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heyy can you do yeon si-eun x reader where he gets a bj for the first time ever?
the whc1 fandom on tumblr could fit in suho's helmetđđ
First bj
Warning: light smut, blowjob, whimpering, sub?sieun, short
You and sieun never really officially did anything intimate, the most yall have done was just making out and groping each other, thatâs how far it went but mainly because you both were taking it slow
Itâs been awhile in the relationship and you were ready for something a bit..more next leveled, today was the one year anniversary of dating, and you planned on making it special which is by giving him his first ever blow job!
After hanging out and everything you waited for the moment, kissing him and sitting ontop of him, his hands awkwardly on the bed sheets kissing you back, your hands traveling all over his chest as you pulled back, staring into his eyes, his eyes basically telling you that he needed more.
You smiled at him, âHey i was thinking..we could do something else other then kissing and stuffâ you said, âSomething more? like what..â he asked, he never really had an expression which made it hard to read his face but his eyes was everything you needed to be told
âI donât know..maybe, a blow job or..you know?â you asked a bit shyly, he got flustered quick but didnât dare show anything, he stayed silent for a moment, âYea..we could try it..â he said lowly
You were quick to get everything off for him, taking off his boxers and staring up at him, his cock was already hard from the makeout + you asking him a sudden dirty question
You first started with a kiss on his tip which made him shiver a bit, grabbing his length and moving your hand up and down slowly and licked his tip, he opened his mouth slightly watching as you licked around his tip
You removed your hands and begin licking his length getting his cock wet with your saliva, finally taking him full in your mouth inch by inch, he gasped out feeling your warm mouth on him, he wasnât sure what to do but his body was moving on his own, he throws his head back against the headboard, his hips bucking up to meet your mouth, his hips jerk up as you swirl your tongue around his sensitive tip
You pushed your head down and begin bobbing up and down, soft gags and slurps coming from your mouth, his eyes flickered back as he let out a low whimper, he back slightly arching as his hands gripped on your hair tighter, your warm mouth sucking him off was the only thing he could feel, your hands on his thighs steadying yourself as you begin deepthroating him determined to make him cum, he gasped when you suddenly take him deep, your nose pressing against his stomach, his orgasm building quickly
His cock deep down your throat as a loud gag falls out your mouth, keeping yourself there and shaked your head a bit as he let out a loud moan, his hips bucking up again as you lifted yourself for a breath and quickly went back on his cock, you continued sucking him trying to swirl your tongue as well, âA-ah!~ baby fuck i think iâm gonna cum!â he whimpered out his eyes squeezing shut, you continued and tried going faster feeling your jaw getting sore already
His cock twitching inside your mouth as he whimpers and whimpers, uncontrollably falling out his mouth, his hand gripping on the sheets, his back arched
He suddenly threw his head back, letting out a loud whimper as he suddenly felt a wave of pleasure hit him, he finally came in your mouth, you quickly tried to swallow it pulling back with a cough swallowing whatever you could
He panted staring down at you breathlessly, âH..how are you so good at that?â he asked you, you shrugged âBananas.â you simply said
#weak hero class 1 smut#weak hero class yeon si eun#weak hero class 1 imagine#weak hero class x reader#weak hero class#weak hero class one#weak hero class 1#yeon sieun smut#weak hero class 1 sieun#whc1 sieun#yeon sieun x reader#yeon si eun#sieun smut
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The Other Woman

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Synopsis: Where Miguel leaves Y/N to go back to a different version of his old wife found in another universe.
Pair: Miguel OâHara x Spider!Reader
Tags: ANGST!!, long term established relationship, heartbreak, marriage, cheating, mental health, cold/distant Miguel
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A/N: Hi! I donât really write at all!!
I have been a silent reader on tumblr for years but this idea has been playing in my mind so much I had the urge to write it. I have been down so bad for Miguel been on his tag like 24/7 indulging in all the content creators have been putting out. So Iâm excited to join in giving content, however keep in mind I kinda suck! Apologies for any mistakes, anything confusing, or it not being well written enough. Honestly could have made this into multiple parts with better details but nah. Tried my best ^^ since itâs my first time, any feedback is greatly appreciated!
Honestly tbh we all donât have a solid grasp how the whole canon thing and multi universe works yet so!! A lot of what is written is made up to suit my storyline so please donât get mad about the inaccuracies.
I love a good angst and todayâs story will be EXTRAAA angsty!!! As well kinda long!!
âââââââââââââââââ
The moment that changed your life was while working on an experiment during your college finals. You were a proud and gifted physics major that was so passionate about discovering and exploring what the world didnât know.
You had snuck into Alchemax late at night. You wanted to show your professors just how much you could do with the right tools. Next thing you know, playing with their machines, you had spawned a spider right in-front of you. The glowing vibrant red spider had sunk its jaw into your hand.
Your life did a complete turn and you spent the rest of that week freaking out while changes to your body were happening. Causing you to fail your semester after missing exams. Things felt like it could only get worse when a massive blue suited masked man showed up out of nowhere in your dorm interrogating you.
âWhereâs the spider?â He had a strong grip on your shoulders. You couldnât focus while trying to process why this man had what seemed like claws sticking out of the ends of his fingers.
âI donât know, it like died after it bit me!â You exclaimed nervously at the freakishly strong man. Trying to reach for anything behind you to use as a defense weapon.
âDios mĂo no me digas esoâŠâ He groaned loudly letting you go. Having the opportunity to grab something, you threw a sanrio plushie at him. Only causing him to wave his arms in annoyance. âThat spider is from my earth and somehow you brought it here. Now youâre a spider-man.â
And the rest is historyâŠ
â
You learned that the man was Miguel OâHara and when he found you he was just starting his missions with the multiverse. You being the few of the firsts to join his team.
Your situation was quite bizarre and he called you an anomaly for a long time, spending hours studying you and also training you. You ended up being the one case that canât be explained no matter how much effort was put into monitoring you.
Almost like it was meant to be. Your universe remained perfect with its current spider-man doing fine. No big collapse of a black hole or anything. When you got bit by a spider from Earth-928 your DNA merged with that universe making you fit in perfectly. You were one of the only spider-people with an uncertain timeline with new canons being created depending on what universe you were in.
What changed from you being just a piece of research for Miguel is when he then realized that maybe you were a gift from the multiverse. After all the grief and pain heâd went through the universe had given him this person that worked out perfectly no matter how hard he tried to push them away. You fell head over heels for him and vice versa, all while canon events were being created with both of you together.
You were there as his team grew, slowly turning into a family. Then both of you getting married finalizing that this was your home. Everything felt perfect. Although a relationship with Miguel could have its up and down days, nothing could ever tear you both apart. Or so you assumed.
â
âIâm sorry Y/N.â Miguel couldnât look at you.
âWhen did this start? Please be honest with me. Did I do something wrong?â You begged at him. You knew he was acting off recently but never did you think it would result to this.
You watched as he exhaled deeply staring at the ground. You felt like you couldnât breathe as you studied his face trying to grasp onto any emotion he was showing. The atmosphere in his office felt so cold. You so badly wanted to catch his gaze and find the warmth and love his red irises used to give you. He was doing everything to push you away. He was abandoning you.
âYou did nothing wrong. I met her during a mission 4 months ago.â Was all he replied.
âWho is she?â Your heart kept breaking. His face hardening as the question slipped through your lips. You knew Miguel wouldnât leave you for just anyone. Deep in your heart you knew what this was about. He never responded but he didnât need to when you saw his eyes flicker over to his monitor screens. You followed his trace and saw the photo of Gabriella in the corner.
âDoes she have another version of your daughter?â You tried again. This is what made him look directly at you. Miguel kept opening and closing his month unsure how to tell you the truth. You werenât stupid and he knew that. After everything he couldnât just walk out on you with a lie.
âNo.â He paused thinking of how to finally share the truth without it ruining you. There was no way out of this. âShe is a younger version of herself. There is no Miguel in her universe and sheâs not important to the timeline. She lives a regular life. I-itâs a chance for me to start at the very beginning.â
You felt your heart being ripped out of your chest. You processed the words carefully. She doesnât have a child yet⊠Not only was he leaving you for her but he was going to fall in love with her all over again and start a family with her. A family you wanted so badly to have with him.
âWhat about with what happened last time you tried to live a life in a different universe?â You didnât understand how this was happening.
He was always so carful he would never do anything to cause that again. Everything you had witness Miguel work so hard for to keep safe for years. Sleepless nights, returning bruised and beaten, frustrations and constant stress. Was it all for nothing? Is he throwing all his work away?
âThis is different.â He turned away from you. âI pushed myself then into an already established life. This time I am creating that life. After all the research we did on youâŠâ He knew that this was going to tear you apart. âI learned that if done right I could have a child from two different universes that wonât disrupt anything.â
It clicked to you then that all the research he was doing on you lately was for this. The research he did on you that time was different, personal, intimate even. As he was testing your DNAs together and seeing the outcomes. He mentioned a child and you were foolish enough to assume he was doing research to see what it would be like if you both had one together. You were giddy even as you watched him work. You had both spoken about having a family together in the past but had been too busy with spider activities. You thought it was a sign of him getting more serious about it, knowing how badly he wanted one. You would have never thought he was doing it to see how he could get back his previous child. The one you could never give him.
You had truly believe that Miguel had recovered from his obsession that his grief gave him. He accidentally destroyed a whole universe needing that life back so badly. You had spent late nights watching him re-watch clips over and over of what he had lost. It slowly stopped once your relationship blossomed with him and you thought he was ready to move on and start new. Why would you have never thought that with such a perfect opportunity presented to him that he wouldnât drop everything for it.
âI think itâs best that you leave.â He spoke with a soft tone. As if not looking at you any longer will make the problem go away. You couldnât wrap your mind around how he was just throwing you away like this. As if he wasnât making you dinner, giving soft kisses, whispering I-love-youâs not so long ago.
You felt too choked up to ask anymore questions. Your throat tight and painful as you held back tears from escaping in-front of Miguel. You just nodded and headed straight out the door not being able to handle another second in that room. Your knees and hands were shaky as you speed walked into the nearest bathroom and let it all out.
â
It didnât take long for everyone else to know something had happened. Everyone had gotten used to seeing you and him sitting together at lunch. You would make him cute lunch boxes and everyone would gag a bit while watching the two of you smile together. Some cringing seeing their scary boss being so soft around you. It was a big surprise when Miguel started to eat alone with a bag of take out food and you no where to be seen.
His teams he sent out for missions were all confused when you werenât assigned to anything. Knowing you were one of the best, one of them slipped out a âCall for Y/N!â In the middle of fighting an anomaly too strong for them. Miguel only looked away.
It wasnât until a new woman showed up in Miguelâs office with a grip around his waist. Thatâs when the spider-community realized that this was way worse than they thought.
â
You on the other hand had spilled everything to Hobie when he caught you that day leaving the bathroom with puffy eyes. You had been staying with him in his universe until you could gather yourself together to return to HQ. You knew you were going to leave for good, but you needed to go back to retrieve all your things. You couldnât stay with Hobie forever. Worse that you werenât from there.
You still had some hope that Miguel would come looking for you and tell you that he was all wrong. However almost two months had passed and not a word from him⊠Thatâs when you knew it was time you should return to what you once knew.
Stepping into the portal Hobie followed close behind you. He told the few others who were once close to both you and Miguel that you would be visiting. Stepping through the portal you were immediately greeted by Jessica and Peter B Parker.
âOh, Y/N.â Jess sighed your name sadly while pulling you into a hug. You felt like you wanted to cry all over again. Missing your friends so much. Peter B came behind giving you a hug on the side.
âHeâs on a mission right now.â Peter spoke up. âIt might be a long one too but donât waste anytime just incase.â
You nodded pulling away from them. Looking up around the headquarters building faintly smiling at the past memories you had here. You started heading to different areas gathering all the little things you had left around. Hobie had stitched for you a cute backpack with different scraps of patterned clothes and covered in patches of punk band logos but made with hammer space technology. Making it fun for you to fill endless of your things in the bag.
The last stop was in Miguelâs office. Doubt started to fill your mind; maybe he already threw out all of your stuff. Why would he even keep it after all of this? What no one could warn you of was the other person sitting on his platform.
âHello!â She chirped at you. It felt like the air in your lungs had just been punched out. You knew her too well. From all the photos and videos you had seen peaking over Miguelâs shoulder. However seeing her in person was something you had never expected. You knew it wasnât the original her but it was a copy paste image for sure.
âHi.â Was all you managed to choke out. She was beautiful, stunning. You could see clearly now the similar features she shared in another universe with her daughter. The parts that Miguel didnât have. She kept smiling kindly at you, almost in a graceful way. You started to feel all your insecurities start eating you up from the inside. How could you have ever compared to her.
âWhatâs your name? I donât think Iâve seen you here before.â Getting off Miguelâs platform she walked closer to you. The room started to feel suffocating.
âY/N.â
âWell, itâs nice to meet you! Itâs nice to meet other girls around here.â
Your eyebrows furrowed as you realized she had no reaction to your name. So Miguel never told her about you⊠Or that the fact was he was still even legally married to you.
âMy boyfriend isnât here right now but, if you want, I can tell him you stopped by.â She continued as you stayed silent.
âOh, no itâs okay. I just came in here to get some stuff.â You rushed as you really wanted nothing to do with Miguel at all. You almost worried that he might even get angry knowing you got to speak with her. If he already dislikes you this much you couldnât even imagine how he would feel if you got in the way of this for him.
You started heading over to the familiar drawers around the room. Grabbing your old hoodies and shirts finding your most comfortable of things here. You treated this place as one of your safe spaces as you used to spend so much time here.
âOh I didnât know these were all yours! I was wondering why this was all around. When I came here I wanted to do some spring cleaning but Miguel wouldnât let me touch anything.â She followed besides you. âItâs so mind blowing seeing all this technology. We donât have any of this where I live-â She continue rambling but you started to zone her out. You felt like you were about to have a panic attack any minute. There was one question that kept burning in your mind.
âAre you and Miguel already planning to have a child?â You blurted out. Your eyes widened a bit as you surprised yourself. She let out a loud laugh.
âOh dear no! We have only been together about 6 months. You must be new around here so you must not know much about us.â She chuckled.
In some cruel way you were hoping she would have said yes. You had that twisted hope of maybe Miguel just keeping her to have a kid and ditching her after he gets Gabriella and run back to you. In reality he was playing the long game, he really meant it when we said he was starting over. âHeâs never mentioned kids anyways. Iâm not even sure if heâd like them or do well with them.â
With that statement she made you looked at her appalled. Anyone could see in Miguel how good of a father he could be. Just in the way he takes care of the society he built here. You started to realize that she really has been left in the dark. She doesnât know anything. She probably doesnât even know that sheâs a replacement of another self. You wondered why Miguel was doing this. It felt like he didnât just toy with you but with her as well. A man you came to love for how selfless he was, to realize now everything was for his own personal gain. Suddenly you started to feel bad for her. You couldnât dislike her, she wasnât doing anything wrong and she doesnât even know.
âI got all my stuff. Nice to meet you.â Was all you could say as you zipped up your bag and turned straight around out of there. Not giving any glance back at her, you left to one of the empty training rooms to recollect your overwhelming thoughts. All of the self healing you tried the past month thrown in the garbage.
It wouldnât be too soon that news of you going around the building was returned to Lyla. You had cut out all coms while you were gone so she immediately popped up on your watch when she found out.
âAH-â You jumped as the tiny AI was suddenly in front of your face.
âItâs so wonderful to see you Y/N. Oh my god!âShe started. Then she went on rambling about how she knew everything and had seen everything. How she didnât agree with what was happening and was doing everything she could to convince you to stay. After 5 minutes of her rambling you stopped her to let your emotions out.
âLyla, Lyla Itâs okay. Just stop. Itâs all complicated I know, but this didnât work out. I wished Miguel just cheated on me like all the other fucked up normal men out there. That I walked in on him deep in another random girl. Though painful I could have tried fixing and fighting for us. But instead what I got was him emotionally cheating on me and chase after something he knows I can never give him.â You felt yourself choke up. âI can never ask him to give up what he longs and dreams for just for me to be happy. I lost this battle the moment he laid eyes on her.â
Finding comfort in the AI your husband made. Youâve created a bond with Lyla that Miguel found cute but you knew now this might be the last time youâll be speaking with her.
âYou can give him a family y/n⊠you guys have been married two years now. I know youâve both set the thought aside until the multiverse issues are better but you can fight for him. You have to snap him out of his fantasy. He still thinks about you.â
âLyla you know deep down truly he never just wanted a family. He wanted exactly what he had. What he lost. Which should be impossible but being by his side seeing how insane the multiverse is⊠Good for him for believing in something so hard heâs found himself even a third chance to do it.â
âI hate that youâre being too kind about this situation.â Lyla paced around you.
âI love him so deeply Lyla. You know that very well. Itâs so hard to suddenly hate him. I am angry, but Iâm also emotionally drained I canât do this.â You let out a deep sigh. âIâve watched him long for this family when we just met. For some stupid reason when things worked out for us I thought I would be enough⊠When we got engaged and he would spend some days at home with me not even coming to HQ. I thought he was finally moving on not just from his grief and past but from the weight of his work. I saw a bright future for us.â
âYou can still have a bright future with him! You moving here gave him a new canon event, another chance at life in his timeline. Here in his own universe! Heâs just too obsessed and heâs lost himself in that.â She exclaimed with her hands up.
âOur canon event was our wedding.â Your frowned deepened. âBut the universe didnât say anything else after. It doesnât say our canon event means we are suppose to live happily together forever I guess.â
âIâm just trying my best to be optimistic. I rooted so hard for you and Miguel when you joined the team. I know you can remember the amount of times I would force you both in rooms.â Lyla recalled.
âAnd Iâm grateful for it⊠Even if this didnât work out. I was given precious memories, not just working with you and being on this team but falling in love with Miguel. I know Iâm being all depressed and hopeless but I feel like even if I move on Iâll never be able to replace him and find a relationship like this again. However he threw me away so easily and maybe he never valued me as much as I did to him.â You felt your emotions bubble. âI became who I am here. Iâm going to miss everyone so much.â
âYou can still stay here and work with us.â She edged on.
âI canât just sit around here begging at his feet to return to me or moping around doing missions while watching him with someone else. I want to hate him so badly. I know heâs your boss and youâre basically hardwired to do everything for him and youâre trying your hardest to fix what you think is his right path. But think of me a little more and how miserable itâll be. Iâm the only one hurting here.â
Lyla paused and stared at you with an almost glossy-eyed look. While she worked she could see the inner term-oil Miguel was hiding and the emptiness he was turning to since trying to start new in the other universe. It just wasnât her place to hold this conversation and he was the one who needed to get a grip of himself and really think and talk with you. She canât be the one trying to mend the pieces for both of you together. What Miguel did was so wrong. She knew you were right and she didnât want to see any more damage be caused to you.
âYouâre right. Iâm sorry.â She looked up at you sincerely. âI hate this outcome for you. Not only are you loosing your husband but your home. When was the last time youâve even been in your universe?â
âLike a year ago for a missionâŠâ
âExactly! Even if things are over with Miguel, you have all of us here! I wish you could stay. I understand you leaving, I really do. I know a lot of us will try visiting you but Iâm tied to MiguelâŠâ You started to see how it clicked for her too that itâs most likely you might not see each other for a long time. âEven if a spider-person is visiting you I canât just show up on their watch⊠Itâll go back to him and I know you wouldnât want that. I know Iâm an AI and I canât hold real emotions but I mean it when I say Iâm going to miss you.â
Tears poured down your cheeks as her words hit you. Going back to your universe is going to be a struggle. You have nothing there now. However nothing can compare to the pain of the outcome youâve had with Miguel, and you needed out of here ASAP. Your mental health getting worse the longer you stay. Even the other spiders you have come to love canât bring that spark back right now. You needed genuine time for yourself, even if itâs self destructive, instead of putting on a fake smile everyday here.
âBye, Lyla.â You whispered. She nodded and waved her hand goodbye at you before disappearing. You took your watch off your wrist placing it on a nearby desk. With it you pulled the divorce paperwork out of your pocket neatly sealed and already signed on your half. Opening a portal you took your last glances at the place you spent so many loving memories in.
Tears blurred your vision as you stepped through the portal. Once your legs landed on a rooftop of a building in your dimension, you racked out full sobs falling to your knees.
You were always just the other woman.
âââââââââââââââââ
Thank you so much for reading!! I know it was a longer one ~
would anyone like a part 2? If so anyone want a angsty or happy ending? I think itâll be more in Miguelâs perspective as well!
EDIT: You can now read PART 2 here
#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel oâhara imagine#atsv miguel#spiderman 2099#miguel oâhara x y/n#miguel oâhara angst#spiderman imagine#across the spiderverse#miguel o'hara#x reader#spiderman#fanfiction#miguel oâhara fanfiction#spiderman x reader
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I miss Tumblr and then I remembered it was still here and missing it wasn't strictly necessary so I decided why not just post?!
So today I wanna show you one of my DnD journals that is and will forever be unfinished and mildly scrappy. I don't journal every single time I play so the notes don't always make sense but it's something nice to do when I'm playing over Discord and need to keep my hands busy!
Without further ado, the journal of Crusty Pebble, a weird rocky goblin who won't stop blowing his obnoxious little horn:

Medium effort first page with a print of an old map I had leftover from a photoshoot. I've just realised it says CHINA in prominent letters right at the top. This wasn't a campaign in China, it's set in the fantasy land of Hemelin in an evil city called Dragonspring. Ah well. It's a cool oldy looking map there for the vibes. I love the washi tape border, it's such a cool design!

One of the inventory pages - we constantly used the Portable Hole as extra storage. At one point a bunch of the party's pets got petrified and without an immediate means of rectifying their state, we threw them in the portable hole for safe keeping, and they remained there for a good 10 sessions!

Max effort spread! Back at session 2 when I had all the intentions of being this peak for every session going forward. Spoiler: I managed five and a half spreads over the course of two years with fornightly sessions. But it's ok! No one is grading this :')

When will my obsession with stamp stickers end?? They're eternally CUTE.

Another fun spread, though it seems I forgot to draw a map of the Drua Garden... I love the earthy tones going on here - fitting for a session set under the ground in a druid grove!

Inexplicable MAX MAX EFFORT going on here, I guess I was really feeling green that day! I remember stepping back from this with a "what have I done..." feeling, but looking back on it now, it's really fun! And loads of these open up to reveal random information, check it out:

It's all from these sort of underground spa caves we visited for a pampering DnD session. We don't always treat the plot with a lot of urgency....

Who doesn't love a shopping episode!!! This is the one where we all got our aforementioned pets - a pack of Drakehounds (dragon-based pups). We all gave them B names like Burger, Bongle and Bungeon. I immediately sent Bungeon into battle where he was subsequently petrified by a basilisk and it took me over 10 sessions to rectify that mistake, and now he remains at the back of every fight because he must now be protected at all costs <3

Aw, lil Bungeon.
Thanks for checking out my journal! A lot of the stuff I used is stuff I make for my shop like journals, stickers, etc, which you can check out here.
More importantly though, if you wanna take a look at my other journals leave me a note and I'll do some more tours!
<3
#dnd#dungeons and dragons#dnd journal#journal#journal with me#journalling#dnd5e#dnd character#dnd oc#dnd art#dnd campaign
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SUPERNATURAL, BANGCHAN





âĄÂ â ó Źó Źproducer!bangchan x f!reader praise kink, unprotected sex, rough sex, possessiveness, creampie, mention of anxiety, slightly toxic relationship, phone sex, dirty talk, fingering, thigh riding, overstimulation, masturbation (both receiving), angst and a bit of fluff bc why not?
⥠synopsis â You left Bangchan to protect your heart. He waited, hoping you'd come back. A silent month, one crowded room, and the gravity between you never left. Some loves donât vanishâthey haunt, they ache, and if youâre lucky, they bloom again.
[14.3k words ]âĄâ guys, it was supposed to be a one-shot, but tumblr wouldn't let me post it all at once? rude. so i decided to split it in half and tomorrow i'll post the second part!

This love's possessin' me, but I don't mind at all It's like supernatural It's takin' over me, don't wanna fight the fall It's like supernatural

Bangchan never thought youâd actually dump him. Not him. Not when he spoiled you rotten, kissed every bratty little pout off your lips, and let you steal the covers every damn night without a single complaint.
But you did.
You broke up with him on a random Tuesday, mascara clinging to your lashes, pout on your lips, arms crossed tight like you were trying to hold yourself together. You didnât want to leave â he could see it all over your face â but you did it anyway. Because apparently "love isn't enough when all we do is fight," or some other dramatic bullshit you said while he sat there blinking at you like youâd just grown two heads.
He laughed. Actually laughed.
"You're breaking up with me?" he repeated, like the words didnât even make sense in the same sentence. You? Leaving him? The girl he practically worshiped? His spoiled pretty girl who threw a fit when he forgot to buy her favorite snack, but still made his whole damn world brighter?
Yeah, no. He wasn't letting you just walk away like it was some casual Tuesday errand.
But you were stubborn. Always had been. You slammed the door to his apartment like you meant it, like you weren't about to miss the way he pulled you onto his lap every time you argue just to shut you up with his mouth.
Spoiler alert: you missed it.
And Chan? Chan was a fucking mess.Â
Studio sessions got longer. Songs got sadder. His friends started looking at him like he was one bad day away from showing up at your place with a giant boombox over his head. And honestly? He almost did.
You were still everywhere â in the worn hoodie you stole, in the coffee order he still got wrong because you werenât there to fix it, in the damn songs he tried and failed to write without thinking of you first. You were the muse he never asked for but needed like oxygen. The bratty, perfect princess who ruined him for anyone else.
So yeah. You thought you could just walk out of his life? Cute.
Because Bangchan had a plan now: He was going to get you back â messy, dirty, stubborn and completely in love with you.
No matter what it took.
Luckily for him â or maybe unluckily, depending on how you looked at it â you had way friends in common. Which meant every time there was a party, Bangchan knew you'd show up. And he used every damn opportunity to haunt your space like a lovesick idiot with a cocky smile.
And fuck, did he miss you.
He missed your laugh, your stupid eye-rolls, the way you stole his hoodies and looked ten times better in them. He missed your mouth â talking shit, teasing him, gasping for him. He missed how youâd curl up against him at night and pretend you werenât clingy. He missed how you were a pain in the ass and his favorite thing in the world at the same time.
He could make a fucking list. It would take him until sunrise.Â
His spoiled little brat. His princess. His goddamn downfall.

One of those nights, after a brutal day at the studio, Bangchan stumbled home at nearly three in the morning, muscles aching, brain fried. He should've passed out the second his head hit the pillow.
But no. His brain decided to go into hyperdrive, and every single fucking thought led right back to you.
After a hot shower, he sat on the edge of his bed, hair dripping, sweatpants hanging dangerously low on his hips. He grabbed his phone like it weighed a thousand pounds.
He stared at your contact. The one still saved under that stupid nickname he used to whisper in your ear when you got bratty just to hear you whine. The one no one else would ever understand â your secret language.
He shouldâve gone to sleep. He really shouldâve.ïżœïżœ
Instead, he muttered "fuck it" under his breath and pressed call.
Impulse. Stupidity. Loneliness. Love. Maybe all of the above.
But he just needed to hear your voice. Even if you hated him for it.
Bangchan honestly didnât expect you to pick up. Especially not at ass-oâclock in the morning. But the second your voice floated into his ear â sleepy, annoyed, real â his heart damn near jumped out of his chest.
"Still awake?" he asked, voice low, rough with exhaustion and something else he didnât dare name.
You sighed like he was the biggest inconvenience in the world. "What do you want?"
He leaned back against the headboard, squeezing his eyes shut, trying not to say the first hundred filthy, desperate things that came to mind.
"I miss you," he said instead, voice soft, almost boyish.
You didnât answer right away. He heard the faint rustle of your bedsheets, imagined you curled up with your laptop, rolling your eyes so hard they almost got stuck.
"And how exactly," you said sweetly, "is that my problem?"
Chan winced, grinning despite himself. Damn, he missed that mouth of yours. The way you could make him want to kiss you and bend you over in the same breath.
"Ouch. Donât be snippy, princess," he teased, letting the nickname slip, letting it cut you both a little. "We both know you don't actually want to be."
You bristled. He could practically feel it through the line. You didnât want to be rude. You wanted to be angry. There was a difference and you were losing the fight fast.
"Are you done?" you snapped, fake-sweet. "I'm hanging up."
"Wait! Wait, princess, c'mon..." he rushed, sitting up straighter, hand dragging through his damp hair in frustration. "You really donât miss me?"
Silence.
It was deafening. Torturous. Delicious.
He let it stretch just long enough before letting his voice drop, dirty and coaxing.
"Don't lie to me," he said slowly. "I bet you're sitting there all pretty in bed, pouting at your screen, squeezing your thighs together because you can't even think about me without getting worked up."
"You sound drunk," you hissed, but your voice was shaking.
"Believe me, Iâm not," he chuckled darkly. "I just know exactly what you need, even better than you do."
You hated him. You hated how good he was at getting under your skin.
You hated that your body responded before your brain even caught up.
"Go to sleep, Chan," you muttered, but it sounded weak, pathetic even to your own ears.
"Not until you say you miss me," he pushed, voice downright sinful now. "Or better yet... say my name like you used to when I had you squirming under me."
Your whole body burned.
Bangchan grinned into the silence. He could wait all night if he had to. After all... when it came to you, he never fucking gave up.
"Bangchan, we're done. It doesn't matter," you said, trying â and failing â to keep your voice flat.
Your eyes flicked back to your laptop, pretending you could still focus on the blurry article in front of you. But all you could actually hear was him â that stupid voice, low and raspy and somehow everywhere.
"It matters to me," he said, softer now, almost cocky. "I miss you, you know. All fucking day."
It wasnât what he said â it was how he said it. That wrecked, teasing tone like he was right there, mouth at your ear, smirking when he saw the goosebumps rise on your skin.
"Stop saying bullshit like that," you snapped, but it was weak. Pathetic. You hated how easily he could undo you with nothing but his voice.
Bangchan has always been your greatest weakness. And he knew it.
"I wish you were here," he rasped. Silence fell. Thick. Heavy.
Your breath caught in your throat, your heart pounding way too fast. You slammed your laptop shut with a frustrated groan, tossing it to the side.
Studying was officially over.
"It's almost three," you hissed, hugging your knees to your chest like it would somehow protect you from how stupidly warm you felt.
"Exactly," he said, that cocky smile dripping through the phone.
Bangchan was sprawled out in bed, back against the headboard, sweatpants slung low. Eyes closed, hand fisting the sheets because just thinking about you â your bratty little voice, your body, your mouth â had him half-hard already.
"What were you even doing at this hour, huh?" His voice dropped, that slow, lazy slur that always meant trouble.
You rolled your eyes even though you knew he couldnât see. "Studying. I have an exam next week."
Bangchan let out a low grunt of approval that vibrated straight down your spine. It made you shift uncomfortably, thighs pressing together on instinct.
"Thatâs my brilliant girl," he murmured, voice thick with awe.
Your stomach flipped. Your whole body burned. And you hated yourself for the way you smiled into the darkness like an idiot.
The words caused irreversible damage to your mind. Bangchan knew exactly what he was doing â that wicked, cocky little smirk playing on his lips like he could already feel your walls crumbling.
He knew how you loved being praised. How dirty words slid under your skin and stayed there, rotting you sweet.
"I'm not your girl," you shot back, weak, stupidly defensive.
He chuckled, low and dirty. "Youâll always be mine, princess."
God, that voice. That fucking voice.
It made your thighs press tight without permission, heat blooming under your skin like wildfire. The room suddenly felt suffocating.
"Bangchan, I'm fucking serious," you said through gritted teeth, squeezing your eyes shut, trying to will him and yourself into behaving.
"Yeah, same," he muttered, so casually it made you want to throw your phone across the room. Then he paused â and the silence wrapped around your throat like a velvet rope. "Do you still wear my clothes?" he asked, almost smug.
Your whole body jolted like youâd been caught red-handed.
Because yes, you were still curled up in his old T-shirt right now, drowning in it, still obsessed with how it smelled like him. Still stupidly aching for a boy you pretended to hate.
"No," you lied, instantly hating yourself for how fake it sounded.
Bangchan let out a lazy, knowing laugh. "Liar."
You rolled your eyes so hard they nearly fell out. "Actually, I burned everything," you snarked, sarcasm dripping off every word.
"Mhm," he hummed, voice thick and teasing. "I bet youâre wearing it now. Nothing else underneath."
He shifted on his bed, the mic picking up the delicious rumple of sheets.
"Fuck, just thinking about it..." His breath hitched. "You have no fucking idea what you do to me, princess."
You clenched the phone so tight your knuckles turned white, heat pooling low in your belly, unbearable and sweet. You didnât even realize you were holding your breath.
"Want me to tell you what Iâm picturing right now?" he asked, voice filthy, honey-thick.Â
Like a devil whispering in your ear.
You should have said no. You didnât.
"In my shirt. No panties," he murmured. "Squeezing those pretty thighs together 'cause youâre aching so bad for me." He chuckled darkly when you didnât respond â didnât have words anymore â like he could see straight through the phone how wrecked you were becoming. "I know you, baby. I know youâre wet just hearing my voice."
You whimpered before you could catch yourself, face burning. You buried your face in the pillow, mortified.
"I can almost feel it, you know," Bangchan rasped. "How tight you always get for me. Fuck. The way you used to whine when I fucked you slow, made you cry for it."
Your whole body trembled.
The desperate, humiliating slickness between your legs soaked through your panties, leaving you throbbing, aching for relief.
"Don't..." you gasped, so weak, so embarrassingly close to shoving your hand under the waistband and finishing yourself off to nothing but his voice.
"Don't what?" he taunted, smug as hell now. "Don't make you cum without even touching you? Shit, princess, youâre so easy for me. You always were."
You bit your lip so hard it hurt, a desperate little noise catching in your throat.
"If you were here," he groaned, the sound making you whimper, "youâd see the mess you made of me. Hard as a fucking rock for you. Only you."
You closed your eyes â and that was your first mistake.
Because the second you imagined him, sprawled out lazy and wrecked on his bed, cock tenting his sweatpants, leaking just from thinking about you, you were done for.
"I could fuck my hand," he rasped, voice thick and ragged, "but it wouldn't be the same without you. Should be your pretty little mouth drooling on my cock right now."
"Chan..." you gasped, helpless, your free hand already sliding into your panties like it had a mind of its own.
Fuck him. Fuck him for making you this way. Horny. Hopeless. So easy.
If that was his plan all along, heâd won.
Bangchan groaned softly at the sound of your breath hitching. He could feel you through the phone â could see you in his mind, legs spread wide, fingers playing with your dripping cunt, just the way he liked it.
Fuck. It should be his fingers knuckle-deep inside you, his cock stretching you open until you forgot your own name.
He reached into his boxers, hissing through his teeth as he wrapped his palm around his aching cock, smearing the leaking pre-cum around the tip with a slow, dirty twist of his wrist.
"Angel," he growled, voice ruined and low, "stick those fingers in your pussy. Let me hear you fuck yourself for me. Is that what you want? My fingers in your tight little pussy, making you drip all over my hand?"
A moan tore itself from your lips â raw and real â and his cock twitched at the sound.
"Yeah, fuck. Whine for me," he urged. "Say my name like I'm there, fucking you so slow it drives you crazy."
"That's wrong..." you whimpered, but your voice betrayed you â soft, needy, trembling.
And worse, he could hear the obscene slickness of your fingers moving between your folds. He could hear how wet you were.
"Fuck," he groaned. He squeezed the base of his cock, fucking up into his fist, pre-cum slicking him up, panting like he was already right on the edge. "Wish you were here, princess... wish you were on your knees, swallowing every inch like the good girl you are."
You bit your lip so hard it almost bled, hips rocking desperately into your own touch, mind blank except for him him him â
"How's it feel, baby?" he taunted, voice molten. "How's it feel to fuck yourself thinking about my cock splitting you open?"
"So good," you choked out, pathetic and ruined.
"Stick another finger in," he commanded, and you obeyed blindly, whimpering at the stretch, at the shame of how much you needed it. "Think of my fingers making you drip down your thighs. Making a fucking mess of you."
You rubbed frantic circles over your clit, needy noises spilling from your lips without permission, fingers pumping in and out of your tight, soaking hole.
It wasnât enough. You needed him. Needed his weight crushing you into the mattress, his teeth against your throat, his cock inside you, claiming every inch.
"I'm so fucking hard, shit baby," Bangchan growled, breathing like he was seconds away from snapping. "Wanna fuck that snippy mouth until you couldnât speak."
You whimpered, high and broken, hand moving faster and faster, chasing the blinding, hot rush pooling low in your belly.
"Fuck, I'm gonnaâ" you gasped, hips stuttering. "I'm gonnaâChanâ"
Bangchan didn't stop, didn't let up.
"My pretty girl, cumming on her fingers like a desperate little whore for me," he moaned, voice all grit and pleasure. "Cum for me. Fucking cum all over yourself thinking about my cock fucking you dumb.â
A ragged cry ripped from your throat âOh fuck, yes!â as you felt hot slickness gush from your pussy, spilling over your fingers, making a filthy mess.
Bangchanâs mind spiraled, picturing you like this: spread open and desperate, cumming hard with his cock buried ass-deep inside you, slamming into you over and over, stuffing you full of his cum, ruining you exactly the way you needed â sloppy, dripping, and his.
The orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, brutal and mind-shattering. You cried out, his name ripped from your throat, body convulsing around your fingers as wetness gushed out, soaking the sheets beneath you.
Somewhere through the haze, you heard him groan raggedly â the unmistakable sound of him cumming too, thick ropes splashing across his stomach. You could practically see it â Bangchan flushed, sweaty, wrecked â all for you.
When you finally caught your breath, shame and heat tangled together in your gut. You snatched the phone from the bed, heart pounding.
"You're an asshole," you snapped, your voice still shaky and fucked-out. "Don't everâ" you gasped for air, "don't ever fucking call me again."
And then you hung up on him â before you could do something even stupider â like beg him to come over.

The next day was a full-blown disaster â because all you could think about was him. Not your to-do list. Not your deadlines. Not the fact that you were supposed to be a responsible adult with goals and ambitions. No.
 Just Bangchan â and the memory of last night, which was exactly what you didnât need right now.
You had promised yourself youâd be serious this time. Work. Study. Prioritize yourself. Not get dragged back into Bangchan's orbit like some hopeless idiot with no self-preservation instincts.
What happened last night was a slip-up. A pathetically delicious, toe-curling, dignity-shattering slip-up.
Still, you got dressed like it was just another Tuesday. Skirt. Heels. Lip gloss. Maybe you spent a little more time in front of the mirror. Maybe your skirt was a little shorter. Maybe you were absolutely ridiculous.Â
Who could blame you? Inspiration was a bitch.
Bangchan had always spoiled you rotten. He got off on it, honestly. Clothes, jewelry, shoes, lingerie, makeup, salon appointments â if it sparkled or looked good on you, he bought it.
You never even had to ask. You were his favorite luxury item. All he wanted in return was your heart, served on a silver platter, the way you used to give it to him without thinking twice.
And God, did he love fucking you after a long day. You, dripping in brand-new lace he had picked out himself â letting him ruin you in it.
He was simple like that. Didn't need much. Just you. Always you.
You were his girl. You always have been. And if he had to move heaven, earth, and your stubborn ass to make you admit it again, he would.
The day dragged on, but the routine was good for you. Work, study, grind â all the mindless stuff that keeps your heart on mute. And when it was finally over, when you powered down all your screens and the office emptied out, you just sat there â in the quiet, in the dark â pretending you weren't still thinking about him.
After wrapping up, you powered down your equipment and stretched, only to realize you werenât as alone as you thought. Mingi was still there, jacket slung casually over his arm like some corporate heartthrob out of a drama.
âHey, you heading out?â he asked, falling into step toward you.
âYeah. I think Iâve hit my limit for today.â You smiled, grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder.
âMind if I walk with you?â Mingi asked, giving you a lopsided half-smile that, unfortunately, was very effective.
You couldnât exactly say no. Not to Mingi â handsome, polite, alarmingly smart Mingi â who had always been a quiet sort of presence on the team. You worked well together, but youâd never really crossed into friend territory.
Which made this... surprising.
You ended up walking together toward the elevators, his stride easy next to yours.
âThereâs a happy hour tomorrow,â he said, pushing up his glasses, brown hair falling slightly into his eyes. âAre you going?â
You hesitated. Exams were coming up. You really should prioritize studying over cheap drinks and questionable decisions. But also? You desperately needed to hit the mental reset button before you spiraled.
"Sure," you said, surprising yourself. "Iâll be there."
The cold slapped you the second you hit the buildingâs exit. You cursed under your breath for skipping the coat this morning â your legs bare and goosebumped, the cold air feeling a little too personal against your skin.
Going back home to grab a jacket and then heading straight to college? Yeah, that was going to be hell.
You bit your lip, stuck in a ridiculous debate with yourself over what to do next. That's when your phone buzzed.
Bangchan: Who the fuck was that?
You frowned, confused and immediately suspicious.
You: First of all, what the fuck are you talking about? Second, who said you could text me?
A pause. Then two rapid-fire replies:
Bangchan: So mouthy. Missed that.
Bangchan: The guy you left with. Donât play dumb, angel.
You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt. He was insufferable.
You: Newsflash: not your business anymore.
A beat.
Bangchan: Cute. You almost sound like you believe that.
You swore under your breath, fingers flying over the screen.
You: I don't have time for your little tantrums.
Bangchan: Tantrum?
Bangchan: You looked real cozy with him. Thought maybe you needed a reminder.
Your stomach twisted, infuriatingly, traitorously.
You: Reminder of what? That you're insane? Pass.
Bangchan: Reminder of who makes you cum so hard you forget your own name.
You squeezed your phone like it personally offended you. God, he was infuriating.
You: Go fuck yourself.
Bangchan: Would rather fuck you, babe. You free?
You groaned, stuffing your phone into your bag like that could muffle your rising pulse. You told yourself you were done. Totally, absolutely done with him.
And yet... as you walked down the main avenue, your eyes scanned the crowd, the streetlights, the parked cars â searching for him.
You pretended the night air didnât feel like knives against your bare skin. You pretended your phone hadnât gone silent. You pretended you weren't half-hoping it would buzz again.
And then â because the universe hated you personally â a black sports car prowled up to the curb beside you, slow and steady.
You didnât even have to look.Â
You rolled your eyes so hard you nearly saw your brain. âOh, for fuckâs sake.â
The window whirred down and there he was, grinning like the devil himself. âGet in the car," he said, casual, like he hadnât been stalking you from the shadows two minutes ago.
âNo.â You kept walking, clutching your skirt before the wind could flash half the city.
Horns started screaming behind him. Someone yelled something. Bangchan didnât so much as flinch.
"Get in the fucking car," he repeated, inching along beside you. "You're gonna turn into a popsicle."
You whipped around, teeth chattering. "I would rather die of hypothermia than get in your stupid fucking car."
Another volley of honking. A guy behind him leaned out the window and made an obscene gesture that probably wasnât in any official driving manual.
"Youâre blocking traffic, you maniac!" you hissed, arms folded tight over yourself.
Bangchan just shrugged, infuriatingly unbothered. "Not my problem. My problemâs standing out here being stubborn and freezing."
He leaned in, smirking slowly and mercilessly. "I'll leave... if you get in."
You glared at him so hard your vision blurred, and for one perfect, freezing second, you honestly believed you might resist.
Then another gust of wind hit, cutting straight through your willpower. You muttered something that could generously be called a curse, yanked open the door, and threw yourself into the passenger seat.
"Happy?" you snapped, slamming it shut.
Bangchan just smiled. Slow, victorious and pulled back into traffic like he hadnât just held half the city hostage for you.
"Ecstatic," he said.
The second you slammed the door, Bangchan hit the gas like he was escaping a crime scene. He kept his eyes locked on the road, which was impressive, considering your skirt had ridden halfway up your thighs â one of his favorite skirts, by the way.
Heâd definitely fucked you in it. Several times.
âYouâre so stupid,â you muttered, arms crossed like a bratty little princess.
Bangchan just laughed â that low, rough laugh that made your pulse misbehave â because of course he loved you like this. He loved all the versions of you.
ââThank you, Bangchan. If it werenât for you, Iâd freeze my ass off,ââ he teased, pitching his voice higher in a brutal imitation of you. âYouâre welcome, by the way.â
âI donât owe you anything,â you snapped.
He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, veins flexing under golden skin, and you hated yourself a little for noticing.
Self-control, girl. Pull it together.
âYou donât have to owe me, princess," he said, voice casual but his knuckles whitening on the wheel. "You just have to get in the fucking car when I tell you."
You glared at him, arms still folded like a shield across your chest.
A beat. Then he said, way too casually: âThat guy. Gonna tell me who he was?â
You let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh and whipped your head toward him. âSeriously? Who the hell do you think you are, Bangchan?â
He said nothing, just drove â jaw locked tight, tongue poking the inside of his cheek in that way he always did when he was about two seconds from losing it.
Good. Let him simmer.
âYou donât get to stalk me and interrogate me like some jealous ex-boyfriend,â you snapped. âYou donât even get to ask.â
Still silent. Still fuming. Still looking better than any man had a right to look while being told off.
You shifted in your seat, the silence between you thick and hot and dangerous, and for a wild second you wondered what it would take for him to pull the car over and remind you exactly how much he hated â and loved â being told no.
"I should fuck that bratty little mouth of yours, I swear to God," Bangchan muttered under his breath, but you caught every sinful syllable.
You forced yourself to roll your eyes, pretending that your thighs weren't already pressing together at the sound of his voice. Pretending that your pulse wasnât hammering in your ears.
"You should fuck off to that precious studio of yours and stay there," you shot back sweetly, voice dripping with sarcasm. You flashed him a sugary, fake smile, the kind you knew drove him insane.
His fingers tightened around the steering wheel, knuckles whitening. "Or," he growled, "I could just drag you into my studio and fuck you against the soundboard. Shut you up properly. What do you think, princess?"
You let out a sharp, mocking laugh. "You're such a fucking idiot. Why am I even here? Stop the car."
Bangchan just laughed, that low, cocky rumble that sent unwelcome heat curling through your stomach. "I'm not stopping the damn car. Stop being a little pain in my ass and let me drive you to college, alright?"
You hated him. You hated him because he was still the only person who could talk to you like that and somehow make you want him even more. He kept his eyes locked on the road, cool as ever, while you stewed in your own frustration and something else much, much filthier.
When he finally pulled up in front of your college, you immediately reached for the door handle, desperate to escape. But clickâhe locked the doors.
You snapped your head toward him, glaring. "What now?"
"Don't you think we need to talk?" he asked, arching a smug eyebrow like he already knew you weren't going anywhere.
Your heart thudded against your ribs. You knew what he meant. He was talking about the night beforeâthe filthy moans, the breathy whimpers, the way you'd fallen apart just from his voice. But you werenât about to hand him that satisfaction.
"We have nothing to talk about. Now unlock the damn door."
Bangchan chuckled darkly, humorless. "Don't play dumb, angel. You think I forgot the way you said my name last night? Fuck, you practically begged for me."
Your face burned so hot you wanted to scream. You slapped your hands over your cheeks like that could erase the memoryâor the way your body still reacted to him like a live wire.
"For fuck's sake, stop," you groaned, wanting to disappear into the seat.
He tilted his head back against the headrest, grinning like the devil himself. "Why? You love it."
You sucked in a shaky breath, slumping in the seat like you could somehow sink through it and escape him. He was impossible. Irrefutable. Catastrophic.
"Chan," you began, voice strained, "what happened yesterday was a mistake. IâI got carried away, and itâs not happening again. Weâre over. You need to get that through your thick skull."
He turned toward you fully now, his playful smirk fading into something far more dangerous. His dark eyes raked over you, making your skin tingle.
"Funny you say that," he murmured, voice low and almost cruel, "when your bodyâs telling a whole different story."
You froze. Only then did you noticeâyour chest heaving, the frantic way you were breathing, the way you were basically squirming in your seat. Like a junkie itching for a fix.
His fix.
You ripped your gaze away, humiliated, scrambling for the door handle again. "Justâjust letâs forget it. Please. I have to go."
Bangchan stared at you for a long moment, jaw tense, but in the end, he relented. He reached into the backseat, grabbed his jacketâhis jacket that still smelled like him, still clung to himâand tossed it into your lap.
"Take it," he muttered gruffly.
You didn't argue. You couldn't. You just grabbed it, clutching the worn fabric between your fingers like a lifeline. You didn't even look back as you shoved the door open and slipped out of the car.
Bangchan didn't say another word either. He just watched you walk away, jaw clenched, hands tight on the steering wheel.
And you could feel itâthe burn of his gaze drilling into your back the whole way inside.

You were so exhausted after the endless grind of the week that the idea of happy hour with your coworkers felt like salvation.Â
As soon as the clock hit the end of the workday, you, Mingi, and the rest of the creative team slipped out and made your way to a cozy bar not far from the officeâa place famous for cold drinks and some of the best barbecue youâd ever tasted.
It was another one of those freezy nights, the kind that wrapped around your skin like a second, unwanted layer. You grabbed your own jacket on the way outâyour jacket, not the black one that still hung in your apartment entryway, quietly mocking you with Bangchanâs lingering scent every time you walked past it.
Everyone at work adored you, and you knew it. Women, men, it didnât matterâeveryone said the same thing: you were the prettiest damn girl the office had ever hired. Some of them said it shyly, others more bluntly, but either way, you never let it go to your head. You were too busy being genuinely grateful to them for welcoming you so warmly, especially your boss.
Mingi refilled his glass with another shot of soju, raising it in your direction. You clinked glasses with him and everyone else, laughing as the room buzzed with conversation and the cozy clatter of plates and glasses.
The food was incredibleâjuicy, smoky barbecue, spicy side dishes, sizzling meat still crackling on hot platesâand the conversation even better. You all talked about work, about who was secretly seeing who, about how much alcohol was "too much," and laughed yourselves stupid.
Soyeon, one of your colleagues, kept throwing not-so-subtle glances between you and Mingi across the table, hiding her giggles behind her hand. It was ridiculousâand a little hilarious. Apparently, the office fantasy was that if you dated someone like Mingi, it would somehow restore everyone's faith in love.
But Mingi was just a friend. A nice guy. Respectful. Safe. The kind of guy who smiled warmly at you and never, ever crossed any lines.
One shot led to another. Then another. And before you realized it, your vision blurred, the world spinning slightly every time you tried to focus. Everything around youâthe colors, the lights, the soundsâsmeared together into something loud and soft and dizzying, like a dream.
You saw a couple of your coworkers nearly face-planting into the table, and Mingi's blurry figure pacing nearby with a phone pressed to his ear.
"Are you okay? Can you stand?" Mingiâs voice filtered into your ears, strained with concern.
You blinked up at him, then giggled. "Of coooourse I can stand. Oops. Maybe?" you slurred, flopping back down against the table with a dramatic huff and knocking over two empty bottles with your arm.
Everything was so comfortable. You could have curled up there and fallen asleep if it werenât for the loud thudding of boots approaching.
Footsteps. Voices.
You opened one eye sluggishly, just in time to see two dark figures approaching the table.
"Thanks," Some voice said distantly.
And thenâsuddenlyâyou were lifted off the ground like you weighed nothing at all. Strong arms cradled you against a warm, broad chest, and you blinked through your hazy vision to see familiar lips, a strong nose, and messy black hair peeking out from beneath a hood.
"Hey! Whatâwhat are youâ" You shrieked, squirming uselessly in his hold. "Are you insane?"
"You love making a fucking scene, donât you, princess?" Bangchan growled low against your hair. "Keep your voice down. I'm taking you home."
"I don't want to go home! I was having fuuuun andâandâ" you sniffled, your voice wobbling embarrassingly. The bar, the lights, the laughter were all fading away as Bangchan marched toward the car, his pace determined and irritated.
"Youâve had enough fun for tonight," he muttered under his breath, as if speaking to a disobedient child.
The second he set you down inside the car, everything changed. The world turned softer, warmer. His hands were surprisingly gentle as he buckled your seatbelt, his fingers brushing your coat as he secured you in place.
You inhaled deeply, catching a whiff of something sweet and familiarâvanilla, musk, leather. Him. You sighed, feeling your body sink deeper into the seat.
"Why do you smell so good?" you mumbled, your lower lip jutting out in a pout as you crossed your arms stubbornly.
Bangchan just shook his head and laughedâa deep, throaty sound that filled the car. "You're adorable, you know that?"
And you were too drunk, too soft, too wrapped up in him to say anything back.
"That would be comical if you were sober," Bangchan muttered under his breath, slamming the passenger door shut before rounding the car and sliding into the driver's seat.
"Hey!" you protested weakly as he buckled in, his fingers brushing against his hoodie. "I didn't even drink that much."
Bangchan huffed a dry laugh. "Angel, you canât even stand up straight. Youâre like a drunk bambi on ice."
You groaned, slumping back against the seat. Ugh. As much as you wanted to argue, he wasnât wrong. And it annoyed you even more that he was right. You tugged at the seatbelt uncomfortably and with a huff, pressed the button to roll the window down. The cold night air immediately hit your face, shocking your skin and making you shiver, but you welcomed it. Anything to clear your head.
The car smelled like him. Leather and something a little sweetâsomething infuriatingly comforting. You closed your eyes and tried to focus on the sharp, bracing wind instead of the fact that Bangchan was sitting just inches away, his fingers tapping against the steering wheel impatiently.
It stung, the kind of sting that settled in your bones, to think about how close you'd once been under different circumstances.
You met Bangchan years ago, back when the air between you still crackled with teasing and unsaid things. It took time â time and reckless choices â before you both stopped pretending it was harmless.
He was always brutally honest, almost cruel in how easily he wore the truth. Youâd known it was him, long before you had the courage to admit it. And he had never cared about messy pasts or whether he was your first anything; he only cared that you were his last.
He met you through Jisung â who, true to form, stuck to your side like a second shadow â and it hit him like a punch to the ribs. That kind of sick, dizzy want that didnât go away no matter how hard he tried to drown it.
Bangchan had been patient in the way only a man desperate for something real could be. Every party, every careless night out, he made sure he was there â close enough to touch, close enough to drive you crazy with it. Until you finally gave in and kissed him like he was air and you were drowning.
And he didnât say it out loud â he wasnât that kind of man â but he knew heâd won the fucking lottery. You weren't just beautiful; you were built from the same sharp, stubborn material he was.
You knew how to love him in a way that didnât shrink him or tame him.And he loved showing you off â not because he needed to prove anything, but because he could.
Wherever you went â parties, concerts, rooms full of people who wished they were you â heads turned. You didnât just look good together. You fit. Like some cruelly perfect puzzle, made to make everyone else feel like they were missing something.
You were the âit coupleâ â not because people said so, but because no one could look at you and believe otherwise.
And now you had to pretend like it was easy that none of it had ever meant anything. That you hadnât once been stupid enough to build your whole heart around him.
The ride was quiet for a few moments, except for the hum of the engine and the occasional shuffle of your jacket as you shifted. Your head lolled slightly to the side, and even in your blurred state, you caught the way his knuckles tightened around the steering wheel every time he glanced at you.
"You always cause trouble," he said finally, voice low, almost fond. "Even when you don't mean to."
You scoffed. "You're the one kidnapping me from my fun."
"If I left you there, you'd either end up passed out on the floor or flirting with some idiot," he said coolly, not taking his eyes off the road. "Neither option sounded good to me."
"I wasn't flirting," you muttered, pulling your jacket tighter around yourself. "I was just... being friendly."
Bangchan snorted. "Yeah, well. You're mine. You don't need to be friendly with anyone else."
The words hit you harder than the cold wind. Your eyes snapped open, your heart giving a traitorous, unsteady beat. He said it so easily. Like it was just a fact of life, as simple as breathing.
You opened your mouth to say something, to argue, but no words came out.
And Bangchan just kept driving, his jaw tight, his expression unreadable in the dim light of the dashboard.
When he pulled up outside your apartment, Bangchan didn't even give you a chance to reach for the door handle. He was out in a flash, slamming his door and rounding the car like a man on a mission.
You caught up to him, your boots clacking against the sidewalk in a staggered rhythm. He didnât even bother to look back; he knew you were following like he always knew, smug bastard that he was.
"You think you're so clever," you muttered as you caught up, breath puffing in the cold air.
"Well," Bangchan said, shoving his hands deep into his jacket pockets. "That's because I am."
You rolled your eyes so hard you were surprised they didn't fall out of your head. Still, you brushed past him at the entrance, key in hand, making a show of being thoroughly unimpressed.
The door creaked open under your push, and you turned just enough to toss a casual, biting smile over your shoulder. "You coming in, or are you too scared I'll bite?"
Bangchan's mouth twitched, that almost-smile he saved just for you. "If I was scared of your teeth, princess," he said, stepping inside after you, "I wouldnât be imagining all the places I'd want you to leave marks."
You slammed the door a little too hard behind him, the bang echoing off the hallway walls. Not because you were mad, because if you didn't, you might've launched yourself at him like a woman starved.
"You need therapy," you said, dropping your keys in the dish by the door.
"Probably," he agreed, kicking off his shoes like he owned your place, moving through your apartment with easy familiarity. "But you first."
You crossed your arms, leaning against the wall as you watched him with half-lidded eyes. "Youâre awfully confident for someone who just manhandled a half-drunk girl out of a bar."
Bangchan grinned, throwing himself down onto your worn-out couch like a king claiming his throne. "I call it rescuing."
"I call it kidnapping."
He shrugged. "Semantics."
You hatedâhatedâhow good he looked sitting there, manspread like he paid the rent, your hoodie bunching around his arms, the glint in his eyes daring you to push him. To challenge him. To keep playing the game you two were never quite able to quit.
"Youâre so annoying," you muttered, peeling off your jacket and tossing it somewhere near the coat rack.
"And you're drunk," he said, patting the spot next to him without a hint of shame. "C'mere, princess. Letâs have a little chat."
"Iâm fine right here, thanks."
Bangchan tilted his head, studying you with the kind of intensity that made you want to squirm. "You sure? âCause you look like youâre one good glare away from either ripping my head off or climbing into my lap."
You scoffed, pretending not to trip over your own feet as you crossed the room and dropped into the armchair instead, curling your legs up under you.
"Dream on, studio rat," you said sweetly.
He smiled slowly, eyes dark and lazy and a little dangerous. "You call me names like that, and then wonder why I wanna ruin that mouth of yours."
The worst part? You did wonder. You wondered all the time.
You tucked your chin onto your knees, flashing him a slow, mocking smile. "Big words, Bangchan. Too bad that's all you're good at. Talking."
The spark that lit behind his gaze was damn near nuclear.
He leaned forward, forearms braced on his knees, voice dropping so low and smooth it wrapped around you like silk.
"Careful," he said, voice edged with warning and wickedness. "You poke the wolf enough, princess, don't be surprised when he bites back."
Your heart was beating so fast it was almost dizzying. And you knewâyou knewâyou should tell him to leave. Should tell him you needed to sleep it off. Should slam a thousand doors between the two of you before you made a mistake you couldn't take back.
Instead, you grinned like the little devil you were.
You batted your lashes like a brat, voice dripping sugar and spite. "What are you waiting for then? Afraid youâll get bitten too?"
Bangchan let out a low, humorless laugh, shaking his head like he couldnât believe you were real.
"One of these days," he said, standing up slow, every muscle under his hoodie stretching and pulling in ways that made you bite your lip, "you're gonna push me too far."
You kept your smile in place, but your mouth was suddenly dry. "Promises, promises."
He came to stand over you, his shadow swallowing you whole. He leaned down, palms braced on the arms of the chair, caging you in without touching. Without meaning to, the chain around his neck slipped loose from his sweatshirt, dangling just above your eyes like a silent dare.
"You have no idea," he whispered, his breath ghosting across your lips, "what you're asking for."
Your heart pounded so loud you were sure he could hear it. Still, you refused to look away. You refused to be the first one to break.
Bangchanâs mouth curled into something feral, something proud, like he could see every stubborn, reckless thought in your head and loved you more for it.
He brushed his nose against yours, just barely, before pulling away.
"Go to sleep, princess," he murmured, backing off like it cost him something. "Before we both do something we'll regret."
You watched him move across the room, grabbing a blanket from the back of the couch and tossing it onto you in one smooth motion.
"Goodnight," he said, turning toward the door.
"Goodnight, asshole," you mumbled back, snuggling into the chair despite yourself.

Your head was pounding before you even opened your eyes.
The sunlight filtering through the blinds felt like a personal attack, and the taste in your mouth was proof that maybe you weren't as immune to soju as you thought.
You groaned softly, pressing the heel of your palm against your forehead, cursing every life choice that had led you to this very moment.Â
Everything hurts. Your brain, your pride, your soul.
You didnât even remember getting into bed. The last thing you recalled was sitting in the armchair in the living room, long after Chan had left. You turned your head carefully, expecting to find an empty room, expecting to be aloneâlike you always were after nights like that.
Instead, you found him. Curled up like a fucking angel in your beat-up armchair.
One arm slung lazily over his stomach, the other bent so his hand could half-cover his face, messy black curls spilling out from under the hood of his sweatshirt. His legs were awkwardly folded up to fit, his whole body making a kind of soft, exhausted nest in the chair way too small for him.
And God, he was beautiful. Ridiculously, stupidly beautiful.
Your throat tightened without permission. Because somehow, it hurt a little, seeing him like that. Vulnerable. Still. Peaceful, like he'd finally stopped fighting the world for five minutes.
You sat there blinking at him, trying to convince yourself it was just the hangover making you emotional. Definitely the hangover. Had to be.
Slowly, you shifted to sit up, careful not to make any noise. But even that tiny movement made Bangchan stir, his body tensing instinctively before relaxing again.
You watched as he buried deeper into the chair, pulling the hood lower over his eyes like a child hiding from the morning.
It was absurd. He looked like a stray puppy you accidentally fed once and now couldnât get rid of.
And the worst part? You didn't even want to get rid of him.
You loved so many things about him â stupid, quiet things. The way he smiled, all crinkled eyes and wrinkled nose, like he couldn't help himself. The way his face looked when he just woke up, soft and defenseless, so beautiful you couldnât resist tracing his skin with your fingertips, half-convinced he might dissolve like a dream.
You loved his curls too â how, beneath all that cocky, rough-edged swagger, he still looked like a boy you could never quite stop loving.Â
You sat there for a few minutes, silent, just...watching. Taking in the ridiculous boy who drove you insane but still made sure you were safe. The guy who would argue with you all night but leave you his coat when he left. The boy who threatened to bite and ruin and wreck, but slept like a kid in your living room without asking for anything in return.
Your chest aches in that stupid, traitorous way you hated.
"Idiot," you whispered, your voice breaking the silence.
Bangchan didnât stir.
You dragged yourself up off the bed, every muscle in your body protesting, and grabbed a blanket. With more gentleness than youâd ever admit to, you tucked it over him, careful not to wake him.
For a second, your fingers hovered over his hair, aching to brush the curls back from his forehead.
You didnât.
Instead, you backed away, wrapping your arms around yourself, needing the distance before you did something even stupider. You padded into the kitchen and turned on the kettle, moving slowly, quietly.
Because you could be a lot of things. You could be stubborn and sharp and bratty as hell. But you weren't heartless. Not with him.
Not when he looked like that.
You were halfway through pouring hot water into a chipped mug when you heard the shift of fabric and the low, scratchy groan of someone waking up.
You didnât turn around. You werenât ready to see him awake yet.
Not when you were still trying to glue your heart back together after catching him sleeping like some exhausted little god on your chair.
Instead, you muttered, âMorning, sunshine,â as you dumped two sugars into your cup.
Bangchanâs voice was still thick with sleep when he answered. "You're alive, huh?"
He sounded way too pleased about that fact. You shrugged, sipping your tea. "Barely. And only because Iâm too stubborn to die of embarrassment."
He chuckled behind you, the sound low and rough, and you cursed how good it sounded.
"You should be embarrassed," he said, stretching his arms above his head, making the chair creak. "You were one soju away from getting banned from half the bars downtown."
"Bold words for someone who kidnaps girls from happy hours," you shot back, finally turning around to look at him.
Big mistake.
His hoodie was bunched up around his waist, revealing a sliver of tan skin and the waistband of his sweats. His hair was a glorious mess, dark curls flattened on one side, and he had the nerveâthe nerveâto blink at you like he wasn't aware he was slowly killing you just by existing.
You yanked your gaze away. "I need a shower. I feel like death."
"Yeah, you look like it too," he teased under his breath.
You flipped him off lazily as you padded toward the bathroom.
Inside, the hot water was bliss. You stood under the spray for long minutes, letting it wash away your headache, your regret, your dangerously soft feelings. Or trying to.
When you finished, you wrapped yourself in a towel and wandered back into your room, dripping wet, not even thinking.
That's when you saw him again. Through the mirror.
Bangchan was standing just outside the doorway, frozen halfway into a movement, like he hadn't meant to be caught. His eyes caught yours in the mirrorâs reflectionâand then flickered lower, to your bare shoulders, the curve of your back, the towel barely clinging to your hips, and your wet hair dripping water down your spine.
For a second, neither of you breathed.
He clenched his jaw, his hands curling into fists at his sides, as if he could physically force himself to behave.
You smirked at his reflection, wickedly pleased at the way he was practically vibrating from the effort of not touching you. You snickered and sauntered toward your closet without another word, feeling his gaze burn into your skin the whole way.
By the time you made it back to the kitchen, fully dressed and mostly composed, the smell of something burning hit you in the face.
"Chan," you said, deadpan. "What fresh hell is this?"
He looked up from the stove, sheepish. A frying pan in one hand, a horribly mangled attempt at eggs in the other.
"I was trying to make you breakfast," he said, voice half-defensive, half-hopeful. "Y'know, so you don't die from alcohol poisoning."
You folded your arms and tilted your head. "You can't cook for shit, can you?"
He tossed the spatula into the sink with a clatter and scowled at you, but there was no real heat behind it.
"You're welcome, princess."
You plopped into a chair, grinning like a little devil. "Aw, you really do love me."
Bangchan grumbled something incoherent under his breath, ears turning slightly pink as he banged around the kitchen trying to salvage whatever dignity he had left.
You bit your lip to hide your smile. Because he could fight it all he wanted. You both knew exactly where this road was heading.
You were still towel-drying your hair when Bangchanâs phone buzzed across the counter.
He checked it absently at first â one glance â but then his entire posture changed. He straightened up, jaw clenching, and answered it with a tight, low, "Yeah?"
You hated the way your chest dropped before you even knew why.
From the kitchen, you heard bits and pieces. Another producer. Some âquick fixesâ needed. A session that apparently couldnât survive the weekend without him.
When he hung up, the room went heavy. He didnât meet your eyes. He just shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his sweatpants, shoulders stiff with guilt.
You sat down with your mug of burnt coffee, the faint smell of your vanilla soap clinging to your skin. You looked... soft. Kissable. And for a wild second, Bangchan thought about crossing the room just to taste you â hair damp, cheeks flushed from the hot shower â to press his mouth to yours and make you forget the rest of the damn world.
But the words came out instead. "I gotta head to the studio," he said, voice almost apologetic.
You took a slow sip of coffee, then set it down harder than necessary, the sharp clack making both of you flinch.
"Youâre seriously going to the studio?" you asked, too casual, too light to be anything but fake.
Bangchan finally looked at you. His eyes were heavy, tired. Maybe even sorry.
"Yeah," he said, like he hated himself a little for it. "Deadlines."
You hummed â a sharp, disbelieving sound â and tapped your nails against the mug.
"It's Saturday," you said quietly.
"And?" he shot back, more defensive than necessary.
You stared at him, really started, like you were trying to scrape something real out of him with your eyes alone. "And nothing," you muttered, voice tight.
He sighed, confused and already losing patience. "What? You want me to blow it off or something?"
You laughed, sharp and humorless. "Oh, no. God forbid you miss a day at your precious studio."
Bangchan blinked at you, and you saw it happen â the slow realization that this wasnât about today, or even about the stupid phone call.
It was about every time before it. Every late night. Every broken promise. Every time you sat exactly where you were now, waiting for someone who never really came home.
"Youâre mad," he said slowly, stupidly, like he was still putting it together.
"No. Iâm not." you snapped, standing so quickly your chair screeched against the floor. "Maybe itâs a hangover. Or maybe Iâm just allergic to the same fucking story."
His jaw tightened. "What story?"
You crossed your arms across your chest, feeling dangerously close to either screaming or crying.
"You," you spat. "You and your work and your excuses. The plans you cancel, the calls you forget to return. The way you make everything â everyone â secondary to your next big project."
Bangchan flinched, and for once, he didnât try to spin it. He didnât even deny it. He just stood there, breathing shallowly, like he was bleeding out and didnât know how to stop it.
"That was different," he finally managed, voice rough. "That was whenâ"
"When we were together?" you cut in, voice low and sharp as a blade. You watched him wince like youâd hit him.Â
Good. He deserved it.
"Itâs easier to forget about someone when theyâre still stupid enough to love you, isnât it?"
He opened his mouth â maybe to apologize, maybe to plead â but you shook your head, feeling the final snap of something deep inside you.
"You should go," you said, barely above a whisper. "Wouldnât want you to be late for your real life."
Bangchan looked at you for a long, breathless second. There was so much there â regret, anger, longing â but none of it mattered anymore.
He grabbed his keys off the counter without a word. You turned your back to him, rinsing your empty mug in the sink even though your hands were shaking.
You heard the door creak open.
He hesitated. Waited. You didnât look. You didnât move. You didnât stop him.
Exceptâ"Bangchan," you called sharply, almost involuntarily.
He froze, half-out the door.
When he turned back, there was a flash of hope in his eyes, quick and raw.
You crushed it without mercy.
You threw his jacket at him, hard enough that it hit his chest with a dull slap. He caught it reflexively, stunned.
"There," you said, your voice brittle and shaking. "Go save the charts or whatever."
Bangchanâs face darkened. His jaw flexed hard enough to crack. But he didnât say anything.
Didnât beg. Didnât stay.
He just yanked the jacket on stiffly, avoiding your gaze, and left, the door clicking shut with a finality that made your stomach twist.
You stood there long after he was gone, feeling hollow and breakable and so, so stupid for still loving the sound of his stupid footsteps fading away.

You had sworn youâd stay in this weekend â locked away with bad TV and worse wine â but then Jisung, being Jisung, practically collapsed at your feet, begging you to come to a party some friend of his was throwing.
Apparently, the guy was rich, bored, and had a habit of throwing the kind of parties that made people lose entire weekends without noticing.
On one hand, it sounded like the perfect distraction. On the other, it meant risking running into the headache you were currently trying to scrub out of your system: Bangchan.
After the last fight, he'd gone radio silent. No texts. No late-night calls. No nothing. And, really, that was for the best.
If he wasn't reaching for you, it made it easier not to reach back.
You chose violence anyway â or at least the fashion equivalent â sliding into a rose-gold slip dress so decadent it felt illegal. Fendi and Versace had stitched the thing like they wanted you arrested. Paired with heels sharp enough to commit crimes and a final swipe of lipstick, you were ready to forget him, even if it was only for a few hours.
Jisung pulled up, grinning like he'd just pulled off the heist of the century. Almost on time. Almost.
The second you stepped out in front of the mansion â all cold marble and warm bodies packed inside â Jisung shifted nervously beside you.
"I should probably tell you something," he said, his voice too light, too innocent.
You gave him a flat look, elbowing him hard enough to make him grunt. "Spit it out, Han."
He winced, hands raised in surrender. "Bangchan... might be here. Maybe. Possibly. Almost definitely."
You stared at him for a beat, then shrugged, hooking your arm through his.
"Relax, Ji. I came here for you," you said, flashing a grin that maybe even you didnât fully believe. "Iâm going to have fun. With or without him."
Jisung exhaled like he'd just narrowly avoided death by your hand. And maybe he had.
The interior of the house was obscene in the best way: sleek, brutalist luxury. An infinity pool glittered beyond the glass walls, champagne flowed like water, and waiters glided around balancing trays stacked with cocktails too pretty to drink.
A guy passed by offering glasses of something pale pink with tiny flowers floating inside. You plucked two without hesitation. "Fancy," you muttered, raising a brow at Jisung, who just laughed and stole one from your hand.
The party belonged to some entertainment mogul â the kind of man who collected artists the way other people collected cars â and, apparently, he was old friends with Jisung, Changbin, and your ex.
Music production royalty. Big names. Bigger egos.
Wading into the crowd was like slipping into warm water: bodies pressed together, laughter sticky in the air. You felt it immediately â the stares. The second skin your dress had become. It clung in all the right places, caught the light like it was made to worship you.
You moved through the room like a knife through silk, cruelly aware of the way heads turned, conversations stuttered.
The music was loud, a beat that pulsed in your bones. You danced with Jisung, spinning, laughing too loudly. Letting the thrum of the night drown out the creeping awareness settling at the back of your neck.
Of course he was here. And of course you saw him.
You didnât even have to look hard; his presence was magnetic â or maybe it was just the fact that you could feel his stare burning into your skin.
Leaning against the table like he had every right to be the center of the universe. Black long-sleeve shirt clinging to the brutal cut of his muscles, like sin wrapped in cotton. Chains glinting at his throat, sliding obscenely down the line of his leather pants.
It should have been illegal to look that good in anything. It should have been illegal to look at you the way he was looking at you.
And when your paths crossed â when you drifted closer on the tide of the crowd â his gaze sharpened, darkened, locked onto you with a slow-burning intensity that made your spine straighten involuntarily.
It took every ounce of your willpower not to react. Because you knew that look. You knew what it meant when Bangchan looked at you like that.
And it wasnât fair.
Not when you knew damn well that dress â that very dress â had once been a gift from him. A whispered promise wrapped in silk. A secret only the two of you shared, stitched invisibly into every thread.
You could feel him watching you â his stare carving a path along your skin â but you refused to meet his eyes.
Instead, you let your gaze skim over every other face in the circle. Everyone but him.
âJi," you purred, tipping your head toward him, "arenât you going to introduce me to your friends?â The sweetness in your voice was pure venom, and you knew it.
Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Bangchan's hand tightening around his glass. So tight the blood drained from his knuckles.
Changbin you already knew â he greeted you with a familiar grin â but the others were new: âWooyoung, Yeonjun, Hongjoong,â Jisung rattled off, and each offered you a hand and a polite smile.
Musicians, all of them. Some of their biggest tracks? Produced by 3RACHA. Produced by him. Not that you spared him so much as a glance.
Bangchan stood there, rigid and simmering, a silent storm cloud just beyond the conversation. Acknowledging you only in the sharp way his jaw flexed. The faint twitch at the corner of his mouth.
You could almost hear the accusations unsaid: How dare you wear that dress. How dare you parade yourself around like that. How dare you pretend he wasn't standing right there â burning for you.
You tilted your glass back and drained the last of your drink with a careless shrug.
âIâm grabbing another,â you announced, lifting the empty glass between two fingers like it was something disposable. âJi, want one?â
Jisung shook his head, distracted by something someone said.
You turned on your heel without waiting for an answer, feeling the hem of your dress flutter like a taunt around your thighs. You knew the way the fabric shifted when you moved. You knew exactly what you looked like walking away.
And you knew exactly who was watching you â fists clenched, jaw locked, fighting the losing battle not to follow.
You ordered a Sex on the Beach and leaned casually against the bar, tapping your manicured nails against the counter. The party roared around you â glittering, chaotic â and you welcomed the momentary lull.
That was when someone appeared. Leaning against the glass with the lazy confidence of a man who thought he had a shot.
"You here alone?" he asked, eyes skating over you without a shred of subtlety.
You tilted your head, lashes brushing your cheekbone in a mockery of innocence. "Why?â
"Would be a crime if you were." He smiled â all teeth and ego â and even had the audacity to bite his bottom lip.
You almost laughed.
He was textbook: handsome in that obvious, forgettable way. The kind of man who thought every pretty girl at a bar was just waiting for him.
The bartender slid your drink over. You took a slow sip before answering, savoring the citrusy burn. "Oh, yeah?"
"I could make your night a hell of a lot better," he said, stepping closer, his voice low. "If you come dance with me."
You barely smothered a smirk. Empty promises rolled so easily off their tongues, didnât they?
"Then show me," you said, voice syrupy sweet, slipping your hand into his outstretched one.
He led you toward the dance floor, weaving through bodies under the pulse of strobe lights and pounding bass. The air thickened with sweat, perfume, and something wilder.
In the crush of the crowd, he planted a heavy hand on your shoulder, sliding it boldly â too boldly â down your spine to your waist. Guiding you into the rhythm like he owned you.
You let him. For a moment.
The music throbbed through you, rattling your bones. You moved your hips, eyelids fluttering shut, letting yourself drown in the beat â in the slippery feeling of rebellion and defiance.
Behind you, he pressed closer. His hands skimmed down the backs of your thighs, fingers hooking under the hem of your tiny dress, tugging it higher without shame.
Your jaw tightened.
You caught the strangerâs wrists mid-climb, dragging his hands back to rest just above your waist â a silent warning. You didnât know what game he thought he was playing, but you werenât about to be the pawn.
Another song bled into the air â a pounding, bass-heavy beat â and you let yourself sway lazily against him, pretending you didnât feel the way he tried, and failed, to take control.Â
It was cute, really. Men always thought they were the hunters.
After a few more minutes of indulging his wandering hands, you turned around, flashing a sugar-sweet smile that didnât even reach your eyes.
"I really need to go to the bathroom," you purred, lips grazing the shell of his ear.
He grinned, clueless. "Itâs okay, babe. Iâll be right here."
You gave him one last pitying look â poor thing â and slipped into the crowd, knowing damn well heâd never see you again if the universe had any mercy.
Bodies pressed around you, glittering, sweating, shouting. You ducked and weaved, humming under your breath to the song vibrating through the walls â Guess by Charli XCX â your hips still carrying the ghost of the dance.
The mansion was a maze of glass staircases and too many doors. People were tucked into dark corners, mouths on mouths, hands lost in hair, slipping into rooms to do things better left unspoken.
Finally, you spotted salvation â a guy stumbling out of a door, belt half-buckled. Bathroom.
You moved fast, fingers curling around the handle â only for a much larger hand to slam the door wide open, forcing you back inside with a jolt.
You barely spun on your heels before a wall of heat and muscle cornered you, the door clicking shut with a deliberate, dangerous finality.
His chest rose and fell like heâd sprinted through hell to get to you. His jaw was locked tight enough to crack, and those dark eyesâŠ
You knew that look. You knew it too well.
Anger. Lust. Hunger.
The kind that never asked permission. The kind that didnât need to.
He took a step forward â and the bathroom shrank into something much too small for the two of you.
"You think you're fucking funny, huh?" His tongue poked his cheek, a muscle in his jaw ticking.
You rolled your eyes, ignoring the way your stomach gave a traitorous flip. "Not in the mood for your little games tonight."
"Don't fuck with me, princess." His voice dropped, low, gravelly â as he crowded you against the marble sink.Â
You had to lean back, your ass brushing the cold counter, because there was nowhere else to go.
"I didn't do anything," you shot back, biting the inside of your cheek to hold your nerve. "You're imagining shit."
He let out a humorless laugh, the sound scraping low in his throat. "Yeah? You didn't let that asshole put his hands all over you in my fucking dress just to get under my skin?"
Touché.
Maybe you had. Maybe you wanted him to burn. To suffer the way you had. Maybe you were desperate enough to crave this â the anger, the jealousy, the way it made his whole body vibrate with restraint.
Bangchan shook his head slowly, a wicked glint in his eyes.
"I always knew you were a little fucking attention whore, but this?" His gaze dragged down your body like a physical touch. "Dressed like a wet dream and acting like you're not desperate to be caught."
His mouth ghosted over yours â not a kiss, just a threat of one â and your fingers dug into the cold edge of the sink so hard they ached.
"What part of we're not together anymore you donât fucking get?" you hissed, hating the way your voice cracked at the edges, giving you away.
Bangchanâs smirk deepened â like he knew exactly how close you were to losing it. Like he was savoring it.
And God help you, if he came even a breath closer, you would do something reckless and ruinous, like drag his mouth down onto yours, like admit that you were still starving for him.
As if he could read every filthy thought running wild through your head, his fingers brushed the hem of your dress, just skimming the bare skin of your thigh. Your breath caught â your whole body betraying you in a single, shivering heartbeat.
You squeezed your eyes shut for half a second, as if that would save you from the avalanche rolling through your veins. One month without him, and his touch still had you crumbling like a fucking amateur.
âLook at you,â he murmured, his voice dark silk as he pressed closer â chest to chest, heat to heat â the hard line of his body trapping you against the marble. His hand slid higher, fingers grazing your inner thigh now, so close it made your hips tilt on instinct. "Fucking glowing." The praise was venomous, devouring.
"Youâre dripping for me, arenât you?" His lips brushed the shell of your ear, almost tender, almost cruel.
"You think I'm gonna let you walk around like thatâ" his fingers inched up, grazing the thin, soaked scrap of your panties, "âlet some other asshole touch whatâs fucking mine?"
His hand flexed against you like he wanted to tear you apart.
Your cheeks burned, your body burned â your thighs, your stomach, your ribs â everything thrumming with desperate, unbearable heat.
And worst of all, you were wet. God, you were soaked for him.
He could probably feel it without even sliding his fingers under.
You hated it. You hated him for knowing it. You hated yourself for wanting him to ruin you all over again.
You wanted him brutal. You wanted him careless. You wanted him to use you until you forgot your own name. But somewhere, buried deep under the throb of your pulse, that thin, pitiful thread of reality was still whispering:
Youâre not his anymore.
He kissed you â but it wasnât a kiss you were ready for. It was brutal, a quick, greedy clash of mouths that stole the breath from your lungs.
By the time you tried to react, heâd already pulled back, staring down at you with eyes so dark they barely looked human.
"I won't do anything you don't want," he said, voice dropping low, a threat wrapped in a promise.
Meanwhile, his hand dragged upward, maddeningly slow, fingertips grazing the inside of your thigh like he had all the time in the goddamn world. He ghosted over the thin barrier of your panties â a brush, a tease, not enough, never enough â and the pressure made your knees weaken.
His fingers barely pressed against you, just enough to make you ache harder, just enough to make you silently beg.
"Tell me to stop," he said, fingers still tormenting the edges of your sanity. "Come on, angel. Open your pretty mouth."
You couldn't. You couldnât even think straight, not when he was touching you like that, not when your body was trembling with how badly you needed him.
It wasnât fair â how he could burn through you with nothing but a touch.
He stilled his hand purposely, the absence of movement so punishing it made your stomach drop.
"I need to fucking hear it," he growled, forehead resting against yours, his breath ragged.
Your voice broke on the first attempt, your throat so dry it hurt. Finally, you swallowed hard and forced the word out. âNo.â
The second it left your mouth, something snapped in him â like you had given him the keys to every dark, filthy thing he'd been holding back.
His mouth twisted in a smile that wasnât kind at all â it was wicked, ruined. His pupils were so blown out, he looked possessed.
"Turn around," he ordered, voice sharp enough to cut.
Your body obeyed before your brain could even catch up. You turned to face the mirror, your hands gripping the edge of the marble sink like it was the only thing keeping you standing. The reflection was obscene â your face flushed, your pupils wide, your body vibrating with want.
And behind you â him â towering, overwhelming, the black of his clothes a stark contrast to the mess he was about to make out of you.
He shoved your back down with a firm hand, bending you over until the marble sink disappeared from view and all you could see was the cold, impersonal wall. Your ass lifted automatically, desperate to meet him, and Bangchan let out a sharp breath between his teeth at the sight.
âFuck, princess.â His voice was rough, shredded with want as he shoved your dress higher, bunching the delicate fabric around your waist.
His hands gripped your hips, fingers digging hard into your flesh like he could brand you with them. He rubbed a slow, dirty circle over your panties, right where you were soaked for him.
âI missed this pretty little pussy,â he muttered, almost to himself, almost reverent.
You moaned under his touch, your whole body vibrating with the filthy thrill of being manhandled like this â like you were something he owned.
Bangchan smiled against your skin, because it was exactly what he wanted â your surrender, your desperate little sounds.
You gasped when he pressed his body against you, his erection thick and straining against the rough line of his pants. You couldn't help it â you pushed your hips back, chasing the friction, needing more, needing everything.
He bent low against you, lips brushing your ear as he ran two fingers slowly, maddeningly, along your lips. The fabric of your panties clung wetly to your folds, making the sensation almost unbearable.
âSuck them," he ordered, voice low and wrecked. "Make them nice and wet for me."
You let out a shaky breath, the filth of it lighting your nerves on fire. You twisted enough to meet his hand, parting your lips and taking his fingers into your mouth without hesitation.Â
The second you did, Bangchan groaned â a raw, broken sound that made your thighs clench.
You wrapped your tongue around his fingers, licking slow and deep, dragging your mouth up and down them like you would if it were his cock. You sucked, sloppily, tasting yourself faintly on your own tongue.
Bangchan watched you with hooded eyes, his breathing heavy, his whole body coiled tight.
"Good girl," he praised, voice dripping with satisfaction. The words hit you harder than they should have, sending a fresh ache between your legs.
He pulled his fingers from your mouth with a slow, wet pop â a thin string of saliva stretching between them â and he smirked, absolutely wrecked by the sight of you.
The sight of you like this â desperate, obedient, filthy â was dangerous. Because all he wanted now was to fuck you so hard you'd forget your own name, until you were nothing but pretty, broken noises under his hands.
"Hold the sink," he commanded, voice low and dangerous. You spread your fingers along the cold marble, bracing yourself, every nerve in your body screaming for him to just touch you already.
Bangchan stepped closer, breathing heavily through his nose.
With a rough tug, he pulled your panties down, exposing you completely â slick, glistening, dripping for him. The second he saw you like that, he swore under his breath, his cock pressing harder against him like it physically hurt to wait.
He dragged two fingers slowly through your folds, gathering the wetness, coating his skin in you. You let out a breathy, involuntary moan, your hips twitching at even that minimal contact.
He watched, obsessed, as your body reacted to him, so easy, so natural â like you were made for this, made for him.
Three fingers circled your clit in a slow, maddening rhythm. You bit down on your lip, trying to muffle the desperate whine building in your throat.
It was useless. You squirmed under his hand, hips jerking against his teasing strokes, shamelessly greedy for more.
Bangchan laughed â low and cruel and possessive. "I'll show you who this greedy little pussy belongs to," he promised darkly.
Without warning, he slid two fingers deep inside you, filling you with a brutal, perfect stretch that tore a hoarse moan from your lips. Your knees buckled, the shock of it nearly sending you collapsing onto the sink.
On instinct, your hand shot up to cover your mouth, but Bangchan was faster.
He yanked his fingers free, leaving you clenching around nothing. Your head snapped up in frustration, but he was already growling in your ear:
"Hands on the fucking sink. Be a good girl and take it."
You barely managed a whimper of compliance. Trembling, aching, you placed both palms flat against the cold marble again, desperate to behave if it meant he'd touch you again.
Satisfied, Bangchan plunged his fingers back inside you â deeper this time, rougher. Your whole body jolted at the sudden invasion, a broken cry ripping from your throat.
He crooked his fingers ruthlessly, zeroing in on that perfect, devastating spot he knew too well.
You sobbed his name, helpless, lost to the overwhelming pleasure. Bangchan leaned closer, his chest flush against your back, murmuring filth against your ear while he fucked his fingers into you like he never planned to stop.
He knew your body better than anyone ever had. And tonight, he was going to make damn sure you remembered exactly who you belonged to.
"Want me to fuck your pretty pussy with my hand?" His voice dripped mockery, even as he thrust shallowly, barely letting you feel the stretch before pulling back again.
You moaned, your body shuddering against the marble. But it wasnât enough. Not even close.
"Say please," he demanded, slowing his movements to a cruel, torturous crawl.
You gritted your teeth, rage flaring hot inside you. This was a punishment â and you both knew you deserved it.
Still, when he stilled his hand completely, your pride crumbled like sand.
"Fuck. Please." You whimpered, the word breaking out of you, raw and desperate. "Please, please, fuck me."
Bangchan muttered something under his breath â a filthy prayer or a curse, you couldnât tell â before he slammed his fingers back inside you, hard and deep. You sobbed, the sound guttural, ripped straight from your chest.
He set a brutal pace, fingers pumping in and out of you, making a messy, obscene noise every time he bottomed out inside your dripping heat.Â
It was filthy. It was everything you needed.
"More," you gasped, hips chasing every thrust shamelessly. "I need more."
He groaned low, a sound almost pained. "Fuck, princess. You're too greedy."
And then, without warning, he shoved two more fingers alongside the first â stuffing you so full you thought you might snap. Your body seized, a broken scream caught in your throat. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes from the overwhelming stretch, the ache, the impossible fullness.
Bangchan didnât give you a second to adjust. He moved slow at first, deep, devastating strokes that made you feel every inch of his hand inside you. You whined his name, nonsense spilling from your lips, your hips rolling uncontrollably against him, desperate for more.
"Stay the fuck still," he growled, pressing a heavy hand between your shoulder blades, forcing you down against the sink. You whimpered under his weight, blinking away the tears threatening to fall.
He shifted his stance, muscles flexing â and then he started fucking you fast, reckless, fingers slamming into you at a brutal pace that left you gasping, clenching around him, chasing an orgasm that was already boiling over inside you.
Your toes curled against the floor. That fire built and built in your belly, spreading up your spine until you were teetering right at the edge He didnât let up for a second. Bangchan drove his fingers into you brutally, mercilessly, the slick, wet sounds of your body devouring every thrust filling the bathroom like music.
You were swollen, red, and trembling uncontrollably. Every nerve ending screamed with overstimulation, but the way he pressed you down â completely at his mercy â only made it filthier, made the pleasure spiral harder, darker, sweeter.
"Fuck," he groaned, voice rasping with something feral. "Look at how you take my fingers."
He leaned closer, tongue darting out over his lips, starving for the sight of you wrecked and desperate for him.
"IâI can't anymoreâ" you choked out, voice cracking in a whimper. "Chan!"
His hand moved faster, the thrusts deeper, knuckles brushing obscene against your insides.
"Are you gonna cum for me, princess?" he taunted, rough and low against your ear. "Show me. Show me who this greedy pussy belongs to. Cum for me."
It was a command you couldnât disobey.
Like a snapped wire, your orgasm hit you so violently that your whole body jolted forward. Bangchan ripped his fingers free at the exact moment, flattening his hand against your clit and rubbing the sensitive bundle of nerves with the heel of his palm.Â
The sensation tore a scream from your throat, your vision whiting out.
He wrapped one thick arm around your waist, holding you upright while you convulsed, grinding his palm against your throbbing clit, prolonging every brutal, ecstatic wave of pleasure. You sobbed against the cold marble sink, tears streaming hot and fast down your cheeks.
"Look at yourself," he snarled, voice thick with pride and hunger. "Look at you when you cum for me. All fucked out. Mine."
His hand moved up, gripping your chin roughly, forcing your gaze to the mirror. What you saw made your knees almost give out: Your face flushed, wet with tears, mouth slack in a helpless moan.
Behind you, Bangchan looked like a fucking monster â wild-eyed, hair a mess, his body pressed possessively against yours.
And when your cum spilled down your thighs in thick, shining streams, soaking his hand, his grin was wolfish.
"That's it," he growled, dragging his wet fingers slowly over your skin, smearing the mess across your trembling thighs. "My girl. So fucking good to me."
You slumped back against his chest, your head dropping onto his broad shoulder, boneless and ruined. Bangchan stroked your waist like you were his prized possession, tracing the outline of your body with greedy, adoring hands.
"Taste it," he murmured against your temple, voice gentler now, darkly satisfied. "This is how good youâre, baby."
He shoved two fingers between your lips, pressing them flat against your tongue. You accepted them greedily, wrapping your mouth around him without a second thought.
Because deep down â as much as you tried to deny it â you belonged to him in ways that you couldnât undo.
Bangchan stared at you like he was starving, his eyes black with lust, devouring the sight of you so eager to please him. His thumb dragged lazily across your bottom lip, smearing your gloss, leaving a wet, messy sheen all over your mouth like a mark he wanted the world to see.
For a split, torturous second, you thought he was going to kiss you.
Your eyes fluttered shut, your body tilting toward him instinctively, aching to feel his mouth against yours. One simple touch that would have undone you completely.
But he pulled away at the last second.
It was like being doused in ice water. The heat between you evaporated instantly, leaving a hollow ache behind.
You stumbled back, spine hitting the cold bathroom wall, every part of you trembling â not from pleasure now, but from something colder, crueler.
He stood there for a long, agonizing moment, his face carved into something unreadable, chest heaving like he was still fighting himself.
Then he said, voice hoarse and brutal, "Better clean yourself up, princess. You're a fucking mess."
Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel, unlocked the door, and vanished into the pounding music and flashing lights beyond.
You were left alone, the door swinging half-shut, the air around you still heavy with the smell of sex and sweat. Staring at your ruined reflection â lipstick smeared, cheeks wet, eyes hollow â you barely recognized the girl looking back.
Destroyed. Empty.
Still aching for a man who had just reminded you exactly how much power he still held over you.

PART TWO TOMORROw!

#bangchan fanfics#bang chan#christopher bang#skz#bangchan x reader#bangchan#bangchan fanfic#bangchan smut#bangchan x female reader#bangchan x y/n#bangchan x you#smut reading#kpop smut#skz fanfic#skz imagines#skz smut#skz x reader#changbin#han jisung#stray kids imagine#stray kids#stray kids jisung#bang christopher chan#straykids
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â the sun and moon
anaxa x f!reader, very worshippy, VERRRYY self indulgent like this is basically a self insert atp, reader is a painter, i use his full name so much it's actually disgusting, anaxagoras is an atheist
wc: 580
a/n: HAII haiii :3 first hyv post slinks away... it just had to be the man who freed me from my tumblr shadowban <3 terribly sorry bc this piece is so short but i havenât written in a while and iâm very rusty so ! sorry to everyone who followed me for bllk LOLL i swr ill get back to it in a while..
kephaleâs dawn shines on this city that is overlooked by cercesâ the sun is gentle and the breeze leaves soft kisses on your skin, the air heavy with the thick scent of paint. a certain scholar is seated in front of you, an easel and a canvas separating the distance between you two. he observes the way your eyebrows knit together in concentration and follows the movements of your hands with his eye alone, not daring to move a single muscle.
âyou are so cooperative, anaxagoras,â his name rolls on your tongue so smoothly; his breath hitches in his throat and heâs gone. it falls from your lips like a prayer and you would not hesitate to say it as many times as he asked it of you, and more. âthank you for being my muse.â
he would never forget the first time he acquainted himself with you. he had told you his name was anaxagoras, and you had called him exactly thatâ anaxagoras. you never shortened his name, not even once. this did not go unappreciated, but it also puzzled him. he wondered why you didnât cut his name short for your convenience. âis your name not anaxagoras?â you asked, and he realised that day, that you would never reduce the identity of a being for something as irrelevant as convenience. after all, isnât this what it is to love? the act of loving is to embrace and accept, something that takes a painstaking amount of effort, and yet you make it seem as easy as breathing.
and for this, anaxagoras comes to believe that a love as pure and simple as yours must be protected at all costs, and so he pours his devotion into you. he chooses to place his faith in you, because you are more real and tangible and more loving than the idea of god could ever beâ because you inspire him to take pride in the universe that resides within his soul. with you, he feels no need to change something so integral to the core of his being.
many thought the two of you to be an⊠odd pair, to say the leastâ a painter akin to a free spirited bird, a lover of everything in this world, with a scholar, one so guarded and stand-offish, at that! they frequently threw looks of pity your way every time that you were seen with him, but you would simply laugh and wave them off.Â
if anaxagoras didnât know better, he would wholeheartedly believe that you were derived from the sun, its radiance bubbling over and spilling into your every step, every word, every laugh. and if you were the sun, then anaxagoras supposes that he would be the moon. he is blunt, defensive and contrarian with his logic, everything that you are notâ and yet, your existences fit with each otherâs like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. it is not despite, but as a result of this fact.
anaxagoras does not believe in the concept of fate. everything that has come to be in this world is a consequence of action by all the beings who have and will continue to exist in it, and that includes the unlikely relationship between you and him that had occurred against all odds. it is not a mere coincidence, but a series of wilful steps that have led up to this moment where you are putting down his likeness on the canvas.
#honkai star rail#hsr#honkai star rail x reader#hsr x reader#anaxagoras#anaxagoras hsr#anaxa#anaxa x reader#anaxagoras x reader
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SHOPPING BAGS
Stiles Stilinski x Female Reader | fluff | cute Stiles | domestic behaviour | puppy dog stiles
Memo: This is the last time I write anything on my phone, Tumblr is glitching so bad. At least it edits everything for me as I go on here though. I think this is really cute and I hope you do too.
You werenât even sure how you convinced Stiles to come shopping with you in the first place. Maybe it was the puppy eyes. Maybe it was the bribe of burritos afterward. Or maybeâand this was the most likely optionâhe just couldnât stand to be away from you for more than an hour.
Either way, here you were, weaving in and out of boutiques with your boyfriend trailing behind like a very eager, very enthusiastic human golden retriever. And not just following, no. He was loaded with bags. Your bags. Bags he insisted on carrying with some heroic, over-the-top chivalry like he was training for a shopping-themed triathlon.
He was also buying you things.
Every time you tried to pull out your wallet, he stopped you with a look. âIâve got this,â he said for the third time in under an hour, slipping his debit card out of his worn brown wallet with a little smirk. âThis is what I work my glamorous part-time job for, babe. Well⊠that and snacks. But mostly this.â
You tried to protestâbecause you werenât trying to make him broke for a cute sweaterâbut he just waved you off, practically bouncing on his toes as he watched the cashier bag up your new dress.
âI like spoiling you,â he whispered as he leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. âLet me spoil you. Please. Iâll pout. You know I will.â
âYou know,â you said later, casting a look over your shoulder as he struggled to adjust the paper straps on one shoulder, âyou donât have to carry everything.â
âBut I want to,â he said, as if you had offended his honor. âYouâre the queen of my life. Iâm just the humble pack mule.â
You laughed, threading your arm through his briefly before slipping into the next shop.
It was a boutique with soft lighting, walls lined with pastel clothes and minimalistic decor. Stiles followed dutifully, dropping the bags by a little sitting area without even being asked. You were already flipping through a rack of clothes when he threw himself down dramatically onto a little velvety bench, one leg bouncing like he was trying to stay patient.
âYou know, I read somewhere that shopping increases dopamine levels,â he said, watching you as you held a sundress up against your body in the mirror. âNot sure if itâs the shopping⊠or just you.â
You rolled your eyes at him, smiling.
âFlattery wonât get you out of burrito duty later,â you warned, stepping back to look at yourself in the mirror again, smoothing the fabric over your front. Then you smirked over your shoulder at him. âBut it will get you some kisses. And maybe some more if you keep it up.â
Stiles perked up like a cartoon dog hearing the treat jar open. âIâm gonna compliment you until my lungs give out.â
You laughed again, shaking your head as you made your way toward the fitting rooms, dress in hand.
âWaitâcan Iâ? I mean, Iâll just wait out here,â he said, springing to his feet. âIâll⊠protect the door. From perverts.â
âYou mean, from yourself?â
He held a hand to his chest, gasping in mock offense. âHow dare you. I am very respectful in the presence of beauty. Even when Iâm helplessly in love with it.â Then he leaned in conspiratorially and added, in a stage whisper, âOkay yes, I am a pervert. And I will try not to peek. But I probably will. If youâre okay with it?â
You rolled your eyes so hard you almost saw into another dimension. âYouâre ridiculous.â
âI love you too, â he shot back proudly.
The curtain swished shut behind you, and you chuckled under your breath as you slipped into the dress. A beat later, you peeked out and found him already standing just a few feet away, practically bouncing on his toes.
âWell?â you asked.
Stiles blinked. Once. Twice.
âOkay. Nope. We are not going to be allowed back in this mall. Because I am about to pass out and die in this very spot.â
You tried to keep your composure, but the flustered way he ran a hand through his hair and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like âhow is this my lifeâ made it impossible not to beam.
âIâm getting it,â you said with a smirk, disappearing back into the fitting room.
âGet five,â he called after you. âWeâll take out a loan.â
A few seconds later, as you were zipping the dress off, you caught movement out of the corner of your eye. A shadow against the curtain. A very familiar pair of scuffed sneakers pointing toward the crack in the side. There was a very exaggerated sound of someone clearing their throat, and then:
âIâm not looking, I swear. But if I were⊠hypothetically⊠youâd look really good right now.â
You snorted and tossed a hanger at the curtain. âEyes front, Stilinski.â
âDang it,â he muttered. âDidnât even get a glimpse.â A beat. âIâm pouting right now. Just so you know.â
You came out a few minutes later and found him with his chin propped on his fist, giving you the worldâs most exaggerated sad face.
The rest of the afternoon went about the same: you shopped, he gushed. You tried on accessories, he had Opinions. You paused to look at a pair of boots, and he launched into an unsolicited speech about how you could wear a potato sack and still be the most beautiful person in the world. When you stole his beanie and wore it while checking out a mirror, he nearly combusted on the spot.
And even when you were just wandering aimlessly between stores, sipping iced coffee, he walked so close beside you that your hands kept brushing.
âYou realize you donât have to follow me like Iâm your entire gravitational center, right?â you teased, looking up at him.
âYeah,â he said easily, grinning. âBut you are. So.â
You paused. Smiled. Then reached out and grabbed his free handâthe one not carrying half a department storeâand laced your fingers through his.
He looked down at your joined hands, looked back up at you, and smiled like heâd just won the lottery.
The weight of the bags he carried didn't seem to slow him down at allânot that you were walking quickly. There was something so perfect about the unhurried pace, the way your fingers stayed laced together like magnets too stubborn to separate.
You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, your heart doing that gentle somersault it always did when he smiled for no reason at all.
Without a word, you lifted your joined hands and pressed a soft kiss to the back of his.
He blinked, glancing over at you with a little curve of amusement pulling at his lips.
You did it again. And again.
A series of three kisses in quick successionâlight, fluttering touches that made him suck in a breath like he was trying to play it cool and absolutely failing.
He stopped walking for a split second, tilted his head at you like, Oh, thatâs how weâre doing this? Then, without breaking stride, he turned your hand over and kissed it once.
Twice.
Three times.
You barely contained the delighted laugh that bubbled up in your throat.
The whole thing became a quiet little war, a wordless back-and-forth of affection. He kissed your knuckles. You kissed his palm. He kissed the inside of your wrist with a dramatic flourish like he was a 19th-century nobleman about to go off to war.
By the time you reached Roscoe, you felt dizzy with the sweetness of it all.
He dropped your hand long enough to pop the trunk open, already shifting the bags from his arms into the back with a sort of exaggerated sigh, like heâd just completed a great quest. Meanwhile, you slid into the passenger seat and gave Roscoe a fond little pat on the dashboard, voice dropping into a whisper.
âHey, baby,â you cooed, smoothing your hand over the cracked vinyl like you were comforting an old friend. âI know you like being dramatic, but letâs not act up today, okay? Youâve got a really great driver, and I happen to be very fond of him. He treats you like royalty. He talks to you like youâre alive. He babies you. Youâve got it good, Roscoe. So letâs keep the breakdowns to a minimum, huh?â
You leaned over and kissed the edge of the dashboard. âPlease? For me?â
The driverâs door opened suddenly, and Stiles practically leapt into the seat with the grace of a sitcom character, hair tousled by the wind and that crooked smile already in place like he hadnât missed a beat of your conversation.
âYou bribing my Jeep with compliments again?â he asked, raising an eyebrow as he started the engine. Roscoe sputtered to life without protest.
âWorked, didnât it?â you grinned.
Stiles threw you a glance, eyes bright, full of something fond and stupid and dizzyingly deep.
âYouâre a witch,â he said, laughing. âAn actual enchantress.â
You reached over and ruffled his hair with a gentle tug of your fingers. âYouâre handsome,â you said matter-of-factly, as if it were the most obvious truth in the universe.
He blinked at you like youâd just tossed a live grenade into his lap. âIâwhatââ
âYou are,â you repeated, stretching your legs out and leaning back as Roscoe pulled smoothly out of the lot. âVery. In case you forgot.â
He was trying to play it coolâgripping the steering wheel with one hand while rubbing the back of his neck with the other, his ears turning bright pink.
âI never forget when you say it,â he muttered under his breath.
You smiled to yourself, watching the trees blur past through the window. The bags rustled quietly in the back seat. Roscoe rumbled beneath you like a loyal, tired steed. And beside you, your very own dorky, attentive, wonderful knight of a boyfriend was glancing over at you every few seconds like he still couldnât believe you were real.
And honestly, you kind of couldnât believe it either.
~~
Time skipped forward like the flick of a page in a favorite book.
Roscoe had made it home without so much as a stutter. The shopping bags had been brought in and unceremoniously dumped on the floor of Stilesâ room, next to his desk, next to the worn-out sneakers he never really put away. His bat leaned in the corner, like always, like it was waiting for a threat that never came.
But tonight, there was no chaos. No supernatural emergencies. No late-night research or dead-of-night plotting.
Just warmth.
Just the quiet hum of his ceiling fan spinning above.
Just the way the dying light slipped through the blinds, casting lines across the bed, striping the soft skin of your cheek as you laid thereâpressed against him, legs tangled up like you'd been doing it your whole life.
Your head was nestled beneath his chin, your arm slung across his middle, and one of his hands was resting low on your back, fingertips moving in slow, lazy circles that made your spine melt. The other hand was buried in your hair, just lightly scratching your scalp the way he knew you loved.
His shirt was soft beneath your cheek, and his heartbeat drummed steady and slow in your ear.
Neither of you had spoken for a few minutes, not really.
There were words, yesâbut only the softest kinds.
Whispers.
Things that didnât need volume to be heard.
His hand slid up your back and settled at your jaw, thumb brushing gently over the corner of your mouth, and you tilted your head to look up at him.
He was already looking at you.
Like he had been.
Like he always did.
His eyes were a little sleepy, a little glassy with comfort and affection and maybe something deeperâsomething eternal. And they were locked on yours like he could see straight through to everything youâd ever been, everything you might become.
âHi,â you whispered, just because you felt like saying something.
His lips quirked. âHey.â
You stared at each other. Minutes ticked by like honey dripping from a spoon. Time didnât exist hereânot really. Not when you were curled together like the world outside didnât even matter.
Stiles reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
âYouâre so beautiful,â he murmured.
You smiled softly, eyes fluttering as his hand lingered at your cheek.
âYou tell me that a lot,â you said quietly, even though you didnât mind hearing it. You could never mind hearing it.
âBecause itâs true,â he said simply. Then, after a beat, his thumb swept down your cheek again, slower this time. âAnd because I still canât believe youâre mine.â
That hit you somewhere low in your chest.
You leaned up and kissed him, slow and deep, the kind of kiss that didnât ask for anything. The kind that just said, Iâm here. The kind that tasted like a lifetime.
When you pulled back, you were both a little breathless, and he looked at you like youâd just knocked the air out of his lungs.
You shifted, pulling him closer, wrapping your leg tighter around his like you were trying to fuse the two of you together. He adjusted automatically, arms wrapping around you, burying his face into your neck for a second, kissing the spot where your pulse beat.
âI love this,â you said, tracing patterns on his chest with the tip of your finger. âJust⊠this.â
âMe too,â he mumbled against your skin. âWe should stay like this forever. I vote yes. All in favor?â
You kissed the top of his head. âAye.â
His arms squeezed tighter around you. The weight of him, the smell of himâeverything that was Stilesâsettled into your bones like gravity, like something you could hold onto even in the middle of a storm.
Your eyes met againâhis honey-brown ones full of sleep and awe and the kind of softness that made you feel like you were wrapped in a sunbeamâand you just stared.
And stared.
No rush. No need.
Just two people wrapped around each other, breathing in sync, surrounded by soft fabric, scattered shopping bags, and the quiet joy of something real.
This was home.
And you never wanted to leave.
#stiles stilinski#stiles stilinski x reader#stiles stilinski fluff#stiles stilinski x reader fluff#stiles stilinski fanfiction#stiles x reader#x reader#x female reader#stiles stilinski x female reader fluff#Stiles stilinski x female reader#stiles x female reader
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yes, and? - G Dragon/Kwon Jiyong
Pairing: sibling!jiyong x sibling!reader (both idols) Summary: your older brother is your hero
â*: .ïœĄ. eternal sunshine masterlist .ïœĄ.:*â
"My face is sitting, I don't need no disguise (I don't need no disguise). Don't comment on my body, do not reply. Your business is yours, and mine is mine. Why do you care so much whose dick I ride? Why?"
Ever since you debuted with your group, DAWN, Jiyong made sure everyone knew how proud he was of you. He'd actively post stories using your songs to get the hype it deserves, he'd post pictures of you on his Instagram, and he'd even mention you a lot in interviews.
But of course, being THE G-Dragon's little sister isn't all sunshine and rainbows. There was a lot of scrutiny when you debuted, and you mostly blamed yourself for all the negative attention DAWN received. No one blamed you, but you felt responsible for it. You never told Jiyong, but he knew what was happening. He was your brother, after all.
He made a secret account that no one knew about and joined a Discord server, a DAWN subreddit, DAWN Tumblr communities, Facebook groups, Twitter group chats, etc. Everyone seemed to hate you all because everyone thought your talents weren't up to par with Jiyong.
Jiyong watched you grow into a woman you weren't meant to be. He always saw you as outgoing and growing into your features and talent. But because of the hate, you just became... hollow. It saddened him deeply. He saw the spark in your eyes vanish as years pass and he noticed how you're more quiet compared to when you debuted.
It wasn't until he read the comments on your Instagram pictures that he finally threw a fit in front of his best friends.
"Get a load of this bullshit: y/n pls get plastic surgery bc there's something wrong with your face. How could someone say that?!" Jiyong exclaimed angrily, continuing to scroll down.
"Jiyong, don't make yourself angry by reading those." Seunghyun warns him. "You're not getting any younger; you might get high blood pressure. Calm down."
"I don't care! They shouldn't talk about my sister that way." Jiyong sighed angrily.
"Well, you can address it in your interview. It's tomorrow, right? Just address it there." Youngbae suggested.
So, that's what he did. He just had to wait for the right time to say it. The right time came when the interviewer asked about you. It was then that he unleashed his anger and annoyance towards all of it.
"What's it like seeing your sister being an idol like you?"
"It's great! I just don't like seeing the hate she gets. It's so unnecessary! I read all of it. She's just nice enough to not tell me anything. Everything people say about her are so hurtful. They don't know that it hurts me too because I'm her brother." Jiyong said.
"I'm sure it does." The interviewer nodded. "But how do you feel about Y/N dating a BTS member when she was just dating Park Bo-gum not too long ago?"
Jiyong rolled his eyes, "That's her business, neither mine nor everyone else's. She can date whoever she wants to date. My only concern is if they treat her right. She's young, but she's also an adult. She can handle herself. I'll only interfere if she asks me for help."
"Is it true that Y/N got a nose job?"
"Alright, let me make this clear: she never got anything done. It also hurts mine and my family's feelings that people are actively telling her to fix her face. Why would she do that? If any of you really look at her, we look alike. Telling her to get her face done is like telling me to get my face done. And why would we do that, when we look like a mix of our parents? That's like telling us our parents are ugly." Jiyong explained.
"If she gets plastic surgery, what happens then? Will everyone be happy? Of course not. They'll find a new thing to hate on her. The other day pictures of her sitting down at a cafe while eating with her date went viral. I thought it was because she was on a date, which is ridiculous to be viral for in the first place, but turns out, she went viral because of her body roll. That's insane! Everyone has that. It's normal! When are we all going to stop policing people for having a normal body? She also got viral for having cellulite. I mean, come on! It's insane to hate a little girl so much."
"Little girl?"
Jiyong closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, "Sorry. Sometimes, I still see her as my 5-year-old sister who did nothing but dance. She's very sweet and she doesn't deserve all of those things."
Jiyong got a lot of pats on the back and he got praised for being a good brother, but the only person he wanted to hear from was you. When you called him in the middle of the night, he immediately answered.
"Y/N?" His voice a bit hoarse from being tired all day.
"Thank you." You said after a moment of silence. Jiyong smiled to himself and said, "You're my sister, Y/N. I have to set an example for you. I will defend you until my last breath, okay? I have your back."
"And I have yours." You said softly. Jiyong grinned, "Just know that everyday, I'm so grateful to be your older brother."
"I don't know how to cope with all of it." You cried.
His heart broke. "Y/N, don't listen to anything you hear and don't absorb anything you read. Their opinions don't matter because what matters is what you think. But I'm afraid I'm gonna have to nag you about a few things. Like, don't get plastic surgery and don't reply to whatever comment people have about your body. I'm going to be strict with those. It's your business, anyway."
"That's true. I mean, why do they care about who I ride, anyway?"
"Okay, that's-" Jiyong coughed. "I did NOT need to know that, but that's, uh, that's true. Why do they care, anyway? They're just jealous it's you and not them."
You chuckled, wiping your tears. "Love you, Jiyong."
"I love you too." He smiled. "Now, it's time for you to come clean. I just want to know- who are you really dating?"
"JIYONG!!!"
"I mean, I just want to know if I have a new brother-in-law!"
-
a/n: whoever reads this, i love you. pls be kind to yourself. pls allow yourself to grow into your features before getting poked and prodded by needles and all <3
permanent taglist: @redhoodedtoad @billiesiousji @hayd3n8 @sherrayyyyy @ldydeath @wcnderlnds @infinetlyforgotten @emmiesoverthemoon @breakmeoff @sayugarper @gdinthehouseee
jiyong taglist: @loveesiren @aizshallnotbefound
eternal sunshine taglist: @sevendaysummer @sherxoo @whotfiscamellia @multifanxtvshows @patheticgirl127 @amyyforshort @sylviavf @steponupbabe @galgal-egg
#k's works#k's eternal sunshine#g dragon#g dragon x reader#g-dragon#g-dragon x reader#kwon jiyong#kwon jiyong x reader#kwon ji yong#kwon ji yong x reader#kwon ji-yong#kwon ji-yong x reader#gd#bigbang#gd bigbang#gd x reader
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aftg floor plans
not that anyone asked but the way my brain works means that any time i read anything, i am piecing together every room, every house, and every space. i need to create an image in my head so i can see the characters in it and see how they interact with the space. except itâs always vague and sometimes a throw-away line places a window or a wall where i didnât think it was and i have to redo the entire space in my headâŠâŠ itâs a struggle but after so many times rereading aftg, i have a pretty solid idea
this is just a long way of saying i have decided to take whatâs in my head and make it into reality and i have made floor plans for aftg lol
so far, i have done the foxesâ dorm (both how i think the entire floor is laid out and each of their three rooms), wymackâs apartment, and abbyâs house. i plan on doing the cali places later, donât even worry
of course tumblr is corrupting the quality but in my head there are five rooms to each side of the hall and the stairs are right next to the monsters' room. that stray white box is an elevator supposedly.... i had no idea how or where the elevator should be so i just kinda threw it there, don't laugh. and we know the soccer kids live on their floor so they have the rooms across the hall
i placed everything based on descriptions gathered from the first four books (thank you jean for telling us they do in fact have stoves even if they are just two burners). i gave kevin's desk an extra monitor to watch games on lol and andrew has to be by a window to smoke out of it. also, the beds are bunked. i know this looks big but it was hard to get the spacing right..........
for the girls, i mirrored the monsters' room because i know that piping tends to make apartments laid out so kitchens or bathrooms are back to back with your neighbors. they also get a fancy extra chair and a bigger tv bc allison is rich and you can't tell me their room wouldn't have the nicest furniture. i feel like dan would have the bottom bunk, renee the top, and allison the lone lofted bed but that's just me lol
we know matt and neil shoved their three desks by the windows and in my head, matt and neil's bunk is on the left while seth's lofted bed is on the right. and matt and neil have their dressers underneath seth's bed and his is by the window
this was actually interesting because we know that the front door is out of sight from the doorway of the study and that there are windows in the living room so i put in this turn to the hall. again, the space looks huge here but that's mainly because i didn't want to have to shrink and rearrange all the walls over and over again
abby's was the hardest by far. i went back and scoured the books for more information about her house because i was struggling and have struggled with it since my first read through. we know that there is a doorway to the kitchen (so i couldn't give her the open floor plan i wanted) and that the bedroom jean stayed in was just down the hall from the bathroom. i ended up giving abby her own master bath just because i felt like it but i have no idea if that is canon. and the hall bath seemed too large so i put in a laundry room randomly but whatever. we also know she has a two car driveway so i made the shape of the house a little funky. and in my head, during summer break aaron and nicky stay in one bedroom and andrew and kevin are in the other one. i put kandrew in the bedroom down the hall because it is farther from the front door and andrew would like that imo. that is also the bedroom jean is in after renee takes him from evermore. and of course she needed a huge dining room table to fit everyone
ANYWAY, if you made it this far i am surprised and thank you for entertaining this. i can also share all the passages i used to piece together these floor plans cause they are all bookmarked but that felt like too much to include here and i doubt anyone cares. feel free to debate wall placements in the comments, i would love to talk to you about it as you can probably tell
and if literally anyone is interested, i can and will make these in the sims and then they will be real cute and colorful floor plans. i will probably do it anyway for my own enjoyment but whether i post them is up in the air
pt. 2 pt. 3 (cali)
#sorry this is so long#its like a whole ass essay that is my bad yall#what can i say except the brainrot is expansive#can you tell i considered being an architect in middle school#aftg floor plans#aftg#all for the game#floor plans#palmetto state foxes#david wymack#abby winfield
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Physical Therapy
Joel Miller x AFAB Reader No Outbreak AU - 4.4k words
For @punkshort's AU August challenge, in celebration of her one year Tumblr anniversary!
A.N: My prompt was 'lifeguard Joel' and I'm nursing a bit of a sore wrist at the moment, hence whatever this is was born. Thanks for the fun prompt! I would very much like Joel to save me from drowning now, please and thank you.
Warnings: None.
It had just started out as a kind of tickling feeling around behind your ear on your left side, and down along the back to the shoulder blade. When youâd first noticed it youâd thought you had a hair stuck under your shirt, and all day you kept reaching up under your bra strap to try and free it. Later, you would rub the skin red trying to lift the phantom follicle from your skin.
Later, it developed into a coldness, punctuated sometimes with ants marching up and down your shoulder blade. Your clavicle ached in cold weather, and you rolled your shoulders of a morning to try and shake the weird sensations from the joint. You were too busy to worry about it, you had too many deadlines, you could just type with your left arm resting on a pad of paper to elevate it. You knew youâd been working too hard on your paper for your next research symposium. As soon as it was over youâd deal with it.
When it started thrumming of a nighttime youâd just take ibuprofen to dull it, numb it off with a heat pack and an occasional glass of whiskey. But when it got too hard to type, when the daggers started shooting down your arm to the point that you could barely get your sleeve over it, when your shoulder was so frozen you couldnât lift it over your head to brush your hair, you conceded defeat.
Your physiotherapist was lovely, and young, and fit, and you wished you could hate her. She ran marathons on weekends, on purpose and apparently without having first been threatened, and she gave you a bunch of exercises you promised you would do, made you pay $24.95 for a bit of stretchy rubber you could tie to your doorknob and stretch with, a couple of strength building exercises printed out and folded neatly, which you immediately threw on your coffee table and used as a coaster.
You went twice a week after work. She massaged you until you had tears in your eyes, biting back the pain by clamping down on your back teeth. You lied to her that youâd done your stretches, and she let you, because she was a nice person. Your recovery stalled, and you both pretended not to know why.
In the end, you just got fed up with yourself. Youâd had to push back your presentation at the symposium, had found it too painful to sit at your desk for the long stretches it would take to be prepared. Your supervisor had insisted you take time off, that your PhD could be extended, and you had balked at the idea and then, eventually, conceded that too. Your stupid frozen shoulder was icing out everything in your life you cared about. You suggested to your physio you might like to swim.
--
It had been a while since youâd been in a bathing suit. Glad youâd at least thought to shave, you went into the change room dreading coming out again. Youâd deliberately gone at 2 PM on a Tuesday afternoon, figuring the only people there would be either 100 years old or ladened with babies, and their bodies wouldnât be so threatening to yours. You remembered a time when your body had felt strong, when your legs had carried you around European cities, up and down mountains. You wondered where that girl went.
You were a careful person, and you liked rules, so you shuffled as speedily as you could towards the pool, careful not to run. Your brother had slipped once, aged 9 and a half, and knocked out two of his teeth when he went down. Your mother had to wait three months to get them fixed, having to save up the fee, and your brother had whistled slightly on windy mornings. Youâd teased him about it, and you felt bad about it now, holding your arm tight to your body so as not to jostle your shoulder.
The water was cool, and you took the stairs one at a time to get yourself into it. You gasped when it reached your belly, reaching down to splash yourself to try and acclimatise. It wasnât an especially warm day, but the sun was out and it was warm enough on your skin. You sunk down, feeling the water lap at your shoulder. The relief was immediate, the cool spreading over your strangled nerves, and you let out a sigh. You didnât think you were about to swim any laps, but it was enough to bob around in the shallow end and feel the water carry your weight. Your mind was quiet for the first time in a while. You watched two birds glide on the breeze, ducking down to skim over the surface. You hoped they didnât shit in it as they passed.
Then, a giggle. A tittering, high-pitched thing that shattered your reverie and made you turn towards it, a scowl on your face as you looked up into the sun. A woman in a high-cut bikini straight out of the 80s was standing at the base of the lifeguardâs chair, looking up at the man sitting atop it. She was practically drooling, flipping her hair and nearly slipping out of her top. You couldnât make him out, the glare casting him in darkness and too proud to shield your eyes with your hand to get a good look. She had all her weight on one foot so she could thrust her hip out and her chest up. You heard his voice rumble out of his chest, deep and heavy and surprisingly kind. You couldnât make out the words. You reminded yourself you didnât care.
--
Your physio was proud of you, and you wanted to hate her for that, too. You reported your attendance at the pool, lied about doing your exercises, and paid another $24.95 for another rubber band thing after you pretended youâd misplaced the first one. You knew exactly where it was, on the doorknob where youâd tied it the first night and then ignored it. But it was a good, if expensive, excuse.
The next time you went to the pool you chose a time slightly earlier in the day, hoping that the midday sun might tan you a little as you rehabilitated. You bobbed around again in the shallow end, experimentally rolling your shoulders and moving your arms in small semi-circles in front of you. The water carried the weight so you could just focus on moving the joint, and when the ache set in you could just float there, let the water carry you completely as you floated on the surface. With your face to the sky and the sun beating down the whole world turned bright and colourless. It sanded down the sharp edges, turned the detail to pulsing fuzz on your retinas.
80âs Bikini Lady didnât resurface, but you got out when an entire class of 4th graders arrived for their swimming lessons. As you went for your towel you heard that rumbling voice again, booming out over the top of 20 excited kids, instructing them to quiet down so he could teach them to tread water. You wondered if that was what you were doing now, your research and your thesis gathering metaphoric dust on your laptop. Treading water.
--
It took you until your fifth visit to try an actual lap. Your shoulder had been feeling lighter, the joint freeing itself under the water just enough that you could bear the weight of the it as you moved. You had been experimenting with little half breaststrokes, just two or three with your head high over the water and only deep enough that you could plant your feet at the first twinge of pain. But you wanted to try something different, today. You wanted to make it down to the other end, even if you had to grip the lane rope and pull yourself there.
You felt eyes on you as you walked to the edge, and you turned quickly to see the lifeguard was at his station. It was early enough in the afternoon that you could see him properly, his aquiline nose, his curls unruly and chocolate brown. He nodded at you, an acknowledgement that he was keeping watch, and you nodded back to him. It was just you and a man in his 60s in the pool today.
You hissed a little as you descended the stairs, feeling goosebumps rise on your skin. Today it was cloudy, and the water was cooler than you had been expecting, and you worried for a moment it would be bad for your shoulder somehow, that your muscles would be less malleable, less cooperative, in the cold. You swallowed, wondering if you really wanted to do this today. Then you remembered your thesis, and the way you had thrown yourself on dancefloors, in spin classes, ridden boys in your dorm room like your hips would never ache. You wanted that girl back. She was at the other end of the pool.
You pushed off, holding your arms straight out in front of you and using your feet against the wall of the pool to propel yourself forward, letting the momentum drift you the first few feet. With a brave breath in you spread your arms wide in a breaststroke, kicking with your legs to keep up some sort of speed. Three strokes, then four, then five and you were nearly a quarter of the way down the pool already. You just had to keep breathing, stick with it, pace yourself out. You cupped the water with your hands, pushing it away from your chest as you moved. There might have been a little twinge, but you banished any worry. You were doing it, if slowly, if gingerly.
You swam over the point where the bottom of the pool fell away, past the point where you could stand. The water felt cooler, the depth of it stealing some of the warmth, and you felt a little warning tingle up your elbow. Your neck pulled a little to the right to try and dodge the pain, and you faltered a little, lost some of your rhythm. In your surprise youâd opened your mouth and taken in a little bit of water, and you spluttered.
Suddenly your arms were out of sequence, and you were struggling to bring them back together in front of you while kicking with your legs. They felt uncooperative, like they were on different strings, and you were finding it hard to keep your neck bent up high enough to keep your face out of the water completely. You jerked to try and regain your momentum, and sent an electric shock through your shoulder, pain spreading out all the way down to your wrist. You gasped, the pain making you pull your arm into your body, trying to cradle it against your chest, and you started floundering, your nose and mouth dropping beneath the surface as you struggled to stay upright. You swatted at the surface of the water with your good arm, panic in your chest, as you tried to figure out if it was better to turn and head back to the shallows or carry on to the other end.
You heard a splash behind you, a huff of air as a body broke the surface and then an arm around your waist.
âIâve got you,â he said, and you leant back into the warm body behind you, trying to suck in air.
âMy shoulder, my arm,â you cried, keeping it tucked against you as the lifeguard pulled you to where you could stand. You gasped, choking a little on water but mostly just from shock, your face burning red with humiliation and the pain of your throbbing collarbone. âIâm sorry,â you said, suddenly feeling like you wanted to cry, as you caught your breath, the man still holding you gently around the waist and leaning down to study your face.
âYouâre OK, youâre OK,â he said, his voice like warm honey as it oozed over the panic in your brain. âTake a breath, Iâve got you.â
Oh fuck, you were definitely going to cry if he kept being so nice to you. You felt heat in the back of your eyes, bit down on your bottom lip so he couldnât see it wobbling.
âI just wanted to swim a lap,â you said, and you could hear the desperation in it, feeling as small as a child.
âYou injured?â he asked, and you nodded. He tugged you further towards the shallow end, led you by the good arm over to the steps.
âMy physio said exercise would help it,â you explained, throwing her soundly under the bus. âI justâŠI thought I was ready.â You felt the frustration bubbling over. You had a terrible habit of getting teary when you were mad. âItâs just been so shit, and I wanted toâŠI just donât even know this body anymore, you know?â you complained, wincing when you realised youâd just trauma dumped on him.
âCanât rush these things,â he said, unfazed. âGotta take it at your own pace.â Standing up in this part of the pool the water only came to his waist, and he gestured to his belly where a jagged scar punctured his left side.
âJesus,â you said, at the sight of it and also realising for the first time he was shirtless, water running in rivulets down his golden skin. He was so broad it was no wonder heâd managed to get to you in the centre of the pool in all of three strokes. You felt yourself start to tremble, and you werenât sure it was from shock.
Youâd known, of course, that he was handsome. You had eyes, after all. But up close, standing over you, hair slicked back as his brown eyes roamed your face for any sign of distressâŠup close, he was devastating.
âJoel,â he said, holding out his hand, and you took it, awkward and shy. He told you he liked your name when you mumbled it to him, and you realised he was very good at his job. You wondered where you could find an 80s bikini.
âThank you, Joel,â you said, when your heart had finally settled back into its normal rhythm. âIâm sorry you had toâŠâ
âTrust me, pulling beautiful women out of the deep end is not the hard part of my job,â he said, and then you watched as his eyes widened, like he was only just realising what heâd said, and you felt heat crawl up your cheeks.
You wanted to ask him what the hard part was. You restrained yourself, because youâd been humiliated enough for one day.
--
You skipped your next session at the pool, instead using the rubber stretchy thing to try and elongate the joint. It didnât feel as good, and you nearly snapped it into your face more than once, and you definitely didnât think about Joelâs golden skin glistening in the sunlight the entire time you did it. You didnât think about his arm banding around you as he pulled you to safety, not even a little bit. The rubber thing was fine. It was going to solve all your problems.
--
You hated the fucking rubber stretchy thing. For one, it smelled like condoms but in a weirdly stale kind of way, and for two you were fairly sure it was going to rip your door off its hinges in your crappy little apartment, and you really didnât want to have to call your landlord when that happened. It might mean youâd have to tidy up.
Also, it was late Spring and pretty soon school would be out, and the pool would be heaving, and so you had to get your shoulder back to normal as soon as possible before the place got flooded with kids. The bikini you fished out from behind a bunch of old clothes in the back of your closet was so that you could move your shoulder more freely. You were being pragmatic. You were planning ahead.
It was hotter again, the warmth of summer encroaching, and you were genuinely relieved to see the sparkling, clear water when you arrived on the pool deck. You walked, head held high and chest out just a little, past the lifeguard chair, studiously not looking but also really trying to look. You spent an extra few seconds fishing around in your back for your sunscreen, trying to steady your pulse. When you swivelled around, preparing to smear it over yourself, you glanced over at the chair.
Unless Joel had aged 20 years in the week since youâd been, and gained forty pounds and lost all of his hair, he was not on shift today. You felt yourself deflate, your shoulders slumping, your left collarbone sending out a thrum of pain in warning.
It was probably for the best, of course. You were here to do rehab. This was serious medical stuff.
You didnât want to hazard another lap, not with Beergut McBaldALot on patrol, so you floated a bit in the shallow end and practiced making circles with your arms. You were stiff, having taken a week off to whip yourself up into a pointless frenzy over the lifeguard. The water eased some of the tension in the muscle, and you once again felt your mind start to still.
You wondered if, on his down time, Joel preferred board shorts or speedos. You couldnât imagine him in a full banana hammock â you could, but you didnât want to â but you wondered if he was a Daniel-Crag-In-His-First-Bond-Movie-When-He-Emerges-From-The-Ocean-Booty-Shorts kind of guy. That didnât feel right either, though. His work uniform was boardies, and you decided that Joel was the type of guy who just wore them on his own time anyway, because they fit and they were on hand. As for what was going on underneath them. Well, that was something else entirely.
As you bobbed in the water you imagined his strong arms around your waist, pulling you into his chest and letting you rest your head on his broad, tanned shoulder. You wondered if youâd be able to feel his heartbeat on your cheek, if that close you could hear his tight little exhales as he glided you through the water, held you up so that you could finally, finally let go. You sighed a little to yourself, drifting in the middle of the pool and hoping no one had any plans to swim any laps. You let your hair trail out behind you as you drifted, imagined the slight pull of the water was his fingers threading through.
--
You werenât hungry but you had nothing at home, so you stopped off at the grocery store on the way home, your shoulder feeling better for having had a little bit of movement. Sleepy from the warmth of the sun and your weightlessness, you barely noticed the man standing at the end of the cereal aisle until you were tripping over him, his arm shooting out to catch you before you could really, properly fall.
âOoof,â he exclaimed, and you knew that voice, felt the furious rush of blood to your cheeks as you righted yourself and were met with the same warm, brown eyes.
âWe really must stop meeting like this,â he said, smiling down at you, and he was just as beautiful on dry land as he was submerged. You felt your hands start to tremble and you worried youâd drop your basket.
âJoel,â you said, trying to hide the comingling shame and excitement on your face. âYou look different when youâre wet.â
Murder you. End it now. It would simply be kinder.
Joel, to his credit, just laughed a little.
âHairâs a lot fluffier,â he said, reaching up to tug at it and making you want to chew on your own fist.
âThereâs that,â you said, your voice oddly strangled.
âYou breakfast shoppinâ at 4 in the afternoon?â he asked, gesturing to the cereal box in your hands.
âDinner, actually,â you said, strangely proud at your sheer level of disfunction. âEver since my shoulder, cooking hasnât really beenâŠâ
You trailed off. Your mom had sent over a couple of frozen lasagnes, and youâd worked your way through those in a week. For a while you got dinners delivered but it got expensive, and then worst, it got boring. Before all of this started there were some nights youâd been so engrossed in your thesis youâd forgotten to get dinner at all. You missed those nights, too. To be so distracted.
âHowâs the arm?â he asked, and you realised you were cradling it again, holding it fast against your side.
âItâs slow, and Iâm trying to be patient,â you said, honestly, and his brows saddled. He hummed in thought, pouting his lips out a little. You fought every atom in your body not to lean forward and pull them between your teeth.
âYour physio given you exercises?â he asked, and you nodded, avoiding his gaze. âYou doinâ em?â he asked, and you were suddenly really interested in the nutritional content of your Cheerios. He snickered out a laugh. âNo one ever does âem.â
âYou speaking from experience?â you asked, and he smiled.
âI used toâŠwell, not a physio but I did a little personal training, and uhâŠbasically unless I was there barkinâ at âem no-one did what they were told.â
Bark at me, you thought. Iâll do anything you say.
You coughed, trying to collect yourself. Fuck, he was beautiful, but you realised what you liked most was just the warmth in his face, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. You trusted him, you realised. You didnât know him, and you trusted him.
âIâm pretty sure my physio knows Iâm lying to her,â you confessed, and he smiled.
âShe definitely does,â he agreed.
âIâm otherwise a very honest person,â you added.
âI have no doubt,â he said, with a little twinkle in his eye that made you want to gouge the things out so you didnât have to deal with them torturing you anymore.
Instead, you looked into his basket and saw kale, a bunch of carrots and a carton of eggs. You grimaced.
âPlease tell me youâre not on a cleanse or some shit,â you said, and he smiled.
âNah, you got me just before I headed over to the candy aisle.â
âYou like candy?â you asked, and he grinned.
âGot a sweet tooth,â he confessed.
âName your poison.â
âReeceâs. The ummâŠthe cups.â
âThe cups. A peanut butter man?â
âYes maâam,â he said, that southern drawl appearing again. You felt it hit you like a bullseye in your core. You wondered what else you could get him to agree to.
âA man of taste,â you said. You were flirting over grocery items and you didnât fucking care. You would banter about the phone book if he kept grinning with his whorish little dimples out. Â âThank you for helping me out the other day,â you said, and he shrugged.
âSâmy job,â he said, and you shook your head at him, swishing your hands in front of you as if you could push his humbleness aside.
âYeah, but you chose that job, and Iâm glad that you did,â you said, simply. âItâs a generous thing, putting yourself on the line for someone else.â
âAlways been a kind of protector,â he said, almost to himself.
âI can see that,â you replied, honestly, and he turned his gaze to you, considering you for a moment. âAlthough I guess a lot of the time itâs just watching people splash around.â
âAinât hard to watch some people,â he said, gazing down at you, his jaw muscle twinging a little. Â You felt your stomach do a silly little flip.
âNo?â you asked, your throat dry.
âMmm-mmm,â he said, shaking his head but not breaking eye contact. You wanted to grab his broad, golden shoulders and hitch your thighs over them. You wanted to reach up and take his curls in your fingers, pull him onto his knees and his mouth to your nipple, let him nibble where they pebbled. You wanted to drown the gorgeous fucker, just for being so pretty he was setting your brain on fire.
For a second the two of you stared at each other, trying to pretend the sparks werenât flying.
âThat canât be dinner,â he said, after a while, and you realised he was talking again about your cereal.
âI could get some grown up muesli if that would make you happy,â you offered.
âWouldnât want you to get malnourished, come by the pool and drown from lack ofâŠvitamins,â he finished.
âLack of vitamins?â you teased, and he blushed.
âCanât have you wastinâ away on me.â
âSo, youâre saying I have to eat the muesli for your benefit?â you asked, and he shook his head.
âNo breakfast for dinner,â he said. âMaybe I can fix you somethinâ.â
Your heart stopped, right there in the grocery store, in your flip flops with your hair still wet from the pool.
ââŠâ you said, and he finally broke your gaze, finally allowed you to breathe for a second. He looked thoughtful, maybe even a little sorry.
âNot professional of me to ask out the patrons,â he said, after a while.
âDo you work at the grocery store?â,â you asked, bolder than you were feeling. He moved closer towards you, just a half-step, so that you could feel his breath ghosting over your face.
âIf I gave you some exercises, would you do âem?â he asked, his voice so low it came straight from the Devil himself. You felt the jolt of want spear between your legs.
âMy physio might get jealous,â you said, and he grinned.
âAs your lifeguard I feel like itâs my duty to overrule, baby,â he said. He lifted a hand to your bad shoulder, holding it gently, supporting the joint. You sighed a little, the extra support releasing some of the pressure from the tendon.
âIf you think itâs that serious,â you whispered, as you leant in towards him, his mouth hovering just out of reach of yours. âLife and death.â
âIâm afraid I might,â he replied.
His lips tasted like coffee and sunshine. You lifted your arms to rest them on his shoulders. There was not a single twinge.
#shortieswritingchallenge#joel miller#joel miller x reader#pedro pascal fanfiction#joel miller x you#joel miller fanfic#pedro pascal characters fanfiction#pedro pascal fanfic#joel miller meetcute#joel miller au
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The Danny Bunch x Fistfights:
Daniel's characters often get beaten up but they don't typically instigate fistfights. If they do fight back, it's with wits. Should they choose violence, their weapon of choice is usually a gun.

If a brawl were to break out, however, Erik, Zemo, Checo, Laszlo, and Niki would probably have caused it with something they said or did, deliberately or otherwise. In my mind they're not necessarily a part of the scuffle, they're just pot stirrers. Arranged the likelihood of someone having diabolical intent from left to right. It peters out by the time it gets to Laszlo and Niki, as they mostly trigger conflict with the unfiltered truths they speak. While many of Daniel's characters would probably lose in a fistfight, I see Alex, Arbo, Tony, and Andrea going down after a single punch. Why these babies would be in a physical altercation, however, is beyond me. David from Lila, Lila was originally on this list but then I remembered he did beat up his tormentor in a mad rage. I was also tempted to add dorky ol' Marek but then he looks way too fit to be knocked out so easily. Marko would obviously win in a punching match. I'm willing to bet Horstmayer would, too. Ernst slugged someone in The Cloverfield Paradox (threw the first blow and all) but that was after this person directed multiple accusations at him. He has a temper but I don't think he readily resorts to violence. There is this feral quality to him though, so if he is in one, I see him winning. Zemo could take on a horde of non-enhanced fighters any day. Daniel (Weltz), Tobias, and Sebastian I see running away from shit they probably stirred, the scumbags. Zemo chooses his battles. He's a skilled fighter but against, say, the Avengers or the Dora Milaje, he knows he's better off ditching the scene or pitting them against each other. Lutz, Klaus, and Frederick go apeshit when cornered or scorned. They go from nasty to full-on Nazi. To Zemo, bombs are an acceptable means to an endâa literal tool in the arsenal. Should anything stand in the way of his mission, he will make them go BOOM.
*** p.s. if it isn't obvious already, Zemo appears four times because he changes tactics depending on the situation.
p.p.s. not sure who to credit for this concept since it's all over the internet but this alignment chart is adapted from THIS POST. I also do not know who coined the term "The Danny Bunch" but I've seen it in some posts. Tumblr's search system is no help, so I'm just borrowing it here.
#Daniel BrĂŒhl#Baron Zemo#Helmut Zemo#The Falcon and the Winter Soldier#Laszlo Kreizler#The Alienist#Alexander Kerner#Goodbye Lenin#Marko Stemper#Elefantenherz#Andrea Marowski#Ladies in Lavender#Lieutenant Horstmayer#Joyeux NoĂ«l#Klaus Prompst#In Tranzit#Fredrick Zoller#Inglorious Basterds#Tobias Hardmann#Dinosaurier#Niki Lauda#Rush#Sebastian Zöllner#Me and Kaminski#Arbo#Vaya Con Dios#Tony Balerdi#Burnt#Ernst Schmidt#The Cloverfield Paradox
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Well, about Blind Faith Stan. I'm not sure how exactly you picture the timeline.
But suddenly I was thinking about this AU and how it could happen. And then I opened the doc and threw together some words.
Fiddleford first met Lee in the bar in the middle of nowhere, with only the road as a sole memory of humanâs presence.
He didnât know why seeing the manâs face caught him and reeled him in, yet here he was, sitting on the adjacent bar stool and waiving for a beer for himself.
âIâm drinking to forgetâ, said the unfamiliar and yet somehow familiar man.
âI have something betterâ, Fiddleford couldnât help but brag.
The man snorted. âYeah? Then by all means show me, I really would love to wipe JosĂ© from my memoriesâŠâ
Fiddleford chuckled at the manâs wordings.
***
Lee didnât remember JosĂ© Martinez any longer.
***
Or Rico Diaz.
***
Or Jorge, Jeremiah and Samuel.
***
âPlease, I want to forget.â
âThe name, Lee?â
âNot the name this time. Tijuana.â
***
âJimmy Snakes.â
***
âEcuador.â
***
âStanford Pines.â
That made Fiddleford pause for unknown reasons.
âWhoâs that?â
Lee winced. âSomeone who already forgot about my existenceâŠâ
Seemed fair.
Fiddleford entered the name into the memory gun and for some reasons felt the déjà vu effect.
***
âFidds, Fidds, I beg of you, please!â
âNo, no more. I think one of the last ones wipes took something essential from your memory! I wonât risk reducing you to a complete amnesiac!â
âI promise you, that will be the last time! Itâs⊠Itâs really just a completely insignificant guy! Itâs too painful to keep remembering himâŠâ
â...Alright. The name?â
âStanley Pines.â
***
Lee lied. Whoever the hell Stanley Pines was, he definitely was significant.
Ok, i need to read my tumblr notifications more often, but MAN- it doesnât quite fit my thoughts for this au, but. but man, HXJDJDKSJDJFJFKSJ is it yummy!!!
love this!!!!!!!!
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Omg, hi guys! This is my first post and Iâm so shy about it. I hope you guys like it and lmk if you want have any ideas you want me to write about!
Im still getting the hang on tumblr, so sorry if itâs hard to navigate.
It had been a long week of silence, of missed calls, and stolen moments that felt like they were slipping through your fingers like sand. You and Satoru had built a beautiful relationship, one that was filled with laughter, shared dreams, and quiet evenings filled with soft conversations that stretched long into the night. But lately, the reality of his responsibilities as the strongest sorcerer had crept in, demanding more of his time and often leaving you alone in your shared apartment, counting the hours until he'd return.
As the rain pattered softly against your window, you found yourself curled up on the couch, a blanket wrapped around you as you flipped through an old photo album. You traced the familiar smile on Satoruâs face, a smile that always made your stomach flutter, remembering simpler times filled with adventures and moments of connection. It was during one of these sentimental reveries that your phone buzzed, snapping you out of your thoughts.
You picked up your phone, still half-lost in nostalgia, only to see a message from Shoko that made your heart drop.
Shoko: *one attachment*
Shoko: Who is she?
Your hands trembled slightly as you clicked on the attachment. A photograph loaded, and your breath hitched in your throat. There sat Satoru, dressed casually, with a beautiful woman gleaming beside him. They were laughing together, far too close for comfort, as if sharing an intimate moment over dinner. The sight made your stomach turn, and an immediate wave of dread washed over you.
âThis can't be what it looks like,â you thought desperately, but the image lingered in your mind, clawing at your intuition, prompting all the insecurities you had kept at bay. You quickly navigated to Satoruâs contact, fingers shaking as you typed out a message.
y/n: hey, you almost home?
He responded quickly, as if heâd been waiting for it.
satoru <3: Iâm sorry for keeping you up, baby. Something came up, and I wonât be making it home tonight. Get some rest, pretty. Promise Iâll make it up to you.
âSomething came up?â You couldn't help but feel an aching sense of betrayal. He had just left you hereâa promise drifting uselessly in the air while your heart pounded with anger and confusion. He promised he would never lie to you, never hurt you like this. Dread coiled tighter in your chest as your sadness morphed into something more furious.
You threw the phone onto the bed, frustration boiling over. You could feel the tears prickling at your eyes, the need to question everything you thought you knew about your relationship, drowning in a sea of uncertainty. Instead, you forcefully wiped at your cheeks, trying to stave off the wave of emotions crashing over you, but the ache remained, as cold as the sheets beside you.
Hours later, sleep finally overcame you, but it was fitful, haunted by dreams woven with doubts and shadows of betrayal.
The sound of the door unlocking jerked you out of sleep. You werenât ready to face him. Was he coming in with that same carefree demeanor, the one that had once made you feel cherished and adored? Instead, a knot formed in your throat, a mixture of sadness and anger simmering just below the surface.
He slipped in quietly, the rain still drumming softly outside. For a moment, he stood in the doorway, taking in the darkened room as you lay under the covers, still as a statue. A sigh escaped his lips, a sound filled with both weariness and regret.
âY/n?â he called softly, taking a cautious step toward you. His voice was everything you remembered, but it felt foreign too. You knew what was coming, knew that he would try to draw you out of your shell, but you couldnât let him.
You kept your eyes closed, pretending to be asleep, but your heart raced when he approached, his shadow casting a warm glow over you. His cool lips brushed your forehead, and your instinct was to flinch at his touch, pulling further away from the warmth you had longed for.
âSleepy girl?â he asked, and his tone was playful, but you could hear the lingering concern. There was a faux-lightness, the facade of everything being fine.
Slowly, you opened your eyes, a mix of vulnerability and defensiveness coursing through you. âSatoru,â you whispered, your voice cracking.
âHey, sorry Iâm late,â he began, a smile creeping onto his face. âI was outââ
You interrupted, the hurt spilling out before you could contain it. âYou were out with someone else.â The accusation hung in the air heavy and unyielding.
His expression faltered, confusion crossing his features. âWhat are you talking about?â
âShoko sent me a photoâŠâ You lifted your phone slightly, the image of him with the woman glaring back at both of you, unyielding in its implications.
His mouth opened, then closed, as the reality of it settled in. âItâs not what it looks like, I promise,â he insisted, the urgency in his tone pleading with you to listen. âI was out with a colleague. We were discussing mission strategies. I shouldâve told you beforeââ
âSo you thought hiding it was better?â You shot back, punctuating your words with the anger and distrust you felt. âI was left here alone and worried while you were out with her, laughing like you used to with me!â
âNo!â Satoruâs voice rose above the soft patter of rain. âYouâre misunderstanding! It was all businessâthereâs nothing going on between us. I swear it!â
Your heart ached, torn between the love you felt for him and the raw feeling of betrayal wrenching its way through your gut. âYou didnât even think to call? You didnât even take a moment to think of my feelings?â
His expression shifted, realizing your pain wasnât something easily dismissed. âYouâre right. I messed up, and Iâm so sorry. I thought I could handle it and spare you the worry, but I realize now I only made it worse. You deserve to know everything, and I took that away from you.â
You pulled the blanket closer around you, feeling the warmth being overshadowed by the chill of doubt. âCan I trust you still?â The question broke free from the storm inside you, a truth that needed to be faced, a raw admission.
âPlease, Y/n. Iâd never intentionally hurt you,â he pleaded, sincerity pouring from him. âYou are everything to me. Iâd fight a thousand battles just to come back to you.â
Visibly shaken, Satoru took a step closer, his eyes searching yours. In that moment, you could see the turmoil he endured, the weight of his choices pressing against him. It made your heart ache, made you remember the warmth of his embrace, the gentleness in his laughter, and the joy he brought into your life.
âJust promise me,â you whispered, your vulnerability surfacing. âPromise me that next time, youâll tell me everything before I have to find out through someone else.â
âAlways,â he vowed, a mix of desperation and hope shimmering in his eyes. âYou mean more to me than anything in the world, and Iâll never risk losing you again.â
Despite your hurt, a flicker of somethingâsome hopeâbegan to burgeon within you. Maybe this moment, shaky as it was, could become a foundation for rebuilding trust.
As Satoru knelt down beside you, something in you began to soften. âThen letâs start over tonightâtogether.â You extended your hand, seeking the touch you had been deprived of for too long.
His hand found yours, warm and electric, and as he squeezed gently, you felt the fragile strands of healing intertwining. Youâd need time, and there would be hard conversations ahead, but at that moment, you knew you wouldnât have to face them alone. With him by your side, you could navigate the tangled paths of love and trust once more.
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-> YOU'RE OUT OF TOUCH â I'VE BEEN OUTTA TIME
synopsis: you died six months ago, but you've come back to haunt johnny. not as a ghost, no â as some twisted version of you that johnny still loves. too bad you don't still love johnny, or remember him in any capacity.
word count: 4k
characters: john "soap" mactavish, resurrected! reader
trigger warnings: talk of canon-typical violence, temporal weirdness, hurt + damn near no comfort
notes: first soap fic.. hopefully i've written him well!! also i couldn't resist incorporating madness combat in this somehow lol it's taking over my life (you don't need to know anything about madcom to read this, don't worry). also tumblr user nevadancitizen using the amnesia trope again? it's more likely than you think.
Somewhere in Nevada, a battered body is denied death, so that it may be granted, en masseâŠ
And six months ago, somewhere in Russia, you were killed in action.Â
It was a single shot through the skull â nice, clean. You didnât suffer. Despite your killer more than likely being a terrorist (or working for one), they did you right. It was probably unintentional, but they still did you right.Â
Johnny couldnât bring himself to get out of bed, even to piss, for weeks after. He was completely numb to almost everything. The world passed by while he stood completely still, laying on his side in your shared bed, spooning a pillow that was rapidly losing your scent.Â
(He even tried spraying it with your perfume or cologne, but it didnât work. It was too strong â it didnât smell like when you wore it.)
Johnny thought all-too-often about what happened after death. He was ready to die, always has been, but he never really thought about what would happen if (or, more accurately, when) you died. He always cast those thoughts away, because he was done losing people. He was done with grief and screaming, pleading to God, and crying so hard he threw up.Â
But he eventually returned to his job. He eventually put you to rest. He prayed for the first time in damn near two decades that, if there was really an afterlife, that you were in Heaven.
(He just hoped that, whatever Heaven there was, it was good enough for you.)
But again, six months ago, somewhere in Nevada, a battered body was denied death, so that it may be granted, en masse.
It is a land without sun, without warmth unless you could find it in another body. It is a land without rules, without remorse, without regret.Â
It is a land of violence. It is a land that fits you well.
Despite being dead, you were sewed back together and cursed to live once more. Someone put a gun in your hands and told you, âListen bozo, I donât care where youâre from â just shoot!â
Of course, Johnny didnât know this. How could he? He watched your casket be lowered into the ground. He knew it wasnât empty â he had to confirm your identity in the morgue.Â
But he canât help but feel his stomach drop when Kyle comes rushing into his office, pointing behind him and, in a panting breath, says your name.Â
Johnny immediately springs up from behind his desk and almost pushes past Kyle to get out the door. He turns down the hallway to the left, where he knows it leads to the hospital ward.Â
âNo, Soap â Soap!â Kyle sprints after him, just barely catching his wrist. âWrong way, man.â
Johnny stops and, in his stunned state, lets Kyle lead him down the hallway to the right, away from the medbay, away from where you were surely waiting for him, recovering.
Kyle leads him into an elevator, scans his keycard, and presses the button for -3. Theyâre both uncharacteristically quiet. It just faintly registers in Johnnyâs mind that the floor -3 is below the parking garages, past where anyone typically goes.Â
(Past where anyone can hear screams ripped from tortured throats, really.)
When the elevator doors open, Soapâs greeted by a familiar sight. Itâs a grey concrete hallway, with two soldiers on either side, guarding the way in. Doors line the hall, each one steel with a keypad to unlock it.
Gaz leads Soap down the hall and doesnât stop for a while. Eventually, he stops in front of the last door and takes a deep, almost shuddering, breath.
Gaz inputs the code into the keypad and opens the door, nodding at the inside. âCome on.â
Soap, almost so quick he clips his shoulder on the doorframe, goes into the room. It overlooks an interrogation room, and itâs fit with a double-sided mirror, recording tech, everything.
Soap freezes when he looks into the interrogation room. It â itâs you, but⊠not you. Youâre pacing, and Johnny can only stare. Thereâs a grey flush to your skin â no, your skin is actually grey â and bandages cover the back of your head, dirty and frayed, like you havenât changed them in a while.Â
Youâre angry, a far cry from the person Johnny knew you to be. Sure, you could be angry, and Johnnyâs seen you angry, but thisâŠ
Youâre panting as you pace, fists clenching and unclenching as your eyes dart around the room. Soft mutters and expletives leave your mouth as you look around, surely looking for a way to escape.Â
Johnny just keeps staring. Youâre⊠alive? Yes, youâre not what Johnny remembers you to be, but youâre still alive.Â
âFucking â goddamnit!â You bang your fist on the steel table, causing it to rattle. âI donât have anything to tell you! Youâre all cowards ââ you turn to the double-sided mirror and point at it ââ especially you, Sheriff! Donât tell me youâre not back there!â
You immediately turn away, your hands coming to clutch at the sides of your head, your fingers digging into the bandages, almost ripping them. âI swear, when I get my hands on youâŠ!âÂ
âWe donât know what to do,â Kyle says softly. He looks over at Soap, his gaze obviously sad and sympathetic. âDo you want to try ân talk âem? Even if theyâre feelinâ a tad⊠neurotic.â
Johnny canât rip his gaze from you as you throw a steel chair at the wall, still cursing out someone named Sheriff and his lackeys. The chair bounces off the wall and one of the legs hits your shin, causing you to curse it out, too.
âYes,â Johnny says quickly, decisively.Â
Soap shifts on his feet, oddly impatient, as he waits for Kyle to unlock the door to the interrogation room. As soon as he does, Johnny shoulders past him and into the room. He hears a faint click as Gaz closes it behind him.Â
You immediately whirl on Johnny, your eyes wide and your breath labored.Â
âYou!â You point at Johnny like itâs meant to be some offensive gesture. âWhat do you want?â
You move closer, and Johnny catches sight of the dogtags hanging from your neck. You were buried with one, and he kept the other. He even gave you one of his own because, on that day, a part of him died with you. But⊠instead of two, you have four hanging from the metal chain.Â
You shove your finger in Johnnyâs chest, your fingernail digging through the thin fabric of his fatigues. âAnswer me!â
Soap immediately takes your wrist and cradles your hand to his chest. âBonnie, please, calm down.â
âDonât you dare tell me to calm down!â you bark, ripping your hand away from him. âI just lost one of my team and youâre telling me to calm down?!â
âYour team?â Soap echoes.
âDeimos!â you snap. âYou â you killed Deimos.â
You take a step back, your fists still clenched and your eyes still angry. âI saw your stupid fucking Engineer murder him. He was dead from the first five bullets, and you know he knew that! But oh, letâs just make sure heâs dead by unloading clip after clip into him.â
You heave a breath, almost growling. âLetâs desecrate his corpse. All because heâs a dissenter. Letâs make it oh-so-hard to bring him back.â
Johnny steps forward, just barely moving his foot, and you jump back like he took out a knife.Â
He breathes out your name, soft and unbelieving. âAre⊠is it really you?â
âOf course itâs me!â You turn and rest your hands on the steel table, obviously resisting the urge to bring your fists down against it. âAlways has been, always will be. Itâs always me.â
Johnny circles around the table and leans down a little, taking in your face. The grey makes you look dirty and unwashed, like youâve got a layer of dirt on you that you couldnât wash away.
You look up at him through your eyelashes. âI know you.â
Johnnyâs heart leaps into his throat and, for a hopeful moment, thinks that you remember him, that this is all some sort of stupid trick, that you went MIA instead of being KIA, that this is really you. The you Johnny knows, the you Johnny loves. But his heart is crushed beneath your boot when you speak next.Â
âI know soldiers like you,â you say softly. âSoldiers, produced en masse, told to shoot first and die quietly. Weâre both clones, you know? But thereâs a difference in what we want.â
You stand up straight, glancing at the double-sided mirror before turning your eyes back to Soap. âYou follow orders. When they say jump, you ask how high. But IâŠâ you laugh beneath your breath. âI am fighting for change. Normality. Youâre comfortable living in this⊠this chaos.â
âBonnie, what are you on about?â Johnny reaches across the table, trying to take your hand. You snatch it away before he even comes close.
Gaz slides into the room, holding a tablet. You whip your head around and glare at him.Â
His eyebrows lift a little, and he raises the tablet, as if in a defensive manner. âYour tablet. It ââ
You snatch it from Gazâs hands before he can talk again. You set it down on the table and stare at it, waiting.
Johnny can just barely see the interface. The top of the screen reads COMBASIC .9(beta). It looks like some sort of chat room. A few messages pop up in quick succession.
FellowD9: GOTEM FellowD9: YOU WERE RIGHT FellowD9: HE WAS COMPLIANT 2BDamned: Neat FellowD9: CHECK MY SECTOR FellowD9: ANCHOR HIM NOW [user:FellowD9 IS OFFLINE]
The messages seem to relax you, even if Johnny has no idea what theyâre talking about. You bring a hand to your forehead and laugh breathlessly, then set to typing.
CrosshairF6: lol hey im still alive CrosshairF6: aahw assholes gave me my tablet idk why CrosshairF6: check my sector & get me back 2BDamned: Getting Deimos right now, Iâll get back to you CrosshairF6: better do it right CrosshairF6: saw his corpse, looks like he ran through traffic [user:2BDamned IS OFFLINE]
Johnny watches as you tuck your tablet back in one of the inner pockets of your jacket, casting a suspicious glance at Gaz, like you expect him to take it back.Â
Gaz raises his hands and slips back out of the room, leaving you and Johnny.
âSo.â You look at Johnny. âWhy are you trying to act all buddy-buddy with me?â
âYouâre⊠you wereâŠâ Johnny sighs, an overwhelming feeling settling in his chest. âDo you remember⊠dying?â
âOf course,â you say, like itâs the most obvious thing in the world. â2B brought me back.â
â2B?â Johnny echoes. âLike, the one you were talkinâ to? 2BDamned?â
âYeah.â You move and lean back against the wall, crossing your arms over your chest. âHeâs all doctor-like, yâknow? Brings us back when we need it.â
âAnd heâs⊠on your team?â Johnny asks. He feels a deep pang of⊠something in his chest when the thought of you actually being on another team, separate from him, settles in his mind.
You nod. âYeah. 2B, Hank, Sanford, Deimos.â You tap the dog tags resting against your chest. âWeâre a team. Some of us are on a subteam, but still. Weâre a team.â
Johnny blinks hard, shaking the thought from his head. âDo you remember anything before you died?â
âSome, but⊠not a lot. Just blips of fighting, some soldiers, then Nevada.â You shrug. â2B says that happens sometimes.â
Johnny feels his tense shoulders relax, if only a little. âAny one specific soldier, bonnie?â
âNo,â you say. You look away and fiddle with your dogtags. âBut Iâve got the dogtag of someone named John.â
âJohn?â Johnny echoes, his heart picking up in his chest. âJohn âSoapâ MacTavish?â
âYeah.â Your gaze fixes on him again, immediately suspicious. âHow do you know that?â
âThatâs me, bonnie.â Johnny laughs breathlessly, moving towards you. He makes sure to stay slow and cautious, just in case. âIâm Johnny. Your Johnny.â
You move along the wall, away from him, just slightly. You seem to bristle a little, and bring your shoulders up a bit. âYouâre not mine. I donât own anyone.â
âNot in the literal sense, bonnie,â Johnny laughs, resisting the urge to trail after you. âIâm yours, romantically.â
You bring yourself off the wall, taking a step back. Itâs like youâre repulsed by the idea. âIâve never been romantically involved with anyone. You think Iâve got time for that?â
Itâs like Johnnyâs been punched in the gut. Tears well in his eyes and he suddenly feels so fucking sick. His feet almost come out from under him as he stumbles to the door, shaking hands putting in the code before slipping out.Â
He could take the idea of you maybe not remembering him, sure. He could just re-introduce himself. He could take the idea of you forgetting the time youâve spent together, because youâd remember, right? But the way you were disgusted by the idea of romance, the vitriol in your voice as you spokeâŠ
Johnny doesnât like the word ârelapseâ because he thinks it holds too heavy of a connotation, but thatâs the best way to describe what he did for the rest of the day, and into the early hours of tomorrow. He rotted in your shared bed, but instead of feeling numb, he felt his heart being wrenched by your hand, by your words.Â
He just laid there, looking at his sketchbook â a good one with thick paper. The one youâd gifted him for your six-month anniversary. Itâs filled with drawings of you: candid ones, ones where he had you pose (even though you were embarrassed), ones of you and him, together, doing couple-y things.Â
He could only mourn what was lost, because you seemed to have absolutely no interest in recovering it.Â
A week passes before youâre able to be let out of your cell. You slowly lost the fire and brimstone that filled your heart as you realized that the 141 really did want to help you. You feel better now that you have a few people by your side, fresh bandages, and a renewed sense of comfort.
(But you forgave yourself for acting like that in the beginning because, in Nevada, no one is nice. Not without an ulterior motive, at least.)
Youâre practically on a leash as Ghost leads you throughout the base. He doesnât talk as he guides you through winding hallways and up an exhaustive amount of flights of stairs.Â
Eventually, he opens a door labeled âROOF EXIT.â He tilts his head towards the door.
âSomeone waitinâ for you,â Ghost says gruffly. âAndâŠâ
He fishes around in his pocket and pulls out a carton of cigarettes. Your cigarettes.Â
Ghost takes your hand and puts it in your palm. âDonât set anything on fire.â
You close your fingers around it and nod. âGot it, boss.â
Ghost starts back down the stairs, leaving you and the open door to the roof. You move through it and look around.Â
Johnnyâs sitting, cross-legged, on the concrete roof, facing away from you. Itâs dark â obviously, itâs night. You look up and take in the stars, andâŠ
âYou have a moon,â you say softly.
Johnny looks back at you, a tentative smile on his face. Like heâs scared to be too hopeful. âYeah. We do.â
You hum and look at Johnny.Â
âDo youâŠâ Johnny glances at the floor, then back up at you. âDo you wanna sit with me, bonnie?â
You slowly move over to Johnny and sit by him. You keep a healthy distance, but youâre still closer than youâve ever been to him before.Â
âThose fags for sharinâ?â Johnny asks, a teasing smile on his face.Â
You look down at the carton of cigarettes in your hand. You grip them a little tighter, causing the thin carton to crumple a bit. âSure. Donât know if youâll like them, though.â
âNonsense, bonnie.â Johnny bumps his shoulder against yours. âLetâs give âem a go.â
You smile and take out two cigarettes. You hand one over to Johnny. Theyâre hand-rolled and donât have a filter, so they look more like joints, but the overwhelming smell of raw tobacco quickly quells that thought.
âGot a light?â you ask.
ââCourse.â Johnny reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small lighter. He lights his own cigarette, then pulls it away with a sputtering cough.Â
âSteaminâ Jesus, what is that?â He asks in between coughs.Â
You laugh, hitting your knee as Johnny reels from the taste. âItâs good, yeah?â
âHell no!â Johnny wipes tears from his eyes and looks over at you. Despite his coughing, a soft smile spreads across his face at the way youâre laughing â loud, unabashed. Just like before.
You swipe Johnnyâs lighter from his hand and light your cigarette, the cherry basking your face in a soft, warm glow. âWelcome to Nevada.â
âLetâs see that thing.â Johnny reaches over and takes the carton from your hand.
He turns it over, looking at it. The carton is worn, like itâs been refilled many times. Thereâs no warning about nicotine being an addictive chemical, just a grey box with a simple brand: G01 Choice. Thereâs a name scribbled on the back â Deimos, in all capital letters.Â
âDeimos,â Johnny says aloud. âThe man died and you stole his cigs?â
âHeâs not dead.â You take the carton back and tuck it into your jacket pocket. âNot anymore. Well, heâs died lotsa times, so I guess heâs an... honorary corpse.â
âAn honorary corpse,â Johnny echoes, looking down at the cigarette in his hand. He puts it out on the concrete. âJust like you, yeah?â
You take a drag off your cigarette and blow out the smoke in a single, smooth stream. âJust like me.â
A silence settles as you look up at the moon. You can feel Johnnyâs eyes occasionally flitting to you, then back up at the night sky.Â
âYour dogtags.â Johnny points in your direction. âWhose are they?â
You look down and tug on the metal chain, causing them to clink together. âMine, yours, and my teamâs.â
âYour team?â Johnny asks softly. âYou never told me about them.â
âYeah.â You look over at him. âIâm part of an extraction team. My partners are Sanford and Deimos.â
A pain, almost so real he thought he was actually injured, runs through Johnny when you say partners. The logical side of his brain chides him a few moments later because you obviously meant it in a militaristic sense, not a romantic sense.
âCan I see them?â Johnny asks.
You nod and take off the chain, then hand them to Johnny. He looks at the dogtags â he recognizes his and yours as being standard military dogtags, but Sanford and Deimosâ are much more⊠odd.
Sanfordâs reads SANFORD / MELEE + EXPLOSIVES / G02 (NEG) / RETURN TO FAMILY. Deimosâ reads DEIMOS / FIREARMS + TECH / G02 (POS) / NO FAMILY.Â
Johnny tilts the dogtags so that you can see them and runs a finger along the lettering. âWhat do these mean, bonnie?âÂ
You move a bit closer and lean in. âThe first lines are their names, obviously. The second is what theyâre proficient in. The third is what generation clone they are, and their blood types â there are only two blood types for second generation clones. And the last one is what to do with their bodies if they canât be revived.â
âWait, bonnie.â Johnny laughs breathlessly. âClones?â
âYeah, clones.â You tilt your head a little to the side. âWhat, you donât have cloning technology here?â
âOf course not!â Johnny laughs.
You laugh and bump your shoulder against his. âYou people are so primitive.â
Johnny smiles back at you and itâs like nothing is wrong. You both go quiet as you stare at each other until you look away.
âI, uhâŠâ you clear your throat awkwardly. âIâm sorry for being so⊠abrasive. Earlier, I mean.â
âItâs alright,â Johnny says, almost too quickly.Â
You scratch your cheek and glance over at Johnny, then away. âBut itâs not, is it? I shouldâve handled things better.â
âSomeone you know died right before we talked.â Johnny reaches over and, cautiously, puts his hand over yours where it rests on your knee. âItâs expected that you donât act like yourself.â
Your breath hitches, and Johnny squeezes your hand reassuringly in response.Â
âBut thatâs the thing,â you say. âIâve seen so many awful things before. People getting shot, stabbed, beaten, Hank tearing people apart with his bare hands. But, MakerâŠâ
You drag a hand down your face, rubbing your jaw. âDeimos is young. So young. Heâs only twenty-seven, and he always has a smile like heâs just tied your shoelaces together and is waiting for you to trip. And heâs so smart, even if everyone calls him a bit stupid. Yeah, heâs got a slower reaction time, but thatâs what me and Sanford are for, yâknow? HeâŠâ
You blink hard, trying to will your tears away. A soft, frustrated groan leaves your mouth as you duck your head and put your cigarette to your lips. âDonât look at me.â
Johnny starts to pull his hand away, but stops when you squeeze his hand. Instead, he squeezes your hand back, averting his gaze.
To Johnny, it again almost feels like nothing ever happened. Like thereâs no Russia, no Nevada, nothing besides you and him on this roof, together. But heâs no fool. He knows things have changed â that Nevada has changed you.Â
You breathe out a shaky plume of cigarette smoke. âI just want to go back.â
âBut youâre here now, bonnie,â Johnny says. He tries to ignore the crushing feeling in his chest, tries to keep his composure for you. âArenât you glad youâre back?â
âI donât know this place.â You look over at Johnny, your eyes rimmed with unshed tears. âYou keep saying that weâre together, that â that this is my home. But how can this be my home if I donât remember a thing about it? How can you be my boyfriend if I donât remember a thing about you?â
Johnny exhales sharply, like heâs just got the wind knocked out of him. âBonnie, please donât say that. Please.â
âI know violence, and I know bloodshed,â you say softly. âI know Nevada. This place, this worldâŠâ You gesture vaguely with your cigarette still in your hand. âItâs not mine.â
âBut there is violence here, there is bloodshed here,â Johnny insists. âHere, we fought together.â
âBut I donât remember us being together, in any capacity!â you snap. You take a breath and try your best to soften your words. âAll I remember from before is just flashes. I didnât remember your face. I just had your dogtag and a weird, empty feeling.â
Johnny sighs and feels tears welling up in his eyes. He canât tear his gaze away from you.Â
âYou really expected me to trace the bullet and sift through fleeting memories when there was an entire agency playing Pinkertons knocking down our door?â you ask softly. â2B was bandaging my head âcause he just finished playing around in my brains and Sanford was shoving a gun in my hands. They pointed me in a direction and told me to shoot. I didnât have the time to remember you.
âIâm sorry, but I just didnât.â You squeeze his hand before letting it go.
Johnny immediately scrambles to catch your hand in both of his, holding on desperately. âNo, bonnie, please.â
A few tears slip down Johnnyâs cheeks as he looks at you. Your face is a mirror of his own, just in greyscale. Your cheeks are stained with tears and your eyes are just beginning to get a bit puffy.Â
âIf you know youâre gonna be leaving again, then just let me hold your hand,â Johnny says softly, his voice wavering. âJust for a few more minutes.â
You nod and, when you blink, a tear rolls down your already-wet cheek. âOkay.â
Johnny slowly moves so that youâre sitting shoulder-to-shoulder to him. He hesitates before resting his head on your shoulder. You smell just like how he remembers, albeit tinged with the acrid tang of G01 Choice cigarette smoke. Youâre just as beautiful as the day he lost you.
âOkay.â
#riptide writes đ#call of duty đȘ#call of duty x reader#call of duty x you#cod x reader#cod x you#modern warfare 2 x reader#mw2 x reader#mw2 x you#soap x reader#john soap mactavish x reader#john mactavish x reader#soap mactavish x reader#johnny mactavish x reader#johnny soap mctavish x reader#john mactavish#john soap mactavish#soap call of duty#soap cod#soap mw2#cod soap#madness combat
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That omegaverse ask about John and Dean hits every mommy Dean spot in never knew it had đđđ
Do you think Dean would have (or have hints of) Mary's scent (perhaps omega too). I'd go insane over a Weirdcest scenario(s) where John reflects that his thinking abit too much of how similar Dean was to his late mother.
Like the hints of his scent, the way Dean soothe his younger brother out of tantrums or crying fits when they move again/get back from a hunt, how Dean prefers his toast buttered instead of jam, even down to his pre-heats moa-WHOOPS đ
(I'm begging you please, please, pretty please post your tumblr snippets on A03 (if you want ofc). Scriptures like this should be shared to all who bear witness!!)
hi, anon!! thank you so much! (the post anon is referring to)
based on the poll i recently did, it looks like folks are cool with me posting them on ao3, so I'll try to do that this weekend, hopefully!
and EEE i'm so glad you're liking the mommy dean monday posts! somehow, omegaverse lends itself very well to my mommy dean agenda.
personally, i am not typically a john x dean or sam fan, so i leant away a little from that, i hope that's alright! <3 but i COMPLETELY agree that john would be weird about all of the ways dean & mary are similar, especially after dean presents.
i think dean would absolutely have bits of mary's scent, so the second john runs outside at bobby's because sam is screaming his head off, and dean's half-comatose and eight-year-old sammy is straddling and shaking him and screaming dean's name because he just passed out dad, i don't know what's wrong he smells wrong something's wrong. john catches a smell he hasn't smelled in years. it almost takes him to his knees.
before pups present, they smell pretty neutral, and like whichever parents are around. so as the boys have grown up, they stopped smelling like pack, and more just like john.
once john's picked him up and taken him upstairs, and tries to awkwardly explain to dean why his ass is leaking and he feels like his skin is about to peel off, he can tell that it's not one-to-one. mary smelled like an open field and old books and sunscreen, and something, of course, uniquely mary. dean smells like an open field, but he also smells like sunshine and motor oil and sweat. john knows he gets the heartier parts of his scent from john himself. after dean is settled with some water and a toy that john can barely touch without passing out in embarrassment, john puts 800% of his attention into calming down a hysterical sam who doesn't understand why he can't go see dean because dean smells sick. because if john even lets himself think about it for a second, he'll have to leave the house because the ghost of mary lingers in the very air.
even before dean presents, he's been reminding john of mary. he's so strong-willed, so passionate. he can also handle people like no problem. a teacher pulls john aside when he picks dean up from first grade to tell him that dean helped a kid get their lunch back from a fifth grader--unprecedented bravery when the other kid was so big.
once dean's fully presented, john sees pieces of mary everywhere in dean. dean'll scrunch his nose in annoyance, and his scent will dampen like he just threw a blanket over it. mary used to do it all the time john said something bone-headed. he hates being comforted when he's annoyed, just like she did, and dean'll leave if john tries to talk about it.
more than anything, he handles sam.
before he presented, he'd just say a few words and sam would stop mid-tantrum to fall back into dean's arms and weep. when dean's eight and sam's four, john comes back to find dean asleep, propped up against the headboard of one of the beds, sammy pressed against his side with his nose nudging dean's non-functioning scent gland. he'd come home to find mary and baby dean like that a million times, asleep on the couch while E.T. played on their little TV. down to dean's protective hand along sam's spine, the scenes are identical. john wishes he could take out his rickety old camera. but the light is too dim to take a photo, and john doesn't have any more film, regardless.
after he presents, john watches dean scent sammy every morning before school. when he first presents, he'll do a full scenting usually reserved for couples due to its intimacy, rubbing his head and neck against sam's askew hair. john lets him get away with it because it's--to be frank--really damn cute. when they're running behind, dean'll rub his wrists against sam's hair instead, and when john finally pulls dean aside and tells him that scenting sam with his neck glands is probably a no-go, dean does this full-time.
he catches dean reminding sammy to bring his item for show and tell in, while sam stands obediently in the motel doorway while dean rubs his wrists on sam's hair and neck. sam tilts his head this way and that, obediently, like he and dean have choreographed it. mary used to do it before dean would go out to play with the neighborhood kids next door, like someone would break in and steal him.
when sam has a meltdown when he's ten about having to move when he just signed up for the soccer season, dean takes sam out for a walk. john finds them outside a few hours later, having come back from their walk and sat on a bench near the lobby of the motel. sam has his face pressed into dean's neck, dean with an arm around him, petting soothingly across his forehead, through his hair, and down his side.
when dean gets injured on a hunt and john brings him back, sam, not yet presented at twelve but clearly on the verge of something, reminds john frighteningly of how he was with mary when she got in a fender bender while pregnant with dean. after the pain pills catch up to dean, and he's sleeping--patched up and safe--in bed, sam takes dean's limp wrist and rubs it over his face and neck, eyes suspiciously glassy. john has to look away.
as dean gets older, and his limbs get more willowy, john'll be caught out by just how damn much he does look like mary. he hums when he makes food on the stove, he always wipes he feet four times on the rug if it's raining outside, he prefers three spoonfuls of sugar in his coffee, he chews on the inside of his cheek when he's thinking. and his eyes. they're mary's eyes, with her eyelashes.
he knows he fails dean in a lot of ways, because he doesn't know shit about being an omega. he tries to run into omegas where he can, like pastor jim and bill harvelle, for advice.
he knows if mary were here, things would be easier. but he knows, when he watches his son chastise sammy for not zipping up his coat, and when he's disappointed in john and the skin around his eyes get tight, and when he watches dean squirrel away rare cash for sammy's birthday gift, and when he watches dean clean a gun with such precision that it sends a shiver down his spine, that dean is every ounce the omega that his mother was. and maybe twice the person either of them could be.
thank you so much for this ask!!! (and for your patience!!) i had a TON of fun thinking about it, and i loved reading your ask! <3 mwah!
-lizzy
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snow, confessions and kisses. [bajifuyu]
this is my first writing tumblr post and my first time writing fanfic in general so please let me know if it's too ooc! any and all feedback is appreciated <33 [word count; 800]

âcome on!â baji yelled âitâs really not that cold outside!â chifuyu sighed and paused at the apartment steps. fall passed and winter took itâs place, covering the dry roads with fresh snow and gently coaxing trees to let go of their leaves. oftentimes, chifuyu preferred to stay inside during the winter, wrapped up in his duvet, absorbed in another romance manga and yet he found himself fall complicit to the ever hyper keisuke.Â
before chifuyu could respond baji tugged on his hand and yanked him out into open, pulling him into a foot of layered snow, snowflakes softly cascading from the cloudy, baby blue sky.Â
âyou can get so hesitant sometimesâ baji mused out loud, chifuyuâs face heated up. he was grateful he could excuse that as the snow. âitâs really cold, come on..â chifuyu whined softly, though, he was eternally indebted to the universe for gifting chifuyu with moments like this with baji. to be fair, he was more than ecstatic to do whatever if it was with him, but would he ever admit that? never. chifuyu doubted baji felt the same way.Â
chifuyuâs train of thought was rudely interrupted by a ball of snow hitting dead centre on his forehead, snapping back to reality he yelped and stumbled back. âwhatâs wrong with you?!â chifuyu yelled back childishly. baji snorted and promptly burst out in a fit of giggles. âyouâre so red! gosh you should see your face-â chifuyuâs ears burned. chifuyu lunged forward and in a tussle they landed on the soft soft blanketed snow with a thud âah-â baji huffed uncharacteristically. âuh. s.. sorry..â chifuyu choked out. oh god. baji looked so heavenly from this angle - not that he didnât always look heavenly in chifuyuâs eyes - but especially now, pinned down, hair splayed out, face flushed from the cold, childish glint in his eyes and his unashamed smile. so pretty. so pretty. chifuyuâs brain went blank. he thanked the universe for letting him witness such a sight. âare you gonna get off of me?â baji spoke teasingly. ây- yeah.. i was-â chifuyu choked out and immediately pulled away after a second of hesitancy, opting to plop down on the ground of snow next to him.Â
he turned his head to face the sky to calm his nerves. âyouâre really stupid sometimes you know?â baji spoke softly. soft, as soft as the snow that crumped under their bodies, soft as the warm winter duvet that they enveloped themselves in during sleepovers in this season, as soft as the countless hot chocolates they shared. baji keisuke was soft to chifuyu matsuno. ever moment spent with him was something chifuyu would always look back on with an indescribable fondness. âi..- uh. youâre also really stupid. i guess we can be stupid togetherâ chifuyu huffed and responded weakly. baji turned his head to meet chifuyuâs unsure gaze. âi like you, chifuyuâ baji murmured softly, almost as if it was to himself. if chifuyu wasnât already flustered, he was now. his brain went paper white. âw.. what?â âare you even stupider than i thought?!â âno- i- waiââ âoh jeez..â bajiâs soft complaint was cut off with a small press to his lips. oh god. chifuyu was kissing him. where did all this courage come from? baji tangled his fingers in chifuyuâs hair as all the suppressed emotions tumbled out. chifuyu started getting lightheaded and his world started to tilt. oh god. what was happening? why did he do this? it was all too sudden, too fast, too bold. he threw all those insecurities the second baji groaned into his mouth. fuck. he was smitten.Â
after what seemed like eternity chifuyu pulled away for air. âso does this mean the feeling is mutual?â baji smirked cockily. of course he knew. chifuyu huffed pathetically, still dazed from the kiss âwhyâre you even asking.. iâm sure it was more than obviousâ âdonât sound so downâ âshut upâ. as much as chifuyu tried to hide it, he was elated. it took a bit to process. he just kissed keisuke baji. the keisuke baji. fuckkk he was down bad. chifuyu stared back at the sky in a daze, lips swollen from the kiss, face flushed and eyes glossy. âitâs getting coldâ baji muttered, chifuyu hummed in response. he took chifuyuâs hand in his and pulled him up, and kept holding his hand as they walked home. immediately collapsing on the couch, baji tugged chifuyu next to him and wrapped his arms around him, burying his face in chifuyuâs neck. chifuyu whimpered softly at the feeling and reciprocated the embrace with a flustered face. âi thought you didnât like meâ âi guess i didnât make it obvious enough, donât worry.. iâll make up for itâ baji muttered sleepily, hot breath falling onto chifuyuâs neck, âyouâd betterâ. the world was soft for the two boys.Â
#tokyo revengers#chifuyu matsuno#baji keisuke#bajifuyu#tokyorev#tokyo revengers fluff#fanfic#fluff#sashimi writes
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idk if this counts as a soft thought but ... imagine a dk who used to be short when he was like 12 and used to be really nice to you then when you graduated from elementary school he vaguely told you he liked you and you went :0
and then fast fwd 4 years later, you're going to the same high school as him and he says hi and ure like shit. he grew taller. tanner, his voice is deeper (you'd always thought it'd already broken in elementary sch but turns out it didn't)
just đ« đ« childhood friends to lovers dk !!
first of all ty for sending smth in kimchi cause istg i was dying earlier like my tumblr is so DRY and ur the only person who indulged my boredom yayay!! also this is LITERALLY making my head spin like crazy cause just think abt it skjdks
warnings: fem!reader. mention of seokmin getting bullied both in elementary and middle school, and he gets taller, tanner, hotter, and has straighter teeth and a deeper voice by the time he's in high school. not proofread and written on tumblr which i never do so it might be ATROCIOUS but its soft thoughts anyway so it doesn't have to be perfect <3
wc: ~1.1k.



ofc you loved to spend time with seokmin when you were in elementaryâ like you two were practically inseparable. and you first met him when you saw him getting bullied by some jerks in the same year as you. ofc you told them to go away (might've punched one of them just to get your point across, but you and seokmin swore that you would never speak of that detail again). they were so scared of you after you threw the punch that it actually worked and they never bothered him again. and little seokmin was practically in awe of you since that very moment and ofc he develops a small large crush on you </3
but you two end up getting cruelly separated when seokmin tells you that because of the need to move for his parents' work, he's going to be put an all-boys middle school while you're still going to the regular mixed one that most of the kids from that same elementary were going to. during your middle school years, seokmin doesn't cross your mind a lot. it's only when you get a confession from a boy in your class that you're reminded of him and that last day of 5th grade.
you couldâve sworn you heard the words âI like youâ fall from his lips except it was so quiet and murmured that youâre not quite sure if it actually happened or if your brain wanted it to so bad that you hallucinated it into existence. and since you're not positive that he did actually confess to you (or that he would still hold the same feelings he did at 10 as a 15 year old), you don't hope for anything else concerning seokmin. much to your 10 year old self's disappointment, because of course you had already imagined a whole life together with your best friend. you don't remember it having any distinction as to whether seokmin was still your best friend or if he was your boyfriend, but it didn't matter to you as long as he was still in your life.
but the first day at your new high school you realize that youâre so fucking screwed itâs not even funny. because as youâre looking at the list of students and what class their first period is you recognize a very familiar name and your brain practically goes blank.
lee seokmin.
and god damnit he has science as his first period just like you. so as you walk into the class youâre frantic to scan the room for any short boy with milky skin, crooked teeth, and a high pitched slightly squeaky voice that you absolutely adored at the age of 10. but heâs not there; well, at least, not fitting that description of him that you remember.
the boy who you quickly see waving excitedly to you is in fact the lee seokminâ you can tell from his name tagâ but god had he changed. he had grown at least 20 cm from the last time you saw him because even sitting in his desk he looked lanky. not only his height had changed, but he had also gotten tanner. and he mustâve had braces at some point in middle school because his teeth looked straighter. and his voice. god his voice alone had your heart racing. you couldâve sworn it had deepened two octaves at least.
and it was hot.
the boy who you could only label as your adorable, nerdy, loser best friend who cowered behind you in the face of bullies was hot.
this turn of events rendered him almost unrecognizable. and you were sure you wouldnât have been able to recognize him if it werenât for his smile, which was as bright and beautiful as always, with or without the crooked teeth.
and maybe it was that smile that made you just a little relieved that he hadn't changed as much as his appearance had. so you gathered some confidence and walked over to the desk he was sitting in and slid into the seat next to him. you returned his 'hi' that he had shot you from across the room, and as soon as you did, you were practically tackled in a hug.
and it felt the same as his old hugs, which was a relief to your mind but not to your heart, which doubled its speed at least. before your class started, you somehow managed to get up to speed with all of seokmin's middle school years (you were so glad that he was still as talkative and unserious as you remember).
"you don't know how worried i was walking in 30 minutes ago. the school is so big and none of my old classmates go hereâ though maybe i should be thankful for that. but as soon as i saw your name on the student list, for some reason, i knew it would all be okay. you're hereâ you're actually here. so they can't touch me."
he said all of this with the biggest smile on his face and you were sure your eyes had actual hearts in them as you listened to him explain everything animatedly.
you and seokmin talked and talked and talked. he would walk you to your class just to keep the conversation going before the second bell rang and he had to race off to his next period on the other side of the building. but he didn't mind being late every time if it meant getting to hear you laugh for 3 minutes longer.
you were back to being best friends with seokmin, and neither of you could be happier. what was most relieving was how it all fit back into place without any struggle. as if seokmin was a puzzle piece that had been temporarily dropped on the floor and had just been picked up again and put back where he belonged (by your side).
you never got the courage to ask seokmin about that last day of 5th grade until your 3rd year of high school together when you had gotten a little tired of seeing a certain classmate of yours which you despised talk so openly about her crush on seokminâ even in front of him and you. so even though your throat got all tangled up as you brought up the topic, you forced yourself to at least ask him the question.
"did you like me when we were younger?"
and his answer came so easily and naturally that you had to double-take.
"of course i did. wasn't it obvious?"
âł svt taglist: @kangtaehyunzzz,, @eternalgyu,, @ddeonudepressions,, @hannahsophie0103,, @minholing,, @shuabby1994,, @icyminghao,, @98-0603,, @weird-bookworm,, @candewlsy,, @wonwooz1,, @cyberpunksunwoo,, @haecien,, @amara-mars,, @okshu,, @parkjennykim,, @wootify,, @svtoose,, @seunghancore
#ficsăăâ˰#soft thoughtsăăâ˰#caratsland#k-labels#dk#dokyeom#seokmin#lee seokmin#svt#seventeen#svt dk#svt dokyeom#svt lee seokmin#svt seokmin#seventeen dk#seventeen dokyeom#seventeen lee seokmin#seventeen seokmin#svt fluff#svt fic#svt dk fluff#svt dk fic#svt dokyeom fluff#svt dokyeom fic#svt seokmin fic#svt seokmin fluff#seventeen fluff#seventeen fic#seventeen dk fluff#seventeen dk fic
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