#and its like a good memory i have of him Now even though back then i felt like i would rather die lmao

[bettystonewell]

So I woke up to 100 followers this morning, and I was really surprised.

THANK YOU!

I’m still learning my way here, but hopefully I’m getting better.

I know people on all different platforms do celebrations like writing prompts and stuff, but a) I’m a slow writer and b) I’m lazy. So I thought, now might be a good time to release this:

TO YOU I BELONG

SNEAK PEAK

Chapter 1 coming 21/02 🇦🇺⏱️

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader

From Chapter 7: Honeydaying

Sitting on the edge of his bed, hunched over, arms leaning on his thighs, Dean twisted the small pill bottle in his hands, listening as each tablet fell to the bottom. There weren’t many, six at most, and they rattled around in there, waiting for him to open the lid and take one out.

Or man up and throw them in the trash like he’d planned.

The problem was, he knew how his body would react to not taking the daily suppressant. He’d experienced it before. And if his inner alpha was overprotective of you now, it was about to turn into a possessive dick the second the drug’s effects wore off in T minus twenty-four hours, if he…

No.

Not if.

He was doing this. He was gonna claim you and make you his.

Which is why even though the trashcan was only three feet in front of him, he still sat there unmoving from the memory-foam cushioning his ass…

Fuck. Why was this so hard?

He put the pills down on his bedside table and leant back into the mattress, fishing his phone out from his jean pocket. The denim hugging his hips was too tight, and he had to lift himself up a few inches to yank the device free, unlocking it with a couple of taps and a swipe up.

His fingers continued to work the touch screen, locating contacts, flicking down to the letter J, and hitting the green call button. At least there was one thing he wasn’t hesitating over.

He heard the click and a familiar voice fondly speak his name before he’d even brought it up to his ear.

“Dean Winchester.”

“Hey, Jody. How’s it going?” Dean stood up off the bed and moved to the closet.

“Good. Although I’m a little surprised to hear you ask me that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” The door creaked in protest, as did his back, though it cracked more than creaked when he arched over to reach his green duffle he’d thrown on the floor after the hunt in Iowa. The couple of weapons he hadn’t bothered to put away hit against each other as the bag swayed and gravity played with their weight.

“Just that you don’t call me unless you need something or someone’s dead. Oh god. Is Sam okay? What have you boys gotten into now?”

“Alright, first off, that’s insulting.�� He emptied the contents onto the bed, pulling out a shirt that had wound its way around his shotgun. “And second.” He brought the fabric up to his nose for a sniff test. It needed washing, or burning with added salt. The remnants of nameless monster guts clung to the collar, and he didn’t hesitate to throw it out. Those pills though... “Everything’s fine. Sammy’s alive last time I checked.

“I wanted to know how you were. What’s wrong with that?” He caught the phone between his neck and shoulder, freeing his hands up to open the chamber of his prized weapon. The racking was rather loud when he closed it back again, and he grimaced. Jody was going to notice that.

“Nothing,” she said. “But that’s not why you’re calling.”

Why did he attract people who could see right through him? “Well, ah, to be honest, I need a favour.” He took a long breath in, preparing himself to deliver his news. “I met my soulmate and—”

“What?” Her high-pitched squeal had him dropping his shoulder and her. “Are you sure?”

Seriously! It’s like she was trying to cut him deep. “What do you mean, am I sure? I know my own damn initials,” he shouted down at his phone. Luckily, it had only landed on the bed. He did not have the patience or time to get a new one.

He ditched the shotgun and picked up Jody, bringing her back to his ear.

“So you’re no longer running solo, huh? Finally claimed someone! What are they? An omega, a beta? Or another alpha like you?” She chuckled. “I’d love to see that.”

‘Bitch.’

‘Dude. This is Jody.’

‘She’s insulting our mate.’

‘No, she’s insulting you, you dick.’

“Ah, an omega, and I haven’t claimed her yet,” Dean said, cringing when his inner alpha interrupted him again. His eyes searched for the pill bottle and gave it a once over. No, no. This was gonna be hell, but he’d grin and bear it. “That’s why I was calling—”

Main Masterlist

—————————————————————

DEAN TAGLIST:

@globetrotter28 @ambiguous-avery @arcannaa @jollyhunter @zepskies

@reluctanthalfwayoptimism @supernotnatural2005 @jackles010378 @kaz-2y5-spn @applelovesposts

@jaydensluv @foxyjwls007

If you’d like to be added to a Taglist for this series or for any of my other Dean works, please lmk or add yourself HERE

[idkanymark]

[Coming back to you]

haechan x f!reader | past life | inspired by See you in my 19th life

INTRO: Sometimes the lines between the past and present blur, and the memories of past lives seep into the present, creating a tangled web of forgotten promises. What happens when you and Haechan are bound by a vow made in another time? A promise to find each other in every lifetime, no matter the distance, no matter the obstacles. Can love truly transcend time, or are you doomed to repeat the same heartbreak over and over again?"

warnings. Death mentioned

wc. It pretty long but I don't know how many words

NOTE: I am sorry its not read proof but its exams season and I cam barely have time to do something

----

- FIRST LIFE -

It’s the year 1950. The Korean War has begun, and the once serene landscape of South Korea is now marred by chaos. Smoke rises where villages once thrived, and fear seeps into every home. The world feels as though it’s been split apart, and for you, life as you know it has been wrenched away.

You sit at the small wooden table in your modest home, the faint scent of cooking lingering in the air. Donghyuck is seated across from you, his head bowed as he stares at the military uniform laid out before him. His lips are pressed into a thin line, the usual light in his eyes extinguished.

“You don’t have to go” you whisper, your voice trembling. You grasp his hands tightly, as though holding onto him might keep him from slipping away.

Donghyuck looks up, his gaze heavy with conflict. “I don’t have a choice, Y/N. If I don’t go…” He pauses, struggling to find the words. “If I don’t go, they’ll call me a coward. A traitor.”

“You always have a choice” you insist, tears brimming in your eyes. “We could leave. Run away. Go somewhere far from here. Please, Donghyuck…”

He shakes his head, his expression softening as he reaches out to brush a stray tear from your cheek. “The war is here, love. There’s no escaping it.”

The silence that follows is suffocating. You want to scream, to beg him to stay, but deep down, you know he’s right.

The sun has set by the time he puts on his uniform. You stand by the door, holding his coat in your trembling hands. “Come back to me” you say, your voice breaking.

Donghyuck turns, his eyes shadowed with uncertainty but filled with love. “I will.” he promises. “No matter what, I’ll come back to you.”

He kisses your forehead, lingers there for a moment as though memorizing your warmth, and then steps out into the cool night. His silhouette disappears into the chaos of soldiers and civilians, leaving you standing alone in the doorway

[ - ]

Weeks pass.

The days without him are agonisingly quiet. Each passing moment feels like a lifetime.

Life feels impossibly still without him.

Then, one day, a letter arrives—your first from Donghyuck. It’s worn from travel, the edges frayed, but his handwriting is unmistakable.

You tear open the envelope with shaking hands, reading the words over and over:

My Dearest Y/N,

The days here are long, and the nights even longer. I miss you more than I can say. Every day, I wake up and think of you, imagining the life we’ll build together once this is all over. The soldiers are kind to me, and I’ve made a few good friends. One of them, a man named Mark, is always talking about his kids—his little ones, running around the house, making noise, making life feel full. Every time he talks about them, I can’t help but think of you, and how badly I want that for us too.

Mark says that having kids changes everything. I want to believe him. I can’t wait to come back to you, the thought of it is what keeps me going through these hard days. I think about our future together, how we’ll fill our home with laughter, our own little ones running around—just like Mark’s kids. Maybe we should get to work on that as soon as I return, yeah?

I promise to return soon, Y/N. Until then, hold onto our love—it’s what keeps me going in this darkness.

With all my love, Donghyuck.

Tears spring to your eyes as you reread his letter. The words are filled with such tenderness, such hope. And yet, the more you read, the more you feel the heavy weight of the war pulling at your heart.

Every promise feels fragile, like it could shatter at any moment

Over the next few months, you receive more letters. They speak of daily life in the military, of the fear that hangs over everyone, and the growing tension as the war intensifies. Despite everything, his words remain full of love, and you hold on to them like lifelines.

But even in his letters, there are hints of the strain—the long nights, the worry of the men around him, the uncertainty of what will come next. And yet, every time he writes, he reassures you:

I will return, Y/N.This war will not take me from you.

Months pass, and the war drags on, with no sign of relief. The letters from Donghyuck become sporadic, the tone growing more strained. There are mentions of rumors—whispers among the soldiers—that the enemy may be closing in. The tension is palpable.

Then, one day, you receive a letter that shakes you to your core.

Y/N,

I don’t know when or if you’ll get this, but I need to tell you what’s happening here. There are rumors that some soldiers are being accused of aiding the enemy. It’s a terrible thing, but the pressure is immense. The higher-ups are accusing good men of being spies or traitors without proof. There’s nothing I can do. I don’t know what will happen, but I promise you, I am not a traitor. I am loyal to this country. Please, don’t lose faith in me. I just want to come home to you

I love you, always, Donghyuck.

You stare at the letter in disbelief. Your heart races, the words seeming to blur together. Accused of aiding the enemy?How could that be? The man you love, the man who swore to return to you, who had written to you with such love, suddenly caught in a web of suspicion and lies?

Fear consumes you. The uncertainty of the war, the brutality of those in power—it’s all too much. But you have no way of knowing what’s really happening. You can only wait and pray that the man you love isn’t being torn apart by the very system he believed in.

The days drag on, each one feeling like an eternity. The letters stop. Then, one morning, a group of soldiers arrives in the village. They bring news—news that changes everything.

Donghyuck has been executed for treason.

You can’t breathe. The world tilts beneath you, and you feel like you’re going to collapse right there on the street. You ask questions, but the soldiers offer no answers, only cold, mechanical statements. Donghyuck was accused of being a traitor, and in the chaos of war, there was no trial, no defense. The accusations were enough to seal his fate.

You go to the place where his body is laid out. His face is pale, his body still. The world has taken him from you. The promise, his vow to return, lies broken in the dust. You fall to your knees beside him, your heart a shattered echo of the love you shared.

With trembling hands, you reach for him, your fingers brushing his cold skin. You whisper through the tears:

"Donghyuck, you promised. You swore you would come back to me."

But there’s no answer. The world is still, and for the first time, you realize that even love—no matter how strong, no matter how pure—can’t always defy fate.

You feel the cold weight of finality as you sit by his side, the silence enveloping you. The years ahead of you stretch out like a void. The war takes everything, and the love you shared is now a memory that will haunt you forever.

You die not long after. Some say it’s from heartbreak, others from the toll of the war on your body. But you know it’s something else. You are broken without him. You drift away, the last thing you hear being his voice—a distant echo.

“I will find you. In every lifetime, I will come for you.”

----

- SECOND LIFE -

The year is 1980, and life in South Korea is buzzing with change. Disco beats and synth-pop dominate the airwaves, and the streets are alive with colorful fashion—flared jeans, oversized blazers, and bold patterns. In your teenage world, life revolves around school, friends, and navigating the unspoken rules of being a young woman.

You’ve always been one of the girls everyone notices. Pretty, smart, and sharp-tongued, you carry yourself with a confidence that keeps most boys at arm’s length. And honestly, that’s exactly how you like it.

“You should date Sungchan. He’s, like, the coolest guy in school” Miyeon says as she flips through her notebook, doodling little hearts around her crush’s name: Kim Sunwoo.

You snort, rolling your eyes. “I will never date a man. Ew.”

Miyeon gasps dramatically, clutching her chest as if you’ve just insulted her entire worldview. “But that’s what a woman is supposed to do! Find a guy, fall in love, get married…”

“I’d rather die” you say with a dismissive wave, leaning back in your chair.

Miyeon shakes her head, exasperated. “You’re impossible.”

Maybe you are. But you’ve seen how boys act—loud, gross, and overly confident in ways that make you cringe. Why would you ever want to deal with that?

A few days later, you’re rushing through the empty hallway, carrying a precarious stack of textbooks. Your teacher had asked you to bring them to the staffroom, and you were too polite to say no. But as you turn a corner too quickly, the books slip from your hands, tumbling to the floor in a loud, chaotic mess.

You groan, crouching down to gather the scattered books, muttering under your breath about how unfair life is.

“Need some help?”

The voice startles you, warm and smooth, and when you look up, you freeze.

He’s standing there, holding one of the books that had slid across the floor. His uniform fits perfectly, his tie slightly loosened in that effortlessly cool way. His hair is neatly combed but just messy enough to seem natural, and his smile—it’s disarming in a way that makes your chest feel weirdly tight.

“Are you okay?” he asks, crouching down to meet your eye level.

You nod quickly, your voice caught somewhere in your throat.

He raises an eyebrow, his smile softening. “I need you to say it to be sure.”

“I—I’m fine” you manage to stammer, your face heating up.

“Glad to hear that…”he says, glancing at the name tag pinned to your uniform. “Y/N, huh?”

You nod again, cursing yourself for being so tongue-tied.

“I’m Donghyuck” he says, handing you the last book. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too” you whisper, cringing inwardly at how awkward you sound.

Donghyuck chuckles softly, standing up and offering you a hand. You hesitate for a second before taking it, his grip firm but gentle as he helps you to your feet.

“Try not to carry so many books at once next time” he teases lightly, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

You nod, biting your lip to keep from saying something dumb.

As he walks away, you find yourself staring after him, your heart pounding in a way it’s never done before.

“What just happened?” you whisper to yourself, clutching the books tightly.

For the first time, you start to wonder if maybe, just maybe, not all boys are so bad.

[-]

After that encounter in the hallway, you started noticing Donghyuck more around school. It was as if he’d suddenly stepped out of the shadows and into the spotlight of your world. He was handsome—undeniably so—and his natural charisma drew people to him like moths to a flame.

It wasn’t just Donghyuck, though. You began hearing whispers about the trio—Donghyuck, Renjun, and Jeno. They were legends in their own right, each famous for different reasons. Renjun was known for his sharp intellect and artistic talent, Jeno for his athletic skills and quiet charm, and Donghyuck… well, Donghyuck was the heart of the group, known for his humor, his quick wit, and that unmistakable confidence that made him impossible to ignore.

But above all, they had one thing in common: their beauty.

It was a cool afternoon, and you were walking home alone. Miyeon had stayed behind for a club meeting, so it was just you and the quiet rustle of the wind as you made your way down the familiar streets.

You were halfway to your way home when you noticed two boys from school trailing behind you. Their voices were loud, their laughter harsh, and you tried to ignore them, quickening your pace.

“Hey, slow down!” one of them called, his tone teasing.

You ignored him, clutching your bag tighter.

“Come on, show us what’s under that skirt" the other said, his voice dripping with mockery.

Disgust rose in your chest, your mind racing with all the things you wanted to say to put them in their place. But before you could respond, another voice cut through the air, firm and commanding.

“Is there a problem?”

You turned, your heart leaping in surprise. Donghyuck stood there, his arms crossed and an eyebrow raised, flanked by two other boys you immediately recognized as Renjun and Jeno.

The two troublemakers froze, their bravado vanishing in an instant. “N-no problem” one of them stammered, their faces pale. Without another word, they turned and ran off, tails between their legs.

“Are you okay?” Donghyuck asked, stepping closer.

You nodded, still a little shaken. “Yeah, thank you.”

“Do you want me to walk you home?” he offered, his voice softer now.

For the first time in a long while, you didn’t hesitate. “I would love that.”

Donghyuck smiled and turned to his friends. “Give me a second, guys.”

Renjun and Jeno immediately started whistling and teasing him, their voices full of playful mockery.

“Don’t mess it up, Romeo!” Renjun called, smirking.

“She’s cute!” Jeno added with a wink in your direction.

You blushed, lowering your gaze as the two of them walked off, leaving Donghyuck behind.

“So” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly embarrassed. “Which way?”

You pointed to the right, trying to hide your smile. “That way.”

He nodded, falling into step beside you.

As the two of you walked, the initial awkwardness began to fade. He asked you questions about school, your favorite classes, your favorite music. You were surprised by how easy it was to talk to him, how his warmth and humor seemed to put you at ease.

By the time you reached your house, you realized something that startled you: Donghyuck wasn’t just handsome, funny, and popular. He was kind.

“Thanks for walking me home” you said, pausing at your front gate.

“It was my pleasure” he replied, that familiar twinkle in his eyes.

As he turned to leave, you couldn’t help but watch him go, your heart doing strange little flips in your chest.

Not only was Donghyuck a gentleman—he was also a superhero in your eyes now.

[-]

The moment Donghyuck started greeting you in the hallways, your world shifted. It wasn’t just the glances or the way he said your name—it was the fluttering in your chest, the warmth that spread through you like sunshine breaking through clouds. He was everywhere now, flashing that lopsided smile, making the world seem brighter.

Of course, Miyeon noticed.

“So” she started, her voice dripping with smugness, “Miss I Hate Boys finally found one worth liking?”

You squirmed in your chair, avoiding her piercing gaze. “Uhm… maybe?” you mumbled, unsure whether to admit what you were feeling.

Her eyes widened, and then she let out a shriek. “YOU LIKE HIM?!”

Panic surged through you as you clamped your hand over her mouth, shooting daggers at her. “Be louder, why don’t you?” you hissed, glancing around the classroom to make sure no one heard her.

Miyeon pulled your hand away, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Sorry, but seriously, do you like him?”

You sighed, knowing there was no escaping her interrogation. “Yes… okay? I like him.”

She gasped, clasping her hands together as if she’d just witnessed a miracle. “Oh my gosh, this is HUGE! You know what you have to do, right?”

You blinked at her. “What?”

“You have to give him your name tag!”

Your stomach flipped at the suggestion.

It wasn’t just a casual gesture—at your school, giving someone your name tag was like putting your heart in their hands. It was bold, terrifying, and incredibly romantic.

“Miyeon, I can’t” you said, shaking your head. “What if he doesn’t want it? What if he doesn’t like me back?”

She rolled her eyes, grabbing your shoulders and shaking you gently. “Y/N, you’re one of the prettiest girls in school. If he doesn’t accept it, he’s an idiot. He should be groveling the moment you hand it to him!”

Her words gave you courage—or maybe it was the way Donghyuck had smiled at you earlier that day. Either way, you found yourself standing at his lunch table, your heart thundering in your chest.

“Hey, Y/N" Taeyong, a famous senior, greeted with a grin, pulling you back into reality.

“Hi” you replied, your voice a little shaky. Your eyes darted to Donghyuck, who was watching you curiously. “Donghyuck… can I talk to you for a second?”

The table fell silent. Renjun raised an eyebrow, while Jeno smirked knowingly. You could feel their eyes on you, but you forced yourself to stand tall.

“Sure” Donghyuck said, standing up. His tone was casual, but there was a flicker of curiosity in his gaze. He followed you outside, leaving his friends whispering behind him.

Once you were alone, the weight of the moment crashed over you like a wave. You felt your breath quicken, your palms damp with nerves. What were you thinking? What if you made a fool of yourself?

“Is something wrong?” Donghyuck asked, his voice laced with concern.

Your lips parted to speak, but no words came out. Instead, you reached up, fumbling with your name tag. Your fingers trembled as you unpinned it and held it out to him, your gaze fixed firmly on the ground.

The silence was unbearable. You felt like your heart might shatter at any second.

“Oh?” he said softly, his voice tinged with surprise.

You squeezed your eyes shut, certain he was going to hand it back. He didn’t feel the same, did he?

“Y/N” he said again, his tone gentler now.

Still, you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him.

Then, you felt something cool pressed into your hand. You opened your eyes and stared down at the object he’d placed there.

It wasn’t your name tag. It was his. “Lee Donghyuck" it read in neat lettering.

Your breath caught in your throat as you looked up at him, wide-eyed.

“I’ve been hoping for this” he said, his smile soft and genuine. “Would you like to go out with me?”

The world seemed to blur for a moment as tears pricked the corners of your eyes. You nodded quickly, your lips trembling into a smile. “Yes” you managed to whisper.

His grin widened, his own cheeks flushing slightly. “Good. Because I’ve liked you for a while now.”

Your heart felt like it might burst as you held his name tag close, his words echoing in your ears. For the first time in your life, you were certain: boys were gross but Donghyuck wasn’t just a boy. He was your boy.

In that moment, Donghyuck didn’t just hold your name tag—he held your heart, too.

[-]

It was a Wednesday, but not just any Wednesday—this was the Wednesday you had your first date with your crush, Lee Donghyuck.

You had spent hours debating your outfit, trying on everything in your closet. Nothing seemed to feel right until you landed on a pair of slightly baggy jeans, a high-collar shirt, and a pair of black boots that gave you just the right amount of height. To complete the look, you threw on a leather jacket. Simple, yet effortlessly cool.

As you arrived at the cinema, your heart skipped a beat. There he was, standing outside, leaning casually against the wall. He was dressed similarly, as if you’d coordinated—black skinny jeans, a plain black shirt, and a leather jacket that made him look like he’d stepped out of a magazine.

When Donghyuck spotted you, his face lit up. He waved enthusiastically, his other hand holding a small bouquet of flowers.

“Hey” you greeted him as you walked closer, trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach.

“Hey” he replied, a soft smile tugging at his lips. He held out the flowers.“These are for you.”

Your cheeks warmed as you accepted them, a shy smile breaking across your face. “Thank you, they’re beautiful.”

“I already bought the tickets” he said, nodding toward the entrance.

“Wow, you’re so prepared” you teased, and he grinned.

Inside the cinema, you looked at the ticket and raised an eyebrow. The Shining.

“You picked a horror movie for a first date?” you asked, amused but a little nervous.

“I wanted to see if you’d grab my arm when you got scared” he said with a mischievous smirk.

“Confident, aren’t you?”

“Always.”

The theater was dimly lit as you settled into your seat, the soundtrack of the movie filling the air, making the atmosphere heavy with suspense. You were already on edge, the tension building in the room with each passing moment. The eerie scenes on the screen didn't help—your heart raced as you gripped the armrest, trying to focus on the plot.

Suddenly, during a particularly suspenseful moment, you felt a presence beside you shift. Donghyuck leaned toward you, his voice a soft whisper in the darkness.

“You okay?” he asked, his breath brushing against your ear.

You jumped slightly, your heart skipping a beat. “Shut up” you hissed, trying to suppress the way his nearness made your pulse quicken. But you couldn't hide the small laugh that escaped you.

It was then that you noticed him stretching in his seat, the movement fluid and casual, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. His arm moved slowly, inching closer to you, before wrapping around your shoulders with a smooth, practiced motion. It wasn't sudden or forceful—it was gentle, as if he had done it a hundred times before, but this was the first time, he practiced with Renjun.

His arm stretched across your shoulders, pulling you just a little closer, the warmth from his body radiating against yours. It wasn’t uncomfortable—far from it—but the sudden closeness sent a slight shock through you.

Donghyuck gave you a teasing smile, his gaze flicking to the screen. "You know, the movie's not that scary" he teased, but his voice had a certain softness, as if the playful tone hid something else.

You hesitated for a second, but with the darkness of the theater and the haunting sounds from the screen, you didn’t push him away. In fact, you found yourself leaning into the embrace, just for a moment.

The movie played on, but the screen’s chilling scenes were nothing compared to the warmth you felt against Donghyuck’s side.

By the time the movie ended, you were both buzzing with energy, talking animatedly about the scariest parts as you walked out into the cool night air.

The streets were quiet as you walked toward the crossing near the theater. The conversation flowed easily between you, laughter breaking through the stillness of the night.

“I can’t believe you screamed during that one scene” you teased.

“Hey, I wasn’t scared” he defended, his grin betraying him. “I was just… surprised!”

“Sure you were” you said, rolling your eyes, the teasing tone in your voice making him laugh

For a moment, the world felt simple, like it was just the two of you and nothing else mattered. But then, Donghyuck stopped walking, his hand gently brushing your arm to halt you too.

“Hey” he said softly, his tone shifting to something more serious. “Can I ask you something?”

You turned to face him, surprised. “Of course. What is it?”

He hesitated, his gaze flickering to the ground before returning to yours. “Do you ever feel like… like you’ve known someone before you even met them? Like, maybe in another life?”

His question caught you off guard. “You mean like a past life?”

“Yeah” he said, nodding. “I don’t know why, but… being with you feels like that. Like we’ve done this before, like I’ve been waiting to meet you again.”

His words sent a strange, warm sensation through your chest, something you couldn’t quite explain.

“I don’t know if I believe in things like that” you admitted, your voice quieter now. “But… it’s a nice idea.”

Donghyuck’s lips quirked into a small smile, his eyes soft. “Yeah, it is, isn’t it?”

The two of you started walking again, the conversation lingering in the air like an unspoken promise. But as you reached the crosswalk, everything changed in an instant.

Out of nowhere, a man came speeding with his car, crashing into you both. The collision was sudden, throwing you both off balance. You fell to the ground with Donghyuck’s arms instinctively wrapping around you, shielding you from the worst of the impact.

Your head spun, and the world seemed to blur as you struggled to focus. “Donghyuck” you managed to whisper, your voice shaking.

He was lying beside you, his arms still cradling you as if shielding you from harm. Blood stained the corner of his mouth, and his breathing was shallow. His eyes fluttered open, finding yours with effort.

“Y/N” he murmured, his voice faint but steady.

“Don’t talk” you choked out, tears streaming down your face. “We’ll get help. Just stay with me.”

His hand trembled as he reached for yours, his fingers curling weakly around yours. “I’ll come back to you, I promise” he whispered, his gaze unwavering.

“Don’t say that” you cried, gripping his hand tightly as if it could keep him tethered to you.

But he only smiled, the corners of his mouth barely lifting. “I always find you… every time” he said softly, his voice fading as his eyes closed.

“Donghyuck, don’t leave me...” you sobbed, your heart shattering as his hand went limp in yours.

Pain surged through your chest, your breath coming in short, labored gasps.

The cold crept in, stealing the strength from your limbs. You knew, deep down, that you wouldn’t survive this either.

As your vision blurred and the world dimmed, you whispered your last words into the still night.

“I’ll find you too… no matter what.”

The world fell silent, and for a brief moment, the universe seemed to pause, carrying your shared promise into eternity:

“I’ll come back to you again.”

- THIRD LIFE -

The streets were bustling as you made your way to the newly opened café your friend raved about. You had been searching for the perfect spot to work outside of your apartment—a place with just the right balance of calmness and energy. When she mentioned Dream Café, she swore it was a hidden gem.

As you pushed open the door, a small bell chimed softly, signaling your arrival. The scent of freshly baked pastries and coffee wrapped around you like a warm hug. The atmosphere was serene, with soft music playing in the background and cozy seating scattered throughout.

“Welcome to Dream Café, what can I get for you?"

The voice came from behind the counter, where a tall barista with a sweet, easygoing smile greeted you. His nametag read Na Jaemin, and his charm was effortless—bright eyes and a calm aura that seemed to match the café’s vibe.

“Hi, I’d like a vanilla latte, please” you said, glancing at the menu behind him.

Jaemin nodded and leaned slightly on the counter. “Would you like anything else? The chocolate cake’s a favorite.We also have Carat cake which is a carrots cake.”

You glanced toward the display case, where desserts were arranged neatly. The chocolate cake stood out, rich and decadent.

“Sure, I’ll take a slice of that too.” you said.

“Good choice,” Jaemin replied, his hands moving swiftly to input your order. “Feel free to grab a seat. I’ll bring it to you.”

You chose a spot near the window—a cozy corner with a view of the busy street outside. It was the perfect spot, bathed in natural light with just enough privacy for you to focus. Unpacking your laptop and notebook, you settled in just as Jaemin arrived with your order.

“Here you go” he said, placing the plate and cup on the table.

“Thanks” you replied, smiling politely.

Jaemin grinned. “Enjoy your work session.” Then, with a small wave, he headed back to the counter.

Though he was undeniably friendly, you barely gave it another thought as you focused on your tasks. The latte was warm and perfectly sweet, and the chocolate cake practically melted in your mouth. Your friend hadn’t exaggerated—Dream Café had the right atmosphere to keep you productive.

As the hours passed, you found yourself at ease in the café’s calming space. The occasional hum of customers and Jaemin’s faint chatter with patrons added a pleasant backdrop to your work. For the first time in weeks, you felt a sense of peace, as though you’d finally found the perfect haven to balance your hectic routine.

Little did you know, this café would become more than just a place to work. It would be where you’d meet someone whose presence felt familiar, as if their existence was already intertwined with yours.

[-]

Days turned into weeks, and Dream Café quickly became your go-to spot. The cozy atmosphere, delicious coffee, and quiet charm made it the perfect place for your work. You’d even gotten to know some of the staff, like Jaemin, who always greeted you with a bright smile, and Jisung, the shy but endearing barista who often seemed to disappear into the background.

Then one day, everything shifted.

You walked in as usual, the soft chime of the bell announcing your arrival. The familiar scent of coffee and freshly baked pastries greeted you, but this time, someone new stood behind the counter. His tan skin glowed under the café's warm lights, and his brown eyes caught yours, holding them just a moment too long.

“Hi, welcome to Dream Café. What can I get for you?” he said, his voice warm and inviting. His name tag read Lee Haechan.

“I’d like a vanilla latte, and do you have any chocolate cake left?” you asked.

“You’re lucky—we’ve got the last slice,” he replied with a smile so radiant it almost left you breathless. Could a smile really have that much power?

You thanked him, taking a seat at your usual spot by the window. From there, you couldn’t help but notice him moving around, restocking pastries, chatting with Jaemin, and attending to customers with that same easygoing charm. You told yourself not to stare, but somehow, your eyes kept wandering back to him.

[-]

A few days later, as you settled into your routine at the café, Haechan approached your table with a curious expression. “Hey, mind if I ask what you’re always working on over here?” he asked, setting down your order with a grin.

“Oh, um…” You hesitated, feeling a bit shy under his gaze. “It’s work. I’m a computer scientist, so I’m mostly coding or analyzing data.”

“Wow” he said, eyebrows raised. “Sounds complicated. I can barely figure out how to set up my email without help.”

You laughed softly, his comment breaking the ice. “It’s not as glamorous as it sounds. Honestly, I just sit here staring at my screen half the time.”

“Well, if it makes you feel better, you look really focused. Very intimidating, actually” he teased, leaning slightly on the chair across from you.

“Intimidating?” you repeated with a chuckle. “I’m not intimidating.”

“Sure you’re not” he replied, his grin widening. “But seriously, you’re here so often, you’re practically a part-time employee. Do we get to call you one of us yet?”

“Only if you start paying me in chocolate cake” you shot back.

“Deal” he said without hesitation, his playful tone making you smile.

From that day on, Haechan made it a point to stop by your table whenever he had a spare moment. Sometimes, he’d ask about your work, genuinely curious despite admitting he didn’t understand a word of it. Other times, he’d tell you funny stories about customers or Jaemin, whose antics seemed to keep the café lively.

One quiet afternoon, the café was nearly empty, giving Haechan a rare break. He wandered over to your table again, this time with his own cup of coffee.

“So” he began, sitting down across from you without asking, “is Dream Café officially your favorite spot, or do we still have to work on earning that title?”

You smiled, setting your laptop aside. “I guess I keep coming back for a reason.”

“Good answer” he said, looking genuinely pleased.

Slowly but surely, Haechan became more than just another barista at Dream Café. His charm, humor, and warmth added a new kind of comfort to your visits.Slowly but surely, he became more than just a barista at your favorite cafe- he became someone you looked forward seeing every day

[-]

The day was unusually gloomy, the kind that seemed to sap the energy out of everything. The sky hung heavy with gray clouds, and the faint drizzle outside cast streaks across the café windows. You stepped into Dream Café, brushing off your damp coat, and settled into your usual corner by the window. The warm glow of the café lights contrasted with the bleakness outside, offering a temporary escape.

Haechan was at the counter, chatting with Jaemin as he wiped down the coffee machines. His laughter was soft, almost subdued, as if the weather had dulled its usual brightness. Still, every now and then, his eyes flicked toward you. He caught your gaze once and smiled, just enough to send a small spark of warmth through your chest before you turned your attention to your laptop.

The hours passed, the café slowly emptying as the drizzle turned into a steady rain. You lost yourself in your work, the gentle hum of the coffee grinder and the low murmur of soft jazz creating the perfect background noise. Occasionally, you’d look up and see Haechan bustling around—restocking pastries, adjusting the thermostat, or clearing tables. Once or twice, you thought you caught him glancing at you, but it was hard to tell through the dim lighting and raindrops on the windows.

As the evening wore on, the café grew quieter. It was just you and a couple seated near the entrance. The rain outside intensified, now a rhythmic patter against the glass. You glanced at your watch, realizing how late it had gotten, but you couldn’t quite pull yourself away from the work still left to finish.

When the couple finally left, Haechan began wiping down their table. You felt his eyes on you again, and this time, when you looked up, he didn’t turn away. Instead, he walked over, a warm yet hesitant smile on his face.

“Hey” he started, leaning against the chair opposite you. “Still working?”

You nodded, rubbing the back of your neck. “Yeah, I lost track of time. I didn’t realize it was already so late.”

He glanced outside, where the rain was now coming down in sheets. “It’s pouring pretty bad out there. Do you have a ride home?”

You hesitated, looking out at the wet streets. “No, I was just going to call for a cab or something.”

Haechan tilted his head, his smile softening. “I could give you a ride. My car’s parked just around the corner.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the offer. “Oh, I don’t want to bother you. It’s out of your way, I’m sure.”

“Not at all,” he assured you. “Besides, I wouldn’t feel right letting you head out in this weather on your own.”

You studied his face, noting the sincerity in his eyes. “Are you sure?”

He nodded, grabbing a chair and sitting down for a moment. “Absolutely. Besides, I’m off in ten minutes, so it’s perfect timing.”

A small smile tugged at your lips. “Okay. Thank you, Haechan. I appreciate it.”

“No problem,” he said, standing up and glancing at your laptop. “Just don’t let your boss know you’re this dedicated, or they’ll start piling on more work.”

You laughed softly. “Noted. I’ll keep my workaholic tendencies a secret.”

Haechan returned to the counter, finishing up his closing tasks while you packed up your things. When he was ready, he grabbed his coat and umbrella, holding the door open for you as the two of you stepped into the rainy night.

The ride home was quiet but comfortable, the sound of rain against the car windows filling the silence. Occasionally, you’d catch him glancing at you from the corner of his eye, and you couldn’t help but feel a little lighter despite the gloomy weather

The rain had stopped, but the unease in the air lingered, wrapping around you like a cold embrace. That night, sleep came slowly, like a pull that took longer than usual to break through your conscious thoughts. When you finally slipped into slumber, your mind carried you away to a different time, a different life—one that felt both distant and familiar at the same time.

The first dream was peaceful.

You were older, you found yourself in a small, cozy house, the sunlight filtering through the windows in soft golden hues. The air smelled of fresh herbs and home-cooked meals, a quiet and comforting routine.

You were married—happily married to Haechan. You could feel the warmth of his hand in yours as you sat on the porch, the world quiet around you. His laugh filled the air, easy and carefree, and you found yourself smiling at his every word, every touch. You shared simple moments: laughing together over meals, holding hands during walks, and spending long evenings sitting in front of a fire.

This is what happiness feels like, you thought to yourself as you stared at his face in the glow of the firelight. He looked at you with such tenderness, and the love between the two of you felt endless.

At first, you thought you were going crazy, that your little crush on Haechan was starting to turn you into a delusional version of yourself. But then each time you closed your eyes, you found yourself in a different place, a different time. But somehow, they felt familiar, like pieces of a puzzle that belonged together, but the image wasn’t fully clear.

One night you found yourself standing in a dimly lit room, its walls cracked and stained with the remnants of war. The air was thick with smoke, and the distant sound of artillery fire echoed through the hazy sky. It was the Korean War, but something felt... wrong. You weren’t supposed to be there. The world around you seemed to be falling apart, yet you stood in the middle of it all, strangely calm, as though you had lived through this before.

And there, across from you, stood him—not Haechan, not the playful barista from Dream Café, but Donghyuck, older, battle-worn, and wearing a military uniform. His face was different, yet his eyes—those familiar brown eyes—pierced through the chaos, locking onto yours with a look of quiet recognition.

“Y/N” he called, his voice rough yet tender. You had heard him call your name before, many times, but this time it felt like it carried the weight of years, of battles fought and lost, of time slipping through your fingers.

“Come with me” he urged, his hand outstretched, but you hesitated.

Why does this feel so familiar? And why his name is Donghyuck?

You followed him anyway, stepping through the broken streets of a city that seemed to have once held life, now reduced to nothing more than ash. There was a sense of urgency in his movements, but there was something else, too. A bond. The bond between you both felt unbreakable, like you had always known each other, always been tethered in this strange dance of fate.

“Don’t look back” he whispered, guiding you through the ruins.

But as you ran, you couldn’t help but glance back. The faces of soldiers flashed by, their lives cut short by the cruel hands of war. But none of it mattered. It was him that mattered. Always him.

You didn’t know how much time passed, but suddenly, you were on the ground, the weight of his body pressing against yours, the distant echoes of gunfire fading into silence. His brown eyes looked at you once more, filled with a deep sadness that left a hollow ache in your chest.

“I’ll come back to you” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “I promise.”

“Donghyuck” you breathed, your heart tearing as you reached out for him, but the world around you began to crumble, pulling you away from him.

His hand slipped from yours, and the dream shattered like glass, sending you hurtling into another life.

Then the dreams started shifting again. This time the world was different. The air was warmer, the sky clear and bright, and you were back on familiar ground—back in the 1980s. You could smell the scent of fresh school uniforms and the hum of teenage excitement in the air. You were younger now, walking through a bustling street, the world full of possibilities and innocence. And there he was again.

Haechan.

But now, he was not the soldier you had known before.

He was wearing a crisp school uniform, his hair styled in a way that made him look effortlessly cool, the swagger of youth in his every step. And those eyes—the same brown eyes—caught yours across the street, and for a moment, everything else faded into the background.

His smile was as playful as ever, the confidence of youth radiating off him. But there was something else in his gaze, something you couldn’t quite place.

“Hey, are you ready?” he asked, and the familiarity of his voice sent a rush of warmth through your chest.

And that was all it took. With that smile, that carefree laugh, you felt your heart start to beat faster, something stirring deep within you. The feeling of déjà vu crept up again, but this time, you embraced it.

You walked with him through the streets, the rhythm of his footsteps matching your own. His laugh echoed in your ears, and for a moment, you felt at peace. But deep down, something gnawed at you. Had you been here before?

Your head started spinning, the confusion flooded your mind as the memories shifted, start pulling you through time like a kaleidoscope of fragmented lives. But when it stopped you looked up and you saw Haechan—no, Donghyuck—fall once more, this time in the chaos of the streets.

You couldn’t stop it. You couldn’t save him again. And you felt that loss like a sharp pain in your chest.

You screamed for him, but his eyes closed, and he was gone.

His words wrapped around you like a lifeline, but you knew, deep down, that you had heard them before. And it always ended the same way.

You couldn’t save him.

You woke up, your heart racing, the images from the dream lingering in your mind like fragments of a story you couldn’t quite understand. You tried to shake them off, to focus on the present, but the memories refused to fade. Each life felt like an echo of something that had always been.

It wasn’t the first time you’d dreamed of these lives, but it was the first time you realized that each version of him—each Donghyuck, each Haechan—was always the same. And each time, you lost him. No matter how much you tried to change it, no matter how many lives you lived, you could never escape the inevitable.

And as the days passed, the memories began to intrude on your waking life, flashing before your eyes in the quiet moments of your day. You could feel them, feel the weight of every life you had lived, every time you had lost him. You couldn’t outrun it.

You couldn’t outrun the truth.

And as the memories of the past lingered, you couldn’t help but wonder... would this life, this one with Haechan, be the same? Would it end with him slipping away again? Or was there a way for you to change the ending? Were you cursed?

You didn’t know. You thought you were going crazy. You needed someone to talk to, someone who would understand. Chenle, your best friend.

You spotted Chenle at a corner table, already sipping on his drink, his sharp eyes watching you the moment you stepped inside.

Sliding into the seat across from him, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

Chenle raised an eyebrow. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You let out a nervous laugh. “It’s worse than that.”

He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “Okay, now I’m interested. Spill.”

You hesitated for a moment before lowering your voice. “I’ve been having dreams. But not just any dreams—memories. Past lives. And in every single one of them… he’s there.”

Chenle blinked. “Who?”

“Haechan.” The name barely left your lips before you saw the confusion settle on his face. “Or… Donghyuck. He had different names in each life, but it was always him.”

For the first time, Chenle didn’t have a sarcastic remark ready. He studied you carefully. “And what happens in these dreams?”

You swallowed hard. “We always find each other. And then… I lose him.” Your voice wavered. “Every single time.”

Chenle let out a slow breath, tapping his fingers against his cup. “That’s… insane.”

“I know,” you whispered. Your throat tightened. “But it feels so real. Every time I see him now, it’s like I already know him. Like I’ve already lost him before.”

For the first time, Chenle didn’t have some sarcastic remark ready. He just stared at you, the weight of your words settling between you both.

“Y/N…” he started, but then stopped. His fingers drummed lightly on the table, deep in thought. “So, do you think he remembers too?”

You inhaled sharply. That was the one question you hadn’t let yourself dwell on.

What if he didn’t? What if, to him, you were just a stranger?

Or worse—what if he did remember?

What if he was waiting for you to realize it?

Chenle must have noticed the shift in your expression because his gaze softened. “You have to talk to him.”

Your pulse quickened. “What if—”

“No ‘what ifs,’” he interrupted. “If this is real—if he remembers too—you deserve to know.”

The words settled deep inside you. The truth was, you already knew you needed to talk to Haechan. You had known it from the moment you started dreaming of him.

Chenle glanced at his phone. “I have to go, but…” He gave you a pointed look. “You’re staying, aren’t you?”

You hesitated before nodding.

He sighed dramatically. “Alright, but don’t come crying to me if it turns out you’re just obsessed with your barista.”

You rolled your eyes, but his teasing tone made your shoulders relax just a little.

As he got up and left, you stayed behind, staring down at your untouched drink. Your heart was pounding in your chest.

And then—

“Still deep in thought?”

You looked up.

Haechan was standing by your table, wiping his hands on a towel, his usual teasing smirk playing on his lips.

Your throat went dry. Now or never.

“Haechan, can I talk to you?”

He blinked, surprised by your serious tone. But then, something shifted in his expression. Slowly, he placed the towel down and slid into the seat across from you.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The weight of your dreams, your memories, your entire existence pressed down on you. But just as you opened your mouth—

He smiled. A knowing, almost expectant smile.

“I was waiting for you to remember, Y/N.”

Your breath caught in your throat. The world around you seemed to freeze.

“I—” you started, but the words wouldn’t come out.

Haechan leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. His gaze softened, but there was something else there—something deep, something sad.

“We’ve been here before” he murmured. “Not just here. Every lifetime. Every version of us.”

The air felt heavier. You gripped the edge of the table. “Then… it’s real?” Your voice barely came out as a whisper.

He nodded. “You’re not crazy. I remember everything too.”

The revelation sent a shiver through your entire body. “But why? Why does it always end the same?”

Haechan exhaled, looking past you, as if staring at something only he could see. “Because we were cursed.”

Your heart pounded. “Cursed?”

He finally looked back at you, “A long time ago, in one of our first lives, we did something that angered the wrong people. A love like ours wasn’t supposed to exist, they said. And so, they cursed us—to find each other in every life, only to be torn apart before we could have our ending.”

The words sent a chill down your spine. Images of your dreams—the war, the school, the deaths—flashed before your eyes. So you lived even more than three lives?

“So that’s why…” you trailed off, your voice shaking.

Haechan nodded. “Every time I see you, I hope maybe this will be the life we break free. That maybe, this time, we change the ending.”

Tears welled in your eyes. “But how? How do we stop it?”

His hand reached forward, brushing your cheek, grounding you. His warmth seeped into your skin, a reminder that this was real.

“I don’t know” he admitted. “But I do know one thing.”

You swallowed, eyes locked onto his. “What?”

“I love you” he whispered. “Every time, in every life. And I will always find you.”

Before you could even process his words, his hands cupped your face with a tenderness that sent a jolt of something deep into your soul.

And then—he kissed you.

The second his lips met yours, it was like a floodgate had opened. Memories crashed into you, overlapping with the present. The warmth of his embrace in a small war-torn house. The laughter of your teenage selves echoing in the 1980s streets. The desperate reach of his hand as he was ripped away from you in battle.

Every life. Every moment.

And now—this.

This life.

This kiss.

Your fingers clutched onto his shirt, afraid to let go, afraid that if you did, he would slip away like he had so many times before.

But he didn’t.

Not this time.

When you finally pulled back, your eyes met his, wide and searching. He smiled again, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

“I told you I’d come back to you.”

Tears spilled down your face, but you laughed, shaking your head. “You always say that.”

“And I always mean it.”

This time, you believed him.

Because this time, you weren’t going to lose him.

Because this time, you were going to break the curse.

THE END.

[lottiesnotebook]

happy DADWC! for some horror, how about “There is something at work in my soul, which I do not understand.” for Hawke/Anders/Justice?

So this turned out to be way more than a snippet, which always happens when I start to write these three! I hope you're alright with a longer fic than usual, because editing it down is not in the spirit of the evening… I also thought this would end up slightly more horror than hurt/comfort, but… Anyway, please enjoy Justice experiencing the Horrors of his first ever crush (with a lot of angst for Anders on the side.)

Rhiannon Hawke/Anders/Justice, pining, angst, hurt/comfort, the mortifying ordeal of being known, pre-relationship, Justice character study

@saladruiner | @dadrunkwriting

a hole in my soul

Mortals do not love as spirits love. Justice has always known this, at least in theory. To love, for a spirit, is to be drawn to another's nature like a moth to a flame, whether out of similarity or compatibility or fascination. To love, between spirits, is to entwine, to commingle, to merge and perhaps become something greater than your individual parts, until your mutual purpose is fulfilled and your natures pull you apart. Mortal dreamers use the same language for their desires, but the deeds and emotions they associate with them are so different as to be unrecognisable - to be drawn to a fellow spirit or mortal soul has never driven Justice to consume or possess them, to take from them until there is nothing of what he loved that remains. It has never left him raw and agonised in its removal, its absence. He is- he was complete in himself. There was no space for yearning for anything beyond his purpose within his nature.

Since he was cast from the Fade, he has learned much of mortal love in absentia. He feels it in the ache in Kristoff's breast when Aura looks at him with revulsion, the ghosts of a thousand smiles and tender moments that exist now only in stolen memories. He feels in the frantic beat of Anders' heart when he wakes from a nightmare or a different sort of dream weeping Karl, Karl, Karl. He feels it when they let their magic burn through the man he loved, and through the Templars who killed him. It is an open, unhealing wound, and no matter how much magic or lyrium or vengeance he pours into the space it left, he cannot heal it. Love, to mortals, then, is an injury that never heals, and he will protect Anders from suffering it again at all costs.

He cannot, therefore, tell him I love you in good conscience, for all that what they have become- what they are, monstrous though it may seem to his mortals, is love incarnate to spirits and demons alike. They are united in form, in purpose, in goal, and there is no being in the Fade or the mortal world he would prefer to be entangled with than Anders, now that they are one.

It pains him, that the name mortal tongues give to what they share is abomination, that Anders can only call what they share as corruption rather than love. Not the lack of reciprocation, exactly - mortals do not love as spirits do, and the emotions Anders feels towards Justice (guilt, warmth, shame, affection) are a pale shadow to the searing grief of Karl's absence - but the fact that Anders cannot see the beauty in what they share through the horror, and that is in part Justice's fault. His rage, his vengeance, after all, destroyed the Templars who sought to tear them apart, for all that Anders blames himself.

All this, though, he can accept. Love, even unrequited, is as ancient as mortal hearts and dreaming. It will not destroy him, and he will not permit it to destroy Anders. Desire is an entirely different matter.

He feels it spark beneath Anders' skin the first time Rhiannon Hawke brushes her fingers against his arm, the warmth of her fingers tangible even through the thick fabric of their sleeve, and he flinches back from it. Anders' surprise mingles with disapproval, mingles with irritation.

"Am I not even allowed to enjoy looking at beautiful people any more?" he complains to their reflection, and Justice feels himself twist in confusion, in shame.

I did not- she was a distraction, he defends himself. The contact was unexpected. I did not know you would welcome it.

"From Hawke?" He can feel Anders' disbelief radiate through both of them. "Have you seen her? She could touch far more than my arm if she wanted- if things were different," he amends, his gaze sliding away from his own reflection, and he feels it pulse again - the agony of love's absence, where Karl Thekla used to sit between his ribs.

I do not wish you to be hurt, he offers, and Anders makes a scoffing sound low in his throat.

"You don't want me distracted," he retorts.

The two motivations are not in conflict, Justice says, tries to flood their bond with the affection he feels, the worry, but Anders cannot accept them. Our purpose cannot be fulfilled if you suffer.

"I've been suffering all my life," he grumbles, "Why should this be any different?"

It is not a question that Justice can answer, and so they fall to silence, the bond between them an uncomfortable, fractious thing that he cannot soothe, however hard he tries.

Hawke could soothe it, he thinks, bitterly, with her glib tongue and bright smile and warm hands that make Anders' nerves sing like lyrium beneath his skin, but Justice, at least in this world, this place, cannot be soothing, cannot be ameliorative. Justice in Kirkwall is a broken bone never set, a gnawing hunger never sated, and this does not make for a comfortable life to share, however much he wishes Anders to be comfortable, however much his beloved deserves comfort in a world that has too often been cruel to him.

He feels the ache for it secondhand, through their shared skin, whenever Rhiannon Hawke laughs or smiles or reaches out a tentative hand, awaiting permission to touch them again, and, if not for the pain that lay in wait after such tenderness, he would almost be tempted to surrender, to say: go to her, let her give you what comfort she can.

But he knows the agony of love when it is taken away, and it will be taken from them, as it was from Kristoff, from Aura, from Anders when he lost Karl. It is a beautiful, impermanent thing, but its beauty is not worth the havoc it wreaks in its wake, and Anders has faced far too much of that havoc in his short mortal life to suffer further from it.

So yes, he knows that desire is a danger, both for his host and for himself - he has seen how it has warped others of his kind, twisting them away from their purpose, and he does not intend to be so transformed. He is guarded, he is wary - and still he is unprepared for it when it comes upon him, when Rhiannon Hawke reaches out to seize his hand mid-battle and press it to the side of a frightened apprentice mage who'd just attempted to set fire to her hair.

"Heal him!" she orders, and he does, but first, he feels himself burn beneath his skin with sudden, fearful want. She is not Anders - she does not have his intimate knowledge of the world's injustice, or the rage and loathing they both feel when it is enacted, but in this moment, he sees every bit of the warmth, the beauty that has drawn Anders in like a moth to a flame. He sees Mercy incarnate, and the urge to keep hold of her hand, to entangle himself with her as he would if they were both spirits, rises up to choke him.

His love for Anders is as much a part of his nature as his purpose, now, but this- this is something alien, some flaw in his nature, or that of the body he inhabits. It is well to be drawn to Rhiannon for her mercy, for her fairness, but he should not long for the touch of her hand on his, should not meet her eyes and feel the song of lyrium burn through him, should not see her dark hair cling to her sweat-streaked skin and itch to smooth it to order again. These are not desires a spirit of justice should possess.

I think, he murmurs to Anders, one morning as he shaves, when he can see his lovely, beloved face well enough to read the emotions that flicker across it, you were right, when you said I was becoming corrupted.

Anders' hand jolts as he speaks - the razor draws a line of bright blood against the red-gold of his stubble, the pale foam of the soap. Justice forces his fingers to open. The razor clatters into the basin with a splash. Anders stares at its palm as though it is no longer his own.

"Right." His voice is shaking, and Justice can feel his lips peel back into a smile that feels hideously, monstrously false. "I suppose now I get to say 'I told you so', right?"

I did not say you corrupted me, Justice corrects him, hastily. This is not a burden Anders must bear - he cannot help Justice's weakness, or the flaws of his own flesh. I meant- there is something at work in my soul, which I do not understand.

Anders flexes his fingers again, then, cautiously, covers its wrist with his other hand. "My anger-" he begins, and Justice interrupts, before he can spiral into self-loathing once more.

Not your anger, he corrects. Wrath and Justice are far closer than you like to acknowledge. This is… something else.

"Tell me," Anders demands, and, when he does not respond immediately: "Justice, please. You can't tell me you're becoming a demon and just- leave it at that!"

The words start off as falsely light and playful, as Anders always begins when he is covering up some darker emotion, but something harsh and unhappy breaks through towards the end - fear, he realises. Anders is afraid for him.

I do not have words for this, he says, and it is true. There is no language he knows for this- wanting that is far more of the body than of the mind. Mortals speak of it, he knows, but till now, he's had little cause to listen.

"Then show me," Anders demands, and - blessed, cruel, overwhelming - opens his mind fully to Justice, and for a moment the bliss of connection, of love fulfilled if only for a moment, and he feels Anders gasp, the weight of Justice knocking the breath from his lungs.

This, Justice says, when he can surface long enough to pull together the images, the sensations - Hawke's face glowing with fierce determination, her voice taut but determined: Heal him!, her lyrium-bright eyes, the brief heat of her hand on his-

And Anders, bewildering as always, begins to laugh. To laugh so hard, in fact, that he shakes, that his knees buckle, that he has to sit down right there on the floor of the clinic, holding his knees as if otherwise the laughter will shake him to pieces.

This is not amusing, Justice informs him. I am- becoming warped by carnal desire! I am no better than the demons who misled the unfortunate souls of Kinloch Hold! Anders, I- I want. Beyond the bounds of my purpose, I want her.

"Justice," Anders informs him, when he catches his breath, "As a healer, I am afraid the diagnosis is far more dire than that."

What, pray tell, could be worse than corrupting my own nature and yours into a warped perversion of our true selves?

Anders lays a hand to his cheek, and Justice feels the warmth of connection surge through him, of comfort, something he has never wanted- never needed before, and something like an echo of the lyrium-song flashes through his skin. He flinches back from it, and Anders, gently, tenderly, returns the hand to his cheek anyway.

"Justice, my friend, my better half," he says, though he is still trying to swallow his laughter, "I suspect you are suffering from lovesickness."

This is not a joke!

"I am not joking," Anders soothes. "I've taken a look at your symptoms, and- Justice, you have a crush."

That seems to be the right word for it. Justice feels truly crushed by the mortification of the revelation.

Spirits are not meant to have- crushes, he says, resentfully.

"Yes, I know, you're above all that, with your glorious ethereal commingling of natures-"

I did not say they were base or foul, merely- antithetical to our nature.

"Not so very antithetical, apparently-" Anders pauses, takes a breath, seems to calm: "This is really what you fear corrupting you? Not my anger? Not- what we did, when we left the Wardens?"

Anger is a part of my nature, as it is yours. This… this is something alien to me.

Anders joins their hands, then, and Justice squeezes them together, making him laugh. "Not so alien," he says, soft and wondering. "You- you love me. Even now, knowing what you know."

I always have. He lets it flow through him, now that the walls between them are eroding, lets it spill over the aching wound where love has always sat within him, hopes it will dilute some of the pain. This would not be possible, if I did not.

He does not expect it to be reciprocated, but he feels it nonetheless - the secondhand lyrium-song that rushes through him, its sweetness, its familiarity.

"This is how love begins, for some of us mortals," Anders tells him.

It is not so, for spirits. He shows him flickering images of Anders as he has always seen him, his stubborness, his resilience, the wrongness he sees within the world and longs to put right, all the things that drew Justice to him like a moth to a flame, less desire than magnetism, the inevitable pull of their natures to each other.

"But your body is mortal now," Anders reminds him. "Is it corruption, to take on some of its traits?"

Is it corruption, Justice echoes, for your soul to carry the weight of my anger? For mine to hold some of your bitterness?

They do not know the answers any more - the truths their worlds tell them are too different, too disparate. But for once, the bond between them is a flood of joy and affection rather than a tightrope to walk, and surely there can be no evil in that, for all that they do not understand it yet.

[fadeintoyou1993]

was looking through my uncle's old math books (he was a mathmatician) and found so many notebooks of his filled w like calculations and theories he's written about in these really yellowed notebooks from like the 70s and 80s and it just made my heart like ache a lil but in a good way

[catboydan]

fiance got me a kindle for my birthday <3

[sortarapunzel]

absolutely incorrigible behavior in this house tonight <- watching the voltron german dub and enjoying it

[s0dium]

I fucking hate him

A/n: One of the dialogues is lightly taken from "God of Ruin" by Rina Kentaken (plz check it out) Enjoy!!

Word count: 3.5k

Synopsis: You detest Yuji's uncle, Sukuna. His demeanor is rude and abrasive, and he is undoubtedly a sadist. You don't even try to hide your disdain, but the more you try to distance yourself from him, the stronger his opposition grows. Each attempt to push him away only seems to draw him in closer, closer, ever so close.

"You're fucking insufferable," you spat, your eyes narrowing with hatred. "You're pretentious," Sukuna shot back, a smug grin tugging at the corner of his mouth." No, you're a narcissist," you hiss" Yeah, but I turn you on," he purrs

Warning: Hate sex, rough sex, biting, fingering, edging, cowgirl, size kink, breeding, unprotected sex, slight voyeurism, breeding

You remember the day you met Sukuna for the first time like it was yesterday.

It was during the somber occasion of Wasuke Itadori's funeral—Yuji's beloved grandfather. The day was draped in a heavy sorrow; after the ceremony and the lowering of the casket, you followed the Itadori family back to their home. Being practically family yourself, and living just next door, it felt natural to join them and if not grieve, support the grieving family alongside them. While everyone gathered in the garden, sharing hushed memories and quiet support, you slipped inside the house to charge your phone.

As you stepped into the room, the air felt suddenly charged, like the prelude to a storm. There in the living room, was a man, a large man, lounging on one of the sofas dressed in a black suit and tie. The first thing you notice is his striking pink hair contrasting sharply with the dark, intricate tattoos that crawl up his neck and frame his face. His eyes, sharp and unyielding, fix on you the moment you enter, and his smirk is like a crack in a mask of indifference.

"You must be the famous dear friend of the family, Y/n right?" he drawls, his voice as smooth as silk and just as dangerous. "Heard a lot about you. All good things, I promise." His voice drips with sarcasm making you thickly gulp.

You hesitate by the doorway, your initial smile freezing on your lips. This was the Sukuna Ryomen? The man you'd heard only in hushed conversations between Jin and Choso, the man Yuji calls his uncle? You try to muster your composure, crossing the room to stand at a respectable distance.

"I wish I could say the same," you reply, aiming for polite but firm. Your voice wavers just slightly.

Sukuna chuckles, a sound that rumbles deep in his chest. "Oh, come now. No need for such defenses. I'm not the monster they painted in their tales. Or perhaps I am, and that's what intrigues you? What do you think so far" he bends forward. "Am I intriguing?"

You bristle at his words, the arrogance dripping from each syllable like poison. "I-I dont know about that." You curse yourself at the way your voice comes out as a stutter. "I'm here out of respect for your family."

"Respect," he repeats, tasting the word as if it's something exotic. "Funny, I never put much stock in that. The old man sure tried to teach me, shame he is gone. But perhaps you'll teach me its value?"

What the hell does he mean by that?

He stands suddenly, closing the distance between you with a few measured steps. You can’t help but step back, your back hitting the wall. His presence is overwhelming, suffocating.

"Why so tense?" Sukuna teases, leaning close, his breath ghosting over your cheek. "I'm just trying to get to know you better. After all, anyone who loves my family must have some redeeming qualities, hidden though they may be. Although," he tilts his head, as if analyzing you. "I wouldn't be surprised if they just kept you around cause you're a pretty thing to look at."

You feel a flush of anger and embarrassment heating your cheeks. "I think you've gotten to know enough for one day," you snap, ducking under his arm and striding toward the door. His laughter follows you, low and mocking.

"Oh, don't be like that!" he calls out. "We're just getting started!"

It only took a minute. One minute for you to decide that you hated Sukuna with a fucking passion.

Unfortunately, the fact that Sukuna had just gotten out of jail, did nothing to hamper your hatred. It seemed like ever since he got out, he was not only determined to stick to the family, but to you, like glue.

The Friday night dinners with the Itadori family, once cherished and loved, had practically turned into a battleground. What used to be a warm gathering was now filled with endless teasing and arrogant attempts at flirting. You were even hesitant to stay over now, as you were never to sure when you’d turn a corner and there Sukuna would be with some sleazy remark about your pajamas.

You tried talking to the Itadori family about it, tried complaining to Jin and raise your concerns. And as receptive and understanding as they were, you knew that for them, blood was thicker than anything, and in some part, you knew that applied to you too.

Still, you persisted, even now as you sat at another Friday dinner you were determined to just enjoy yourself with the family you loved so much.

Key word, tried.

"Well, Jin, I must say, this food is... quaint.” He says through a chuckle and you have to bite the inside of your cheek from throwing a fork at him right there and then. “Did you burn it on purpose, or was that just a happy accident?"

"Dude," You breathe a sigh of relief when Choso speaks up, his voice calm but firm. "Can you go one day without being a jerk?" His eyes are fixed on Sukuna, echoing the frustration you both share about his behavior. This solidarity is one of the reasons why you feel closest to Choso in the family. His understanding and shared grievances with the insufferable man were one of the reasons why you two were best friends.

"Please, I bet this food beats anything you had in prison." You whisper under your breath, but audibly enough that others catch it when you hear Choso breathe through his nose in a laugh-like snort.

Sukuna sets down his silverware and leans forward with a grin, his eyebrows raised in amusement as he gazes across the table at you. "Oh, someone's got a sharp tongue," he remarks. "Careful, angel, you might cut yourself."

You roll your eyes and sharply cross your arms. "Funny, coming from someone who probably had to beg for scraps behind bars. Do you even know what real food tastes like?"

You don’t miss the way Yuji chokes on his pasta, stifling back laughter making you smile.

Sukuna's lips curve into a sly smirk as he locks eyes with you. "Oh trust me, I've tasted a lot of things. But I guess you wouldn't understand, being so... sheltered."

Unfazed, you shoot back with a dismissive wave of your hand, "Sheltered? Please. At least I don’t need to rely on prison slop to remind me of home."

This time, Sukuna's response is a silent, piercing stare that makes you shift uncomfortably in your seat. Even though you were wearing a sweater and shorts, his gaze made you feel like you were naked.

From the corner, Jin clears his throat, chuckling nervously. "Um, maybe we should all just calm down a bit—"

You cut him off, your voice firm as you defend the meal laid out before you. “No way, not when he disrespects your food, which is great, may I add.”

"Oh, I love it when you get all fired up." Sukuna's eyes glint with mischief as he watches your rising frustration. "It's adorable."

Feeling the heat rush to your cheeks, you stand up abruptly, pushing your chair back with a scrape. "Excuse me, I think I'm full," you declare crisply, gathering your dishes with a clatter and storming off to the kitchen to dump them in the sink. Without a backward glance, you stride toward the living room, your footsteps echoing your irritation.

"Come on, why do you always gotta be such an ass, Uncle?" Yuji mumbles, shooting a glare at Sukuna who only responds with a shrug.

As you sank into the couch cushions, you let out a deep sigh of relief, your body sinking into the familiar comfort of your favorite spot. You turned on the TV, dazedly watching whatever was on, trying to distract yourself from the day's tensions. Of course, thoughts of Sukuna kept creeping into your mind. What was his problem with you? Did the man get dropped on the head as a baby? How and the hell were he and Jin brothers?? Surely he was the result of some fucked up science experiment.

Engulfed in your thoughts, the passage of time slipped unnoticed until a shift in the couch's cushion snapped you back to reality. You turned, and -

Oh what the fuck.

Sukuna settled next to you, leaning on the armrest of the other side of the couch, a tattooed hand settled on his thigh, He had changed into a white tank top and sweatpants, and you feel your heart jump when your eyes unconsciously travel to between his leg where a slight budge pressed against the fabric. Shit. The tips of your ears turned red and you bit the inside of your cheek. That's another thing you loathed about Sukuna; how the scent of his old spice shampoo made you dizzy, how the way he towered over you made your breathing stop, how despite how fucking insufferable he was, he was so so so attractive.

"What the hell are you doing here?" you choked out, your tone edged with disbelief and irritation.

Sukuna raised an eyebrow, unfazed. "What does it look like? Watching TV," he replied coolly, his eyes briefly scanning the screen before settling back on you. "Everyone's gone to sleep, you know."

"No, what are you doing sitting next to me?" you hissed, the proximity suddenly feeling far too close despite the physical distance. Your eyes narrowed, locking onto his vermillion eyes.

"Why you afraid I'll bite?" He says, gnashing his teeth together in a teasing display before moving closer to you. "Don't worry, I only bite when I'm asked."

"S-stop talking to me like that," you say, trying to shuffle back, but find yourself already trapped against the armrest.

"Like what?" Sukuna's voice is teasing, almost playful.

"Like I'm your toy."

He tilts his head slightly and leans forward, a smirk playing at his lips. "More like my doll."

"More like your grim reaper. I'll slice your throat if you touch me," you retort sharply, the tension between you crackling. You watch the way his eyes rake over you like a porn magazine, making you cross your arms as if to shield yourself.

He laughs, a sound rich with amusement. "You're such a menace. I want to gobble you up."

As he inches closer, the scent of his shampoo fills the air—a fragrance so intoxicating you want to bury your nose in it, yet you resist. "I'll give you indigestion, asshole," you snap, trying to maintain your composure.

"Worth it, muse," he counters smoothly, his eyes locking onto yours.

"Sure you're going to be thinking about that when I punch you in the face?"

"Oh, and make me bleed? Blood?" He licks his lips. "Yum." He feigns shock, leaning even closer. "You just keep ticking all my boxes today. Did you do your research on me?"

"Not even if you were the last man alive," you choke out, his proximity overwhelming, his face just inches from yours now. A slight move, and your noses would brush against each other.

"Last man to everyone else? No. To you? Highly likely." His whisper is a taunt, his breath a warm tease against your skin.

That's it.

As you attempt to rise from the couch, Sukuna's large hand swiftly lands on your thigh, pressing just firmly enough to guide you back down onto the cushion. You react instinctively, trying to swat his hand away, but he's quicker; he catches both of your wrists in his grasp, holding them gently yet with an unyielding firmness.

"What the hell are you doing?" you demand, your voice sharp with alarm and a flare of anger, your eyes locked intensely on his, searching for an explanation in his steady gaze.

"Jesus christ Y/n" Sukuna groans, rolling his eyes, "How long are we going to keep this thing of ours going?"

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Our thing? What thing?”

“The thing where we act like we hate each other but actually want to fuck the brains out of each other.” He chuckles.

Your eyes widen and you feel your face grow deathly hot. You try to step back, and get some space, some room to breathe, but the hand on your wrist keeps you from doing so.

“I-fuck you” The words come out of your mouth more soft and meager than you intended to, and you find yourself locked into his blue gaze.

“Believe me, I've thought about it.” His voice is low, and his face isn't painted with a shit-eating grin like it so usually is, he's serious and stern. You stay silent as you watch him examine your face. He leans in, close enough to kiss you, raises his right hand and runs his finger tips down your face.

"Will you bite my tongue if I kiss you?"

"Maybe"

Sukuna's mouth crashes onto yours, hard, angry, and demanding. He doesn't even give you a chance to resist, not even a breath. His lips are fierce against yours, stealing every breath you try to take. Your hands instinctively move to push him away, but instead, you find yourself gripping his shirt, pulling him closer.

You meet his aggression with equal force, your lips moving furiously against his. His hands cup your face roughly, holding you in place as his tongue demands entry. You respond with a whine, opening up to him, your tongues tangling in a heated dance.

Every kiss is a challenge, every touch a dare. You bite his lower lip, drawing a groan from him that vibrates through you. His hands slide down to your waist, pulling you flush against him. The intensity of the moment leaves you breathless, hot, and angry.

Your fingers thread through his hair, tugging sharply as if to remind him you won't be dominated easily. He retaliates by pressing you harder against the cushions, so you have no choice but to melt into him.

In one swift motion, Sukuna pulls back just enough to yank his shirt over his head, revealing muscles lined with black tattoos beneath. Before you can even take a breath, he’s back, his mouth claiming yours with renewed fervor. His hands move to your shirt, fingers pulling at the fabric of your sweater. You break the kiss for a mere second as he tugs your shirt off, then he dives back in, his lips crashing against yours with a hunger that makes your head spin.

His hands roam over your newly exposed skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Your breath hitches as his fingers find the waistband of your pants. He undoes them with a practiced ease, pushing them down and leaving you in just underwear and bra, feeling vulnerable and exposed.

"W-what do you think you're doing?" you stutter, trying to maintain some semblance of control.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" he replies, his voice low and filled with a wicked amusement.

He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, "I'm gonna fuck you." His hands slide over your hips, pulling your pants down completely, and you shiver at the sensation of his touch.

You whine when he places his knee between your legs which pushes against your clothed crotch. You involuntarily buck up your hips to try and gain more friction, making Sukuna chuckle; his shit eating grin widening.

“Needy, arent you?”

Your instinct is to tell him to fuck off, but he is already hooking a finger under your pastel pink panties; pulling the material down to reveal your cunt. You mentally curse yourself at the fact that you're already wet, a fact that will sure to swell Sukuna's ego.

Your hands fly down to hide yourself but he swats them away, giving you a glare before sliding a finger up and down your wet slit; collecting the juices before pushing a digit into your tight hole.

"S-shit." your groan, and the moment you clench around him, a sickening grin spreads across his tattooed face.

"Always knew you where gonna feel great around me."

The first curl of his fingers knocks the wind out of you, as it hits the sweet spot inside of you that you could only dream to reach on your own.

“Hah~ I cant-” You whimper, stomach clenching and legs trembling from the pleasure. You want to say you hate this, tell him to get off of you but you can't, you can't even think straight. You even push your hips out, angling them so his digits reach deeper into that sweet spot that sends tendrils of electricity through your body. But before you can fully bask in the pleasure, before you can taste your orgasm on your tongue, he pulls his fingers out.

"You think I'm gonna let you cum so early? After all the shit you have pulled?" His hand flies to your throat wrapping around it with a force that belies the strength behind it. Your breath hitches, a strange mix of fear and exhilaration coursing through your veins. His touch is firm, and commanding, but there’s an undeniable pleasure in the way his fingers tighten slightly, reminding you of the power he holds.

"Nah no way." Sukuna chuckles "Your just gonna have to suck it up."

You try to speak, but his grip tightens just enough to cut off your words, leaving you gasping. The pressure on your throat is intoxicating, a strange pleasure mingling with the discomfort. You can feel your pulse throbbing under his hand. You are so dazed that you don’t even notice he has pulled out his dick until you feel something big pressing against your entrance, making you look down and your eyes widen as you do so.

You’re about to open your mouth to say something, what, you do not know, but all of a sudden Sukuna pushes his dick into you until his hips are flushed against yours. It feels like you're being split in two, and the way his tip smushes against your cervix makes you unable to find your breath. The unfamiliar feeling has you squirming and clenching around his cock; body desperately trying to push out the foreign intrusion.  

“Shit you gotta loosen up doll, cant fuck you like this.” There were veins popping on his temple as he started to rub tight circles on your clit. Bolts of pleasure shoot up your body, and you desperately try to relax your body.

“Atta girl” He coos, withdrawing his hips before slamming into your.

The first thrust completely knocks the wind out of you. The collision with your gspot has you arching your back of the couch; eyes screwed shut and letting out a loud moan. He's girth spread you so well, so much, and the friction was so delicious, tears blotted your eyesight. Your skin is buzzing, and your entire lower half is shaking from the pleasure. Sukuna's pace is brutal, unforgiving, and he has to grab the arm rest above you with one arm to help his brutal and unforgiving pace into you.

Your mind grows hazy, lost in the sensation of how good he was fucking you, but then, without explanation, a spark of defiance ignites within you. Suddenly, you find the strength to flip him over, his dick not leaving the warmth of your cunt once and so you were effectively laying on top of him, your legs on either side of his body. With your chest flushed against his, and your ass perked up in the air, you begin to fuck yourself on his dick, raising your hips up and down his length as if he was a dildo.

"Oh thats it." Sukuna is not a whining man but here he is, his voice cracking from the feeling and sight of you riding him. "Fuck yourself on me shit shit shit."

You are practically drooling on his chest, your eyes rolling back from how good he felt against your G spot.

You let a whine when you feel yourself start to get tired so Sukuna grabs your hips and starts fucking you on his length.

Fap.Fap.Fap

"Gonna cum in you baby ok?" He murmurs into your ear and you dazedly nod.

Suddenly you feel your stomach dip and your mind go blank. Your mind feels as though it’s been dipped in pure euphoria, thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind, replaced by an overwhelming wave of bliss that drowns out everything else. Your body responds in kind, muscles tensing and releasing in perfect harmony with the pleasure coursing through you. It’s as if every cell is vibrating with delight, your skin tingling with a heightened sensitivity that makes even the slightest touch feel like a divine caress. The heat of the sensation is intoxicating, making your limbs feel weightless as if you’re floating on a cloud of pure, unadulterated joy.

Sukuna is quick to follow, shooting ropes of thick cum that glide down his shaft onto his balls.

"See? We are practically made for each other."

[cloudwisp]

𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐛 · 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

contents: smut (18+ minors dni). you accidentally walk in on him naked once and he’s all that occupies your mind. childhood friends to lovers. temporary housemates. brief voyeurism. masturbation. fingering. overstimulation. vaginal penetration. unprotected sex. implied multiple orgasms. he’s actually sweet just a little domineering. pipsqueak + princess pet names. 3.6k wc.

You’re temporary roommates with Caleb while your housing situation gets sorted out. The Hunter’s Academy was experiencing an issue with its database and your move-in date had been postponed so your room could be properly arranged. In the meantime, Caleb was generous enough to lend a spare room in his apartment. Sharing the same space with him brought back nostalgic memories of your upbringing, and having his presence around gave you comfort that he’s still the same Caleb you know and love. Him preparing breakfast and dinner was always appreciated when you didn’t have to lift a finger, he’d even pack your lunch to keep you nourished and prevent you from skipping meals given your hectic schedule. Sometimes there’d be light roughhousing play between you and him, all in good nature like the fond memories of your shared childhood.

The more time you spend with Caleb, you slowly encounter situations with him that have never happened before in a domestic setting. You suppose that being adults now, with the distance and years apart pursuing different careers, there are bound to be changes and new habits. For instance, you notice how comfortable he is around you—or maybe you can even say careless. With the bathroom door cracked open, you think nothing of its vacancy and enter only to have steam obscure your vision and a very naked Caleb before your eyes. Normal people would have the door locked when entering the shower, and now you accidentally caught a glimpse of his flaccid dick moments before he wraps himself with a towel snug around his waist.

“Oh, Erm… Sorry, I didn’t realize you were here already.” You avert your gaze and your cheeks feel warm while Caleb remains nonchalant, staring at you before letting a boyish smirk spread on his face. You feel his hand on the crown of your head as he walks past you, sparing you from his usual teasing since it's the early morning even though he could imagine the adorable flustered mess you’d become.

“Heh, try to pay attention next time, pipsqueak. Shower’s all yours.” Caleb’s muscular back is the last thing you see with water droplets forming on the ends of his damp hair before you close the door shut. After moving the shower handle valve to your preferred temperature, your clothes cascade and bunch around your feet and you clear your mind of the embarrassing encounter as water rushes down your skin. Accidents like this happen at least once in a lifetime and there’s no need to get hung up on it. Or at least, that's what you tell yourself.

There’s a sense of normalcy when you wander into the kitchen once you’re dressed for the day. Caleb had already prepared a simple breakfast, and he gestured that your plate was on the dining table while he sat on the couch overlooking some course material. He’s a dangerous distraction when you situate yourself and take a small bite of a rabbit-sliced apple, glancing at his manspread in those gray sweatpants and you could almost perfectly make out the outline of his natural bulge the longer you stared.

You swallow hard and lewd thoughts infiltrate your mind when he shifts his thigh slightly outwards, almost beckoning you to have a seat in his lap. The snap of his laptop draws you out of your reverie and you flinch at the sound before you can properly react and there’s a delayed smile gracing his lips as he studies your face. You’ve been made and you curse yourself for being so easily swayed over a carnal craving and toward your childhood friend no less.

You pretend to busy yourself and focus on your plate at hand. “Haven’t you learned that it’s rude to stare? You’re just the same as always, pipsqueak.” Caleb chuckles softly, taking his seat across from you and starts to enjoy his breakfast. As though you weren’t feeling bad enough, he fuels your embarrassment. “By the way, your… uh, lace panties got mixed up with my laundry. The color’s light blue, was it? Guess there’s always something new to learn about you.”

You almost choke on your saliva when he’s brazen about your intimate undergarments, and you feel like he’s being insufferable on purpose when he could’ve silently returned your item and avoided this awkward conversation. “Oh? Well, that’s my mistake. I’ll be more careful next time so it doesn’t happen again.” You suppose that he always enjoyed poking fun even at your expense, but the sly innuendos were definitely new. And you hope the pending email about your dorm situation arrives sooner so you can forget about this particular morning altogether.

After finishing up breakfast and collecting your belongings for the academy, you and Caleb respectively go about your day attending lectures and training courses. However, your focus lies somewhere else as a certain aerospace engineering student crosses your mind countless times for it to be considered normal. You never thought about him that way before, and you’re certain it’s because of the dry spell you're experiencing. But when your mind drifts back to him, your thighs clench together at any suggestive scenarios before burying the very idea into a grave with the same swiftness.

Even with the constant internal battle with yourself, walking through Caleb’s apartment door once the skyward hearth welcomes the night made you feel somewhat apprehensive. However, your concern quickly dissipated when he acted as though everything before this morning was an ephemeral dream long forgotten. Dinner was surprisingly pleasant as you both conversed about the events of the day outside of your shared home. Of course, there was a moment of weakness where you’d catch yourself staring at his lips a heartbeat too long, and something akin to yearning springs within your chest.

Whether you realize it or not, Caleb has always been a chronic observer whenever it comes to you. Even your subtle hints weren’t as discreet as you believed them to be, and it only contributes to the pent-up frustration when you both retire back to your bedrooms. Not being able to have you and explore these anchored feelings makes him feel hopeless in his deep sense of longing. Maybe you still perceive him as the same kindhearted boy from your childhood and not the capable man he’s become today. The kind of man that can be everything that you need him to be.

As the night deepens, restless sleep prevents Caleb from catching some shut-eye and he’s quiet in his footsteps down the corridor for a glass of water in the kitchen. When he moves past your enclosure, something causes his ears to perk as though a siren’s calling unto him. His eyes widen a fraction and he feels blood rushing with a twitch of his cock. The pretty noises coming from your mouth as he leans closer against the wall make him question his senses. Were you touching yourself at this late hour? Naughty girl. And yet his pants grow increasingly tighter by the second, his mind racing to connect your moans with your movements.

“Mmh—hah. C-caleb…!” You gasp softly as your fingers continue their motions on your sensitive bud, a low groan escapes his throat from how perfect you sound with his name on your tongue. His jaw tightens as he holds himself back, but his self-restraint wanes when he’s the reason for your breathless sighs and cute whimpers. Without warning, your building orgasm gets rudely interrupted and fades when he peers into your room after twisting the doorknob. Perhaps you should’ve taken your advice from earlier this morning and made sure to lock it before commencing such activities.

“Caleb—!” You shriek out and half-heartedly cover yourself with the comforter pulling yourself into an upright position, and the nickname he has reserved for you is quite befitting even for a moment like this. He can discern your flushed cheeks and hazy eyes from the gentle gleam filtering in through the window, and he stares at you for a few more seconds before fully treading inside and closing the door behind him.

“Don’t stop on my account, princess.” You can feel the heat of his gaze trailing down your disheveled yet maddeningly beautiful form. The pearl opalescence streams kiss your vulnerable parts, making you appear even more heavenly. Caleb moves and dips his weight on the edge of the bed, sharing some of his warmth as his knuckles trace your bare leg before locking eyes with you. “What were you thinking about that got you so worked up?”

You’re rendered speechless as you shy away from his touch. He withdraws his hand planting it beside him on the soft cushion. “Shouldn’t you knock first before entering?” Your voice sounds small but it’s everything you can muster given the situation and you avoid his gaze as you pose your next concern. “…Did you hear something just now?”

“You were making so much noise that I wanted to check in on you.” He chuckles softly, “Couldn’t get me out of your head, huh?” You feel your stomach drop after hearing his words and shame prickles at your skin. Of course, nothing gets past Caleb even when you both were young children and you pull your knees to your chest hiding your mortification and face along with it. “All it took was just that little moment to get you thinking about me so much.”

He wasn’t wrong in his statement, and you hate that you’re not alone in your thoughts when he recalls the encounter of him wrapped in a towel this morning. It had completely seared into your memory, leading you to act on your impulses to solve your sexual frustrations. You’d envision the feel and appearance of his cock hardening as you handle him, how he would tease you gliding his tip along your clit and entrance, the hot and heavy breathing when his mouth’s beside your ear. “Ugh, just please stop talking. Can’t you see I’m already embarrassed enough as it is?”

“Not a chance.” The gentle pats on your head encourage you to come out of hiding, which happens to lessen your discomfort. He always had a way of soothing you, and you allow him to caress your cheek before he continues to speak. “I’ve been holding myself back for a while now since I was never sure if you felt the same way. But now that I know you do… let me take care of you. Will you let me do that?“

Through your parted lips, words get stuck in your throat at his long-awaited confession. All you could think about was how the nature of your relationship would completely shift. But you suppose there had always been telltale signs with Caleb yet you glossed over every indication because he’s your childhood friend and you convinced yourself otherwise. “I didn’t know you’ve been holding onto these feelings.”

“Don’t look so surprised, it’s been years in the making.” He offers you a sincere smile, leaning down and pressing his forehead against yours. Your eyes close at the comforting gesture, Caleb loving you a little more than you realized starts to resonate in your mind and that opens your heart to him. You feel a slight coolness and a realm of muted purple radiance and cerise hue fills your vision. “Can I…?” He whispers quietly and the notion elicits a small nod from you.

Caleb’s gentle and deliberate in his actions as he moves to alight your lips for a soft embrace. He places his hand around the side of your neck, thumb tracing along your face's sharp contour and guiding you to lay on your back. Sweet and tender in the way his tongue teases your bottom lip for more, deepening the kiss that breaks emotional barriers and makes him feel closer to you. Your sighs turn into muffled surprise when he clasps your hand and together he makes a slow descent to where your cunt weeps for him.

A glistening string of saliva connects you and him when he separates for you both to breathe. “Show me how you like it, princess.” It’s a silent command for you to touch yourself, and he loves the cute expression you’re making at his words. You gnaw on the inside of your cheek and sheepishly turn your head away from him, though it’s futile when he returns your focus back on him. “Don’t get all shy on me now. I want to know what makes you feel good, please?” The last syllable comes off as a sweet murmur.

“Don’t look too closely… okay?” He can detect the reserved tone in your voice and kisses your nose before straightening himself and pushing the blanket aside until you’re completely laid bare to him. He appreciates your soft curves and smooth skin, a low hum reverberates from his chest when you spread your legs wider and a primal desire for you rises between his groin. He observes your nimble fingers pleasure your clit in small circles to get yourself off, though your arm covers your face from the vulnerable intimacy in your wave of bashfulness.

“You don’t have to hide yourself around me. You look beautiful.” He captures your hand and brings it to his mouth, brushing his lips against your knuckles and your breath quickens when that same hand lowers to still your movements. His fingers press against yours to rub the sweet spot before you retract yours and he fully assumes control. The pressure makes your hips squirm from the delicious friction and a wanton moan slips when he delves his tongue to explore your mouth again.

Caleb marvels at the feeling of your wetness when two fingers stroke your entrance, he collects some of your slick and continues to rub your bundle of nerves in languid motions. Your arms coil around his neck, tugging him closer and tilting your heads as you lose yourself from tasting him until the burning embers dim and you’re both rendered breathless. He uses this chance to litter kisses along your jawline and warmth spreads down to your neck, a gentle nip at your pulse point before moving further below to your chest and he welcomes your hardened bud into his mouth after a salacious swirl of his tongue.

“Mmh, need to feel your fingers inside me… need more. Please, Caleb?” When you beg so sweetly like that he wouldn’t dream of denying your request, even when his mind spirals with thoughts about your cute mewls and whines in his pursuit to test your limits. Maybe he’s getting ahead of himself because he wants tonight to be nothing short of special for the both of you. He’s waited too long and he’s earnest in his intentions for this moment to be perfect in every sense of the word.

“Of course, princess. Your wish is my command.” You can hear the smirk bleed into his voice when he answers you even in your state, and your breath hitches drastically when he stretches you with two fingers. He considers your bodily reactions while he searches for a rhythm that elicits the pretties sounds from you. “So perfectly tight… You need this, don’t you? Need me. Just like I need you.” He keeps two knuckles deep, massaging something soft and almost spongy that causes your back to arch beautifully.

“Mm, yeah right there—so good.” He feels you tense and convulse underneath him when he palms your clit in tandem with his fingers still driving inside you. With your climax fast approaching, you gasp suddenly and attempt to push his hand away when the sensation starts to overwhelm you. “Caleb, I’m gonna—it’s too much!” He doesn’t relent even when your grip around his wrist tightens and you cry for him to ease down from his movements. Your thighs squirm and squeeze his forearm as your walls clench around his fingers and only then does he subside after he’s satisfied with the mess you’ve made between your trembling legs.

“That’s my good girl.” You’re turned on your side as you regain some semblance of composure while the euphoric high ebbs and you feel him lay the softest kiss on your forehead. Your gaze never leaves him when he undresses himself, pulling his shirt over his head to reveal his gorgeous physique and his muscles flex under the moonlight as his thumb curls beneath the waistband of his sweats and he discards it. Your mouth salivates when his aroused cock commands your attention, and it’s almost as you imagined except you underestimated its sheer length and girth. But it makes sense when he’s standing before your eyes with the rest of him.

“Think you’re ready for me?” He smears the pre-cum over his tip and gives himself a few pumps before he moves above you after readjusting your position. He sweetly pecks your lips and you feel him caress your waist then hoist your thigh and push the underside toward your chest to spread you apart. Your other leg follows suit to make room for him and he aligns himself along your heat after moving back, the length of his member runs through your folds drawing a pleased hum from you.

“Now that I have a closer look, it’s actually kind of cute. Just like you.” Your fingers bump with his, reaching to feel his pulsing shaft and you stroke him delicately while propped on your elbow. The scent of lust shrouds him when he watches you for a moment, the way your fist applies just the right amount of pressure makes him groan from how much smaller your hand is in comparison.

“Heh, cute? That’s an interesting way to put it.” You feel his balls swell against you when he measures how deep he would sink into your pretty cunt by unabashedly resting his heavy cock on your navel. Your clit throbs when he extends to your belly button and you anticipate the feeling of him fucking you and rearranging your guts. “I wonder if you’ll say the same afterward.”

You tuck your lower lip between your teeth and glance up at him, subconsciously gripping the sheets from the thought of taking him and how tight a fit it will feel in your mental preparation. “Promise me that you’ll go easy?”

He presses forward and seals the promise with a kiss. “Gentle, I can do that. But what do I get in return?” An elongated moan escapes you when he breaches your entrance, the burning sensation causing you to burrow your head into the pillow with furrowed brows and a slacked jaw. His hand intertwines with yours for a small squeeze to help ground you as the head of his cock teases you with shallow thrusts. “You’ll let me make it worth your while? Let me do what I want with you.”

Your adorable whines receive a chuckle from him and he slides deeper. “That’s not really an answer, princess. Use your words for me.” He loves how honest and expressive your writhing body is when swept up from the pleasure and he’s barely getting started with you. You feel him pinning your hips to the bed to keep you still as he pushes further into you with a guttural moan. It’s taking every ounce of his willpower to not lose himself in fucking you senseless with how soft and pliant you are underneath him.

“Yes—! Need more… Want to feel you deep inside me. Please fuck me, Caleb!” You feel so perfect when he buries his face into your neck with a strained groan in the last stretch and meets your cervix for a desperate kiss. The fullness makes your head spin uncontrollably and you tug his hair when you feel him dragging every subtle raised vein and thick head against your walls. His pace is sensual and unhurried until he feels the tension leave your body to ensure you’re enjoying this with him. Heat coils inside your stomach and you inhale sharply when his fingers coax your clit for you to cream around him. “W-wait, when you touch me like that…”

“Didn’t you say I’m in charge now?” A devious smirk rests on his lips when your canines sink into his shoulder, leaving an imprint of your mark that will serve as evidence tomorrow as he continues to pummel into you. You think it’s unfair that he has something on you that you don't and for him to use this harmonizing leverage against you so soon, even though it feels incredibly blissful and pushes you over the edge on a note higher. Your sweet moans of his name coming out in small chants only encourage him to bring you closer to another beautiful release. Your legs wrap tightly around him to subdue your quivering form as your velvet tissues spasm and contract around him and he purposely draws out your second orgasm of the night. “Just let go for me, princess. And don't hold yourself back.”

[seumyo]

husband!bakugou thinks you’re a hypocrite

Photo albums are a way to physically preserve memories. Memories that should’ve been buried with the past—forgotten as the years go by.

Thankfully, Mama Mitsuki lent you Bakugou’s old photo album when you mentioned it in passing. A thick photo album that had “Katsuki Memory” in its title and even a design of a cartoonish bomb, finished in this beautiful silver and gold. Fancy for a baby album, but they could afford it, so you didn’t have much say.

Your husband’s sprawled across the bed with his head in your lap, scrolling through his phone, absolutely oblivious to your scheming.

“Oh my god.”

“What?” Bakugou grunted, not looking up.

“You were… Katsuki, honey, the light of my life—you were such an ugly baby.”

That got his attention. He set his phone aside, sitting up immediately. “The hell?”

You turned the album toward him, pointing at a grainy, slightly overexposed photo of newborn Katsuki. His face was scrunched up, red and wrinkled, his head oddly shaped from the ordeal of birth.

“I mean, look at you!” you said, unable to keep your laughter contained any longer.

He snatched the album from your hands, staring at the photo in question. “Tch, all babies look like this.”

“No, they don’t!”

“Yes they do!”

“Kats, I love you, but I’ve seen plenty of newborns, and most of them are at least kinda cute. You, though? You look like a grumpy little potato that just got yanked out of the ground.”

“Shut up,” he muttered, his ears turning red as he tried to defend himself. “I just got born! Give me a break!”

You doubled over with laughter, clutching your stomach. “Certainly born with a face that only a mother could love.” A face that you also loved.

“Alright, that’s enough!” he barked, though his voice lacked its usual bite. He closed the album with a loud thud and tossed it onto the nightstand. “You’re lucky I don’t blow that damn thing to bits.”

“Your Mom would be devastated. I would be too.”

“Shut.”

You wiped a tear from your eye, your laughter dying down. “I’m sorry, hun. It’s just… I wasn’t expecting that. You’re so good-looking now, but baby Katsuki? He was… something else.”

Bakugou crossed his arms, glaring at you like a sulking child. “Bet you weren’t some perfect baby, either.”

“I was adorable; thank you very much,” you shot back, sticking out your tongue.

“Show a picture or you’re lyin’.”

You showed him a newborn picture of you, and that shut him up. Bakugou had lost the battle and the war—because the gods must have a favorite.

“Fucking unfair,” he muttered, but the corner of his mouth twitched, betraying his amusement. You looked so cute and small. Who knew this little spawn would be his wife someday?

You leaned in, kissing his cheek. “Hey, ugly or not, you’re my grumpy little potato, and I love you.”

He grumbled under his breath, but the way his hand found yours and squeezed it gently told you he wasn’t really mad. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t tell anyone about this, got it?”

“No promises.”

Bakugou grunted. Fucking perfect.

-

“Awe, look at him, Katsuki,” you murmured, brushing a gentle finger across your son’s chubby cheek.

The little boy was fast asleep, his tiny fists curled in his adorably tiny mittens near his face. His resemblance to Bakugou was uncanny—he had the same spiky tufts of blonde hair and a natural pout that made your heart melt. The chubbiness of his cheeks was a bonus, seeing that a healthy son was all that you could ever wish for.

Bakugou sighed quietly, his attention drifting to his son. “Tch. ‘Course he is. He’s my kid.”

You chuckled, glancing at him. “I mean, yeah, but he looks just like you. I can’t believe it.”

“Why can’t you believe it?” He can’t help but ask.

“Because,” you began, your voice dropping into a joking tone.

“Remember when I saw what you looked like as a baby? And, well…”

He narrowed his eyes. That again.

“Don’t start.”

“I mean it, though. He’s adorable. He even has your pout.”

Bakugou leaned forward, resting his arms against the crib, although not putting his entire weight on it. “Yeah, and? You callin’ me cute now?”

“Maybe. But only because you look better now than you did when you were fresh out of the womb.”

“Hypocrite,” he muttered.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re sittin’ there, gushin’ about how cute he is,” he said, gesturing toward their son. “But when it was me, you couldn’t stop talkin’ about how ugly I was. And now you’re all, ‘Oh, he looks just like you!’ Make up your damn mind, woman.”

You bit back a laugh, careful not to wake your baby baby boy. “Okay, fine, maybe I was a little harsh about baby you. But come on, Katsuki. He’s the improved version of you.”

“Improved, my ass. He’s just like me, end of story.”

“He got my eyebrows, that’s for sure. See? Improved version.”

“You have a problem with my eyebrows?” He scoffs in mock offense, crossing his arms.

You leaned toward him, a playful glint in your eye. “Well, if he grows up with your temper and your attitude, I’ll definitely know where he got it from.”

“And if he grows up teasin’ people to death like you, I’ll know where that came from,” he replied, though there was no real heat in his words.

You both fell silent for a moment, your eyes drifting back to your son. The little boy shifted in his sleep, letting out a soft coo that made your heart swell—like it could burst any moment now.

“Hun,” you said softly, your teasing tone gone. “He really is perfect, isn’t he?”

Bakugou leaned closer, resting a hand on your shoulder as he gazed down at your son. His usual sharp expression softened into something almost unrecognizable—pure, unfiltered love.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “He is.”

You looked at him, smiling. “You’re going to be such a great dad, you know that?”

“Tch. Of course,” he muttered, though the redness creeping up his neck betrayed him. “I’ll be the best dad the world has ever seen.”

...

“Just… don’t let him see my baby pictures in the future, got it?”

You laughed softly, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

For now, anyway.

SEUMYO © 2024, PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[tobiasdrake]

*deep breath* Okay. Here we go.

I don't think the Netflix Avatar show likes women very much. It's a great show for fans of Aang, Sokka, Zuko, and Iroh specifically. All four of those characters get a ton of great material. In fact, it's super great for Sokka stans, because the show takes him ultra-seriously and can't go five minutes without one character or another (usually a woman) praising him.

But the way it handles its female cast is troublesome.

Katara

So, all three of the main trio got some changes made to their stories. They changed Aang's story so that he wasn't running away from his responsibilities; He was just clearing his head and somehow accidentallied himself into a tsunami. Whoopsy-dooodle. Aang did nothing wrong.

They changed Sokka's story so that him being a leader of his people and a great guardian warrior is treated with complete seriousness. Multiple times, characters stop to talk about how brave and noble Sokka is for taking on such an intense responsibility, and tell him to his face what a great warrior and a wonderful leader he is. Also his misogyny is erased.

And they changed Katara's story so that she directly got her mom killed because she sucks at waterbending.

Katara tries to waterbend to attack the Fire Nation soldier but couldn't manage it, provoking the soldier to start actively searching for her and forcing her mom to fake a waterbending attack and draw his fire. They changed Katara's story so that her bad decision making fucking got her mom killed.

This is treated with the same level of severity as "Sokka was bullied by mean kids and also his dad doesn't think he's good enough to be a leader."

"I hoped Sokka would do better but not everyone is meant to have people's lives in their hands," Sokka's dad says of him.

Yeah, you're right, that's totally comparable to watching your mom get barbecued because you tried to waterbend in a situation you shouldn't have and then failed.

In fact, they give Sokka's greatest trauma more weight because it gets examined again with Yue next episode, while Katara actively getting her mom killed isn't brought up again at all. We get traumatized glimpses of it throughout the season leading up to the reveal, but after this scene in episode 5, it never comes up again.

But to be fair, Katara was a child. An event this significant would surely have motivated her, driving her to become the great waterbender she is now, right?

No! Katara sucks at waterbending and needs men who aren't even waterbenders to teach her how to waterbend. She requires instruction from Aang in episode 1 to learn how to waterbend, then from Jet in episode 3 to learn how to waterbend better.

And unlike the show, her relationship with Aang isn't a give-and-take; Katara doesn't teach Aang a single goddamn thing. He never learns to waterbend. She is a strictly a pupil throughout the whole season. Though she at least gets officially labeled a master in episode 8, so there's that.

In any case, the whole traumatic memory thing isn't even the only time she's directly compared with Sokka. Episodes 3 and 4 see Katara and Sokka bicker over whose morally dubious side character is better. Sokka likes the Mechanist and Katara likes Jet.

Ultimately, Katara is forced to eat crow when Jet turns out to be the worst, while Sokka is vindicated when the Mechanist sees the error of his ways and reforms. But not before two separate arguments where Sokka calls Katara childish and accuses her of acting like a little girl.

Arguments ultimately resolved when Katara apologizes to Sokka for not adequately respecting his very serious and ultra important role as village protector and leader. Gives him a whole speech about how great and glorious he is. And Sokka... appreciates Katara learning to respect him properly, I guess, because he never offers any similar sentiments back to her.

The show just... They need you to know how important Sokka is, okay? It's very important that you respect Sokka.

Suki

Suki suffers tremendously from that whole "Sokka's misogyny was removed" thing. Y'know, because they need something else to do with that episode. The show is deeply aware that Suki is Sokka's love interest, so they just do that right off the bat. Suki falls madly in love with him from the moment they meet, and spends the entire episode making goo-goo eyes and trying to get him to Notice Me Senpai.

They still do the "Suki Trains Sokka" stuff. But Sokka is a serious, dignified manly man worthy of the deepest respect now, so of course they don't make him wear the Kyoshi uniform. Instead, the main purpose of his training is to allow them to flirt some more. It's less martial arts training and more an excuse to grope each other and near-kiss.

Suki's just a waifu now. She still fights real good, but all of the stuff that made her relationship with Sokka interesting has been erased.

Yue

Yue, similarly, leaps straight to shipping from the word go. They write out her fiance, Hahn, by having Yue briefly meet Sokka earlier in the season. She spends one minute talking to him in the Spirit World about Spirit World lore; In that time, she falls so desperately, madly, unfathomably in love with him that she breaks off her marriage to Hahn and devotes herself to waiting for him to one day come to her.

"Never have I known such joys as that time you let me explain the spirit bear Hei Bei to you. Truly, we are destined to be together for life."

Like with Suki, they go out of their way to have Yue and Sokka already be a ship from the word 'go' so they don't have to spend time developing any kind of meaningful attraction.

They just. They really want you to know that Sokka is the manliest and most desirable man ever to walk this earth. It is very important that you understand how great he is. Women hurl themselves into his arms with zero effort whatsoever, because he's just so goddamn irresistible.

Fortunately, Hahn is super okay with this turn of events. He's the most chill guy ever, he gets along perfectly well with Sokka, and he completely supports Yue's right to dump him! In the famously misogynistic Northern Water Tribe, no less! What a swell guy. Aren't men swell?

June

June gets hit with that "rewritten as hollow waifu" stick too, but her eyes are set on Iroh. They rewrote June to be super attracted and flirty towards the man who was her unwanted sexual harasser in the source material. So that's fun.

Also, she barely does anything. Zuko hires her to find Aang, she succeeds, and then she fucks right off out of the show - But she manages to find time to express how unbelievably sexy Iroh is twice during that time.

She seriously just dropped into the show to flirt with Iroh and leave. She is unbelievably inconsequential.

Kyoshi

And then there's Kyoshi. They really want you to hate Kyoshi. She's constantly shot from below, as if looking down on Aang and the audience. Her voice takes on a demonic echoing reverb at one point as she's screaming at Aang that "THE AVATAR MUST BE A MERCILESS WARRIOR!!!"

She despises Aang, calling him a coward for running away from his responsibilities - Which, I remind you, is no longer a plot point because they unwrote that flaw from his character. So she's just a complete and utter asshole, shot from the asshole angle, yelling violently at him with asshole sound effects. They want you to despise this woman.

Azula

Awkwardly, they do not seem to want you to despise Azula.

There's a lot to be said for how Ozai treats Azula in the original show. The way the favoritism he shows her is every bit as cruel and manipulative as the unfavoritism that he shows Zuko. Ozai does not love Azula. He loves the reflection of himself he sees in her eyes, and his encouragement urges her to polish herself to ensure his reflection always shines through.

This is not that. The show instead erases the favoritism entirely. Ozai doesn't really care one way or another about either of his kids. He plays them against each other, bragging openly to Azula about how great Zuko is and unpleasably writing Azula off as weak and useless.

They've rewritten the dynamic between abusive father and his two abused kids in order to take Azula's pride away. Reimagining her from a gifted prodigy who excels at imitating the toxic behaviors of a father who doesn't truly care for her, to a put-upon overachiever tearing herself in knots to live up to the standards of her unpleasable father.

This results in a truly wild portrayal of Azula as insecure and jealous of Ozai's seemingly love for Zuko. Here, she is simply a browbeaten child constantly complaining to her friends about how mean her father is and conspiring to get one up over Daddy's Golden Child Zuko.

Which she fails at, because she backs Zhao. Zuko deftly defeats her without even realizing they're in competition.

Conclusion

The season ends well for some of these women. It ends promising that maybe we'll see Katara teaching Aang some day. It ends with Zhao bragging that Ozai just used Zuko to train Azula so maybe we'll see the more confident and misguidedly proud Azula some day. Yue becomes the moon like she's supposed to. June's still out there so maybe she'll get to do something again some day.

Katara gets to fight Pakku and lose, but she looks pretty cool. She gets to fight Zuko and lose, but she looks pretty cool. Azula learns to lightningbend because she's just so mad about Ozai's contempt for her and favoritism for Zuko, which isn't how you lightningbend.

But promises of future content fall flat when the content that exists is so underwhelming. This season made its feelings on these characters pretty evident, and it's unwise to expect better material from creators who've disappointed you with the material they already made.

The women of Netflix Avatar simply do not get to shine, outside of superficial moments like the "Women of Northern Water Tribe demand the right to fight and then fuck off and don't do anything for the entire rest of the episode" bit.

"In the midst of battle, we demand that you stop being sexist and give us permission to fight! This is a way better idea than convincing you to teach us to fight before the battle begins."

The characters of this show feel as if they've been reimagined to glorify the boys at the expense of the girls. The boys are treated with a great amount of care. They're dignified and made important movers of the plot, with their rough edges sanded off. While the girls are molded around them.

[chiscaralight]

don't fuck your enemy!

synopsis: you just so happened to end up drunk with your enemy in the club bathroom. what would be more fuck than punching him in the face? fucking him!

includes: nsfw! scara x reader public sex ish. slight degradation. unprotected bathroom sex, p in v sex, mentions of oral sex, reader is under the influence but its all consensual. slight car sex, little bit of regret. this feels new to me, but I absolutely loved writing it! based off a request that I will link here

“scaraaa…”

“quit whining.”

you’re wiggling your hips to him, as he struggles to get his belt off.

“you’re obnoxious. is this how you treat everyone you say you hate? slut.”

“and you’re the one feeding into it. just shut up and-“

the moan you let out is drowned in the music. it’s not loud enough to draw attention, but if anyone else is in the bathroom, they’d definitely hear it. it’s not your fault you’re in this position, after a couple of rounds of shots, this stupid, sexy man wouldn’t stop staring at you in what he says is ‘disgust’. hard to believe when he wasted no time in following through with your advances, pressing you against the stall wall and crashing his lips onto yours.

but yes, you’re a slut for letting him push his cock past your lips, keeping your eyes trained on him as he groaned about how good that felt when you weren’t spewing bullshit, or you nuzzling your head into his hand as he tangles his fingers in your well-done hair.

but no, he’s not a fucking whore for dragging you off the ground and for bunching your short dress up at your hips. nor is he one for pressing his lips against your skin, marking up and down your neck as his fingers glide over your clothed hole before pulling your panties into the side.

you won’t let it get to you now though, because the mixture of the alcohol making your mind spin, with the way the heat from his fingers is dancing around your body, tracing obscure shapes into the fat of your hips before sliding up to cup your breasts is enough to keep any other words out of your mouth, save for his name.

it’s almost insane how good he is because he’s rocking just enough to hit you with enough force, but not enough to shake the plastic frame of the makeshift wall. your hands are finding his wrists, trying to ground yourself to something, anything while he fucks your senses away in the bathroom of some upscale nightclub, trying to ground himself from how good you feel. this has to be wrong on so many levels, fucking you, after everything you’ve said, he’s said, you’ve done, he’s done?

that seems to be the least of your worries now because he can see your eyes rolling back, tongue lolling out of your mouth as he slides a finger into the heat of your mouth. your reactions to his touch are quick, the way you jerk into his hand, or close your lips around his fingers like it was nothing. like it’s what you were made to do. his wet digits now slide back down towards your swollen clit, applying a certain pressure that has you crying out his name with that grating, gorgeous voice of yours. he doesn’t even have it in him to silence you, he’s twitching at the way it rolls off your tongue. fuck, if he knew you’d be this perfect, he would have cut the bullshit and bent you over long ago! but maybe it was more rewarding like this, fleeting memories of all the times he’s pumped his cock to the thought of your face moving through his mind, as your lewd expression brings him back to you.

he’s craning his head the slightest bit to catch your eye. when he does, you smile. and he could cum right then and there from the way your eyes crinkle at the corners through the flush of your cheeks. you mouth out a silent ‘kiss’, and he’s on you in an instant, tongue sliding against yours as the bitter taste of the alcohol finds its way toward him. but he doesn’t care about that. he’s more concerned about the way you’re starting to writhe and shake against him, becoming more and more unsettled with the lack of your own movement. so you do your best to stop him, pushing him off of you as you finally get to breathe. your words come out with a sweet giggle, finger pressing against his chest as your drunken state blurs your vision the slightest amount.

“wanna ride you, pretty boy.”

if anyone who didn’t know the two of you were to for some reason swing this door open now, they’d think the two of you were insatiable lovers who just couldn’t wait to make it home. to anyone that doesn’t know you, they’d probably have to wipe their eyes twice to pretend they weren’t seeing you bounce on scaramouche’s cock like this. he’s seated on the closed toilet lid, absolutely dazed as you ride him to bits. your nails are digging into his shoulders hard, giving you strong balance as you move with a determination even he can’t fathom. but you’ve been dreaming of this, finally getting him to shut up with that pussy or yours, it’s a shame you didn’t get to shove his face in it; but maybe it’s for the best. even in this mindset you know tomorrow is going to be full of headaches and a lot of unanswered questions, so why not enjoy the now? keep anything from getting too far. what exactly is too far you ask? you’re not sure either, because licking into each other's mouths while he fucks up into you would be seen as pretty far for some people.

and he breaks away first, lazy eyes searching yours as he mumbles about his coming orgasm. you’re smiling that stupid smile that makes his dick twitch again, and giving him a polite nod. his eyebrows furrow.

“inside? you sure?”

you’re rolling your eyes at the obscurity of it all. he can ‘discretely’ slide your expensive lace panties into his pocket, press you up against this gross wall, and even fuck you presumably drunk. but cumming inside you is weird.

“yes-yes! i’m sure. just-just hurry up,”

and he’s smacking his teeth at the tone of your voice, hand coming down strong on the swell of your ass while he starts to chase his orgasm. your breaths are shallow, deep with intent as you grind against him, brushing up close to him so you can release in tandem with him.

it works a little too well, because you’re spasming against him in a way that he’s never seen before. your orgasm, plus the feeling of his cum starting to paint your inside white hot with thick spurts is peeling away any reservations you had about this whole situation before, moans loud and cracking as you ride it out for the two of you. his head is hung back, adam’s apple bobbing only a slight bit as he comes to, the soft bite you give it making him snap his head back down before he pinches your thigh. you pout, but begin to get up nonetheless, because you’ve probably spent way too long in here already.

you're much more sober now, trying to ignore the daggers that scaramouche is glaring into your back as you adjust your outfit in the mirror.

"was the sex really that bad?"

the statement is supposed to sound snarky, but it comes out more desperate than anything. you clear your throat, focusing your attention on the paint on the floor instead, dreadfully anticipating how he will bite back this time. but he doesn't. instead, you're greeted with the plush of his lips against yours, hands finding a home on your hips omce again as you grip at his collar. you're moaning into his mouth once more, attempting to slide your tongue against his.

but he pulls away before you can, beelining for the exit door instead. your lips are in a hard pout. as you hear him mumble something about needing to go home. you also happen to catch the part where he more clearly states the exact parking space his car is in right now before letting the door swing shut.

you're alone with your thoughts now. your mind is much clearer, and you're visibly torn between doing the right thing, that is, going back to your friends and enjoying the party like you should've been, or going down and potentially making the same albeit lovely, very rewarding mistake twice. the way the 'fuck it' rolls off your tongue now is a secure answer to what you decide to do, quickly making your way towards where you hope your friends are before announcing that you'll be on your way.

it's been minutes, seven exactly, scaramouche is counting. he shouldn't be here, he should've left immediately he stuck the key in the ignition. but he's waiting rather impatiently, in hopes that you'd find your way down. he knows you're not stupid, he knows you would regret it, hell, he should be regretting it too. but that annoying little feeling in his heart won't let him pull out of the space just yet. and thank archons for that, because he can see the pattern of your dress outside his tinted window as you tap on the glass.

the silence once you get in is stupidly uncomfortable. the air is thick with tension, both of you avoiding each other's gazes as the impact of your previous actions weighs in the air. scaramouche takes the initiative to speak first.

"we should-"

"your windows are tinted. can you eat me out?"

he pinches the bridge of his nose.

"you're absolutely insufferable."

"l-less talking, please."

he'll roll his eyes, but dip his head back down between your legs all the same. you're sprawled out in his back seat, fingers tangled in his hair as his tongue assaults your folds. maybe the first kiss was a mistake, maybe him fucking you against the wall was a big mistake. but his fingers sliding into you now? curling just exactly where they should be? there's no mistake here.

[starlitscars]

Made of ice

Jackson era! Joel Miller x F! Reader

Summary: One stormy night in the safety of Wyoming, it occurs to Joel that even though life has turned his heart into a slab of ice, there's a soft, melting spot buried deep inside... Only reserved for you.

Word count: 5.2k

Masterlist

Tags/warnings: MDNI, NSFW, implied age gap, canon-typical violence, Joel Miller needs his own warning, protective! Joel, soft! Joel, angst, fluff, smut, finger sucking, fingering, pet names, praise kink, language, no use of y/n, soft dom! Joel, negative thoughts, dea*h wish, self-doubt, self-confidence issues, Joel is a sweetheart here (but he doesn't think he's worthy of peace), rain, lots of rain, lightning, stormy weather, kinda established relationship, let me know if a tag has gone unnoticed.

Author's note: This is my very first attempt at writing for Joel Miller. I've had the idea in my mind for a few weeks now and it's hard to resist when it comes to him (did I say Pedro Pascal?) So I hope the details are accurate and if you decide to read this one shot, I hope you enjoy it as much as I did while writing it. If you want to be mutuals, I'll be more than glad <3

Divider by: saradika-graphics

Made of ice

You should've seen what you made of him.

The calm, slow beats in his chest are strikingly different from how he remembers them. In fact, he vaguely recalls the way those racing, dreadful patterns had carved themselves into his memory. With a rigid heart made of ice, it was nearly impossible to find the pulse in him, even at his most frightened, disappointed state. 

Joel used to walk into the face of danger with a rifle clutched in his dying grip, a life to save and thousands to destroy, and in all those moments any sign of life was nonexistent in him. There used to be rage, hatred, regret, and frustration... Oh lots of frustration, running through the veins in his body. He used to walk, talk, and breathe. But he wasn't alive.

Now he doesn't find it in himself to call it miracle. But somewhere between the lines, you happened. You happened and fuelled the dying fire in the far corner of his heart. He used to keep it empty and dark, like a deserted house with no furniture, a perfect place for the noises in his head to become loud and maybe help him stand the never-ending days of what everyone called life. 

You entered his life and now most of what he feels in these old veins is warmth, safety and attachment. Yes, he doesn't call it miracle, because his past doings are too  stained and unforgivable to deserve a miracle. To deserve you. The real miracle. The fathomable idea of what it feels to be alive.

Joel feels alive.

Some days, it feels like his wretched past is clawing its way back into his mind, calling those demons to end his days of peace with you. Some nights, he's restless... So terribly restless. What if you get injured on your next patrol? What if the Raiders attack you when you're out of the gates of Jackson? What if something bad happens to you the moment his eyes close? What if these damn what ifs come to life? This old mind tricks him into seeing pictures of what has never happened and probably never will. You always assure him that you'll be careful. He trusts you and your abilities, but he does not trust his fears. Because if life is too good, it scares him. 

It scares Joel Miller, way more than it would if he was trapped in a dark room with all of his fears and demons creeping on the cold hard floor towards him. He'd rather spend every day fighting off the Clickers and Raiders and every nasty threat out there, instead of pacing around the room and waiting to see if your patrols end well or not.

So he has no choice but to either convince Tommy to pick him as your patrol partner every damn time you have to do it – which he makes sure is as limited as possible – or occasionally keep an eye on you from a distance and let his thoughts consume him at the same time. Just like what he's doing now. 

His persistence in being close to you tends to earn him annoyed eye rolls and "She's more capable than that, Joel." comments from his brother... almost all the time. But he simply can't help it, and he thinks that you know it. Because you never complain nor haul him over the coals for his instincts and worries and the immense amount of care his rigid heart feels for you. He's silently thankful for that understanding.

You are safe here, he thinks. Even though he feels restless, his heartbeat has never been this calm. He sits and watches you on nights like this and there's only one thought ringing in his head. All the scolding is worth it. You're sprawled out peacefully on the bed. His bed. It must be straight out of a fucking impossible dream. You're here, in his atmosphere, in his menacing, guilty, dark presence... And you have chosen it knowingly. It's all he can ever ask for. 

The dim moonlight is swimming in through the curtains, casting a soft, silvery shadow over your face. Your hair is falling all around you like you're knowingly doing it... Posing for an artist just to paint this delicate beauty on a canva. 

Despite his bitter mood, a content smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. Tearing his gaze from you, he downs the remaining whiskey and silently places the empty glass on the table, deciding that he needs a short walk to free his troubled mind. One morning, Maria woke up and decided that Joel needs to stay behind and help Tommy in fixing the issues in the town's only library. So you should have another partner for your patrol days for god knows how long. He fucking hates being told what to do. He fought tooth and nail to prevent that, and if you weren't there to stop him, he would as well turn the mess hall into another ruin that needed to be fixed – which only meant more time away from you. 

So it's going to take only two weeks, at worst. Only a terrible fortnight before things go back to normal. It's almost unbelievable how you have managed to awaken a sense of normalcy in him that he hasn't known in decades. Your absence is an instant threat to this normal life.

Maybe it's about time he gets used to it. He's not that weak. He shouldn't let his angers and worries run him. More importantly, he shouldn't ruin your much needed sleep with his usual problems right now. You've still got the weekend. He'll take a walk and be back here before you as much as stir in your deep slumber.

Oh. The damn library.

...

Jackson is eerily quiet in the middle of the night, enveloped by darkness and as isolated as it can be in this corner of the world. It's a stark contrast to how busy the whole community is during the daylight – bustling with happy greetings, careless jokes, movie days, small parties, and lots of work to do. It all asks for social interaction and he deeply hates it.

He hates when every passer-by's attention turns to you every time you step out in the open. He hates how prying eyes rove up and down your frame every time you walk into the bar. He hates how... He shakes his head, almost rolling his eyes at the loudness of these thoughts. Joel has to remind himself that he is the one you hold onto and introduce to everyone in every social gathering. The proud gleam in your eyes always placates him. There's no need to break a jaw in this town... Perhaps.

Lights flicker by the porches and the sound of his boots on the ground is the only sound that disturbs the silence. The sky is clouding over, distantly promising another stormy night in its gloomy wake. Occasional flashes of lightning light up the road and before Joel knows it, he's passing by the Tipsy Bison. It's 3 past midnight, no wonder why its doors are locked and closed. Either way he comes to a halt, letting the gears turn in his head as he opts for a very familiar path.

Your house. It's a short walk away from the bar.

Joel still recalls that day. How long has it been? Five, six, seven months? It feels like yesterday to him.

He'd had a terrible conversation with Tommy, not at all the way he'd planned it on his first day in Jackson. Things got heated up pretty quickly, leaving a bitter taste of rejection lingering on his tongue, the burn of the whiskey only worsening his mood.

"Just because life stopped for you, doesn't mean it has to stop for me..."

The words were ringing in his head as he stormed out of the bar. Shrugging his jacket on, all he wanted was to walk as far away from that area as possible. This affronted, begrudging, irrational sting was boiling in him and in that moment he was more than ready to leave the gates of Jackson even if it called for more danger. Life had really ended for him years ago, but to hear it from Tommy right after the hell he'd went through to find him... It really hurt. 

The pain was resurfacing in rapid tides.

If his boots could dig deeper, get stuck in the snow and propel him into the cold biting blanket of the earth, he'd welcome it. If life had really ended for him, he had to make it make sense by ending himself as well. This... There was this distant melody echoing in the air and cutting through his troubled thoughts. The wind was harsh against his ears, and each step brought the melody closer. 

It really could be the last song that played before his funeral.  

Joel was surrounded by all the colors, and all he could see was white, eyes fixed on the ground. He didn't pay much attention as he bumped into someone. He barely lifted his head to apologize, and then his gaze settled on the crackling fire on the left side of the road. 

Red and orange and yellow hues. It was a fresh contrast. His eyes were hurting from all the white snow.

He came to a halt, mindlessly waving at the person he'd bumped into. A dozen of kids had gathered around the burning logs in a barrel on the porch, rubbing their hands together and listening to the same melody he was entranced by. The same melody that he thought would be his burial hymn.

Joel's eyes followed their excited faces, wondering who they were looking at. He saw you mirroring their hopeful gleams first, and then he registered the guitar on your lap. 

To make the matters worse, you had tilted your head, shooting him a funnily quizzical look. He might've looked weird back then. The town's newcomer, with a permanent scowl on his face, maybe plotting murder as well (considering that it was the main topic in all the words that already flew around about him).

He didn't answer, still dead in his tracks as if he was immobilized by some invisible force. So you shifted in your seat, silently offering him a spot among the children as if to say "You can come over and join us."

He had two choices in that moment, either a polite decline was on the table or a dismissive frown. He looked over his shoulder at the bar and finally opted for the third choice – or so his mind created another choice for him – and he nodded, joining in on your little gathering without as much as saying a word. He really wanted to hear that song.

He never asked whether you knew the words to that song, but that night when he lay in bed and his thoughts were far from the idea that he wanted to bury himself in the snow, he vaguely remembered the lyrics. And it hit him hard, like a punch to the gut.

Yeah, I don't want to hurt

There's so much in this world 

To make me bleed

Stay with me

Let's just breathe

Stay with me

You're all I see

He wanted to ignore how the words affected him in the middle of the night. It was the first night he could feel some semblance of peace, not sleeping with an eye open in case someone attacked them. Ellie was safe in another room. So he really considered that. He considered the possibility of staying. He was relatively new to the community... And so damn unaccustomed to the whole arrangement. He almost woke up the next morning and started packing before he remembered where he was.

Stay with me

Let's just breathe

Those words stuck with him.

And his first encounter with you was a harbinger of different things to come.

One day of patrolling with you led to another, one night of inviting you for a drink led to another. One peaceful afternoon in the stable led to another. One gloomy evening in the clinic did not lead to another. He was way too protective of you to let that happen again.

He truly feels lucky. You could be anywhere else, better off if you picked anyone other than this grumpy, old man. And yet you still want him. You silly girl. You've melted his heart with your warmth. 

But he's like a lake, deserted in the middle of a haunted forest and engulfed in coldness. Even though the center is warm and gooey, he keeps the surface frozen and rigid and menacing. Hard enough to keep his instincts sane and alarmed. Cold enough to let everyone know that you're his and he will not fucking share. 

Lightning strikes again in the sky.

He lifts himself up and off your front stairs with a heavy grunt. An hour has passed since he left for a walk. The clouds have fully gathered in the sky and he thinks that he should be by your side now.

Joel really cares little for the details, always asking Tommy and Ellie to spare him the explanation and get straight to the point. But with you, it's hard to forget a couple of things. One night, a few weeks ago, you were pulling him past the threshold of your house. So adorably drunk and inviting. He was still a little pissed by how the rainstorm had ruined your nightly walk. Despite your complaints about sharing a kiss in the rain, he'd dragged you back to the nearest shelter possible, because he just didn't want to get fucking soaked. Joel didn't find it romantic at all. He was frowning, still pinning you against the wall for a begrudgingly needy kiss. You giggled into his mouth, playful fingers pocking at his chest. "Come on Joel. Let yourself enjoy it... All these neverending drops on the roof, the fresh earthy scent that comes after it... It's just really beautiful. One of the few things that kept me sane before I came here..." 

He's not really against the idea. But the changing weather doesn't bode well with him. One day is sunny, and the next is rainy and it just goes to show how he has no power over the situation.

Hell. A part of Joel is really terrified of the changing weather. One day it was scorching hot, and the next his boots crunched against the white blankets of neverending snow, reprimanding him for his carelessness. Time would pass whether he wanted to or not. He is still terrified, wishing he could stretch the time he could spend with you. God knows he wants an eternity with you. 

He has seen enough rain for a lifetime. He hasn't seen you enough. How could he enjoy getting soaked in tiny drops of water when all he wanted was to bury his face in the crook of your neck and stay there for a while – maybe forever and a little more?

But he has considered it since then. If there are a few things that keep you happy and rainy days have to be one of them, he'll give you that. He'll get used to that. There's no pattern with the rainfall in here, and the weather forecast is pretty much nonexistent. He has promised himself to tell you whenever it rains, even though he despises the idea of you catching a cold after minutes or hours of dancing in the cold, letting droplets of water wash over you without a care in this wretched world. 

He also despises the idea of waking you up.

But he knows you'll like it. You careless, adorable girl. He lives to see that excited gleam in your eyes. Everytime you show it, this old heart pounds impatiently in his chest and it all feels like the first time it has happened.

He's back home in no time. 

So, kicking his boots off as silently as possible, he trudges over and settles down by the edge of the bed, suppressing a low groan. His knees still ache from all the never-ending effort he's put in repairing the library over the past few days. Jesus, he just wants it to be done as soon as possible. It feels like he's losing so much time when he's away from you. Now that you're still pretty much asleep in the same position he last saw you, all Joel wants is to lie down by your side and melt in your warm embrace instead of having to fight with his thoughts and the world to not take away yet another precious piece of him. He can't afford to even think about losing you.

Each flash of lightning illuminates the contours of your beautiful face and he can't help himself when he lifts a hand and lets his knuckles gently stroke your cheek. Your lips are parted ever so slightly and you look so innocent in your unconscious dream. He almost backs down, part of him hoping that it rains throughout the day, just so he doesn't guilt trip himself for the pout on your face if you miss it. You need to rest.

As if you sense his hesitation, you stir in bed and lean into his touch. A low hum escapes you, and Joel is too weak to deny himself the softness it brings. His wounded knuckles are soon replaced with a calloused thumb and he wonders what's so interesting about these hands that never ceases to catch your attention.

One night at the bar, Joel had caught you actually staring at them and when he teased you a little about it, you just shrugged and grinned mischievously. "I mean... I just like them so much. Your hands are always warm, and... and that's all."

He shrugged it off that night. Ellie had also considered it a flex for him to have warm hands even in the coldest days of winter, but with you and the way you looked at him... It was different. He knew it was more than that. 

And when the nights he shared with you went further than his sinful thoughts had planned, you showed him that it was more than that. It was more than the warmth you found there. If anything, your helpless whimpers were an indication of how capable and strong these hands were.

Heat blooms in his chest. It simply is endearing. The way you always seem to recognize his touch and send his head spiraling with the idea that you want him to do more. You've never been afraid of him. You've never pushed him away. You've never judged him for the horrible things he's done. Jesus, it should terrify him. Joel should've pushed you away at some point, because he knows you'd be better off without him, but how could he muster the strength to do so? Since that fateful moment on your porch, your presence keeps on inviting him for more. More than simply existing. And God, if you knew how he wants to do more than that every second of the day... Only if the world lets him breathe a little.

There's another bolt of lightning and raindrops finally begin to drum against the window pane.

Joel shakes his head to get rid of those worrisome ideas. Propping himself on one elbow, he leans over ever so slightly and lets his thumb trace its way to your chin, up to your jawline, and then back to the soft skin on your cheek. He draws circles over the blooming flush and then his thumb is traveling down to your lower lip. Your mouth parts just a little more, breathing even and content and if he gets a grip on himself, he may notice that there's a ghost of a smile in there as well.

"Baby..." He whispers softly, his gaze drifting all over your adorable face. You really are a piece of art, tangled in the sheets, in the safety of his house, and your innocent hums are doing something to him. Some obscene voice that silently pleads for more. More and more... Just to give you more. 

You stir a little more.

He leans over and places a gentle kiss on your forehead, the sweet, fruity scent he's come to like a lot about you engulfing his senses. He watches every little movement with amusement. "My sweet baby... You want to see what's waitin' for you outside."

"Joel," you mumble sleepily, voice drowsy and laced with a hint of confusion as you rub your eyes and stretch your arms before looking around the dark room with a quizzical expression on your face. It doesn't take long for the realization to hit you and the familiar gleam in your gaze makes him smile. You stare a him, wide-eyed. "Is it- again?"

He chuckles and gestures at the window. "Yes, a heavy one at that."

Again, there's that hum of delight as you follow his gaze. The pitter-patter of the rain cheers you up like a lollipop would do to a child. It's maddeningly adorable.

You should be running to the backyard by now, but instead you stare at him for a while. It's his turn to be confused. Your smile gets broader by each passing second as your delicate hands trace his face and run over the salt and pepper patches of his beard. When you playfully ruffle his hair, your eyes are still droopy and dreamy and so damn kissable that he just can't help himself.

His other hand fondles with a loose strand of hair beside you on the pillow before twirling it between his fingers. You bite your lower lip and lift your head just enough for a brief peck on the tip of his nose. He chuckles, letting his fingers draw a line over the column of your neck, down to your chest, and at last they disappear beneath the sheets, settling comfortably on the warm expanse of your belly. 

Joel assumes that his presence is not too close to lock you in place, and yet not too loose to let you drift back into unconsciousness. You just have the perfect moment to escape. For goodness sake, rain is the one thing you choose over anything else. The thing you like a lot.

But you're still here, dazed eyes flickering all over his face and it just gives him a second thought. A new idea to test your patience. Seeing you still pinned under him and unmoving, was not really in his list when he decided to walk back home and wake you up. He chortles with amusement. If you want what he thinks you do, he could give you that... "Come on sweetheart, what's stoppin' you?"

His fingers drift lower, exploring the bare flesh of your thigh, right where his mouth was hours ago. Still as warm as he remembers, maybe a little bruised too. "It's all rainy outside. Ain't that what you wanted?"

"I know..." You mumble, an undertone of need sewn in your voice as you look down over the sheets that cover every movement of his hand. It's too dark for you to see anything anyway. He could easily toss the covers aside, but it's wickedly satisfying this way. "I'm- um, just feeling a little under the influence...and it's- uh, it's distracting."

His hand caresses its way to where he knows you need it the most, and you barely repress a shudder when his fingertips glide over your folds. But he barely feels you, a ghost of a touch hovering there as a smirk threatens to flicker at the corner of his mouth.

"Wonder if my hand's makin' a good influence or a bad one. What d'you say, baby?"

It pelts down steadily outside, but you don't seem to care the slightest about it. Neither does Joel. A low gasp emanates from you when his touch becomes proper, rubbing circles and spreading the slick over your clit as slow and unrushed as he physically can manage. You're still indecently wet after he'd brought you over the edge again and again before you dozed off... and the fact that some of his cum might be gathering in his hand is fueling his lewd thoughts.

You naughty girl.

"A very bad one, I see." He tuts, feeling your chest heaving up and down beneath him. It's easy to rile you up this way. Desperation is written in your expression... and he hasn't even started yet.

"She needs fixin', doesn't she?" Joel asks, bringing his movement to a sudden halt. You're too distracted by everything he does to form a coherent thought. He lifts an expectant brow, now actually waiting for an answer.

"Yes- yes Joel... need it so bad... so bad it hurts." You breathe, a helpless pout forming on your lips.

"I know baby. I know... Jus' lay down and let me take care of it, hm? How's that sound?" He demands again, but this time he doesn't give you a chance to respond as he pushes two fingers past your weeping hole, burying them knuckles deep within your warmth. You gasp at the sudden intrusion, eyelids heavy as you grasp his arm, squirming like a helpless, needy girl.

What a cruel man he is.

"Not off to a good start, angel. I know you can be more patient."

You nod quickly, biting your lip in an attempt to stop yourself from wriggling and twisting on the bed. For a split second, Joel considers pulling out to nuzzle his face between your legs and let the heat consume him. A perfect place to brave the cold, restless seasons. 

But his fingers aren't shy either. He starts with slow thrusts, effortlessly sliding in and out before picking up the pace. He makes you adjust to his rhythm, and when you let go and open up, the obscene moans and chocked out cries are all that fill the silence of the house. Jesus, he lives to hear them every day. He rewards you by curling his fingertips to hit that spot that makes you see stars.

You shudder particularly hard at that, more arousal pooling inside you and soaking his fingers. You're losing your grip with reality, and he can sense it as your legs begin to shake and your knee brushes over the denim of his jeans, but you still remember to abide by his "No squirming" rule.

You're so pliant and obedient in his hands that it does nothing but to spur Joel to give you more. And so he does.

"I like these sounds," He adds a third finger, tilting his head to whisper in your ear. "I dream about them all the time."

You whimper and tighten your hold around Joel's arm. When he feels that your orgasm is creeping impossibly close, his thumb joins and rubs rapid circles over your bundle of nerves and that's your undoing. You clench around him, walls tightening and squeezing his fingers deeper – if that's even possible – as waves of white-hot euphoria crash over your worn-out body and take over your senses. Your back arches involuntarily into him. A sound between a groan and a curse escapes his throat.

"That's it. Atta girl... that's it, so fuckin' beautiful."

His touch is unrelenting as he talks you through it with a string of sweet nothings. 

Only when you come down and rest back on the bed he slowly pulls out. You're panting heavily, face flushed and heated and so effortlessly seductive that Joel is sure no fucking artist could ever capture it in words of a poem or colors of a painting. Joel is the only one to witness this moment and it swells his chest with pride. He wants to drink it in, let it run through his veins like never-ending liquor.

He lifts his hand, smirking as you gape at the way it's glistening under the dim light. You're in awe. He softly places the tips between your swollen lips and you waste no time in swirling your tongue around them, licking the slick off as if it's a delightful lollipop. And the hazy look on your face says that it's more than just a sweet treat.

His own breathing hitches when you open your mouth a little wider and take him fully in, sucking and humming and driving him absolutely crazy. He shakes his head slightly, catching the playful gleam in your gaze.

"Hm. Still a very bad influence."

When you're fully recovered and satisfied, Joel lifts you up in his arms and walks towards the backyard, chuckling at your confused expression. You give a squeal and wrap your hands around his neck to keep yourself steady, at the same time trying to gauge what his next plan would be. You really have forgotten about the rain, haven't you?

He comes to a halt, making sure the blanket he'd just picked off the bed is not leaving any part of your body uncovered. The rainstorm has eased off considerably over the past hour, but he doesn't want to risk it. Keeping you warm and safe in the cold is and will always be his top priority, no matter if his back or knees protest from how much they ache. Hell, he aches for you and that content smile on your face. Nothing beats it.

"My girl still wants to go out, hm?"

Your eyes flicker between him and the half-open door, filled with excitement and delight and a tiny flicker of doubt. "Yes Joel... but...you sure you want to join in?"

"I don't know," He feigns innocence, pretending to think for a short while before his face lights up with an idea. "Do I get a kiss for it?"

You laugh and lean up to press your lips into his in a soft, lingering kiss. It's so tender and reassuring that he has to pull back before changing his mind and taking you back to the bed.

"Then it's settled."

It has been settled for a long time.

Maybe he can get used to it. Maybe you get a better idea of what you've made of him with your presence at times when he easily complies with things that make you happy. A heart made of ice, molten enough to experience the world with you all over again. Even if he gets soaked in the rain, he's alright with it. You kiss him and all the discomfort is forgotten.

He should give it time and learn to breathe again. Learn to stay, to settle. To let you know that you're all he sees.

Yeah, I don't want to hurt

There's so much in this world 

To make me bleed

Stay with me

Let's just breathe

Stay with me

You're all I see

The words are carved in his head. He chances a glance at the living room before walking past the door. Your guitar is placed on the couch. Maybe one day he'll bring himself to play his melodies for you too. He thinks that he's got a lot of time for it now. He wants an eternity with you, and in this wretched world, eternity lasts as long as you'll have him.

One, two... Ten droplets fall over him. He kisses you again, harder and longer. His ice-cold heart melts just a little more at your careless laughter. Just stay with me.

[criminalamnesia]

simon’s been having dreams since you left.

horrendous, sickeningly sweet dreams, all of you. it’s always you. reminding him of something he’s not sure he ever really had— something like a mirage, there one minute and gone the next.

but you’d been gone for a while, really. since you’d woken up in that infirmary bed, hatred and terror in your eyes every time you looked at him.

perhaps it’s been longer than— probably since they had you in that damn chair. maybe even before, when whispers of a traitor slipped into their minds and dug its claws in. all signs pointing to you.

most of the dreams start like this:

he wakes to the sound of birdsong. sweet little chirps that sound just outside the window you insist be left open during the springtime.

he’d conceded, not daring to tell you no. it was always yes with you, which surprised him. yes, nonetheless.

he gives a soft groan as his eyes begin to crack open. you’re curled into him, your head resting atop his inked arm. the limb is completely numb, but he doesn’t dare to move it. he’s content to lay here and watch you, because this is when he feels he truly has you.

(but it’s a dream, he realizes when he wakes. and he thinks he never really had you— a destination he desired but never reached. he doesn’t have you anymore, and he never will again.)

the fragrant smell of your favorite flowers, which fill the flower beds surrounding the little blue cottage, wafts in through the window. vibrant pinks and yellows that came after days of hard labor— simon planting each little seed and tending to it until it blossomed. he refused to let you help. said it was his gift to you.

a token of his love.

(even though you’ve long since gone from the little blue cottage, he still labors over those flowers every growing season. a gift to you, that you’d never see the longevity of. that you’d never known was a labor of love.)

(he hated that the first time you’d laid eyes on the cottage, he hadn’t been with you. that you’d been forced to go there— that they (he) had forced you out.)

you curl deeper into his side, your hair tickling his arm. he watches you sleep, your eyelids fluttering as you dream. he can tell it’s a good one by the way your nose twitches and a grin spreads across your lips.

(too often, he wakes to your screams of terror. the screams you had loosed under his tortuous hand. no longer are the nightmares that plague you ones of the perils of your job. now, they’re memories of what he’s done.)

(he wonders if you still wake up screaming. he wonders if you wish he was there to calm you back to sleep, like he’d done countless times before.)

(he wonders if he is what you see in your nightmares now.)

he shifts his body slightly. you stir, eyes still tightly shut as sunlight beams through the airy sage green curtains. again, he couldn’t say no to you.

especially when you had given him the reason behind them. “I want to spend every minute together. just us. every moment out of service, I want.”

it was always yes with you.

“good morning, si,” you grumble, voice still thick from sleep.

“did I wake you?” he whispers, lips pressing to the hair atop your head.

“birdsong outside did,” you reply, a yawn splitting your mouth wide. his free hand finds your waist, pulling you impossibly closer.

“told ya we should shut the window, love.”

it’s here when things start to differ.

in the good dreams, you look up at him with a grin. the pair of you spend the next hour in bed, drifting in and out of sleep and whispering mundane thoughts to each other. him holding you tightly, swearing he can feel your warmth next to him even when he inevitably wakes.

the bad dreams are more common.

when you look up at him, he sees one of two faces. the first face looks at him with the same expression you’d had back in price’s office, before you had slammed a fist into his jaw.

it’s heartbroken and it’s tired. it’s hateful and scared and ashamed.

(he still thinks it’s beautiful.)

the second face is battered and beaten and bruised. it’s the face you’d worn when in the chair, tortured by his hand. swollen and discolored. bloody. broken.

but most of all, it’s betrayed.

and that jolts him awake. but he doesn’t mind the bad dreams. doesn’t mind any dreams, now.

because they’re always about you. about his greatest failure, his greatest love. he sleeps so he can see you because it’s all he gets now.

he doesn’t know where you went after the cottage, none of them do. you wanted it that way. he wouldn’t dare seek you out. he owed you that much.

so he sleeps.

and he dreams of you.

here’s a little drabble about simon after reader leaves at the end of traitor. definitely inspired by ‘sailor song’. hope you all enjoy :)

p.s. I hate tumblr bc I had written this and tried to save it and the app crashed. so this is my poor attempt of recreating a work I was proud of :(

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

[crookedteethed]

⋆ ★ you and rafe having a argument midfuck...

18+ smut (pinv), squirting, cursing, angst, spit kink, high-key toxic relationship, (accused) cheating, Toxic!Manipulative! Rafe, mentions of ocs

a/n: putting this fic out until I'm done writing part two of how I slept with your father. Also thanks for all the love and support 💕

You'd been lying on your side; your leg rested on the curve of Rafe's shoulder. Your hand, the one that wasn't periodically stimulating your clit, had been clenched in a fist with your head resting on top of it. 

Your body moved with each hard thrust of Rafe's thick cock, and though the pleasure of Rafe's length never failed to make you feel good, you stayed there emotionless, staring bitterly into the cerulean color of Rafe's eyes.  

You couldn't help but wonder how you had arrived at this point, where physical pleasure no longer carried any emotional weight. The once-intense connection between you and Rafe had momentarily faded, leaving only a hollow emptiness in its wake.

Rafe had been staring at your glistening slit and your little hole, outstretched and turning red from the never-ending penetration of his cock. 

He figured something was wrong with you because you hadn't moaned, not even when he let a glob of his spit plop down onto your pussy and fucked it inside of you; you usually liked when he did stuff like that. 

And though Rafe could have asked if there was something he'd done wrong (which he was sure he did), he didn't risk it; after all, you'd let him fuck you to sleep, so you couldn't be that mad at him. 

"Switch." he told you, moving your leg from his shoulder and resting both your legs on his sides, where he slotted his body between you and started fucking you in missionary. 

"Do you think Courtney fucks good?" You asked.

Rafe stilled inside you momentarily, taking a moment to match a face to the name "Courtney".

He slowly begins moving inside your warmth, the sound of bodies connecting going "plap...plap...plap".

"Who's Courtney?"

You leaned up to where you rested on your elbows, now your nose, and eyes leveled with Rafe's. 

"Y'know, that red-head chick who bartends at the country club." You said. 

Rafe had told you 'no,' that he didn't know any red-headed girl named Courtney who bartended at the country club, but deep down, he knew exactly who you'd been talking about. Everyone at the country club knew of Courtney--particularly the guys, having given her the nickname "cherry" for her loud red hair and double d size tits. 

"The girl you always give good tips to and always joke with, that's Courtney, that should jog your memory." You said.

Rafe had a feeling you wouldn't let this go, so just as he adjusted himself on his knees, and pulled both of your calfs on his shoulders, He pretends to realize, saying "Ah, that's Courtney."

"Yeah, her." you say.

The both of you stayed silent for a moment, Rafe's cock still plunging deep inside of you. There had been a moment when you'd felt the tip of his cock kiss your g-spot, causing you to roll your eyes to the back of your head and clinch hard around his length.

"Fuckk." he drags, kissing your temples, and squeezing your left breast.

"So, do you think she fucks good?" You ask again.

"Who?" Rafe plays dumb.

"Courtney, who else?"

"How should I know?" Rafe grumbled, agitation wrangling over his face, and as a consequence, his grip on your hips tightened, and he started fucking into you faster, and just for the sake of your comfort, you retracted your legs back to your sides.

You looked down to where you and Rafe connected; it had been a gaudy mess of spit, sweat, and arousal--the result of trying to get yourselves off for hours. 

As Rafe pounded into you, you found it suddenly hard to keep your composer. It was challenging to hold yourself up on your elbows and even more difficult to form a coherent sentence that didn't involve long pauses, quiet moans, and panted 'fucks.' 

But you had to confront Rafe about Courtney. Now would be the only good time, and he couldn't walk away or turn this into a big screaming match. 

He had the serenity of your pussy to keep him calm and rooted. 

So you pushed through the immense feeling of pleasure. 

"Why'd you ask me about Courtney?" 

Rafe may have been cruising on uncharted territory, but he just had to know what you have heard about him recently. 

"Well, you know how every fucking kook goes to the country club?" You asked, and Rafe hadn't said anything. "And you know how all of our friends are kooks and you know how people talk?" Rafe kept fucking into you. 

"I heard while I was away in Venice for my father's birthday, you were seen with Courtney." 

"No shit." Rafe said. "She's the bartender at the Country club, and I go to the bar a lot, y/n." 

And as if it was possible, Rafe brought your ass and pussy closer to him, his cock nudging that spongey spot inside of you repeatedly. 

And though you wanted to drag this moment for as long as possible, you also wanted that knot in your belly to finally snap. 

"Outside of the bar at the Country Club, Ray--Can you rub my clit?" 

Your breath hitched at the rough flesh of Rafe's thumb, circling your little bud. 

"At one of your parties, to be exact." You panted. "Everyone said the whole night you looked like you wanted to fuck her, so that's why I asked; I wanted to know if you think she would fuck better than me; if so, you can fuck her and not me.” you scold.

As time went on, it felt like the amount of pressure Rafe applied to your clit increased, and the feeling of his cock slotting in and out of your cunt seemed to be never-ending, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. 

"Shit." He cursed; you assumed he was close to his peak as well. "And who the hell is everyone?" He said over the sound of flesh slapping into flesh. 

"My friends." You mewled. 

"Those jealous bitches? Trina--isn't she one of your friends? She was practically on my dick all night, but because your friends said I was talking to another girl that's not you, I'm the bad guy? Fuck that." he spat, his thrust getting deeper and deeper--more sloppier. 

"Rafe, I'm--I'm." you moaned. 

"Shut up, I'm talking now. I'm getting sick of your shit, Y/n. Just because of your insecurities, I can't live my life. How am I going to be in a relationship with someone that constantly accuses me of cheating?" 

Just then, as Rafe's hips hitched from him spilling inside of you (unbeknownst to you), you came undone. You'd been a squirter, so you squeezed your eyes tight as your cunt gushed uncontrollably around Rafe's cock. 

Some of your arousal soaked Rafe's pelvis, the sheets of your shared bed, and even some splashed onto your stomach. 

Rafe had gotten to you. 

As he got up and put his disregarded clothes back on, you sat on your knees on the edge of the bed, watching him. 

"I'm sorry, Rafe. Don't be mad at me. I should have thought things through." you cried. 

"You're always saying that shit." He spat, putting his shoes on. 

You brought your palms to your teary eyes as Rafe hovered over you. 

"I expect my bedsheets to be replaced by the time I get back." He said. 

"Where are you going?" you asked him.

"Don't you have a tracker on my car or some shit? You'll find out." He scoffed, and with that being said, he left. 

Truth be told, you hadn't put a tracker on Rafe's car—nor his phone, which he was grateful for because if he had a tracker on him, he wouldn't be picking up Courtney from her shift at the country club, where they would fuck in his car for about an hour, pick up something to eat, probably fuck again, and then he'd drop her off on the south side of the outer banks.

And to be even more truthful, Rafe would feel like him fucking Courtney wouldn't entirely be his fault; after all, he'd gotten the idea from you. 

[daisymbin]

for lovers who hesitate - choi seungcheol

warnings: cheating ex, mentions of pregnancy (not reader), shotgun marriage (not reader), some curse words, mentions of blood (seungcheol in a fight), some angst (mostly on seungcheol's part, some of reader's towards the end) + this is a long fic so I'm sure I missed out stuff, my apologies. please let me know what I missed out so I can add them in!

pairings: choi seungcheol x reader

genre: fake dating, resurface of old feelings (reader) & a down bad choi seungcheol

wc: 13k (not sure what happened i was aiming 3500-5000 but oh well.)

a/n: 13k words...my longest fic on here yet..... this took quite awhile, even proofreading was a challenge, so I hope you guys enjoyed this one! but fr, I early respect and admire authors who always belt out 30k word fics, it's really not easy i don't even wanna think about it. it's one thing to get a long fic done and another to proofreading it all oof. ... and no writer really only proofreads it once

check out my masterlist! // cheol's m.list

“you've got mail~” seokmin sings down the hallway of your shared apartment, “it looks like a wedding invite…” his voice trails off, “are any of our friends getting married? why didn't I receive one?”

seokmin's question was reasonable, you did both have the same friend group, you grew up together, having tons and tons of mutual friends, you went almost everywhere together. he's like the brother you never had. but now he's got your interest piqued as well. who could it be?

on your hand sits a wedding invitation, beautifully adorned with gold accents, pink flowers litter the edges of the invite, a bright pop of colour in contrast to the plain white.

seokmin snatches the invite out of your hand, opening the invite as he reads, “you are cordially invited to celebrate the joy of han- what the fuck? is this a joke?” seokmin shuts the invite close and crumples it, “what the hell does that guy want?”

“han minjun?” you asked as curiosity plagues your mind. seokmin’s reaction only amplifies your own confusion, and you reach out to grab the crumpled invitation from his hands, smoothing it out with trembling fingers. his name stares back at you, a name you had once thought you’d never have to see or hear again. but here it is, boldly printed, like a ghost from the past come to haunt you.

“han minjun…” you murmur, your voice quieter now, filled with a mixture of disbelief and absurdity. the memories come rushing back like a tidal wave, each one hitting you harder than the last. you remember the good days first, the laughter, the late-night talks, the way he made you feel like you were the only person in the world. but those sweet memories are soon overshadowed by the darker ones, the ones you had worked so hard to forget.

you remember the way he’d become distant, how the warmth in his eyes had faded, and the excuses he’d given whenever you asked what was wrong. you remember the pit in your stomach when he’d cancel plans at the last minute, claiming he was swamped with work, even though you could hear the laughter of friends in the background whenever he called.

then there was that one night, the night everything shattered. you had gone to his apartment, unannounced, carrying takeout and hoping to surprise him. the sight that greeted you instead was something you’d never forget. minjun had been in his living room, his hand tugging on another girl’s hair, the other on her waist as they makeout heavily. their light giggles echoing through the walls you thought you knew so well. you’d dropped the food in shock, the containers spilling onto the floor, and the way minjun’s face had paled when he saw you… it was a moment forever etched into your heart.

“its not what it looks like,” he’d said, scrambling for an explanation, but all you felt was betrayal, the heartache, the realization that the person you’d trusted had broken you in a way you never thought possible.

you come back to the present as seokmin's voice pulls you back, “oh i dropped a post it, ‘hope to see you there - kim hanna’ who the hell is kim hanna?” seokmin reaches for the invite again, his eyes scanning the words imprinted on the paper, “kim hanna…isnt she the girl he cheated on you with? that little bi- how dare she send this invi- SHE'S MARRYING HIM?” seokmin's mouth ran faster than body allowed, never finishing his sentence, but you heard and understood every word.

you snatch the invite back. the wedding is in 2 weeks.

are you hurt? no. heartbroken? no. sad? no. upset? just a little bit. angry? oh yes, yes you were. all the anger still simmering beneath the surface as you grip the wedding invite tightly. seokmin watches you with concern, his earlier frustration shifting into worry as he notices the way anger starts to consume you.

“you okay?” he asks gently, placing a hand on your shoulder.

you softened, “yeah i just… i can’t believe he’s getting married after everything he did.”

seokmin’s grip tightens, his protective brother instincts kicking in. “you don’t have to go,” he says firmly. “and if you decide to, you won’t go alone. i’ll be right there with you, you know the boys will be too. whatever you need.”

his words bring a small sense of comfort, but the invitation still feels like a dagger, reopening wounds you thought had finally healed. “oh I'm definitely going,”

“why?”

“just because. & I need a date-”

“I can be your date.”

“no you can't.”

“why not?”

“because i need my date to be my fake boyfriend. i cant show up all single to an ex's wedding & everyone knows we grow up together. we're practically siblings we would never ever date each other! that's disgusting."

seokmin's fake dramatic gasp only leaves your laughing, the anger that once resided is now long forgotten. “how can you say that?” he continues, “don't you watch movies? don't you read books? or even better, fanfiction? that's like a really popular trope and it's popular for a reason! why? because it's real, it happens. what if I'm in love with you and you just don't know it? then what? you could have seriously hurt my feelings!”

“yeah could have, that means I didn't. and don't think I forgot about the time we all played truth or dare and chan dared you to kiss me and you literally threw up from how repulsed you were by me. how could you possibly be in love with me? unless...you puked because you were nervous.." you said as you wiggled your eyebrows disturbingly. “also what hell fanfiction do you read? why didnt i know about that?”

“EW!!!" he screams as he steps away from you, "AS IF YOU COULD EVER MAKE ME NERVOUS!"

“& the fanfiction? what do you read? come on, spill!”

“that's none of your business.”

“seok-”

“beyonce x reader.” it was almost as if he was dying to tell you.

the laugh you burst out only brings relief to seokmin, now he knows you're really okay. you've moved on, just angry at the audacity of them. “please beyonce would never pick you.” you joked as you got up from the sofa. “come on, be serious, this is serious stuff. I need a fake boyfriend.”

“ask seungcheol.” seokmin answers easily without missing a beat, as if the answer was obvious.

“why seungcheol?” you heart raced at the mere idea of seungcheol being your date for the night, let alone boyfriend.

“because…he never says no to you. like ever,” he gives a brief, small smile before he turns to walk away. “oh and also, don't you think he'd fit the role perfectly?”

[—]

but that's what happens when seokmin plants the idea in your head, because you now find yourself in seungcheol's apartment.

you sit in seungcheol’s living room, heart pounding as you try to muster the courage to speak. he’s standing in front of you, arms crossed loosely over his broad chest, looking at you with his usual gentle, patient expression. but somehow, today, that patience makes your nerves worse. you’re not sure why you’re suddenly so embarrassed; maybe it’s the way his dark eyes seem to search your face for any hint of what’s coming.

“so… what did you want to ask me?” he prompts, his voice warm and inviting, though there’s a hint of curiosity lurking beneath it.

you swallow, your palms damp. “you can totally say no if you want to, there’s no pressure at all but um-”

seungcheol’s eyebrows furrow at your hesitation, “you’re making me nervous,” he jokes, though there’s a genuine note of concern in his eyes. “what’s going on?”

you inhale deeply, avoiding his gaze as you force the words out. “so, i got this wedding invite. from…my ex.” you don’t have to elaborate for seungcheol to know which ex you mean. his jaw tightens almost imperceptibly, a flash of something dark passing over his expression before he smooths it out.

“han minjun,” he says, and the way he says the name makes it sound like a curse. his hands uncross, one clenching the back of a chair as he leans into it. “are you… are you okay?”

“yeah,” you say quickly, “i’m okay, really. just…it's in two weeks, and he’s marrying the girl he—” you stop yourself before the floodgate of bad memories start flowing. you look up at seungcheol, feeling your face grow warm. “anyway, that’s not the point. the point is…i need a date.”

seungcheol’s eyes soften, his tension melting away just a bit. “oh,” he says, and a smile tugs at his lips in realization, “you want me to be your date?”

“yes. i mean-” you fidget with the hem of your shirt. “only if you’re okay with it. you don’t have to-”

“of course,” he interrupts, his answer immediate, his voice firm. “if it’s for that, there’s no way i’d say no.” his protective instincts flare up at the mere thought of you facing your ex alone, and he wants to be there for you, to shield you from any pain that might resurface.

you feel relief wash over you, but then the real request lodges itself in your throat. you take a deep breath. “but… not just as a date,” you say quietly. “i need… i need a fake boyfriend. i can’t just show up to his wedding…single.”

seungcheol blinks, and for a moment, he thinks you’re joking. you watch as his expression shifts, surprise giving way to something more complicated. his smile falters, and his eyes search yours for any hint of hesitation, or a joke even. any indication that you might realize what this could mean for him.

a fake boyfriend. the words echo in his mind, and his heart aches, even as he tries to keep his face neutral. he’s spent the past 3 years hiding his feelings, protecting your friendship, waiting for a moment that never seemed to come. and now, here you are, asking him to pretend.

“a fake boyfriend,” he repeats, and his voice is steady, but there’s a hint of something broken underneath. he can’t help but imagine what it’ll be like to hold your hand, to smile at you, to pretend to be the one who gets to loves you openly…only to have it all stripped away when the charade is over. he knows he’s setting himself up for heartbreak, but how can he say no to you? how could he ever refuse you when you look at him like that?

“cheol?” you ask hesitantly, noticing his pause. “is that… is that too much to ask? i’m sorry, it’s just-”

he shakes his head quickly, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “no, it’s not too much,” he says softly. “if that’s what you need, then… i’ll do it.”

“really?” your eyes light up with hope, and he wishes he could bottle up the way you look at him, keep it forever.

“really,” he confirms, even though his heart is already starting to fracture. he pushes down the longing, the desperate yearning to be more than just a fake. because he knows this is all he’ll get—a bittersweet taste of something he can’t truly have. but for now, he’ll take what he can get. even if it means breaking his own heart for the chance to be close to you.

[—]

“rules. we need rules. oh and boundaries. just to be safe, you know? not make it weird.” you informed as you pick up a piece of blank paper & pen from your desk before jumping onto bed.

seungcheol lies on his stomach on your bed as he waits for you, “what kind of rules and boundaries do you have in mind?” he asks.

“well for one, no falling in love. like, we both have to promise that this stays strictly pretend. we can’t let it mess with our friendship.”

for a moment, silence fills the room. when you glance at seungcheol, his expression is unreadable. “no falling in love,” he repeats quietly, his voice almost too steady. you don’t notice the way his jaw tightens, the way he clenches his fist against the sheets.

you give him a nervous smile. “exactly. we both need to agree to that.”

“right,” he says, his voice softer now. “no falling in love.” he repeats louder this time, his heart aches at the irony, because if only you knew how deeply he’s already fallen. but he forces himself to nod, to play along, to act like he isn’t breaking the very first rule you laid out just by being here. “any other rules?”

“um, yeah,” you continue, scribbling your next point onto the paper. “okay,” you say, oblivious to the turmoil in his chest. “it has to be believable. like, no half-assing it. if we’re going to do this, we have to commit. but, uh, within reason, of course.”

seungcheol chuckles at that, the sound breaking through the tension. “within reason?” he echoes, his smile genuine this time.

“yeah, nothing too….much,”

“& what exactly is too much?”

“kisses,” you answer without missing a beat.

seungcheol smiles, "so, i can’t kiss you, even if it’s just for an act?"

you pause, thinking over his question. the way he says it, so casual yet so heavy, sends a shiver down your spine. “i mean… kisses are too intimate. that crosses the line.” you say, hoping your voice doesn’t betray how nervous the thought of kissing him makes you.

seungcheol watches you closely, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “too intimate?” he repeats, almost teasingly, but there’s something more in his eyes, something you can’t quite place. “but aren’t we supposed to look like we’re really together? won’t people think it’s suspicious if we… don’t at least pretend that we’re comfortable with that?”

“no one’s expecting a porno of us making out,” you argue, your cheeks warming at the implication. what a poor choice of words. “hand-holding, hugs, maybe a forehead or a cheek kiss if we’re feeling bold. but anything beyond that…” you trail off, your mind spinning and butterflies threatening to invade your tummy at the thought of seungcheol’s lips anywhere near yours.

he hums thoughtfully, propping his chin on his hand. “so, kisses are off the table. got it,” he says, though there’s a hint of disappointment in his voice that you dont pick up. “any other rules?”

“that's all i can think of for now, what about you? anything you dont want me to do? anything to add?” you ask.

“no, I'll do whatever you want me to.” he says, a mixture of fondness and longing swirling in his chest.

“okay, i guess we're really doing this huh?” you ask as you feel some tension leave your body.

“yeah,” he murmurs, even as his heart screams at the unfairness of it all. if only you knew just how real it already was for him.

[—]

“did you actually really ask seungcheol to be your fake boyfriend?” seungkwan questions, taking another sip from his iced americano, his eyes narrowing at you suspiciously.

you sigh, pressing your palms to your face. “how did you even find out about that?”

“seokmin told me. now answer me! did you actually?” seungkwan presses, his tone both exasperated and concerned. he’s your best friend. he knows every secret, every late-night confession, and every tear you’ve ever shed over seungcheol.

you glance away, fiddling with the hem of your sleeve. “yeah... i did,” you admit softly.

seungkwan lets out a small groan, leaning back in his seat. he’s silent for a moment, and you can feel the weight of his judgment hanging between you. but there’s something else there, too. something heavier, deeper. regret, maybe.

four years ago, you were a helpless mess, pinning after seungcheol like a lovesick fool. seungkwan remembered the way you’d light up whenever seungcheol was around, the way your laughter sounded a little brighter, your smile a little wider. and he remembered the way seungcheol seemed oblivious, never showing a sign of returning your feelings.

seungkwan had wanted to help you. he’d been desperate to see you happy, to save you from the heartache that came from unrequited love. so he’d done the only thing he could think of at the time: he’d set you up with someone else.

“do you remember when i introduced you to minjun?” seungkwan asks, his voice suddenly quieter, more somber.

you blink, caught off guard by the question. “of course i do,” you reply. how could you forget? you’d been resistant at first, clinging to the faint hope that seungcheol would notice you one day. but seungkwan had been insistent. he’d told you that minjun was a good guy, someone who could make you happy, someone who could help you move on.

“you were so against it,” seungkwan recalls, his lips curving into a wistful smile. “but you finally agreed, and... well, you actually hit it off.”

a small laugh escapes your lips, though it lacks any real humor. “yeah. we did.”

for a while, dating han minjun had felt like a breath of fresh air. he was charming, thoughtful, and everything you thought you needed. for a moment, you’d even believed you’d moved on from seungcheol. but now, years later, here you were again, tangled up in your feelings for him, pretending to date him, no less.

seungkwan’s expression softens as he looks at you. “you know, i really did think minjun was a good guy back then. i just... i didn’t want to see you hurt anymore.” his voice wavers, and you can tell he feels guilty, even if it wasn’t his fault that things turned out this way.

“i know,” you murmur. “you were just trying to help.”

seungkwan sighs, setting his juice box down. “but now you’re back to seungcheol, except this time it’s... fake. and that worries me.”

your throat tightens, and you don’t know how to explain that being with seungcheol, even if it’s just for show, feels better than being with anyone else. even if it hurts a little. or maybe a lot.

“it’s complicated,” you whisper, but seungkwan isn’t satisfied. his eyes bore into yours, filled with worry and protectiveness, like he’s already bracing for the heartbreak he’s sure is coming.

[—]

“do you think we should pick something that matches or just, you know, kind of goes together?” you ask, sifting through rows of dresses, your fingers brushing over various shades of fabric.

seungcheol tries to focus on the suits in front of him, but he’s barely listening, too distracted by the way your voice lilts at the end of your question. “hm?” he clears his throat, hoping you don’t notice how he’s completely lost his train of thought. “yeah, matching is… good.”

you raise an eyebrow at him, a small smile playing on your lips. “that didn’t answer my question, cheol.”

he laughs nervously, scratching the back of his neck. “sorry. what was it again?”

“do you want our outfits to match?” you repeat, holding up a dress. it’s a deep, elegant navy blue, and seungcheol’s heart does a weird little flip. “like this one? it’s the same color as that suit you’re holding.”

seungcheol swallows hard, imagining the two of you side by side, perfectly coordinated, like a couple in a fairytale. he tries to shake the thought away. “yeah, that’s… perfect,” he says, his voice coming out softer than he intended.

you seem satisfied with his answer, disappearing into the dressing room to try it on. seungcheol stands there, shifting his weight from foot to foot, heart pounding for no reason he can justify. he’s known you for years, been by your side for countless moments, but something about this—the idea of the two of you dressed up together, the way you trusted his opinion—feels different, it makes his heart race.

“cheol?” your voice pulls him out of his thoughts, and he looks up, his breath catching in his throat as you step out of the dressing room.

he’s not prepared for the sight. you look… breathtaking, the dress fitting you in a way that leaves him momentarily stunned. his eyes widen, and he opens his mouth to say something, but no words come out. it’s like he’s forgotten how to speak.

you tilt your head, concern flickering in your eyes. “is it bad?”

“no!” he blurts out, voice cracking embarrassingly. he clears his throat again; surprised at his own voice, his cheeks burning. “no, you look—” he stammers, searching for the right words, his mind a complete mess. but then, he smiles his boyish smile, his dimples dipping more than they usually do & says “god, you look… beautiful. really beautiful.”

you blink, taken aback, and seungcheol swears he sees your cheeks flush a little. he’s painfully aware of how warm his own face feels, how his hands are suddenly clammy.

“thank you,” you say, your voice softer now. you look at him, eyes wide and earnest, and seungcheol can’t handle it. he has to look away, but not before he sees the small smile spreading across your face.

he fiddles with the cuff of his suit jacket, trying to regain some semblance of composure. “you… you really think this is the one?” he asks, his voice cracking again. he winces.

you nod, your smile growing. “i think it’s perfect. but… what about your suit?”

he’s still trying to recover from seeing you in that dress, but he manages to nod. “right, my suit,” he says, forcing himself to focus. “i’ll go try it on.”

you sit down on a bench, and seungcheol practically sprints to the fitting room, his heart pounding. he stares at his reflection as he pulls on the navy suit jacket, trying to breathe. he looks like a mess, his hair sticking up from how many times he’s run his hands through it, his face still red.

“come on, cheol,” he mutters to himself. “get it together.”

when he finally steps out, he catches the way your eyes light up, the way you look him over and nod approvingly. “that’s perfect,” you say, and his heart does that stupid flip again. “we’ll look great together.”

he laughs, but it’s a weak attempt to hide how fast his heart is racing. “yeah. we will.” the words come out before he can stop them; even he knows he sounds completely & irrevocably smitten but he can’t help it, not when you’re looking at him like that.

[—]

“so, did you say yes to being her date?” seokmin asked casually, thumbs tapping furiously at the controller in his hands as he and seungcheol tried to hold their ground in the game. “you know, her fake boyfriend and all that?”

seungcheol’s fingers faltered on the buttons for a split second, and he shot seokmin a glare. “yah, focus on the game, we can't lose,” he grumbled, feeling his face heat up. but, of course, seokmin had to bring it up now.

“wait, what?” wonwoo’s attention snapped away from the screen, his character on the verge of getting attacked. he gawked at seungcheol. “when did this happen? and why didn’t you tell us?”

soonyoung’s eyes widened, and his character in the game momentarily stood still. “hold on, hold on,” he said, nearly dropping his controller in shock. “hyung, you’re telling us you agreed to be her date and fake boyfriend, and we’re only hearing about this now?”

“can we not talk about this?” seungcheol muttered, trying to refocus on the game, but his heart was racing. the way his stomach twisted at the mention of you and the fake dating arrangement wasn’t something he wanted to discuss—especially not with his friends teasing him about it.

“absolutely not,” soonyoung protested, his competitive spirit momentarily forgotten. “this is big news, hyung! you have to spill.”

“yeah, seungcheol,” wonwoo added, a sly grin spreading across his face. “why didn’t you tell us? don’t act like it’s not a huge deal.”

seungcheol sighed, his shoulders tensing as he kept his eyes on the screen. “because it’s not a big deal, its only for a day anyway,” he insisted, but even he could hear the strain in his voice.

“you’re so full of it,” wonwoo said, barely holding back a laugh. “you've been in love with her for god knows how long, now you agreed to be her date and pretend to be her boyfriend. how is that not a big deal?”

unfortunately, soonyoung & wonwoo, have possession over seungcheol's not so secret, secret. but really, everyone knows, it's only a secret to you, seungkwan & seokmin although seokmin has been starting to catch on for the past few months. everyone else has miraculously managed to somehow keep their mouth shut around seokmin and seungkwan for 3 years; knowing how close you are with the two of them. I guess in a way you could say the boys are loyal to him? anyways.

seungcheol’s grip on his controller tightened. “can we just focus on winning?” he pleaded, desperate to change the subject, but his friends’ curiosity was palpable.

“fine,” soonyoung said with an exaggerated sigh. “but we’re coming back to this later.”

just as seungcheol was about to let out a breath of relief, the sound of the front door opening made his heart stutter, and he turned his head, unable to help himself. you stepped into the apartment, bags in hand, looking slightly windswept but effortlessly beautiful.

“hey, i’m home!” you greeted, smiling at everyone.

seungcheol’s mind blanked, his focus slipping away entirely as he took you in. he barely registered seokmin’s frantic warning—“hyung, watch out!”—before his character was obliterated in the game.

“yes!” soonyoung cheered, throwing his hands in the air. “we won, wonwoo!”

wonwoo leaned back with a smug smile, “thank you,” he said, looking over at you.

you blinked, confused. “me? what did i do?”

wonwoo’s eyes glinted with mischief. “it’s nothing you need to know… yet,” he replied, his voice teasing, and he shot you a knowing smile. “but thank you anyway.”

you tilted your head, clearly still confused, but you shrugged it off. “okay, if you say so,” you said, heading down the hall. “i’m gonna go take a quick shower.”

seungcheol watched you disappear, his shoulders slumping as he realized just how badly he’d let himself get distracted. he could feel the heat rising to his face, embarrassment and longing twisting in his chest.

seungcheol couldn't let it show. or at least, he thought he didn’t. he tried to play it cool, act normal around you, and pretend that his heart didn’t stutter every time you called his name. but apparently, seokmin noticed.

“you’ve got that look again,” seokmin pointed out, a teasing lilt in his voice.

seungcheol turned to find seokmin leaning against the backrest of the sofa, a grin spreading across his face. he blinked, feigning ignorance. “what look?”

“you know,” seokmin drawled, pushing himself off the backrest to lean closer to seungcheol “that look you get when she’s around.”

seungcheol felt his pulse skip, an uncomfortable warmth creeping up his neck. he avoided seokmin’s eyes, choosing instead to stare at the floor. “i don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered, hoping his voice sounded steady.

“sure you don’t.” seokmin plopped down beside him, elbow nudging his ribs. “c’mon, hyung. you’re not exactly subtle.”

seungcheol rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous habit he couldn’t seem to shake. “it’s not like that,” he insisted, though even he knew how unconvincing he sounded.

seokmin raised an eyebrow. “really?” he asked, voice softening. “because the way you look at her…you look at her like you'd burn down the whole world for her.”

seungcheol’s throat tightened, and he pressed his lips together, finally meeting seokmin’s gaze. there was no judgment there, only curiosity and a quiet sort of understanding.

“i didn’t mean to,” seungcheol admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “it just… happened.”

seokmin’s smile was gentle now, the teasing gone. “and what are you gonna do about it?”

seungcheol’s hands fisted the fabric of his shirt, a sense of helplessness washing over him. “nothing,” he said, bitterness seeping into the word. “she’s too important. if i mess this up… i can’t lose her.”

seokmin studied him for a moment, the silence stretching between them. “but what if you don’t lose her?” he said quietly. “what if she feels the same way?”

seungcheol’s heart twisted painfully. the thought had crossed his mind more times than he could count, but he always pushed it away, too afraid to hope. “and what if she doesn’t?” he countered, his voice breaking. “i’d rather be close to her like this than lose everything.”

seokmin sighed, leaning back on his hands. “i get it,” he murmured. “but you can’t live your whole life being afraid. sometimes, you’ve got to take the risk.”

seungcheol let out a humorless laugh. “easy for you to say,” he mumbled, but his chest felt a little lighter, the weight of his secret shared, even if just for a moment.

seokmin’s smile returned, playful once more. “hey, i’m rooting for you,” he said, clapping a hand on seungcheol’s shoulder. “but seriously, the way you look at her… it’s gonna give you away one day.”

seungcheol swallowed, a smile tugging at his lips despite himself. “maybe,” he whispered. “but not today.”

seokmin grinned, standing up and offering a hand to pull seungcheol to his feet. “well, just know i’ll be there to say ‘i told you so’ when it happens.”

seungcheol took his hand, rising to his feet. “yeah, yeah,” he said, but his heart felt a little less heavy & a lot more hopeful.

[—]

seungcheol stood outside your bedroom door with seokmin, heart pounding as he took a steadying breath. it wasn’t the first time he was picking you up, but today felt different. maybe it was the gravity of the wedding you were attending, or maybe it was the fact that this arrangement had slowly become more real for him than he ever dared admit.

“hyung, you okay?” seokmin asked, glancing at him curiously.

seungcheol blinked, snapping out of his reverie. “yeah,” he lied, his voice sounding far more confident than he felt. “let’s just…get this over with.” he lied, it hasn't even started yet but he doesnt want it to end.

seokmin gave him a sorry look but said nothing, and before seungcheol could dwell on it, you opened the door to your room. his breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, he forgot how to speak. you stood there, radiant in a simple yet elegant dress, hair styled perfectly, eyes sparkling with nervous anticipation.

he was so down bad for you, it was almost pathetic.

he couldn't help the boyish smile that adorned his face, “you look… beautiful.” he didn’t trust himself to say more, afraid that if he did, the truth would come spilling out.

a faint blush dusted your cheeks, and you smiled, the kind of smile that made his heart feel like it was doing somersaults. “thanks, cheol,” you said shyly, adjusting your dress. “you clean up pretty well yourself.

he let out a laugh, hoping it masked the way his pulse was racing. “you ready?” he asked, extending his hand to you. “our grand entrance awaits.”

you hesitated for the briefest moment, but then you slipped your hand into his, and he had to fight the urge to hold on tighter, to pull you closer and never let go. he couldn’t, of course. this was all an act. just a performance to keep up appearances, to help you save face in front of your ex and everyone else.

but god, how he wished it were real.

[—]

the car ride was quiet at first, the only sound being the hum of the engine and the soft music playing from the radio. seungcheol couldn’t help but glance at you every few seconds, noting the way your fingers fidgeted with the hem of your dress. he knew you well enough to recognize the signs of your anxiety, and his chest tightened.

“hey,” he said gently, reaching over to take your hand in his. your eyes widened in surprise, but you dont pull away. instead, you stared at your intertwined fingers, and he wondered if you could feel his heart pounding.

“are you okay?” he asked, his voice softer now, more careful. “if you’re not, we can turn around. we don’t have to go.”

you shook your head, a small, determined smile forming on your lips. “i’m fine,” you whispered. “it’s just… weird, you know? seeing him get married.”

seungcheol swallowed, a lump forming in his throat. he hated that minjun hurt you and how he couldn’t do anything but hold your hand and hope it was enough.

“if you want to leave at any point,” he said, squeezing your hand gently, “just say the word. i’ll get you out of there, no questions asked.”

you looked at him then, really looked at him, and he felt like he was being laid bare under your gaze, your eyes boring into his. “thank you, cheol,” you murmured, and your voice cracked just a little. “i don’t know what i’d do without you.”

his chest ached, a mix of longing and fear swirling inside him. he wanted to tell you that he’d always be there, that he’d never leave, but he didn’t. instead, he settled for rubbing soft circles into the back of your hand with his thumb, hoping you couldn’t feel how badly he was trembling.

the silence in the car was comfortable, but electric, charged with something unspoken. the way your shoulders relaxed under his touch, the way your breathing evened out as he held your hand—it was almost enough to make him believe that you felt the same way.

but that was dangerous territory, and seungcheol knew better than to get his hopes up.

“you know,” he said lightly, trying to steer his thoughts away from the ache in his chest, “you’re kind of incredible. not everyone could handle a situation like this with so much grace.”

you laughed, the sound soft and a little self-deprecating. “i don’t know about that or this grace you speak of,” you said. “i’m still trying to convince myself not to run away.”

“if you run,” he said, a teasing grin tugging at his lips, “i’ll run with you. we can both escape and go somewhere far away. just the two of us.”

the joke made you laugh, but there was a wistful note to it, and seungcheol had to look away to keep himself from saying something stupid. his heart was a mess, pounding wildly with every word, every touch, every second he spent in your presence.

“thanks, cheol,” you said again, your voice quieter now. “really. i’m so lucky to have you.”

seungcheol drove on, your hand still in his, hoping that this moment would last a little longer.

[—]

the wedding had gone off without a hitch, at least on the surface. the vows had been exchanged, laughter and applause filling the air, and now the reception was in full swing. seungcheol had been trying his best to stay close to you, to keep you from feeling the weight of the memories this day might bring. but as he returned with your drinks, he froze.

there you were, standing stiffly, looking more tense than he’d seen you all night. and, of course, minjun was in front of you, a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes as he leaned in, saying something seungcheol couldn’t quite hear. your polite smile was brittle, your shoulders tense, and anger flared in his chest.

he forced himself to take a calming breath before approaching, setting your drinks down on a nearby table and stepping in between you & minjun, “hey,” he said smoothly, his voice calm but firm. “everything okay here?”

your eyes darted to him, a flicker of relief crossing your face. you tried to smile, but it wavered. “yeah,” you said, your voice a little too tight. “we were just… talking.”

minjun glanced at seungcheol, an eyebrow arching. “seungcheol?” he asked, a smug smile playing on his lips. “fancy seeing you here, i dont remember including you in the invite?” he quirked an eyebrow.

you opened your mouth, your voice coming out steadier this time. “actually, he's my plus one, since we're dating.”

“dating? as in, he's your boyfriend?” minjun asked as he sneaked a glance at seungcheol.

“yes, actually.” your words sent your stomach doing flips.

the disbelief on minjun’s face was palpable. he snorted, his gaze flicking between the two of you as if you’d just told a joke. “boyfriend? really?” he smirked, clearly unconvinced. “come on. that’s a little desperate, don’t you think?” minjun tries to reach for your hand.

before you could react, seungcheol stepped forward, his hand moving to reach for yours protectively; staking his claim. “i don’t think your wife,” he said, emphasizing the word with a hint of sarcasm, “would appreciate you making my girlfriend uncomfortable.”

minjun’s smile faltered, but he didn’t back down. “prove it,” he challenged, crossing his arms. “you really expect me to believe this… whatever this is?”

seungcheol’s jaw clenched. “we don’t need to prove anything to you,” he said, his voice low and controlled. “& you certainly don't have the right to ask for anything, much less a proof, not after all the shit you’ve done.”

minjun’s expression soured, but before he could respond, seungcheol turned to you, his eyes softening. “come on, pretty,” he murmured, his voice gentle and eyes earnest,. “dance with me?”

you stomach did somersaults, seungcheol watches you intently, he watches the way your expression melts into a grateful smile. you leaned in close and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. “thank you,” you whispered, so quietly he barely heard it.

his heart stuttered in his chest, warmth flooding through him. but he forced himself to push the feeling away, to remind himself that this was all for show. you were only doing this because minjun was watching, because you needed to keep up the pretense. there was no way you actually meant that kiss, no way you felt the same fluttering in your chest that he did.

but he couldn’t help the way his heart betrayed him, the way his entire body seemed to light up at the simple touch of your lips on his skin. he swallowed, hoping you didn’t notice the way his cheeks flushed, and offered you his hand.

“let’s go,” you said, taking his hand, your smile genuine and warm.

the music had shifted to a slow song, and seungcheol led you onto the dance floor, his fingers still intertwined with yours. his heart was pounding, his mind racing, but he tried to focus on you, on the way you were looking at him now, your eyes so full of trust and something he couldn’t quite place.

“thank you,” you said again, your voice a little steadier this time.

he gave you a small smile, trying to keep his emotions in check. “i’ll always be here for you,” he said, his voice soft. “you know that, right?”

you nodded, your gaze flickering down to where his hand rested on your waist. “i do,” you whispered, and for a moment, he thought he saw something more in your eyes. something he desperately wanted to believe in.

seungcheol tried to ignore the way your body fit so perfectly against his, the way your smile sent his heart racing. he couldn’t let himself read too much into the way you were looking at him.

but it was so, so hard.

“cheol,” you said suddenly, pulling back just enough to look up at him. “can i ask you something?”

he swallowed, his throat dry. “of course.”

“why did you say yes?” you asked, your voice hesitant. “to being my date and… pretending to be my boyfriend?”

his breath caught in his throat. he hadn’t expected that question, and he wasn’t sure how to answer without giving himself away. “because you needed me to,” he said finally, and it was the truth, even if it wasn’t the whole truth. “and i’d do anything for you.”

your eyes softened, and he wondered if you could see right through him, if you knew just how badly he was hurting, just how desperately he wanted this to be real.

“you’re too good to me,” you whispered.

he shook his head, a sad smile tugging at his lips. “no,” he said. “i’m just… selfish.”

you tilted your head, confused. “selfish?”

he opened his mouth, then closed it, the words dying on his tongue. he couldn’t tell you. he couldn’t ruin this. “never mind,” he said, forcing a laugh. “just… ignore me.”

but you didn’t. your gaze lingered on him, searching, and he had to look away before he did something stupid, like confess right then and there.

“cheol,” you said, your voice so soft it made his heart ache. “what are you hiding?”

“nothing,” he lied, pulling you a little closer, trying to focus on the music instead of the way your eyes were looking right into his soul. “i’m not hiding anything.”

but he was. he was hiding everything. the way he loved you, the way he wanted you, the way he’d give anything to be more than…this.

“okay,” you said finally, but he could hear the doubt in your voice. “if you say so.”

“you know,” he said as he let out a small sigh, his voice barely above a whisper, “you didn’t have to kiss my cheek just now. not for minjun’s sake, anyway.”

you tilted your head, looking up at him with wide eyes. “i didn’t do it for him,” you said quietly as seungcheol watches your eyes sparkle and dilate, for a moment, he forgot how to breathe.

“then… why?” he asked, his voice cracking slightly.

your gaze searching his face. “just because.. i wanted to.”

seungcheol’s mind went blank, his heart pounding so loudly he was sure you could hear it. he didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to process the sudden, overwhelming rush of hope that filled his chest. 

“should we call it a night?” you asked, your voice gentle as you turned to seungcheol, who still seemed lost in thought. you weren’t sure if it was because of the way you had kissed his cheek earlier or if he was still worried about you, but his expression had been hard to read.

seungcheol blinked, snapping out of whatever daze he had been in. “yeah,” he said, nodding slowly. “let’s head home. but, uh, let me hit the bathroom real quick first?”

you nodded, offering him a small smile. “i’ll wait by the entrance.”

he nodded back, his eyes lingering on you a moment longer before he turned and made his way to the restroom. as he walked, he felt his heart racing, the memory of your soft kiss on his cheek replaying in his mind. you’d said it was just because you wanted to, but that couldn’t mean anything... right?

 seungcheol washed his hands, letting the cool water calm him down. he took a deep breath, trying to gather his scattered thoughts. he doesn't really want this night to end, he's not ready for that yet.

but that’s when he heard it: voices coming from one of the stalls, low but loud enough to catch his attention.

“man, i still can’t believe you're actually married,” one voice said, a hint of mockery in his tone. “and only because you got her pregnant. how the hell did you screw up that bad?”

what the hell? seungcheol’s jaw clenched, but he forced himself to stay quiet, listening.

“don’t remind me,” minjun’s familiar voice replied. “i know, okay? it’s not like i love her or anything. but i couldn’t just bail, you know? had to do the right thing, i guess.”

the right thing? seungcheol thinks to himself, yet cheating on you is okay?

the friend laughed, a harsh, grating sound. “still, hanna’s nothing compared to your ex. that girl is so much hotter than your wife. you should’ve stayed with her.”

seungcheol’s grip on the sink tightened, his knuckles going white.

“hey, i made a mistake,” minjun grumbled, clearly defensive. “she really is hot. i was just thinking with my other head back then, okay?”

“yeah, well,” his friend drawled, “i would’ve made a move on her tonight if she hadn’t walked in with that new boyfriend of hers. what’s his name again? seungcheol or something?”

“yeah, well, i tried to,” minjun admitted, and seungcheol could practically hear the smirk in his voice. “but he showed up before i could.”

“did you see the dress she was wearing?” minjun laughed as he added, “she's got such a killer body…bet I could make her cheat on that boyfriend of hers, what do you say? 50 bucks? bet on it?”

that was it. the final straw. anger flared hot and fierce in seungcheol’s chest, and before he knew it, he was storming over to the stall. he yanked the door open, and the look of shock on both men’s faces did nothing to quell his rage.

“what the fuck did you say? you think you can talk about her like that?” seungcheol growled, his voice low and dangerous. “after everything you’ve done?”

minjun barely had time to react before seungcheol’s fist connected with his jaw. the fight was quick, brutal, and messy, with fists flying and the sound of grunts echoing off the bathroom walls. seungcheol didn’t care about the pain in his knuckles or the way his cheek throbbed from a poorly blocked punch. all he cared about was defending your honor, protecting you from these men who had no right to even think about you, let alone look in your direction.

when seungcheol finally left the bathroom, his heart was still racing, adrenaline coursing through his veins. his cheeks were slightly bloodied and his knuckles were bruised.

but before he could reach the entrance to get to you, someone grabbed his arm. he turned, only to see hanna, minjun’s wife, looking at him with wide, concerned eyes. “oh my god,” she gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. “what happened to you?”

at first, she seemed genuinely worried, but then her eyes raked over him, and her concern twisted into something more flirtatious. she reached out, her hands brushing against his arms. “you look so hot like this with all the bruises,” she whispered, her fingers trailing down his biceps.

seungcheol stiffened, every nerve in his body screaming for him to pull away. “don't,” he held a hand up, “i have a girlfriend,” he said firmly, stepping back. he glanced around, hoping you hadn’t seen any of this.

but you had. your eyes had caught sight of the scene, the way hanna's hands lingered on seungcheol’s arms, and your stomach twisted painfully. you didn’t understand why it hurt so much to see it, why your heart felt heavy and your chest ached. this was seungcheol, your good friend. you’d moved on from this heartbreak years ago... right?

you tore your gaze away, your mind spinning. you couldn’t deny the pang of jealousy, the way your pulse quickened at the sight of him with someone else, but it made no sense. seungcheol was just your friend. nothing more.

when seungcheol finally made his way over to you, unaware that you saw him & hanna, was careful not to mention it or the fight that happened. instead, he focused on the gossip he’d overheard in the bathroom. “hey,” he said, his voice gentle, “did you know?”

you barely registered his words, your mind still replaying the image of hanna's hands on his arms. your chest felt tight, and you couldn’t explain why.

“apparently,” seungcheol continued, “this whole wedding is a shotgun marriage. she’s pregnant, and that’s why they’re doing all this.” he paused, searching your face for any reaction, but you weren’t really hearing him.

“huh?” you finally said, blinking as you came back to the present. your eyes widened when you took in his bruised knuckles and the cut on his cheek. “oh my god, seungcheol. what happened to you?”

“did you hear anything of what i just said?” he asked, a mixture of frustration and worry in his voice.

you glared at him, your concern overshadowing everything else. “no, but i’m sure it’s nowhere near as important as this,” you snapped, gesturing to his bruised face and bloodied hands.

seungcheol sighed, his shoulders slumping. “it’s nothing,” he insisted, but he knew you wouldn’t let it go. not when you looked at him with so much worry, so much care, and it made his heart ache.

“nothing?” the depth of your furrowed brows going deeper, “you're bleeding, cheol.” your tone angry.  “come on,” you said, your voice softening. “i’m taking you back to my place. i need to take care of those wounds.”

he tried to protest, but you wouldn’t hear it. “please, cheol,” you whispered, and the way you said his name made his heart stutter. he wanted so badly to believe that you cared, that this wasn’t just about him being your friend.

“fine,” he relented, his voice barely above a whisper. “but only because you’re so stubborn.”

you gave him a small, relieved smile, and he felt his resolve weaken even more.

back at your apartment, you lead seungcheol to the bathroom, rummaging through the first aid kit with a determined focus. he sits on the edge of the bathtub, watching you with a mixture of awe and longing. it’s overwhelming how gentle you are with him, the way your fingers tremble slightly as you gather supplies to tend to his wounds. he wants to believe this moment means something more than simple concern for a friend, that the tenderness in your gaze holds feelings he’s been longing to hear you speak out loud.

“does it hurt?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper as you dab a damp cloth against the cut on his cheek, your touch feather-light.

“no,” he says, his gaze never wavering from your face. the sting is nothing compared to the ache of wanting you. his heart pounds relentlessly, each beat echoing the longing he’s kept hidden for so long.

you move to bandage his knuckles, your fingers lingering on his for just a moment longer than necessary. “you’re so reckless,” you murmur, but your tone is soft, carrying nothing but worry.

he swallows, throat tight. “i couldn’t stand hearing them talk about you like that,” he admits, the words escaping before he can second-guess them.

your hands freeze. you look up at him, brows furrowing in confusion. “what do you mean?”

he hesitates, regret mingling with vulnerability, wanting to tell you everything but afraid of what might come next. “just... they were saying things they shouldn’t,” he settles on, the explanation falling flat compared to the storm raging inside him. “i couldn’t let it go.”

the bathroom feels smaller, the air thicker. you lean in closer, a wrinkle of worry creasing your forehead. “seungcheol…”

his hand lifts before he can stop it, and his fingers brush your cheek, gentle and unsure. “i just want to keep you safe,” he whispers, voice cracking, heart lodged in his throat. “even if it means getting a little bruised up.”

you’re so close now that your breath mingles with his, warm and intoxicating. your chest tightens, and something inside you shifts. you can’t tell if it’s the tenderness in his voice or the way his eyes seem to hold a secret you’ve always yearned to know. you feel your pulse spike, your mind racing. all the feelings you’ve tried so hard to bury come rushing back with an intensity that scares you.

you kneel in front of him, biting back the realization that you never really moved on, that you never truly stopped loving him. your feelings have been buried, but they resurface now, raw and undeniable, and you can’t pretend anymore.

“tonight was...a lot,” seungcheol says quietly, breaking the heavy silence. his eyes search yours, trying to make sense of the tension thick in the room.

you nod, hands trembling slightly as you pull back, though not far enough to break the spell. “yeah,” you manage, voice unsteady. “it was.”

seungcheol watches you with a gaze so full of longing that it makes your heart ache. he’s proud of you, he’s always been proud of you, but the way he’s looking at you now is different. “you were amazing,” he says, the sincerity in his voice making your breath catch. “the way you handled everything… i’m so proud of you.”

his words break something inside of you, and before you know it, you’re leaning in, closing the distance. it’s an impulse, a mistake, but you just couldn't help yourself. your lips brush against his, and for a heartbeat, time stands still.

seungcheol freezes in shock, but then he responds. his hands fly to your waist, pulling you closer, and he kisses you back with a fervor that leaves you breathless. the tension snaps like a taut wire, replaced by a burst of passion, and everything you’ve both kept buried pours out.

his fingers tighten around your waist, your hands finding their way into his hair, and you lose yourself in him. the way he tastes, the way he holds you, feels like a dream you don’t want to wake from. your heart races as the kiss deepens, desperate and all-consuming.

but then reality crashes over you like a tidal wave. you pull back abruptly, breaking away, your eyes wide with shock and horror. seungcheol looks dazed, lips parted, hair slightly mussed from your hands, and the sight of him so undone because of you only makes the guilt worse.

“i-” you stammer, voice cracking as you scramble to your feet. “oh my god. i’m so sorry.”

“wait-” he begins, but you’re already moving, stumbling backward, cheeks flaming with embarrassment. “i shouldn’t have… we promised we wouldn’t-”

“it’s okay,” he tries to reassure you, his voice gentle yet laced with desperation. he stands, reaching for you, but you take another step back, your emotions spiraling.

“no,” you whisper, shaking your head, overwhelmed and terrified by the feelings that won’t stop crashing over you. “i ruined everything.”

you feel tears prick your eyes, your chest aching with regret and confusion. the kiss shattered the fragile balance between you, and you don’t know how to piece it back together. “you should go,” you manage, voice cracking. “its getting late,” your head starts feeling dizzy, “I'll call you tomorrow.” 

before seungcheol can argue, before he can make sense of the whirlwind between you, you’re gone. you rush out of the bathroom, heart hammering, not sure where to go but needing to escape. the apartment feels suffocating, your feelings too much to handle, and you slam your bedroom door behind you.

you lean against it, sliding down until you’re curled up on the floor, tears spilling down your cheeks. what have you done? you kissed seungcheol, and now everything is a mess. the love you never let yourself acknowledge burns bright, and it terrifies you.

in the bathroom, seungcheol stands frozen, the ghost of your kiss still lingering on his lips. he’s never felt more hopeless, more in love, and more afraid that he’s lost you forever. the echo of your apology rings in his ears, and he clenches his fists, wishing he could take away the hurt and confusion you’re feeling.

he tells himself he’ll wait for you to call, but he’s terrified that this time, waiting might not be enough.

but still, seungcheol waits. 

the days stretched on, each one feeling heavier than the last. it had been a week since the wedding, a week since that kiss had turned his world upside down, and still, there was no call from you. you had promised, but the days passed in silence. he wanted so bad to be the one reaching out, but he knows you well enough to know that it wouldnt end well, and that you needed your own time to process things. but he couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened between you. each morning he woke up with a sliver of hope, a quiet, desperate wish that today would be the day you would reach out. but by every nightfall, the silence was all he had. the silence, and the ache that gnawed at him constantly.

he kept replaying that moment over and over in his mind, the feel of your lips on his, the way your eyes had searched his face afterward. the hope, the confusion, the raw vulnerability—it haunted him, leaving him restless and on edge. there was something about the way you pulled away from him, your apology spilling out in a rush, that made his heart ache. his own feelings were a mess, tangled up in things he hadn’t fully understood until that kiss, much less you, right?

he tried to keep busy, to drown the thoughts that plagued him. the gym became his sanctuary, his second home, a place to work out the frustration, the ache in his chest. he lifted weights until his body screamed for rest, hoping that physical exhaustion would bring some peace. but no matter how much he tried to tire himself out, the ache remained, lurking at the edges of his mind, waiting for the quiet moments when it all came rushing back.

work was just a blur, the hours blending together as he went through the motions. he found himself distracted, staring at his phone more often than usual, his thumb hovering over your contact, only to put it down before he could hit send. what would he even say? what if you weren't ready yet & him reaching out only made things worse? what if you didn’t even want to hear from him? what if his feelings were just a one-sided mess that he’d have to live with forever?

the days bled into one another, each one more unbearable than the last. he couldn’t tell anyone how much he missed you—how much he longed to hear your voice, to see you again, to figure out what all of this meant. so he kept it all inside, bottled up, carrying the weight of his emotions on his own. there were moments when he could feel it, the weight of his longing pressing on his chest, making it hard to breathe. he had tried to be patient, to give you space, but with each passing day, that patience was wearing thin.

he wondered if he’d done something wrong. had he misread the situation? had he pushed too far when he kissed you back? maybe you only kissed him because of the atmosphere or adrenaline or whatever? every time he thought about it, he felt sick. maybe you didn’t feel the same way. maybe he had crossed a line, and now he was paying the price for it. the thought of you slipping further away from him was unbearable.

his phone sat on the coffee table, screen blank, mocking him with its silence. he had told himself he’d wait, that you’d reach out when you were ready, but the longer the silence stretched on, the harder it became to believe that. he wanted to hear your voice, to know that you weren’t angry with him, to know that the kiss hadn’t ruined everything between you. but instead, he sat in his apartment, surrounded by the deafening quiet.

& seungkwan? seungkwan had been on you about it for days.

"seriously, you’re just going to leave things like this?" seungkwan had said one morning, his eyes narrowing at you over his cup of coffee. "you kissed him. you kissed seungcheol hyung. and now you’re acting like it didn’t happen. you think he’s not waiting for you to come around?"

you hadn’t responded at first, unsure of how to even begin to process it. all you could think about was the kiss, and how everything felt so wrong and so right in that moment, and how now, in the aftermath, everything was a mess.

"you’ve been so quiet about this. and it’s obvious to everyone. you’re both miserable. don’t you get it?" seungkwan continued, his voice growing more insistent. "you can’t just let it go, not after that. you owe it to yourself & especially to him to figure out what this is. what he is to you."

you had shaken your head, turning away, not wanting to face the truth. "i don’t even know what it is. i don’t know if i—"

"you’re making it worse by not doing anything," he cut you off, his eyes narrowing. "stop running from it. just talk to him, okay? if you don’t, you’re going to regret it."

you sighed heavily, sinking back into the couch. you had never been good at this kind of thing, especially when it came to feelings. but something in seungkwan’s words made you pause. the last thing you wanted was to regret anything.

"i don’t know if i can," you murmured. "i don’t know if he’ll even want to talk to me after everything."

seungkwan rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. "stop thinking like that. he doesn’t know what to do either, so you’re both stuck, waiting for the other to make a move. just go to him. get your act together."

before you could respond, the door to your apartment unlocks, interrupting your conversation, and there stood seokmin, looking far too cheerful for the somber mood that had settled over you.

"hey, what’s going on in here?" he asked, stepping inside with his usual bright smile.

you shrugged, feeling the weight of seungkwan’s words pressing on your chest. "nothing much. just… thinking."

seungkwan immediately jumped in, as if he couldn’t help himself. "you need to go talk to seungcheol. i’m so done waiting for this mess to sort itself out."

seokmin raised an eyebrow, a knowing look on his face. "ah," he crossed his arms, settling into the couch. "you’re still haven't called huh?"

"no," you admitted, your voice small. "i don’t know what to say to him."

"yeah, well, you’re not the only one," seokmin said with a sigh, his tone softening. "but running away from it won’t solve anything. look, and you know what cheol's like. if you tell him you need space & time & that you'll call him, he's gonna listen & wait for you. he’s not going to make the first move until you do so go talk to him, okay? figure it out. or at least to put that guy out of his misery."

you nodded slowly, trying to take in his words. it wasn’t that simple. it never was. but seokmin had a way of speaking to you that made you feel like maybe, you could take that first step.

seungkwan was still persistent, though. "seriously, i’m not letting you off the hook. you still love him after all these years, don’t you?"

"i don’t know," you said, your voice cracking. "i think i do, but i don’t even know how to deal with even coming to terms that i like him. everything’s so messed up. i kissed him, and now i… i don’t know what to do with all of it."

seokmin looked at you with an almost knowing smile. "sometimes, things don’t have to be figured out all at once. it’s okay to just… see what happens. go to him and talk. take it one step at a time."

seungkwan nodded eagerly, as if the suggestion had finally gotten through to you. "exactly. just go. trust me, you’re both miserable. just fix it."

the decision was made. somehow, someway, you had to go to him. you didn’t know what you were going to say, or how you were going to fix everything that had gone wrong, but you knew you had to try. the thought of never knowing how he felt, or whether you had a chance, was unbearable.

it had been days since you last saw him. days since everything had spiraled. and now here you were, on the verge of either fixing things or making them worse. you stood frozen, unsure of what to do. your hands trembled slightly, and for the first time in a long while, you felt completely out of control.

you knocked softly, but the sound felt too loud in the quiet hallway. a few moments later, you heard the shuffle of footsteps from the other side, and your heart skipped a beat.

the door swung open, and seungcheol stood there, looking absolutely stunned to see you standing there. his eyes widened in confusion, and for a brief second, you both just stared at each other in silence.

he seemed to take a deep breath, as if bracing himself. "you… you’re here," he said quietly, almost as if he couldn’t believe it. "are you… okay?"

you didn’t know how to respond. you wanted to say so many things, but words felt like too much. you stood there, rooted to the spot, unable to form a coherent sentence. the silence stretched, and then he spoke again, his voice breaking the tension.

"come in," he said softly, stepping aside to let you in, but you didn’t move. "did i… did i do something wrong? if i upset you, i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to. i really didn’t." his voice was strained, as if he was holding back something. "i know we agreed on the whole fake dating thing for just 1 night, and maybe i crossed a line. but i didn’t mean to. i didn’t mean to make things complicated. I.. I didnt mean to make you uncomfortable.”

he sounded so genuinely sorry, and that was the moment it hit you—seungcheol was just as lost as you were.

you swallowed, forcing yourself to step over the threshold. you walked inside, every part of you feeling as though you were making a decision you couldn’t take back. the door clicked shut behind you, and you stood in the middle of the living room, unsure of what to do or say next.

he gestured toward the couch, but neither of you sat. there was a tension hanging between you two, something unsaid but felt in the air. you stayed there, frozen, trying to process your thoughts while he watched you, waiting for something.

he cleared his throat, his voice quieter now. "come sit, please," he said. "talk to me, please. is it something i did? i… i can't fix it if i dont know what i did wrong."

you shook your head slowly, still unable to find your words. you felt like a mess, and you could tell by his expression that he felt the same. the weight of everything that had happened—the kiss, the awkward distance between you two after—was hanging over you both.

finally, you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper. "it’s not your fault."

"what do you mean?" he asked, his brows furrowing in confusion, a mix of hope and worry in his gaze. "what’s not my fault?"

"i kissed you," you muttered, the words coming out rushed, almost in a panic. "it was me. i shouldn’t have done it. and i’m sorry."

he seemed taken aback, a flash of guilt crossing his face. "but… why? why did you kiss me?” 

you bit your lip, looking down at the floor, avoiding his eyes for a moment. "i don’t know why," you admitted, the confession escaping before you could stop it. "i wasn't thinking…i just… i was jealous. i saw hanna with you, and i couldn’t stand it. i… i kissed you because of that, but now, i’m not sure if it was jealousy or because i like you."

seungcheol’s face softened, his eyes searching yours as if trying to make sense of it. "you were jealous?" his voice was barely audible, as if the question itself was too much to bear. his eyes were glossy, and his hands trembled slightly at his sides. he took a step closer, his voice breaking as he spoke. "you… you like me?"

you took in a deep breath, feeling the tears prick at the corners of your eyes. "i think so, i don’t know..I'm not sure but i don’t want to lose you over a stupid kiss."

seungcheol exhaled shakily as his heart falters to the pit of his stomach. he felt a mixture of anger, bitterness and heartbreak flare in his chest, his fingers threading through his hair as he took a moment to gather himself. "a stupid kiss," he repeated, “you dont know if you like me?” and there was a bitterness to his voice that made your chest tighten. he looked at you, his eyes shining with something raw, something that made your heart splinter.

"it's not just a stupid kiss to me," he whispered, and your breath caught. "do you know how long i’ve been in love with you? do you have any idea how many times i’ve tried to hold back these feelings because i was terrified you wouldn’t feel the same?"

your eyes widened, your knees nearly giving out at his words. "you… you're in love with me?" you whispered, barely able to believe it.

he let out a bitter laugh, the sound cracking in the air between you. "yeah," he said, his voice breaking on the word. "i’m in love with you. it’s been hell, watching you, waiting for the right moment, praying that maybe, one day, you'd feel the same. and then you kissed me, and god, for a second, i thought it was real. i thought maybe you felt it too."

your hands shook as you tried to process his confession, the weight of his words pressing down on you, leaving you breathless. "cheol…" you started, but he held up a hand, his gaze turning away from you.

"don't," he whispered, pain etched in every line of his face. "if you're not sure, if you don't know what you want, please… don't say anything. because this? this hurts too much."

your chest ached, your heart breaking at the sight of him, of the way he was barely holding himself together. "i’m sorry," you choked out, tears finally spilling down your cheeks. "i didn’t know. i never realized—"

"that’s the thing," he interrupted, his voice strained. "i've always been here, and you never realized." he swallowed hard, his jaw clenching as he tried to hold back his own tears. "i can’t… i can’t keep doing this if you don't feel the same,”

seungcheol softens as he took in a deep breath, “I can accept, no–I can understand if you don’t love me back,” he says, his voice breaking, “but i need you to at least be sure you like me. if you can’t even be sure you like me, then i don’t think i can do this.” his hands curl into fists on his knees, the weight of his words pressing into the air between you.

the tears come without warning, spilling down your cheeks as everything you’ve been holding back crashes over you. “cheol,” you begin to confess, voice trembling, “i was in love with you four years ago. back then, before everything. before my ex.” your confession hangs heavy, and you can see the shock and pain in his eyes.

“four years ago?” he chokes out. he’s crying too, his tears slipping silently down his face. “why didn’t you tell me?”

you wipe at your face, trying to catch your breath. “because i thought it was over. i thought my feelings had become platonic, that they’d evolved into this safe, distant affection. but seeing you... seeing hanna flirt with you... it hurt. it hurt because i realized i never really let you go. i still love you, cheol. and it’s not just this soft, easy love. it’s the kind that makes me want you even when it hurts.”

his sob catches in his throat, and he reaches for you, his hands trembling. “i’ve loved you for so long,” he confesses, his voice cracking under the weight of it all. “i tried to hide it. i tried to hold it back, but i couldn’t. you’ve always been the one, even when i knew i shouldn’t feel that way.”

the two of you sit there, crying together, the years of longing, misunderstandings, and suppressed emotions finally crashing down. he cups your face, thumb brushing away your tears. “so now what?” you ask, voice small and broken.

seungcheol pulls back slightly, looking at you with a playful glint in his eyes, but there's something vulnerable there too. he smiles as he rubs soothing circles on your cheek with his thumb. "now... now i ask you out on a date," he says, his voice softer, but his tone filled with so much emotion. “but—” he pauses, his smile fading slowly as his gaze turns serious now, “i’ll give you…five dates.”

“what? what do you mean?” your eyebrows scrunch in confusion.

seungcheol's smile returns as he takes in your pouty face before clearing his throat, “i'll let you decide if you still want me after that. no pressure. in case you change your mind.” his hand goes to reach for a stray hair near your cheek and tucks it behind your ear as he gives you a soft smile, still holding a certain sadness and uncertainty to it.

you smile softly, shaking your head. “i don’t need five dates to know my answer, cheol. i'm not changing my mind.” bold adrenaline suddenly pumps through your blood, and you hastily pull seungcheol closer to you in a quick motion, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt, and then you place a quick kiss on his lips. it's nothing romantic by any means, neither was it movie-scene-worthy. it's nothing like that, but it is more than enough to soothe your soaring heart, and it's definitely more than enough to send your message across to seungcheol.

seungcheol’s eyes widen in surprise as you pull away. "you’re…sure.” this time, it wasn't a question.

"i'm sure," you repeat anyway for him, stepping into his arms as your heart flutters at the feeling of him finally pulling you in, his embrace as warm as you'd imagined.

his arms wrapping around you with a warmth and desperation that sends a shiver down your spine. It feels like everything you've both been holding back for so long is coming unraveled, like this embrace is the start of something fragile but real. His face buries into the crook of your neck, and you feel his breath, heavy and uneven, as he holds on like he's afraid to let go.

"i've waited so long to hear you say that," he murmurs, voice muffled against your skin. His words are shaky, the tremble betraying the vulnerability he’s still trying to hide. "i’ve wanted this for so long, but i never imagined it would feel this terrifying."

your hand finds his back, holding him just as tightly. "it’s terrifying for me too," you admit softly, your voice trembling. "but... i’m tired of being afraid.”

he pulls back slightly, his forehead pressing against yours as his eyes search your face. “let’s give this a real chance, even if it scares us. even if it’s hard." he whispers, a hint of a smile breaking through the sorrow that had clouded his expression. 

you nod, your eyes locked with his. "i want to," you say, feeling a fragile hope bloom in your chest. "i want us."

a soft, relieved laugh escapes his lips, and he pulls you into a real kiss this time—gentle, slow, and full of everything unspoken. It’s not perfect, but it feels like a promise, like a beginning you both desperately needed. you lose yourself in the moment, your heart pounding as the weight of everything finally starts to lift.

when you both pull away, breathless but smiling, seungcheol rests his forehead against yours. "so, about those five dates, even though you say you dont need them," he teases, his voice a little lighter now, a spark of his usual playful demeanor coming back. "should we count this one, or start fresh?"

you laugh, the sound bringing color back into the space between you. "maybe we should count this one," you say, your heart feeling impossibly full. "but only if it means you have to try extra hard to make the next four unforgettable."

his smile widens, the warmth in his eyes chasing away the lingering shadows of doubt. "deal," he says, his hands still resting on your waist. "i’ll make every single one worth remembering, just you wait."

[wriokitty]

GOJO SATORU : ADVANTAGE

female reader ; mentions of alcohol and hooking up ; friends to lovers ; getting together (sort of) ; your typical clingy, annoying, and slightly shameless satoru

There is a boy in your bed.

That’s the first thing you notice when you wake up. The second thing is that his arms are curled around your waist. The third is that you’re both rather bare…which is the most mortifying part of it all. You have no recollection of what happened the night before to land you in such a scandalizing predicament—just that one drink turned into one too many.

So, with pretty limited options, you lay painfully still, trying to figure out what you should do. Should you leave? (No, this is your own home, after all). Should you wake him up? (That might make things a bit awkward, though). Should you pretend to sleep until he finally wakes up and leaves himself? (But that might take too long and your anxiety might kill you first). You weigh your options, still careful enough to stay still—at least, you try.

He suddenly pulls you closer, and you flinch against your will.

“Oh, you’re up!” He chirps instantly.

Everything stops as soon as you hear the voice. The world stops spinning. It might have even shifted from its tilted axis. Your blood runs cold. Your heart stops beating. You think maybe even for a moment, your soul may have left your body.

Satoru.

“Satoru?” You turn around quickly—and then, just as quickly, you give a small, panicked gasp and pull the blanket to cover your chest.

He eyes you in amusement as he causally says, “I already saw everything, so you don’t really need to bother with all that.”

How shameless. Which, of course, is pretty on brand for him. But still, how shameless.

“You’re unbelievable,” you hiss, glaring at him, “What the hell are you doing here?”

“You invited me here,” he grins. It’s too wide for your liking. You’d mistake it for smugness if you didn’t know him a tad bit better—no, it’s purely gleeful.

“I did not,” you sputter.

“Oh, but you did,” he all but purrs. And then, much to your horror, he takes on a mockingly high-pitched voice and replicates what you assume is your drunk, alcohol-induced invitation from the night before. “Where are you going, silly? Come inside. Oh Satoru ~ you feel so good. More, Satoru—please! Satoru, you—”

“I do not sound like that,” you screech, glaring at him as one hand still protectively holding the blanket over your chest while the other moves to give him a harsh shove.

He chuckles, flopping back against your mattress as he holds his arm out for you. “No point in bickering over the specifics now. Come here.”

“For what?”

“Weaponized incompetence only gets you so far,” he clicks his teeth, “come, come. We’re going to cuddle before—”

You cut him off firmly. “We are not cuddling. You are going to get dressed while I close my eyes and then you’re going to walk yourself out the door and go home.”

He pouts, giving you a dramatically pathetic look as he murmur, “after I showed you such a good time? Don’t you think that’s a little rude?”

You don’t even remember the time that he supposedly showed you—although, it’s pretty evident that it happened. Very evident, in fact. The clothes on the floor. The slight soreness of your body. The faint bite marks on his collarbone (did you really do that?) and the beginnings of scratches starting at his shoulders.

It’s all….so obvious. So painfully clear that somehow, after a series of events, you’ve fallen prey to the charms of a boy you happen to know pretty well. Unfortunately for you, you also happened to get to know him a little better than you would have liked—and you don’t even have any memory of it.

You glare at him for a moment before muttering, “you should not take advantage of a drunk girl.”

His mouth opens for a second—and it just stays like that. Speechless. It might be the first time you’ve seen him that way, too. (It’s a shame you don’t get to appreciate it more given the circumstances—not a lot of people can say they’ve witnessed Satoru of all people have nothing to say).

“Maybe you took advantage of a drunk guy,” he retorts, huffing, “you know how I get after a drink or two. How do you know you didn’t prey on me?”

“You’re in my bed!”

“Only because you insisted your place was closer!”

You sigh exasperatedly, lying back against your pillow as you rub your temple. He shuffles closer, inching little by little in a comically unsubtle manner until he’s pressed against your side. He’s warm. His skin is soft and something about it feels good enough that you don’t immediately flinch away.

“This is weird,” you whisper. Still, you don’t move. You can’t. It’s hard to pretend like it’s not sort of nice getting to feel Satoru like this—so close and near and yours.

(Is he yours? Maybe not. But getting to pretend for just a moment doesn’t feel all that wrong).

“It’s not so bad,” he murmurs, quietly into the room as he looks around, a foreignly soft look in his eyes.

Just to be annoying, you feign being confused and ask, “what, my interior design?”

“Us,” he purses his lips, glancing at you, unimpressed. “It’s not so bad when it’s just us.”

“I think the alcohol made your brain permanently damaged,” you hum.

He rolls his eyes, scoffing lightly as you try not to smile. Gently, in a way that’s careful and delicate that Satoru usually is not, he snakes an arm around you and pulls you close. And just as carefully, before you can scold him with an undignified scowl, he pulls the blanket up to make sure you stay covered.

You stare at him cautiously, and he leans closer.

“I hate to break it to you, but I’m pretty sober right now. And hungover, so I don’t appreciate you adding to my headache.”

“Rude,” you gasp, shoving at his chest again. He grins, one arm still wrapped tightly around you as he keeps you nice and flush against him.

“What say you to a nice brunch without any alcohol—just you, me, and maybe some coffee.”

Your heart skips a beat. You force yourself to pretend like you hardly care as you shrug and say, “I’d say you’re just trying to ease your guilt for taking advantage of me.”

“Actually,” he says pointedly, “you have to say yes to ease your guilt of taking advantage of me.”

“I say it’s all about perspective,” you crack a grin.

“Well, to put it into perspective for you, we’re getting brunch,” he says firmly, burying his nose into your shoulder.

You ask cheekily, “it’s on you, right?”

“Oh, sure. I guess you’re already perfectly fine with taking advantage of me a second time, huh?”

One night stand with ur friend satoru but the sexual tension has always been so thick it’s easy to cut with a plastic knife