hand. “Y/N. It’s a pleasure.”

Your fingers are freezing cold where they meet his, and Hyunjin already knows that melting the permafrost that coats your flesh and guards your soul will be the tallest task of his life.

But he finds his next words accompanied by an involuntary smirk; he’s nothing, if not tenacious.

“Hyunjin,” he returns. “Pleasure’s all mine.”

Nine months ago. Paris, France. 6:16 P.M.

Hyunjin isn’t sure why—maybe you forget that he can still steal glances at your reflection over your shoulder or through the gaps of your fingers—but he’s learned over the last four weeks that you’re different, gentler, when you’re doing his makeup.

Your cold hands request instead of demand that he angle his head a certain way or suck in his cheeks. Your syllables are rounder somehow, your voice never traveling above a murmur. Even your eyes mellow out when you move in really close, your pupils dilating as you detail the final touches to the fresco you’ve painted upon him.

Your expression doesn’t give you away (it never does), but his hunch is that there’s a sprinkle of doting somewhere among the intense focus. That would explain why he feels like a flower in the moments when your fingertips and gaze move so carefully over his skin, like you’re touching his petals, trying not to tear them.

Too bad you never let him daydream for long.

“Close.”

“Huh?”

“Your eyes. Close them.”

His lashes have hardly brushed his lower lids when you begin to empty what feels like an entire bottle of setting spray on him. At the moist surprise, Hyunjin’s features scrunch up around his nose and he lets out a distraught hack like an old man.

A few seconds later, the barrage stops, and he cracks open a wary eye to scope out his surroundings. You wait until he does this to give his face one last spurt.

“Witch,” Hyunjin mutters, clawing back up the vanity chair.

“Thank you,” you reply, completely earnestly.

And whatever Hyunjin was going to say next suspends instantly on his tongue when you bring the pad of your thumb to the very edge of his lower lip and drag it across the soft flesh. He wonders if you know how hard he tries not to look at your mouth whenever you tend to his. He wonders if there’s anything you don’t know.

“You smudged your lipstick already.” There’s a small streak of coral pink on your hand when it falls back to your side. “See? That’s why we need the setting spray.”

“Uh huh.” And Hyunjin spots a ghost of a smile flit across your face, gone nearly as soon as it appears. The only evidence of it ever existing is the quickened heartbeat it leaves behind within him.

“You’re done, by the way,” you say, stepping aside. “Take a look.”

He slips out of his seat and moves closer to the vanity, peering at his reflection as curiously as if he’s never seen it before. But that’s how he’s felt since he started working with you.

Seojun was right: you are the best that the makeup industry has to offer. Hyunjin has come to understand this for multiple reasons. Your phone screen is incessantly illuminated by new notifications and incoming calls. The other stylists heed your advice like it’s the law. Brushes and pencils move like water when it’s you maneuvering them. And then some.

He would call what you have “talent,” but he knows it’s more than that. You show him a new version of himself every time you turn a mirror in his direction, like there are facets of him that are visible to you and you only. As much as he delights in the notion that you have such intimate knowledge of him, it should be impossible, considering you’ve only known him for two months. So no, it’s not just talent that you possess. It’s some combination of talent, hawkish perception, and raw artistry that is utterly inhuman—and sexy as fuck.

Speaking of sexy. Hyunjin’s look is relatively rudimentary tonight, the makeup light, the outfit a simple black tank top beneath a jacket and pants made of bright red velvet. But it’s the details that tie the whole thing together: the wide, loose sleeves causing the jacket to slip continually off his shoulders; the inner layer tight in all the right places. His face doesn’t look half bad either, with the sultry carmine powder that fringes his eyes and the intentionally mussed state of his hair. He pushes a hand through the dark locks, regarding himself with thorough appreciation.

You appear in his periphery as you start cleaning up your work station. “You can just take the jacket off when your sweat glands start malfunctioning, by the way. I thought you’d appreciate that detail.”

At this, his smize cracks into a laugh, the sound loud and uninhibited and uniquely yours to hear. “You suck.”

He looks away from his reflection just in time to glimpse another of your phantom smiles, and he thinks it’s so painfully on brand that the two times it’s appeared tonight have both been from you making yourself laugh. You might be the most insufferable person he’s ever met. He might be obsessed with you anyways.

“Well?” You implore. “What do you think?”

“No notes.” 

It’s the answer you’re expecting. You survey him from head to toe one last time, decide that you, too, are satisfied, and slip your makeup into your bag; hike its strap over your shoulder.

“I’ll see you after the show, then.”

You have an important conference call to attend before tonight’s concert, hence why Hyunjin had to come in early for hair and makeup. This is also the reason why the two of you have been the only people in the dressing room for the better part of an hour. 

It’s rare that he ever gets you alone, and he doesn’t want it to end. Not just yet.

“I lied, actually,” he calls. “I do have notes.”

You already have one foot out the door when you hear this, and you turn around so slowly and in such disbelief that he has to fight to constrain his laugh—the concept of imperfection is truly unthinkable to you. Insufferable, like he said.

“Do tell,” you say, dropping your bag back onto the floor.

“You have any jewelry for me?”

You chew on this for a moment. You did have a selection of necklaces prepared for tonight, but they were heavy and numerous, not exactly the best-suited for the group’s dynamic sets. You still like them, granted, and you know Hyunjin would as well.

You articulate all of this to him, and he asks if he can take a look at them anyways. “Come here, then,” you say, the words so tantalizing when they fall from your lips that nearly trips over himself trying to obey.

You take out a flat rectangular box from your bag and set it down in front of the lightbulb-studded mirrors. Hyunjin observes quietly as you show him its contents: three thick, gold chains with varying lengths and boasting different pendants, plus a beaded bracelet and an assembly of rings of the same material. His devious plan aside, he does love the selection.

“You’re sure you won’t be uncomfortable?”

He nods, and you pick up the longest of the three chains; turn to him expectedly. He takes this as his cue to move closer to you, except he overshoots a little, and he feels the tips of his shoes accidentally bump into the ends of yours; discerns the warmth emanating from your body against his own. He expects a withering glare, a kick in the shin, maybe, but you don’t seem bothered by the proximity at all, unblinking as you bring your hands around the either side of his neck and fasten the first necklace with a soft tap. Your fingers then brush over his collarbones to adjust the pendant, and he thinks your hands would have to be numb not to perceive the frantic heartbeat threatening to burst straight out of his skin.

Entire minutes pass before Hyunjin musters the courage to actually look at you. By then, you’re already working on the third and final necklace. It’s not a surprise that your face is mere inches away from his; he’s been watching your reflections out of the corner of his eye; he knows you’re closer to each other than you’ve ever been. But there are parts of you that the mirror doesn’t show—the soft curve of your lashes, the concentrated narrow of your eyes, the shapely protrusion of your pursed lips—and these surprise him so thoroughly that he slips and slides out of his right mind.

You are the type of beautiful that’s been around longer than humans have, the same as that of the true blue color of forget-me-nots. And Hyunjin feels enveloped, intoxicated by you from this minuscule distance. The idea forms numbly in his head that maybe, just maybe, he was put on this earth to admire you.

In this inebriated state, he makes a venturesome decision.

When you finish centering the last pendant upon the his chest, you are about to take a step back and review the updated look, but you’re debilitated by the feeling of fingers grazing over your hip—lightly, so lightly that you mistake them for a gust of wind at first, but the contact is enough to push the small of your back against the edge of the counter. Then, both of Hyunjin’s hands reach behind you, pressing flat against the marble surface, and, just like that, he has you right where he wants you, ensnared between cold stone and hot flesh.

And so begins an equilibrium so fragile that it’ll shatter if one of you so much as blinks the wrong way, your rattled breath fluttering against his lips, his eyes dark and hooded and out of focus as they survey the fine lines of your expression. It still doesn’t give you away (it never does), but he finds that in this moment he just doesn’t care.

“Let me take you out,” he murmurs. “One date.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” You reply under your breath.

“You know what I’m talking about, beautiful.”

Upon uttering that last word, he angles his head almost imperceptibly, the movement challenging, daring you to say something about it. But you don’t. You merely hiss out a whetted “you’re fucking crazy,” and that’s his opening to drag this on a little longer; push your limits a little more.

“About you? Damn straight.”

At this, finally, fucking finally, there is a semblance of something in your face that isn’t just your usual mildly-irritated nonchalance. Instead, he detects surprise in the whites of your eyes as you widen them; as you part your lips with a response that only comes much later.

And he’s surprised by your surprise. Surely, with your skills of observation, you would’ve noticed long ago how his world shrinks down to only you and your gorgeous voice and your confident glare and your shitty sense of humor whenever he’s been granted the privilege of your presence.

This might be the first time he’s admitted it out loud, but he hasn’t tried—hasn’t been able—to hide how he feels about you, not now, not ever. It’s been that way since the moment the sole of your shoe met the carpet of that conference room on the fourth floor of the JYP building.

 “Hwang—” You begin.

“Hyung!”

At the sound of a third, new voice, your arms tense like you’re about to shove Hyunjin off of you, but he only leans in further, so that his lips almost graze your jaw and your hands have nowhere to go except the taut surface of his chest. The surprise is gone; now you’re just pissed. He can feel the heat of your furious eyes and the tremor in your hands as you form fists around the fabric of his top. But he takes his sweet time in scooping up the bracelet and rings, and only afterwards does he pull away from you and straighten to his full height.

“Hey, Innie!” Hyunjin chirps, and Jeongin materializes in the doorway, looking thoroughly perturbed by the older boy’s sunny tone. “What’s up?” 

In the meantime, you turn around to snap the lid of your jewelry box shut, and it takes a singular glance in the mirror for a truly horrible realization to settle upon your shoulders. You don’t think anybody would be able to tell even if you announced it outright, but you know yourself and the little nuances of your face all too well.

You’re flustered.

You feel like a horror movie heroine breaking the fourth wall. 

“Nothing, weirdo. I was just announcing my arrival,” Jeongin says. Thank fuck you did, Hyunjin thinks to himself, completely unaware of the epiphany you’re having behind him. “Chan-hyung mentioned you were here already? Why?”

“She’s in high demand.” Hyunjin points out the she in question by jutting his chin in your direction. “The usual.”

“Ah.”

Jeongin inclines his head towards you in polite greeting. You return his hello, but your expression starts to feel tight when his eyes dart between the strange smile on Hyunjin’s face and your awkward stance (still glued to the edge of the counter) as he drops his duffel by the couch. The boy isn’t stupid, unlike his older counterpart.

“I saw a vending machine on my way here,” Jeongin says, turning to leave the room again. “You want anything, hyung? Noona?”

“I’m okay, thank you,” you say.

“I’ll have whatever you have,” Hyunjin says.

Jeongin flashes a thumbs-up and dips out of the room, perhaps a little more hastily than he intends to come across. And then there are two. Again.

You wait until you can’t hear his footsteps anymore, and then you turn to glower at Hyunjin so intensely that he thinks you’re about to place a curse on his whole bloodline.

Then, your phone starts vibrating, and he knows he’ll live to see another day.

“You still owe me an answer,” Hyunjin calls as you turn around and leave the room.

“Don’t hold your breath,” you reply.

One day, I’ll break her, is the predominant thought that resides in Hyunjin’s head as he slips on the remaining jewelry; watches your figure disappear around a corner. One day, I’ll break his face, is the predominant thought that resides in yours as you stalk away. That’s the two of you, in a nutshell.

Six months ago. Osaka, Japan. 3:03 P.M.

When you walk into the dressing room, you find Haeun hunched over an overflowing photo album with her hands forming fists in her hair, muttering to nobody in particular, “I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing.”

There’s an amused look in your eye as you set your bag down by Hyunjin’s empty vanity chair. She hasn’t noticed your presence yet; approximately three hallways down, the members are rehearsing for tonight’s performance on the main stage of the Kyocera Dome, and the music is so loud that you think you actually saw the walls vibrating while you were in the hallway moments ago.

You rise to your tiptoes and encroach upon her, waiting until she’s within reach to tickle the back of her neck. She nearly flies out of her seat with a shriek that can be heard over the heavy bass.

“Never gets old.” You hand her the photo album that went soaring also, and Haeun snatches it back with an affronted flourish.

“I can’t remember the last time you said hi to me normally, unnie.”

“Me neither, now that you mention it.”

Haeun and Han are your favorite stylist-idol duo in the world because they’re so eerily similar—and it’s adorable. They both illuminate every room they walk into; they both have grins too big for their faces, laughs too loud for their lungs. You always regret leaving your sunglasses at home when you catch sight of the effulgent pair.

But today you cannot detect the usual radiance in Haeun’s voice, nor so much as a hint of her easy grin. Then again, that’s another quality that she and her client share; they’re both well acquainted with the burdens that come with unwavering passion.

Every stylist has their own modus operandi. Haeun’s is a scrapbook of images that she cuts out and saves from catalogs, advertisements, newspapers, et cetera. You’ve seen it many times before, but never in such a state: messy handwriting stuffing the margins to their very brims, numbers and symbols like clusters of rainclouds over a sea of different outfits, arrows and circles and squares highlighting pant cuffs and cascade collars and dangling earrings. Telltale signs that Haeun hasn’t a clue as to what Han will be wearing tonight.

You gnaw on your lower lip, deliberating your next move. You end up placing a firm hand against the album’s cover and pushing it closed.

“Come with me,” you say. “We’re gonna try a new approach.”

Haeun opens her mouth to protest, but unfortunately you have an extensive track record of being right.

“What do you have in mind?” She sighs instead.

“You’ll see.”

With that, you stand up, tuck a small towel under your arm, and angle your head in the direction of the music.

The two of you make your way through the labyrinth of hallways that comprise the venue’s backstage. Eventually, the color of the floor changes from speckled white to solid black, and you step onto the part of the stage that is concealed from the audience by drawn curtains and heavy equipment. You say a quick hello to the group’s manager as you dip past him, and eventually reach the edge of the curtains, where you and Haeun have a good view of the eight members as they run through their setlist for tonight’s concert.

Haeun settles into the spot beside you, still confused as she follows your gaze. 

“Let me ask you this,” you say, just audible over the din. “Can you style a performer if you don’t know how he performs?”

And understanding seeps over her features like poured tea.

“I want you to watch him,” you continue. “Tell me how he performs.”

Han’s part begins, as if on cue. His voice rings out through the empty stadium as he ducks to the front of the formation, a microphone held loosely to his lips, his face taut with focus. Haeun stares at him for some time, silently trying to fathom her observations, but she sees you shaking your head in the corner of her eye.

“Don’t think, Haeun. Just speak.”

She blows out a deep breath before obliging. “It’s hard to picture Han doing anything but laughing or making other people laugh, he’s so goofy and lighthearted most of the time. But he’s like a different person on stage. He’s so intense, it’s almost intimidating. Not intimidating in a douchey way, though—you just get the impression that he’s very confident in himself and his music.

You don’t say another word, but don’t need to. She’s hit her stride.

“His voice and enunciation are so clear. It’s crazy how he sounds exactly like the studio recording. Plus, his delivery feels genuine; he’s not just reciting lyrics, but speaking straight from his heart.

“And this is gonna sound bad, but I didn’t know Han could dance. Like, yeah, I knew that he could dance, but not like this. His movements are so sharp that I feel like my attention is being—”

Right there.

She cuts herself off, reaching the same conclusion.

“It’s his turn to talk, and he wants you to cling to his every word," Haeun articulates slowly. "He’s demanding your attention. He needs you to listen. That’s how he performs.”

A satisfied smile bolts across your face like lightning. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

Haeun pictures her scrapbook again, and there are now only a few articles of clothing and accessories that fit the framework you’ve helped her forge. She’s almost dizzy with disbelief, tearing her eyes from Han to look at you instead.

“You’re brilliant, you know that?”

“I do, but I appreciate the reminder.”

She can’t help but giggle. It’s a you answer if she’s ever heard one. “Do you do that with all of your clients?”

Haeun asks the question arbitrarily, without thinking. But you respond in a way that she doesn’t think she’s ever witnessed before, and she’s momentarily baffled by the sight: you hesitate.

As the song’s final chorus approaches, Hyunjin is the one folding himself into the center of the eight-person throng. You can only see his back from this angle, but even then it’s palpable how expertly and effortlessly he molds his body to the modulations of the music; how much fervor and feeling he expresses with every jerk of his spine and flex of his hands.

Within a few short seconds, innumerable descriptors and sensations skim the surface of your mind—but one word knocks the rest clean out of the water, the way it always does when you watch Hwang Hyunjin perform.

Artistry.

“No,” you reply. “Not all of them.”

And where better to find inspiration than inspiration himself?

Haeun furrows a brow, understandably puzzled by this response, but you don’t elaborate. Partially because you feel like being coy, but mostly because you know that any explanation you offer will sound like a confession.

The song ends, leaving your ears ringing with the abrupt absence of sound. The members hold their poses with heaving shoulders, staring out into the empty stands until the stage manager’s voice comes through the monitors.

“And that’s a wrap! We’re all set for tonight. Good work, everyone.”

There is a ripple of movement around the stage as the boys relax. Jeongin jogs over to Minho, hoping to review a particularly challenging dance break; the manager asks Chan if he has a second to discuss travel logistics; Seungmin plops onto the edge of the stage and downs the rest of his water; Hyunjin beelines toward you the second he sees you, because of course he does.

You get a good look at him as he skips closer. Stray blonde locks plastered against his damp skin, tank top dyed several shades darker by the perspiration rolling down his neck, the muscles of his arms actually rippling as he swings them around stupidly, a shit-eating smile plastered across his stunning face.

You’re annoyed before he says a word.

“I didn’t know they were letting fans backstage now,” he hums happily. “Want an autograph, gorgeous?”

“Put a sock in it.” You whisk the towel you’ve been holding in his direction. “Wet freak.”

But he catches and tosses it over his shoulder straightaway, and your heart sinks to your fucking ankle. You’ve seen this movie before. You know how it ends.

“No.” You take a shaky step back. “No, nope, don’t even think about—”

The next thing you know, Hyunjin is lunging towards you and winding his arms around your waist, nearly sweeping you clean off your feet as he pulls you into his sweaty embrace. To your complete dismay, your face presses flat against the clammy plane of his chest. “Call me a wet freak again, go on,” he manages to say through his laughter. 

In response, one of your hands wriggles free of its slippery prison and snatches the cuff of Hyunjin’s ear with impressive accuracy. He yelps and loosens his hold on you, but doesn’t relent completely, not even when he catches sight of the murderous expression on your face and cackles so forcefully his whole head is thrown back.

You tighten your grip. “Wet,” you seethe, “freak.”

“Ow—okay, don’t make it hot, what’s wrong with you?”

“Wha—what’s wrong with YOU?!”

As the two of you dissolve into your fatuous arguing, Haeun is no longer sure that she’s still standing here. She’s not even sure if she’s in her right mind anymore. She thinks she might be hallucinating the way everything about Hyunjin softens next to you, or the way your biting tone only seems to nibble when it’s him on the receiving end.

“Psst. We’ve been placing bets on them. You want in?”

Han suddenly materializes next to Haeun, and she would have been jumpscared into a different dimension if she wasn’t so fixated upon the bizarre occurrence before her.

But what if she’s not hallucinating?

No, not all of them, you’d said, like you were disclosing a forbidden secret.

“Yes,” she says, and Han beams. “Absolutely.”

Three months ago. Seoul, South Korea. 2:26 A.M.

On a tranquil Saturday night, you’re sitting at your desk, your knees tucked to your chest, the newest episode of your drama playing quietly on your laptop, a half-empty glass of rosé and open sketchbook laid before you. This is your happy place—a safe haven that the trials and tribulations of the real world can’t reach. But you think you’ve really gone and lost your mind when you find yourself thinking about your job.

Well, not your job, exactly. More like the man who makes your job feel fucking Sisyphean.

You know your way around fabric and foundation better than anyone, but you have never struggled with anything as much as you have trying to navigate Hyunjin. You show up to work every day ready to just put some makeup on the man; instead, you wind up stumbling around the potholes of his dimples and the hills of the veins that run over his forearms and hands like a hopeless drunkard. Scouring the creases of his smile and the oscillations of his voice like they’re topographical maps. Mentally replaying your interactions with him time and time again like you’re monitoring security footage, trying to detect illicit activity in every casual touch he leaves on your shoulder or waist; every babe or gorgeous he throws your way, seemingly without a second thought.

You’ve been trying to understand him and his intentions for seven months now, and your efforts have yielded no fruit whatsoever, save for a few theories that you feel insane for even humoring.

You down the rest of the blush-colored liquid, and as you set down your empty glass you notice your fingers itch with a familiar urge. The pen that you’ve been twirling over your knuckles stills, then swivels; its tip hovers over the last free corner of the sheet of cartridge paper below you. And then it presses upon the surface and starts to move, as naturally as if on its own.

When you were little, you came across a children’s book that you no longer remember the name of, about a little girl with a magical pen that brought her every drawing to life. You decided then that you would one day be that girl.

At some point, the subjects of your incessant sketching became almost exclusively runway models and makeup advertisements. You cemented that you wanted to work in fashion as early as your high school graduation, and by then you already possessed the conviction and charisma of the industry’s most experienced members. Your portfolio was stellar; your personality prophesied of wild success. So your career took off, propelled by the neverending positions and projects that various companies continually laid before your feet.

You stand and pad to your kitchen to refill your glass, only to bring the entire bottle of wine back to your room instead. With one hand, you flick the cap off and lift the whole thing to your lips; with the other, you seize your pen again, not wanting to lose momentum.

For the year or so after you joined the industry, you basked in your idyllic prosperity. Even the doodles you scrawled on random napkins during banal business lunches would appear on some of the world’s most renowned faces the next week. You had indubitably become the little girl from your story; made a career out of giving your imagination tangible form. And what a fruitful career it was going to be.

If only you knew how it would strengthen you in ways you never wanted.

The first time someone called you cold, it took you a while to realize that they were talking about you. The phrase was said so casually and lightheartedly that it sounded at first like a piece of unimportant small talk. But the whisper of cold bitch was then followed by a bout of stifled laughter and what was undoubtedly your name. Your heart stopped along with your footsteps, and you looked towards the source: two interns whose names you had yet to learn, while yours was already in their mouths.

You felt nothing until you were three stops away from your apartment, and then the bottom of the subway gave out beneath you and suddenly you were feeling everything. Only confusion, hurt, and rage at first, but then the other emotions that you’d been smothering tirelessly for who-knows-how-long tore free of their cerebral shackles too, and together they formed an amalgamation of anxiety that closed up your throat within seconds. 

As your pen studs details into a shapely jawline, you remember how you’d shoved your way off the subway and made a mad dash into the night air. You remember how you collapsed against a utility pole in an unfamiliar neighborhood, how your knuckles paled around the ashen wood, how your tears tumbled over your lips and salted your tongue. You remember wanting to go home so badly that you thought your ribcage would cave in on itself with the weight of it. You remember begging for air, for you.

By the time the oxygen had returned to your lungs, the streets were empty save for you, crouched on the curb, your face buried in your arms, spent, shattered, and alone. You were only nineteen at the time.

You are now twenty-two, and the word “cold” has become a regular guest in the lodgings of your heart. You never invite it over, but you’re no longer surprised to find it at your door. It’s a thief, swiping pieces of you when it thinks you’re not looking—a fragment above the fireplace, a scrap from the cracks between the couch—and you know whenever you’re being robbed, know that you lose parts of yourself upon its every visit. But better that than acknowledging what you lose.

You allow it to walk away with full pockets every time.

Hyunjin does not.

“Three words to describe yourself. Go,” he said a few days ago, the two of you heading back to the tour bus after a filming session. 

You were so used to these irrational inquiries of his that you didn’t bother trying to dodge this one. “You first.”

“Smart, sexy, suave,” he said immediately, but burst into a sheepish laugh at the sight of your weary glare. “Fine, fine, let me think. Ambitious, for one. Introspective, definitely—maybe overly so. And artistic. I’d like to think so, at least. Satisfied?”

The most creative person you knew doubting his own ingenuity was absurd to you, but you nodded begrudgingly. It was a good answer, for the most part.

“Now you.”

Honestly, the thief had surfaced the moment you heard the question, but you weren’t sure if you wanted to inform Hyunjin of its existence. Not because you didn’t trust him—you did, more than you had anyone in years—but because you didn’t know what you’d do with yourself if he agreed. You weren’t sure your heart would be able to take it.

When you met the boy’s gaze, though, the carob brown of his eyes was so curious and so comforting that you suspected that was never a possibility.

“Cold,” you mumbled. “I’ve been called cold before.”

There was a pregnant pause. You found yourself holding your breath. And then—

“That’s a joke, right?”

Hyunjin began to count off his fingers.

“Mean. So mean. Impossibly, infuriatingly confident. Talented, stubborn, strong. Funny, sometimes, I guess, though I’d rather you hit me with a metal pipe than admit that ever again.”

At this, you caved; a laugh erupted from your lips, leaving a genuine smile in its wake.

“Determined. Eloquent. Bossy. Some kind of evil, twisted genius. Contemplative, caring, compassionate. Fearless,” he went on. “You get my point. You’re a lot of things, Y/N, but cold isn’t one—”

He was about to say something mind-numbingly stupid. You could sense it in the air.

“—and not just because you’re hot.”

You smacked his bicep, the smile on your face now an uninhibited, helpless grin. And as he vanished into a fit of high-pitched laughter, you thought you sensed him crack open your door and slip your missing artifacts back to their rightful places.

Hyunjin began to climb into the bus, and you caught the cuff of his sleeve, your feet still planted on the pavement.

“Thank you,” you said.

The tremors of his fond chuckle traveled to your very core.

“Idiot,” he sighed softly.

Idiot, you write, and the drawings are complete. 

When you stand up, the bottle is mostly gone—and so are you. You splash some water on your face in lieu of your skincare routine and prod the inside of your mouth a few times using a dry toothbrush, and then you dive beneath your duvet and are dead asleep in minutes. Your slumber is interrupted only by dreams of a world where your theories about Hyunjin aren’t just theories.

If you’d had even one mouthful less of rosé, you might’ve remembered that you picked up your phone and opened your most recent conversation somewhere between steps two and three.

[3:10 A.M.] To: Hwang Hyunjin (Stray Kids, JYP) Audio Message.wav

Hi. I’m drunk and I’m going to regret this tomorrow. But that’s tomorrow’s business. There’s something I need to tell you tonight.

After I moved to Seoul, I used to get these bouts of homesickness. Not in a standard ‘I wanna go home’ kind of way, but in a way that felt like a hole had opened up in the ground below me. I was always ready for it to swallow me alive. I would’ve been happy for it to.

But I haven’t felt that way since I met you. I realized this not too long ago, and it threw me for a fucking loop. I’ve never felt seen the way you see me. I’ve never been known the way you know me. Every time I look at you or hear your voice, it feels so much like returning home that I don’t have to dream of it anymore.

You called me fearless the other day, but you’re wrong. I’m terrified. I’m terrified that history is going to repeat itself, that another home will slip through the cracks between my fingers and there will be nothing I can do to stop it. And that’s why I’m so hesitant towards you, towards whatever this is, because I don’t want to go through that ever again.

So the thing I need to tell you is that I care about you. I care so much that I’m scared speaking it into existence will make it real and vulnerable to all the worst parts of the world. But it’s not speaking it into existence if I’m drunk, right? Maybe I have no idea what I’m talking about. Maybe you’ll never even hear this. So it doesn’t count. That’s how that works, surely.

Sorry if this was totally nonsensical. And sorry that I’m so bad at feelings. You must think I’m impossible, and I don’t blame you.

Good night, Hyunjin. Thank you, again.

One month ago. Los Angeles, United States. 12:37 A.M.

When Hyunjin steps out of the hotel’s tall glass double doors, he’s wearing a teatree facemask, and his bags are draped over the crooks of his elbows like he’s an upper-echelon socialite on his way back from a lavish shopping spree. And then he sees you standing next to the curb, and the situation dawns on him in bits and pieces.

You’re the only one here. The vans that were supposed to take you to the airport are nowhere to be seen. Boarding begins in four minutes.

A soft flinch crimps his features. Oops.

“Tomorrow night,” you’re saying into your receiver, but your attention is on him only, your penetrative gaze putting the dead in deadpan. “The absolute earliest. You’re sure?”

When you finish listening to the manager’s response, you heave a sigh that sags your shoulders and end the call with a jab that should’ve splintered your screen protector.

Then, you start walking towards him.

“Hi,” Hyunjin says, his eyes pleading for mercy. “You are so talented and beautiful. I don’t tell you that often enough, do I?”

He expects you to grab him by the cuff of his ear again, to throw him a retort that’s twice as mean as it is witty, something along those lines. But you merely push your suitcase in his direction, and it is then when he notices that your face is hard enough to chip enamel; that your eyes are eerily, entirely empty. The tendril of warmth that’s always dancing among the subtleties of your expressions, that he’s always pursuing to the very borders of his dreamscapes, is nowhere to be seen.

A shiver travels down Hyunjin’s spine as he curls his fingers around the plastic handle.

Something’s not right.

“We’re gonna have to stay here another day,” you say. “Can you check us in? I have some calls to make.”

“Us?” Hyunjin repeats.

“Junghan could only reserve one room,” you reply, your phone already glued back to your ear. “The hotel is fully booked for the next few months.”

With that, you’re already preoccupied with the next thing, turning to the side to reschedule a meeting. But Hyunjin can only stare blankly at your profile, trying and failing to grasp that he’s going to spend a night with the subject of his every daydream. Though you might be leaning more towards the nightmare end of the spectrum at the moment, considering the way your head snaps back in his direction like a woman possessed.

Go, you mouth, and he obliges.

A few minutes later, Hyunjin is in the elevator by himself. He speculates it’s an ingenious, intentional choice that the lights are turned off, so that whoever’s inside can watch the psychedelic lights of Los Angeles sprawl further and wider the higher they go. But he can’t think of anything except for the subzero nothingness where your irises should’ve been.

Hyunjin’s initial guess was that he crossed a line with this missed plane, but the more he thinks about it the clearer it becomes that this isn’t an isolated issue. It’s the culmination of something bigger. Something continuous.

You have become as familiar to him as the lines of his eyes or the ridges of his knuckles. He’s learned where to look for your feelings when he can’t find them in your face; studied your words and the undertones of your voice like they’re verses of scripture. Yet, it was around two months ago when Hyunjin looked at your side profile and couldn’t recognize you. He’d blinked, startled, and then you’d asked why he was looking at you so strangely, and everything returned to normal. He wrote it off as a side effect of sleep deprivation and paid it no more mind that day.

Except it happened again a few days later; again, not too long after, and Hyunjin began to suspect that he was losing his mind. You didn’t seem all that different—a bit more taciturn than usual, maybe, but you’d been busier than usual, too, your workspace always full of empty coffee cups by the end of the day, the pages of your planner more colorful and crammed than ever. The minor variances never struck him as a reason for worry.

“Stupid,” Hyunjin whispers bitterly.

He replays your interaction one more time. You, shoving your suitcase against his palm, telling him to go check in. Him, fastening his hand around the handle, sensing the bottomless void within you, feeling like he’d been dismissed from before your throne.

As he steps off the elevator and walks towards your designated room, he doesn’t understand how or why—but he can’t shake the feeling that he’s failed you.

Nearly an hour passes. The room only has one bed, so Hyunjin turns off the lights, folds himself onto the armchair by the floor-to-ceiling window, drapes a complimentary robe over his shoulders, and tries to sleep. He doesn’t know why he even tries. He’s exhausted, but he knows damn well there’s no hope of him getting any rest until he has you in his proximity again.

He doesn’t look at the door when he finally hears it open, but the knot of tension in his chest comes undone as soon as your silhouette appears in the hallway. He takes out his first real breath since leaving you at the hotel’s entrance.

You hear the sound it makes. You fall still.

“Hyunjin?”

His heart physically aches at how tired you sound. “Yeah?”

“Oh, you’re awake,” you answer. “Move to the bed. You’re not sleeping on that thing.”

He remains where he is, his chin resting on the side of his fist, his eyes glued to the flickering panorama of neon lights below him. You crouch to unzip something, and there’s a heavy thud of metal meeting cloth, presumably your laptop being tossed onto the bed’s mattress.

“Hello? Did you—”

“Is everything okay?”

A short pause follows his interruption.

“I still have a few emails to write, but everything’s been rescheduled, so as long as you don’t miss tomorrow’s flight, too, we should be—”

The robe slides off his lap as he pushes himself to his feet. “That’s not what I mean.”

The only source of light in the room is the lone light above the entrance, but it’s enough for him to see your face and the surprise etched upon it. You open your mouth, utter one syllable, and stop yourself immediately after, stunned into silence by the sobriety in Hyunjin’s expression.

“Enlighten me, then,” you say finally.

“You really don’t know?”

“What is there to know? That you missed a flight and pissed me the fuck off? Trust me, I’m aware.”

“No, that’s not—”

“So what are you talking about, then? Why are you talking in riddles? Fuck, what is it that you want from me?”

There’s real frustration in your voice, and it’s the first time you’ve shown him any emotion in pure, unadulterated form. With this, Hyunjin understands that he was right; this conversation is heading towards a culmination of some kind, and so are you, with the devastating force of a natural phenomenon.

He wonders if you’re prepared to destroy yourself, too.

“I know how you are around me,” you whisper. “You’re always acting like you’re trying to unearth something, and I figure this ‘something’ must be wonderful, because you look at me like I’m made of stars; you speak to me like you’re serenading a lover. But I am constantly, ceaselessly haunted by the possibility that this ‘something’ doesn’t exist, that you’re looking for the wrong thing in the wrong person. 

“I know it’s selfish to ask for anything more than what you’ve already given me—you’re so kind, Hyunjin, and you’ve been nothing but since the day we met. But grant me one more wish, even if it is the last time you ever do.

“Tell me what you see in me,” you plead. “Otherwise, I will spend the rest of my life mourning the months of yours that you wasted on me.”

With that, it occurs to Hyunjin, falls upon and cracks open his mind like a piece of firewood, that you have never been aware of—never asked for—the throne you sit upon.

For an indeterminate amount of time, the two of you stay there, standing in silence on opposite sides of your dark hotel room. You haven’t felt anything like this in a long time, your chest heaving with your heavy breaths, your vision muddied by both the lack of light and the desperation searing through your windpipe. 

When Hyunjin finally begins to speak, his words wrest the oxygen from your lungs.

“After you moved to Seoul, you used to get these bouts of homesickness.”

Your mind careens; your heart reels. 

“They came in a way that felt like a hole had opened up in the ground below you.” He takes a tentative step towards you. “You thought it was going to swallow you alive. You would’ve been happy for it to.”

You never got to listen to your voice note. You were blacked out when you recorded it and horrified when you discovered it in your chat logs the next morning; the wretched thing was unsent so quickly that you couldn’t check for a read receipt.

But there’s not a doubt in your mind that these are your words falling from Hyunjin’s lips.

“You haven’t felt that way since you met me, though.” He is only a few feet away from you now, and getting closer still. “You’ve never felt seen the way I see you. You’ve never been known the way I know you.”

God, you said that? Did you propose to him too?

“You’re terrified that another home will slip through the cracks between your fingers and there will be nothing you can do to stop it.” Hyunjin flattens his left hand upon the drywall next to your ear; pushes you back ever-so-gently against the hard surface. “I must think you’re impossible.”

And he brings his face so, so close to yours; looks at you with so much adoration, so much tenderness, that you feel the final bulwark around your heart fracture—

“I don’t,” Hyunjin breathes, cradling your cheek, “because you’re not. And I want to prove it to you, even if it takes me the rest of my life. That’s what I see in you.”

—and crumble.

You form fists in the lining of his hoodie. Hyunjin’s hand tightens where it lays over the curve of your jaw.

When you crash your lips upon his, he tastes the metallic sheen of electricity and the salt of tearwater both; he witnesses crying lightning, for the first time in human history.

Present day. Cannes, France. 9:15 P.M.

Hyunjin never thinks when he fucks you. 

One part of it is that he physically can’t; his cognitive facilities shut down when he has you quivering beneath him, like his desire to pleasure you is too overwhelming for his mind to bear. The other part is that he doesn’t want to. He’s afraid that the voices of cynicism and trepidation that plague his mind every waking moment will taint the actualization of his wildest dreams.

Lucky for him, you manage to erase his mind on a daily basis with only one accidental touch or an apparition of a smile, so he doesn’t stand a chance whenever you let him between your legs.

“Trust me?” He whispers, imprinting the words upon the inside of your thigh.

“More than anyone,” you breathe, and just this has him tenting against his satin slacks.

Hyunjin used to see you scolding managers or moving racks twice your weight and think that was you in your element—tonight, he learned otherwise. You were so confident that even just the way you puffed your chest out prompted heads to turn and low voices to ask for your name; so charming that even by the end of your self-introduction you had every guest you spoke to eating out the palm of your hand. 

Eating out your pussy, though, is Hyunjin’s privilege alone.

He wraps his fingers around the hem of your dress and pushes it upwards, creating a halo of red fabric around your midriff; slides your panties off your legs and tosses them over his shoulder. All obstacles out of the way, Hyunjin winds his arms around your thighs and pins your hips to the mattress, slotting himself between your knees as they fall apart. Your ankles fold over the top of his head, and you’re about to ask if he’s okay like this, but then you feel the hot muscle of his tongue trace over your dripping folds—and every word of every language you’ve ever known is dispelled from your brain and your mouth in the form of a stuttered, euphoric moan.

He teases you first, drags his mouth over you so that he’s lapped up all of your slick, and just when you feel your patience thinning he pulls you apart with reverent hands and begins to suckle on your clit, as attentive to your every solicitation as always. You arch your back so high off the bed that your ankles knock Hyunjin’s head down a few inches, but the new angle is even better; grants him access to more of you.

He reinforces his grip around you, presses his torso right up against the side of the mattress, and gorges: sluices your labia until you’re spilling from his chin onto the sheets; flicks against your bundle of nerves until it’s pulsating and swollen on his mouth; fucks his tongue against your favorite spot until you’re curling your toes, seeing the whole solar system. 

“Coming,” you blabber after some time. Tell me something I don’t know, he thinks to himself. “Coming, Hyune. I’m—fuck—”

Hyunjin is aware of the way you clench so hard around nothing that your pelvis hurts. He is aware of the way you’re so dilapidated from pleasure that you’re genuinely struggling to breathe. He doesn’t care. He wants to get the cadences of your climax tattooed into the gray matter of his brain, and there can’t be rests in the sheet music, can there?

He presses a hand flat on your stomach in preparation for your body’s protest, then returns his face to its place between your thighs; starts to leave kitten licks around the edges of your puffy folds before you can finish riding out your high. You press your tongue against the back of your front teeth, emitting a pained hiss as you draw a sharp breath, tears stinging at your eyes.

“Son of a bitch—”

“Trust me?” He asks again, his voice vibrating against your sore cunt, and your complaints quiet into whimpers as you bring a hand over your quivering mouth, and nod. 

At least Hyunjin bridles his thirst the second time he eats your pussy open, his lips smacking openly and slowly over your every inch except the one that would be truly unbearable for you right now. He’s so rough and so fucking careful at once like he can’t decide between obliterating and worshipping your cunt.

He’ll end up doing both.

Within a few minutes, your legs have gone slack on either side of Hyunjin once again, and another coil has begun to tighten behind your bellybutton, equal parts pain and pleasure—but he knows your pussy just as well as he does your person by now, and it’s not long before the former is compounding with the latter.

Round two has a faster ascent and a steeper drop. He finds your spot again with the precision and ease of a trained marksman and fixates upon it like a man starved. It has your cries devolving to incoherent profanities and, to his unfettered delight, your foot actually shaking, your heel tapping against the back of his neck every time it comes down.

As if referencing a metronome, Hyunjin matches the rhythm of his tongue to your accelerando. Only when your leg is nearly convulsing does he wrap his lips back around your clit; slide two fingers into the place he leaves empty and pumps them into you until you are liquifying, igniting around him, your mewls lamenting the second orgasm he plucks from your core.

After your body has stilled, Hyunjin lifts his head, his face drenched in perspiration and saliva and you. His eyes travel over the slopes of your arms and the hills of your breasts, over the tears streaming from your eyes and staining the pillow you lie on. It is this last bit that has him shrugging off his shirt and undoing his dress pants with one hand, palming his throbbing cock with the other.

He clambers over you, and the kiss that follows is filthy, your mouth falling apart when he rolls your nipples between his fingers, strands of spit suspending between your tongues before dripping down onto your collarbone. You can sense what he wants in his craving lips, his pleading tongue—and you know he won’t ask for it. He’s tested you enough tonight; he’d rather your comfort than his pleasure.

But you guide his leaking head to your entrance, returning his stupefied look with a watery smile.

“Love me?” You ask this time, for the first time.

There is not even a nanosecond of hesitation when he answers, “with everything in me.”

He comes inside you the moment he bottoms out, your name leaving his lips in breathless, desperate repetition like a broken prayer as he topples off the same cliff he’d dropped you from moments ago. You curl a hand in his hair as he stutters against you, bring your lips flush against his ear, and whisper that you love him too—and the sight of you beneath him blurs he also starts to tear up.

This is the reality Hyunjin lives in, presumably because he was a saint in his past life, and it would be his utmost pleasure to see it through.

Two years later. Milan, Italy. 11:28 A.M.

For the last half hour, a ray of sunlight has repeatedly struck the diamond that sits between the second and third knuckle of your ring finger, and the Vogue journalist on the other side of your desk thinks he is slowly losing his vision. But when he asks his final question, your hand comes to a much-appreciated stop, the fountain pen you’ve been twirling around clattering to your tabletop.

“Where do you find your inspiration?” 

As the journalist blinks the phosphenes from his eyes, he finally manages to get a good look at the face of Versace’s newest designer, and he detects something ineffable and warm in your expression.

“My inspiration, hm?” You fall silent for a short time, thinking. “If you asked me this at the start of my career, I’d have said ‘people.’ Their postures, their expressions, their wardrobes. I knew I was a goner when I watched a fashion show for the first time and noticed how the models’ attire helped them harness their innate power and grace—I wanted to orchestrate that kind of symbiosis, too. In that aspect, nothing has changed, actually. I still find wonder in human beings, and not just the ones on the runway. I think it would be difficult not to, don’t you?

“Some time ago, a good friend of mine was having trouble with an outfit for her client. She asked me a similar question, and only then did I realize that it was no longer just people that inspired me most, but a singular person. I had always been skeptical of the idea of a ‘muse’ until I met him. But I could only spend so long denying how he ventured closer to my soul than anything ever had, how he knew me and saw me like nobody ever could. He understood my art. He was my art, so—”

Your eyes dart over your ring, and the journalist would’ve flinched out of habit if he wasn’t so mesmerized by your eloquence.

“—where better to find inspiration than inspiration himself?”

A few seconds elapse, and then you clear your throat and straighten your back, returning to your office from your trip down memory lane. 

“That’s the long answer, anyways. The short answer would be my fiancé.”

The journalist laughs, and he doubts you’ll give him this next piece of information—but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t try.

“And who would that be?”

He’s right. You don’t answer the question. But you do flash him an enigmatic smile, and for some reason it reminds him of lightning.

🔖 (send an ask to be added)・@astraystayyh・@like-a-diamondinthesky・@fire-08・@starsandrqindrops・@txtxlz・@laylasbunbunny・@strayghibli・@nuronhe

© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other works here. thanks so much for the support ♡

[peachesofteal]

How would Soap react if he saw that Cypher was being harassed or stalked by some other individual on base? This individual is completely unaware of Soap's fascination with and control over Cypher. Maybe she is being preyed upon by some stereotypically young and horny meathead and his buddies or an older officer who has never served in a combat role. What would Soap do to that person? What would he say to Cypher about it, if anything?

18+ mdni / dark and twisty themes / no smut, Johnny beats the shit out of someone / soap x cypher masterlist

Early morning is one of Johnny's favorite times. He enjoys the quiet pace, the peace before chaos, the relaxed, subtle silence that slowly gets washed away as people start their days.

He particularly enjoys you in the early mornings, watching you make your way across base before any of your counterparts, settling into your work without turning on most of the lights, tweaking the nuances of your new routine. Cup of coffee, speciality keyboard, water bottle, your favorite jacket. Every morning, he marvels at how stunning you are, how perfect, beautiful in every way, down to each individual strand of your hair. He watches how you tackle the things thrown your way head on, sinking into your expertise that surpasses, he suspects, every one else in the room, sees how you treat everyone kindly, how you work so passionately and diligently. It makes his heart glow in his chest, love and obsession and possession burning in his blood, always pushing him closer to get a better look, encouraging him to linger where he can't be seen.

But this morning, something is different. You're late, far later than normal, and you seem... off. There's something off balance in your steps, something in your face that unsettles him, worries him. You power up your work station, arranging your belongings as you like, but instead of appearing happy, healthy like you normally do when you're about to settle into your day.... you look distressed.

He badges into the building without another thought. Anxiety is churning through him now, mixing with fear until his steps are more than hurried, and people are throwing him bewildered looks as he barrels down the hallway. Whatever it is, he'll fix it. He'll make it okay. He'll take care of you.

He stops short just inside the room where you work. Some people look his way curiously, but when he returns their probing eyes, they flinch away in a panic, burying their noses back in their computers, pretending he's not there. Good.

He's about to start towards your console when someone else does the same, a private that doesn't even work in this building, his eyes narrowed and hungry on where your elegant fingers fly across a keyboard. What the fuck?

You don't notice the private at first, which irks him, makes him even more worried, your lack of situational awareness scratching at him beneath his skull. It's a danger to be here in the first place, so close to an engagement zone, and the fact that you're less than aware does not make him feel good.

When you do, finally, look up and spot the oversized low rank that's heading your way, you stiffen, fingers slowing to a stop, throat bobbing with a swallow. He says your name, informal as all get out, and you shift in your seat, fingers coming together, one of your many tells. You're uncomfortable, he realizes. This bloke has been making you uncomfortable. He's chatting you up, or trying to, brushing his hand against your arm, the motion making Johnny see red, and the way his face twists, like he's in on some sick joke, tells Johnny all he needs to know. Slimy git.

"Private. What's yer business on this floor?" Johnny barks, louder than necessary coming to stand beside your chair, across from where the private lurks, chatter around the room dying out as you stare up at him, wide eyed and... relieved.

"Sergeant MacTavish, I wasn't aware the 141-"

"I didnae ask ye what ye're aware of, private. I asked ye what business ye have here." He repeats, inflection flat, and the private gulps, stammering out some bullshit excuse until Johnny is excusing him, encouraging him to make himself scarce.

Once he's gone, you release a long breath, shoulders slumping. He wants to take you in his arms, and hold you. Wants to comfort you, tell you he'd never let anything happen to you, that you'll always be safe, as long as he lives.

But he can't. He knows what a brazen display of affection would do to you, in this setting. How it would harm, instead of help. So, instead-

"Are ye alright, wee sweet?" He keeps his voice low, and your eyes slip closed.

"Yes. Thank you... Sergeant." You whisper.

"Do ye need a break?" He'll take you back to your room, if you do. Or his. Make up some excuse for Price and get you out of work for the day, in a blink. You shake your head.

"No, sir." He nods, squeezing your shoulder with slow, gentle touch, before giving you a long look, and taking his leave.

The pub that everyone frequents off base is a dingy thing. It's dark, and dirty, just the way Johnny likes it. Simon can smoke inside here, right at the bar, and he's just putting his first cigarette out when Johnny's target stumbles, half drunk from the toilets.

"That him?" His LT grunts, and Johnny nods, swallowing the rest of his beer in one go. Simon slaps a folded bill down next to the ashtray. "See you in five."

It's not hard, to get the private outside. He's more drunk than Johnny originally thought, and ushering him towards the back door is as simple as telling him he wants to have a chat, keeping his tone light and easy.

The private doesn't realize the danger he's in until he gets to the alley, and sees Ghost stepping out from the dark.

"Wh-what is this?"

"This-" Johnny hums, removing his jacket as Ghost grabs the private by the back of the neck, turning him. "is a lesson for ye."

"A lesson?"

"The civilian specialist. Cypher." Ghost tells him, removing his hand, letting him shift fully to face Johnny, stricken.

"She doesnae like ye. She doesnae want ye, and she never will. Dinnae ever, ever, touch my girl again." He pushes him, just a little, as a pre cursor, a warning for what's next. The private's eyes are wide, and scared, and Johnny smirks. "If I ever see you-" He swings, landing his fist across his jaw, hard enough that he knows the private is seeing stars, and Ghost steadies him for the next. "looking at her again-" he swings, again. There's a satisfying crack this time, the private's nose, blood spurting from the wound like a fountain, and the injured man howls, loud enough that Ghost is clamping a hand over his mouth to shut him up. "or talking to her-" he lands two more punches to his face, a jawbone hit, and eye socket. Nothing breaks, which is ideal, but he puts enough force behind them that he knows the eye will swell shut, for days. "even breathing near her-" His last punch is the knockout. It sends the private stumbling backwards, and Ghost slides out of the way, letting him fall, his body sprawling across the pavement like he's fallen from the roof. "I'll fucking kill ye. I'll kill ye, and bury ye in a nameless pit. Do ye understand?" He spits, and the private tries to say yes, but it comes out as a cry.

"Nod your head." Ghost instructs, and he does, miserably. "You tell anyone about this, I'll do worse than what Sergeant MacTavish is promising. We were never here. Copy?"

"Yes sir." The private blubbers, and Johnny shakes out some of the tension between his shoulders. Much better.

You're still awake. He's on edge, and was hoping to have a few hours in your room, watching you sleep, listening to the rise and fall of your chest, soothing himself with your presence, but instead, you're still awake, and he's at a loss before he accepts he can't fight it, and knocks on your door.

"Sergeant?" You're surprised to see him, caught off guard, and he's driven to soothe you, stepping forward inside your room, clicking the lock behind him.

"That private won't be bothering ye anymore." He tells you lowly, and your eyes go wide.

"I- What? Sir?" He pulls you into his body easily, your nose in his neck, his cheek pressed to the top of your head. He can feel the tension slowly leaking from you, his hand working broad strokes up and down your back, murmuring to you about he'll always keep ye safe, how he'll always take care of ye, and upon pulling away, he's incredibly pleased to see that you seem happy... even relieved. "Thank you, sir." You whisper, and he rubs a thumb across your cheek.

"I want ye to call me Johnny, Cy. Instead of Sergeant." Not instead of sir, but he doesn't think he needs to tell you that. He presses a kiss to your forehead. "It's late, ye should be in bed."

"I couldn't sleep." You confess, and he nods.

"I know. C'mon. I'll help ye."

[hashbrowpn]

──★ ˙WHAT ARE YOU? ̟ !?

YOU WEREN'T AWARE that mermaids, sirens, all those, truly existed. After all, you spent nearly all your years at sea, so it was only right you could assume so ... but he certainly proved you wrong.

NOTES: dont mind me just walking by .. *accidentally drops my bag full of pirate!reader x merman!muichiro*

You stand with your heart beating fast, you can hear it in your ears. Waves crash over the deck, wracking the ship. Rain pelts down like stones, accompanied by lightning that lights the gray  and stormy night up like an explosion. 

You reach into your pocket for a bar of chocolate to compose yourself.

You see something in the corner of your eye.

Whipping your head around, you lean over at the railings, and you catch sight of it again.

It was no fish, you were sure. Because no fish had eyes so... 

...human.

 It gazes up at you with suspicion, and dives off.

"Hey!" inclining yourself further, you desperately search for this divine creature.

You nearly fall over the ledge, but someone catches your wrist.

"Careful," Shinobu warned, her voice both a whisper and a yell over the noise. You stopped to look at her, her crisp white shirt, adorned with intricate lace at the cuffs, frayed brown trousers and heavy black boots. She gives you a thin smile that didn't reach her eyes. You nod, swallowing, and mutter a "Thank you,"

You slip out of her grasp and your eyes rove over the raging sea, but your train of thought is broken with a shout.

"Guys! there's a leak!" Mitsuri cries as she scrambles to look for something to patch up the giant hole in the wooden floors. 

You swear under your breath as you try to desperately wrack your brains for something to help, glancing over at the three little girls and Aoi whimpering in the corner as Shinobu consoles them, heart wrenching.

Kanao comes to help as her hands fumble clumsily at the makeshift she had crafted to patch it up, but water still seeped through. As your chest tightens with anxiety, there came an ear-splitting crack. The three little girls screamed. Overhead, the lightning still roars, and below, the waves still crash. 

You turn to Mitsuri in panic. "Did you hear that?"

Mitsuri looked at you slowly, green eyes as big as saucers, but before she could even open her mouth to speak, the floorboards beneath you gives away, and you fall into the icy embrace of the sea.

The sea breeze is cold, and it leaves a taste of salt in your mouth. The sand tickles your feet as you kick your way around it. 

You look around. Ah, you're dreaming.

The ocean's surface shimmers like a canvas painted with the liquid gold of the sun. It's so tranquil, so peaceful. You let out a relieved sigh.

The sea washes a few shells at the shore. As you take one, it's beauty so enchanting, you pocket it and trudge through the sand and into the peaceful waters.

But it isn't as expected.

The water is cold, too cold for your liking. But as you try to get out, you find the seaweeds beneath you had found their way up your feet and shackled your ankles.

The sky turns gray again.

The seaweeds drag you back, and you cry out for help, screaming until your throat gives out, until the water in up to your neck—

"Hey."

"Aah!" you wake up cold but sweating, shaking, covered in sea weed, sand, and God knows what. "Eugh!" you wail after eyeing an odd looking thing stuck to your finger, and shaking it off violently, before your eyes settled on...

what in the world?

"What the-?" you shuffle backwards, realizing you were on shore. The sunkissed sand sticks to you as you back away. 

It gazed at you. Hypnotizing eyes, eyes the color of the sea on a beautiful afternoon. And oh, hair like a black canvas fading into the same color as his wonderous eyes. Your eyes drifed to his body... a tail instead of two human legs. He was leaning on his arm, his other half in the water.

You stammer, "What... What are you? are you what i think you are...?"

He squints his eyes in annoyance, and merely plops back into the sea. 

"Hey! Hey wait!" you scurry to reach for him— and grab his wrist. You struggle to hold on, but he struggles to escape.

"Let go of me," he hisses, pulling harder. "You can talk," you say, flabbergasted.

"Are you underestimating me, human?" he seethes, then lets his head dip underwater and dives. You yelp, refusing to let go of him, even if that meant getting dragged into the sea.

It wasn't exactly a refreshing experience. 

Being drenched in sweat and being in ice cold water. You were sure to catch a cold after this, well, if there even was an after this.

You're losing air, but as soon as you plan to let go, he brings you back to shore again, pushing you into the sand. "Go." he says, irritation obvious as he shakes your hand off. "If you bug me one more time, i'm drowning you."

You're simply awestruck, at loss of words. He's beautiful.

You lean forward to touch his face, but he turns away forcibly. "What do you think you're doing?" he grouses. "I should have never saved you. I knew humans were stupid."

You try to speak. You can't speak.

It didn't quite matter where you were right now. You were focused on him.

He shakes his head and turns to leave, but you shout, "Wait!"

You undid the button of your pocket, and was ever so relieved when you took the chocolate bar in your hand. "U-uh, do you eat-?"

He eyed it just like how he eyed you when you were on the ship. "What's that?"

Before you could even answer, he snatched it from you and began chewing at the wrapper. "No wait, you have to..." you gestured to him to peel it off.

He took a bite into the chocolate and looked simply taken aback. "What is this?"

"Uhm... chocolate."

In a few seconds, he had already eaten the whole thing. "Do you have more?" he leaned in and began to search your trousers, palming at the pockets. "No, wait," you swatted his hand away. He looked at you, offended.

"I'll give you another if..." you swallowed, head spinning. Clearly, you weren't thinking straight. "If you tell me what you are, and who you are."

He raised a brow. "What I am?... Who I am?..." 

"Yes."

"...I don't quite remember."

You just look at him with several questions. But another more important one pops up. You swear under your breath. "Oh no, the ship, the others!"

You stand up, and you immediately almost fall over from dizziness. "Where even am I?" 

"I've forgotten too." 

You shake your head at him, annoyed. "Whatever. Now I'm stuck in God knows where with some Ariel asking me for my only food."

Massaging your temples, you sit down at the shore where the water washes away at your leather boots, and you reach into the cuffs of your sleeves, stained with dirt and sand, for a small piece of chocolate. You peel off the wrapper and bite on it, staring off distantly.

"Hey!" The merman calls, looking ever so photogenic in the water. He swims over to you, but before he could, you eat the last small piece of chocolate. His brows furrow as he looks at you as if it were the end of the world when you popped the last piece in your mouth. "How greedy," he muses. "I have to take it from you forcefully, then."

He leans over and takes your chin, and presses his lips against yours. 

It breaks your train of thought, and you yelp and try to pull him away, tangling your fingers in his wet locks, but he pushes you closer to him. 

Finally, he pulls away from you, licking his lips discreetly. He savours the chocolate he stole from you, and his brows lift a little as if having a realization. "I remember my name now," he says, gaze drifting off. "Tokito Muichiro. You've asked me that, yes?" 

[sevcasejay1chicago]

Overstimulated- Jay, Kelly, and Matt

Summary: Your day didn’t turn out the way you had hoped, ending in you snapping at your boyfriends.

Warnings: descriptions of panic attack, LaNgUaGe

——————

It’s been a while since you’ve been this overstimulated. You made specific changes in your life in hopes of avoiding this moment. Your three favorite people are sat, in stunned silence, after you just got up and snapped at them. You never snap. All of you joke about how you are the most chill person in this relationship. Today, you’ve had it.

It was suppose to be a peaceful Saturday morning. All of you were off, which was a rare occurrence for a Saturday in and of itself. The original plan was to sleep in and then have a lazy movie day. Of course, that got derailed when one of your UCs called for an assistant, dragging you out of bed at 0745.

Then, your mom decided to call and bicker about your relationship with the boys. She started the conversation like she had thought about it and was finally on board with the relationship, but she quickly exited that ship before she blew it up right in your face. It had made your day much worse, but after you had a good cry in the parking garage of your building, you had felt a little better.

Now, you were just upset that nobody could agree on a movie. All you wanted was to finally watch a movie with your favorite guys, but they wouldn’t stop arguing over who had the better movie idea. Now, your popcorn was cold, your favorite snacks were still left untouched, and you were pacing the living room while shaking your hands out and attempting to even your breathing.

Kelly had to be the one to break the silence. “What’s gotten into you? You’ve been pretty crabby all day.” Kelly shot at you, no real heat behind the words, but that didn’t matter in your state.

“What’s a matter with me? You really wanna fucking know?” You asked, stopping to yell as you spoke directly at him, seeing Jay shrink a bit in the corner of your eye. He’s never seen you like this. None of them have, but he can tell something isn’t quite right. “My day was ruined when I got an early morning wake up call, then my mom laid into me about our relationship, again. All I wanted was to have a nice movie night and eat junk and then go to bed and start over tomorrow but you guys won’t just pick a damn movie and hold me!” You shouted, tears threatening to spill.

“Well baby, I’m sorry, but we didn’t know any of this. You gotta tell us these things. We can let you pick the movie and just go about our night. We are sorry we made things worse.” Matt said, always the fixer, but that just upset you more.

You shook your hands harder, closing your eyes and trying to focus on breathing through the sobs that were threatening to escape. “I-I can’t. I love you guys, but I can’t right n-.”

In your panic, you hadn’t seen or heard Jay get up and approach you, bringing you into his arms. You immediately stopped when you smelled his cologne and buried your face into his neck. You were still trying to be strong, but it was hard with Jay’s lips next to your ear, a hand running through your hair and the other running up and down your back.

“Shhhhh baby.” Jay whispered calmly. “Follow me. If you need to cry, cry, but you need to breathe.” Jay coached, slowly rocking you back and forth as you let out a sob into his neck. “There you go. I have you now. Your safe.” Jay soothed, kissing the side of your head.

The other two wondered off as Jay continued to consol you. They grabbed some wet cloths, Jay’s army hoodie, your favorite blanket, your anxiety meds, and some tissue. When they got back, Jay was sat back on the couch, you sitting in his lap, wrapped around him like a koala.

“Think she got overwhelmed. That’s a lot to happen in a day, especially when you try to do it all on your own.” Jay explained, still caressing you.

The other two nodded, sheepishly handing over their items like apology gifts. Jay ended up helping you clean your face before you allowed Matt to slide the hoodie over your head and Kelly to toss the blanket over you and Jay.

“We didn’t mean to upset you further sweetheart. I’m so sorry I snapped back at you in the moment. I should have noticed something was bothering you with your change in behavior.” Kelly said, sitting on one side of Jay.

“And I’m sorry for being overwhelming with how badly I wanted to fix it. I know what overstimulation feels like and I also know that it doesn’t really help when someone tries to reason.” Matt said, lightly rubbing your arm.

“And I’m sorry for yelling.” You said, sitting up slightly and playing with the strings on the hoodie. “I was really frustrated this morning and then my mom just really made me overwhelmed and sad. I just got way too overstimulated and I couldn’t stop it. I’m sorry for taking it out on you guys.” You said, not looking up.

Jay gently tilted your chin up. “Hey. You know that we still love you. We all have bad days and snap when we don’t mean to.”

“Us more than you.” Kelly added in.

“So, we totally get it. Just please tell us how you feel next time. Okay?” Jay asked, wiping the fresh tears from your eyes.

You nodded, allowing Matt to help you blow your nose.

“Now, what do you say we watch Y/F/M, eat all these snacks, and then turn in early. How does that sound?” Jay asks, helping you adjust in his lap.

“Sounds amazing.” You whispered, getting comfy as Kelly began the movie.

Tag list:

@treehouse-mouse

@shadowmeadowsworld

@sorry-i-spaced

@zephyrmonkey

@allisonargent144

@amie134

@lane-rodgers-barnes

@pensfan5871

@dumb-fawkin-bitch

@marvel-and-chicago-fan

@daggersquadphantom

@stellakiddsblog

@100yroldteenagers

@senjoritanana

@celtic-shadow-wolf

@starset21

@mrspeacem1nusone

[milliesfishes]

⋆౨ৎThe Sea Is Boundless and So Are We⋆౨ৎ

[fem reader] contains: angst, panic attack pairing: finnick odair x fem reader summary: you have a breakdown and Finnick comforts you author’s note: first Finnick fic! I hope I did it right <3 Pinterest Board Spotify Playlist

Salt spray stung your eyes as you kicked off your sandals, shifting your feet into the grainy sand, warm from a day's worth of the sun's attention. Waves were lapping at the shore, foam left behind like a crown each time the water retreated and rebounded. Sunset shot colors across the sea's reflection like a splayed hand, holding your gaze for a moment before you began the trek forward.

It was a routine you had never set, but you found yourself doing it every night anyways. After the stresses and tensions of the day clawed at your mind, the ocean was the only thing that could ease it. You supposed it was your homeland bound to you, beckoning with open arms. This was where you felt most at ease- you would have buried yourself in the sand and let the water eat at your body if you could.

Tonight, it was different. Tonight, the reason you'd discarded your shoes and went to walk along the jagged shoreline was paramount, worse than any of your miniscule trials from times before. You'd abandoned the envelope on the kitchen counter, flinging the door open before another thought could cross your mind.

Footprints sunk into the sand as you trudged to the water, hoping it would give you some kind of relief, like a life force you merely needed to come back to every once in awhile. Words echoed back and forth across your mind, like objects sliding across the surface of a rocking boat.

From the moment your name had been called at the Reaping, your senses had been heightened, unfortunately including the choking vines of anxiety. It had only worsened in training, climaxed when you were in the arena. Here in the feigned safety of the aftermath, you were dealing with the consequences. You tried to reassure yourself that this kind of news would upset anybody, but it only made you feel worse. This was how the world was. Your tired, stretched-thin mind couldn't seem to get that through.

A shout of your name disturbed your peace, and you tore your eyes from the rolling waves, turning around. The dress you wore tangled around your calves with the gentle breeze, hair following the same path. In the distance you could see a familiar silhouette, lifting a single hand and waving.

You recognized him. Of course you did. Even if his figure was blackened by the shade and buried underwater you would know.

Jogging forward, Finnick slowly but surely made his way over, the sand hindering what would have been swift movements otherwise. He must have come to the door of your home and seen it ajar, guessing the only other place you would be. As he approached, you could see the worry causing the sea blue in his eyes to darken with a storm, his golden hair messy as if he'd run his hands through it. You made no move to reach for him. What was the point if you would be forced to let go sooner than you wanted to?

He grasped at your arms once they were in reach, golden fingers probing at your smooth skin. "Baby...hey...I know it seems bad-"

"Bad?" Your voice was dry and he winced at it just a little. Looking away with some difficulty, you swallowed your tears. "They're sending you back. This is worse than bad."

"I know, I know." Finnick attempted to pull you into him, console you the way he'd done a million times before, but you resisted, lifting your gaze back up to him.

"How many times before they're satisfied?" you whispered, voice edging on a sob. "You're tied to them...they...they'll only keep pulling you back again and again and again."

"It's the Capitol's way," he said firmly, but not with anger. When Finnick got like this, he was steady as the cliffs above, your rock through and through. "Honey...I can't say no."

"Why?" You said it so desperately that he bowed his head briefly. Now you were moving in, tugging at his shirt. "Why do you let them ship you off? Why do you let them make you do such horrible things?"

Finnick's hand found your back, the warmth of his palm pressing into your spine. It was a tactic he'd used all through your training, resuming when you returned from your victory with a mentality worse than death. You were so upset now that you almost didn't want it to work, but of course it did.

He gently brought you into his chest, your cheek against his heart. Finnick held your head there with his other hand, taking in purposefully deep breaths so you'd follow his lead. A salty tear slipped from your eye and he let it soak into his shirt. The action opened the floodgates, and now you were really crying, rivers on your cheeks streaming like rain on a windowpane.

When you choked out an apology, he shook his head, adjusting you in his arms so his body blocked the wind, engulfing you deep into him. "It was your tears or the sea, baby. I'd take the first any day."

You felt your knees buckle as emotion overwhelmed you, feeling like you were drowning. But Finnick caught wind of it, ever your rescuer. He knelt in the sand, never once letting go as he let you cry helplessly into his shoulder.

How many times had you been in this exact position with him? It was a number you hadn't bothered to keep track of, knowing it would happen again and again. Every time you shattered, he gathered up the pieces, setting them back in place and kissing the crooked lines of your scars.

Rubbing your back, he murmured sweet assurances into your hair, holding you tight. He didn't want to let go either, you knew. In all your sorrow you'd forgotten. He was leaving you, but he was leaving you. It hurt him just as much, he cried just as many tears over it, though you knew most didn't make it to your skin, just the pillow in the room he kept at the Capitol. A room he spent as much time in as possible, for it was the only place he wasn't forced to perform in every way.

To everyone there, he was a service. A machine that had but one function. To flirt and be used, to wear the image they thrust on him. It was nothing like the man you knew, the one who kissed you so sweet it made you melt, who made promises bare under bedsheets. He loved you, he loved you, he loved you.

Every time he was summoned, you hoped it would be the last time. But then in a few months, another request was made, and he penned another letter to you, instructions written on the envelope not to open it until he was gone. The words inside would comfort you when he was far from your presence. He hadn't even gotten the chance to tell you in person first this time- you'd flipped through your mail, seen his handwriting and just known.

Finnick loosened his grip on you just a little, pressing a soft kiss into your hair. "It's gonna be okay. You're gonna be okay."

You shook your head, half hoping if you convinced him it wouldn't be okay that he'd stay. But life persisted, you were forced to keep living, and you were deemed fine because you had to be. And after every bout without him, you were left with nothing but the knowledge that you could survive outside his orbit, something you wished wasn't true. Paired with that, dread that another summons would arrive, closer to his return home than the previous one.

Pushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his eyes found yours, searching and soothing. "You'll remember your breathing, okay? Yeah? And I'll be right back here with you before you know it. It'll be like I was never gone." It wouldn't. You both knew that. You both knew an ache would instill the second you parted ways, two souls never meant to be apart.

"Please don't," you whispered, a final hopeless plea. Clinging to his shirt, you squeezed your eyes shut. "Don't go. Just tell them no. Tell them you can't this time."

"Baby, they're gonna hurt you if I don't," he murmured, stroking your hair again. "I'll die before I let them hurt you."

You let out a gasping sob, and he nodded, folding himself around you again. "Shh, I've got you. I've got you." Securing a hand over the top of your head, he whispered, "You're safe. I'm here."

Hand reaching up, you found the shell he wore on a cord around his neck, a smooth, creamy thing you'd found on a lazy day with him walking on the beach. Finnick called it his good luck charm and had shown up the next day with it on a necklace. You'd never seen him without it since.

It was your object of comfort now, as you leaned against his chest and grasped it, rubbing your thumb over the smooth underside. Steadily, you could feel yourself begin to calm down, the storm in your heart quelling to a careful breeze. Suddenly you were back to earth sheathed in Finnick's arms, the only safe place in the world. Your ears stopped ringing, everything caught up and you took in a breath that didn't shake.

"There you go," he murmured, rocking back and forth. "It's okay, baby. It's okay."

It wasn't okay. None of it was. You thought helplessly about how unfair everything had turned out. The two of you had been through the unimaginable and come out the other side. But the story didn't end there. And now the man you loved was a tool in the hands of the same people who continued to torture you long after the last person in the arena was slain.

Finnick rubbed your back gently, his touch an antidote. He kissed your forehead, lips lingering, nose buried in your hairline. "Pretty girl. My pretty girl." His cheek rested on the top of your head. "Sometimes I wonder why you chose me?"

Despite yourself, you breathed a laugh, and he smiled. As if Finnick didn't know how good looking he was. The world reminded him often, but you never saw him light up so much as when you did.

Tenderly holding you, tethering you to him as the rock in your storm, Finnick lightly trailed his lips over your face, as if he were kissing the bright side of the moon. He ended on your mouth, staying there as long as he could. You could have mistaken his eyes for stars, his touch for a sunbeam.

He pulled you in from the treacherous waters in your heart, tucking you into his side as he swam through them himself.

A devotion sealed in kisses, a cradle in his arms.

[bloodycotton]

Day seven, okey, this whole tober thing is way harder than i thought.

Prompts by: @raven-cincaide-words

(English is NOT my first language)

Day 7.- Soul Mates

Daryl Dixon (The Walking Dead, 2010) x Fem!reader

When night fell on the road and the sounds of the wandering dead were all you could hear, the most terrifying thing was that you couldn't see them. And sometimes, when you did manage to see them, it was too late, so the nights were the most difficult, the most uncomfortable and the most dangerous. 

You slept as much as you could and where you could, trying to stay alert for any kind of threat, dead or alive. Every little sound put you on the defensive, the rustle of dry leaves, the small twigs breaking as animals passed overhead. 

The higher above the ground you slept, the better you were able to fall asleep, even if your body complained about the discomfort, and you were sore, sleeping in the trees was the safest option you had in mind. 

A month and a couple of weeks had passed since the dead populated the land, and only a couple of the living were left fighting for their lives. You included. 

If finding your soul mate was difficult before, now it was impossible, but you had the consolation that this person was still alive for you, because soul mates had a special connection, a shared empathy, they felt each other's emotions. And you could feel everything he or she felt. 

And you were worried, he was lonely, anxious, distressed, fatigued and couldn't sleep even for a second, something was wrong with him, and you were scared that you couldn't help him before something bad happened to him, that you couldn't get to your soul mate before death claimed him. 

That's why you were trying so hard to survive, to stay calm, to at least give a little peace of mind to the other end of the loop, as another night fell on their heads. 

What you didn't expect was to find a little girl running from a walker in the middle of the woods, almost across an internal Georgia road. You helped her, of course you helped her, she was no more than ten years old, and she looked exhausted and scared, more than scared she was terrified. 

With precise movements you raised your weapon and took down the walkers, bringing them both to safety, setting off on a journey to the road where she had told you her mother would be waiting for her, but your heart broke when you saw no one, only the pile of abandoned cars. 

Her little hand squeezed yours, you were sure she was distraught. "Do you have any idea where they were?" You asked her, maybe they had left some kind of directions they could follow or some clue as to where her mother might be. 

"Just up ahead" I pointed to the little girl, Sophia, as she had said herself, her name was when you saved her from the walkers. 

"Let's go and look for her then" You said trying to sound a bit more hopeful, but there was a knot in your stomach, you didn't want to be negative, but the chances that her mother could be alive were very low. But with a sigh, you decided that you wouldn't leave her alone for anything in the world. 

You both walked into the tangle of cars, the sound of your soft footsteps contrasting with the thump of your heart pounding in your chest. Without meaning to, the anxiety and anguish was growing in you and Daryl could feel it, he could feel your emotions boiling over, and it scared him, you were always calm, in a state of serenity, he was the anxious one, the one who always put himself in dangerous situations. And those thoughts sent him into a spiral at one of the worst times, for he was supposed to be looking for the girl and some trace that she might be alive, but he was thinking about his soul mate and his growing anxiety while he was on a horse. 

His hands tightened on the rein, and he tried to take slow, deep breaths. When the mare he was on saw a snake, making her jump and dropping him off the small cliff, he yelped in surprise as he was thrown from the saddle and fell to the rocky ground, landing with a groan and a cry of pain as his back hit a large rock and one of his own arrows burying itself in the side of his abdomen.  

A wave of pain and anguish hit you, and you knew he was in danger, and despair washed over you. 

The forest thickened as you moved through it, the trees closing in around you, obscuring the path even further. Sophia was still at your side, her small hand clutched tightly in yours. The fear on her face reminded you how fragile hope was in these times.

You both moved on, the silence of the forest was overwhelming, only interrupted by the rustling of the wind and the rustling of branches. Your mind whirled around your soul mate, growing more and more restless. It wasn't normal for him to feel this way. You knew there must be something else. A shiver ran down your spine as you remembered the connection you shared, that strange empathy that bound you together, as if your hearts beat in unison.

Suddenly, a muffled growl echoed through the trees. Instinctively, you stopped, causing Sophia to stand still beside you.

"What was that?" Sophia asked, her eyes growing wide with fear.

"I don't know," you said, trying to remain calm as you moved a little deeper into the thicket. Every step seemed like an echo, but there was something in the air that pulled you forward, like a tugging at your insides.

Your heart was racing every moment, and then you felt it. A surge of pain and anguish came from your soul mate, a silent scream that echoed in your chest. Without thinking, you began to run, leading Sophia behind you.

You couldn't stop. Anxiety flooded through you, pulling you forward, like a magnet you couldn't ignore.

Finally, you came to a kind of clearing, where the light illuminated a small stream. There, on the ground, with pale skin and an arrow through his side, was a man, and you knew immediately that this man was your soul mate. His face was covered in sweat and a grimace of pain plagued him, as his eyes closed and opened, as if he was struggling to stay conscious.

"Daryl," Sophia murmured behind you, quickly approaching the man lying in the water, Daryl was his name, and you knelt down beside him. The world around you faded away, all that mattered was him. "God... What do I do?" The pain was searing, and you still felt it, which was good, it meant he was still okay, or at least that's what you told yourself. 

He looked at you, confusion and pain reflected in his gaze. "You...?" he murmured, his voice cracking. "Sophia...?" You felt a new surge, but now of reassurance, of relief, Daryl was relieved to see you, you and Sophia safe and sound. 

He didn't know you fully, but he knew who you were, he felt it. 

[jesuschristisgod]

Psalm 94:19 says “When anxiety was great within me, your consolation brought joy to my soul.” The Lord is there to bring us joy and peace. He wants us to rest knowing that we have a comforter. The Holy Spirit is always with us and there during the good and the bad times.

[entheognosis]

May you awaken to the mystery of being here and enter the quiet immensity of your own presence. May you have joy and peace in the temple of your senses.

May you receive great encouragement when new frontiers beckon. May you respond to the call of your gift and find the courage to follow its path.

May your outer dignity mirror an inner dignity of soul. May you take time to celebrate the quiet miracles that seek no attention.

May the flame of anger free you from falsity. May warmth of heart keep your presence aflame and may anxiety never linger about you.

May you be consoled in the secret symmetry of your soul. May you experience each day as a sacred gift woven around the heart of wonder.

John O'Donohue

[dronebiscuitbat]

This chapter has smut in it. Although drones don't have junk, they can "make love." In their own special way.

I don't view this as explicit, since how drones make that connection is much different then how people do. That being said, if you aren't into that. Here's the Tl;DR:

N comes home worried, N and Uzi console each other, before N gets the wise idea that perhaps they won't ever have the chance to do this again with everything going on.

Loving, Passionate Robotic Lovemaking Ensues.

Oil is Thicker Then Blood (Part 47)

N was home in record time, and when he opened the door he was immediately pulled down into a tight embrace, Uzi's tail was free, curling around him as if he was the last bastion of safety on the planet, her fingers gripped the back of his coat.

Nothing was said, not yet. He closed the door behind him with his tail and used the door itself as something to lean against as he lifted her up into his arms, burying his face into the crook of her neck.

“I'm so glad you're okay.” N broke the silence first, mumbling the words into her shoulder, he focused on the sound of her core-beat, it fluttered with anxiety but still thrummed like a war-drum, she was safe…

“I was more worried about you… I thought she was right on top of you or something.” She admitted, pulling back to look at him only to press their visors together with a light clink.

“N-no, I'm okay honey.” He purred back, his eyes still closed. The girl in his arms made a squeak and quickly looked away, the sudden term of endearment catching her off guard, especially since he sounded so genuine.

His brain seemed to catch up a moment later, and he went a shade of gold, clearing his throat.

“I-I… sorry, I was just worried… a-and it sounded right.”

“It's… okay.”

There was a pause, a lull of silence between them as N slowly put her down, before he started speaking again.

“Did you warn V?”

“She immediately went hunting through the vents, she wants payback.” Uzi replied, gesturing up to reference the vents above them.

“She find anything?” He asked again, still feeling jittery from his worry.

“She's been sending updates. It's been all clear so far.” She reassured, holding his arm in an attempt to calm him down as they both continued to stand at the doorway.

“Good…”

His gaze flickered to the couch where Tera was laying on her stomach, asleep, peaceful. A small black blanket loosely over her as she had her thumb in her mouth, drooling on it. He smiled, though it was wrought with worry.

Uzi followed his gaze, only to turn his face towards her with her hand, even if she had to balance on the tips of her feet to do it.

“We’re okay.” She said softly, and his core ached to belive her.

“Uzi… Doll’s been here this whole time… she could have had the jump on us at anytime…” He voiced his worries and his stress, both pouring out of his mouth before he thought much about it.

“But she didn’t. I don’t know why she’s still here… she has my bug already, there’s no reason for her to stay here.”

“Maybe she already found whatever she needed?” He suggested, but that begged the question of what exactly she was looking for.

“I don’t know… maybe we should have followed her… V did suggest-“ N interrupted her, not allowing her to blame herself.

“None of us were in the condition to do anything after you hacked into us. You were asleep for two whole days after that, I wasn’t going to leave you without knowing you were awake.”

“And you wouldn’t let V go alone either?”

“No, I wouldn’t.”

Another pause, this one more urgent, building like a bubble about to pop. Although his worry was slowly being ebbed away just by being beside her, a tension still grew between them.

“She really could’ve snuck up on us at anytime… why didn’t she?” Uzi repeated slowly, seemingly to let N's stress be absorbed into her, he didn't want that, so he immediately went to try and comfort her.

“Maybe there’s… something preventing her? Or she changed her mind about killing us?”

“Maybe…” Uzi’s voice trailed off into nothing, clearly troubled by the situation. Though there was very little they could actually do unless the Russian girl decided to suddenly appear before them. N cupped her cheek, before swooping down and placing a chaste kiss on her lips.

She blushed, and it grew when N took her hand into his and led them further into their apartment, and headed towards the bedroom.

N was scared, nervous and worried. His discovery had upset the air of domesticity they were starting to find. And it had made his thoughts drift to the things he really wanted, and the things he never got to experience. How much time did he truly have? Did Uzi really have? With the eldritch monsters, biological instincts, and now the threat of Doll looming over their heads. He didn’t know how much time they had left, but he did know he wanted to make the most of every second.

“N…?” Her voice was soft and curious, more so when N turned to her and placed his hands on her hips. A blush found it’s way to his face and stayed there, he caressed her hip with his thumb and he found himself unable to look at her.

“Uzi… I uh.” His core was suddenly beating out of his chest, was this a good idea? Yeah it had sounded good about a minute ago in his head, but now acting on it was nerve-wracking, would she even want something like this? His timing wasn’t exactly great…

“I want to… try…” His voice and any remaining confidence faded, self doubt creeping up in the gaps between his thoughts. This was a bad idea. No, the worst idea, they’d only been together for six months, he wasn’t sure if she was ready, if he was ready, what if it hurt? What if J had completely ruined him and he hurt her? Hell, he didn’t know what he was doing! Oh no, he messed up!

“Try…?” Uzi leaned up into him, a small smile on her face. Was he suggesting what she thought he was? She always thought that when the time came it would be her initiating, with his past trauma and need to be polite, always. She figured she’d have to slowly work up to it. But maybe this situation had spooked him, freaked him out enough to where he thought he wouldn’t get another chance.

“I-I Nevermind. It was stupid… we should be on high alert not… uh uhm mmm..”

His words trailed off when Uzi’s hand trailed a path up his side, something so featherlight even through his coat that it sent a shiver up his spine and his processors to short circuit. His tail made wide arches behind him, showing his near instant enjoyment.

“It’s not stupid. And V’s already on a warpath… we can. Only if you’re okay with it.” Uzi reassured, honestly, her mind was somewhere similar, if shit was about to hit the fan, she wanted to be sure she’d have no regrets when it did, and nothing should be left unsaid… or undone.

“I…don't really know what I'm doing… sorry I led you in here all confident and now I-I'm caving.”

“If it makes you feel better, I'm actually impressed you managed to ask me at all, thought I'd have to our first time.”

“O-oh… you've done this before?”

Uzi suddenly blushed, taken over by a similar embarrassment as the one currently staining her boyfriends face.

“I didn’t say that…”

The air was thick with tension, neither really sure where to go from here, N was almost too nervous to even breathe, let alone move. And Uzi was trying to decide if N was ever going to make a move.

After another moment, she realized he wasn't.

“You want me to lead?” She asked gently, cocking her head and leaning up into him to try and move closer to his visor, he gulped, more sweat and a far heavier blush displayed on his visor.

“Mmhm.” He nodded, being the only thing he could force his body to do, she laughed lightly, and even though she had a smirk she still looked incredibly embarrassed.

“Lay down then.”

Given a command, he found it easier to make his body move to obey it, he crawled onto the bed nervously hat and all, before laying face up, looking at the ceiling with the world's most nervous smile.

Ohrobogodohrobogodohrobogod

When Uzi climbed on top of him, shed already stripped, and she straddled his waist, he gulped nervously, memories of J looming over him, a taser, or claws, or both swam in the back of his head, though he tried not to let that show.

“Relax, okay?” Her hand came to brush some hair out of his face before removing his hat, placing it on the nightstand, one of her hands came to grip his collar.

“O-okay”

She lent down to kiss him, holding the side of his face as she started chaste, and gently caressed the side of his face until he really began to relax.

His hands found her hips again, pulling her deeper into him, and it was only then that she deepened the kiss, nipping at his lip to ask for access. Which he gave almost immediately, giving her free reign to explore his mouth.

While his hand racked up the smooth silicone of her back, her hand was busy trying to unbutton his coat blind, which seemed to be a little difficult with only one hand, since it was uncharacteristically clumsy, although he figured she was just as nervous.

Still soon enough his coat was completely undone and she was pulling it open, leaving the only thing keeping it on being his arms.

She pulled back, leaving them both panting and breathless, both their visors still stained with blush, Uzi looked him up and down, admiring his figure and causing him to fluster.

“I-I'm not t-that interesting.”

“You're gorgeous, actually.” She replied, sincerity dripping off her lips, he squirmed as those words him, feeling the embarrassment crawl up his spine.

“Shouldn't I be saying that to y-you?” He gave a goofy grin, that made his girlfriend laugh a press another kiss onto his visor screen, a spark of electricity passed between the area of contact.

Then she ducked into the crook of his neck to place more kisses there, and unlike his playful ones that morning, these were playful in a much different way, they were long, trailing kisses that made each contact feel like it burned the metal there, the hand on her her hip gripped a little tighter, making a small, almost inaudible whine escape from the girl on top of him.

That's when his hands started to wander, both running up her back until they began to slip down her front, he still had no idea what he was doing, but instinct seemed to guide his hands to ghost up the rubber residing in her middle, and she shivered in response.

Her kisses turned to nibbles before she was beginning to scrape her fangs lightly across his neck, gasps bubbled out of his throat as the input registered in his systems, he squirmed again, the feeling new to him before he felt one of her hands firmly push him down so that he'd stay still.

“U-uzi…” The word came out in a shudder as her other hand snaked up his front, from his hip all the way up to his chest, right underneath his core, he continued to explore the rest of her body, running over bumps and nicks and committing them to memory until he found himself touching up her back again.

His fingers roamed over the gnarled scars on her back, causing her to suddenly jerk her body forward in surprise as a muffled pleasured groan left her mouth, the reaction seemed to surprise both of them, as she quickly sat up, locking eyes with him with a renewed blush.

“Did- did that hurt?” He asked, even though he knew the answer he wanted to be sure, she shook her head, seemingly rendered speechless by her sudden outburst.

Then he felt his entire chest begin to buzz with energy, he looked down to find Uzi's finger gently rubbing a circle into the glass casing of his core. It was light, almost too light for him to feel anything. But what he did feel was like a low rush of energy, and it was quickly spreading to his head to make it fuzzy too.

“Is this okay?” She asked, her confidence seeming evaporated after having a outburst like that. He nodded, finding it hard to locate a thought that wasn't just praise.

“Y-yeah. It's… Oh-Okay.”

In response, she pressed a little harder, he felt his body seize in response, he bit his lip to stifle the noise that threatened to escape this throat.

Was this… was this what it was supposed to feel like? It wasn't painful, but it was almost overwhelming, he was struggling to breathe correctly and his processors began to misfire.

“Y-you can touch me t-too.” She guided one of his hands, which had fallen off her back to grip the sheets under him, to her chest, right underneath her core, he was trembling at this point, but always eager to please he tentatively pressed a finger into it.

“Ah!~ Aha! Woah- n-ot that hard~” He immediately let up on the pressure, scared he'd hurt her, before looking up at her face and finding she was somewhere between completely blissed out and excited beyond measure.

“S-sorry.” He did his best to rub circles into her core with the same amount of pressure she was doing to him. Until she picked up the pace and caused him to throw his head back into the pillow with a moan.

“Nhg… Uzi…” Electricity felt as if it was sparking around every inch of his body, clogging his mechanics and making him want for more, both his eyes were enlarged golden hearts, his blush encompassing most of his face. Thinking? What was that?

He increased his pressure and pace as well, making the girl above him buckle and bite her lip roughly, only one of her eyes were hearts, but the way she was panting and shuddering left no doubt in his mind that she was feeling much of the same way.

A single long press of her hand on his core, with far more pressure then before made him nearly buck her off, a loud groan being forced out as a small compartment opened up right above his core, spitting out a small cable that Uzi immediately grabbed and pulled on, making him almost choke on how sensitive it was.

“Wh-what?” His voice was glitched from the pleasure, and he didn't even finish his sentence before Uzis mouth crashed upon his, and like a good boy, he shut up and kissed her, adding a second finger to her core as she whimpered and whined into his mouth.

Soon after, Uzi's own compartment opened up, instead of a cable though, it was a simple USB port, N felt her shudder before pulling off his mouth and moaning lightly under her breath, panting as she still had his cord in her hand.

“F-fuck.” She cursed, although it was clearly meant more positively then just cursing at him for doing something wrong, his vents took in as much sir as he could, his temperature being far higher then normal. He'd probably need oil after this…

“Why did-” He was interrupted by a shudder and a pant as some delayed input was processed through. “You s-stop?”

She took a second to respond, still recovering before she looked at him, putting the cord in his hand instead.

“You're…” An aftershock went through her and she closed her eyes, riding it out before she tried speaking again. “You're supposed to plug this into me.”

He looked at the thin cable in his hands, then back up at her, before he immediately started to lean up to insert it into her port, before she hurriedly stopped him.

“We… uh. D-don’t have to go that far. That's how… fuck. Probably how Tera was made.”

He blinked, brain finally catching up to what exactly she was saying. And as much as he consciously knew it was a bad idea, he really didn't want this to end yet.

“My firewalls are up… it's probably safe… but. I don't know how different your code is from mine…” She was slowly winding down, and now she was making shapes on his stomach, nervously.

“Do- Do you want to keep going?” He asked, still feeling fuzzy and jittery, his core felt as if it was throbbing, begging him for this to continue.

She paused, her blush growing quickly.

“K-kinda.”

Well, that sealed the deal for him, he sat up, using the headboard as support as he gingerly plugged himself in.

Instantly he gasped as he felt his very code meld with hers, crashing against each other as both systems had to adjust to an entirely new state of being, he was both looking at her and looking at himself through her, it was both terrifying and exciting in every way possible.

He reached up to touch her face, both the sensation of touching and being touched coursed through their connected systems.

Even their emotions seemed to mix, causing a confusing tornado of fear, excitement, and love to swirl in colors of purple and gold.

Then… with a shift, Uzi began to write in the gaps of his code.

I love you, I love you, I'm yours, you're mine, I love you.

Whatever pleasure he felt before was nothing compared to now, he immediately buckled under their combined weight and collapsed onto the bed, he could barely take in a breath let alone make a sound.

“Breathe baby…” Uzi panted out, making him both smile and blush and try to reach out into her code in return, it was easier then he expected, like swimming through a warm ocean. Though she didn't need to speak, that thought had been shared through their connection already.

He wrote his own sweet nothings into her code. He wasn't as graceful, sometimes he would accidentally overwrite something, which caused Uzi to whimper above him before it quickly fixed itself.

You're perfect, I love you, beautiful, my love, my darling.

Waves of pleasure coursed through them both, resonating with each line of code written, it almost became N's goal to fill up as much of her empty space with his own admiration, he loved her so much, she loved him so much…

Right now, there was very little to differentiate who's thought was who's, they were one being, not two.

At least until Uzi blue screened. A loud, shuddering moan broke through the relative silence and she collapsed on top of him, he was right after, the feeling of her climax having only a fraction of a second delay before it hit his system too.

and it all went black.

Next ->

[iluvies]

I’LL ALWAYS LOVE YOU UNCONDITIONALLY ft. suguru geto

summary: it wasn’t only hard on him, it was hard on you too. the distance between you and the longing touches. wanting nothing but peace on his mind, you try to shoo away all of the thoughts drowning him with unease and hopelessness.

warnings — angst, fluff?, suggestive content, mentions of sex

“suguru?” you had repeated for the umpteenth time, your hand faintly grazing his shoulder. his eyes flutter a little, slowly drifting towards yours. “yes, baby?” suguru finally answered absentmindedly, brushing some hair away from your face. these past few weeks were lonely, even as he sat beside you now. his insecurities and weariness was evident in the way he’d gaze at nothing in particular, not only letting it consume his thoughts, but it had been taking up a lot of his time with you too. you hated the dull expression on his face, even as he’d try and smile reassuringly whilst telling you he’s okay.

you tilted your head slightly to the side, eyebrows furrowing in concern. “what are you thinking about?” the tremble in your voice always made him feel guilty, as did every other time. suguru wanted to spill his heart out to you, kiss your lips to shake off your worries, and hold you in his arms until someone had to pry him off. . . but he couldn’t. his throat would tighten, the feeling of an unforgiving presence squeezing his neck with rough hands, shortening his breath.

“nothing, just lost in your eyes.” he said, caressing your cheek with his thumb. ‘how many more excuses would he give you until he ran out?’ you’d think to yourself, closing your eyes and leaning into his touch with a shaky sigh.

oh how pretty you looked, how nice your warm skin felt against his. . . but you deserved better, so much better than someone like him. it was thoughts like this that caused him to spiral. the nasty thoughts that caused him to swallow back any words he wanted to tell you—to reassure you. suguru didn’t want you to worry about him more than you needed to, in fact, he didn’t want you to worry about him at all. he wanted to be the person you could feel at ease with, the person you could lean your head against, the boyfriend you could smile at without a care in the world. he trusts you, so why can’t he tell you what’s racing through his mind?

“i miss you, suguru.” you whispered softly. of course you did. he was always there with you; hands grasping your hips as he grinds his against yours in the comfort of your bed, his thigh pressed against the place you desperately needed him to touch when you two were tangled together on the floor, his lips ghosting over your collarbone while the both of you wait for your food in a restaurant, teeth nibbling on the back of your neck after you two finished chasing your orgasms.

it felt like he was getting further away from you with each stuttered breath of his, “i miss you so much.”

silence engulfed you, bringing forth a certain anxiety to well inside your stomach. your hand finds the front of his shirt, gripping it weakly as you hold your breath. tears wanted to fight their way out of your eyes, to show suguru how much it hurts to be left in the open without anything to think of him and his empty words, but the feeling of his hand pushing you forward and into his chest makes you pause. his face moves towards the crook of your neck, and that’s when you feel it. the sorrow filled droplets of water hitting your skin while quiet sobs fell from his lips.

“i’m sorry.” suguru’s voice breaking as he spoke, his eyelashes fluttering against your neck whilst he tries blinking his tears away. you felt selfish for feeling the way you did. “don’t apologize for something you can’t help. it’s okay, baby. you’re okay.” you consoled, peppering a few delicate kisses to the side of his head.

he shook his head, bringing his hand up to the back of your head and tangling his fingers in your hair. “you deserve someone better than me,” he whispered, “you deserve someone who’ll be there for you.” you wrapped your arms around him, dragging your nails against his back daintily. if you could, you would do anything to make sure he never felt sad again. obviously reality dragged you back down to your feet where you could only do so much to help him.

“i want you, suguru. i only want you.”

his head turned so that his eyes could meet your hopeful ones, the ones he found himself staring into whenever he could. “why?” he’d asked you. you could think of a million answers to that question—it came easy to you—yet to suguru, his mind was blank. why would you want him of all people when there were so many who would devote their entire being to you? “it feels right to want your touch and yours alone. i love the feeling of your skin against mine, the sound of your heartbeat in my ears, and the taste of you on my tongue.” you replied, pressing your forehead to his.

suguru encased your lips into a needy kiss, letting you hold his face between both of your hands as his find the plushiest part of your thighs. “i love you so much, y’know that?” you murmured in between quiet gasps of breaths, his own reciprocation of your words falling off his tongue in a sweet murmur too.

“i need you.” suguru said, reluctantly pulling away from the kiss for a few moments, looking into your eyes with lustful fervor, although the vulnerability you wanted to see wasn’t there. he was still hesitant. hesitant to show you how he truly felt, in fear you found him too much to handle. but you could never let go of him, not when he unknowingly had you wrapped around his finger. “i don’t want to lose you.” he muttered, sucking light marks onto your neck as he watched your expressions attentively.

“you won’t, suguru. i’ll always love you unconditionally.”

(o´ω`o)ﾉ note from luvie: happy birthday, suguru! even though this post wasn’t about opening presents or sharing birthday wishes, i finished this draft i started a month or two ago. it wasn’t supposed to be too angsty, but i needed something to move my heart a little.

© ILUVIES do not copy, modify, or repost!

[earthmoonz]

WIFEY. | EPISODE TEN (10.10) [ACT THREE]

start / previous / next

Luis and Lourdes had driven in heavy silence, neither willing to speak first for fear of igniting another argument. Being at odds was new to them, and in the deepest recesses of Luis’ mind he wondered if this dynamic would be permanent, further distancing him from his already fractured family. 

Lourdes, who typically preferred peace over conflict, found herself bubbling with a rage so potent, she felt like a stranger to herself. For the first time she seemed to truly understand the truth of womanhood in her family. So much pain to hold back. So much poison to swallow down. It was clear to her now why her sister behaved the way she did. Before, Lourdes had loved Lena in spite of her violent nature. Now she wondered if that same violence was bravery instead.

(transcript below)

(LUIS): [Noticing Lena’s car] Let’s get this over with.

[As the siblings walk towards each other, the air is thick with tension. The one-two punch of seeing both of her siblings arrive mixes with Lena’s ongoing anxieties over Max. Betrayal and fear distil themselves into an ache in her chest, giving her a brief pause before she speaks. However, the silence proves too much for Lourdes and her rising panic makes her talk first]

(LOURDES): Lena…I know how this looks, but please. If you let us explain then I’m sure we can have a civil conv-

(LENA): Sure? Oh that’s funny. An hour ago I was sure my sister wasn’t a traitorous bitch. 

(LOURDES): Lena! You don’t understand! 

(LENA): Get the fuck out of my sight Lourdes, before I change my mind.

(LOURDES): I-

(LUIS): Go wait in the car. 

[Lourdes, now devastated, stomps off in the direction of the car]

(LUIS): If it’s any consolation, she hated lying to you and mami, and probably she hates me now too.

(LENA): She can join the fucking club. What is wrong with you Luis? [Gritted teeth] Why would you do this? What was there to gain?

(LUIS): Even if I told you, you wouldn’t understand. You have no idea what it’s like to atone for the sins of this fucking family.

(LENA): Oh give me a break! Do you think you’re the only one who’s been through shit? Who’s fucking sacrificed?

(LUIS): No. But unlike you, my shit isn’t self-inflicted.

[Lena punches Luis to the ground]

(LOURDES): [witnessing it] here we fucking go.

(LENA): [Flexing her hand] get up.

[Luis scrambles to get back on his feet]

(LENA): Do you know what your problem is? You don’t know how to de-escalate. You just expect people to back down and acquiesce to your point of view. [Luis gets back up, breathing heavily] …And if you can’t get your way, you provoke people into being their worst selves, so that you can say your hand was forced. Now we both know that shit doesn’t run with me, so how about you try telling the truth instead?

[Luis takes this opportunity to shove Lena to the ground, they fall together and immediately start fighting.]

(LUIS): [Breathless, mocking] that ‘I’m so tough’ shit is getting old, Lena.

(LENA): [venomous] Prick. [She surprises Luis by shoving him off her, quickly regaining the upper hand. Her gun clatters to the floor in the process.] 

(LOURDES): [quiet, panicked] Oh fuck!

(LENA): Aw poor Luis, it’s so hard being daddy’s favourite, I’m such an angel! It’s my sister who’s a big bad monster! Boo-fucking-Hoo. [deadly] You know I promised mami I’d bring you home, I just didn’t say what condition…

[Lourdes sprints back into view, Roy’s black SUV pulls up]

(LOURDES): Lena! That’s enough!

[Lena releases him immediately, shocked out of her blind rage, the two sit, facing each other]

(LENA): …He’s fine. 

[Car door slams, Roy steps out, but so does someone else]

(LENA): [Now standing] Max?

(MAX): …Hi.

[depressedbeano]

Toji Fushiguro: Dull Roses

“I’m sorry.” 

I winced and controlled my facial expressions carefully to avoid giving away more. I've learnt how to control my body language and social cues in various events to be presentable. An only child born in a rich family would give you that. And somehow, these social cues waver when it comes to him. 

"You're not." I uttered. I thought I was being stoic, but in fact, I wasn't. I got teary, my lips trembled, and most importantly, I started snapping my fingers as a form of an anxiety tic. 

“Baby-” He stepped forward with his arms open, but I took two steps backwards. A literal execution of ‘one step forward, two steps backwards’. He put his arms down in defeat and hurt flashed through his eyes. 

“Pack your clothes and leave. I never want to see you again.” I said with an eerie calmness. Yet, my lips continued to tremble as I was trying hard not to cry. 

“Please listen to me. I didn’t mean it. I was angry and I wasn’t in my head.” He continued to step forward with caution. I laughed bitterly and ran my fingers through my hair out of frustration.

“You are a good fuck, but that doesn’t mean you can control my life!” He shouted, mere seconds ago. 

His words flashed through my mind. Repetitively. Every time I thought of it, my head and chest squeezed painfully. I tried to make the pain go away by rubbing my temples and chest lightly, but the pain was still there. I felt suffocated just by his words. 

Toji and I shared an apartment, a place we called ‘home’. We were together for three years until he asked me to move in with him. It has been two years since then. 

Toji came home with a darkened aura around him. It was written all over his face that he had a rough day. Not a normal corporate rough day, but a rough rough day. He threw his shoes away and pulled his tie back so harshly that I could hear his clothes tearing. I walked up to him and caressed his cheeks, “Bad day, huh?” I asked softly. 

He grunted as a form of response and left me standing at the door to shower. I followed him silently into our bedroom. “Is there anything that I can do to help?” I asked again in a soft tone. 

He shook his head but didn’t look at me. It was like he couldn’t see me. I found it weird but didn’t want to press further, so I just prepared the tub for him while he stripped naked silently. 

Two hours later, he exited the tub with a towel hanging around his torso. He seemed better but his eyebrows continued to furrow. His telltale that he was still upset. I made him his favourite chamomile tea, one that always relaxes him and makes him sleep better at night. I pushed the mug towards him at the dining table. 

“Toji? Do you want to talk about it? You know bottling up your emotions will just make your overthinking worse right?” I asked while caressing his back. He grunted again and took a sip of his chamomile tea, still not looking at me. 

“Or do you want to have a movie marathon and we’ll just talk about it tomorrow? You could pick the movie while I prepare us some snacks-” I continued while shuffling through the discs in the bottom drawer of the TV cabinet. “Dear lord, can you just shut up for one second!” Toji yelled. 

I flinched and halted my movements. 

“The moment I came home, you just pestered me about my day and never stopped talking. I just wanted peace of mind from this shitty day for fuck’s sake! You want to know what happened? I got laid off! Happy?” He exploded and rambled on. His raised tone was loud enough to make me shiver. 

I told myself that he was just angry. He was just lashing out. He rarely lashes out so this is just him exploding all at once. “Toji-” I stepped forward to console him. But his next words stopped me. 

“I am working so hard for our future and you are staying home doing whatever the fuck you are doing. Here you are, asking me so many questions when all I wanted was just peace and quiet.” 

“You are a good fuck, but that doesn’t mean you can control my life!” He shouted. Silence filled the room afterwards. 

“No, those were your true words. You meant it. I am a hindrance to your life and a whore. You made it very clear.” I whispered. Finally, he looked me in the eyes. Whatever signs of his anger washed away, replaced by remorse and guilt. I wrapped my arms around myself and finally let the tears run down my face. Hurt and anger flashed across his face at my words. Anger towards himself, I could tell. 

“No, baby, I didn’t mean it. You are not a hindrance and definitely not a whore. You are my life and I will never forgive myself for saying those words. I love you so much, you know that.” He explained himself hurriedly and stepped forward eagerly to console me. 

I laughed to myself at his words, aggressively wiping my tears off my face. “Get out this instant.” I said, pointing at the door with a sharp tone. 

He tried to explain himself, and I wouldn’t listen to his explanation. So, I did what I had to do. I walked into our bedroom with intention, packed my clothes and went back out.

“I’ll leave. This is your apartment, I have no right to stay.” I mustered without looking at him. I can’t look at him, or else, I will be tempted to forgive him. He probably exploded out of anger, out of frustration, he probably didn’t mean them but they hurt all the same. 

With intention or not, the damage was there. 

“Bye Fushiguro, take care of yourself.” I bid farewell, not missing the way he winced at how I called him by his last name instead. 

—

Two weeks later 

I opened my rented room's door to a mailman, holding a bouquet of roses with a letter addressed to me. From Toji. As usual, for the past two weeks now. 

I sighed, “Sir, any chance you could send this back to the sender?” I asked while leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. 

The mailman shook his head, “No can do. He made it very clear that you will receive it unless I want to lose my job.” He answered with annoyance and fear. 

“I am going to kill you, Toji Fushiguro.” I mustered under my breath as I closed the door. I couldn’t help but smile at the bouquet and letter. It was another series of apologies from him, wrapped with warmth and love. 

But I hold grudges and am pretty petty. The thought of his last words made my head throb. So, I put the bouquet in one corner with the rest of the bouquets and opened up the letter. 

— 

Another two weeks later 

“Baby.” A gruff voice came from the other side of the door, slurred as well. Toji Fushiguro is drunk and at my doorstep. 

“Baby! Please!” He begged with a strained voice, accompanied by hiccups whilst banging on my door aggressively. He has been outside for 15 minutes now. “What?” I asked with annoyance on my side of the door, not wanting to deal with his drunk and sorry ass. 

“I missed you- hiccups no, I miss you. Please let me in. I want to see you. I haven’t hiccups been able to sl-sleep.” He slurred his words with hiccups in between, still banging on my door. At this rate, my neighbors are going to file a complaint about the noise disturbance and not to mention, the existence of a broody suspicious man banging on a woman’s door. 

I opened the door and his body warmth engulfed me with his head automatically nuzzling against my neck since he was leaning on my door earlier. He was so heavy that I had to hold onto my doorknob for support to make sure both of us did not fall. 

“How much did you have? For fuck’s sake.” I grumbled as I maneuvered us into my bedroom and dropped him carefully on my bed with his head well-positioned on my pillow.  “Not enough to numb hiccups m-myself, I could still feel the p-pain when you left.” 

“I am sorry, baby.” The only words he said without slurring and hiccuping before he went into a slumber. 

I caressed his face and trailed the wrinkles on his face to the back of his ears. His eye bags are darker, his wrinkles are deeper, and his eyebrows are furrowed even though he’s asleep. He looks miserable. With a sigh, I got up to clean up his mess. 

—

Toji woke up with a throbbing head, he could feel the veins in his neck and temples pulsating. “Fuck.” He threw an arm over his forehead in hopes of relieving the throbbing sensation but it was no help. Beside him, were a cup of water and medicines for his hangover. 

“Great, you’re awake. Now, leave.” I demanded with a fake firmness with my arms crossed. Though his presence here calms me, his harsh words still float in my mind. With that, I decided that he only deserved cold treatment from me. 

Despite his throbbing head, he insisted on walking towards me with his forearm on his forehead to avoid the blinding lights in his eyes. “Let me explain, please. I was wrong. Please give me a chance to at least beg for your forgiveness.” 

My heart ached for this, Toji never begs. No matter how hard I try, I can’t shake the uneasiness away. I had a feeling that if I didn’t listen to him, I would be miserable too. I would be overthinking and drowning in my spirals of self-doubt. 

At last, I nodded as a sign for him to continue. 

“That day, I got laid off. I entered the office, thinking that there would be good news for me because my colleagues had told me it could be a promotion. A promotion means a raise and that means I could save more money and we could finally get married.” He explained all in one breath as if I would run away if he didn’t. My eyes watered at the word ‘married’. 

“I got laid off because the company was not doing well. They had to cut down staff to save costs and I got the brunt of it. Afterwards, everything just went downhill for me. I tripped over a chair, lost my wallet, got scolded by a random old man on the streets for scaring off his dog and more.” I snorted and crossed my arms tighter at his explanation. At every sentence, he took a step closer to me carefully. I never stopped him. 

“When I got home, all I could think of was how I was a failure. Because if I was a competent staff, I wouldn’t be laid off. I wouldn’t have to worry about our financial difficulties and we could still get married.” His voice strained with a silent sob. Finally, he came to me and held onto my arms, wrapping his fingers over mine. 

“I was occupied with self-doubt. I wasn’t thinking straight. I was spiralling. Eventually, I exploded.” Subconsciously, I leaned towards him, wanting to be close to him despite my heart aching for him. 

“By the time I realised, you were already crying. I regretted everything and I hate myself for it. For you leaving. I always had anger issues and you never cared about them because you knew that I was trying my best. You always care for me in ways that I didn’t know I needed.” He confessed and I couldn’t hide my sobs anymore. I hid my face in my face as he embraced me while smoothing a hand on my back. 

“I am sorry. I am so fucking sorry. I know it’s hard for you to trust me right now, but all I am asking for is a chance. Just tell me yes or no, and I will respect what you want.” 

“Even if you don’t want to see me anymore.” He whispered. 

He knelt and held onto my calves, kissing them while holding onto my hands. He knelt like I was his queen. 

“Okay.” I answered in a small voice. He was confused by my answer so I knelt to his level and crashed my lips onto his. Our kiss wasn’t soft, it was full of hunger. Seconds later, I pulled away but he didn’t like that so he held onto me tightly. “I forgive you, Toji.” 

“Well, the kiss gave it away. Would be weird for you not to with that mindblowing kiss.” He joked, the corners of his lips twitching upwards. His breath fanning above my lips. “Don’t push it, Fushiguro.” I laughed as I straddled his lap. 

“Now, make it up to me in bed.” 

“Gladly, my queen.” He smirked. He carried me princess-style, plopped me onto the bed, and started trailing kisses on my stomach to my cleavage.