#and i wash my hands an unhealthy amount

[miserye]

it's that season again for my hands

[lcverwrites]

the lovers ― aegon targaryen

summary ... aegon had never known the tender touch of love, from the cradle as a babe, he was cursed to be unlovable. his mother held no love for him, only the safety he provided her. his father never spared him a glance, to sickness struck to see past his golden daughter. his siblings were indifferent to him, never really having the want to dig past his drunkard front. but then came her... aegon never understood why she loved him, what she saw in him that others could not, what he could not see in himself. but thank the gods above, there was nothing he wouldn't do to keep her devotion, because the unlovable had finally found someone who loved him; and who he loved in turn. pairing ... aegon ii targaryen x tyrell!reader (wife reader) warnings ... self loathing, talks of being unlovable, strained family dynamics, targcest (mentioned, but not seen), hurt/comfort, angst, trying to heal from unhealthy relationships, mentions of drinking, supportive wife mode note ... I want this fictional man a healthy amount, as you can clearly see. I might make some more things for this couple in the future, cause they've been on my mind for a loooong time. I just want to love this man for a second, after the shit storm they put him through this season. Let me know if you want more of aegon x tryell!reader, perhaps some smut between these two lovers 😏🫶🏻

⠀⠀⠀Voices spoke muffled words around Aegon, drowning him in their monotonous sounds, unimportant and distant from his thoughts. Aegon knew he should have been listening to his merriment of council members, they were talking about the needs of the realm, the wants of the smallfolk, the unwarranted needs of the already wealthy lords and ladies in his court, the impending doom awaiting them across the sees, with his sister plotting to take the crown from his very head.

The crown she was once promised, The Realms Delight was worlds away now, and the crown snuggly sat upon Aegon's head, the doing of the Mother and Grandsire, the controlling hands that guided Aegon under the guise of their affection and want to see him succeed, to bring the promised peace Viserys once spoke about.

But Aegon knew better now.

His mother held no love for her eldest son. She held him at arms length, with contempt, her lips pursed as if she couldn't ever fathom smiling at her own son. With a faux guiding hand, never reaching for a tender touch, only a harsh slap to awaken him from thoughts of straying from the path laid out for him. Alicent Hightower liked to believe she loved her children to the best of her ability, but Aegon knew better, knew that her love came with conditions, and Aegon's was to keep the safety of her family, even if he was killed in the process.

His Grandsire was a bitter old man, who reached above his station as hand of the king, all but ready to snatch the crown from Aegon himself. He was the driving force for Aegon's ascension, seeing the malleable drunk as a way to reach his ultimate prize, to be King through Aegon. There wasn't a bone in Otto Hightower that cared for Aegon past the power he could bring him.

Aegon could hear his mothers docile voice, sweeter than those of the men whom sat around her. Her words blurred into a flurry of movement, her lips parts around the words he wasn't taking in.

He watched his mother. Seeing his lips in her mirror image, full and pink, a slight downtick in the right corner, a frown always threatening to take her tender disposition by the throat. He could see the shape of her eyes, wide like a doe, but all innocence was washed away by a bland rage that barely simmered beneath their dark pools of amber liquid, subdued and boring. She could see her picking at the skin of her nailbeds, a bad habit she never outgrew in her youth, a habit she passed onto Aegon, if his red and raw nails were a certain sign.

He could see so much of himself in Alicent, in his own mother, a mirror into Aegon's soul. But all she could see in Aegon was his father, and she despised him for it.

His gaze traversed from his mother, to the stoic statue was his brother. Foreboding and concealed all at the same time, Aemond was a fearsome foe.

Aemond spoke little, hums of approval passed his sealed lips, displeased puffs of air fled from his nose. When words did leave his lips, they were precise, vicious and cold in the manner, strait to the point, never one to flounder and flaunt with unnecessary grandeur. He spoke as if he were a worldlier man, knew the bitterments was war and what was required to secure their victory, through fire and blood, through destruction and death. Aegon didn't know if it meant their own destruction or their foes, Aemond's want for power knew now bounds.

It's what desired him to his Grandsire.

He saw a likeness in Aemond that he didn't see in Aegon, and he held hatred and resentment for his oldest grandson.

Aemond paid no mind to Aegon, as if he was not there, the chare beneath him empty, no figurehead to be seen. He spoke to the counsel with the convection of a King, hand perched on the hilt of his sword, as if ready to strike at any given moment, lest one of the lords spoke against him, as if it were treason.

As young boys, Aegon and Aemond were like most boys he supposed. They poked and prodded at one another, until one of them bled, pleading for the other for mercy, running and crying to their mother. Often it was Aegon tormenting Aemond for his lack of dragon, for being the boring little know it all, smacking him against in the training yard in the name of bettering his skills, but Aegon wanted his little brother to feel even just a moment of the bitter resentment he felt feasting in his insides, sloshing around with the sweetened wine he drank himself into a stupor with.

He wanted his brother to feel small, unwanted, unloved, just as he felt. But no matter what Aegon did, his brother would always have their mother behind him, caressing his with the tender touch he craved. The lick his wounds with her tender voice, chaste kisses to the crown to his head, all the while berating Aegon in the same breath.

Aegon knew he shouldn't have treated Aemond so, they were both circumstance of their family, they were the only people who could truly understand each other, but resentment flooded Aegon's bones, strengthening his hatred for everyone whom shared his blood, and couldn't taste the bitter bite of his flesh.

Aemond resented Aegon for what he was given, just because he had the audacity to be born first. He was given the crown of their founding family, he was given the undeserving respect of the smallfolk, he was given the time and energy the the King's counsel. He was given the best tutors and training teachers, but he never respected what has trust upon him, not in the way Aemond would have welcomed him. Now his brothers days were spent on the throne he desired so, drunk in his cups and stupidly stuttering around like the idiot Aemond has always known Aegon to be.

Aegon leaned back in his uncomfortable chair, hand reaching out to play with the ball before him, the marble feeling cool beneath his heated palms. He felt as of he were just melting into the wood beneath him, and no one seemed to notice.

Except...

A hand reached for his arm, a delicate little thing, decorated with gentle rings that glimmered in the afternoon light, shimmering shades of glittering gold, azure blue and brilliant emerald. The smooth skin of a palm caressed his forearm, thumb digging into the malleable skin beneath his wrist, as if she knew he was slowly floating away, grounding him to this moment, to her touch.

Oh but she....

She was a marvellous thing. Aegon hadn't seen anything so precious in his life, so delicate, so wonderfully beautiful. There weren't enough words in the world for Aegon to describe her, nothing could ever truly do her justice, and he had tried, many a times, much to her amusement.

The Lady Tyrell had been a gift Aegon knew he wasn't deserving of, it was as if the gods were cursing him to gaze upon the mirror of the Maiden, but never being good enough, strong enough, smart enough to be worthy of even a glimpse in his direction. Aegon would only think himself lucky enough to dream about her gentle touch, to be the lucky man whom would receive her affection, to have her smile at him in a manner he'd never seen a maiden smile before.

Her smile started small, only an upward pulling in the right corner of her lips, inch by inch, her pretty pink lips would stretch in the most delicious curve, revealing the pearls of her teeth, little creased would dip in the skin of her cheeks as she would freely smile, a crinkle would form in her nose, her eyes would glitter with a golden looking happiness, as if you were the centre of her world in that very moment, the very reason she was smiling, like you were the only thing that could make her happy.

Aegon wished he could bottle the feeling her smile encapsulated, pure and true happiness unlike anything Aegon has felt before.

How could a persons smile be so contagious?

Despite his reservations, the Lady Tyrell held no contempt for him. She gazed upon him as if she were seeing him for what he was and she was willing to accept him, bitter soul and all.

The Lady Tyrell squeezed his arm, only once, and it was enough to have Aegon retreating from the narrow tunnel he was burrowing himself into. His gazed picked up from the marble to look upon the visage of his wife.

His Wife.

They'd been married when they were ten and three respectively, much to young to be married, but as is the way Aegon supposed. He hadn't even been given the chance to speak with her, before it was announced in the King's Counsel that they were to be married.

But they've come a long way from those scared children they had been all those years ago.

But the one thing that hadn't changed, was the devotion and love she had bestowed upon Aegon. Day in and day out, there wasn't a moment in time where she didn't love him.

"Perhaps the counsel should take a breath" Her melodic voice pierced through his muffled thoughts, like it always did, his every being was tuned into every sound and moment she made.

"Pardon, your grace?" Lord Lannister paused a moment, looking at her with a look of confusion.

"You have been discussing for hours now" She mildly replied, keeping an easy smile on her lips, looking like the pliant woman they demanded she be. "If we were to be attacked by our foes, they would have done so already, surely you all see this"

"Just because it hasn't happened, does not mean it will not happen" Otto Hightower's condescending voice bounced around the room, looking down upon the Lady Tyrell, as if she were a speck of dirt on his boot.

Aegon clenched his fist, loathing that she was rained down upon by Otto's hatred because she was connected to Aegon.

She never seemed to waiver beneath his gaze, nodding demurely at the Hand, as if she were bending to his whims.

"I do not disagree my Lord" She announced. "But perhaps we have spoken on the themes of war for much to long"

"Your Grace, forgive me for speaking so candidly--"

"Then do not"

All eyes turned to Aegon, who for the first time since the counsel had gathered, had found himself voicing the words that had been rattling around in the back of his throat.

"The Queen has excused you" Aegon bluntly replied, leaning further back in his seat, pulling his arm along with him, turning it just so, allowing his palm to slide right along her. Their fingers gliding together like magnets pulling them together, locking them in place.

Aegon relished the feeling of her warm palm beneath his own, smooth skin against his own rough calloused skin, like silk against leather. The cool metal of her rings biting into his warm skin, a zinging shock to his system.

"Aegon, the counsel needs to speak about--" Alicent tried to gage her son back into the conversation, but Aegon was already detached from everything that was her.

"Your King has dismissed you" Aegon interrupted his mother.

Aegon looked to his mother, seeing her lips parted in surprise. She wasn't used to Aegon snapping at her so, he had always been so willing to bow to his mother, wishing for her affection in return.

But he now knew what love without restraints and conditions tasted like, he craved the affections of his wife, whom would willingly allow him to be loved without limits.

"Fuck off" Aegon waved off the counsel.

He didn't even watch as each member grumbled up their breath about something or the other. He didn't notice the shared look of concern on his Mother and Grandsires faces, he didn't see the glare Aemond had wagered his way, icy and void of any brotherly affection. He didn't see any of it, and if he had, he wasn't sure he would care.

Not when she was gazing upon him as she always had.

With love.

"You may have been too crass my love" She smiled as the last of the counsel left the room, the foreboding doors slamming closed behind Otto Hightower himself, sealing himself out of reach of the King.

"They are a bunch of power hungry cunts" Aegon shrugged.

"Be that as it may" She conceded with a soft smile. She pushed herself from her seat, keeping her hand within Aegon's, walking around her corner of the table, until she was standing directly beside the chair Aegon was currently lounging in. "They are here because they support your cause"

Aegon huffed a breath through his nose.

He used their connected hand to haul his wife's body into his lap, she fell willingly into his embrace, wrapping her free arm around his shoulders.

"I do not wish to speak about them anymore" Aegon announced, shifting his wife further into his lap, until the side of her body was pressed firmly against his chest, the warmth of her body radiating through the thick fabric of her dress.

"Then we shall not" She decided, resting her forehead against his temple.

In this moment, Aegon hadn't ever imagine he would feel a love like this. He couldn't have ever pictured someone would love him for what he was, not for what he could give them.

He placed a gentle kiss against her cheek, enticing a soft smile to paint her pink lips.

Whatever god had decided to bring the two lovers together, he was praying that nothing would bring them apart.

[ylangelegy]

is it casual now? (teaser) 🫀 seungcheol x reader.

★ seungcheol x makeup artist!f!reader. ★ teaser word count: ~8,000 ★ genre/warnings: mdni. 18+ content. situationship/friends with benefits, light angst, use of pet name ('love'). soft dom!seungcheol, making out, biting/marking, protected sex. let me know if i missed anything! ★ footnotes: this has been on my backburner for months. it's admittedly a full-blown story in need of hard editing, and so i'm posting this in hopes of bullying myself into working on the whole thing. should it come down to it, though, i like to think this can stand on its own. enjoy. <3

Seungcheol has been in the industry long enough to know that everybody had vices.

Trainees, rookies, veterans. It didn't matter. There were dangerous, risky vices. Alcohol, drugs, smoking. There was dating, too, of course. Dating fans, dating fellow idols.

Seungcheol didn't do drugs. He smoked socially, but he would rather not. And he drank, sure, but never to an unhealthy amount. Dating, however—

Did it really count when there was only really ever one person he treated like a vice?

You've been in his life since the group debuted. Nine years, give or take. And then, at one point, he just... tried something with you. And it clicked, fell into place, and now you've been sneaking around for the better half of three years. It's the one place Seungcheol feels like he can breathe, can get away. But it's also the biggest secret he's kept.

You're his makeup artist, after all.

When the two of you started off, you both insisted on nothing serious. To 'keep it casual'.

That worked perfectly for Seungcheol. He likes to think it's still working for him, as he raps at the door of your apartment and waits for you to open up. His wristwatch says that it's midnight, but it doesn't matter. He knocks a little louder, growing a touch impatient.

You open the door, and you're greeted with Seungcheol looking reproachful. "Yah," he chides. "Why haven't you been answering my texts?"

When you rub your eyes with the back of your hands and look over your shoulder to glimpse at your wall clock, Seungcheol almost feels apologetic. Almost. “Cheol,” you say exasperatedly, slowly. “It’s the middle of the night.” 

"So you were sleeping then, hmm?" Seungcheol says. The corner of his lips tilt up, just slightly. He leans against the doorframe, taking a brief amount of time to glance you over. As he does, a small wave of tiredness finally washes over him— just how late had he kept himself up working on new music? "I sent you texts hours ago."

"You didn't even read them." He reaches up, tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. He sighs, the sound almost exaggerated. "How cruel of you."

You let out a low hum at Seungcheol’s fingers brushing against your skin. “Mmm, I fell asleep with my phone in my hand,” you admit, the words coming out more like a soft sigh than anything else.

You seem to finally drag yourself out of your sleepy state to give Seungcheol a once-over. He knows it shows all over— the exhaustion in his eyes, his stance. He’s tired, and you can tell. You’ve always been able to tell. 

You step aside a bit and he takes that as his cue. Seungcheol moves past you, a small hum in the back of his throat. He toes off his shoes and shuts the door behind him with a soft click. In spite of himself, the moment he's inside, he reaches for you. 

One arm is loosely slung over your shoulders, pulling you in close. He rests his chin on your shoulder, the tip of his nose against your neck.

"You fell asleep..." he gripes. "Do you know how many texts I sent you? I sent five.” 

“Five”” you repeat as you bear Seungcheol’s weight. Your hand instinctively raises to stroke the base of his hair behind his neck, and he thinks he could melt then and there— your soothing touch, your light tone. “Oh, how ever will you live?”

Seungcheol huffs into the crook of your neck. The feel of your fingers in his hair does wonders to combat the tired, stressed part of himself. Slowly, his shoulders relax, and he sighs, the sound long and deep.

"Don't get snarky with me," he mutters. But there's no bite to it at all, just a quiet sense of contentment in his voice. "You could've at the very least read the messages." He moves, presses a kiss to your neck. "Would've taken ten seconds."

“I was asleep,” you protest, but— whether or not you notice— your head is tilting around a bit to press a lingering kiss on to the side of his face.Seungcheol's stomach flutters. You're sweet like that. Always have been, always will be. He hums under his breath at the kiss, his hand that's on your shoulder moves up to cup your cheek.

“That’s my penance,” you say drowsily. 

"One kiss isn't nearly enough," he tells you. 

He pulls back from your shoulder to look at you, now. The eye contact, the way he regards you, has a more focused weight. He takes a moment to look you over again— hair mussed, face still flushed faintly from sleep. "Two,” he says in a tone that brokers no argument. 

“Greedy,” you mumble, but both of you know it doesn’t matter. 

Not when your free hand finds purchase at his side and you use your fingers in his hair to pull him down so you don't have to stand on your tiptoes. Not when you press your lips together into a kiss that's soft and sweet, almost sleepy.

All it takes is the sound of your voice for Seungcheol to be pulled in— when you tug at his hair, he follows, his chest against yours. He bends down, his own hands coming up to the sides of your face.

He melts against your mouth, his eyes closing in an instant. But it’s done as quickly as it started. You pull away, your face still inches away from Seungcheol’s, as you smilingly mumble to him, “There. Two kisses.” 

His eyes open again once you pull away, his grip on your face tightening just slightly. "Three," he mutters back, and then he leans back in. 

You hum against his mouth, the sound breaking free from the back of your throat. You’re both so tired from your respective work and it shows in the kiss. No heat, no fire. Your tongue swiping over his lip makes Seungcheol hum, quiet and low in his throat. He's usually so used to being the one who takes control, making the first move, but here with you, in the early hours of the morning— there's something else to it.

He pulls you closer against him, his hands moving down to your hips. Against your mouth, he murmurs, "Four," before his tongue slips in, just to get a taste. Just to linger, just to savor, but not take over.

“Cheol,” you huff, though your reprimand is tempered by the way Seungcheol is intent on keeping the kiss going. “You’re— mmph— being greedy—” 

"Five—" he sighs against your mouth. "Let me be greedy a second more."

One of his hands moves to the back of your head, fingers tangling up in your hair. This is what he likes, this is what he always comes to you for. Something that's simple. This, he can deal with. This, he can handle.

It’s never a second more with Seungcheol. He’s always out the door when he can go, when he has to. He’s never been a glutton for time, and so it’s enough for you to sense that something is wrong. 

You break away from him. 

Seungcheol has to resist a whine when you pull back, his eyes fluttering open in a daze. Your hand has moved to his face and you’re looking up at him with a small frown and a quiet query. “Long week?” 

He lets your question hang in the air for a moment, the hand in your hair loosening its grip, fingers just idly combing through the strands.

He glances at your face— the furrow of your brow, the hint of concern in your eyes— and it makes him sigh. He turns his head to press a soft, quick kiss to your palm.

"Long year," he corrects.

You look like you want to say more. Seungcheol almost begs you not to. This— whatever the two of you have— it’s an outlet that won’t break him, won't ruin him, won't tarnish him or the group's name. He just wants— he needs—

You know exactly what he needs, even if he doesn’t always know himself. “How do you want your fifth kiss?” you ask instead of commenting on his obvious fatigue. 

Your question makes Seungcheol's head empty out in an instant.

It takes him a moment to think, to consider. His mind, hazy and tired as it is, struggles to come up with an adequate answer. All he knows is that he's comfortable, that he's tired, that you're here. And that's all he really needs, in the end.

He lets his hand fall from your hair, to the nape of your neck. "... Soft," he murmurs. "Soft and easy."

You’re back up on your tiptoes to give him what he asked for. A sweet, slow press of your lips against his. It’s a kiss that lovers give each other, even though you’re the furthest from that. 

It's easy, easy, easy for him to fall into the kiss just like that, a shudder running down his spine when your tongue doesn't invade him. It's sweet, it's chaste, it's simple. It's exactly the kind of kiss he needs after a week of work.

His hand on your neck moves to your cheek, his thumb brushing over the skin there. He breaks away for a mere second, a fraction of a beat, to catch his own breath, but he kisses you right back after. 

"Six," he whispers desperately. "Again."

This time, you laugh against his mouth— a slightly muffled sound, not any less amused— but you give in, still. When you separate for air again, one of your hands rests on his chest to keep him away. “You have to let me breathe, Cheol,” you huff. 

Seungcheol has to resist groaning outright when your palm on his chest keeps him from coming in for another kiss. You're adorable like this, in the middle of the night, with sleep in your eyes and annoyance in your voice.

He knows he's being needy, taking advantage, but at the same time? It's all he seems to be able to do. Greedy, he hears you call him, and it's true.

"I'll let you breathe when I get my seventh kiss, then," he grumbles.

He can see the annoyance blooming on your expression, but he’s saved by one thing and one thing alone: The fact that you can get pretty greedy sometimes, too, especially when Seungcheol was involved. 

"Fine," you say haughtily, feigning annoyance. "Just one more kiss."

Seungcheol's eyes glimmer with something akin to mischief. His hands move to your face again, his own lips curving up in a smirk. You give him an inch, he wants a mile. It's his style. "One more kiss. That I can work with."

He brushes a thumb over your cheek again, his grip in your hair loosening only to brush some stray strands away from your face. "Only fair that I get to pick the way, then," he says, his tone low.

He's going to make the most of this opportunity, and you're letting him.

His tongue darts out briefly to lick over his bottom lip. "Open your mouth."

When you let out a noncommittal hom and oblige, parting your lips, he knows he’s gone. Seeing the obedience in your face makes Seungcheol's stomach do a little bit of an excited flip. You're like this, this, even when you're tired, when you're barely awake.

It's a little addicting.

"Good," he says softly. It's all the warning you get before he's got his mouth on yours again.

He kisses you— devours you, his tongue parting your lips, sliding into your mouth, taking. The kiss is almost bruising and seems to throw you off balance, but you quickly recover by pressing flush against Seungcheol and holding the sides of his arms. If he were a better person, Seungcheol would let this be the last one. Would let this kiss end and call it a night. 

But then the smallest of sounds escape you. A whimper, a soft noise that only makes all sense fly right out of Seungcheol's head. It's not fair, he thinks, that you still have a hold on him even in the middle of the night.

All it makes him do is pull you closer— press you up against the wall with his entire body, his hands still gripping your face as he kisses you deep. Harder than he usually would, rougher than he normally did.

He swallows the sound, his tongue still in your mouth.

Your fingernails are pressing into his biceps now. Your tongue is sinking into his lower lip; not quite biting, but enough to drag his focus away for a moment. "Seung," you sigh, and it’s like music to his goddamn ears. 

He was Choi or Seungcheol when he was in your makeup chair. Cheol, when it was just the two of you. But Seung was something different entirely. 

A small moan, low and quiet, gets caught in Seungcheol's throat when you bite into his lip, when you whine out his name like that. He knows what it means when you call him like that— knows what he's in for.

He relishes in it. In moments like these when he gets to be like this. When he doesn't have to be responsible, when he doesn't have to be a leader. He gets to be just Seung.

There isn't a single part of his body that's not on fire right now, not when he's got you pinned against the wall, not when you're all satin and soft against him. His grip on your face tightens, and now his lips are no longer on your mouth, but on your jaw, moving down to your neck, your throat.

A quiet, needy little ah falls out your lips when he nips at that spot on your pulse point, and there, there is exactly when he knows that he's got you exactly where he wants you. Pinned by his body, shaking and shivering like he's touching you for the first time.

If he was feeling a little less riled up, a little less needy, he'd keep up the teasing. But he can't, not now. His hands move from your face to your hips, moving under the satin of your pajamas. It's not enough, never enough.

Every sound that leaves your mouth, every little please, just, already sets a fire in his brain. Every part of his mind turns to static, white noise, as he keeps his lips on your throat, your neck, biting and nipping at your skin.

“Seung,” you hiss, your hands flying to his shoulders as you press your back on to the entryway wall, willing yourself not to crumple. “I’m going to get a noise complaint again—”

“I'll pay the fine,” he murmurs against your skin, his lips against your collarbone now, his hands still on your hips. His brain is starting to grow fuzzy, his thoughts less coherent, but this was the goal.

To get you like this. Soft and shaking and desperate. To make you his for the night, for just a little while. To hold some sort of control over something in his life.

“You can't just keep paying for— ah— the fines,” you’re babbling. “They're going— t-to kick me— Seung, fuck!"

Whatever you’re trying to say dies out when Seungcheol nips at your warm skin. The rational part of him, somewhere deep, deep inside, knows that you're right. He can't keep paying your fines for complaints of loud music and loud sex.

The part of him that's currently working on painting a bruise on your collarbone doesn't seem to care all that much.

"I'll pay," he repeats, between leaving a few more marks on your skin for good measure. "As many times as I have to—"

“Jesus Christ,” you cuss, your chest heaving as Seungcheol’s hand moves higher and higher up your shirt. “My neighbors are so fucking sick of me, and it’s all your fault.”

“My fault?” Even through the haze in his head, Seungcheol can't help the low scoff that he lets out. He wants to say that he couldn't care less about your neighbors— wants to say that your pretty mouth makes up for the noise, but something else catches his attention. The brush of his fingers on bare skin. 

His eyes go wide, his brain suddenly clearing.

"You're not wearing anything underneath your pajamas," he deadpans, his voice coming out in a low drawl.

Of course, that adds up. You hadn’t been expecting Seungcheol, after all, so he can’t blame you for foregoing the underclothes. Still, it only stokes the growing flame in the base of his stomach. Especially when you move your head back against the wall so you’re looking right up at Seungcheol, the ghost of a smirk on your face. 

“Wanna check for yourself?” you taunt. 

A low groan falls out of Seungcheol's mouth as soon as you ask that. Like clockwork, his hands go to the hem of your shirt, pulling the fabric up slightly. Just a little bit, just to see if you're really not wearing anything beneath.

"You always like to tease," he says, his voice low. That hint of a smirk on your face is only serving to drive him that much crazier. "Go on, then. Show me, since you want to act all cocky."

You give him half an eye roll that’s more affectionate than anything else before reaching over to the back of your pajama collar. You pull the top over your head in one deft, swift movement. Seungcheol's eyes go wide for just a moment, taking in the sight of you, undressed, in front of him. It never stops shocking him, never stops making his heart thump a little harder, his breath coming out a little more labored.

“Happy?” you half-joke, your voice low. 

He looks at you, up and down, before his eyes go back to your face. His hands move from your hips to your waist, fingers tracing over the sides of your chest as he shakes his head.

"Not yet," he says. "But I will be."

His hands keep tracing over your skin, his touch light— almost feathery, as he keeps his eyes fixed on your face. There's something about seeing you so exposed like this that's driving him absolutely insane, something about you being entirely at his mercy that's making his eyes grow dark.

He leans in, bringing his lips just past your ear. "Turn around," he murmurs, almost like a command.

He sees how you swallow hard, how you take in the familiar darkness in Seungcheol’s gaze. You know him, have known him for years, and that comes with trust. Unflinchingly, you twist around in his arms to press your chest against the wall. 

He has you practically trapped, all against his chest and the wall. His eyes look at you up and down, taking in your bare shoulders and back, the way you've submitted to him so perfectly.

His hands go to your hips again, and his eyes look over your back, following the line of your bare spine. "What do you say we find a use for this wall besides me just pushing you up against it," he murmurs. "Hm?"

“Yes, please,” you whimper, and as soon as you agree, Seungcheol's hands tighten on your hips, his grip almost bruising as he pulls you a little closer to him. You're not going anywhere, not when he's got you like this.

He leans in, his body practically pressing up against your back, his chest against your skin. He bites down on your shoulder, pulling a strangled whine out from somewhere deep in your throat. "You look so goddamn pretty like this, love," he murmurs against your skin.

His hands move from your hips to your chest, tracing the skin there before he brings them up to your throat. He presses his fingers against your pulse point, feeling the thump thump thump of your heartbeat.

He can feel your heart thrumming against his hand, can practically hear you shaking. It's driving him absolutely insane— you, underneath him, trembling for him. The knowledge that he's got you like this, the fact that you're letting him take control, letting him do whatever he wants.

He moves his mouth to that spot on your neck again, the skin that's so sensitive that it makes you whimper and shiver. He always finds it so easy to tease those sounds out of you, and always relishes in doing it.

His hands stay at your neck, his fingers still pressed against your pulse point. This had always been one of Seungcheol's little habits— a single finger on your pulse point, as if he liked seeing which actions would make your heart rate spike, which words would have it hammering.

Seungcheol presses his lips on your skin again. "You're so loud."

He marvels at the way you ball your hands into fists, the way you shake all over with poorly concealed want and need as he keeps nipping and marking. "‘M not," you gasp, lurching forward against the wall. "‘M perfectly— hng!"

Everything is working in his favor.

You're shaking, and your heart is racing, and every noise you make is just more fodder for him. God, he loves it. Loves being the one to make you absolutely tremble and shiver like this. Loves the fact that he's the only one to make you feel like this.

"You're mine," he says again, bringing his mouth closer to your ear. He bites the shell of it, hard, before letting out a low hum.

This is his favorite place in the entire world— right against your back, feeling your body heat against his chest, his tongue running over your skin. He loves how reactive you are to him, how sensitive you are, how your body just melts under his touch.

"Say it," he mutters against your skin. "Who's in control?"

There it is. The million won question.

The whole reason you started these rendezvouses in the first place. He had been spinning out of control, and you had been lonely, and you clicked into place like magnets. 

You give in, like you always do. The words are a soft whimper, almost a shout in your otherwise empty apartment. "You. You're in control, Seung."

That's all he wants to hear.

He digs his fingers into your jaw and wrenches your head so it's turned to look at him, his lips inches from yours. Even if there's a little pain, nothing in him is stopping. "Good," he mutters, his breath hot against your lips. "Good girl."

The kiss that follows is absolutely messy, the kind of kiss where it's just tongue and teeth and raw need. It's worlds different from the soft and easy kisses that Seungcheol asked for earlier, when he first came in complaining about five unanswered texts.

"Seung," you groan as you pull away for air. "Please—" 

When you moan his name, it's like something snaps.

He growls low, his fingers slipping into the waistband of your shorts, gripping the fabric hard enough that there's a very real chance of them ripping. "Please what?" he mumbles against your neck. "You need to tell me what you need, love. Use your words."

"I hate you," you whine, and Seungcheol nearly smiles. He knows you’re not fond of begging, but he needs to hear it from you. At least, he wants to. 

"You know what I—" you’re saying, but dammit, his control is already razor thin as is. He rips off the last fabric of clothing on you until you’re completely bare, pressed entirely up between the wall and him. 

Somehow, your mind still has some shrivel of coherence to complain, "I liked this set, asshole!"

He grins against your skin at your words, chuckling at your whine, at the way you're just reacting to him. You can act annoyed, you can act like you don't need him, but he knows. "I'll buy you a new one," he hums, finally letting go of your shorts and letting them fall to the floor in tatters. "One for me to rip to shreds all over again."

That thought alone makes his blood sing.

It takes you a great effort to turn around, but somehow you manage. Seungcheol is still fully clothed and so your bare chest presses against the front of his shirt. The sight of you, naked, his hands at your hips, pressed right up against him, against his chest like this— he's gone.

And then you’re asking him, low and sweet as he has you caged in, "Where are you going to fuck me tonight, Seung?"

He can't even manage a word for a moment, his hands holding you so tight that he's definitely going to leave marks on your skin, his eyes fixed on your face.

He swallows hard, his mouth suddenly dry at the question. "You want me to say it out loud, hm?"

You go to steal the upper hand for a minute or so, and you do it so effectively. Your hand rises almost lazily to his neck, your finger instinctively finding his pulse point. He feels his heart rate speed up as he watches, just watches, you do it. You stand on your tiptoes to raise your lips directly to his ear. 

All he can feel is the thunder of his heart racing against your hand. You seem to notice it, too, if the smile on your face is any indication. 

"How about you just show me instead?" you say, and he’s convinced he’ll pass out then and there. 

"You're a brat," he mutters through gritted teeth, his hand moving up from your hips and up your spine. "A brat who needs to be taught a lesson."

He takes a shuddering breath, almost completely lost in your little game, before he snaps back to himself. Seungcheol's hand leaves your hip and goes to your hand, gripping your wrist hard. "On the sofa," he says, and it’s nothing short of a command. 

He practically drags you on to the piece of furniture, watching intently as you fall back with a small oomph. Seungcheol stands on the edge of the couch as you prop yourself up by the elbows to watch him right back. 

The sight of you underneath him— your hair splayed against the cushions, your eyes half-lidded and fixed on him? It's absolutely perfect. It's the kind of thing that he wants to keep in his mind forever, the sight he wants to always be able to remember.

He lets out a noise under his breath as he undoes the button of his jeans, the sound of the zipper going down obscenely loud in the quiet room. "Gorgeous,” he breathes. 

He gets his jeans undone and kicked off, his shirt following them not long after, and then he's on top of you, caging you in, his hands either side of your head, staring down at you.

The look in his eyes isn't something he really gets to show often— that raw need, that want, how desperate he is for you. He wants you, God, he wants you so badly, and you're letting him have you.

He dips his head to your neck, his lips against your skin, his breath hot against your pulse point, still absolutely obsessed with that spot. His hands find your wrists, pinning them back against the couch, while his knee finds its way between your thighs, pressing up against you.

You arch and squirm underneath him, visibly distressed with the facsimile of friction that you’re getting from his knee. “Seung,” you pant, grinding your dripping core against his knee. It sends a jolt of electricity through him. “Please— don’t wanna wait any more—”

“Where’s all that snark now, hm?” he teases, his teeth running over the skin on your neck. But he’s not any better off, his own self-control slipping through his very fingers as his hips grind down against you desperately. 

"Been driving me insane, love," he whispers, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the line of your neck. "Been dreaming about this for days. Missing you—” 

A low keen escapes you, and he can only echo it as you tug at the last piece of material separating you. “Can we get this off already, please?” you huff as you hook your fingers at the waistband of his boxer shorts. 

He groans against your skin, his teeth finally letting go when he lifts his head to look down at you, the expression on his face looking like he's fighting for control. "God, yes," he groans, lifting his hips just enough for you to tug them off him.

He kicks them off once you’ve yanked them down, and his hand— which has instinctively gravitated to your pulse point— feels how the beat absolutely skyrockets. One of your arms goes around his shoulder and the other, surprisingly, clutches his jaw.

You’re looking right at him as you say, "Fast and hard, Seung."

"Yeah?" he says, just the slightest hint of a surprise in his voice. "You want me to be rough with you, love?"

Seungcheol was usually a sweet lover. He liked taking his time, liked being gentle and responsible even in bed.

But there were particularly rough weeks, terrible days, where he just needed a means to an end. Where the sex was an outlet, where the best thing you could be for him was his. 

He waits for your permission, because he still always remembers to ask no matter how far deep you’re in. The agreement comes in the form of the best three words. 

"Ruin me, Seung."

You know him too well. You know how he works, you know how he thinks, and you know him better than anyone.

He groans in response to your words, his head dipping down to drag his teeth gently over your collarbone. He's trying to hang on to his control, he is, but it's a losing effort.

"I will, love." His breath is hot against your skin, his hands finding your hips. "Just give me a minute—"

He shifts, just for a moment, to find the condom in his jean pocket. He goes through the motions until he's back on top of you again, one hand coming up to grip your hip again, the other coming up to rest against your throat. He looks down at you, his eyes almost glowing. 

"You trust me?" he mutters. His hand at your hip tightens; his hand at your throat barely clenches around your pulse point, his eyes never leaving yours.

You can feel it, see it. The way the little threads are beginning to unravel and fray. The way this was no longer Seungcheol of SEVENTEEN; not the leader, not the idol. This was something different entirely, someone else completely.

"I do," you whisper back, your eyes so full of adoration for him that he has to bite back the urge to scream. "I trust you, Seungcheol."

His full name is what really does it for him, because then he's pushing in, and you’re gasping, whimpering, trying to adjust around him and the fact that you’re practically clenching him on the get-go. Seungcheol eases in, nice and slow, because you’re too tightly coiled for him to do more than carefully bottom out. You’re both heaving, your breaths coming out as gasps; your own breaths are sharp, harsh, because Seungcheol is still choking you a little. 

His head dips down to your shoulder because he needs something to hold on to, anything, while his mind spins. His head is dizzy feeling you like this, feeling you around him so tightly. He's trembling, his thighs shaking, but he's holding himself back as long as he can.

When Seungcheol gets as far in as he can possibly get, you let out twin groans. He’s completely sheathed inside of you and you’re fluttering around him in a way that’s dangerous. 

“Y’can move, Seung,” you reassure him after a moment, the words coming out strained with desire. “As fast and hard as you want.” 

You sound strangled, just like he feels, and it's taking him a mammoth amount of control to hold himself back. He groans against your shoulder at the sound of your voice, the words you say. He wants to move, to thrust, but he's trying to have some semblance of composure. 

"Love," he says, his voice wrecked. "I—"

His voice breaks. It breaks, because there is only so much he can take, and he's beyond that point now. There's a tremor in his thighs, his hands clenching in the cushion below you.

You drag him right back down, with the sound that you let out that’s halfway a whine and a sigh. One of your hands goes to rest in the space between Seungcheol’s shoulder blades, as if to steady the two of you. 

Your voice is surprisingly firm when you speak. "Let go," you command. And then, softer, "I need you."

Your words, your voice— it's in complete conflict with the situation you're currently in. And yet, it works. He lets out a sound, one that's somewhere between a growl and a whimper, his breath hot against your skin. And then he's moving and he's holding nothing back.

He's hard, brutal, and he's taking. His teeth on your shoulder; his breath against your neck; his nails digging into you.

It's a relentless, dizzying pace. Seungcheol bullies into your weeping cunt, fast and hard, and it draws out the most obscene sounds from you. Gasps, whines, an occasional scream when he hits a particularly sensitive spot. What has him seeing stars is the fact that you can't seem to settle on a name to moan. "Seung— Seungcheol— Cheol—"

Yes, you're saying, yes.

Seungcheol loses himself, utterly and completely, in you. You're on the edge, he can hear it; he can feel it, and God, he wants to hear you say his name. Every single one of them. 

It almost sounds like a mantra, your voice, as he takes and takes and takes, his breathing harsh, ragged.

You go through all of the names you have for him, breathless and wrecked, until you can't even say anything because his hips are snapping into you with a ferocity that's rare but not unwelcome. Your pornographic moans reverberate in your otherwise empty apartment, and Seungcheol thinks he might go insane. 

"'M close," you choke out. "Cheollie, baby, I'm— ah, fuck— Seung—"

His breath catches at your words, his eyes closing for a moment as he groans. You, you, in all your perfect, glorious, undone state. It’s a sight he wishes he could capture, freeze in time.

He lets out a whimper, his words almost slurred when he responds. "Love— I—"

He's never been this rough, never this intense. You're the only one, the only person he's ever let himself go like this with. The only person who he's ever let see everything, take everything.

He's on the edge, he's there, he's—

"C'mon," he whines, his voice barely above a whisper, his hand clenching hard around your hip. "With me, love, please."

It's a miracle that you can even nod, can even find your voice as Seungcheol keeps on going with his erratic, stuttering thrusts. "With you," you gasp. 

He snaps into you, then, and you arch up with a scream of his name. There’s the familiar white-hot flash of pleasure; the impossibly tight clench of your walls around him.

He stays buried in you for several long moments, his forehead resting against your shoulder, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his heart pounding so hard he can feel it in his ears. He has never felt so utterly spent in his entire life, never been so completely, utterly drained of energy. He's weak against you. He’s weak because of you. 

"God," he finally manages to mutter.

He lifts his head, just enough to be able to look at you, but he can't even muster a grin. He's spent and he knows you know that.

His hand comes up slightly, to brush the hair off of your forehead. "I think..." he says, his voice thick and hoarse, "I think I ruined you, love."

You let out a breathless laugh, one that you have to push out of your heaving chest. "You—" you try to say, but the words don't form, not at first. You take a few moments to take in some air, to gulp past the lump in your throat. "You're a fool."

His lips twitch into a tired but genuine smile at the sound of your laugh. It’s a soft sound that he's always thought sounds beautiful, especially coming from you.

A hoarse, broken laugh of his own escapes; his hand coming up to rest at your jawline, his thumb gently tracing over the warm skin there. He's still catching his breath, but he's slowly gathering himself.

"Am I a fool?" he asks quietly, leaning his forehead against yours. "What does that make you, then?"

You’re a fool, too, he thinks to himself. For letting me have this. 

Instead of answering him, you press a small kiss to the corner of his mouth. It’s the only answer he’s going to get from you for now, it seems. 

He lets out a soft huff, moving his head back just slightly, his eyes closing. "You're beautiful, you know that?" he says quietly, his voice still rough with fatigue.

"Every time," you respond. Your own voice is strained, almost tired, but there's a hint of amused exasperation. "You say that every time, Cheol."

His eyes opened once again to look at you.

"Because it's true," he says simply, his voice soft and sincere, the hand resting at your jaw moving to brush your hair back from your face. "It's always true, love."

He lets out a soft sigh, his eyes tracing over your face, taking in every inch of you. His eyes pause at your lips for a moment, his tongue gently wetting his own, his gaze finally moving back up to meet your eyes.

You thread your shaking fingers through the back of his hair and answer his unspoken question. "Kiss me soft and easy, Cheol," you whisper.

The moment the words leave your mouth, he's in action.

He leans forward without a second thought, the hand not buried in your hair going to rest on your hip, his lips meeting yours in a soft, gentle kiss.

There's no heat in it, no want or need. Just a soft press of his lips against yours, gentle and slow. 

It's languid and unhurried. Like there's nowhere either of you have to be after this. For a moment, you can pretend that this is normal— that Seungcheol will not have to leave, and that you’ll not have to change into new pajamas because he'd broken yours, and that you can be... well, something, anything aside from what you are now.

But it's wishful thinking, you both know, so all Seungcheol can do is kiss you. He lets out a soft sound, almost a sigh, as his tongue slides into your mouth, his hand on your hip tightening slightly. His other hand is in your hair still, his fingers gently tracing over your scalp, his body almost melting against yours.

He will have to leave. He always does. But for now, he's here, with you, and you feel perfect, and—

Five minutes, he bargains. Five more minutes.

And then things end, not really by your own accord.

The sharp, shrill sound of Seungcheol's phone ringing breaks through your haze. You pull away, a bit jolted at the foreign sound— at something other than your words, your breathing, reverberating in the room. It takes you a beat too long to realize someone is calling him— his phone in his discarded jeans— in the godawful middle of the night. 

He lets out a loud groan, the sound tired and drawn out, and he can't help but rest his forehead against your shoulder once again, letting out a resigned sigh.

"God, save me," he mutters, his voice rough. "What time is it?"

You chuckle lightly. "Go on," you urge softly, not because you want to but because you have to. "Answer."

Seungcheol lets out another loud, drawn out sigh, his shoulders slumping in obvious defeat. He reluctantly lifts his head from your shoulder with a grumble, but he can't quite stop himself from pressing a kiss to your cheek just before he shifts up and off of the couch.

Once he’s reached down to grab his phone from where it's stuffed in the pocket of his jeans, he answers without looking at the caller ID. "Yeah?"

"Hyung!"

It's Soonyoung— of course it's Soonyoung— calling.

"Are you still at the company?" the younger member asks. "I think I forgot my headset in one of the practice rooms, and Minghao said you didn't go home with them."

"It's midnight, Soonyoung." 

You shit over on the couch, careful not to make any sound. Not to give Soonyoung any suspicion that Seungcheol might be somewhere where he shouldn't be. You press a small, reassuring kiss to Seungcheol's hip as Soonyoung goes on to whine, "Yeah, yeah, I know. But it's the expensive headset, hyung. If you're still there, could you check? Please?"

Seungcheol lets out a huff— a mixture of resigned affection and irritation— at the feeling of your lips against his skin. He can feel the exhaustion deep within his bones now, and all he wants to do is go back to snuggling into you for the night.

But he can't say no to Soonyoung, especially not at this time of night.

"Fine," he grumbles, letting out a huff. "Which practice room?"

You can hear the moment Soonyoung practically brightens with triumph.

"Third floor!" he says happily, and you bury your face into Seungcheol's side to keep yourself from laughing. "You're the best, hyung! I'll buy you a meal tomorrow for the trouble!"

He reaches down with the hand not holding his phone, pressing his palm to the top of your head, pushing lightly down. A warning of don't laugh. "Just be thankful I'm your hyung, kid," Seungcheol grouses.

Soonyoung ends the call soon enough, saying some things about sending Seungcheol a photo of his headset so he knows exactly which one is missing. When it's back to just the two of you again, you tilt your head up to look at Seungcheol. 

"You're really going back for it tonight?" you ask, even though you already know the answer. 

The corner of his lip twitches into a half smile at the way you look up at him. His eyes takein the sight of you— his hand on the back of your head, his fingers gently twisting strands of your hair.

"Of course I am," he sighs. "I can't say no to him, love."

You shift upward so you can sit side by side with Seungcheol. Both of you have yet to put on any clothes, but you’ve at least gathered your bearings enough to form coherent words now.

"You can't say 'no' to any of them," you tease as you press a gentle kiss to his cheek. There's an almost blinding affection in your tone as you say, "You and your goddamn boys."

Seungcheol reaches out, wrapping an arm around your waist to tug you closer to him. Briefly, he presses his lips against your hair. His eyes are almost tender as he speaks.

"They're my boys," he says, his voice soft.

You let the words hang there for just a moment. It’s an admission, one that both of you have known for the longest time, but it's also a reminder. It’s the reason why you and Seungcheol can never be more than this—because he has his boys, and he would never do anything to jeopardize them.

You press your face against the column of his neck for just one more precious moment. You’ve never been selfish about Seungcheol, but there were nights when you thought about it. Just… thought about it.

The thought never wins.

"Let’s clean up, get dressed," you whisper into his skin. "So you can head to the company sooner."

He lets out a soft, almost painful exhale. He knows what you're thinking, what you're feeling; he's thought about it himself, as well. He hates having to leave you, hates having to say that he has to leave you. But his boys are his boys, and one day all this will be over, and then...

He can't think about it right now, though.

Instead, he nods, pressing a light kiss to your temple. "Yeah."

It takes about ten minutes or so for you both to gather everything together. Seungcheol still looks tired, though for different reasons now. He’s essentially traded one exhaustion for another.

As he puts on the shoes he left in your entryway, you lean against your doorway with your arms crossed over your chest. "I’ll be holding you accountable for my pajama set," you warn him. "And for tomorrow’s noise complaint."

"Yeah, yeah," he huffs, taking a step toward you. "Don't worry, I haven't forgotten."

His face softens as he reaches you, his hands coming up to grab your elbows, gently pulling you closer to him. "Sorry," he says. "Again."

 "You’re not sorry, " you sigh pointedly, more out of spite than anything. It’s the truth—he’s not really that apologetic about losing control every now and then, about your neighbors knowing you’re being pulled close every so often.

When you bury your face into his chest, he lets out a low, gruff chuckle, his chin resting gently against the top of your head. His arms wrap around you, holding you tightly against him, just like every single time before.

"You’re right," he murmurs. A quiet, affectionate admission. “Not sorry. Not even a little.”

He holds you there against him, his eyes fluttering shut as he allows himself just a few more moments before he has to leave. You both stay there, allowing yourselves that moment, until the tension in Seungcheol’s shoulders fades and your annoyance at your torn pajamas ebbs. It could’ve been five minutes, maybe less, but then Seungcheol’s phone pings with a text—surely Soonyoung asking if he’s found his headset.

You’re the one who takes the step back, putting some distance between you. "Drive safe," you tell Seungcheol. "Text me when you’re there."

Resigned. That’s the only way to describe the smile that tugs at his lips. "Yeah," he says. "I will."

True to his word, Seungcheol does indeed send you a text about an hour or so after he'd arrived at the company, informing you that he was there and had found Soonyoung’s headset.

He's still exhausted, and all he wants is to be back. Back inside of you, back with you. But he can't do any of that. At least, not right now. Not at this point.

I miss you already, is the only other thing he adds to his text.

Your text comes in only moments later, like you had been waiting by your phone. 

you're a fool. head home. take care.

A soft sigh escapes him the moment he reads your text, his eyes flickering over the words you'd typed, the harshness of it. It's another layer of protection for the both of you, but it's still not easy to read.

He's about to respond with something snarky, some light-hearted joke to tease you a bit, but he stops himself at the last moment. He knows that you're right.

He needs to head home. He needs to take care.

And he’s an absolute goddamn fool, in more ways than one. 

[misctf]

Hey, dude. My dad and I have never really clicked; he always wanted me to be more athletic, like a classic jock, which, just by looking at me, it’s pretty clear would be impossible. Right now, I'm in my junior year of college, thinking about going to med school. My dad even went to college on a scholarship to play football; he was a defensive tackle, but these days he looks way more like an offensive tackle thanks to a mix of working as a foreman at a construction company, a pretty unhealthy diet, and the crazy amount of beer he downs with his buddies. And those are the memories I have from my childhood, since by the time I was born, he was way past his prime. Normally, we steer clear of each other, but today’s my birthday, and he shows up on campus with a case of beer from some brand I’ve never seen, saying he wants to celebrate the big 2-1 of his only son the right way. I appreciated the gesture, even though I hate the stuff. But not wanting to be a buzzkil I took a sip, and now I’m not feeling well while my dad’s just sitting there, grinning at me. What the hell is going on?

You place the can of beer down and stare at your dad, only to be greeted by his shit-eating smirk. A wave of nausea washes over you and the room seems to be spinning.

“What the hell is going on?” You think.

Yeah, you and your dad didn’t get along all too well. Your interest in academics and dreams of medical school are simply foreign concepts to your brutish father. But poisoning you? No way, right? You try to stand up, stumbling a bit, only to be supported by your father’s huge arm. You turn to him, eyes half-lidded.

“Wh-what did you do?” You slur.

“Don’t worry, son.” He leads you back to your chair, “Just relax.”

You writhe as your body begins to undergo a metamorphosis. Your dad grins as you cry out and rip the clothes from your body, exposing your less than ideal physique. You stare up at him, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes as you feel each and every single one of your muscles heat up. You know this shouldn’t be possible. This flies in the face of all the biochemistry you learned. Yet, as you stare at your hand, your eyes widen in terror. Your hand begins to crack and reform, becoming larger and manlier. And you watch as the process happens to your feet. Your toes breaking through your shoes, tufts of hair on each of them, their musk filling the air. The changes seem to move up your arms and legs at equal pace, packing on muscle with each contraction. And as you cry out from the pain of your metamorphosis, you notice your voice is getting deeper.

“Dad, please...” You can’t help but realize you sound like those oafish frat bros around campus, “I... I...”

But against your will, your lips form a smirk. And you can feel your jaw shifting and changing. Your messy brown hair shortening. And worse yet, you feel a fog descend over your mind. When the last of the changes finish, your dad can’t help but grin at the sight of his new and improved son. Unaware that you are still there- just watching through the new jock’s eyes.

“Yo pops,” The words leave your mouth without any of your input, “Did I like, win the lottery or somethin’ bro?” God you hate the sound of your new voice. It’s the voice of a stereotypical douchebag. Dumb, low, and dripping with an irritating smugness.

“Something like that.” He slaps your muscular back and grins, “Fuck, Jim was right. This shit works wonders.” He stares down at your beer, “So son...” He chuckles when he notices you’re completely focused on the football game on the TV.

“Fuck, I need a beer.” You feel your muscular arm reach towards your beer. A wave of panic washes over you, but your dad stops you.

“Woah, easy there.” He chuckles, “If just a sip did this to you, I can’t imagine the full bottle.” At least your dad had some common sense, you think.

For the rest of the day, you were forced to watch as a passenger in your new body. You tossed the ol’ pigskin with your dad, rated the sorority girls that walked by, and lifted some weights at the school’s gym. Your dad seemed thrilled with the new you. But as a passenger- you hated all of it. The way this body felt, the way it smelled, and especially the sound of your voice.

Your dad left later that day, leaving you trapped. But as the days pass, you start recognizing a few things. The jock that now occupies and controls your day-to-day life seems to be into two things: working-out and jerking off. And you realize that while you might not have complete control, you can at least influence the jock- and enjoy his jerk-off sessions. But you serve as his conscious. As long as you don’t interfere with his work-outs or pleasure sessions, you’re able to push him to go to class. And even though your grades are slipping, you’re at least able to prevent most of the damage.

When the semester ends, you dread your return home. Your dad is already talking about all the shit you’re going to do together. Hunting, camping- fuck, he even got you a job at his construction site. The jock in control just grins and fist bumps your dad, excited to spend time with his ol’ man. But you have to study for the medical school entrance exams. And you’re not going to let this stop you. Unfortunately, you couldn’t even begin to realize how much that stressed the stupid jock.

“Fuck!” He bellows, dropping his weights, “No, I don’t wanna fuckin’ study.” He groans, “Leave me the fuck alone, bro.” He grips his head, “I just wanna get big and fuck, alright?”

He never lashed out like this before. And part of you is worried he might do something stupid. Naturally, he does. He opens the basement fridge’s door, looking for his post-workout shake. But he grins when he sees an all too familiar case of beer. He grabs a bottle and inspects it closely.

“Aight brah, if this shit got me lookin’ like this,” He flexes his sweaty bicep, “a little more won’t hurt. Maybe this’ll shut you up.” You’re screaming for him to stop. But he flicks the cap off, “Cheers, bro.” He downs the bottle in only a few seconds, his belch filling the room.

“No, no, no...” You’re panicking now, waiting for the worst.

“See, not all that baaaaaaaaahhhhh.” The jock groans as his muscles begin to heat up.

But this time feels different to you. Not particularly the physical sensations in your muscles. But by the pressure in your head. It’s stronger. Almost like it’s enveloping the last remnants of you in a fog. You watch in the mirror through the jock’s eyes as your face takes on a more simian look. And you can hear his voice getting deeper. The words fragmenting and making less sense.

“Me bigger. It hurt!” The jock grunts, drool dripping from his mouth.

Your pecs explode with muscle, becoming two giant slabs of meat. Your arms are packing on an equally ridiculous amount of muscle, and you realize you can barely turn your head anymore from all the added muscle to your frame. The lean muscle of the handsome jock is growing- becoming that of a bodybuilder on steroids. Hair erupts across your previously clean shaven chest and abdomen, and a beard shapes your increasingly more simian face. Your forehead juts out, jaw becoming larger, and drool dripping from the corner of your mouth.

“Wait, no!” You beg as you feel something pulling you from deep within your mind. Dragging you into the fog of your new caveman-like existence.

Your dreams, desires, and pride in your academics are all being drowned suffocated in a musky, lust-filled fog that floods your mind. The only thoughts that occupy your smaller brain include lifting, flexing, and jerking off. There’s no remnant of your mind left to prevent you from engaging in your primal desires. And as your mind is molded to fully match the new you, you start to laugh. Dull, dumb, and absolutely devoid of any higher-thinking. It fills the room around you. And you collapse, hand pumping your cock- sweat pouring from your musky, hairy musculature.

When your dad comes downstairs later, he’s shocked by what he sees. Gone was the perfect jock son he created. In his place is this brutish, massive, and hairy ape of a man.

“Son?” He whimpers.

You look over at your dad and grin, “Drink good.”

And as you continue to lift your weights, your dad just stares at the empty bottle on the ground. Now realizing he should’ve just thrown the damn things out.

_______________

Please feel free to send me ideas/requests via my Inbox. Still working on a few but I've enjoyed everyone's ideas so far!

[timedhoney]

MDNI. I <3 seungcheol perhaps an unhealthy amount

You’re too shy to tell him outright, but you absolutely love when cheol fingers you with no purpose. Laying an absolute squirming mess across his lap as he dips into you languidly with his eyes on the soccer game that plays on the TV.

He could have made you come multiple times by this point, so the fact that he’s chosen not to makes you drip even more across his light wash jeans. You swear he wears them just so he can admire how the wet patch grows along them. Neither of you are in a hurry to be anywhere but exactly where you are.

The soothing sounds of the announcer’s voices provide the perfect background buzz as he spreads your lips apart to greedily look at how you wiggle for him. Using his other hand to grab at your ass before he slides his fingers up to your clit. Heaven, you declare. Heaven is when cheol decides to play with you.

He gently circles your clit while you bury your face into the pillow and make noises that you feel like you shouldn’t be physically able to make. He makes cute kissy sounds at you as he resumes exploring your insides with his index and middle fingers.

The game is getting interesting, and he momentarily pauses 3 knuckles deep as he sucks in a breath. You’re sucking in a breath too, but it’s only because of course he’s chosen to press right up against your g spot in his moment of rapt attention. You’re going to pass out. Or turn to dust. Or pull his dick out of his pants. You really can’t decide.

But the moment passes and he returns to his previous ministrations, putting a soothing hand on your lower back. Fingers rocking in a rhythm that has your hips searching against him desperately. He pulls out to slide his finger along the outside of your lips with no rhyme or reason. Just because he can. Just because you’ll let him. You jolt each time he chooses to rub at your clit as he journeys. Jesus, is all you can say.

He leans down towards your ear, eyes still on the game. “god your ass looks amazing laid out for me like this.”

“Have my kids?” You ask, eyes clenched shut as he crooks his fingers back in deep in that way he knows gets you going. Well, what else is a girl supposed to say when she’s getting sweet talked like that?

You laugh when you feel him harden beneath you.

“What, fingering me for an hour does nothing until I say that?”

“Who said I wasn’t sporting a semi since the moment you laid yourself down all over me?”

You hurry to straddle him as you fumble with his zipper. Lucky for him you like to come best around his cock anyway.

[merakiui]

eden.

yandere!rollo flamme x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, nsfw, non-con, captivity, obsession, menophilia/period sex, vague references to the story of adam & eve note - a self-indulgent paradise crafted by rollo's generous, gracious hand.

Silvery slivers of moonlight spill through the space in the curtains, illuminating the fluffy sheets you’re currently entangled in. A sharp sting in your abdomen rouses you from your dreamless slumber, so agonizing it causes you to slowly curl in on yourself. Miserable and defeated, you groan and bury your face in the neighboring pillow. Now muffled, the sound can only carry on for however much capacity your lungs possess. It eventually fizzles out into a solemn, silent resignation that forces you to accept the third day of the monthly curse that is the menstrual cycle.

It’s a natural facet of your biology, but that doesn’t stop you from moping when you register the slick sensation between your legs.

This wouldn’t be an issue if he got me pads or tampons, you think, bitter with resentment and worn to exhaustion even though you’ve only just woken.

Awkwardly, you attempt to sit up and pull the covers back to check the damage. Rollo’s sheets are always spotless and fresh; he washes them every two weeks on Sunday afternoons, dedicated to following his schedule down to the letter. But then the pain persists, stabbing through to your very organs, and you resume your pitiful fetal position in hopes that the severity may abate.

It does, but you think you’re just tricking yourself into believing so.

You can feel the blood soaking through your white nightgown, and the sodden fabric molds itself to your rear in a very unpleasant way. Shuddering, you blink back tears.

I wanna go home.

Home, as it happens, has felt less and less temporary with each passing month spent in Twisted Wonderland. You’ve come to associate the familiarity of Night Raven College and its student body with comfort and contentment. It’s your home away from home. A long, long way from home. But it’s all you’ve ever had since the Dark Mirror beckoned you forth, and it’s served as your solace for a while.

Initially, you felt trapped and alone, uncertain of your fate and what this could mean for your life. But now you realize that no amount of feeling stuck at school could ever compare to this—to real confinement.

Your capture and, subsequently, your captor’s inexplicable infatuation are the result of arbitrary observation. In his frigid, heavy-eyed stare, you fit the criteria for a definition of purity he has constructed for his own abstract conduct. Untouched by magic, unable to conjure even the simplest spell, you are the speck of hope within Pandora’s box—a blessing enshrouded in sin.

“It must be taxing to live amongst mages so often,” he had said, as if to extend sympathy.

Foolishly, not quite understanding where those words were coming from, you replied in jest, “Believe me, it is. The amount of times I’ve nearly been caught in the crossfire when my friends get into heated arguments… Yikes.”

Rollo Flamme is a righteous man, and thus it is his duty to build a pristine paradise for you. An Eden of his own creation, its sole purpose to safeguard you from the pollution that is magic and, by extension, mages.

But purity cannot be found here, for Rollo is a devil in this garden. Potted plants adorn the floor; it’s something of a floral jungle, filling the room with perfumed scents and pretty sights. You’ve made note of their habits—of every flower that wilts and rises once it’s watered, of every petal that pries itself open under the moon’s glow and closes come sunrise, of every stem that’s trimmed to prevent excess.

Rollo Flamme prefers tidy spaces, so this well-kept garden is sterile and peaceful. You’ve likened it to a morgue filled with dead things—or soon-to-be dead things, as most plants cannot thrive forever no matter how diligent the botanist.

He barked a humorless, monosyllabic laugh at your declaration. “Unless you’ve chosen to view yourself as a rotting corpse, which you are not, your comparison is both unwarranted and untrue,” he muttered, and that was the final utterance of that subject.

Conversations with Rollo are always impossible, which is why you’re dreading this next one when he turns the key in the lock. The sound is like a gunshot in an empty room: explosive. As if echoing your discomfort, your cramps worsen in their intensity and you suck in a shaky breath through grit teeth. You hear the door shut and lock, sentencing you to an exchange with an unwanted warden. He walks into a mostly serene scene, his glacial gaze sweeping across the room to pick apart any interruptions in this slice of Shangri-La.

“I’ve brought dinner,” he announces, and you lift your head to peer at the tray in his hands.

“I don’t want your grapes and croissants,” you spit. “I want something warm.”

“It is warm.” Stepping closer, he sets the tray on his desk. You spy wispy tendrils rising from a bowl of soup. “Sit up and eat before it goes cold.”

You attempt that, halfway up on your elbows, but then your abdomen tightens and you slump back into the sheets. “Hurts,” you whine, clutching your stomach.

Rollo sniffs at the air, brows furrowing. His shoes click out an even rhythm against the floorboards, stopping at your bedside. Without ceremony he yanks the duvet away and you hiss at him, humiliated even though it’s normal. Your skin prickles with a chill, and it’s made even worse when you see the fiery glint in his eyes—the perceptive sort of glaze that overtakes his pupils when he’s observing you. His eyes crawl down your figure, stopping at the stain sullying your satin nightgown.

“Ah, you’ve leaked.”

“Obviously,” you snap. “I did this yesterday, too. When are you going to get me pads? Or tampons? I’ll even take a towel at this point or toilet paper. Anything is better than this.”

Rollo shakes his head. “You’re perfectly fine as you are.”

“Free bleeding like this is filthy and unsanitary.”

“So I’ll simply clean you.”

You drag your hand down your face and groan. “Rollo, please. It hurts, and it’s wet and uncomfortable.”

“You’ve illustrated these points more than clearly.”

“So then… Then do something about it!”

He narrows his eyes at you, silently taking issue with your demand, before he hums his consideration. His face settles into something neutral while he removes his hat and shoes, dutifully setting them in their respective places.

Rollo surprises you when he climbs onto the bed, kneeling over you with the tiniest trace of a smile.

“Spread your legs. I’ll have a look.”

Fresh horror blooms on your already distraught countenance. You bickered with him over this yesterday when he’d brought a wet rag to your inner thigh, seething at you to stay still while he wiped you down. You’d wrestled with him for ownership of the rag, insisting in panicked huffs that you could do it yourself. Your slap had rung out in the silence, rendering Rollo stiff with stormy emotions. He’d relinquished the rag, scoffing at you for being ungrateful and resolving to scribble in his diary for the rest of the day—a prisoner to his own silent treatment.

Now, as his cold fingertips creep up your legs, you feel less hungry and more sick.

Weakly, you shake your head at him, sinking deeper into the pillows. “I… I can do it myself…”

“With what? The nightgown you’ve already dirtied?” He tilts his head at you and smiles an odd smile. You can’t place it, whether it’s smug or sweet, but it soon becomes the former when he throws your words right back at you: “That’s filthy and unsanitary.”

“You don’t have anything either,” you retort, only to grimace once more.

Rollo exhales through his nose, amusement flashing in his dreary eyes. “Because I’m not going to clean you. Not yet.”

Ice crystalizes within your veins, and the tension in your legs slackens enough for him to pull them apart. “What?”

His hands stray dangerously close. You stiffen, nerves tangling with panic. “There are ways to alleviate menstrual cramps. You should be aware of them, so I see no need to go into detail.”

“I know, yes, but—” You swallow thickly and push his reaching fingers away before they can curl around the hem of your nightgown. “Rollo, please don’t…”

“You’ll feel better,” he assures you matter-of-factly, whispering the words like that will change anything. “This is better than medicine and safer than magic.”

You shift beneath him, unsettled. “A… A hot compress will do. Y-You’ll get yourself dirty. Also! A-Also… If we don’t wash the sheets soon, it’ll stain.”

“Let it. It will serve as a reminder to both of us. A reminder that, though you may ruin these sheets with all manner of bodily fluids, they will still remain pure.” He lifts your nightgown, leaning close to your ear while palming at your stomach. You angle yourself away from him, eyes squeezed shut. “It’s because you’re perfect and clean, untainted by magic, that you are able to exist here. I envy you…”

His bare hand is cold against your warm belly and it travels lower, his fingers hooking around the waistband of your panties. You stifle a whine, tears welling up behind your eyelids.

“Rollo…”

“Even your voice…” He inhales deeply, high off the scent of you—metallic and pungent, a natural musk more enticing than any flowery perfume. “Everything about you is so clean, even the very blood that pools between your legs… Just a moment in your embrace is enough to wash away the layers of filth that accumulate on my person. Perhaps you might even manage to scrub beneath my skin, wash out every ounce of magic that rests within… Would that I could, I’d break myself into pieces so that you may reassemble me—build a better me. A me without magic. If only…”

His other hand slithers into yours, squeezing tight. You’re arrested by the strain in his tone when he speaks next, so full of yearning and desperation. Covetous. Shameless.

“If only.”

“R-Rollo, please stop…”

“Yes… Yes, of course,” he babbles, nodding to himself. “I’ve likened you to a concept—to purity alone—but you are more than that. The embodiment of it… An angel. Otherworldly, immune to the poisonous effects of magic… Yes, that is what you are. An angel bereft of flaws.”

He fishes his celestial-patterned handkerchief from his pocket and presses it to your lips next. Your eyes snap open to find him now much closer than before, and you have but a moment to brace yourself before he leans in. The kiss is indirect, the both of you separated by the cloth, but the intention is there. It sticks to you even after he’s lowered the handkerchief. You are too pure and he is too filthy, which is why your lips must never touch.

Contradictory because he’s kissed you before.

Rollo drags your blood-soaked panties down to your knees. You shudder like a frail leaf caught in autumn’s harsh breeze.

“I’ve saved you—freed you!—from those…those villains. So you must allow me to indulge.” He shakes his head, his licentious, lustful stare smoldering to such a scorching degree it brands impure, unhealthy love upon your bare flesh. “I will indulge because I have been nothing but agreeable. This—” his fingers brush your slick folds, testing the waters— “is a wonder no magic could ever hope to reproduce. This is just you. Perfect, pretty, pure you…”

Experimentally, his digits dip shallowly inside. You flinch and inhale a sharp, frantic breath, your stomach somersaulting and knotting itself all at once. Complicated feelings stir within you as you writhe under his invasive touch. Your effort to escape is halfhearted; it’s too painful to move, so instead you attempt to clamp your legs shut. He tuts at you and slips his hand out from your hold to pet along your thigh.

“There goes a certain tale,” Rollo says, breathless as he continues his patient exploration. His eyes rove over your pussy like he intends to imprint it in his memory, and he doesn’t shy away from the crimson rivulet that runs down his palm when he sinks his fingers in further. You grit your teeth, melting against the pillows like an angel stamped in snow, and your free hand strangles a fistful of sheets. “In which a pair lived together in paradise, but it was temptation that ultimately led to their downfall. It is a doomed narrative.”

You’re breathing heavily now, your eyes flicking from the ceiling to the many plants that surround you on all sides, each one in full bloom. It feels as if you’re on a bed-turned-boat in a sea of greenery.

A sea of divine fertility.

With a skillful curl the two fingers delve deeper, pressing up against your gummy walls. Against your better judgment, you whine, loud and bawdy. His touch soothes, but then it stings. It makes you want to peel yourself open and step out of your skin so that you may subject it to a vigorous washing. It makes you despise the scent of flowers. It makes you fear the sound of the bell as it tolls unfailingly every single day. It makes you wish you’d never opened your mouth to respond to his words all those weeks ago.

Tears slip from your lash line. “Stop… Please stop…”

“Perhaps this is that same story made modern. Perhaps you were sculpted specially for me and I for you.” A third finger joins the other two working you open. Paper-pale skin is coated in brilliant vermillion, the very color of ardent desire. “Perhaps we are destined to fall together, born anew in someplace purer…”

The slow, steady drag of his fingers is more tempting than the ripe redness between your thighs, and you force yourself to gaze sidelong at the soup sitting abandoned on his desk. He plucks at each of your tangled, dewy strings, unraveling them with graceful strokes, and you’re pulled along on the blissfully uncomfortable current, treading between someplace grounded in reality and fantasy.

From above, at the bird’s eye view, you have become a garden for Rollo’s twisted whimsy.

You return to yourself when he eases his fingers out, stalling for a silent beat, before he thrusts them back in in one fluid motion. It punches the air from your lungs, has you throwing your head back with a weepy howl. He watches this with fierce scrutiny, curious at a clinical level.

“You’re beautiful,” he admits, spreading his fingers inside you. “My world. My panacea. My angel.”

“No… No, no.” You sob, your chest heaving with every wail. You can smell yourself on the air, the sharp scents of iron and sweat. Your pussy weeps blood, devastated at the hands of a monster, and yet it can’t stop affixing itself to him. A mold meant to suit his design. “Please… Please take it out.”

A shadow of contemplation passes over Rollo’s flushed countenance and then he’s reaching over to dry your tears, dabbing at your face with his handkerchief. “You’re okay. It doesn’t hurt anymore, right?”

You shake your head in protest rather than respond, chewing your bottom lip to shreds. A feeble whine slips through and you arch into him when his thumb presses down into your clit and prods at your hood. It happens all too fast. You tighten and loosen all at once, your mouth dropping open and eyes rolling back. The sheets are soaked through and properly soiled now, but that fact doesn’t lessen the seismic ecstasy that drapes itself over you like a veil. Your vision whites out and you fall, fall, fall through the waning vestiges.

Your heart drops into your stomach at the realization.

It doesn’t hurt anymore.

“You’ve done well.” He slides his fingers out, and the gooey squelching wrings a shudder from you. This time he grants you one of his rare smiles—the authentic, sincere kind—while he presses the pads of his fingers to his upturned lips, dyeing himself in your essence. You blink through encroaching tears, an ocean that obscures your vision and fuzzies his figure.

His fingers dig into the plush pudge of your thighs, thumbs rubbing soothing circles along your adductors. You open yourself again, involuntarily blossoming in this garden of iniquity.

“Good,” he praises again, whisper-soft. “You’re only permitted to be this way with me. Anyone else would simply tarnish your sweetness. They’d take advantage of your ability to cleanse even the foulest of filth. But I…”

Rollo, still clothed and now libidinous in his impatience, fumbles to pull himself free. His throbbing erection presses against your stomach, the final piece to force this puzzle to completion.

“I will always lay myself at your altar.”

You beg him not to, but every objection goes unheard. His hips connect with yours; he’s holding back, if only just barely, pressing onwards slowly, his breath coming in huffs and grunts. To savor it. To know the feeling firsthand and engrave it into his very being, from his fingers to his toes. To immerse himself in the red rain of a shackled angel.

To color a picturesque paradise in cardinal sin.

Just beyond the windows of Eden, swathed in midnight luminescence, a glorious city set aflame burns bright, overtaken by fiery flowers.

[badalivie]

 when you faint on stage

warnings: unhealthy diets, cursing, and some mentions of blood 

seungcheol!

“I can’t. My performance is in a couple minutes” You huffed, almost tripping over because of the lack of feeling you had in your left leg.

“slow down” Seungcheol grabbed a hold of your waist and pulled you back up on your feet “y/n please.” Just as he tried to beg you again, your group was called to perform. He could only watch as you hauled yourself onto the stage and smiled brightly, waving and making hearts at the cameras. He hated seeing his members in pain during performances and not being able to do anything to help them. So imagine how he felt watching you, the love of his life, haul yourself onto the stage like a soldier with a duty to battle.

After 3 excruciating minutes, you were able to finish the performance. Seungcheol kept his eyes on you like a hawk throughout the performance. Biting his nails, tapping his foot, peeling the skin on his lips. He felt like his heart was going to burst from worry. The way your eyes began to close and the way your foot was fighting for balance didn’t go unnoticed by him. Just as the lights shut off, you lost consciousness. Seungcheol was fast enough to catch you before you hit the ground, tearing his slacks as his knees slid across the floor.��“Y/n, doll, come on” He lightly tapped your cheeks and stroked your head “Fuck.” He cursed, picking you up bridal style and running to your waiting room.

“I don’t care what you think! I’m asking you why you thought it was okay to overwork y/n like this! Extreme diets, 17 hour schedules, are you out of your mind?! You think being an idol is easy?”

The voice of your boyfriend yelling slowly woke you up. “Baby..?” You muttered. Seungcheol’s head snapped towards you when he heard your voice and he instantly kneeled down to your eye level while you lay on the couch.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” He smiled sweetly while he waved your manager and other staff away with one motion of his hand.

“Dizzy” you replied, trying to get up

“hey hey, slow down” Seungcheol placed his hands on your back and helped you sit up. “drink.” He gently held your chin as he guided you to drink from the water bottle he had bought earlier, feeding you like a baby. You drank a good amount before pushing the bottle away. “Good girl.” Seungcheol cooed, stroking the side of your head and tucking your hair behind your ear.

“what happened?”

“you passed out.” He frowned

“Oh shit not again” you face palmed. Seungcheol’s eyebrows crashed together.

“again? how many times has this happened?” He grabbed your wrist tightly and pulled it away from your face, forcing you to look at him. “Tell me.” He pressed.

“Just like… three or four times”

A serious, yet worried, expression washed over his features. “I knew it. I knew something was up with you. Why didn’t you tell me?” You sensed a hint of anger in his voice even though he tried his hardest to suppress it. You knew how careful he was with you, always making sure you never bumped into anything or strained yourself too much (which you were grateful for), so you didn’t want to trouble him when you started passing out and kept it a secret.

“because I knew you’d react like this.” You sighed.

His face scrunched up in what seemed to be annoyance before he took a breath and relaxed “of course I’m going to react like this, y/n. I’m your boyfriend, all I want is for you to be happy, and healthy. You can’t expect me to be anything less than worried.” He sighed, eventually calming down, and rested his forehead against yours.

“I’m sorry,” You said, attempting to calm his nerves knowing he was probably exploding internally. You rubbed your hands up and down his arms, which you could feel made him physically relax. “It won’t happen again.”

“It definitely won’t. I’ll make sure of that. You’re gonna be okay. I’m here now.”

He’d definitely watch over you like a hawk for the rest of the month. He’d make sure you ate 3 meals a day and had a decent amount of sleep. Your manager adjusted your schedule to make it a bit lighter. How could he not? He was too scared to find out what Seungcheol would to do him if he didn’t ease up on you.

jeonghan!

“so you think I’m weak and can’t handle it?”

“That’s not what I meant at all and you know it.” Jeonghan exasperated

“Yeah well, that’s what it sounded like to me.”

Jeonghan sighed and reached for your arm, rubbing up and down “I just worry for you... That’s all...” Before you could respond, your group was called to the stage. The heartbreak he felt when you shook his hand off was incomprehensible. It started off as a joke. He was teasing you about how pale you were, but when he noticed how weak you actually were, his mood changed. “You can’t go on stage like this y/n.” “You’re too... frail...” “Look at you! You look like you’re going to fall over any minute!” Were some of the things he said. Considering your exhaustion and all his prior teasing, you were not having any of it, which lead to a small dispute.

Jeonghan quietly returned to his seat by his members when the event continued. He kept his eyes fixated on you the whole time. Every time your balance faltered, and when your knees hit the ground too hard, he flinched in his seat. You managed to get to the end of the performance, but before you could strike the ending pose, you fell to the ground. The crowd gasped and the camera flashes went wild.

Jeonghan calmly stood up and excused himself from his members, who all understood where he was going. He heard the voices of your concerned members through the speakers, but he never sped up his pace as he made his way backstage. The pace he was walking at was driving him insane. When he got backstage, away from the cameras, his legs mindlessly began to speed up, taking him faster and faster until he was sprinting to your waiting room.

Jeonghan’s heart sank when he saw you with an oxygen mask strapped to your face. He immediately turned to your manager and lost it.

You woke up to the sound of your boyfriends voice and that irritating tone of his. You only heard it when you got in big arguments with him. It was that tone that made you think he wasn’t taking you seriously, like he was mocking you. It drove you crazy. But hearing what he was saying made your heart warm.

“So what did you expect her to do? Just take it and soldier though? Do you hear yourself right now? What do you want me to say? ‘You’re a genius!’ Pull yourself together dumbass. Look at the state she’s in! Did you not have enough brain to think this far? Do you think she’s a robot?! This is what happens to a person if you don’t let them rest!”

You gently reached your hand and grazed your fingertips over Jeonghan’s hand. A shiver crawled up his spine at the contact. “Baby…” Your boyfriend fell to his knees by your side, brushing your hair back. The staff all silently slipped outside of the room, partly because they were scared of Jeonghan, but because they also wanted to give you two privacy. “I’m sorry for earlier. I shouldn’t have been hard on you…”  He immediately apologized.

“I’m sorry too. I know you care for me… I shouldn’t have let my exhaustion rub off on you.”

Jeonghan shook his head and smiled sweetly at you “It’s okay. I know I have those moments with you too, and honestly I’d rather you be open to me about how you’re feeling. Okay? Don’t hide it from me.” He grabbed some water and a snack from the coffee table next to you. “Please eat something. You know how hard it was for me to just watch you eat only fruits at home?”

You sat up slowly and debated at first, but when you saw the way Jeonghan was looking at you with his worried, begging eyes, you had to say yes. “Just a small bag of cheetos. That’s it.”

“It’s a step” He chirped, popping the bag open and feeding you pieces of the snack one by one.

He’d watch over you silently but diligently for the next few months. He’d subtly try to up your food intake without you noticing and he’d always cuddle you after eating a large meal, almost like a reward.

shua!

"you’re bleeding!”

You felt blood trickle down from your nose, the droplets landing on your stage outfit. Joshua ran to your side and wiped your nose with a tissue. “This is bad, y/n. Really bad.”

“I’m fine. This happens a lot” You said nonchalantly, stuffing some tissue up your nostril. 

“a lot? y/n you need to see a doctor!”

“I’m fine, shua...” You tried to reassure him, but it obviously wasn’t working.

“y/n please.”

Just on cue, you were called to the stage to perform. Joshua grabbed your wrist, asking you to stay and take a break. He didn’t let go up until the very last second. He watched your performance from his seat anxiously. It was obvious to him that your blood was still trickling down from your nose. You kept looking up and wiping your nose when you walked to the side of the stage. You were like a ticking time bomb. 

Just before the last chorus could start, you dropped your microphone and fell onto the cold wooden floor. One of your members helped you up and carried you backstage with the help of some staff while your other members continued the performance. Joshua pushed through the crowd and burst through the backstage doors, booking it towards your waiting room.

“y/n!” His heart sank at the sight of you laid out on the couch. Grabbing a blanket, he threw it over your body and fell to his knees beside you. Joshua grabbed your hand and brought it up to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss on the back. After about 15 minutes, you regained consciousness.

“Shua..?”

“you’re awake... how do you feel?”

It took you a second to answer, feeling too drowsy to even evaluate your physical state “not so good.”

Joshua sighed and brushed your hair back,  whispering softly “we’re seeing a doctor tomorrow.”

“Joshua there’s no need-”

“No. You are not arguing with me on this. I should have been more stern with you.” His voice was sharp, yet his eyes were still gentle as ever, afraid of hurting or scaring you. “We’re seeing a doctor and that’s the end of the story. If there’s something wrong with you, I want to know, I want to help. I don’t want to regret not taking you to the doctor. I can’t take that risk. I can’t to lose you...”

You cupped his cheeks and planted a gentle kiss on his forehead “And you wont...” He melted upon hearing those words of reassurance, bringing his hands up to yours and pressing them closer to his face, moving his head to the side to kiss one of your palms. “What time do we have to go tomorrow?”

“After we get enough rest.”

The doctor said you were suffering from burnout and exhaustion and advised you to get lots of rest. Joshua was happy that you didn’t have any serious life threatening conditions and that helping you get better was something he had power over. He’d pamper you but also be strict with your recovery, scolding you whenever you didn’t eat enough saying “you didn’t eat a lot, you just ate more than usual.”

jun!

Jun was usually soft-spoken toward you. He always respected and trusted your decisions whatever they may be. So when you were depriving yourself of your basic needs and deteriorating your health, he had no idea how to talk to you about it. You’d never put yourself in a situation that needed his intervention before so he had no idea how to tackle it. His hesitation lasted weeks, with multiple occasions of him saying he wanted to talk to you about something that was concerning him but it ending up with him getting too nervous and changing the topic to something else.

“Love, can we talk please?”

“Of course Junnie. What is it?”

“Are you okay-“

Before Jun could finish you were called by your manager, telling you to get on stage. You told him you’d talk to him later and ran into positions. Jun bit his lip, frowning at how the outfit you were wearing brought out how much weight you’d lost. 

You were out of breath and wobbly on stage, something even the audience took notice of. Mid-performance, as your verse was coming up, you fell onto the ground, landing hard on your shoulder. Jun flinched and instinctively ran to you, propping you up on his lap and cradling your face in his hands. The cameras went wild, the flashes almost blinding him. Soon after, staff came to the stage, blocking the two of you from sight and lifted you onto a stretcher. Jun followed the staff that took you to your waiting room with his heart stuck in his throat. He knew that there would be consequences to coming on stage and letting the media see him with you like that, but he didn’t care. He just needed to make sure you were okay. After all, as long as he had you by his side, he could take on the world.

It took about 20 minutes to wake up. You blinked your eyes open to see Jun sitting on a chair across from you, head in his hands. “Junhui...” You called. He jolted when he heard your voice and knelt by your side in a flash.

“y/n! I was so worried! When you fainted I- I didn’t know what to do I-... I was so scared.” You cupped his cheeks and brought his face closer to yours, pressing a gentle kiss against his lips. 

“I’m sorry.”

“You can’t keep scaring me like this, y/n. I can’t keep watching you do this to yourself. I can’t take it. This is where I draw the line.”

“Junhui...”

“Listen to me, y/n” His voice was sharp and stern, a polar opposite from his usual gentle tone. After noticing the shock on your face, he took a deep breath and softened his approach “ Please... We’re seeing a doctor, and getting you a dietitian.”

“Junnie, I can handle myself. I don’t need a dietitian-”

“That wasn’t a request, y/n. I’m getting you one”

You knew by the way he was stalking to you that there was no changing his mind. Though, you did realize that if you hadn’t pushed yourself so far, he wouldn’t have been so stern with you. Deep down, you knew he cared about you.

“Okay... Thank you, Junhui...”

His eyes softened “I’ll never let anything happen to you. You know that right?”

“I know... But hey, on a side note, I like you being strict. It’s really cute~”

“stop it” He giggled, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you in for a kiss.

Jun would be very gentle and supportive in your recovery, making sure you knew he would be with you every step of the way. He’d send gentle reminders to eat the snacks he packed you with sticky notes of motivational messages and cradle you to sleep, smiling when he gradually felt your body gain a little more fat every time he held you.

wonwoo!

“stop it.” Wonwoo chided

“Leave me alone, Won.”

“Y/N!”

“JUST GO!” You shook his arm off, stumbling as you did so. “if you’re not going to support me, just leave.”

“you can’t keep doing this. Your body can’t handle it.”

“I know what I can and can’t handle, Won.” The way you seethed his name left a bitter taste in his mouth. He exhaled and gently tried to reach for you again.

“y/n, please... I don’t want to fight.”

You sighed “me too... Just-... I’ll catch you after my performance”. Wonwoo wanted to reach for you again and say something, but no words were coming out of his mouth. The two of you almost got in a really big fight, he knew the both of you needed space. Still, he never stopped worrying about you, not even for a second.

Wonwoo could barely sit still while you performed on stage. Every time you fell too hard on your knees or twisted your ankle, he winced. Before he knew it, in the blink of an eye, you were on the ground, motionless and cold. He jolted up from his seat, watching in horror as the staff carried you backstage. He felt his legs take him to your waiting room where he found you laid out on the couch.

Wonwoo took deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself, loosening his tie and grabbing a chair to sit beside you. He couldn’t stay still no matter how much he tried, so he grabbed a bucket, a towel, and some iced water. He dipped the towel in the iced water and wrung it before placing it on your forehead. “come on y/n...” He whispered, brushing his fingers through your hair.

“Won..?” You blinked your eyes open

“Oh thank God” Wonwoo exasperated “You have no idea how worried I was. I just blinked and the next thing I knew you were on the ground! I-”

“I’m sorry...”

“huh..? for what, love?”

“for earlier...” You lowered your head “You were right and I... I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. You didn’t deserve that.”

“Oh baby, you’re tired and stressed. I get it. I’m not upset because of that, I’m upset because I don’t like seeing you get hurt.” He rubbed your now bruised knees gently with his hands. “Listen, let’s get you help. Okay? You’re having problems staying up and eating and breathing and just… You need help, y/n, and I’ll give it to you. You just need to let me in. Let me help you help yourself. How does that sound?”

You stayed silent, letting Wonwoo think you were debating it in your head when in reality you already knew the answer. Of course, you would listen to him, why wouldn’t you? What kept you silent is how long it took for you to finally let yourself get help. “Okay… Let’s go to the doctor…”

“Thank you” Wonwoo wrapped his arms around you and held you as close to him as humanly possible. The two of you would have a long, thorough conversation about how you would be handling your health and what steps you’d be taking to get back to proper health. Wonwoo was patient and respectful throughout the whole process, hearing your concerns but also making his side known.

He’d say he trusted you enough to take care of yourself but he’d always be subtly looking after you even if you didn’t notice. Lots of small gestures like putting more food on your plate or getting you juice after practice and opening bottles for you.

woozi!

“This is your fault! Look at what you’ve done to her! Are you proud of yourself?!” Your hearing was muffled but you could make our your boyfriend’s voice in the room, yelling. When you tried opening your eyes, you saw his figure facing your manager, who had a guilty expression on his face. “I told you time and time again that it was too much! You never listened! Now, look what happened! You sacrificed her health for magazine shoots! Are you out of your mind?! You watched her get worse and worse and did nothing! have you no remorse?”

“jihoon-ah...” You whispered, just loud enough for him to hear. Jihoon froze. “baby, come here” His head snapped in your direction, and when he saw you looking at him, the crease between his eyebrows immediately disappeared. His rage had disappeared into thin air, immediately replaced with worry.

“hey, you’re finally awake.” He fell to his knees by your side, smiling weakly. His voice had taken a total 180 from how he was speaking to your manager just a few seconds ago (who was now trying to leave the room without making a single noise, afraid of what Jihoon would do to him).

“what’s going on..? why am I here..?”

“You passed out on stage.”

“I did?” You tried sitting up, but you felt too tired to do so. Jihoon noticed and placed his hand on your back to help you sit up, placing pillows on your back to support you. 

“yeah. everyone was worried. I was worried.” Jihoon breathed, resting his forehead against yours. That was a habit of his whenever he was stressed. You indulged him, letting him hold you for as long as he wanted, knowing how worried he must have been. The silence was broken by a small sniffle coming from your boyfriend. “Jihoon?” You asked, partially worried but also shocked. He rarely cried. “Why are you crying?”

“I can’t take this anymore. Do you have any idea how scared I was?!” He raised his voice a little, a few tears streaking down his cheeks. “You come home at 3 in the morning with barely enough energy to give yourself a bath! You barely eat, you barely sleep, and you barely call anymore. Day and night I worry if you’re okay because you’ve started getting bloody noses often and you have a hard time standing and you don’t even want to eat your favorite foods with me anymore! It’s killing me seeing you like this. The worst part is you won’t talk to me about it! I have to find out through the staff and your friends! Do you have any idea how it makes me feel to find out that my girlfriend’s health is deteriorating right before my eyes and I barely noticed?!”

“Jihoon... I’m so sorry. I didn’t know it was affecting you this much.” You cupped his cheeks and wiped his tears “I’m fine, baby. See? I’m right here. I’m going to be okay”

“You say that but you haven’t shown me anything to back it up. You’re getting worse, y/n. I know your schedule has been hectic because of your comeback but you have to take care of yourself too. If you wont do it for yourself, at least do it for me... please...”

“I will, I’m sorry. I’ll fix it. I’ll make everything right.”

“we.” he corrected “I’m with you, remember? every step of the way. I’d appreciate it if you talked to me more. Let me know when you’re in pain, when you’re tired, or sick. I want to know everything.”

“I will, I promise. I won’t hide anymore. Thank you, love. For everything”

Jihoon didn’t say anything in reply and simply kissed you. He was very patient throughout your recovery and basically nursed you back to health himself. He would often push you but you knew he only wanted what was best for you. Every time you overcame a challenge he gave you he’d reward you with cuddles on the couch or a date. You’re so incredibly lucky to have him.

myungho!

“It’s not healthy, love”

“I know but I… I need to lose weight. I don’t want to disappoint the fans”

“You don’t need to lose weight. You’re perfect. Anyway, your real fans would love you no matter how you look. Just like I do.” He stroked your cheek gently, unable to hide the concern on his face. “and you know I’m your biggest fan, right?”

After minutes of constant reassurance, Myungho finally let you join your group to prepare to go on stage. He watched the performance with his lip caught between his teeth. He doesn’t remember the last time he was this anxious. He knew your group had a difficult choreography, and he scolded you a lot at home for starving yourself to this extent. Myungho had watched your mental health spiral downwards after one particular meeting with your manager, where it all started. No words could possibly express how he felt when he noticed you getting smaller and smaller every time he hugged you. The least he could do was try to reduce your anxiety by cuddling you when you got home, cooking you your favorite snacks, making you tea, or even slow dancing with you to your favorite songs on the record player. He did everything he could, but he couldn’t help you if you didn't want to help yourself, which made it all the more difficult for him to watch.

You were a very sharp person, heck, you were the main dancer. You were a perfectionist, so when he saw you falter on one of the dance steps, he knew something was definitely wrong. You managed to finish the performance, but you were more out of breath than you should have been, and Myungho especially caught the way you couldn’t stand straight while your leader was giving a speech. “Y/n!” He whisper-yelled, which you barely managed to hear. You turned your head and looked at him dead in the eyes “come to me” He mouthed, opening his arms to you. You wanted to walk to him and just rest your weight on him, but you couldn’t seem to feel your legs. All you could do was smile before your vision turned black. 

Myungho instinctively ran towards you and caught you before you hit the ground. He could hear the gasps and camera flashes from the audience but he couldn’t care less about them. “Y/n, baby, wake up.” He silently pleased, cupping your cheek in his hand. One of the staff approached him and said they had to rush you to the waiting room where the medics were waiting. Reluctantly, he let the staff take over, following closely behind.

By the time you regained consciousness you were already at home. Myungho was sitting on a chair next to the bed, holding your hand while he rested his head on a pillow. “Myungho...” You whispered, stirring him awake.

“You’re finally up” He smiled sleepily, moving his hand up to brush your hair back. “I was worried. I’m... really upset with what happened, y/n”

“What happened..?”

“You passed out on stage before I could reach you...”

“Before you could reach me..? Are you saying you went on stage?”

“Yes.”

“Myungho!” You jolted up, immediately regretting it once you felt a surge of pain through your back. Your boyfriend seemed just as surprised as you as he jumped forwards to place a pillow behind you to support your back. “So our relationship... It’s out?!”

“yeah. the public knows.”

“I’m sorry Myungho...” You sighed, letting him shift closer to plant a gentle kiss on your lips.

“You think that’s what I’m upset about?” Myungho stared at you with a mix of irritation and worry in his eyes. He took a deep breath before speaking again.

“Help yourself, y/n. Please. I can’t help you if you don’t help yourself. It hurts seeing you like this. Please let me help you.” His forehead rested against yours, he kept his eyes closed while he spoke gently. 

“Okay... I’m sorry...”

“You should be... Seeing you like that broke my heart, you know?”

It would be a slow process, but Myungho stayed by your side throughout the whole thing. When you couldn’t get yourself to eat, he’d support you, when you felt guilty for eating, he comforted you. He was always there, caring for you and whispering gentle reassurances in your ear until you were healthy again.

mingyu!

"Mingyu!”

“Hyung? What’s up?” Mingyu stared at Seungcheol who was panting by the doorway of the restroom

“It’s y/n.” The older male fought to catch his breath “She passed out on stage.” Mingyu, who was in the middle of drying his hands, froze. 

Everything after that was a blur. He could vaguely remember Seungcheol’s mouth moving as if he were speaking but not actually hearing anything. He could vaguely remember bumping into other idols as he sprinted his way backstage. He could vaguely remember tripping on someone’s foot and falling to the ground but immediately picking himself up and continued running to your room. Though nothing would ever make him forget the image of you lying on your waiting room couch with an oxygen mask strapped to your face.

“What happened?” Mingyu’s tone was low and dark. The only other person in the room was your manager, who placed a water bottle on the coffee table next to you.

“She fainted in the middle of her performance. The members are continuing without her but-”

“No, I meant what happened for things to reach this point? Cause I heard you put her on a 1 apple a day diet. Isn’t that right?” Mingyu towered over your manager with darkness pooling by his face as he looked down on him.

“I-I-”

“So it’s true? Now, why would you do something like that? What could you have been thinking, if you were thinking at all? Surely, you did think about the consequences, right? Of what would happen to her if you pushed her too far, and what would happen to you if she ever got hurt. Right? Do you see how skinny she is?” Your boyfriend harshly grabbed your manager’s shoulder, making him wince and groan. “Look. at. her.” Your manager turned his face to gaze at you, staring at your boney figure and feeling the remorse kick in. “Does the fact that you can see her ribs not concern you? What weight is there left to lose?”

“Gyu...” You groaned, slowly regaining consciousness. Mingyu dug his fingers into your manager’s shoulder and brought him closer.

“Leave the room, now. Y/n will take the rest of the day off to recover and she will not follow the ‘diet’ you’ve prescribed to her any longer.”

“but-”

“Did that sound like a request? You do whatever you need to do to let her have the day off. I. Don’t. Care. She will go home and you will do your job properly this time. Am I clear?” Your manager shook his head up and down frantically before Mingyu finally loosened his grip on him. Your manager practically ran out of the room, fearing to stay in the same room as your boyfriend for another second.

"gyu...” You called for him again, voice louder this time.

“I’m right here, baby. Don’t worry” He sat on the floor to match your eye level, giving you his signature sweet smile. “how are you feeling?” You felt his large hands over your own, rubbing circles at the back of your palm with his thumbs.

“Not so good... I’m a bit hungry...”

“how about this, once you feel better enough to walk, I take you to our favorite tteokbeokki place near home. what do you say?”

You smiled at the thought of going on a date with your boyfriend after stressful practice and passing out on stage, but reality hit you soon after. “I can’t... I’m on a diet... Sorry, Gyu...”

“Don’t worry about that. I had a talk with your manager and he said he’s taking you off that diet. You lost a lot of weight, it wasnt healthy.” He caressed your cheek gently and gazed at you with nothing but love and sincerity in his eyes.

“Are you sure..? Am I not too fat..?”

Mingyu seemed taken aback by the sudden question “Don’t be silly. You’re not fat, stop saying mean things about yourself. And quite frankly, I don’t care what you look like. Big or small, you’ll always be the woman I fell in love with. There’s nothing more I could want from you than to be healthy. that’s all, y/n”

“Do you really mean that?”

“of course...” He tucked stray pieces of hair behind your ear and kissed your cheeks. Mingyu began sensing your insecurity a couple of weeks ago when you didn’t want to wear one of the favorite dresses he got you because you thought your arms looked too big for it. He felt the best approach was to be gentle and supportive, making sure you knew he didn’t care about your weight. Judging by your reaction, that was the right decision.

You never found out about the small altercation between your manager and your boyfriend. That was probably for the best. He didn’t want your perception of him to change. He was still that soft, gentle, sweet boy you always knew, and he would continue to be that to you and the people around you as long as no harm came to you.

Your schedule lightened up and you spent more time at home with your boyfriend, rebuilding your confidence back up one piece at a time.

seokmin!

When Seokmin asked if you were okay, you replied with ‘sure’. He didn’t believe you. Those nights he’d find you awake in the kitchen drinking endless amounts of water, when you almost trip whenever you stand up didn’t slip by him. Still, he didn’t want to pry into what seemed your personal business until you wanted to tell him yourself. Still, he kept a careful eye on you while trying to cheer you up whenever you seemed tired.

Seokmin had many regrets. He regretted not asking what was causing you pain, and not convincing you to turn down that stupid diet. All because he knew he’d never forget how he felt when he saw you fall to the ground in the middle of your performance. He froze. His ears rung from the sound your microphone made when it hit the ground. He couldn’t understand or see anyone else but you lying on that stage while your members called for help. He didn’t care about the cameras. Seokmin got up from his seat immediately and ran backstage to your waiting room.

When you woke up you found Seokmin holding your hand in his palms close to his face with his eyes closed. “Seokmin?” His eyes burst open and he turned to look at you.

“You’re awake. How are you feeling?”

“dizzy… and hungry”

He gave you a small smile. “Here, have this.” Seokmin fed you strawberries and opened a water bottle he bought for you. “Y/n.”

“Yeah?”

“Please don’t scare me like this again.” He kept his eyes on the strawberries he was picking from the box while he said that. Seokmin felt too guilty to look into your eyes.

“I’m sorry, baby” you whispered, but he still didn’t look at you. “Hey, look at me” You placed your hand on his cheek and lifted his head. “It won’t happen again. hm? I’m sorry.”

Seokmin sighed and wrapped his arms around your waist, digging his nose into the crook of your neck. “I’m here, y/n. Please stop acting like i’m not. Tell me when you’re having a hard time. Let me take care of you sometimes. I know you view me as this cheerful and funny boyfriend but you can come to me when you need help too. okay? Im here for better and for worse.”

“Thank you, Seokmin...”

He’d (endearingly) nag you for probably the rest of your relationship. He made it a habit to text you to eat and check up on you. Whenever he was around, regardless of what either of you was doing, when his alarm went off he’d grab a banana, some milk, and walk to you and say “snack time! you need your energy.”

seungkwan!

Both you and Seungkwan were busy. With him going on multiple shows and you being in a hot new girl group, your meetings at home lessened and lessened. Seungkwan noticed you losing weight whenever he saw you, but he never really thought anything of it. That was until you fainted in the middle of your performance.

He’ll never forgive himself for not seeing the signs sooner. You two lived in the same house for god’s sake!

Seungkwan canceled all his schedules for the week and took you to the hospital. There he sat by your side, holding your hand while listening to the traffic from outside the hospital window. “I’m sorry. I should have known. I didn’t know you were getting this bad...” He sighed, placing his hand on your forehead, feeling your unusually high body temperature. You had a fever, were dehydrated, overworked, and burned out. You passed out from exhaustion and still hadn’t woken up after 13 hours. 

When you finally woke up, you found Seungkwan holding your hand while his head and arms rested on your hospital bed. He was asleep. “Seungkwan... baby wake up.”

“y/n, you’re awake...”

“What am I doing here..?”

“You passed out from exhaustion... you’ve been sleeping for almost a day”

It took a few sentences to process what your boyfriend had said. “Fuck... my schedules!” You tried tgo sit up in a panic but Seungkwan placed a hand on your shoulder.

“Slow down, baby. Everything’s okay. You’re on a break right now, I took care of everything. Just focus on resting okay?”

He rubbed your arms up and down, relaxing you. When you finally settled down again, Seungkwan smiled, kissing your cheek. “Hey uh... I’m sorry for not taking care of you better... We live in the same house but I didn’t even notice something was wrong.”

“It’s not your fault... I didn’t know I had already lost control of my health... I was too busy...”

“we both were...” You held his hand and intertwined your fingers with his own. “Listen, I want you to know that even if we both get busy, you can still talk to me okay? Tell me when you don’t feel well or need me and I’ll make time for you... I always will...”

“Thank you... I hope you know I’m here for you too. I know your schedule is tiring too...”

“You know, long days at work aren’t so bad either. It just means more excitement for when I get to go home and see you again” He winked, nudging your elbow in a playful manner

“Oh stop it~” You giggled, pushing his arm

You two laughed together for the first time in weeks. “Okay so here’s what we’re gonna do. We’re taking this week off and spending it at home. I’ll be attending less interviews, and your manager will be making your schedule more flexible. We’ll get you a dietitian too. Just so you can get back to a healthy weight.”

“That all sounds.... great, baby. Thank you.”

What happened to you traumatized Seungkwan, but he was also thankful for the experience. It was a wake-up call for both of you. Ever since then, you two spent more time together at home, talking about each other’s days and ranting and taking care of each other. Seungkwan never failed to make you smile with his daily checkups on you when he called. 

vernon!

Vernon, who had just returned to Korea after touring for months, was more than thrilled to see you again. He sat with his group, biting his lip in a weak attempt to hold back a smile while you were on stage performing. But as soon as he saw you walk on stage, his smile faded. When did you get so thin? and pale? Your hair looked like it’d gotten thinner too... His members all glanced at him, seeing his shocked and confused expression. 

“Yah, is Y/n okay?” Seungkwan nudged Vernon's elbow

“I... I don’t know... She sounded alright over the phone but this...” He couldn’t even form words to reply to his member. You looked like a different person. All the members took notice of how much you struggled on stage. You were out of breath, tripping, and faltering at every difficult move. It was a miracle that you made it to the end of the performance. 

When the lights shut off, everyone heard something drop. The gasps of your members had indicated to everyone that there was an accident. While the lights were still off, Vernon rose from his seat and quickly made his way backstage. By the time he got there you were surrounded by staffs who were fanning you, placing ice packs on your neck and making sure the oxygen mask was strapped to your face.

Vernon took a deep sigh as he gazed at your frail state. When your manager walked into the room and saw Vernon standing in the corner of the room, a shiver ran up his spine. He immediately asked the other staff to step out of the room and give you space. Before he was able to slip out of the room, Vernon grabbed his wrist tightly. “I’m having a word with you later. Don’t think you can run from me.” He growled, harshly releasing your managers wrist and letting him scurry away.

Vernon pulled a stool over and sat by your side, gently stroking your hair before resting his head in his hands. “How did i not notice?” “I should’ve asked how she was doing...” “I should’ve checked up on her more.” “i should’ve-”

“Hansol...” You weakly called for him, pulling him out of his thoughts.

“Hey baby” He weakly grinned, tucking your hair behind your ear. “You okay?” He asked. You obviously weren’t, but he didn’t know what to say with the adrenaline still pumping in his veins.

“I’m fine...” It was a weak attempt at trying to ease his nerves, because you both knew you were lying.

“bullshit.” Vernon said sternly “how long has this being going on?”

“How long has what been going on?”

“Don’t play coy with me. You know exaclty what I’m talking about.”

You took a deep breath, this was going to be tough for you. “About a week after you left for tour...” If it wasn’t for the sound of your breathing, the room would have been quiet enough for you to hear Vernon’s heart shatter. “I just lost control... I didn’t know it was this bad... I was too busy to notice and I just... I wanted to be pretty. Not just for my group’s comeback but I wanted to be prettier for you when you came back too-”

“Y/n what are you saying?” Vernon’s comment made you glance up to meet his confused gaze. His eyebrows were stitched together with his lips slightly parted in disbelief. “Do you hear what you’re saying right now? You wanted to be pretty? Pretty for when I came back? What does that even mean?” He sighed, cupping your cheeks. “You’re beautiful, y/n. You always have been. if thats not enough and you still want to take measures to help you feel more confident in your skin, the alright, I’ll support you. But never at the cost of your health.”

Tears trickled down your cheeks and Vernon was there to kiss each one away. “I love you, Hansol.”

“I know. Do you know I love you?”

He’d be very gentle yet persistent in your recovery. He’d make sure you ate enough food even if you whined and complained about it. After particularly large meals he’d spend hours cuddling you in the bedroom and kissing your arms, stomach and legs just to let you know that he loved your body no matter how it looked like.

chan!

“I’m not letting you go out there!” Chan sighed

“who are you to tell me what to do!”

“Your boyfriend, who cares about you a lot.” He tried to gently plead with you. “I can’t let you go on stage in the state that you’re in. You just threw up, you’re dizzy, dehydrated, exhausted and it shows.”

“I can’t, Chan. This is the last performance for this comeback, I can’t let everyone down.”

“Y/n-” Before he could try reasoning with you again, you were called onto stage to perform. Chan was pacing around while keeping his eyes on the screen your entire performance. Other idols approached him and asked him if he was okay, to which he just responded to with a wave of his hand and a brief nod. Even his members came out of the waiting room and tried to calm him down because he had been out for a while. He wouldn't leave. Towards the end of your performance, Chan was already waiting by the side of the main stage, waiting for you. You made a big bow, waved towards the cameras and glanced at him. His face was pale with worry and his hands couldn't seem to stay still. You weakly made your way towards him but collapsed right before you were able to completely exit the stage. The crowd saw the lower half of your body hit the ground and murmurs could he heard in the audience. 

Chan cautiously kneeled down and pulled your body towards his own, out of sight from others. He cradled your head gently in his arms “Y/n, baby, wake up.” After you didn’t respond, he quickly lifted you bridal style and carried you to your waiting room. The staff tended to you as well as they could before they gave you and Chan space. He didn’t realize he was going it, but when he was sitting next to you he started to gently massage your palms. Pressing on the soft flesh with his thumbs.

“That feels nice...” You whispered as you slowly regained consciousness.

“Y/n! You’re awake!” He smiled, pressing a tender kiss to your cheek. “You worried me...”

“Did I pass out?” 

Chan nodded gently “You need rest. Please, take a break. And please eat.” He tucked stray pieces of your hair behind your ear while he spoke. 

“What if i gain weight?” 

“So what? What matters is that you’re healthy, and happy. Let me help you, hm? Let me take care of you for once...”

He’d be very gentle and tender with you during your recovery. He’d talk to you sweetly and praise you for every achievement big or small.

authors note: to the person who requested this, im sorry this took literally forever but i hope you enjoyed it nonetheless <33

[lightless-flame-official]

gerry keay (classic flavor):

skinny. not in a way most people notice off the bat, because he's quite tall and very good at looking big, but leitner hunting burns a lot of calories and he's been chronically underfed for most of his life

eye tattoos on each of his joints, placed there by supernatural means as a protective ward against other powers

his hair always looks like shit for several reasons, including but not limited to:

- he doesn't like to dye it when his mother is around, both because of the vulnerability of the position and because he doesn't like to be Perceived by her while doing anything he actually. ya know. enjoys. this means that it has a lot of time to fade and his roots grow out.

- if she's around too often for a stretch of time, he has to find a local business he hasn't already been banned from and rinse it out in one of their sinks. this leaves it looking understandably patchy and rushed.

- the dye he uses is cheap as hell -- having his own money is an occasional luxury which cannot be taken for granted.

- he just. generally doesn't take care of himself and his hair suffers overall as a result. he doesn't shower often enough and when he does he uses precisely one (1) type of soap. and it's like. if they have irish springs bar soaps in england then it's that and if they don't then it's the closest equivalent.

he isn't actually like. goth. as we would think of it.

black clothes don't show bloodstains and they made him feel safe edgy and dangerous as a teenager.

we're talking thrift store jeans purchased when he was 16 an never replaced. maybe some band tees. boots for marching into a den of hunt avatars.

the leather jacket is also secondhand and while yes he does feel very badass and cool in it it's also a practical piece. good for fighting. especially when the people you're fighting might have claws or want to set you on fire.

sewing needle piercings with visible scarring around them.

he just generally looks. kinda sick all the time? again, not something that usually registers because he's also good at being intimidating but if you're looking for it there's all kinds of evidence of chronic sleep deprivation and malnutrition. he looks unhealthy, concerning.

gerry keay (tmagp):

goth. like, real goth. like buying from thrift stores still but more often and having fun with it now.

we're talking fishnets. we're talking eyeliner. we're talking black lipstick. we're talking absurd and impractical jewelry. we're talking dabbles in lacy skirts and definitely owns a corset. and yes he still wears a leather jacket but exclusively because it feels cool and badass. he's goth babey!

no longer skinny. precise body type is whatever your heart tells you is true but three square meals agree with him and he's gained a very noticeable amount of weight.

the hair dye is still not professional, his roots grow in occasionally and it's still a bit patchy, because he's still doing it at home, but also. he's doing it at home. it's fun, and he has fun with it. the dye is better quality. gertrude helps him with touchups. black is still a favorite but he's dabbled in other colors, dark purples and greens and blues.

loves to be covered in stuff. when he's baking, he will intentionally smear flour on his black pants and make it look accidental, and when he paints he doesn't wash his hands. this is partially so he can see the evidence himself, and partially because he wants people to notice it and ask. he wants to say, "oops, i was baking earlier, i must've wiped my hands on my pants."

he still has shitty irresponsible piercings from when he was a teenager. the more recent ones are more professional.

his tattoos are pretty and useless. he designed most of them himself.

there's color in his face. sleeping gets a little easier every night.

[urperfectcinnamonroll07]

Period Tracker

requested?: no pairing(s): kim mingyu x afab!gn!reader genre: fluff, mentions of sex (not full detail) warning(s): mentions of periods, reader is said to have periods, but there is no specific gender summary: 𝘯/𝘢 word count: 619 a/n: lemme know if you want a full fic with the last scenario;). im trying to get things done because i'm gonna take a small (yeah right) break bc im going to spain soon and i dont rlly wanna take my laptop over th border and i dont have word on my phone lol. either way, i will try my hardest to get things done before i go, i will be giving you updates as i go, telling you when i will be gone and when i will most likely be back yk. make sure to eat and drink something, love yas, mwah! part two is HERE

mingyu is like your little personal period tracker

like

you need to know when your period is and you reach for your phone?

no need

mingyu is there to save the day

he KNOWS when your ovulating

and he knows how to get under your skin while you are

(black compress shirt and grey sweats)

and it works

your surprised you’re not pregnant by now

the amount of times you have both fucked when you were ovulating

its unhealthy

but brilliant exercise

either way

a few days before your period, he gets tons of snacks

and i mean TONS

cupboard doors are practically falling off with how much he bought

he also restocks your period supplies

like tampons, pads pantie liners, etc

and painkillers

he also makes sure you’re comfortable when you are on your period

like

he makes sure you have all of your stuffed animals, blankets, etc

makes sure he massages your stomach

helps with your cramps

strokes your sides with his knuckles when you are falling asleep

runs you a hot bath with scented candles, bath bombs, bubbles and everything

sits with you in it aswell

washes your hair

he doesn’t let you move whatsoever

like

you need to get up to get some painkillers

don’t fear, mingyu will go get them for you

he will only let you get up to move if its to change your pad/tampon

literally never would piss you off either

he knows your limits yk

he’s very careful in what he says

a few days before your period, you started cramping. you were about to go grab your phone which you left in the kitchen. you were literally so close to tapping on the app that would track your period when a certain someone came up behind you.

“you’re gonna start in two days” you didn’t trust him initially, but since you then forgot which app you were going on your phone for, you nodded and walked away, heavily doubting that you would.

but here you were, two days later, waking up to the most excruciating cramps you had ever had. you looked down, and alone behold, your perfect white sheets were now stained red with your blood. you groaned and flopped back down into a lying position when the man himself, kim mingyu, came in with two plates, both filled with your favourite breakfast.

“i told you you would start today baby” he mused, handing you a plate, which you accepted with a mutter of a thanks.

a week later, your period had ended and you were close to ovulating, which mingyu always knew. the circles on the calander told you so. and here you were, just coming downstairs from what you would call the best nap of your life, when something caught your eye.

or rather, someone. he was stood in the corner of the kitchen, facing you. he didn’t look up from his phone as you entered, rubbing your eyes and yawning, until you turned to him.

“had a good nap?” he says over the top of his phone.

your jaw almost hit the floor, your eyes practically popping out of your sockets as you took him in. his hair was wet from the shower he must have had not long ago, when you were asleep. he was wearing a black compress shirt which showed off his thick muscly arms, which paired perfectly with his grey sweats. you just KNEW he had no boxers on underneath as you could see his length perfectly through the material. you groaned into your hands, he looked up from his phone and looked down at you.

“you can’t do that, i’m ovulating” you whine, mingyu just smirks.

“oh i know baby”

[creature-wizard]

Closet Witchcraft: How To Get Witchy When You Can't Come Out Of The Broom Closet

Some basic/general tips for being a closet witch. (If you are in a severely abusive household, be sure to scroll down to the end.)

Cultivate some skills

Many skills can be put to witchy purposes if you're determined. Consider gardening, cooking, sewing, crochet, scrapbooking, painting, drawing, calligraphy, woodworking, carving, or literally any craft skill you can start practicing. If you knit a scarf with colors chosen for their magical symbolism or make a little owl sculpture as a charm to help you retain knowledge, nobody but you has to know.

Study and learn about nature

Start learning about plants, animals, geology, ecology, or whatever catches your interest. Get into the habit of observing nature wherever you are, and observing how humans and nature interact and affect each other.

Use everyday items where you can

You can practice divination with poker cards or dice, and your phone can serve as a scrying mirror. You can use a pendant or metal washer for pendulum divination.

As for cleansing, a literal wash in water is fine for any object that won't get damaged. You can use literally any cleaning tool or method with magical intent.

You can use your fingers in place of prayer beads, using either whole fingers or individual knuckles.

You can also use your fingers to trace symbols and runes on stuff.

You can represent your deities using art or knickknacks representing their symbols, like a small cat statue for Bast.

On keeping witchy literature (grimoires, Books of Shadows, printed books, etc.)

Keeping an online grimoire/BOS and getting witchy books in ebook format is often a good option.

Certain methods of practice can also reduce the amount of literature you need to keep on hand. (For example, learning correspondence through observation, using this model of deity/entity work, or practicing energy work.)

If no one is likely to go through your things, keeping your grimoire/BOS in a plain three-ring binder may be enough to avoid detection. (Camouflage is a great friend when hiding things.)

More on hiding things

So you might want something a little fancy, like a tarot deck or a more witchy-looking piece of decor.

If people aren't likely to go through your stuff or come in without knocking, you can keep a lot of things in a drawer or small storage box when you have to. Simple padlocks will be enough to keep small children and the typical casual guest out of your things.

To hide small objects, you can also get an opaque vase and fake flowers, put your witchy stuff in the bottom of the vase, and put the flowers on top.

You can also place a toilet paper tube inside a glass jar and fill it with something like small rocks, seashells, beads, buttons, or candies. (There's a tutorial for this kind of here. Though you won't need to wrap the toilet paper tube in wrapping paper, of course.)

If the jar is higher than the tube, you can glue a circle of cardboard to the bottom of the tube so you can rest it on top a layer of your filling so that it comes up to the jar's mouth.

If you want to use something like a sauce jar and want to take the label off completely, remember that oil will dissolve the adhesive.

Stuffed animals can be turned into hiding spaces. There are many tutorials out there for this.

Pieces of paper can be slipped into books. Thus you can conceal witchy reference sheets.

If you are in a seriously unhealthy situation

I wrote the above with people who don't live in severely abusive homes in mind. Like maybe the people you live with would flip out if they discovered that you're practicing witchcraft and maybe then you might be in danger, but they aren't likely to go snooping through all of your stuff and aren't going to hurt you because you breathed wrong. If you do live in a highly abusive household, I recommend checking out my post "I'm in a bad place and need to get out, what can I do?" and checking out this thread of abusive home survival tips. (These aren't witchcraft resources - they're resources to help you survive and escape.)

[mrs-kodzuken]

half of a whole - hajime i.

synopsis: being abused, mentally and physically, caused you to resort to unhealthy coping mechanisms (TW) and made you feel even worse when you knew your soulmate could feel every ounce of pain you felt too. running away to give yourself a better life right out of high school, you managed to run into the one person who somehow knows you like the back of his hand (soulmate!au, self-harm mentions [not explicit], age gap, older!iwa, mentions of homelessness, long fic)

You never gave a thought to how your soulmate would be feeling this, it honestly never crossed your mind. Living in a situation where you're always worried about the next temper tantrum that your parents might have lives in your mind constantly.

Having to share this pain with someone who was fated to you hurt indescribably. You never wanted abusive parents, more so, you never wanted to cope by self-harming either. You tried to shove the thought to the back of your mind and focus on the now.

Another empty beer bottle flew past your head, you felt the sharp air against your face before it crashed and broke into the wall. That definitely brought you back to the now. Your father was drunk, again. It also worsened when he was never sober for even an hour, leading to this rampage.

Between the fighting, the overly loud TVs that would keep you up, the lack of food in the pantries, and the physical and verbal abuse your so-called parents 'graced' you with, it was hard to survive.

You finally made it out of the house, having been trying to be as quiet as possible before your mother could start screaming and calling you all kinds of obscenities.

Blowing a sigh of relief, you were able to walk to work. You had a part-time job, which recently became a full-time job since you graduated, a job that you made it to every day, no matter what.

It was the key to getting out of this hell hole that you lived in too. You were so close in savings to buy a car and have racked up a good amount of experience in food and serving.

The cool wind blew past your face, enlightening a shiver out of you and goosebumps appeared on your arms. It was mid-October, and it was nearing to be very cold outside soon.

Not only did the cold weather make you freeze but it also made your thighs ache from your past unhealthy habits of coping with the parents you have. Being clean was hard, but getting out of here was even harder and you needed to be sane to do that, you thought.

Arriving at your safe haven every day for seven days a week was a blessing that you humbly enjoyed. The warmth caressed you and made you feel safe and even enticed a smile from your face.

"Now there's my favorite employee." Your manager calls over the counter. She slightly knew that things were bad at home but never mentioned it to you, knowing you always got uncomfortable with that kind of situation.

So, she made work feel like the home you never got to have.

"Hi, I'll be here till close again." You softly smiled, glad that she paid you well and enough to keep you saving good money.

"Of course, go ahead and wash up, kiddo. Don't forget bonuses go out today before your shift is over!" She said over her shoulder as you walked into the back to put your raggedy zip up jacket you've had since you were in junior high.

Your manager fed you, on rare occasions hugged you when she could tell a day had been particularly horrible for you. She was like the mother you never got, which made you sad that you wouldn't have any contact with her when you would finally run away. Not having a phone or paying a phone bill saved a lot of money for you, and being blessed with food from work was also a blessing you didn't forget.

As the night began, you found yourself enjoying your shift as per usual. Sometimes, you wondered if your soulmate knew. Like really knew what was going on with you.

They had to, indefinitely, because unhealthy coping mechanisms along with struggling to feed yourself most likely don't go unnoticed by someone who can feel all of your pain.

And for some reason, you rarely ever felt pain that wasn't yours nowadays. Maybe when you were in primary school almost nearing junior high, but your memory was hazy then.

You also often found thinking about what your soulmate was like, how would you meet them, would they even find it in themself to love you? God, you hated that thought.

Soon, it was time of night that always came. Your shift was over. The only thing that you were actually happy about was that you would be getting a bonus and that made you exceptionally happy because who knew how much that would be?

"Here you go kiddo. You're a great worker and I may or may not have put something else in there of my own. Be safe on your way home, okay?" You nodded and allowed her to give you a hug, giving her a smile in return.

On your walk home, you opened the white, crisp envelope with your work number and slowly counted up the bills that were all in there. It came up to roughly around the amount you had needed to finally buy a car and even some leftover. You reached for the little letter with teary eyes that your manager put in there.

It gave her reasoning for adding a couple more hundreds dollar bills for you. That's when the water works really hit. That night you didn't bother entering the house, you snuck in through your window and grabbed your already packed bag. You had packed it of all your essentials that you knew you'd need for when the day came.

That night, you were absolutely elated to finally leave that hell hole. It jumpstarted you finally being able to live your life too.

Two months later, you were working nonstop. You had found a great job that surprisingly paid even more than the one that got you almost all the way through high school. Of course, you were still living in your car until you could save enough to live in an apartment.

Tying your apron back, you grabbed the notepad that had come with it and went out to take orders from more customers. You loved your job; however, you didn't realize how much you never stopped. You always worked, the fear of not having enough, not being able to eat, and never having a stable place to live haunted you.

Believably, you were exhausted.

"Hi, my name is Y/n and I'll be your server for tonight. Is there anything I can start you all off with?" You faked a smile trying to bite back the exhaustion, glancing around the large table filled with even larger, built men. They had taken up the hugest dining table that the restaurant had to offer.

As you wrote down all of their drink orders, some consisting of water, alcohol, juice, and even soda one particular one made you linger.

"Smooth whiskey, please dear." A gruff voice spoke, effectively making your tired eyes meet his older olive-green ones. It wasn't new that all kinds of customers would call you pet-names, but this particular one stood out to you and the way it melted on your skin.

He looked absolutely divine. His hair was neatly gelled into a pristine style, the watch on his wrist looked like it cost a pretty good amount of money and underneath all those clothes, he looked very fit, exceptionally muscular and well built. You just couldn’t help but to ogle him.

When you happened to realize you were staring at him, you cleared your throat feeling your cheeks flush. You heard him let out a small chuckle as you wrote down his drink order.

“Would you guys like anything else to order?” You asked, not paying attention to the moment you just had with this man you don’t even know. Once you got your response from the group, you quickly turned around and headed back to the kitchen to prepare and gather the said drinks.

You just weren’t sure how or why this random man’s eyes and voice were making you feel the way you did. You’ve never even met him before. He seemed to have a certain aura about him that drew you in closer for some reason.

Soon enough, you were back out there to take everybody’s food orders, and after a bunch of disagreements within the group that you listened to because honestly, they were quite funny. You finally got an order from the mysterious man that your heartbeat fast for, for some reason.

He ordered miso soup, “Gotta gotta stay healthy.” He chuckled to his friends, who seemingly groaned, such a weird dynamic, you thought. You didn’t really understand what they were about.

You couldn’t help the tiredness from hitting your eyeballs and making them even more heavy as you were carrying out the plates, three at a time. Since there were nine people, including him, sitting at the large table, you figured it was the best way to handle the food.

As you were on your last round, your body slightly gave out to exhaustion, and the scolding hot bowl of miso soup spilled all over the lower half of your body.

Gasps were heard from the table and surrounding tables whenever you shrieked out in pain.

A hiss also came from the man who’s been watching you all night too, you could feel the first degree burn aching on your legs as you stood there dumbfounded by the pain and exhaustion from working so much.

That's when it all hit you.

The man jumped forward setting the empty, pristine white glass bowl onto the table with a clink then took your hands in his larger, warmer ones as he pulled you towards the nearest bathroom. 

He quickly and effortlessly picked you up and set you on the cold bathroom counters, which was a stark contrast from the burning of your legs. That seemed to numb by now, just a stinging pain left behind. 

Which still really hurts. He grabbed paper towels and wet them with cold water, trying to soothe your pain through your black jeans that you wore for your shift. 

“How does it feel now?” He inquired, his voice full to the brim with a preoccupation for your body, which made no sense to you. He just met you after all.

“It’s fine, thank you. I didn't expect you to help me like this. I was just in pure shock that it even happened and now I'm really ashamed as a server.” You added, disregarding the pain that you were still in, but it was a nice gesture of his to help you, you thought.

“You’re welcome,” he grinned. “I guess this is a good time to tell you that I also felt that without actually feeling it.” He let out a dry chuckle, turning around to gather more paper towels.

That left you shocked and frozen in your place on the counter.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this, you thought, finally putting all the pieces together now. About why his mere present did something to you however, you decided to play dumb and unknowing about the situation you could view through glass at this point.

“What do you mean?” You queried, your voice sounded pitchy and not like you at all. Quite frankly, you were a bit scared.

“Yeah, I didn’t expect it either.” He faltered, “Listen, I have a first-aid kit in my car. If you'd like me to go out and grab it. I just wanna check to make sure your skin is actually okay.” He paused, looking down in discontent at your legs. 

“I feel like we’ve already pushed the boundaries of being weird once I felt that hot soup hit my legs through your own.” He gave you a half smile and put his hand on your shoulder to say that it’ll be okay and then left, leaving you with your racing thoughts and heart.

You were in a terrible predicament.

You didn’t know what to do. You, first embarrassed yourself as a server in front of the entire restaurant, then unintentionally met your soulmate who seemed to be a way a lot older than you as you were just graduated high school. Not to mention just left an abusive household.

And third, it’s going to be increasingly awkward talking to him about the past pains he’s experienced from you, nonetheless when he starts asking questions about you in general.

You had half of mind just to get up and ignore the pain and trudge on through your shift since you didn’t really have a place to go home besides your car. 

You could hear the chatter in the restaurant now. It seems like everyone must’ve forgotten the incident that happened or at least you hoped they did. You also hope to the gods that you weren’t going to be fired for an incident like that. You knew how strict your boss was which was a huge difference from your first manager that you’ve ever had.

Before you could even gather a decision of what to do, the ladies room doors were opening again, and you hoped for a split second that it was just another woman. Instead, it was the man you had met, who had said he felt your pain, the man who was supposed to be your soulmate.

“Hey look, I know it’s gonna be really weird and a lot has already happened tonight, but I have some shorts you can change into. You can go into a stall, and I can turn around even, but I just really wanna check out your legs to make sure your skin is okay.” He offered the black basketball shorts to you before continuing.

“I’m a personal trainer and I went to college for this so please don’t think I have any ulterior motives," he affirmed, and that’s when you got a real good look at him.

He was definitely taller than you even though you were sitting on a bathroom counter, he had nice, impeccable work clothes on. Which made you think that he and his friends have possibly headed here from a workplace. Concern was riddled all over his features, inexplicably handsome features at that.

He was built as you could see the biceps flexing when he gestured to the stall for you to go into.

You got a redolence of his scent when you took the basketball shorts that he apparently kept in his car for what reason? You don’t know. You don’t even know this man, and that thought made it all the more strange to you, leaving you speechless as you did what he asked.

What else were you supposed to do? Tell him no?

You were only eighteen and followed the instructions of this older man who said he was your soulmate in which you’d have to verify before actually trusting him, but you trusted his profession and allowed him to help you once you got changed. 

It was ultimately awkward, peeling off your wet jeans in a bathroom stall. The squelching of it made you cringe inside and you mumbled out a little ‘sorry’ to him.

The tension between you two was very thick and you could feel it. You could probably even cut it with a knife and eat it as cake.

Whenever you unlocked the stall, he turned around and let out yet another hiss at the sight of your legs. They were a reddish color now without your jeans covering them and looked like they just radiated off pain.

The hot soup marks came from mid thigh to about your knee and a bit lower on your calf. He seemed to go into a focused mode as he inspected your legs by putting different kinds of ointment on them to help.

That’s whenever you decide to strike up a conversation by slapping yourself in the face.

“Ow, what the hell was that for?” His gruff voice yelped and made your body shiver as you realized he wasn’t lying about being your soulmate, which made things even more awkward because now it was not an accident that you both met.

“Oh, I’m–I’m sorry. I just, uh, wanted to make sure that you were actually my soulmate not lying. I’ve never done this before.” You embarrassingly stated to the handsome man, you could feel your face heating up at the mistake you made. At least you knew he wasn’t lying now though.

That brought you some kind of comfort.

He let out a nice laugh that warmed your insides and not just the warmth from your legs.

“It’s okay.” He comforted you. “I can understand when someone as young as you can get a bit frightened and unsure when someone as old as me randomly tells you that you’re their soulmate.”

“Just to be clear,” he said, “I’m not that old, just twenty-seven.” He locked eyes with you and looked you up and down.

He continued, “Which probably seems like a creep’s age given the fact that they look like you’re even twenty.”

You let out a dry laugh before stating, “Yeah I actually am eighteen, freshly graduated from high school.” That made things all the more weird for some reason.

He let out an exasperated sigh, “I guess fate works in mysterious ways.” He said, and then his expression got more serious as did his rough hands on your legs, which stopped moving, and working the ointment into your skin.

“You know, I would understand if you needed space to process this new predicament because I’ve been waiting for you for years to settle down and now it seems like you necessarily haven’t really given a thought about your soulmate, especially on settling down.” The olive-eyed man stated, and you realized you don’t even know his name yet.

You mumble, “Thanks.” 

Not mentioning his smile that he gave you, the crinkle around his eyes that made your heart flutter, even if you were just fresh out of high school and have no intent of settling down or whatever he meant by that in his words, you sure would do it to see him smile again.

You were too caught up and admiring him that you didn’t realize his hands went just a bit higher than your upper thigh and had found the pain you had caused him on some faithful nights a couple years ago.

Your eyes widened as you shoved his hands away and scooted yourself back further on the public bathroom counter until your back roughly hit the mirror.

“I’m–I’m sorry, dear.” He sputtered and it felt like he actually meant that apology too. “I just got a bit curious,” He murmured.

“I’ve been waiting for you so I could tell you that it would be okay in the end. I would be worried about you and hoped nothing horrible would happen in the end.”

His words somehow make you feel speechless for the second time in that same night and after that you didn’t speak again until you both left the bathroom, which encased you both in silence. 

After your soulmate–referring to him as that felt so perplexing but gratifying at the same time–had left his share of money on the table while you went to tell your manager you were injured on the job and had to leave. With a raised eyebrow, and a glance at the new shorts you wore that showed your naked legs which encased your first-degree burn. Your boss finally allowed you to take your leave early.

However, more unfortunate secrets for you were disclosed when the intense, bitter air encompassed your lower legs, and the ringing of the bell was heard.

"Would you like to come to my place to talk over tea or yours?" Your arms were wrapped around your frame, forgetting your zip up in the car.

The older male probably thought he would meet your parents and then talk with them and you about the situation you both happened to get into. How wrong he was for thinking that.

You cleared your throat, not meeting him in the eyes. "I guess yours is fine," you dryly chuckled before continuing. "My place is right there." You motioned at your beauty of a car that aided in the escape of your abuse.

"Oh, and my name is Y/n L/n. Which you probably knew because of dinner and my name tag." You stated the obvious after realizing your mistake, but you knew it'd be an opening to hear his.

"Hajime Iwaizumi." He sounded curt after your previous admittance, because while you were averting your eyes to gaze at the stars you could almost barely see due to the lights, he was staring at you.

His dark olive-green eyes look in your whole for the umpteenth time that night. Nevertheless, you admitting you were basically homeless and living in your car didn't make him back away from you in any form. It quite actually did the opposite and Iwaizumi wanted nothing more than to shield you from any other harm that might be in your future.

"My place then," You eventually looked over at him and couldn't shake the uncanny look he was giving you. It was something more than friendly, more than the looks you've seen after doing well for customers, more than niceness, something you haven't been given your entire life.

"Okay." You breathlessly confirmed, wanting nothing more to stop the chills that were jumping on your skin and the shaking of your body.

Following Iwaizumi in his expensive looking car was something out of a dream to look at. You realized on the way to his place that you really haven't got a clue about this older man you're following–except his name and that he's bound to you by fate.

The heat from your car was the only thing warming you up at the moment, like it has for many nights before this one too. It was different living in a car than a broken home, but you'd take it over it any day.

Pulling into the driveway, you gawked at his house. It was a very refined home that you had wished you lived in as a kid. Just the sight of it was something you could ever imagine living in.

Getting out of your car, you locked it and followed Iwaizumi across the concrete stepping stones that were placed before the door. He gave you a quick smile before unlocking the dark brown wooden door with a gold knocker.

You copied his actions of whatever he did when you walked in, self-conscious from not performing these when you lived in a house. You took off your shoes carefully and placed them beside his, then copied him when he set his keys down on a hook and you did the same with your tote bag.

He peripherally eyed you as your widened eyes were looking everywhere in his home. In pictures, the floor, the paint job, the lamps that were lit up before he left for dinner, the Christmas tree he put up and decorations scattered around the home.

He smiled at you and admired all the lights, then it faltered when he thought about how you may not have ever experienced something like this.

"Do you prefer a certain type of tea?" Iwaizumi asked, plugging in his electric kettle that he was gifted from his birthday months back.

"Uh, no." You really haven't drunk tea like this before. The sweet tea from working in a fast-food restaurant sure, but not individually bagged tea with different flavors and spices.

You meticulosity watched him arrange everything neatly for the two of you. It was kind of him to invite you here but that's when you felt all the more out of place.

"You can take a seat in the living room or on a bar stool if you'd like." His back was turned as he worked but you could hear the smile in his voice, the gruffness almost gone and replaced with something softer.

You drifted to the living room, in awe of everything that was in here. The soft velvet of the couch, the colorful lights of the green Christmas tree, and the snow globes on shelves of a bookcase were your favorite things.

The couch had plenty of throw pillows that matched the rooms' theme and even a couple throw blankets which undeniably smelled like Iwaizumi.

The thought of coming back to a house like this, to a home like this, made your eyes water and your throat get tight. You tried swallowing it down before Iwaizumi would eventually walk in here, but you were too late.

"I made you a Hōjicha tea, I figured you might like it because it's not really bitter and I got-" He stopped speaking when he sat down next to you and noticed the slight shake of your shoulders.

"Hey, hey, what's the matter?" His large hands took in your smaller ones as he didn't know what else he could do to comfort you within your boundaries.

You took a moment to collect yourself and wiped away the few stray tears, "I just... This is a really nice home. You're-you're just very nice to me."

Hajime's heart literally broke into two, definitely sure you could probably feel that too. It was pain after all, it didn't just have to be physical.

"I'm sorry you had to go through whatever happened to you. I really am. You don't ever have to go through that again nor live in your car anymore if you don't mind living here with me." He comforted, rubbing the pads of his thumbs over your hands and that's when you completely broke down.

You cried into his arms; it was warm and comforting which made things all the more saddening for you. You never got this, never experienced warmth like this, it hurt. After giving yourself a few minutes to calm down, you finally told him about your past up to now.

By the time you were done, he had been so angry for you. You, in his eyes, were a legal adult now but now you carry the trauma that your parents weren't supposed to give to you. You carry the hurt from younger you and the pain that you never shouldn't have dealt with.

Hajime then vowed to never let a single thing cause you pain like this ever again.

He stayed like that with you in his arms, thankful that his soulmate was finally safe and sound with him. He would worry about everything else later but to carefully be heedful about you and your well-being for now.

"You should call out of work for a few. I want your burn to heal and for you to get accustomed to living here and having a new, healthy normal. You can decline anytime but as someone who is bound to you by fate, I feel like this is what is best for now." Iwaizumi let go of you while you thought about what you would do.

You were technically homeless unless you accepted his offer, taking some days off work would hurt but if you lived here, it would be okay. You really haven't taken care of yourself, not having an actual shower in almost two months and resorting to sink baths was getting tiring. Not to mention sleeping in the car every night.

That effectively already decided what you were going to do, "I'll take some days off work. Are you sure you want me to live here? I don't want to intrude." You trailed, knowing he was fine with it but at the same time you had learned that your mere presence can be irritating.

"Of course, I'm sure. Don't even worry about it. You're my soulmate, remember?" He chuckled as he already planned a few things in his head to help you from your trauma if you wanted it. Therapy, coping skills, taking time off work, taking you to a doctor and specially making sure you realize you won't go without.

Your face flushed; this was all so new to you that it was hard to navigate through the fight or flight your mind and body wanted to revert to.

"Here's your tea, it should be cooled down by now." He handed you a glass mug that warms your hands–they've always been so cold, more so when you 'lived' on your own.

"Thank you, this is all so kind of you. I really appreciate it. I also really like your Christmas tree, it's so pretty."

He chuckled as you stared at it, "Thank you, I can put a miniature one in your room before the big day comes." Iwaizumi hoped that the closer you both would become, that it would help you ease into a healthier version of yourself.

He didn't expect you both to be dating immediately because, well, he would rather you talk to him about anything romantic first on your own terms. His mother raised him to be a good man.

"My room? Actually? This all feels so surreal." And bizarre that you were able to get out of a hellhole that you felt like you were going to be trapped in forever. Fate was such a weird thing.

After moving in, not that you barely had much to move in with, a new normal was settled for you and Hajime–he told you not to call him by his last name no matter how much you did. He got his guest bedroom ready, which you were thankful for. You wouldn’t know what to do if you were going to share a bedroom with him when you weren’t even ready. 

Celebrating Christmas was something you also never experienced. Waking up to a good breakfast and presents to open under the Christmas tree and watching the famous movies Hajime always talks about was so new. You loved every bit of it.

Being able to take a warm, bubble filled bath, eat a nice healthy meal, and even be introduced to Iwazumi’s friends at his workplace was so outlandish for you and the situation you had once been in. 

It got awkward sometimes between you and Hajime because after all, you can’t help the inexplicit attraction you feel when it comes to him. And of course, he feels the same but won’t act on it till you’re ready. 

“What was the highest point of your day, dear?” Hajime’s usual name that he called you with such sincerity never failed to send your heart beating wildly in your ribcage. 

You set your fork down, “Probably when I saw your friends again. I was able to talk to Miya’s wife again. She’s very sweet.” You noted, smiling. Your new normal consisted of on your days off from working you’d go with Iwaizumi to work on the days his coworkers would bring their soulmates. You were very fond of Atsumu’s wife. 

The highest and lowest point of your day started as a coping mechanism from your therapist which you both do every day now for the fun of it instead of using it to get you to open up about your past. 

You were the happiest you’ve been in forever and even though you went through literal hell, you definitely wouldn’t change a thing now. Especially with the kind and patient man sitting across from you at the dinner table. The way he looked at you with love and how you reciprocated by your actions instead of words of touches. 

Fate did work in mysterious ways. 

a/n: this shit is so ass im so sorry, i hope you guys enjoyed and even though no one requested, i hope it helps anyone who needs comfort from older iwa <3

[lelengerine]

to have you

pairing | streamer!hyuck x streamer!reader

synopsis | your sleeping schedules never fail to worsen, but in luck, you have him to ease those troubles — just don’t mind the stream in the background, of course.

genre | established relationship, reader uses she!her pronouns once in this, use of nicknames for reader (baby, love) and hyuck (babe)

wc | 0.9k

notes | another gamer hyuck oneshot because im actually obsessed its unhealthy atp ;0; i'd love to know your thoughts on this one!

m.list

its three in the morning, and the thuds of your soles echo through the quiet hallway as you walk down the familiar path to your boyfriend’s room — highly unaware said boyfriend is live on twitch for a 38 hour streaming challenge (courtesy of renjun doubting he couldn’t pull it off). 

you had been trying to fall asleep for the last hour, knowing all too well your sleeping schedule was declining from bad to even worse. yet no matter how much you toss and turn in hopes of falling into a comfortable position, nothing seems to make your eyelids droopy enough to fall asleep.

in the end, you sat up from the comfort provided by your bed, slipped your feet into a pair of fluffy slippers, and started trudging your way over to wherever your boyfriend was  — hence why you were currently approaching his room at this ungodly hour in the first place.

you twist the cold, metal doorknob open,  the amount of lights currently in use blinding you for a brief moment. “hyuck, what are you doing?” you question with a groggy voice, rubbing your eyes to hopefully ease them to the brightness of the room. 

“baby? what are you doing up?” haechan awkwardly moves himself closer to the camera to block you out as much as possible, knowing you probably haven’t realized the camera filming him all this time. 

user_01: Y/N IS HERE??

user_02: is that why he’s blocking the cam?

“couldn’t sleep.” the frustrated whine you let out only fuels haechan’s chat as they get affirmation on your presence in the room. 

you, on the other hand, only notice your boyfriend’s streaming materials properly set up after an entire minute had already passed. he’d usually store them away in one of the drawers so that meant…

 a wave of shock washes over you at the late realization, eyes flicking wide open as you crouch down to hide yourself in the current state you were in. “oh my god, im so sorry!”

“noo y/n, love. it’s fine, hm? just fulfilling my part of a bet with renjun.” your boyfriend reassures you, stepping away from his desk to crouch down at your level, meeting your dazed eyes. he gently cups your face with the palms of his hands, placing a gentle kiss on your lips — the feeling still lingering even after he had already pulled away.

user_03: SOMEONE CLIP THIS VOD ITS TOO CUTE

user_04: hii y/n!! we’re all just chilling with hyuck dont be shy :>

user_05: @.user_03 I GOTCHU BFF

“i should’ve checked if you were up to something.” you mumble, soft enough to not get picked up by the audio from haechan’s mic.

“you didn’t know, it’s okay.” he giggles, the bubbly sound lifting your spirit by a little. “plus, you were all cute being whiny about sleep.”

you laugh along with him, lightly smacking his chest. “you’re literally the only one who’d think that.” 

“i better be!” he protests with a gasp, “can’t have any others seeing you all cute and huggable like that. that’s part of my boyfriend rights.”

“what do i get in return then?”

“you, my love, get an unlimited pass to get cuddled by yours truly.”

“i think you benefit from that more than i do, babe.”

“do not!” haechan lets out a gasp, “but really, i can help you fall asleep- if you don’t mind the stream that is…”

“i think i’ve fallen asleep enough times on my own streams to not care, hyuck.” you chuckle, letting him lead you over to his desk.

he pulls a comfy chair from the side, patting the cushion to let you know where to sit. you give him a small smile, grateful he’s taking care of you despite his stream ongoing. 

once you get confortable enough, your boyfriend gently guides your head to his shoulder before mindlessly reaching out to play with your hair while reading the chat messages. you’ve realized he formed a habit of doing so quite early on into your relationship. 

it wasn’t like you minded it either, in fact, it was rather the opposite. to you, it was a soothing gesture he’d do every time the two of you were about to sleep. perhaps, you’ve grown too used to the feeling, to the point you couldn't sleep without it. without him. 

god, you’re so thankful to have him by your side.

user_06: i want what they have :(((

user_07: you guys are the cutest W(`0`)W

you doze off before knowing it, your boyfriend chuckling to himself at how your lips go agape ever so slightly. “chat, isn’t my baby just the cutest?”

user_08: you mean OUR baby?”

haechan reads that comment aloud for the rest of his viewers to hear. “now where are you guys getting that from?? y/n is mine, back away!”

user_09: BRO URE GNA WAKE Y/N UP

user_10: NOT MY STRIMER (￣^￣)ゞ

user_11: Y/N CALLS US HER BABIES TOO DURING STREAMS- WE ALL HAVE RIGHTS

“as if.” haechan scoffs in faux annoyance, opting to hug you a little tighter than he was before (to quote and quote assert his dominance over chat). “you guys are probably jealous of me, huh? i’m the one who has y/n in their arms.”

“and i hope it stays like this forever.” he whispers, a growing smile on his face as he glances down, glad he’s the lucky one who does have you in his arms.

[koinotame]

i do (only exist for you)

word count: 1.8K content warnings: unhealthy relationship dynamics, objectification (not at reader), violence (relatively vague/not super explicit but not minor), emetophobia, they/them is used for reader

characters included: childe

a/n: this is a repost (heavily edited in some parts, lightly edited in others)! and a sequel to this. like the previous installment, you can read this as a standalone modern au thing, but it'll make more sense with the previous context. also on ao3! next part

the two of you aren’t actually married yet, but with the way your ajax treats you, you might as well be.

"I’ve placed your lunch in your bag along with the homework assignments you left out yesterday. remember to eat it this time, okay? and don’t forget the train leaves late today." you’re too sleepy to protest as he sticks your arms into a coat, one that you only realise is his once he’s done zipping it up.

"we’re going to the same class," you supply groggily, rubbing at your eye while he smoothes out your hair. "…didn’t you go to sleep after me? where do you get all this energy from?"

"yeah, but it feels more homely if I tell you all this before we leave the apartment." he says, smoothening out your hair again (you think he just likes having an excuse to touch you) and wrapping a scarf loosely around your neck.

you’re surprised he hasn’t started calling it our apartment at this point, but you’re not going to give him the idea lest he actually starts doing so.

he puts a surprising amount of effort into tucking the scarf into his coat properly, and you have to admit he’s very good at bundling you up. you feel super cozy. "being able to care for you is all the motivation I need to wake up early to make you breakfast."

you hum, pressing your head into his shoulder, close to drifting off again, until his words set in and you recoil. "wait wait, how early exactly? please tell me you got more than three hours of sleep."

he laughs heartily, his hand coming up to caress your cheek. "aww, are you worried about me?" you weakly swat at his arm and he laughs again. "don’t worry, don’t worry, not that early. I woke up at seven."

you sigh and he pulls you in for a kiss. when he pulls away, his eyes are full of adoration. "I love you."

"the bed was empty when I woke up at six briefly."

he chuckles again, but it has a nervous tinge this time. "aha, busted…"

you sigh once more, zipping up his coat for him. he beams down at you as you do, fondness dancing in the way his eyes creak whenever he’s in your presence. "come on, we’re going to be late."

"right," he says, picking up both of your bags and holding on to your hand and then somehow still locking the door behind you singlehandedly.

the two of you burst out laughing when you realise he forgot to take off his apron when you arrive and take off your coats.

"all the more to prove to everyone else I’m your soon-to-be husband." he winks at you, ruffling your hair when you tell him there’s still a couple years left before either of you graduate.

"ajax."

he sighs contently, nuzzling into you. "I love it when you say my name."

"ajax," you say his name slightly louder, "let me out."

the arms around you tighten. "no."

you groan, throwing your head back. "ajax, I need to load the washing machine."

he whines against the crook of your neck. "no, you don’t."

"ajax…"

"I can do it later, okay? don’t leave my arms."

"your arms are not the only thing trapping me here," you say, but his legs just tighten around you and you find yourself even more pressed against his chest. "and someone needs to do it."

he whines again. "I don’t like it when you leave my arms."

you poke his side, unimpressed. "we can hold hands while I do it then."

he tuts, pressing his face deeper into your hair. the next time he speaks, it’s directly above your ear. he sounds more serious than he usually does. "but you shouldn’t have to do any work. I wish you just sat back and let me do it all."

you sigh. this sort of conversation has been happening more and more frequently lately, especially since you accepted his proposal. "come on, not this again… a healthy relationship is about giving and taking in eq—"

"but I want to do all the giving and I want you to do all the taking." you close your mouth and stop talking when he presses you further into him. "I meant it, you know? I want to take care of you."

frustration seeps through his words when he speaks, more than you’ve ever heard from him before. "aren’t people supposed to like it when they’re spoiled? you’re the most special person in my life, and I want to do everything for you. you shouldn’t have to lift a finger, and I hate that this world is so against that. if this were…"

he cuts himself off and quiets for a few seconds. with your face still pressed against his chest, the only thing you can hear is your quiet breathing and his heartbeat.

"I hate that you won’t let me treat you like you should be treated."

"ajax…" your hand moves up from where it was resting on his back to comb through his hair gently.

he whimpers and squishes his face against the side of your head. "I really love it when you say my name."

both of you remain quiet for a bit. you’re tempted to forget about the laundry, close your eyes and drift off, when ajax speaks up again. "I’m yours. you shouldn’t hesitate to make use of me."

even in the heat of the moment, that sort of line sounds a lot more romantic in fiction.

he coos into your ear when you scratch his head lightly. "ajax, you don’t just exist to be used by others. there’s more to you than just that."

"I do," he insists, but quiets down and doesn’t argue further.

"I do only exist for you," he says again, a while later when you’ve pretty much fallen asleep in his arms.

even after two years of living together, you still refuse to use him as you should or let him treat you like you deserve to be treated. it makes him feel all sorts of bitter; he doesn’t want to (and doesn’t deserve to) force you into anything, but whenever you push him away, it stings.

whenever you put distance between the two of you and insist on straining yourself, he feels like he’s failed you. it just further drives home that he’s really so worthless that you can’t rely on him, and he knows this isn’t a problem getting stronger for you will fix.

it’s been a long, long time since he felt this useless. he loathes the feeling.

ajax stretches, not missing the opportunity to flex his body. "that was fun! I don’t mind if you cling onto me a bit more next time, though… you’re so cute when you get startled by the jumpscares."

"mhm, sure." you pay his obvious attempt at showing off no mind and instead let out a yawn. "want to get something to eat? I’m hungry."

"are you sure you don’t want to head home?" you nod, reaching for his hand. he intertwines his fingers with yours eagerly. "do you have any place in mind? my treat."

"it’s always your treat." you roll your eyes, but lead him towards the restaurant you’d been thinking of regardless.

"of course," he laughs. "what sort of fiancé would I be if I didn’t pay for your food?"

"what sort of fiancé does that make me, then?"

he laughs and you remember why you fell in love with him again.

"don’t be silly. it’s your job to get spoiled rotten by me." he tugs on your arm, pulling you closer to him, and presses his lips to your cheek.

"if you spoil me too much I’ll go bad for real, you know."

despite the joking undertone, he looks displeased and he tugs on your cheek, pouting. "of course not. and even if you did, I’ll still love you."

you huff, unable to stop yourself from laughing, and elbow him. "you’re so—"

you cut yourself off when you notice the hooded person standing imposingly in front of both of you. immediately, you feel ajax stiffen and step slightly in front of you, but he doesn’t seem particularly threatened so much as just wary and protective.

once he realises he’s been noticed, the man in front of the both of you tilts his head. "hand over all your money, and I won’t have to get violent."

"hah," ajax barks, sardonic and entirely foreign to your ears. "I don’t think so."

the next few moments go by in a flash.

grunting, the attempted mugger pulls out a knife and dives forward. you barely register how you’ve stepped back out of instinct before he’s completely soaked and there’s a large gash across his torso.

nobody moves for a couple seconds, until the guy’s eyes trail down hesitantly and he goes white. his arms immediately come to cradle his stomach. "what the fuck—"

it takes you another second to realise what’s happened. bile rises up your throat.

there’s a part of you that’s relieved it’s winter, that the sun has already set and there’s not too many people around, that you’re not about to get robbed at knifepoint.

"I’ll kill you if you touch them." your fiancé’s tone is much darker than you’ve ever heard when he speaks. you’ve always known he wasn’t the type to shy away from conflict, but the way he says it just after cutting open someone else makes the hair on your arms raise.

"you fucking bitch—" the other guy doesn’t get a chance to get anything else out before ajax kicks him. you feel your stomach tense at the squelching sound he makes when ajax’s foot comes into contact with his torso.

you feel worse when he grabs the man’s hair and wrist, a pained shout and loud crunch accompanying the drop of the knife.

the hairs at the base of your head rise at his tone. "I told you, don’t touch them." you block out the rest of what he says, but from the way the mugger’s face pales even further it can’t have been anything good.

you swallow down the urge to vomit and tug on ajax’s sleeve. for a moment, you’re worried he’s going to turn violent on you, but it barely takes him a second to turn to you, and when he does his face is relaxed and smiling like he usually does.

whatever your expression looks like, he softens as soon as he sees it. his hands are off the mugger soon and then he’s all but pulling you into his chest. you think you hear the guy run off, but it’s hard to focus on anything but the way ajax soothingly rubs your back and murmurs apologies into the crown of your head.

if he feels how much you’re shaking, he doesn’t comment on it. or rather, he just apologises more.

you have a feeling he’s apologising more for the fact that you saw him like that and that he scared you than what he actually did.

and above all, you hate the part of you that feels exhilarated about him loving you.

[chillinglyadventurous]

Mabel Art

Listen, I love this kid. She’s such a sweetheart. I don’t understand how so many people hate her.

(Platonic!Gravity Falls x Reader)

Just a cute little story about Mabel being bored because all of her friends and Dipper are busy. The reader does arts and crafts with her.

You were lounging at the kitchen table, flipping through a novel when you heard the soft shuffle of feet entering the room. “Hey, sweetie!” You greeted Mabel, expecting her usual burst of energy. When you didn’t get an immediate response, you looked up from your book to see her lingering in the doorway, looking down at the floor. Her usual spark seemed dimmer.

“You okay?” You asked, raising an eyebrow. Mabel wasn’t one to be quiet for long. This wasn’t like her.

She nodded, but looked a little glum. “Dipper went with Ford to explore some cave. I’m just bored.” Her shoulders slumped as she shuffled over to the counter, absentmindedly spinning a stray glitter pen she’d left behind earlier.

You set the book down and rested your head on your hand, studying her. “Where are Candy and Grenda? They’re usually up for some chaos.”

Mabel sighed dramatically, flopping into a chair across from you. “Candy’s at her cousin’s house and Grenda, well, I think she’s wrestling bears again.” Mabel frowned as if it was a personal betrayal that her friends had other plans. “Stan’s busy with the Mystery Shack stuff. He said I couldn’t prank tourists again until I clean up my last ‘masterpiece.’” She air-quoted that last part with a pout.

You chuckled softly, knowing exactly what kind of masterpiece Mabel had left behind. You’d heard Stan screaming about it yesterday. He was livid his good suit was covered in glitter. Mabel had thought it was festive and would help him make more money. Stan didn’t agree.

“Well,” you pondered, tapping your fingers on the tabletop, “if you’re bored, we could always do something.”

Mabel perked up at that, her eyes sparking with hope. “Really? You mean it?” Her voice picked up, excitement bubbling beneath the surface.

“Of course,” your voice was filled with enthusiasm , pushing back your chair. It wasn’t often you and Mabel got to do something on your own. “Question is, what should we do? I’m up for anything as long as it doesn’t involve wrestling wild animals or glue-“

Mabel’s face scrunched up in thought before she shot up. A bright grin spread across her sweet face. “I’ve got it!” She exclaimed, grabbing your hand. “We can have an epic arts-and-crafts marathon! I’ll grab the glitter, paint, and googly eyes, and we’ll make masterpieces worthy of the Louvre!”

Before you could even respond, Mabel was dashing around the living room collecting supplies. You had no idea she kept a stack of glitter under Stan’s chair. You smiled as her enthusiasm rubbed off on you. A quiet afternoon had suddenly turned into a chaotic explosion of creativity.

Soon, the kitchen and living room were filled with colorful paper, scissors, paint splotches, and, of course, an unhealthy amount of glitter. Mabel was in her element, showing you how to create abstract Mabel Art, a blend of pure imagination and no rules. You weren’t much of an artist, but Mabel kept hyping you up as if every random doodle or messy craft you made was a masterpiece. You couldn’t help but laugh, feeling carefree despite the glitter slowly taking over your hair. You knew it would never wash out. Not fully.

After a couple of hours, the kitchen looked like an art studio after a confetti bomb went off, but that was the Mabel Way. You two sat back to admire your work, a collection of lopsided sculptures and a life-sized cardboard cutout of Waddles covered in googly eyes.

She grinned, leaning back with satisfaction. “Thanks for doing this with me. You’re pretty cool, you know that?”

“Anytime, Mabel. I had fun too,” you ruffled he hair, feeling the warmth of her words settle in. “Now, what do you say we clean up before Stan finds out?” You suggested, though not really wanting to move from your spot on the glittery floor.

Mabel grinned mischievously, “Or we could add a few googly eyes to his chair and see how long it takes him to notice.” She snapped her fingers, “Ten bucks says he won’t find out until tomorrow night.”

“Oh no, you’re not pulling me into that one!” You laughed, shaking your head.

[chaoscharme]

Self Care Activities that Actually Help

My list of practical, achievable and useful self care tips that will actually improve your mood instead of enabling you to wallow.

Reply to your correspondence

Often if we feel low or our motivation is down, we find it tricky to respond to messages and calls from others. This allows unopened messages to pile up which creates stress and even panic. Instead of trying to ignore this problem, set a timer for 15 minutes. Then give yourself those 15 minutes to respond to as many of those messages as possible, starting with the most urgent messages first. If you cannot complete all the messages, take a minute to reevaluate. Can you give yourself another 15 minutes to finish the task today? If not, that’s fine. Assign the task for tomorrow, and repeat the process when you feel refreshed. If you are not able to give a thorough response to all of your contacts, I recommend drafting a universal message to send, stating that you are currently occupied and you hope to offer them a more appropriate message over the coming days. You can tailor this message to suit your needs and circumstances, and it reduces the amount of pressure on you to offer explanations for your absences.

Wash your clothes

Take the clothes you are wearing off. All of them. Strip your bed. Gather up any towels or tea cloths you can find. Wash them all. I cannot overstate the benefit of living in a clean environment, and wearing clean clothes. Even if you can’t wash everything, wash the essentials, and make sure you are wearing fresh clothes from head to toe. You can swap pyjamas out for more pyjamas, what you wear doesn’t matter. Just make sure they’re clean.

Water

Drink a pint of water with nothing added, no fruit, no cordial, nothing. Just drink a pint of water in one sitting. You are almost definitely dehydrated, just like everyone else. Hydration provides mental clarity, energy, and even relives stress. It reduces pains and aches in the body. It helps quell nausea and heartburn. Water is the quickest and easiest way to reduce physical pain or discomfort throughout the day. By keeping hydrated, you’re improving your quality of life almost instantly.

Stretch in bed or on the sofa

The last thing most of us want to do when we feel low or unmotivated is going for a run, or working out at the gym. Instead of pushing yourself to get a serious or intense workout in, try some stretches you can do from the comfort of your bed or sofa. Stretches will help relieve tension in the body and can increase your energy throughout the day. You don’t have to do anything crazy, just a couple of simple, effective stretches will do the trick.

Eat a “healthy” carb

People so often try to avoid eating carbs as they think carbohydrates are inherently unhealthy. This is simply not the case. While carbohydrates are often used in the production of unhealthy treats such as cakes, cookies and pies, they are not fundamentally bad for you. Carbs are our main source of energy, and if you’re feeling low energy is exactly what you need. Try eating a healthier alternative to those instant sugar rush carbs, such as rice, wholemeal pastas or breads, potatoes or oats. You can add other ingredients to these meals, such as berries to oats or some veg to pasta, to make a more filling meal. Everyone eats differently, but we all need carbohydrates in our diet to provide energy and nutrition, alongside other food groups. Creating a balanced diet is much more important than eating “healthy” all the time. Respect your body by fuelling it appropriately and regularly.

Clean yourself as best you can

Have a shower. Take your makeup off. Brush your hair. Clip your nails. Put deodorant on. Brush your teeth. Wash your hands. You might not have the energy for a full “everything shower” but you can probably do one of the things listed above to make yourself feel better about yourself and your hygiene. Don’t berate yourself if you’ve gone a while without practicing any of these for a while, life can be pretty difficult. Just accept your current situation and try to better it as best you can with the energy you now have.

Please reach out to a trusted person or a qualified professional if you feel you need extra support for any reason. You are not alone and you do not need to suffer in silence. Support is there.

Mwah, Chaoscharme

[nymph-ette111]

pls write Simon henriksson headcanons I’m gnawing at the walls of my enclosure 👩‍🦲

WARNINGS; SUBSTANCE ABUSE (SMOKING/DRUGS) MENTIONS OF MENTAL ILLNESS (DEPRESSION/ANXIETY) MENTIONS OF INTERNALIZED MISOGYNY, UNHEALTHY COPING MECHANISMS (SELF-HARM)

AUTHOR'S NOTE; FIRST CRY OF FEAR REQUEST LET'S FUCKING GOOOO !1!1!1!1!1!!1!! kind of short, still new to the fandom so my headcanons of the characters might change overtime.

-it was confirmed that Simon is a fan of heavy metal and DSBM :3 personally I am not an avid listener of this genre, I think it's pretty cool. I'd like to headcanon specific bands that I think are suiting for Simon but I barely know anything so I don't really have a say on this.

-probably has some sort of internalized misogyny. he grew up all alone, his mother being quite overprotective didn't help with that at all and seeing no mentions of his father in the game makes me think his parents were divorced quite early in Simon's life. being exposed to such settings at a young age might have messed with his perception of love and healthy romantic relationships. despite that, he doesn't care much about gender norms now that he's older. left that mindset long ago.

-picked up on his coping mechanisms in his early teens. he was a bit scared at first of trying something like self-harm, it took him him a lot of time and internal conflict but then decided to just fuck it, he had nothing to lose. felt guilty at first, dropped it for a bit and then picked up on it again. he knows it isn't a healthy way to deal and cope with his negative thoughts but he couldn't care less at that point.

-isn't unfamiliar with drugs but not that crazy about it. not as much as cigarettes, although he does it occasionally, he could still smoke like a pack in one sitting if the situation really called for it. usually just sticks to 2-3 cigs, thinks it's a good enough amount.

^ can you tell I have no idea what I'm talking about.

-you'll never get that crusty ass grey hoodie of his off of him. it's like a cartoon where the character's never change outfit throughout the entire show. besides the fact that it's a literal video game, even in his daily life he almost never switches things up. not necessarily dirty, just worn out and stained with stuff that doesn't want to come off no matter how many times he washes it.

-has a mini fridge full of energy drinks in his room. and by full I mean like two cans because the rest have been consumed and thrown somewhere onto the ground.

-cannot save money for the life of him. as soon as he gets his hands on some cash, it's immediately spent on either a pack of cigarettes or some useless shit. he doesn't even remember what he spends it on, it's just gone.

-hadn't picked up his camera in quite a while, he's slowly loosing grip on his interests. not necessarily because he is starting to dislike them, just doesn't have the motivation.

-but it's usually full of recordings of him on the train, lonely streets of Stockholm or some stray cat that has grown a liking to Simon for some odd reason.

-one time Sophie took his camera without telling him and recorded a small video of herself, just doing something simple like a peace sign or showing off a little doodle she drew in her notebook. despite trying his best to move on, he watches that video from time to time.