#guess whos up playing future tone ^_~

[bbokicidal]

"What Happens When.." | [SKZ] OT8| [SEUNGMIN]

Hyunjin makes a bet that Seungmin can't satisfy his girl with just his hands - so he decides to prove him wrong. And with an audience.

Genre: Smut [18+ MDNI] Pairing: Seungmin x Fem!Reader Warnings: orgasm denial, edging, lots of teasing, meandom!seungmin (kind of), fingering, spit (f receiving), masturbation (m)

Notes: This IS a short fic and isn't anything really long. There's no plot - it's purely smut for your viewing pleasure and my mental peace, lol. <- And thank you to everyone who waited so patiently for this while I went through my writers block rut, hahaha.

Word Count: 1.2K

Bangchan | Lino | Changbin | Hyunjin | Han | Felix | Seungmin | I.N

"I... guess I was wrong." Hyunjin murmurs out more to himself than anyone else.

He'd been dumb enough to make a bet against the one, the only, Kim Seungmin. And the decision was dumb because he should've known better that Seungmin wouldn't back down from a challenge - especially when it had to do with you. Hyunjin wouldn't make any more bets against him in the future, that's for sure. Not after seeing the way you squirmed on your boyfriend's fingers like he was sucking the life out of you; The way you writhed against the sheets, back arching up off of the mattress and hips wriggling in a way that showed him - and everyone else in the room - that you only wanted more.

Though Hyunjin wasn't the only one so openly ogling your reactions. Some of the members had taken to glancing away either because they were too shy to stare or were too busy getting themselves off. But then there were the members who just loved to watch - those two being Jisung and Minho. While the younger of the two was watching in a more curious, excited manner with his hand down his pants tugging on his cock while it made a leaky mess in his boxers - Minho's gaze was far more... heavy. His eyes were dark, filled with lust as his head tipped down and he watched the scene play out in front of him through thick lashes. He'd restrained from touching himself at all, just a tad more resilient than his younger counterpart, but had been kind enough to himself to let his thighs fall apart. So he sat, manspreading in the chair in the corner of the room with a gaze as heavy as lead, just watching you fall apart for one of the youngest in the group.

"Gonna come?" Seungmin's tone is nothing short of teasing. His voice lilts with interest at the way you nod up to him, hair ruffling against the sheets as if the way your body reacted to his thumb pressing against your clit wasn't enough to tell him you were close. Your boyfriend chuckles, breathing out a laugh as he carefully slows his pace. Your body thrashes for a moment in annoyance before settling back down on the sheets, letting him do as he pleased because ultimately - he was in control here. "Hey," Seungmin bites, using his free hand to slap your pussy just as his movements stop. "None of that tantrum shit. Don't you want to behave in front of the others?"

"Don't think I'm ever gonna forget this," Felix's words don't fall on deaf ears. Seungmin looks up from where he sat between your thighs, fingers continuing to pump into your pussy so quickly it had you beginning to squirm and lift your hips off of the sheets. Felix sits up near the headboard, one hand laying on the pillow under his weight while the other rubs over his groin overtop his jeans. The feeling of the denim rubbing against his hard cock was something close to Heaven on Earth for him right now. Seungmin watches, letting his eyes wander over his Hyung for just a moment, before glancing beside him to the maknae - who was falling apart way faster than the Aussie.

Jeongin was in shambles. He'd been tugging on his cock since the moment you'd stripped naked in front of them, letting your boyfriend prove himself to his closest friends, and now he was just melting into the sheets. Slumped against the headboard and audibly whimpering just loud enough to be heard if one listened in closely - Jeongin let his eyes drag over your body where you lay in front of him. "You're being kind of - mean, don't you think, Hyung? Teasing her.." His hand slowed just for a moment as you moved to tip your head to the side, grateful the youngest had spoke up for you, moaning out and whimpering against his skin. He was close enough that when your head turned, your lips made contact with the bare skin of his thigh - his pants long discarded on the floor nearby. And the feeling of your breath fanning over his skin made him visibly tremble, cum leaking from the tip of his cock before he could even comprehend what was happening.

"I don't think I've ever seen him this determined," Changbin murmurs to someone to his left. His arms are crossed over his chest and he stands leaning against the wall - refusing to give in as easily as most of the others. He was one of the one who wouldn't look directly at you - at your tits swaying each time Seungmin got a little more rough with you, or the way you body arched and crooned into every move your boyfriend made. Not because he didn't want to, but because the sight of you looking so... desperate in front of all of them because Changbin a bit .. shy, with his ears painted a warm, bubbling crimson - and the color draining down to swatch his neck as well. But how was he supposed to ignore the sounds of your pussy clenching around your boyfriend's fingers - and the way he could see you practically drooling out of his peripheral vision...

Beside him, Chan was.. more than willing to look. He liked to touch, even, letting his fingertips brush over your cheek and watching your mouth open like you wanted to welcome him in. The eldest leaned down and for a moment, your breathing hitched, thinking he looked awfully big hovering over you in such a way - broad and thick and heavy, just like the cock that strained against his boxers begging to be freed. Your eyes dart up from between his legs and you stare as his tongue pushes along the inside of his lips. He gathers the spit on his tongue before giving it to you inside - spitting right onto your own and watching as you close your mouth to swallow it down. And you can't just ignore the soft "Good girl," that escapes his lips shortly after.

And Seungmin can't ignore the way you react. The way your body jolts up off of the sheets as your gut turns into knots, aching for release. He knows the signs - knows you'll squirt all over the sheets if he doesn't stop now - so he all but rips his hand away and watches as your body writhes in, once again, frustration. The warmth between your legs slowly begins to fade away as your boyfriend sits back, laughing at the way your nose crinkles and your eyes squeeze shut in hope that it's just a dream. "It's okay, baby," He soothes, both hands slowly running up the expanse of your inner thighs until his thumbs could spread you open for him all over again. Seungmin sits forward and leans down to spit right on your clit, your hips jutting at the sudden feeling.

"One more time, yeah? You've already done such a good job putting on a show for them. You can handle one more."

- Permanent Taglist :

@dwaekkicidal @jabmastersurpriseee @possum-playground

@thatonedarkskinnedsiren @oc3anfloor @theyadorevalerie

@jeonginsleftcheek

[wriokitty]

greens — ft. wriothesley

includes: hints at wrio’s past and his mother that he reflects on ; established relationship ; gender neutral reader ; reader force feeds him veggies because i hc he hates them ; based kind of on this post

“Wriothesley,” you warn. He pauses, glancing at you cautiously at your tone.

“You sound…not happy,” he points out.

You raise a brow, unimpressed and unamused as you say, “Very astute observation.”

“What’d I do this time?” He pouts, slumping in his chair as he tries to sift through his brain for what he’s possibly done. He doesn’t have to think for too long, though—you answer for him instantly.

He almost wishes you never did.

“Finish your vegetables, Wriothesley,” you scold firmly, “you’re not leaving this table until you finish your greens—they’re good for you.”

Finish your vegetables, Wriothesley.

They’re good for you.

You’re not leaving this table until you finish.

There’s something eerily familiar about the words. He thinks he may have swallowed his vision—a chill seeps along his esophagus as he swallows thickly, the frost mixing with his blood as it runs cold and makes him stiffen. There’s ice in his veins. Frigid, harsh, cruel, and sharp.

He plays with his fork, not meeting your stare as he moves the leftover dinner on his plate around with a dazed look.

“Not hungry,” he mutters. “I’m full.”

“You never finish your vegetables,” you huff, “honestly, Wrio, you’re an adult, you know. Don’t be difficult about eating healthy.”

Everything you say sounds devastatingly familiar. His mother’s words take shape in your voice, molding in your throat and waltzing past your lips to haunt him. It’s your voice, sure, but they’re her words. Something about it makes him feel young again—but it’s not rooted in nostalgia. Not fond memories or amusing moments he can look back at and smile.

They taunt him, he thinks. The sweet smile and kind eyes, the firm tone and gentle strictness. His mother’s love was easy to believe. So painfully simple, it felt like she did it just as she breathed. Inhaling his presence and exhaling her care for him in a steady rhythm between expansion and contraction in her lungs.

Eat your vegetables, Wriothesley, she’d tell him. If you want to grow big and strong, you have to eat them.

He wonders now, as he stares at the remnants of dinner, if she’d ever cared for his growth because she cherished his wellbeing. If the thought of him being older, stronger, and maybe even wiser was something she was proud of. (He knows the answer. Deep, in the gaping hole of his chest, the knife twists into the raw edges of a still-healing wound.

He knows. Better than anyone, he knows she never cared. Not for anything other than growing him big and desirable so she could sell him off, offer him up like she saw him as though he was marketable. Like an animal, maybe. An item. A luxury, even.

But not a child. He was never a child in her eyes—simply always just a person who wasn’t grown yet.)

“Hey,” you snap your fingers in front of his face, pulling him out of his daze. Something in your face is softer now, flooded with concern, dripping with anxiety. “You okay?”

“Sorry,” he blinks, staring past your head and at the wall. His voice is soft and barely-there as he all but whispers, “just haven’t heard that in a while. I guess some things never change, huh? I was a handful then, and now, too.”

It’s a poor attempt at a joke. You see right through it—you always do. Some form of recognition and realization and maybe even heartbreak flashes in your eyes, and he hates it. Hates that he can never escape something as mundane as dinner being tainted with demons that make everything unholy. Past demons that shape shift into his present. His future.

His everything.

They reach to grab him, to drag him back into that dark, unforgiving hole in his mind where he can’t climb out. Can’t reach for any sort of leverage to pull himself out and find the light. But just before they can reach out and touch him, you get to him first—one hand grabbing his across the table as you smile softly.

“Well, there’s only one way to handle a stubborn child who doesn’t eat his vegetables.”

“What? Punish me?” He raises a brow. You pretend you don’t hear the underlying bitterness in his tone.

Instead, you reach your fork across the table and onto his plate, stabbing at the broccoli head left untouched before bringing it up to his lips and waving the fork in circular motions.

He scrunches his brows in distaste. You smile and fight back a giggle as you sing, “here comes the plane! Ready for landing in three, two, one…”

“Are you serious?” He snorts, equal parts amused and equal parts in disbelief.

You huff, glaring. “The plane is waiting to land, y’know.”

“Fine,” he sighs in defeat, letting you push the broccoli past his lips and into his mouth. He grumbles, chewing against his will as you watch him intently. “This is gross.”

“Well, one day, when you’re big and strong, you’ll thank me.”

“I’m already big and strong,” he insists, looking a little dramatically wounded.

“Bigger and stronger,” you correct. “You’ll thank me eventually.”

He already has plenty to thank you for, he thinks, eyes trained on you as the light casts over your features like heaven resides in your skin. But adding one more thing to the list is more than okay.

Better than okay, in fact.

So umm….idk. I’m sad about him :( also it’s 2 am and I’m sleepy and this is not proof read I’m sorry. It could be written better but I’m tiredddf

[sturniolohouse]

Camera Shy - M.S.

reader and matt go to a 3D ultrasound appointment to get a glimpse of their future daughter, who is seemingly camera shy.

“This is freaking me out,” Matt mutters, his face pale as he stares at the 3D image on the screen. His fingers drum nervously on his thigh that is bouncing up and down. 

"I know. It’s a little alien-like, huh," I say, watching the screen like a hawk, but all I can see are what look like limbs in the swirly mix of brown and tan on the screen. 

“Is that an arm or a leg?” He gawks at the screen, his blue eyes wide with a mix of awe and unease.

“That was an arm, although she does have very long legs,” the tech speaks up, her tone amused but light as she presses more buttons on the panel. 

I chortle, shaking my head. “Explains why she kicks me in the ribs constantly.”

“I’m just going to apply a little more pressure here to get a better angle of baby’s face. She’s sort of nestled into your side here,” the tech says, shifting the wand and pressing it deeper into my skin. 

“She really doesn’t want to cooperate today, does she?” I say, half-joking, though a part of me feels a pang of disappointment.

“Stubborn already,” Matt remarks, glancing at me with a small smirk. “Definitely takes after you.”

“Excuse me?” I shoot him a playful glare. “If anyone’s stubborn, it’s you. You do the same thing when I try to wake you up, grump,” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, playing dumb, the corner of his mouth twitching.

The tech chuckles, clearly amused by our banter, “Why don’t you try moving her a bit? Press your hand onto this side and gently nudge her. See if that does the trick,” 

I place my hand where she instructed, pressing in a few times, keeping my eyes fixed on the screen. I watch for any sign of movement, but she stays put, stubbornly nestled against my side. I sigh deeply, but do it again, a bit harder this time when the tech encourages me that I can't hurt her. I feel her stir before I see it on the screen.

“Oh, oh, alright. Are you gonna show us your face, little one?” I ask softly and Matt moves in closer to get a better look. 

For a brief second she shifts position, giving us a teasing glimpse of her tiny profile. But just as quickly as she moved, her little hands shoot up to cover her face again, curling tightly into fists.

Matt groans playfully, throwing his hands in the air. “It’s like she knows,” 

“Oh wow, she’s definitely got a personality. Got her hands balled up in front of her face and everything.” She chuckles softly, and I sigh, glancing at Matt.

“Well, now we can say she definitely gets that from you,” I tease, tilting my head toward him. “Guess she won’t be a morning person either.”

Matt shoots me a side-eyed glare, his cheeks already tinged pink from the nerves that always seem to take over during these appointments. 

“I’m kidding,” I go to poke his cheek but he grabs my hand, gently pushing it away from his face and instead encases it in his warm hand. 

“Do you want to turn on your side, hun? Might make her change positions,” The tech offers another solution and I wave a hand at her and shrug. 

“That’s okay, she clearly doesn’t want to be bothered. We’ll try again next week.” I sigh, trying not to think about how she might be too big by then to get a good imaging. I'll be 32 weeks.

“I…might have an idea,” Matt speaks up hesitantly and I turn to him with a raised eyebrow. 

“What’s your idea?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at him though the corner of my mouth quirks up.

“Alright, don’t yell at me. It’s all I can think of,” he begins, grabbing his phone from his pocket. 

“If you do something stupid–”

“I’m not!” he insists, but his giggles give him away.

I watch him with a mix of skepticism and amusement. “You’re totally about to do something stupid.”

Matt grins mischievously, typing away at his phone, “Trust me,” he says, giggling as he pulls up a music app. “This is guaranteed to work.”

Before I can protest further, the room fills with the unmistakable bass drop of Sicko Mode. The tech freezes for a second, glancing between the two of us–clearly entertained, while I stare at Matt in disbelief.

“You’re kidding,” I say in absolute shock. “You’re seriously playing Travis Scott for her right now?”

“You’ve told me she does somersaults when music is on, Sicko Mode is the only way,” He reasons with nervous laughter.

I turn to the tech and ask her if I’m having a stroke, to which she shakes her head as she watches this scene unfold, trying her best to stifle her laughter.

“Will you at least turn it down,” I snap but can’t help but laugh as he shushes me and brings the speaker closer to my stomach.

And I’ll be damned... She moves. The screen flickers as her tiny fists shift, moving to rest beneath her dimpled chin, her face perfectly in frame.

“You’re actually kidding me—”

“I told you!” Matt exclaims, practically bouncing in his chair, his grin so wide it’s infectious.

I press my hand over my mouth, a mix of laughter and disbelief bubbling up. “I can’t believe she actually moved for Sicko Mode.”

Her tiny features are clear now, her face peaceful and perfect. My heart tightens.

The tech is laughing now, shaking her head as she looks at the screen. “I have to say, this is a first for me. But hey, whatever works,” She says as she starts snapping pictures.

We all tune out the music for a moment and watch the screen, finally soaking in the face we've been dying to see for months. I feel a lump rise in my throat and I almost tear up as I take in the faint resemblance of Matt in her little features–the curve of her nose, the shape of her lips–but my thoughts are interrupted.

“She looks exactly like you, kid.” Matt says suddenly, his voice soft and full of awe.

I blink, turning to him. “What?”

“Look at her,” he insists, pointing at the screen. “That round little face, that's your nose…look, at that little pout. C’mon that’s you,” He's smiling ear to ear.

I laugh quietly, brushing at my eyes. “I don’t know about that. I see you in her. You make that same face,” I sniffle.

Matt squeezes my hand, his grin and his eyes softening into something more tender. “Nah. She’s all you,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper as his eyes stay locked on the screen.

I turn back to the image on the monitor, my throat tight as I take in every detail of our perfect girl.

“Maybe she’s a little bit of both of us,” I whisper.

I glance back at Matt, who’s still playing Travis Scott aloud, “Unbelievable,” I mutter, shaking my head, though I can’t stop smiling. “Can't believe the only way she came out of hiding was because of Sicko Mode. You must be so proud.”

“Are you kidding me? Proudest moment of my life,” he replies, his blue eyes twinkling with mischief.

I snort, shaking my head, pressing my lips together and trying to keep a straight face. “You’re so annoying,” I say, though my laughter gives me away.

“And yet,” Matt starts, leaning closer to me, his voice dropping into that familiar teasing tone, “you love me for it.”

I roll my eyes, “Yeah, yeah,”

[ilovewomenfr]

just take your shit and go

click before reading

ex!abby, bottom!reader

men dni!!!! NSFW

cw: pretty vanilla, fingering (r!receiving), oral (r!receiving), praise kink, make up sex, idk what else

a/n: yall i thought i would be done this on tuesday. ive been so busy this week w work and life ive barely had time to write. this one’s a bit short but i had to get this idea down. i might improve it some time in the future. not proofreading and i kind of dont like it but thats ok. also requests are open as always. AND THANK YOU FOR SM SUPPORT ON YOU ARE SUCH A NERD! I GENUINELY WAS NOT EXPECTING THAT. xx.

you and your ex broke up two weeks ago, a huge fight blew up between the two of you which is why abby is at the door of your apartment, backpack slung over her shoulder, to collect the rest of her things. when you answer the door, you see abby’s gaze rake over your body.

“seriously abs?” you scoff at her, looking down at your abby’s baggy t-shirt, “do i get my shirt back?” she asks as she rolls her eyes at you, gesturing to the band tee. “oh. uh. yeah. i guess” you respond in a quiet tone.

“do you want a drink or something?” you offer and abby shakes her head, her blonde braid moving along with. the braid she would only take out at home when she was with you. the braid you used to tug on when she was drunk off your pussy to see her half-lidded blue eyes. you lick your bottom lip at the thought before shaking it away.

“are you gonna let me come in?” abby asks in a slightly annoyed tone. you get out of the doorway and allow her to come into the apartment. “most of your stuff is on the couch,” you mumble as you point over to the piles of things you threw onto the couch in a blind rage the night she left.

“aw how sweet of you to put everything on the couch for me.” abby says sarcastically, resulting in an eye roll from you. “just take your shit and go.” you grab a couple boxes and put them on the coffee table. you watch as she starts packing away her clothes into the boxes, standing awkwardly. “so this is it then?” you ask,

“what do you mean?”

“all it took was a fight.”

abby walks over to you, crossing her arms and resting her weight on her hip, “you were the one who told me to get out and never talk to you again, if i remember correctly.”

“because i was mad. i didnt actually expect you to go.” you look up to her eyes, trying to find any trace of resentment, but you find none. instead you still find love, “why are you looking at me like that?” she puts her hands on your waist, instinctively your own arms wrap around her neck. “im not looking at you like anything.”

“you are.” you play with her braid, “you’re looking at me like you still care.” she leans in and kisses you, catching you by surprise. the kiss is full of longing and desire. the way she holds you makes you feel as though a fire is stirring within you. she pulls away and sighs, walking back to the couch and sitting down.

“youre so confusing. i mean you tell me to go then dont want me to go? then you dont even text me for two weeks and when you finally do its because you want my stuff out of the apartment.” you nod, knowing you’re in the wrong here. “but i still care about you y/n.” abby leans back on the couch, practically beckoning you to come and sit on her lap.

you make your way over to the couch, sitting in silence as the both of you look at each other, tension growing in the air. “im sorry. i shouldn’t have told you to go.” you apologize, breaking the silence. “i shouldn’t have left.” her voice is softer than before, her hand find its way to your knee and her thumb brushes soothingly along your skin. the apology hangs over the two of you, and once again your eyes meet. abby’s eyes have a look of desire in them, one you know all too well. that’s all it takes for you to climb over and straddle her.

her hands find your hips immediately, “i’ve missed you, ya know.” you say gently, “prove it.” your hands hold her face and you kiss her again, sensually and slowly. abby’s hands run up your back to your hair trying to deepen the kiss. you part you lips and your tongue meets hers. you almost moan at the familiar taste, but you pull away instead, “does that prove it?” she lowers you onto the couch so you’re below her, “haven’t proved it quite yet.” she murmurs as she captures your lips once more. her hands slide up under your shirt as your tongues dance together, palming and squeezing your breasts, the simple action resulting in arousal shooting down to your core. she captures your moans with her mouth, before planting kisses down your neck, suckling the sweet skin.

moments later both your clothes are on the floor as abby kisses your inner thighs, “abs please” you beg, “i need you.” she looks up at you, “mm look at you begging for me, so needy, huh?” she goes back to sucking and kissing your thighs and you push her head towards your soaked pussy, “abbyyyy please.” you beg, “hm? what do you need pretty girl? need me to eat your pussy?” she nudges your clit with her nose eliciting a needy whine from you. “fuck, just eat me out already! please!” your begs are desperate now, your aching cunt waiting for attention. she pulls your legs over her shoulders and laps your slick, the sensation drawing a shiver from you. your hands clutch her hair as she begins sucking your clit, “fuck abby yeah” the moan is involuntary and in response you feel the vibration of her own.

youre a complete mess under her by the time the knot in your stomach snaps, your release dripping out of you pussy and onto your thighs. abby just keeps going, lewd sounds leaving you and echoing around your living room. she slips her fingers into you and curls them, your back arches as she repeatedly hits your g-spot, “so fuckin pretty when you’re falling apart baby” she murmurs softly. she uses her thumb on your clit and it’s like you’re on top of the world, your cries are becoming pornographic at this point and it’s just egging her on, “yeah, you like my fingers filling you dont you?” she nips your hip, “mmhh yeahhh. fuck baby ‘m gonna cum!” she keeps hitting your g-spot and the pressure building up inside of you reaches its peak, you feel your legs shaking as you cum on her fingers, “youre doing so good for me baby.” she lets you ride out your high on her before sliding her fingers out, “fuck i missed you so much abby” you say, she kisses you, “i missed you too”

tags: @jamiesturniolo

[puckstories]

Stuck With Me | Quinn Hughes

Pairing; Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warning(s); Cursing, established relationship, kissing, idk what else. Only edited once.

Summary; Based on this request: "could you do a fic of reader feeling jealous and quinn being reassuring 💕tyy"

Word Count; 4.0k

Author’s note; This is not my best work at all, I'd probably rate it a 4/10 just because I didn't really flesh out the jealousy + the pacing is kind of rushed, but I'm tired of looking at it frankly. Possibly in the future I will go back and edit it and make it better. Thank you to the anon who requested this though, I hope you liked it at least a little bit. Also, it's not really mentioned, but Quinn is not drunk and is okay to drive home + Josh is Josh Norris, and Kaylee is just a character I made up, no one IRL. -Honey.

“You’re staring,” Josh comments, nonchalant as he leans closer to nudge your arm.

Startled, you tear your gaze away and take a long sip of your drink, using the glass as a shield. “I was not,” you mumble, trying to sound casual as you glance sideways at him.

Josh chuckles, the sound resonating just slightly over the music playing. “Sure,” he says, dragging out the word with a smirk that makes it clear he’s not buying your denial for a second.

You roll your eyes, letting out a sigh as you lean back against the cushioned booth. No matter how hard you try, your gaze betrays you, drifting back toward the pool table across the room. Your fingers tighten slightly around your glass as you watch Quinn and Kaylee, their heads tilted close as they laugh about something you can’t hear.

You met Kaylee earlier, when you and Quinn first arrived at the bar. She’d come over almost immediately, her tall frame poised with an effortless grace that made you feel small and slightly disheveled in comparison. She was gorgeous—model-gorgeous—with sleek, fiery red hair that fell perfectly over her shoulders and striking green eyes that seemed to gleam in the dim lighting.

And Quinn had lit up when he saw her.

“She’s just an old friend,” he’d said casually, his hand brushing your lower back as he introduced you. They’d gone to college together, apparently, and while she’d been nothing but kind and polite to you, there was something about the way she made him laugh that stuck with you. It was freer, lighter somehow, as if she knew a version of him you didn’t.

She did, actually.

You knew it was irrational. You knew that Quinn loved you, that he hadn’t seen her in years and that they were just catching up. But the jealousy crept in anyway, an unwelcome guest settling in your chest. It festered beneath your skin, bubbling hotter and more insistent with every glance and every laugh they shared over the pool table.

“You’re doing it again,” Josh observes, snapping you out of your thoughts.

Your head swivels back toward him, a guilty heat rushing to your face. “Doing what?” you ask defensively, though the slight waver in your voice betrays you.

Josh arches a brow, leaning back in his seat as he folds his arms. “Staring. Sulking. Probably plotting Kaylee’s downfall, if I had to guess.” His tone is teasing, and there’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes as he studies you.

You groan, setting your empty glass down on the table with a soft thud. “I’m not sulking.”

“Uh-huh,” he replies, clearly unconvinced.

“And I'm not plotting anyone's downfall!” you insist, but your gaze betrays you once again, flicking back toward Quinn and Kaylee. She’s leaning over the pool table now, lining up a shot, and Quinn is watching her with an amused grin, his arms crossed as he leans casually against the edge.

Your chest tightens. You know it’s nothing. You know Quinn is yours, that he’s coming home with you tonight, but the nagging voice in the back of your mind refuses to let it go.

“I’m gonna go get another drink.” You don’t wait for Josh’s response, sliding out of the booth with your glass in hand. The hum of conversation and the occasional burst of laughter surround you as you weave through the crowded bar, bodies shifting just enough to let you pass. Your pulse feels louder in your ears than the bass thumping faintly from the overhead speakers.

When you reach the bar, you set your empty glass down with a quiet clink and take a seat on one of the worn barstools. The polished wood is sticky beneath your palms, and the faint scent of spilled beer and citrus lingers in the air.

You glance up, taking in the bartender, a guy with a mullet that somehow works on him, tattoos winding up his arms like intricate stories inked into his skin. He’s busy, sliding a tray of colorful cocktails across the counter to a group of friends celebrating a bachelorette party. You lean on the counter, your gaze drifting to the mirrored shelves behind him, rows of liquor bottles glinting in the dim light like a kaleidoscope of temptation.

After a minute or two, he finally makes his way over to you, wiping his hands on a rag tucked into his waistband. “What can I get you?” he asks, his tone brisk but not unfriendly.

“I’ll just get a Jack and Coke, thanks,” you say, offering the bartender a polite smile. As he reaches for a glass, you lean slightly over the counter, your voice carrying just enough over the ambient noise of the bar. “And my boyfriend has a tab. Last name’s Hughes—put it on there, please.”

The bartender pauses for a moment, giving you a quick once-over before nodding. “Got it,” he says, turning toward the shelves with practiced ease.

You settle back onto the stool, your fingers tracing idle patterns on the sticky wood of the countertop as you glance around. Behind the bar, the bartender moves quickly, grabbing a tumbler and dropping in a few cubes of ice before reaching for the Jack Daniel’s. His movements are efficient, the kind that come from muscle memory, and within moments, the golden liquid pours into the glass, followed by a splash of Coke.

It’s a simple drink, nothing fancy or fussy, but that’s what you like about it—consistent, reliable, no surprises.

He sets the drink in front of you with a small napkin, the condensation already starting to bead on the sides of the glass. “There you go,” he says, glancing briefly in your direction before moving on to the next customer.

“Thanks,” you reply, wrapping your fingers around the cool glass.

Taking a sip, the familiar blend of sweet Coke and smoky whiskey slides down smoothly, the warmth spreading through your chest. It’s exactly what you need—not too strong, not too complicated. Just enough to ground you as you try to push away the nagging thoughts that have been buzzing at the back of your mind all evening.

Sliding off the barstool, you clutch your drink in one hand and begin making your way back to the booth you’d claimed earlier, until your body collides with something—someone—firm and unyielding. A sharp gasp escapes your lips as you stumble back, your drink sloshing out of the glass and soaking into your white top. The cold liquid clings to your skin, staining the fabric a disgusting, murky brown.

“Shit, sorry,” the guy mutters immediately, his voice filled with genuine regret. He moves quickly, grabbing a handful of napkins from the bar behind you. “Here, let me—”

He leans forward, attempting to dab at your shirt with the wad of napkins. His well-meaning gesture only amplifies your frustration, the awkwardness of the situation making your cheeks flush. You set your now-empty glass on the nearest surface with a loud clink and grab the napkins from him.

“It’s fine,” you say, your voice clipped as you step back. “Thanks, I got it.”

You don’t wait for a response, brushing past him and heading toward the bathrooms. Your pulse pounds in your ears, a mix of embarrassment and irritation settling in your chest.

Pushing the door open, you’re relieved to find the women’s bathroom empty. The faint hum of fluorescent lights fills the silence as you approach the sink. With a deep sigh, you wet the bottom of your shirt under the cold stream of water, scrubbing at the stain with a dollop of foamy soap from the dispenser.

The dark blotch stubbornly clings to the fabric, refusing to disappear entirely. You scrub harder, the rough texture of the paper towels adding to your frustration. After a few minutes, the stain fades slightly, the color no longer as glaring as before.

You toss the soggy paper towels into the trash with a sigh of defeat, inspecting the faint brown shadow that still mars your top. “Fuck,” you mutter under your breath, resigning yourself to your less-than-pristine appearance. Moving to the hand dryer, you press the button and hold your shirt away from your body, letting the warm blast of air dry the damp fabric.

You let the hand dryer hum for another minute, the hot air doing its best to dry the wet fabric of your shirt. It’s still slightly damp when you decide to give up and leave the bathroom. The faint shadow of the stain remains, but you’ve done all you can. With a sigh, you smooth the fabric down and push the door open, exiting into the social minefield.

As you make your way back to the booth, the familiar knot of unease tightens in your stomach. It’s not just Josh at the booth anymore. The entire group is back now, including Quinn—and Kaylee, of course. They’re sitting next to each other, laughing softly at something, their heads tilted just close enough to make your chest tighten uncomfortably. Because of course they’re next to each other. Of course.

The frustration you’ve been trying to tamp down flares up again, prickling hot under your skin. You glance away, your eyes threatening to roll before you can stop them. But it’s as if Quinn has some sixth sense for your mood, because the second you look back, his gaze locks onto yours.

He smiles at first, the kind of warm, easy smile that usually makes your heart flutter. But then his eyes drop to your shirt, the faint stain still visible against the white fabric, and his expression shifts to one of confusion.

“What happened to your shirt?” he asks, his voice cutting through the chatter as he abandons his conversation. He slides a little further into the booth, making room for you to take your usual seat on the end.

You approach the table, sitting down a little harder than you intended. The irritation bubbling beneath the surface sharpens your tone, and when you finally respond, it comes out rougher than you’d meant. “What do you think happened?”

Quinn blinks, visibly taken aback by the edge in your voice. His eyebrows shoot up briefly, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. The silence that follows feels heavy, the casual buzz of the bar suddenly too loud in contrast.

Quinn leans slightly closer, his voice softer now, careful, his breath hitting against your ear. "Are you okay?"

You exhale a long sigh, the weight of the evening pressing down on you as you lean into his side. The familiar warmth of his presence wraps around you, grounding you in a way that words can’t. “I’m fine,” you murmur softly. “Sorry for snapping at you.”

Quinn doesn’t hesitate, his arm slipping casually over your shoulder as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. He presses a kiss against your temple, his lips lingering against your skin for a brief moment.

“It’s okay,” he replies, his voice low, just for you to hear.

For the next little while, you sit in the booth, letting the conversation flow around you. Quinn dives back into catching up with his friends, his laughter easy and unguarded as he shares stories and memories you’re only half-listening to.

You chime in occasionally when someone calls your name, offering a small smile or a quick reply. But mostly, you let yourself fade into the background, content to simply exist beside Quinn. His arm remains draped over your shoulder, his thumb brushing absentmindedly against your arm.

“…double date, right?”

You only catch the tail end of the sentence, your mind still drifting when you feel Quinn give your shoulder a gentle squeeze. The touch pulls you back to the moment, your eyes blinking as you try to focus.

“Sorry, what?” you ask, glancing around the table.

The group erupts into light laughter, the kind that feels good-natured rather than mocking. Quinn leans in slightly, his smile soft but amused as he repeats himself. “A double date. You’d be down for that, right?”

“Oh, uh… sure,” you reply, nodding quickly before the words have fully sunk in. Your gaze shifts between the faces at the table, suddenly feeling as though you’ve missed an important detail. “With who?”

Quinn’s smile widens, and there’s a playful gleam in his eyes. “Kaylee,” he says simply, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Your mouth falls open slightly, caught completely off guard by the response. You blink, turning your attention to Kaylee, who’s sipping her drink with an easy grace. “You… have a boyfriend?” you manage to ask, the words spilling out before you can stop them.

Kaylee lets out a light, melodic giggle, setting her glass down on the table. “Soon-to-be fiancé,” she corrects, her green eyes sparkling with amusement. “At least, once he grows a pair and actually proposes.” She laughs again, shaking her head. “He’s working late tonight, so he couldn’t make it.”

Her words hit you like a freight train. Fiancé? Working late? You feel your stomach drop as the realization sinks in. All of your jealousy is baseless. Kaylee wasn’t flirting with Quinn; she wasn’t even remotely interested in him that way.

She had a boyfriend. Soon to be fiancé.

Heat creeps up your neck and into your cheeks, the embarrassment washing over you like a tidal wave. You manage a small smile, but inwardly, you’re cringing so hard you wish the ground would swallow you whole. "Yeah, that'd be fun, for sure."

The next couple of hours fly by in a blur, and before you know it, everyone is saying their goodbyes, exchanging hugs and promises to meet up again soon. The warm glow of the bar’s lights spills out onto the sidewalk as you and Quinn step outside, the cool night air brushing against your skin.

It’s dark now, and a light drizzle begins to fall, the raindrops cool and soft as they dot your clothes. You glance at each other and break into a jog toward the car. By the time you reach it, the rain has picked up, turning from a drizzle into a steady downpour. You barely make it inside before the skies seem to open up, the sound of rain pelting against the roof filling the silence as Quinn starts the engine.

“Well, that was close,” he mutters with a small laugh, brushing the dampness from his sleeves before backing out of the parking spot.

The car is warm, the faint scent of Quinn’s cologne lingering in the air as he drives through the quiet streets. A few minutes pass in comfortable silence, the rhythmic drumming of the rain against the windshield almost hypnotic.

Then, his voice cuts through the quiet. “What was up tonight? You were quieter than usual.”

The question catches you off guard, but you quickly shake your head, hoping to dismiss it. “Nothing,” you say.

Quinn glances at you briefly, his expression skeptical even as he keeps his focus on the road. “I know you,” he says evenly. “And I know it’s not nothing, so just tell me.”

You huff, crossing your arms over your chest as you turn to look out the window. The rain blurs the city lights into streaks of gold and white, a beautiful distraction from the conversation you’d rather not have. “Quinn, I’m serious. It’s nothing,” you insist, your voice firmer this time.

He presses his lips together, his jaw tightening slightly. “Was it something I did?” he asks after a moment, his voice softer now, tinged with concern.

“No,” you reply quickly, shaking your head.

“Then what is it?” he presses again, his tone patient but persistent.

Your chest tightens, the question hanging in the air between you. It’s not that you don’t want to tell him—it’s just that you don’t even know how to put your feelings into words. The jealousy, the self-doubt, the small spiral you’d gone through earlier tonight—it all feels so petty now, so insignificant in hindsight. And yet, the weight of it still lingers, sitting heavy in the pit of your stomach.

You sigh, leaning your head against the cool glass of the window. "Just drop it."

At your words, Quinn pulls the car onto a quiet side street, the tires crunching over loose gravel before coming to a halt. He shifts the gear into park with a resolute click, his jaw tightening.

You turn to him, eyebrows furrowed. “What are you doing?” you demand, your voice edged with confusion.

He leans back in his seat, shrugging nonchalantly, though his eyes betray his concern. “We’re not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on.”

“Quinn, I told you—it’s nothing,” you snap, the irritation bubbling to the surface. Your arms cross tightly over your chest, a defensive shield against his relentless prodding.

He shakes his head, undeterred. “And I know you’re lying.”

A frustrated sigh escapes you, sharp and heavy. “You know what? Fine.” You unbuckle your seatbelt with a jerky motion, the click echoing in the small space. “I’ll walk home.”

Before Quinn can respond, you fling the door open and step into the storm. The frigid rain pelts down, soaking through your clothes almost instantly. The dirt road beneath your feet churns into sticky mud, clinging to your shoes as you march away, your defiance burning hotter than the cold seeping into your skin.

“Y/N!” Quinn shouts from the car, his voice cutting through the rain like a lifeline you refuse to grab. When you don’t stop, he curses under his breath. You hear the unmistakable sound of his seatbelt unclicking and the slam of his door.

The rain muffles his footsteps, but you know he’s chasing after you. “Y/N, wait!” he calls, urgency threading through his voice. You don’t slow, your pace quickening despite the mud threatening to pull you down.

“Y/N!” Quinn’s voice grows closer, and you finally halt, spinning around with enough force to startle him. He skids to a stop, but momentum carries him forward, and he stumbles into you. His hands instinctively reach out, gripping your arms to steady you both.

“You want to know what’s wrong, Quinn?” you snap, your voice trembling with more than just the chill. Rain streaks down your face, mingling with the tears you can no longer hide. “I’m embarrassed, okay?”

His hands drop, and for a moment, he just looks at you, water dripping from his lashes and the ends of his messy hair. “Embarrassed?” he repeats, his voice soft, almost incredulous.

You wipe at your eyes with a trembling hand, though the rain makes the gesture futile. “Yeah, embarrassed,” you admit, your voice barely audible over the steady drumming of rain. You look down, unable to meet his eyes. “I thought Kaylee had a thing for you.”

Quinn blinks, clearly taken aback. “I—you what?” he stammers, his brows knitting together in confusion.

You sigh, wrapping your arms around yourself against the cold rain. “I thought she liked you,” you repeat, more firmly this time, though the words still sting as they leave your mouth. “But she has a boyfriend, so obviously she doesn’t.”

“She’s just a friend from college,” Quinn says, his voice steady, as if the explanation should settle everything.

You nod, but it feels hollow. “I know.”

“And even if she was single,” he continues, stepping closer, “I’m not.”

His words make you glance up despite yourself. The weight in his gaze pins you in place, your breath catching in your throat.

“I have a girlfriend,” he says, his tone softening but no less resolute. “A girlfriend who makes me chase after her in a rainstorm in the middle of the night.”

The corners of his lips tug upward into a faint smile, though there’s no mistaking the seriousness in his eyes. Your heart twists at the realization—you’d been so caught up in your own doubts that you hadn’t stopped to consider how much he’d already chosen you.

The rain pours around you, but the world seems to shrink to just the two of you. For a moment, neither of you speaks. His words hang in the air, heavy with meaning.

“Quinn—” Your voice falters. You search for the right thing to say, something that can express the tangle of emotions inside you. Embarrassment. Relief. Gratitude. "I usually never get jealous like this. I'm sorry."

Quinn’s expression softens as he reaches up, his fingers gently brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. The rain pelts in a steady, rhythmic drizzle around you, the droplets catching the light from the streetlamp above, creating a soft halo that bathes you both in a muted glow. He smiles, not in the least bit fazed, his eyes warm and reassuring.

"It's okay," he says simply, as if it's no big deal, his tone so calm, so easy, that it almost makes you feel like your jealousy was nothing at all.

"Quinn, I'm serious," you say, your brows knitting together as you try to convey just how sorry you truly were.

"Baby, it’s okay," he repeats, his voice low and full of understanding. "We all get jealous sometimes," he continues, his fingers now gently brushing your cheek, his thumb softly caressing your skin as if he’s trying to soothe away the tension. "I just ask that next time, you talk to me about it, okay? I want to know how you're feeling."

His words are earnest, leaving no room for doubt. He’s not upset, just asking for honesty—asking for you to trust him with those feelings. And that, more than anything, makes your heart soften.

You nod, the weight of your earlier emotions starting to ease. "I will," you promise, your voice barely above a whisper.

Quinn’s smile deepens, a mixture of relief and affection in his eyes as he gazes down at you. He reaches out, cupping your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing softly over your damp cheeks, wiping away the raindrops that have begun to cling to your skin. Then, without another word, he leans down and captures your lips in a searing kiss.

The world around you seems to fade as his mouth moves against yours, slow and passionate, his lips warm and soft despite the chill of the rain. The kiss is intense, full of emotion, as if he’s pouring everything he feels into it—the reassurance, the love, the unspoken promise that he’s here for you, and only you. Your arms find their way around his neck, pulling him closer, and in that moment, the jealousy, the embarrassment—it all melts away, washed clean by the feeling of his lips on yours.

The rain continues to fall, droplets dancing off the pavement, but all you can feel is him—the solid warmth of his body against yours, the softness of his hands cradling your face. The streetlight above flickers softly, casting the two of you in a golden glow, making the moment feel like something out of a dream, something ethereal and untouchable.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests gently against yours, and for a moment, you just stand there, catching your breath, your hearts beating in sync.

Quinn looks into your eyes, his gaze steady and full of love. "And for the record," he says, his voice low and serious but with a teasing lilt at the end, "I don’t want anyone else. You’re stuck with me, okay? Deal with it."

You can’t help the small laugh that escapes your lips, the tension fully gone now, replaced by warmth and affection. The way he says it—so matter-of-fact, so confident—makes your heart swell. You shake your head, smiling as you look up at him, the rain continuing to fall around you both, but in this moment, you’re completely lost in each other.

"I love you," you whisper, your fingers threading through the damp hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him down for another kiss, this one softer but just as full of meaning.

[brbsoulnomming]

Heart On Your Sleeve Part 1

written for steddiebigbang2024 and belatedly posting here!

---

Steve's parents always locked their hearts in a safe in his dad's study at night.

For as long as Steve can remember, he watched them do it, pulling their hearts out of their chests and tucking them away in the safe in an easy, practiced motion - like a dance, like something they did without even thinking about it.

He liked it, liked watching them move in unison. It made him daydream about his own partner in the future, how they could move in sync with each other, anticipating each other's every movement and not having to say a thing to know what the other wanted.

Even his parents’ hearts were similar. They were both the same pale pink, bisected with only a few silver scars, and though they didn't quite beat in unison, it was close enough that Steve's young eyes didn't notice the difference. 

“One day,” his dad always said. “When you're old enough, your heart will go in here, too. When you're trained to be separated from it, when you're grown up.”

Steve wanted to be grown up more than anything.

But his heart never looked like theirs. Even when he got old enough to pull it out of his chest, to first show it to his beaming parents, it was a deep, unblemished red.

A kid's heart, his dad called it.

“It's not a bad thing!” his dad was quick to say. “You're young, Steven, you should have a kid's heart. Go be a kid.”

He ushered him out to play with Tommy and Carol, pleased as punch when the three of them came home to get snacks.

“You've made the right friends, Steven, my boy,” his dad said one day, while Steve was in his study, watching him take his heart out of the safe and tuck it into his chest. “Tommy's not bright, but he'll do what you say, and Carol looks like she'll be taking after her mother. Find yourself a girl who fits in, and you've got the makings of the next generation.”

Steve didn't really understand what that meant, but he liked his father's approval, and Carol and Tommy were the best friends he could ever imagine, so he guessed it didn't really matter.

—

The first time his parents leave for more than just one night, Steve protests.

He grabs onto his dad's slacks, his mother's skirts, and refuses to let go.

“Steven,” his mother hisses, a warning clear in her voice.

“Little tyke loves us so much,” his father says to his business partner, who’s waiting in the front hall. There's something in his voice that Steve's never heard before, something in his eyes that makes a chill go up his spine. “Give us a minute to say goodbye.”

His parents argue in his father's study. Steve hasn't been allowed in, so he doesn't know what they're saying, but he can hear the tone, knows it's angry. 

He's not sure what he did wrong, but it must be something, so when the door opens he flinches. 

Mom doesn't look happy, but she doesn't look unhappy, either, and Dad looks pleased, so he guesses it must not be something too bad.

“Come on, Steven, my boy,” his dad says, ushering him into the study. “I think it's time we trusted you with something.”

Steve perks up, eagerly following his dad into the office and over to the safe.

“Now, you know we lock our hearts in here every night to keep them safe,” his dad says.

Steve nods. “One day mine will be in there too.”

“That's right!” His dad is smiling again, but there's still something lurking in his eyes that makes Steve nervous. “But it's not just at night. We keep them here when we go away, too, and we need someone to stay here to keep them safe.”

The idea of being trusted with something so important outweighs the lingering nerves, and Steve lights up. “Me?”

“Of course! You're our son, Steven, the best of both of us! Who else would we trust with it?”

They still leave him alone, after that, more and more often, but Steve doesn't mind.

They trust him, and he's not going to let them down.

—

Steve doesn't really like keeping his heart in his chest. It's okay, for a while, but the longer it stays the more it feels like it's trapped - like his chest is too tight and he can't breathe, like he's more alone than he's ever been.

He doesn't think hearts were meant to be locked away, but his parents tell him different, so he listens.

They're just trying to keep him safe, after all, trying to make sure he's smart and strong and doesn't get hurt. 

—

"Ugh," Carol groans. "I'm so tired of my mom asking to see my heart at the end of the day. Like, I'm in middle school now, I don't need her checking if my feelings have been hurt."

"Mine still does it, too," Tommy grumbles. "Dad keeps telling her to knock it off at least."

Steve can't remember the last time his parents wanted to see his heart. 

"Mine leaves me alone now," he brags, because it feels like he should, even if his heart clenches painfully. 

"You're so lucky," Carol says wistfully.

"Already king of the castle, huh?" Tommy asks, jostling him with his elbow.

Steve snorts. "Yeah? If I'm king, what does that make you two? Prince and princess?"

Carol wrinkles her nose. "Prince and princess are for babies," she says. "We're not kids anymore." 

"What are we, then?" Tommy asks.

"Duke and Duchess," she says decisively. "I've read about them, they're like the second commands. The king's advisors."

"Yeah," Tommy says, bobbing his head. "We're like the royal court. The three of us can take on anything."

"Hearts out," Steve says. "That's what my dad says you have to do when you're entering into an agreement."

Carol and Tommy obey immediately, holding their hearts out in the middle of the little triangle they make. Steve holds his out with theirs. All three of them are a vibrant red, plump and solid - Steve's is a little deeper, a little fuller, than both of theirs, but he figures that's okay.

He's the leader, it should be different. 

"Now what?" Carol asks.

Okay, so, Steve doesn't exactly know. Still, he can guess, based on what his dad has mentioned about his business partners, and he confidently says, "Now we make sure all of us are worth dealing with. Liar's hearts are black, and people with hearts too broken to function are full of holes and scars, and hearts with no color can't be trusted."

The three of them inspect each other's hearts closely, then nod at each other. 

"We need to touch them, too," Carol says. "My mom says that's what you do with people you trust."

Steve isn't sure about that, but he figures it can't hurt, so they rotate hearts - Steve's to Tommy, Tommy's to Carol, Carol's to Steve, and then around in a circle until Steve's holding his own heart again.

It did hurt, a little. But it didn't feel bad, just a little scary.

It's okay, though, because it's Tommy and Carol. His Duke and Duchess, the royal court.

They'd never hurt him. 

—

"Hey Mom?" Steve asks the next time she's home when he gets done with school. "Do you want to see my heart?"

"What for?" she asks, a hint of confusion in her voice that doesn't show anywhere on her perfectly made up face. "Has it changed?"

Steve's shoulders droop a little bit. He set himself up for this one. "No," he admits reluctantly. 

She hums softly, more a vague acknowledgement than anything else, and goes back to pinning her hair up.

His mom and dad must be going out somewhere tonight. 

"Can I see yours?" he asks, wanting - something. He knows they'll lock their hearts away for him to protect before they leave, knows how much it means that they trust him with that, but sometimes he just wants to see them.

"Of course, darling," she says absently, pulling it out with a practiced motion and setting it on the vanity in front of him. 

It's still exactly the same as the last time he saw it. Steve glances over at her, but she isn't even looking at him. He bites his lip, then reaches out to touch it, his hand resting gently on top of it. 

His mom flinches, just the tiniest bit, but doesn't tell him to take his hand away. 

Steve frowns. "Does that hurt?"

"It always hurts when someone touches your heart, Steven," she replies. "That's why you need to keep it in your chest, why you need to be careful about who you let close to it."

He considers that. "But you let me touch it anyway."

"Of course," his mom says. "You're my Steven."

He likes the words, and if he were a little younger, he thinks they might fill him with warmth, make his heart flush even redder. But he's old enough now to recognize that tone - the same tone she uses when he hears her on the phone with one of her friends or one of her clients, and she thinks they're being stupid.

Steve isn't stupid. 

He pulls his hand away.

If his mom's heart hurts every time he touches it, then he won't reach for it anymore.

—

Steve is in eighth grade when they learn that people can't travel far from their hearts without suffering any ill effects.

Tommy's watched Steve's parents put their hearts in their safe and leave for dinner out while he was staying over, and he laughs when their teacher tells them that.

"Something funny, Tommy?" Mr. Clarke asks.

"Well, sure," Tommy says. "It's just that isn't true, right Steve?"

"Right," Steve agrees earnestly, eager to show off his knowledge on the subject. "Or it's not always true. Some people can go miles away from theirs, I've seen it."

He says people, and not my parents, because he knows better than to drop personal information like that in the middle of class. 

Mr. Clarke had been frowning at Tommy's laughter, but something about Steve's eagerness makes him smile. 

"You have?" Mr. Clarke asks. "Tell me more."

Aware that everyone's attention is on him now, Steve makes sure to slouch casually - he can't look too invested. "Well, they didn't just leave their hearts out in the open and unguarded. They left them with someone they trust to protect them."

Mr. Clarke's smile grows, his eyes lighting up a bit in excitement. "Ah! You found the loophole. Steve's right," he says to the rest of the class, making Steve preen just a little bit. "Heart exchanges! People can travel much further from their hearts if they're safely tucked away in the chest of someone else. They can even survive things that might have been fatal, if their heart was in their own chest."

He gives a little chuckle. "There's even anecdotes of things like soldiers leaving their hearts with their fiances as they go off to war, knowing they'll be kept safe. Romantic, if unlikely. There's been no conclusive evidence of someone able to survive such a distance from their heart for so long, even with the loophole."

Steve frowns. His parents have been gone weeks at a time, leaving their hearts safe with him. 

"What about if it's locked away in a safe, and guarded?" Steve asks. "I know - I mean, someone told me that would work."

Mr. Clarke frowns a little. "Even more unlikely, I'm afraid. There's some studies that have shown people can train themselves to go further and further from their hearts, but still not without ill effects." 

Kevin sneers. "Well it sounds like someone is a liar."

Steve bristles. 

Kevin Carson is the worst.

He's a bully. Both in the way that his dad taught him the word - the kids who are too stupid to realize that brute force will only get you so far in life - and in the way that makes Steve's stomach turn a little, choosing to pick on people who can't fight back. 

The last two years at Hawkins Middle, he'd have never gone after Steve. But Kevin wanted to be basketball captain, and Steve got it instead, and now Kevin's been dogging him every chance he gets.

It's starting to get really annoying. 

Before Steve can say anything, though, Mr. Clarke's moved over to Kevin's desk, frown deepening.

“You know better than that, Mr. Carson,” Mr. Clarke says, in his disappointed voice. “We don't ridicule anyone's curiosity journey in this class.”

Kevin scowls, but he mutters out an apology. Mr Clarke watches him for a moment longer before nodding, moving back to the front of the class to continue.

"Teacher's pet," Kevin hisses at him, loud enough for the others nearby to hear but not Mr. Clarke.

Steve's never really understood why that was a bad thing - why wouldn't you want your teacher to like you? - but he knows it is, so he grimaces.

"I just listen to Coach better than you," Steve replies. "Must be why I'm captain this year."

Kevin's expression shifts into confusion. "What?"

"You don't keep your grades up, and you're on the bench for the rest of the year." Steve shrugs, leaning back so he can show how pointless this conversation is - and open it up even more for others to hear. "Aren't you looking at an F in Mr. Clarke's class? Maybe you should have more enthusiasm for your curiosity journey."

—

Tommy punches Kevin at lunch that afternoon.

Someone starts shouting, "Fight, fight, fight!" and Steve and Carol look at each other, realize they can't find Tommy, and immediately go where the crowd has gathered. 

It parts easily as Steve and Carol push through to the center, where Tommy and Kevin are squared off warily against each other. Steve tugs at Tommy's arm, and Carol shoots Kevin a look as she helps herd Tommy off to the side.

“What happened?” Steve asks Tommy, voice low and urgent. 

“Kevin was trying to rally some of the team against you,” Tommy spits out. “Said that they should get you around back, teach you a lesson about the way things are supposed to work.”

Steve's stomach twists. It's not surprising from Kevin, but the rest of the guys are his friends.

“Did they agree?” Carol asks sharply, eyes flashing.

“No,” Tommy says. “They told him to shut up. But Kevin was going on about how you're not captain material.”

Okay.

Okay, that's better, Steve can handle that. Kevin's persuasive, but Steve can be, too, and Steve hasn't been picking fights that make the team have to run drills when Coach gets pissed at them.

He leans away, pivoting back to face the group.

“Seriously, Carson, again?” Steve demands, not bothering to hide how irritated he sounds. "You remember Coach has a zero tolerance policy for starting fights, right?" 

"I didn't start anything, he punched me first!" Kevin says.

"That's not what I heard," Steve says conversationally. "I heard you talking to the other guys, trying to get them to jump me while my back was turned. Didn't know you were a coward, Carson. You got something to say to me? Why don't you say it to my face?"

Kevin draws himself up and gets in Steve's face, and Steve hears Tommy curse and start to move forward, but Steve holds up a hand. 

Steve's not scared of Kevin, and he doesn't want Tommy to get in any more trouble. He juts his chin out, tipping his head to the side so he can look down at Kevin - Steve and Tommy started their growth spurts early, and it's only by an inch or two, but they're the tallest guys here right now. 

"You gonna hit me, Kev?" Steve says softly. 

"Maybe I will," Kevin says. "Maybe it's the only way to put you in your place. Your daddy gets you out of everything, but he can't get you out of a black eye, can he?"

Steve's not sure where anyone gets the idea that his dad gets him out of anything. His dad barely knows what's going on with his life - but he guesses he doesn't really have to, guesses it's more about his dad's reputation than anything else. 

Still, it turns his irritation into anger, and just a little bit of hurt, and Steve finds himself smiling.

"Black eyes fade, Carson. You know what doesn't?" He leans in, lowers his voice a little. "How's <lyour dad gonna react when you get kicked off the team, huh? Yeah, we all know he was a high school star - it's all he ever was - what do you think he's gonna say when you can't even be that?" 

Kevin looks like he's a second away from shoving Steve, and for a moment, Steve thinks - yeah, go ahead, come on. The stuff he's saying? Steve deserves to get shoved. 

But Kevin doesn't.

Steve pitches his voice back louder. "Starting fights at school and flunking science? Not looking good for you to play at all the rest of the year, Carson. And anyone who's not playing now can kiss their spot on the high school team goodbye."

"Yeah?" Kevin asks. "Who's going to go blabbing to Coach?"

Steve shrugs, giving a disappointed sigh. "I don't like it, but it's my duty as captain to tell Coach when someone isn't being a team player." 

It probably isn't. Technically, Steve isn't even officially the captain - their coach just wanted them to be prepared for what it's going to be like in high school, and the players all voted Steve as their unofficial captain. 

But he knows that Coach will appreciate that Steve is taking it seriously, if he does tell him about anyone affecting the rest of the team.

"What are you even pissed at me for?" Steve asks. 

It's a genuine question - he actually does want to know - but it comes out sarcastic, and he can't backtrack it. 

"Passing science? Not letting you walk all over me in Mr. Clarke's class?" he adds. "Or are you just trying to get the rest of the team to be a bully like you? You want to get them in trouble, too?"

Carol hip checks him, and - yeah, okay, he sees her point, he needs to end this before Kevin has a chance to spin things back in his favor. 

"You're not worth my time," Steve says with a sneer.

There's a beat of silence.

"Didn't you hear him?" Carol asks. "You're dismissed."

Kevin tries to pull a sneer, but with his split lip it looks more like a snarl. "Who died and made Steve Harrington king?"

Carol examines her nails, the picture of boredom. "Your spot on the high school basketball team, apparently."

“Give it up, Kevin!” someone calls out.

“Come on, man, I'm sick of having to stay late at practice because of you, can't you just chill out?” Mark Jefferson bitches.

There's a chorus of agreement, and Steve watches Kevin's face as he realizes he's not going to get any backup here. Anger flickers briefly in his expression before he rolls his eyes, huffs out “Whatever,” and stomps off.

Now that there's not going to be a fight, everyone else disperses, leaving Steve alone with Tommy and Carol.

"You need to tell me and Carol before you hit someone again, okay?" Steve says seriously. "Let us handle it first."

"Yeah," Carol agrees. "You'll get in trouble if you do it all the time - you have to only do it when someone really deserves it. When we tell you."

Steve doesn't want Tommy to hit anyone, no matter what, but he guesses Carol's right. 

He'll just have to keep an eye on them.

–

When he's home, he goes straight to his dad's study and stares at the safe.

He knows the code, but part of him doesn't want to open it up. If they lied to him about this - what else have they lied to him about? Did they think he was stupid, did they not care if he ever figured it out? 

But he knows he has to, so he opens it up, and stares at what's inside.

Nothing.

Of course his parents didn't leave their hearts with him to watch over, and he feels like an idiot for having ever fallen for it. 

Something in his heart cracks, but he ruthlessly ignores it, slamming the safe door shut again.

He doesn't care, he tells himself.

His dad's an asshole anyway.

–

Nancy Wheeler is the first person to truly hold his heart in her hands, without it hurting the slightest bit.

It makes it even worse when she calls him bullshit, bullshit, bullshit, and he feels his heart crack so deep he's not sure it will ever heal.

-----

Part 2

[moomine]

backwash II | daisuke

author's note: totally awesome people should check out part one as well ⍢ also, if you want to be part of a taglist for future updates feel free to reply or dm me! (cover image credit)

summary: (daisuke x f!reader) It's been a little over a month since the Tulpar departed on its 382-day long haul. Anya takes the reader aside to perform her monthly psych eval, where she discusses her experiences with her peers and life on the ship so far. After she's clear to go, she runs into Daisuke who's drawing in the lounge.

word count: 2,291

warnings: mild language? all characters are 18+

now playing: Radiohead - "Motion Picture Soundtrack"

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

EMPLOYEE STATEMENT 028—

I’m starting to feel more and more homesick. I miss my mom’s roast chicken. I miss swimming pools and the feeling of the breeze. I miss burning incense. I miss my friends. It hasn’t been that long since we left Earth, but I guess I just never considered how still outer space would be. How lonely I’d feel. The others have been nice, yeah. Especially Anya. And Daisuke. I get the feeling that Captain Curly is still warming up to me. I wonder if he’s ever taken on another apprentice before. I don’t know about Swansea, or Jimmy. They seem to tolerate me at best. But then again, those two kind of just tolerate everyone, except for maybe Captain Curly. It’s only been almost a month. I just have to keep my head. 

If mom were here she’d say: “Everything gets easier with time. Time and patience.”

DAY TWENTY-SEVEN—

“Everything okay, [Name]?” Anya asked in a gentle tone, gingerly placing a hand on the table in front of you.

Your shoulders tensed at the sound of her voice as it filled the otherwise silent lounge. You looked up at her, feeling the tension seemingly wash away by the sight of her face. She offered you an understanding smile, her tired features softened as she looked down at you.

“Yeah. I’m sorry. Just lost in thought, I guess,” you responded. 

You raised a hand to rub your eyes. It had been difficult to find sleep lately. The groaning of the ship was almost haunting at night. Laying in your bed, staring at the ceiling, you spent the few hours allotted for sleep thinking about Earth, about what laid just beyond the door to your room, about the ceaseless whining of steel and steam. About the next three hundred and fifty four days.

Anya nodded sympathetically, moving her hand from the table top to your shoulder blade. “It gets easier. I promise,” she paused as Jimmy and Curly entered the room, their voices loud and booming. “Are you ready for your psych eval?”

You nearly didn’t hear her over the sound of the other two. They were reminiscing, shouting stories back and forth of college parties, bar fights, and past lovers.

“As I’ll ever be,” you said with a timid grin. 

Anya nodded once more, motioning toward the door just past the kitchen space. You came to your feet and followed her until the two of you made it to her domain. The medical bay had become a safe haven for you. Over the past month, you gravitated toward Anya the most. She had been kind to you from the very beginning, almost sisterly. When there was no more work to be done, you often found yourself walking straight through the lounge and into her office. Anya didn’t mind. In fact, she had grown to rather enjoy the company.

She walked around the desk before taking a seat in her chair. Behind her was a wall of white shelves and cabinets with glass doors. Inside they held assorted medical supplies and books on psychology and basic clinical practice. To the right of her was a bulletin board, cluttered with posters, a calendar, pictures of her hometown, and notes and reminders. A number of Daisuke’s doodles had made it up as well, namely ‘Yimpy’, a rather horrible caricature of Jimmy. It was pretty realistic.

You sat across from her with your hands interlocked in a tight ball. “Same as last time, right?”

Anya grinned as she organized your file. “Yep, same as last time. Since it’s only your second evaluation, I’m going to go over it one more time. Is that okay with you?”

You nodded.

“Lovely,” she said with a soft hum. Tapping the papers into a neat pile against the desk, Anya glanced at you once more. Her eyes flickered from the page to you, you to the page as she read aloud. “I’m going to ask you a series of questions about your experience, relationships, and general well being during your time under contract with Pony Express. It is your responsibility to answer as truthfully as you feel comfortable and/or deem necessary. Your answers remain confidential unless you give reason to believe you are at risk of harming yourself or others. Do you have any questions?”

“No questions here,” you replied with a shake of your head.

“Perfect. Let’s get started. On a scale of one to ten, how confident do you feel in your capability to complete your work and responsibilities on a day to day basis?” Anya read.

“Maybe eight? I’m still getting a hold of some of the more technical aspects. The Tulpar is an older ship… I wasn’t exactly trained on her special quirks in school,” you said with a nervous laugh.

“You’ll catch on fast. You already have,” she reassured, jotting down your response with that sweet smile still on her face. “Okay, next question. You mentioned last time that you’ve been having difficulty sleeping, is that still a relevant cause for concern?”

“I don’t know if it’s that concerning. I think I’m just having a hard time getting used to the new environment. It’s been getting easier to fall asleep though,” you responded. A little, white lie.

“I’m happy to hear that, [Name]. Your rest is important. I remember not being able to sleep at all during my first haul. I spent all night just tossing and turning, reading my books if I could focus on them long enough. It’s normal, but from the sound of it, you’re doing a great job adjusting.” Her gaze softened as she spoke. It was clear that she had grown to care for you quite quickly, and you did the same for her. “Only a couple more left to go…”

Anya listened intently while you answered each of her questions, taking the time to write down key details of your responses. Between questions, the sound of her pen etching against the paper filled the room. As Anya wrapped up the second to last question, your eyes wandered to the evening window screen. The warm orange and reds of the artificial sunset made the room look like it was on fire. You looked back to your hands, reaching up to take a piece of your hair and twist it between two fingers.

“All right,” Anya spoke up. “Last but not least, how do you feel about your relationships with the rest of the crew? Is there anything I should know about in particular?”

“No, I don’t think so. Everyone has treated me fine enough. Other than you, I’m still trying to get to know everyone better,” you said, still focused on your hair.

Another sympathetic smile graced Anya’s lips as she looked over at you. She knew how it felt to feel slightly out of place. “Look, I’m technically not supposed to tell you this, so you have to keep it a secret. Okay?” Anya let out a quiet laugh as you nodded quickly. She watched amused as you dropped your strand of hair and leaned in closer. “Daisuke mentioned during his eval that he wanted to get to know you more. Maybe you could try talking to him? You two have more in common than you might think.”

You looked down at your lap again, biting at the inside of your cheek. “Yeah, okay. Maybe I will.”

“Well, you’re all set. You’re free to go.” Anya closed the file and tucked it away alongside the others in her desk. “Thank you for your time, [Name]. I assume I’ll see you here tomorrow. Same time as usual?”

“Same time as usual,” you echoed, beaming as you got out of your chair and left the room.

From the hallway leading to the medical bay, you could tell that the lounge was quiet now. Curly and Jimmy must have wandered off elsewhere. It would have been completely silent if it weren’t for the subtle sound of pencil scratching coming from deeper within. As you entered the room you noticed Daisuke, hunched over the table as he sketched something in his sketchbook. Completely oblivious. You leaned against the doorway and watched from a distance for a moment, admiring as he tucked a tuft of fried brown hair behind his ear. 

“What are you drawing?” you questioned.

Daisuke jumped in his seat like a cat that had been snuck up on. His eyes shot to you, the surprise he felt immediately quelling into a tenuous excitement. He hastily closed his sketchbook —almost like he was hiding something— and smoothed out his hair. His mouth broke out into a wide, infectious smile, the gap in his two front teeth a thin ravine and the dimples on either side of his mouth tiny sinkholes.

“Me? Oh, y’know, just doodling,” he said, leaning back in his chair as if trying to act casual. “Where ya been? I couldn’t find- I mean, I didn’t see you back in the cockpit.”

“Psych eval.” You pointed over your shoulder with your thumb as you pushed yourself from the doorframe. “Can I see it?” you asked, walking up to the table and taking the seat across from him.

“Uhh… see what?” Daisuke asked in turn, voice coy and simultaneously flustered.

“Your doodles,” you responded with a laugh. “Only if you’re okay with that, obviously.”

“Oh! I mean, yeah. That’s like, totally fine. But, fair warning, they’re not that incredible or anything.” Reluctantly, Daisuke passed you his sketchbook. He looked rather bashful, cheeks slightly flushed and smile wavering.

“Hey, that’s not fair. I’ve seen your stuff on Anya’s corkboard. You’re really good.” You took the sketchbook in your hands, looking down at the cover of it. It was absolutely littered in a random assortment of stickers. Only through the few and far between gaps could you see that it was once a pure black. It looked much cooler now decorated with the various games, bands, and whatever else Daisuke liked. “Are you sure you don’t mind me looking? Again, it’s perfectly fine if you changed your mind.”

“Nah, it’s all good. Just don’t expect too much, ‘kay?” he replied, running a hand through his hair.

“No expectations,” you agreed.

You turned over the cover, revealing the first page. In red ink you read ‘if found please return to Daisuke, thank youuuuuu’, alongside it was a doodle of himself looking particularly grateful. Or maybe he was pleading. You chuckled under your breath and began flipping through the rest of the pages. Each one was filled with sketches and those increasingly familiar doodles of predominantly other people. Friends, maybe family, and characters from the different games he liked. His work wasn’t quite realistic, but not the most stylized either. Rather, it seemed to be a perfect mix of the two. Something entirely unique to him. To Daisuke.

The deeper you got into the book you started to spy familiar faces. Captain Curly, Swansea, Anya, even Jimmy, but mostly you. You glanced up at him, seeing that he was seemingly avoiding eye contact with you all together. His hand was still tangled within his hair, head turned to the side, and lips knitted into a fine line. That mole —high on his left cheek— stared at you more than his own eyes.

When you finally got to the last page you realized he hadn’t been doodling at all. Instead, there before you, in soft pencil sketching, was a portrait of you that Daisuke had drawn from memory. It wasn’t perfect, but it was incredibly detailed nevertheless. You held up the book, taking in the details with a look of awe on your face. He captured all of your little imperfections —the tilt of your eyes, the quirk in your smile, all of it. 

“Daisuke, these are actually so good!” you exclaimed, setting the book down and passing it back to him.

“You… you really think so?” He let out a breath of relief, finally looking at you again. “Man, I thought you would find them totally weird. I’ve been too scared to show anyone else but Anya.”

“Why would I think they’re weird?” you asked.

“Shit, I dunno…” Daisuke trailed off.

You shook your head. “You’re really talented.”

“I- Thank you,” he breathed. Daisuke’s face softened as you looked at him from across the table. The flush in his cheeks was barely noticeable, a fair pink dusting the peaks of his features. “Hey, I noticed you brought a Walkman on board with you. I never thought I’d actually see one of those things in the flesh.”

“Oh, yeah,” you laughed lightly. “It was a gift from my mom. It’s outdated as hell, but I’ve got a bunch of custom tapes back in my room. We should totally listen to them sometime.”

“Are you kidding? Dude, I’d love to-”

“Daisuke!” Swansea called from down the hall, cutting him off. He rounded the corner, sticking his head into the lounge with a sweaty brow. “There you are. Get your ass up, break time’s over. We’ve got work to finish up before dinner.”

Daisuke looked noticeably disappointed at the sight of Swansea. “But I-”

“No ‘buts’. C’mon now, I don’t have all day,” Swansea said with a huff before he turned around, walking back toward the utility room.

“Coming,” Daisuke sighed. He stood up, tucking his sketchbook under his arm with a slight frown. “Guess I’ll see ya later, [Name].”

“Yeah! I’ve got to show you some of my mixes, remember?” you responded sweetly, smiling up at him.

Daisuke nodded enthusiastically. As he left the room, he adopted a pep in his step. A smile was glued to his face as he beamed down the hall. The human embodiment of sunshine in that moment.

[ivyues]

Future Hyung-in-Law | 3 | - Seungmin

Seungmin x Lee Know's sister

As your relationship with Seungmin blossoms, your brother begrudgingly comes to accept it.

Part 1: Tangled Lines | Part 2: Caught in the Middle

It’s late, the room softly lit by the warm glow of a bedside lamp. You’re lying on your side, facing Seungmin, who’s stretched out beside you. The blanket is pulled up to your waists, and you can feel the comforting heat of his body close to yours. There’s a mix of quiet and unspoken melancholy in the air, though you both try to ignore it for now.

Seungmin is about to go on tour, and it's clear from the way he keeps glancing at his phone that he’s still trying to adjust to the reality of the upcoming months apart. His hand absentmindedly plays with your fingers, his touch gentle as if memorizing every curve and line.

“You know,” he starts, his voice low and steady, “I don’t think I’ve fully wrapped my head around the fact that I won’t see my girlfriend for months.”

You glance at him, a teasing grin spreading across your face. “Your what?” 

He blinks at you, caught off guard. “My girlfriend?” he repeats, his brow furrowing slightly in confusion.

“You know,” you say, propping yourself up on your elbow, “it’s funny how you skipped an important step there. I don’t recall anyone officially asking me to be their girlfriend.”

Seungmin’s ears turn pink as he sits up a little, caught. “Wait, what do you mean? I—” 

You cut him off with a laugh, “You asked my brother for my hand, remember? Which, first of all, is very outdated of you. But you never actually asked me.”

A sheepish smile spreads across his face. “That’s not fair. I didn’t think you’d care about the formality. I thought it was obvious by… everything we’ve been doing.” 

“Oh, it was obvious,” you say, pretending to sound unimpressed. “But still, kind of bold of you to think you could just skip that part.” 

He groans, flopping back onto the pillow dramatically. “Fine. I’ll do it right now, then.”

You burst out laughing and swat his arm playfully. “Don’t be so lame, Seungmin. The moment’s already passed.” 

He catches your hand before you can pull it away, turning serious for just a moment. “Well, I don’t care if it’s lame. I want you to know how much you mean to me before I go.” His voice softens, and his thumb brushes over your knuckles. “I didn’t mean to skip anything, but I also don’t need to ask you for something we both already know.”

Your teasing falters as the sincerity of his words sinks in. You tuck yourself closer to him, burying your face in his chest to hide the smile you can’t seem to suppress. “Fine, fine,” you mumble into his shirt. “I guess I’ll let it slide this time.”

His laugh rumbles in his chest as he hugs you tighter. “Guess that means you really are my girlfriend then.”

“Guess so,” you reply softly, and the two of you fall into a comfortable silence, savoring the last quiet moments before the distance comes between you.

As you settle back, Seungmin shifts slightly, looking down at you with a playful glint in his eyes. "By the way," he starts, his tone teasing, "don't even think about stealing one of my hoodies before I leave."  

You blink at him, feigning innocence. "Who said I was going to steal one?"  

He raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. "Oh, come on. You’ve been eyeing my navy hoodie all night like it’s already yours."  

You pout, trying to look affronted. "I was not! And besides, it’s only fair – boyfriends are supposed to let their girlfriends steal hoodies. It’s like an unwritten rule."  

Seungmin smirks, crossing his arms over his chest. "First of all, you’re not stealing it. Borrowing maybe, but stealing? No way. Second, I’m leaving for months. If I give it to you, what am I supposed to wear when I miss you?”  

The softness in his voice catches you off guard, and for a moment, you’re tempted to let it go. But the teasing glint in his eyes tells you he’s messing with you.  

You sit up, grabbing his arm and leaning closer. “Okay, let’s compromise. You keep the navy one, and I get the grey one. That way, we both have something.”  

He looks at you like he’s pretending to think it over. “Hmm. Tempting. But what’s stopping you from stealing both before I even leave?”  

“Nothing,” you admit with a mischievous grin.  

Seungmin sighs dramatically, leaning back into the pillows. “You’re impossible.”  

“And yet, you’re dating me,” you reply, already plotting your hoodie heist.  

“Unfortunately,” he mutters, though the way he pulls you closer betrays how much he doesn’t mean it. Later, when you do end up “borrowing” the grey hoodie, Seungmin only shakes his head, a fond smile playing at his lips.

-----

The tour bus hums softly as the members settle into their routines. Seungmin is tucked into a corner, his phone propped up against his knee. He’s quietly face-timing you, a soft smile playing on his lips as he listens to you talk. Every so often, he chuckles or murmurs a reply, his voice warm and gentle.

Across the bus, Lee Know watches with narrowed eyes. He’s not annoyed – more amused – but there’s a hint of exasperation as Seungmin’s fingers hover over his screen, typing furiously the second the call ends.

“Is he always like this now?” Lee Know mutters under his breath.

Changbin, who’s been lounging beside him, follows Lee Know’s gaze and grins. “You mean, texting his girlfriend every five seconds?”

Lee Know scoffs. “Girlfriend. They’re still in that sickening puppy love phase. It’s all cute and cuddly now, but I’m dreading the day they have their first fight.”

Changbin raises an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because,” Lee Know says flatly, “I’m going to have to hear all about it. Seungmin will probably vent to me in the most annoyingly cryptic way possible, and then she’ll want to explain her side, and I’ll get dragged into it whether I want to or not.”

Changbin laughs, shaking his head. “You act like you’re some innocent bystander. If you want them to confide in you, maybe try acting a little less like... that.”

Lee Know turns to him, unimpressed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m just saying,” Changbin teases, leaning back with a smug grin, “if you stop acting like a grumpy cat about their relationship, maybe they’ll trust you more when things actually get tough. Right now, you look like you’re plotting a way to sabotage their cute little love story.”

Lee Know rolls his eyes. “I’m not plotting anything.”

“Sure, sure,” Changbin says, patting his shoulder. “Just don’t be surprised when they go to me for advice instead of you. I’ll be the supportive older brother figure, while you sulk in the background.”

Lee Know sighs dramatically but doesn’t argue further, muttering something about how he’s only teasing because he cares. Changbin just grins, already imagining how Lee Know will handle it when the inevitable teasing turns into actual heartfelt support.

-----

After a whirlwind tour, they finally had a few days off to unwind. With the chaos of the road behind them, Lee Know decided it was the perfect time to visit his parents and catch up with his family. Seungmin, on the other hand, was tagging along – not just for the break but to finally introduce himself as your boyfriend and of course to see you again.

The drive was quiet for the first few minutes, but Lee Know couldn't resist breaking the silence with his usual teasing tone.

“So, ready to meet my parents?” Lee Know glanced at Seungmin, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

Seungmin shifted in his seat, his hands fidgeting nervously. “I’m not nervous.”

Lee Know shot him a skeptical look. “Uh-huh. Sure you’re not. I saw you turn pale when we passed the exit.”

Seungmin groaned, leaning back in the seat. “I just want it to go well, okay? I’m not just your bandmate anymore, hyung. This is different.”

Lee Know chuckled. “Relax. They already like you. Just don’t start blushing every time they ask you about your relationship with their daughter.”

Seungmin buried his face in his hands for a moment, muttering something incoherent. Lee Know laughed, clearly enjoying himself as the car neared their destination.

The car pulls into the driveway, and Seungmin exhales deeply as they step out. Before he can dwell on his nerves, the front door swings open, and you step outside, beaming.  

Without hesitation, you rush to Seungmin, throwing your arms around him in a tight hug. He stiffens for a split second, surprised by the public affection, but quickly melts into your embrace, wrapping his arms around you.  

“Missed you,” you whisper, and he smiles softly.  

Lee Know, standing off to the side with his bag, raises an eyebrow. “Wow, okay. Not even an ‘hello’ for me?”  

From the doorway, Lee Know’s mom chimes in, her tone playful but firm. “Minho, don’t tease them. Bring the rest of the bags in before the food gets cold.”  

Lee Know pauses, momentarily taken aback, looking eyes with Seungmin, who was still hugging you, as he heads inside.  

Seungmin suppresses a grin, the earlier tension in his chest easing. If Lee Know’s mom was going to stop her son from teasing, maybe this wouldn’t feel like walking into the lion’s den after all.  

Dinner is lively and filled with warm chatter, your parents asking Seungmin questions that walk the line between teasing and genuinely interested. He answers with his usual charm, and you can tell how much your parents are enjoying this new addition to the family.  

Seungmin sits beside you, his arm occasionally brushing yours. Underneath the table, his fingers subtly graze your hand, and you glance at him with a knowing look. Smiling faintly, he finally lets his fingers slide between yours, holding your hand out of view of the table.  

You bite back a smile, warmth blooming in your chest. Across the table, Lee Know catches the movement. His eyes narrow slightly in mock disapproval as he watches you two, but he doesn’t say anything, letting the moment pass without interruption.  

The conversation flows around you, and you notice Lee Know giving you a slight shake of his head, as if to say, Really? Right here? You respond with an innocent shrug, but his lips twitch into an amused smirk before he looks away. 

Later that evening, the hum of conversation from the living room fades as you wander into the quiet kitchen, spotting Lee Know leaning against the counter with a glass of water in hand. He glances up at you but doesn’t say anything, just raises an eyebrow as if to ask, What now?

You step closer, leaning against the counter opposite him. “Hey,” you start softly, your tone a little hesitant. “I wanted to talk to you.”

Lee Know sips his water, watching you with mild curiosity. “I’ve had too many of those serious talks lately.”

You take a breath. “I just... I know this probably isn’t the situation you imagined or wanted. Honestly, it’s not what I thought would happen either. I didn’t think much of it when Seungmin and I first started texting. It was so casual, you know? No pressure. And maybe—” You pause, meeting his gaze. “Maybe that’s why it worked.”

He studies you for a moment, then shrugs, “I mean, what do you want me to say? It’s fine. Date him. Just leave me out of the details, yeah?” gesturing to where you had been holding hands earlier.

You can’t help but laugh lightly at his bluntness. “Noted. Don’t worry, you won’t be getting any sappy updates from us.”

Lee Know sets his glass down and looks at you with a glimmer of amusement. “Speaking of details I didn’t ask for, Seungmin called me hyung-in-law earlier.”

Your eyes widen for a moment before you smirk. “Well, maybe you brought that upon yourself after all.”

“How exactly?” Lee Know asks, crossing his arms.

You give him a knowing look but don’t answer directly. Instead, as you turn to leave the kitchen, you glance over your shoulder and say with a sly smile, “Thanks for forgetting your bag.”

-----

The teasing rivalry between Seungmin and Lee Know lived on as usual, reasing a peak during a recent group interview. As usual, the questions were light-hearted, but Seungmin’s answers were quick, witty, and sharp, often leaving Lee Know struggling to keep up. Each remark carried just enough bite to be playful without crossing the line, a delicate balance Seungmin seemed to master effortlessly.

Later, during practice, Seungmin’s energy was palpable. He moved through the routines with a focus that caught Lee Know’s attention. He couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling that Seungmin was holding something back – something more than just the usual rivalry. It wasn’t defiance, but rather a quiet confidence, as if Seungmin was proving not just his place in the group but that he could meet Lee Know’s gaze as an equal.

At one point, during a break, Seungmin pulled off his hoodie, revealing just the T-shirt underneath. Lee Know, who had been sitting across the room, glanced up at the sound of Seungmin stretching, and that’s when he saw it: a faint mark at the base of Seungmin’s neck, normally hidden by the collar of his shirt. It was barely visible, but the shape and color were unmistakable – a bruise, a love bite, something far more intimate than what he had expected.

Lee Know’s breath caught in his throat as his gaze lingered for just a second too long. He quickly looked away, trying to pretend like he hadn’t seen it, but the realization hit him like a ton of bricks. Seungmin and you... were definitely up to more than just hugging and holding hands. The playful rivalry, the extra effort – he understood now. There was something deeper between them.

Later that evening, after practice had ended, Seungmin’s phone buzzed with a message from you. He smiled at the text before sending his reply:

“By the way, you should not mark me if you want a boyfriend who is alive – Just a thought.”

pt.1 | pt.2 | masterlist

[fishnapple]

Channelled message: Things they wish to tell you (lover/partner/future spouse)

This reading is about things that the person you have in mind wishes to tell you but find it hard to do so. I don't know why, but the tone of this reading sounded so angsty. I had to fought back the urge to comment on every sentence as I was typing.

This is a general reading meant for multiple people. Take only what resonates and leave out the rest.

Your feedback is much appreciated. If you find the reading resonated with you, leave a comment, I’d love to know 🎐

About me | Masterpost Book a reading with me - KO-FI (Read this post : personal reading)

1. Amethyst

I feel like a kid whenever I'm near you. It's hard to hide, I feel so vulnerable. You stripped me of my armour. You made me afraid but I liked it. I want to tell you that you can strip whatever is left of me, and I will be willing to stand there and let you do it.

But before that, you have to catch me. I like the game of hide and seek, running and chasing. Every time I had to chase you, every time you had to chase me, it gave me the satisfaction that I'm not proud to tell you. Don't give me that look, you and I both know that whatever game we are playing, in the end, the loser gets to win, the winner gets to lose. You know you can catch me, because I let you.

I love whispering things into those pretty ears of yours. Feel them so close that my lips can almost touch your skin. Sometimes you will laugh, sometimes you will stay silent, your skin getting more red, sometimes you will turn around and let your lips touch mine. Your reactions are my goal and I'm an over-achiever.

Teetering between pure love and pure lust, what to choose? Sometimes we are so close to being enemies to each other, then we fall over into lovers. I don't know how we do it but I like to keep it a little ambiguous. The suspension, the uncertainty, those uncomfortable feelings make me feel alive.

Not to mention that people are so confused about us. I bet they can sense something between us, those flustered looks, those closer than necessary touches, those innocent exchanges. They can guess but they will never know the depth of our connection.

I actually love the feeling of sitting on the couch, waiting for you to come home to me. Once we've built our nest, I don't want to leave it. I don't want you to leave either. But I know your free spirit well enough not to tell you my wish. But you can't blame me if sometimes I use some "tactics" to entice you to stay with me. Hey, I can hear your snicker. You think someone like me saying this kind of thing is probably lying. Well, I do lie, but about the opposite thing, I lie to the world that I'm not a home-body, that my life is a constant motion, moving here and there, that I'm someone who always takes charge. My lies will be so convincing that they can even fool you. Yes, I know I like to change things, but look closer, you will find something that stays the same no matter what. I hope you won't give up finding it because I won't make it easy for you to find it. But I know you like a good challenge.

2. Rose quartz

I have so many things I wanted to tell you, but the moment those words arrived at the tip of my tongue, they took a U turn and went back. I don't know why I like to betray myself like that.

I would tell you how this ice cream tastes good, but all I could think about is your taste. I would tell you I like the feeling of warmth when sitting near the fire, but all I could feel is your heat. Same old stuff, same old stories, same old jokes, repeated again and again. What am I trying to hide? Why can't I just say what I want? What am I so afraid of?

I feel like a yellow rubber duck, floating forever on the surface, can't never get deep enough. Well, at least I get to be with you in the bathtub, not complaining. Here I go again, using light words to camouflage my feelings and desire for you. I don't want to be a tease, I want to be an arrow, striking its target at lightning speed.

Use your finger and sink this duck down into the water, and keep it that way. Hold me down, keep me still, until I'm drown in you.

Giving and taking, holding and embracing, I want it all, I don't want a single experience to slip through my fingers, I want to salvage everything, to savour slowly then to devour swiftly.

I want you to be the cold, harsh truth to my soft lies. The punishing force to my innocent crimes. But I also want you to be the embrace that I can fall into, the laughter I long to hear in my darkening days. Greedy, I know. And you can be greedy with me too. You ask and I will give.

Will you say no to my dreams, saying they're just pipe dreams, forever should be in the land of the unreal. Or will you say yes and applaud them? I know I can make them real, I know I can turn my thoughts into things that others can see and feel. I have faith. I just want you to have that same faith with me. Wouldn't it be nicer to have two who dream the same dreams? And nicer still when those two can create something together. I suggest a family, kids, pets, just a few examples.

I wish to take you everywhere, to meet everyone I know and everyone I haven't known. The feeling of a community, of connections always warm my heart. I hope you understand that. But it's okay if you don't, because there are probably lots of things I don't understand about you either. And let's keep it that way.

3. Tiger's eye

I have so many plans for our future. Since the first time when I met you, probably in some corners of my mind, I've been drawing up our plan together, our imaginary home, our imaginary kids, even our imaginary pets.

Talk to me, tell me your own delusions, give me more fuel, rile up my imagination. Delusions create the world. Or so they say, or so I say. Doesn't matter. Because I'm actually nurturing these delusions of mine into reality. Just so you wait and don't act surprised when they do come true. I have the divine on my side. You can't beat it, I can't beat it. And believe me, I've tried.

I've tried to go against the nudges, the little push behind my back so many times. It usually didn't end well. I still found myself in the exact place that I needed to be, whether I wanted to or not.

Please don't misunderstand, I'm not saying this to tell you that being with you is against my will or I want to fight back our connection. I just want to explain the way I do things in general. I do bizarre things, say bizarre things sometimes, a lot of times, actually. You would think these are all jokes. They are. When you're viewed as a weirdo, it actually gives you lots of freedom to do things your way without people exclaiming disappointment or shock. What's there to be shocked and disappointed if they already viewed you as someone capable of everything, even unhinged things. This is the way I deal with the world. Quickly, so they will be out of my sight and let me focus on other important things.

For example, you, the sight of you, up close, inching ever closer, faraway, walking away but never be out of my sight. Curate an art exhibition for me. With pieces of art showing your myriad expression and sounds. Showing you in different clothes or without. I'd love to just stand there to watch and listen. Then, when I'm brave enough, I will be an art thief.

4. Carnelian

Let me tell you upfront, I'm not the kind to forgive easily. And I know with each pain I'm getting, I'm also dissing out more pain towards others and myself.

I get easily obsessed about everything, good or bad, mostly bad things. They've burnt a piece of me. I've been betrayed in the past. So many betrayals that made me angry towards the world, towards myself. I just wanted to go away. No, not to hide, but to gather my strength again and come back and confront. I used to be the one that is caught in other's claws, now I know how to catch them in my claws.

But this kind of behaviour ruined my soul. I want to sweep away all these pains and anger, to lighten my existence. It's almost a wish that I've been keeping to myself for all this time. And now you know about it too. And I'm glad that you can help me make it come true. Pull me out of this destructive cycle. Help me breathe and look for the light.

I say hurtful things sometimes, you probably will fall victim to that some day and I want to ask for your forgiveness beforehand. I let my pride get in my way a lot of times. To prove my point, to prove my worth, to prove that I'm strong, that you can't hurt me. But you can, you just choose not to. I know I'm at your mercy. This makes me uncomfortable, but it's actually not so bad. I'm getting used to it. Thanks to your humour and gentle touches. For every hurtful word of mine, you replaced it with your kiss. If I ask you to cry for my pain, will you do it, in my stead?

You sure know how to tame me, or just anyone ever met you feel the same way? Stop, I won't let myself go into that direction of thinking. Let's just focus on us. Teach me how to dismantle someone's defence like you did to me, step by step. Just so I can understand what's being done to me. I want to know everything, grab everything in my hands to understand it.

Don't worry, I won't do it to you, because you will come to me defenceless. Is that how you will win? Will I take all I can and leave you with nothing, or will I give you all and be a part of it? You decide.

Note: I usually pull one oracle card to read their energy better. With this group, three cards wanted to come out. I looked at the cards, the fish, the bear and the scorpion, then tried to put them back because that's too many. Right at the moment I put them back into the deck, I felt a sharp pain in my rib-cage for a split second, so I decided to put the three cards down and read them for this group. And guess what, a part of the stone layout does resemble the scorpion's tail.

5. Aventurine

I'm putting my best behaviour for the world to see, for you to see too. In this world of everyone fighting to get to the top, I just want to honour a softer energy. To nurture and harmonise everything, everyone. But I pursue that desire with the mentality of a soldier, a worker, diligently getting closer to my goal every day. I don't know how to do this, to be honest, I'm properly doing it wrong. Shall I just agree with everything to keep the peace, or shall I fight back?. Is it possible to honour something that I don't understand?

I have a dilemma of being a little people-pleasing. I like to hide and push my individuality to the back. Let my own compass take a back seat while letting others dictate what's good for me. I can't deny that a part of me wish for this. To let others lead me and I will do what was told. And I just want to trust you with that responsibility, putting myself into your hands.

The only thing I want to control is how I do things, those small details to get the job done. I guess I'm just overwhelmed by the large responsibility of life that I fuss about the details. When can I stop putting my mental energy into banal things and think about the bigger picture? Will I ever meet my calling, my destination?

But good news, I'm learning. Those days that I hid in my house, alone, probably did me some good. I'm learning to be with myself. So that I can be with others. You will get an early access, of course, with special service.

I'm glad that I can feel safe with you, enough to whisper in low voice about my spiritual belief. It's always there, with me, protecting me. The last thing I want is to be called strange. Especially from you, and lucky for me, you won't. You will never do that to me, that's your kindness. To other people, they can see me getting upset at our carpet being spoiled by coffee. They probably will think that I was upset because of the cost of getting it cleaned, the ruined aesthetic. But to you, you will understand the reason immediately. You will know that I believe a spirit lives in that carpet and spilling the coffee will hurt them. Keep it a secret for me, okay? Pinky promise.

6. Prehnite

The first time that we met wasn't the first time I saw you. I had seen you ways before that. I just needed time to build my strategy, to infiltrate into your life as smoothly as possible.

I was patient, time was on my side. There is no need to rush. You had your guard up and I didn't want to scare you away. Heck, I sound like a predator, circling its prey. Or maybe I was? You tell me.

But I do know that you didn't make it easy for me to approach you. I have to confess, I almost gave up. I have a habit of letting go too early. A sign of things derailing, then I will be up and going. I couldn't be bogged down by anything, or so I thought. Love was never the end goal for me. It was just a side effect. Even lust had not much meaning to me. I just sped up ahead, leaving them behind. I was pursuing total freedom. I viewed everything as an object to be studied, to extract information from, to help build my personal library. I basically lived in my head.

What's mysterious force that kept my patient in pursuing you, I don't know. Maybe you are the biggest mystery that I've yet to solve. And that thought was the beginning of my demise. At least, my old self's demise. I'm enjoying myself right now, with you.

But you also didn't make it easier when we're together. What are you? Divine punishment? It's not like I have the option to pack by bags and go back to my old way again. I've already burned the bridge leading to it. No coming back now.

You push me to the edge, and I will pull your hand with me. Let's fall together then soaring up again. When our wings are tired and broken, plunge me back to the depth, and I will show you how enticing it is to be with me down below. You're afraid, but you're also brave. I won't do something that I know you can't do or don't want to do. That's our unspoken oath.

[t1ny-untitled]

TILL X GN!READER

「 ✦ ‧₊˚ 🎸 ⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ

- in this au, Till is in love(?) with the reader!yn and sang a different song in Round 2 in where he thinks you like (the aliens don't know it was someone else's song). He feels unsure of his feelings for gn!reader until he sang the song. -

- Warning; Till might be ooc(out of character) so I apologize if it is. If anything, feel free to give me some tips or things to improve this or any of my future fics, thank you! -

「 ✦ ‧₊˚ 🎸 ⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ

날 스치는 그대의 옅은 그 목소리

(That faint voice of yours that grazed me.)

내 이름을 한 번만 더 불러주세요

(Please call my name one more time.)

얼어버린 노을 아래 멈춰 서 있지만

(I'm standing still under the frozen light, but)

그대 향해 한 걸음씩 걸어갈래요

(I will walk towards you, step by step)

Still with you

0:01 - 0:18

Still With You - Jungkook

‧₊˚ 🎸 ⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ✦ 」

[Reader] has always been the person that Till admired a lot. Watching them from afar with admiration. Through his journey of learning the guitar, they were his inspiration and motivation to continue on. For him, his education, and for them.

You were his childhood best friend he never wanted to let go. You were too kind to him. To people. To everyone. He likes that about you. He couldn't even believe that he met someone so caring like you. It felt so unbelievable.

He just wishes to at least hold your hand, wipe your delicate tears when you cry, let you sleep on his shoulder for as long as you can, and talk to you for countless hours.

It breaks his tiny heart whenever he sees you with someone. He had always tried to impress you. He wanted you to be proud of him. To notice him. To care about him. He had always dreamed about that.

And this is finally the time that he can impress you. And he won't mess it up. He can't mess it up.

‧₊˚ 🎸 ⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ

Till was now against a guy—Acorn. A short brown haired boy who is just the same age as he is. He looked at the audience with confidence. He knew he was gonna win this round. With this song he prepared. For you.

Surely, the music started to play, giving a somewhat soft but electrifying memory with his guitar. He tried to do it as softly as possible but also enough to maybe impress you.

He struck a few tabs and some chords, bringing the microphone to his mouth as he sang, giving a slightly blocked sound to impress the audience as well

"날 스치는 그대의 옅은 그 목소리."

"내 이름을 한 번만 더 불러주세요"

"얼어버린 노을 아래 멈춰 서 있지만"

"그대 향해 한 걸음씩 걸어갈래요"

"Still with you"

He sang in a soft tone before striking a slightly louder and improvised melody. The boy looked at him, not even knowing where to start singing until he continued.

"어두운 방, 조명 하나 없이. 익숙해지면 안 되는데 그게 또 익숙해"

("Dark room, no lights. I shouldn't get used to it but I'm used to it again.")

He sang, looking at the ground for a brief moment to think about all the things he had with you before when the two of you were still kids.

"나지막이 들리는 이 에어컨 소리. 이거라도 없으면 나 정말 무너질 것 같아. 함께 웃고, 함께 울고. 이 단순한 감정들이 내겐 전부였나 봐"

("This quiet sound of the air conditioner. I feel like I'd really fall apart without this. Laugh together, cry together. I guess these simple feelings were everything to me.")

A gentle smile creeped up to his face, looking up. He felt conflicted by his unknown feelings for you. And he wanted to be sure...

"언제쯤일까 다시 그댈 마주한다면? 눈을 보고 말할래요."

("When will I ever see you again? I want to look you in the eye and tell you")

"보고 싶었어요"

("I missed you")

Suddenly, he felt a switch in his heart turned on. A feeling of his heart racing as he continued on the lyrics with passion. He hasn't felt something like this until now... It felt so nice, even.

The brunette looked at him, slightly panicking as he looked at his score compared to the gray haired one. He looked back at the gray haired, seeing how he was smiling genuinely. His collar was green, showing his positivity. Or even, motivation..

He really hopes you like it...

‧₊˚ 🎸 ⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ

"Till!"

A young child said, running towards the young boy—Till "Look what I made!" The young child said, showing him a little bouquet of flowers. You were smiling like a little kid, giving the bouquet to him. "It's for you!"

Till looked at the bouquet, feeling his cheeks burn beet red by the sudden gift. "W—why me?!" He exclaimed, looking up at you with surprise.

The young child looked at him, confused but also upset, thinking he doesn't like it "Why? Is it ugly?" You asked, looking a bit saddened as you looked down at your bouquet. He didn't like it when he saw you like that. He quickly patted your head, trying to calm you down "I—I'm just asking! I didn't say anything negative about that!" *He protested, hesitantly grabbing the bouquet and hiding it up to his chest "H—happy?!" He says, looking down at you and hoping you would be happy again

The little child looked up at him, and your face brightened. "Sing me a song" You stated, looking at him with a smile. You knew he couldn't say no... "A—ah... Hrgh..." Till grunted, feeling his face heat up and looked away, looking timid. "Fine...!" He said making you smile brightly and jumped up and down.

You sat on the floor beside him, looking at him as if waiting for him to sing. He couldn't concentrate properly on how focused you are to him but eventually, he started to sing.

"황홀했던 기억 속에"

("In the ecstatic memories")

"나 홀로 춤을 춰도 비가 내리잖아"

("Even if I dance alone, it rains")

"이 안개가 걷힐 때쯤 젖은 발로 달려갈게"

("By the time this fog clears, I'll run with wet feet")

"그때 날 안아줘"

("Hug me then")

‧₊˚ 🎸 ⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ

He didn't even realize that he was zoning out and his opponent—Acorn was already singing while he was distracted. He felt angered to the point he slammed his guitar on the floor. He wanted it to be him he's impressing you. Not the flat haired guy.

It still made him mad despite him still winning over the brunette. Now he had just killed his alien guitar. Ahh... But all he wanted to know is if you liked it or not.

He goes back to where he was, trying to find you to see if you paid attention to his performance. He just hoped that you weren't sleeping that time since you are a heavy sleeper... But luckily, when he came back, you instantly greeted him with a soft smile and waved at him. The only thing that filled his mind is that you liked it based on your small interaction with him.

Till looks at you, his face burning and his lips curling into a nervous and awkward smile before waving back. Now he finally knows what his feelings for you are now.

He wants to stay still with you

‧₊˚ 🎸 ⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ

[liahaslosthermind]

𝑬𝒍𝒚𝒔𝒊𝒂𝒏

Summary: The 4 times the Night Court’s Shadowsinger mentioned… someone, and the first time his family got the promise of an answer. 

Content: Angst, with the promise of future fluff

Warnings: Angst, I like making Azriel sad sorry, I also take the ‘mate talk’ in the Azriel/Nesta/Bryce bonus chapter and rewrite it to fit this story. I also haven’t read CC yet so apologies if Bryce is OOC Azriel x OC [not introduced in this part]

*Slight spoilers for the Azriel/Nesta/Bryce bonus chapter

Bryce turned to the fae female next to her, “You have a mate, don’t you?” Nesta simply nodded in response, a slight smile forming on her face, followed by a deep blush. “Do you?” The red head directed at Azriel.

Nesta’s stomach dropped. She knew it was a sore subject for the Shadowsinger. What with everyone else in his family being mated except for him-

“I do.” He said, a trace of apprehension in his voice. Nesta’s head snapped to face him so quickly that her vision spun for a moment, causing her to stumble.

Regaining her footing, she barked out, “Azriel? What the fuck do you mean?”

The trio stopped walking for a moment, tension settling over the once calm night air. She gave him a demanding, and slightly betrayed, look. Even though his eyes met hers, Azriel kept quiet. Bryce simply looked between the two, face wrinkling in the awkwardness of the moment.

“Ah. A sore subject, I guess?” Bryce laughed, or tried to, it only came out forced and uncomfortable. 

“Who, Az? How come I had no idea? Does anyone know?” There wasn’t anger in her voice, just hurt. 

He had to bite back his usual replies, the ones he gave to his family when they tried to ask questions or bring up the topic without him bringing it up first. Not that he ever did. 

“She’s-” he swallowed. Cauldron, when would he finally be able to talk about her without wishing the world would swallow him whole? “It’s not something I want to discuss right now, especially with present company.” He sent a pointed look at Bryce. He couldn’t hide the misery in his tone this time though as he took a deep breath and continued, “I will tell you about her, Nes. One day. I’d just rather do it on my own terms. On my own time.” Nesta opened her mouth, seconds away from arguing, when he put a hand on her shoulder, “Please.” he begged, softly. 

The glimmer of silver in his eyes caught her off guard, gave her such a knee jerk reaction of protectiveness that she gave him a crushing hug. It was strange, this feeling. Azriel, the broody, closed off, terrifying, annoyingly perceptive, kind, and unbelievably loving friend she never knew she needed had just revealed a part of himself she could tell he kept locked away for good reason. The thought that even the mention of his mate could bring him to tears made her heart break in a way she thought impossible after all she had been through. 

She took a deep breath as she pulled away, “When you’re ready,” she agreed.

He smiled back at her, while it was genuine, one of the few he reserved for his family, there was still insurmountable pain in his eyes. 

Nesta turned back to Bryce, “Can you play more of your music? Just none of that screaming one.” She asked, shaking her head at the memory of the Death Metal genre she hadn’t liked when the redhead had played it for them. 

She smiled softly as she felt Azriel squeeze her hand in a silent Thank you before he let go. 

The High Lord sat, feet propped up on his desk. “When do you head out for Rosehall?” He asked.

Azriel, standing by the window to the right of his brother, answered, “The morning after Solstice.” Rhysand grimaced when he heard the mask of indifference his Spy Master had in his voice. “I still need to pick up a gift before I go.”

Rhys took it for the invitation it was. “Would you buy her something from me? On my account this time.” He tried to put on his commanding-High-Lord voice as he said it, but he knew very well that Azriel wouldn’t listen to the last part of his request even as his brother smiled in agreement as he walked out of the room, sending an inclination of goodbye to his High Lady in the chair across from her mate. 

“Rosehall? What female is he visiting the day after Solstice?” Feyre spoke into her mate’s mind. 

Despite Rhys’ usual inability to keep anything from his mate, he couldn't bring himself to explain, couldn’t bring himself to cross the very clear lines his brother had set all those years ago. 

“It's not my story to tell. And don’t ask someone else, if any of them know, they also won’t talk.” 

Certainly not the answer she had expected, as was evident by the look on Feyre’s face.

“And if I ask Azriel?” she inquired.

“It will just bring up things he isn't ready to share. He will come to you- come to us- some day.” ‘One day’ Azriel had promised his family long ago, long before their family had been as big as it was now. “I just pray it's under better circumstances.” 

Feyre froze, feeling the weight of mixed negative emotions flowing down from her mate’s side of the bond. For once, she was even more confused after asking Rhysand for more information. 

“Well, I believe we’ve reached the threshold of faked amiability before one of us attacks the other. We should quit while we’re ahead.” Eris said as he stood up from his chair, starting to grab his papers without so much as a glance to his reluctant hosts. Even years after their alliance was set in stone with the agreement from the Night Court to back Eris’ claim to his father’s throne, even after fighting beside them in war, these faked niceties could only go on for so long before the claws came out. 

No one in the Night Court’s Inner circle could say there was anything but relief to see the Autumn Court’s High Lord walk away. But before they could let out a breath of relief, Eris stopped and turned to the Shadowsinger. 

“I have received word that your… gift has been finished. I will send someone to get it to you within the week.” 

Azriel’s head quickly snapped to Eris, “And they were able to meet all my requests?” He asked, not caring that everyone else in the room watched the interaction with fierce intrigue. 

The eldest living Vanserra boy scoffed, “I assured you they’d be able to.” Azriel let out a relieved breath at that. While he’d known Eris’ court capable of such a thing, it wasn’t much more difficult than lesser magics, but hearing it confirmed ignited hope he didn’t know he still carried.

“Thank you. She’ll love it.” The Spy Master replied earnestly, much to Eris’, as well as the rest of the Inner Circle’s, shock. 

The red haired fae simply schooled his features and nodded in response before winnowing away. 

Despite the heaviness all the secrets and questions caused, everyone remained silent as they watched Azriel slip out of the room. 

The dining room had been filled with loud chatter for the weekly family dinner. Love filled teasing and relentless jokes put everyone in a good mood. Nothing felt better to the Night Court’s Inner Circle than being all together. Unfortunately, it had to come to an end. 

“I’ll be leaving for a few days.” Azriel told Rhysand, who was sitting to his left at the head of the table. “I’ll be back for Solstice.” He quickly added. 

“I thought you were leaving the day after?” 

“I was, but the package I had been waiting on came, and I’d like to deliver it as soon as possible. I’ll drop your gift off too.” With that, Azriel got up, nodding a quick goodbye to his family, before disappearing into his shadows.

It wasn’t a request to have a few days off. He hadn’t asked if his High Lord could spare not having his Spymaster for a little. He didn’t even wait for any sort of goodbye from the rest of his family. He just left, the house sending his place setting away to be cleaned, as if he had never been there in the first place. 

Once again, everyone had questions, concerns, for their friend. But no one spoke up, as per usual. 

Until the one fae in the room with truly no information in the matter grew concerned enough with everyone’s immediate change in attitudes. 

“Where is he going?” Elain asked, looking between her friends and family. 

She saw on everyone's faces, in their eyes that refused to meet hers, that no one would tell her. Till she sent a look, full of concerned innocence, to Cassian. 

“Rosehall” He blurted out. “Or at least, I assume that's where he is going.” The last part was directed towards his older brother. 

“Where is this Rosehall?” Feyre asked, feeling he invitation Elain’s question had opened into the untouchable subject. 

The High Lady, like her second oldest sister, sent a look to Rhys, knowing he'd break for her under an embarrassingly small amount of pressure. 

“None of us know,” he gave in, “He goes at seemingly random intervals. Sometimes he’s there, often, for months. Then he will go quite a while without any visits.”

“Is it his mate? Is that who he is seeing?” Nesta inquires. 

The word seems to suck all the air out of the room. His mate. Azriel’s mate. Their brother’s mate.

Nesta’s stomach drops at the looks she receives from Cassian and Rhysand. 

They didn’t know. 

As she opens her mouth to speak, she’s cut off by a palm smacking the table.

“Enough! You all know damn well this isn’t what he would want. The only reason you all seem so comfortable talking about it is because he's gone, too preoccupied to leave a shadow behind.” Mor argues. “He has asked one thing of us in the 500 years he has been by our side, to let him- let them- be.”

With that, she winnowed out of the room, leaving a suffocating mix of guilt, confusion, and concern behind. 

Everyone could feel his presence the second he got back to the house. The light and happy Solstice air seemed to vanish in an instant. The shadows suddenly alive and wreathing. 

Rhys and Cassian had gotten up to check on their brother. While he had said he’d be gone till Solstice, they had assumed he would be there the full day to celebrate with everyone. But he had missed celebrations, for both Solstice and Feyre’s birthday, had missed dinner, and had sent no indication that he was even alive. His mental walls had been as fortified as ever, not letting Rhysand nor Feyre in the numerous times they had tried to check in. 

Their walk over to their brother’s room became a run, followed by the rest of the family, as they heard a loud crash. 

The room was dark, but they could make out the faint outline of the broken mirror and Shadowsinger standing in front of it, holding his hand as blood seemed to drip from a wound. In the dark, the sight was unsettling, but in the light, it was far worse. 

Cassian moved quickly, leaving Rhysand and the rest of the Inner Circle by the door in stunned silence. 

“Woah-” Cassian said as he lifted Azriel’s hand, causing his brother to pull back in startled shock. He hadn’t known they were coming. Hadn’t sensed their presence even then they were right in front of him.

“It’s okay, Az. But we need to clean out the wound. Make sure there aren't any shards in-” The general stopped as he looked at the Spymaster, seeing the tears streaming down his usually stone cold face. 

All he could do was help him sit down as Mor, seemingly better equipped to handle the situation, came over to kneel in front of her long time friend. 

“Az?” She took his uninjured hand in hers, her other hand going to his face to wipe away the tears. “Come on, maybe you shoul-”

“She’s gotten worse.” He admitted, his voice noticeably wobbling, “So much worse, Mor.” 

Mor quickly looked at everyone else, seeing the shock, the empathy, and worse of all, the pity. She knew more than the others, not the full story, not even close, but enough to know that their reactions were part of why he kept all of it a secret. He couldn’t handle their emotions on top of his.

By the time she looked back, she saw that Azriel had noticed it too. She could see him shrinking back into himself, trying to hide everything. 

She couldn’t let it happen again. 

“Let me in, Azriel. Don’t pretend, don’t go through 200 more years of this.” She pleaded. Luckily, this seemed to pull him back out. “Let us all in, please?”

“I can’t- I don’t want pity.” He admitted.

Rhysand spoke up this time. “Is that what you think this is? Just pity? Az, come on. We all love you, we want you to be happy. But we don’t want fake happiness. Seeing you like this makes us all upset, because we love you. Please, let us prove it. Let us in.” Rhysand begged. 

Azriel gave them all a onceover, emotion showing so clearly in his face, in his eyes, that no one seemed to be able to breathe. 

He took a deep breath before speaking up, “Tomorrow. I’ll explain- show you all, tomorrow. For now, I’d just like to celebrate Solstice, and your birthday, Feyre, with my family.” 

The air lightened up a little bit at the promise. Tomorrow, they’d all face what Azriel had been dealing with alone for 200 years. But tonight, they would all celebrate Solstice, the return of light and promise of a brighter future, as a family. 

[thelostmagicians]

Love Comes In Threes | Steve Harrington

Summary: Steve Harrington loves you, he just can't say it. [2k]

Fluff, comfort, slight angst, emotionally/verbally constipated Steve

♡

The last time Steve Harrington said I love you to someone she ripped out his heart and left with the boy she told him not to worry about. 

He doesn’t remember the last time he said it to his parents, only that he stopped trying after he kept getting the dial tone in response to his feelings. 

So you weren’t exactly surprised or upset when he kissed you instead of saying it back 6 months into your relationship. 

_

The first time you said I love you to Steve it was a stormy evening. The both of you agreed to take things slow, wounds from the past still open and healing. But he just looked so handsome that night with his hair tousled in a perfect mess, red creeping on his cheeks from the cold air as the both of you raced towards his car trying to protect yourselves from the rain. He turned the heat on as he took your hands in his in an effort to warm you up. You tried to hold it in, you swear you did, but the love you had for him weighed down on you like an anchor and you thought if you didn’t tell him that second you were going to drown in your own feelings. 

“I love you,” you had whispered as he continued rubbing his fingers over yours. He paused his actions, shyly looking up. The red on his cheeks could no longer be blamed on the cold because now he was feeling as the sun was glowing warm in his heart. 

“You sure?” he asked you. Instead of answering you kissed him, hoping your lips would act as a spout and pour how you felt directly into him.   

You knew that like you, Steve had been hurt in the past so when he pulled you in for another kiss instead of saying it back you never questioned him. 

_

But that was a year ago. 

Almost two years into the relationship and Steve still hasn’t said I love you back. Every time he hears it fall from your lips, he’ll just give your hand a squeeze and carry on. You want to think it isn’t a big deal. You try to convince yourself that the L word isn’t necessary in your relationship, not when you share a home, a bed, secrets, and, hopefully, a family in the future. But no matter how hard you try to ignore your feelings it still leaves you disappointed when you see couples everywhere throw the three words around like they’re playing catch. It’s an endless cycle of disappointment for not hearing it, guilt for questioning the love Steve has for you, and frustration for why it mattered so much.

“As someone who Steve previously loved, do you think he actually loves me or is he just… settling?”

Your question makes Nancy freeze, the book she was previously trying to shove back in the shelf falls with a loud thud. She throws an apologetic smile at the librarian who shakes her head in disapproval. 

“What are you even talking about?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know why I brought it up. But I was just thinking, Steve loved you Nance. He told you he loved you. It’s been years and people still remember how broken he was after you left. Like if I left would he be just as sad or would he be okay.”

“Are you planning on leaving Steve?” Nancy stutters out.

“Well no…definitely no. It just makes me wonder if people can see that Steve loves me or if they think of me as the passerby keeping him from you while you were the one that got away. Whenever I tell someone I’m dating Steve all I ever hear is good on him for moving on, poor thing was a wreck after Nancy Wheeler left.”

Nancy picks up her stack of books as she leads you to the front desk, “Look what Steve and I had was over before we both even realized it was over. He loves you, I think… I think he loves you more than he could’ve ever loved me. And why do you even care what people think? These are the same people who think Robin is a sinner and that my parents are happily married.”

You roll your eyes in affection as you help her with her books. “I guess you’re right…” you trail off as your eye catches a magazine. In big bold letters you read 100 Different Signs Your Man Loves You.

“Oh please you can’t be serious.”

You give her a sheepish smile as you check out your rental and head back home. 

_ 

The magazine was utter trash. It had nothing, but surface value declarations that did nothing to soothe your worries. You stopped reading after sign 8 when it said Ladies if your man compliments your cooking, then it means he’s thinking about locking it down! Because remember a way to a man’s heart is through his stomach!

Your Steve wasn’t like this. Your Steve was the kind of guy who knew you were having a bad day before you even had the chance to tell him. Your Steve was the kind of guy who would willingly wake up early and go out into snow just to heat up your car so you won’t have to drive in the cold. 

You sigh as you toss the magazine in the back of the car making a mental note to drop it off at the library on your way to pick up Robin for your girls day.

You honk twice in front of Vickie’s house before Robin comes bolting down the driveway, shoes in hand and trying to wrestle her jacket on. She gives you a wave before climbing in and greeting you with a tight hug. 

“I see your sleepover went well,” you tease. 

Before she can tease back Vickie knocks on the window prompting Robin to roll it down. 

“Hi, Vickie” you smirk up at her, eyes darting to the purple bruise under her ear that she poorly tried to conceal with makeup. 

She waves shyly, “Robin… I forgot to say,” she looks at you nervously, “Nevermind, just I’ll see you tomorrow.” She quickly kisses Robin’s cheek and scurries back inside. 

“So… what was that whole thing with Vickie about?” you try to ease in. 

Robin bumps her head on the window when you pull into a parking spot, “Oh Vickie? She’s still nervous about saying the L word publicly so that’s what she was doing.”

“At least she’s saying it privately,” you huff under your breath. 

“What was that?”

“Oh, nothing, I was just asking how she says it in public if she isn’t comfortable?”

“You know the cheek kisses she gave, that was it.”

You quickly put the shirt you’re holding back on the rack before looking at Robin confused. “What do you mean, is that your guys’ secret language?”

Robin laughs, pulling up a skirt to herself. “No silly, haven’t you ever heard the saying love comes in threes. When you touch someone three consecutive times it’s the equivalent of I. Love. You. Hence three cheek kisses equal an I love you.”

“That’s so cute,” you squeal, squeezing her arm and testing it out for yourself. 

She squeezes back instantly, “I’m surprised you haven’t heard of it, considering Steve’s the one that introduced me to it.”

Your steps falter behind her. “Hang on, Steve? My Steve, told you that?”

“Yeah, he said his Nana used to do it when they were kids or something like that. Told me before I told Vickie I loved her. Do you think this skirt is cute or should I save my money for a Madonna tape?”

Robin keeps rambling as you stay in place, your thoughts spiraling. Her confession makes you think about every single time Steve’s ever touched you. Every morning before you part ways how he pecks your lips once, twice, and a little longer the third time. How he squeezes your waist three times when he walks past you to get his favorite mug. How he reaches for your thigh, hand, anything he can get ahold of just to get three squeezes in. How he taps your arm in his sleep, again always in threes. You would stay up trying to figure out what song his taps represent before eventually drifting off yourself.   

This whole time you were waiting for Steve to verbally express his love when he was doing it quietly in his own way, more often than you ever did. 

You don’t even realize you’re crying until you feel a tear slowly drip down your neck. 

“Hey what’s wrong are you okay?” Robin asks frantically. She drops her bags, hands squeezing your arms and eyes darting around for any signs of danger. 

You nod through your tears, “I’m okay, can we just go. I have to get home, I know it’s crazy but…”

Robin nods, grabbing your arm and leading you to the exit. 

_ 

The car ride back home is quiet, Robin didn’t even whisper a goodbye when she left simply settling with a quick peck to your forehead and soft smile. 

Your thoughts feel overwhelming like everything is going a mile a minute when you think about Steve. You think about your first date, your second, and your third and so on. How Steve ended every night with three of something. 

Your body is on autopilot as you make your way through the front door. Keys tossed in the bowl, coat hung up, and shoes thrown off. 

“Hey baby, you alright? Robin called asking if you were okay.” A concerned Steve comes into your vision, he quickly wipes his hands on the kitchen towel before flinging it over his shoulder and kissing you. Once, twice, and thrice.

Your hard stare makes him nervous, he’s never seen you like this before. “Honey,” he whispers out.

You take a deep breath in, “You never said I love you to me, not after I said it first, not even when you asked me to move in.” You pause trying to compose yourself while Steve avoids your gaze. “This whole time I thought you didn’t love me like you should, that you loved me, but you weren’t in love with me.”

Steve lifts his head up, baffled, he goes to argue until you lift your hand up signaling him to wait. 

“Robin told me something about how love comes in threes, today. How three taps, or any kind of touch in rapid succession three times is the equivalent of an I love you,” he finally meets your gaze as you slowly walk over to him, tugging on his waist to hold him as close as possible. “You told me you loved me on our first date, you told me the night we had our first kiss, you told me on our anniversary. And you tell me everyday. I don’t think there’s an hour that goes by without you telling me.”

Steve pulls you into his chest before gently lifting your head and kissing you three times. You giggle at the not-so-secret-anymore gesture. “I’m trying. I really am trying hard to say it, but I do. I really do. I want you to know how important you are, but I’m also scared. So I guess this was my way of saying it, reminding myself that when I do eventually say the words… you won’t leave.” 

“I’m sorry…I’m so sorry for not seeing your love. For not understanding that even though you love me quietly you love me the most. Your love is in the tiny but grand gestures that I take for granted, but would miss deeply if I didn’t have it. I don’t need the words anymore Steve, I just need you because you love me more than I ever thought was possible and that’s enough. You’re enough.”

He squeezes your shoulder three times before whispering the words you’ve always wanted to hear from him. 

They say love comes in threes and your love with Steve may be quiet, but it’s everywhere. 

[genevawrenn]

I am still brainstorming about The Secret League of Alchemists [tr!Sneeg, tr!Clown & tr!Ros] after today's streams [Ros & Sneeg have VODs] cause there are simply so many good points that happened and that conversation played out exactly how I would have wanted it to. From both a character and creator POV, well-fucking-done.

Alright, onto this ramble [from now on I will be talking about character unless I specify].

First of all, I am so fucking glad Sneeg was the one to notice the fact Ros left Yellow and had the tough conversation about what happened with her. Up until that point, at least from the VODs I have seen, Ros has only really known his silly, bantering side, I am not sure she even really trusted him to be venerable up until today when she took a chance and I am so happy she did. She watched him and Clown drive each other insane and had issues differentiating between their tones if they were serious or not but I think she finally understands how Sneeg acts when he is locked in on something.

Because he handled everything BEAUTIFULLY.

He took the time to sit down and listen to her, asking thought provoking questions as he tries to narrow down the motivation of their opposition. Checking with their comfort before giving them the respect of privacy and taking them to somewhere no one would follow, allowing them to speak freely and without judgement. Speaking straight up of what he was witness too, backing them up whenever they needed yet giving the respect to make the decisions they have to.

I absolutely ADORE the fact Clown also showed up, and without second guessing anything about the subject content and immediately locks in, takomg the time to listen to his obviously hurting friend. The fact he tries to talk about Sneeg's machine upon his arrival on the mushroom island and Sneeg refuses for the conversation to be deflected, instead forcing the subject back to the one he wished to focus on and its so masterfully well done.

Clown and Sneeg have surprised me the most, I think, loyalty wise. The Kingdom of Fools was a unity of misfits who became family forced together through gathering materials and protecting against attacks from all fronts. They have become an inseparable trio who has now proved they have one another's backs, alongside Foolish, as that's who they believe the core of the Kingdom is. They are willing to tackle issues head on together, refusing to let anyone stumble and fighting at their side until the bitter end.

Clown, Sneeg, Ros and Foolish have become united through circumstances and family through loyalty, only hoping for the best for the fellow members of their Kingdom.

I love how Sneeg describes Ros as being the castle, the centerpiece of their faction. She started the foundations to give them shelter and fought back each exhausting time it has been threatened. She is the origin, the keystone, the bloody heart of the Kingdom of Fools gilded in gold and royal purples. She was the interim Queen when Foolish fell, immediately accepted and backed up by the rest of the Fools.

I think after Foolish sacrificed himself it brought a lot into perspective for the remaining members, and Sneeg made his choice of who he would stand by in times of chaos. He found a warrior-in-arms with Clown who despite all their bickering, both would protect each others backs without question.

"You are the Kingdom, The entirety of the Kingdom was built around a structure you made, willingly."

Perfect guards for their Kingdom, otherwise known as Ros, the Royal Architect. She is the foundations, the structures and the walls who will save her people despite the weather that batters her and the sieges that befall her fortifications.

But like hell she is facing it alone, especially now.

She created a safe space for her people to gather and build their future, now in her times of strife two of the people who earned her respect stepped up to protect her when she stumbled.

I haven't watched much of Clown's content, or Ros before this world but now I want to know so much more.

Because I see the reputation Clown wears like a comfortable, worn sweater, totally confident with what his ruthless nature has bought him. But even someone so terrifying can hide a soft heart, and Ros has clearly earned the terrifying pvper's friendship.

Simply by being herself and building a home, people gathered to inhabit it and now are willing to go through hell and high water to save their safe space. Two of the server's most feared have made their stance known, at the side of the personification of everything their Kingdom stands for.

Its beautiful poetry watching the one who nutured malice instead of love get his just desserts, and I am eagerly awaiting their King's return but I trust in the core trio who has kept this Kingdom afloat week after week.

They are strongest together, and today proved that in so many ways. I adore and love this trio, and hope this open communication remains a habit between them, because knowing they can come to one another without judgement and be reassured of their worth.

Sneeg made sure to have emphasis that Ros has an incredible amount of worth to the Kingdom even beyond the castle she built, because she is the keystone who united them and holds them all together.

Oh my Secret League of Alchemists, though I did not know you before I am delighted to make your acquaintance now. One of my favourite tropes is scary souls who have a soft spot for those they care for, I hope it continues long into the future because they cooked a whole meal and then some with each and every action from today's story.

Bravo. Give me more.

[antinousletmehit]

˚₊‧꒰ა Chapter 26 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

୨୧┇pairing: Telemachus x reader

୨୧┇I can’t tell if I should stop it after they get married or make the continuing chapters about them early marriage, also this one’s a long chapter.

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

The week had passed with an uneasy calm. Telemachus and Y/N were lounging under the shade of an olive tree near the palace gardens, her head resting on his lap as he absentmindedly played with her hair. She was smiling softly, feeling the warmth of his hand as he combed through her locks. “You know,” she said, breaking the silence, “for a guy who fought off suitors and snuck around secret passageways, you’re surprisingly calm now.”

Telemachus chuckled. “I have you to thank for that. You’ve been my calm in the storm.”

Before she could respond, a palace servant appeared, bowing respectfully. “My lord Telemachus, the king and queen have requested your presence in the main hall. Alone.”

She immediately sat up, glancing at Telemachus with curiosity and slight worry. “What do they want with you?”

Telemachus shrugged but felt a knot of anxiety twist in his stomach. “I don’t know, but I’d better not keep them waiting.”

He kissed her forehead quickly before standing, brushing off his tunic. “Don’t go getting into trouble while I’m gone.”

She smirked. “Trouble? Me? Never.” With a grin, Telemachus followed the servant into the palace, his nerves growing with each step. When he entered the hall, Odysseus and Penelope were seated side by side, their faces serious but not unkind.

“Son,” Odysseus began, his deep voice echoing in the room, “we have something important to discuss.”

Penelope offered a soft smile, her tone gentler. “Telemachus, it’s about Y/N.”

Telemachus blinked, his heart pounding. “Y/N? What about her?”

Odysseus leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “You’ve proven your loyalty to her. Your love for her is clear. And after much deliberation, your mother and I agree that it’s time to solidify this bond—for the good of Ithaca and for your future.”

Penelope reached out, placing a comforting hand on her son’s arm. “We want you to marry her, Telemachus. In a month’s time.”

Telemachus froze. “A month?” he stammered.

“Yes,” Penelope said with a smile. “We believe it’s best for both of you to have this union sooner rather than later. The people will see it as a new chapter for Ithaca, a symbol of peace after the chaos.”

Odysseus, however, narrowed his eyes at his son. “You do intend to marry her, don’t you?”

“Of course I do!” Telemachus blurted out, his face heating. “I love her, I want to marry her, I just… a month? That’s so soon.”

Penelope chuckled softly, patting his hand. “Trust me, Telemachus, time will fly. You’ll see. Besides, I think she will be more than thrilled.”

Telemachus scratched the back of his neck, his nerves bubbling to the surface. “I just… I don’t know if I’m ready.”

Odysseus let out a bark of laughter. “Ready? You fought suitors, braved the seas, and stood against me without knowing who I was. If you can do that, you can handle a wedding.”

Telemachus sighed, his head spinning. “I guess there’s no point in arguing with either of you.”

Penelope leaned over and kissed his forehead. “That’s my boy. You’ll be fine, Telemachus. Just think about how happy you’ll make her.”

Telemachus nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah… I guess I’d better start practicing my vows.”As he left the hall, his mind reeled. A month. He loved y/n more than anything, but the thought of standing before the entire kingdom, of stepping into a new life as her husband, sent a wave of nervous excitement through him.

He made his way back to the gardens, already rehearsing how he’d break the news to y/n without tripping over his words. Telemachus found her exactly where he’d left her, sitting under the olive tree, her fingers idly plucking at the grass. She looked up as he approached, her lips curving into a soft smile. “Back so soon?” she teased, noticing the anxious look on his face. “What’s wrong? Did your parents scold you for sneaking around with me again?”

He chuckled nervously and sat beside her, fiddling with the hem of his tunic. “No, nothing like that… well, not exactly. They, uh, had something to tell me.”

She tilted her head, curious. “And what’s that?”

Telemachus hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “They, uh, want us to get married… in a month.”

She blinked at him, her expression calm and even. “That’s it?”

Telemachus gawked at her. “That’s it? Y/N, it’s in a month! That’s practically tomorrow!”

She laughed lightly, shaking her head. “Honestly, I thought it would’ve happened sooner. You’re royalty, after all. Isn’t this kind of thing expected?”

“You thought—wait, you expected this?” Telemachus asked, utterly baffled.

“Of course,” she replied, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I thought your parents would demand it the moment they found out about us. A month? That’s practically generous.”

Telemachus groaned, falling back onto the grass. “Great, so you’re perfectly fine while I’m over here losing my mind.”

She leaned over him, a teasing smile on her lips. “You’re overthinking, Telemachus. We’ve been through so much already—sneaking around, hiding from suitors, fighting for our lives. A wedding? That’s the easy part.”

He stared up at her, his lips twitching into a reluctant smile. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one who has to worry about messing up your vows in front of the entire kingdom.”

“Who says I’m not worried about tripping over my dress?” She shot back, poking his chest playfully. “We’ll survive it, just like we’ve survived everything else.”

Telemachus sighed, letting her words sink in. “You’re right. As always.”

“Of course I am,” she said with a smirk, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “Now stop stressing and start thinking about what you’re going to wear. A month will pass before you know it.”

He groaned again, but her reassurance softened the tension in his chest. Maybe, just maybe, this whole marriage thing wouldn’t be so terrifying after all—especially with Y/N by his side. her lips curled into a mischievous grin as she sat back on the grass, watching Telemachus recover from his earlier nerves. She let the silence linger for a moment, letting him think he was safe, before dropping the bombshell.

“You know,” she started casually, plucking at a blade of grass, “once we’re married, that would technically make Antinous your brother-in-law.”

Telemachus froze. His eye twitched. Then, slowly, he sat up, his face twisting in utter horror. “Brother-in-law? Antinous?!”

She bit her lip, trying and failing to hold back her laughter as Telemachus threw his hands in the air and began pacing in frantic circles. “No, no, no! Absolutely not!” he ranted, pointing a finger at her as if accusing her of some heinous crime. “Do you realize what you’ve just said? Antinous, the Antinous—smug, arrogant, insufferable—would be family! My family!”

“Technically, he’s already my family,” she pointed out with a shrug, her tone innocent but her eyes dancing with amusement.

“That’s different!” Telemachus snapped, running his hands through his hair as though he were on the brink of losing his mind. “You’re stuck with him. I’m choosing this, and nowhere in that choice did I agree to him being involved!”

She chuckled, leaning back on her hands. “Come on, Telemachus. It’s not like you’ll have to sit around bonding with him. Though…” She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “It might be fun to see you two try. Imagine the heartfelt brotherly talks.”

Telemachus whirled around, his face a mixture of disbelief and outrage. “Heartfelt talks?! Y/N, the man tried to kill me! He literally plotted to have me ambushed and thrown into the ocean! What am I supposed to say to him—‘Hey, thanks for the warm welcome, bro’?! No! Absolutely not!”

She couldn’t hold it in anymore and burst out laughing, clutching her stomach as Telemachus continued his tirade. “And another thing!” he ranted, gesturing wildly. “He’s always got that smug, punchable look on his face! How am I supposed to sit at a family dinner without wanting to throw the nearest plate at him?”

“Family dinners will be so fun,” she teased, wiping a tear from her eye as her laughter died down. “Just think, you and Antinous, side by side, passing bread rolls like civilized men.”

Telemachus groaned, dropping dramatically to his knees. “Y/N, I’m begging you. Don’t make me do this. There has to be a loophole, right? Maybe we can disown him? Or—”

“Telemachus,” she interrupted, leaning over to cup his face in her hands, her smile soft but still teasing. “You’re going to survive this. I promise. And if you behave, I might even make sure Antinous doesn’t tease you too much at the wedding.”

He groaned again, letting his forehead fall onto her shoulder. “I’ve fought monsters, Y/N. Literal monsters. But this? This might actually be the thing that breaks me.”

She just laughed, wrapping her arms around him. “You’ll be fine, brother-in-law.”Telemachus let out a strangled noise, and she couldn’t help but laugh even harder.

———

Y/N sat on the edge of her bed, biting her fingernails—a habit she had long outgrown but couldn’t help revisiting. Her heart felt heavy, torn between guilt and anxiety as she thought about the dark, damp dungeon where her brother was being kept. It had been a week since everything went down—the suitors’ deaths, Odysseus’s dramatic return, and Antinous’s imprisonment. She hadn’t visited him once.

Her stomach twisted. What if he’s angry with me? What if he thinks I’ve abandoned him? She loved her brother, despite everything. Antinous had always been complicated—harsh, arrogant, and difficult to read—but she couldn’t shake the memories of the boy who used to protect her, the brother who shielded her from everything.

“Are you still thinking about him?” Telemachus’s voice broke her train of thought.

She looked up to see him leaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed but his expression soft. She nodded slowly. “I can’t help it. It’s been a week, Telemachus. He’s my brother… I can’t stop thinking about how he must be feeling. Alone. Abandoned. I should’ve gone to see him by now.”

Telemachus walked over, sitting beside her on the bed. His jaw clenched briefly, but he forced a smile, hiding the venom he felt toward Antinous. “Y/N, listen. I know you care about him. I get it. But… don’t guilt yourself too much over this. He’s the one who made the choices that put him in that dungeon.”

“I know,” she whispered, looking down at her hands. “But he’s still my brother. And what if he thinks I’ve just forgotten about him? What if he thinks I hate him?” Telemachus sighed, resting a hand on her shoulder. He didn’t know how to navigate this. The thought of Antinous rotting in the dungeon brought him satisfaction, but seeing her this distraught? That wasn’t what he wanted.

“You’re overthinking it,” he said, his tone as soothing as he could manage. “He’s probably… fine.” He hesitated, not wanting to lie but also not wanting to encourage her to go. “You know Antinous. He’s too stubborn to sit down there worrying about whether or not you’re thinking about him. He’s probably spent the whole week plotting some clever insult to throw your way when you show up.”

She laughed softly, but her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “You really think so?”

“Absolutely,” Telemachus said, leaning back on his hands. “It’s Antinous. He’s too proud to let a dungeon get the better of him.”

Her anxiety didn’t ease entirely, but she appreciated the effort Telemachus was making. She glanced over at him, noticing the faintest twitch in his jaw—he was trying hard to keep his dislike for Antinous under control. “You don’t have to pretend to like him, you know,” she said quietly.

Telemachus blinked, caught off guard, and then laughed awkwardly. “I’m not pretending to like him. I’m… tolerating him. For you.” He reached over to take her hand, squeezing it. “And because I know he’s important to you. That’s enough for me to—” He caught himself, searching for a word that didn’t betray his true feelings. “—put up with him.”

She smiled faintly, leaning her head against his shoulder. “Thank you, Telemachus. I know this isn’t easy for you.”

“It’s not,” he admitted with a grin, trying to lighten the mood. “But I’ll survive. As long as you don’t start calling him my brother-in-law again.”That drew a real laugh from her, and Telemachus relaxed slightly. For now, at least, he could handle this. Even if it meant biting his tongue whenever Antinous came up.

——

The stone steps leading down to the dungeon were cold and damp, and each one felt heavier than the last as she descended into the dimly lit space. The faint drip of water echoed through the halls, and the air smelled of mildew and stale despair. She wrapped her arms around herself as if it would shield her from the oppressive atmosphere.

Her heart pounded in her chest. She hadn’t seen Antinous in a week—not since Odysseus had declared his punishment. The last memory she had of him was the look in his eyes as the guards dragged him away, his usual bravado shattered into something raw and bitter. Finally, she reached the cell where he was being held. A guard gave her a cautious look but didn’t stop her as she approached the iron bars. “Five minutes,” he muttered before stepping back to give them space.

Antinous sat on the floor, leaning against the wall with his arms resting on his knees. His once-pristine clothes were now torn and dirty, and his hair was disheveled. He looked thinner, weaker—but his sharp eyes flicked up to meet hers, and that familiar edge of defiance was still there. “Well, well,” he drawled, his voice rough from disuse. “Look who decided to grace me with her presence. I thought you’d forgotten all about me, dear sister.”

She flinched at the venom in his tone but held her ground. “I didn’t forget,” she said softly, gripping the bars. “I’ve been… I’ve been trying to figure out how to face you after everything that happened.”

Antinous raised an eyebrow, pushing himself to his feet. He stepped closer, his expression unreadable. “Face me? What exactly do you think I’m going to do from in here, Y/N? Lecture you to death?”

“That’s not what I meant,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “I just… I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to fix this.”

His jaw tightened, and he leaned against the bars, his face inches from hers. “Fix it? There’s nothing to fix, Y/N. You’re on their side now. Odysseus’s little pet, Telemachus’s future wife—congratulations, by the way.” His voice dripped with sarcasm.

“That’s not fair,” she whispered, tears welling up in her eyes. “You know I didn’t choose any of this. I didn’t choose to have to pick between my brother and the man I love. I—”

“The man you love?” Antinous cut her off, his voice rising. “You love him so much you’d let his father throw me into this pit like an animal? You love him so much that you’d just stand by while I rot down here?”

She recoiled, tears spilling down her cheeks. “That’s not true! I begged him to spare you! You’re still alive because of me!”

Antinous’s gaze softened for a brief moment, but he quickly masked it with a sneer. “And what a mercy this is,” he said bitterly, gesturing to his cell. “You really went above and beyond for me, Y/N.”

She shook her head, gripping the bars tighter. “I don’t know how to make you understand… I’m trying, Antinous. I’m trying to keep what little family I have left, but you make it so hard. You’re so angry all the time, and you can’t see past your hate for them to realize that I’m still here. I still love you!”

His eyes widened slightly at her words, but he quickly turned away, running a hand through his messy hair. “You shouldn’t,” he muttered.

She blinked, her breath catching. “What?”

Antinous faced the wall, his voice quieter now. “You shouldn’t love me. I’m a bastard, Y/N. I’ve done things you wouldn’t forgive me for if you knew. And now? Now I’m just a failure. A prisoner. A disgrace.”

She stepped as close to the bars as she could, her voice trembling but resolute. “You’re my brother. I don’t care what you’ve done, Antinous. I don’t care about any of it. You’re still my family, and I will never stop loving you.” He turned to her then, his face unreadable but his eyes glistening with something unspoken. For a moment, he seemed like the boy she used to know.

“You’re a fool,” he said finally, but his voice lacked its usual bite.

She smiled faintly through her tears. “Maybe. But I’m your fool.”

Antinous let out a quiet, bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Go, y/n. You’ve done your duty as the good little sister. Go back to your prince.” She hesitated, wanting to say more, but the guard’s shadow loomed over her, signaling that her time was up. With a heavy heart, she stepped back, her eyes lingering on her brother one last time before she turned and walked away.

Antinous watched her go, his expression hardening again. But as soon as she was out of sight, he sat back down against the wall, running a hand over his face and letting out a shaky breath.

——

Y/N climbed the stairs from the dungeon slowly, her legs feeling like lead. Her encounter with Antinous replayed in her mind, the bitterness in his voice, the pain in his words. She wiped her eyes quickly as she reached Telemachus’s room, not wanting to let him see how deeply it had affected her.

Pushing open the door, she found Telemachus seated on the edge of his bed, flipping absently through a scroll. His brow furrowed when he noticed her face, streaked with remnants of tears, and he immediately set the scroll aside. “Y/N,” he said, standing up and walking toward her, concern etched into his features. “What happened? Did something go wrong?”

Without a word, she stepped into his arms, burying her face against his chest as her arms encircled his waist. She clung to him tightly, her body trembling slightly. Telemachus froze for a moment, startled by the intensity of her embrace, before wrapping his arms around her protectively.“You went to see him, didn’t you?” he asked softly, though his tone darkened with suspicion.

She nodded against his chest but didn’t lift her head to meet his eyes. “I had to,” she whispered. “I couldn’t just leave him down there without… without saying something.”

Telemachus tensed, his jaw clenching. “And what did he say to you?”

She hesitated, pulling back just enough to look up at him. Her eyes were glassy, and her lip quivered. “He’s angry. He thinks I’ve abandoned him… that I’ve chosen you over him.”

“Well, he’s not wrong,” Telemachus snapped, his frustration boiling to the surface. “You should choose me. He’s done nothing but bring chaos and ruin to this house, to you, and to my family!”

“Telemachus…” her voice was soft but pleading.

“No!” he barked, stepping away from her slightly, though his hands still rested on her shoulders. “I’ve been more than patient, Y/N. I’ve tried to understand your bond with him, but every time you cry over that bastard, I swear—” His voice dropped, cold and furious. “If he so much as says one more word to hurt you, I’ll march down there myself and have his head on a spike.”

Her breath hitched, and she reached up to cup his face with both hands. “Don’t say that,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “Please, don’t. He’s still my brother, Telemachus. I love him, even if he’s broken and cruel. He’s still a part of me.”

Telemachus looked down at her, his stormy expression softening as he took in her tear-streaked face. He let out a slow breath, his hands moving to her waist as he pulled her close again. “I don’t want to lose you, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice gentler now. “But I can’t stand the thought of him hurting you anymore. It’s like… he doesn’t deserve to have someone like you care for him.”

She rested her forehead against his chest, her fingers gripping the fabric of his tunic. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I don’t mean to hurt you. I just… I don’t know how to let go of him. He’s all I had for so long.”

Telemachus kissed the top of her head, his anger simmering down as he held her close. “I’ll protect you, no matter what,” he promised. “Even if it’s from him. But if he crosses a line, Y/N, I won’t hesitate. I love you too much to let him ruin you.”

She nodded, her tears soaking into his tunic. She didn’t want to think about what might happen if Antinous tested Telemachus’s patience, but for now, she let herself sink into his embrace, finding solace in his steady heartbeat.

@procrastination20 @jackiepackiee @barrythestrawberry041 @blessedbyahuntress

@f3r4lfr0gg3r @permanently-nothere @eyuunho @jackintheboxs-world @simpingmyassoff @sunshinewhosketches @sugarlillycookie @kaguraaaa @doodle-with-rhy

@0anodite0 @cocosparkel @tati-the-fangirl

@dazedemery @tsmaruchan

@holywizardprincess @galaxygurlll @xo-cuteplosion-xo

[mylovesstuffs]

OT13 reaction to someone flirting with their s/o at an award show

Request: I've never sent you a request before so I tried to follow your instructions properly hope this is ok 👀)

seventeen ‼️🫶🏼

Fluff? Angst? Up to you really

Reaction 🌝

hm so in favour of the award season that just past, the idea was how the sebongs would react with someone else flirting with you during awards night (in this case y/n / reader is also a idol/ artist attending and no one knows their together ygm)

like who would be protective and approach right away? Who would just watch giggle and chuckle? Who would try to be nonchalant but be so obvious that they're looking?

Can't wait to hear your thoughts ‼️ sending lots of love and a happy new year 🫶🏼🫶🏼

A/N: I love the prompt! Btw, it might seem like everyone's reacting the same way, but no, they aren't. They just have a common ground, which I think every man should have. Also, I realized halfway through that I should've categorized it, but I was too lazy to rewrite the whole thing again. This would've been a good one-shot sort of thing if I only focused on one member, but I don't think I would be able to write all 13 members with the same prompt. I guess I'll try something like this in the future

Seungcheol: Cheol would exude calm dominance. He'd sit there, pretending to be relaxed, but his eyes? It would be locked on the situation. Wdym he’d do nothing? Absolutely not. The second he notices someone getting too bold with you, he'd make his presence known—not through confrontation, but with subtle yet commanding gestures. He’d accidentally catch your gaze from across the room, his intense stare sending a clear message: You good, babe? Need me to step in? If the flirter doesn’t back off, expect him to walk over, throw a casual arm around your chair, and smile politely, but there’s a steeliness to his tone when he introduces himself. He’s a leader on and off the stage, and no one’s coming near his person.

Jeonghan: Oh, Jeonghan's the king of playing it cool. He wouldn’t move a muscle, letting out a little amused chuckle as he watches the scene unfold. But don’t let his easygoing demeanor fool you—he’s analyzing every single detail. He trusts you completely but also knows how charming he can be. If the flirting escalates, he’d casually saunter over, all smiles, and innocently join the conversation. His honeyed tone would have just enough of an edge to make the flirter retreat. You thought he wouldn’t step in? He’s Jeonghan, the ultimate strategist, and he’ll always protect his love while still being effortless.

Joshua: Joshua would play it cool too but in a way that’s so obvious it’s endearing. He’d smile politely from his table, but his grip on his drink might tighten ever so slightly. He’s a softie, but also your man. If the flirter gets too close, he might find an excuse to accidentally walk by, brushing your arm or whispering something sweet and cheeky like, “Having fun, babe?” He’d never confront anyone outright unless necessary—he’s too classy for that—but his subtle presence would make it clear to everyone in the room that you’re taken. You think he’s just sitting there? Nah, he’s staking his claim in the most elegant way possible.

Jun: Moon would find it hilarious. He’s such a chaotic cutie sometimes, I can’t. He’d nudge the member sitting next to him and point at the scene, whispering something like, “Look at that. They think they have a chance.” But deep down, there’s a flicker of possessiveness. If the flirter keeps pushing, he might get up and walk over casually, sliding into the conversation with a sly grin. His playful charm would leave the flirter flustered and unsure of what just happened. He’s protective in his own quirky way, and I’m crying because he’d never let you feel uncomfortable. I love my man so much TT

Hoshi: Hoshi would be a mix of soft and slightly chaotic, and I love him for it. At first, he’d probably pout from a distance, his face betraying his jealousy even though he’s trying to act unaffected. But let’s be real, he can’t keep it cool for long. The moment he thinks you’re even a little uncomfortable, he’d dart over, all bright smiles, and wrap an arm around you in a totally friendly gesture. He might say something teasing but with a hint of possessiveness. His protective tiger energy will activated.

Wonwoo: Angst King Supreme. He would keep it nonchalant on the surface, but inside? Oh, he’s feeling things. He trusts you completely and knows you can handle yourself, so he wouldn’t intervene unless absolutely necessary. However, his subtle reactions—like a clenched jaw or a quick glance at the flirter—would give him away. He wouldn’t confront the flirter right away, but he’d sit in silence, overthinking every little thing. “Should I have made it public?” He’d question himself, spiraling a little, even though he knows you love him. If things escalate, he might casually walk over, not saying much but standing close enough to make the other person feel the heat of his presence. You think he’s unbothered? He’s LITERALLY fuming inside but hiding it behind that cool exterior, and I’m scared —

Woozi: Woozi’s reaction would be so understated that you might not even notice it at first. He’d sit quietly, watching the interaction with a small, almost imperceptible frown. He’s reserved but fiercely protective. If he feels like the flirter is crossing a line, he’d lean over to a member and mutter something like, “Do I need to go over there?” And if he does approach? Oh, he’s not wasting time on pleasantries. His tone would be calm but firm, sending a clear message without ever raising his voice. He’s your man, and he’ll step up when it matters most.

Dokyeom: Dokyeom would be flustered at first, unsure whether to intervene or let you handle it. He’s such a sweetie. But the moment he sees you even slightly uncomfortable, he’s on his feet, heading over with his signature smile. He’d probably introduce himself in the friendliest way possible, but there’s an underlying protectiveness in his tone. His warmth would make the flirter back off without even realizing it. Wdym he’d stay seated? Nope, he’s too caring for that.

Mingyu: Mingyu would be the most obvious of the group, and it’s honestly adorable. This man wears his heart on his sleeve. He’d try to stay cool, but his constant glances and slightly furrowed brows would give him away. If the flirter gets too close, he’d have no choice but to step in. He’d walk over with that signature puppy smile, but there’s a possessiveness in his eyes that makes it clear who you belong to. This puppy is anything but subtle.

Minghao: The8 would radiate confidence. He trusts you and knows you can handle yourself, but that doesn’t mean he’s not paying attention. If someone gets too bold, he’d walk over, might place a light hand on your back or shoulder, a subtle but powerful gesture that says, ‘This is my person.’ He’s the type to protect you without making a scene, and we should be swooning because he’s so effortlessly cool about it.

Seungkwan: Seungkwan would be dramatic internally but composed externally. He’d whisper to the members, “Are they serious right now?” before shooting occasional side-eyes at the scene. If he feels like you’re uncomfortable, he’d march over, his protective instincts kicking in. He’s fiercely loyal and wouldn’t hesitate to let the flirter know they’re out of line—but in the most eloquent way possible.

Vernon: He would be unbothered on the surface, but internally? He’s watching everything. He trusts you completely and knows you can handle yourself, so he’d sit back and observe unless things got out of hand. If he does intervene, it would be in the chillest way possible—maybe a simple hand on your shoulder or a quick, “Hey, you good?” He’s just subtle about his protectiveness, and he's here for his low-key energy.

Dino: Dino would NOT be the least protective. He’d watch the interaction closely, his brows furrowed slightly. If the flirter gets too bold, he’d approach confidently, standing tall. He might not say much, but his presence alone would be enough to make the other person back off. He’s mature enough to stand up for his love.

[elryuse]

Yandere Chaebol Irene x Single dad

Dangerous Choices

Yandere Chaebol Irene X Single Dad Male Reader

The warmth of You-mi’s laughter filled the small apartment as you watched her chase a toy car across the floor. Despite the struggles of being a single dad, moments like these made it all worthwhile. It had been nearly a year since your wife passed away, leaving you to balance grief with the responsibility of raising a bright, energetic four-year-old. The bills were piling up, and your part-time job wasn’t enough anymore. You needed something stable, something that could provide a better future for your daughter.

“Daddy, look!” You-mi beamed, holding up the toy car as though it were a trophy. “It’s so fast!”

You forced a smile. “It sure is, sweetheart. But guess what? Daddy’s got an interview today.”

Her face lit up. “Does that mean we can get ice cream after?”

“If I get the job, we’ll get all the ice cream you want,” you promised, ruffling her hair.

You left the apartment with her laughter echoing in your ears, carrying that small spark of hope with you.

The company building was massive, with glass panels that reflected the morning sun and an air of intimidating sophistication. You adjusted your tie nervously, trying to calm your racing heart. Inside, the receptionist directed you to the top floor for your interview.

When you entered the room, she was there.

Sitting behind an immaculate glass desk was the most striking woman you’d ever seen. Her features were delicate yet sharp, her long black hair cascading like silk. Her tailored suit hugged her figure perfectly, exuding both elegance and authority. Her gaze was cold, analytical, as if she could see through every layer of your soul.

“Take a seat,” she said, her voice smooth but devoid of warmth.

You sat down, feeling like you were being scrutinized under a microscope.

“Your resume is... underwhelming,” she began, her tone curt. “What makes you think you’re qualified for this position?”

You swallowed hard, taken aback by her bluntness. “I may not have the best resume, but I’ve always worked hard and learned quickly. I’m not afraid to face challenges, and I’m willing to do whatever it takes to succeed.”

Her lips twitched, almost imperceptibly. “And why do you need this job so badly?”

You hesitated for a moment before answering, your voice softening. “I have a daughter. She’s four. Her name is You-mi. I want to give her the life she deserves.”

For a moment, her icy demeanor faltered. There was a flicker of something in her eyes—curiosity, perhaps? But it vanished as quickly as it appeared.

“And what if I said I’m not interested in hiring someone who needs to be home by 6 PM every day?” she challenged, leaning forward slightly.

“Then I’d say I’ll find a way to make it work,” you replied, meeting her gaze despite the knot in your stomach. “I’m not looking for excuses. I’m looking for an opportunity.”

Her expression softened just enough to make you wonder if you’d imagined it. Then, she leaned back in her chair and folded her arms.

“Impressive answer,” she said, almost begrudgingly. “Most people would crumble under pressure. You didn’t.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

Later that evening, as you sat with You-mi over dinner, your phone buzzed. You unlocked it to see an email notification.

“Congratulations,” it read. “You have been selected for the position. Report to the office on Monday.”

Your heart soared.

“Did you get the job, Daddy?” You-mi asked, her eyes wide with hope.

You grinned. “Yes, sweetheart. I got the job.”

She squealed with delight, throwing her tiny arms around you. You hugged her tightly, your heart brimming with gratitude.

Unbeknownst to you, Irene was still sitting in her office, staring at your resume with an unusual intensity.

“Y/n,” she murmured, tracing the letters of your name on the paper with her perfectly manicured nail. A faint smile played on her lips—one that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“I’ll make sure you don’t regret working here,” she whispered, her voice laced with an unsettling undertone.

Your first day at the company was a mix of nerves and determination. The office was bright and modern, with a buzz of quiet efficiency. To your surprise, the tasks assigned to you were manageable. You quickly fell into a rhythm, organizing reports, coordinating schedules, and handling the finer details Irene demanded.

By the end of the first week, your manager praised your work ethic, and even Irene, who rarely spoke outside of giving instructions, offered a curt “Good job” during a brief encounter in the hallway. Her words, though simple, carried a weight that left you feeling proud.

Months turned into years, and your role within the company became second nature. Irene was no longer just the intimidating figure behind the glass desk. Over time, she showed glimpses of a softer side—never openly affectionate, but her actions spoke volumes.

She often noticed your exhaustion before you did, offering quiet words of encouragement or granting you time off to care for You-mi. On You-mi’s birthdays, she would send beautifully wrapped gifts: a dollhouse one year, a sketchbook and art supplies another.

“You don’t have to do this,” you told her once, overwhelmed by her generosity.

“I know,” she replied coolly, her eyes betraying a flicker of something deeper. “But I want to.”

You didn’t know what to make of her. The more you got to know her, the more she seemed like an enigma.

One evening, while tucking You-mi into bed, she looked up at you with her big, curious eyes.

“Daddy, are you going to get married again?” she asked innocently.

The question caught you off guard. “Why do you ask that, sweetheart?”

“Well…” she said, twirling a strand of her hair. “Miss Irene is so nice. She always asks about me, and she smiles a lot when she talks to you. Do you like her?”

Your cheeks flushed. “Irene’s my boss. It’s not like that.”

“But you like her,” she teased, giggling as you stammered.

“She’s... kind, and she’s helped us a lot. But that doesn’t mean—”

“You’re blushing!” You-mi interrupted, bursting into laughter.

You sighed, covering your face with your hands. “Go to sleep, troublemaker.”

But as she drifted off, her words lingered. Did you like Irene?

The next morning, you found yourself standing outside Irene’s office with a coffee cup in hand. It had become a routine to bring her coffee whenever you passed the café on your way in. She always accepted it with a polite nod, and today was no different.

“Thank you,” she said, taking the cup.

You were about to leave when she stopped you. “Wait.”

You turned back. “Yes, Miss Irene?”

She gestured to the chair across from her desk. “Sit.”

Her tone left no room for argument, so you complied, feeling slightly uneasy.

“I’ve been thinking,” she began, her gaze locking onto yours. “You’ve been working here for nearly three years now. Your performance has exceeded expectations, and your dedication is admirable.”

“Thank you,” you said, unsure of where this was going.

She leaned forward slightly, her fingers steepled. “But I can’t help but wonder—how do you balance it all? Your work, your daughter... your life outside this office?”

You hesitated. “It’s not easy, but I manage. And a lot of that is thanks to your support.”

Her eyes softened, the coldness melting away just a fraction. “You’re too modest.”

There was a pause, heavy with unspoken words. Finally, she spoke again, her voice quieter this time.

“Y/n... do you ever think about the future? About what you want for yourself and your daughter?”

The question caught you off guard. “Of course I do. I want to give her the best life I can.”

“And what about your happiness?” she pressed.

“I—” You faltered, unsure how to answer. “I guess I haven’t thought much about that.”

Irene’s gaze lingered on you, her expression unreadable. “Perhaps you should.”

Her words stayed with you long after you left her office, planting seeds of confusion and curiosity in your mind.

The soft glow of the apartment greeted you as you opened the door, expecting the usual quiet hum of your small home. Instead, laughter echoed from the living room. You froze in the doorway, astonished at the sight before you: Irene, dressed casually in a cream blouse and jeans, was sitting on the floor with You-mi. They were both laughing as they pieced together a jigsaw puzzle.

“Daddy!” You-mi exclaimed, spotting you first. She bounded over, her eyes sparkling. “Miss Irene is here! She brought me a princess dress and so many toys!”

Your gaze shifted to Irene, who stood up gracefully and smiled at you. “I hope you don’t mind. I wanted to check on You-mi, and she was kind enough to let me in.”

You shook your head, still processing. “No, of course not. I’m just... surprised. I didn’t expect you to come by.”

“I thought I’d bring some food as well,” she said, gesturing to the dining table, now laden with dishes far too elaborate for your modest kitchen. “You’ve been working hard, and I figured you deserved a proper meal.”

You-mi tugged at your hand. “Daddy, you have to try it! Miss Irene made the best roast chicken ever!”

You couldn’t help but smile at the sight of You-mi’s excitement and Irene’s unexpected warmth. “Thank you, Irene. This is... more than I could ever ask for.��

Dinner was unlike any meal you’d had in years. Irene had prepared a roast chicken, golden and crispy, surrounded by an array of side dishes—mashed potatoes, roasted vegetables, and even a fresh salad. The three of you sat at the small dining table, sharing stories and laughter as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“You’re really good at cooking,” you said, unable to hide your admiration.

“It’s a hobby,” Irene admitted, a hint of pride in her voice. “I find it relaxing.”

As the evening wore on, Irene and You-mi’s bond only deepened. She listened intently to your daughter’s stories, even indulging her requests for silly games. By the time dinner was over, You-mi was yawning, her energy finally running out.

“Let me,” Irene offered, standing as You-mi clung to her arm.

You watched in amazement as Irene guided your daughter to her room, her gentle demeanor making You-mi feel safe and loved. Irene’s laughter and soothing voice drifted down the hall as she tucked her in, leaving you in a state of disbelief.

When Irene returned, she closed the door softly behind her, a content smile on her face. “She’s a wonderful child. You’ve raised her well.”

You stood, unsure of what to say. “Thank you. She’s everything to me.”

Irene walked over, her heels clicking softly against the floor until she stood in front of you. Slowly, she reached out and took your hand in hers, her touch surprisingly warm.

“You know,” she began, her voice trembling slightly, “I’ve always wanted to have a daughter.”

Her words caught you off guard. “You have?”

She nodded, her eyes glistening with vulnerability. “But I can’t. I’m infertile. It’s something I’ve come to accept, but it doesn’t make it any easier.”

Your heart ached for her as you saw the faint crack in her otherwise perfect façade. “I’m so sorry, Irene. That must be so hard.”

She squeezed your hand gently. “It is. But spending time with You-mi... it feels like I’m getting a glimpse of something I thought I’d never have. Thank you for letting me be part of her life, even if just for a moment.”

There was a long pause as the two of you stood there, the air thick with unspoken emotions. Finally, Irene broke the silence.

“Will you come to my place tomorrow? Bring You-mi,” she said softly. “I’d like to share something with you. Maybe... she can even stay the night. I’d love to spend more time with her.”

You hesitated for a moment, but You-mi’s fondness for Irene and the kindness she’d shown made the decision easier. “Okay. We’ll come by tomorrow.”

Irene’s face lit up with a genuine smile. “Thank you, Y/n. Truly.”

As she left your apartment that night, the scent of her perfume lingering in the air, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something in your life was beginning to change. For the first time in years, the future didn’t feel so lonely.

The grandeur of Irene’s penthouse was unlike anything you’d ever seen. The polished marble floors, sparkling chandeliers, and breathtaking views of the city skyline made it feel like stepping into a dream.

“Wow, Daddy! Look at this place!” You-mi exclaimed, her eyes wide with wonder. She ran from room to room, her laughter echoing through the spacious halls.

You chuckled, watching her excitement, but your attention was soon drawn to Irene, who stood by the doorway, smiling warmly.

“She’s full of energy,” Irene said softly, her eyes following You-mi as the little girl ran toward her.

“Irene!” You-mi called out, launching herself into her arms.

Irene caught her effortlessly, hugging her tightly and stroking her hair with a tenderness that caught you off guard.

“Did you like the place?” Irene asked, her voice gentle.

“It’s amazing!” You-mi replied, giggling as Irene twirled her around.

You stood silently, watching the two of them interact. The sight of Irene’s loving smile and the way she held your daughter made your heart swell.

After showing You-mi to one of the guest rooms, Irene took you on a tour of the penthouse. The place was massive, complete with a private gym, an indoor pool, and even a lush garden on the balcony.

When You-mi saw the pool, her eyes lit up with excitement. “Daddy, can I swim? Please?”

You glanced at Irene, hesitant. “Is it okay?”

“Of course,” Irene said with a nod, her voice as warm as her smile.

Before you could say another word, You-mi had already dashed off to change into the swimsuit Irene had thoughtfully provided. Moments later, she was splashing happily in the pool, her laughter filling the air.

Irene placed a gentle hand on your arm, pulling your attention back to her. “Come with me,” she said, her voice soft but firm.

She led you to a wine cellar tucked away behind a sleek glass door. The room was dimly lit, with rows of fine wines lining the walls. Irene picked a bottle with practiced ease, explaining it was one of her favorites, before guiding you to a cozy seating area.

You sat across from her as she poured two glasses of deep red wine, her movements graceful and deliberate. She handed you a glass, her gaze lingering on yours.

“To new beginnings,” she said, raising her glass.

“To new beginnings,” you echoed, clinking glasses.

As you sipped the wine, Irene leaned back, her expression softening into something almost vulnerable. “Y/n, there’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you.”

You froze, the glass halfway to your lips. “What is it?”

She took a deep breath, her fingers lightly tracing the rim of her glass. “I’ve thought about this for a long time. About us. About You-mi. The truth is, I want to be a part of your life. Fully.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Irene, I—”

“I want to marry you,” she said, cutting you off, her voice steady but laced with emotion. “I want to be with you and You-mi. To build a family together.”

You stared at her, stunned. The words hit you like a bolt of lightning, and before you realized it, you choked on the wine in your mouth.

Coughing, you grabbed a napkin to clean yourself, but Irene was already by your side, dabbing at your shirt with her own napkin.

“I—I’m sorry,” you stammered, your cheeks burning.

Irene chuckled softly, her eyes glimmering with amusement and affection. “You don’t have to answer right away,” she said, her tone reassuring. “I just needed you to know how I feel.”

She paused, looking into your eyes with an intensity that made your heart race. “You and You-mi have brought something into my life that I didn’t even know I was missing. I love her. I love you. And I want to be with both of you.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy with sincerity. You couldn’t deny the way your heart softened at her confession.

In that moment, You-mi’s laughter from the pool echoed in the background, a reminder of the happiness Irene had already brought into your lives.

Your life at work had been smooth and steady—until Veronica joined the office. Fresh-faced and shy, she seemed out of place among the bustling professionals. Your manager had approached you one morning, handing you a folder with her profile.

“She’s new, and she’s nervous,” he said. “I trust you’ll guide her well.”

You accepted the task willingly, seeing it as an opportunity to help someone the way others had helped you when you first started. Veronica, with her quiet demeanor and hesitant smiles, quickly warmed up to you.

“Thank you for helping me,” she said one evening as you stayed late to explain a project to her.

“Don’t mention it,” you replied. “We’ve all been there.”

What began as professional guidance turned into a budding friendship. Veronica shared bits of her life—how she’d grown up in a small town, how she’d always dreamed of working in the city but found it overwhelming. Over time, she even became fond of You-mi, often stopping by your apartment with small gifts or snacks.

“It’s nice to have people around,” she confessed one evening while helping You-mi color a picture. “I’ve been alone for so long. This feels... comforting.”

But Irene wasn’t pleased.

At first, her discontent was subtle. She would glance at you coldly when she passed by your desk or curtly dismiss you in meetings. You chalked it up to stress—after all, she had a company to run.

Then things escalated.

Your manager was abruptly demoted, a punishment Irene handed down with no explanation. Rumors flew through the office, whispers of how Irene’s wrath was swift and merciless. You began to notice how she scrutinized you more closely, her sharp eyes narrowing whenever you spoke to Veronica.

One morning, as you were preparing a report, Irene stormed into your office, her expression icy.

“Why isn’t this finished?” she snapped, pointing at your desk.

“It’s due tomorrow,” you said, confused.

“Don’t make excuses,” she hissed, her voice low but venomous. “Do you think I’m blind to how you’re spending your time?”

Her words stung, but you bit your tongue. Later, in a meeting, she openly mocked you.

“Not everyone can handle responsibility,” she said, looking directly at you as the room fell silent. “But I suppose that’s expected from someone who can’t even manage his own household properly.”

The humiliation was unbearable.

At home, You-mi noticed your mood.

“Daddy, are you okay?” she asked, hugging your leg.

“I’m fine, sweetheart,” you lied, ruffling her hair.

But you weren’t fine. Irene’s sudden cruelty left you bewildered. You couldn’t understand how the warm, caring woman you’d grown close to had become so cold.

One evening, you decided to confront her.

“Irene,” you said, stepping into her office after hours.

She didn’t look up from her laptop. “What do you want?”

“Why are you treating me like this?” you asked, frustration evident in your tone. “What did I do to deserve this?”

Finally, she met your gaze, her eyes icy and unreadable. “You know exactly what you did.”

“No, I don’t,” you said, exasperated. “If this is about Veronica—”

“Don’t say her name!” Irene snapped, slamming her laptop shut. “Do you think I don’t see how close you’ve gotten? How she’s wormed her way into your life, into your home?”

“She’s just a colleague,” you said, trying to stay calm. “She doesn’t mean anything to me like that.”

“Doesn’t she?” Irene said bitterly. “You let her into your life, into our lives. Do you think I’d stand by and let someone take you away from me?”

Her words sent a chill down your spine.

“Irene, you’re overreacting—”

“Am I?” she interrupted, stepping closer. “Do you know how long I’ve waited for you? How much I’ve sacrificed to be with you and You-mi? And now you bring her into the picture?”

Her voice cracked, and for a moment, you thought you saw a flicker of vulnerability beneath her anger.

“I just want to protect what’s mine,” she said softly, her eyes glinting with something dark.

The days that followed were a nightmare. Irene’s possessiveness only grew, her obsession suffocating. She controlled every aspect of your work life, assigning you impossible tasks and berating you for minor errors. At home, you found yourself constantly looking over your shoulder, fearing what might come next.

And yet, despite everything, part of you still remembered the woman who had brought joy to your life, who had cared for You-mi as if she were her own.

But now, that woman seemed like a distant memory.

The phone call from Veronica came late into the night. Her voice trembled with fear.

"Y/n, something’s wrong. You-mi is missing," she whispered, her panic barely contained.

“What?” you exclaimed, nearly dropping the phone. “What do you mean, missing?”

“I went to check on her after dinner, and she wasn’t in her room. The door was open, and the place—” Veronica paused, choking on her words. “You need to come home. Now.”

You didn’t waste a second. Driving back felt like an eternity, your mind racing with worst-case scenarios. When you finally arrived, the sight of your wrecked apartment made your blood run cold.

Furniture was overturned, shattered glass littered the floor, and You-mi’s toys were scattered everywhere. It was as if a storm had torn through the place. And then you saw it: a piece of paper pinned to the wall, the words scrawled in an elegant yet chilling handwriting.

“You know where to find her. -Irene-”

Your heart sank. You grabbed the note, crumpling it in your fist. There was no time to waste. You knew exactly where she’d taken You-mi.

The elevator ride to Irene’s penthouse felt agonizingly slow. When the doors finally opened, you stepped into the lavish space that once felt inviting but now reeked of menace.

“Irene!” you shouted, your voice echoing through the penthouse. “Where’s You-mi?”

You heard faint whimpers coming from one of the rooms. Following the sound, you found Irene in the lounge, standing over a trembling You-mi who sat curled up on the couch. Irene’s once-beautiful face was twisted with madness, her eyes wild and unrecognizable.

“You’re here,” Irene said, her voice eerily calm. “I was just having a little chat with our daughter.”

“She’s not your daughter,” you snapped, stepping between her and You-mi. “What are you doing, Irene? This isn’t you!”

“She could be,” Irene said, ignoring your plea. She crouched down to You-mi’s level, her tone unnervingly sweet. “Don’t you want me to be your mommy, sweetheart? I can give you everything. A beautiful home, toys, anything you want.”

You-mi shook her head, her small frame trembling. “I want my real mommy,” she said in a tiny voice.

The rejection made Irene’s composure crack. Her smile vanished, replaced by an expression of pure fury. She stood abruptly, glaring at You-mi.

“Do you know what I’ve done for you? For your father?” she spat, her voice rising. “I’ve given everything, and this is how you repay me?”

“Irene, stop!” you shouted, stepping in front of You-mi.

But Irene was beyond reason. She laughed—a hollow, chilling sound—and began pacing the room. “You think you can just replace me with her?” she sneered, her eyes narrowing. “Veronica. She’s the problem, isn’t she?”

“What are you talking about?” you asked, your voice laced with desperation.

Irene stopped pacing and fixed her gaze on you, her expression dark. “It’s simple,” she said, her tone deadly calm. “You have a choice to make. Either you save Veronica...”

She pointed to a door at the far end of the room.

“Or you save You-mi.”

Your blood turned to ice. “What have you done?”

Irene smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Veronica’s here, too. I’ve given her... a little head start. She’s in the basement. If you leave now, you might just make it in time. But if you go after her, you leave You-mi alone with me. Forever.”

You-mi clung to your leg, crying. “Daddy, don’t leave me,” she sobbed.

You knelt down, holding her tightly. “I won’t, sweetheart. I promise.”

Irene watched the scene with a twisted sense of satisfaction. “Tick-tock,” she said, tapping an invisible watch on her wrist. “What’s it going to be, Y/n? The woman who’s wormed her way into your life? Or your precious daughter?”

The room felt suffocating, the weight of Irene’s ultimatum crushing your very soul. You looked at You-mi, her tear-streaked face buried in your chest, and then at Irene, whose maniacal grin only deepened the longer you hesitated.

Time was running out, and you knew that no matter what you chose, someone would suffer.

You closed your eyes, taking a deep, shaky breath. And then you made your decision.

“I’ll do it,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Irene’s smile faltered for a moment. “What did you say?”

You stood, gently prying You-mi off you and placing her behind you protectively. Meeting Irene’s eyes, you spoke with a trembling resolve. “I’ll give myself to you, Irene. My body, my blood, my soul—everything. Just let Veronica go and leave You-mi out of this.”

A stunned silence filled the room. Irene’s expression softened, her lips parting in disbelief.

“You mean it?” she whispered, stepping closer, her manic energy shifting into something almost tender. “You’ll be mine? Completely?”

You swallowed hard and nodded. “Yes. But only if you let Veronica go and promise never to hurt You-mi again.”

Irene tilted her head, studying you with a calculating gaze. “You’re serious,” she said, almost to herself. Then, with a sly smile, she nodded. “Fine. You have my word.”

“Irene—”

Before you could say more, she raised a hand, silencing you. “I said I agree. But I want proof.”

“Proof?”

Irene stepped closer, her fingers brushing your cheek. “Kiss me,” she murmured, her voice low and commanding.

Your stomach churned, but you knew there was no other way. Slowly, you leaned in, pressing your lips against hers. The kiss was long and possessive, Irene pouring all her obsession and desire into it. When she finally pulled away, her eyes gleamed with triumph.

“There,” she said softly. “Now I know you’re mine.”

Irene turned to You-mi, who was still trembling behind you. For a moment, you feared she might lash out again, but instead, she crouched to meet You-mi’s gaze.

“You’re safe now, little one,” Irene said, her tone unnervingly gentle. “Daddy and I will take care of everything.”

You-mi clung to your leg, refusing to respond.

“I’ll call my men,” Irene continued, rising to her full height. “Veronica will be released, unharmed. Consider it a show of good faith.”

“Thank you,” you said cautiously, watching her every move.

Irene smirked. “Oh, don’t thank me yet, darling. You belong to me now. You’ll see what that means soon enough.”

That night, Irene’s men escorted you and You-mi home, leaving you in the wreckage of your apartment. True to her word, Veronica called shortly after, her voice filled with relief and confusion.

“They let me go,” she said. “Y/n, what’s going on? Why did they take me?”

“I can’t explain right now,” you said, your voice hollow. “But you’re safe. That’s all that matters.”

Veronica hesitated. “Are you safe?”

You glanced at You-mi, who was curled up on the couch, clutching her favorite stuffed animal. “I will be,” you lied.

Hanging up, you sat beside You-mi, stroking her hair as she drifted off to sleep. Your mind raced with what you had done. You had sold your soul to Irene, binding yourself to her darkness to protect the people you loved.

But as much as you hated her, part of you couldn’t deny the strange pull she had over you. Irene wasn’t just a monster—she was a broken woman, consumed by her obsession. And now, you were trapped in her web, with no way out.

As the night stretched on, you stared out the window, wondering what the future would hold.

For better or worse, you belonged to Irene now.

Years passed like fleeting moments, blurring into a haze of quiet chaos and bittersweet milestones. You-mi was now a high school student, blossoming into a bright and ambitious young woman. Seeing her smile and thrive brought you immeasurable joy, even as your life remained entangled in the suffocating grip of Irene’s obsession.

You stood by the front door of your lavish mansion, watching You-mi tie her shoelaces before heading off to school. She had grown so much—her features now a blend of the girl she once was and the confident young woman she was becoming.

“Dad,” she said, looking up at you with a warm smile. “Stop fussing. I’ll be fine.”

“I can’t help it,” you said, chuckling softly. “You’re my little girl.”

“Not so little anymore,” she teased, adjusting her backpack. “By the way, tell Irene I said thanks for the new laptop. I know she means well, even if she’s... intense.”

You nodded, the familiar knot in your chest tightening. “I will. Be safe, okay?”

“Always,” she said, giving you a quick hug before stepping out the door.

You returned to the living room, where Irene sat on the couch, cradling one of the twins. Jessica was dozing peacefully in her arms, while Jennifer played with blocks on the carpet.

Irene glanced up at you, her sharp features softening for a moment. “She’s growing up too fast,” she said, her voice unusually tender.

“She is,” you agreed, sitting beside her. “But she’s happy. That’s all I could ever ask for.”

Irene smiled faintly, brushing a strand of hair from Jessica’s face. The years had changed her, too. After undergoing a groundbreaking operation to address her infertility, she had given birth to your twin daughters. It was a moment she had dreamed of for years, and while it added another layer to your complex relationship, you couldn’t deny the love you felt for Jennifer and Jessica.

They were innocent in all of this, and you vowed to give them the same happiness and stability you had fought so hard to provide for You-mi.

“Irene,” you said, your tone cautious, “do you ever think about how we got here?”

She looked at you, her expression unreadable. “Every day,” she said simply. “And I wouldn’t change a thing.”

Her honesty, as always, was disarming. Irene’s possessiveness hadn’t diminished over the years, but she had learned to temper it in small ways. She still kept a close eye on you, her jealousy bubbling just beneath the surface, but she no longer lashed out as violently as she once had. Perhaps the birth of your children had softened her—or maybe she had simply realized she didn’t need to fight anymore.

You were hers. You always had been.

As night fell, you stood by the twins’ cribs, watching them sleep. Jennifer clutched a stuffed bear, while Jessica sucked her thumb. They looked so peaceful, so untouched by the darkness that had once engulfed your life.

Irene appeared beside you, slipping her hand into yours. “They’re perfect, aren’t they?” she whispered.

“They are,” you said, squeezing her hand lightly.

For all the pain and turmoil, you couldn’t deny the happiness you felt in moments like this. Your life was far from normal, far from ideal, but it was yours. You had found a way to survive, to adapt, and to find joy in the midst of Irene’s suffocating love.

As you stood there, watching over your daughters, you couldn’t help but think of You-mi’s bright future. No matter what happened, you had given her a chance to thrive—a chance to break free from the shadows of your past.

And that, at least, made all the sacrifices worth it.