#i have many thoughts and many feelings and all of them are just tears

[merlions]

Can I also add that unfortunately, "being kind to those you are afraid of/feel are hurting you makes you vulnerable to harm so you better be angry at them instead" is EXACTLY why bullies bully people. It is the start and end of their thought process, and it's why thinking like that will never break any cycle, will not protect you from being bullied, may even turn you into a bully yourself.

Here's why it doesn't protect you: all bullies WANT is for you to have an emotional reaction to what they're saying. If they're mean to you for the purposes of bullying you, they want you to get angry and frustrated and sad. That's the power they're trying to get: the power over you to disturb you and have effects on your emotional state. When you react as if they've successfully hurt your feelings, they have succeeded in their task, and their system is affirmed to themself. "Wow I sure bothered that person. It's going great!"

Being kind instead is SUCH a powerful tool against bullies for exactly this reason. If you are capable of maintaining your own mind and emotional state no matter how awful someone is to you, you show them that they don't actually have power over you.

Sure, this does freak a lot of people out (having what feels like a certain, 100% hit rate weapon for gaining power over someone suddenly firing blanks can do that to an insecure person), and sometimes this does make people angrier - at first. But that's not because you've made yourself vulnerable, it's because they're perceiving everyone as "I have to put them down before they have a chance to hurt me" and you've just shown them you're actually invulnerable to anything they've got.

They see you as having equal power (or at least they don't have power over you), and because they're afraid everyone is going to hurt them all the time if given the chance, they may then perceive you as a threat. Like on a nervous system level, fight or flight. Do it anyways. When you then don't immediately kill them, their nervous system gets a chance to start unworking the fuckin knots it's twisted itself up into.

A weird side effect of this is that they may start immediately sharing the most personal, vulnerable things you can imagine. It's so wild. Take this with grace. I've had so many experiences where someone who's well known for being universally cruel and hostile says something awful to me, and then when I respond with kindness, then says shit to me absolutely unprompted. Like "I think I lash out at others because I'm scared they're gonna hurt me first. I don't like myself much. My parents were pretty terrible to me growing up, and I don't know how to make friends." Or whatever their thing is that slams the fear button all the time. And then if I respond with sympathy and relate to them, I notice them slowly begin to change over time, trying out kindness instead of proactive hostility. (Or like especially with high school friends I eventually notice them come out as trans on facebook and then they're normal non-hostile people after that. Many such cases. Turns out being in excruciating, mysterious-origin emotional pain all the time makes you feel afraid of everything bc like what's causing that..."oh shit it was the gender again" lol)

Anyways. I've never regretted kindness, never had a bad experience, never had an experience where using kindness instead of reactive hostility didn't gain me at least something. At the very least they get afraid of ME. I've worked with some people who like, other coworkers will come up to me and go "you're so sweet! Tbh it's like a flashing dinner bell for predators! Why is our asshole coworker always doing you favors and working hard on things you request and asking for your help on things? ONLY ever you?" And I'll be like well every time they try to tear me down and I just don't even emotionally react to it at all and stay cheerful, they get FREAKED out like palms sweaty arms spaghetti and go somewhere else for a while. They're my little bitch now. And when they're afraid of something they sometimes actually come to ME for help cause they know I'm strong enough to protect them!

This power is immense...padawan you can learn the potent ways of this mysterious force and save the galaxy...seek within yourself.. the power is already within you............

I'm so serious about being kind above all else. it has genuinely changed the way I interact with the world on a fundamental level and has made me so so much happier.

[astraystayyh]

Bleeding heart dove

pairing: idol!chan x lawyer!reader. youngerbrother!seungmin.

genre: f2l. slow burn. angst (lots of it). fluff. (un)requited love. forced proximity. law/corruption sub-plot.

warnings: parental loss. grief. self-depreciating thoughts. suicidal thoughts. reader has she/her pronouns. this is a work of fiction. the actions and timeline depicted in the story don’t represent the idols in real life.

word count: 25.7k.

You are ashamed, even in the privacy of your thoughts, of this longing, of this sharp ache. For even thinking, daring to dream of a world where you could behold his warm hands into your butchered ones. Where he’d let you. Where you’d let yourself.

It feels like death to think of Chan, it feels like living too.

a.n: she’s finally here!!!! i haven’t written for chris in such a long time and i’m so grateful to @kayleefriedchicken for commissioning this fic :,) it spiraled and i took some creative liberties that’s why it’s so long now LMAO but i hope you’ll enjoy reading!!!! i challenged myself writing this, it is a bit different from my other fics. much heavier too. but i’m slowly finding a writing structure i truly enjoy. i love you all 🤍 thank you for waiting for me

They say that smells are little vessels of memories, wrapping themselves around moments in time. When a certain scent floats by you, it doesn’t graze your shoulder like a stranger in the streets, never to be seen again.

No, smells seize you by the wrist, their nails sinking deep into the softness of your skin. Scents do not pass. They pull. They lead you into the locked corridors of your mind, to places you thought had crumbled into dust, memories buried seven feet under by the weight of years.

You smell rust.

Many may not recognize it, most might not even notice it. But you do. The scent of rust is etched into your nostrils, carved along your nerve endings, again and again. It smells earthy, metallic, sharp—like blood smeared on your tongue against your will.

As everything in your life has ever been.

Every orphanage you lived in reeked of rust. It seeped into the walls, staining them beneath layers of pale, lifeless paint. It curled into the battered beds and damp linens. You tried to pinch your nose shut at night, suffocating against the foul scent. But rust was patient. Rust had time. And so, naturally, rust always won.

It was a cruel smell at that— the scent of things stolen— childhood, innocence, soft mornings, your very ability to dream.

You were ten years old when both your parents died in a tragic accident. A drunk driver slammed into their car and made it combust into flames. He was quickly caught and cast into prison. But what did that serve you? Your parents were gone. What respite would this semblance of justice bring you?

That part of your life remains hazy since there was no room to mourn, only movement, hands ushering you from one orphanage to another. Each time the walls could no longer contain any more children. Any more grief.

And you were only ten.

But Seungmin was only six.

Your brother didn’t understand what was happening. Why did he have to leave his shiny toys and Pochacco-themed bed behind? He cried at night for your parents, his wails cresting and receding like waves against a fragile shore.

Sometimes, he cried so fiercely that no one could calm him—not even you. You would leave him to sob until exhaustion claimed him. You envied him, in a way. Sleep refused to visit you. You were sentenced to lay awake instead, burdened by responsibilities too heavy for your small hands. Yet, when you glanced at Seungmin’s resting form, the ache in your chest eased, just slightly. If he could rest, that was enough.

You didn’t know it then, but this thought would become the basis of your entire life. You’d give and give, tear at your own flesh if it meant Seungmin would remain intact and safe.

The first orphanage was small. Twenty beds crammed together in a single room. It was a temporary holding place while the city council decided your fate. Orphans, you realized, were like misplaced luggage—tagged and eagerly discarded, waiting for someone, anyone, to claim them.

The second orphanage was somewhat worse. There were a hundred beds this time, a larger playground, warmer food. But the older kids were cruel. That’s what you remember. Rust and cruelty, entwined.

They shoved you hard against the ground on your first night there. And then, they turned to Seungmin. The moment their hands reached for him, something primal surged within you—a burning, blistering rage as if your very being was dipped into scalding water. You lashed out, punching the nose of one of the older boys. Blood. Yours, his, theirs. It all blurred together.

Then, punishment quickly followed: no more dinner for three days.

Seungmin didn’t understand. He tugged at your sleeve, crying that he was hungry late at night. That’s when you decided it was better to endure in silence. To take the blows, as long as your brother could eat.

By thirteen, you arrived at Promise Orphanage. Your hand trembled in Seungmin’s grip as Miss Jeeho introduced you both. Forty-four pairs of eyes bore into you, gliding over the faint bruises that painted your arms like ink stains.

You braced yourself for the worst. But then, a girl stepped forward, her hair a messy halo around her face. Her smile was wide, her eyes bright despite the dust coating her skin. She held out her hand, and you noticed how rough and calloused it was for her age. How warm it was too.

“I’m Winter,” she said, her voice soft.

You blinked at the odd name, then nodded. Later, you would learn she had been abandoned as a newborn, left nameless at the orphanage’s doorstep. It was a cold night when the workers found her, with heavy snow. It was surprising she didn’t pass from pneumonia.

Winter chose her name after the season she was born, since her parents didn’t bother to do so for her.

You came to realize that in these walls, even something as mundane as a name was a privilege, something the world could simply not grant you at birth.

“I’m Y/n, and this is Seungmin,” you replied, gripping your brother’s clammy hand. There was steel in your voice as you said his name, ensuring everyone knew he wasn’t to be touched.

But the other children simply smiled at you, and you tried to smile back. Though it came out much more like a grimace. Smiling felt foreign to you, like a muscle long unused.

Promise Orphanage then became your home for five long years. The children were kinder, their grins did not sharpen into unkind hands. Your bed was slightly bigger. You got gifts for your birthday and cake on New Year’s. You always gave yours to Seungmin— the better toys, the bigger slices, the softest pillows. You hoped it would make him feel better, even for a second.

But rust remained.

It followed you when you turned eighteen, into your first apartment. A single room, smaller than your childhood kitchen. But it was enough. Enough to build a life for Seungmin, to earn his custody, to gift him the privilege of dreaming.

Though even then, when Seungmin laughed, when he sang with Winter, when you had enough warm showers to forget the cold of the orphanage, you wondered if other people could still smell the rust like you did.

Perhaps it was your mind’s way of reminding you that, even if you shut your eyes so tightly that colors bloomed behind your eyelids— even if you thought hard enough of your summer home and salt-kissed winds, if you strained to hear your parents’ airy laughter calling you to dinner— this was not home.

It never could be.

“Y/n?”

Han’s voice slips through the fog of your memories, bright and familiar. You blink, the haze receding like chimney smoke to find him leaning casually against the doorframe.

He’s the first one out of the stylist’s room, his hair falls in soft waves over his forehead, and silver dust coats his eyes, catching the overhead lights like scattered stars.

“Hey, Han,” you greet, pulling him into a brief hug.

His grin is as easy as ever—warm and full of mischief. “Like the makeup?”

“It’s perfect,” you reply, poking his rosy cheeks.

“The boys are still getting ready,” he says, falling in step beside you as you walk toward the waiting room. Shelves stacked with instant noodles, water bottles, chips, and candy stare back at you.

“Figured.”

Your gaze flickers to the jelly candies, and you smile. You can already picture Hyunjin diving for them first and Seungmin scolding him for his sugar intake.

Jiho, the manager, greets you with a nod, and you return the gesture.

“You seemed far away just now,” Han notes, twisting the cap off a water bottle.

You exhale slowly. “The vents smell like rust. This whole place can quickly turn into a safety hazard. That’s a lawsuit waiting to happen.”

Han gasps in mock horror, clutching his chest. “Why is it that every time you talk about law, I feel like I’m about to be sued?”

You swat his arm, giggling at his theatrics, before pinching his forearm lightly.

“Hey—“ he yelps and you narrow your eyes at him.

“I should actually sue you for not visiting my new office though,” you point out, doing a neck-slicing motion with your hand.

“Okay, creepy. AND, for my defense, I sent you that fruit basket, didn’t I? Been busy writing songs. You know how it is when inspiration strikes me.”

You do.

It tugs at a distant summer, long days spent on the coast of Jeju Island alongside the boys, to celebrate your first successful case. Han locked away with his notebook while the sea breeze knocked at his window. He only joined you once he had finished writing the lyrics of two new songs. Some of your favorites too, at that.

“There she is! You’re smiling,” Han says, poking your cheek.

“Just remembering our trip.”

He sighs dreamily, before slinging his arm around your shoulders. “Best summer ever. Next time, the vacation’s on me. Pinky promise.”

Your smile softens, warmth pooling within the cracks of your heart.

Han was angry once, when you had first met him. Just like you. But where his anger burned bright, yours hid beneath the surface, smoldering slowly. But time softened his edges. You wonder if the same could ever be said for you.

“You’re here,” Seungmin appears suddenly, peeling Han’s arm away from your shoulder with a scowl. Han retaliates by blowing you an overly exaggerated kiss before wandering toward the vending machine.

“I finished up the case early,” you explain.

Seungmin’s gaze narrows slightly, scanning the lines of your outfit.

“And why are you so dressed up?”

“Can’t a sister look nice for her favorite brother’s first sold-out concert at the Kyocera Dome?” you tease, clasping your hands.

Jiho snorts from his seat. Traitor.

“I’m your only brother, and we both know you’re lying,” Seungmin deadpans.

It’s endearing—the way he shields you from heartbreak as if he hasn’t spent his whole life beneath the cover of your arms.

It’s foolish too— as if you still have a heart that beats hard enough to love, then to break.

“Fine. I have a date after the show.”

“With who?” Hyunjin’s voice drifts in as he steps into the hallway, Changbin trailing closely behind.

You smile. “Jaehyun.”

Seungmin pinches the bridge of his nose. “You know I don’t love him.”

“And who said I do?” you ask, a sly smile tugging at your lips.

“Then why do you still meet up with him?”

“Because he’s fun. And I like spending my time with fun people.”

Changbin leans in, grinning wide. “I’m fun too. Why not date me?”

He drapes his arm over your shoulder, and Seungmin groans, pretending to smash his head against the wall repeatedly.

“Alright, alright, stop the flirting,” you laugh, shaking your head. “I fear you’ll end up killing my brother.”

Seungmin pouts, and you laugh softly, pulling him in for a tight embrace. “Look at you, performing in such a big arena,” the words suddenly catch in your throat, a silky rope tightly binding the syllables together. “You know that I’m proud of you, right?”

You smile, and Seungmin holds you a little closer.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Thank you for coming. I really wanted you here.”

You clear your throat, stepping back with a playful flick to his arm. “I’ll see you after the show. Say hi to the rest of the boys for me.”

“You’ll do great,” you add, and his smile softens like sunlight melting across the sea.

His voice follows you down the hall. “We’re still talking about this date later, though!”

“Seungmin loves acting as if she isn’t older than him—” Swat.

—

There is one peculiar emotion that always beats within your heart at your brother’s concert halls. It is warm, like beholding a glowing sun within the empty hollows of your ribcage. It swells and swells, spreading within your being like paint spilled on canvas— soaking your heart in wildflower hues.

You feel relieved to see your brother and his friends so loved. You sense it in the cacophony of cheers, in the misty eyes of all the fans surrounding you. You know that the boys can feel it too. In the shaking of their voices as they take turns saying their ending ments. It is a monumental moment for them, something they only dared dream of back when they were still trainees and you had to sneak snacks into their dorm.

It is Seungmin’s turn to speak. His shaking hand barely manages to hold the mic. Seungmin doesn’t cry as often as before. Never in front of you anymore. He suddenly stopped once he turned fifteen, as if he had made a vow to himself, to lift off some of his worries off your burdened spine.

But tonight, unmistakable tears gather at the edges of his eyes, glinting like faraway constellations.

He tilts his head toward the sky, and you wonder who these words are really addressed to.

Deep down you already know the answer to this.

“My sister is here tonight,” he starts and tears glisten in your eyes, all of the sudden. “If I’m here today it’s all thanks to her, so I– I hope you’re proud of me,” he says, voice tight, breaking. But he still speaks. “You know, I… I don’t believe in forever—” his lips tremble like leaves at the mercy of autumn winds. A faint ringing surges through your ears, muffling the sound of everything until only his sharp words remain. “But just at this moment, being with the members and everyone who stood by our side, I— I want to believe in eternity with you.”

The crowd roars at his words. Cameras flash everywhere. The boys quickly move forward to wrap Seungmin in their arms.

But you’re not here anymore.

You’re somewhere quieter. Smaller. Somewhere dimly lit by flickering hallway lights and hushed whispers past curfew.

Your hands shake, pressing into your thighs as if their weight might ground you. But the cold creeps in anyway, walking alongside your veins, settling into your heart like an old companion.

—

He was eight.

His hair stuck to his forehead in damp curls, and the faint glow of the moon reflected onto his eyes like a gleaming water surface.

You remember smoothing his bangs away, tucking him beneath a worn blanket that didn’t quite reach his toes. He didn’t mind. Seungmin never minded the small things.

“Did you make a wish?” you whispered. It was his birthday. Birthdays never got easier for Seungmin, nor for you. Most days you were just pretending— that you knew what you were doing, that your knees were strong enough to hold you upright. Pretending that you had what it takes to protect your brother when you, yourself, were in desperate need of protection.

How do you salvage innocence in halls that spell out loss and grief at every turn? How do you make a birthday a happy memory in such a terrible place ?

Seungmin blinked up at you as his small hand curled around your fingers.

“I said that I want to see mommy and daddy again.”

The air had thickened then, and the knot in your throat twisted so tight it left no room for you to breathe.

You forced on a smile anyway. “You will,” you promised, voice soft but unsteady. “Soon.”

He paused, blinking slowly.

“What’s forever?”

The question felt like a swinging pendulum suddenly came to a halt— Seungmin’s innocence slipping away from your shaky grasp.

“Why do you ask?”

“I told Gyuvin I’ll see our parents soon. But he said that you lied, and it will take forever until then.”

Your chest tightened. You knew Gyuvin had a mean streak—sharp edges chiseled by loneliness and unspoken grief. You never held it against him. He was only eight too.

Still.

“He’s joking, Seungminnie,” you murmured, brushing your thumb over his knuckles. “Forever just means something that doesn’t end. Like numbers. Numbers don’t end, right?”

He thought for a moment, lips pressing into a pout.

“Would you like to believe in forever?” you asked, teasing gently.

“No,” he said quietly, “Because then I’ll be sad for a very long time. I want the time to pass quickly.”

Oh.

Seungmin drifted off not long after, his breaths soft and even. But you stayed awake—long enough for the world outside to fall silent. Long enough to bury your face in the pillow, stifling the sobs that trembled past your chapped lips.

Seungmin was only nine.

But you were only thirteen.

And you missed your parents, so terribly so. You wished your mom was there, combing your hair with fingers that seemed to be made up of silk. You wished you could press your ear to her chest and listen to her heartbeat, breathe it in, soak in the love that the sound seemed to spell out for you.

You wished your dad was here, holding your hand in his much larger, weathered down one— rivulets of age running between his knuckles. You wished he’d carry you once more on his shoulders, tall enough for you to reach out to the stars, to foolishly believe you’d be able to graze them with your fingertips. You wished they were still here. You hated them for being gone. You hated yourself for hating them, even for a millisecond. For allowing the thought to filter through the endless void that constitutes your mind.

You thought of what it’d be like to float atop the sea near your home. Of letting the waves carry you deep into the darkness of the water. Of sinking deep enough that you wouldn’t feel anything anymore. You couldn’t bear it. You couldn’t bear having a heart that kept demanding you to live. It felt like a curse, like every heartbeat spelled out horrible truths for you. You wished for it to stop. All of it. All of you.

—

“Yah, Y/n why aren’t you smiling?” Changbin nearly shouts in your face and you and Jeongin scurry away on cue, cradling your ears at his loud voice.

You plaster a smile on your face, force the corners of your mouth to tug forward— “Because! You’re all sweaty and pressing onto me,” you say, and a cacophony of protests erupts all at once— “this is the sweat of hard work��, “but our sweat smells nice though!”, a groan, “that’s just you Hyunjin.”

Your yelp as a hand suddenly wraps around your wrist, Felix’s, pulling into the middle for a group hug.

“Stop, your sweat will rub off of me!” Your high-pitched shriek causes all of them to back off on cue, giggling loudly.

You don’t give yourself a second to breathe, afraid that your mask will slip away quicker than you can stop it. You take advantage of the commotion to kiss Seungmin’s cheek quickly, avoiding his gaze as you run off to the entrance. “You all did well! I’ll have to go now! My date is waiting!”

You don’t leave him time to respond as you scurry away, leaving the backstage. You can feel the oxygen settle like stones into the pit of your heart, weighing the rushing of your blood down. It takes you excruciatingly long to breathe. Being here suffocates you all of a sudden.

You remember your wish, for the waves to carry you away into whichever place they rest in. What a violent thing for a thirteen-year-old to wish for. What a violent thing to still seek now deep into your twenties. You felt guilty. To be surrounded by many people who love you and yet to not feel loved.

You’re almost outside when a warm hand curls around your wrist.

“Seungmin, I told you I’m—” you turn around expecting to see your little brother’s gaze, full of mischief, full of affection, only to be met with Chan’s worried one. Your retort dies on the tip of your tongue, like a deflating balloon. You try your hardest to plaster a smile on your face but it comes off like a grimace. Chan’s frown only deepens further.

“I—” you think of something quick to say, to get his scrutinizing gaze off of you. You can predict the question forming, swirling his mind, you already know which way this conversation will head. But all your thoughts seem to melt, your mind unable to conjure something to save your facade.

Your phone suddenly rings, Jaehyun’s name lighting up the screen. You go to reply when Chan grabs the phone away from your hands, silencing the call.

“What’s wrong?” he finally asks and it feels as if the walls are closing on you once more. You can hear the waves thrashing around, calling. “And don’t say you’re just feeling emotional because we made it so far.”

You chuckle faintly. You know it’s no use lying to Chan, of all people. “Jaehyun is calling again,” you point to your lit-up screen, and his lips press into a flat line, rejecting the call.

“Cancel your date,” he cocks a perfectly shaped eyebrow at you, “you know you have the most fun hanging out with me”.

“Alright, Mr. Cocky,” your heart is heavy as you attempt to smile at him, as if you’re forcing it to perform something it does not wish to, to pump blood for an action as meaningless as smiling. What purpose does it really serve if you are not happy? “I'm not in the mood for you to psychoanalyze me, though.”

“I won't,” his eyes soften as he takes one step closer to you. “We'll go on a drive okay, like old times?”

What is the point of pressing ice to a third-degree burn? Nothing, if not a fleeting respite, to close your eyes and pretend as if the burn would come undone, to soothe the fire only for it to barge in again. With a vengeance. Stronger. Harsher.

That is what being next to Chan is like to you.

“Fine,” you concede, though. Because you despise worrying people. You despise worrying Chan mostly. “I don’t want Seungmin to know though.”

“Don’t worry,” he smiles as he hands you back your phone, his thumb brushing your wrist for a second before he walks back. “I’ll come to your car, alright? Wait for me.”

—

It was a late summer night when Chan first discovered his love for music. He was only five, the air fragrant with the sweetness of strawberries and the tang of lemon zest. His curls were damp, clinging to his forehead from how hard he played with the neighborhood kids. The glass of water his mother handed him felt like the sweetest reprieve against his parched throat. Because Chan was happy, a joy so vivid it seemed to have taken roots within his veins, blooming into gleaming eyes and a smile so vast it could mend every crack in the universe.

He didn’t know it then, but there was a beautiful carelessness in the way he dashed outside, barefoot and giggling to order ice cream from the vendor near his house. Vanilla and bubblegum. In the way he did not use a spoon, instead licking the ice cream directly from the cone, as the sun melted it into rivers of sweetness that coated his fingers, leaving them sticky and fragrant. In the way he paid no mind to the earth clinging to his shorts, the sweat glistening on his face, or the syrupy mess on his hands. Because his happiness was so full he was bursting at the seams with it.

Because he was still a child, and children did not care for perfection. Children did not see the world through a lens that sought out every flaw— Chan did not learn yet how to turn that lens inward, harsher as he aimed it at himself.

His dad had brought him a ukulele, gently placing it into Chan’s small hands. The notes stumbled out, clumsy and wrong at first, as if their melody were caught in the strings, hesitant to be set free. It took a few tries for Chan to untangle them, but he didn’t mind. Because within these notes he found a new kind of joy—one that seemed to amplify his racing heartbeat, spilling into the room and filling it with the decadent taste of happiness.

It was a late autumn night when Chan first hated himself.

It was a particularly exhausting training day, the kind that left Chan barely upright as he walked down the stairs, his legs shaking with every step. He couldn’t bring himself to head back to the cramped dorms just yet, nor did he want to speak to anyone. Or rather, he no longer knew how to talk to anyone anymore. How could he make futile small talk when his soul was seized by a terrible longing, one that lingered bitterly on his tongue like the cough syrup he used to drink as a child?

See, how could he explain to anyone that he even missed that—the syrup, the warmth of his home, the pieces of a life that now felt as if they belonged to somebody other than him. He felt as if the wound only grew larger each day, spreading farther into his ribcage, infesting every part of his heart—every vein, every molecule—tainting them with the blueish colors of sorrow and ache.

Chan had found a quiet spot by the Han River, tucked far from prying eyes, his shoulders slouched under the weight of nostalgia, not the sweet one, rather, the one that felt like pine needles digging into his skin, at once. He liked it here—if he closed his eyes long enough he’d pretend the salty air was Australia’s breeze. He missed the wind there and how it ruffled his hair like an old friend. He missed his father’s grilled meat, his mother’s lemonade, his sister’s shenanigans. He missed his dog.

Would Berry even remember him now? Has it been too long?

It had.

The thought stung sharper than he expected. Was it all for nothing then? Does Berry not remember him for nothing?

Sometimes, it only takes one second for the world to shift off its axis, for the seconds to march forward but for you to remain stranded in the past. It took Chan this single question to break apart. It was as if someone had driven their fist into his chest, their claws digging deep, twisting around his heart until it felt on the brink of bursting— an ugly eruption of crimson, staining the blissful river with its bloodied ache.

What is wrong with me? He’s been asking himself the same question ever since.

It was a late winter night when Chan saw you for the very first time.

He was seventeen, shackles of self-doubt and insecurity wrapped around his ankles, digging deeper into his flesh with each year spent farther from his dream. Chan hated looking at his reflection in the mirror. He hated thinking of home. He avoided thinking of the future, of who he was, of who he hoped to become. Sometimes, he wished his mind could just go quiet. The voices were very loud and very mean.

Yet, unbeknownst to him, there were fragile blossoms of hope that fought to flourish in his chest, tentative, frail, since they grew in barren soil that didn’t quite believe in meeting the sun once more. But they were there.

Because Chan wasn’t alone anymore. Jisung joined him first, a kid with a passion that burns so fiercely it scathes his own heart at times. Then Jeongin, a voice singing of a reverence that shook Chan to his core. Hyunjin, who saw in dancing a form of salvation. Changbin, the missing golden piece to complete the infamous 3RACHA.

And then Seungmin.

It was through Seungmin that Chan saw you.

You had just dropped off Seungmin at the trainee dorms, bags full of homemade food in his hands. You hugged him tightly as he waved you off before disappearing into the building. And then, as soon as Seungmin was out of sight, Chan saw you collapse against the wall, your body wracked by cruel sobs. Cruel, because it was winter, and he knew that crying during the cold was somewhat harsher on the soul. You can’t cling to blooming flowers, to warm sun rays, to anything beautiful to ease your pain.

Cruel, because he recognized himself in you. In the way you rushed to hide your tears, wiping them away with your sleeves so that no one would see you. As if you were not deserving of this moment of weakness. As if you were not deserving of being human too.

“Do you still pick at your nails?” Chan asks, glancing at your figure as the light turns red. “Can’t give up bad habits?”

“You’re the last one to talk about bad habits, Mr. Never Sleeps.”

“Touché,” he chuckles, and you shake your head, the faintest smile lingering on your lips.

The seasons passed, and Chan’s fragmented heart had somehow found itself pieced together again—not to its original form. That would be a fool’s hope. People noticed the external changes—the different hues of his hair, how his muscles grew more chiseled with time—but they couldn’t see how pain and self-doubt had altered him, down to the very molecules of his being.

Because pain doesn’t pass like an angry cloud, casting a dark shadow only to drift away. That would be too kind, too merciful for emotions forged to drain you dry. No, it breaks you, reshapes you, molds you with the thorns in its calloused hands. It forces you to relearn who you are, how to breathe, where to stand, how to cling to the fragile thread that keeps you from stumbling back into the darkness.

The heart Chan carries isn’t his own anymore. It belongs mostly to sorrow now. But it still beats.

And so it did. And that winter passed, and so did spring. Then summer came, and fall returned once more.

And the years went by, and Chan blinked, and suddenly it had been ten years since he first saw you. And yet, it felt as though you remained stuck in winter. Because you did not have anyone’s hand to hold, warm enough to make you believe that summer would come again.

“Is this about Seungmin?” Chan asks softly, his fingernails drumming absentmindedly against the steering wheel.

“No, yes—I… I don’t know,” you sigh in exasperation, and he nods, turning his head to glance at you.

You first went on a night walk with Chan when you were still a law student, and his group had just debuted. Your apartment was under renovation, so you had to stay in the boys’ dorm for a few days. It was late into the night, with both of you the only ones still awake, working through your respective tasks in silence. He had offered to go for a walk, and you had accepted.

Neither of you spoke. Chan pretended not to see the stray tears that silently slipped down your cheeks, with no previous warning. He wondered what had weighed on your heart so heavily that it searched desperately for any moment of solitude to escape.

Your eyes are distant now, glazed over as if your mind has carried you to a place where the sun never rises. You bring your hand to your mouth once more, but Chan gently pushes it away, cradling your fingers in his palm.

He has to pretend that the sensation of your hand in his doesn’t feel like a thunderbolt—a surge of electricity that shoots up from the tips of his toes, swirling deep into his chest and settling into warmth in his stomach.

“It will bleed, and then you’ll come whining because it hurts,” he jokes, though his heart pounds in his throat, threatening to choke him.

“When did I do that?” you exclaim, but you don’t pull your hand away.

Your hand is in his.

Your hand is in his.

Your hand is in his.

“Besides,” you say, your fingers slipping from his grasp to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, “You know I’m the last person to ever whine.”

Was it normal to still feel your hand on his? For his hand to memorize the warmth of yours so quickly? As if it had been thirsty, like a man astray in the desert, longing for what a drop of water would feel against his parched throat.

“Yeah, you should do that more often, actually,” he chastises softly. You exhale a shuddered breath in response.

It feels like a lifetime before you speak again. “You heard Seungmin’s speech,” you say quietly, like a wounded animal, hesitant and wary of what approaching another human might bring, of what baring your heart might cost.

Chan wants to say: It is safe with me, I would shred my own heart if it meant keeping yours intact.

“Hard to miss, since I was on stage next to him,” he jokes, and you finally giggle—a real laugh, not the artificial ones you’ve been giving him. It feels like Australia’s breeze ruffling his hair, like he can finally breathe again.

“You know,” you say, your voice shifting to something gentler, “It reminded me of Seungmin when he was still young, discovering the concept of forever.” A bittersweet smile tugs at your lips. “Seungmin was short, pale, and so fragile that I was afraid the faintest wind would break him. You should’ve seen him. When he looked up at me, his eyes were wide, his irises pitch black, and they looked so trusting. He was an easy target for the kids who needed someone to blame, someone to pour their anger into, to soothe their bruised hearts. There was no one else to punish. Too much injustice, and no respite.”

Chan’s hands tighten around the steering wheel. To think of such sad times for both you and him. Should he rewrite the march of time, he would have forced the universe to make him your friend, to entwine your hand in his, to stop the cold from making a home within the pathways of your heart.

“I remember when I first saw him. He was very shy. Like he didn’t quite know how to carry himself yet. But he ranked second in the open audition.”

“He did,” you smile. It’s a bit different from all your grins. You’re always different when it comes to Seungmin—softer, bursting with pride.

“And…” Chan trails off, glancing at you from the corner of his eye, a wide smile tugging at his lips. “I remember you.”

“Oh, please, no,” you hide your face in your palms. “That’s so embarrassing.”

Chan chuckles softly, but in his heart, he remembers your first encounter with such clarity. He had found you many things—beautiful, brave, human. ‘Embarrassing’ had never been an adjective that crossed his mind when it came to you.

He remembers.

“Here,” Chan handed you a handkerchief, and you looked up at him, a frown deepening in your eyes. Time had somehow stilled then. The seconds felt like years passing on Chan. The cold seemed to dissipate, his heart emanating a warmth he hadn’t known before. Everywhere. Consuming him.

You blinked, and time resumed, and yet Chan was changed.

“Thank you,” you said tentatively. “Something got into my eye.” You attempted to explain, and he simply nodded, humoring you.

“I figured. There’s a lot of dust around here. From the trees and all,” He cringed internally, realizing how silly that sounded. So, he fell into silence, as did you, both of you just looking at each other. Chan had never felt this way before. He ached to ask you what was wrong, if he could do anything to alleviate your pain. If you too would like to break near Han River with him.

“I’m Chan. Bang Chan. Christopher, actually. But you can call me Chan.”

You had giggled then, and his ears burned so fiercely he was sure they were a shade of fuchsia, bright and loud. The sound was melodious, like notes strung along a flute just right. Soothing and warm. He loved your laugh. He wished his piano could recreate it. He wished he could save it so he could dance to it later.

“Alright, Christopher Actually Chan,” you smiled, and his cheeks flared a shade brighter. He silently prayed you’d account for the harsh winds that wrapped around you both.

“And I know you, actually,” you continued.

His eyes widened in surprise, and you chuckled softly at his reaction. He liked making you laugh. He liked it so much he’d make a fool out of himself if he needed to. “I’m not a stalker, Kim Seungmin told me about you. He’s my brother.”

“Right,” Chan responded, his usual confidence slipping for just a moment. He was never awkward—social prowess was one of his greatest strengths. Still, with you, all semblance of normal interaction vanished. There was something in your gaze, something so beautifully haunting, like the sight of tree branches in autumn. Something that once was whole, now stripped bare, yet still captivating in its vulnerability. It made him wonder if beauty like this could ever be captured in music.

“I’m Y/n, by the way,” you bowed slightly, before quickly turning and walking away. Chan watched, breath hitched in his throat, as you paused, and then as if pulled by some invisible thread, you turned back to him.

Without a word, you grabbed his hand, gently placing something within his palm.

A cherry lollipop.

“As a thank you,” you said, a bit sheepishly, eyes still puffy from the sobs that kept you prisoner just a few moments ago. “Ah, and, you better debut with my brother!”

You pointed at him, and in that moment, a grin broke through your face—one so radiant, so full of life, he wondered if this was what witnessing the first sunset felt like to humans. A beauty so grand, so overwhelming, he didn’t quite know what to do with it.

Chan’s fate was sealed right then and there—he would spend the next ten years chasing after your smile, no matter how foolish it seemed.

For one would ask, what’s a drop of white against a sea of black? What use are cherries’ scent before the stench of sorrow? And the answer would always be everything. Everything, if it’s you.

Chan clears his throat, settling on the least incriminating adjective of the bunch. “You were brave, Cherry. You still are.”

“You think too highly of me,” you snort.

“I think of you just right, actually.”

You are nearly home when, out of nowhere, you speak. “What if I told you I’m terrified?” The words rush out, as though you are afraid they’d die in your throat before they could reach him.

Chan’s heart tightens in worry. He parks hastily in front of your place, the engine still humming as he turns to face you, you who’s like a Russian doll—layer upon layer of your soul wrapped carefully, each one guarding the other.

“Why?” he asks, his voice barely a whisper, thick with concern.

“I didn’t want to tell Seungmin,” you begin, pausing to bite your lower lip. “He’d be heartbroken... I know him, I—” you falter, your voice cracking just slightly. “My new case... It's about Promise Orphanage. They want to tear it down to build a luxury apartment complex. A fucking billionaire’s investment, with pools and golf courses.”

“Sun Corporation,” you explain, “it’s owned by the son of Gyeongdo Holdings’ CEO. They’ve been harassing Miss Jeeho for two months now because she refuses to desert the orphanage. It’s a mess, Chan.” you’re angry, he can feel it, the rage burning bright right beneath your skin.

“The city council caved in and granted them a permit because the land belongs to the state and this project apparently serves public interest, but that’s bullshit. Who would benefit from this other than billionaires?” you bite your lower lip, sucking in a deep breath. “I told you Winter became the vice director of the orphanage, right? She just learned about this and told me. They’re offering compensation but I’ve dealt with those kinds of people. They’re greedy. They’re corrupt.”

“I couldn’t turn my back on it,” you whisper. “I had to take the case. Those kids… they’ll have nowhere to go. And I know how cold it feels, how brutal it is when you lose your family and still have to look for someplace to call home.”

Your eyes glisten, tears clinging to the edge like dew on a leaf, only to be blinked away before they fall. How much does it cost your soul to bear this weight? How much longer until you fracture—like a pomegranate violently split open, bits of your soul scattering out in splatters of raw scarlet.

Chan’s palm finds your knee, squeezing it gently. “You’re worried they’ll end up forgetting about the orphanage and not building a new one?”

“Yeah. They did this before. I checked the civil files. They built over a nursing home and never gave them proper compensation, paid hush money to the owner to keep them from suing. What if I can’t stop them? This is all those kids have. This is all Winter has. Miss Jeeho too.”

“They won’t. you’ll stop them. I know you will, Cherry, alright?” he says with all the sincerity he can muster. You seem dubitative and he sighs, reaching out to hold your cold hands. Please warm up.

“You will, okay? I have no doubt you will,” he repeats with a fire that seems to light you up. A sudden light reflects off the broken shards of your heart.

“I will.”

—

Chan: you up?

Your phone lights up, distracting you from the mountain of paperwork scattered across your desk.

Y/n: What a fuck boyish text

Chan: akldkdkd so you’re definitely up

Y/n: I’m working on the case :(

Chan: open up!! i have snacks

You blink at the message, confused, before padding to the door. When you open it, Chan stands there, a wide grin stretching across his face. He’s wearing a grey varsity jacket that drapes across his broad shoulders perfectly, and a blue navy cap. You still don’t understand why he rarely allows his curls to see the light.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, crossing your arms.

“I got bored alone in the studio,” he shrugs casually. “So I thought I’d drop by.”

“Drop by?” you repeat, laughing softly. “Your studio is on the other side of town.”

“Okay, I guess you don’t want fish cake and tteokbokki—”

“Come back,” you interrupt, wrapping your hand around his forearm and tugging him inside. His body is warm, and it is only then do you realize just how cold your apartment truly is.

“It’s a mess, I’m sorry,” you apologize, glancing at the dirty plates in the sink and the papers all over the desk, and the floor, and the couch too.

“Need me to tidy up again?” he teases, grinning as he steps inside.

You swat his arm, rolling your eyes. “You did it once because I was bedridden, and Seungmin was in Japan for a schedule.”

“I don’t mind, Cherry,” he says softly, setting the food down on your coffee table. His gaze flickers to yours. “I’d do it even if you weren’t sick, you know.”

Chan has a habit of saying things that send your heart into a slow, painful thrum—one long pulse that stretches endlessly, forcing you to acknowledge its existence. But, as always, you avoid it. You never allow yourself to question the warmth that only blooms when he’s near.

You both sit cross-legged on the living room floor, the spicy scent of tteokbokki wafting between you. For a while, the only sound heard in the apartment is the soft clink of chopsticks against takeout containers.

“Any updates on the case?” he asks.

You nod, running a hand through your hair. “I filed for an injunction,” you say, sighing deeply. “Trying to stop the demolition for now, at least until I figure out what to do next. The city council is ridiculous.They keep saying this is for the public benefit, but how is that true? Who benefits from luxury penthouses except rich assholes? And because the orphanage is on state land, they think they can just sell it off like it’s nothing.”

Chan’s eyes have been tracking each one of your words intently, drinking in every syllable that drips from your mouth. He has long thought your calling was law, there is a certain logic in you, a peculiar fire that burns in your core that seems inherent to this job. Though oftentimes he wonders if this is truly what you’ve always wanted. Had you been raised in your home would you have turned out differently? Would you like to pursue something else? Would you sing like Seungmin too?

“I’m trying to figure out who’s behind those apartment deals. Jaehyun’s helping me track it down.”

Chan’s eyes darken, like a storm has gathered within his irises. He doesn’t realize his jaw is ticking. You do. You pretend as if you don’t notice.

“Jaehyun… are you guys together yet?” Chan asks, and your heart pauses at the change in conversation. You shake your head. “Hm? No. We’re just friends.” you say between bites.

“You go on dates with your friends?” he chuckles, but there is nothing funny in the sound. His eyes don’t morph into crescents, his dimples refuse to show.

“You know, we’re just messing around, or whatever,” you quickly say.

“Right.”

Chan remembers the moment with striking clarity—when you first mentioned Jaehyun. You were both at a hotpot restaurant, the steam from the bubbling broth curling around you.

You had said his name casually, A journalist you’d met at one of the court hearings, someone with the same fiery passion for justice that you had. He was annoying, you’d said, always bothering you with his questions, his relentless pursuit of truth. But there was something else in your voice when you spoke of him—something new, something soft and fond that made Chan’s chest tighten.

“Anyways, he’s friends with one of the junior employees in the city council,” you continue, voice tinged with frustration. “So he’s been trying to convince him to help us out.”

“An insider,” Chan says absently, his voice flat, like the surface of a pond long undisturbed by pebbles. He’s thinking, how long is it acceptable to harbor a crush on someone? Three months? Six? A year? What if Chan’s been carrying this weight for ten years? 3650 days spent thinking of you, chasing the shadow of your image away from his eyelids at night, yet always yearning for a dream where all he’d glimpse is you.

What if bile rises in his throat at the thought of Jaehyun so close to you, his fingers tracing the lines of your lips, memorizing the shape of your body, the rise and fall of your chest as you sleep? What if he cannot bear it, cannot stand the thought of anyone else knowing you in ways he never will?

You sigh, fingers digging into your temple as the weight of your exhaustion becomes tangible. “It’s tiring, Chan,” you admit as your forehead rests against your knees. Chan feels something shift inside him—a peculiar ache that only surfaces when you are in pain.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his hand hovering above your back before it settles there. He slowly pats your back, dragging his nails along your spine. It’s very quiet all of the sudden, a calm that only manifests when two souls, not bodies, are sitting by one another. You lean into his touch, your body angling towards him like a sunflower tilting towards the sun.

“Do you remember when the possibility of us debuting became very high?” he says and you nod, resting your cheek against your knee to look up at him. His hand doesn’t stop caressing your back. You don’t wish for it to.

“What is it with you and my most embarrassing memories?” you giggle quietly only to sober up at the sincerity you gather in his eyes. They are like pools of amber, the color of decadent chocolate, like the rich bark of trees kissed by sunlight.

“Everyone was out and I was the only one in the dorm.” He recounts the memory as if you weren’t there; as if he needed you to hear this, not as a participant but as an outsider. “And then you came knocking on my door, disheveled, looking like you hadn’t slept in days. You asked me, ‘Is it true? Are you debuting soon?’”

You close your eyes, the weight of that moment flooding you—how raw and real it was. You remember it vividly: the way his eyes met yours, like he had seen you for the first time right there and then.

“You were petrified. Because yes, you worked overtime to pay off Seungmin’s vocal lessons, you supported him so much his confidence never wavered, and yet, you were scared,” his words soften, and the pit in your throat tightens. You can’t speak even if you wish to.

“I said yes and you started crying. and I hadn’t seen you cry in three years. Not since the night we first met.” You remember his worried gaze, how he sank to the ground with you when your knees crumbled beneath you. He called you Cherry for the first time then, as if he had kept the nickname a secret, wishing to speak it outloud but never daring to. He did it because he thought back to your first meeting, and the cherry lollipop in your hand. You thought of it too.

“Seungmin,” you heaved, “please protect him, Chan, I— please, you have to protect him, please.”

“What’s wrong?” He panicked. “Talk to me Cherry, hm?”

“What if they are unkind to him? What if they somehow find out he’s an orphan and use that against him? He doesn’t like telling me anymore when it hurts. What if he’s hurt and he can’t tell me?”

His thumb swipes at the lone tear slipping from your eyes, gentle and warm. What if Chan is too kind to you? What if your heart wasn’t crafted to handle it?

“Then when all the boys came back ten minutes later you smiled as if nothing happened. I had seen you break down on the floor a few moments prior, and yet, you found the strength to smile, so as to not worry anyone, especially Seungmin.”

Chan’s heart throbs in his chest, the rhythm uneven and insistent. His voice wavers as his gaze locks with yours. Your eyes glimmer, like a river kissed by the summer sun, like stained glass basked in the light of a centuries old cathedral.

His palms cup your cheeks, tentative and gentle, akin to a flower breaking through the soil for the first time. “You are the strongest person I know,” he says, his voice soft, “The most hardworking, too. You care, so much, even when you try to hide it. It’s that passion that makes you the best at what you do. You’ll win this case, and every case after it, because you’re the one handling them.”

His thumb brushes against your skin. “And you believed in me when I said I’d protect Seungmin. So I believe in you, Cherry. Please believe in yourself too.”

You nod, over and over, like a broken record stuck on a single note. Before he can process it, your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him close. Your head finds its place in the crook of his neck, and for a fleeting second, he’s frozen, the world tilting off its axis. Then, slowly, his hands slide to your waist as he breathes you in—your shampoo, your favorite laundry detergent, the faint trace of cherry lingering on your skin like a memory of a distant summer.

“Thank you, Channie,” you whisper against his shoulder.

He nods, his voice muffled by the turmoil caging his heart. “You’re welcome, Cherry.”

For how long is it acceptable to love someone who doesn’t love you? Chan doesn’t know. He doesn’t really want an answer. Even a lifetime wouldn’t be a waste if it’s spent loving you.

—

“Three penthouses are already registered under different names,” Jaehyun tells you, handing over a couple of lease contracts. You’re seated in a small café near Promise Orphanage, waiting for Winter to join you. The junior employee in Sun Corp. has finally caved and handed over the registrants to Jaehyun—names of the people who have already secured luxury apartments, long before the project even saw light.

“Park Yuna, Lee Seo-Jun, and Choi Joon-Ho,” you read aloud, glancing up at Jaehyun, who’s already smirking.

“Park Yuna…” you pause, “isn’t she the wife of the city council president?”

“Bingo!” he exclaims, his arms wide open, head tipped back as a sinister giggle rips out of his throat.

“Oh gosh,” you cover your face as some customers turn to look at you. “This isn’t an action movie stop it.”

Jaehyun pouts as you swat his arm and you laugh despite yourself.

“Anyway, you’re right. She’s his wife. I also found out Seo-Jun and Joon-Ho are tied to prominent council members. Second cousin and son-in-law. They had their penthouses promised before the project was ever public.”

“They didn’t even register them under their names. Subtle,” you mutter, shaking your head.

“Yeah, I bet they weren’t even expecting Miss Jeeho to resist the compensation.”

You sigh, leaning back in your chair. “They think those kids are just pawns, something they can move around for their benefit. They don’t get that those children have nothing but each other and the comfort of a familiar bed.”

The conversation lulls. Jaehyun grows quiet as you stare holes into your coffee, swirling the caramel syrup into the dark liquid. But no amount of sweetness can mask the bitterness on your tongue—the bitter taste of injustice, of watching people prioritize their greed over others’ lives.

“We’ll gather more evidence of their corruption,” Jaehyun says eventually, his tone firm. “And when we do, we’ll confront them. They won’t risk this becoming public with so many global investors involved.”

You nod. “You’re right.”

He leans back in his chair, a teasing glint in his eyes. “By the way, why did you cancel on me two nights in a row?”

The question catches you off guard, and your mind drifts to last night: Chan showing up at your home, his comforting words, the warmth of his hand on your back, the scent of pinewood and cinnamon lingering in the air, the clean apartment you woke up to. Something stirs in your chest, warm and soft.

“Chan came over,” you admit.

Jaehyun whistles, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

“Chan,” he says, drawing out the name.

“Mhm,” you reply, suddenly shy under his gaze.

“The man who calls you Cherry.”

“Yeah. Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because you’re so oblivious.”

“Agreed,” a familiar voice chimes in as Winter slides into the seat next to you. She presses a quick kiss to your cheek before sitting back with a knowing smile.

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “This isn’t the subject of discussion,” you say pointedly, glaring at both of them.

You’re momentarily distracted by Winter’s appearance. Her cheeks are hollow, her eyes shadowed with exhaustion. She’s poured so much love back into the orphanage she grew up in. Losing it would destroy you both.

“That man likes her,” Winter says casually, sipping from your drink.

You glare at her. “No, he doesn’t. He’s my friend.”

Winter raises an eyebrow at you. “He always looks at you differently. His tone is softer when he talks to you.”

Your eyes drift away, thoughts pulling you back to last night—to how Chan stayed with you until dawn, watching awful dramas with you despite his packed schedule, simply because he was worried.

“What’s the point of him liking me if I can’t like him back?” you murmur, voice barely audible. “My heart isn’t made for this.”

“Have you ever given yourself a chance?” Jaehyun asks and you scoff.

“A chance for what? To hurt someone?” you reply, shaking your head. “I don’t know how to love. I never had the time to learn. I was too busy surviving. We were,” you say glancing at Winter who averts her gaze.

This suddenly felt like a conversation too grim to have in the open. To speak of how your heart has been morphed into a cowardly being, shrinking at the simple thought of being looked at. What would anyone behold anyways? If not an organ that’s too battered, too bloody, unworthy of being seen, let alone to be loved.

“Anyway,” you say, forcing your voice to steady, “Can you set me up a meeting with that employee? We need more insider evidence and he’s the only one who can help us. I’d like to talk to him alone.”

“Yeah, I’ll try to convince him,” Jaehyun reassures you. The three of you nod and dive back into the stacks of paperwork, but the words blur in front of your eyes, forming an incoherent mass.

There are things you’ve always wished to escape—dark truths you thought you'd one day outrun. You still haven’t. Perhaps, you will never.

Perhaps, had you not been shaped by the cruelty of others, had you not been born beneath a star soaked in grief. Perhaps, if you never had to carve pieces of yourself out to survive, if you had the time, the strength to sit quietly with your own heart, to listen to who it wanted you to be, then, maybe, just maybe, you would have known the warmth of another’s touch.

You would have allowed yourself to melt into the softness of their gaze, you would have let your cheeks flush freely with the sweetness of their words, with no restraints, no shame. But the world is not kind. It will not offer you such a path. And so, this is your curse: to be one of grief’s favorite beholders, for you to wear it like a second flesh. To cling to it, as it clings to you because it is all you’ve ever known.

—

Your mother’s fingers were always warm as they entwined with yours, no matter the season. You remember the feel of them particularly when you went on walks by the ocean, her hand tugging you close to her frame. She was like an angel, walking softly on earth, coaxing the waves to slow down their feverish run as she brushed against their milky foam.

You can’t see her clearly in your memories anymore. Your temples ache each time you try to picture the fine details of her features. But you remember her humming along with the waves, as if singing a song to the sea, thanking them for the salty breeze they carry within their tides and swells. You remember closing your eyes to soak it in, as if you had known, even back then, that you’d forget the map of moles drawn upon her face, and the specific hue of her hair against the sun, and yet you wouldn’t forget her voice filling up your heart to the brim.

You remember coming home and trying to replicate her humming, through broken whistles at first, then, adding words where you saw fit. You remember singing to your mother in your living room. You remember feeling as if the sea was lodged right within your heart.

You loved singing, for the three years before your parents’ deaths. You sang in chorals, you sang to the birds and to the flowers blooming in your garden. You sang to the sun and to the moon. You sang to your reflection in the mirror. You sang, because it made you feel like your mother talking to the waves. And then, your parents died, and the music within you did too. The flowers, the sun, the birds… They were all an unworthy audience all of the sudden; since they all turned blind to your voice, allowing for your entire world to be stripped away from you. Leaving you bare, rootless.

You were then forced to learn that there isn’t just one big death in a lifetime. That the heart can perish multiple times before it finally stops beating completely. It felt like a little death when you began to loathe the ocean. It felt like a little death when Seungmin told you that he wished to become a singer.

You too, had wanted to, once. Maybe. If you had been given enough time to think.

It felt like a little death when you stepped into a recording booth for the first time.

You’d told Winter you were desperate for money. She mentioned agencies looking for anonymous artists to record backing vocals for prominent groups. It paid well, she said.

Your voice was well-liked. Not overpowering, but subtle, like a floral perfume—soft, seamless, blending effortlessly with whoever you sang alongside. It paid well to sing lifeless songs, to let your name dissolve into the footnotes of prominent groups, 2PM, Twice… Even your brother’s group when he debuted.

You knew that fans liked to speculate on who you were. You knew that the songs in which you sang were popular. And yet, it did not matter.

It felt like death, to kill your voice and for the sun to keep rising regardless.

“You were brave, you still are, Cherry.” Chris had told you. You wanted to believe him so badly. You wanted for the world to split open and atone for what it did to you. You wanted for the world to mend the cracks in your soul. You wanted for the world to disappear with you in it.

Your legs are growing weary of driving for so long with no destination in mind. Your eyes burn from how long you’ve stared at the road, unblinking. Somehow, you find yourself outside of Chan’s and Jeongin’s place.

It would feel like death too for you to head back to your empty apartment.

You grab your phone, sending Chan a message before you can second-guess yourself.

Y/n: Are you home?

You wait, fingers hovering over the delete button. His reply comes three seconds later.

Chan: yeah, innie is sleeping over at seungmin’s

A heartbeat.

Chan: why? are you here? are you alright?

You sigh, resting your forehead against the steering wheel. What the fuck are you doing? But still, you unbuckle your seatbelt and walk hurriedly to his door.

You knock. He opens immediately, eyebrows furrowed.

“I’m okay,” you say quickly, expecting the deluge of questions swarming in his mind.

“It’s 1 a.m.,” he replies, concern etched into his features.

“I can read the clock,” you joke, and his pout deepens as he steps closer. He’s beautiful in a way that makes your soul wish to split open to escape it. It overwhelms you.

“I’m just anxious about the next few days,” you admit.

“What’s happening?” he asks, already taking your coat and leading you to the kitchen. He pours you a glass of cold water, just the way you like it.

“I’m meeting a junior employee at Sun Corp. He’s called San. I need to convince him to give me materials proving the corporation’s corruption for our case.”

Chan’s worried gaze meets yours, and you shake your head quickly.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you murmur. “I didn’t come here to worry you. I just… I wanted your company.”

Chan’s demeanor softens at your words, like white foam finally resting against the warm sand.

“I think I feel less anxious around you,” you add, the warmth in your cheeks suddenly betraying you. Winter’s words echo in your mind: That man likes you. What a foolish thought to engrain in your mind.

“Oh, I…” His words stumble, and his fingers flex as if they’re debating reaching for you. Instead, he lowers them and smiles softly.

“So do I, Cherry,” he admits. His voice is gentle, his ears tinting red. “And I could come with you to meet San, if you’d like.”

“Really, you’d do that for me?” his being slacks off, his shoulders sinking low. If you were in a battle, this would be him dropping his sword, kneeling.

“Of course, you don’t even need to ask.”

You see it then—visions of yourself wrapping your arms around Chan’s neck in his kitchen, holding him long enough for his warmth to seep into your soul, shielding it from the many winters to come. You imagine, for a fleeting moment, putting down your defenses and letting one human in.

Perhaps this is the most violent act of all—to have visceral fantasies of something as innocent as a hug.

“Were you working?” you ask, and Chan clears his throat, nodding. “Yeah, working on some new songs. But I’ll take a break now.”

“The mighty producer CB97, taking a break for little old me. How wonderful,” you tease, a giggle escaping your lips. He rolls his eyes, his tongue pressing against his cheek in mock exasperation.

“Should we have a drink?” he offers, and you clap your hands excitedly. “Yes, I’d like that.”

It’s easy to recall with Chan—to relive the memories alive in your shared history. The summer vacation in Jeju, grilling meat for the boys, playing video games till dawn. Chan face-planting into the snow, the times you hid backstage to surprise them. You remember him accidentally body-slamming you onto the floor, the way you nearly drowned in the pool from laughing too hard.

The clock creeps toward four a.m., but you don’t feel tired. You’re tipsy, the wine warming your stomach—a bright, crisp taste, like biting into a ripe apricot. And you are happy. Your soul feels satiated, as though this laughter could sustain you for a lifetime.

Your giggles fade, leaving a comforting silence between you. You’re close to all the boys—you care for them deeply. But Chan is different. Because he dropped by only because he was worried. Because he calls you Cherry. So he remembers, and not alot of people remember you.

“I was thinking on my drive home of this… melody my mom used to sing,” you whisper, staring ahead. Your shoulder brushes against Chan’s. You rarely speak about your parents. Never this openly. Chan knows this well.

“She used to hum it to the ocean, to me when I’m about to sleep, when I was sick, when she was cooking,” you smile softly, bringing the drink to your lips. “I’ve been trying to replicate it on the piano but I’ve never managed to.”

You turn to look at him, only to find his gaze already fixed on you. His eyes are wide, vulnerable, twinkling like stars witnessing the birth of a galaxy. He licks his lips, hesitant, and your eyes linger on them. They are glossy, red, and impossibly inviting.

“Can I hear it?”

You start humming, singing what you remember off of your fragmented memory. Chan listens intently, his eyebrows tightly knit in concentration. You hear the waves, you taste the salt in the breeze. You miss the sea.

You finish, resting your cheek against his shoulder. “Thank you for sharing,” he says.

“Thank you for listening,” you whisper, and your eyes are closed, but you feel it, his lips pressing to your temple, soft as a petal. It quakes through you, unmaking you, as though your soul has been cleaved wide open. You are a supernova, unraveling, scattering light in a beautiful, dying burst.

You wake up to a note on the bedside, and a pink plaid blanket draped over you. It hits you then: you’re in Chan’s room. A blush spreads across your cheeks, igniting your skin. When did you fall asleep? Did he carry you here? Of course he did. Did he press another kiss to your temple? Why would you think of that? Still, you can’t help but wonder if he too felt it— the way your soul trembled under the weight of his touch.

You imagine him writing the note, his figure hunched near you, glancing at your peaceful form, his eyes fleeting to yours as if making sure you were still there.

‘I’ve made you breakfast, it’s in the kitchen. I have an early morning schedule, but I’ll see you tomorrow, Cherry. Thank you for coming to see me :)’

You close your eyes, burying your head deeper into the pillows surrounding you. You can’t help but inhale their scent—traces of Chan lingering in the fabric, pinewood and cinnamon, intoxicating, as though they were made for you alone to breathe in. Your skin tingles with the thought, as you imagine him beside you, what it would be like to press your face into the soft curve of his neck, to take in that scent and to fill all the hollow spaces inside you with it.

You are ashamed, even in the privacy of your thoughts, of this longing, of this sharp ache. For even thinking, daring to dream of a world where you could behold his warm hands into your butchered ones. Where he’d let you. Where you’d let yourself.

It feels like death to think of Chan, it feels like living too.

—

You find Chan leaning casually against his car, arms crossed over his chest. With his Chrome Hearts beanie nearly swallowing his eyes and a mask covering the rest of his face, he looks almost intimidating. Almost—because you can’t help but giggle at his over-the-top efforts to stay incognito.

“I think we’ll scare the poor boy away,” you tease in greeting, and he huffs, reaching out to lightly punch your arm.

“Do you want me gone? It’s fine, I can leave,” he mumbles, his pout clear even behind the mask. “It’s not like I made all this effort to come here—”

“Oh my god, you’re still a whiny baby at your big age,” you cut him off, laughing as you both step into the café.

You choose a table by the large windows, the sunlight streaming in and bathing the space in golden light. As Chan sits across from you, his grin spreads wide, making his eyes crinkle and nearly disappear. You miss the sight of his dimples, all of the sudden.

San arrives ten minutes later, sliding into the seat across from you. His eyes dart to the door every few seconds, as though someone might burst through at any moment. He fidgets in his chair, tugging at his slightly askew tie, beads of sweat gathering on his brow despite the cool air conditioning.

Your fingers curl loosely around a lukewarm cup of coffee you’ve yet to sip. “Thank you for meeting me, San. I really appreciate it,” you begin softly, and he barely nods. He reaches for his iced Americano but pulls his hand back.

“Look, Miss Kim,” he stammers, voice barely above a whisper. “I gave Jaehyun the names of the apartment holders, but what you’re asking of me now... it’s dangerous.” He avoids your gaze, eyes fixed on the floor, as if it might open up and swallow him whole. “They’re not the kind of people you cross. You have no idea how high this goes.”

“I do,” you say firmly, leaning forward. “I know exactly how high it goes. That’s why I’m here. And that’s why I need your help.”

San hesitates, his lips pressing into a thin line. His gaze flickers to Chan before meeting yours again.

You take a deep breath, knowing how delicate this conversation is, how crucial it is too. “Look, I’m not asking you to go public,” you murmur, lowering your voice. “I just need the truth. Documents, emails… anything that proves there’s a corrupt force behind this decision. I’ll keep your name out of it. I promise. Whistleblowers are common in our lines of work. No one has to know where it came from.”

“I want to help you, I do,” he says, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously. “But they will find out, and I’ll lose everything,” he pauses, shoulders slumping, “I’m the sole caregiver for my mom… She’s in the hospital, and I still have bills to pay. You understand, right?”

Your eyes soften as you watch his anxious form. He’s still young, shouldering a burden you know all too well. You think he will understand, only if you bare a part of your heart to him.

“San,” you start gently, “I once lived in Promise Orphanage too.” you admit and his eyes slightly widen. “Before that, I was in two other orphanages in the city…” You pause, looking for the right words. “I still have nightmares about those places. About how cruel some of the people there were.” Your voice cracks, and Chan’s warm hand finds your knee.

“It’s hard to be happy in a place like that, but Promise Orphanage was the only place I ever thought of as home. It felt like family. I still visit to play with the kids. They’re happy, I see it, as best as they can, anyways. But they’re well taken care of. I know Miss Jeeho, I know Winter. They love those children. They allow them to dream. They don’t deserve to have their only familiarity stripped away from them.”

San swallows hard. "And what happens when Sun Corp. finds out anyway?”

“You’re here,” you reply, “you’re afraid, but you also believe in what we’re fighting for. Otherwise, you would’ve rejected this meeting.” You sigh, your voice softening. “You’re a good person, San. Don’t let them corrupt you too. You know this is wrong.”

“I do,” he admits, voice shaky. His resolve is unraveling.

“Look, I know they gifted the city council members penthouses to sway them in their favor. But no judge would consider this hard evidence since I can’t prove intent. What we need is what’s inside your office. You know, emails, memos, contracts, whatever. I can’t do this without you, San. I mean it.”

San stares at you for a long moment. Finally, he sighs, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “There are emails,” he admits quietly. “Some from the CEO, discussing how to ‘incentivize’ council members. And I’ve seen the transaction logs... Large deposits to personal accounts, listed as ‘consulting fees.’ It’s not hard to connect the dots.”

Your heart leaps in your throat. “That’s exactly what we need. Can you get copies?”

“I think so,” he says reluctantly. Then, in a quieter tone he adds, “I lost my father too, you know.” There’s a rawness in his voice that only those who’ve been burdened by grief can understand. “I’ll find a way. For those kids.”

You reach out, briefly covering his hand with yours. “Thank you,” you whisper, and he nods, a miniscule smile finally stretching across his lips.

-

“Should we celebrate?” Chan asks, his voice light, once you’re settled in his car. For a moment, you hesitate. Celebration feels foreign to you. You’ve been the prosecutor and the wrongfully accused, you tie the noose and gasp when it tightens. But now, it seems like you’ve closed this case without needing a trial. That’s something worth celebrating.

“You know what? Hell yeah,” you giggle, and Chan’s face lights up like the sun cresting the horizon. “Great! Because I already planned for us to!” His laughter bubbles over, and you yelp as the car suddenly accelerates.

“Cherry! you’re free tomorrow, right?” he shouts over the music, and you recognize the song—No. 1 Party Anthem.

So you’re on the prowl, wondering whether she left already or not…

“Hmmm, let me check if my schedule is clear for being kidnapped…” you tease, pretending to swipe through an imaginary calendar. He chuckles, his dimple deepening, and the sound makes you feel giddy, like champagne fizzing in your veins. “Looks like I am!”

“Perfect! Let’s go on a trip, then!”

Sunglasses in doors are par for the course…

“Where to?” you laugh, and he simply winks in response, “You’ll see.”

“Fine, you be mysterious, and I’ll…” You grab his Fendi sunglasses from the console, perching them on your head, “I’ll be your passenger princess.”

It doesn’t escape him— how readily you’ve let go, how much you’ve placed in his hands without hesitation. It makes him want to drive further, faster, to a place where your bruised hearts won’t catch up with the two of you.

Her eyes invite you to approach…

You stop along the way at a small, unassuming seafood stand nestled along the coast—one Chan seems to know well. The air is alive with the sizzle of grills and the briny scent of the ocean. The ahjumma behind the counter greets Chan warmly, her hands deftly working as she prepares your meal.

You’re served grilled crab, its shell glistening in a marinade of soy sauce, chili, and honey. The flavors burst on your tongue—savory and spicy with a delicate sweetness that reminds you of the sea itself. Chan insists on feeding you the oysters, gently placing each one on your plate. They’re buttery and tangy, kissed with lemon and sea salt and the warmth of Chan’s gaze.

Your heart softens as you watch Chan chatting easily with the older woman, a laugh bubbling out of him as she teases him for eating too fast, as he fist-bumps her grandson as he clears the plates. How tragic it would have been for him to remain closed off, a flower enclosed in itself, never sharing the vibrant beauty of his petals with the world.

And it seems as though those lumps in your throat that you’ve just swallowed have got you going…

You pause again at a roadside shop, picking out heart-shaped sunglasses and trading the ugliest souvenir T-shirts you can find, laughing until your sides ache. Chan drapes an obnoxious orange scarf over his shoulder, striking a runway pose that makes you topple over from how hard you’re laughing. But then, in the mirror’s reflection, you catch his gaze—soft, unguarded, and filled with something you don’t dare name. Your breath falters. You’ve never been looked at like this before, as if someone could unravel you completely and still leave you whole.

Come on, come on, come on…

The road stretches endlessly ahead, the horizon blurring as you feed Chan fresh strawberries from a farmer’s market along the road. You don’t question why your pulse skips each time his lips brush your thumb. You don’t question why you’re suddenly sure the fruit would taste sweeter off of his mouth. You simply let the wind whip past, wondering if his cheeks are flushed from the cold or from you. You pray it’s the latter.

Number one party anthem…

“Welcome to Gangneung,” he announces as the car rolls into the small coastal town. The sea glimmers outside your window, and the houses—painted in pastel blues and greens—climb the hills like a living postcard. A group of high schoolers are biking down a narrow street, their laughter reaching you even as you drive away. While three women walk uphill, groceries in hand, their wide-brimmed hats bobbing as they chatter energetically. They seem to be gossiping. They seem happy.

“You remembered,” you say softly, your gaze flickering to him.

“I’d like to go to Gangneung one day,” you had once told him during a late-night walk. “I heard it’s a small town, and the locals agreed to all paint their houses blue. Isn’t that sweet? I’d love to escape there one day, without telling anyone.”

“I didn’t tell anyone,” he says, giggling. “Well, except Winter—so she could pack a bag for you. And Jisung, so the kids wouldn’t worry. But I didn’t tell them where we’re—”

You don���t let him finish. Stopping yourself would feel unnatural, like damming a river mid-flow. You lean over and press a kiss to his cheek, right where his dimple is hidden.

The look of love, the rush of blood…

“Thank you, Channie,” you whisper. He simply nods, a bit dazed, so are you.

Come on, come on, come on…

Both your cheeks are still burning as you pull up by the sea. You’re the first to step out, stretching your arms to shake off the nerves while Chan rummages through the car. A sudden chill creeps over you, and you instinctively wrap your arms around yourself.

Number one party anthem…

“Here,” he says, draping a hoodie over your shoulders. He’s got a towel slung casually over one shoulder, and a basket balanced in his hands. “Come on,” he beckons softly, leading you to the shoreline.

He spreads the blanket atop the golden sand and you both lay on it, admiring the sea. You’re lost in your thoughts as you silently nibble at the cheese and crackers Chan brought with him. You haven’t sat before the waves in so long. For all your bravery in courtrooms, you were a coward in real life, scared that the mere sight of the overlapping water would make your buried wish resurface— to be adrift amidst waves, to sink with the peaceful certainty that you won’t resurface again.

But you haven’t felt this serene in a long time. Like you could draw in a deep breath and not dread the one that will follow it.

“I made you something.” Chan blurts suddenly, and you twist your neck to look at him. You’ve seen Chan in many states— happy, angry, weeping. But you haven’t seen him this nervous before.

“What is it?” you ask, your curiosity tinged with caution as you sit up.

He hesitates, his words tumbling over one another. “I’m sorry if this is too much, but I couldn’t stop thinking about the melody you hummed. I... I turned it into a piano piece. I recorded it. Do you want to hear it?”

He offers an earphone with trembling hands. Your own shake as you tuck it in, and then—oh god.

“Chan, I—” you choke, clutching his arm as the music flows into you. It’s her. It’s your mother, her voice resurrected in the notes. It’s as though he’s handed you a forgotten fragment of time, lighting it up, brushing away the dust of years. The memories flood back—her hand in yours, the melody she sang to you like a lullaby for your soul. Because she loved you, so much. You were once very loved.

You close your eyes as silent tears slip down your face. It’s a short recording, just fifty-five seconds, so you replay it, again and again, until the night falls gently around you. You want to live, you want to live if only to keep her voice alive.

“Should we go swim, Chan? I feel like swimming.” You suddenly say, a smile breaking through your face. This is the easiest it has been for you to grin in a long time.

“We’ll get sick,” he says, though a grin tugs at his lips.

“We haven’t been kids in so long”, you say and something shifts in his gaze. He understands, so he nods, suddenly picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder.

“Wait, not like this!” you shout, flailing as Chan hoists you up with ease. But it’s no use—he’s already running and the next thing you know, you’re plunging into the cold water.

He dives in after you, surfacing with a loud laugh that echoes across the shoreline. The water is freezing, but it doesn’t matter. He feels weightless, unburdened, like a child again, like he could do anything he wishes for in this world, like he could get on his knees and confess to you right there and then.

You’re both trembling still by the time you reach the hotel. You linger by the entrance, your gaze tracing the cracked wallpaper and worn-out carpets. Chan is at the desk, talking to the receptionist. Snippets of their conversation float your way—“only one room... unfortunately a pipe broke... an old hotel.”

Oh.

When he returns, his ears are tinged with pink. “There’s only one room left,” he stammers. “The other one has a water leak. But it’s okay! We can find another hotel. I understand you might be—”

“Christopher, I’m fucking freezing,” you interrupt, teeth chattering. He giggles softly, boyish. “I’ll let you shower first, then.”

The room is sparse, reminiscent of a hanok. There are no beds, only two padded mats that side by side on the heated floor, and a small desk in one corner. It feels intimate, ten times smaller as Chan stands behind you.

“Go ahead,” he says, “I’ll wait.”

You quickly grab your bag and retreat to the bathroom. With trembling hands, you unlock your phone.

Y/n: Winter!!!!!!!!!! Are you here?

Winter: OMG are you still with cherry man?

Y/n: Yes, and we’re sharing one room 🫣

Winter: Wooooooo my ship is sailing

Y/n: I hate you. Did you pack me cute pajamas at least?

Winter: Of course i foresaw this

You giggle slightly, gusts of powdery air materializing before you.

Y/n: I’ll kill you once I’m back!!!

Winter: you love me 😘 you’ll have to tell me everything when you come back

Y/n: I will ❤️ He’s very sweet… and confusing

Winter: Just trust your gut

Trust your gut? You’re quite unsure what your gut is trying to spell out for you. You sigh, before quickly heading into the shower. You know Chan must be freezing too even if he tries not to show it.

You hear the water cascade down when he goes in after you, still avoiding your gaze. It feels almost forbidden to imagine him standing there, steam curling in clouds scented with your cherry shower gel. He’ll carry it with him, you think—a faint trace of you on his skin. That thought seems to send goosebumps rippling down your spine.

Later, the two of you lay atop your mats in a quiet darkness. You can hear the hum of the heater, and the splashing of the waves far away. You don’t remember falling asleep, but the cold wakes you, sharp and biting.

“Chan?” you whisper into the quiet.

He hums instantly. He hasn’t slept.

“Aren’t you cold?”

“I am.”

“Should we move closer? Body heat and all,” you suggest, your voice barely audible. You hear him swallow in the dark.

Slowly, cautiously, he inches closer until your shoulders brush. You wrap a tentative arm around his waist, and he draws you in, his palm resting on your back. The embrace feels intimate, terrifyingly so, but you stay. He is warm. He smells like pinewood and cherry. He smells like you and him.

“Good?” he asks, voice rough, and you nod. “Yeah, good.”

You hear his heartbeat, frantic at first, mirroring yours, then slowing down as the minutes pass by. It feels familiar to lay so close to him, it feels natural, ordinary.

“Channie?” you whisper.

“Yes, Cherry?”

“How different do you think we’d be, if we hadn’t gone through the things we did?”

You don’t know why you ask, except that today, for the first time in forever, you feel like blank paper—uncrumpled, untainted, left to be.

He thinks for a while, his hand threading gently through your hair, lulling you back toward sleep.

“I think I would open my heart more,” he finally says, voice soft. “I’d be myself without fearing judgment or abandonment. I’d stop chasing perfection. I’d just... exist.”

You nod against him. “You should stop apologizing for wanting the things you do.”

It feels hypocritical coming from you, but you mean it.

“Yeah, Cherry,” he murmurs, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. “And you?”

“I’d allow myself to love. Without fear. I’d be someone worthy of being loved.”

A pause stretches between you, heavy and sharp. You inhale deeply.

“I’ve dated people,” you say quietly, “it drives Seungmin’s crazy because I know he wants to protect me from heartbreak,” you giggle softly, memories of the long talks Seungmin had dealt you flooding your mind.

“He’s a good brother.”

“He is,” you smile, before sighing. “But I don’t know how to tell him that it has always been for fun. They know what they’re getting into, which is, nothing beyond a few dates because... that’s all I have to give. I’m afraid someone might waste their time peeling away my layers, only to find nothing worthwhile. I’m hollow inside, Chan. A hollow chest can’t beat for another. Not in the way they deserve.”

His hand stills, his grip falters on your back. You hope he has heard your plea, unspoken, that he can read between the lines of your words. Please, you beg. Don’t love me. Don’t hurt yourself.

—

Chan sees it then, as evident as the rising of the sun. The truth of you, the truth of himself. Chan is loved by many, yet he doesn’t feel loved. You do not love Chan, perhaps you will never allow yourself to love another, and yet—he still loves you. Despite your warnings, he does. Even if you paint the image of the most violent of heartbreaks, he still will.

—

You judge heels by two criterias: one, how easy they are to stand long hours in, and two, how satisfying they sound when you walk. The powdery pink Jimmy Choos Seungmin gifted you hit both marks perfectly, sounding particularly delicious as you stride through the halls of Sun Corporation’s headquarters.

From the corner of your eye, you catch employees glancing up from their desks, whispers rising as you breeze past the secretary’s protests, her voice growing increasingly frantic. But you already know where you are headed: straight for the conference room, where you know an important meeting is currently unfolding.

Fun!

The secretary, a petite brunette, jogs after you, her heels barely keeping up with her urgency. She plants herself in front of the double doors, blocking your path, literally, with her arms outstretched.

“Miss, you can’t go in there,” she says, chest slightly heaving. “This is a private meeting.”

You flash her a thin smile, the kind that looks anything but kind. “Private? How convenient! It seems like they’ve kept their corruption private too!”

Her face pales, and she stammers. “I… I’m sorry, but I’ll need you to wait. Mr. Choi is—”

“Expecting me,” you cut her off, brushing past her without a second glance.

With a forceful push, you throw open the conference room doors. The chatter inside ceases instantly, replaced by stunned silence as ten executives turn to face you. At the head of the table sits Choi Min-soo, the CEO. His expression remains calm as his gaze locks with yours. He’s young, roughly in his thirties, surrounded only by men, of course. Perhaps that's why he keeps accumulating one bad decision after the other.

Choi leans back in his chair, his eyes narrowing in irritation. “Who let you in here?”

“Apologies for the interruption,” you say, though there’s not a shred of remorse in your voice. “I’m here about the demolition permit for Promise Orphanage.”

Choi leans back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. “I don’t recall scheduling a meeting with you.”

“No, you didn’t,” you reply coolly. “But I thought I’d save your secretary the trouble. Some things simply can’t wait. Surely you understand.”

An executive to Choi’s right clears his throat, tapping his fingers against the table in a measured rhythm. “This is a private meeting. You can’t just barge in—”

“Oh, but I can,” you curtly cut him off, “And I have. Now, if you’d prefer, we can do this in front of the press, but I thought you’d appreciate the courtesy of keeping this internal.”

Choi’s mask of indifference falters ever so slightly, his lips pressing into a thin line.

“Sit,” he says curtly.

You ignore him, instead leaning forward, your palms pressing into the polished surface of the table. “No need for pleasantries. Let’s cut to the chase. I have evidence that the city’s approval for your demolition project didn’t come through lawful means. Bribery, to be precise.”

A heavy silence blankets the room. The executives exchange uneasy glances, but Choi’s smirk betrays no concern. Though you know it is all rehearsed. Every expression is part of the masquerade that is their lives.

“I could sue you for defamation, you know,” he says, leaning forward. He’s beautiful, but in a sinister way. Like staring into the core of a bubbling volcano knowing it could swallow you whole.

“Is it defamation if it’s supported by your own emails?”

From your bag, you retrieve a thick stack of documents and toss them onto the table. One of the younger executives fumbles to pick them up, his face paling as he scans the contents.

“These emails detail discussions between your company and key city council members about how to tip their votes in your favor. Then there are the transaction logs. Substantial sums of money deposited into personal accounts, labeled as ‘consulting fees.’ Oddly enough, these transactions occurred right after a cozy dinner at that hotpot spot downtown. Convenient timing, wouldn’t you agree?”

Your grin widens as you add, “All of it obtained lawfully, of course.” You know they’re infuriated by you. You’ve learned over the years that men like these don’t fear consequences as much as they despise being brought down by a woman.

“There is nothing illegal about consulting fees,”a voice quips from your right, “it’s standard practice.”

“Standard practice,” you repeat, tilting your head. “How fascinating that these fees always seem to align perfectly with approvals for morally bankrupt projects. This isn’t your first rodeo, Choi, is it? Remember the nursing home? Your big debut? The one that earned you Daddy’s approval?”

Choi’s fist slams onto the table. The sound echoes sharply through the room. You don’t flinch.

“How dare you speak to me like this?”

“And how dare YOU prioritize greed over the lives of children?!” you fire back, your voice rising. “YOU are the one bulldozing an orphanage to fatten your pockets. Not me.”

The room shifts uneasily. The executives glancing at one another, avoiding your gaze.

“You have two choices,” you say, straightening. “Withdraw the permit and take responsibility for the lives you’re willing to destroy, or I’ll take this to the media. Every email, every transaction log, it’ll all be public knowledge. Let’s see how long you keep your title when the truth comes out.”

Choi chuckles, a sinister sound that sends shivers down your spine. Spoiled assholes are always somewhat deranged. “So let me get this straight. You barge in here, threatening ME in my OWN office? Do you have any idea what this project is worth? FUCKING BILLIONS! And powerful people back it, people who won’t tolerate interference.”

You pick up your bag, winking. “Then I suggest you start figuring out how to explain this mess to them. You have five days to withdraw the permit. Good luck!”

Without waiting for a response, you turn and stride out, the sharp clicks of your heels like music to your ears. You wave at the secretary who looks at you as if she’s just seen a ghost. And so do the rest of the employees. Your voice must have been loud enough then.

Now that was fun.

Winter launches herself at you as soon as you open the door to her car. “Fuck you were so badass!” she laughs, hugging you tightly and you giggle, the sound light and airy, as you take out your phone from your back pocket, silencing the call with her.

“I can and I have,” she repeats your words, voice dipping lower as you high-five excitedly, your palms almost ricocheting off one another.

“God winter you should’ve seen his face,” you laugh, cheeks almost splitting open, “he looked like a big baby throwing a tantrum!”

“Ah I think this is over, right?” she asks excitedly, as she gets out of the parking lot, “they’ll yield or else you’ll drag their reputation through the mud.”

“I think so,” you sigh, resting your head against the seat cushion. “If they’re any smart they’ll know that the general public will always empathize with children. We’ll wait and see,” you grin, pinching her cheeks. “Either way, I’m not letting them take away the orphanage from us.”

“Never doubted you will,” she smiles widely, before elbowing your side, “girls night then? It’s been so long.”

“Yeah, let’s do it!”

You glance at her as she drives, the sun threading between her blonde strands like molten gold. You’ve always found it ironic that she chose the name Winter for herself when she’s the warmest person you know— she’s the saccharine taste of honey, she’s the colors of the sun and the sounds of a joyous summer. She cannot possibly be a mere human. She’s too kind, too patient for the confines of such a flawed label. You suddenly remember her supporting you as you undertake your law classes, working long hours at the bakery near your home to pay for Seungmin’s lessons. You feel her move for you when your body was too weary to even stir.

“I love you,” you suddenly say, your voice a raspy whisper, and she turns to look at you, her eyes softening. “Yah save this for the sleepover.”

The sun has long slipped beneath the horizon, as you talked the night away with Winter, stomachs full of sweetened Soju and laughter on the living room floor. You rest your head on her stomach as she idly runs her fingers through your hair, reminiscing. It doesn’t hurt as much to remember these days.

“So, will you tell me about Chan?” she whispers, and you groan, hiding your face in your hands.

She giggles at your reaction, gently scratching your scalp. “Come on. How was your getaway?”

It takes you a few moments to admit it. Out of joy. Out of fear. “It was the happiest I’ve been in a long while, Winter.”

“You don’t sound happy about it,” she observes, and you nod.

“I’m terrified, because he’s confusing me.”

She’s silent, and you gather your memories—the ones that have kept you afloat for the past week, the ones that have mended some hidden part of your heart, though you can’t say which one. It is too scarred to keep count, but you can feel it, something inside you has healed, something caged within you can breathe again.

“He remembered which coastal city I wanted to visit, something I said on a whim during one of our walks, years ago, Winter” you say softly, as though speaking of his memory would make the universe take him away from you.

“He took me to eat oysters; You know how much I love oysters. He wore every ugly souvenir I gave him,” you giggle faintly before quieting down. You choose to skip over your mother’s piano piece secret. You feel as if you’d desecrate it by speaking of it, like it’s a memory that belongs only to Chan, you, and the sea. “And then… since we had to share a room, we cuddled because it was cold.”

You expect her to tease you, but her voice is gentle as she asks.

“How did you feel?”

You think hard of how you felt. How easy it was to fall asleep near him. How beautiful he looked as dreams wrote themselves behind his eyelids.

“I felt safe. Like I could let go, and he’d be there to catch me.”

“I don’t think he would hurt you. I don’t think he could, even if you hurt him.”

You sigh, straightening up to meet her gaze.

“I don’t want to hurt him, Winter. That’s my issue. And I know I will.”

“Why would you—”

“I’m a bundle of issues, grief, and sorrow,” you cut her off, resigned. “You know that. I didn’t choose to be this way, but I am. I will taint him.”

“What I know,” she says, taking your hands in her own, “is that you are a good person. Your heart is warm and full of goodness, despite everything that happened to you. Grief changes a person, injustice changes them even more. But your heart still overflows with love. That’s something not everyone can say.”

You shake your head, tears welling in your eyes.

“Winter, have you ever found a flower so beautiful? You see it, and its petals are the brightest colors, almost calling to your soul. Would it be right to cut it and take it home? Yes, it might bring you joy for a while. You’d change its water, add vinegar and sugar cubes. But then what? It’ll falter and die early. Because I was selfish. Because I hurt the flower, even though I loved it so much.”

Your voice cracks, and the tears you’ve been holding back are now dangerously close to spilling. She’s quiet for a long moment, and you begin to believe you’ve imagined this whole conversation. But then—

“What if that flower’s only wish is to be loved?”

Sometimes, words feel like a soothing balm coating your wounds. Sometimes, they feel like a dagger suddenly protruding what’s left of your heart. Sometimes they feel like both.

Your phone pings, and you reach for it through a hazy view, grateful for the small distraction.

Except it isn’t.

Jaehyun: Your cherry man just paid for San’s hospital bills.

You frown, and Winter leans over to peek at your screen.

Y/n: What???

Jaehyun: Yeah, he just called me. An anonymous (beautiful) man (with dimples ;) per the nurse’s description) paid for all his mother’s expenses.

Winter stares at you knowingly as your heart does somersaults—throbbing in your chest, in your throat, in your stomach. You feel him everywhere, Chan, like he’s made a home inside you and is now setting you ablaze.

Does he have to be so kind? Does he have to make it so hard for you not to love him?

Somehow, it’s 4 a.m. before you notice, Winter sleeps soundly beside you while you lie wide awake. You can’t stop thinking about Chan. His desire to be seen, his fear of it too. His voice. His warm hands. His soft lips. His heart. His soul.

You slip away from Winter and head to the balcony, a shawl wrapped around your arms. You hesitate for a moment, then press ‘Call’.

“Cherry?” Chan answers instantly, and your shoulders relax despite yourself. Is this what it feels like to be a flower plucked from millions? Cherished. Loved.

“Hi, Channie,” you whisper, and you hear him rustling in bed.

“Are you okay? Where are you? Do you need me to pick you up?” His questions come fast, and you stop him before he can leap out of bed.

“No, no. I just… I wanted to thank you. For what you did for San.”

“Oh, who told you?” he sounds sheepish, timid. “I thought I told the nurse to keep it anonymous.”

“Well, not many men have dimples as pretty as yours.” The words slip out before you can stop them. You don’t hate yourself when you hear Chan chuckling softly, the bed covers rustling with his movements. Does he too chase remnants of your perfume on his pillows? Does he too imagine you laying on his bed once more?

“Well, it’s the least I could do.”

“No, you didn’t have to do that. You didn’t have to take me on that trip, or rearrange your whole schedule to spend a night watching shitty dramas with me. You didn’t have to do any of it. So why? Why do you do these things, Chan?” you ask, breathless.

He sighs softly. “Does it make you happy, Cherry? When I do these things?”

“Yes.”

“Then you have your answer.”

Oh.

The silence stretches, long and endless. Your shoulders hurt from always being cowered, tense. You wish you could ease them down.

“Thank you for making me happy. Sleep well, Channie.” You hang up before he can reply, before he can call you Cherry again. Because it makes you feel like dying. To love Chan in a world where you won’t let him love you feels like the biggest of deaths.

—

Seungmin’s earliest memories have always been of you.

There was a hollow space in his small heart, carved with the dullest of knives, something that pulsed even though he didn’t know who was it far. He knew his parents existed, he remembers his old home, but only faintly. They’d been taken too soon, he didn’t have much to hold on to.

So it was always you and him.

He remembers being a whiny child, crying endlessly because he didn’t understand why the world was so cruel—to him, but mostly to you. It confused him deeply, the way people overlooked your kindness. You were his older sister, his light. Why, then, couldn’t everyone else see you the way he did?

By the time he grew more into his body, into his heart, the tears stopped coming as often. He noticed the way a light dimmed in your eyes every time you tried to console him, and it frightened him. He didn’t know how many lights you had to give, or how many were left. So, he stopped crying.

Seungmin started piecing together truths he didn’t yet know how to speak. He began to understand the sharpness in your voice when prospective parents visited the orphanage, the urgency in your words when you told him to hide in the bathroom. You were protecting him. You didn’t want to be separated from him. It was almost impossible for two children to be adopted at once.

He began to understand why you always came back a bit breathless from talking to the older kids, the ones you strictly forbade him from playing with. Why would blue marks always appear on your arms after those conversations. Why he often heard you crying at night when you believed him long asleep.

And it killed him. There was no other way to describe it, because Seungmin had scraped his knee and lost his parents, and yet it did not hurt as much as it did when you were hurt. So, he tried to be as small as possible, as quiet, he tried to not get sick, to get good grades, to do his bed and yours. He tried to be perfect, so you wouldn’t be burned by him. So you wouldn’t cry when looking at him asleep.

Joy was scarce in Seungmin’s life. And it was all tied back to you. He was practical, even as a child, understanding early that he’d have to work harder than most to make something of himself. But not for personal gain, it was all to repay you for everything you gave him.

Then, one day, he stumbled onto something unexpected—a gift. A cheat code. “You’ve got a beautiful singing voice,” Miss Jeeho told him on his second night at Promise Orphanage. She had caught him singing in the garden. He didn’t like singing in front of other people. He feared you’d be punished for it too. “Have you ever thought of becoming a singer?”

The idea felt like cracking open a window in a suffocating room, a breath of air sweeping through the dust and decay of a crushed life. For the first time, he saw a semblance of dream take shape. He felt hope settle below his ribs, softening the thorns in his chest.

So he researched in the library of his school obsessively on this topic. How to be a singer, how to audition, how to win. He kept it hidden from you in all the years you spent in Promise Orphanage. Only Miss Jeeho knew, and she was kind, he didn’t feel scared sharing his hope with her. He was fifteen when he told you, after a year of relentlesses fighting to gain his custody. “I want to be a singer.”

You froze for a second, and Seungmin hasn’t stopped wondering where your mind went in that moment.

“Will you help me?” he asked, voice burning with resolve. ���It pays well. I promise I’ll debut, and I’ll make you proud. And I’ll repay you, for all of it, I swear.”

“What’s this talk of you repaying me?” you said softly, your eyes so kind it made him want to weep. “All of me is for you, Seungminnie.”

Seungmin felt a sharp, throbbing ache in his chest at that moment. There she was, his greatest supporter, promising to back his dream. And yet, he felt hideously worthless, as though merely looking at the mirror would make it shatter.

It was then he named it—the poison coursing through his veins, the thorn lodged deep in his throat—the guilt. He wore that guilt like a second skin, its barbed wires sinking deeper into his soul with each passing year. Did you have a dream, too? Did you abandon your own to make room for him? He should’ve asked what your dream was. He should’ve begged you to keep your heart for yourself.

Seungmin could not rewrite the past, could not save his parents, could not undo his own birth so that you would not carry the weight of him. So, he sought to make up for it. He never spoke of his weariness during practice, nor of the pain, the fear, or the anger that gnawed at him. He only shared the triumphs—him ranking second on the entry competition, his voice praised by the vocal coaches at the company, finding friends that turned into family who genuinely cared for him, and you with time, that he would debut soon, that he has made it.

He spent his first paycheck on you, buying you the heels you’ve been eyeing for a long time, the ones you wore to your first courtroom. He spent the next on you too, and the one after it. He overcompensated for the guilt– gifts, flowers, a luxurious coffee machine, a two weeks retreat fully paid. He grew overbearing too, when it came to your heart, when it came to protecting it, disapproving of every person you chose to date.

He understood after a while that you weren’t looking for anything serious, at least not for now. Your dates seemed to understand this too. But he was afraid that one day you’d fall for someone who’s still looking for fun, who wouldn’t care for your heart like it was your own.

His hyungs would always poke fun at him for his protective nature, but he couldn’t help it. He was terrified for you, terrified that a heartbreak would be the thing to take you away from him.

He still remembers the look on your face when you caught him sitting in the same restaurant as your date. You’d laughed, and he’d felt sheepish under your gaze. “I told him it was a bad idea,” Jeongin giggled, throwing his hands up.

“I don’t like him,” he grumbled and you had chuckled, ruffling his hair, “when do you ever?”

You had then spent the night with him at the dorms watching movies with all his members. It was a normal occurrence for you to hang out with them, his found family, because they too had been touched with your kindness, back when they were all still trainees and you insisted on making them homemade food.

Seungmin knew it was your way of clinging to a normal home, that too killed him a little.

He knew that the members loved you, that they too cared for you deeply. Though they liked to annoy Seungmin by flirting with you. Which made you giggle, so, although he despises it, he still lets it slide.

Which brings him to today.

Seungmin hasn’t seen you since the concert at Kyocera Dome. So, he spammed you long enough for you to finally agree to have dinner in his dorm. Except 3RACHA was there too since they were all working on a song. It wasn’t their presence that weirded out Seungmin. Nor the fact that Han and Changbin took turns flirting with you, turning more obnoxious and loud and making Seungmin wish he could hit them with the plates on the table. Not that.

It was Chan. Who looked tense, jaw tight, his fingers flexing each time they sent a flirty remark your way.

Was he… Jealous?

“Thank you honey,” Han says, blowing you a kiss when you hand him his chopsticks. You giggle and Seungmin buries his face in his hands when Changbin grabs your plate, declaring that he will cut the steak for you.

“She doesn’t like meat cut that way,” Chan suddenly says, taking away the knife and plate from Changbin. Your cheeks blush as if a dahlia blossomed there. Han and Changbin exchange knowing looks.

Okay. What?

“Is there something—” he asks when your phone suddenly rings and he quiets down, swallowing the question with the rest of his beer. That would have been a stupid question, anyways.

“Winter!” you pick up, tone cheerful. Though all the color drains from your face as she speaks, the flower withering and turning into ash.

“W-what…?” you ask, slightly dazed, your hand gripping the table.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. “Cherry, what’s wrong?” so does Chan.

Cherry?

“The orphanage…” you say, Chan seems to understand what you’re talking about perfectly. You don’t finish, getting up and running out of his dorm. Everyone gets up on cue following you. “We’ll take my car,” Changbin says.

—

Is it possible to have sinned right before birth? To have done something so terrible you cannot atone for it no matter how much time passes. You accept it, you accept that your star is an unlucky one. You accept that even the most restless waters will always drown you, not carry you. Still, for how long do you have to pay the price, over and over again? Till how long is it no longer justice? Till how long does it become the universe toying with you? Does it think you can’t break? Does it think there is no limit to how much you can take?

Because there is.

You think you’ve reached it now.

Time seems to have slowed down, so much you’re sure five lifetimes have passed between each of your breaths. You know that there must be people screaming, a loud shatter, the sirens of ambulances and firefighters. Still, it’s quiet in your head. Save for a faint ringing, a buzzing, like a swarm of bees has lodged itself within your ear.

The earth is moving beneath your feet, it threatens to split open and swallow you. And you’d let it. You don’t have the nails to dig yourself out. You don’t have the will. You don’t have the hope.

You almost feel like laughing. You’re cursed. Every bit of happiness comes back to haunt you down the line.

It’s hot, extremely hot, and ashy. And you’re before the orphanage but you don’t smell rust. You smell smoke, pungent and bitter. You smell loss. You smell your last hope dying.

The orphanage is burning.

The kids are outside, covered in blankets and hugged turn by turn by the staff— Miss Jeeho, Mister Seonghwa, the cook, the gardener, the teachers, the psychologist, Winter.

The firefighters are trying to control the fire, but it’s spreading rapidly before your eyes, emboldened by the wooden floors and squeaky doors. You are losing your home again. The fire is eating the room you slept in, the kitchen where you learned how to cook, the garden where you caught Seungmin singing to Miss Jeeho. It’s eating the stairs where you sat with Winter laughing, the attic where you hid when existing became too rough.

It’s eating your memories, it’s eating you.

“What’s— what’s happening?” Seungmin stammers, his hand on your shoulder. You feel like kids again, back when the policeman came to your home and found only you and a toddler inside. A kid caring for a kid.

Winter sees you from afar, rushing to wrap you in her arms. You don’t feel her warmth. You don’t feel anything, now that you’re thinking of it. Has your heart bled dry? Finally?

“Cherry,” you hear but you brush the hand away, walking towards two firefighters once only smoke remains. “Who started it? The fire?” you ask breathlessly.

“Why?” they ask, cautious, “do you have reason to believe it was intentional?”

“Who started it?” you repeat.

“It’s too early to tell,” he says, eyes fixed on his coworker, sweat dripping from his brow, his forehead smeared with ash. “Preliminary findings suggest it began in the garden, which is odd, since there’s no apparent cause and no sign of a cigarette. The owner claims no one smokes. We did find what looks like traces of gasoline, but more investigation is needed. It spread quickly towards to the utility room, where there are electric wires. Something, or someone must’ve sparked it, and now it’s out of control.” He sighs, “We’ll call the police.”

You feel it then, a stone that sinks deep within your gut: they burned it. Sun Corporation burned the orphanage because if there is no orphanage then there is no case. They burned the orphanage and you with it.

—

“Would someone tell me what’s going on?” Seungmin grows more agitated the more you remain silent in your apartment. You can tell everyone is looking at you, waiting for you to snap out of your daze. But you don’t know where to begin. You don’t know how this will end.

“Miss Jeeho called,” Winter says softly, reappearing from the balcony. “There’s enough suspicion to begin an investigation. They need my testimony.” Changbin, without a word, stands and grabs his car keys. “I’ll drive you,” he says. She nods in reply.

“Do the kids have a place to go tonight?” Han asks, his voice laced with concern. Winter shakes her head. “No, Miss Jeeho is still trying to figure that out.”

“Alright,” Han says, pulling out his phone. “Let me call the others for help.”

“You have my card,” Chan says, pressing a sleek, cold card into Winter’s hand.

“Text me,” you tell Han, and he nods, following Changbin and Winter out the door.

And then there were three.

“Would you please tell me?” Seungmin asks again, kneeling before you. His voice is quieter now, laced with something you hadn’t anticipated—hurt, confusion. A part of you stirs alive and you sigh, beginning to recount everything— the apartment, the corruption, San, the meeting, the fire— but your voice feels like someone else’s, void, unfamiliar.

“And why didn’t you tell me any of this?” he asks once you finish. There’s raw pain coating his gaze, Seungmin has always been an open book to you.

“I was going to tell you,” you murmur, “once the permit was withdrawn. I didn’t want to burden you with this.”

“But I want you to burden me!” his voice rises slightly, as he stands up, pacing before you. “I could have helped you. I would have stood by you!”

“Seungmin, please,” you breathe, the weight of it all pressing against your chest.

“You don’t always have to carry everything alone. It doesn’t make you stronger, it only makes the pain ten times worse,” he presses his eyes shut, “I wouldn’t have hid something like this from you.”

“Well, you’re not me!” You snap, and he flinches, recoiling like you’ve struck him. You’ve never raised your voice at Seungmin before.

There she is, the person who pushes those who love her away, the person who deserves to be punished.

“I’ll go help the boys,” he softly says, walking out, shoulders slumped. He looks smaller now, like you’ve just hurt the child within him mourning his only home.

“Cherry…” Chan’s voice cuts through the tense silence, and you rise to your feet, instinctively covering your face. “Not you too, Chan.”

“Would you talk to me?” His voice is gentle. “You haven’t said a word in over an hour. This isn’t healthy, I know this must hurt so you shouldn’t keep it all inside.”

“I don’t have anything to say,” you reply, your voice colder than you intended. Please go, you beg. Please, before I snap at you too.

“Just talk, okay? Say whatever comes to your mind. I’ll listen to you. It’ll feel better if you let it all out.”

“Except it won’t!” The words come out harsher than you meant, and you feel yourself spiraling. You’re throwing up thorns, and you can’t stop it. “You don’t always know what’s best for people, alright? You can’t always fix people, Chan! And I can’t be fixed! Talking about it won’t help, keeping it in won’t help, because this is who I fucking am. This is all I’ve known.”

“Cherry, please. You know that’s not what I meant.” His voice is soft, still tender, still trying to reach you.

He still calls you Cherry. He’s still here. You can feel the desperation creeping inside, a bitter realization that they should all run before you curse them too.

“Oh, come on,” you laugh, the sound hollow. It feels like daggers slicing through your throat as you speak. “Don’t you see me as a project to fix? Something to make you feel in control for all the years you’ve lost it?”

“Is this how low you think of me?” he asks, taking a step back, his face a mix of hurt and disbelief. “I never thought you needed fixing.”

“Well, it’s how I felt around you,” you say, the words spilling out like venom. Liar. Liar. Liar. “Like I’m the poor orphan and you’re the knight in shining armor, coming to save me.” He looks like you’ve just slapped him in the face.

Does he hate you now? Does he hate you as much as you hate yourself?

“You know, you should stop punishing yourself, Yn.” He says your name, not Cherry, but your name, plain and flat. It feels like all your little deaths combined in one. “You only have one sin and it’s that you wish to be loved.”

He pauses. You feel as if the world was cracked wide open. You feel as if your soul just splattered before his feet, naked, trembling.

“And I love you. God, I’ve loved you for the past ten years, and I wish you could open your heart just a little bit to see it.”

“What?” you ask, breathless, the words barely leaving your mouth before he turns away, silent. He doesn’t answer. He leaves.

He left.

Your feet move before your mind can catch up, and suddenly you’re running after him. “What do you mean you love me?” you shout, the words raw, desperate. Your chest is heaving, breaths coming in ragged gasps. You’re sure your neighbors are peeking from their windows, watching, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters now except him, nothing has in a long time. “What do you mean, Chan?!”

“Forget it,” he mutters.

“You can’t say that and ask me to forget it!” you shout and he chuckles, hand tightly gripping his hair in frustration.

“Has it not been clear? That you’d ask me to get you the moon and I'd fucking die trying. Can’t you see that I’d sacrifice the sun if it means making you happy?”

You back away, tears streaming down your cheeks in an unstoppable flow. No. Yes. No. How?

“N–no, you… You shouldn’t love me.”

“Do you think I haven’t tried?” His voice rises, raw and hoarse. “I’m human too, it kills me to love someone who I know won’t ever love me. But tell me, please, teach me how to pause the throbbing of my heart. Teach me how to silence it when it calls out your name, when it aches because it misses you so much I feel like I’m dying. When there is a void in my soul shaped after your laugh, your smell, your words, how do I—“ his hands land on your shoulders, his forehead resting on the crook of your neck. You can feel the shaking of his hands, you can feel his being unraveling before you.

Your hands curl in tight fists, you are broken, shattered, there is no glue that could piece you back together. Even if gold travels between your shards, it will not make you into something beautiful. You’ll remain a disaster. You’ll ruin him too.

“Look at me.” You shake your head, unwilling, unable to face him. “Please, Cherry, look at me. Even if you’ll leave me right now, please, I— I’d rather you leave while looking at me.”

You bite your lip, choking on the sob rising in your throat.

“Tell me you don’t love me,” he pleads, taking your palm and placing it atop his chest.You can feel the erratic thrum of his pulse, alive and desperate beneath your hand. “Say it. Say you never will. Make me believe it, so this thing inside me will die. Please.”

“I can’t say that,” you whisper. The world offers itself at your feet. “I can’t say that because I won’t mean it.” Your eyes finally meet his, you wonder what he sees in yours. You wonder how someone like him could ever love you.

You lick your lips tentatively, tasting the saltiness of your tears and the cherry of your chapstick.

“Do you know what a bleeding heart dove is? It’s a small pigeon, with a plumage so white and pristine it resembles the first snow. But right in the middle of it, there is a patch of crimson, it looks like a bullet wound Chan, it looks like his little heart is always bleeding.” Your voice cracks like glass, Chan’s eyes soften more than you’ve ever thought was possible. “That’s how I feel, like I always always carry this wound that won’t ever heal. It bleeds and it bleeds and the blood oozes so much at times that I choke with it. I don’t want to taint you with it too.”

“What if I want you to taint me?” His warm palms cradle your cheeks, threads of sunlight brushing against your skin. “What if I want you to change me? What if I want everyone who has looked at me to know that I’m loved by you?”

You smile softly, shaking your head. “That would be selfish of me.”

“Then love me selfishly, love me with greed. Just love me, Cherry. Please, love me,” he begs, his eyes boring into yours. You peer into him, his soul, the sincerity in his offering to you— his heart, so fragile, yet so resolute in loving you.

“You’re so beautiful, Channie,” you gently say, as your palms tenderly cup his cheeks. His eyes flutter closed, tears staining your hands as he leans into your touch, placing his heart right in your hands. “I’d like some time to think of myself as beautiful, too. Would you wait for me? Until I figure it out.”

He softens. “I waited for you for ten years. I’d wait for you for an eternity if I have to.”

A knot forms in your throat. “You’re so sweet, God, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I know you don’t pity me, I shouldn’t have said that. I’m just so overwhelmed and everything spiraled down and I don’t know where to even begin now,” you ramble, and he cuts you off by placing a tender kiss atop your wrist.

“Would you breathe now?” he smiles and your world somehow brightens despite it all. “I'm not mad, alright? And we’ll figure it out together, Cherry. You have us. You always did.”

Your voice is small as you mumble– “Seungmin is mad at me.”

“He’s not. He always wants to protect you so he feels bad when you don’t let him in. You know that.”

You did, of course you do.

You feel a little less ashamed of plucking a beautiful flower out of its soil. You’ll insuflate your own soul in it to keep it blooming.

“Will you stay with me, Chan?”

“Always.”

—

“So, they burned down the orphanage?” Jeongin asks, disbelief thick in his voice as you finish recounting the horrors of the past month.

Your small apartment is packed the day after the fire—Winter, Jaehyun, Miss Jeeho, San, and the boys. Some sit huddled on couches, others sprawl across the floor, leaning into one another. You’ve never known that warmth could become a tangible thing, that it could weave itself around your heart like silk, drip sweetness down your ribcage like rivers of honey. You feel it, despite how harrowing the situation is, because all your friends care. They care for the orphanage like it’s their own.

“Yeah, I’m sure of it,” you reply. “We got a report of a suspicious van speeding off right after the fire started.”

“And remnants of gasoline were found at the scene,” Jaehyun adds, taking a leisurely sip out of his beer. “The police are tracing it now.”

You nod, thinking back to the police chief who happened to be one of your high school classmates. He got promoted and he promised he’d tell you first, if anything happened. “Yeah, the firefighters confirmed that it was arson. Once the police officer gets back at us I’ll file a lawsuit against them.”

“But can you believe the fucking nerve?” Felix scoffs, “I just read their statement: ‘We are extremely saddened by the news of the burning of Promise Orphanage due to faulty wiring. We promise to work side by side with the community to ensure the children are safe and living in better conditions’. Do they think we are stupid?”

“They’re lying,” Miss Jeeho says bitterly. “Trying to save face while they can.”

Hyunjin’s face pales. “This makes me sick,” he whispers. “The fact that they’d endanger those kids just for their agenda…” He trails off, shaking his head, and the room falls into a heavy silence.

“They stopped communicating through emails after you confronted Choi,” San says, his voice tight. “They must’ve realized someone was leaking information. Now everything’s confidential.”

He slumps, defeated, and you reach over to pat his back gently. “It’s okay. I don’t think they’d be dumb enough to discuss arson in emails anyways. We’ll find another way.”

“What about the kids? Are they okay?” Jeongin asks, his brows furrowed in concern.

“They’re doing fine, considering,” Minho answers, nodding toward Han. “Yeah,” Han adds with a soft laugh. “We visited this morning. They’re warm, well-fed, like michelin chef well-fed, we made sure of it, and maybe a little spoiled, we might’ve gone overboard with the toys.” The group chuckles briefly, Minho throwing a pillow at Han’s face before smiling fondly at him.

“But this is all just temporary,” Winter whispers, her eyes suddenly brimming with tears. “We can’t keep them in a rented house forever. They’ll need to be sent to different locations, scattered across the country.”

“Is there really no other way?” Changbin asks, as he squeezes Winter’s shoulder gently.

“Unless we can rebuild the orphanage in record time, then no. It’s all gone,” Miss Jeeho sighs, and you feel the knot in your throat tighten. You’ve avoided looking at her ever since the fire, you can’t bear the sight of raw grief in her eyes, specifically.

“What if we rebuild the orphanage?” Seungmin suddenly asks. It’s the first time you’ve heard his voice during the night.

“We don’t have the funds for that, Seungminnie” you say softly.

“We do,” Chan interjects firmly, “If we all donate, we can raise the money. Start a fundraiser, maybe?”

You see it then, a fickle of hope blossoming in the air.

“You know, it’s not a bad idea,” Jaehyun says, leaning forward. “Media coverage of the case is really strong and it has garnered a lot of public sympathy. I also told friends in media to keep up intense coverage since something big is simmering beneath the case.”

“I can hold a press conference then,” you say, your voice quipping up. “Expose everything, from the beginning and ask for public support.”

“And me,” Seungmin says suddenly, looking up to meet your gaze at last. His voice is steady, but his eyes are tinged with vulnerability. “I want to stand by your side. It’ll help us garner more attention too.”

“Are you sure?” you ask gently. “Are you ready to reveal where you grew up?”

“I’m not ashamed of it,” he replies softly. “It’s because of that place that I’m here today.”

Your heart swells, and tears sting your eyes as you nod. “Alright. Sounds like a solid plan.”

—

You’ve known loneliness long enough to recognize that it doesn’t wear a singular face.

“Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen. My name is Y/n Kim, and I am the lead attorney representing Promise Orphanage.”

You’ve known the loneliness that slices your bones. That cuts so deep within your marrow you’re unsure whether the sun will rise tomorrow, whether you’ll be even there to witness it. You knew it when you were ten and your parents simply never came back home.

“You are aware that Promise Orphanage has been burnt down last week. A tragedy for our community as this orphanage housed forty children who only have that place to call a home.”

You’ve known the loneliness that doesn’t stab, its sharp tip always remaining at the edges of your soul, as if threatening you, reminding you that it could sink within you at any given moment. You knew it when you were fourteen and Winter shook your hand for the first time.

“I am here to explain that this isn’t due to uncontrollable circumstances. But a crime. The fire did not start hazardously but was intentionally caused. By Sun Corporation, the subsidiary of Gyeongdo Holdings.”

You’ve known the loneliness that doesn’t fill you, but rather sits beside you on a bench. Loneliness that only manifests when you’re surrounded by people who love you, and who you love. And yet, you feel as if you are enclosed in transparent glass, always keeping you at arm’s length from them. Because your heart is different. Because you grieved a lifetime before you were old enough to understand it.

But for the first time in years, you don’t feel lonely.

Not when the people in your life have worked tirelessly with you for the orphanage, for justice, for the children. Not when a room full of journalists hang onto your every word, cameras flashing, questions flying. Your eyes scan the crowd, landing on your loved ones in the back. They nod.

The legal case is airtight. You’ve worked tirelessly with your team to gather the proof—police reports, financial records, surveillance footage. You exhale, steadying yourself, and nod toward the screen.

“We have obtained documentation, in collaboration with the authorities, confirming that a van was seen fleeing the scene moments after the fire started getting out of control. That van was rented by a company in which Sun Corporation holds 45% of the shares. The individual who rented it is also an employee at Sun Corporation, whose identity we’ll keep anonymous. For now.”

Your eyes meet San’s, and he winks—he’s the one who verified the identity, right after depositing his resignation letter at Sun Corporation.

A journalist raises his hand. “Are you saying Sun Corporation committed arson?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. But don’t take my word for it, of course.”

You press a button on the laptop connected to the speakers.

The room falls silent.

Then, the recording crackles to life.

“Are you insane?! I said a warning, not a damn inferno!”

Murmurs ripple through the crowd, cameras shifting toward the speakers as the voice, angry, panicked, continues.

“You idiots lost control of it! The fire department is involved, you know that bitch is going to the police too. Do you have any idea what’s at stake? BILLIONS! I wanted to sue them for neglect and now we are the ones who will lose EVERYTHING! Fix it, or so help me—”

The recording cuts out. The silence that follows is deafening.

Journalists erupt all at once.

“Who is that speaking?”

“Was this obtained legally?”

“Is Sun Corporation under criminal investigation?”

You raise a hand, and a hush falls upon the room.

“The voice belongs to Choi Sungho, CEO of Sun Corporation,” you confirm. “This recording was obtained from a whistleblower inside the company and has been turned over to the authorities. The police are actively investigating Sun Corporation for arson, conspiracy, and fraud.”

You think back to the brunette secretary. You now know her name—Jia. She once dreamed of becoming a lawyer too, but she needed money for her sister’s medical bills, so she had to give up her aspirations. She heard snippets of the conversations authorizing the fire and recorded the aftermath. You know she’s watching this at home too.

“This is not just a case of reckless endangerment. This is a coordinated criminal act, executed for financial gain. Sun Corporation had previously filed for a demolition permit for the orphanage, but the permit was granted under questionable circumstances.”

You gesture toward the documents on every table.

“There is evidence that Sun Corporation bribed city officials to fast-track the permit process. However, because of our legal scrutiny, the project was delayed. Burning a part of the orphanage to argue neglect was their alternative. But as you can see, it backfired.”

More whispers, more frantic typing. A journalist from the back calls out, “Are you pursuing legal action?”

“Yes. We are also working closely with law enforcement to hold all responsible parties accountable, including those within the city council who enabled this corruption.”

You suck in a deep breath, nodding towards Seungmin who was standing behind the curtains, veiled from everyone’s view.

“There is someone I’d like you to meet now.”

He steps forward, taking the mic from your hand.

The camera flashes become incessant as the interrogations ripple from everywhere.

“Is that…?”

“Wait, Kim Seungmin?”

“What is going on?”

“Hello,” he says, voice reverberating around the room. “My name is Kim Seungmin. Some of you may be familiar with who I am, but today, I do not speak to you as an Idol.” A pause. “I am here as one of the children who once lived at Promise Orphanage.”

The cameras shift, zooming in on his face. Jaehyun excitedly signals that the viewer’s count is rising up rapidly.

“I’ve never spoken about this publicly before, but I am an orphan. My sister,” he nods at you, “raised me. My fans may recognize her voice from some of our songs,” he smiles softly, before sobering up. “We moved from place to place, but Promise Orphanage was the only orphanage that felt like home. The only place where we were truly taken care of, where I was allowed to dream, thanks to Miss Jeeho, the director. She’s the one who helped me become a singer. She’s also the one who helped my sister in her fight for my custody.”

He swallows hard, steadying himself.

“This crime is not just about corporate greed. It’s about children who lost their home overnight. And now, they face being scattered across different locations, losing the only family they have left.”

His gaze fixes every camera, every journalist in place. You feel pride swell in your heart, loud and bright and all encompassing.

“We are not just seeking justice. We are seeking solutions. We are launching a legal fund to rebuild Promise Orphanage. We ask for your steady support in holding Sun Corporation accountable and in ensuring that these children are not left behind.”

“Please don’t let this injustice go unanswered.”

He bows deeply. You follow. Cameras flash, a deluge of light and sound.

It’s done, now. The end of the beginning is finally over.

—

Sometimes a month is just a month. Sometimes a month stretches like ten lifetimes crafted solely to hurt you. Sometimes a month slips through your fingers like running water, not yours to keep.

The past six months have been both, somehow.

You spent sleepless nights building the most solid case against Sun Corporation. Exhausting weeks passed before the judge finally struck his gavel against the wood, charging them with arson, criminal activity, bribery, and interference with civilian law. It took the sweat and tears of many to rebuild the orphanage from the charred ground. It took a lot of love to fill its multicolor walls with children’s laughter again— yours, your brother’s, your friends’, the fans’, the general public’s too.

And yet, when it was all over, when you could finally exhale without fearing the consequences of letting go, you were left with a gaping hole in your chest. Void was an insatiable creature gnawing at your heart, void was a creature that sought something you could not name.

That is until Seungmin talked to you.

“Can I sit?” he asks, pointing to the patch of shade near you. You nod, scooting over as you both lean your backs against the freshly planted pine tree. For a while, it’s quiet as you watch Han and Felix, dressed as clowns, playing hide and seek with a group of children at the orphanage’s reopening party.

“They look happy,” he whispers and you smile softly, letting their giggles waft to your ears.

“They do.”

“I never apologized for that night,” he suddenly says, turning to look at you. “When I got mad because you didn’t tell me about the orphanage.”

“I’m the one who’s sorry,” you sigh. “I knew how much this place means to you. I knew this was where you figured out what your dream was. I just… didn’t want to burden you, not when you already have so much atop your plate” you explain, gently smoothing down his bangs. “I guess a part of me still sees you as the little kid I have to protect.”

“You were a child too, protecting me,” he whispers, voice hoarse as he places his warm palm over yours. “You don’t have to protect me anymore. I promise. I’d rather you look after your own heart. Listen to what it really wants.”

Your eyes drift toward Chan. He’s playing guitar for a group of older kids, their small hands clapping to the upbeat melody. His smile is the sun. His smile tastes like the ocean breeze.

“Do you like him?” Seungmin asks softly.

Your breath catches. “What?”

“Chan. I’m not blind. I see the way you look at him. The way he looks at you, mostly.”

“Does it bother you?”

“Why would your happiness ever bother me?” He smiles, and you feel a weight dissolve in your chest. The creature within you perks up at his words.

“Then yes,” you admit, breath hitching. “I like him. So much it terrifies me.”

You speak your feelings for the first time, and yet, the sky does not collapse, the earth does not tremble beneath your feet. It feels almost miraculous— to voice what you long for and not be punished for it.

“Sometimes the things that scare us the most are the ones that make us happiest,” he says. “Because we’re scared of allowing ourselves to feel joy. Because we’ve conditioned ourselves to think we don’t deserve it.”

Tears prick your eyes, and you crack a soft smile. “Look at you, saying such wise things.”

“I’m literally twenty-four,” he deadpans and you laugh, ruffling his hair. “But you’ll always be a baby in my eyes, Seungminnie.”

“All right, all right.” He laughs, pulling you into a side hug. “But would you do it? I know you’ve sacrificed a lot for me, it must have hurt to do so,” you go to interject but he stops you, “Please. Would you listen to your heart for once?”

It takes a week away from everyone to do just that. You return to Gangneung, you walk past the blue houses, you talk to the locals and play chess with the grandpas and drink tea with the kind women at the local market. You twirl barefoot by the waves until salt clings to your skin, you lay on the sand and trace constellations with your fingertips. You sit in stillness. And you listen, truly listen, to the silence between each of your breaths. And then slowly, the melody emerges. Faint at first, like a distant lullaby. Then clearer, insistent, unwavering—stuck on a single note.

Chan.

You’ve never quite known who you were. When personality quizzes asked how your friends would describe you, you hesitated. Funny? Sweet? Practical? What about nothing—an emptiness that expands to swallow you whole? You never knew what to say when interviewees asked about your strengths and weaknesses, the things you’d like to change in your being, the ones you’d like to keep. You felt like a water lily floating aimlessly atop the still water, untethered, with no roots to return to.

But you knew you were a coward when it came to your heart. That you craved love so violently you could cleave the earth open with your ache. You knew that your mind had convinced you that you were cursed, flawed, undeserving.

But for the first time, you allow yourself to simply feel human.

You sit by the waves once more, the endless sea stretching before you. The sun disps slowly beneath the horizon, the clouds are dusted pink. Are they blushing too, at the thought of what you are about to do?

You had asked Chan to meet you on the beach at Gangneung whenever he could free himself, and he did—without hesitation. Seungmin texted you that he left the mid-writing session and jumped into his car with no second thought. He seemed happy, he said. That made you happy too.

“You look different,” Chan observes, and you turn away from the sea. His eyes are kind and you don’t shy away from his gaze, for once.

“Different?” you echo.

“At peace.”

You nod, curling your knees to your chest, resting your cheek against them. He follows suit, his legs grazing yours now and then, grounding you in his presence.

“I’ve thought a lot about what it means to be human,” you murmur. “To soften my heart, to open doors I thought were long sealed. I don’t have all the answers. But I found something.”

“What is it?”

“I found you,” you confess, so softly like you are speaking of a prayer. His eyes widen but you press on. “I weighed in the pros and cons, of what I want, of what losing what I want would cost me. And yet, in all my most horrible twisted scenarios, where you’d leave me heartbroken and bleeding, it still feels worth it. It feels worth it if it means you’d love me for a while, and that I’d love you too.”

He gently tucks a stray lock of hair behind your ear, the gesture tender, as all his touches are.

“A while? The only way for me to stop loving you is if my heart stops beating, Cherry.”

“So you still love me?” you ask, a bit shyly, too hopeful.

Chan blinks, then deadpans, “Are we sitting by the sea?”

You burst into laughter, the sound rolling out of you freely. As it fades, you see him—your beautiful Chan—the faint smile lines etching themselves around his lips, the kind warmth in his eyes, the remnants of dimples on his cheeks. He is so achingly beautiful it feels like an axe splitting your chest open. It feels like being born once more.

“I haven’t listened to my heart in so long,” you confess, brushing your thumb against his cheek, letting it trail softly over the corner of his mouth, a whisper against his lips. “But right now, it only wants one thing.”

“I’m yours,” he breathes, lips slightly parted.

There is no one around but the two of you and the sea. Who is there left to pretend for? The play is over. You bow to the sadness. You bow to the grief.

You take a deep breath. You dive into the water. You finally kiss Chan.

You knew that his lips would be as soft as silk, that pressing your mouth to his would be akin to breathing in oxygen for the first time, and yet, you did not imagine it to be this soul-shattering. You did not foresee the fireworks going off behind your eyelids, the bees and the bleeding heart doves singing in your chest, the garden buzzing in your stomach, telling you that you are alive, and that you are loved, at last, and that that is all that matters.

You did not imagine that he would taste like salvation, like honey and cherries and everything beautiful in between. You did not imagine that his tongue dancing along yours would feel like floating atop the sea, warm as sun, carnal like surrendering to your heart’s rawest desires.

You did not foresee that his warm palms would cradle your cheeks, that he would kiss you with the urgency of a starved man. That he would not tire of you, never ceasing, never faltering. That he would lay you on the sand and kiss you till night fell above you both, till your lips are both swollen, tender, and bleeding cherries.

“I love you,” you finally breathe, your heart throbbing all over your body, “I’m sorry it took me so long to see it.”

“Nonsense,” He smiles against your lips. “Even if you only loved my last dying breath, it would still be enough for me.”

—

“So, does this mean I can officially no longer flirt with you?” Han asks, eyes wide with mock horror. Seungmin flicks his forehead in response, and Chan tosses a napkin at him, an amused smile playing at his lips.

“Wait, pause, I can’t believe I lost to Chan,” Changbin pretends to weep, earning a laugh from the others.

“She’s mine,” Chan cocks his eyebrows at them, leaning back on his chair. “Go find yourselves your own partners.”

You are tucked away in a remote town of Japan, a hard-earned vacation after the turmoil you’ve went through the past months. You figured it was the best time to tell the boys that you are dating, only for wave of questions (and indignation, mostly) to immediately crash over you, followed by a group hug that lasted two full minutes, courtesy of Felix.

“Wait, but we liked you first!” Han protests once more, and Seungmin groans, his face contorting in annoyance that borders on anguish. “God, I thought I would be free of this torture.”

“I literally liked her before you guys even saw her,” Chan chimes in with a satisfied grin.

“So you’ve loved her for ten years now?” Hyunjin shouts, raising from his seat dramatically. “Wait this is so romantic.”

“I’m sorry, Jisungie, Binnie,” you tease as you press a lingering kiss to Chan’s cheek.

“Oh my god guys he’s BLUSHING!” Minho shouts, pointing excitedly at Chan. “This is too funny! Channie hyung is so flustered,” Jeongin laughs, whipping out his phone to capture the moment. “Wait, Innie pan over to Seungmin’s face!” Felix claps in pure delight, and you turn to see your brother sulking.

“What? I’m still not used to… this,” Seungmin grumbles, wiggling his fingers in front of you both in exaggerated disgust, but there’s a soft gleam in his eyes. He’s happy for you, only after threatening Chan five hundred times to treat you right, but he’s happy.

“Who wants ice cream?” Chan suddenly asks, not waiting for an answer before he grabs your hand and pulls you away.

“What was that?” you ask once you are out of the house.

“Nothing, I just wanted you all to myself for a bit,” he smiles bashfully, and you giggle, wrapping your arm around his waist. “You’re making it a habit to kidnap me,” you tease.

“Do you mind?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“Good,” he grins, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “Also, it’s Changbin and Jisung for you,” he chastises, a big pout tugging at his lips.

“Does Mr. Bang feel jealous when I call them Binnie and Jisungie?”

“Yes, I am. Sue me, I worked day and night to be yours. Day and night and for ten years at that too,” he sighs dramatically and you tip your head back in laughter. Your giggles lull when you see it.

“Are we standing underneath…” you draw out.

“A cherry blossom,” Chan whispers, his gaze soft and full of warmth. His smile is so wide, so radiant, it feels like your soul is buzzing, melting underneath his light.

“This reminds me… Did you fall for me because I gave you a cherry lollipop?” you tease, wrapping your arms around the nape of his neck, his hands instinctively finding your waist.

“Yeah, you must have laced that lollipop with something,” he chuckles, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“What if I hadn’t given it to you? What if we hadn’t met at all?”

He softens, his palms cupping your cheeks gently. “I would’ve found you,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against yours. He can almost taste it, vanilla and bubblegum. “In the streets of Gangneung. As you swam in the sea. In one of your courtrooms… I would’ve found you, my Cherry, and I would’ve loved you just the same.”

What does it mean to soften your heart? What does it mean to open the doors of what you thought was long sealed? The answers didn’t come to you all at once, you found them serendipitously, as you rounded up corners of paths you never thought you’d walk in.

You learned that softness is the greatest act of courage. You learned that to tear down your defenses is the greatest act of rebellion. You learned that love is a patient being, that it is all encompassing, that it heals, but only if you allow it to, only if you let it make a home out of your ribcage.

You learned that being human, unapologetically so, in all of its sorrowful and joyous shades, is to forgive, first and most. To forgive the world, for being sharp at times, for being cruel. To forgive yourself, for depriving your soul of happiness, for doing what you had to do to survive the cold.

To forgive the rust, for walking by your side for a long time. To let cinnamon and pinewood and cherries invade your senses instead, settle upon your sheets and waft into your home. To let the fire within you simmer, to let the anger go, even if it had kept you warm for a while.

For you have the sun now.

You have Chan, and he has you too, at last.

[aidansloth]

Late Nights On Kitchen Floors Sometimes Lead To Confessions

Summary: You come home late one night to find your roommate Jason sobbing on the kitchen floor.

Warnings and A/N: some negative self-thoughts on Jason’s side. In this fic Jason is feeling a lot of feelings :) because we love our men crying and traumatized. Pre-relationship! This is my first time writing for Jason so I hope I did him justice. Written in the second person, gender neutral reader, I tried to make reader as inclusive as possible so if I missed something please let me know! JUSTKNOW that my heart broke while writing this. (final note, I wrote this at 4am so don’t judge me)

Words: 0.9k

I also posted this on ao3 if you want!!

Click

You secure the last of the locks on your door as you start to take your boots off along with your coat. Immediately as you stepped in your mind went into autopilot, following your routine so effortlessly that only after what was definitely too many seconds do you notice a heaving sound coming from your kitchen. 

“Jason?”

The words leave your mouth with a tinge of hope that it was just him and not a break-in you’d have to deal with at this ungodly hour in the morning. You check the time with a flick of your phone. 2:14am. 

You receive no response and reach for the bat Jason insisted you left hidden in the umbrella stand. You can never be too safe were his exact words and you’d honestly have to thank him if you made it out tonight. It’s only when you cross the door that you see him: Jason and all of his 6 feet of muscles are scrunched up into a wavering ball, his hands clutching his clothes and his head planted into his knees. All this time you’ve known him and yet he has never looked as vulnerable as he does now, on your dusty crumble-covered floor with tears in his eyes. 

At first no words come out of your mouth, how could they? You’ve talked to Jason just a couple of hours ago on your phone, he called saying he just wanted to hear your voice. He was fine earlier. He was. He asked how your day was. He listened, hanging off your every word. But now here he was in front of you, a broken shell of a man.

Trying to not startle him you get closer and call out his name again. This time he hears you.

He lifts his head and you can see smudged tear stains all over his face probably from an attempt to erase them. An hiccup escapes him and your heart breaks. 

“Oh baby,” you scooch in front of him and take his face in your hands. 

“What happened? What’s wrong?”

He can’t speak. The words are jabbed in his throat, threatening to suffocate him. He opens his mouth but nothing other than a strangled sound comes out. You start petting his hair.

“Hey, hey, it’s fine, you don’t have to say anything alright?” 

You settle on the floor and try to maneuver his body onto yours, his head on your shoulder. His body adapts to yours, his arms wrap around you and he feels like everything is going to be alright. One of your hands runs up and down his spine in a soothing manner while the other is nestled in his hair. 

A couple of minutes pass and you’re still holding him. Jason thinks he likes it. Being held, that is. 

After some more time his head lifts from your shoulder and your hands move to his forearms, caressing the skin there. He takes a deep, shuddering breath before speaking.

“I, ehm…” Jason’s gaze lays low and his hands start to play with yours. “I have to tell you something.” 

You nod and tell him to take his time. He bites his lip, still looking down. 

“I- Fuck, I messed this up. I really did. This was gonna be so much more romantic I swear. I was gonna- I was gonna invite you to that one bookstore we always go to, I was going buy you all the books you set your eyes on and- and I planned a walk through the park- the one- the one you like-” his voice keeps breaking and hiccuping, “-and walk through the flowerbeds and maybe if the day had gone well I would have had the courage to hold your hand.” he wipes a tear off his face with the palm of his hand. 

You try to speak but he speaks first.

“I like you. I really really like you. I wanted to do this well, tomorrow, but- I don’t know. I got too much in my own head and I’m-” Jason bites his lip and tears fill his eyes again, “I’m really sorry this is how I confess, you deserve so much better, so much better and I’m a mess and, and-” you grab his face and force him to look at you. 

“Jason Peter Todd, you listen to me carefully.” his big teary eyes look at your stern ones, “The only reason I’m not kissing you right now is because you deserve a beautifully romantic first kiss because you like beautifully romantic things. You deserve all the wonderful things this world has to offer.”

Jason thinks his heart has never felt so warm. 

“Wha-what?”

His words make you giggle and now he thinks his heart might actually implode. 

“I like you.”

“I like you too.”

Now your giggle turned into a proper laugh which made Jason smile. 

“Yeah, that was pretty obvious from the earlier declaration of love.” Now he’s giggling too. 

“Does that ehm- does that mean you want to be my girlfriend?” You giggle again at the innocence in his voice and Jason thinks he’d die all over again just for a chance to hear you laugh one more time.

“Yes, yes it does. Only if you take me to that date you were talking about though.”

He smiles. “We could go now.”

Your eyes widen. “Now? At 2am?”

He shrugs. “I’m Red Hood. Nothing bad is gonna happen.”

You scoff. “Yeah alright, but I think the bookstore might be closed.”

“Ah. Right. Tomorrow then.”

“Eager?”

His smile only gets bigger. “Duh, I have a girlfriend to take out.”

Thank you for reading!! Constructive criticism/advice is always welcome!

[turtle-paced]

Have you ever felt like Martin doesn't like Cersei? The way he writes about her made me question? I mean she is both evil and stupid and it seems like we are supposed to laugh at her.

Cersei is pretty evil, and while I don't believe she's stupid, it's hard not to laugh (incredulously or otherwise) at her many, many bad ideas over the course of the series. Especially in AFFC.

But it's also clear to me that GRRM has compassion for this villain he's created - and that he has right from the start.

Let's put this under a cut for domestic violence and sheer length.

Ned touched her cheek gently. "Has he done this before?" "Once or twice." She shied away from his hand. "Never on the face before. Jaime would have killed him, even if it meant his own life." Cersei looked at him defiantly. "My brother is worth a hundred of your friend." Eddard XII, AGoT

GRRM chooses to frame the pivotal confrontation between Ned and Cersei with the reality of the domestic violence Cersei has experienced. Whatever else happens in that scene, whatever else she's done that might or might not be justified, the author makes sure the reader knows, Ned knows, that Cersei has good reason to hate Robert.

When she hesitated, then sat, Tyrion knew she was lost, despite her loud declaration of, "I will not marry again!" "You will marry and you will breed. Every child you birth makes Stannis more a liar." Their father's eyes seemed to pin her to her chair. Tyrion III, ASoS

This is re-emphasised as Tyrion witnesses Tywin's abuse of Cersei. Even Tyrion, who also has good reason to hate Cersei, cannot help but see how their father completely ignores Cersei's desires, reduces her autonomy to rubble, and above all makes her feel small. This is quite deliberately in Tyrion's PoV to make that dissonance stronger. Cersei is awful, but Tyrion can take no satisfaction in Tywin mistreating her.

Similarly,

His sister sat in a puddle of wine, cradling her son's body. Her gown was torn and stained, her face white as chalk. A thin black dog crept up beside her, sniffing at Joffrey's corpse. "The boy is gone, Cersei," Lord Tywin said. He put his gloved hand on his daughter's shoulder as one of his guardsmen shooed away the dog. "Unhand him now. Let him go." She did not hear. It took two Kingsguard to pry loose her fingers, so the body of King Joffrey Baratheon could slide limp and lifeless to the floor. Tyrion VIII, ASoS

Cersei's grief over watching her son murdered in front of her is a key character moment for her. Is Joffrey a good person? No. Is Cersei's immediate response of demanding Tyrion's arrest a good and just idea? No. Is that grief still real? Absolutely.

It was more than Cersei could stand. I cannot let them see me cry, she thought, when she felt the tears welling in her eyes. She walked past Ser Meryn Trant and out into the back passage. Alone beneath a tallow candle, she allowed herself a shuddering sob, then another. A woman may weep, but not a queen. Cersei III, AFFC

That lasts. It's not healthy but it is genuine. The author isn't putting this in here so we laugh at her. The author is putting this here to help us remember throughout the parade of evil and stupid crap Cersei's about to do that Cersei is a human with human emotions.

And when all that crap has backfired on Cersei, the author makes sure we know that the punishment inflicted on her is not for her sins but instead for her biological sex. He shows her break from that treatment.

Words are wind, she thought, words cannot hurt me. I am beautiful, the most beautiful woman in all Westeros, Jaime says so, Jaime would never lie to me. Even Robert, Robert never loved me, but he saw that I was beautiful, he wanted me. She did not feel beautiful, though. She felt old, used, filthy, ugly. Cersei II, ADWD

The walk of shame is just misogyny, pure and simple, nothing to do with what Cersei's actually done wrong. It is deliberately not karma out to get Cersei. It is deliberately not comeuppance. It is a reminder that Cersei has a point all those times when she points out she's been treated differently because of her sex - even if it's not the whole of the reason people don't respect her.

Even if a reader doesn't think Cersei deserves mercy, even if a reader finds her political bumbling funny, there's a lot around her that shows us that the reader wants us to think carefully about what made Cersei both a horrible person and a horrible politician. She is most definitely not there just to be the butt of the author's joke. That's Victarion.

[left4gospels]

“UNTOUCHABLE”

Short story

✟ ✟ ✟

(Drawing by me, I hated the full version but i liked how I drew Ellis so this is what you get.)

First time writing something and posting it publicly so uh i hope you guys like it. Was just an idea I had. I dont like this it could be better.

TW: Death, violence, Keith is sort of a douche, mid story.

╔══•●•══╗

“Ellis and his best buddy Keith were driving on the road, heading to the nearest evacuation station with no idea what would happen to them. With rumors of an apocalypse, neither of them were taking it seriously. Keith always had that invincible energy that nothing could touch either of them when they were together, so why would Ellis doubt him? They were fine, everything would work out in the end.

That is, until they run out of gas. Then everything starts to get a little too serious for Ellis.”

╚══•●•══╝

The chevy sped down the empty backroad, gravel crunching under the tires and trees blurring by. Ellis kept one hand on the wheel and the other draped over the shifter, his fingers tapping to the rhythm of ‘Don't fear the reaper’. Keith sat in the passenger seat, his worn boots propped up on the dash like he owned the damn thing, tearing into a stick of jerky he randomly found in his pocket. They’d taken one of the many backroads of Georgia to avoid the crowd towards the evacuation station– a hotel Ellis hadn’t been to since he was a kid– leaving the road clear for him to step on the gas.

“Man, this don’t feel real, does it?” Keith said, his mouth half-full, cheeks puffed like a chipmunk as he looked out the window. Ellis turned down the radio to hear him. “Remember that ramp off of White Bluff? I was drivin’, and I hit that shit goin’ like 120! Dave nearly shit his fuckin’ pants. You puked all over my dash, I was fuckin’ pissed.”

Ellis glanced at him, laughing at the memory. “Dude I know! I was just thinkin’ about that! Oh man, that was so funny. I’d do it again, ‘except last time we weren’t dodgin’ zombies n’ shit.”

“Hey, we ain’t seen no zombies yet? If we do, just run them fuckers over. Nothin’ but a speed bump.” Keith grinned, the kind of grin that made him look like a kid trying to get away with something. It was that grin that normally got Ellis into trouble. Keith had a way of turning bad ideas into brilliant ones, and Ellis had a bad habit of going along with them. Like the time Keith got it in his head to make homemade fireworks, or the bumper cars, or the gators. Keith always liked the thrill of having one foot in the grave.

Even when Keith’s ideas blew up in their faces—literally, in the case of the fireworks—Ellis always trusted him. Keith just had this way about him, this dumb kinda confidence that made you believe nothing could ever touch you in his presence. And until that day, Ellis believed him.

“Man, that would be so cool. Use em’ as a ramp, oh– like the Dukes of hazzard!” Ellis cheered with a gleaming smile, both of them laughing.

“Just the good ol’ boys…” Keith sang the tune to the opening. “That used to come on every mornin’ after the news. You remember as a kid, playin’ as them? Man, we were stupid. I’d watch it again though.”

Ellis smiled and swallowed hard, his throat suddenly tight. He didn’t want to think about the news– how all those people died in Macon, or how they might never see another tv show again. Now that the evacuation was mandatory, it all seemed different. He gripped the steering wheel a little tighter. Ellis didn’t like to think about shit like that. So he avoided those thoughts for as long as he could.

“Y’think this hotel’s gonna be as fancy as it used to be? Hell, I ain’t been to The Vannah in a fuckin’ dogs age. Last time I was there, I think I was with Cindy,” Keith asked, breaking the silence. “That bitch that left me at the tunnel of’ love'?”

“Ha! Yeah, I remember that.” Ellis snorted, adjusting his hat. Who’s he kidding? They’re gonna be fine. “Oughta be paradise with all this shit goin’ on. Bet there’s gonna be a shit ton a’ people. Hope they ain’t zombies like on the TV.”

Keith laughed, that wheezy, half-choked sound that always got Ellis laughing too, and for a moment, the world didn’t seem so bad. “Pft, I wasn't payin’ attention to that. That news lady they got on channel 7 is a fine piece, I can tell ya that.”

Then the fuel light dinged, Ellis groaned. They should’ve fueled up before, but everyone was in such a rush to leave, they figured they might as well be too.

“Goddamn, already outta gas,” he muttered, hitting his steering wheel. “This is some bullshit. I told you we should’a gassed ‘er up.”

The gas station came into view a mile or so down the road, a lonely convenience store from when people worried about gas prices and not whether they’d live long enough to pay for it. Ellis pulled the truck into the lot, the tires crunching over broken glass and debris.

“Where the hell are the people? They already left? Man, I better not get a flat from all this glass, I'm serious.” Ellis said, shaking his head as he turned into one of the pumps.

“Shit, this place looks like a scene outta a horror movie,” Keith said, leaning out the window to get a better look. “Betcha there’s bodies in the back.”

“Shut up,” Ellis grinned, slapping him on the shoulder. “Ain’t funny.” He said, despite his smile.

He killed the engine and stepped out, the heat slamming into him like a wall. Goddamn the Georgia heat was relentless. It was quiet. No birds, no wind, just the sound of his boots on the pavement as he walked to the pump. He glanced around—two empty cars, both with busted windows, but not a soul in sight. I mean damn, he didn’t think it would be all peaches and cream, but he definitely didn’t expect nothing like this.

“Hey, you think they got snacks inside?” Keith called from the truck, stepping out and shutting the door.

Ellis smiled and looked over his shoulder, Keith’s words distracting him from reality– like they always did. “Oh, that’s a good idea right there. Man, I could go for a slurpee– or a beer.” He shook his head. “You think they make beer slurpees?”

Keith didn’t answer, and Ellis figured he ran off somewhere to find some food. He was silently wondering if he still had to pay or not, gripping the pump handle, his fingers trembling just a little. He hated how quiet it was. Hated how weird this whole thing felt. He started getting wrapped up in his head again, something he never does. Maybe this whole flu thing was a bigger deal than he thought.

“El,” Keith called again, catching Ellis’s attention.“You see that?”

Ellis turned, following Keith’s gaze to the corner of the lot. A shadow darted between two cars, quick and low, like an animal.

“Prolly just a dog or some shit,” Ellis said, though he didn’t believe it himself. Just ignore it, he told himself, get the gas and go.

Keith snorted. “Yeah, a dog the size of a goddamn linebacker.”

Ellis laughed at that, setting the pump back in its cradle and turned toward the truck. “C’mon, we’re leavin’. Not a man here, so I ain’t payin’. And I sure as hell ain’t killin’ no dog.”

But Keith wasn’t in the truck. He was a good twenty feet away, crouched beside an overturned box, squinting at something on the ground.

“What'd ya find? Hurry your ass up, man.” Ellis smiled, approaching him. Ellis usually didn’t mind the way Keith treated all this like it was just another story they’d laugh about later, it kept his mind from wandering to the parts of this whole mess he wasn’t ready to think about. He didn’t know if he ever would be. Now, Ellis was starting to get a little worried. But he’d never let Keith know that.

Keith looked up, grinning like an idiot, waving the yellow cylinder in the air. “Found me a box of Twinkies! They ain’t even opened!”

“Awh, yeah! Get some and let’s go man, cmon. Move your ass.” Ellis said, beckoning him with a little more insistence in his words. The hairs on his neck stood up, watching as Keith shoved a couple more in his pocket.

“Alright alright. Damn, don’t get your panties in a twist–”

And then it happened.

The “dog” from before launched itself at Keith, moving faster than Ellis blink. Keith barely had time to scream before the thing was on him, its claws ripping into his chest, its weight slamming him to the ground. This wasn’t a dog, this was a human– or it was at one point– as wild as an animal

“Keith!” Ellis yelled, his voice cracking, pulse skyrocketing. “Holy shit!”

The thing snarled with gritted teeth, blood already dripping from its mouth from God knows what. Keith thrashed and yelled, using all the force he could to push the thing off, but it was no use. It’s hands– almost clawed, tore into Keith's ribs, jabbing into his organs again and again and again. This thing wasn’t like the zombies in movies. It wasn’t looking for brains or running on hunger– it was looking to kill.

Ellis grabbed the crowbar he kept in bed of his truck and ran, his legs moving on instinct. The first hit connected with a sickening crunch, sending blood and bits of bone flying. The Hunter reeled, its claws twitching, but Ellis didn't stop. He brought the crowbar down against its skill– feeling every hit– until the thing was a lifeless heap of infected flesh on the ground. Ellis stared in disbelief for a second, panting with burning lungs, before he heard a babbling cough beneath him.

“Keith!” Ellis gasped, forgetting the crowbar and dropping to his knees beside him. Blood pooled on the asphalt under Keith's body– his shirt and flesh shredded to pieces. Keith’s eyes were wide, his chest heaving, blood pouring from the gaping wound in his side, coughing up more of the red liquid from all the internal damage. Ellis reckoned it must’ve hurt something fierce, but the sheer shock and adrenaline must’ve kept Keith from feeling a thing.

“Ellis,” he choked out, his voice weak, looking down at himself in complete disbelief. “Holy fuck, man– holy fuck!” He repeated, his mouth gaping open in surprise. “What the fuck was that thing?!”

“Shit!” Ellis yells, shaking his head. “Holy shit, man! No, it's alright. You’re always fine. Remember the fireworks? The gator?” He tried to chuckle, but it just came out as a choked sob. “Keith, c’mon man, get up! You’re alright…”

Keith tried to smile weakly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Man, this ain’t the same, Ellis! I’m all– I'm everywhere…” The corners of his lips turned downwards. His hands trembled as he attempted to sit up, he couldn’t seem to look at anything but his organs pooling out of his body. Keith gurgled, more blood rising from his throat and out of his teeth. His breath was ragged and thick, the thing must’ve hit one of his lungs.

Pressing his palms to the wound, Ellis tried to stop the red stream from spurting out as best he could, but it only stained the back of his hands. Keith began to choke, and cough out another gush of blood onto his shirt. His wide eyes settled onto Ellis’s face, tears streaming slowly down them. Keith never cried.

“I think I'm gonna die, man…” He whispered, voice quivering as his hand reached for Ellis, fingers weakly gripping his shirt. “That thing knocked the life outta me.”

“No,” Ellis whispered, his voice breaking, shaking his head in denial. “Shut up, man. No, no, no. No, man you’re not gonna die.” He pleaded, silently praying, repenting for every sin they’ve ever committed. Not Keith man, he couldn’t lose his best buddy.

“Shit, Ellis man.. I don’t wanna die…” Keith said, his panicked voice dropping low, words slurring. “I’m– You’re my best friend, man…” His eyes grew big for a few seconds, so full of fear, looking up to the sky at something Ellis couldn’t see. Ellis shook his head, his lips beginning to move, begging for him to keep holding on. Begging for God not to do this to either of them. Keith took a few more ragged breaths, and one last sticky heave, before his eyes shut. His body went slack, head lolling to the side.

“KEITH!” Ellis yelled, shaking him now. “No, no no no. Man, c’mon man!” He said, gripping hard on his shoulders. It was then when he realised he was crying himself. Keith was dead. Keith just died in front of him, in his arms. “Shit!”

Ellis abruptly stumbled to his feet, sticky with his best friend's blood. He studied his muddy hands, palms up, palms down. He could feel his pulse in the tips of his fingers, his hands sore from gripping the crowbar so hard. Staring at Keith and the zombie's lifeless body, a numbing despair settled over him. It all happened so fast… so fuckin’ fast.

He had to get out of here.

Ellis climbed into the driver’s seat, fumbling with the keys and staring at his hands. He found a grease rag in the compartment of his truck, desperately scrubbing his best friend’s DNA off his skin, though it didn’t do much but dry them. His blood was in the beds of his fingernails. He started the engine and pulled onto the road, hands trembling on the wheel. He didn’t look in the mirror, he didn’t dare look back.

He was going to the evac station– he’ll meet Keith there.

Keith wasn’t dead. That wasn’t his body dying in Ellis’s arms. He was back in the truck, laughing about Twinkies or pools or something stupid. Or better yet, somewhere at home with a beer and a shotgun, safe as can be. Yeah. He’s alright.

Keith was fine. Ellis never saw anyone die.

He had never seen a zombie before.

Nothing could ever touch him.

✟ ✟ ✟

[dollzites]

⏦ﾟ♡︎ “DON’T YOU WANT A FAMILY WITH ME?”

୨ৎ pairing: husband!junho x fem reader

୨ৎ genre: angst. major angst that’s slightly emotional.

୨ৎ summary: 5 months into marriage you thought it was time to bring up kids and how big of a family you both wanted but.. things didn’t seem to work out when you brought it up to him and your world slowly started to crumble.

୨ৎ from myeong: hello!! here we are! my first ever angst fic and I hope you can enjoy it!! I feel as if I’m the best at this (since I’ve practiced writing angst so much in my notes app lol) let’s see how it turns out! x

staring at the ticking clock for what had seemed like hours now eyes burning from how long you went without blinking, a sigh left your glossed over lips holding onto the small pair of shoes you came across after leaving work one night. passing by a cute baby shop that held just about everything from clothing items to toys and strollers, your body filled up with this excitement that couldn’t be explained. it had finally been time to talk about a family with junho and the nerves only worsened as each minute went by. of course he wasn’t home yet junho was late almost every night. work was slowly getting to him turning him into a man that you weren’t too familiar with which only hurt more. he’d come home and rant about needing to find something that he just wouldn’t tell you and you never asked him what it was. were you scared to ask him?

“junho..” his name slipped from your lips the second the door opened and you stood from your seat on the couch. his eyes that you adored so much widened seeing the small pair of shoes that you held onto getting all the wrong ideas. awkwardly laughing and shaking your head, “oh.. these? no not at all. I picked them up at the baby shop nearby after work and.. well, just thought they were the cutest little things I’ve ever seen. I thought that maybe one day our little one could wear them.. what do you think?” all the fears that flooded your mind came back that moment seeing the look on his face it almost made you sick to your stomach. “my love, you already know what my answers going to be, hm? work is just too much for me right now. I think we’ll have to wait just a bit longer.” the large and warm hands that made you feel the safest and most comfortable gently grabbed ahold of your own and pulled you closer to him but you didn’t budge. feet staying in place and eyes staring at the floor beneath you it was hard to form words after hearing such an excuse. forcing him would make you feel like the most piece of shit wife in the universe but the both of you weren’t getting any younger and it had always been a dream of yours to have a child early so you could slowly grow with the child and be close with them but junho was stopping you and it was only making things worse in the marriage. many would say to enjoy marriage and wait for kids but you knew that junho would be the most loving, caring, and supportive father in the world. did you sound selfish for wanting to see it so badly? “how long do we have to wait..?”

it was his turn to sigh especially since he pulled you towards him again and you stayed put in the same place you were in when he walked through the door. “just a few more months, yeah? maybe one more year. give me another year and I can finally give you what you want.” a year..? did this man really just say give him a year? slowly looking up from the floor to look at him, a tear rolled down your cheek. why weren’t you able to understand this? it wasn’t rocket science junho was so involved in his work and you had knew that from the beginning but what you weren’t expecting is it to get in the way of the marriage and the topic of wanting kids with him. “don’t you want a family with me?” what a dumb question to ask but it was still asked as a few more tears rolled down your wet and warm cheeks.

“what? of course I want a family with you. why would you ask such a thing? I married you for a reason didn’t I? I love you. I love you so much and you’re so precious to me that’s why I need you to wait just a bit longer.” junho watched the tears roll down your cheeks in pure agony. not being able to communicate with you about his job killed him every day in ways that he didn’t want. as he met up with gihun and spoke about plans he would find himself zoning out thinking about you and how happy he was now being married to you. how much he wanted a child with you and who would that child look more like? his thoughts were clear from the start that he wanted, needed, and adored you. having a family is at the top of his list and he just doesn’t understand why his life had to turn out this way. hiding so many secrets from his precious wife and not knowing if you were safe or not with him during these months of needing to find his brother and the island.

allowing him to pull you into his broad chest a few sobs left you while his arms wrapped around your waist keeping you close to him even when you your best to pull away from him. “let me go junho.” voice stern even if it was weak from the crying you’d done. junho shook his head his grip around you only tightening feeling like the worst husband in the world watching you suffer. “I can make this better. please trust me? we can have a baby soon, alright? I just need a month—maybe two. I hate seeing you like this. you know how important my work is sweetheart.” work. it never failed for him to bring up work even after seeing you cry and feel so worthless like this. using the last bit of strength you had left and pushing away from him reaching to pick up the small pair of shoes and walk past him into your shared bedroom. “if work is that important then you should’ve never married me junho and I mean it! all you do is talk about work and how much it stresses you out but you won’t quit! I’ve told you countless times before to quit and find something more family oriented but you won’t. you’re home late every single night. I hear the phone calls you pick up during the early hours of the morning when you’re supposed to be sleeping. junho I can’t take any more of this. I love you because you’re my husband but I absolutely despise your work.”

junho was left alone in front of the bedroom door after hearing everything you had to say about how you truly felt about him and his work. he moved towards the wall and slid down it letting his hands run through his styled hair messing it up and rubbing the gel off. he had to make things right somehow and someway with you while still trying to find his brother. how? how was he going to do such a thing because at the end of the day he was keeping the most secrets from you, his innocent and loving wife that he absolutely adored. it felt so wrong but not at all wrong at the same time which had been the weirdest feeling for him. you or his job and brother? what kind of question was that? there was no way he could decide so easily without sounding like a heartless prick but.. it was time for him to decide.

[couldeatthatgirlforlunch]

Paint Me Red

Synopsis: You and Damian like horror movies for the same reason.

Pairing: Dark!Damian Wayne X Dark!AFAB!Gn!Reader

Tw: 18+ pwp; Kinda gore?; Cannibalism kink? Definitely hinted; Biting link; Blood kink; Fingering; Watching straight porn; Torture porn? It's all fake and no one’s suffering; Pain kink maybe; They are freaks and they are in love; Worshipping?; A hint of love-bombing? I repeat, they're freaks and they're in love, your honor; Mention of hipersexuality; Damian enjoys pain, gore and death, despite not killing anymore, Reader likes it too; Reader has long hair and is implied to be wearing a shirt or dress with straps and bare thighs; English isn't my first language.

Word count: 1,2k

Requested? No.

Extra notes: Inspired by the movie May and everyone who yaps about yandere!Damian being cannibal coded. I also love when someone writes Damian a little psycho, a little sadomasochist. And a Damian who worships his S/O is the best Damian!!! I recommend reading this while listening to Tear You Apart by She Wants Revenge. Not sure I like my writing here tho, especially the title, there were many good options that also seemed bad options

General masterlist

Damian was odd, you knew it from the start. Everyone who interacts with him knows it from the start.

That didn't stop you from being flustered when he confessed his — in his actual words — all consuming, undying love. You never thought anyone would actually use those words while declaring their feelings for someone, but as always with him, Damian was different.

And maybe you were different too.

You came back from your weekly date with him to the apartament you recently started sharing, despite being so young and having been dating for only a month when he asked. Your friends called it love-bombing. You had never heard of a more romantic term.

He took you to the bedroom as soon as you crossed the threshold, excited about a surprise he planned for you, but there was nothing different there, until he pulled his laptop out, fiddled with something, connected to the overhead projector you bought once on a whim, after watching a tiktok, only to realize it wasn't any better than just watching on your television or laptop. At least it wasn't as expensive as one would think.

Regardless, you still used it sometimes, even if for the sake of being spontaneous — and making your money worth it —, and your boyfriend was clearly looking for that.

You sat on the edge of the bed, and in less than a minute, Damian was sitting beside you, while a weird video started playing.

— I found it online, beloved. — Damian explained. — A short film, made by a group of independent artists, I think. — You nodded along, this level of cinephilia was not exactly your thing, but you did enjoy watching movies and leaving reviews on Letterboxd, if it caught Damian's interest, then it must be something.

— Yeah, very Texas Chainsaw Massacre. — You commented, not because it actually looked to be a horror movie, but more because of the quality of the camera, the eery atmosphere, and the scenario being filmed in the middle of nowhere. It seemed like an actually calm movie, but you knew something was up, there was only a young couple having a cute picnic.

Damian looked at you with wide, almost innocent eyes, boyish excitement coupled with some glint you couldn't identify.

— Exactly!

You felt some satisfaction and pride. You were the one who presented him with the classic slasher movies — one of your favorite genres — and were surprised by his eager acceptance of them, since a lot of them didn't have much quality. But he seemed interested in the death scenes and gore. Maybe it was the remnants of his childhood on him, but you didn't have that past and still related to him, much to his delight. He also commented about how unreal a lot of it was, from experience, no doubt.

It was almost cute. And hot.

Damian's hand laid on your thigh, while his thumb started rolling circles on your bare skin.

You let out a gasp when the girl in the movie, out of nowhere, bit hard on her boyfriend’s finger while he fed her a piece of pie with his hands. An exaggerated amount of blood started sliding down her lips and his hand, but he didn't scream, he just stared at her while she had mischief and desire in her eyes.

Damian's hand squeezed your flesh.

— How did you find this on YouTube? I'm pretty sure they wouldn't allow it there. — You wondered out loud, squeezing your thighs when the guy used his bloody hand to push the strap of her sundress down, revealing her supple breast. He leaned forward and peppered kisses down her chest, while pushing the other strap down, revealing her torso even more, until he bit her ribs’s flesh just as hard, face partially covered by her left tit.

Now, they were both smeared in lots of blood, from his hand travelling her body and the new wound.

— I did not mention YouTube. — He answered, and you hummed, paying extreme attention to the movie, intrigued, and half surprised to be turned on. But it was shallow, a thin layer of lust that went unnoticed by you, mistaken by intrigue and excitement.

You only noticed how hot you were, when Damian did the same thing to you. He slowly and deliberately got closer, pushed your hair back from your shoulder, and left wet, slow pecks down your neck, while pushing your straps down. You just stared at the images while he did his thing.

You were interrupted when he bit down on your shoulder, hard, leaving teeth marks, but not enough to bleed. You couldn't help the yelp of pain that escaped you by surprise, but didn't feel like reprimanding him when he soothed the feeling by still kissing you, and buried his hand between your legs, invading your underwear.

You opened your legs to give him more space, while your lips also parted to let out a deep breath, not out of nervousness, but anticipation. When you paid attention to the movie again, the guy was lying between the girl’s legs, leaving a nasty bite on her inner thigh. The blood dripped down and ruined her white underwear, but her boyfriend just started eating her out with the fabric still on the way.

Meanwhile, Damian played with your wet clit with his thumb while he inserted two fingers into your moist hole with ease, catching you both off guard with how wet you were with basically nothing. He had a hunch you would like his surprise, but not that much.

In need to let out some pent-up desire, he bit your flesh once more, this time above your breast. A low whimper of pain forced its way out of your throat. You looked down and noticed Damian's full-on boner.

You reached and pressed your hand against him, making him hiss and finally stop lapping at your skin, to look at you with desire. You kept eye-contact while rubbing him through his pants.

Damian pressed his lips to yours in haste, eager to taste your tongue while pumping his fingers faster and deeper against your walls, focused on abusing your sweet spot. The kiss was more sensual than ever, a dance which consisted in sharing heavy breaths, exchanged pecks, sucking lips and caressing tongues. While you both were like rabbits a third of the time, you being hipersexual and him being in love with you, the newfound shared taboo kink definitely turned things up a notch. And you expressed it by interrupting the kiss with a hard bite on his bottom lip.

Damian hissed like a cat until you let his lip go. When he glared at you, anyone would think he was livid like you just kicked his dog, but you knew him better than anyone. In fact, you were the only one to ever see him in the vulnerable side that came with intimacy, the only one he would ever want and trust to either lay beside his naked body, or willingly allow to leave a mark on his scarred flesh. Taste his muscles. Drink his blood.

He used his free hand to touch his lip, and found blood there. You licked your own, bright crimson and wet.

When he looked at you again, you wondered if you had finally ruined him for anyone else forever, and he made sure to paint both your faces red with a kiss, while he made you cum on his fingers.

Like, comment and reblog 🥰

[billericious]

starry-eyed lover, the one that you saw | b.e

collateral - pt 1

The brightness of your screen illuminates your face, highlighting the tears that stream down your cheek. Breath caught in your throat as you read the notification. 

Billie Hey

You didn’t know what to do next. Would you seem desperate if you answered immediately? The last thing you wanted her to know was that you yearned for missed her, despite being the one that had ended what you guys had. This is what you wanted, what you prayed for. Why do you feel so conflicted now that you have it? 

This is real. She texted you, and you’re not dreaming. She contacted you, as if she was some sort of manifestation after a night of thinking of her. Could she still feel you, feel your emotions like they were her own? Have you been clouding her mental like she was clouding yours? So many questions to ask, and now you have the chance to do so. You click on the notification, opening up the message. Your finger shook as you carefully typed a response, scared that you would mess up something so simple.

Y/N Hey  Read 4:37 AM

Tears brimmed your eyes as she opened your message immediately. Anxiety bubbled in your stomach, awaiting a response. You shut your phone off in an attempt to soothe yourself, mind wandering as you do so.

“Hello?” you answer the phone. You hear Billie's voice on the other end. “Do you ever answer texts, baby?” your heart flutters at the pet name as you pull the device away from your ear and check your notifications, seeing multiple messages from ‘Billie :p’. “Whoops?” she laughs at your response, rubbing her eyes “you’re lucky i love you y/n, but back to why i called. What do you want snack wise for our movie night?”  

You smile, remembering the mini date night you had planned with her. “Nothing in particular…but y’know, if they just happen to have zombie takiss” you respond, exaggerating the ‘s’. “Oh well of course, can't go an october without having them at least once."

She was you in another body, a perfect match. “Well hurry bils, I miss you.”

“Just gotta check out, then I'll be heading home to you, love.” you both say I love you and end the call. There's a comforting warmth in your stomach that fights with the never ending dread. The dread of knowing she isn’t really yours, and you aren’t really hers. 

You’re brought back from the memory with the vibration of your phone. A text back.

Billie  I’ve been meaning to reach out, are you busy? If not, would you mind calling?

Your head spins at her message. For the first time in months, you would finally be having a real conversation with Billie. Were you even ready? You don't give yourself much time to answer your own thoughts as your body goes into autopilot, clicking on the small Call button on the top of the screen.

Ring

The reality of the situation hits you all at once, holding your breath as the phone continues

Ring

Was she messing with you? Would she even answer?

Ring

“Hey.” you feel your heart skip a few beats as her smooth voice greets you on the other end of the call. You finally let out the breath you had been holding, feeling lightheaded in the process. “Hey, Billie.” A silence falls over the call, obvious that the both of you had no idea what to say next.

“Why’d you wanna call?” a sudden confidence washes over you, motivated to understand why now. “In all honesty, I don’t know. I guess I just wanted to check in on you. To hear your voice.” she mumbles the last sentence, slightly hoping you didn’t hear her correctly. But you did, of course you did. Anxiety so high, hyper focused on everything she was saying.

“I’m doing…” you falter for a second, do you tell the truth or lie to save yourself from any embarrassment? You decide the latter would be a safer choice. “I’m doing okay, Billie. How are you? I’ve seen you, your promotions for the album.” Billie lets out a soft laugh at that, a rosy hue painted on her cheeks. She had completely forgotten who she was as soon as she picked up the phone. Too distracted by you to remember or focus on anything else around her.

“I’m uh, I'm good too.” it’s your turn to laugh, wet eyelashes laying on your cheeks as you close your eyes. “Good, I’m glad. You deserve it, I'm sure you’ve been working hard.” you say, trying to figure her out without trying to seem pushy. “Yeah, it’s been a lot. It’s different without you, though”

“Am i that ever lasting, Billie?” you say playfully, speaking to her never felt foreign despite it all. Immediately falling back into the groove you left on, before the argument. For a second, you almost forget why you had wanted her to leave in the first place. “God, you know you are.” she teases you slightly as you get flustered at her words. She continues, “I’m gonna be going on my press tour soon, and i just wanted to see you before I left. If that's possible, of course.”

You know you shouldn’t. You know that you would fall back into her immediately, sacrificing the little amount of healing you had made during the time of no contact. Your heart betrays your rational thinking, “Yeah, that’d be nice. It’d be nice to see you.” 

“Okay. I’ll plan, and I’ll text you the info, yeah?” “Yeah Billie, that sounds good.”

“I’ll talk to you soon, alright? I gotta go. Bye, y/n.” you wait a few seconds, waiting for the ‘I love you’ before remembering, it’s not like how it used to be. You quickly muster up your own response.

“Okay, bye Billie.” the disconnect sound echoes soon after. You look at her contact,

a smile creeping onto your face. You're not exactly happy, but not sad. Just shocked that this is finally happening. You don’t know what to anticipate. All you could do was hope for the best, even though you didn’t even know what the best is. A notification pops up at the top of your screen.

Billie Saturday @ 3. Cafe lunch. I’ll pick you up

Just hope for the best.

౨ৎ maze speaks !

im so sorry for the wait guis :< this is whack and filler, dont be too harsh pls im still getting the hang of this :p but seriously, thank you for all the motion on collateral my loverlies<3

tags: @luvforbills

౨ৎ౨ৎ౨ৎ౨ৎ send an ask ! always open<3

[milla-frenchy]

One of my favorite Javi p series, with my favorite Javi p gif EVER? 🫠🫠🫠👌

Emily, you know how much these two mean to me. How Birthday present left a mark in my heart, how photocopies rushed into this same mark, and now this one???

Thank you thank you thank you for writing more of them 👌🤌

The bounce of your hair, held back prettily by silver hair clips he gifted, floats your fragrant shampoo behind you and Javier inhales it greedily – the sweet smell instantly transporting him back to when he would breathe it fresh from its source; nose buried your hair as you curled up, sated in his arms - your naked body still warm from the shower entangling with his in the once crisp, now damp sheets of your shared bed.

She's wearing his clips!!! The smell reminds him such sweet memories 🥹🥹🥹

A good man would leave you alone, not invent the flimsiest of excuses to walk past the window next to your desk every chance he got just to catch a glimpse of you.  A good man wouldn’t try to time his arrival at work to coincide with yours, marking the time he shares your same air in the elevator as the most blissful thirty seconds of his day.

I disagree firmly, Javi 😌

Too many hours later after the briefing finally concludes, Javier purposefully takes the long way back from the conference room to the DEA’s office so he can walk by your department.  He’s checking his watch after noticing that your desk sits empty, your belongings gone

Javi realizing she's not in her office 👇😁

(dear lord he's so beautiful)

Without even thinking, Javier breaks out into a sprint so he can slip into your elevator just as the doors start to close.  The elevator is packed with embassy staff eager to leave work; though the DEA agent cannot see you, he can feel you.  Javier’s shoulders sag in relief just to be this close to you again.

Awwww 🥹🥹🥹

Your actual resolutions for the new year are for you and you alone: To break though to Javier Peña and make him confess the truth to you.

Screaming!!!!!! Yes you go girl!!!!

After your run in with Javi in the photocopier room a month ago, you had forced yourself to push past the hurt of having his betrayal thrown in your face and sat down to really contemplate the interaction.  His soft confessions, vulnerable and pure, were so reminiscent of the Javi you had loved – the man who had so much compassion and empathy in that hidden heart of his that whenever he felt safe enough to lay it bare, it couldn’t help but overflow.  Further tearing down your already crumbling walls was the memory of his kisses - they had melted you near instantly, your own lips as desperate and wanting as his to be reunited.  And his eyes - the look in Javi's eyes that day had threatened to drown you with the intensity of devotion and love that you saw storming within. For a brief moment, your Javi had returned to you. 

Loved all of this so much. I love them so much, damn

And then you think back to your birthday and the thoughtful, considerate gift he wanted you to have but never took the credit for.  So characteristic of the man to give and give, never taking anything for himself.

Omg do I love this. I LOVE when Javi is a giver, and you describe this side of him so perfectly ❤️❤️

You wear the clothes he loved best and always, always the silver bird barrettes he gifted you in your hair.  You’re generous with the perfume and shampoo you know he associated with your signature scent and waft by him as often as you can.  Today, for example, you could have easily left the analysis on the Ambassador’s desk, but you knew he could be found in a DEA debrief, so you went there directly instead.

Oh please that's so cute

Your heart sings affectionately in your chest. I’m going to keep reminding you of me so you don’t forget, you promise silently.  Come back to me and tell me the truth, please, Javi.

I loved reading their emotions, loved learning more, OMG??? Javi baby, you deserve to be loved, stop ruining everything 😭😭😭

I love that she noticed his moves, but pretend she didn't

This is absolutely perfect, thank you so much for this new gift 🥹❤️🫶

Always Tomorrow

1.8K / Javier Pena x fem!reader

Summary: Javier chooses an impossible new year's resolution.

Warnings: Longing, pining. Allusion to past relationship. Cigarettes.

A/N: A quick one for the same couple from Birthday Present and Photocopies; written for @beefrobeefcal's New Year, Same Pena challenge. Can be read as standalone, but if you follow them, this takes place ~a month after Photocopies (includes a few references to what happened in that instalment); there's a clue in here re: the truth about what happened if you squint, and if you squint a little less, some hope.

Dividers by @saradika-graphics 😘/ Should I make this an official series/collection and make a masterlist?

“So, you fellas make any new year’s resolutions?”

The Ambassador’s seemingly innocuous question slices through the curls of smoke swirling upwards from the overflowing ashtray in the centre of the conference table and causes Javier to stiffen.

“To put the lid down on the toilet.  Connie’s request,” quips Steve.  The joke is a bit too juvenile and lighthearted for the serious nature of today’s debrief on Search Bloc’s updated strategy for the new year – both Murphy and Crosby’s resulting laughter is superficial, perfunctory.  Javier remains silent, pensive – preoccupied by both the myriads of tactical plans and diagrams spread across the table and his own answer.

“What about you, Agent Peña?”

He wants to glare at the older man.  Spit out his new year’s resolutions with the same soul-eroding venom it took to make them in the first place and watch as the Chief of Mission absorbed the acidity behind their meaning:

To stop being such a creep and stay away from you.

Even now in this very moment, Javier’s failing at his resolve; covetous eyes instinctively drawn to the hypnotic sway of your hips in that dress of yours that always made his heart skip - you’ve appeared out of nowhere, as if Javier’s very thoughts conjured you. He only wishes he held such a power.

Sauntering into the boardroom, your graceful but decisive steps bring you straight to the Ambassador, to whom you hand a folder and whisper your purpose.  Does Javier unwittingly lick his lips at the sight of your plush pout fluttering open and closed?  Only Murphy notices.  Is Agent Peña imagining how the warmth of your sweet breath might feel on his neck if he were on the receiving end of your quiet words?  He is.  The ever present regret in his heart reminds him that there was a time when he didn’t have to imagine.

He's jolted out of his daze when you brush past him and Steve with a professional but friendly, Agent to each man.  Even the curt moniker sounds like a song in your angelic voice - Javier closes his eyes, an attempt to slow down time and soak in your melody a little longer.

The bounce of your hair, held back prettily by silver hair clips he gifted, floats your fragrant shampoo behind you and Javier inhales it greedily – the sweet smell instantly transporting him back to when he would breathe it fresh from its source; nose buried your hair as you curled up, sated in his arms - your naked body still warm from the shower entangling with his in the once crisp, now damp sheets of your shared bed.

“Peña?”

Mierda. So much for not being a creep.

“My new year’s resolution?  To catch Escobar.”

“Good man,” a supportive palm is clasped onto Javier’s shoulder as the Ambassador turns back towards the paperwork on the table.

Yeah right.  A good man would leave you alone, not invent the flimsiest of excuses to walk past the window next to your desk every chance he got just to catch a glimpse of you.  A good man wouldn’t try to time his arrival at work to coincide with yours, marking the time he shares your same air in the elevator as the most blissful thirty seconds of his day.

Well, I’m not a good man, concedes Javier, but I am NOT a quitter either.

Too many hours later after the briefing finally concludes, Javier purposefully takes the long way back from the conference room to the DEA’s office so he can walk by your department.  He’s checking his watch after noticing that your desk sits empty, your belongings gone, when he spies the pretty shape of you disappear down the hall and around the corner towards the elevators.

Without even thinking, Javier breaks out into a sprint so he can slip into your elevator just as the doors start to close.  The elevator is packed with embassy staff eager to leave work; though the DEA agent cannot see you, he can feel you.  Javier’s shoulders sag in relief just to be this close to you again.

When he exits on the main floor, Javier walks swiftly towards the front doors – pretending that going out for a cigarette had been his intention all along.  He’s just lighting up when you fly past him and down the embassy steps towards your waiting car.  He adores you from behind - you're oblivious to him memorizing the curl of your fingers in the handle of the opening car door and the grace with which you slip in the backseat. Ever unaware of your admiring audience, the chime of your greeting to your driver rings loud and joyous even from where Javier stands.  For the second time today, Agent Peña closes his eyes to replay your voice in his mind – taking a deep drag of his cigarette as he does so; the twin high from having been in the vicinity of your being, your voice, your smell and the nicotine making him slightly lightheaded.

“Don’t most people quit cigarettes for their new year’s resolution, Peña?”

Opening his eyes, Javier sees one of his CIA counterparts standing next to him, chuckling as he himself pulls out his own pack.

“Nah.  I like a challenge for my resolutions,” Javier half jokes.

“Oh yeah?  How’s it going so far?”

Not sure if he’s happy or resigned at the truth, Javier confesses, “Failing miserably.”

“Well, there’s always tomorrow, buddy.”

“Yeah, always tomorrow,” agrees Javier, wistful - his softened eyes following your car as it leaves the embassy grounds.

You

When you walked into the big conference room to update Ambassador Crosby on the Columbian-US trade fluctuation analysis he had asked for, you weren’t at all offended that he didn’t include you in the new year’s resolutions conversation.  The man had already engaged you in what seemed to be his current go-to small talk topic earlier this morning over breakfast.

You had answered something believable about procrastinating less, improving your Spanish, to which he had approvingly nodded.

Your actual resolutions for the new year are for you and you alone:

To break though to Javier Peña and make him confess the truth to you.

After your run in with Javi in the photocopier room a month ago, you had forced yourself to push past the hurt of having his betrayal thrown in your face and sat down to really contemplate the interaction.  His soft confessions, vulnerable and pure, were so reminiscent of the Javi you had loved – the man who had so much compassion and empathy in that hidden heart of his that whenever he felt safe enough to lay it bare, it couldn’t help but overflow.  Further tearing down your already crumbling walls was the memory of his kisses - they had melted you near instantly, your own lips as desperate and wanting as his to be reunited.  And his eyes - the look in Javi's eyes that day had threatened to drown you with the intensity of devotion and love that you saw storming within.

For a brief moment, your Javi had returned to you. 

And then you think back to your birthday and the thoughtful, considerate gift he wanted you to have but never took the credit for.  So characteristic of the man to give and give, never taking anything for himself.

It had been the same when the two of you were together before.  You let yourself revisit the times you felt the safest, cherished, understood while you were in Columbia and they were all moments spent in the rough agent’s arms.  He had given you patience, kindness, and tenderness – his everything; not once did he demand anything in return, though Javi would never admit that he yearned for the same. You saw through his facade easily and showered him with your support, comfort, calm – all given freely and without reservation; and for that, he had loved you fiercely.  He had known you and you had known him, the real Javi beneath his gruff exterior armour.

Something he said that day in the photocopier room struck you as odd:

You deserve someone who can give you the best things in life.  You deserve someone better than me.

Those were not Javier Peña’s words.  After everything you had shared with him about your upbringing, your family and your complicated feelings about legacy and privilege, he would know that those words could never hold any weight with you.  Then why did he say it?  Whose words were they?  You don’t know but you think it’s the key to figuring out why Javi is pushing you away. 

After that horrible night when you ran from the heart shattering scene in his apartment, you became convinced that your relationship and the Javi you had fallen in love with had both been a lie.  A ruse to add you as another notch on Javier Peña’s already heavily laden belt.  But the thoughtfulness of his birthday gift and then the sincerity and emotion that radiated from him during your brief reunion last month had you reconsidering that premise.  Your Javi exists, you know it.  He’s in there, locked away, and you think he still loves you.  You think you still love him, too.

So, you decided you would draw him out. 

You pretend not to notice when he walks by the window next to your desk more than anyone could possibly need to, but make sure to be there as much as possible whenever he’s in the office.  You ask people to come to your desk instead of going to theirs whenever you're needed; you trouble the embassy catering staff to bring you coffee instead of going yourself to the breakroom.

You wear the clothes he loved best and always, always the silver bird barrettes he gifted you in your hair.  You’re generous with the perfume and shampoo you know he associated with your signature scent and waft by him as often as you can.  Today, for example, you could have easily left the analysis on the Ambassador’s desk, but you knew he could be found in a DEA debrief, so you went there directly instead.

You keep your schedule regular and your arrival and departure times punctual, allowing yourself to be easily found should Javi so choose.  Every morning you feel a little closer to victory when he seems to magically step into your same elevator.  At the end of today when he narrowly avoids being smushed by your closing elevator doors, you beam at the backs of the other embassy staff that stand between the two of you. 

Even as you flounce down the embassy steps past Agent Peña’s broad-shoulders, you feel his eyes - you don’t need to turn around to know that he’s watching and listening, and that thought alone warms you. 

Your heart sings affectionately in your chest. I’m going to keep reminding you of me so you don’t forget, you promise silently.  Come back to me and tell me the truth, please, Javi.

As your car pulls away from the curb, you driver engages you amiably, “So, Miss, how are your new year’s resolutions coming along?”

“Slow going,” you answer honestly, “but I am NOT a quitter.”

“Good for you! Just remember, there’s always tomorrow.”

“Right, always tomorrow,” you agree, feeling hopeful when you look back through the tinted rear window and see Javi’s puppy dog eyes following as you drive away.

Thank you all so much for your support of this Javi and his Pretty Bird, especially @milla-frenchy, without whom I may not have written any more of their story. 🥹🥹🥰 Tagging a few lovely people who left me kind words on Photocopies 😘😘: @greenwitchfromthewoods @axshadows @sunnytuliptime @joelmillerisapunk @professionalpromqueen

@ad23900 @galway-girlatwork @inept-the-magnificent @harriedandharassed @aurorawritestoescape

@desuidesu @littlemisspascal @jobean12-blog

[sugarverse]

𝙗𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙜𝙞𝙧𝙡 𝙝𝙖𝙞𝙧 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙘𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙣𝙨!

[ bnha headcanons ]

ft. izuku, tenya, & katsuki !

✩ I. midoriya

From the music echoing from the bathroom, he knew you weren't in the best mood. He'll slide his shoes off, creeping into the room to see you fighting to take your braids down. He offers to help, watching the tears in your eyes fall down your cheeks. You already were having a terrible week and now it felt like your fingers were gonna go numb. 

You literally just wanted to wash your hair and feel clean. But you also wanted it done and out of the way. It was hard to explain the frustration, but to Izuku, you didn't have to. It was his job to take whatever the weight may be off of your shoulders.

It took awhile, but he got the hang of taking them down after a time or two. There were times where your arms got so tired that you fell asleep while he was unbraiding them. He helps you wash it over the sink, asking what to use and watching your hair spring/curl right up.

He never got the hang of actual braiding, fingers too fat to cross it the right way. But he does learn that greasing your scalp feels really good. Feeling you melt into his touch as you sat between his legs in the living room. 

He could wash your hair and massage your scalp for hours. He loved seeing you relaxed. You did so much for him to feel calm when he's had a long day. He always tried to return the favor in ways that showed you he loved you and genuinely paid attention to things that pleased you. It was hard when both of your jobs got in the way so he wanted to do things that really mattered.

He tries to watch when you do your hair to see what product does what, never letting it get too low. When you're out of something? He buys the right brand for you. You also put him onto some hair products to help his hair become softer and smell really good which he was very appreciative of. 

The first time he sees your bonnet? Buying you all different colors. and occasionally wearing one when you'd do ‘spa day’ but wtvr. He just wanted to be helpful ! Even if you didn't need one for every set of pajamas you own. 

He wanted to get all the shit you wanted/needed. More often than not though, he comes home to your hair done and he just marvels at you. He also calls whoever you're going to and pays in advance. If you insist on paying certain bills, this was the least he could do.

★ i. tenya

Once he notices your hair changing length and color, he's going to look up some youtube videos. Not that he's uneducated! He was educated enough to not ask you about it. It would be rude, especially upon first meeting. 

The one time he asked what your hairstyle was called, You told him you had cornrows in. You knew he hadn’t been talking about your braids wrapped into two buns. He was looking for a more technical answer as he does with everything, so you gave it.

From that day, he studied things like ‘Why cornrows are called cornrows’. The boy had a lot of questions and didn't want to bombard you more than everyone else was. However, he thought it was absolutely gorgeous. 

If you mentioned something about wanting your natural hair longer? He already found a growth oil that should work for your hair texture. Wanna dye it? He knows the best brand and best conditioner to make sure your hair doesn't break off or feel too harsh. 

When you two had started dating and he found out how expensive hair was to get done, let alone buy? It's no longer in your hands to pay for it. Money to get your hair braided by whoever you wanted, wherever in Japan you wanted. He loved seeing you come back to him, smiling and showing your new hair off before asking him to take pictures. 

Gifts start being more centered towards you than what he just assumed you'd like (lip tint, lashes, nails) because he found so many other useful things. That super expensive shampoo you use in bulk, a new bonnet, silk laced hoodies and beanies. Small things he went out of his way to look up before you had the chance to ask. 

Of course, he still gave you the money when you would mention a time or two when you were out of something, but mostly he pays for your hair every month or so.

One day you came home with a star braided onto the side of your scalp and quickly turning to show him. “Look, Look!” He never looked more in love, seeing you smile like that. “It's amazing, How long did it take?” He asks, taking your bags from you so you could sit and rant on the couch about your appointment. 

⛦ k. bakugou

Not the most patient man by ANY means, but he does try to take time to learn your hair routine to help. He’s determined to learn how to braid your hair, no matter how frustrating it might be. He was good at.. Well, mostly everything. So it stumped him that he couldn’t learn how to do something so seemingly simple right away. 

His first few tries are hilariously messy. Uneven, bumpy, and hair coming out the sides of whatever he thought a braid was. He doesn’t let you help his stubborn ass until he finally gives up about 10 minutes later. He watched your hands work fast as hell to braid downward in awe.

He ends up taping three pieces of string to the table and trying to braid it for hours, wanting to impress you the next time he could braid your hair.. but you walked in on him when you were trying to ask for help with something and he was BRIGHT red. “The hell you doin’ bursting into my room!?” 

Of course, this was when the two of you first got together and were getting comfortable around one another. When he finally tries again with this intense concentration on his face that makes you crack up, He’s so excited he almost screams in victory. He stared back at you through the vanity, smirking and putting his hands on his hips in satisfaction.

He loves the pops of color you have in your hair. Whether it be braids, beads, or wigs, he’s always asking “Where’s the orange? Where’s the green?” It’s not like you went out of your way to avoid the colors, it’s just that you didn’t have many clothes to match. 

On one of your dates, you show up with bright orange and army green bows in your hair. You bought a pair of camo pants to go with the black shirt you wore, opening your front door to see him absolutely melt. He stutters for the first time in awhile, telling you how stunning you looked representing him and his colors. 

He goes out of the way to buy you clothes and different accessories to match. If your hair color is slightly off than most of your clothes, he’ll buy you new ones.

He was super confused at all your product though. “Why do you need oil in your hair?” The blonde will scrunch his nose, “Doesn’t that shit make your hair greasy?” The look you gave him was enough for him to sit on the bed and grumble until you were done. 

You explained you wanted to prevent feeling dry and itchy, especially in the winter months. You rub in the oil, glancing over at him as you spoke. He slowly got up, watching you rub oil into your freshly parted hair, helping you finish in the back of your scalp. He watched the way you leaned into it, smiling to himself.

From then on his questions weren’t as abrasive, but he still asked you because he wanted to hear it from you. He could easily look it up, but you explained it in a way he graped immediately. Detangler spray, heat protector spray, all of it sounded very easily explained but he couldn’t understand exactly why you needed that stuff. 

“Ya can’t just brush it out?” He’ll ask, watching the comb get stuck in your natural hair after asking such a question. He helps you apply whatever you need, helping you flat iron the kitchen of your hair very carefully.

[starhwazz]

·:*¨༺ ♱ A case of insomnia ♱ ༻¨*:·

「 ✦ Seongjoong ✦ 」

「Wordcount : 6,454」 ── 「NSFW」

「Hongjoong was holding the outline of his dick through the sweats. His team ring being lit up by the blue light and some of his dick outline also being lit. He looked huge. And it took everything in seonghwa not to run into that bathroom and suck him dry, Choking on hongjoongs dick tearing up as the shorter mans fucks up into his mouth」

「 Content: 」

── Top Hongjoong, bottom Seonghwa

── Masturbation, lewd pics, dry humping, hand jobs, mutual masturbation

Like every other night, Seonghwa was having trouble falling asleep, and although he had promised himself that tiktok would help him feel tired. he ended up staying up watching every video that ran on his feed. But he was intrigued by this specific video.

He was on his private fake stan account that was dedicated to hongjoong only because he and hongjoong were close, Like really close. And he thought it would be nice to dedicate a account to his best friend. Just because.

Now he came across a tiktok that had a video of a woman in the back giggling and screaming as she hit the wall in slowmo, Now he thought it was hilarious. But the captions over the video and the comments piqued his interest.

“Atiny when that one hongjoong edit plays.” He had no idea what the edit was nor why atiny was freaking out over it, He scrolled through every comment and every reply and it all consisted of atinys absolutely losing it. “The clips they used! I cant take it!!” “IM SCREAMING” was the constant comments he seen on this video and god did his curiosity peak.

And thats when he finally decided to click on the audio and to his luck the edit was the top video on the sound, He then clicked on the video and to his surprise the edit was beautifully made.

The song was captivating, as was the way each clip varied to the beat. What captivated him were the timing and flashes, the absolute talent they used while making this, rather than the fact that the video featured Hongjoong making some extremely alluring looks and risky body movements and totally not throwing his head back groaning into the camera.

He then looped the video over and over taking deeper looks at every clip, the way the editor knew what they were doing putting certain clips into this with this audio, The intro was what has him hooked using such attractive photos of his leader. I mean he did always know hongjoong was hot but this edit was doing something.

“Hwa, Please change the video i need to sleep and all i hear is the same song on repeat, I dont want to hear the moaning.” Seonghwa paused the video and turned his head to stare at the back of the oreo haired boy.

Wooyoung had his back turned to hwa, The shorter man huffed and shuffled as he tried to fall asleep. And seonghwa laid there on his own bed across from him. He bit his lip as he stared back at his phone and quickly looked up crawling towards his nightstand and grabbing his airpods, Placing them in his ears and replaying the edit.

He didn’t know what got over him but that edit was addictive he didn’t know how many times he watched it but he knew every clip by heart and when it would change, when it would end and how it would start. Why was hongjoong so.. hot?

Wait. What the fuck ? It wasn’t that. No. He quickly closed tiktok and placing his phone next to him as he laid there staring at the ceiling, He’s just tired. Yeah. Maybe he needs to sleep off this confusing edit. Yeah. Thats it.

Seonghwa quietly placed his phone on the nightstand, plugging it in and putting away his airpods being oh so careful as to not make a sound to make the brat that was sleeping across from him. Seonghwa finally laid back down closing his eyes.

But he groaned as he kept tossing and turning he couldn’t sleep but he needs too especially for the interview, He knew hongjoong would be on his ass for going to bed at 4AM. And he felt his heart skip at the thought of hongjoong, ‘ Huh? Cut that out hwa .’ He thought to himself as he turned to his side pulling the blanket with him and wrapping himself cozily. He finally felt himself drifting into sleep.

The next day the boys were all sitting near one another getting their positions ready, Seonghwa was seated next to hongjoong, What luck. He felt his heart race more than usual. And the man took quiet but deep breaths to relax, That was until hongjoong turned and smiled at him. He knew seonghwa was panicking about something so he threw him that cute smile.

And fuuck did it not help instead it made his heart race slightly and he felt his head spin with confusion, Is he still tired? He kept questioning himself not knowing he completely zoned out staring into a wall.

“Hwa, Are you okay?” Mingi spoke up leaning forward to stare at a absent seonghwa, Just then hwa snapped out of it and saw all his members staring at him.

“Im fine! Just a bit nervous.” Seonghwa brushed it off as he smiled and nodded to everyone calming their worries. Wooyoung then locked eyes with seonghwa and the younger male let out a quiet laugh.

“Makes sense why you were up so late, Hyung was nervous for the interview.” Wooyoung laughed and squinted his eyes towards seonghwa in a playful manner.

“You seriously stayed up?” Yunho said with a slight laugh in his tone.

“Yeah every night he’s up struggling to sleep but last night was the worst.” Wooyoung added whining the last word and exaggeratingly throwing his head back with a annoyed expression.

The guys laughed at wooyoung’s stupid exaggeration, San suddenly patted wooyoung smiling at the man as everyone around made annoyed sounds at the lovers.

“Get a room ew!” Hongjoong replied looking away from the two faking a gag at their skinship. “Shut up!” Wooyoung shouted towards the brown haired man.

Hongjoong and wooyoung childishly stuck their tongues out towards another and annoying made noises mocking one another.

Seonghwa stared hard at hongjoong, Suddenly focusing in every detail in his face, How his eyes get smaller when he smiles and laughs, How his cheeks fill while he smiles. And he quickly snapped out of it as he saw hongjoong stop making faces at wooyoung.

“What even kept you up hyung?” San asked softly and seonghwa thought for a second, He couldn’t let his members know he was watching an edit, Especially one of their members. Specifically the captain.

He smiled and rubbed the back of his neck innocently, “Ah i was just scrolling reading what atiny had to say about our comeback announcement, and watching some videos.” And thats when wooyoung blurted out scaring hwa.

“HE WAS WATCHING A VIDEO ON REPEAT FOR ABOUT 20 FUCKING MINUTES!” “I legit couldn’t sleeppp.. and the song had some crazyy shit in it!” Wooyoung blurted and groaned as he remembered the same song on repeat, Everyone turned to look at hwa and immediately the man was bombarded with questions.

“Who was it? WHAT song was playing? What the hell were you watching? Who’s edit was it!” Was the same questions being asked and he swore he wanted to just dig a deep hole, choke wooyoung and throw him in it.

And just when hongjoong was about to speak the interviewers spoke up asking if they were ready to start and everyone immediately calmed down and nodded, Except hwa he was completely embarrassed why did wooyoung have to always open his annoying mouth.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

The interview ended after 50 minutes of shooting and hwa swore it was the longest shoot they’ve ever done, Everytime he looked at hongjoong while he talked he felt a blush creep into his cheeks painting them with a cute color and if it wasn’t for the blush already there he would’ve been dead. Every moment he talked he felt hongjoong staring at him. But it makes sense, Hes the leader, He does that to everyone so it doesn’t mean anything.

Seonghwa quickly got up and thanked the interviewers for bringing them in the channel and interviewing the members and group themselves, He made a beeline towards the drinks their staff dropped off for them at the lounge side of the huge room. Seonghwa grabbed his strawberry berry mix smoothie and sat down on the leather black couch which was surprisingly comfortable, He took his phone out and scrolled through insta reading atiny’s comments in his newest post.

That was until he was interrupted by a certain main sitting next to him, “Hwa hows the drink?” Hongjoong had asked as he grabbed his own and sipping his pineapple flavored drink sitting back and also pulling out his phone.

“Its good haven’t been able to have this in a while, Hows yours joongie.” Seonghwa said surprisingly calm, He didn’t feel insanely nervous for once being this close to hongjoong plus they’re just relaxing and drinking together that’s nothing strange.

“Hmm same, I can always ask staff to give you that whenever you wanted hwa.” Hongjoong said as he looked at hwa throwing him a sweet smile which made his heart jump, Only cause it was so sweet that he was really going to make the staff always give hwa his favorite smoothie.

“Its okay joongie you dont need too.” Seonghwaa responded also sweet and throwing him light hearted smile.

“You know, I also struggle falling asleep. You can always just text me when you cant sleep hwa.” Joong had blurted as he kept scrolling and he suddenly felt more at ease, now he has someone to text when he cant sleep.

“Then i guess get ready for me texting you tonight captain.” Seonghwa slightly shoved hongjoongs shoulder to teasingly joke with him because they always did that, Its their form of love. And just as expected hongjoong shoved him back and laughed “I will hwa.”

Just after that conversation the two went silent scrolling and drinking the fruity juices they had while sitting super close together, shoulders touching yet none of them moved instead they kept the distance close. There was nothing that felt awkward or off about this instead peaceful and calming it felt like all the nerves seonghwa had from this morning and all the tiredness and confusion last night had completely slipped away from his mind once he was in his comfort bubble that had hongjoong as the center of his bubble.

He was never fully at peace unless he was in his room building his legos or near hongjoong, Hongjoong was his safe space and seonghwa was his. They never felt awkward being close whether sitting or standing together they just felt peace. Unless one of the members tease the two.

The day passes by as the group leaves the building and goes over to their entertainment building and practice for their comeback, And this whole dance practice had seonghwa frustrated.

Not because hongjoong is in a tank top but because seonghwa keeps slightly messing up whether mixing his part up or slipping, It was annoying how he immediately froze the second he saw hongjoong in a tank top with a black cap covering his face and a jacket tied around his waist as he wore black baggy jeans with white sneakers, He looked so good in it. But that wasn’t why he was distracted. He was just exhausted.

Finally seonghwa got the part no trips no slips nothing, The members cheered as everyone got their parts down and just as fast as the excitement started it died out with staff telling them to do it a few more times until everyone is perfect.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

Seonghwa had finally hit the bed, Stretching like a cat trying to get comfortable enough to sleep but of course he couldn’t, So he tossed and turned finally getting comfortable and closing his eyes.

But to his surprise nothing. He had sighed loudly out of his nose as he turned to grab his phone and stare at the time. It took 15 minutes until he gave up. He rolled his eyes at the time cursing the world for not letting him get the rest he needed but finally decided to open his phone and get to scrolling again.

And this time he’s reading comments on the new interview, He loved seeing everyone excited about new things they learned about the members but what he also loved is the clips.

And this clip had seonghwa conflicted. It was when he was talking about one of his biggest things in life and how he achieved it but the clip wasn’t of him telling his story but it was of hongjoong. The man was staring into his eyes like he was enchanted, His eyes followed everytime seonghwa moved on the chair as he spoke, His eyes were focused on him but also not. And seonghwa froze once he realized it.

Hongjoong looked at his lips… Why? That’s just fake, Right?

Wrong it’s in every clip of that part. He stares for a good 10 seconds before going back up to his eyes staring passionately. And apparently this isn’t the first time he’s done this.

The taller man sits up in shock as he keeps scrolling finding every clip where hongjoong does the exact thing and even biting his lip in some. And thats when seonghwa feels his heart race and something in his stomach just flipped.

He quickly closed out twitter, He didn’t want to keep looking because he felt like hes just trying to make something appear in something that would never happen.

So he just scrolls endlessly on tiktok but something stops him.

DING

And thats when seonghwa races to open the message.

Joong

“Yo you up?”

Seonghwa

“Yea.”

“You also having trouble?”

Joong

“Told you id be up, and yes just like you.”

Seonghwa laughed at the little blow “Just like you.” And quickly typed a response. He needed to distract himself from whatever he was feeling from the clips before.

Seonghwa

“What usually helps you sleep joongi?”

Joong

“Y you asking? Tryna steal my technique?”

Seonghwa

“Just need help getting rest.”

“And yes im stealing it <3.”

Joong

“Ill let you steal anything from me any day.”

And thats when seonghwa felt it again. That same feeling, His heart skipped his stomach fluttered and his hands got sweaty. What is wrong with him? It was just a cute snapback at his own flirty joke, Not like joong was serious.

And thats when the next message changed seonghwa’s entire life.

Joong

“Masturbating usually helps me.”

Holy shit. He felt his entire body get shivers as the next images that popped in his mind were his bestfriend, Head thrown back, Dick in hand and hes quietly moaning and groaning as he strokes himself slowly but roughly trying to waste his energy just so he could sleep. All he could think about was how he looked while doing it.

What faces did joong make? How loud does he get? Does he moan groan or whine? Does he do all of them? How fast does he go? What does he watch? Does he top?

He quickly drags himself out of that mindset, Trying to calm himself down by responding. He feels his body hot and his heart racing, He feels like a schoolgirl who almost got caught doing something against her parents strict rules.

Seonghwa

“Really?”

Joong

“Yep, It helps out alot.”

Seonghwa

“Never tried to do that to force myself asleep.”

Joong

“Hey i mean i was going to do it.”

“But i decided to text you.”

Seonghwa felt the immediate rush of blood flow everywhere but his brain. The thought of hongjoong jerking off kept popping up, And now he’s in a hole he dug himself with a problem of his own.

Seonghwa

“Wowww im so special you decided to text me over jacking off.”

“im so honored.”

Joong

“Idc. Id do it while texting you hwa. im tired and cant sleep and thats honestly the only way i know how.”

And at that second seonghwa quickly but quietly ran up and out his and wooyoungs shared room and into the bathroom he had closest to his room. He locked the door and sat at the toilet groaning as he looked at his own hard on.

Seonghwa

“Thats pretty crazy to say joong.”

And just after he sent that he raised his own hips to slide off his sweats, Along with his boxers letting his dick spring out into the cold air. He sucked air through his teeth trying to get used to the coldness.

Just as he wrapped his hand around the base of his cock his phone dinged and he immediately opened the message.

Joong

“Says the one who just ran into the bathroom.”

Seonghwa

“???”

And just then his phone dinged again this time an image showing up, He bit his lip as he anxiously opened the image. It showed him opening the bathroom door phone in hand. The photo was taken across from him. Exactly where san and hongjoong were roomied up.

Seonghwa gulped as he slowly stroke his own dick while typing back to hongjoong.

Seonghwa

“Stalker much?”

Joong

“Not my fault i saw you the second i went to do what your doing right now.”

And seonghwa quietly groaned at the fact the other male knew exactly what he was doing right now.

Seonghwa

“Perv.”

Joong

“Aren’t you also jerking off right now.”

Seonghwa let out an airy laugh as he squeezed at the tip teasing himself as he read the message out again imagining hongjoong saying that to his face, Practically spitting at him at how much of a pervert he was for masturbating while texting his best friend.

Seonghwa

“This might be weird but how do you do it.”

Joong

“Bold question, But ill answer.”

“I usually go fast and hard since im exhausted. So id rather get it over with so i can sleep.”

And that second seonghwa swore he was about to cum just at the thought of hongjoong abusing his dick forcing huge strings of cum to burst out of his cock.

Seonghwa

“I have to try that. Im usually slow and hard. But then again im never in a hurry.”

Joong

“If you really want to sleep faster everytime you get to your tip squeeze a bit tighter and twist your hand, I come fast from doing that like 3 times.”

And seonghwa immediately listens placing his phone down on the sink counter snd quickly picking up his pace and quietly moaning as he slams his hand down hard on his shaft. Keeping a fast and hard rhythm and just as he goes to stroke again he squeezes around his tip and twists while pulling his hand down his dick, The shock that spills through his dick to the rest of his body feels electric, He throws his head back and lets out a groan as he repeats the same motion and rythmn.

And the third time he does it he feels his legs start to shake as he fastens the pace and constantly twisting his dick, The absolute wave of pleasure he gets slapped with is overwhelming that he completely ignores his phone buzzing with texts and covers his mouth muffling the loud moans and curses that slip past his mouth as he shoots strings and strings of cum.

Seonghwa sits there hand full of cum as the shots of cum land on his shirt and thighs, Some missing and landing on the seat and floor. He sits back panting and catching his breath as he feels his cum becoming hard, He groans and quickly grabs the wipes wiping down his body riding himself of his cum leftovers, And cleaning the seat and floor.

He throws his cum stained shirt into the hamper leaving him shirtless in the coldness of their place. And just then another ding comes from his phone, And he quickly picks the phone up left with an image and a few messages

Joong

“Hwaaa?”

“Seems like someone took my advice.”

“I miss you i wanna talk to you before i starttt.”

1 IMAGE ATTACHED

And once seonghwa opens the image he feels his stomach drop. Completely shocked and in awe at the picture, The image shows off hongjoongs hand with his sweats, The blue light just barely lighting the shorter mans hand, And if you adjust the brightness you can see it almost perfectly. Hongjoong was holding the outline of his dick through the sweats. His team ring being lit up by the blue light and some of his dick outline also being lit.

He looked huge. And it took everything in seonghwa not to run into that bathroom and suck him dry, Choking on hongjoongs dick tearing up as the shorter mans fucks up into his mouth.

And just then seonghwa smiles at himself as he quickly pulls his sweats down slightly just showing off his vline, And the light just so perfectly shines showing his perfect abs and just stoping at his perfect hips. Vline just visible, Any further and his dick will peek out. And with that seonghwa takes a picture and sends it along with a text

Seonghwa

“Maybe you might go to sleep faster than you think joongie.”

1 IMAGE ATTACHED

“Dream of me will you.? Also thanks for the tip.”

And just with that seonghwa unlocks the bathroom, Walking out with a proud smile and just before he enters his room he stares where hongjoong would be at in the bathroom and just as he enters his room he swears he could hear a groan.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

Quickly the morning arrives and seonghwa swears he had the sleep of his life, He walks downstairs and everyone turns to the usual grumpy seonghwa.

“Morning grump.” “Morning jongho.” Seonghwa replied with a smile and thats when yeosang and jongjo froze. Hwa walked past them to grab a banana from the counter behind them and walks back around and sits at the island across from the two.

Mingi turned his head and stared at seonghwa squinting at the older man trying to understand why hes not his normal grump self.

“What?” Seonghwa spoke up while having mouth full of banana. “Did you actually get sleep.?” San spoke in a soft and quiet tone, Everyone but hongjoong was confused.

Seonghwa glared over towards where hongjoong was standing at which was near the fridge, And the two locked eyes, Hongjoong smiled towards him and seonghwa smiled back and immediately everyone look at hongjoong.

“Oh my god did hongjoong help you get sleep? I heard he always stays up so im guessing he gave you tips!” Yeosang spoke up and everyone around broke out into “ohhh” and went back to their normal routine, Except wooyoung.

“Hongjoong how do you get good sleep even though san tells me it take you hours to sleep.” Seonghwa gets up to throw the banana away and grab a plate of food that wooyoung cooked earlier.

“Cant share my technique to those who dont need it.” The brown haired man said and wooyoung groaned in response.

Of course hongjoong wouldn’t say anything why would he? He would threaten the friendship by exposing themselves and saying “We jerked off last night together.”

No hongjoong wasn’t like that, And he knew that too. For the years he’s been with him in this group and the years they’ve been best friends he knows by heart hongjoong would never jeopardize anyone in the group but especially the bond they have.

And for the rest of the day he could feel hongjoongs focus on him, And seonghwa enjoyed every second. The sudden awkwardness he felt during the interview yesterday completely faded away after the two’s little fiasco last night. The weird feeling seonghwa felt as if he was feeling dirty at how much his heart would skip as joong looked at him was completely washed away as he feels something had been growing between the two and it was about to fully bloom.

Hours had passed and it was finally their break, Everyone ran to grab drinks or just lay on the couch or floor. And some just wanted to rest ontop of their preferred member. Seonghwa had walked past woosan who were practically cuddling on the dance practice floor, He had completely let his body go limp once he sat down on the black couch that rested in their practice room.

He laid his head back resting his arm on top the back of the couch while his other arm stay limp near his body. His chest was rising and falling slow as he was finally catching his breath after the hours of practice, His feet and back were killing him and he swore he developed a headache from the hardcore dancing he had just done.

And just when he felt at peace he hears footsteps approaching him slowly yet rapidly, He picks his head up and stares at an exhausted hongjoong who just walked up to him with a weak smile. He knew what his captain wanted and wouldn’t push him away, He also wanted to just rest with his comfort person.

And so they did, Hongjoong laid his whole body out on the couch and laid his head in seonghwas lap as if he were a cat just wanting to be near their owner constantly. The taller man softly played with the peaceful mans hair causing his body to relax more than it already was, He felt joongs soft inhales and exhales as he kept playing with his hair. This is what peace is. This is what he wants for the rest of his life.

Just afterwards seonghwa quickly falls asleep while hongjoong fell asleep in his lap, The two look so peaceful and happy just to be in this position, To feel completely safe and normal with small things like this. And the last thing seonghwa hears before fully sleeping is sans giggling and whispering.

At least an hour passed and seonghwa woke up as he felt hongjoong move to lay on his back, Seonghwa groans and lifts his head from leaning to the side and stretches his neck cracking the sharp pain he had from holding his neck in place like that. He then stared down and smiled at the half awake male that laid in his lap staring back at him.

“Hey.” Seonghwa spoke up his voice slightly deeper laced with the remaining drops of exhaustion that ran through his body.

“Hey.” Hongjoong responded back in his soft tone, The mix of the softness and deepness he heard made his heart skip.

The two just stared at each other with no more words spoken, The two stared into each others eyes, Their chests rising and falling slowly as they wake up from that nap. The air felt thick seonghwa felt suffocated in the air that traveled his body and wrapped around it. And that’s when seonghwa leaned in. Slowly their faces grew closer.

Seonghwa moved a piece of hair that fell onto hongjoongs face once the man had moved to get comfortable in the beautiful mans lap. Something about this made seonghwa want to risk everything. Hongjoongs gaze felt rough. Like if he was staring at him with such a huge want.

He stared eyes moving as he took in every detail. Seeing hongjoong relaxed in his lap, Seeing how beautiful hongjoong lips looked right now made his heart twist, The way his hair is laid out on his face was so hot. And he took in all the piercings he had, He always knew but to see them this close was perfect.

And the second he met eyes with hongjoong again he felt himself swallow hard and just for a few more seconds he held perfect eye contact until he stared again at hongjoongs beautiful lips and suddenly they crash together.

Hongjoong holding the back of Seonghwa’s neck as the two kissed, The kiss was quick and soft until they got longer and the kisses became intense. Hongjoong had fully sat up and moved away this time his body was staring towards hwa. Seonghwa took this quick second to look at the man’s entire body and how hot he looked as he started breathing faster. And in that second hongjoong snakes his hands around his waist and suddenly pulls him in by the waist.

Seonghwa kissed the man in response to this and suddenly he’s climbing on top of him sitting in his lap as the two kissed again.Hongjoong quickly bit the taller mans mouth causing him to open it allowing hongjoong to dominate his mouth. Taking every second to explore his mouth and just as he would do so the longer haired man whined into the kiss.

Suddenly hongjoong broke apart the kiss to catch his breath and take in the sight of a fully kiss fucked seonghwa, His lips were sore and bruised from the amount of rough kisses the two had.

“You look so beautiful.” Hongjoong said barely above a whisper as he leaned in to leave soft kisses and kitten licks to his neck, And as expected seonghwa tilted his head leaving his neck out for him to just abuse and mark up.

And hongjoong did just that, He started out with soft kisses and started biting and sucking on the mans neck leaving marks up and down his neck as seonghwa quietly moaned out with every marl to his neck.

“Joong-ah.. Is this.. mm.. okay?” Seonghwa moaned out as he stared into his eyes, Hongjoong had responded with a soft kiss to his lips and a smile.

“It is unless you don’t think so then i don’t mind stopping right here hwa.” The shorter man responded as he rubbed circles into seonghwa’s hips with his hands, It was comforting and perfect. This entire thing was.

“Mhm.” “Good im glad, Especially because of that perfect fucking tease last night.” Hongjoongs voice suddenly changed as if it was laced with lustrous undertones to his soft and needy tone.

“You liked it mmmff! Didnt you?” Seonghwa managed to speak up as hongjoong bit his neck again perfectly marking him up, And seonghwa loved every bite that he took because it symbolized that joong wanted hwa. He wanted people to know he’s his.

“Liked it? You know what you did.” Hongjoong said his tone was completely full of lust and it was driving seonghwa crazy.

“What did i do? I mean you helped me so i just wanted to show my appreciation.”He breathed out as the shorter man softly brushed his fingertips along seonghwas waist all the way up to his chest.

“Yeah by showing me your half naked sexy body while i was about to jerk off.?” And just as he said that he locked eyes with him again, And he swore he could’ve came at the spot, His eyes were so dark and hidden behind such a need such a want. It was so addictive to look in his eyes and feel himself harden more and more just with staring into his eyes.

“Well.. did it work.” “Fuck yes hwa.” And right with that sentence they crashed lips again this time it was dirty. Their lips sloppily making out, Hands traveling all over each other trying to find a perfect spot. And just as they did so seonghwa grinded his hips into hongjoongs, Their erections rubbing against each other. The sudden electric jolt that ran through their bodies sending shivers down their spines and causing pre cum to spill from their dicks was intoxicating.

The two men kept grinding against each other as if they were horny teenagers with nothing to use but a pillow to rut against. It was so hot, All seonghwa could hear was hongjoong groaning each time he rolled his hips into his. The friction being made was killing seonghwa.

Hwa then pulled his own shirt off just to feel closer to joong in anyway, He needed their skin to touch or he was going to fucking lose it. And immediately after hongjoong threw his to the side and immediately started attacking his shoulders with kisses and bites, Then his chest. Especially stopping at his muscular breasts.

That was one of hongjoongs favorite things about soenghwa. His beautiful full chest, He loved squeezing them and watching the mans face contort into such a pleased face, Watching how he reacted everytime he kissed his nipples, Hearing the beautiful sounds that slipped his mouth as he sucked and licked and bit his sensitive nipples.

Seonghwa was gripping the shorter mans shoulders as he sucked and treated his chest with such beautiful respect, The sounds hongjoong made while sucking and lapping at his chest was disgusting. And in that moment he wanted to cum.

“Joongie nghh.. Jagiya . Pleasee..” Hwa whined and hongjoong smirked as he stopped and flicked at seonghwas chest, Slightly pinching and pulling his nipples. “Yes baby?” He replied innocently and watched as seonghwa held back the loudest moan.

“Pleaseee . Joong.” “Speak jagi.” Hongjoong calmly responded just smiling up at the man who was a mess, His head was thrown back and sweat ran down his neck all the way towards his stomach. His body was covered in hickeys and bite marks, And fuck the whines spilling out of his mouth.

“I need your dick so bad.” Seonghwa moaned out as he locked eyes with hongjoong, And just like that he groaned quickly grabbing the waistband of his pants and immediately unbuttoning the pants and zipping them off, Lifting his hips up and seonghwa lifts himself up to rid himself of his pants, He sat back down on his lap their clothed dicks touching making the two bite their lips.

Hongjoong wrapped his hands around seonghwa’s long dick, Yeah it wasn’t as much as his but hwa’s size was easily 6inches. It was skinny and slightly thick and god in his eyes it was perfect. Seonghwa whimpered at the sudden grip around his neglected dick.

He slowly pumped the mans cock through his boxers and just as he did he watched seonghwa place his hands on hongjoongs things and throwing his head back as he arched up forwards. It was such s beautiful sight and he needed this man to be completely naked and a ruined mess now or else he was going to murder someone.

Hongjoong stopped and pulled both his and seonghwa’s boxers down to let their dicks spring together and to breathe. They both gasped at the cold air that smacked their dick violently, The coldness sending shivers down their body.

And just as hongjoong pulled both their dicks out he connects them by grabbing both of them and forcing them to rub together drawing a long mewl from seonghwa.

“Jagiya.. mm give me your hand.” Hongjoong groaned as he felt seonghwa’s dick twitch against his own it was such a thrilling feeling. Anyone could walk back into this room and catch the two here like this. Seeing seonghwa marked and bit up and on the brink of falling apart all at the cause of hongjoong.

And seonghwa held his hand out for hongjoong he watched as he brought his hand up to kiss it was so idiotic and adorable, And hongjoong held eye contact the entire time as he kissed his hand, And as quickly as it was cute it was hot.

Seonghwa watched as hongjoong placed his hand wrapped around both their dicks just like homgjoongs and seonghwa whimpered at the sight, He then grabbed seonghwa’s other hand and wrapped it about their dicks.

Hongjoong held an arm around seonghwa pulling him closer and their dicks rub again causing them both to moan at the sensation.

“Fuck, If you need to tap out just tell me okay.” Homgjoong said as he threw a sweet smile at hwa and im response he gets a nod amd a “hurry the fuck up please.” And just with that he starts jerking the two off at a normal speed, Seonghwa keeping his pace and doing the same as hongjoong, The two moan as they jerk each other off the feeling of having their dicks rub against each other as they pump their cocks together made seonghwa’s head spin.

He would’ve never expected that a simple “u up” text would’ve ended up with him moaning in his captains lap as he jerked his dicks off. But was he complaining? No.

“Look at me pleaseeee hwa.” Hongjoong had moaned out as he stared at him with half lidded eyes clouded by lust, The only thing on his mind was seonghwa and the feeling of his beautiful dick rubbed against his own. Seonghwa looked straight into hongjoongs eyes and moaned out as they both picked up the pace hongjoong groaned as he watched the taller boys eyes roll into the back of his head and throw his head back moaning loudly and letting curses slip past his kiss bruised lips.

Neither of them cared how loud they were just focused on how good it felt, The intoxicating sound of the wet slides of their cocks rubbing and being pumped, The strings of moans and whines of curses slipping out of hwa’s lips, And the groans and curses coming out of hongjoong filled their room and their ears. And that was their music.

Seonghwa felt his legs shake as he started pumping their dicks faster, He kept begging louder snd higher moaning out ‘fuck fuck fuck fuck.’ and a bunch of “joongie ah ah hongjoong!” in the middle of his begging. And once he saw seonghwa’s body jolt he immediately started squeezing his hand around their dicks and pumping them both fast and hard.

And just as he did that Seonghwa’s dick spasmed and squirted out strings of cum painting both their stomachs white and dicks coated, Seonghwa let out the loudest moan as he shot his cum all over his captain and himself, And hongjoong kept going even when seonghwa was a whimpering squeaking mess as he was being overstimulated.

“Hwa hwa hwa fuck im gonna cum.” Is all seonghwa heard before hearing a loud groan and watching as hongjoongs dick shot out loads mixing with seonghwa’s own cum. Once hongjoong let go of their dicks hwa let his body fall into joongs and took in his scent as he rode down from his high while joong drew circles in his back while hugging the man tightly.

“Hah, Who would’ve guessed the most innocent text lead up to the most disgusting masturbation session i ever had.” Hongjoong laughed out his voice raspy from all the groaning and moaning.

“I wouldn’t have wished for a different outcome.” The blonde spoke up kissing the smaller male before laying his forehead on his shoulder.

“Now please clean me up i feel horribly dirty.”

“Yes my princess.”

「AO3」 ────

[crowsofdarkness]

Dorogaya: Chapter Seven

-gif not mine. credit to owner-

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Female Agent! Reader.

Content Warnings: language, 18 + implied smut, angst, fluff, kidnapping, violence.

Summary: It has been a few years since Bucky and Reader went into hiding. Just when they thought they were slowly building a life together, the past comes back with a vengeance.

Authors Note: This is the sequel to Soldat! You should read that series first. This takes place during Civil War. Tags are open if anyone is interested!

Tags: @globetrotter28 @sakuracyberhex @chinggay85-blog @bookofriverr @misatxox @that-blonde-girl @cats-chaotic-mind @wintrsoldrluvr @sebastians-love @pumpkin-babydoll @ordelixx @starfly-nicole @j23r23 @baw1066

Soldat Masterlist | Dorogaya Masterlist

The soft vibrating of the quintjet rumbled against my feet as I sat down next to Bucky while Steve drove. We had been up in the air for a while now but we were all tired from our fight. We wanted to rest before the next fight. 

I dared to look over to Bucky, who had his eyes trained hard against the back of Steve’s head. So many emotions were running through him. 

Anger. 

Rage. 

Confusion.  

Sighing, I placed a hand on his knee and gave it a squeeze. He turned his gaze towards me and forced a smile. 

“I’m okay,” he tried to reassure me but I knew. 

“Do you want to talk?” I asked. 

He shook his head before turning his attention to Steve once again. “What’s going to happen to your friends?” 

A loud sigh escaped through his lips and Steve shook his head. “Whatever it is, I’ll deal with it.”

“I don’t know if I’m worth all this, guys.” Bucky admitted with a sad sigh. 

“Buck,” I sighed. “Don’t say that.” 

“What you did all those years, it wasn’t you. You didn’t have a choice,” Steve said over his shoulder. 

“I know. But I did it,” Bucky said without missing a beat. 

The tears started to form in my eyes and I shook my head while standing up. I couldn’t sit and let Bucky feel bad about himself for what he did all those years as The Winter Soldier. He was forced to kill all those people. 

I sat towards the back of the jet on one of the weapons crates and tried to calm myself with deep breaths. 

“Doll?” 

Tearful eyes met with Bucky’s sad ones and all I could feel from his was one thing; he was worried about us. 

“I’m fine, Bucky.” I reassured him. 

“You’re crying,” he noticed. 

“It’s been a very long day,” I admitted with a sigh. 

Bucky came in front of me and spread my knees open with his metal hand, stepping between them. The same hand pulled my braid free and ran fingers through my hair, combing out the knots. 

I closed my eyes, enjoying the small moment of domestic bliss as he massaged my scalp. I hummed in pleasure, wishing we were in a different situation; back in our home in Romania, just the two of us laying in bed. 

We never had the chance to be intimate with each other, Bucky only feeling comfortable with cuddling and kisses. I was fine with it at first but there was a part of me that wondered if we would ever take that next step. 

We’ve never even kissed with tongue, only a few pecks. 

His plump lips brushed against my forehead. “Tell me what you’re thinking.” 

I shrugged my shoulders. “I was missing our home. I wish we could be there right now.” 

Bucky smiled. “It wasn’t much but we made it ours, huh?”

The question I wanted to ask kept trying to crawl its way through my throat but I didn't want to push Bucky more than he was today. 

“Hey,” he softly spoke, “What’s going on?” 

Hesitating for a moment, I sighed. “I have to be honest with you. About Steve and me. We didn’t just work together, we sort of had something together.” 

Bucky’s body went rigid before he released the anger with a sigh. “I know.” 

My grasp fell slightly on his hips. “You do?” 

“You’re pretty easy to read, doll,” he gave me a smug smirk. “Is there still something going on between you two?”

Immediately I shook my head. “No. Not since the night I took you to my family cabin.”

“If things were different, if I never found you, would you be with him right now?” Bucky questioned after a beat of silence. 

I hesitated, not sure what the answer was that he was looking for. 

“I don’t know, Buck. There was something there, I can’t deny that.” I admitted. 

He went to walk away but I grabbed his flesh arm to stop him. “I know you’re jealous of mine and Steve’s past but please just listen to me for one second.” 

When I knew he wasn’t going to leave, I continued. “Can you tell me what’s going on between us?” 

“I thought we were together,” Bucky said. 

“We are,” I nodded. “You know I’m fine with not putting a label on us until you feel comfortable with yourself and us.” 

Bucky’s eyes narrowed. “I am comfortable with us, doll.” 

I couldn’t help but scoff. “Are you? Because I’m afraid to take the next step with you because I don’t want to push you.”

“It’s difficult, Y/N. Trying to remember how to kiss a girl or even touch one. I haven't had sex with anyone since the night you left Hydra. It’s not easy having you around Steve, knowing that he knows more about those things. He can give you what you want and need now while I don’t know when I can give you that.” 

My hands cupped his cheeks and I forced him to look at me. “Listen to me, Bucky. I don’t want anyone else besides you. Steve and I did have something between us but I promise you that I’m only yours.” 

He nodded in my hands. “I’m trying, Y/N. I really am, I just need a little more time.” 

“I understand, I do. But you have to understand that when I’m giving you a foot, I can only ask for an inch in return.” I said. 

“I just wish I knew how,” Bucky admitted, eyes looking down for a quick second.

“What if we shared silent ques to know how we’re feeling?” I suggested. 

When Bucky agreed, I decided to show him what I was talking about. 

“A kiss on the cheek; friends,” I gave him a kiss on the cheek. 

I couldn’t help but laugh at his pouted lip. 

“A kiss on the forehead; I hope we're together forever.” 

A soft kiss on his forehead. 

“A kiss on the ear; you’re my everything.” 

A gentle kiss on his ear. 

Bucky sucked in a breath when my lips nibbled on his ear for a quick second. 

“A kiss on the hand; I adore you.” 

I made sure to grab his metal one, the one that he was still nervous to use around me, and gave a chaste kiss across his knuckles. 

“A kiss on the shoulder; we belong together.” 

I brought him close to me and left a quick kiss on his shoulder but scrunched my face when I was met with the taste of leather and velcro. 

“Sorry,” Bucky giggled. 

“A kiss on the neck; I want you,” I spoke lustfully. 

I placed a few kisses on Bucky’s neck, taking my time slowly sucking after each kiss. His hands wrapped around my hips, squeezing them with every kiss. 

“A kiss on the stomach; I’m ready.” 

With a gentle push, I was kneeling in front of Bucky and slowly lifted the bottom of his shirt and felt my insides melt when I saw his happy trail going from his belly button to the top of his belt buckle. A few soft kisses down the trail was all I did, not knowing if he was comfortable. 

He answered my silent question when his hands gripped through my hair, gently forcing a few more kisses across his belt line. While standing up, face to face with him, I placed a finger underneath his chin, my breath fanning over his lips. 

“A kiss on the lips; I love you.” 

Time seemed to stop as I placed a soft kiss on his lips. I had every intention of pulling away but Bucky had other plans. 

His lips collided with my own, hungrier than I had ever felt before. His arms wrapped underneath my ass, lifting me back onto the gun crates. Bucky pushed my knees open with his own and once again was standing in between them. 

I felt his tongue push its way through my mouth and for the first time in years, our tongues danced together in the lustful bliss we had created. My hands gripped his vest, trying everything I could do to pull him closer to me. 

Bucky’s flesh fingers traced down my neck over my collar bone and stopped at the zipper of my suit. He slowly started pulling the zipper down and I moaned into his mouth. 

“Bucky.” 

He mimicked my own moan, only louder, when my hands pulled at his belt, suddenly wanting his pants off. 

“Are you sure?” I asked after taking a quick break from kissing. 

Bucky answered my question with a kiss to the neck, teeth scraping alongside my veins and sucking love bites all over. The lust I felt over taking me from Bucky was strong and I felt myself getting dizzy at the thought of our naked bodies together. 

“Let's take it slow,” Bucky breathed into my neck. 

He worked the zipper down to my navel and his flesh fingers traced circles on my bare stomach. I laced fingers with his metal fingers, giving him a silent approval that he was able to use that hand for whatever he wanted. 

I knew he was still insecure about even touching me with his metal arm but wanted him to know that I wanted to feel the coolness of his fingers touching me, all over. 

In a quick instant, his vest was on the ground and as our lips still collided with each other, my hands started slowly pulling his shirt up but a loud cough from behind us, stopped our actions in an instant. 

Looking over his shoulder, I noticed Steve had his arms crossed over his chest while looking at us.

“We’re almost there.” Steve’s voice was curt. 

Wiping off the excess saliva from my lips, I fixed my hair while Bucky zipped my suit back up, his body covering Steve from seeing anything that was underneath. 

“Sorry,” I apologized. 

Steve only nodded before retreating back to the pilot seat, leaving Bucky and I alone. 

Our eyes locked and I could feel the lust ooze out of them. 

“Was that okay?” I questioned while biting my lip. 

“Doll, that was more than okay.” He groaned, thinking back to our heated kiss just a few moments ago. 

“We’ll have to pick up where we left off once this is all over,” I said.

Bucky’s flesh hand reached for mine and I accepted it, jumping off of the crate. Bucky placed a soft kiss on my lips before nodding towards Steve. 

“I’m going to use the bathroom before we land.” 

Nodding, I gave him a quick smile while he walked the other direction than me. Sitting beside Steve, we both sat there in silence, afraid to say the first word. 

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Steve apologized. 

“It’s fine,” I said while playing with my fingers. 

“He loves you, ya know,” Steve’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. 

“Hm?” I questioned, raising my head to face him. 

Steve put the jet on autopilot before looking over to me. 

“If you’re afraid that Buck won’t ever say it to you, don’t be. I’ve seen him with a lot of girls back in the day but none of them have changed him the way you do. You both have had a shit hand dealt to you over the years so if anyone deserves a happy ending, it’s him.” 

I smiled at Steve’s kind words. “Even if it’s with me?” 

“Even if it's with you,” he winked. 

Bucky returned, placing a kiss to my ear, and sat next to me. Linking our hands together, mine with his flesh, I couldn’t help but stare up at his soft blue eyes before I rested my head on his shoulder, trying to enjoy these last few moments of peace. 

[cantfightmoonlight]

"Fair, but what if they speak english real nice and slow?" She offered up in Friends defense. "Oh. I hope I'm not one of those people. I don't try to be. I guess I've just never been all that good at sugarcoating things. That's nice of you though. I guess for me, I don't really feel like I have much to lose by not telling the truth. But, I also don't really have many people or any people outside of Nico. So, that may be part of it too."

"You know you do look like someone who can read," She smiled. A bright and warm smile as she found herself beaming up at him. "You volunteer in the library? That's cool. What do you there? And thank you. It's probably the nose. I had it done when I was eighteen." Her uncle had always told her she would look better with her nose done and he must not have been wrong. "You're really easy on the eyes though too," She promised him. "Kinda. Yeah. I wonder why that is. Wait- did you say date? Oh, um, okay! Sure! We can go on a date," She nodded along happily. She couldn't remember the last time she had been asked on a date before. But, dates were supposed to be fun, weren't they? "Sort of? It's kind of a long story though."

"That would be fun! We can have the pups go on a date too. Luna's super friendly. Sometimes too friendly. She still thinks she's a puppy, but she's huge now and I'm pretty sure she'd plow down a burglar to give them love," She let out a small laugh at the thought. "They could try? You might tear the sleeves though. But, then again, that could be a look. Good for you. I've been told I'm not very good with manners or keeping my elbows off the table, but I try. You should talk to Jonah. I've heard he loves submarines and he seems like he reads too."

"Oh," Her face drooped as she thought back to the camp retreat. "I quit my job after that," She mumbled quietly under her breath. "That's sweet of you to say, but it doesn't change the fact that I was bad at therapy. I'm learning I'm not that great at most things."

"Huh?" Her brows creased at the mention of Nico. "What kind of rivalry? Like they didn't like each other?" She asked, already preparing herself to hate this unknown woman on the simple principle that she didn't get along with her best friend and nothing else. "You're not wrong there. I can bench a lot too! I might even be able to lift you," She assessed, if only because of super strength, but she could certainly try. "Do that again. The song? You're a really good singer."

Efe shook his head back and forth. "I mean, I like friends. I like having friends in real life. What I don't like is six rich friends who all look the same and have no real problems," he replied very seriously, giving a short nod of his head. "Hmm. Yeah, yeah. That makes sense," Efe smiled, cocking his head to one side. "Well, sometimes I think brutally honest people might like it more for the brutality than the honesty. I'm not saying you're one of those people, of course. But sure. I try to be honest. I tell people good things I admire about them because that's true too. I'm not always good at it." Efe wrinkled up his brow. "And yeah, sometimes people do things that hurt themselves, and they don't wanna hear it from me. So. I try to tell and give them what they need instead." He shrugged.

Efe smiled. "Can I? I read a lot. That's it. There's this program at the library where I volunteer to...but, well, never-mind. It's true. You're beautiful." He swayed back and forth with her, meeting her eye. "Ah, well, I'm just me. Thank you, though. I don't try to be a good guy because a lot of those kinds of guys are the worst, right? Which sounds like something one of those guys would say, so pretend I didn't. But, yeah, I'm asking you on a date. A real date. One that we keep in touch after maybe if it goes okay? What do you think? But, oh...uh, why? Did something happen? I left town for a while, and it was...well, I don't know what it was."

Efe smiled. "Luna should meet Badger. That's my dog. He's pretty well-trained except when he's not." Raising an eyebrow, Efe broke into a laugh. "Yeah, the car wash bod is why I end up as July and August. What, are they gonna put all this in a parka? Come on. I work out." He wrinkled up his nose. "Manners. Respect for your elders. Good citizenship. That kind of thing. Nerdy as hell. I read books about submarines." He grimaced before allowing the smile to grow more sincere. "I think you're great. You helped organize that whole camp, and...look, I know a lot of people were weird as shit about it. But how many of them try to do do things for the good of all their neighbors? That counts for something."

Efe gave a low sigh, shaking his head. "He had this, like, rivalry with my ex-wife. So...they were weird. And that made me weird because I was on the outside of it," he explained. "But he's cool." Efe broke into another laugh. "Maybe not buff the way I'm buff, nah, but...come on, we'd look pretty good on a beach, huh?" He rolled his eyes with this joke before beginning to sort of half-sing the song, forgetting some of the lyrics and mumbling along the way. "See, you're talking clubs. I'm talking middle school dances and other people's weddings, I think. You know what other song I don't get? 'Piano Man.' That dick's just singing about what a loser everyone else but him is."

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

🐕‍🦺1k 💜💜💜💜💙💙💙💙 ooo excited to see Eddie's POV in a cranberry story!

WOO! Let's go.

1k for the girlie (dog):

---

But the thing is, Cranberry is potentially one of the most perfect creatures in all of existence. He can’t say that out loud. Buck already says he babies her too much. As if she isn’t an eternal baby? She’s just easy to exist around. Happy, quiet, sweet. He doesn’t have to be anything around her, because she’s sort of obsessed with him for no reason, as is. So, yeah. As much as he’s grateful for Pepa and Carla, he’s sort of eager to see his dog. Buck’s dog. Whatever. 

“In the crate,” Chris grumbles, looking sour about it. “I knew you’d want to see her.”

“Christopher,” Pepa scolds. 

“We didn’t want her to jump or knock into you,” Carla explains. “We know she gets a little over excited about you.”

“Training goes out the window every time Eddie gets home from work,” Buck admits. 

“I want to see her,” Eddie says, feeling snappish. “Let her out.”

Pepa and Carla look surprised. 

He’s not usually… Well he knows he’s being short. He knows they did what they thought was right. But still. He wants the damn dog. Why is no one getting her? Does Eddie have to go get her? He will.

“Okay, uh… I’ll go get Cran,” Buck says, upon reading that Eddie is dead serious. “Eddie, why don’t you go sit down, okay? Or, if you need to go to bed…”

“I don’t,” Eddie says. “I’m just… Yeah, I’ll sit down.”

‘

Pepa looks at him nervously. “Can I get you anything, Edmundo? Water?”

Eddie shakes his head. He just wants the damn dog.

“I’m good.”

🦮🦮🦮

Cranberry comes tearing through the house towards him, squealing with excitement that he’s home. But right before she crashes into where he sits on the couch, she stops. She looks at him blankly for a moment. Eddie tenses. Chris is sitting beside him, watching both of them. Eddie doesn’t want to react to the dog acting differently, so he keeps very still. But why? Why did she stop? Can she sense that something is missing about him?

Cranberry takes a tentative step forward and starts to sniff his legs. 

“It’s okay, Cran,” Chris says. “Dad is okay. He missed you.”

Eddie keeps still. His throat feels very tight. He feels like he might cry. 

But then Cranberry wags her tail, licks Eddie’s knee, and hops up onto the couch.

“Careful!” Carla calls across the room. “Oh, be careful.”

Eddie ignores it. He uses his good arm to stroke Cranberry’s head as she lies across his lap. She stays very still, presses her head into his stomach. 

“Good girl,” Eddie whispers. “Thank you, good girl.”

Buck walks into the living room, pausing in the entryway. He watches them. Eddie pretends he doesn’t see. 

iii.

Buck takes even more time off work. 

He’s already been gone for a week to be beside Eddie in the hospital. He takes another week.

Eddie feels guilty about it. Guilty, guilty, guilty. Shameful. How many days did he take off when Buck lost his leg? None. How many days did he take when Shannon died? Three shifts. Three. What kind of fucking person is he?

Buck is such a good caretaker, too. Astounding really. Eddie has everything he needs, all the time. Never misses wound care or medication doses. He does it all while caring for Chris, the dog, and minding Eddie’s shitty mood. He’s a miracle. A force of nature. Eddie loves him. He appreciates him. He wishes he’d remember to say that more now. For some reason, the words are stuck on his tongue. Thank you. I love you. What would I do without you? Why can’t he just say it?

He just has to hope Buck knows while he tries to shake his brain free of cobwebs. 

Eventually, though, Buck does have to return to work. He does have to leave Eddie. Eddie dreads it. Quietly. He doesn’t say he’s terrified about being alone with his thoughts today. He doesn’t say he’s sore and miserable. He doesn’t say knowing Buck is in the other room, doing dishes, while Eddie sleeps, makes Eddie feel safer. 

On the morning Buck is due back at Emergency Ops, Eddie wakes up to Cranberry laying her head on his chest. He’s been having trouble getting up in the morning. The meds make him sluggish. Eddie insisted Buck wake him up before he goes, but when he opens his eyes, Buck is dressed and ready, trying to sneak out of the bedroom. Which doesn’t make sense. Because Cranberry is in bed. 

“Buck,” Eddie rasps, pinned in place by the dog. 

Buck pauses, then turns to Eddie.

“Hey, hon,” Buck smiles. “I’m just about to go. You need anything?”

“Uh, no… But, why aren’t you taking Cran?”

Buck frowns. “Um… Well… I put pull tabs on the fridge and some drawers. I put your meds in a velcro bag she knows to target. She can do other basic retrievals.”

“Buck…”

“She won’t be any work!” Buck interjects. “She’s been fed, done her business, and has enough water to get through the day. She’ll be fine if you can’t let her out until I’m home. She doesn’t need anything, but she can help you.”

Eddie sighs. “I know she’s not any work, but Buck… She’s yours. You need her.”

“Yeah, and today she can help both of us,” Buck says. “Because… Because I think you need her more than me. And knowing she’s here with you will put my mind at ease, okay? If you need me, drop your phone but can’t… She could get it for you, you know?”

And how the hell is Eddie supposed to say no to that? Because, honestly? He’d feel better with her here, too. 

“Okay,” he says. “Thank you, Buck.”

He manages to say it that time.

[carisisrolledupsleeves]

“Could he make you feel as good as i do?” prompt for Sonny? Thank you! 🩷

Disclaimer: I wrote it as a sequel to my previous prompt because I was still inspired by it. also, its smutty

The sun is high in the sky when you wake up. It must be around noon already but considering the night you’ve had, it’s not surprising. You try to blink the sleep out of your eyes, and looking down at your left hand you feel a surge of guilt in your stomach. Even though you know you’ve made the right decision, he never deserved this. He never deserved the hurt you caused him last night. On what should have been one of the happiest days of his life. 

As Sonny tightens his arms around you in his sleep, the negative feelings are replaced by the overwhelming flutter of the clichéd butterflies; something you had always rolled your eyes at; thought of as overrated. And yet. When you left the party after that horrific but necessary conversation with your now ex-fiancé, when you ended up running as fast as your heels would allow it, when you knocked on Sonny’s door with dread, afraid that he would tell you to fuck off and reject him like you had him earlier. However in that moment he opened the door, surprised yet as if he had expected you - that was when the butterflies became real. 

You snuggle into him; his warm body feels so unfamiliar still, yet like a home that is welcoming you. His scent, so heavenly, you want to wrap yourself up in it, and you surely try as you press your face into his chest while your legs wrap around his under the blanket. Sonny sighs, holding you even closer and placing a kiss onto your forehead. There’s so much to say, so much to talk about but neither of you have been able to put it into words just yet. Even last night all you managed to say was a tearful ‘I’m sorry’ followed by his many ‘It’s okay’, followed by even more tears and kisses before you ended up in his bed, fully clothed. 

These clothes are in the way now. Your hand wanders underneath his shirt, and you can feel him shiver in response to your touch. This is the first time you’ve been this close and sober; that drunken night spent together an exciting yet blurry memory of lust and urgency. Now the need to make him yours isn’t any less desperate but you aren’t in a rush, both of you knowing that this is right; that this is you two together from now on. 

Your lips meet; a soft kiss that soon turns more intense as you press your body closer to his and it doesn’t take long before his hands find the zipper of your dress while you manage to shove his shirt over his head. You’re finally skin on skin. It’s kind of crazy how quickly you feel yourself getting wet, especially since you can feel his body having a similar reaction; and you both smile into the kiss, a slight blush on your faces. 

‘I love you.’ Sonny whispers, the first words spoken since last night, and the fact that it’s those three words makes you dizzy. 

‘I love you.’ you don’t hesitate for one second because the truth is, you’ve always loved him. 

You continue to undress each other and it feels like everything is happening in slow-motion. Yet all of a sudden he flips you onto your back and covers you with his body, making you giggle with anticipation. Sonny’s body feels so good, and you know you’re going to have trouble prying yourself away from him in the future. You want him so much. You know you’re going to want him all the time. How you’ve ever denied yourself of him, you do not know. 

His lips leave yours and kiss all over your face before wandering down your neck, lingering there as you moan at the contact. Instinctively, your arms wrap around him; hands all over his strong back tracing the muscles there, finger’s digging into his skin as you feel his mouth continue. He is for sure leaving a mark on your collarbone as he sucks on the delicate skin there. That’s right, let them see. Let them see I’m yours. All yours. You sigh his name at the thought, sigh his name again as his mouth finds your breast, sigh his name over and over as he scoots down your body, his lips stopping at the waistband of your panties. 

‘Dominick…’ your eyes are closed but you can feel him smile against your skin and he looks up at you as you open them. 

‘Can I?’ he asks and you have to control yourself in order to not nod too enthusiastically. His smile grows even bigger.

He pulls your panties off slowly before flinging them across the room, making you laugh. 

‘You’re beautiful.’ he says, pushing your legs apart gently, exposing your wetness, and turning your laughter into a shy giggle. 

All of that shyness is forgotten as his long, tender fingers brush over your folds, making you shudder. His lips are back on your skin, kissing the inside of your trembling thighs, inching closer to your core until you feel the flick of his tongue on your clit, sending an electric current throughout your entire body. 

‘More?’ Sonny asks sheepishly as his fingers continue to stroke you. 

‘More. Yes. Please.’ you reply, biting your lips.

And he gives you so much more. Oh, much much more. Soon, you’re a panting mess, your hands in his hair, tugging desperately while he eats you out. Dominick’s expert mouth is all over your pussy; sucking, licking, teasing as though he has been waiting his entire life for it. Come to think of it, it turns out you have, too. No man has ever gotten you this close to an orgasm in such a short amount of time. Your eyes meet as he fucks you with his tongue, delving into you, his thumb on your swollen nub. He knows you’re close. 

‘Please.’ you beg again. ‘Please, Dominick.’

He withdraws his mouth, letting his fingers continue by slipping into you, curling over your g spot, almost sending you over the edge. 

‘Do you want me to stop?’ he asks and you shake your head before nodding instead. 

‘I want to be yours. All yours. And I want you to be mine. All mine.’ you answer, pulling softly on his hair. He understands. 

And within a heartbeat he sits up, his hands are on your waist, and he pulls you up toward him; you can only whine in response to his hesitation before he buries himself into you with a slow but firm thrust. Fuck. You arch your back at the sensation of him filling you up, stretching your already sensitive sex to a point of blinding pleasure. 

‘Oh my god!’ you cry out, giving yourself over to him completely.

‘Could he make you feel as good as I do?’ Sonny breathes, pulling back just to push into you again, deliberately hitting that spot inside you.

You shudder, hands grabbing at the sheets and at him. Truth be told no one has ever made you feel as good. As loved. As exposed. As vulnerable. As powerful. As sexy. 

‘No. And every time I was with him, I thought about you. I thought about our night together. And I’d cum, thinking about you.’ you admit, your voice shaking. 

He pulls you up so you’re in his lap, and kisses you deeply. His tongue slips into your mouth and you can still taste yourself on him, and your hands are all over him while he holds you, your hips pushing down harder against his thrusts. 

‘Cum for me now.’ Sonny purrs in your ear, his cock twitching inside you. He’s close too.

You can’t hold back even if you wanted to. Sinking into his arms your orgasm washes over you, and it’s earth-shattering. Nothing on your mind except him. Dominick.

And it turns out there will be a ring on your finger again in no time. This time forever.   

prompt requests

[kakitetan]

Sebastian Solace x GN! Reader | Daily Life AU | The Plan

"Oh, you're back . Let me grab your file." Sebastian said, his back was turned.  

The only light in the room was his eyes and his lure . His fingers brushed through the files . He didn't want to say it, but he was thankful you had died . You had the crystal , you were so close . That worried him .. All these monsters, these obstacles, and even Painter . It's all there just to buy him time.  

"I just need to buy us more time, and this.. Filth has gotten way too close." He thought to himself. He clenched his jaw behind his lips, he knew you could barely see his face, but he didn't want to drop his friendly merchant persona unless he had to.

"There it is." His voice echoed, and he passed you your file. He clasped his hands together, you were still disoriented. He let out a sigh, "You don't have to read it, but don't waste my time."

Y/N's hands trembled as they accepted the file from Sebastian, her gaze never leaving his inscrutable features . The faint echo of his voice resonated through the quiet room, sending a shiver down their spine . Disorientation washed over them like a cold wave, making it difficult to focus on anything but the sea creature standing before them.

Sebastian clasped his hands together , he saw you shake your head . He raised his chin in defiance, staring at you in disgust . Humans are rather disgusting creatures, aren't they ? Sebastian's expression hardened, his lips curling into a sneer as he beheld Y/N's shocked face . With a dismissive flick of his gaze, he summed them up with contemptuous disdain.

"No .. I'm just really disappointed in myself..." He heard your voice crack.

He lowered his guard.

Did he hear that right? Or rather was this another manipulation tactic by the many other Urbanshade criminals that come and go?

Many expendables break down, whether it's anger, sadness, or no reaction at all. Just.. Shock. He's learned not to get attached to people; Sebastian didn't want to go through what he's already gone through. Not again ..

"You reaaaally like to waste my time , are you done yet? .. Let's get one thing straight, I don't care about you or your feelings. You're here because of your crimes. Let's see your file.." He turned around, shuffling back into the darkness.

The small light to his lure grew further away before his voice spoke up once more . "That's right, riiiight here."

"You were charged with second-degree murder, and caught red-handed." The file slammed shut with a harsh finality, his venomous retort searing into Y/N with a sneer. "Quite the charge, isn't it? It means nothing down here." He spoke with venom.

You stared at him, before looking back down at the file of what had killed you again.. Before opening your mouth to speak. Sebastian noticed your hesitation, assuming he had finally won.

"I did it because I had to .. I was in danger. Out of everyone down here, I'd think you'd understand." You spoke.

Sebastian felt a vein pop from that sentence.

All the bloodshed, the corpses he had torn apart. Sebastian's mind recoiled at the gruesome memories, each one more visceral than the last. The metallic tang of blood, the crunch of bone beneath his teeth, the slick feel of entrails spilling from ruptured abdomens, all these horrors twisted in his thoughts, swarming feelings of anguish, revulsion, and numbness. Bit by bit. He vividly remembered tearing into the flesh of other Urbanshade soldiers, biting into the tendons of the scientists, feeling every inch of the pain from the constant surgeries, and being cut open. He felt so much in pain, that he wanted to die from every waking moment of the medical procedures. His body was violated and reshaped against his will. Every incision, every probing instrument, every stitch pulled had been a fresh hell. The pain was a constant companion, a gnawing entity that refused to relinquish its grip. Even now, decades later, the echoes of that torment lingered, festering in the darkest recesses of his psyche.

"You SHUT UP!" His hands slammed onto the desk.

"YOU AND I ARE NOTHING ALIKE!"

"And frankly I don't give I fuck, even if I did understand! I was never filthy scum like you , you deserve to be down here. You should've been in MY place, I! WAS! INNOCENT! ... YOU! .. I hate YOU the most." He spat, before closing the file.

He turned his back, placing the file back into its organized spot in the darkness. He heard you mumble something under your breath, while he was putting the file away. His head perked, and his teeth became visible in annoyance. He was ready to tear you apart now, you were getting on his last nerve.

"And what was that?" He growled, this fucking pissed him off.

"I said come with me!" You shouted, and that caught him off guard. "I'll try again , just give me another try! I know I won't remember much, but I'll try until I make it , you'll come with me.." You were sobbing.

Sebastian hid in the shadows, slowly relaxing as he realized, you weren't mad, nor were you a threat. You were just stupid.

'Save those tears ' he wanted to say, but nothing came out.

It was like a lightbulb went off, he knew what to do, and he wanted to play along too . You were expendable after all, not just to Urbanshade, but to him too. His grin slowly formed back. He slithered towards you, gently picking you up, and carrying you back to the beginning. He looked down at you , you were passed out. This was routine. This always happened, every time ..

" Oh Expendable, I don't even bother to know your name.. You're a pain in the ass." He said, before lying you down. Surely someone else would find you in a safer area much as this one, and they'll do it over again, and again .

But this time, it'll be different. Oh yes. He had a plan.

He relaxed, and clasped his hands together, staring at your sleeping body.

This time, he'd help you escape. You're just a tool to him. Nothing more, nothing less. You were his stupid expendable, and his ticket to getting out.

He wiped his hands off his clothes in disgust after touching you, before slithering off into the shadows ... Sebastian had many years to memorize the corridors of the facility, so it was easier to navigate to Painter's room. The only thing is, it was rather boring and time-consuming... Sebastian eventually ended up entering Painter's office space, his .. Jail. More or less.  

"Sebastian! How are you? Did you miss me? Were you thinking of me? Did you find a way out?" Painter smiled , his screen flickered on, showing his animated face smile and nod in excitement.

"I might have just figured our way out." Sebastian clasped his hands together, with a rather devious sneer. "Follow my lead, okay?" Sebastian chuckled darkly.

So just like I said on my AO3, this was in my drafts. I'm still writing, but I've been struggling due to poor mental health. Art is my main hobby, and I didn't really expect my fics to kinda blow up like they did. SO IM LIKE... OKAY. THATS CRAZY. Anyways, enjoy some backstory where you tame Sebastian basically.