#also your kind words made my day!!!! thank you so much.

[astraystayyh]

myyy sweet may you are always so kind to me i can't tell you just how much i appreciate you :')) i'm so so happy and delighted you liked the story!!!! i'm the one kicking my feet giggling as i read your commentary!!! writing for this couple made me so happy and i'm glad you liked these lines in particular hehe also yes!! a very hyune thing to say our hopeless romantic... also!!! do you think i'm sane!!! saying my fic gave you howl's moving castle vibes i could weep!! that movie is so dear to me. i love you.

thank you for your sweet words and for taking the time to even read my fic :') i appreciate you beyond words!!!! and YES i was inspired by vincezo i love that show so (too) much!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! thank you so much again <333 i hope you're having a beautiful day

Bleeding heart dove

pairing: idol!chan x lawyer!reader. youngerbrother!seungmin.

genre: f2l. slow burn. angst (lots of it). fluff. (un)requited love. forced proximity. law/corruption sub-plot.

warnings: parental loss. grief. self-depreciating thoughts. suicidal thoughts. reader has she/her pronouns. this is a work of fiction. the actions and timeline depicted in the story don’t represent the idols in real life.

word count: 25.7k.

You are ashamed, even in the privacy of your thoughts, of this longing, of this sharp ache. For even thinking, daring to dream of a world where you could behold his warm hands into your butchered ones. Where he���d let you. Where you’d let yourself.

It feels like death to think of Chan, it feels like living too.

a.n: she’s finally here!!!! i haven’t written for chris in such a long time and i’m so grateful to @kayleefriedchicken for commissioning this fic :,) it spiraled and i took some creative liberties that’s why it’s so long now LMAO but i hope you’ll enjoy reading!!!! i challenged myself writing this, it is a bit different from my other fics. much heavier too. but i’m slowly finding a writing structure i truly enjoy. i love you all 🤍 thank you for waiting for me

They say that smells are little vessels of memories, wrapping themselves around moments in time. When a certain scent floats by you, it doesn’t graze your shoulder like a stranger in the streets, never to be seen again.

No, smells seize you by the wrist, their nails sinking deep into the softness of your skin. Scents do not pass. They pull. They lead you into the locked corridors of your mind, to places you thought had crumbled into dust, memories buried seven feet under by the weight of years.

You smell rust.

Many may not recognize it, most might not even notice it. But you do. The scent of rust is etched into your nostrils, carved along your nerve endings, again and again. It smells earthy, metallic, sharp—like blood smeared on your tongue against your will.

As everything in your life has ever been.

Every orphanage you lived in reeked of rust. It seeped into the walls, staining them beneath layers of pale, lifeless paint. It curled into the battered beds and damp linens. You tried to pinch your nose shut at night, suffocating against the foul scent. But rust was patient. Rust had time. And so, naturally, rust always won.

It was a cruel smell at that— the scent of things stolen— childhood, innocence, soft mornings, your very ability to dream.

You were ten years old when both your parents died in a tragic accident. A drunk driver slammed into their car and made it combust into flames. He was quickly caught and cast into prison. But what did that serve you? Your parents were gone. What respite would this semblance of justice bring you?

That part of your life remains hazy since there was no room to mourn, only movement, hands ushering you from one orphanage to another. Each time the walls could no longer contain any more children. Any more grief.

And you were only ten.

But Seungmin was only six.

Your brother didn’t understand what was happening. Why did he have to leave his shiny toys and Pochacco-themed bed behind? He cried at night for your parents, his wails cresting and receding like waves against a fragile shore.

Sometimes, he cried so fiercely that no one could calm him—not even you. You would leave him to sob until exhaustion claimed him. You envied him, in a way. Sleep refused to visit you. You were sentenced to lay awake instead, burdened by responsibilities too heavy for your small hands. Yet, when you glanced at Seungmin’s resting form, the ache in your chest eased, just slightly. If he could rest, that was enough.

You didn’t know it then, but this thought would become the basis of your entire life. You’d give and give, tear at your own flesh if it meant Seungmin would remain intact and safe.

The first orphanage was small. Twenty beds crammed together in a single room. It was a temporary holding place while the city council decided your fate. Orphans, you realized, were like misplaced luggage—tagged and eagerly discarded, waiting for someone, anyone, to claim them.

The second orphanage was somewhat worse. There were a hundred beds this time, a larger playground, warmer food. But the older kids were cruel. That’s what you remember. Rust and cruelty, entwined.

They shoved you hard against the ground on your first night there. And then, they turned to Seungmin. The moment their hands reached for him, something primal surged within you—a burning, blistering rage as if your very being was dipped into scalding water. You lashed out, punching the nose of one of the older boys. Blood. Yours, his, theirs. It all blurred together.

Then, punishment quickly followed: no more dinner for three days.

Seungmin didn’t understand. He tugged at your sleeve, crying that he was hungry late at night. That’s when you decided it was better to endure in silence. To take the blows, as long as your brother could eat.

By thirteen, you arrived at Promise Orphanage. Your hand trembled in Seungmin’s grip as Miss Jeeho introduced you both. Forty-four pairs of eyes bore into you, gliding over the faint bruises that painted your arms like ink stains.

You braced yourself for the worst. But then, a girl stepped forward, her hair a messy halo around her face. Her smile was wide, her eyes bright despite the dust coating her skin. She held out her hand, and you noticed how rough and calloused it was for her age. How warm it was too.

“I’m Winter,” she said, her voice soft.

You blinked at the odd name, then nodded. Later, you would learn she had been abandoned as a newborn, left nameless at the orphanage’s doorstep. It was a cold night when the workers found her, with heavy snow. It was surprising she didn’t pass from pneumonia.

Winter chose her name after the season she was born, since her parents didn’t bother to do so for her.

You came to realize that in these walls, even something as mundane as a name was a privilege, something the world could simply not grant you at birth.

“I’m Y/n, and this is Seungmin,” you replied, gripping your brother’s clammy hand. There was steel in your voice as you said his name, ensuring everyone knew he wasn’t to be touched.

But the other children simply smiled at you, and you tried to smile back. Though it came out much more like a grimace. Smiling felt foreign to you, like a muscle long unused.

Promise Orphanage then became your home for five long years. The children were kinder, their grins did not sharpen into unkind hands. Your bed was slightly bigger. You got gifts for your birthday and cake on New Year’s. You always gave yours to Seungmin— the better toys, the bigger slices, the softest pillows. You hoped it would make him feel better, even for a second.

But rust remained.

It followed you when you turned eighteen, into your first apartment. A single room, smaller than your childhood kitchen. But it was enough. Enough to build a life for Seungmin, to earn his custody, to gift him the privilege of dreaming.

Though even then, when Seungmin laughed, when he sang with Winter, when you had enough warm showers to forget the cold of the orphanage, you wondered if other people could still smell the rust like you did.

Perhaps it was your mind’s way of reminding you that, even if you shut your eyes so tightly that colors bloomed behind your eyelids— even if you thought hard enough of your summer home and salt-kissed winds, if you strained to hear your parents’ airy laughter calling you to dinner— this was not home.

It never could be.

“Y/n?”

Han’s voice slips through the fog of your memories, bright and familiar. You blink, the haze receding like chimney smoke to find him leaning casually against the doorframe.

He’s the first one out of the stylist’s room, his hair falls in soft waves over his forehead, and silver dust coats his eyes, catching the overhead lights like scattered stars.

“Hey, Han,” you greet, pulling him into a brief hug.

His grin is as easy as ever—warm and full of mischief. “Like the makeup?”

“It’s perfect,” you reply, poking his rosy cheeks.

“The boys are still getting ready,” he says, falling in step beside you as you walk toward the waiting room. Shelves stacked with instant noodles, water bottles, chips, and candy stare back at you.

“Figured.”

Your gaze flickers to the jelly candies, and you smile. You can already picture Hyunjin diving for them first and Seungmin scolding him for his sugar intake.

Jiho, the manager, greets you with a nod, and you return the gesture.

“You seemed far away just now,” Han notes, twisting the cap off a water bottle.

You exhale slowly. “The vents smell like rust. This whole place can quickly turn into a safety hazard. That’s a lawsuit waiting to happen.”

Han gasps in mock horror, clutching his chest. “Why is it that every time you talk about law, I feel like I’m about to be sued?”

You swat his arm, giggling at his theatrics, before pinching his forearm lightly.

“Hey—“ he yelps and you narrow your eyes at him.

“I should actually sue you for not visiting my new office though,” you point out, doing a neck-slicing motion with your hand.

“Okay, creepy. AND, for my defense, I sent you that fruit basket, didn’t I? Been busy writing songs. You know how it is when inspiration strikes me.”

You do.

It tugs at a distant summer, long days spent on the coast of Jeju Island alongside the boys, to celebrate your first successful case. Han locked away with his notebook while the sea breeze knocked at his window. He only joined you once he had finished writing the lyrics of two new songs. Some of your favorites too, at that.

“There she is! You’re smiling,” Han says, poking your cheek.

“Just remembering our trip.”

He sighs dreamily, before slinging his arm around your shoulders. “Best summer ever. Next time, the vacation’s on me. Pinky promise.”

Your smile softens, warmth pooling within the cracks of your heart.

Han was angry once, when you had first met him. Just like you. But where his anger burned bright, yours hid beneath the surface, smoldering slowly. But time softened his edges. You wonder if the same could ever be said for you.

“You’re here,” Seungmin appears suddenly, peeling Han’s arm away from your shoulder with a scowl. Han retaliates by blowing you an overly exaggerated kiss before wandering toward the vending machine.

“I finished up the case early,” you explain.

Seungmin’s gaze narrows slightly, scanning the lines of your outfit.

“And why are you so dressed up?”

“Can’t a sister look nice for her favorite brother’s first sold-out concert at the Kyocera Dome?” you tease, clasping your hands.

Jiho snorts from his seat. Traitor.

“I’m your only brother, and we both know you’re lying,” Seungmin deadpans.

It’s endearing—the way he shields you from heartbreak as if he hasn’t spent his whole life beneath the cover of your arms.

It’s foolish too— as if you still have a heart that beats hard enough to love, then to break.

“Fine. I have a date after the show.”

“With who?” Hyunjin’s voice drifts in as he steps into the hallway, Changbin trailing closely behind.

You smile. “Jaehyun.”

Seungmin pinches the bridge of his nose. “You know I don’t love him.”

“And who said I do?” you ask, a sly smile tugging at your lips.

“Then why do you still meet up with him?”

“Because he’s fun. And I like spending my time with fun people.”

Changbin leans in, grinning wide. “I’m fun too. Why not date me?”

He drapes his arm over your shoulder, and Seungmin groans, pretending to smash his head against the wall repeatedly.

“Alright, alright, stop the flirting,” you laugh, shaking your head. “I fear you’ll end up killing my brother.”

Seungmin pouts, and you laugh softly, pulling him in for a tight embrace. “Look at you, performing in such a big arena,” the words suddenly catch in your throat, a silky rope tightly binding the syllables together. “You know that I’m proud of you, right?”

You smile, and Seungmin holds you a little closer.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Thank you for coming. I really wanted you here.”

You clear your throat, stepping back with a playful flick to his arm. “I’ll see you after the show. Say hi to the rest of the boys for me.”

“You’ll do great,” you add, and his smile softens like sunlight melting across the sea.

His voice follows you down the hall. “We’re still talking about this date later, though!”

“Seungmin loves acting as if she isn’t older than him—” Swat.

—

There is one peculiar emotion that always beats within your heart at your brother’s concert halls. It is warm, like beholding a glowing sun within the empty hollows of your ribcage. It swells and swells, spreading within your being like paint spilled on canvas— soaking your heart in wildflower hues.

You feel relieved to see your brother and his friends so loved. You sense it in the cacophony of cheers, in the misty eyes of all the fans surrounding you. You know that the boys can feel it too. In the shaking of their voices as they take turns saying their ending ments. It is a monumental moment for them, something they only dared dream of back when they were still trainees and you had to sneak snacks into their dorm.

It is Seungmin’s turn to speak. His shaking hand barely manages to hold the mic. Seungmin doesn’t cry as often as before. Never in front of you anymore. He suddenly stopped once he turned fifteen, as if he had made a vow to himself, to lift off some of his worries off your burdened spine.

But tonight, unmistakable tears gather at the edges of his eyes, glinting like faraway constellations.

He tilts his head toward the sky, and you wonder who these words are really addressed to.

Deep down you already know the answer to this.

“My sister is here tonight,” he starts and tears glisten in your eyes, all of the sudden. “If I’m here today it’s all thanks to her, so I– I hope you’re proud of me,” he says, voice tight, breaking. But he still speaks. “You know, I… I don’t believe in forever—” his lips tremble like leaves at the mercy of autumn winds. A faint ringing surges through your ears, muffling the sound of everything until only his sharp words remain. “But just at this moment, being with the members and everyone who stood by our side, I— I want to believe in eternity with you.”

The crowd roars at his words. Cameras flash everywhere. The boys quickly move forward to wrap Seungmin in their arms.

But you’re not here anymore.

You’re somewhere quieter. Smaller. Somewhere dimly lit by flickering hallway lights and hushed whispers past curfew.

Your hands shake, pressing into your thighs as if their weight might ground you. But the cold creeps in anyway, walking alongside your veins, settling into your heart like an old companion.

—

He was eight.

His hair stuck to his forehead in damp curls, and the faint glow of the moon reflected onto his eyes like a gleaming water surface.

You remember smoothing his bangs away, tucking him beneath a worn blanket that didn’t quite reach his toes. He didn’t mind. Seungmin never minded the small things.

“Did you make a wish?” you whispered. It was his birthday. Birthdays never got easier for Seungmin, nor for you. Most days you were just pretending— that you knew what you were doing, that your knees were strong enough to hold you upright. Pretending that you had what it takes to protect your brother when you, yourself, were in desperate need of protection.

How do you salvage innocence in halls that spell out loss and grief at every turn? How do you make a birthday a happy memory in such a terrible place ?

Seungmin blinked up at you as his small hand curled around your fingers.

“I said that I want to see mommy and daddy again.”

The air had thickened then, and the knot in your throat twisted so tight it left no room for you to breathe.

You forced on a smile anyway. “You will,” you promised, voice soft but unsteady. “Soon.”

He paused, blinking slowly.

“What’s forever?”

The question felt like a swinging pendulum suddenly came to a halt— Seungmin’s innocence slipping away from your shaky grasp.

“Why do you ask?”

“I told Gyuvin I’ll see our parents soon. But he said that you lied, and it will take forever until then.”

Your chest tightened. You knew Gyuvin had a mean streak—sharp edges chiseled by loneliness and unspoken grief. You never held it against him. He was only eight too.

Still.

“He’s joking, Seungminnie,” you murmured, brushing your thumb over his knuckles. “Forever just means something that doesn’t end. Like numbers. Numbers don’t end, right?”

He thought for a moment, lips pressing into a pout.

“Would you like to believe in forever?” you asked, teasing gently.

“No,” he said quietly, “Because then I’ll be sad for a very long time. I want the time to pass quickly.”

Oh.

Seungmin drifted off not long after, his breaths soft and even. But you stayed awake—long enough for the world outside to fall silent. Long enough to bury your face in the pillow, stifling the sobs that trembled past your chapped lips.

Seungmin was only nine.

But you were only thirteen.

And you missed your parents, so terribly so. You wished your mom was there, combing your hair with fingers that seemed to be made up of silk. You wished you could press your ear to her chest and listen to her heartbeat, breathe it in, soak in the love that the sound seemed to spell out for you.

You wished your dad was here, holding your hand in his much larger, weathered down one— rivulets of age running between his knuckles. You wished he’d carry you once more on his shoulders, tall enough for you to reach out to the stars, to foolishly believe you’d be able to graze them with your fingertips. You wished they were still here. You hated them for being gone. You hated yourself for hating them, even for a millisecond. For allowing the thought to filter through the endless void that constitutes your mind.

You thought of what it’d be like to float atop the sea near your home. Of letting the waves carry you deep into the darkness of the water. Of sinking deep enough that you wouldn’t feel anything anymore. You couldn’t bear it. You couldn’t bear having a heart that kept demanding you to live. It felt like a curse, like every heartbeat spelled out horrible truths for you. You wished for it to stop. All of it. All of you.

—

“Yah, Y/n why aren’t you smiling?” Changbin nearly shouts in your face and you and Jeongin scurry away on cue, cradling your ears at his loud voice.

You plaster a smile on your face, force the corners of your mouth to tug forward— “Because! You’re all sweaty and pressing onto me,” you say, and a cacophony of protests erupts all at once— “this is the sweat of hard work”, “but our sweat smells nice though!”, a groan, “that’s just you Hyunjin.”

Your yelp as a hand suddenly wraps around your wrist, Felix’s, pulling into the middle for a group hug.

“Stop, your sweat will rub off of me!” Your high-pitched shriek causes all of them to back off on cue, giggling loudly.

You don’t give yourself a second to breathe, afraid that your mask will slip away quicker than you can stop it. You take advantage of the commotion to kiss Seungmin’s cheek quickly, avoiding his gaze as you run off to the entrance. “You all did well! I’ll have to go now! My date is waiting!”

You don’t leave him time to respond as you scurry away, leaving the backstage. You can feel the oxygen settle like stones into the pit of your heart, weighing the rushing of your blood down. It takes you excruciatingly long to breathe. Being here suffocates you all of a sudden.

You remember your wish, for the waves to carry you away into whichever place they rest in. What a violent thing for a thirteen-year-old to wish for. What a violent thing to still seek now deep into your twenties. You felt guilty. To be surrounded by many people who love you and yet to not feel loved.

You’re almost outside when a warm hand curls around your wrist.

“Seungmin, I told you I’m—” you turn around expecting to see your little brother’s gaze, full of mischief, full of affection, only to be met with Chan’s worried one. Your retort dies on the tip of your tongue, like a deflating balloon. You try your hardest to plaster a smile on your face but it comes off like a grimace. Chan’s frown only deepens further.

“I—” you think of something quick to say, to get his scrutinizing gaze off of you. You can predict the question forming, swirling his mind, you already know which way this conversation will head. But all your thoughts seem to melt, your mind unable to conjure something to save your facade.

Your phone suddenly rings, Jaehyun’s name lighting up the screen. You go to reply when Chan grabs the phone away from your hands, silencing the call.

“What’s wrong?” he finally asks and it feels as if the walls are closing on you once more. You can hear the waves thrashing around, calling. “And don’t say you’re just feeling emotional because we made it so far.”

You chuckle faintly. You know it’s no use lying to Chan, of all people. “Jaehyun is calling again,” you point to your lit-up screen, and his lips press into a flat line, rejecting the call.

“Cancel your date,” he cocks a perfectly shaped eyebrow at you, “you know you have the most fun hanging out with me”.

“Alright, Mr. Cocky,” your heart is heavy as you attempt to smile at him, as if you’re forcing it to perform something it does not wish to, to pump blood for an action as meaningless as smiling. What purpose does it really serve if you are not happy? “I'm not in the mood for you to psychoanalyze me, though.”

“I won't,” his eyes soften as he takes one step closer to you. “We'll go on a drive okay, like old times?”

What is the point of pressing ice to a third-degree burn? Nothing, if not a fleeting respite, to close your eyes and pretend as if the burn would come undone, to soothe the fire only for it to barge in again. With a vengeance. Stronger. Harsher.

That is what being next to Chan is like to you.

“Fine,” you concede, though. Because you despise worrying people. You despise worrying Chan mostly. “I don’t want Seungmin to know though.”

“Don’t worry,” he smiles as he hands you back your phone, his thumb brushing your wrist for a second before he walks back. “I’ll come to your car, alright? Wait for me.”

—

It was a late summer night when Chan first discovered his love for music. He was only five, the air fragrant with the sweetness of strawberries and the tang of lemon zest. His curls were damp, clinging to his forehead from how hard he played with the neighborhood kids. The glass of water his mother handed him felt like the sweetest reprieve against his parched throat. Because Chan was happy, a joy so vivid it seemed to have taken roots within his veins, blooming into gleaming eyes and a smile so vast it could mend every crack in the universe.

He didn’t know it then, but there was a beautiful carelessness in the way he dashed outside, barefoot and giggling to order ice cream from the vendor near his house. Vanilla and bubblegum. In the way he did not use a spoon, instead licking the ice cream directly from the cone, as the sun melted it into rivers of sweetness that coated his fingers, leaving them sticky and fragrant. In the way he paid no mind to the earth clinging to his shorts, the sweat glistening on his face, or the syrupy mess on his hands. Because his happiness was so full he was bursting at the seams with it.

Because he was still a child, and children did not care for perfection. Children did not see the world through a lens that sought out every flaw— Chan did not learn yet how to turn that lens inward, harsher as he aimed it at himself.

His dad had brought him a ukulele, gently placing it into Chan’s small hands. The notes stumbled out, clumsy and wrong at first, as if their melody were caught in the strings, hesitant to be set free. It took a few tries for Chan to untangle them, but he didn’t mind. Because within these notes he found a new kind of joy—one that seemed to amplify his racing heartbeat, spilling into the room and filling it with the decadent taste of happiness.

It was a late autumn night when Chan first hated himself.

It was a particularly exhausting training day, the kind that left Chan barely upright as he walked down the stairs, his legs shaking with every step. He couldn’t bring himself to head back to the cramped dorms just yet, nor did he want to speak to anyone. Or rather, he no longer knew how to talk to anyone anymore. How could he make futile small talk when his soul was seized by a terrible longing, one that lingered bitterly on his tongue like the cough syrup he used to drink as a child?

See, how could he explain to anyone that he even missed that—the syrup, the warmth of his home, the pieces of a life that now felt as if they belonged to somebody other than him. He felt as if the wound only grew larger each day, spreading farther into his ribcage, infesting every part of his heart—every vein, every molecule—tainting them with the blueish colors of sorrow and ache.

Chan had found a quiet spot by the Han River, tucked far from prying eyes, his shoulders slouched under the weight of nostalgia, not the sweet one, rather, the one that felt like pine needles digging into his skin, at once. He liked it here—if he closed his eyes long enough he’d pretend the salty air was Australia’s breeze. He missed the wind there and how it ruffled his hair like an old friend. He missed his father’s grilled meat, his mother’s lemonade, his sister’s shenanigans. He missed his dog.

Would Berry even remember him now? Has it been too long?

It had.

The thought stung sharper than he expected. Was it all for nothing then? Does Berry not remember him for nothing?

Sometimes, it only takes one second for the world to shift off its axis, for the seconds to march forward but for you to remain stranded in the past. It took Chan this single question to break apart. It was as if someone had driven their fist into his chest, their claws digging deep, twisting around his heart until it felt on the brink of bursting— an ugly eruption of crimson, staining the blissful river with its bloodied ache.

What is wrong with me? He’s been asking himself the same question ever since.

It was a late winter night when Chan saw you for the very first time.

He was seventeen, shackles of self-doubt and insecurity wrapped around his ankles, digging deeper into his flesh with each year spent farther from his dream. Chan hated looking at his reflection in the mirror. He hated thinking of home. He avoided thinking of the future, of who he was, of who he hoped to become. Sometimes, he wished his mind could just go quiet. The voices were very loud and very mean.

Yet, unbeknownst to him, there were fragile blossoms of hope that fought to flourish in his chest, tentative, frail, since they grew in barren soil that didn’t quite believe in meeting the sun once more. But they were there.

Because Chan wasn’t alone anymore. Jisung joined him first, a kid with a passion that burns so fiercely it scathes his own heart at times. Then Jeongin, a voice singing of a reverence that shook Chan to his core. Hyunjin, who saw in dancing a form of salvation. Changbin, the missing golden piece to complete the infamous 3RACHA.

And then Seungmin.

It was through Seungmin that Chan saw you.

You had just dropped off Seungmin at the trainee dorms, bags full of homemade food in his hands. You hugged him tightly as he waved you off before disappearing into the building. And then, as soon as Seungmin was out of sight, Chan saw you collapse against the wall, your body wracked by cruel sobs. Cruel, because it was winter, and he knew that crying during the cold was somewhat harsher on the soul. You can’t cling to blooming flowers, to warm sun rays, to anything beautiful to ease your pain.

Cruel, because he recognized himself in you. In the way you rushed to hide your tears, wiping them away with your sleeves so that no one would see you. As if you were not deserving of this moment of weakness. As if you were not deserving of being human too.

“Do you still pick at your nails?” Chan asks, glancing at your figure as the light turns red. “Can’t give up bad habits?”

“You’re the last one to talk about bad habits, Mr. Never Sleeps.”

“Touché,” he chuckles, and you shake your head, the faintest smile lingering on your lips.

The seasons passed, and Chan’s fragmented heart had somehow found itself pieced together again—not to its original form. That would be a fool’s hope. People noticed the external changes—the different hues of his hair, how his muscles grew more chiseled with time—but they couldn’t see how pain and self-doubt had altered him, down to the very molecules of his being.

Because pain doesn’t pass like an angry cloud, casting a dark shadow only to drift away. That would be too kind, too merciful for emotions forged to drain you dry. No, it breaks you, reshapes you, molds you with the thorns in its calloused hands. It forces you to relearn who you are, how to breathe, where to stand, how to cling to the fragile thread that keeps you from stumbling back into the darkness.

The heart Chan carries isn’t his own anymore. It belongs mostly to sorrow now. But it still beats.

And so it did. And that winter passed, and so did spring. Then summer came, and fall returned once more.

And the years went by, and Chan blinked, and suddenly it had been ten years since he first saw you. And yet, it felt as though you remained stuck in winter. Because you did not have anyone’s hand to hold, warm enough to make you believe that summer would come again.

“Is this about Seungmin?” Chan asks softly, his fingernails drumming absentmindedly against the steering wheel.

“No, yes—I… I don’t know,” you sigh in exasperation, and he nods, turning his head to glance at you.

You first went on a night walk with Chan when you were still a law student, and his group had just debuted. Your apartment was under renovation, so you had to stay in the boys’ dorm for a few days. It was late into the night, with both of you the only ones still awake, working through your respective tasks in silence. He had offered to go for a walk, and you had accepted.

Neither of you spoke. Chan pretended not to see the stray tears that silently slipped down your cheeks, with no previous warning. He wondered what had weighed on your heart so heavily that it searched desperately for any moment of solitude to escape.

Your eyes are distant now, glazed over as if your mind has carried you to a place where the sun never rises. You bring your hand to your mouth once more, but Chan gently pushes it away, cradling your fingers in his palm.

He has to pretend that the sensation of your hand in his doesn’t feel like a thunderbolt—a surge of electricity that shoots up from the tips of his toes, swirling deep into his chest and settling into warmth in his stomach.

“It will bleed, and then you’ll come whining because it hurts,” he jokes, though his heart pounds in his throat, threatening to choke him.

“When did I do that?” you exclaim, but you don’t pull your hand away.

Your hand is in his.

Your hand is in his.

Your hand is in his.

“Besides,” you say, your fingers slipping from his grasp to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, “You know I’m the last person to ever whine.”

Was it normal to still feel your hand on his? For his hand to memorize the warmth of yours so quickly? As if it had been thirsty, like a man astray in the desert, longing for what a drop of water would feel against his parched throat.

“Yeah, you should do that more often, actually,” he chastises softly. You exhale a shuddered breath in response.

It feels like a lifetime before you speak again. “You heard Seungmin’s speech,” you say quietly, like a wounded animal, hesitant and wary of what approaching another human might bring, of what baring your heart might cost.

Chan wants to say: It is safe with me, I would shred my own heart if it meant keeping yours intact.

“Hard to miss, since I was on stage next to him,” he jokes, and you finally giggle—a real laugh, not the artificial ones you’ve been giving him. It feels like Australia’s breeze ruffling his hair, like he can finally breathe again.

“You know,” you say, your voice shifting to something gentler, “It reminded me of Seungmin when he was still young, discovering the concept of forever.” A bittersweet smile tugs at your lips. “Seungmin was short, pale, and so fragile that I was afraid the faintest wind would break him. You should’ve seen him. When he looked up at me, his eyes were wide, his irises pitch black, and they looked so trusting. He was an easy target for the kids who needed someone to blame, someone to pour their anger into, to soothe their bruised hearts. There was no one else to punish. Too much injustice, and no respite.”

Chan’s hands tighten around the steering wheel. To think of such sad times for both you and him. Should he rewrite the march of time, he would have forced the universe to make him your friend, to entwine your hand in his, to stop the cold from making a home within the pathways of your heart.

“I remember when I first saw him. He was very shy. Like he didn’t quite know how to carry himself yet. But he ranked second in the open audition.”

“He did,” you smile. It’s a bit different from all your grins. You’re always different when it comes to Seungmin—softer, bursting with pride.

“And…” Chan trails off, glancing at you from the corner of his eye, a wide smile tugging at his lips. “I remember you.”

“Oh, please, no,” you hide your face in your palms. “That’s so embarrassing.”

Chan chuckles softly, but in his heart, he remembers your first encounter with such clarity. He had found you many things—beautiful, brave, human. ‘Embarrassing’ had never been an adjective that crossed his mind when it came to you.

He remembers.

“Here,” Chan handed you a handkerchief, and you looked up at him, a frown deepening in your eyes. Time had somehow stilled then. The seconds felt like years passing on Chan. The cold seemed to dissipate, his heart emanating a warmth he hadn’t known before. Everywhere. Consuming him.

You blinked, and time resumed, and yet Chan was changed.

“Thank you,” you said tentatively. “Something got into my eye.” You attempted to explain, and he simply nodded, humoring you.

“I figured. There’s a lot of dust around here. From the trees and all,” He cringed internally, realizing how silly that sounded. So, he fell into silence, as did you, both of you just looking at each other. Chan had never felt this way before. He ached to ask you what was wrong, if he could do anything to alleviate your pain. If you too would like to break near Han River with him.

“I’m Chan. Bang Chan. Christopher, actually. But you can call me Chan.”

You had giggled then, and his ears burned so fiercely he was sure they were a shade of fuchsia, bright and loud. The sound was melodious, like notes strung along a flute just right. Soothing and warm. He loved your laugh. He wished his piano could recreate it. He wished he could save it so he could dance to it later.

“Alright, Christopher Actually Chan,” you smiled, and his cheeks flared a shade brighter. He silently prayed you’d account for the harsh winds that wrapped around you both.

“And I know you, actually,” you continued.

His eyes widened in surprise, and you chuckled softly at his reaction. He liked making you laugh. He liked it so much he’d make a fool out of himself if he needed to. “I’m not a stalker, Kim Seungmin told me about you. He’s my brother.”

“Right,” Chan responded, his usual confidence slipping for just a moment. He was never awkward—social prowess was one of his greatest strengths. Still, with you, all semblance of normal interaction vanished. There was something in your gaze, something so beautifully haunting, like the sight of tree branches in autumn. Something that once was whole, now stripped bare, yet still captivating in its vulnerability. It made him wonder if beauty like this could ever be captured in music.

“I’m Y/n, by the way,” you bowed slightly, before quickly turning and walking away. Chan watched, breath hitched in his throat, as you paused, and then as if pulled by some invisible thread, you turned back to him.

Without a word, you grabbed his hand, gently placing something within his palm.

A cherry lollipop.

“As a thank you,” you said, a bit sheepishly, eyes still puffy from the sobs that kept you prisoner just a few moments ago. “Ah, and, you better debut with my brother!”

You pointed at him, and in that moment, a grin broke through your face—one so radiant, so full of life, he wondered if this was what witnessing the first sunset felt like to humans. A beauty so grand, so overwhelming, he didn’t quite know what to do with it.

Chan’s fate was sealed right then and there—he would spend the next ten years chasing after your smile, no matter how foolish it seemed.

For one would ask, what’s a drop of white against a sea of black? What use are cherries’ scent before the stench of sorrow? And the answer would always be everything. Everything, if it’s you.

Chan clears his throat, settling on the least incriminating adjective of the bunch. “You were brave, Cherry. You still are.”

“You think too highly of me,” you snort.

“I think of you just right, actually.”

You are nearly home when, out of nowhere, you speak. “What if I told you I’m terrified?” The words rush out, as though you are afraid they’d die in your throat before they could reach him.

Chan’s heart tightens in worry. He parks hastily in front of your place, the engine still humming as he turns to face you, you who’s like a Russian doll—layer upon layer of your soul wrapped carefully, each one guarding the other.

“Why?” he asks, his voice barely a whisper, thick with concern.

“I didn’t want to tell Seungmin,” you begin, pausing to bite your lower lip. “He’d be heartbroken... I know him, I—” you falter, your voice cracking just slightly. “My new case... It's about Promise Orphanage. They want to tear it down to build a luxury apartment complex. A fucking billionaire’s investment, with pools and golf courses.”

“Sun Corporation,” you explain, “it’s owned by the son of Gyeongdo Holdings’ CEO. They’ve been harassing Miss Jeeho for two months now because she refuses to desert the orphanage. It’s a mess, Chan.” you’re angry, he can feel it, the rage burning bright right beneath your skin.

“The city council caved in and granted them a permit because the land belongs to the state and this project apparently serves public interest, but that’s bullshit. Who would benefit from this other than billionaires?” you bite your lower lip, sucking in a deep breath. “I told you Winter became the vice director of the orphanage, right? She just learned about this and told me. They’re offering compensation but I’ve dealt with those kinds of people. They’re greedy. They’re corrupt.”

“I couldn’t turn my back on it,” you whisper. “I had to take the case. Those kids… they’ll have nowhere to go. And I know how cold it feels, how brutal it is when you lose your family and still have to look for someplace to call home.”

Your eyes glisten, tears clinging to the edge like dew on a leaf, only to be blinked away before they fall. How much does it cost your soul to bear this weight? How much longer until you fracture—like a pomegranate violently split open, bits of your soul scattering out in splatters of raw scarlet.

Chan’s palm finds your knee, squeezing it gently. “You’re worried they’ll end up forgetting about the orphanage and not building a new one?”

“Yeah. They did this before. I checked the civil files. They built over a nursing home and never gave them proper compensation, paid hush money to the owner to keep them from suing. What if I can’t stop them? This is all those kids have. This is all Winter has. Miss Jeeho too.”

“They won’t. you’ll stop them. I know you will, Cherry, alright?” he says with all the sincerity he can muster. You seem dubitative and he sighs, reaching out to hold your cold hands. Please warm up.

“You will, okay? I have no doubt you will,” he repeats with a fire that seems to light you up. A sudden light reflects off the broken shards of your heart.

“I will.”

—

Chan: you up?

Your phone lights up, distracting you from the mountain of paperwork scattered across your desk.

Y/n: What a fuck boyish text

Chan: akldkdkd so you’re definitely up

Y/n: I’m working on the case :(

Chan: open up!! i have snacks

You blink at the message, confused, before padding to the door. When you open it, Chan stands there, a wide grin stretching across his face. He’s wearing a grey varsity jacket that drapes across his broad shoulders perfectly, and a blue navy cap. You still don’t understand why he rarely allows his curls to see the light.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, crossing your arms.

“I got bored alone in the studio,” he shrugs casually. “So I thought I’d drop by.”

“Drop by?” you repeat, laughing softly. “Your studio is on the other side of town.”

“Okay, I guess you don’t want fish cake and tteokbokki—”

“Come back,” you interrupt, wrapping your hand around his forearm and tugging him inside. His body is warm, and it is only then do you realize just how cold your apartment truly is.

“It’s a mess, I’m sorry,” you apologize, glancing at the dirty plates in the sink and the papers all over the desk, and the floor, and the couch too.

“Need me to tidy up again?” he teases, grinning as he steps inside.

You swat his arm, rolling your eyes. “You did it once because I was bedridden, and Seungmin was in Japan for a schedule.”

“I don’t mind, Cherry,” he says softly, setting the food down on your coffee table. His gaze flickers to yours. “I’d do it even if you weren’t sick, you know.”

Chan has a habit of saying things that send your heart into a slow, painful thrum—one long pulse that stretches endlessly, forcing you to acknowledge its existence. But, as always, you avoid it. You never allow yourself to question the warmth that only blooms when he’s near.

You both sit cross-legged on the living room floor, the spicy scent of tteokbokki wafting between you. For a while, the only sound heard in the apartment is the soft clink of chopsticks against takeout containers.

“Any updates on the case?” he asks.

You nod, running a hand through your hair. “I filed for an injunction,” you say, sighing deeply. “Trying to stop the demolition for now, at least until I figure out what to do next. The city council is ridiculous.They keep saying this is for the public benefit, but how is that true? Who benefits from luxury penthouses except rich assholes? And because the orphanage is on state land, they think they can just sell it off like it’s nothing.”

Chan’s eyes have been tracking each one of your words intently, drinking in every syllable that drips from your mouth. He has long thought your calling was law, there is a certain logic in you, a peculiar fire that burns in your core that seems inherent to this job. Though oftentimes he wonders if this is truly what you’ve always wanted. Had you been raised in your home would you have turned out differently? Would you like to pursue something else? Would you sing like Seungmin too?

“I’m trying to figure out who’s behind those apartment deals. Jaehyun’s helping me track it down.”

Chan’s eyes darken, like a storm has gathered within his irises. He doesn’t realize his jaw is ticking. You do. You pretend as if you don’t notice.

“Jaehyun… are you guys together yet?” Chan asks, and your heart pauses at the change in conversation. You shake your head. “Hm? No. We’re just friends.” you say between bites.

“You go on dates with your friends?” he chuckles, but there is nothing funny in the sound. His eyes don’t morph into crescents, his dimples refuse to show.

“You know, we’re just messing around, or whatever,” you quickly say.

“Right.”

Chan remembers the moment with striking clarity—when you first mentioned Jaehyun. You were both at a hotpot restaurant, the steam from the bubbling broth curling around you.

You had said his name casually, A journalist you’d met at one of the court hearings, someone with the same fiery passion for justice that you had. He was annoying, you’d said, always bothering you with his questions, his relentless pursuit of truth. But there was something else in your voice when you spoke of him—something new, something soft and fond that made Chan’s chest tighten.

“Anyways, he’s friends with one of the junior employees in the city council,” you continue, voice tinged with frustration. “So he’s been trying to convince him to help us out.”

“An insider,” Chan says absently, his voice flat, like the surface of a pond long undisturbed by pebbles. He’s thinking, how long is it acceptable to harbor a crush on someone? Three months? Six? A year? What if Chan’s been carrying this weight for ten years? 3650 days spent thinking of you, chasing the shadow of your image away from his eyelids at night, yet always yearning for a dream where all he’d glimpse is you.

What if bile rises in his throat at the thought of Jaehyun so close to you, his fingers tracing the lines of your lips, memorizing the shape of your body, the rise and fall of your chest as you sleep? What if he cannot bear it, cannot stand the thought of anyone else knowing you in ways he never will?

You sigh, fingers digging into your temple as the weight of your exhaustion becomes tangible. “It’s tiring, Chan,” you admit as your forehead rests against your knees. Chan feels something shift inside him—a peculiar ache that only surfaces when you are in pain.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his hand hovering above your back before it settles there. He slowly pats your back, dragging his nails along your spine. It’s very quiet all of the sudden, a calm that only manifests when two souls, not bodies, are sitting by one another. You lean into his touch, your body angling towards him like a sunflower tilting towards the sun.

“Do you remember when the possibility of us debuting became very high?” he says and you nod, resting your cheek against your knee to look up at him. His hand doesn’t stop caressing your back. You don’t wish for it to.

“What is it with you and my most embarrassing memories?” you giggle quietly only to sober up at the sincerity you gather in his eyes. They are like pools of amber, the color of decadent chocolate, like the rich bark of trees kissed by sunlight.

“Everyone was out and I was the only one in the dorm.” He recounts the memory as if you weren’t there; as if he needed you to hear this, not as a participant but as an outsider. “And then you came knocking on my door, disheveled, looking like you hadn’t slept in days. You asked me, ‘Is it true? Are you debuting soon?’”

You close your eyes, the weight of that moment flooding you—how raw and real it was. You remember it vividly: the way his eyes met yours, like he had seen you for the first time right there and then.

“You were petrified. Because yes, you worked overtime to pay off Seungmin’s vocal lessons, you supported him so much his confidence never wavered, and yet, you were scared,” his words soften, and the pit in your throat tightens. You can’t speak even if you wish to.

“I said yes and you started crying. and I hadn’t seen you cry in three years. Not since the night we first met.” You remember his worried gaze, how he sank to the ground with you when your knees crumbled beneath you. He called you Cherry for the first time then, as if he had kept the nickname a secret, wishing to speak it outloud but never daring to. He did it because he thought back to your first meeting, and the cherry lollipop in your hand. You thought of it too.

“Seungmin,” you heaved, “please protect him, Chan, I— please, you have to protect him, please.”

“What’s wrong?” He panicked. “Talk to me Cherry, hm?”

“What if they are unkind to him? What if they somehow find out he’s an orphan and use that against him? He doesn’t like telling me anymore when it hurts. What if he’s hurt and he can’t tell me?”

His thumb swipes at the lone tear slipping from your eyes, gentle and warm. What if Chan is too kind to you? What if your heart wasn’t crafted to handle it?

“Then when all the boys came back ten minutes later you smiled as if nothing happened. I had seen you break down on the floor a few moments prior, and yet, you found the strength to smile, so as to not worry anyone, especially Seungmin.”

Chan’s heart throbs in his chest, the rhythm uneven and insistent. His voice wavers as his gaze locks with yours. Your eyes glimmer, like a river kissed by the summer sun, like stained glass basked in the light of a centuries old cathedral.

His palms cup your cheeks, tentative and gentle, akin to a flower breaking through the soil for the first time. “You are the strongest person I know,” he says, his voice soft, “The most hardworking, too. You care, so much, even when you try to hide it. It’s that passion that makes you the best at what you do. You’ll win this case, and every case after it, because you’re the one handling them.”

His thumb brushes against your skin. “And you believed in me when I said I’d protect Seungmin. So I believe in you, Cherry. Please believe in yourself too.”

You nod, over and over, like a broken record stuck on a single note. Before he can process it, your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him close. Your head finds its place in the crook of his neck, and for a fleeting second, he’s frozen, the world tilting off its axis. Then, slowly, his hands slide to your waist as he breathes you in—your shampoo, your favorite laundry detergent, the faint trace of cherry lingering on your skin like a memory of a distant summer.

“Thank you, Channie,” you whisper against his shoulder.

He nods, his voice muffled by the turmoil caging his heart. “You’re welcome, Cherry.”

For how long is it acceptable to love someone who doesn’t love you? Chan doesn’t know. He doesn’t really want an answer. Even a lifetime wouldn’t be a waste if it’s spent loving you.

—

“Three penthouses are already registered under different names,” Jaehyun tells you, handing over a couple of lease contracts. You’re seated in a small café near Promise Orphanage, waiting for Winter to join you. The junior employee in Sun Corp. has finally caved and handed over the registrants to Jaehyun—names of the people who have already secured luxury apartments, long before the project even saw light.

“Park Yuna, Lee Seo-Jun, and Choi Joon-Ho,” you read aloud, glancing up at Jaehyun, who’s already smirking.

“Park Yuna…” you pause, “isn’t she the wife of the city council president?”

“Bingo!” he exclaims, his arms wide open, head tipped back as a sinister giggle rips out of his throat.

“Oh gosh,” you cover your face as some customers turn to look at you. “This isn’t an action movie stop it.”

Jaehyun pouts as you swat his arm and you laugh despite yourself.

“Anyway, you’re right. She’s his wife. I also found out Seo-Jun and Joon-Ho are tied to prominent council members. Second cousin and son-in-law. They had their penthouses promised before the project was ever public.”

“They didn’t even register them under their names. Subtle,” you mutter, shaking your head.

“Yeah, I bet they weren’t even expecting Miss Jeeho to resist the compensation.”

You sigh, leaning back in your chair. “They think those kids are just pawns, something they can move around for their benefit. They don’t get that those children have nothing but each other and the comfort of a familiar bed.”

The conversation lulls. Jaehyun grows quiet as you stare holes into your coffee, swirling the caramel syrup into the dark liquid. But no amount of sweetness can mask the bitterness on your tongue—the bitter taste of injustice, of watching people prioritize their greed over others’ lives.

“We’ll gather more evidence of their corruption,” Jaehyun says eventually, his tone firm. “And when we do, we’ll confront them. They won’t risk this becoming public with so many global investors involved.”

You nod. “You’re right.”

He leans back in his chair, a teasing glint in his eyes. “By the way, why did you cancel on me two nights in a row?”

The question catches you off guard, and your mind drifts to last night: Chan showing up at your home, his comforting words, the warmth of his hand on your back, the scent of pinewood and cinnamon lingering in the air, the clean apartment you woke up to. Something stirs in your chest, warm and soft.

“Chan came over,” you admit.

Jaehyun whistles, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

“Chan,” he says, drawing out the name.

“Mhm,” you reply, suddenly shy under his gaze.

“The man who calls you Cherry.”

“Yeah. Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because you’re so oblivious.”

“Agreed,” a familiar voice chimes in as Winter slides into the seat next to you. She presses a quick kiss to your cheek before sitting back with a knowing smile.

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “This isn’t the subject of discussion,” you say pointedly, glaring at both of them.

You’re momentarily distracted by Winter’s appearance. Her cheeks are hollow, her eyes shadowed with exhaustion. She’s poured so much love back into the orphanage she grew up in. Losing it would destroy you both.

“That man likes her,” Winter says casually, sipping from your drink.

You glare at her. “No, he doesn’t. He’s my friend.”

Winter raises an eyebrow at you. “He always looks at you differently. His tone is softer when he talks to you.”

Your eyes drift away, thoughts pulling you back to last night—to how Chan stayed with you until dawn, watching awful dramas with you despite his packed schedule, simply because he was worried.

“What’s the point of him liking me if I can’t like him back?” you murmur, voice barely audible. “My heart isn’t made for this.”

“Have you ever given yourself a chance?” Jaehyun asks and you scoff.

“A chance for what? To hurt someone?” you reply, shaking your head. “I don’t know how to love. I never had the time to learn. I was too busy surviving. We were,” you say glancing at Winter who averts her gaze.

This suddenly felt like a conversation too grim to have in the open. To speak of how your heart has been morphed into a cowardly being, shrinking at the simple thought of being looked at. What would anyone behold anyways? If not an organ that’s too battered, too bloody, unworthy of being seen, let alone to be loved.

“Anyway,” you say, forcing your voice to steady, “Can you set me up a meeting with that employee? We need more insider evidence and he’s the only one who can help us. I’d like to talk to him alone.”

“Yeah, I’ll try to convince him,” Jaehyun reassures you. The three of you nod and dive back into the stacks of paperwork, but the words blur in front of your eyes, forming an incoherent mass.

There are things you’ve always wished to escape—dark truths you thought you'd one day outrun. You still haven’t. Perhaps, you will never.

Perhaps, had you not been shaped by the cruelty of others, had you not been born beneath a star soaked in grief. Perhaps, if you never had to carve pieces of yourself out to survive, if you had the time, the strength to sit quietly with your own heart, to listen to who it wanted you to be, then, maybe, just maybe, you would have known the warmth of another’s touch.

You would have allowed yourself to melt into the softness of their gaze, you would have let your cheeks flush freely with the sweetness of their words, with no restraints, no shame. But the world is not kind. It will not offer you such a path. And so, this is your curse: to be one of grief’s favorite beholders, for you to wear it like a second flesh. To cling to it, as it clings to you because it is all you’ve ever known.

—

Your mother’s fingers were always warm as they entwined with yours, no matter the season. You remember the feel of them particularly when you went on walks by the ocean, her hand tugging you close to her frame. She was like an angel, walking softly on earth, coaxing the waves to slow down their feverish run as she brushed against their milky foam.

You can’t see her clearly in your memories anymore. Your temples ache each time you try to picture the fine details of her features. But you remember her humming along with the waves, as if singing a song to the sea, thanking them for the salty breeze they carry within their tides and swells. You remember closing your eyes to soak it in, as if you had known, even back then, that you’d forget the map of moles drawn upon her face, and the specific hue of her hair against the sun, and yet you wouldn’t forget her voice filling up your heart to the brim.

You remember coming home and trying to replicate her humming, through broken whistles at first, then, adding words where you saw fit. You remember singing to your mother in your living room. You remember feeling as if the sea was lodged right within your heart.

You loved singing, for the three years before your parents’ deaths. You sang in chorals, you sang to the birds and to the flowers blooming in your garden. You sang to the sun and to the moon. You sang to your reflection in the mirror. You sang, because it made you feel like your mother talking to the waves. And then, your parents died, and the music within you did too. The flowers, the sun, the birds… They were all an unworthy audience all of the sudden; since they all turned blind to your voice, allowing for your entire world to be stripped away from you. Leaving you bare, rootless.

You were then forced to learn that there isn’t just one big death in a lifetime. That the heart can perish multiple times before it finally stops beating completely. It felt like a little death when you began to loathe the ocean. It felt like a little death when Seungmin told you that he wished to become a singer.

You too, had wanted to, once. Maybe. If you had been given enough time to think.

It felt like a little death when you stepped into a recording booth for the first time.

You’d told Winter you were desperate for money. She mentioned agencies looking for anonymous artists to record backing vocals for prominent groups. It paid well, she said.

Your voice was well-liked. Not overpowering, but subtle, like a floral perfume—soft, seamless, blending effortlessly with whoever you sang alongside. It paid well to sing lifeless songs, to let your name dissolve into the footnotes of prominent groups, 2PM, Twice… Even your brother’s group when he debuted.

You knew that fans liked to speculate on who you were. You knew that the songs in which you sang were popular. And yet, it did not matter.

It felt like death, to kill your voice and for the sun to keep rising regardless.

“You were brave, you still are, Cherry.” Chris had told you. You wanted to believe him so badly. You wanted for the world to split open and atone for what it did to you. You wanted for the world to mend the cracks in your soul. You wanted for the world to disappear with you in it.

Your legs are growing weary of driving for so long with no destination in mind. Your eyes burn from how long you’ve stared at the road, unblinking. Somehow, you find yourself outside of Chan’s and Jeongin’s place.

It would feel like death too for you to head back to your empty apartment.

You grab your phone, sending Chan a message before you can second-guess yourself.

Y/n: Are you home?

You wait, fingers hovering over the delete button. His reply comes three seconds later.

Chan: yeah, innie is sleeping over at seungmin’s

A heartbeat.

Chan: why? are you here? are you alright?

You sigh, resting your forehead against the steering wheel. What the fuck are you doing? But still, you unbuckle your seatbelt and walk hurriedly to his door.

You knock. He opens immediately, eyebrows furrowed.

“I’m okay,” you say quickly, expecting the deluge of questions swarming in his mind.

“It’s 1 a.m.,” he replies, concern etched into his features.

“I can read the clock,” you joke, and his pout deepens as he steps closer. He’s beautiful in a way that makes your soul wish to split open to escape it. It overwhelms you.

“I’m just anxious about the next few days,” you admit.

“What’s happening?” he asks, already taking your coat and leading you to the kitchen. He pours you a glass of cold water, just the way you like it.

“I’m meeting a junior employee at Sun Corp. He’s called San. I need to convince him to give me materials proving the corporation’s corruption for our case.”

Chan’s worried gaze meets yours, and you shake your head quickly.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you murmur. “I didn’t come here to worry you. I just… I wanted your company.”

Chan’s demeanor softens at your words, like white foam finally resting against the warm sand.

“I think I feel less anxious around you,” you add, the warmth in your cheeks suddenly betraying you. Winter’s words echo in your mind: That man likes you. What a foolish thought to engrain in your mind.

“Oh, I…” His words stumble, and his fingers flex as if they’re debating reaching for you. Instead, he lowers them and smiles softly.

“So do I, Cherry,” he admits. His voice is gentle, his ears tinting red. “And I could come with you to meet San, if you’d like.”

“Really, you’d do that for me?” his being slacks off, his shoulders sinking low. If you were in a battle, this would be him dropping his sword, kneeling.

“Of course, you don’t even need to ask.”

You see it then—visions of yourself wrapping your arms around Chan’s neck in his kitchen, holding him long enough for his warmth to seep into your soul, shielding it from the many winters to come. You imagine, for a fleeting moment, putting down your defenses and letting one human in.

Perhaps this is the most violent act of all—to have visceral fantasies of something as innocent as a hug.

“Were you working?” you ask, and Chan clears his throat, nodding. “Yeah, working on some new songs. But I’ll take a break now.”

“The mighty producer CB97, taking a break for little old me. How wonderful,” you tease, a giggle escaping your lips. He rolls his eyes, his tongue pressing against his cheek in mock exasperation.

“Should we have a drink?” he offers, and you clap your hands excitedly. “Yes, I’d like that.”

It’s easy to recall with Chan—to relive the memories alive in your shared history. The summer vacation in Jeju, grilling meat for the boys, playing video games till dawn. Chan face-planting into the snow, the times you hid backstage to surprise them. You remember him accidentally body-slamming you onto the floor, the way you nearly drowned in the pool from laughing too hard.

The clock creeps toward four a.m., but you don’t feel tired. You’re tipsy, the wine warming your stomach—a bright, crisp taste, like biting into a ripe apricot. And you are happy. Your soul feels satiated, as though this laughter could sustain you for a lifetime.

Your giggles fade, leaving a comforting silence between you. You’re close to all the boys—you care for them deeply. But Chan is different. Because he dropped by only because he was worried. Because he calls you Cherry. So he remembers, and not alot of people remember you.

“I was thinking on my drive home of this… melody my mom used to sing,” you whisper, staring ahead. Your shoulder brushes against Chan’s. You rarely speak about your parents. Never this openly. Chan knows this well.

“She used to hum it to the ocean, to me when I’m about to sleep, when I was sick, when she was cooking,” you smile softly, bringing the drink to your lips. “I’ve been trying to replicate it on the piano but I’ve never managed to.”

You turn to look at him, only to find his gaze already fixed on you. His eyes are wide, vulnerable, twinkling like stars witnessing the birth of a galaxy. He licks his lips, hesitant, and your eyes linger on them. They are glossy, red, and impossibly inviting.

“Can I hear it?”

You start humming, singing what you remember off of your fragmented memory. Chan listens intently, his eyebrows tightly knit in concentration. You hear the waves, you taste the salt in the breeze. You miss the sea.

You finish, resting your cheek against his shoulder. “Thank you for sharing,” he says.

“Thank you for listening,” you whisper, and your eyes are closed, but you feel it, his lips pressing to your temple, soft as a petal. It quakes through you, unmaking you, as though your soul has been cleaved wide open. You are a supernova, unraveling, scattering light in a beautiful, dying burst.

You wake up to a note on the bedside, and a pink plaid blanket draped over you. It hits you then: you’re in Chan’s room. A blush spreads across your cheeks, igniting your skin. When did you fall asleep? Did he carry you here? Of course he did. Did he press another kiss to your temple? Why would you think of that? Still, you can’t help but wonder if he too felt it— the way your soul trembled under the weight of his touch.

You imagine him writing the note, his figure hunched near you, glancing at your peaceful form, his eyes fleeting to yours as if making sure you were still there.

‘I’ve made you breakfast, it’s in the kitchen. I have an early morning schedule, but I’ll see you tomorrow, Cherry. Thank you for coming to see me :)’

You close your eyes, burying your head deeper into the pillows surrounding you. You can’t help but inhale their scent—traces of Chan lingering in the fabric, pinewood and cinnamon, intoxicating, as though they were made for you alone to breathe in. Your skin tingles with the thought, as you imagine him beside you, what it would be like to press your face into the soft curve of his neck, to take in that scent and to fill all the hollow spaces inside you with it.

You are ashamed, even in the privacy of your thoughts, of this longing, of this sharp ache. For even thinking, daring to dream of a world where you could behold his warm hands into your butchered ones. Where he’d let you. Where you’d let yourself.

It feels like death to think of Chan, it feels like living too.

—

You find Chan leaning casually against his car, arms crossed over his chest. With his Chrome Hearts beanie nearly swallowing his eyes and a mask covering the rest of his face, he looks almost intimidating. Almost—because you can’t help but giggle at his over-the-top efforts to stay incognito.

“I think we’ll scare the poor boy away,” you tease in greeting, and he huffs, reaching out to lightly punch your arm.

“Do you want me gone? It’s fine, I can leave,” he mumbles, his pout clear even behind the mask. “It’s not like I made all this effort to come here—”

“Oh my god, you’re still a whiny baby at your big age,” you cut him off, laughing as you both step into the café.

You choose a table by the large windows, the sunlight streaming in and bathing the space in golden light. As Chan sits across from you, his grin spreads wide, making his eyes crinkle and nearly disappear. You miss the sight of his dimples, all of the sudden.

San arrives ten minutes later, sliding into the seat across from you. His eyes dart to the door every few seconds, as though someone might burst through at any moment. He fidgets in his chair, tugging at his slightly askew tie, beads of sweat gathering on his brow despite the cool air conditioning.

Your fingers curl loosely around a lukewarm cup of coffee you’ve yet to sip. “Thank you for meeting me, San. I really appreciate it,” you begin softly, and he barely nods. He reaches for his iced Americano but pulls his hand back.

“Look, Miss Kim,” he stammers, voice barely above a whisper. “I gave Jaehyun the names of the apartment holders, but what you’re asking of me now... it’s dangerous.” He avoids your gaze, eyes fixed on the floor, as if it might open up and swallow him whole. “They’re not the kind of people you cross. You have no idea how high this goes.”

“I do,” you say firmly, leaning forward. “I know exactly how high it goes. That’s why I’m here. And that’s why I need your help.”

San hesitates, his lips pressing into a thin line. His gaze flickers to Chan before meeting yours again.

You take a deep breath, knowing how delicate this conversation is, how crucial it is too. “Look, I’m not asking you to go public,” you murmur, lowering your voice. “I just need the truth. Documents, emails… anything that proves there’s a corrupt force behind this decision. I’ll keep your name out of it. I promise. Whistleblowers are common in our lines of work. No one has to know where it came from.”

“I want to help you, I do,” he says, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously. “But they will find out, and I’ll lose everything,” he pauses, shoulders slumping, “I’m the sole caregiver for my mom… She’s in the hospital, and I still have bills to pay. You understand, right?”

Your eyes soften as you watch his anxious form. He’s still young, shouldering a burden you know all too well. You think he will understand, only if you bare a part of your heart to him.

“San,” you start gently, “I once lived in Promise Orphanage too.” you admit and his eyes slightly widen. “Before that, I was in two other orphanages in the city…” You pause, looking for the right words. “I still have nightmares about those places. About how cruel some of the people there were.” Your voice cracks, and Chan’s warm hand finds your knee.

“It’s hard to be happy in a place like that, but Promise Orphanage was the only place I ever thought of as home. It felt like family. I still visit to play with the kids. They’re happy, I see it, as best as they can, anyways. But they’re well taken care of. I know Miss Jeeho, I know Winter. They love those children. They allow them to dream. They don’t deserve to have their only familiarity stripped away from them.”

San swallows hard. "And what happens when Sun Corp. finds out anyway?”

“You’re here,” you reply, “you’re afraid, but you also believe in what we’re fighting for. Otherwise, you would’ve rejected this meeting.” You sigh, your voice softening. “You’re a good person, San. Don’t let them corrupt you too. You know this is wrong.”

“I do,” he admits, voice shaky. His resolve is unraveling.

“Look, I know they gifted the city council members penthouses to sway them in their favor. But no judge would consider this hard evidence since I can’t prove intent. What we need is what’s inside your office. You know, emails, memos, contracts, whatever. I can’t do this without you, San. I mean it.”

San stares at you for a long moment. Finally, he sighs, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “There are emails,” he admits quietly. “Some from the CEO, discussing how to ‘incentivize’ council members. And I’ve seen the transaction logs... Large deposits to personal accounts, listed as ‘consulting fees.’ It’s not hard to connect the dots.”

Your heart leaps in your throat. “That’s exactly what we need. Can you get copies?”

“I think so,” he says reluctantly. Then, in a quieter tone he adds, “I lost my father too, you know.” There’s a rawness in his voice that only those who’ve been burdened by grief can understand. “I’ll find a way. For those kids.”

You reach out, briefly covering his hand with yours. “Thank you,” you whisper, and he nods, a miniscule smile finally stretching across his lips.

-

“Should we celebrate?” Chan asks, his voice light, once you’re settled in his car. For a moment, you hesitate. Celebration feels foreign to you. You’ve been the prosecutor and the wrongfully accused, you tie the noose and gasp when it tightens. But now, it seems like you’ve closed this case without needing a trial. That’s something worth celebrating.

“You know what? Hell yeah,” you giggle, and Chan’s face lights up like the sun cresting the horizon. “Great! Because I already planned for us to!” His laughter bubbles over, and you yelp as the car suddenly accelerates.

“Cherry! you’re free tomorrow, right?” he shouts over the music, and you recognize the song—No. 1 Party Anthem.

So you’re on the prowl, wondering whether she left already or not…

“Hmmm, let me check if my schedule is clear for being kidnapped…” you tease, pretending to swipe through an imaginary calendar. He chuckles, his dimple deepening, and the sound makes you feel giddy, like champagne fizzing in your veins. “Looks like I am!”

“Perfect! Let’s go on a trip, then!”

Sunglasses in doors are par for the course…

“Where to?” you laugh, and he simply winks in response, “You’ll see.”

“Fine, you be mysterious, and I’ll…” You grab his Fendi sunglasses from the console, perching them on your head, “I’ll be your passenger princess.”

It doesn’t escape him— how readily you’ve let go, how much you’ve placed in his hands without hesitation. It makes him want to drive further, faster, to a place where your bruised hearts won’t catch up with the two of you.

Her eyes invite you to approach…

You stop along the way at a small, unassuming seafood stand nestled along the coast—one Chan seems to know well. The air is alive with the sizzle of grills and the briny scent of the ocean. The ahjumma behind the counter greets Chan warmly, her hands deftly working as she prepares your meal.

You’re served grilled crab, its shell glistening in a marinade of soy sauce, chili, and honey. The flavors burst on your tongue—savory and spicy with a delicate sweetness that reminds you of the sea itself. Chan insists on feeding you the oysters, gently placing each one on your plate. They’re buttery and tangy, kissed with lemon and sea salt and the warmth of Chan’s gaze.

Your heart softens as you watch Chan chatting easily with the older woman, a laugh bubbling out of him as she teases him for eating too fast, as he fist-bumps her grandson as he clears the plates. How tragic it would have been for him to remain closed off, a flower enclosed in itself, never sharing the vibrant beauty of his petals with the world.

And it seems as though those lumps in your throat that you’ve just swallowed have got you going…

You pause again at a roadside shop, picking out heart-shaped sunglasses and trading the ugliest souvenir T-shirts you can find, laughing until your sides ache. Chan drapes an obnoxious orange scarf over his shoulder, striking a runway pose that makes you topple over from how hard you’re laughing. But then, in the mirror’s reflection, you catch his gaze—soft, unguarded, and filled with something you don’t dare name. Your breath falters. You’ve never been looked at like this before, as if someone could unravel you completely and still leave you whole.

Come on, come on, come on…

The road stretches endlessly ahead, the horizon blurring as you feed Chan fresh strawberries from a farmer’s market along the road. You don’t question why your pulse skips each time his lips brush your thumb. You don’t question why you’re suddenly sure the fruit would taste sweeter off of his mouth. You simply let the wind whip past, wondering if his cheeks are flushed from the cold or from you. You pray it’s the latter.

Number one party anthem…

“Welcome to Gangneung,” he announces as the car rolls into the small coastal town. The sea glimmers outside your window, and the houses—painted in pastel blues and greens—climb the hills like a living postcard. A group of high schoolers are biking down a narrow street, their laughter reaching you even as you drive away. While three women walk uphill, groceries in hand, their wide-brimmed hats bobbing as they chatter energetically. They seem to be gossiping. They seem happy.

“You remembered,” you say softly, your gaze flickering to him.

“I’d like to go to Gangneung one day,” you had once told him during a late-night walk. “I heard it’s a small town, and the locals agreed to all paint their houses blue. Isn’t that sweet? I’d love to escape there one day, without telling anyone.”

“I didn’t tell anyone,” he says, giggling. “Well, except Winter—so she could pack a bag for you. And Jisung, so the kids wouldn’t worry. But I didn’t tell them where we’re—”

You don’t let him finish. Stopping yourself would feel unnatural, like damming a river mid-flow. You lean over and press a kiss to his cheek, right where his dimple is hidden.

The look of love, the rush of blood…

“Thank you, Channie,” you whisper. He simply nods, a bit dazed, so are you.

Come on, come on, come on…

Both your cheeks are still burning as you pull up by the sea. You’re the first to step out, stretching your arms to shake off the nerves while Chan rummages through the car. A sudden chill creeps over you, and you instinctively wrap your arms around yourself.

Number one party anthem…

“Here,” he says, draping a hoodie over your shoulders. He’s got a towel slung casually over one shoulder, and a basket balanced in his hands. “Come on,” he beckons softly, leading you to the shoreline.

He spreads the blanket atop the golden sand and you both lay on it, admiring the sea. You’re lost in your thoughts as you silently nibble at the cheese and crackers Chan brought with him. You haven’t sat before the waves in so long. For all your bravery in courtrooms, you were a coward in real life, scared that the mere sight of the overlapping water would make your buried wish resurface— to be adrift amidst waves, to sink with the peaceful certainty that you won’t resurface again.

But you haven’t felt this serene in a long time. Like you could draw in a deep breath and not dread the one that will follow it.

“I made you something.” Chan blurts suddenly, and you twist your neck to look at him. You’ve seen Chan in many states— happy, angry, weeping. But you haven’t seen him this nervous before.

“What is it?” you ask, your curiosity tinged with caution as you sit up.

He hesitates, his words tumbling over one another. “I’m sorry if this is too much, but I couldn’t stop thinking about the melody you hummed. I... I turned it into a piano piece. I recorded it. Do you want to hear it?”

He offers an earphone with trembling hands. Your own shake as you tuck it in, and then—oh god.

“Chan, I—” you choke, clutching his arm as the music flows into you. It’s her. It’s your mother, her voice resurrected in the notes. It’s as though he’s handed you a forgotten fragment of time, lighting it up, brushing away the dust of years. The memories flood back—her hand in yours, the melody she sang to you like a lullaby for your soul. Because she loved you, so much. You were once very loved.

You close your eyes as silent tears slip down your face. It’s a short recording, just fifty-five seconds, so you replay it, again and again, until the night falls gently around you. You want to live, you want to live if only to keep her voice alive.

“Should we go swim, Chan? I feel like swimming.” You suddenly say, a smile breaking through your face. This is the easiest it has been for you to grin in a long time.

“We’ll get sick,” he says, though a grin tugs at his lips.

“We haven’t been kids in so long”, you say and something shifts in his gaze. He understands, so he nods, suddenly picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder.

“Wait, not like this!” you shout, flailing as Chan hoists you up with ease. But it’s no use—he’s already running and the next thing you know, you’re plunging into the cold water.

He dives in after you, surfacing with a loud laugh that echoes across the shoreline. The water is freezing, but it doesn’t matter. He feels weightless, unburdened, like a child again, like he could do anything he wishes for in this world, like he could get on his knees and confess to you right there and then.

You’re both trembling still by the time you reach the hotel. You linger by the entrance, your gaze tracing the cracked wallpaper and worn-out carpets. Chan is at the desk, talking to the receptionist. Snippets of their conversation float your way—“only one room... unfortunately a pipe broke... an old hotel.”

Oh.

When he returns, his ears are tinged with pink. “There’s only one room left,” he stammers. “The other one has a water leak. But it’s okay! We can find another hotel. I understand you might be—”

“Christopher, I’m fucking freezing,” you interrupt, teeth chattering. He giggles softly, boyish. “I’ll let you shower first, then.”

The room is sparse, reminiscent of a hanok. There are no beds, only two padded mats that side by side on the heated floor, and a small desk in one corner. It feels intimate, ten times smaller as Chan stands behind you.

“Go ahead,” he says, “I’ll wait.”

You quickly grab your bag and retreat to the bathroom. With trembling hands, you unlock your phone.

Y/n: Winter!!!!!!!!!! Are you here?

Winter: OMG are you still with cherry man?

Y/n: Yes, and we’re sharing one room 🫣

Winter: Wooooooo my ship is sailing

Y/n: I hate you. Did you pack me cute pajamas at least?

Winter: Of course i foresaw this

You giggle slightly, gusts of powdery air materializing before you.

Y/n: I’ll kill you once I’m back!!!

Winter: you love me 😘 you’ll have to tell me everything when you come back

Y/n: I will ❤️ He’s very sweet… and confusing

Winter: Just trust your gut

Trust your gut? You’re quite unsure what your gut is trying to spell out for you. You sigh, before quickly heading into the shower. You know Chan must be freezing too even if he tries not to show it.

You hear the water cascade down when he goes in after you, still avoiding your gaze. It feels almost forbidden to imagine him standing there, steam curling in clouds scented with your cherry shower gel. He’ll carry it with him, you think—a faint trace of you on his skin. That thought seems to send goosebumps rippling down your spine.

Later, the two of you lay atop your mats in a quiet darkness. You can hear the hum of the heater, and the splashing of the waves far away. You don’t remember falling asleep, but the cold wakes you, sharp and biting.

“Chan?” you whisper into the quiet.

He hums instantly. He hasn’t slept.

“Aren’t you cold?”

“I am.”

“Should we move closer? Body heat and all,” you suggest, your voice barely audible. You hear him swallow in the dark.

Slowly, cautiously, he inches closer until your shoulders brush. You wrap a tentative arm around his waist, and he draws you in, his palm resting on your back. The embrace feels intimate, terrifyingly so, but you stay. He is warm. He smells like pinewood and cherry. He smells like you and him.

“Good?” he asks, voice rough, and you nod. “Yeah, good.”

You hear his heartbeat, frantic at first, mirroring yours, then slowing down as the minutes pass by. It feels familiar to lay so close to him, it feels natural, ordinary.

“Channie?” you whisper.

“Yes, Cherry?”

“How different do you think we’d be, if we hadn’t gone through the things we did?”

You don’t know why you ask, except that today, for the first time in forever, you feel like blank paper—uncrumpled, untainted, left to be.

He thinks for a while, his hand threading gently through your hair, lulling you back toward sleep.

“I think I would open my heart more,” he finally says, voice soft. “I’d be myself without fearing judgment or abandonment. I’d stop chasing perfection. I’d just... exist.”

You nod against him. “You should stop apologizing for wanting the things you do.”

It feels hypocritical coming from you, but you mean it.

“Yeah, Cherry,” he murmurs, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. “And you?”

“I’d allow myself to love. Without fear. I’d be someone worthy of being loved.”

A pause stretches between you, heavy and sharp. You inhale deeply.

“I’ve dated people,” you say quietly, “it drives Seungmin’s crazy because I know he wants to protect me from heartbreak,” you giggle softly, memories of the long talks Seungmin had dealt you flooding your mind.

“He’s a good brother.”

“He is,” you smile, before sighing. “But I don’t know how to tell him that it has always been for fun. They know what they’re getting into, which is, nothing beyond a few dates because... that’s all I have to give. I’m afraid someone might waste their time peeling away my layers, only to find nothing worthwhile. I’m hollow inside, Chan. A hollow chest can’t beat for another. Not in the way they deserve.”

His hand stills, his grip falters on your back. You hope he has heard your plea, unspoken, that he can read between the lines of your words. Please, you beg. Don’t love me. Don’t hurt yourself.

—

Chan sees it then, as evident as the rising of the sun. The truth of you, the truth of himself. Chan is loved by many, yet he doesn’t feel loved. You do not love Chan, perhaps you will never allow yourself to love another, and yet—he still loves you. Despite your warnings, he does. Even if you paint the image of the most violent of heartbreaks, he still will.

—

You judge heels by two criterias: one, how easy they are to stand long hours in, and two, how satisfying they sound when you walk. The powdery pink Jimmy Choos Seungmin gifted you hit both marks perfectly, sounding particularly delicious as you stride through the halls of Sun Corporation’s headquarters.

From the corner of your eye, you catch employees glancing up from their desks, whispers rising as you breeze past the secretary’s protests, her voice growing increasingly frantic. But you already know where you are headed: straight for the conference room, where you know an important meeting is currently unfolding.

Fun!

The secretary, a petite brunette, jogs after you, her heels barely keeping up with her urgency. She plants herself in front of the double doors, blocking your path, literally, with her arms outstretched.

“Miss, you can’t go in there,” she says, chest slightly heaving. “This is a private meeting.”

You flash her a thin smile, the kind that looks anything but kind. “Private? How convenient! It seems like they’ve kept their corruption private too!”

Her face pales, and she stammers. “I… I’m sorry, but I’ll need you to wait. Mr. Choi is—”

“Expecting me,” you cut her off, brushing past her without a second glance.

With a forceful push, you throw open the conference room doors. The chatter inside ceases instantly, replaced by stunned silence as ten executives turn to face you. At the head of the table sits Choi Min-soo, the CEO. His expression remains calm as his gaze locks with yours. He’s young, roughly in his thirties, surrounded only by men, of course. Perhaps that's why he keeps accumulating one bad decision after the other.

Choi leans back in his chair, his eyes narrowing in irritation. “Who let you in here?”

“Apologies for the interruption,” you say, though there’s not a shred of remorse in your voice. “I’m here about the demolition permit for Promise Orphanage.”

Choi leans back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. “I don’t recall scheduling a meeting with you.”

“No, you didn’t,” you reply coolly. “But I thought I’d save your secretary the trouble. Some things simply can’t wait. Surely you understand.”

An executive to Choi’s right clears his throat, tapping his fingers against the table in a measured rhythm. “This is a private meeting. You can’t just barge in—”

“Oh, but I can,” you curtly cut him off, “And I have. Now, if you’d prefer, we can do this in front of the press, but I thought you’d appreciate the courtesy of keeping this internal.”

Choi’s mask of indifference falters ever so slightly, his lips pressing into a thin line.

“Sit,” he says curtly.

You ignore him, instead leaning forward, your palms pressing into the polished surface of the table. “No need for pleasantries. Let’s cut to the chase. I have evidence that the city’s approval for your demolition project didn’t come through lawful means. Bribery, to be precise.”

A heavy silence blankets the room. The executives exchange uneasy glances, but Choi’s smirk betrays no concern. Though you know it is all rehearsed. Every expression is part of the masquerade that is their lives.

“I could sue you for defamation, you know,” he says, leaning forward. He’s beautiful, but in a sinister way. Like staring into the core of a bubbling volcano knowing it could swallow you whole.

“Is it defamation if it’s supported by your own emails?”

From your bag, you retrieve a thick stack of documents and toss them onto the table. One of the younger executives fumbles to pick them up, his face paling as he scans the contents.

“These emails detail discussions between your company and key city council members about how to tip their votes in your favor. Then there are the transaction logs. Substantial sums of money deposited into personal accounts, labeled as ‘consulting fees.’ Oddly enough, these transactions occurred right after a cozy dinner at that hotpot spot downtown. Convenient timing, wouldn’t you agree?”

Your grin widens as you add, “All of it obtained lawfully, of course.” You know they’re infuriated by you. You’ve learned over the years that men like these don’t fear consequences as much as they despise being brought down by a woman.

“There is nothing illegal about consulting fees,”a voice quips from your right, “it’s standard practice.”

“Standard practice,” you repeat, tilting your head. “How fascinating that these fees always seem to align perfectly with approvals for morally bankrupt projects. This isn’t your first rodeo, Choi, is it? Remember the nursing home? Your big debut? The one that earned you Daddy’s approval?”

Choi’s fist slams onto the table. The sound echoes sharply through the room. You don’t flinch.

“How dare you speak to me like this?”

“And how dare YOU prioritize greed over the lives of children?!” you fire back, your voice rising. “YOU are the one bulldozing an orphanage to fatten your pockets. Not me.”

The room shifts uneasily. The executives glancing at one another, avoiding your gaze.

“You have two choices,” you say, straightening. “Withdraw the permit and take responsibility for the lives you’re willing to destroy, or I’ll take this to the media. Every email, every transaction log, it’ll all be public knowledge. Let’s see how long you keep your title when the truth comes out.”

Choi chuckles, a sinister sound that sends shivers down your spine. Spoiled assholes are always somewhat deranged. “So let me get this straight. You barge in here, threatening ME in my OWN office? Do you have any idea what this project is worth? FUCKING BILLIONS! And powerful people back it, people who won’t tolerate interference.”

You pick up your bag, winking. “Then I suggest you start figuring out how to explain this mess to them. You have five days to withdraw the permit. Good luck!”

Without waiting for a response, you turn and stride out, the sharp clicks of your heels like music to your ears. You wave at the secretary who looks at you as if she’s just seen a ghost. And so do the rest of the employees. Your voice must have been loud enough then.

Now that was fun.

Winter launches herself at you as soon as you open the door to her car. “Fuck you were so badass!” she laughs, hugging you tightly and you giggle, the sound light and airy, as you take out your phone from your back pocket, silencing the call with her.

“I can and I have,” she repeats your words, voice dipping lower as you high-five excitedly, your palms almost ricocheting off one another.

“God winter you should’ve seen his face,” you laugh, cheeks almost splitting open, “he looked like a big baby throwing a tantrum!”

“Ah I think this is over, right?” she asks excitedly, as she gets out of the parking lot, “they’ll yield or else you’ll drag their reputation through the mud.”

“I think so,” you sigh, resting your head against the seat cushion. “If they’re any smart they’ll know that the general public will always empathize with children. We’ll wait and see,” you grin, pinching her cheeks. “Either way, I’m not letting them take away the orphanage from us.”

“Never doubted you will,” she smiles widely, before elbowing your side, “girls night then? It’s been so long.”

“Yeah, let’s do it!”

You glance at her as she drives, the sun threading between her blonde strands like molten gold. You’ve always found it ironic that she chose the name Winter for herself when she’s the warmest person you know— she’s the saccharine taste of honey, she’s the colors of the sun and the sounds of a joyous summer. She cannot possibly be a mere human. She’s too kind, too patient for the confines of such a flawed label. You suddenly remember her supporting you as you undertake your law classes, working long hours at the bakery near your home to pay for Seungmin’s lessons. You feel her move for you when your body was too weary to even stir.

“I love you,” you suddenly say, your voice a raspy whisper, and she turns to look at you, her eyes softening. “Yah save this for the sleepover.”

The sun has long slipped beneath the horizon, as you talked the night away with Winter, stomachs full of sweetened Soju and laughter on the living room floor. You rest your head on her stomach as she idly runs her fingers through your hair, reminiscing. It doesn’t hurt as much to remember these days.

“So, will you tell me about Chan?” she whispers, and you groan, hiding your face in your hands.

She giggles at your reaction, gently scratching your scalp. “Come on. How was your getaway?”

It takes you a few moments to admit it. Out of joy. Out of fear. “It was the happiest I’ve been in a long while, Winter.”

“You don’t sound happy about it,” she observes, and you nod.

“I’m terrified, because he’s confusing me.”

She’s silent, and you gather your memories—the ones that have kept you afloat for the past week, the ones that have mended some hidden part of your heart, though you can’t say which one. It is too scarred to keep count, but you can feel it, something inside you has healed, something caged within you can breathe again.

“He remembered which coastal city I wanted to visit, something I said on a whim during one of our walks, years ago, Winter” you say softly, as though speaking of his memory would make the universe take him away from you.

“He took me to eat oysters; You know how much I love oysters. He wore every ugly souvenir I gave him,” you giggle faintly before quieting down. You choose to skip over your mother’s piano piece secret. You feel as if you’d desecrate it by speaking of it, like it’s a memory that belongs only to Chan, you, and the sea. “And then… since we had to share a room, we cuddled because it was cold.”

You expect her to tease you, but her voice is gentle as she asks.

“How did you feel?”

You think hard of how you felt. How easy it was to fall asleep near him. How beautiful he looked as dreams wrote themselves behind his eyelids.

“I felt safe. Like I could let go, and he’d be there to catch me.”

“I don’t think he would hurt you. I don’t think he could, even if you hurt him.”

You sigh, straightening up to meet her gaze.

“I don’t want to hurt him, Winter. That’s my issue. And I know I will.”

“Why would you—”

“I’m a bundle of issues, grief, and sorrow,” you cut her off, resigned. “You know that. I didn’t choose to be this way, but I am. I will taint him.”

“What I know,” she says, taking your hands in her own, “is that you are a good person. Your heart is warm and full of goodness, despite everything that happened to you. Grief changes a person, injustice changes them even more. But your heart still overflows with love. That’s something not everyone can say.”

You shake your head, tears welling in your eyes.

“Winter, have you ever found a flower so beautiful? You see it, and its petals are the brightest colors, almost calling to your soul. Would it be right to cut it and take it home? Yes, it might bring you joy for a while. You’d change its water, add vinegar and sugar cubes. But then what? It’ll falter and die early. Because I was selfish. Because I hurt the flower, even though I loved it so much.”

Your voice cracks, and the tears you’ve been holding back are now dangerously close to spilling. She’s quiet for a long moment, and you begin to believe you’ve imagined this whole conversation. But then—

“What if that flower’s only wish is to be loved?”

Sometimes, words feel like a soothing balm coating your wounds. Sometimes, they feel like a dagger suddenly protruding what’s left of your heart. Sometimes they feel like both.

Your phone pings, and you reach for it through a hazy view, grateful for the small distraction.

Except it isn’t.

Jaehyun: Your cherry man just paid for San’s hospital bills.

You frown, and Winter leans over to peek at your screen.

Y/n: What???

Jaehyun: Yeah, he just called me. An anonymous (beautiful) man (with dimples ;) per the nurse’s description) paid for all his mother’s expenses.

Winter stares at you knowingly as your heart does somersaults—throbbing in your chest, in your throat, in your stomach. You feel him everywhere, Chan, like he’s made a home inside you and is now setting you ablaze.

Does he have to be so kind? Does he have to make it so hard for you not to love him?

Somehow, it’s 4 a.m. before you notice, Winter sleeps soundly beside you while you lie wide awake. You can’t stop thinking about Chan. His desire to be seen, his fear of it too. His voice. His warm hands. His soft lips. His heart. His soul.

You slip away from Winter and head to the balcony, a shawl wrapped around your arms. You hesitate for a moment, then press ‘Call’.

“Cherry?” Chan answers instantly, and your shoulders relax despite yourself. Is this what it feels like to be a flower plucked from millions? Cherished. Loved.

“Hi, Channie,” you whisper, and you hear him rustling in bed.

“Are you okay? Where are you? Do you need me to pick you up?” His questions come fast, and you stop him before he can leap out of bed.

“No, no. I just… I wanted to thank you. For what you did for San.”

“Oh, who told you?” he sounds sheepish, timid. “I thought I told the nurse to keep it anonymous.”

“Well, not many men have dimples as pretty as yours.” The words slip out before you can stop them. You don’t hate yourself when you hear Chan chuckling softly, the bed covers rustling with his movements. Does he too chase remnants of your perfume on his pillows? Does he too imagine you laying on his bed once more?

“Well, it’s the least I could do.”

“No, you didn’t have to do that. You didn’t have to take me on that trip, or rearrange your whole schedule to spend a night watching shitty dramas with me. You didn’t have to do any of it. So why? Why do you do these things, Chan?” you ask, breathless.

He sighs softly. “Does it make you happy, Cherry? When I do these things?”

“Yes.”

“Then you have your answer.”

Oh.

The silence stretches, long and endless. Your shoulders hurt from always being cowered, tense. You wish you could ease them down.

“Thank you for making me happy. Sleep well, Channie.” You hang up before he can reply, before he can call you Cherry again. Because it makes you feel like dying. To love Chan in a world where you won’t let him love you feels like the biggest of deaths.

—

Seungmin’s earliest memories have always been of you.

There was a hollow space in his small heart, carved with the dullest of knives, something that pulsed even though he didn’t know who was it far. He knew his parents existed, he remembers his old home, but only faintly. They’d been taken too soon, he didn’t have much to hold on to.

So it was always you and him.

He remembers being a whiny child, crying endlessly because he didn’t understand why the world was so cruel—to him, but mostly to you. It confused him deeply, the way people overlooked your kindness. You were his older sister, his light. Why, then, couldn’t everyone else see you the way he did?

By the time he grew more into his body, into his heart, the tears stopped coming as often. He noticed the way a light dimmed in your eyes every time you tried to console him, and it frightened him. He didn’t know how many lights you had to give, or how many were left. So, he stopped crying.

Seungmin started piecing together truths he didn’t yet know how to speak. He began to understand the sharpness in your voice when prospective parents visited the orphanage, the urgency in your words when you told him to hide in the bathroom. You were protecting him. You didn’t want to be separated from him. It was almost impossible for two children to be adopted at once.

He began to understand why you always came back a bit breathless from talking to the older kids, the ones you strictly forbade him from playing with. Why would blue marks always appear on your arms after those conversations. Why he often heard you crying at night when you believed him long asleep.

And it killed him. There was no other way to describe it, because Seungmin had scraped his knee and lost his parents, and yet it did not hurt as much as it did when you were hurt. So, he tried to be as small as possible, as quiet, he tried to not get sick, to get good grades, to do his bed and yours. He tried to be perfect, so you wouldn’t be burned by him. So you wouldn’t cry when looking at him asleep.

Joy was scarce in Seungmin’s life. And it was all tied back to you. He was practical, even as a child, understanding early that he’d have to work harder than most to make something of himself. But not for personal gain, it was all to repay you for everything you gave him.

Then, one day, he stumbled onto something unexpected—a gift. A cheat code. “You’ve got a beautiful singing voice,” Miss Jeeho told him on his second night at Promise Orphanage. She had caught him singing in the garden. He didn’t like singing in front of other people. He feared you’d be punished for it too. “Have you ever thought of becoming a singer?”

The idea felt like cracking open a window in a suffocating room, a breath of air sweeping through the dust and decay of a crushed life. For the first time, he saw a semblance of dream take shape. He felt hope settle below his ribs, softening the thorns in his chest.

So he researched in the library of his school obsessively on this topic. How to be a singer, how to audition, how to win. He kept it hidden from you in all the years you spent in Promise Orphanage. Only Miss Jeeho knew, and she was kind, he didn’t feel scared sharing his hope with her. He was fifteen when he told you, after a year of relentlesses fighting to gain his custody. “I want to be a singer.”

You froze for a second, and Seungmin hasn’t stopped wondering where your mind went in that moment.

“Will you help me?” he asked, voice burning with resolve. “It pays well. I promise I’ll debut, and I’ll make you proud. And I’ll repay you, for all of it, I swear.”

“What’s this talk of you repaying me?” you said softly, your eyes so kind it made him want to weep. “All of me is for you, Seungminnie.”

Seungmin felt a sharp, throbbing ache in his chest at that moment. There she was, his greatest supporter, promising to back his dream. And yet, he felt hideously worthless, as though merely looking at the mirror would make it shatter.

It was then he named it—the poison coursing through his veins, the thorn lodged deep in his throat—the guilt. He wore that guilt like a second skin, its barbed wires sinking deeper into his soul with each passing year. Did you have a dream, too? Did you abandon your own to make room for him? He should’ve asked what your dream was. He should’ve begged you to keep your heart for yourself.

Seungmin could not rewrite the past, could not save his parents, could not undo his own birth so that you would not carry the weight of him. So, he sought to make up for it. He never spoke of his weariness during practice, nor of the pain, the fear, or the anger that gnawed at him. He only shared the triumphs—him ranking second on the entry competition, his voice praised by the vocal coaches at the company, finding friends that turned into family who genuinely cared for him, and you with time, that he would debut soon, that he has made it.

He spent his first paycheck on you, buying you the heels you’ve been eyeing for a long time, the ones you wore to your first courtroom. He spent the next on you too, and the one after it. He overcompensated for the guilt– gifts, flowers, a luxurious coffee machine, a two weeks retreat fully paid. He grew overbearing too, when it came to your heart, when it came to protecting it, disapproving of every person you chose to date.

He understood after a while that you weren’t looking for anything serious, at least not for now. Your dates seemed to understand this too. But he was afraid that one day you’d fall for someone who’s still looking for fun, who wouldn’t care for your heart like it was your own.

His hyungs would always poke fun at him for his protective nature, but he couldn’t help it. He was terrified for you, terrified that a heartbreak would be the thing to take you away from him.

He still remembers the look on your face when you caught him sitting in the same restaurant as your date. You’d laughed, and he’d felt sheepish under your gaze. “I told him it was a bad idea,” Jeongin giggled, throwing his hands up.

“I don’t like him,” he grumbled and you had chuckled, ruffling his hair, “when do you ever?”

You had then spent the night with him at the dorms watching movies with all his members. It was a normal occurrence for you to hang out with them, his found family, because they too had been touched with your kindness, back when they were all still trainees and you insisted on making them homemade food.

Seungmin knew it was your way of clinging to a normal home, that too killed him a little.

He knew that the members loved you, that they too cared for you deeply. Though they liked to annoy Seungmin by flirting with you. Which made you giggle, so, although he despises it, he still lets it slide.

Which brings him to today.

Seungmin hasn’t seen you since the concert at Kyocera Dome. So, he spammed you long enough for you to finally agree to have dinner in his dorm. Except 3RACHA was there too since they were all working on a song. It wasn’t their presence that weirded out Seungmin. Nor the fact that Han and Changbin took turns flirting with you, turning more obnoxious and loud and making Seungmin wish he could hit them with the plates on the table. Not that.

It was Chan. Who looked tense, jaw tight, his fingers flexing each time they sent a flirty remark your way.

Was he… Jealous?

“Thank you honey,” Han says, blowing you a kiss when you hand him his chopsticks. You giggle and Seungmin buries his face in his hands when Changbin grabs your plate, declaring that he will cut the steak for you.

“She doesn’t like meat cut that way,” Chan suddenly says, taking away the knife and plate from Changbin. Your cheeks blush as if a dahlia blossomed there. Han and Changbin exchange knowing looks.

Okay. What?

“Is there something—” he asks when your phone suddenly rings and he quiets down, swallowing the question with the rest of his beer. That would have been a stupid question, anyways.

“Winter!” you pick up, tone cheerful. Though all the color drains from your face as she speaks, the flower withering and turning into ash.

“W-what…?” you ask, slightly dazed, your hand gripping the table.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. “Cherry, what’s wrong?” so does Chan.

Cherry?

“The orphanage…” you say, Chan seems to understand what you’re talking about perfectly. You don’t finish, getting up and running out of his dorm. Everyone gets up on cue following you. “We’ll take my car,” Changbin says.

—

Is it possible to have sinned right before birth? To have done something so terrible you cannot atone for it no matter how much time passes. You accept it, you accept that your star is an unlucky one. You accept that even the most restless waters will always drown you, not carry you. Still, for how long do you have to pay the price, over and over again? Till how long is it no longer justice? Till how long does it become the universe toying with you? Does it think you can’t break? Does it think there is no limit to how much you can take?

Because there is.

You think you’ve reached it now.

Time seems to have slowed down, so much you’re sure five lifetimes have passed between each of your breaths. You know that there must be people screaming, a loud shatter, the sirens of ambulances and firefighters. Still, it’s quiet in your head. Save for a faint ringing, a buzzing, like a swarm of bees has lodged itself within your ear.

The earth is moving beneath your feet, it threatens to split open and swallow you. And you’d let it. You don’t have the nails to dig yourself out. You don’t have the will. You don’t have the hope.

You almost feel like laughing. You’re cursed. Every bit of happiness comes back to haunt you down the line.

It’s hot, extremely hot, and ashy. And you’re before the orphanage but you don’t smell rust. You smell smoke, pungent and bitter. You smell loss. You smell your last hope dying.

The orphanage is burning.

The kids are outside, covered in blankets and hugged turn by turn by the staff— Miss Jeeho, Mister Seonghwa, the cook, the gardener, the teachers, the psychologist, Winter.

The firefighters are trying to control the fire, but it’s spreading rapidly before your eyes, emboldened by the wooden floors and squeaky doors. You are losing your home again. The fire is eating the room you slept in, the kitchen where you learned how to cook, the garden where you caught Seungmin singing to Miss Jeeho. It’s eating the stairs where you sat with Winter laughing, the attic where you hid when existing became too rough.

It’s eating your memories, it’s eating you.

“What’s— what’s happening?” Seungmin stammers, his hand on your shoulder. You feel like kids again, back when the policeman came to your home and found only you and a toddler inside. A kid caring for a kid.

Winter sees you from afar, rushing to wrap you in her arms. You don’t feel her warmth. You don’t feel anything, now that you’re thinking of it. Has your heart bled dry? Finally?

“Cherry,” you hear but you brush the hand away, walking towards two firefighters once only smoke remains. “Who started it? The fire?” you ask breathlessly.

“Why?” they ask, cautious, “do you have reason to believe it was intentional?”

“Who started it?” you repeat.

“It’s too early to tell,” he says, eyes fixed on his coworker, sweat dripping from his brow, his forehead smeared with ash. “Preliminary findings suggest it began in the garden, which is odd, since there’s no apparent cause and no sign of a cigarette. The owner claims no one smokes. We did find what looks like traces of gasoline, but more investigation is needed. It spread quickly towards to the utility room, where there are electric wires. Something, or someone must’ve sparked it, and now it’s out of control.” He sighs, “We’ll call the police.”

You feel it then, a stone that sinks deep within your gut: they burned it. Sun Corporation burned the orphanage because if there is no orphanage then there is no case. They burned the orphanage and you with it.

—

“Would someone tell me what’s going on?” Seungmin grows more agitated the more you remain silent in your apartment. You can tell everyone is looking at you, waiting for you to snap out of your daze. But you don’t know where to begin. You don’t know how this will end.

“Miss Jeeho called,” Winter says softly, reappearing from the balcony. “There’s enough suspicion to begin an investigation. They need my testimony.” Changbin, without a word, stands and grabs his car keys. “I’ll drive you,” he says. She nods in reply.

“Do the kids have a place to go tonight?” Han asks, his voice laced with concern. Winter shakes her head. “No, Miss Jeeho is still trying to figure that out.”

“Alright,” Han says, pulling out his phone. “Let me call the others for help.”

“You have my card,” Chan says, pressing a sleek, cold card into Winter’s hand.

“Text me,” you tell Han, and he nods, following Changbin and Winter out the door.

And then there were three.

“Would you please tell me?” Seungmin asks again, kneeling before you. His voice is quieter now, laced with something you hadn’t anticipated—hurt, confusion. A part of you stirs alive and you sigh, beginning to recount everything— the apartment, the corruption, San, the meeting, the fire— but your voice feels like someone else’s, void, unfamiliar.

“And why didn’t you tell me any of this?” he asks once you finish. There’s raw pain coating his gaze, Seungmin has always been an open book to you.

“I was going to tell you,” you murmur, “once the permit was withdrawn. I didn’t want to burden you with this.”

“But I want you to burden me!” his voice rises slightly, as he stands up, pacing before you. “I could have helped you. I would have stood by you!”

“Seungmin, please,” you breathe, the weight of it all pressing against your chest.

“You don’t always have to carry everything alone. It doesn’t make you stronger, it only makes the pain ten times worse,” he presses his eyes shut, “I wouldn’t have hid something like this from you.”

“Well, you’re not me!” You snap, and he flinches, recoiling like you’ve struck him. You’ve never raised your voice at Seungmin before.

There she is, the person who pushes those who love her away, the person who deserves to be punished.

“I’ll go help the boys,” he softly says, walking out, shoulders slumped. He looks smaller now, like you’ve just hurt the child within him mourning his only home.

“Cherry…” Chan’s voice cuts through the tense silence, and you rise to your feet, instinctively covering your face. “Not you too, Chan.”

“Would you talk to me?” His voice is gentle. “You haven’t said a word in over an hour. This isn’t healthy, I know this must hurt so you shouldn’t keep it all inside.”

“I don’t have anything to say,” you reply, your voice colder than you intended. Please go, you beg. Please, before I snap at you too.

“Just talk, okay? Say whatever comes to your mind. I’ll listen to you. It’ll feel better if you let it all out.”

“Except it won’t!” The words come out harsher than you meant, and you feel yourself spiraling. You’re throwing up thorns, and you can’t stop it. “You don’t always know what’s best for people, alright? You can’t always fix people, Chan! And I can’t be fixed! Talking about it won’t help, keeping it in won’t help, because this is who I fucking am. This is all I’ve known.”

“Cherry, please. You know that’s not what I meant.” His voice is soft, still tender, still trying to reach you.

He still calls you Cherry. He’s still here. You can feel the desperation creeping inside, a bitter realization that they should all run before you curse them too.

“Oh, come on,” you laugh, the sound hollow. It feels like daggers slicing through your throat as you speak. “Don’t you see me as a project to fix? Something to make you feel in control for all the years you’ve lost it?”

“Is this how low you think of me?” he asks, taking a step back, his face a mix of hurt and disbelief. “I never thought you needed fixing.”

“Well, it’s how I felt around you,” you say, the words spilling out like venom. Liar. Liar. Liar. “Like I’m the poor orphan and you’re the knight in shining armor, coming to save me.” He looks like you’ve just slapped him in the face.

Does he hate you now? Does he hate you as much as you hate yourself?

“You know, you should stop punishing yourself, Yn.” He says your name, not Cherry, but your name, plain and flat. It feels like all your little deaths combined in one. “You only have one sin and it’s that you wish to be loved.”

He pauses. You feel as if the world was cracked wide open. You feel as if your soul just splattered before his feet, naked, trembling.

“And I love you. God, I’ve loved you for the past ten years, and I wish you could open your heart just a little bit to see it.”

“What?” you ask, breathless, the words barely leaving your mouth before he turns away, silent. He doesn’t answer. He leaves.

He left.

Your feet move before your mind can catch up, and suddenly you’re running after him. “What do you mean you love me?” you shout, the words raw, desperate. Your chest is heaving, breaths coming in ragged gasps. You’re sure your neighbors are peeking from their windows, watching, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters now except him, nothing has in a long time. “What do you mean, Chan?!”

“Forget it,” he mutters.

“You can’t say that and ask me to forget it!” you shout and he chuckles, hand tightly gripping his hair in frustration.

“Has it not been clear? That you’d ask me to get you the moon and I'd fucking die trying. Can’t you see that I’d sacrifice the sun if it means making you happy?”

You back away, tears streaming down your cheeks in an unstoppable flow. No. Yes. No. How?

“N–no, you… You shouldn’t love me.”

“Do you think I haven’t tried?” His voice rises, raw and hoarse. “I’m human too, it kills me to love someone who I know won’t ever love me. But tell me, please, teach me how to pause the throbbing of my heart. Teach me how to silence it when it calls out your name, when it aches because it misses you so much I feel like I’m dying. When there is a void in my soul shaped after your laugh, your smell, your words, how do I—“ his hands land on your shoulders, his forehead resting on the crook of your neck. You can feel the shaking of his hands, you can feel his being unraveling before you.

Your hands curl in tight fists, you are broken, shattered, there is no glue that could piece you back together. Even if gold travels between your shards, it will not make you into something beautiful. You’ll remain a disaster. You’ll ruin him too.

“Look at me.” You shake your head, unwilling, unable to face him. “Please, Cherry, look at me. Even if you’ll leave me right now, please, I— I’d rather you leave while looking at me.”

You bite your lip, choking on the sob rising in your throat.

“Tell me you don’t love me,” he pleads, taking your palm and placing it atop his chest.You can feel the erratic thrum of his pulse, alive and desperate beneath your hand. “Say it. Say you never will. Make me believe it, so this thing inside me will die. Please.”

“I can’t say that,” you whisper. The world offers itself at your feet. “I can’t say that because I won’t mean it.” Your eyes finally meet his, you wonder what he sees in yours. You wonder how someone like him could ever love you.

You lick your lips tentatively, tasting the saltiness of your tears and the cherry of your chapstick.

“Do you know what a bleeding heart dove is? It’s a small pigeon, with a plumage so white and pristine it resembles the first snow. But right in the middle of it, there is a patch of crimson, it looks like a bullet wound Chan, it looks like his little heart is always bleeding.” Your voice cracks like glass, Chan’s eyes soften more than you’ve ever thought was possible. “That’s how I feel, like I always always carry this wound that won’t ever heal. It bleeds and it bleeds and the blood oozes so much at times that I choke with it. I don’t want to taint you with it too.”

“What if I want you to taint me?” His warm palms cradle your cheeks, threads of sunlight brushing against your skin. “What if I want you to change me? What if I want everyone who has looked at me to know that I’m loved by you?”

You smile softly, shaking your head. “That would be selfish of me.”

“Then love me selfishly, love me with greed. Just love me, Cherry. Please, love me,” he begs, his eyes boring into yours. You peer into him, his soul, the sincerity in his offering to you— his heart, so fragile, yet so resolute in loving you.

“You’re so beautiful, Channie,” you gently say, as your palms tenderly cup his cheeks. His eyes flutter closed, tears staining your hands as he leans into your touch, placing his heart right in your hands. “I’d like some time to think of myself as beautiful, too. Would you wait for me? Until I figure it out.”

He softens. “I waited for you for ten years. I’d wait for you for an eternity if I have to.”

A knot forms in your throat. “You’re so sweet, God, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I know you don’t pity me, I shouldn’t have said that. I’m just so overwhelmed and everything spiraled down and I don’t know where to even begin now,” you ramble, and he cuts you off by placing a tender kiss atop your wrist.

“Would you breathe now?” he smiles and your world somehow brightens despite it all. “I'm not mad, alright? And we’ll figure it out together, Cherry. You have us. You always did.”

Your voice is small as you mumble– “Seungmin is mad at me.”

“He’s not. He always wants to protect you so he feels bad when you don’t let him in. You know that.”

You did, of course you do.

You feel a little less ashamed of plucking a beautiful flower out of its soil. You’ll insuflate your own soul in it to keep it blooming.

“Will you stay with me, Chan?”

“Always.”

—

“So, they burned down the orphanage?” Jeongin asks, disbelief thick in his voice as you finish recounting the horrors of the past month.

Your small apartment is packed the day after the fire—Winter, Jaehyun, Miss Jeeho, San, and the boys. Some sit huddled on couches, others sprawl across the floor, leaning into one another. You’ve never known that warmth could become a tangible thing, that it could weave itself around your heart like silk, drip sweetness down your ribcage like rivers of honey. You feel it, despite how harrowing the situation is, because all your friends care. They care for the orphanage like it’s their own.

“Yeah, I’m sure of it,” you reply. “We got a report of a suspicious van speeding off right after the fire started.”

“And remnants of gasoline were found at the scene,” Jaehyun adds, taking a leisurely sip out of his beer. “The police are tracing it now.”

You nod, thinking back to the police chief who happened to be one of your high school classmates. He got promoted and he promised he’d tell you first, if anything happened. “Yeah, the firefighters confirmed that it was arson. Once the police officer gets back at us I’ll file a lawsuit against them.”

“But can you believe the fucking nerve?” Felix scoffs, “I just read their statement: ‘We are extremely saddened by the news of the burning of Promise Orphanage due to faulty wiring. We promise to work side by side with the community to ensure the children are safe and living in better conditions’. Do they think we are stupid?”

“They’re lying,” Miss Jeeho says bitterly. “Trying to save face while they can.”

Hyunjin’s face pales. “This makes me sick,” he whispers. “The fact that they’d endanger those kids just for their agenda…” He trails off, shaking his head, and the room falls into a heavy silence.

“They stopped communicating through emails after you confronted Choi,” San says, his voice tight. “They must’ve realized someone was leaking information. Now everything’s confidential.”

He slumps, defeated, and you reach over to pat his back gently. “It’s okay. I don’t think they’d be dumb enough to discuss arson in emails anyways. We’ll find another way.”

“What about the kids? Are they okay?” Jeongin asks, his brows furrowed in concern.

“They’re doing fine, considering,” Minho answers, nodding toward Han. “Yeah,” Han adds with a soft laugh. “We visited this morning. They’re warm, well-fed, like michelin chef well-fed, we made sure of it, and maybe a little spoiled, we might’ve gone overboard with the toys.” The group chuckles briefly, Minho throwing a pillow at Han’s face before smiling fondly at him.

“But this is all just temporary,” Winter whispers, her eyes suddenly brimming with tears. “We can’t keep them in a rented house forever. They’ll need to be sent to different locations, scattered across the country.”

“Is there really no other way?” Changbin asks, as he squeezes Winter’s shoulder gently.

“Unless we can rebuild the orphanage in record time, then no. It’s all gone,” Miss Jeeho sighs, and you feel the knot in your throat tighten. You’ve avoided looking at her ever since the fire, you can’t bear the sight of raw grief in her eyes, specifically.

“What if we rebuild the orphanage?” Seungmin suddenly asks. It’s the first time you’ve heard his voice during the night.

“We don’t have the funds for that, Seungminnie” you say softly.

“We do,” Chan interjects firmly, “If we all donate, we can raise the money. Start a fundraiser, maybe?”

You see it then, a fickle of hope blossoming in the air.

“You know, it’s not a bad idea,” Jaehyun says, leaning forward. “Media coverage of the case is really strong and it has garnered a lot of public sympathy. I also told friends in media to keep up intense coverage since something big is simmering beneath the case.”

“I can hold a press conference then,” you say, your voice quipping up. “Expose everything, from the beginning and ask for public support.”

“And me,” Seungmin says suddenly, looking up to meet your gaze at last. His voice is steady, but his eyes are tinged with vulnerability. “I want to stand by your side. It’ll help us garner more attention too.”

“Are you sure?” you ask gently. “Are you ready to reveal where you grew up?”

“I’m not ashamed of it,” he replies softly. “It’s because of that place that I’m here today.”

Your heart swells, and tears sting your eyes as you nod. “Alright. Sounds like a solid plan.”

—

You’ve known loneliness long enough to recognize that it doesn’t wear a singular face.

“Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen. My name is Y/n Kim, and I am the lead attorney representing Promise Orphanage.”

You’ve known the loneliness that slices your bones. That cuts so deep within your marrow you’re unsure whether the sun will rise tomorrow, whether you’ll be even there to witness it. You knew it when you were ten and your parents simply never came back home.

“You are aware that Promise Orphanage has been burnt down last week. A tragedy for our community as this orphanage housed forty children who only have that place to call a home.”

You’ve known the loneliness that doesn’t stab, its sharp tip always remaining at the edges of your soul, as if threatening you, reminding you that it could sink within you at any given moment. You knew it when you were fourteen and Winter shook your hand for the first time.

“I am here to explain that this isn’t due to uncontrollable circumstances. But a crime. The fire did not start hazardously but was intentionally caused. By Sun Corporation, the subsidiary of Gyeongdo Holdings.”

You’ve known the loneliness that doesn’t fill you, but rather sits beside you on a bench. Loneliness that only manifests when you’re surrounded by people who love you, and who you love. And yet, you feel as if you are enclosed in transparent glass, always keeping you at arm’s length from them. Because your heart is different. Because you grieved a lifetime before you were old enough to understand it.

But for the first time in years, you don’t feel lonely.

Not when the people in your life have worked tirelessly with you for the orphanage, for justice, for the children. Not when a room full of journalists hang onto your every word, cameras flashing, questions flying. Your eyes scan the crowd, landing on your loved ones in the back. They nod.

The legal case is airtight. You’ve worked tirelessly with your team to gather the proof—police reports, financial records, surveillance footage. You exhale, steadying yourself, and nod toward the screen.

“We have obtained documentation, in collaboration with the authorities, confirming that a van was seen fleeing the scene moments after the fire started getting out of control. That van was rented by a company in which Sun Corporation holds 45% of the shares. The individual who rented it is also an employee at Sun Corporation, whose identity we’ll keep anonymous. For now.”

Your eyes meet San’s, and he winks—he’s the one who verified the identity, right after depositing his resignation letter at Sun Corporation.

A journalist raises his hand. “Are you saying Sun Corporation committed arson?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. But don’t take my word for it, of course.”

You press a button on the laptop connected to the speakers.

The room falls silent.

Then, the recording crackles to life.

“Are you insane?! I said a warning, not a damn inferno!”

Murmurs ripple through the crowd, cameras shifting toward the speakers as the voice, angry, panicked, continues.

“You idiots lost control of it! The fire department is involved, you know that bitch is going to the police too. Do you have any idea what’s at stake? BILLIONS! I wanted to sue them for neglect and now we are the ones who will lose EVERYTHING! Fix it, or so help me—”

The recording cuts out. The silence that follows is deafening.

Journalists erupt all at once.

“Who is that speaking?”

“Was this obtained legally?”

“Is Sun Corporation under criminal investigation?”

You raise a hand, and a hush falls upon the room.

“The voice belongs to Choi Sungho, CEO of Sun Corporation,” you confirm. “This recording was obtained from a whistleblower inside the company and has been turned over to the authorities. The police are actively investigating Sun Corporation for arson, conspiracy, and fraud.”

You think back to the brunette secretary. You now know her name—Jia. She once dreamed of becoming a lawyer too, but she needed money for her sister’s medical bills, so she had to give up her aspirations. She heard snippets of the conversations authorizing the fire and recorded the aftermath. You know she’s watching this at home too.

“This is not just a case of reckless endangerment. This is a coordinated criminal act, executed for financial gain. Sun Corporation had previously filed for a demolition permit for the orphanage, but the permit was granted under questionable circumstances.”

You gesture toward the documents on every table.

“There is evidence that Sun Corporation bribed city officials to fast-track the permit process. However, because of our legal scrutiny, the project was delayed. Burning a part of the orphanage to argue neglect was their alternative. But as you can see, it backfired.”

More whispers, more frantic typing. A journalist from the back calls out, “Are you pursuing legal action?”

“Yes. We are also working closely with law enforcement to hold all responsible parties accountable, including those within the city council who enabled this corruption.”

You suck in a deep breath, nodding towards Seungmin who was standing behind the curtains, veiled from everyone’s view.

“There is someone I’d like you to meet now.”

He steps forward, taking the mic from your hand.

The camera flashes become incessant as the interrogations ripple from everywhere.

“Is that…?”

“Wait, Kim Seungmin?”

“What is going on?”

“Hello,” he says, voice reverberating around the room. “My name is Kim Seungmin. Some of you may be familiar with who I am, but today, I do not speak to you as an Idol.” A pause. “I am here as one of the children who once lived at Promise Orphanage.”

The cameras shift, zooming in on his face. Jaehyun excitedly signals that the viewer’s count is rising up rapidly.

“I’ve never spoken about this publicly before, but I am an orphan. My sister,” he nods at you, “raised me. My fans may recognize her voice from some of our songs,” he smiles softly, before sobering up. “We moved from place to place, but Promise Orphanage was the only orphanage that felt like home. The only place where we were truly taken care of, where I was allowed to dream, thanks to Miss Jeeho, the director. She’s the one who helped me become a singer. She’s also the one who helped my sister in her fight for my custody.”

He swallows hard, steadying himself.

“This crime is not just about corporate greed. It’s about children who lost their home overnight. And now, they face being scattered across different locations, losing the only family they have left.”

His gaze fixes every camera, every journalist in place. You feel pride swell in your heart, loud and bright and all encompassing.

“We are not just seeking justice. We are seeking solutions. We are launching a legal fund to rebuild Promise Orphanage. We ask for your steady support in holding Sun Corporation accountable and in ensuring that these children are not left behind.”

“Please don’t let this injustice go unanswered.”

He bows deeply. You follow. Cameras flash, a deluge of light and sound.

It’s done, now. The end of the beginning is finally over.

—

Sometimes a month is just a month. Sometimes a month stretches like ten lifetimes crafted solely to hurt you. Sometimes a month slips through your fingers like running water, not yours to keep.

The past six months have been both, somehow.

You spent sleepless nights building the most solid case against Sun Corporation. Exhausting weeks passed before the judge finally struck his gavel against the wood, charging them with arson, criminal activity, bribery, and interference with civilian law. It took the sweat and tears of many to rebuild the orphanage from the charred ground. It took a lot of love to fill its multicolor walls with children’s laughter again— yours, your brother’s, your friends’, the fans’, the general public’s too.

And yet, when it was all over, when you could finally exhale without fearing the consequences of letting go, you were left with a gaping hole in your chest. Void was an insatiable creature gnawing at your heart, void was a creature that sought something you could not name.

That is until Seungmin talked to you.

“Can I sit?” he asks, pointing to the patch of shade near you. You nod, scooting over as you both lean your backs against the freshly planted pine tree. For a while, it’s quiet as you watch Han and Felix, dressed as clowns, playing hide and seek with a group of children at the orphanage’s reopening party.

“They look happy,” he whispers and you smile softly, letting their giggles waft to your ears.

“They do.”

“I never apologized for that night,” he suddenly says, turning to look at you. “When I got mad because you didn’t tell me about the orphanage.”

“I’m the one who’s sorry,” you sigh. “I knew how much this place means to you. I knew this was where you figured out what your dream was. I just… didn’t want to burden you, not when you already have so much atop your plate” you explain, gently smoothing down his bangs. “I guess a part of me still sees you as the little kid I have to protect.”

“You were a child too, protecting me,” he whispers, voice hoarse as he places his warm palm over yours. “You don’t have to protect me anymore. I promise. I’d rather you look after your own heart. Listen to what it really wants.”

Your eyes drift toward Chan. He’s playing guitar for a group of older kids, their small hands clapping to the upbeat melody. His smile is the sun. His smile tastes like the ocean breeze.

“Do you like him?” Seungmin asks softly.

Your breath catches. “What?”

“Chan. I’m not blind. I see the way you look at him. The way he looks at you, mostly.”

“Does it bother you?”

“Why would your happiness ever bother me?” He smiles, and you feel a weight dissolve in your chest. The creature within you perks up at his words.

“Then yes,” you admit, breath hitching. “I like him. So much it terrifies me.”

You speak your feelings for the first time, and yet, the sky does not collapse, the earth does not tremble beneath your feet. It feels almost miraculous— to voice what you long for and not be punished for it.

“Sometimes the things that scare us the most are the ones that make us happiest,” he says. “Because we’re scared of allowing ourselves to feel joy. Because we’ve conditioned ourselves to think we don’t deserve it.”

Tears prick your eyes, and you crack a soft smile. “Look at you, saying such wise things.”

“I’m literally twenty-four,” he deadpans and you laugh, ruffling his hair. “But you’ll always be a baby in my eyes, Seungminnie.”

“All right, all right.” He laughs, pulling you into a side hug. “But would you do it? I know you’ve sacrificed a lot for me, it must have hurt to do so,” you go to interject but he stops you, “Please. Would you listen to your heart for once?”

It takes a week away from everyone to do just that. You return to Gangneung, you walk past the blue houses, you talk to the locals and play chess with the grandpas and drink tea with the kind women at the local market. You twirl barefoot by the waves until salt clings to your skin, you lay on the sand and trace constellations with your fingertips. You sit in stillness. And you listen, truly listen, to the silence between each of your breaths. And then slowly, the melody emerges. Faint at first, like a distant lullaby. Then clearer, insistent, unwavering—stuck on a single note.

Chan.

You’ve never quite known who you were. When personality quizzes asked how your friends would describe you, you hesitated. Funny? Sweet? Practical? What about nothing—an emptiness that expands to swallow you whole? You never knew what to say when interviewees asked about your strengths and weaknesses, the things you’d like to change in your being, the ones you’d like to keep. You felt like a water lily floating aimlessly atop the still water, untethered, with no roots to return to.

But you knew you were a coward when it came to your heart. That you craved love so violently you could cleave the earth open with your ache. You knew that your mind had convinced you that you were cursed, flawed, undeserving.

But for the first time, you allow yourself to simply feel human.

You sit by the waves once more, the endless sea stretching before you. The sun disps slowly beneath the horizon, the clouds are dusted pink. Are they blushing too, at the thought of what you are about to do?

You had asked Chan to meet you on the beach at Gangneung whenever he could free himself, and he did—without hesitation. Seungmin texted you that he left the mid-writing session and jumped into his car with no second thought. He seemed happy, he said. That made you happy too.

“You look different,” Chan observes, and you turn away from the sea. His eyes are kind and you don’t shy away from his gaze, for once.

“Different?” you echo.

“At peace.”

You nod, curling your knees to your chest, resting your cheek against them. He follows suit, his legs grazing yours now and then, grounding you in his presence.

“I’ve thought a lot about what it means to be human,” you murmur. “To soften my heart, to open doors I thought were long sealed. I don’t have all the answers. But I found something.”

“What is it?”

“I found you,” you confess, so softly like you are speaking of a prayer. His eyes widen but you press on. “I weighed in the pros and cons, of what I want, of what losing what I want would cost me. And yet, in all my most horrible twisted scenarios, where you’d leave me heartbroken and bleeding, it still feels worth it. It feels worth it if it means you’d love me for a while, and that I’d love you too.”

He gently tucks a stray lock of hair behind your ear, the gesture tender, as all his touches are.

“A while? The only way for me to stop loving you is if my heart stops beating, Cherry.”

“So you still love me?” you ask, a bit shyly, too hopeful.

Chan blinks, then deadpans, “Are we sitting by the sea?”

You burst into laughter, the sound rolling out of you freely. As it fades, you see him—your beautiful Chan—the faint smile lines etching themselves around his lips, the kind warmth in his eyes, the remnants of dimples on his cheeks. He is so achingly beautiful it feels like an axe splitting your chest open. It feels like being born once more.

“I haven’t listened to my heart in so long,” you confess, brushing your thumb against his cheek, letting it trail softly over the corner of his mouth, a whisper against his lips. “But right now, it only wants one thing.”

“I’m yours,” he breathes, lips slightly parted.

There is no one around but the two of you and the sea. Who is there left to pretend for? The play is over. You bow to the sadness. You bow to the grief.

You take a deep breath. You dive into the water. You finally kiss Chan.

You knew that his lips would be as soft as silk, that pressing your mouth to his would be akin to breathing in oxygen for the first time, and yet, you did not imagine it to be this soul-shattering. You did not foresee the fireworks going off behind your eyelids, the bees and the bleeding heart doves singing in your chest, the garden buzzing in your stomach, telling you that you are alive, and that you are loved, at last, and that that is all that matters.

You did not imagine that he would taste like salvation, like honey and cherries and everything beautiful in between. You did not imagine that his tongue dancing along yours would feel like floating atop the sea, warm as sun, carnal like surrendering to your heart’s rawest desires.

You did not foresee that his warm palms would cradle your cheeks, that he would kiss you with the urgency of a starved man. That he would not tire of you, never ceasing, never faltering. That he would lay you on the sand and kiss you till night fell above you both, till your lips are both swollen, tender, and bleeding cherries.

“I love you,” you finally breathe, your heart throbbing all over your body, “I’m sorry it took me so long to see it.”

“Nonsense,” He smiles against your lips. “Even if you only loved my last dying breath, it would still be enough for me.”

—

“So, does this mean I can officially no longer flirt with you?” Han asks, eyes wide with mock horror. Seungmin flicks his forehead in response, and Chan tosses a napkin at him, an amused smile playing at his lips.

“Wait, pause, I can’t believe I lost to Chan,” Changbin pretends to weep, earning a laugh from the others.

“She’s mine,” Chan cocks his eyebrows at them, leaning back on his chair. “Go find yourselves your own partners.”

You are tucked away in a remote town of Japan, a hard-earned vacation after the turmoil you’ve went through the past months. You figured it was the best time to tell the boys that you are dating, only for wave of questions (and indignation, mostly) to immediately crash over you, followed by a group hug that lasted two full minutes, courtesy of Felix.

“Wait, but we liked you first!” Han protests once more, and Seungmin groans, his face contorting in annoyance that borders on anguish. “God, I thought I would be free of this torture.”

“I literally liked her before you guys even saw her,” Chan chimes in with a satisfied grin.

“So you’ve loved her for ten years now?” Hyunjin shouts, raising from his seat dramatically. “Wait this is so romantic.”

“I’m sorry, Jisungie, Binnie,” you tease as you press a lingering kiss to Chan’s cheek.

“Oh my god guys he’s BLUSHING!” Minho shouts, pointing excitedly at Chan. “This is too funny! Channie hyung is so flustered,” Jeongin laughs, whipping out his phone to capture the moment. “Wait, Innie pan over to Seungmin’s face!” Felix claps in pure delight, and you turn to see your brother sulking.

“What? I’m still not used to… this,” Seungmin grumbles, wiggling his fingers in front of you both in exaggerated disgust, but there’s a soft gleam in his eyes. He’s happy for you, only after threatening Chan five hundred times to treat you right, but he’s happy.

“Who wants ice cream?” Chan suddenly asks, not waiting for an answer before he grabs your hand and pulls you away.

“What was that?” you ask once you are out of the house.

“Nothing, I just wanted you all to myself for a bit,” he smiles bashfully, and you giggle, wrapping your arm around his waist. “You’re making it a habit to kidnap me,” you tease.

“Do you mind?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“Good,” he grins, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “Also, it’s Changbin and Jisung for you,” he chastises, a big pout tugging at his lips.

“Does Mr. Bang feel jealous when I call them Binnie and Jisungie?”

“Yes, I am. Sue me, I worked day and night to be yours. Day and night and for ten years at that too,” he sighs dramatically and you tip your head back in laughter. Your giggles lull when you see it.

“Are we standing underneath…” you draw out.

“A cherry blossom,” Chan whispers, his gaze soft and full of warmth. His smile is so wide, so radiant, it feels like your soul is buzzing, melting underneath his light.

“This reminds me… Did you fall for me because I gave you a cherry lollipop?” you tease, wrapping your arms around the nape of his neck, his hands instinctively finding your waist.

“Yeah, you must have laced that lollipop with something,” he chuckles, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“What if I hadn’t given it to you? What if we hadn’t met at all?”

He softens, his palms cupping your cheeks gently. “I would’ve found you,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against yours. He can almost taste it, vanilla and bubblegum. “In the streets of Gangneung. As you swam in the sea. In one of your courtrooms… I would’ve found you, my Cherry, and I would’ve loved you just the same.”

What does it mean to soften your heart? What does it mean to open the doors of what you thought was long sealed? The answers didn’t come to you all at once, you found them serendipitously, as you rounded up corners of paths you never thought you’d walk in.

You learned that softness is the greatest act of courage. You learned that to tear down your defenses is the greatest act of rebellion. You learned that love is a patient being, that it is all encompassing, that it heals, but only if you allow it to, only if you let it make a home out of your ribcage.

You learned that being human, unapologetically so, in all of its sorrowful and joyous shades, is to forgive, first and most. To forgive the world, for being sharp at times, for being cruel. To forgive yourself, for depriving your soul of happiness, for doing what you had to do to survive the cold.

To forgive the rust, for walking by your side for a long time. To let cinnamon and pinewood and cherries invade your senses instead, settle upon your sheets and waft into your home. To let the fire within you simmer, to let the anger go, even if it had kept you warm for a while.

For you have the sun now.

You have Chan, and he has you too, at last.

[sissylittlefeather]

So... I had this dream about Elvis.

It's a little blurry and my English isn't perfect, nos, but I can remember the important bits.

I (the reader, of you wanna write about it ;]) was working as Elvis's assistant and practically loved with him. There where some feelings between us and, eventually, we ended up in bed together. The things were getting heated up, he was rubbing himself through his pants and i was grinding against his thigh.. and just when things where going to get good...

I woke up.

Oh, sweet, sweet nonnie. Your fantastic dream sparked a whole thing for me. Please enjoy this fanfic that resulted from this ask:

Return to Sender

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, kissing, cussing, dry humping, thigh riding, p in v sex, unprotected sex, ejaculation

Word count: ~3.3k

Also decided to base it loosely on this gif:

You were so nervous in your interview that you actually knocked a cup of something off of his desk. As a result, you were pretty sure you did not get the job. But what you didn't know is that he found your stuttering and fidgeting endearing and when you bent over to clean up the cup you spilled, the view he got of your ass made his decision for him.

That's how you ended up as Elvis Presley's private secretary. It's 1959 and he gets so much fan mail these days that he can't manage it all himself. So, he hires you to help him out. He's pleased when you prove to be useful and supremely impressed when you show him that you can mimic his signature perfectly. Still, his interest in you is far from purely functional.

He's not sure how to go about making his first move, especially since you work for him and he'd hate to lose you. You're really quite effective, so he'll have to play this just right. He doesn't want to offend you and run you off for good.

Instead, he spends a lot of time watching you and smiling at you when you catch him looking. You can't figure out why he keeps looking at you. You're not dumb, not even naive really, but it still seems outside the realm of reality that he might be into you for more than your typing skills.

He tests the waters a little with some flirtation here and there, and you don't seem to turn him down, but you also don't seem to reciprocate. He confuses your nervousness with disinterest and tries to stay focused on the task at hand any time you're together. But as time passes, you get more and more comfortable with each other and eventually a kind of friendship forms between you. It's easy to bond as you laugh about some of the crazy things the girls write to him, but you really start to get close when he begins to talk to you. And not just about the letters. Without meaning to, he tells you about his loneliness, his fears, and how much he misses his mama. You're a good listener and he needs you more than he realizes.

Eventually, you get to the end of his time in the service and know he'll be headed back to the states soon. You're not exactly excited about seeing him go, but there's not much you can do to change it, so you take it in stride.

He's not so resigned, though.

If there's even the slightest chance that you might want him, he's not going to let the opportunity pass him by. The night before all of his big army-ending interviews, he asks you to come over. You assume he needs you to get through some letters or something before he leaves, but he has something else entirely different in mind.

“Hey, honey, thank you for coming over so late.” His voice is quiet, shy almost. The room is dimly lit and there's the faint smell of cigar smoke in the air. He sits in a large armchair, watching you as you stand in the middle of the room. You nod and tell him that you don't mind.

“You have some new letters that you need help with?” He shakes his head sheepishly, shifting uncomfortably in the chair.

“Not really. I just wanted to see ya before I leave.” You blink a few times, confused.

“I'll be there for the interviews tomorrow.” He nods. This is not a surprise, but he wants to talk to you without people around.

“Yeah, but…” He fumbles over the words, trying to say exactly what he feels. The hesitation is heavy in the air between you and it's almost as though the words get caught in his throat when he tries to speak.

“But what, Elvis?” You look down at him and he sighs deeply, drumming his fingers on his knee anxiously. Without warning, he stands up and walks to you, grazing his fingertips over your cheek gently. There's a moment of nothing but being between you and you see the conviction enter his eyes.

“Oh, fuck it.” And then his lips are on yours, soft and needy. At first, you're so shocked that you stand there with your eyes open and his mouth on yours. You can see his eyelashes where they settle on his cheeks and feel him breathing as his chest rises and falls so close to you. He pulls back and notices the look on your face. “No? Was that…?”

“Do it again.” A smile creeps across his face and he leans down and kisses you again. This time your eyes close and you melt into him. The taste of him on your lips is exquisite, something between mint and man, and it feels like you'll never get enough. He deepens the kiss, slipping his tongue into your mouth, his hands drifting to your hips as he pulls you in close to him, your bodies flush against each other. You moan softly as his lips move down your jaw to your neck and his hands slips down to grab your ass through your dress.

“I've wanted this forever.” His voice rumbles against your throat. You feel his hardness where he presses it against you, the urgency in his hips becoming more obvious.

“Took you long enough.” A little giggle escapes your lips as his hands continue to roam your body, squeezing you where it pleases him. He takes your breasts in both hands and lets out a small whimper. The need for more of him burns inside of you, manifesting in the ache in your center. His cock is so hard it hurts as he rolls against you, tangling one hand in your hair to hold you still as he dips his tongue into your mouth again. You start to pull at his shirt as he walks you backwards through the house toward his bedroom, one arm wrapped around your waist to keep you as close to him as possible.

You fumble with buttons, fingers trembling in anticipation. All of a sudden, it seems like his shirt has a hundred buttons and you groan in frustration. He pulls back, chuckling and pulls it over his head, dropping it to the floor. In the hallway, he turns your back to him and puts your hands on the wall, dragging his down your back to your hips. The ache between your thighs is quickly becoming unbearable, your body burning up with the intensity of your need. His hands grip your hips as he ruts against you, his erection straining against the fabric of his pants. Then, you feel his lips on the back of your neck as he unzips your dress, pushing it forward off of you to let it pool at your feet. He turns you to face him, eagerly raking his eyes over you hungrily as his tongue darts out to wet his lips. He takes a moment to really appreciate your body in just your underwear and bra.

“What?” You ask playfully, noticing the spellbound look on his face. He shakes his head a little, basking in the scent of your perfume as it mixes with the heat of your body.

“You're even more beautiful than I could've imagined.” He runs his fingertips down the side of your stomach and grips your hip tightly. The last ounce of inhibition leaves you and you grab the back of his neck, pulling his lips back down to yours. Every ounce of him hums with insatiable desire as his soft mouth moves on yours passionately. He pushes your back to the wall and presses his body tightly against yours, his thigh on your center. Without thinking, you start to rub yourself on his thigh, your body begging for friction against your swollen clit. He groans and starts to roll his hips against you. “Goddamn, baby. Don't stop that.”

Your hands slide around to his back as you pick up speed, grinding your clothed pussy on his leg.

“Oh god, Elvis.” A deep moan floats up and out of you as your aching bud reacts to the delicious sensation of his pants.

“Fuck, baby. That's a good girl. Make yourself cum on me.” He grips your hips and helps you rut against him, chasing your orgasm. The wetness seeps through your panties, soaking the fabric under you, but he doesn't care. He wants you to cum, needs you to cum, his hips stuttering against you as you rub on him.

“I'm s-so close.” It's more of a whimper than a sentence, but he gets your meaning. His grasp on your hips is almost bruising as you grind on him faster and harder. The familiar bubbling heat gathers in your lower belly as the sweat drips between your breasts. He captures your lips in a desperate kiss and then mumbles against you.

“Come on, baby. You're right there. Let go.” And then, like your body knew to listen to him, you cum on command, shuddering and trembling as the orgasm rushes through you, sending bolts of pleasure to your extremities. He starts to slow the rolling of your hips as you go floppy against him. “Good girl. So pretty when you cum.”

“Think I might've ruined your pants.” You whisper and he chuckles.

“They'll wash. Can you walk?” You look at him, your eyes hazy with your post-orgasm daze.

“Huh?”

“I'm nowhere near finished with you.” He smirks.

“I'm not sure-” You don't even get the sentence out before he bends down, throwing you over his shoulder. A squeal escapes your lips as he carries you to the bedroom and drops you unceremoniously on the bed. He turns on a small light on the nightstand, casting a kind of orange glow around the room. You look at him standing there, the small patch of hair on his chest, his angelic face, and the small wet spot where his dick has leaked precum onto his pants and continues to stand at full attention. He looks at you spread out on the bed and decides at that moment that he'd give you anything you wanted, even his last name if you asked for it.

“I need you, baby.” He palms himself over his pants and you nod, reaching back to unhook your bra. You slip it down your arms and drop it on the floor, moving to push your panties down your legs. He grunts when your pussy becomes visible, moving his hand on his cock a little faster. When you spread your legs, he bites his bottom lip and moans.

“What are you waiting for?” You coo. His eyes are glued to your glistening pussy as he quickly unbuttons his pants and lets them drop. Your mouth waters a little as his cock bounces free, big and uncut and weeping precum. He climbs on top of you, arranging himself against your entrance and taking one of your legs onto his shoulder.

“You ready for me, honey?” He asks desperately, rubbing his tip through your wet folds. You nod and he groans, slowly pushing into you. The feeling of his dick stretching you out is overwhelmingly good. Finally, he groans, his whole cock buried deep inside you, balls pressed against your ass, as he resists the urge to pound you silly. Your hands clench around the silky sheets and you breathe, trying to adjust to the feeling of him. He looks at you with his eyebrows knit together in concern. “You okay?”

“God, yes.” He smiles down at you and pulls his hips back, sliding his now-wet cock out of you and then rolling them forward again, plunging himself into you. Your eyes roll back and you moan loudly as he starts to pick up a steady rhythm of slamming against you. He kisses your ankle gently and fucks into you over and over again. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room as the scent of your sex hangs in the air. Your breasts bounce with every thrust and he grunts, his release gathering in his balls. The headboard starts to bang against the wall and the little light on the nightstand rocks with the force of your lovemaking.

“Fuck, baby. You feel so good. Such a tight little pussy.” His hair is sweaty on his forehead and you revel in the smell of him as he wraps your leg around his hip and leans down to kiss you, his cock sliding in and out of you. In doing so, he shifts the angle a little and begins to rub against your g-spot. Now, you whimper and moan with every movement of his hips, clawing at his back as he pounds you. You devolve into just a body, soaking in each sensation: skin pressed together, sticky and wet, his tongue in your mouth, insistent and deep, and his cock filling your pussy up again and again. He does the same, sinking into the waves of pleasure, your tight heat wrapped around his dick, squeezing him just right. Everything is sensual as you mix together and quickly lose track of whose sweat is whose.

“Elvisssss…” You whine, another climax crashing into you and burning you up from the inside out. He moans with the feeling of your pussy tightening around him.

“Fuck, baby, I'm gonna cum. Fuck. Gonna… oh fuck!” He pulls out of you at the very last possible second, shooting cum all over the inside of your thighs. His cock throbs and pulses and he collapses on top of you, sticky ropes pumping out of him onto your legs. When he finally finishes, he groans loudly and picks up his head, kissing your lips softly. You giggle and push his hair back off his forehead. He chuckles. “I made a mess.”

“Yes, you did. But I helped.” He laughs and kisses you again.

“Yeah, I'm gonna blame this one on you.” You giggle as he rolls off of you and fetches a washcloth from the bathroom to clean you up. When he's done, he crawls back into bed and pulls you onto his chest. “Stay with me?”

You look up into his eyes and it's obvious he doesn't want to be alone tonight. Honestly, you wouldn't leave him even if you could.

“Of course.” He smiles and nuzzles into your hair. You settle in to sleep with him wrapped around you.

***

When you wake up the next morning, he's already dressed in his full uniform. He moves around the room quietly, but he notices when you stir and smiles softly.

“Hey, baby.” You lift your head up and yawn, stretching.

“You're leaving?” He nods and then sits down on the bed to put his shoes on.

“Yeah, I have those interviews. You comin’?” Again, it's clear that he wants you there, so you nod back.

“Oh yeah. I just have to run home and get dressed, but I'll be there.”

“Good.” He leans in and kisses your forehead before standing up. You're still naked from your activities last night and he looks down at you hungrily. He pulls the covers down a little so that he can see your body. “Goddamnit. I hate to leave ya.”

You're not sure if he's talking about this morning or forever. You reach out and take his hand, kissing it gently and then placing it on your breast.

“Fuck.” He climbs into bed in his uniform and pulls you onto him, kissing you deeply and running his hands all over your body.

“Thought you had to go?” You ask between kisses. He groans and buries his face in your neck. The sweet scent of your sweat and sex lingers on your skin and he breathes it in, trying to commit everything about you to memory. He mumbles into your hair.

“Yeah, I do. Just wish I could keep you naked in my bed forever.” For a few more seconds, you just hold each other, trying not to think about the future. Then, he pulls away from you and gets out of bed. “I'll see you at the interviews.”

He turns and leaves before he can get back into the bed and stays there until he dies. You sigh and get up, gathering your things and getting dressed. Something is missing, though. You cannot find your panties anywhere. Sighing again, you check your watch. You don't have time to keep looking. At least he'll have something to remember you by.

******

At the interviews, you stand behind him sipping your coffee and watching. The press are snapping photos like crazy and the flash bulbs are almost giving you a headache. You wonder how he stands it. The room is filled with noise and people, but you can't take your eyes off of him. He looks better than he ever has before, but maybe that's because you've seen him naked and know how beautiful he is without clothes. Your eyes drift down a little and you think about what's hiding under his pants, rubbing your thighs together. And that's when you see them: your panties, just barely peeking out of his pocket.

Your mouth pops open, but you shut it quickly. That little shit. He stole your panties! And he has them with him!

You grab a pen and a scrap of paper and scribble out a note. Motivated by his boldness, you walk up behind him and then lean forward, slipping the note into his jacket. He looks up and realizes it's you, his heart stopping in his chest. Still, he plays it off for the press and keeps going.

However, the second he's able, he pulls out the note and reads it eagerly.

You thief. I see what you stole and I want them back! Call me before you leave.

He grins widely, kisses the note, and folds it up, adding it to the pocket where your panties are. His intention was only to keep them, but now his blood is pumping with the possibility of seeing you again. A thought hits him and he sits with it for a bit. By the time he gets home, he's determined to make it a reality. He picks up the phone and dials your number.

“Hello?”

“I'm not givin’ em back.” Your face breaks into a smile.

“You better!” He chuckles.

“Alright, you can have ‘em. BUT-” He pauses for effect and you just about die with anticipation. You hear him take a deep, steadying breath before he continues. “You have to come get them in Memphis.”

Your mouth drops in shock. You're not sure what you were expecting, but it wasn't that.

“In Memphis?”

“Yes. Come home with me.” His heart is in his throat as he waits for your response. He twists the phone cord around his finger and bites his lip. If only he could see your face. The suspense is killing him.

“Okay.” What else could you say?

“Okay?” He asks excitedly, standing up with the phone.

“Yes.” Your heart is racing, but there's nothing that important keeping you here. Not if he's asking you.

He does a silent fist pump and thanks God that you said yes.

“I'll come get you on my way to the airport. Pack to stay for a while. Like, forever.”

“Elvis…”

“Listen, baby. It took me a long time to find you. I'm not lettin’ you get away anytime soon. You gonna argue?” You think for a second about what you're agreeing to and then decide to take a leap of faith.

“Not at all.”

“Good. And baby?”

“Yeah?” He hesitates for a second, his nerves getting the better of him. Then, he just says it, unable to keep the words from tumbling out.

“I love you.” Your heart stops.

“I love you too, Elvis.”

******

The End

Taglist:

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[bnhascribbles]

Anatomy

Bakugou X Reader

Humor, Hurt/Comfort (if you squint)

Words: 4.8K

Warnings: Swearing

Life happens in funny ways. You think you know yourself, how you’ll react in a given situation. Then one day, a man strolls into the room with an entire human arm (one you’re fairly sure he didn’t grow himself) slung across his shoulders, and you start to think that maybe, just maybe, you don’t know anything about anything. 

But you’re getting ahead of yourself. It’s best to start from the beginning…

He’s wearing plain black tee, unwrinkled and too-tight around the arms. That, and a deep-set scowl that radiates down towards whatever textbook he’s got spread out in front of him. 

It’s so perfectly unfair.

The universe seems to be dead-set on screwing you over. Maybe it‘s payback for the time you stole matches from the chem lab in undergrad (in your defense, it was 10 PM on a Monday and it was your last “hoorah” before you dropped). Maybe you shouldn’t have hogged the library scanner so often copying chapters out of textbooks you didn’t want to pay for, should’ve maybe been a little kinder in your end-of-course review for that one physics TA. Regardless, you don’t deserve your fate. 

Not the exhaustion. Not the stress. Not the burden of ending up in the same year as a piece of trash like Bakugo. 

Katsuki Bakugo. Second-year medical student in the top 10% of the class. Also a grade A jackass whose jackass-ery is only supported by the fact that he’s sitting in your spot. 

Now, you knew assigned seats were a thing for middle schoolers, not 20-something year-olds training to learn to manage actual human lives. Still, when a person occupies the same place in the library for a year and a half, there’s a basic human decency that overrides the need for seating charts and nameplates. Maybe the great Katsuki just can’t grasp that concept. Surprising given the fact that he seems to be picking up on literally everything else with inhuman speed. Genetics. Cardio. Derm. Renal. 

Even MSK. Fucking MSK. He was positively thriving in the very musculoskeletal hell that had you retreating to the library for 8+ hours every afternoon after lecture. Which only aggravates the acidic heat you feel brewing in your belly when you see him and Eijiro Kirishima living it up in your study carrel. Kirishima seems to have made himself comfortable standing, resting both of his (positively beefy) arms along the partition dividing to tables. He’s yammering up a storm: something something pen light something no way it’s enough time for a full history. Katsuki is at least seated in his (your) chair, but his eyes are glued to his phone rather than his friend. Or his textbook. Or the laptop open right in front of him. 

There’s not a glimmer of productivity in sight. It’s been like this for the past 15 minutes. You know because you’ve been watching, waiting (semi-) patiently in hopes that they’d just pack up and carry on elsewhere. But no, they’re still there. Wasting their time and your space. 

What little patience you had left dwindles to nothing in the span of seconds. You gather your things up in your arms and march across the library towards them. 

Kirishima sees you first, greeting you with a megawatt grin and a chipper “how’s it goin’?” You hadn’t really interacted with him one-on-one aside from the occasional confused looks you shared during lectures or simulation sessions. All you really know about him is that he and Bakugo are practically joined at the hip, which, up to this point, has been enough to make you keep your distance. Still, Kirishima seems so genuinely kind (unlike his friend who still hasn’t so much as looked at you) that it makes it very hard to stay pissed at him. Which is fine. He isn’t the one in your chair. 

I’m doing good. Now, respectfully, I ask that you and your friend vacate the area so I can study in my usual spot, please and thank you. 

“You know how it is, same old, same old. School, sleep, repeat.” It’s better than what you want to say. You tug your bag further up your shoulder.

“Ain’t that the truth. At least we have a little bit of a breather, huh?”

“Huh?” Breather? The last “breather” you’d had was when the pulmonology professor coerced you into demonstrating proper technique with an inspiration spirometer. Somehow, you don’t think that’s what Kirishima is getting at. 

“You know, in this class.” He clarifies. “It’s pretty easy compared to renal.” 

You snort, “yeah, that’s a good one.”

Kirishima blinks.

“MSK…the musculoskeletal system. Being easy. That’s funny.”

Kirishima lets out an awkward  sort of laugh, and an uncomfortable silence falls over the study area. The shrill ding of the elevator rings from the other side of the floor. Your classmate’s smile goes deliberately apologetic. You sigh. 

“I’m guessing you’re not getting your ass kicked by this class.” You say, placing extra emphasis on the you’re bit. Kirishima scratches at the back of his neck. 

As if things aren’t already bad enough, you feel them then.  The extra set of eyes settling on you.

“He’s the president of the orthopedic surgery interest group.” Bakugo says. “Bones and the meat attached to them are the only things he actually cares about.” When you fail to respond, he lets out a puff of air from his nose and it’s a wonder the desk doesn’t burst into flames right then and there. “Besides, he isn’t wrong. This class is a cakewalk.” 

You stand there, seething. You’re being perfectly polite, keeping the daydreams of concussing him into Glasgow 3 with the underside of your boot securely in your skull. 

“Well,” you say, slowly, “I guess everyone has their strengths.”

Bakugo doesn’t take the hint; he pushes.

“How is this harder than renal where things are microscopic?” He rises in one quick motion, resting a knee on the seat. As he leans forward, he lays an arm over the wooden back. He’s nowhere near as toned as Kirishima, but you can see the muscles shifting beneath his skin. Pronounced, like some real-life anatomical model. Triceps, biceps, coracobrachialis—you list them off silently because fuck him.

“Renal is pure physiology,” you say. “Everything has a when and why that you can logic through. MSK is just memorization.”

“Because there’s absolutely no memorization when it comes to nephrons.” His lips pull back into a mocking sort of sneer as he begins to count off on his fingers. “Sodium-hydrogen antiporters, sodium-chloride symporters, Sodium-potassium-chloride—”

“There’s a charge gradient driving that shi—” Not worth it, not worth it and you know it. 

What would be the point of attending all those school-mandated mindfulness sessions where you sat in a dark classroom meditating (rather than taking the half-day to do literally anything else) if you let this conversation ruin your day? You had to refocus. Think about the sensation of breathing—in, then out. Your hands, the weight of them hanging at your sides. Your feet and the way they feel sitting within your shoes… aaaaaaand yup, there’s a crinkle in your sock. Now that’s all you’re only going to be able to think about until you can fix it. Thanks meditation.

“You know what, nevermind you guys.” You take a clearing breath. “Everyone has their forte, and I know mine is not muscle origins and insertions. Anyway, I just remembered I have a thing at a place, so I’m going to be heading out.”

And that’s exactly what you plan to do. You ignore the hushed muttering behind you as you trudge towards the elevator, because none of that is actually your problem anymore. You’re mindful and centered and—

And a hand latches onto your shoulder. You lurch forward as momentum does its thing, only spared from a faceplant into the however-many-decades-old carpet by the sheer strength of your assailant's grip. You spin, already expecting who you have to blame and planning out the venomous rant you’ll spit their way (library “quiet please!” sign be damned). But rather than meeting Bakugo’s gaze, it’s his palm that floats mere inches from your nose. 

You open your mouth, but he’s quicker to speak than you are.

“I fall on an outstretched palm and fuck up my hand. Four days later I come to you and tell you it still hurts like hell—I can’t move it anymore. What tests do you order?” 

There’s silence for a good long moment. Then your senses return to you in one quick rush.

“What the actual hell Katsuki?” A couple other library-goers flinch and shoot your sharp looks towards your outburst, but who even cares anymore? 

“Answer the question.”

“No, because like what the actual hell? We already established I’m an idiot, so can you please just leave me alone?”

Bakugo’s grip on your shoulder tightens and you swat it off with a loud smack. His eyes widen as both you and he cast glances towards his hand, now floating off in dead space beside the pair of you. He purses his lips. 

“Nobody called you an idiot.” He tries to be casual about lowering both of his hands to his sides, tucking them into his pockets.

“Maybe not using those exact words, they didn’t.” You say, soft but firm. “But the implication was clear.” 

Then you stare. Bakugo does too, his eyes wider than usual, lips pulled back in a tight line. You’re no expert in reading people, but he’s also no expert in keeping the emotion from showing plainly in his expression. Surprise, which gives way to confusion, which gives way to something else.

“You’re not an idiot.” He finally says. Neither of you speak, letting the words hang in the space between you. Even as you’re both extremely aware of Kirishima is edging his way towards your spot by the elevators.

You let out a heavy sigh, folding your arms.

“X-Ray.” You say. Bakugo flinches, going so far as to take a full step backwards. Which is rich, given that with all the sucker punches you’ve imagined striking him with, a single word is enough to catch him off-guard. But even Kirishima freezes, mouth caught in shape somewhere between goofy grin and catching flies.

They both stand there, and you roll your eyes and say, “I’d order an x-ray first.”

Bakugo’s gaze narrows, and like that he’s back to his usual self. You swear you even see the corner of his mouth twitch upward. “Why an x-ray?”

“Why not?”

“You’re the doctor—what are you gonna say to your patient when they ask the same question?” He scratches at his head, mocking, all evidence of remorse wiped from his system. “Geeze, I dunno, ‘x-ray’ is 14 points in Scrabble so I guess I’ll order that.”

You should be angry, but something feels…different about the bickering this time. That and—

“How do you know how many points ‘x-ray’ is in scrabble?” You ask, half-mocking. Because while you’re sincerely wondering if Katsuki Bakugo spends his Saturday nights playing Scrabble, you also want him to squirm a bit.

“Why do you want an x-ray?” He repeats the question. There’s a dusting of red across his cheeks creeping towards his ears. 

Nice, you think.

“Because an x-ray is the first thing you get when someone comes in after a hand injury.”

“Why’d the patient wait four days to come in though?” You open your mouth and he cuts in with “don’t say ‘because it didn’t stop hurting.’ This is a vignette, not real life.”

“But what’s even the point of all this if not to prepare for real life?”

“Will you just—” He clenches his teeth tight and takes a deep breath. “Think for a second. What’s on your differential?”

You chew at your lip. “Fracture.”

“But which bone?” You hesitate, your mistake, and he shakes his head. “Just think. This is a classic presentation. On every test you’ll ever take. What bone in the hand is supplied by a retrograde blood flow?”

And you don’t know. Shit, you’ll have to look that up when you get home. Still, you’ll swallow a jar of thumbtacks before you ever admit that to Bakugo. You shoot Kirishima, who’s standing over Bakugo’s shoulder now, an exasperated look. He starts to say something, but then he’s getting cut off. 

“Don’t help, or they won’t learn.” Bakugo snaps. His red-hot gaze fixes between your eyes. “And you, don’t look at him. This is basic anatomy.”

Anger wells in your chest again. “Oh I’m sorry, I didn’t know I was in lecture right now.” 

You were furious at Bakugo, true. But…but also at yourself. You should know this. You’d had a lecture on the hand last week, which was practically a year ago in medical time. Your classmates were soaring through, already on nerve innervations while you struggled to learn the building blocks. School used to be fun, tests like a mini-competition you were guaranteed to win. 

You’d never struggled like this before, had never had to grapple with the fact that even after days of forgoing sleep in favor of studying, you were still floundering. Something in your brain was wired wrong, you were sure. Medical school is like trying to drink out of the ocean with a straw, everyone said. It’s the hardest thing you’ll do, they said. Then how was it that nobody else seemed to be struggling like you were? 

But again. You could be studying now, could be working on figuring out exactly the shit Bakugo is rubbing in your face. But no. Instead you’re stuck in a pissing match with Mr. Perfect. Mr. Top-of-the-class, God’s-blonde-gift-to-humanity. The conversation isn’t even worth it anymore. You’d meant to leave before and now you were going to follow through. You scoff and start to walk off—

And he’s in front of you. Bakugo has taken one step to his right and effectively placed himself between you and the elevator. 

“Move.” You demand.

“Just answer the damn question.”

“No. You’re not my professor.”

“I’m also not failing the only class where you are the cheat sheet.”

You wince. The truth in it stings something fierce.

“Enough, Katsuki.” Kirishima finally cuts in, his normally-cheery voice harder than you’ve ever heard. “You’re being a real jerk right now.”

Bakugo opens his mouth like he’s going to say something sharp, but the words die on his tongue. He looks between you and his friend.

“It’s a scaphoid fracture, Eijiro. They’ve only mentioned it like a thousand times, so imagine how much harder the rest—”

“That’s enough.” Kirishima says it again, louder. He grabs Bakugo by his upper arm and drags him out of your way. The lines between his brow are deep when he looks toward you, making him look years older than he had only minutes before. “I’m sorry about…well about all of that.”

About Bakugo? you want to ask. Or about the fact that he’s actually right for once?

You say nothing and hurry into the elevator. You don’t even try to hide the way to tap hurriedly at the door close button. The sooner you get out of here, the sooner you can get home. The sooner you get home the sooner you can get in bed and wallow, pretending you actually belong—

There’s a loud scuffle, a shout, then something slides between the elevator doors just as they bolt. You stagger, your back pressing flush to the metal wall behind you as a menacing presence invades your space.

“I carry mace.” You sputter, reaching for your keys as Bakugo slams the button for the first floor. The medical library was on the twelfth.

“Meet me in the dry lab on Saturday.” He says, mere inches of space separating his chest from yours.

You blink. Bakugo doesn’t. He stares, not at the neon aerosol pointed directly at his face, but at you in all your terrified glory. 

“I’d rather not.” You say, slowly.

He grits his teeth. “Why not?”

“Because you’re kind of an asshole. And I’d rather not spend my free time with assholes.”

“You’d rather fail?”

“I’m already doing that.” You purse your lips. “As you so astutely pointed out before.”

He opens his mouth to say something, but then the elevator door opens on the ninth floor. A shorter boy takes a step as if to get on, but freezes as soon as he catches sight of the pair of you. Bakugo twists to look back over his shoulder. You can’t be sure exactly what he does in that moment, but whatever it is has the other student taking several slow steps backwards. The elevator door shuts and he makes no attempt to get back on.

Bakugo’s attention shifts back entirely towards you. 

“Will you put that away before you blind us both?” He asks as he gestures towards your mace with his chin. He asks in the way that exasperated parents ask questions that aren’t really questions. Would you like to play nicely with your sibling, or would you like to explain to the emergency room staff how reenacting ‘Lion King’ ended up with one of you spraining your neck? 

“I don’t like the way you talk to me.” You say, the words are more honest than you intend. They’re not what he expects, based on the way his eyes go wide. “I’m an idiot when it comes to most things, but I already know that and I don’t need you drilling the point home every five seconds.”

He grabs at his hair with both hands, tugging as he lets out an exasperated groan. “What is with you?! Nobody is calling you an idiot, so will you stop calling yourself one?”

“Once you stop making me feel like one, then maybe I will.”

“Listen,” he says through gritted teeth, “I’m gonna give you a piece of advice here—”

“Not asking for it.”

“I don’t give a shit, you’re gonna listen because you’re an adult and apparently nobody has told you this much yet.” He holds his arms out wide at his sides, leaning forward. “Not everyone is thinking about you all the time. Sometimes, when people are talking about classes they find easy, it’s because they think they’re easy! They’re not calling you stupid because you don’t—they’re just talking.”

“Yeah? And throwing a dozen questions my way that you know I can’t answer, is that ‘just talking?’”

“How am I supposed to know what you can and can’t answer?”

“Because it’s obvious! How the hell am I supposed to be able to diagnose a scaphoid fracture if I barely know where the scaphoid is?” 

“You passed renal!” Bakugo says, like it means something.

“Like that changes the fact I’m flunking a class with a built- in ‘cheat sheet,’ as you so deftly put it.”

“Which is why I’m telling you to meet me in the dry lab tomorrow, so I can show you how to not flunk.”

The tears are hot at the corners of your eyes. “Like I said before, you’re an asshole.” 

“That’s right, he shouts, “I’m an asshole! The sky is blue! But sometimes, just sometimes, I don’t mean to be one. It just happens. I say the first thing that pops into my head because the alternative is sitting there agonizing over all the ways I should be saying things. Everyone says ‘think before you speak’ like that’s supposed to fix everything. Well that’s great until you think yourself into a fucking hole. So instead, I say stupid asshole-ish things then chase classmates into an elevator to try and make up for it after the fact.”

The air is heavy with the weight of too many uncomfortable truths. You’re both breathing heavy—him from his rant, you from trying to hold back the tears threatening to spill out. 

You will not cry in front of Katsuki Bakugo. It’s a vow you never thought you had to make up until this very moment. 

“Are you coming tomorrow or not?” He asks. The elevator doors open, and when you make no move to scurry out, he reaches back and presses another button. The floor lurches upward as you begin your ascent.

“What if it isn’t enough?” You say, just barely.

“What do you mean?”

“What if studying with you isn’t enough?” Your words are clipped, full of the emotion you refuse to express otherwise. “What if I show up and put in the work and I still suck at all of this.”

Bakugo shakes his head. “Why are you worrying about that now? Just deal with what’s in front of you.”

“Because what’s even the point of trying if it’s all gonna go to hell anyway? If I’m just wasting my tuition trying to do something I’m not able to do?”

He sighs, scratching at the back of his head. “Listen, I help you out, but I can’t fix that.”

“Fix what?” 

“That.” He gestures absently towards you. “The self-pitying bullshit.”

Despite yourself, you laugh. “Well, fuck me I guess.”

“I—you just—goddammit.”  Bakugo shuts his eyes tight and groans long and deep. “How the hell am I supposed to say it without pissing you off. I just told you about how I’m no good at this.

You open your mouth to retort, but he continues before you can.

“You were probably told all about how smart you were growing up, right? How special you were? Big fish in a little pond. Then you get into medical school and suddenly you’re surrounded by hundreds of special people just like you. And somehow their talent makes yours feel a lot less real. The first time you actually have to struggle for something, you find yourself wondering if you were even smart in the first place—if you coming here wasn’t one big accident.” He pauses, half his mouth tilts upward into a knowing sort of smile. “That’s how it was for me, at least. I swear, every other day I get this feeling at the back of my neck like someone is just waiting for me to mess up so they can tell me to pack my bags.”

He looks your way and scoffs. “Well, try not to act so surprised.” 

It’s then that you realize your eyes must be the size of dinner plates.

“You hide it well.” You say softly.

“Do I really? Eijiro says I’m like one of those chihuahuas that compensates for his size by acting like the biggest thing in the room.”

“I mean, I’d call it a Napoleon complex, but I think something about the chihuahua fits better.”

“Either way,” he says, “you’re in a rut now. You’ve had to struggle at school for the first time in your life and now you have to deal with all the insecurity it entails. I’m not gonna promise you that if you study my way you’re gonna pass. I’m also not gonna lie and tell you that once you’re through MSK, it’ll all get better. It probably won’t. You’ll keep struggling and feeling stupid, and everyone has their own way of dealing. You’ve gotta find your own reason for pushing through despite it all.” He presses a finger into the left side of your chest as if to emphasize his point. “If it’s that you wanna graduate to be a badass physician, fine. You wanna do it to learn as much as you can, regardless of the grade? Great. Wanna do it just so those idiots back home have to look you in the eyes and call you ‘doctor?’” He grins wide and moves his hand so it rests on your shoulder. “I’d say that’s the best reason there is. But nobody in this field is gonna take the time to tell you how special you are and why you should push through. You’ve got to do it for yourself.”

And that’s it. For some reason that stupid speech, given in an elevator that smells a little like weed soaked in gasoline is what sets you off. What lets loose the insecurities you’ve been clinging to since first-year. You start blubbering like a baby and Bakugo, the six-foot-something grown man that he is, looks absolutely horrified at the fact. He squeezes your shoulder once, a caricature of comfort. Then he thinks better of it and pulls you into something vaguely resembling a hug. His back is rigid and his shoulders raised practically to his ears, but by god, he’s trying if the hand patting at your back every couple seconds or so is any indication. 

It’s after a long moment of this (and another confused student peering into the elevator then making the wise decision to wait for the next) that you finally speak.

“It’s just so much sometimes.” You say, giving voice to the thoughts you’ve held for so long. “You have to be practically superhuman to balance everything we do—studying, sleeping, eating, breathing.”

“How do you eat an elephant?” Bakugo asks in the quiet that follows.

You pull back quickly to cast him a confused look, “Wait, why are we eating elephants now?”

“Because that’s the way the saying goes, I don’t know.” He gives you one more pat on the back. “Anyway, how do you eat an elephant?”

“Aren’t they endangered—.”

“One bite at a time.” 

You stare at him. Bakugo stares back. Then he throws his head back and groans, long and loud. “God, now it sounds a lot dumber to say out loud. Why do you have to ask stupid questions like that and ruin everything?”

“There are no stupid questions, Bakugo.”

“Yeah, well I disagree.”

“And that’s why you’re going into general surgery.” You punctuate the statement with a quick tap of your finger against his nose.

He swats away your hand and jerks back from you like he’s been shot. “Did Eijiro tell you?”

Despite your goopy eyes and still-snotty nose, you throw back your head and laugh. “Dude, it’s obvious.”

“Just like it’s obvious you’re doing internal medicine?” He says it with a scowl, like it’s supposed to be an insult. One you can’t take seriously given that’s like saying ‘wow, I can’t believe you’re only interested in being a rocket scientist.’ Which only leaves you laughing all that much more.

“How’d you figure?” You ask, playing along.

“Ignoring the fact that you suck at basic anatomy?”

“Yeah? Well check out this metatarsal.” You flip the bird.

Something in Bakugo’s face changes then. He’s smiling, but it’s nothing like Kirishima’s cheery grin. In a practiced move, he thrusts both middle fingers out towards you. He uses one to point at the lower part of the other, right where it joins with his palm. “Metacarpal,” he points to the joint just above it, “and phalanges.” The words are arrogance and acid swirled together. His stare is no better. “Unless you’ve got feet attached to your wrists, that is.”

You knew that. Shit, mega-shit, proving-his-point-shit. That was the easiest crap in the world and you knew that. But in your rush to be a smartass, you’d made a dumbass of yourself. You rush towards the elevator door, poking hurriedly at the ‘open the door nownownow’ button. You don’t care if you’re between floors. You don’t care if that’s not how elevators work. You want to throw yourself into the elevator shaft abyss now, please and thank you.

“So,” Bakugo, that super-mega-awful human that he is drawls as he leans a shoulder against the wall opposite to you, “what we can finally agree on the fact that you’re missing so much of the fundamentals that it’ll be useless to try and drill pathology into you.” 

You can’t even look at him. If you do, you will smack the ever-loving-shit out of that self-righteous mouth of his. 

“We’ve gotta start from the ground up. And that means I better see you in the dry lab,” He leans in and, close enough that he must not fear the consequences of your rage, “starting tomorrow.”

The door opens. You sprint out onto the sixth floor of the library like some crazed animal, ignoring the looks of utter bewilderment from the other students on the floor.

Even so, you know. God, you know you have to show up.

~~~~~

And that brings you to your current predicament on Saturday, 9AM, in a near-abandoned campus classroom.

With Katsuki Bakugo in his signature back tee and gold chain blocking your only exit, a dismembered anatomical arm slung across his shoulder.

You can practically smell the danger in the situation, especially when he bares his teeth like some kind predator.

“What, were you expecting someone else? Kirishima has lacrosse, so he’s not coming to save you anytime soon.” His grin widens, cruel. “Are you ready to learn?”

And just like that, you begin to regret every life decision you’ve made up to this point. But hey, at least it’ll be worth it to not fail MSK, right?

Right?

[ryuzakemo128]

The Carina's Heart Galaxy

Chapter Two: What The Fuck?

Pairing: Poly!141 x Female Reader/ You

Content Warning: Sex doll mention, female reader is slight unhinged (Soap's Opinion), Female reader loves explosives (Much to soaps fear and delight imo), possible swearing and cussing?. If I missed something let me know.

Words: 1602

Dividers Credit: @cafekitsune + @strangergraphics

Masterlist

Summary: Who knew I’d meet you again so soon?

Who knew I’d meet you again so soon? Here I thought my day couldn’t get any weirder. I spoke to you last night and now I’m speaking to you again. Except this time, you’re in your space themed pyjamas, galaxy socks with cats prints, shark shaped slippers and a shark beanie. Kate said she was important, or rather her brain is. I didn’t know why until I saw you midway through your laser gun experiment round.

The charcoal grey brunch coat hanging on for dear life on your shoulders while your giant full ball of a cat watched with disdain of the noise you were making. The pink collar with the rose gold name tag with Mr. Whiskers in cursive engraved into the metal tag. The regal behaviour from a cat large enough to be the side of a medium sized dog remained palpable.

“Hey! You. You’re the guy I was talking to yesterday. Or am I just imagining things?” you remarked. “I forgot to ask how you liked dessert last night. The chocolate fudge I mean.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle at your question and the amount of high energy you managed to summon at the sight of me, “It was rather sweet and salty. Though I am surprised you remember that.”

You looked at me with puzzlement, “Why wouldn’t I remember? That was a pretty intense chat we had last night. Besides sea salted caramel fudge is the best kind of fudge.”

Soap raised an eyebrow at the mention of your favourite type of fudge, a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “Sea salted caramel, you say? That’s quite the taste you’ve got there, Doc.”

“Specific, but the diner I usually go to at night sometimes. They make the best kind.” You commented. “Sure, the whole diner is a little suspect on the outside. But man, the fudge is the best.”

Gaz nodded, his eyes lighting up with the same enthusiasm. “I know the one. They’ve got a secret recipe. The owner is an ex-navy chef. He’s got a taste for the sweet and salty combination.”

“Yeah. Not too far off from my father’s taste for dipped buttered toast with his porridge.” You quipped with a smirk.

Gaz looked to be reeling in from the conversation we had last night after I returned to the safe house. Whistling an upbeat tune, it took him by surprise, in fact it took them all by surprise. He never whistled like that. Ever.

“What’s got you so chipper?” Soap asked, his eyes looking at me with suspicion.

Ghost looked at me with equal amount of suspicion, he also questioned, “What has you in such a good mood?”

I smirked from ear to ear, feeling the energy in the room shift slightly. You had a certain charm about you that was infectious, even if you didn’t realize it. The way you spoke about your love for science and the mundane yet delightful things in life was refreshing. It was as if you didn’t have a care in the world, despite the chaos that probably swirled in your mind with your job.

“I met someone at the diner.” I told them. It did nothing to ease their suspicions. “Ah, you should have seen her. Beautiful in her midnight blue dress with silver stars.”

“Talking my ear off about quantum entanglement and how she doesn’t believe ‘fate’ exists.” I continued after a breathy pause. “And her car? A gorgeous vintage.”

“The biggest, largest bonus of the entire night? She grabbed my hand, wrote her number with a pink sharpie and bought me dessert before she left.” I was rambling. I knew that. But how could I not? How could I not ramble about the woman that made a lasting impression on me?

You probably could kick my arse, and I’d thank you for it afterwards. A strong woman like you? Rare. A strong and smart woman like you? Even rarer.

It was when they saw you disintegrate a soda can in your pyjamas while your cat looked on with disinterest. Soap saw you shoot the thing in your makeshift shooting range with your makeshift targets made from a stack of empty soda cans. He only found you there after hearing the evil cackle you made from behind the brick fence.

Things started making far more sense after seeing you in person finally. Though the amount of sense wasn’t all that much. The level of unhinged is only amplified by the fact that you couldn’t be bothered to change out of your pyjamas first.

Soap recognised you from an explosive drill you did to ‘get a better handle on things’. He was far too scared to ask what you meant at the time. The grenade you altered and wanted to test out? How you said it was meant to replicate the effects of outer space in a compact form.

You are a contradiction of sorts. A living, breathing contradiction, paradox and conundrum altogether. “How did you like that grenade I made?” you asked Soap. “I have made a few upgrades since the last version. I can’t wait to show you the progress I made.”

You brought them up on the digital whiteboard on the wall of your lab. The upgrades were: sticky grip, vanta black coating, heavily reduction in shrapnel, a more concentrated burst of energy, the ability to create a small vacuum around it and, my personal favourite, a self-destruct mechanism that would make Q proud.

Soap looked at you with a mix of awe and fear. “Jesus, Doc. That's... That's some serious shit you're playing with here. How the hell do you even come up with these ideas?”

"Regular grenades, grenade launchers, they're all so... pedestrian." You say with a dismissive wave of your hand, a hint of mischief glinting in your eyes. "But a grenade that can stick to surfaces, reduce collateral damage, and create a temporary vacuum? That's a game-changer. It's like bringing a piece of the cosmos into combat."

The room falls silent for a moment, the weight of your words hanging in the air like the aftermath of a supernova. Then, Soap laughs, a boisterous sound that fills the lab. "You're insane, Doc, you know that? In the best possible way." He says, clapping his hands together with the kind of excitement that only a seasoned soldier could muster for something so potentially destructive.

"I named it after the Fibonacci sequence." you told him.

Soap looked at you with bewilderment. "The Fibonacci sequence? As in, the mathematical sequence that appears in nature?"

"Yes. That one." you were buzzing with so much excitement.

Soap nodded slowly, a smirk playing on his lips. "Alright, Doc. You've officially out-nerded us all. A grenade named after a maths sequence that's supposed to replicate space?"

“Just wait till you see my gaming set up.” You stated. Hinting at one of your hobbies you have.

You showed off your gaming set up in the room beside your lab. The framed posters of movies you enjoyed on the walls. The mouse pad with the Doom Slayer on it and your computer had a Lady Maria from bloodborne animated wallpaper on all three of your computer monitors.

The life-sized statue of The Master Chief from the Halo game series. The rug with the Millennium Falcon printed onto it. Though the sex doll you had in the other corner of the room was rather specific, with the j-cup sized breasts, blonde hair, height of 5 foot 3 and brown eyes.

“Is that...?” Soap’s eyes widened, pointing to the doll.

"A sex doll? Yes." you answered.

Soap looked at the doll again, his expression unreadable. "What's the story behind that?"

"Apart from the outfits I put on her to see if it'll look any good on my own figure?" you asked.

Soap’s face was a picture, a mix of shock and confusion. “You dress her up?”

"Did you expect me to leave her naked?" you questioned.

Ghost smothered a laugh with his hand while Gaz's eyes darted around the room, looking everywhere except at the doll. Soap was the only one who remained unfazed, his gaze lingering on the doll with a sort of detached curiosity.

"Truth be told, I'm surprised you even spotted it." you snickered.

Soap’s curiosity grew, “How’d you get into gaming?”

"Older brother." you answered.

Soap raised an eyebrow, "He sounds like quite the character."

"Yeah, but he wasn't into hentai like I am so there." you quipped.

Soap and Gaz exchanged a look, clearly surprised by your candidness. Ghost remained stoic, his gaze lingering on the doll with an unreadable expression. You didn't miss the glances, but you were used to people's reactions to your unconventional hobbies. You shrugged it off, moving over to your computer.

"You guys play games?" you asked, changing the subject. The room felt awkwardly silent, but you didn't mind. It was your space, your sanctuary, and you felt comfortable with your newfound guests.

"Yeah, we've got our fair share of downtime." Soap admitted, "What's your go-to?"

"Bloodborne, Elden Ring, Doom 2016, Doom Eternal, Halo Reach, and, The Evil Within 2." You replied without a moment's hesitation.

I didn't think I would have liked her this much. Though to be fair I wasn't expecting to bump into her to begin with. Sure, you weren’t what I imagined you to be. But I like it better this way. Soap and Ghost assumed you were socially inept as soon as I told them you were a scientist.

I’m just glad I finally met someone with the right kind of madness inside them.

[chdarling]

Its a curse. No matter what story I read I always have to compare it to yours. Your writing and characterization is just perfect especially your Lily and James. I loved how you made James re-think his actions and when he questioned himself about being a bad person. Lily is often either a goody-goody or the biggest bitch alive. It really got me thinking when you said that shes kind but not nice. I am so excited for Lilys reaction when she finds out that the dog she revealed her secrets to is actually Sirius omg 🫶🫶🫶

I know its not a common question but when and where do you write? Do you have like your writing place or do you just begin if you have an idea. And another: Have you written many later scenes without writing the earlier ones?

Thank you so much 🥺❤️

I write in a lot of places!

I have my insane power user desktop set up (I have 4 monitors inherited from different jobs that thought it was less expensive to just give them to me when I quit rather than have me ship them back lol), but tragically this space has been spiritually tainted by remote work so I mostly only use it for plotting purposes when I need multiple screens. (I look like a serious business hacker gal with all my screens until you zoom in and see they’re all about my blorbos).

I’m not at Terry Pratchett levels yet but this is the vibe:

I also have a little secretary desk in my living room and this is where I tend to write the most actual prose. Unplug the Internet, close everything except my scrivener doc, sit in the slightly uncomfortable dining chair my kitten has chewed to bits, and disappear from the world for hours. This is why I have back pain. :)

I also write on my phone a lot, usually when walking. I will 100% stop in the middle of the sidewalk (or politely step aside if it’s crowded, I’m not a monster) and hash out a full scene of dialogue if it arrives while I’m commuting, which it often does. Yes I have been late to work this way on more than one occasion haha.

As far as the when, that varies. During a good, fruitful writing season, it’s any moment I can get. During periods of burnout and block (which tragically I am weathering right now), I have to make a concerted effort. I have made it a habit to write every day first thing in the morning (well, after feeding the cats, I’m not a monster). These days it’s mostly just a free write/brain dump of everything in my head, but hey, it’s words. During better writing times, I have been known to crank out an entire chapter before work 😭

And to your final question, oh yes, I write totally out of order. I have more of TLE4 written than I do TLE3 haha. But I find this fun because then I get to sneak in all sorts of foreshadowing nonsense. 😈

Thanks for the kind words and fun questions!

[mylovesstuffs]

Ot13 and what scares them about love

Request: Hey can u do a headcanon ot13: what scares them about being in love.. or love in general? (Like not being enough, losing control, potential heartbreak… smth like that) thanks a lot:)))

A/N: I added the little bullet notes under each member’s part just in case any of you have similar fears—so that you can be reassured that there’s nothing to be afraid of. Personally, I struggle with the fear of being hard to love. It’s something deeply ingrained in me, though I won’t elaborate further. I just wanted you all to feel a little better. At the end of the day, these notes aren’t really for the members (as if they'll see this lol)—they’re for you. This headcanon (sorta) felt surprisingly personal, and writing it made me reflect on so many things about life and love in general. To the anon who requested this, thank you. Your idea was truly unique, and it gave me a space to pause, think, and see things from a different perspective of svt and others.

This is my personal opinion and perspective. It may not accurately reflect their real-life personalities or behaviors.

Seungcheol – The Fear of Failing as a Partner

How I see him is that, he carries a deep sense of responsibility, and that extends to love too. His biggest fear is not being able to protect or take care of his partner the way he wants to. He worries about not being emotionally available or strong enough when they need him most. The idea of letting someone down, especially someone he loves, weighs heavily on him.

Seungcheol, you’re doing your absolute best, and that’s more than enough. Your love is a safe space, and no one could ever doubt the strength you bring to those around you.

Jeonghan – The Fear of Losing Himself

Love is beautiful, but it’s also consuming. Jeonghan fears that being in love might make him lose parts of himself—his independence, his ability to make rational choices, or even his sense of control. He’s afraid of how much power someone else could have over his emotions, especially since he’s always the one in control of his own heart.

Love doesn’t mean losing yourself. The right person will embrace all of you, allowing you to be both independent and deeply connected. You don’t have to choose between the two.

Joshua – The Fear of Unreciprocated Effort

I feel like he’s the type to love deeply, wholeheartedly, and unconditionally. But what scares him is the possibility of loving someone more than they love him. He fears investing everything into a relationship, only to find out that his feelings are not returned in the same way. He doesn’t want to be left wondering if he was ever truly enough.

Shua, you are more than enough. Any love you give will be returned in full measure. You’re so kind and caring, and someone who sees you for who you are will love you deeply in return.

Jun – The Fear of Being Misunderstood

Jun is a deep thinker, and his emotions often run slowly beneath the surface. He worries that no matter how much he loves someone, they might never truly understand him. He’s scared of feeling alone in a relationship, of opening up completely and still not being seen for who he truly is.

The right person will understand you in ways you never imagined. Your depth is so precious, and there are people who will cherish every part of who you are.

Hoshi – The Fear of Love Fading

Love, to him, should always be full of passion and excitement. But he fears that over time, feelings might dull, routines might set in, and the relationship could become something ordinary. He wants love to always feel exhilarating, and the thought of it losing its spark terrifies him.

The most beautiful love grows even stronger with time, and the quiet moments are just as powerful as the loud ones.

Wonwoo – The Fear of Not Being Enough

Wonwoo is reserved, and deeply introspective. He worries that he won’t be able to express love in the way his partner needs. He’s afraid that his way of loving through actions rather than words, might not be enough. The idea of someone wanting more than he can give haunts him.

Wonwoo, your love is already enough. The way you care, through your actions and your presence, speaks volumes. Anyone who truly understands you will appreciate the depth of your heart.

Woozi – The Fear of Losing His Dreams for Love

As we all know, he’s very dedicated to his craft and his passion for music runs deep. While he’s capable of deep love, he fears that being in love might take away the time and energy he’s poured into his dreams. He doesn’t want to choose between love and ambition, but he’s afraid that, in the end, one might have to come before the other.

The right person will support and inspire you to keep chasing your passions while loving you in the most meaningful way.

Dokyeom – The Fear of Hurting or Disappointing Someone

Seokmin has such a big heart, and his worst fear is accidentally hurting someone he loves. He always wants to be a source of happiness, but relationships aren’t always perfect, and the thought of being the reason for someone’s pain is unbearable to him.

Kyeom, your heart is pure, and your love only brings joy to those around you. Anyone who is with you will feel lucky to have such a loving and kind soul in their life.

Mingyu – The Fear of Being Too Much

He loves intensely, and sometimes, that can feel overwhelming. Mingyu worries that his enthusiasm, his affection, and his deep emotions might be too much for someone to handle. He’s scared of loving someone with all his heart, only to be told that it’s suffocating.

Gyu :(( your love is perfect just the way it is. No one will ever think you’re too much. You are a warm, bright presence, and the right person will embrace all of that with open arms.

Minghao – The Fear of Losing Freedom

Love is beautiful (2), but Minghao values his independence. He worries about feeling trapped or restricted in a relationship, about losing the ability to chase his own passions freely. He wants to love without feeling like he has to compromise parts of himself.

The right person will love and respect your freedom while still sharing in your journey together.

Seungkwan – The Fear of Heartbreak

He loves hard, and he knows that means he has the most to lose. The thought of giving his whole heart to someone only to have it broken is terrifying. He’s scared of the kind of pain that lingers, the kind that changes a person forever.

Kwannie, your heart is strong enough to handle anything. Love will come with its ups and downs, but your ability to heal and grow will make you even stronger, and you will find a love that never breaks you.

Vernon – The Fear of Not Being Able to Express Himself

Vernon thinks deeply but doesn’t always voice everything he feels. He fears that his inability to always put his emotions into words might make his partner feel unappreciated or uncertain about his love. He doesn’t want to lose someone just because he couldn’t say the right things at the right time.

Anyone who truly cares for you will understand the depth of your feelings, even in silence. You don’t need to explain everything—you show it.

Dino – The Fear of Not Being Taken Seriously

As the youngest in svt, he’s used to being seen as playful and energetic and his partner will also know this persona just like we do. But in love, he wants to be seen as a dependable partner. He fears that no matter how much he matures, there will always be a part of him that people don’t take seriously. He doesn’t want to be seen as a ‘kid’ in love—he wants to be seen as someone who can love deeply and be a strong, steady presence in his partner’s life.

Dino, your maturity is not measured by age but by the love you give. Anyone who loves you will see the depth of your heart and appreciate the amazing, steady partner you are.

[carisisrolledupsleeves]

“Could he make you feel as good as i do?” prompt for Sonny? Thank you! 🩷

Disclaimer: I wrote it as a sequel to my previous prompt because I was still inspired by it. also, its smutty

The sun is high in the sky when you wake up. It must be around noon already but considering the night you’ve had, it’s not surprising. You try to blink the sleep out of your eyes, and looking down at your left hand you feel a surge of guilt in your stomach. Even though you know you’ve made the right decision, he never deserved this. He never deserved the hurt you caused him last night. On what should have been one of the happiest days of his life. 

As Sonny tightens his arms around you in his sleep, the negative feelings are replaced by the overwhelming flutter of the clichéd butterflies; something you had always rolled your eyes at; thought of as overrated. And yet. When you left the party after that horrific but necessary conversation with your now ex-fiancé, when you ended up running as fast as your heels would allow it, when you knocked on Sonny’s door with dread, afraid that he would tell you to fuck off and reject him like you had him earlier. However in that moment he opened the door, surprised yet as if he had expected you - that was when the butterflies became real. 

You snuggle into him; his warm body feels so unfamiliar still, yet like a home that is welcoming you. His scent, so heavenly, you want to wrap yourself up in it, and you surely try as you press your face into his chest while your legs wrap around his under the blanket. Sonny sighs, holding you even closer and placing a kiss onto your forehead. There’s so much to say, so much to talk about but neither of you have been able to put it into words just yet. Even last night all you managed to say was a tearful ‘I’m sorry’ followed by his many ‘It’s okay’, followed by even more tears and kisses before you ended up in his bed, fully clothed. 

These clothes are in the way now. Your hand wanders underneath his shirt, and you can feel him shiver in response to your touch. This is the first time you’ve been this close and sober; that drunken night spent together an exciting yet blurry memory of lust and urgency. Now the need to make him yours isn’t any less desperate but you aren’t in a rush, both of you knowing that this is right; that this is you two together from now on. 

Your lips meet; a soft kiss that soon turns more intense as you press your body closer to his and it doesn’t take long before his hands find the zipper of your dress while you manage to shove his shirt over his head. You’re finally skin on skin. It’s kind of crazy how quickly you feel yourself getting wet, especially since you can feel his body having a similar reaction; and you both smile into the kiss, a slight blush on your faces. 

‘I love you.’ Sonny whispers, the first words spoken since last night, and the fact that it’s those three words makes you dizzy. 

‘I love you.’ you don’t hesitate for one second because the truth is, you’ve always loved him. 

You continue to undress each other and it feels like everything is happening in slow-motion. Yet all of a sudden he flips you onto your back and covers you with his body, making you giggle with anticipation. Sonny’s body feels so good, and you know you’re going to have trouble prying yourself away from him in the future. You want him so much. You know you’re going to want him all the time. How you’ve ever denied yourself of him, you do not know. 

His lips leave yours and kiss all over your face before wandering down your neck, lingering there as you moan at the contact. Instinctively, your arms wrap around him; hands all over his strong back tracing the muscles there, finger’s digging into his skin as you feel his mouth continue. He is for sure leaving a mark on your collarbone as he sucks on the delicate skin there. That’s right, let them see. Let them see I’m yours. All yours. You sigh his name at the thought, sigh his name again as his mouth finds your breast, sigh his name over and over as he scoots down your body, his lips stopping at the waistband of your panties. 

‘Dominick…’ your eyes are closed but you can feel him smile against your skin and he looks up at you as you open them. 

‘Can I?’ he asks and you have to control yourself in order to not nod too enthusiastically. His smile grows even bigger.

He pulls your panties off slowly before flinging them across the room, making you laugh. 

‘You’re beautiful.’ he says, pushing your legs apart gently, exposing your wetness, and turning your laughter into a shy giggle. 

All of that shyness is forgotten as his long, tender fingers brush over your folds, making you shudder. His lips are back on your skin, kissing the inside of your trembling thighs, inching closer to your core until you feel the flick of his tongue on your clit, sending an electric current throughout your entire body. 

‘More?’ Sonny asks sheepishly as his fingers continue to stroke you. 

‘More. Yes. Please.’ you reply, biting your lips.

And he gives you so much more. Oh, much much more. Soon, you’re a panting mess, your hands in his hair, tugging desperately while he eats you out. Dominick’s expert mouth is all over your pussy; sucking, licking, teasing as though he has been waiting his entire life for it. Come to think of it, it turns out you have, too. No man has ever gotten you this close to an orgasm in such a short amount of time. Your eyes meet as he fucks you with his tongue, delving into you, his thumb on your swollen nub. He knows you’re close. 

‘Please.’ you beg again. ‘Please, Dominick.’

He withdraws his mouth, letting his fingers continue by slipping into you, curling over your g spot, almost sending you over the edge. 

‘Do you want me to stop?’ he asks and you shake your head before nodding instead. 

‘I want to be yours. All yours. And I want you to be mine. All mine.’ you answer, pulling softly on his hair. He understands. 

And within a heartbeat he sits up, his hands are on your waist, and he pulls you up toward him; you can only whine in response to his hesitation before he buries himself into you with a slow but firm thrust. Fuck. You arch your back at the sensation of him filling you up, stretching your already sensitive sex to a point of blinding pleasure. 

‘Oh my god!’ you cry out, giving yourself over to him completely.

‘Could he make you feel as good as I do?’ Sonny breathes, pulling back just to push into you again, deliberately hitting that spot inside you.

You shudder, hands grabbing at the sheets and at him. Truth be told no one has ever made you feel as good. As loved. As exposed. As vulnerable. As powerful. As sexy. 

‘No. And every time I was with him, I thought about you. I thought about our night together. And I’d cum, thinking about you.’ you admit, your voice shaking. 

He pulls you up so you’re in his lap, and kisses you deeply. His tongue slips into your mouth and you can still taste yourself on him, and your hands are all over him while he holds you, your hips pushing down harder against his thrusts. 

‘Cum for me now.’ Sonny purrs in your ear, his cock twitching inside you. He’s close too.

You can’t hold back even if you wanted to. Sinking into his arms your orgasm washes over you, and it’s earth-shattering. Nothing on your mind except him. Dominick.

And it turns out there will be a ring on your finger again in no time. This time forever.   

prompt requests

[myjealouseyes]

wolfstar!daughter n harry gettin a lil tipsy because their parents let them drink a glass or two after their parents annual dinner tgt.

the two are now in the living room, sitting next to each other, wolfstar!daughters leg on harrys lap, messing with the hems of their clothes (like both of them fidgeting w each othrs clothes) while the marauders clean up in the kitchen. the two are exchanging flirty remarks with each other to see who would break first due to the alcohol giving the both of them a boost of confidence, remus comes in and was greeted by the scene. looking amused, he called in the others and james secretly took take a picture/video.

(this is poorly written and my brain is fried but i promise i'll redo it after getting some sleep. also eng isnt my first language so i apologize for any grammar mistakes. andd i love your writing so much, it gives me inspiration and i aspire to write as good as you.)

NONNIE!!!!!!! Your brain is so big!

They’ve been walking in circles around each other for years. They’ve been close to confessing, but they never have. They both know the other one feels the same way, but they just don’t stay anything. Now they’re eighteen, Fresh out of Hogwarts and can now drink legally. What could go wrong?

A lot.

They had precisely one and a half glasses of wine before they stumbled into the living room to cuddle, like they always do. Except, this time it’s a little…more.

Harry’s hand snaking under her shirt to rub her stomach and wolfstar!daughter tracing shapes over his his chest lightly with her finger. Harry using his unoccupied hand to slide her leg over his lap PLEASELEABXENDNC.

They’re both doing some really heavy flirting, trying to see who’ll break first. Neither of them notice how close they’ve gotten until they’re nose to nose, breathing heavily and this 🤏 close to kissing.

[unriding]

me n moze say good morning to the world !!! ᕙ( •̀ ᗜ •́ )ᕗ

art by @rabbbitseason of course <3

[basketobread]

I hope you have the most wonderful Christmas like you only deserve, lovely ❤️❤️❤️ Thank you for always brightening up mine and many other people's days, you are the greatest gift of all!! 🙌

HIIII THANK YOU SOOOO MUCH FOR YOUR KIND WORDS!!!! MERRY CHRISTMAS TO YOU AND HAPPY HOLIDAYS TO ANYONE CELEBRATING!!! you always brighten up MY day and i cannot thank you enough!! HAHAHA you're too kind ❤❤❤❤❤

[aromanticgarbage]

You are right, very common tattoo. Was just curious as she looked familiar too so maybe had some cool meaning.

But who knows right, and I know, privacy and all. Sometimes curiosity kills the cat at night when bored lol

And thanks for replying! You're cool and love your shares.

(Sent link separately so its not out there)

I replied to your other ask but ye it seems like this artist did a lot of those designs. I don't know this lady but she seems pretty cool. Thank you for enjoying this mess of a blog hehe <3

[phantomsies]

𝖓𝖊𝖝𝖙 𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖓𝖙 • 𝖆.𝖆𝖗𝖙𝖑𝖊𝖗𝖙

your biggest fan soon becomes your biggest obsession….

black onlyfans creator!reader (fem descriptions), nerdy!armin, public sex/public masturbation, squirting, mentions of toys, exhibitionism, throatfucking, cumshot

📝: I wanted to go a completely different direction with this but a) it’s no longer kinktober and it would’ve much better suited that and b) nerd!armin just scratches an itch in my brain I can’t quite put my finger on. So enjoy! 🫶🏾 (also, I AM SO SORRY THIS SHIT IS SO LONG 😭😭 I don’t intend on headcanons being this length but I can’t shut the fuck up.)

═✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿═══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

nerd!armin had been a dutiful subscriber of (y/n) (l/n)’s or as the world knew you, (performer name) for quite some time. He’d faithfully watched your content, never missing an upload to your sites and shamelessly scrolling your Twitter.

nerd!armin preferred your videos over others because they were so unique. Always willing to push the envelope by shooting in unconventional spaces; your car, public bathrooms and even dressing rooms..a polar opposite to his shy, bashful nature. In a way, he was jealous but also aroused..

from your long acrylics, fluffy lashes, colorful hair that changed from video to video and of course, the beautiful, dark brown complexion that radiated underneath the sun or ring lights, nerd!armin was obsessed.

nerd!armin would lie in bed after a long study session, classes or even a hard day at work..mindlessly stroking his cock in one hand as he held his phone in the other, eyes glued to the screen whilst you performed those lewd acts.

shoving those dildos in and out of your tight cunt, those pretty pink walls and plump brown lips sucking on that silicone toy..stretching yourself open all for his pleasure. A jeweled butt plug shoved into your ass and cream oozing down onto that gorgeous skin and the leather of your seats as you worked yourself into countless orgasms..mewling and begging for the would be viewer to keep fucking you..

“Fuck, I’m about to come, daddy..you’re gonna make me squirt.” Crying out as nerd!armin jerked himself even faster..subconsciously responding back without a single other person being in the room. ”Squirt for me, baby. Come..” Whimpering before exploding with a load of his own..

despite only being an intern, nerd!armin was well off from his freelancing tech work and although it didn’t leave him much room for socializing, he would tip you amicably on all the new content, as well as leave kind, respectful, encouraging words. It wasn’t something you saw often in this field.

it also didn’t take nerd!armin long to realize that you never featured a partner in any of your content like some girls eventually did. Only the various assortment of toys gifted to you by supporters. Which only further fed his delusions when you made a mess and glared into the camera, batting those doe brown eyes before saying “..look at what you made me do..that big dick feels so good..”

nerd!armin, who had only been with one woman sexually in his entire life and didn’t date often, could only dream of being with a girl like you.

so it came as no surprise when you announced that you would be opening a contest to film with one of your subscribers for the first time, nerd!armin leaped at the chance! The thought of getting to fuck the woman he’d hopelessly fawned over excited him.

nerd!armin nearly fainted when he got a DM on OnlyFans one day to see that he had won, asking when he’d like to arrange the meetup.

nerd!armin was understandably nervous on the day you two came face to face..but felt as ease when you continuously reassured him and even made sure that both of you had been tested, as well as protection.

“You’re so cute..it’s nice to finally meet you. Thank you for supporting me..” your gentle voice sent a shockwave of butterflies soaring through nerd!armin’s stomach as you wrapped him in a tight hug…and of course, a tightening in his pants upon laying eyes on his favorite creator. But that was merely the beginning.

nerd!armin found himself blushing when you slowly traced circles all over his skin, examining the single tattoo on his forearm and complimenting the smell of his cologne as the two of you sat alone in the bedroom of the designated filming space of your spacious home. Impressed by the bookshelves full of old literature he passed on the way in.

“Mmmm..you’re nervous, aren’t you?” “…I guess you could say that.” “Well don’t be, I’m going to make sure we have a good time, I promise..”

nerd!armin had no idea just how true you were to your word when less than ten minutes after the camera came on, you were on your knees, tongue extended and a wide smile on your face as he towered over you.

nerd!armin could hardly contain himself when eventually, those glossy brims were now encompassed around his cock. Slurping noises emanating around the room, along with his adorable cries…sloppy drool and gag spit spilling from that wet mouth and onto the pulsating head, shaft and those swollen balls. Disregarding the fact that your pretty face had become a disheveled mess.

“Oh my God…that feels so good, beautiful. Your mouth feels fucking amazing..” “You wanna come for me, baby?” “..yes! Drain me, please..” pathetically pleading whilst relentlessly fucking your throat.

nerd!armin unabashedly spent days, practicing his stroke on a translucent flesh light, feeding it deep thrusts and stuffing it with an ungodly amount of cum, examining your videos like study material..in hopes of gaining some stamina against you.

but nothing could prepare nerd!armin for the sheer sensation that being inside of you brought upon him.. however, he wasn’t the only one caught off guard..especially when he’d gently tug your head down and force you to watch as he glided into that narrow hole.. a move he’d learn from his tapes.

“It’s so big..damn..” “I told you..” giggling to yourselves as your gazes met and he’d begin to move.

nerd!armin almost felt compelled to believe that you were faking your moans like other pornstars so often did…but that misconception was cleared up when your eyes began to trail back, legs began to tremble and a slight bulge formed at the very bottom of your stomach.

“Yes, you stretching the fuck out of this pussy, baby..right there!..” “Am-am I doing a good job?” “You fucking me so good, please don’t stop.”

nerd!armin nearly lost all composure when you all but pushed him away, only to shower him in a stream of your juices. Only increasing as he tapped that swollen tip against your quivering folds.

nerd!armin didn’t last more than five minutes after that powerful climax and began dry heaving as his own neared. Ushering you back to your knees to paint those pretty features and tits with his load.

nerd!armin was convinced that once the cameras shut off, you’d put him out for nutting too quickly. Surely a woman of your caliber would never deal with that again. But yet again, he was proven wrong when you smiled up at him, flicking your tongue across your lips before posing a question. “So..where should we should film next time? We gotta do this more often..”

nerd!armin had found himself the newest and sole object of (creator’s name) affection!

[tonycries]

Freak On The Cam! - C.K.

Synopsis. Choso always loved watching you - his pretty lil’ camgírl - from behind the screen. Who knew he’d love being on-screen with you even more?

Pairing. Choso Kamo x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, camgírl! reader, spítting, Choso has rings and piercings, first times + loss of vírginity (Choso’s), oral (fem receiving), exhíbitionism, DOWN BAD Choso, cúmplay, use of “ma’am”, Sukuna is a menace, víbrators, light jealousy (Choso’s), some HEINOUS things, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 6.5k

A/N. Meant to post this last week but hehe here we are. Also I’ve GOT to stop using Unc-kuna so much lmao.

“Wanna see a movie or do you wanna make one?”

Choso was screwed. Completely and utterly screwed. So badly, in fact, that he might as well just wipe off every trace of himself online and go into hiding - preferably forever.

All because he had been so stupidly careless as to leave his phone unattended for exactly 1 minute and 47 seconds around Sukuna. 

In the time it took Choso to raid the kitchen for his favorite brand of cereal, his uncle had managed to open his Twitter (because “that’s where all the juicy stuff is”), stalk your pretty page at the very top of his last searched, and send a god-awful pick-up line that would probably get him blocked. Or worse.

Damnit, he knew he shouldn’t have made his password Yuji’s birthday.

“Ya should be thankful I didn’t DM her myself, brat.” Sukuna chuckles, not even a shred of regret in his tone, way too amused with how Choso was frantically trying to tackle the phone out of his hands. “What’s the harm in asking? Such a pretty camgirl, n’ you look like you need some good pu-”

“She’s also my classmate.”

“Kinky. Even better.” 

No, not “even better”. God, this must be some kind of cosmic joke, and Choso just wished the Earth would swallow him up whole right now - and maybe his phone along with it too. 

It had taken him almost a whole semester to work up the courage to just sit next to you during your shared lecture. All gorgeous with your bright smiles, and your smart mouth. And Choso was very much content to admire you from afar - and from behind his phone screen, of course.

Never following, never liking. Never tipping you off as one of your hundreds of thousands of fans.

And now, not only had Sukuna revealed that he’d found your secret Twitter account - the one with those sinful little clips of yourself that had Choso opening the app way too much - he’d also propositioned you. Like some creep.  

“Ugh. This is why women hate you.” Still desperately grappling, he spits out more to himself than Sukuna at this point. “B-besides, she’s never even gonna respond any-”

Ping!

And the Itadori household had never been quieter. Never, on a random Saturday during spring break. Never, as the two men crowd the phone, jaws dropped and staring wordlessly at the singular message on screen. You. 

“Let’s make one ;)”

---

“So s’not a stream this time, jus’ a video. Is that okay?”  You hum from your desk, glancing at the man seated on your bed as he hastily nods along with whatever you said. Looking like he’d rather be anywhere but here. 

Weird. 

It had only been a few days of back and forth since you’d gotten that first text - the one that you’d honestly thought about blocking like the thousands of others. But there was just something about it that made you stop, something that had you clicking on the profile to delve a little deeper.

It hit you like a semi-truck back then - five of them, in fact - that this was someone in your class. Someone you knew. How the hell did he even find this account? 

You knew Choso as that sweet - albeit slightly gloomy - kid that sat next to you, always quick with his answers and even quicker to look away from your gaze, no matter how hard you tried to spark a conversation. You’d just guessed he was afraid of you or something.

So nothing could’ve prepared you for how ridiculously attractive he looked in that profile picture, all smug grins and dark locks falling effortlessly around his slightly smudged eyeliner. Shirtless, giving just a peak of- oh god, were those nipple piercings?  

Could you really be blamed? You just had to have him.

But, here - it was like he was just itching to run away at the first chance he got. 

“You’re not held at gunpoint, y’know.” you giggle at how he startles at the mere sound of your voice. The mattress dips as you stop fiddling with the camera to sit next to him, thighs flush against his muscled ones. “Are you sure you want-”

“Yes.” 

It seems that both of you were surprised by the abrupt response. Too quick. Choso clears his throat, cheeks flaring as he tries to dredge up some semblance of dignity, he drawls lightly. “I mean- Yes.”

You study him for a moment under the dim lighting, noting the way his hands clench and unclench in his lap, the way his chest rises and falls rapidly as he struggles to control his breathing. He was nervous. Nervous and horny - nothing quite like the suave impression his pick-up line gave off. 

But so irresistible just the same.

“Well…Cho.” you bat your lashes, voice dropping to a seductive whisper - not too heavy, for now at least. “Then why won’t you even look at me?”

Alas, Choso was not a strong man. 

Maybe at your words, maybe at that playful little nickname you gave him, he’s finally raising those dark eyes to look at you. Twinkling with- fear? anticipation? A flicker of something so dangerous as his gaze sweeps greedily over that tight dress you put on just for this occasion. 

Choso tries to ignore how sinfully it hugs all your curves. Or the way it would look a million times better on the floor. 

This was absolute torture. 

And God he thinks he could pass out right then and there as you lean in closer. Too close. The temperature in the room suddenly increasing by about 10 degrees as you purr, tone careful and balanced. “Much better. And now…” 

His breathing becomes heavier, eyes flickering downwards. Once. Twice. 

And you know you’ve got him in the palm of your hand. 

“...all you gotta do is touch me.”

Yeah, if Choso thought he was going to pass out before then he definitely wasn’t ready for those dangerous little words. Ones that have him shaken right to the core - fighting that urge to just take you how he’s imagined all those lonely nights.

“You- huh?” he lets out a shaky laugh, the sound strained as he crosses his legs with the subtlety of a sledgehammer, desperately trying to will away the blood rushing straight to his throbbing cock right now. 

But how could he? Not when you only shift closer, barely even a hair’s breadth between you two - relishing in his strangled gasp as your tits press so enticingly against his arm. Such an adorable pout playing on your lips as you mutter, “Do you not want to?”

And he did. Oh, how he did - has been imagining it for the past five months, in fact. And Choso lets you know, a little twenty times, actually, as the words spill panickedly from his lips. 

“-idiot trying to set me up and I’ve been dreaming of fucking you for so long but I’m just-” Heat rushes to Choso’s cheeks, as he abruptly shuts the fuck up. But it’s too late - the damage has been done.

You give him a wry smile, lips mere inches from his ear. “Just what?”

His breath hitches, muscles rippling so deliciously as he shudders beneath your touch. “I’m a-” Choking out - as if it physically hurts to  admit - “-virgin.”

Oh. 

Now, you might’ve expected many things - but certainly not this. Though, looking at the cute flush on the tips of his ears, all the way down to those big, needy eyes, you don’t mind. Not one bit.

With one, quick glance at the rolling camera - your mouth is moving before your mind. “Do you want me to…do something about it?”

And then it’s like something snapped. 

You don’t know who leans in first, just that Choso’s kissing you. And you’re kissing him - how could you not? 

Because goddammit it was always those pretty lips that you were staring at whenever he was spouting off answers in class. You just never expected he’d be kissing you back with such an infectious desperation. 

No sooner are you thinking about how sweet his lips are before he’s pulling away with a soft sigh, pressing hot open-mouthed kisses down your jaw. Your neck. Back to your lips like he wanted everything and anything.

You gasp licks a long, languid stripe up your neck - maybe at how utterly obscene it felt, maybe at that sharp cold feeling that makes you flinch. Fuck - a tongue piercing? The noise makes Choso’s mouth drop into a quick oh! surging forward to claim your lips again. Addicted. 

Only to be stopped by your hands cupping his face, letting out a pained grunt at how he was so close. Just a hair’s breadth away from your lips.

“Cho~ Open your mouth, baby.” you whisper, hotly. 

And he looked so pretty - dark hair askew, lower lip swollen and quivering with need, brows furrowing because he wanted more of your taste. But he obeys, of course he does, Choso thinks he’ll do anything you asked. And lo and behold, sitting right there in the middle of his tongue was a pretty silver piercing.

You just can’t help but thumb open his mouth further, looking him right in the eyes as you spit in his mouth. Once. Twice. 

“Bet no one else has done this before, huh?” Grinning at how sinfully Choso’s eyes roll to the back of his head at your taste, “Kiss me proper now.”

God, you were so good at throwing away whatever was left of his poor sanity. And it’s all that’s said before his kiss-bitten lips are crashing into yours again. 

“No. No one’s hah- done that before. Only you.” he’s panting into your open mouth, swirling his tongue with yours. “F-fuck only you. Only you only you-”

You barely even realize the way you’re on his lap now, sitting so prettily there that Choso half-deliriously wonders whether he should take a picture. Mind spinning too much with his throbbing erection under your drenched panties, a damp little patch at his fat tip. So hot and heavy already.

“Cho, do you want me to-”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You certainly don’t have to be told twice - especially with that little nickname. Fiddling with his belt, you’re so hazy with want - the need to taste Choso, to see if the rest of him was as sweet as his lips - that you almost miss the look of confusion that flashes across his face.

You bat your lashes at him almost-innocently, “You alright?” And Choso thinks he could cum right there and right now at the sight. If he wasn’t currently battling for his life, that is. 

“Yeah, s’jus’- what I wanted hah- was to…” His hands sneak down, cupping your heated pussy through your drenched panties. “-taste her. ”

“Oh?”

“Are y’gonna teach me how?”

Oh. Fuck.

You know you’re fucked. Completely and utterly fucked.

Only moments later, Choso’s wrestling you back onto the mattress, face-to-face with your sloppy pussy. So mean with the way he was pinning your hips down with one hand, all but ripping your panties off with the other. 

You feel his piercing before his tongue. Both the hot and cold so maddening on your cunt as Choso licks long, lazy stripes up your puffy folds - dragging his hot tongue all the way from your base. Just grazing your swollen clit. 

“Teach me- fuck fuck-” words muffled and slurring together, vibrations going straight to your pussy. “Use me. Use me how you want.”

You’re threading your fingers through his dark locks before you even realize it, grinding your sloppy cunt all over his waiting mouth. “Quirk your tongue like- ngh-” Angling him close enough so he bullies his soft tongue into your tight pussy. Piercing massaging all the right places. “Fuck-”

“Like this?”

“Sh-shit,” you gasp, nodding deliriously. “S’too ngh- good.”

And by God, did you mean it. 

“Yeah? Y’like this?” he’s groaning, wrapping his lips around your swollen clit. “Can feel you clenching around me. Shit shit shit, you love this, huh? So slutty on camera for it?” 

Getting wetter and wetter by the second as his tongue roams for that one-

“Oh! F-fuck, Cho. Right hngh- there. Deeper-”

Ah, found it.

Choso grins as you tug on his soft strands, you can feel it on your throbbing pussy. Pushing your legs all the way till they’re at your tits to hit that little spot each and every time. Again and again. Eyes glassy, torn between devouring that slutty expression on your face and how fucking drenched you were. 

“Shit, baby,” his words are so strained now, like his sanity was dancing away at each flick of his tongue. “You’re drooling everywhere. See? Show the camera now.”

You don’t have to look. Because you can feel it.

Can feel how wet his mouth is, just glistening with slick and saliva. Trailing all the way down his chin - to his wrist - only second to how sloppy your dripping cunt was. It was like he was getting messy on purpose, like a little reminder to himself that shit this was you and he was eating out your pretty cunt to insanity-

“Oh my god, think m’hooked.” Tongue dragging all over your swollen folds, catching on his piercing. “Think your pretty lil’ pussy’s hah- driving me crazy. Ruined me, Fuck-”

And it’s so embarrassing how he’s talking you through it, grinning at every lil’ whine and whimper that leaves your mouth. You were acting all shy right now in a way that makes Choso’s cock twitch so painfully. He barely even notices, though, with the way he was so drunk off your pussy. 

So messy - unable to decide between rolling his tongue over your ravaged clit and dipping into your sloppy hole. Too much. In and out in and-

“Faster.”

He goes faster. 

“H-harder.”

He goes harder.

Anything and everything for you - to keep those pretty moans falling from your lips, walls getting tighter and tighter around his tongue. And Choso might just consider himself a man addicted.

“Can you ngh- cum f’me, baby?” You flinch as he spits out the words into your cunt. Harsh. Fucked-out. Sounding just as delirious and breathless as you. “Cum f’me please. Wan’ to taste y’on my tongue. Please. Fuck- need it so bad. So bad.”

You’re so caught up in Choso’s pussydrunk little babbles that you barely even realize when you’re cumming. Just that you’re letting out a strangled scream of his name, dragging your sloppy pussy all over his mouth. 

And he has never seemed more blissed out. Long gone is that nervous little expression usually on his face around you, Choso looked like he could be suffocated in-between your legs right now and love it. Hope for it, even.

He tells you that, of course. As soon as you’re blinking back your vision, blood still roaring in your ears. Delicate strings of slick snapping where he parts from your quivering cunt, lips swollen and glossed so prettily with your sweet sweet juices. 

“Baby, y’think the video of lesson one came out good?”

Oh. Shit, what have you done?

---

That certainly wasn’t the last time you saw Choso - or the last time you had him in front of a camera, either.

A few weeks later, you found yourself with an entire album for the man - a hidden treasure trove under the simple name of “Cho <3”. Most of the videos favorited, all sorted so tediously in a way that showed you spent an obscene amount of time looking at all the ways he ruined you. 

So filthy on camera that you always wondered whether it was the same person in the sheets and in class, texting Choso for later. Just to confirm. 

But embarrassingly, only some of these videos made their way onto your Twitter account - with Choso’s pretty face largely out of the frame. The two of you hadn’t ventured into streams yet either, opting to hide him away. Because, okay, maybe you were slightly jealous of other people seeing him - but it was really hard not to be when he looked like that.

In spite of all that, you’d still gained a casual hundred thousand more followers since his appearance - ones who always commented on your solo streams asking where your “hot emo bf” was.

Comments you’d pointedly ignore, because, hell, you wished he was here on-stream helping you get off, too. Yet despite the endless flirting and videos, Choso actually hadn’t made it further than actually holding a full conversation with you. And you wanted more. 

For all you know, you might just be one of his many trysts - and it was just for the videos, right? You get the content, he gets the experience? A win-win situation, so why have you never felt more like such a loser?

Such a loser the way you’ve already lost count of the “lessons” but still haven’t gotten to feel him - to fuck him the way you wanted just yet. 

“S’alright if I take this, right, ma’am?” He smirks during one such session, knuckle-deep in your dripping cunt. Dangling your drenched panties like a badge of honor, flimsy and soaked with your sweet sweet juices. “S’alright if I-” And he can’t even finish the sentence. Your jaw drops as Choso raises the thin fabric to his face, breathing in your essence like a man possessed. 

Bzzzt-bzzzt-bzzzzt-

“You’re so filthy, Cho-” you manage to choke out once you find your voice. Squirming on his bed like such a slut for him. “Was the innocent thing just an act?”

“Nope.” he pops the p, licking lewd little circles on your neck, thumbing open your puffy folds to watch in amazement at the way you glisten and clamp around his fingers. Eyes flickering briefly to the recording phone in his hand. “But we gotta give ‘em a good show, huh?”

Right, you’d forgotten about the camera. But none of that matters anyway because-

Intensity setting 2.

“You’re so mean, too.”

“Am I?” he grins, teeth grazing along your racing pulse. “I think you taught that to me, baby. Shit, lesson 8 it was?”

God, he was addictive.

Choso’s having way too much fun playing around with the intensity setting of the bullet vibrator shoved inside your ravaged cunt. Sending quick, methodical vibrations all along your pulsing clit. In time with the breathless moans leaving your kiss-bitten lips, and it’s all you can to call out for- more? Mercy? Both? 

Bzzzt-bzzzt-bzzzzt-

“God, you’re so perfect. Shit, so messy f’me.” he groans, and you could tell that the video wasn’t going to be uploaded anyway. Too shaky, focusing in and out of Choso’s fingers. Knuckle-deep and pumping in and out of your filthy hole. Relentless. “Almost makes me wanna show off to an actual audience.”

“Maybe I want to, too.” you muse, shifting at his heated gaze. Dangerously pressing your thumb over those nipple piercings you’ve gotten to know so well lately - as if to support your point. God you wish he’d take off that snug shirt.

Intensity setting 3.

“That so?”

And no matter how many times Choso’s ruined you on camera - and watched the videos over and over afterwards - he always thought they weren’t enough to capture your perfection. 

“Such a slut f’me, baby.” To capture the exact moment in which your wet lips fall into a soft little oh! when he massages your walls in time with the pulsing vibrator. To capture that absolutely sinfully excited little glint in your eyes as he ruts his clothed erection against your pussy. “Y’always this dirty?” Quickly turning into a look of slight panic at the sudden jingle of keys from the front door. 

“Yo, brat. Where the fuck are ya?”

Ah, there he was, the reason that Choso usually locked his bedroom door whenever you were over, even if he was home alone. 

Intensity setting 4.

As the silence continues, so does Choso’s abuse on your cunt. In fact, he only gets more erratic - like he wanted you to cum. Needed you to cum right now, right here in front of Sukuna, footsteps only growing louder. Nearer.

“Cho-” you fight to get out the words. “He’s hah-.”

Bzzzt-bzzzt-bzzzzt-

“Can’t speak? That’s cute.” he coos, voice way too relaxed for someone whose mind was reeling with the realization that he couldn’t remember if he locked the door this time, and how adorable you sounded. Enough so that it made some raw, primal part of him wanna pull down his pants and fuck you right here right now. Cockblocks and his own virginity be damned. “C’mon now, use your words like a good girl. Tell the camera.”

Cocky bastard.

Bzzzt-bzzzt-bzzzzt-

“Close!” you yelp, unsure of whether you were talking about yourself or the looming Sukuna. Jaw slack, tears springing into your ears as you look up at Choso. “So close.”

God, you were addictive. And this video was definitely going in both your favorites.

“Mhm,” he hums, movements getting hastier. More desperate. “I know, ma’am.”

Intensity setting 5.

That’s all that it takes for you to cum, letting out a loud strangled moan of Choso’s name. Or, you would’ve - if it hadn’t been for the way he’s shoving two, thick fingers into your mouth.

Silencing you - and in your hazy brain you think that if this was his way of shutting you up, then you really didn’t mind. Because all you could taste was you and the cold, cold metal of his rings. Somewhat intoxicating.

“Shhhhhh.” he’s breathing out, still mindlessly grinding his hips into yours. Though, you realize with a pang that today won’t be the day you get to feel that achingly hard erection straining his pants. “These pretty moans aren’t for him, hm?”

Pressing on the back of your tongue, smirking at the way you nod tearily up at him, moans still muffled. Hell, do you even know how sexy you’re being right now.

“Mhm, all f’me. All for fuckin’ me.”

Knock! Knock! Knock! 

“Why the fuck are you locked up in here on a Saturday night?” Sukuna sounds impatient, but not surprised. Probably imagining all sorts of dorky things his nephew was doing to hole himself up in his room. “Come out n’ get this takeout- what’s left of it anyways.”

And with that, it’s like the magic is over.

Your high only just bating before Choso’s hurriedly ending the recording on a hazy still of your disappointed pout, cursing Sukuna for his impeccable timing. 

Slightly concerned about the door being broken down and someone else seeing you in all your fucked-out glory, he hastily moves to grab the spare cloth by his bedside. Cleaning you up with hushed promises of “sending the recording later”, and “s’alright, he’ll be gone soon.”

Close. You were so close.

A win-win situation - but you’ve never felt like more of a loser.

---

“By God, I never thought he’d get the balls to do it.”

You yelp in surprise at the deep voice from behind you, whirling with a defiant brandish of Choso’s (your?) keys. He’d given them to you a few lessons ago, saying it would make it easier for you to come and go from his apartment as you pleased. Which - to you - felt dangerously like something a boyfriend would say-

But that wasn’t important right now.

What was important was the older man suddenly towering over you right outside Choso’s front door. Big arms crossed over his chest, that leering smirk clashing with his pink hair. “I knew it was odd that brat had a pair of heels by the door.”

Shit. Sukuna.

Ryomen awfully-wingman-his-nephew Sukuna.

“Spill.” At your confused head tilt, he plows on. “Spill the tea. I need new blackmail on my lil’ nephew. How badly did he have to beg you to go out with him?”

You don’t know what was more bizarre - what he was saying or the way he actually pulls out his Notes app as if hanging on to your every word. 

“I-It’s because of you.” you manage to choke out, unsure of what Choso has told his family about you.  Eyes flitting between him and the door right behind you, sounding your very best not to sound just as guilty as you felt. “You’re the reason we have this weird…thing.”

A beat of silence passes. One. Two. 

And just as you’re beginning to wonder whether you’ve broken Choso’s infamous uncle, he throws his head back and laughs. Laughs, right in your face, sounding like he’d just heard the funniest punchline in the world. 

“Oh that’s hilarious.” he exclaims, wiping a mock tear. Cackles dying down as if he was suddenly aware that maybe Choso would hear and walk in on this impromptu interrogation. “Damn, that awful pick-up line is why you started fuckin’? I thought it’d get that sap blocked so he’d stop stalking your account so much.”

“No, we…” you hesitate, mind reeling with what Sukuna just admitted, and how bad it would really be that you’re divulging your sex life to a relative of the guy you’re fucking. Before thinking fuck it, might as well confide in someone. “...we’re just doing stuff for-” putting up air quotes. “-content.”

“Just content?”

“Just content.”

“And you like that fool?”

Your face burns at how glaringly obvious it apparently was, “...Yes.”

This seemingly sets Sukuna off on another wave of uncontrollable laughter. “Ohh, thanks for the blackmail on that emotionally-constipated brat.” Typing away on what you assume to be his Notes, he promptly turns to walk away, “See ya around, doll.”

“Wait!” you call after in confusion, making him stop and raise a brow. “Aren’t you supposed to like- I don’t know, give me advice for your nephew or something - like a good uncle?”

Scoffing, “Who said I was a good uncle?” He leans in ever-so-slightly, “Jus’ rock his world on camera or somethin’ n’ ask him out right in the middle.” Satisfied with being enough of a decent samaritan for today, he walks back with a half-wave, “He’d listen to whatever you say anyway.”

Oh. Is that so?

And Sukuna probably meant it as some joke. Something to tease the both of you with - but it’s something that sets the gears going off inside your head. Something that had you ignoring Sukuna’s slightly panicked, “Jus’ not too soon, I needa bully him with this first.”

---

You didn’t listen to Sukuna’s little plea, of course. Because only a few days later you’d steeled yourself to finally send that one text you knew would change your relationship with Choso. For the good, hopefully. 

You: 9pm my place. Get ready, cuz this time we’re gonna be live ;)

Cho <3: :0 

And with that, you’d thrown your phone on the bed, jittery about later tonight. Browsing through your wardrobe for that one set of barely-there lingerie in his favorite shade of pink. Hey, you could never be too prepared, right?

Nothing could’ve prepared Choso for this moment - absolutely nothing at all. 

He might’ve just died and gone to heaven the very moment he read that dangerous text - finally inviting him to join one of your streams. The ones that he’d always watch in the safety of his bedroom, lights dimmed, pants bunched around his ankles. 

Cock just achingly hard in his fist while he wished he was with you behind the camera. Getting you off so much better than any sextoy would. Just forcing those pretty moans from your lips - and everyone else could see that. Wish it was them ruining you instead. 

Alas, it was only a dirty little fantasy. 

Until now, that is.

slvt4u: Holy shit boyfriend reveal, about time.

uniwhore: THIS is the hottie from Twitter????? 

itsgenslut: idfc just fuck

“Nervous?” you smirk, looking down at the man sprawled so prettily on your bed. “You look just as close to an aneurysm as you were the first time. Though-” snaking your hand down, “-this is still the same as ever.”

You chuckle at the way Choso catches your lips with his, more to shut up those pathetic little moans threatening to escape him than anything. Because every glance at you in that sinful little pink bra gave Choso a mini heart attack. 

“B-baby-” he gasps, grinding his clothed erection against your palms. “I wan- hah-”

“Mhm?”

And God how you’ve ruined Choso - run him so utterly dry of his sanity.

Because he’s angling your head down, piercing cold against your tongue. “Spit.”

It was like that first time had gotten him addicted. So you do - right into his waiting mouth. Jaw dropping at the way he tips his head back, back, back to let it slide so obscenely down his throat. Moaning at just a taste of you, “God, I need to f-fucking ruin you.”

And if there’s anything you’ve learned after all these months with Choso, it’s that anything he says - he does.

The words have barely left his mouth before he’s pulling your bra off, ripping your panties easily off your hips. Each and every little regret about what a shame it was thrown out the window at the first sight of your pretty pussy. 

It never gets old - and Choso could never get enough of the sinful sight - your cunt so sloppy and ready for him already. 

“Cho-” you whine as ringed fingertips coming up to circle your sloppy entrance. Cold. Stretching you to insanity. “S-stop teasing.”

“Yes, ma’am. But first-” shifting you around ever-so-slightly on top of him. “Gotta show off how wet y’are f’me.”

uniwhore: did he just call her “ma’am”?? Me when??

roses101: idk who i wanna be they’re both so fucking hot ugh

“Fuck, y’look so sexy from this angle. Wonder if the camera thinks so too?”

Your face slightly burns at how he was seemingly taking over your own stream. Smug bastard, you think, glancing down at Choso, red-faced, hair untied, wearing a sly grin as his eyes slide over the flurry of comments. But two can play that game. 

“Cho~” fumbling with the hem of his underwear, “You’ve been holding out on me.”

A gasp leaves you involuntarily as you tug down Choso’s boxers just enough for his throbbing cock to spring free, hitting his sculpted abdomen. Blushed your favorite shade of pink - to match your bra - so so angry and soaked in precum. 

He was so intimidatingly long - longer than any of those toys you usually brought on camera. Thick enough that it had you wondering, shit, would you even be able to take it?

“S’this a-alright?” and for all his previous confidence, Choso sounded self-conscious. Peeking at you through his long lashes.

You grin, pumping a hand up and down his swollen cock, letting his precum drip down your wrist. “S’perfect.”

“God- fuck, baby. Oh-” Choso lets out breathless little profanities as you straddle his waist, dragging his weeping tip down your swollen folds. So fucking filthy as you sink down in by fucking in. Slowly. “Too- much-”

Apparently too slow because no sooner have you just taken in his fat tip, squeezing and clenching around him, that Choso’s flipping the both of you over. 

“M’sorry.” he breathes into your mouth as your back hits the mattress. “M’sorry m’sorry, fuck- just can’t-” fingers immediately drawing frenzied little circles on your pulsing clit to take your mind off the dizzying stretch as he bullies his massive cock into your snug cunt. “Can’t wait can’t wait- waited too fucking long. Want this so badly-”

You felt too good. Too perfect around him. 

“Ah! Hngh- Cho, oh my god. Too- ngh-” you moan, as he starts grinding in shallow, mindless little movements just to fit himself inside. Pushing and pushing, you wondered if he even realized what he was doing.

Sounding like his sanity was dwindling away with each little thrust, “S’too big? You can take it. Fuck fuck fuck please. Need this.” Pressing all the way into your lungs. “How do you wan’ it- how do you wan’ me?”

Honestly, Choso didn’t even need to ask, because he just bottoms out - heavy balls smacking against your ass, cock swollen and throbbing inside you - that you think that you just wanted him to ruin you. 

“R-ruin?” his voice breaks as he repeats - more to himself than you. Oh, shit had you said that out loud? You’re speechless as Choso throws your legs over his shoulder, dragging his swollen lips lazily across your ankle. “Yes ma’am.”

Oh. You might as well have just signed off your will. 

Because then he’s fucking into your sloppy cunt. Unforgiving. A man starved because he was. Jagged, quick thrusts, splitting you apart deeper and deeper on his rock-hard cock. 

“Fuck- fuck fuck fuck-” he pants into your open mouth, finding it so fucking difficult to find any rhythm when your tight cunt was milking him so good. “You feel so good. So messy. Ya love it like this, huh? Being hngh- watched?”

“Hngh-” you buck wildly into his body, reaching up to play coyly with his nipple piercings. Tugging and pulling lightly. “Feels too good- are- ah- are ya sure this is your first time?”

Honestly, it was a wonder Choso didn’t cum right then and there. 

Tojisslvt: need someone to fuck me like this the first time

22sabi: Typing with one hand is so hard.

DaStrongest: i could fuck her so much better than than inexperienced loser

Choso throws his head back in a cruel little laugh at that last comment, something that makes you tingle all the way from your burning cheeks to your stuffed cunt. Clamping down deliciously on Choso’s unforgiving cock in a way that makes his hips and fingers stutter. 

“Ya think you could fuck her better?” it takes you a second to realize he was talking to the camera and not you. Thrusts getting sloppier, getting familiar. “I’m the one that got her so messy like this.” Purposeful. Calculated. Like he was aiming for that one-

“Fuck!” you scream as he hits that magic spot. Once. And then over and over like a man possessed. Just so utterly ruining you the way you knew he could. “Cho oh my god- I can’t hah- ngh-”

The cold metal of Choso’s rings dig into your cheek softly as he turns you head to face him. God, this was the stuff of his wildest dreams.

You - teary eyed and looking up at him like such a slut. Pussy getting wetter - tighter - as he teases you in front of the camera. Torn between running away from his relentless cock and bucking up for more more more-

 “Fuck no no no- Keep your legs open, baby. Don’t hah- run away from me.” his fingers dig into your hips, pulling you impossibly closer. “Don’t- need this. Need this so ba- shit.” 

And he sounded so genuinely worried he’d lose the feeling of your heady cunt. Fingers bruising on your hips as he pulls you closer. Like he was trying to fuck out any and every shred of shyness out of your body. 

slvt4u: Always the quiet ones.

DaStrongest: heh, fuck off. i’d make her cum so much harder.

Now, Choso was fucking you like he had a point to prove, and it was probably the only reason he hadn’t passed out from how good your pussy felt wrapped around him. 

Both of you were barely-lucid at this point - and he was out of control now.

Pussy drunk thoughts unfiltered, “No one’s ever d-done this- got me hah- feeling like this.” And you had the distinct feeling he just beat you to your original goal, letting out sweet little babbles into your open mouth - though his hips were anything but. 

So hard that you were sure the creases of your sheets would leave marks for tomorrow - along with his balls on your ass, your ankles on his shoulders, lips searing against yours. It was like he wanted to prove something - to prove he was good enough to- the viewers? To you? 

Knowing your body well enough to hit that one spot over and over until you were sobbing. Fingers erratic on your clit. 

“Cho-” you squeal, tears springing to your eyes as he only gets sloppier. “I-I’m gonna-”

“Cum?” he breathes, as if he couldn’t believe it. And fuck if you weren’t the gates of heaven spread wide open for him then he didn’t know what was. “Fucking cum. Please please- hah- f’me. Cum on m’cock n’ make them jealous. F’me- Like you’re mine.”

You barely even realize when you are. Jaw slack, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you see stars behind your eyes, blood roaring in your ears. God, he was gonna have to go home and rewatch this stream all over again. 

“Ngh- m’cumming m’cumming oh-”

Not even realizing the way you’re dragging your nails down Choso’s sculpted back. Marking up his milky skin - and he lets you. 

Loved it in fact- the way he loved you. 

Your eyes go wide, and Choso knows he’s fucked up. Realizing with a jolt that words were tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop them. But it’s the way you squeeze him tighter- giving him such a gorgeous little fucked-out smile that sends him over the edge.

Sharp canines digging into the crook of your neck like he wanted to break skin, holding himself back from breaking you while he cums and cums so hard it hurt. Over and over-

“Love you- love you love you love you-” he’s muttering into the skin, unbarred. “Since I first saw hah- you. Wanted this more than fuck fuck- air that I breathe.”

His seed was oozing out of you now, painting your ravaged pussy white, dribbling down your legs.  So fucking full and debauched. Thick, hot globs that were sure to stain those overpriced new sheets. But did Choso care for the mess? Not at all. 

Because you were holding him so impossibly tight, pushing away the strands of hair sticking to his forehead. Whispering little praises as he fucks you through his first time. Close. Warm. Everything he ever dreamed of.

“S’everything I ever dreamed of, too, Cho.”

And he knows he’s won. 

urfavslvt: Proudest nut. Want more.

uniwhore: does this mean couples content??? Pls say yes plsplspls

DaStrongest: invite me next time <3

“Thought you were embarrassed.” he licks soothingly over the bite. Voice shot, piercing smooth against his tongue. Embarrassing little confessions leaving him with each spark of electricity running through his veins. “Thought you didn’t stream w’me cuz of that- but shit. Dreamed of this f’so long. So long-”

Oh?

“Hey, Cho.” your voice rings through his hazy mind. Just enough for Choso to raise his head and meet your intoxicating, sultry gaze. Giving a sly, sidelong glance at the still-blinking camera. 

“Mhm?”

“Wanna film a week’s worth of ‘movies’ in advance?”

---

Sukuna (do not answer): Oi shitty nephew, where r u Jin made me come over with (half) leftovers.

You: Sorry, not home. At the movies rn.

Sukuna (do not answer): When tf do u go to movies?? 

You: Since now, on a date. You probably can’t relate.

Sukuna (do not answer): Stfu n’ stop lying, a date with who? Ur body pillow?? Not like u had the balls to ask out that pretty lil’ camgirl anyway.

Haha

Right? 

You: *girlfriend

Sukuna (do not answer): Huh?

You: Girlfriend.

Sukuna (do not answer): THE FUCKIN’ PICK-UP LINE WORKED??

A/N. This came out a LOT longer than expected. 

Plagiarism not authorized.

[joonie-beanie]

Doctor's Orders | [Wriothesley x Reader]

Summary: “Simply put, the Duke needs to have sexual intercourse to relieve his tension. After watching the two of you and seeing you interact on both physical and intellectual levels, I determined that you would be ideal partners for each other. So, I invited the both of you to partake in an aphrodisiac made from the herbs you gathered for me.” In which a simple tea time turns heated, and you get caught up in the consequence of Wriothesley not listening to his doctor. Content: Smut, Consensual Sex, Oral Sex, Aphrodisiacs, fem!reader Word Count: 7.9k

Sigewinne is evil.

You would have never suspected that such a tiny, cute body could contain so much malevolence. (Although, Sigewinne would personally argue that you’re confused, and that the word you’re looking for is actually benevolence. But, you digress.)

It all starts a few weeks into your employment at the Fortress of Meropide.

You’d spotted a job listing for a “personal assistant” in passing one day, and had immediately become interested thanks to the very generous salary listed on the paper. Seeing the job was located in Fontaine’s unofficial prison had, of course, caused you to have some second thoughts about applying, but at the end of the day, money is money.

Which is how you’d found yourself down on the ocean floor, waiting with a few other candidates outside the Duke’s office.

You’d be lying if you said that you weren’t nervous—waiting there to meet the head honcho of the prison. That when he stepped out to call you inside for your interview—all tall and beefy and scarred—your heart didn’t nervously flutter inside your chest.

…but to your surprise, he’s actually much softer than he appears.

“So,” he says, sitting down across from you at his desk. He folds his arms and smiles at you. “Why should I hire you? ”

Having been through this process before, you had immediately rattled off your qualifications and experiences. A few of which Wriothesley had proceeded to comment on and inquire about further. But it wasn’t until he asked—

“What benefit will I receive from picking you specifically?”

And you’d responded with—

“Errand girl.”

“What?”

“I can run errands for you. I’m sure the guards can be slow, going back and forth. But if you’re my direct employer, I can do whatever you want. Drop documents off, check in on things…pick up more tea.”

—that Wriothesley finally makes up his mind.

“Hmm. Very convincing.”

The next day, you receive a letter with the terms of your employment, and your official start date.

So, since then, you’ve been working for Wriothesley. Which is actually kind of…nice.

Your job mostly consists of going back and forth between the prison and the surface, so that Wriothesley can stay in the Fortress and better monitor his domain. The autonomy the job grants you is very rewarding, and in the same breath, Wriothesley also feels rewarded by how you take care of things without him needing to ask more than once.

Safe to say, the two of you get along.

…which Sigewinne notices.

You, of course, meet Sigewinne on your first day. Wriothesley makes a point of introducing you and showing you where the nurse’s office is located, in case you get hurt, or need to drop something off.

The human-like melusine enthusiastically welcomes you, and, at first, you see her as…someone sweet, and caring. A treasure of the prison.

However, over time, your opinion of her slowly starts to change.

Because she keeps looking at you. Specifically, whenever you’re standing next to Wriothesley.

“Why is she doing that?” you ask him one day, nudging him gently with your elbow. He immediately looks up from his meal, over to where Sigewinne is waiting in the lunch line, her pink eyes boring into you.

“She’s probably just double checking that you’re healthy,” Wriothesley responds, paying her no mind. “I often catch her staring at me, too. You must be growing on her.”

Despite his reassuring words, you can’t help but feel a little…put off…by the look in her eyes. Like she’s plotting something.

The second weird thing you notice is when you walk into the infirmary to drop off some herbs she’d asked for, and find her drawing. At first, you assume she’s doodling, since she seems kid-like a lot of the time.

But instead, when you lean over her shoulder and look, you see that she’s writing words. A big, black “DO NOT DISTURB”...with pink hearts and a few flowers drawn around it.

“What’s that for?” you ask her, forcing a smile.

“Oh! It’s just for a project I’m working on,” she responds, swiveling in her chair to face you. She happily kicks her feet, her eyes darting to the herbs you’re carrying with you.

“Ah, are those what I asked for? Thank you!”

You hand her the small bundle of dried flowers and grasses, watching as she immediately turns and places them on her desk next to some string, and cheesecloth.

“You’re welcome,” you respond, taking a small step backwards. “If that’s all, I’ll keep working on the rest of the tasks on my list—”

“Wait,” she says, grabbing your wrist. You instantly freeze, your eyes going wide as you turn back to face her. There’s a serious look on her face.

“How do you feel about Wriothesley?”

Her question makes your heart skip—heat rising on your skin.

“What?”

She doesn’t bother elaborating or giving you context, just waits for you to respond. You cough a little, feeling awkward, and wondering what kind of answer she’s looking for.

“Well…I mean. I think he’s a good boss. He’s friendly, and devoted to his job. He runs the prison well.”

Sigewinne nods, but doesn’t comment. Just keeps…staring.

Feeling pressured, you force yourself to think of more to say.

“Um…he’s deserving of his title and the respect he garners. I…enjoy speaking with him? Like when he invites me to partake in tea breaks. I dunno…he just kinda reminds me of a big, fluffy puppy. He looks scary but he’s actually pretty…cute, y’know?”

Finally, Sigewinne smiles. She takes your hand in her tiny ones, giving it a squeeze.

“Thank you for answering my question. You can go now.”

You blink at her dumbly, but nonetheless excuse yourself from the room.

Two days later, Wriothesley invites you to his office for tea. And to your surprise, when you walk in, you find Sigewinne waiting there as well.

“Thank you for coming!” she says as you enter the room. You flash her a smile, taking a seat in one of the open chairs around the table.

“Of course!”

“Sigewinne has a tea she wants us both to try,” Wriothesley explains, a fond look in his eyes as he watches the resident nurse flit around—pouring hot water into the teacups that have been set out.

You nod.

“I see.”

“Although, I don’t know why you won’t just steep the tea in the pot,” Wriothesley complains to her, just as Sigewinne places individual tea bags in each cup. “Are we not all being served the same tea?”

She cutely huffs.

“For your information, no we are not. Your and Y/N’s tea is unique.”

“Oh?” Wriothesley leans forward to look into the teacups as the colors from the herbs begin to bleed into the water. “What’s so unique about it?”

“You’ll see,” she responds with a playful look, one that causes Wriothesley to amusedly raise his eyebrows. However, he doesn’t say anything more—simply waiting for the tea to appropriately steep.

“...are you using the herbs I brought you?”

You can’t help but notice the smell wafting from the cup in front of you is a little familiar. Sigewinne nods.

“Wow! I’m surprised you noticed.”

“Ah, so this must be the reason you wanted me to lend you Y/N for a task the other day,” Wriothesley chimes in, his icy blue eyes once again shifting to Sigewinne. 

“Do I get to know what herbs you requested Y/N to bring you, exactly?”

The resident nurse shakes her head, quietly laughing when Wriothesley sighs and deflates back into his chair. 

“It’s meant to be a surprise! I want to see what you think about the taste without knowing the ingredients.”

“I suppose that’s fair.”

Folding your hands on your lap, the office descends into silence for a brief moment, the three of you intently watching the teacups in front of you. Then, Sigewinne finally claps her hands and declares—

“Okay, they’ve steeped long enough. Go ahead!”

“Finally,” Wriothesley happily mumbles, reaching forward to pick up the pristine little plate on which his cup of tea resides. He brings the cup to his nose, inhaling deeply, and then takes a tentative sip.

“Hmm…”

He frowns, his brows pinching as he tries to discern the flavors he’s tasting. 

Curiosity getting the better of you, you take a sip from your own cup—wincing as the hot liquid accidentally burns your tongue.

“So?” Sigewinne prompts, staring excitedly between the two of you.

“It’s…pleasant,” you respond, clearly not as big of a tea connoisseur as the Duke. “It has a hint of sweetness.”

“It tastes like a Rainbow Rose smells,” Wriothesley adds, taking another sip. His gaze slides to you. “Did you pick some for her?”

You shake your head.

“No, I didn’t. Or…at least I didn’t pick any fresh ones. I did go to a vendor and purchase something in a bottle that looked like crushed, pink dust.”

Sigewinne cutely laughs. 

“As expected of you, Your Grace. Yes, one of the ingredients is dried Rainbow Rose petals. Do you like it?”

Wriothesley makes a pleased sound.

“I do. The taste is light, but pleasant—like Y/N said.”

“Good! I want both of you to drink up.” 

Sigewinne finally picks up her own tea, and you can’t help but notice the difference in color when compared to yours and Wriothesley’s. She really is drinking something different…but why?

“Aye aye, captain,” Wriothesley responds, which makes Sigewinne laugh. You smile at the cute interaction between them, and have some more of your tea as well.

Together, the three of you engage in friendly conversation—catching up about recent topics while indulging in tea and a few different snacks that Wriothesley had pulled out for the occasion. As you drink, you can’t help but notice you feel…warm. A heat that spreads out from your stomach, and slowly creeps into your limbs.

You’ve never felt this way before but…maybe the tea is just extra hot today? 

You glance up to Wriothesley and notice that he’s a little flushed as well. Which is…reassuring? You think. Since you’re obviously not the only one affected.

“Oh! Y/N!” 

Sigewinne’s sudden call of your name draws you from your thoughts, and you look over at her. She smiles.

“I forgot to ask, but are you dating anyone?”

“Sigewinne,” Wriothesley gently scolds. He leans forward and sets his teacup on the table, the cup now empty.

His tone practically says “It’s not appropriate to ask questions like that” without actually saying it. Sigewinne pouts.

“Aww, c’mon. We’re all friends here! I wouldn’t ask otherwise.”

Hearing that the melusine considers you to be a friend, you decide to grace her with an answer—ignoring the tingling of the taste buds on your tongue.

“No, I am not seeing anyone,” you inform her with a polite smile. Sigewinne nods happily at your answer, which makes your smile waver.

Is she happy you’re single?? Ouch.

“Okay, good,” she says. “I’d feel a little bad, otherwise.”

You blink in confusion at her words, watching her as she pops off her chair and heads towards the door. Wriothesley raises an eyebrow at her.

There’s sweat beading on his brow.

“Where are you going?”

“Away,” she responds. “To give you two some privacy.”

You and Wriothesley glance at each other, mirroring each other’s confusion.

Your tummy starts to ache.

“Why are you leaving us alone, exactly?”

Stopping just in front of the office doors, Sigewinne turns on her heel to face the two of you. There’s a smug grin on her face. 

“This is what happens when you don’t follow doctor’s orders.”

You frown, raising a hand to your chest, wondering why your heart is suddenly racing. 

What’s this about doctor’s orders?

You glance over at Wriothesley…only to see that he’s frozen in shock—his eyes wide with realization.

His pants feel too tight.

“Sigewinne, you did not—”

There’s an edge to his voice when he speaks, his eyes narrowing. He plants his feet on the floor and prepares to stand and confront her, but before he can blink, Sigewinne has drawn her pistol—a tranquilizing bullet hitting him square in the chest, where a little patch of skin is showing. 

He makes a noise of surprise, and quickly flops back into his chair to avoid falling on the floor—his limbs immediately going numb.

“Sigewinne!” you gasp. You’re not sure what’s going on, but the fact that she’d just shot Wriothesley is…

“It’s okay,” she says with a little sigh. “The effect will wear off in a few minutes. And…I’m sorry I scared you. Let me explain…”

She holsters her gun and smiles at you, trying to calm you down.

“As the nurse of the Fortress of Meropide, it is my duty to look after all residents, including Your Grace. And over the last few months, I’ve noticed him becoming more… irritable.”

“Sigewinne…,” Wriothesley mumbles, but the girl waves him off.

“After observing him for a while, I realized that his stress levels were getting high. And as his doctor, I recommended him a way to manage his stress, but he refused. He insisted tea was enough to soothe his nerves, but that’s simply not true. So…when you started working here, and I saw how well the two of you were getting along, I…got an idea.”

Sigewinne glances over at Wriothesley, noticing how he’s begun to shift his boots against the floor. 

Her tranquilizers won’t be in effect much longer. They never work as well on people Wriothesley’s size…

So, she decides to cut to the chase.

Reaching into her pocket, Sigewinne pulls out the DO NOT DISTURB sign you’d seen her making the other day. She holds it in front of her, and beams at you.

“Simply put, the Duke needs to have sexual intercourse to relieve his tension. After watching the two of you and seeing you interact on both physical and intellectual levels, I determined that you would be ideal partners for each other. So, I invited the both of you to partake in an aphrodisiac made from the herbs you gathered for me.”

“You…you drugged us?” you gape, completely thrown by everything she’s just told you. She immediately gets defensive, her cheeks puffing.

“I medicated you,” she corrects. “And in the end, I’m only acting as a doctor. This all could have been avoided if Your Grace had just taken care of his own needs, as I’d insisted. Since he didn’t, I could only logically assume it's because it’s his preference to have a partner, rather than going at it solo. So, if you want to blame anyone for this, please blame him.”

“Sigewinne—” 

Gripping the arms of his chair, Wriothesley breathes out a heavy sigh and begins to push himself up. You can’t help but notice his face is much redder now, and you’re not sure if it’s from embarrassment, the effects of the drugs, or both.

Seeing that Wriothesley has nearly regained his strength, Sigewinne hurries to exit his office.

“Anyway! The effects of the tea should wear off in a few hours, but only if you relieve yourselves. Otherwise, it will last much longer. So I suggest you let loose and indulge yourselves. You like each other! Enjoy this time!”

Wriothesley opens his mouth to say something, but his words catch in his throat the second Sigewinne opens his office door. He doesn’t want anyone outside of his office walls to hear him or know what’s going on.

“I’ll hang this sign on the door,” Sigewinne continues, her voice hushing. “So no one comes in while you two are…busy. Just remove it once you’re done, okay? Have fun!”

With a supportive little fist pump, Sigewinne then closes the door, leaving you and Wriothesley alone.

A few long beats of silence pass, then Wriothesley finally sighs.

"I…apologize for this. I never meant for you to get roped in."

You turn to look at him, only to find that he's standing with his back to you, his hand raising to rub at the back of his head.

You can see his muscles flexing as he does so, and you hate to admit that it causes the heat inside you to grow.

"It's…not your fault," you respond, laughing a little awkwardly. "I doubt it's easy to follow directions when your doctor tells you to jack off to rectify your hardass-ness."

Wriothesley glances at you over his shoulder.

"Have I been acting like a hardass?"

"You've been a little snippy at times," you tell him, smoothing your sweaty palms down your legs. Seriously, your clothes are starting to make you feel claustrophobic…

"Not to me, specifically. But I've noticed it towards some of the prison residents."

"Shit," he sighs, rubbing his temples. You continue to watch him, your eyes wandering the expanse of his back. For a second, you don't understand why he won't face you. Then it clicks.

"...are you…hard? Is that why you're not turning around?"

"It's…pretty bad," Wriothesley admits, his shoulder sagging in defeat. "I don't know what all was in that tea but…as an aphrodisiac, it's doing its job."

"Yeah…," you agree, swallowing heavily. You can feel wet arousal pooling on the fabric of your panties. His office has also started to feel like a sauna, but you're not sure if it's the air that's hot, or your body.

However, you're still not willing to breach the topic of "relief" with him. You haven't reached that level of desperation…yet .

So, you think of something else to carry the conversation in the meantime.

"So…Sigewinne said you like me?"

"Ah, you caught that."

He laughs a little, and begins pacing around the room, still careful to keep his back to you. You can't help but notice his stride is a little…impeded.

"If I'm being frank—yes, I do. You've been…a pleasure to have around, since I hired you. Actually, one of the reasons I picked you in the first place was because of how you acted during your interview. Most people are scared of me and therefore talk cautiously. You're certainly respectful, of course, but…you're a bit playful, as well. And I found that quality to be attractive."

"Ah, so I charmed you," you respond playfully. "Remind me to add that point to my resume later. "Managed to woo the Lord of the Fortress of Meropide". That sounds pretty good—"

"And there you go again," Wriothesley laughs. He steps behind the chair he'd been sitting in previously, and then finally turns to face you—the back of the chair tall enough that his lower half is out of sight. 

"Although, if I recall her words correctly, Sigewinne stated that we "like each other". So, is there something you'd like to say as well?"

Your eyes go wide, and you feel more blood rush into your head. Wriothesley smiles, wide enough to show teeth. 

"C’mon now. It's not fair that I praise you and get nothing in return."

You pout.

"To be fair, I didn't know why Sigewinne suddenly asked me what I thought of you…"

"That’s understandable, but still. I'd like to know what you told her."

Wriothesley maintains his playful demeanor, despite the way his knuckles begin to turn white at his sides—a deep-seated need slowly sinking its claws into him.

You sigh.

"I just…told her that you're a good boss, and are deserving of your titles and the respect you garner…"

You trail off, suddenly remembering the last thing you'd told Sigewinne during that conversation. Wriothesley clearly notices there's something you're leaving out, one of his eyebrows raising.

"And?"

You take a deep breath.

"That you're a cute puppy."

He blinks in shock.

"...excuse me?"

Oh god, you wanna phase through the floor.

"I said that even though you look scary, you're really just like a big…cute…puppy."

For a moment, Wriothesley can only stare at you. Then, he throws his head back and laughs. 

Embarrassed, you plant your palms on your thighs and push to your feet, instinctively wanting to run away…only to realize that your legs have gone weak. 

With a distraught noise, you flop back into your chair. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Wriothesley notices.

He coughs, pulling himself back together.

"Well, I've certainly never heard myself described in such a way before. I can't say I totally hate it, but I'm not sure if I agree with the term "puppy"."

You force an awkward laugh, finally losing steam as the arousal inside you begins to cloud your thoughts. Sigewinne obviously wasn't messing around when making her aphrodisiac…you've never felt so horny before that it has literally hindered your mental and physical faculties.

The office is silent for a few tense moments, but finally, Wriothesley heaves a heavy sigh. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, his shoulders slumping as he hangs his head.

"You may revoke your good opinion of me, considering how inappropriate it is for a boss to even consider such a thing, but…I think my dick is gonna explode soon, so I'll just come out and ask."

You swallow, anticipating his next words.

"Would you be…interested in having sex?"

Your body shivers in excitement at the idea, the lustful part of your brain screaming at you to jump him already.

"I…would," you admit, managing to keep it together. Wriothesley's entire body jolts impatiently at your words, but he’s able to keep himself grounded. 

"I don't think I'll be able to survive…this without some relief. And…I trust you. So…"

"So we're in agreement," Wrioslethely supplies, waiting for your confirmation. You nod your head. 

"We are."

In the next beat, he's is crossing the space between you, a "thank god" barely making it past his lips before he crashes them into yours.

Immediately, you’re groaning into him—your arms wrapping around his neck and his hands finding the backs of your thighs. He lifts you from your chair easily—your chests pressing together as he holds you close.

You’ve always been acutely aware of how large Wriothesley is, but you don’t think it fully sinks in until now—as he manhandles you with ease, quite literally carrying you with one arm as the other sneaks beneath your shirt and tugs it over your head.

You’re forced to break the kiss as he does so, but the second the fabric has been discarded, you’re tangling your fingers in his hair and dragging him in for another. 

Your action evokes a pleased little rumble inside his chest.

“You taste sweet,” he mumbles, his palm roaming over the exposed skin of your back. The warmth of his skin against yours makes you ache.

“It’s probably the aphrodisiac,” you reply breathlessly, a shiver raking your spine when you feel his fingers toy at the waistband of your pants.

“Hmm, shall we posit your theory?”

Before you can even think to ask what he means, the room is spinning—too many things happening at once. However, it’s nearly impossible to miss the feel of your pants being shucked down your legs.

When everything settles, you find that you’re no longer chest to chest with Wriothesley, but rather, face to dick.

“Wh—”

Your cheeks heat up as you finally digest the position he’s put you in—your ass in his face, and his crotch in yours—his body now firmly planted in a chair as he spreads his thighs and makes himself comfortable.

“Wriothesley!” you say in shock, your palms gripping his legs for support as you attempt to turn and face him. However, you quickly realize with the position he has chosen, you’re fairly helpless to do anything—completely at his mercy as he locks his arms around your legs and grips your ass in his hands.

“Hm?” he responds nonchalantly, one of his fingers slipping under the edge of your panties. You shift a little, trying to glare at him, but only succeed in having his clothed dick poke you in the cheek. He tenses at the sensation, and you feel his cock strain helplessly against the fabric of his pants—begging for more friction.

“I’m just testing your theory, like I said,” he continues, a surprised mewl tearing from your throat as he leans his head forward and nuzzles his nose in the damp fabric of your panties.

“If you think it’s the aphrodisiac making you sweet, let’s see if it’s also having that effect elsewhere—”

Before you can protest, Wriothesley is tugging the crotch of your underwear aside—his tongue licking a hot, languid strip between your folds. You gasp at the feeling, your nails digging into his thighs through the layer of clothes that he wears.

Above you, the Duke makes a pleased sound, repeating his previous action—noting the way your body writhes against his hold. His fingers grip your ass tighter, his brows furrowing as he presses his tongue inside your entrance—your arousal quickly coating his taste buds.

“Yep,” he mutters after a moment, his voice tight and his throat bobbing as he harshly swallows. “You taste…addicting.”

His words have your cunt squeezing around nothing, although he quickly dives back in and rectifies that problem—stretching your walls out around his tongue. 

“Fuck…,” you pant, your head dropping as your strength wanes. Your muscles progressively start to feel like jelly, thanks to his ministrations. Especially, when he moves his mouth to your clit and begins rolling his tongue around it—a whine escaping you as the desire inside of you sears white hot.

And yet, despite the way Wriothesley presses on—groaning into your pussy as he eats you out—you’d be remiss to forget about the fact that he’s currently affected by the aphrodisiac as well, and has his own needs that need to be taken care of.

So, gathering what strength you have, you manage to push yourself up onto your forearms—your hands moving to the waistband of his pants. You frantically work open the button and zipper of his slacks, and then hook your fingers under the elastic of his underwear, tugging the band down.

…only to have his freed cock immediately spring up and smack you in the face.

Your eyes go wide, and in normal circumstances, you’d expect Wriothesley to laugh at the comedy of what has just occurred. However, too immersed in the way your cunt tastes and feels, and the way your body continues to twitch in his hold, he doesn’t even notice. And, too amazed by the sheer size of Wriothesley’s dick as you finally lean your head back and get a good look at him, you don’t bother saying anything.

No, instead you simply part your lips and take the head of his cock into your mouth—sucking lightly, your tongue teasing at his slit. The groan that’s immediately torn from his throat is involuntary—the sound becoming muffled by your pussy as he momentarily stops to savor the feeling of your mouth on his dick—your tongue flattening on the underside of his shaft as you slowly take more of him into your mouth.

Then, he goes back to eating you out with renewed fervor—your eyes nearly rolling back into your skull when he sucks at your clit.

The room quickly fills with the sound of sloppy and messy oral, your head bobbing up and down Wriothesley’s cock. Saliva drips down his length, his pre-cum smearing against your tongue, and you can’t help but moan.

Everything feels so good—from Wriothesley’s tongue on your cunt, to the way his cock fills up your mouth…

“Fuck,” Wriothesley growls. His fingers move to pull at the folds of your pussy, spreading you open wider. You can feel his hot breath on your skin as he moves his mouth back to your clit, where he then stays—his tongue flicking rhythmically against the sensitive bundle of nerves.

The pace and motion he settles on is one that you know will very quickly damn you, and he figures this out as well based on the way your thighs begin to shake in his grasp. Your body attempts to jolt away from him—trying to escape the onslaught of pleasure he intends to give—but he leaves no wiggle room. He holds you tighter, enjoying the feeling of your mouth on his cock, and how your efforts slowly start to crumble along with your sanity.

“I…,” you mumble the word around dick, trying to warn him of the orgasm you can feel quickly approaching. Your entire body swims with arousal, your head feeling light. 

“Keep going, sweetheart,” he pants. “Let’s cum together.”

You feel his cock throb against your tongue, and, dutifully, you do your best to continue sucking him off—your lips once again suctioning around his shaft. Your actions immediately evoke a pleased groan from the Duke, and you feel his thighs tense in your grasp—his own orgasm quickly approaching.

However, despite your best efforts to continue, everything falls apart the second your climax finally crests.

With a cry, you come undone—your body writhing in his hold. You go brainless almost immediately, the strength in your arms wavering, and Wriothesley’s cock stuffing into your cheek—your hot breath fanning over his length.

Luckily, the vulgarity of the entire situation is enough to push Wriothesley over the finish line—his dick painting the inside of your mouth with his cum. And to his surprise, once he’s spent, you actually pull your head back, close your lips, and swallow.

Shit, he thinks. 

His dick is just starting to soften, and yet somehow, it’s also already getting hard again.

There’s a few beats of quiet that are filled only with the sound of you and Wriothesley panting. Then, once he’s caught his breath, he says—

“Let’s get you right side up.”

—and the world spins again.

Honestly, the fact that he can manhandle you this easily is criminal.

“You okay?” he asks, sitting you on one of his thighs. He brushes a few stray hairs from your face, staring at you with a hint of concern.

You nod your head, grateful that the carnal desire you’ve been afflicted with is clearly less, now that you and Wriothesley have both gotten off. But…even despite that, you still feel hot and tingly. Like you want more.

You glance down at his lap.

“Mmm. Seems like you’re in the same predicament as me.”

“Think you can handle another round?” he asks. You meet his eyes, playfully raising your eyebrows.

“I’m almost tempted to say no, and see what you do.”

Wriothesley rolls his eyes, his hands grabbing your waist, and in the next moment, you find yourself slung over his shoulder.

“Hey—!” you protest, attempting to look at him, but he only caresses your ass with his free hand.

“If you have that much spunk left in you, you can handle another round,” he says, carrying you down the nearby staircase, to the floor below his office. “But, I’ll be kind this time and make you more comfortable.”

His boots echo against the metal floor as he walks, and for a second, you wonder where exactly he’s taking you. But, soon after, Wriothesley pushes through a nearby door, and you find yourself in a moderately sized bedroom.

It must be his, you realize, feeling a little silly that you’d never pondered before now where the Master of the prison actually sleeps.

“Here we are.”

Wriothesley gently deposits you onto his bed, and then immediately reaches for his tie. You watch him with bated breath, your heart doing a tiny flip as you realize that he’s finally stripping out of his clothes. He opts to leave on the leather belts encircling his arms and neck, instead focusing the bulk of his time on shedding his suit, and undoing the many buckles on his boots. 

By the time he’s finished—his erect cock once again sitting heavy between his legs—you’re practically drooling at the sight of him.

His lips twitch into a little smile.

“I’m happy to know that you like what you see. However, in the time I spent undressing myself, you couldn’t be bothered to remove what little clothing you have left? C’mon now, are you waiting for me to wrestle you out of them?”

Still feeling cheeky, you flash him a grin.

“Hm, I’d like to see you try.”

Wriothesley immediately cocks an eyebrow, his eyes glinting at the challenge you’ve just issued, and your attitude wavers, realizing what it is you’ve done. You open your mouth to say you’re only teasing—your hands already raising behind your back to undo the clasp of your bra—but it’s too late.

In one swift motion, Wriothesley grabs your ankle and twists you onto your stomach—his weight settling above you as he kneels onto the bed. You shiver when his knuckles brush against your skin—his fingers swiftly undoing your bra.

“You’re just a little brat, aren’t you…” 

He speaks the words fondly, with a hint of amusement, and yet, they still go straight to your cunt. 

“Don’t say things like that,” you respond, instinctively raising your hips when Wriothesley hooks his fingers on your underwear and begins tugging them down your thighs. He stares intently at your backside as he does so, an idea popping into his mind.

“Why? Because you like it too much?”

He discards your panties on the floor along with the rest of the clothes you’d both shed, and then grabs your knees, forcing you to spread your legs, so he can properly settle between them. 

Another blush rises on your face at his words, your tongue feeling heavy in your mouth. At your lack of response, Wriothesely continues.

“In my understanding, brats tend to like it a little rougher, so…” 

His hands ghost up your thighs, to your hips, and he grips you tightly—forcing your lower half off the bed until you’re propped up on your knees—his cock sitting heavy against your ass.

“...what say we continue like this, hm?”

Bracing yourself on your forearms, you turn your head back to look at him—your body tensing as you watch him fist his cock and drag it downward, between the lips of your pussy. 

His icy eyes catch yours.

“Any objection?”

“...no,” you mumble, your fingers anticipatedly fisting in the sheets. 

Wriothesley nods—

“Good.”

—and then presses the head of his cock inside you.

Immediately, you drop your forehead against the mattress—willing your body to relax for him as he slowly inches inside of you.

His tongue had certainly been enjoyable, but this? Fuck. Nothing compares to the sensation of him slowly stuffing you inch by inch—the girth of his cock positively delicious as he forces your cunt to stretch to accommodate him.

It’s so much that by the time he’s fully seated inside of you, your body is shaking—your breath coming out in quick, desperately little pants.

Seeing your reaction, Wriothesely soothes a hand up your spine, his warm palm settling between your shoulder blades. He decides to start slow—to give you a little more time to adjust to him. 

And honestly, he’d love to take his time in general—to really savor the sight of you beneath him, your cunt swallowing his cock so perfectly, but alas. The effects of the aphrodisiac make him impatient with need, and it’s not long before he’s moving faster—little gasps and whines finding their way past your lips as he begins fucking you back onto his cock.

“Ahh…seriously you’re…so fucking tight,” he curses. His fingers dig into the plush of your hip—his jaw clenching, and his racing heart pumping lust through his veins.

Your cunt clamping on his dick seriously might be his personal slice of heaven.

“Wrio, I—,” you can’t even get the words out, your brain short-circuiting. You can’t think straight anymore—not with his cock rubbing you in all the right spots, making a mess of your insides, and quickly rocketing you towards another—

Wait, no, it’s only been a minute—!

“Fuck! ” 

You choke the word out, your spine curving and your knuckles turning white as your second orgasm of the night is unexpectedly forced out of you—your pussy spasming around Wriothesley’s dick.

The last of your strength officially drained, you collapse forward onto the mattress, your cheek smushing into the covers.

…however, Wriothesley doesn’t allow your lower half to fall along with the rest of you—his hold on your hips keeping your twitching pussy firmly planted on his still-hard dick.

“We’re not done yet, sweetheart,” he reminds you, his cock continuing to languidly drag between your walls, drawing out the tail end of your pleasure.

You can’t help but whimper at his words, already feeling a bit oversensitive thanks to two consecutive orgasms. Wriothesley does his best to soothe your frayed nerves.

Leaning over you, he gently tangles his fist in your hair—coaxing your head off the mattress so he can kiss you. 

The kiss is messy, but sweet—the angle of your bodies forcing his cock deeper inside of you, his hips completely flush against your ass.

“You’re doing so good,” he tells you, peppering a trail of kisses against your cheek, and across your jaw. His praise causes you to whimper, a shiver raking up your spine when his tongue drags across your skin—his teeth nipping at the nape of your neck.

His actions successfully get you to relax—your body becoming more pliable in his grasp as he once again begins to move. And soon enough, the wet sound of sex fills his bedroom once more.

Wanting to help him cum (and to feel his seed fill you), you do your best to help Wriothesley along—purposefully flexing the walls of your pussy as he fucks you. However, in doing so, you accidentally start yourself down the path of yet another orgasm…

Feeling the familiar, aching pleasure beginning to build inside of you once again, you quickly stop what you’re doing. You think that a third orgasm honestly might kill you, but…it’s too late.

Wriothesley has already noticed your growing arousal, and decides that he likes it better when the two of you cum together.

So, he sneaks one of his hands between the apex of your legs, and begins rubbing at your clit.

The garbled, desperate cry that leaves your mouth immediately becomes seared in his mind for a long time to come.

“No, Wrio, I…I can’t. I—”

Your words come out jumbled, tears beading on your lash line.

Momentarily removing his hand from your clit, he once again reaches forward and grips your hair—pulling your head back so he can kiss you. His lips swallow up your worries.

“You can,” he insists, his voice whispering in your ear, and his hot breath fanning over your skin. 

“I want you to cum with me, pretty girl. You can do it.”

You give no protest aside from a cute little whine, and that's good enough for Wriothesley.

Releasing your hair, his hand finds your clit once more.

He then proceeds to fuck you into the mattress—pursuing his orgasm with abandon. A groan leaves his mouth at the way your pussy starts clamping on his dick once again—tightening up with each pass of his fingers across your clit—your pussy slick and messy with your own arousal.

Unable to think straight, you can only hold on for dear life—clinging to his sheets like a lifeline. You can’t even process the sounds that are coming out of your own mouth—a damned, desperate symphony moans.

To Wriothesley, it all sounds like a siren's cry—beckoning him closer to the edge.

“Shit,” he pants, feeling his cock throb, and his balls tighten. The motion of his fingers on your clit quickens—your toes curling as the coil of pleasure in your tummy continues to wind—so close to snapping.

Sweat beading on his brow, Wriothesley leans forward, curling his body against yours. His teeth nip at the shell of your ear, his husky voice sending goosebumps across your skin.

“So good for me…,” he breathes, his hips smacking into your ass. His broad strokes deteriorate into needy rutting, and the sensation has you quite literally sobbing—his cock now incessantly grinding into your g-spot.

You can’t take it anymore.

Shoving your face into the mattress, you bite the sheets and scream—your entire body shaking as you cum for a third time, your cunt milking around Wriothesley’s cock.

He curses at the feeling, his face burying in your neck. Wrapping his arms around you, he hugs you to his body—fucking inside of you a few more times before finally joining you in ecstasy. 

His teeth sink into you as his orgasms peaks, a heady groan muffled against your skin as his balls empty—pumping you full of his cum.

It’s not until the intensity of his pleasure has died down that Wriothesley ultimately releases you from his hold—your lower half immediately flopping down onto the bed, and his softening cock slipping out of you.

The Duke takes a moment to simply look at you, and how fucked out you are. Your eyes bleary, skin flushed, and the imprint of his teeth engraved in your flesh.

He grunts at the sight, and settles in beside you—his arm curling around your waist as he tugs you back against him. His tongue immediately begins lapping at the bite mark he’d inflicted, attempting to soothe the sting.

After a few seconds, you begin shaking, and Wriothesley immediately pauses, scared that he’s hurt you in some way.

…only to realize that you’re laughing.

“...puppy…”

He props himself up, glancing at you.

“What?”

“You really are like a puppy,” you giggle, your finger lifting to brush a stray tear from your eye. “The way you bit me, and then immediately started licking at it in apology. So cute…”

You break into another tiny fit of laughter, and Wriothesley rolls his eyes, yet can’t help cracking a smile.

“Well, I’m glad to know I didn’t break you, at the very least.”

His hand rubs against your waist.

“...right?”

Finally getting ahold of yourself, you roll onto your back and smile at him, your hand reaching out to cup his cheek. He immediately leans into your touch, and it makes your heart flutter.

“I’m not broken, no. Just…sore. And gross. And sweaty.”

Wriothesley chuckles.

“Well, I think I can rectify some of those issues. I do have a bathroom, with a tub.”

“Wow,” you respond, watching him as he scoots to the edge of the mattress and gets to his feet. He waits a second for you to join him, but you don’t move.

“My…limbs feel like jello,” you admit, raising your arm and flopping it back down bonelessly for emphasis. Wriothesley rolls his eyes, but nonetheless leans over the bed and scoops you into his arms.

You rest your cheek against his chest, admiring for the first time how soft it really is.

“Whatever shall I do with you,” he playfully sighs, carrying you into the adjacent bathroom. He sets you on the vanity, moving over to the tub and turning on the tap for the hot water. You hum.

“Mmm, I can think of a few things you can do. The first of which is helping me into the bath once it’s ready.”

Wriothesley quietly chuckles. Returning to your side, he takes your hand, and brings it to his lips.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Once the tub has filled, the Duke keeps true to his word—once again carefully cradling you in his arms as he seats himself in the tub basin, before positioning you in the space between his legs.

The steaming water immediately soothes the ache of your body, and you sigh in relief—sinking back against Wriothesley’s body. He lightly wraps one arm around your waist, the other resting on the edge of the tub.

For a few long minutes, the two of you bask in silence, simply enjoying the refreshing feel of the bath. 

…then, you start to notice something beginning to grow—pressing at your back.

“...really? Is the aphrodisiac still getting to you that much?”

“No,” he admits after a beat, leaning forward to kiss your neck. “I think this one is actually all me.”

You roll your eyes, but nonetheless crane your head to the side—allowing him access to more of your skin as his mouth begins to wander.

“I thought I made it clear that my limbs are jello right now.”

“I can work with that,” he responds, and you feel him grin. His hand slowly trails down your stomach, and between your legs.

“I’ll do all the work. You just get to make pretty sounds and feel good.”

His fingers slide between the folds of your pussy, and you jolt as he passes over your overly-sensitive clit. But seriously…how are you going to say no to him?

“What am I going to do with you?” you sigh, echoing his earlier words. His chest rumbles with laughter, and he grabs your chin with his free hand—turning your head so he can kiss you.

“Mmm, I can think of a few things.”

The next morning, you find yourself in a back in your clothes, standing beside Wriothesley just inside his office door.

“I’ll go first,” you say, to which he nods. “I have some errands to run anyway. You can wait a minute and then come out after me.”

“Sounds good.”

The two of you stare at each other for a second, before you finally square your shoulders, and reach for the door handle. 

Before you can twist it, Wriothesley catches your wrist. When you look back at him, you find that there’s a blush on his cheeks.

“So, I’ll…see you later?”

His suddenly bashful demeanor causes you to smile. Pressing onto your toes, you cup his cheeks and softly kiss him. He immediately grabs your waist—deepening the kiss.

“You’ll see me later,” you promise. 

With that, the two of you finally separate, and you disappear through his office door.

Wriothesley takes a deep breath at your departure, combing a hand through his hair as he waits for the right moment to make his own exit.

To be safe, he decides to wait a good few minutes. But finally, he opens his door—preparing to venture into the main area of the fortress, and make his normal rounds.

…however, he only makes it a step before remembering the sign Sigewinne had made.

With a sigh, he immediately backtracks and tears the DO NOT DISTURB sign off of his door, crumpling it between his palms.

When he turns back around, he nearly jumps—Sigewinne standing right in front of him.

“So,” she says, a pleased grin on her face. “How’d it go?”

Narrowing his eyes, Wriothesley only stares ahead, and walks past her. She easily follows after him.

“The fact that you’re out and about this early in the day means something likely happened between you and Y/N.”

“No comment,” Wriothesley responds, which makes Sigewinne giggle. They pass by a few prisoners as Wriothesley makes a B-line for the elevator to the production zone. Once there, Sigewinne squeezes herself in along with him.

As the elevator begins to descend, only a few seconds pass in silence, before Sigewinne asks one last question.

“As your doctor, it’s my recommendation that you continue to regularly relieve your stress. So, are you going to be dutifully carrying out my orders from now on?”

Wriothesley makes a little face, glancing away from her.

“...maybe.”

Sigewinne smiles. 

That’s good enough for her.

[A Dragon's Constitution] ->

[steddiealltheway]

As soon as Steve hears the phone ring, he sighs.

Robin is away visiting her family in Kentucky for the holidays, and the only other person to ever call would be...

"Dustin," Steve says, his free hand coming up to rest on his hip, "why are you calling?"

There's a pause on the other line before Dustin whines, "How do you always know when it's me."

"Because your irritating energy bleeds through the phone."

Another pause. "You got that from Robin, didn't you?"

Yes. He did. Sue him for wanting to be witty and taking a few notes from Robin. "What do you want?"

"Okay, so..." Oh boy. "I've been meaning to talk to Suzie for a while now, and we made plans not to talk on Christmas because she would be with her family all day, and I knew my mom wouldn't want me to be away for too long so-"

"The point, Dustin."

Dustin mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like multiple curse words before continuing, "The point is that I'm taking Cerebro to that hill, but I'm going to need a ride."

Steve frowns, walking toward the nearest window until the phone cord is fully stretched so he can pull a curtain open. He winces a bit at the bright light. "Dustin, it's freezing out, and the hill will be covered in snow."

"You would've done the same for Nancy!"

Steve's eyebrows raise. "Not the best approach if you want a ride, dude."

"I'm not trying to approach the whole you and Nancy thing. I'm trying to make a point," Dustin emphasizes a little too loudly into the phone. "You would do anything if you were in love! Even sit out in the snow for a few hours just so you can talk to the person you love."

"Have you ever heard of the phone?"

"Have you heard the number of siblings she has that would jump at the opportunity to listen in on our call? Plus, Cerebro is our thing."

Steve really wishes Dustin were in front of him, so he could see the way his cheeks are flushing during this exact moment. "You just like using your Cebro thing because it makes it feel like your love is forbidden."

"I do not!"

"Alright, Romeo," Steve says with a laugh, "I'll give you a ride. If you promise to only be there for an hour."

"Not including the time it takes to get there, set it up, and leave."

Steve sighs and knocks the phone against his head for a second before reluctantly agreeing, "Yes, but you better be bundled up so much that you're sweating out there. I don't want to hear you complain." He also secretly worries about the kid getting frostbite or something, but he'd never admit to it.

"Fine I'll see you in an hour?"

"Yeah, I'll see you then," Steve says as Dustin hangs up. "A thank you would've been nice..."

He really hopes he doesn't regret this.

-:-:-:-:-:-

When Dustin climbs in the car, he's bundled from head to toe but still manages to laugh at Steve who is wearing the same amount of layers as him. "Look in the mirror," Steve comments dryly before driving off.

The drive there isn't too long, and although Steve saw Dustin a few days ago - after Claudia insisted he spend Christmas with them instead of home alone - he's kind of glad to hang out with Dustin again. It's not often he gets a lot of one-on-one time with the kid anymore.

Which is why Steve is particularly bitchy when he pulls up to the familar area below the hill and find a familar van there.

"Dustin..."

"I didn't think you would agree to take me here and stay! So, I asked Eddie to give me a ride back this morning-"

"This morning?"

"And he said he was already going to be in the area and wanted to briefly meet Suzie and my Cerebro, so he's here now! And if you want, you can just drop me off. Think of it as a late Christmas gift."

Steve shakes his head. "And leave you in Munson's capable hands only to find out you two froze to death? No thanks." He gets out of the car with thoughts of a mourning Claudia Henderson on his mind.

"We wouldn't freeze to death!" Dustin practically shouts as he climbs out.

At that same moment, Eddie exits from his van, wearing his usual attire, only with maybe an extra added layer - a leather jacket.

Steve turns to Dustin, raising his eyebrows and gesturing toward Munson. Dustin sighs before going to the trunk to dig out all the different Cerebro parts.

Before Steve can join him, Eddie approaches him with a big smile. "Steve Harrington. Looking awfully toasty."

Steve rolls his eyes in response before openning his car door and reaching toward the back, grabbing the spare pair of gloves and a hat that he keeps whenever Robin forgets the extra layers - which is often. He hands them to Eddie without a word then helps Dustin grab his things before heading to their snow covered destination.

Eddie only lasts a few minutes up the hill before he manages to push into Steve's space while Dustin hurries ahead of them. "So, you look happy to see me."

"Just peachy, Munson."

Eddie snorts. "I'm guessing Dustin didn't tell you I would be tagging along when you got here?"

"And I'm guessing Dustin didn't tell you I was planning on staying."

"Actually," Eddie says, nudging Steve's shoulder, "I told him you would jump at the opportunity to hang out with him, and there was no way you would drop him off to freeze to death."

Steve narrows his eyes as he looks at Eddie.

Eddie shifts things around in his arms to grab his shirt and jacket and lift them up enough to show off some of his scarred skin. "Our matching battle scars will forever bound us, Steve. I wonder if the bats gave us telepathic abilities," he says, way too cheery for Steve's liking.

"If it did, then I would teleport up to the top of the hill right now."

"Telepathic means the ability to read each other's minds. The word you're thinking of is 'teleportation.'" Eddie corrects him without judgement - something Steve's always found surprising.

"Oh. Then guess what I'm thinking about right now."

Eddie hums before leaning in to mumble in his ear. "You're thinking about getting a piece of this."

Steve laughs and shoves him away. He's glad it's cold out so he blame his blush on the cold. For some reason, he's still not entirely immune to Eddie's flirting. "Definitely not what I was thinking about."

"You are now," Eddie teases.

Steve swallows heavily, pressing down those thoughts and many... many.... images. "I think you're confusing my thoughts for your own thoughts."

"Tell me about it," Eddie sighs dramatically.

Steve is relieved when he sees they've reached the top of the hill. He's even more relieved when Dustin doesn't ask for his help to put Cerebro together, but Eddie is all too happy to help while calling Dustin a genius - in various annoying, dramatic ways.

It's not long before Dustin is awaiting Suzie's response while Eddie bounces on his feet. Steve's not sure if it's from excitement or being cold - probably both.

"Dusty bun?"

Dustin's face lights up in a way that is entirely too endearing for Steve's heart to handle. The jedi has learned the art of love from the master - or something like that. "Suzie poo! I'm here with Steve and Eddie for the next few moments. Eddie wants to say hello."

Steve frowns and raises his voice, "I want to say hello, too! Eddie just wants to be dramatic about it."

"Because I haven't had the pleasure of meeting the lady," Eddie argues before turning up the charm. "Suzie, it's a pleasure. I'm sure you've heard nothing but wonderful things about me just like I've heard nothing but wonderful things about you. Unlike Steve over here who you've probably never heard a good thing about."

"Hi, Eddie, it's nice to meet you," Suzie replies, giggling. "And hi Steve!"

"Hey, Suze. Don't let Eddie win you over with his charm just yet. It's bad for his ego."

"You think I'm charming?" Eddie asks, batting his eyelashes.

Steve makes a see? gesture before realizing Suzie can't see him.

"Alright," Dustin says, "Now they're going to leave us alone for the next hour."

"Hour? It's already been at least five minutes," Steve complains.

Eddie grabs him by the shoulders and steers him away. "Don't worry, Suzie! I'll make sure you get the fulll hour!"

Steve lets Eddie guide him a little down the hill, ignoring when Suzie asks, "Do they always bicker like an old married couple?"

When they get a comfortable distance away, where they're out of earshot but Steve can still see Dustin to make sure he doesn't freeze to death, Steve sits on the ground. He glances up after he gets as comfortable as he can get on the side of a hill, only to find Eddie frowning down at him.

"What?" Steve asks.

Eddie shrugs. "Doesn't seem fair that you get to sit on the ground, and I can't."

Steve's eyes scan over Eddie's body. "Not my fault that you didn't wear a long enough jacket to cover your ass when you sit."

"Not my fault that I wasn't born into a wealthy family that can afford those jackets."

Steve's stomach flips, but he knows Eddie isn't looking for an apology. "Why don't you sit in your van then?"

"Wouldn't want to miss my chance to hang out alone with Steve Harrington," Eddie says with a wink.

Steve nearly scoffs and gives him a snarky reply, but his thoughts go out the window when he notices Eddie's teeth chattering. "Shit," he mutters.

"What was that?"

Steve groans and stands up before unzipping his large jacket.

"Am I in a dream?" Eddie jokes, but his voice shakes a bit.

"You're about to be living one," Steve says dryly as he stands in front of Eddie and opens his coat. Eddie just stares at him. Steve huffs out a breath that becomes visible in the cold air between them. "Come here."

"What?"

Steve raises his eyebrows at Eddie before tugging at his coat. But Eddie continues to stare at him with wide wandering eyes. "I'm not letting you freeze to death up here, so come here before I tell Dustin to pack it up because you're cold."

Eddie crosses his arms a little tighter. "I'm f-fine." A shiver visibly runs through Eddie's body.

Steve rolls his eyes for what feels like the hundreth time this day and wraps Eddie in his jacket before he can protest.

He's stiff for a moment, then Eddie relaxes enough to wrap his arms around Steve who is able to close the jacket around them. They linger in each other's arms long enough that Eddie stops shivering and Steve wonders how much time Dustin has left with Suzie.

"Better?" Steve asks to break the silence.

He feels Eddie nod over his shoulder before he pulls back enough to look him in the eye, nose brushing against Steve's as he whispers, "I know something we could do to keep ourselves warm."

Steve's heart beats a little faster in his chest.

Eddie laughs and tucks his head into Steve neck, his lips far away enough from Steve's that it's no longer the only thing on Steve's mind. With the new brain space, he can feel Eddie drum a nervous rhythm onto his back and bounce a little on his face. He wonders if maybe Eddie was onto the whole scars making them read each other's minds thing because he swears he knows the first part of what Eddie's about to say before he says it.

"Sorry if that was too much. No guy has ever let me flirt at them the way you do."

Steve gets stuck on flirt at and, "No guy?"

Eddie lets out a short humorless laugh. "No guy."

And for some reason, Steve has to ask, "Has any guy let you kiss them before?"

Eddie pulls back to look at him with a frown tugging at the corners of his lips. "What are you getting at, Steve?"

Steve glances at Eddie's lips, slightly chapped but they've never looked more inviting. Maybe it's time to listen to Robin's knowing looks whenever Eddie is around and Steve finds himself simultaneously drawn to him while also wanting to run to the bathroom with Robin to have another floor talk. "What if one guy let you kiss them?"

"Steve..." Eddie whispers, his eyes flicking over his shoulder.

Steve turns to find Dustin, facing away from them. Still he loosens his hold on Eddie and says, "Wrap your arms around my neck instead of my back."

Eddie does as he's told, and Steve gives him no warning before saying, "Hopefully this goes alright." Then, he slightly picks up Eddie before falling back, letting the snow break their fall as he lays back with Eddie on top of him.

"That went better than I thought it would," Steve says with a big smile then asks, "Can Dustin see us?"

Eddie glances up and shakes his head.

"Perfect," Steve says, heart practically beating out of his chest when Eddie looks down at him. When he doesn't make a move, Steve can't help but tease, "So you really are all bark, no bite."

"Shut up, Harrington," Eddie says before finally kissing him.

For only a moment, Steve nearly laughs at the fact that Eddie Munson told him to shut up. But then his brain goes nearly haywire yet completely silent when Eddie's lips meet his in what he thinks might be the single most transformative kiss of his life.

His arms tighten around Eddie's back, and Eddie's hands move to cup the back of his head as they deepen the kiss. Somehow, laying in snow, Steve has never felt warmer.

They eventually break the first kiss reluctantly, both of them going back to steal more as they catch their breath, which turns into laughter and giggles between more kisses. Then, Eddie breaks away long enough to say, "You know, the van is seeming like a really great option at the moment."

"And Dustin's a smart kid. He knows how to not freeze to death," Steve says, kissing Eddie every chance he gets.

"You're right. No need to stay here in the snow," Eddie replies.

"Right."

Neither of them make a move to get up, but they both move to kiss again.

It's only a little while later before they hear Dustin yell out, "Guys?" And that's when they finally break away.

Eddie pops up first and calls out, "Yeah?"

"Let's pack up! It's been over an hour! Come on!"

Steve pulls Eddie back down into the snow one more time for a kiss before stomping up the hill. "Alright, alright. We thought you'd be happier that we gave you more time and that we both waited for you."

"it's cold," Dustin complains.

Steve nods, but he still feels warm.

Eddie joins a few moments later, stealing glances at Steve before asking Dustin what they're doing next.

"I'm thinking we change out of our snow clothes and get food somewhere maybe..." Dustin trails off and frowns at Eddie. "Why are you covered in snow?"

"We were making a snow angel?" Eddie hurriedly says.

Steve tries not to laugh.

"One?" Dustin asks.

Eddie nods. "You'll see it on the way down."

Sure enough, on the way down, they all see one horribly disfigured snow angel.

While Steve laughs and Eddie smiles proudly, Dustin shakes his head and mutters something like more curses to himself. In a volume that's able to be picked up by the other boys, he asks, "Eddie, you'll drop me off at my house, and we'll meet back up in an hour at my house?"

"Hour and a half," Steve says. When Dustin opens his mouth to complain, Steve explains, "I need to take a shower so I don't get pnemonia. Plus, I'm not letting my hair freeze on my way to your house."

"Fine," Dustin sighs. "See you then."

"See you then," Eddie echoes to Steve, winking at him once.

Soon after Steve gets home, he hears a knock on the front door, and when it's Eddie on the other side, Steve pulls him in and says, "Maybe you were right about the telek- tele-"

"Telekentic abilities?"

Steve nods as he closes the door behind Eddie and traps him against it. "I definitely know what you're thinking about now."

Eddie cocks his head to the side and wraps his arms around Steve's neck. "Yeah? What am I thinking about?"

"Kissing me again," Steve says, leaning in.

"Actually," Eddie says turning his head away, "I was thinking about a lemon."

"Crazy. I happen to have lemon scented body wash," Steve comments as he grabs Eddie's hands and tugs him up the stairs.

They're both a little late to Dustin's house. And maybe their hair freezes a bit.

But Dustin was right. There's a lot of things Steve would do for love.

[softbabybelle]

𝜗𝜚 c!w. reader has neglectful parents, bad habits, sick!reader, soft!rafe.

growing up, you'd always been weary of confrontation of any kind, whether it was good or bad.

you had your parents to thank for that. once you entered a room, you saw the way they'd look down, sighing heavily or uttering something about being busy. you didn't spend all that much time with them. and when you were around, they ushered words out of you quickly, making as little conversation as possible.

sometimes you wondered how cruel they were to decide to have kids at all.

last summer you'd met a boy named rafe cameron, though you'd always known of him. he was sort of infamous in outerbanks, known vividly all over figure eight.

he could be sort of loud, jumpy and had this angry scowl often etched to his face. and then there was you, shy and quiet, mumbling words that hardly reached his ears because of the short volume you used. but rafe didn't seem to mind, too enamoured by the way your lips moved or the way your cheeks would tinge pink.

it didn't take long for rafe to want you.

and what rafe wanted, rafe got.

you began dating the boy less than a month after knowing him. now, a couple months had passed and every day you were learning more about the boy.

his father, ward, had passed away leaving tannyhill to himself after rose took wheezie and abandoned him, sarah now living on the cut with her fiance, john b.

rafe was also learning more about you.

cracking your shell had been more dificult than he thought. nonetheless, you were slowly but surely opening up to rafe about little things.

on one occasion you'd been seated on the kitchen counter while rafe stirred some sauce in a pot, making dinner for you both. "oh, no i hate hospitals!" you'd uttered. it had something to do with your conversation, you were sure. but now, you couldn't really remember how.

"me too." he'd agreed. he'd moved so that he was stationed between your legs, hands running up and down your thighs in a soft, non-sexual, manner. "with how clumsy you are, 'm surprised you've never broken anything."

"i broke my leg before." you admitted, voice dropping low. you often got quieter when rafe got closer. it was almost as if you were scared raising your volume may annoy him.

his brows shot up to his forehead. "what? how come i never knew this?"

you shrugged your shoulders. "wasn't a big deal. i didn't have to go to the hospital or anything, jus' stayed in bed for a while." you reminisced on the few weeks you'd gotten off of school.

"sweetheart, 'm pretty sure your parents would've sent you to the hospital if you broke your leg."

"I didn't tell them."

and the four words made rafe's heart still. he knew this must have been a long time ago, you hadn't lived with your parents for a while now. but still, his heart ached dully at the thought of you, with a broken leg and nobody to turn to.

and most of all. how did they not notice?

rafe made up his mind about your parents very early on in your relationship.

you were still having a difficult time figuring out how you felt about them.

it was late now, moon looming over tannyhill while rafe scribbled down words onto a piece of paper in what used to be ward's office, which was now his.

rafe realised he hadn't heard anything from his sweet girl in the past while, noticing the eerie silence against the walls. however, as if you'd been listening in on his thoughts, his eyes snapped up to the sound of the floorboards creaking.

there you were, peeking in the doors of the office, biting your lip hesitantly.

almost like you were scared to speak.

"hey, baby." his soft words were enough to have your muscles suddenly loosening. he pushed his chair away from the desk, patting his thigh. "c'mere."

you hadn't seen much of rafe today for he was busy dealing with business. you didn't want to disturb him, in case he was too busy.

but nonetheless, you did as you were told.

you all but scurried across the office, finding every bone in your body go slack as you sat on his lap, where he wanted you. "y'okay?" he brushed a few strands of hair from your face. you looked flushed. you nodded, biting down on your bottom lip. "look like you wanna ask me somethin', princess."

"do you, uhm..." your fingers trailed against his shirt, taking in every texture and stitch. you didn't want to bother rafe by making him get up and go looking for things. "do you know where the painkillers are? can't find 'em anywhere."

"painkillers?" his jaw tensed and untensed, eyes softening at you. "for what?"

you felt your cheeks heat up. you hoped he wasn't angry with you for bothering him while he was oh so busy. "headache." is all you uttered, not wanting to 'inconvenience' him with your 'issues'.

"you've a headache?" his palm was suddenly against your forehead, gauging your temperature. low and behold, you were awfully warm. "how long you been feeling icky, huh, baby?"

"a while." you shrugged before swallowing thickly. "'m sorry."

"hey, hey." his thumb pushed your chin up, noticing your sudden shift in moods. "what're you sorry for?"

"you're working." you mumbled. "'n 'm complaining 'cause i feel sick 'n―"

"stop, stop, baby, look at me." his hands were cupping your face oh so gently making your stomach feel kind of funny. it was this unfamiliar feeling of being comforted, cared for. a feeling you'd spent your entire life searching for. "i wanna hear everything you have to say to me, alright? everything, all the time, until my ears fall off. sound good?"

a small giggle escaped your lips. "sounds good."

his fingers moved to your hip bones, gently caressing the skin. "how 'bout we go get some painkillers in you 'n then go watch a movie, hm?"

the idea made your heart flutter, you played with the loose thread of his shirt. "sure you're not too busy?" words so small. you were sure that you would blink and the moment would be over, that you'd be that same young girl, hiding your broken leg from your parents because 'all you ever did was complain'.

"never too busy for m'girl. c'mon." and he stood, with you still in his arms, legs tangling around his hips.