#and now i have to do bloo's eyes too...

[itsahotminuteinbetween]

eughhh how do you people make decisions

guess what loup doop has 4 different eye color layers and I can't decide which is best

[floodflameschosen]

can i please get "I’ve wanted this since the moment I met you." with Noah

CW: unprotected sex (p in v), fingering (f receiving)

🔞 nsfw, minors please dni.

The apartment is quiet when you come in, the kind of silence that usually means Noah is either holed up in his room with headphones on or passed out on the couch mid-mix.

You shut the door behind you with a soft sigh, kick your shoes off, and drop your bag by the wall with more force than necessary.

Everything hurts—your shoulders, your back, even your feet. Some dull, unrelenting ache that made your eyes sting when you finally let yourself stop moving.

As you stand there, eyes closed, cataloging every muscle that hurts inside your exhausted body, you realize the place wasn't all that quiet after all—from the kitchen came the low clink of metal against ceramic.

You blink your eyes open, and the smell hits you next: something buttery and warm, faint but unmistakable and—oh. Noah was cooking.

You pad toward the kitchen in silence, too drained to call out. He is standing at the stove, hoodie sleeves shoved up to his elbows, barefoot on the cold tile. His hair is messy, like he’d been running his fingers through it repeatedly, and the speaker on the counter is humming something soft and instrumental, so low you couldn’t hear it from the front door. 

He glances up when he hears you, but doesn’t say anything right away. Just takes you in, eyes scanning quickly over your face, the slump of your shoulders, the way you lean on the wall like even standing upright took effort.

“Long day?” He asks finally, turning the burner down.

You let out a breath, laughing without humor as you rub your neck with a wince.

“Understatement of the century,” you mutter. “I swear it feels like the universe is trying to fold me in half like a lawn chair today.”

Noah snorts quietly.

“Do you want me to kill the universe for you?” 

“If it’s not too much trouble.” You smile in spite of everything, rolling your shoulders just as he glances over again.

“I’ve got time.” He says as he moves to rinse the pan in the sink, and then— “Shoulder blades again?”

You pause for a second, then nod, too tired to deny the obvious. He leans a hip against the counter, drying his hands on a towel, watching you.

“I could help, you know?”

“How?” You raise an eyebrow, toes curling against the floor. “With your magical roommate chiropractor powers?”

“No. With my hands,” he says, forcefully deadpan. Then shrugs a little like it wasn’t a big deal. “I used to do it all the time on tour. Everyone always had knots from sleeping in the van or lugging gear. I know what I’m doing.”

You blink, shifting your weight.

“You don’t have to—”

“I know,” he says simply. “But I don’t mind. I want to.”

There was no teasing in his voice. No flirting. Just quiet sincerity, like he was offering you a glass of water, not his hands on your bare back.

The silence stretched for a few seconds.

“I should probably shower first,” you say eventually, fingers brushing a loose hair behind your ear.

“Yeah. Go ahead.” He nods, already turning back to wipe the counter. “I’ll be here.”

That was it—no smirk, not even a lingering look. Just Noah, steady and calm, offering to help. Still, you couldn’t ignore the way your pulse quickened as you stepped into the bathroom.

The water was hot—almost too hot—but you needed it that way. You stand still under the spray, forehead resting against the cool tile as the stream runs down your back, loosening the tightness just enough to breathe through it.

God, your muscles were wrecked.

You roll your shoulders slowly, wincing as something cracks. A long shift, too many hours on your feet, and now the aching had settled deep into your spine like it meant to stay.

And as you stand there under the hot, warm pressure of the shower, you try to convince yourself Noah’s offer wasn’t weird. Friends gave each other massages all the time, right? It’s normal. Not a big deal at all.

You were definitely over that crush, anyway. The one that bloomed when you first moved in, when he’d been all quiet glances and late night playlists and the kind of easy, safe warmth that made you lean in without realizing.

It had passed.

You’d pushed it down, and it had passed, because Noah didn’t do relationships—he had music and fame to chase, friends to occupy his time with, dreams with deadlines. You weren’t about to be the one who complicated that.

So no, it wasn’t weird. You’re tired, he’s offering. That’s all.

You turn off the water, heart beating stupidly loudly in your ears, and step out into the steam-heavy air. Toweling off slowly, you move on autopilot—reaching for the panties folded on the counter, slipping them on before wrapping the towel around yourself.

You pause at the door, hand on the knob.

It’s not a big deal, you repeat in your head again. Then again. And one more time, just to be sure. Then you open the door, turn off the bathroom lights, and step out.

Everything is quiet, save for the low, familiar creak of a drawer opening down the hall.

“Noah?” You call out softly.

No answer—just the soft thud of something being set down.

You pad into the hallway, bare feet silent against the cool floor, following the sound until it leads you to his room. The door is half-open, the warm glow of purple LEDs spilling out across the floor like an invitation.

Noah is crouched near the side of the bed, rifling through a low drawer. He’d gotten rid of his hoodie while you were in the shower, his tattooed arms now on full display.

He looks up when you appear in the doorway, eyes flicking up and down your figure, almost on instinct, before he quickly stands up with something in hand.

“Sorry,” he says, holding up a small bottle. You weren't sure why he was apologizing. “I was just looking for this. It’s a muscle relief thing—helps with tension.”

You nod, fingers tightening slightly on the edge of your towel.

“I figured we could just do this in here, if you don’t mind,” he adds, rubbing the back of his neck with the hand not holding the bottle. “Bed’s more comfortable than the couch. And, uh…” His eyes darts to the dim corners of the room. “Lighting’s kinda nice in here. Relaxing.”

“Yeah,” you say quietly, taking a deep breath as you step inside his room. “This is fine.”

The door stays cracked open behind you, but it still feels like the air in the room shifts. He moves to the far side of the bed, giving you space, and you climb up slowly, lying on your stomach with the towel still wrapped securely around your body, the fabric warm against your freshly showered skin.

The only thing covering your body underneath the towel was that underwear, and even though you’d made peace with that in the bathroom, lying here now—on his bed—it suddenly feels so much more real.

The air is cooler in his room than it was in the bathroom, and the damp towel chills fast against your back as your body adjusts. Noah sits beside you, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight.

For a second, there is only the faint click of the lotion cap and the quiet rustle of him moving behind you.

“Okay if I…” He hesitates, voice low. “I’m gonna put a towel right over here.”

You turn your head a little, just enough to catch the corner of your eye on him as he gently drapes a fresh towel across the curve of your ass, his movements careful.

His fingers ghost over your shoulder blade next, pausing.

“Now can you open the one you’re wearing? Just shift it under you so your back’s exposed?”

You swallow, throat terribly dry, but nod anyway.

You fingers find the fold of the towel at your side, loosening it with a quiet breath before adjusting it beneath you—baring the entirety of your back to him.

The new towel stays firmly in place at your hips, covering your ass and thighs, but the cool air kisses your now bare back, making goosebumps rise. And you hear it—the slight hitch in his breathing when you settle back into place, much more exposed now.

“You okay?” He asks, as if you were the one having trouble breathing.

“Yeah,” you murmur, folding your arms under your head and turning your face into the crook of it. “Good.”

Your heart won't stop pounding, heavy in your chest.

And then he touches you.

His hands are warm, steady, careful. The scent of eucalyptus drifts between you, curling around the space like steam had done back in the bathroom, and your muscles slowly begin to loosen beneath his touch—even as something else, deeper, tighter, began to coil low in your belly.

You hear the quiet shift of fabric behind you before you feel it: the weight of the mattress dipping again, and then Noah’s knees bracketing your thighs. Not heavy, not pressing—just there, holding him above you as his palms begin to move with more purpose.

He was straddling your legs now, his breath quiet behind you, and the realization made your heart stutter.

His hands slide up the length of your back again, broad and warm and surprisingly soft. You hadn’t expected that—he was always carrying amps or crates, playing chords or slinging guitar straps over his shoulder—his hands were supposed to be calloused, rough.

But they aren’t, and they move like he is memorizing something, thumbs pressing down along either side of your spine with just enough pressure to make your head dip into the pillow and your lips part around a soft, shaky breath.

The lotion makes the glide smooth, each stroke deliberate, each touch a slow draw over your skin.

He isn’t rushing it, and he isn’t talking, either. The silence grows thick around you, the only sounds being your breathing, the faint swish of fabric, the quiet rhythm of his fingers working lower—down the slope of your back, skimming just under the towel that covered your hips.

And that’s the moment you feel it—that first real ache.

Your thighs clench subtly beneath him, breath catching as his palms sweep along the sides of your waist, dipping lower, moving slower, almost brushing the edge of your underwear.

The motion lights a fuse beneath your skin—heat spreading between your legs, blooming quickly and urgently. You can feel yourself getting wet, can feel your panties start to cling, the cotton dampening as your core pulses—slow and steady at first, then harder with every new touch of his hands.

It isn’t just the touching, though—it’s everything. His scent, his warmth, the knowledge that you’re practically naked in his bed, your towel the only barrier between his bedsheets and your bare breasts.

The tension that had always simmered under the surface of your friendship is suddenly rising like smoke from a spark you could no longer ignore.

You don’t dare shift, don’t dare speak or make the faintest sound. But you know, with every slow brush of his hands, that he feels it too.

Noah’s hands pause for a moment at the small of your back, thumbs circling there like he is gathering courage. You hold your breath without meaning to, lips parted against the pillow, your body still beneath his ministrations—but inside, everything is buzzing.

Then he moves up again, slower now.

His palms skate over your waist, fingers spreading slightly as they glide upward—not quite the same path this time. This time, they curve inward just a little, tracing the dip where your waist flared into your ribs, brushing against the edges of your sides. Skin that had never felt his hands before now buzzes under them.

That’s when you feel it—fingertips grazing the soft sides of your breasts, where they press lightly against the mattress. Just a brush, like an accident, almost. But he doesn’t pull back—he lingers there a beat too long, hands easing over your ribs like they belong there, before retreating up your back again.

You blink slowly, breath shaky, heart slamming so loud in your ears you’re sure he can hear it. The touch wasn’t rough, or demanding. It was tentative—curious. Testing the boundary, maybe waiting for you to say something, to move, to push him away.

But you didn’t. You don't—you stay still, let him feel.

Your panties are soaked now, no use pretending otherwise.

The ache between your legs pulse with every heartbeat, and the way he is still straddling your thighs doesn’t help—the heat of him there, the occasional shift of his weight, the glide of lotion-slick hands over your back, your ribs, your sides.

His fingers find that curve again—the swell of your breasts just where they press against the mattress—and this time, the brush isn’t brief. He exhales through his nose, barely a sound, and you feel it ghost over your shoulder.

He is breathing heavier now, too. Something has shifted, and you both know it.

His hands still on your lower back, fingers flexing slightly against your skin. Noah leans forward slowly, his thighs tightening around yours, caging you in without weight. And then—his nose brushes your neck, soft and warm, dragging along the slope of it like he can’t help himself, like he’d been dying to know how your skin felt there.

Your breath catches when you feel it—the press of him, thick and hard, through the soft fabric of his sweats.

He’s pressing against the swell of your ass, unmistakable and slow as he exhales through his nose, lips hovering just behind your ear now. He doesn’t move away, too—just stays there, breathing you in like he needs the scent of your skin more than air.

You wait a few seconds, frozen. But when nothing comes, you turn your head, lips parting to say his name, and it leaves your throat in a whisper, breathless.

“Noah…”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he dips his head and gives your shoulder the softest, slowest bite—teeth barely there, just enough pressure to make your spine arch.

Then, finally, his voice: low, rough, right against your skin.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, “and I will.”

But you don’t.

You can’t.

Your body is already answering for you—shifting against the mattress, your thighs tensing beneath him, your panties soaked with want.

You don’t say a word.

And when you don’t, you feel the sound he makes—a soft groan, like relief, like restraint slipping. Noah’s hands shift lower, and you feel the subtle drag of the towel across your skin as he starts to remove it—slow, deliberate.

“Okay?” He asks, his voice rough around the edges now, like it costs him something to hold back.

You nod, cheek still pressed to the sheets.

And then he peels the towel away.

It slides from your ass, baring more and more of you with every inch until it’s gone entirely, leaving only the thin towel beneath you and the heat of his eyes behind you.

The air is cool against your skin, but his gaze burns.

Noah exhales like he’s been punched in the gut.

You don’t have to look at him to know he’s staring—at your back, your waist, the curve of your ass barely covered by the thin stretch of your panties. You can feel the weight of his gaze.

And then his hands are back—no more lotion, no more fabric between you and his touch. Just skin to skin.

He starts at your shoulders again, slower this time—like he needs to relearn the landscape of you now that you are so bare beneath him. His thumbs drag long lines down your back, firm and sure, but gentler now, intimate in a way that makes your whole body tense with anticipation.

When his fingers trace the curve of your waist, dipping just enough to brush the top swell of your hips, you can’t help it—your hips shift against the bed, chasing more, your core aching with how badly you need his hands lower.

You hear his breath catching, the softest curse under it. And when he leans forward again, you feel him even more clearly this time—the full press of his cock through his sweats, thick and hard, grinding slowly against your ass as he bends over you.

“You’re killing me,” he whispers, mouth against your shoulder. “You have no idea.”

But you do, because you’re feeling the same.

So you shift again, just enough to press your ass deliberately into the heat of him, and whisper his name.

“Noah.”

He lets out a strangled sound, low in his throat. You turn your head slightly, enough to catch the edge of his face and the way his jaw is clenched when you look at him.

His eyes meet yours—dark, pupils blown wide. Desperate.

“Tell me stop and I will,” he says again, voice wrecked, lips barely brushing your skin. “I swear I will.”

But again, you don’t. You just hold his gaze as best as you can, and you wait.

That’s all he needs.

The last thread of hesitation breaks, and his mouth is on you in the next breath—hot, open, biting at your shoulder again, then trailing down your spine as his hand slides beneath you, cupping your breast where it is pressed to the mattress.

A moan escapes you, helpless and broken, as his thumb circles your nipple, and his teeth graze the curve of your back. The towel beneath you shifts with the movement of your body, his hips grinding into you, no longer pretending this was anything but what it is: need.

Months of it, maybe. Weeks of holding back. Days of sleeping just a room apart, both of you pretending not to think about this.

Now, none of it mattered.

Noah sits back on his knees, hands spanning your waist, and with careful fingers, he hooks them into the waistband of your panties, pausing one last time.

“Still okay?” He asks, voice trembling despite how deep it has gotten.

You nod—voice gone—and lift your hips in silent answer. He peels them down, slow and reverent, baring all of you to him at last.

When his hands settle on your thighs, spreading you open, you hear his breath hitch yet again, like this is already too much to handle.

Noah’s fingers trace along the inside of your thighs, feather-light, and the anticipation makes you tremble. Then finally, finally, he slides them up between your folds—barely there at first, just a ghost of a touch, but even that has your breath catching, your hips twitching.

He hums behind you, low and rough, the sound vibrating through his chest and into your back where he leans close again.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, dragging the pad of his middle finger through your slick heat. “You’re already soaked.”

You whimper into the pillow, face flushed, heart hammering. You can’t even pretend to be embarrassed—not when your body lifts instinctively, presenting for him, grinding your ass back against his hand, aching for more.

Noah sucks in a breath, and his hand stills for just a beat, like he’s trying to hold on to what little control he has left. But soon he goes back to moving—slow, lazy strokes between your folds, gathering everything you’re giving him, spreading it all over your sensitive skin.

“You’ve been like this,” he whispers, voice hot in your ear now, “since I first touched you, haven’t you?”

You moan, biting your lip hard as he circles your clit—barely any pressure, just enough to tease, to drive you mad. Your hips roll, chasing it, trying to force his hand to give more.

Noah grins against your shoulder, then lets one thick finger slip inside, slow and deep.

“Shit,” he breathes. “How can you feel like this and expect me not to lose my mind?”

You push back against him with a needy sound, hips arching higher, your ass grinding into the hardness still pressed between his thighs.

“Then do it.” You say, breathless. “Lose it, Noah.”

Noah curses as your body clenches around his finger, like even one of them was too much, too good—but he wasn’t close to done. He presses another in beside the first, sliding deep, your slick heat sucking him in without resistance.

Your hips jerk at the stretch, the ache in your belly blooming into something molten and sharp, and you bury a moan into the pillow.

“That’s it,” he mutters, low and tight. “Taking me so well…”

His free hand slides up the curve of your ass, fingers spreading wide, palming it roughly. Then he tugs—pulls the cheek out to the side, spreading you open. You feel the air kiss your skin, cool and sharp against the heat of your core.

“Fuck, look at you.” His voice is rough, wrecked. “So pretty like this. So fucking wet.”

You could hear it too, the slick sound of his fingers working in and out of you, could feel the way your body gripped him every time he twisted, every time he pushed just a little deeper.

Your hips roll again, chasing it, desperate and shameless.

“You want more?” He asks, breath hot against your back. His nose drags over the curve of your spine as he moves over you again, pressing kisses to your skin between thrusts of his fingers. “Say it.”

You gasp, back arching, needing.

“Yes,” you can't help but beg around a whisper. “More. Please.”

“Good girl.” He praises as he crooks his fingers just right, and your vision goes white for a second.

“Please,” you beg again, voice shaky, breath catching on the word.

He stills behind you, and the air in the room seems to thicken around the silence that follows. His hand tightens slightly on your ass, like he’s anchoring himself.

“Say it,” he rasps, voice low and frayed, grazing the shell of your ear. “Tell me what you want.”

You swallow, pulse pounding in your throat. It isn’t like you hadn’t thought about it before—God, you had—but this is real. This is now.

And still, the words came easier than you expected.

“I want your cock, Noah. Please. I need it.”

Something in him breaks—you feel it in the way he pulls his fingers from you with one last, slow stroke that makes you whimper.

Feel it in the sudden shift of his body behind you as he sits up, tugging the waistband of his sweats down just far enough to expose himself. The heat of him returns fast—closer, heavier, his cock brushing against the curve of your ass as he settles on top of you.

Then the tip of him slides between your folds, slow and deliberate, catching on your entrance but not pressing in—not yet.

He does it again, and again, letting you feel every inch, every promise. Teasing you with it.

“Jesus,” he breathes, voice strained. “You’re dripping, baby.” His hands bracket your hips, fingers flexing. “You don’t even know what that’s doing to me.”

You push back against him just enough to make him catch his breath, to make him grunt under it.

“Noah,” you gasp, “please—”

And then he gives in.

With a low, broken groan, he presses forward, the thick head of his cock pushing into you slowly, carefully, stretching you open in the most delicious way. Inch by inch, he fills you, and you can feel him shaking with restraint, with effort not to just slam into you all at once.

“Fuck,” he hisses, sinking deeper. “You feel—Jesus, you feel so fucking good.”

You’re trembling beneath him, fingers curling into his sheets, mouth parted in stunned pleasure as he bottoms out inside you, hips flush to yours. The stretch is deep, perfect, and your body clenches around him without meaning to, drawing a choked sound from his throat.

He folds over you, chest against your back, weight pinning you down in the best way. One hand pressed into the bed by your head, the other sliding around your waist to hold you steady.

His face nuzzles against your neck, breath hot and ragged.

“I’ve wanted this,” he whispers into your ear, voice raspy, trembling, “since the moment I met you.”

And then he rolls his hips, just once—hard, deep, and devastating. Your body rocks forward with it, the motion steady but growing bolder, deeper.

His hand snakes under your body and splays across your stomach, pressing against it and anchoring you to him while his mouth drags over the slope of your shoulder, teeth grazing skin.

Your breath comes out in gasps, your fingers clutching the sheets as your body pulses around him, slick and hot and aching. And still, he doesn’t rush.

Noah takes his time, like he wants to feel every second. Like he wants you to remember.

The stretch of him inside you is maddening, each drag out and push back in setting you alight. You’re so wet he moves without resistance, the glide effortless but thick with tension. The sound of it, of your bodies moving together, fills the room in the filthiest way.

You push back into him again, needy, wordless with it, and he moans like it has been torn from his chest.

As he fucks you, his hand slips lower, fingers brushing between your legs to where you’re swollen and soaked, and he curses under his breath when he feels how stretched you are around him, how wet.

“For me,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. “You’re like this for me.”

The words send a pulse through you, your body tightening instinctively.

He circles your clit with those same fingers, light at first, just enough to tease. You whimper, hips jerking, so he keeps going—keeps fucking into you at that same maddening pace, his cock dragging against every spot that makes your vision blur, his fingers working your clit coaxing more wetness from your core, your thighs trembling.

You can feel it coming, the way your orgasm begins to coil deep and low, a knot of pleasure just on the edge of snapping. But still, you don’t want it to end—you want to stay here, being held, filled, claimed in this quiet, aching way only he knows how to.

His mouth brushes your ear, breath hot, panting.

“You close?”

You nod, the word caught in your throat. His hand presses harder, movements rougher now, and his voice breaks as he says your name again—this time desperate, reverent.

“Come on,” he rasps against your ear, and it's obvious he’s close to breaking himself. “Come for me. Let me feel you.”

And just like that, as if on cue, your body gives in.

Your orgasm hits like a wave—sharp, strong, curling through you as your muscles clench tight around him, hot and pulsing and soaked. You cry out, forehead pressing to the sheets, body arching helplessly into every roll of his hips.

Noah growls, low and hoarse, the sound barely human.

“Fuck—you feel so good—”

His rhythm stutters, falters.

“God—” he chokes, jaw clenched tight, and then he pushes in deep, grinding against you with one last desperate thrust. He holds there, buried to the hilt, his body shaking with release. You feel the first hot pulse of him spill inside you, deep and thick, followed by another, and another.

Noah grunts against your skin—raw, wrecked—and his hand fists the sheets beside yours, his other arm locked around your waist like he needs to hold you down, like if he doesn’t, he’ll come undone completely.

His hips roll for the last time—lazily, riding it out with trembling gasps against your ear, until the only thing left between you is the heavy silence of shared breath and the thundering in both your chests.

He doesn’t pull out right away. He just stays there—chest to your back, hand splayed over your belly, cock still twitching inside you, like he doesn’t ever want to let go.

And honestly?

You don’t want him to, either.

taglist: @concretejunglefm @defuckingthrone-dot-com @bloody-spades @concreteangel92 @fadingangelwisp @ami--gami @flowery-mess @lacy1986 @tosoundlessdarkistare @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @dostoievskitty @pipidoll

[bloodlust-1]

•·.·'I’m Right Here'·.·•

Gale x fem Tav — Fluff

Summary: Healing deep wounds isn’t so easy. Especially when it’s from the one he loves most. Tav already lost so much blood, and Gale has only one option left to comfort her.

Notes: Soft Gale <3 lots of cuddles and confessions. I’ve been craving some fluff. Short and sweet ♡

Gale murmured foreign words, his hands glowing with a deep, purplish hue. The magical energy pulsed through Tav's body, flowing directly to her wounds, soothing and healing them as they went. Tav lay in her tent, eyes squeezed shut and teeth gritted against the pain. Tav winced harshly to the magic.

“Hey, hey…shhh, you’re okay.” His voice trembled.

Gale’s eyes narrowed with a heavy somberness that tugged at the deepest parts of his heart as he watched Tav, the woman who had so kindly welcomed him with all of his burdens, in such pain. Despite Shadowheart's best efforts to heal her, she had lost too much blood to just magically feel better. And now, he tried too.

Gale felt terrible. How could he have not protected her better in battle? Her screams echoed in his head as he recalled the memory of her falling down. It haunted him.

"Gale...enough, it's no use." Tav weakly lifted her hand, touching his and sinking it to the floor. "I just need rest, everything will be okay."

Gale shook his head firmly, "No." He wanted to keep at it until the pain in her eyes disappeared. Especially when her hands were so cold to the touch.

Before he could utter another spell, Tav sighed and looked at him tiredly, "Please don't fight me on this."

Gale saw Tav shudder in a chill. Oh- of course. She had lost so much blood and she was cold. She brought the thin blanket of her bedroll closer to her face, shivering as she did.

Gale placed his hand over her forehead, causing Tav to sigh in relief at the warmth his palm brought her. Her face seemed to change into a blissful one just from his small touch.

"You're so warm," Tav hummed softly.

"And you're freezing."

Gale peeked at the entrance of her tent. It was closed and he realized that someone had already put out the fire for the night. He couldn't leave her like this.

The only warmth he could provide was that of his own body. Gale hastily pulled the shirt off his back, tossing it to the side. Before Tav could realize what he was doing; Gale had already snuggled himself beside her cold body.

Tav's eyes widened at the sight of his chest. Her and Gale's relationship was practically new, and even then they'd only kissed. But this- seeing Gale's chiseled chest, and the thin layer of hair that trailed down into his crotch. Her mind was going crazy already.

He wrapped his arms around her waist, tugging her closer to his chest. Tav melted into his embrace, feeling his warmth radiating off him. She snuggled her face into the nape of his neck and tightened her arms around him. She felt safe.

"I hope this isn’t unwelcomed…”

She took in a deep breath, filling her lungs with the sweet bergamot of his skin. A bliss of goosebumps littered her skin and a sigh of relief left her lips, “What? Of course not. You feel so nice-“

Gale could feel his heart thumping in his chest. He worried that Tav would feel just how nervous he was. Gods, is this what it felt to even be nervous? How ironic it was, He had never been this nervous around a goddess, yet here he was, trembling with nervousness at the thought of being around a mere mortal.

Gale fell silent for a moment, as he tried to calm himself down. He cared what Tav thought of him, and he didn’t want to seemed like he couldn’t control himself. He could feel the goosebumps rise on her skin, “I couldn’t leave you like this. I feel like this is partially my fault.”

“Oh— Gale, it was never your fault.” She spoke softly into his neck.

He closed his eyes, feeling the weight of regret settle on his shoulders. His head shook gently, a croak forming in his throat as he remembered the image of her lying on the ground, her body covered in so much blood that she was barely recognizable. "I should have been there," he murmured, his voice heavy with guilt. "I feel like I let you down, and I almost lost you. That's the hardest thing for me to accept." He exhaled slowly, trying to keep his emotions in check. He knew that no matter how hard he tried, he could never undo what had been done.

She squeezed his warm body gently. Tav couldn’t blame him for feeling so guilty, because she would have felt the same if it was him. She could offer nothing but comfort. “We’re here now, safe.”

Tav raised her pinky finger and hooked it around his. Gales eyes crinkled with amusement and a warm chuckle escaped from his lips as Tav spoke, "For now on, I’ll have your back and you’ll have mine.”

“Deal, my love.” Gale held the small grip and gazed down at her. Even unwell, her eyes still sparkled. He was so impressed with her being.

Gale leaned in, softly pressing his lips against Tav’s forehead. His strong arms held her tight, cradling her body close to his. Gale really did love her. He'd been in love with her for so long now, and it was past time he finally told her how he felt.

He looked into her eyes with sincerity. Feeling a wave of relief as he expressed his deepest feelings.

"I'm so thankful that fate brought us together," his voice filled with emotion. "I've come to realize just how precious you are to me, and how fleeting life can be."

Gale took a deep breath, then let out a gentle sigh. "My love for you surpasses anything I've ever felt before - for myself, and even for my goddess." He held her gaze, his eyes filled with a tenderness that spoke volumes.

“I love you.”

Tav's mouth parted, but no words came out. Her heart started to beat rapidly. What little blood she had race to her cheeks, as she reached to cup his face, "I love you too."

She timidly looked up at his soft brown eyes, faintly whispering when she finally spoke. Tav slowly brought her lips to his, a small and gentle kiss that was full of passion.

Tav and Gale were stuck in that moment for what felt like an eternity. Tav's eyes were slightly glossy, and Gale was alamared by the tears forming in her eyes, "My love! Why are you crying?" His voice laced with concern.

Tav chuckled and wiped the small tears, "Not sad tears, I'm just happy." She sniffled a couple times before flashing a reassuring smile. “You make me so happy.”

Gale held Tav tightly in his embrace. She was the first person to accept him for who he was, not for the magical powers he possessed. In that moment, Gale finally understood what it meant to be in love, and he never wanted the feeling to end.

He brushed his thumb tenderly over the contour of Tav’s cheek, his touch soft and gentle. He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear before pressing his forehead against hers. His eyes stared at her with so much love,

“I never want to lose you.”

Any thoughts? Comment 👇🏼 I love to engage!

[iwaasfairy]

┌─ “ ! „ TROPHY

tw. noncon, yandere, explicit gore, lobotomy, blood, pain, power imbalance, doctor kink, badly aged terms about mental health, domestic abuse mentions, somno implications, praise, choking wordcount. 4.7k

a/n. ♡ i realized all my iwa fics were mostly really fluffy and sweet, so here's a gross one. gotta keep up my reputation yk! tysm to the betas ily ily ily

iwaizumi hajime x fem!reader

The doctors have been standing around in a circle for what feels like hours, scraping their pens against the paper. Each check, each prodding, probing touch feels like it’s going on for the sake of going. Hours today, hours yesterday, on and on into infinity. Your skin feels cold, and you fidget by rubbing your fingers against each other for the briefest spark of warmth, before that too fizzles out into nothing. Because that’s what this is, right? A cold, barren nothingness that swallows up every inch of your body.

You can barely remember the look of the sky outside the metal barred walls that keep you, only catching glimpses that pass too quickly. Or the feeling of warm sunlight shining on your face as you rest against the windowsill, watching cars go by. The brief flash of a memory crosses over your view, a hot summer day and your hair sticking to your neck. Hands winding down your shoulders to keep you in a comfortable embrace, and a kiss to your cheek.

It’s nothing like the cold, sterile walls that you’re looking up at now, sitting on the cold metal stretcher with your wrists wrapped in leather. This is all you are now. This is what keeps you separate from the nutcases in the other wing. Little threat of re-offending.

One of the older men pushes his small, round glasses higher up his nose as he approaches, and waves a light past your eyes a few times, snapping his fingers all the while. “Any lightheadedness? Dizziness? Spots in your vision to be concerned about?” You wouldn’t know it with the callous way he regards you, but apparently they’re trying to help. That’s what they say, when they drag you out of your cage. The burning of the light makes your eyes water, but you blink that wetness away as best as you can.

“No, Doctor.”

The graying man runs his eyes along the sheet on his clipboard, and then his mouth corners pull down, as a few of the other equally graying men start mumbling among each other again, feeling far off. Everything feels far off with the stuff they’ve been putting in you lately. More drugs. More tests. It all feels like a never ending cycle — even though the sane part of you knows it isn’t. Or, wasn’t, until you bit one of the men who tried to lead your face to his crotch with the threat of beating you to death. You bit so hard that they had to amputate, is what you heard, before they shot you full of cotton.

And you’d cry, if you were any more awake. The tears don’t spill, they just sit on your vision and wobble at best. What all of the men in this room see when they look at you, is a violent young killer. They ask you about it when you’re shot up with fluids until you can barely hold your eyes open, and you have to pretend to really hear them. To be remorseful. How can you, when you can’t even remember your own face? You forget your name seconds after they call it. And most frustrating of all, is that you do remember that you can’t remember. This is forever, no matter how little threat there is of re-offending now that they’ve ‘found’ the right mix of chemicals to knock you out like a light.

They say you killed your fiancé with a kitchen knife.

You might have… the honest truth is that you don’t know. The pictures look entirely foreign, even though that face, that mouth, that tear-stricken expression is supposedly you. You don’t remember getting your head smashed against the kitchen counter until blood coated the entire bottom half of your face, and trying to get away. You don’t remember grabbing the knife and plunging it into your fiancé’s collar, or anything that came after it either. It’s like the blood running out of your nose got clogged up and now, you can’t recall anything at all.

Just these gray walls, and the cold floor of your ‘room’, and the brief walks you’re allowed to take outside under the cloudy weather that always surrounds the criminal hospital. All these men standing before you know more about you than you do yourself. More wetness wells up in your eyes, but it doesn’t spill. You don’t feel violent. But you also can barely hold your head up without the support of the metal brace, and they say you did what you did. At this point, your thoughts are too heavy and slow to disprove any of it, pooling in your mouth with your spit— and gliding down your throat each time you risk choking when you swallow.

“How about we call it for today?” A coarse voice sounds from the far off confines of the cloudiness that the drugs leave you with. But it’s a voice that sparks something yet, accompanied by the only young face that you’ve seen in a while. He’s tall and dark haired and intense, but looks too at ease when he walks along, stopping a few feet short. Everyone else looks like you’re a wild animal. But he’s warmer, like sand after a long day of baking in the sun. “You’ve done well,” he almost smiles at you, then turns to them. “That’s alright, isn’t it? My patient’s been awfully accommodating with all the tests.”

He carries this air about him that’s more familiar, where his hand lands on the top of your head and he gently brushes your crown in circles. You feel your head bobbing because of the pressure, and your eyes heavier than before. When you gain more awareness again, you’re already back in the small four walls that keep you enclosed— and the Doctor is crouched before you. Beautiful greens stare into your eyes, a few fingers holding your chin up. It’s warm. Your mouth feels dry and cottony when you speak, and hold your eyes open as best you can. “Sir.”

“Hm?” His free hand slides something into your ear, that’s cold and beeps softly, before he looks again. “Do you know where you are? Do you know who I am?” After a bit of silence, he sighs, and you smell the musk of him, mixed with some cologne that stings your lungs a little. But it’s better than nothing, and your mouth waters like you’re really just a dog. “Your bouts of amnesia have been getting worse lately, hm, sweet girl? Naturally…” His fingers go from holding your head up to along your throat, brushing hot circles there for just a few seconds, before he takes the beeping tool out again. “I’m your main physician here, remember? You asked for me specifically.”

That seems to bring him a lot of pride, because when he hangs back more onto his heels, he gives you a tooth-aching smile. “Dr. Iwaizumi Hajime.” You suppose he wants to see some kind of recognition, but you’re not sure what to say. Aside from the vaguest hint of recognition of the handsome planes of his face, everything stays that same muddled sea of glue that you can’t pull your feet out of. You do your best to smile though, muscles aching.

“Oh, yes.”

“Are you still feeling ill?” he turns to his box of tools, and you slump along the wall as soon as he lets you go. Not enough to topple over, but enough to feel more like a filled sack of sand, than a human. “Still having hot flares?” He places his large palm over your forehead, and scans your expression once over again. “If it were up to me they wouldn’t pump you full of this shit, y’know. Sadly even your personal physician doesn’t have full say over that, of course, so I have to play nice with the other doctors.” Then he cups your cheek, and though maybe you’d shy away otherwise, the kind touch of another human being has your bottom lip wobbling. “There she is. You’ve been awfully docile these last few weeks. Haven’t heard you make a peep.”

The tone shifts to one of slightly more concern, and your heavy lids flutter. “I don’t know.”

“Yeah, you wouldn’t, sweetheart.” He starts packing up his things ever so neatly when you just start getting feeling back in your fingers— and you probably shouldn’t, but with enormous effort you manage to grab onto the bottom of his white coat, surprising the doctor enough that it goes quiet. You just want… to talk to another person a little longer. Does that make you a bad patient? Your tongue is molten against the bottom of your mouth, but your fingers still tighten clumsily into the fabric.

Dr. Iwaizumi only thinks for a moment when heat creeps up to his ears, before he closes the gap. Closes the gap and … has your mouth against his, a wet tongue that isn’t your own invades your space like it isn’t anything at all, and spit that mixes with yours as your lips are opened with some effort. He kisses on you, licks into your mouth as you let your eyes fall shut and your hand clings onto him -unsure where to go- to flee. And get kissed deeply, passionately, your head knocked against the wall at your back. But he’s warm, and your goosebumps let up for the first time, even as he doesn’t allow you to pull back with both hands around your cheeks. Not until your body automatically starts making a noise, and you start to struggle.

You gasp out for air like you’ve forgotten where it goes— but the brunet barely leaves you any space at all, as a string of spit breaks between you two. And he wipes his thumb over your bottom lip, before sliding it onto your tongue with a gravelly moan. “Ahh, I missed you.” The pressure of his thumb keeping your wiggling tongue in place is suffocating. He leans in to brush his nose and lips along your jaw and cheek. “Always miss you when I have to go.” There’s a soft kiss that tingles across your face, before he pulls back. The noises of other cells echo down the hall, and though you can’t see them, the yelling gets louder. He doesn’t even blink, though. Is this yet another thing you’ve forgotten about?

Judging by the way he takes his thumb out of your mouth to slide it into his own, and then looks at you with such love-stricken adoration, you must have. Your shell-shocked quiet doesn’t stop him from giving you another barely-hidden smile, and he brushes his knuckle under your eye to get rid of some wetness there. “I’ve got to go check up on some others, or else they’ll come looking for me.” He packs up the last of his tools, wiping them clean, before tracing his eyes along your features again. “You’re such a doll. Can’t believe you have to be locked up here.” He stands, then clicks his tongue as he seems to stare through the walls with narrowing brows. “I handled you just fine before, didn’t I?”

You can’t say anything. Not only because you’re still bursting with adrenaline, but it’s not like you remember. He seems to come to this conclusion at the same time, because he then softly laughs. “Ah, you wouldn’t know. Forget I said anything.” He takes a moment to adjust himself in his pants unashamed, then tucks his shirt back properly in— clinging to his built figure too much. With another pat on your crown, he nods. “You’ll start waking up more in an hour or so. I’ll be back.”

With that he leaves you behind, and the heavy metal door gets slid back into place before you get the chance to make another peep. And tears well back up before he even locks the hatch.

+

The darkness of the room is in sharp contrast with the bright overhead light that’s beaming down on your face. You can’t help it, you’re trashing against the straps that hold you to the table, and the rag that’s in your mouth does nothing to prevent the feeling of sheer panic that takes over you. As several white shapes roam around you with low commands that you can’t make out over the sound of your own crying, you miss the numbing. It was better when you couldn’t feel a thing at all -at least then you wouldn’t be choking on your own tears as you try to take deep breaths.

Everything’s blurry.

But the slight edge in one of the voices pulls for attention, trying to focus on the sound. If you can’t see through your tears, you can listen. “Aren’t we being too hasty? Her memory and attention span have been basically stagnant since June— which means she’s not worsening.” There’s that voice that has been chasing you every waking hour of the last -week, maybe more- rough and low, but comforting nevertheless. You can tell that one of the blurry white shapes moves closer to you, and try to angle yourself to get closer. Even an inch closer would be better.

“No offense Doctor, but your judgment has been overruled. You’re speaking solely out of personal care for the girl.” Another old voice cuts in. “She’s been deteriorating every day, and we simply do not have the funding, Iwaizumi. The only reason we’re allowing you here is for educational purposes. But don’t forget you’re still on probation until the end of this year.”

A hand wraps around your own, feeling much warmer than you are. You cling to it with all the strength you have. Sadly it isn’t much. Your fingers barely obey your will to curl back around the touch, the only thing that’s keeping you tethered to the real world. “I’ll take personal responsibility for her, Sir. She’s been improving in my care—”

“Enough of this.” The older voice cuts in. “Like I said, you have been overruled. This is the quickest and cleanest cure for violent insanity in women.” You can’t help but start thrashing against the binds, and try to speak around the gag that keeps your mouth jerked open, but nothing other than a soft crying comes out. You’re not sure if it’s the panic or the drugs anymore. Multiple of the men round on the table, and you’re pressed down deeper into the leather covering. You don’t want to hurt anyone again. Promise. Promise. Your arms are held down, and your forehead’s pressed down too.

“She bit a guard’s finger clean off. We can’t possibly justify not treating such a danger.” None of this is my fault, you think— but they have yet to ask you. They have yet to listen. You suddenly have an overwhelming sense of loneliness, remembering flashes of faces you must have loved. People who must have loved you - though you can’t recall them. There’s an awful scraping noise as the metal tool table is rolled closer, and some man with a mask dips into your view.

You never meant to hurt anyone.

You’re bawling now. The adrenaline pumps through your veins as you stare up at the light, then swallow around the gag. There’s some more rummaging as the warm touch leaves your hand, and you sniffle. You squeeze your eyes closed tightly. A wet wipe is dragged over your eyes without warning, swiping your hot tears away, and finally your wiggling stops. There’s no use. The leather’s digging into your skin, and the sad moaning that you can bring out doesn’t convince any of these men that you’re sane. Maybe you’re not. Would you even know it? They clean your face with rough swipes, and then something even more restrictive is placed over your head. “Alright, she’s sanitized.” You try not to choke on your hiccups. “Surgery in session. Doctor...”

You just want to go home. You want to go home, please.

There’s a prick under your brow that takes you by surprise. It’s sharp, and though you can’t feel it sting like it would without any drugs— it’s still uncomfortable. The gear around your face keeps you from moving, keeping you stuck to the table, but your breathing instinctively gets more shallow, and rapid. Before you can say, or do, or think, a loud smack knocks your head back and heat spills all over your face. A push so hard against your skull that makes your body tense so tight your bones feel like splintering. The pressure’s unbearable— more than just painful, it’s a loud thumping, shaking your entire skull. You want them to stop.

Pain, p-p-pain rocks you upside down.

The pain ebbs in over your entire face —suffocating you from the inside, like a knife’s being wedged along the inside of your eye socket— scraping, and the blood’s everywhere. Streaming all over your face and swelling your eyes and cheeks and head. Your nose is full of it, forcing you to choke down the thick coppery heat. It grinds before it snaps, and the resonating clack of your bone giving in is loud enough to deafen everything else. It hurts. It hurts. You’re sleepy. Sick and in pain and wired too tight all at once, not able to think before another thump knocks you over the head and your head vibrates until it explodes. Or not.

Please stop.

it hur-ts. hurts.

It floods your ears with static, indescribable pressure, and worms deeper until everything’s black - out like a lightswitch.

…

He feels bad.

They’re jamming the metal rod deeper and shaking it hard enough to rock your head. Your poor, pretty face mangled and covered in a fresh, red-hot coating that will be his job to clean up later. Iwa’s breath is bated, and the coppery tang sticks to his lungs.

+

The halls echo with his rhythmic steps. Iwaizumi hates the smell of this place, treated air that circles around a thousand times before getting out. He hates the monotonous routine of it all— and he hates above all else that people are constantly on his back to leave you for some retarded nut that takes up all of his patience. But he is a Doctor. It’s expected of him, and if he gets fired before you get discharged - what was the point. He gets to your door, that familiar door with the pretty sticker of your name, and pushes in with the creaking of the metal. You’re still on the bed, barely looking up, and in some ways it hurts his heart a little.

He hadn’t really meant for it to go this way. All he ever wanted was to be near you. To have you close enough to touch and smell and hold, and for a moment after the judges’ ruling, he got his wish. With a procession that dumped you inside the barbed walls of the hospital, he’d volunteered to oversee you - and every other doctor was swamped enough not to blink twice. He’d worked so hard to get you right here— your pretty face cupped in his hands, getting to kiss you, long to come back to you each evening he’d lock up.

But then you had to bite one of the guards. He isn’t even mad about it either. The sweaty, mustached swine had been eyeing you from the second you came in, and you’d protected yourself so valiantly for such a sweet, little thing.

But it did throw a wrench into his works -  and everything kept spiraling.

“Hello doll, I missed you.” He breathes out, then pulls you upright onto the bed when you face him. “Are you hurting? Are you feeling sick?” The bruising around both eyes has gone down entirely, but there’s still a ghost of color painting your eye sockets. Still, your eyes follow his voice, but you don’t respond. He wraps his arms around your shoulders. “No? That’s good. You’re looking much better today.” You’re so warm against him, and your scent floods him as he nuzzles into your cheek with a smile. It’s not like he’s happy with this outcome. He didn’t want this to happen.

 “I’ve been thinking about you all week while you’ve been in the ICU. Missed you,” he places both hands on your face, making you smile just slightly, before kissing you on the mouth. You don’t really react, but you don’t push him away either. He kisses, and kisses, only taking brief moments between to look at you. “So much. Missed you so much. My sweet girl.” As you sit still and quiet, smiling, he can’t help but imagine taking you home already. You’ll be discharged soon enough, judging by your recovery— and when you do, all your family will have gone. Moved, or have passed away, or simply too old to be caretakers. And hey, he’s more than proven himself capable of caring.

“Do you want to kiss me more?” he asks as he leans down to you a little, capturing your attention again. “Yeah? You want to kiss more?”

“Kiss,” you parrot, and your pretty smile brightens. Fuck, he loves you. He’s not been able to stop since the day he first met you. Of course he’ll indulge you. Last time he allowed himself to let loose, things didn’t end so well. But that was before, and now he’s made very sure that no one will interrupt you both. His mouth meets yours as you sit still like a doll, nice and polite, and he opens your lips with his own, sliding his tongue into your mouth. You taste so fucking good. Maybe it’s his almost compulsive imagining leading up to this moment throughout the week, but there’s nothing better. You taste sweet and let him lead you back as he wraps your arm around him, pulling you closer.

Your arms hang limply around his waist, but no matter. It’s not like that’s stopped him before. He takes a quick scan of your fluttering lashes before you open your mouth, and he leans back in to kiss you again. Tongue sliding in to taste all of you until his entire body feels tight and his cock is so hard it’s starting to hurt against his pants. You simply oblige when he starts pushing you back onto the bed. “Back, back, back, that’s a good girl. Such a good, pretty girl for me.” His hands slide down your shoulders, over your chest as his breathing catches, and then settle at your hips to pull your butt closer to the edge. And you are pretty. It’s almost a bit unfair how good you look with your eyes half lidded and a barely there smile on your cheeks that makes him all warm inside.

“Do you know what I’m doing? What we’re gonna do?” he asks after a few seconds, and despite feeling horrible -he really does- his cock twitches when you shake your head a few times. He slides your flimsy blue gown up your thighs a bit, and moans at the sight of the smooth soft skin revealed to him. “That’s okay. I’ve got you.” Fuck, you make him feel like a timid virgin all over again, looking so damn erotic splayed out before him with no shame. He wonders if before, you’d have blushed. If you’d have whined and played coy, or if you’d have been so damn needy for his presence that you’d spread your legs for him even easier.

This is more than good enough though. He undoes his belt with slightly shaky hands, feeling the heat of your body on his skin, and then shoves a hand down his pants to take out his awfully throbbing cock. When he takes your thigh into his hand again and squeezes, you make a little moan that sounds almost like a purring cat- leaning into the warmth of his touch. His throat closes up, but he forces out a sentence as he leans in. “I’m just going to stick my hot cock inside you- you like that, don’t you? Fill you up, get nice and close?” Iwa’s mouth’s basically watering as he kisses you. He’s unable to help it. “Yeah, you like that. I know you do, pretty girl.”

He wraps a hand around the thick shaft and gives it a few slow pumps, biting back a moan. Then he sinks to his knees to hike your legs up over his shoulders and thumbs over your pussy a few times. Clear slick makes you all wet and sticky, drooling pussy waiting for his touch. He doesn’t make you wait long, because his tongue swipes out to lick up against you— sliding the wet muscle over your pussy and rubbing over the sensitive nub at the top. You let out a slight moan, and your legs twitch as he continues, licking and sucking and abusing your poor, needy cunt by rough fingers that trail around your hole before just barely slipping in to stretch you out. “Look so good, baby. You always look so good.”

“I knew,” he gets up from the floor to stand back between your legs, “that you’d still be a needy whore. Your pussy needs me even when you’re sleepy, so- fu-agh-” His cock brushes up against you as he lines up, and leans into you to grab a handful of your tits. “Can you say ‘thank you’?” You whine instead, and sort of wiggle in place, like you can’t articulate what you need. But he gets it by the way you grind yourself against the flushed, swollen head of his cock, and your mouth hangs open desperately. “Say ‘thank you for taking care of me, Doctor’,” he breathes out, while pushing into that tight, hot pussy that instantly clings to him.

You whimper, and he laces one of your hands with his by force, pulling you closer, deeper onto his cock as he slides in inch by inch. You feel so fucking good, hot enough to make his entire brain cloudy. Fuck. “I missed you so much, baby. You feel so fucking good- god.” You’re squeezing around him hard enough to make it hard to keep back the groans that spill out of him involuntarily. It’s almost like you’re doing it on purpose, but one glance at those teary, far-off eyes tells him more than you could, yourself. “Come on, say ‘thank you’. I know you can.” He winds his other hand around your soft throat and squeezes a little, until your back curls off the table and his cock bottoms out, nice and snug in the tight pouch of your tummy.

“Than’  you-” you slur back when he shakes your face a little, and though it’s a weak whimper, it’s enough to make him shudder.

“That’s a good pet- fuck. Agh-uh, my precious girl.” He pulls back and slides in again harder and deeper, speeding up the rhythm of the bed clanging against the wall. You know, he’d feel bad. He would— but your pussy’s sucking him in so deep, and your legs wrap around his thighs like you want to be even closer, like you’re still enjoying it. He leans in to kiss you again, and whispers your name like you’re cherished. You are. Each time he pulls back, more slick and wetness spills and makes the place you’re meeting into a mess, tits bouncing.

He hikes one of your legs up to your side instead, dangling over his arm to get closer, fuck you even deeper. And even you must feel the change, because you start moaning and wiggling despite yourself- as his cock fills you up again and again, bumping up against the soft heat of your walls. “You can still cum, can’t you?” His jaw clenches, and he reaches between your two sweaty bodies with messy circles over your puffy clit, unable to hold out for much longer. You’re just squeezing so fucking tight. “Cum, cum on my cock- gh-that’s it. That’s what you’re best at, aren’t you, baby~” God, you’re going to make him knock you up. Always clinging to him so fucking tight.

Your walls clench hard enough to make him see double, and before he’s even got the chance to pull out, hot ropes of cum fill you up until you’re sucking him dry.

All Rights Reserved © IWAASFAIRY 2023. Works are exclusive to this Tumblr.

[akazzzaa]

Beauty marks

sorry i haven't been active

Summary- Gyutaro is friends with a human- he gets insicure, you comfort him and make him flustered.

Genre- Fluff

Warnings- Insecurity mentioned

The room was shrouded in shadows, with only a small flickering candle providing a faint glow that barely reached the corners of the darkened space. The tatami mats beneath them creaked softly as Gyutaro and (Y/N) sat across from one another, the silence between them thick and comfortable. The soft sound of porcelain clinking gently against wood echoed as (Y/N) poured tea into their cups. The steam curled upwards, mingling with the cool air, carrying the rich aroma of the brew.

Gyutaro’s cup, however, was different. The liquid inside was dark, thicker than tea, with a faint metallic scent that he knew all too well. Blood. He lifted the cup to his lips, taking a slow sip as his sickly green eyes flicked up to meet (Y/N)’s gaze.

She was beautiful—painfully so. Her skin was like porcelain, unblemished and smooth, her eyes warm and inviting. Even in the dim light, she radiated a gentle, natural beauty that he could never hope to possess. It was a beauty that stoked the flames of jealousy deep within his chest, a feeling that he couldn’t quite shake whenever he was around her or anyone for that matter.

(Y/N) smiled softly, her lips curving into a gentle expression as she took a sip of her tea. “This is nice, isn’t it?” she asked, her voice breaking the silence. “It’s not often we get to share a moment like this.”

Gyutaro grunted in response, his eyes narrowing slightly as he glanced away, his mind swirling with dark thoughts. “Yeah,” he muttered, his voice rough and raspy, “it’s real nice.”

There was another stretch of silence, but it was different now—heavy, charged with unspoken emotions. Gyutaro’s grip tightened around his cup, his knuckles turning white. He could feel it bubbling up inside him, that familiar bitterness that always seemed to rear its ugly head when he was around her.

“You know,” he began, his voice low, almost a growl, “you’ve got clear skin. Not a single imperfection in sight.”

(Y/N) blinked in surprise, lowering her cup slightly as she looked at him. “Gyutaro, what are you—”

“Just look at you,” he interrupted, his eyes flashing with something dark and dangerous. “You’re beautiful. Perfect, even. And then look at me.” He sneered, gesturing to his own body, his bony fingers tracing the dark, jagged marks that marred his skin. “I’m ugly. Disgusting. My body’s full of these marks I was born with. They’ve been there all my life, and they’ll never go away.”

His voice cracked, a mix of anger and something more vulnerable, something he wasn’t used to showing. He glared down at his cup, refusing to meet her eyes, as if the words had burned his tongue on their way out.

(Y/N) watched him for a moment, her expression softening with understanding. She set her cup down carefully, the porcelain clinking gently against the tray, and reached out, her fingers hesitating just inches from his hand.

“Gyutaro,” she said softly, her voice laced with kindness. “Those marks… they’re not something to be ashamed of.”

He snorted, his shoulders hunching as if to protect himself from her words. “Yeah, right. Easy for you to say.”

But (Y/N) shook her head, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “No, I mean it. They’re called beauty marks. Do you know what they say about them?”

Gyutaro glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, his brow furrowing. “What?”

“They say that in your past life, someone who loved you very dearly kissed you a lot in those places,” (Y/N) explained, her voice gentle and soothing. “They’re a sign that you were loved, Gyutaro. That someone cherished you so much, they left marks on your body. They’re a good thing to have.”

He stared at her, his breath catching in his throat as her words sunk in. Loved? Cherished? Him? The idea was so foreign, so absurd, that he didn’t know how to react. His heart pounded in his chest, his blood roaring in his ears as a rush of heat flooded his face. He could feel the warmth spreading across his cheeks, a blush that was entirely unfamiliar, and entirely unwelcome.

Gyutaro pushed himself to his feet abruptly, his cup clattering to the floor, spilling its contents in a dark pool at his feet. “I—I need to go,” he stammered, his voice strained as he turned on his heel and headed for the door.

“Gyutaro, wait—” (Y/N) called after him, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. He needed to get away, needed to escape the feelings that were twisting and knotting inside him, making him feel things he didn’t understand.

He stumbled out into the night, the cool air hitting his flushed skin like a slap. He didn’t know where he was going, didn’t care. He just needed to run, to put distance between himself and (Y/N), and the things she made him feel.

But even as he fled, her words echoed in his mind, haunting him. Beauty marks. Loved. Cherished.

Gyutaro squeezed his eyes shut, his hands clenching into fists as he tried to banish the warmth in his chest. He wasn’t beautiful. He wasn’t worthy of love. But maybe… just maybe, a small, fragile part of him wanted to believe that he was.

And that terrified him more than anything else.

[heartseungs-archive]

better than gold | l.hc

genre ➳  historical au (early 19th century), fluff, angst, friends to lovers pairings ➳ nobleman!haechan x fem!reader word count ➳ 16.4k (added more after proofreading...) warnings ➳ mentions of alcohol, violence (threats), classism info ➳  this is the first installment of boats against the current, an 00 line series! click here to read the other works :) 

the present: august, 1912

The grandfather clock's heavy toll resonates throughout your house's wooden walls, quickly shocking you awake from where you lie sleepily on your desk. It is not the first time the heavy family heirloom has done so, and despite your protests, your father insists on keeping it.

Outside, the sky is pitch black, only illuminated by the lonely moon. You hear the faint chirping of crickets from far away, and you wonder if he’ll be coming today.

As if spoken into existence, you hear a rustling below you, definitely made by something much larger than a wild rabbit. Leaning your body out of the window, you look down to see a familiar face staring back up at you.

“You’re early today,” you say.

“Will you believe me if I say I missed you too much at the party?” Despite how the darkness prevents you from seeing his expression, you know a mischievous grin decorates his lips.

Even though it definitely isn’t the first time Donghyuck has attempted to scale the walls of your home, it still makes your mouth turn dry. You watch nervously as he deftly moves from the trellis to the carved marble eaves of your window with ease of experience. Donghyuck’s definitely strong enough to hold on even if he loses his footing, and smart enough not to get himself killed. Still, he’s usually slightly tipsy from his parties, and you are not sure if it is the best idea to have him climbing structures unattended in the middle of the night. Though it isn’t the brightest idea, you’re half ready to leap from the window after him if he falls.

Five minutes later, Donghyuck is standing in your bedroom, clothes and hair slightly rumpled, and a triumphant grin on his face.

The first time he had done this, you had almost been out of your mind with fear. Both for Donghyuck, and at the thought that someone could walk in at any time. Had one of the maidservants, or even worse, members of the family, discovered him here, the both of you would have been as good as dead.

No matter that Donghyuck had been your best friend and confidante from before you could even walk. In society’s eyes, you were an unmarried woman, and him a bachelor. And those two did not mix, especially not unchaperoned in a bedroom close to midnight.

“What are you thinking about?” Donghyuck has made himself comfortable by your fireplace, sinking into the armchair which he always complains is much too stiff, while you chide him for his poor posture.

You shake your head. “Nothing much. How was your week?”

“You know me, Y/N. The usual.”

The usual meaning alcohol, women and cards. The reality wasn’t as bad as you presented it to be, of course. Donghyuck wasn’t some sort of degenerate, unlike some of the men you had actually met. He was just a flirty, reckless fool with too much time on his hands, and an avid passion for red wine.

“Did any poor girl come after you this time for breaking her heart?” You inquire, amused.

“Well, I did get champagne poured on my head by a very angry woman. I think her name was Hana?” Donghyuck complains, his lips settling into a pout.

“Honestly, you should figure out by now that you can’t just flirt with women and leave them hanging. It’s not a nice thing to do, you know?” You chide slightly, but you don’t hold it against Donghyuck. He’s never given anyone false promises, making it clear that he was there for a good time. His dalliances have also never gone beyond honeyed words and occasional meals. It’s not his fault that feelings often get entangled, and unreciprocated. Still, his life would be much easier if he didn’t constantly have a string of jilted lovers out for his blood.

“But it’s fun,” Donghyuck replies nonchalantly, and you roll your eyes. “Enough about me. What has my dearest Y/N been up to?” He asks, leaning forward to hear you better.

Your shoulders sink a little, and Donghyuck immediately notices it. However, he remains silent, waiting for you to begin speaking. “I’m not sure what I could tell you, since I’m stuck in the house every day anyways. I hate to say this, but your visits are the most exciting part of my week.”

Even though that should make Donghyuck happy - he enjoys spending time with you, after all, and vice versa - he knows that isolation is taking its toll on you. He feels irrationally angry at your parents, but bites his tongue. He knows you don’t like it when he speaks ill of them, even if he knows this is unfair to you and he’s technically right.

It’s his fault, after all. If the both of you hadn’t been photographed together by that gossip newspaper, your father would likely have never lost his temper. Even if Renjun’s estate was safe, anyone could have come in during a party.

Donghyuck should have known better. Done better.

It’s been a month since you’ve been confined at home, and three weeks since Donghyuck started his weekly wall-climbing escapades. Before this, the both of you would meet almost weekly. Once your virtual house arrest started, Donghyuck found himself missing your presence, as if a hole had opened in his life with nothing to fill it.

For you, the confinement had been more mind-numbing than anything. Besides your daytime lessons, you found yourself dawdling aimlessly around the house, with little to do, and desperately missing the city.

Donghyuck notices your expression gradually get more desolate, and he immediately snaps himself out of his thoughts. He’s here to make you feel better, not act as a walking reminder of your missing freedom.

“Well, I’ll try to stay longer, then. Be grateful. Not everyone can have the honour of being in my presence for such an extended period of time,” Donghyuck states cockily, and you laugh at him.

Just like that, he’s lightened your mood, despite the sombre nature of the conversation. It’s something he does easily, coming up with a witty jab to amuse you.

You’re sorry to see Donghyuck go when he finally leaves two hours later, his face considerably less flushed after he had sobered from the alcohol. You had also forced him to down two glasses of water and some biscuits, so he wouldn’t wake up tomorrow with a splitting headache. Even stuck at home, you want to do what you can to care for Donghyuck’s well-being. At least his house isn’t that large of a distance away from yours.

Had this been three years ago, your parents would have allowed him to stay over in a heartbeat. Now, he’s more like some sort of fugitive, every interaction with Donghyuck reduced to clandestine meetings.

Still, times change so very quickly, shifting like quicksand. You just pray Donghyuck and yourself won’t get swallowed in and lose each other along the way.

the past: september, 1897

Donghyuck doesn’t like crying people.

He would rather his classmate throw a tantrum and kick him, than cry in his face. He decides that he especially doesn’t like girls who sob quietly and sniffle afterwards, refusing to speak to him for the rest of the day. It makes Donghyuck feel bad, and that’s his least favourite feeling.

He wants to say that he didn’t mean to spill milk all over your new satin dress, but he supposes he did mean it if he was the one who decided to start running around the playroom. Donghyuck thinks you might be even more upset if you found out he told a lie to you. The teacher looks like she’s at a loss, and Donghyuck feels as if he needs to take matters into his own hands, and make amends.

Just so you don’t cry again and make Donghyuck feel guilty, or at least that’s what he tells himself.

The drawing that Donghyuck hands to you twenty minutes later is colourful and messy, almost symbolic of the boy sitting across of you.

“I did this for you. I’m sorry for ruining your dress,” he mumbles, looking down nervously at his sock-clad feet. Pretty Y/N, it says, underneath a clumsily-drawn stick figure of you. And in the far corner of the paper lies another figure, almost as if exiled. Stupid Donghyuck is scribbled next to a drawing of himself, deliberately made much uglier with downturned eyebrows and a jagged mouth. Your eyes widen at his description of himself. The teacher said that was a bad word, you can’t help but think.

Despite your tear-stained cheeks, a little smile pokes out from the corner of your lips. Still, you don’t say anything, causing Donghyuck’s heart to begin speeding up in nervousness. Unbeknownst to himself, he is anxiously tapping his feet on the ground, waiting for you to respond.

“I…like the drawing. And I’m sorry your milk was spilt,” you mutter to yourself, but Donghyuck’s keen earns pick it up. He smiles a toothy grin at you, happy to be forgiven. Across the classroom, your teacher watches fondly, smiling to herself. The both of you spend the rest of the afternoon together, after you ask Donghyuck if you can borrow his pencils to add to the drawing.

From that day on, you and Donghyuck are inseparable. Donghyuck is almost like a magnet glued to you, following you around wherever you go. He’s the one to both steal your snacks and share them with you, the one who teases you but also hits another boy for making you cry.

Your parents eventually recognise the little boy who walks out of class with you every day, hand in hand.

“Who is this, Y/N?” Your mother asks sweetly, leaning down to match your heights.

“He’s my friend. Donghyuck.” Donghyuck knows to bow politely despite his young age, and you can tell from the slight smile on your mother’s face that she’s already pleased with him.

‘Would Donghyuck like to come over for lunch today?” Your father asks.

“We have ice cream. Our cook used to work at an ice cream parlor,” you whisper conspiratorially in Donghyuck’s ear. His eyes widen immediately, and he looks at you eagerly. Ice cream is one of Donghyuck’s favourite foods, but he’s rarely allowed to have it.

“Well, then I guess it’s settled. The both of you can sit in the back with the nanny.”

The kindly-looking woman who is Donghyuck’s nanny helps the both of you into the car. You still remember the first day you had met her, where you laughed at Donghyuck for needing a nanny to follow him around.

“Don’t your parents pick you up from school, Donghyuck?”

“They’re very busy with their business. My nanny is the one who spends time with me at home,” Donghyuck had mumbled, looking down at his hands. His expression was strangely sorrowful for that of a seven-year-old boy.

“Well, you can come over after school, if you want. I’m sure your nanny will agree.”

And that marked the start of countless sun-lit afternoons spent at your family home, until Donghyuck became a regular, fixed presence in your life even as the both of you grew up.

february, 1908

You could not wait for this night to end.

The idea of a debutante ball was glamorous and had drawn you in at first. After all, it sounded like a dream. A ball celebrating your transition to eighteen years of age, from child to adult. You had spent the months before devoting time to lessons to prepare, endless hours given to ballroom dancing and etiquette.

However, the long-awaited night itself had passed by in a rapid blur of conversations with strangers whose names you did not remember, and dances that left you dizzy and slightly breathless. You had missed out on dinner because of the constriction of your dress, and it left you starving two hours later.

You muttered a polite excuse to the group that you were standing with, making a beeline for the gilded doors leading towards the balcony. You had expected more from alcohol when trying it for the first time, but the champagne had only left an uncomfortable flush in your cheeks that was quickly cooled by the night air.  Growing up had been a little disappointing, if you could say so yourself.

“There you are.” The intrusion of someone else’s voice causes you to jump in shock before you quickly relax once you realise who it is.

Donghyuck was dressed in a fine suit, tailored neatly to his lean figure. Still, he would probably outgrow it before the year ended. Within the past two years, Donghyuck had grown rapidly, now over half a head taller than you, his shoulders widening much too quickly. His speaking voice had faded into a low honey timbre but retained some of its childish cadences, especially when he got excited. You almost didn’t recognise his voice at first, considering the last time you heard it was much too long ago.

“I thought you weren’t coming.” Donghyuck’s arrival at your debutante ball is a pleasant surprise, considering his family had embarked on a grand tour of Europe just a few months ago.

By right, he should have been in Florence at this very moment. You hadn’t expected him to return until next summer, instead having to fill the Donghyuck-sized gap in your life with his postcards and your carefully written letters. Telephoning was difficult, especially when Donghyuck was constantly travelling from province to town to city.

Looking at your best friend properly now, Donghyuck seems slightly different, older. The way he carries himself is more confident, as if he’s at ease with himself. He’s grown up, you realise, and self-consciousness overtakes you. Maybe you still look like a child next to him, unsurely dangling on the precipice between maturity and childishness.

“Do you really think I would miss your debutante for anything? I just need to join them back in Vienna next month.” His voice is painfully familiar, but hearing it in person is so much better than over the phone.

You felt Donghyuck’s absence more than you allowed yourself to acknowledge, you realise. Having him next to you makes it easier to breathe, even if your corset is much too tight.

“I missed seeing you, you know,” Donghyuck says, and you turn to him, breath hitching slightly. The both of you rarely exchange any terms of affection, if any at all. The last time you told Donghyuck you missed him was perhaps over a decade ago, when he had been sick and missed coming to preparatory school for a few days.

You hope there aren’t any eavesdroppers in the vicinity who might misunderstand. Within your own private circles, you and Donghyuck are safe. Almost everyone knows the both of you have been attached at the hip since young, and no one jumps to conclusions. But here, with the curious, judging eyes of strangers? You cannot help but be scared, for both yourself and Donghyuck. Still, you nod, a silent acknowledgement of Donghyuck’s statement.

Just then, you hear the faint sounds of applause and cheering coming from the ballroom, and you realise the clock has just struck midnight.

“Happy birthday, Y/N.” Donghyuck is the first to wish you, ahead of your family. He looks slightly nervous as he pulls something out from his jacket pocket, and you look over at him curiously.

“I got you a present while I was in France. It reminded me of you,” he murmurs, and the sight suddenly reminds you of that exact moment in kindergarten when he first handed you that drawing.

The blue velvet box is sleek and elegant, inlaid with mother-of-pearl. It opens neatly to reveal a matching bracelet and necklace, a little sun charm fashioned in gold and diamond dangling from the end of both. You don’t miss the symbolism of it, and look up at Donghyuck.

“It’s lovely. Can you put it on for me?” Donghyuck nods, and the air feels strangely tense, charged with an unfamiliar energy. His hands are gentle as he places the necklace gently around your neck, only fumbling slightly before it's set in place. The cool metal is jarring against the warmth of your skin, and you shiver slightly, though you’re not sure if it's from the metal or from Donghyuck’s fingers accidentally brushing against the nape of your neck. He moves to your wrist then, and your eyes are drawn to his cuff links.

They are in the exact same design as the jewellery he gifted you, just slightly smaller. He did that on purpose, you realise, and notice the mirth in his eyes. No one will notice, unless they look closely at both you and Donghyuck.

It feels intimate, like a shared secret between the both of you.

A small proof of your friendship with him, for you to know, even if no one else does.

He finally steps away from you once the bracelet is secured, and you lift it up to observe it carefully. Despite the lack of light, the pendant gleams brightly, almost as if imbued with its own glow, a sun in itself. A little piece, a reminder of Donghyuck, to carry around wherever you go.

It had simply been a lucky coincidence that the debutante ball fell on the exact day of your birthday. However, looking at Donghyuck now, standing next to you on the balcony, you’re suddenly infinitely grateful for the stroke of luck that allowed it to happen.

march, 1908

Donghyuck absolutely detested carriage rides, especially when they were with someone whose presence he did not enjoy.

There were still five more hours to Vienna, but Donghyuck already felt exhausted at the idea of what he would have to endure once he reached. The excitement of the grand tour had been diminished by the ever-looming presence of his parents, and he knew that their demands would only increase once he returned home. After all, he would be formally considered an adult.

He decides to stare absentmindedly out the window, at a dazzling landscape of white and green. Donghyuck’s attention inadvertently drifts to the entire reason he had even left in the first place.

It had not been easy to convince his parents to allow him to leave halfway through their tour of Florence, especially when the city had been the location for many of his father’s meetings. Meetings where Donghyuck’s presence had been required. However, once introductions had passed, Donghyuck found himself no different from a piece of furniture, more ornamental than functional in nature.

Of course, his parents were unaware of the true reason Donghyuck so desperately wished to return home.

He had found the opportunity when his father needed documents delivered to their home address, and someone to approve said documents. Donghyuck had volunteered with little hesitation, even if it meant rushing a ten-day journey within four. He had little sleep, both from moving from train to train and forcing himself to keep awake to finish the work he had promised his father.

His fatigue seemed to melt away, however, when he saw you in that pearl-white ballgown and matching gloves, hair pinned in a chignon with feathers interspersed in between.

The delight in your eyes when you saw Donghyuck made him feel as if every single snide comment made by his father meant nothing, minuscule compared to the faint smile on your face as he placed the necklace around your neck.

Donghyuck had been hesitant at the atelier, unsure if it was too much. Perhaps you didn’t want a gift so clearly associated with him, even if the both of you were close. He was grateful now, however, and thought that the sun pendant looked so much more beautiful on you than it ever did on him.

He found it strange that before your debutante, he had been fine with just exchanging postcards and letters detailing your days. Months had been spent like this from city to city, as he took in the sights and sounds of a place so very different from home.

However, the memory of your presence now remained fresh in his mind, and Donghyuck found your absence even more noticeable. As far as Donghyuck knew, you had never been to another country, much less a separate continent. You would have taken in the architecture with starry eyes, and dragged Donghyuck around with you to savour as many cuisines as possible.

He decides to close his eyes, and pretend that you are sitting in the same cabin across from him, travelling together.

may, 1909

You are nineteen when everything comes crashing down.

“You should thank me, Lee Donghyuck. I just saved your life.”

‘I could have handled that on my own,” Donghyuck mutters petulantly, and you throw a questioning glance at him. The moment he had become an eligible bachelor, Donghyuck was quick to gain the attention of many women, owing to his natural charm. Of course, he easily soaked up the attention and relished in it, quickly becoming the centre of parties.

One lady, in particular, had been notably persistent, and you almost admired her for her efforts. She had shown up consistently at every party Donghyuck had thrown or attended, staying for hours and attempting to strike up a conversation. When that was unsuccessful, she extended her reach to Renjun and Jeno. It definitely didn’t help that she seemed to appear everywhere they went.

“She would have still been tailing you if I hadn’t come,” you huff, striding into the main hall of your family estate. Donghyuck follows in after you, an amused smile on his face.

“Oh, what would I do without you, Y/N? You’re my saviour from the immense threat of overly eager noblewomen. How should I repay you?” He has a hand over his heart, sighing dramatically, and you roll your eyes at Donghyuck’s theatrics.

“One day, you’re going to regret it. If I find your cold, dead body in an alleyway because you angered the wrong person, I won’t be the one to avenge you.” The both of you walk into the familiar archway of your house, Donghyuck smiling at the familiar housemaids that make up your staff. He has already been a consistent presence since young, and most of them have seen both of you grow up together.

“Well, I think it would be more likely that you’re the murderess out for my blood-”

“Y/N. You’re home. Your parents would like to see you immediately. Apologies, Mr Lee. I’m afraid you’ll be unable to stay for lunch today.” Your senior housekeeper, Ms Kim, has a stormy expression on her face, and your eyebrows furrow in concern. Furthermore, her switch from calling Donghyuck by his formal name fills you with a sense of unease. Why doesn’t she meet his eyes?

Donghyuck looks at you, eyes questioning, but you are just as clueless as he is. Evidently, your parents must want to speak to you about something important.

“Alright. I’ll see you another day, Y/N. Also, Ms Kim, just call me Donghyuck, please. As you always do.”

His tone is casual and light, but there’s an undertone of worry.

Even though Donghyuck knows there’s no reason you would be unsafe in your own home, the atmosphere feels strangely heavy suddenly, foreboding. Ms Kim remains silent as Donghyuck strolls back the way he just came in, and that only causes your panic to rise further.

“Your parents are waiting in the sitting room, Miss,” she states lowly, before quickly rushing off.

You’re equal parts curious and scared as you make your way up the marble stairs.

“Y/N, darling, you’re here. Take a seat.” Your mother’s term of endearment when she sees you come in allows your heart to lighten up a little. But even then, worry is evident in the set of her eyebrows. Your father, however, is an entirely different story. His expression is stormy and unfamiliar to you, and reminds you of the scolding you received as a child when you had crossed too many lines.

“Is there…something wrong? I was out with Donghyuck and we had a slight mishap. i didn’t mean to be late.” Your unease causes you to shift nervously, posture remaining stiff, despite how the plush couch invites you to sink into it. There’s a pause, and you look at your father. It’s evident he wants to say something.

“You shouldn’t meet the Lee boy from now on. He isn’t allowed to visit, either.” You know your father is referring to Donghyuck, and you look at him, visibly alarmed. Your parents have always welcomed Donghyuck to your house, and they are aware of the friendship between the both of you.

Your mother senses the shift in the atmosphere of the room, and quickly attempts to mediate.

“What your father is saying, Y/N, is that you should try to interact less with Donghyuck-I mean, Mr Lee, from now on. It would be easier for both families if the two of you maintained a distance.” Her words are stilted as she looks at you, gauging your expression as it shifts from confusion to disbelief.

The laugh that escapes you comes out nervous and forced, your eyes darting rapidly from your father, to your mother, and then back.

You force yourself breathe, to remain calm, even as you fiddle with your fingers in your lap. However, your voice comes out slightly strained.

“Donghyuck’s my childhood friend. He comes over every week. I thought the both of you were alright with his presence. Why so suddenly-”

“Because we did not know that goddamned boy was Lee Haechan!” Your father’s voice is booming, the sudden increase in volume causing both you and your mother to flinch. It takes you a while to process Donghyuck’s formal name, the one he uses with strangers. Evidently, there is a lapse in communication, and your father’s outburst puzzling you further. Just then, the butler comes to the door. “There is a call for you, sir.” Your father leaves enraged, and the silence that falls over the room is heavy.

You look to your mother desperately for some sort of clarification, and she sighs wearily. Tears are budding at the corner of your eyes, and you hastily blink them away.

“Your father found out about Donghyuck’s identity at a business function a week ago. We were unaware that Donghyuck was the only son of the Lee family.”

“Does that mean something?” You had always been aware of Donghyuck’s family history, where his ancestors had ties to this place from over a century ago. He didn’t speak much of it, only telling you bits and pieces.

“As you know, Y/N, our family is relatively new. After all, it was your grandfather who earned his fortune here. Your father and the Lees have a relatively tumultuous relationship, to say the least.”

Your confusion begins to clear up barely, but you’re not sure if for the better or worse. Since you were young, you’ve heard the whispers follow your parents, and subsequently you, round. That families like yours, the nouveau-riche who earned their wealth barely half a century ago, are nothing compared to the aristocracy. That your presence and others diluted the nature of high society itself, instead bringing disgrace with their lack of pedigree.

You’ve always paid little mind to it, however. After all, there are plenty of families that would be considered nouveau-riche, most of them equally as wealthy and powerful as the ones that hail from the aristocracy. The whispers have gradually dwindled over the years, and you believed it to be a poorly-conceived notion by certain adults reluctant to let their social status be infringed by those considered beneath them.

And you know that Donghyuck pays little mind to it, if any. In fact, you’re not sure if he’s even aware of the distinction, considering the nature of your friendship.

“I know you and Donghyuck have known each other for a long time. However, we do not think Donghyuck’s parents would be happy about this if they found out. It would be easier for both of you if you maintained a distance. Both for you and Donghyuck, and for your families as well.”

Your mother’s words cause you to realise that you’ve never been formally introduced to Donghyuck’s parents, or even met them. While you have been over to his house, it was only when his parents were absent on their business trips, or when he threw parties with hundreds in attendance.

Donghyuck has barely mentioned them, and you fail to recall any piece of knowledge about his parents. You wonder if they are aware of you, Donghyuck’s best friend since childhood. The sudden imbalance has been made glaringly obvious by your father’s words, and you’re not entirely sure what to do with the new realization.

The thought that you might be non-existent to Donghyuck’s family, the people he’s closest to in the world, leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

Your mother seems to sense the turmoil unfolding in your mind, and looks at you gently. “Take some time to think about it, Y/N. Your father and I will be out for dinner tonight. The telephone will be free to use if you wish to make a call.”

You can tell she is apologetic about her words and that of your father’s, but you can’t bring yourself to reply just yet.

Later that evening, you’re nestled in the armchair of your father’s office, telephone across you. Donghyuck is likely done with dinner at this very moment, and perhaps resting in his room.

You must look rather ridiculous to the staff, having sat in here for an hour and yet nowhere near making a call. Still, hesitation tugs at your movements. What will you even ask Donghyuck?

As if to end your dilemma, the telephone rings loudly.

You hastily pick it up, and hear a faint static buzzing before a honeyed voice comes through.

“Hello. This is Lee Donghyuck. May I speak to Y/N for a brief moment, please?” His voice sounds excessively formal and stilted, so different from the tone you’re used to. It causes a smile to make its way onto your face, despite the situation.

“You’re speaking to her right now, Mr Lee,” you reply, and hear Donghyuck huff a laugh from across the receiver.

“Very funny, Y/N. I was half-terrified that your father would be the one to pick up. Care to tell me what happened today after I left?” Donghyuck is simply curious, but you are unsure how to broach the topic.

“Donghyuck?” He hums in acknowledgement.

“My father talked to me today. About the situation between both of our…families. Did you know about it?” Dead silence fills the room, and you can even hear Donghyuck’s breathing still.

“If you are asking whether I was aware that our families are bitter competitors and refuse to interact with each other, then…” Donghyuck’s voice trails off, and you bite your lip out of worry.

“Then?”

“Then yes.” Donghyuck’s voice comes off almost sheepish, and you feel pressure building up at the front of your head.

“Do your parents know who I am?” You finally ask the question that’s waiting on the tip of your tongue. After all, your parents have known Donghyuck since he was a child. Surely his mother and father are aware of you, his best friend of over a decade. Even if friendships between the opposite sex aren’t exactly considered orthodox in proper society.

“They know…I have a close female friend,” he mutters, and it comes out in bits and pieces, that you almost strain to catch it.

“A close female friend.” The four words leave an unpleasant taste in your mouth as you sound them out, even though you know Donghyuck doesn’t mean them to be demeaning. However, it feels humiliating in a way, especially since you’re aware of how the exact same term is used to describe Donghyuck’s fleeting, romantic entanglements.

There’s a beat of silence over the phone, until Donghyuck exhales sharply. You’re gripped by a flash of anger, and then it disappears, leaving doubt and a grim look on your face. Your other hand lies in your lap, and you don’t even realise you’re wrenching your skirt so hard that it crumples.

“Y/N, listen to me, you know how my parents are-”

“No, Donghyuck, I do not know how your parents are. If you may recall, you’ve barely told me anything about them. Or about your family at all, really.”

Your words come out clipped, and you quickly slam down the receiver, ending the telephone call. It’s not even out of anger, really- you think you might just be more fearful of Donghyuck’s reply.

All these years, you rarely prodded Donghyuck to share about his family, unless he offered the information up himself. You knew he had a younger sister and several cousins. After all, it was obvious that the boy did not enjoy sharing much about them, and you guessed that he likely had an estranged relationship with them. For you, it was enough to know that he was from a family similar to yours, inhabiting the upper echelons of society.

Donghyuck was your best friend who grew up with you, spent summers at your house, and the person who your parents treated like a son. That was the only person he needed to be. Even when your father lost his temper, the rage was not directed at Donghyuck, but rather how he was convinced that Donghyuck’s parents would never have allowed such a friendship to blossom.

You wonder what lies Donghyuck must have told them, then, to be able to spend so much time with you unhindered. Unease plagued you at the idea that Donghyuck intentionally omitted his identity from your parents as well, even if it was not malicious in nature.

It made you feel as if your friendship with Donghyuck was something to be embarrassed by, an illicit secret that brought shame onto both of your families.

Maybe he perceived it that way too.

july, 1909

“I’m busy today, Renjun.”

“With checking another one of your father’s ledgers? We both know you don’t enjoy it anyways,” Renjun mutters under his breath, and you glare at him. To give the boy credit, you were eager enough for an excuse to escape the workload that came with being the oldest child and heir.

“Fine. Dinner at the Waldorf Astoria, is it?”

“Yes. At seven. Don’t be late.” He hangs up before you can even reply, and you stare at the now silent receiver. The way that Renjun speaks is the same way he conducts his relationships and friendships: the barest of what is necessary. Still, his curtness is refreshing compared to so many of the people you’ve met, who seem to have no end to their honeyed words.

You think of a boy with never-ending flowery words and witticisms, and determinedly push that thought away immediately.

Three hours later, you stride into the grand lobby of the Waldorf Astoria, heels clacking softly against the marble flooring. The restaurant is one of your favourites, and a smile of recognition appears on the hostess’s face as soon as she sees you.

“Miss Y/N. Good evening. This way, please.” You follow her into one of the private rooms, wondering why Renjun didn’t come out to get you himself. Despite his cold exterior, Renjun prefers to save the waitstaff their trouble, even if it is part of their job.

A sense of foreboding enters you when you push open the door, and you understand why the moment you see who’s sitting at the table.

Lee Donghyuck, hair combed back immaculately and suit clinging to frame, stands up and rushes to block you from leaving when you turn towards the exit.

“Let me through, Haechan,” you say through gritted teeth, looking at the wall past his head. The use of his formal name causes Donghyuck to flinch as if struck, and an apology almost escapes you.

“I haven’t seen you in two months, Y/N. Sit down and we can talk about this. Please,” Donghyuck’s voice is pleading, insistent, and it causes you to pause. Almost. You levelled your gaze at him calmly.

“And what did you tell your parents to meet me today? Did you say that you were meeting Renjun? I’m not sure what they would think if they knew you were meeting a close female friend in a private room at such an expensive restaurant.”

As much as you do not want to use Donghyuck’s parents against him, you’re not quite sure how to deal with him. Lee Haechan, Lee Donghyuck, your best friend. It keeps blending together, leaving you confused.

Donghyuck swallows and steps away, and you think that this is it. He’ll let you go, and the both of you will never return to whatever friendship you had before this. He’ll become a friendly acquaintance at most, considering the both of you will see each other much too often. Especially once he takes over his father’s estate and so do you.

“I told them I was meeting [L/N] [Y/N]. My best friend.”

Donghyuck’s words hang in the air, an invisible hand that stops you from pushing open the door.

“I told them we met in kindergarten and that I visited your estate every day. I told them I’ve known you for twelve years, and that we met every week. And that your parents know me. I told them everything.”

You look at Donghyuck, not daring to breathe.

“Wouldn’t they be angry?” You ask, eyes searching his. Donghyuck allows a small smile to appear on his face, before his eyes turn serious with sincerity once again.

‘Not any less angry than they would have been if I told them earlier. I’m sorry, Y/N. For not being honest from the beginning. I was scared.”

Donghyuck looks so young suddenly, eyes wide and anxious as he looks at you. Every bit a grown-up in the eyes of society, and yet so very young to you. He’s the boy you’ve always known, the seven-year-old who made a painting to apologise to you for ruining your dress. Your heart softens just a little looking at him, guilt creeping in. You’re unfamiliar with his parents, but anyone who can put a damper on the sun himself must be a force to be reckoned with.

The reason Donghyuck loved coming over so much must have been because of them, then. Because his home was hostile and unwelcoming, and he found solace in yours.

Your shoulders relax from their tense posture, and Donghyuck immediately notices it. His expression lightens a little as well, as he senses your rapidly-changing emotions. He steps closer to you, until the both of you are less than a hand’s breadth away from each other.

Up close, you can see the mix of doe-brown and raven-black in Donghyuck’s eyes, and the freckles that scatter haphazardly across his skin. His face is so very familiar to you, and seeing him again after two months of absolute silence hits you like a punch to the gut.

“Donghyuck, I didn’t-”

He grabs your hand, quickly cutting you off. Unease and guilt floods you, but you’ve never been as good at stringing words together as Donghyuck.

“It’s alright, Y/N. You don’t have to apologise for anything.” His voice is comforting, a soothing balm to the emotional turmoil in your heart. You nod quietly, not sure how to continue.

“Now, sit down, will you? I ordered all your favourites and I can’t possibly finish them by myself,” he jokes, and you follow Donghyuck as he pulls out the chair for you, hands exerting gentle pressure on your shoulders.

Later, you watch as Donghyuck eagerly digs into the red velvet cake, even before you get to do so. You had introduced it to him a few years ago, despite his insistence on ordering ice cream instead. Needless to say, you were quite sure you had convinced him to enjoy it, or perhaps he just gave in after your repeated pleading.

He hums contentedly, and your heart surges with fondness. You’re not sure how you had actually thought that Donghyuck could be reduced to a mere acquaintance, the years of friendship diminished. However, you couldn’t be more glad that he was now here, opposite you.

The city is still buzzing when you and Donghyuck leave the chandelier-lit hallways of the Waldorf Astoria, and Donghyuck tugs insistently on your arm.

“Come on. Let’s get you home.” He cranes his neck out towards the road to look for a taxi, but you extend a hand to halt his movements. Donghyuck flashes a questioning glance, and you smile reassuringly.

“It’s still early. We can stay out a little longer.” Donghyuck nods, acquiescing to your request. After all, the one most likely to have a curfew is you, rather than him. Although your parents think you’re out with Renjun and trust him to an extent, they’d rather not have your whereabouts unknown until late.

“Jaemin told me about a place near here the other day. Let’s try to find it.”

You follow Donghyuck down numerous winding alleys until you think the both of you might be in an entirely different district. By the time he pauses, the both of you are slightly out of breath and standing in front of an elevator with faded wooden doors. The lift is likely older than the both of you, judging from the way its doors open jerkily.

You raise an eyebrow. “Are you sure this is safe?” Regardless, you follow Donghyuck into the lift.

“You should trust me more. Do you think I would want your parents to dislike me even more by making them think I was responsible for your untimely death?” He says it casually, but you know your parents’ rejection must have hurt more than Donghyuck is willing to let on.

“I’m sure that if they found you and my dead body, they would rather believe I caused my own death than pin you as guilty.” It’s a weak attempt and not one you entirely believe, but you hope it comforts him nonetheless.

Donghyuck doesn’t say anything, instead choosing to squeeze your hand gently. At some point along the way, he had gotten tired of having to look back to check if you were keeping up, and had instead chosen to grab your hand and drag you with him.

“I wonder how Jaemin found this godforsaken place,” Donghyuck muses.

“It’s probably for his photography. You know how he’s always running around the city looking for new places.”

Just then, the elevator lurches slightly before halting, and you stumble in a moment of shock.

Your impending fall is halted by a pair of arms that are most definitely not yours, and you turn to find yourself less than a hair’s breadth away from Donghyuck, whose eyebrows are furrowed in concern.

“Are you alright? You should be careful with those shoes.” Donghyuck’s referring to your heels, the ones that you wear for sit-down dinners and definitely do not use for exploring abandoned buildings with your best friend.

However, you find yourself unable to focus on Donghyuck’s words, and instead, the warmth that emanates from the hand he’s placed on your waist. He’s much too close to you for comfort, and your mind is beginning to blank.

“Y/N?” His words snap you out of your brief daydream, and you quickly step away from him, blood rushing to your cheeks. Warmth floods you, your heart beating unstably, and you’re quite sure it’s not just from all the walking.

You welcome the chance to leave the tiny, cramped lift and put some space between you and Donghyuck, despite having absolutely no idea where the both of you are. A slight breeze provides respite to your flushed cheeks, and Donghyuck follows after you. The both of you are on a completely empty rooftop, and you immediately head towards the edge.

“You can see the entire city from here,” you say as you lean over the parapet. The lift brought you much higher than expected, allowing you to be flooded with the sight of New York’s stunning skyline. It’s a pretty view, and you’re filled with a sense of quiet peace as Donghyuck stands by your side.

It’s beautiful,” you exhale, and at Donghyuck’s lack of response, turn over to him. Your eyes immediately meet, and there is an unfamiliar fondness in Donghyuck’s starry-eyed gaze.

“Yeah, it is.” Donghyuck says lowly, eyes never leaving yours. The air feels charged with a strange energy, crackling with tension. If you utter a word, it might just be broken. First the lift, and now this. Your heart has been hammering against your ribcage endlessly, and it seems absurd that it might be because of Donghyuck. He’s the person you trust with anything, the one who you’d willingly get lost with. Yet, his gaze now makes you feel like a cornered animal, and you find yourself unable to formulate a coherent response.

“Donghyuck, I…” Your voice trails off and he smiles slightly, instead moving closer until your shoulders touch. The both of you stand side by side, eyes fixed on the radiant lights that make up the city.

However, your wristwatch quickly serves to dispel the peace of the moment, as you quickly dart a glance at the time.

“Donghyuck, we’ve got to leave. I told them I’d be out with Renjun until a quarter past ten.” You hook your arm around his and quickly pull him back in the direction of the lift.

Once the both of you are back below, however, Donghyuck’s quick to hail you a cab.

“Aren’t you getting in?” You ask, confused, staring at Donghyuck who remains standing outside. He smiles down at you gently, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear before you can even register that it has slipped out of your bun.

“I don’t want your staff to see us and get into trouble. I’ll make my own way back.” There’s a slight disappointment in Donghyuck’s voice, and you’re not sure if you should tell him that you simply do not care if Ms Kim sees Donghyuck sending you back and reports it to your parents.

“Drive safely, please,” Donghyuck directs to the driver, handing him the fare with a look that tells you not to protest. The driver nods, and you turn back to look at Donghyuck, still standing on the pavement. His familiar figure brings a smile to your face despite your tiredness as he lifts up a hand to wave.

The ride back is spent in solitary quiet, for Donghyuck is not here to fill up the chatter in the space.

That night, you sleep more soundly than you have in weeks.

the present: september, 1912

“We’re done for the morning.” Your tutor, Mr Park, is a kindly, middle-aged man, and you've grown especially thankful for his presence since you’ve been confined at home.

You gather up your things, bowing to him as you get up from one of the many plush armchairs in your father’s library. You’ve decided to make it your mission to finish all the books that fill these shelves, and so far your progress is halfway there. No matter that you spend hours reading every day.

“Y/N. Take the afternoon off.” Mr Park’s voice cuts through the stillness of the library, and you turn to look at him questioningly.

“Even my best students preparing for Harvard don’t study as much as you do. Take a break and spend the afternoon in the city. No young lady should languish at home.”

The twinkle in his eye tells you that Mr Park will hide you sneaking out from your parents, and you immediately get up.

“I’m sure you wouldn’t consider your students languishing at home if they were male,” you retort, a bemused smile on your face.

“That’s because they are much less sensible than you are. Home confinement would do most men a world of good.” His remark causes a grin to appear on your face, and he waves you off. You do not argue further. After all, there are only five or so hours before your parents return, and you plan to make the most of it.

The entryway is noticeably quiet as you make your way down the marble stairs, purse in hand and shoes changed to favour a pair more comfortable for walking.

Besides the close housekeeping staff, no one else knows of your father’s anger at you. Well, besides one other person, of course.

“Y/N!” Your younger sister, Miyeon, appears in the hallway right as you are about to leave. Her eyes are alight with curiosity, storybook in hand. Panicked, you run over to hush her.

“Lower your voice, Miyeon-ah. I need you to help me keep a secret. Can you tell Ms Kim I’m very sick and would like no one to disturb me in my room?”

“Unnie, are you sneaking out?” She whispers conspiratorially, and you flash a grin at her.

“Yes. To see Donghyuck. But you can’t tell anyone, because Donghyuck and I are…planning a surprise for everyone. Okay?”

She nods eagerly, but her lips quickly soften into a pout. “I miss Donghyuck. Will he come to visit soon?”

A sharp pang of guilt enters your heart as you peer down at her forlorn expression. Donghyuck’s always treated your eight-year-old sister especially well, keeping her entertained when you’re too overwhelmed by her hyperactivity.  He’s as much an older brother to her as you are her sister.

“He’s been very…busy. I’ll ask him to visit as soon as possible, okay?” She hums in agreement at that, and you smooth your hand over her hair gently. Miyeon does not need to know of the enmity between both of your families, and your now-fraught relationship with your father. You want her to have as good a childhood as possible, and there’s no reason she should be involved in it.

It is only when you are standing at the driveway that you realise you’ve made an oversight. Although your father didn’t explicitly restrict you from leaving, he told the driver that you were not to be driven anywhere at any cost, effectively preventing you from making the thirty-minute trip down to the city centre.

Walking will cost you at least two hours of your precious time, but you suppose you have no choice. The weather is welcoming, at least, and you decide that you’ll try to make the most of it and enjoy the scenery. After all, the fresh air feels much better than the stifling air of your room.

Twenty minutes in, you’ve finally made it out of the gated community where your family’s estate is located in. The road here is gravelly, and you stop yourself from tripping a few times.

A car comes up behind you, and you pause as it comes to a stop right in front of you. Your heart fills with apprehension. You’ve heard about people getting robbed or kidnapped on the roads, but it’s bright daylight and this path is relatively safe. In fact, you’ve walked it hundreds of times.

When a man steps out, you’re entirely prepared to run, until you recognize the familiar silhouette.

“Renjun?” You immediately walk over, and he waves in greeting. Renjun rarely leaves his estate, especially in the middle of the day.

“I needed to head into the city to collect some art supplies. Saw you and figured you needed a ride.” You smile gratefully at him and immediately get in. Renjun’s car is pristine, and the leather seats are plush against your back.

“I haven’t seen you in weeks. Haechan told me you were stuck at home.” You nod, allowing a sigh to escape.

“My father got angry. You know how he is. I decided to sneak out today.”

“Which is why you’re walking three miles?” You roll your eyes at the sarcasm in Renjun’s tone.

“Yes, but now that I have you, our dear Renjun, to send me, my journey will be cut short,” you simper sweetly.

“Did I forget to tell you that I charge a fee? I’ve found a new calling as a taxi driver.”

“We both know you’d rather die than allow strangers to get into your precious car.”

Despite your constant bickering, you missed Renjun more than you’d care to admit. Especially since he would tease you about it to no end.

“Well then, where to?”

“Anywhere. I’m just glad to be out. I can go with you to get your art supplies,” you reply, and Renjun arches an eyebrow.

“You don’t want to see Haechan?”

You shrug. “He doesn’t know I’m out today and I have no way to find him. Besides, I just saw him last week.”

“Last week?” Renjun asks, confused, and your breath hitches. You didn’t mean for it to slip out.

“Well…Donghyuck may have….done some wall-climbing.” Renjun lets out an incredulous laugh, shaking his head. He drums his fingers on the wheel, humming silently.

“The both of you are ridiculous. Haechan mainly, but you too.”

Your eyebrows furrow slightly, and you turn to Renjun. “What?”

He doesn't reply, instead smiling one of his stupid smiles that say I know better than you do. There’s no way to get Renjun to divulge his thoughts unless he wishes, and so you leave him to it. You don’t think it’s that ridiculous. If Donghyuck was the one stuck at home, you would probably risk breaking your neck for him too. And it was likely the bigger sacrifice, considering how his room was a floor higher than yours.

The rest of the drive is passed in comfortable silence, Renjun quietly humming to a jazz song you don’t know the title of. The familiar brick-and-mortar buildings enter your vision, and the car drives past men in bowler hats and women in bonnets. Compared to the quiet isolation that exists within the suburbs, the city buzzes with a frenetic energy that screams liveliness, and it hits you like a tidal wave after all the solitary afternoons spent in your family’s garden.

The art supply store is much larger than you expected, with a ceiling that extends all the way up, leading to a skylight. Renjun is evidently familiar with the place from the way he weaves from shelf to shelf, and you follow quietly, observing him at work. Renjun is secretive about his art, even to his close friends, and you only get to see his works displayed when they are displayed at galleries or sold at auctions.

He’s quick to arrange for the materials to be delivered by the end of today, and the both of you head to the exit.

“Well, this is where I have to leave you now. Have fun, but stay safe.” The way Renjun talks to you makes you feel like a little child, but that’s just how he is.

“We haven’t seen each other in so long. Are you not free for a meal?” There’s disappointment evident in your voice. As much as you do not mind spending time by yourself in the city, you would much rather have Renjun by your side.

“I wish I was, but there’s a meeting with a sponsor I can’t miss. I can send you home again, though. Can you meet me here in two hours?” You nod in assent, watching as Renjun strides down until he eventually disappears around a corner.

It’s just you now, and the bustling streets of New York City. This is the most lively area of the city, with art galleries and restaurants littering every street. You’re drawn to one, in particular, its elegant marble arches and stained glass fixtures taking your breath away. When you step in, you’re immediately surrounded by commotion. It’s unusually crowded for a gallery, and from the attire of everyone around you, it’s likely no typical event. You grab a glass of champagne from a waiter’s tray as you weave through the crowds, attempting to find a less crowded area.

You eventually pause in front of a winged sculpture that takes up most of the space in its display case.

“Enjoying the exhibition?”

“Well, I suppose you could say so.” You don’t turn around to view the source of the voice, too enraptured in reading the description that accompanies the figure.

“And you’re not going to say you came here to find me?” The voice is cocky, but slightly petulant, and all too reminiscent of someone you know. You turn around sharply, eyebrows furrowing.

“Donghyuck? I didn’t know you were here-”

“Yeah, I figured, considering how you made a straight beeline for the gallery instead of me. Why didn’t you tell me your parents let you leave the house?” There’s a note of hurt in his voice, and you grin slightly. It’s almost adorable, but also comforting, having the knowledge that Donghyuck values your presence as much as you do his.

You make your way over to him, ruffling his hair slightly. He bends down reflexively for you to do so, and it makes you feel like you’re a young child again. It’s something only Donghyuck can do, you think. He represents every part of your childhood, and makes you feel as if you’re young again, without a care in the world.

“I snuck out,” you whisper proudly, and Donghyuck raises his eyebrows, slightly impressed. As far as he knows, he’s the rule-breaker out of both of you.

“Anyways, what are you doing here? You’ve never been one much for art.”

“My family’s the one organizing this exhibition and the auction later. As their only son, I have to be here,” Donghyuck replies, and you nod in understanding. Despite his frivolous nature, he still fulfils his duties to the utmost extent, and you suppose that’s why you’ve never chided Donghyuck for his occasionally irresponsible actions. If anything, you’re more worried about his liver and his general health from all the red wine and sleepless nights he has.

“Then…are your parents here?” You ask nervously, fiddling with your hands. You’ve never met Donghyuck’s parents, and you’re not sure if you want to. You’ve seen them in the newspapers, of course, and in passing at important events, but never long enough to draw any notice. Though they’re definitely aware of your presence, it seems they’ve decided to ignore it as a minor inconvenience. Similar to how your parents treat Donghyuck now, you think.

Donghyuck shakes his head happily, however. “They’re out temporarily to settle some stuff for the auction, so it’s just me helming the event. It’s about time for lunch, though.” As if coordinated, your stomach rumbles, and Donghyuck lets out a laugh at it.

“My treat for lunch. To celebrate my best friend’s temporary freedom,” he teases, and you smile up at him.

Before the both of you can exit, however, a man strides in. His eyebrows are thin and pinched, much like the rest of his features. There is a certain unwelcoming air to him, and you notice Donghyuck turning imperceptibly stiff.

“Ah. Haechan. I was wondering where the golden boy of the Lee family was.” His voice is haughty, belying sarcasm, and you immediately decide that you don’t particularly like this man. There’s something about him that spells malice, as if he’s deliberately out to get you.

“Mr Park. A pleasure to see that you’re doing well,” Donghyuck returns with a sickly sweet smile, one that you know is entirely false. It’s the smile reserved for the people he likes the least, and you’re rendered even more curious about who this Mr Park is.

“And who’s this lady friend of yours?’ Mr Park says, turning to you. The way his gaze looks you up and down makes you shudder slightly, and Donghyuck immediately steps forward. However, you’re determined to not back down.

“The name’s Y/N L/N,” you bite out, eyes narrowed at him.

“Y/N L/N? I believe I know your father. Still, what are you doing running around with a boy like Haechan?” There is an almost predatory glint in his eye as he takes in the both of you, and you’re sure he’s aware of the not-so-well-concealed feud between both you and Donghyuck’s families.

“If you excuse us. Y/N and I are rather busy. Especially if you consider the prominence of our families,” Donghyuck’s low tone is condescending, betraying a hint of danger, and it's something you’re unused to.

You realise that this is Lee Haechan, heir to a major business conglomerate and the reigning king of New York high society. The front he shows to everyone else, that gives him a sense of notoriety. His palm is warm against the small of the back as he guides you out of the room, but the both of you are not fast enough to escape Mr Park’s last comment.

“Busy, huh? I wonder what your parents will say when they find out their son is playing in his own version of Romeo and Juliet as the male lead.”

It takes you a while to figure out the meaning behind Mr Park’s words, but they settle into you with a feeling of unease. Not the idea that Mr Park thinks you and Donghyuck are romantically involved- that’s the least of your concerns. But is that what your friendship with Donghyuck is destined for? Tragedy?

Donghyuck seems to sense your emotional turmoil and smooths his hands over yours. “Don’t think about what that guy said. He just spews whatever nonsense comes to mind. My parents don’t like him either.” The smile that you give Donghyuck is shaky, but he’ll take it.

“If anything, I would be Juliet. I’m not daft enough to drink poison just because I thought you died,” he states, and you roll your eyes. However, your heart feels a bit lighter, and you’re able to pass the walk to lunch in comfortable silence.

Later that afternoon, Donghyuck watches silently as you get back in the car with Renjun and drive off. He would offer, but he’s not sure if his showing up would only further undermine your parents’ impression of him. Sometimes, he feels almost like some sort of parasite, clinging to you until even your relationship with your father has become increasingly tense. Still, he can’t seem to detach from you for too long. You’ve been such a big part of his world for as long as he can remember. He’s not sure what he would do to fill the space if you disappeared.

He may have also lied to you about Mr Park, but hopefully, you’ll never know that. Donghyuck feels oddly protective over you, even though he knows you’re perfectly capable of handling yourself. It’s probably just because you’re one of the few genuinely close friends he has, and he can’t afford to lose any.

When Donghyuck finally returns to the gallery, the people present are much more sparse, everyone already heading out for dinner.

“Lee Haechan. Where were you?” His father’s voice is low and cuts across the shadows of the room, and Donghyuck almost trips on his own feet out of surprise. Of course. Mr Park, that desperate ladder-climber. He would do anything to curry favour with Donghyuck’s father.

“I see you still refuse to address me by my birth name. If you have to know, I was with Y/N.”

”That wench again? Mr Park informed me of what he saw today. Stop fooling around and get your head back on straight.”

Donghyuck feels his jaw clenching, fingers curled into a fist. You’re no wench, as much as his father likes to call you one. But his father thinks anyone is below him, even his own son and wife.

“She’s my friend.” Donghyuck finds his voice wavering, and he hates it. Twenty-one, and yet he still feels fear at the sight of his father. It’s a painful relationship they have, really. His father cannot abandon him because Donghyuck is his heir and more than capable enough, even if he despises him. Besides, no respectable member of the gentry should have to endure the shameful scandal of a runaway son. And Donghyuck refuses to abandon his mother and the life he has now outside of his father.

But every time he finds himself close to the limit, it’s always about you.

“She’s a competitor, you idiot. I may not like the girl, but I have an ounce of respect for her being smart enough to have my only son wrapped around her finger as such. If you tire of the women you have, I’ll send more.”

“How dare you-”

“I dare, Haechan, because I’m your father and the only reason why your sorry little life and that of your mother’s still exist. And my power extends outside as well. Don’t make me do something you’ll regret. It would be a pity if the family lost their oldest daughter, don’t you think?”

The air seems to hush, a deathly silence overtaking the hall. Donghyuck can feel his heartbeat slowing, his anger cooling to a numbing fear as he takes in the implications of his father’s words. He knows his family does have unsavoury ties to the less respectable areas of society, but he’s always chosen to ignore it. Donghyuck’s not sure how far his father is willing to go to do what he deems necessary, but the idea of finding out causes his mouth to turn dry.

To lose you….that only spells two consequences, none of them good. And he’s not sure if your family is enough to protect you, wealthy as they are. He knows your parents. They are kind, even if they’ve distanced themselves from him. Compared to his father, yours is nowhere as cold-blooded. But he would be devastated at the thought of anything happening to you. It’s two birds with one stone, he realises. To topple his business opponent, and reign in his son.

In that moment, standing in that gallery with the man who raised him, Donghyuck feels so very helpless. He’s angry at so many things. His father, the situation the both of you are in, and himself. For not being good enough to protect you, for being the reason why you fell out with your father, for putting you in danger each and every single time he seeks you out.

It’s a terrible time to have this realisation, but Donghyuck loves you. He realises it when he’s pacing in his room later that evening, his father’s threats looming over his head and causing anxiety to rake its claws in him.

Of course, he loves you as his best friend, the one who’s been by his side since he was young and provided a respite away from the cold home that he had grown up in. Still, it seems that there’s always something more, something missing. Donghyuck doesn’t have anything to rely on, considering his parents had a loveless marriage.

However, looking at your family, and looking at you, he thinks he might understand love a little more.

Of course, he would fall hopelessly for someone who had grown up with so much care and affection to give.

The moments where he sees couples on the streets, and wonder if the both of you look like them even if you’re not hand-in-hand.

That night on the balcony, when he thought you were the most beautiful person he had ever seen in his life. And the time on the rooftop, when he wished to just lean into you, and close the distance.

Donghyuck realises that he’s loved you for most of his life, even before he knew what love was. His name may mean the sun, but he finds himself orbiting around you instead.

The use of Romeo and Juliet feels ironically bitter now, and Donghyuck scoffs at the impossibility of the situation. His love isn’t enough to untangle this web of threads that the both of you are stuck in, unless he cuts through them entirely. You’ll get hurt, but at least you’ll be free. It’ll be as painful as cutting his own heart out, but Donghyuck would gladly place your safety above his.

Fifteen years is a long, long time to love someone. Yet, Donghyuck now feels as if all the time in the world would not be enough to love you.

november, 1912

He’s not coming today, Y/N.

When it hits almost two in the morning, that’s when you give up. It’s been two months since you’ve last seen Donghyuck, and since he stopped coming to your window in the middle of the night. You shouldn’t be disappointed- It must be tiring for him, and you’ve gone longer than that without seeing Donghyuck. Still, you can’t help the sense of dread that pervades you every single time you stand at your balcony, and his familiar face isn’t in sight.

You’ve been able to call Renjun and your other friends, but they’re disappointingly sparse with updates about Donghyuck, besides the usual of him at parties. It’s like he’s still normal to everyone, except you. You’ve tried calling Donghyuck’s estate, but you’ve always given up in fear of his parents being the ones to pick up. You had once left a note for his housekeeper, but it seems that it didn’t exactly get through.

You stare up at the ceiling from where you are in your bed, head swirling with thoughts. Maybe he’s busy with his work. After all, that’s likely the most plausible reason. Despite that, unease settles in you, and your sleep is fitful.

The midday sun greets you once you wake up, and you’re surprised at how late you’ve woken up. Lunch is already halfway through when you’re down, your father at the head of the table.

“Good morning,” you say slightly drowsily as you settle down and pour yourself a heaping cup of coffee, and your parents both smile slightly at you, your father moving the bread basket over. Throughout the past few months, you suppose his initial anger and worry about Donghyuck has mellowed somewhat.

“Y/N. Tell the driver to bring you where you want from now on,” your father mutters, and you almost drop the sugar cube out of shock.

“What?” You look up at him incredulously, unwilling to believe that perhaps, you might be allowed to leave.

Your mother smiles kindly at you, though her eyes are sympathetic. “Your father was just scared of the rumours surrounding you and Donghyuck. But they’re gone now, and we haven’t seen the boy in a while. Besides, you’re an adult now. As your parents, we can’t stop you from doing what you want.”

You can’t stop the grin that makes its way onto your face, and you immediately engulf the both of them in a hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. I’ll be sensible, I promise.” Breakfast forgotten, you immediately run up to your room to get ready, unaware of the words your parents exchange with each other.

“I know Donghyuck is a good and kind boy. But he’ll bring trouble everywhere he goes, with that father of his.”

“He makes her happy. Let them figure it out.”

Despite your parents’ discouragement, your first course of action is to find Donghyuck. By the time you leave, it’s in the late afternoon, which means the weekly parties will start at any time. If you’ve estimated the weeks correctly, it’s Renjun’s turn this time.

The drive down to Renjun’s house is far, but scenic. He had deliberately chosen the very outskirts. of the suburbs, and bought the land surrounding the property as well, so as to ensure only greenery would be seen. You think his estate is the prettiest, though yours comes to a close second.

When you reach, people are already beginning to mill about, and you’re grateful you dressed appropriately. It takes you long enough to make your way past the gardens, to the main foyer, and then down a few side hallways to reach the room that Renjun saves for his close friends.

“Hello, everyone. Missed me?” Your voice is playful as you walk in, and Renjun immediately sits up, a smile lighting up his features.

“I didn’t think you’d actually make it. Congratulations on your freedom.” He passes you a glass of Sauvignon, so dark it almost looks like blood. Jeno lifts his glass to you in a silent toast, grinning. Your eyes scan the room, but you frown. “This is Donghyuck’s favourite wine. Why isn’t he here finishing it all?” Your tone is light, but you’re genuinely wondering where the man has run off to, considering he’s rarely separated from Renjun.

However, Renjun’s expression looks almost sheepish, and it makes you even more confused. He places his hands on your shoulders gently, steering you in the direction of the couch. “Donghyuck’s a little preoccupied. He’ll be back soon.”

Renjun seems insistent, and so you leave him be. However, one hour and six poker games later, you’re starting to get genuinely concerned.

“Renjun, can you bring me to Donghyuck?” You ask, and Renjun looks like he’s been put in a difficult spot.

“Renjun. Where is he?” Your tone is serious now, and the man in front of you lets out a sigh, looking resigned. He gets up, waving a hand for you to follow him. “Down that hallway. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

You’re equal parts fearful and baffled. It’s Donghyuck. What would you have to fear? You turn the corner, and hear coquettish giggles coming out of a room. You roll your eyes. Renjun was just being dramatic, after all. This is nothing that you’re not used to, even if you find it slightly distasteful.

When you knock on the open door, signalling your presence, the two women sitting next to Donghyuck immediately look up, before their eyes widen in realisation. Donghyuck straightens and leans forward, his eyes slightly hazed over by alcohol but still aware of your presence. You stare at him from where you are standing, eyebrow raised.

“Who are you?”

That is the one question you’re not expecting, and your posture immediately straightens. “What? Donghyuck, you must be really drunk. It’s me, Y/N.” Your voice is still light, unaware of the situation, and Donghyuck swallows, looking at you directly before he speaks.

“Ah. What’s the heir of the L/N family doing in this room? Unless…you would like to join?” Donghyuck’s mouth is curled in a smirk, and it causes a sour feeling to appear in your mouth. What sort of game is he playing here? Donghyuck’s never made you feel small, or put you in a spot.

And yet, now, the situation is becoming increasingly uncomfortable. The two women are staring, doubtful of what to do. You feel slightly humiliated, and you’re not sure how to bridge the gap between you and him.

“Could you leave us, please?” You tilt your head meaningfully at the two other women in the room, who thankfully, leave without much hesitation. Donghyuck seems sad to see them go, a petulant pout on his face.

“If you just wanted me to yourself, you could have said so,” he says snarkily, and you roll your eyes. “Donghyuck, this is ridiculous. Why did you do that?”

“Why not? It was funny. Also, my name’s Haechan. Not Donghyuck.”

“What? Donghyuck, we’ve known each other for so long. Whatever prank you’re playing, cut it out.” You’re completely bewildered now, eyes piercing into Donghyuck from across the room, while he remains relaxed, legs spread out comfortably on the chaise. He swallows, and it seems like it’s the first time you’ve seen him hesitate in the past ten minutes or so.

“It’s not a prank. I’m tired.” You’re frozen at the door, and haven’t moved from it since you stepped in.

“If you’re tired, you should rest-”

“Not physically. I’m tired of you. Our friendship. Whatever. It’s annoying. I was having fun and then you ruined it.” His words don’t make sense to you at first, considering the implausibility of his statement. You laugh in incredulity at first. This must be some poorly-conceived prank he came up with. After all, he has gone too far by accident before, but you’ve always been quick to let him know. However, it’s hard to contain your own infuriation, especially at his careless words.

“Are you…are you serious?” He shrugs. “Yeah. I’m sick of it.”

This prank is exceedingly cruel, even for him.

That’s when the cold tendrils of fear begin to surround you. The fact that he might mean what he’s saying, that this isn’t some stupid joke his poor, half-addled brain conjured up. His expression is painfully earnest, and your throat constricts uncomfortably.

“Donghyuck, if I did something-”

“You didn’t do anything. I just don’t want to be associated with you anymore. It’s difficult, you know? And exhausting. We weren’t meant to be friends anyways.”

Your heart is breaking, but you’re sure only you can hear it, judging by the nonchalant expression on Donghyuck’s face. “Alright. I understand.” Your hands are trembling as you quickly turn on your heel. However, before you move past the threshold, you find that there’s still something you want to say.

“You know, it was difficult for me too. But I thought it was worth it. With you. I’m sorry you found it exhausting.”

You run out of the room before your tears can escape, leaving Donghyuck behind.

Unluckily enough, you collide right into Renjun. “See, Y/N, I told you not to go because I didn’t want you to get upset- are you crying?” His voice holds a note of surprise.

“Hey, listen to me. Donghyuck really does love you. He just has a terrible fucking way of expressing it. I’ll talk to him,” Renjun says, and you pull away from him. “What?”

“Don’t you have romantic feelings for him? I just didn’t want you to get hurt-”

You shake your head vehemently. “Renjun, where did you get this from?”

“I thought it was obvious to everyone. But that isn’t why you’re crying?” He’s just as muddled as you are now, and you’re still unable to wrap your head around everything that’s happened and what Renjun is saying.

“He told me he got bored and tired of the friendship. And essentially doesn’t want anything to do with me anymore. That’s why I was crying. Still am, actually.”

You watch as Renjun’s face gradually transforms from confusion to anger, and you would feel scared if you were on the receiving end. However, you feel strangely comforted. “That guy must be drunk out of his mind. Don’t take anything seriously, okay? I’ll talk to him. That idiot-”

You extend a hand to grab Renjun’s arm to stop him from making his way to Donghyuck, smiling a watery smile at him. “Renjun, it’s okay. Drunk words are sober thoughts, right? I kind of understand, even if he could have been a little nicer about it. I’ll just go back home now. Don’t worry about me.”

From the way your smile wavers, Renjun knows nothing is alright, but he can only watch hopelessly as you go, unsure how to mend the situation. When Donghyuck barely mentioned you and refused to partake in any conversation involving the mention of your name, Renjun had thought it strange, but ignored it.

Now, he understood. Something was very, very wrong.

There was only one person he could seek clarification from. And so, despite your protests, he stormed towards the sitting room that Donghyuck was in.

When he sees the boy in question, he scoffs angrily and storms over. “Stop drinking already,” he mutters, wrenching the wine bottle out of Donghyuck’s hand. Occasionally, the sight of Donghyuck tipsy is amusing, but now he just seems pathetic to Renjun.

“Cut it out, Renjun. Are you here to ruin my fun too?”

Donghyuck’s being mean on purpose, but Renjun’s already much more prepared to handle the situation. He’s always been more emotionally mature than most and wonders how heavy a blow this must have been for you.

“Don’t tell me to cut it out when you’re the one who messed up. Y/N just ran out of here crying, and I want to know what the hell is wrong with you,” Renjun says determinedly, and Donghyuck looks up at him, cloudy eyes temporarily replaced with regretful sobriety.

“She cried?”

“You’re sorry now? I’m not surprised, after what you said to her.” Renjun knows he’s being harsh, for Donghyuck must be hiding something, but he can’t help it. You’re his friend too, even if he’s close to Donghyuck.

Still, he wants to help to mend whatever it is. Because he knows that you’re one of the people that Donghyuck loves most in the world, even if the boy resolutely refuses to admit it.

Donghyuck sinks back into the couch, eyes closed. Renjun’s heart softens a little at the sight. This is the most defeated he’s seen Donghyuck in the decade that he’s known him. It’s a tendency of Donghyuck’s, to keep his problems to himself. Renjun understands because he’s done it before too.

The fear of being a burden is a heavy one to carry. He supposes for Donghyuck, it’s even worse because he doesn’t have anyone at home to rely on. And everyone expects the sun to keep on shining, day in and day out.

“Come on, Donghyuck. Out with it.”

“God, Renjun, you know I don’t mean any of what I said. It’s more likely that Y/N would get tired of me, honestly.” Donghyuck lets out a laugh at his own words, but it comes out bitter and forced.

“It’s my father. He made certain…threats. I cut Y/N off to keep her safe.” Renjun immediately understands the meaning behind Donghyuck’s words, but even then, he furrows his eyebrows.

“God, you’re an idiot, Lee Donghyuck.” His eyes open slightly then, and he looks at Renjun.

“What? No, Renjun, you don’t understand. My father can and will make good on his threats-”

“I know exactly what kind of person Mr Lee is. I don’t think pushing Y/N away will do anything at all. If your father wanted to make a move, he would have a long time ago. Besides, if he did anything now, the culprit is obvious. You don’t actually think Y/N is helpless, do you?” Renjun realises that the idea of you getting hurt has sent Donghyuck into a panic, muddling his judgement.

“Of course she’s not helpless, but she’s no match for-”

“Think about it, Donghyuck. Y/N’s family is one of the richest and the most powerful in the entire of upstate New York. The both of you may think that you’ve been able to keep your friendship under wraps, but her family has her under heavy protection. You think your father has connections? So does hers. There are eyes everywhere in this city, on you, her, and you both. She has plenty of people to protect her. Your father would be asking for retribution if he tried anything.”

Donghyuck finally falls silent then, mulling over Renjun’s words. There’s a sense of relief as he realises you’re no longer in danger. After all, that was his only goal. Even though Donghyuck doesn’t reply, Renjun knows that his words have gotten through somewhat, from the way that the clouds in Donghyuck’s expression have cleared up.

However, another realization quickly sinks in, and Donghyuck’s eyes fall dim again.

“God, then the things I said-”

“You broke her heart, you idiot. Go and find her, before she decides she’s done with you for good,” Renjun says, and Donghyuck turns to him sharply, a confused look on his face.

It is then that Renjun realises how for as oblivious as you are, there is no one more ignorant than Lee Donghyuck himself.

“Y/N’s in love with you too, just in case you haven’t realised.”

Donghyuck looks completely disbelieving, and Renjun tries not to roll his eyes. The both of you are much too similar, he can’t help but think. “Just ask her yourself.” Donghyuck curses under his breath, before grabbing his jacket and running out of the room, and Renjun watches as he goes. 

As much as Renjun is tired of seeing the both of you dance in circles around one another, he wonders if just maybe, this time, the both of you might get your happy ending.

Donghyuck’s mind is blank when he stands underneath your window, the cold air quickly making him clear-headed. He’s trembling, and it’s not from the cold air whipping around, but rather his nerves. He tries not to shiver as he goes through the familiar motions of throwing pebbles against your window.

Five minutes pass, and then ten. With each second, Donghyuck’s heart falls further and further down, and he’s not sure if you want anything to do with him at this moment. Still, he’ll stand here the entire night, if it means he can have a moment with you.

Just then, the door to your window cracks open, and Donghyuck’s breath hitches. You’re still wearing your dress from earlier, but your hair is mussed and your makeup is mostly gone.

Donghyuck thinks you look breathtaking.

It seems that once he confronted the full weight of his feelings for you, they’ve only intensified. He supposes that explains why there’s a strange pressure in his chest whenever he sees your face, and it’s like the breath is stolen from his lungs.

You remain silent, expression unmoving as you stare down at Donghyuck. He finally collects his thoughts, and looks up at you beseechingly.

“I need to talk to you. Can I come in?” You seem to pause, expression stricken, before nodding. Donghyuck exhales loudly in relief, but he hopes you didn’t catch it.

You can’t help but keep your eyes fixed on him as he makes his way up the familiar bricks. As much as you remember his words from earlier, you can’t help but be concerned for his safety. You refuse to admit that his presence here has allowed the tiniest tendril of hope to snake into your heart.

Donghyuck immediately drifts in the direction of your fireplace, even as his eyes remain firmly lodged on you, and you realise he must have been freezing while waiting for you.

However, he seems considerably tense as he turns back to you, eyes searching and assessing. You make a deliberate effort not to show any outward emotion, but you know that your eyes are still red-rimmed from earlier, and there are still visible tear tracks.

“I thought you made your opinion quite clear. Are you here to go into even more detail?” The words come out firm, and Donghyuck tries not to flinch. You have every right to be angry, after all.

“No, it’s not that. I swear it’s not that. I’m here to apologise. And if you decide that you don’t want anything to do with me ever again, that’s okay. I’ll go back right out the way I came.” His eyes are pleading, hands wide open in supplication.

You don’t say anything, and Donghyuck takes it as a positive affirmation for him to keep going.

He has to do this.

“I got…scared,” he confesses, and you arch an eyebrow slightly, waiting for him to continue. But your heart is already shifting towards forgiveness, and you’re not sure if it’s foolish.

“I thought that by pushing you away, I could protect you from my father. I know that I’m wrong now, and I’m sorry. For what I said, which hurt you, untrue as it was. I didn’t think any of it through.”

There’s so much fear and anxiety in each sentence that escapes Donghyuck, and you wonder how much he must have thought about this. About how to protect you in the only way he could, even if it meant hurting you in the process.

Even then, you’re not prepared for what he says next.

“You’re one of the most precious people to me, and I’m not exactly the most clear-headed when it comes to the ones I love.”

There’s a pause, and it feels like the world has tilted on its axis.

“You love me?” You ask, eyes wavering as you search Donghyuck’s for even a hint of deceit.

Yet, you think you already know the answer. Away from the events of today, Donghyuck’s love for you is painfully obvious from everything he does.

He immediately strides over, hands cupping your face gently as he leans down until his face is level with yours.

“Of course I do, you beautiful, brilliant woman. How could I not? I would never tire of this,” he whispers, and your heart constricts delightfully.

You’re not sure if Donghyuck can hear the audible thudding of your pulse, but you feel as if the room is spinning, and he’s the only thing grounding you. You think about what Renjun said in the hallway. The line between platonic and romantic love was so very, very fine. And it muddied so often, so easily, for you and Donghyuck.

Right now, with him in front of you, you think that perhaps, the idea of crossing that line doesn’t sound so bad.

You swallow, head tilting up to look at him. Your best friend, Donghyuck. The person you loved the most, and the only one who could make you laugh and cry with just a few simple words.

‘When you asked if I wanted to join you, in that room. What if I said I wanted to be the only one?” You ask, your gaze aimed directly at Donghyuck’s.

When he takes in your words, his stare darkens briefly, before quickly softening. He steps impossibly closer, until you can feel the warmth of your body against his.

Your lips are so very close to his now. You think your breathing might have just stopped.

“Then you’ll be the only one. Always have been,” he mutters, before closing the distance between the both of you.

When Donghyuck kisses you, it feels as if a piece of your heart has finally settled.

His lips press against yours insistently but gently, and you find your hands making their way up to grip the lapels of his jacket. You’re bending backwards slightly, and might have lost your balance if it wasn’t for the steady grip of his hands, one on your waist and the other on your cheek.

Donghyuck kisses you languidly, as if he has all the time in the world to do so. You find yourself smiling into the kiss, but bite back a gasp when his tongue slips into your mouth briefly, almost teasing.

You pull back, flustered, hands lightly pushing at Donghyuck’s shoulders. Your cheeks are bright red now, but you can’t help but miss the phantom feeling of his lips on yours. Donghyuck smirks now, much more confident, and you refuse to meet his gaze.

Your wide eyes and messy hair, courtesy of Donghyuck, has something softening imperceptibly in his heart. He smooths a palm over your hair, and strokes a thumb over your cheek fondly. A small part of him still thinks he’s dreaming. Still, he knows that this wouldn’t be something he could conjure up by himself.

You’re everything he’s ever wanted and needed, and Donghyuck refuses to let you go if you’re willing to stay.

“I meant it when I said you were the only one. I was fearful that I would scare you away. I know I say stupid things sometimes, and I make bad decisions. But thank you. For not running away, and staying. Fifteen years ago, and now.” The sincerity in Donghyuck’s voice is startling, but comforting all the same.

“You’ve stayed for me too, Donghyuck. I don’t think you realise how much other people love you. you have so much love to give, but it’s okay to receive it sometimes,” you reply, looking at the boy in front of you, the one who carries too much doubt and worry and hides it behind a smooth veneer of cheer and mischief.

He doesn’t say anything, but the way Donghyuck squeezes your hand gratefully tells you that he’s heard you.

The soft sound of voices drifting from outside causes you to freeze, until you realise it’s just Miyeon being put to bed by the nanny. You let out a breath of relief, and Donghyuck smiles gently.

“It’s late. I should go.”

However, just as Donghyuck’s about to make his way back down, you find yourself filled with a sense of reluctance. You don’t want to let him go just yet.

“Hyuck. Stay the night,” you say, and he immediately halts, backtracking into the room. His gaze is doubtful, as he processes your words.

“Like here? With you?” You nod, and it’s almost amusing how it’s Donghyuck’s turn to turn slightly red.

“You act like you didn’t stay over so many times when we were kids. Even though my parents made you sleep on the floor, you’d always pester me to let you get into the bed instead.”

“It’s different now, Y/N.”

“Not that different. You’re still my best friend, Hyuck. We just also happen to be in a relationship,” you state as you tug the blanket over your waist and grab a pillow to pass to him, turning off the lights.

Donghyuck eventually makes his way to the other side, and you turn until the both of you are facing each other while lying down. His features are soft in the dim light of the room, and you run your finger over his profile, pausing briefly at the freckle on his cheekbone.

“Well, then I suppose being romantically involved entitles me to some liberties.” His voice is hushed, filling you with a sense of anticipation.

“Like?” Your voice is muffled, slightly sleepy as you lean into the pillow, but curious.

“Like this,” he whispers, before pulling you towards him by your waist and peppering your face with kisses. Your giggles ring out in the quiet of the room, but they’re quickly silenced by Donghyuck kissing you again. You eagerly reciprocate, lips moving against his in a perfect cadence, and you can’t seem to stop smiling.

It’s easy, being in love with Donghyuck. Almost as if you’ve done it your entire life.

That night, the both of you fall asleep with your limbs tangled together, barely visible in the dim twilight of the room. Your parents may be furious, but you find yourself unable to care, not when you can hear the sound of Donghyuck’s heartbeat from the way you lean against his chest.

After all, what you and Donghyuck have is better than gold, and you wouldn’t exchange a single thing in the world for it.

[fizziepopangel]

What would happen if Stolas fails to make it on time to save Blitzo from being executed?

What would the ramifications be if she killed or try to kill Andrealphus? Would Moxxie and Millie go along with this revenge or try to stop Loona before she makes things worse?

I could imagine the monument Loona snaps is when she sees Blitzo's head roll on the floor. She feels nothing. Then she looks at Andrealphus, and then she snaps, breaks out of her restraints, and attacks Andrealphus killing him, who didn't see this coming, shocking everybody in court.

OOOOOOOHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!! Babes, this is a good one!!!

Only Vengeance Now

“Just… Just take care of Loona for me.” Blitz said to Moxxie and Millie as the chains sprang to life, dragging him to his knees suddenly. “I love you guys.”

No. I thought as he fell to his knees and he let his head rest on the chopping block. I wanted to scream, beg them for some sort of mercy, or to let me trade places with him. Despite everything I had said and done over the years since he had taken me in, Blitz was…  He was all the family I knew. He was my hero; my home…. I knew somewhere deep inside, he wouldn’t be around forever, but it couldn’t happen like this. This was a joke. A cruel joke; just a bad dream that I would wake up from.

The executioner raised their axe. This can’t be happening. Not like this. Please. I squeezed my eyes shut, but it did nothing to keep me from hearing the whoosh of the blade as it cut through the air. 

There was a thump, then just a thick silence as the metallic smell of blood filled the room.

“Blitz…..” Millie whimpered beside me, her sobs mixing with Moxxie’s beside me.

“Oh my Lucifer…” A familiar voice whispered in shock. “What have you done?”

My eyes opened despite my mind begging me not to look… Bile rose in my throat as I looked over to where my dad stood just moments ago, a sea of black pooling around where his head had dropped. “Dad…”

“Loona, don’t look.” Millie said, a hand reaching toward me. She kept talking, and I knew she was touching me, but I couldn’t tear my eyes from the scene. He had been there just a second ago…. And now he was just… gone. 

Time seemed to slow as I stared at the sight in front of me. My mind was buzzing with every time he hugged me, every time he held me when I cried, every pancake breakfast, every stupid gift he had ever given me, and everything he wouldn’t get to see me do, but at the same time, my mind was blank; I felt everything and nothing all at once….. I didn’t even notice when they unmuzzled me until I felt a pair of arms drape around my shoulders.

Looking beside me, Stolas stood there, an arm around my shoulder and tears in his eyes as he looked at me. I think he wanted to say something, but the voice that cut through the haze of thoughts buzzing around in my skull wasn’t his.

“Well,” Satan clapped, standing up from his throne. “That’s lunch everybody.”

“I thank the courts on behalf of my aggressively attractive sister and her husband for ridding hell of that… fillth.” Andrealphus says, taking an exaggerated bow and smirking in our direction.

“My dad was not filth.” I growl, shoving away from Stolas to stare down the overgrown ice pigeon.

Andrealphus chuckled, stepping down an icy staircase until he stood just before us. He smirked, glancing down at the severed head of the only father I had ever known. My fur bristled as I watched him move toward the body and head. “This,” He says, grabbing blitz’s head by one of his horns and holding it high, “is the definition of filth if I’ve ever seen one.” I watched him toss Blitz’s head over the edge of the platform he stood on… and suddenly something in me snapped.

Red filled my vision and suddenly I had cleared the divider that separated us from them. “Loona, don’t!” I heard from behind me. I wasn’t sure who called me, but it was already too late.

Gasps rang out as my jaws clamped down on the arm of the Goetic prince, pulling him from his feet and slamming him down on his back. Blitz’s blood splattered around us. In his shock, he almost seemed to forget to fight back. It didn’t matter though; even as my fist’s slammed into the man’s face over and over, I wasn’t looking for a fight.

“Loona, stop!” Moxxie cried, the imp and his wife attempting to pull me off the prince, only to be thrown in one swift move.

Nothing matters anymore. I thought, tears in my eyes as Andrealphus’ blood began to spray me with each hit. Nothing… A stalagmite of ice shot up from beside me, the tip slicing my arm. In the split second it took me to howl in pain, Andrealphus managed to scramble out from beneath me, attempting to crawl away despite his blood dripping down his face and blurring his vision and the obviously broken arm.

I lunged, my head slamming into the good for nothing prince as he attempted to get up, struggling to even summon another platform of ice in his current state.

A fresh round of tears blurred my vision as I continued to beat the struggling Goetia. There was a commotion somewhere behind us, but it didn’t matter to me. Nothing will matter until he bleeds for what he did. 

Andrealphus flailed blindly, the few hits he managed to land weak and pathetic just like him. “You pathetic piece of shit!” I snap through clenched teeth, my hands wrapped around his throat. “You don’t deserve to fucking breathe.”

I was pulled off of him, forced to watch him roll over and gasp for breath. I struggled against the solid figure holding me. “Get off me!” 

“This won’t bring him back, Loona.” Bee said as she and Asmodeus held me back.

“He doesn’t deserve…” My words dissolved in tears as I slumped against the Sins. I could hear Moxxie and Millie and Stolas pleading with the court on my behalf as Satan summoned the executioner once again. Bee held me, stroking my hair and trying to tell me that it would be ok… But behind her, I could see the executioner, their axe still dripping with Blitz’s blood as they kicked his body out of the way to make room for me…. The reality hit me like a truck: Blitz was dead, I had attacked a Goetic prince in a courtroom full of the most powerful being in hell… I was going to die.

I looked back at Andrealphus as someone helped him to his feet. Even bloodied and beaten, he looked smug when he looked back towards us…. It made the decision easier. If I was going to die, he needed to go first.

With tears still in my eyes, I shoved the gluttonous sin off of me, breaking free from the grasp that held me, hurling myself at the executioner, hands outstretched toward the axe. The second the axe slipped from their hands to mine, I raised it, lunging at the bleeding prince.

Screams rang out as I brought the axe down, sending Andrealphus’ head tumbling from his shoulders, though there was pure silence as his body dropped.

The axe fell from my hands and without a word, I walked to the chopping block, taking my place on my knees in front of the executioner. I couldn’t bring myself to look at anyone in the courtroom that I loved, though I could hear sobbing from more than one of them. Taking a deep breath, I locked eyes with Satan. “I’m ready.”

[blossom-hwa]

manège | k.th

pairing: Taehyun x gender neutral!reader genre:  fluff, a little angst and comfort, ballet dancer!taehyun and pianist!reader warnings: n/a word count: 1.4k notes: — this pairing's been on my mind for a good year or so, so I'm very happy to have finally written something for them :) please note that I've only been doing ballet for a couple years now, so if I've used any terms incorrectly, I'm very sorry! — for some clarification, mc and taehyun go to an arts school, and mc volunteers as one of the pianists for the ballet studio Taehyun finds his way back to you, again.  

TXT Masterlist

manège: a classical ballet term for “circular,” which describes a series of steps done in a circular pattern around the stage

. . . . .

"...Taehyun?"

The question of his name is quiet enough that if he hadn't noticed the opening of the door in the corner of the mirror, he would have missed it. As it stands, his mind barely processes your voice emerging from behind the door, and it takes a moment to shake off the double tours and pirouettes before he can even recognize the face appearing in the mirror. He blinks sweat away from his eyes. "Y/N?"

"It's late," you say, stepping into the empty studio. "You're still practicing?"

As one, you both look at the clock hanging on the wall. It's long past eight, when Taehyun initially told himself he'd stop—long past nine, even.

Suddenly all of the exhaustion of the day seems to hit him at once. His muscles ache, sweat keeps dripping down his face no matter how much he wipes away, and there's a small but consistent flare of pain in his calf that he should really stop and massage out. Really, he wants nothing more than to just sit down against the wall, or maybe even flop onto the floor and stare at the ceiling while seeing nothing at all. He's been here since eight in the morning and his body clearly knows it.

"Yeah," is all he says in lieu of articulating all of this, though, because his throat feels gravelly and words are hard. "What are you doing here?" he asks instead. It's at least as fair of a question for you as yours was for him.

"I had class," you say. Taehyun takes in your leggings, the loose T-shirt almost covering your shorts, and remembers yes, there was a lower-level class held almost immediately after you got off your shift. "I stayed after to practice."

He frowns. "For almost five hours?" You were playing the piano for his company class until it ended at three. Your adult beginner class ends at four thirty, and it's past nine.

"Not ballet." You shift the weight of several books in your arms, and only then does Taehyun see their worn paper bindings, the music markings on the covers, and remember that people practice things besides dance. "Evaluations coming up. There was a free piano in one of the empty studios."

Ah. Taehyun nods. And then the room falls into silence again, broken only by the sounds of your breathing.

"So." You walk to the empty piano in the room, placing your books on the top before looking at him expectantly. "What are you working on?"

It takes him a moment to register your words, to understand that you're not telling him to leave or go home or get some rest. All of which he should do, but the looming specter of the showcase next week won't let him. "You're not going to tell me to go home and rest?" he asks regardless, and even though his throat squeaks a bit after spending so many hours in silence, you don't laugh. Not at that, anyway.

"Well, would you have gone home if I'd said you should?" you reply, raising an eyebrow. He shakes his head and a smile curves his lips when you give a little laugh. "See?"

"Point taken," he says, and when you laugh again he laughs too. "Grand Pas Classique," he answers your original question. "For the showcase. Next week."

Your mouth parts in a little 'o'. "This one?" you ask, playing out a short melody. He nods. "Can I see?"

He should. He shouldn't. He at once wants to but doesn't, wants to let the melody sing in his blood as he double tours and entrechats around the room, spinning and leaping across the floor, but he also knows that you're here. And if Taehyun is his own harshest critic, he becomes even harsher when someone else is in the room.

You look at him, though, and he looks at you, and he knows that you see him for himself. See the sweaty hair matted into clumps, see the muscles aching behind his skin, see the work put into every effortlessly pointed toe and graceful finger as he takes his beginning position in front of the mirror. And when the music begins to play, the melody spilling into his ears and then into his blood, he looks into the mirror and smiles not because he has to, but because your watchful eyes will never hold judgment. Will never hold disappointment. Will only ever see him, see Taehyun Kang the person and not Taehyun Kang the dancer, and will cherish him for it.

When he's done, the applause of one person cuts through the labored silence of his breathing, and it's enough to keep the smile on his face, to let his muscles finally relax, to wipe the sweat from his brow and sit down. Or—not really. He's still a little too wired to sit, but he leans against the wall of the studio and gestures to where you sit at the piano like it's the most natural position in the world, ready to play but not. "Show me something," he says when he has enough breath to speak. "What are you working on?"

There's a moment when you're flipping through your books, skimming pages filled with music and your careful notes, where Taehyun loses himself, for a moment, in you. When you squint at a few pages, then put the book back on top of the piano, then position yourself at the keys. The preparation—the careful placement of your fingers just as deliberate as his pointed toes and graceful hands—the moment where time holds still, before you give in to the song in your mind and your heart and allow the music to flow through your veins.

It all comes back to you, Taehyun thinks as your fingers waltz and whirl across the keys, dance in enchanting patterns of black and white. From him, to you, back to him and then to you again—in manège, arabesques and jetés leaping about the stage, coming away from the center only to reach it again the way everything always returns to you. Your voice, your music, always there. Always constant. Pulling him back to earth when he threatens to topple over the edge, never once wavering in your strength or patience even when you see the worst parts of him over and over.

He's sitting down by the time you stop playing, fingers gentle yet unyielding against the piano, coaxing a last, wavering echo from its depths before your hands rise, suspended in the air, then fall to your lap. When you look up, the fluorescent studio lights seem to burn your figure into his vision, like the afterimage of a lightning strike behind his eyes. "That was beautiful," he says, and he means it in more ways than one.

And you accept the praise in more ways than one, in the smile on your lips, in the twinkle in your eyes, in the moment where you sit down next to him, back against the wall, and let him lean his sweaty head on your shoulder with no complaint about how gross it must feel. "Thank you," you say, and when you do, the melody racing through his veins finally calms.

It's almost ten, now, the clock still ticking away on the wall. But you make no move to get up and neither does Taehyun, even when you murmur "Home?" in a voice that only makes him lean further into you, even when he makes a noise of agreement in the back of his throat. In the end, it takes nearly twenty minutes for you to finally pat his knee and say get up, Taehyun. And then he disappears to change and wash up and collect his things, and maybe in the shower he can feel himself beginning to fade away again, but then you're standing right outside the locker room and when he slips his hand into yours, he comes back to earth. Manège. Circling you, always. Leaving. Returning. Orbiting. Joining.

Music dancing through his blood and yours, a song that he will always be able to follow back home.

Reblogs and comments are deeply appreciated! Hope you enjoyed this, and have a lovely day :)

[rikiflowers]

glitter

you're sparkling and he wants to paint the sight into his memory forever.

warnings: smut with feelings and angst <3

wordcount: 4492

i listened to 'i'm the one' by bloo on repeat while writing

Ichigo Kurosaki endures a lot before he brings up something that bothers him. Most of the time he makes it out inside himself and then at some point the feeling is buried deep inside him. Speaking openly about his feelings? Difficult for him, but it has always worked well so far until now.  The stressed and overtired college student feels his nerves slowly running out. The reason for this is simple: you.

When his problem with you began, Ichigo himself didn't know exactly. Maybe it had always been there and slowly dug itself from his subconscious into his consciousness. Couldn't it have stayed there, he wonders as he sits at the table and stares at your back, his eyes glued to your ass for far too long, which is barely covered because you're just bending down to dig the beer out of the bottom compartment. "We definitely need another fridge just for all the beer... with a lock so that you keep your hands off my bottles," you complain to yourself, while the clatter of bottles against each other is not nearly as loud as your complaining. God, Ichigo feels the need to push you onto the kitchen table and elicit something from you other than just your whining. Ichigo just grumbles, and sips his (your) beer while he examines the beautiful curves on your body. The orange-haired man doesn't like stress. No loud grumbling and no one to reprimand him. But you, as his roommate, has a special status.

"You just got home... Can you perhaps sit down first?"

"May I put away the shopping first, Ichigo? Unlike others here, I make sure that there is something edible in the fridge." Your tone is irritable. He concludes that you've had a bad day (Ichigo is clearly an empath to notice this).

"You're just pretending I'm never going shopping... How exhausting," he murmurs more to himself, but louder than intended, which is why you turn around and look at him furiously. Immediately he recognizes the tears that almost escape your eyes. "Fuck you Ichigo."

"I didn't mean it that way," he explains clumsily, as he has never seen you cry before. This is a premiere that Ichigo did not want to experience. His heart contracts uncomfortably at the sight. "I'm sorry..." A bit overwhelmed by the situation, he tries to comfort you. He comes towards you, but you take a step back, the tears already running. Fuck. Otherwise, you always have a counter-slogan in store that you throw at him. You suddenly seem much too small, almost fragile, and Ichigo feels the need to hug you. But you don't let him, running into your room and slam the door behind you. His heart literally slips into his pants as he reviews this short scene. Did he do anything differently than usual? Fuck. He has no clue. Would you like him to knock on your door? Otherwise, you are more and more on your own. Maybe it would make it worse if he imposed himself on you. His head hurts when he thinks about the possibility that he somehow messed up, without really knowing what he did.

…

"Dude... Why are you in such a bad mood?" Renji's question brings Ichigo back to the present. The loud bass booms in his ears, while next to him a woman runs her fingers over his thigh. He forgot her name, which didn't interest him in the first place. The redhead next to him has put his arm around a beautiful woman while he looks at him questioningly. "I'm just not in the mood, Renji..."  Ichigo pulls the woman's hand away and mumbles only a short 'Sorry'. The woman does not take this very well, gets up, and struts away. He doesn’t care. "Your roommate, huh?"

The orange-haired man looks at him in surprise. "How do you know that?"

"Ichigo... every blind person sees that you want her and not just for a quick fuck," says the older one bored. "Out of respect for you, I didn't try anything with her."

"What a true friend you are," grumbles the younger one, taking the next sip of his whiskey. "But if you want to share her with me... I have absolutely nothing against it"

"To do this, I first have to dare to take the first step"

Renji's gaze wanders behind Ichigo and widens slightly. "I think today is your lucky day"

"Why?"

"I just saw her on the back of the dance floor," Renji replies with a grin. Faster than his brain can process, Ichigo’s body jumps up, almost dragging the table with it. He lets Renji sit alone, who will be busy with something better anyway. His absence won't hurt him too much. He has to come to you. He can't stand being ignored by you. With a racing heart, he makes his way through the crowd to you. He accidentally bumps into people, and apologizes quickly without giving it another thought. The alcohol in his system makes him take off, he is so excited to see you here.

And indeed. There you are on the dance floor, moving weightlessly to the music he doesn't like, but through your dancing he would hear it all the time, just for you to dance to it. His heart jumps as he bridges the distance to you. You have your eyes closed while your girlfriend sees him and grimaces briefly and taps you. You look at her questioningly before she points at him. You’re seeing him now, your face glittering because of your make-up and the strobe light mixing together. You seem like angels to him right now. Your eyes get big. "Ichigo?"

"Hi...", he replies a bit overwhelmed. He stands in front of you and can't get a word out, even though he wants to say so much. What has changed so suddenly? Why does he hesitate when he hasn't minced his words with you? Maybe the heavy palpitations in his chest remind him how much he actually likes you and he never really wanted to admit it to himself.

"Your roommate?" your girlfriend says disparagingly. Ichigo doesn't like the sound at all, but you don't care about your girlfriend. You take care of him. Far too much. "Can we talk?"

"I want to dance-"

"Then dance with me," he adds immediately. He is not so easily rebuffed. The orange-haired man has made a decision. You look at him with your shining eyes, seem to be looking for a retreat from his side. Ichigo looks down at you and holds out his hand to you. It seems like an eternity passes when you reach for it. His hand tingles as he clasps yours tightly and he is sure that if it wasn't so dark, you would have been able to see his glowing ears. You signal to your girlfriend that you are going with him and he turns to you questioningly. "We're here with her boyfriend. I was the fifth wheel on the car until just now," you laugh embarrassed. The alcohol apparently makes you talk to him so normally, because earlier you ran into your room in tears. This sight still lies heavy in his heart.

"Is everything okay with you?"

His question is drowned out by the loud music, so you just answer him with a 'huh?' and pull him down to you by the neck. The sudden contact of your hand causes him to tingle violently. Your lips brush against his cheek, which almost makes him lose his composure.

"I asked if you're okay?"

"Why shouldn't it?" Your eyes. Ichigo literally loses himself in them. Have they always glowed so strongly? Had he been blind all the last few years and now sees for the first time?

"Are you sure?" You just shrug your shoulders. "Didn't you want to dance with me?" Your body leans against his upper body, deliberately distracting you. It works.

"Yes, that's what I wanted...", he breathes out. He puts his arm around you, shielding you from the people around you who might get too close to you. Your fingers claw into his biceps, holding on to the orange-haired man as he pulls you towards him. Your body presses against his, and you enjoy its closeness, which you have always wanted so painfully. You don't want to think about it now but enjoy what's in front of you right now. Your arms wrap around Ichigo's shoulders as he puts his hands on your hip and guides you. He doesn't need to guide you, because you move with him to the rhythm of the music as if by yourself. It's been a long time since you've danced with him, so you want to enjoy this moment between you.

You can hardly take your eyes off him. The light makes his hair shimmer, while his lips shine seductively. It's an ordeal and you wonder if he might feel the same way. Has he ever thought about you the way you think about him?

At this moment, the closeness to you is not close enough for you. You want more. So much more. The alcohol goes completely to your head at this moment as you claw your fingers into the hairs on the back of his neck and pull him towards you. Ichigo's hands automatically move to your cheeks, and the heat is immediately transferred to you. Apparently, he expected you to draw him to you. "Ichigo...", you whisper his name. Your lips open slightly, want to ask him; finally want to bridge this agonizing distance. The orange-haired man beats you to it. "Please..."

At the same time, lips crash into each other that should have been found long ago. As if kissing him was the last piece of the puzzle, your nerve endings explode. In the mass of the celebrating crowd he will go down with you. teeth to teeth; your affection presses between his lips while he comes towards you. Desperately, you cling to each other as you devour each other mercilessly. Your head is screaming to have your fingers on every little spot of its body, but you're just content with its hair, which you're allowed to touch with your fingertips. You are in heaven. Ichigo bites your lower lip lightly, which makes you groan, only to be swallowed by him with his kisses. Breathless, you separate from each other when you have been accidentally bumped into by someone. You look at each other with glazed eyes. His hand is still on your hip.

"I-"

You both want to talk at once. A smile creeps onto your lips, which Ichigo reciprocates.

"To me or to you?" grins the orange-haired man and you playfully slap him on the arm. "We can still decide that on the spot."

You leave the club together, of course not without telling your friend quickly, even though she is probably busy with her boyfriend. The cool air hits your bare skin so that all the hairs immediately stand up. Ichigo is quick to notice this, puts on his leather jacket, which smells far too much like him. How can you not fall upon him at once? "Thank you..."

He smiles at you. That damn smile. You get dizzy in a good way. "I called us an Uber. It’s on its way..." Ichigo pushes you close to him and gives you even more warmth. But it triggers much more in you. You're wet. Unspeakably damp. Your thighs rub against each other, which doesn't escape the orange-haired guy either. He has to hold back his excitement about it. It all happened for him as if in a frenzy. He can hardly believe that he is now really on his way home with you to push you into the mattress and elicit the most beautiful sounds from you.

Reality hits you in one fell swoop. You're about to sleep with him. Years of suppressed feelings soon reach their climax and it is up to him whether he wants to go further than that. You get scared. What if it's going to be a mistake? What if everything falls apart after that?

"Hey... Look at me."

You raise your gaze, look into his warm eyes. "What are you thinking about?" He must have seen your look, otherwise he wouldn't ask so worriedly.

"I'm afraid of what happens afterward," you confess honestly, which makes him nod in understanding. "What happens after that is up to you. No stress... We don't have to if you decide otherwise..."

You interrupt him and press a gentle kiss on his cheek. "I want it." You feel Ichigo's hand on your cheek and as you pull away from him, you see the warm smile on the orange-haired man's lips. You recognize the glitter on his cheek, stroking the particles. "You’re glittering," you laugh brightly, while Ichigo just grins. It doesn't bother him that you gave him some of your glitter. If it were up to him, you could cover him with all your glitter. The main thing is that it's yours. A strange thought that is not so strange for him.

"Give me more of it," he demands, reaching for your face to press it against his. You giggle as Ichigo's cheeks are pressed against your sparkling cheeks one by one.

When he is done with his work, he stands proudly next to you. "And?"

"Beautiful... Glitter looks a little too good on you" And you mean it. The light of the street lamp shines on his face, which makes the particles shine. Edward Cullen would be jealous if he could see Ichigo now.

"our Uber is here," Ichigo interrupts your train of thought as you walk towards the arriving car. The orange-haired man holds you by the hand so that you can sit carefully in it. His body presses itself next to you. You lean up to him while you block out the fact that the orange-haired man is involved in a conversation with the Uber driver. Your head rests on his shoulder, causing Ichigo to flinch briefly as your hair tickles his neck. His arm immediately wraps around your shoulders and moves you slightly closer to him. His smell swings around your nose, making it even worse for you not to imagine the most indecent pictures. In addition, his fingers stroke the bare skin of your waist absentmindedly, drawing circles so that you get goosebumps. Your body leans further into it so that it looks down at you and smiles softly at you, unperturbed as you feel everything gather in the middle. Doesn't he notice how aroused you are right now?

The Uber ride drags on agonizingly slowly until you finally recognize your apartment complex and thank God for your perseverance. Ichigo insists on paying for the ride when you reach for your wallet and you let him.  You feel the tingling on your skin as he gently reaches for your hand and clasps it tightly with his. You smile at him while you are once again speechless about the fact that he lights up in the light of the street lamps. You follow him like a moth follows the light, even if you burn yourself for good.

"Are you tired?"

"Do I look tired?" you reply questioningly as he has to let go of your hand for a moment to dig the key out of his pocket. "It's been a long night for you and I don't want you to get overtired-"

"Ichigo... I want to sleep with you. Forgotten?"

Your question makes the older one pause. "I've forgotten how direct you can be." You can see the red glow on his cheeks as he unlocks the door.

"Do you know it any other way?" You grin cheekily at him when you hear a mock sigh in response. In the hallway, you are suddenly pressed against the nearest wall. Ichigo presses his hip against yours, so you can feel his dick all too clearly against your clothed pussy. A gasp escapes you, swallowed by Ichigo's lips. Your hands reach into his neck, pulling him even closer to you. God, how much you've always wanted this. All the years you've been longing for him.

"Fuck, Ichigo... we have to go upstairs," you mumble against his lips as he reaches under your butt with his hand and lifts you onto his arms. "I hope we don't fall down the stairs now because you misjudged your strength"

"You're just a flyweight to me," he just replies, kissing your chin as he carries you up the stairs. You giggle to yourself while the orange-haired man shows zero struggle. Hot.

Once at the top, he finally lets you down. Together you literally rush into the apartment and fall into each other's arms. The door slams shut and your arms wrap around his body. Like a starving woman, you devour his lips, your tongue enters his mouth, which he opens so willingly. Ichigo growls into your mouth, his tongue pressing against yours. "Ichigo... Bed," you breathe against his lips. He nods willingly, grabs you by the wrist and literally pulls you with him into his room. You're rarely in his room and you've never sat on his bed. With ease you let him press you onto the mattress. He stands in front of you, looks down at you with his beautiful brown eyes. "Am I dreaming?"

You grin at his question. "I hope we both aren't dreaming," you reply as you watch Ichigo undress. "Do you know how long I've wanted to do this?"

"How long?" he replies roughly.

"Ever since I've known you... all the time you brought women into our apartment" Ichigo groans when you're finally honest. "Why didn't you ever say anything?"

You just shrug your shoulders, pulling the annoying top over your shoulders and now sit in front of him in a bra. Ichigo kneels in front of you, and helps you take off your skirt. His fingers stroke your thighs before he takes your leg, giving it tender kisses. "I always thought you only saw me as a friend. I had to distract myself with all these women because I knew you were next door and I couldn't have you..."

Your heart beats faster as you watch him cover your legs with kisses and finally drop the piece of cloth to the floor. "The thought of how jealous you were makes me happier than it should..." whispers the orange-haired man, grabbing the flesh of your thighs and pulling you towards him all at once. Then I don't even want to know how you felt when I brought someone with me."

He groans annoyed. "Don't remind me of that idiot... I was beyond jealous because he wasn't good enough for you."

"And you're better?"

He grins, grasps your pussy with his hand. You hiss in surprise. "You'll see that on your own"

And he will be right. His fingers push the piece of fabric to the side and press into your wetness. A gasp escapes you as he sinks another finger into you. "Fuck... You're so wet"

You only agree with him cautiously, as his fingers hit the exact point that sends lightning through your body. "Ichigo..." you exclaim as he runs his thumbs over your clitoris, starting to grin as he hits exactly the right points with you. I want to lick you... May I?"

"Oh god, please" He laughs brightly because you answered him way too quickly and euphorically. The orange-haired man bends your legs and pushes you back again. But you lean on your elbow because you want to watch. He grins, continuing his action. Finally he pulls down your panties and throws them to your skirt. Ichigo bends down, kisses your vulva before he spreads your lips and dips his tongue directly into it. The muscle hits every corner of your pussy. You reach into his soft hair, pushing him even deeper, which hardly seems to bother him. He literally slurps you out, buzzes against your pussy so that this tingling sensation travels directly to your clitoris. "Ichigo... so good...", you blurt out between high-pitched moans, which spurs him on to suck on your bundle of nerves. Reflexively, your body tries to close your legs, but Ichigo grabs your thighs, holding them in place. You rub your pussy against his face, which makes Ichigo moan against your wetness. He inserts one finger into you for support, before the second follows to bring you over the threshold. God, it seems like the first time a man has put so much effort into making you come. Your fingers are literally pulling on his hair, looking for a balancing regulation, as Ichigo's head between your legs literally makes you lose the ground under your feet.

Tirelessly, his fingers thrust into you, rubbing over the spongy point. Your orgasm suddenly sloshes over you like a raging torrent. Everything in you clenches around his fingers as you come with his name on your lips. Ichigo holds your trembling leg firmly in his hand as he continues to slowly move his fingers inside you to guide you through your climax. When you turn your gaze back to him, you see him literally piercing you with his gaze. Apparently, he was watching you the whole time.

Breathless, you pull him towards you, and see his half grin as he pulls his fingers out of you. Ichigo supports himself next to you and grabs your cheek. Your breath is still irregular as you look at it with lustful eyes. Your hand reaches for his hand before you bring it to your lips and kiss the back of his hand. Ichigo doesn't let you out of his sight. You bring his fingers, which were just inside you, to your lips. You put them in your mouth and suck on them, tasting yourself. You hear a deep moan from the orange-haired man's lips, and feel his fingers twitch in your mouth as your tongue dances around the long fingers.

Ichigo grabs the back of your head, pulls you towards him with it. "Are you trying to drive me mad for good?" You grin against his lips before you kiss him passionately, straining his lower lip between your teeth. Ichigo growls, his fingers grabbing your ass. "I need to feel you, baby..." he whispers against your maltreated lips. You nod, reach for his dick in his boxer shorts. You can hardly embrace it, it is so big. No wonder why the women kept the whole house awake with their moans. Now you can experience it for yourself. "If you don't stop, I'll come in your hand...", he manages to exert himself, carefully pulls out your hand; Forehead to forehead as your breaths blend. "I have to feel you..."

"How could I say no?" you whisper back. "How do you want me?"

"On your back. I have to see your eyes when you come back."

"Kinky..." you smile, but his gaze is suddenly strangely serious.

"That's what happens when you're in love..."

Before you can answer properly, he pushes you down on the mattress. Your mind races as you look up at him. Ichigo shouldn't have said that. His lips were quicker to spit out the words than his head could have registered. "Ichigo... I dare you, if you back down now. We can talk about that afterward," you assure him, lasciviously spreading your legs to invite him. "Come here"

Ichigo doesn't need to be told twice. That's how long he's dreamed of it. If it falls apart after that, then at least he knows that it won't work out. He only wants to live in the feeling once.

And so he turns off his brain as you wrap your legs around his waist and he slowly sinks into you with a fluid movement. He can penetrate with ease because you are incredibly moist, which he clearly feels in you. It demands all his self-control not to lose himself completely. "Ichigo...", you moan stretched out as you feel him inside you. Your fingers claw into his shoulder as he growls your name against the crook of your neck. Ichigo's face tenses as he starts to move inside you. You press your lips back to his. Teeth crash into each other as you explore your oral cavities slowly and lasciviously. Ichigo's thrusts are deep and sharp, pressing you against the headboard again and again, which the orange-haired man prevents with his hand on your head. "You feel so good..." , he groans, snapping your pussy apart with his harsh thrusts. He nearly pulls himself out completely to thrust long strokes into you, making you a mess under him. “I always wanted you…so pretty under me”

You just answer with whimpers, attacking his neck with wet kisses.

It bubbles many sweet things against your lips that you swallow again and again. Sweat covers your body as you thrust your hips against his in rhythm. "Fuck... I don't last long... I'm sorry"

"It's okay... I want you to come," you breathe panting, literally scratching his back. "You're killing me..."  His fingers wander between your legs, stroke your clit. With skillful movements, he manages to bring you to a second orgasm in such a short time. "Look at me," he snaps at and just at that moment you manage to look at him when the climax breaks over you and you just manage to keep your eyes open before Ichigo pulls out of you and he squirts his warm orgasm onto your belly. Breathless, you look at each other, completely overwhelmed by the effects of orgasm.

"Oh fuck wait..." he mumbles as he realizes that his cum is running down you. He rummages around in his closet drawer while you try to process what just happened. You have finally slept together. It happened.

Ichigo pulls a few tissues out of the package he just fished out and begins to gently wipe your belly. A gentle gesture that will make butterflies flutter in your stomach. "Ichigo..."

"Yes?"

When he's done, he puts it on the cupboard next to it. "Was that serious earlier?"

Embarrassed, he looks at the crumpled bed linen. "Yes... Does that change anything now?" His voice trembles as he asks this. It makes your heart beat faster.

"Yes, our relationship status."

"Huh?"

You laugh. He looks at you like an embarrassed deer. "Do we want to continue to be just friends and roommates or upgrade to boyfriend and girlfriend?" you continue, waiting for his answer.

A happy smile adorns his lips, which perfectly match his shining eyes. "I'd rather take the second one...", he replies, moves closer to you and lovingly brushes the sweaty strands of hair out of your face. There's glitter all over my bed..." he whispers against your lips while you just grin crookedly, give him a butterfly kiss on the nose. "Then you should look at yourself in the mirror right away..."

[oneforthemunny]

for the blurb game:

modern!eddie, cartoons, fluff

ok starting off the day with this blurb!! modern!eddie the neglected, this one is for you pookie <3 this also is centered around the fact that he definitely watched so much cartoon network growing up and that's a fact.

"You know what they should do?" Eddie's chest rumbled, your cheek pressed against the soft cotton of his shirt.

You hummed lazily, a little spacey from the weed you'd smoked, a little cuddlier than you usually were. Sweeter and softer when you'd smoke, when you relaxed and eased into the affection Eddie was always so generous with.

"They should do like a Disney Plus but for Cartoon Network." Eddie tipped his chin down towards you. You'd felt nostalgic that day, and when Eddie mentioned he'd never watched Hannah Montana, you insisted you two had to have a couch date.

You moved, looking up at him. "Yeah. That would be so cool. I used to watch Chowder all the time. I think it's on Max, though."

"Yeah, but they don't have everything." Eddie shook his head lightly. "Wait. You watched Chowder?"

Your brows furrowed lightly. "Yeah. You didn't?"

"No, I mean, yeah I did. Just didn't take you for a Chowder typa girl." Eddie grinned playfully. "Thought you'd be more into The Power Puff Girls or somethin'."

"Wowww," You groaned sarcastically, looking at him fully. "Little bit sexist of you."

"No," Eddie's eyes widened slightly. "I didn't- I meant because you're kinda like Buttercup so I just figured-"

You rolled your eyes at his stammering, softly smacking his chest. "Let me guess, your favorite was Ed, Edd, and Eddy." Eddie's lips curled in a boyish grin, eyes lighting at your teasing.

"Of course, it was." You scoffed with a small giggle. "So predictable."

"Hey, ok, I liked Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends too." Eddie laughed. "I liked Bloo, he was fucking hilarious. And the basketball one. Shit, do they have that on somewhere? We gotta watch that next."

Your lips pulled in a smile you tried to keep down. "That was a good one." You hummed, settling back into Eddie's chest. "I liked Coco a lot."

Eddie snorted in laughter. "Now who's the predictable one?" He snickered, giggling at your feigned shocked hurt. "The batshit crazy bird was your favorite? I would have never guessed." He teased sarcastically, hand sliding down to your waist, squeezing your side playfully.

[lyricalt]

[tf2 minific] hindsight / foresight (interlude)

sniperspy - rating: G - aftermath of hindsight, please read first.

Note: I've had these parts done for a while. Actually finished these before ever finishing hindsight, haha. They don't really go into the next bit either so up they go here. A little bit of closure. Thanks for reading!

+++

Spy pops out dead in Sniper’s arms. Sniper stumbles under the thrown weight and falls flat on his back. He clutches Spy’s corpse, the breath knocked out of him, and blinks as the teleporter goes dark again. When Sniper sits up, he sees that Spy’s got a hole in the middle of his forehead—from a bullet he’s fired three years ago that he doesn’t remember ever shooting. 

Also, Spy’s maskless. Not that he’s recognizable from eating whatever high caliber bullet that went through him. Still, Sniper puts a hand over the mangled face, covering it. 

Behind him, the rest of the team explodes in various sighs of relief.

“Thank fuck.” 

“Woah,” Scout says, peering over his shoulder before ducking away in surprise. “Why’s he got his mask off?”

“His head’s shot through,” Medic observes with a critical eye. “Too messy. I prefer the look of your headshots. At least there will be brain matter left.”

Sniper huffs. Somewhere between a sigh and a laugh.

Engineer clears his throat. “He oughta be popping into respawn soon.”

The rest of the team take off, leaving Sniper sitting in the desert dust with a dead body cradled in his lap.

The blood’s gone all tacky already, but Sniper still tries to card his fingers through the hair, since he rarely gets to do it. He’ll take what he can get.

“Huh,” he says. He sits back, winding tension in him finally releasing as Spy’s corpse starts shuttering away, like a roll of film about to run out. 

Sniper takes one last look at the face. Not one of Spy’s best looks, unfortunately. But…

It isn’t until Spy’s body disappears completely that Sniper lets out a quiet laugh.

“Guess this makes it three times now.”

+++

Spy stumbles out of respawn, relieved that his stupid plan worked and he assumes he’s back in the present time. He’s respawned without his mask though. That’s a little worrying, but luckily he’s got a spare in his locker. 

Engineer is the first person to greet him, peeking into the room. “Spy?”

“I’m afraid so.” Spy sticks his head in the locker so that Engineer doesn’t see. He pulls the spare mask on, not particularly caring if it’s skewed or his hair is poking out from the holes. He takes a look at the calendar at the wall and, most importantly, the year. “Yes. The correct old weary age, even.”

Engineer blows out a relieved sigh. “That was a close one, partner. Wasn’t sure if my formulas were right.”

“You could have not said that, and I promise you I would’ve been fine not knowing. But thank you.”

It isn’t long before the rest of the team blunders through, hearing Engineer talking. Heavy crushes him in a hug. Medic complains about not being able to dissect his brain (for why, he doesn’t know). Spy even lowers his pride a smidge to give Scout a high five. It’s a little nice, knowing he’s been missed. Missed, on various levels and definitions. 

From over Demoman’s shoulder, Spy sees Sniper hanging by the door. Hysterically, it looks like he hasn’t gotten much sleep. Spy smirks. When Sniper gives a small wave, his hand is covered with dried blood. Spy can take a few guesses as to how that happened—one them being Sniper might’ve murdered his younger self in a fit of rage. The other guess… Spy can imagine that scenario as well.

Later, when Spy manages to finally escape everyone’s attention, he finds the one he really wants in the hallway, waiting for him.

They’re alone, in a not quite private part of the base, but Spy stops in front of Sniper anyway.

“I believe I was a fucking bastard, wasn’t I?” He laughs, quietly.

It speaks a lot to the waiting when Sniper puts his head down, resting his forehead on Spy’s shoulder. One hand clings onto the end of Spy’s sleeve. 

“Yeah, you were bloody appalling,” Sniper says, muffled. “Knew you’d be, though.”

Spy can only imagine. Kicking and screaming the entire way to self realization, no doubt. He wonders if he should recall anything from this moment, but his memories seem intact. He doesn’t remember any time traveling he’d done three years past. It’s probably for the better. He’d probably want to wring his own stupid neck. 

Spy nudges Sniper’s head from his shoulder. Sniper straightens, his crumpled expression vanishing the moment he looks up, and Spy touches his face to hold it there. 

“I’ll make it up to you,” Spy says, peering at Sniper’s face. Tired eyes, mouth set a little too stoically. There’s a sliver of worry in Spy; he is fully aware that he can be quite the cruel person. Now. Then. And will continue to be, likely. “If possible.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt you would,” Sniper says with a small smile. He puts his head down on Spy’s shoulder again, and this time Spy doesn’t stop him. “We’ve got time.”

[flannygal]

Something that I have begun to notice is that I really, and I mean, REALLY like most of the antagonists of Foster's Home. But I especially adore Duchess, Terrence, and of course, Berry.

Starting off with Berry, I find it interesting how she puts on this fake polite facade.

When she first enters the foster's house, She kindly greets Frankie and insists that she could carry her luggage herself.

Then she lays her eyes on Bloo for the first time and is absolutely obsessed with him. She does anything she could do to win his heart. Even if that means murdering his best friend Mac.

And once she realizes Mac is here to stay and Bloo is out of her reach, the mask slips off. She throws a hissy fit on how it's not fair and that she's the "sweetest" And then rants about how she stayed "in this stupid house with these stupid people", revealing that she only cared about Bloo and was just putting on a fake friendly additude.

I find Berry revealing her true additude and intentions so fascinating. It really shows how two-faced she is.

Plus, Her design and voice super cute.

Alright, now we're gonna move on to Duchess.

Duchess was revealed when Frankie was getting a call on the phone of the Foster Home. In hindsight, she just seemed like a snobbish nagging woman, but it turns out everyone in the house agrees that she's an absolute nuisance to be around. Even Mr Herriman agrees.

Frankie and the imaginary friends can't stand her to the point where they pray that she gets adopted by somebody.

The time when she got rejected by the "snooty girl" in favor of Bloo, He became her biggest enemy.

This led her to make a plan to feed Bloo to an extremasaur with some help from Terrence.

Even Duchess herself is aware of how unpleasant she is. In the episode "Duchess of Wails", she insults multiple family's that try to adopt her, resulting in them rejecting her instead.

Until a certain family that is oblivious to her contempt with them happily accepts her with open arms where even SHE is surprised. Now she loudly complains and screams to the point where Mac's family can hear her.

What I mainly love about Duchess is how much of a condescending nag she is. And how much she complains.

Another thing I like is how she's based on an abstract painting. I feel like this symbolizes how she believes that she's a piece of art.

One thing I like about her as an antagonist is how she's willing to kill Bloo over a petty thing that he had no control over. Which was getting adopted.

Lastly, we will talk about Terrence. He is the brother of Mac and his bully. He is also the first antagonist to appear in the show.

He hates Mac and Bloo to a ridiculous extent. Especially Bloo, to the point where he was willing to join forces with Duchess to try and kill him.

Whenever his and Mac's mother finds out something went wrong in their house. Terrence tries to put the blame on Mac and Bloo in hopes that his mother lets him off scott free. And this often doesn't work, and his mother doesn't buy what he may be saying.

We don't really know why exactly he treats Mac so badly. Especially considering that he's his older brother.

We also don't know why he is filled to the brim with hatred for Bloo. Even creating an imaginary friend with the sole purpose of beating on Bloo.

As cruell and nasty as he could be to Mac and Bloo, He's way too funny for me to dislike.

One thing that I like about him is how he watches one of dramatic romance shows in secret.

He also has a charming design. Dude has that plaid coat ON.

And I absolutely love how he looks incredibly different compared to Mac even though he's actually his brother.

And that's my little talk on what I like about these three villains!

However, I think Berry is the one I'm infatuated with the most. This infatuation made my talk on her the easiest one to write down.

Berry vs Duchess and Terrence as antagonists

Bonus Crappost: All Hail Terrence.

[bloofusqkazoo]

tbh I'm not that worried for the Fosters reboot

I heard that Craig McCracken is working on the reboot. In my eyes, having the OG creator return for a reboot/spinoff is generally a good sign

I also heard Bloo is going to keep his OG personality, which could make for some pretty funny situations, especially considering some of the new characters seem to be younger-minded friends

I also heard Cheese is returning too!

Oh yeah! I totally agree, and I have faith in Craig 1000%! I know he’ll make an amazing show, and I cannot wait to see Bloo again!

But there’s always that little bit of ‘modernization’ sprinkled into reboots or spinoffs nowadays that totally take away from the simplicity and nostalgia of the originals from early 2000s. Ex: cell phone, iPads, weird lingo etc. I also fear that some canon points may also be changed to fit with the spinoff, which would suck too.

The thing that keeps me holding onto hope is this clip lmao:

Basically, I’m just going to be bummed about the nostalgia being merged with the modern day. Knowing that it would no longer be the universe frozen in time to when I was a child and enjoyed the show. I ate, slept, and breathed this show as a kid, haha. So, I’m just a little nervous. However, I’m beyond excited, and it has the potential to be put on the same level as the original, especially if they manage to make Bloo less hated.

Blooregard has been my comfort character for I don’t even know how many years now. The unnecessary hate he receives is disheartening. He’s just a silly little guy. He’s the comic relief. I never see anything he’s done as intentional malice. It’s a comedy show. For Bloo to be redeemed in a way where he becomes a decent mentor — aside from his screwups— would make me happy as well. Personally, I don’t believe Bloo was ever an actual ‘jerk’, but for those who do, I feel this would be the perfect opportunity to prove them wrong.

[teafangirl]

Greetings, I made my first reader X fan fic! This one’s for Dead Boy Detectives, my friend @sis-goleona inspired me to try making one she also inspired the story, I give her credit! This story takes place, between, episodes 6,7 and 8.

Anyway this is

(Picture is from google)

Reader X Edwin Payne

Chapter one — your savior

Enjoy!☕️😌

"”””””””””””””””””””””””

It was a while after teeth face, the huge mushroom that Ester Finch had planted over a few hours ago, with the intention to kill or fully kill the Ghost boys Edwin and Charles. However, after Cat king had quite literally spoiled Esters plan by telling Edwin all about who Monty really was, that ended with Ester ripping Monty back into a crow. Charles and Crystal meanwhile faced off with David, the demon who had been haunting crystal for a while. At this time Edwin had just told the Cat King to piss off basically. Edwin had spent over 70 years in the worst place ever, that being hell, so he knew a thing or two about getting killed over and over. That however did not mean He couldn't get scared, Edwin did indeed have Post Traumatic Stress disorder (PTSD) and he was indeed scared when him and Charles were about to be sucked into the toothy mouth of the big mushroom. While Esther had a fight with crystal. Who ended up saving the both of them with her powers, the last they saw of the witch was when she got pulled right into that mushroom as it went back into the ground.

While everyone took a breath, Edwin felt quite odd to say the least, he looked at the spot where the mushroom disappeared, took a step closer, he wasn't paying attention earlier. Now he could hear some kind of screaming. He stepped back and looked at Charles, who looked back.

“You ok mate, “He said as he, gestured for Edwin to come away from that spot in fear the mushroom might somehow take his best mate. Edwin looked back at the spot, not moving closer or away, as he looked at Charles and crystal. “I am fine, do you hear that?” Charles walks over and lesions both him and Edwin, kneeling down, the screaming doesn't sound like Easter it sounds way too young. It sounded as if, whoever it was, was being devoured and killed over and over. Charles looks at Edwin and rests a hand on his shoulder as he speaks,

“whatever is down there is probably long dead by now mate, come on, me and crystal are going back to jennies.” he proclaimed as he stood up alongside Edwin who went with them, but he still felt odd, but he knew Charles was right. This realization however did not stop him from leaving a mirror behind laying against a tree. However, Edwin was only able to return to the spot the next night, as he had gotten dragged to hell by a demon the previous day when they returned from the forest. While in hell, he had confessed his love for Charles, who didn't seem to reciprocate his feelings. Added to that, in the back of his mind, he couldn't stop thinking about those screams he heard.

The first chance he got the fallowing night, he took Charles's bag of tricks, and jumped back through a mirror. Soon he came out right where he wanted to be, he was content to solve this little mystery he had uncovered. Edwin was shaking, he knew how dangerous this was as he stepped closer to the spot the mushroom once was. “Why am I doing this, Charles will be flustered at me…” he thought as he knelt down, not trying to somehow wake the mushroom. He put his hands in the moist dirt and started digging, pulling one big handful of dirt after another. Ghosts didn't need to eat nor sleep, they also didn't really get tired, even tho Charles often said otherwise. After a few hours, he reached what looked to be a hole, he looked down it careful not to fall in, it was dark, but there was some light mostly coming from the big mushroom who looked to be asleep. Out of the corner of his eye he saw just out of the reach of the mushroom's light was a body laying on the ground it wasn't Esther, it looked way too young like Edwin's age.

The body had blood surrounding it, he could not see its features or anything, but he felt an urge to save the person. Perhaps they reminded him of himself, when he was in hell, when he died over and over. He felt a tear slip pass his in control persona he always had up. Quickly grabbing the bag of tricks, Edwin pulled out a long rope, quickly tied it to a big tree, put on the backpack and nervously jumped into the hole.

Once he landed on the ground, still shaking, he slowly moved to the body, keeping a hold of the long rope as he came closer. He often looked at the mushroom making sure it did not wake, once he made it to the body he saw it was a ghost like him, he thought this ghost was Rather gorgeous and vary injured. He snapped himself out of wandering when the big mushroom opened its mouth, dragging some other body, blood and organs splashed out as its mouth closed.

“Why can't I control myself today, I should get out of here before it goes to eat this ghost or worse… Eats me!” Edwin swiftly gets reader into the bag of tricks and doges one of the mushroom's tentacles as he makes his way out of the hole. Once out the dirt quickly starts felling the hole again, Edwin gets himself and the bag a good ways away from the hole, and he starts breathing and panting, not believing what he's just done. He lets reader slide out of the bag and onto the grass of the forest, and takes a better look at them, they are definitely injured they were wearing dirty clothes stained with blood and something else. He's glad about what he's done. When reader wakes, he hopes they will be to. Edwin sits by a tree close to where reader is laying, he waits, he can't seem to stop looking at them, checking that they are ok. At some point a cat wanders over and lies on Edwin's lap, he doesn't mind seeing as it's not the cat king

“””"”””””””

☕️would u want a part two to this ?

I would love to hear any suggestions you have? Have a great day! Lastly if u guys have any ideas for titles feel free to share!

[jowrites]

We got Married - 1. Pick your Partner

Masterlist Here.

Prev. Next.

TW: Cursing, stalkers(sasaengs), sexual themes, more to follow

Taglist: @lisaswifey

Heeseung sat in the green room watching the clock run down. His leg was shaking which was a sign of just how nervous he was. The longer he waited, the more nerves seemed to hit him. He had no interest in doing this show, but his manager convinced him it was a great opportunity to promote their group and show a different side of him so he reluctantly agreed. Now that he’s here, he just wanted to go home. 

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door and he turned and looked as it opened revealing Jeon Jungkook of BTS. Heeseung quickly stood up, eyes wide and bowed respectfully at his senior who walked in and smiled at him. Jungkook came in and embraced Heeseung and helped Heeseung release some of the nerves. He had no idea Jungkook was also partaking in the show.

“Ah, don’t be so nervous, you’ll do great. The girls won’t bite…hard, hopefully,” Jungkook said.

“Do you know who it is?” Heeseung asked.

“I know 1, but when I heard you were here I had to come and greet you. She’s someone I’m close with,” Jungkook explained.

“Ah, okay. She won’t eat me alive, will she?” Heeseung asked.

“If you don’t let her,” Jungkook shrugged.

Heeseung didn’t know what he meant by that and just raised an eyebrow at him. The two of them sat down and began a small conversation and Heeseung’s nerves were beginning to slightly dwindle. Jungkook was friendly and outgoing and his jokes made him laugh. Jungkook treated you like family and Heeseung really appreciated his kind nature. Soon the staff came in and handed them each a phone, they explained to make character accounts for themselves and not give anything away until the end. They were to be invited to the chatroom and chat with each other and then decide at the end who you choose as your partner. 

If you and your partner choose each other, it was a match and you would be on the show. If you didn’t pick each other then it would end there and you’d be matched with someone else randomly. It didn’t seem too difficult, so Heeseung quickly followed through and made his profile, him being Bambi. The girls in the next room were advised the same instructions and they too followed and finished their characters. After they were all done, the staff gave them earphones to blast music in and blindfolded them. All the cast was then led by a staff to the filming location where they had a wall in the middle and the girls were on one side and the boys on the other. They couldn’t see or hear each other, just communicate through text.

FILMING: IN PROGRESS

The producers around began to shake their heads and chuckle to themselves as they monitored the chatrooms. This was going in the opposite direction than they liked. Jungkook and Roman were to be paired while Heeseung and Karina were to be paired, but it seems Roman and Jungkook had other intentions. The direction motioned for them to stop and they cut quickly, staff going towards the idols to signal them to stop.

FILMING: NOT IN PROGRESS.

“Well, the chat rooms are funny. Let’s move on to picking and meeting their partner now. Text them the directions and we’ll go from there,” the director explained as all the idols just looked around confused, not hearing anything but knowing something was up.

The staff sent the texts to them and the idols motioned they understood. 

Staff: Now that you have spoken to each candidate, text us who you choose to be paired with and we will text O if it’s a match and X if it’s not.

Bunny: Bloo

Bambi: Bratz

Bratz: Bambi

Bloo: Bunny

Staff to Bunny: O

Staff to Bambi: O

Staff to Bratz: O

Staff to Bloo: O

FILMING: IN PROGRESS

Each of the idols stood in small boxes waiting for their queue to come out. When they were to hear their names be called they were to come out and meet their partner. Heeseung still could not put on his tongue just who his partner was. Was it really a STARDOLL member? No, it couldn’t be. He knew they were pretty busy and too popular to even be on a reality show like this one. Why would they waste their time on something like this? He just could not pinpoint anyone else other than them and the lump in his throat was big. 

“Bunny, come on out!” The staff said, and Heeseung could hear Jungkook walking out of his box. “Bloo, come on out and meet your partner!”

“Oh my!” A girl's voice was heard and they could hear laughing in the room. “Oh my God!”

“Hello,” Jungkook said, and Heeseung’s palms became sweaty.

“Please, take a seat on one of the couches,” the staff instructed the two.

Everyone was advised to not say their names until everyone had introduced themselves and everyone’s identity was out. They were told that after the meeting they were going to sit down with their partners and play some games together and the winning team would win a prize. 

“Bambi, come on out!” Heeseung took a deep breath before coming out of his box.

He saw Karina and Jungkook on one of the small sofas and could see Karina gasping. He slightly bowed at them, Jungkook waving at him and Karina giving a small bow in return as Heeseung stood and waited for his partner.

“Bratz, come meet your partner!”

The door opened and out walked the one girl he had been dreading. Roman. His knees buckled and he almost collapsed in shock. He could hear Jungkook clapping and laughing and some other exchanges his mind numbed out.

“Oh my God!” Heeseung said. “This is crazy! You all set me up!”

The staff began to laugh and applaud as Roman walked over to Heeseung and got a good look at his face.

“Hello, I’m Roman!” She bowed and introduced herself to him to which he greeted the same. “You really do have cute eyes!”

“Oh, thank you!” He said, his face and ears were red as a tomato and he just wanted to run.

“And cut!���

FILMING: NOT IN PROGRESS.

“Wow, this is a crazy cast!” Karina spoke out. “When I met Roman earlier, I wasn’t expecting BTS! Your budget must be crazy!”

“I knew it was Jungkook,” Roman said. “I refused to be with Jungkook.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Heeseung said, coming up to Jungkook and hiding behind him. “Don’t do this to me.”

“Am I scary?” Roman pouted. 

“No, no, you’re just…you, I’m a big fan,” Heeseung said, clearing the air quickly.

“Well, think of me as your friend, I don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable,” Roman said.

“Me too, rely on me and we can be friends and have a good time,” Jungkook held out his hand to Karina and she took it and agreed.

“You too, Heeseung, right?” Roman said. 

“I’m Heeseung, from ENHYPEN,” Heeseung formally introduced himself.

“Ah, I don’t know much about that group, but you can fill me in now that we’re married,” Roman nudged him and he smiled down at her and nodded.

“It would be an honor, really. Thank you.”

[laismoura-art]

How do you think Kenshi and Suchin met in this new timeline? Especially if you consider that Suchin was the reason for Kenshi’s redemption?

Hey, Bloos! Thanks for the ask!💕

I'll let you know that I have plenty of ideas for Suchin, both for the New Era, as well as for my Scorpion!Harumi AU (you let me know if you're interested in that one too 👀)

I had the chance to brainstorm a bit about her recently with ma gal @thedragonholder and also with @rasta-bot (both make amazing Suchin content💕), and that really helped me to organise my thoughts and ideas for her!

So, to answer your question, you gotta know my version of Suchin better, so please, let me walk you through this more polished version of her origins (now with more Kenshi🤭)

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

ORIGINS:

Suchin's family descends from Seido, the Golden Kingdom, in Outworld.

Form an outsiders perspective, the place may feel like a true utopia, everything and everyone has their role and order reigns above. Unfortunately, to assure "order" the rules of Seido ended up being SEVERELY punitive, unfair, and often targeted the less fortunate classes.

Tired of such unfairness, the Bunnag family decided to flee and take as many families as they could (which, sadly, were not as many families as they wished).

For their decision, the Bunnags were cast as traidors and criminals and were hunted down by the city's rulers and their police forces.

The family could've gone after Queen Sindel and requested refuge in Sun Do (which she would've granted, mind you), but they were afraid Seido would see her actions as an act of war and start a bigger conflict.

So, instead, they went after Delia's help.

The Goddess of the Eternal Flame granted all the families a safe trip to Earthrealm. And to praise the Bunnags for their courage, she crafted a pair of blades and blessed them in her flames.

THAILAND VIGILANTES:

Once safe in Earthrealm, the Bunnags had decided they would never again turn a blind eye to the injustices surrounding them. Thailand was now their home, and they would make it a safer and just place!

That resulted in them becoming something akin to vigilantes. Urban legends even. No one really knew their identities, but the locals were certain every generation had their very own vigilante, and soon, Suchin would become her generation's!

But before she could take over the tittle that currently belonged to her mother, Suchin wanted to learn more about her family's mysterious heritage (her parents and grandparents were far too vague about that, and she strongly believed knowing her roots would make her a better warrior, a better protector for Thailand!

So she made sure to gather the attention of the Umgadi and grant herself a place among them. She would be trained and in the meantime, learn about her roots and about that mysterious hooded figure her family seems to worship...

Said and done! Suchin was recruited by the Umgadi and trained for years with a selected group (Tanya, Jade and Harumi). Her instructor, Li Mei, made sure to tell her everything she knew about Delia and Seido (she didn't know the specifics of what happened between the Bunnags and Seido, but she could guess, and did advise Suchin to remain within Sun Do, where she would be welcomed and more importantly, protected)

YIELDING THE BLESSED BLADES:

After her training years were over, Suchin returned to Earthrealm and took over her mother's place so the later could finally retire.

Suchin became an outstanding vigilante. And her notable job started to call attention of some evil forces outside Thailand.

The Black Dragon, the Red Dragon and the Yakusa, all wanted a piece of her!

Her fight with this groups led her to travel all over the globe, and eventually, get to Japan, where the Yakusa already had a price for her head, and to handle such talented swordswoman, the evil organisations sent their most talented swordsman: Kenshi Takahashi!

THE REDEMPTION:

By the time Kenshi was assigned to the task of killing Suchin, he was already starting to question his place within the Yakusa.

He wasn't loud about it. In reality, no one could really even tell he was having any sort of second thoughts.

That is... until Suchin.

She could tell by his fighting alone. He was a skilled fighter, that was not doubt about that. But his head was just not there!

Which was why Suchin decided to spare his life once she had defeated him, "Face me again." She challenged him, "Once you had decided who's your real opponent."

He was sent again, and again he hesitated. Then again and again. Each time less motivated. Each time more confused and torn up.

Suchin was growing impatient. "If you're not going to give me a real fight, at least offer me dinner or something. Fighting you exhausts me!"

He vanished instead.

Only a week later, he reappeared and offered to pay her coffee and pancakes with syrup.

"Coffee and pancakes? Ha! Who would've thought the Yakusa would be such cheapskates!" She teased, but accepted the invitation anyways (a good choice, as the pancakes were phenomenal!)

Good pancakes made up for the long hours of Kenshi just venting about his problems.

One thing he said truly resonated with her, "I feel like I'm not on the right place. I feel like I'm betraying myself, betraying... my very blood! Does that make sense??"

And yes! It did make sense! That's exactly how her family felt in Seido. That feeling of unease and self-betrayal, of self-loathing was precisely what led them to flee their hometown and start all over, reconnecting with who they truly were, away from any external oppresive influences.

So to help Kenshi, she shared with him the story of her family (something she had only done with her teacher and her close Umgadi friends).

She advised him to find his roots, so he would find himself in the process and fully understand who he wanted to be from that moment on.

"You're right." He said in a rather monotone way, but Suchin could tell he was having an epiphany inside his head. Which was confirmed by his sudden movements, he got up at once, kissed her cheek and left with only a rushed announcement: "I must go to Hollywood! Right at this moment!"

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Sorry I took your ask as an opportunity to brainstorm a bit more about Suchin, I hope you had enjoyed my headcanons still (including the one you actually came here for, lol)❤️❤️

@mikka-minns