#i always like picking up songs from others | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sonotpattismith · 3 days ago

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ruin it all over

pairing: tattoo artist!sukuna x ballerina!reader word count: 12.9k content: angst, insecurity, feelings of worthlessness, reader low-key crashing out, hurt w/comfort, loss of virginity, there's a happy ending here somewhere pls bear w/ me, smut, 18+ a/n: continuation of where I first saw you

Ryomen was a guarded guy. Sure— he was getting a little better at the small talk he once thought was so pointless, but it was only because you always seemed genuinely enthralled to hear about what kind of cereal he ate that morning or what song he was listening to on the car ride to work (even though you had no clue who the artists were that he would name, but you were keeping a running playlist). He tried, but it certainly didn’t come naturally to him.

No, because it was much more entertaining for him to listen to your sickeningly sweet voice ramble on and on about the exam you almost missed because you were trying to give a stray campus cat your leftover egg salad sandwich, or how you started keeping tins of actual cat food in your bag just in case even though the critters never seemed to appear when you were actually prepared for them.

The silent man would go about whatever he was doing— closing up the shop with you perched on the counter awaiting him, cleaning his car as you sat in the passenger seat pretending not to stare at the way the sweat clung to his bulging arms as he wiped down the dashboard, shaving his face as your voice fluttered through his phone on the sink— he was taking in every word with as little as an occasional grunt that proved he was still listening.

His favorite part though, was nearing the end of your drawn out stories, when your words would start to trail, and your face would begin to flush because you realized— god, you really have been talking for a long time. Whenever he’d notice those little queues, he’d always look up just in time to watch as you buried your burning face into your hands, muttering out an apology about talking his ear off, and he would smile, because something about that gentle timidness contrasted so deliciously with his brash and jagged edges. It lit a fire in his chest each time, one that had him reminding himself to reel it back in before he scared you one of these days.

So, he’d bite down the urge to pounce and opt to flick at your forehead, tutting softly as he urged you to not leave me in fuckin’ suspense as soon as you’d peek up at him through your fingers.

His crass mouth was another aspect of him that didn’t seem to phase you as much as he thought it would. In your eyes, he could curse like a sailor and scowl all he wanted, because none of it ever took away from the way his typically rough hands handled you with the delicacy of fine china, and how he always seemed to remember the little bits of you you’d shared when you were sure he hadn’t been listening. It also didn’t hurt to have someone without any hair on his tongue around when the cafe got your order wrong, and you were too scared to say anything.

So, maybe you weren’t sure exactly how to label whatever it was that had been going on between you two for the past couple weeks, but you knew you were actually excited for something other than your frequent dance practices for the first time in months. Shrugging on a sweater and a pair of sweatpants over your leotard and tights, you scooped up your bag before tossing a rushed goodbye out to your teammates and bursting through the doors.

Your feet still ached from the extensive time spent awkwardly constricted in your pointe shoes, but Sukuna had texted you just before practice asking (demanding) to meet him at the shop afterward since his last appointment was ending early. He’d offered to come pick you up, but the last thing you wanted to do was become a burden on him after he’d been working all day. So, you trudged through the dull pain and walked as fast as your throbbing feet would take you through the campus.

Chewing on your bottom lip, you busied yourself with checking the train schedule as the breeze messied your once neat bun. Glancing up after you narrowly avoided getting knocked into one too many times, you had to do a double take when you saw the familiar mop of pink hair in the distance. Biting down your tickled smile, you shook your head at his stubbornness. You picked up your pace a bit, but slowed down just as you were a few feet away from him. It had become a self-appointed challenge, your constant attempts to scare him as it seemed nothing swayed this man.

With an unnecessary burst of adrenaline, you made a running start before pouncing on his hoodie-covered arm with an exaggerated shout, an eccastic grin lighting up your face at the sound of his abrupt yelp.

“Hah! So much for— oh my god!” It was now your turn to yelp, because the startled face looking down at you was free of all the intricate tattoos that you’d grown so fond of, and the bicep in your grasp was most definitely a few inches smaller in circumference than you remember. Perhaps you should have known, because the hoodie you were clinging onto was a baby pink color, and you were positive you’d never seen that man in anything other than black.“I-I’m so sorry, I thought—” Your mortified apology died on your throat, because now that the jolt of fear had somewhat subsided, you noted that this was a damn near spitting image of Ryomen. “Oh my god!”

Stumbling back with a start, your foot twisted awkwardly on the rocky pavement below you, nearly sending your ass tumbling to the ground when the black haired man in front of him, whose eyes had since been shooting daggers into your skull, jolted forward to steady you. Stammered apologies continued spilling from your lips as you crouched against the sudden pain in your foot that had already seen better days before your tumble.

“I’m so sorry, it’s just that you look exactly like—”

“Ohhh,” The doppelganger cut you off, an amused smile of recognition finally lighting up his once startled expression. It wasn’t long after though that his face quickly scrunched up in disbelief once again as he took in the way you starkly contrasted his gruffer counterpart. “Wait, you’re the one seeing my brother?”

You blinked once, then twice, mouth hung open as the puzzle pieces began clicking together. Ryomen had mentioned that he and Choso have another brother, but he left out the arguably major details that for one, you two attended the same university, and two, that they were—

“Twins?”

Sukuna had already wrapped up his last appointment by the time you waltzed through the doors of the parlor, your eyes narrowed at the back of his head as he cleaned his station absentmindedly. Pausing your hunt to offer a warm smile to Choso as he greeted you, you quickly locked back in. It didn’t seem too busy in the shop today, only one other customer in the back getting the finishing touches of their ink.

Taking advantage of his lack of attention, you quietly made your way over and took a seat in his tattoo chair, holding back a groan of relief at the weight being taken off your twisted ankle. As he turned back around, it didn’t surprise you that he didn’t jump in the slightest at your sudden appearance. Hiding the tiny smile tugging at his lips with a short scoff, he reached up to flick at your forehead before swooping in with an urging hand on your jaw to press a kiss to your temple, your cheeks mushing together under his grip.

“There you are, geez. What took you so damn long— got lost?”

“No, funny story actually,” You began, watching with a tilted head as he began putting his supplies away. “I ran into this guy that looked just like you. Pink hair and everything!”

This made his movements falter for a fraction of a second, and you could practically see the realization don on his face that he’d forgotten to tell you something. Playing it off as he always did though, he only hummed in response. Narrowing your eyes again, you finally thought of the one thing that might actually startle him for once.

“Yeah, it was pretty embarrassing. I accidentally kissed him and—”

“You kissed my brother?” His baffled shout echoed through the shop, the bottle in his hand clattering to the ground abruptly.

“You kissed one of his brothers and it wasn’t me?” Choso shouted incredulously from the front, face morphed in bitter betrayal. “Yuji doesn’t even like girls!”

Sukuna felt his eye twitch, and he wasn’t sure which one of his siblings’ necks to wring out first. Deciding that Choso was closest and therefore easier game, he quickly pivoted on his heels to make a beeline for his target before you squeaked at the predicament you’d caused, snatching him back by his wrist with poorly disguised laughter.

“Wait! Wait! I surrender, I was kidding— spare him!”

The pure mass of him had you tumbling from the chair, clinging onto him desperately to give his half-brother a running start to lock himself in the bathroom. A pained yelp fell from your lips as you stumbled after him. This had him abruptly whipping his head around, staring down at the way you limped back over to the chair.

“The fuck happened to you?” He was kneeling down before you had the chance to answer, grasping at your calf as his other hand worked the fleece-lined boot from your foot. Leaning back on your hands, your scrunched face stared down at him as he carefully peeled your sock back to reveal the red skin that was paving the way for a gnarly bruise. Along with it though were the scars and blisters that your pointe shoes had graced you with over the years, and he tutted under his breath.

“Well, it kinda freaked me out when I saw Yuji.” You explained sheepishly, wincing as he ran a thumb over the warm skin. “And my feet were already killing me from practice, so I tripped up a little.”

“Can’t blame you— punk’s got an ugly fucking mug.”

Despite the searing ache in your feet, you couldn’t help the airy laugh that bubbled up your chest at his ridiculous claim. A smirk slid onto his lips at the sound. From your peripheral, you saw Choso poke his head out of the bathroom to check if the coast was clear, and you offered a subtle thumbs up, biting back an amused smile as he carefully slipped out to quietly take his place back at the front.

Sukuna ditched the plans he had to take you to lunch, opting to take you back to his place so you could get off your feet. You flushed initially at the idea, still never having stepped foot into his apartment since you two started… whatever this was that you two had started. Your unease was palpable as you sat stiffly on his couch, watching as he bustled around the kitchen after having told you to wait here.

He almost looked too large for the space he was residing in, the appliances in his kitchen appearing ridiculously small next to him. You couldn’t help but wonder what he’d look like in his pajamas, hovering menacingly over that stove as he cooked you breakfast after—

You quickly cleared your throat, cheeks burning as you tore your gaze from him in search of anything that might distract you from your impure thoughts. With a wandering gaze, you landed on the picture frame sitting idly on his side table. Sukuna had his middle finger positioned at the camera, partially blocking his face as his other arm was slung around the neck of the boy that had startled you so badly just hours prior, his brother's finger hooked into his already beaming smile to pull at his lip. You smile softly at the picture, being able to detect the subtle softness in the brooding man’s eyes even with all the layers of stone he always seemed put up before him.

“Alright, take them dogs out.” The man in question commanded as he trudged back into the living room with a bucket in tow. Your brows furrowed as he set it down on the floor in front of you. As if you had already been taking too long to comply, he kneeled down with a disapproving tsk to snatch your socks off himself and roll up your sweatpants before lowering your aching feet into the water.

“Ah—” You hissed as the warm water enveloped your inflamed tendons and skin. A few short pants escaped you before morphing into a sigh of relief as you felt your feet throb as if thanking you for showing them mercy. Slumping back against the couch, your eyes shifted apprehensively between him and the bucket. “Um, Ryo, do you happen to have any—”

“Salt? I already put a shit ton in there.”

“Oh.” You blinked in surprise, watching as he finally stood from his knelt position to trek back to the kitchen and procure a water bottle from the fridge. Finally sinking into the spot beside you, he passed over the bottle. “How’d you know to put it in there?”

A small, questioning hum left him, and you tilted your head down to the bucket.

“Punk’s been running track for years.” He explained as he slung an arm around your shoulder to pull you into his side. “If you think your toes are fucked up, you should see what I’ve had to soak off that bastard’s feet— shit’s not natural.”

A laugh attempted to leave you, but it came out closer to a groan than anything else, your head falling back against the cushion in agony over the state of your feet. Shifting your head to the side to look up at him, you found that he was already looking down at you. The intensity in his eyes seemed to suck you in, opening the smallest window to the inner thoughts that he seemed so protective of.

You found yourself flushing at the way it never wavered, unabashedly trained on you as though he could possess you by will alone if only he tried just hard enough. His fingers caught your jaw as you tried to escape it in hopes of calming your racing heart, ruby eyes dragging down your face until they fell upon the lips that were smushed between his fingers.

“You didn’t really kiss my brother, did you, doll?” He tested, his hot breath creating a mind-numbing humidity over your gently parted lips. The faintest of whimpers escaped you, and you quickly shook your head in hopes that he’d put you out of your misery already and kiss you as you’d been waiting for all day. Your response made him smirk, his nose brushing against your as he seemed to inhale each shaky breath that left your mouth. “Good, cause I woulda’ hated if I had to scrub him off of ya’.”

Lord, if you’re up there, please spare me.

Your frantic inner prayer seemed to fall on deaf ears though, because Ryo was swiftly pulling you in for a nearly bruising kiss, barely giving you the time to relish it before releasing you all together. He always loved the look on your face— the tiniest of disappointed furrow in your brows paired with that glossed pout— it drove him to the brink of insanity each time.

Gluing your eyes to your lap for the sake of having anything else to concentrate on, your fingers dug into your thighs for a moment as you thought of something to say. Hearing the sloshing of the water bucket as you shifted uncertainly, you were reminded of why you were in this position in the first place.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were a twin?” You finally broke the tense silence, the one during which his gaze not once left your delicate side profile. A dainty smile pulled at your lips when you glanced back up at him. “Probably would have saved me the embarrassment— his boyfriend looked like he was going to kill me on the spot.”

“Why— think you’d like the other one better?” It was so like him to brush off your questions with a jab and a matching smirk, though you had a feeling there was some truth hiding in the depths of this one.

“Is that what you thought?” You questioned, not matching his banter as you usually did. Instead, your voice was level, careful in how it broached this topic with him.“That I’d prefer your brother?”

The reaction he tried to disguise revealed itself within his fluttering blink, the way his smirk faltered for even just a millisecond before he scoffed. You caught it though— that rare sliver of vulnerability in his eyes just before he turned his head away from you under the guise of pushing his hair from his forehead.

“Bullshit,” He quipped, that guarded smirk back on his face faster than it had left. Reaching down to scoop up the towel he’d left beside the bucket, he placed it in his lap before abruptly pulling your feet out of the now luke-warm water to dry them. “Brat might be nicer than me, but he sure ass hell don’t got my hands, huh?”

Before you could even consider flushing at the implications of his words, said hands were kneading into the searing arch of your feet with more pressure than any of the myriad of foot rollers you’d come to know in all your years could ever manage. All thoughts of Yuji and his brother’s oddly stubborn defenses vanished from you as you fell back horizontally against the couch, a gutteral groan leaving you that Sukuna hadn’t even realized could come out of such a comparably small person.

“Geez, doll,” He whistled lowly through the pure mirth etched onto his face as he drifted his focus down to your heels, rolling his knuckles over them tantalizingly. “Not what I imagined when I thought of you all spread out and moaning on my couch, but I’ll take it.”

With a burning flush, you dug the back of your head into the cusion below you to shield yourself from his teasing gaze.

“Sorry,” You mumbled, covering your timid face behind your hands with a blissful sigh. “Just haven’t had much of a break lately.”

“Take it easy the next few days.” He grumbled as though he hated how his own concern sounded in his ears, fingers trailing up to gently massage into your calves. His neck nearly snapped with the abrupt turn it took at the sound of your quiet, incredulous laugh at his suggestion. “Did I say something fuckin’ funny?”

“No!” You squeaked, though the amusement still lingered in your tone as you peaked at him through your fingers. He only raised his brows at you in challenge. “That’s just… not possible right now. Swan Lake is only like a week away, remember?”

Of course he remembered— he had been reeling to see you perform again since that first night you took his breath away, though he’d never admit it. The air of nonchalance that waved from him when your ecstatic voice squealed through his phone weeks prior that you had been picked to portray Odette was carefully calculated. In truth though, he felt as though his chest might burst with a sense of pride he wasn’t sure he’d ever experienced before.

Sure, he hadn’t the slightest clue who the fuck this Odette character was, but he wasn’t at all surprised after a quick google search that you would have been the only choice fit for the lead role— though perhaps he was a little biased. The stoic man wasn’t upfront with his praises though, but you heard it loud and clear in his simple response of yeah, no shit you got picked, a hidden smile lingering in his otherwise gruff tone.

“Yeah? How you gonna play Odyssey with no fuckin’ toes left?” He quipped, purposefully mistaking the name just to hear that saccharine laughter of yours as he paused his massage to creep between your legs.

“It’s Odette, Ryo!” You giggled, pushing at his chest to no avail as he hovered over you to pepper wet kisses along your jaw. “And I can’t afford to slack off.”

“You’re taking a day offa’ practice.” He grumbled against your ear before snagging the soft lobe between his teeth. Your breathless pants tickled his neck, and the hands that had since been haphazardly shoving at his broad shoulders curled into the neckline of his shirt.

Those pretty, pink lips that took up so much space in his mind circled into the gentlest of oh’s as his hand wandered down your waist and grasped at your hip, pulling it up to press you against him.

“I-I can’t—”

Slipping that same hand down, he cupped at the warmth between your legs purposefully, sending your back arching up from the plush cushions.

“Hm?” He hummed tauntingly at your sudden loss for words, easing up the pressure on your center just enough to make you beg him for it. “You gonna stay home and rest those pretty little legs of yours tomorrow?”

The heat radiating from your cheeks warmed his lips as he traced them up your face and nipped at your pouted lips. You nodded deleriously, tangling your hands into his hair to pull him in to properly kiss you.

“I’ll take a break.” You barely got out against his curled up lips before he was consuming you once again.

His once idle hand eagerly snuck up to dive down the front of your sweatpants, and he tsked in aggravation at the barrier that was the leotard and tights you had yet to change out of. Pulling away from you with a wet smack, he instead focused his efforts on snaking down your body, pressing kisses against your clothed chest, across your ribs and down your stomach.

A faint rumble had him pausing his pursuit to glance up at you, that familiar glitter of amusement hidden in his ruby eyes. You quickly shook your head, mumbling that you were fine, and your eagerness had all but convinced him that you were, diving back down to slip his fingers into the waistband of your sweats. Your fingers danced up to tangle into his already mustled hair, lifting your hips ever so slightly so he could tug down your bottoms. They had only just barely grazed the swell of your ass before he heard it again— this time more vengeful than the last.

“Okay, put your fuckin’ shoes on, we’re getting you a burger.”

Much to your dismay, Ryo did convince you (stood over your shoulder until you texted your instructor that you were sick) to take the day off of practice the next day. In his defense, the foot that you had injured the day prior had begun to take on a faint purple hue along the bridge. Still, you couldn’t help but barely relax the entire day as you were meant to be doing— too caught up in the fear that the mere day you were taking would set you back tremendously.

Truthfully, while you were completely over the moon to have been given such a coveted role, one you’d dreamt of since you were little no less, the years of buildup had paved the way for a blackhole of self doubt. Not only were you given the opportunity to perform your dream role, but you knew for a fact there would be recruiters for at least three professional dance companies in attendance for the show. Additionally and nearly as nerve-wrecking, Ryo would be there, and it would be the first performance he would see following that first night you two had spent together.

With how matter of factly he always spoke of your dancing abilities, you couldn’t bear the humiliation of messing up under his watch. Aside from him, your identity as a dancer was all you had since moving here. Without it, you weren’t sure there was anything left to you at all. There was a gnawing fear sprouting roots in each of your bones that told you that Ryo wouldn’t find much else either. Perhaps it was unfair, unhealthy to be putting such pressure on yourself, but you’d much rather drown in your contradictions than bear the weight of swimming up to the surface to confront them.

Maybe it was the fact that you had worried yourself into the early hours of the morning when you should have been sleeping to prepare for the hours of practice that would be awaiting you when you woke. Even more likely was the fact that it was the barely healed, blackening bruise lingering maliciously on your foot that assured that you just wouldn’t for the life of you land any of your grand jetés, your aching tendon simply dipping too far under the leaden weight of your drops. Your partner, who would be fulfilling the role of Prince Siegfried alongside you, really did try to help, his hands tightening in a barely noticeable fashion around your waist each time you came down from your leaps in hopes of easing your landing so that you may execute it with more grace— but not even his mercy seemed to save you. Whatever you could inevitably point the blame at though caused you instructor to finally snap about four hours into practice that day.

It took barely a sharp glare, a hushed critique, but it sliced through you like a knife. Over the years, you had of course learned to take and constructively use the feedback given by your instructors, though the weight of your role’s importance to the success of the show perhaps made her words cutting and her eyes despondent toward your previously blossoming potential. You could even feel your partner’s typically playfully smug expression boring into the side of your head with barely concealed sympathy, but not even Satoru’s usually life saving swoop-ins could pull you out of the hole you were throwing yourself down.

You could hardly think of a thing else when you left that evening, sun already prepared to retreat soon for the night. The score played resoundingly in your headphones speakers that sat snuggly against your ears, aiding in your wide-eyed, mental rundown of each number on your trek back to your dorm, every muscle in your body seemingly screaming with every dragged step.

Nothing would allow you to let up on yourself, it seemed. You stared blankly into your fridge for nearly ten minutes following your scalding shower before deciding your mind was far too preoccupied to conjure up any sort of appetite. And so you didn’t rest when you got home that day. With the increasingly taunting melodies of Tchaikovsky's compositions filling the already tense air of your dorm, you continued your trembling fouettés and pirouettes until each of your steps wavered and it became glaringly difficult to lift yourself from your rocky landings.

There was barely a glimmer of sunlight left shining from your window, and you weren’t sure how long you’d been furiously torturing yourself for, each falter or misstep being met with blindly frenzied repetitions. A sharp rap on your door seemed to shake your resolve, almost drowned out by the volume of your music that had been steadily ticking up and up and up until the fact that you hadn’t received a noise complaint had to have been chalked up to a heavenly intervention.

It startled you in the midst of your leap, reducing whatever semblance of grace you had prepared for your landing into a thudding heap on the floor. Your knee’s resounding smack against the wood floor along with your frustrated cry was only followed by a harsher pound at your door, and you were sure you saw the door frame rattle even if just by a hair.

“I’m coming!” You tried to sound as though you weren't ready to open your window and scream your miseries out to the world, though you weren’t sure how well it translated. A shuddering breath shook your frame as you rose from the floor to make your way to the door one wincing step at a time. You had barely the chance to crack the door before it was being pushed open, and the spine-chilling scowl on the face of the man who invited himself in would have had you calling campus security in any other situation. “Ryo?”

“What the hell happened to you? I haven’t heard from you since this morning. Ain’t been answering any of my—” His exasperated interrogation died in his throat as he took in the state of your dorm— namely the main floor, where your modest couch had been pushed haphazardly against the far corner of the room, with your rug rolled up and slouched against the wall. The body mirror that typically hung on your bathroom door was ripped from its place and leaned against the wall to face the makeshift practice space.

You watched with a waxing humiliation as his expression morphed into a startled disquietude he did little to mask. With a flickering gaze, the cool air of your space whipped against your burning cheeks as you shook your head, placing your hands desolately onto his shoulders in an attempt to push him back toward the door.

“You should go, I—”

“Like hell I should go, what the fuck is going on?” Sukuna’s venomous tone contrasted the desperately gentle manner at which he reached out to grasp at your cheeks. In his frenzied inspection of you, he noted how your flushed face and damp skin paired painstakingly with the droop of your exhausted eyes. “Have you stopped at all today?”

“I—” Your weak stammer pitched until you could no longer hear it falling from your lips. The fat of your cheeks squished against his palms as you slumped defeatedly into his grasp, a traitorous tear slipping down your burning eyes. You tried to cast your gaze downward in search of any solace against the way you were breaking down so pathetically before him, but his insistent fingers prevented you from doing anything of the sort.

His incredulous eyes widened as one tear turned into several, until no dam could possibly stop your abrupt onslaught onto the tightening grasp of his hands. And god, how he felt he was the worst person to have stumbled upon such a scene, because Sukuna had never in his life been sure what to do with tears. In all his years, he’d solved matters with his sharp tongue and barreling fists— though he’d never quite mastered the intricacies of handling anything with fragility or care.

So, as comforting as he thought he could manage, he stiffly pulled your head against his chest, sighing in modest relief when you buried your nose in further. The motion gave him hope that just maybe whatever foreign moves he was making didn’t come off as horribly stiff and unnatural as they felt to him.

“I kept messing up my choreography today, a-and I just— I can’t—” The choked sobs were rendering your frenzied explanation nearly incomprehensible as you began heaving out your breaths. Your shoulders were jostling with the sudden expended efforts of your erratic breathing, and he decided that perhaps a hug wasn’t going to cut it, because your skin was clammy and you were choking on your breaths and he was sure you’d pass out any second now.

“Nah, c’mon, get it together f’me.” Ryo muttered with a crippling effort to not raise his voice and make the situation worse. With a firm hand on your nape, he began urging you toward the hall where he nearly tore your bathroom door off the hinges opening it. Twisting on the faucet of your ivory sink, his hand pushed you down until your frazzled face was a mere inches from the now running water. Cupping his hand under the stream, he ran the starkly cool water down your feverish face. You gasped softly at the way it seemed to shock your already strung-out nervous system. “Breathe, dammit.”

But the much needed air was already crashing against your withering lungs like waves against an unsuspecting shore as his hand continued splashing at your face.

“I’m sorry— I’m sorry.” You finally rasped out, feeling as though you were at last breaking through the surface tension that had been trapping you in your haze. The grip on your nape slowly loosened in tandem with your leveling breaths, and you leaned against the counter for support.

Sukuna switched the faucet off before turning you to face him once again. There were stray droplets of water still rolling down your face and dripping into the divets of your collarbones, and he swiped at your dribbling jaw as he waited for you to collect yourself. It was silent as his intense gaze burned holes into your forehead, and it pushed the few stray tears lingering in your waterline out.

“She told me that I—” You cut yourself off, face scrunching up in embarrassment, but he gently jostled you to urge your continuing. “That I-I’m not taking this seriously.”

“Fuck that—”

“No, she’s right, Ryo.” Your sudden insistence caught him off guard, his eyes searching yours incredulously because he couldn’t think of one person who could’ve grasped at their goals as tightly as you had between your delicate fingers. “I skipped practice yesterday, and I haven’t been putting in as much time as I can— I’m gonna mess everything up.”

“Hey, no that’s bullshit, you hear me?” His fingers squished at your cheeks in order to urge your wet gaze onto his grave eyes. “You ain’t a damn machine— how the hell do you expect to put in a hundred percent when you’re grinding yourself stupid? Huh?”

You didn’t answer him, instead opting to squeeze your eyes shut, chewing on your bottom lip.

“You need a break. You need to fucking relax, alright?”

“I can’t— I don’t know how.” You admitted meekly as your own trembling hands came up to grip desperately at his wrists. The scent of his cologne helped marginally to ground you as he leaned down to press ardent kisses against your temple and forehead. “I feel like I’m possessed or something. I can’t sit still, I can’t—”

“You gotta try for me, baby.” The way his gruff voice reverberated in his chest had you pulling yourself closer to him, desperate to drown in the intoxicating distraction that had been laid before you. Because Ryomen— he smelled like a forest, his hands were so sure in their pursuit of you, his voice flowing like the most expensive of wines, and he had never called you that before, and you thought there was nowhere you’d rather plummet into insanity than his fortifying embrace.

“Can you…” Your soft whisper drifted in apprehension, a deep scarlet painting your still drying cheeks. He hummed in question, already terrifyingly resolute in his decision that he’d burn cities down to complete whatever request it was that would fall from your lips if it meant that painstaking little crease of worry between your brows would leave you alone. “Can you help me? You know… r-relax?”

And oh how his chest filled with pride, because the tears and the speeches were lost on him but this? This he could do, he determined as he sank to his knees before you. He’d felt utterly hopeless at the hands of your tender nature and gentle touches, because he knew that anyone else would be able to reciprocate them to you far better than he could ever hope to, though he knew one thing for certain as he tugged your bottoms down, chin propped on your navel to look up at you in that sweltering manner he was so good at— there was no one alive or dead that would be able to take care of you like he intended to.

Your hands found purchase on the counter behind you in desperate pursuit of support as he nudged your legs further apart and buried his head between them. His tongue was warm as it lapped mercilessly at your center, urging hands gripping at the back of your thigh to wrangle one of your legs over his shoulder. He moaned against you as you arched into him, his grip around your thigh tightening as if to encourage your movements, and you found yourself crying out along with him. Your chords meshed together and danced harmoniously off the thin walls of your dingy, dorm bathroom.

The mystery raced through your mind of what planet this man had come from, as he was managing to pull at threads you hadn’t known existed in you with each skilled thrust of his tongue. Your balance wavered on the leg that remained standing, trembling on its tiptoes as it attempted desperately to keep up with him to no avail. Just as you slipped forward, Sukuna’s bicep was hooking under the wavering limb before hoisting himself up along with you.

Your back fell against the mirror once he dropped you onto the counter, and his fingers were soon replacing his tongue just as all your crippling thoughts of self doubt were soon replaced by him. Him as he lurched forward over the sink to capture your lips, allowing you to taste yourself lingering on his tongue before leaning back to watch the way you began to desperately grind yourself against his fingers.

“What are you thinking about right now?” He all but growled out as his fingers found a blistering rhythm within you, the continuous, wet smacks of his palm against your heat making it difficult for you to think of anything at all though. So, you only whined out in response, your feet craning up to gain any kind of leverage on the counter’s edge. At once, his free hand was grasping at your nape to angle your gaze to look up at him, his incandescent eyes demanding to be met. “I asked you a question.”

“You!” You gasped out, the searing pleasure making way for the tears that gathered in the corner of your eyes. He smiled wolfishly at your response, and you moaned softly at the sight. “Just you, I’m thinking about you, Ryo.”

“Yeah?” Sukuna muttered smugly, grasping at your leg as it continued to slip against the counter in search of support.

His heated touch ran down your calf teasingly until it curled around your ankle that was still partially covered by the ties of your pointe shoes. Ever so slowly, as if testing the spellbinding flexibility that had had the perverse wheels turning in his head since he first witnessed it on stage all those weeks ago, he inched your leg up and up and up until the bridge of your foot brushed against the mirror only a mere inches away from your rapturous face. For once, the wind felt as though it had been knocked from his lungs at the sight, but he worked to quickly compose himself lest you bear witness to the slip in his resolve.

So, he instead leaned in closer to you, the back of your thigh now flush against his chest as his hand kept your leg pinned up. A shuddering moan slipped from you at the feeling of his lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

“And what am I doing in those thoughts of yours, doll?” The whisper sent shivers down your spine, and you couldn’t help but turn your face away from him bashfully. Tutting softly in mocking disapproval, he nudged your face forward once again with a push of his nose against your chin. “Hm? Speak up now, I can’t hear you.”

But your climax was nearing closer and closer, evident in the way your warmth squeezed around his relentless fingers and your breaths grew choppy. Perhaps that was the only reason you had the nerve to actually answer him.

“Y-You’re— ah!” A sharp gasp shook you as he angled his palm to brush against your clit with each stroke, but he quickly ground out for you to keep talking. “You’re making love to me, Ryo.”

Your high came crashing down onto you just as your words seemed to shatter his mind, his mouth falling open in tandem with your pitched cries as you peaked. His brows drew fiercely together, his teeth gritting together as he worked you through the waves of your release, and he no longer cared if you saw the way his thusfar fierce front had fallen, because Ryomen couldn’t possibly want anything more in that moment than for you to allow him to bring your lust-clouded thoughts to fruition as he leaned forward to swallow your moans.

“Can’t talk like that, doll.” He groaned despondently against your lips, foreheads brushing together while your lower half jolted against him.

“Why?” In your delirium, you could have cried at his disapproval.

“Cause I might just fucking do it, that’s why.”

It fell silent in the already small bathroom that seemed all the more cramped with Sukuna’s Herculean figure occupying the majority of it. Your soft pants puffed against his mouth, eyes fluttering out a stray tear as you reached up to grasp at his nape. The sensation of your nails dragging down the blunt hairs of his undercut made his fingers curl deeper around your ankle, scrambling for any semblance of restraint. It would never come though, because you had the gall to pout against his parted lips, your grip like a vice on his neck as you whispered to him.

“Please, Ryo.”

He certainly didn’t feel as though he deserved such a privilege, but it was also far from him to make you beg for a part of him that was already wholeheartedly yours. So, his grip fell from your leg in favor of scooping you up by your thighs, your dripping core soaking against his shirt as he moved through your dorm like a man possessed, kicking at your bedroom door impatiently.

You barely had the chance to recover from the abrupt manner in which you bounced back against your mattress before he was wrangling your sweater from over your head. Sighing wantonly at the sight of his tattoo marked proudly against your heaving sternum, he leaned down to sink his teeth into it. Any semblance of rationality seemed so far from you as your jaw hung open, and you blindly reached down to tug at the back of his shirt until he disconnected from you to pull it off.

In a lust-filled haze, you reached out to trace the black ink that ran down his chest, making him hum appreciatively, his own hands capturing yours to hold them against him even if for just a moment longer. Slowly though, those sinful hands were drifting down your bare sides until his fingers dug into the swell of your hips to yank you down until your ass was just barely kissing the edge of the bed.

“These legs drive me fucking ballistic.” His sultry confession would have made you blush had you not already been spread open so vulnerably before him. Laden fingers dragged down your legs as he gathered them up to rest against his chest, turning his head to press salacious, open mouthed kisses along your calves. With a feather-light touch, he drifted up toward your ankle before tugging at the tie of your pointe shoes hungrily. That fervid, side-long glance he tossed your way as he worked the stiff shoes off you was nearly too intense to take head on, but there was a glint in his eyes that told you that you should know better than to look away.

The offending shoes fell against the floor with a soft thud. The keen gaze he kept on you should have sent you sprinting, akin to an apex predator scouting its next meal. As you assured yourself just moments prior though, you knew better. So, you stayed perfectly still, save your heaving breaths, as he dug a small, gold foiled packet from his wallet, holding it between his teeth before working his belt off and allowing his pants to pool at his feet.

There was the slightest hint of a pause as Ryo allowed the scene to settle in— to give you a chance to turn back at the very moment you’d left off on the last time your fates brushed this closely. That resistance never came though, and your ankles dug into his shoulders in anticipation. Your eyes fell on their own volition as he pushed his boxers down to join the rest of his clothes, and you thought you might swallow your own tongue in the midst of your shock.

His erection sprang from its cotton prison, ever so gently brushing against your core in its escape. You shuddered at the sensation, but for once your tremors rooted not in fear but instead in an aching anticipation. Much like the rest of him, as you had assumed, he was intimidatingly… above average— not that you had much by way of comparison. Gulping down the saliva that seemed to pool dramatically on your tongue, you took note of the black rings that circled his upper thighs, and you couldn’t help but let your lips curl up at the sight.

“What’re you smilin’ at, huh?” Ryomen teased through clenched teeth, the condom still hanging between his lips. An adoring smirk was splitting across his own face as he took the opportunity to pump leisurely as his leaking cock, using his free hand to smooth up your navel.

“You just… match everywhere.” Your timid giggle had his length twitching in his grip, his intense gaze softening just a bit. Abandoning his caress against your lower half, he reached up to tear open the foil between his teeth.

“What— don’t like ‘em?” His husky question was followed by the teasing plap of his heavy cockhead on your sensitive bud. The amused smile on your lips quickly fell into a sharp gasp at the sensation. Sukuna hummed as he rolled the condom over his aching length before guiding it through your folds.

“I love them.” Your sincere, breathless confession caught him off guard. “You look like… a piece of art, Ryo.”

For the first time since knowing him, you watched a genuine flush fall over his face at your words. Wide eyes were staring down at you as though he’d never received a compliment a day in his life, but, truthfully, he wasn’t sure anyone had ever bothered showing him such tenderness, always preferring to veer off his path lest they get caught in his crossfires. There was a barely noticeable tremble in his breath as he sighed out.

“Art, huh? Nah.” He murmured, pushing forward until his tip dipped into your straining entrance.

You cried out softly at the abrupt stretch, and he quickly hushed you with a soothing hand up your thigh. It felt so incredibly cathartic, enduring the dull pain at the hands of Ryomen. No matter how much you felt you might split in two as he gradually introduced each inch of himself into your honied heat, you would have done it all over again if it meant you’d be able to see that look on his face as he bottomed out. Eyes rolled back, fingers clutching at your thighs as they rested against his chest with a bruising grip, with a gaping mouth that curled up at the corners in a lingering, intoxicated smirk.

He fell forward until your knees pushed up against your breasts, moving one hand to fist the sheets beside your head to pace himself as he licked at the tears rolling down your cheeks.

“This is art.” Sukuna corrected as he dipped down to capture each, pained whimper that fell past your lips until it was your moans would soon compete against his favorite of artists, because if he was art then you must be a masterpiece.

You slept with a serenity that rivaled a corpse that night, your dreams floating through clouds as your mind was utterly consumed by him. For the first time in weeks, something had rivaled the searing ache in your feet, and it was the dull reminder of Ryomen between your thighs— though you couldn’t possibly bring yourself to deem that particular pain unwelcomed as you stirred from your slumber.

The frigid air bit at your bare skin, sending a tremor through your shoulders. Cracking your eyes open, you were greeted by the sight of the man so many seemed to fear, his lips gently pouted as half his face molded against your pink pillow sheet. You wondered if it was his perpetually defensive nature that made him sleep on his stomach, the idea putting an amused grin on your tired features as you observed how his arms clutched onto the pillow under his head.

His legs were tangled into yours under the covers, giving you the vital information that he seemed to be putting out far more body heat than you could hope to at this hour. Shuffling closer to him, you carefully placed a hand under his arm in an attempt to lift it just enough to slip into his warm embrace for solace against the cold.

“What’re you doin’, brat?” His gravelly voice cut through the morning silence, catching you red handed without ever having opened his eyes.

Biting back the disappointment upon realizing that you weren’t nearly as stealthy as you thought, you smiled sheepishly despite his closed eyes.

“I’m cold.” You whispered softly.

“No one told you to get this thin ass blanket.” He grumbled, and you let out a quiet huff of disappointment before turning over and pulling the covers tighter over yourself. It only took a mere few seconds though to hear the rustling of sheets behind you, and you were soon being enveloped in a bear-like embrace nonetheless. His arm dipped under your head to cross over your chest, and you smiled against the warmth of his forearm. “What’re you smiling for? Too fuckin’ early.”

The fervent kisses he began pressing against your shoulder contradicted his grumpy rambling though, and he was soon nosing at your jaw for you to expose your neck to him. His teeth sank into the new area bared to him, and you arched against him just as his tongue began circling the attacked skin.

“Hmm,” He hummed in a deep baritone, his hand running up your thigh before dipping down to where you still ached of him. “Better cancel whatever fuckin’ plans you had today.”

Just as you nearly allowed yourself to succumb to him once more, his words sunk into your still barely functioning mind.

“Oh my god!” You shrieked, shooting up from his grip and nearly tumbling off the bed as you reached for your phone.

“Woah, woah, settle down. What the hell are you tweaking about?” Ryo groaned, rubbing at his now ringing ear as he propped himself up to watch you.

“I’m late! Oh my god, I’m so late.” You rambled through trembling breaths. It was like watching a tornado ripping through your tiny room, clothes flying as you wrangled on whatever was closest to you. He quickly sat up at your frenzied movements. “I’m supposed to be at practice!”

“Hey, take a fucking breather, you’re gonna pass out.”

“I can’t take a fucking breather, Ryomen!” His eyes widened at your uncharacteristic tone, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever heard such… unsavory language falling from your lips. Tears of frustration blurred your vision as you began shoving your abandoned pointe shoes haphazardly into your bag. “I keep messing everything up, I’m such a—”

“Nothing’s messed up—”

“Everything’s messed up!” You cried, grunting in frustration as you shoved your aching feet into your boots. “My foot is still messed up, my routine is messed up, my instructor thinks I’m a joke, and I’m about to screw everything up because I keep letting myself get distracted, and I—”

“Distracted?” Sukuna scoffed, pulling on his boxers as he stood up to follow you out of your bedroom. “Is that what I was fucking doing last night? Distracting you?”

“I don’t have time for this right now, Ryo.”

“Well you better find some fucking time before you mess this up too.” He regretted them as soon as the words left his mouth, but his entire nervous system had switched onto the defense at your ruthless undermining of what had transpired between you two last night.

The wounded expression on your delicate face told him he should drop to his knees to beg your forgiveness, but the wounded pride of the rejected child in him refused to submit so easily. So, he simply stared back at you with that callous expression you hadn’t ever seen him dare direct your way. Wiping furiously at your traitorous tears, you slung your bag over your shoulder and left, slamming the front door behind you.

That door had shut in his face five days ago, and you had yet to hear from him since. In hindsight, you knew that what you said was out of line, and it was clear that you had hurt him in a way that he would refuse to outwardly display. Sukuna would always bare his teeth before showing his belly— you knew that whole heartedly even after knowing him a mere few months. Still, his words stung, and you were too afraid of how the things he’d left unsaid might feel if you should reach out to him first in the midst of his anger.

You tried to use his absence to your advantage, throwing yourself wholeheartedly into your now daily practices that went hours on end. Your grief, anger, and betrayal fueled each twist and turn, each leap you aimed to perfect until you could convince yourself it was worth what you had damaged in the name of your passion. Even when you finally received that pathetically anticipated approval from your instructor, it no longer felt as sweet.

There was hardly time for you to wallow over Roy’s radio silence though, because Swan Lake was in a day, and you weren’t even sure that he’d still show up. The thought clutched at your chest, but you were quick to dismiss Satoru when he’d whispered his concerns into your ear during your final dress rehearsal. It felt as though you were back in that desperate solitude that had inadvertently veered you on his path in the first place.

Sukuna had been pretending that it wasn’t eating him alive that you had yet to crack first, but he sure as hell wouldn’t do it. Everyone around him could tell though. He was quiet— even more so than usual, and the fuse that they were sure couldn’t get any shorter was blowing easier than ever. Choso was met with a biting snap when he dared to ask why he hadn’t seen you around lately, so he figured you must have something to do with it, and he’d be damned if he sat back and simply watched his brother fuck this up.

“Hey,” Despite his determination, his tone was still careful as he approached the pink-haired man who was still hunched over his client, brows furrowed as he concentrated on the cat he was coloring in on the woman’s thigh. It so obnoxiously reminded him of you and the soft spot you held in your heart for the damned feral animals. Sukuna grunted in question at his half-brother. “You still coming to the show tonight?”

He paused his careful strokes for a fraction of a second before blinking away his frustration.

“Why the hell wouldn’t I be?”

His gruff response made Choso’s eyes roll in annoyance. It was so like him to pretend as though no one could tell that something was going on with him.

“Well she just texted me to ask, so I figured there was a reason.”

It took every bit of restraint in him not to jolt in surprise and completely fuck up this client’s day. Why didn’t she text him? Why the hell did she feel more comfortable going to his damn brother than him? His jaw clicked as it clenched in indignation. An aggravated huff escaped him as he wiped at the woman’s tattoo and prepared to wrap it up.

“You can tell her that if she wants to know that she can ask me her fucking self.” The dark-haired man’s brows rose at his brother’s tone, pursing his lips as he turned on his heels with a shake of his head, a motion that certainly didn't go over Sukuna’s head. “You got something to say?”

“Other than you’re going to regret whatever the hell it is you’re sulking over in a few days? Nah, it’s all good. I’ll let her know that Yuji and I are still coming.”

He didn’t give him a chance for a rebuttal before he made his way back up to the front. A grumbled tut left him as he cleaned the tattoo before him and began wrapping it.

“That sketch is gorgeous.” The client commented as he busied himself with her wrap. He glanced up at her in question before following her gaze to the sketch that he’d created for you that night and inevitably inked on you. The original was still taped to his station, always having been his favorite reminder of you to get him through his shifts. “You the artist? I have a friend who would probably love to get that inked.”

Faster than he could even fully process her request, he was adamantly shaking his head with a fierce defensiveness. Even through the haze of his hurt, he knew that that drawing would never grace the skin of anyone else— no one else would be worthy of a piece inspired by you, no one had the right. He couldn’t bear the thought of tainting its sanctity with the likes of some of the scum that came through here.

“Out of commission.” He gruffed plainly, not bothering to grace the notion with an explanation. Ripping off his gloves, his eager fingers dug his phone from his back pocket, but he was only met with further disappointment at the realization that— no, you still hadn’t reached out.

As he walked his client to the front, he could see his brother typing away adamantly on his phone, and it pissed him off to think of you on the other end of it with the reassurance that his damn brothers would be coming to support you tonight.

Sukuna couldn’t drag himself outside fast enough, hiding under the guise of needing some air when, truthfully, he was tempted to rip the stupid fucking buns right off Choso’s head if he heard his phone ping one more time. It was his rage, that’s what he’d blame it on as his thumbs furiously pounded at the poor, unsuspecting screen of his phone before hitting send.

I’ll be there.

You were sure you would throw up if there had been anything in your stomach to begin with that day. With your nerves so overwhelmingly shot, you could barely stomach a few saltine crackers before even they were making you nauseous.

Staring back at you in the mirror was the woman you had been fighting tooth and nail for for so long. The white, feathered headpieces sat snuggly against your temples and into the sides of your slicked-back bun. You almost didn’t recognize yourself in the dramatically winged, dark shadow that shrouded your eyes.

You couldn’t be sure if the reassurance that Ryo would be coming despite your near week of radio silence comforted or intimidated you even more.

From the closed door of your dressing room, you could hear the orchestra performing each intricate number as act one got the ball rolling. There were dancers in and out of the room, but you couldn’t bring yourself to move, stuck idly in your chair as you awaited act two to begin with your entrance.

No matter how much you had soaked it, iced it, rolled it— goddamn it, prayed over it, your foot still throbbed under the constraints of your pointe shoes. It only needed to get through the next hour and a half— that’s the mantra that played like a broken record in your head in hopes of calming your very real fears of it failing you mid-performance.

The minor piece of solace you had apart from that was that your sudden change in behavior had urged you and Satoru to get a bit more comfortable with each other as you had to begrudgingly explain to him why you had been a bit off your game. You were shocked when the man, who you were sure hadn’t a sincere bone in his body, reassured you that he’d be more cautious with you with each lift and land the two of you had ahead of you tonight given your injury.

You watched with bated breath from the side stage as Satoru aimed the prop crossbow before turning to prance toward his stage left to mimic his hunt, the long awaited queue for your entrance. The peripherals of your vision blurred as you allowed your muscle memory to take over, and you were soon landing your grand jeté before dipping into your first bow as Odette.

Ryomen felt each last puff of air in his lungs abandon him at the sight of you with your breathtakingly intricate, snow-white costume, truly embodying a princess. He had admittedly been growing restless throughout the first half hour of the production without so much as a glimpse of you. Now though, as the glimmering crown tucked into your hair shimmered under the stage lights, he was sure he’d wait it tenfold to relive the magnetic way you commanded the stage upon your first arabesque.

The grip he had around the base of the bouquet he’d brought you tightened as he watched you and your partner float about the stage, twisting and turning against and around each other with a synchronicity that embodied just how much dedication you two had put into your performative chemistry— at least that’s what he hoped as your noses brushed in an almost kiss.

Not even in his wildest dreams would he have thought he’d ever find himself sitting through a two-hour ballet, but you had him completely enraptured. He recalled what you had mentioned about the recruiters that would be coming to this performance, and he knew without a shadow of a doubt that this was your night. The recruiters had to be captivated by you— just as every soul that was surrounding him seemed to be.

As the show progressed, it was clear how you lost yourself inch by inch to Odette, and you soon weren’t sure where you ended and she began. You had just been starting to convince yourself that you’d make it. There was but a half hour left, and though you could feel your injured foot growing angrier and angrier with each pointed formation, you were pushing it to the back of your mind, something to be dealt with later.

But somewhere after the fourteenth of the iconic thirty-two fouettes in a row you had to execute as your darker counterpart, Odile, was perhaps the beginning of the end for your optimism. As fate would have it, each gruelling fouette was meant to be spun off of that fucking foot, and by the end of them you were sure your face was tinted red from the way you held back your cries of pain.

Ryomen could see it too, despite how well you disguised it as an expression of passion. His fingers dug deeper and deeper into his thighs with each spin during the sequence, because he could practically feel that bruised foot crumbling under such pressure. Despite it all— you did it, and, not only that, you made it appear damn near effortless.

It was nearing the final number now, and he had been watching your eyes morph with each second that passed. Perhaps it wasn’t clear to anyone else, but he knew that glassy look wasn’t just your impeccable dedication to the scene. You had been changed back into your white swan costume, taking the stage with both Prince Seigfried and Rothbart as you gracefully dashed yourself between the arms of each man. It wasn’t until the final leap that Satoru would catch you from that you felt it.

Just as your pointed foot hit the stage floor, you could all but hear the tiniest of cracks. Your breath hitched, a nearly muted choke catching in your throat that luckily the audience couldn’t hear over the orchestra. Satoru did though, his hands on your waist tightening as he attempted to subtly lift you ever so slightly to take some of the weight off your foot. A whimper lingered in the back of your throat as the pain radiated up your leg.

“It’s okay.” Your white-haired partner whispered subtly so as not to break the illusion of the performance. “You just have to make it to the lake.”

His near silent reassurance into your ear was fleeting as you spun away from him. Make it to the lake. The words were chanting like a mantra in your head.

Ryomen thought the armrest of his seat would snap under the pressure of his grip, watching in horror as a single tear slipped down your cheek upon that fateful landing, and he knew something had gone wrong. Judging by the way your partner seemed to subtly lean in to whisper in your ear, he knew he was right.

Still, your remaining bourrees across the stage were flawlessly executed despite you feeling the likely fracture in your foot arguably worsening with each step, and Odette was finally taken up into the arms of Rothbart, lifted high above his head to take her behind the veil of the lake to die— and that’s certainly what it felt like you were doing.

Sukuna was out of his seat before Prince Seigfried could even properly fall to his knees to mourn the loss of his love, practically hopping over seats to get to the back. It was proven difficult, what with all the attendees rising to their feet to offer a standing ovation as the show concluded. Finally making it out of the row, he shouldered into attendants and workers until he found the backstage entrance sign.

A worker placed a hand on his shoulder to inform him that he wasn’t authorized to go back there, but he knew the man wasn’t about to be stupid enough to fight him if he pushed his way through those doors anyway. There were troves of ballet dancers moving like ants through the hallways, all looking up at him in bewilderment as he pounded toward the dressing room at the end of the hall.

“Oi, you all had better be fucking decent cause I’m coming in!” It was the only warning he gave along with the three cautionary pounds against the door before he burst in. There in the far back surrounded by a myriad of frazzled dancers was you, still hauntingly enchanting in your Swan Queen costume as you heaved out cries against the cold floor. The pointe shoe on your injured foot had already been wrangled off, and Satoru was frantically tearing your tights between his fingers from the ankle down to observe the damage.

You looked up at the sudden commotion. The dramatic, black makeup that had been so intricately painted onto your face was now streaming down your cheeks in ugly, noir waves as your face scrunched up heartbreakingly at the sight of him standing before you.

“Ryo.” You choked out helplessly between your heaving sobs of pain, and he felt his heart shatter all at once. Parting through the sea of dancers, he shoved at the white-haired man’s shoulder.

“Move the fuck outta my way.” Sukuna bit out, probably much harsher than necessary for someone who seemed to be trying to help, but he did just watch this dude grabbing at your waist and thighs and caressing your face for damn near two hours straight. And sure, he knew it was all part of the performance, but fuck you didn’t warn him that you’d actually be kissing the dude. In spite of it all, Satoru didn’t need to be told twice before he was standing to let him take over.

“I-I think it’s broken. I can’t m-move it—”

“It’s okay, I’m right here.” He urged, his fingers just barely ghosting over your calf as he took in the sight of your mangled foot. It had swollen considerably within the confines of your pointe shoe over the past few hours, and the nearly black skin was hot to the touch.

“The recruiters, Ryo— I screwed it up, I—”

“Fuck the recruiters, I’m taking you to the fucking hospital.” You didn’t get much of a word in edgewise as he scooped you up, darting through the parted crowd and out the back exit.

Though he wasn’t quite sure what he would say if given the chance, your frenzied sobs filled the air around you two the entire drive. He tried to calm you, but it was proven difficult with his split attention on the road. It also wasn’t clear if your cries were mainly attributed to the pain or the mental anguish. Still, with sweat beginning to bead at his temples, he grasped at your hand and placed it over his chest in a desperate attempt to get you to match his breathing. Although it seemed like you were truly trying, you continued choking up with each throb of your foot.

Sukuna’s perpetual feeling of being absolutely worthless continued as you sat silently in the hospital bed, only your occasional sniffles breaking through the white noise of the room as you awaited the okay from the doctor to be discharged. The xray they performed confirmed your suspicions, and you had been suffering from a stress fracture. He sat in the stiff chair beside your bed, hunched over with his elbows resting on his thighs as you stared blankly at the stark white cast now covering your foot and ankle.

Neither of you were quite sure what to say to one another. Your current state was… delicate, and he wasn’t sure that bringing up the fight would be the best idea for you right now. Clearing his throat awkwardly, he straightened his posture, eyes fluttering over you apprehensively before he cast his line out.

“I don’t know how you do it.” He confessed sincerely, watching as your eyes cast a sidelong glance at him.

“What, manage to fracture my foot during one of the most important performances of my life?”

“How you let yourself feel so much for everyone to see.” His response made you flush, your brows furrowinf as you looked away from him once again.

“I couldn’t really help it, my bone was kind of split—”

“I’m not talking about your damn foot, doll.” Ryomen sighed in exasperation. It was already difficult enough for him to be so sincere in his appreciation, and your making him spell it out was twisting the knife in his already wounded pride. “The show. I… I ain’t ever seen anything like that before. You’re just not fucking scared of yourself.”

Twisting your arms around yourself, you gulped down whatever emotions his words seemed to ignite in you.

“Yeah, well it doesn’t matter now. I screwed it all up.”

“Bullshit, you had everyone hanging off their fucking seats.”

“And they all watched me ruin it with that— that stupid landing.”

Sukuna blinked harshly in disbelief at your self-critictism. With an incredulous laugh, he leaned forward to look you in the eyes.

“You played that shit off like nothing happened. No one noticed.”

“You noticed.”

“Yeah, cause I fucking love you.” It tumbled out his mouth faster than he could have reeled it back in. For the second time that night, he was struck by the gruelling confusion of how the fuck it came so easily to you to pour your heart out, because it felt like he was chewing on glass right now as he awaited your response. Your glassy eyes finally looked up at him, face stained by makeup and disbelief. It all showed so clearly on your face, so bravely and unabashedly. It made him want to stand resolute for something for once in his pathetic life. “I love you.”

Soon, your lip was trembling once again as a fresh stream of tears stung at your already burning eyes. Burying your face into your hands, you shook your head.

“I said such awful things to you, Ryo.” You cried into your palms, the guilt that had been festering over the gruelling week finally coming to fruition without the distraction of your performance to keep your mind from dwelling on it. “Y-You were just trying to help me—”

“Hey, I say mean shit all the time,” He reassured, moving from his chair to squeeze beside you in the bed. “You should’ve beat the shit outta me if we’re really trying to get equal.”

Your back shook, and he knew this time it was finally from your laughter instead of those gut-wrenching sobs that had been frequenting his ears. Desperate to catch a glimpse of your smile after so long of being met with your frown, he gently pried your hands away from your face. Ryo sighed wistfully at the sight of your wobbly grin, reaching up to wipe at the smudged makeup under your eyes.

“You look more like a fucking racoon than a swan right now.” Your teary-eyed gaze didn’t seem to help his lack of brain-to-mouth filter at all, and he smirked at his own pathetically weak restraint. “See? I should’ve gotten my teeth knocked out for that one.”

But, of course, you only smiled at him— that glimmering eyed smile that even after all this time he felt so undeserving of.

“Well, you’re lucky I love you then, huh?”

His heart pounded embarrassingly against his chest, blanketed with the safety of your reciprocity.

“The luckiest bastard I know.” He whispered before pressing a kiss gentler than he was accustomed to against your awaiting lips.

There was a soft knock at the door that had him sighing in frustration against your face, but he pulled away from you nonetheless. When the door cracked open, it wasn’t the doctor as the both of you had been hoping so you could get the hell out of here. Instead, Choso and Yuji both filed in hesitantly as though they weren’t sure what kind of energy they’d be met with. When you smiled brightly at the sight of the various flowers in their arms, the pair felt more at ease as they stepped fully into the room.

“That was the most metal shit I’ve ever seen in my life.” Choso was the first to gush excitedly, setting down both his and Sukuna’s abandoned bouquet in your lap.

“So sick— I can’t believe you just walked that shit off!” Yuji was rushing to the far wall of the room to snatch the marker off the whiteboard containing the nurse’s information on it. He continued to ramble enthusiastically as he sat himself at the foot of your bed to doodle on your cast. Your eyes fluttered between him and his twin, and it was a bit disorienting seeing them side by side for the first time. “You’re a total badass.”

“Oi, easy with her fucking foot, brat.” Ryomen grumbled as he flicked his brother in the forehead, already annoyed at both his brothers for butting into you two’s moment.

It was clear that his bright-eyed counterpart was used to his brash nature as he completely brushed it off, tongue poking out the corner of his mouth as he concentrated on his drawing of what you could only assume was supposed to be a swan. It was clear his twin got all the artistic ability while Yuji was left with all the sunshine. As if his drawing triggered his memory, he quickly perked up.

“The casting was crazy too! That girl playing the black swan seriously looked just like you.”

A quiet disbelief fell over the three of you as the boy continued marking up your cast.

“Yuji—”

“Don’t bother,” Ryo quickly stopped you from correcting him with what could only be described as a fierce look of exhaustion on his face. “He’s a little slow— it’ll come to him.”

All the artistry and the brains— got it.

gojo and itafushi crumbs because your girl is starving

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deliciousangelfestival · 2 days ago

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Let's Play Pretend - 1 | Bucky

Character: Bucky Barnes x singer! Female reader

Summary: You just wanted to hide here and find peace from the mess that wasn’t caused by you. But then, your hot neighbor bothered you. As if that wasn’t enough, the enemies you hated found you too.

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Shocking Split! Y/N L/N Dumps Fiancé After Drug Party Scandal

Betrayal Drama! Y/N L/N’s Manager Caught Stealing Millions for Gambling

Where’s Y/N? The Singer Vanishes Amid Scandals!

“I’ve always wanted to be a singer, but I never had the confidence to stand on a stage—until my music teacher, Mrs. Walls. She believed in me.”

Mrs. Walls sighed as she watched your Grammy interview on TV. You looked radiant, glowing with excitement after winning such a prestigious award. As a music teacher with years of experience, she had worked with many talented students, but you stood out uniquely.

At first, you were the shyest student in her class, hardly speaking above a whisper. But what surprised her the most was your natural gift: a perfect pitch. You could write down the notes to a song after hearing it just once, and you picked up musical instruments with ease. She vividly remembered showing you basic piano chords; within minutes, you were playing along effortlessly. The same thing happened when she introduced the guitar.

Her fondest memories were of you standing shyly at the front of the class, yet lighting up when it came to music. She smiled as she recalled your speeches at award shows: “I wouldn’t be here without my music teacher, Mrs. Walls. She was the first person who put faith in me.”

“That’s the last interview she gave us,” the gossip channel host said dramatically, feigning concern. “It’s been three months since anyone’s seen her. Where is Y/N L/N?”

Mrs. Walls frowned and turned off the TV with an annoyed grunt. “Urgh. Gossip vultures,” she muttered under her breath. She grabbed a glass of lemonade from the fridge and walked out to her garden. She noticed her guest seemed lost in thought, staring off into the distance. It had become a habit whenever she was in the garden.

“You’re not thirsty, huh?” she teased lightly, holding the glass toward someone sitting under the garden umbrella.

The person she handed the drink to was none other than the missing singer, Y/N L/N. For three months, the paparazzi had been on your trail, but they had no idea you were hiding here—in the sanctuary of your former music teacher’s home.

Mrs. Walls still remembered the night you appeared on her doorstep, mascara streaked down your face, eyes red and swollen from crying. You looked nothing like the glamorous star she’d seen on television, but instead like a lost child searching for safety.

“I don’t know where else to go,” you had whispered, your voice trembling.

In that moment, she didn’t see the world-renowned singer. She saw the shy, seven-year-old girl who used to sit in her classroom, clutching her music notebook like a lifeline. She hugged you tightly, her heart breaking for you. “Stay as long as you need, my dear,” she had said softly, ushering you inside.

Since that night, you’d been living quietly in her guest room. The once-vibrant star barely spoke, and the silence worried Mrs. Walls more than she let on. She watched as you avoided stepping outside, terrified of being recognized. The only place you seemed at peace was her garden.

She wondered, How long will you keep hiding like this?

You took the lemonade from her hand with a quiet “Thank you” but set it on the small table beside you without taking a sip. Sitting on the bench, you leaned back, tilting your face up toward the sky. The sun was warm, filtering through the leaves of the garden trees. Through your Ray-Ban sunglasses, you watched the golden rays dance, letting them calm your stormy thoughts.

Here, in this little haven, you could pretend the outside world didn’t exist. The judging eyes, the betrayals, the relentless cameras—everything melted away in the sunlight.

You thought back to three months ago, just after wrapping up your world tour. It had been the most significant milestone in your career, a dream come true. Exhausted but proud, you returned home, excited to move on to the next chapter of your life—starting a family with your fiancé.

But the moment you landed, things began to unravel. You’d called your fiancé multiple times, but he didn’t answer. At first, you thought he was busy, but a nagging feeling in your chest wouldn’t go away.

When the truth finally came out, it shattered you. Your assistant broke the news: your fiancé had been busted at a drug-fueled party. Worse, it was also a sex party.

You felt your chest tighten at the memory. That betrayal had cut deep. But it wasn’t the only one.

Later that week, you discovered that your longtime manager, someone you trusted implicitly, had embezzled your money to feed a gambling addiction. Two people you thought you could rely on had betrayed you in the worst ways possible.

One night, overwhelmed and broken, you drove aimlessly, tears blurring your vision. Without any plan or destination, you just kept going until you found yourself parked outside Mrs. Walls’ familiar home.

Even after all these years, she had always been honest with you. When you needed guidance, she gave it without hesitation. If she thought something was right, she’d say, “Go for it, my dear.” If it wasn’t, she’d warn, “No. You deserve better.”

Now, sitting in her garden, you sighed and closed your eyes, letting the sunlight warm your face. For a moment, you could almost believe you were that shy student again before fame and heartbreak had found you.

Mrs. Walls watched you silently, her heart heavy. She wanted to help, but she knew you needed to find your way back on your own.

“How long are you planning to hide here?” she finally asked, her voice gentle but firm.

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you opened your eyes and looked at her. “I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Just like this, Mrs. Walls worried about you. You knew you were taking advantage of her kindness, aware she wanted you to step out of your shell, but you weren’t ready. The thought of facing the questions, the prying eyes, and the silent judgment was too much.

Just a little more time, you thought. That’s all I need. And some peace.

But peace wasn’t always easy to come by.

"VROOM!"

A sudden loud roar shattered the tranquility of the garden. The grating sound of a lawn mower filled the air, making you wince. You covered your ears, irritation flashing across your face.

Your gaze turns toward the source of the noise. “It’s already noon. The sun’s scorching hot—what kind of madman decides this is the best time to mow their lawn?”

“Well…” Mrs. Walls trailed off, watching the man seated atop the lawn mower. Her lips pressed into a thin line.

It's her neighbor, a man who had recently moved in. He wasn’t just any neighbor—he was one of her former students. Not from her music classes, though. He’d been one of the troublemakers, a kid who lived on detention slips and second chances.

“Bucky!” she called out, her voice carrying across the garden.

The man paused, cutting the engine. The deafening noise stopped, leaving an almost eerie silence in its wake. He climbed off the lawn mower, wiping his brow with the back of his hand.

You squinted, ready to roll your eyes, but then your gaze lingered for a moment longer than you wanted. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and his broad chest glistened with sweat. The sun highlighted the sculpted lines of his six-pack, and every step he took radiated an infuriating confidence.

Great, you thought bitterly. Annoying and ridiculously good-looking. Just my luck.

Mrs. Walls met him halfway, handing him a glass of lemonade. “Thank you,” Bucky said, his voice low and smooth.

You let out an exaggerated sigh and rolled your eyes. “You’re welcome for the noise pollution,” you muttered loud enough for him to hear.

He turned, raising an eyebrow at you. “You’re welcome for cutting the grass, princess.”

“Princess?” you repeated, your tone sharp. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You’re out here ruining everyone’s peace, and I’m the problem?”

He smirked, crossing his arms over his chest, the gesture only drawing more attention to his muscles. “Stop acting like a diva.”

Your jaw dropped. “I am a diva!”

“Yeah, right,” he scoffed, taking a long sip of lemonade.

“What rock have you been living under?” you snapped, glaring at him.

He rolled his eyes dramatically, his expression shifting to one of mild exasperation. What you didn’t know was that Bucky wasn’t as clueless as he seemed. For the past three years, he’d been living under the radar, cutting ties with his old life. His job had demanded secrecy, isolation, and sacrifice. He didn’t have the luxury of keeping up with the world, let alone pop culture or celebrity news.

The truth was, he hadn’t recognized you—not as the world-famous singer everyone else seemed to adore. To him, you were just the frustrating woman who had suddenly appeared in Mrs. Walls’ house and made everything more complicated.

But even as irritation bubbled under his skin, he couldn’t help but feel intrigued. There was a fire in you that clashed with his rough edges, and it both annoyed and fascinated him.

For Bucky, Mrs. Walls had always been a comforting presence—a grandmother figure who offered him advice and a safe space to talk. Her home had become a haven. And then you showed up.

Now, that peace was gone, replaced with constant banter and an energy that made it hard for him to stay indifferent.

Mrs. Walls watched the two of you, her lips twitching as if suppressing a smile. Despite your usual quiet demeanor, you seemed to come alive whenever Bucky was around.

“You two are like a pair of bickering children,” she muttered under her breath.

“Excuse me?” you said, shooting her a look.

“Nothing, dear,” she replied with a knowing smile, sipping her lemonade.

Bucky glanced at you, shaking his head. “You know, for someone who wants peace and quiet, you sure have a lot to say.”

“And for someone who wants to mow the lawn, you sure talk a lot for no reason,” you shot back, folding your arms.

Bucky laughed, low and mocking. “This is going to be fun.”

“Fun for you, maybe,” you muttered, turning your attention back to the garden, though your face was still flushed from the exchange.

As he walked away, you couldn’t help but glance at his retreating figure, hating how effortlessly confident he looked. Bucky, meanwhile, shook his head, pretending not to notice you watching him.

Both of you were equally exasperated—and similarly intrigued.

Bucky reached into his pocket and pulled out a coin, holding it up between two fingers with a smug grin. “Alright, princess, let’s make a deal. If it lands heads, I’ll keep mowing. If it’s tails, I’ll stop, and you can go back to your precious nap.”

You crossed your arms tightly, narrowing your eyes at him. “I hate this game,” you muttered, watching as the coin gleamed in the sunlight. He always did this—turning everything into some sort of challenge just to get under your skin.

Bucky smirked, clearly enjoying your irritation. “I know. That’s why it’s so much fun.”

Rolling your eyes, you huffed, “Tails.”

He nodded mock-seriously, flicking the coin into the air with practiced ease. It spun rapidly, catching the light with every turn before landing in his palm. He slapped it onto the back of his hand, then slowly revealed the result with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Heads,” he declared, his voice full of triumph.

“Ugh!” You threw your hands in the air, frustrated, pushing off the bench. As you stomped toward the house, the wooden slats creaked behind you, muttering, “I’m getting noise-canceling headphones.”

Mrs. Walls watched you retreat inside, shaking her head with a fond smile. She turned to Bucky, who was spinning the coin between his fingers like a magician showing off his trick.

“You really should stop teasing her,” Mrs. Walls said gently, her tone a mix of reproach and amusement.

Bucky shrugged, slipping the coin back into his pocket. His lips curled into a devilish grin. “Nah… it’s fun.”

🌷🌷🌷🌷

You peeked through the blinds, trying not to let the soft rustle of the fabric give you away. Outside, Bucky was still chatting casually with Mrs. Walls. He leaned against the handle of the lawn mower, his broad shoulders relaxed, and his expression unusually serene.

How could he be so normal and polite with her, yet every time he spoke to you, it felt like he lived to make you grit your teeth?

You narrowed your eyes, watching him laugh at something Mrs. Walls said. That face… you thought bitterly. What a waste of a perfectly good jawline and those stupid dimples.

Letting the blinds fall back into place with a soft snap, you turned away and headed to your room.

Inside, the space was dim, the curtains drawn tightly against the glaring afternoon sun. The cool, muted light was a welcome contrast to the irritation buzzing in your head. You kicked off your slippers with a little more force than necessary and flopped onto the bed, burying your face in the pillows.

The mattress was soft, and the faint scent of lavender from the room’s diffuser helped ease the tension in your shoulders. But even as you lay there, trying to block out the world, your mind kept drifting back to the smug grin on Bucky’s face and the way he seemed to revel in riling you up.

“Urgh,” you groaned, rolling onto your side and hugging the pillow close. You closed your eyes, willing yourself to forget about him.

Eventually, the steady hum of the ceiling fan and the distant chirping of birds outside began to lull you into a state of calm. Your breathing slowed, and your grip on the pillow loosened. For now, rest was the only thing you wanted—a reprieve from the relentless antics of your maddeningly handsome neighbor.

🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷

The dream came fast and vivid, like a storm. You were running—barefoot, your breath ragged and your heart pounding in your chest. Behind you, shadowy figures loomed, their voices sharp and cruel. The flash of cameras blinded you, their light like fire against your skin. You kept running, your legs aching, but the ground felt like quicksand, pulling you down.

You jolted awake, gasping for air. Your hands gripped the sheets tightly as your heart raced, the remnants of the nightmare still clinging to your mind. Glancing at the clock on the bedside table, you saw the dim, glowing numbers: 2:00 a.m.

Sleep felt impossible now. The stillness of the house, once comforting, now felt suffocating. You swung your legs off the bed and walked to the window, pushing it open. Cool air rushed in, brushing against your flushed skin and carrying the faint scent of dew and earth.

“Should I go out?” you murmured to yourself. It was late—no, it was early—and the world outside was likely asleep. It might be safe.

Pulling on a hoodie and sweatpants, you crept quietly through the house. Every creak of the floorboards beneath your feet made your pulse spike, but you pressed on, determined. When you reached the door, you hesitated, your hand resting on the doorknob.

Flashes of the past flooded your mind—the crowd of paparazzi outside your apartment, shouting your name, their cameras clicking incessantly, their relentless pursuit. You clenched your eyes shut and took a deep breath.

“It’s different here,” you whispered, willing yourself to believe it. Slowly, you pushed the door open and stepped outside.

The cool grass greeted your bare feet as you stepped off the porch, the gentle night breeze brushing against your face. There was no one. No voices. No flashing lights. Just silence and the soft rustling of leaves in the dark.

You exhaled deeply, relief washing over you like a wave. One tentative step after another, you left the house, the distance growing between you and your sanctuary.

You wandered toward the park, the faint glow of streetlights guiding your way. The world felt peaceful, and for the first time in months, so did you—until the faint hum of an engine broke the stillness.

You glanced over your shoulder, your pulse quickening. A car was following you, its headlights low but its presence unmistakable. Then you saw it—a glint of metal, the unmistakable outline of a camera lens.

Shit. They’d found you.

Your heart pounded as the car crept closer. Picking up your pace, you started walking faster, then broke into a run.

“Y/N! Where have you been?” a voice called out from the car, loud and intrusive.

You didn’t answer, your breath quickening as you pushed yourself to move faster.

“Have you heard your ex-fiancé has rekindled things with his ex?”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. What? Your mind reeled. You hadn’t even ended things officially, and he’d already moved on? That bastard. While you were here, broken and dealing with trauma, he was playing house?

“Is it true you gave money to your manager, knowing about his gambling addiction?”

You stopped dead in your tracks, glaring at the man hanging out of the car window. “No! I didn’t know! Leave me alone, you jerk!”

You started running again, your breath burning in your lungs, your legs aching. Desperation clawed at you as the car followed relentlessly. Then you saw him—a familiar figure jogging under the streetlights.

“It can’t be,” you whispered.

Without thinking, you sprinted toward him, your voice frantic. “Bucky! Help me!”

Bucky stopped mid-stride, his brows furrowed as he saw you running toward him. His routine early-morning jog had just turned unusual. His sharp eyes quickly took in the distress written all over your face. Before he could react, you leaped behind him, clutching the back of his hoodie and crouching slightly to shield yourself.

He stiffened, caught off guard. Then he saw it—a car slowing down, its passenger wielding a camera that kept flashing incessantly. The bright lights blinded him momentarily, and irritation sparked in his chest.

“Hey!” Bucky growled, marching toward the car. The camera flashes continued, and without hesitation, he snatched the camera from the paparazzo’s hands and smashed it against the pavement.

The paparazzo’s jaw dropped in shock. “My camera!” he yelled, scrambling to pick up the broken pieces.

But he wasn’t done. Pulling out his phone, the man began recording. “You’re a dead man! Who the fuck are you? Her boyfriend? Bodyguard?”

Bucky, his irritation mounting, opened his mouth to correct him, but before he could, you blurted out, “He’s my boyfriend.”

Bucky froze, glancing over his shoulder at you. Your grip on his hoodie tightened as you peeked around him, glaring at the paparazzo.

The man in the car stared at the two of you, his phone still recording. “This is going to be front-page news.”

Bucky sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What the hell did you just drag me into?” he muttered under his breath.

Exciting News!

I’m thrilled to announce the release of my new book, Dad, I Can’t Let You Go—a heartfelt collection of short poems about loss, love, and the journey of missing someone deeply. This book is dedicated to my father and to anyone who has experienced the pain of losing a loved one.

Available now on E-Kindle Amazon!

Dad, I Can't Let You Go! <<< Here's the link.

Thank you for your support, and I hope these poems resonate with you.

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heartsriki · 18 hours ago

Text

FLORAL SANCTUARY ⌇봄의 사랑

pairing ᝰ idol!sunghoon x fem!reader — featuring.. riki & sunoo | word count: 5.2k+

⌇ … warnings & genre ↺ fluff, tiny bit of angst, mention of Sasaengs, misunderstandings, assault attempt (not from hoon), kissing, reader is a florist.

synopsis — your life is turned upside down when a mysterious customer, later revealed to be sunghoon of ENHYPEN, starts frequenting their shop. As feelings blossom, they must navigate the challenges of love in the spotlight and a world of secrets.

lee's ₊˚⊹ ᰔ comment ┊Im not sure if I like this but :( I worked on it for a little bit of time so I might as well post it also don’t talk about me sneaking riki into every fic fr.. OH I hope yall like the bonuses under every fic as well <3 hope you like it enjoy fr!

The start of spring always brought life to the city. The air smelled of fresh blooms, the sun painted the streets in golden light, and your quaint little flower shop buzzed with new energy. Spring meant love was in the air, and for a florist like you, it was prime confession season.

The day, however, had been slower than you’d hoped. The usual flow of familiar faces trickled in—some grabbing pre-made bouquets, others chatting as they browsed. Earlier, a man wearing a mask and a baseball cap had wandered in, keeping to himself as he strolled among the displays. He seemed like the kind of person who was window-shopping rather than buying, so you left him to it, busying yourself with restocking and rearranging.

The soft chime of the doorbell broke the quiet rhythm of the shop, and you turned to see a younger guy, probably no older than 18, shuffling inside. He looked nervous, wringing his hands as he approached the counter.

“Uh, hey… What flowers are, like, good for confessing?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

You couldn’t help but smile. This was your favorite kind of customer—the ones looking for the perfect way to say something they couldn’t put into words themselves. “If you’re confessing love, red tulips are a classic,” you said, guiding him toward the vibrant blooms.

His face lit up as he picked a handful, and you wrapped them into a simple but elegant bouquet. As you handed it over, you grinned and said, “Good luck! I hope they say yes.”

“Thanks!” he beamed, waving as he left the shop.

You turned back to the shelves, searching for something to keep you busy when the man in the mask from earlier appeared at the counter. He stood tall, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, his face obscured by the brim of his cap.

“Can I help you?” you asked, tilting your head.

He hesitated like he was working up the courage to speak. “Yeah, uh… I heard you helping that kid, and I was wondering… what flowers are good to give to your mom?”

His voice was deep but soft, and something about it made your chest tighten. You pushed the thought aside and gave a little laugh. “For your mom? Gardenias are perfect—they symbolize love for family. But they’re a bit pricey.”

“That’s fine,” he said quickly. “I’ll take one.”

You nodded and stepped away to grab one of the delicate white blooms. As you did, the radio in the corner of the shop switched songs, the upbeat melody of “Moonstruck” by ENHYPEN filling the air. You glanced at the man, noticing how he suddenly stiffened. His hands fidgeted at his sides, and his eyes darted toward the door.

“Here you go,” you said, returning with the flower wrapped in crisp white paper.

But as you held it out to him, he grabbed it hastily and bolted for the door.

“Hey!” you called after him, heart racing as you hurried around the counter. You chased him to the sidewalk, but he was already halfway down the block, disappearing into the crowd.

You stood there, out of breath, staring after him. “What the actual hell…”

The next day, just as you were finishing up for the evening, you hummed to the soft tune of the radio while sweeping the shop floor. The faint ding of the bell broke the stillness, and you looked up.

“Oh, I’m sorry, we’re closing,” you explained softly, leaning the broom against the counter.

The man who entered smirked at you, his demeanor casual but confident. “No worries, babe. I wasn’t here for flowers anyway,” he said, slowly stepping toward you.

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “Then what are you here for?”

“Your number would be a good start,” he said with a cocky smile, reaching out as if to touch your arm.

Before he could make contact, an arm suddenly pulled him back. Startled, you watched as his head snapped toward the figure standing behind him—the man in the mask and baseball cap.

“What do you think you’re doing?” the masked man asked, his voice low and commanding.

The cocky man’s confidence vanished in an instant. “Uh—nothing. Sorry!” he stammered before bolting out of the shop, the bell jingling violently as the door slammed behind him.

You huffed, rubbing your arms as you looked at the masked man. “Wow, that was scary. Thanks,” you said, your gaze now focused on him. Something about him caught your attention—his peek of black hair beneath the cap, his smooth voice, his familiar presence.

“Hey… wait!” you exclaimed, realization dawning. “You’re that guy—”

He tensed, hands raised defensively. “Wait, wait!” he interrupted, wincing as you grabbed the broom and swatted him with it.

“Why did you just bolt out of here with my precious flower?” you asked, squinting at him suspiciously.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, his voice softening. “Something… happened. I didn’t mean to cause trouble.” Reaching into his jacket, he pulled out a card and held it out cautiously, still eyeing the broom. “Here, I didn’t pay for the flower. I came back to fix that.”

You took the card skeptically, lowering the broom. He had helped you just now, and honestly, stealing a flower of all things seemed odd for a thief.

Heading back to the counter, you swiped his card and handed it back. “So, did your mom like the flower?”

He nodded, his shoulders relaxing a little. “Oh, yes. She loved it,” he said, a shy smile creeping across his face.

You beamed at him, and your mood instantly lifted. “That’s great! I’m glad it worked out.”

The shop fell into a comfortable quiet as he glanced around. The soft glow of the shop’s lights bathed the room in warmth, the scent of flowers lingering in the air.

“Are you closing?” he asked after a moment, his voice curious.

You clapped your hands, laughing. “Oh! Yes, I am. I completely forgot!” Quickly, you disappeared into the back room, returning moments later with your bag slung over your shoulder and your apron folded in your hands.

“Follow me,” you said with a wave, walking toward the entrance.

He trailed behind you, watching as you locked the door and tucked your keys into your bag. The soft glow of the streetlights cast a warm light over you, and he couldn’t help but notice how pretty you looked under it.

“Well, this is where I say goodbye. Thanks again for earlier,” you said with a small smile.

He hesitated for a moment, then spoke. “Are you heading home? I could take you.” He gestured toward a sleek car parked nearby.

You laughed softly, tilting your head. “I would, but I don’t think it’s smart for a young lady to hop into the car of a man whose name she doesn’t know.”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Fair point.”

You studied him for a moment, your gaze softening. “But you can walk me to the bus stop over there,” you offered, pointing down the street.

His face lit up, and he nodded eagerly. “Yeah, sure.”

The two of you began walking side by side, the quiet hum of the city filling the space between you. As you reached the bus stop, you turned to him with a smile.

“Thank you again for helping me earlier… and for coming back,” you said, your voice soft.

He nodded, his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets. “Of course. I guess I owe you for leaving so suddenly yesterday,” he said with a shy laugh.

As your bus approached, he stepped back, the glow of the headlights reflecting in his dark eyes.

“Will you be stopping by again?” you asked, half-teasing, half-hopeful.

He hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Maybe.”

You smiled as you stepped onto the bus, glancing back at him one last time. Something about him intrigued you, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to him than he was letting on.

As the bus pulled away, you caught sight of him standing there, watching you leave, the brim of his cap tilted just enough to shield his face from view.

After that day, he started stopping by your shop around closing time more often. At first, it was casual—an excuse to chat or linger in the comforting atmosphere of the flower shop. But soon, it became a routine you secretly looked forward to.

You learned that Park Sunghoon was funny, sly, and much more interesting than he initially let on. He always seemed more curious about you than willing to talk about himself. Every time you tried to ask questions about his life, he’d expertly change the subject, steering the conversation back to you. It bummed you out a little—not knowing much about him—but the way he listened to you and genuinely seemed interested in your stories made it hard to hold it against him.

Tonight was no different. He strolled in just as the sun dipped below the horizon, setting the shop aglow with warm, golden light.

“Hey, Y/N,” he greeted, dropping his bag onto one of the chairs near the counter.

You looked up from the bouquets you were prepping, he wasn't wearing his mask today. “Hey, Sunghoon.”

He leaned against the counter, watching as you worked. His gaze softened as you expertly arranged the blooms into delicate patterns.

“Why do you like flowers so much?” he asked suddenly, his voice quieter than usual.

You paused, glancing back at him with the bouquet still in your hands. “Flowers help people express feelings they can’t say. I like to express my love and passion through them, and I think the different meanings of each flower are amazing.”

Sunghoon chuckled, his eyes darting toward the bouquet you were holding—a mix of pink and red roses. “Yeah? And what do those mean?”

“Blooming love,” you replied, holding his gaze for a moment before turning to place the bouquet on display.

He gulped, his fingers nervously fidgeting. “Hey, so, I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

“Yes?” you asked a little too eagerly, stepping closer.

“Would you like to… I don’t know, go somewhere with me? Sometime? When you’re free?”

You tilted your head, trying to suppress the smile tugging at your lips. “I’m free now.”

His eyes widened, and a faint blush crept up his neck. “Now? But I… I didn’t dress up or anything…”

You giggled, waving your hand dismissively. “Neither did I. It doesn’t matter. You look cute.”

He laughed shyly, rubbing the back of his neck before nodding. “Okay, yeah. Let’s go.”

With the shop locked up and the sun lingering just above the horizon, you and Sunghoon walked down the quiet street. The gentle buzz of the city surrounded you, and the scent of flowers still clung to you from the shop.

“So, where are we going?” you asked, glancing up at him.

“I figured we’d just wander a bit, see where we end up,” he said with a small smile. “Unless you have a better idea?”

You shook your head, enjoying the spontaneity. “Nope, that works for me.”

As you walked, you found yourselves at a quaint park tucked away from the busy streets. The cherry blossoms were in full bloom, their pink petals floating gently on the breeze.

“This is beautiful,” you murmured, your eyes scanning the scene.

Sunghoon nodded, glancing at you. “Yeah… it is.”

You both settled onto a bench near the pond, where ducks paddled lazily in the water. A food cart nearby caught your attention, and you laughed softly. “Ice cream?”

He followed your gaze and grinned. “Absolutely. Stay here—I’ll get it.”

You watched him jog over to the cart, noticing how relaxed he looked for the first time. When he returned, he handed you a cone with a bashful smile.

“Vanilla,” he said. “I guessed.”

“It’s perfect,” you replied, taking a small bite. “Thanks.”

The two of you sat in comfortable silence, enjoying the simplicity of the moment. The warm light of the setting sun danced on the water, and a soft breeze carried the scent of blossoms around you.

“So, Sunghoon,” you said, breaking the silence. “Are you ever going to tell me more about yourself, or are you planning to stay mysterious forever?”

He chuckled, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “I guess I just like listening to you talk.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “That’s sweet, but it’s not an answer.”

He hesitated, then turned to meet your eyes. “Someday. I promise.”

“Can't I even see your full face?” You asked nervously.

He looked at you and thought about it. He has known you for a good bit of time now, you don’t seem to know him for who he is, so he took a risk he hoped he wouldn’t regret. He slowly took the baseball cap off and looked at you with caution.

You slowly smiled and him and looked down. “You shouldn’t hide a handsome face like yours, “ you said giggling.

He blinked and felt heat creep up his neck.

He looked at the bush behind the bench and plucked one of the flowers that was on it. “I don’t know what it means but I can tell It suits you,” he said softly, holding up the pink petal and placing it behind your ear.

You smiled, your heart fluttering. “Thanks.”

After finishing your ice cream, the two of you decided to keep wandering through the park. The cherry blossom trees seemed to create a magical canopy above you, the soft glow of lanterns adding a warm touch to the atmosphere. You noticed Sunghoon stealing glances at you as you walked, but every time you caught him, he’d quickly look away, pretending to admire the scenery instead.

As you neared a small outdoor seating area, you spotted a musician setting up his guitar. A small crowd began gathering, and you nudged Sunghoon with your elbow.

“Let’s sit and listen for a while,” you suggested.

He hesitated for a second before nodding. “Sure, why not?”

The two of you found a seat nearby. The musician strummed a few chords before launching into a soft, acoustic rendition of a pop song. You tapped your fingers against your knees, nodding along to the melody.

“You into music much?” Sunghoon asked casually, leaning back against the bench.

You shrugged. “Not really. I don’t keep up with social media or anything, so I don’t know much about what’s trending. I mostly just listen to whatever’s playing on the radio in the shop.”

Sunghoon froze for a moment, then shifted in his seat, suddenly looking a little too interested in the gravel path in front of him. “Oh… really? No social media?”

“Nope,” you said with a smile. “It’s too exhausting to keep up with. Why?”

He cleared his throat. “Uh, no reason. Just… not many people are like that.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, intrigued by his sudden nervousness. “What about you? You strike me as someone who listens to a lot of music.”

He let out a soft laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, you could say that. Music’s kind of… important to me.”

“Oh? What kind of music do you like?”

Before he could answer, the musician transitioned into a song that made a few people in the crowd cheer. You tilted your head, listening closely. The melody was catchy, but you couldn’t place it.

“I think I’ve heard this one before,” you said thoughtfully. “Isn’t it by that group… what are they called again? En… something?”

Sunghoon stiffened beside you. “Enhypen,” he said quickly, his voice a little too steady.

“Yeah, that’s it!” you said, snapping your fingers. “They’re okay, I guess. Some of their songs are nice, but it’s not really my thing.”

He turned to you so fast that you thought he might have hurt his neck. “Okay?” he repeated, his tone slightly incredulous.

You blinked at him, surprised by his reaction. “Uh, yeah? I mean, they’re good, but I wouldn’t go out of my way to listen to them. Why? Are you a fan or something?”

Sunghoon opened his mouth, then closed it again, his expression caught between offense and disbelief. “I—uh…” He scratched the back of his neck, visibly flustered. “You could say I know a lot about them.”

You chuckled, completely unaware of his internal struggle. “Well, that’s cool. I’ve probably heard more of their songs than I realize. You know how it is—songs play everywhere, but you don’t always know who’s singing them.”

Sunghoon nodded stiffly, looking like he was fighting the urge to say something. Finally, he let out a breath and crossed his arms. “Enhypen is… more than just ‘okay.’”

You laughed, nudging him playfully. “Wow, you must be a fan. Don’t worry, I’ll give them another chance.”

He grumbled something under his breath, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward in a reluctant smile.

The musician wrapped up his performance, and the crowd began to disperse. As you stood to leave, Sunghoon glanced at you, his nervous energy from earlier now replaced with quiet amusement.

“Let’s make a deal,” he said as you walked side by side.

“A deal?” you repeated, curious.

He nodded. “Every time we hang out, I’ll show you some songs, and you have to give me your honest opinion. But you have to promise to really listen.”

You smiled at him, enjoying the way his confidence seemed to return. “Deal. But only if you tell me more about yourself in return.”

He hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Deal.”

You and Sunghoon kept going on more and more dates after that first one.

He was always kind and attentive, never pushing boundaries or trying anything beyond the occasional lingering gaze or shy smile. But that’s precisely what started to bother you. You wanted more. You’d made moves to take things further, even inviting him into your apartment after he dropped you off one night. But he’d quickly dismissed himself with a polite excuse.

It honestly made you insecure. Was he just playing with you? Was this something casual for him? You couldn’t help but wonder, especially when he hadn’t even asked you to be his girlfriend yet.

Now, on yet another date, Sunghoon seemed even more cautious than usual, glancing over his shoulder constantly, his cap and mask firmly in place despite the intimate setting.

“Hoon,” you said, frustration creeping into your tone as you set down your fork. “What’s up with you?”

You were at a cozy dinner spot, the kind of place where no one batted an eye at couples sharing shy smiles over candlelight. Yet, Sunghoon seemed distant, his shoulders stiff, his gaze darting around the room like he was expecting something—or someone.

He didn’t respond immediately.

“We’re at dinner, for God’s sake. Why do you still have the mask on?” You sighed, leaning closer to him. “Seriously, can you just talk to me? What’s going on?”

“Listen, Y/N—” he began, but before he could finish, a loud squeal pierced the air.

You turned toward the source of the noise, only to be met with the blinding flashes of cameras. A group of girls was pointing and taking pictures, their excited chatter growing louder by the second.

Sunghoon’s eyes widened in panic. He grabbed your hand and bolted out the door, pulling you behind him as a crowd of fans followed closely.

“Sunghoon!” you gasped, struggling to keep up. “I can’t run much longer!”

“Just hold on! We’re almost there!” he shouted over his shoulder, his grip on your hand tightening.

After weaving through alleys and streets, he led you to a sleek black car parked inconspicuously. He opened the door in a hurry and ushered you inside, quickly jumping in after you. The driver sped off before you even had a chance to process what had just happened.

Out of breath, you turned to look behind you, watching the wave of girls shrink into the distance. Then you shifted your gaze to Sunghoon, who was fixing his disheveled hair.

“What the hell is going on?!” you demanded, your voice trembling with equal parts fear and frustration.

“Sir, where to?” the driver asked calmly as if this were a normal occurrence.

“Her apartment, please,” Sunghoon replied quickly before turning to you with an apologetic expression.

“Y/N, please… I’ll explain everything when we get there. Just—just give me a chance to explain.”

You pulled your hands away from him as he reached for you, your trust shaken.

The car ride was silent, tension thick in the air. You stared out the window, your thoughts spiraling. What could he possibly be hiding that would explain this?

When you finally reached your apartment, you stormed up the stairs, Sunghoon trailing close behind. You unlocked the door and threw your belongings onto the couch, crossing your arms as you glared at him.

“Y/N, please listen—”

But before he could finish, you grabbed the remote and turned on the TV, needing a distraction. The news channel popped up, and you froze when you saw your face on the screen, standing beside Sunghoon.

The headline read: “Park Sunghoon from rising K-pop group ENHYPEN spotted on a date?”

Your head snapped toward him, and his panicked expression told you everything you needed to know.

“Is this some kind of joke?” you asked, your voice dangerously calm.

He shook his head, stepping closer. “No… it’s the truth. I’ve been meaning to tell you, but I didn’t know how. I didn’t want it to change anything between us.”

You laughed bitterly, the sound hollow. “Didn’t want it to change anything? Sunghoon, if you’d told me this from the beginning, I could’ve understood! But instead, you left me in the dark, and made me question everything!”

His face fell, and he knelt in front of you, his voice breaking. “Y/N, you’re not a joke to me. You’re so much more than that. I didn’t tell you because I was afraid—afraid you’d treat me differently like everyone else does.”

“Is that what you thought of me? After all the time we’ve spent together, that’s what you got?”

He looked up at you, eyes wide with regret. “No, that’s not—”

You shook your head, cutting him off. “I think you should leave, Sunghoon.”

The use of his full name hit him like a blow. He hesitated, looking as though he wanted to argue, but the coldness in your expression stopped him.

“Please… just let me make it up to you,” he begged, his voice barely above a whisper.

You turned away. “I need time to think this over.”

He nodded reluctantly, standing and walking to the door. He paused for a moment, looking back at you one last time before stepping out and closing it softly behind him.

As soon as he was gone, the weight of everything hit you all at once. You sank onto the couch, burying your face in your hands as sobs wracked your body. The room felt unbearably quiet.

A few hours after the incident with Sunghoon, there was a knock at your door. When you opened it, two men in sharp suits stood there, their expressions professional yet apologetic.

“Miss Y/N?” one of them asked, confirming your identity.

“Yes?” you replied cautiously, your grip tightening on the doorframe.

“We’re representatives from Sunghoon’s agency,” the man said. His tone was calm, but the mention of Sunghoon’s name immediately caused your chest to tighten.

“We need to discuss the current situation,” the other man added. “May we come in?”

You hesitated, debating whether to slam the door in their faces or let them speak. Against your better judgment, you stepped aside, gesturing for them to enter.

The two men sat on your couch, their serious expressions only adding to your unease.

“We’re here to inform you that, due to the recent media coverage and fan activity, it’s in your best interest to lay low for a while,” one of them began. “The situation has escalated, and we’re concerned for your privacy and safety.”

Your heart sank. “Lay low?” you echoed, already dreading where this was going.

“Yes,” the other man confirmed. “The company will compensate you for any financial losses during this time, including your shop’s closure. We’re prepared to cover all expenses until the situation deescalates.”

The mention of your shop caused a lump to form in your throat. “You want me to close my shop?” you asked, your voice trembling.

“It’s only temporary,” the first man assured you. “Once things settle, you can resume your normal routine.”

You nodded numbly, but their words offered no comfort. As the two men stood to leave, they handed you a card with a number to call if you needed anything. “Please don’t hesitate to reach out,” one of them said.

After they left, you shut the door and leaned against it, letting out a shaky breath. The shop was more than just a job to you—it was your sanctuary, the place where you felt most at peace. The thought of staying away from it, from the vibrant blooms and quiet hum of your safe space, only added to the ache in your chest.

The weight of everything was suffocating. You’d already lost your connection with Sunghoon, and now you were being forced to step away from the one thing that gave you solace. It felt as though your entire world was unraveling, piece by piece.

As you sat on the couch staring at the card in your hand, tears welled up in your eyes. You didn’t blame Sunghoon for this—not entirely—but the situation had left you feeling isolated and lost.

Two weeks had passed, and there was still no word from Sunghoon. You knew this silence was your own doing—you had asked for space—but you couldn’t deny that you missed him.

After the incident, Sunghoon had left long strings of heartfelt messages apologizing, explaining, and pleading for you to hear him out. But after a week of silence from you, the messages stopped. The sudden quiet felt heavier than you anticipated, and you hated how much you longed to see his name pop up on your screen again.

The company still hadn’t given you the green light to reopen your shop, leaving you trapped in an endless cycle of isolation and overthinking. The emptiness weighed on you, and your apartment felt colder than usual.

As you sat on the couch, aimlessly scrolling through your camera roll, your heart tightened when you stumbled upon a photo from your first date with Sunghoon. It was a selfie of you both at the park. You were smiling brightly at the camera while Sunghoon, with his cap, pulled low, was looking at you instead of the lens. You couldn’t help but stare at the image, remembering the butterflies you’d felt that day.

You were pulled out of your thoughts by a knock at the door. Confused, you got up slowly, not expecting any visitors. When you opened the door, your breath caught in your throat.

There he was, standing in front of you with a bouquet in his hands and a soft, hopeful smile on his lips.

“Hey,” he said gently, his voice calm but nervous.

You looked at the flowers, then back at him. “Hi,” you replied softly, stepping aside to let him in.

Sunghoon entered, turning to face you as you closed the door. Without a word, you walked to the couch and patted the spot beside you, silently asking him to sit. He followed your lead, placing the bouquet on the coffee table before taking a seat next to you.

He took a deep breath before speaking. “Y/N, I can’t even begin to explain how sorry I am,” he began, his voice heavy with guilt. “I’m not great at expressing myself, but I need you to know that I never saw you as a joke. I wasn’t messing with you—not ever.”

You nodded, staying quiet as you listened, your eyes focused on him.

“Every time you tried to get closer to me, I… I panicked,” he admitted, his gaze dropping to his hands. “I kept thinking about who I am, about my life and how messy it can get. I was scared—scared that if we got too close, you’d realize how much baggage I carry and leave. I didn’t want to lose you.”

He looked up, his eyes filled with vulnerability. “But I’ve realized something, Y/N. I can’t just be your friend. I can’t pretend that what I feel for you is anything less than love.”

Your breath hitched at his words, and your heart swelled. You could see the sincerity in his eyes, the love he was finally laying bare.

“Hoon…” you started, but he interrupted you.

“I love you,” he confessed, the words tumbling out quickly as if he couldn’t hold them back any longer.

You blinked, stunned for a moment, before a smile spread across your face. Without thinking, you leaned forward, wrapping your arms around his neck.

Your faces were mere inches apart now, and his hands instinctively found their way to your waist. He gazed into your eyes before his gaze dropped to your lips. And then, as if he couldn’t hold back any longer, he closed the distance, pressing his lips to yours.

The kiss was slow and sweet, full of the emotions he’d been holding back for so long. Your fingers tangled in his hair, and his arms tightened around you, pulling you closer. As the kiss deepened, he gently eased you back onto the couch, his arm bracing him above you while his other hand cupped your cheek.

When you finally pulled away to catch your breath, he rested his forehead against your shoulder, holding you close. His fingers absentmindedly played with the hem of your shirt as you ran your fingers through his hair.

Your eyes landed on the bouquet on the table, and you couldn’t help but laugh softly.

He lifted his head, confused. “What’s so funny?”

You gestured to the flowers. “What do these mean, Hoon?”

He glanced at them and scratched the back of his neck. “Well… I didn’t know which flowers to get, so I just grabbed all the red ones. I figured they’d all mean love or something.”

You pointed to one in the arrangement. “That one means death, you know.”

His eyes widened in panic. “What?! That’s not what Google said!” He quickly reached for the bouquet, inspecting it frantically.

You burst into laughter, clutching your stomach. It took him a moment to realize you were teasing him. He groaned, leaning back with a playful glare. “Not funny, Y/N.”

Still laughing, you leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “It was a little funny.”

BONUS 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

The day before, Sunghoon had been pacing in the practice room, his phone in hand.

“What flowers should I get her?” he muttered, scrolling through countless search results.

“Sunghoon, please, just pick one and go talk to her already,” Sunoo groaned from the couch, watching his friend spiral.

“You don’t get it” Sunghoon snapped. “Flowers are really important to her.”

“Then just get her roses,” Riki chimed in from the corner. “Simple but classic.”

“She deserves more than simple,” Sunghoon mumbled, still fixated on his phone.

“Sunghoon!” Riki and Sunoo yelled in unison, exasperated.

#enhypen #enhypen fluff #enhypen x reader #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen fic #fanfic #fluff fic #park sunghoon #sunghoon #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon park #park sunghoon x reader #enhypen niki #enhypen sunoo #enhypen angst

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impala124 · 2 days ago

Text

Bad Buddy 12

My thoughts on Ep 1 | Ep 2 | Ep 3 | Ep 4 | Ep 5 | Ep 6 | Ep 7 | Ep 8 | Ep 9 | Ep 10 | Ep 11

Me, at the end of this episode:

Oh, we have a 4-year time skip!! Interesting.

Pat, where is the Nong Nao doll? I don't see it on your bed. I need answers right now.

I like the transition from Pat putting down his toothbrush to Pran picking up his own. Very clever.

Pran, quick question: WHERE ARE YOU? I see the view in the background, and that's one of Singapore's most iconic buildings, if I'm not wrong, which is definitely not in Thailand. So, boy, what's your ass doing in Singapore?

At least he's still wearing The Watch, so I have hope. Pran's a yearner through and through, so I expected nothing less from him.

We all agree that Max is hitting on Pran, right? Pran's not having any of it, though.

Poor Pat, he doesn't look too happy when Korn and Wai mention revisiting the old days.

Not the fucking elevator flashback 😭😭. Oh no, the curry Pran made for him after he confessed that he liked him. Man, this shit hurts!!

I, for one, am not at all surprised that Pat joined his father's business after graduation. I could've told you that on the day we first met him.

Sidenote, but why are these 22/23-year-olds lamenting about getting old?

Guys, Pa graduated from university and is making a movie!! My baby's all grown up now!! *wipes tears*

Ok, Wai and Korn each have girlfriends. How about instead of saving for individual dowries, you both just ditch the girls and marry each other? Just food for thought.

But why aren't they bringing up Pat's love life? Is it still a touchy topic? I mean, it's been 4 years, and we don't know what reason they gave their friends for the breakup, though, so we shall see.

What do you mean someone else moved into Pran's room? It should've been preserved as a heritage site. Contacting the people at UNESCO ASAP.

Ink and Pa are on my screen together. My boys might be miserable right now, but at least my girls are thriving.

A high school reunion, you say? If I'm not wrong, Pat, Pran, and Ink went to the same high school. Are they going to MEET at the reunion????!

Wow, Ink misses her high school classmates. Definitely can't relate to that sentiment, bestie.

Pat, sir, is that a smile on your face at the possibility of running into Pran at the reunion?

Not Pat looking solemnly at the memory wall.😭😭

THIS IS NOT A DRILL. Pran is here at the reunion!!!

Okay, so just looking longingly at each other is all I'm going to get for now.

"But some things can never change." Pat, bestie, change is the only constant in life. Fuck everything else and go get your man!!

Are you really playing a game at your reunion if the prize up for grabs isn't something like an accommodation voucher for a night at a mid-budget hotel??

Not the trip down memory lane😭. Y'all are in the same room; talk to each other and put yourselves (& me) out of this misery.

A live performance, you say? And PRAN IS SINGING. Now, don't tell me it's the song he wrote to soft launch his feelings to Pat in high school.

Yes, he is. Pat, are you listening? I know you're hearing it, but are you LISTENING to it?

EXCUSE ME! What was that sweet smile you guys just exchanged? I need an explanation!! NOW!!!

A group photo with them being pushed towards each other, which could be a metaphor for the string of fate always bringing them back together. Love to see it.

Pat, let me introduce you to something called a cab. It's really effective in taking your friend's drunk ass home, especially when your ex is giving you THE LOOK!!

Okay, Pat's on the phone with Pa (probably?) and is complaining about being hungry. You know what you should do, Pat? Go to your favorite noodle shop and wait for your ex to show up so that you can talk things through.

WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT'S PRAN ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE DOOR AND ON THE PHONE??!!! My brain is malfunctioning right now.

"You said you'd sleep at your house." What in the hell is happening right now?

Crisis averted, the Nong Nao doll makes an appearance on the bed.

Okay, Pran, I see you wearing your 'happy hour' shirt while complaining to your boyfriend (?) about Singapore's air pollution.

One thing about them: they are going to use the fucking sponsored makeup remover on the other. It's quite endearing, actually.

BB Product placement stays superior till the end.

I need an explanation, stat!! Are you still mad I didn't pick you up at the airport? What is that boyfriend-ass statement, Pat?

Pran just referred to Pat as his boyfriend. "We've been together for too long."

WHAT DO YOU MEAN THEY NEVER BROKE UP IN THE FIRST PLACE??!!! I need a minute to process this.

My reaction till now, everyone, is the fucking Kuleshov effect in action, with me thinking that both of them are sad because of their 4-year-long separation, when in reality, they are just boyfriends missing each other.

Aww, a memory wall in their home.

Finally, THE GUITAR PICK that Pat made for Pran all those years ago makes an appearance!

So, according to the photos on THE WALL, Pat actually visited Pran in Singapore.

I do hope we get a home tour at some point; I'm really interested in seeing how Pran's OCD self blended his life with Pat's messy ass.

Unknowingly, from two people who couldn't be friends, we became two people who were more than friends.

So, they lied to everyone by saying that they broke up and began Secret relationship 2.0

Not them holding their fucking pinkies together when they pass by in the hallway ASFDGHF—

Time and space are just a construct when it comes to me and my blorbos because remember what I said when they were dating in secrecy the first time? I told them that they should have at least one person they are both familiar with to be in the know about their relationship to maintain a successful secret relationship. And Pran IRREFUTABLY heard me because Wai, Korn, Pa, and Ink knew about them this time around. I bet Einstein didn't foresee this coming.

Aww, they even visited Uncle Tong and Junior after they graduated.

I love that the parents aren't still getting along, because in such cases where the rivalry dates back decades, it feels abnormal to not continue doing so. It's almost like sunk cost fallacy but make it about rivalry.

However, I do love the little detail of Ming having to back off during their car face-off because Ming was the one who stabbed Dissaya in the back, figuratively speaking, all those years ago.

Not Pran rubbing the shirt all over his body to ensure that his scent lasts for a while💀 My boy is an actual menace.

Pat, sir, what are you thinking sending thirst pics to your boyfriend AT WORK?

They even held their pinkies together in their high school reunion photo.

Oh, I'm a happy camper because all my ships are sailing smoothly. The irony of Wai and Korn running the bar (where they used to fight with each other on a regular basis) together is just 😂 😂

Wai and Korn are soft launching their relationship, and no one can tell me otherwise. See, Pat is also a KornWai truther.

Pa, sweetheart, Ink was pining for you since she was in high school. I don't think you need to worry about her straying.

Keep up with shoving your couple photos down everyone's throats, though, just because y'all are hella cute together.

Korn does look like a middle-aged Asian uncle when he is complaining about the rival faculties breaking tables. Oh, how the tables have turned.

Yes, Wai, it's your penance for all the mess you guys used to cause all those years ago.

"Guys, I don't mind if you want to fight, but you must get a lover out of the fight, just like me." STAHP IT

Pran went from ordering three wontons to four—that's how you know he's in a long-term relationship, accommodating your partner without any prodding from their side.

Pran's "I brought your dad a bottle of liquor" is a solid strategy. There is nothing Asian dads love more than receiving imported liquor, even if they don't drink. A sure way to win some brownie points.

Kissing in front of the trashcans!!!! Oh, how far they've come.

Ming once again being the most Asian dad to ever exist by just randomly flipping through the newspaper just to appear busy.

As much as I love to hate on his quintessential Asian dad quirks, he is the most relatable of bl dads for me. Is he perfect? No, but I don't think anyone can say that he doesn't love his son.

Ink is accepted by Pa's parents, which doesn't surprise me one bit because she's perfect. PERIOD.

The dinner scene at Pat's house is a callback to the dinner scene in the initial episodes, when the dad was telling Pat to not let the neighboring boy win at any cost. Oh, how the tables have turned! Now, Pat is trying to curry favor with his dad for the said neighboring boy.

MING TOOK A SIP. Told ya, Asian dads just can't resist imported liquor.

The question of Pran's guitar. Did Pat keep it with him this time around too??!!

Ming crossed the LINE to deliver the mail, and Dissaya saw it.

Awww, his mom put it on his bed, which goes in line with my theory about parallels between Dissaya accepting Pran playing the guitar and him loving Pat. So, I'll be taking this as silent acceptance from her regarding their relationship.

I think both of them are ready to bury the hatchet, TO AN EXTENT, for the sake of their kids happiness.

Going off on a tangent for a bit, but bear with me. Let me take a moment to thank @respectthepetty for training me into thinking of love whenever I see the color pink because, what was the paint color the fathers used to draw the boundary between their houses all those years ago? Yes, it was fucking pink. It means that the answer was love all along. They were MEANT to fall in love to bridge the rift between their families. Talk about 'born to be together,' which was the exact sentiment Pran wanted to convey through The Song in high school.

Now, Pat coming into Pran's room through the window is a clear callback to the time Pat did the same to return the watch after Pran saved Pa. However, then he did it to tell Pran to not act friendly towards him in front of others, and now it's to spend some time with him without hiding from anyone, even their parents.

"If not you, I won't allow anyone else to use it. Pran, when I catch you—

Not Pran, my resident menace, trying to wake up the green-eyed monster by mentioning that Wai may have used it before💀😂

Pran's dad providing the meta commentary with his "This show is just so good." comment.

Ah, forehead kisses, my beloved!!!

Man, the flashbacks to when they were kids overlapping with them right now are just the cutest.

Everyone gather around because I just had a very big-brained thought. Remember, in Ep 8, on the rooftop, Pat wanted to share their relationship with the entire world while Pran asked what's wrong with just wanting to keep it for themselves. What if, whatever happened with their relationship after that, was just exploring both their paths? They clearly tried Pat's way first because Pran cared about him, despite his worry, and it resulted in the Ep 11 ending. After that, they took Pran's way and we all saw how it panned out for them. It might've taken them four years, but their parents are kinda onboard with their relationship.

Now that we're on this subject, let me try to provide some context to Wai pulling down the curtain on their relationship. Not defending his actions, but me thinks it was very intentional that Wai heard Pran say that although he's worried about others finding out about their (Pat & Pran's) relationship, he's willing to take the risk because he cares about Pat more. Wai's vindictive ass heard that and went through his montage of Pran lying to me about his relationship with Pat moments in his head and decided to put Pran's words about caring about Pat more to the test.

We get a post-credit scene? Truly the gift that keeps on giving.

Of course it had to be on a rooftop! Wait a second. Pat's birthday is on 23rd April, and the first time Pat slept over in Pran's room is on 24th April. The psychological implications of it all (for me) can't be overstated!!

Pran, my menace-in-residence, was really showing his horny ass by saying, 'The winner can do anything to the loser.' Never change, bestie!!

Well, I got the house tour I asked for earlier. Fucking Architectural Digest could never.

They shut the door in my face, and I said thank you!!

Honestly, I don't think I've even processed the finale yet. It was very pleasing to my lizard brain, that's for sure. I need to sit with it for a few days, and I'll probably write something about my whole experience liveblogging this BB watch and my thoughts on some of the CHOICES made in the whole series. A sneak peek of few things that are marinating in my head are—

Pat associating Pran with home because he feels lost (I was only half-joking when I compared him to a lost puppy following Pran around).

The air of sadness around Pat that just goes unacknowledged for the most part.

Pran associating Pat with freedom because he feels burdened.

Pran feeling undeserving of Pat's love.

Like I said, I'll be thinking about them a WHOLE LOT.

Quick question: Were there any talks of a season 2? Because there are some easter eggs peppered throughout the series that deserve further exploration, and they definitely have issues they need to address and work through as a couple. This ending will only count as an HFN (happy for now) in my book. I'm putting this ending on par with the To My Star ending, and I adored To My Star 2, so there's that. Still waiting for To My Star 3, though that's a discussion for another day.

One thing I can say for sure is that I'm extremely grateful for the fandom that has welcomed me with open arms and engaged with all my ramblings each episode, because let's be honest, it was just a stream of consciousness.

I wouldn't have had nearly as much fun watching the series without you guys. I'll be camping out on the rooftop for so long that I'll be claiming squatters rights for sure!!!

Tagging the usual suspects: @shortpplfedup, @incandescentflower, @starryalpacasstuff, @7nessasaryevils, @greenteadumplings, @grapejuicegay, @madworld-bbs, @usodeshou, @tao-moonb, @fanatic-freakshow @desi-yearning.

#bad buddy #bb liveblog #thai bl

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baneonono · 5 hours ago

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There are a lot of people talking about Penelope’s pov in the last song. People will discuss how she is hyper intelligent, what is means that she’s Spartan, how patient she’s been, what her final test for Odysseus was and what it means that she gave it to him. And there was definitely consent discord of people noticing that Odysseus asked Penelope if she would love him. And while all of this is great, it’s all been kind of bothering me because of the treatment of Penelope.

One thing we haven’t been discussing is how Penelope has changed. Look there are two things that I think necessarily had to happen when Odysseus went away. Firstly Odysseus needed someone to fight for, someone to get home to. And this person was Penelope, and while I’m sure his understanding of her was good, it became stagnant because he was away from her without any contact. He was working very hard on getting back to an image, a representation of Penelope. There was this version of Penelope, that may very well have been perfectly similar to Penelope twenty years ago, but nonetheless was still a freeze frame, that he put on a pedestal. He needed to do this so he could get home. He needed to imagine his perfect wife, frozen in time, waiting for him, so that he could get home.

But I also can assure you that Penelope was not frozen in time. She was left with a very young son and an entire kingdom to rule, however she handled it, she is not the same person she was twenty years ago. She has changed. That is inevitable. She has become a different person just like Odysseus has become a different person. Maybe she didn’t become a monster(I like to believe she did for parallel reasons but she doesn’t have to have) but she is not the same person.

Now in all reality, they both went through the same thing, Penelope changed and was motivated to keep waiting by a freeze frame of her husband. Odysseus changed and was motivated to keep going by a freeze frame of his wife. Both are true because they both were separated from each other. But the reason I emphasize Penelope’s change is because everyone mostly seems to be ignoring it. And I think the reason Penelope is mad at the final song is because Odysseus is ignoring it. He hasn’t seen her for her yet. He’s still thinking about this conception of her in his head from twenty years ago when he asks her “would you fall in love with me again”. He’s not seeing her. He’s going on and on about how he’s done so many awful things and he’s become this monster that she won’t even recognize and he’s ignoring the person actually in front of him for this picture of her on a pedestal. And Penelope has to stand there and watch her husband grovel at her feet, not understanding that she has been changed, not allowing that her feelings for him would’ve changed her just as much, not seeing that the separation impacted her just as much as it impacted him. And she’s angry. Because she’s been waiting, she’s been fighting every single day for her husband, she’s watched herself become a person that her twenty years ago wouldn’t even recognize for this man and he sits at her feet discrediting all of the work she’s done to be here when he got home. She’s raised their son on her own, she’s fought off suitors, she’s ruled a kingdom, and so much more for this man at her feet and he won’t even look at her.

She’s angry and she needs to make him see her. And my girl Penelope, is such an icon, that she does three things at once in an attempt to make him see her. She makes him feel how she’s feeling, she reminds him of what they both worship, and she utilizes her change to do this so that he understands what he’s dealing with now. The olive tree task does all of those. Let’s start with the last one. I know that people like to think of this trial as something Penelope always would’ve done, she would’ve always been a little tricky and manipulative but I think this is something she picked up in her twenty years. I think she was always intelligent but I don’t think she would’ve hidden her intentions before. I think this makes sense in a few different ways. Firstly, Odysseus interprets it literally when she asks him to move the bed. Remember this is the Odysseus who has a frozen image of Penelope from the years before and he thinks that what she’s insinuating here is that she wants him to move the bed and destroy a symbol of their love, he takes it literally. So I think that before, Penelope would’ve been intelligent but not manipulative and I think that shows in Odysseus reaction. Where when he realizes what she’s done, he’s surprised, too stunned to speak(he’s also into it but that’s unimportant for now). I also think that Penelope would’ve had to become more manipulative given her situation. The suitors, her kingdom, all of them that have different goals than her, she would have to seem like she’s appeasing them while not appeasing them. All this to say, I think the olive tree trial is a thing she wouldn’t have done before, I interpret it as a result of the twenty years and not something Odysseus would recognize. Which brings me to the other two things she did with the task. She made Odysseus see her and understand what she’s feeling and she reminded him of what they both worship. It’s no mystery that Odysseus was angry at this attack to the foundation of their relationship, which is exactly what Penelope was feeling. Odysseus came into their room and treated her as stagnant, refused to see her, and this was an attack at the very foundation of their relationship, which is everlasting love. He insinuates that she won’t love him despite everything in his question and that is just like Penelope telling him to move the bed. And he responds with the same anger that she feels. And when he realizes this, she’s accomplished the goal of reframing his vision of her. He sees that she’s changed, he sees that she was angry, he sees that they both did everything for that love, he sees her. And, importantly, it’s only after he sees her that she answers his question. Once he understands what he’s come back, then she will answer the question. Because she’s glad he asked, and it’s definitely the right way to go, making sure you both still want this, but it’s a useless question if he doesn’t know who he’s asking it to. So after she makes him understand, then she answers. “I will fall in love with you over and over again, I don’t care how where or when, not matter how long it’s been you’re mine”. And that is my girl, that is a person who’s been changed by her experiences, but still is very much in love with her husband, that is a three dimensional person with emotions and nuance.

And for the record, this is not to say that Odysseus was ever in the wrong here. Not at all, what Odysseus did makes complete sense. He was caught up in his journessey. He was looking at the situation through the eyes of I have become this monster and my wife has been waiting. He, very validly, was still lost at sea. And Penelope brought him home. And just one more little detail that I love is the usage of “new” and “old” king. Before he goes to see Penelope, everyone is referring to him as “old king”. When Penelope puts forth the challenge she says “will be the new king”. Which just makes me think that Odysseus went from being the old king to the new king in the course of wyfilwma. But he’s always Penelope’s husband because Penelope refers to the bow as “my husband’s old bow”. Which just gets to the idea that he’s changed but he’s always her husband.

Anyway this is just the way I love this musical. Gonna over analyze it immensely

#long post #epic the musical #epic the ithaca saga #epic penelope #epic odysseus #epic odypen

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adrift-in-thyme · 6 hours ago

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I originally wrote this for Whumptober but couldn't find a prompt that really fit even before I lost the energy to keep participating lol. So I'm sharing it now!

Summary: Wild remembers someone dear to him

CW for discussion of death/referenced child death

---------------------------------------------------------------

A young girl’s hands are in his hair.

They snatch a shoulder-length strand, twine it, clumsy, graceful, youthful, enthusiastic, around another. A third meets them in the middle.

Humming, she pulls them tight.

“Pretty!” She says, sing-song, like the chirping chickadee in the chesnut tree.

“Mm,” hums the ghost who sits a short ways from Wild, silent and steadfast. He smiles and it is a tiny thing, a whisper of what once was. “I’ll bet it is, Aryll.”

“Mhmm.”

Fingers tanned by chores accomplished, adventures undertaken in the sun meet with shimmering gold. A pink tongue sticks out from a small mouth. Concentration drags down pale brows toward cerulean eyes.

“My braids are always pretty. Know why?”

Wild steps closer. There is a tug in his gut, a painful pull he should recognize.

His eyes are locked on the girl. The other, he only sees in his peripheral.

The girl is all that matters here.

…breathing is troublesome.

The wraith tilts his head in false contemplation.

“Because you’re pretty?”

The girl — Aryll, Wild hisses to himself, her name is Aryll — giggles.

“I am pretty. But no.”

A ducked head that elicits a huff of annoyance. Battle beloved fingers take delicate shoots of grass and rip them up from the root.

“Can I guess again?”

“Mhmm.”

Another smile, like a passing comment. There is a blue flower, its petals skirted in white, settled near his worn brown boot. The ghost scoops it up, offers it to Aryll.

“Because you always put the most beautiful of flowers in my hair when you do it?”

Another eruption of giggles as the gently composed petals tickle her cheek.

“Nu-uh.” Then, a light smack across a cheek, forcing the wraith to settle back into his straight-backed position. “Now, stay still!”

He laughs and Wild’s chest aches.

“Okay, okay. No need for violence!”

Aryll huffs. More flaxen threads meet one another and join hands beneath her attentive care.

“You’ve got one more chance, big brother. Guess again.”

“Last chance, huh?” The wraith raises his eyes to the sky. Wild follows his gaze to where an eagle circles, following the guidance of the currents. “Is it because…”

Someone calls out, calls his name. A man’s voice, young, urgent.

A messenger.

Footsteps pound an earthen path.

The ghost’s voice splinters, shatters. He picks up their pieces, sets them into a box, locks it and swallows the key.

“The king summons you! He summons you on an urgent matter! You must come to Hyrule Castle at once!”

“Big brother?” Aryll’s eyes are wide, frightened.

Gently, the wraith nudges her fingers from his hair. The braid is only half finished. A thing of beauty it would have been, a waterfall of gold. But only half of his hair has been tamed. The other falls, reaching for his collarbone in gentle waves.

He stands and the wind whips it back.

“It’s alright, Aryll.”

He hardly speaks the words. They are a whisper upon the breeze. That throat was never meant to give voice to anything louder, anything more joyful.

Don’t.

Wild tries to move, tries to hold out a hand.

Stop. Don’t do it.

Don’t walk away from her.

“Big brother, please.” Tears bubble up, spill down. Wild feels their warmth upon his own cheeks. “I’m lonely when you’re gone.”

The wraith doesn’t quite smile this time. The expression lifts his lips like the levers that raise the drawbridge leading to the castle. It doesn’t manage to reach his eyes.

“It’s alright.”

A step. That is all it takes. All it takes to bring everything crashing down.

“I’ll see you again.”

Wild screams and no one hears.

“I promise.”

Wild screams and the world goes white.

“Your big brother will always come back for you, you hear?”

Wild screams and blood floods his senses.

“Always.”

Wild screams and the memory breaks.

The world careens back into focus, and with it comes the worried faces of his brothers.

Twilight’s hand is on his shoulder. He throws it off, whirls around, runs.

They call out. He doesn’t answer. They pursue. He doesn’t stop.

His feet can hardly go fast enough to carry him away, away, away….

When he does manage to stop, his heart is pounding out of his chest. His breath comes in gasps. His throat is so dry he has to focus just to force saliva down it.

His legs give way. He crumples, falling to his knees in a pile of leaves that have been burnt by the sun. The forest reaches out and pulls him into its bosom.

He closes his eyes and lets the tears come.

Aryll.

He whispers her name, speaks it, then screams it, screams it as he digs his fingernails into his palms and grinds his forehead into the dirt.

Aryll.

He sobs it. He murmurs it. He etches it into his consciousness so that he will never, never forget it again.

How could I? How could I forget you?

“Cub.”

Time’s voice is soft, softer even than the footsteps Wild had not heard.

He doesn’t lift his head.

A hand settles on his back. Its weight is warm and welcome, even in this eternity of self-imposed winter.

Wild’s breath hitches.

“What happened?”

It smells of iron and mold. He closes his eyes.

“You remembered something.”

Time’s voice is calm, level, knowing. Sorrowful. Wild remains silent.

A pause that gives way for the gentle song of nature. The whisper of bowing trees, the scurry of tiny feet, the lilting calls of birds.

“You remembered…someone.”

It rises within him, drawn like a moth to flame at the sound of the understanding in Time’s voice. Wild lacks the strength to keep back the agonized whisper.

“My sister.”

There should be a sharp intake of breath, an exclamation, a silence weighted with poignance. Time allows none of those things. He is quiet, but only so that when Wild’s words come tumbling forth, they have space to land.

“I can’t believe I forgot her! I loved her, Time, I loved her so much. I promised to protect her, I swore that I would and I didn’t! I didn’t!”

He shoves himself up, eyes crazed, hair bedraggled, dirt carved in the grooves tears have carved upon his cheeks and neck.

“I let her die!” His voice shatters and this time he cannot shove it in a box, cannot lock it up and swallow the key. To do that would be to perish himself. “I’m her big brother and I let her die.”

Time regards him with surging emotion and chilled detachment. Wild lacks the will to try and decipher what terrible things he must be thinking.

“Come here, cub,” he says, when a short moment of eternity has passed. And he is sitting close, close and it is a simple thing to collapse into his open arms.

“I’m sorry.”

The words penetrate, burn their way towards his heart. Wild hisses, choking on salt that sears.

“We lose much upon this rocky path. I wish it were different.”

Bloodied fingers fisted in Time’s white tunic, Wild briefly contemplates wiping the snot from his nose. He decides against it. Lifting a hand is more than he can manage right now.

“I will not pretend that you can reunite with her, even now that you have regained your memory. Which was not taken of your consent.”

Time’s fingers are in his hair. He brushes the tangled mass back and away from the muck that cakes Wild’s face. Gently, he pries the strands apart, coaxes them into sections.

“One thing I know for certain, however.”

He takes one group of silken gold, twines it with another. A third meets in the middle.

“Every meeting leads to a parting.”

One trio joins another and another until the endless tresses are united cascading cords.

“But that parting need not be forever. For those who are gone, are never truly. They are with us, even now, standing by our sides, waiting for the day when we will meet once more.”

Wild lifts his head, tucks a mischievous strand behind his ear. His fingertips brush the silken petals of a blossom.

He draws it out, gazes at it.

“One more guess, big brother. One more.”

Time smiles, soft, kind, so vulnerable he looks more like a timid child than their stalwart leader.

“At least, that is what Malon says. And I’m inclined to believe everything she tells me.”

Wild’s lips quirk up even as tears turn his vision to swirling orbs of color and light. He cups the flower with careful hands, reaches up, tucks it behind his ear.

“Fine. I’ll just tell you!

“My braids are pretty cause you taught me.

“You taught me, Link.”

#trin writes #linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu wild #lu time #angst #hurt/comfort

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allmylifemyseasons · 3 days ago

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Goodnight and Go~ Choi Yeonjun

synopsis: Yeonjun hates parting at night or... peeks of y/n's and yeonjun's relationship underneath the night sky.

pairing: College student! Choi Yeonjun x afab! reader

song: Goodnight and Go - Imogen heap (lost the plot halfway through, but point is, they are DOWN BAD for each other, Yeonjun more, and they are sickly sweet which the song is too, so... a win is a win.)

warnings- none? not really a plot... just moments of the relationship... mostly fluff/comfort, CHEESINESS (SELF INDLUGING), yeonjun being head over heel for you, just sickly sweet im telling ya... mentions of sexual acts but none performed (not there yet sadly)

( AND PROBABLY BAD WRITING BUT WE FINISHED A STORY SO?????? I WIN), OH FORGOT TO SAY.... it's also unedited....

Word count: 4.8k (ha...)

A/N: Hello! this is my first work on here, and honestly its a bit of a mess, but I made a new years resolution that id start writing more and posting it, and I just spent a couple of hours writing non stop... Please give me constructive criticism, I need rejection therapy LMAO, no but really, I want to be good so bad...

Yeonjun rubs his hands together and blows his hot breath in between them, trying to defrost his frozen fingers, and it works but only for a bit. He watches that same air crystalize in front of him as he thinks of what else to say. You both stood by your door now, the front yard light was dim but shined brightly enough to see the blush across both of your faces. He was desperate for the night to continue, he wanted to hear you talk until the end of time, be around you until the sun came up, but he notices the shiver your body does everytime the wind blows.

Yeonjun had seen you around before asking you on a date. It was one of those weird moments in cheesy rom coms, where you just wouldn't stop spawning everywhere he went. All throughout campus, you would appear, with the brightest smile he'd ever seen. You were always laughing, always smiling, always speaking with such enthusiasm in a conversation. When he finally put a voice to the smile, after sitting in the only chair left available in a class you shared, Yeonjun understood why those around you carried the same smile around, even after parting from you. Yeonjun had never felt as listened to as much as he did in the first conversation you had and the ones following it. He wondered just exactly how you did it, to make any person that spoke to you, the most important person in the world.You were addicting to be around, a source of comfort and laughter. When he finally got the courage to ask you out, a day before fall semester ended, he felt the clouds push back as you smiled softly, for the first time looking nervously everywhere else before saying yes, a twinkle shined in your eye, like a disney movie and he felt absolutely captivated from there on.

“Um, anyways, thanks for dinner tonight,” You say looking directly up at him, your eyes shined with hope as if you were expecting something. You clear your throat before continuing, “and thanks for the jacket.”

You begin to peel it off your shoulders:

“Now, please put it on before your future cold gets worse,”

“Pfft, what cold? Ill be fine~”He smirks confidently, waving a dismissive hand as he bunches up his jacket to prove a point.

“I can't wait to say I told you so.” you tease.

“You wish, in fact I'm gonna be so fine, I'm hoping I can see you again? Maybe before the weekend ends? Friday? There's that new spiderman movie… ” Anything. He thinks to himself. He doesn't worry about looking too desperate, it truly doesn't bother him to show you that he wants you, bad, because he really does.

“Hmm… okay let's make a deal. If you're feeling fine by this Friday, you get to pick the movie. If youre sick, I pick it…” A win-win. He smirks, “...after you get better…” His smile drops.

“Ugh..” He rolls his eyes playfully before sticking his hand out, “...deal.” He makes a mental note to take vitamins before heading to bed.

You shake his hand as a giggle falls from your lips.

You're surrounded by an awkward silence again, you're no longer looking at him but literally anywhere else. He knows what you're waiting for, and honestly he wants it too. Your lips, that were tinted and glossed, had been distracting him all night, but he was nervous. Yeonjun had always been someone who moved fast, always quick to jump the rope. In the past, he would have walked right on in on the first date and would've stayed the night, and the relationships themselves would move quickly to the point that things would get messy and things were not fully thought through. He didn't want to do that with you, he didn't want to ruin this. But was a kiss considered slow? Fast? He didn't have enough time to mull it over.

“Um, so yeah let me know…” You chuckle awkwardly, reaching back for the handle of the door. There's still hope in your eyes until he speaks up.

“I will, thanks for coming out with me tonight, y/n” Yeonjun steps backwards, feeling regret rush through his body. He thinks it might overcome him before he catches a genuine smile on your face, “Goodnight, Jun.”

“Goodnight.” He watches you walk in before walking back to his car, where he dwells on the sweet image of your smile.

Your lips. God, your lips.

He should've done it, what's fast about a kiss? The look you gave him replays in his mind, flutters breaking out in his stomach over and over again each time. The regret is making him move ten times slower and distracts him well enough that he doesn't notice the moving figure circling around his car to the driver's side window.

The knock makes him jump. He rolls his window down, looking awfully confused because here you were, kneeling down to his level, with a nervous look.

“Y/N? Are you okay? Did you forget something?”

You stare at him for a bit, “Um, yeah, j-just this…” You lean forward hesitant before landing a quick peck on his lips. It happened so fast Yeonjun barely had time to feel your lips pressed on his, but he felt them, they were on there. He notices the nervous look as you wait patiently for his reaction and it makes him break into a smile. Who knew being on the same page felt so good?

He reaches your face with both of his hands to bring you back to him, this time keeping your lips on his for longer than a peck, and they feel much softer than they looked, and he was able to taste the leftover sweetness of the slice of cake you shared, he can't believe he said goodnight before doing this. He can't believe he lived a whole life before your lips.

The wind picks up and he feels you shiver once again, and he remembers that its winter and you ran out in your dress and a thin cardigan. He lets go, not before pecking your lips once more, and smiles up at you, the blush on your cheeks were his doing and he's feeling really good about that.

“Okay, for real now, goodnight.” You giggle before tightening your cardigan and running back inside.

He watches you scurry in, and he drives off, the faint feeling of your lips are as present as the permanent smile on his lips that night.

——-

“Are you sure there’s nothing more I can help you with, Mrs. L/N?” Yeonjun stands by the open door, leaning against the wall, using it as support as he fits his foot in his shoe. The table was cleared and the dishes were washed, yet he felt like he could stay longer if needed.

Yeonjun loved your family home. Everything reminded him of you, from the smell to the style to every single picture on the wall having either a call back to stories he remembers you telling him or a younger version of you in them. It made it feel like you, and it was hard to leave every time.

“You've done more than enough, sweetie. Thank you.” Your mother replies leaning to give him a tight hug and an affectionate squeeze on the cheek before heading to the living room.

“Y/N, dont forget to lock the door once youre back inside.”

“Got it!” You respond back, closing the door behind you as you both step out to the refreshing breeze of a summer night. The buzzing of the insects filled the silence as Yeonjun turned back to you.

“Thank you, sweetie.” you tease, wrapping your arms around his waist.

“Oo, someone jealous~”

“Am not!”

“Its okay, baby. I won't steal your mom.” He ruffles the top of your head before leaning into your embrace.

“You wouldn't succeed anyways~” It came out muffled that he could barely understand it, making him chuckle lightly.

He knew he had to leave soon, you both had class in the morning. Yet in your warmth, it made it so hard to care about anything other than the feeling of your head in his chest.

“Dont go.” You say softly. Once again, it's like you were in his head.

“Mmm, We have class tomorrow though, and you have that exam, i'm only gonna distract you.” He hated to be the responsible one in these circumstances but you had been nervous about this class and he knew better than to fall for the temptation of staying and not allowing you to study.

“Ugh.. Please dont remind me.” You rub your face on his chest before stepping back and he looks at you with an amused face.

“Are you picking me up tomorrow?”

“Duh.”

“Okay. Can we go to that one cafe with the fluffy cheesecakes after?”

He nods before pulling on your fingers, leaning in for a kiss.

“Goodnight, Baby~” He says in between kisses.

“Night, Junie~” You turn to go, your hand being the last thing lingering on him, before you feel back. He grabs your face gently bringing you in for a second kiss.

“Goodnight, Baby~” He says again, a small smile playing on his lips as he pecks you twice.

This brings a small laugh out of you.

“Goodnight, Junie~” You drag out before turning around again, only to again feel a pull back, this time his hands slip and pull your long sleeve instead.

“Yeonjun!” You laugh out, his lips once again attaching themselves to you.

“Okay, okay, forreal goodnight” He laughs too, his hands closing in behind your head, bringing you in for what should have been the final kiss of the night. He feels your smiles in the kiss fade as he keeps you in the kiss for a bit, he can feel the soft sigh you let out and he feels dizzy from it. Yeonjun breaks the kiss, landing pecks before leaning back slightly, your head still in his hands. The warmth spreads across his face, down to his chest and he can't tell if the buzzing is coming from the insects anymore or from his heart. What he can tell, is that you're feeling it too as he watches how your half lidded eyes continue to stare at him, so full of adoration and love he almost feels shy by them.

“I love you” He whispers, watching you carefully for any sign of a reaction. He thinks he might have read the room wrong, until he watches your eyes widen and sparkle cartoonishly, a smile breaking wide on your face.

“I love you too.” He takes a moment to process your response before leaning down to touch foreheads and Yeonjun feels an explosion of emotions in him, like fireworks being set off all over his body.

“Good.” He says trying to play it off as not a big deal. But he can't play off the crack in his voice. You giggle.

“Shut up,” You push him gently and Yeonjun can't help but just stare at you, “Goodnight, Baby. I love you~” He loves the enjoyment in your eyes as you say it.

“I love you too. Good night~” And just like the night of your first date, and almost every week since it happened 6 months ago, he watches you walk towards the door.

“Okay! Goodnight! Go already!” You laugh from the door. “Text me when you're home!”

———

Yeonjun watches you from the corner of his eye at the way you run a hand through your hair, standing across from him, your arms crossed. Your parents weren't home, and they wouldn't be for the whole weekend, something that was often celebrated between the two of you, spent in each other’s arms, in each other's beds, but right now Yeonjun sat slumped on the couch. He spent the past five minutes in silence trying to figure out how to direct the conversation, but he felt like you were both losing patience with each other, and he hated the feeling.

“Y/N. Can you please just sit with me?”

He watches you stand there for a moment before walking towards him. Arguments weren’t common enough to know how to have a healthy one. Words and accusations have been thrown, and Yeonjun wants to put an end to it before it gets worse.

It started with a light stray, just a small comment from you that caught him off guard.

“You can go, I don't mind staying home.” you lean facing the island as you watch the water of the sink hit the drain, steam rising up makes you turn the faucet handle the other direction before Yeonjun puts his hands in boiling water.

“What? No, come on, it'll be fun.” he rubs your back as he stacks the dishes in the sink.

“Right, because being stuck in a corner is fun.” From the look on your face, the soft chuckle that escapes your lips, he knew you didn't mean anything provoking about it, but he couldn't help but believe there was deeper meaning behind it.

“What's that supposed to mean?” He no longer focused on the dishes.

“Huh? Nothing? I just mean like sometimes your friends' parties aren't fun. ”

“But we already said we’d go? I don't want to back out now.”

“Then go, baby. We don't both have to be there. I'm sure they won't even notice I'm not there.”

“Of course they'll notice! Chaewon and Soob are gonna be so bummed you're not there. I'm gonna be bummed you're not there”

“Jun, I really don't want to spend the one weekend having the house to myself, at someone else's house. I'm tired, I'm on my period and the last thing I want to do is drink and have the bass booming in my ears. If you really wanna go, it's fine. You should go.” You were getting frustrated, he could tell but the feeling was throwing him out on a loop.

Yeonjun felt like something was off. Have you always felt this way about the parties you’d go to? Had it had something to do with his friends? With him?

“Come on, I always go to your parties, come to mine.” It hadn't occurred to him how pushy he sounded, but the idea of leaving you home alone didn't sit right with him.

“No one asks you to go though.”

“You don't have to ask me, I do things without needing to be begged.” it hits him. He's saying the wrong things, but it's too late, because you're giving him a look of total shock.

“You don't have to beg me. I don't want to go. And even more so now that I'm being forced out of guilt.”

“I didn't mean it like that.”

“It doesn't matter what you meant. It's how it came out.”

The argument only escalated from there. What started out as a simple rejection evolved to a yelling match and ended with Yeonjun slamming the door on his way out. No ‘goodnight’, no goodnight kiss, just the fall wind making it hard to walk out into the night.

Yeonjun thinks he might have been overdoing things, overestimating the meaning behind your words, but it was hard to be sure, when you always hid behind them. Yeonjun couldn't shake off the feeling that there was more to it. And now leaving you alone in an empty house sent a wave of regret and sadness throughout his bones. Yeonjun hated saying goodnight to you, hated that he had to settle on kissing you, settle on the faint ghosting feeling of your lips on his before he went to bed, but preferred it over this feeling anyday and now he royally fucked it up for the night and had to suffer through it.

He wouldn't be able to even enjoy the party with the thought of you angry at him. He wouldn't be able to focus on the conversations nor enjoy the drinks with the memory of your furrowed eyebrows playing in a loop.

He only made it two blocks away before he turned back, and headed back to you. He found you in the kitchen with teary eyes and soapy foam on your hands. The water running filled the dead air around you.

When Yeonjun finally makes his presence known, you're quick to look back down.

The silence that surrounds you now, as he gets you to sit beside him, has him questioning how he can fix this.

His hand is hesitant in reaching for yours, and you move it closer to him to reassure him that it was okay to grab it. Thank god. He thought.

“I'm sorry for everything I've said,” He rubs your palm looking at you focus on your hand, “I shouldn't be forcing you to do anything you don't want to do, it's not a big deal if you miss a couple of my friends parties, we don't have to go to every single one, i'm sorry i wasn't thinking about you. I like having you there and being around me and when you hangout with my friends I feel good, like all my favorite people are in one room. I think that just made me become a little selfish.” He joins you in watching how his thumb presses into your skin. You nod.

Silence overcomes the both of you again, before you break it next.

“I'm sorry too. I don't mean to be mean, I think my words just come out that way before I can think them through and I really need to work on that. You're not selfish for wanting that, but sometimes I just get tired of going out all the time.” He feels you holding back again, not being able to voice what was bothering you.

“Is it the ‘going out’ that's really bothering you? Or might it be something else?” It dawns on him that he can just ask. The tension had been disappearing by the minute, you pulled your hand away from him and hid your face.

“I dont want to sound clingy…”

“Hey, you won't. I swear.”

You rub your hand over your face. Yeonjun hopes that the hand he places on your back soothes you at least a bit.

“Sometimes you just feel really dismissive at parties. Like yeah we showed up together and you've introduced me to your friends and they know me and they're so nice, but in the first 10 minutes, you're like gone. I just start to feel abandoned. You don't have to babysit me, it's not what I'm saying you know? It's just like I feel left out, and maybe it's on me, maybe I just have to put myself out there and put in the effort to be friends with your friends, but youre kinda like my way in ya know? I was lucky that Soobin and Chaewon are in some of my classes for the semester, and we got closer that way. But once they leave, it's so hard to get close to you or keep up with you. I'm sorry if this sounds annoying, I know its sou-”

Yeonjun was dumbfounded. How could he have made you feel that way and never noticed?

Right, because being stuck in a corner is fun. How stupid could he have possibly been.

He felt his throat closing in. He cuts off your apologetic rant.

“No. You have nothing to be sorry for. I'm so sorry I never noticed I would do that, I can't believe I didn't. You're right. I'm so sorry, y/n. Please forgive me. I hadn't realized that's what you meant. I won't be doing that ever again. I swear. Believe me.” he doesn't know what else to do other than spur out apologies.

“Its okay. Really. I guess I know you get so caught up in having fun..”

“Stop. Please don't justify it. I love you. I'm so sorry.” he grabs your hand and kisses your palm.

“It's okay, thank you for listening. I love you too~” You chuckle a bit, your eyes no longer teary as they are replaced by a look of amusement.

“We're pretty good at this argument and resolution thing, no?” You say after another small moment of silence. Yeonjun laughs. The tension is gone, chests are feeling lighter and the air is no longer still around you as Yeonjun wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you back to rest on the cushions. He's already thinking of all the ways he can make up for his mistake.

“Definitely not, but we got time to work on it.” He kisses your head.

“It's a good start, atleast~” You laugh, leaning into his arms.

The heater turns on, and the position you're both in feels so comfortable neither of you want to move. Especially Yeonjun as he catches a glance at the clock, 11:40pm.

“So… Do I have to say ‘goodnight’ tonight?” In his head, he knows the answer. Yet, he still asks, wanting to feel reassured, feeling an invisible new boundary he wants only you to break.

“Dont be dumb.” You respond snuggling further into him and the couch. He can tell from the way you respond, that you're falling asleep, and with that thought his own eyes begin to droop.

“Oh, jun?” Barely above a whisper that Yeonjun barely catches it.

“Yeah?” With his eyes close and heavy he doesn't notice your finger raising to his forehead level before giving it a stinging flick.

“Ouch!”

“Never walk out like that again.”

—--

“Please tell me that was the last of the boxes.” You force out in a big puff of air. Summer had just started, yet the heat felt marinated into the spring and only got worse.

Yeonjun nods as he climbs the last two steps of the stairs. Curse this elevator-less building.

Yeonjun had recently moved out of the dorms into a college-assigned apartment complex. He saved money from his multiple jobs, and pulled out the biggest loan in mankind just to gain what he called the biggest privilege in all of college history: Privacy.

Soobin and Beomgyu had shed some fake tears before vowing to visit everyday, something Yeonjun did not laugh at. You, on the other hand, couldn't keep your laugh in as you watched the frown on Yeonjun’s face grow deeper as the boys pretended to console what they thought was a sad and lonely man.

“At least you guys can finally do it in peace.” Beomgyu announces as he drops the box by the corner of the empty room. He swipes the sweat off his forehead, quirking his eyebrow, earning a smack at the back of the head from Yeonjun.

“Idiot.” Soobin says, fanning himself with a random piece of flimsy paper.

“He's not wrong though…” Yeonjun whispers as he wraps his arms around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder. You smack his arm, your cheeks turning red.

After the boys helped move the mattress in, they left, not before complaining about getting kicked out so soon. Yeonjun just wanted to spend time with you, alone, in what is now the space of his own home.

“I feel used.” Beomgyu wiped a fake tear, “thrown away, even. Y/N treat him well, he no longer needs us.”

“This is so sad,” You say, patting his head, looking at Yeonjun.

“If I give you 30 bucks for dinner, will you both leave us alone?”

“Deal.”

Once they were gone, you both moved the mattress towards the center of the living area, the carpet making you both struggle and groan. Yeonjun lands face flat on the queen mattress, heaving.

“Ill order the pizza, can you get my laptop? I brought some drinks and snacks from home so we don't have to buy those.”

Yeonjun watches as you rummage through the bag filled with home goods. You had brought whatever you thought would be useful to him; soap, shampoo, towels, some dishes, canned foods, homemade dishes that were able to be frozen, anything really that could save him time and money. Yeonjun’s heart almost exploded at the sight of you carrying the pink duffle bag, smiling so wide as you excitedly showed him what you were able to snatch.

He could tell the idea of a new apartment excited you too. Earlier in the year, he had imagined himself asking you to move in with him, to maybe take that chance. He had no reason not to. You had been together for a while now, and things were getting serious with each passing day. He couldn't imagine seeing the relationship ending…ever. He had been so serious about you since day one and he could tell you saw him as the sure thing too, and when the opportunity came up, of renting his own space, it was waking up to you that was the first thought in his head. But… he was nervous. He had heard from friends that some relationships don't last the ‘living together’ stage. Those arguments about different ways of living can become bigger ones, ones that question if the pairing ever made sense. It scared him, what if he was too messy? What if you didn't like the way he had late night snacks at night, or the fact that he would stay at the dance studio for long periods of time? Most of these things you knew already, but you didn't have to deal with it really at your own house. He questioned if the fear of losing you was bigger than the want of spending every waking moment he could with you, he knew the answer but was just scared to make the realization.

“Pizza is ordered!” You plop next to Yeonjun, now on his back, on the mattress, “which one?” you hold up two drinks for him to pick, he takes one from your hand and places it nearby before nudging at your hips to lift. He places you on his stomach, your legs straddling his sides.

“You don't have curtains yet.” You whispered, red tint spreading from your face down to your neck.

He laughs, “What are you thinking in that head of yours? I just wanted to be near you.”

“Whatever! I was just reminding you!” You squeak, covering your face with your hands. He laughs again, rubbing his hands up and down from your thighs to your waist, thinking about it again. It could be like this everyday, not having to worry about roommates or parents barging in, no moments of awkwardness, no disruptions, just the look in your eyes as you stare at him in the comfortable silence that settles between the two of you.

“What do you think about a coffee table? I know you said your furnishing budget was short and I was at the thrift store the other day and they had this really nice antique…”

If you do say yes, what would it mean? Was it too soon for him to think about the next year with you? The next five? Ten? He can imagine it all. He wanted it all.

“Will you move in with me?” He says, catching you off guard.

“Huh?”

“...Moving in… would you move in with, um, with me? You don't have to, it was just like a thought-”

“You want to live with me?” Your eyes, that were practically popped out in shock as you looked down at him, softened.

“I want to do everything with you.” Yeonjun knows your face mirrors his in redness.

Your eyes water, and you try to stop yourself from smiling. “You're so cheesy…”

“I would love to.” You whisper. you're now leaning in closer, and Yeonjun, with a heart so heavy and ready to spill, feels impatient that he must meet you halfway, folding his elbows behind him to lean on. He connects your lips immediately, and his heart sighs and yours must too the way he feels you relax above him, bringing your hands to his hair, your nails raking through his scalp. He would never say this to you, in fear of maybe scaring you off, but he saw your future in this specific kiss, where you both experience moments of success, of happiness, of sadness and tragedy, but you were experiencing it together, and he couldn't imagine it with anybody else.

That night as the movie played, with no actual audience, Yeonjun felt relieved that his parting days were over. He wouldn't have to say goodnight to you, wouldn't have to detach himself from your lips, your arms, leaving him cold and wanting more. You could be the first thing he sees in the morning and the last thing he would see at night, and to him, that was all he could ever really want.

A/N: You made it! Thank you so much for giving it a chance! Its not my strongest but she my first finished baby in a long time... Please tell me your thoughts!! tell me you hate it, tell me you love it, anything im open to suggestions, tips, im a crier tho fair warning, but I won't tell you I cried (A win for you!)

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hunterofartemis7 · 3 days ago

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After Odysseus left for war, Penelope kept all his clothes, capes, jewelry etc tucked safely away in the closet for when he returned. She allowed no one touch them, not even herself really, that was until Telemachus found them. She left Telemachus alone with one of the maid, who was Athena in disguise, while she went to handle queen stuff. She came back a few hours later to find her son hiding under one of his fathers capes, and wearing one of his tops that was way to big for the baby. The young princess also somehow managed to get a hold of his father’s jewelry which he was both wearing, and trying to eat.

Penelope was of course confused as to how her infant son even got into a locked closet until she saw Athena trying not to laugh her head off.

“I’m sorry,” the goddess laughed, “he kept trying to get in the closet and I can’t say no to his little wolf eyes.”

Penelope wanted to be angry at her husbands mentor, but couldn’t when she saw how cute her son looked. She smiled and picked him up off the floor. “You’ll grow into them someday my son.”

“I can make small version of Odysseus clothes for Telemachus if you want. Just until he grows into them.” Athena offered, picking some of the random clothes off the floor.

“You just want an excuse to make my son small outfits.”

“Guilty.” The goddess smiled. “But I’m not hearing a no.”

The queen submitted and agreed to let Athena make smaller versions of her husband clothes for her son. She can’t say she didn’t hate it. Penelope liked seeing Telemachus crawling around like a small copy of Odysseus. As years went on, Athena continued to do this for Telemachus, while occasionally clipping a piece of Odysseus jewelry to his shirt or cape. Penelope loved seeing how exited Telemachus would get when his grandmother or aunt said he looked just like his father. He’d run around the place pretending to fight a boar like his father, getting a laugh out of the guards who saw him. Telemachus even convinced his mom to cut his hair like his father for a while. But as 10 years turns to 15, to 20, Telemachus had actually grown into Odysseus clothes and had no reason to have copies made anymore. He did it to feel closer to his father, and hoped he wouldn’t be mad when he came home. The suitors were the first to make a bad comment about it. They teased him from wanting to look like a knock off Odysseus, or for dressing like the man who abandoned him.

One real bad experience with Antonius made him want to stop wearing them all together, but Athena encouraged him to ignore what those other men were saying and wear them anyway. He was honoring his father by wearing the clothes. So he kept at it. When Odysseus was finally home, he didn’t immediately notice his son was wearing his clothes, just that his armor resembled Athena. Actually he barely noticed that until late at night once everyone was asleep and he was replaying the memories in his head. It wasn’t till the next morning after he had taken a bath that Odysseus went to his closet and found all his old clothes had disappeared, minus a few that were to big for him.

“Hey Penelope, did you hide my clothes somewhere?” He asked “I mean I don’t mind walking around nude in front of you, but I’d rather not traumatize our son.”

Penelope had a good idea where they were, but was gonna let her husband figure it out. “No, I always kept them in there.”

“Huh.” Odysseus there confused for a moment before grabbing one of the oversized garments from the his wardrobe. “Well this’ll work for now till I figure this out.”

Penelope held back from laughing, “this is going to be a fun morning.” She thought to herself.

“Well if you’re ready, we should head down to breakfast.” Penelope held her hand out for her husband. “Don’t want to miss your first real meal with your son.”

Meanwhile, Telemachus was getting ready in his chamber. He had snatched on of his father garments, jewelry, belt and sword holster. He’d already be out the door if Athena, (who had been staying with the royal family since his diplomatic mission) would quit fussing with his hair. “Athena knock it off!” He groaned trying to pull his head away.

“Once I get it out of your face I will, now hold still!” She snapped, making him face forward.

“Did you do this to dad?”

“When we were training yes.” She answered, cutting Telemachus hair out of his face. “Until he learned to put it up himself.”

“Okay okay okay!” He got up and shook the hair off him.

“Why do I even try?” Athena signed setting the scissors down. “You should head out now. Your parents are probably waiting for you.”

“Aren’t you coming?” He asked her.

Athena shook her head, “go on ahead without me, I’ll be there in a minute.”

The young prince nodded and ran out to the dining room to meet up with his parents. He ran in there and plopped down beside Odysseus, who had just figured out where all his clothes had gone. “Morning father!” He said brightly.

“Morning.” Odysseus replied looking at his son’s clothes. Penelope was across from Telemachus, trying not to laugh at her husband who was trying to find the right words to address this. Telemachus noticed both the strange smiles on his parents faces and got confused. “What?” He asked.

“Nothing. Just surprised my old wardrobe fits you.”

Telemachus was a bit confused by the comments until he remembered that he was in fact wearing his father’s clothes. The boys face turned bright red with embarrassment and he practically shot out of his seat, apologizing over and over again to his father and saying his go change. Odysseus grabbed his arm and pulled him back into his seat.

“My son you have no reason to apologize.” The old king said patting his son on the back. “Im glad to see you have my same taste in style.” Telemachus buried his face in his hands at his father’s teasing.

“He actually started wearing them to be closer to you.” Penelope told her husband whose face lit up in awe.

“Awwwww really?” Odysseus beamed, putting an arm around his son. “That’s really sweet my boy.” Telemachus buried his head in his father’s hair, his face beat red with embarrassment. It didn’t help when Odyssues made the comment about needing a whole new wardrobe since it seemed a little owl had nicked his. “So is this a new thing or?” Odyssues began to ask.

“No, he’s done this since you left for Troy.” His wife answered, which surprised Odysseus.

“Really?” The king asked, “that long?”

“Yeah. He managed to get a few of your things from your closet, well, Athena unlocked it and let him go nuts.” The Queen explained. “And both her and I made smaller versions of your closet until he grew into your normal ones.”

“Ofc Athena had an hand in this.” Odysseus thought to himself. “Please tell me you kept those, cause I would love to see them.”

“Ofc I did.” She smiled.

“Yes!” Odysseus cheered.

Penelope smiled at her boys. Odysseus who was very excited and Telemachus who was an embarrassed mess. “You two are so cute.”

@platinumink

#athena #athena epic #odysseus #epic the musical #greek mythology #athena goddess of wisdom #epic odysseus #penelope of ithaca #telemachus

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quokkaholic · 3 hours ago

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Give Me Face l.f

Warnings: fluff, little angst, slightly suggestive, bi besties to ??, alcohol consumption, kissin and touchin, cussing duh

Synopsis: You have been really down lately, your best friend Felix notices and wants to go out to the club to snap you out of her slump. The club is filled with hot people and some jealousy ensues.

Song recommendation: MADRE by Young Miko and Villano Antillano

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You’ve been rotting in bed all day and have no plan on moving for the rest of the night, that is, until you get a message out of the blue that Felix is on his way over. Flinging the covers off, you start frantically picking up the place. Your apartment is such a wreck you don’t even want your best friend to see it in this state, so instead of brushing your hair or changing the clothes you’ve been wearing for the past two days, you are shoving shit in your closet and shoddily loading the dishwasher. Before you even get the chance to pick up the food wrappers and takeout bags, Felix is opening the door with his spare key. He stands there in the doorway taking in the scene before tilting his head to the side and giving you a sympathetic look.

“Oh baby” he coos and closes the door behind him before opening his arms for a hug, and you immediately oblige. He mimics your tight squeeze as you nuzzle your face into his neck taking in his familiar scent: clean and floral with a touch of amber and musk.

“What are you doing here Lixie?”

“You’ve been slow to respond the past week and haven’t attended a single group hang in like a month. Come on girl, you think as your best friend I don’t know your signs that you’re down?”

You can’t help but grip tighter at his words. You are so lucky to have such a considerate and caring person as a best friend.

“Plus I have your location and saw you haven’t gone anywhere besides work and McDonalds in like 3 weeks. What's going on, babe?”

You spill your guts to him about problems at work and in your love life. Ever since you and your partner split 5 months ago, you have only had shitty dates and situationships, and the loneliness is now setting in. You know isolating yourself from your friends only makes the pain worse, but for some reason, it is just instinct when you start feeling bad to pull away. Luckily, Felix can always see through your bullshit.

“Y/nn, we need to get you out of this apartment. We need to get you out of your head too. Tonight we are going out! Don’t even try to fight me on this. Let's get ready.” He states, rushing back to your room. You follow quickly in toe, but when you get there, its too late, hes already pulling open your closet door.

“Felix no!” As the words leave your mouth, the mound of questionably clean clothes fall around his feet, and the room is filled with his sweet laughter and a few happy claps. You both rummage through your wardrobe looking for things to wear, trying on countless items making an even bigger mess than you began with. He lands on an outfit; after looking at himself in the full length mirror that hangs on the closet door, he turns to get your approval.

“How do I look?” He asks. You admire him for a moment. Felix looks so good in everything he wears, but there's something about seeing him in your clothes that makes your heart flutter.

“Honestly, cunt” He chuckles at your response then continues searching your drawers to help you with your look. His searching persists, tossing out options until finally finds what he’s been looking for, a sexy but elegant tank top you’ve had forever. With the shirt in hand, he strides over to where you sit on the bed surrounded by failed prospective outfits.

“I’ve always loved this one on you. Arms up” He instructs and slips the shirt over your head. You’ve always been comfortable around each other, being dressed by him just feels like second nature. There might’ve been some slight tension at first, but he has always so gracefully ridden the line between making you feel sexy and beautiful but also respected and appreciated. That is just one of the million reasons you love him. The love you feel for Felix is so deep, and your relationship is so special to you. You’re constantly pushing your romantic feelings down in the name of preserving what you have, too scared to take the risk of losing it. After pulling the shirt down and smoothing you the wrinkles, he offers you his hand to help you off the bed.

“Spin for me” he commands and you do just that. This wouldn’t be the first time you played dress up with him styling and you modeling for him.

“Stunning, y/n. Truly” He compliments, eyes raking over your form then landing intensely on your own. You don't give yourself time to feel the coyness rising up your spine, turning to your vanity and flicking on the light.

“Makeup time!”

You quickly style your hair in a way to keep it off your face and neck because you know you'll be sweating later and go to the kitchen to pour some pregame drinks for you both. You turn on some confidence boosting ‘feeling myself’ type of music and scoot next to Felix to share the mirror. Before starting your makeup, you order your ride to be there to pick you both up in an hour. You pass products back and forth and bounce along to the music occasionally using the brushes as microphones to sing along. He has already finished his makeup and is picking up clothes trying to undo the disaster you two created earlier.

“Lixie, will you do my eyeliner?”

He immediately drops what he was doing to aid you; his hands are gentle but firm as he cups your chin and tilts your head up. You feel your drink start to hit you as you hand him the black liner and stare up getting lost in the freckles peppering his cheekbones that he intentionally leaves uncovered and his sweet but alluring brown eyes.

“You gotta close your eyes, love” unable to think of an excuse, you just default to apologizing.

“Shit, sorry” You mumble as you lightly close your eyes so as to not create any creases giving him a smooth working surface. When you feel him lightly using his fingers to smudge the edges to match the smoky look of his own makeup, you know it’s safe to open your eyes again. When you do, you see Felix has lent down to get a closer look at his work. His eyes immediately snap to yours, and his smudging finger slowly drags down your cheek. It's as if you were both in a trance for a moment, and when you snap out of it simultaneously, you turn your head to look in the mirror and Felix shoots back up straight.

“I need another drink,” he says, heading back to the kitchen.

Your ride picks you guys up in front of your building, and drops you off not 10 minutes later at the club you and your friends used to frequent a few years ago. Felix is not a big club guy, really only going when you invite him, but when you do go out together, it is always a night to remember. Tonight was will be no exception.

The club is packed and bumping. Music blaring, lights flashing, and the smell of sweat and perfume think in the air. While you’re surrounded by strangers, the atmosphere is familiar and welcoming. You immediately open a tab at the counter close to the main dancefloor as that is where you plan to spend most of your night. It’s not that you need to be drunk in order to dance, but it definitely helps the “get out of your head” thing that Felix prescribed. You and Felix are quick to find a corner of the dancefloor to lay claim to and start dancing separately for now, but that won’t last. Felix gets very touchy when he drinks, yet another thing you love about him. You are both quick to down your drinks in order to free up your hands to dance. Taking the empty cup from your hand, he leaves you to toss them in the garbage with intent to return quickly. You dance by yourself for a minute, feeling the rhythm flow through you and bass thumping in your chest, arms raised in the air and occasionally caressing down your body in the most stereotypical club dance fashion.

A song or two later, you realize Felix hasn’t returned. It doesn’t take long scanning the crowd to find him still by the trash can being held there by a stunning creature of a man chatting and lightly brushing Felix’s arm with his hand. Felix is giggling at the man's words flashing his perfect pearly smile. The beat leaves your body and your movements slow coming to a halt for you to stare. Felix is such an angel in appearance and personality, it's surprising there isn’t a line forming to simply get a second of his time. While you feel that's what he deserves, you’re so glad it's just the one guy, but still, Felix is yours, your best friend. This is your night with him.

When Felix’s eyes meet yours from across the room, his feet move without thinking carrying him to you while a genuine, playful grin spreads across his face biting his bottom lip. As he approaches, his steps become more rhythmic and he holds his hands out to you. Instead of remaining hand in hand to dance, he uses his grasp to spin you around, back to him. His hands grip your hips, and he helps you once again find the rhythm. Together, you start slow, rolling side to side on every other beat. Felix allows his hands to roam up and down your sides every now and again squeezing or sliding to your stomach to hold you back against him. When a faster tempo song comes on next, one of his hands slides up you back to rest on your shoulder, and he pulls you back into his chest and his lips graze the shell of your ear. You only get a few seconds to listen to his heavy breathing before you feel slight pressure pushing you to lean forward creating more direct contact of your ass on his front. Again his hands find your hips, this time less to guide you and more just to hold on as you grind back into him. You could’ve sworn you heard a groan that sounded a lot like Felix, but in the noisy environment, there's no way to be sure, and you sure as hell aren’t going to turn around to ask him.

This continues for a few songs, until the DJ turns plays a song neither of you are vibing to. You let Felix know you're going to run to the bathroom. Typically he would accompany you, but neither of you want to lose your spot. The line to the ladies room is surprisingly short, but the bathroom itself is unsurprisingly filthy. Two clogged toilets, a soapless hand rinse, and an obligatory drunk mirror selfie later you are ready to head back to Felix. Luckily you were prepared and brought your hand sanitizer with you. Trudging across the sticky floor and pushing through the building crowd, you finally make it back to the dance floor, but to your chagrin, someone is in your spot. An actual sex siren of a person is dancing next to Felix as they go back and forth speaking into each other ears behind cupped hands. Yet another party interested in your man. You're done being mad about it; you are ready to be sad about it, but instead of letting the rain clouds drown your fun, you decide its time for another drink. You find an empty spot to lean against the bar and wait for the bartender’s attention. When they finally approach, you graciously request another cocktail, but when they ask for the name on the tab the person next to you speaks up.

“Whatever she’s getting, put it on mine” The woman hands her card to the tender before turning to you.

“Are you sure?” you question, was your gloom written all over your face? She must’ve pitied you. She had been standing there the whole time, but you are just now noticing how handsome she is. She says nothing in response but holds eye contact and nods. Even if it was out of pity, you’ll always take a free drink. You thank her with a big grin.

“You have such a beautiful smile,” she says with a pleasant and sincere look. Oh. This isn't pity. She asks for your number; you maintain flirty banter waiting for your drinks, but once they arrive, you have to get back to Felix. This night is about spending time with your best friend not finding a rebound.

“You wanna dance?” She asks, gesturing back to the rolling crowd of bodies.

“Actually, I have to get ba…” You couldn’t finish refusing her offer as a hand grips the wrist of the hand not holding your new drink. Felix has his back to you dragging you back to the dancefloor. He forfeited your spot in order to steal you back. While you get pulled around, you chug your drink and toss the cup in a passing waste bin. When he finds an empty area, he stops and turns to you.

There is no playfulness left in his gaze, just a sultry glint as he drags his fingers across your collarbones and down your arm to your hand. Unlike the way he gripped your wrist, the way he intertwines your fingers can only be described as intimate. His touch is warm and bold as he spins around and raises your joined hands pulling you against his back. Just like he did to you earlier, you grip his waist and roll your hips with his. All inhibitions out the window. Your bodies moving as one, eyes closed, feeling his body on yours. The countless strangers fade away, and it's like it's just the two of you. Felix leans back into you dropping his head back onto your shoulder swaying his hips side to side. You think he’s saying something, but you can’t make out his words. You just let out a sound of agreement into his ear to appease him not wanting to stop dancing to try to figure it out. Despite your efforts to keep him grinding, Felix raises his head and turns to face you and throws his arms around your neck crossing his wrists in the back. You stand with your feet staggered with his to be as close as possible as you continue to dance together. Before you can really process, Felix is pressing his full and glossy lips to yours. His lips are salty from sweat but also sweet from his drink and lip oil and oh so rousing, causing your stomach to flip. Unlike other makeout sessions you’ve seen throughout the night, this one isn’t rough and needy, but passionate and sensual. The rhythm of the kiss matches the dance matches the song. You, again, are transported out of the club to somewhere just you and Felix can occupy made of your love and connection and desire. This isn’t the first time you’ve kissed Felix, but this kiss stands apart. It isn't the usual drunk kiss you share with your friends, it's so much more, fueled by fiery desire and years of longing. The kiss ends too soon as Felix leans his head on his upper arm that rests on your shoulder so his lips are inline with your ear. He whispers to you,

“Be mine y/n, please” He almost begs before placing a soft kiss to your earlobe and continuing,

“Be with me”

You don’t give a verbal answer but grab his flushed cheeks with both hands and peck his face with kisses before a final powerful one on the lips. Resting his forehead on yours, you’re both smiling so hard it’s almost painful. Thankfully, you both kept your drinking under control, perfectly waking the edge between tipsy and drunk, or you’d be scared this was an intoxicated dream or misremebrance. Felix already has his phone out ordering a ride to a nearby 24 hour diner to stave off your hangovers and chat about what the future has in store.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

A.n- hehe thanks for reading. I’m posting this on my lunch break lol.

-mo🪩

#skz #felix fluff #stray kids #skz x reader #skz fanfic #lee felix #skz felix #stray kids felix #felix x reader #felix stray kids #felix skz #skz fluff #skz oneshots #felix fanfic #stray kids x reader #stray kids fanfic #stray kids fluff

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circle--of--confusion · 2 days ago

Text

A Breathtaking Affair

Summary:

In an alternate Universe @ficandkaboodle and I have been spitballing, this is a vignette in Reader and Copia's lives. Copia's old nose was a very lovely feeling down there when you two would have sex. Now that it's changed, you miss it. A solution was brought up and you two try it out with unexpected results.

A/N: Thank you for encouraging me to write this, it was so fun. Also, itallian endearments were helpfully provided by @foxybouquet

Paring: Papa Copia x fem!reader

Words: 4.2k

Tags: Explicit! MDNI; Crackfic vibes, established relationship, fluff, smut, hand jobs, oral sex, unconventional sex toys, passing out

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Masterlist

Copia’s face changed when he became Papa. He’s still the handsome man you devote yourself to – and he is devoted to you as well – but there’s something missing from his gentle, wrinkling face. Something that was always a beloved inclusion to the lovely feeling of him going down on you.

When he had plastic surgery to fix the crooked nose he received from an impromptu, clumsy Papa Terzo incident, you mentally mourned the loss of his nosey companion. Terzo was going on and on about how to plan the staging for his next tour when tragedy struck.

“I was thinking of opening with Cirice, eh? Get the crowd going. I’ll dazzle them by showing how wonderful I am.” He gestures outward as if to say you agree, yes? Terzo picks up the small Baphomet statue placed on the table. “Then after I have them in my hands, the next song is Con Clavi Con Dio. BAM! SATAN!”

Terzo lobs the statue forward like a baseball, not realizing his grip wasn’t so secure. It thuds painfully against a grunting Cardinal. Copia.

“Ah shit, Papa!” Copia groans, covering his now bloody nose.

Terzo rolls his eyes. “Stop being such a baby, Fratello. I think I made some improvements.”

Improvements they were not. The following days after the incident, Copia’s nose was swelled up like a balloon. Once it died down, all that was left was a slightly crooked version of his nose from before. You still cooed at him, comforted him after the entire thing and jokingly told him he’ll have to get his revenge when he became Papa.

Copia smirked at you as if he already had something in mind. It was a bit ominous.

Now, as Papa, he decided to get his nose fixed as a “treat yourself” moment in his rise to the Papacy. You supported him in the decision with a small kiss and thought his snoring would probably improve a bit with less bent airways at night while the two of you slept together in his bed. For some reason Sister Imperator tagged along for the ordeal and got a procedure of her own.

After the bandages came off, you had to hide the initial shock of truly how different his nose was. Gone was the adorable, handsome angled protrusion you grew to love. Now he had a regular, slightly curved slope to his nose and the point was more rounded. His jaw was also now more pronounced. It was still your wonderful Copia but it took a minute to adjust every time you saw him the following few days.

Every time he nudged his nose around your face in the mornings, cuddling into you, it was almost as if you felt phantom touches of where the former would’ve grazed as he kisses over your face and further down.

For a couple weeks, any sharp angle had you sighing wistfully. Triangles made you sad. A wedge of cheese at dinner one time nearly made you whimper.

Now, finished with his healing and with a little bit of free time at night from not being on tour, you hatched a plan. You figured there was one way you could get your favorite toy back. Copia caught you grinning to yourself as he came back into his bedroom from the bathroom.

“What has you smiling like that amore mio? It better not be something other than me.” Copia teased, crawling towards you on the bed. He sits back against his pillows and leans over to kiss you. Rising a hand to your cheek, he holds you in place as the two of you press your lips together, sighing contently.

You, feeling bold, nudge forward and manage to get Copia on his back. He raises his eyebrow towards you with a dirty twinkle in his eye. “It was about you, actually.” You smile, leaning over him to lean down and continue kissing for a moment.

“Was it about you doing this? My piccola diavoletta.”

“Something else, actually.”

Copia chuckles. “I see. Buttering me up to ahhhhh.” He looks down to find your hand gently palming his semi-hard dick over his pajama pants. “Piccolo angioletto mio” He breathes, settling further into the mattress to let you continue.

“And if you play your cards right,” you laugh lowly, pressing harder for just a moment. He lets out a few stuttered huffs in response, closing his eyes. “,I’ll give you what you want.”

Copia laughs nervously. “I was wrong. You’re my naughty little angel.”

“Good.” You lean down to press a kiss to his lips. He scrunches up his face from the pleasure you keep at bay for him below. “I’ve noticed something missing when we have sex.”

“What?” He whines, on the brink of falling already.

“Your nose.”

Copia opens his eyes, distracted and confused enough to briefly open his eyes and look at you. “I know what?”

You look taken aback. He can’t be this obtuse, right? Delicately, you lean down and peck over his paintless nose. “Are you following?”

The lights click on in his head and he smirks only to have it fade into an O shape as he closes his eyes from another wave of pleasure. “Yes.” By now you’ve nudged down his bottoms and have his freed erection in your hands, slowly pumping away.

You can’t tell if he’s responding to the thing your hand is doing or if it’s what you’re implying. “Would you be willing to try something new?” More pressure is applied to his pulsing cock in your hand. He’s shaking, babbling, and nodding wordlessly as he moans and writhes under your touch.

“Anything, amore mio. Just please let me come.” Copia grumbles desperately with his eyes scrunched closed.

“I have one question.”

“What?”

“Are you allergic to latex or silicone?” Copia shakes his head. “Perfect.”

You lean down to kiss him, picking up pace with your hand below. A few more final pumps have Copia crying into your mouth in euphoria. His spend runs down your closed fist and parts of his lower stomach. You’re both too focused on each other’s lips to care about the mess right now. You stroke him through the satisfying bliss, stopping when Copia whines in oversensitivity.

Later, after you clean him up, you give him the explanation.

“How do you feel about prosthetics?” You ask as casually as possible.

Copia thinks to himself for a moment, tossing around his forming response in his head before looking over to you below in his arms. “Are you saying you want me to wear a fake nose?”

“I knew you weren’t just a pretty face.” You smile, looking up at him.

Copia scoffs a high-pitched, realizing note. “Is this why you were so sad after my surgery? Was my old nose your favorite sex toy?”

You rise on one arm and rub a hand over his chest in an attempt to placate him with your touch. “It nudged so perfectly at my clit when you were kissing… other places below. Copia, it helped me squirt for the first time.”

He looks at you, then off to the side, then back at your hopeful eyes. “You’re lucky I’m in love with you.”

You smile ear to ear. “So, it’s a yes?”

“Amore mio, with you I’ll try anything once.”

Famous last words.

A few days go by before it’s showtime. There was a local costume shop in town so you took a lovely stroll and stopped by. The options were slim but you managed to find something similar. Thanking the cashier, you carried your experiment and its accompanying items into the ministry as if it were contraband. You hid it in your bag and made your way to Copia’s Papal suite as quickly as you could.

Copia, lounging on the couch, looks up to find you rushing inside with a smile. “Did you get it?” He asks, a bit of apprehension creeping up.

You nod, pointing back and forth. “You. Me. Tonight?” The plastic bag rustles in your hand as you hold it up.

“Tonight.” Copia nods back.

You can barely eat dinner, you’re too excited. Copia on the other hand looks over warily and it’s noticeable. You set down your fork, reaching over with your other hand across the small table to grab his gloved hand.

“You don’t want to do this, do you?”

Copia’s eyes widen in shock. “No! I do! I just…”

“What?” You rub your thumb over the back of his hand.

He shakes his head to himself. “It’s silly.”

“Not if it has you like this.” You urge him to say it.

Copia sighs. “If I don’t do this, will you not like me as much?”

You sit up straight. “Of course not. I still like you the same. I dare say I love you.” Copia smiles softly to himself.

“But my old nose was your favorite thing about me when we had sex.”

You sigh, standing up. Nudging the table away from him, you sit and straddle his lap. He smiles as you place your hands on his shoulders, sliding back to play with the ends of his hair at his neck. “I may have said it was but honestly, I’ve realized that my favorite sex toy is simply… you. All of you. The pointy nose was just a bonus. A nose-us.”

Copia groans, leaning his head back to laugh. You join in and soon his body relaxes. The air in the room feels lighter as the two of you grin lovingly towards each other.

“I think I’m ready now.” Copia looks on, leaning in for a small kiss.

You smile, running your fingers through his hair a few times. He closes his eyes, relaxing into your touch. “Let’s get ready.”

The dinner dishes get cleaned and then the prosthetic supplies are drawn out. The glue, brushes, and liquid latex, and removing solvent are placed onto the table and then the moneymaker comes out.

“It’s modeled after Vincent Price. It’s the only one I could find that looked similar enough.” You smile sheepishly.

Copia wraps an arm around you, tugging you into his hip. He kisses the side of your head. “It’s fine, amore mio. I think it looks very similar, indeed.”

You clean the area around his nose and then get to work prepping the ends of the fake nose. Delicately, the prosthetic is applied over his new nose and you press in the material around the edges. When you feel like the hold is strong enough, you step back.

“Well?” Copia asks, a bit more nasally than intended. The nose had very small air holes.

“Perfect. Though your voice is a bit off.”

He tries to talk and then attempts to sing something but it’s slightly muffled. “It’s a good thing I don’t do stuff like this on stage.”

You both laugh.

Copia walks towards you and then grabs your hand, leading the two of you back to the bedroom. He leans down to kiss you and the point of the nose bumps yours on the way down. He chuckles, “I guess this is going to work, eh?”

You nod, eager now to test it out further. “Let’s see what this bad boy can do.”

You both make quick work to take off your clothes and soon the two of you stand as naked as the day you were born. Copia takes your hand and rises it to place a kiss to your knuckles. “Shall we get to it?”

You nod, leading the way. You’re laid back into the bed, legs bent as your feet rest flat to the covers. They part, resting open, leaving your body on full display for his hungry eyes. You playfully rise a hand, curling a finger, beckoning him forward. He practically floats on autopilot and crawls onto the bed, stalking closer until he’s nestled between your legs. Copia holds himself up as he hovers over you.

“Amore mio…” He sighs, leaning down to press his lips to yours. You stay like this for a moment, simply enjoying the feeling of intimacy. The soft silicone on his nose grazes next to yours and you smile into his mouth. Slowly, he pokes his tongue over to your lips and you gladly open wide for him.

He lowers down into your body slowly and the pressure of him on top has a sigh leave your lips. Your arms wrap around him, holding Copia to you tenderly. There’s a comforting warmth spreading through your body as he begins a path from your mouth downward, dragging the tip of the nose along to fluster you. Copia’s feeling lightheaded and he pulls back to take a deep breath.

“You take my breath away.” He huffs, chest moving quickly up and down.

You tilt your head, grinning. “I think it’s the nose cutting off the airflow.”

Copia chuckles. “Wish me luck down there?”

You look on with concern for a second, reaching out for his hand. “Oh, please don’t push yourself. I’d hate for you to die because you didn’t take a break.”

“And if I die between your thighs? I go doing what I love, cara mia.” He looks at you like a man in love, leaning back in to kiss your lips one last time.

His sweet albeit morbid words put you at ease and you lean back into the pillows. “Well, I’ll just let you continue I guess!”

Copia huffs out a laugh, lowering down to his stomach. He presses a trail of kisses down from your shoulder, between your chest, down the soft expanse of your stomach, stopping right where you both want. He spent a good couple minutes worshiping your breasts, licking and kissing over the soft and sensitive flesh. When his lips took a nipple in to suck, you gasped, feeling the growing wetness below from his attention. Oh, that mouth would make you do anything, you think.

He looks up at you from between your thighs, starving in anticipation. You fidget under him, feeling restless for the first touch of the nose when Copia puts his mouth on your pussy. He looks at you when his head begins to sink down lower, lower, lower until –

“Ohmmmm, Copia.” You moan out, finally feeling the glorious attention of his lips on yours below. Your head falls back into the pillows and one hand slides over to grip into his hair. He hums from a slight tug on his follicles and the vibrations directly into your clit create a fluttering of butterflies in your stomach. Content hums come from you as your hand in his hair encourage him to continue.

Another deep breath from Copia can be heard before he gets back to it. He gives some attention to your clit, licking and sucking just like he did on your nipples. His delicate work builds up and the occasional flutter of your pussy have small whimpers leaving your lips. He smiles, satisfied that you’re already so worked up. Slowly, his tongue leaves the delightful bundle of nerves to explore further down, happily slurping up the arousal you’re making for him, and only him.

“Oh, Copia,” you moan. “You always know how to make me feel so good. You, ah!” Your thought was cut short but it was because you felt it. The prosthetic nose brushes just slightly across your sensitive clit as Copia licks and kisses your labia. A shudder runs down your spine and it feels heavenly and sinful at the same time. He builds and builds your pleasure on is tongue and without thinking, your hips shift to match the rhythm of his mouth. A wide smile graces your face as your eyes close as you rock your hips against his mouth and nose.

Copia smirks and leans back slightly for another deep breath causing you to whine. “It is everything you hoped it would be?” His voice is husky as he huffs deep breaths.

You can’t think properly, babbling out a string of “yes, yes, yes” for him so he’d keep it up. Copia grabs your thighs, pulling you closer to him and he picks up in enthusiasm. “Fuck, keep doing that, please Copia!” You cry out from the rapid nudging of the silicone over your clit as he licks and drinks from you like a man starved.

“Amore mio.” Copia rumbles in his chest, humping into the mattress to give his aching cock some relief as he brings you over into bliss. He grips firmer into your thighs, picking up pace at the sound of your staccato whimpers. His head is starting to feel funny and his vision goes blurry. Copia closes his eyes and presses on, making sure to angle the nose just right over your clit to have you shaking in his grip.

The sound in the room is beginning to fade for Copia as the cries of your orgasm ring out into the air and flow onto his tongue. He grunts and shudders, feeling a warm, wet sensation spurting out from his cock into the comforter in his satisfaction of making you overcome with pleasure. Spots dot around behind Copia’s eyelids and his heart races as the sound in the room ceases around him.

The last think he heard were your pleasured cries of “Oh, fuck.” as your hand gripped his hair when his consciousness went dark.

You’re too distracted from the ecstasy Copia gave to you with the fake nose and his talented mouth to notice his hips have stilled as well as his mouth. Coming down from the high and trying to settle your racing heartbeat, you look down to an unmoving Copia. You move his head up to find his eyes are closed and when you release his head, it plops back down between you.

Your heart is now racing for a different reason as panic sets in. Survival mode takes over and you jolt from the bed, rushing to find the solvent to remove the nose from him. If need be, you’ll cut it off. You mutter “Shit, shit, shit” through the apartment as you run around like a Papa Terzo with its head cut off.While turning over his body, his chest is still rising a small amount and you can still feel a slight, desperate pulse. You get the nose off quickly and search for your phone, dialing the all-hours clinic.

“Copia, my love. Please be alive. I don’t want my vagina to have a body count.” You whimper into his hair as you brush your fingers through it. You managed to awkwardly pull up some sweats onto his legs after cleaning him up and you yourself have thrown on whatever clothes you can find so the paramedic ghouls don’t walk in on you two naked.

The ghouls take him to the clinic after making sure he was, in fact, still alive but just passed out from the lack of oxygen to his brain. The head nurse on duty sat you down and talked you through it. She’s asked you if he showed symptoms earlier in the day, if he was feeling tired and short of breath. You shook your head and said it was more sudden.

“What were you two doing just before he passed out?” She asked, holding her hand over yours to comfort you.

“Well, uh,” you blush, looking away towards where he sleeps in a bed. “We were doing something new in bed and uh.”

She encourages you to continue. “Yes.”

“He had something over his nose and it might’ve restricted his airflow when he was,” you point with your free hand. “,when he was down there.”

The nurse smiles, chuckling. She pats your hand and then gets up. “He should wake up soon, if that helps at all. His pulse isn’t too weak and you can pull up a chair and sit by him if you want to wait.”

You nod rapidly. Slowly walking over to Copia, you sit down at the side of his bed. Resting your head on his leg, you take his hand and kiss his knuckles softly. You tenderly hold his hand in yours and never let your eyes wander from his face, eager to see the fluttering lashes when he wakes up. The adrenaline from the emergency has left now and your eyelids start to feel heavy. There looks like there could be room for you on the bed and slowly you crawl on top, the metal frame squeaking below from the extra weight.

You cuddle Copia to you and finally close your eyes, holding his hand up to your chest with your hand over it. The night passes and now the beginning rays of sunshine bringing in the next day float through the crack in the curtains. The light brushing of a thumb over your hand had your eye opening to see yours and Copia’s hands switched at some point in the night. Did you do that? You stare down at the intertwined hands before the soft chuckle reaches your ears.

“It was me.” Copia softly teases. “Good morning, cara mia.”

You jerk your head towards him, smiling. “You’re awake!” You softly exclaim.

He removes his hand from yours to gently cup your face in place so he can lean in for a kiss. “I’ve been up for a few hours now, actually.”

“Why didn’t you wake me?” You pout.

Copia runs his thumb over your lips and smiles. “I didn’t want to wake you. You looked so peaceful, finally resting after what was probably a very scary experience.”

You frown, nuzzling into him. “It was.”

“I’ve always heard about autoerotique asphyxiation but I’m not sure that’s one I’d like to repeat.”

You shift, laying on your side, wrapping an arm around his stomach. “I think I know what the issue was. Part of the instructions said to make the nose holes bigger after you get it on so it can sit flush with your own.”

Copia chuckles. “And you didn’t think to read that!”

“I,” you huff. “I think I was too blinded by excitement and pure lust to think straight.”

“Story of our lives, eh?”

The nurse comes in, a different woman from last night, and you hop down from the bed so they can run some vitals. His left hand is held in both of yours as you sit down in the chair on that side of the bed while they check on him. The nurse deems him back at a normal heart rate and that he’s ready to go back to your shared apartment, warning only to pause any strenuous activity for a couple days. She signs off a discharge note of rest and hydration.

“Rest up, Papa. Take it easy.” She says, bidding you two a goodbye.

You borrow a wheelchair from them and after a stroll through the halls, thankfully free of anyone this early, you two make it back home. He slowly rises from the chair, grunting and making the occasional “ehe” noise as he eventually stands upright.

“I have never felt more like an old man than I do now.” Copia sighs, moving a hesitant foot forward.

“Your energy will return; you just need rest like they said.” You walk over, wrapping your arms around his waist. With your help, he’s able to walk the short trek into the bedroom to lay down on his side of the bed. A couple ghouls have come in and changed the sheets and comforter for clean ones while you two were away. “Need anything?” You ask, brushing his hair with your fingers. He closes his eyes and leans into your touch.

“Just you.” He opens his eyes and his mismatched gaze looks up at you longingly, pleading for you to cuddle with him.

You grin. “One second. Let me go grab some water and snacks for later.”

He’s reluctant to let you go but upon your return, his face lights up. Copia makes grabby hands at you, restless to have you wrapped together once again. You giggle, scolding him without any actual anger for being so impatient.

You sigh, settling together in bed. Copia lies on his back while you rest your chest on his. Your hand rubs soft, soothing circles over his heart. Copia handles the remote to the TV in your room, tapping through the list of movies he’ll put on for background noise. Some time passes and you look up to find his eyes on you first.

“What’cha thinking about?” Copia smiles.

“You were such a champ through all of this, and I just wanted to say thank you.” You move to kiss the bottom of his chin from where you’re positioned. “I think you’ve earned something.”

Copia looks puzzled. “Earned what?”

You shift again to rest on your arm, propped up next to him. You hand on his chest continues to rub small circles, smiling. “The next time we have sex, I’ll call you Papa in bed.”

He makes a sharp humming sound and locks eyes with you, grinning deviously. “Oh, really?” Copia begins to lean over to get you on your back. He seems ready to pounce but in the next second, He’s breathing heavy and his face pales. You can feel his heartbeat picking up under your palm.

Slowly you coax him back down onto his back. “Please, Copia. Follow orders. I don’t want a repeat incident so soon.”

Copia winks up at you and you lean down to kiss him, humming into each other. When you pull back, his face has returned to its usual color, now with a faint blush. “As I said, amore mio. You take my breath away.”

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it Translations: My piccola diavoletta [little devil] Piccolo angioletto mio [my little angel]

All credits to FicAndKaboodle for the cheese wedge line and the "nose-us" pun. it was too hilarious not to put in there.

#papa copia x reader #copia x reader #cardinal copia smut #the band ghost fanfiction #ghost #ghost fic #my fics #personal

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