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wolvietxt · 2 days ago

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𝓢ILENT 𝓣REATMENT.

pairings : frank castle x fem!reader warnings : argument, crying, hurt / comfort, happy ending, established relationship au, shouting, implied size diff (like my fav trope if you can’t already tell) silent treatment summary : after an argument with frank, you both end up giving eachother silent treatment, until the tension gets too unbearable for you in the car. wc : 4.5k a/n : i got a req for this a few days ago but i think i deleted it or something i can’t find it now💔 but it was from an anon so thank you for this one because i loved writing this ALSO!! thank you to everyone who leaves feedback + little comments on my frank fics i notice it happens more when i write for frank and it’s the absolute sweetest

the air in the apartment felt heavy, charged, like a storm was brewing right there in the middle of the living room. frank was pacing now, his big hands flexing at his sides, his jaw tight enough that you swore you could hear his teeth grinding.

you didn’t fight - not like this. not with him raising his voice and you trying so hard not to let yours crack. it wasn’t how things usually went. frank was tough, sure, rough around the edges in a way that didn’t really go away even when he was at his gentlest. but with you, he was softer. he made an effort to rein it in because he’d told you once, in a rare moment of vulnerability, that he didn’t want you to ever be scared of him. and you never had been.

but tonight, he was angry. angrier than you’d ever seen him at you, and the worst part was you weren’t sure how it had even escalated to this.

“so what?” frank barked, spinning on his heel to face you, his broad frame taking up what felt like the entire room. “you think i’m just gonna sit back and let this slide?” his voice was sharp, cutting, and it made you flinch, even though you knew deep down that he’d never in a million years actually hurt you. “you think that’s who i am?”

you held your ground, even though your heart was pounding against your ribs. “it’s not about letting it slide, frank,” you said softly, your tone calm, measured - a stark contrast to the heat in his voice. “it’s about not making it worse. escalating doesn’t fix anything.”

“escalating?” he repeated, his voice rising, almost incredulous. “this isn’t escalating, this is handling it. you don’t just let people treat you like crap n’ walk away. you should know that’s not how it works.”

“sometimes it is,” you said quietly, refusing to match his volume. “sometimes walking away is the only thing you can do. not everything has to be a fight.”

“bullshit.” the word came out harsh, and the bite in it made your chest tighten. frank rarely swore at you, and when he did, it was never like this, never with this kind of edge.

your hands trembled slightly, so you folded your arms across your chest, not in defiance but as a way to steady yourself. “frank, please. i don’t want to argue about this.”

“yeah, well, maybe you should’ve thought about that before you went and tried to handle this on your own.” he threw his hands up, his frustration spilling over like a dam breaking. “you didn’t even tell me, and now i’m supposed to just sit back and be okay with it?”

“i didn’t tell you because i knew this is how you’d react,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

his face twisted, a mixture of disbelief and something else - hurt, maybe. but it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by a hard, almost cold expression. “damn right this is how i’d react,” he shot back. “because i give a shit. because i don’t want you getting hurt or screwed over or whatever the hell else might happen if i’m not there to step in.”

“i know you care,” you said, your voice still soft but firm. “but you can’t control everything, frank. sometimes things happen, and you just have to let them go.”

he let out a sharp, bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair. “letting it go gets you hurt. letting it go gets you walked all over. i’m not gonna let that happen to you.”

his words were loud, forceful, like he was trying to hammer them into your head, but they only made your throat tighten more. “i can handle myself,” you said, your voice shaking slightly despite your best efforts.

“can you?” he snapped, and the doubt in his tone stung worse than any of the yelling.

you flinched, your eyes dropping to the floor. “that’s not fair,” you whispered.

“yeah, well, life’s not fair,” he shot back, his tone still razor-sharp.

silence fell between you, heavy and suffocating. you could feel the sting of tears threatening to spill, but you refused to cry - not in front of him, not when he was like this, which he never had been before. you’d seen flashes of it occasionally, never once directed at you. so instead, you turned on your heel and walked out of the room, your steps quick but steady, your back straight even though every part of you felt like curling up into yourself.

you didn’t look back, but you could feel his eyes on you as you left.

the door clicked softly as you shut yourself in the bathroom, leaning back against the cool wood as you tried to pull in a steadying breath. it felt like all the air had been sucked out of your lungs back in the living room, and now the weight of it all was crashing down on you.

you stared at the tiled floor, your arms wrapped around yourself like that might somehow hold you together. your chest felt tight, your eyes stinging with unshed tears, but you bit down hard on your bottom lip, refusing to let them fall. not yet, anyway.

you weren’t used to this - not with frank. he could be sharp, blunt, even infuriatingly stubborn sometimes, but he was never cruel. not to you. in the years since you’d met him, since the whirlwind of your relationship had gone from cautiously circling each other to something real and steady, frank had always been your safe place. he was intense, sure, but his intensity had always felt protective, grounding, like you could lean on him no matter how bad things got.

so why did it feel like he was the one knocking the ground out from under you now?

you pressed the heels of your hands against your eyes, trying to will the tears away. it wasn’t fair to pin all the blame on him, you knew that. this argument wasn’t entirely about frank’s temper, or his need to protect you - it was about your own unwillingness to let him.

the issue had started small, just a casual remark you’d made earlier in the week about someone you worked with - someone who’d been taking advantage of your kindness. you hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but frank had picked up on it immediately, and the more you’d tried to brush it off, the more his protective instincts had kicked in.

at first, it had been sweet, his quiet grumbles about how people didn’t deserve to treat you that way, how you needed to stand up for yourself more. but somewhere along the line, it had turned into this - a full-blown argument where neither of you seemed to be able to see the other’s side.

you weren’t blind to why he was upset. frank had been through more than most people could even imagine, and the idea of someone hurting you - or even disrespecting you - lit a fire in him that he couldn’t always control. but the way he handled that fire was what made your chest ache. it felt suffocating, like his need to protect you was overshadowing the fact that you didn’t want - or need - him to fight your battles for you.

you let out a shaky breath, the first tear slipping free as the weight of it all settled heavier on your shoulders.

frank had always been larger than life to you - not just physically, though his sheer size and strength made you feel small in comparison, but in the way he carried himself, the way he seemed to command every room he walked into. it was part of what had drawn you to him in the first place, the quiet confidence that bordered on intimidating until you saw the softness he tried so hard to hide.

he’d always been gentle with you, even when his hands were so calloused and rough, even when his voice was so gravelly and low. it made the harshness of his words tonight cut deeper, the sharp edges of his anger something you weren’t used to being on the receiving end of.

you wiped at your face quickly, straightening up as you tried to pull yourself together. you hated crying - especially over arguments like this. it made you feel weak, even though you knew it wasn’t, and the last thing you wanted was for frank to think he’d broken you. he’d never stop beating himself up over it.

still, you couldn’t bring yourself to go back out there yet. not with the way his words were still echoing in your mind, the frustration in his voice still ringing in your ears.

you stayed there for a while, letting the quiet of the bathroom wrap around you like a blanket, giving yourself the space to breathe and feel without the weight of frank’s presence bearing down on you.

meanwhile, in the living room, frank was pacing again. his hands were on his hips, his brows drawn together in that way they always did when he was deep in thought - or pissed off.

he knew you were upset. hell, he wasn’t an idiot, and he’d seen the way your eyes were brimming with tears before you’d turned and walked away. it wasn’t the first time he’d pushed too hard, but it was the first time it had been directed at you, and it was eating at him in a way he didn’t want to admit.

but the anger was still there, simmering just beneath the surface, and he couldn’t seem to let it go. it wasn’t directed at you - not at all. it was at the situation, at the asshole who’d made you feel like you had to handle everything on your own. but frank wasn’t exactly good at untangling those things, at separating his frustration from the people he cared about most.

he scrubbed a hand over his face, letting out a low growl of frustration as he dropped onto the couch. his mind was running in circles, replaying the argument over and over again, each word sharper than the last.

the silence in the apartment felt deafening, and for a moment, he considered going to find you, to try and talk this out. but he stopped himself, his jaw clenching as he forced himself to stay put. you needed space - he knew that much, even if it went against every instinct he had.

he sat there for a long time, the tension in his body refusing to ease as he stared at the spot where you’d been standing just minutes before.

the car keys sat on the counter, untouched, while the clock crept closer to the time you were supposed to leave. it had been a whole thing - this charity function a few towns over. someone important to frank had invited him, and even though it wasn’t the kind of event he’d normally go for, he’d said yes because it mattered to them.

you had said yes because it mattered to him.

but now, with the argument still heavy in the air, the thought of sitting next to him for almost four hours felt like trying to breathe underwater. the quiet that lingered between you wasn’t the natural kind you often enjoyed. it was thick and suffocating, and neither of you seemed ready to cut through it.

you stood in the bedroom doorway, watching frank tie his boots like the act itself had wronged him. his movements were sharp, jerky, and his mouth was set in a grim line. you weren’t sure if it was guilt or frustration written in his expression, but either way, it left your stomach in knots.

he grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair, yanking it on with a force that looked like it made the seams strain. his head turned slightly toward you as if he was about to say something, but then he thought better of it, his eyes dropping to the floor instead.

you didn’t move, didn’t speak, just hovered in the doorway as he brushed past you toward the front door. the weight of it all - the argument, the way he hadn’t looked at you since - pressed down on your chest like a boulder, and your throat burned with more unshed tears.

when he held the door open for you, you walked through it wordlessly, your gaze fixed on the floor.

outside, the crisp night air felt sharper than it should have, like even the weather was conspiring to remind you how raw everything was. frank locked the door behind you without a word, and the sound of the lock clicking into place made you flinch.

he didn’t notice.

the car ride loomed ahead of you like a punishment, the thought of sitting in that confined space together for hours making your palms sweat. but there was no way out of it, not without causing more problems.

frank climbed into the driver’s seat, his hands gripping the wheel so tightly his knuckles went white. he started the engine without looking at you, the low growl of it filling the space where words should’ve been.

you slid into the passenger seat, keeping your hands in your lap and your gaze fixed on the window. the city lights blurred into streaks as the car picked up speed, but you weren’t paying attention to where you were going. your mind was stuck on everything that had been said - and everything that hadn’t.

he’d been angry. louder than usual, harsher, the words tumbling out of him like he didn’t know how to stop them. but you knew frank. you knew the fire in him wasn’t because he didn’t care - it was because he cared too much, and it scared him sometimes.

still, knowing that didn’t make it hurt any less.

the silence in the car was unbearable, the kind that made you want to fill it just so you didn’t have to sit with the weight of it anymore. but frank wasn’t giving you an inch, his eyes glued to the road and his shoulders hunched up like he was trying to shield himself from the world.

you stole a glance at him, your chest aching at the sight of his furrowed brow and clenched jaw. he looked tired - angry, yes, but tired too, like the argument had drained him in ways he didn’t want to admit.

your own emotions were bubbling up, threatening to spill over no matter how hard you tried to keep them in check. your hands trembled slightly in your lap, and you clenched them into fists to try to stop it, but it didn’t help.

you didn’t even realize you were crying until a tear slipped down your cheek, cool against your flushed skin. you brushed it away quickly, hoping frank wouldn’t notice, but you doubted he’d even glanced your way.

the road stretched on, dark and empty except for the occasional glow of headlights from oncoming cars. the longer the silence dragged, the heavier it felt, like it was wrapping around your throat and making it hard to breathe.

eventually, the ache in your chest grew too much to bear. you didn’t know what you wanted - comfort, maybe, or some kind of reassurance that everything would be okay - but the urge to reach out was overwhelming.

your hand hovered hesitantly over the center console, your fingers trembling as you debated whether or not to do it. it felt like crossing some invisible line, like putting yourself out there in a way that left you completely vulnerable.

but then you glanced at frank, at the way his brow furrowed and his jaw tightened, and something in you broke.

with tears brimming in your eyes and a small, helpless pout tugging at your lips, you let your fingers reach up to grasp at his. the touch was so light it was barely there, but it was enough to draw his attention.

he glanced down at your hand, his gaze softening instantly as he took in the way your fingers trembled and the sheen of tears in your eyes, the wet tracks of tears that’d already fallen etched on your face.

“ah, sweetheart,” he muttered, his voice rough but laced with a tenderness that made your heart ache.

his hand moved to cover yours completely, his fingers curling around your smaller ones in a gesture that felt both protective and grounding. his thumb brushed over the back of your hand in slow, deliberate strokes, and the tension in your chest eased just a little.

you sniffled, blinking quickly to clear your vision as you looked up at him. his expression had shifted, the hard lines of his face softening as he met your gaze.

“i’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the hum of the engine.

frank let out a heavy sigh, his grip on your hand tightening slightly as he pulled the car off to the side of the road. the tires crunched against the gravel as he put it in park, and before you could ask what he was doing, he was out of the car.

your breath caught as he rounded the front of the vehicle, his movements deliberate but not rushed. he opened your door, the cool night air rushing in as he crouched slightly to meet your eyes.

“c’mere,” he said softly, his tone a stark contrast to the anger that had been there earlier.

you hesitated for only a moment before unbuckling your seatbelt and letting him pull you into his arms. his embrace was warm and solid, his arms wrapping around you in a way that made you feel small and safe all at once.

“’m sorry, baby,” he murmured against your hair, his voice rough with emotion. “shouldn’t’ve yelled. shouldn’t’ve made you feel like that.”

you buried your face in his chest, your own arms slipping around his middle as you let out a shaky breath. “i’m sorry too,” you whispered.

“you don’t gotta be sorry, you did nothing wrong. my sweet girl’s just nice to everyone, isn’t she?” he cooed, his hand came up to cradle the back of your head, his thumb brushing gently against your temple as he peppered hard kisses over your face. “we’re okay?”

you nodded against him, a small, shaky smile tugging at your lips. “we’re okay.”

he pressed another kiss to your forehead, lingering for a moment longer than before. but instead of pulling back completely, frank’s lips trailed down, brushing lightly against your temple, then your cheek.

your breath hitched, your hand tightening around his shirt as he hesitated, his lips hovering dangerously close to yours. when your eyes flicked up to meet his, there was something unspoken between you - an ache, a pull that neither of you could ignore.

“frank…” your voice was barely a whisper, and it only made him lean in closer.

his hand moved to cradle the side of your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek as his lips finally found yours. the kiss was slow at first, soft and careful, but there was a heat behind it, a depth that made your stomach twist in the best way.

he kissed you like he needed you, like he couldn’t get close enough no matter how tightly he held you. his other hand slid to your waist, pulling you against him just enough to make you feel the strength behind every touch, every movement.

when he pulled back, it was with a low, rumbling breath, his forehead resting against yours as he tried to steady himself. “you’re somethin’ else, you know that?” he murmured, his voice rough and tinged with something deeper.

your cheeks flushed, your heart racing as you tried to find the words, but all you could do was nod, your fingers still gripping the front of his shirt.

he pressed one last, lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth before stepping back. “c’mon,” he said, his tone softer now, his thumb brushing your cheek one last time before helping you back into the car.

as he slid into the driver’s seat, his hand found yours again, holding on tightly. this time, neither of you let go.

the rest of the drive was quiet, but not in the same way as before. frank kept one hand on the wheel, the other holding yours firmly in his grasp. his thumb moved in slow, lazy circles over your knuckles, a silent apology with every stroke.

you felt the tension melting bit by bit, your chest no longer tight with the weight of everything left unsaid. instead, there was this warmth - a softness between you that hadn’t been there earlier. it was unspoken, but it was enough to ease the ache in your heart.

“we’ll stop soon, yeah?” frank broke the silence, his voice low and softer than usual. “get you somethin’ to eat.”

your lips curved into a small smile, your first real one since the argument. “i’m okay,” you murmured. “we don’t have to stop.”

“nah.” he glanced over at you, his eyes lingering for a second longer than they should’ve. “you didn’t eat much earlier. ain’t lettin’ you sit through this thing hungry.”

the tenderness in his voice made your cheeks heat, and you squeezed his hand lightly in response.

it wasn’t long before frank pulled off at a small diner on the side of the road. the neon sign flickered against the night sky, casting a warm glow over the parking lot.

“c’mon,” he said, cutting the engine and stepping out.

before you could even reach for the door handle, frank was already there, pulling it open for you. his hand was outstretched, waiting for yours, and when you slipped your fingers into his, he gave them a gentle squeeze.

inside, the diner was quiet, the hum of conversation and the clatter of dishes filling the space. frank led you to a booth in the corner, his hand never leaving yours until you slid into your seat.

“what’re you in the mood for?” he asked, his eyes scanning the menu even though you both knew he’d end up ordering the same thing he always did.

you shrugged, your fingers playing with the edge of the napkin in front of you. “maybe just some fries.”

frank frowned, lowering the menu to look at you. “you need more than that.”

“frank, i’m fine - ”

“i’ll get you somethin’ else too,” he cut in, his tone leaving no room for argument.

you bit back a smile, knowing better than to push him when he got like this. instead, you let him order for both of you, his gruff voice somehow softer when he spoke to the waitress.

when the food arrived, frank nudged the plate closer to you, his eyes narrowing slightly when you hesitated. “eat, sweetheart,” he said gently.

you rolled your eyes but grabbed a fry anyway, earning a satisfied grunt from him.

as you ate, the tension from earlier felt like a distant memory. frank had a way of grounding you, of making you feel like no matter how bad things got, everything would eventually be okay.

after the meal, frank walked you back to the car, his hand settling on the small of your back as he guided you outside. the night air was crisp, but his touch was warm, steady, and it made you lean into him just a little.

“y’alright?” he asked once you were back in the passenger seat.

you nodded, looking up at him with a soft smile. “yeah. i’m okay.”

his eyes lingered on yours for a moment, and then, without a word, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead. it was quick but tender, and when he pulled back, his hand cupped your cheek for a second longer.

the drive to the function was quieter this time, but it wasn’t the heavy silence from before. it was comfortable, the kind of quiet where words weren’t necessary because you both knew everything was okay now.

as you pulled up to the venue, frank cut the engine and turned to you. his expression was softer, his usual rough edges smoothed out in a way that made your heart ache.

“you look beautiful,” he said, his voice gruff but sincere.

your cheeks flushed at the compliment, and you glanced down at your dress, suddenly feeling shy. “thank you,” you murmured.

he leaned over, his large hand settling on your knee as he pressed a quick kiss to your temple. “‘m gonna keep tellin’ you that all night,” he added, his lips quirking into the faintest of smirks.

the warmth in your chest grew, and you couldn’t help but smile back at him. “you don’t look so bad yourself,” you teased, your tone light.

he chuckled, the sound low and rumbling, and you swore it was the best thing you’d heard all day.

“c’mon, sweetheart,” he said, opening his door. “let’s get this over with.”

as you stepped out of the car, frank was already by your side, his hand finding yours once more. he held it tightly, his grip firm and reassuring, and when he glanced down at you, there was something in his eyes that made your breath catch.

it was love - raw and unfiltered, the kind that didn’t need words to be understood.

and in that moment, you knew that no matter what, you and frank would always find your way back to each other.

ᰔ frank castle : @stvr-dust, @uncertified-doc

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

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heechwe · 1 day ago

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you can take it | 𝐩𝐬𝐡

୨୧ pairing:park sunghoon x fem!reader || ୨୧ word count: 0.4k || ୨୧ genre: smut || ୨୧ tags: college au, pet names (pet, baby, kitten, etc), size kink, degradation, unprotected sex || ୨୧ synopsis: ""Come on, take it all on your own like a good little pet."" requested by anon!

↪ WANT A DRABBLE DIARY ENTRY? REQUEST ONE.ᐟ

Study sessions don’t normally end in this way.

Yes, you knew there was the potential for a makeout session or two with your boyfriend under the guise of studying for your upcoming class on Monday, your professor more than likely giving you all a pop quiz on the last three chapters in your Psychology readings.

But now, riding your boyfriend in the uncomfortable twin bed in your dorm room, you think you’re going to flunk the dumb test. “For a good cause,” Sunghoon so casually noted before he took your clothes off.

“I can’t move, Hoon. Y-You’re so big,” you stutter out as you try to move your hips. It’s a weak attempt, one that Sunghoon withholds his laughter at because you look so cute above him, already fucked out before you’ve begun.

“We both know you can, baby. You don’t mind taking it every other night.” Sunghoon sits up further to kiss your naked chest and exposed neck. He bucks up from under you just once, but it makes your already stupefied expression more twisted, and he loves it.

His good little kitten and his perfect whore, the studious girl for everyone else but an absolute beggar for him in private. Just how he wants it.

“Come on, take it all on your own like a good little pet,” he whispers, assuring you with a stern look. All of your pleasure is dependent on you, not him.

So you listen, and despite the physical toll on your body and the painful stretch between your legs, you move your hips back and forth until you feel stars behind your eyelids.

And although he swore he wouldn’t take control this time, Sunghoon just has to if he wants you to come more than once, your body clearly too weak to try any harder than that.

Lucky for you, he’s more than willing to pick up your slack.

@gyubakeries @loserlvrss @yvnempire

𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 ౨ৎ˚₊

@kstrucknet @k-films @kvanity-main @lapydiaries @moadiarynet @sweetvenomnet @onedoornet @sayxonet @violetanet @svthub @whipped-kpop-creators

#kvanity #kstrucknet #keopihausnet #lapydiariesnet #sunghoon smut #sunghoon x reader #park sunghoon smut #park sunghoon x reader #enhypen smut #enha smut #enhypen x reader #enhypen fic #enhypen fics #enha fic #enha fics #enha x reader #[ lexi's works ]#[ lw - enhypen drabbles ]

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moonlightdreamzz · 2 days ago

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I NEED YOU — YANG JUNGWON

SUMMARY. In the midst of his breaking point, Jungwon’s need for your love, presence, and understanding becomes the only thing that can save him from himself.

GENRE. ANGST / MINOR FLUFF?

THEMES. Established!Relationship, Jungwon has a mental breakdown from the weight of the world being on his shoulders, and you’re too busy trying not to be clingy to notice the signs until it’s too late.

AUTHORS NOTE. Wow. This broke me. Wish I could get a big hug right now, but I can’t, so I wrote this instead. Jungwon deserves all the love in the world.

Outsideeeeeeeee.

Those were the words plastered on the photo of you, Nicholas, Harua, and Maki—the third picture tonight, by the way, of you out at some club, having the time of your life. Nicholas’ arm is draped over your shoulder, a wide grin on his face as you laugh beside him. Maki and Harua stand off to the side, equally carefree, all of you caught in that carefree moment you’d been chasing lately.

Jungwon watches the photo flicker on his phone screen as he sits alone in his practice room, the dim light doing nothing to lessen the weight on his shoulders. The team had just finished their rehearsal, and the pressure was eating him alive. He knew you were out with your friends, having fun, but it still stung. There was a part of him, buried deep, that resented the distance between you two lately.

You had been glowing, laughing more than he’d seen in weeks, spending time with everyone else. It made him happy to see you happy, of course. But at the same time, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy. He missed the way things used to be—when you’d talk for hours, when he could just fall back into the comfort of your presence without feeling like he was a burden. Now, it felt like he was fighting for your attention in a way he never had to before.

And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to reach out. He wasn’t good at that, at letting anyone in, especially you. The weight of his responsibilities was suffocating, but even more so was the fear of failing. He knew you were there for him, always, but it didn’t make it any easier to deal with the thoughts swirling in his head, the self-doubt that he couldn’t shake.

You seemed so free, so carefree, and it made him feel… well, small. He wanted to be there with you, to laugh alongside you, to be the person who made you smile without all the baggage of his worries. But every time he tried to break through the wall he’d built up around himself, he faltered. Maybe it was because he wasn’t sure you’d understand, or maybe because he didn’t want to burden you with his mess. You didn’t deserve to carry his weight.

And yet, that didn’t stop the yearning from growing.

It wasn’t just the jealousy that ate at him; it was the ache of wanting to be seen, to be close to you again. To feel that unspoken connection you two had, the way you used to reach out and pull him in. The way you used to be his safe space.

But this time, he was ready to let you in. He just wasn’t sure how.

Jungwon sat in the corner of your apartment, his silhouette barely illuminated by the soft light coming from the kitchen. He hadn’t bothered to turn the lights on. The silence in the room felt like it was pressing against him, suffocating him more than the world outside ever could. He wasn’t even supposed to be here—he didn’t live here, not really. But he’d found himself coming earlier and earlier, staying here longer than he had any right to.

He couldn’t explain it.

The weight on his chest was heavier than usual tonight. It wasn’t just the pressure of everything he was juggling—being a leader, trying to keep everything together—it was something deeper. Something gnawing at him from the inside. The way you’d been out so often with your friends, the way you were laughing, carefree, while he was drowning in his own head, alone with his thoughts. It made him sick to think about, but worse, he couldn’t tell you. He wouldn’t let himself be the kind of guy to ask for more.

But now? Now it was breaking him.

The door clicked open, and there you were. Slightly tipsy, glowing with that smile that always made his chest tighten, but tonight it felt different. You froze for a second when you saw him, and the confusion crossed your face almost instantly. “Jungwon?”

You clearly weren’t expecting him. But there he was. Waiting. Staring at you with an unreadable expression.

You walked towards him, and he just watched you move. Your carefree energy—it killed him, and he didn’t know how to feel about it. He wanted to be happy for you, wanted to tell you how proud he was that you were having fun, but there was something in him that couldn’t. Not tonight.

“Why are you here?” you asked, trying to keep it light, as you kneeled beside him, your lips brushing against his cheek.

He didn’t even move at first. He just stared at you like you were someone he didn’t know. Like the person he once recognized wasn’t there anymore. Then his eyes flickered back to yours, and his voice came out sharp, cutting through the space between you two.

“Did you have fun?” The words were deceptively calm, but the tension in his jaw, the way his lips barely parted to speak—they were anything but.

You pulled back, blinking in confusion. “Yeah, of course,” you said, not understanding the sudden shift. “We had fun. Just like always.”

He didn’t reply right away. His eyes flickered over your face, but they weren’t soft anymore. They were cold, calculating, almost like he was searching for something in you—some sign, some acknowledgment, some… comfort. But there was nothing but this tension now.

You leaned in to kiss him again, but his voice stopped you.

“Why do you always look so happy with them? With him.”

His words were slow, deliberate, but they were jagged, like he was trying to bite back something bigger. You didn’t understand. “With who? Who are you talking about?”

“Nicholas,” he spat, the name falling from his lips like it burned him. “You’ve been out with him a lot, huh? He’s always got his arm around you. Always the one to laugh with you. I’m just…” He couldn’t even finish the sentence, his voice breaking.

Your eyes widened as you took a step back, completely thrown off. “Jungwon, what are you talking about?”

But he wasn’t done. He wasn’t even close to being done.

His chest heaved with the frustration building inside him, his face turning red as his temper flared. “I’m just here. Sitting. Waiting. Watching you have the time of your life while I’m fucking falling apart.” His voice cracked on the last words, and you could hear the anguish in them, even if he didn’t want you to.

“You think I don’t see it? I see it, Y/N. I see you laughing with them, talking to them, and I—I just sit here. Alone. Hoping you’ll notice me. But you don’t. Not anymore.” His words were coming faster now, like a dam had burst and there was no stopping it.

You were frozen. Completely at a loss for how to react. This wasn’t the Jungwon you knew. He’d always been calm, collected, and so damn self-assured. But now? He was a storm, and you were standing right in its path.

“Jungwon…” You tried to reach for him, but he pulled away from your touch, his body stiff, like you’d just burned him.

“I’m trying, okay? I’m trying to be everything, to do everything right. For you. For the team. For everyone. But it’s never enough.” His voice broke this time, and he closed his eyes, his breath shuddering as he fought to keep himself together.

But he couldn’t. Not anymore.

“You don’t understand. You don’t know how bad it’s getting.” He wiped his face quickly, almost embarrassed by the tears that were welling up in his eyes. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take. I don’t know how to keep doing this.”

He broke then, his walls shattering around him. His voice trembled as he finally let everything out. “I just need you. All of you. I need you to be here, Y/N. I need you to see me. To really see me. Not the leader, not the boyfriend you think you have to be perfect for. Just… me.”

His head dropped into his hands, shoulders shaking as the weight of everything came crashing down.

You knelt beside him, your own heart breaking at the sight of him like this. But you didn’t know what to say. How to fix this.

“Jungwon, I—” you started, but he cut you off, his voice hoarse as he spoke between shallow breaths.

“You don’t have to say anything, Y/N. Just… just be here. Please. I need you so much right now.” His voice cracked, and he looked at you, the vulnerability in his eyes like nothing you’d ever seen before.

And for the first time, you realized just how deeply he’d been sinking, just how much he needed you in a way you hadn’t noticed. All the signs had been there, but you hadn’t seen them.

You felt your heart sink as you watched him, the quiet weight of everything he was carrying. He wasn’t just the leader, the strong one, the one who held everything together. He was Jungwon. And right now, that Jungwon was broken, and you couldn’t ignore that anymore.

You moved closer, slowly, like you were trying to approach a wounded animal. His eyes flicked up to yours, and for a moment, it felt like he was hiding everything again. But you weren’t having it this time.

“Jungwon… I’m so sorry.” The words tasted bitter, because you knew they weren’t enough, but they were all you could say for now. “I thought I was doing the right thing, giving you space… I thought I was being considerate, letting you have your time. But I didn’t realize I was missing the whole picture. I wasn’t seeing you. Not the way you needed me to. Not the way you are.”

You reached out then, your hand resting gently on his arm, like you were trying to ground him. “I know you don’t always want to show it, and I know you’re used to keeping things inside, holding everything together. You’re so used to being the rock for everyone else.” You shook your head, your voice steady now, growing with conviction. “But that’s not all you are, Jungwon. You’re more than that.”

You paused, taking a breath, needing to find the right words that didn’t just feel like empty reassurances. “You’re someone who thinks so much, who feels so deeply, even when you try to bury it. You’re someone who cares about people, and about me—and I can see that. But you’re also someone who deserves to be cared for, someone who needs someone to hold him, even when you’re scared to ask for it.”

You looked at him, trying to pierce through the walls he’d put up. “You don’t have to carry everything, you know. You don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to be the strong one all the time. I see you, Jungwon. I see you as you—not just the leader or the one who’s always got it together. I see the parts of you that you don’t want to show, the parts you keep locked away because you think they make you weak. But they don’t. They make you real. And I love you for that.”

You reached up to touch his cheek, your thumb brushing softly over his skin. “I love your mind, the way you think, the way you process everything, even when it drives you crazy. I love how you’re always looking for more, for better, for deeper meaning in everything. I love the way you care about people, even when it feels like it’s too much for you to handle.

You swallowed, heart pounding. “But what I love most, Jungwon, is how you let me in. Even when you don’t want to. Even when you try to push me away. Because I know it’s hard for you to open up. But I want to hear you. I want to know all of you—the good, the bad, the messy parts that scare you.”

You leaned in, your forehead resting against his for a moment, breathing him in, your voice soft but unwavering. “I’m here, Jungwon. I’m here, not just for the good parts, not just for the strong parts. But for all of you. And I need you to promise me something.”

He didn’t say anything, just stared at you, waiting. You could feel the weight of everything in the air, and you knew this moment could change everything.

“I need you to promise me that you won’t keep all of this inside again. Promise me you’ll let me help carry it. Promise me you won’t feel like you have to do everything alone. You don’t have to be the perfect leader, or the strong one, or the guy who always has it figured out. You’re allowed to feel everything, Jungwon. You’re allowed to need someone.”

You let the silence hang in the air for a beat, hoping your words were reaching him, letting him know that you saw him—the real him. Not the one who always had to be perfect, but the one who needed love and support just like everyone else.

“I’ll always be here, Jungwon. Always. But I need you to promise me that when it gets too heavy, when you feel like you can’t breathe anymore, you’ll tell me. Promise me you won’t keep it inside. I can’t help if I don’t know, but I’ll do anything to carry this with you. So promise me you’ll never shut me out.”

His eyes flickered with something soft, something vulnerable, before he nodded slowly, the weight lifting just a little.

“I promise,” he whispered, his voice barely audible but full of sincerity. “I promise I won’t shut you out anymore.”

The words hung in the air for a long moment, neither of you moving, neither of you speaking. But something shifted in him. His eyes welled with emotion, the walls he’d kept up for so long beginning to crack under the weight of it all. Slowly, like he didn’t trust his own body to move, Jungwon leaned into you, his shoulders shaking.

And then, before you could even react, the tears came.

His face buried in the crook of your neck as his body trembled, every sob hitting like a wave. His arms wrapped around you desperately, like you were the only thing anchoring him in this overwhelming storm of feelings he had kept bottled up for so long. The weight of everything—his doubts, his frustrations, his fears—broke free, and you held him tightly, letting him feel your warmth.

You didn’t need to say anything, you just held him, letting him release it all, your hands smoothing over his hair, brushing away the tears that didn’t stop flowing. You knew this was everything he’d been carrying. And you knew this was the first time he’d ever allowed himself to let it out like this.

“I’m sorry,” his voice cracked, barely audible as he clung to you. “I didn’t mean to say those things. I didn’t… I didn’t want to hurt you, I swear. I was just so… I don’t know, frustrated. And I—” His voice hitched as another sob wracked through him, his words getting caught in the choke of his breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push you away, I didn’t mean to be so… so cruel.”

You tightened your arms around him, pressing your cheek to the top of his head, feeling him break down in your arms, feeling the weight of his regret. The words were raw, the apology coming from a place of vulnerability you hadn’t seen from him before.

“Jungwon,” you whispered softly, your hands moving to his face to gently lift his tear-soaked eyes to meet yours. “You don’t have to apologize. I know it wasn’t you. I know it was the pressure and all the things you’re holding inside. But you don’t have to carry that alone anymore. You’re not alone in this.”

He nodded weakly, his breath shallow as he tried to steady himself, but the tears still flowed, a steady stream of remorse and raw emotion. “I don’t want to hurt you, Y/N. I don’t want to push you away again. I just… I didn’t know how to make it stop. I didn’t know how to… to let go.”

You kissed his forehead gently, wiping away the last of his tears. “You don’t have to do it alone. Let me help you carry it. Let me be here, really here, for all of it. You don’t have to hold it together all the time.”

He nodded again, his arms tightening around you as if he was afraid to let go, afraid that the moment this passed, the weight would return.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, his voice thick with emotion. “For being mean. For shutting you out when all you wanted was to be there for me. I don’t deserve you.”

You smiled softly, brushing your thumb over his cheek as you looked into his eyes, making sure he could see just how much you meant it. “You do deserve me. You’re allowed to feel everything, Jungwon. And you’re allowed to have your moments, to be weak, to be scared. But you’re not weak for needing help. And I’m never going anywhere.”

With that, he let out a shaky breath, his body relaxing slightly in your arms, the storm of his emotions slowly starting to settle, the tears easing, though there was still that tremor in his breath. And for the first time in a long time, he felt a little lighter.

“I love you,” he whispered, the words trembling as they left his lips, full of sincerity, full of everything he had left to give.

You pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, a silent promise lingering in the air between you, that no matter how heavy things got, you’d always be there to help him carry it.

#enhypen #jungwon #enhypen imagines #kpop black reader #enhypen angst #enhypen scenarios #enha #enha imagines #kpop ambw #kpop poc #kpop x black reader #enhypen jungwon #enha angst #enha x reader #jungwon angst #enhypen drabbles

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novaursa · 3 days ago

Text

Legacy (what burns)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (description of injuries, slight adult content)

- Previous part: friends at heart

- Next part: what whispers

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @luniaxi @alkadri-layal @butterflygxril @urdxrling

The great hall of Casterly Rock was warm, lit by roaring hearths and filled with the low hum of conversation among soldiers and servants. Despite the oppressive winter outside, the air here carried a faint warmth, thanks to the presence of the dragons resting below. Damon, sitting at a table near the far end of the hall, rested his chin on his small hands as he observed the group of men seated near the center.

Beric Dondarrion and his band of followers were a curious sight to the boy. Their weathered faces and ragged cloaks set them apart from the polished Lannister guards who moved around the room. Damon had heard whispers about them—of their exploits, their brushes with death, and Beric’s own unnatural survival. He was drawn to them, his wide eyes taking in every detail.

“Lord Damon,” one of the guards said softly from behind him, “your mother and father would not wish for you to linger here.”

Damon ignored the guard, his curiosity outweighing his usual obedience. His gaze remained fixed on Thoros of Myr, who caught him staring and raised his flask in a mock toast. The red-robed priest whispered something to Beric, and the older man turned his single, weary eye toward the boy.

“Come here, lad,” Thoros called out, his voice carrying a friendly tone. “No need to skulk in the shadows like a ghost.”

Damon hesitated, glancing back at the guards, who shifted uneasily.

“Stay close, my lord,” one of them urged.

Damon nodded and slid off the bench, his small boots tapping softly against the stone floor as he approached the group. The guards followed at a careful distance, their eyes steady and watchful.

As Damon reached them, Beric leaned forward, his gaze level but kind. The firelight cast flickering shadows across the scars that crisscrossed his face. “How are the nightmares?” he asked, his voice low and steady.

Damon froze mid-step, his heart skipping a beat. He looked up at Beric, startled. “How... how do you know about that?” he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Beric exchanged a glance with Thoros, who gave a slight nod. “You carry the look of someone haunted,” Beric said, his tone understanding. “I’ve seen it before, in men who’ve faced things they can’t forget.”

Damon’s brow furrowed as he stepped closer. “But I’m just a boy,” he said, almost to himself. “I haven’t fought anything.”

Thoros chuckled, leaning back in his chair and taking another swig from his flask. “Nightmares don’t care how old you are, lad. They’ll come for anyone, given the chance.”

Beric gestured to an empty stool near the fire. “Sit, if you’d like. Tell me about them.”

Damon hesitated again, glancing back at the guards, who gave him a reluctant nod. He climbed onto the stool, his small frame dwarfed by the towering men around him. For a moment, he said nothing, staring into the fire as if searching for the right words.

“They’re... dark,” Damon began, his voice quiet. “There’s snow everywhere, and it’s cold. I can’t see much, but... I know something bad is coming. I saw my mother and father, and they... they were gone.” His small hands clenched into fists as he stared at the flames. “And there were spiders. Big ones. They were going to eat them.”

The room grew quieter as Damon’s words lingered in the air. Thoros and Beric exchanged a glance, the weight of the boy’s fears settling heavily between them.

“I’ve seen such creatures,” Beric said finally, his voice grave. “The spiders of the Long Night. They’re real, Damon. But your mother and father—they’re strong. They won’t fall to the darkness.”

Damon’s gaze lifted to Beric, his expression a mixture of fear and hope. “Do you think so?”

Beric nodded solemnly. “I do. And you, boy—you’re stronger than you think. Facing nightmares, even in your dreams, takes courage.”

Thoros leaned forward, his tone softer now. “The fire in you is a gift, Damon. You carry your mother’s blood, and your father’s will. Don’t let fear take that from you.”

Damon sat silently for a moment, processing their words. “I don’t want to be afraid,” he admitted. “But the dreams feel real. Like they’re going to happen.”

Beric rested a hand gently on Damon’s shoulder, the weight of it steady and reassuring. “The future is always uncertain, lad. But remember this—you’re never alone. There are those who will stand by you, no matter what comes.”

Damon looked up at him, his young face filled with a quiet determination. “Like you?”

Beric smiled faintly. “Like me.”

One of the guards stepped forward, clearing his throat. “My lord, your mother will be looking for you soon.”

Damon nodded reluctantly, slipping off the stool. He turned back to Beric and Thoros. “Thank you,” he said earnestly.

“Anytime, lad,” Thoros replied with a wink. “Now, off you go. And don’t let the nightmares win.”

As Damon walked back to his guards, he glanced over his shoulder one last time at the men by the fire. Beric raised his cup in a silent salute, and Damon gave him a small, hesitant smile before disappearing into the hall.

Beric watched him go, the faint flicker of the flames reflecting in his weary eye. “That boy has a fire in him,” he murmured. “Let’s hope it’s enough.”

Thoros took another swig from his flask, nodding in agreement. “Let’s hope.”

The study in Casterly Rock was lit with only a few candles, the shadows of the towering bookshelves casting long, foreboding shapes across the walls. Tywin Lannister sat at his desk, his eyes scanning a parchment that one of his men had delivered earlier that evening. His jaw tightened ever so slightly as he finished reading, the faint flicker of unease in his expression barely perceptible.

Across from him, Varys, the ever-watchful Spider of the realm, stood with his hands clasped neatly in front of him, his face betraying none of the intrigue or concern that might linger in his mind.

“This is the fourth report in two moons,” Tywin said, placing the parchment down with a deliberate motion. “Entire settlements gone. Houses, livestock, people—all vanished without so much as a trace.”

Varys tilted his head, his expression thoughtful. “Gone without a trace, my lord? Or left behind a trace too gruesome to mention?”

Tywin’s gaze snapped to him, his irritation flaring at the eunuch’s cryptic tone. “I’m not in the mood for riddles, Varys. Speak plainly.”

Varys inclined his head slightly, a thin smile tugging at his lips. “Of course, my lord. I only meant to suggest that these disappearances may not be as... clean as they seem. Perhaps what is left behind is something so horrific that those who find it dare not put it into words.”

Tywin leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepling as he regarded the spymaster. “You have a talent for sowing doubt and fear with your words. Tell me—what do you truly know of these vanishings?”

Varys’s eyes flickered with a hint of something unreadable. “I know that such events are not isolated to the Westerlands. There have been whispers from the Riverlands, the Reach, and even the Stormlands. Small villages and hamlets—places too insignificant to warrant much attention—simply cease to exist. And always, there are rumors of shadows moving in the night.”

“Shadows,” Tywin repeated coldly. “You expect me to believe that these vanishings are the work of some supernatural force?”

“I expect you to consider all possibilities, Lord Tywin,” Varys replied smoothly. “After all, the Long Night brought with it horrors beyond comprehension, as you already have witnessed some yourself. Who’s to say they haven’t returned with something more?”

Tywin’s fingers drummed against the desk, his expression hardening. “Horrors or not, this realm does not run on tales of the Long Night. These people—my people—are disappearing, and I will have answers. I won’t allow this winter to strip me of my strength.”

Varys nodded, his gaze sharp despite his measured tone. “Your strength is unquestionable, my lord. But strength alone may not be enough if what we face is truly from beyond the Wall.”

Tywin stood abruptly, the movement commanding the room. “What do you propose?”

Varys spread his hands in a placating gesture. “I propose vigilance, my lord. Send riders to investigate the settlements that have gone silent. Ensure that the lands around Casterly Rock are watched closely, especially during the late hours. And perhaps... consult the one person who has seen the truth of what lies beyond.”

Tywin’s eyes narrowed. “You mean my wife.”

Varys nodded. “Lady Y/N saw the Long Night in her visions. If there is anyone who might understand what is happening, it is her.”

Tywin exhaled sharply, his displeasure evident. “She has done enough, Varys. This family has done enough. I will not risk her or my sons over shadows and whispers.”

“And yet, my lord,” Varys said softly, “the shadows may come for them, regardless of your will. As they did before.”

Tywin’s jaw tightened, his hand gripping the edge of the desk. “Send out scouts,” he ordered curtly. “I want every corner of these lands searched, every whisper investigated. If there is a threat, I will find it and crush it.”

Varys inclined his head in agreement. “Of course, my lord. Your resolve is, as always, unwavering.”

“Spare me your flattery,” Tywin said coldly, turning back to the parchment on his desk. “If you hear anything—anything—I want to know immediately.”

“Consider it done,” Varys said with a bow, his silken robes rustling as he stepped back. “I will leave you to your thoughts, my lord.”

As Varys exited the study, Tywin remained standing by his desk, his gaze fixed on the flickering flame of the nearest candle. The room was silent save for the faint crackle of the fire, but his mind churned with a storm of thoughts.

He would not admit it—not even to himself—but the mention of shadows, of whispers in the night, stirred something deep within him. A faint unease, a memory of the horrors he had seen in the dark. But he pushed it aside, steeling himself as he always did.

This was his land, his realm, and he would see it endure. No matter the cost.

The heavy furs of the bed provided warmth against the biting cold that crept through the stone walls of Casterly Rock. The soft crackle of the fire in the hearth filled the room, its light casting specters over the entwined forms beneath the covers. Tywin’s hands, strong and commanding, gripped your waist, his movements deliberate as he made love to you with the same intensity he commanded in battle or council.

Yet, even as you arched against him, gasping at the pleasure he brought, you could see it—the weight in his eyes, the distraction etched into the furrow of his brow. It was rare for Tywin to falter, even for a moment, but tonight, his mind seemed elsewhere.

“Tywin,” you murmured, your hands smoothing over his shoulders as he leaned over you, pressing soft kisses along your neck. “You’re not here.”

His lips paused briefly against your skin, and his breath fanned across your collarbone before he spoke. “I am here,” he said firmly, though his voice carried a faint edge of defensiveness.

You cupped his face, tilting his head so his gaze met yours. His green eyes, keen and calculating even in intimacy, betrayed the storm of thoughts raging behind them. “No,” you whispered, brushing your thumb along his jawline. “You’re distracted. What’s troubling you?”

Tywin sighed, his weight settling beside you on the bed as he pushed himself up. He ran a hand through his thinning silvered hair, his other hand absently tracing patterns on your hip. “There have been... concerning reports,” he admitted finally, his voice low and measured. “Settlements vanishing. Entire villages gone without a trace.”

You frowned, propping yourself up on one elbow. “You mentioned nothing of this at dinner.”

“Because it’s not a matter to discuss lightly,” he replied, his tone sharp but not unkind. “I’ve sent scouts, but so far, we’ve found nothing definitive. Only whispers of... unnatural things.”

“Unnatural?” you pressed, a knot of unease forming in your stomach. “What do you mean?”

Tywin’s jaw tightened, his fingers curling against the fur-lined mattress. “There are rumors of shadows, of creatures moving in the night and their increased activity. And now this...” He hesitated, glancing at you as if weighing how much to reveal. “The hunters found evidence of more giant spiders moving in groups. Tracks. Webbing. And worse—signs of something larger, more dangerous.”

A chill ran through you, but you masked it with determination. “Then let me go,” you said firmly.

Tywin’s gaze snapped to you, his expression hardening. “Absolutely not.”

“It makes sense,” you argued, sitting up fully and pulling the furs around your shoulders. “Viserion can cover ground faster than any scout. If there is a threat, I can find it and return before it spreads further.”

Tywin’s hand shot out, gripping your wrist with a controlled strength. “Do not even think about it,” he said coldly. “You will not risk yourself flying into the unknown.”

You placed your free hand over his, your touch soft but resolute. “And what would you have me do? Sit here while our people vanish? While the realm falls into chaos?”

“You are not expendable,” he growled, his voice rising slightly. “Do you think I can afford to lose you? To have our sons lose their mother?”

“And what of you?” you countered, your voice steady but filled with emotion. “You rode out into the dark with your men not long ago. You faced those horrors head-on. Did you think of what I would do if I lost you?”

Tywin’s grip loosened, and he exhaled sharply, his shoulders stiffening. “That was different. I am—”

“You are not invincible,” you interrupted, your gaze unwavering. “Neither of us is. But I have a dragon, Tywin. Viserion can protect me in ways no guard or army can.”

He stared at you for a long moment, his eyes searching yours. “You don’t understand the danger.”

“And you underestimate me,” you replied softly, leaning closer to him. “I’ve seen what’s out there. I’ve faced it before, and I survived. Let me help, Tywin. Let me do this.”

Tywin’s hand rose to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin with surprising tenderness. “You are the most stubborn woman I have ever known,” he muttered, his tone a mix of frustration and admiration.

You smiled faintly, placing your hand over his. “And you love me for it.”

He didn’t deny it, but his expression remained conflicted. “Promise me,” he said after a long pause, his voice low and firm. “Promise me you’ll be careful. That you’ll return.”

“I promise,” you said, leaning forward to press your forehead against his. “I always return.”

Tywin closed his eyes briefly, as if steeling himself, before pulling you into a fierce kiss. It was a kiss filled with all the things he couldn’t say—his fears, his anger, his love. When he finally pulled back, his gaze was as resolute as ever.

“Go,” he said quietly. “But do not make me regret this.”

You nodded, your heart heavy but determined. As you lay back down beside him, you felt the weight of his arm drape over you, holding you close as if trying to memorize the feel of you before you left.

In the quiet of the room, as the fire crackled softly, you both lay there, the enormity of what lay ahead settling over you like the winter’s chill.

The cold air of the endless night bit at your skin as you stood in the courtyard of Casterly Rock, the eerie quiet broken only by the occasional howl of wind. The darkness stretched on endlessly, save for the soft glow of torches lining the walls. Your breath misted in the frigid air as you waited, your fur-lined cloak pulled tightly around you.

From the depths of the mines beneath the castle, a low rumble echoed, followed by the sound of heavy, deliberate steps. The ground seemed to tremble faintly as Viserion emerged, her massive form glistening with a pale sheen under the torchlight. Her golden scales, lined with hints of cream, caught the flickering flames, making her appear both majestic and otherworldly.

The she-dragon stretched her wings as she stepped into the open, her eyes locking onto you. She let out a low, guttural growl, almost as if to remind everyone present of her power. Lannister guards along the walls stiffened, their hands gripping their spears and swords despite having seen the dragon countless times before.

Tywin stood a few paces behind you, dressed in a dark cloak lined with sable fur, his gaze fixed on you and the dragon. He exuded his usual commanding presence, but there was a tension in his shoulders that only you would notice.

He stepped closer, his boots crunching against the frost-covered stones. “You are certain this is necessary?” he asked, his voice calm but laced with an edge of concern.

You turned to face him, your expression resolute. “We need answers, Tywin. Settlements don’t vanish without a trace. If we wait too long, we risk more lives.”

He studied you for a moment, his green eyes sharp and calculating. Then, with a sigh, he reached out, his gloved hand brushing against your arm. “You know I despise this,” he muttered.

You placed your hand over his, offering a faint smile. “I know. But I’ll be fine. Viserion and I can handle this.”

Before either of you could say more, Beric Dondarrion approached, his long cloak trailing behind him. His piercing gaze flicked between you and Tywin, his expression grim. “Lady Y/N,” he said, inclining his head. “Viserion looks ready to take flight.”

“She is,” you replied, your voice steady. “But I need you to ensure the Rock is ready for anything, Beric. If the Others make their move, you cannot hesitate.”

Beric nodded, his weathered face serious. “You have my word. But if you don’t mind me saying, this seems a dangerous mission to undertake alone.”

You glanced at Viserion, who watched you with an intensity that felt almost protective. “I’m not alone,” you said firmly. “And there’s no one better suited to this than a rider and her dragon.”

Beric gave a faint, approving smile. “Fair enough. Just make sure you come back.”

Tywin’s voice cut in, sharp and unyielding. “She will come back,” he said, his tone brooking no argument. He turned to you once more, his expression softening slightly. “Do not make me regret letting you do this.”

You stepped closer to him, placing a hand on his chest over the rich fabric of his cloak. “I won’t,” you promised, your voice gentle but firm. “You’ll see me again before long.”

Tywin inclined his head, his jaw tightening. “You had better.”

With that, you turned and approached Viserion. The she-dragon lowered her massive head, allowing you to run your hand along her snout before climbing into the saddle strapped to her back. Her scales felt warm beneath your fingers, a stark contrast to the icy air around you.

“Fly swift, Viserion,” you whispered as you secured yourself in the saddle. The dragon let out a low, rumbling growl in response, spreading her wings wide.

You looked down at Tywin one last time, your gaze lingering on his familiar, stoic face. He gave you the faintest of nods, his way of saying goodbye without words. Beric stepped back, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword as he watched you prepare to leave.

With a powerful beat of her wings, Viserion lifted off the ground, the rush of wind scattering snow and ash across the courtyard. The guards shielded their faces, and Beric took a step back as the dragon rose into the sky, her mighty roar echoing through the still air.

As you soared higher into the darkness, you cast one last glance back at Casterly Rock, its towering walls illuminated faintly by the torches below. The sight of Tywin standing there, his figure resolute amidst the swirling cold, stayed with you as Viserion carried you into the endless night.

Two Days Later

The cold, dim morning light filtered through the high windows of Casterly Rock’s great hall, reflecting faintly off the gilded lions etched into its stone walls. Tywin Lannister sat at the head of the hall, his posture as rigid as the stone throne beneath him, his piercing green eyes fixed on the towering double doors at the far end.

Ser Barristan Selmy stepped into the hall, his white cloak trailing behind him, his expression as calm and measured as ever. “My lord,” he said, bowing slightly. “We have visitors.”

Tywin’s brows drew together faintly, his expression sharpening. “Who?”

Barristan hesitated for just a fraction of a second before answering. “Your son, Lord Tyrion, with an escort of Unsullied.”

The hall seemed to grow colder. Tywin’s jaw tightened, and he stood, his fur-lined cloak settling heavily around his broad shoulders. “So, the dwarf has finally decided to crawl out from whatever rock he’s been hiding under,” he muttered, his tone laced with disdain. “And with Unsullied, no less. Clearly, this is Daenerys’s doing.”

“Shall I summon additional guards, my lord?” Barristan asked, his hand resting lightly on the pommel of his sword.

Tywin waved him off. “No. If Daenerys wanted a fight, she wouldn’t have sent him. This is a ploy, a game. Have them brought to the great hall. Let us see what he wants.”

Barristan bowed and left, his footsteps echoing through the cavernous space. Tywin returned to his seat, his fingers steepled as he considered the implications of his estranged son arriving unannounced. The Unsullied’s presence suggested desperation, but the nature of Tyrion’s mission remained unclear.

The heavy doors creaked open minutes later, and Tyrion Lannister entered, flanked by a dozen Unsullied soldiers. Their spears gleamed dully in the firelight, and their expressions were as stoic as the statues lining the hall. Tyrion, however, was anything but stoic. He strolled in with his usual air of irreverence, his mismatched eyes sweeping over the room with a flicker of amusement.

“Well,” Tyrion began, spreading his arms as if he were addressing an audience. “I must say, Father, you’ve done wonders with the place. The Rock looks as cold and unwelcoming as ever. Quite fitting, really.”

Tywin’s gaze was like a dagger. “I did not summon you here, Tyrion. Spare me your theatrics and state your purpose.”

Tyrion tilted his head, his smirk unwavering. “Straight to the point, as always. Very well. I come bearing an offer—or perhaps a plea, depending on how you choose to see it.”

“An offer,” Tywin repeated flatly, his voice betraying no emotion. “From your self proclaimed queen, I presume.”

“From Daenerys Targaryen, yes,” Tyrion said, stepping closer. His height made him seem insignificant next to the towering Unsullied, but his confidence never wavered. “Dragonstone is running low on supplies, thanks to the unending winter and the charming little creatures that have begun crawling across the frozen sea.”

Tywin’s lips curled faintly in a mockery of a smile. “So, the ‘Mother of Dragons’ finds herself at the mercy of others. How poetic.”

Tyrion’s smirk faltered, but only for a moment. “Let us not waste time trading barbs, Father. The situation is dire—for all of us. The Others are spreading. They don’t care for allegiances or past grievances. They will come for Dragonstone, just as they will come for the Rock, King’s Landing, and every other corner of this forsaken land.”

“And what does Daenerys propose?” Tywin asked, his tone icy. “That I open my stores to her, feed her army, and strengthen her claim to the throne?”

Tyrion shrugged. “Not quite. She proposes an alliance. Resources for protection. Her dragons, along yours, can be formidable allies against the threat that looms over us all.”

Tywin’s gaze darkened. “And what assurances do we have that she won’t turn her dragons on us once her supplies are replenished?”

Tyrion met his father’s gaze squarely. “You have me. If she betrays you, I’ll be the first to face your wrath. And believe me, I have no desire to see the inside of a dungeon again.”

Tywin leaned back in his seat, his expression unreadable. After a moment of tense silence, he said, “And why are you here, Tyrion? Surely this is not the sole reason.”

Tyrion’s smirk returned, softer this time. “Ah, you’ve caught me. There is another reason. It’s been years since I last saw my… half-brothers.” His tone was light, but there was an undercurrent of sincerity. “I’d like to meet them properly, if that’s allowed.”

Tywin’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Damon and Maelor are not your concern.”

“Perhaps not,” Tyrion replied, his voice softening. “But they’re still family, aren’t they? And given the state of the world, it seems prudent to reconnect with what little family we have left.”

The tension in the hall was palpable. Tywin’s gaze bore into Tyrion, weighing his words and motives. Finally, he rose from his seat, his imposing figure towering over his son.

“Your queen’s proposal will be considered,” he said coldly. “As for your request to see my sons… we shall see.”

Tyrion inclined his head, his expression neutral. “Thank you, Father. That’s all I can ask for.”

Tywin turned to the guards stationed near the doors. “Escort him to the guest chambers. And ensure the Unsullied remain under watch at all times.”

The guards saluted and began to usher Tyrion and his escort out. As Tyrion reached the doorway, he paused and glanced back at Tywin.

“You’ve done well for yourself, Father,” he said, his voice almost wistful. “It’s a shame it took the end of the world to bring some semblance of peace to your life.”

Tywin said nothing, his gaze unwavering as Tyrion exited the hall. Only when the doors closed behind him did Tywin allow himself a brief exhale, his mind already racing with the implications of his son’s arrival and the queen’s proposition.

The air under Casterly Rock was damp and heavy, carrying the faint tang of sulfur and the echoes of shifting stones. Damon Lannister descended the narrow, winding path into the abandoned mines, his small footsteps light but determined. Shadows clung to the jagged walls, and faint warmth radiated from the heart of the lair where the dragons rested.

The boy’s heart pounded with a mix of fear and excitement as he managed to escape gaurds once more. Arraxes, as he named the black dragon, loomed in his thoughts. He had been in the dragon’s prrsance before sevral times, its massive form both terrifying and awe-inspiring. But this time, he wasn’t here to merely observe. He had a purpose.

“I will claim him,” Damon whispered to himself, the words trembling but resolute. “Like Mother and Viserion.”

He crept deeper, guided by the faint glow emanating from the dragon’s resting place. As he approached, the soft rumble of breathing filled the cavern, a sound so vast it seemed to echo in Damon’s chest. There, in the low firelight, lay Arraxes.

The dragon was magnificent. Its sleek, black scales shimmered faintly, the red undertones glinting like embers. Its eyes were closed, but its massive chest rose and fell with each breath, exuding a primal power that made Damon’s knees wobble.

Gathering his courage, Damon stepped closer. “Arraxes,” he called softly, his voice quivering but determined. “I’m not afraid of you.”

The dragon stirred, one eye sliding open to reveal a fiery red iris that locked onto the boy. Damon froze, but the creature didn’t move to attack. Instead, it shifted its head slightly, studying him with an unsettling intelligence.

Encouraged, Damon stepped closer, his hand outstretched. “You’re mine,” he said firmly, as if trying to convince both himself and the dragon. “I’ll be your rider.”

For a moment, it seemed as though Arraxes accepted this bold claim. The dragon’s massive head lowered slightly, its nostrils flaring as it sniffed at the boy, like it did many times before. Damon felt a flicker of triumph, his heart soaring with the possibility that he could truly bond with this creature.

But then, without warning, Arraxes’s demeanor shifted. Its eyes narrowed, and a low, guttural growl rumbled from deep within its chest. Damon froze, his outstretched hand trembling. The dragon reared back, its wings unfurling slightly to cast massive shadows across the cavern walls.

“Arraxes, no!” Damon cried, stumbling backward.

The dragon’s roar shook the mine, a deafening sound that sent rocks tumbling from the ceiling. Flames erupted from its gaping maw, a torrent of fire that engulfed the boy before he could fully retreat. Damon screamed as the searing heat licked at his left side, the flames catching his tunic and charring the flesh beneath.

Suddenly, voices echoed from the mine entrance. Ser Barristan Selmy, accompanied by several Lannister guards and Kevan Lannister, rushed into the cavern, their torches casting chaotic shadows against the fiery backdrop.

“Damon!” Barristan shouted, drawing his sword as he sprinted toward the boy. “Hold on!”

Kevan’s voice boomed behind him. “Form a line! Shields up! Protect the boy!”

The guards hesitated, their courage faltering in the face of the enraged dragon. Barristan didn’t wait for them. With a fearless charge, he reached Damon and scooped the boy into his arms, using his cloak to smother the flames that clung to the child’s body.

Arraxes roared again, its fiery breath narrowly missing the retreating knight as he darted back toward the mine’s entrance. The dragon lunged, but the guards moved to intercept, their shields raised as they shouted and waved their torches to drive it back.

“Go! Go!” Kevan barked, covering the retreat as the dragon hissed and snapped at the men. The flames receded as the group scrambled out of the cavern, their breaths ragged and faces pale.

Once they were clear, Kevan turned to the guards. “Stay here! No one else goes in, understood?”

The guards nodded, their expressions grim.

Kevan’s eyes locked on the wounded boy cradled in Barristan’s arms. Damon’s face was contorted in pain, his left side blackened and blistered where the dragon’s fire had kissed his skin.

“Maester Aldren!” Kevan roared as they crossed into the castle proper. “Someone fetch Maester Aldren, now! And find Lord Tywin!”

The commotion spread through Casterly Rock like wildfire. Servants rushed to obey, their hurried footsteps echoing through the halls. Kevan and Barristan carried Damon to the nearest chamber, where the boy’s faint whimpers filled the air.

“Stay with us, lad,” Barristan murmured, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “You’re going to be fine.”

Kevan’s face was a mask of fury and worry as he turned to the nearest guard. “Where is my brother?”

“He’s in the council chamber, my lord,” the guard stammered.

“Then get him here,” Kevan snapped. “Now!”

As the guard bolted, Kevan turned back to his nephew, his heart heavy. “What were you thinking, boy?” he muttered under his breath. But the fear in his voice betrayed his anger, revealing the depth of his concern for the child now lying burned and broken before him.

The echo of hurried footsteps reverberated through the stone corridors of Casterly Rock as the guard rushed into the council chamber. Inside, Tywin Lannister sat at the head of the table, his gaze fixed on his son Tyrion, who had been speaking moments before the interruption. A silence fell over the room as the guard entered, panting and disheveled.

“Apologies, my lord,” the guard stammered. “It’s Lord Damon. He’s… he’s been burned.”

Tywin’s face tightened, his expression immediately darkening. “How?” he demanded, his tone ice-cold.

The guard hesitated, his eyes darting nervously toward Tyrion. “In the mines, my lord. The black dragon… it attacked him.”

Tywin rose swiftly, his movements precise and controlled despite the dread coursing through him. Tyrion, who had been watching the exchange with interest, leaned back in his chair, a flicker of concern flashing across his face.

“It seems I am not the only Lannister drawn to dragons,” Tyrion quipped, though his usual levity sounded hollow.

“Silence,” Tywin barked, his tone leaving no room for retort. “Tyrion, this discussion is over for now. You will remain here.”

Tyrion held up his hands in mock surrender, but his sharp gaze followed his father as he swept out of the chamber, the guard scrambling to keep pace.

By the time Tywin reached the chamber, Maester Aldren was already worked frantically over Damon’s small form. Kevan Lannister and Ser Barristan Selmy stood to one side, their faces etched with grim concern. Thoros of Myr lingered near the doorway, his usually jovial expression replaced with one of solemnity.

Tywin’s gaze immediately locked onto the bed where Damon lay. The boy’s left side was a ruin of raw, blackened flesh. Bandages had already been wrapped hastily around his torso and arm, but the burns extended to his face. The left side of Damon’s lips had been pulled into a permanent sneer by the tight, charred skin. His small frame trembled despite the efforts of the maester and servants to soothe him.

“How severe is it?” Tywin demanded, his voice cutting through the heavy silence like a blade.

Maester Aldren looked up briefly, his hands never stopping as he worked to clean and dress the wounds. “It is grave, my lord,” he said carefully, knowing better than to sugarcoat the truth. “The burns cover much of his left side. Infection is the greatest threat now. We must keep the wounds clean and ensure he remains hydrated.”

Thoros stepped forward, his voice softer but no less serious. “I can offer prayers and… perhaps aid. The Lord of Light has healed worse, but the boy’s spirit will need to be strong.”

Tywin’s eyes flicked to Thoros, then back to his son. He approached the bed, his movements deliberate. Standing over Damon, he took in the full extent of the damage. The boy’s small chest rose and fell unevenly, his breaths labored. His hair, damp with sweat, clung to his forehead.

“Damon,” Tywin said firmly, leaning closer.

The boy’s one unburned eye fluttered open. It took a moment for him to focus, but when he did, recognition sparked, followed by shame. “F-Father,” Damon whispered, his voice barely audible.

“You should not have been in the mines,” Tywin said, his tone hard but laced with an undercurrent of something softer—worry, perhaps, though he would never admit it. “You were told to stay away.”

Damon’s lips trembled, the effort of speaking visible on his young face. “I… I wanted to… claim him. Like Mother… and Viserion.”

Tywin’s jaw tightened. “And you nearly paid with your life for that foolishness.”

The boy flinched, tears spilling from his uninjured eye. “I… I’m sorry.”

Kevan stepped forward, his voice more measured. “Brother, he’s suffered enough. Let him rest.”

Tywin’s gaze snapped to Kevan, the briefest flicker of anger in his green eyes, but he said nothing. Instead, he turned back to the maester. “Will he live?”

Aldren hesitated. “If the burns do not fester, yes, my lord. But he will be marked by this. Permanently.”

Thoros interjected, his voice low. “There are deeper scars than the flesh, my lord. The boy may carry this wound in more ways than one.”

Tywin straightened, his composure unyielding. “Do whatever is necessary to save him. Spare no effort.”

“Of course, my lord,” Aldren replied, bowing his head.

Tywin’s gaze lingered on Damon for a moment longer before he turned to Ser Barristan. “You allowed this to happen.”

Barristan met Tywin’s stare unflinchingly. “The boy has his mother’s blood, my lord. He was determined. By the time I reached him, it was almost too late.”

“That is no excuse,” Tywin said coldly. “You were charged with his safety.”

Barristan inclined his head. “And I will bear the consequences of my failure.”

Tywin’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he turned to Kevan. “Ensure the mines are sealed. No one enters without my explicit permission.”

Kevan nodded. “It will be done.”

As the room began to settle, Thoros stepped closer. “The boy’s heart is strong. It is a fire that cannot be easily extinguished.”

Tywin ignored the remark, his thoughts preoccupied with the weight of what had transpired. He stood over Damon’s small form, watching as the maester worked tirelessly to save his life.

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celestialwonders · 2 days ago

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tradition. (s.jy + p.sh)

synopsis: you, jake, and sunghoon are besties and go to 7/11. thats it. hooray!!

genre: jake x reader x sunghoon = best friends! fluffy fun friendship! (lil jungwon mention hehe)

wc: 1.4k

a/n: this drabble was entirely inspired by jakehoon’s recent posts, hence the photos. dont mind any errors i wrote this at work this morning and am posting it on my lunch break LOL

~as always, ask box is always open!~

“Yo, do you guys wanna go to 7/11?” Jake perks his head up from the floor of the living room, pausing the action movie he picked out about a half hour ago. It’d been a long week of school work and dance practice, your joints aching with every subtle move as you straighten your posture at his proposition. You kick your feet out from under the plush blanket you had stolen from Sunghoon’s room when you got into their apartment, having fallen into your usual rhythm of getting comfortable for a night in.

“I don’t really feel like getting drunk tonight, Jake. We had such a long practice today, my body can’t really take much more.” Sunghoon groans, rolling his eyes in an exaggerated fashion as you giggle to yourself. Jake playfully slaps his calve at his actions, making Sunghoon wince from the sore spot. “Dude, I don’t want to get drunk, but I do want some snacks. I totally got the midnight munchies.” Jake fully sits himself up from the floor now, turning his upper body towards you and Sunghoon on the couch. His post-shower hair is fluffy and falling over his forehead as he grins towards his two best friends like a little kid awaiting an answer from his parents.

Sunghoon slowly turns to you, giving you a ‘should we?’ kind of look. You throw the warm blanket off yourself with a huff as Jake takes that as a yes. “Let’s go!” He almost chants as he jumps up from the floor, his jacket slouching off his shoulder from the sudden movement before he straightens it out and puts on a cap. You and Sunghoon aren’t as quick to rise from the couch, your muscles aching from the repetitive and intense practice you had today. Your dance team had a big competition coming up, and your dance captain, Jungwon, spared no breaks until he was sure he had drilled you all to the bone. “Come on.” Jake drags out the last syllable as he tugs at Sunghoon’s arm, eager to get out the door. “The corner store isn’t going anywhere dude, don’t rush me.” Sunghoon grumbled as he reluctantly let Jake pull him from his usual spot on the couch.

The three of you have made a perfect trio for the past three years of college. Jake, being the ever-so-social type, was the first to introduce himself to you on audition day during your freshman year, and he was sure to introduce you to his shy friend, Sunghoon, as well. Both you and Sunghoon shared awkward hellos as Jake beamed about how exciting it was to audition for the school’s dance team, quickly warming himself up to you. You weren’t usually the type to get comfortable with strangers, but Jake and Sunghoon had quickly become your go-to guys throughout the audition process and even after the results came out. “I say we should celebrate!” Jake had hooked his arms around both you and Sunghoon’s necks after you all checked the result sheet. And that's how your tiny tradition started, movie night that was always interrupted by a 7/11 run. At first, you all usually picked up soju and mixers, creating your own delicious (or, in Jake’s case, “adventurous”) cocktails to waste the night away together in fits of laughter. As the years have gone on, the items of interest have changed, but your friendship with the two boys stayed consistent.

You’d gotten used to the teasing from other classmates or dance team members, always quick to silence their questions about whether you’re dating one or the other, or both. But it had never been like that for you all, despite being attached at the hip and knowing each other more than you know yourself. They were just your boys. Nothing more, but certainly nothing less. Them being your best friends meant they saw every side of you and saw you through every season of your life, and you for them. There had been a period of time when you had stopped attending your unofficial ‘meetings’, struggling between a controlling situationship and still keeping your best friends close. In the end, you fell right back into rhythm with Jake and Sunghoon, giving them all the dirt they’d missed as you browsed the aisles for the strongest alcohol you could find. Now, a year later, you return once again to the place you all call your second home.

The door chimes as you all greet the store clerk, the aged old man giving you all a familiar smile. You all instantly break off from each other, going to your designated aisles for your treat of the night. Jake makes his way to the ramen aisle as Sunghoon heads to the back of the store for the drink selection. You find yourself ambling through the chips and candy section, grabbing your favorite sour candy before grabbing each of Jake and Sunghoon’s favorite chips. “Yoooo.” You hear Jake call as you make your way towards his voice in the center of the store. You meet Jake where he’s at as he balances three ramen bowls in his arms, Sunghoon already by his side holding two sodas and a juice. You turn your attention to where the boys’ gaze had already fallen and almost drop your snacks from excitement. “No way! They have it back in stock!” You grinned as Sunghoon slid open the freezer, revealing an array of ice creams. Ice creams that include your absolute favorite: a strawberry bar covered in crunchy rice pebbles.

Jake is quick to grab one for you, having placed the ramen bowls on an empty spot on the shelving behind you. He reaches over in front of Sunghoon to grab himself an ice cream bar, cutely squishing his face between the two packagings. “Stop that, you’re gonna make them melt.” Sunghoon lightheartedly swats Jake's shoulder, making the shorter laugh as he lowers the ice cream. “Oh, so are you saying I'm hot?” He jeers as Sunghoon rolls his eyes, as he usually does with Jake. You can’t help but laugh at Jake’s joke. Despite how stupid you knew it was, it makes Jake beam with pride, knowing he can always count on you to laugh with him.

Sunghoon joins you on your side, peering over the freezer at his possible choices, mulling them over. Now it’s Jake’s turn to roll his eyes as he lets out an exasperated sigh as Sunghoon still ponders his choices. “Now you’re the one that’s gonna make our ice cream melt, hurry it up!” You playfully jest before Jake can, making him hold his stomach in a fit of giggles. “Alright alright.” Sunghoon shushes the two of you, grabbing a small cup of Häagen-Dazs ice cream. “This’ll do.” He proudly shows off his choice as Jake runs off to grab a basket for all your selections.

“You know, at the rate we’re going,” Sunghoon starts as the two of you start to gather your things back up. “We’re gonna have to keep this tradition going for the rest of college.” He laughs to himself. Jake is back at your side, basket in hand. “Shoot, at this rate, we’re gonna have to keep this going till we have our own families!” You pitch in, making the two boys laugh. “Nah, at this rate, we’re gonna have to just include our families and keep this going for the rest of our lives!” Jake triumphantly shouts as the three of you make your way to the self-checkout counter.

As the boys begin scanning and bagging the items, bickering among themselves over the ‘right way’ to bag the items, you can’t help but stand back and smile to yourself. Just the idea of continuing this tradition, one day inviting your future spouse and children, makes your heart swell with unexplainable happiness. You aren’t really sure where the three of you were headed in life, still so many things to figure out and discover about yourselves. But one thing was certain: you’ll always find your way back to your boys, and in return, you’ll always find yourselves back at 7/11.

#enhypen #enha #enhypen drabble #jakehoon #sim jake #sim jaeyun #park sunghoon #enhypen au #enhypen fluff #jake fluff #sunghoon fluff #jakehoon fluff

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broidobe · 1 day ago

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𝔞𝔵𝔩 𝔯𝔬𝔰𝔢 𝔫𝔰𝔣𝔴 𝔞𝔩𝔭𝔥𝔞𝔟𝔢𝔱

requested!

⁎⁺˳✧༚guns and roses masterlist

a = aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

axl can’t help but be raw and emotional afterward.

he might pull you close, almost desperately, and murmur things about how much you mean to him.

he needs that reassurance that you’re still there with him

axl loves skin-to-skin contact afterward

once he’s calmed down, Axl might open up and talk to you about his thoughts or feelings, especially if something has been bothering him

deep down, axl carries a lot of insecurities, so he might ask if he was good enough or if you’re happy

he craves validation but won’t say it outright

b = body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

okay there’s two

thighs are a strong contender for his favorite.

he’d adore running his hands over them, gripping them, or just watching them while you sit.

bonus points if you’re wearing something short or tight—he’d have a hard time keeping his eyes (or hands) off you

let’s not beat around the bush—axl’s definitely an ass guy.

he’d openly admire it, give cheeky grabs, and couldn’t get enough of seeing you in tight jeans or nothing at all

axl knows his lips are a weapon in the bedroom.

he’d take pride in the way he kisses, teases, and leaves marks.

smirking against your skin, whispering dirty things, or giving slow, deliberate kisses, he’s fully aware of the power his mouth holds—and he loves it.

so yeah, i’d say his mouth is his favourite

c = cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

honestly? he will cum anywhere on you or in you

it’s whatever he feels like

if he wants to cum on your face? he will

your stomach? he will

d = dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

axl secretly loves being dominated or at least losing control in certain moments.

while he’s fiery and intense on stage or in public, behind closed doors, he gets a thrill out of someone taking the lead and making him feel completely vulnerable.

you pinning him down, teasing him mercilessly, or whispering filthy things in his ear?

he secretly craves those moments where he doesn’t have to be in charge.

he wouldn’t admit it outright—his pride and ego wouldn’t let him—but when it happens, you’d notice how he melts under your touch, totally undone by the role reversal. and the next day? he’d play it cool like it never happened, though you might catch that little smirk when he remembers how much he loved it.

e = experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

he’s fucking experienced

but he was like those rock stars that only cared about how they felt, not their partner

so you’d have to talk with him about it

he knows what he’s doing and he fucking loves it honestly

f = favorite position (this goes without saying)

doggy style

axl would love the raw, unfiltered intensity of this position.

it gives him a chance to be rough (if you’re into that), grip your hips, and lose himself in the moment.

plus, he’d get a perfect view of you, which he’d definitely appreciate

g = goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

he’s pretty serious

he’s a pretty dominant person that takes sex to a whole other level

and that level doesn’t include any joking around

h = hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

i think he’s like a go-bald-once-a-month kinda guy

he lets it grow out and shaves it the first of every month

and you find it hilarious how on schedule he is

yes…he’s ginger down there too

but it’s honestly so light

and guys…it’s lowkey so smooth down there

like when he grows it out…

it’s like…silk

OKAY I’M SORRY I’M DONE

i = intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

he’s really into the moment if that makes sense

he’s never too romantic

he’s very cocky and he always makes these snarky comments about how good at fucking you he is lmfao

but uhm…he can be funny

in his own way

he likes to talk in this very literal, big worded way

here's an example

you're really enjoying that, aren't you? i'm completely immersed in this experience with you, and it's incredibly exhilarating

he normally does this when he’s drunk but sometimes he’ll just…do it

and it’s fucking hilarious

j = jack off (masturbation headcannon)

oohhhh yeah

this man loves jacking off

he did it A LOT before you

but he’s cut down

but he really only jacks off to things that have something to do with you

k = kink (one or more of their kinks)

as mentioned before, he’s just so fucking dominant

BUT as also mentioned, he also has a thing for being submissive

he’s a switch (fight me if you disagree)

teasing

he’s evil with it too

he never stops teasing

denial

he never gives you a break man. how the fuck do you do it?

dirty talk god

he degrades, teases, praises

oh jesus he’s a kink god this list could go on forever

light bdsm

spanking, light restraints, and other forms of controlled pain

but nothing too painful

voyeurism

he likes the idea of being watched while he fucks you

he’s a show off

impact play

spanking, slapping, or using other implements (like paddles or whips)

but again, not very hard

power dynamics (master/slave)

it would play out in verbal commands, physical restraint, and possibly obedience

sensory play

blindfolds, restraints, or even sound-depriving methods (like headphones) to heighten other senses

l = location (favorite places to do the do)

he will take you anywhere

he doesn’t have a favourite

i mean you’re still you no matter where you are

but if he was being held at gunpoint and he had to pick?

he’d say in one of his bandmates beds

he thrives off of the risk it serves

and the bed forever being seen as “the bed we fucked on while blank wasn’t here”

m = motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

oh god anything

like anything

it’s just a constant hard on when he’s around you

n = no (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

he wouldn’t put you in excruciating pain

total submission

i couldn’t see him completely being at your mercy

o = oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

prefers receiving

because they’re quick, easy, and they feel amazing

but he’s up to eat you out at any time

he just prefers getting a blowjob

p = pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

he is so rough it’s deadly

i don’t think this man has ever gone slow in his life

he’s like the definition of go big or go home

even when he’s blackout drunk

q = quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

he loves em

they fit well into his schedule

especially because he loves fucking you as much as possible

like he’ll take you during soundcheck, before the show, after the show, in the tour bus bathroom

ANYWHERE ANYTIME FOR ANY DURATION HE’S HAPPY

r = risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

he is big on taking risks

he’s never not taking a risk

he fucks you in the riskiest places ever

and he doesn’t care

he loves the thrill

and he’s totally up to experiment

he’d honestly do anything you ask

s = stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

4 rounds 30 minutes give or take

i could see him being like really used up after the first round but being so obsessed with you that he doesn’t want to stop

t = toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

never had them for himself

doesn’t have any for you

like you have ONE

and you use it when he’s not there (in which he doesn’t know)

cause he can get a bit jealous

u = unfair (how much they like to tease)

he’s fucking terrible honestly

he will gladly take 10 minutes of his time teasing the shit outta you

he’s an ass

v = volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

he’s really loud

like neighbours could file a noise complaint loud

you like that, don’t you?

don’t make me wait (even though he makes you wait SO LONG)

i’m gonna take you slow (LIAR)

beg for me

do you feel me? you should (COCKY)

i could do this all night

let me show you how much i want you

i can’t get enough of you, it’s like i need you

i love hearing you moan for me

mm... you’re so tight, fuck (spoken with this throaty growl)

shit... i’m so deep in you... mmh…

ahh... right there, baby, just like that…

mmh... you like that, don’t you? Fuck...

mmh, so fucking perfect...

w = wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

axl once got super into the moment and tried to pull off one of those dramatic, slow, intense moves, but instead, he miscalculated and ended up rolling off the bed entirely, landing in a heap on the floor.

he just laid there for a second, blinking in disbelief, before cracking up.

you were laughing too, and he sheepishly said, “guess that was my big entrance, huh?”

from then on, you two couldn’t help but giggle every time you tried to get all serious in bed.

x = x-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

he’s low key packing

7.5 inches, i couldn’t say anything otherwise

he doesn’t have a whole lot of girth

but that doesn’t mean he has none

y = yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

HIGH.

i think i’ve said enough.

z = zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

i think it really depends on how much he uses himself

i’d say on average, 15 minutes

#broidobe #guns and roses #axl rose #axl rose x reader #axl rose fanfiction #axl rose gnr #axl gnr #axl rose smut #guns n roses

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 day ago

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A Favour or Two

Hey hey! This weekend (Jan 25-26) I’m going to be playing drabble roulette! I’ve curated a list of characters and prompts and I’m spinning the wheel!

Character: Pete Brenner

Prompt: too nice for your own good

Warnings: this drabble includes deceit and dark elements. Please mind these warnings and take care.

Explicit, 18+. Please reblog and leave some feedback.

It’s not how you expected the day to go. Or your visit to your parents. All that anticipation to spend the day cooking with your mom and maybe even chatting on the back deck with your dad has fizzled.

You wouldn’t call it a tragedy, just a change in plans. You have a whole week with your mom and dad, you can do this one small thing. Not that you were given much of a choice. Not by your parents and not by your empathy.

Pete’s a nice enough guy. He must be if your dad’s letting him crash in his office. Freshly divorced, down on his luck, but still chipper. When you found him on the same couch you spent much of your teenage years lounging on, your confusion had you speechless.

He explained, he’s just staying for a bit, just long enough to get on his feet. That day, he’s meeting with an investor for his new startup. He only needs a foot in the door and he’ll be out of your parents’ hair in no time. He just needs a ride since his prized mustang decided to pop a tire.

Your dad’s busy with Hank next door, cleaning the eaves, and your mom’s trying out that new canning recipe and the ingredients need to be used today. So, you’re the only one left. How can you say no, you too are imposing on your parents’ kindness.

“You’re a gem,” Pete says as he comes out the front door. You pull away from the side of the car and lower your phone. You look at him over the roof of the car as he adjusts his tie, “Not to be a diva, I just need everything perfect.”

“No problem, ready to go?” You ask.

“Sure, did I give you the address?” He checks his watch as he approaches the passenger side. The gold shimmers in the sunlight. You can’t help but notice all the expensive things he has.

“Um, yeah, let me just pull up the map...” you open the door with one hand and drop into the seat as you hit start on the route. The map redirect and you place your phone in the mount. Two hours? “Oh, wow, it’s pretty far.”

“Oh, I thought your dad mentioned it,” he pulls down the visor and opens the mirror to check his hair.

You peek over at him as he smooths down the part. He’s older than you, the creases around his eyes suggest mid-forties? Maybe a few years off in either direction. Despite the gap, you’re both in a similar boat; starting out, or over.

“It’s not a big deal,” you assure him and set your head straight. “How long’s the meeting?”

“Ah, you know these suits, they’re all ‘time is money’,” he sits back as you buckle your seat belt. You wait as he stays undone, only pull down the strap as you idle the engine.

“Sure, I guess... you’ll need a ride back?”

“If you don’t mind. Uh, there’s a cafe not far, maybe you could just waste some time there? I really thought you knew,” he says.

“Really, it’s fine,” you say as you check your mirror then crane to back out.

You twist the wheel and head down the street. He rolls down the window and clucks, watching the houses pass. “Me and my wife had a place like this, till she started screw--” he coughs and rolls his shoulders, “sorry, never mind.”

“Oh, um, I heard... uh, must be hard,” you say.

“Well, I’m hurt but kinda hate her, you know? I’ve been working myself dry tryna get this thing off the ground and she’s sneaking around... I shouldn’t...” he puts his hands up. “I’m sure you got better things going on. How about you? Special guy waiting for you to get back home?”

You make a face at the road, “nope.”

“Really? Huh, woulda thought... well, you’re young and all that. You probably got dealer’s choice. No need to rush.”

“Erm, sure,” you laugh dryly. “Guess it’s just not my biggest concern at the moment.”

“Smart,” he snorts. “Really, don’t jump into it. Take your time.” He leans back and runs his hand over his mouth and the stubbly shadow of a goatee there. “Piece of advice, find someone mature. Someone ready to hunker down.”

“Um, thanks, I’ll... keep that in mind.”

You focus on driving. That’s easy. Pete’s friendly but he talks a lot and you’re not always sure how to respond. You don’t quite have enough experience to offer him any advice in return.

As promised, there’s a cafe down the block from the skyrise where you drop Pete. He agrees to meet you there when he’s finished. You’re not entirely thrilled at having to wait on him but you told your dad you’d do it. You still owe him for helping you out with your rent.

You snag a table and a cappucino and settle in. You sink into an ebook on your phone and block out the mill of customers in and out of the shop. You sip on your cappucino until its cold and leave the dregs to rest.

You yawn and check the time after the third chapter. You stretch as the chairs put a stiffness in your bones. You glance over at the counter where the baristas wipe down the machines. Shoot. You’ve overstayed your welcome.

You get up to order a muffin so they don’t kick you out. You eat it slowly, peeking back at the door, hoping that Pete will walk in at any second. He said it wouldn’t be long. It’s well into the afternoon.

You read another chapter and throw out your trash. You should just go back to the car. You head down the street. It’s after five.

You sit in the driver’s seat and flip through the apps in your phone. You play a swap game for a bit but grow restless. You check the clock again. Why didn’t you get his number? You could call him.

“Hey,” the passenger door opens and you nearly shriek in fright. Pete bends to poke his head through, “I’m so sorry. Thing’s got... well, uh, I need another favour.”

“Huh?” You gape at him.

“Yeah, uh, the suits I was meeting with, they love me.” He drops into the seat and feels around in his suit jacket. “You know, we got to talking. They’re thinking ten mill at least.”

You blink erratically, barely able to keep track.

“They suggested dinner and uh, well, one lie led to another, things got a bit messy. I really didn’t want to keep you waiting,” he keeps his hand under his jacket. “Said my wife was waiting on me and uh, they said why don’t I bring her, so yeah.”

He pulls out a ring. You squint and purse your lips. You’re lost.

“Just for tonight, alright.”

“Where--”

“It’s the one I bought the ex. I know it’s a bit strange but I need this deal. I don’t wanna be a bum on your parents’ couch forever. What about it, please? It’ll be fun and you’ll get a free meal out of it.”

“Well, uh...” you check the clock. It’s past six and there’s a long way home. Still, his pleading plucks at your heart. You’re not very good at saying no.

“Alright, I... I’ll do my best.”

“It’ll be fine. Just smile,” he grabs your hand and shoves the ring on your finger. “Come on.”

You’re shell shocked. You look down at the gleaming stone then shake your head. You guess this is happening.

You get out and lock the car. You shove your keys and phone in your purse. He meets you on the pavement and ushers you down the next street. He swoops his arm around you, his hand curling around your hip. You twitch but don’t push him away. It’s just an act.

He approaches a black facade with pink neon trim. There’s no marquee. It must be pretty upscale, you’ve never been anywhere like that.

A bouncer waves him in as if he knows them. You don’t think much of it. As you enter, you pass through a black curtain and emerge into a room lit with shades of red, purple, and pink, with spotlights over stages.

Pete lifts a hand to wave and a table of suited men return the gesture. You gape at the woman dancing on the pole mounted through the table. Oh my god.

You don’t know what to do. You want to run. You want to elbow him and ask what the fuck. But you can’t. You’re too overwhelmed by the naked flesh and music.

“Petey boy,” a man with a mustache greets him with a firm handshake, “there she is, the missus.” He stands and greets you with a kiss on the cheek. “You weren’t lying, she is young.”

“Got a good one, huh?” Another man repeats the first’s overly friendly welcome and you blink dumbly. “Don’t think my wife would step in a place like this.”

Pete chortles, “we consider it foreplay,” he pulls out a chair and sits. It’s only then that you notice there aren’t any more. “Ain’t that right, honey?” He puts you in his lap and you drop down with a flash of horror in his direction. He leans in and brushes his nose to your cheek and whispers in your ear, “behave or daddy will get a nice picture of you front and centre.”

Your gaze flicks behind him to the twerking cheeks on the stage and you shudder. You turn back to the other men and try to smile. Pete’s hand rests on your lower back. “She gets a bit shy when she’s horny,” he scoffs and taps the top of your ass. “Now, where were we?”

You look at the strange men at the table. The pudgier one offers a folded bill to the dancer and she takes it between her teeth. The one with the mustache leers at you as he bites his thumb, and the other tanks a long sip from his glass.

You’re trapped in disbelief, staring, stuttering. What else can you do but try not to combust? Especially as Pete’s hand crawls up your thigh.

“Forgive me if I get lost,” he purrs and bites your shoulder.

“Who could blame you?” The mustachioed leerer growls. “I mean, who cares about numbers? Gonna be a wild night, isn’t it, Pete?”

#pete brenner #dark pete brenner #dark!pete brenner #pete brenner x reader #drabble #drabble roulette #pain hustlers

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shoopsthereitis · 2 days ago

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jegulus | 1.3k | hockey player x figure skater |

Regulus walks into the rink, skates in hand, bag slung over his shoulder ready to practice. Finals are fast approaching, and he needs to perfect a few of his more difficult moves. It’s late, and he knows the rink is usually empty at this hour, especially since the hockey team doesn’t practice on Tuesdays.

He’s looking forward to the quiet solitude, the chance to focus without distractions. But as he steps inside, the unmistakable sound of skates gliding over ice and the sharp slap of a puck hits his ears. Regulus groans internally, rolling his eyes as he approaches, less than excited to see who he’s going to have to kick off the ice tonight.

Potter.

He should have fucking known. Dropping his bag with a loud thud Regulus walks to the edge of the rink, eyes trained on the familiar body gliding around the ice. James skates like the ice is a natural extension of his body. Effortless, smooth, and fast. He’s bloody fit, and Regulus absolutely hates him for it. Hates how easy he makes it look, how James glides in perfect circles, tracking the puck with precision, then seamlessly sending it into the goal.

Regulus has despised hockey players his entire life. Always fighting for ice time, even back when he was a teenager in his hometown. He thought things might be different at University, but it turns out hockey players are just as insufferable here as they were back home. And James? He’s the worst. Because he’s nice. Regulus can’t stand how genuinely kind James is, as if being captain of the University hockey team somehow makes his niceness even more unbearable. But Regulus isn’t buying it. Refuses to buy it no matter how many interactions he and James have proving otherwise. He’s not sure how someone could be so consistently kind, especially someone with so much power and ego wrapped up in their position.

“Oi! Potter!” Regulus calls from the side of the ice. James whips his head, hazel eyes piercing directly into Regulus’ as a sly smile fits his face. He skates over nonchalantly, coming right up to where Regulus stands, only the boards between them.

“Black, what are you doing here?” James takes off his gloves and helmet.

“Well, I came to practice, seeing as there’s a competition coming up and there’s usually no one here this late. Why am I not surprised to run into you though? You always seem to just be here whenever I don’t want you around. Which, now that I think of it, is always. Like a gnat.”

James grins, “Well, I have a big game this weekend, so I wanted to practice a few drills on my own. Plus, it’s not like we signed up for the ice, so it really is free reign, you know?” He says, leaning against the boards and into Regulus’ space.

“Okay, but I need the ice now. You’ve had your time, now go.” Regulus waves his hand out in a shooing motion and James responds by laughing. Laughing.

Instantly the heat of annoyance extends through Regulus’ entire body.

“I’ve got an idea,” James says with a grin. “What if we shared? I take one half, and you take the other?”

Regulus rolls his eyes. “Over my dead body am I sharing the ice with you.”

“Well, write me an obituary then, because I’m not leaving. I have every right to be here, same as you.”

Regulus huffs. “I need the whole rink to practice, Potter. I can’t get enough speed without it.”

“No, you don’t, Regulus. You just don’t want to share it with me. Either split it down the middle, or you can leave. I was here first.”

James turns and skates off, leaving Regulus to make up his mind. With a frustrated sigh, Regulus resigns himself to sharing the ice, knowing deep down he really does need the practice.

He can ignore James.

He can.

Regulus groans as he sits down to lace up his skates. Almost all of his annoyance fades the second he hits the ice, the smooth glide calming him as he begins to meticulously practice his routine on his half of the rink.

But he can feel James’ eyes on him, the weight of his gaze following every move. Despite his focus, Regulus can't shake the sense of being watched as he skates, jumps, and spins. He tries to shake the feeling of James’ eyes as he gears up for the move he needs to practice the most: his hydroblade. He starts skating, slowly bending his leg and sinking closer to the ground until the ice is underneath his fingertips. A smile pulls at his lips as he nails the move, intensely focused. As he stands back up, slowing down to a stop, he can't help but let out an excited yelp.

The sound of clapping rings in the air and he turns to see James standing and cheering him on. Regulus attempts to roll his eyes, but the smile pulling at his lips betrays him. Skating over to where James is, he sends him a pointed look.

“Are you really cheering for me right now?” His voice comes out like honey, which is unintended, but with a bitter edge to it.

“Well, yeah, of course! That was amazing! You look incredible on the ice, you know. Angelic almost.”

They’re only a few inches apart, and Regulus hates the way his cheeks heat at the compliment and his breath hitches when James closes in on him.

“You okay, Black?” James says with a self-satisfied smirk.

“M’fine,” Regulus chokes out, his voice faltering as James skates another inch closer.

“Am I making you nervous?” James asks, a cheeky smile tugging at his lips as he leans in a little closer.

“No, you could never make me nervous.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” James teases, his grin widening. “You seem a little tense right now.”

Unfortunately, they’ve been here before. As nice as James is, he does also have that cocky side to him. The one that reminds Regulus how he’s made it so far in this sport, how he has his entire team wrapped around his finger. And that’s what makes this game between them so fun.

Regulus musters up whatever strength he has in him to push back. Closing in another inch too, the space between them is almost nonexistent now.

“Are you sure I’m the only one who’s nervous?” Regulus asks with a tilt of his head.

James’ pupils blow wide, and Regulus tracks the way his Adam's apple bobs, eyes flicking down briefly to Regulus’ lips.

Their breath mingles in the close space between them, and Regulus can practically hear his own heart pounding in his ears. He never knows which one of them will break first, but it’s inevitable that one of them will. Whether it’s locker rooms, parties, or empty classrooms, somehow he and James always find each other.

Regulus hates it. But he also loves it. Craves it. The bickering, the teasing, the push and pull—it’s a game they can’t seem to quit. And Regulus honestly isn’t sure which one of them is winning anymore.

However, when James leans in, his lips brushing the spot behind Regulus’ ear—the one that drives them both crazy—He decides he doesn’t even care anymore. Not when James is this close to him, the smell of his sweat filling Regulus’ senses, and the thought of his skin being within reach makes it all the more intense.

“Get in the penalty box, James,” Regulus whispers, savoring the low rumble that escapes from him.

“So it’s James now?” There’s a glimmer in his eye, one that pisses Regulus off. “I had a feeling we’d end up here,” James says confidently, his hand wrapping around Regulus’ as they skate toward the box. “We always do.”

“Fuck you, James,” Regulus mutters, giving James a gentle shove into the box.

“Oh, I intend to, sweetheart. A nice reward for nailing that trick.”

Regulus tries to stifle the sound caught in his throat, but it slips out anyway as James pulls him into a kiss, and he melts into it. Just like he always does.

Thank god no one ever shows up to the rink this late.

#sorry for bombarding you again #microsar #jegulus bingo 2024 #jegulus microfic #jegulus #regulus black #james potter #marauders #they're so silly 2 me #starchaser #james x regulus #marauders microfic #sar writes #oneshot

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dimlylittorch · 1 day ago

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need to cuddle with a big beefy man fr (1.5k words)

My Masterlist🌱

John Price x emotional!transmasc!reader (maybe neurodivergent!reader too? this is kind of based on how i act and i have adhd + rsd so yeah😭)

I’ve honestly been going through it lately and i really wish i had a john price of my own to make me feel better. but.. i just get to write these instead :(

Warnings: very brief mentions of su!c!dal ideation/SH caused by emotional stress

You and John had been together for a small while. The two of you got on well, balancing each other’s personalities out easily. But as you started to spend more time together, like John sleeping over at your apartment, you found yourself having to be more wary. You had always been an emotional person, which was clear for anyone to see. Always having a smile on your face, it was easy to tell you felt things more deeply than some. But of course, there are two sides to every coin. You did your best to not show your ‘negative’ emotions to anyone. They were known to be.. explosive at times.

After a long day, it wasn’t unusual for you to go home and lock yourself in the bathroom for a small while, sitting on the cold tile floor to ground yourself as you let the tears flow. You learned a long time ago that trying to prevent them just makes it ten times worse. And crying could be triggered by anything for you.. messing something up, thinking someone is mad at you, spilling something on your outfit or your routine being overshadowed. It was hard- feeling like the world was against you. You couldn’t help that you were ‘sensitive’. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t not cry.

Getting your own apartment had been a positive and a negative thing. Positive in the sense that you could cry or express your emotions when you needed to. Negative in the sense that if you were having a really bad emotional episode? You were completely by yourself. Dark thoughts popped up sometimes. You knew it would all pass- but it was still hard to have to sit and listen to your brain telling you it would be easier if you didn’t have to feel it all anymore.

Being different than others had kept you from typical romance scenarios. Not dating much in high school, always feeling too emotionally mature for everyone.. a blessing and a curse. Meeting John and him asking you out was something you never even expected for yourself. But it ended up making sense. Having an older guy with higher maturity really allowed you the space to for once feel less obligated than others to always be mature and in charge. He was like a breath of fresh air when you’d been breathing in smog for far too long.

You had an incredibly shitty day. One of the few friends you had was being distant, your work was piling up so much you had to bring some home, you’d practically forgotten to eat all day.. everything was falling apart at the seams. Unable to hold yourself together, you started crying during the car ride home- which wasn’t all that unusual for you. Pulling into your parking space you make it up the elevator to the door of your apartment. Unlocking the door and walking inside, as soon as the door clicks closed behind you a sharp sob slips past your lips.

Tossing your bags onto the floor, you continue to sob almost uncontrollably as you stumble into the kitchen, vision blurry from tears. Wiping your cheeks with your sleeves as you open the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water. You can’t drink and cry at the same time.. it was a good hack that never felt like you were forcing yourself to stop crying. Letting yourself slide down the kitchen cabinets, you hit the floor with a weak gasp for breath, face heavily flushed and eyes bloodshot as you continued to cry to yourself.

After a few moments to yourself, you suddenly hear heavy footsteps from the hallway of your apartment. Looking up, your puffy face meets John’s, who is clearly concerned. Wearing a towel around his waist, his hair only slightly wet from the shower he must have taken- you interrupted him drying himself off. He wasn’t supposed to come over today. Christ- you interfered with another persons life. Why did you have to be such a bother?

He quickly darted over, immediately crouching down as his eyes scan over your form, checking for something wrong. “Sweetheart?” He says quickly, his voice slightly panicked. “What’s wrong?”

Staring up at him like an idiot, you can’t help but look away out of embarrassment. You never let anyone hear you cry like this. “Nothing” you murmur faintly as you wipe your cheeks. “Just.. needed to cry.” The embarrassment of getting caught like this made the tears stop almost instantly.

He looks at you with furrowed brows and a confused gaze. “Love..” he murmurs softly as he kneels in front of you, cupping your chin and pulling you to look at him. “I’ve barely heard men who’ve been shot cry that hard.” He says softly out of concern as his thumb rubs over your cheek.

Sighing softly, you lean into his touch. “I just.. I cry really hard. Always have.” You confess faintly. “I’m sorry- I never wanted you to see that.” You sniff.

With a huff, he gently leans forward and pulls you into his arms, tucking your face into the crook of his neck. “Hearing you like that broke my heart.” He whispers gruffly against your ear. “Don’t you ever hide from me again. Not when you’re hurting like that.”

Sniffing faintly as you let him hold you, you can’t help but feel the guilt bubble up inside of you. You weren’t hurting that bad.. you just cried really hard. For some reason. It was never justified- you were just always overreacting.. nothing can hurt that bad. At least, that’s what you’ve been told your whole life. “I’m really okay.” You murmur softly, but you can tell your heart isn’t in your words. “I just.. overreact. I don’t know how to fix it.”

Shushing you, he holds you tighter against him. “No one could fake that, lovie.” He murmurs against your heated cheek. “Your little heart is too damn big.” He sighs. He gently scoops you up into his arms, bringing you to your bedroom which you’d perfectly crafted to be a safe space. Setting you down, he reaches to grab one of your stuffed animals before putting them in your arms. “I know ya like the softer things, sweetheart.” He says softly as he walks over to his overnight bag to pull out some clothes.

Sighing contentedly, you wrap your arms around your plushie, holding it tightly to your chest as you try to forget about the day you’d had. The crying spells came out of nowhere, but ended after a small while. Even then.. you’d learned early on that other people don’t need to cry that hard. But for some reason you always did. “Some friend in high school saw me cry like that once.” You whisper faintly, burying your face into the plushie in front of you. “They stopped being friends with me after that.” You sniff. “Are you going to leave too?” You asked, unable to look at him.

He paused at your words as he slipped his sweatpants on before walking over and sitting on the edge of the bed. “I’ve seen combat, love.” He murmurs comfortingly as he brushes a piece of hair behind your ear. “You think a few tears could scare me off?”

Shaking your head slightly, you let out a soft sigh. “I wish I didn’t do that.” You said faintly. “It gets hard.. having to run away and cry. But if I don’t- it starts to hurt. Physically, I mean. Well, it hurts either way. But it hurts more if I try not to.”

John sighs softly as he looks down at you. “I don’t remember that last time I cried.” He murmurs softly. “I miss.. being able to feel like that. Emotional.” He says faintly as his hand reaches over to stroke your hair.

Letting out a contented sigh at his touch, you let yourself melt into the mattress slightly, reaching behind you to tug your weighted blanket over yourself, which he quickly helps with. When you process his words, your bloodshot eyes meet his own. “C’mere” you murmur, holding up the blanket for him.

He chuckles slightly, shifting to lay down next to you, smiling to himself when your arm slips around his waist to hold him close. With his back to your chest, he can’t think of another time he felt this.. safe. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had let him be the little spoon. “I should be holding you, yknow.” He murmurs.

When you grab another plushie from your bed pile and reach over him, placing it in his hands, he can’t help but laugh. “Let me hold you.” You say softly. “And you hold him.”

With a tired smile, he wraps his arms around the silly little stuffed animal, letting his mind fade away into the warmth and comfort of your arms. Only his baby would find comfort in comforting others. He couldn’t believe how lucky he’d gotten to find someone like you.

hey!! on the last writing i posted i added a poll, and John Price fluff was in the lead. I know I haven’t been posting much fluff w/o smut, so i hope y’all enjoy :D

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vindicated-truth · 1 day ago

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“Noona!”

The sound of sneakers squeaking on the floor fills the eerily quiet corridor of the hospital as Jihoon skids to a halt in front of his sister.

He takes one look at the somber faces looking up at him, and immediately feels his body break out in a cold sweat as his stomach plummets. “Noona…?”

He hears how his own voice sounds small and shaky—not unlike the time when he was just a kid and he had just found out that he would be living with his big sister now as his legal guardian.

“He’s currently undergoing surgery,” Jihwa answers Jihoon’s unspoken question as she runs a hand distractedly through her hair, and Jihoon’s heart twists at how exhausted his sister sounds, not unlike all those nights she’d come home late from pulling double shifts to support them both because their mother had a new family.

The relief that instantly courses through Jihoon makes his body sag weakly as he falls onto the nearest seat, followed by the immediate dread that they’re not out of the woods just yet. “What happened?”

“Car accident,” Hyeok speaks up from beside him, and Jihoon can’t help but marvel at how calm the prosecutor sounds. Lawyers’ nerves must be made of steel, Jihoon muses.

He furrows his brows as the words sink in. “But…” Jihoon says slowly, “he always drives safely.”

“Yes. He does.” This time, Jihoon can detect the grim bitterness of Hyeok’s tone. “He wasn’t the problem.”

The seat across the hallway creaks as Jihwa flops down on it with a heavy sigh. “Drunk truck driver beating the red light crashed onto him at a crossroad. The other driver is also currently undergoing surgery at another operating room, and Dosoo-ya is conferring with the medical team there regarding the DUI case.”

“DUI…”

Jihoon trails off as his gaze finally lands on the lone man slumped over at the other end of the corridor. The fluorescent light directly above is flickering, casting the despondent figure in shadow.

“Dongsik-hyung…” Jihoon trembles. “Why are you here?”

He feels both Hyeok’s and Jihwa’s gazes turn to him in silent, outraged disbelief, and Jihoon swifty shakes his head.

“Why are you here—” Jihoon whispers as he gestures at the bleak corridor they’re all stuck in, “—and not in there with Joowon-hyung?”

He feels a hand on his knee, and his gaze snaps to his sister, who has reached across the hallway to touch him tenderly.

“Inspector Han is in critical care,” Jihwa tells him softly. “Strictly family only.”

Jihoon opens his mouth.

“And to answer your question, Jihoon-ah…”

The words die on Jihoon’s lips as Dongsik finally raises his head to meet Jihoon’s eyes.

Dongsik has never looked so—lifeless, like this.

Not since Yuyeon was finally cremated.

“According to the law, I am not family.”

A thunk beside Jihoon makes him jump, and he looks over to see the back of Hyeok’s head hitting the wall as Hyeok stares balefully at the ceiling, chuckling bitterly.

“And neither am I.”

—

The beeping pattern that has lulled her into a fitful sleep suddenly changes, and the sound breaks through the haze of her semi-consciousness.

Blearily, Jaeyi uncurls herself from the tiny sofa bed to peer at the monitors—and then at the patient to whom all of it is attached.

The drowsiness instantly disappears. “Inspector Han!” she gasps as she throws away the blanket draped over her legs and sways a bit on her feet from the dizziness of standing up too quickly. “You’re awake!”

Her instinct to go to him is immediately overridden by the memory of the nurses’ strict reminder to contact them as soon as the patient regains consciousness, and Jaeyi quickly reaches for the call button.

The fingers that curl around her wrist are weak, but insistent.

“Wait,” Joowon rasps, voice hoarse from being previously intubated during surgery. “Not yet.”

The herculean effort to speak seems to already drain so much out of Joowon that it makes Jaeyi relent. Instead, she pulls out a chair to sit close by his bedside. “How are you feeling?” she gently inquires, trying her best to mask her worry.

Joowon lolls his head to the side to look at her with a swollen face full of bruises and stitches, and manages to offer a small smile. “Like I was just crushed by a giant truck.”

Jaeyi smiles back tremblingly despite herself. “Your doctors don’t have to worry about psychological damage to your brain, considering your sense of humor remains the same.”

“Hilarious?”

“Non-existent.”

A soft gust of breath escapes Joowon’s lips before the laughter is quickly smothered by a grimace of pain. Jaeyi bites her lip anxiously. “Should I be calling the nurses now?”

“No,” Joowon repeats firmly, and Jaeyi is a little taken aback at how vehement he sounds. Joowon must have registered her surprise because he then quietly, shamefully confesses: “I don’t like being around medical professionals.”

Jaeyi’s eyebrows rise dubiously, but she holds her tongue, respectfully—smartly—waiting.

Eventually, Joowon takes a deep breath and, as if the admission pains him, closes his eyes as he explains:

“They were often at our house when I was a child. Their presence meant my mother has once again attempted to kill herself.”

Jaeyi doesn’t know if Joowon is keeping his eyes firmly shut for his benefit, or for hers. Either way, she is immensely grateful for it, because Joowon doesn’t need to see the cold waves of shock, rage, shared grief and unwanted pity that slams over her in quick succession, the vicious intensity knocking the breath out of her lungs.

Right now, Joowon needs her to be strong—so she will be.

“Would you like me to call someone else then?” she instead gently suggests. “Prosecutor Kwon has been waiting to hear from you.”

She pauses, letting the weight of her next words hold meaning as she softly adds: “And so is ahjussi.”

Joowon’s eyes flutter open.

And it takes Jaeyi’s breath away, the way Joowon’s entire countenance changes. His features soften, brows crinkling with concern, as he once again turns to her and worriedly asks:

“Has he eaten?”

And it says so much about how far Joowon has come in opening up his heart, because he now completely understands—and fluently speaks—the love language of Lee Dongsik.

She swallows against the lump that suddenly forms in her throat—and lies.

“Yes.”

—

“Ahjussi...”

“Jaeyi-ya? Why are you crying?”

“Ahjussi… I’m on my way to the hospital right now… please… you have to come…”

“Are you okay? What happened?”

“It’s—It’s Inspector Han.”

“… What? You—how—”

“I don’t know why, ahjussi, and I found out just now when the hospital called my number unexpectedly, but—Inspector Han listed me as his emergency contact.”

—

Not for the first time, Hyeok wonders how he somehow always finds himself sharing a table with all of these strange people.

It hasn’t been that long ago when they were all mere strangers to him—just another list of names in his ever-growing pile of case files.

Now, however…

Jaeyi arrives with a tray laden with so much food that it makes Hyeok’s eyes widen at how heavy it all looks. He scrambles to his feet and tries to help, but Jaeyi merely shoos him away, leaving him standing there awkwardly as she begins doling out the soup bowls.

“I can’t keep lying to Inspector Han,” Jaeyi proclaims resolutely, “so you all better eat.”

Dosoo peers at the huge serving bowl Jaeyi is ladling from. “Your budae jjigae looks much more appetizing than this, Jaeyi-ah.” He wrinkles his nose. “Smells much better too.”

“And no doubt tastes better too,” Jaeyi smoothly adds, which makes everyone at the table crack a smile for the first time in a long while. “But this is all the hospital cafeteria has to offer, and we have to eat this in honor of Inspector Han.”

Hyeok blinks. In honor of—

“It’s Joowon-hyung’s favorite,” Jihoon says softly when he sees Hyeok’s visible confusion. His voice is a little warbled, his eyes still red and puffy, shoulders trembling as he tries to stifle his silent sobs.

Tightly cradled in Jihoon’s hands is a letter envelope he’s clutching preciously close to his heart.

The sound of stainless steel scraping over wood pulls Hyeok’s attention, and he finds himself staring at a bowl of steaming budae jjigae that has been pushed towards him.

He looks up—and Dongsik smiles warmly at him.

“Eat, Prosecutor Kwon. Joowon-ie would have all of our heads if he finds out we’ve been starving you.”

No, he wouldn’t. He never used to care about whether or not I eat.

The bitter thought comes to him unbidden, and the sting of it makes his throat tighten.

He slowly returns to his seat as everyone at the table digs in, hunger finally overtaking worry and fatigue as the need to replenish their energy makes itself known if they are to continue their vigil.

It’s going to be a long night ahead for all of them.

Hyeok stares at the bowl in front of him as he cycles through his haphazard thoughts, desperately trying to reconcile what everyone else is telling him with what he knows.

Han Joowon hates any food with broth. He hates Korean food. He hates anything that has to do with Korea, because he has always hated coming back here.

Because all of it reminded him of his father.

When did all of that change? Do I even know him at this point?

Who even am I to Han Joowon?

“Don’t take it against him.”

Hyeok nearly leaps out of his skin—since when does Lee Dongsik have the power to read minds?

There’s a knowing glint in the other man’s eyes as Dongsik smirks at him. “And don’t take it against her either,” Dongsik adds as he juts his chin towards Jaeyi, who looks startled at being singled out. “You know why Joowon-ie couldn’t have made you his emergency contact, Prosecutor Kwon.”

No, he thinks sourly, I don’t.

The table falls silent as Dongsik continues to slurp and chew with gusto, oblivious to the sudden tension in the air. Unable to take it anymore, Jihwa lets out an exasperated sigh and Dongsik jumps beside her.

Hyeok’s mouth quirks despite himself; Jihwa appears to have kicked Dongsik under the table.

“What?” Dongsik grumbles as Jihwa tilts her head meaningfully towards Hyeok. “He knows he once worked for Han Kihwan, that’s why Joowon-ie is publicly distancing himself from Prosecutor Kwon.”

Chills run down Hyeok’s spine. Whatever he’s been expecting, it isn’t this.

Slapping him across the face would have hurt far less.

“Ahjussi,” Jaeyi says softly. “You should word that better.”

Dongsik looks up from his bowl and finally realizes all eyes are on him. He swallows the mouthful he’s been chewing and eventually fixates his gaze on Hyeok.

Beneath the table, Hyeok’s tightly balled fists are shaking.

Dongsik puts his chopsticks down.

“Emergency contact records are private data that can only be accessed in crises situations by healthcare providers or by authorized representatives. And that includes family.”

Dongsik pauses to let the weight of his next words sink in.

“Han Joowon’s actual family.”

Dongsik spits the word out like vile poison—and the realization slams upon Hyeok.

“The public records of you consistently meeting with Han Kihwan were plenty. Aside from the official logs at his office and the traceable calls and messages on both your phones, there were a significant number of CCTV cameras proving you had been meeting with him even well beyond office doors and office hours. You had even been spotted several times at the Han residence.”

Hyeok’s blood runs cold—because he suddenly, truly understands.

He does know Han Joowon. Far, far too well.

“Han Kihwan is currently undergoing appeals to lighten his sentence,” Dongsik is saying. “And one of the ways he can do that—“

“—is if he can prove he has an accomplice,” Hyeok finishes quietly.

Their table has become a silent, unwitting audience to the tense stalemate between them. The rigid set of Dongsik’s shoulders suddenly sags, and Hyeok knows, with a pang in his chest, that the hell on earth brought upon by Han Kihwan is still burning.

And at the center of the pyre—are Han Joowon and Lee Dongsik.

“Han Kihwan knows he can’t beat you, Prosecutor Kwon.” Hyeok’s gaze is arrested by the way Dongsik reaches for his water glass and lets out a humorless chuckle. “Nor can he defeat the son that you raised. He knows far too well that you are both far too smart for him. So instead, he’ll do the next best thing.”

Dongsik takes a swig from the glass, wipes his mouth with back of his hand, and slams the glass back down on the table, spilling water everywhere.

“Han Kihwan is going to bring you down with him, Prosecutor Kwon.”

There’s a reason, Hyeok abruptly realizes with terrified awe, why Lee Dongsik is Han Joowon’s chosen partner. Why Lee Dongsik has never feared the pyre Han Kihwan has lit.

“And Han Joowon will never let that happen.”

Those are the eyes of a lunatic who will follow Han Joowon straight into hell.

—

“Can I see him?”

“Name, please?”

“Lee Dongsik.”

“Relation to the patient?”

“I’m his partner.”

“… Han Joowon-nim’s business partner?”

“His partner. He’s listed as my dependent on my medical insurance.”

“… I’m sorry Lee Dongsik-nim, but unless you’re listed as Han Joowon-nim’s emergency contact, the hospital cannot let you inside critical care because the NHIS doesn’t recognize your claim.”

“The fuck am I letting you stop me from—”

“It’s alright, nurse, I’ll take it from here.”

“Get your hands off me, Prosecutor Kwon! I have every right to—!”

“She’s right, Lee Dongsik-ssi. According to the law, you are not Joowon’s family.”

—

Gwangyoung pulls a grimace as soon as he takes a sip from the styrofoam cup. “Coffee from vending machines always tastes terrible.”

Ohsub rolls his eyes. “Seoul has made you even more pretentious, Senior Inspector Hwang.”

“Caffeine is still caffeine,” Dosoo says tiredly as he drinks from his own cup. “God knows we all need it right now.”

Jihwa silently agrees as she feels the night’s exhaustion seeping through her bones. She turns to Seonnyeo and musters up the strength to offer her a small smile. “How’s Huimangie?”

“I dropped her off at my parents’ place before coming here.” Seonnyeo returns the smile, and once again Jihwa marvels at the calm and comfort Seonnyeo radiates; there’s no one else more suited to motherhood. “Dosoo-ya will pick her up tomorrow since his shift at work is later than mine.”

Jihwa’s features soften. “You didn’t need to come tonight.”

Seonnyeo’s own gaze is kind but firm. “I wanted to.”

“And we needed her expertise,” Dosoo pipes up, a note of pride in his voice as he beams at his wife.

“So,” Ohsub leans forward in his seat, and all the police officers gathered around the hospital vending machine instantly snap to attention. “What do we know so far?”

Seonnyeo flips through the case file in her hand and begins to explain. “According to the records of the company he’s working for, the truck driver had been going through his usual route at his usual delivery time, so there was nothing out of the ordinary in his routine tonight.”

“Except for the fact that his medical records reveal that his blood alcohol concentration was at 0.306% at the time of the collision,” Dosoo remarks dryly.

Gwangyoung whistles lowly. “That’s the highest ever recorded number for a DUI case in history. Even if he survives tonight’s surgery—”

“Gwangyoung-ah,” Jihwa warns.

“I’m just saying,” Gwangyoung raises his hands in appeasement. “After he recovers, he’ll definitely be going to jail.”

“There’s something strange about the truck driver though,” Seonnyeo murmurs, lost in thought as she peruses the case file; Jihwa has to prompt her gently with a hand on her arm to encourage her to share her theories.

“A BAC of 0.250 to 0.399% is a dangerously high level of intoxication. It can already cause alcohol poisoning and even loss of consciousness.”

She turns to her husband. “We’re going to need to access the truck’s dashboard camera to be sure, but with this level of BAC, it’s entirely possible that the driver actually fell asleep at the wheel.”

“Which explains why he didn’t stop at the red light,” Dosoo affirms.

“Doesn’t really help his case,” Gwangyoung mutters, “although the defense can lobby that at least he didn’t purposely beat the red light.”

Seonnyeo bites her lip.

Ohsub sees her obvious hesitance and sighs. “Just say it, Officer Im.”

Instead, Seonnyeo turns to Jihwa and wordlessly hands over the case file to her.

Jihwa skims through the company records. “The truck driver has been consistent in his routine,” she comments. “No previous records of any road violations whatsoever.”

“Exactly,” Seonnyeo’s relief shows on her face when Jihwa confirms her observations. “If he knew he had a delivery route to go through tonight, why would he purposely get himself drunk before his shift?”

“Not just simply drunk,” Dosoo grumbles. “It’s like he ingested a whole liquor store with that amount of alcohol in his system.”

“It’s almost suicidal.”

Everyone turns to Jihwa at her somber words.

“But if he wanted to kill himself,” she says quietly as she sees the alarming BAC numbers for herself, “why would he go through such a roundabout way of doing it…”

She looks up and catches Ohsub’s penetrating gaze.

“… through crashing into another vehicle?”

Ohsub’s eyes narrow. “Inspector Oh—are you suggesting foul play?”

Jihwa shakes her head slowly. “There’s not enough evidence.” Not yet. “But if it is, then…”

She turns to her partner, and it’s a testament to how long and how well they work together that Dosoo’s face immediately clears as the realization hits him at the same time.

“… it falls to our jurisdiction,” Jihwa concludes quietly.

A tense silence abruptly settles in the air.

“A case for the Violent Crimes Unit,” Dosoo confirms grimly, “for attempted murder.”

—

“Remember that highly controversial case that no one else is taking?”

“… You’re seriously calling me in the middle of the night to talk about this?”

“I’m taking it.”

“Why—you—first of all, they can’t afford you.”

“I’m taking it pro bono.”

“You’re—Prosecutor Kwon, you do realize what this will mean for your career?”

“Yes. I absolutely do.”

“This is career suicide.”

“Good. I’m ready to be reborn.”

“… What are you saying?”

“Tell the client I’m ready to meet them.”

“It’s the middle of the god damned night!”

“Wake them.”

—

Jaeyi blinks when she returns to the table she has just cleared and sees it devoid of its previous occupants—save for one.

“Where did everyone go?”

“Prosecutor Kwon went outside to take a business call.” Jihwa runs a hand through her hair distractedly as she offers Jaeyi a reassuring smile. “I think I saw Dongsik-ie following him.”

She steps closer as Jaeyi takes some paper towels and begins wiping down the table, much to Jihwa’s amusement; Jaeyi doesn’t really have to since this isn’t her restaurant, but Jihwa supposes habits are hard to break, and Jaeyi will always have a butcher shop owner’s penchant for sanitation.

“Everyone else hurried to Inspector Han’s room,” Jihwa adds as she takes a paper towel for herself and starts to help. “They were all way too excited to learn that Inspector Han is finally going to be relocated from critical care to general medical care and can now receive visitors.”

It makes Jaeyi crack a smile. “I can imagine Inspector Han may be annoyed enough to actually speed up his recovery just so he won’t have to deal with any more of their well-meaning nagging.”

Jihwa chuckles. “Well, if there’s anyone who can achieve the impossible, it’s Han Joowon.”

Her remark is only met with silence, prompting her to look up. She stops, tilts her head thoughtfully, and softly asks:

“You know why it’s you, don’t you?”

Jaeyi pauses. Her bun has become loose and her bangs are falling in front of her eyes, making it easy for Jaeyi to deliberately avoid Jihwa’s searching gaze.

“Of course I do. I was the only logical choice left.”

Jihwa raises her eyebrows when Jaeyi starts rubbing at a non-existent stain on the table with much more vigor than is necessary. “We all know it should have been Prosecutor Kwon or Dongsik-ahjussi, but Han Kihwan remains to be a fucking bastard even from behind bars,” Jaeyi bites out.

Jihwa’s mouth quirks; Jaeyi will find no disagreement with her there.

“But I also understand,” Jaeyi says quietly, “why it couldn’t have been anyone else.”

She stops and leans heavily with the heel of her palms on the table.

“It should’ve been you too, eonnie, but you and Jihoon-ie have to look out for each other too, and you’re already each other’s emergency contact. Everyone else is either affianced, married, has kids, or—”

The next words catch in Jaeyi’s throat. She takes a deep, shaky breath.

“Or has parents to take care of.”

There’s a profound sadness and resignation in Jaeyi’s eyes when she finally looks up to meet Jihwa’s gaze.

“So I understand why Inspector Han chose me, out of everyone. It couldn’t have been anyone else other than the only one of us who has no family left to lose.”

Just like him is left unsaid, but heavily understood.

There’s a soft intake of breath when Jihwa places her hand over Jaeyi’s, gentling the tightness of her fingers by threading theirs together.

“Inspector Han chose you,” Jihwa says softly, “because he knew without a doubt that it’s Dongsik-ie you would call first.”

Jihwa reaches out to tuck stray wisps of Jaeyi’s hair behind her ear, revealing Jaeyi’s beautiful eyes, shimmering with the tears she’s desperately trying to hold back.

“He also knew that you would not make any important medical decisions without consulting with Prosecutor Kwon first.”

Tenderly, she caresses Jaeyi’s cheek with the back of her hand; her fingers feel cold and wet as Jaeyi closes her eyes and the tears begin to fall from beneath those long lashes.

“And Inspector Han knew that just like you always have, you’d find a way to gather all of us here together—for him.”

Jihwa is ready for it, her arms already open to catch Jaeyi as she finally collapses against Jihwa, her whole frame shaking with broken sobs, the weight of everything she’s been carrying since receiving the call from the hospital finally crashing down on her.

Jihwa gathers her close; Jaeyi tightens her arms around Jihwa’s waist and buries her face in Jihwa’s neck to hide her tears.

“Uri Jaeyi. Han Jowoon chose you because you are our home. Because even someone like Han Joowon knows…”

Jihwa presses her mouth against Jaeyi’s hair and murmurs:

“Home is where he will always find his family.”

—

“Prosecutor Kwon.”

Hyeok stiffens at the all too familiar voice behind him. “I have to go,” he mutters quickly and ends the call.

He pockets his mobile phone, takes a deep breath, and turns around.

The lone, imposing figure at the top of the stairs is watching him, silhouette backlighted by the harsh, bluish-gray lights coming from the hospital doors from which he has just exited.

Hyeok swallows. “There’s—somewhere I need to be.”

Dongsik considers him for a long moment. “I know for a fact that you’re not going home,” he finally says quietly. “What’s so important that you need to leave in the middle of the night?”

“Work.”

Hyeok determinedly holds Dongsik’s gaze. He isn’t lying.

“I see.”

Dongsik makes his way slowly down the stairs of the hospital entrance and stops right in front Hyeok.

And it takes Hyeok’s breath away when Dongsik’s entire countenance changes at his next words—as if the weight of the world has finally been lifted from his shoulders as he regards Hyeok with a gentle smile.

“Uri Joowon-ie is finally transferred to general medical care,” Dongsik tells him softly. “He’s asking for you.”

The unexpected revelation sends Hyeok reeling as he sways on his feet. “Good—that’s good,” he stammers. “Tell him—”

Tell him he’s an idiot, tell him he doesn’t need to protect me because that’s my job, because I’m the big brother even though he has never, ever accepted me as his , because it’s my job to give him everything he needs and this, this is the one thing I can do for him, so tell him—

“Tell him… I have work to do.”

Hyeok adamantly tries his best to not flinch under Dongsik’s penetrating, piercing gaze.

Please, he silently, desperately begs. Please let me do this.

“Okay,” Dongsik assents, much to Hyeok’s surprise. “But before you go, Jihoon-ie asked me to give you this.”

Hyeok watches as Dongsik reaches inside his own jacket pocket. He takes something out and hands it over to Hyeok.

He immediately recognizes what it is—and his throat tightens when he sees his own name written on it.

“Uri Joowon-ie made sure you have one, too.”

Dongsik smiles at him.

“Looks like you’re stuck with us, Prosecutor Kwon.”

—

“Please make sure to feed that idiot too.”

Jaeyi’s mouth quirks, knowing she doesn’t need to clarify who it is. “I promise to feed them all. I think I saw some budae jjigae at the hospital cafeteria earlier.”

She pauses, considering. “Does he even like budae jjigae?”

From his position lying prone on the hospital bed, Joowon lets out a snort. “That man has ostentatious tastes. He’d do well to humble himself and expand his horizons.”

Jaeyi clamps her mouth shut as she tries not to smile at the absolute irony of that statement coming from Han Joowon, of all people. “He really is the one who raised you.”

She grins when Joowon glares at her the best he can from beneath all those bandages. “Speaking of Prosecutor Kwon,” she adds, “he told me something interesting about you.”

“Dear god,” Joowon mutters.

Jaeyi laughs. “He actually talks very fondly of you, you know,” she reveals, smiling a little sadly at the way Joowon looks at her in disbelief. “He told me that you’re eligible for citizenship in England.”

Joowon’s gaze is contemplative as Jaeyi lets the weight of the implication settle between them. “Why are you bringing this up?” he quietly asks.

Jaeyi hesitates. “It’s legal there, isn’t it?” She bites her lip. “If you and ahjussi ever were to get married.”

It’s the way Joowon’s expression remains impassive and unsurprised that tells it all.

This is not the first time it has occurred to him.

“Ahjussi fought hard to be in here,” Jaeyi tells him softly, choosing not to expound on how Hyeok had to physically restrain Dongsik from charging through the doors of critical care. “He fought so hard for his right as your partner.”

“But according to the law, he is not my family.”

Jaeyi swallows at the way Joowon tonelessly repeats Hyeok’s earlier statement nearly word for word. “He can be.”

Joowon turns his head on the pillow to look straight into her eyes. She holds his gaze as the smile she gives him is bittersweet. “He can be your rightful family in England. That’s why I’m bringing it up.”

“I’m not going to do that to him.”

That is certainly not the fierce declaration Jaeyi expects. “What?”

The wires and tubes connected to his body all jangle at the heavy sigh Joowon heaves. “I’m not going to bring Lee Dongsik to England.”

Jaeyi furrows her brows. “Why not?”

The smile Joowon offers her with his wounded and bruised lips is gentle and warm. “Because Manyang butcher shop doesn’t exist there.”

It feels like Jaeyi has been stabbed straight through her heart.

“I love him.” Joowon’s no-nonsense statement is powerful in its simplicity and sincerity. “And it is my sole purpose in life to make him happy.”

Whatever doubts Jaeyi had in the past about Han Joowon being deserving of Lee Dongsik’s love and devotion is now completely obliterated in the wake of this vow.

Because Han Joowon isn’t just someone who will move heaven and earth for Lee Dongsik.

“I will never take Lee Dongsik away from his own family.”

For Lee Dongsik, Han Joowon will go through hell.

—

There’s a sharp intake of breath from Gwangyoung. “Attempted murder?”

“Wait.” Jihoon finally speaks up in disbelief at the direction of the discussion and the unwanted gravity of the implication. “Why are we even considering foul play?”

His sister then looks straight at her boss, who’s startled by her sharp gaze.

Ohsub clears his throat. “As you may all very well know, as police officers, we have the duty and responsibility to avoid speculation without hard evidence.”

Jihwa crosses her arms—and Jihoon recognizes that look immediately.

It’s the look of his big sister—the woman of the house—not letting anyone get away with any bullshit.

Ohsub purses his lips and finally relents.

“Ever since I’ve been promoted to Superintendent,” he begins hesitantly, “I’ve been rubbing elbows with a lot of higher ups in the force, and I’ve been privy to a lot of their conversations. Even the ones they never meant for me to hear.”

He turns to face Jihoon gravely. “They all hate Inspector Han.”

Jihoon frowns, instinctively defensive. “Joowon-hyung is not a bad cop.”

“Inspector Han is indeed a very, very good cop,” Dosoo easily agrees; Jihoon furrows his brows, noting the austerity of Dosoo’s tone in what’s supposed to be praise.

“Inspector Han follows the letter of the law and enacts justice on everyone without exception,” Seonnyeo says quietly. “Not even his own self. Not even the one person he loves beyond all measure.”

They fall silent at her words. Dosoo intertwines their fingers together in empathetic solidarity.

“Not even,” Jihwa adds quietly, “his own father.”

“Not even the wealthiest and most powerful cop in the country borne out of a law enforcement dynasty spanning four generations,” Ohsub clarifies morosely. “The Han family network is a systemic power that’s vast and deeply rooted in the force. It’s how they kept the power in the family for decades.”

Ohsub looks grimly at them.

“And Inspector Han just dismantled it all.”

Jihoon’s gaze is arrested by the way Jihwa leans her head back against the wall at her apprehensive words. “It’s always been an open secret that the Han family dynasty had steadily built and strengthened their influence within the Korean National Police Agency until the third of their generation finally reached the very top.”

“Only to be brought down by their own fourth generation.” Dosoo presses his lips together. “The best and smartest of them all.”

Jihoon swallows. “Han Joowon,” he whispers.

Ohsub sighs and rubs his eyebrows tiredly. “Han Kihwan had his dirty fingers dipped in a lot of pies and had plenty of cronies in the force, most of whom lost significant power after his arrest.”

“I bet they lost a hell of a lot of money too,” Gwangyoung mutters.

Ohsub inclines his head in agreement at the point. “Which means Inspector Han has an ever growing list of enemies, and all of them are in the police force.”

“And word on the grapevine is that they’re planning to take him out.”

Jihoon holds his breath at his sister’s words as she looks at him straight in the eye.

“Through whatever means necessary.”

Jihoon’s hands curl into fists as he turns back to Ohsub. “Hyung—Superintendent Kwak—can’t you report them?”

“For what? Talking smack about a coworker?” Ohsub snorts bitterly. “I can’t even record their conversations because it won’t hold up in any court, and I have no evidence of them actually acting on their threats.”

“Until now,” Seonnyeo interjects quietly. “We don’t have any evidence for the act just yet, nor do we have any leads for an actual suspect, but we certainly have plenty of motive for the attempted murder of Han Joowon.”

Finally putting it into actual words makes the declaration weigh heavily upon all of them.

“Wouldn’t his father protect him?”

Everyone turns to Jihoon at his despaired whisper. “Joowon-hyung is still his family.” He looks at them all desperately. “How much of a monster would Han Kihwan be to allow his own son to be killed?”

His throat tightens as his sister leans forward and lets her face fall into her hands.“In the recording Inspector Han submitted, Lee Changjin can be heard asking Han Kihwan if he’s willing to kill his own son.”

Jihoon watches as Jihwa slicks her hair back, lips pressed tight at the mention of her abominable ex-husband. “It’s corroborated by Lee Changjin’s own statement afterward, when he confessed.”

“And later on, after Han Kihwan’s arrest,” Dosoo adds somberly, “Dongsik-hyung and Inspector Han separately submitted their own statements about what really happened that night at the Han residence.”

“And their statements matched,” Ohsub affirms.

Jihoon swallows.

“Han Kihwan pointed a gun at his own son’s head,” Jihwa viciously reveals, a quiet rage simmering beneath the bitten out words. “A loaded gun. With the safety off.”

She screws her eyes shut as she fights to calm her breathing. “We don’t know if Han Kihwan is the one behind this attempted murder—”

“Allegedly,” Ohsub firmly interjects.

“—on Han Joowon’s life,” Jihwa finishes anyway. “What we do know for certain is that even if he isn’t, Han Kihwan is the kind of father who doesn’t care whether or not his son dies, if it means saving his own ass.”

The resounding silence is suffocating.

“Dongsik-hyung should know.”

The loud, bitter laughter Jihwa lets out at Jihoon’s quiet declaration startles everyone in their seats. “No. Dongsik-ie absolutely should not know. There’s a very good reason Inspector Han did not list him as his emergency contact.”

“Emergency contacts are accessible by police authorities during criminal investigations,” Ohsub explains grimly. “Killing Inspector Han is like killing two birds with one stone, because it opens up a case.”

Jihoon feels like he’s going insane at how he can actually follow the deranged train of thought. “And it allows cops access to private records, including that of Dongsik-hyung, if he’s listed as Joowon-hyung’s emergency contact.”

“Yes,” Ohsub affirms. “Because everyone in the force also knows that Inspector Han didn’t bring down Han Kihwan singlehandedly.”

“He had a partner,” Jihwa says quietly, “in Lee Dongsik.”

Jihoon stares at them, unwilling to accept what they’re all implying. “Are you saying that Dongsik-hyung needs to be protected?”

“No,” Ohsub says wryly, “the problem is precisely the opposite.”

“Lee Dongsik brought down the most powerful cop in the country and put an end to a family dynasty just to bring justice to Lee Yuyeon.” The look his sister gives Jihoon is tinged with a strange mixture of bittersweet sadness and fearful trepidation. “How far do you think Lee Dongsik is willing to go this time just to bring justice to Han Joowon?”

Jihoon inhales sharply.

“The whole world,” Jihwa quietly declares, “might as well burn.”

—

“The damn truck driver is alive?!”

“Currently in surgery as we speak. Apparently that bastard Han Joowon swerved just enough in time to avoid most of the impact.”

“Pests really are such a headache to exterminate.”

“What are we going to do if the driver talks?”

“What’s he gonna say? He can’t prove that we drugged him.”

“And Han Joowon? There are so many other ways to get rid of that pest, why are we doing it this way?”

“It’s fitting, isn’t it? The father had been brought down by a DUI. It’s poetic that we bring down the son in exactly the same way.”

—

“Doesn’t Joowon-hyung deserve that?”

Jihoon’s hands are tightly fisted on his lap as he looks up at his sister. “After having a father who won’t think twice about throwing his own son into hell, doesn’t Joowon-hyung deserve to have someone who will instead burn the world for him?”

Everyone falls silent at his breathless question. Jihwa tilts her head to one side, watching him thoughtfully.

“Yes,” she finally assents. “He does.”

Jihoon stares at the way his sister unexpectedly smiles.

“Just—not right now,” Jihwa comments dryly, “while Dongsik-ie is still under probation.”

Jihoon blinks.

Dosoo grins wryly, backing up his partner. “Dongsik-hyung can’t protect or fight alongside Inspector Han if he ends up in prison.”

Whatever Jihoon is about to say next dies on his lips as everyone’s attention is arrested when the doors to critical care suddenly swing open—

—and out walks Jaeyi.

Everyone scrambles to their feet in surprise, anxiously watching her amble towards them with unsteady steps; Jihoon notes how she has her arms wrapped tightly around herself, the tremors in her frame betraying how she’s fiercely trying to control her quiet sobs.

Jihoon feels the ground reeling beneath his feet, dreading the absolute worst. “Noona…?”

Slowly, Jaeyi raises her head, and Jihoon’s chest twists achingly at the sight of her: Jaeyi’s clothes are rumpled, her hair is disheveled, her eyes are haggard and red from crying—

And she’s staring straight at Jihoon.

“Inspector Han is awake. You’re the first person he’s asking to see.”

From his peripheral vision, Jihoon sees the way his sister sharply turns to him in undisguised alarm.

“Me?” Jihoon breathes, heart in his throat. “Why me?”

With shaking hands, Jaeyi reaches inside her jacket and takes out a letter envelope.

The smile she offers Jihoon is trembling.

“He wants you to have this.”

—

“Did you even calculate the route correctly?”

“The timing of the crash was supposed to be perfect. We even planted the road detours they were both forced to take and timed the traffic lights to malfunction at the precise intersection.”

“It should’ve been enough to indict the truck driver for beating the red light. He was supposed to be our scapegoat.”

“Except the idiot actually lost consciousness. The spiked alcohol in his system was way too potent.”

“Go through the crash site and get rid of the dashboard camera so it can’t be submitted as evidence.”

“We can’t.”

“What do you mean we can’t?”

“Someone got to the footage first.”

“Who the fuck would want that footage?”

“That meddlesome fool from Team One of Munju Police Station’s Violent Crimes Unit. Assistant Inspector Kang Dosoo.”

—

This is what a heart attack must feel like, Jaeyi thinks as she rushes forward in a panic, heart hammering violently against her ribs.

“Inspector Han!”

She shrieks, a hand firmly on Joowon’s bandaged chest to stop him from rising from the hospital bed; the insistent warning beeping of all the machines connected to his body isn’t helping her already jangled nerves. “Please let me call the nurses now.”

“Officer Oh,” Joowon says hoarsely instead, and it makes Jaeyi’s gaze snap up to him in surprise. “I need to find Officer Oh.”

Jaeyi furrows her brows. “… Jihoon-ie?” Tendrils of worry color her tone as a creeping sense of dread begins to overtake her at the completely unexpected name.

“Please,” Joowon whispers as he lies back on his bed, and it’s a testament to how utterly weak his current state is that he can’t even put up a physical fight against Jaeyi.

It makes her simultaneously ache for him and feel utterly enraged on his behalf.

“Please find him,” Joowon is begging her. “I need to give something to him.”

Jaeyi squeezes her eyes shut. Calm. Inspector Han needs you to be calm, damn it. “Okay,” she relents, “but only if you behave and stay still.”

He has the absolute audacity to smirk at her. “All right, mother.”

“I am not—!”

Jaeyi takes a deep lungful of breath and lets it out slowly as she runs her hands over her face. “Dear god, ahjussi really is the only one who can match your insanity,” Jaeyi mutters between her fingers.

Joowon blinks at her innocently.

Jaeyi scowls. “Fine. What is it that you need to give to Jihoon-ie?”

“It’s in my coat—”

“I just told you to stay still—”

Joowon seems to finally take pity on her—that, or the way she inadvertently pitches her tone incredibly high with worry really does sound like a mother scolding her wayward son. “Forgive me,” he murmurs, looking appropriately chastised. “I just—need to know it’s there.”

Jaeyi sighs, heart softening despite herself. “I think the nurses put away the clothes you were wearing—”

—when you almost died and we almost lost you—

“—when they found you. I’ll see if I can find your coat.”

Joowon is compliantly quiet and still as Jaeyi turns her back on him. She rummages through the pile of clothes she vaguely remembers that the nurses have set aside by the bedside drawers when they first wheeled in the hospital bed—with Han Joowon lying on it deathly still.

Jaeyi firmly presses her lips together and staunchly refuses to let her attention linger on the bloodstains still caked on the clothes, refusing to even think about how much blood Joowon has actually lost.

She inwardly vows to get rid of the stains before Dongsik finds them. She refuses to think about what will happen if he does.

Maybe she should just burn the clothes entirely, before Dongsik ends up burning something else.

“Yoo Jaeyi-ssi,” Joowon speaks up softly from behind her, pulling her wandering thoughts back to the task at hand.

She finds the coat at the bottom of the pile, the dark color thankfully camouflaging whatever bloodstains still managed to splatter on the outer piece of clothing.

“It’s inside the pocket,” Joowon murmurs. “You’ll find a letter envelope.”

Jaeyi begins patting down the coat and reaches inside the first pocket she finds.

She ends up pulling out Joowon’s wallet. It falls open just as she fully intends to put it aside.

Jaeyi stares.

She recognizes the background with how often she’s been at Okcheon lake. She recognizes that it’s summer too, with how clear the skies are and how glaringly bright the sun is shining, as well as the thin tank top worn for the heat.

It’s the way Lee Dongsik is looking back at her that takes her breath away.

His curls are caught in a frozen summer breeze—it’s obviously been a while since this photo has been taken, since Dongsik hasn’t had his haircut yet in this one. The sunshine from above highlights the fond glow of his eyes as he looks lovingly at the camera, the corners of his mouth softened by a tender smile.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out who has taken the photo. There’s only one person in the entire world whom Dongsik ever looks at like this.

Like he’s looking at a piece of paradise—his deliverance and salvation all at once.

Like Lee Dongsik has finally been allowed inside the elusive gates of heaven.

“Did you find it?”

Jaeyi drops the wallet on the bedside table as if it scalds her. “I—no—a letter envelope right,” she stammers, feeling weirdly guilty about accidentally discovering what she knows for sure is meant to be kept private.

“Yes.” Joowon sounds amused. “It’s in the other pocket.”

“Right.” Jaeyi responds distractedly. Pull yourself together, she silently admonishes herself. “Here, I think I found it.”

Her fingers close upon the envelope and pulls it out.

Behind her, she hears Joowon draw a sharp intake of breath. “Can you check if it’s all there?”

Jaeyi blinks. Check what?

She opens the envelope—and is entirely taken aback to see all of their names printed on each one.

Han Joowon. Lee Dongsik. Oh Jihoon. Oh Jihwa. Yoo Jaeyi. Hwang Gwangyoung. Kang Dosoo. Im Seonnyeo. Kwak Ohsub.

Her eyebrows rise at the last name she finds.

Kwon Hyeok.

Slowly, Jaeyi turns around to face Joowon once more, the envelope carefully cradled in her hands.

She’s thoroughly nonplussed.

“Concert tickets?”

Joowon looks relieved. “Music festival tickets, to be precise,” he clarifies. “Officer Oh told me that he once promised to take her when he was still an idol trainee, because he wanted to perform for her at a music festival when he debuted. Unfortunately his idol career fell through, so he wasn’t able to fulfill his promise to her.”

Jaeyi’s brows crinkle in confusion. “Her…?”

“I figured the timing is now right,” Joowon murmurs, “considering the date of the festival.”

Jaeyi’s gaze falls back to the tickets. She takes one out—the one with her own name printed on it—and inspects it carefully.

Her knees suddenly wobble and she falls back to her seat as soon as she recognizes the date. Her hand flies to her mouth to silence the shocked cry that threatens to burst forth.

“It’s a celebration,” Joowon says softly, “of Kang Minjeong’s birthday.”

—

“ Kang Dosoo? No wonder he sounds familiar. That’s one of the names.”

“What names?”

“On the tickets Han Joowon bought from me.”

—

“Lee Dongsik.”

Hyeok feels the other man’s eyes on him as he carefully pockets the ticket close to his heart.

His hands are surprisingly steady.

“Find the fuckers who hurt our Joowon,” he whispers fiercely, “and leave the rest to me.”

The iron grip on his arm is unyielding when he turns to leave.

“Hyeok-ah,” Dongsik hisses through gritted teeth. “What the hell are you planning to do?”

Hyeok’s gaze travels from Dongsik’s hand all the way up to his eyes. Privately he notes that the fire burning in that gaze is flaring much in the same way as Joowon’s eyes once did when he implored Hyeok to cut off the rotten rope tying him to Han Kihwan.

It’s almost like looking into the eyes of another brother.

“I told you inside that hospital that according to the law, you are not Han Joowon’s family.”

It satisfies Hyeok immensely to see Dongsik looking so unsettled and taken aback at the slow, wolfish grin that creeps across Hyeok’s face.

After all, Lee Dongsik may be forgetting who actually raised Han Joowon.

“It’s time to change the law.”

—

Supreme Court recognizes rights of same-sex couples to receive spousal health insurance coverage

Korea's Supreme Court recognized new rights for same-sex couples Thursday, saying the state must provide health insurance for a gay man's partner in a landmark ruling that left activists weeping for joy.

"National Health Insurance should recognize spousal insurance coverage for same-sex couples," the court ruled, with activists breaking into cheers as the verdict was read out.

The verdict, which cannot be appealed as it comes from the country's highest court, means common-law spouses of the same sex can now register as dependents on their partners' health insurance.

"It is discrimination based on sexual orientation to exclude the couple just because they are same-sex," the court ruled.

"It is a discriminatory act that violates human dignity and values, the right to pursue happiness, freedom of privacy, and the right to be equal before the law, and the degree of infringement is serious."

—

JOOWON’S LUNATIC Text Message

JOOWON’S LUNATIC Common-law spouses?

What happened to hi, hello, good evening? Do old men like you really forget your manners as you age?

JOOWON’S LUNATIC Hi, hello, good evening Prosecutor Kwon. I’m also only six years older than you, you little shit. Common-law spouses?

De Facto Marriage in legal terms, yeah

My client sued the National Health Insurance Service because it terminated benefits for his partner after discovering they were a gay couple

The NHIS is legally required to grant spousal coverage benefits even to common-law partners, and both the Seoul High Court and the Supreme Court mandated that the NHIS reinstate my client’s dependent benefits

JOOWON’S LUNATIC I didn’t know De Facto Marriage in our country was also applicable to queer couples

It is now

JOOWON’S LUNATIC I see

JOOWON’S LUNATIC So how exactly can a De Facto Marriage be legally established under the law?

(i) Mutual intent to form a marital relationship

(ii) The existence of substance of marital life

JOOWON’S LUNATIC Can you possibly elaborate on that without all the legal mumbo jumbo?

You know, normally I charge clients for consultations like this

By the hour

JOOWON’S LUNATIC Eh, just put it on your brother’s tab

The court looks into various factors such as the duration of cohabitation, the existence of a marriage ceremony, and relationship with other family members

My client already had a public ceremony with his partner three years ago, which was attended by all of their friends and family, and they’ve also been living together since way before the wedding

JOOWON’S LUNATIC So you’re saying the relationship needs to be publicized as akin to an actual marriage

Yeah, basically

JOOWON’S LUNATIC I see

JOOWON’S LUNATIC Prosecutor Kwon

JOOWON’S LUNATIC Hyeok-ah

For the love of god Lee Dongsik it is three in the fucking morning and I have a court hearing in five hours STOP BLOWING UP MY NOTIFICATIONS I NEED TO SLEEP

JOOWON’S LUNATIC How do you feel about officiating our wedding ceremony?

JOOWON’S LUNATIC Are you there? Yah, did you actually fall asleep on me?

JOOWON’S LUNATIC Prosecutor Kwon

JOOWON’S LUNATIC Prosecutor Kwonnn

JOOWON’S LUNATIC Hyeok-ahhhhh

I’m putting all of this on your husband’s tab

Also

It’s about damn time

—

“What made you say yes?”

“Technically, he said yes.”

“It’s not a competition of who loves the other more, you know.”

“I certainly don’t want to lose.”

“So that’s why you asked him? The last time we talked, you were adamant about keeping your distance to protect him.”

��That was before I made the unforgivable mistake of failing to be by his side when he needed me the most because of a miscalculation I made last year.”

“You mean when you almost died.”

“Don’t be dramatic, I made a full recovery in record time, according to my physical therapists.”

“Again—not a competition, Inspector Han. So what made you decide to finally publicize your relationship?”

“The law changes everything.”

“It’s amazing, isn’t it? What Prosecutor Kwon did for you.”

“He charges me by the hour.”

“Well, you and Dongsik-ie will legally have joint finances soon, so I’m sure you’ll be able to afford Prosecutor Kwon’s rates.”

“Dongsik-ssi is actually not happy about that. He said he doesn’t want access to my finances, and while I understand that it’s because he also doesn’t want to have anything to do with my father’s dirty money, the fact remains that he of all people deserves to be paid reparations by Han Kihwan. Why are you grinning like that?”

“Only you, Inspector Han, will blackmail Lee Dongsik into becoming filthy rich through a De Facto Marriage because he won’t accept your money otherwise. You two lunatics truly deserve each other.”

“… I’m trying to ascertain whether that is a compliment or an insult.”

“So—joint finances, joint custody of properties. You’ll also now legally be the co-owner of the Okcheon lake residence. It’s all just a formality anyway, since you two have been living together there for years now.”

“How did you—”

“Jihoon-ie talks. A lot.”

“Finances and property aren’t my main concern anyway, because unlike legal marriages, common-law spouses aren’t automatically granted inheritance should one of us die.”

“Pretty sure neither of you are going to let that happen in the first place.”

“I’m certainly not gonna die before him.”

“Not really a competition Inspector Han, considering you’re thirteen years younger.”

“What I mean is that I simply won’t survive without him. Because I don’t want to.”

“That’s—Inspector Han—”

“And because common-law spouses are still legally mandated to uphold the same vows of fidelity, I am looking forward to him keeping his vow to spend the rest of his life with me.”

“You’re—blackmailing him to keep himself alive for you.”

“That is the gist of it, yes.”

“Huh. Well, whatever works to keep him safe, I guess.”

“It is a grave lesson that the unfortunate situation last year—“

“You almost dying—”

“—has irrevocably taught me. It is better to protect him by keeping him close instead of keeping him at a distance.”

“And the privilege extended to common-law spouses in legally refusing to testify against each other has absolutely no bearing on your decision to ask for Dongsik-ie’s hand in marriage? Publicizing your relationship like this makes you even more of a target.”

“From what’s left of my father’s fallen network?”

“No, I don’t think Han Kihwan’s men will be a problem anymore. I’m more concerned about the homophobic vultures inevitably swarming you both because of your soon to be public marriage.”

“De Facto Marriage. The spousal privilege is not automatically granted in the same way as legal marriages, because every protection and privilege granted to common-law spouses will have to go through further legal proceedings to be granted by the court.”

“It’s a good thing you have a cutthroat lawyer on your side.”

“Whose exorbitant rates are preposterous.”

“It’s worth it though, isn’t it?”

“For Lee Dongsik? Always.”

“I’m really happy for you, Joowon-ah. Both of you. You’ll show me the photos, right?”

“Of what?”

“The wedding ceremony. I’m sure it’s going to be magical.”

“Why would I show you photos?”

“I—I just thought—I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t want to—”

“Why would I show you photos when you can take them yourself?”

“… What?”

“You’ll be out on parole soon, won’t you? For good behavior.”

“How did you—”

“I have, shall we say, a ridiculously overcompensated lawyer working on it.”

“… But why? Why would he—why would you do this for me?”

“There’s a reason we set the date of the wedding ceremony after your prison sentence has ended.”

“I—Dongsik-ie didn’t invite me.”

“You’re not his guest. You’re mine, Park Jeongje-ssi.”

—

“I see,” Gwangyoung murmurs. “I’ll take note of that. Thank you for informing me.”

Jihwa looks up as Gwangyoung ends his call. She sees the way he frowns when he sees precisely who’s missing.

“Where’s Dongsik-hyung?”

“Where do you think?” Jaeyi looks incredibly drained but the smile she gives them all is much more weightless now. “It’s going to be an impossible challenge to pry ahjussi away from Inspector Han’s bedside from now on, unless someone has a pretty compelling reason.”

“Nothing less than the apocalypse happening,” Seonnyeo says amusedly as the tightness of her shoulders finally relaxes.

Dosoo grins at his wife when she lays her head on his shoulder. “Maybe not even then.”

“We’re going to have to ask the nurses to bring in two trays for every hospital meal,” Jihoon chuckles, puffy eyes still red-rimmed but brighter. “And two changes of clothes every night and day too.”

“The hospital bill will also definitely double,” Ohsub says wryly. “Too bad the NHIS doesn’t recognize Inspector Han as Dongsik-ie’s dependent, though I’m sure Inspector Han can afford to pay for everything anyway.”

“It’s not really the money that’s the issue,” Jihoon protests, “but the principle of equality. Especially in the eyes of the law.”

“Yeah well,” Ohsub shrugs as he leans back with a sigh. “The world has never treated everyone equally and that’s never gonna change, kid.”

“I am not a kid,” Jihoon grumbles.

Jihwa smiles and reaches out to ruffle her baby brother’s hair affectionately. Across from her, she notes the way Gwangyoung takes his seat with a sort of quiet tension, and it makes Jihwa pause.

“Everything okay, Gwangyoung-ah? Who was that on the phone?”

He looks up at her with uncharacteristic seriousness. “A friend from the force. Someone who has access to the traffic cameras.”

Jihwa feels her pulse begin to quicken.

Ohsub narrows his eyes. “Can this friend be trusted?”

“Yes,” Gwangyoung says firmly, “because I asked him to review the route Inspector Han had taken tonight before the collision.”

The mood in the hospital corridor instantly changes at his words.

“And what did he find out?” Jihwa prompts impatiently.

Gwangyoung presses his lips together. “We all know that Inspector Han is someone who sticks rigidly to routine. Whenever he gets off work, there’s only two routes he ever takes for either of two destinations: Manyang butcher shop, or Okcheon lake.”

“Wherever ahjussi is,” Jaeyi murmurs.

Gwangyoung tilts his head. “Tonight however, he made a detour.”

Jihwa’s eyebrows rise. “To where?”

“That’s where it gets strange,” Gwangyoung says in frustration. “The cameras coincidentally malfunctioned just as he started to break away from his normal route.”

That’s not a coincidence.

“The tickets.”

Everyone turns to Jaeyi in surprise; Jihoon clutches the letter envelope a little tighter against his chest.

Jaeyi meets Jihwa’s gaze. “Inspector Han told me that he went to pick up the tickets tonight.”

“Where though?” Dosoo pipes up. “Ticketing offices are already closed by the time his shift is over.”

“That’s not even the most questionable part.”

Jihwa turns at the way her brother hesitantly speaks up; his brows are furrowed in contemplation as he gazes at the envelope in his hands. He takes a deep breath and meets Jihwa’s eyes.

“The tickets for the festival were already sold out months ago,” Jihoon says quietly. “I’ve been wondering how Joowon-hyung got these tickets in the first place.”

“Some government offices actually get free complimentary tickets from entertainment companies who want to cut through the red tape,” Ohsub points out. “It’s technically bribery, but unfortunately it’s common practice for crooked officials taking advantage of the perks. Maybe Inspector Han’s department got a hold of these tickets.”

Jaeyi swiftly shakes her head. “No, Inspector Han definitely said he bought them.”

“Also—” Dosoo’s eyebrows fly to his hairline. “Han Joowon? Accepting bribery?”

“… All right, well, point taken,” Ohsub mutters. “It was just a theory.”

Government offices…

“Seonnyeo-ah,” Jihwa calls her out. “Can you go through the list of clients the truck driver delivers to, and see if there are any government offices along his route tonight?”

Ohsub furrows his brows. “What are you up to, Inspector Oh?”

“Gathering evidence,” Jihwa answer simply, startling all of them when she starts rattling instructions. “Jihoon-ah, if it’s true that the festival is already sold out, and Jaeyi says that Inspector Han only got the tickets tonight, it means he bought them secondhand.”

She gestures to the letter envelope in Jihoon’s hands.

“All tickets have corresponding control numbers that are unique to each one. You and Jaeyi should go through the secondhand market online to see if anyone posted photos or screenshots of the tickets with these control numbers and find out who the seller is. Ask Prosecutor Kwon to send you photos of his own ticket too. Dosoo-ya, I need you to get the footage of the dashboard camera from both vehicles involved in the crash, asap. And Gwangyoung-ah.”

Gwangyoung snaps to attention at being addressed.

“Your informant.” Jihwa narrows her eyes. “Who does he work for?”

—

“There’s just one thing I’d like to know, Park Jeongje-ssi.”

“Anything, Joowon-ah.”

“What exactly did you mean when you said my father’s men won’t be a problem anymore?”

—

Dongsik’s grip on Hyeok tightens.

“I know you won’t appreciate hearing this from me, Hyeok-ah,” he hisses, “but I will never forgive you if you make Joowonie go through the agonizing pain of losing the only sibling he’s ever known—”

Even through several layers of clothing, Hyeok feels the way Dongsik’s fingernails dig sharply into his skin.

“—because I know exactly what that feels like.”

Hyeok heart spasms.

“Then you’ll understand precisely what I’m about to ask of you.”

He grasps Dongsik’s arm with equal fervor, his gaze burning with equal intensity.

“I beg of you, Lee Dongsik,” Hyeok invokes beseechingly, casting away all of his pride for the one person he’s risking it all for. “Please don’t let me lose my brother.”

—

Jihwa stares at all the undeniable, irrefutable evidence in her hands.

It all points to a single entity.

Slowly, she raises her head—and sees her family, her team, all watching her.

Waiting.

Jihwa takes a deep breath and looks at her boss.

“Superintendent Kwak,” she says solemnly, “I formally ask for your permission for Violent Crimes to pursue and prioritize this case.”

She glances at her partner. Dosoo nods once—firmly.

Resolutely.

Ohsub’s expression is grave when Jihwa turns back to him.

“And I’m going to need a search and seizure warrant for—”

—

“The Community Safety and Traffic Bureau will be welcoming new employees today, so you all better be on your best behavior.”

“Why? These newbies are going to go through our hazing anyway.”

“What are their jobs?”

“Management changed agencies due to budget cuts, so there’s going to be new custodians on board.”

“You mean glorified janitors.”

“A lot of them are ex-cons who are out on parole or probation, so it’s not like they have the best career options to choose from.”

“Who would willingly choose a career in cleaning toilets, right?”

“Ah here comes one of them now. According to his file, his probation just ended, so he’s now a free man once again.”

“Free to once again commit crimes and land himself back in prison.”

“Who knows, maybe this one isn’t a lunatic for once. You over there, you’re new, right? What’s your name?”

The man in question stops. Slowly, he takes off the cap of his custodian uniform, revealing a wild mess of curls underneath.

Everyone takes an unwitting step back at the maniacal glint of those eyes as the man takes a deep, ninety-degree bow.

“My name is…”

The man straightens, his mouth stretching in a wide, serpentine grin of a psychopath, rivaling that of a serial killer—

—and they collectively feel their heart stop as they all instantly recognize who he is.

And somehow they know, without a doubt, that they’re all about to burn.

“Lee Dongsik, at your service.”

—

모든 게 다 타 버리고 남아있는 한 줌이여 Ash, ash, ash, ash 방주를 새롭게 지어 나아가 저 세계로 Ash, ash, ash, ash

Oh, the handful that's left from everything burning Ash, ash, ash, ash Let's build a new ark and go out into the world Ash, ash, ash, ash

—

Also posted at AO3

For @eonni92, whose multiple, precious gifts of artistry I wholeheartedly treasure, and for whom I can only humbly offer this story as my gift in return.

—

Title and lyrics from "Ash" by SEVENTEEN

References:

The landmark Supreme Court ruling recognizing the rights of same-sex couples is based on factual events in South Korea, as publicized in July 2024. A portion of the article from The Korea Times is lifted word for word for the purposes of this story. You can read the article in full here. The only fictional aspect in this story with regards to the actual lawsuit is who the prosecutor in charge was 😉

Both the Oh family background and the Han family background are all canon, based on the character backgrounds in the official script book by Beyond Evil writer Kim Sujin herself. You can read the English translations of the script book here, as translated by @rumpleteasa, who is a remarkable gem of a reliable resource for the fandom.

Thank you so much for your time in reading this story, and always remember:

It's not "blood is thicker than water" but "the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb".

May you all find your own Manyang butcher shop, and may you all redefine what it truly means to be family.

#beyond evil #my fic #괴물 #jwds #주원동식 #season 2 or a series special if it were to happen #because the case isn't over just yet #manyang family ensemble #non-linear narrative #case fic

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sturniolostars · 8 hours ago

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𝓟𝓤𝓒𝓚𝓘𝓝𝓖 𝓐𝓡𝓞𝓤𝓝𝓓

∗ smut, mentions of death, abuse, eating disorders, self harm, overall mature themes

∗ Chris was used to everyone liking him. But Evelyn hates hockey players and Chris hates her and her stupid figure skating. However they have to share a rink for now and can’t help but feel a pull towards each other. How will this play out in the end?

It was an early Saturday and I was dragging my feet into the meeting room where the figure skaters and for some reason hockey players were supposed to show up for some important announcements.

I walk in and sit next to my skating partner Hunter who had a scowl on his face. Though to be fair that scowl was pretty much permanent for him. I had a matching one on my face as the head director of sport came in.

“Hello and good morning everyone” he says. Mr. Hawthorne was no more excited to be here than us. He was a big family guy and his morning was being spent giving yet another speech to us instead of spending time with his two daughters and newborn son.

“Unfortunately I’m here to announce that the hockey team will have to share a rink with the figure skaters due to an ‘incident’ that took place” my body goes stiff and I raise my eyesbrows my blood boiling.

After he’s done with his speech I storm up to coach brady, my figure skating coach, to have a word. “What the hell does he mean share a rink!” I practically yell. I could feel hot tears of anger and frustration burning the back of my eyes.

I fucking hate hockey players

Chris’s pov

I wasn’t any happier than everyone else. No one wants to share a rink. Especially when we’re so close to our first games. I was the captain of the team so of course I knew what happened, but as the guys walked up to our coach wondering what the hell was going on they were left clueless.

I hear a voice basically scream and look to my right seeing a girl talking to her own coach. I didn’t really know her other than she was probably like all the other stupid stuck up bitchy figure skaters……a really really hot–

I shake my head. I was not about to swoon over someone who’s probably a bitch. Though I couldn’t help but give her a once over. Long wavy brown hair, soft glowing skin, green eyes, full pink lips, and a tiny frame. I can’t help but roll my eyes trying to tell myself that whoever she was she just average, though even I knew that was the biggest lie I’ve ever told myself.

I scoff at myself. She looked just as upset though. I saw her rage filled eyes catch mine and she looked like she could kill me on the spot. It was cute so I couldn’t help but smirk. Wrong move. I was supposed to at least try and get her to tolerate me or something so sharing a rink could work out.

Now she was stomping over to me. “Listen you stupid hockey jerk!” She seethed. “You better watch it and just……just stay out of my way. This is all your fault!” She said then marched away. I couldn’t help myself but watch the way her hips swayed as she walked and my eyes glued to her ass. It wasn’t until her words really hit me that I scowled and shook my head.

I hate figure skaters

Tags: @kadesturnz @wurlibydominicfike @watercolorskyy @stargazer6969 @bernardsbendystraws @kikirasweatsweathoho @sturnslux3

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nova885 · 2 days ago

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A deep-dive into Nessian’s relationship

There’s this dissonance between Nesta and Cassian. It’s felt keenly throughout Nesta’s indoctrination healing arc, but it also seeps into the very foundation of their relationship.

~~~

Cassian values the physical approach most when it comes to practically everything. His ‘love’ language is corporeal, shown through lusting over Nesta’s emaciated body sex. But even then, the sex isn’t gentle. There is no aftercare. He makes a remark that would seem funny only to someone like him, right before he leaves Nesta behind after a most traumatic event.

~~~

When it comes to helping Nesta find her strength, he disregards her already existing ones. Maybe out of ignorance, obliviousness or because he doesn’t view them as worth pursuing. Her sharp intellect, her steel mind, her discernment, her courtier’s tongue, her education - they’re all dismissed.

Instead, Cassian forces Nesta down a path that she herself acknowledges isn’t the only way. It’s simply the one path he happens to know, that is the most convenient… and physical.

~~~

When it comes to Nesta asserting her boundaries lashing out, Cassian never actually questions the why beyond a surface level, if at all. Instead he pushes more rough sex, physical training and food intake control onto her in reply.

The mind can’t be healed through strictly physical approaches.

But how can Cassian help Nesta in a non-physical way when he doesn’t know her very essence, her core values, the full extent of her childhood trauma? To be loved is to be seen. The worst part is that he never bothers to learn.

~~~

Cassian never sits down simply to keep Nesta company, without demanding anything in return. No sex, no mission, no forced conversation. Just silent company, if that’s what she needs, to show her she’s not alone.

He never puts in the time or effort to make Nesta feel safe enough to open up about her past. And no, asking insensitive, blunt questions that trigger her, only to snap at her reaction in return - that’s not the sort of conversation any traumatized person needs.

When you feel that your approach is insensitive and triggering, you don’t snap back at the person. You adjust to their pace. You don’t smash their head against a wall repeatedly in order to try and break said wall down. If you truly care and wish to help, that is. Does he care more about ‘fixing’ and moulding her than he does about the actual person that is Nesta, with everything that makes her her?

And yet, with Nesta and Cassian there is no meeting her half-way. No compromising. No approaching matters on her terms.

Cassian decides on Nesta’s behalf that he takes in stride all of her discomfort and pain, if it means he gets his way. That is a deeply worrying attitude to have in a relationship toward your partner.

~~~

Nesta has never been in control of her own life. People and things keep happening to her, keeping her firmly trapped in survivor mode. There has never been time to assert boundaries, none that aren’t immediately broken anyway. There has been a hand that would guide her rather than harm her.

So Cassian and the IC taking that very fragile control Nesta has finally managed to acquire, in a way that is so abrupt - that can easily feel violating to a survivor like Nesta - is a big deal, to an extent they can’t comprehend.

~~~

Cassian refuses to change his ways. He refuses to self-reflect and admit to himself that his mindset and his approaches are the problem. That his boundary-pushing is triggering. That his abuse tough love is causing Nesta to spiral mentally.

He so graciously ‘accepts’ Nesta’s apology about hurting his feelings with her rejection. When in reality he was the one to follow her home after she expressed multiple times that she wanted to be left alone. Once again not taking no for an answer (🚩). When in reality he was the one to scream at her in public.

After the blatant physical and emotional abuse that was the hike, he treats her with a kernel of kindness only after she breaks down and expresses her devastation about hurting people (informing her own sister about the on-going reproductive abuse). He lets her shift the blame entirely onto herself when in reality it’s his lord and savior Rhysand’s fault, that Cassian was willingly complicit in. And then he immediately resorts to sex. Again.

Those instances show that he gladly lets Nesta believe she is in the wrong, when objectively she isn’t. He accepts her apologies instead of offering a much-needed one of his own. With that sort of behavior, Cassian contributes to Nesta’s self-destructive, spiraling thoughts that lead her to believe he is too good for her. Even when she outright tells him that she doesn’t deserve him, he doesn’t correct her.

This is toxic, not healthy. It doesn’t matter if it stems from obliviousness or intentional manipulation. Both reasonings are bad enough at this point.

~~~

Some relationships are more physical than others, which is okay, but it seems like in Nessian’s case they’re overcompensating for the lack of emotional connection with physical connection. Take away the sex and 90% of their relationship goes with it.

Nesta and Cassian’s issues are rooted in a lack of understanding and effective communication. There is no conscious effort, none of the emotional depth that is crucial in order for them to comprehend each other’s feelings and thought processes in a sufficient amount for an actual relationship.

How tiring does it get, having to spend a lifetime translating your soul? Especially when said lifetime spans over centuries?

#anti cassian #anti nessian #pro nesta

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kikyoupdates · 2 days ago

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Infatuated ⭑˚💌⭑ 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑒𝑙𝑠𝑒

yandere!bnha x reader

yandere, reverse harem, bnha x fem!reader, slowburn, slowburn yandere

Your Quirk is rather unique. It plays out almost like a game, giving you missions and goals that help you become stronger. On top of that, you also have the ability to charm those around you. It sounds innocent enough on paper, and you can’t help but revel in the attention everyone keeps showering you with. But what happens when their feelings give way to something more sinister?

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Since obtaining One for All, Izuku has been training day in and day out.

You admire his dedication. You always have. It’s the very thing that makes him, well, him. There are plenty of ambitious people in this world, and you know that for a fact, but in terms of sheer perseverance and hard work, none of them will ever come close to Izuku.

Within the past few months, Izuku has undergone a discernible change. The most obvious one is his appearance. Physically speaking, his muscles have become toned and firm, and even the way his clothes hang off his body is slightly different. You can still remember the day you accidentally walked in on him while he was changing and caught a glimpse of how chiseled his abdomen was. He was only in his underwear at the time, so needless to say, he screamed.

Izuku’s progress makes you hopeful for the future. To see him push forward like this, despite how grueling All Might’s training must be... it makes you prouder than you can even put into words. You’ve been with him ever since you were a kid, so you know just how long he’s waited for a moment like this.

It’s taken a while, but finally, his goal of becoming a hero is in reach.

Naturally, you haven’t been slacking off all this time either. You’ve been training in your own way. As often as your Quirk will allow, in any case. You regret to admit that you’re still not terribly strong physically speaking, but that doesn’t mean that your Quirk is necessarily weak. It’s situational, you suppose. Given the right opportunity, you know it can make a big impact. It’s just a matter of creating those opportunities in the first place.

U.A’s entrance exam is rapidly approaching, and you can only hope that it’s the sort of trial that will allow your powers to shine.

But there’s no point in worrying needlessly. Right now, you’d much rather focus on the present, which happens to consist of sitting on a beach and admiring Izuku’s impressive feats of strength.

“Keep going,” All Might hums, and he’s sitting on top of a refrigerator, of all things, easily adding several hundred pounds to its weight. Izuku grits his teeth while dragging the fridge through the sand, but he doesn’t complain, not even once.

You wish you could help out, but All Might told you that this is Izuku’s task, and Izuku’s task alone. He needs to prove that he’s ready to inherit All Might’s Quirk, and while it makes you feel a bit guilty to just watch, you don’t doubt that Izuku will pull through in the end.

He is your beloved, irreplaceable best friend. You will always look up to him and take pride in his accomplishments. Nothing will ever change that.

After cleaning up for a while longer, Izuku eventually lets out a sigh and wipes a hand across his sweaty brow. He must be tired. More so than he can even express. But regardless of the exhaustion seeping into his poor, overworked muscles, he still manages to look over at you with a broad smile.

When he smiles at you like this, you’re convinced he must be an angel.

“That should be enough for today,” All Might nods, sounding pleased with his progress. “Go on. I’m sure you’d like to spend some time with your friend.”

Izuku smiles once more, bows his head and thanks All Might for his patience, then bounds over to you—almost as if his fatigue has completely melted away.

“[Name]!” he beams, plopping down onto the sand beside you. “Thanks for waiting. Sorry. I hope it wasn’t too boring just sitting around and watching.”

You shake your head. “Not at all. It was really impressive. I seriously can’t get over the fact that you can lift heavy stuff like that now. You’ve gotten so strong!”

“N-Not really,” he stammers, then shyly glances down at his feet. “I’ve still got a long way to go. But I’m glad that you think I’ve been making progress. It’s been rough, and All Might even had to adjust his training regimen a few times, but if I keep going like this, then U.A won’t just be a dream anymore, right?”

“It’s more than a dream, Izuku. Soon enough, it’s going to become reality.”

You return his smile, then reach over to ruffle his curly hair. Your words aren’t just intended as cheap flattery. You wholeheartedly believe in what you're saying, just like you’ve always believed in him. All these years... not once have you ever doubted him.

And Izuku knows this. He knows this, and he’s so, so thankful for it.

More than you’ll ever understand.

“Here,” you say, holding out a bottle of juice. “I got this from a vending machine a little while ago. I hope it’s still nice and cold. If not, I can buy another one.”

Izuku grabs the bottle without wasting a beat. “You bought this... for me?”

“Mhm. You must be thirsty, right?”

“Th-Thank you. Thank you, [Name]. Thank you so much...”

You can’t help but giggle. He’s making such a big deal, over a bottle of juice, of all things. It’s such a small favor, it’s hardly even worth mentioning.

What you fail to realize is that you could have given him a rock—or a pebble, even. It wouldn’t have made any difference. Anything, so long as it’s coming from you, is precious and worthy of praise.

Izuku holds firmly to this belief, and he doubts it’ll ever change. That’s why, even though he drinks all of the juice, he saves the bottle and later tucks it away in his closet for safekeeping.

Perfect.

That’s what you are. So kind and patient, having put up with him all these years. Will he ever find another person that even comes close to you? No. The answer is clear, so there’s no point in even asking.

Humans are born imperfect. They are all flawed, one way or another. Izuku tends to assume the best of people, and he strives to protect their smiles, but he knows that despite all of that, no one is perfect. Not even his hero, All Might.

You are, and always will be, the exception.

Izuku can hardly contain his smile as he gazes upon you. It’s been such a long day. He’s more exhausted than he can even put into words, and yet, just sitting next to you like this is enough to keep him going. It energizes him, makes him pulse with excitement. He wonders why that is. Because you’re his best friend? Because you’re so nice and easy to talk to?

Midoriya Izuku is in love, but he doesn’t realize it yet.

But when he does—and it’s a question of when, not if—will you be able to look at him the same way? Will your relationship remain intact, or will it fall to pieces, having been damaged beyond repair?

For the time being, both of you are blind to the chaos that is slowly building, so you just lean your head against Izuku’s shoulder and enjoy the sunset.

You should make the most of this while it lasts.

“Thanks for agreeing to come along, honey. This family has a son that should be around your age, and he’s apparently going to be applying for U.A too. It should give you something to talk about.”

You smile and nod. It seems like your parents have made recently made friends with another couple, and they’re excited to get together for dinner with them. Seeing as the couple have a teenager themselves, your parents probably felt like it would be a good opportunity for you to make a new friend, and since you’re by no means antisocial, you agreed to join them.

Besides, you think it’ll be fun. Especially if it turns out that you’ll both end up at U.A together. Maybe you’ll even be in the same class.

“Thanks so much for having us,” your mother beams, then proceeds to wave you forward with a smile. “Ah, this is our daughter, [Name].”

As a polite gesture, you bow your head. “It’s nice to meet you,” you greet. “I’m [Name]. Thank you for inviting us over and being friends with my parents.”

“Well, isn’t she adorable?” they chuckle. “For a teenager, she’s surprisingly well-mannered. We really wish we could say the same for our son. Go on, Neito. It’s your turn to introduce yourself.”

The boy’s name is Monoma Neito, and perhaps you’re reading into things too much, but he initially strikes you as a bit pretentious.

“Hello,” he says simply, then sticks his nose up into the air, as if he just smelled something rotten.

Well, then.

You try not to take offense to it. After all, it’s possible he might just be shy, or introverted.

“Hello,” you reply with a smile. “I hear you want to get into U.A. I do too, but I have to admit, I’m feeling a bit nervous about the entrance exam.”

Monoma doesn’t reply. He just lifts a brow and peers at you through his grayish-blue eyes.

Thankfully, it doesn’t take long for the parents to start chatting up a storm, which gives you and Monoma the chance to get to know each other a bit better. He leads you to his room, perhaps a bit begrudgingly, and you take a moment to familiarize yourself with the new environment.

“So,” he says, “what’s your Quirk?”

It’s a remarkably common question in today’s day and age, but unfortunately, it’s one you still have yet to get used to. After all, it’s not exactly easy to disclose that you need to kiss someone every time you want to use it.

You smile shyly. “Um... I can kind of control people. Just briefly, I mean. But only if certain conditions are met.”

“And what are those conditions?”

“M-Maybe we’ll save that for another time,” you wave off, awkwardly clearing your throat. “But anyways. I told you mine, so what’s yours?”

Monoma purses his lips. “Hm. I’m not sure I need to tell you.”

“What?” you immediately gape. “No fair! I literally just told you mine!”

“I asked, but no one said you had to answer,” he merely shrugs. Goodness, what a cocky little bastard. You can already tell he’ll cause a lot of people headaches in the future.

For a few moments, you’re silent, but then you flash him a cunning smile.

“If I wanted to, I could just use my Quirk on you, and then you’d have to tell me.”

Of course, you’re just bluffing. You don’t like using your powers for your own selfish motives. That’s not why Quirks came into being, after all. They’re meant to help people and contribute towards society. You are by no means a saint, but as someone who is striving to become a hero, you still follow a certain moral code.

Not that Monoma knows that.

He hastily backs away. “That would be awfully rude of you,” he mutters. “When you’re in my home, no less.”

You decide to tease him for a while longer, so you move closer to him, inch by inch, and it’s funny how red his face is getting. Whether out of embarrassment or frustration, you can’t be sure.

Eventually, you let out a chuckle.

“I’m kidding,” you muse. “I wouldn’t do that to you. But with a power like mine, people can be quick to assume the worst. Anyways, I promise that no matter how often we see each other, I’ll never deceive you or try to take you by surprise. I’ll only ever use my Quirk on you if you let me.”

Monoma keeps his guard up for a few more moments, but he eventually realizes that you must be telling the truth. It seems like he’s going to drop the issue altogether.

Or at least, that’s what you think.

“Ha! Caught you off-guard!” Monoma laughs, then quickly touches you on the shoulder. You’re not sure what he’s trying to do, or why he looks so full of himself all of a sudden, so you can only frown.

It doesn’t take long for him to frown too.

“...huh?” he mumbles, staring down at his hands in disbelief. “I swear I just copied it. Crap. Is this a dud Quirk?”

You blink repeatedly. “Copied it? Copied what?”

“Tell me the conditions required for your Quirk to take effect,” he says.

Instead of telling him what he wants, you just cross your arms at him. “I already said I wouldn’t do that. Not yet, at least.”

“Shit...”

He doesn’t explain right away, but after a few more moments of irritated huffing, he eventually lets out a sigh.

“My Quirk lets me copy other Quirks,” he reluctantly admits. “So long as I touch them first. I thought I’d take you by surprise and turn your powers around on you... but I guess it didn’t work. This happens sometimes. Not all Quirks are able to be copied, unfortunately.”

He can’t see the screen?

You’re not sure how your Quirk would appear to others, but in order to control someone, he would have to kiss them first, and he obviously doesn’t know that. But maybe he’s right, and your Quirk just can’t be copied by anyone. You already knew that it’s rather unique, and this instance seems to further solidify it.

“I guess this means I win,” you grin smugly.

Monoma scowls. “Hardly. You just got lucky, that’s all.”

“Sure, sure. Whatever you say.”

He reacts by rolling his eyes at you, but you’re unfazed and just keep grinning at him.

“Still,” you hum. “A Quirk that lets you copy other Quirks. That’s really strong! That means you can use so many different abilities!”

“Strong? Well, I guess.” He seems a bit happy with your praise; he even lifts his chin up, as if he’s boasting. “It’s certainly a lot more versatile than yours. You mentioned that you feel nervous about the U.A entrance exam, but I can’t say the same.”

“Really?”

“Of course,” Monoma huffs. “Why would I let myself be discouraged right at the very first obstacle?”

Well, he’s right that there’s no point in driving yourself insane by worrying, but it’s not like your nerves will just disappear overnight. You also can’t even tell if he genuinely feels that way, or if he’s just putting on a brave front.

But you suppose it doesn’t matter. None of it matters, so long as you both end up at U.A one way or another.

You tilt your head to the side and smile. “It’s good to be confident. Your Quirk is strong, so I can understand why you’d have faith in your abilities. By the way, how long can you copy someone’s Quirk for? Does it just get overwritten when you copy someone else’s?”

“There’s a time limit. But as long as I touch the person again, I can easily activate it once more, so it’s not too difficult to manage.”

Wow. There are so many amazing powers out there. I always thought Katsuki’s was super strong, but I’m sure that if I get to U.A, I’ll meet countless other people that are strong like him.

You’re happy that Monoma has such a cool ability, and you feel confident about his prospects of passing the entrance exam. You can only hope that with your Quirk, you’ll be able to do the same.

No. You should do more than just hope. No matter what it takes, you’ll turn your dream into a reality, just like Izuku did.

“I guess that’s probably enough talking about Quirks for one day,” you shrug. “But at least we’ve established that my Quirk beats yours.”

Monoma gets awfully red in the face, and you laugh, realizing that he doesn’t very much like the idea of losing.

“Fine, then! Let’s play Uno! Prepare for a humiliating defeat!"

It was a fun day.

Monoma is clearly the competitive type, and true to his word, you eventually did end up losing to him in Uno. But only after you’d won five rounds in a row. You actually started feeling a bit bad for him after a while, and you even considered letting him win out of pity, but thankfully, he managed to pull through on his own.

Anyways, you ended up having a good time, and you’d like to think that you’ve made a friend, if the new contact in your phone is any indication.

Later that night, you lie on your bed, watching videos on your laptop that occasionally prompt a chuckle or two. It’s late, and truth be told, you’re half falling asleep by this point, but you keep on staring lethargically at your screen, waiting for fatigue to finally wash over you.

Before it can, though, your phone starts buzzing.

You pause the video, then grab your phone and take a quick glance at the caller ID. It’s Izuku, so naturally, you pick up.

“Hey, Izuku,” you hum, and you wonder if your smile carries over into your voice. “What’s up? How did training go today?”

“Hi, [Name],” he replies happily. “It was good. I just, um... I-I just wanted to talk for a bit. Sorry for calling so late in the night. I hope I didn’t wake you up.”

“Don’t worry, I wasn’t sleeping. What did you want to talk about?”

“Nothing in particular, I guess.” He pauses, and you can hear him swallow nervously. “I just... wanted to hear your voice for a bit.”

You can’t help but giggle, because you feel the exact same way. It’s impossible not to be in a good mood whenever you’re talking to him.

“Aw,” you muse. “Did you miss me?”

Perhaps you shouldn’t tease him too much, because already, you imagine him being red as a beet.

“A-Anyways!” he splutters. “What... what did you get up to today? My day was just the same training as always, so there’s nothing really worth mentioning.”

Obviously, you can't possibly know how he’ll react to your next words, so you utter them freely and confidently.

“My parents made friends with another family, and I had dinner at their place earlier,” you say. “I met someone my age there. His name is Monoma, and he’s planning on going to U.A, just like us. I already knew as much, but a lot of people are super passionate about becoming heroes. There’s bound to be tons of competition, but it still doesn’t change what we need to do.”

For some reason, Izuku isn’t saying anything, so you continue.

“Monoma’s Quirk lets him copy other Quirks. Isn’t that cool? Ah, but he tried to copy mine, and it didn’t work, so I guess he’s got his own limitations to worry about. He’s kind of a sore loser, but it’s pretty funny to see how strongly he reacts to things. I beat him at Uno over and over again. I was actually kind of starting to feel guilty about it, haha.”

Strange. It’s still silent. Perhaps you’ve been rambling on for too long and he hasn’t had a chance to interject.

“Izuku?” you frown. “Everything okay?”

The call ends abruptly, and you’re left staring down at your phone in disbelief.

A few moments later, you receive a message.

You don’t usually assume the worst of people. It’s partly due to your cheery disposition, and partly because as an aspiring hero, you like to see others for their good qualities rather than the bad.

Izuku in particular is free of any suspicion. He’s been your best friend for years, and you’ve stuck together through thick and thin. Why would you assume that he hung up on you on purpose? He’s never once hung up on you, and it’s inexplicable to think that he would start now.

You are more than content to believe that it was a simple technical difficulty, so you set your phone aside and start getting ready for bed.

Meanwhile, in another house in that very same neighborhood, a freckled boy sits by his desk, staring vacantly at the wall ahead. Izuku doesn’t know how to explain what he just did. Everything was going just fine, up until... up until you mentioned someone else.

Izuku’s shoulders begin to shake, and slowly but surely, tears fill his eyes.

It’s normal for you to make friends. You’re pretty and kind, smart and lovely, so of course other people would be drawn to you.

It’s the rational conclusion. It’s what makes perfect sense.

So then, why does he hate the thought of it so much?

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