#because lets be real this will not be a 2 way conversation it will be a trash fire of me going on tangents about it

[cuinaminute229]

With death comes life part 2

pairing: Agatha x Rio x reader

a/n: this is sprinkled with angst and fluff

part 1

...

The surrounding trees are all twisted and dead, with heavy vines hanging from branches too high to reach. What you see is a barrier. A makeshift fence that keeps the witches to the road.

The air carries a subtle fog that lingers just out of reach, shrouding the forest of the road into the unknown. Even the leaves that make up the path are all dead. Only magic keeps them vibrant with false life.

You almost feel insulted. 

Nothing here can sustain life. It never will.

The road is an abomination. It shouldn’t exist.

And yet here you are.

When you look up at the sky, a feeling of loss settles in your chest. The sky is not real; the moon is a false imitation, and the stars are all wrong. 

You will never not hate this place. 

The soft whispers of a conversation tug at your attention when you notice the witches at your back are talking about you. With a subtle shift, you slow your steps and listen in. 

They speak so carelessly about your reaction to seeing Agatha, about the anger they saw. About how they could use your emotions to drive a wedge where, unbeknown to them, there is a canyon. 

In the simplest of terms, they want to manipulate you to their advantage because they do not trust Agatha. 

Because you do not trust Agatha. It’s insulting in the most human way possible.

Where on earth did she find these people? Why did she find them?

There’s something you're missing, you just know it.

The moment you hear Rio's name is the moment you turn around, you do not care what they are going to say. Their little conversation ends now. The shift in your momentum is fluid as you turn around mid step, eyes narrow in suspicion. 

You keep your face blank when they all jump in union. The very obvious change of demeanor tells you they did not know you were listening in on them.

You let the silence linger as your eyes scan over the small group. They cling to each other for comfort, but it only takes a moment for you to recognize that their bonds as a coven are new. They are still easy to bend, easy to break.

“You know,” Your voice is gentle, giving nothing of what you feel away for them to see. “To betray one's cover on the road,” 

You spread your hand out to emphasize exactly where you all are. “To break the rules only punishes all.”

“She is the one that tried to cheat!” The pink dressed witch points out like you need to be taught, like she needs to tell you who Agatha Harkness is.

As if you don't know exactly who she is. It's almost laughable how much this witch thinks she knows more than you.

“And now one of you is dead. How tragic.” This is not the first and will not be the last time a witch loses their life on the road. Do they not understand that?

“But that death is not her fault.” This time your voice is cold, stern. It feels like you're scolding children. “You failed as a coven. So do not blame your misgivings as a group on her.”

When only silence becomes their response, you decide to turn back around and continue down the path. The next trial awaits, and you want to get this over with as soon as possible. 

But a voice makes you pause. 

“Why do you hate her?” The unexpected question knocks the air out of your lungs and the world seems to stop. As if everything dead and alive waits for your answer. 

Memories rush forward with such force you wouldn't be surprised if you can never breathe again.

The sight of a never ending forest, a small cottage tucked away from hunters and strangers alike. The laughter of a young boy with Agatha's hair and Rio's smile, a bright yellow flower in his hands.

The years before tragedy felt like a lifetime. 

You were happy. You were loved. 

You want to cry. 

With a small hitch in your breath, you close your eyes and push down the tidal wave of emotions. If you become overwhelmed, the road’s magic will latch onto you like a leech. You can't risk it.

“My reasons are my own. Focus on surviving the road.” Your words are final, empty of the emotions that are battling beneath your heart. You know you can never pick up the pieces of yourself that are broken. 

But for now, you can ignore them.

You will not let them see you like this. Never again will Agatha see this side of you.

When you finally catch up with Rio, you take notice of the house in the distance, the windows lit in a deep orange sunset light. The fog of your surroundings only adds to the ominous look of it.

That must be the next trial.

What catches your attention next isn't Agatha arguing with the boy. It's not the group of three walking over to settle whatever disagreement there is. No, it's the fact that Rio is leaning against a tree, feigning boredom. Her knife in hand, twisting it in her grip as if she's studying the blade.

The leaf in her hair is bright in color, almost like fire, and it stands out against the rich brown of her hair. As if she can sense eyes on her, Rio glances up. Her eyes find you in an instant and you give her a small smile.

She waits as you walk over to her and it's only once you stop in front of her, your back to the others, does she return your smile. She tucks her knife away and holds out her hand, a small flower blooming in her palm. “For you.” 

Your smile turns bittersweet as you reach for the flower, the baby blue petals remind you of a clear afternoon sky. As your fingers touch the stem, it flourishes. Reacting to the caress of your magic that trickles from your fingers. You hold the flower for a moment before tucking it beneath your coat. 

As you look back to Rio she pushes forwards, off the dead tree that she knows you won't touch. When she steps into your space, it feels like you’ve broken the water's surface and can finally breathe again.

“You look filthy.” You tease her before she can notice if anything’s wrong. The dirt that covers her skin and her clothes gives her a rough look, and yet her makeup is as pristine as ever. Her hair looks like she’s just rolled out of bed. There are twigs and leaves and who knows what else hidden in the mess of her hair. 

“Says the one who also had to crawl out of a grave.” Rio responds, leaning just a bit closer when you reach out to brush your fingers through her hair. Her hand settles on your waist with ease, her thumb brushing back and forth in a soothing motion.

“Which I'm assuming is your fault.” You voice your suspicion as you tug on the largest of the leaves you can see in her hair. 

To summon a green witch, let alone any witch to the road, is almost impossible. You don't even know why they tried it in the first place. 

Rio says nothing for a moment. She just lets you thread your fingers through her hair, pulling at the twigs and leaves you find. She licks her lips when you brush your thumb behind her ear, letting out a soft sigh as she closes her eyes.

An annoyed huff and angry footsteps causes you to pull back from her, suddenly self conscious. But Rio's hand catches your wrist before you can step out of her personal space. When she blinks open her eyes to look at you, her brow furrowed slightly. You can't help but give her a reassuring smile. 

Agatha is storming off again. Because of course she is. She will not wait for the two of you.

“Tell me later?” You know this conversation isn't close to over, but right now, time is essential. Rio gives you a small nod and only then do you step away from her.

Finding Agatha is easy. She's at the next trial, waiting for the two of you. The door is decorated with stained glass, the phases of the moon surround the centerpiece, which is the waxing moon. It's almost beautiful if you didn't know that danger lies just behind it.

You feel Rio just behind you, watching the group intently. The graze of her fingers on your back is a welcoming sensation when you realize who’s trial this is.

The protection witch.

With a quick scan, you find her easily, the witch with the red streaks in her hair. She looks the most nervous, hands shoved into her pockets, shoulders hunched.

The teenager is the one to usher her inside, voice reassuring. He calls her Alice and holds his hand out for her and once she takes it; he walks through the door beside her. The other two follow close behind, nerves elevated for what is to come.

When there is only you, Agatha, and Rio left at the door, the tension seems to skyrocket. 

You clench your jaw when she looks at you as if she expects you to go first, but you don't move. The door stays open and no one moves.

When Agatha’s patient wanes, she jerks her head to the door, her voice callous, and yet she can’t look at you when she speaks. “After you.”

It’s only when Rio pushes her knuckles against your lower back do you finally give in. The very moment you walk through the door, you’re blinded by a light as bright as a newborn star. It’s honestly a weak imitation, but that doesn’t mean it can disorient you any less.

As the world around you slowly comes into focus, you notice two things right away. 

One, the air is pungent with magic. It’s so bad you swear you can taste it. Two, when you turn to look at the others, you notice everyone is dressed in seventies fashion attire. 

Glancing down, you see that you too, have also changed outfits. You brush your fingers over the gold embroidered that stands out against the white design of your clothes. Small beads and complex stitches run in calm waves up your sleeves. As you turn your arm to follow the designs, you notice your nails are also painted white. 

“Don’t drink anything. Don’t eat anything. Don’t touch anything.” Alice tells everyone as she glances around the room with a distrust that runs deep. 

“Sounds like there’s a story there.” Rio says as she looks at Alice, brows raised in intrigue. When she catches your gaze, she’s not subtle as she looks you over. She’s adorned in black and gold. The low cut of her blouse catches your attention and you may stare a little too long. Her smile is predatory when she notices you looking. 

“The road isn’t subtle.” Alice mutters, her disdain clear.

You glance around at her words, curious about the history that this trial will bring up.

The room looks like a music lounge studio. Instruments and microphones are set out like they are just waiting to be played. The floor is covered with different rugs; the lights have a certain aesthetic and even the walls are mismatched stones with different things decorating them. 

Your eyes land on the grand piano when everyone gathers around a wall mirror that one of the witches has found, getting a clearer look at the clothes that now fit the aesthetic of this trial. You leave them to their curiosity and walk to the center of the room, a metronome catching your attention from where it sits atop the piano. 

You don’t notice her at first, brow furrowed as you brush your fingers over the edge of the piano lid. You hum a soft lullaby as your fingers tap to the rhythm in your head.

When you see her fingers graze over the piano, you freeze. When she finishes your melody, her beige nails tapping lightly against the polished black case of the piano, you step away.

You look at Agatha like she’s a ghost. 

She’s not—she wasn't—you never told her. Rio doesn’t even know.

It was only for Nicky. It was his song.  

“What are you doing?” You back up when she finally looks up at you. She can’t hide it when her eyes glance over your attire. You know her too well. The way her eyes linger just a little too long, the way she clears her throat before jerking her head back to the piano. She takes a deep breath, rolls her shoulders like she’s buying time.

She looks like she wants to say something but stops short. When she reaches for her brooch, finger tapping lightly as if she needs a physical reminder it’s still there, you understand. 

He told her. Of course he did.

Whatever Agatha is trying to accomplish by reminding you of a life you can never get back, you need her to stop.

You can't do this. The emotional whiplash is getting exhausting.

“Why are you here?” She tilts her head to look at you, her expression clouded with suspicion.

“Why are you?” You deflect her easily, asking your own question. To walk the road once and survive is akin to a miracle. Why would she come back here?

“I asked first.” She pushes into your space, eyes narrowed, her tone condescending. When you shift to move away from her, she grabs hold of your wrist. 

You don’t expect what comes next. You have no time to prepare as your magic comes alive with the contact. It’s been so long since she’s touched you that a lifetime couldn’t prepare you for her pain.

The absolute onslaught of unchecked emotions feels like agony. Her touch burns. It’s scolding hot with the centuries of anguish and hatred that Agatha has clung to. It seeps under your skin like a parasite.

You want to scream.

You need her to let go. Right now.

“I am not here for you. I want absolutely nothing to do with you.” Your words are brutal, every ounce of hatred you have ever felt is directed at her. You know you will regret this later but right now you are desperate.

Agatha steps back as if you physically slapped her. As if you ran a knife right through her heart. But she lets go, that's what you needed.

When you move away from her, cradling your wrist close to your chest, she scoffs. 

“And they call me cruel.” Her voice wavers, head turned away so you can not see her vulnerability. Your heart already hurts but you say nothing. 

The churning in your stomach makes you feel sick. You weren't expecting her to touch you. You weren't expecting your magic to respond to her.

Not like this. Not after all this time.

As you look down at your trembling hand, fingers clenching into a fist, you know one thing for certain. You didn’t feel a flicker of magic from her when she touched you. 

Agatha has lost her magic.

[catboyieejeno]

because even then, i knew — l.sm { 2 }

genre: non idol! seokmin x reader, stanger to lovers / kdrama au

cw: female reader, petnames, cursing, seokmin is desperately down bad, slowburn, pining, so much fluff, mentions of alcohol, consuming alcohol, nsfw, oral (f recieving) protected sex, mentions of cheating, angst

wc: 23k

tracklist: {spotify} {apple music}

navigation: {one} {two}

note: play wonder - kyungsoo

≡;- ꒰ ° two꒱

After that night, everything felt different to Seokmin. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but there was a quiet shift in the air, a change that felt as though the world was holding its breath, waiting for him to realize something new. The kiss had unlocked something—a door between him and you, and now, everything was moving in a direction he hadn’t quite expected.

It wasn't overwhelming. Not in the way he'd feared. There was no rush, no need to hurry through the moment. Instead, he lingered in the afterglow, letting the warmth of your smile, your soft laughter, that had soon become his favorite sound, and the quiet moments you shared settle over him like a comfortable blanket. Every time he saw you, it felt a little easier, a little more natural, like this was where he was meant to be all along. But still, he couldn't help but feel nervous. Nervous in the worst and best way, the kind of nervous that made his heart flutter whenever his eyes met yours.

And he noticed, with a growing sense of quiet affection, how you started to pass by the flower shop more often. At first, it was just a passing thing, like the usual routine of grabbing him for coffee, but soon it became something more. The way your gaze lingered on the window, the way your eyes would light up when you saw him behind the counter, arranging flowers, or tidying up the shelves. It felt like a secret, even if it was simple, a little dance of shared glances and quiet moments. Sometimes you’d stop by, just for a few minutes, chatting about the most random things—weather, books, life—and he would savor those brief moments, like they meant the world to him.

It wasn’t just those little interactions, though. There were messages now—casual at first, but with every day that passed, they became more frequent, more personal. Seokmin found himself looking forward to your texts, to hearing about your day, to seeing the little things you’d share with him when he wasn’t around you. And when he’d send back something goofy or heartfelt, he couldn’t help but smile at how easily the conversation flowed. It felt… effortless. Liking you was effortless. 

After that night, he and you started going out more and more often. The beach, the museum, the karaoke, they had led to more—a walk in the park, spontaneous visits to the bookstore, long talks that seemed to go on forever. It felt like the lines between friendship and something more were beginning to blur, but Seokmin didn’t mind. He wanted it, in a way he couldn’t entirely explain. Being near you felt right, felt easy in a way he hadn’t realized was possible. There was laughter now, just as there was before, but it was different. There was more intimacy in it, a warmth that wasn’t just about shared jokes or teasing. There were touches too. Small things—your hands brushing as you walked together, the moments when your fingers would linger a little longer than necessary. 

And then, when the picnic he owed you was mentioned, it felt like the perfect thing to do to complement the windy weather. As he packed the charcuterie board, overloading it with more food than either of you could possibly eat, he found himself looking forward to it as he usually does whenever he would get to spend time with you.

He finds himself constantly thinking of you—wondering what you were doing, what you were thinking, how you were feeling. And it wasn’t just a fleeting thought. It lingered. It was more than just a crush or infatuation. It felt real. And though that made him apprehensive, there was something in him that wanted to take the chance, for what felt like the first time in forever. 

He needed to see this through with you. You deserved that much, and more. 

Maybe it was too soon to know for sure. Maybe it was too early to put a name to it. But Seokmin couldn’t ignore the way you made him feel. And as much as his past made him hesitant to dive in too quickly, he knew that somehow, with you, he was willing to at the very least, try. 

The park is bathed in warm afternoon light, filtering through the trees and casting dappled shadows on the grass. Seokmin arrives with an armful of supplies, a wide, proud grin plastered on his face as he reveals his self-made “charcuterie board,” which, to your surprise, takes up nearly half the picnic blanket.

He’s packed everything. From neatly arranged meats and cheeses to stacks of crackers, olives, fresh berries, and even a few jars of spreads. He beams at your astonished laugh, like he’s managed to pull off the ultimate surprise. “I may have gotten a little carried away,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, feigning modesty, even as he’s clearly pleased with himself. He promised he would out-do your sandwiches, after all. 

“A little?” you tease, biting back a smile as you watch him lay everything out with meticulous care. He hands you a cracker topped with some kind of creamy cheese and strawberry jam, watching for your reaction with a delighted anticipation. You take a bite, savoring it, and he grins wider, clearly satisfied.

“I also didn’t know what kind of cheese you would like.” 

“Right,” You giggle, “and the logical solution was to bring seven different cheeses?” 

He nods, leaning forward to leave a kiss on your lips before fitting another cracker into his mouth. “Course. You deserve nothing less,” he jokes. 

Once you’ve both had your fill of snacking, he pulls his guitar out of its case and pats the spot directly next to him on the blanket, urging you to get closer. “Alright, time for the next part of our date.” he says, guiding your fingers to the strings with a gentle, steady touch. His fingers rest over yours as he shows you a simple chord, his face close enough that you can feel his breath on your cheek.

“Press here,” he murmurs, guiding your fingers along the frets. “And then you strum, like this.” His hand covers yours as he shows you, his touch warm and steady, his eyes flicking to yours with a soft, slightly mischievous smile.

Your first attempt is clumsy, the sound far from perfect, but he only chuckles, his thumb tracing slow circles over the back of your hand. “You’re doing great,” he assures you, squeezing your hand gently before he releases it. “Way better than I was when I first started.”

You try again, more focused this time, but his thumb starts tracing little patterns against your palm, thoroughly distracting you. Then, as if that wasn’t enough, his lips ghost over your neck until you feel them land a kiss there. The feeling makes you roll your head back against his chest and you glance up to see him watching you with a soft look in his eyes, a hint of adoration that makes your heart want to burst.

After a few minutes, the lesson dissolves entirely as he leans in, pressing another light, playful kiss to your cheek, then your forehead, before brushing his lips against yours in a way that feels perfectly effortless and natural. He laughs softly, murmuring, “You’re way better at this than you think,” before he kisses you again, longer this time, his hands resting on your waist, pulling you a little closer.

There’s a teasing edge to your voice he can clearly hear despite the fact that you’re nearly whispering. “You mean kissing? Or playing guitar?” 

“Both,” He hums against your lips and you whine. 

He reluctantly pulls away, placing his hands over yours again. “Alright, this is a C chord,” 

Seokmin watches as you fumble with the guitar, fingers finding their place on the strings with uncertainty. His heart swells a little—he’s never thought teaching someone guitar could feel so right. But with you, it’s different. You’re here, looking up at him with wide, focused eyes, and he can’t help but lean in closer to guide you.

“Here, like this,” he says softly, his voice warm as he brushes his fingers over yours to adjust your hand on the neck of the guitar. His breath is near your ear, and you can feel the closeness, but you focus on the instrument, trying to get the chord right.

You glance up at him, an eyebrow raised, half-challenging. “Like this?”

Seokmin’s smile widens as he nods. “Exactly. That’s it.”

He lets his hand linger for a second longer than necessary, but quickly pulls back as he instructs, “Good. Now, try strumming.”

You strum the strings, but the sound doesn’t come out as clean as you’d hoped. It’s messy. You sigh, sitting back against him slightly, fingers still pressing the strings, trying to fix it.

“This is harder than it looks,” you mutter under your breath.

Seokmin laughs softly, his tone light and teasing as he leans in again. His shoulder nudges yours gently. “It’s okay, it’ll come. And if it doesn’t, that’s okay, too. Honestly, I think you look pretty cute trying.”

You raise an eyebrow and shift just slightly. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

He grins, shrugging casually. “Maybe a little. But it’s true.” His voice drops, a little softer this time.

The words linger in the air for a second, but you just laugh, trying to distract yourself with the guitar. You focus again, pressing down the strings, trying to make the chord ring true. When it does, you look up at him, eyes wide.

“Did I do it?”

Seokmin’s heart gives a little skip. The way your smile spreads, bright and genuine, makes him feel something warm settle in his chest. “Yes. Exactly like that,” he says, a little breathless. He can’t help but admire the way you’re so proud of yourself. 

You’re both quiet for a moment, his gaze lingering on you. There’s something about this moment, about the way you’re looking at him that feels different. He’s not just teaching you guitar. He’s simply… enjoying being with you. And before you can respond, his hand moves, his fingers brushing gently against the side of your face. It’s a subtle touch, barely there, but it sends a little thrill through you.

Without thinking, you lean into his touch, your breath catching as his hand slides to the back of your neck, pulling you in just enough for him to kiss you softly. It’s quick, but it’s sweet, and his lips linger against yours for a heartbeat longer than expected.

He pulls back just a little, and his smile softens, his eyes sparkling with something warmer, more familiar now. “That’s for getting the chord right,” he murmurs, teasing but with a softness that melts your heart.

You smile, your fingers still resting on the guitar. “Well, I’ll need a lot more kisses to learn the rest of the song, then.”

Seokmin laughs, his gaze dropping to your lips for a second before he grins, shifting closer. “Guess you’ll just have to keep playing then, huh?”

You roll your eyes playfully. “You’re a tough teacher.”

His smile widens, and he shifts again, this time nudging you gently. “I’m just giving you a reason to keep trying,” he says, his voice low and a little more serious now. “Besides, I like being close to you.”

You meet his gaze, feeling the weight of his words more than you expected. “I like being close to you, too,” you reply quietly, your voice softer now, but with a truth that hangs between you.

Before you can think, you lean in, kissing him again, this time a little longer. Seokmin responds just as eagerly, his hand moving to your waist, pulling you closer. His heart is racing now, but in a way that feels good—exciting, even. It’s not just the kiss. It’s everything that is you.

You sit there, tangled together on the blanket, the sound of his guitar a soft backdrop as the day drifts lazily by. With every touch and every stolen kiss, he pulls you further into the moment, into this lighthearted bubble where it’s just the two of you, completely caught up in each other. And as you sit together in the golden glow of the afternoon, Seokmin’s hands gentle on your fingers, guiding you through the notes, until night begins to fall, and he offers to walk you home. 

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ 

Seokmin isn’t sure how long the two of you have been walking, but he doesn’t mind. Every second feels easy, peaceful. As the sun dips lower and the leaves fall from the autumn gusts of wind, casting a honeyed glow over the street, he notices how the light falls on your face, softening every edge and detail. He’s struck by how happy he feels in this moment—wandering aimlessly, your hand in his, with no real destination in mind. 

It’s when you stop abruptly, tugging at his arm, that he notices the small, worn sign hanging just above an old staircase. Hidden Treasures. The name, faded and a little tilted, somehow feels right in this quiet, tucked-away corner of the city.

“Wanna go in?” you ask, and your eyes sparkle with curiosity.

He smiles, nodding without hesitation. “Lead the way.”

Inside, the shop is a world unto itself, a warm, cluttered maze of forgotten, handed down things. The air carries a mix of dust and vinyl, with a faint undertone of leather. Seokmin’s eyes drift over racks of vintage clothes, crates of records, and stacks of books and trinkets piled onto shelves. You’re already making a beeline for a shelf at the back, and he follows, quietly amused by how naturally you seem to navigate the cramped space. It’s funny—he’s never given much thought to old records or thrift stores before. But here, watching you take it all in, it seems like he’s seeing it through a different lens.

When you stop in front of a display case filled with cassette tapes, Seokmin can’t help but linger nearby, half-hidden behind a rack of jackets. He watches as you pick up a tape, studying it intently. A soft, faraway look settles on your face, and for a second, Seokmin can imagine how it might feel to be a part of that daydream. He inches closer, his curiosity getting the better of him. 

“Something good?” he asks casually, leaning over to look.

You glance up, and for a split second, he sees a shy, almost bashful smile. “I found one of my favorite albums.” You look down at the cassette like it’s a piece of history you’re holding in your hands.

His mind whirs as he notes the titles of the tapes you keep picking up, trying to commit them to memory without you noticing. When you’re distracted by another row of tapes, he snags a few of the ones you seemed especially drawn to and quietly slides them behind his back, out of your sight. A plan begins forming in his head, but he plays it cool, waiting for you to move on to a different section before he slips them to the cashier with a little nod.

As you wander through racks of clothes, he tries on hats for your amusement, pulling funny faces that make you laugh. He feels the warmth in his chest whenever he catches you glancing at him, your expression somewhere between amusement and…something softer.

He plucks a bowler hat from the stand, spins it dramatically in his hand, and places it atop his head. “What do you think?” he asks, striking a pose with a raised eyebrow.

You bite back a laugh, eyeing him with mock seriousness. “Very dashing, but maybe a little too serious for you.”

“Fair point.” He grins and swaps it out for a wide-brimmed sun hat, pulling it low over his eyes with a grin. “Better? I’ll wear it to our next park or beach date. And if you’re nice, I might let you borrow it sometime.”

You dissolve into laughter, nodding in approval, but he doesn’t stop there. He reaches for a pair of heart-shaped sunglasses on a nearby display and perches them on his nose, winking at you over the top of the frames.

“Now?” he asks, a glint of playful confidence in his eyes.

You shake your head, your laughter filling the space around you. He leans in closer, heart-shaped lenses reflecting your amused expression, and kisses you once, quick and teasing.

You gasp out in surprise and he’s overcome with adoration for you and your reaction, unable to resist leaning in again. He starts peppering kisses on and near your lips, humming contently against your skin. 

When he catches your sweet gaze, there’s a small moment of stillness, a quiet shift in the air as he leans in again, slowly this time, brushing a tender kiss against your lips. The feel of your laughter against his mouth is enough to make his heart race, and he’s momentarily lost in how light and easy everything feels with you by his side.

You pull him back into the playful atmosphere, nudging him toward a rack of vintage shirts and jackets. “Try this one,” you insist, holding up a bomber jacket. He slips it on, giving a playful spin as you nod in approval.

“Alright, your turn,” he says, grabbing a leather jacket from the rack and holding it out to you. When you put it on, his eyes widen just a bit. “Wait… It actually kind of suits you.” 

“Really?” 

“Absolutely,” he laughs, watching as you adjust the jacket.

“Yours doesn’t look so bad either,” You step closer, pulling him in by the collar and planting a quick kiss on his lips before either of you has a chance to pull away. 

The warmth of the kiss lingers as you both turn back to exploring the store, the silliness giving way to a gentler, more intimate mood. He trails behind you as you flip through stacks of old vinyl records, catching snippets of memories and favorite bands from you as you move down the aisle. 

Eventually, you both make your way back out into the evening air, Seokmin carrying a paper bag that you assume is holding his own finds. You barely make it down the street before he stops you, looking as though he can barely contain his excitement.

“Close your eyes,” he says, his tone playful but just a little shy.

“What?” you laugh, eyebrows lifting.

“Just do it,” he insists, that familiar lopsided grin tugging at his lips.

With a bemused smile, you shut your eyes, and after a few seconds, you feel something light press into your hands. Opening your eyes, you see the cassette tapes—the very ones you’d been admiring inside. Your gaze flickers up to him, and he’s watching you with a slightly nervous, almost childlike grin.

“You didn’t—”

“I wanted to,” he shrugs, trying to act nonchalant but failing. “You said they were some of your favorites. Would’ve been rude not to let them come along.”

You can’t stop smiling, looking between the tapes and him, a small laugh bubbling out. “I can’t believe you did that.”

He shrugs again, scratching the back of his neck, his eyes sparkling with a mix of excitement and a touch of nerves. “Well, it seemed important to you,” he says softly, the confession hanging between you both.

Your shared laughter fades into a quiet moment, and he’s suddenly aware of just how close you are. Before he can second-guess himself, you lean in and press a soft kiss to his cheek—a thank-you without words. The warmth of your lips lingers long after you’ve pulled away, and he can’t hide the grin spreading across his face.

He finds himself leaning in, your laughter caught in a hushed space between you, and for a second, he wonders how it’s possible for something to feel both thrilling and completely natural at the same time. You kiss once, twice, and he’s laughing quietly against your mouth, one hand curling around your waist.

“Thank you,” you emphasize when you part, and his eyes crinkling with a smile.

“Anytime,” he says, nudging your shoulder playfully, and his heart flips at the easiness between you both.

As you slip your hand back into his, he squeezes it gently, hoping you’ll never let go.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ 

Seokmin looks at you, eyebrows raised in mild skepticism as you pitch the idea of glamping on a Saturday morning at the shop.

“So... it’s like camping, but not?” he asks, crossing his arms. His expression is somewhere between curious and slightly worried, as though he’s imagining himself fending off mosquitoes in the middle of nowhere.

You laugh, shaking your head. “No, no—there are no bugs. And no sleeping bags on the ground, I promise. It’s more like a cozy, modern cabin with all the comforts of home. Think cute tents, soft beds, and fairy lights everywhere.”

His shoulders visibly relax, though there’s still a hint of doubt in his eyes. “And... we won’t have to make a fire from scratch or eat out of cans, right?”

“Not unless you want to,” you say, grinning. “There’ll be proper meals, maybe even a fancy coffee machine for our coffee time. It’s just like a mini vacation under the stars.”

He pauses, tilting his head as he considers it. “So... it’s basically a staycation, but outdoors.”

“Exactly!” you say excitedly, “And just imagine the view at night! You’ll love it, I promise.”

After a moment’s thought, he lets out a small sigh, the corners of his mouth lifting into a smile. “Alright, fine. Let’s do it. But if I see a single bug…”

The flower shop is particularly alive today, and Seokmin is convinced it has something to do with your presence. Greenery fills the shelves around you while a sunbeam slips through the window, highlighting Seokmin’s amused expression. He leans closer, grinning at your bug-handling confidence, the warmth in his gaze unmistakable. You nudge him playfully, feeling the cozy, sweet familiarity between you.

“Don’t worry,” you tease, nudging his shoulder again. “I’ll handle any bugs. All you have to do is enjoy the stars.”

He laughs, a soft, warm sound that’s almost musical. “Fine, but you owe me an extra cup of coffee if there’s anything even resembling a mosquito.” He nods, already envisioning the drive together. “Only if we can have a little barbecue. I haven’t shown you my grilling skills yet.”

“If your grilling skills are anything like your charcuterie-board-making skills, I’m in for a treat.”

He chuckles, cheeks flushing slightly as he reaches to adjust a pot on the counter, keeping his hands busy.

And so, it was decided. The following week, the two of you would go glamping. You spend the week planning out the trip, selecting a location, and picking out a menu from all the dishes Seokmin has offered to make you during your mornings at the coffee shop. Now that he had a car, neither of you had to take the bus. He’d pick you up after your time reading at the cafe and drop you off at yours with a lingering kiss and a promise to see you the next day. 

The weekend came rather quickly, but suddenly, despite all the planning both of you had done, Seokmin felt completely unprepared.

He takes a deep breath, double-checking the bags in his trunk for what must be the fifth time. Snacks? Check. Extra blankets? Check. His guitar—of course, just in case there’s a moment for a quiet tune under the stars. He runs through his list again in his head, but his mind keeps drifting to one thing: you both sharing the same bed tonight.

He laughs softly to himself, feeling that mix of nervousness and excitement tightening in his chest. It’s not like he hasn’t imagined being this close to you, but now that it’s real, it feels like his imagination would never come close, as it usually did with you. He hopes he packed everything to make the evening perfect, especially the surprise he thought you’d love—a matching PJ set he’d picked out just for you, in the same soft fabric as his.

He shakes off his nerves, throwing himself one last look in the rearview mirror. “Alright, Seokmin, it’s just glamping,” he mutters to himself, trying to keep his cool. But even as he says it, he can’t help the excitement building, hoping this night turns out to be as perfect as he hopes. 

Seokmin pulls up to your place, heart beating just a little faster than usual as he catches sight of you waiting downstairs. You wave and jog over, and the smile that stretches across his face is immediate. “Ready for our glamping adventure?” he asks, a playful edge to his voice as he leans over to unlock the passenger door.

“Definitely ready,” you say, settling into the seat and tossing him a grin that instantly has him feeling that familiar warmth. 

With you beside him and the car loaded with bags, he pulls onto the road, a playlist of carefully selected songs filling the space between you with a perfect, mellow vibe. The early moments of the drive are filled with laughter and conversation that flows as easily as the winding road ahead. He’s already feeling more at ease; everything feels right, from the low hum of the engine to the late-afternoon sunlight spilling through the windshield, casting a glow over you.

At the first red light, he lets his hand drift over to yours, giving it a small squeeze. You look over at him, slightly surprised but smiling. “Getting bold, aren’t you?”

He laughs, feigning nonchalance. “Just felt right.” He leans in, stealing a quick kiss—soft and gentle, but enough to make his pulse quicken just a little. You’re barely pulling apart when the light turns green.

The next song that plays is one he remembers you mentioning once because you had the cassette in your collection, and as it fills the car, he sings along softly, sneaking a glance your way to see if you’ll join in. You laugh, rolling your eyes, but then you join in on the chorus, and the two of you sing as the scenery outside rushes by.

When he sees a gas station up ahead, he slows down and nods toward it. “Need anything?” he asks, pulling in.

“Let’s stock up,” you say, and he parks. Inside, the two of you pick out snacks, teasing each other over your choices—he insists that his preference for sweet and salty snacks is superior, while you counter with your taste for fruit and more “refined” options. By the time you’re back in the car, there’s a pile of snacks balanced between you, and you’re begging him to try something new.

“Come on, just one bite,” you say, holding a piece of dried mango up to him.

He rolls his eyes but relents, taking a small bite, pretending to make a face of disgust. “Alright, alright, it’s... decent,” he says, stifling a laugh. “But these,” he says, lifting up a bag of his favorite chips, “are what make a real road trip snack.” 

You’re halfway through a conversation about your favorite drink choices when another red light gives him another excuse to lean in for a kiss—this one a little longer, filled with the sweetness of your laughter and the warmth of the sun filtering through the windshield. He can taste the mango on your lips, deciding it tastes much better this way than on its own. 

As you get closer to the glamping site, the landscape starts to change, giving way to more open fields and a deeper blue sky overhead. He glances over at you, noting the way you’re soaking in the view. There’s something so peaceful, so effortlessly beautiful about you right now, and he finds himself thinking that this might be one of his favorite memories with you already—and you haven’t even made it there yet. 

As you step out of the car, you’re immediately greeted by the scent of fresh, earthy air and the wide-open stretch of the campsite with just a hint of mountains in the distance. The skies are painted with hues of blue and the golden edges of late afternoon. You take it all in, breathing deeply, almost losing yourself in the view when you hear the trunk pop open and catch sight of Seokmin, arms already filled with bags and supplies.

He shoots you a playful, determined look. “Guess I went a little overboard, huh?”

“A little?” you laugh, eyeing the sheer number of bags and supplies he’s brought along.

But Seokmin just grins, shrugging as he starts unpacking with vigor, unloading what seems to be enough to host a small party rather than a quiet date night. He’s fully focused, setting up with precision—cooler, blankets, grilling tools, and that glorious charcuterie board he promised, which he reveals with a flourish. “Just the essentials,” he jokes, flashing a proud smile.

While he organizes, you wander a little ways down the slope, mesmerized by the way the sun lights up the fields and the soft rustling of the leaves. Just as you’re getting lost in the tranquility, you feel his arms gently slide around you from behind. He pulls you close, resting his chin on your shoulder as he takes in the view with you. It’s quiet, with only the sounds of nature around and the soft weight of his embrace.

He leaves a few kisses on your cheek that you lean into, smile breaking out into your face as he squeezes your waist tighter.

“Pretty, huh?” you ask, smiling as you tilt your head back slightly to meet his gaze.

“Yeah, it really is,” he murmurs, but he’s looking at you, not the scenery, and his voice has that familiar softness that makes your heart skip.

You stand there for a little while, content just to be in his arms, until your stomach gives a not-so-subtle reminder. You laugh, breaking the quiet moment, and admit shyly, “Sorry, I’m starving.”

“I’m on it, baby.” Seokmin releases you, rolling up his sleeves with a mock serious expression as he heads toward the grill. 

You settle down at the little table he’s set up, watching as he works with surprising ease, flipping open the grill and setting up a few slices of pork belly, grilling each piece with careful attention. He even hums a little tune as he works, glancing over at you every now and then to catch your eye, flashing you a smile that’s more than a little pleased.

You laugh, rolling your eyes but feeling the warmth of his thoughtfulness all the same. As you watch him tend to the food, the sun dipping lower in the sky, you feel a surge of gratitude for the moment, for his sweet, over-prepared heart.

When a piece looks just right, he grabs a little plate, places the pork belly on it, and uses his chopsticks to bring it up, blowing on it gently to cool it down. “C’mere,” he mumbles, a playful glint in his eyes.

You lean forward, opening your mouth as he feeds it to you, watching with a mix of nerves and pride as you chew. The flavors burst in your mouth, rich and perfectly grilled, and you let out an appreciative hum, nodding enthusiastically.

He beams, a slight blush creeping up his cheeks. “Yeah?” He moves closer, his gaze lingering on you, and before you can respond, he leans in, brushing his lips against yours in a quick, soft kiss.

It leaves you smiling, and you can’t help but laugh softly, giving him a playful nudge. “Trying to win over the food critic, huh?”

“Absolutely,” he murmurs, leaning in to reconnect your lips for longer, until both of you are a little breathless, smiles lingering as he pulls back to check on the grill. 

The two of you linger over the grill, savoring every bite of grilled pork belly and vegetables, laughing at how much food Seokmin managed to bring. Just when you think you’re too full, he pulls out the last surprise: a box of instant ramen he’d brought just in case. “I mean, what’s camping without some ramen, right?” he says, grinning as he sets up the small camping stove.

“Of course,” you laugh, eyes wide with amusement. “As if I’d let you eat it all yourself.”

The ramen simmers quickly, filling the air with its savory scent. When it’s finally ready, you take turns slurping from the pot, laughing between bites, blowing on the noodles to cool them down. “This is seriously perfect,” you say, giving him a playful nudge. “You really thought of everything, didn’t you?”

Seokmin blushes, looking sheepish but pleased as he scratches the back of his head. “I wanted to make it nice for us.”

“It is,” you assure, giving him a soft, affectionate smile. 

As you finish up the last of the ramen and start stacking up the dishes, you come up beside him, resting your head on his arm. “I’m gonna shower. I smell like pork belly.” He’s rummaging through something in a bag, but you can’t see what it is over his broad shoulders.

That’s when Seokmin clears his throat and turns around, looking down at his hands nervously, seemingly gathering his thoughts.

“Actually, um…” he starts, then holds up an item. You can’t tell what it is just yet, but the soft blush on his cheeks lets you know that he’s been planning this moment, even if he’s a little shy about it. “I, uh… thought you might like these.”

You look at him, then down at the pajamas, recognizing that they match his. “Wait, matching PJs?” you ask, eyes lighting up in surprise.

He nods, laughing awkwardly. “Yeah… I just thought it’d be fun. But if it’s, you know, too much or—”

“Not at all,” you cut in, grinning. “It’s adorable.”

His face brightens, and he lets out a relieved breath, clearly pleased that you like the gesture. “Good. That’s… good,” he mumbles, finally meeting your gaze with a shy smile. He gestures toward the showers, still looking flustered but undeniably happy.

You head off to shower with the pajamas tucked under your arm, feeling the warmth of his thoughtfulness wrap around you as you go. 

After both of you have showered and changed, the air between you shifts, becoming softer, closer, and undeniably more intimate. The small glamping cabin feels cozy with the lights dimmed, the sounds of the night drifting softly in through the open window. Sitting cross-legged across from each other, you’re in the matching pajamas he picked out—an idea that seemed cute and innocent just hours ago but now has become the bane of his existence. Your set is a top that matches his, but instead of long pants, yours comes with shorts. 

It’s not like he hadn’t seen you in shorts or a skirt before, but he hadn’t… felt your bare legs against him like he would tonight. Tonight, when he’d have to sleep next to you. God, he feels like a fucking virgin. 

Seokmin’s eyes keep drifting over to you, taking in the way your smooth skin glows under the dim light, how relaxed and comfortable you look. His gaze lingers on the delicate line of your collarbone, the soft rise of your shoulders, and the way a few stray strands of hair frame your face. He tries to focus on your conversation, on the way you keep checking that the chords you’re mindlessly playing on his guitar are correct, but every laugh, every casual touch, sends his heart racing a little faster.

“You keep staring,” you tease, your voice light and playful as you stop playing, but there’s a boldness behind it that sends a thrill down his spine.

He laughs, embarrassed but unable to deny it. “I can’t help it,” he admits softly, giving you a sheepish smile. “You’re… really beautiful.”

The words hang between you, soft but full of meaning. You reach over, gently placing a hand on his knee, your fingers lingering just a little longer than usual. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you say, voice just above a whisper.

The warmth of your touch feels electric, and he doesn’t resist the urge to lace your fingers with his. A small silence settles between you, but it feels anything but empty. 

You tilt your head, leaning a little closer, and he follows your lead, heart pounding as he lets himself close the distance just a bit. The edges of your pajamas brush against each other as you inch closer, and before he realizes it, he’s right there, his hand reaching to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

As he leans in to kiss you, the guitar makes a foul sound, strings having been disturbed between your bodies and you laugh. “Let me move this, yeah?” 

He nods wordlessly, watching as you pick it up and carefully lay it inside the open case on the ground. His eyes trail after you as you rejoin him on the bed, watching the way you sit closer this time, your weight on your knees so that you’re hovering above him only slightly. Your palms come down to rest on his shoulders, and your lips, which he’d unknowingly been staring at for the last few seconds, finally meet his in a tender kiss. It's slow, careful, full of thought and feeling and tamed nervousness all at once as your hands wrap around his neck. It doesn’t take long before his lips part and your tongue meets his, head tilting in order to better taste him, desperate to feel him closer in any way he’ll let you have him. 

He's kissed you before, he’s felt the closeness between you two before, but this—this feels like the part of the song where every instrument comes together in harmony. There’s an unexpected depth to the way his hands find the small of your back, in the way you whine and sigh out in utter need, in how you fit so easily against him. 

A part of him panics, scrambling to put a name to what he’s feeling. It’s something big, bigger than he’s been ready to admit even to himself. Every moment he’s spent with you flickers in his mind, and it feels like he’s been collecting pieces of a story that only now makes sense. He doesn’t just care for you. He doesn't just like you. The feeling pressing in his chest, warm and weighty, is something else entirely—persistent, relentless, constant.

As your lips leave his to kiss down his jaw and neck, he wonders, dazed, if you can feel it too. This gravitational pull, he’s wrapped up in it. With each wet mark you leave behind on his neck, he’s free-falling further, and he realizes it’s too late to stop. He's already far beyond the point of no return.

Seokmin doesn’t hesitate to respond to your body, the space between you becoming both smaller and warmer as he tugs you closer until you’re practically situated on his lap. You let out a small, surprised gasp as you settle onto his thighs, hands sliding back up until they’re raking through his hair. 

As Seokmin slowly lowers you onto the soft bedding, the world outside feels distant, muted, as though it's been replaced by the gentle rhythm of your breathing and the steady thrum of his heart. His hands tremble, just slightly, but it’s not from uncertainty. 

He hovers above you for a second, eyes tracing your features, like he's trying to commit every detail to memory. There's a stillness between you, but it’s not awkward—just quiet, full of anticipation and softness. He touches your cheek gently, his thumb skimming over your skin.

"I..." he starts, words escaping him for a moment. He wasn’t sure what he’d wanted to say, but now all that’s left is the weight of the feelings he’s been holding back. He doesn't force it out, though, unsure if he can say anything that would encapsulate how he feels.

Instead, he leans down again, slowly, giving you the space to meet him halfway. His lips find yours once more, soft and tender, the kiss full of the things he can’t yet bring himself to voice. With each press of his mouth to yours, his body hums with the need to be close, to be tangled up with you, to feel you so completely.

When he pulls back, he stays close, forehead resting against yours, sharing the same breath. His heart beats faster than usual, as you utter his name in a single breath. “Seokmin?” 

“Yes?” 

“I… I need this off. Please.” You whisper, tugging at his shirt. He realizes immediately what you’re implying—or better said, what him taking his shirt off implies; his heart rattles wildly as he nods quickly.

He wastes no time in giving you exactly what you want, only hesitating to offer you the chance to change your mind. When you don't, laying there with your hair fanned out across the pillow and your eyes dazed and your lips still wet and swollen from his kiss, he pulls it off in one motion. He carefully observes the way your eyes trail down and right back up to meet his, a warmth spreading across his cheeks. 

“Help me with mine?” You plead softly, and he has to physically force his eyes to not roll back at the sultriness and vulnerability laced in your tone. He can’t help the low groan that escapes him, however, as he slides his slender fingers under the hem of your shirt and begins to lift it off of you. 

And with this, he takes his sweet, sweet time, holding his breath as inch by inch, more of your smooth skin is exposed to him. Until the swell of your breasts appears under the fabric. You sit up a little to help him slip it over your head and when you lay back down, Seokmin swears he might die. 

You can tell he needs a bit of a push, made obvious in the way he’s become gone completely still above you, jaw slack and chest heaving, so you grab his hand that sits at your hip and slide it up, molding it over your chest. Only then does he take some initiative to slide his thumb over your nipple and dip his head down to kiss your lips with a suppressed moan. 

“Do you know how much you mean to me?” The words spill out before he can help them, though he feels no embarrassment, especially not when you smile lazily up at him, eyes flickering between his. 

You nod without missing a beat, letting your fingertips brush back a few strands of hair that have fallen in front of his eyes. 

“I feel the same way.” You reassure, and that’s all it takes for him to kiss you again. This kiss is different from the last in just about every way; it’s desperate, wet, full of passion and you reciprocate it with just as much fervor, whining out when his hips roll into yours once, then twice, then as many times as it takes for the two of you to begin panting in each other’s mouths from the friction. 

Seokmin kisses your neck and down your sternum, using his hands to push both of your breasts together so he can alternate between licking and sucking at both of them with ease. He eats up every little whimper you let him have, returning the sound to you with no restraint as he rubs himself against your core. 

You watch him carefully, the way his jaw tenses when he bites down on your skin, the way he glances up at you through his brows as he swirls his tongue on your abdomen.

He lives and breathes for each little hiccup you let out, the whimpered chants of his name and “more” and “yes” only encouraging him to absolutely ravish you.

“I’m gonna take this off, okay?” 

You nod, letting his fingers trail around the waistband of your shorts. He hooks his fingers on either side, watching your face as he slips them down your thighs to discover the prettiest little lacy panties. They’re a midnight blue to match the night sky, and somehow, even through the dark material he can spot a wet mark from your slick. 

A sound rumbles from his chest, “You’re so-” he starts, but he’s interrupted by your moan, one that he draws from you the moment he runs a single digit over your clothed core. 

“Seokmin,” you pant, hips rolling up to meet his finger as it rubs you over and over again. He’s focused, keen on catching every little shift of your breath so can conjure up a trend of what you enjoy most. When he leans in to kiss your cunt, you almost lose your mind. It has formed a heartbeat entirely separate from the one rattling in your chest, and your body, which responds so well and obediently to his every touch, has altered itself to flutter in time with each one of his kisses. 

The material of your panties is so thin it’s almost easy to pretend it’s not there. Seokmin could have easily moved it aside, but he felt the need to create a pace, for your sake and his. If he had already tasted your slit, he’s sure he would have come untouched in his pants and this was the only sleepwear he brought, so it had to last him until tomorrow, too. 

His concentration doesn’t falter for a second, hands moving to cradle your thighs, rubbing them and squeezing your flesh as if he couldn’t believe your bare skin was truly in his hold. You’re becoming restless, he can tell, because you’re writhing, hands trembling as they reach for his hair.

“Take them off,” you beg. “I need to feel you.” You can’t take it anymore, the way he’s making out with your folds without any direct contact. You need to feel the drag of his tongue, the softness of his lips, without any material in the way. 

When he hums against you, the vibration feels wondrous. Being the great listener he is, he fulfills your request instantly. Your panties are dragged down your legs and tossed aside. Less than a second later, he leans his weight on his elbows, marveling at the sight before him. 

With his pupils blown wide, he mumbles something in between a plea and a praise, but it’s indiscernible because he’s already started to kiss you, whatever he’s said getting lost against your skin. His lips attach to the innermost part of your thigh, teeth nibbling boldly as you squirm. He doesn’t mean to be such a tease, but when all you want is to feel his mouth on you and he’s busied himself with marking the skin nearest to where you need him, you can’t help but whine in protest. 

“I can’t take it anymore.” You whisper, and he looks up to meet your eyes. 

It’s in a soft, lust-dripped voice that he requests, “let me take my time with you,” but you quickly shake your head.

“Please,” you try to beg, and the silkiness of your voice makes his dick swell inside his pants. He leans up, face close to yours and observing the way your cheeks redden from the humiliation of begging so shamelessly. He cracks a small grin and brings a hand up to hold your jaw affectionately, but firmly, as he kisses you.

Seokmin's lips break away from yours, his breath hot against your skin as he gazes deeply into your eyes. "Are you sure?" he murmurs, his voice a low, gravelly whisper that sends shivers down your spine. His fingers trail down your side, and you nod, unable to speak past the lump in your throat.

"Seokmin," you moan, your voice ragged and desperate. "Please..."

He looks up at you, his expression one of such raw desire that it takes your breath away. "I need you so much," he admits, his voice thick with emotion. "But I want to make sure that you're okay... that this is what you want."

You nod again, more urgently this time, your body thrumming with need. "Yes, yes," you insist, your nails digging into his shoulders. "I want you."

With a growl of satisfaction, he shifts his weight. You feel his fingers press against you, tentative at first, but then firmer as he begins to explore your wetness. You gasp at the touch, your hips bucking involuntarily.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs, his voice reverent as he continues to stroke you. "So perfect... I can't believe I get to be inside you."

His words send a thrill through you, making your heart race even faster. You watch as he removes his fingers, bringing them to his mouth to taste you. His eyes lock onto yours as he licks his fingers clean.

With a gentle yet firm grip, Seokmin lifts your legs, hands holding them to your chest. He leans in closer, his dark hair brushing against your inner thighs as he moves. Your skin tingles where it grazes you, and you bite your lower lip to stifle a moan. Seokmin's eyes never leave yours, his gaze intense and full of purpose. He lowers his head, his warm breath fanning over your sensitive core, sending shivers up your spine.

His tongue licks a stipe up your folds, tasting you for the first time. The sensation is electric, shock waves of pleasure radiating from the point of contact. You gasp, your back arching slightly as you try to ground yourself. Seokmin's hands on your thigh tightens momentarily, holding you steady as he continues his exploration.

With a groan at the feeling of you clenching against him, his tongue delves deeper, each stroke calculated, designed to elicit the most profound responses from your body. You can feel the heat pooling between your legs, your arousal growing with each passing second. 

"God, Seokmin," you whisper, your voice barely audible over the sound of your racing heartbeat. His name sounds so unbelievably sweet on your lips, a mantra of trust and desire. 

His mouth works feverishly now, his tongue flicking against your clit, occasionally pausing when he decides to wrap his lips around you or lay his tongue flat for friction. His teeth graze your clit lightly, a teasing nibble that sends sparks through your entire body. You cry out, your hips lifting involuntarily to roll against his face. He responds by increasing the intensity, his tongue now working in unison with his fingers, plunging into you as his mouth focuses on your bud. 

You can feel your orgasm building, and Seokmin senses it too, his actions becoming more urgent, more frantic. It’s obvious that he wants nothing more than to give you your release. The way he grinds himself down into the bedding shows that he’s just as affected as you are, and it only turns you on more. Every pant and moan he lets out against you is dizzying and overwhelming. As he leans back for a second to study your swollen, glistening cunt, you let out a whine. 

His hand slides up to cup your breast, squeezing gently as his mouth devours you again, murmuring a quiet “Sorry,” into your folds.

"Seokmin, I'm... I'm close," you manage to gasp, your voice strained with need.

He looks up at you, eyes half-lidded and glossed over. "Let go for me, baby." he murmurs against your slick skin, his words sending a fresh wave of sensation through you. He leans down enough to stick his tongue in you, and the moment he does, you feel his nose bump your clit. 

That was it—all it took for you to fall apart. Your body convulses, your muscles tightening and releasing in a torrent of ecstasy. Seokmin, driven by your cries, continues his relentless assault as you gasp and tremble beneath him. It feels endless, a cascade of bliss that leaves you breathless.

You knew his big ass nose would come in handy. 

When the waves of pleasure finally subside, you lay there, spent and sated. Seokmin remains between your legs, his gaze never leaving yours. He seems content, as if he had just accomplished something monumental, and at the same time, awe stuck by how absolutely fucked out you look. 

"Seokmin," you whisper again, your voice soft and filled with wonder.

“I know,” he mutters, crawling back up your body to kiss your lips sweetly. With deliberate slowness, he drags his pants down and lines himself up, his tip nudging at your entrance. 

Suddenly, he stops, burying his face into your chest as he realizes one thing. 

“What’s wrong?” You run a hand through his hair and he looks up at you, trying not to look too disappointed. If all he got to do today was eat you out, he would die a happy man. 

“I didn’t bring condoms.” He sighs, “I mean… I would’ve, but… I didn’t want to assume we would– I would never want you to feel like–” 

“All that overpacking and you didn’t think to bring a condom?” You giggle, letting your thumb caress his cheek. 

He grumbles, huffing out with exasperation as he hides his face in your skin again. 

After a moment, you hum contemplatively, and he can’t help but notice how little this seems to be affecting you. He ignores the pang in his chest and contemplates excusing himself to finish in the bathroom when you whisper the last thing he thought he might hear right about now: “It’s a good thing I did.” 

Slowly, he cranes his head to look back up at your eyes with his own wide ones. You wink, and he lifts himself up a little too eagerly as you tell him “They’re in my backpack. Side pocket.”

The way he rolls out of the bed and jogs over makes you laugh, rushing to find the shiny packet in your bag. When he does, he holds it up to showcase it and runs back over to you, reassuming his position between your legs. 

“You brought so many.” He blushes and you laugh. 

“Just in case. You’re not the only one who came prepared.” 

The giggles from the short interruption dissolve into happy, contented sighs as he presses his lips to yours with want. He only breaks the kiss to lean back on his heels and tear the packet open, fully removing his pants this time and slipping on the pastel colored rubber. 

You hold your breath as you feel him poking your thigh, every muscle in your body tense with anticipation. Then, with a deep sigh, he guides himself to your entrance and pushes inside, inch by inch. You gasp at the intrusion, your body stretching to accommodate him, and he freezes, waiting for you to adjust.

"Relax for me," he whispers, his voice soothing as he distracts you from any discomfort by dragging his lips from the corner of your mouth to your jaw. 

When you nod and tug his hips closer, he begins to move, pulling out almost completely before thrusting back in, his actions slow and measured.

The sensation is overwhelming, being wrapped up in you, surrounded by your soft walls. It’s so warm and so wet, better than he could ever have imagined. The way you squeeze him, the way your hands cling to him—the way you let his name fall from your lips like it belongs there. His emotions are so heightened, he has to slow down to not finish already. 

You moan, your hands clutching at the sheets beneath you, and he bends down to kiss you, his tongue licking at your bottom lip as he continues to thrust. The sound of your combined moans fills the tent, mingling with the rustle of fabric and the soft murmur of the night outside. 

Seokmin's pace gradually increases, his movements becoming more forceful, more desperate. You can feel the strain in his muscles, the tension in his body as he tries to hold back, to savor every moment. But the need is too great, the connection between you too powerful, and soon he's lost in the rhythm, his thrusts hard and steady, each one driving you closer to the edge.

"I'm so close," you gasp, your voice breaking as a particularly deep thrust hits just the right spot. "Please, please, please..."

He responds by increasing his speed, his hips snapping against yours with brutal precision. You can feel the pressure building inside you, a coiling sensation that threatens to explode at any moment. Your body arches off the bed, your nails digging into his back as you chase after that elusive climax.

"Shit, baby,” he mumbles, his voice strained. "Let me feel you come around me." His hands come up to hold yours, fingers intertwining as you mumble incoherently, squeezing your eyes shut.

And then, with one final, shuddering thrust, you do. Your body seizes, the second wave of ecstasy crashing over you as your breath catches, your release washing over you in pulsing waves. Seokmin follows closely behind, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he spills inside the condom, his body shaking with the force of his orgasm.

For a long moment, neither of you move, simply basking in the afterglow of your shared release. Seokmin's breath is warm against your skin, his heartbeat slowly returning to normal as he nuzzles into you. “You’re so pretty,” he whispers, his voice so soft you wonder if you imagined it. 

But before you can respond, he lifts his head, his eyes searching yours, forever prioritizing your needs over his. “Was that okay?”

You smile, “More than okay,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. 

A look of sheer joy spreads across his face, and he leans down to kiss you once more, his lips lingering against yours. 

“You tired, pretty girl?” 

“Just a little.” 

“Let me clean you up, yeah?  

You hum as he gives you a one last kiss and slips out of you with a hiss, sensitive still. He tosses the condom in the trash and slips on a pair of briefs, still a little shy to be naked in front of you, despite what just went down. He goes over to the bathroom to grab some towelette wipes and a towel. 

“Let me see, honey.” He spreads your legs again, leaving a kiss at your knee before wiping away the wetness that leaked out of you. He uses the wipe, then dries you off with the towel, tossing both things before going towards your bag. 

“Where do you have your panties?” 

“Front pocket…” You mumble tiredly. A small grin forms on his face at how sweet you sound, tired, still caught up in your post orgasmic bliss. He picks out a pretty pair, white and lacy, and helps you slip it on. “You cold? Want me to get you a shirt?” 

This time, you can only nod, eyelids heavy with sleep. To avoid bothering you again with the question of ‘Where do you keep your shirts?’ he grabs one of his own and gently lifts you off the mattress to slip it over your head. You hum softly, grabbing his hand to pull him to bed as he tries to pull away again. Seokmin thinks his heart might burst. He kisses your knuckles softly, cheeks glowing.“One second, I promise,” he coos, “I just need to dim the lights.” 

As soon as he flips the switch and dims the fairy lights, he settles down beside you, feeling your arms instinctively reach for him, wrapping around his waist as you draw yourself closer.

Your face is buried against his shoulder, a soft, contented sigh escaping as you nestle in. Your breathing evens out almost immediately, eyelids fluttering closed as the last hints of wakefulness slip away. Seokmin can feel the gentle weight of your legs tangling with his, pulling him into your warmth and, for a moment, he just watches—completely captivated by how you feel against him.

A small smile tugs at his lips as he brushes his fingers over your arm, savoring this closeness and the peaceful look on your face. Every bit of tension melts away as he breathes in your familiar, comforting scent. He knows you’re fast asleep now, fully trusting and at ease in his arms, and that thought alone is enough to make his heart swell.

For the first time in a long while, he feels completely at peace. So, he lets himself relax, tucking you close as he watches over you, basking in the soft quiet of the night.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ 

The first time Seokmin wakes up next to you, he decides the world will never give him enough mornings by your side. 

It’s evident in everything that surrounds the two of you on that Sunday morning—it’s in the breeze blowing through the curtain of the window that you had left open the night before. It’s in the blanket you had hogged in your slumber, exposing one of his legs to feel the warm welcome of the early sun peeking in through that very window. It’s your breath that he can hear by his ear, light and shallow and calm, through soft parted lips he can’t wait to feel on his again. 

It’s your skin, smooth and delicate. It’s near him, on him, touching him in different places, across his legs and chest and arms and neck; he can’t keep count, he just knows he’s enveloped in you—and it’s igniting the most intense adoration within his bones. The kind he might have felt long ago, the kind that grips his heart and thoughts with no means of slowing down. 

It’s you, beside him, and suddenly, he can’t bear the thought of sleeping alone again. 

Your rustling brings a smile to his face, simply because he’s eager to meet your eyes once more. And when they open, unfocused but searching for his face too, they crinkle into half moons and Seokmin swoons. 

This moment, so simple and familiar, feels perfect. It’s then, when he’s least prepared, caught off-guard in his sleepy haze and admiring your soft, tired features, that he hears you say it: 

“I love you.”

From the moment the words leave your mouth, his own sit on the tip of his tongue, begging to be uttered back. 

Instead, he offers you silence. Seconds of silence after a confession so vulnerable, so true—a confession he’s needed and longed to hear from you since the moment he kissed you that first night under the flickering streetlight. 

That word—love—feels dangerous, almost cursed. The last time he’d said it to someone, the last time he felt love for someone and told them so with no hesitation in his mind, with no consideration for his fragile heart, he was humiliated. It’s silly, he knows, but each time he’d said those words before, they’d somehow signaled the beginning of the end. And he could not bear to see the end of things with you. And now, looking into your hopeful eyes, that same fear rears its head, cold and stubborn, whispering that to say it back is to invite heartbreak, to open himself up to being left behind again. It’s irrational, maybe, but the thought is paralyzing.

He swallows, managing a soft smile, trying his best to keep his face composed as his mind raises and his voice threatens to shake. His fingers brush your cheek as he murmurs the same words he uttered to you last night, “You have no idea how much you mean to me.” It’s the best he can manage, the closest he can get to saying it without actually risking the word. He hopes it’s enough, hopes you can see the love in his eyes, even if he can’t yet bring himself to say it out loud. 

“It’s okay,” you say softly, offering him a small, understanding smile. “I didn’t say it because I expected you to say it back. I said it because… well, because that’s how I feel.”

You seem to understand, at least partially, your hand squeezing his, and he can see the glimmer of acceptance in your gaze. He knows it won't be enough—momentarily, perhaps, or for an unknown amount of time, but not forever. 

You squeeze his hand again, letting out a quiet breath. “I know you’ll tell me when you’re ready,” you say, voice warm and steady. “And until then… I’m here.”

He feels the tension ease just a bit, his heart swelling with both relief and guilt. You’re being so patient, so open, and it only makes him want to be brave for you. But he just nods for now, pressing his lips into a thin line as he manages, “Thank you. For understanding.”

You give a faint nod, a smile that tries to hide the slight sadness in your eyes, and he feels his heart twist. He wishes he could tell you that he feels it too—that your confession wasn’t one-sided. But for now, he stays silent, feeling the weight of what you’ve given him settle in.

“Do you wanna get up?” He offers softly. You instantly shake your head, burying your face into his bare chest.

“Five more minutes?” you mumble. You peek up at him, your smile sleepily mischievous, and Seokmin chuckles, his hand brushing a stray hair from your face.

“Five minutes, ten—however long you want,” he whispers, leaning in to place a soft kiss on your lips. It’s unhurried, as if the whole world could wait while the two of you are wrapped up like this, tangled in each other.

When you shift beside him, stretching your arms out lazily, you glance at him with a small, reassuring smile that eases his heartbeat just a bit. He’s grateful for the way you make things easy, like even this moment doesn’t have to be heavy if you don’t want it to be. You run a hand over your face, yawning, before nudging him with your elbow.

“Guess we should get up,” you say, your tone light and natural. “Don’t want to waste a good morning, right?”

He gives a half-smile, nodding as he follows you out of bed, and you throw him a playful look over your shoulder.

“Unless you were hoping I’d stay and keep you company in bed all day?” you ask, a teasing lilt in your voice. His eyes widen slightly, a bit taken aback by your ease, but he can’t help the shy grin that spreads across his face.

“I wouldn’t complain,”  he mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck.

And with that, you slip past him to get ready, leaving him with a sense of relief—and an unmistakable, lingering warmth.

Seokmin manages to shake off some of his nerves, filling the air with his easy going laughter as he cooks breakfast and teases you over little things, falling back into the playful rhythm the two of you share so naturally. 

Your voice echoes there, soft and steady, the simple weight of those words still settling over him. Every time he catches a glimpse of you—whether it’s the gentle way you sip your coffee or the absent-minded way you tuck your hair behind your ear—it stirs a quiet ache he can’t ignore.

As Seokmin finishes up the breakfast, he watches you from the corner of his eye, letting the simple moments drift by like steady waves, lapping at the shore of his thoughts. There’s something calming about the way you settle into the space around him, fitting so easily into this quiet morning routine together, as if it’s something you’ve done a hundred times before. He hands you a plate, his fingers brushing yours briefly, and the warmth that spreads through him feels steady, grounding.

You look up, catching his gaze with a small, grateful smile that makes his chest tighten. He watches as you take a bite, the way your eyes light up with approval, and he feels his nerves settle just a little more.

“Good?” he asks, half-laughing as you give a quick nod, cheeks full, and he finds himself grinning at the way you look. 

Between bites, the two of you chat, slipping into your familiar rhythm. He makes a lighthearted comment about your hair sticking up in the back, and you laugh, nudging his arm. Somewhere in the banter, you catch his hand in yours, resting there naturally like it belongs. 

Seokmin can't help but replay those three words you said over and over in his mind, thinking of the quiet certainty in your voice, the way your eyes held his as if no hesitation existed. And now, with you here beside him, he almost says it back, the words, the words itching to be let out. But he doesn’t—he can’t; not yet.

Instead, he gently squeezes your hand, hoping, in some way, that you can feel the depth of his affection in the simple, steady warmth of his touch. The way his gaze lingers on you speaks volumes he isn’t yet brave enough to say. And you smile at him, as if you know.

The rest of the day drifts by like a dream, bathed in golden afternoon light that slowly deepens into the cool, quiet tones of evening. After breakfast, the two of you go for a short walk around the grounds, wandering past trees in full autumn colors, the air crisp and bracing. Occasionally, Seokmin’s fingers find yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a way that feels both grounding and unspokenly affectionate. 

As it turns out, you and Seokmin have a knack for stumbling into things—quite literally. He catches his foot on a root hidden beneath the leaves, nearly pulling you down with him by your attached hands as he laughs, scrambling to regain balance with a sheepish grin. You poke fun at him, of course, only to nearly slip on a patch of damp grass a few steps later, and Seokmin’s hand shoots out to steady you, laughing as he catches you in his arms.

“You were saying?” he teases, eyebrows raised, his playful smirk softened by the affection in his gaze.

Later, as evening settles in, you sit together outside on the small porch, wrapped up in blankets and each other, watching the stars begin to pepper the sky. Seokmin pulls his guitar into his lap and plays a few soft, mellow chords, humming quietly, his voice blending with the evening calm. Occasionally, he looks up at you, his gaze tender and constantly admiring, as it always is. 

By the time you head inside, there’s an anticipation between you, growing steadily when the two of you embrace after your showers. The glow of the small lamp fills the room, casting soft shadows on the walls as you settle into the bed together. You both fall into an easy rhythm of conversation and laughter, whispers blending into quiet confessions and gentle touches, which eventually lose their innocence. Even then, there’s no rush, no need for words, just a sense of closeness that feels like a second skin. As one kiss leads to another, the night takes on a similar course as it had the previous evening—one that feels both familiar and thrilling in its newness. In the stillness of the campsite under the moon and stars, there’s only the soft sound of breaths, kisses, and… Well. 

The next morning arrives with a gentle sunlight spilling through the windows, casting everything in a warm glow. You wake slowly, savoring the feeling of lying next to him with the comfort of his presence still wrapped around you. You share soft smiles as you both get ready, packing up the last of your things in a comfortable, tired haze. There’s a sweetness in the routine, the way he hands you your jacket and steals a quick kiss on your cheek, as if he can’t help himself.

The drive home feels just as perfect as the drive there—filled with little moments of laughter and teasing, fingers brushing over the console, songs you hum along to together. Seokmin stops for your staple coffee time halfway to home, passing you a cup with a small grin. You glance out the window occasionally, taking in the passing landscape, but every time you turn back to him, he’s already looking at you, a soft warmth in his eyes.

It’s only when he pulls up to your place that a sense of reality settles in, a quiet reluctance to let the trip end. He helps you with your bags, walking you to your door with that familiar ease, and there’s a bittersweetness in his goodbye kiss, lingering a moment longer as if to preemptively make up for the inevitable time apart.

“See you soon?” he says softly, his hand still holding yours.

You nod, and the warmth in his gaze tells you everything you need to know, even as he steps back down the hall and out of sight.

Weeks after your first confession, you and Seokmin have fallen into an easy rhythm that feels like second nature. He’s more open now, sharing silent looks across the table, catching you with a gaze that feels almost as sentimental as the words you’re longing for him to say. He’s grown comfortable in so many ways, but in quiet moments, you still see it—that flicker of hesitance, like something inside him just can’t cross a line he’s drawn. And tonight, with the city lights casting a soft glow around his apartment, you feel ready to try again.

The two of you settle close on his couch, your legs brushing against each other as you both sink into the comfort of the evening. A movie flickers on the screen, but it’s more of a backdrop than the main event, something you both occasionally glance at in between kisses, light touches, and murmured exchanges.

Seokmin leans back slightly, his fingers brushing through your hair as you press closer, sharing soft, lingering kisses. It’s slow, unhurried, and he lets himself forget everything else for a while, entirely caught up in the feeling of you next to him. His hand finds yours, fingers lacing together, giving a gentle squeeze. After a while of pretending to watch the screen, he pulls you a little closer, his gaze searching yours for a moment before he tilts his head, brushing another soft kiss to the corner of your mouth. And then another, slower and deeper this time.

His nose digs into your cheek and you smile, cradling his face in your hands, letting them wander around to the back of his neck, where you run your fingers through his hair.

The movie fades further into the background, replaced by warmth and soft laughter as you lose yourselves in each other, both of you letting the feeling settle deeper into your bones. It’s simple, but for Seokmin, it’s the kind of night that reminds him why he’s feeling so swept up in you.

You turn toward him on the couch, reaching out to trace your fingers gently along his arm, and catch his gaze. He smiles, eyes softening as he leans into your touch. The moment feels right, and with a steadying breath, you let the words spill out again: “I love you.”

For a moment, he goes completely still. You see a rush of emotion in his eyes, something soft, vulnerable and unguarded, and you think—just for a heartbeat—that this might be the time he finally lets go of whatever’s holding him back. But the warmth fades, replaced by that familiar shadow of hesitation. His fingers curl around yours, gripping tight as if holding on could substitute for the words he can’t bring himself to say. He presses his lips to the back of your hand and sighs. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs, voice thick with emotion, his gaze falling as though he’s searching for something on the floor.

Your gaze drops from his too, focusing somewhere off to the side, and your grip on his hand loosens, as if without thinking, like something in you is just pulling away.

A soft, reassuring smile comes to your lips, and you do your best to hold it there, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. When he squeezes your hand, he feels you squeeze back, and you’re still right there beside him, warm and present. But Seokmin can feel the edges of something—uncertainty, maybe—hovering, just barely.

While your heart aches with a sting that’s sharper than last time, you brush it aside, leaning closer to reassure him, trying to smooth the hurt in both of you. “It’s okay, Seokmin,” you whisper, thumb tracing over his knuckles softly. “I didn’t say it to hear it back… I just wanted you to know.”

His eyes meet yours, full of regret and something else—something deeper that can’t be voiced. He gently lifts your hand, pressing it against his chest, over his heart, as if willing you to feel everything he wishes he could say. “I’m so sorry. It’s… it’s not fair to you.” His voice trembles, the words catching in his throat. “It’s not that I don’t feel it, I just…”

You nod slowly, holding his gaze even though your own emotions are mixed—somewhere between understanding and the ache of waiting. “I know you care about me, Seokmin. I’m trying to be patient, really. I…” You hesitate, searching for the right words. “I wish you’d let yourself believe in this too. I don’t want you to be afraid of it.”

He tightens his grip on your hand, his eyes turning somber. “It’s not that I don’t believe in it,” he says, his voice soft, almost pleading. “It’s that every time I say those words, it feels like… like saying it out loud will make it vanish. And I don’t ever want to lose you.”

Your expression softens. “You won’t lose me, Seokmin. I’m right here.” 

Seokmin feels a knot in his chest, seeing the quiet disappointment in your eyes, a look he never wanted to be the cause of. He pulls you closer, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead as if trying to bridge the gap with touch instead of words. He’s silent for a moment, caught between the instinct to protect himself and the fear that he’ll push you away if he doesn’t change. The tension melts, if only a little, as he wraps his arms around you, anchoring you to him with a fierce kind of tenderness.

You don’t say anything, and neither does he. The warmth between your bodies fills the space where the silence lies, saying enough for the time being, and you feel your eyelids growing heavier as the quiet lulls you toward sleep. His hand drifts up to brush through your hair, a touch so gentle that it makes you smile, just barely, and you let yourself drift off, hoping, as his heartbeat thrums against your cheek, that it’s all for you.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ 

≡;- ꒰ ° three꒱

The night starts quietly, with the two of you curled up on his couch, the dim, golden glow from the living room lamp casting a warm hue around you. You talk about everything and nothing—work, weekend plans, the idea of a trip he wants to take you on. Each topic drifts easily between you, filling the space with laughter, shared glances, and gentle touches.

Seokmin has his arm loosely draped around your shoulders, his fingers tracing light patterns on your arm as you lean into his warmth. Occasionally, he reaches over to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb lingering softly against your cheek, giving you a gentle smile that makes your heart flutter. It’s in these tiny, quiet moments that you feel his affection most—unspoken, steady, as if no words are needed.

At one point, he leans down to kiss you, his lips warm and tender with a hand sitting at the base of your neck. You kiss him back a little slower, savoring the sweetness of it. When he pulls away, he nudges you playfully, his eyes crinkling with that familiar, affectionate look that never fails to make you feel giddy.

“You’re going to stay the night, right?” he asks, his tone just a little shy, though his fingers are threaded through yours with a quiet confidence that feels both fragile and sure.

Smiling, you nestle closer, feeling that familiar spark in your chest. “If you’ll have me,” you tease, laughing as he tugs you even closer, your head settling comfortably against his chest as his hand traces slow circles along your back.

He nods, a quiet joy in his eyes as he presses a light kiss to your forehead. His hand finds yours again, fingers curling around yours in a small, reassuring squeeze. For a moment, he looks like he wants to say something, his gaze lingering on your face as if he’s searching for the right words.

Instead, you break the silence, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “Baby,” you murmur softly, a little smile tugging at the corners of your lips, “I really… I care about you, a lot.”

His smile softens, his eyes warm as they meet yours. “Me too,” he replies quietly, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles. His gaze holds something vulnerable beneath the surface, a weight to his affection that feels so real, even if he doesn’t say it.

The conversation drifts on, flowing from one topic to another as the minutes slip by. Every now and then, he leans in to kiss you again, an affectionate touch of lips that lingers a little longer each time, filled with a quiet intensity that makes you feel wanted, cherished. As the evening wears on, you find yourself wrapped in his arms, half-drowsy and content, happy to simply exist there in his warmth. You leave a kiss on his throat and the words leave your mouth unexpectedly; soft, steady, unplanned, as if saying them was the most natural thing in the world, “Seokmin… I love you.”

The room grows still, and Seokmin’s face shifts immediately, as though he’s braced himself for something he isn’t sure he can accept. He looks away, lips pressing into a tight line. There’s a quiet between you, but it isn’t the warm silence you’re used to; it’s the kind that leaves you feeling exposed.

After a beat, he exhales sharply. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

You feel frustration stirring, a tightness forming in your chest. “Seokmin, it’s the third time I’ve told you in the last three months, and I still haven’t heard anything back. Not even once.”

He rubs the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze. “It’s… it’s complicated. I told you that.”

You take a deep breath, nodding, trying to keep your voice even. “I understand. But don’t you think it’s a little unfair? I’m putting myself out there, and every time, you just… close up.” You glance down, the words catching in your throat as you add, “I don’t even know if you want this to be anything serious, Seokmin.”

Your words hit him, and his brows furrow as he finally looks back at you. “Of course I do. Why do you think I’m with you?”

You shake your head, exasperated. “Then why can’t you say it? Why can’t you just say you love me?”

He sighs, clearly struggling, and you can see the way he’s wrestling with the internal conflict he’s been carrying for so long. But before he can answer, your phone buzzes, drawing both your eyes to the screen as it lights up with a message. You barely look at it, just a quick glance, but Seokmin’s expression shifts, his eyes narrowing as he catches sight of the heart emoji he had seen back when you left your phone on the bus.

“Who’s texting you?” he asks, a hint of irritation in his voice.

You look down at the name, realizing with a sinking feeling that it’s from your ex. You hadn’t changed the contact since meeting Seokmin, hadn’t thought about it, really. But the moment feels heavy as you explain, “It’s just… someone from a while ago. We don’t talk anymore.”

His mouth twitches in a half-bitter smile, half-scoff as he lifts himself up from under you, standing up to pace. “A heart emoji? Doesn’t seem like ‘just someone.’”

You follow, reaching for his hand, but he pulls away, pain in his eyes harder than you’ve ever seen. “Seokmin, it’s not what you think. I haven’t talked to him since we started seeing each other.”

But he shakes his head, looking away. “You say that, but how am I supposed to believe it? I’ve been here before, and I know what happens next.”

The accusation hits you like a slap, disbelief mingling with anger. “Are you serious? Seokmin, I’ve done nothing but give you every reason to trust me. I’ve waited, I’ve been patient with you. I told you how I feel because I thought you’d want to know, not so I could be questioned like this.”

His voice rises, defensiveness seeping in. “You don’t understand, okay? You don’t know what it’s like to think everything’s fine and then realize it was all a lie. I can’t just give myself away like that. I’m not ready.”

The frustration boils over, and your voice trembles as you retort, “Then maybe you shouldn’t have been with me if you weren’t ready for someone who actually loves you.” You take a step back, feeling a crack in the wall you’ve been holding up. “And you know what? I don’t even want to hear ‘I love you’ now, not like this. Not if I have to beg for it.”

Seokmin looks away, swallowing, and for a moment, neither of you says anything. The silence between you feels like a chasm, a point you can’t return from. Finally, his voice softens, barely above a whisper. “Maybe I just… don’t know how to love anyone right.”

The silence stretches uncomfortably, the weight of his words filling the space between you. Your heart twists, but instead of softening, it stirs your anger.

“You know what, Seokmin?” You break the silence, voice sharper than you intend. “I don’t think you really want this. And God, that fucking sucks—because every day with you felt like I finally got everything I ever wanted. But apparently the feeling isn’t mutual. I mean, you say you care, but every time I take a step closer, you’re right there pushing me back.”

His expression hardens, and he crosses his arms defensively. “And maybe I don’t want to get hurt again. You think it’s easy for me to just jump in like nothing happened?”

You shake your head, exasperated. “I get that you have baggage, but what about mine? You don’t think it hurts every time I tell you how I feel, and you just stare at me like it’s some impossible thing for you to say back? Like I’m asking too much from you?” You scoff, shaking your head. “Maybe that’s on me for thinking I could mean more to you than just… this convenient relationship you can pull away from whenever you feel like it.”

He takes a step back, his eyes blazing with hurt and anger. “Convenient? You think this is convenient for me? You think everything we did means nothing to me? You think you mean nothing to me?”

Your voice breaks, hurt now outweighing the anger. “You never even asked me to be your girlfriend, Seokmin!” He looks over, finding that tears have begun pooling in your eyes. “I feel like I’m just waiting around for you to make up your mind.”

Seokmin freezes, his heart sinking at the sight of your tears. The words hit him harder than anything else you’ve said. He hadn’t realized how much he’d been taking for granted, how much he’d been leaving you to carry on your own. The look on your face—raw, vulnerable, and heartbroken—pierces him in a way nothing else has.

His breath catches in his throat, and for a moment, he can’t move. His chest feels tight, like there’s a weight pressing down on him. He had always thought he was doing enough, that his feelings for you would be enough to show how much you meant to him. But hearing you say those words—waiting around for him to make up his mind—it’s like a gut punch. He never intended for you to feel this way.

“Y/N…” he starts, his voice strained and unsteady. His hand hovers in the air as if unsure whether to reach for you or not, the space between you seeming wider than ever. His lips tremble slightly, and he takes a step forward, but you don’t move. The distance between you feels like an impenetrable wall, and he feels like he’s losing you with every passing second.

“I—I never meant for you to feel that way,” he says, his words faltering. His eyes flicker between you and the floor, unsure of how to fix the brokenness that’s suddenly so palpable between you two. “I… I thought you knew how much I care about you. I thought I was doing enough…”

His voice trails off, and the realization dawns on him like a harsh slap. He didn’t ask you to be his girlfriend. He didn’t make it clear how serious he was. He just assumed you knew. And now, seeing the hurt in your eyes, he understands how wrong he’s been.

“I—I never wanted you to feel like you were waiting. I just… I don’t know what I’m doing,” he admits, his voice thick with regret. His chest feels tight, constricted by the weight of his own inaction. “I didn’t realize how much I was asking of you.”

He takes another tentative step toward you, his hands trembling slightly as they reach for yours. This time, when he touches your hand, there’s no hesitation—just a desperate need to bridge the gap between you. His fingers wrap gently around yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles, his gaze searching yours for any sign that there’s still hope.

“I never wanted to hurt you. I just didn’t know how to… how to make it right.” He shakes his head in disbelief, as if trying to make sense of it all. The weight of everything he’s left unsaid presses down on him, and the guilt gnaws at him, leaving him feeling smaller with each passing second. "Please, just tell me how to fix it," he says quietly, his voice barely audible. "I don’t want to lose you. But–” You roll your eyes before he even elaborates, already knowing where his point is going, “I can’t. Not after what happened last time.” 

You take your hand out of his grip, clenching your fists. “Do you even hear yourself? I’ve been here, Seokmin. I stayed, I waited, I tried. But all you’re doing is punishing me for something that has nothing to do with me. And I can’t keep trying to prove myself to you when you’re already convinced I’m going to hurt you.”

Seokmin’s expression twists with frustration, his voice dropping, “Well, maybe that’s because people like you always do. You say you’re here now, but I’ve seen what happens next. You’ll find someone else, someone who can say all the right things, and you’ll leave me just like everyone else has.”

There’s a sudden ache in your chest, a pang of betrayal, and it’s your turn to take a step back. “People like me?” you repeat, voice trembling. “You think so little of me that you’d group me with whatever happened to you before? How could you possibly believe that after everything we’ve been through?”

He glances away, unable to answer, but his silence only fuels your frustration.

“Maybe you’re right,” you say, voice barely above a whisper but seething. “Maybe you’re not the guy for me. Because I deserve someone who trusts me, who wants to be with me, and isn’t stuck in this endless cycle of doubt and fear.”

The words hang in the air between you, and Seokmin’s face instantly shifts from anger to something far more fragile. His eyes widen, and he looks as if you’ve struck him—like he hadn’t considered, not for a second, that things could actually end this way.

“You… you don’t mean that,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. He takes a step toward you, desperation in his eyes. “You can’t just… walk away. We can work through this; I’ll try harder.”

You shake your head, the weight of disappointment settling heavily in your chest. “Seokmin, this isn’t about trying harder. It’s about trust, about feeling like you actually want me in your life. I can’t keep pouring myself into this when you’re too afraid to meet me halfway.”

His voice cracks as he pleads, “But I need you. I just… I didn’t know how to say it before. I’m sorry. I thought… I thought you’d understand. I thought you’d give me more time.”

You can feel your resolve start to waver, but you swallow hard, staying strong. “I thought I could, too. But it’s not fair to keep asking me to wait. I’m not your past, Seokmin. I’m here, right now, trying to build a future with you. And if that’s not something you can give me…” You take a shaky breath, the finality of it sinking in, “…then maybe this isn’t right.”

The devastation on his face is clear, and he takes another step toward you, reaching out hesitantly as if afraid you’ll pull away. “No, please… I’ll try to be better. I don’t want to lose you.”

Your chest tightens at the rawness in his voice, and for a moment, you soften. But there’s still an ache, a lingering feeling that’s been growing with each unspoken “I love you,” each moment he couldn’t bring himself to trust you.

“Seokmin, I didn’t want it to come to this,” you murmur, voice breaking slightly. “But I can’t be the only one fighting for us. You need to want this, too. Not just because you’re afraid of being alone, but because you’re willing to love me.”

He’s silent, his hands dropping as his gaze falls to the floor, visibly struggling with the weight of your words. Finally, he nods, a defeated look in his eyes. “I do want to… but I don’t know how.”

You close your eyes, heart aching for him—for what could have been, for the love that’s still there between you but not enough to hold you together. You gently touch his arm, feeling the warmth of his skin one last time. “I hope you figure it out, Seokmin. For both of us.”

He looks up, a tear slipping down his cheek as he whispers, “I’m so sorry.” And you walk out the door, leaving him standing alone in his living room. 

The silence presses in around him, heavy and suffocating, like an oppressive weight settling over his chest. His body feels frozen, like he’s still trying to catch up to the reality of what just happened, the weight of your words and the finality of your departure sinking into his bones.

He rubs his face with both hands, the frustration and guilt bubbling up in a way that feels suffocating. His mind spins, replaying the argument over and over again, each word cutting deeper than the last. You were right. He never asked you to be his girlfriend. He never gave you the security you needed, the assurance you deserved. And now, the one person he thought would always be there, the one person he couldn’t afford to lose, was walking away.

He drags a hand through his hair, pacing across the room aimlessly, unsure of what to do with himself. His mind races, but everything feels so muddled, so unclear. He knows he messed up, but he doesn’t know how to fix it. He didn’t know how much he’d taken for granted until it was too late, until you were gone.

His breath comes in shallow bursts, and suddenly, the tears come, hot and stinging against his eyes.

He doesn’t try to stop them. They fall freely, a mixture of frustration, guilt, and regret overwhelming him. The harshness of the argument fades into the quiet ache of realizing what he’s lost, and with it, the reality of how deeply he’s hurt you. His chest tightens with every tear that slips down his face, the lump in his throat growing impossibly heavier.

He slumps further into the couch, his face in his hands as he tries to catch his breath. The sobs come harder now, raw and uncontrollable. He’d never imagined it would end like this—he’d always believed things would somehow work out, that time would fix everything, that he could somehow get over his own fears and be the person you needed. But now, in the quiet aftermath, all he can feel is the void left by your absence, and the fear that maybe it’s too late for any of it.

Should he have followed you outside? Grabbed your arm, held you against his chest, begged you not to leave? Would it have made a difference? 

He paces back and forth in the living room, his thoughts a jumbled mess. Every step feels like it’s dragging him deeper into a pit, each round of his feet against the floor only making him feel more isolated. The tears that had come earlier are dry now, but the hurt still lingers, gnawing at him. His mind is a whirlwind, replaying everything from the argument to the moment you walked out.

I didn’t mean to hurt you. The thought runs over and over in his mind, but he’s not sure how to make it stop, how to undo what’s been said. He’s not sure what’s scarier: the fact that he couldn’t say the words you needed to hear or that now, in the aftermath, he’s terrified of losing you.

His eyes keep drifting to his phone, as though waiting for some kind of sign, a message from you, maybe, telling him you’ve reconsidered. But there’s nothing. Just the empty silence that presses down on him, the space between you growing further with each passing minute.

Hours slip by, and eventually, he can’t stay awake any longer. He drags himself to his bedroom, his limbs heavy and uncoordinated, like everything is moving in slow motion. The bed feels too big, too empty without you beside him, where you were supposed to lie tonight, in his arms. He lays down but can’t seem to settle, tossing and turning as thoughts of you invade his every attempt at rest.

His mind drifts back to the warmth of your laughter, the softness of your touch, how easily the two of you had fit together. And now, he’s left with this cold, aching emptiness. He can’t stop thinking about you—how he should’ve told you everything you needed to hear, how he could’ve fixed it.

But all he can do now is lie awake, staring at the ceiling, hoping, wishing, that somehow, he’ll find a way to make things right.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

The days since you’d left feel like an eternity. A month and a half. 

The space between you and Seokmin has grown too wide to bridge, but every day, as he drives home from work, he’s haunted by the sight of you getting off the bus at your usual stop. There’s a painful rhythm to it now, a constant reminder of what once was and how easily it all slipped away. He can’t help but notice the way your shoulders are hunched, the distance in your stride, as if you too are carrying a weight you hadn’t expected.

Seokmin keeps his eyes on the road, trying not to look, but every day, it’s harder to ignore. His heart aches with the knowledge that you’re right there—so close, yet untouchable.

It’s a quiet torment, this space between you two. The conversations with his friends, the questions about you, all feel like another layer of pressure, a weight he can’t seem to shrug off.

“Hey, Seokmin,” Seungkwan says one evening, voice light but laced with concern as he wipes down his work station. “Have you heard from Y/N? I haven’t seen her around lately. Did you guys have a fight or something?”

Seokmin stiffens, his grip on the rag he’s holding tightening. His best friend’s eyes are searching, but Seokmin doesn’t know how to explain. How could he? The words still feel heavy in his mouth, and he’s not sure how much longer he can lie about it.

“I… uh… we just haven’t talked in a while,” Seokmin says, his voice unsteady, the smile he tries to muster faltering. “I think she’s been busy with schoolwork, you know?”

Seungkwan doesn’t press, though the concern in his eyes doesn’t go unnoticed. It’s hard for Seokmin to explain what’s going on, especially when it feels like everything’s been left unsaid, hanging in the air like a storm that never quite hits. 

Then, it’s Joshua at the coffee shop, always quick to greet Seokmin with his usual bright energy, but his tone shifts a little when he mentions you. “So, where’s your friend been? Haven’t seen her in here lately. You two still hanging out?”

Seokmin’s chest tightens, the words harder to push out than he expects. “Yeah, she’s just been busy with some stuff. You know how it is.”

Joshua looks at him for a moment, expression softening as though he’s trying to piece things together, but he says nothing. Instead, he just hands over Seokmin’s coffee with a knowing smile, as if that’s all he can offer for now.

Seokmin hates the question, the one he can’t answer truthfully. Every time it comes up, it breaks something inside him. So, when Mr. Kim asks why you haven’t been coming by to read his books, Seokmin smiles—his smile that feels too heavy, too tired—and gives the same response he’s been giving for weeks. “She’s been busy, Mr. Kim. I’m sure she’ll stop by again soon.”

Mr. Kim, not catching the underlying sadness, just nods and pats Seokmin’s shoulder, his eyes warm with understanding. “I hope so. It’s not the same without her.”

But the worst of it all is when Ms. Boo, Seungkwan’s grandmother, asks. Seokmin has always had a soft spot for the elderly woman, and her memory isn’t what it used to be, so she asks about you often—sometimes multiple times in a week.

Each time, it feels like a new cut. She looks up at him with bright, hopeful eyes, always asking where you’ve gone, if you’re coming to visit again soon. 

Seokmin forces the smile to stay in place, masking the rawness he feels. “She’s just been busy with school, Ms. Boo. Everything’s alright, I promise. She’ll be back soon.”

But there’s always something about the way she looks at him that feels like she sees through the mask, as if she can tell something isn’t right. She doesn’t say it out loud, but the way she sighs, the way her face falls just a little, makes it clear that she can feel the change in the air. She sees it in the flowers, too. Despite how hard Seokmin tries to hide it, the displays at the window have begun to look lifeless and dull once more. 

Seungkwan, who has overheard all these conversations, sees how his grandmother’s face changes with each of these questions. He sees how Seokmin’s eyes dim just a little bit more each time he lies. It breaks his heart to watch, and yet, he doesn’t know how to fix it. He doesn’t know how to make it better for his friend.

Seokmin is a shell of himself when he’s alone in his apartment, and Seungkwan knows it. He’s seen it in the way Seokmin walks through the coffee shop doors, the way his shoulders slump more with each passing day. But there’s nothing to say. Nothing Seungkwan can do except wait for Seokmin to find a way out of this quiet agony.

And Seokmin, for his part, is slowly suffocating in it. The silence between them stretches on, a cruel reminder of how things can slip away when the words left unsaid are too heavy to carry.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

Seokmin can’t take it anymore. Every day, he drives past your stop, sees you walking away, and it feels like he's still chasing something he can't reach. He hasn’t let go, not really. It’s been two months, but the feeling of being cut off from you gnaws at him relentlessly. He doesn’t know how to fix it, but he knows he can’t keep waiting, not like this.

He picks up his phone, fingers trembling slightly as he stares at your name in his contacts. The screen is bright in the dimness of his apartment, a silent reminder of all the things left unsaid between you two. He hesitates for a moment, but it’s only a moment—he doesn’t want to regret this. Not this time.

He taps your name, the sound of the call connecting ringing in his ears. It rings and rings, each second stretching longer than the last. His heart beats louder in his chest, and as the voicemail prompt comes through, he lets out a shaky breath.

The words tumble out before he can stop them, a rush of everything he’s been holding back, the things he hasn’t said and should’ve said weeks ago.

“Hey,” he starts, his voice quiet but steady. “I know we haven’t talked in a while, but… I wanted you to know that I miss you, and I miss us. And… I’m in love with you, if that means anything to you now.”

He swallows hard again, the confession hanging in the air, vulnerable and raw. “I just—” His voice cracks for a second before he regains himself. “I just need you to know that. Because I can’t pretend I don’t feel it anymore. And I can’t keep pretending that I don’t miss you. Even if this is too late. Even if you’re already moving on.”

The words weigh heavily on him, but there’s something freeing about saying them out loud, even if it’s just into a voicemail.

He lets out a shaky breath, the lump in his throat tightening as he finishes, “I don’t know what you want or how you feel anymore, but I hope, in some way, you know how much you mean to me. And maybe—just maybe—you’ll understand that when I say I’m sorry for everything that went wrong, I mean it. I really do.”

He pauses again, the finality of the message weighing on him, and he rubs the back of his neck, closing his eyes as if imagining you were hearing him now.

“I hope you’re doing okay. Whatever you decide, just… know that I miss you. I’m sorry. And I love you. I always have.”

His hand falls to his side as the beep signaling the end of the message rings in his ears, leaving a silence that feels even heavier than the one before.

Seokmin stares at the phone in his hand, his breath shaky, heart pounding. The message is sent, but the weight of it doesn’t lift. In fact, everything feels heavier, as if saying those words has only made the space between you feel even more real. He rubs his eyes, trying to hold back the tears that threaten to fall. His chest feels tight, a lump in his throat that won’t go away no matter how many times he exhales.

He stares at the phone, unable to look away. His mind is flooded with memories of you—the way you used to laugh, how your eyes would light up when you'd talk about something you loved, how your hand felt in his, so warm and familiar. He’d taken it all for granted. And now, with the message sent and no immediate response, the silence between you feels deafening.

His eyes water, his throat tightens with the kind of ache that no words can fix. It’s strange how he can feel so empty yet so full of regret at the same time. He thought saying the words would somehow bring relief, some kind of release, but instead, it only makes him realize how much he’s lost. How much he’s hurt you. How he hasn’t been the person he wanted to be for you, not the way he promised he would.

The thought of you not listening to the message, not responding, makes the knot in his stomach twist tighter. What if you’ve already moved on? What if it’s too late for him to fix anything? He can barely bring himself to imagine it.

Seokmin blinks rapidly, trying to clear his vision, but it doesn’t help. His tears spill over, and for the first time since the night you walked out, he lets himself really cry. He sits there, phone still in his hand, the emptiness of the room almost suffocating. 

"Please listen," he whispers to the empty room, as though saying it out loud might somehow make it real. The words feel weak, pathetic even, but they’re all he has left.

He sets the phone down on the couch beside him, a hollow ache settling in his chest. The message he left you was everything he needed to say, but it still doesn’t feel like enough. His fingers twitch, almost instinctively, reaching for his phone again as if the act of texting or calling might undo the quiet that’s consumed him. But he doesn’t. His hand falls to his side, heavy and lifeless.

Seokmin feels the weight of it all in the stillness, like the air itself is pressing down on him. He pulls his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them in a loose embrace. His thoughts drift back to the fight, to the moment he knew things had cracked between the two of you. He could still hear your voice, the pain and frustration in it, the words you said—I’m just waiting around for you to make up your mind. They replay over and over, no matter how hard he tries to shake them off.

The silence stretches on, suffocating. The clock ticks, each second heavier than the last. Seokmin’s breath shudders as his mind replays every moment, every opportunity he had to say the words that could have made a difference. But he never did. He never allowed himself to take that step, always too afraid that he’d screw it up, that he’d let you down. And now, in the quiet aftermath of everything, he realizes how much he truly let you down.

His body feels tired, worn, but sleep doesn’t come. Not tonight. He lies back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling as the minutes tick by. His eyes are red, his heart heavier than it’s ever been. 

The next morning, Seokmin wakes up to the sound of his phone buzzing beside. He groans, blinking into the early light of the day, the ache in his chest still persistent. He’s been lying on the couch for hours, unable to fall asleep, but exhausted all the same. When he finally brings himself to stand, his phone buzzes again with a text from Seungkwan.

“Hey, we’re coming over. You okay?”

As much as he wants to curl up and shut out the world, he knows Seungkwan won’t let that happen. And Soonyoung, ever the optimistic force, won’t leave him alone until they can make him smile again.

He doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he slowly trudges into the kitchen, staring blankly at the coffee maker as if it holds the secret to feeling better. He pours a cup, the warm liquid comforting in the way only caffeine can, but it doesn’t do anything for the hollow ache that’s settled into his ribs.

When the doorbell rings, he’s still holding the mug, his fingers cold around it. He doesn’t even bother to put it down as he goes to open the door.

Seungkwan and Soonyoung are standing there, both grinning wide, but it doesn’t take long for them to notice how Seokmin’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. His hair is a mess, his clothes wrinkled, but it’s the way he carries himself that tells them everything.

“Seokmin,” Seungkwan says softly, stepping forward and clapping a hand on his shoulder. “What’s going on, man? You’ve been off lately. It’s obvious.”

Seokmin doesn’t say anything at first. He just gives a small shrug, trying to brush them off, but Soonyoung isn’t having it.

“Don’t give us that. We’ve been your friends for too long,” Soonyoung says, his voice light but with an edge of concern. “We’re here to hang out, but if something’s bothering you, you know you can talk to us, right?”

Seokmin forces a laugh, but it sounds hollow. He rubs a hand over his face, suddenly feeling the weight of how truly alone he felt settling even deeper in his chest.

“I… I don’t know, guys. I don’t think it’ll make a difference, but…” His voice trails off, and for a moment, he wonders if he should just tell them. If he could just say the words, maybe it would make everything easier.

Seungkwan glances at Soonyoung, and the two of them silently agree. Soonyoung gestures toward the couch. “Come on, sit down. We’re not leaving until you spill, man.”

With a heavy sigh, Seokmin sits down, his body slumping into the couch. He finally sets the mug down on the coffee table and stares at his hands. It’s like the weight of everything is suddenly too much to bear, and he can’t keep it bottled up anymore.

“I… I messed up,” Seokmin starts, his voice tight, a lump forming in his throat. “I messed up with her. She—she told me she loved me, and I couldn’t say it back.”

Both Seungkwan and Soonyoung freeze, exchanging a glance, then turning back to him. Seungkwan speaks first, his voice gentle. “What do you mean, you couldn’t say it back? I thought things were going well.”

Seokmin runs his hands through his hair in frustration. “I don’t know, I just—I was so scared. I couldn’t let myself fall for her, not completely. I was afraid of getting hurt again. So when she told me she loved me, I froze. I couldn’t say it. And she—she called me out on it. She asked me why I couldn’t just say it, why I never even asked her to be my girlfriend. And then…” His voice breaks, and he wipes his eyes, embarrassed. “And then I let her go. I didn’t fight for her. I didn’t even try.”

The room falls silent, the weight of Seokmin’s confession settling between them. Soonyoung’s voice is quiet when he finally speaks, but there’s an edge of disbelief in it. “You didn’t ask her to be your girlfriend?” He shakes his head, as if trying to make sense of it. “What the hell?”

“I know,” Seokmin replies, his voice barely a whisper. “I was an idiot. I let the fear get in the way, and now… now she’s gone. I haven’t heard from her in weeks. And I’ve been… I’ve been torturing myself thinking I could fix it somehow, but I don’t know if I can anymore.”

Seungkwan sits down beside him, his tone firm but understanding. “So what, you’re just giving up? You can’t expect to just let this go without trying to make it right. You love her, don’t you?”

Seokmin nods without hesitation, his eyes full of regret. “Yeah. I love her. I think I always have, but I was too afraid to admit it, to act on it. And now I think I’ve lost her for good.”

Soonyoung leans forward, his expression serious. “Look, you can’t keep doing this to yourself. If she really means that much to you, you can’t just walk away from it. You have to try, even if it’s scary.”

Seungkwan chimes in, his voice quieter but equally earnest. “We’re here for you, okay? You don’t have to do this alone.”

Seokmin nods, feeling the weight of their words sink in. The guilt is still there, gnawing at him, but for the first time in weeks, he doesn’t feel so alone in it. Maybe there’s still a chance to make things right. 

“I... I called her,” he admits quietly, his voice hesitant, like he’s unsure if admitting it will make it real. He looks up at Seungkwan and Soonyoung, who are both watching him closely, waiting for him to continue. “I left her a voicemail last night.”

The room goes still, and Seungkwan leans forward, his brows furrowing in concern. “A voicemail? What did you say?”

Seokmin takes a deep breath, running a hand through his hair again. “I told her I miss her. I told her I miss us. And then... I told her I love her. I said it. I just… I don’t know if it matters anymore. She hasn’t responded.”

Soonyoung’s expression softens. “That’s huge. But you can’t just expect one voicemail to fix everything. Maybe… maybe she needs time too.”

“I know,” Seokmin says, his voice raw with emotion. “But it doesn’t feel like it’s enough. I just—I don’t even know where to start.”

Seungkwan places a hand on his shoulder, offering a small, supportive squeeze. “You did the right thing by reaching out, Seokmin. You told her how you felt, and now you have to give her the space to process it. You can’t control how she responds, but you can control how you act. And the fact that you’re willing to try—well, that says a lot.”

Seokmin’s gaze drifts to the window, the weight of the situation heavy on his chest. His voice cracks as he speaks again. “I just don’t want to lose her. Not like this.”

“Then don’t give up,” Soonyoung says firmly, a quiet determination in his words. “You’ve taken the first step. Now it’s time to show her that you’re serious about making things right. She might need to hear from you again. Maybe not right away, but eventually.”

Seungkwan adds quickly, “But don’t rush it. You’ve got to be patient with her, and with yourself. You can’t undo what’s happened, but you can start moving forward. And if she’s meant to be with you, she’ll see that.”

Seokmin nods, the weight in his chest easing slightly. He’s still unsure about what the future holds, but hearing his friends’ words gives him a sense of hope he hasn’t felt in weeks. There’s still a chance, even if it seems small. And for now, that’s enough to hold onto.

“Thanks,” Seokmin murmurs, his voice thick with gratitude. “You guys really don’t know how much this means to me.”

The day drags on as Seokmin tries to focus on what Seungkwan and Soonyoung have planned for him. They’ve taken him out for some outdoor activity—something to get him out of the house and away from the constant, gnawing worry that’s been eating at him since he left that voicemail.

They’re hiking up a trail, the air fresh and crisp around them, the sounds of birds calling and wind rustling through the trees. Seokmin knows they’re trying to get him to focus on something else, but his mind keeps drifting back to his phone. He checks it every few minutes, his thumb hovering over the screen, but every time, there’s still nothing. No missed call, no message, not even an unread notification.

Seungkwan and Soonyoung chat animatedly ahead, laughing and joking, but Seokmin falls behind, his thoughts lost in the stillness of his mind. His phone buzzes in his pocket, making his heart jump, and he pulls it out eagerly, hoping—just hoping—it’s you. But when he unlocks the screen, his shoulders sag in disappointment. It’s just a message from his mom, asking if he’s eating enough. He sighs and stuffs the phone back into his pocket, trying to shake off the feeling of defeat creeping in.

“You okay, man?” Seungkwan calls back, his voice laced with concern as he notices Seokmin lagging behind.

“Yeah, just tired,” Seokmin replies with a half-smile, forcing the words out even though they don’t feel true. He stretches his legs to catch up, trying to hide the emptiness that seems to settle deeper with every minute he’s away from his phone.

Soonyoung turns around to check on him too, raising an eyebrow. “You’re not still checking your phone every five seconds, are you? Let’s enjoy today, okay? You deserve a break from the stress.”

But even as Seokmin tries to convince himself, he can’t shake the constant urge to check his phone. He tries to focus on the hike, listening to Seungkwan and Soonyoung’s conversation as they joke about how out of shape they are, but his mind keeps straying. He checks again when they stop to rest, and then again when they grab lunch at a small café after the hike.

No message. No calls. No unread messages. Nothing.

The silence feels nauseating.

They sit down at a table outside, and Seungkwan gives him a light nudge, raising his eyebrows as a silent check-in. Seokmin replies with a weak, crooked smile. As much as he tries to focus on the present moment, he finds his every thought circulating back to you. 

A month later, he hadn’t heard from you, and it had eaten away at him, slowly, quietly—like a slow, insidious rust that creeps across the metal of his soul, gradually weakening his resolve and leaving him hollowed out. 

He replayed the voicemail he’d left you a thousand times, but the silence that followed it felt like a cruel, final answer. He convinced himself that you were done with him, that you didn’t want anything to do with him anymore. The distance between you had crushed him, and as the days passed, his hope dwindled until he was convinced this was the end. 

Some days, he crashed out on his couch at night, consumed by guilt, regret, and doubt, unable to shake the feeling that he had lost you for good. Other days, he sat staring blankly at the TV, the familiar ache in his chest as a constant companion. He’s learned to live with the silence that hangs between him and you, but it’s still unbearable. The thought of you is a constant, as persistent as the ticking of a clock in the room. He’s replayed the voicemail over and over in his mind, the words you never responded to still echoing in his ears.

It’s late at night, and just as he’s about to get up to go to bed, a knock on his door freezes him in place. His heart skips a beat. For a moment, he wonders if he’s imagining things. But no—there it is again, more urgent this time.

He opens the door, his breath catching in his throat as he sees you standing there, the faint glow of hallway lights casting soft shadows across your face. You look hesitant, like you’re unsure of how to begin. The sight of you shakes him to his core, and for a moment, neither of you says anything.

He swallows hard, his voice barely above a whisper. “Y/N?”

You nod, your eyes searching his face, torn between relief and uncertainty. "I… I saw your voicemail." Your voice trembles, as if every word is a weight on your chest. "The day it came in. I just… I needed time. I needed time to figure things out."

Seokmin stands there, frozen, the full weight of what you’re saying finally sinking in. You saw it. You heard it. And yet, you didn’t respond.

“I—” He starts, but he can’t seem to find the words. The tension in the air is thick, both of you still holding onto the remnants of everything that’s gone unsaid.

"I know you were waiting for me to respond. But," you stop yourself, struggling to find the words. "You made me wait for so long, Seokmin. For 'I love you.' I needed to make you wait too. It wasn’t fair, but… that’s how I felt."

The truth stings. He’s been waiting for you, aching with every unanswered day, but hearing this—he hadn’t expected it. He hadn’t expected you to have been just as torn up inside.

“I’m sorry,” Seokmin finally manages, his voice hoarse. “I never meant to hurt you, I just… I couldn’t—” He stops himself, shaking his head. “I was so scared, Y/N. I was scared of getting hurt again. I didn’t know how to say it. But I was never trying to make you wait. I just… couldn’t.”

You take a step closer, your eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I know,” you whisper. “I get it. I really do. But it hurt. It hurt, Seokmin. All I wanted was for you to let me in, to trust me like I trusted you. And when you couldn’t say it, when you couldn’t even ask me to be yours… it made me feel like maybe I wasn’t enough. Like maybe I wasn’t worth it.”

His breath hitches in his throat, a raw ache spreading through his chest. He feels the weight of your words like a heavy stone pressing down on him.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he repeats, his voice cracking. The tears he’s been holding back finally spill over, streaking down his cheeks. He doesn’t try to hide them; they just fall, one after another. “I never wanted you to feel that way. I never wanted to make you feel like you weren’t worth it. You were always worth it. I just—” His voice falters as he swallows back a sob. “I just didn’t know how to let myself love you. I was so scared of losing you that I pushed you away.”

You can’t hold back your tears either, and they fall silently as you watch him break down. Everything you’ve been holding in—every ounce of pain, of frustration, of longing—rushes to the surface, and all you can do is stand there, letting it all spill over, just like him.

“I was so angry at you, Seokmin,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “Angry because I loved you, and I wanted you to love me back so badly, but you couldn’t say it. And I hated that I had to question whether I was enough for you.”

“I know, I know,” he says, wiping his eyes, his voice thick with emotion. He wants so badly to reach for your hand, but he won’t. Not until you make the first move. Instead, he swallows, continuing. “And I’m sorry. I was selfish, and I hurt you. I was terrified of being vulnerable, and I never should have let it get this far.”

You take a deep breath, your chest tight. “I can’t go back to how things were, Seokmin. I can’t just pretend everything is okay. But I don’t want to lose you. I’ve thought about this. A lot. And the thing is, I… I forgive you. I forgive you because I know you were just scared. I get that. I do. But we can’t keep doing this, you know? We can’t keep hurting each other, over and over.”

Seokmin nods, wiping his eyes again, his heart breaking with the realization that you’ve been hurt just as much as he has. “I’m sorry. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I… I can’t imagine my life without you. I just—” He pauses, his voice catching in his throat. “I love you. I love you so much. And I should have said it. I’ve known it for so long. And fuck, you would’ve though I was crazy, but I should have said it since the night we kissed because even then, I knew. I should’ve told you I’m in love with you. Then I wouldn’t have been regretting right now.”

You suddenly laugh weakly, and he’s both so delighted at the sound he had missed, and confused, having just poured his heart out to you. Until your lips part to explain, hands swiping away at the tears on your cheeks. “Sorry–It’s just… Those are the lyrics to your song.” 

"What?" he asks softly, his voice a little strained.

You let out a shaky breath, trying to keep your composure, but there's a hint of a smile tugging at your lips. "The song," you repeat, wiping your eyes as you try to gather your thoughts. "The one you wrote, the one you sang for me at the beach."

“Oh.” At the time, the song had been just a way of sharing a piece of himself with you. But now, it felt like a mirror of everything that had gone wrong between you two—the love he couldn’t say, the hesitation, the distance that had grown between you. He had no idea then that it would be ever so relevant now. 

"I—I'm sorry," he whispers, almost afraid to speak too loud in case it shatters the fragile moment between you. "I should've said it. I should’ve made it clearer."

You shake your head, your voice breaking just a little as you reach for and squeeze his hand. "I just needed to hear those three words, Seokmin. I needed to know you meant it."

“I love you.” He repeats. And it’s real, raw, and enough to mend the cracks in your heart.

You step forward, slowly, carefully, and you wrap your arms around him. Seokmin doesn’t hesitate for a second; he pulls you close, burying his face in your hair, holding onto you like you’re the one thing that can keep him from falling apart.

“I love you too, Seokmin,” you whisper against his chest, your voice trembling. “I love you.”

And for the first time in what feels like forever, everything feels right. 

"Y/N," he starts, his voice hoarse but steady. "I know you’ve been through a lot waiting for me to figure everything out. And I want you to know... everyone’s been asking about you."

You raise an eyebrow in confusion, unsure where he’s going with this. “What do you mean? Who’s been asking?”

Seokmin gives a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Seungkwan and Soonyoung were both asking about you, about how you’re doing, how things have been. They’ve noticed something’s... off with me. And, uh, Mr. Kim, too. He said he hasn't seen you at the coffee shop lately. I think he misses having you around to borrow books from him." He hesitates, his expression turning more serious as he looks down at his feet, voice almost cracking. "And... Ms. Boo. She’s been asking about you every time I go to work. She doesn’t understand why we haven’t been hanging out. She doesn’t know what happened, and I didn’t have the heart to tell her everything. So, I told her you were just busy."

A sad smile spreads across your face at the mention of Ms. Boo. "I didn't realize they were still thinking about me," you murmur softly, feeling a lump form in your throat. "It’s been so long, I didn’t want to keep bothering them."

Seokmin shakes his head, his hand gently reaching for yours again, this time holding it with more certainty. "You never bothered anyone. I just... I didn’t know how to explain everything. And I didn’t want to make it worse."

You let out a small sigh, your heart aching. “I should’ve reached out sooner. I just... I was trying to give you space to figure things out, Seokmin.”

Seokmin’s gaze softens, and he takes another step closer to you. “I don’t want you to feel like that anymore. You’re not alone in this, and I never should’ve made you feel like you were. I’ve missed you so much. I just didn’t know how to fix everything.”

“I know,” you reply quietly, squeezing his hand. “I understand now. I just needed to know I wasn’t just... waiting around forever.”

Seokmin nods, his eyes brimming with sincerity. “I’m sorry it took so long for me to get it right. But I’m here now. And I’m not going anywhere.”

The words sink in, warm and comforting, and for the first time in months, you feel like a weight has lifted off your chest. He’s here, truly here, and that’s all you ever needed.

“You should come in,” Seokmin says gently, realizing the two of you are still standing in the doorway. “It’s late, and I don’t want you to be out here in the cold. I’ve been thinking about you every day, Y/N. I want to make up for everything I put you through.”

You glance up at him, a small but genuine smile tugging at your lips. “I’d like that.”

As you step over the threshold, Seokmin pulls the door shut behind you, his hand lingering on the knob for a second before he leads you to the living room, where you notice how much quieter it feels now that you’re back in it.

Seokmin sits next to you, close but not too close, as though still letting you take the lead. His eyes search your face for any sign of doubt, but all he finds is a quiet peace. He reaches for your hand again, intertwining your fingers with his.

The two of you sit together, talking for hours, the conversation flowing as you sift through the pain of the past months. The words you’ve both held back, the misunderstandings, the regrets, all of it is finally laid out in the open, and with every confession, every apology, the weight between you seems to lift just a little more. You cry, both of you, but the tears don’t feel heavy anymore. They’re cleansing, freeing.

Seokmin holds you close, his arms wrapping around you tightly as if to keep you there, to remind himself that this time, he wasn’t going to let you go. You bury your face in his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek, and you smile through the tears. It’s a smile that says everything you couldn’t say earlier: I’m here. I’m still here.

Seokmin reaches out slowly, almost hesitantly, as if testing the waters, before cupping your cheek in his palm. His touch is soft, tender, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he holds on too tight. You lean into his touch instinctively, eyes fluttering closed as his thumb traces the curve of your jaw.

His lips brush against yours at first, a delicate press that sends a spark through your chest, and you melt into it, hands reaching up to gently pull him closer. The kiss deepens just slightly, as though the floodgates have opened, and suddenly all the words you didn’t know how to say are there, in the way his lips move against yours, in the way you both cling to each other like this might be your last chance.

When you pull back, it’s almost reluctantly. Both of you are breathing a little heavier, but there’s something infinitely reassuring in the way you look at each other now. No more words are needed.

The hours slip away as the two of you laugh, talk about memories, and share quiet moments. You rest your head on Seokmin’s shoulder, your fingers gently tracing over his hand. You know the past isn’t easily forgotten, but for tonight, it doesn’t matter. It’s the two of you, right here, right now, rebuilding what you lost.

Eventually, sleep starts to pull at you both, and with one final, lingering kiss, you settle into the couch together. Seokmin shifts, adjusting himself so you’re both comfortable, and without another word, you fall asleep, wrapped in each other’s warmth.

The morning after, Seokmin wakes up with a start, blinking against the sunlight that streams through the window. His body aches from the position he’s been in, his neck sore from sleeping on the couch for what feels like the hundredth time in a row. He groans softly, stretching, and then pauses when he realizes—this time, it’s different.

It’s not the familiar emptiness that he’s grown used to, the loneliness that had made each morning feel longer than the last. It’s you. You’re still in his arms, tucked close against his side, your head resting on his chest. He feels the softness of your hair against his cheek, your warmth pressed against him, and for the first time in so long, he doesn’t feel that cold, hollow ache in his chest.

His heart swells as he watches you sleep, your face peaceful, and he’s overwhelmed with gratitude. For the first time in months, the quiet of the morning doesn’t feel like a reminder of everything he’s lost.

He breathes in slowly, savoring the moment, letting the calm wash over him. You’re here. You’re here with him, and he can’t help but smile softly at the thought. His fingers gently run through your hair, brushing it away from your face, and he holds you a little closer, not wanting to ever forget this feeling.

He smiles, soft and content, as he slowly slips out from beneath you, careful not to wake you. His movements are slow, deliberate, and as stealthy as possible.

As he quietly stands and stretches, he feels the familiar ache in his body from having slept in the same position for too long, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s a reminder that he’s here with you. He heads into the kitchen, the soft hum of the morning settling around him as he begins preparing breakfast. There’s something soothing about the routine, the way the eggs sizzle in the pan and the faint aroma of bacon fills the air. But most of all, he takes extra care to make the coffee.

He grins as he prepares it, thinking back to those moments when you’d meet him at the shop. It was always a small moment in the day, but it felt special, like a secret between the two of you. That was when he’d get to steal a few minutes with you, to laugh, to catch up, to just be in each other’s company.

The smell of the freshly brewed coffee drifts from the kitchen and into the living room, and without realizing it, Seokmin finds himself looking over his shoulder. He doesn’t want to rush you, doesn’t want to wake you up too soon, but the idea of sharing a quiet morning together makes him giddy. He takes the coffee mug, walking back toward the couch, smiling as he notices the way you’re still curled up, your face soft with sleep.

He kneels beside the couch, the weight of the mug warm in his hands, and gently places it on the table in front of you. Your eyelids flutter, and Seokmin’s heart skips a beat when you slowly stir, your eyes opening just enough to meet his gaze. The first thing he sees is your sleepy, familiar smile, and it’s like the last few months never happened.

"Coffee time?" he asks, his voice low, teasing, but full of affection. The inside joke between you that always felt so special, so intimate—those little moments where it was just the two of you, caught in a world all your own.

Your smile widens, your eyes still half-lidded from sleep, and you stretch slightly, rubbing at your eyes as you sit up. “Coffee time," you echo, a soft laugh in your voice, like you’ve been waiting for this very moment to return.

Seokmin hands you the mug, feeling a warmth spread through him as you wrap your fingers around it, your eyes meeting his with a new sense of connection—like everything is coming back into place, slowly but surely.

And as you sip the coffee, the silence between you is filled with comfort, the kind that only comes after all the pain, all the uncertainty. You’re here, together, sharing this simple morning with each other. 

Love at first sight is undoubtedly the biggest fabrication that the media and modern culture has ever tried to push on society. It only happens in the movies and the books, and rarely is it even done right. 

In the real world, people make mistakes. They hurt the people they love, and they hurt themselves. They don’t talk for months on end, only to barely piece themselves together and try again.

Make no mistake; Lee Seokmin is not a pessimist, nor is he a bitter person. He’s the kind of guy who likes playing guitar at the beach as the waves crash against the shore, and going on spontaneous museum trips where he pretends to fully read each placard. The kind that enjoys drinking with his friends at karaoke rooms, and stumbling home tipsy under the stars. The kind that flips over a penny on the street so it’s face up—In hopes that the next stranger that finds it can have a bit of good luck. He likes picnics at the parks and vintage thrift stores full of cassette tapes and funny hats. And, as it turns out, he actually does like glamping (it really is nothing like camping).

Once upon a time, he used to be a hopeless romantic. 

That was before. 

Before you, the person who showed him that love is all of those scary things, but without them, it wouldn’t be as special as it is. As real as it is. As raw and emotional and warm as it really, truly is. 

Love is the coffee the two of you bonded over at the start—warm and inviting at first, comforting with its rich aroma that fills the air. It starts slow, the first sip lingering on your lips as you savor the sweetness, the bitterness, the complexity all wrapped up in one. At times, it can be too hot, burning you with its intensity, leaving you a little singed, but it’s that very warmth that keeps you coming back for more. Over time, as it cools, you get to know its depth, its subtle flavors unfolding with each moment shared. Sometimes it’s a little bitter, and sometimes it contains an unfathomable amount of sweetness… and then some.  

But in the end, it’s the kind of thing you can’t imagine your days—your life without.

Love at first sight—true love—It was a flat out lie, and he refused to fall for its charm ever again. 

So why, he thinks to himself, why did he so easily fall in love with you? 

End.

[spaceorphan18]

The other thing I've seen going around today (not here... on other sites) is discussion on when did Colin fall in love and...

Hmmm....

There are a couple of issues I have on this subject.

The first being, why is loving someone as a friend valued less than loving someone in a romantic capacity? It's just a different type of love. And, maybe this is a me thing, but sometimes I get frustrated that friendship is deemed less than romantic love.

(I mean, I could go on a full tangent about Penelope and Eloise, and how their friendship, and their love for each other, was another love story during Season 3 -- and that relationship to Penelope is just as important to her as the one with Colin. As is, Eloise and Colin's familial relationship - which is, again, another form of love.)

anyway, Penelope, we know, had romantic feelings right from the start. but they were childlike, in a way. Colin was a boy (and a person in general) who didn't laugh at her for being awkward. This meant the world to her. It was a childhood crush, that developed and matured into an actual friendship, and developed and matured into romantic love. These are two separate things that happen but are very intertwined for Penelope.

As for Colin - he says to his brothers that his feelings aren't some thunderbolt from the sky, and that they had developed over time. There isn't one point where he was bam! in love. It was always something simmering and taking shape.

And I mean - in Season 1, there was friendly affection there -- they grew up as literal children together. She was always around. They were fixtures in each other's lives, and it probably was a familial caring for her - in the way he cares for Eloise. There there are points in which he shows that she is special to him. He recognizes that she helps him understand himself. And that there's a unique dynamic there - beyond, hey, this girl is my sister's bff.

And then comes Season 2 - and the letters are incredibly important to their development. It starts an intimacy between them that they don't have with other people. It also lets them be open and vulnerable in a way that they aren't able to in person. There's a connection there. And a valuable one at that. And Colin sees her as a friend, and someone important and special in his life. The friendship is very real, and his love for her is there. Even if it is friendship that doesn't mean it's something less than how Penelope feels for him - it's just different.

And then the thing that does separate romantic love from friendship love is sexual desire -- and Colin doesn't really recognize this until they kiss, that he is attracted to her, as well as everything else. It compounds. So, by the time they finish up that carriage ride, there are three types of love going on -- familial, friendship, and romantic love, and Colin understands this enough to be sure in knowing that she's the one for him. (He also knows he has to lock her in, because she could develop all of that with someone else - she almost did - so that's also apart of the proposal, but i digress.)

I guess my long winded point is that it's odd to talk about Colin's love for Penelope in distinct moments, when it's all a spectrum, and overlapping kinds of love. And I mean - I think there's a better conversation to be had about what love is to Colin, how does he define it?

Because I think how we love is different person to person. And letting fictional characters be complex like that is really kind of fascinating (to me).

And I guess - what draws me to Polin (over Saphne and Kanthany) is that it's a love story where the foundation is friendship, and the specialness in that, is absolutely valued first, and romantic love stems from that, instead of vice versa.

But that's just me.

[rootspiral]

Agatha all along deep dive: episode 1 part 2

(Wandavision entries: [1][2][3])

(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2])

Okay, let's keep going through Agatha All Along epsode 1, in which detective Agnes sees Nicky's lock of hair inside her brooch and is stunned into silence for a long ten seconds

she's feeling agonizing heartbreak and cannot even tell why

you know what, she technically is home. she's in her living room as we speak. but every line has multiple readings, so go home... where? to her old self? to her witchy roots? to her coven? to Rio? to Nicky, in the afterlife?

I wonder is all the water puddles are deliberate. do they symbolize mirrors, is she gone through the looking glass? or is water = rio?

the way she has to steel herself before getting into Nicky's room

THE MOON PHASES OVER THE BED. as if she wishes there was a coven looking over him, protecting him

I saw some reactors laughing their asses off at this scene, still hung up on the parody of it all, going "did they make the rabbit into a dead kid backstory? that's HILARIOUS." Sure. So funny.

(they keep associating Nicky with rabbits tho, in the previous scene with Rio there's a blink-and-you-miss-it moment when a plant in the background suddenly turns into Nicky's picture. was señor scratchy named after him?)

why can't they properly light their scenes goddamnit I shouldn't have to use 6 layers to see her face

oh look it's Aubrey Plaza and pizza, two of the sexiest concepts humanity has ever come up with

first of all: open vest and white shirt? that's hot. second of all, the way she's sitting so confidently with her whole chest out, so open, taking deep breaths. she just wants to drink her all up, all of her, her beauty, her sorrow, her goofiness. she's SO damn in love.

what a goober. what a delight. plaid shirt and no makeup, drinking beer and snorting when she laughs, a bit awkward and bashful. what a stud. I would die for her. I would wife her so quickly. I'm gonna say this whit my whole chest, the more femme presenting Agatha is, the more she's wearing a shield and playing a part. this is Agatha raw and defenseless and true, and I want to protect her like she's a precious kitten. (me and Rio both, tbh)

case in point: Agatha is manspreading like some idiot lumberjack, and Rio looks like she has never seen anyone hotter

Agatha: "I have a lead in the case". Rio, with goddamn bedroom eyes: "that's not why I came over."

But then when Agatha looks overwhelmed she immediately course-corrects and encourages her to talk about the case. Love me a boundary-respecting king. Real talk, she's been respecting those boundaries for a long time. And even if she's quite angry at Agatha, she won't unleash all that on her when she's so defenseless.

She pushes a little, and the moment it's too much for Agatha she steps back and regroups. She's being SO gentle.

That's fascinating that her subconscious knows what happened to Billy. Exactly how connected they are?

Whoops, we're leaning in again.

She says yes so openly. When the real Agatha has been running away from Rio and this confrontation for centuries! The real Agatha is SCREAMING in terror, but he body won't listen because it's fallen back into that feeling of domesticity and trust. This is the same body that will always yearn to kiss Rio. The mind that categorically forbids it is shut away for the time being.

Why is Rio trying to wake Agatha up? She could let her stay like this. She could easily make Agnes O'Connor fall in love. The two main reasons why she doesn't are: because she's so fucking angry with her, and she wants them to finally have a mature conversation about Nicky and she needs Agatha to understand that she's hurting too. The second reason is - because she loves her too much. It's honestly just that. She cannot let Agatha live like this, tortured, imprisoned, without agency. She want to have a mature conversation with the real Agatha, she wants to get angry with the real Agatha, most of all she wants Agatha to be okay. Do you see the difference? She's not just in love with her, because being in love is a selfish act, but to love someone is fundamentally selfless. And she will keep loving Agatha no matter if they are together or not. She loves her enough to bend the rules of the universe for her. She just... she loves her.

and this, letting Agatha exist in this form, is a punishment too cruel for Rio to allow

The half smile, the bitterness behind it. An Agatha who doesn't hate her is just a beautiful fantasy, but Rio knows better.

it's Billy! and another mirror! yep, that's a theme.

Ha, the real Sharon was calling him a hooligan. RIP sharon, gone too soon

so intense!!?! even when she's not doing it on purpose, her characters are cheesy and cliched. and it takes a lot of talent to write a bad show too, so kudos to jac schaeffer & co

~see you all in part three

[feroshgirlsims]

Chapter 5.2 - Conspiracies of the Nether Regions

MIKO

“Alright, let’s talk about your stress levels. It’s a huge factor in situations like this,” Dr. Albaz says, “Are you getting enough sleep?”

“Yes,” Miko lies, “And I’m not stressed; I’m just busy, which is why I need more antibiotics.”

Dr. Albaz frowns and sticks a thermometer in Miko’s mouth. “You need to make sure you’re taking care of yourself so your immune system stays strong.”

“I am! I run three days a week.”

"Plus another four until you puke because you think it’s the only way to get rid of me," the voice adds helpfully.

“I do yoga," Miko continues.

"But you can’t get rid of me. And you did yoga once. For the love of magic, quit lying." 

“I also try to have vegetables with dinner.” 

The voice snorts: "Microwaved burritos are not vegetables."

“Shut up!” Miko hisses and then coughs to cover her outburst.

Dr. Albaz looks up from checking her pulse and appears even more concerned. "What did you say?"

For the first time, Miko worries that she might get into real trouble. Smoothing her expression, she keeps the rest of the conversation in her head.

"I need these antibiotics," she says to the voice, "And if you don’t shut up, this bitch isn’t gonna give us shit!"

"At least you’re acknowledging there’s an us," it sneers, "It’s about time."

Panicked, Miko digs her nails into her hand. "There isn’t supposed to be an us. Sims don’t talk to themselves."

"You’re not a sim," the voice laughs.

Miko’s blood runs cold.

“Is everything alright?” Dr. Albaz repeats. “You seem distracted, dear. You can talk to me about what’s going on.”

For a second, Miko wants to because maybe she’s losing her mind, and this woman can help. But the voice cuts her off. "Don’t say anything! I’ll be quiet."

“Actually, I am a little stressed out," Miko hedges, "I…uh…just broke up with my boyfriend.”

Dr. Albaz doesn’t look like she buys the explanation, but she still walks Miko to the prescription area and gives her half a dosage. “I still think it's more than likely you’re experiencing a mild rebound, and it’ll clear itself up if you can get some rest.”

“I am definitely going to slow down."

After several more assurances that she'll take her rest seriously, Miko limps out the door. But once she reaches the sidewalk, the ache in her bladder hits so hard that she drops to her knees. 

She closes her eyes, expecting pain as she hits the pavement, but it never happens.

“Miko?”

Her eyes flash open. Emmett kneels in front of her, his eyebrows drawn in with concern. “Look, I swear I’m not trying to insult you, but you look like you’re five seconds away from passing out.”

“I’m good,” she croaks, “I’m just…I’m…” The word ‘tired’ is on the tip of her tongue, but her pride won’t let her release it. 

Emmett shakes his head. “I know you don’t want help, but you need it. So I'm going to walk you to your dorm and you can add it to the list of things you hate about me when you’re done.”

"You don’t hate him," the voice insists.

Miko lets him help her up because the voice is right. She doesn’t hate him. 

Not even a little bit. 

PREV | NEXT

(Part 2 of 5)

[vulpenthefox]

TO BE CLEAR: I AM NOT A DRAGON I JUST THINK THEY'RE COOL IN ALL FORMS, REAL AND FICTIONAL. ALOSE THIS IS ALMOST COMPLETLY OFF TOPIC.

So I play DND. As a DM, Which I abbreviate to SW (Story Weaver) Instead because a.) college students and b.) idk it sounds cooler.

Now naturally, as I playDND, The question I hear the most is: "Where are all the dragons?"

Well, good news! i have found the perfect way to build a new species of dragon. And I'll build one with you now. Literally improvised as I write this. Here we go!

Step 1: What is thier enviornment? What is thier Lair like? Let's say we have a dragon in the elemental plane of water- possibly lairing in sunken ships? The endless depths, and for the horror and terror factor, let's keep this in mind for step 2, and take inspiration from our depths of the ocean.

Step 2: What do they look like? What color are thier scales? What about the wings? Tail? Eyes? Our dragon will have a deep, dark blue scale, almost black, bith bioluminescent markings of its skeletal structure hiding under its scales. Its eyes are nearly vestigial, relying on echolocation to find its prey. With wings, legs and a strong tail andting more as fins and unsuited for land or air travel (though still definetly possible) it is unknown just how big these dragons are- but it is known that they dwarf even the largest Greatwyrms.

Step 3: What do they hoard? Why? Well, our dragon lives at the bottiom of the ocean. it only makes sense for them to hoard sunken treasure! Maybe the tale of Davy Jones was inspired by one of these beasts, somehow causing ships to sink so it could add to its hoard.

Step 4: Now the most important step; what do they breathe? What effects does thier breath weapon, in game terms, have on the characters? Now, I think there is a very fun way to take its breath weapon in this, so bear with me- What if its breath weapon was an enhanced version of echolocation, dealing thunder damage and deafening creatures? Maybe it also has a mechanic that throws the creatures back like in the Thunderwave spell? Who knows! Not me.

Step 5: What terror inducing title does this dragon's species have? No dragon specied in my word is just "Crimsona Draconis," or the Red Dragon. No, they are "Crimsona-Tyrannis Droconis" or "The Red Dragon-Tryrants." Ours will be the "Thalassa-Lapis Draconis," or "The Lapis Dragon of the Depths"

So yeah! Dragon method!

Sorry if I derailed the conversation I just wanted to share my love for dragons and making dragons and also dragons and ahhhhhhh

I would like to know what breathe weapons my fellow dergs have, if they even have one?

I’m curious.

[otaku553]

Ok so I have been stewing this crossover au in my brain nonstop for the past few days and. I am nothing if not committed to the bit, so. Volume cover redraws :)

Here are the originals:

If you want to read more about my one piece spy x family crossover, keep reading!

So the idea is simple! Crossover reincarnation au where ASL is reborn in Spy x Family. They’re each born separately and none of them are born with the same names as their previous lives, and with no way of finding each other, they each find their own thing to do in the world.

Sabo, too used to the dangers of being a spy, eventually finds a cause to devote himself to again, in preventing war from engulfing the country he was reborn in. Ace, drawn to fire as he was in his previous life, used arson as a means to rob rich people for sustenance and survival, and is eventually scouted and hired by Garden as a fire specialist and assassin. And Luffy, though born in perhaps the poorest condition, grows up happily and takes whatever part time jobs he wants to do.

The thing about Sabo is that, as much as he seems like a young man of good repute and high standing within society, everyone in WISE knows that he is a massive nuisance. Nobody knew in the beginning how a child less than half the age of most of their veteran agents could have the same skills and knowledge in their profession. Sabo was— and still is— hyper competent, and by the time WISE figured out just how much of a menace to society he was, it was too late.

Ace forgot for the first few years of his new life that he wasn’t made of fire, and consequently, received multiple accidental burns. This did not deter him, however, from growing up to be a very skilled arsonist, well-practiced in every which way to start a dumpster fire or house fire. As a teenage he would use this often to draw attention as he robbed rich people blind. When he was caught, he was given an ultimatum by Garden: join them and receive payment for starting fires and causing problems under contract, or face the government and authorities for his crimes. Begrudgingly, he joined Garden, but eventually comes to appreciate that he can make substantial money in his element.

Luffy is Luffy. No telepathy or experimentation, no fancy schools, no gimmicks or secret identities. But he has still lived an extremely colorful life in this world, full of fascinating and kind individuals who have helped him grow up healthy and relatively happy. He goes where he is free, and he takes whatever part time jobs he wants in order to make the minimum he needs to survive.

Ace and Sabo find each other first, in their late teens, and neither of them realize that the other remembers their previous life, but both refuse to separate. (Sabo thinks Ace doesn’t remember, because Ace didn’t recognize him. Ace never saw Sabo grow up past 10, however, so he doesn’t recognize older Sabo immediately. By the time he does realize who exactly Sabo is, Sabo has backtracked and pretends to know Ace from a dream, or from somewhere else.)

Sabo’s attachment to Ace, predictably, causes problems between Sabo and WISE, but by then, Sabo is indispensable to the organization, and they make an exception for Sabo to be able to remain with Ace, so long as Ace never finds out what Sabo’s actual job is. Ace, on the other hand, hides his job because he doesn’t want his brother, who he has just found and who does not know Ace well enough yet, to know that he makes a living from killing people.

And they find Luffy sometime afterwards, prior to the beginning of the Spy x Family canon. Luffy figures out, not long after moving in with his brothers, both of his brothers’ secret occupations and the fact that both of them remember their past memories. He thinks it is common knowledge, however, and so he never brings it up.

[flashhwing]

I’m here to say that you may absolutely express negativity about veilguard to me as long as it’s not stupid. hate on it for real reasons, of which there are plenty, most of which I’m ignoring because of the hype but would be glad to discuss in a civilized manner. no forced positivity in this zone this is a safe space. unless your criticism is dumb as fuck then I will point and laugh

[fruitpunchjollyrancher]

caught myself thinking today that BOTH harrier dubois and kim kitsuragi are just like me fr and i think i have hit a new level of mental illness. my horrific floral button up is going to start talking to me any minute now. if i buy 5 more notebooks in the coming weeks then the situation has become dire

[pynkhues]

"I honestly think both in terms of fic for the show itself and for RPF, it's about race"

Ah, I wasn't expecting this, which as a brown woman is incredibly naive of me.

There's currently discourse on X about Louis being the most "boring" character which is also, undoubtedly, driven by racism.

(x)

Oh, I'm really sorry, anon, and you shouldn't feel naive. I mean, for starters, I could be wrong, and I'm being pretty speculative, but even if I'm right, the onerous of that isn't, or at least shouldn't be, on you. I think there's a lot of really great progressive things that happen in fandom, but at the same time fandom is created by People Living in Societies, and unfortunately biases and discrimination, at least in my experience, can and do seep through in ways that are both toxic and just flat out negligent.

The idea of Louis being boring is absolutely an insane and racist rhetoric too. He is so wildly interesting as a character, with so many layers of storytelling and nuance and contradiction, which I adore in him, and it makes me wonder if the people who find him boring are the same ones who want to make him the audience insert (insane given Daniel is literally right there) or to project all this 'battered housewife' narrative onto him, which - - look.

I've tried to shrug this off, but I literally just spent the entire day at a symposium on how the Australian government child support system is weaponised by abusive men against women post-divorce, so I'm a bit of a raw nerve about this topic, but it's made me even more pissed off at the Louis-Housewife arguments than normal.

Not only is it diminishing and completely at odds with his character, but what a way to show you've never, ever engaged with real survivors of, or conversations with, patriarchal oppression.

[girlcrushau]

[void-tiger]

I have a plan. Trusted people say it’s a good plan. I do not know if I have the courage to do said plan.

[s-soulwriter]

Things Real People Do in Dialogue (For Your Next Story)

Okay, let’s be real—dialogue can make or break a scene. You want your characters to sound natural, like actual humans talking, not robots reading a script. So, how do you write dialogue that feels real without it turning into a mess of awkward pauses and “ums”? Here’s a little cheat sheet of what real people actually do when they talk (and you can totally steal these for your next story):

1. People Interrupt Each Other All the Time In real conversations, nobody waits for the perfect moment to speak. We interrupt, cut each other off, and finish each other's sentences. Throw in some overlaps or interruptions in your dialogue to make it feel more dynamic and less like a rehearsed play.

2. They Don’t Always Say What They Mean Real people are masters of dodging. They’ll say one thing but mean something totally different (hello, passive-aggressive banter). Or they’ll just avoid the question entirely. Let your characters be vague, sarcastic, or just plain evasive sometimes—it makes their conversations feel more layered.

3. People Trail Off... We don’t always finish our sentences. Sometimes we just... stop talking because we assume the other person gets what we’re trying to say. Use that in your dialogue! Let a sentence trail off into nothing. It adds realism and shows the comfort (or awkwardness) between characters.

4. Repeating Words Is Normal In real life, people repeat words when they’re excited, nervous, or trying to make a point. It’s not a sign of bad writing—it’s how we talk. Let your characters get a little repetitive now and then. It adds a rhythm to their speech that feels more genuine.

5. Fillers Are Your Friends People say "um," "uh," "like," "you know," all the time. Not every character needs to sound polished or poetic. Sprinkle in some filler words where it makes sense, especially if the character is nervous or thinking on their feet.

6. Not Everyone Speaks in Complete Sentences Sometimes, people just throw out fragments instead of complete sentences, especially when emotions are high. Short, choppy dialogue can convey tension or excitement. Instead of saying “I really think we need to talk about this,” try “We need to talk. Now.”

7. Body Language Is Part of the Conversation Real people don’t just communicate with words; they use facial expressions, gestures, and body language. When your characters are talking, think about what they’re doing—are they fidgeting? Smiling? Crossing their arms? Those little actions can add a lot of subtext to the dialogue without needing extra words.

8. Awkward Silences Are Golden People don’t talk non-stop. Sometimes, they stop mid-conversation to think, or because things just got weird. Don’t be afraid to add a beat of awkward silence, a long pause, or a meaningful look between characters. It can say more than words.

9. People Talk Over Themselves When They're Nervous When we’re anxious, we tend to talk too fast, go back to rephrase what we just said, or add unnecessary details. If your character’s nervous, let them ramble a bit or correct themselves. It’s a great way to show their internal state through dialogue.

10. Inside Jokes and Shared History Real people have history. Sometimes they reference something that happened off-page, or they share an inside joke only they get. This makes your dialogue feel lived-in and shows that your characters have a life beyond the scene. Throw in a callback to something earlier, or a joke only two characters understand.

11. No One Explains Everything People leave stuff out. We assume the person we’re talking to knows what we’re talking about, so we skip over background details. Instead of having your character explain everything for the reader’s benefit, let some things go unsaid. It’ll feel more natural—and trust your reader to keep up!

12. Characters Have Different Voices Real people don’t all talk the same way. Your characters shouldn’t either! Pay attention to their unique quirks—does one character use slang? Does another speak more formally? Maybe someone’s always cutting people off while another is super polite. Give them different voices and patterns of speech so their dialogue feels authentic to them.

13. People Change the Subject In real life, conversations don’t always stay on track. People get sidetracked, jump to random topics, or avoid certain subjects altogether. If your characters are uncomfortable or trying to dodge a question, let them awkwardly change the subject or ramble to fill the space.

14. Reactions Aren’t Always Immediate People don’t always respond right away. They pause, they think, they hesitate. Sometimes they don’t know what to say, and that delay can speak volumes. Give your characters a moment to process before they respond—it’ll make the conversation feel more natural.

Important note: Please don’t use all of these tips in one dialogue at once.

[yuquinzel]

atsumu who goes above and beyond to impress you, his crush and classmate of four years, in all definitions of “impress.”

honestly how the fuck isn't it obvious to you by now, he might as well be walking around with “i like y/n” tattooed on his forehead.

you mention you like guys that can cook once and holy fuck atsumu who still doesn't know how to use the microwave without quite literally burning the food, who's never chopped onions before without ending up with enough cuts to bandage his whole hand— that atsumu practices for weeks and stays up till 2 am to prepare for the lunch he'll make for himself, because osamu said said no and then because you bring homemade lunch to stay and eat in class with your friends— he'll casually just plop down on the seat next to you, his friends will then very obviously willingly talk loudly about his lunch and he'll just throw in a, “yeah, made it maself, 'm a solid chef, who do ya think taught 'samu?”

okay if that didn't get your attention, no worries, what are his friends there for?

if atsumu gets lucky in a day and catches you chatting away with your friends in the hallway, then he instructs his friends to walk past you, hover in the corner, just within your earshot— “'kay, so when we pass her by, ya gotta speak ma name real loud, loud enough so she can hear it, but don't annoy her”

and so for the time you stand there, trying to hold a conversation with your friends, all your mind can really focus on is the, “atsumu was so fucking good in practice today, if we're gonna win, then it'll be all him”

and then you hear the subject of the conversation speak, “nah, we're a team, every time we win, it's all thanks ta you guys,” because you also mentioned you like modest, humble guys.

god forbid the days you're absent in class.

atsumu who's sulking all day, doesn't know what the fuck is going on in classes, he's half in and half not in every conversation, even his passes are sloppy and weak. to the point osamu and suna are concerned, well, in their own ways, “are ya constipated or something, yer missin’ your spikes and yer passes as clumsy,” osamu says off-handedly.

“i heard y/n didn't come today, i think her friends said she's sick.” suna chips in, and atsumu shrinks in his spot like a grumpy cat.

“i already know that, wouldn't have come today if i knew she wasn't comin’.”

“you'd miss practice then.”

“don't care, don't talk to me, don't wanna do anything, what's the point.”

“down fucking bad,” suna muses, and atsumu glares at him.

atsumu's day is ruined and his disappointment is immeasurable. why did you get sick? how could you get sick? now he's worried and half of himself and his passes are shit and god, he wants to see you. he feels like he could die.

then when you finally show up the next day after what felt like eternity to atsumu, you find on your desk a pile of snacks with a little note— banana milk, everyone knows it's your favourite, the bar of chocolate they only sell down the convenience store near the school, the glazed donuts that you're always eating in class, and a lot of bubblegums that only one person in class knows you like— atsumu's handwriting is rushed and barely comprehensive but you know it by heart because he doesn't know you saw him slip the note you found in your locker this morning, and countless other mornings—

“i hope you smile because of this”

atsumu as a secret admirer is... not so secret because he's still unaware that you see him every morning, and let him giggle to himself as he slips the notes and the strips of bubblegums in your locker— you don't even like that flavor.

but he gave them, so you think they might just be your favourite.

then again, maybe atsumu doesn't want to be a secret admirer.

atsumu has a crush on you and you know that— he's very obvious. but he's also very dense and doesn't realise that everyone besides him can see you like him too. he doesn't know the only reason you bring homemade lunch is because he had started to eat lunch in class with his friends. you stand in the hallways with your friends pretending to talk so that when atsumu's walking past you, his friends will practically yell his name and you'll see him blushing shyly. he still doesn't know you come to his every match, cheering for him and scream with joy at every one of his scores.

atsumu makes it obvious he has a crush on you but is stupidly dense that you reciprocate all the same :'))))

© yuquinzel 2024 [ plagiarism is a violation of moral rights ! ]

POSTING BECAUSE WHY TF NOT HUH HUHHHHHHHHH

@kyoghurts hi bbg

[disgustingtwitches]

MDNI

Working at a restaurant with 141! (pt.2)

As the weeks went on, Gaz and Soap would constantly try to pull you into the walk-in. But Simon's stare made you stop dead in your tracks every time. You've resorted to going over to their place, it's always a surprise who's gonna end up on top of who. During breaks between rounds, you'll catch up on a show you were all watching or playing video games and eating snacks. It's light, fun, young, energetic.

"The boys keeping you satisfied?"

Price asks during one of your smoke breaks, he's leaning against the railing again. Your eyes dart to the floor, embarrassed.

"I could take proper care of you."

The words drip from his mouth and run up your legs, making you squirm. He chuckles, a deep rumble from his broad chest.

"I'll pick you up 7 tonight."

Flicks the butt of his cigar onto the wet cement before walking back into the kitchen. Your hand shakes as you finish your cigarette.

The outing was nice, he took you out on a real date. You wore a tasteful dress that he was obsessed with the moment he saw you in it.

Made you order something expensive from the menu.

"Gotta keep you well fed, hm?"

You couldn't argue with him, he held an air of authority even outside of the kitchen. Conversation was pleasant, he kept it appropriate. Actually, that whole time he was an absolute gentleman. Walked you up to your flat. You gave him an anxious kiss that made him laugh softly and you quickly slipped into your studio. You pressed your back to the door, heart pounding. You squinted through the peephole and watched as he turned around, walking away. As soon as you swung your door open, he was stepping inside your place and scooping you up. He gripped your ass while holding you up, his hands positioned in a way that allowed him to rub your folds through the thin fabric of your dress.

"Already wet? Knew you'd be a good girl for me."

You melted in his arms at those words. Gently laid you right on the bed, pulling back to slip off your heels and left kisses from your ankle to inner thigh. He moaned when you giggled from his beard brushing against your soft thighs.

"Fuckin dogs, markin you up like your theirs."

His lips grazed over the hickeys Gaz and Soap left on your hips and thighs. He pulled the dress up and over your shoulders.

"Those sexy fuckin eyes of yours, Christ."

He kneeled over you, taking you in. Your moans, touch, smell, all that was left was your taste. He sunk back down between your legs and had you coming faster and harder than Soap or Gaz. He was down there for hours, only coming up to briefly cram his thick dick into your tight hole just long enough to leave you being for more when he pulled out. So much restraint he had. Only reason he finally finished was because he had to get up early tomorrow. Painted your sore walls with thick ropes of his spend,

"G'na take it all like a good girl, yeah?"

He held your face to muffle your moans with his mouth while he finished pumping into you. Wouldn't even clean you up, just gently pushed whatever leaked out of you back inside. Then he held you close and fell asleep, effectively trapping you in his arms. He ends up driving you to work the next day, taking you in early so he can prep with Ghost. Simon seems more grumpy than usual (it's because he's the one who's supposed to drive you to work, creature of habit he is).

"I'll let you pick her up next time. Don't get mad at me for being a gentleman."

Price sighs while portioning out meat. You swear you see Simon huff.

The drive home was silent as usual, but there was a tension that wasn't present before. Sure, there's been an uneasy or awkward air in the car before, but this was different. You needed it to stop being quiet.

"...sorry for not telling you about John taking me today."

You sat on your hands, staring at the veiny hand gripping the gear lever.

"S'alright, he told me."

His tone was unreadable as ever. He parked in front of your building, looking at you with those dark, intense eyes. You shifted uncomfortably, about to open your mouth to say something.

"G'night."

He interrupted, you nod and step out of his car to your door. You fumble with your keys and turn around to invite him in, he's already locking his car door and headed towards you. Oh fuck.

He doesn't even let you take your shoes off, just flops you onto the edge of the bed and haphazardly pulls down your jeans and underwear, folding you in half.

"Open."

He grunts, shoving two fingers into your mouth, getting them slick with your spit. He roughly fingers your sweet spot until you are overwhelmed with pleasure, then he undoes his pants. You gasp. Literally gasp at the sight of his length.

"That's not going in me."

You blink at him. He looks at you, stroking himself.

"Alright."

He shrugs before slapping his shaft on your wet folds, then rubbing himself against you. He goes at this for what seems like forever, occasionally his tip catches in your entrance before he slides out and continues to grind against you. It's maddening. Finally, you break and beg for him to slide himself in. He does so with no hesitation or concern for your poor walls. Bullies his way inside you until you physically can't take anymore and pounds into you ruthlessly. He covers your mouth with a rough hand while the other toys with your nub. You squeal, yelp, moan. It's all muffled; only to be heard by his ears.

"Atta girl, takin it like a champ."

You were barely keeping it together, each hit to your cervix made you see stars. It hurt. It was heaven. Your eyes rolled back.

"Don't look away from me."

He grabbed your face, making you stare right into his brown eyes. That's what pushed you over the edge, he rode out your orgasm before reaching his. Your heavy breaths filled the room. That's when he finally decides to pull off your shoes and pants. He was surprisingly good at aftercare, made you both some tea (why did he know where everything was?), wiped you down, and put on some cooking competition show. He was into it. Very into it.

"How do you fuck up beurre monté?"

He says to himself, shaking his head while the contestant on TV cried about messing up a sauce. It goes on like this for a while, shitting on chefs choices and mistakes. Your stomach rumbles, he looks at you. Offers to make something. You remember how the food at the restaurant gets sent back. A lot. Decline politely. He walks to the kitchen, rummaging through the fridge and cabinets. You'd say something, but you know you can't stop him. Twenty minutes later he hands you a plate,

"Shakshuka."

It looks...edible. He sits at the end of your bed, eating and watching his show. You take a spoonful into your mouth. Fucking delicious.

"Best I could do with what you had."

He made himself home, slept like he paid the bills, splayed out and snored louder than a Harley. Pinned you right under his arm, mouth right next to your ear. You barely get any sleep.

The next day you drag your feet back and forth from the kitchen.

"Fuckin hell Simon, you kept her up all night?"

John shook his head, burning another steak. Simon grunted, plating the meat and placing it on the window. You served the food to the customer and walked back to the kitchen.

"That's my hoodie."

Soap pointed at Ghost. It was obviously Soap's, they were both well built but Simon's arms and chest stretched the fabric.

"So?"

Simon shrugged, sweeping the floor.

"So? I gave it to her."

"S'fine, she has enough of your shit."

Soap looked at you, betrayed. You shrug, you were too tired to even notice what Simon was wearing.

"Didnae ye notice yer favorite hoodie was gone?"

He looked at you, eyes sad and blindingly blue.

"Give it a rest Johnny."

"'But it's 'er favorite. Right bonnie?"

You nod (you don't have a favorite, but obviously he needs this) and he sighs in relief, smile plastered on his face. Pesters Simon to give him back the hoodie.

"Keep it somewhere safe, aye?"

He hands it to you, holding it like it was a damn fabergé egg.

While Simon and you were walking to his car, Kyle and Johnny run after you, insisting on seeing your place,

"What, only they get to see your flat? It's not fair."

So puerile, Ghost rolled his eyes.

They oohed and aahed at your flat, fawning over your decor. You're thankful for splurging on a king sized mattress. Gaz slept like an angel, but Johnny? Even in his sleep he was restless, kicking and talking. You make a note not to have Ghost and him over at the same time.

Two days later, Johnny almost drops to his knees when he sees Simon in your 'favorite hoodie' again.

[hugsandchaos]

I’m writing this in the perspective of the citizens of Amity Park, just an fyi

Rules for interacting with Phantom

1. Don’t go looking for him. Phantom knows when someone is looking for him and will avoid you at all costs.

2. It’s suggested to learn a little sign language since Phsntom with randomly switch from English to ghost speak. This change seems uncomfortable in most cases and causes him distress when he can’t communicate what he’s trying to say.

3. If he picks you up or grabs your hand and starts pulling on you, don’t freak out. He’s trying to move you out of harm’s way. Follow him until he lets go.

4. If he approaches you at night and asks if he can stargaze with you, say yes. You won’t be in trouble if you say no, but we’re trying to get him used to humans.

5. If you spot him, don’t go out of your way to approach him. He doesn’t like that. He’ll notice you coming.

6. If you spot him and he’s near something you need, such as the entrance to your workplace or your campfire, simply say hi to him and continue to avoid startling him. He’s been reported to conjure up ice spikes from the ground around him or shoot ectoplasm when he’s startled, so avoid doing so if you can.

7. If you notice the Fentons near where Phantom is, try to redirect them. Phantom is our only real line of defense against other ghosts who want to cause harm.

8. If you hear a loud, haunting wail, don’t worry. That’s possibly Phantom’s most powerful weapon, and it’s highly effective against other ghosts. This is usually taken as a sign that the town is now safe again. Do not approach Phantom after he uses this power unless you want to get punched in the face. This power takes up most of his strength and leaves him vulnerable, which makes him extra cautious and scared of both humans and ghosts. If he’s injured and you want to help, it’s best to go in preparing for retaliation. (Extra warning: Phantom’s saliva contains ectoplasm, which is essentially acid for anything living. Be VERY careful, because he will try to bite as a last resort. Try to make sure he knows you’re there to help before touching him.)

9. If you’re a ghost hunter and you harm Phantom, and you hear a loud groan in the distance that oddly reminds you of a broken grandfather clock, apologize and do what you can to fix your mistake immediately. Phantom isn’t all alone. He has allies, and some of them, you never want to meet.

10. If he approaches you and strikes up conversation, it’s your choice to respond or not.