#been feeling more like myself again this week too

[littleprinces]

Day 12: Age Gap

Haerin x Male Reader

Kinkvember Day 12

She was sitting alone at a quaint coffee shop in Greenwich Village, her eyes scanning the crowd as she sipped her latte. She was new to the city and hadn't made many friends yet. As she looked up from her book, her gaze met mine. I was a 40-year-old man with a lean, muscular build, and I couldn't help but be drawn to her youthful charm.

"Excuse me," I said, leaning over her table. "I couldn't help but notice your book. Are you enjoying it?"

She looked up at me, a slight smile playing on her lips. "Yes, it's a classic. Have you read it?"

I nodded. "Many times. It's one of my favorites."

We spent the next hour talking about literature, art, and the city. Haerin was intelligent and witty, and I found myself increasingly drawn to her. As we left the coffee shop together, I suggested we continue our conversation over dinner. She agreed, and we walked to a nearby restaurant.

Over dinner, our conversation turned more personal. I learned about her dreams and aspirations, and she asked about my experiences in the city. The chemistry between us was palpable, and as the night wore on, I found myself wanting her more and more.

"You know," I said, leaning closer to her across the table, "I've really enjoyed our conversation tonight. But I have to admit, I'm finding it hard to concentrate on anything but you."

She blushed slightly, her eyes flickering with a mix of surprise and excitement. "Is that so?"

I nodded. "Yes. In fact, I think I'd like to see you again. And not just for dinner."

She raised an eyebrow, a playful smile on her lips. "Oh, really? And what did you have in mind?"

I leaned in, my voice low and husky. "I think you know what I'm talking about, Haerin."

She held my gaze for a moment before her eyes flicked down to my lips. "I think I do," she whispered.

The following week, Haerin came over to my apartment. As soon as she walked in, I could see the desire in her eyes. I poured us some wine, and we sat on the couch, our bodies close but not yet touching.

"You're beautiful, Haerin," I said, my hand reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "I've been thinking about you all day long."

She leaned into my touch, her eyes never leaving mine. "I've been thinking about you too," she admitted.

I leaned in and captured her lips in a soft, gentle kiss. She responded eagerly, her lips parting to allow my tongue to explore her mouth. Our kiss deepened, becoming more passionate and intense.

I broke away from her lips and trailed kisses down her neck, feeling her pulse quicken under my touch. She moaned softly, her head falling back to give me better access. I nipped at her earlobe, making her gasp.

"You taste so good," I murmured, my hand sliding up her thigh. "I want to taste more of you."

She shivered at my words, her breath coming in short gasps. I unbuttoned her blouse slowly, revealing her smooth, creamy skin. I leaned down and captured one of her nipples in my mouth, swirling my tongue around it before sucking gently.

"Oh, God," she moaned, her hands tangling in my hair. "That feels so good."

I switched to her other nipple, giving it the same attention. Haerin's body was on fire, her hips moving restlessly against mine. I could feel her heat through her jeans, and I knew she was ready for more.

I unbuttoned her jeans and slipped a hand inside, finding her wet and ready. I stroked her slowly, my fingers exploring her folds. She gasped and bucked against my hand, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

"You're so wet," I murmured, my voice thick with desire. "I can't wait to taste you."

I slid my fingers out of her and brought them to my lips, sucking them clean. Her eyes widened at the sight, and I could see the desire in them. I pushed her back onto the couch and slid down her body, my hands gripping her hips.

I hooked my fingers into her jeans and panties and pulled them down, revealing her glistening pussy. I leaned in and ran my tongue along her slit, tasting her sweetness. She moaned and arched her hips, giving me better access.

I licked and sucked at her clit, my tongue swirling around it before flicking it lightly. Haerin's moans grew louder, her hands gripping the couch cushions. I slipped two fingers inside her, curling them up to hit her G-spot.

"Oh, God, yes," she cried out, her hips moving in time with my fingers. "Right there, don't stop."

I kept up the pressure, my fingers moving in and out of her while my tongue worked her clit. Her breath came in short gasps, her body tensing as she neared the edge.

"I'm close," she panted. "So close."

I increased the pressure, my fingers moving faster and harder. Haerin cried out, her body convulsing as she came. I lapped up her juices, savoring her taste.

I stood up and undressed quickly, my cock rock hard and ready. Haerin watched me, her eyes filled with desire. I climbed on top of her, my cock poised at her entrance.

"Are you ready for me?" I asked, my voice gruff with desire.

She nodded, her eyes locking onto mine. "Yes," she whispered. "I'm ready."

I pushed into her slowly, giving her time to adjust to my size. She was tight and wet, her pussy gripping my cock like a velvet glove. I groaned at the sensation, my hips moving slowly at first before picking up speed.

"You feel so good," I grunted, my hips moving faster. "So tight and wet."

Haerin wrapped her legs around my waist, her hips moving in time with mine. "Faster," she begged. "Harder."

I obliged, my hips slamming into hers as I fucked her hard and fast. The sound of our bodies slapping together filled the room, our moans and cries echoing off the walls.

"Oh, God, yes," Haerin cried out. "Right there, don't stop."

I could feel my orgasm building, my cock throbbing inside her. I reached between us and rubbed her clit, my fingers moving in time with my hips. Haerin's eyes rolled back, her body tensing as she came again.

"I'm going to come," I groaned, my body tensing as I pushed into her one last time. "I'm going to fill you with my cum."

I came with a roar, my body shaking as I filled her with my seed. I collapsed on top of her, our bodies slick with sweat. I rolled off of her and pulled her into my arms, our bodies still joined.

"That was incredible," she whispered, her fingers tracing patterns on my chest.

I smiled, my eyes closed. "It was," I agreed. "And I'm not done with you yet."

We spent the rest of the night exploring each other's bodies, our passion and desire never waning. As the sun rose, we lay entwined in each other's arms, our bodies sated and satisfied.

[blu-xp]

ok i wanna yap abt WL ep 4 specifically abt scarian so im gonna

i know scar never plays into the "angry revenge skeeker" type character in the life series and even when he has targets he always keep his character light hearted and straight forward, which i appreciate! but it's so silly that after grian blows up his rep board and says to his face that they're enemies and he will kill him and Jimmy when he gets the chance all he has to respond with is pretty much "nah u love me too much to rly hate me :J"

like this feels so much like some silly couple banter over actual scarian angst BECAUSE scar remembers everything since he won SL it's less off "Oh scar really just thinks grian couldn't hate him so much" it's "we've been through this before we've danced this dance i know grian more than I know myself" and I LOVE IT

grian claims their enemies and while yes I fully believe grian will forever hold that grudge against Jimmy at the very least I don't think he truly means that he'll ever target scar unless fully prompted to

and! if he did end up targeting scar! I really feel like Scar would brush it off like he has been and just smile his silly smirk

plus how many times already this season has it seemed like the bamboozlers and sub oners were gonna become enemies?? and technically haven't? they live right on top/underneath one another itd be pretty tricky staying enemies with someone who lives in your basement

then again if I'm being honest it doesn't really seem like anyone's made true enemies (yet) so who knows maybe next week's episode will make me eat my words

anyways tldr I'm still crazy about scarian i never left that desert

[swappermanent]

Life In Retrospect (Part 2)

I ran my fingers along my neck again, as if expecting it to suddenly materialize, but all I felt was smooth, muscular skin. If the necklace was gone... did that mean this was permanent? The thought hit me like a jolt of electricity, raising my cock to attention.

I hadn’t expected this, hadn’t thought I wanted something so drastic. But now that it had happened—now that I was staring at the face and body of a man who was young, powerful, and exuded raw sexuality—I could see exactly why this was the wish the necklace had granted. Deep down, beneath the polite smiles and quiet resignation of age, I’d wanted this more than I could admit.

And seeing it, feeling it now… I knew it was right. This body was wasted on Mikey. But now, the thick mustache, the powerful jaw, massive shoulders, the rich, dark hair—they were all mine. All mine.

My hand drifted lower, sliding down over my—his—flat stomach until I felt the warm thickness of his cock, already hard in my grip. I moved to the bed, sinking down onto it as I leaned back and let my hands continue exploring. With one hand stroking my cock slowly, I used the other to feel up my smooth, firm chest, indulging in the primal thrill.

The pleasure built quickly, my breaths coming in shallow gasps, my new voice low and rough as I gave in completely. I stroked myself with a steady rhythm, feeling the warmth pooling in my core, spreading through every muscle, every inch of skin. The sensation was dizzying, almost overwhelming. Finally, I cameMy body tensed, a shudder running through me as waves of pleasure crashed over me, leaving me breathless and grinning at the ceiling as I ran a finger across my stomach and brought it up to my mouth for my first taste. Fuck I could get used to this.

---

I settled into Mikey's life with surprising ease. The next few days were a whirlwind of hanging out with his friends, hitting the gym, running around town, and just enjoying the energy that came with this young, powerful body. I felt more alive than I had in years—every step felt strong, every laugh deeper, every meal tastier. Even the simplest things, like the weight of this body as I moved, brought me a thrill of satisfaction.

But about a week and a half in, the glow started to flicker. It was subtle at first—brief flashes of weakness, a strange sense of disorientation that hit me out of nowhere. I’d chalked it up to the gym, maybe pushing myself a bit too hard, but the feeling grew worse, and by the third day, it was undeniable.

One morning, I got home from a run, feeling the most drained that I had since the swap, and sat down heavily in front of my computer. A thought nagged at me. I pulled up the site where I’d first looked up the necklace and scrolled through the pages, scanning the text with growing dread. I found the entry that had originally described the necklace’s powers and read the section again, the words coming into sharper focus than they had the first time.

"The Amulet of Wishes grants the wearer the temporary experience of their deepest, subconscious desire. The magic is designed to fade with time, gradually encouraging the wearer to take action toward meaningful changes in their own life."

Shit.

I kept reading, my eyes darting over the ancient text as I searched for a way to make this last. My heart pounded with urgency as I came across the section I’d been hoping for: the conditions for making a wish permanent.

“In most cases,” the text read, “the wishes bestowed by the Amulet of Wishes cannot be made permanent, as they are based on creation—an inherent violation of the natural laws of the universe. Thus, the magic is destined to dissipate.”

My stomach sank, but I kept going.

“However,” it continued, “there exists one exception: the wish of a body swap. Unlike creation, a swap is an exchange of essences, preserving the balance of natural order. To make such a swap permanent, the grantee must transform their new body to better reflect their unique essence—through altering mannerisms, attire, personality traits, and any distinctive aspect that marks their identity. This process convinces the amulet that the body’s former inhabitant is no longer suited to reclaim it. Only then will the necklace bind the grantee to their new form forever.”

A spark of hope flickered in my chest, but I wasn’t out of the woods yet. The entry concluded with a note on how to summon the amulet if it had already disappeared: an incantation, ancient and direct.

I took a deep breath, steadying myself as I whispered the words aloud. The room seemed to shift, the air crackling around me. I felt a familiar weight settle against my neck—the amulet, its cool metal pressing against my skin.

I exhaled slowly, a mix of awe and anticipation coursing through me. The first step was complete. Now, it was time to begin the ritual to claim this body as my own for good.

I stood up, looking at myself in the mirror—the sharp eyes, the rugged face, the powerful build that I’d inhabited over the last week and a half. This would take more than superficial changes; it would take commitment, subtle shifts in behavior, and the kind of confidence that came naturally to Mikey but had always eluded me.

“Alright,” I murmured to my reflection, feeling a surge of determination. “Let’s get started.”

Stay tuned for Part 3.

[sherewrytes]

𝔹𝕣𝕠𝕜𝕖𝕟 ℙ𝕚𝕖𝕔𝕖𝕤, ℝ𝕪𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕟 𝕊𝕦𝕜𝕦𝕟𝕒 1

↳ Sukuna x f! black reader

Summary: After the death of his grandfather, Sukuna Ryomen is left to shoulder the weight of his family, caring for his younger brothers, Yuuji and Choso. As he withdraws into grief, his relationship with Y/N, his girlfriend of a year, begins to crumble. When Y/N discovers the truth about his grandfather’s passing during a heated argument, it leads to a painful breakup. Now, both are navigating life apart, but Sukuna’s heart aches for Y/N. Determined to win her back, he must confront his pain and find a way to break through the walls he’s built. Can he rekindle their love, or is it too late?

contents: heavy angst, modern au, 18+, smut, dark romance, drug use, talks of depression and similar topics. (a lil )

fic warnings. ooc, profanity, mental health issues, toxic relationships, cheating, explicit smut, serious drug use, mentions of depression + more to be updated as story progresses.

Please read with proper discretion. this is a work of fiction. all characters are written to portray roles that are necessary to the plot and are in no way a reflection of their canon counterparts.

Chapter Playlist:

Chapter 1: Rolling Stone

The blaring of the alarm cuts through the dim haze of the bar like a knife. I squint at the glowing screen, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. My shift is over, but it feels like the world is just beginning again. The sounds of laughter and clinking glasses fade into the background as I gather my things, the weight of another night spent pouring drinks and avoiding questions heavier than the bottles I’ve been slinging.

What the hell am I doing here?

I didn't need this job—my grandfather left a decent savings, more than enough to keep Choso and Yuuji set for college. But I can't touch it. Not yet. The thought of dipping into that fund makes my stomach twist. It's for them.

It’s always been for them.

So, I picked up this stupid job I hate, slinging drinks for people who don’t care about anything but getting wasted.

“Another night, another dollar,” I mutter to myself, a bitter grin creeping onto my face.

The familiar faces of patrons blur as I head to the door, but the fleeting laughter and boisterous conversations wrap around me, a reminder of the normalcy I’m missing. I should be out there, living it up, but instead, I’m trapped in this monotonous cycle of work and regret.

It’s been eighteen months since Jin died, and three weeks since I lost Grandpa. Shouldn’t I be over this by now?

“Just need to keep my head down,” I say aloud, shaking my head. “Keep the money coming. They depend on you, Sukuna.”

I step outside into the night, the cool air hitting my face like a splash of cold water. The streets are alive with the sounds of nightlife, but they feel like a distant echo, a life I no longer belong to. I light a cigarette, inhaling deeply, letting the smoke fill my lungs, trying to drown out the nagging thoughts in my head.

Y/N…

She’s been my anchor since my world turned upside down. I think about the year we’ve spent together, how she’s become the one bright spot in my otherwise dreary existence. But there’s a heaviness between us that I can’t shake. I haven’t been fully present, and I know it.

“I’m trying, dammit,” I whisper, the words almost lost in the rustle of the wind. “But how do I explain this?”

What if I lose her too?

My thoughts spiral. I’ve built walls so high, convinced that keeping her at a distance will spare her from the wreckage I’ve become. But every time I see her smile, it’s like a reminder of everything I’m not—of the light I can’t give her because I’m too busy drowning in my own sorrow.

You’ve done enough of this pity party, Sukuna. Just let her in. She wants to help. You can’t keep pushing her away.

But it’s easier said than done. Every time I think about opening up, about letting her see the raw mess I am, a voice in the back of my head reminds me of the risk. “What if she can’t handle it?”

What if she leaves?

With a heavy heart, I crush the cigarette butt under my boot and head toward my apartment. I can’t let her see how much I’m struggling. I won’t burden her with my pain. But the truth is, I don’t want to be alone anymore. I’m tired of pretending everything is okay when it’s not. I just want to talk to her, to feel that warmth radiating from her, even if it’s just for a moment.

As I approach my front door, I can see the lights flickering inside. Yuuji and Choso are likely glued to some video game, oblivious to the world outside. I shove the door open, the familiar creak echoing in the silence.

“Hey, I’m back,” I call out, forcing a casualness into my voice I don’t feel.

“Finally! We thought you fell in,” Yuuji replies, his voice full of that youthful energy that’s both infectious and exhausting.

“Yeah, as if. Just needed to pay the bills,” I respond, but my heart isn’t in it. I head to the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water, chugging it down like it’s the last drop of sanity I’ll ever have.

I should call her. Just see how she’s doing. She’s been so patient with me, even when I’ve been a complete jerk.

I pull out my phone, the screen lighting up with her contact name. My finger hovers over the call button, hesitation creeping in.

What if she’s busy? What if she thinks I’m pathetic for calling her now?

“Just do it,” I whisper to myself, the words barely escaping my lips. “You can’t keep hiding.”

With a deep breath, I press the button, and the phone rings. My heart pounds in my chest as I wait, hoping she picks up, praying she won’t judge me for the mess I’ve made of everything.

“C’mon, Y/N. Pick up.”

After a few rings, her voice breaks through, warm and inviting. “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me,” I say, the tension in my shoulders easing slightly at the sound of her voice.

“What’s up? Is everything okay?” she asks, concern lacing her tone.

“Yeah, just finished work. Thought I’d check in on you,” I reply, keeping it casual, though the truth feels heavier than I can articulate.

“Just hanging out. You sound tired,” she notes, and I can almost picture the way she frowns when she’s worried.

Always so damn perceptive.

“Yeah, long night,” I admit. “How about you? You doing okay?”

“Better now that you called,” she replies, her words wrapping around me like a warm blanket.

I need this. I need her.

“Maybe I’ll come over. I could use some company,” I say, trying to sound casual even though my heart races at the thought.

“I’d like that. Just… come over when you can,” she responds, and I can hear the smile in her voice.

“Okay, I’ll see you soon,” I say, ending the call.

As I toss my phone onto the couch and lean back, I realize how much I’ve needed this connection. For all my reckless decisions and the way I’ve pushed her away, there’s something about her presence that makes the world feel less heavy.

Maybe I can do this. Maybe I can let her in.

I head to the bathroom to shower then to my room to change, scrolling through my phone I scrolled through spotify and played P5hng Me A*wy/Mike Shinoda and Linkin Park. I pulled out an old band tee from Bring me to the horizon and some ripped jeans. In the back of my draw I see some Xanax in a baggie. I pulled it out and popped one then a half I had from sometime before. 

I should really quit this at some point…..but not tonight. 

As I step out from my room into the living room, feeling a renewed sense of clarity, the front door creaks open. Choso strolls in, his expression a mixture of nonchalance and mischief that immediately puts me on high alert.

“Hey, where have you been?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady, but I can’t mask the irritation creeping in. I left him home with Yuuji, expecting a quiet night, and instead, I get this.

Choso shrugs, the dim light from the hallway casting shadows across his face. That’s when I catch a glimpse of something on his arm—ink, the kind that shouldn’t belong to someone barely eighteen.

For fuck’s sake.

I sigh, the tension in my chest tightening as I stride over to him, my heart pounding with frustration and concern. “What is this?” I snatch his arm, pulling it closer to examine the tattoo. It’s a crude design, something that looks like it was done in a rush, the lines jagged and uneven.

“Where have you been?” I demand, my voice low and sharp. “I left you home with Yuuji. Did you really think sneaking out was a good idea?”

Choso tries to pull his arm back, but I hold firm, scanning his face for any sign of remorse. Instead, I find a mix of defiance and pride that only stokes my anger further.

“Dude, it’s just a tattoo,” he says, a hint of rebellion in his tone. “I wanted to do something cool, you know?”

“Cool? You think getting a tattoo looking like you did it in a back alley is cool?” I hiss, my frustration boiling over. “You could’ve gotten yourself hurt or worse! What the hell were you thinking?”

He rolls his eyes, his teenage bravado coming out in full force. “It’s not a big deal, Sukuna. Everyone gets tattoos. I just wanted to be like you. You’re the one with all the ink.”

I let go of his arm, realizing the weight of my own hypocrisy. But I can’t back down now. “You think I’m some role model? I’ve made plenty of mistakes. This isn’t about me; it’s about you making smart choices! You’re not ready for this—”

“What, you mean you think I can’t handle it?” Choso snaps back, his youthful anger flaring. “I’m not a kid anymore. I can do what I want!”

“Yeah, well, you’re still living under my roof, and I’m still responsible for you,” I remind him, my voice strained but firm. “So until you can pay your own bills, I expect you to follow some rules. This isn’t a game, Choso. Tattoos can have consequences you’re not thinking about.”

Choso crosses his arms, his defiance cooling slightly as he looks away. I soften my tone, fighting the urge to explode. “I just… I don’t want you to end up regretting something like this. It’s not as easy to remove as you think. And if Yuuji knew you left the house, he’d freak.”

Choso’s eyes flicker with guilt for just a moment, but he quickly masks it. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to try something different. I didn’t think it would be a big deal.”

Not a big deal?

I lean against the wall, running a hand through my hair in frustration. “Look, just promise me you’ll think about your choices next time, alright? You’re not just a kid anymore, but you still need to act like one sometimes.”

“Fine. I promise,” he mutters, though I can see the annoyance simmering beneath the surface.

“Good. Now go shower and study and cover that thing up. You don’t need to show that thing off to everyone.” I start to walk back to the couch, but Choso grabs my arm, stopping me.

“Wait.” He looks me in the eye, something earnest in his gaze. “What if you’re not here? What if you get tired of taking care of us and just…leave?”

The question hangs in the air, heavy and charged. I open my mouth to reassure him, but the truth is, I’m terrified of what he just said.

What if I do?

“Listen, Choso,” I start, searching for the right words. “I’m not going anywhere. I lost too much already. You and Yuuji are all I have left.”

“Then stop acting like it doesn’t matter,” he shoots back, and I can’t help but feel the sting of his words.

I swallow hard, staring at him, wishing I had the right answers. “I’m trying, okay? Just… let me figure this out.”

He nods, but I can see he’s not fully convinced. “Alright. Just don’t go disappearing on us, okay?”

With that, he heads off toward the bathroom, leaving me alone with my thoughts once more.

I can’t disappear. I won’t. But what if I keep failing?

With a heavy heart, I plop back down on the couch, staring at my phone. I wonder if I should call Y/N again. Maybe she’d have something to say that would make all of this feel a little less overwhelming.

As I sit there, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m not just fighting for myself anymore. I’m fighting for Choso, for Yuuji, and for Y/N. I need to find a way to hold it all together.

Somehow. I have to.

I plop down on the couch, the weight of the evening still heavy on my shoulders. The faint smell of cigarettes and whiskey clings in the air. 

Jesus, it stinks in here

 Just as he begins to find a moment of peace, Yuuji plops down next to him, grinning as he passes over his lighter and a pack of cigarettes.

“Here,” Yuuji says, his voice light, almost playful.

“Stay outta my shit, man,” I grumbles, though I can’t help but feel a hint of amusement at Yuuji’s carefree demeanor.

Yuuji chuckles, unfazed. “Where’s Y/N? I didn’t see her at Grandpa’s funeral.”

The question hangs in the air, and for a brief moment, I feel the ground shift beneath me. I had meant to tell Y/N about  grandfather's passing—she had been there for me through so much—but the weight of it all had left me feeling paralyzed.

It wasn’t important that she was there…

I shifted uncomfortably, feeling the guilt settle like a stone in my chest. “It wasn’t important that she was there,” I muttered, trying to brush it off.

“But isn’t she important to you?” Yuuji presses, his tone shifting to something more serious.

I fell silent, the question echoing in my mind.

Is she?

I reach for a cigarette, pulling it out with slightly trembling hands before lighting it. The flame flickers in the dim light, illuminating my features for a moment as I inhale deeply.

“Dude,” Choso pipes up from the hallway, his voice laced with annoyance. “You said no smoking in the house.”

I rolled his eyes, exhaling a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling. “Cut me some slack,” I snapped, though I can’t ignore the tiny voice in the back of my mind telling me that I should be setting a better example.

The deep feeling that I’m forgetting something tugs at me, like a whisper just beyond my mental grasp. But then again, if I forgot it, it probably wasn’t important. Right?

Yuuji is staring at me, a knowing look in his eyes, but he doesn’t say anything more. Instead, he leans back against the couch, looking comfortable in the silence that stretches between them.

“Things have been rough, huh?” Yuuji finally says, his voice softer now.

“Yeah,” I replied, flicking ash into a nearby tray. “You could say that.”

Choso saunters back into the living room, arms crossed, eyeing Sukuna. “You really should talk to Y/N, you know? She cares about you, and it’s clear you’re going through something.”

I glared at him, irritation flaring. “I don’t need you two playing therapist. I’m handling my shit.”

Choso raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Handling it how? By ignoring everything? By pushing everyone away? Because that’s not working.”

The truth stings, and I shifts in my seat, the tension coiling tighter. “I’m not pushing anyone away,” I shoot back, though I know it sounds hollow.

Yuuji breaks the tension with a laugh. “Yeah, you are. You could at least let her in a little. She might surprise you.”

The idea sits heavy on my chest. 

Could Y/N really surprise him? Could she handle what he’s been dealing with?

What if she can’t?

I take another drag, the nicotine coursing through me like a desperate lifeline. “Whatever, man. Just drop it.”

Choso opens his mouth to argue, but Yuuji nudges him with a chuckle, and they both fall into an easy banter, leaving Sukuna to his own thoughts.

Maybe I should call her...didn’t I call her…can’t fucking remember. 

But the longer I sat there, the more I felt that familiar weight pressing down. The feeling of forgetting something important resurfaces, and I can’t shake it off.

As the night drags on, Sukuna fights the urge to reach for his phone again, knowing that if he does, everything could change. But at the same time, it feels like he’s on the edge of something—something he can’t quite see but knows is there, waiting for him to make the first move.

What the hell am I doing?

I flicks the cigarette butt into the tray, the embers glowing as it lands.

“Hey,” I said, breaking the comfortable silence, my voice rough. “What if I mess everything up? What if I don’t know how to make it right?”

Choso and Yuuji both turn to me, surprised by my admission.

“Then you figure it out,” Yuuji replies, his tone steady. “Just like you’ve always done. Just don’t shut her out.”

Maybe it’s time to stop running and start fighting. For once.

With a deep breath, Sukuna decides it’s time to stop overthinking it. He picks up his phone, staring at the screen, ready to reach out to Y/N.

This is my last chance...but I’m exhausted right now. Fuck!

Yuuji’s POV

Sukuna's exhaustion finally takes over as he sinks deeper into the couch, his body curling into itself. The low hum of the television fills the room, blending with the sound of his steady breathing. He drifts off, lost in the chaos of his mind.

Meanwhile, Yuuji glances at the sleeping figure of his older brother, a frown creeping across his face. Curious and a bit worried, he reaches for Sukuna's phone, its screen illuminated in the dim light. He unlocks it and starts scrolling through the messages, his brow furrowing as he realizes how many texts from Y/N have gone unanswered.

“Dude, look at this,” Yuuji says, wandering over to Choso, who’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and a bored expression on his face. Yuuji holds the phone out for Choso to see, displaying the countless messages from Y/N that Sukuna has ignored for the past month.

Choso glances at the screen, then rolls his eyes. “Mind your own business, Yuuji,” he replies, a hint of annoyance in his voice.

“Seriously, though,” Yuuji presses, a touch of frustration creeping in. “He’s been ignoring her for so long. What’s going on with him?”

Before Choso can respond, Sukuna’s phone starts ringing, the sound piercing through the quiet. Yuuji’s eyes widen, and he instinctively silences the ringer, a mix of concern and curiosity flashing across his face.

“What should we do?” Yuuji asks, looking at Choso for guidance, a bit of desperation in his tone.

Choso shrugs, his expression unreadable. “Mind our own business. It's not our place to interfere.”

Yuuji sighs, glancing back at Sukuna, who remains blissfully unaware of the conversation happening around him. “But I like Y/N. She’s cool and puts up with him,” he points out, gesturing to his older brother, still sleeping on the couch. “She deserves better than this.”

Choso lets out a breath, his frustration shifting to something softer as he considers Yuuji’s words. “Yeah, I get that. But what do you expect us to do? You think we can just barge in and demand he talk to her?”

Yuuji's eyes narrow, determination hardening his features. “Maybe that’s exactly what we should do. He needs a wake-up call. This isn’t just about him anymore. He’s got people who care about him—people who are worried.”

“Like you?” Choso scoffs, but there’s no real bite in his tone. “You think that’s going to make a difference?”

“Maybe,” Yuuji replies, his voice firm. “But if we don’t try, then we’re just letting him push everyone away. We can’t let him go down this path alone.”

Choso hesitates, the weight of Yuuji’s words sinking in. He knows Sukuna is struggling, knows that beneath the bravado lies someone broken and scared.

“Okay, let’s wake him up, then,” Choso finally concedes, pushing himself off the wall. “But if he gets pissed, that’s on you.”

Yuuji nods, determination burning in his eyes. “Yeah, well, it’s better than sitting around doing nothing.”

Together, they approach the couch, the weight of their intentions hanging in the air. Yuuji crouches beside Sukuna, gently shaking his shoulder. “Hey, Sukuna. Wake up, man.”

Sukuna stirs, groaning as he squints against the light. “What the hell?” he mutters, running a hand through his disheveled hair, still half-asleep.

“Time to get up,” Yuuji says, his tone serious now. “We need to talk.”

Sukuna blinks, confusion clouding his eyes as he tries to shake off the remnants of sleep. “Talk about what?” he grumbles, irritation creeping in as he stretches.

“About Y/N,” Choso interjects, crossing his arms again as he leans against the wall.

The mention of her name seems to clear the fog from Sukuna’s mind. “What about her?” he asks, sitting up straighter, instantly alert.

“You’ve been ignoring her, man,” Yuuji says, his voice firm but compassionate. “She deserves better than this.”

Sukuna’s heart sinks, the familiar guilt clawing at his insides. He opens his mouth to protest but finds no words.

“I don’t want to hear excuses,” Yuuji continues, determination etched on his face. “You need to reach out to her. She cares about you, and you’re pushing her away. We can’t just sit here and watch you do this to yourself.”

Sukuna looks between the two of them, the weight of their concern crashing over him.

Maybe I’m not the only one hurting here.

“I… I know,” he finally admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

Choso steps closer, his expression softening. “Then what are you waiting for? Call her. Don’t let this go on any longer.”

Sukuna glances down at his phone, the screen still displaying Y/N’s name. What am I waiting for?

With a deep breath, he picks it up, the decision weighing heavily on his heart. Maybe it’s time to stop hiding and start fighting for the people who matter most.

Sukuna’s POV

I glance down at my phone as it lights up again, Y/N’s name flashing across the screen.

Not again.

I let it ring, barely registering the sound as I mumble to myself, “I’ll talk to her tomorrow.”

But the ringing doesn’t stop. I grit my teeth, a sense of dread bubbling in my stomach. “For fuck's sake,” I mutter, watching it ring again.

Why can’t she just give me a minute?

When the phone vibrates for the third time, I finally snap. “Fuck!” I answer, irritation spilling over as I press the phone to my ear. “What?”

“Where the hell have you been?” she shouts, her voice cracking like a whip through the line, the frustration palpable.

I wince, already regretting picking up. “I’ve been… busy,” I respond, my tone defensive.

“Busy ignoring me?” She scoffs, and I can practically see her rolling her eyes, her frustration radiating through the call.

This is so typical…

I take a deep breath, trying to calm the storm brewing inside. “I’m not doing this right now, Y/N. It’s not a good time.”

“Not a good time? You’ve been dodging my calls for weeks! What the hell is going on with you?”

Weeks… The word hits me hard, the weight of it settling heavily on my chest. I can’t keep running from this.

“Look,” I start, my voice low, “my grandfather is dead.”

Silence falls on the other end, thick and suffocating. I can almost hear the gears turning in her head.

“...When’s the funeral?” she finally asks, her tone shifting from anger to concern.

“It was three weeks ago,” I reply, the admission tasting bitter on my tongue.

“Three weeks?” she whispers, disbelief lacing her words. “And you said nothing?”

“I'm handling it, Y/N!” I bite back, the frustration boiling over. I can feel the anger and grief bubbling up, the remnants of my grandfather’s absence clawing at my throat.

I don’t want to talk about this. Not now.

Her silence feels like a dagger, cutting deeper than any argument we've had before. “This isn’t how you handle things, Sukuna,” she finally says, her voice shaking.

“I’m not doing this dumb shit with you tonight,” I snap, the heat of the moment overwhelming me. “I’m hanging up.”

And with that, I cut the line, the sound of the call ending echoing in the stillness of the room.

What the hell was I thinking?

My heart races as I throw my phone onto the couch, the silence that follows feeling deafening. I bury my head in my hands, fighting against the emotions swirling inside me.

She doesn’t understand. She can’t know what this feels like… The anger, the pain, the constant ache of losing my grandfather and not being able to show it. How could I have told her?

I lean back against the couch, the weight of everything pressing down on me.

Just give me time…

But as I sit in the dim light, the loneliness creeps in. The silence is heavy, and I know I can’t keep pushing her away. I want to reach out, but the fear of exposing my vulnerability paralyzes me.

I close my eyes, wishing for the chaos to settle, for a moment of peace to wash over me. But it doesn’t come.

Tomorrow, I’ll talk to her. I’ll figure this out.

But as the minutes stretch on, I realize the truth—if I keep this up, I might lose her for good.

Ding.

I sigh, my heart sinking as I open my eyes, dreading that it’s another text from her. I reach for my phone, bracing myself for the disappointment, but I feel a wave of relief wash over me when I see the name flashing on the screen. It’s not Y/N.

It’s Toji.

I’m five minutes away and I got pizza and weed.

I throw the phone back onto the couch and turn to Yuuji and Choso, who are in the kitchen, their heads craned toward the door, eyes wide with anticipation.

“Zenin is coming over,” I announce, trying to keep my voice steady.

Yuuji shrugs, a nonchalant expression on his face. “And I don’t give a fuck.”

Choso snickers, and I can’t help but wonder,

Who raised this kid?

“Yuuji,” I say, my tone firm, “you’ve got school tomorrow. Head to bed.”

He rolls his eyes, but I can see the weariness creeping in. “Yeah, yeah, I know.”

I shift my gaze to Choso, who’s been sitting quietly, but I know he’s been feeling the pressure of finals coming up soon. “You need good grades to get into university, too. Go study or some shit.”

He raises an eyebrow, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “I will, but it’s hard to focus with you two around.”

Great, more attitude. “If you can’t handle the distraction, then take your study materials and go somewhere else.”

“Not a chance,” he says, laughing as he grabs a bottle of soda from the fridge. “Besides, I want to see what Zenin brought.”

I shake my head, the corners of my mouth twitching upward despite my efforts to maintain a stern facade. “You two are impossible.”

The door swings open a moment later, and Toji steps inside, a broad grin on his face, pizza boxes stacked high in his arms. “Guess who brought dinner!” he calls out, the aroma wafting through the air and instantly making my stomach growl.

“About damn time!” Yuuji jumps up, rushing over to help him with the boxes, while Choso just stands there, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

I lean back on the couch, watching the chaos unfold. This is a welcome distraction. I can feel the heaviness of the earlier conversation with Y/N slipping away, if only for a moment.

Toji, pulling out a baggie of weed from his pocket and tossing it on the couch next to me. “Let’s get this party started. It’s been a rough week for all of us.”

Yeah, rough doesn’t even begin to cover it.

But I nod, grateful for his presence, even if he’s a walking headache sometimes.

Maybe this is what I need—just a bit of normalcy, a moment to breathe.

I watch as Toji sets down two boxes of pizza on the table, and he turns his gaze to me, studying my face.

“Where’s Y/N?” he asks, his tone casual, but I can hear the underlying concern.

I stay silent, reaching for the weed instead, the familiar ritual of rolling a blunt providing a momentary escape. As I begin to roll, I feel Toji’s eyes on me, a bead of sweat forming at the back of my neck.

“What?” I finally snap, my voice edged with irritation.

Toji sighs, crossing his arms over his chest. “Guess we’re doing this.”

Yuuji, ever the meddler, chimes in with a grin, “Y/N broke up with him.”

I shoot him a glare, my hands stilling. “She didn’t.”

“Sure sounded like you guys were about to,” Choso adds, his voice matter-of-fact, as if I hadn’t just dismissed Yuuji’s comment.

I lean back, rolling my eyes. “So you’re both minding my business now?”

Yuuji shrugs, that infuriating smirk still plastered on his face. “Of course.” He smacks his lips exaggeratedly, just to piss me off even more.

Toji raises an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. “What happened?”

I take a deep breath, the memory of our earlier fight flooding back, sharp and painful. “We got into it,” I say, my voice low. “She called me out for ignoring her, and I... I told her my grandfather died.”

“To be fair,” Toji interjects, “that’s a pretty big deal.”

“I know!” I shoot back, frustration creeping in. “But it was the way she said it. Like it was my fault I hadn’t told her sooner. I just—”

I stop, running a hand through my hair, feeling the weight of it all settle on my shoulders. “I didn’t want her to worry. I thought I could handle it. But I’m just a mess right now.”

“You can’t just shut her out,” Toji says, his voice steady, and I can tell he’s trying to keep me from spiraling. “You need to let her in. She cares about you.”

“Yeah, but does she really? Because it doesn’t feel like it right now,” I mutter, frustration boiling beneath the surface.

Choso exchanges a glance with Yuuji, and I know they’re thinking the same thing. 

You’re fucking this up, Sukuna.

“Look,” Yuuji says, more serious now, “maybe just talk to her. Apologize or something. She might be pissed off, but she’ll listen. She always does.”

“I don’t know if I can face her after that,” I admit, the confession hanging heavy in the air.

Toji slaps my shoulder, pulling me from my thoughts. “You don’t get to hide from this. Just be honest. You’ve got to get your shit together, man.”

I nod, taking a deep breath, the reality of it all sinking in. “Yeah, you’re right.”

The weight of my decisions looms over me, but amidst the chaos and noise of the kitchen, I can feel the glimmer of hope.

Maybe I can fix this… maybe it’s not too late.

I finish rolling the blunt and take a moment, grounding myself. “Alright, enough about me. Let’s eat before it gets cold.”

Yuuji and Choso dive into the pizza boxes, their laughter echoing around me. And for a moment, the laughter drowns out the noise in my head, the worries about Y/N fading to the background as I join them.

My phone rings again, cutting through the brief moment of normalcy. I glance at the screen and see it's Y/N. My stomach drops at the sight. I switch the ringer off again, desperate to avoid this conversation.

Toji, however, doesn’t miss a beat. He watches the phone and answers it. “Hey, what’s up, Y/N?”

I can hear her voice through the speaker, sharp and clear. “Where’s Sukuna?”

Toji shrugs, glancing at me. “He’s around. Is there something you need?”

I feel the air shift in the room as Y/N’s voice crackles through the speaker. “Tell him to come get his shit from my place.”

My heart drops.

She isn’t doing this right now.

 The weight of her words hits me like a punch to the gut.

Toji pauses, clearly surprised. “Are you sure about that?”

“His grandfather died,”

 Y/N responds, her tone unyielding. “And?”

And? 

The anger surges through me, hot and raw. I mouth to Toji to pass me the phone, but he shakes his head, his expression saying it all: 

Don’t. Just let it go.

“Y/N, you know it’s not that simple,” Toji says, his voice steady but laced with caution. “He’s going through a lot right now.”

“Yeah, well, so am I,” she snaps back, frustration dripping from her words. “I can’t keep doing this, Toji. He’s been ignoring me, and I’m done. Just tell him to come get his things.”

I can feel my heart racing, the anger boiling beneath the surface.

She really done with me?

Toji glances at me again, gauging my reaction. “Y/N, I get that you’re upset, but maybe you should talk to him instead of kicking him out. You guys have been together for almost a year.”

“Exactly! Almost a year and I feel like I’m in this alone. I’m tired of waiting around for him to decide he wants to talk to me. I deserve better than this.”

Does she really think I don’t care?

“Okay, but…” Toji starts, but Y/N cuts him off.

“No, Toji. I’m not going to keep making excuses for him. He needs to take responsibility. If he doesn’t want to be with me, then that’s his choice.”

I’m clenching my fists now, the frustration spilling over. I can’t just let this happen.

“Just pass me the phone,” I finally say, my voice low and dangerous.

Toji gives me a hard look but eventually relents, handing me the phone with a reluctant sigh. I can feel the weight of the moment pressing down on me.

“Y/N,” I say, trying to keep my tone even, but it cracks slightly, betraying my anger. “You really want to do this right now?”

“What do you want me to say, Sukuna?” she replies, her voice steady yet tinged with hurt. “You’ve been ignoring me for weeks. You think I’m just going to sit here and pretend everything’s okay?”

“I’m not ignoring you!” I shoot back, frustration bubbling over. “I’m dealing with shit, and I thought you’d understand. My grandfather just died, for fuck’s sake!”

“Then talk to me about it!” she retorts, her voice rising. “I can’t help you if you shut me out. I’m not asking for much; I just want to know you’re okay.”

“I’m handling it, Y/N,” I insist, my words coming out sharper than I intended. “But you don’t get it. You don’t know what it’s like right now.”

“Then make me understand!” she snaps. “Stop pushing me away!”

I can hear the desperation in her voice, and it’s like a knife twisting in my gut.

“Y/N, I…” I start, but the words fail me.

What do I say?

But before I can finish, she sighs deeply, the sound heavy with resignation. “Just come get your stuff. I can’t keep waiting for you to figure this out.”

“Fine,” I reply, my voice quiet. “I’ll be there.”

She doesn’t respond, and the silence stretches between us like an unbridgeable chasm.

“Y/N…”

But it’s too late. She hangs up, leaving me with nothing but the echo of our argument hanging in the air.

Toji and Choso watch me closely, the weight of their scrutiny pressing down. I want to scream, to lash out, but instead, I drop the phone to my side and run a hand through my hair, feeling the tension coil tighter in my chest.

The weight of the argument hangs in the air, thick and suffocating. With a heavy sigh, I pass my car keys to Choso. “Go pick up my stuff.”

He raises an eyebrow, shaking his head. “Nah, bro. You’re doing that on your own. I’m not getting in that mess.”

I scoff, frustration boiling over. “Seriously? You think I want to deal with this shit alone?”

“Yeah, I do,” Choso replies, crossing his arms defiantly. “I don’t want any part of that drama. You can’t just ignore her for weeks and expect her to roll over when you come crawling back.”

“Whatever, man,” I mutter, pushing myself off the couch. I turn to Toji, who’s watching us with a bemused expression. “I’ll be back in an hour.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, waving me off. “I’ll keep an eye on these two losers over here.” He messes up Yuuji’s hair, earning a frustrated grunt from the younger guy.

With a heavy heart and a storm brewing in my chest, I head to my car. The engine roars to life, but it does little to drown out the chaos in my mind.

 What the hell am I even going to say to her?

[greeniegaes]

Thinking about Omega SQQ again sigh

Okay. So warning this is a male lactation AU so if you don’t like that don’t read, nothing explicit happens tho, just a guy and his pups

I imagine when he first goes into his body everything feels like he’s in haywire, constantly on edge and ready for a fight. Once he’s gotten the hang of things he uses his cultivation to try and simmer down his hormones.

Only to realize it was his cultivation preventing hormones that was making him feel like shit all the time.

So eventually he sighs and stops doing that. The first few days are bad, cramps and sickness and a general feeling of wanting to claw everyone’s eyes out. He gets through that though.

Then his breasts start to come in.

He knew PIDW has its weirder parts of omegaverse so he knew that this would happen. At first he starts binding his chest but that hurts SO SO SO much that he collapses on like the third day (he was also doing it improperly because it’s him, yk) and gets stuffed into Qian Cao

MQF: I was not aware shixiong was an omega

SQQ: I’ve only recently decided to stop holding myself back

MQF: it is recommended that you form a small pack of your disciples to help with your instincts and… that *waving at SQQs chest.*

SQQ: *screams internally.* Okay :)

At this point after like a week of just draining himself and going insane he finally gives up. LBH has already started living in the bamboo hut so he’s kinda the best option so he sits the boy down.

SQQ: Binghe, I hope you know this isn’t going to change anything but

LBH, thinking: oh my god no please don’t kick me out

SQQ: since this master has allowed his omega side back out he’s been struggling with his urges about thinking of his disciples like pups. If it’s not an offense to your character can I take some of it out on you

LBH, internally: YES YES YES PLEASE OH GOD YES I NEED IT

LBH, externally: If that would please shizun then sure :]

So they start a twice daily thing of in the morning and night LBH goes into SQQs room and his nest and gets feed. Apparently milk is hella good for the skin and shit because after a few weeks he starts to look flawless somehow.

And SQQ really wants to see his other kids- DISCIPLES flourish like that. He extends the offer to a close few and some look like they going to cry at the honor of their teacher wanting to take care of them.

LBH is still the main drinker and always wants to huff when he has to share, but he does it none the less. His Shizun gets really cute during feeding sessions, purring and chirping at them, fixing their hair and playing with it, scratching their scalp, the whole nine yards.

So LBH repays it by feeding SQQ more, which also makes him have more milk in turn. He huffs and complains at his body’s need to produce so much, his chest wayyy too heavy in the middle of the day to be comfortable, leaking and wasting everything.

He ignored that though, even if LBH and his other pups- disciples offer to help him.

Eventually after the Abyss his body is still making big amounts of milk because that’s what it was used to. Most of the time he just gets it out himself and pours it into the grass, often now also starting his other feedings.

Everything starts to get to him and he’s decided that staying on the mountain is no good. So he sneaks out, by himself, in search of something to heal his heart.

All the peak lords and disciples are going crazy, nobody can find him and nobody knows where he could’ve gone. Eventually while LQG is talking to a random villager out in a border town of their territory he sees SQQ again, arms filled with two pudgy babies and looking ever so pleased.

SQQ: Oh! Hi Shidi

SQQ internally: OH FUCK I FORGOT ABOUT THE SECT

LQG: where have you been???

SQQ: sorry sorry babies are hard work I didn’t want to travel alone with them

LQG, wanting to have an aneurysm but can’t: let me just help you home

On one hand the entire sect is so relieved that SQQ didn’t die of heartbreak over losing his favorite pup or get kidnapped. On the other hand SQQ??? Where’d you’d acquire those babies?? They aren’t yours, it’s only been 6 months!!

Anyways after SQQ is safely back in the sect he doesn’t see a point in leaving. I mean! Look! Look at his pups! So cute and round! One of them has little dimples!

The other peak lords carefully go to see what was going on, YQY opening the door to the bamboo house after being told to come in and all of them are just smacked with happy omega pheromones, SQQ gently cradling them both in his arms as he rocks in a chair.

At that point all of the peak lords decide that yk, maybe it doesn’t matter how the children were acquired. They were well feed and cared for and obviously SQQ was happy again.

(He got the children from a working in the WRP, she had wanted babies and all her sisters were supportive but then she realized she didn’t like being a parent but you also can’t morally just… dispose of a child. SQQ visited there once in his depression stoop and stayed for a few days after falling in love with the kiddos. Then he just went on an adventure with his babies and got distracted by the cool world building.)

[becausebuckley]

michelle's buddie fic recs: week 45!

what a week... i'm greatly enjoying all of the post-8x06 buddie fic (many more recs to come!) and took some time to revisit old favourites, which can be found in previous rec lists. enjoy!

this is a mix of fics with all ratings, so some include NSFW content. please take a look at both the ratings and the fic tags before reading! some might also contain spoilers for season 8.

if you come across something you like in this list, remember to show some love to the author by leaving kudos and a comment!

all that we need | not1_2write | 26.4k | M

When Buck buys a Powerball lottery ticket he doesn't think much beyond his need for change to air up his tire. He forgets all about the ticket until word spreads that the winning ticket was sold in LA and hasn't been claimed yet and pretty much dismisses it. After all, there's no way he won the lottery. Turns out no, he really did win the Powerball, to the tune of 295 million dollars and just in time for Christmas. He's going to make sure the 118 has the best Christmas of their lives. And just maybe he'll have a good one too. idk about all of you but i do dream about winning the lottery regularly (way too often for someone who's never bought a ticket, that's for sure). this is such a lovely look at what buck would do with a whole lot of money <3

i take this magnetic force of a man | playinginthunderstorms/@playinginthunderstorms | 9k | M

Turns out, he isn’t actually afraid of commitment. He’s just afraid of committing to the wrong thing, or the wrong person. Ana, obviously, had been a mistake, because he hadn’t been ready, and he’d put other people’s expectations above his own wants and needs. With Marisol, he’s done the same thing. Moved too fast, doing what he thinks is the right thing according to who? His parents? For Chris’s benefit? Again, pushing past his own comfort, discarding any doubt because it doesn’t fit like… Like Buck. blanket rec for one of my favourite authors who has been posting incredible fics lately!! this one in particular is so beautifully written and so romantic and just so very buddie <3

if i need to rearrange my particules i will for you | thelikesofus/@thelikesofus | 7.9k | GA

Eddie catches a cold and Buck takes care of him while having a minor, non-platonic emotional crisis. this is definitely influenced by the fact that i've been ill myself but wow truly nothing hits as hard as buddie taking care of each other when one of them isn't feeling well. the bed sharing in this is so good <3

let me | facewithoutheart/@facewithoutheart | 1.6k | T

Eddie doesn't think he needs romance. Buck, respectfully, disagrees. AKA the fic where Buck picks Eddie up and kisses him breathless against a wall. and buck is so right for doing that!! i love it when buck turns eddie to jello <3 so lovely!

second child, restless child | lesbianrobin/@lesbianrobin | 23k and counting| M

how Evan and Maddie make it out of Pennsylvania, and Buck and Maddie build a family. okay so listen these past few weeks i've been doing this thing where i only rec finished fics, and every time i scroll through my ao3 history for these rec lists, i come across this one and go oh i wish i could rec this already. and then i realised wait it's my rec list i can do whatever i want, and so then i did. anyway, mind the tags for this one, but wow are you in for a treat here! i love the character dynamics (chim is brilliant in this!! and maddie!!) and i'm so so excited to see the rest of this fic unfold <3

said that i was fine, said it from my coffin | justhockey/tumblr | 7.3k | T

And it doesn’t matter that he feels like he’s dying. Like the version of himself that he’s always been is suddenly a stranger to him - just a mask he’d spent his entire life hiding behind, without ever even realising he was wearing it. It doesn’t matter that Eddie is…that he’s gay. Because he knows - as surely as he knows that the sun will rise again tomorrow - that the only person he has ever, and will ever, truly love is Buck. And Buck isn’t his to love. another blanket rec for an author who's been posting incredible fics!! this one in particular has such brilliant eddie characterisation and i just devoured it the second i got that little ao3 email hehe

there's no place like home-spun | icewhisper | 4.1k | GA

Buck has spent most of his life trying to find something to settle fidgeting hands and the restless need for a home. He found the key to the latter when he was thirteen. He finds the former in a cozy home on South Bedford Street with two of his favorite people. (AKA the Buck-crochets fic that literally no one asked for.). this fic makes me want to learn how to crochet. i am the least crafty person ever and i have like minus time but just know that if two weeks from now i'm posting about yarn and crochet hooks and whatnot, it's all thanks to this fic. i love buck who crochets so very much <3

you get your dreams for free | llovely/@butchdiaz| 14.9k | T

five times buck and eddie cuddle drunk and one time they cuddle sober. buddie bed sharing my absolute favourite. i read this late at night curled up under three blankets and it hit just right <3

[burningcheese-merchant]

I NEED MORE BURNED CHEESE CONTENT, could you please feed this poor hungry soul some burning cheese kids? Imagine the SUPER protective burn during Golden's pregnancy, or, or helping her with the children's dough (and already planning the next children)

The kids will be here soon, I promise :( they're at school right now, Spice and Golden have to go pick them up. It won't be too long. (I have something important to do irl and that takes priority. I'm hoping I have time at the end of this week to sit down and try to draw them. Everything else is ready, their characters sheets are done, got their whole lives on lock lol. All that's missing is to put them on paper. I only have about half a gram of artistic talent so I'll really be pushing myself here... but I want you all to see them really badly, so I'm happy to do it haha)

I don't have to imagine anything, I'm already there with you, buddy :') I hc them as already married by the time the kids come along, and yeah... Spice is SUPER overprotective lol. Very, very gentle and doting, but fiercely protective and downright hostile towards literally everyone else as a consequence of that protectiveness. He won't leave her side unless absolutely necessary, and he'll be snapping at whoever forced him to leave her and then rushing back to her as soon as he can. (She feels kind of claustrophobic at times, because he literally becomes her shadow during those 9 months lol.) But really, he's at her beck and call from beginning to end. She's craving something? He gets it for her. She's sore? Hugs and massages and nice baths. She's tired? He carries her to bed and doesn't allow anyone to bother her for any reason for the whole rest of the day. She can't sleep? He's up with her all night, talking to her and soothing her and doing whatever he can to lull her back to sleep because she needs all the rest she can get. He's Peak Husband during this time lol.

(He's just... beyond happy. I also hc this as being after Spice has redeemed himself and been accepted back into society, but still not having 100% let go of his dark past (which he never truly will, you can never fully forget something like that, unfortunately). So really, he takes this as one of the greatest rewards for his change of heart that he's ever gotten, and as a sign that he really has become better. The day Golden came to him and told him she was pregnant was the best day of his whole, entire life. He fell to his knees and cried when she told him. Not only has he managed to forsake his destructive nature and instead create something, but he's engaged in the most profound act of creation there is: he helped create a life. And he created this precious life with the woman he loves, who helped kickstart his journey to redemption in the first place. It just shows how far he's come, you know? From a cruel tyrant to a beloved king to two peoples... from a bloodthirsty psychopath destined to live and die alone to a much more even-tempered man who has atoned for his sins and learned to be a good friend and person again, as well as became a beloved husband and father... still a force for destruction, but now in a positive way, not a negative one. It's been a very long road, but it really feels like he reached the end, and this victory is sweeter than any he's had before.)

...And same thing if they're cookies, honestly lol. Peak Husband. Burning Sweetheart Cookie here, jumping for joy when Golden tells him she wants a child. He goes hunting for a Witch Oven of his own accord, going to quite literally every corner of the earth until he finds one, then they go to it and he's just like a kid on Christmas Day lol. They're making the batter together and he's just grinning that big, pointy grin he's got, beaming like the sun. How much of his dough should they mix in? How much of hers? What will happen, what sort of child will they create? Golden thinks he's so cute lol. He won't even sit still while the kid is baking in the oven; if he's not pacing back and forth in anticipation, he's picking Golden up and swinging her around and smothering her with kisses, and going on and on and on about how great the kid will be and how they'll be a fine warrior just like him and Golden. He's yanking the oven door open as soon as that timer goes off and they both hear crying... she has to tell him to slow down so they can both take the baby out together (he was so excited that he was just going to do it by himself lol)

TL;DR: The woobification of Burning Spice Cookie on this blog is complete, he is now Burning Sweetheart Cookie, reformed villain who loves his bird wife and their babies with all of his spicy heart

And to feed you a bit of extra content (and to keep everyone on the edge of their seats), I shall feed you a bit of information about the kiddies:

There are two of them, a son and a daughter. The son is the older one by a few years

I did research and took inspiration from both Egyptian and Hindu mythology for their design and some of their personality traits (I will explain this in detail soon. I actually really enjoyed learning about these religions, even if for a ridiculous reason, and I look forward to rambling about all the little bits and pieces of myths I cobbled together to make these two lol)

Each one resembles a parent quite a bit (but I will not specify which child looks like which parent yet)

One of them has wings like Golden Cheese does

Something really bad happens to the son in the future

Here are their soulstone descriptions, because yes, I really did go above and beyond creating these little guys lol

"This stone holds a piece of [REDACTED]'s soul. It feels warm and light, like a rare, refreshing breeze on a desert morning... But is that a single grain of self-doubt, nestled deep within its core?"

"This stone holds a piece of [REDACTED]'s soul. Though it burns very hot and bright, and feels difficult to handle at first, the kindness and unyielding strength resonating from within are nevertheless unmistakable."

[liskantope]

I'm going to get myself an onslaught of pushback that I in no way have time to deal with this week for making the points I'm about to make, but here goes. (I also may learn some new information from some of you, which would be good.)

Argumate's point, as a conditional statement, is 100% correct. I would also say the various Republican proposals of the past three years are, in my opinion, varying levels of reprehensible and idiotic in how poorly they're defined/enforceable. But, unless there are specific ideas on the table that for some reason I haven't heard of despite being on Tumblr and progressive social media bubbles all this time, the implication that Republicans are attacking the right to present as one pleases and choose one's name, even the right of adults to choose to medically transition, is suspect. And distorting that side's political behavior seems counterproductive.

Everything, first of all, seems to revolve around "protecting" the children rather than restricting the rights of adults.

There's clearly been a push to ban drag shows -- that is, a certain kind of performance art based around people cross-dressing (often in a sexualized way) in places where children could be exposed to it: schools, it seems sometimes public areas as well. This seems to have arisen in direct response to a quite novel trend of schools going out of their ways to show children this art when schools re-opened after COVID, not as a direct backtracking of civil rights that they were okay with ten years ago (even if in effect it is a sort of walking back of rights). For the record, I think banning drag shows in public sucks, and if I had my own kid, I would want them to be exposed to a "drag queen story hour" or two in school. But what has been happening there is a far cry from disallowing people from going about their own business cross-dressing or otherwise presenting as a given gender.

Where changing names is concerned, I can only imagine posts above this are alluding to Ted Cruz's proposal to make it impossible to fire someone for deadnaming or using a pronoun different from the referent's biological sex. (The naming thing would depend on the person's legal name; of course if they transitioned and changed their name legally -- which I realize may present its own slowness and difficulties -- there would presumably be no problem.) This seems like one of the weirder, harder-to-enforce hypothetical laws (how would one even prove that someone's pronoun doesn't correspond to their genitalia??), but it's one of those People Resent Being Forced To Utter Things They Feel Are Lies issues in the form of protecting someone from being fired for not making those utterances. I don't support it and hope it never becomes law, but characterizing it as "losing one's right to choose one's name" seems disingenuous.

Banning transition surgery and other medicine is clearly a huge thing right now but completely restricted to minors -- I think the closest I've heard to proposals for banning it for adults is (1) stretching the concept of "minor" here to age 25 due to questionable "mature brain" ideas, and (2) some bill in Missouri requiring six months of therapy before getting the go-ahead for medical treatment. It seems not unreasonable to imagine that if Republicans manage to get enough bans through for minors (by far the lower-hanging fruit, by far more popular among Americans) and are feeling sufficiently confident while running rampant, some will try to ban stuff for adults too, and there's the whole issue of which forms of gender medicine get provided by insurance and so on. I totally get a trans adult not being willing to live in a red state. At present the issue seems to be for minors, though, and again, while a rollback (one that was already happening in most of Europe I believe), it's mainly in response to something -- namely, an abrupt spike by more than an order of magnitude in minors seeking gender medicine.

I don't call for moderate stances on these issues but for some care and moderation on how we characterize them, especially at a moment when trans people are upending their lives to flee the country. I don't see how we're going to get out of this culture war mess with trans issues without engaging with what each side is actually doing (obviously I've believed the same about every type of current issue but this one has gotten especially out of control).

The state of gay rights in the early aughts was not good; criminal penalties for homosexuality were rarely enforced but were on the books in many places, there was no right to marriage, and the morality of homosexuality was hotly contested in public. Big culture war issue. In that environment, where substantive protections were lacking, Democrats could be tepid on gay rights without actively giving anything up—if, like Obama in 2008, you didn’t support gay marriage, you could still be seen (correctly) as advocating for an overall better situation for gay people, or at least one that was no worse, in contrast to your right wing opponents.

Trans rights are not in the same position. Before the big trans rights backlash started, access to gender affirming care was pretty widespread, was everywhere legal, and was a matter for private concern only. Trans people could play in school sports subject to whatever their league’s rules were, and the idea of trying to make it illegal to cross dress in public was absurd. The conservative position since has become one of an explicit rollback of rights: revoke access to gender affirming care, create new criminal sanctions to punish trans people, make it illegal for them to participate in school sports, etc.

In that environment, tacking to the right on trans issues means deciding which elements of trans rights you are willing to concede to this project of actually rolling back trans rights. The only thing comparable from the gay rights fight is maybe state constitutional amendments to ban gay marriage, or DOMA—all of which were, IIRC, passed despite gay marriage not being legal in affected jurisdictions. Their enactment, while deplorable, had no material negative affect; gay people already couldn’t get married.

And that this project of rolling back trans rights is not a particular fetish of the religious right is more worrying. Plenty of liberals and liberal institutions are pretty transphobic. Britain has been working to export its flavor of (Moderate, Sensible, Secular) transphobia to other countries in Europe and the Anglosphere. Transphobes winning these fights isn’t a status quo situation—it’s a sharp increase in repression of trans people.

In light of that, I regard calls to “moderate” on trans issues with at best scorn. I think the party of civil rights condoning the rollback of citizens’ civil rights is really bad for its brand, won’t win it more votes, and may sufficiently alienate members of the base—who are invested in the party specifically because of its historic support for civil rights—that they simply don’t bother to show up in elections.

[shuastar]

ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴡɪɴᴇᴅ -- ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪɴ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ (pt 2) (JWW)

ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴡɪɴᴇᴅ -- ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪɴ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ᴡɪɴᴛᴇʀ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪᴀʟ

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ᴀʀᴄʜᴅᴜᴋᴇ!ᴡᴏɴᴡᴏᴏ x ᴀʀᴄʜᴅᴜᴄʜᴇꜱꜱ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴡᴄ: 8.2 k (consistency is key??) warnings: none for now?? hot wonwoo, lowkey obsessed wonwoo, theres like a part where he's like "oh i couldn't control myself" but it's not like a sexual predator sorta way i promise, joshua featuring!! ᴀ/ɴ: i told myself i would post this before the la concert BUT i got too distracted buying a clear fucking bag from target bc i didnt know you had to bring a clear bag to us concerts??? bc ive only gone to korea concerts??? anyways, ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴɴᴀ ʙᴇ ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ ᴘʟꜱ ʟᴏᴏᴋ ᴀᴛ ᴍʏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ <3 OH also if you're confused by the (y/n) (wonwoo) parts it's like the perspective thing (the perspectives switch bc i got boredd writing only y/n pov sorry!!)

ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ ; ɴᴇxᴛ

y/n

“Your grace.” 

A silver fine-toothed comb gently brushed through your morning hair, untangling your curled knots. The winter air chilled the room and the hazy morning sunlight shined through the sheer curtains. 

You hummed in acknowledgement. 

Nai continued with her rhythmic brushing, slowly adding oils and perfumes to the ends of your hair. “I do not understand these rumors as of late, your grace,” Nai huffed, setting the comb down on the vanity desk with a little more force than necessary. 

You let out a breathy laugh, slowly running your fingers through your silken hair. “I do not think rumors exist to be understood, Nai.” 

Nai crosses her arms, the space between her eyebrows creasing. “But your grace! These rumors are absolutely outlandish! You! Infertile! I just cannot even begin to wrap my head-”

At her words, you notice a new cream-colored envelope sitting on the edge of the vanity. “-then don’t, Nai.” You look up at her. Her brown ringlets sit neatly against her shoulders and her wide hazel eyes are full of pure exasperation. It feels good, you think, to have someone care this much. It’s been a while. 

“You don’t have to understand anything for me. Rumors will remain rumors,” you hum, reaching for the envelope. 

Nai huffs in annoyance. You know it isn’t directed at you, but it still makes you smile nonetheless. Seungcheol might have been ruining your Society life, but at least he hired a maid right. Speaking of which, as your eyes glided through the contents of the palace-stamped envelope, it focused on the beginning: 

My darling archduchess y/n, 

I hope the duchy is prospering after my small present for your twenty third birthday. Speaking of, I have scheduled a tea for you in two days with Baron-

Again. Fucking again with the stupid engagement offers. If Seungcheol wasn’t the king, you would have already slapped him twice. He had always been somewhat of a parent figure in your life, especially after your grandmother’s death. But this? This was dangerously toeing the line of overstepping your boundaries. Actually, maybe the boundaries had been overstepped at your fifth engagement that ended with yet another cheating scandal. At this point, Prince Mingyu was right – how did Seungcheol even manage to conjure only cheating scandals for your shame to marinate in? 

“Whose ball are we attending tonight, Nai?” 

Nai tries to speak around the pearl bobby pin in her mouth. “Uck gong, er ace,” she starts, before she shakes her head. The bobby pin slides into your hair. “My apologies, your grace. Duke Hong’s winter season opening ball.” 

You hum, toying with the edges of the envelope. If it wasn’t considered palace property, you would have burned it. God. Seungcheol was really teething at your fraying nerves. There’s only a certain number of engagements a Society woman can go through before she is considered unmarriable. You were way past that point. 

If the king himself was not backing you, you would have already been the Society’s laughing stock. Because what failure of a woman cannot keep a man to herself for more than a couple of measly weeks?

At this point, you might as well just live and die alone. 

Duke Hong’s winter season opening ball. You wouldn’t have agreed to attend if it was hosted by anyone else. Duke Hong happened to be your fellow library attendant during your formative years at the National Academy. Really, it was a pity you could not just conjure up a lie and stay back in the safety of your room. You would, except you had a sinking feeling Joshua would send you letter after annoying letter until you finally decided to let up and attend. 

You don’t think you are fully ready for the full impact of the Society nobles just yet. To make matters worse, Nai had told you that she heard the people were giddy about the return of the Jeon Duchy to the capitol after the death of the previous heads of the house, and the return of the direct line, now the archduke, after his series of triumphant wins on the frontiers of the warring enemy country. The Society, you told yourself, was what you were afraid of. But a tiny (not so secret) part of you was not fully ready to see him again just yet.

The stuffy crowded ballroom seemed even more overpopulated under the yellow chandelier lights and the exponentially building pressure inside your chest. And Joshua’s estate’s not-so-hidden balcony did not give you enough coverage in the darkening night. If Joshua had not proposed for you to stay the night (“You should not be out after dark, y/n. Even if you have the best footmen in the world,” were his words), you would have retired to your own estate an hour ago. Actually, if Joshua had not been so adamant about your attending, you would have never left your estate in the first place.

But you could never say no to his face, especially when he pulled his little pout and sigh of faux disappointment that had followed him even out of the Academy.

There was a not-so-secret side of you that wanted to pull your hair out by the roots. The whispers, the gossips, the mumblings, the laughter that follows you wherever you go, you could do. You could live with it. You could do with it because that was what you had lived with for three years. Three miserable years of back-to-back engagements with all of High Society’s eligible men, hand-picked by the dear, beloved king. And no, of course, Seungcheol was not to carry the entire burden of blame. You blamed every single elder in your family and the royal courts. Every male figure in your life expects you to marry some rich, handsome man. If he knew how to dance, drink, breathe, and hold some semblance of self respect, he was eligible in their eyes. Even if, in the dark cover of night, they leave their homes and sneak onto the back alleyways of carnal desire. 

Each season of Society that passes by you is another couple of months in which your vain, naive, wishful childhood dream of wanting to marry for love!! could not come true. In some ways, it was because you fully believe that love has its time (and your time had passed away three years ago), but also because sometimes, you had learned to give up things you innately wanted for something that would benefit you a little more in the future. Something that would cause you less pain. Something that could slowly become something you love.

You feel the built-up tears fill your eyes, champagne flute resting loosely between your gloved fingers. For a moment, you wish your grandmother was back with you. She would know what to do, what to say, what to choose. You wish she could have been there, three years ago, when you tried desperately to balance the exhausting, choking, mountains of pressure of an archduchess and a fragmented heart, which slowly shattered into unmendable glass pieces. You wish she could have pulled Wonwoo aside then and told him how you had suffered, maybe bring up even a smidge of guilt, worry, regret, something. 

But that’s all wishful thinking, y/n, you chide yourself. Let it go, like you have done for the past three years. 

But he wasn’t here during the three years, you wish you could argue. You wish you could hope for something and follow the tugs of your heart, but there is a shallow part of your mind that tells you no. Because the first time ended in shambles. Made you the laughing stock for two whole seasons. Kick-started your rather permanent fixture in the Society’s rumor mills. And just as you thought you had figured everything out, he comes waltzing back into your life – as part of the same royal council – like he had never left. And that in itself left a gaping, bubbling hole of rage in your heart. 

The thin wooden door and curtain that separates you from the rest of the dancing ballroom flutters with the breeze. Your head pounds along with the bass of the cello inside – not too sure if it was caused by the champagne flute in your gloved hand or the incessant whispers that had followed your footsteps inside. 

“Why did you have to come back,” you mutter bitterly, gazing up at the darkened night sky. A disbelieving laugh and a shake of your head. “Stop thinking about-”

 You cut yourself off when the balcony door suddenly creaks open. You turn with half a mind to tell off whoever was bold enough to interrupt your obvious solitude. However, that train of thought very quickly comes to an end when you look back over your shoulder. The face you see almost makes you want to let out a laugh. 

The very man you were ranting to yourself about stands in the curtained doorway. You hate that you can’t see his eyes behind his glasses in this light. 

You open your mouth, nose scrunching in annoyance, about to say something along the lines of why the fuck are you here or do you find pleasure in giving me pain or can you leave, before the clouds move from the moon and you actually take him in. And not just take him in but take him in. 

Wonwoo is standing there, chest rising and falling like he had just raced to the ball on his horse or had run around the entire Hong Estate trying to find something. Now, in the soft rays of the moonlight and the biting early-winter breeze, you can see his dark eyes behind his glasses – guarded. But as you study his (rather chiseled) face, he’s changed somehow. Your last memories of a twenty-one-year-old Wonwoo do not show the sharp intense prick of his gaze as it holds your own. You don’t remember it holding the same sort of pain and weight – like he was Atlas, holding the weight of the world on his broad shoulders. 

Handsome, you think. But it’s gone before you can put a finger on it to hold it down long enough to fully think about it. You can’t really describe Wonwoo in words. That was something you had decided a long time ago. 

He was handsome in the old-fashioned sense. A straight nose, dark almond eyes, the slightest permanent downturn of his lips. His defined jawline and his glasses that he had grown into. He was handsome in the most eligible bachelor sense. If your mother was still alive, she would have wanted you to be courted by him – no one less and no one more because there was no one more. And perhaps that was why you had been so over-the-top with him before: he was everything your mom would have adored – tall, pale, smart, handsome, built. 

You steel yourself, letting a soft breath escape you before you say, “Your grace,” the title sounds oddly cold now coming from your parted lips, “this is hardly the place for a welcomed noble.” You hate how your voice trembles ever so slightly at the end. Perhaps you had not been as ready for this as you thought you were.  

Your voice seems to snap Wonwoo back to life. His lips twitch slightly but his expression remains frustratingly unreadable. “Just,” he starts, before his eyes glance at the floor, “I needed a moment,” he finally replies. And this time, his gaze is locked on yours. 

Your throat tightens at his reply. 

If you were nineteen-

No. You were not nineteen or twenty anymore. He had left. 

Like everyone else did.

“So did I.” You take a small step backwards before whispering, “I always do.” 

You think Wonwoo is going to continue the conversation, however strained, but he lets a silence hang in the air. It grows so thick you feel like it steals some of your oxygen away. You wonder if Wonwoo is also thinking about the past – about three years ago, about when you had nothing to worry about but being yourselves and completing school, when you had thought you would not inherit such a pressuring role until you were happily married for love. Like idiots. But even if he isn’t thinking the same thing as you, the silence is almost palpable in the air. Like it is giving room, a lost opportunity back. 

Wonwoo’s eyes linger on you – not just your face but you – like he’s trying to make sense of the very thing you had tried your best to bury deep inside of you. Like he wanted you to either throw it all back up or he wanted to personally haul it to the surface. And you hated how he could make you feel naked, vulnerable, weak and like a naive, stupid child with just one look. 

Finally, he whispers softly, “It’s been a long time, y/n.” 

His voice is deep and not at all how you remembered it from three years ago. It seems different from his soft murmurs you had barely heard during his royal reentry ball. Your pulse jumps traitorously. 

“Not long enough, it seems.” The words are supposed to come out icy, but it doesn’t come out as hard as you had hoped. Instead, your voice has a rather meek tone to it, as if even your vocal chords knew something you refused to admit. 

Wonwoo doesn’t answer. The only indicator that he heard you at all is the brief upward twitch of his eyebrows. 

You’re too proud, you know, to look away first. And you know what that will do. You can already feel the old memories – the ones you had (wished) long buried in the deepest parts of your fragmented heart – creep up: the warmth of the sun on your skin exposed on your sundress as you walked the grassy walkways of the park; the quiet laughs during an royal-sponsored opera; the knowing glances exchanged during another one of Mingyu’s complaints about a possible partner. 

A burst of sudden loud laughter and chatter from below the balcony makes you whip around in a speed your grandmother would have called “excruciatingly unladylike,” and catch the tip of your heel in the grooves of the marble flooring. You have one second to register Wonwoo’s eyes widening and another second that is wasted on trying to save your champagne flute, before your palms are flat against Wonwoo’s defined chest. Your shattered champagne flute glints against the thin moonlight, forgotten at the sudden intrusion of your privacy – a sudden casualty of his presence. 

His hands are barely there on your waist – the only things that are preventing you from falling off the rather low balcony railing are his arms, wrapped around your frame. His face is taut, as if he was actually worried about you falling off, and your corset feels excruciatingly tight around your straining ribs. 

His stare is heavy and it feels like that one time again. Like when he whisked you away for your first dance as a debutante and accidentally dipped you in the middle of your opening waltz and you stayed there until the eye contact became unbearably awkward. He is doing the same thing – mouth just barely open, eyes unblinking and hands fleeting on your waist. 

You can feel his entire chest under the thin fabric of his white button down. You go to push him away but something makes you hesitate. 

You look up at him, breath hitching automatically at the closeness between you two. 

“Wonwoo,” you whisper, fingers digging in just a little bit, “this is…” you trail off, too breathless and gobsmacked at this entire situation to continue. You just hope he is smart enough to fill in the rather obvious blanks. 

You try to shake off the small detail that your eyes keep wandering back to Wonwoo’s arms, straining against his tailored suit. Small military stars adorn his collar, and you briefly wonder if you can blame his new aura of attractive ruggedness on the war and not your own deprived state of imagination. 

You can feel Wonwoo’s grip on your waist tighten, a small crease appearing between his brow. His voice is a low murmur amongst the laughing crowd behind the curtain. 

“Are you alright?” he asks. His breath fans over your lips. His voice is quiet and gentle – too gentle, too familiar. 

You nod. You physically can’t bring yourself to pull away. You know, you know, what this would look like if someone just simply opens the balcony door. But in your proximity, Wonwoo’s cologne of some sort of earthy, gilded scent fills your senses and overwhelms your thoughts.

“Yes,” you manage, although it’s barely audible. “Your grace,” you add, hoping it would force distance, force out proximity. You swallow down the lump in your throat. Your lace-covered fingers pull at your gloves. 

The title stings the tip of your tongue as it leaves. 

The corners of his lips pull down at the utterance of the formal title leaving your lips. His forehead creases as if the formality of your words had disrupted some sort of intercontinental balance in him. “I apologize if I intruded and startled you,” he breathes, almost too quietly. Then, softer, as if he could not help himself, “y/n.” 

Your name flows off of his tongue like a familiar melody – as if he had never gone away. You want to argue that he had no right to say your name – let it roll off his tongue so gently, as if he had caressed every syllable of your name. You want to yell at him to use your title. But you don’t.

Your fingers tighten on the lapels of his coat.

Under his heavy stare, you can’t help but feel seventeen again: waltzing gracefully up and down the gilded ballroom floors of every season’s opening ball; laughing under the Jeon Duchy’s library’s dim chandelier candle-light; walking down the Capitol’s Main Road, disguised as the common people, during the Mid Autumn Festivals. It’s like everything you had ever experienced with the man standing in front of you crashes into your pressured body like a tidal tsunami wave. And it just keeps on coming. Wave after wave of endless memories that you thought you had wrapped and hidden in the deepest parts of your brain, being uprooted from their perfectly comfortable spot and forced back into the main chamber of your heart. 

To make matters worse, Wonwoo just stares. His expression is silent, unreadable. Not a single word leaves his mouth. Nor a noise. He just stares, like he knows what he’s doing. Like he knows exactly what’s going on inside your head. 

It’s as if the entire room – the whole world – comes to a timeless standstill. You can faintly hear the orchestra playing a classical waltz – your favorite – in the ballroom and the taps of heels as the ladies dance the night away. 

It’s as if Wonwoo’s gaze pierces you to your soul. As if he knew exactly how hard your heart was pounding against your rib cage. As if he could hear the stifled pants and gasps of breath you were trying to hide. His face moves ever so slightly closer to yours. Strands of black hair tickle your forehead. 

His glasses slide down slowly from the bridge of his nose. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, voice thick with an emotion you can’t place. Grief? Regret? 

You look up at him at his sudden apology. “For what, your grace?” You stubbornly keep the title. As if it could push you two apart. As if it could mask the thundering pounding of your poor heart. 

For a second, Wonwoo looks almost pained. But it washes over back to his vague expressionless face again. You briefly wonder when his youthful tugs of emotion had disappeared. 

“Everything,” he murmurs, and you feel his hand slowly make its way up – first your waist, shoulders, fingertips brushing against your neck – until his gloved hand cups your jaw, thumb resting lightly against your cheekbone. 

Your eyes widen at his touches. “Won-”

“-y/n.” Wonwoo holds you like you are the only thing keeping him grounded – keeping him from flying away into the dark night sky. You see his Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallows, opening his mouth again, and this time, his eyes seem much deeper. A smile – a genuine one, unlike the one from his reentry ball – curves along his lips, dimples forming at the tips. “I missed you.” 

Your entire body stiffens at his three words, and you can feel tears against your waterline. Your mouth falls open in a small ‘o’ and your hands clench tighter against his coat lapel. Your nails dig into the thick fabric. 

Not fair.

Wonwoo looks at you like you just hung up the stars and moon in the twilight expanse. 

“Wonwoo,” you mutter, looking away from his eyes. You’re afraid that if you keep eye contact, he’ll find out what you truly feel – what your walls are hiding. 

“Y/n,” he replies, before his hand gently turns your head. He sounds so confident – as if he could protect you from everything – Society, marriage, whispers, gossip. His touch is so soft, so warm, so familiar that you let yourself be turned. You let his fingertips linger on your jaw, your cheek, thumbing your lips. You let his hair droop down to your forehead. You let his eyes trail down to the necklace that rests on the space between your collarbones and trail lower and lower. You let him do everything for a second. 

And your heart stops. 

Because in the next second, his head dips. His hand on your waist tightens its grip. His thumb caresses your cheek. And his lips are on yours. 

His lips are on yours. 

Eyes closed, Wonwoo presses his lips against yours like they never left. Like his lips alone could mend the gaping hole in your heart. 

And it’s almost as if you have no control of your body because you find yourself melting into his embrace, eyes fluttering shut and hands pulling him a little closer than necessary. 

Soft, is your first thought. 

Wonwoo’s hand suddenly wraps around the back of your neck, tilting your head up to meet his lips in a deeper embrace. He breaks away for the briefest of moments, eyes dark and breath coming out in small pants like yours. You feel like your lungs are on fire. You find your hands buried in his messy black locks. 

“Fuck,” Wonwoo breathes, and you swear he looks a little crazed. Like he had been starved off of something he desperately needed for the longest time. “I missed you so much,” he confesses. 

His words trickle down your throat like agave honey – like sweet distilled liquor. It’s everything you had asked for. 

Except he’s late. Maybe too late? 

But you don’t really have the time to delve into that train of thought before Wonwoo’s lips are on yours again, stealing your words and breath from the confines of your mouth. His tongue swipes testingly against your lips and out of habit, they open the slightest bit. 

Wonwoo’s grip against your neck, your waist, is tight, like he’s afraid you’ll fall out of his arms. Like he’s so afraid of you sinking into the dark. 

And then it’s as if your entire being is suddenly wide awake – out of this weird, hazy, wrong drunken stupor. 

Because at that moment, the balcony door that had once shielded you is thrown open and loud, half-drunken conversations flood both your ears. 

You don’t even have the time to step away from Wonwoo before a scandalized gasp allows itself to pierce and fill the silenced air. 

Lady Lim stands in the doorway, her fan dangling from her hand and another holding a champagne flute. 

Your eyes snap open first. 

Out of pure fight-or-flight, you shove Wonwoo off of you, breaking the kiss immediately. Wonwoo’s eyes are wide in shock, like he did not even expect himself to kiss you. Both of your chests heave (more yours than his), and you can feel your body tremble as adrenaline runs through you. 

“Oh my!” Lady Lim’s shocked voice pierces through the night. “Oh dear, please forgive me,” she stumbles through her words, fan snapping open. You hear the quick snap of another fan unfurling and the hurried click-clack of heeled shoes running the other way. She fans herself with a dramatic flare, though her eyes never leave the scandalous little tableau that she had walked herself into. 

It’s like all blood circulation is cut off from your limbs and any blood circulating in your head rushes to your thudding heart when you finally realize just how close, how unfitting, you and Wonwoo seem. Literally, you can already hear whispers form. And you can already picture it. It’s clear as a spring morning in your head. This scandal will ripple through every single fucking household by tomorrow morning. And if not tomorrow morning, then by afternoon tea. 

“Oh I am terribly sorry,” she starts, and without even a single glance towards her, you know she knows it is you. “So very sorry,” she repeats, though it is obvious her apology is directed more towards the laughable sight of you than the indecent situation itself and the mischievous glint in her eyes tell another story. 

You can physically feel your reputation, your dignity, your name that you had worked up from absolutely nothing shatter on the floor. You can feel your stomach twisting in on itself and every little thing you ate tonight makes its slow way back up your esophagus. Your honor is at stake. And although you had said something about not marrying (ever) and just living your life in your countryside ducal house, at the end of the day, you were nothing without Society. As a woman you were absolutely nothing without Society. But Wonwoo’s grasp of you doesn't seem to falter and your inhales quicken into an almost-desperate gasp of breaths when you start to see a crowd form and whisper.

You blame it on your imagination when you think you feel Wonwoo shift slightly to completely shield you from view. His body is still too close. It’s not what you think it is, you want to scream, but you know that will only worsen the situation. Your brain feels like a ticking bomb and you briefly wonder if Joshua will save you from this situation or if you will need to figure it out yourself. Now, your breaths are clearly audible – almost gasps of oxygen as you try desperately to not cry, scream, and throw up. 

Suddenly, you feel Wonwoo slowly move his hands up towards your shoulder, gently patting it, as if to calm you. It does absolutely jack shit to calm you. You shove his hand off of your skin.

His calm voice cuts through the chatter: “This is not what it appears to be.” 

But those words and his hands only serve to quicken your anxiety-induced breath.

Wonwoo’s been out of Society, not you. You don’t even have the time to think about your shit-show of a reputation, especially now that the entire three quarters of High Society has caught you so precariously positioned. So, you shove Wonwoo off of you with all your strength. It’s not much, but he stumbles backwards, leaving you almost shaking on the small balcony, under the wide-eyed stares and the gossiping lips beneath the fans of the ballroom. If anyone was drunk, they weren’t now. How could they ever miss another one of Duchess Y/n Park’s scandals?

Your mouth went dry. If this was anywhere but your current place, you could have scoffed and then broken down into tears. At least the high heavens are serious about not letting you find a workable marriage. 

Lady Lim slowly disperses back into the crowd, only the curtain closing behind her giddy form, no doubt to tell anyone who did not know the entire story. 

The moment the curtain closes, it’s like your soul returns to your body. You collapse into your skirts, back against the iron railing. Your hands tremble until you dig your nails into your palms. 

“This is the worst fucking thing that could have happen,” you whisper, a horrified look evident in your eyes. You dare to look up at Wonwoo and you feel a tear slip out. “Why would you do that?” Your voice is hoarse, barely audible. The only thing that circles your mind is reputation, reputation, reputation, on and on and on. You try to ignore the way you pulled him close just mere seconds ago. The way you breathily moaned into his lips as well. 

That seems to work on Wonwoo because his expression immediately softens and his eyes fill with what you haphazardly tack as genuine remorse. He reaches out to you, but then hesitates when you flinch ever so slightly. His hands fall to his sides. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, but his fingers gently touch his lips like he can’t believe they were just on yours. “I’ll set it right,” he promises. And maybe it's the steadiness in his voice, but for some reason, a small, naive part believes him for a fleeting moment. 

Until the curtain was strewn open again. 

This time, Duke Hong filled the doorway. 

And it isn’t even a question to anyone who he cares for more because without even a second look at Wonwoo, he runs to your side. 

“y/n.” You allow his warm touch around your shoulders as he hauls you up. He gives you one quick look over and it’s like he knows how the entire situation ran down.

At least, you think bitterly, if I finally get ousted from Society, Joshua will still entertain me. 

“Wait-” Wonwoo starts, his hand going out again, only to be stopped by a withering glare on Joshua’s part. 

His usually warm doe eyes are dreadfully, terrifyingly sharp as they drill into Wonwoo’s. “I think you have done quite enough, your grace,” he forces through clenched teeth. 

Then:

“You’re okay,” he whispers, leading you through the parting of people. A thick fabric is tossed over your shoulders, the hood coming up over your face. It was as if stepping a foot into your space could contaminate them with the Disease of the Scandals. You barely register him gesturing off to the side and saying something before he guides you again, a gentle pat here-and-there on your bare shoulder.

“You’re such a liar,” you mumble, lace gloves going up to dab at your watery eyes.

When did I even start crying?

It does nothing to quell your situation. Instead, your tears run down your cheeks. “Don’t lie to me, Shua.” 

Joshua is quiet as he leads you down a hall and into his personal parlor. When you step into the room, the door shuts. He says nothing as he sits you down on a stuffed recliner and hands you a glass of tea. 

He is quiet until you swallow down your first sip and your tears have mostly stopped. 

He clears his throat as he stands above you, thick arms crossed and his hair falling into his eyes. “What the fuck was that?” His hand rakes through his hair and his sudden emphasis on the curse word makes you jump in your seat. His concerned doe eyes turn to you and he marches over, laying a hand on your shoulder. “Did he touch you?” he asks, eyebrows furrowing together worryingly. “Did he – God forbid – force you into that situation?” His grip on your shoulder tightens as you don’t answer. 

Your cheeks heat up. “No!” you splutter, setting the teacup down. “Oh my god, no! No, no, no, no!” You chant, slapping Joshua’s arm in retaliation. “Why would you– No!” Your fingers went to your temples and your eyes closed. 

“Then what? Did he pull you in and kiss you?” Joshua demands.

You hesitate. “Well…” you trail off, looking down at your skirts. It gives Joshua all the confirmation he needs.

His eyes bug out of their sockets. “He kissed you? Out of absolutely fucking nowhere?” Joshua’s voice raises an entire pitch, ringing through the foyer. 

You wince. “God, can we not talk about what just happened?” You beg, desperation seeping into your voice. “Actually,” you state, pushing Joshua’s hand off your shoulder and standing up, “I’m leaving. No way,” a laugh of pure disbelief escapes you, “absolutely no way I’m staying here.” You turn when Joshua’s voice rings out. 

“Y/n, wait. Are you okay, though?” 

“What?”

Joshua closes the distance between you two, bringing you into a hug. It is so sudden it takes you off guard and your first reaction is to pull away – leave the situation. Like you try to do every time. But Joshua keeps you there, stroking your hair. And it’s like the entire situation feels so much more real. You feel yourself shaking and it doesn’t register to you that you are crying again until Joshua’s murmurs fill your ears. 

“You’re okay. It’s going to be okay. I’ve got you.” Joshua’s whispers, however fake they will be, offer a slant of confidence in your ruined Society life at least for one season. But even his words tremble at the end and you know he’s lying to calm your soul for this fleeting moment. 

“I’m ruined, Shua,” you sob, and your hands grab his coat, tears staining his beige silk shirt. You can’t even begin to think of what would happen tomorrow, the day after, a week after, at the next ball, even. You refuse to admit how much the consequences of tonight scare you. 

Joshua hums into your hair, swaying the two of you slowly. His pats encourage more caged words to tumble out of your mouth as your sobs die down.

A stuttered breath. “I don’t know why this keeps happening to me,” you murmur, your throat hurts from your gasps of breath as you try to maintain some sort of dignity in front of the older man. “I don’t know why- I just keep becoming the, the, the rumor mill of High Society. I don’t know why- – why can’t I just keep to myself?” Your voice cracks at the end as tears fall down your cheeks again, hot and wet against your porcelain blushed cheeks. 

Joshua’s hold tightens at your ending words and he mumbles, “y/n, y/n, this – any of this – was never your fault. Wonwoo should have been more careful. He of all people knows how Society works,” he comforts, pulling away slightly. A sad smile is on his lips when he sees your tear-stricken face, black smudging your waterline. He takes a handkerchief out and dabs at your undereyes gently, wiping the running makeup. 

You sniff, looking down at your feet. “Don’t look at me like that,” you whisper. When you look back up, Joshua’s eyes are wide as they take in your watery eyes again. “Don’t look at me with pity. I don’t deserve it.” Without wanting to, your lips stretch into a bitter smile. It’s always been like this. Ever since he left, people had always looked at you with a fleeting sense of pity. A sense of patronizing pity – oh, you poor, poor, naive little girl, it seemed to whisper. You should’ve known better. 

Joshua shook his head. “You know I don’t pity you, y/n.” His words are firm, like he has always been. You lean back into his comforting embrace, arms pulled close to your chest, letting his familiar warmth encase you for a moment. Briefly, you wonder if this was what it would have felt like growing up with an older brother. 

“y/n, if you don’t mind me asking,” Joshua trails off, swaying gently. His fingers comb through your hair. 

You hum, body-wracking tears dying down. 

He clears his throat and you know what he is about to ask before he even opens his mouth. “Are you truly over him?” a pause. Joshua continues, “Of course, I’m not saying I don’t believe you. Or that it’s wrong in any sense. Actually, I think Seungcheol would much rather you-” he cuts himself off like he just said something he wasn’t supposed to say. He coughs to fill the silence. “It’s just, maybe it’s not so simple, you know? Of course, I was never very close to the Archduke, even during our shared Academy time, but I’ve seen him more than you have, definitely, over his absence in Society. I don’t know, of course, fully, his true feelings, but I feel as though he’s always held a conflicted heart towards you.” 

You almost scoff at his words. “Conflicted?” You repeat. If anything, you were the one who was conflicted, not him. 

Joshua hesitates, as if he’s choosing the right word to continue his explanation. As if he knows with just one word, all the walls you have built over Wonwoo’s absence will come tumbling down, brick by brick. 

“Perhaps not conflicted, per se,” he hums, pulling away so he can look you in the eyes. “But maybe more so regretful? Sorrowful, I think, may be the right word to describe it.” He lets his words hang in the foyer air. 

Sorrowful, you think. It’s almost laughable how comparable that word is to how you felt – wrathful, destitute, longing for something you knew was never going to come true. 

You catch yourself before your thoughts go further down, shaking your head as if it would get rid of everything. “Whatever he feels, we are over. We are a scandal waiting to happen – even tonight! Look at us! Look at me! Whenever I’m around him, Shua, I just completely lose it! Fuck,” you sigh, and you sink down into your skirts. Your brain hurts from how much your two sides are arguing. One part of you wants desperately to tell Joshua how you feel. How, since Wonwoo’s return, every night as you laid in bed, you could only replay the image of him kissing your knuckles. How, since his greeting words, your fluttering heart started to stutter when the morning mail came in, as if waiting for a letter. Another part of you want to keep it all a secret – pretend it never existed. If you pretend hard enough, maybe it will slowly become the truth. That part wants you to stay in this cycle, and maybe one day, Seungcheol would finally find someone good enough that you could ignore all of their nightly walks for. 

Joshua looks at you. And this time, both of you know it’s with pity – not for you but for your conflicted state. “Be honest with yourself, y/n. At least for matters concerning love,” he advises, bringing your hands up to his lips. A quick kiss is placed onto your knuckles before he steps away, towards the door. 

“Where are you going?” you ask. 

Joshua gives you a tired smile and a knowing look. Then you register the faint hums of the orchestra from outside. “Ducal duties, I guess. I have a ball to run,” he laughs, before placing a hand on your shoulder. “Stay here for however long you need to. I’ll have the kitchen staff send something up for you.” He hesitates before adding, “I’ll try to clean up this situation the best I can.” 

You must be getting closer to your period because those simple words almost have you close to tears again. You give him a watery smile. “Thank you, Joshua.” 

Joshua just grins, stepping out. “Anything for my junior.” And the door clicks shut behind him. 

As soon as the door closes, you collapse onto the nearest couch. You swallow, head slamming into the nearest cushion. 

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it and maybe it’ll just die over. 

You laugh to yourself. 

When has it ever “just” died over. 

Wonwoo 

Wonwoo swears he didn’t even know y/n was on the balcony. He was just overwhelmed – overwhelmed by the sudden mass of people crowding him when he didn’t expect it. It made his heart thud in his chest and made him forget every noble etiquette he learned in his formative years. 

Wonwoo swears his first intention was to kiss you. But when he had you so close and you looked up at him with such honeyed eyes, everything he learned, he forgot. It was as if his years on the battlefield rid him of his confidence with you. It was as if he was back when he was twenty one, stealing a first (and last) hesitant kiss from you in the royal orchards. 

Wonwoo swears he didn’t mean for this entire thing to happen. He’s not praying for your societal downfall, of course not! He didn’t waltz himself into the stupid winter season opening ball just to kiss you and then have one of the biggest blabbermouths of Society walk in on you two. Hell, he didn’t even want to be at the stupid fucking ball to begin with. But Seungcheol said something about his duty as an archduke to show up to opening season balls or something and he found himself in a carriage, being dropped off in front of the Hong Estate. 

After Joshua had taken you away, it was like the world started spinning again. And he found himself trying to escape a crowd of people until Joshua had returned and concluded the ball. 

Which is how he finds himself in Joshua’s study, staring at Joshua’s back as he watches the last of his guests leave through the large study windows. 

The room is hushed, and a thick tension overlays the entire atmosphere of the room. It’s dimly lit and Wonwoo notices the sheer number of bookshelves and portraits of the previous dukes of the Hong line that decorate the walls. Joshua’s study is the epitome of tradition, of duty, of something he never saw himself to be. Joshua himself stands at the windowsill, arms crossed, and his usually calm demeanor obviously frayed at the end. 

It makes Wonwoo’s current situation that much more terrifying. 

Joshua breaks the silence first, his voice low but unmistakably sharp. 

“What the fuck was that, Wonwoo?” 

There is no preamble, no pleasantries. It was very unlike Joshua to get straight to the point.

The words are distinctly sharp but they very obviously carry a tone of accusation and an undercurrent of disbelief. Like he could not believe Wonwoo was here to begin with. 

Joshua turns slowly, brows furrowed and eyes narrowing. “You’ve been gone for years and this is the first thing you do?” A laugh of disbelief cuts through the air. “Have you lost your goddamn mind?” 

Wonwoo’s jaw locks at his accusing words. His voice is tight with irritation. Joshua’s (in)advertent accusation pricks some shallow part of his conscience. “Maintain your-” 

“-Maintain my what? My position?” Joshua interrupts like he just heard the most outrageous thing from the night. He leans against a bookshelf, a shaking exhale leaving his body. “Do you even know what you just dragged the poor girl into?” 

“What exactly do you think I did?” Wonwoo blanches, straightening. He didn’t hold her against her will or force her into any situation. He was just-

Joshua steps a step closer and under this light, Wonwoo can very clearly see the barely-controlled anger in Joshua’s eyes. “You know what I mean. What you did tonight,” he gestures vaguely off to the side, “there is no excuse for that.” His arms cross, tone dropping to something quieter and much more piercing. “And you pull this shit after everything she’s been through?” he scoffs, “Do you know what this scandal will do to her? What she had to fucking live with for the three years you were conveniently gone from her life?” Every curse word that leaves Joshua’s unlikely mouth stings. Especially because during the entirety of Wonwoo’s fifteen years of knowing Joshua, he’s never heard a single curse word leave the man’s mouth until now. 

Wonwoo’s brows furrow in confusion. “What-” Joshua’s words echo in his head. “What do you mean by that?” 

Joshua’s frustration only deepens at his words. “The whispers that followed y/n?” He lets out a small, bitter laugh when Wonwoo stares at him like he just uttered something in a completely different language. “Of course,” he mumbles, running a hand through his hair. “Of course you didn’t know. You weren’t even here,” he strains. “You have no idea – not even an inkling – of what she had to go through. The rumors, the scandals, the fucking engagements that all ended in-” Joshua cuts himself off with a frustrated sigh, closing his eyes. 

Wonwoo blinks, a sense of dread overcoming his senses. ‘Engagements? What- what are you-” 

Joshua perfectly ignores him. “You think she can just simply brush off whatever you just did? That Society will let her brush it off?” 

Wonwoo’s gaze wavers as something tightens in his chest. It’s like every one of Joshua’s words hit something in him. He steps backwards slightly. His hands shake in fists next to him. “I never meant for this entire thing to happen,” he mutters. But he can’t help the guilt that begins to creep into his voice. “I never intended for any of this, Joshua.” 

At his shaking words, Joshua’s posture lets up the slightest bit. Instead of pure anger, there is now a quiet concern that mixes itself in.

“You think she’s been waiting for you this entire time, Wonwoo?” he asks. “No, your grace.” The title hits Wonwoo hard. “She’s been through enough, man. Let her live.” He takes a slow step towards Wonwoo, eyes softer now. “Do you know how each of her engagements ended, Wonwoo?” Joshua’s jaw clenches. “With each and every man going off with some other whore in the back alleys. Every. Single. One.” 

The weight of Joshua’s words hit him like a horse plowing through the fields. “I-” he doesn’t even know what to say. Each and every man going off with some other whore. The phrase repeats itself over and over and over inside his head. He doesn’t even know what the emotions that wrack his body are. Anger? Guilt? Some sort of combination? 

“She’s always been frightfully alone – against Society, the judgment, the pain of the engagements. The entire Society just sees her as a scandal waiting to happen.” Joshua lets out a breath, swallowing. 

Wonwoo is frozen in his place, every word that leaves Joshua’s mouth cutting a deeper wound into his heart. “I never wanted that for her,” he whispers. “I never wanted her to feel alone. I never-”

“-But you did, Wonwoo.” Joshua’s voice cracks and his eyes glisten with pity. “Wonwoo, when you left, you absolutely broke her.” 

At his words, Wonwoo stumbles back like it is a physical blow. 

“She cried almost every other night. She wouldn’t eat at her own estate so Seungcheol ordered her to stay at the palace. Mingyu,” he lets out a frustrated laugh, “Mingyu, he had to carry her up to a guest room every night because she would fall asleep in the library.” Joshua’s gaze is piercing. “But I guess you were too busy doing whatever.” 

Wonwoo’s eyes are wide, his breath still in his throat. He feels his stomach twist and his hands clench into fists. “I didn’t know,” he repeats, almost as if it's a mantra that keeps him afloat. As if he was trying to convince himself. He feels something break inside of him – a dam, a wall, something. Because for the first time since his return, he feels the full weight of the distance between him and y/n. No. Maybe it was always there to begin with and he had refused to face it. He can finally feel the missed years, the cut conversations, the things she had to endure without him. The things she had to endure because of him. It’s like everything is crashing down around him in pieces of broken glass, cutting small pieces of his skin. It’s like all of his mistakes, his failures, his greed that made him think only of himself, comes crashing down in full-force. 

“How do I-” Wonwoo mumbles. There is a strange pressure behind his eyes. “How do I fix this?” When he looks back up at Joshua, he’s at a loss for words. “I never meant to hurt her.” 

Joshua shakes his head slowly, voice firm in this. “But you did. You can’t change that now, three years later. Just fix it. She’s suffered long enough.” Joshua steps back, turning to the window. “Show her that you’re not leaving again. That she can trust you again.” 

“And if it doesn’t work?” Wonwoo’s voice sounds broken, even to his own ears. 

Joshua pauses. He looks over his shoulder. “Then it doesn’t. But if you feel anything towards her, you’ll try.” 

Wonwoo’s eyes close and his hands find purchase on Joshua’s desk. Stupid, he thinks, swallowing back lumps in his throat. Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid. Should’ve stayed away. 

: ̗̀➛ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴡɪɴᴇᴅ -- ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪɴ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ @syluslittlecrows @gaslysainz @meowmeowminnie @luvjichang @peachytokki @nicoleparadas

[f1-stuff]

You mentioned omegaverse in the surreal DC reblog where he’s commenting far too much on Charles’s smell lol and it made me wonder if you’ve ever considered writing omegaverse Charlos? Do you have any interest or not so much your thing?

Love your work <33333

Hello! ❤️ I didn't used to be into omegaverse very much tbh, but something clicked in the last couple years and I started to vibe with it a lot more. I actually did start to write an abo charlos fic, that's also a Victorian-era royalty arranged marriage situation (woo that's a mouthful 😂), but I haven't added much to it in a while...

The funny thing is that I find myself forgetting it's abo while writing bc there's so much else going on, and then I have to throw in a line about someone's scent asghfjlslsdk. But anyway, I'm gonna share a little more of it now just because I feel like it's been a while since I posted a fic or a snippet...

“Charles.”

Impatience has crept into his mother’s voice by the second utterance of his name, and yet Charles still takes the time to finish the page he’s reading before clapping the (dreadfully boring) book shut and looking up at her expectantly. As usual, she doesn’t look particularly amused by his stubbornness.

“Charles, I was thinking that perhaps you and I should stay away from the palace for an additional month or so.”

“What?” he frowns. “Why?”

“To rest,” she suggests. “It’s been a very tough week, and you still don’t look well-”

“Maman,” he sighs, rubbing his temple where a headache is starting to form. Of course, he won’t tell her that. “I feel fine. And I’m ready to go home. We already missed Uncle’s birthday. We are not missing Papa’s.”

His mother doesn’t reply. It’s not the first time she’s brought it up, and it won’t be the last, but Charles isn’t losing this particular argument. Not even if he has to escape back to the palace himself. A week away from his father in his poor condition is already too much to bear, let alone the prospect of more time apart.

Charles and his mother’s retreat to their country residence had been unavoidable. The ‘very tough week’ in question is Charles’ heat, which had been brought on early due to the stress he's been under, caused by his numerous advisors' renewed efforts as of late to convince him to sign the regency order. No doubt they’ll be hoping that now, weakened by five days of fever and delirium, he’ll feel further compelled to relinquish his power to a regent in the event of his father’s death before he’s come of age.

It’s never going to happen, and his mother doesn’t need to try to protect him by hiding him away for a month either. She, along with everyone in that damned palace, treats him delicately enough as it is. Ever since he’d presented around eleven years old, he’s been wrapped in cotton wool. But just because he’s an omega doesn’t mean he isn’t perfectly capable of standing up for himself. In fact, he can’t wait to be free of the silly protective measures that were put in place almost seven years ago. The moment he’s crowned, he’s doing away with all of it.

“Really, Charles. I hope you’re not upset we had to come here. You know that it’s for your own safety-”

“Yes, maman, I know,” he interrupts, then sighs and aims a small smile her way to soften his exasperated tone. “I’m not arguing that. But I don’t need any more time to recover. It isn’t as though I do much more than this in the palace, anyway.”

Reading books, painting, playing piano and chess - there isn’t much more that he’s allowed to do. The other activities that his brothers partake in, like horse riding and archery, aren’t permitted for him, nevermind that he performed them just fine before he’d presented. That argument has never worked to convince anyone to grant him allowances because it’s not really about whether he’s capable.

“Well...if you’re certain.”

“I am,” he says, firmly. His mother nods.

Good. That’s settled, then. She speaks again before he has a chance to reopen his book.

“The other thing I’ve been meaning to discuss with you - your uncle has invited the Sainz siblings to come and stay at the palace. You met their two eldest when you were very young, but I’m sure you don’t remember.”

“No,” Charles confirms, intrigued. “Who are they?”

“Their father is a Spanish duke, and his son, Prince Carlos, is just a few years older than you. Unlikely that he will ever inherit the throne, but it is a distant possibility.”

Ah. So a marriage prospect, then. Charles bites back a sigh. From one prison to another.

“You should get to know him better,” his mother says, reading his expression.

“Why?” he asks, just to be difficult. He knows very well why.

“Because. Your Uncle Thierry thinks it’s a good idea.”

Well, if his uncle thinks it, then so it shall be.

Charles sinks further into his chair, grabbing the book he’d set aside and reopening it pointedly. His mother takes the hint. (The book may be a dull one, but at least it serves its purpose as a conversation ender superbly.)

****

“Monaco could be a very important chess piece in future conflicts,” Caco explains, leaning against the table to address his young cousin. “It is under the military protection of France, and having the force of France at our disposal could be instrumental in quelling potential unrest.”

Carlos Junior looks up at him from his seat at the desk, notes of skepticism in his expression. He doesn’t make an objection just yet - his cousin would not be telling him this unless it had come from his father directly.

Caco sets down a piece of paper in front of him. It’s a drawing of a young man who can’t be more than eighteen, his boyish features evident even in sketch form. The other thing that is undeniable is his beauty, a sense of mischief and innocence dancing in his eyes that has Carlos wondering if it’s a faithful representation.

“Is he this pretty in person?”

Caco simply gives him a look, not dignifying that with a response. “That is Prince Charles, heir apparent to the Monegasco throne, seventeen years old. In the next few weeks, you will study everything there is to know about him - his favorite novels, plays, composers. You will brush up on your French-”

“Wait, wait, cousin,” Carlos interjects, blinking in confusion. “What does a prince have to do with me?”

“That omega...” Carlos’ gaze shoots up to his cousin, brows raising. “...has everything to do with you.”

Ah. That changes things, indeed.

“As I was saying,” Caco continues, sighing. “In order to keep the prince safe, he’s been kept sheltered from his father’s court for years, ever since he was a boy. Thus, when he does make a rare public appearance, such as at the opera or ballet, his mere presence causes quite a stir.”

Carlos’ eyes return to the paper in front of him, his gaze tracing a path over the prince’s nose and settling at the elegant curve of his lips.

“You must win his favor before anyone else has the chance,” his cousin says. “The first visit in a few weeks’ time will be vital. We can afford no mistakes. But always remember, you are first and foremost a Sainz. Do not forget the reason behind all of this, no matter how ‘pretty’ his face.”

Carlos tries to bite back his smirk, but likely fails from the look his cousin sends him.

“Charm him, Carlos. Make him smile. God knows you are good at that. The rest will be up to fate.”

[nausicaamusiclover20]

Black album Jason having a massive crush on reader who is the lead guitarist of the opening act. The boys tease him about it and confesses to them.

This idea is so cuteeee, I hope you like it💕

Soundcheck crush

It’s another soundcheck, and I’m back on the sidelines, bass in hand, pretending to be preoccupied with the controls. But really? My focus is locked on her—Y/N, the lead guitarist of the opening band. She’s up there shredding through her solos, completely lost in her music, and I’m transfixed. Every time she closes her eyes, lips pursed in concentration, I swear I’m about to lose it.

I can’t even begin to explain what it is about her—maybe it’s the way she looks so effortlessly at home up there, the way she seems oblivious to anyone watching. There’s no denying it, though: I’ve got it bad, and it’s getting harder to hide.

And then, of course, James appears beside me with a smirk, arms crossed like he’s been waiting for me to slip. He’s grinning, eyes twinkling as he takes in the scene. “Checking out the opening act again, huh?” he teases, his tone loaded with barely disguised amusement.

I try to keep it cool, shrugging like I’m totally unbothered. “Just making sure the levels are good,” I say, though I can feel my face warming. “You know. Professional courtesy.”

“Oh, really?” Kirk joins us now, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “You’ve been awfully dedicated to this ‘professional courtesy’ all week. Especially when it comes to watching Y/N.”

Lars sidles up, crossing his arms with a smirk of his own. “Jason, man, you’re not fooling anyone. We all know you’ve been staring at her, like, every single day.”

They keep at it, nudging me and making side comments, and I’m about to come up with some excuse when Lars raises his eyebrow. “Admit it, dude. You’re crushing on her, right?”

I let out a sigh, feeling my face heat up even more. The guys know me too well, and the way they’re looking at me, I know there’s no point in denying it anymore. I groan and rub the back of my neck, finally letting it out.

“Alright, fine!” I say, laughing a little despite myself. “Yeah, I like her, okay? She’s… she’s incredible. Not just her playing—she’s got this presence, you know? Like, I can’t stop watching her. She’s just… different.”

There’s a beat of silence before the guys burst out laughing. But it’s not the mean, mocking kind; they’re just surprised, probably glad I finally cracked.

James slaps me on the back, grinning. There it is. Finally, some honesty from our man here. So what’s stopping you? Go talk to her. She’s not gonna bite your head off.”

I shake my head, still embarrassed but relieved to have gotten it out there. “I don’t know, man. It’s… not that easy. What am I supposed to say? ‘Hey, I’ve been secretly watching you every night’? That’s just… weird.”

Kirk chimes in with a laugh. “Or, you know, you could just tell her you like her playing. Give her a compliment, say something. Anything would be better than staring her down from across the stage.”

I laugh and roll my eyes, but I know they’re right. The truth is, every time I get anywhere near her, my brain just… short-circuits. It’s like I forget how to form sentences, and that’s if I’m lucky enough to remember my own name.

And then, of course, here comes the opening band, just wrapping up their soundcheck. Y/N’s leading the group, her guitar slung over her shoulder, her face still flushed from playing. When she sees me, her eyes light up, and she walks over, giving me this warm, friendly smile.

“Oh, hey, Jason!” she says, stopping in front of me. “Didn’t realize you’d be hanging around for our soundcheck again.”

I scramble for something smooth to say, but my brain decides to abandon me. “Uh… yeah! I mean… I’m, uh, a fan. Of… music. And your band. And… you.” As soon as the words are out, I know I sound like an idiot, but I can’t stop myself from turning red.

She raises an eyebrow, laughing a little as if she’s trying to decode what I just said. “Well, thanks, I guess?” she says, chuckling. “Nice to know I’ve got Metallica’s bassist as a fan.”

“Totally,” I manage, forcing a smile. “I mean, you’re… really good. You’ve got an amazing sound and… you, especially, you’re just, uh…” I trail off, mentally kicking myself as I struggle to finish a coherent sentence.

She looks at me with a soft, amused smile, tilting her head slightly. “Thanks, Jason. That’s really nice of you.” She gives me a quick, friendly nudge on the shoulder, sending my heart racing. “Guess I’ll see you out there tommorow?”

“Yeah,” I managed, still dazed. “For sure.”

With one last smile, she heads off with her bandmates, and I’m left standing there, feeling like I just ran a marathon. As soon as she’s out of earshot, the guys completely lose it.

“Oh man, you nailed it!” Lars says, cracking up. “‘I’m a fan of… music. "So smooth,” he mimics, clutching his sides from laughing so hard.

“Seriously, Jason, I thought you were gonna pass out!” Kirk adds, wiping away a tear. “I’ve never seen you that red in my life.”

I let out a groan, rubbing my face. “Alright, alright, laugh it up. At least I actually said something this time.”

“Yeah, yeah, baby steps,” James says, grinning. “Maybe by the end of the tour, you’ll actually be able to have a full conversation with her.”

They keep poking fun, but it feels different this time. I’ve got this stupid grin on my face, and even though I stumbled through every word, there’s a part of me that’s just… happy. She talked to me, laughed with me, nudged my shoulder, and she didn’t seem to think I was too much of a mess. 

For now, that’s more than enough. But next time? I might just take a real step forward.

[rjschoicesstuff]

Choices fandom appreciation shoutouts

This event is so so so lovely and I really want to join in hehe. I'm not great at expressing my thoughts/feelings and stuff but I really wanna try because I'm really thankful for all of u guys!! :)

When I first posted on this account last summer I honestly expected I'd probably post a few things and dip again because I usually don't get much attention on social media platforms. And also wasn't sure if anyone would really vibe with my approach to characters and stories hahaha 🙈.

But instead people were so nice and I felt so welcomed and like 'oh wow people seem to actually enjoy what I do??' And I had so much fun reading the tags left on reblogs of my art and stuff. And alongside that it has been soooo fun to see everyone elses posts and characters and leaving my thoughts on those as well (and slowly getting less shy about it too 💪). And I even started reading fanfic for the first time in my life hahaha.

I feel like I'm rambling but I just really want to say all this haha, it's been so fun being on here! I love drawing everyone's characters and other requests and will keep doing that (like pleeaase dont be shy, I love drawing everyone's characters) because it's fun and it's also kinda how I say 'thank you' for all being so nice to me!! So yeah thank you all for making me feel so welcome the past months! :)

Especially as someone who usually has trouble making friends and putting myself out there due to shyness it means a lot!

Under the cut I'll also put some messages directed at separate people, I'm fighting the lil voice in my head that's shy about this but you guys all deserve to hear it hehe, even if I'm kinda ass at expressing myself like this

But even if not mentioned/tagged I appreciate everyone who supports me/my work so much and I love seeing you guys in my notes!!

@lovealexhunt In the short time I've been here I've noticed you do so much for people and this fandom! I've loved all the fics you wrote that I read so far and love how you write Mal and Daenarya together (and the vampire au OOOO). She's so fun and I loved drawing her interacting with Ripley and will definitely do it again sometime!! And I'm also still so obsessed with the geometric Ripley art and I thought it was so sweet of you to draw that for me aaaa

@lilyoffandoms I always love seeing your art on my tumblr feed and your designs for your mc's!! And I'm still sooo in love with the Ripley drawing you did and that really made my day back then because it was a total surprise too!! In general all the art you've done of my characters has just been awesome and made my day every time!!

@choicesmc I love what you do with all your mc's, when you make picrews for them, the artworks I've seen you do for them and all the info you share about them, you're so so creative!! I love all your writing a lotttt, especially the shorter ones you've been posting lately!! I rly enjoy talking to you in dm's a lot, if it ever seems like I don't it's just me being shy haha 😭. I also love the tags you leave when you reblog my art and when you point out stuff you notice :)

@sapphoschoices Thank you for so often sharing my posts!! And in general always supporting people and sharing their work! I love all the edits I've seen you do and hope you'll keep sharing more hehe. I also read a fic by you for the first time last week and really enjoyed it! Made me wanna replay Desire & Decorum..

@rosesnink Thank you for letting me borrow your mc's a few times when I wanted to draw interactions! I had so so much fun writing back and forth about Rex and Brienne after I posted the art of them together hehe, I always love to see other people with orc mc's in general. I also really like the gif edits you make and your fics I've read so far!

@aria-ashryver You were one of the first people in the fandom who started sharing and commenting on my art and thanks to that I ended up not just  posting a few things and dipping forever like I expected hahah. I always really enjoy reading through the tags you leave on the art I post!! I finally caught up to SICSIG a while ago and it was sooo fun seeing what you did with Immortal Desires and all the extra lore and stuff and I can so clearly tell so much love went into it. And your sprite edits are also always so amazing aaaa.

@cadybear420 Thank you for often sharing my posts I really appreciate it hehe. And thank you for letting me draw your mc's a few times, I had sm fun with it haha. And it was really fun talking about Ripley and Evie interactions. I really enjoy your edits, you're so skilled aaa!! I also enjoy reading about your mc's a lot + how you write gnc characters and gnc m×f romance.

@gaiuskamilah I loveeee your art a lot and love seeing it on my feed!! I also really enjoy reading your thoughts on books, characters, themes in books etc. You make me wanna replay BloodBound so bad (and I definitely will do that soon)

@hsslilly-blog I'm sooo obsessed with your art you have no idea. You're rly funny and I rly enjoy seeing your posts on my feed. I really really love how you write characters, like they just feel so real, it's super inspiring!

@mydemonsdrivealimo I really really enjoy your art and everything you share about Jensen and Bryce. You're like  The Bryce Mutual to me, anything you say about him is basically canon to me lol. Thank you for letting me draw Jensen a while ago it was SO fun aaaa

@peonyblossom

Thank you for the cover redraw ideas you sent when I asked for ideas, I had sooo much fun drawing the Alpha cover with Kalani and Channing!! I enjoy the bits you share about your mc's and oc's a lot too!

@choicesfandomappreciation

[acoustic-tenor-ball]

"I grew up- I've always been- Fuck."

Sol huffs and starts over. "Life has always been strange for me. Not just because of my," she gestures vaguely at her ears," condition, but in general." He takes a breath. "Socializing is hard. I don't get people. Growing up I spent a lot of time in nature. Classrooms were a little too loud and way too fucking bright. The kids couldn't keep their hands to themselves, and I didn't care to be polite about it. Who cares if I hurt their feelings, you know? Whenever lunch or recess would roll around, I'd wander off. Find myself ways away from campus, far from flickering lights and prying hands. Was like that 'til...middle school-ish?" She scrunches her nose, staring up at the ceiling, but continues. "The teachers put a stop to it, obviously. I don't blame them. They said I needed to 'connect with my peers'. I'd been doing alright academically, so I guess that's the only real issue they had with me. Luckily for them, I had the perfect plan. I thought-!" He inhales deeply, no use in getting worked up so early. "I thought, 'What better way to make friends than to show off this cool power?' The hearing wasn't so bad then. I could hear maybe...400 feet in each direction? Just a bit longer than a football field."

[Not that I knew that at the time.]

"It's practically nothing, compared to now. Still, more than enough to impress a couple people. Y funcionó. Casi demasiado bien." "There was this girl," [Jayla? Jaelin? Jaslyn?] "She was pretty, popular, outgoing, and a perfect target for my little 'social experiment'. Paired up with her for a project and told her I could hear anything she said from across the room, even if she whispered." Sol waves a hand around lazily. "She didn't believe me, of course. Not until we tested it. Then. Then it became public knowledge. Suddenly, everyone at school wanted to talk to the girl with 'super hearing'. It was tame, at first. People would whisper things from down the hall for me to hear. They'd go further and further, testing the limits of what I could do. We tried spying on the teachers a couple of times. We even got one fired! It was fun." He shrugs. "Of course, a few kids tried to mess with me. They intentionally made loud noises; I think they liked to see me jump. They learned their lesson pretty quick, though. Violence never scared me, and I defended myself just fine. That didn't bother me," she scowls, "No. The problems came once people realized they could use me for gossip." [In hindsight, it's obvious. They're middle schoolers. I don't know what I was expecting. Kindness? Ha.] "I didn't mind it at first. It felt great to be a part of something, and I can't say knowing everything wasn't exhilarating. My friends would ask me to eavesdrop on conversations and tell them what I heard. A lot of it was petty drama, failing 2-week relationships, and the like. It didn't matter to me, I'd successfully socialized like they'd asked me to, and that's all I needed. One day I listened in on the wrong conversation and told the wrong people. And, well. I went from the 'kid with the cool powers' to 'invasive' and a 'freak'." Sol laughs something bitter. "I still had 'friends', technically. They just...needed to use my powers- curse- whatever- whenever they wanted. It's the only way they'd keep me around. I was a tool first, and a friend second. Who cares if I'm sad or tired, or if every noise was too much and I couldn't breathe? Every little way I was different would be scrutinized if I didn't comply. I would be alone again. I'd disappoint them. I hated it. I hated it so much, Morgan. It wasn't even that bad but I-" Her voice started to rise ages ago. She doesn't care. "I just- I hate being treated like an object. I have feelings, opinions, and needs. I am a person. I may not be the smartest, or the nicest, or the prettiest, or the most functional. I may not even be a good one, Dios sabe que nunca lo seré, but- I am a fucking person just like everyone else. Hell! I don't even like people! But you can't just take that away from me. You can't."

The following silence is almost a relief.

Sol knocks harshly on the door.

"Morgan? Morgan, open up!"

He takes a deep breath. A futile attempt to calm her already fraying nerves.

" I can hear you. I know you're in there."

"Alright, alright. I'm coming, jeez."

Morgan grabs their shirt off the back of their chair and shoves it on. They stumble a little as they make it to the door.

They unlock the door, swinging it open. They raise a brow as they take in Sol's disheveled appearance.

His clothes are wrinkled, and the bottom of her jeans damp from coming through the grass. He's breathing heavily, as if he'd been walking for a while.

"The hell happened to you?"

Xe usher her in.

[foxgloveinspace]

I kinda woke up this week and realized I’ve been burned out this year, oof.

[marsbotz]

whats ur fucking deal

[shokupanda]

me when time moves forward at a steady pace: how the fuck is it more than halfway through july already. this fuckers rapidly sprinting when im not looking huh