#he never wanted for anything beyond what he was made for

[dmitriene]

hello. first of all thank you for sharing your works with us, they are a great help for my mental health. 🩶

would you please write ghost with inexperienced reader first time if thats ok with you?🩶

oh anon, thank you for your love and kind words, i'm so warmed to know that my work are something that is able to help you, and i hope anything you struggle with would dissappear! you won't believe, but this writing was already sitting in my drafts, so i hope you'll like it ‹𝟹

cw: dry humping, my view of inexperienced behaviour, virginity.

simon riley treats you delicately and unhurriedly when he finds out you're inexperienced, the relationship between you never went beyond kissing, and if he didn't pay attention to your uncertain, messy movements, when his rough, calloused hand cupped your plump ass and you recoiled, fidgeting and letting out an almost pained, muffled squeak, then he understood what was going on.

it's not that simon was used to girls for whom he was the first, and all his previous relationships were hard to call with this word, rather they were convenient meetings for some good sex, but even so, your embarrassment, your fragile, chirping words about “being sorry, but you don't want to rush”, didn't push him away and didn't make him angry, on the contrary, he nodded knowingly, tracing your hip with his thumb, voice a reassuring rasp.

slowly, he let you get used to his touch, to the intimacy, to the light strokes, to the gentle kisses shifting from the crown of your head, to the temple, lips and cheeks, rubbing his nose and stubble across your skin, prickliness of which made your stomach quiver and flex, especially when the brushes of his lips descend on your sensitive neck, along every tiny mark and existing mole, hands raking along your waist, down to where the tantalizing curve tapered in your hips.

build up the anticipation, the need, the one that, with the right attitude and patience, began to bloat inside of you, itch for more, every new touch of his hands, lips, and just his close contact, made your thighs rub against each other, soddening your panties, eyes wide and desperate with each new look at simon's firm, full lines of body, and he knew perfectly well what it would lead to, he was waiting for it.

waiting for you to ask him, crawling into his lap, settling down like a affectionate cat, suffering from an inexplicable heat inside that made you rub against him hesitantly but persistently, purring, whining in his ear about your restricted desires, clinging to his shoulders and coiled biceps, the tense muscles of his thigh exerting the right pressure on your pulsing clit, and it was enough to make your head empty in an instant.

simon won't be the one to turn you down when you've come into his hands willingly, whether he's tired, not in the mood, perhaps hesitant, he'd guide you, wrapping his arms around your hips, circling the inside of your skin while tugging down your panties, but letting you get your first orgasm from a simple, innocent dry humping.

before you'll end up beneath his heavy body, fidgeting and keening at his thick, dripping tip breaches your sweet, soppy cunt, coaxing out a gush of slick, and an endless spill of his name mewled out from your slack, swollen lips.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[catchastarorten]

—More than anything.

Pairing: Cho Sang-woo x lover!fem!reader

Summary: You had supported him through everything, but when you fell sick, he couldn't save you because of debt, so he participated in the games. The blood, the violence, it was all worth it because it was all for you, but he still couldn’t save you, even after winning.

Warnings: angst, illness, death, grief/loss, mentions of violence, guilt/sacrifice, emotional distress, Sang-woo won the games in this au, english isn't my first language, mistakes should be present, sorry!

Word count: ~ 1.9k

The first time you met Sang-woo, it was in the bustling hallways of Seoul National University, your books pressed against your chest as he nearly toppled over you in his haste. Apologies poured out of him, flustered but composed, but it was the soft smile that followed that made you pause. You didn’t know it then, but that clumsy encounter would change both of your lives forever.

From that moment, he had become everything to you. And soon enough, you realized you were everything to him too. Sang-woo was the kind of man who always seemed in control of himself. But with you, that cool demeanor softened. He would laugh more, touch your hand absentmindedly, watch you as if you were the only thing in the world worth looking at.

You supported each other through the tough years at university. His mind was brilliant—quick, sharp, and endlessly determined. It wasn’t hard to see why he was the pride of his family, the hope of his mother. He was going to do great things, you always believed that, and you reminded him every chance you got.

Sang-woo always spoke of a future where he’d be successful, where his mother would never have to work a day in her life again. And somewhere in that future—he said with a tentative smile—was you.

Years passed, and the challenges of adulthood crept in. Sang-woo’s ambitions, once so pure and noble, became entangled in desperation as he fell into debt. It started small—a few bad investments, a loan here and there, promises that he’d make it all back soon. But soon, the debts piled into something worse, a mess that loomed over both of your lives.

He had so much promise, so much potential, and you wanted to see him succeed. So when he started to falter—when the world wasn’t as kind, when the debts began to gather up, and his once-unshakable confidence began to fracture—you did what you thought any partner would do. You helped him.

You saw the way the guilt ate away at him. He tried to hide it, but you knew him too well.

“I’ll pay off this part for now,” you’d told him gently, holding the bank statement in your hand. He had stared at you, his expression tight, his hands gripping the edge of the table so hard his knuckles turned white.

“No,” he had said firmly. “You’ve done enough. I should be the one taking care of you, not the other way around.”

But you didn’t care about that. You knew he felt ashamed, that his pride was bleeding, but you loved him too much to let him drown. “Sang-woo,” you whispered, reaching out to place your hand over his. “I’m doing this because I want to. Because I believe in you.”

He looked at you like you were his lifeline, the only light in his darkening world. He kissed your hand and said nothing more, but no matter how much you reassured him, the guilt lingered. He began to withdraw, the weight of his mistakes crushed him.

Then, as if the universe wasn’t cruel enough, you fell ill. It started with fatigue and a persistent ache in your chest. You brushed it off at first, telling yourself that it was just stress, but when the symptoms worsened, you finally went to the hospital.

The diagnosis was a gut punch. The doctors spoke in clinical terms, but all Sang-woo heard at the moment was that it was serious. You needed treatment, the treatment was possible, but expensive.

The hospital bills mounted quickly. You had always lived sparingly, but this was different. The treatment you needed was far beyond what either of you could afford, especially with Sang-woo already drowning in debt. You had tried to remain strong, tried to reassure him even when your body weakened and the days became harder to endure.

But Sang-woo wasn’t strong. At least not in the way you were. He didn't want to put up the pretense of having a "perfect" reputation anymore, he just wanted you.

One night, as you lay in your hospital bed, pale and shivering despite the blankets covering you, he dropped to his knees beside you. He gripped your hand so tightly it hurt, his head bowed, his shoulders shaking.

“I’ll get the money,” he said, his voice trembling with determination. “I’ll find a way. I promise.”

You looked at him then, really looked at him, and for the first time, you saw the man you loved falling apart. His face was gaunt, his eyes bloodshot, guilt and desperation consuming him.

“Sang-woo,” you whispered, your heart breaking for him. For both of you. “I’ll be okay... don’t do anything reckless.”

But he shook his head, his jaw set in that stubborn way you’d come to know so well. He pressed his lips to your forehead, a lingering, desperate kiss.

“I’ll come back,” he said. “With the money. Just hold on for me.”

You wanted to believe him, but as you watched him walk away, a part of you knew that he was heading down a dangerous path.

At first, you tried to think light. You thought he had simply left to clear his head. Maybe he was meeting someone to talk about loans or some other last-ditch effort to save you. But then the days turned into weeks, and Sang-woo didn’t return.

You tried calling him, but his phone went unanswered. You asked the nurses, his mother, even some of his old university friends, but no one had seen him. You didn’t know whether to be angry, scared, or heartbroken. All you knew was that he wasn’t here, and you were running out of time.

The nurses came and went, offering kind smiles and gentle reassurances, but it wasn’t enough. What you needed—what you wanted—was him, by your side.

You missed his voice, his laugh, the way he’d hold your hand and promise you that everything would be okay. You told yourself that he was out there fighting for you, but as the days stretched on, doubt began to creep in.

In your quieter moments, you wondered if he’d given up on you. If the burden had become too much and he just left without a trace. But deep down, you knew Sang-woo. You knew how much he loved you, how determined he could be. He’d find a way back to you. He had to.

In your final days, you thought about him often. You tried to convince yourself that he had a plan, that he would come rushing through the hospital doors at any moment with that look on his face, telling you everything was going to be okay, that you could heal properly now. But he didn’t.

Instead, you were left with an empty chair by your bedside, your heart aching with the absence of the man you loved more than anything in the world.

On the last night, you couldn’t fight the tears anymore. You whispered into the quiet room—“I just wish you were here.” Your voice cracked, and you closed your eyes, letting the exhaustion finally take over. You dreamed of him one last time—of the way he smiled when you first met, of his hand in yours, of the warmth that had once filled your life.

What you didn’t know—what you couldn’t know—was what Sang-woo was enduring.

He had entered the games through a salesman with a suitcase and a card with a number on the back. The games were a deadly competition where the stakes were higher than anything he’d ever faced. Life and death were decided in brutal, messed up versions of childhood games.

At first, he told himself he was doing it for you, for the money that could save your life. But as the games progressed, as blood stained his hands and the faces of those he’d sacrificed haunted his dreams, the lines began to blur.

How much of himself was he willing to lose to save you?

Every decision, every betrayal he made, weighed on him. He thought of you constantly, your smile a light in the darkness. When he felt the weight of his actions crushing him, he clung to the hope that he could still save you. That he could win, come back to you, and make everything right, no matter how exhausted he was, no matter how much pain he had to endure, it was all for you. Because how could he call himself a man—your man—if he couldn't even keep you by his side? If he couldn't even get the money to save you and have you in his arms again, healthy and full of life?

When Sang-woo finally emerged from the games, clutching the blood money that was counted from each of the lifeless bodies of the other players, he felt hollow. His actions, the lives he’d taken, the people he’d betrayed—all of it threatened to suffocate him. But he pushed it aside. None of it mattered now. All that mattered was you.

He rushed to the hospital, his heart pounding in his chest. He imagined the look on your face when he walked through the door, how you’d smile and tell him that he’d always been your hero. And for the first time since the games, he smiled. He smiled.

But when he reached your room, he froze, and everything inside him seemed to shatter.

You were still, too still. Your chest didn't rise or fall, your lips were pale, and your eyes—those eyes he had loved so much—were closed forever.

The nurse had pity in her eyes as she approached him. "I'm sorry... she passed away a few hours prior. We... we tried calling you, but..."

“No,” he choked out, he staggered to your bedside, falling to his knees onto the mattress of the bed, his hands reaching for you. “No, no, no… please, no…”

He pulled you into his arms, cradling your lifeless body as tears streamed down his face. “Wake up,” he begged, his voice breaking. “Please, wake up. I have the money now. I did it. I got it for you. You can get better now. Please, just… open your eyes.”

But you didn't. You couldn't.

“I got the money,” he whispered, tears falling from his eyes. “I have it. We can pay for your treatment now. You’ll be okay. You’ll be okay…”

Sang-woo's hand trembled as he cupped your face. Your skin was cold to the touch, a stark contrast to the warmth he remembered. He pressed his forehead to yours, the card that contained all the prize money laid forgotten on the floor, a cruel reminder of what he had to sacrifice to save you—of the blood, the death, and the lives he had destroyed in those games. He had told himself it was all for you, that he could endure anything if it meant seeing you smile again. But now, as he held your cold body in his arms, he realized it had all been for nothing.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I’m so, so sorry. I should’ve been here. I should’ve stayed with you. I thought… I thought I could save you.”

He had done everything he could to save you, but in the end, it wasn’t enough. And now, he was left with nothing, because you had been his everything.

[honeyncherry]

secret of us - joe burrow

summary you’ve always been joe’s little secret, but secrets have a way of slipping through cracks — especially when feelings start to get messy

content angst, not a happy ending lol

Joe Burrow always hated the spotlight. Not for reasons people assumed, but because it never felt like him. He wasn’t the type to bask in the cheers or crave validation from strangers.

His world had always been quieter, steadier. The kind of life where joy was measured in moments that didn’t make headlines.

The mornings were his favorite. Runs through his neighborhood in the cool, misty air, nothing but the occasional car passing and the bass pumping in his headphones. It was his time, a sanctuary from the chaos. The rest of the world didn’t matter then, only the burn in his legs and the steady cadence of his breath.

In the off-season his days slowed down, and he found himself craving things he’d never thought he’d miss. Family dinners, for one. He used to roll his eyes when his mom insisted everyone sit at the table, but now? There was something grounding about it. The way laughter felt warmer and stories grew richer when shared over a meal.

And then there was you.

You were the one part of his life that the world didn’t know about, the one thing he’d kept for himself. No reporters asked about you. No fans posted pictures of you in his jersey.

You weren’t on the highlight reels, and yet, you were the brightest part of his life. His own little secret, one he held close to his chest like a treasure.

You’d been his friend for years, since the OSU days, and for a while, that had been enough. Or at least, he’d told himself it was. But lately, he found himself wanting more. Needing more. The way your eyes found his in a room full of hundreds without fail made something inside him stir.

You were so comfortable with him, so at ease, and he hated how much that meant to him. The way you’d reach for him without hesitation, steal his clothes when you thought he wasn’t looking. The way you’d tease him about his career but always show up to cheer him on in the shadows.

He craved you in ways that felt impossible to contain, a heat that burned hotter with every stolen glance and fleeting touch.

It wasn’t just the physical pull — though that was undeniable. More so the way his pulse quickened when your fingers brushed his arm, a simple gesture that left his skin tingling long after. The way your laugh sent a shiver down his spine, like the brightest melody, curling around his senses and making it hard to focus on anything but you. And the way you looked at him, eyes bright and searching, filled with something that made his breath hitch, something he wanted so badly to claim, to keep, to hold.

It was more than the way your presence unraveled him. It was the ache of sitting beside you on his couch, too close but never close enough, your knee brushing his as you leaned in to tell him something that had no right being so captivating. The way his gaze lingered on your lips when you weren’t looking, wondering what they’d feel like against his. Wondering what they’d feel like against his skin.

And that was the part that made his chest tighten with shame.

You trusted him. Confided in him. Looked at him like he was safe, like he was someone you could depend on. You were oblivious to the storm raging inside him, the way his thoughts distorted into places they shouldn’t go.

The way you were so unapologetically yourself, completely unaware of the effect you had on him, the way you consumed his thoughts long after you’d left.

And every time you smiled at him, every time your voice softened as you said his name, it was like his world tilted on its axis, pulling him closer to something he couldn’t resist even if he tried. And God, he tried.

He wanted you in ways that went beyond words, beyond reason. He wanted to feel the heat of your touch, the weight of your gaze when it wasn’t just friendly. He wanted more, and the ache of it was enough to unravel him from the inside out.

And yet, he felt guilty. Sick with it. These feelings clawed at him, made him feel like some twisted, selfish impostor in your life. How could he sit beside you, pretending to be the friend you thought he was, when every inch of him ached to be more? When every thought betrayed him?

It was wrong. It had to be. But no matter how much he told himself that, no matter how many times he tried to shove the thoughts aside, they always came back.

The Solution

Joe had always been good at compartmentalizing, at pushing things down until they didn’t feel like they’d swallow him whole. It was a skill honed over years of pressure, expectations, and the need to keep his emotions in check. He’d learned how to bury the noise, to put on the calm, collected face everyone expected of him.

But lately, being around you made it harder.

Every laugh, every touch, every lingering look chipped away at the walls he’d built so carefully.

The way you smiled at him, easy and unguarded, made something inside him ache. The way your voice softened when you teased him felt like it was wrapping around his ribs and squeezing.

It wasn’t just the moments when you were near; it was the way your presence lingered long after you’d left.

You were everywhere. In his thoughts, in the spaces of his house you’d filled just days ago, in the memories of late-night conversations that played on a loop in his mind.

He would tell himself to stop thinking about you, to shove the feelings aside, but it was like trying to hold back a wave with his bare hands.

He told himself he couldn’t keep going like this, teetering on the edge of something he knew he couldn’t have. You trusted him, saw him as someone safe.

And yet, every time he caught himself staring at you a moment too long, or imagining what it would feel like to pull you closer, he felt like he was betraying that trust.

It wasn’t fair to you. Or to him.

He felt selfish, corrupt, like he was breaking an unspoken rule just by wanting more. You didn’t deserve to be caught up in his mess, didn’t deserve to have someone like him projecting his unresolved feelings onto you.

And yet, the thought of losing you, of ruining what you had by saying too much or staying too close, terrified him more than anything.

He needed space.

Space to figure out how to bury the feelings that had been clawing their way to the surface. Space to stop looking at you like you were the answer to questions he was too afraid to ask himself.

Space to stop needing you the way he did now.

The Party

Ja’Marr was the one who mentioned the party. A casual suggestion during practice, his tone light and teasing as they jogged off the field. “Man, you’ve been too serious lately. You need to let loose, get out of your head for a night. Come with me, it’ll be good for you.”

Joe had laughed it off at first, shaking his head. “Not really my scene.”

“Exactly why you need it,” Ja’Marr shot back, grinning. “Come on, it’s just one night. Nobody’s gonna die if Joe Burrow has a little fun.”

At first, Joe brushed it off. But as the hours passed and the quiet of his house set in, the idea stuck with him. Maybe Ja’Marr was right. Maybe what he needed was a distraction, something to drown out the thoughts that wouldn’t leave him alone.

When your text came through that evening; “wyd tonight? pizza and a movie?” his heart sank. Normally, he would’ve said yes in a heartbeat.

But tonight? Tonight he couldn’t. Not when being around you felt like opening a door to something he wasn’t ready to confront

“Sorry,” he typed back after a moment, his fingers hesitating over the screen. “Staying in tonight. Rain check?”

He hit send and stared at the message, his chest tightening. A lie. The start of a never-ending pile.

The party was supposed to make it easier.

But when he walked into the crowded room, he regretted it immediately.

It was everything he hated: loud music that rattled in his chest, too many people packed into too small a space, and the constant flash of phones capturing moments that would be dissected by strangers before the night was over.

He wanted to turn around and leave, but then he spotted Ja’Marr across the room, already laughing with a group of people.

“Figured you’d chicken out,” Ja’Marr called, raising his drink.

Joe forced a smile, weaving through the crowd to join him.

He stayed near the edge of the bar, nursing a drink that had long since gone flat. People came up to him, some to say hello, others to snap a quick selfie or offer him another drink. He nodded, smiled, did all the right things, but his mind stayed elsewhere.

It always drifted back to you. He thought of what the two of you would be doing right now if he hadn’t been an asshole and lied to you. He could almost hear it now, could almost picture you curled up on his couch, teasing him about whatever dumb movie he’d picked out. The longing grew sharper.

And then she appeared.

He didn’t even know her name at first. Someone introduced her — an influencer on the rise, her face familiar from social media posts he’d scrolled past without thinking. She was polished in a way that felt practiced, her rehearsed smile as sharp as the angles of her photos.

She laughed at his jokes, leaned in just close enough that the scent of her perfume clung to his shirt. Her voice was smooth, almost musical. A faint echo of yours that settled like a dull ache. For a moment, it drowned out the noise floating around his head.

She wasn’t you.

And maybe that was the point. She was easy, thoughtless. Exactly what he’d come for.

By the time the cameras caught him leaving with her, he didn’t care.

The Tabloids

The first photo hit the next morning. A grainy shot of Joe and the girl walking to his car, her hand brushing his arm.

The headline was predictably dramatic: "NFL Star Joe Burrow Spotted with Mystery Woman — New Romance?"

He saw it before he’d even rolled out of bed, the alert lighting up his phone. He stared at it for a long moment, his stomach churning, before flipping the phone face down on the nightstand.

He didn’t check the messages or the calls. He already knew what he’d find.

The next few days brought more of the same. Another photo, this time clearer, of him and the girl sitting at a corner table in a restaurant. Her hand rested casually on his, a pose that screamed intimacy even if it didn’t feel like that to him.

Then came the shot that sealed it: her leaving his house at the first light. Her hair was tousled, makeup slightly smudged, and she was still wearing the same outfit from the night before. The kind of image tabloids lived for.

The guilt he’d tried so hard to outrun came roaring back, sharper now, more suffocating. He didn’t need to open his phone to know you’d seen the pictures. He could imagine the confusion on your face, the questions swirling in your mind. He hated himself for it.

But he told himself this was for the best.

If he kept this up, maybe he could stop feeling like this. Maybe you wouldn’t notice the way he’d started pulling back. Maybe you would never know how being around you felt like both a comfort and a knife to the chest.

Maybe, if he stayed far enough away, he wouldn’t ruin everything.

That’s what he told himself as the days stretched on, each headline, each photo, another reminder of how far he’d sunk into this lie.

But deep down, he knew better.

The Repercussions

Of course you noticed.

The texts that used to come daily dwindled to one or two-word replies, if that. The easy back-and-forth, the jokes, the shared updates about your day, it all fell silent. The calls went straight to voicemail, his voice on the recording suddenly beginning to sound unfamiliar to you.

Even when you sent him a message about the tabloid photos, “Saw the news. Are you really dating her?”— he didn’t answer.

He saw the message the moment it came through, the preview flashing across his screen as he sat in the darkened corner of his living room. His thumb hovered over the notification, the words repeating in his mind, each one tightening the endless ache in his soul.

Every time his phone buzzed with your name, he stared at it like it might burn him. He wanted to reply. God, he wanted to call you, to explain everything. To tell you that he didn’t care about the girl in the pictures, that the only reason she was there was because he didn’t know how else to quiet the storm in his head.

But what could he say? That the thought of you knowing how he felt, knowing that every moment spent with you left him more tangled in emotions he couldn’t escape terrified him? That he couldn’t be the friend you needed because he was too busy wanting to be something more?

No.

It was easier to stay silent, to let the distance grow. Easier for the both of you. Each unanswered message added another brick to the wall he was building between you. Maybe then he could get over the feelings that clawed at him every time he thought of you.

That’s what he told himself.

But as he stared at your name glowing softly on his phone screen, a part of him knew he was lying to himself.

The Confrontation

When you show up at his place unannounced, Joe doesn’t need to see your face to know you’re furious. The way you jab the doorbell, sharp and insistent, sends a clear enough message.

He hesitates before opening the door, his chest tightening. He knows he’s been avoiding you, knows he’s hurt you, but the sight of you standing there, fists clenched at your sides, still hits harder than he expected.

You don’t wait for an invitation, stepping inside as soon as the door cracks open. He doesn’t stop you, just stands there, gripping the edge of the door like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

“Why are you ignoring me?” you demand, spinning to face him.

Your voice cuts through the space between you, sharper than he remembers. He drops his gaze, avoiding the intensity in your eyes. “I’m not ignoring you,” he mutters, the lie tasting bitter on his tongue.

“Don’t lie to me, Joe,” you snap, and the way his name sounds in your voice, angry and hurt, cuts deeper than it should.. “What’s going on? And don’t tell me it’s nothing, because this—” you gesture between the two of you, your voice cracking, “this is not normal.”

He exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair, trying to buy himself a second to think. But the words won’t come. “I don’t know what you want me to say,” he finally mumbles, his voice quieter than he intends.

“Anything!” you shout, and he flinches at the desperation in your tone. “God, just… tell me why you’re pulling away. Tell me why I had to find out what you’ve been up to through goddamn paparazzi.”

The mention of her, of the girl whose face he can barely recall, feels like a punch to the gut. Especially with you standing right in front of him. He hates that you’ve seen the misconstrued photos, hates that he put you in this position, but he can’t bring himself to explain.

“Did I do something wrong?” you press, and your voice softens just enough to make his stomach sink. “Is that why you’ve been avoiding me?”

He finally looks at you then, really looks at you, and for a moment, he wants to tell you everything. He wants to tell you that she meant nothing, that the only reason she was there was because he didn’t know how to deal with the way you made him feel. But the words lodge in his throat, heavy and impossible to force out.

“It’s not like that,” he says instead, his voice hollow, and the look on your face nearly breaks him.

“Then what is it?” you ask, and the crack in your voice twists the regret in his chest even tighter. He hates that he’s dragged you into this mess.

“I can’t,” he says finally, the words barely audible. “I just… can’t.”

The silence that follows is unbearable. He can feel the weight of your disappointment pressing down on him, suffocating him. He knows you’re waiting, hoping he’ll say something to make this hurt less, but he doesn’t know how.

When your shoulders slump, the fight draining out of you, his hands twitch at his sides. He wants to fix this. He wants to pull you close and tell you he’s sorry, that he’s an idiot, that he’s been drowning in feelings he doesn’t know how to handle. But he doesn’t.

“I hate you for this,” you mutter, your voice trembling, and the words hit harder than anything else you could’ve said.. He knows he’s done this to himself, he deserves it really.

He steps closer then, hesitant, his hand hovering near your arm. The space between you feels heavier than ever, crackling with tension. When you don’t pull away, he touches you lightly, his fingers brushing your sleeve.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, and the words feel useless even as he says them.

“For what?” you whisper back. “For shutting me out? For lying to me? For…” Your voice trails off, and the rawness in your tone nearly undoes him.

“For everything,” he says, his voice thick. His eyes meet yours, and he knows you’re searching for something in them. Regret, explanation, maybe even hope. But all he can offer is silence.

The weight of everything unsaid presses down on both of you, the air between you sharp and stifling. When he finally pulls you into his arms, it’s slow and tentative, like he’s afraid you might break. And when you don’t push him away, he tightens his grip, burying his face in your shoulder.

But it doesn’t feel like comfort.

He can feel the tension in your body, the way you don’t quite relax against him. He knows this isn’t forgiveness, it’s a truce born out of exhaustion, a temporary reprieve from the storm raging between you.

When you finally pull back, your eyes meet his, and for a fleeting moment, he thinks you might say something. But instead, you shake your head, stepping toward the door.

“Whatever this is, Joe… I can’t keep doing it.” Your voice cracks, and the sound slices through him like glass.

His throat tightens as he forces himself to ask, “Doing what?”

You pause in the doorway, your hand gripping the frame like it’s the only thing keeping you upright. “I can’t keep wondering where I stand in your world. I can’t keep pretending like it doesn’t matter to me when you pull away. And I can’t… I can’t keep feeling like I’m the only one holding on.”

Each word feels like a blow, leaving him breathless, but he knows he deserves it.

He opens his mouth to respond, to beg you to stay, but no words come out. What could he say that wouldn’t make this worse?

You linger for a moment, your shoulders sagging under the weight of everything left unspoken. It’s like you’re waiting for him to stop you, to say something — anything, that will fix this.

But he doesn’t.

When the door finally shuts behind you, the silence in the room feels unbearable. He stares at the space where you stood, the weight of your absence settling over him like a second skin.

Joe sinks onto the couch, his head in his hands, the echo of your voice ringing in his ears: “I can’t keep feeling like I’m the only one holding on.”

And for the first time in years, he doesn’t try to push the guilt away. He lets it settle, heavy and suffocating, because he knows he’s earned every ounce of it.

[nikethestatue]

No, no, you don't understand how big this is!

"What if the Cauldron was wrong?"

"Why not make them mates?"

"If I were you, I would keep that question from Lucien."

"I don't want a mate. I don't want a male."

We have two individuals who outwardly question the Cauldron. Both times, to Rhysand. First it was Feyre, who is not very knowledgeable in the ways of the Cauldron and in mate bonds, not really understanding how it works. The first thing that Rhys does is that he warns her not to raise the question with Lucien, who is a newly mated male. The second thing Rhys does is that he begins to explain the ramifications of societal pressures of the mate bond and how even with terrible bonds, most couples would try to 'work it out'. And accept it. (Sounds a bit like a battered spouse syndrome. He/she will change! or 'we are staying together for the kids!')

The next time, it's Azriel who questions the Cauldron and the mate bond assignation. He says this in front of Rhys, and then Rhys--knowing that Azriel is fully aware of the SOCIETAL expectations--goes on a fairly angry rant about political ramifications.

Elain states unequivocally that she does not want a bond. She doesn't want Lucien. She doesn't want 'a male' that was given to her, and whom she did not choose. And she does not want a bond. She doesn't want to adhere to the societal expectations that the bond obligates her to.

But what's interesting is that the one person who never seems to question it is Lucien.

Something clicks for him, he realizes that Elain is his mate and he states it plainly 'You are my mate'. But he never questions it.

Even when, he clearly isn't interested in Elain. Beyond her being attractive, almost generically attractive because it's the one thing that everyone notices about her, he has no feelings but base instincts and lust. He doesn't know anything about her. Doesn't know what her likes/dislikes are. Doesn't know much about her character. Her wants and her struggles.

Lucien, regardless of his own feelings, which are ambivalent at best, just accepts it. The bond is there. He has no recourse. He has to make the best of a crappy situation, because that's what he is expected to do. How do you fight a Cauldron-given bond?

Which brings me to my point: Azriel DOES question the Cauldron. The ordained will of their deity-like item. It's one thing when Feyre questions it, because she doesn't know. It's a wholly different thing when Azriel voices his disdain for the decision. It's not entitlement. He is actually being heretical in that moment. His desire for Elain is so enormous that he is willing to question Prythian's religion and the will of a god-like thing. He isn't complaining about not having a mate. He isn't questioning 'why didn't the Cauldron grant me a mate?!!?!?"--which could be an acceptable question, akin to us questioning why haven't we found 'the one' yet. But no. He questions a very specific bond. And he dares to say 'what if the Cauldron was WRONG?' Can god made mistakes? Generally no. But in Azriel's mind, G-d made a mistake. Because it created the wrong bond for Elain. Again, he doesn't say 'why don't *I* have a bond?" He asks why was Elain given to another? He perceives it as a punishment for HER. He adds that she is not interested in Lucien. It's a burden on Elain. He doesn't say 'I', he always thinks of her. He actually views her bond as punishment. For her. And he knows what he can offer her instead. When Rhys berates him and says:

(He had never before dared speak  the words aloud.)

Rhys's face drained of color. "You believe you deserve to be her mate?"  

Azriel scowled. "I think Lucien will never be good enough for her,  and she has no interest in him, anyway." 

Azriel doesn't say 'I should've been her mate. I am better for her!' (even if he thinks that). His attention is always on her and her unhappiness. Which aligns with how he thinks of her in general--where her pleasure, her safety, her happiness are always on the forefront of his thoughts and actions.

Furthermore, 'he never DARED speak the words aloud.' It's a sentence that people don't pay enough attention to. Because this is Azriel. And he is not afraid of anything. Or anyone. He fights High Lords. He threatens them when they insult any female in his presence. He argues with his own High Lord, and his High Lady. He doesn't fear Amren. He doesn't fear the Blue Annis. He'll fly with a tree attached to his back. He will sneak into the Hybern camp. He will stand up to the King and steal something from under his nose. He sneaks into the darkest and most dangerous places in the world. He dares.

But questioning the bond and the Cauldron--he doesn't dare. That's how monumental this is.

Lucien never questions the Cauldron. Both Tamlin and Rhys sort of shrug off their parents' respective (unhappy) unions. Cassian doesn't question. Rhys certainly never thinks as to why he would be mated to a human girl.

But Azriel questions.

And that will be the story. Because what happens when the Cauldron IS wrong and you decide to go against fate and gods?

[choerrysjubiles]

Teen Hearts Beating Faster, Faster

pairing: virgin!wonbin x fem!reader

warning: jealous!bin :], jealous!bin confessing his feelings :D, smut, protected sex, premature ejaculation, aftercare, brief mention of food (not sexual)

wc: 3.7k

a/n: love u wonnie also the ryan in the fic is ryan ross hehehe I've been obsessively rewatching live in denver and I gotta write abt my bbygirl

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Wonbin had a decent amount of patience.

He had the patience for when professors scolded him for the work they misgraded. Even after tests were graded wrong, he sat back and waited for them to realize the mistake. Sighing in relief as they changed his grade, knowing he was the correct one.

He had patience for long hours at their dance studio. When choreographers continuously scolded them and yelled even as their bodies grew tired and were close to dropping. When he would force his lips shut as he heard the same droning words being shouted at him and his teammates.

Even among his friends, Wonbin was patient. Waiting for them to cool down, realizing they were both loud and wrong in the argument. Realizing the solution, he let it slide, as they looked at him in remorse. Not wanting to make another show of something, Wonbin let it slide as they continued doing whatever started the argument.

Something he didn't have patience for was that stupid guy, Ryan.

Ryan, some lame guitarist from a band y/n's become obsessed with. It seemed that was all she could talk about. The second he heard that name, Wonbin scowled.

Ryan's playing here, Ryan's sent me some demos, Ryan's sent me tickets to see them here or there. Ryan this, Ryan that.

Wonbin didn't even hate the guy. He was a decent musician; he played guitar well, even better than what Wonbin could play. But something boiled in him when you mentioned his name.

He couldn't even be jealous, Ryan had a girlfriend and he knew you would never do that. You were friends with his girlfriend, knowing each other even before Ryan dated her. But the idea of someone occupying y/n's thoughts more than her own friend, Wonbin, upset him beyond relief.

Was it because he's older? In a band? Was is the sweaty guy pheromones getting to y/n? Was that why she's so obsessed with Ryan?

But Wonbin bit his tongue and stayed quiet. He always did, never wanting to upset you even when you laughed and assured him you had no obsession or feelings or Ryan.

And even now, watching them play their set in some vacant building, Wonbin felt his jealousy grow. The way your eyes lit up when Ryan sang adlibs. The way you clapped and cheered when they finished a song. When you sang along to the same adlibs and backing vocals as Ryan. That especially made him upset.

Wonbin stayed still, armed crosses with a slight frown as he tried to enjoy their concert. Only some time left, then he'll be out of the temple of Ryan.

When their set was done, Wonbin and you walked out. Walking around to see if there was any restaurant or diner to grab something to eat before going home. When you finally made your way to Wonbin's car to drive home, you could sense something was up.

There was tension in the air, something being unsaid but desperately needed to be discussed. His hands gripped the steering wheel tighter, his arms flexed more, his face was unusually tight.

"You seem upset." Your voice was soft, not wanting to upset Wonbin.

"I'm not upset, why would I be upset?" He said, a little too fast to be convincible.

"You've been like this a couple of times. I just, I just wanna know whats going on? If you're okay?"

Your eyes were soft while your brows felt furrowed, something was really bothering him and knowing Wonbin, he'd rather bite his tongue than bring anything up.

Wonbin took a deep breath in, collecting his thoughts. The air was tense, it was hard to breathe, the pressure building every second longer he took to speak.

"I'm jealous of Ryan." It felt like Wonbin's head was gonna implode.

"Of Ryan?" You repeated.

"Yes of Ryan." He says, a little harsher than he wanted. "He's cool, he's all you ever talk about-"

"All I ever talk about? Wonbin, what do you mean?"

He turns slightly, cheeks flushed as he looks at you.

"It's almost like every time we meet up there's something new about Ryan. I know he's your friend but so am I."

You carefully nodded your head.

"I'm just." He sighs, "I feel myself becoming obsessed with you, or something."

Oh?

You sat in silence, mouth agape.

"And always hearing about that Ryan guy just pisses me off. I know he's older and more experience and cooler than me, but-"

"He's not." You laughed.

Wonbin stared at you. His eyes were wide, hair disheveled as he tried calming himself down to listen to you.

"I'm sorry I upset you." You made sure to keep eye contact. "Genuinely. But he's not that cool. He's kind of a dick to his fans, he often isolates himself when he's overwhelmed. He doesn't have a great temper."

"He does?" Wonbin leans a little closer to You, amused smile on his face.

"He's a cool guy to hang around because I like his band and I can get cheap tickets from him. But there's nothing more than that."

You grabbed his hand.

"I'm sorry I put you through hell. I wouldn't have done all that if I'd have known how you felt. I'm sorry."

"Can I kiss you?" He blurts out.

You blinked for a moment, you went lightheaded for a second before leaning in to give Wonbin a chaste peck on his lips. His face flushed even harder than earlier, he was sure you could feel the warmth radiating from him. Detaching from each other, Wonbin let out a whine.

Hearing him, you moved to the side of his face and pressed a kiss the corner of his mouth.

"I've never kissed someone before." He confessed.

"Really?" You asked, your voice was more curious than it could be teasing or taunting.

"Can we kiss more?" His eyes were shiny, scared you'd say no to him.

"Can we go somewhere more comfortable?" You asked.

"Y-yes, of course."

Wonbin turned the car on with fumbling hands, reversing and making their way to your apartment. The drive and walk up was agonizing. Every light turned red, every crosswalk had people walking, even the parking garage at her complex was filled.

Walking and standing in the elevator was torturous. Wonbin kept his hands on you, be it your arm or hand, to ensure this was real and not some dream.

Walking into your home, you latched onto each other. Your hands went straight to his neck, holding his still as your deepened their kiss. His hands nervously held onto your back before dropping to your waist.

You backed him to the couch, dropping down as he carefully hovered over you. His eyes nervously looked around your body.

"Do you wanna touch me?" You asked Wonbin.

"Yes." He barely spoke above a whisper, round eyes staring at you.

"Where?" You pressed.

He looked over you, every spot his eyes landed lasted around a second before he found another spot he wanted to touch.

Grabbing his hand, "I would like it if you touched here."

You guided his hand to your breast. Wonbin's breath hitched as he laid his hand onto you, scooting a hair closer.

"Don't be shy, come here." You egged him on.

He followed orders, moving closer. His hand stayed on your breast as he moved his other hand to your shoulder.

"Can I- uhm."

"You can do whatever, Bin."

He looked at her, seeing the assurance in your eyes, before moving his hands to massage your breasts. Thumbs swiping and moving into the fabrics of your shirt and bra.

"Do you wanna take it off?" You asked. "I know wanna take your shirt off."

"Can I?" He asked.

"Of course."

He grabbed at the bottom hem of his shirt, sliding it off of his body before moving to your shirt. His eyes widened with every inch of skin exposing. You leaned back into the couch as he pulled your shirt off, letting him eye you as you sunk down.

"Do you wanna move this somewhere else? Before we get into more?"

"Can we? I mean, yes. I-I would like that." His nervousness was cute.

You grabbed his hand, leading Wonbin to your bedroom. The lights were dim, your nightstand's lamp lighting the room in soft yellow lighting. Wonbin looked around, shocked at how similar yet different your room looked. Walking him towards your bed, Wonbin moved his hand to your shoulder, thumb playing with your bra strap.

"Can you take it off?" She asked him.

"How?"

"Here." You grabbed his hand.

Moving his hand to wrap around your backside. Holding onto his pointer finger and thumb, you helps him pinch the clasps. Your bra fell down, one strap falling down your shoulder to expose your breast as Wonbin stared down at the newly exposed skin.

You threw your bra to the side as he stared at your breasts. His hands shook as you grabbed them, pulling them upwards to cover your soft, warm skin. He carefully squeezed them, not wanting to hurt you. Thumbs rolling along your nipples, his eyes shot up at you when you let out a low sigh.

"Did that feel good?" He asked, leaning closer to you.

"Very." you closed your eyes.

He continued kneading your breasts, seeing what made you moan and sigh and what led to no reaction. Continuing to roll his thumbs along your nipples, growing the confidence to flick them and drink up the sighs you let out.

"Can we kiss again?" You asked. "You have really soft lips."

"Y-yeah."

He leaned over, lips softly merging before you kissed him again. His hands wrapped around your waist as you kissed, your tongue licking his bottom lip. Opening his mouth, he tasted your tongue as it swiped along his.

Wonbin let out a low moan. The feeling of your skin, your tongue, your lips, it's all so much. He slid his hands down to your ass, feeling himself fall against your bed as you climbed on top of him.

Your core sat right on top of his bulge, hips unintentionally grinding against him as he let out a strained groan.

"I'm sorry." You said, cheeks flushed.

"It's okay."

He breathed, thinking of what to do.

"Can you, mm, teach me something?" He asked shyly.

"What?"

"I wanna eat you out. I've just, never, uhm."

You felt your core grow wetter. His flushed cheeks, eyes looking anywhere but you. You wanted to savor this moment, this vulnerability from him.

"Where do you want me?" You asked, voice full of desire.

"Huh?" He said, unsure of what you mean.

"Should I sit on your face? Or do you want me laying down? Should we, like, 69?"

Wonbin flushed at your words.

"Uhm. Maybe you, uh, laying down."

You nodded, removing your pants before moving to lay down. Your knees were decently far apart, wanting Wonbin to move them to see your panties as he would lean into your pussy.

He looked around nervously, "Can you, you know, tell me how to, um."

"Do you want to lay on the bed or kneel on the floor?"

"Maybe the floor." He dropped onto the floor, settling along the edge.

You scooted to the edge of the bed, knees spread to each side of Wonbin's wide shoulders. His wide, shiny eyes stared at the wet spot on your underwear, his hands resting on your knees.

You leaned back, hands grabbing his leading them to your waistband. He caught on to pull them down, dragging them off down your legs before tossing them to the side. He leaned in to your pussy, seeing how wet it was.

He gently brought his hand to your core, cupping your vulva and feeling how much slick was dripping out of you. Gasping, you felt how warm his hand was against you.

"I thought you were eating me out." You whined.

Wonbin chuckled before leaning in, stretching your thighs to allow his head in. He let your thighs rest on his shoulders, something he's sure he's seen in a porno or two.

He gave a small lick, hearing your breathing hitch. His tongue was sharp and pointed, like he catching as much of your precum as he could gather. Taking another lick, he tasted the depth of your cum. The slight saltiness and overwhelming sweet taste.

He couldn't quite tell what you tasted like, having nothing similar to your cum, ever. His cum was far saltier, musky, even. But this was different. Were all girls like this or just you?

You were enjoying this feeling, his hot tongue licking at every inch of your pussy as you laid there panting. You felt your hand inch towards him, grabbing onto his head to steady yourself.

He continued licking at you, getting drunk on the taste of your honey. Flattening his tongue as he lapped at you, unknowingly teasing your clit with a lack of stimulation.

"Binnie, please." You whined.

He lifted his head, slick dripping down his mouth, "What's wrong?"

"Lick my clit more. I'm going insane, Bin." Your head popped up to look at him.

You felt a wave of slick pour out of you when you looked down at him. Eyes blown out, mouth glistening with your cum, his hot breaths teasing your pussy.

"Up here?" A string of your arousal clung to his lips as his eyes shot to your clit before bringing his hand up to flick at it.

"Yes!" You gasped, thighs clenching together as you fell back onto the mattress.

Wonbin smiled as he went back in to eat you. Tongue stiffening to prod at your clit before slurping up the wetness dripping out of you. Every move he did he saw you twitch and squirm.

"Wait, fuck, yes! Right there, right there."

His confidence kept growing seeing you fall apart from him. Your back continuing to arch off of the bed, Wonbin continued licking at you, nose bumping into your clit as he felt you stiffen. A long drawn out moan escaping your lips as your pussy dripped your cum onto his tongue.

Pulling away, Wonbin looks up at you. Ragged breaths as you're still gripping the bedsheets. Your legs, still folded, are shaking as he rubs your thighs in an attempt to comfort and relax you.

"I thought you said you were a virgin."

"I am." He says shyly.

"You're either a liar or are too good at following directions." You laughed.

You laid there until your breath steadied. Wonbin crawled up the bed, sitting beside you. You were overwhelmed with how hard that orgasm felt, no man's been that good at eating pussy. Wonbin watched your breathing, how much air was sucked into your ribcage, the sheen of sweat along your breasts, how hard your nipples became as the air cooled.

Leaning up on your elbow, "Do you want me to help you with that?"

Y/n stared at his tight bulge.

"Can we have sex?" His eyes were wide, scared you'd say no.

"Yeah, of course we can."

His shoulders relaxed. Taking his pants and boxers off, Wonbin felt a little exposed. He's never been naked in front of anyone, looking over you're not even paying attention to his body. You're looking at his face, his cheeks? Somewhere, studying his reactions, maybe.

You lean over to your nightstand, opening the drawer to take out a loose condom, tossing it to Wonbin you ask if he knows how to put one on.

"No."

"Come here." You wave his over.

Wonbin crawls towards you, his hard dick standing tall as you begin to unwrap the foil.

"This might feel a little weird." You warn.

You roll the condom down his length, the cold lube made Wonbin hiss. Fully covered, you grab onto the tip and pull it upwards, suctioning it onto him.

"What position would you like?"

"Can you ride me?"

You blinked, surprised at his request.

"Sure, get comfortable." You motion to your bed.

"I'm sorry, I should be-"

"No way, this is your first time, I gotta treat my baby right."

Wonbin felt his heart skip when you called him her baby. He moved to lay down, you pushed some pillows together to give him better cushioning as well as a better new.

You straddled his lap before teasing his tip along your folds, Wonbin's hands grabbed at your hips, rubbing and squeezing the flesh as you got into position.

Slowly dropping down onto him, Wonbin began squeezing you, a soft moan escaping him as his eyes were glued to your pussy. He was amazed at how you felt: soft, tight walls clinging around him as you sank lower and lower. He didn't know how deep your womb could get but he was an almost perfect fit.

Your walls clung around him as you sunk lower. Dropping into his lap, you saw Wonbin wide-eyed and panting.

"Are you okay?" You leaned in, worried about him.

"You're so fucking tight."

You smiled, leaning in to kiss his forehead. He craned his head to kiss your lips, sitting up more to continue kissing you.

"Can I move?" You asked, mouth moving to his cheek and jawbone.

"Yeah." He was breathless.

You left a wet kiss onto his jugular as you lifted yourself and pushed back down.

"Shit." He moaned, grabbing your hair to kiss you. His wet tongue began licking the inside of your mouth.

Bouncing more, his grip tightened as he let out a slew of moans. You felt different, there was something insatiable about being on top of Wonbin. Not just that you two were friends, but he was falling apart so soon.

"Wait, fuck, slow down." He begged.

As you were going to plant yourself down, Wonbin's face tightened. He let out a strangled moan, teeth biting his lip to stop himself. Looking at your face, his eyes became teary as his breathing became ragged.

"Fuck."

"I'm so sorry." You said.

"You're," He breathed, "you're fine, it's me who-"

You pulled off of him, gaining a strained groan from Wonbin.

He looked over to this side, "This is embarrassing."

"It happens to everyone."

"Everyone?"

"Mostly guys, but you can't help that."

Wonbin took the condom off, tying it and tossing it in your trash bin.

"Can i still make you cum?" He looked at you shyly.

"Do you wanna?"

"Yeah."

"Sure, you can finger me. How do you want me?"

Wonbin sat up on his knees, wondering where they could move.

"Can I finger you, like, doggy style?" He asked shyly.

Oh?

"Yeah." Your cheeks felt warm hearing such a lewd answer.

You tucked some pillows under you as you bent onto them, ass on display for Wonbin. You felt a shiver run down your body as his hands rubbed your hip, something exciting about not knowing his next move. His hand swiped down to your ass.

He was fascinated with your body, seeing what parts were plump and fleshy and which ones weren't. His hands stroked along your ass, thumb prodding at your core to feel how wet you were. Wonbin noticed the arousal dripping down your thigh as he carefully pushed his pointer finger in.

"Mmm." You moaned.

Wonbin continued thrusting his finger in and out, feeling around your walls as he moved. Your legs began shaking a little, the sense deprivation was really getting to you.

As Wonbin inserted another finger, his free hand snuck by your hip to rub your clit, feeling the erect nub as he stimulated you.

"Wonbin, ahh." You moaned. "Mmm, can you go harder?"

"Harder?"

"Please."

He began pumping his fingers in and out, carefully tapping your clit as he fingered you.

"Fuck you're making my dick hard again."

"Put it in." You moaned.

Wonbin tore his hands away, quickly getting into your drawer to grab another condom. He tried remembering what you showed him as he tore the foil and rolled it on. He remembered how your hands looked at he pulled the tip lightly, suctioning it on.

Standing on his knees, he aligned himself with your core, take a breath as he was still sensitive from earlier.

Pushing in, he felt his hips begin bucking in and out.

Aligned at her core, Wonbin inserted himself. Still so sensitive from his orgasm earlier.

"Fuck, you're even tighter."

"Rub my clit, Binnie."

He followed orders and messily rubbed your clit, heryourwalls beginning to clench even tighter around him. His hips thrusting harshly into you, so much he almost slipped out.

"Yes, yes, fuck! Wonbin!"

His hips continued thrusting as he felt you tighten around him with a loud moan. The sensation was too much as he felt himself cum in the condom. His large hands wrapped around your hips tightly as emptied himself.

He could barely pull himself out, the feeling so painful and pleasureful. Carefully, after some breaths, Wonbin pulled out, pulling the condom off before dumping it into your trash can, again.

He felt his body collapse next to you as you were adjusting to lay on your back.

"So." You were still panting. "Was that a good first time?" You had a wide smile, looking over at Wonbin.

"Yeah, it was memorable, at the least."

You laughed, turning on your side to look at him.

"Did you want me to help clean you up?" She asked, grabbing his hand.

"Not now, I wanna relax for a moment."

"Yeah." You said, grabbing at one of your blankets to cover him.

"Thank you," He said, "your apartment is really cold."

"This is not the pillow talk I was expecting, Bin."

He laughed, scooting closer to keep warm. Laying together, they mostly held each other while only talking sparingly.

"Here." You said, leaning over to your nightstand.

You opened your drawer to take out a baby wipe.

"Baby wipes?"

"For clean up." You defended yourself.

"You clean up with baby wipes?"

"You're expected me to hand you some rough wash cloth as a cum rag? No, they're great for cleaning up after sex."

You helped him clean himself, wiping some dried cum off of his face, grabbing another for his dick.

"Too cold!" He yelped.

"You're being a baby." You laughed.

[elikajinnie]

P: Situationship!Heeseung X Fem!Reader (recommended age 18+)

Warnings: Situationship, Hurt/Comfort, Suggestive Content, Tension, Flirting, Mature Content, Pursuing, Possessive & Needy Behaviour, Jealousy if you squint, Alcohol Consumption, Mentioned Drug Use.

Wordcount: 22k

Synopsis: For years, Lee Heeseung had been in your life—never close enough to be a friend but too familiar to be a stranger. You told yourself you weren’t interested, that he didn’t matter to you. But Heeseung had other plans cause he made it his mission to claim your attention—and eventually your heart. But love is never easy.

a/n: was watching the iconic Kuch Kuch Hota Hai when this idea came! (dont ask how) i also wanted to try something new with the title. (disclaimer! some of the scenes are written from experience)

now playing: truth or dare by tyla | friends by chase atlantic | awkward by sza | bloodline by ariana grande | twenty nights by nobu woods | gi faen by ballinciaga

School hierarchy never interested you—peaking in high school, the whole "king of the cafeteria" nonsense. Why would it? None of that mattered after graduation. You always thought it was a waste of time, all those petty dramas and desperate attempts to be remembered as something more than ordinary.

And yet, somehow, you were known, not because you clamored for attention or played into the social games everyone else seemed obsessed with, but because...well, you were you. Quiet, maybe. Not invisible, though. People knew your name, knew your face, even if you couldn’t recall theirs at times. Maybe it was the way you never fumbled over your words when teachers called on you or the way your presence seemed calm. You didn’t try to stand out, but you were noticed, even if you never asked for it.

Made you wonder what made you noticed.

And that question was solved pretty quickly, to be honest. All because you knew Heeseung since you were young.

And Heeseung? Heeseung was everything you’d expect from someone at the top of the high school food chain. Popular, effortlessly so. Basketball captain, the school’s golden boy, practically born to be the main character in someone’s coming-of-age movie. But beyond all that, he was still totally derpy—the same kid who used to trip over his own feet at recess, the one who cried when you beat him in hide-and-seek because he hid in the most obvious spot.

He hadn’t changed much, really. Sure, he had a little more swagger now, a charm that made people laugh at his terrible jokes instead of groan, but to you, he was just Heeseung.

You’d laugh every time someone brought him up to you, trying to see if you’d spill some secret about what he was like outside of the spotlight. “You’re friends with Heeseung, right?” they’d say, voices dipping into curiosity or jealousy. And you’d shrug, like it wasn’t a big deal. Because to you, it wasn’t.

But somehow, knowing him—having that tether to someone like him—had put you on the radar, too. Even if you weren’t part of his crowd, even if you didn’t sit with him at lunch or go to the parties he got dragged to, people noticed you because he noticed you.

And that was the funny thing, wasn’t it? You never cared about being seen, but Heeseung never stopped looking for you in a room.

You were never really interested in initiating anything with him, even if he was very much 100% interested in initiating something with you.

He’d find you in the hallways, leaning casually against the wall, as if it was second nature for him to cage you in, corner you with a smile that made everything around you feel like it had slowed down. He’d ask you about your day, always interested in the little details you never thought anyone would care about. “Are you busy some day?” he’d ask, eyes sparkling, as if he was hinting at something more—something he probably expected you to say yes to.

Other times, he’d slide into the seat next to you in class, talking about his upcoming game like it was an invitation in itself. “You should come watch,” he'd say with that grin, the one that could melt anyone into agreeing. "I’ll even give you my jersey after I win.”

And then there were the parties—he’d invite you to those too, always the center of attention but always making sure you knew you were welcome. Sometimes he’d just come right up to you, all charm and boldness, flirting with you shamelessly, leaning in so close you could feel his breath on your skin. His presence was so intense, so overwhelming, that you couldn’t help but get those butterflies in your stomach, no matter how much you wanted to stay calm.

And yet, despite all of it—the smiles, the promises, the hints of something more—you rejected his advances.

Every. Single. One.

You couldn’t let yourself get caught up in it. You wouldn’t. Even if every part of you, every part of your mind and heart, screamed to take a chance, to let yourself fall into whatever Heeseung was offering, you pushed him away.

Mostly because you knew what type of person he was now. You saw how he was with other women in school, how effortlessly he had them wrapped around his finger, how they would come to him at the snap of his finger, eyes wide and eager for whatever he had to offer. They were drawn to him like moths to a flame, following him like he was the sun and they were planets orbiting around him. And, honestly, it was hard not to see the way his charm worked, how his attention seemed to shift from one girl to the next as if it was all just a game.

A game that you weren’t interested in playing.

You weren’t just going to be another face in the crowd, another person who would fall for his flirtations, get swept up in the thrill of his attention only to be tossed aside when someone else caught his eye. You were different. You had to be.

Heeseung was the type who could have anyone, but you weren’t just anyone. You were stronger than that, smarter than that. You didn’t need to be one of his many admirers to feel valued.

So, you kept saying no, keeping a distance, watching the way he’d grin like it was no big deal, then go off to let his attention drift somewhere else. And deep down, you knew you weren’t immune to it. Maybe you never would be. But the answer stayed the same.

That didn’t mean Heeseung didn’t stop going after you.

If anything, it seemed like the more you pulled away, the harder he tried. You'd find him lingering around your classes, catching you in the hallways, or showing up in places where you didn’t expect him to be. It was like a game to him, though you weren't sure if he knew it was to you. Maybe he thought he could win you over if he tried hard enough, if he kept being persistent, kept flashing that grin and throwing out just enough charm to keep you on the edge of saying yes.

He’d joke with you, pretending to be playful, leaning in with a wink like you were both in on some shared secret no one else understood. But you knew better. You could see through the act, see the way his eyes would light up when he thought he was getting close. It was almost like a challenge to him now, something he couldn’t let go of.

But you kept saying no.

And he kept coming back for more.

You would think that someone like him would give up after rejection, after rejection. But nooooo.

If anything, Heeseung only seemed more determined with each "no" you threw at him. You’d catch him looking at you with amusement, as if he were trying to figure you out, like you were some puzzle he couldn’t quite solve. You could almost hear the wheels turning in his head, plotting his next move. It wasn’t just persistence—it was obsession in its own strange way.

He’d show up at your locker with an extra wide grin, as if all the past rejections were just another small obstacle, one he was determined to overcome. He’d ask about your plans for the weekend, your favorite movie, your favorite ice cream flavor—all these little things that seemed innocent enough but were clearly his way of getting closer to you, of worming his way in until you couldn’t say no anymore. And each time, you’d refuse, hold firm.

It was like a tug-of-war, except you were the one refusing to be pulled.

And yet, he never stopped to one point that there was a part of you that wondered, almost begrudgingly, if anyone had ever resisted him like this before. You could almost hear the chuckles of his friends in the background, no doubt betting on how long it would take before you gave in.

It did kind of surprise you when, one day, you were walking down the hallway, busy trying to find your gum in your bag, when you accidentally overheard a girl confessing to Heeseung. You stopped, pausing mid-step as you heard her voice, trembling with nerves, pouring out her feelings to him.

You looked down the hallway you were passing, and there he was, standing with his back to you, his attention fully on the girl in front of him. She was shy, her words stumbling over each other, her face flushed as she nervously admitted what everyone probably already knew. She liked him. She wanted him.

But what he did next was something you did not expect at all.

He rejected her.

The words hit you before you could even process them. "I’m sorry," he said, his voice calm but firm. "But there’s someone else I’m interested in. Someone I want." He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t even seem to waver. He was polite, but his words were clear and final.

The girl stood frozen for a moment, looking down, clearly embarrassed. You could see the brief flicker of pain on her face, but she nodded and walked away quickly, her head down.

You felt an unexpected sting in your chest, a strange mix of confusion and something else you couldn’t quite put your finger on. You couldn’t decide if it was relief or disappointment or... something else.

And as Heeseung turned around, casually adjusting his jacket, you quickly stepped into a side hallway, out of sight, your heart beating a little too fast for comfort. You had never expected to see something like that, especially not from him. Never from him. And it made you wonder, question everything you thought you knew about him.

Because after that moment, it seemed like he rejected girl after girl, all while still pursuing you with that same relentless determination. It was strange. You would never catch him kissing other women anymore, never saw pictures on social media of him with a girl on his lap at parties, never heard whispers of him flirting with anyone else. It was like the world around him had faded, and the only focus, the only person who mattered, was you.

No one else but you.

It made you question everything. Was he really serious about you? Or was this just some strange game he was playing, a challenge to see if he could win you over when everyone else had fallen for his charm? Or was it something more than the surface-level attention he gave everyone else? You tried to shake the thoughts from your mind, tried to ignore the way your heart fluttered when you realized you were the only one he seemed to want.

But the more you thought about it, the more it made you uneasy. Did you trust him? Or were you walking into a trap?

If it was a trap, it was a pretty good one, because something changed between the dynamic of you and Heeseung. You grew more compliant, more willing to give him a little piece of your attention, a little more of your time. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make him shift gears. Heeseung, who had always been so confident, so certain, now seemed a little more desperate, a little more eager to make you notice him, to make you smile.

He’d go out of his way to do the smallest things just to get a reaction from you—whether it was showing up with your favorite drink, offering to carry your bag when you were weighed down with books, or trying to impress you with his random trivia knowledge that he knew you secretly found endearing. His usual cool composure was slipping, and in its place was a version of him you hadn’t seen since you were young.

And frankly, it was kinda cute.

It was like he was a little boy again, trying so hard to win your approval, doing whatever he could to get you to look his way, to see him the way he wanted you to.

You expected to play a little around with his attention, to enjoy the way he’d chase you, all while ignoring the stares you got from other girls. It wasn’t anything serious, just a game, a harmless little back-and-forth that didn’t have to mean anything. You didn’t expect it to go anywhere—after all, this was Heeseung, the golden boy who had his pick of anyone. He was just... fun to be around, right?

But how were you supposed to know that one measly party—just one event—would change everything?

It wasn’t even a big deal at first. Just a typical Friday night, with music blasting, lights flashing, and everyone packed together in some house that barely fit the crowd. You had told yourself you’d just go for a bit, maybe chat with some friends, and leave before things got too chaotic.

When you arrived, you decided to go get a drink first, something to ease your nerves. You weren’t exactly the type to jump into a party scene, so you figured a little liquid courage wouldn’t hurt. You made your way to the kitchen, and scanned the counter for something that would do the trick. You found a bottle of something strong, poured yourself a generous amount, and started nursing it as you made your way through the house, trying to find a familiar face in the crowd.

The music was louder now, almost deafening, and the air smelled like a mix of cheap cologne, sweat, and the faint scent of pizza. The people around you were lost in their own little worlds—laughing, dancing, talking—but you were searching for someone you knew.

Your search didn’t take long before you spotted a group of people you knew—friends from class, a few people you’d hung out with before. You made your way toward them, grateful for the distraction, and they welcomed you with smiles and waves. You could feel the tension in your body start to loosen as you joined in, taking a sip from your drink and laughing along with their jokes.

You stayed with them for a while, catching up on small talk, sipping your drink more leisurely. The conversation shifted from one topic to another—school, upcoming plans, random gossip about who was dating who—until eventually, the music started pulling everyone onto the dance floor. You found yourself swept along with the crowd, the beat of the song pounding through the floor and vibrating up your spine as you moved with the rhythm, the alcohol in your system giving you a little extra confidence.

It was fun, for a while. You lost yourself in the music, and you could feel the tension slip away with each step you took, each beat you moved to, until everything felt… easy.

Then, suddenly, you felt strong arms around your waist, pulling you close, a warmth pressing against your back. It took a split second for the reality to sink in, but you already knew who it was based on the familiar scent of cologne that filled your senses. You didn’t have to look to be sure, but you turned your head anyway, and as expected, there he was.

Heeseung.

He was right behind you, holding you effortlessly, his grip strong yet gentle as he matched the rhythm of the music with you. His chest pressed against your back, making your breath catch for a moment.

You could feel his chin rest lightly on your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin, and despite every part of you telling yourself to pull away, to keep the distance you’d worked so hard to maintain, something inside you didn’t want to.

For a brief moment, you forgot to question it all. You forgot the reasons you kept pushing him away, the doubts you had about what he truly wanted.

And when he leaned close, his voice low and steady, you felt your resolve begin to crumble as his lips just brushed your ear. "You look so good," he murmured, the sound of his voice sending a shiver down your spine. "Dancing like that, looking so tempting."

The words were playful, but there was something in the tone that made it clear he wasn’t just joking. You could feel the weight of his gaze on the back of your neck.

For a moment, you felt dizzy—not just from the alcohol, but from his proximity, the way he had you caught in his orbit, unwilling to let go.

"You’re driving me crazy," he whispered, his grip on your waist tightening just slightly as if to remind you of how close he was. The teasing had a bite now and you couldn’t help but wonder if he was testing you, seeing how far he could push.

And God did he push.

Heeseung’s fingers brushed lightly against your waist, sending a ripple of heat through you. "You know," he said, his tone softer now, almost a whisper, "you’re not making it easy for me to behave tonight."

You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way your body reacted to his every move, every word. But it was useless—he was too close, too overwhelming, and you couldn’t think straight.

When you finally found your voice, it came out quieter than you intended. "Maybe you’ve had a little too much to drink, Heeseung," you said, hoping to inject some distance, even though your own voice betrayed how unsteady you felt.

He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against your back. "Maybe," he admitted, and you could hear the smirk in his tone. "But don’t act like you’re not enjoying this."

You turned your head slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of him out of the corner of your eye. His gaze was locked on you, dark and intense.

"I’m not—" you started, but the words caught in your throat as he leaned in even closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

"You’re not what?" he murmured, his voice low and coaxing, daring you to finish your sentence.

You hated how your body betrayed you, how your heart raced, how you couldn’t seem to pull away, even though every logical part of your brain screamed at you to step back. But the warmth of his arms and the way he looked at you as if you were the only person in the room—it was all too much.

For once, you let yourself linger, not pulling away from his hold, not giving him the usual pushback. He noticed immediately, his smirk growing as if he had won some unspoken game between you two.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Heeseung said, his tone teasing but soft. His fingers traced small circles against your hip, his other hand resting lightly at your waist. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at your lips. “Maybe I’m just too tired to deal with your nonsense.”

“Oh, nonsense, huh?” he said with a mock-wounded expression, leaning closer, his lips hovering dangerously close to your skin. “Careful, or you might hurt my feelings.”

“I think you’ll survive,” you shot back, tilting your head to glance at him. But the way his gaze locked onto yours made your breath hitch.

He laughed, the sound low and warm, as he kept still. “You’re enjoying this,” he murmured, the words brushing against your ear. “Admit it.”

You didn’t respond right away, instead letting the music carry you both. There was something about this that felt different tonight. Maybe it was the way he wasn’t pushing too hard, wasn’t making this feel like a game. Or maybe it was just the way you let yourself relax for once, let yourself enjoy his attention without overthinking it.

“And if I am?” you said finally, your voice quieter than you intended, but steady enough to hold his gaze.

Heeseung’s grin widened, his confidence shining through. “Then I guess I’ll just have to keep doing whatever I’m doing,” he said, his voice full of promise.

You scoffed lightly, shaking your head, trying to brush him off, but he wasn’t having it. “Oh, don’t act so tough,” he teased, “I know I’m getting to you.”

You rolled your eyes, stepping back just enough to put some space between you, but Heeseung wasn’t letting you off the hook that easily. He followed, closing the gap again, his movements unhurried. “Running away already?” he said, his tone mockingly hurt.

“I’m not running,” you shot back, crossing your arms in front of you, though the small smile threatening to form on your lips betrayed you.

“Uh-huh,” he said, clearly not convinced. He reached out, gently tugging at one of your hands, his pouty expression exaggerated to the point of being ridiculous. “Don’t be mean, baby. I was just starting to enjoy myself.”

You let out a laugh despite yourself, shaking your head again. “I’m not your baby , you know that right?”

“But here you are,” he replied smoothly, the grin returning to his lips. “Still talking to me, still letting me hold you like I belong to you. Makes me think you don’t hate this as much as you pretend.”

You wanted to argue, to push him away again, but before you could, Heeseung pulled you closer once more. “Tell me to stop,” he said quietly, “if you really want me to stop, I will.”

The words caught you off guard, and for a moment, you didn’t know what to say, but you didn’t want him to stop. You couldn’t say it either. And he noticed.

Instead of gloating, though, his grin softened into an almost shy smile. “That’s what I thought,” he murmured, his hand squeezing yours gently before letting it go, as if to remind you that you were the one in control, even if it didn’t feel like it right now.

“Don’t think this means I’m giving in,” you said, trying to regain some ground, but the way he was looking at you made it hard to sound convincing.

“Sure, sure,” he replied, his smirk returning. “But I’ll take it as a win anyway.”

You rolled your eyes at him, a playful smirk curling on your lips. Leaning in just enough so only he could hear, you whispered, your voice teasing, “Maybe you should work a little harder if you want to win me over pretty boy.”

Before he could respond, you pulled back and walked off toward the kitchen, swaying your hips just enough to make a point and you felt a surge of satisfaction when you glanced over your shoulder.

Heeseung stood frozen in place, his expression both shocked and in disbelief. His mouth hung open slightly, his eyes wide as he processed your words and the sudden shift. For once, it seemed like you had left him speechless—a rarity that made your grin widen.

You turned back around, hiding your amusement as you reached the kitchen and poured yourself another drink.

A few seconds passed, and you felt it—the unmistakable weight of his gaze burning into your back. Heeseung wasn’t one to give up easily, and you knew you’d just ignited a fire in him. It wasn’t a question of if he’d come after you, but when.

You took a sip of your drink, savoring the moment, and braced yourself for whatever Heeseung was planning. You barely had any time to react before you felt Heeseung’s presence behind you. His body pressed against your back, his warmth seeping through your clothes as his arms caged you in on either side of the counter. His hands gripped the edge, locking you in place.

A low, frustrated groan escaped his lips, brushing against your ear and sending a shiver down your spine. “You’re really going to do me like that?” he murmured, his voice laced with mock pain.

You tilted your head slightly, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye, unable to keep the grin from spreading across your face. “Do you like what?” you asked innocently, swirling your drink in your hand as if you weren’t trapped.

Heeseung chuckled, a deep, throaty sound that made your stomach flip. “Walking away like that,” he said, leaning in closer until his lips almost brushed the curve of your jaw. “Whispering things you know are going to drive me crazy, and then just leaving me standing there like an idiot.”

You giggled as you leaned back slightly, your head resting against his shoulder. “You looked cute like that,” you teased, your tone dripping with playful defiance. “Maybe I should do it more often.”

“Cute?” he echoed, his voice dropping an octave as his grip on the counter tightened. “I’ll show you cute.”

Before you could respond, Heeseung’s lips were so close to your ear that you could feel the heat of his breath. “You’re trouble, you know that?” he said, his tone softer now, though still playful. “But it’s fine. I like trouble.”

You couldn’t help but laugh again, your shoulders shaking slightly as you set your drink down on the counter. “You’re so dramatic, Heeseung,” you said, turning your head just enough to meet his gaze.

Heeseung’s eyes locked onto yours, the grin on his face softening into something more tempting. “Dramatic, huh?” he murmured, “maybe. But you can’t tell me you don’t like it.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but the words caught in your throat as he leaned in closer, his nose almost brushing yours. “I think you like the attention,” he continued, his tone smug as his lips curved into that infuriating smirk. “You wouldn’t keep me guessing if you didn’t.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to keep your composure despite the rapid thudding of your heart. “Guessing? Please,” you scoffed, tilting your chin up slightly, refusing to back down. “You’re the one who keeps showing up, Heeseung. Not me.”

“And yet,” he countered smoothly, “you haven’t walked away yet. If you really weren’t interested, you wouldn’t still be here. With me.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, even as a smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. “Maybe I’m just enjoying watching you make a fool of yourself.”

“Is that right?” he said, his voice dipping, playful but challenging. He leaned in even closer, so close that his lips were barely a breath away from yours. “Careful, baby, or you might end up falling for me instead.”

His confidence was maddening, but it was that same confidence that made your pulse race.

You tilted your head slightly, meeting his gaze with a raised brow. “Falling for you?” you repeated, your voice steady even as your heart betrayed you. “Don’t flatter yourself, Heeseung.”

He chuckled softly, the sound low and warm as his hand left the counter to lightly graze your hip, his fingers lingering just enough to make you aware of every single nerve in your body. “Oh, I’m not flattering myself,” he murmured, his tone dripping with amusement. “I’m just calling it how I see it.”

You rolled your eyes, a soft laugh escaping your lips. “You’ve got some nerve,” you said, shaking your head as you turned away from him.

His eyes following your every move as you picked up your drink again. “And you’ve got some walls,” he shot back.

You paused, glancing back at him as you took a sip of your drink. “Maybe they’re there for a reason,” you replied, your tone light but pointed.

Heeseung leaned back slightly, crossing his arms over his chest as he studied you. “Yeah, but the thing about walls?” he said, tilting his head with a grin. “They’re meant to be climbed.”

You side-eyed him, the faintest smile tugging at your lips as you raised your glass to take another sip. “Try all you want mountain climber.”

Before he could come up with a response, you smoothly stepped away, moving around the kitchen counter to put some distance between you. His brows furrowed slightly in surprise, the sudden shift catching him off guard.

“Hey, wait a second,” he called after you, quickly sliding around the counter in an attempt to follow. The way he moved—quick but a little clumsy, as if he hadn’t expected you to slip away so easily—made you chuckle to yourself.

“You’re gonna have to try harder than that,” you said over your shoulder, your tone full of challenge as you leaned casually against the far end of the counter, nursing your drink.

Heeseung stopped on the other side, his hands gripping the edge of the counter as he tilted his head. “Oh, so now we’re playing games?” he asked, clearly in disbelief.

“You started it,” you shot back, taking another sip and meeting his gaze head-on.

His eyes narrowed slightly as if accepting the challenge. “Fine,” he said, “but don’t be mad when I win.”

“Win?” you repeated, raising a brow at him. “Pretty confident for someone who just got left behind.”

That earned a laugh from him, and in one swift motion, he stepped around the counter, closing the gap between you. “Left behind?” he echoed, his tone playful as he leaned down slightly, his face closer to yours. “Nah. I’m right where I need to be.”

Your breath hitched for the briefest moment, but you quickly masked it with another sip of your drink, refusing to let him see how much his persistence was getting to you.

Heeseung’s smirk widened when you began moving around the counter again, and without missing a beat, he mirrored your steps, chasing after you. “Oh, you think you’re clever, huh?” he teased, his tone light as his eyes tracked your every move.

“You’ll have to be faster than that,” you shot back, a playful laugh escaping your lips as you darted around the other side.

His hands hovered over the counter, ready to cut you off, but you were quicker, slipping just out of reach. The look of mock frustration on his face was priceless, and you couldn’t help but grin at your small victory.

“Alright, alright,” he said, holding his hands up for a moment as if calling a truce. But you weren’t buying it—not for a second.

When he lunged, you were ready, spinning on your heel and darting out of the kitchen entirely. “Nice try!” you called over your shoulder, weaving your way back toward the dance floor, the thumping bass and flashing lights swallowing you up.

You could hear him groan behind you, the sound half exasperated, half amused. “You’re really gonna make me work for this, huh?”

You didn’t answer, slipping into the crowd and letting the press of people conceal you. It was easy to lose him in the chaos, and when you glanced back over your shoulder, you caught a glimpse of him standing near the edge of the dance floor, scanning the crowd with a furrowed brow.

For a moment, you just watched him. The way he ran a hand through his hair, clearly trying to spot you, made your chest tighten unexpectedly. But you shook the feeling off quickly, turning back to the music and letting yourself have fun.

The crowd seemed to shift and swirl, pulling you deeper into the dance floor. For a moment, you felt untouchable—lost in the freedom of the moment.

But that feeling didn’t last long. You could still feel him, even if you couldn’t see him. And then, just when you thought you’d successfully slipped away, a familiar voice cut through the noise, low and right near your ear.

“Thought you could run away from me?”

You turned your head sharply, only to find Heeseung standing there, a sly grin on his face. His hair was slightly mussed, and there was a faint flush on his cheeks, probably from weaving through the crowd to find you.

“How’d you—” you started, but he interrupted with a chuckle.

“You really think I’d give up that easily?” he asked, his tone almost incredulous. “I told you, I’m right where I need to be.”

You rolled your eyes, though the corner of your lips tugged upward. “Maybe you’re just a little too determined,” you said, stepping back slightly, but he followed your movement effortlessly.

“Or maybe you like being chased,” he countered, his voice smooth as he matched your pace.

You opened your mouth to retort, but he caught your hand, gently spinning you back toward him, his movements seamless with the music. It was so smooth, so unexpected, that you didn’t even think to pull away. “Caught you,” he murmured, his voice low as his eyes locked onto yours.

You raised an eyebrow, trying to ignore the way your heart was pounding. “I let you catch me,” you replied.

“Keep telling yourself that,” he answered as he pulled you a little closer.

The space between you vanished, and for a moment, you were acutely aware of everything—his hand on your waist, his body, his gaze. It was dizzying, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you stayed there, caught in the moment, wondering how on earth he always managed to get under your skin like this.

Heeseung began to sway with you to the music, his hands resting lightly on your waist, guiding your movements with an ease that felt far too natural. You told yourself it didn’t mean anything. It was just dancing, just a moment. And yet, you didn’t stop him. You let him lead, let him pull you closer, until his forehead was nearly brushing yours.

But then you noticed something. The way his steps were deliberate, not just moving to the beat but steering you. Slowly, subtly, his touch guided you backward through the crowd.

Your brow furrowed as realization dawned. Heeseung wasn’t just dancing. He had a plan.

“You’re sneaky, you know that?” you muttered, narrowing your eyes as you glanced over your shoulder and saw the wall creeping closer.

Heeseung’s grin turned wicked, a spark of mischief lighting up his face. “Sneaky? Me?” he asked, feigning innocence, though the way his hands tightened ever so slightly on your waist betrayed him. “Yes, you,” you shot back, even as your back brushed against the cool surface of the wall. He leaned in, his voice low and teasing. “Can you blame me? You make it so hard to keep my distance.”

You rolled your eyes, though your pulse betrayed you, hammering in your chest as his gaze locked onto yours.

His gaze never left yours for a second. The world around you seemed to fade away as he leaned in just the slightest bit closer, his chest rising and falling faster with each breath. You could feel the heat of his body so close to yours, could feel the tension between you, thick and heavy.

He glanced down at your lips, then back up to your eyes, the look in his gaze unreadable. It was almost like he was testing the air between you, measuring whether you’d pull away or lean in. His hands on your waist holding you in place as if he knew you wouldn’t make a move. His breathing had picked up now, shallow and just a little shaky, and for a brief moment, you wondered if he was just as affected by this as you were.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you whispered, though you knew your voice was too soft to carry any real force. The words felt weak even as they left your lips, because you knew you weren’t really trying to push him away.

He chuckled softly, the sound deep and low, as if savoring the moment. “Like what?” he asked.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t—because the answer was already in the way your heart was pounding, the way your breath hitched every time he got a little closer.

And then, without warning, he leaned in just a fraction more, his lips hovering so close to yours that you could feel the heat radiating from them, but he didn’t make the move. He was waiting. Testing.

You both seemed to be holding your breath.

Just as you were about to say something, the world shifted unexpectedly. A figure stumbled into Heeseung from behind, knocking into him, and before either of you could react, the person’s drink splashed all over you. You gasped as the cold liquid drenched your outfit, your heart sinking as you saw the mess, the dark stain had spread across the fabric, leaving a damp, sticky trail. “Are you kidding me?” you groaned, trying to wipe it off, but it only made it worse.

Heeseung, who had been caught off guard by the collision, quickly turned around. His brows furrowed with frustration, but his gaze softened when he saw the mess on your clothes. Without missing a beat, he pushed the person who had bumped into him away with a quick but firm shove. “Watch where you’re going!” he snapped. The drunk person mumbled an apology, clearly embarrassed, but Heeseung didn’t seem to care. His attention was on you now.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his hand brushing against your arm as he looked you over.

You just sighed, wiping your shirt, but it was clear you weren’t getting anywhere. “This is great,” you muttered, more to yourself than anyone else, “I didn’t even want to be here tonight, and now this…”

Heeseung didn’t let you dwell on it for long. “Come on,” he said, taking your hand in a way that was surprisingly gentle for all the tension you’d felt earlier. “Let’s get you cleaned up. There’s a bathroom down the hall.”

You didn’t argue, allowing him to guide you through the crowd, his hand on yours was warm, and even though you were frustrated, there was something comforting in the way he took charge.

When you reached the bathroom, he opened the door for you, ushering you inside with a soft “After you,” before making sure the door was securely closed behind you. The bathroom was quieter, and the air felt colder, but it was a welcome change from the chaos outside.

“Sit down, I’ll grab you some paper towels,” he said, motioning to the counter as he quickly moved toward the sink.

You sat down on the edge, trying to assess the damage, but the sticky feeling of the drink on your skin made it hard to focus. Heeseung was quick, his movements efficient as he grabbed a handful of paper towels and wet them under the faucet.

“You’re really going to make me clean up after you now?” you teased, trying to lighten the mood, though there was still a hint of irritation in your voice.

Heeseung didn’t reply right away. Instead, he stepped closer, his fingers brushing yours as he handed you the damp towels. His gaze softened as he looked at you. “I’m not making you do anything,” he said quietly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Just trying to help.”

You glanced at him, surprised by the gentle way he was treating the situation. You took the damp towels from his hands, still a little flustered by how close he was standing, how his gaze was focused on you with such intent.

“I didn’t ask for help,” you muttered, not in an angry way but more out of habit, the natural instinct to push away when things got too close, too personal.

He smiled, a knowing glint in his eyes. “I know. But that’s never stopped me before, has it?”

You opened your mouth to retort, but the words didn’t come. You couldn’t find the right response. Instead, you just looked at him, your heart doing that erratic thing it always did when he was this close.

Heeseung seemed to notice your hesitation, his smile softening. “You don’t have to push me away every time, you know,” he said gently, his voice almost too sincere.

You blinked, caught off guard. But before you could respond, he stepped back, giving you space, though his eyes never left yours. “I’ll wait outside,” he said quietly, his voice shifting back to its usual tone.“Take your time.”

You nodded, not trusting yourself to say anything else.

Heeseung gave you one last lingering look before stepping out of the bathroom, the door clicking softly behind him. As soon as he was gone, you exhaled a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, your heart still racing in your chest. You quickly went to work cleaning yourself up, though the mess on your clothes was much harder to fix.

Your thoughts were spinning. There was something about the way Heeseung was acting tonight, you couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but there was definitely something there, and it made your stomach twist in ways.

You ran a hand through your hair, trying to collect yourself. Why did he have this effect on you? You couldn’t figure it out, but the longer you stood there in the bathroom, the more confused you felt.

After a few more minutes, you gave up trying to fix the mess entirely. It was too late for that. Instead, you grabbed your things and stepped out of the bathroom. As soon as you entered the hallway, you spotted Heeseung standing by the door, his posture relaxed but his eyes immediately locking onto yours. “Well?” he asked, cocking his head slightly as he gave you a once-over. “Better?”

You couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah, much better,” you replied, trying to act nonchalant, but you could feel your heartbeat quicken again under his scrutiny.

He gave a small nod, his eyes never leaving yours. “Good. You look… good.” There was a hesitation before the words left his mouth, as though he wasn’t entirely sure how to phrase them.

You caught it, and for the first time tonight, you didn’t immediately push back. Instead, you simply looked at him, unsure of what was happening.

Wait.

You suddenly felt a strange sense of déjà vu wash over you. The way he looked at you, the way he was standing there waiting for you, felt familiar, like it was something you had experienced before.

Your mind wandered back to a memory from when you were younger, one that you hadn’t thought about in ages. You were just a child, maybe eight or nine, playing in the park with Heeseung not too far away. You’d been running around, laughing with the other kids when some clumsy little boy—one of your classmates—spilled his drink all over you. You’d been so upset, the sticky liquid ruining your favorite shirt, and you could feel tears threatening to spill.

But then, out of nowhere, there was Heeseung. He hadn’t hesitated for a second, not like some of the other kids who were too busy laughing or ignoring you. He’d been sitting nearby, playing with a figurine in the grass, but the moment he saw you, he dropped his toys without a second thought. Without saying a word, he had stood up, walked over to you, and gently grabbed your hand.

“Don’t worry,” he’d said with that soft, comforting tone only he had, “I’ll help you clean up.”

He had led you straight to the bathroom of the park’s little concession stand, where he carefully grabbed paper towels and dabbed at your shirt, his face set in a look of determination. You remembered feeling embarrassed, but somehow his presence made everything feel better.

And now, here you were, years later, with him standing in front of you again, doing the same thing—helping you, without hesitation. It made you smile softly to yourself, the memory tugging at your heart in ways you weren’t sure how to explain.

Heeseung, noticing the smile tugging at your lips, raised an eyebrow in playful curiosity. “What’s on your mind?”

You shook your head, trying to hide the faint blush creeping onto your cheeks. “Just… thinking about something,” you said, your voice quieter than usual.

He didn’t push, simply giving you a small smile, as though he understood without needing any further explanation.

Before you could think too much about it, Heeseung suddenly moved with a surprising confidence, his hand finding your waist and gently pulling you along with him. The sudden shift startled you for a moment, but the warmth of his hand against your side made your breath hitch slightly.

“You look like you need another drink,” he said, his voice low, but playful, as he guided you through the crowded hallway and toward the kitchen. He left you no time to protest, and you found yourself following him without much resistance. You’d barely processed the familiar feeling of his touch when you were already in the kitchen, the sound of music and chatter fading slightly as you both entered the quieter space. Heeseung let go of your waist once you were in the kitchen, but he still stood close.

You looked up at him, meeting his eyes as he turned to the counter, rifling through the bottles of alcohol, though his gaze never fully left you.

"Something strong this time?" he asked, his tone teasing but with a hint of genuine care, as though he wanted to make sure you were really okay. "Or do you want to take it easy?"

You were still caught off guard by the way he had pulled you along, the way he’d moved without hesitation, without waiting for permission.

"Maybe just something light," you replied, trying to play it cool, even though he was making it difficult to focus on anything else.

Heeseung worked quickly, his movements smooth as he reached for the bottle, his back was turned to you. But you couldn’t stop watching him—how his muscles shifted under the fabric of his shirt, how good he looked.

Heeseung eventually finished the drink and handed it to you, his fingers brushing against yours again as you took the glass. For a second, you both stood there, neither one of you saying anything. It wasn’t awkward, but it wasn’t entirely comfortable either. It was that kind of silence where it felt like something was about to happen, but neither of you were sure what.

“So, what now?” you asked, trying to break the silence, but you could feel your heart pounding in your chest as you spoke.

Heeseung took a step closer to you, his eyes never leaving yours. "Now," he said, "we get back to enjoying the night."

You swallowed, suddenly aware of how close he was. "Right," you said, your voice a little shakier than you intended, but you quickly recovered, giving him a small smile. "Let’s see if I can actually make it through the night without getting drenched in anything else."

Heeseung’s lips curled into a grin, and he chuckled softly. "I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen again," he said, his tone playful but with an undertone of sincerity. He reached out and gently took your hand, his fingers brushing against yours.

You let him lead you back into the party, the music louder now, the crowd thicker. Heeseung didn’t let go of your hand, and you found yourself walking alongside him through the house, feeling uncertain.

✰ ✰ ✰

Somewhere during the night, you had lost sight of Heeseung. He had been dragged away by his friends, caught up in the crowd, and never returned after that. At first, it felt like a strange absence, the lingering sense of him still there even if he wasn't. But after a while, you pushed it aside, deciding it was fine.

You found yourself moving through the party, chatting with friends, laughing at jokes, and enjoying yourself. And as the night went on, you slipped into the comfort of familiar faces, people you could talk to normally. You were glad for the chance to just have fun, to forget for a moment the heat that always seemed to follow whenever Heeseung was around. You were fine without him, right?

You decided to step outside for a breath of fresh air. The noise and chaos inside had started to make you feel lightheaded, and the stuffy heat of the house wasn’t helping. A little solitude would do you good, you thought.

The cool air hit your skin as you stepped out into the backyard, a quiet escape from the party. You leaned against the outer wall, looking up at the night sky. The stars twinkled faintly above, and for a moment, you let the silence settle around you. It was peaceful, the kind of calm you needed after the madness inside. You closed your eyes for a moment, feeling the chill of the night on your skin, and took a deep breath.

What you didn’t know was that someone was watching you from the shadows, standing just far enough away not to be seen. The shape of a figure, leaning against the corner of the house, observing you with quiet intensity.

The moment stretched on, the backyard still and quiet, until you felt a presence shift behind you. A movement you couldn’t quite place, and before you could turn around to see who it was, you felt the brush of someone’s body so close to yours that it made you freeze.

You slowly turned your head, your breath catching in your throat, and found yourself face to face with Heeseung. His lips were mere inches from your ear as he leaned in, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him. But something was off.

His usually sharp gaze was a little hazy, his eyes unfocused as he smiled at you—though it didn’t reach the intensity of his usual teasing grin. He looked almost… detached. Out of it.

And then the smell hit you—a sharp, pungent scent of weed mixed with the alcohol. It hit you like a wave, and you realized just how much he'd been indulging tonight.

"Heeseung?" you murmured, taking a step back instinctively, your heart picking up speed as you watched him sway slightly, his breath coming out slower than usual.

He seemed to snap out of his daze for a moment, his eyes clearing slightly as he blinked at you. "Hmm?" His voice was low, almost lazy, and there was a softness to it that you weren’t used to hearing.

You studied him for a moment, his breath still tinged with the unmistakable haze of the night’s indulgence. He wasn't himself—at least not the playful Heeseung you knew. "Are you okay?" you asked cautiously, unsure how to navigate this new version of him standing so close.

He seemed to hesitate for a moment before a slow, almost dreamy smile curled up on his lips. "Yeah, just needed a break too. The noise gets... loud. You know how it is."

He swayed again, his hand coming up to rest on the wall near you, his face inches from yours.

You stood still, your heart racing as you took in the unexpected sight of him like this. “Hey,” you said softly, your voice steadier than you felt. “Maybe you should head back inside.”

He chuckled softly, but it lacked its usual spark. Instead, it was drawn out and almost tired. “Nah,” he muttered, his breath warm against your skin. “I’m fine... just needed a minute.” His fingers brushed your arm lightly as if trying to keep himself steady.

He didn’t back away, though, and neither did you.

You were unsure what to say next, unsure of your next move. "You’re making this... hard," you finally whispered, uncertain whether you were talking about the situation or him.

Heeseung smiled, but this time it was slow, almost seductive, like he was savoring the moment. “Maybe I like it that way,” he murmured, his voice almost a growl. He leaned just a little closer, his breath mingling with yours.

Despite everything, despite all the confusion, you couldn’t stop the way your heart pounded. Heeseung had always been a game you couldn’t quite figure out, but right now, you were starting to wonder if maybe it was a game you didn’t want to win.

As he leaned in further, you had to make a decision: pull away, or let yourself fall into whatever it was that had been brewing between the two of you.

Before you could even make a decision, he made the decision for you. His lips parted, and he murmured a low, breathy compliment against your ear, his voice sending a shiver down your spine. “You look so beautiful baby,” he said, and there was a sincerity in his tone that cut through the haze. But before you could respond, his hand shot up to grip the side of your neck, his thumb pressing lightly against your skin, holding you in place. The other hand moved to your waist, pulling you flush against him.

Then, without warning, he kissed you. Hard. Hungry. His lips crashing against yours as if you were the air he needed to breathe, like this moment was the only thing that mattered.

You gasped into the kiss, caught off guard by the intensity of it. Heeseung’s mouth was possessive, eager, like he couldn’t get enough of you. He kissed you with a desperation that sent a rush of heat straight to your body, his hands pulling you closer, the pressure of his grip firm. It felt like everything had exploded in that moment, every feeling you’d been pushing away suddenly pouring out in a single, stolen kiss.

Your heart hammered in your chest, and even though every part of you knew this wasn’t how you expected things to go, you couldn’t bring yourself to stop it. The way he kissed you—like you were the last thing he’d ever touch—was overwhelming, and for the first time, you let yourself surrender to it.

His lips were intoxicating, and as he pulled you closer, you could feel the intensity in every movement, every press of his body against yours. The kiss deepened, more frantic now, as if neither of you could get enough. The feeling of him—so desperate, so needy—was something you never expected from Heeseung, and yet it was exactly what you found yourself craving.

You tried to stay grounded, to remind yourself of who he was, of all the walls you’d carefully built between you, but with each second, they seemed to crumble. His hands moved to your back, pulling you in as his kiss grew more fevered, his breathing erratic as he let out soft groans against your lips.

You couldn’t help but respond, your own hands rising to clutch at his shirt, your fingers digging into the fabric as if to keep him anchored to you, like the very act of touching him would stop this moment from slipping away. Heeseung’s body was solid against yours, and despite the confusion that still buzzed in the back of your mind, you couldn’t deny how badly you wanted this—wanted him.

His breath hitched as you pulled him even closer, you could feel the way his body seemed to tremble slightly as he held you in his arms, groaning lowly, the sound vibrating against your lips as he used one arm to brace himself against the wall, the other pulling you even closer, if that was even possible. His lips were desperate, claiming, his breathing heavy as it mixed with yours.

Your hands moved without thought, one gripping the back of his shirt, the other winding into his hair, tugging him even closer. He let out another low groan, the sound so needy it sent a shiver down your spine. Heeseung’s hand at your waist tightened, as if he was trying to merge your bodies into one.

Every part of you seemed to melt under his touch, all that mattered in that moment was the way he felt against you, the way his lips moved with yours, the way his hands seemed to be exploring every inch of your body. His lips moved with desperation, and each breathless kiss made it harder to remember why you had held back for so long.

But then, just as the kiss deepened again, your mind caught up with you. You could feel the weight of it—the gravity of what was happening. The familiar warning signs, the confusion, the uncertainty, all came rushing back to the surface.

You hesitated for a moment, your hands gripping his hair tightly, your chest rising and falling in quick breaths, trying to regain some semblance of control. Heeseung, sensing the shift, finally pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, both of you panting softly.

“Are you okay?” he whispered, his voice raspy and gentle, as if checking to see if you were still with him in that moment.

You pulled back slightly, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you tried to gather your thoughts, but your mind was still clouded by the rush of the moment. "We... we shouldn't be doing this," you murmured, your voice shaky, feeling the weight of the situation. "You're drunk, Heeseung. This isn't you."

Heeseung blinked slowly, his eyes still heavy with that lazy, almost dazed look as he played with the strands of your hair, his fingers brushing gently against your scalp. He tilted his head slightly, giving you that smile—the one that always made your heart flutter, even in the most confusing of times.

He leaned in just a little closer, his breath warm against your cheek, and he spoke softly, his voice sincere "Even if I wasn't drunk," he said, his lips curling into a slow smile, "I’d still do this." His eyes locked onto yours, the haze in them making his gaze feel even more intense. "Because you're you. A pretty girl I've wanted for years."

You felt your breath catch in your throat, the heat of his words curling around you like a blanket, and you couldn’t help the way your heart skipped a beat. His hand on your hair moved down to gently cup your face, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheek. "This... this is unforgettable. And I’d do it over and over again, no matter what state I’m in."

You were speechless for a moment, but you knew he was being honest, even if his current state made it hard to fully trust his intentions.

"But...," you started, still unsure, trying to hold onto your reason, "this isn't the right time, Heeseung. We both know that."

Heeseung’s lazy smile didn’t falter, though there was a longing in his eyes somthing you hadn't seen before. He slowly moved his thumb down, brushing lightly over your lips before leaning in again, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Maybe not the right time," he said, his lips nearly brushing against yours once more. "But you’ve always been worth the wait."

Heeseung hesitated for a moment, his hand still cradling your face as if silently asking for permission. Then, he leaned in, placing a soft, tentative peck on your lips. It was gentle and when you didn’t pull away, he did it again, this time lingering a little longer. Each kiss felt like a question, and with every unspoken answer, his confidence grew.

The next kiss wasn’t as restrained. It was deeper, needier, as though the small taste he’d gotten wasn’t enough. His lips moved against yours with increasing urgency, quickly unraveling into something messier. His hand on your waist tightened, pulling you flush against him, while his other hand moved to cradle the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair.

The kisses turned sloppy, his control slipping with every passing second. His breath came heavier, mingling with yours as he tilted his head, deepening the kiss. He groaned softly against your lips, the sound vibrating through you, making your knees feel weak.

You couldn’t help but respond, your hands moving to grip his shoulders, holding onto him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded.

Heeseung broke away just briefly, as he gasped for air, his lips swollen and glistening. “You don’t know,” he murmured, his voice rough and filled with desperation. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this.” Before you could respond, he captured your lips again, his kisses feverish, like he was making up for all the time he’d spent waiting. His body pressed you more firmly against the wall, as he completely lost himself in the moment, his body fitting against yours like a puzzle piece.

You tried to catch your breath, your head spinning from it all, but Heeseung wasn’t giving you a chance to think. His lips trailed down from yours, brushing along your jaw and down to your neck, where he placed hot, open-mouthed kisses that sent a shiver through your entire body. “Heeseung,” you managed to whisper, your voice shaky. You weren’t sure what you were trying to say—stop or don’t stop.

“Say my name again,” he murmured against your neck, his voice low and raspy. He placed another kiss just below your ear, his breath hot and tantalizing. “I love the way it sounds coming from you.”

You didn’t answer because the way he was looking at you left you speechless. His lips were swollen from the kisses, his hair slightly messy, and there was something in his gaze that you hadn’t seen before. “Heeseung,” you whispered again, softer this time, your hand reaching up to touch his face. The moment your fingers brushed his cheek, he leaned into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed for a second. When they opened again, there was a softness there that made your heart ache.

Heeseung’s lips found yours again, capturing them in a kiss so deep, so consuming, that it left you breathless. You could feel the way his fingers trembled slightly as they slid up your sides. One hand settled on the small of your back, keeping you firmly pressed against him, while the other moved to cradle your jaw, tilting your head just enough.

He groaned low in his throat, a sound that sent a shiver down your spine as his lips parted, inviting you to deepen the kiss. The way his tongue brushed against yours was dizzying, leaving your knees weak and your mind spinning. You responded instinctively, your hands moving up to tangle in his hair, pulling him even closer.

Heeseung’s breathing was heavy, uneven, as if he couldn’t catch his breath but didn’t want to stop. His fingers slipped beneath the hem of your shirt, brushing against your skin in a way that made your stomach flutter. It felt like he was memorizing the feel of you, the taste of you, the way you fit perfectly against him.

Heeseung’s lips suddenly left yours, trailing a line of hot, open-mouthed kisses down your jaw and onto your neck. “You don’t even know,” he murmured, his words slurred slightly but full of emotion. “How long I’ve wanted this… wanted you. God, you’re all I ever think about.” His lips grazed your collarbone, grounding you as he leaned his full weight into you, effectively caging you against the wall.

His rambling continued, each word pouring out like a confession. “I dream about you… about us. It’s always you. No one else even comes close, y’know that? The way you smile, the way you look at me… even when you’re mad at me, I can’t get you out of my head.”

His lips moved lower, pressing kisses along your chest as he spoke, his voice husky and raw. “You’re so beautiful… so perfect. And now you’re here, and I don’t want to let go.”

His words were pure need and desperation, and the way he shielded you with his body only amplified the intensity of the moment. “Tell me you feel it too,” he breathed, his voice breaking slightly. “Tell me I’m not crazy for wanting you this much.”

You were overwhelmed, caught between his touch and his words. Heeseung wasn’t holding back, and as much as you wanted to respond, the only thing you could manage was a shaky exhale, your hands clutching at his shirt to keep yourself steady.

Your voice wavered as you found the courage to speak, breaking through the haze of emotions swirling around you both. “But what about all the other girls, Heeseung?” you asked, your tone softer than you expected. “All the girls you’ve been with? The ones who’ve followed you around, who’ve—” You hesitated, the words getting caught in your throat.

Heeseung froze for a moment, his lips hovering against the curve of your neck, his breathing uneven. His answer was strained. “No one’s like you,” he said, his tone almost pleading. “No one even comes close.”

His hand moved up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek. “You think any of them matter?” he asked, his voice thick with emotion. “All those girls… they were never you. Never even close to being you. I don’t care about them. I’ve never cared about anyone the way I care about you.”

His lips found your collarbone again, lingering there as he continued. “I’ve yearned for you—God, for so long. You don’t even know what you do to me.” His hand slid down to your hips, gripping you as if to anchor himself. “Every time I see you, it’s like nothing else exists. No one else exists.”

He pulled back slightly, his dark, half-lidded eyes locking onto yours. “I’ll drop them all—every single one. I don’t need anyone else, never did. I just want you.”

Heeseung, ever the gentleman suddenly took you by the hand and led you back inside, away from the prying eyes of the partygoers. With a gentle yet firm grip, he guided you through the bustling crowd, his eyes never leaving yours, as he led your way towards an unoccupied bedroom. Once inside the bedroom, Heeseung closed the door behind you, locking out the world and creating a private haven for the two of you, as he leaned in and captured your lips in a desperate kiss.

You responded to his kiss with equal fervor, your hands finding their way to his broad shoulders, pulling him closer, while Heeseung's hands roamed freely, caressing your back.

Heeseung only pulled back slightly, his chest heaving with heavy breaths before he began to unbutton his shirt, revealing a well-defined torso.

Well this would be a fun night.

It was a fun night... but what ruined it was the fact that Heeseung suddenly seemed to forget who you were. The next few days at school were a complete shift. He avoided you. He didn’t look at you, didn’t talk to you, didn’t even so much as throw a teasing grin your way in the hallways.

No, instead, he went back to his old habits. He laughed and flirted with other girls, his charm as effortless as ever, like nothing had changed. Like you didn’t exist. At. All.

It was maddening.

But the worst part? Watching him smile at those girls with the same ease he once reserved for you, as if you hadn’t been pressed against that wall, that bed, tangled up in his words and his touch. It left a bitter taste in your mouth.

You didn’t know what happened. You wracked your brain for answers, trying to piece together where it all went wrong. But deep down, you should have known. Of course, you should have known.

Heeseung wasn’t the type to stay tethered. He wasn’t the type to settle. He was the type to chase, to get what he wanted, and then move on. And now that he’d tempted you, now that he’d had a taste of your attention, it seemed he’d gone on to the next woman.

Why would you be any different?

The thought made your stomach twist uncomfortably. You weren’t supposed to care. You’d told yourself you wouldn’t let someone like him get to you. But seeing him act as if nothing had happened—as if you were just another moment in his life—stung more than you wanted to admit.

And the worst part? You couldn’t stop thinking about the way he looked at you that night, the way he touched you, the way his words had seemed so genuine. Had it all been a lie? Or had he just changed his mind?

Either way, you weren’t about to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much it bothered you. If he wanted to act like you didn’t exist, you’d do the same. Or at least, you’d try.

And you did try. You really did. Ignoring Heeseung, pretending he was just another face in the crowd—it seemed like the only way to keep yourself sane. And for a while, it felt like it might work. You told yourself you could move on, that you could forget about the way his touch had felt, the way his voice had sounded when he whispered your name.

Yeah, no. You couldn’t.

Not at all.

You realized that the moment you walked by the bleachers and saw a girl perched comfortably on Heeseung’s lap during basketball practice. She laughed at something he said, her hand resting casually on his shoulder. Your stomach churned.

Nope. Moving on wasn’t happening.

And then in the hallways, you would see him leaning against the wall, his signature grin plastered across his face as he shamelessly flirted with other girls. Their giggles echoed in the corridor, and Heeseung would tilt his head, his eyes sparkling like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Yeah, moving on definitely wasn’t in the cards.

Each time you saw him acting like you were meaningless, like the night you’d shared was nothing more than a passing moment, it cut deeper than you wanted to admit.

And yet, despite all of it, despite the ache in your chest and the frustration bubbling under your skin, you couldn’t bring yourself to confront him. What would you even say? That he’d hurt you? That he’d made you believe you were different, only to prove otherwise?

No. You wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. But pretending it didn’t matter? That was turning out to be harder than you ever imagined.

Okay, yeah, pretending it didn’t matter was much harder than you thought. Because now, standing in the doorway of your room, staring at a very intoxicated Heeseung, all of those feelings you were desperately trying to bury came rushing back.

His hair was messy like he’d run his hands through it a million times. His shirt was unbuttoned at the top, revealing the smooth skin of his collarbones, and his belt dangled loosely from his hands like he’d been too distracted—or too far gone—to put it back on properly. The faint smell of alcohol and nicotine wafted off him, making you wrinkle your nose.

This was not how you’d planned to spend your night. You were supposed to be studying, maybe finishing the next episode of that series you were hooked on. A calm night. But of course, Heeseung had to ruin that.

“Heeseung,” you said, crossing your arms and leaning against the doorframe, trying to keep your voice steady, “What are you doing here?”

He blinked at you, his eyes glassy but still managing to hold that familiar spark that made your heart do stupid flips. “I—uh...” He trailed off, his gaze flickering over you like he was trying to figure out what to say.

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “You don’t even know why you’re here, do you?”

“I know why I’m here,” he slurred, leaning heavily against the doorframe. “I just... I wanted to see you.”

You sighed, already feeling the headache forming. “Heeseung, you’re drunk. And not in your right mind. You should go home before you embarrass yourself even more.”

But instead of leaving, he gave you that boyish grin—the one that always made your resolve waver. “Can’t I stay here? Just for a bit?”

“No,” you replied firmly, but even as you said it, you knew it wouldn’t be that simple.

Heeseung’s expression softened, and his voice dropped, almost pleading. “Come on, don’t do this. I... I don’t want to be anywhere else right now.”

You hated how those words tugged at something deep inside you. Why did he always have to show up and mess with your head?

You found yourself hesitating, your hand still on the door, unable to slam it shut in his face, sighing, your hand gripping the edge of the door as you tried to keep your cool. "I can't do this right now, Heeseung," you said, your voice quieter than you intended. "I have too much going on. I'm stressed, and I really don't have the energy for this."

He didn’t back off. Instead, he leaned closer, his breath warm against your skin, sending an involuntary shiver down your spine. His voice was low and teasing, with that same lazy confidence he always seemed to have. "If you're stressed, I can help with that," he murmured. "Play with me a little, and I promise, you'll forget all about it."

You blinked at him, caught off guard by his audacity. “Heeseung—”

“I’m serious,” he interrupted, a small, mischievous smirk playing on his lips. His eyes, hazy but still focused on you, sparkled with that familiar glint that always left you second-guessing yourself. “I’m really good at relieving stress. Just give me a chance.”

Your mouth opened to respond, but no words came out. The sheer gall of him left you momentarily speechless.

Finally, you shook your head, trying to snap yourself out of the moment. "Heeseung, you're drunk. You should just go home and sleep this off before you say something else ridiculous."

He tilted his head, feigning thoughtfulness. “Drunk or not, I’m still right,” he said, his grin widening as he leaned a fraction closer. “But if you really don’t want me here…” He gestured vaguely toward the hallway, though he made no actual move to leave.

You closed your eyes for a brief moment, trying to summon every ounce of patience you had left. “Heeseung,” you said firmly, opening your eyes and meeting his gaze. “I need you to take this seriously. Either go home, or...”

“Or?” he asked, his voice soft but teasing, daring you to finish the sentence.

Your frustration bubbled over as you only glared at him, the sight of his disheveled figure only fueling your anger. "No! Do you have any idea how mad I am at you right now?" you snapped, crossing your arms. "You ignored me for days, Heeseung. Days! You acted like I didn’t exist, like nothing happened, and now you just show up at my door like—like this?"

Heeseung blinked, the lazy smirk faltering slightly, but he didn’t say anything. That only made you angrier. "Do you even know how humiliating it’s been? Watching you flirt with other girls, pretending like what we had meant nothing? And now, you think you can just waltz in here, drunk and out of your mind and what—fix everything with a grin and some smooth words? You don’t get to do that, Heeseung. You don’t get to mess with my head and—"

Before you could finish, Heeseung surged forward, his hands grabbing your cheeks as he pulled you close. His lips crashed against yours with a force that took your breath away, silencing your ramble in an instant.

Your mind went blank, your words evaporating as his warmth enveloped you. His kiss was desperate, almost as if he was trying to convey everything he couldn’t say out loud. One of his hands slid to the back of your neck, holding you in place, while the other stayed firm on your cheek.

You froze, your anger momentarily eclipsed by the intensity of his actions. But then, your hands instinctively pushed against his chest, breaking the kiss as you stepped back, breathless and wide-eyed. “Heeseung, what the hell?” you whispered, your voice shaking, unsure if it was from lingering anger or the way your heart raced in your chest.

“I didn’t know what else to do,” he admitted quietly, his voice hoarse. “You were yelling at me, and I just… I missed you. I couldn’t stay away.”

You stared at him, torn between wanting to scream at him and wanting to pull him back in. “You don’t get to do that,” you said, your voice trembling. “You don’t get to kiss me like that and think it’ll fix everything.”

“I don’t think it fixes anything,” he said softly, his gaze dropping to the floor.

Before you could respond, he took a small step closer, his forehead gently resting against your shoulder. His breath was warm against your neck as he hummed softly, the sound low and almost comforting. He nuzzled against your skin, his movements slow and unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world.

“Heeseung,” you said, your voice strained as you placed your hands on his shoulders, trying to push him away. But he didn’t budge, his larger frame pressing closer as his lips ghosted over the curve of your neck.

“I missed this,” he murmured, the words vibrating against your skin. He pressed a soft, lingering kiss just below your ear, his hand curling gently around your waist to hold you steady.

You tried to push again, but it was weak, half-hearted, especially as his lips found a particularly sensitive spot, sending a shiver down your spine. “Stop it, Heeseung,” you said, but your voice lacked conviction, and he clearly noticed.

He chuckled softly, the sound deep and a little smug. “You’re telling me to stop,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your neck, “but you’re not really trying, are you?”

Your heart raced, torn between the anger still simmering in your chest and the way his touch was making your knees feel like jelly. “Heeseung, this isn’t fair,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his expression softer now. “You’re right. It’s not fair. But I don’t know how else to tell you that I’m sorry. That I’ve been a complete idiot. That I can’t stop thinking about you, no matter how hard I try.”

His words caught you off guard, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. But before you could sort through your emotions, he leaned in again, his lips brushing against your neck once more, and you felt yourself faltering.

Heeseung’s movements were subtle at first, his arm tightening slightly around your waist as he guided you further into the house. You didn’t even realize he’d kicked the door closed until you heard the faint click of it shutting.

Your distraction gave him the advantage, and before you could voice even the smallest protest, he was steering you toward the couch. His hands were steady, firm, but not forceful, leaving you confused and torn between stopping him and giving in to the pull he had on you.

“Heeseung—” you started, but the words barely escaped your lips before his mouth was on yours again, silencing you with a kiss that was anything but gentle. His lips moved hungrily against yours, leaving no room for argument, and when you tried to push back against his chest, your resolve faltered as he moaned softly into the kiss. The sound sent a shiver down your spine, and to your dismay, a small whine slipped out in response.

His lips curved against yours as if he could sense your weakening resolve, his hands started guiding you to lay down on the couch. The weight of his body hovered close, not trapping you but leaving you with the realization that Heeseung wasn’t planning on leaving anytime soon.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured against your lips, “if you really want me to, I will.” But the way he looked at you, his dark eyes full of yearning and desperation, made it clear he didn’t want you to say the words.

When you didn’t respond, Heeseung’s lips curled into a slow, almost knowing smile. “That’s what I thought,” he murmured, his voice tinged with satisfaction. He leaned down, brushing his nose against yours before capturing your lips once more.

This kiss was different—softer at first, unhurried but still filled with that undeniable hunger. His weight shifted slightly, his chest pressing against yours while his hand slid from your cheek to your waist, steadying you. He kissed you like he had all the time in the world, as though he wanted to memorize every detail, every sound you made, and every way you responded to him.

You couldn’t stop yourself from melting into him, Heeseung’s lips left yours only briefly, trailing kisses along your jaw, his warm breath ghosting over your skin as he murmured, “You don’t know what you do to me.”

Your pulse quickened, your heart hammering in your chest. “Heeseung… please,” you managed to whisper, though your voice trembled, making it come out weaker than you’d intended.

But he only shook his head softly, his lips brushing against your cheek as he murmured, “Shh… Don’t.” His voice was low and soothing, almost pleading, as though he couldn’t bear to hear you say anything that might break the moment between you. “Just… stay with me. Don’t push me away right now,” he whispered.

Before you could respond, his lips found yours again, this time slower, softer, as if he was savoring the moment.

And you couldn’t help but let yourself fall deeper into the kiss.

✰ ✰ ✰

Yeah, you were getting pretty tired now.

After waking up the next morning to an empty bed, Heeseung having dipped sometime before you even stirred, you couldn’t say you were surprised. Disappointed? Sure. Hurt? Maybe. But surprised? Not in the slightest.

The hollow feeling lingered as you dragged yourself to school, telling yourself to just push through the day like nothing had happened. It was easier said than done when the moment you stepped into the halls, you spotted Heeseung leaning casually against his locker, laughing at something one of his friends said, acting like he didn’t have a care in the world.

And of course, he acted like last night didn’t happen. Not a glance in your direction, not a nod of acknowledgment—nothing. It was as if you didn’t exist, as if you hadn’t shared anything at all.

You bit down the frustration bubbling in your chest, refusing to let it show. You’d told yourself you wouldn’t let him get to you, that you’d play it cool, but damn, it was harder than you thought. Watching him joke around, watching him flirt effortlessly with anyone but you—it stung more than you wanted to admit.

You sighed, gripping the straps of your bag a little tighter as you walked past him, pretending you didn’t notice him either.

It got to the point where your friends couldn’t ignore it anymore.

“What’s going on with you and Heeseung?” one of them asked, their tone laced with curiosity and concern. “He was all over you, and now he’s... not. Did something happen?”

You hesitated, debating whether to say anything, but their expectant gazes made it clear they weren’t letting it go. So, with a deep breath, you told them everything.

Their reactions were immediate.

“He did what?” one of your friends exclaimed, her eyes wide with disbelief.

“Are you serious? He was with you and then went back to ignoring you? Twice?!” another chimed in, her voice rising in anger.

They were shocked at first, then angry—angrier than you were, which was both comforting and a little overwhelming.

“You need to stop answering his calls,” one of them said firmly, leaning closer. “He’s just using you as a backup plan when he’s drunk and lonely.”

Another nodded, her expression equally resolute. “Don’t let him in, no matter how much he begs. If you let him in, you’re just setting yourself up to kick him out later. And trust me, that’s worse.”

“Exactly,” a third added, crossing her arms. “And don’t even think about being his friend. Friends don’t wake up in each other’s beds after nights like that.”

The last comment stung more than you cared to admit, but they weren’t done.

“If you’re under him, you’re never getting over him,” another said bluntly, her words hitting harder than you’d expected. “And you deserve better than this game he’s playing with you.”

You sat there, their words circling in your head like a storm. Deep down, you knew they were right. You knew you couldn’t keep letting Heeseung in only to get hurt every time he left. But knowing it and doing something about it were two very different things.

One of your friends sighed, shaking her head. “You know what this sounds like, right? A situationship. That’s what this is turning into.”

The others nodded in agreement.

“That’s exactly what it is,” another chimed in, crossing her arms. “He keeps you close enough to make you think you matter, but far enough to avoid any real accountability. Classic situationship behavior.”

You groaned, leaning back against the bench. “I don’t even know if it’s that deep. He probably doesn’t think about me at all.”

“Well…” one of them started, glancing over your shoulder, her expression shifting into amusement and curiosity.

“What?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at her.

She hesitated for a moment before blurting it out. “Heeseung’s staring.”

Your head snapped around so fast you almost gave yourself whiplash. And sure enough, there he was, standing at the edge of the basketball court, holding a ball loosely in one hand. He wasn’t laughing with his teammates or focused on the game. No, his eyes were locked directly on your group—or more specifically, on you.

Your friends followed your gaze, and a chorus of whispers erupted.

“Oh my god, he really is.”

“What is he doing just standing there?”

“Is it just me, or does he look like he’s debating something?”

One of them nudged you. “Okay, spill. What’s going on in his head? Did you say something to him recently? Text him?”

You shook your head quickly, still staring at Heeseung. “No, I haven’t even looked at him, let alone talked to him.”

“Then why is he staring like that?”

“I don’t know!” you said, your voice low but frantic.

Another friend tilted her head, watching him closely. “It’s not just a glance, either. He’s full-on staring. Like he’s trying to figure out if he should come over here or something.”

The thought made your stomach flip, cause there was something more intense in the way he looked at you—like he was fighting some internal battle.

“Well, whatever’s going on,” one of your friends whispered, “he’s definitely not over you.”

You turned back to your friends, trying to ignore the heat rising to your cheeks. “You guys are making this into something it’s not.”

One of them snorted. “Honey, he’s the one making it into something. Look at him.”

Against your better judgment, you glanced back at Heeseung, and your breath hitched when your eyes met his again. He didn’t look away. If anything, his gaze only grew more focused, like he wanted to make sure you knew he was looking.

You quickly turned back to your friends, forcing a tight smile. “Let’s go,” you said, grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder.

They exchanged knowing glances but didn’t argue. One of them muttered, “Good idea,” as the group began gathering their things.

As you walked away from the bench, you resisted the urge to glance back at Heeseung. Your friends stayed close, their chatter filling the air as they tried to distract you, but it was hard to shake the feeling of his eyes still on you.

When you reached the school gates, one of them broke the silence. “So… are we just going to ignore the fact that he was practically burning a hole in your back with that stare?”

“Yes,” you said firmly, your voice sharper than you intended. “We’re ignoring it.”

Another friend chuckled softly. “Okay, okay. But just so you know, he’s not ignoring you.”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair as you stepped onto the sidewalk. “Well, he’s doing a great job of pretending otherwise most of the time.”

“That’s the thing,” someone said thoughtfully. “Guys like him—they act like they don’t care, but the moment they think they’re losing you? They start doing stuff like this.”

You didn’t reply, tightening your grip on your bag as the group walked down the street. You didn’t want to talk about Heeseung anymore, didn’t want to think about the way he looked at you.

✰ ✰ ✰

It was a vicious cycle, one you hated but couldn’t seem to break. Each time you told yourself it would be the last, that you’d stop answering the door, that you wouldn’t let him in again. And yet, every time the night fell and he showed up—messy hair, glassy eyes, and a crooked smile—you found yourself giving in, letting him cross the threshold into your apartment.

Heeseung had this way of making you feel like you were the center of his world. His hands were always warm, his voice low and sweet, whispering things that made your chest ache in ways you couldn’t describe.

“Why do you do this to me?” you’d asked one night, your voice breaking as you stared up at him, your fingers tangled in his hair.

He’d only smiled, brushing his thumb against your cheek as if he didn’t have an answer, or maybe because he didn’t want to give you one. “Because I can’t stay away from you,” he’d said, his voice so soft you almost didn’t catch it.

But then morning would come, and he would vanish like a dream you couldn’t quite remember, leaving behind an empty space in your bed and a heavier one in your chest. And at school, it was always the same. His eyes would find you across the cafeteria or the hallway, and for a moment, it would feel like everything stopped. But he wouldn’t come over, wouldn’t talk to you. He’d just look.

Your friends noticed it, too, how he’d stare at you as if you were the only thing in the room, even when there were other girls around him, laughing at his jokes and vying for his attention.

“You’re letting him ruin you,” one of them said one afternoon, her voice tinged with frustration.

“I know,” you admitted, your voice hollow. “But it’s not like I can just stop.”

You wanted to hate him, for the way he seemed to pull you in only to push you away, for the way he made you feel like you were everything one second and nothing the next.

But you couldn’t. Because even though you knew it was toxic, even though you knew it was breaking you bit by bit, there was a part of you that couldn’t let go.

Because in those nights, when he looked at you like that, when he touched you like he’d fall apart if he didn’t, you felt wanted. Needed. And no matter how much it hurt afterward, you kept holding onto it, hoping that one day, he’d stop running.

It wasn’t until his friend Jake—of all people—came to talk to you that you started piecing things together. You’d been so caught up in the back-and-forth, the way Heeseung would tease you one moment and ignore you the next, that you never truly understood why. But now, hearing it from Jake, it was like a lightbulb went off in your mind.

Heeseung, despite all the other girls he flirted with, never gave them the attention he gave you. He never kissed them, never looked at them the way he looked at you.

And Jake had confirmed it. Heeseung was in love with you. Hopelessly in love, but he didn’t even know it himself. That’s why he acted the way he did. He didn’t know how to handle it, how to deal with it.

Jake had told you Heeseung was scared. He’d never felt this way about anyone before, and it terrified him. So, he’d masked it all with arrogance, with distance. But when he was drunk, then the walls came down, his real feelings would surface. That’s why he’d always show up at your door when he was intoxicated—because, in those moments, he couldn’t hide from what he truly felt for you.

You wanted to be mad at him for hiding behind that facade, for playing with your feelings. But now you understood. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about you; it was that he was so afraid of what this all meant, of what it would do to him, to both of you, that he couldn’t face it. So, he ran, and he used everything he could to keep you at arm’s length, to protect himself from being honest with you.

But knowing the truth didn’t make it hurt less. You still found yourself torn between wanting to be there for him, to help him figure it out, and wanting to protect yourself from getting hurt even more. Because at the end of the day, you were both so damn lost in this mess.

“Look, I know you’re confused. But you need to understand, Heeseung’s been a mess about this. He’s never felt anything like it before. And trust me, he doesn’t know how to handle it.”

You shook your head, trying to process everything Jake was saying. It didn’t seem to make sense. Why hadn’t he just told you? “But why does he act like he doesn’t care? Why ignore me at school like I’m nothing, and then do… all that when he’s with me?”

Jake shifted uncomfortably, knowing the weight of your words. “It’s easier for him to push you away than admit it to himself. He’s scared. He doesn’t get why he’s so into you. So he avoids it.”

You stared at him, your heart racing as everything started to fall into place. But you still had questions, things you didn’t understand. “But why doesn’t he just… talk to me? Be honest?”

Jake shrugged, his eyes softening. “He doesn’t know how to navigate this. It’s easier for him to hide behind his stupid behavior than face the truth.”

You were silent for a long moment, processing all of the information you had gotten.

When you didn`t answer, Jake let out a resigned sigh, his shoulder slumping slightly before he gave you a supportive pat on the shoulder. "You’ve got to make him talk," he said quietly, his voice filled with sympathy. "You’re the only one who can get him to open up. Just… don’t wait forever, okay?"

He gave you one last look before walking off, leaving you standing there with your heart racing in your chest, all of your emotions tangled up in knots.

Your footsteps were heavy as you walked away from the scene, feeling the weight of every question that lingered in your mind. Why did you have to talk to Heeseung? You weren’t his therapist, nor his emotional support. Wasn’t he man enough to talk to you? You clenched your fists, frustration building in your chest.

What if Jake was wrong? What if he was just trying to paint a picture that didn’t exist, feeding you some narrative to make you feel better about the mess you were in? What if you were making a fool of yourself? The thoughts spiraled, doubt flooding your mind. Every interaction with Heeseung now felt like a game you didn’t know how to play, where the rules were constantly changing and you were left scrambling to catch up.

What if you were just a sidepiece? The thought stung more than you wanted to admit, and the image of Heeseung laughing with other girls earlier flashed in your mind. He was always so charming, so easy with them, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe you were just another stop on his list, a temporary distraction, something to pass the time until someone else caught his eye.

You sighed deeply, rubbing your forehead as you made your way to your car. You wanted to be done with this—done with the confusion, the uncertainty, the constant emotional whiplash. But part of you knew it wasn’t that easy. Nothing with Heeseung ever was.

But maybe Jake was right. Maybe you could be the one to make him talk—to make him finally admit what was really going on in his head, what he was feeling. But was it worth it? Was risking your heart worth it?

You bit your lip, feeling a wave of frustration and sadness wash over you.

✰ ✰ ✰

Okay, to be fair, Heeseung had it coming. You repeated it in your mind like a mantra as you looked down at your phone, the screen lighting up with his constant calls and texts. Each one more desperate than the last, his words slurred, the grammar all over the place—clearly, he wasn’t in his right mind. The messages seemed to echo the chaos in your chest, but you refused to reply.

You stared at the phone, feeling a mix of frustration and something else—something deep and heavy that you couldn’t quite place. He had done this to himself, hadn’t he? He had made his choices, and now he had to deal with the consequences. The constant buzzing of your phone finally slowed, and you thought maybe he had given up. But then, the doorbell rang.

You froze, your stomach dropping. You crept cautiously to the door, standing there for a moment as the bell rang again and again, each chime making your heart race. The knocking started soon after, loud and urgent, but you stayed still, arms crossed, refusing to move.

You weren’t going to let him back in.

The knocking stopped suddenly, and for a moment, everything was silent. And then, through the door, you heard his voice.

“Please… please open the door…” His voice was shaky, desperate, as if he was on the verge of breaking. “I’m sorry. Please, I need you. I just… please don’t leave me like this.”

Your breath caught in your throat. This wasn’t something you were used to hearing from him. It was different.

"I need to see you... I can't stop thinking about you... Please, don't... don't shut me out, not now."

Your heart pounded in your chest as you cautiously unlocked the door, the sound of the latch clicking echoing in the silence. When the door creaked open, you were met with the sight of him sitting on the ground, his posture slumped, eyes staring at the bottle in his hand like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

As soon as he saw you, he scrambled to his feet, his movements frantic, as if he couldn't wait another second. Before you could even take a step back, his arms were around you, pulling you into an embrace that was far too tight to push him off.

You gasped in surprise, your hands instinctively pushing against his chest. "Heeseung, wait—" But your protest was quickly smothered as he held you tighter, pressing his face into the side of your neck.

“I can’t… I can’t stop thinking about you,” he mumbled, his words slurred and uneven, the alcohol clearly taking its toll. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry for everything. I didn’t mean to hurt you, I just…” His grip on you tightened, his hands shaking slightly. “Please, don’t hate me… I need you…” His voice faltered, and you could feel the tremor in his body as he clung to you like you were the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

You took a deep breath, trying to gather the words to say, but before you could form anything coherent, Heeseung’s lips were suddenly on yours. His kiss was urgent, a little sloppy, as though he was trying to drown out whatever feelings were swirling inside him. His hands tangled in your hair, pulling you closer, and you could feel the weight of his need against you.

"Stop," you whispered weakly, your hands pushing against his chest, but it did little to stop him. If anything, he just leaned in further, his lips moving with a frantic energy as he kissed you harder.

You pulled back for a moment, gasping for air, but Heeseung wasn’t letting go. His forehead rested against your neck as he breathed heavily, his lips brushing against your skin. “I need this,” he muttered, almost to himself, his voice muffled but laced with desperation. “I need you.”

You tried again, more forcefully this time, pushing him back slightly, but his grip on you tightened. “We need to talk,” you managed, your voice breaking, your hands trembling as you tried to create space between you two. “You can’t just keep doing this—coming to me when you’re drunk, acting like nothing happened—”

But Heeseung didn’t seem to hear you. His eyes fluttered closed as he kissed you again, this time a little more gently, though it still held that same desperate edge.

You couldn’t help but respond, even if you didn’t want to. Heeseung was like a drug, and you were already too far gone, as his kiss deepened and his hands roamed, you couldn’t ignore the voice in the back of your mind, reminding you that this wasn’t how things should be. You deserved more than this chaotic cycle, more than the confusion, the highs and lows.

But in that moment, you let him hold you, let him kiss you, because you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away. Not when he needed you like this, not when you still felt that pull, even though you knew it wasn’t healthy.

And when he finally pulled away, looking at you with those dark eyes full of longing, you were left breathless, conflicted, and unable to move.

✰ ✰ ✰

It was like a cruel game he played—one step forward, two steps back. After the night, when he’d clung to you, he’d returned to his old ways at school, completely shutting you out. It was as if the moment he left your apartment, the walls came back up, and he was back to pretending you didn’t exist.

You’d see him in the halls, laughing with his friends, flirting with other girls, completely ignoring you like everything that happened between you two meant nothing. It was maddening.

You tried to act like it didn’t bother you. You went through the motions, keeping your head down, focusing on your schoolwork, your friends, anything to distract yourself from the constant ache in your chest. But the more he ignored you, the more you realized just how much it hurt. And it hurt even more because you knew that he wasn’t like this because he didn’t care. He was like this because he was scared. Scared of what was between you, scared of how vulnerable it made him.

Heeseung was a complicated mess, a boy who wanted everything but feared the very thing that could make him feel whole. And you? You were stuck in this limbo, torn between wanting to confront him and just walking away before you got hurt even more.

It was exhausting.

One minute, he was the boy who couldn’t stop touching you, couldn’t stop kissing you, the one who made you feel like the only person in the room. The next minute, he was a stranger.

You were deep in thought, trying to make sense of the mess that was Heeseung, when you suddenly felt a presence beside you. Turning to your left, you saw a guy you barely knew—someone who kept to himself at school, never talking much. He was standing there, a nervous but hopeful look on his face, and before you could even react, he asked, “Hey, would you like to go out sometime? Maybe grab a coffee?”

You opened your mouth to decline, trying to find the right words that wouldn’t make him feel bad, but before you could say anything, an arm snaked around your waist, pulling you in close with surprising force.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you instinctively stiffened as you turned to see none other than Heeseung standing there. He leaned in just enough to block your view of the guy, his eyes focused on the nervous stranger.

Before you could protest or say anything, Heeseung’s voice cut through the tension, casual but firm. “She’s not interested,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

The quiet guy who had been asking you out now looked taken aback, stepping back a bit, unsure how to respond.

You couldn’t believe what was happening. Heeseung had just walked up and made it clear to someone else that you weren’t available. You wanted to say something, to protest, but you couldn’t find the words. It felt as if everything had suddenly flipped upside down.

“I—uh…” The guy stammered, clearly intimidated by Heeseung's presence. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—” He turned quickly and walked off, leaving the two of you standing there in silence.

You snapped back from the suprise and pulled away from Heeseung’s grip, your mind spinning. “What the hell, Heeseung?” you managed, your voice laced with frustration.

He didn’t say anything at first. His gaze flickered to where the guy had disappeared, and then back to you.

You stared at him, waiting for an explanation, but instead, Heeseung just stood there, his expression unreadable.

"What’s your problem, Heeseung?" you demanded, stepping back. You couldn’t contain the anger that was rising in your chest. "Why are you acting like this?"

He ran a hand through his messy hair, his eyes avoiding yours for a second. He let out a frustrated sigh before meeting your gaze. “I don’t know,” he said quietly, the words almost sounding like a confession. “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”

Your heart sank a little, but it didn’t stop the fire that was still burning inside you. You’d had enough of this back-and-forth.

"Then figure it out," you snapped, pushing him off. "I’m not going to keep doing this, Heeseung. Get your shit together."

He didn’t say anything more, but the look in his eyes—so conflicted, so full of uncertainty—said everything.

You turned on your heel, walking away before he or you could say anything. You didn’t know if you were making the right decision, but you couldn’t keep letting him drag you around like this.

It was later that night, after you’d gotten a bit of distance and time to cool down, when you heard the familiar sound of your doorbell ringing again.

You froze for a second, unsure if you wanted to deal with him yet again, but the quiet, hesitant knock that followed told you it wasn’t the same as before. You found yourself standing by the door, hands gripping the doorknob, hesitant to open it.

When you finally did, your breath caught in your throat. There he was, but only.. not the usual version of him you were used to seeing. His eyes were red-rimmed, his face pale, and he looked... broken.

His eyes locked onto yours, and for the first time in a long time, there was no bravado. He was standing there, vulnerable, as if unsure of how to approach you after everything.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” he whispered, his voice cracking. He wiped his face with his sleeve, almost embarrassed. “I fucked up. I know I’ve been an asshole… but I needed to see you. I need to talk.”

You stood there for a moment, trying to process everything. It was hard—too hard. You’d spent so much time questioning his intentions, wondering if he even cared. Seeing him like this, so exposed, made you feel conflicted. Part of you wanted to push him away for all the hurt he’d caused, but another part of you wanted to reach out and hear him out.

“Why now?” you asked quietly, your voice betraying the frustration you’d been holding back. “Why come to me like this? After everything?”

He looked down at the ground, visibly struggling. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. “I don’t know. I’ve been running from this. From you. From how I feel. And now I’m just… lost.” His words were shaky, like he was trying to hold onto his composure but was failing. “I’ve been an idiot, and I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”

You didn’t know how to respond. Everything felt like it was happening too fast. You opened your mouth to speak, but the words wouldn’t come.

Instead he stepped closer, and for the first time, there was no arrogance in his movements, no cocky confidence. He looked genuinely lost, as if he was desperately trying to figure himself out. “I don’t know what I’m doing… but I know I want to fix it. Fix us. If you’ll let me.”

You took a step back, crossing your arms over your chest as you tried to collect your thoughts. “I don’t know what to say,” you admitted softly, your voice trembling a little with uncertainty. “You’ve been so hot and cold. One minute you’re all over me, the next you act like I’m invisible. How am I supposed to trust that this is real?”

He closed his eyes for a moment, as if he was gathering the courage to say what had been haunting him. When he spoke again, his voice was almost a whisper. “I know... I’ve been a mess. I was scared,” he confessed, his gaze softening as he looked at you. “You made me feel things I’ve never felt before. Things that… terrified me. And instead of coming to you, talking to you about it, I ran. I pushed you away, and I’m sorry for that.”

The way he was standing, so different from how he used to act, made you reconsider everything. He wasn’t hiding behind walls anymore. “I don’t want to be scared anymore,” he added quietly, his voice cracking just slightly. “I want to be with you. If you’ll allow me.”

You could feel your heart pounding in your chest as you tried to figure out what to say next. You were so unsure now, seeing him spill his heart out for you.

“I don’t feel this with anyone else,” he said softly. “No matter how hard I tried to push it down, it’s always been you. You’re the only one who makes me feel like this.” He paused for a moment, before he dropped down to his knees in front of you, taking both your hands gently in his, while his eyes never left yours. “I don’t know what I was waiting for. I was stupid, I was scared. But I know now... I love you,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I love you, and I’m sorry for making you feel like you were nothing. You’re everything to me. Please... let me prove it.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a long moment, all you could do was look at him, trying to process what he’d just said. You had never imagined he’d say those words, especially after everything that had happened. But now, as he knelt before you, his hands still holding yours with such gentleness, it felt different. It felt real.

Doubts still lingered, but as you looked at him—really looked at him—kneeling before you, his hands gripping yours, something inside you began to shift.

The truth was, you loved him too. Despite everything—the hurt, the confusion—you couldn’t deny that your heart ached for him. And seeing him like this, open in a way you never thought possible for him, made you realize how much you wanted to believe in him, in this. You took a slow breath, your voice barely a whisper as you spoke. “I don’t know, Heeseung…”

He didn’t pull away, didn’t try to say anything more. He just waited, his gaze never leaving yours, hopeful but patient.

You looked down at his hands still holding yours, his fingers trembling slightly. “I’ve been hurt, and I don’t want to be hurt again,” you said, your voice wavering just a little.

“I know,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve hurt you, and I’m so sorry. But I promise, I’ll do anything to make it right. Just… let me try.”

Your heart ached at his words. And slowly, almost hesitantly, you nodded. “Okay. We can try.”

He exhaled sharply, relief flooding his features, but you could see the uncertainty still lingering in his eyes. You knew it wasn’t going to be easy, but something inside you told you that this—he—was worth trying for.

He stood up, his hands still holding yours, and pulled you gently into his arms. You let him, your body instinctively melting into his embrace. He buried his face in your hair, his breath warm against your neck.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured. “I’m going to make you see that I mean it.”

Staning there in his arms, the doubts slowly began to fade. Maybe it would take time. But you felt hope stirring within you. Maybe you could try to make this work.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours, as if trying to read your emotions. His hand still cupped your face gently, waiting for a sign from you. "Can I kiss you?" he asked, his voice low, filled with both uncertainty and hope.

"Yes."

Without another word, his lips descended onto yours, and the kiss was everything. Deep, urgent, and filled with so much emotion that it took your breath away.

When you started to feel breathless you tried to pull away, your breath ragged, but each time you did, he followed you, his lips catching yours again, desperate, insistent. Your heart raced, and your head spun as you tried to pull back for a moment’s reprieve, but Heeseung wasn’t having it.

"Please," he groaned between kisses, his hand gripping your waist tightly. "Just—just let me…" His voice was rough, desperate, as if your lips were the only thing keeping him grounded. "I need you. You… You make my heart beat. You make everything else fade. I want to breathe you in until I can’t breathe anymore."

His words were tangled, like he couldn’t get them out fast enough, like he was trying to make you understand something, but what, exactly, you weren’t sure. His kisses grew more frantic, more needy, and despite your attempts to catch your breath, you couldn’t help but respond to him.

You finally managed to gasp out his name, your voice barely a whisper, "Heeseung... Stop, I need to breathe."

He paused for a split second, just long enough for you to catch your breath, his breathing just as erratic as yours. "I can't... can't stop," he muttered. "You're all I think about... all I want."

✰ ✰ ✰

It was funny how much things had shifted since Heeseung’s confession. You couldn’t deny the change in him. He meant every word he’d said that night, and he made sure to show you just how serious he was about being with you.

Heeseung was intense in everything he did, and his love for you was no exception. It wasn’t just in the way he looked at you, as if you were the only person in the room, or the way he clung to your hand like letting go would mean losing you. No, it was in the small things too. The way he remembered the little details about you, how he stayed up late just to make sure you got home safe from your late-night shifts, or the way he’d pepper your face with kisses whenever he thought you looked stressed.

And then, there were the nights. Heeseung had always been passionate, but now that he wasn’t holding back, it was overwhelming in the best way possible. He left no part of you untouched, no part of your heart unloved. Your skin bore the evidence of his intensity, faint marks that lingered long after his lips had moved on, a testament to just how much he adored you.

He didn’t just say he loved you; he showed it. In every kiss, every touch, every whispered word, Heeseung made sure you knew just how much you meant to him. And while it could get a little overwhelming at times, you couldn’t deny that it felt good—so good—to be loved so completely.

Heeseung's love was all-consuming, and with it came an intensity that left you breathless. He made it his mission to show you just how deeply he cared. But he never lost the playful side that made you fall for him in the first place.

He still teased you relentlessly, knowing exactly how to make your cheeks flush. “What’s that look for, baby?” he’d smirk when he caught you staring, leaning in close to whisper, “Can’t get enough of me?” His confidence was maddening, but you’d learned to give as good as you got.

Sometimes, he’d flirt with you like you were strangers meeting for the first time. “Hey, gorgeous,” he’d say, slidling up to you with a grin. “Come here often?” It didn’t matter if you were at your desk or in the middle of a crowded hallway; Heeseung always found a way to make you laugh and roll your eyes at his antics.

But then, he’d do a 360 and leave you utterly disarmed. Like the way he’d wrap his arms around your waist out of nowhere, pressing his lips to your ear to murmur, “I love you so much.” It was whiplash, the way he could go from cocky to soft in an instant, and it kept you on your toes.

Now that you had Heeseung basically wrapped around your finger, it felt empowering. He catered to you, always quick to appease your whims, and he seemed to thrive on your happiness. Whether it was picking up your favorite snacks, carrying your bag, or pampering you after a long day, Heeseung was yours—and he made sure you knew it.

But he had his limits.

There were moments when he reminded you that, while he adored you, he wasn’t completely under your control. Like when you pushed him too far with teasing, a playful remark about him being “so soft” for you turning into a challenge in his eyes.

One such night, you’d been cheeky, testing how much you could get away with. “You’ll do anything I say, won’t you?” you’d teased, a smirk playing on your lips.

Heeseung’s eyes darkened, the shift immediate. “Anything?” he repeated, voice low and laced with something that sent shivers down your spine. Before you could process, he had you pinned, his hand firm but careful as it held your wrists above your head.

“You like to push me, don’t you?” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. “Think I’m all soft and sweet?”

You didn’t have a chance to respond before he showed you just how wrong you were. Heeseung wasn’t rough in a careless way—he was calculated, controlled, and oh-so-intense. He left no room for doubt about who had the upper hand in those moments.

By the end of it, you were breathless, your legs trembling as you clung to him for support. Heeseung’s smug grin and the way he kissed your forehead tenderly afterward only made it worse.

“Still think I’m soft?” he teased, brushing a strand of hair from your flushed face.

You couldn’t even answer, too dazed to form words, which only seemed to please him more.

The next day, walking was a challenge, and Heeseung, ever the charmer, had the audacity to chuckle when you winced. “Told you there’s only so much I’ll let you boss me around,” he whispered, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple.

It was infuriating, but it was also Heeseung. And if you were being honest, you loved every second of it.

a/n: finished this while waiting for the train to come, in the snow storm :) reblogs and commentary are appreciated <33

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[quitealotofsodapop]

I had an evil little thought at midnight based on the fight under the mountain Wukong had. Specifically the "Everything I did was for US" line in a context separate from stone eggs.

I still think it's true. We discussed in the DMs how Wukong and Macaque met and fell in love, how Wukong's fight with Havoc had not been as easy as the book would have us believe and how a direct consequence of that fight was Wukong being dragged into Diyu. In the event of Wukong and Macaque being childhood friends who were separated after a very short interaction as cubs and then meeting again as teenagers during the mess with Havoc, he'd recognize his cuboid friends name as someone destined to die soon and panic because he had promised they'd meet again and he couldn't meet with Liu'er if he died! So in addition to wiping his name he wiped Liu'er and then as many other monkies as he could to cover the fact he was specifically protecting Macaque.

In the case of the Immortal Peaches, it was less about the insult to his hard work and more about the fact that Macaque was deathly ill, didn't even know he was sick too since he had always been sickly and simply thought he was jsut having one of his usual episodes, and only two known cures. One that is rare beyond belief and one being regular dosages of a certain type of peach that Wukong was tending to the orchard of at the time when Macaque's illness had worsened.

Thus when he was told that demons were not to partake in the peaches, the only thing that could save his mate's life, he made a desperate, drunken play. He'd already been sneaking peaches down to Macaque, usually the worst of the crop, the ones who still have the immortal properties he was looking for but wouldn't be missed by the celestials. But now he wasn't going to be subtle anymore. The Pills of Immortality were taken in error, being unable to tell what they were from his drunken stupor as after destroying the party and stealing all the peaches he could he had taken the wone and lost himself to it, drinking his sorrows over wasting his time trying to appease gods who never would have saved his mate away. The War was fought for the sake of seizing control of the Orchard for Macaque, nobody but Wukong knew this.

Which brings us to the fight under the mountain. And how Macaque had called Wukong out, claiming him to be a selfish demon who just did whatever he wanted and sought nothing but power for himself. When the truth was anything but that. And then later, the battle where Wukong himself became the very thing to claim the life of the beloved he had fought so hard to spare from the pain of death.

A spare copy of the Book of the Dead, an unofficial prototype of sorts, is found. And Li Jing and Queen Mother opened an investigation on many things, namely the true cause of death for the Jade Emperor, based on that information. One of the record keepers doing the investigation reached out to Macaque upon discovering the inconsistency in his cause of death.

We discussed this idea in the Dms for a while, and the work-in-progress name for the idea is "Drafted Fate" for reasons that will become clear soon:

"The Book/Scrolls of the Dead", like any real official published work, has a draft copy containing most of the details of the final product.

However, while the Draft Copy may have the information of those included in the final Book of the Dead, it cannot be altered to change the fate of those listed. It's also constantly being updated by a team of exhausted record keepers. It also can be pretty outdated in some sections, especially considering those who became immortal afterwards or had a revival or two.

Think of it like an entire room full of jumbled scrolls and files with stick notes and corrections sticking out of them.

After the events of S5 with the loss of the Ten Kings; the Underworld has been scrambling to stay functioning as normal. King Yama hasn't slept in weeks. A few times, Xie, Fan, Ox-Head and Horse-Face are so overworked that they legit forget to collect any souls to process and there was a straight week where no one died.

One too many goofs happen and Yama shouts for the Record Keepers to get him the Draft Copy so he can fact check what's written down in the book.

Soon afterwards, The Six Eared Macaque is summoned forth by the infernal collectors...

Ox-Head: "Liu'er Mihou, according to the records shown in the Book of the Dead and your official Scroll, you really should be dead." Macaque, bored: "Yeah, yeah. All those years ago when I fought Wukong." Horse-Face: "No not that. According to the Draft Copy - you were fated to die nearly two thousand years ago!" Macaque, confused on so many levels: "The what?" Ox-Head, reading a drafted Scroll: "Yup, right here. Liu Er Mihou. Prolonged chronic illness, before you reached adulthood." Macaque: "That... makes no sense. I haven't been seriously ill in ages!" Horse-Face: "The entry is no lie. Although your name is not in the official Book of the Dead, your cause of death was predetermined long before Sun Wukong scrubbed his and many other monkey's names from the records. There is one or two corrections added here for times you should have died later on but somehow avoided those fates as well." Macaque: "I mean... I remember not being the healthiest cub, but I figured that was from being born on the Moon and not adapting to Earth's environment so good." (*The collectors share a look*) Ox-Head: "If I am not mistaken... this particular illness can only be treated and cured by regularly ingesting divine plant life. Namely, either bloomed Crimson Jimsonweed OR..." Macaque, unease growing: "Or what?" Ox-Head: "Peaches from the Empress's orchard." Horse-Face, nods: "There's a reason why they act as an antidote for most toxins." Macaque: "Think the first time I ever ate a Peach like that was when..." (*realising*) "Oh no..."

It quickly becomes clear that the reason Wukong was so insistent on his best bud having his fill of peaches was more than a friend sharing the bounty of his work or theft. But rather it was Wukong's way of treating Macaque's illness without alarming him or making his condition known to those who would have exploited it.

See, Wukong got a good look at the official Book of the Dead when he disbuted his unlawful capture into the Underworld. He saw not only his true name and predicted death... but that of his closest and oldest companion.

A death that would come to pass with or without his name in the Book.

Macaque's mind is reeling with the implications. How long did Wukong know? When did he discover that the Peaches of Immortality could treat his condition? When did he start sneaking the forbidden fruit to him under threat of punishment by Heaven?

Did a loyal attendant seeking panacea for his dearest friend reach his breaking point upon learning he would be denied the same fruit that the immortals fragrantly feasted upon?

By the gods, did he stumble drunkenly into Lao Tzu's lab the night of that fateful banquet seeking a cure?!

Macaque: "Peaches, answer me this question honestly and I will spend eternity taking back the things I said." Wukong, nervous: "Yeah?" Macaque: "Did you know of my intended cause of death all those centuries ago?" Wukong: (refuses to answer) Macaque: (sighs deeply. More disappointed in himself than Wukong's inability to explain his actions) Wukong, quietly: "It wasn't fair… the immortals could eat peaches like candy and you were dying on earth..." Macaque, voice catching in throat: "And I- Under the mountain I had thrown it all in your face... you... you really did do it for us. For me." Wukong: (*smiles wistfully*) (*the pair share a hug. both smell heavily of peaches*)

Macaque never complains about Wukong's habit of offering him peaches ever again.

And the celestial royal family, upon checking the Draft Copy of the Book of the Dead, discover an unusual pattern amongst those Sun Wukong has had contact with...

Namely that they're all supposed to be dead according to the predictions deemed concrete since time incomparable.

See, in Journey to the West; the Buddha describes Wukong's powers as such:

"Knows transformations, Recognizes the seasons, Discerns the advantages of earth, And is able to alter the course of planets and stars."

Wukong seems to be confused by the last line. He's pretty sure he hasn't been tossing stars and planets around.

In the context of this Au/idea; the last part isn't (entirely) literal.

You see, one of the most popular forms of traditional fortune-telling and prediction-making in China comes from careful calculations of a person or thing in conjuncture with planetary bodies i.e the planets and stars.

The Buddha had basically warned everyone present that Wukong had the ability to literally change fate. For better or for worse...

Makes sense for a creature partially formed by the Goddess of Positive Chaos, Nuwa herself, to ignore the plans the universe had set out for everyone else!

[fr0stf4ll]

A court of Shadows and Moonlight - Part 6

paring; Azriel x reader

summary; In the wake of looming war and changing traditions, a gifted healer returns to the Night Court after centuries of wandering the continents. Tasked with stepping into Madja’s legendary role, she must guide reluctant healers, soothe wounded warriors, and face the entrenched prejudice of Illyrian leaders. But as she mends torn wings and broken spirits, an unexpected bond awakens between her and the Night Court’s enigmatic Spymaster. With rivalries simmering and a dangerous threat looming on the horizon, she must reconcile duty and desire, learning that true healing can extend beyond flesh and bone—if she dares to embrace the light hidden among the shadows.

word count ; 9k (long ass chapter lol)

Trigger warning; //

notes; Hello my loves <3 HAPPY NEW YEAR woohooo!!! Sorry for not posting these last few days, but they’ve been looong with all the celebrations. Plus, I had to travel back to my place, and it took forever. So today, you’ll not only get part 6, but also part 7 ;) (it should be up in the next few minutes). This chapter was actually pretty hard for me to write because I had doubts about where to take the story or if I should give more or fewer clues about Y/N’s background. Either way, don’t hesitate to comment because even if I don’t reply to all of you, I definitely read them, and I loveeee getting those notifications. Well, see you in a few minutes for part 7 lol <3

Link; Part 5 or Part 7

----

Late afternoon shadows stretched across Velaris as you and Cassian stepped off the bridge leading into the quieter district near the clinic. Both of you were weary—three days in Illyria had taxed your energy, even if the journey home was less fraught than the work you’d done in the camps. Your cloak felt heavier than usual, boots scuffing softly on the cobblestones as you approached the modest building that housed the clinic’s entrance and your apartment above it.

Cassian’s shoulders slumped a little, wings drooping as he glanced at you. “We made it,” he said, voice carrying a note of relief. “Another successful adventure survived.” His smile was a bit lopsided, but genuine.

You managed a small chuckle, rolling your stiff shoulders. “A success, I hope,” you answered quietly. “At least some of them seemed open to new methods.”

He nodded, raking a hand through his hair. “They’ll never admit it, but they’ll use what you taught them. You left an impression, Y/N.”

The simple honesty in his tone warmed you. The clinic door beckoned, safety and rest just inside. You paused at the threshold, turning to face him. “Thank you for coming with me,” you said softly. “I know you had other duties, but I’m grateful you lent your presence—and, frankly, your muscle—to ensure no one gave me too hard a time.”

Cassian shrugged, easy humor returning for a moment. “Any excuse to keep the Illyrians in line.” He sobered a fraction, studying you with quiet sincerity. “I’m glad I could help.”

A silence fell, not uncomfortable but weighted with the fatigue of the journey. At length, Cassian cleared his throat, as if remembering something. “Oh, right,” he said, seeming almost amused by whatever he’d forgotten. “Before I go—Rhys asked me to pass along an invitation. He’d like you to join him, Feyre, and a few others for dinner tomorrow night at their townhouse in Velaris. It’s a sort of… well, I guess a welcome dinner now that you’re truly back in the Night Court.”

Your eyes widened in surprise and a spark of gratitude lit behind them. “Dinner?” you repeated, a bit taken aback. “That’s… an honor. I—” You hesitated, a hundred questions floating to your mind. You weren’t sure what one normally did when invited to the High Lord’s home for a meal. “Should I bring anything?” you asked, half-wondering if a gift or some rare herbs might be customary.

Cassian’s grin turned playful. “Bring yourself,” he said simply. “That’s all they’ll want. Trust me, Rhys and Feyre don’t stand on ceremony with friends. Consider it an evening to relax, maybe talk about what’s next.” His gaze flicked over the clinic’s door, then back to you, voice softening. “You deserve a good meal and a bit of comfort after the work you’ve done.”

Touched by his words, you nodded. “All right,” you agreed. “I’ll be there.”

“Perfect.” He exhaled, one corner of his mouth lifting. “Now, I’d better let you rest. I think we’ve both earned a good night’s sleep.”

A small laugh escaped you. “Absolutely,” you said, resting a hand on the door’s latch. “Sleep well, Cassian.”

He gave you a salute that was half-mocking, half-genuine, wings fluttering as he turned away and headed down the street. You watched him go for a moment, then slipped inside the clinic, fatigue tugging at your limbs. Tomorrow, you would face the High Lord’s table, and perhaps some quieter conversations that might shape the next phase of your return.

For now, rest called, and you followed it gratefully up the stairs to your apartment, thoughts drifting between memories of Illyria’s harsh mountains and the warm promise of dinner among unlikely allies.

Back inside the familiar confines of the clinic, you paused just inside the door, drawing in the scents of linen and dried herbs that always lingered in the halls. Your joints ached a bit from the journey, but routine called, and you answered it. Before heading upstairs to your apartment, you moved through the quiet corridors to the records room. A low lamp flickered there, its glow soft against the shelves.

You ran your fingertips along the ledgers, pulling out the records from the past three days. Your eyes skimmed the entries, scanning notes that Elira and the other healers had left. No major emergencies, you read with relief—only a few minor wounds, a mild fever, the usual aches and pains. The neat handwriting confirmed that Elira had continued training the younger healers as planned. She’d even left a brief note: All went well. The younger ones are picking up the new bandaging technique quickly.

A small smile touched your lips. Good. Progress, even in your absence.

Satisfied that the clinic had fared well without you, you tucked the ledger back into place and turned toward the stairs. The promise of rest beckoned, and you ascended quietly, passing familiar sconces that flickered in the gentle air currents. Upstairs, your apartment welcomed you with its calm silence. You shrugged off your cloak, letting it fall over a chair, and considered the state of your legs and back. A warm bath—yes, that would be perfect.

You crossed to the small bathroom, lighting a few candles along the way. The soft glow gilded the tiled walls and the simple, claw-footed tub. Setting the faucet, you allowed steaming water to pour in, scenting it with a bit of lavender oil you kept for moments like these. As the tub filled and steam rose, you breathed deeply, letting the tension roll off your shoulders.

So much had happened—Illyria, the uncertain dynamics in the Night Court’s inner circle, and tomorrow, a dinner invitation from the High Lord himself. But for now, here, in this private sanctuary, you could let all that fade. Stripping out of your travel-stained clothes, you sank into the bath, the warm water cradling your tired muscles. The quiet of the evening settled over you, and the lavender-soaked steam eased the lingering edges of worry.

Tomorrow would bring its own challenges and discoveries. Tonight, you granted yourself peace.

—————

When evening arrived, you found yourself walking through Velaris’s softly lit streets, a bundle of carefully chosen flowers nestled in the crook of your arm. You’d spent much of the day working at the clinic as usual, but your mind had drifted often to the upcoming dinner. Now, wearing a simple but neat outfit—something presentable without being ostentatious—you followed the directions Cassian had given you, making your way toward the High Lord and High Lady’s townhouse.

Your heart fluttered with a mix of anticipation and nerves. It wasn’t as if you were heading into battle, but meeting them on such personal terms, in their private home, was a new threshold. You hadn’t seen Azriel since returning from Illyria, and though he might be present, you tried not to focus on that too much. This evening wasn’t about your confused feelings or the golden thread that tugged quietly at your awareness. It was about respect, camaraderie, and, hopefully, laughter over good food.

Rounding a corner, you came upon the district where the townhouse stood. The soft glow of streetlamps illuminated quiet lanes, and music drifted faintly from some distant party. Ahead, you spotted the house described to you—a graceful building of warm-colored stone and gently sloping roofs. It was large enough to accommodate their inner circle and guests, yet it didn’t loom or flaunt opulence. Instead, it exuded a gentle, welcoming aura.

Plants climbed trellises along the exterior, flowering vines weaving patterns around balconies and window frames. You caught the scent of night-blooming jasmine mingling with roses and citrus blossoms, an elegant tapestry of nature’s perfume draped over the home. It felt alive, this house—a place nurtured by caring hands. A place of growth and warmth.

Approaching the door, you paused to straighten your posture and smooth your clothes. The flowers you carried were modest and cheerful—nothing exotic or rare, just a vibrant mix of blooms from a local florist. You’d considered bringing wine, but after a moment’s reflection, you realized that whatever bottle you could afford would be outshone by the contents of their likely well-stocked cellar. Flowers, though, offered color, scent, and sincerity. That, you hoped, would be appreciated.

Exhaling slowly, you stepped forward, footfalls muffled by the ivy-softened walkway. The door’s brass knocker gleamed in the lamplight. You raised your free hand and knocked gently, heart fluttering once more. Perhaps it was silly to be nervous. You’d healed impossible wounds, steered conversations with stubborn Lords, and confronted your own uncertainties. You could handle a dinner invitation.

As you waited for someone to answer, you let your gaze drift along the eaves and sills. Lanterns dangled from hooks, their glass panels casting soft patterns of light and shadow across the entryway. Everything felt harmonious and attentive to detail—a reflection, perhaps, of the people who lived inside.

In a moment, you would be ushered in, welcomed as a friend or colleague rather than a mere visitor. The thought steadied you. The flowers shifted in your arms, and their gentle fragrance rose to meet you, a reminder that some gestures spoke volumes without words.

You were here, and you would face whatever the evening brought with an open heart.

The door swung open to reveal Feyre, her hair tumbling in soft waves over her shoulders, a gentle smile illuminating her features. She wore something elegant but not showy, a simple gown that played up her natural grace. When she saw you, her eyes lit even brighter, and she reached out, enfolding you in a warm, unexpected hug. It eased a little of the tension that had coiled in your chest.

“You’re here,” she said, voice calm and welcoming. “We’re so glad you could come.”

You offered her the bouquet, a mix of vivid blooms you’d chosen with care. Her eyes widened slightly, delighted. “They’re beautiful—thank you. I know a perfect spot for these.” She stepped back, holding the flowers with a careful tenderness, as if the gift mattered more than you’d dared hope.

She ushered you inside, and you slipped off your coat. Though it hadn’t snowed that day, a crisp chill still lingered in Velaris’s winter air, and the townhouse’s warmth wrapped around you like a soft cloak. Feyre guided you through a well-lit hallway into the living room, where conversation and laughter wove a gentle tapestry over the hush of the evening.

Rhysand rose from an armchair near the hearth to greet you, his violet eyes reflecting the lamplight. “Welcome,” he said, voice smooth and sincere. “Please, make yourself at home. You’ve already met Cassian and Azriel, but allow me to introduce the rest.”

Your gaze swept over the room. Cassian stood near the mantel, a glass of wine in hand, and as you glanced at him, he offered a lazy grin. Azriel was positioned a bit to the side, one arm resting along the back of a sofa. His bandages were gone, leaving faint lines of healing scars hidden beneath well-tailored clothing. He inclined his head softly when your eyes met, acknowledging your presence without fuss.

Seated near Azriel was a stunning blonde female—radiant and poised. Her beauty caught your attention immediately. Feyre noticed your look and added with a smile, “This is Mor—Morrigan. She’s family.”

Mor raised her glass in greeting, her hazel eyes warm with easy camaraderie. “Nice to finally meet you,” she said, voice touched with a hint of laughter, as if you’d arrived just in time for something pleasant.

Another figure caught your eye next: a smaller female, perched on the arm of a chair. Her silver eyes were sharp, ancient somehow, set into a refined face and framed by dark hair. This, you guessed, must be Amren. Your heart gave a small jolt of surprise—she was the one you’d heard described as powerful and formidable, yet she merely gave you a faint nod, assessing and cool, but not impolite.

Near Cassian stood another woman, her posture elegant, her features bearing a clear familial resemblance to Feyre. This must be Nesta—Feyre’s sister, the one who you’d heard was mated to Cassian. Her gaze was direct, but not hostile; perhaps curious, as if measuring who you were and why you’d been invited into their circle. You offered her a respectful smile, and she inclined her head in a subtle, regal manner.

The atmosphere was cordial, tinted with curiosity and acceptance. The fire crackled softly behind you, the scent of rich food and spices drifting in from another room. Feyre gestured to a free chair and you sat, the others resuming their conversations, weaving you naturally into their midst.

From the corner of your eye, you noticed Azriel shift slightly, watching the interplay of introductions. Morrigan turned to say something to him, drawing his attention away and giving you a moment to breathe, to take in that you were truly here, part of this intimate gathering.

“Dinner will be ready soon,” Feyre said, settling beside Rhysand, who’d gently clasped her hand. “Until then, relax. We’ve all been looking forward to getting to know you better.”

With those words and the warmth in the room, you felt some of your lingering tension melt away. You were among allies, in a house so beautifully tended, with plants climbing the windows and laughter in the air. It was easy, in that moment, to let yourself belong just a little more to this court you were slowly making home.

As you settled into a free chair near the hearth, the soft hum of conversation enveloped you. The group arranged themselves in a loose circle of armchairs and sofas, each face illuminated by the gentle firelight and the glow of simple lanterns placed around the room. Feyre had taken a seat beside Rhysand, her hand resting comfortably on his arm, while Cassian lounged near Nesta and Azriel, who remained quietly attentive. Mor perched gracefully on a low ottoman, crossing her long legs with casual elegance, and Amren claimed a small armchair as if it were a throne, her silver eyes keen but not hostile.

Feyre, ever the thoughtful hostess, spoke first. “You’ve just returned from Illyria, haven’t you?” Her voice was warm, genuine curiosity shining through. “Cassian told us a bit about your work there. How did it go?”

You drew a steady breath, aware of more eyes turning your way. “It was… challenging,” you admitted with a half-smile. “The healers were skilled but set in their ways. I managed to introduce a few new techniques. Some were skeptical, but I think a few caught on.”

Cassian gave a snort from his spot by the mantel. “Some of them were more than skeptical. Let’s say they were resistant until they saw the results.” His grin flashed, clearly proud of how you’d handled the situation.

Mor tilted her head, golden curls slipping over one shoulder. “Resistance is standard there,” she said, amused. “I’m impressed you made progress so quickly. Usually, it takes a century or two to change an Illyrian’s mind about anything.”

A ripple of light laughter flowed through the room. Even Nesta’s lips curved slightly, though her gaze remained measured. “They can be stubborn,” Nesta agreed quietly. “But if you got them to listen, you’ve accomplished a minor miracle.”

Azriel’s gaze flicked to you then, calm and thoughtful. “Any particular technique you introduced that might stand out for them?” he asked softly, voice barely above the crackle of the fire. There was interest, maybe respect, underlying the question.

You smoothed a hand over your knee, considering. “I combined some Dawn Court infusion methods with local herbs to create salves that heal burns and cuts faster. Also taught them how to more efficiently close a wound using layered bandaging, so it breathes and doesn’t trap infection.” Your shoulders relaxed as you spoke, talking shop easing the tension in your chest. “It’s subtle changes that matter over time.”

Rhysand inclined his head. “Subtle changes often pave the way for greater shifts. Even if they don’t appreciate it now, they’ll notice the difference when their warriors recover more swiftly.”

Amren’s silver eyes narrowed with interest. “You sound like someone who doesn’t fear digging into traditions,” she commented. “I suppose traveling the continents taught you that?”

A small smile tugged at your lips. “Exactly,” you said. “Every place I visited had a different approach to healing. By the time I returned, I carried a blend of knowledge. Challenging ingrained habits is never easy, but I believe if we show results, people adapt.”

As the conversation in the living room flowed around you, your attention drifted to Azriel, who’d been listening quietly while the others exchanged stories. Under the soft glow of the lamps, he seemed more at ease than the last time you’d seen him—no bandages, no pained tension in his posture. But you knew better than to assume all was perfect.

Leaning forward slightly, you caught his eye. “Azriel,” you began, your voice low enough that the others, caught up in their chatter, wouldn’t be distracted. “How are your injuries feeling now?”

He blinked, as if brought out of private thoughts. The edge of his mouth curved in a faint but genuine smile. “Much better,” he replied softly, voice smooth and controlled. “Your treatments worked wonders.”

A small surge of satisfaction warmed you. “I’m glad. I worried about scarring, especially on the wings, but it seems my methods held.”

Azriel inclined his head, shadows shifting imperceptibly at his shoulders. “They did. I owe you more gratitude than I can put into words.”

You waved a hand dismissively, though not unkindly. “No need for grand thanks. It’s what I do.” After a brief moment, you continued, “If you find yourself running low on ointment or salve—anything for lingering aches—you’re welcome to stop by the clinic. I’ll make sure you have what you need.”

His eyes flickered slightly, a hint of something unreadable passing there. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, voice still gentle. “Though I think it’s my turn to follow the rules this time. I won’t risk mixing anything that’s not from your hands.”

A quiet huff of amusement escaped you. “Good,” you said, pleased to note even the faintest humor there. “I’d prefer no more surprise remedies.”

He almost smiled fully at that, and you found yourself relieved—relieved that he’d healed, relieved that you could speak amicably, and relieved that, even amidst lingering complexities, you could offer him help without awkwardness.

Rhysand leaned forward slightly, his attention shifting fully to you. “Your skill with Illyrian wings is… notable,” he said, voice calm and curious. “It’s not often we see someone outside these mountains who can treat wing injuries with such precision. Where did you learn that?”

You swallowed, noticing how everyone’s gaze had angled your way. Azriel’s dark eyes were steady, Cassian’s brows lifted with mild interest, and Mor sipped her wine, listening quietly. “I owe much to Madja,” you said with a small shrug, trying to sound offhanded. “In my youth, under her tutelage, I spent time observing healings of various kinds. When I traveled to the Dawn Court, I worked extensively with peregryns. Between the two experiences, I pieced together techniques that transfer well.”

Rhysand nodded thoughtfully, and you sensed approval rather than suspicion. Feyre offered a gentle smile, as if pleased to understand more about your background. Azriel only gave the faintest tilt of his head, acknowledging your explanation.

Before anyone could delve deeper, the door opened softly, and you all turned. Elain stepped into the room, cradling a small bundle in her arms. The atmosphere shifted; the hush that followed her appearance was softer, lighter. She carried a baby—a tiny figure swaddled in soft linens. At the sight of you, Elain’s eyes went wide, a brief flicker of something like panic crossing her face. She managed a stiff, silent nod in your direction, acknowledging your presence.

She crossed the floor and carefully handed the baby to Feyre before moving to sit next to Azriel. The subtle tension that flared in the air didn’t go unnoticed by you. Seeing her choose a seat near Azriel struck a chord, stirring a quiet ache in your chest. The memory of misunderstandings and the complexities of their relationship hovered in your mind.

Feyre, noticing the moment, turned toward you with a warm, bright smile and the infant cradled securely in her arms. “This is Nyx,” she said softly, pride and love coloring every syllable. She stepped closer, letting you see the baby’s tiny, delicate features, the soft tufts of dark hair. “Our son.”

Your heart softened at the sight, and you drew a careful breath. “He’s beautiful,” you murmured, the tension easing slightly at the simple purity of this introduction. “Congratulations.”

Feyre’s eyes sparkled. “Thank you,” she said, rocking Nyx gently. After a moment, she glanced toward Elain and then back to you. “I should also introduce you to my sister, Elain. But I believe you’ve already met?”

Your eyes darted to Elain, who offered another small, tense smile. “Yes,” you confirmed quietly. “We’ve met.” The memory of the morning with Azriel’s injury still flickered in the back of your mind. Elain’s panic that day, her attempt to help gone wrong.

The baby cooed softly, wriggling a tiny arm free from the swaddle, and Feyre adjusted him tenderly. The simple, gentle act redirected your focus to something simpler and kinder. In that moment, held in Feyre’s arms, Nyx represented a softness and hope that contrasted sharply against the intricate bonds and tensions that wove this inner circle together.

You lifted your gaze, meeting Elain’s eyes briefly. She looked away, cheeks coloring faintly, before focusing on Azriel and the room’s gentle chatter. A hush of understanding passed—whatever had happened before still lingered, unspoken and unresolved, but for tonight, perhaps it could remain beneath the surface, overshadowed by the presence of family and the simple joy of a new life in their midst.

You blinked, noting the tiny, budding wings peeking out from Nyx’s swaddle. It took a moment for the sight to register—Feyre and Rhysand’s child had wings. The world narrowed briefly to that small detail, a realization that sent a pulse of concern through your chest. Memories stirred of the quiet horrors you’d learned about: how some winged births could end tragically if the mother’s body wasn’t prepared.

“Oh,” you said softly, voice hushed. “He has wings.” The words escaped before you could smooth your tone. You turned your gaze to Feyre, eyes wide with a hint of shock. “Are—are you all right?” you asked, concern lacing your voice. You knew how risky such births could be, how many mothers—non-winged mothers—lost their lives or their children. The knowledge spilled out in your startled tone, too raw and honest.

As soon as the question left your lips, you caught yourself. This was personal, deeply so, and it might not be your place to ask. A flush warmed your cheeks, and you cleared your throat softly. “I’m sorry,” you murmured quickly, lowering your eyes. “That was intrusive. I didn’t mean—”

Feyre’s smile was gentle, understanding. She shifted Nyx slightly, rocking him in a way that spoke of deep maternal comfort. “It’s all right,” she said quietly, voice kind and steady. “I know it can be dangerous. It was. But I’m fine now—truly.”

She exhaled softly, sharing a glance with Rhysand who offered a reassuring nod. “We had a lot of support, the best healers, and… let’s just say there were extraordinary circumstances that helped.” Feyre’s tone carried quiet resilience, as if acknowledging a trial endured and overcome.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Relief and admiration washed over you. “I’m glad,” you said simply, heartfelt. The image of the tiny, safe baby cradled in Feyre’s arms, half winged and wholly loved, took the sting out of your earlier alarm.

Nyx stirred, letting out a small, contented noise, as if confirming that all was indeed well. And so, in that moment, you allowed yourself to trust in their strength and the healing they had found—together, in this extraordinary court.

The dining table was set with care and elegance, an array of dishes spread like a tapestry of flavors and colors. Feyre had returned after settling Nyx down for the night, and now she sat beside Rhysand, her eyes brighter, freer, as though a weight had lifted from her shoulders. You were seated between Amren and Mor, with Azriel directly across from you. The air hummed with conversation, the gentle clink of silverware, and the faint glow of faelight sconces casting a warm gleam over crystal and china.

The food was beyond anything you’d tasted in recent memory—roasted vegetables drizzled with spiced oils, tender meats seasoned to perfection, a fresh salad of night-blooming flowers and herbs that tasted of moonlit gardens. Between bites, you couldn’t help small hums of appreciation. Mor grinned at your delighted expression, whispering that Feyre and Rhys knew how to choose their cooks wisely. Amren, on your left, merely arched an eyebrow, as if such quality was the norm in this household.

Across the table, Rhysand and Feyre spoke quietly with Azriel about the latest developments with Koshiev’s faction. They didn’t hide the topic, but neither did they elaborate on grim details unnecessarily. Still, the tension was palpable.

Cassian, seated beside Nesta, seemed to pick up on the unease radiating from her. He leaned closer, murmuring something low that drew a reluctant smirk from her lips—a rare crack in her otherwise steely demeanor.

The conversation shifted, soft murmurs filling the dining room as everyone seemed to settle into their own thoughts. But your gaze lingered, drawn to the quiet interactions between Azriel and Elain.

They weren’t doing anything outright inappropriate, of course. Yet the way Azriel leaned slightly toward her, his shadows curling faintly around her seat as though they couldn’t help themselves—it was subtle, but unmistakable. And Elain, for all her delicate, quiet nature, didn’t seem to shy away from him. If anything, the small glances she cast in his direction, the way her hand lingered near his on the table, spoke volumes.

Something was going on between those two. That much you were sure of.

But didn’t she have a mate?

The thought gnawed at you. From what you’d learned during your short time with this group, the bond between mates was supposed to be unbreakable, undeniable. A rare gift—or curse, depending on how one saw it. Yet here was Elain, sitting close to Azriel, her mate nowhere to be found.

You couldn’t help but recall the low, tense conversation you’d overheard between Rhysand and Azriel days ago. Their voices had been hushed, but you’d caught enough to piece together fragments. It had been about Elain, about Azriel’s feelings for her—and about how complicated the whole situation was.

Even tonight, the tension was palpable. Rhysand and Feyre avoided looking too long in Azriel and Elain’s direction, as if their mere proximity might ignite something. Cassian’s joviality had dimmed slightly, and even Mor seemed unusually reserved.

You shifted in your seat, the unease settling in your chest like a stone. Whatever was unfolding here felt like a precarious balancing act, one wrong move away from shattering entirely.

It wasn’t jealousy, you told yourself firmly—because at the end of the day, you barely knew him. Whatever flicker of connection you’d felt when you first crossed paths with Azriel had been just that: a flicker.

Still, you couldn’t entirely ignore the truth you’d kept to yourself. That he was your mate.

You hadn’t planned to speak of it, not now, perhaps not ever. What would be the point? He didn’t seem to know, and you weren’t about to disrupt the fragile balance of this group—or his life—by bringing it up.

But watching him now, seeing the way his gaze softened for Elain, the way his shadows seemed drawn to her as if they couldn’t help themselves... it unsettled you.

You reached for your glass of wine, your fingers tightening slightly around the stem. It wasn’t your place to interfere, nor did you want to. And yet, the sight stirred something uncomfortable in you—an ache you couldn’t quite place, an unease that whispered of things better left buried.

For now, you resolved, you would tread carefully. Whatever this was, it wasn’t your story to tell.

As the conversation ebbed and flowed, you caught snippets of Mor and Feyre discussing the upcoming Solstice celebrations. Their voices carried a mix of excitement and warmth, and even those not directly involved in the planning seemed to lean in slightly, drawn by the festive air.

“Everything’s nearly set,” Mor said with a grin, her golden eyes glimmering. “But I still think we need more lights. You can never have too many.”

Feyre laughed softly, shaking her head. “We’re already bordering on blinding half the Sidra with what we’ve got planned.”

“Exactly,” Mor countered. “Bordering. Not quite there yet.”

The exchange drew a small chuckle from the others, and soon the table was animated with chatter about the Solstice—decorations, food, gifts, the music for the evening. You found yourself listening quietly, a faint smile on your lips as their excitement filled the room.

Then Cassian turned to you, curiosity lighting his hazel eyes. “What about you, Y/N? What are you planning for the Solstice?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. “Working,” you said simply, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world.

Cassian stared at you, his expression shifting from surprised to faintly unimpressed. “You’re working?” he repeated, as though the concept was completely foreign to him.

You shrugged, taking a sip of your wine. “I gave the night and the day after to the other healers,” you explained matter-of-factly. “They have families to spend it with.”

His blunt stare didn’t waver. “And you don’t?”

The question hung in the air for a beat too long. You didn’t flinch, though. Instead, you gave him a small, wry smile. “Not in the traditional sense,” you replied. “I’ve spent most of my life on the road. Holidays are just... nights like any other to me.”

Mor frowned slightly, her lips parting as though she wanted to say something, but Feyre beat her to it. “You could spend it with us,” she offered warmly, her eyes soft and kind. “If you’re free after your shift, of course.”

You hesitated, glancing around the table at the faces watching you. “That’s kind of you,” you said after a moment, your voice quieter now. “I’ll see how the night goes, but I wouldn’t count on me. Those nights tend to be pretty busy.”

Cassian still didn’t look entirely pleased, but he let the topic drop, turning to Azriel to mutter something under his breath. Across from you, Feyre and Mor resumed their discussion about the preparations, but you noticed the glances they shot your way from time to time.

The Solstice was supposed to be a time of joy, of togetherness. And yet, for you, it had always been a reminder of the distances you’d kept—between yourself and others, between your past and your present. Maybe this year would be different. But you weren’t ready to hope for that just yet.

Nesta, her tone gentle yet curious, asked, “Don’t you have family here in Velaris? Since it’s where you’re from?”

Cassian’s head turned sharply to her, a flicker of something unreadable passing over his face. He looked like he was about to respond, but you stopped him with a soft smile, silently telling him it was okay.

“It’s fine,” you replied, your voice steady but quieter now, the words laced with a faint melancholy. “My parents passed away when I was still a child. And... it wasn’t exactly a union their families approved of. My father was a High Fae, and my mother was Illyrian.”

The table fell silent, the weight of your admission settling over the group.

Feyre’s expression softened, her brows knitting together as if piecing together what your childhood must have been like. Even Amren’s usually sharp gaze seemed to flicker with a faint glimmer of understanding.

Rhysand leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on the table, his voice low and thoughtful. “A High Fae and an Illyrian,” he mused, his violet eyes locking onto yours with a knowing look. “That couldn’t have been easy for them—or for you.”

You nodded, taking a moment to gather your thoughts. “It wasn’t. My mother’s family saw her as a traitor for leaving the war-camps. And my father’s family... well, let’s just say they weren’t thrilled about him choosing someone they considered beneath him. They tried to make it work, but the rejection on both sides was... hard.”

Rhysand’s lips curved into a faint, understanding smile tinged with something more—perhaps a trace of his own memories. “My parents were mates,” he said softly. “But even that bond didn’t shield my mother from what she endured because she was Illyrian. My father’s court viewed her as an outsider, no matter that she was his equal in every way.”

You glanced at him, surprised by his willingness to share the parallel. A small, genuine smile tugged at your lips. “Then I suppose you understand better than most.”

He inclined his head. “More than you might think. My mother bore the burdens of being Illyrian with grace, but I saw the way it chipped away at her. The way others refused to see her worth simply because of where she came from.”

The room was quiet for a beat longer, the group absorbing the weight of your shared experiences.

“Did they stay in Velaris?” Nesta asked gently, her voice curious but kind.

“They tried,” you said, your voice softening even more. “Velaris was my mother’s dream. She wanted a place where their love could thrive without the judgment of others. But it wasn’t that simple. My father’s family refused to acknowledge me, and my mother’s kin wanted nothing to do with either of us. They both passed when I was young, so... it’s just been me for a long time.”

Cassian shifted, his hand tightening briefly around his glass. He didn’t say anything, but the tension in his body told you all you needed to know—he hated the thought of you enduring that kind of isolation.

“I’m sorry,” Feyre said quietly, her voice warm with empathy.

You offered her a small smile, the sting of the memory softened by time. “It’s all right. I’ve built my life on my own terms since then. And Velaris... it’s still home.”

Rhysand nodded, his gaze steady. “Velaris is the City of Starlight. But it’s also a sanctuary for those who need it. And no matter what, you’ll always have a place here.”

The sincerity in his words caught you off guard, and for a moment, all you could do was nod, your chest tightening with a mix of gratitude and something you couldn’t quite name.

The laughter faded into a comfortable hum, and Rhysand glanced at you again, his tone turning slightly more serious. “Speaking of important matters, are the preparations for your trip to the Dawn Court coming along?”

You nodded, resting your hands on the edge of the table. “It’s going well,” you said. “I’m not rushing, though. The meeting isn’t for a few weeks, so there’s time to finalize everything.”

Azriel, who had been quietly observing, narrowed his eyes slightly. “What meeting?”

You met his gaze evenly. “The head healers of all the courts are gathering to discuss the rising tensions in the world. It’s not something we do often—every ten or twenty years, if that. But given everything that’s been happening lately, it was decided that now’s the time to meet.”

Feyre leaned forward, her brows knitting together in curiosity. “Even though you’ve only recently taken over from Madja, isn’t that going to be... challenging for you?”

Her question was genuine, not unkind, and you offered her a soft smile. “Not as much as you might think,” you replied. “I already know all of them. Either they trained me, or I’ve trained them at some point.”

Cassian let out a low whistle, leaning back in his chair with a grin. “Well, look at you. The prodigy of Prythian’s healers.”

You rolled your eyes at his teasing, though the corners of your mouth twitched in amusement. “Hardly. It’s more about connections and trust. It’s easier to work with people when you’ve already built a rapport.”

“True enough,” Rhysand said, his voice thoughtful. “But there’s still a lot of weight in those meetings. Decisions made there could affect countless lives.”

You nodded, meeting his gaze. “I’m aware. That’s why it’s important we all come together now. We have to be prepared for what might come next, no matter where it starts.”

Cassian broke the tension with a grin. “Still betting it’ll be less of a disaster than a High Lords’ meeting?”

Laughter rippled around the table again, and you shrugged with a playful smirk. “I’d say so. We’re less inclined to argue over who’s the most powerful and more focused on practical solutions.”

“Speak for yourself,” Amren muttered dryly. “I’d argue just for fun.”

The table erupted into laughter, the light-heartedness returning as the conversation shifted to lighter topics once more.

Dinner naturally came to an end, and the group shifted to the living room. The atmosphere turned even more relaxed as the evening stretched on. Cups of tea were passed around for some, while others nursed glasses of wine or stronger spirits. The crackle of the fire in the hearth added a cozy backdrop to the low hum of conversation and occasional laughter.

You found yourself sinking into a plush armchair, your fingers wrapped around a warm mug of tea. The soft glow of the firelight played across the room, highlighting the easy camaraderie between everyone. This wasn’t just a group of warriors and leaders—they were a family. Even in their teasing, you could sense the unshakable bonds that connected them, forged by shared history and unwavering loyalty.

For a brief moment, you allowed yourself to relax, taking in the sight of them. Feyre and Rhysand were curled up together on a loveseat, Cassian sprawled across a large sofa with Mor perched at the other end, her laughter ringing out as he recounted some likely exaggerated tale. Nesta sat nearby, a book in hand, though her attention occasionally drifted to the conversation.

But as your gaze wandered, you noticed something—or rather, someone—missing. Neither Elain nor Azriel was present. The realization sent a small, unwanted pang through your chest, one you quickly buried. Whatever their reasons for leaving, it wasn’t your concern. It couldn’t be.

When your tea was finished, you placed the empty cup delicately on the table before rising to your feet. “Thank you for the lovely evening,” you said, your voice soft but sincere. “But I should head back. There’s still some work I need to wrap up before the night’s over.”

Cassian glanced up from his drink, his grin playful as always. “You’re leaving already? And here I thought Azriel was the workaholic around here, but you might actually be worse.”

His words, though light-hearted, made something twist in your stomach. You tried to brush it off, but then he glanced around the room and added, “Speaking of which... where is Az? Slacking off for once?”

“Leave it, Cassian,” Rhysand interjected smoothly. His voice was calm, but the sharpness in his violet gaze betrayed a flicker of curiosity—or perhaps understanding—as his eyes darted to you. He didn’t press the issue, but the weight of his brief look lingered all the same.

Feyre stood and approached you, her steps fluid and graceful. She wrapped you in a warm hug, her arms firm but gentle. “Thank you for coming,” she said softly. “It was nice having you here. We’ll have to do this again soon.”

You returned the embrace, her kindness settling some of the unease lingering in your chest. “I’d like that,” you replied sincerely, a small smile tugging at your lips.

Cassian’s voice broke through the moment as Feyre stepped back. “You know, if you’re working this late, you might actually give Az a run for his money,” he teased. Then, with a mock thoughtful look, he added, “Though I guess he’s not here to defend his title. Convenient.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Maybe he’s finally taking a well-deserved break,” you said, keeping your tone light as you glanced toward the door.

Rhysand’s gaze followed yours, but he said nothing. The slight quirk of his lips suggested he’d noticed something, but whatever it was, he chose to keep it to himself—for now.

With a final round of goodnights, you stepped out into the cool night air. They were a family, and while you didn’t quite feel like part of it yet, the warmth they’d shown you was undeniable.

As you walked through the quiet streets of Velaris, the crisp night air nipping at your skin, your gaze lifted instinctively to the sky. The stars above were breathtaking—countless pinpricks of light scattered across an endless expanse of velvet black. They seemed so serene, so untouched by the weight of the world below. For a moment, you let yourself be lost in their beauty, your steps slowing as if the universe itself was urging you to pause.

You didn’t notice the tears until a cold droplet slid down your cheek, and then another. Startled, you reached up to brush your fingers against your face, finding your skin wet. Confusion prickled at the edges of your thoughts as you stared at the small drops clinging to your fingertips. You weren’t sad. At least, you didn’t think you were. The evening had been lovely—warm and full of laughter. Yet here you were, crying under the stars.

A hollow ache settled in your chest as you continued walking, the faint echo of your footsteps the only sound in the stillness. You barely knew Azriel. That thought circled your mind like an unrelenting shadow. For all the moments you’d spent stealing glances at him, observing the way he carried himself with quiet strength and grace, there was still so much you didn’t know. So much you might never know.

And then there was the bond. The invisible thread you could feel humming at the edge of your awareness, a constant reminder of something greater, something unasked for. You’d kept it to yourself, not because of secrecy, but because the mere thought of saying it aloud made your stomach twist with apprehension. It wasn’t fair—not to him, not to you.

Forcing a bond on him, on anyone, was the last thing you wanted. Azriel deserved the freedom to choose, the freedom to love without the weight of a bond dictating his path. But even as you told yourself that, a cruel voice in your mind whispered that the bond wasn’t something he would celebrate—not with you as his mate.

What did you have to offer him? Compared to Elain’s gentle beauty and kindness, you felt like a storm—chaotic and unyielding. You’d spent centuries honing your skills, fighting battles, making sacrifices. Vulnerability wasn’t something you knew how to share.

A sharp breath escaped you, your hands curling into fists as your pace quickened. The tears came faster now, silent but persistent, blurring the cobblestones underfoot. It wasn’t sadness, you told yourself again. It was confusion, frustration, maybe even fear.

You weren’t sure when the walls you’d built around yourself had started to crack, but tonight, surrounded by the warmth of the Inner Circle, you’d felt something shift. It wasn’t just about Azriel. It was about family, connection, belonging—things you’d never let yourself hope for, let alone believe you could have.

But as much as you’d enjoyed the night, as much as you’d appreciated their kindness, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being an outsider looking in. They cared for each other deeply, their bonds unbreakable. And you? You were just passing through, a healer with a tangled past and an uncertain future.

The stars blurred as fresh tears welled up, and you stopped in your tracks, tilting your head back to let the cool night air soothe your burning cheeks. You didn’t know what you were crying for—what you were mourning. Maybe it was for the family you’d lost long ago, or the life you might have had if things had been different. Maybe it was for the bond you hadn’t asked for but couldn’t ignore.

Or maybe, it was for the fragile hope buried deep within you—the hope that one day, you might find a place where you truly belonged.

——

Azriel’s POV

Azriel exhaled a quiet breath as he stepped into the crisp night air, the faint sounds of the dinner fading behind him. The garden of the townhouse was peaceful, blanketed in a soft glow from the moon above. Elain walked beside him, her delicate frame tucked into a thick coat, her hands gripping the fabric tightly against the chill.

The silence stretched between them, comfortable at first. But as they wandered further down the winding paths, Elain drew closer, her arm brushing his. He glanced at her briefly, noticing the faint pink on her cheeks—not from the cold, but something else.

It was when they reached the edge of the garden, where the view of Velaris spread wide and glittering below, that she finally spoke.

"Azriel," she said softly, her voice hesitant.

He turned to face her, noting the awkward expression on her face, the way her hands twisted nervously in front of her. “What is it?” he asked, his tone calm, though a flicker of concern stirred in his chest.

Elain hesitated, her gaze darting away before meeting his again. “Are you sure...we can trust Y/N?”

Azriel blinked, her question catching him off guard. Of all the things he’d anticipated her saying, this hadn’t been one of them. “Why wouldn’t we?” he asked, frowning slightly.

Elain’s lips pressed into a thin line. “It’s just...the way she talks, the way she carries herself. There’s something...off about her.”

Azriel tilted his head, studying her closely. He hadn’t missed Y/N’s sharp tongue during the meeting at the House of Wind, but her words had been purposeful, her actions deliberate. If Elain was referring to that, it didn’t make sense for her to hold it against Y/N.

“She was doing her job,” Azriel said carefully, keeping his tone neutral. “If this is about what happened at the House of Wind—”

“It’s not just that,” Elain interrupted, her voice rising slightly before softening again. She looked at him with wide, almost pleading eyes. “You don’t realize the way she spoke to me. The way she...looked at me. It was—” She broke off, shaking her head.

Azriel’s frown deepened. He couldn’t recall Y/N being anything but professional, but Elain’s tone suggested she felt otherwise. Still, he wasn’t one to jump to conclusions without evidence.

“Elain,” he said gently, “what exactly are you saying? Is there something specific that’s made you doubt her?”

She hesitated again, her gaze dropping to the ground. Then, after a moment, she said, “I just...feel like she’s hiding something. A lot of things. And it’s not just her past—it’s her power, Azriel. It’s unsettling. What if she’s here for something else? What if she’s working for Koschei?To attack us from the inside?”

Her voice grew more frantic as she spoke, her words tumbling over one another in a rush of worry.

Azriel’s jaw tightened, though he kept his expression calm. He reached out, placing a steadying hand on her shoulder. “Elain,” he said firmly, his voice a quiet anchor. “You’re overthinking this.”

Her eyes flicked up to meet his, uncertainty flickering there.

“She’s not here to harm anyone,” Azriel continued. “If she were, we would’ve seen signs by now. And even if there were any truth to your fears, I’m keeping a close eye on her.”

Elain’s lips parted slightly, but she didn’t interrupt as he added, “Nothing bad will happen while I’m around. I won’t allow it.”

For a moment, Elain simply looked at him, her expression softening at his words. She nodded slowly, though the tension in her shoulders didn’t completely ease.

“I trust you, Azriel,” she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Azriel gave her a faint nod, his gaze steady. But as they turned to head back toward the townhouse, a shadow of doubt lingered in his mind—not about Y/N, but about the seeds of mistrust Elain had tried to plant.

Elain bid Azriel a soft goodnight, her steps retreating up the stairs until they faded entirely. Azriel lingered in the quiet of the garden for a moment longer, the chill of the night seeping into his skin as he let his mind turn over her words. Doubt, no matter how unwarranted, was a dangerous thing to sow.

Pushing the thoughts aside, he made his way back to the living room. Feyre, Mor, and Nesta were nowhere to be seen, their laughter and conversations long gone. Only Rhysand and Cassian remained, seated comfortably with drinks in hand.

“There he is,” Cassian said with a smirk, raising his glass. “Thought you’d vanished into the shadows for good this time.”

Azriel ignored the jab, heading straight for the sideboard. He poured himself a generous glass of whiskey, the amber liquid catching the firelight, and crossed the room to join them. He lowered himself into one of the armchairs, cradling the glass in his hand before taking a long sip.

“You missed the part where we solved all the world’s problems,” Cassian quipped, but there was a lightness to his tone.

Azriel shot him a look but didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he turned to Rhysand, his expression thoughtful. “Did you know about Y/N being half Illyrian and half High Fae?”

Rhysand raised a brow, leaning back in his seat. “Madja mentioned it to me when I first spoke with her about Y/N, but beyond that, no. Y/N hasn’t shared much about her personal life—at least not with me.”

Azriel frowned slightly, swirling the whiskey in his glass. “She’s been...secretive.”

“That’s not surprising,” Rhysand said, his voice calm. “She’s lived a long life, Azriel. People who’ve endured as much as she likely has aren’t quick to share their scars.”

Cassian shrugged, setting his empty glass on the table with a faint clink. “It’s not uncommon, though, is it? Half Illyrians without wings? The camps might not like to talk about it, but it happens more often than they’d admit.”

Azriel’s shadows curled faintly around his shoulders, his gaze distant. “It’s not just that. She’s...different. There’s a weight to her that’s hard to ignore.”

Rhysand regarded him carefully, his violet eyes sharp. “What are you trying to say, Az?”

Azriel hesitated, the words forming slowly. “She doesn’t seem like someone who’s just here to replace Madja or take up the work of healing. There’s more to her, something she’s not saying.”

Rhysand nodded thoughtfully. “She’s a healer, yes, but she’s also a warrior. And from what I’ve gathered, she’s someone who’s fiercely loyal to those she chooses to protect. That doesn’t mean she owes us every detail of her life.”

Cassian leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “It’s not like we’ve shared all our dirty laundry with her either. Hell, Az, you’ve been watching her like a hawk since she got here, and she hasn’t so much as flinched. If she were hiding something dangerous, don’t you think she’d have slipped up by now?”

Azriel didn’t respond immediately, his shadows whispering quietly in his ears. He took another sip of whiskey, letting the burn settle in his throat.

“I’m not saying she’s a threat,” he said finally. “But there’s something...unsettling about not knowing where she stands. Especially now, with everything happening in Prythian.”

Rhysand sighed, his expression softening. “You’re not wrong to be cautious, Az. But until she gives us a reason to doubt her, we owe her the benefit of the doubt. She’s earned that much through her work alone.”

“Relax, brother,” Cassian said with a chuckle. “Not everyone is out to stab us in the back. Besides, if she wanted to, she’s had plenty of chances.”

The conversation lulled, the crackling of the fire filling the silence. Azriel leaned back in his chair, the whiskey warming him from the inside out. Despite Cassian’s teasing and Rhysand’s reassurances, the unease in his chest didn’t fully fade.

He’d keep watching. Just in case.

Rhysand shifted in his seat, his sharp gaze settling on Azriel. His expression was calm, but there was a note of seriousness in his voice as he spoke. “Maybe it’s time for you to look elsewhere, brother. To seek someone who could truly bring you peace.”

Azriel sighed heavily, the sound filled with equal parts exhaustion and frustration. He swirled the amber liquid in his glass, staring into it as if the whiskey held answers he couldn’t find.

Cassian, never one to miss an opportunity, smirked. “You know, Az, Rhys might actually have a point for once. The world won’t end if you let yourself—”

Azriel’s sharp glare cut him off, but it was Rhysand who pressed on, his tone gentle but firm. “Listen, brother, I’m not here to tell you how to live your life or whom to care for. But Lucien is coming back to Velaris for the Solstice, and I don’t want you to—”

Azriel’s head snapped up, and his voice was cold and clipped as he interrupted. “You didn’t have to invite him.”

Rhysand’s brows rose slightly, but his voice remained steady. “He is her mate, Azriel. Whether we like it or not, that bond exists. Ignoring it won’t make it disappear.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened, his shadows curling more protectively around him. “I’m well aware of that, Rhys. But you didn’t need to bring him here. Solstice is for family.”

Cassian leaned forward slightly, holding up a hand as if to diffuse the tension. “Alright, let’s all take a deep breath. It’s been a long day, and we don’t need to—”

“I don’t need your advice,” Azriel snapped, cutting him off as well. His voice was calm but laced with a quiet, simmering anger. He stood, setting his glass down with more force than necessary. “I’m grown enough to make my own decisions, and I don’t need either of you meddling in my personal life.”

Rhysand’s violet eyes followed Azriel carefully, a flicker of something unspoken passing between them. But he didn’t press further, simply nodding once.

Cassian leaned back in his chair, muttering under his breath, “Well, that went well.”

Azriel didn’t respond, his shadows coiling around him as he turned and left the room. He felt their eyes on him as he walked away, but he didn’t look back.

As he stepped into the cool night air, the weight of their words still lingered. His chest felt tight, his thoughts a tangled mess of anger, guilt, and something he couldn’t quite name. He didn’t know what he wanted anymore. Or maybe he did, and that was the problem.

----

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[zoyssauce]

post-war wolfstar is so fascinating to me. two boys that were friends who cared for each other, sure, but that was all. ordinary teenage boyhood, maybe the odd romantic thought here and there, but easily forgettable. friends. until they weren’t. until sirius was living with remus, almost twenty years after the last time they did. until they were forced to be alone together, and reassess their friendship in a different world as different people.

dear friends that had never existed without the other two. because it was sirius and james, and remus and peter. james fit with them all, peter didn’t fit with any, but who were they to question it? not once did they think they would live a life without them. and they were friends, and they cared for each other, but remus understood peter; the urge to linger quietly, let the louder boys carry the conversation, cling to their words and to their protection. and sirius was james’ other half; he knew him better than anyone else, could finish his sentences before they even escaped his mouth. remus and sirius? they were the leftover puzzle pieces. with enough force, it could work, but it never quite slotted in right.

they had no reason to be close, beyond what living together and having the same set of friends did. sirius was jagged and sharp, sometimes too bright to look at. he could be cruel, mean to hide the hurt inside. his barbs were like lashes, always defensive, always sensitive. remus had never liked it. remus was curved, moulding into whatever they wanted. he was quiet because he believed he had to be, to keep the the friendships he valued the most. he believed he was nothing without his friends, after all. he would always let it slide, always let them get away with anything, and never say a word. sirius had never liked it.

they didn’t quite fit until they were all each other had left. until sirius - angry, loud, cocky sirius - and remus - quiet, bookish, pushover remus - weren’t the boys that left hogwarts. until war and death had their claws in two boys and ruined the people they could have been. until solitude hardened their hearts into mere shades of the bright-eyed boys of 1971.

and sirius, who had always been handsome, suddenly seemed more beautiful when the barbs out of his mouth were protecting a boy with james’ hair and lily’s eyes — when he defended, instead of antagonised. and remus had never been more attractive than in order meetings, still quiet but with steel in his voice because he was not afraid of what it could bring him, not when silence had ruined his friendships in the last war — when he stood his ground, instead of turning away.

they were not the same, not anymore, and yet fit better than they ever had. the puzzle had changed, and their jagged edges lined up perfectly. the lonely werewolf. the azkaban escapee. remus lupin. sirius black. and these odd pieces, left in the dust of war, found each other in the aftermath. sirius had never quite understood remus until he was the one clinging to letters from his godson, locked away like a caged animal. and remus had never understood sirius, not until the injustice made his blood boil, anger seeping from his skin for the crimes against his friend. they were older, slightly wiser, and willing to find each other, trust each other, and love more than they ever had before — because they never knew how much they needed the other until they were gone.

and they loved, they loved so much, until it all came for them too.

[sociopathicartist]

Redamancy - The act of loving in return

(PART 3 OF THE SERIES APRICITY)

DUST/MURDER SANS X READER

Dust would never tell anyone, but sometimes whenever he laughed with you and watched as the corners of your eyes crinkled and your soft lips curled into the smile he loved, he felt sad.

Why did he feel sad? There were many tragedies about his life, but you smiling was not one of them.

He would watch as you looked for him every time you entered a room, and he saw your face light up whenever you noticed him lurking.

Why did he feel almost… Guilty?

Maybe the times when your hands gently traced around his shoulders as you fixed the hood to his jacket gave him a weird remembrance of a time when he was loved.

He used to be someone. Something.

Or maybe it was how you trusted him so openly despite knowing every horrible thing he’s done. Maybe that made him feel sad. He didn’t want to hurt you, to use you. He wasn’t, but some part of him was scared that he would end up doing so.

It was hard to be able to trust himself on these things. There was a time when he would never even be able to fathom killing his brother, let alone the entire underground population, but here he was now, a murderer.

A monster.

Despite everything, the horrible flashbacks he had, the weird sad feeling he had whenever he saw you, despite it all, some part of him told him that it would be okay. At least it would be okay in the moments where he got to trace his phalanges through your hair while you sat in front of him, happily watching the movie that you’d put on the TV.

Fuck, it would be over for both of you if anyone figured out how many kisses you’d stolen from each other in secret. If anyone found out how deeply he longed to be entangled with you as you whispered to him that it was alright, that nothing bad had happened to him yet and he would wake up tomorrow and it would all be okay.

Whenever he was loved.

Whenever he was someone’s brother. Whenever his home felt like home.

He didn’t have enough time with you. Maybe the guilty and sad feeling came from knowing that he couldn’t do this forever with you. You would die. Or he would die. Or you two would fight so bad that everything you’d both worked for would be over like that- gone and as the two of you had never held each other.

One day it would happen. One day one of you will end up alone- whatever the circumstances are.

Was it selfish of him to wish that if anything happened, he was the one who died? That the memory of him in your mind stayed warm and fond, and that he didn’t have to go on living without you?

Whenever it happens one day, his scattered dust will still have visions of you. In the impossible world where he has become beyond living, and he is now gone into another life, his soul will still call for your name every night. Your beautiful face will still be housed in every corner of his mind, and as his life dissipates into the void, he knows that the sick, gross, and humiliating feeling of pure want and need for you will never go away as long as the multiverse still has your hands in it.

Whenever he wandered along Snowdin, broken, dusty, and despised.

Maybe it was how you hugged him tightly as you cried, wanting to get out of the castle and wanting a better life for the both of you. Maybe that’s what gave him the sad feeling.

Amongst the many other things he would never tell you- one of them was how scared he was. He got along so well with you and it was horrifying. Everything he had come to know with you could be ripped from his life. All of the nights you spent with him laughing and talking about another life together, or talking about your day- or just anything. All of the times he had brushed your hair for you when you felt too weak and you were too demotivated to even bring yourself to view your face in the mirror. All the times he had convinced Nightmare to let you come along with him and the other two skeletons on a mission- just so that you could have fun in the city and stay in the cozy hotel beds while he went out with Horror and Killer on a life-threatening mission.

It could be ripped from him in a moment.

And one day- it would be.

But sometimes on the nights when he didn’t get to sneak across the castle so that he could lay with you for just a few moments longer, he’d find himself in the garden looking up at the stars and wondering about another world where the two of you could be together fully.

He dreamed of being able to take you out on dates like he wanted and getting to watch you as you got ready for the day. He wanted so bad- so inhumanely, disgustingly, painfully bad to be able to wake up with you in the mornings and brush some hair out of your face as he admired you.

You were just breathtaking- fucking- he couldn’t even put the right words on it. His expansive vocabulary was suddenly drained as his mind went numb with nothing but the mere thought of you. Did you know that he watched you as you laughed and that he thought you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen? Did he ever tell you that?

It was so easy for him to think about the times when he would lay on the floor at night in his room while Papyrus slept soundly, wondering why his life had turned out like this and why he had no motivation to do anything anymore. You knew he was a horrible person, and he had told you of the awful things he’d done, and yet you loved him still.

Did he ever tell you that there was a time when he laughed with his friends, and nothing had changed yet? Had he told you about the good parts of his life that made what he had to do so much worse?

Will there ever be a time when you are no longer such a large part of him? It was insane to think that there was once a time when he didn’t even know you existed- and worse- a time when he didn’t even care if you were dead. Will he ever be able to take the stuffed animal off his bed that he only likes because you got it for him?

Whenever he had nothing.

He prayed to nonexistent gods throughout the multiverse that there would be a time when he doesn’t feel like the best thing he can do for you is stay away from you for the rest of your life. All he’s doing is making it harder for you whenever he dies.

Obviously, he will die. Come on, there’s no way he can keep doing this for the next five hundred years. He keeps waiting for the day that someone will nick him just right despite all of his fighting, and he will be gone for good this time.

He hoped that once he’s gone, you’re able to laugh with someone else as you laugh with him. That you can watch the same movies with someone else that you’ve watched with him. That you still love him, but you’re at peace without him, and you’re happy.

Is it selfish of him to want to listen to your heartbeat every night as he falls asleep?

Will there be a day when you no longer wake up with things to tell him? Whenever he’s dead and gone, will you be able to wake up in the mornings and not wish that he was there?

When he’s gone, will you notice?

Some selfish part of him hopes that he’ll always have a place in your heart.

Maybe he gets sad whenever he watches you struggle in his favorite video game that he’s trying to teach you how to play. You keep messing up on the same level, and you’re grinning at him as you’re asking how in the world he’s able to beat it.

You’re his best friend. His lover. He hopes that you never learn how to beat his favorite game so that he can keep teaching you how to play it forever.

Maybe the sad feeling comes from the little warm feeling in his ribcage that he gets whenever he watches you walk away, and he’s already missing you.

Maybe it’s because as he listens to you talk with him, and time slows while he stares at you and takes in everything about you, he realizes that he’s viewing every moment with you like it’s already happened. There will be a time when he won't get to experience this again, and he won't get to feel your soft hands cup his face and be told that you love him no matter what.

Whenever he was loved.

Whenever he was someone’s brother. Someone’s friend.

Whenever he looked at home and smiled.

Whenever the life that he had known started to become cruel, his world crumbled.

Whenever he wandered along Snowdin dusty, broken, and despised.

Whenever he had nothing.

Whenever he was nothing.

Can some part of him still believe that despite everything, your hands will reach out to him, hold him, and remind him of a time when he was loved?

[honeyncherry]

pls indulge with me for a second as i work on this joe burrow fic...

He craved you in ways that felt impossible to contain, a heat that burned hotter with every stolen glance and fleeting touch. 

It wasn’t just the physical pull — though that was undeniable. More so the way his pulse quickened when your fingers brushed his arm, a simple gesture that left his skin tingling long after. The way your laugh sent a shiver down his spine, like the brightest melody, curling around his senses and making it hard to focus on anything but you. And the way you looked at him, eyes bright and searching, filled with something that made his breath hitch, something he wanted so badly to claim, to keep, to hold.

But it was more than the way your presence unraveled him. It was the ache of sitting beside you on his couch, too close but never close enough, your knee brushing his as you leaned in to tell him something that had no right being so captivating. The way his gaze lingered on your lips when you weren’t looking, wondering what they’d feel like against his. Wondering what they’d feel like against his skin.

And that was the part that made his chest tighten with shame.

You trusted him. Confided in him. Looked at him like he was safe, like he was someone you could depend on. Oblivious to the storm raging inside him, the way his thoughts twisted into places they shouldn’t go. The way you were so unapologetically yourself, completely unaware of the effect you had on him, the way you consumed his thoughts long after you’d left.

And every time you smiled at him, every time your voice softened as you said his name, it was like his world tilted on its axis, pulling him closer to something he couldn’t resist even if he tried. And God, he tried.

He wanted you in ways that went beyond words, beyond reason. He wanted to feel the heat of your touch, the weight of your gaze when it wasn’t just friendly. He wanted more, and the ache of it was enough to unravel him from the inside out.

And yet, he felt guilty. Sick with it. These feelings clawed at him, made him feel like some twisted, selfish impostor in your life. How could he sit beside you, pretending to be the friend you thought he was, when every inch of him ached to be more? When every thought betrayed him?

It was wrong. It had to be. But no matter how much he told himself that, no matter how many times he tried to shove the thoughts aside, they always came back.

link

[futurewriter2000]

Favours

pt. 1

A/N: I AM BACK! For a while, I guess. I should have been studying statistics but this is just more fun. I am back from the dead however and I am back to writing. New Years resolutions and such. Well, this has been sitting in my drafts for a while and I decided to do it. I wanted to do a one part but I just can't because... well, things took a turn lmao. Hope you like it!

PAIRING: Sirius Black x reader

REQUEST: hi! this is my first time requesting anything so like hello. hru. anyways i wanted to request a sirius black x reader where the reader and sirius are best friends but the reader has feelings for him and confesses. but then sirius doesn't feel the same way at the time. but then he starts to fall in love with her and he feels kinda stupid i guess lmao, for not accepting the confession

XX

It was not every day classes got cancelled, but today seemed to be a good day after all. You slept in and spent most of your morning in your bed doing absolutely nothing. You haven't even cleaned your room, nor yourself and it was already 2pm but like you thought before, it's not every day classes get cancelled. Not that you had a lot of homework to be done, but still, you just wanted to take some rest.

Hogwarts was your home. More than the place you go to every holidays and summer vacation. The sound of rain and boys imitating airplanes was the one thing that made you believe you really were experiencing a good time. Mostly because hearing boys be boys was making you laugh all the time. It was why you hung out with most of them.

But not today. Today you have been just inside your own comfort zone.

---

"And where the hell have you been?!" a boy has shouted from the other side of the class as you entered into his eyesight.

"Heaven and beyond." you stretched your arms and smiled. "Best day ever."

"I sent you like a million letters and all I get back was a 'nah'?" he glared at you.

"What did you expect? A whole essay?" you sat next to him and said hi to the rest of the group. "Plus I heard you boys from the other side of the dormitory. You haven't missed me at all."

"You think I need you to enjoy my time?"

"No. I think you need me to have the best time of your life, not only enjoy." you grinned at him, hugging your books and knocking his shoulder as you made your way to your seat. You plopped yourself down and smiled at the empty board. It felt like a breath of fresh air to be rested and back at the classroom- even if it was only for one day.

He plopped himself next to you and tried to push you off your chair but you only pushed back. It was an already won war- he was absolutely stronger than you and both of you knew it, he just liked to pretend that you have a shot. With a wink, he pushed you off your chair but caught you by the arm to pull you back up before your bottom left the chair. Laughter filled the competitive void between the two of you and he just leaned to you and whispered. "I missed you... even if it was for a day." his eyes glinted with overjoy and you felt a familiar sensation in your stomach.

Anxiety? Or butterflies...? Never-the-less, it made you happy and uncomfortable at the same time.

"Have you really?" you eyed him, half joking, half serious.

"Between you and me?" he eyed you back, matching your energy and tensing the air between the two of you. "You were on my mind all day."

You stared at him lustfully and he pretty much did the same but that air was quickly cut by the entrence of the professor. The two of you continued to stare at each other and all that came to your mind was the words 'I love you so much, you don't even know.'. But those words could and should not be ever spoken out loud. Never.

It drove you insane though, every moment of it. Every single interaction with him for the past year since he has grown taller and muscular, his bone structure defined and his hair longer. His confidence rose with passing time but you never wanted to admit it to yourself. It was no denying it- for the past year, you had been pinning over this boy like a lost puppy and it showed more, day by day.

Did he know?

Was he playing with you? - No, he wasn't the one to play games with you. Not ever.

But maybe if you grew some balls and confess, maybe he did feel the same way? He surely acted like he did.

---

The next day there was a whole group of you in the common room, far from the fireplace. There were only two lamps bringing light to the table where some were reading, some were writing homework and some were just playing cards to pass the time. The rain was just as common as the mist and the darkness loomed over all the students and their moods for the past day. Though it as almost night and you couldn't help yourself but to stare at him over your crossword puzzle

He was sitting on the sofa by the lamp and it absolutely threw perfect shade of light onto his dark features. His eyes disappeared with the light but his dark eyelashes and his dark eyebrows brought out the sharp tones to his face.

Maybe he likes you too? - you thought for a moment. You drew your foot to his thigh and poked it gently.

He raised his finger as he continued to read the last paragraph of his book and slowly looked at you with a lovely smile. "Yes, sweet soul."

"Do you want to go get some snacks from the kitchen?" you asked, leaning the crossword puzzle over your nose and peering over it.

He tilted his head sweetly and smiled. "I would love too."

"Bring me some dry apple slices." said James without looking up from his homework.

"Dry apple slices? What are you? A deer?" said Sirius, grinning mischiviously at him.

James raised his head slowly, his eyebrows drew together in an annoyed look. "For your information, I have to keep an athletic build for Quidditch."

"I'd like some dark chocolate." said Remus.

"Bring me some coconut cookies." Peter added.

"I would love some refreshing lemonade." added Lily.

"What am I? Your bartender?" you asked and they all smiled.

"There's two of you with two perfectly working hands, so I'd say get creative." James winked. "And don't do something stupid." he added.

You rolled your eyes and Sirius flipped him off, but as you walked in front of Sirius, your smile broadened.

The two of you walked out of the room and into the cooled off hallway. Your cheeks lit up from the previous heat and the sudden cold. His cheeks did exactly the same and it looked wonderfully aesthetic on him- or those were just your rose-colored glasses.

He bumped into you playfully, his arms tucked into his sweatpants. You bumped back, smiling. Your stomach twisted inside of you, churning from anxiety and you couldn't even stop what happened next.

"Hey Sirius." you stopped and he made a few steps forward before turning around for you. His eyes were tired, but they always looked at you so lovingly. As if he just adored you so much. You looked away for a moment, playing with your fingers, but there was something in his eyes that felt so safe. "We're friends, right?"

"Best." he swang his feet forward, grinning. He stopped less than an inch away from you. He put his hands on your shoulders. "Aren't you cold?" he rubbed his hands down your arms.

You chuckled and looked up at him. "Have you ever thought... that we could be more than best friends?" you continued to smile, biting your lip out of habit.

His hands fell back to his side and his smile faded. It was like a shot to the chest for you because you knew that whatever he decided to say next wasn't going to sound great for your ears. He was already further away, rubbing the back of his neck.

"(y/n)..." he dragged your name from his mouth awkwardly.

"Oh..." was all that you said. "I just thought..."

"No..." he continued in the same akward tone as he said your name before. "I don't see you that way."

"Oh..." you looked away, feeling something rise up from your stomach to your throat. "I think I'm going to be sick..." you said outloud to yourself.

"It's not that anything is wrong with you- you're amazing." he came to your aid as you turned around and hugged your arms. "Really amazing- I just never thought- I never- I..." he started to lose words to say. "I didn't know you liked me like that..." he finished, looking at the floor and sighing.

"It's fine." you forced a smile, though your eyes continued to glisten but you hadn't shed a tear... not yet at least. "Let's just get those crackheads their food and forget this ever happened- PAL!" you hit his shoulder- stronger than you anticipated.

You walked in front of him, looking up at the ceiling an preventing your tears to fall from your eyes. Though your eyes were completely soaked in tears, your throat was too dry to say anything.

The rest of the trip, the two of you spent in silence. Coming back, the two of you plopped back to your own seats and picked up where you left off.

The others didn't even notice. James was already melting with the table, his eyes barely opened meanwhile the others just got stuck in a deep conversation.

---

You couldn't handle the embarrassment of it. You couldn't face him, and when you did it was like a breathless hiccup that made you hold your breath for a little too much. Your eyes would just look at each other for a while, but both of you couldn't say a word.

Slowly, the others started to realize the awkward tension and you couldn't really know, if Sirius told them or not. You didn't tell anybody. You kept the embarrassment to yourself and if you did tell somebody, well,.., your friends are his friends and everything comes around so easily.

And it happened so innocently- when you started to distance yourself from the group. You've tried to keep your cool, but it was as if they knew. You couldn't be sure of it, but there was a feeling that loomed. The way they quieted around you- when suddenly the silence became too loud. You've tried to be yourself, but it just didn't matter and slowly but surely, you pulled away and it felt lonely.

You felt furious at yourself. If only you could have kept it to yourself but then you would have been blinded by love all this time- so as badly as it was, it was also liberating to do it. You've also noticed that most of them pulled to his side- even though there was no fight, no drama, just a casual conversation between two friends.

Remus was the most normal. You could have seen it in his eyes, but where there was Remus, there was James and nobody could really talk about what really happened, even though everybody wanted to know.

Sirius could see it in your mood. He could notice the way you held yourself. He noticed the faded smile, but it didn't feel like heartbreak, more like disappointment. He didn't want the friendship to end, he didn't think it would, even after the conversation that was held, he thought the two of you could pretend that nothing happened but it was as if somebody shot a bullet through his head and now he had nothing to say to you. He felt as if anything he would do, would indicate to you that he might like you and he didn't want that. He didn't like you.

So you pulled away and Sirius... he missed you. He saw you less and less, day by day.

He had his friends. He did.. but the conversations he had with them were different than with you. The energy shifted and he felt safe and comfortable with you in a way, he didn't with his friends.

So, his mood changed as well but contrast to you, he hid it well. So when you saw him all chirpy and as if nothing really changed, you felt your mood lower.

You made your way to them with a big force pulling you back. Every step... counted to another step to...

"Hey (y/n)!" somebody called out your name and you turned around to see, who might be.

You turned to your table, but you saw no Gryffindor calling your name. He called your name again and you realised it came from the other table.

To your absolute surprise it was- "Nott?" your eyebrows furrowed.

You didn't dislike Nott, but you neither not disliked him. He was nice to you- as nice as Slytherins can be. He was a handsome boy though. His dark hair was slicked back, long strands of gelled hair falling over his forehead.

"Can I ask a favor from you?" his smile was broad and white. He had almost perfect teeth, but the horrible gossip you heard of him, even those perfect teeth could not make you like him.

"I don't remember doing any favors from you." your eyes furrowed. "I don't even remember if you acknowledged my existence in all seven years." you kept your eyebrows furrowed.

His eyes sparkled when you had said that and he quickly got up. "I know... I apologise for that but-" he looked around, his friends giving the same mischivious grin as he did. "Let us talk somewhere else." he threw his hand over your shoulder casually but you quickly gave him a look that made him remove it.

"Why would I go anywhere with you?" as the two of you walked further from the group. "I don't trust you." you kept your voice serious and low.

His face changed immediately. It wasn't so confident and mischivious. It was worriesome and... nervous?

He was tall but not as lanky. His black jacket and slicked back hair, his eyes dark as the darkest shade of brown can get stopped sparkling. It almost made you let your guard down.

"It's embarrassing to ask you this..." he started and your crossed your arms over and leaned back, your eyes narrowing in suspicion. "My dad... he works with yours."

"I know that."

"I know..."

"And your father is respected in the community."

"Meaning he's a rich pureblood in your language." you snarked back and his eyes looked at you, wide and then they narrowed.

"You know what... forget it." his voice lowered into a stern, sharp tone. "I really thought you were different than those sore losers, you hang out with."

"Are you really calling my friends sore losers when trying to get a favor from me?" you scoffed.

He turned around and slicked back his hair.

He walked very fast to you and stopped a breath away. You could smell his cologne and you could almost feel his heartbeat through the air. "Are they really your friends? Because friends don't treat you the way they do for the past few weeks."

You felt speechless but you also felt frozen by his presence. "I didn't want to ignore your existance. I prayed 7 years ago that the Sorting Hat would bring you to our table but the moment you chose their company, you turned into them."

You felt guilty by that... it did happen like that but you were 11 years old and desperate for a group to belong to. So you did what every kid does- you blended.

"Why did you want me to be sorted to your house?" you whispered and his eyes focused on yours.

"Why do you think?" he whispered lower than you.

"HEY!" there was a shout behind him and in a flash, those brown eyes disappeared from your view.

A hand grabbed his shoulder, turnedh him around and threw a fist his way.

Nott flew the other way and you looked in front who it was- contrast to Nott's dark, there was a pair of light eyes, burning with fire. He looked at you, eyes wide and worried. "Are you okay?"

"ARE YOU FUCKING CRAZY?!" you shouted and rushed to Nott's aid. "WHY THE HELL WOULD YOU PUNCH HIM?!" you shouted.

"He was cornering you."

"He was not cornering me!!" you shouted back, lifting Nott's pretty face. No blood, just a slowly appearing swollen lump on his cheek. You turned sharply back at Sirius, James and Remus, even Peter standing behind him. "We were just talking!" you snarled back. "Are you okay?" you turned back to Nott, who was only smiling.

"I'm perfect, Love." he said back as he started to get up. "Quite a throw there, Black."

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" you threw fire his way.

"I was protecting you!" Sirius shouted back but you only felt more furious by the second.

"Fuck you!" you flipped him off and walked away with Nott. "Let's put some cold on that."

---

You sat in the Slytherin common room. Your legs were up on the armchair with you and you faced Nott on the two-seat couch, looking at you with a bag of peace on his cheek.

For a moment, you thought the Slytherins liked the cold but the room was rather cold and the silver-green tones gave a nice silhouette to the area. It was like this invisible veil that oozed you to serenity. Time felt as if it didn't exist.

"Is there a charm in the room?" you asked eventually and Nott smiled.

"No, not really... or if there is nobody really told us about it but it's nice." he answered.

"Not too shabby." you shrugged casually, though you felt quite impressed by it.

He chuckled, leaning forward and looking at the floor.

"I'm sorry about the... you know... my loser friends." you bit your lip and he looked up with his dark eyes.

"So now you admit they're losers?" he raised an eyebrow.

"About what they did without reason, I'm willing to call them that for this exception."

He kept watching you for a long pause at the end of your sentence. "I don't think there was no reason." he said and leaned back on the couch. "There was definitely a reason." he stretched.

"Like what?"

"Like that Black has the hots for you."

You bulged your eyes and laughed. "Hah! No... no he doesn't." you shook your head in disbelief.

"Oh, yeah? So there is just no way that he punched me when he saw me leaning close to you?"

"There is no way, yes." you admitted and he observed carefully.

He could see your face force a smile but there was something shameful behind it. So he shook his head and chuckled lightly.

"That's why then..." he said and broadened his smile.

"What do you mean?"

"You told him you fancied him and he rejected you." he blurted out.

Your eyebrows narrowed and you felt your guard build up immediately. "Excuse me."

"Oh, come on. It's written all over you."

"How would you even conclude all of that from my face?"

"Because I fancied you since the First Year and I thought I never stood a chance to Sirius Black- because from the way I saw it, you and him were like meant to be at some point. But it's been what? Seven years and he rejected you?"

You felt your cheeks burn up. "You fancied me?"

"Abso-fucking-lutely." he said as a matter a fact and you sat there quietly. He gazed at you for a moment. "How about... I do you a favor and you do me a favor?"

"What?"

"I show you that he fancies you and you help me with my father situation." his eyes shimmered in the light, his light red bruise matching his perfect dark brown pallete and let's be honest... how would you not be intrigued.

[three-realms-archive]

Too Bright

Summary/Details: You celebrate Belphegor’s and Beelzebub’s birthdays, at different points in time. Slight, slight reference to Lesson 16. Angstyyyyyyy.

You chirp and squeal with glee, spinning to a song that sounds foreign to Belphegor’s ears. A song for him, you had said. A birthday gift, you had insisted.

“Dance with me, Belphie!” You laugh, clasping his hands, wrists colliding and clanging with the metal bars in a way that infuriated him. Were you mocking him? Were you relishing the fact that you were free to sway and twirl like a flower petals; not trapped in an attic, forgotten and rotting? Were you relishing in your freedom, looking down on him with the pride that only one who had gotten past his eldest brother could boast? Did you follow his voice, trudge your way up those stairs, just to gloat by singing and humming some unnecessary tune?

His tired gaze falls to the floor. A single cupcake sits on a saucer; a single candle sticking out of the icing on top. The candlelight it provides is bright - too bright for a pair of eyes that have only known dark and dust for too long - and he squints, looking away from the cupcake and back at your face.

It’s unfair. That same candlelight makes you look bright, too. Bright and beautiful, illuminating your smile with a glow that tempted him to reach out beyond the bars of his prison and -

No.

The Avatar of Sloth lets his arms go limp, straining something resembling a smile. It’s enough to convince you, though - and you go back to dancing, holding him so close that he can feel the warmth of your cheek on his.

Disgusting humans. With you none the wiser, he squeezes his eyes shut, to envelope himself in the darkness that embraces him in the attic when you’re not around. It’s a darkness that’s familiar… a darkness where, if he squeezes just enough, he can see her. His sister is there, in the darkness, and she helps him to remember.

Humans are the most dangerous form of temptation.

And he won’t make his sister’s mistake.

_

You chirp and squeal with glee, spinning to a song that has Belphegor wide awake.

Through open, alert eyes, he watches his twin brother lift you up by the waist with ease, and you both twirl under the gentle glow of the ballroom chandelier.

The cupcake you had made for Beel has long been devoured (candle and all, to no one’s surprise), and the Avatar of Gluttony’s sheer size mean that you both are bathed in the glow of the ornate chandelier above you in the centre of the room, laughing happily as you dance to a song once meant for him.

It wasn’t fair, Belphegor wants to think, watching as Beel indulged and indulged in the temptation of loving you. It wasn’t fair, he wants to think, hearing the birthday song which he had never paid attention to until it was no longer his name you sang. It wasn’t fair that he never let himself eat your cupcake.

He watches the two people he cherishes most waltz together, arm-in-arm and hand-in-hand, from a lone sofa in the corner. Around you, your friends and family gather around to join in the festivities; bunching up until the only view he has of your dance is through the tiny, narrowing slot of space between a content Lucifer and a cheering Lord Diavolo. It narrows - and narrows… and the last thing he sees is Beel pull you in by the waist for a deep, loving kiss.

Belphegor smiles bitterly, watching you hum against his brother’s lips. You look too bright, and too beautiful.

He squints, looking away from your face. The bright lights must be making his eyes tear up.

(y’all i just gotta accept that writing angst comes easiest to me, and idk if that’s a problem 😭. i hope y’all are doing good, though - esp with all the obey me news as of recent, such as the new content stopping. if anyone has any theories of what’s coming next, or anything they’d like to see in om’s future, feel free to share!)

[phpruitts]

'Thank you,'

Phoebe smiles again, and nods, but there was nothing that she had said that wasn't completely true. Rafael did look out for her. He gave her rides, took her out to dinners with crystalline glasses and carpaccio and expensive wines, but far beyond that, easily the kindest, most important thing to Phoebe ... Rafael did not look at her with condescension or judgement.

She was an ant, really, in a world as big as Rafael's. But that never seemed to influence the way he treated her. Or looked at her. Or spoke to her.

And to Phoebe, that alone was everything.

Rafael wraps an arm around her shoulder, tugs her in close on the couch, and then—

'There’s a lot you don’t know about me,'

'I don’t know if I want you to find it all out, to be honest,'

Phoebe straightens minutely. There was something subdued in his voice, a little quiet. What did he mean by that?

Work, maybe? Beyond his position in his father's business, handling expansions and investments and shareholder meetings, Phoebe would have to be stupid not to understand there were other aspects of Rafael's career. Serious stuff. Illegal stuff. Phoebe made a point to keep her nose out of where it didn't belong, but she would have to be blind, really, not to suspect that the Dahar's influence extended deep into the city, in avenues that went far beyond hotels or casinos.

But Phoebe had known this from the beginning. When Rafael had first started flirting with her, Phoebe was well aware who he was, and the more time they spent together, the more glimpses Phoebe would get— little things, because Rafael shielded her well, but just the deference he was shown, men coming to him at the club and speaking vaguely about shipments and meetings.

Yeah. Phoebe knew. And there were probably so many more things Rafael had shielded her from, and wouldn't want her to see, and even if Phoebe's mind could fill in the blanks, she just didn't ... care.

Phoebe didn't care if Rafael's daily workload could fill an episode of sensationalized tv.

Rafael was still the person whose first response, when he met Phoebe was, was kindness. But it was still hard to admit this much, wasn't it? It probably took a lot for Rafael to voice that kind of fear.

Her palm brushes along his cheekbone.

"Well. You don't have to share everything with me. If it's something you don't want to do." A beat. "But, uh ... I trust you. I always feel good with you, like safe, in a way I've never felt with other guys. So you should know I won't care about whatever you tell me. I'll still look at you the same."

A smile pulls at her lips, gentle, something flickering warmly behind her eyes as she stared at the man who cared for her so well.

Rafael liked how things were now; Phoebe too. There was nothing that Rafael could ever share with her that would change her opinion of him, or dampen the feelings she felt in her heart.

And Phoebe. Well. If anything, she felt like the fraud here, the one with a thin veneer glossing over an ugly past full of things dark and shameful. The syringes and the evictions and the crunch of glass and all the awful little apartments with awful silences and even more awful yelling, the nights spent with strangers, exchanges that left Phoebe feeling empty and awful. The man who she'd stayed with for weeks, months, who sometimes frightened her so bad she wanted to vomit. And the highs, and the things she did to keep those highs. Years and years of sacrificing everything for her highs.

Yeah. What if she told Rafael all about those things, and he rightfully felt different? Maybe saw her as pathetic, or gross, or someone he just didn't want to associate with.

Rafael had always been so kind to her, completely lacking in judgement, but the fear was still there.

Anxiety churns in her gut. Phoebe looks at that anxiety and does what comes natural now: she tucks her arm into one of Rafael's, and leans her abdomen into his solid frame.

"If it makes you feel better ... there's stuff, about me, that I worry would change your opinion of me."

It seemed obvious, but it hadn’t really occurred to Rafael that Phoebe saw him as something other than just … an intimidating rich asshole. This illusion that there was depth to Rafael felt… strange. It didn’t really seem possible to him. It had felt pretty impossible until Phoebe, and now… well. There were a lot of questions that Rafael wanted answers to, but they wouldn’t come from Phoebe.

Even though she’d offered to help, he had to figure some of it out on his own.

Rafael was nice to her right away. There was just something about Phoebe that drew him to her like a magnet. And over the months, those feelings had only become more intense. As the time went on, there was nothing that Rafael wouldn't have done for her.

“Thank you,” Rafael simply said.

It was endearing that Phoebe was willing to put up a fight about his kindness. She hadn’t seen him at work. Not in the office, but ... his real work. She hadn’t seen him in the hour before he showed up at her apartment. Fists aching and covered in blood. Making a call to dispose of a body on Christmas Eve.

He wrapped an arm around Phoebe, pulled her in close.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” he told her. There was. Good and bad. Maybe she assumed, and there were rumors, but she didn’t really know. “I don’t know if I want you to find it all out, to be honest,” he said, voice quiet.

Would she think of him differently? If all of the rumors were true?

“I like the way things are right now,” he said, voice quiet.

It felt like a scary thing to admit.

[bosspigeon]

what was the relationship between gortash and your durges pre-lobotomy? how do they feel when they meet him again?

:3 soooo originally i thought it would be REALLY funny if Gortash was shooting his shot so hard but Maw (pre-lobo Moss~) was just So Autistic he just didn't get it

but then i realized i could go deeper and much more painful :3c

i stand by Moss being a Big Ol' Virgin before Astarion, bc i, personally, think that makes for a very fun(ny) dynamic and also fits in with the character i've already established for Maw, and that was that he was so single-mindedly focused on his duty to Bhaal and his destiny that he didn't really bother with seeking out any sort of bond with anyone, much less enough for him to start feeling sexual attraction towards them. his duty was Murder and he was very, very, very good at it, and that came from a lifetime of dedication

but i think, meeting Gortash, someone he saw as more of an equal than even Orin (who he saw as his lesser by virtue of him being made by Bhaal from his own flesh and her being a second-generation spawn from a first-generation spawn that he still considered imperfect as well as misguided wrt his ideas about Blood Purity) and eventually befriending him over their shared passions and dedication to their respective patron gods, opening him up to actually making his own adult bond with someone else for the first time in his entire life

his relationship with Gortash started as a business deal and eventually turned into companionship and his first genuine friendship. and from there, feelings began to emerge on both sides, but seeing as Maw had a lot of practice shoving down any Softer Feelings he may have had (and an adolescence of Firm Guidance into perfection overseen by Sceleritas, who served Bhaal first and foremost) so before Orin betrayed him, they never got further than a very heavy, very dangerous Almost.

[fadebolt]

I'm guessing this is about the character, and not the region, judging by the fact that you used 'him' instead of 'it' on the poll, and by the things said on the other reblogs. I could almost definitely do a full character analysis on the guy, but honestly, I don't feel like there would be of a point. The characterization of Five Pebbles has already discussed to death by the community, and I don't think I have anything to add, outside of maybe commenting on the readings of others.

And this poll isn't really about that, anyway. But instead, it's about how much we enjoyed him, as a character. And the fun thing about that is how there isn't a consistent metric for it. We all have our list of requirements, that need to be fulfilled, for us to fall in love with a character - and that list is completely different for each of us.

Mine is... certainly on the more unusual side, as I almost never get grabbed by the popular central characters, but instead, the one that really catches my eye is that one neat side character not many people cared about. (The most recent example would be Arcane, and how I wasn't overly invested in CaitVi, but got super excited whenever Singed showed up. And believe me, this happens in like, every piece of media I consume xd) But the weird part is that Rain World is the one thing that is completely exempt from this. Sure, with ships, I always had a preference towards the less popular ones - but if you're looking at just the singular characters, my favorites were actually the important central ones that most of the community also cared about.

Five Pebbles is undoubtedly on that list, and that is due to a combination of two things - the way he was framed, and the compelling, yet nuanced characterization. The game did a lot to make him seem godlike, and boy, does it work phenomenally! He's enormous. He's practically immortal. He's incredibly knowledgeable. He wields immense power. He talks in a very inhuman way, and makes it clear he sees you as someone who is beneath him in every way. And if you annoy him even just a little, he won't hesitate to just effortlessly kill you in a snap. The point is that this guy has an overwhelming presence, far above anything you've ever seen before, or since. And this only gets hammered in more, as you learn about the lore. As for the characterization, I'm gonna reiterate that I really don't have much to add, except for the fact that I personally found it quite compelling. The base game didn't show too much of him, but it did establish him as a bit of a flawed/morally grey figure. He's made mistakes, and is not exactly the most kindhearted fella, but he still wants the best for everyone, and is willing to assist both the Survivor/Monk in their mission for ascension, and the Hunter, in their quest to restore what's left of the group senior. Downpour did expand on him a bit, though a lot of what we've seen were things we could easily infer. Of course there were three things that stuck out - some of the pearl readings on Artificer's campaign, the sacrifice on Rivulet's, and the sheer extent of his collapse on Saint's. Some people understandably didn't like how the DLC humanized him, and heavily reduced how 'distant' or 'godlike' he felt. But honestly, I like that we got to peer into him a little more, and see what's beyond this outer layer that the base game presented us with. (And frankly, this is pretty much the direction I would have taken him, too..... okay, the Spearmaster outburst is something I almost definitely would have written differently, but that's about it) However, in spite of all of this, he... didn't really make it into the list of all-time favorite fictional characters - the kinds I would think about about on a daily basis, for multiple years. And why? I'm... not quite sure, actually. Because in theory, he should be up there. The only thing I could really note is how I don't think there's anything more I could add to him. Everything is already so well tied together. We got to see both the prelude, and the conclusion to his story, all the while his personality was completely fleshed out as well. And this is a really rare thing, actually. Usually, there are always some holes left to fill, but for Five Pebbles, I frankly don't see any. So I'd rather think about characters like Saint, who are practically nothing, but a bajillion holes, on top of a really intriguing premise (that's drastically oversimplifying it, but you get the point). But this is really not a bad thing, and is actually quite a breath of fresh air for me, after World of Warcraft's inconsistency, in regards to the execution of character conclusions, or the lore of Runeterra setting up a boatload of interesting things, only to never properly expand on them. Five Pebbles is how you do character writing right. And while you could argue that he lost a good chunk of what made him so memorable in the base game (even if you discount all the memes, and catboy stuff, and other fandom nonsense), what we got was a compelling, and absolutely devastating journey that undoubtedly stuck with me. So yeah. He deserves a 'love' for that. He technically ain't a brainrot of mine, but he doesn't need to be <3

maybe been done

Thoughts on Five Pebbles